I’ve been thinking about imperfection lately, specifically how it applies to writing. Partly it’s because I can see the rough edges in my own work, and the realisation that it’s a fools errand to try and smooth them all out.
I think there’s a parallel to the airbrushing we see in social media, magazines, and ads. We all know they aren’t true reflections of reality, but they have their psychological effect on us nonetheless.
It also reminds me of American television shows. There seems to be an inverse relationship between the number of good-looking cast members and the quality of the show. The more attractive the cast, the worse the show will be.
With regard to books, I always contextualise the idea by thinking about the book Legend by David Gemmell. It’s a brilliant book about an aged warrior helping defend a fortress against an overwhelming enemy. It was Gemmell’s first work, and it’s got a lot of warts.
But without those warts, I wouldn’t love it as much.
Those imperfections are a critical part of the book’s charm. And if the book were written with AI, I suspect those charming edges would be lost (perhaps for other, less appealing grooves).
For me, reading a book is like having a conversation with the author. I’m not interested in having a conversation with an algorithm’s regurgitations from a vast database of text.
If some people do, that’s fine, but I find it curious that they might want to. To them, I suppose a story is something whole and unconnected to the person (or thing) that wrote it.
I disagree with that sentiment. I think the teller in storyteller is as important as the story itself, in all their human, imperfect glory.
But an author would say that, wouldn’t they?