The Search for Meaning in Literature
- 3 days ago
- 7 min read
Was that what you meant?
Not all literary texts are easy to understand. Just as there are books that we can read as part of our daily routine, there are also works that require a more studious approach. This means setting aside time in a quiet place and ensuring that our minds are clear. This is often the case with long novels and poetry. Once we have finished reading them, we reflect on them and consider what we have understood. Sometimes, however, we read a book that doesn't really stick in our minds, or the impressions it leaves are fragmented. It feels complex or incomplete. This is to be expected. Conversely, we may read a novel or poem that overwhelms us and compels us to find meaning in every detail. I find this intriguing because it makes me wonder whether it is possible for everyone to imbue works with so much meaning and find common ground.
Throughout this piece, I use the word “meaning” frequently. I am not referring to what the plot conveys, but rather to the layers of meaning, associations and subtexts that readers seek to uncover within the text.
I am currently reading Jorge Luis Borges’s book “This Craft of Verse”. It is a compilation of some of the lectures he gave during his lifetime. I haven’t finished it yet, but one chapter emphasises the meaning attributed to works. This caught my attention and got me thinking. Borges says, we are burdened — overburdened — by our own sense of history and we cannot examine an ancient text in the same way that people in the Middle Ages, during the Renaissance, or in the eighteenth century did. Seeing one of the phrases we occasionally discuss in our book club has put my mind at ease. Every work should be interpreted in the context of its own era, and the meaning attributed to it should follow suit. However, this is difficult, and according to Borges, impossible.
Thanks to this remark, I made a different connection in my mind: classical works. As you know, readers either find them ordinary or confusing. We read them as children but cannot understand them, so we leave them until adulthood. Then there are some that are easily readable and accepted just as they are. Because, in fact, that is exactly what they are. Not every classical work is obliged to convey profound meanings. The power of the classics lies in their aesthetic form, innovative nature for their time, influence on language, ability to create a distinctive historical style, and capacity to influence future generations. But does this necessarily mean that they must carry profound meanings? I suppose we cannot say this applies to all of them. While each one offers philosophical layers, metaphorical expressions and imaginative diversity, they evoke a similar meaning for most readers.
In my view, this point is easier to accept when it comes to novels. This is because there is a narrative flow, and the development of the characters can be revealed. However, poems are different: at the heart of the text lies a mixture of emotion, logic, and rhythm. This makes them difficult to understand and interpret. I have always found poetry daunting in literature lessons. Whenever we were asked to interpret them, I always felt uneasy. This is because children grasp metaphors later than adults and often take things literally. Perhaps it's a habit left over from those days, but when I write, I always incorporate both logic and emotion. Otherwise, I find writing to be abstract, incomplete and meaningless. Especially when I read it back.
While this may not apply to everyone in the same way, I am among those who believe that most poems cannot be fully understood on first reading. To read a poem with both enjoyment and understanding, it should be read at least two or three times, engaging with it each time. This is one of the factors that can lead to different interpretations right from the outset.
I am not even touching upon the differences in meaning that arise from cultural and linguistic differences, that is an obvious point. Different meanings can be captured in multiple translations of a single poem. Borges, for instance, discusses two types of translation. The first is an indirect translation interwoven with emotions, the structure of the target language, and its cultural context. The second type is a direct translation carried out word for word, whilst preserving the logic of the sentence as much as possible. The emotions evoked in the reader by these two approaches differ. The key, then, is to consider which type of translation should be used for which kind of work or in which context. However, this is a matter of ongoing debate within the literary world.
The more I read, the deeper I found myself diving into this ocean of ideas that had captured my interest. I asked myself two further questions:
Is the true meaning hidden in the author's intended message or in what readers understand?
Who determines a text's true meaning: the writer or the reader?
Although these two questions may seem similar, they are not.
