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Sunday, September 22, 2013

THE ESSENTIAL QUALITY

There’s a lot of utterly brilliant writing out there that’s just too damn bleak for me.  I watch certain television shows, read certain books, and I’m left with both awe-struck admiration for the artists behind the work and a deep desire to run, screaming, for the hills.  When I think of the books I’ve cherished most—Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, Salinger’s Franny and Zooey, to name two—they left my heart full, my soul quickened.  They cracked opened my consciousness and connected me to something bigger, and truer, than myself.  

I read a quote, years ago, from Avatar Meher Baba that said the “truth is that which uplifts.”  I feel the same way about art.  It should look life’s struggles and sufferings square in the eye without flinching, then look farther, deeper, raise our eyes to the heavens and point the way there (a path that, in my experience, leads us straight back to our own hearts).  I don’t mind a crawl through the darkness—I think we’ve all done our share of midnight-wrestling with demons, of sinking, neck-deep, in the quagmire of despair—but, in the end, I need a story to bring me to the light, to remind me that life has meaning, purpose, value; that the universe is, ultimately, a positive, loving place.  That there’s hope.  

I had a conversation with a friend the other night about the 1960’s and what it was like growing up in the Nuclear Shadow.  I’m old enough to recall, with traumatic clarity, the Cuban Missile Crisis of October, 1962—most notably President Kennedy’s speech to the nation that, stripped of its Oval Office patina and translated by my eight year old brain, said, “Head for the shelters, kids.  The missiles will be flying and our asses are cooked.”  The instant that speech was over I flew into my bedroom, dropped to my knees and prayed to God, with every iota of my being, begging Him to spare us from the coming holocaust.  (I don’t recall praying much, or ever, before that:  Perhaps that moment was the beginning of my own spiritual search.)  I also remember walking to school the next day—I was in the fourth grade—and the conversation with my friends as we discussed the imminent end of the world.  Understand, this wasn’t a “could be” or “maybe,” we really thought the End Was Nigh.  The next year, when JFK was assassinated, it seemed that the very fabric of reality was unravelling, that the center would not, could not possibly, hold.

And yet, as the 60’s progressed, as the generation that grew up in the shadow of armageddon grew older, the popular and political culture of the time was defined, above all, by a sense of hope, of limitless possibility, of the belief that this world that tottered on the brink of destruction could be changed for the better.  In many ways the Beatles, who appeared on American television just months after the Kennedy assassination, became the embodiment of that optimism.  “All You Need is Love,” they sang.  “It’s getting better all the time.”  “Don’t y’know it’s gonna be all right.”   And many of us believed it.  I certainly did.  And still do. 

Perhaps the unpredictable nature of a world where terrorist bombs could explode anywhere, any time, where global warming threatens to upend the natural balance and blot out the future, has given rise to the current wave of Bleak Chic.  But is the current reality any more harrowing or hopeless than the reality I faced at eight years old, the one where a sudden flash of light, a deafening roar, could have left the human race on its knees in a nuclear ruin?  I don’t think so.  Which is why I’d love to see more optimism, more awe, more joy and wonder, in the arts—and, yes, in our social and political discourse.  
  
I’m not trying to tell anyone else how to approach their art:  If you honestly believe that life is a chaos-ride to hell, rot and ruin, then you owe it to yourself to present that in your stories (or songs or paintings)—and do it with honesty and passion.  If you do it well enough, there’s a good chance I will watch, or read, or listen—and applaud your effort.  But I doubt I will cherish your work or hold it in the deeps of my heart.

I often return to a quote from the science-fiction writer David Gerrold (who, among many other achievements, wrote the “Trouble with Tribbles” episode of the original Star Trek—a show rooted optimism and idealism).  I tore it out of a science-fiction magazine back in the mid-1970’s, tacked it to a corkboard and it’s travelled with me ever since.  I think Gerrold’s words about writing apply not just to all art—but to all of life:

"A good story is about pain and hope and the transition from one to the other. Most important, it is about what we learn in the process of that transition.  The essential quality is hope."

