Reading is a brave thing to do. We must sally forth into the unknown imaginative world. We must suspend our disbelief. We must agree to follow the rules of the text.
We often end up living in a space of almost understanding.
I want to take a moment to honor the almost. We tend to race past this; it’s not always comfortable to entertain uncertainty.
But before the analysis phase is the inarticulated-response phase, where we’ve had an experience but haven’t tried to put language to it yet.
A good comparison might be the point when you walk out of a movie and someone asks, “What did you think?” Maybe you hesitate to reply because you are still sorting through the aftereffects of image and sound, the meanderings of plot, the power of elicited emotions, etc.
There’s something lovely about being immersed in the ambiguities of the artistic experience, about not having to categorize everything. Yet the opportunity to remain there, pondering, is often elusive. We humans tend to reach for order and closure.
Sometimes the piece of art itself encourages this sense of in-between-ness. Take, for example, “This is a Photograph of Me” by the amazing Margaret Atwood. At first, it simply seems to describe a blurry photograph of a lake scene. But then we are informed that the picture “was taken / the day after I drowned,” and we are invited to look more closely for the speaker beneath the surface of the lake. Suddenly what seems to be a flat photograph takes on complex depth and raises multiple questions. It’s a fascinating and haunting poem: we are never given all the answers, but we do know the voice has something to tell us about seeing differently. It makes us actively engage.
And now for the connection to our topic of choice around here: that same sense of almost understanding is the desired mode when we read mysteries. We want to sustain that place of suspension.
Yes, we expect a solution to be offered eventually, of course, but upfront? No thanks. We want to know something has been done, but not why or by whom. Throughout the rest of the text, we want the chance to piece things together, entertain various scenarios, puzzle things out…almost seeing the solution but not quite. We choose to “dwell in possibility” (hat tip, Emily Dickinson for that phrase).
This often holds true from the writing side too–drafting a book can definitely evoke that sense of uncertainty, which may feel especially appropriate to anyone diving into NaNoWriMo this month!
Do you enjoy or resist “the almost”? What activities tend to evoke it the most?
Chicks on the Case 
I do like “the almost.” It feels very creative for me. Maybe that’s why my writing suffers so much if I try to plan too far ahead.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Such a great feeling, the creative space! Thanks, Liz.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ooh, interesting. I love the almost in a mystery. When you think you might have figured it out but you’re not sure and your eagerly anticipating the resolution. Is that what the almost is?
LikeLiked by 4 people
Yes! That is definitely an “almost” mode…
LikeLike
Interesting post! I would say I am a fan of “the almost,” although I never really thought about it before. There’s just something that pulls you in when you don’t quite have everything figured out.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Marla, that’s such a great way to put it!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
So true, Cynthia! My ms. is “almost” done—and has been for awhile, lol. So that’s a good thing, right? (And probably why I will be a pantser forever, despite my best efforts otherwise.) I’m also a reader/viewer who needs time to process afterward, to let things “gel.” Somtimes books or shows will unexpectedly stick with me for a very long time. I love the “But wait, what if…?”
LikeLiked by 3 people
YES, Lisa! And same–I need a bit of sorting-out time as well.
LikeLike
What a lovely, thoughtful post, Cyn. I love reading fiction because–unlike with movies or TV–it’s the one thing that allows me to completely lose myself in the story. And it’s that “almost” that keeps me breathlessly turning the pages till the very end. But then when you do finally finish, there’s a kind of sadness.
I never thought about it before, but it’s a bit like Schrödinger’s cat, no?
LikeLiked by 4 people
Totally Schrödinger’s cat vibe, the indefinite possibilities! LOVE that you said that…thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I enjoy almost while I am reading the novel, but I like to fully understand what is going on when I reach the end. If I don’t, I get very frustrated.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Definitely like this post. I adore meditating on the arts. Do it all the time. But no one I know gets the arts like me. So I am definitely a loner, and ponder by myself all the time.
But now you got me thinking about the unknown and closure all all that.
Don’t have time for this! Lol!
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you, Hestia. And you can ponder the arts over here with us any time!
LikeLike
Agree…I want to understand at some point too (either at the end or after I figure it out after thinking about the end some more).
LikeLike
Cynthia, this is such a beautiful, poetic post! I’d never really thought about it until you placed it like a feast before me. But I LOVE the almost. When my husband and I watch a movie together I am happy to let the story unfold in its own time because I trust writers, I guess. But hubs gets so impatient. If there’s a long, slow pan to the grandfather clock I get all excited … “Oooh, that’s gonna be important!” and I try to figure out how. But he gets all twitchy … “What’s the deal with the clock, anyway??”
And while I’m thinking about it, you should really be an English professor. [winky face]
LikeLiked by 5 people
Oh, yay! Grandfather clock meaningfulness is delicious.
And thank you for the kind words…and ha ha/winky face back.
LikeLike
Great post, Cynthia! I love the almost as a reader. As a writer, it can be extremely frustrating!
LikeLiked by 3 people
Excellent point, Vickie–depends on which hat we are wearing at that moment!
LikeLike
I agree about this being a poetic post! I’m going to side with Mark. I like “the almost” in a story–it’s so tantalizing–but then I need to have the resolution at the very end.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Jen, and agree wholeheartedly with eventually getting to a resolution! I mean, we don’t want to be wandering around forever wondering. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Cynthia, this is a fabulous post, one that has both my brain and my senses careening in all sorts of interesting ways. However, exisiting in the current almost-election state has robbed me of any sensible reply. This is a situation that cries out for a resolution.
LikeLike
What a lovely, lovely post, Cynthia.
I absolutely love the almost. There is so much power in that possibility. It reminds me of the French phrase, “presque vu,” which means almost seen. It’s the feeling of being on the break of a discovery or that something is on the tip of your brain. When I’m reading a mystery and getting caught up in the almost, I swear I can hear my neurons firing as they try to make the connections!
LikeLike