A Lie That Makes Us Realize the Truth

I read novels with pencil in hand, ready to underline a sentence that's beautiful, a metaphor that's especially scenic, or any phrase that prompts an appreciative smile. Here, from page eighty-three of The Time of Our Singing by Richard Powers, are three examples:

"Dalia sang fearlessly. She threw back her head and nailed free-flying notes like a marksman nails skeet. She sang with such unfurling of self that the congregation couldn't help but turn and look at the teenager, even when they should have been looking skyward."

A couple of paragraphs down:

"Delia could feel them as she sang, the hearts of the flushed congregation flying up with her as she savored the song's arc. She sheltered those in that safe spot up next to grace."

And then:

"When she finished, the congregation let out their collective breath. Their lungs emptied in a mass sigh, reluctant to leave the music's sanctuary."

I read sentences like that and think to myself: How does a guy take the twenty-six letters of the alphabet and sculpt something so beautiful?

The point I'm getting at is this: Novels consist of sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and sections, which are strung together word-by-word and even syllable-by-syllable. Which means, to read or write them, one must love the language -- the rhythm and cadence of it, as well as its power to provoke and entertain -- and even to provide good company. Novels, unlike essays or editorials, don't consist of ideas or elaborately developed concepts. They are words, threaded together one after the other, like pearls on a necklace.

There are some who insist that literature, to be useful, must replicate reality. But novels, if they're to accomplish what only they can, must be a product of the imagination -- transporting readers to a separate world, governed by circumstances, characters, and events of the author's creation. They may begin with what's known and familiar, but literature, when it serves its most exalted purpose, transforms reality. It offers perspective. It draws readers into a vicarious experience -- into an imaginary world that reveals, illuminates, and enriches the "real" one. It deposits us back into our concrete circumstances -- edified, entertained, and, one hopes, restored.

"Literature," as Leland Ryken so nicely puts it, "is built on a grand paradox: It is a make-believe world that nonetheless reminds us of real life and clarifies it for us." Or, as Picasso even more succinctly said: "Art is a lie that makes us realize truth."

Richard Doster is the editor of byFaith magazine. He is also the author of two novels, "Safe at Home" and "Crossing the Lines," both published by David C. Cook Publishers.

Sources that prompted these thoughts:

Ryken, Leylan, ed. The Christian Imagination: The Practice of Faith and Literature in Writing. Colorado Springs: Waterbrook Press, 2002

Bloom, Harold. How to Read and Why. New York: Scribner, 2000

Powers, Richard, The Time of Our Singing. New York: Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux, 2003