Exploring Repression and Creative Expression in Literature
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Chapter 1: The Nature of Repression
Let’s delve into the concept of repression and its impact on writers and their creations. Harold Bloom references Freud, stating that "Every forgotten precursor becomes a giant of the imagination." This implies that elements we suppress, or remain unaware of, significantly influence the text's meaning, irrespective of the writer's conscious intentions. Bloom elaborates on this idea:
The beauty of repression, in poetic terms, lies in the fact that buried memories and desires have nowhere to manifest in language except to rise to the heights of sublimity, showcasing the ego's delight in its operations.
This notion of repression's power is also echoed in Jung's exploration of the 'shadow' aspect of the psyche. The profound issues that affect us are often those we choose to repress, remaining partially oblivious to them. Through analysis, we can uncover these hidden issues and address the root causes of our repression.
The implications of this for understanding authors and their texts are significant. Beyond the myriad interpretations a text can generate during reading, inherent meanings already exist within the writing itself. The writer is influenced by subconscious tensions and factors they may not fully recognize. Consequently, the less aware a writer is of these influences, the more deeply they permeate the text. Strong literary works resonate powerfully with readers because these shared influences reflect common human experiences. It’s as if the subconscious of the writer connects with that of the reader in ways they do not fully comprehend.
A major aspect of the value and purpose of texts lies in their ability to mediate these human experiences—almost like exorcising inner demons. While both the writer and reader engage in constructing meaning, their experiences differ. Both processes involve a certain distancing from life's events, yet the physical actions and psychological functions of reading and writing diverge significantly. I believe we read to escape, while we write to exert control. Engaging with a text often means yielding to the author's authority, finding security in a structured environment. Ironically, for writers, the act of creating represents a form of escape, granting a sense of control in a chaotic world.
This interplay of similarities and differences is vividly illustrated in Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (1818). In her introduction to the 1831 edition, she openly reflects on the inception of her novel:
I awoke in fear. The idea consumed me, sending chills down my spine, and I yearned to replace the terrifying image in my mind with the reality surrounding me. I still recall the very room—the dark floor, the closed shutters, the moonlight struggling to penetrate—and the feeling that the shimmering lake and towering Alps lay just beyond. Yet, I couldn’t easily rid myself of that dreadful specter; it lingered. I resolved to focus on something else.
I returned to my ghost story—my tedious, ill-fated ghost story! Oh, if only I could craft a tale that would terrify my readers as I had been terrified that night! Suddenly, an exhilarating idea struck me: "What frightened me will surely frighten others; I need only to depict the specter that haunted my sleepless nights."
The next day, I proclaimed that I had conceived a story.
From this narrative, it's evident that the writer's goal was not merely to instill fear but to mitigate her own anxiety while simultaneously invoking dread in her audience. Towards the end of her introduction, Shelley explicitly distinguishes between her relationship with her text and that of her readers:
And now, once more, I send forth my monstrous offspring into the world. I have an affection for it, as it represents a time when death and sorrow were just words that held no true resonance in my heart. The pages reflect many walks, drives, and conversations shared with someone I shall never see again. However, these memories are mine alone; my readers need not concern themselves with them.
This complex relationship between creation and its dual significance is deeply woven into "Frankenstein" itself. Until he achieves his goal of creating life, Victor Frankenstein is driven by noble aspirations. Yet, the realization of his ambition consistently leads to tragedy and remorse. This dynamic, where deep engagement results in conflicting meanings, mirrors Bloom’s insights on repression.