I really just wanted to write a note here and say that I am SO EXCITED that there is another book in the Sarah Tolerance series coming out so soon! I don’t know if you remember chatting with me before, but I’ve been a fan for a long time, and I’m very excited that Sarah is making another appearance- I love her

My apologies if that sounded patronizing (or, as Mad suggests, incendiary), it wasn’t intended to be. Probably I should not have led with your name, which may have made it sound like the whole thing was addressed to you, specifically, in an attempt to change your mind. It wasn’t.

Nor, I think, did I suggest at any point you were obligated to indulge in any analysis of a work of art, or listen to anyone elses analysis, if you don’t choose to. Your way of relating to any piece of art is your own business.

If you want to stop there, that’s fine. If you’re interested in a little clarification:

- I’m stating my opinions. They’re often strongly held. That doesn’t mean I assume they’re Right in some Absolute Cosmic sense. Your mileage may vary. Such statements are (were) framed as “I think..,” “It seems to me…,” “In my opinion..,” and not as “The Real Truth Is,” or “You Have To,” or whatever.

-My point about the science documentaries was that in my experience (note the qualifying phrase), delving into how and why things work – regardless of whether it’s how a poem or novel is constructed, how a building is designed, the migratory habits of the great blue heron, or the devices behind a magic trick – only increases the magic, the wonder, the amazement. You were, after all, the one who first made the comparison between a work of art and a tropical bird, I was just running with that imagery. No one compared a science documentary to a poem, the comparison was between the poem and the *subject* of the documentary, as two things equally magical and awe-inspiring (and for some of us, worth analyzing).

- As to spoiling Penn & Teller for you, you say, “I actually used to enjoy that Penn and Teller trick,” but if you have actually seen this act, you’re being disingenuous, because I revealed nothing about it you hadn’t already seen. Revelation of the “trick” is the whole point of the routine. To suggest I “spoiled” that routine for you, or anyone, is like saying I spoiled “Titanic” by mentioning that the ship sinks in the end. (Judge for yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2H81A3bU68k ). P&T are famous for this, so if you go to their shows, or watch their videos, you’re pretty much guaranteed to run into several routines like this one, which reveal certain secrets of stage magic (or supposedly reveal them – it’s not always the “real” secret). If that upsets you, why are you watching P&T at all? (That’s not intended as a snark, BTW, but as a serious question).

Apparently, my closing came across as sarcastic and condescending. Let me try that again, in less potentially loaded language:

- You don’t want to listen to analysis, that’s your prerogative. You absolutely have the right to absent yourself from any such group discussion, and in a one-on-one conversation, to pre-empt the conversation going there.

Hope that’s clearer.

Deb, now I know you don’t enjoy this sort of discussion, I won’t have one around you. Easy as pie. I understand you taking exception to Duncan’s “tender ears,” but I’m fairly certain he didn’t mean it to be incendiary.

For what it’s worth, I don’t necessarily want to pick the corpse down to the last sinew. It’s more like I want to marvel a little bit at someone else’s skill. I do it my way. You emphatically do it yours. No harm, no foul.

I don’t understand what in the world a science documentary and a poem by Keats have in common, at least not in the context of this particular discussion. If I’m walking into a science documentary, I know ahead of time that I’m walking into a science documentary. I have therefore CHOSEN to walk into a science lecture, in the full knowledge that I am watching or attending “From Pteradactyl to Gldfinch: Dissecting Birds of Plumage and their Colourful Mates.” I am there for the dissection.

That is light years and miles away from reading a poem about a skylark and having someone determined to tell me all about how “the underlying metaphor for the skylark is really all about the author’s repressed sexuality, but see, the author wasn’t willing to really explore that and that’s why it didn’t WORK, see”. No thanks. Pass-a-dena. I do not give a plug nickel for why the poem works, and in fact, ruthless analysis of a piece of creativity is, to me, the equivalent of destroying it. I don’t process that way, never have, and really don’t much want to, thanks.

Nor – and this is for Duncan – am I obliged to.

Some of us prefer our magic unexplained, specifically in the realm of creative magic. I will sit for hours watching in fascination as someone breaks down the mechanics of a hurricane or a tornado. That is not the same as listening to someone telling me why Othello or Antigone or Catcher in the Rye worked for them. I’m willing to give the analysts all the room they want; I just wish more of them were as considerate as Madeleine, and willing to warn me ahead of time, so that I can leave them to it and preserve my own joy in the subject about to be dissected, before my pleasure in whatever it was is destroyed.

I found that last post almost unbelievably patronising. “Avert my tender eyes and ears”? No problem. Just warn me first, so that I can avoid your need to be clever and educational. “Let my attention wander to other conversations”? Some of us can’t; we were brought up to pay attention to the person speaking. Manners, and all that. And you know, until that last warning-free post, I actually used to enjoy that Penn and Teller trick. Thank you for being kind enough to explain the “science” behind it. It is now boring chicanery, and I’ll never watch them do it again. Another source of pleasure bites the dust.

Summation: Just because something works for you, you might try understanding that it won’t necesarily work for the person next to you. And there’s me, having had my say and done with this discussion, over and out.

Me, I’m with Madeleine on this one. Understanding how and why that tropical bird flies or how it evolved its amazing colors only adds to my sense of awe and admiration.

Penn & Teller once did a version of a magic routine, the one where the partner or assistant (sometimes cast as “audience volunteer”) gets put in a box and cut in three pieces, the pieces separated, with a hand waving from this box over here, the head smiling hello from that one over there…

They did this routine once normally, then repeated it with the stage and props all made of clear lucite, so the audience could see how it was done. Now, you’d think this would spoil the magic of the thing. But the fact is, it came off even more amazing than the regular version. Because when all you get is the final effect, yeah, it’s cool and impressive. But you can also assume there’s a double for the assistant providing those apparently disembodied hands and feet, a variety of mechanical aids, mirrors, maybe even some trick photography (since this is, after all, television). Instead, you discover it’s no such thing, it’s really all Teller. He zips back and forth beneath the stage, pulling himself on handholds to pop up a head here, a hand there, a foot over there. The amazing amount of split second timing and sheer athletic and contortional ability involved is absolutely stunning.

This demonstrates a principle that exists, I think, in all art forms: that the simplest, and most effective, dramatic effects generally have a far more elaborate underpinning than it would appear. They look slick and easy and natural, but there’s a huge amount of effort behind many artistic creations which appear, on the surface, quite effortless.

For me, appreciating the effect is great, but understanding that effort that went into producing it is even greater. It seems to me a more profound sort of appreciation, for the artist as well as for the work.

Those who disagree are welcome to their opinions, of course, and are also welcome to let their attention wander to other conversations, to use their delete keys on posts, or otherwise avert their tender eyes and ears.