Well, all this really does is reveal the paucity of realism to me— outside of an observer, walls have no attributes at all. They don’t have colour or heaviness or anything like that; in a sense they aren’t even really walls. Any understanding of what a wall is only exists in a mind.
The idea there’s a sharp distinction between sensing a wall as grey and sensing a wall as malevolent is a fantasy in itself. Neither the greyness nor malevolence are real. We have never seen the world which is really real. But in the world where we actually exist – which is only ever held in our minds – a threat is often perceived as a presence; a thing which surrounds is perceived as enclosing. To describe a wall in this way is a more honest description of what a wall is in that circumstance. Realism has an untenable view of the real
> outside of an observer, walls have no attributes at all. They don’t have colour or heaviness or anything like that; in a sense they aren’t even really walls. Any understanding of what a wall is only exists in a mind.
I can't quite believe you mean that literally, but I don't know what point you're trying to make, exactly. But if you do mean it…
Let's think about the famous tree falling in the forest. Does it make a sound if there's no one around? Of course it does. Sound is the vibration of air molecules (or molecules of other fluids or even solids, but let's keep it to air for our purposes). That vibration happens with or without human perception.
Unless we define 'sound' as the interaction of the air vibrations with the human eardrum and nervous system. But that seems very anthropocentric at least.
Similarly, then, the walls are reflecting the combination of frequencies of light that we call 'grey' even without anyone looking at them. And they have the mass they have.
I mean, do you think nothing in the universe had mass before humans were around to feel weighed down with it? If so, the shades of professors Newton and Einstein want to have some words.
> But in the world where we actually exist – which is only ever held in our minds
I think that the world outside our experience exists, but in a way which is totally apart from what we experience. What I’m trying to say is that none of us have ever seen a wall, only what our mind models as a wall.
And I think this is important to the idea of realism because it implies that the world outside an observer might be, well, indescribable. You’ve written about mass existing before humans— my understanding is that Kant would have taken issue with this, but with the word “before.” He thought time and space were constructs in a similar way that “grey” or “wall” are: that whatever exists outside us is a sort of spaceless, timeless thing our minds are gamely interpreting as what we see.
And this doesn’t mean there is no objective world, or even that our minds are especially important within it. It just means that the shadows on Plato’s cave might be different to the things that cast it in ways we haven’t even considered, and which are unintelligible. This isn’t a postmodern idea or even a modern one. It is one that is very old indeed.
So I think any fiction necessarily implies a perspective, and the idea that you can write the world as it really is would be pretty suspect. It’s the half-detachment from this that I find off-putting, I think?
Doesn’t it depend if we are in the narrator’s or character’s head? I am thinking of the point you made about the protagonist Cody in a short story by George Saunders. Cody uses words that GS would never use. So could he notebook on the desk be malevolent or the walls crush inwards if that if the characters perspective and state of mind?
My notebook resolutely slumbers on the desk, next to the catatonic pens. (Deliberate choice of both the writing hiatus and the personification. Just in case anyone was concerned).
William Golding uses this to good effect - e.g., as ‘society’ falls apart in Lord Of The Flies, so the physical world itself takes on malevolence. And in The Inheritors part of the voice of the Old People and the way they live in harmony with the natural world is brought out through some personification of that natural world. (By contrast, when the narrative switches to the New People that disappears.)
I’m embarking on a sort of folk horror novel and am, for the first time, intentionally using this type of personification. I want the trees and the grass and the birds to feel as though they are doing something to my character, even if they are not, but with the melodrama of your malevolent castle walls. It’s tricky.
His self confidence lies motionless on the asphalt within a chalk outline of itself. Detective Chad Chaddfurter, lighting an unfiltered, “Toby Litt did this.”
Well, all this really does is reveal the paucity of realism to me— outside of an observer, walls have no attributes at all. They don’t have colour or heaviness or anything like that; in a sense they aren’t even really walls. Any understanding of what a wall is only exists in a mind.
