Books can be perfect. People, on the other hand, are hardly ever perfect.
It’s one of the reasons why we imagine stories, better worlds, make up characters that are better than us and lead more interesting lives. If we were not the aholes that we are, we wouldn’t sing these sweet tunes to get some. We wouldn’t paint these wonderful things. We wouldn’t write and read and feel titillated by some fancy wordplay.
Once upon a time all you knew about an author was what was written inside the book cover, they lived in a small country home with a long-suffering spouse and three small cats. Nowadays you can subscribe to their twitter feed, read their blog and cyberstalk them to your heart’s content. It should come as no surprise that some of them do not reach the standards we set as acceptable for a decent human being. Should you avoid reading books by people you would not like personally? Sometimes it does you good to read something from a viewpoint dissimilar from your own, if only to reinforce your convictions.
Maybe we just can’t help it, judging works by their authors, being attracted to the works of people we admire even if the works are not so great. I have a few semi-parallel extensions to try:
Would you live in a house if you learned the builders were morally reprehensible in some way (abuse, rape, murder, political or religious bigotry, etc.?)
Would you drive a car to get to work if the owner or manufacturer were jerks?
Do you eat animals raised in questionable circumstances and enjoy it anyways?
Is a painting less beautiful if it’s painter is a douche-bag?
Perhaps there is something about story itself that compels us to be highly invested in the story-teller? Clearly “Story” is a cornerstone of how our minds and social lives are wired, founded, oriented. We are the storytelling species. So perhaps we’re also predisposed to heavy-handed pre-rational filtering of stories we’re willing to embrace? Learning that a story-teller isn’t what we need them to be, psychologically, is maybe a fundamental betrayal, a threat to our sanity.
Sometimes, you can read a book and pretty soon tell that the – supposed – writer is an ahole, be that religious lore or Mein Kampf. Sometimes, you can read some asshole writer’s oeuvre and evolve into a better human being.
I think I’ve had good luck not finding out too much about authors beyond what they write. I know this is a cop-out. I should be interested to know if an author funds Neo-Nazi hate groups or still buys soda with the plastic six-pack holders, but there are already so many terrible people to distract my attention.
However, At certain ages and mind spaces, the author can be just as important as the book to the reader. Whoever we make into personal heroes to emulate, be they neurosurgeons, authors, astronauts, or comic characters, there will always be the issue that at some point we have to move beyond hero-worship and become ourselves.
-Dagobot
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