'Masterclasses' and approaches to learning
So in the course of discussing the idea of a single work as a 'masterclass' with some folks, I had some thoughts which I figured it would be worth reproducing here.
(NB: While this post was prompted by vcmw's comments at 4th Street, I don't want to come off like I'm picking on her. The intent here is to work through my ideas on how learning from example[s] works, or should work... or at minimum, how it works for me.)
Without diving into the mire of definitions, I think the first thing worth addressing is the concept of a 'masterclass'. In music, it's a class with a master composer or performer, with them performing a piece and then critiquing their students' performances. This obviously isn't what we mean when we describe a book as a 'masterclass'. What's usually meant by such a reference is that X author in Y book does Z thing so well that people should take note of it, learn from it, and emulate it - with the implication that doing so is tantamount to learning from X author directly.
As you might gather from the fact I'm writing this post, I don't think things are quite so simple. There are several reasons for this, so I'll address them one at a time.
1) An isolated data point tells us nothing; context is necessary.
Imagine that you are a reader who's stumbled upon an entry in a genre you're totally unfamiliar with. The content and plot and ideas are so fresh and new! Author X is astonishingly talented and original! You would never, ever in your life have guessed that the butler was the murderer!
We all know of people who were incredibly excited and enthusiastic on being exposed to a less than optimal example of a particular form. But just as enthusiasm isn't sufficient to make your own stories good, it doesn't make other people's stories more worthy of imitation, either. And the only way you'll ever have the context required to distinguish between a book that does something novel and interesting and one that does the same thing in an utterly pedestrian manner is by having a solid knowledge of the genre in question and being able to triangulate.
I'll take that a step further, and argue that the idea of an individual work being a 'masterclass' as nonsensical. Inasmuch as it's possible to learn from the work of an author you admire, you need a firm grounding in their body of work as a whole (in order to filter out their tics and focus on the books you admire most) as well as works of comparable excellence. Just as we can only make out shapes by visual contrast, the details and choices that divide a masterpiece from a fine but unexceptional book can really only be discerned by focusing on similar details and choices until their differences are brought into sharp relief - especially as different people are going to see different things as the key element/secret ingredient.
tl;dr - Observing the master's performance is worthless if you can't pin down what makes it masterful. No work stands alone.
2) An attitude of reverence blinds the student.
Even if you absolutely love a book, if you want to learn something from it, you shouldn't read it thinking about how amazing it is. This is because in the context of studying something, the feeling of falling into the page is a trap. I'm a firm believer in analysis and being able to ground your conclusions in specificity, and when I read something that sweeps me away, I often can't pin down what produced that effect without going back to the text and resisting its seduction.
To appropriate a phrase from swan-tower, you need to see past the story to get at the words and sentences and paragraphs. I know some people will protest that this kills the lyricism and emotional power of a work for them... and that, to me, is precisely the point. You don't need to ruin the work for yourself forever, but you have to be able to observe and dissect how the author is producing the effects they're going for.
tl;dr - Nothing is magic; everything can (and probably should) be analyzed. The only sure way to ensure that you'll never be able to replicate an effect is to believe that it's inimitable.
2a) Imitation is effective but problematic.
There's another risk of thinking that a book is the bee's knees, of course, which is thinking that it's so awesome that you take it upon yourself to imitate its voice/structure/etc. without making an effort to improve on them (Why would you? I mean, obviously the book is perfect!). Mimicry can be an effective way of establishing the voice and cadence and general pacing for a novel (believe me, I wrote a 78,000 word novel in just over 6 weeks by doing this once), but it means you'll end up copying and internalizing many of the tics, quirks, and weaknesses of the author and work you're copying... and they can be hell to get rid of. (Again, I know from experience.)
tl;dr - Imitate deliberately and with discretion. Not every technique is appropriate for every book or subject, and it's better to have a toolbox at your disposal than to uncritically copy a purported 'masterwork'.
2b) It's easier to learn from works with visible flaws than from the sheen of perfection.
This is kind of hammering 2) home from a different angle, but one of the reason why reverence is a counterproductive learning strategy is that it tends to lead to cargo cult behavior, where you imitate the form of something without any grasp of its inner workings. If no matter how you try, you can't make out how a particular book achieves an effect, look at books that you don't think are as good and see what they're doing that seems obvious or makes you angry. Generate hypotheses about the differences between the book you like and the books you don't and test them experimentally in your own work. Falsify your initial hypotheses, develop new ones, and iterate. You should discover that after a few rounds of this that the mechanics of how the sausage gets made, even in books you admire, are much clearer to you.
tl;dr - Approaching a book like it's a perfect jewel is like trying to figure out how a mechanical clock or watch works without looking inside it. That said, some mechanisms are easier to grasp than others. There's no shame in working your way up.
3) Aim for the stars. Even if you miss, you can still hit London.
Aside from being a somewhat morbid V2 joke, this is my attempt to return to the central point, which is that the point of a masterclass is the student's ability to profit from the master's example and advice. Ultimately, I think the core of why I hate the idea is that it implicitly creates an upper bound for the student's ambition. If you treat American Gods or A Game of Kings or A Civil Campaign or any other book like it's the pinnacle of authorial achievement, that is conceding too much. Constraining either the vector or the magnitude of your ambition is to hobble yourself before the race begins. Don't seek to approximate your idols - seek to *surpass them*.
tl;dr - Humility is only valuable when it reminds you there's more to learn, allows you to see your own failures, and keeps you from acting like a jerk. Don't let your admiration for the works of others limit what you strive to achieve.
...I suspect that the stuff behind the cut may go a long way to explain why I am so incredibly judgmental about books when I feel they aren't living up to their potential. Oh well, no matter. It's not like any of you were suffering from the delusion that I was a mild-mannered young man with a kind word for everyone, right?