©copyright 2013 J.M. DeMatteis

30 comments:

  1. When I read fiction, I prefer comedy to tragedy, and for drama, I likewise prefer an uplifting tale to a depressing one. But I have a somewhat different take on history and current events even while we are both about the same age.

    There's a good reason for "Bleak Chic": it sells. For example, if someone actually delves into the science of global warming, the scientists who agree that it is happening (as do I) are are not projecting massive tidal waves and sinking continents. But, horror sells newspapers and movies so people are led to believe it. Dark grey horror is also the kind of thing which attracts political contributions, and that's a politician's "bread and butter." I still remember a "slow news day" when my local paper included a lead article that 14 pigeons had accidentally been electrocuted by a high wire. Sorry about the birds, but that's going to sell more papers than a heart-warming story about their nesting habits.

    The 1960's were unique for a wide range of reasons. And while they were heady times, we thankfully don't face all the misery we faced back then. Racial equality finally became a majority view, and other prejudices slowly faded. I still remember as a child when some kids would throw pennies around at recess and shout that they wanted to see who the Jews were because they would supposedly pick them up. Pollution had gotten so bad that the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland caught fire. Social mores finally loosened, as they had been in the 1920's, after the straight-jacket of the 1940's and 1950's. The Mob was targeted for elimination. And bluntly there was "The Draft." A lot of people opposed the War in Vietnam because they didn't want to be drafted and go overseas. Their motivations were not just "peace and love", but self-interest.

    When a great, heart-warming story comes along, like Harry Potter, people love it. So keep writing the morally uplifting and optimistic. It makes for great reading, and as a counterpoint to Bleak Chic, it should make for great sales. PS was at his best in the Second Series when his tales offered moral uplift. By all means, continue that trend for the future-- at least until PS meets Bat-Mite. Rick

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    1. Thanks for sharing your always-interesting thoughts, Rick. Very much appreciated. And, yes, of course bleak sells—especially to hormonally-imbalanced angry, adolescent boys— but I think that, in their hearts, most people want to be uplifted, want to be reminded of the more positive truth that lies beneath the skin of the world.

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    2. Your story about the Cuban Missile Crisis actually illustrates your point. What people mostly remember today is the "heroic" ending of the Crisis in which the Soviets backed down. That's the uplifting part. What they don't realize is what triggered the Crisis: the US had moved ICBM's into Turkey to target the USSR. Several months after the Crisis, the US quietly removed the missiles.

      Hormonal imbalances are hard on young boys. It's not until they are much older that they learn the best way to get the girl: be genuine, attentive, and above all else, make her laugh.

      I'm not arguing with your basic premise. Bleak stories usually contain an implicit, uplifting message that if some horror gets "fixed", the world will be a better place. Today, many writers seem better and better at finding horrors worthy of fixing. They don't seem particularly creative at finding new ways to show hope.

      By the way, I don't have any present memories like you about Kennedy's speech. My earliest memory of a horror was my father's reaction to the news that the Brooklyn Dodgers were moving to California to join the Giants.Rick

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    3. Having grown up in Brooklyn, Rick, I can imagine what a trauma that was when the Dodgers left. I was three years old when they headed West, so I don't have any memories of the event. (I believe my father took my sister, who's almost five years older, to at least one Dodgers game at Ebbets Field.)

      By the way, your advice about the best way to get a girl sounds spot on to me!

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    4. About those Dodgers, I too was only 3 years' old. Dad was a helluva fan.

      For any of the younger guys who read this blog, let me add something else: women love to be complimented over things they have achieved, said or done. They aren't too crazy about compliments concerning their beauty or figure because those are just viewed as the blessings of good genes (and tight jeans). A genuine compliment on a new hair style, article of clothes or something like that, however, will be appreciated because that is something the woman has done. Rick a/k/a "Dear Abby"

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    5. Well, I think we ALL like to be complimented over things we've achieved.

