Monthly Archives: September 2017
I’ve touched on this topic off and on in other posts, although not exactly from this direction. I am a confirmed bookaholic–reading is as necessary as breathing for me and I get completely lost in whatever story I’m reading. The world around me dissolves and all that remains is the story. My husband says I “inhale” books. Actually, I don’t inhale or devour them as much as I absorb or assimilate stories. The story becomes part of me, part of who I am and what I believe, which is why I’m extremely picky about the types of stories I read. Story has a power influence on me and I select the stories with great care because I know the effect they have.
Story goes beyond format. I’ve always been a bit bothered by people who despise certain forms of story simply because it doesn’t seem “literate” enough. Stories passed down by mouth are sometimes seen as less “educated,” yet many of our faerie tales started as verbal legends which were later written down to become beloved tales read by millions. Others are tales told to children whose parent later set the same ideas down on paper. The story itself doesn’t change with the transformation from voice to print; it expands. Print allows the story to add details not always included in a verbal rendition, yet the story itself remains intact.
It’s the same with music. There are people who can play shaped notes, but not the regular notes on the same staff. Others can play sharps, but not flats; while others play flats but not sharps. This has always astounded me since both sharps and flats are the same keys on the piano. I cannot see the difference when playing.
In story, the format is really as unimportant as whether the note is A flat or G sharp–it’s the same note. Whether a story is told in comic book form, graphic novel, ebook, print, or even a visual medium such as movie or television, as long as it is well-told, what’s the difference? How can we limit the universe of story by confining it to a specific form? Some tales are best told visually (Hunt for Red October); others fits better in a graphic novel form (Atomic Robo). In spite of the two film versions, The Scarlet Pimpernel remains a story best told in print as the film endings seemed contrived and lacked the emotional punch of the writer’s words as she describes Marguerite’s agony in choosing between her beloved brother or her beloved husband.
The power of story transcends the shackles of form. It lingers long after the physical packaging has faded into obscurity. A wise writer (and a wise reader) will not judge a story by its cover.