Breaking the spell

To read literature and journalism not as a reader but as a writer; to watch theater and cinema not as an audience wanting an escape but as a thespian, stagehand or director looking for a lesson; to taste food and wine not to satiate hunger or thirst but to deduce, judge and critique—these are the very opposite of enjoyment, entertainment and contentment (except, of course, for the smart-alecky, who are themselves the very opposite of enjoyment, entertainment and contentment to those around them).

Instead of suspending one’s disbelief and allowing one’s self to be swept away by a story, one is busy eyeing flaws and inconsistencies. Instead of savoring the magic and the mystery, one is dissecting its anatomy as one would a cadaver. Instead of getting drunk and savoring the moment, one is spitting it out to sample some more. It’s a shameful waste.

But as an artisan—whether one’s craft be literary, graphic, musical, theatrical or even culinary—to break the spell and break apart a piece of work to see what makes it tick is a necessity. True, with a critical eye, even masterpieces seem less megalithic and the masters less than immortal. Instead, we realize that even masterpieces are the works of mortals like you and I, doable by mortals such as you and I.