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The Meaning of Shadows
It was only recently that I read Hans Christian Andersen's story “The
Shadow." My Danish translator, Mette Holm, recommended it, saying she was
sure I would find it interesting. Until I read it, I had no idea at all that
Andersen had written stories like this.
As I read the Japanese translation of “The Shadow," I found it had an
intense, frightening plot. Andersen is known to most people in Japan as a
writer of fairy tales aimed at children, and I was astonished to find he'd
written such a dark, hopeless fantasy. And a question naturally came to me,
namely, “Why did he feel the need to write a story like that?"
The protagonist of the story is a young scholar who leaves his homeland in
the north and travels to a foreign land in the south. There something
unexpected happens and he loses his shadow. He is upset and confused, of
course, but eventually he manages to cultivate a new shadow and return safely
home. Later on, though, his lost shadow makes its way back to him. His old
shadow had, in the meanwhile, gained wisdom and power and had become
independent, and financially and socially was now far more prominent than its
former master. The shadow and its former master had traded places, in other
words. The shadow was now the master, the master a shadow. The shadow now
falls in love with a beautiful princess from another land and becomes the
king there. And the former master, the one who knows his past as a shadow,
ends up being murdered. The shadow survives, achieving great success, while
his former master, the human being, is sadly extinguished.
I have no idea what sort of readers Andersen had in mind when he wrote this
story, but in it we can see, I think, how Andersen the fairy tale writer,
abandoned the framework he'd worked with up till then, namely writing tales
for children, and instead borrowed the format of an allegory for adults, and
attempted to boldly pour out his heart as a free individual.
I'd like to talk about myself here.
I don't plan out a plot as I write a novel. My starting point for writing a
novel is always a single scene or idea that comes to me. And as I write, I
let that scene or idea move forward of its own accord. Instead of using my
head, in other words, it's through moving my hand in the process of writing
that I think. In those times I value what's in my unconscious above what's in
my conscious mind.
So when I write a novel I don't know what's going to happen next in the
story. And neither do I know how it's going to end. As I write, I witness
what happens next. For me, then, writing a novel is a journey of discovery.
Just as children listening to a story eagerly wonder what's going to happen
next, I have the same exact feeling of excitement as I write.
As I read “The Shadow," the first impression I had was that Andersen, too,
wrote it in order to “discover" something. Also, I don't think he had an
idea at the beginning of how the story was going to end. I get the sense that
he had the notion of your shadow leaving you, and used that as his starting
point to write the story, and wrote it without knowing how it would turn out.
Most critics nowadays, and quite a number of readers, tend to read stories in
an analytical way. They are trained in schools, or by society, that that's
the correct reading methodology. People analyze, and critique, texts, from an
academic perspective, a sociological perspective, or a psychoanalytic
perspective.
The thing is, if a novelist tries to construct a story analytically, the
story's inherent vitality will be lost. Empathy between writer and readers
won't arise. Often we see that the novels that critics rave about are ones
readers don't particularly like, but in many cases it's because works that
critics see as analytically excellent fail to win the natural empathy of
readers.
In Andersen's “The Shadow" we see traces of a journey of self discovery that
thrusts aside that kind of easy analysis. This couldn't have been an easy
journey for Andersen, since it involved discovering and seeing his own
shadow, the unseen side of himself he would want to avoid looking at. But as
an honest, faithful writer Andersen confronted that shadow directly in the
midst of chaos and fearlessly forged ahead.
When I write novels myself, as I pass through the dark tunnel of narrative I
encounter a totally unexpected vision of myself, which must be my own shadow.
What's required of me then is to portray this shadow as accurately, and
candidly, as I can. Not turning away from it. Not analyzing it logically, but
rather accepting it as a part of myself. But it won't do to lose out to the
shadow's power. You have to absorb that shadow, and without losing your
identity as a person, take it inside you as something that is a part of you.
You experience that process together with your readers. And share that
sensation with them. That's one of the vital roles for a novelist.
In the nineteenth century, when Andersen lived, and in the twenty-first, our
own century, we have to, when necessary, face our own shadows, confront them,
and sometimes even work with them. That requires the right kind of wisdom and
courage. Of course it's not an easy task. Sometimes dangers arise. But if
they avoid it people won't be able to truly grow and mature. Worst case, they
will end up like the scholar in the story “The Shadow," destroyed by their
own shadow.
It's not just individuals who need to face their shadows. The same act is
necessary for societies and nations. Just as all people have shadows, every
society and nation, too, has shadows. If there are bright, shining aspects,
there will definitely be a counterbalancing dark side. If there's a positive,
there will surely be a negative on the reverse side.
At times we tend to avert our eyes from the shadow, those negative parts. Or
else try to forcibly eliminate those aspects. Because people want to avoid,
as much as possible, looking at their own dark sides, their negative
qualities. But in order for a statue to appear solid and three-dimensional,
you need to have shadows. Do away with shadows and all you end up with is a
flat illusion. Light that doesn't generate shadows is not true light.
No matter how high a wall we build to keep intruders out, no matter how
strictly we exclude outsiders, no matter how much we rewrite history to suit
us, we just end up damaging and hurting ourselves. You have to patiently
learn to live together with your shadow. And carefully observe the darkness
that resides within you. Sometimes in a dark tunnel you have to confront your
own dark side. If you don't, before long your shadow will grow ever stronger
and will return, some night, to knock at the door of your house. “I'm back,"
it'll whisper to you.
Outstanding stories can teach us many things. Lessons that transcend time
periods and cultures.