Symbolism in Reading: When Writers’ Intentions Don’t Matter

This week I’m responding to a link posted on Anxiety Ink’s Facebook and Twitter at the end of October, one about a frustrated English student writing to authors in order to ask whether their symbolism is deliberate or not.

A few responses jumped out at me:

Question:

“Do you consciously, intentionally plan and place symbolism in your writing?… If yes, please state your method for doing so. Do you feel you sub-consciously place symbolism in your writing?”

Isaac Asimov: “Consciously? Heavens, no! Unconsciously? How can one avoid it?”

Question:

“Do readers ever infer that there is symbolism in your writing where you had not intended it to be? If so, what is your feeling about this type of inference? (Humorous? annoying? etc.?)”

Ralph Ellison: “Yes, readers often infer that there is symbolism in my work, which I do not intend. My reaction is sometimes annoyance. It is sometimes humorous. It is sometimes even pleasant, indicating that the reader’s mind has collaborated in a creative way with what I have written.”

Joseph Heller: “This happens often, and in every case there is good reason for the inference; in many cases, I have been able to learn something about my own book, for readers have seen much in the book that is there, although I was not aware of it being there.”

Question:

“Do you feel that the great writers of classics consciously, intentionally planned and placed symbols in their writing? … Do you feel that they placed it there sub-consciously?”

Richard Hughes: “Have you considered the extent to which subconscious symbol-making is part of the process of reading, quite distinct from its part in writing?”

 

As far as I’m concerned, all of these authors say three things: symbolism is present in their writing, readers see more/other symbolism than intended, and readers are the key to this symbolism. To this end, the final response I posted from Richard Hughes is the most important one.

As I’m sure most people know by now, I have a degree in English. I’m not using this fact in this instance to say that I’m an expert on the topic of symbolism –far from it. I’m re-informing to make a point. I think there’s a misunderstanding of my degree, explicitly expressed by the opening statement of the article I’m responding to: “It was 1963, and 16-year-old Bruce McAllister was sick of symbol-hunting in English class.”

Maybe in 1963 symbol-hunting was the be-all and end-all of English classes everywhere. I wouldn’t know. I do know that the foundation of my discipline rested on notions of correct and incorrect interpretations –a highly erroneous and dated way of interacting with a text– and that in some places English is still taught in that manner. To me, all of that is nonsense.

When people learned that I was taking English as my major or when they learn what my degree is in now, the majority of responses were/are this: “Oh.” Not just any “oh,” though, one said in varying degrees of disinterest, derision, confusion, and disgust.

I won’t bring up the number of times people have asked what I’m going to do with my degree or the tones that phrase was expressed in.

Honestly, if English consisted solely of unearthing symbols and performing “intellectual masturbation” (thanks go to a wonderful prof of mine for that phrase), I would not have fallen in love with it or devoted many intense hours to it. Yes, symbol-hunting and creating responses only one or a few individuals will lay eyes on are relevant aspects to English, but people miss the big picture that they are a small part of.

English is about communication and connection. If you want to understand the basics of language you’d be better of going into linguistics. While English engages in the fundamentals of grammar and syntax that’s not its focus. Critical thinking is its core. To be able to read a text and see parts of the writer, their culture, their fears, their beliefs, is a wonderful thing. To be able to engage in a meaningful way is incredible.

Go to any reading of any author, people are obsessed with what writers mean. They want to know if they understood the message. They want to see a message. On the other side, go to any convention, writers want to make sure they’re connecting with their readers. See the link?

I’ll circle back to my point and reconnect with the article. I’m a trained critical reader. If I was McAllister’s teacher I would have told him that his letter writing was a waste of time. The degree to which writers imbue their pieces with symbolism and meaning is irrelevant. As readers read and connect with a piece they find and imbue meaning in certain aspects that touch their psyches. What they believe a text means is what’s important. Their ability to argue and prove that point is what makes English important.

There is no symbolism without a reader. Do I care if a writer intended something or not? No. Even as a writer I know that things I want to get across with my own work could either be misinterpreted or missed entirely. I’m fine with that. I don’t get to control anyone’s relationship with my work and that’s the way it should be.

We’re a symbol-centric society. It unnerves peoples when they can’t interpret or understand like others. I’m tired of the debate about symbolism. If you don’t see it, don’t worry about it. If you see it, share it. If you don’t care, just enjoy reading.  I happen to enjoy doing all three.

 

 

P.S. Ayn Ran’s response about McAllister’s definition made me laugh out loud. That’s a philosopher for you.

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