Mark Rubinstein's Blog - Posts Tagged "reading"
Writing. Inborn or learned? Part 1
It's the old nature versus nurture question: are some things (talents of many kinds) inborn or can they be learned.
No one has a quick or easy answer to this. For sure, a writer must have certain verbal abilities and love words, whether spoken or written. Such ability comes naturally to some people and there's little doubt that "nature" is involved.
That being said, I'm reminded of Stephen King's excellent book, "On Writing," where he says, "If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot."
Aside from mastering the fundamentals of language and the basics of writing fiction, reading fiction (if you want to write it) is crucial.
I'll have much more to say about this in my next blog.
No one has a quick or easy answer to this. For sure, a writer must have certain verbal abilities and love words, whether spoken or written. Such ability comes naturally to some people and there's little doubt that "nature" is involved.
That being said, I'm reminded of Stephen King's excellent book, "On Writing," where he says, "If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot."
Aside from mastering the fundamentals of language and the basics of writing fiction, reading fiction (if you want to write it) is crucial.
I'll have much more to say about this in my next blog.
Character is Destiny
People often talk about a novel being plot-driven or character-driven. For me, that can be an artificial distinction. For my taste, the best novels -- those that capture me and make me feel sorry the read is coming to an end -- are those driven by both plot and by the protagonist's character or personality.
I've always felt the most engaging novels are those whose narrative drives involve conflict and uncertainty. They're novels whose plot -- along with other attributes -- makes me wonder what's going to happen next. In essence, I've always believed a good story is quite disturbing or plumbs a deep truth -- one that's either obvious (think of Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl) or draws me on some level of which I may be unaware (think of Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent or Jane Hamilton's A Map of the World). In my view, a novel's plot is vital for it to be compelling.
For a novel to be really enjoyable, you must also care about the main character. Plot twists and conflictual situations can be engrossing, but for the novel to really work, the reader must feel for and identify on some level with the protagonist.
All situations about people involve three components: thinking, feeling and behavior. A really good novel -- using various devices of the craft -- draws the reader into the protagonist's thoughts and feelings (emotionally and bodily). These elements often derive from the character's past and inform his or her behavior as the plot unfolds.
In a sense, the protagonist's character drives the novel's momentum. Think of Seymour Levov in Philip Roth's American Pastoral; Tom Wingo in Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides; Sherman McCoy in Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities; and Stingo, Nathan or Sophie in William Styron's Sophie's Choice. Or, Ahab in Moby Dick. These wonderfully drawn characters' inner conflicts thrust the narrative flow in compelling directions. A great plotline with a poorly defined protagonist renders the novel anemic, hollow, and unsatisfying.
A compelling plot creates the potential for a great read. And, a vividly drawn character adds to the novel's power and lure. In a real way, character is destiny. It gives a story muscle, guts and soul. The protagonist's character forms the tissue holding the plot together and propels it in one or another direction. Plot and character go hand-in-hand. A richly depicted character negotiating the rigors of a compelling plot provides a great read.
I've always felt the most engaging novels are those whose narrative drives involve conflict and uncertainty. They're novels whose plot -- along with other attributes -- makes me wonder what's going to happen next. In essence, I've always believed a good story is quite disturbing or plumbs a deep truth -- one that's either obvious (think of Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl) or draws me on some level of which I may be unaware (think of Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent or Jane Hamilton's A Map of the World). In my view, a novel's plot is vital for it to be compelling.
For a novel to be really enjoyable, you must also care about the main character. Plot twists and conflictual situations can be engrossing, but for the novel to really work, the reader must feel for and identify on some level with the protagonist.
All situations about people involve three components: thinking, feeling and behavior. A really good novel -- using various devices of the craft -- draws the reader into the protagonist's thoughts and feelings (emotionally and bodily). These elements often derive from the character's past and inform his or her behavior as the plot unfolds.
In a sense, the protagonist's character drives the novel's momentum. Think of Seymour Levov in Philip Roth's American Pastoral; Tom Wingo in Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides; Sherman McCoy in Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities; and Stingo, Nathan or Sophie in William Styron's Sophie's Choice. Or, Ahab in Moby Dick. These wonderfully drawn characters' inner conflicts thrust the narrative flow in compelling directions. A great plotline with a poorly defined protagonist renders the novel anemic, hollow, and unsatisfying.
A compelling plot creates the potential for a great read. And, a vividly drawn character adds to the novel's power and lure. In a real way, character is destiny. It gives a story muscle, guts and soul. The protagonist's character forms the tissue holding the plot together and propels it in one or another direction. Plot and character go hand-in-hand. A richly depicted character negotiating the rigors of a compelling plot provides a great read.
