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Probably the earliest works of literature that strongly
influenced me were fairy tales, as first told by my mother, and then read by
myself; but I do not consciously recall that these tales exercised a
formative impact on me. However, they must have done so, because otherwise I
would not, late in life, have spent years trying to understand their
psychological meaning for children, an undertaking which I found most
rewarding, not least because it entailed a careful rereading and
contemplation of many fairy tales of various lands. Just why and how fairy
tales became so important to me I can no longer fathom, although I am pretty
sure that the reason is that they were mainly told to me by my mother. Thus
we see that how and by whom works of literature are mediated to us can
account for the depth of meaning they acquire. As I have written elsewhere,
parents who want to deepen their relationship with their child can do so by
reading to the child, but of course their interest in this activity must be
genuine. We also see that poems read aloud by the poet often make a much
deeper impression than when read silently to one-self. Similarly, fiction
read aloud can become much more meaningful to the listener than when read
silently
It makes a great deal of difference whether a work of literature is
experienced also as an event between people, for instance between parent and
child; also, there is a difference in the impact of a drama seen on the
stage and that of one read silently Some of the books which influenced me
most deeply were read and appreciated at the same time by close friends with
whom I discussed them at great length. Thus, whether or not reading a book
is an interpersonal experience can become decisive for the impact it makes.
Like most people, I read a great deal that was somehow useful to me, without
such reading influencing my life in a particular way Even during my
childhood I was a voracious reader, but then mostly of escapist literature.
Historical novels permitted me to escape into the distant past, while other
books, such as those of Karl May, gave me a chance to escape into the
faraway Wild West; some Utopian literature, the science fiction of those
days, allowed escape into the distant future. All these books helped me to
escape the distressing reality of the years of the First World War, from
1914 to 1918. For a Viennese boy who up to the begin-ning of the war had
lived a very sheltered existence and a life of greatest ease and comfort,
the war came as a very rude awakening to the hard-ships of life, for which
nothing had prepared me. Escapist literature permitted me to forget for
long periods of time how difficult life had become for me, so I learned at
an early age what great relief books can provide. |
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