In 1963, a high school student named Bruce McAllister sent a four-question survey to 150 well-known authors, asking them whether they consciously planted symbolism in their work and three other related questions. The Paris Review published details about this fascinating project and even posted digital copies of the responses. Authors included Ray Bradbury, Jack Kerouac, Saul Bellow and Ayn Rand, among others.
His project involved substantial labor—this before the Internet, before e-mail—but was not impossible: many authors and their representatives were listed in the Twentieth-Century American Literature series found in the local library. More impressive is that seventy-five writers replied—most of them, in earnest. Sixty-five of those responses survive (McAllister lost ten to “a kleptomaniacal friend”). Answers ranged from the secretarial blow off to a thick packet of single-spaced typescript in reply.
Replies ranged from short and arrogant (Kerouac) to polite blow-offs both from writers (Norman Mailer, apologizing for not having the time to reply to the survey, as it required in-depth answers) and secretaries, informing him of the author’s inability to reply.
I met Ray Bradbury my freshman year in college. He stopped by to give an informal lecture, and because he was one of my favorite authors, I decided to attend. I also got a chance to have a short conversation with Mr. Bradbury after his speech, and he autographed my book. Cool, eh?
What struck me about Bradbury is how genuine he was, how much he truly appeared to care about his art, how kind and patient he was, speaking to everyone who approached him and taking the time to discuss every imaginable topic. He and I got onto the subject of what makes one human. I remember him telling me that he considered not committing murder to be the first sign of humanity. “A dog can be human too,” he told me. Mr. Bradbury is a beautiful soul, and his reply to McAllister’s survey reflects that kindness and caring I saw a few years ago at school.
Playing around with symbols, even as a critic, can be a kind of kiddish parlor game. A little of it goes a long way. There are other things of greater value in any novel or story… humanity, character analysis, truth on other levels, etc., etc. Good symbolism should be as natural as breathing… and as unobtrusive.
Good luck, and best wishes from,
Ray Bradbury
Contrast this beautiful, subtle teaching moment to Ayn Rand’s condescending handwritten reply addressing the student’s definition of symbolism:
This is not a “definition,” it is not true – and therefore, your questions do not make sense.
Now, I like Rand’s work. I like the ideas in her books, and I consider “We the Living” to be one of her best novels – likely because I feel a kinship with the setting and the characters, having been born in the USSR and having spent the first eight years of my life there. I’ve never been a fan of her actual writing. The dialogue is clumsy. The characters lack dimension and depth. The repetitive preachiness makes me think she believed her readers to be unbearably stupid, which required her to beat them over the head with her philosophy until they vomited. Her tendency to describe every brick and pebble, using the most trite similes is grating and dull. I appreciate her philosophy, but the reading is often laborious, to say the least.
But that aside, she strikes me as an insufferable bitch! Condescending, pedantic, parsimonious and petty. Not a sign of graciousness or even a shred of courtesy. Maybe the kid’s definition was woefully inadequate. Maybe his survey questions were inappropriate. Maybe his writing style was amateurish. Whether or not her analysis of his writing was accurate is irrelevant. Her rude reply shows her to have been an unbearable, conceited lout, who chose to have no consideration or respect for others.
No, she no obligation toward this boy. She wasn’t required to be polite to him or even reply to his questions. But the fact that she chose to be a pernicious jerk speaks volumes about the kind of person she was.
Too bad.
I’m still a fan of her work – just not her as a person.
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