Non Fiction in LiteratureNon-fiction in literature
Non-fiction: the facts | Literature publications
I always thought that the concept of "non-fiction" was a peculiar kind of negativ animal, as if fiction, the compilation of histories, always stood in the first place and was the main way of assembling words. Throughout my literary career I have taken a curious path between fiction and denial, always with half a wish when I have submerged in the one that I have submerged in the other.
But on the other side, when I write fiction, I often wish enough that I could fill the empty side with a fleshy material that did not require the hard act of making a sequence that then had to omit most of the material to livecam. Nonfiction is dependent on people reminding themselves of their research, fiction on them.
Throughout the years I have discovered that my non-fiction book has learnt a lot from my fiction about story telling, story-telling, narrative energies and scenography and has been animated by them. When I thought about my memoirs for my families, I realized that "voice" is as important here as it is in fiction.
It was just that I had not been able to do the memoirs, although all the research was on the spot until the sound of the script came to me. I sometimes think I am euphoric for the 20 minute play when it's done, and that might account for why I like to do essay work ( "20 minute bounty for 7,000 words, instead of the late bounty of 80,000 lengths).
It is my pleasure to immerse myself in the world of research and research. It' s weird to step into another person' s spirit and find there other periods of space, other rythms of thought, new types of knowing and emotion that grab the author and force the shape that is kept by the one. In what way can authors steer the common and historical languages in a new directions that may be completely overwhelmed by the present beliefs of all people?
That'?s one of the reasons I spend so much of my spare minute reflecting on Darwin's lang. It was Darwin who worked with an open, non-technical vocabulary: the big dynasty, the fight for survival, the face of the environment, the face of natures choice, contingence, imperfection. The open speech produced conflicting histories in which remaining metaphorical parts began to work out new narratives: the decline of man, the rise of man, the interdependency of all lifeforms, battle and devastation.
Thick presence of the past is what I try to convey most when I am typing. Moreover, some of this perception and thought survives in my writings, very closely to the present day readers. I really adore the travelling authors all have very specific notes: In the nineteenth centuries, travelling was mainly about the place - to fill in the gaps on the maps and to describe the remotest places that few had seen - then in my opinion some of the best travelling writings of the twenty-first-century have been a good idea.
It was that today, at Tennant's bed, as he stretched out his ringed hands in a dark room full of his past recollections, that sparked me to re-create his world. Quickly forward to another remarkable meeting, this one off the Azores of Pico, where after five years of hunting for the whales that had become my new observations - and were among my oldest - I was confronted with a cachalot.
It'?s a trade. Becoming a novelist will take even longer, because before you become a novelist, you have to become a novelist. Each lesson of literacy is one lesson of literacy; this also applies to a writer's entire ordeal. It can be as useful to read poor authors as good ones.
In order to go on with the joinery analogue, good authors will show you how to reach the oral equivalents of the key and key connection, the well chamfered edges, the counter-sunk head bolt, the Mahagony insert or the bees wax-polishing. If you read poor authors, you can see how the bit can jump and carve out the timber, how the seams remain uneven and how the hinge can squeak.
It' these last two authors who affected me more than anyone else: Baker, writer of The Peregrine (1967), and Lopez, whose masterwork is Arctic Dreams (1984), but whose essays Crossing Open Ground and About This Life are also great. The Peregrine showed me how to describe nature's fast action, and I witnessed the strength of Baker's metaphors: what an early critic used to call their "magnesium flares intensity".
When you are a reporter or historicist, you should just give facts - external provable, proven fact. When you' re a fiction fan, you' re made up. There is a whole series of code that guides us in the elaboration of what we read, and we kind of consent to acceptance of the truths that are made known.
However, these regulations are far less clear for non-fiction books. For example, we may "invent" the straightforward oration. It is absolutely not possible in a memorandum to recall exactly what a certain individual said 20 years ago, but "invented" talks in straight talk are permissible in order to give history substance and energy: nobody expected it to be "quotes" in the journalistic meaning.
It also seems there is an arrangement that one can, at least under certain conditions, condense the amount of space available to make a more orderly one. Much of this is done in "natural writing". Authors of books of art move along a subtle border between the two types of the real. Maybe non-fiction authors also have to take this liberty.
Among them, the web, film, scanners, e-mail and Kindle will progressively and unstoppably eliminate one of the great - perhaps the greatest - amusements of the non-fiction author: living in the archive. Is this the solution to a confusing mystery in a person's world?
However, an archives is the luckiest work experiance of my whole lifetime. I asked from there how soon I could work in Geneva. A man came to my office one mornin' when I was read in the ICRC Libary. I always found it unjust that typing has so little feeling when it goes well.
At some point there is the nervous walking around, the biliary chewing, the concurrent ant-like and shallowness, when the breakdown of the daily begins. Two or three or four or five lost working hours - there is a feeling of being a cheater. You can' t bear writing anymore, you probably never could.
It' s clear that you don't fit into the society of these true authors who are writing so many of them. Finally, there is the depression of sluggishness resulting from the persistent failures of the keypad, which infect the remainder of our lives with gray minimumism, making it more difficult to reply to correspondence, give back literature from the bookstore, take the trouble to prepare nonpasta food.
Any lively, particularized feelings, known from visiting again, but no less persuasive every one. If things go right, I almost only see the tricky semi-created texture of the letter, with all the interdependencies of the songs, involving the subtle dependency of the parts that have been composed on parts that have not yet been composed, and the other way around; and the whole thing in movement, or at least in a state of reactivity, willing to move into new posi tions and new setups as the possibility changes.
As far as I can even look at my own brain, it is in a state of flowing that reflects the approachable flowing that I sense in my writings. So why do I do it?