No, I Won't Use an e-Reader
Let me begin by saying I love books, whether electronic or paper. I'll read on my Kindle or a "regular" book. Frankly, I'll read on whatever's available. I just love reading and being transported to another world beyond my own. It's pleasurable to share the domain the writer has created. It's a realm to which I bring my own thoughts, feelings and fantasies, all of which no doubt, color my reading experience. It's the act of taking in the writer's creation that's so meaningful, not the medium by which it's delivered.
I've heard many people refuse to consider using an e-reader. There seems to be an impenetrable wall of resistance to even the notion of trying one. It's the usual mantra about loving the "feel" and "smell" of paper; or the pleasure derived from holding a real book in hand; or perhaps, it's the physical act of turning pages; or the heft of the book itself.
I too, love the sensory elements of reading a paper book, but that hasn't precluded me from using an e-reader. After all, one medium doesn't rule out the other.
Why do some people refuse -- absolutely reject -- the idea?
It's not that they're knuckle-draggers or technophobes because they often have smart phones, iPods, computers and Skype. And, I've noticed the repudiation of e-readers isn't limited to older people. I know plenty of people under forty, who despite being completely comfortable with the technology of our times, want absolutely nothing to do with reading devices.
So, what exactly causes them to spurn this one technology?
I've thought about it as a psychiatrist, writer and avid reader.
Maybe it's because reading is something cultivated over the course of a lifetime, often beginning in childhood. Many book-lovers were read to as children -- by a parent, babysitter or other adult. It was, for most of us, a very special thing.
"Read me a story" is something most of us can remember asking, if we think back to our earliest formative years. "Being read to" is an experience which becomes embedded in our psyches as a distinct and unique childhood pleasure. It's loaded with meaning, and is suffused with memories of nestling on Mommy's or Daddy's lap; the look of the book with its bright, colorful illustrations; or the feel of the paper while we helped turn the pages. The physical book itself became the symbol housing the powerful emotional satisfaction of having parental attention bestowed upon us, with all its attendant meanings.
The book encapsulated a deep sense of pleasure, safety, wonder, satisfaction, and above all, love. These early experiences linger with us, and can have enormous emotional resonance.
On a pre-conscious level, perhaps some of us refuse to even try an e-reader because our minds view it as a renunciation of one of life's earliest pleasures.
It's merely my theory, but when I reflect upon how readily other technologies are embraced, none of them carry the primal significance of a "book in the hand."
I've heard many people refuse to consider using an e-reader. There seems to be an impenetrable wall of resistance to even the notion of trying one. It's the usual mantra about loving the "feel" and "smell" of paper; or the pleasure derived from holding a real book in hand; or perhaps, it's the physical act of turning pages; or the heft of the book itself.
I too, love the sensory elements of reading a paper book, but that hasn't precluded me from using an e-reader. After all, one medium doesn't rule out the other.
Why do some people refuse -- absolutely reject -- the idea?
It's not that they're knuckle-draggers or technophobes because they often have smart phones, iPods, computers and Skype. And, I've noticed the repudiation of e-readers isn't limited to older people. I know plenty of people under forty, who despite being completely comfortable with the technology of our times, want absolutely nothing to do with reading devices.
So, what exactly causes them to spurn this one technology?
I've thought about it as a psychiatrist, writer and avid reader.
Maybe it's because reading is something cultivated over the course of a lifetime, often beginning in childhood. Many book-lovers were read to as children -- by a parent, babysitter or other adult. It was, for most of us, a very special thing.
"Read me a story" is something most of us can remember asking, if we think back to our earliest formative years. "Being read to" is an experience which becomes embedded in our psyches as a distinct and unique childhood pleasure. It's loaded with meaning, and is suffused with memories of nestling on Mommy's or Daddy's lap; the look of the book with its bright, colorful illustrations; or the feel of the paper while we helped turn the pages. The physical book itself became the symbol housing the powerful emotional satisfaction of having parental attention bestowed upon us, with all its attendant meanings.
The book encapsulated a deep sense of pleasure, safety, wonder, satisfaction, and above all, love. These early experiences linger with us, and can have enormous emotional resonance.
On a pre-conscious level, perhaps some of us refuse to even try an e-reader because our minds view it as a renunciation of one of life's earliest pleasures.
It's merely my theory, but when I reflect upon how readily other technologies are embraced, none of them carry the primal significance of a "book in the hand."
