What is Failure?
The question I am concerned with is the meaning of failure and what it means to be a writer. In order to confront these questions, I wrote the below short story What is Failure? and tried to answer these questions as raised by reading Roberto Bolaño’s Henri Simon LePrince.
Short Story
An
old man sat in a corner in the overcrowded market, quietly looking after an
oft-overlooked shop, the same way he had been doing for the past 20 years. His
stall was covered in dust, and the so-called ‘antiques’ he sold seemed to be
indistinguishable from all the other shops around his, except perhaps for the
fact that his business was even lesser. To veterans of the market, it seemed as
if he had always been there, smoking a pipe at times, reading a newspaper or
simply looking around at the nearby crowd. His beard had grown long and white,
his face was covered in wrinkles and yet his eyes were still bright. They
gleamed with a curiosity that maybe even children might not have today, and he
was always aware of what happened around him in the market. Everyone in the
market gossiped about how he was the one example who definitely should not be
copied, mocking him and calling him a free guard. But they would never have
guessed – why he had taken care of that shabby stall for 20 years…
In
the evening, just like every other day, he went home after packing up his
things and saying goodbye to the nearby stall-owners. He hadn’t sold a single
item that day, again, yet he didn’t really seem to mind. Reaching home, a small
form ran out of his house and leapt up into his arms. He carried his grandson
Miles in his arms, lovingly rubbing his head, and walked in to see his daughter
and her husband, who were visiting. He
laughed and asked them, “Jane, Dave, you guys came for a visit? Why didn’t you
call yesterday? I would have brought some food home for all of you.” Jane
smiled and said, “Dad, Miles was missing you today so we decided to come over.
It’s alright, we already ate.”
“Oh,
so this little rascal missed me, did he? And how did he come to miss me all of
a sudden?”, he said, holding Miles up by his arms and asking him. Miles
answered, clearly excited, “Grandpa, I want to listen to the end of your story,
please! It’s so exciting, and you haven’t told me anymore for so long!”
“Alright,
alright, I’ll tell you. Let’s go in into the study, shall we? To pick up the
world of Alfram and Jarin once again. Dave, Jane, you guys know where
everything is, right? I’ve gotten old, so I’ll go and tell him my story, and
you guys can have some tea or something, alright?”
Without
waiting for an answer, he walked to the study, carrying Miles in his arms;
clearly intent on satisfying the child’s curiosity. Jane and Dave looked at
each other, then Dave sighed and both of them went into the kitchen. They set
the water to boil, and then walked back to the study door, and listened through
it; only to hear the voice of an old man telling a story in an earnest voice,
while an immature voice intercepted with sounds of assent and shock – clearly
expressing his emotions at the story. Dave softly murmured, “Miles is already
8, Jane. We really need to stop letting him see your father so often. Mind you,
the old man isn’t bad; but these are Miles’ growing years, and everyone he
meets can be a huge influence on him. And frankly speaking, you father is a bit
of a failure. If Miles gets too influenced by him and loses himself in flights
of fancy and leading such an ambition-less life, then we really won’t be able
to regret. So, wouldn’t it be better if we reduced their interaction a bit
instead?”
Jane
said, “I know what you mean, but he is my father you know. They have the
perfect right to meet each other. Plus, he’s not really that bad. He used to be
quite something back in the day, it was also after meeting my mother that he…”
“Isn’t
that in itself enough of a problem? If he learns how to change his entire life
on the basis of a few words said by a girl he just met, then how is that any
better?”
“Mind
your words! That’s my parents you’re talking about!”
“And
that’s our child! Jane, think about it!”
“…Alright,
I’ll try talking to Dad about it.”
After
this, they went back to the kitchen and got the tea to drink. Jane decided to
carry in a cup for her father as well, and softly opened the study door while
carrying the tray. “Dad, here, have some tea.”
The
man shushed his daughter and looked at Miles, who was sleeping in his arms.
