Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Archive
Volume 10 Number 3, December 2009
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Boyd, Brian. On the origin of stories:Evolution, cognition and fiction. Cambridge MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. 2009. 540pp. ISBN 978-0-674-03357-3 Hardback Price £25.95/€31.50/$35.00
Reviewed by
Lesley University
“Evolution may help explain copulation and even cooperation, but can it account for the creative side of human life? Can it explain art?”(69). This is the main issue concerning Brian Boyd’s mammoth book On the origin of stories: Evolution, cognition and fiction (2009). For those of us concerned with art and the creative process we have, as well, struggled with this issue. Undoubtedly, we have challenged our students and colleagues with circuitous discussions over the “what” of art. Boyd’s work, however, throws us a lifeline pulling us from the mire of unsolvable debate and repetitious frustration by shifting the essential question from “what” to “why”. This simple cognitive maneuver is, in my opinion, as significant to art theory and criticism as the first spark that brought fire to human kind.
As Boyd writes in the chapter entitled Art as Adaptation, “An evolutionary account of art can clarify why the history of art runs so deep that it has been ingrained in the psyche of the species and the individual” (73). What this means is that concepts such as cooperation, competition, attention, play, status and sociality take on an evolutionary turn by making all artistic manifestations – even the most useless, and tasteless -- a “crucial factor in human evolution” (110). But, before going further, let me take you back to the origin of the text which really began in the mid 19th Century.
In 1859, Charles Darwin published his seminal work, On the origin of species. This revolutionary work changed Darwin’s life because of the enormous impact it had on society. 150 years later, that impact is still evident. While I do not want to recap a theory that is well known, I want to focus on an easily overlooked aspect of the original text: namely its creative style. It is widely known that evolutionary concepts were circulating within the scientific community before Darwin published his book, yet it is his name that is intertwined with the theory of evolution. Could one of the reason’s for this lie within Darwin’s creative choice to write for the layperson, the ordinary reader, the dabbler in things scientific, in things of nature, rather than the scientific specialist? Could Darwin’s narrative ability, his skill in shaping complex, scientific concepts into an engaging story have made all the difference in its popularity and its “survival” from then to now?
In sexual selection female attention to the male results in survival. Boyd points out “If a work of art fails to earn attention, it dies” (121). So, if the evolutionary significance of attention can also be applied to art, the answer to my question regarding Darwin’s text would be an emphatic yes: his engaging writing style played a role in the book’s popularity. Thus, I will make the prophetic statement that Boyd’s book will likewise engage and excite readers for decades to come.
I make this bold proclamation because upon reading On the origins of stories: Evolution, cognition and fiction by Brian Boyd, I was struck with the same excitement and enthusiasm I can only imagine the readers’ of Darwin’s text felt in 1859. Boyd’s text is itself a seminal work synthesizing various literary theories upon an evolutionary framework strong enough to hold whatever stance from which the reader comes. Boyd illustrates this by applying evolutionary thinking to the works of Homer and Dr. Seuss alike.
Boyd divides his text into two books with the first providing the theoretical frame upon which he rests the second. In Book One, Boyd introduces evolution and human nature then proceeds to explain art in general and fiction in particular “as biological adaptations”(11). The second book applies these concepts and arguments to the ancient story of the Odyssey and then to the 20th Century story Horton hears a who! By selecting works at both ends of the literary spectrum, Boyd illustrates the flexibility, adaptability and reliability of evolutionary theory to literature and how it cooperates rather than competes with other literary theories in order to enhance our understanding of art and why we need it in our lives. The Conclusion and Afterword suggests that a biocultural perspective can enrich our understanding of ourselves and our need to create and engage in art: “We do not know a purpose guaranteed from outside life, be we can add enormously to the creativity of life. We do not know what other purposes life may eventually generate, but creativity offers us our best chance of reaching them”(414). With these closing words, Boyd suggests that art and creativity is a human mutation necessary for our survival. It “develops in us habits of imaginative exploration, so that we take the world as not closed and given, but open and to be shaped on our terms. . . . it allows us to see the actual world from new vantage points” (124). This amazing text allows us to see art from new vantage points that may, in fact, ensure its survival within our global culture.
As mentioned earlier, of specific value is the fact that Boyd does not tell us what art is. Instead, he explains why we create art, how our minds understand works of art, and how art-making is another sign of our adaptation to survive as humans. All of this, he says, stems from our biological need to play. He states, “animals love to play. . . . Only we immerse ourselves as children in pretend play and emerge through and beyond childhood into a world surrounded by fiction, a world of actuality surrounded by possibility” (177). Statements such as these illustrate the value of evolutionary criticism as a framework for “unconnected minitheories or empirical findings” (41). As I read this book I was able to pull together the various theories and concepts I have used to discuss art within a biocultural context. This context created a profound “Ah, ha!” moment, a “Eureka” awakening, a lightning bolt of critical potential to my research and that of others.
The strength of Boyd’s On the origin of stories lies in its content and its adaptability to diverse critical agendas. First, his evolutionary criticism provides a fresh lens through which readers can critically engage with art. But, more significantly, he provides scientific justification for practitioners working to save art from the financial chopping block. Esoteric arguments for art in education, the value of play in schools, creativity in the workforce and in communities now can rest upon a biocultural theory that states such practices “aid the evolution of cooperation and the growth of human mental flexibility” (176). Boyd’s work gives substance to these impassioned arguments in a manner that can indeed alter policy and make change for the better. It is a text rich in launching points for further discussion and research. Combine Boyd’s insight with current brain research, the educational philosophy of Freire, Giroux and others who advocate for arts in our schools and communities, and we have a new articulation of “why the arts?”
While Boyd’s work brings diverse theoretical approaches under an evolutionary umbrella and enables readers to explore the why and how of art, its style also attracts attention. Boyd jumps beyond the exercise of categorizing, marginalizing, and prioritizing art. Instead, he provides an articulation of why a child telling a story, or Shakespeare scripting a play offers tangible advantages for human survival. He does this by guiding us through the language of science, biology, physiology and evolution in a manner that makes these concepts accessible to anyone. Not only does he write about the evolution of artists as strategists in holding attention, his text illustrates this crucial point. He places sign posts along the way reminding us of what we read chapters earlier, of what we will read forthright. In short, he uses the literary techniques of echoing and foreshadowing, direct address and phatic statements to keep the reader in the picture. Our presence is important to him, just as the audience’s presence is important to any storyteller.
That is where Boyd and Darwin intersect; that is where Boyd and other theorists and scholars diverge. Just as Darwin wrote for a non-scientific public and gained immediate popularity, so to does Boyd. Written on the book jacket is the statement that the ability to hold an audience’s attention is the fundamental challenge facing all storytellers. Later in the book, Boyd says “works of art need to attract and arouse audiences before they mean” (232). Criticism, he says, “tended to underplay the ‘mere’ ability to arouse and hold attention” (232). While this suggests criticism’s lack of focus on this fundamental aspect of art, it can also apply to the writing of criticism itself: a task that rarely takes audience engagement into account.
Brian Boyd elevates the writing of criticism to an art form by indeed considering the arousal and sustained engagement of his readers. On the origin of stories: Evolution, cognition and fiction (2009) is itself a welcomed mutation in critical writing. Boyd carries his reader along an original odyssey into science, literature, human nature, the epic landscape of Ancient Greece and the tiny world of Whoville. Like Homer and Dr. Seuss, Boyd cares about his readers and wants us to find our way home to the text without sacrificing intellectual integrity and scholarly research.