Fearless Symmetry

Fiction too often betrays the reality of time & being. Or perhaps we allow it to, we initiate this betrayal by our need for symmetrical, operatic narratives, destinies strung on a bow. Are they attempts to deny the nature of existence? How can satisfaction be gained from disregarding the chaos of life, the halting progression of time, cyclical patterns, moments of amnesia & blinding clarity? Narrative is not mechanical or even logical. If it creates suspense or metes out resolutions, it does so spontaneously, on numerous occasions & sometimes the resolutions turn out to be cataclysmic & sometimes the suspense is a cold hand in a movie theater. Narrative clenches, expires, bursts & hiccups infinitely. Fiction should embody that infinity, that impossibility. That's where the engagement, the seduction of the drama lies. The organic imprint of eternity. Each work of fiction self-generates its own narrative logic: ideally, a logic which devours itself whole. Fiction that establishes its own rational scheme & then asystematically disassembles it in a dance or trance-like fashion. Discovers then dismisses the laws of its universe, opting instead for a form of intoxicated gnosticism. The writer chooses to have no faith in the logic of his work. He cannot depend on its structure. He renounces reason as language unspools before him. Like a hermit who long ago lost faith in god but who remains cave-bound, blissfully entangled in his own visions.