Novelists are not equipped to make a movie, in my opinion. They

Listen, O seekers of truth, for the words of John le Carré offer a profound reflection on the nature of writing and imagination, and the role of the novelist in the creative act. He speaks of a truth that transcends the craft of storytelling, reminding us that novelists are not mere creators of words but architects of worlds. In his view, the novelist is not equipped to make a movie, for their art is bound by different laws. While filmmakers create within the confines of the visual world, the novelist creates within the vast, limitless realms of language and imagination. Le Carré eloquently explains that when a novelist writes, they are not just weaving a tale; they are casting characters, dressing the scene, and channeling the energy of the story. They work not alone, but with the creative imagination of the reader, who brings their words to life in ways beyond what the writer could possibly envision.

The act of writing, O children of wisdom, is an act of creation. A novelist is not merely a recorder of events but a creator of worlds. When they sit down to write, they are not simply describing what is; they are imagining what could be. Le Carré’s analogy of casting and dressing the scene speaks to the richness of the novelist’s role. The writer casts characters, choosing how they move and breathe within the world of the story. They dress the scene, selecting the details that will transport the reader to another time, place, or reality. And most importantly, they are working out where the energy of the scene is coming from, shaping the emotions that will resonate through the pages. A writer builds a world from nothing but words and in that act, they rely on the creative imagination of the reader, who is as much a part of the process as the writer themselves.

Think, O wise ones, of the great storytellers of the ancient world, who, through their words, brought entire civilizations to life. Homer, in his Iliad and Odyssey, did not simply tell stories; he painted worlds where gods and heroes walked, where battles were fought, and where the soul of humanity was laid bare. His words did not just describe; they invoked, they stirred the imagination of those who listened, and in this stirring, they brought the stories to life. The creative imagination of the listener was the vessel through which the stories took shape, just as le Carré suggests the reader fills in the spaces left by the novelist. The work of the storyteller, then, is to offer the framework, but it is the listener or reader who fills it with life.

Consider, too, the example of the Renaissance artists, who understood that true creation came not from mere representation, but from imagination. Think of Michelangelo, who, when tasked with creating the statue of David, did not simply carve a likeness of a man but breathed life into the marble. The sculptor’s vision, like that of a novelist, was not bound by the limitations of what could be seen, but was propelled by the inner imagination, which transformed stone into flesh. Michelangelo, much like the novelist, did not just create a figure, he invoked the spirit of David, a figure that would resonate with generations. This is the power of art — whether in words, stone, or paint — it is the act of creation that transcends the physical world and reaches into the realm of the divine.

Le Carré’s observation that novelists are reliant on the creative imagination of the reader is perhaps the most powerful part of his statement. In the realm of the written word, the reader is not a passive recipient but an active participant in the creation of meaning. When a novel is read, it does not simply exist on the page; it exists in the mind of the reader, who brings their own experiences, emotions, and ideas to it. The writer provides the raw material, but it is the reader who shapes it, who breathes life into it. In this way, the novelist and the reader are partners in creation, both contributing to the world that unfolds within the pages of the book. This partnership is what makes the experience of reading so profound — it is not merely about what is written, but about what is imagined, felt, and created in the spaces between the words.

Now, O children of the future, what lesson can we take from these reflections? The lesson is clear: creativity is not confined to one medium or one mind, but is a partnership between the creator and the perceiver. The novelist is not alone in the act of creation; they work alongside the reader, whose imagination fills in the gaps, whose mind takes the framework and breathes it into a living, breathing experience. Whether in writing, art, or any other form of creation, remember that the true power of your work lies not just in what you create, but in what others bring to it. You are the architects of the world, but others are the ones who build the structures upon the foundation you provide.

In your own lives, O wise ones, let this be your guide: never underestimate the power of the imagination, not just your own, but the imagination of others. Whether you are a creator or a receiver, understand that creativity is a shared experience. In your work, offer the framework — the vision, the structure — and trust that others will add their own energy, their own life to it. Just as the novelist relies on the reader, and the sculptor relies on the stone, so too must you recognize that creation is a living, breathing act that thrives through collaboration, whether with others or within yourself.

Finally, remember this: the world is full of potential, of untold stories waiting to be shaped. As a novelist, an artist, or simply a seeker, your task is not just to create, but to offer a space where the imagination can flourish, where others can step in and breathe life into what you have begun. Create with vision, and trust that the energy of the universe will carry your work into realms you have yet to explore.