We’ve gone round on this one before, and stubborn as a mule I may be, but am slowly bending under the pressure to relegate ownership of a story to the reader. An example:
From a short story that establishes a background of the separation of town and people by wealth and setting, out of choice:
“On the northern end, two churches stared at each other in a cold war of fieldstone. The big church … was surrounded by trimmed hedges, lush lawn and everblooming gardens, as if to make up for turning its back on the fields.”
Might as well add: “from whence it was born.”
The church, being constructed of fieldstone, you see, stones taken out of the fields to build the churches in town. This mimics what is happening with the people, that is, the new generation turning its back on the old, forsaking the labor of farming to find wealth in manufacturing plants that build up the town.
We can say that a) the author planned this; a well-thought out symbolism; b) the author didn’t plan this, but somehow it was subconsciously brought out in his story; or c) I, the reader, am making something out of it only because of my own experiences brought to the reading.
What’s the answer? I don’t know. And I’m the one that wrote it. All I can purely discount is that it was most definitely (and reluctantly admitted) not brilliantly planned. All I can take as credit is being an astute reader, or maybe not that astute, having read it a hundred times over in rewrites and just having picked up on it now.
It makes one wonder about how much the author does purposefully, subconsciously, or obliviously. Therefore, it strengthens the argument that the story belongs to the reader. I have always pretty much fought this notion, but may need to switch camps as my arguments disintegrate around me by my own hand.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology