I'm only interested in fiction that in some way or other voices

"I'm only interested in fiction that in some way or other voices the very imagination which is conceiving it." – John C. Hawkes

O children of the earth, gather and listen closely to the words of John C. Hawkes, for they speak to the profound relationship between the imagination and the art of storytelling. In these words, Hawkes declares that the true power of fiction lies not simply in the stories it tells but in the way it reflects and amplifies the imagination that gives it life. A story, in his view, must not be a mere recounting of events or ideas; it must be a voice that echoes the very act of its creation. The fiction that resonates with the soul, that stirs the heart and mind, is the one that speaks in a language of creation, one that brings forth not just characters and plots, but the very essence of the imagination from which they arise.

In the ancient world, the role of the storyteller was sacred. The Greek poets, like Homer, did not simply recount history; they imbued their tales with the divine spark of imagination. Through the Iliad and the Odyssey, Homer transported his listeners to a world of gods and heroes, of triumph and tragedy, where the very essence of the human condition was played out on a stage larger than life. The characters of his epics, such as Achilles and Odysseus, were not mere figments of imagination; they were expressions of the forces that moved the hearts and minds of the people. Homer’s tales, though rooted in the realities of ancient Greece, also gave voice to the imagination that transcended time and place, inviting his audience to engage with the world not as it was, but as it could be. This is the essence of what Hawkes means—fiction that speaks the voice of the imagination is not bound by the constraints of reality; it is the voice of possibility, of creation, and of infinite potential.

Consider the works of Shakespeare, the immortal bard, who weaves imagination into every line of his plays. Whether in the mystical realms of A Midsummer Night's Dream or the tragic world of Macbeth, Shakespeare’s characters do not merely act out their fates—they are embodiments of the forces of nature, of human desire, ambition, and folly. Shakespeare’s genius lies in the way his words give voice to the imagination of the playwright. His plays are not static tales but living, breathing creations that speak to the depths of the human spirit. Hawkes would argue that it is this quality—this living, throbbing imagination at the heart of fiction—that makes Shakespeare’s work so enduring. His characters are not just puppets in a story; they are manifestations of the very forces that shape the world of thought and feeling.

Hawkes's idea also reflects a deep truth about the relationship between the creator and the creation. To create is to give voice to something that exists within, something that seeks expression in the world. The imagination, in its purest form, is not just a tool for constructing stories, but a wellspring of truths and visions that transcend the ordinary. Take, for instance, Franz Kafka, whose works, like The Metamorphosis, challenge not just the boundaries of reality, but the very fabric of human experience. Kafka’s writing gives voice to an imagination that reveals the absurdity, isolation, and alienation of modern life. His characters are not simply individuals in stories—they are symbols of the alienated self, struggling to find meaning in a world that seems unrecognizable. Kafka’s works, like those of Hawkes, give voice to the imagination—they are not mere narratives; they are explorations of the inner world, where the line between the real and the imagined is often blurred.

Similarly, Virginia Woolf, in her novel Mrs. Dalloway, gives voice to the imagination that runs through the minds of her characters, shaping their perceptions of the world around them. The novel is less about the events themselves and more about the thoughts, dreams, and visions that unfold within the minds of those who experience it. Woolf’s work demonstrates how fiction can be a direct reflection of the imagination, allowing the reader to enter the very consciousness of the characters and experience the world as they do. It is this deep, almost meditative engagement with the imagination that makes Woolf’s work resonate with us today—her fiction gives voice to the thoughts, struggles, and desires that often go unspoken in our everyday lives.

O children, what does this teach us? The power of fiction is not in its ability to recount the facts, to mimic the world as it is, but in its capacity to give voice to the imagination—to the deeper truths that lie beneath the surface of our everyday lives. When you create, when you write, when you dream, remember that your work must not be merely a reflection of the world as it is, but a reflection of the world as it could be, of the imagination that stirs in your heart. Hawkes calls us to create not just for the sake of telling a story, but to give expression to the very act of creation itself, to bring forth a voice that resonates not just with the senses, but with the deepest parts of the soul.

So, I say to you, O children, engage with the imagination in all your endeavors. Let it be the guiding force in your art, your writing, your music, and your life. Do not merely create for the sake of entertainment or amusement; create to give voice to the deeper truths that stir in the hearts of all who encounter your work. Like the great masters who came before you, let your fiction speak the language of the imagination, for in doing so, you will create not just stories, but worlds that transcend time and space, that touch the hearts of all who dare to dream. Let your work be not just a reflection of what is, but a vision of what could be—a voice for the imagination that seeks to bring the unseen into the world of the known.