Dear reader, the ultimate goal of this pages-long whimsical jest is to explore what literature is, and to argue that there’s no intrinsic difference between a reader and a fish just like there’s no distinguishment between form and content.
Let me begin by asking, what is literature? It seems like a repetition of the previous sentence, yet this inquiry is far from a mere redundancy. When the question is invoked, you begin to think. You become a conscious subject aware of your own existence and engagement with the world, your consciousness directed toward my words. Since I am another conscious subject —
*
It’s six. The setting sun slants through your window and splays itself lazily onto the sheets. Something about the autumn chill has pulled you from the molasses of sleep.
The day has just begun for you and is ruined already. There is no redeeming yourself with your boss now. Calls unanswered; meetings missed; work undone. Not to mention, the meals uncooked and the house uncleaned. You curse under your breath: a Monday, ruined.
But — Sunday, Monday; Potayto, Potahto — you think. Once a day is given a name, assigned meaning (twenty-first birthday, ten-year anniversary), it’s colonized! Ruined! Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…the day is no longer a day of its own, and you are not your own man, just a minor pawn in the Grand Scheme of Days.
So today is the day this changes. Today is No-Day, and you are a No-One.
So you cast your phone aside, your job, boss — everything — aside, and head instead for a walk. The East River is particularly lovely… no, the river is particularly lovely this time of year. You catch yourself naming things again.
The sky outside is blurred. Pedestrians squint to see through the fog, but you might be the only one who puts effort into really looking at other people’s faces.You see the fisherman, who comes here every morning, wearing a wader and a long, robe-like jacket. You often see him on one of the Some-Days, when you leave the house at 7 to catch the bus. The News has rained criticism on how he “fiddles around” every day near the river, fishing for a living, as he was one of the best clerks in the Finance Hall, “properly engaging in and contributing to the City.” Why is he here now? You approach him and feel obliged to ask…oh but you shall not. He is not carrying a fishing rod today, but instead he stares blankly into the ripplets of the river. He isn’t even wearing his signature Tommy Hilfiger flat hat. No fishing rod, no wader, no Tommy Hilfiger’s hat…Could he be No-One too?
You want to ask him if he sees anything in the river. But a No-One does not get to question another No-One. He only observes, reads, and interprets the world. The river, a meandering ribbon of blue, reflects the sky’s ever-changing hues. The wind sketches invisible patterns in the air, as if people were the fish on land, surrounded by the flowing ebbs and tides of air. Being No-One, you feel like you could be a fish, echoing along with the waves.You suddenly understand why the other No-One had resigned from his clerk job. Once you get a taste of the allure of breathing in and being rinsed by the watery air to be a fish, it’s too hard to resist. For the first time, you seem to step into his perception of the world; perhaps you’ve become a fisherman as well! No-One can be anyone. No-One is anyone but Some-One.
He stands there, holding the railing. He must have noticed you, but no one speaks and no one looks at each other. A smile steals across your face.
*
My apologies for distracting you from the discussion at hand. Let me begin again—Since I am another conscious subject, our understanding is not connected; I thus must persuade you with a syllogism. I shall begin with clause A.
A. It's a platitude that literature is a dynamic hermeneutic process in which readers actively construct meaning while reading. As Derrida suggests, language consists of a system of signs and symbols, and words are a form of signs. There’s no constant match between a signifier and the signified, but the meaning is understood by the subject based on the context. Literature plays into that process of signification by providing a unique literary context through literary language, which, according to Viktor Shlovsky, is characterized by defamiliarization. Authors deliberately deviate from “ordinary” language to create a sense of unfamiliarity, challenging what is otherwise considered familiar.
Literature draws the reader’s attention to the language itself by providing a literary context, where the reader forgets parts of reality and their own limited experience, whose imaginations and interpretations could thus be liberated. The conscious subject (in this case, you) is thus invited to explore the labyrinth of signification that now gives birth to countless layers of meanings and interpretations, free from the subject’s (again, your) own constitution.
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