The Symbolic Nature of Bridges in Literature

Coleridge called it Symbol, Blake called it Imagination. The purpose of symbolism and the closely related device of allegory engage the reader in deciphering meaning. The quote below, by French anthropologist and historian, Jean-Pierre Vernant sums up the symbolic value of the bridge in fiction writing.

To cross a bridge, a river or a border is to leave behind the familiar, personal and
comfortable and enter the unknown, a different and strange world where, faced
with another reality, we may well find ourselves bereft of home and identity.

—Jean-Pierre Vernant

Perhaps, nowhere can this be more evident than in Wordsworth’s poem, Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 1803. Leaving behind the familiar landscapes of the past; the rural way of life, in favour of the industrialised city. It is perhaps quite fitting that Wordsworth captured not only the social change, but an entire movement to the unfamiliar reality. The creation of an entirely new social/cultural identity.

The bridge itself, can be actual or abstract. It can be used as a literary device to show the reader there will be some crossing; a journey --  between the earth and the sky or a sentimental link between people. The bridge is also used to depict life and death, usually from suicidal intentions, by jumping off, or hanging from. To digress momentarily from literature to film. It’s insightful to watch how film-makers utilise landscape features, bridges, or lack of a bridge, to convey the story premise or create an atmosphere in a particular scene. With the written word, describing a bridge and its role in the story, or placing it within the character’s life creates dramatic tension.

Composed upon Westminster Bridge (1803)

This post is the first in a series of symbolism in literature. It's not so much about finding meaning in the words, but of grasping the entire picture, of being caught up in a web of interactions between the social, political, cultural and economic debates of the world from which the words are written - in short, I suppose it can be described as symbolism in context.


Wordsworth composed this sonnet after being overwhelmed by the sight from Westminster bridge when a coach he was travelling on paused while passing over. It's worth bearing in mind that the view of London's skyline would have been very different from that of today. Not least because from here, Wordsworth would have been able to see where the sprawling city buildings ended, and the countryside began - fusing the old ways of living with the industrialization of the city. Encapsulated beautifully in this work is his struggle to comprehend the social transition that occurred at this time; from natural landscape, to a city that contained so much abject poverty among the dirt and grime of the streets.


It's also worthy to note that it was written early in the morning, before the hustle and bustle of the day began in earnest.

Westminster Bridge

(1803)

  EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
    Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
    A sight so touching in its majesty:
    This City now doth, like a garment, wear
    The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
    Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
    Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
    All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
    Never did sun more beautifully steep
    In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
    Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
    The river glideth at his own sweet will:
    Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
    And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Knowing your story

Know the story before you fall in love with your first sentence. If you don’t know the story before you begin the story, what kind of a storyteller are you? Just an ordinary kind, just a mediocre kind – making it up as you go along, like a common liar.

JOHN IRVING

The task of learning, rediscovering and writing

Today, I picked up a short story I wrote about four years ago. It was perhaps one of the first short stories I wrote. At the time, I didn't like it very much - in fact, I didn't like much of what I wrote - but there were people who did see something in it, even if it wasn't perfect, and their comments helped shape the story into something that was more ordered.

Re-visiting the story and the critiques it received, helped me to figure out that I was missing some steps in creating what is called the story: That it takes far more than a little creativity to craft and hone words into something that is readable and structured in a way that is admissible as a story. (In my rather humble opinion, Katherine Mansfield could do it, where Woolf couldn't).

What I learnt from looking over it from such a distance - four years is a long time, after all - is just how much I have continued to learn about what actually makes a successful story; how to structure and plot, and that even when writing shorts, the same basic principles of storycraft still apply. In other words, there is no short-cut to writing a story.

Now. The task at hand is to re-write a long-forgotten story using these newly discovered writing tools. 

How to Live a Better Story

This absolutely wonderful post at Simple Mom, is an inspiration; a breath of fresh air and a challenge to blow off the old, dusty cobwebs to think about the way life works, or indeed how it happens to some people and not to others. The challenge is to think about your life in terms of the type of story you are currently living and the life you would like to be fashioning for yourself.  The beginning is all about asking the right questions, and in preparation for this, a dream list of whatifs. Here's my list of five:

What if I sold my house and traveled the world for a year

What if I took life a little less seriously

What if I found one fact or object every day to be astonished at/by

What if I worked harder at my daily writing routine

What if I could never be hurt by the words and actions of others

The original article is well worth visiting. I love it.

The World of Words - religion

I love the way people use words, and all the more fascinating if it's a off-beat usage. When I came across a quote by the Dalai Lama, I couldn't resist exploring the word 'religion'.

It's a word that conjures up images of extreme opinion, of having faith in something that isn't seen, an inner world of peace, a higher order, the reading and interpretation of words that cause people to disagree with passion. 

Religion - from the online dictionary

a. Belief in and reverence for a supernatural power or powers regarded as creator and governor of the universe.

b. A personal or institutionalized system grounded in such belief and worship.

2. The life or condition of a person in a religious order.

3. A set of beliefs, values, and practices based on the teachings of a spiritual leader.

4. A cause, principle, or activity pursued with zeal or conscientious devotion

The quote below is a reminder that religion needn't necessarily denote spirituality. It's something you carry around without belief in fastidious wordsmithery; it's an intrinsic part of the person you are. It can be used to describe an ability, a characteristic of personality, and therefore something that empowers you.

“My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.”

Dalai Lama

Kafkaesque: from the novelist Kafka: Kafka-like

Kafkaesque

Resembling situations from the writings of Franz Kafka, marked by a disorienting, senseless and often menacing complexity (1883-1924), German-speaking Jewish novelist born in Prague, Austria-Hungary.

His most enduring works include The Metamorphosis; a story about a travelling salesman, George Samsa, who wakes to find himself transformed into a giant fly-type insect.  Kafka talks to the reader in terms of nightmarish visions, via a dream-like state where anything could happen for no apparent reason: the chaos theory of literature.

Possibly my favourite of his novels is The Trial. It's here we see the precursor to the Orwell's 1984. The protagonist in this hell is arrested, but has no idea why or even, by whom. The sense of disorientation is perhaps best illustrated in this scene when he visits the painter, Titorelli;

“…he rushed after her, seized her by the skirts, whirled her once around her head and then set her down before the door among the other girls…”

As far as sense and understanding goes, it flies out of the window. We are in the same dream-like state that Kafka has created, and the laws by which he is writing are transcended for the greater good of this fictive dream, and does it work? Hell, yes. What Kafka does is place the reader squarely in the nightmare reality of Joseph K, to feel his confusion, his isolation, as he finds himself at the mercy of totalitarian rule. Reading the novel isn't a light undertaking, this is no Alice in Wonderland. Upon entering the dream, the reader is immediately filled with a sense of unease, not least because it touches our most basic humanistic fears.

Reading a Kafka novel is the equivalent of finding the normative from the chaos that is M C Escher's Relativity