I heard about the book ‘The Educated Imagination’ in an interview with a math professor. She mentioned it because she likes the analogy that literature is just like math, both being languages of imagination.
I like math but don’t understand literature, so I decided to explore this book to see if literature really is analogous to math.
The author, Northrop Frye, claims there are three languages: one is ‘the language of ordinary conversation,’ another is ‘the language of practical skills,’ and the third, ‘the language of literature.’ I understand the first two: ordinary conversation is what we use in daily life, which kids learn early on to ask questions and express requests. The language of practical skills, as I understand it, is a more sophisticated language used to describe facts and knowledge precisely, going beyond ordinary conversation. And the third, according to Frye, used in poetry and novels, strongly resonates with emotion. Perhaps my focus on facts and knowledge, even treating emotions as facts, is why I don’t grasp literature.
So, let’s examine what literature is. Frye introduces the concept of ‘literature as a whole.’ He suggests all literary works are interconnected, forming a world of pure imagination. Achilles in a story is not the historical Achilles; he’s a purely fictional character, interconnected with many other characters. For example, a hero with a bizarre weakness in a Marvel movie could be considered a modern Achilles. Frye might have been thinking of psychological analysis, where personalities are divided into different categories. I’m unsure if this psychological categorization underpins Frye’s ‘whole.’
However, it’s not just about personality. Frye also claims that all literature shares the same plot structure: ‘the story of the loss and regaining of identity is, I think, the framework of all literature.’ This seems overly simplistic. While all stories have plots, summarizing them in one dimension (loss and regaining) seems reductive.
He views myth as a primitive imagination effort, typically resulting in stories about gods. Later, humans replaced gods as characters. This is an interesting observation, though there are counterexamples, like the Marvel universe, which includes many gods.
Frye categorizes literature into four forms: comedy, romance, tragedy, and irony. He suggests comedy and romance are simpler, while tragedy and irony are more advanced. But this, too, seems like an oversimplification. Can’t there be other forms?
Moreover, his claim that everything is grounded in the Bible seems too controversial. He asserts that no story exists outside the Bible, a claim I seriously doubt.
Finally, regarding the analogy between math and literature: pure math proceeds by establishing postulates and assumptions, then observing their interactions, much like literature begins with settings and lets them interact to form a story. Pure math reveals truth and underpins physical science, while pure literature exposes emotions and culture, forming the basis of history, philosophy, social science, law, and theology. This analogy works to some extent, but a closer look might reveal differences: math is almost deterministic, with initial settings nearly guaranteeing outcomes, and it’s reproducible. In literature, however, the author can decide how the plot develops, even mid-story.
In conclusion, I don’t think this book holds the truth I’m seeking. I will look elsewhere.