acceptance

As the saying goes, those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it. We do not learn about history by sitting around a communal campfire and listening to monotonous voices reciting laws, by crouching with a spear and learning the fables of the animal kingdom, or even by perching on an elder’s knee and absorbing family tales. No, in this day and age, history is laid out for us on that golden platter we call literature.

Books, poetry, drama… we see the passage of countless lives: how men and women grew up, fought, loved, and died. Human nature and its effects are bared for us. The scandals and honesty of innumerable volumes fill library shelves everywhere, brimming over into the aisles.

But reading about all these things is just that – reading. To paraphrase a fellow literary artist, Louisa May Alcott, we write best when we write only what we ourselves have experienced. And no matter how much reading we do on parasailing, we won’t feel the thrill of defying gravity. We will learn from own experiences and mistakes, not those others have described.

The literature that comes forth after these experiences will be pure and true. You can’t write, you say? You talk to those around you; you write a play. You think constantly; you generate Stream of Consciousness. You give a compliment; you bestow poetry. To say you cannot write is equal to saying that you have no ability to communicate.

While thinking about this speech, mandatory after receiving this great honor from the Royal Swedish Academy, I pondered the place of literature in our society. It unifies, inspires, and lends compassion. But the most important part of literature is the living that comes before its creation.

So press on, through all the bruised knees, and live life to its fullest. Live your own biography so that it’s something you’d want to read.