It seems to me that there was jealousy running through Greene’s veins. When poets don’t obtain the level of fame of their contemporaries they become bitter and resentful of those more successful. They declare that the only good writers are those from a past era. Nicholas Greene was such a writer. He was considered a good writer but he was not a Shakespeare or Marlow. He did not share the fame or fortune from his scribbles. Creative people tend to be emotional people. Orlando was crushed by Greene’s rude examination of his work. This devastation was on par with that of the illness he experienced from the unrequited love in his youth. In fact, I think it was worse because Orlando was a writer and wrote his whole life, starting from youth. It was his favorite pastime and he stole away to do just that. Furthermore, “since to write, much more to publish, was, he knew, for a nobleman an inexpiable disgrace.” (77) He over looked the social mores to write, further evidence of his love of the craft. It was his way for finding truth or reconciling his world around him. When his feelings about Nicolas Greene’s treatment and disrespect of his work finally confounded him rather than hurt him, he started to examine life with different eyes, the world around him and his home all from the comfort of his beloved oak tree. Several things happened. His head filled with thoughts, he wrote, he crossed out, he edited and he became so angry and tired of feeling inadequate by the standards set by someone so rude, that he determined that he would stop writing to please others and start writing to please himself. Personally I think that this is at the core of any great writers’ success. He was no longer worried about fame. It just did not concern him in the least, except he wanted to leave his stamp behind. This made him turn his thoughts to his surroundings. He realized that he had contributed nothing to his ancestral home and set out to rectify that by redecorating and entertaining other nobility. This led him to his brief encounter with the Archduchess Harriet, whose presence sent him running as far as Constantinople, as a persistent but wrong love interest will often do. The thing that sticks with me the most and has become a favorite quote from this chapter is: “I’ll be blasted,” he said, “if I ever write another word, or try to write another word to please Nick Greene or the Muse. Bad, good, or indifferent, I’ll write, from this day forward, to please myself”; … (103).
Creative people tend to be emotional people.
Orlando was crushed by Greene’s rude examination of his work. This devastation was on par with that of the illness he experienced from the unrequited love in his youth. In fact, I think it was worse because Orlando was a writer and wrote his whole life, starting from youth. It was his favorite pastime and he stole away to do just that. Furthermore, “since to write, much more to publish, was, he knew, for a nobleman an inexpiable disgrace.” (77) He over looked the social mores to write, further evidence of his love of the craft. It was his way for finding truth or reconciling his world around him.
When his feelings about Nicolas Greene’s treatment and disrespect of his work finally confounded him rather than hurt him, he started to examine life with different eyes, the world around him and his home all from the comfort of his beloved oak tree. Several things happened. His head filled with thoughts, he wrote, he crossed out, he edited and he became so angry and tired of feeling inadequate by the standards set by someone so rude, that he determined that he would stop writing to please others and start writing to please himself.
Personally I think that this is at the core of any great writers’ success. He was no longer worried about fame. It just did not concern him in the least, except he wanted to leave his stamp behind. This made him turn his thoughts to his surroundings. He realized that he had contributed nothing to his ancestral home and set out to rectify that by redecorating and entertaining other nobility. This led him to his brief encounter with the Archduchess Harriet, whose presence sent him running as far as Constantinople, as a persistent but wrong love interest will often do.
The thing that sticks with me the most and has become a favorite quote from this chapter is:
“I’ll be blasted,” he said, “if I ever write another word, or try to write another word to please Nick Greene or the Muse. Bad, good, or indifferent, I’ll write, from this day forward, to please myself”; … (103).