Re: book burning

Camille Scaysbrook (verona_beach@geocities.com)
Sat, 27 Mar 1999 15:20:19 +1100 

The last book I wrote (she said archly at the age of 21) was written wholly
and specifically for me, to record the time that I was experiencing - to
put something ineffable into concrete form, which I guess is what all
writers do ultimately. Sure, I would like to have had it published (though
I've made more money off the play based on it than I ever would have in
publication) but ultimately, it was a letter from my sixteen year old self;
a time capsule. Let me tell you, as one who has been faced with the real
threat of having everything I own burnt, via bushfire 1 (1994) and bushfire
2 (1997), it was the first thing I packed was my manuscript of that,
followed only by the disks for my first book. I haven't read my first book
for years - mostly owing to the fact that it's on a hopelessly old computer
for which I no longer have a printer - but I still derive inspiration for
many of the writings I composed five or even ten years ago. I don't see
this as creative procrastination or retrospection - I think that
appreciation of your former selves is inherent in the act of growth.

This is precisely the point I wish to press upon people when considering
their teenage selves - so many people shove that awkward, gawky but sincere
person they once were in the more deliberately inaccessable portions of
their mind. But why? Wasn't that person totally sincere and guileless?
Weren't their achievements high for their own time? Is there nothing we can
learn from them? That's exactly how I regard my books and stories from past
times. Sure, I have grown since then, but it is a sin to outgrow something
you once put all of your heart into. You're just offering a mid digit
upward to someone who you once were.

As a Zennist at heart, I have already recognised, taken account of, and
gotten over the inherent distance between what we *really* mean and our
ability to convey them through mere words. But a writer's job is to both
compose in and between the lines - this is what makes a great book greater
than the sum of its parts. Therefore anyone can only ever regard books as
human achievements - but insofar as that, I'm pretty proud of mine, whether
I wrote them last week or last decade. 

I've always been just a little sad that Salinger seems ashamed of his
earlier works.

Camille
verona_beach@geocities.com
@ THE ARTS HOLE http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Theater/6442
@ THE INVERTED FOREST http://www.angelfire.com/pa/invertedforest
 
Scottie Bowman wrote: 
>     On this whole question of burning books, I'd like 
>     to offer a personal view.  I think there could be 
>     a misunderstanding about how the writer regards 
>     his own work.  
> 
>     My credentials are that I once wrote two comic 
>     novels of sufficiently high quality as to be taken 
>     by one of the most prestigious London publishers 
>     & to be praised by some of the toughest London 
>     reviewers.  That's an uncharacteristically styleless thing 
>     to write & I only do so in support of my claim 
>     to know - from so many miles further down 
>     the mountain - how the thing could possibly look 
>     to someone in Salinger's position. 
> 
>     From that very personal viewpoint, I suggest that 
>     the writer is really only interested in his present 
>     or future writing.  Once the thing is done, it's gone 
>     & best forgotten.  I read someone recently (who was it? 
>     Nabakov? or some other phoney?) who pointed out 
>     that only the writer knows what he set out to do - 
>     what he intended to capture.  And how very far short, 
>     ALWAYS, he has failed in the attempt.  So a book 
>     is never what one had hoped for.  It's ALWAYS 
>     a disappointment - an embarassment even.  
> 
>     It remains forever a source of pleasure to show off, 
>     as I've just been doing, about being a published writer, 
>     about one's reviews, about the deals one did for 
>     film rights or foreign rights or whatever.  But the books 
>     themselves one cannot bear to think about, to open even.
> 
>     I'm sure when Salinger remembers those manuscripts 
>     in the vault his heart thumps with pleasure at one page 
>     of dialogue, a couple of good juxtapositions when 
>     he really rung the bell, one little mannerism that just 
>     caught the person, whatever...
> 
>     'Yes,' he thinks, 'I can do it still & not one of those other 
>     bastards can...'
> 
>     But for the rest, I suspect it's just four or five tons 
>     of paper that he can't bear to throw away.  And probably 
>     never wants to see again.  Or have anyone else share in 
>     his disappointment.
> 
>     Scottie B.
>