Of Paracosms and Microcosms

This summer, I read a brilliant op ed. piece by David Brooks in the New York Times (“The Power of the Particular,” June 25, 2012). His thesis is that “when we are children, we invent these detailed imaginary worlds that the child psychologists call ‘paracosms.’ These landscapes, sometimes complete with imaginary beasts, heroes and laws, help us orient ourselves in reality.” Brooks asserts that we carry this need into adulthood, and that those authors and creative souls who reach a large global audience ironically create a very localized and small, yet vivid, detailed, imaginary world. Such artists include J.K. Rowling and Evelyn Waugh, but, most particularly, Bruce Springsteen.

A worldwide audience knows the landscape and characters of the paracosm that Springsteen has created over a forty-year plus career. Millions of fans can identify Greasy Lake, Highway 9, the boardwalk of Asbury Park (now truly a City of Ruins), or the back roads of Nebraska. The ghosts, tramps, and downtrodden citizens of Springsteen’s landscapes are familiar: Tom Joad, Johnny 99, and Outlaw Pete, to name a few. Springsteen’s success, Brooks suggests, is because he has the gift of the particular, which gives the Troubadour of the Road “depth and definition.” Because Springsteen stays true to the roots and traditions he knows best, he is able to reach hundreds of millions. One does not have to be “Born in the USA” to be a citizen of Springsteen’s paracosm.

Likewise, Jane Austen is noted for creating a miniature world in the countryside of England, peopled with familiar denizens. In fact, one of the most famous quotations about the small scale of Austen’s six completed novels is one she penned to her sister in a letter, where she spoke of her works as paintings “on a little bit of ivory two inches wide” (November 26, 1815). When I read and reread Pride and Prejudice, I can picture the country lanes leading into Meryton or the fields and forests through which Elizabeth Bennet roamed. I am quite familiar with the annoying personality of Mrs. Bennet, the shyness of Jane, the arrogance (at first only) of Darcy, and the pomposity of Collins. Jane Austen, too, has the gift of the particular.

Austen constructs in Hampshire an imaginary, detailed world that is as authentic and vivid as Springsteen’s New Jersey. Austen’s microcosm – a small world which mirrors the larger universe – is as true as Bruce’s paracosm. Because both artists did not try to be citizens of some “artificial globalized community” but reached deeply into his or her own traditions, they have generated a passion for their works that knows no bounds. Because both artists are committed to authenticity, they allow their audience to perceive a larger reality than the small worlds each created. Because both paint particular landscapes and do not pretend to represent a larger yet unfamiliar community, they reach the world. Springsteen fans in Madrid and Austen fans in Australia are at home. I, too, dwell comfortably in both worlds.