Avec toutes les tragédies qui emplissent le monde, avec la crainte qui s’est emparé de la civilisation occidentale depuis le 11 septembre, avec cette nouvelle guerre qui fait rage… je suis parfois overwhelmed et me demande alors s’il n’est pas un peu indécent que je continue à écrire mes « petites histoires », que je poursuive la rédaction de ce weblog tout entier dédié aux livres & à l’imaginaire…

Mais bien sûr, life goes on…

J’ai trouvé un même sujet de réflexion de la part de Terri Windling, dans l’édito du Endicott Studio d’octobre/novembre:

After the events of September 11, I found myself struggling with despair, with the sense that my work as fantasist and folklorist was pointless now, and trivial. What place does art, and myth, have in a world on the brink of war? I soon learned that these were feelings I shared with other writers, artists, musicians…all of us suddenly questioning the work that is central to our lives. As the weeks go on, I have come to feel that this questioning is a positive thing. A tragic event, whether personal or collective, can shake us out of our normal routines and cause us to look at our lives anew. It’s a time for asking the hard questions. Are we using our lives to the fullest, or just letting the days slip away? Are we indeed doing trivial work, or work with a purpose, work from the heart? It’s a time for re-dedicating ourselves to the latter — by which I don’t just mean the obvious humanitarian work of rescue workers and firefighters, but all work that keeps the flame of the human spirit bright in times of darkness. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. has written: « Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. » With all due respect to Dr. King, I believe that art can do that, too. A story, a picture, a poem, a piece of music has the power to illuminate the human experience, to build bridges, to bind people closer together.