'Reason,
science and technology pin us down to the literal fact, but symbols
nourish the soul by pointing to something beyond what is known.
Symbols quicken reality with meaning.'
Carl
Jung
Today I
buried Clown. The ceremony was poignant, though slightly incongruous.
It was a finishing off, a letting go of sorts and it needed doing.
You see, Clown was a stuffed toy from my childhood. He wasn't
attractive; in fact he was grossly misproportioned, with an enormous
torso, long thick legs and tiny arms. He was torn and filthy and his
face was macabre, with an array of mismatching features and one eye
missing. In short, Clown had been well loved.
For
many years I had forgotten about Clown but a couple of years ago when
my mother went into aged care, I went back to my childhood home to
help pack it up, and there in the cupboard I found him. My mother had
made this oversized stuffed toy for me; sitting up late one Christmas
Eve so that Father Christmas could bring me a present, and I saw no
contradiction in this, believing in my childhood way that they were
working in cahoots. We weren't well off. Christmas meant treats, like
chicken and tinned asparagus, pudding laced with an occasional coin
and real cream, not the dreadful sort skimmed from the top of the
boiled milk that we had for the rest of the year. There were few
presents; undies from an Aunty, an occasional book or board game, and
this particular year, Clown.
From
the moment I clapped eyes on Clown, I fell in love. He became my
friend and confidante, my ally, my comforter and my security. I
poured into Clown all my angst and pain, the injustices I
encountered, my sense of being different, of being misunderstood and
unwanted. Seeing him again so many years later, I was torn between
love and repulsion. I had moved on. I didn't need or want Clown
anymore. He needed to go in the garbage bin but I couldn't do it, so
in the end I stuffed him in my suitcase and brought him home. Since
then he has been languishing in a cupboard awaiting his fate.
Today I
had intended to write a post about characterisation but this episode
with Clown made me think about symbolism instead. Clown symbolised a
great deal for me. As an early much loved toy, he was a substitute
for the absent mother. But as I said above, he was also a vessel for
my unwanted emotions, an outlet that enabled me to get through
difficult times. I don't know why my mother fashioned a clown for me
to love rather than a teddy bear. Perhaps she wanted to help me see
the funny side of life. Traditionally clowns represent a parody of
kingship – irreverence, absurdity, ridicule. . . but there was
nothing funny about my clown. He was sad but only because I had
filled him with sadness. And while he was my protector he was also
something for me to protect. Hence he deserved (and belatedly
received) a better ending than the garbage bin. Symbols are both
universal and individual, specific to a culture and a historical
context, yet also transcending these things. They cannot be pinned
down to a single meaning because they are able to be interpreted
according to the cultural, historical and personal context in which
they are placed. Clown meant something to me that was unique and yet
in a story, a child clinging to a ragged stuffed toy tells every
reader something about the character and needs of that child.
While
many words are needed to express an idea, a symbol combines many
ideas into a single word. As Anthony Stevens writes in his book,
Ariadne's Clue: A Guide to the Symbols of Humankind, 'symbols
tolerate paradox and can combine contradictory ideas; words are about
one thing or another. Symbols awake intimations; words explain. Like
musical compositions, symbolic forms are psychologically more
athletic than words: they leap across national barriers'. In short,
symbols inhabit the world of poetry. However, this doesn't limit them
to poetic forms. As story tellers we can enrich and add greater depth
to our work by consciously exploring the use of symbols. and as such,
they are an important element in writing; one which we can use either
consciously or unconsciously.
According
to Stevens, 'the conjunction of sym (together) and ballein (to throw)
emphasises the idea that the strange must be thrown together with the
familiar to construct a bridge between the known and the unknown. . .
. resulting in the experience of a new meaning.' In a sense then,
symbols and metaphors are bridges to the unconscious, ways of
explaining what cannot be explained, expressing what cannot be
expressed. They provide us with access to essential truths, those
that are felt but not measurable or possibly even visible.
My
novel, Flight, is laden with symbols. Even the story itself is
a symbol, or at least a metaphor for the journey to self, to an
understanding and a remembering of who we are, to what Jung calls
Individuation. Fern's story documents the journey from a mechanistic,
conditioned life to one that is lived freely as a true individual. In
the novel, the labyrinth is a strong symbol, and one that I
consciously used. It has a two-fold reading. On a metaphoric level it
is the story itself, the path Fern must follow in order to free
herself. On a symbolic level it is the wilderness that Fern and Adam
must find their way through in order to complete Fern's journey.
There are other symbols in the novel, the snake, the bear, the eagle,
the spiral, the cave. . . most of which I was unaware of at the time
of writing. It was only later, in the editing process that I
identified these elements and in understanding their meaning, was
able to further develop them, adding a greater richness and depth to
the story.
Symbols
are not literal, they are not the language of the head, but rather of
the heart. As a writer my goal is to find a synthesis between this
language of the head and the heart; a synthesis that would create a
more balanced means of interpreting the natural world and the human
structures we have created. According to Stevens, symbolism is a
language that transcends race, geography and time. It is the natural
Esperanto of humanity'. This is a language that is fundamental for
'living stories' and one that is in danger of being lost in a world
that tends more and more to a literal reading of story, rather than a
metaphoric reading which allows for the transcending of difference
and an embracing of the sacred.
Copyright (c) 2012 by Rosie Dub. All rights reserved. You may translate, link to or quote this article, in its entirety, as long as you include the author name and a working link back to this website:http://writeonthefringes.blogspot.co.uk/
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