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 My husband is not an avid reader, and he used to get very frustrated in college when teachers would insist discussing symbolism in a literary work when there didn’t seem to him to be any. He felt that writers often just wrote the story for the story’s sake and other people read symbolism into it.
It does seem like modern fiction just “tells the story” without much symbolism. Is symbolism an older literary device, like excessive description, that is not used much any more? Do you think there was as much symbolism as English teachers seemed to think? What are some examples of symbolism from your reading?
When I was in college, everyone asked me this question. Symbolism is alive and well in modern literary fiction and the authors aren’t subtle about it either. I got symbolism out of Stephen King in high school and my teacher complimented me on seeing stuff that no one else saw. I used It and Carrie and all I remember is that it had something to do with circles. The Remains of the Day is practically dripping with symbolism, right down to the title of the book. The great thing about studying literature is that you can find things that the author didn’t intend that imbues the work with meaning for you and for other people. It can have a wider meaning that the author never saw, or maybe one they intended only specific people to see. It’s a little like how everyone’s experience of a book is different. The author puts the book out, but everyone comes to it with different life experiences and interprets it in ways relevant to themselves. Obviously, we’re going to pick it apart in ways the author didn’t intend.
Let’s take an example of this. I’m sure the author of Firefly Lane didn’t intend for me to develop a burning hatred towards it because one of the characters got cancer and it hit a little too close to home for me (yes, other things bugged me about it, but I was very unhappy with the author’s plot development). On the other hand, she probably did intend for women who are older than me to relate to Tully and Kate as they grew up over the decades, and from the reviews, they did. Women who could relate tended to love the book. The author just wanted to tell a story, but how we feel about it is always going to be our own experience. Similarly, the way we interpret literature in an academic sense is always going to be more than the author intended, unless it’s one of those ultra-literary books that you practically need a class in to dig out all of the meaning.
Or we could go with Twilight. There are all sorts of alarming messages screaming out from the relationships in that book, but women still love Edward. Did Stephenie Meyer intend for us to interpret the relationship between Bella and Edward as harmful and abusive? Probably not, especially given how often she describes Edward as “perfect”.
See my point? The author’s intentions don’t carry as much weight as you might think. As a result, I’m not sure we can say that because the author didn’t intend it, an interpretation isn’t valid. In fact, I outright don’t think we can. I love to know what an author intended and I think it’s very important, but I still feel the way I feel.
In fact, I know a few authors out there who read this blog, so if you’re reading, what do you think?
What about readers? Am I wrong, is the author all-important and my opinion falls to the wayside once I know theirs? Or is every interpretation (with supporting evidence of course) valid?
 Infanta Isabella of Castile and Leon is that priceless jewel in a failing country, a skilled leader, but when she is young, no one has a chance to find out. She is exiled from court by her impotent half-brother the king, nearly married off to a much older, unappealing man, and even thrust in a dungeon to prevent her from gaining visibility. Only when Isabella is officially named heir to the throne does she begin to take power for herself, starting with her choice of husband. Ferdinand, heir to Aragon and king of Sicily, is not only handsome but her path towards the unification of Spain. Together, Ferdinand and Isabella pursue this course, bringing Spain to the forefront of power in Europe in one short reign.
I’m going to start off by saying that since this is a reissue of an older historical novel, the history is outdated. Knowing that, I managed to not get annoyed when an envoy from Richard, duke of Gloucester (with a withered arm, no less!) appeared offering his hand in marriage to Isabella, suggesting that he would be king someday. At the time Richard would also have been a teenager and hardly convinced of his place in the English royal succession, much less in a position to negotiate his own marriages. Sorry, I nitpick. To contrast with a positive example, I was just thrilled when Schoonover mentioned that fifteenth-century people knew the world was round.
The novel also reflects certain 1950s values which I found alternately charming and strange in a historical novel. Isabella is clearly a mighty monarch. She is clever and at times ruthless. She also, however, has a strange predilection for weeping and acknowledging that her husband needs to do manly things away from her occasionally, like lead armies, and she arranges little tasks behind his back so that he’ll feel useful, like a man should. I felt almost as though Isabella had to be a housewife AND a queen to satisfy everyone’s ideal. Ferdinand is constantly upset when she does something without him or has power that he does not share. Maybe I’m reading too much into that – after all, how many kings really want their queens to be more powerful than them? – but it stuck out a little to me.
All that said, this novel had a wonderful sort of charm that I wouldn’t discount at all. It feels old-fashioned, but in a lovely sit in an armchair and get absorbed in an enthralling story feel. Everything has a slightly magical, ethereal edge to it. This is a land long ago past and there is a tinge of nostalgia throughout the entire book that is eminently compelling. Despite Isabella’s fluctuation between dominant and submissive, I really liked her and particularly her friend, Beatriz. I liked this book. It reminded me of the books I used to read when I was a kid, before I particularly cared who was who in the historical world. It’s like a visit to my grandma’s house. Everything there is familiar and comfortable but has a bit of an aged feel to it. There is no computer, no DVD player, but a set of wedding china and pictures from when my parents were younger than I am now. That is how this book feels.
In that sense, I would probably recommend it! It was clearly fairly popular in its day, and while it does feel aged, it still has a lovely story to tell. Maybe all the dots don’t add up anymore, but they still make a picture worth looking at.
Buy Queen’s Cross on Amazon.
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