In an era of fear and division, fiction plays a vital role in dramatising difference and encouraging empathy Once upon a time there was a Greek, an Englishman, a German and a Spaniard. They decided they would each write a story that would do its best to explain the human condition. The Greek said, I’m going to write about a man who’s tossed about on the seas after a war and when he finally returns home, no one – not even his wife – recognises him. The Englishman said, I’m going to write about a young, indecisive prince who can’t decide whether life is worth it. The Spaniard said, I’m going to write about a prevaricating farmer who believes he’s a knight and sets out on his rickety horse for a series of madcap adventures. The German said, I’m going to write about a young man who falls passionately in love with someone else’s wife and dies of love in the end. If we look at things schematically, that’s more or less how Homer created the epic, Shakespeare the drama and Cervantes the novel of wanderlust, while Goethe cultivated the soil of romanticism. It could be a joke, but it’s the history of European literature. And the strange thing is, these characters after whom every modern and postmodern narrative follows are themselves deeply modern: marginalised antiheroes. Today we recognise them and meet them in the light of their popularity, their interpretations and distortions, but who are they really? What do the people around them think of them? And what do they think of themselves? What image does literature give us about the dreams and quests of Europeans and their ancestors? Continue reading...
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