These Dreams of You

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The historian Mark doesn’t speculate much, reports facts as best as he can determine them. Along comes Matthew, who rewrites Mark’s version, speculating perhaps wildly.

The history becomes historical novel. Facts are orchestrated to suggest a conclusion as to what the facts mean. This version of the story attracts a following — not the last time a science-fiction writer starts a cult — and Mark’s history is demoted to supplemental text. Matthew’s more lyrical version is elevated to a place implying something authoritative. Of course this doesn’t stop other competing revisions, not to mention time-honored squabbles over originality and who’s derivative of whom.

“Luke” rewrites Matthew. Then “John” rewrites all of them. “With John’s version,” Zan says, “we witness the advent of the experimental novel,” more impressionistic, less concerned with narrative, a new kind of novel in which history recedes and defers to a “truth” bigger than mere facts can capture. The protagonist virtually disappears. When he does appear, he’s a more dramatic figure; he doesn’t simper with compassion, sorrow, mercy, “he doesn’t wallow,” says Zan, “among lowlifes and deviants with innocuous promises of love, charity. He’s a hero not a mere protagonist, with new fire and fury. He’s newly distinguished by the animating power of hate and judgment.”

The audience in the hall stares back at Zan dazed, but only one or two have left. Parker slumps in his seat, arms folded across the chest, in a perfected pose of boredom; but Zan can see the boy watching his father, surreptitiously.