Douglas Kennedy

Why is doubt a cornerstone of the human condition… and, as such, why is it something with which we all grapple? Could it be that how we deal with self-doubt (and the very genuine, universal fear that we will be found wanting) determines so much in how the story of our lives plays out? Writers must confront doubt daily – given the solitary nature of this métier. But who doesn’t struggle with doubt? And could it be that the biggest doubt we all have in life is ourselves? Which, in turn, means that using doubt in a positive way is a means by which we can negotiate with that voice in all our heads which (from time to time) whispers: you are not good enough… you are a fraud. Confronting doubt is something we all need to master.

We all have a story. And like all stories it is full of twists and turns: of successes and setbacks; of good luck and misfortune; of moments of exhilaration countered by those of true grief. We all (by and large) pursue happiness – but, in truth, it’s just a here-and-there event. And none of us avoids the darker side of human existence: disappointment, loss, tragedy. As such, might it be worth investigating the fact that every life is its own novel… and one which is predicated on so much: the socio-economic realm into which we are born, the emotional architecture of our parents, the opportunities we can obtain…. or are denied… in our formative years. After that, as we find our way into adulthood, could it be that the choices we make define the trajectory of our ongoing lives? Using my work as a novelist -examining the way that everyone tries to find a way forward amidst all that happens to us (and how we are often making choices that might be best for us… or alternatively counter-intuitive – creates the arc that is our narrative. And how the question with which we endlessly wrestle comes down to four simple words: what do we want?

Who hasn’t experienced a run of bad luck, a reversal of fortune, a sense that the gods are dealing you bad cards. Or, for that matter, a calamity that has upended the very foundations of one’s life. And the question in the wake of such distress is not simply how to we negotiate our way through such exigencies (with the understanding that some losses will have lasting impact). How we cope with hardship is an ongoing essential component of the human condition – and we all have stores to tell about this essential subject. Having dealt with such complexities as my son’s autism -and having just been declared in remission for Stage 3B cancer – I have considerable first-hand experience of adversity… and how we must treat it as a means by which the necessity of perseverance and resilience are key bulwarks against all that life can throw you. And why adversity is something that none of us sidestep in life.

Consider Johann Sebastien Bach – who, for me, is the alpha and the omega of music. A notoriously cantankerous fellow when it came to authority – he was always arguing with the civil and ecclesiastical authorities when he was director of music at the Thomaskirche in Leipzig – he was also a deeply passionate man who fathered twenty children between two wives (the first of whom died while he was on a rare musical tour in Germany). Only eight of his children survived him – which meant that, though child mortality was commonplace in the early eighteenth century, Bach had more than his share of major grief. Yet his fecundity as a composer never ceased. Besides his great celebrated Passions and his monumental Mass in C minor, he wrote over two hundred cantatas and a vast corpus of orchestral and keyboard music. Indeed his oeuvre  is not just one of the great keystones of western culture, but also a testament to the necessity of discipline when it comes to achieving anything. Why is discipline such an important skill? Why is it also a bulwark against life’s vagaries – and also a key component to achievement in all endeavors? Why is discipline such a struggle – and one which speaks volumes with the ongoing negotiation we have with ourselves? And how can discipline also be a ballast against such much? As I have often told younger writers: how do you feel about setting a quota of words per day and always achieving it? Can you meet that discipline even when you feel like doing anything but write? Are you willing to impose discipline against all the distractions and discomforts of life?

Last year I wrote a novel, ‘Et Si Ainsi Que Nous Vivrons’, which is set in 2045 – when (as I hypothesize) the United States has come apart and there are two separate counties locked in an ongoing Cold War… in a world without much in the way of democracy. The reviewers in France all said that mine was an uncomfortable, but very realistic vision of a future not far off – where technology has everyone under surveillance and there is no such thing as a private life. How should we think about the future – especially in light of major works like Orwell’s 1984 and Margaret Attwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale which accurately discerned  the totalitarian shadow which now shadows our present time? And what should we make of Artificial Intelligence – and will it mean the end of writing as we know it today. More tellingly, how do we imagine future life amidst the technological revolution which continues to ever-change the way we function as individuals in a hyper-connected world?