(NB: While this post was prompted by vcmw's comments at 4th Street, I don't want to come off like I'm picking on her. The intent here is to work through my ideas on how learning from example[s] works, or should work... or at minimum, how it works for me.)
Without diving into the mire of definitions, I think the first thing worth addressing is the concept of a 'masterclass'. In music, it's a class with a master composer or performer, with them performing a piece and then critiquing their students' performances. This obviously isn't what we mean when we describe a book as a 'masterclass'. What's usually meant by such a reference is that X author in Y book does Z thing so well that people should take note of it, learn from it, and emulate it - with the implication that doing so is tantamount to learning from X author directly.
As you might gather from the fact I'm writing this post, I don't think things are quite so simple. There are several reasons for this, so I'll address them one at a time.
1) An isolated data point tells us nothing; context is necessary.
Imagine that you are a reader who's stumbled upon an entry in a genre you're totally unfamiliar with. The content and plot and ideas are so fresh and new! Author X is astonishingly talented and original! You would never, ever in your life have guessed that the butler was the murderer!
We all know of people who were incredibly excited and enthusiastic on being exposed to a less than optimal example of a particular form. But just as enthusiasm isn't sufficient to make your own stories good, it doesn't make other people's stories more worthy of imitation, either. And the only way you'll ever have the context required to distinguish between a book that does something novel and interesting and one that does the same thing in an utterly pedestrian manner is by having a solid knowledge of the genre in question and being able to triangulate.
I'll take that a step further, and argue that the idea of an individual work being a 'masterclass' as nonsensical. Inasmuch as it's possible to learn from the work of an author you admire, you need a firm grounding in their body of work as a whole (in order to filter out their tics and focus on the books you admire most) as well as works of comparable excellence. Just as we can only make out shapes by visual contrast, the details and choices that divide a masterpiece from a fine but unexceptional book can really only be discerned by focusing on similar details and choices until their differences are brought into sharp relief - especially as different people are going to see different things as the key element/secret ingredient.
tl;dr - Observing the master's performance is worthless if you can't pin down what makes it masterful. No work stands alone.
2) An attitude of reverence blinds the student.
Even if you absolutely love a book, if you want to learn something from it, you shouldn't read it thinking about how amazing it is. This is because in the context of studying something, the feeling of falling into the page is a trap. I'm a firm believer in analysis and being able to ground your conclusions in specificity, and when I read something that sweeps me away, I often can't pin down what produced that effect without going back to the text and resisting its seduction.
To appropriate a phrase from swan-tower, you need to see past the story to get at the words and sentences and paragraphs. I know some people will protest that this kills the lyricism and emotional power of a work for them... and that, to me, is precisely the point. You don't need to ruin the work for yourself forever, but you have to be able to observe and dissect how the author is producing the effects they're going for.
tl;dr - Nothing is magic; everything can (and probably should) be analyzed. The only sure way to ensure that you'll never be able to replicate an effect is to believe that it's inimitable.
2a) Imitation is effective but problematic.
There's another risk of thinking that a book is the bee's knees, of course, which is thinking that it's so awesome that you take it upon yourself to imitate its voice/structure/etc. without making an effort to improve on them (Why would you? I mean, obviously the book is perfect!). Mimicry can be an effective way of establishing the voice and cadence and general pacing for a novel (believe me, I wrote a 78,000 word novel in just over 6 weeks by doing this once), but it means you'll end up copying and internalizing many of the tics, quirks, and weaknesses of the author and work you're copying... and they can be hell to get rid of. (Again, I know from experience.)
tl;dr - Imitate deliberately and with discretion. Not every technique is appropriate for every book or subject, and it's better to have a toolbox at your disposal than to uncritically copy a purported 'masterwork'.
2b) It's easier to learn from works with visible flaws than from the sheen of perfection.
This is kind of hammering 2) home from a different angle, but one of the reason why reverence is a counterproductive learning strategy is that it tends to lead to cargo cult behavior, where you imitate the form of something without any grasp of its inner workings. If no matter how you try, you can't make out how a particular book achieves an effect, look at books that you don't think are as good and see what they're doing that seems obvious or makes you angry. Generate hypotheses about the differences between the book you like and the books you don't and test them experimentally in your own work. Falsify your initial hypotheses, develop new ones, and iterate. You should discover that after a few rounds of this that the mechanics of how the sausage gets made, even in books you admire, are much clearer to you.
tl;dr - Approaching a book like it's a perfect jewel is like trying to figure out how a mechanical clock or watch works without looking inside it. That said, some mechanisms are easier to grasp than others. There's no shame in working your way up.
3) Aim for the stars. Even if you miss, you can still hit London.
Aside from being a somewhat morbid V2 joke, this is my attempt to return to the central point, which is that the point of a masterclass is the student's ability to profit from the master's example and advice. Ultimately, I think the core of why I hate the idea is that it implicitly creates an upper bound for the student's ambition. If you treat American Gods or A Game of Kings or A Civil Campaign or any other book like it's the pinnacle of authorial achievement, that is conceding too much. Constraining either the vector or the magnitude of your ambition is to hobble yourself before the race begins. Don't seek to approximate your idols - seek to *surpass them*.
tl;dr - Humility is only valuable when it reminds you there's more to learn, allows you to see your own failures, and keeps you from acting like a jerk. Don't let your admiration for the works of others limit what you strive to achieve.
...I suspect that the stuff behind the cut may go a long way to explain why I am so incredibly judgmental about books when I feel they aren't living up to their potential. Oh well, no matter. It's not like any of you were suffering from the delusion that I was a mild-mannered young man with a kind word for everyone, right?