      In any case, I look forward to your forthcoming book: RICK'S GUIDE TO WINNING A WOMAN'S HEART. : )

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  2. Nice post. The difference between the apparent, immediate "truth" and the long-view deeper Truth are something I think about whenever politics and these various societal arguments come up. So and so might be an ass, by many empirical observations, but the deeper truth is that so and so is also one with creation and therefore has a deeper story to tell. Or the affects of their actions have a story that can, in itself reveal hope.

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    1. Well said, Eruch. One of the most difficult dances in life is seeing past the "Empirical Ass" to that deeper truth you speak of. The older I get the more I see that living life compassionately is the single most important thing we can do.

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  3. The bleak thing is interesting. One interesting point about the whole thing is that media in general had quite a few dives into bleakness in the 90s. In many ways that time is seen as being very well for the country. The economy was strong, crime had started to decrease, and many social problems from the past had at least taken large steps to be remedied. Also, in the 30s and 40s, when most would say America faced its darkest hour media tried to push towards happy. So, I'm not sure threat is really an answer.

    As for baby boomers pushing forward from Armageddon, and changing things, that is complicated. The 60s sure, but the 70s was full of bleakness and depression in the media. One example is that, as I mentioned earlier, I have decided to reread All of Man-things solo stories in what down time I can find. I had to take a break though. After averaging 3-4 issues a day (not bad but not great either, but I do have other hobbies for my free time) I recently had to take a break. Gerber's issues while very well written and enjoyable are depressing as all Hell, especially if you are in certain head spaces.

    Bleakness is not new. Especially since if you think too hard on certain even seemingly innocent concepts they can become very depressing.

    I suppose the one point that could be made is about morals. Even if something ends poorly (like say the TZ episode "The Monsters are due on Maple Street")if the point is to say that this is bad it takes some of the bleakness out, even if the story in inherently without hope for the characters, the sting is lessened because of the desire to alter the problems that cause it.

    I can't help but wonder if you (and admittedly me) don't dislike bleakness, but rather on how it can be represented. The fact is people are drawn to more negative parts of life. It is just how people are. The examples are everywhere, and I'll be glad to list them if asked. Perhaps whether something is truly bleak is in the eye of the beholder. here are a fair amount of things that I find absolutely depressing that most people never would, and vise versa there are things I truly enjoy and see no overly dark tinge to that others may not be able to stand.

    Wishing you nothing, but goodwill and hipness from here to the stars,
    Jack

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    1. Your point about TWILIGHT ZONE is very well taken, Jack. Stories like "Monsters" were meant as cautionary tales. Their purpose wasn't to tell you that we were doomed to walk that path, but to enlighten us and make us see that the dark path was to be avoided at all costs. As you noted, these were morality plays.

      Yes, of course there have always been dark stories...but when I look at, for instance, the television landscape right now, it's beyond bleak. Last night at the Emmys we had "Best Drama" nominations for BREAKING BAD, MAD MEN, GAME OF THRONES (to name three). All of them incredibly well done (and, yes, I've watched them. Binge-watched them, in fact), all of them incredibly bleak with a POV on life and humanity that is less than positive. (Although I still hold out hope for Don Draper in the final seasons of MM.)

      Part of it is, I think, simply because writers and producers have the freedom now to go dark in a way they couldn't in the past. In a way, it's a reaction to TV's fresh-scrubbed, "it'll all work out swell in the end" past.
      But, in my experience, it's much easier to write stories about how dark, how difficult, life is; how flawed and capable of evil people are. The real challenge is—as I said in the post—looking that darkness in the eye and seeing the face of God shining back.

      Re: Gerber. Yes, his stories were very dark for their time, but—in the 70's, at least—there was a tremendous humanity, a sense of compassion, of hope, at work in the stories, too.

      Thanks, as always, for your wonderful insights.

