Just as with the Twilight Zone, I have a favorite Star Trek: Next Generation episode that’s stuck with me for years. It’s called "Darmok," wherein Picard & co. attempt to communicate with the Tamarians, a people with an incomprehensible language. Blogger Barbara O’Brien picks up the plot synopsis: "Captain Picard and Dathon the Tamarian have an adventure together battling an invisible beast, and during this adventure Picard has a ‘Helen Keller at the water pump’ moment and realizes that Tamarians speak in metaphors taken from stories. For example, ‘Darmok and Jalad at Tenagra’ refers to two enemies, Darmok and Jalad, who became allies at Tenagra. As a phrase, it means ‘Let’s put aside our differences and be friends.’ So after much suspense and drama and the death of the unfortunate Dathon, by the end of the episode Picard knows enough Tamarian to say, ‘Bye. It’s been real.’"

One of the reasons this show resonates with me so much is that I’m keen on the necessity of communicating, whether through stories or essays or conversation. I wouldn’t have majored in English and linguistics at college if this idea weren’t one of the driving forces in my life. I’ve always believed that there has to be a way of making myself understood to anyone — probably as futile a notion as my childhood ambition of wanting every single person I met in my life to like me, to never make any enemies. But you know, I haven’t necessarily given up on that one either! And as I’ve noted a number of times, much of my life has been spent in trying to find the key, the conversational Rosetta Stone, that would result in my late father finally being able to understand me — a quest at which I never succeeded, but which led me to become a writer.

Communication is the implicit goal of storytelling. If you’re not making some connection with your readers or viewers or listeners, you may as well be writing in a secret diary. Now, I’ve mentioned before that I have a small tolerance for things like Easter eggs and other pop culture references stuck into TV shows, comics, etc. as a wink between writer and audience; you’ll notice those stories are often the first to become dated as well because their references are so time-specific. But that’s a far cry from deliberately not communicating at all, but faking it in a way that makes your audience feel as though they’re stupid if they admit they’re not in the know.

Fortunately this deliberate communication breakdown doesn’t happen with most stories I read, as I tend to choose my entertainment rather than having it (and any accompanying trendiness) choose me. But it does happen in real life, particularly so in this century so far. I don’t think I have to tell you what series of events brought this on.

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