The books with dangerous ideas

Right. So, my son asked me why he couldn't read the Tintin book on the top shelf of our library. You see, I have a large bookshelf in the story studio, and the books are more or less arranged according to how high my son can reach. We told him that he could only read the books he could reach. As he experienced more of the world, he would grow wise enough to understand the meaning of the stories.

Information is meant to be shared, fundamentally, but certain ideas and stories might not be suitable for everyone. Also, some knowledge is better earned; as in learnt, and not accessed. Some of these ideas can be harmful and used as a weapon. The books on the top shelf are known as “the books with dangerous ideas", which, of course, sounds very appealing to a young person.

Have you heard the story about the Sorcerer’s Apprentice? There’s a version of this story in Walt Disney’s 1940s animated musical Fantasia. When, the Apprentice, played by Mickey Mouse, is left alone to complete his chores, decides to use his master's magic hat to enchant a broom to carry buckets of water for him. But his lack of magical experience leads to chaos; the enchanted broom multiplies and floods the workshop. Mickey Mouse breaks the rule to understand. I want to share that sense of wonder and ambition, but I also want to clarify the consequences of using power without understanding it. I think there’s value in knowing one's limits.

In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke advised a writer to be patient with all that is unresolved in his heart and to try to love the questions themselves.

1. Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given to you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

   
   

The right to knowledge is important, but how it’s attained is a different story. I think part of growing up is learning through experiences. The forbidden Tintin story, up there, along with the other forbidden fruits, are the many experiences of different people from around the world; in all its complexities. Waiting for their audience to reach the readiness needed to embrace its lessons. It’s a question all storytellers ask themselves; are they ready for this yet?

The taste of yesterday (Food stories P1): Taste as a time capsule in retracing family threads

“My mother had four siblings. They met once a year for an all-encompassing family potluck lunch at one of the siblings’ houses. Although the lunch itself and the location changed every year, one thing never changed—this was the arrangement for four types of dessert.

My oldest aunt was a woman with a spirit larger than life and a joyous primary colour personality. A sworn ally of us children in all matters against adults, she always brought jelly to the family potluck for dessert. She brought two, sometimes three, brightly coloured jellies cooled in faceted glass bowls. Flipping them was an occasion anticipated by all the cousins who would stand around the table while she carefully unmolded the jellies mirroring the bowl patterns in trembling delight to rounds of applause.

LH Journal, 1984

My mother’s trophy dessert was chocolate biscuit pudding cradling layers of Marie biscuit soaked in full cream milk and melted chocolate; it was a family treasure. One year, she experimented with an orange zest top layer and the entire family protested. “It was so perfect!” “Oh, but the classic CBP is the best.” “I wait for it all year…” “But, why?” My mother was in a strange mix of pride and annoyance that day, but we never endured the orange zest again. The chocolate biscuit pudding remained perfect for as long as we got it.

LH Journal, 1984

My uncle—a gentle botanist and a living encyclopedia of leaves, flowers, fruits, and everything trees—made a delicious peach dessert with fruits grown in his small hill estate. Peach slices in coconut sugar syrup blanched with a dash of cloves was a rare treat that made us children forget our general aversion to fruits. While we ate them, Uncle would tell us about how he took great care to grow peaches in the tropics that were so alien to the species and the difference in taste between the regular peach and the dwarf variety, getting us to guess which one he had used that year.

LH Journal, 1984

My youngest auntie hated cooking of any kind. But, her mother-in-law—a formidable matriarch, fantastic cook and baker who considered it blasphemy to attend a family lunch with no special dish—made a devastatingly good lemon meringue coconut pie for the family potluck. Each year, there would be requests around the table to repeat the recipe, although everyone already knew we would never dare to attempt it. It was the dessert that subdued the noisy household into a helpless afternoon coma in front of the TV, nodding on chairs and collapsing across every divan and sofa until some coffee arrived.

LH Journal, 1984

That was the 1980s. As the cousins dispersed one by one for higher education, jobs, new businesses, marriages and life’s other pulls, the family potluck also slowly came to an end without anyone quite noticing it. But, it remains a core memory holding place for precious conversations, expired jokes, and the close circle we grew up in. The four desserts—the bright jellies glistening merrily, subtly spiced cold peaches bringing upcountry cool to sweltering Colombo, the perfect chocolate biscuit pudding, and the crowning lemon meringue coconut pie—are the cardinals of this evergreen place I hold in my memory. Still, even the most mediocre lemon meringue pie or soulless peach in syrup can trigger longing in me. Still, seeing the giddily shaking surface of coloured jello puts a skip in my heart, momentarily returning me to the edge of the table, waiting for the jellies to be unmolded. Still, when I return home and my mother makes the ‘classic CBP’, we sit together and enjoy a bowlful together, remembering the family in those days—preserved in a technicolour filter, monumentalized at their very best, and still here to visit through taste, smell, and texture.”

How Constraints Guide Creativity

Recently I spent an afternoon at a beachside restaurant; people-watching and scribbling ideas in my sketchbook. I was there to listen to a new playlist I had prepared for a client. Since they shared a space with another business they needed music that matched the vibe of both establishments while also synced to the time of day. So I made morning, afternoon, and sunset playlists. I set the criteria for each playlist according to the persona of each business and curated the music to play in sync with the different crowd vibes throughout the day.

Can you match my vibe?

Constraints help to identify what is appropriate; they also help us create things more efficiently. Take for instance the self-imposed constraints that made the iconic Penguin book covers so successful. By setting a framework to format each book using a designed template; they were able to maintain a fixed production price with the same quality. Templates are particularly useful for businesses with many stories. A well-designed template will offer just the right amount of rules to lower production costs, with enough flexibility to make each edition remarkable.

Freedom is an illusion; that is, until you learn to define your boundaries. - My Wife

Once you’ve determined the rules or what’s important, it is easier to identify what isn’t going to be appropriate and less meaningful. Part of the success of a storyteller is determined by how well they craft a desired emotion. I find it difficult to do this without the constraints of a framework. Particularly when it comes to making decisions. My artistic eye can easily find colours to work with but selecting the most appropriate one is another task. It requires criteria to make the final decision. Where will the colour live, who will see it, what is the desired mood, are there any preferred colours, etc.? Frameworks allow me to consider and recognize emotional states and perspectives beyond my own biases.

I cannot understand you. ‘Tis because you lean over my meaning’s edge and feel a dizziness of the things I have not said. - Trumbull Stickney

The complexity and difficulty of understanding what others will comprehend from an idea or feeling is difficult. We are limited by language. Full comprehension can be elusive and misunderstandings can arise from the gaps between what is said, what is felt, and what is intended. The meaning of an idea can be highly subjective and often depends on the individual's perspective, experiences, and context. The multifaceted nature of ideas emphasizes the importance of identifying a framework.

Food for thought.

Create a framework; use it as a tool. We’ve written about this before; read our brand articulation framework article for more information on using this for your business.