Do not engage. Do not dispute. Do not contend. Do not alert the world that you too have a body that needs to breathe.
This film in question is Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, and its aesthetic failures seem to be a direct result of its ethical failures.
After reading my story, people often ask me if I see the nature of my characters’ problems as deeply related to our own in the here and now. The answer is a resounding yes. And in fact I see my story, like so much of visionary fiction, as a future anthropology.
You must create what you think must be said, what you think should be done… Perhaps the best art takes on the world in some way, destroys it & recreates it, draws reader and writer alike closer to the complexity of the globe or even of that planet’s place in a far vaster universe of which we are specks on a pale blue dot, a dot near-invisible on the map of the cosmos.
It was my feeling of safety which got me incarcerated. I made the assumption that I would be okay; I didn’t read up on the legal system, didn’t bother to pay for a lawyer. I hid from my situation until it consumed me. I can’t make that mistake again.
Later, I will understand his protest as personal: he doesn’t want to be the white guy who wrote a great book that won’t be read by people like me because of who he is.
“It’s just a book,” I said, exasperated. “Why do you have to read so much into it?”