In his 1958 work of criticism , Gaston Bachelard notes, “It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in a state of finality.” There is perhaps no fictional figure who understands this better than Pinocchio, the titular character of the 1883 tale penned by Italian satirist and children’s author Carlo Collodi. Pinocchio is crafted from a piece of living lumber, a chunk of wood with spirit who needs to be mobile in order to move across the world.
He is born in a state of impermanence and, ultimately, he arrives in a state of finality: he becomes a flesh and blood person. This is why I read as a tragedy. * It’s the summer of 2019, and I am at a writing residency in Red Wing, Minnesota, running a path that borders a creek through the woods.
If I run fast enough, I can avoid the mosquitos while still hearing the running water. At one point I stop to observe what I count to be seventeen turtles lingering on the top of the water. Passing under a bridge, I see a collection of what I think are hornets nests but later discover are the homes of barn wallows.
I am thinking a lot about shells (the turtles) and nests (the barn swallows), both literally and figuratively. I pass someone biking the opposite direction and I smile and they smile back. This is the universal sign for, “We are engaging with each other, sharing this moment through locked eyes, and we’ll likely never do so again.
” It is then—just after I smile at this person and happen to let my gaze slip fro.