Jane said, “Dad, Dave and I feel that maybe you guys shouldn’t spend so much
time together. Miles is 8 now, and he should spend more time studying.” The old
man looked at his daughter, and then at his grandson, and then said, “Ah, I
must not infect the kid with my being a loser, huh.” He lovingly stroked Miles’
head, and said, “There was a time when I wasn’t considered a failure, you know.
Back before I met your mother. Did I ever tell you the whole story? Let me tell
you today.”
The
couple exchanged glances and took a seat on the couch in the study.
The
old man started talking –
“21
years ago, I was a popular writer who had won several awards for my novels. I
was at the top of my profession, and I was considered to be one of the most
promising writers in my generation, and many people were just waiting for me to
win the Nobel Prize. Those were heady days, and I’m not afraid to admit that
the praise had gone to my head. There were no longer any critics in the country
who dared to criticize my work, at all. So, of course I ended up thinking that
my novels were perfect, and that I deserved everything I got – that it was due
to me. In the midst of all this, on an evening in a bar, I met your mother. She
was dazzling – not only beautiful but shining with a kind of confidence that
was almost material in nature. That was the first time I had ever met a woman
who left me dazed. And not only was she pretty, I had heard that she was the
daughter of the owner of the most prestigious publishing house in the country
and using that as her backing; she had been making a name for herself as the
newest and most severe critic in town. We talked for a long time that night,
about anything but work. We met up again and again for many weeks, but we never
talked about anything related to work. Until one day, when I asked her to marry
me and she said yes. That day, I finally asked her – what did she think about
my novels? She asked me if I was prepared for the truth, and on acquiring my
assent, she told me that they were lacking – in one particular way. They were
lacking in experience – it seemed as if the author did not know how the
characters would truly feel. Naturally, given my overwhelming success till that
point, that really hit my soft spot and I almost couldn’t believe what I had
heard. I stormed off in anger that night, and I didn’t meet your mother till
the next day – and I told her then one simple thing. I told her – Alright. I
believe you. From now on, I’ll live in this world. I’ll learn who people really
are. I’ll gather my experience. And till then, I won’t waste my time with
writing anymore. Do you dare to follow me? And you know what, she did.”
“But
Dad, you really just left writing? And ended up handling an old store in the
market? Didn’t you ever think of going back?”
“Who
said I never planned to go back? As a matter of fact, I had always planned to
go back after I got enough experience, but I decided against it 5 years ago.”
“5
years ago … when mother died?”
“Exactly.
She told me something when she was dying, you know. Something very important.
She told me – it never mattered to me whether you were a shopkeeper or a
best-selling author. All I wanted for you was to make sure you lived in the
world, to make sure you were true to yourself. That garbage that works in the
market isn’t what you were meant to write and you know it. I just wanted you to
know – if you write the true stories you’ve always wanted to write one day,
even if the whole world does not accept them, I will. Because you’ll be writing
what you want to write, not what panders to anyone else. So, I’ll be watching
over you, Jack. Don’t let me down, okay? After that, how was I supposed to
start writing again?”
At
this point, the old man seemed to be slightly choked up, Jane was already
sobbing, silently and even Dave looked solemn.
“So,
my dear daughter, that’s why I’ve never published again – yet. My stories that
I tell Miles are the real ones I want to tell, you see. But as a matter of
fact, I have a book that I’ve written – this time a true reflection of my
writing – that will be published in a few days. You can read that if you want.
But this whole story was actually just me giving you a reason to not keep Miles
from me, really. I just wanted to tell you that failure isn’t decided by the
world. It’s only decided by the person who failed. To me, the days when I was
successful in the eyes of the world was when I was the biggest failure in the
world. And today, when I can truly express myself in my writing, when I can
live free and happily – is when I’m really a success. I only wish your mother
were still here to see this day, that would have made it perfect. But she’s
still looking out for me from above, so she’s always near me.”
