Essay Online

Have you ever been haunted by a character, one who inhabits your imagination for days, months or years? Acquiring a life of his own, he leaps from the page and burrows inside us.

Think of Dickens’ Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or Shakespeare’s King Lear or Macbeth? And then, of course, more recently, Hannibal Lector bursts from the mind of the novelist Thomas Harris and frightens us from the screen in the movie The Silence of the Lambs

Where did these characters come from? And what makes them so vivid that we carry them in our psyches for years? It’s not enough to say that they arise from the imagination of their creators.

Maybe there is a clue in the thoughts of one of my favorite authors, Robertson Davies. [Deptford Trilogy, The Cornish Trilogy]

“Unless the writing rises from the only true fountain of inspiration&ndashand the Unconscious has shown itself to be not timely, but timeless&ndashit will not be first rate.”

As writers, we may plot the life and actions of a character to our heart’s content. We may apply intellectual reason to the creation and birth of a character, but it will be to no avail. Because, when it comes right down to it, the only thing that matters is where that character comes from within the writer. If we try to create him by rational thought alone, he is almost certain to fall flat and be easily forgotten.

So what’s so special about the unconscious mind? That’s where creative psychic energy resides. According to Carl Gustav Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, the artist [writer] has unusual access to the realms of the subconscious and all the creative energy it contains. Although we are usually unaware of it, our unconscious dream life continues even when we are going about our daily business. Those fantasies float up unbidden to the surface of the conscious mind of creative writers or artists. When he or she is doing some mundane task like shopping, one of those haunting characters may be born right in the aisle between the cereal and the detergent.

Does that writer rush home and write down everything that has emerged from the unconscious and then present it to the world as art? Hardly. That’s only the beginning. She may go deeper into the realms of the collective unconscious &ndash a sort of vast and completely disorganized library, which contains all the images, thoughts and energies Of all mankind from time immemorial. Plenty of material there to shape characters who live on in us! They stay with us because they are ‘made’ of ancient material we all share as human beings.

I’ve sometimes been asked how could you possibly create such a character as The Florist in Conduct in Question? Such a question is usually accompanied by an uneasy sidelong glance. Perhaps I’m still trying to justify myself.

In Conduct in Question, the first in the Osgoode Trilogy, we meet the Florist, a sadistic murderer with an artistic flair, who believes he is called to judge the worthiness of his victims. When I was out for a walk on a beautiful spring day, I asked myself, what sort of person do I fear most? I soon realized it was of someone who took extreme pleasure in doing physical or mental harm to another. A joyful sadist if you like. But how to make him grow beyond a cardboard devil, who might be easily dismissed or laughed at?

To create a real devil, I think you must give him real human characteristics. Then we cannot deny he is a part of us. The Florist senses a lack of compassion within himself. Longing for it, he addresses his mother. I know what the word compassion means. But what does it feel like? Miraculously, even the Florist has a fleeting moment of redemption, when he does experience compassion. Loving art, The Florist labors to create the lyrical lines of the painter Matisse, as he carves human flesh. He takes his task of judging the worthiness of his victims with utmost seriousness. Sound mad enough a Devil for you? But with these human touches, he cannot be so easily dismissed.

Back to Robertson Davies who writes,

“But I know that there is one thing he [the Devil] is: he is a personal element in everybody’s nature, and he may be defined as everything that a man or woman condemns, detests, and is certain that he or she is not.

Is that the answer? The Devil is in all of us to one degree or another. Most of us succeed in keeping him under wraps in the unconscious depths. But we cannot deny he is there. Have a look at Conduct in Question and see the results of one writer’s attempt to capture him from down below and put him on the page.

Ever wonder why so many lawyers write novels? And very successful ones at that? Just think of John Grisham and Scott Turow, both of whom have written exciting, entertaining stories that grab hold of us until the very last page.

Both men have had active legal careers in the criminal courts. Every day, they have dealt [literally] with life and death issues. Every day, they have witnessed the brutal effects of crime upon victims, families and upon the lives of the perpetrators and their families.

Often crime is a matter of fiery emotion erupting into the apparent ‘normality’ of everyday life. The law tries hard and does much to maintain that ordered calm Yet, while we prize that peaceful vision, every one is tantalized by the prospect of what lies beneath it. The eruption of its opposite fascinates us. ‘Madness’ we call it. Of course, it exists in others but never in us, so far as we are aware.

Now put a lawyer into the situation where he or she is dealing with these highly emotional stakes and is at the same time is trying to maintain some sort of order. What effect does this exposure have on a human being? Of course, it can lead to burn out or the choice of another occupation. Some lawyers harden themselves and just get on with the job and hide the effects upon themselves in some dark dungeon of the psyche.

Other lawyers see this as an opportunity and undoubtedly, it fulfils a need. In fact, law practice gives him or her a wonderful window on humanity. Every day, the lawyer deals with murder, theft and fraud. He sees the worst of human nature and strives to find the best and achieve a balance. How can that lawyer not think about and comment upon that? How can she not draw conclusions from what she experiences and learns from such dramatic situations?

Most of us go from day to day in the ‘normal’ tangible world, acting as if that is all that exists. We have our families, our houses and our cars. We go to the office, the mall, the movies and out to restaurants. But deep down, we recognize somewhere in us that there is much more to life and human nature than meets the eye. Every day, the newspaper tells us so. We read that last night, a man raped an elderly woman and stole ten dollars from her purse and a mother took the life of her child. There must be a whole other dimension to life, but not ours.

