I don't remember ever formulating this while reading; but of course I
realize that an author may have a too explicit style.
As to reading _vs._ writing. I think not, because it has never occurred
to me that there could be any such difference.
In writing description, I always do try to appeal to the five senses of
my reader. Perhaps this is so because in the writing courses which I
took at Radcliffe College the instructors impressed it on us to do that.
=Will Irwin=: Answering generally the complex questions under the head:
In reading writers who are "my men," as Stevenson, Wells, Anatole
France, I find myself seeing the scenes in my imagination. The fight in
_David Balfour_, the meeting of "Pontius Pilate" and "Laelius Lamia" in
_Le Procurateur de Judée_, are to me as though I had witnessed them. I
hear the sounds, but I can not say with truth that I taste the flavors
or experience the smells. That doubtless is a matter of individual
peculiarity. I have almost no sense of smell. On the other hand, I often
see the colors most vividly. That again comes from individual
peculiarity--I take the greatest delight in color. In a treatise on
dreams which I have read recently the author says that dreams are like
photographs; that they have no color, only one low tone and white. If
that is so, I must be a freak. I am always dreaming in colors--as a few
nights ago of seeing a procession in russet brown carrying rose-colored
banners. Sometimes my imagination, in reading, reproduces the sense of
touch, and occasionally the sense of pain. When I "see things with my
eyes shut," I think the image is usually blurred and lacking in detail
except for one central figure. But I do usually see such pictures in
colors. I perceive what you are driving at in your question about solid
geometry. I run true to form. Other mathematics did not interest me. I
loathed arithmetic and algebra and I quit trigonometry from absolute
boredom. But I was a sharp at geometry, both plane and solid.
I think that the mere concept of an author whom I recognize as one of my
men will often set me to imagining things beyond those which he has
described. By the same token I am sometimes bored by over-detailed
description. I can not say, however, that I have stock pictures for
persons and things which come within the limits of my experience. I do,
however, for categories of persons and things which I have not seen--as
a cavalier, a Zulu chief or a king on his throne. The visual faculty of
my mind works in the same manner when I am reading a story as when I am
writing one. In both cases I have a succession of color-pictures.
Certainly I use these things as tools of my trade--especially the
picture faculty. One analytical passage in Barrett Wendell's treatise on
Shakespeare has been very useful to me. He shows that Shakespeare's
magic consists largely in creating a succession of haunting pictures in
the mind. Since I absorbed that principle I have analyzed other magic
styles and found this their secret. I have tried to follow in my poor
way. I also try to use the tactile style. As it is a thing generally
beyond me, I avoid dragging in the sense of smell. I do use sounds a
great deal, however.
=Charles Tenney Jackson=: As to reading a story my imagination goes more
to an author's pictures than his plot. I am rather coldly critical about
plots and most of them show their ragged spots to me, lapses,
improbabilities and negligences. But I like to have the chap show me a
setting that seems real. If it's the sea islands, I want their colorful
warmth; the Yukon, I want its snows and grim menace to the human actors.
People are so much alike that a story does not move me because a writer
attempts to show me their differences in different settings. My idea is
that human nature reacts exactly the same everywhere. In other words,
answering query III if an author gives me a hurricane I want that vivid,
smashing, either by description or suggestion, and I don't give a durn
who lives through it to rescue the girl. I know to start with that
she'll be pulled out. There are certain banal things in either reading
or writing fiction that you can't get away from; so I slide past 'em to
see how the minor keys can be played.
=Frederick J. Jackson=: When I read a story I live it, that is, if the
author has a sureness of touch with his characters and action that is
convincing to me. Some authors I can not read at all. I won't read them.
It's a waste of time. They don't get over with me. What I consider a
perfect story is one in which the author can make me suffer with his
characters, laugh with them, play with them, make my eye look through
the sights of an aimed rifle, let my finger be on the trigger.
To the things I "see with my eyes shut" there are few limitations, the
pictures are colored, real, the details are distinct.
My response is not limited to the degree with which the author describes
and makes vivid. A mere hint suffices to draw a really definite picture
in my mind. If the author doesn't spoil my own picture with too damned
many cloying details I'm better satisfied. I dislike wading through
paragraph after paragraph of detailed description, unless an accurate
picture is necessary in order to give a complete understanding of
certain action or certain moves made by a character.
I carry that dislike for detailed description into my own work. If I use
more than one sentence of description I wince. I like to convey a
picture, a real picture in as few words as possible. I like to put
action into my description, into my picture of a setting.
I never have stock pictures. A village church? Immediately before my
mind passes a parade of all the village churches I have ever seen, in
villages or movie lots.
My dislike for description applies to characters as well as scenery. A
hint here and there, characterization--things that will make each reader
furnish the details he likes best. I might have described them in
detail--mere words to tell how they appear in my picture. Really now,
when you read about characters, doesn't your mind supply a picture of
the physical man? A man to your liking, unhampered by clogging, useless
words? Didn't characterization do that? If you have a leaning toward
dark heroes, you conceive him to be dark. If to your mind a guy with red
hair is the real Peruvian gooseberry as the main character, red headed
he'll be in your mental picture. Etc., etc.
Is there any difference in behavior of your imagination when you are
reading stories and when writing them? I live with my characters both in
reading and writing, but _oh!_ what a difference. In writing, I have to
work out the problems; in reading, the problems have been worked out by
the author. It's traveling with a sled, but one is going up-hill and the
other down-grade.
