Bruce Beckham's Blog - Posts Tagged "non-fiction"
Fake views
The saying goes that ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ – but I can’t help feeling it’s really the other way around. At least, when you think about it, there’s something very strange about fiction.
At the moment – after several false starts – I’m hooked on The Reivers, by William Faulkner.
I’m not sure exactly when the novel and I gained traction, but here am I wondering – worrying – will Ned and Boon smuggle ‘Lightning’ by train to Parsham? Will the race take place? Will injured Lucius ride? Will they win back Grandfather’s automobile? Will they make it home to Jefferson?
But there is no Lightning. There is no Lucius. There is no race, nor Parsham, nor Jefferson – nor is there Grandfather’s automobile, the root cause of all the fictitious trouble!
How can this be, that I am taking so seriously these figments of the author’s imagination? And why do I prefer these ‘fake views’ to the real thing?
Clearly, I am not alone. I think it’s fair to say it’s the human condition. We love fiction.
But at what point did our ancestors, huddled around the campfire, work out that there was more to storytelling than the facts? Surely the whole idea was to exchange useful tips for avoiding sabre-toothed tigers, hairy Neanderthals and deadly nightshade?
Perhaps it was a matter of supply and demand. There were only so many true tales to tell, and many more long dark nights to fill.
Did some bright spark, pressed for a story (it being their turn), eyes and ears of the tribe upon them... make something up?
And it worked. The others liked it! To hell with veracity – so long as it’s plausible who cares if it’s true?
At the moment – after several false starts – I’m hooked on The Reivers, by William Faulkner.
I’m not sure exactly when the novel and I gained traction, but here am I wondering – worrying – will Ned and Boon smuggle ‘Lightning’ by train to Parsham? Will the race take place? Will injured Lucius ride? Will they win back Grandfather’s automobile? Will they make it home to Jefferson?
But there is no Lightning. There is no Lucius. There is no race, nor Parsham, nor Jefferson – nor is there Grandfather’s automobile, the root cause of all the fictitious trouble!
How can this be, that I am taking so seriously these figments of the author’s imagination? And why do I prefer these ‘fake views’ to the real thing?
Clearly, I am not alone. I think it’s fair to say it’s the human condition. We love fiction.
But at what point did our ancestors, huddled around the campfire, work out that there was more to storytelling than the facts? Surely the whole idea was to exchange useful tips for avoiding sabre-toothed tigers, hairy Neanderthals and deadly nightshade?
Perhaps it was a matter of supply and demand. There were only so many true tales to tell, and many more long dark nights to fill.
Did some bright spark, pressed for a story (it being their turn), eyes and ears of the tribe upon them... make something up?
And it worked. The others liked it! To hell with veracity – so long as it’s plausible who cares if it’s true?
