elegantly tired fiction. 9
The Igbo believe that art, religion, everything, the whole of life are embodied in
the art of the masquerade. It is dynamic. It is not allowed to remain stationary.
For instance, museums are unknown among the Igbo people. They do not even contemplate
the idea of having something like a canon with the postulate: “This is how this sculpture
should be made, and once it’s made it should be venerated.” No, the Igbo people want
to create these things again and again, and every generation has a chance to execute
its own model of art. So there’s no undue respect for what the last generation did,
because if you do that too much it means that there is no need for me to do anything,
because it’s already been done. 10
—
One thing that I find a little worrying, though, is the suggestion that perhaps what
was done in the 1960s, when African literature suddenly came into its own, was not
as revolutionary as we make it out to be. That African literature without a concerted
effort on the part of the writers of that era would still have found its voice. You
find the same kind of cynicism among young African Americans who occasionally dismiss
the contributions of the civil rights activists of that same period. Many of these
same critics clearly did not know (or maybe do not want to be told) what Africa was
like in the 1940s, back when there was no significant literature at all.
There are people who do not realize that it was a different world than the world of
today, one which is far more open. This openness and the opportunities that abound
for a young intellectual setting out to carve a writing career for him- or herself
are in fact partly a result of the work of that literature, the struggles of that
era. So even though nobody is asking the new writer or intellectual to repeat the
stories, the literary agenda or struggles of yesteryear, it is very important for
them to be aware of what our literature achieved, what it has done for us, so that
we can move forward.
As I write this I am aware that there are people, many friends of mine, who feel that
there are too many cultures around. In fact, I heard someone say that they think some
of these cultures should be put down, that there are just too many. We did not make
the world, so there is no reason we should be quarreling with the number of cultures
there are. If any group decides on its own that its culture is not worth talking about,
it can stop talking about it. But I don’t think anybody can suggest to another person,
Please drop your culture; let’s use mine. That’s the height of arrogance and the boast
of imperialism. I think cultures know how to fight their battles; cultures know how
to struggle. It is up to the owners of any particular culture to ensure it survives,
or if they don’t want it to survive, they should act accordingly, but I am not going
to recommend that.
My position, therefore, is that we must hear all the stories. That would be the first
thing. And by hearing all the stories we will find points of contact and communication,
and the world story, the Great Story, will have a chance to develop. That’s the only
precaution I would suggest—that we not rush into announcing the arrival of this international,
this great world story, based simply on our knowledge of one or a few traditions.
For instance, in America there is really very little knowledge of the literature of
the rest of the world. Of the literature of Latin America, yes. But that’s not all
that different in inspiration from that of America, or of Europe. One must go further.
You don’t even have to go too far in terms of geography—you can start with the Native
Americans and listen to their poetry.
—
Most writers who are beginners, if they are honest with themselves, will admit that
they are praying for a readership as they begin to write. But it should be the quality
of
R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)