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    2. Gerber's stuff I put in the same category as the Twilight Zone. It could get bleak, and yes the essential humanity is part of it, but also the moral thing. Saying that this is not something the do is a silver lining, even if everything else goes wrong.

      The real issue to me, and I think you were edging towards it, is the rise of unlikable characters. Just scummy people. I think Walter White works, because he does have that humanity that shows how he got to where he is, but so many characters are designed to be unlikable. It is not just falling short, or not connecting, they are supposed to be unlikable. You mentioned Don Draper, but after all of these seasons, I don't want him to have a happy ending. he starts out sympathetic, he has weaknesses anyou feel for him. But after all this time he just kep[t going until you couldn't feel for him anymore, you felt for everyone around him (Oh and you should brace yourself because I have thought since the first episode I watched that it would end with him having cancer, though I did at one point think he might go hippie).

      Wishing you nothing, but goodwill and hipness from here to the stars,
      Jack

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    3. Well, with all the cigarette smoking on MAD MEN, Jack, there's a good chance they're all going to get cancer! That said, given the last episode of the last season—where Don, essentially, outs himself to his kids, I hold out hope for some kind of redemption. Then again, given the general tone and POV of the show, I might be very wrong.

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    4. A large part of the beleif in cancer was not the smoking itself, but rather how much attention they called top it in the first few seasons. There was nothing casual about it.

      Don't forget though, this was also the same season where Don came out to his second wife about not really having (at least fully) emotions for his children. The past 2-2 1/2 seasons really made me dislike the character.

      adding all the more (as I think your addition did (correct me if I'm wrong) the importance of likable... or at least understandable characters, I really feel that it ads a more tolerable shade to bleak stories.

      Wishing you nothing, but goodwill and hipness from here to the stars,
      Jack

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    5. The scene where Don talks about his kids was an astonishing one, I thought, because at first it seemed like he was cold and unfeeling...and then we realized just how much he DOES love them. Great writing....and an Emmy-worthy performance from Jon Hamm. (Who, amazingly, has never won one.)

      Yes, I think understanding a character makes all the difference—it's also the quality that makes for great villains. If they're not just mustache-twirling "embodiments of evil," if they have hearts and souls and clear motivations, rooted in something relatable, they stop being "bad guys" and start being PEOPLE. That, I think, is the appeal of Walter White for many people. It's one of the great super-villain origin stories.

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    6. Another great example is Dr. Doom. Comic readers lover stories of Doom. He is almost as beloved in the FF as The Thing... maybe more. However there is no secret of how terrible he is, both to the Fantastic Four, and in the dysfunctional relationship with his subjects who love and hate him all at once. However he is so human you are grabbed. You want to know more about how someone so human could be so dark.

      I feel that it would be easier to get to the core of what you mean however if you stated some of the things you couldn't get through sepite of quality. Of course I'll understand if not.

      Re Don Draper: I always though that he did love his kids. Like a lot, he was just distant. But when he gave the speech my jaw hit the ground. It was just the most astonishing thing. It was not no much that he never realized how much he cared. He didn't have the right feelings (or at least accessed them) until then. Now that is both shiny and bleak all at once.

      Wishing you nothing, but goodwill and hipness from here to the stars,
      Jack

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    7. Doom is a great example, Jack, and one that's also occurred to me while discussing this topic. That said, would you really want to watch the story of Doctor Doom week in and week out for six or seven years? I wouldn't.

      One of the reasons that I talk around some of these things is that I'm not comfortable directly criticizing someone's work, mentioning it by name, in a public forum like this. Especially since much of that work is done by amazingly gifted people.

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    8. It depends on how they played Doom off. For that matter what point is it it? Is it when he is the FFs nemesis or when he is growing up, or when he is freeing hjs country from oppressive rule?

      One TV show that I think knew how to walk the bleak line was the X-files. It had some rather bleak points, especially in the earlier seasons. However it never dragged you down.

      Also, I figure as much about the other works. You don't want to be they guy bad criticizing someone's work, even if you acknowledge quality.


