Reading Writers

There is a distinct sense of time distortion when reading Proust. His sentences stretch outlandishly, almost to the point of incoherence. The pages swell with a literary elasticity that tests the patience and perseverance of the mind. Every sentence is a complete thought. His ability to delve into a feeling, paint a scene, or depict an idea is that of a deep sea diver. He seldom needs to come up for air, leaving the reader to drown in the deep of his words. Once the lungs fill with water though, the sensation becomes pleasant; a unity with his world is achieved. Floating there, underwater, having lost the desire to breathe, the landscape takes on a different light. Plankton and coral seem to shimmer, little legless seahorses gallop past, schools of bubbles swirl triumphantly from dee-sea jets, each ocean creature becomes an oddity deserving its own reverence; the sharpness of the swordfish, the swarthiness of an eel, the inky mystery of a giant squid, the toothy menace of a great white shark.

Why is it that some writers have the capacity for greatness and some do not? Where does that difference arise? It's unlikely that everyone possesses the skill to write well, but, of those that do, why is there such a diversity of ability? If it's true that we are more alike than we are different, and that we all share the same basic frameworks for sense perception, shouldn't each of us be familiar with the range of feelings life has to offer? The answer is: no. We all have the capacity to feel, sure, but what we feel is determined by experience, by the things we are exposed to. Last night I spoke with a friend who said he's never felt heartbreak his entire life. He's in his late thirties. It seemed completely inconceivable to me and I pressed him for more information. After much interrogation I was satisfied he was telling the truth.

We experience unique, personalized spectrums of feeling; of varying depths and intensities. This is why some authors are more relatable than others. It would seem, then, that the authors most suited for success are the ones who have the most thoroughly common experiences and can relay them most clearly. But by most standards, authors are very uncommon people. So this answer also seems incomplete, even wrong.

Maybe writers, the ones who are great, are just the best seers. Perhaps this is what disturbed Borges most about his loss of sight - the symbolism of it all. The most important skill for a writer, the one that above all others makes him adept, is his skill as a reader.