Intended interpretation or personal interpretation

I have for many years subscribed to the idea that “only that which has a meaning, is worthwhile,” meaning only books that have a moral, or a lesson, or something to gain or learn from reading it, are worth the time spent reading them. Other books (or movies, or TV shows, or plays, or any other type of fiction), the ones who are only entertainment, derive their worthwhileness from outside sources – like the mood or state of mind of the audience, for example as the means to make a bad day a little less sucky.

Yesterday (at the time of writing this, a few months ago at the time of posting this, read here for the full story) I had to abandon the idea, something which had been a long time coming. I had to accept that books with an intentional meaning were often less effective than books which did not have an intentional meaning or interpretation. Why? Because an intentional meaning is just that, AN intentional meaning. These books tend to have one lesson, and one only, whereas other books, books more free in the ideology they present, often have multiple lessons or meanings to offer, and each reader will likely see exactly the meaning they need at that time in their lives.

As an example, C. S. Lewis has always been great with intentional meanings, with morals in his stories. In Narnia, Aslan represents God, and faith in him is what gets you through all the trials, all the hardships, and out at the other end. In the Great Divorce, he describes how it is people themselves who are holding back and choosing to stay in hell rather than give themselves over to heaven. Clear points that are easy to interpret.

Now look at Shakespeare. What exactly is the meaning of Hamlet? That revenge doesn’t pay off, since Hamlet seeking revenge on his uncle is what causes his death? Well, if that were the lesson to learn, why is Hamlet so famously indecisive? Is it that those who steal, who desire power above all else, shall surely come to a grievous end? Well, if that were the case, why would the King, Hamlet’s uncle, meet no greater undoing than Hamlet, who after all sought to right a wrong? All the king got was a wife who refused to sleep with him and eventually death. Hamlet got months of grief, doubts wreaking his mind, accidentally killed the wrong man, almost got assonated, lost his true love to madness, death and the promise of no admittance to heaven, and then he was blamed for her undoing. No, this lesson too seems to work against itself in the text.

And what about Richard III? A psychopath rises to power by killing and eventually gets killed in battle himself after realizing all he worked so hard to get was now worth no more than a horse. What’s the moral there? Ambition will be the death of you? Considering how many of the other historical plays involved someone stealing a throne, I’d say not.

What gives these pieces their meaning? What makes them worthwhile?

Well, for me, Hamlet spoke the words I dared not, he showed me my heart and soul and split it so that I might live the wiser with the good parts. He showed me the emotions I had been struggling with. The weight that had been crushing me was crushing him. And I didn’t need him to survive it all and live happily ever after, I just need to recognize and acknowledge what I was feeling.

As for Richard III, who some have called vile and villainous, to me, he’s an example of what happens when you allow others to define you. His mother said she should have strangled him in the womb, he had been taught all his life he was vile, and so he decided to be villainous since it matched him best. Letting other people’s negative opinion of you define you, and accepting their opinions and taking them onto yourself, that will break anyone. Was Richard actually evil? Or was he alienated to the point of having nothing else to live for than to try to prove himself as worthy as the sons his mother had loved? Nothing more than to try to take what had never been given him? Would he have been different if someone, just one person, had shown him that it’s what inside that matters, not his deformity? Or would it have made no difference?

My point, dear fellow writers, is that even though teachers have taught us all through school how to analyze a book and find the message, the theme, the lesson to learn, it does not have to be up to the writer to put a message there. Allowing readers to read what they need in your work can make your work mean so much more.

Shakespeare and Lewis are both some of history’s greatest writers, greatest influencers, and they did each their thing, and they did it well. Lewis taught us the lessons we did not want to learn, he spelled it out for us because of this, because no one wants to hear that in the question of heaven or hell there is something more important than deeds, and he did it without telling us deeds are disregardable. Shakespeare taught us the life we live, sought out the answers along with us, and took us on a journey of understanding – all without spelling anything out or telling us what our lives are or should be.

So regardless of whether you know exactly what the meaning of your work is, or whether being asked even for a theme sends shivers down your spine and makes you want to hide under the bed, your work still has value. Your work still has meaning. Your work can still influence people.

Your work is good.