      Wishing you nothing, but goodwill and hipness from here to the stars,
      Jack

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    9. The X-FILES could go very dark but the Mulder-Scully relationship—based on respect, friendship and evolving love—was what anchored it. And, for all the darkness, its core was that innocent urge to look up at the stars and wonder what it's all about. To reach for the impossible.

      As I've said, I have no problem with the darkness—just read my stories!—it's the overall feeling the story leaves you with that matters to me. If a writer drags me through the sewers but, in the end, the message is that life has value, love matters, there's hope and meaning in the world, then I'm in. If the message is that the sewer is as good as it gets, I don't care how brilliant the writer is, I don't want any part of his story.

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    10. I think that echos another part of the X-Files, for all of the dark things, especially involving the conspiracy, there was a positive spin in that there were at least three people (don't forget Skinner) who were going to try to find the truth.

      And, oh yeah you write dark? please. What is more jolly than the Child Within story?


      Wishing you nothing, but goodwill and hipness from here to the stars,
      Jack

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    11. Yes, I remember the reaction when "The Child Within" first came out: "A laugh riot!" said the Comics Buyer's Guide. "You'll howl with delight!" said the Comics Journal.

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  4. Thank you for writing this. I've been struggling with this myself. I long for great stories in writing/movies/television/etc., but I am finding I am less than satisfied with stories that leave my inner self feeling like it needs a shower.

    I am especially finding this in TV, in which you might spend 60-100 hours with a group of characters. While shows I enjoyed like Lost, Firefly, and Battlestar Galactica all gave a feeling of hope, ruminated on the inner goodness of humanity, and left the viewer with a sense of wonder, it seems that the current crop of top tier shows just leave me feeling badly. I want to watch shows like Breaking Bad, Dexter, The Sorpranos, Deadwood, and Mad Men, but after an episode or two I reject them almost on a spiritual level. My internal gauges reject these shows with the limited viewing hours I have, demanding something more edifying. Yet because these shows are so highly touted, I feel like I "need" to watch them. Only to try again and get the same "This is a well made show, but I can't watch it" feeling.

    So I guess I am both thanking you for publicly confirming my internal feelings and also venting a little bit. :) I always appreciate your insights!

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  5. Sounds like we're very much on the same page, Tony. Interesting that the shows you hold dear are all science-ficion/fantasy series. It's a genre that's very comfortable looking the darkness square in the eye and yet, as you point out, the best of it looks deeper into the human condition, the spiritual heart.

    Another recent show that fits that model—and one I still miss—is FRINGE: darkness and struggle, yes, but, at its heart it was about connection, love, family. Redemption. All those themes brilliantly embodied by the great John Noble (and the fact that he didn't get an Emmy nomination for his portrayal of Walter Bishop perhaps says something about the current mindset).

    Thanks for checking in!

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    1. JMD -

      Thanks for taking the time to comment!

      As you noted, I am realizing that it may be sci fi/fantasy type series that I am more inclined to love. The more I think about it, even other shows I have loved like Miracles and Carnivale still would fall into the sci fi/fantasy box.

      I'll take your suggestion on Fringe. I watched the first 5 or so episodes a few years back, but didn't go any further. I'll have to go back and give them another try! Thanks!

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    2. What FRINGE seems to be at the beginning, Tony, and what it evolves into are two very different things. Stick with it. I'll think you'll be grateful you did!

