Thursday, March 09, 2006

sitting inside the whale, and quite happy to

it annoys me to have a hand-countable number of people in my acquaintance who understand the meaning of rhythm, cadence and image; the weight and beauty of words. you can buy all the books you want but can never be able to sink into the sheer wonder and delight of what language can do. and that is why when you read, you are so busy politicizing it that you forget what literature means, what art is, and why sometimes it doesn't matter what's being said, it's how it's being said that matters the most. am i saying it's okay to be a paedophile as long as you're a lyrical one, leaping into dances with words, sending them shimmering across the page like fingers of light on an ocean at sunrise? is it okay to be suicidal and ruin your children as long as you leave behind filaments of magic, dark songs of haunting beauty? methinks so. i haven't decided about murderers- 'shantaram' is written by a murderer (you kill someone, you're a murderer), so one ponders. but you know things have gone too far when the craft of a work is ignored in order to talk about the polarity of the feminine, or the marxism, or the subversive discourse of the marginalized. for the love of literature, STOP.

Mina at 12:45 PM