I like to think that there is much more to human life than meets the eye. Joseph Campbell, an author [a mythologist, not a novelist] I greatly admire said that “The latest incarnation of Oedipus, the continued romance of Beauty and the Beast, stands this afternoon on the corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, waiting for the traffic light to change.”

Oedipus? You know, the one who lent his name to the mother complex. What on earth could Campbell have meant? Simply this, that each and every one of us [whether or not we are conscious of it] is acting out all the great mythological themes and dramas in our lives. And the lawyer has a front row seat on the action. How could they not write about it? Such work is tremendously popular because we like to glimpse that side of human nature from the safety of an armchair.

Now, I am just an estates lawyer. I have never had a murder or rape trial. But, in my practice I have seen the inmost workings of families. For example, when a parent dies, I have learned that there is often far more at work than just a tidy accounting. In other cases, I have seen almost every variation upon elder abuse, whether it is physical, financial or emotional. This is just another form of murder or rape.

An estate lawyer is witness to and participant in every conceivable human relationship and interaction at a highly volatile time. And so, that has been my window on the world and the inspiration for three novels: Conduct in Question, Final Paradox and A Trial of One, all part of the Osgoode Trilogy, in which I like to explore the effects of this dark side of humanity on Harry Jenkins.

Who is Harry? He is an estates lawyer and the protagonist of the trilogy, in which there’s plenty of murder and fraud in estate distribution. Indeed, I’ve thrown plenty of questions at him, such as how much money is enough? Can love and forgiveness be found amid fraud and deceit and must you be selfless to be compassionate?

And so, the question is really, how can a lawyer not be inspired to write especially when he or she is witness to so much of human relations?

I was editing a passage in my novel CONDUCT IN QUESTION, the first in THE OSGOODE TRILOGY. The villainous Florist was about to march down the stairs to kill the young man, Donnie, hiding in the cloakroom. The boy had soaked the stair carpet with gasoline and was about to set it on fire. Would that, I debated, cause the impressive explosion of flames I had described? Who could give me advice on pyrotechnics? Moments later, when the doorbell rang, I was stunned to find two firemen on my doorstep. Once I had convinced them of my innocent intent, they told me the stairwell would certainly “blow up real good.”

And that is synchronicity! Which we’ve all experienced in our lives. Remember the time you were thinking for days of a long lost friend and then suddenly he appeared at your door? Such experiences take our breath away and make us think we are all connected in some warm cosmic soup!

But what is synchronicity? Of course, it’s a coincidence, which is meaningful to you, the person whose breath is stolen away. It can’t be explained by cause and effect. As far as anyone knows, you [or someone else] didn’t do anything to cause the event. What coincides? My psychic state [wondering how to test out the blaze without actually setting one] and the event [the arrival of the perfect people to answer my question].

Carl Jung [the Swiss psychiatrist] is the ‘father’ of synchronicity, in that he experienced, studied and developed theories about it. One of his female patients had a highly rationalistic attitude toward life and was consequently resistant to much psychotherapy. As she was recounting a strange dream about receiving a golden scarab [a costly piece of gold jewelry] there was a persistent tapping on the window behind Jung. Opening the window, the doctor reached out and brought in a large scarab beetle. The appearance of the ‘real’ beetle at the very moment she was recounting her dream punctured her rational, intellectual approach to life and permitted her to carry on successfully with her therapy.

Some people think synchronicity operates throughout the universe as a grand ‘cosmic force.’ Have you seen the new movie by Mel Gibson, Apocalypto? In the Mayan culture, it was understood that vast synchronistic forces governed the universe and were related to the motion of the planets, stars and galaxies. Does this seem far-fetched in our ‘modern’ times? Certainly not! In the book, Cosmos and Psyche, by Richard Tarnas, published in 2006, synchronicity and the influence of the planets are impressively linked.

My experience and fascination with synchronicity caused me to devise two stunningly ‘coincidental’ events in my novel, FINAL PARADOX, which is the second in THE OSGOODE TRILOGY. Harry Jenkins, the protagonist, is an estates lawyer in Toronto, Canada. For years, Harry and his father have been estranged. When his sister died at the age of twelve, Harry’s father, crippled with grief, withdrew almost completely from the family. And Harry, now in his late forties and childless, cannot understand how the loss of his sister could have so horribly affected his father. Now his father lies near death in hospital. Harry is in the Quiet Room of the hospital, mourning the lost years between them and wishing he knew how to pray. Suddenly a woman and her husband enter the room. Hysterical with grief over the murder of her son, the woman screams and curses until, finally, a doctor sedates her. Immediately, Harry understands the wrenching agony of the loss of a child. At the very moment of his asking, he has the answer. Harry is transformed by the sense of deep connection to forces he only dimly perceives.

So, how do such events actually happen? A study of quantum physics leads us to believe that our distinction between our inner and outer world is illusory and that we do, in fact, swim in a cosmic soup in which there is no distinction between the soup and us. And so, our psychic energy may really influence or ‘cause’ events in the ‘outer’ world. Consequently, in a moment highly charged with concentrated emotion, Harry Jenkins asks for and receive his answer in a most dramatic fashion.