Posts Tagged ‘navel-gazing’

Why I blog

When I am asked why I write a blog, the ready answer – and, for once, an honest answer – is “pure egotism”. How can one not be thrilled by the thought that there are people whom I do not know, from, literally, all round the world, who actually read what I have written? Even if – as is more than likely – their response on having read my posts is “What a load of shite!”?

I recently submitted myself, not too unwillingly, I must admit, to a period of extended navel-gazing about this blog. It has been going for over seven years now. I have spent on it more hours than I care to think of. And, in recent months, I have been so physically tired that writing even casual posts has been proving difficult. I have even wondered whether I should stop now.

Other than egotism, I really am not sure why I do it. To share my enthusiasms? To let off steam? To come into contact with like-minded people, with whom I can talk about matters other than football? Yes, all of these, I suppose. But one motive I disclaim is the pedagogic: I do not pretend to know or to understand any of the works I write about to anywhere near an adequate level. All I think I am doing is setting out my own thoughts and reactions to what I read. These thoughts may occasionally hit the mark; at other times, they may be wildly off target. But, for better or worse, they are my thoughts at time of writing. And since every individual human is different, every individual’s reaction to a major work of literature – for only major works may be validly viewed from different perspectives – is different also.

And, I argue with myself, recording my own perspective – one perspective among many, obviously – may be worthwhile, even with works such as, say, Hamlet or Don Quixote, where it is not humanly possible even in an entire lifetime to read all that has been written about them. It is highly unlikely, to say the least, that I have anything to say about these works that hasn’t been said before, that I have thoughts about these works that haven’t been thought before. But so what? Does that mean we must stay silent?

I think there are really two main reasons why I blog. The first is that I feel the need to let off steam when I get angry about something. In this blog, what tends to rile me is the intrusion into literature – or into anything else, for that matter – of identity politics. I tend to lose my temper also when the sense of transcendence that the arts can induce is denied, or is denigrated. I realise that a quick temper is not the particularly conducive to cohesion either of thought or of expression, but, as the Earl of Kent said, anger hath a privilege. (Mind you, he was put in the stocks shortly afterwards.)

The second, and, I like to think, the more important reason is that I really do find it hard to contain my enthusiasm. I don’t really care that I have no new insights on Hamlet or on Don Quixote. I am not aiming to impart fresh new insights in the first place. I merely want to record my experience of reading – explain what I felt and what I thought while I was reading; or, sometimes, what aftertaste the book leaves behind. Of course, I try to make my writing as readable and as entertaining as I can: it is true that I write this blog primarily for myself, but I do want others to read it as well! I try also to say a bit more than “I liked it” or “I didn’t” (or, in contemporary parlance, “It was awesome!” or “It sucked!”). For, with the possible exception of supporting the Scotland football team (another of my vices), there’s nothing more boring than that.

In defiance of many modes of thought currently fashionable, I believe that there is such a thing as intrinsic quality, that everything isn’t merely “a matter of opinion”. Nowadays, “it’s just my opinion” is usually said with the intention ending a dialogue, rather than starting one. That is not to say that opinion (or personal taste) does not exist, or isn’t important: but we are not trapped inside our own minds – it is possible to take a leap of the imagination and look beyond our own personal perspective, and, in the course of doing so, broaden it.

For if there were no such thing as intrinsic quality, dialogue can get no further than a mere exchange of opinions. (And, to judge by so much I see online, dialogue usually doesn’t get further than that: it is very depressing.) But the corollary is that if there is such a thing as intrinsic quality; if Hamlet and Don Quixote are indeed great works, irrespective of how we may personally view them; then dialogue becomes not merely possible, but also important. Not just dialogue between learned academics, but also between ordinary readers like myself. For how else can we look beyond our own personal perspectives but by getting to know the perspectives of others? Now, more than ever, we need dialogue that goes a few steps beyond “It was awesome!” or “It sucked!”

And this, I think, is why I blog: I want to be part of this dialogue. I am not always very good at responding to others (especially these days, when the spirit is still willing but the flesh is even weaker than before), but I do feel it important to read and to absorb what other readers make of their reading. This kind of dialogue I don’t get, I’m afraid, from Goodreads or from Amazon “reviews”: but I do from many a blog I could name.

And so, for the moment at least, I think I shall carry on blogging. And all those readers from around the world who flatter my ego by adding to my blog stats can continue reading my posts, and saying to themselves: “What a load of shite!”