Dave,
who had been quiet all this while, suddenly spoke, “Success and failure aren’t
decided by the world, but by the person themselves huh… Father-in-law, if you
can just teach Miles that in all the time he spends with you, I believe he’ll
be forever indebted to you. We spoke unnecessarily, please forgive us. Could he
stay here tonight? Jane and I will go out for dinner instead.”
“Alright,
no problem. I’ll take care of him. You kids have fun.”
Jane
and Dave left the house quietly, and Dave told his wife quietly, “Your father
is a brilliant man. And your mother must have been even more brilliant.”
Jane
said, “I’ve only just realised it myself. And to spend the years looking down
on them…” She sighed. “Let’s just go, Dave. Miles should be lucky to interact
with him more.”
Academic Discourse
In Henri Simon LePrince, everyone considers the protagonist to be a
failure. He is a “failed writer, barely scraping a living in the Paris gutter
press, and his stories and poems (which the bad poets regard as bad and the
good ones don’t even read) are published in provincial magazines.” (Bolaño 23) His
manuscripts are always rejected, and even on getting chances of being
successful, such as when he is approached by the collaborationists (Bolaño 24), he
refuses to go along with their wishes and does as he feels is right. Similarly,
in my story, the old man was once a bright star in the writing world, but just
because he was not following what he truly felt was right, he gave up on his
success on listening to his wife. Both my story and Bolaño’s seem to suggest
that failure is also an important option, especially when you choose it. As
long as you can be true to yourself, then failure and success is not left to
the world to decide, but only to yourself.
Similarly, the young lady
novelist in Henri Simon LePrince told
the protagonist that if he was to just avoid showing his character, his
personality in his writing, which in her words had something which “most people
find repellent.” LePrince agrees that that would indeed be the solution, but
also knows he would not follow it. (Bolaño 30) Similarly, for several years, the old man
in the above story had been writing for the market, instead of letting himself
show in his work which was the cause of his popularity. In his case, his wife
persuaded him to go on the same path as LePrince in a way, to express himself
through his writing. Thus, both stories have a protagonist following a path of
writing, and a lady who tries to persuade them to change that path. But both
protagonists end up walking on the path of letting themselves show through
their writing by writing what they want to write. Thus, it can be inferred that
a meaning of the way of being a writer is to write what you want, and to freely
express yourself through that writing.
The role the women played in the stories is also
worth discussing. In Bolaño’s story, the young lady novelist is trying to
convince Henri to work according to the writers and the editors, and to hide
his own self and avoid showing it through his writing since his self is somehow
repellent to other people. It seems as if she also fell in love with Henri. He
trusts that it is indeed a solution to his problem yet refuses to change his
way of thinking, instead preferring to hope that his ‘bad writing’ can also
help to show which writing is truly ‘good’. In my story, the old man’s wife,
who is also in love with him, is trying to convince him that his writing does
not have a reflection of himself, that it is not what he truly wants to write.
She tells him that his work is popular because it is based on what the market
finds to be good. But she wants him to turn to the path of a writer where he
can freely express himself through his writing. He believes her, and spends
many years simply living life, experiencing its vicissitudes in order to gain
enough depth of experience and character to write interesting stories with a
reflection of himself on them. Both these female characters are in love with
the male protagonists and are trying to help them by convincing them to change
their paths, yet the young lady fails and the old man’s wife succeeds. You can
also draw upon this to say that free expression of one’s character through
one’s writing is the true path of being a writer.
Both the avoidance of failure and becoming a true
writer are easily achievable through the simple goal of being true to oneself.
If one is true to oneself, one can reach upon the path of being a real writer,
freely expressing one’s character and experiences through one’s writing. At the
same time, it also allows one to realise that success and failure should not be
measured as per the material terms of the world, but rather according to one’s
own feelings. In fact, when it comes to being a writer, failure only means
failing to be true to oneself. Thus, both these questions really have the same
answer – to be true to one’s own feelings and express them freely.
Works Cited
Bolaño, Robert. “Henri Simon LePrince”. Last Evenings on Earth. Translated by
Chris Andrews, Vintage-Random House, 2008.
