The way words can conjure a world and convey thoughts from one brain to another’s seems like true magic, yet a magic that has a science behind it nonetheless.
“Poetry in general seems to have sprung from two causes,
each of them lying deep in our nature. First, the instinct of imitation is
implanted in man from childhood, one difference between him and other animals
being that he is the most imitative of living creatures, and thought imitation
learns his earliest lessons…. Next, there is the instinct for ‘harmony’ and
rhythm, metres being manifestly sections of rhythm. Persons, therefore,
starting with this natural gift developed by degrees their special aptitudes,
till their rude improvisations gave birth to Poetry.”
One of the earliest books about the science of writing
happens to be one of the best I’ve read thus far. Aristotle’s Poetics is not simply about
poetry—genres of Ancient Greece were not divided in the same ways as they are
in modern times—but also talks about storytelling, comedy, plot structure,
character development, diction and word choice, evoking emotion in the reader, Style,
logic, and verisimilitude. (Verisimilitude is one of my favorite words learned
in college lit classes, referring to a story being “true to life” or
realistic.)
To Aristotle, satire and humor are relegated to “meaner” or
lower forms of poetry. The higher forms of poetry deal with serious subject
matter and discuss noble virtues and morals and philosophies that are above
mocking. We can only find characters funny when they are flawed. A perfect
person holds nothing in him we can ridicule in good conscience. That’s probably
why the unflawed characters in comedies perform the role of “straight man” to
the antics of the flawed characters.
Yet to divide poetry/philosophy and comedy/satire into two
categories that can never intermix would be to break the rule of
verisimilitude:
“Unity of plot does not, as some persons think, consist in
the Unity of the hero. For infinitely various are the incidents in one man’s
life which cannot be reduced in unity; and so, too, there are many actions of
one man out of which we cannot make one action.”
To tell a story with verisimilitude is not necessarily to
tell a unified one. Some of the more poignant, artsy stories are based on one
central theme or thought, but in real life a person’s life spans several
“genres,” one day being a comedy, the next a tragedy. One plot does not contain
the whole of the hero’s character.
“Plots are either Simple or Complex, for the actions in
real life, of which the plots are an imitation, obviously show a similar
distinction.”
A simple plot is one without surprise. It takes place all
in the same genre, and the mood is the same, like a song that stays in the same
key and only varies in tempo and volume.
A complex plot is one that uses “Reversal of the Situation”
(plot twists) and “Recognition” (such as the solution to a mystery).
“The poet being an imitator, like a painter or any other
artist, must of necessity imitate one of three objects,--things as they were or
are, things as they are said or thought to be, or things as they ought to be.”
Choice of language is what defines which of these objects
the poet is imitating in any given work.
Aristotle also discusses the way language itself plays a
role in defining whether a story is simple or complex:
“Words are of two kinds, simple and double. By simple I
mean those composed of non-significant elements…. By double or compound, those
composed either or significant and non-significant element…or of elements that
are both significant.”
Simple words are those that only “mean what they say,”
whereas double words (Aristotle admits further on that these “compound” words
can also be triple, quadruple, etc.) have multiple meanings or interpretations.
This is the difference between straightforward storytelling and making the
audience dig deeper to discern and interpret the meaning of the story.
“In constructing the plot and working it out with the
proper diction, the poet should place the scene, as far as possible, before his
eyes. In this way, seeing everything with the utmost vividness, as if he were a
spectator of the action, he will discover what is in keeping with it, and be
most unlikely to overlook inconsistencies.”
In short, if the poet is true to the heart of their story
and to their characters, then the audience will suspend their disbelief of any
inconsistencies in the probability of what happens. Readers are more willing to
forgive spectacular and strange turns of plot, than they are to forgive sudden
changes in character or personality.
“As in the structure of the plot, so too in the portraiture
of character, the poet should always aim either at the necessary or the
probable. Thus a person of a given character should speak or act in a given
way, by the rule either of necessity or of probability; just as this event
should follow that by necessary or probable sequence.”
Still, this doesn’t mean the poet can lean heavily on
strange occurrences as mere shock value—such as, say, Fonzie jumping over a
shark. Rather, Aristotle recommends that the poet “prefer
probable impossibilities to improbable possibilities.”
“Fear and pity may be aroused by spectacular means; but
they may also result from the inner structure of the piece, which is the better
way, and indicates a superior poet. For the plot ought to be so constructed
that, even without the aid of the eye, he who hears the tale told will thrill
with horror and melt to pity at what takes place.
Although describing impossibilities commits an error by
breaking verisimilitude, Aristotle believes that this error can be forgiven: If
by writing about something unrealistic, the poet invokes the desired emotional
and mental response of the reader, then the ends justify the means.
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