Tuesday, Feb. 08, 2005 @ 9:28 am
Love, lust, lost
I have always been drawn to the emotional gravity of books, music and writing (this journal amongst others) as it reflects the sovereign nature of our thoughts. It is an unobtrusive world, a world where interpretation is intimate, and yet this relationship is not entirely monogamous. It shares multiple paramours, all of whom are vastly attracted to its intrinsic and inescapable beauty. To say that this world is promiscuous is exceedingly denigrating, as it remains true and unspoiled to its recipient in spite of its many liaisons.
There is a degree of insolence when we measure one paradigm of affection above another, and when we express bewilderment at a person’s choice of love. Creation is inherently magical -- it is never nice to tell the mother of a child that she has an ugly kid. There are plenty of discreet and more indiscriminate ways of expressing our loves and I have tried consciously not to depart from that route. I am guilty of being such a literary snob and we all know where the root of that psychology comes from. If the role of the critic is to educate and to refine preferences, there is a near impossibility (and might I add a remarkable arrogance) to that .Passion has a mercurial temperament and our devotion to a particular genre of music or literature can be unrelenting.