=Mary Johnston=: Impossible to answer this fully. Sometimes there is a
high degree of reality, at other times less. Depends upon the amount of
energy that is functioning, energy and attention.
Yes, it is possible to see things with your eyes shut. I see them
colored, in the round, and at times in motion. Not always in minute
detail. Often only a general impression.
No more trouble from solid geometry.
As to response, if you have the concept, you can produce the appropriate
phenomena. Individual pictures usually. Sometimes a composite or an
idealization.
Prefer things to be suggested rather than minutely described.
Probably a difference as to reading and writing.
They are tools of life--therefore of one's work also.
=John Joseph=: If it is a really _good_ story my imagination reacts to
all the emotions and sensations mentioned except "physical pain." Very
few stories belong to this class, however.
The author's "pictures" (in good stories) are reproduced in every
detail, and distinctly. My mental pictures often go far beyond anything
the author has actually described. I have no "stock" pictures; every
"cowboy" and "village church" differs from all the others.
There is little difference in "behavior of imagination" whether reading
or writing. I think that all these points are valuable to the writer.
=Lloyd Kohler=: In reading a story I am very apt to puzzle out in my own
mind the outcome of the story long before the end is reached. Often the
author's ending of the story, however, is radically different from what
my own imagination had planned. Sometimes I can't overcome the idea that
my own solution would have bettered the story; at other times I can
easily see that the author's solution was vastly superior to my own.
In writing a story, or planning a story to write, my imagination
generally runs--well, we'll say "wild." For instance: I may carefully
plan a certain climax--and then find when the story is finally written
that the first climax has been substituted for a more fitting one which
flew into my mind during the last stages of the writing.
I don't want to commit myself on this question--I can't even agree with
myself regarding the different angles of it. But I will say that when
reading a story generally I do see in my imagination the characters,
action and setting, though perhaps not so clearly as if looking at the
actual scene. The vividness of the picture, of course, depends upon the
clearness and vividness of the author. It depends also on just how
familiar I am with the picture presented by the author.
The pictures described by an author which "I see with my eyes shut" are
more in black and white. The details are very apt to be indistinct.
Plane geometry was exceedingly easy for me, but with another restless
spirit I put to sea, consequently I can't say how I would have fared
with the solid variety.
My response is not necessarily limited to the exact degree to which the
author describes. It depends on how familiar I am with that which the
author attempts to make vivid. The very thought of some things would set
me to producing as vividly, perhaps, even more vividly, than the author
himself. On the other hand, if the description were unfamiliar the
response would likely be limited.
I don't believe that I have stock pictures for anything. If I have, some
bit of description is bound to stick to me that will allow the thing to
be individualized. Two cowboys are no more apt to be alike than two
business men.
=Harold Lamb=: Yes, the imagination reproduces the story-world
completely. Although not so fully with sounds as with sight, touch,
smell. Perhaps the fact that I am nearly half deaf may have something to
do with this.
About sensations it is hard to find the right word. Of course reading of
a slashed finger does not give a resultant pain in any finger. It may
give, however, a vivid mental image of pain in _some finger_. This is
apt to be more annoying and enduring than a thumb actually cut by a
knife.
The strength of the imagery is, logically, in proportion to the skill of
the writer in creating his story-world. Reading Knut Hamsun's _Hunger_
caused a more active mind distress than _Les Miserables_. _Les
Miserables_ was worse (that is, stronger) than _Quo Vadis_. By this last
I do not mean to raise the standard of Scandinavia over Poland. Knut
Hamsun's tale was fashioned to reproduce the imagery of hunger
completely, and it was marvelously done. As compared with the actual
sensation it was more painful. I mean retrospectfully painful. At
certain times I have been rather hungry. But a full meal always banished
the distress. No after-impress of pain remained. But, walking the
streets of Copenhagen in the person of Knut Hamsun's young man, I never
had any satisfaction from gorging after starving. He--I--always threw
up.
So with other sensations. But the most vivid sensations received from
the printed word are those that have been experienced in life. Such as
pain from frostbite, suffocation under water, drowsiness.
As to limitations of imagination, I do not know of any. Images are
distinct. Colored as in the story. When color is lacking, I seem to
supply it. Brown, green, gray are always present. (An artist explains
that these are the neutral tints.) White, blue and red come into place
as described, but less often volunteer. Black, yellow and purple almost
never volunteer and when the printed word summons are sketched hastily.
Poor in all mathematics, least deficient in plane and solid geometry.
Seem to reproduce more in imagination than the author sets forth and
have always thought that most readers did likewise. I find that
continually I am snubbed back by a fresh word as to setting in the
course of a story.
No stock pictures.
As to reading _vs._ writing, the cart before the horse, and behind.
Tools of trade? I have not puzzled about the psychology of a reader.
=Sinclair Lewis=: My imagination reproduces thus occasionally. In
colors, details distinct. Less trouble with solid geometry. A mere
concept will set me to reproducing just as vividly. No stock pictures.
Do not resent abundant images. Imagination is more active in writing
than in reading.
=Hapsburg Liebe=: If a story really interests me, I feel everything, see
everything, clearly. Reading of a man on a desert makes me thirsty.
Writing of the same thing makes me thirsty. I cuss, cry and fight with
the hero.