Any reader who enthuses over this book is going to have a hard time writing about it. And that’s funny. Because it’s a book about writing. If a book about writing has done its job, then writing about it—writing about anything—should be easier, no?
If that’s your goal…consult a different book.
If your goal, as a reader, is to strengthen your writing…this might be just the book for you.
Klinkenborg makes the claim that our educational system, and our culture at large, doesn’t get the point of the written word. The result is a lot of bad writing. And less and less reading. Less and less joy.
All readers, and future writers, start off in a bliss state. Then we go school. There we are taught to approach the writing we encounter as though it were a conveyance of a unit of meaning.
Klinkenborg proposes, “Our conventional idea of meaning is something like
“what can be restated.”
It means a summary.
It means ‘in other words.’”
Think back. When you were in English class, how much time did you spend reading a piece aloud? Just for the fun of it. Just to appreciate the rhythm. The nuances. The unexpected twists. The pure aesthetic bliss.
Chances are, you read like that in kindergarten. In circle time.
But as you progressed in school, all writing was presented as a puzzle to be solved. You heard the same question, “What does this story/essay/article mean?”
Chances are, that question was met with a deafening silence. Every student was implicated in the silence…as being too stupid to answer the question.
Klinkenborg proposes there is an alternative explanation for the silence.
“What does it mean”…is not the right question to ask.
“Writing isn’t a conveyer belt bearing the reader to “the point” at the end of the piece, where the meaning will be revealed.
Good writing is significant everywhere.
Delightful everywhere.”
A student’s delight gets squelched by the teacher’s insistence that reading is merely a pursuit of meaning.
“…what if meaning isn’t the
sole purpose of the sentence?
What if it’s only the chief attribute
among many, a tool, among
others, that helps the writer shape
or revise the sentence?
What if the virtue, the value, of the
sentence is the sentence itself and
Not its extractable meaning?”
“What if you wrote as though sentences can’t be
summarized?
What if you value every one of a sentence’s attributes
and not merely its meaning?
Strangely enough, this is how you read when you were a
Child.
Children read repetitively and with incredible exactitude.
They demand the very sentence—
word for word—and no other.
The meaning of the sentence is never a substitute for the
Sentence itself.
Not to a six-year old.
This is still an excellent way to read.”
If you were paying attention to the above quotation, you will begin to grasp my dilemna as the reviewer of Klinkenborg’s book. Your expectation for a book review probably includes a summary. Klinkenborg isn’t too fond of summaries. To tell you the truth, no writer wants their work summarized. They have already chosen exactly the words that would tell their story.
Writing is so darn grueling because writing is the manifestation of an exacting form of thinking; a process of choosing precisely the right word, and then the next, and then the next, and so on. Klikenborg describes this process with laudable accuracy, which is why I find myself returning to this book again and again.