October 9, 2023
Literary Analysis of Three Excerpts I Like; of my Own Fiction
Ah, yes; another egotistical post. A bit like the one where I essentially reviewed my own work. But as there was value in that, there is value in this one, too. A literary analysis of three excerpts of my own fiction can be revealing to you for two reasons:
- As a writer, it shows you how to critically approach your own work; why you like something, how it made you feel. Doing so helps you gauge your writing and move past the “first book” stage (with or without quotation marks).
- As a reader, you get a “behind the scenes” of writing. Not only does this offer you unique insights in regard to the writing process, but – which is more important – makes you a better reader, too.
Naturally, in order for this post to be accessible to anyone, whether they have read the books or not, I have selected the excerpts in a way that they don’t depend on their context. Not too directly, at least.
Literary Analysis of Three Excerpts: The Perfect Gray
The first excerpt is from The Perfect Gray. In this scene Hecate and “the Mystery Man” are alone on a remote islet. The atmosphere is charged, replete with fear of both past and future, yet also with an ambiguous, unconfessed longing. The key idea is that it’s subtle and restrained.
We begin the short stroll back to the cabin, the sunset sky orgasming with color above us, as long, thin willowy clouds spread along its length, reflecting an impressive palette of hues. I step on the soft, compressed dirt of the narrow path, and the sound of his own feet behind me feels immensely comforting, almost orphic – I want to turn and see him following me, just to behold his face, but I don’t dare to tempt the chthonic gods. So I keep on looking unwaveringly ahead, walking resolute steps as I feel the amative wind caressing my shoulders, then softly passing between my thighs as a fast, desirous breath.
Hecate’s words referring to Orpheus are obviously not accidental in this context. They signify the impossible balance between her past and the future, as she’s caught in this loving but desperately fleeting “eternal present”. Of course they also relate to the general conceptual framework of the mythological Hecate. I also like the metaphor (not to mention the visuality) related to the sky – after writing this, I was never able to see cirrus clouds the same way; and now neither do you, you’re welcome.
Importance and Affect
The entire novel is basically an allegory of moving forward, though realizing that the progress is not linear but spiral. The reason I like the scenes set on the islet is because they allowed me to create a world-within-a-world (-within-a-world? Maybe it’s turtles all the way down…) where Hecate could explore certain feelings without the exogenous influence of society, her Mother, and even temporality (mostly imposed by her past).
You might also remember I’ve made a music album based on The Perfect Gray, called Hecate’s Dream, and my favorite song, “The Island of Tidally Locked Bodies” refers to these scenes.
Click to display the embedded Bandcamp player
Literary Analysis of Three Excerpts: Illiterary Fiction
The second excerpt I’d like to focus on is from Illiterary Fiction. In the scene below, Paul agonizingly witnesses how his boss, Stanley, assaults his girlfriend, Stella.
It takes Paul a painful long moment to properly comprehend that what he’s seeing is Stanley, pulling Stella by her hair, dragging her along the floor. She’s meaninglessly struggling to escape, trying to grab his sturdy arms with her slender fingers, but she has no coordination.
Paul takes a sluggish, timid step forward, his eyes watering by the impossible sight. He commands his feet to move, to take him closer, but, as in a nightmare, he is stuck in place. He sees her face all messed up with makeup smudges, tears, and some blood.
No! Stop! Don’t hurt her!
Paul is shouting as loud as he can, but the words just don’t leave his mouth.
He’s running there, as fast as his skinny legs can carry him, and yet he sees he has barely moved three feet.
In his mind he’s already punching and kicking Stanley, ripping his heart out and feeding it to him. He’s already helping Stella up, helping her escape the humiliating torture.
But in hard reality – the one where a body can bleed, a life can be lost, and a wife can abandon you – he’s still stuck in the hallway, looking at the door of the master bedroom closing, blocking his view.
The scene successfully, I’d argue, describes what has been Paul’s predicament throughout the novel: a disconnect between thought and action, between morality and acting on that moral knowledge. Paul would’ve liked to help Stella, but he lacks the courage – not so much in terms of intervening physically, to stop Stanley, but of “the moment after”; the repercussions of his actions.
