The Concerns of Literature?

Literature, I thought, tends to focus on periods of change--or times when there is potential for change. Writing often follows stories of transformation and evolution--in worldview, physical development, the development of a setting or place, spiritual thought, relationships, etc. Or, perhaps, the work presents a situation in which there is a possibility for change, but the lack of transformation or stagnancy speaks just as loudly.

I thought of all the works I had read that told dynamic stories of development. For example, J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey tracks two young people's spiritual maturation in light of family tragedy, hypocrisy, and the shallow concerns of their peers. The Pastures of Heaven, by John Steinbeck, chronicles the physical development of a rural California town--along with the inhabitants who keep the town alive. In George Herbert’s poem “Love (III),” the speaker begins by resisting God’s grace, but the poem finishes with the speaker humbly accepting God’s feast. Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre tells the story of a maturing young woman, her education, her employment, and the development of her relationship with Mr. Rochester. In all of this literature, the writer presents some kind of transformation--whether major or minor, whether internal or external--and the readers may identify with characters, situations, or places and find instruction for their own lives. In this way, my experience with literature has been educational and enlightening in my own circumstances, relationships, and outlooks. However, I realized that though this idea may describe a majority of my interaction with literature, it is not a complete depiction.

Upon further consideration, I thought of works that did not seem driven by a purpose of recording development. There seems to be no agenda, no deep “education” intended, driving some literary works besides the act of capturing life. The words are a practice in perspective and imagery. For example, when I remember one of Denis Johnson’s short stories in Jesus’ Son, I do not think of a call for reformation against substance abuse. Instead, the stories honestly capture fragments of a young man’s life. And the same concept applies to “Winter Trees” by William Carlos Williams: the poet presents an image--a striking image--without an explicit pedagogical intention. Perhaps these differing experiences with literature--that is, experiences in which I do not easily find application in my own situation or relationships--simply attest to my own failure at interpretation and understanding. (This is not to say that reading literature in which a personal application may be more difficult to identify is a waste of time.) Still, literature in its many forms may simply be an effort to collect pieces of life as we encounter it--feelings, images, thoughts, ideas--and share it with those who wish to participate.