The idea there’s a sharp distinction between sensing a wall as grey and sensing a wall as malevolent is a fantasy in itself. Neither the greyness nor malevolence are real. We have never seen the world which is really real. But in the world where we actually exist – which is only ever held in our minds – a threat is often perceived as a presence; a thing which surrounds is perceived as enclosing. To describe a wall in this way is a more honest description of what a wall is in that circumstance. Realism has an untenable view of the real
> outside of an observer, walls have no attributes at all. They don’t have colour or heaviness or anything like that; in a sense they aren’t even really walls. Any understanding of what a wall is only exists in a mind.
I can't quite believe you mean that literally, but I don't know what point you're trying to make, exactly. But if you do mean it…
Let's think about the famous tree falling in the forest. Does it make a sound if there's no one around? Of course it does. Sound is the vibration of air molecules (or molecules of other fluids or even solids, but let's keep it to air for our purposes). That vibration happens with or without human perception.
Unless we define 'sound' as the interaction of the air vibrations with the human eardrum and nervous system. But that seems very anthropocentric at least.
Similarly, then, the walls are reflecting the combination of frequencies of light that we call 'grey' even without anyone looking at them. And they have the mass they have.
I mean, do you think nothing in the universe had mass before humans were around to feel weighed down with it? If so, the shades of professors Newton and Einstein want to have some words.
> But in the world where we actually exist – which is only ever held in our minds
There's actually a real world out there.
The malevolence is a metaphor, of course.
I think that the world outside our experience exists, but in a way which is totally apart from what we experience. What I’m trying to say is that none of us have ever seen a wall, only what our mind models as a wall.
And I think this is important to the idea of realism because it implies that the world outside an observer might be, well, indescribable. You’ve written about mass existing before humans— my understanding is that Kant would have taken issue with this, but with the word “before.” He thought time and space were constructs in a similar way that “grey” or “wall” are: that whatever exists outside us is a sort of spaceless, timeless thing our minds are gamely interpreting as what we see.
And this doesn’t mean there is no objective world, or even that our minds are especially important within it. It just means that the shadows on Plato’s cave might be different to the things that cast it in ways we haven’t even considered, and which are unintelligible. This isn’t a postmodern idea or even a modern one. It is one that is very old indeed.
So I think any fiction necessarily implies a perspective, and the idea that you can write the world as it really is would be pretty suspect. It’s the half-detachment from this that I find off-putting, I think?
Doesn’t it depend if we are in the narrator’s or character’s head? I am thinking of the point you made about the protagonist Cody in a short story by George Saunders. Cody uses words that GS would never use. So could he notebook on the desk be malevolent or the walls crush inwards if that if the characters perspective and state of mind?
My notebook resolutely slumbers on the desk, next to the catatonic pens. (Deliberate choice of both the writing hiatus and the personification. Just in case anyone was concerned).
William Golding uses this to good effect - e.g., as ‘society’ falls apart in Lord Of The Flies, so the physical world itself takes on malevolence. And in The Inheritors part of the voice of the Old People and the way they live in harmony with the natural world is brought out through some personification of that natural world. (By contrast, when the narrative switches to the New People that disappears.)
I’m embarking on a sort of folk horror novel and am, for the first time, intentionally using this type of personification. I want the trees and the grass and the birds to feel as though they are doing something to my character, even if they are not, but with the melodrama of your malevolent castle walls. It’s tricky.
Thank you for this advice. I found one example of this in my novel's MS, which I've now edited accordingly.
Love it. I’m reminded of the remarkable opening paragraph of Shirley Jackson’s The House on Haunted Hill. Great post.
His self confidence lies motionless on the asphalt within a chalk outline of itself. Detective Chad Chaddfurter, lighting an unfiltered, “Toby Litt did this.”
Should read ‘without the melodrama…’
👏👏👏👏🙏🙏🙏🙏
Not sorry, living, vibrant thingy things are my jam. Great essay.