The Book I Was born to Read: Occasional Prose

I just finished reading Orhan Pamuk's essay "The Implied Author" in which he discusses his writing process. Having just reread Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" I liked Pamuk's reference to automatic writing, when the author makes himself available to a story that's raging to be written. Perhap not raging, but that which is within range. He concludes his short piece by arguing that just Wolfang Iser argued that each novel has an implied reader on account of whom it will reveal its meaning, there is also an implied author for each novel. Thus to "writer a novel is to open to [the work's available] desires, winds, and inspirations, and also to the dark recesses of our minds and their moments of mist and stillness".

Pamuk's mention of the implied author got me thinkin again about Wolfang Iser's "implied reader" for each work. Then I realized that I have read many books, all of which have revealed their meaning as I read them, a meaning that had something to do with my reading of them. Of course this type of thinking does make sense in other theoretical contexts, yet over and over again, the reader continues to make his reading process make writing matter.

Although I have read many books, I now seriously am looking for the one book I was born to read. Yes, born to read, as in the book I was brought here on earth to discover, to help shape, to read as is I am writing it.

Most are thus inclined to say that the book exists already, which is true, but its existence depends on my availability as it implied author, which is a wonderful thought, but not necessarily true.

That book is out there, or in here, somewhere...