麻豆传媒

LIKE all the best stories, this one has a pleasing symmetry. It is a book in two parts, each illuminating the other. On one side stands evolutionary theory and its attempts to explain human nature. On the other is story itself, represented by two great works of fiction: Homer鈥檚 Odyssey and Dr Seuss鈥檚 Horton Hears a Who!

thesis is that current literary criticism 鈥� or 鈥淭heory鈥� as it is hubristically known 鈥� has failed because it regards fiction purely as a cultural construct, ignoring the minds that create and consume it. Viewed in the light of evolution, however, stories acquire a new depth. Better yet, literature provides an untapped source of material to study the mind.

鈥淚n the light of evolution, stories acquire new depth, and become untapped material to study the mind鈥�

鈥淓vocriticism鈥�, as Boyd calls it, is not new 鈥� literary Darwinists have been preaching this creed for more than a decade (麻豆传媒, 3 March 2007, p 38) 鈥� but the professor of English from the University of Auckland has some novel and thought-provoking ideas, and his book covers an impressively wide terrain.

Boyd argues that art, including fiction, is a unique human adaptation whose chief function is 鈥渇or improving human cognition, cooperation and creativity鈥�. His excellent accounts of these three areas of human activity show both an impressive mastery of the science and an admirable inclination to question orthodoxy. The 鈥� art as a product of sexual selection 鈥� is subjected to forensic analysis, the notion of 鈥減ersonal narrative鈥� is pooh-poohed, and even Aristotle is not beyond cross-examination.

Art, Boyd says, is a form of play. It is an interesting idea. In recent years, biologists who study play have come to see it as an adaptation allowing intelligent animals to hone mental and physical skills in non-threatening environments. This fits perfectly with Boyd鈥檚 assertion that fiction fosters cognition, cooperation and creativity. Where the idea falls short is in its failure to recognise that play is primarily interactive, whereas storytelling is more of a spectator sport.

Elsewhere, though, Boyd does acknowledge that stories need both creators and audiences, and he analyses their different evolutionary roles. Taking a cost/benefit approach, he argues that the process of creating a story may be expensive in terms of time and energy but is intrinsically rewarding because it appeals to our brain鈥檚 love affair with pattern. It also reshapes the mind, promotes a creative approach to problem solving and increases the storyteller鈥檚 social status. The audience, meanwhile, pay a price in their time, but in return acquire a deeper insight into society and the minds of other individuals.

This cognitive exchange, however, requires attention. 鈥淎rt alters our minds because it engages and reengages our attention,鈥� Boyd writes. This may sound obvious, but for Boyd it has sweeping implications for the content of stories. For one, it means that surprise is crucial 鈥� fiction must appeal to our evolved preference to pay attention to the unexpected. So too are elements of the fantastical, the ability to take readers beyond the here and now, and the capacity to engage their emotions and appeal to their innate attraction to pattern.

In the second half of the book, Boyd reveals how two master storytellers achieve all of this. His guided tour of the Odyssey is fascinating, as is his insight into the genius of Dr Seuss 鈥� even if the earnest analysis of Horton seems rather incongruous.

Unfortunately, Boyd doesn鈥檛 always take his own lessons to heart, and if his storytelling has one fault it is a lack of narrative drive. Perhaps a little meandering is inevitable given the sheer scope of Boyd鈥檚 intellectual journey. What really matters, Boyd makes clear, is whether a story is worthy of our attention. On the Origin of Stories surely is.