The Novelist as the Advocatus
Diaboli
In my humble and
distorted view, there is one role that a novelist is best suited too; the role
of Devil’s Advocate.
And for anyone
who might be thinking Satanism, the Devil’s Advocate was the popular term for
the Promoter of the Faith, Promotor
Fidei, a Canon lawyer appointed by the Catholic Church to argue with God's Advocate, the Promoter of the Cause, Advocatus Dei, in the matter of canonizing
saints.
Skepticism and
the ability to poke holes in what passed for conventional wisdom were the key
characteristics of a good Devil’s Advocate and, I believe, a good novelist. And
in both cases, the more successful risked having their arguments confused with
their real and private views.
In the case of writers,
it’s understandable when you consider how many books are nothing more than
thinly veiled prolongations of the writer’s agenda, be it political, cultural, social
or religious.
In this,
non-fiction often leads the way. Books that claim to be factual are often
little more than the carefully selected arguments that support only one point
of view. To my mind, that is an absurd way of looking at things and calls to
mind the words of Jules H. Poincare: “To doubt everything or to believe everything are two equally convenient
solutions; both dispense with the necessity of reflection.”
There is, was,
and always will be, two sides to every story and even the devil himself must be
afforded his say. As does the novelists who presents a view that is, at the
same time, encouraging and despondent, insightful and vague . . . you get the
picture.
And good novels will
always leave their authors open to misinterpretation. Was Jane Austin really a
misandrist? Was James Joyce anti-Semitic? Was Kafka just a bored bureaucrat?
Does any of it really matter? These are points for the Devil’s Advocate in all
of us.
What does matter
is that throughout the history of novels, and indeed story-telling itself, the
writer/teller can present an ‘argument’ that sets conventional wisdom on its
proverbial ass. That so many of these ‘tellings’ have been banned, burned,
shunned and derided is but the testament to their effect.
Most people that
read novels have had that moment when a book spoke to them so loudly and
clearly that it changed their lives. For me, there were a few but then again I
am a bit of a gypsy at heart—with a pagan soul.
One novel that
stands among the greats for me, was 1984
which I first read at the outset of adolescence. It confirmed everything I was
beginning to feel about the world around me and now, 40 years later, has been
proven. (And those of you who still accept the idea that it was Orwell’s
rejection of Socialism should read it again.) It was, as a recent wag noted: “A
warning—not a handbook.”
Shortly after
that I read Demian, by Hesse, and
life was never the same, but then again it never was and, if I am to understand
what novelists suggest, never should be. And while these moments of epiphany
are never forgotten, there are often too harsh and too painful to relive, over
and over.
For this we have
writings like: The Ingenious
Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra;
a wonderfully simple tale of tilting with all that destroyed Andalusia. Read it
again and marvel at how different it is from what you remembered. And take a
moment to peep behind the veils that confuse poor Quijano but not Panza,
bearing in mind the words of Edith Grossman who was tasked with translating it:
"The question is that
Quixote has multiple interpretations... and how do I deal with that in my
translation. I'm going to answer your question by avoiding it... so when I
first started reading the Quixote I thought it was the most tragic book in the
world, and I would read it and weep... As I grew older...my skin grew
thicker... and so when I was working on the translation I was actually sitting
at my computer and laughing out loud. This is done... as Cervantes did it... by
never letting the reader rest. You are never certain that you truly got it.
Because as soon as you think you understand something, Cervantes introduces
something that contradicts your premise."
And after you’ve reread
it, pick any good book you read many years ago and look at how far you have
come since. (And, if you haven’t come as far as you wished—then simply read
more books.) Look at all the writer alludes to in the spaces between the words
and see how much you have been able to fill in on your own.
While you’re at
it, take a chance on something new and different, too, so your mind does not
become one of those dusty old places where the voice of the Devil’s Advocate can
no longer be heard.
First appeared on The Story Plant Blog:
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