Ironically enough, this excerpt near the end of part III signifies a turning point. However, and this is again subtle, it’s not quite what motivates Paul to finally change. Perhaps this is lost on him, and the peculiar fourth part does, I think, reveal it.
Literary Analysis of Three Excerpts: The Other Side of Dreams
The third and last excerpt is from The Other Side of Dreams. More than the previous ones, perhaps, this is a novel more anchored to context. Not only is it a sort of a sequel from my novel To Cross an Ocean: Apognosis, it’s also a little more plot-based than Illiterary Fiction and, especially, The Perfect Gray.
Still, the scene below can be appreciated with minimal information: Anna, one of the two main characters, is walking alone in Athens. She is struggling to come to grips with everything around her – her deteriorating physical condition, the complexity of what she feels for Ahmed (the other main character), as well as the raw reality of what lies in her immediate future, a future she has already planned.
Anna sighs and allows the Parthenon to expose itself to her eyes. The bright glare of the marble, formed into harmonic shape by matchless craftsmen, reflects the powerful summer sun, life itself, and gives Anna a formidable sense of significance, spreading a radiant feeling of peace inside her heart. She is here, in this very moment, and everything is as it was always supposed to be. Countless visitors pace around her, most of them taking selfies, but she doesn’t mind. She feels as if she transcended physical reality altogether – once or twice she wonders whether she walked through some absentminded tourist. She can fly, she can walk on water; she can march through flames like Orléans’s daughter.
It’s not immediately obvious, perhaps (sometimes symbolism is more efficient when it’s a bit hidden), but this scene creates a references to temporality and physicality.
Anna’s connection is to the present – it has to be (notice the use of present tense in the excerpt), since in her past lie only traumas and the future holds only horror. Yet the past (beckoning in the form of the Parthenon) emits a dual meaning with emotionally conflicting aspects: i) It connotes the idea of timelessness and of actions greatly surpassing individual lifetimes; ii) Inevitably, at the same time, it underlines the finality of life.
Intertextual Echoes
There is also an additional detail: an intertextual connection to the sort-of-prequel of The Other Side of Dreams, that is, To Cross an Ocean: Apognosis.
In that novel, near its end, the protagonist walks around Athens and – in a state of emotional distress not unlike Anna’s – ponders on the timelessness of the monuments around him. He wonders, would those “matchless craftsmen” have made them if they didn’t know their work would last millennia? Is there a point, he wonders, in creating something that will disappear? He quickly realizes that there’s always meaning, even if it’s only for a day.
In Anna’s case, it’s more complex. The destination of her journey is both predetermined and inevitable – the two are not synonymous. And yet, just perhaps, this is precisely what assigns unique value to her eternal present.
Is There a Point in Literary Analysis?
The question is obviously misleading. Of course there is. Yet there is also merit in questioning everything. Why should it be important to understand texts in this way? Does it not take something away from reading for pleasure?
The truth is, I really discourage anyone from actively trying to analyze texts this way when they read something for the first time. You might be surprised to hear there are people who do it – e.g. taking notes and consulting guides – and I really don’t see the point.
Literature is an affective process. Even if you’re reading in the context of preparing an academic thesis the first read (hell, if not the first several) should be just an immersion in the world of the narrative.
But there is more.
Literary Analysis Is as Natural as Reading
The truth is, even if we are not aware we’re analyzing a text, we still do. Not all of us need (or should use) notepads or guides, but we constantly create connections between what we’ve read.
So, ultimately, the (sophisticated) reader will always read “this way”, that is, performing a literary analysis of any given excerpts. It’s an integral part of their reading.
Most of my novels are available as an immediate free download – simply visit the Fiction page on the main site. And remember, you can also just email me and ask for a free, no-strings-attached (e.g. review etc.) digital copy of any of my books.
2 Comments
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“…once or twice she wonders whether she walked through some absentminded tourist.” Perfect.
I’m sorry I can’t muster up any enthusiasm for analysis – without your training, I go mostly on instinct: like/dislike/don’t care. But a well-turned phrase is always a delight.
Many thanks!
And as I mentioned in the post, an experienced reader’s like/dislike/don’t care will be based, instinctually, on a subconscious analysis. It might not be formal or systematic, but it detects the same patterns.