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  6. I read your blog post shortly after I saw the new Woody Allen movie, "Blue Jasmine." It's very well done, and it completely undermined my soul. I'm in the middle of a very long period of personal darkness--I don't want to give details--and
    this movie is not what I needed.
    Shortly before I saw this, I read an excerpt from a mid-70's Ken Kesey interview in which he said that he was tired of anti-hero literature and wanted to read stories about people pulling themselves out of their crap.
    To grow as a human being I feel one needs to encounter a good chunk of dark art for many reasons that I don't have time to go into. Think of Shakespeare's
    tragedies; they have a weird, ennobling quality.
    But the more I live life and battle all kinds of demons, I hunger for the Light. This is partly why I've returned to comics and why I search out your work (I really need every issue of your Spectre series--the few issues I have really, really help).
    I used to read Philip Roth books. They're amazingly well-written, but I couldn't take them now. Bradbury would be more helpful.
    In art, whether it's high or low or sideways, I'm looking for Light and Spirit. Both can shine through in totally unexpected places (that was my experience with your Man-Thing work 100 years ago in late '98).
    So thank you for being one of those Lights. You're doing high service for lots of people out there.
    (Thanks also for mentioning the 60's and the Beatles! I'm a deadhead, but the
    Beatles come right after. Although all four are totally human--I think--I see them
    as almost angelic emanations sent to Earth to help us all out!)

    Mike Freed

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    1. "Very well done and it completely undermined my soul" really encapsulates how I feel about this topic. It's possible to profoundly appreciate, even be in awe of, the talent that goes into a piece of work; but that doesn't mean you embrace that work. I think it all comes down to our personal definitions of what art is. And I suspect that we have very similar definitions.

      Your point about tragedies is well taken; and, just because something has a tragic ending, doesn't mean that there isn't value in the work, that there isn't that ennobling quality you talk about.

      Thanks for mentioning both SPECTRE and MAN-THING, two favorite projects. I would love to see DC collect the SPECTRE run. The art from Ryan Sook and Norm Breyfogle alone is worth the price of admission.
      MAN-THING was cancelled way too soon. I've always felt that, if Liam Sharp and I had been allowed to continue, the series would have evolved into something very special.

      I know what you mean about the Beatles. I remember an interview from years ago with, I think, George Harrison (possibly John Lennon), where he talked about the karma of those four coming together. Yes, they were four flawed individuals—as human as the rest of us—but there was something magical, something transcendent, that happened when they created music together. There was a vibration of hope that shimmered out across the planet. And shimmers still.

      Thanks for checking in, Mike. Please feel free to join the discussion here any time the spirit moves you!

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  7. Confession: I have yet to see a single episode of BREAKING BAD! I understand the gist, seeing how a man with oppressive difficulties can make horrible choices for what seem like the right reasons. But I have no personal interest in dwelling in the darkness that long. One of the virtues of TZ cautionary tales is brevity (and the same could probably be said of Gerber in monthy doses). If you told Walter White's story in an hour, it would no doubt come across differently. I'm pretty okay with darker tales in smaller doses.

    The fantastic backdrops are typically more ennobling in my opinion. I'd include Shakespeare because of the poetry and romance in play.

    And Jack makes a fantastic point: what some find depressing others find optimistic (or at least) cathartic. Occasionally you listen to sad song or read a sad book or say something stupid and cynical to get it out of your system.

    But I prefer stories and songs that bring us out on the other side. "The path to Heaven runs though miles of clouded Hell" as The Imagine Dragons say.

    --David



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    1. Your're right, David, the catharsis point is a good one. But I also agree with you about spending too much time in that dark. How long can you stay in there before you go blind?

      Perhaps most fantasy has more hope in it because dreamers are inherently more hopeful...?

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    2. I'm inclined to say DREAMING is inherently more hopeful. Your Vonnegut example in Addendum is a good one. Not a rosy outlook...but perhaps the more he surrendered to the Dream, the more he hoped and believed in spite of his professed cynicism. A lot of writers who strike me as cynical in their personal beliefs are bursting with optimism when they surrender to The Story. Vonnegut can damn humanity all he wants, but Mr. Rosewater gets the final word!

      And I think we'd both agree that Rosewater's humanity is the core reality, while Vonnegut's cynicism is the superficial, adolescent quality that sloughs off like dead skin.

      When you surrender to the Story--to God--you can only maintain cynicism through a concerted (and painful) effort. The reality breaks through in spite of one's best (and worst) intentions.

      --David




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    3. Wonderfully, beautifully, said, David. Thank you.

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