“Properly, we should read for power … The book should be a ball of light in one’s hand.”
— American poet Ezra Pound (1885-1972)
“Well, something’s lost and something’s gained in living every day.”
— Singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell (b. 1943)
The book as a ball of light in the hand. Only a poet could come up with the notion. No wonder Ezra Pound had a rep for being a master of imagery — for applying “vivid or figurative language to represent objects, actions, or ideas.”
That’s the dictionary definition. In my own sense of the term, imagery means language that exhorts us to visualize using only our inner eye. Avid readers know that’s more fun than it sounds. Think about your favourite fictional characters in novels. I bet you can describe details of their “lives” down to their ex-spouse’s middle names and their preferred ice cream flavours.
Creating a mental picture out of symbols on a page is a leisurely, highly personal exercise. The process fires the imagination. And if the words are commanding, a full-scale blaze takes hold. We use that fuel to inspire us — to give us the power Pound speaks of.
Some of us, of course, have always read strictly for pragmatic reasons — to absorb abstract concepts or merely for instruction and explanation. Still, the act involves some kind of magic. We lift ideas off paper and put them through the factory in our brains until out they come through our mouths or on our computer screens with value added.
But here’s the thing. Ours may be the last generation to find solace, joy or plain, unvarnished facts in this way. Words, in all their grace and glory, are losing their impact. A depressing statistic that gives heft to this argument suggests that by 2031, more than 15 million Canadian adults will have low literacy levels. That means they will only be able to handle simple, clear material involving uncomplicated tasks. (The study was conducted by the Canadian Council on Learning. The council itself was defunded in 2011 by the federal government. Perhaps bureaucrats in Ottawa had difficulty understanding the grant proposal.)
Should we freak out, to use ’60s vernacular? It depends on whom you ask. Some social theorists are despairing. One is an American essayist, Sven Birkerts. “Literature and old-style contemplative reading seem enfeebled,” he writes, “almost as if they need to be argued for, helped along by the elbow.” But others — several of whom are neuroscientists — suggest we’re merely adapting to a new order, a world far more visually oriented than the one we grew up in. This line of discussion says our brains are being rewired to prefer immediate data from graphics over cryptograms that have to be decoded. The former cuts out a step, don’t you know.
Evidence of this abounds. Nowadays, sentences, paragraphs, stories and the information we expect them to convey are being supplanted by charts, illustrations and Internet mini-movies. Every factoid we inhale seems to come wrapped in elaborate, dynamic graphics — even manuals for new gadgets. Just try downloading instructions for your new cellphone in booklet form. It’s more than likely you’ll first run into some inarticulate doofus who’s produced an equally inarticulate YouTube video on the subject. Yeesh!
How to explain this trend? Put it down to our kids who went to school when teaching methods were revolutionized. The pedagogical flavour of the era was “learning styles.” The theory was that certain children were better equipped to absorb information through visual cues than through written material. The movement began 30 years ago and has since been largely debunked, but not before a good portion of our offspring ditched books in favour of pictures. On top of that, callow cynics will tell you, words have been used to obfuscate and confuse a largely gullible society. Throw in the filmic thrill of video games and it’s not surprising many young adults have little patience with sheets of pure type.
Me? Almost in spite of myself, I’ve become enthused by the way cool diagrams and colourful infographics can tell a story. But I’m keeping my inner eye wide open. The silent exchange I have with great writers is still the only thing that can truly fire my imagination.
