Literature is a wound from which flows the indispensable divorce between words and things. All our blood can flow out of that hole. ~Carlos Fuentes
There is literature designed to tell a story, a story keeping the reader engaged through the creation of page turning tension. Tension that builds until climax leaving a person emotionally spent.
There is literature predicted on word pictures, playful word constructions. Impossible imagery that feels more real in the ruminating mind than the physical book hoarding the words on the parchment glued between its covers. This poetry needs to be read, reread, and reread again to tease out the many facets hidden in the imagery.
My favorite literature, my favorite art, combines story tension with impossible imagery – images that stick to the mind long after the climax as the face of a lover is cherished long after the act of love becomes personal history. This literature demands the page be turned but makes it difficult to turn the page because the beautiful words demand attention the way the skin of a lover demands caresses as a foundational component of intimacy.
I find this duality in the works of Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Eduardo Galeano, Carlos Fuentes, Arundathi Roy, Aka Kurniawan and many others who’s works, while reading, feel akin to a long night of passionate love making where every facet of pleasure is explored on the road to final orgasmic release.
Most of the authors I have discovered fitting this style of literature are those born outside the US. Perhaps this is borne of the propensity for people sprouting from the soil of the US to communicate in a low context style where words are king, where the message is the words. While in many other cultures, the high context cultures, the words exist but the message is hidden in the space between the words, in the silence separating the lines.
It has taken me time to learn to appreciate those spaces, to comprehend those silences. I am glad I have taken the love making slowly for it has opened a multi-hued world to me with ever changing colors where once I lived steeped monochrome unawares color existed.