Rereading some short stories by O Henry, I was struck, as I
often am, by the desire to have written some of them myself. If I could excise
him from history, hide the tales from the world for long enough for them to be
forgotten, then produce them as my own, I think I would do it. Or possibly not.
His style is not mine, his life was not mine, his characters can never be mine,
but many of the ideas behind the stories are universal, at least, they are once
they’ve been thought of.
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It made me think about other unusual idea which have been
repeated (or copied) in writing and in song. I have a little list (now that
line rings a bell, too, for some reason) of particularly striking cases:
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Lope de Vega once wrote a sonnet which is a description of
the process of writing itself. (It’s called Soneto de Repente, if anyone wants
to look it up). And Leonard Cohen wrote a song called Hallelujah, a rather
splendid song if you like that sort of thing, the first verse of which
describes its own musical theme (It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the
minor fall and the major lift) very cleverly.
Another O Henry story is ‘The Tainted Tenner’, narrated by a
ten-dollar bill. The Guy Clarke song, ‘Indian-Head Penny’, is not narrated by
the coin, but it tells a similar story of its birth and adventures, and all the
places it ends up and the jobs it has to do.
Country music has many niche narratives. Although every
second country song ever written is about some guy getting drunk over some girl,
among the songs which find other aspects of life there are some unusual themes.
Girl who turns to prostitution out of despair is common enough (Townes van
Zandt’s ‘Tecumseh Valley’ is one of the best). But there are a couple of songs
which refine it further, as ‘mama was a whore because she had to be but she was
always good to me.’ ‘Hickory Hollow Tramp’ and ‘Lily of the Alley’ aren’t
great songs, but they take a very specific and unusual theme and do something
with it.
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This has been a series of random thoughts. Indulge me. In a
couple of days I must return to the city, where I shall have to think, get up
in the morning, organize my mind and my life, and pretend that what I do has a
serious purpose. The riffing on odd things seen in the mountains will have to
end. But today I can still think random thoughts.
*The photos are of the salt works I wrote about last week. I couldn't upload them then.
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