Red Room Where the Writers Are

This grand declamation comes from the Swedish Academy a week before the Nobel Prize for Literature is announced.

I had a long drawn out conversation with a long time friend of mine last night. It was about the results that society has on the average every day Joe.

I am thrilled to be traveling to South Africa this summer for many reasons. But one of the great benefits of this trip I have already received, not by physical journey, but by a literary one. Namely, I decided to read Alan Paton's classic work, Cry, the Beloved Country, about the conflict that has defined the South African nation ever since the European empire established its dominion over the native tribes of that land.

In so many cases, as in this one, the true greatness of a work of art may be broken down into three pieces: structure, content and style. Of course such divisions are ultimately completely artificial and impossible to sustain, but indulging in them is a way of relishing the delicious beauty and profound sense of meaning the artist achieves in bringing them all together. Indulge me, then, briefly, if you will.

My favorite novels almost always possess a narrative structure that is crisply designed to deliver a functional force of movement the mere contemplation of which brings me joy and wonder.  At the same time, the power of such structure relies entirely on the way it gives shape and dimension to the content of the story. The trick, as we all know, is to take a story with meaningful content and give it a powerful structure. And if the story has both deep meaning and great power, then hopefully the artist is also equally able to give it great poetry. Cry, the Beloved Country does all this superbly well.