The first essentially asks, “What creates meaning in literary works?” The author is concerned with conveying something to us. If this takes the form of a narrative, the meaning is more concrete and has more tangible aspects. This meaning can also be shared more easily. However, when it comes to poetry in particular, things become more ambiguous. Why? Because we need to understand the author's personality, which has a greater influence on poetry than on a novel's narrative. What sort of person is the author? What emotions and themes are they inclined to write about? Do they have boundaries, and can they transcend them? Are their descriptions ornate, or do they speak to the reader in an intimate way?
Clearly, the author has conveyed something to the reader. But what comes next may also be a mystery. Have you read the same thing that I have? Will we imbue the images we discovered with the same thoughts and feelings? Did we both grasp the double meanings of the words? Which meaning did the author emphasise? The questions tend to multiply. Moreover, they have now diversified. Which reader is right? Is it some people or everyone?
Now, let's move on to the second question, which I find more interesting. The author shared their text with the reader, and what we mentioned above took place. So far, everything is normal. But what makes this a work of art? Is it the meaning in the author’s mind, or the meaning that arises in the reader(s)? Imagine, for example, that one person (the author) says "X" about what is presented in the text, while a thousand people (the readers) say "Y". Does the collective wisdom of the readers elevate the work to memorable status, or does the author’s personal narrative assert that this is not the case, regardless of what everyone else thinks? Perhaps it even challenges readers' thoughts. These are interesting questions that are not given much consideration. Just as asking “What makes the classics classics?” prompts us to ask ‘What constitutes a work of art?’, finding an answer to the former question (if there is one) can help us better understand the latter.
I would now like to share another humorous quote from Borges, also from the same book, about the role of the reader in interpreting meaning:
"From time to time, I try out a rather bold metaphor. But I realise that if it came from me, a trivial contemporary, no one would accept it. So I attribute it to some elusive Iranian or Norwegian. Then my friends tell me it’s rather lovely. Of course, I never tell them that I came up with it myself, as I’m fond of metaphors. Having said that, the Iranians or Norwegians might well have invented that metaphor or even better ones.”
As you can see, the meaning of a text depends on the reader's expectations. Imagine you’re reading a poem and you know nothing about its title or author. You enjoy it, and then you discover that it’s by a local writer whose name you don’t recognise. Now imagine the opposite scenario. You might find that you don't like the verses of Poe or Shakespeare. Those lines might not mean anything to you. From a reader's perspective, this seems strange, doesn't it? Our perception of an author is influenced not only by the text itself, but also by their name, the era in which they wrote, and what we know about them. An author who writes in the same era as you might understand you better and express themselves more effectively.
Roland Barthes, a literary theorist and critic whose work I have not yet read, argues that a text becomes independent the moment it leaves the author's hands and that the author should be regarded as dead. According to Barthes, it is the reader, not the author, who determines the text’s meaning. While this approach broadens the scope for interpretation, there is a risk of erasing the text's boundaries completely.
In conclusion, I would like to share my perspective on the matter.
Literature is not always easily understood. A work may not be interpreted in the same way by everyone. Nor are all works by a single author necessarily interpreted in the same way. Novels can be just as complex as poems. I have given more space to poetry above because the vast majority of novels present their resolution at the outset and are more likely to come together afterwards. However, poems, no matter how long they are, are short by comparison, and are somewhat further removed from the concrete in a comprehensible way.
For example, “Huzur” by Tanpınar, the last work we read in our book club, was the first of his works that I had ever read. Although I could see that it was profound and beautifully written, I could not fully understand it. Perhaps we did not encounter it at the right time. The funny thing is that I can say the same about another author: Borges himself. For me, the two authors are truly on a par. In my view, these authors' texts are not the sort of material that can be fully appreciated on a first reading. I’m giving myself years; I hope to grasp new layers of meaning when I read them again. I could say much the same about poetry, too.
However, the difference here is that good works lend themselves to producing new meanings when reread. Conversely, a poor work forces meanings onto the text that it does not permit. In my view, this can prevent the reader from seeing the text's true potential. However, let me conclude by adding this:
The fact that a text is open to more than one interpretation does not mean that each interpretation is correct. Literature is not about unlimited freedom of interpretation, as this can lead to excess and exaggeration. Rather, it is the art of seeking meaning within the possibilities offered by the text.
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