There are probably a lot of different reasons we read literature with disturbing, morbid, frightening, or just emotionally taxing content. It seems the most popular theory is that our interest stems from some latent morbid enjoyment of seeing other people suffer. The Germans call it schadenfreude.
My senior project for my English major has led me to question my preferences in literature and I have been forming my own theories.
There is probably something of the mad scientist in all great authors. We may not like pain, but it is a universal experience among human kind, and because it exists we feel the urge to explore it. It is a twisted extension of the third grade boy who sticks his tonge to the frozen metal bar on the playground. Literature provides a controlled testing environment for these otherwise dangerous urges. Insanity (an affliction that is quite serious and something I would never wish on anyone in reality) is one area of intense fascination for many artists.
Consider a scene from Charlse Dickens' Our Mutual Friend in book 3 chapter 10. For those who don't know the book, in one of the many sub stories of the novel two men of questionable character are in love with the same girl. One of them, Eugene, is a selfish idle gentleman with very little money and the other is a self made man who scratched his way up to a position as a school teacher. Unfortunately this man, Bradley, is mentally very unstable. The woman they love is of the lower working class and she recognizes the danger posed by the interest of both men. The school teacher is obviously unstable. The gentleman has no regard for how damaging his careless infatuation is to her reputation. She runs away. Both men become desperate to find her.
In the scene I mentioned Eugene is explaining to his friend how he is being followed. Almost every night he goes out walking all over London, knowing that his unstable rival follows him in the hopes that he will lead her to the woman.
My senior project for my English major has led me to question my preferences in literature and I have been forming my own theories.
There is probably something of the mad scientist in all great authors. We may not like pain, but it is a universal experience among human kind, and because it exists we feel the urge to explore it. It is a twisted extension of the third grade boy who sticks his tonge to the frozen metal bar on the playground. Literature provides a controlled testing environment for these otherwise dangerous urges. Insanity (an affliction that is quite serious and something I would never wish on anyone in reality) is one area of intense fascination for many artists.
Consider a scene from Charlse Dickens' Our Mutual Friend in book 3 chapter 10. For those who don't know the book, in one of the many sub stories of the novel two men of questionable character are in love with the same girl. One of them, Eugene, is a selfish idle gentleman with very little money and the other is a self made man who scratched his way up to a position as a school teacher. Unfortunately this man, Bradley, is mentally very unstable. The woman they love is of the lower working class and she recognizes the danger posed by the interest of both men. The school teacher is obviously unstable. The gentleman has no regard for how damaging his careless infatuation is to her reputation. She runs away. Both men become desperate to find her.
In the scene I mentioned Eugene is explaining to his friend how he is being followed. Almost every night he goes out walking all over London, knowing that his unstable rival follows him in the hopes that he will lead her to the woman.
"I goad the schoolmaster to madness.
I make the schoolmaster so ridiculous, and so aware of being made
ridiculous, that I see him chafe and fret at every pore when we cross
one another. The amiable occupation has been the solace of my life,
since I was baulked in the manner unnecessary to recall. I have derived
inexpressible comfort from it. I do it thus: I stroll out after dark,
stroll a little way, look in at a window and furtively look out for the
schoolmaster. Sooner or later, I perceive the schoolmaster on the watch;
sometimes accompanied by his hopeful pupil; oftener, pupil-less. Having
made sure of his watching me, I tempt him on, all over London. One
night I go east, another night north, in a few nights I go all round the
compass. Sometimes, I walk; sometimes, I proceed in cabs, draining the
pocket of the schoolmaster who then follows in cabs. I study and get
up abstruse No Thoroughfares in the course of the day. With Venetian
mystery I seek those No Thoroughfares at night, glide into them by means
of dark courts, tempt the schoolmaster to follow, turn suddenly, and
catch him before he can retreat. Then we face one another, and I pass
him as unaware of his existence, and he undergoes grinding torments.
Similarly, I walk at a great pace down a short street, rapidly turn the
corner, and, getting out of his view, as rapidly turn back. I catch him
coming on post, again pass him as unaware of his existence, and again
he undergoes grinding torments. Night after night his disappointment is
acute, but hope springs eternal in the scholastic breast, and he follows
me again to-morrow."
I make the schoolmaster so ridiculous, and so aware of being made
ridiculous, that I see him chafe and fret at every pore when we cross
one another. The amiable occupation has been the solace of my life,
since I was baulked in the manner unnecessary to recall. I have derived
inexpressible comfort from it. I do it thus: I stroll out after dark,
stroll a little way, look in at a window and furtively look out for the
schoolmaster. Sooner or later, I perceive the schoolmaster on the watch;
sometimes accompanied by his hopeful pupil; oftener, pupil-less. Having
made sure of his watching me, I tempt him on, all over London. One
night I go east, another night north, in a few nights I go all round the
compass. Sometimes, I walk; sometimes, I proceed in cabs, draining the
pocket of the schoolmaster who then follows in cabs. I study and get
up abstruse No Thoroughfares in the course of the day. With Venetian
mystery I seek those No Thoroughfares at night, glide into them by means
of dark courts, tempt the schoolmaster to follow, turn suddenly, and
catch him before he can retreat. Then we face one another, and I pass
him as unaware of his existence, and he undergoes grinding torments.
Similarly, I walk at a great pace down a short street, rapidly turn the
corner, and, getting out of his view, as rapidly turn back. I catch him
coming on post, again pass him as unaware of his existence, and again
he undergoes grinding torments. Night after night his disappointment is
acute, but hope springs eternal in the scholastic breast, and he follows
me again to-morrow."
The scene is emotionally horific, especially in context of the whole work. I remember having to put the book down for a few seconds after reading that passage for the first time. Yet it is one of my favorite scenes. Eugene is obviously enjoying Bradley's suffering, but I don't. I am disgusted by it. So why do I like the concept so much?
To be honest, I'm slightly intrigued by insanity. (Great thing to put in my first blog, right?) As a very controlled person, I would link my interest to my fascination with dreams and what the unconsious mind can concoct when reason or consciousness frees it from restraint. But my afinity for this scene is really even more basic than that. Since I am safely in the position of detached observer, I find the fact that Bradley can be goaded into insanity interesting from a amateur psychologist's standpoint. I feel sorry for Bradley (even though I don't like him) and I hate Eugene for being so cruel, but the whole situation is irrisistably interesting.
Perhaps that cold interest is no better than the schadenfreude, but I believe there can even be what we would consider positive motivations for reading about people in pain. I don't just mean a desire to not be igonrant of reality and other people's suffering. I am talking about the human potential and need to sympathize and nurture other people, whether real or imaginary.
to be continued...
Stone, Marcus. Better to be Abel than Cain. http://dickens.ucsc.edu/OMF/cain.html
Stone, Marcus. Better to be Abel than Cain. http://dickens.ucsc.edu/OMF/cain.html
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