Literature: Quid Est? (II)

Lately, I’ve been exploring the questions, what is literature? and what does it mean to study literature? There’s so much great stuff to think about.

Another thought-provoking angle comes from a 1994 TIME article “Hurrah for Dead White Males!” by Paul Gray. Gray addresses literary scholar and critic Harold Bloom’s ideas about the purpose of literature.

In his book The Western Canon, Bloom argues “All that the Western Canon can bring one is the proper use of one’s own solitude, that solitude whose final form is one’s confrontation with one’s own mortality.”

The article’s author suggests that “Such guidance was once the province of religion, and it is ultimately the religious experience that Bloom seeks in secular writing.” He quotes Bloom again: “Since I myself am partial to finding the voice of God in Shakespeare or Emerson or Freud, depending on my needs, I have no difficulty in finding Dante’s Comedy to be divine.”

The instinct to seek truth — or, as Bloom says, to seek  meaning and religious experience — in literature is, I think, somehow human. We are granted a glimpse of something bigger, grander, in truly powerful works of literature. (C.S. Lewis might have called it sehnsucht, fulfillment tinged with longing.)

Unfortunately, the nature of literary language (unlike the quality of mercy) is often strained between an attempt to mimic reality and an awareness that language is insufficient for even this task, let alone for describing Truth.

I am repeatedly brought back to the work of French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan and his theories of the Real. Lacan defines the Real as that for which we long, but which we can know only as the lack or gap we experience in the symbolic (language-mediated) world.

I wonder, then, if it is wiser to understand literature not as containing truth (which supposes truth to fit into the human mind and human language and would be a small truth indeed), but as pointing toward truth, truth being always just out of reach of explanation.

If so, it is a problem, unfortunately, that my blog is doomed to share.

Literature: Quid Est?

This weekend, a professor at my university is hosting a discussion group on literature and literary language. The prospect has gotten me thinking even more about literature as literature: what it is, and what it means to study it.

As I’ve read further, I encountered one thoughtful perspective from Andrew Kern of the CiRCE Institute. It starts with this post, What is Literature Anyway?. Kern asks,

“Are there any schools that self-consciously regard themselves as carriers of that tradition, who deliberately set aside the relative trivia of the modern curriulum, and who teach their children deeply to contemplate those few masterpieces that sustain civilization and nourish our souls?

What am I dreaming about? A school that teaches its students only a few books and teaches them how to read them with all their hearts and souls and minds and strength. They read them, they translate them, they discuss them, they imitate them, they write about them, they live in their wisdom.”

Here Kern addresses the question of canon and “Great Books,” about which I have mixed feelings.

To me, setting up a select few works as “great” literature involves claiming an absolute standard that is, in its relationship to literature, vague and imprecise. Like it or not, these definitions are also closely linked to systems of power, and focus almost exclusively on the literature of the western world.

It seems to me that if great literature is based on great truth, that truth will not emerge only in the West, or, to quote the cliche, in the writings of “dead white males.”

On the other hand, without some judgment of what is true and valuable, meaning becomes generic, nothing more than an arbitrary construct; and I find that conclusion no more satisfying than the first.

I wonder if there is a place for acknowledging the presence (and absence) of quality writing, truth, and beauty in literature without categorically eliminating works that range outside the traditional canon.

As usual, my next question is, if so, what would that look like?

Lots of food for thought here. More to come…

The Dark is Rising

Children’s fantasy literature is rapidly becoming one of my chief interests, particularly as it develops and sustains a system of metaphysics, epistemology, and linguistic purity.

Also, it’s just fun to read.

The latest addition to my reading list is a series of five books written by Susan Cooper. Cooper is a British/American novelist, dramatist, and journalist now living in the United States. Her first novel, Over Sea, Under Stone, was followed by four more to complete The Dark is Rising sequence, finished in 1977.

The books were recommended to me “in the vein of Tolkien, Lewis, and L’Engle.” I was curious not only to compare the new series to some of my favorites, but to see how it fit into my developing schema of children’s fantasy (see Heroes Need Mentors Too).

The Dark is Rising met some of my expectations and not others. Here is a brief recount of what I look for:

High fantasy is concerned with the purity of language and its deterioration over time.

Fantasy acknowledges a connection between name and being.

Young heroes must break decisively with their past, often through violence done to a loved one.

Young heroes require tutelage from an older, more experienced person, often a father-figure.

A period of respite, often traveling, trains the hero, through minor conflicts, for a final confrontation.

A defining moment in the hero’s journey occurs when the guide steps aside or is killed.

One of the biggest differences between Cooper’s novels and some of the others I have read is that there is no clear break with the old world, nor a full integration between the heroic and the mundane. Will, one of the Old Ones, returns to normal life with his family when he is not battling the forces of the Dark.

The Drew children, the original protagonists of Over Sea, Under Stone, go on to take secondary roles in the later books. They are not brought in to the secrets of the Old Ones (Will, Merriman, and others), but are left to see a merely one-dimensional view of the events that take place.

This creates an interesting duality between the way good versus evil, dark versus light plays out as seen by human eyes (Jane, Simon, and Barnabas) and as seen by immortal eyes (Will and Merriman). Perhaps because targeted to a younger age range, the degree of danger in the books is muted for the humans, who are guaranteed safety by the immortals. In consequence, however, the weight of their “quests” diminishes as well.

The duality is bridged–and given a new life–when several liminal (borderland) characters enter the tale (John Rowlands and Bran). They have awareness of, and ultimately impact on, both levels of sight, so they are able to blur and blend the distinctions between the two.

Language and naming again play key roles, in an interesting twist, partly through an introduction to the pronunciation and ongoing use of the Welsh language.

At some point, I hope to do a more in-depth study of these books as they relate to others in the children’s fantasy “canon.” In the meantime, they served as an excellent refresher from the likes of The Odyssey, Literary Theory, and Rescripting Shakespeare.

Academic Journals in Old Age

Literary scholarship has come a long way in the past 200 years. In preparation for the masters program I’m starting this fall, I am currently reading Eagleton’s Literary Theory, which traces the movements of literary criticism and theory since the early 1900s.

Consistently, academic journals have fostered (and fomented) those developments.

That’s one reason I’ve chosen “Academic Journals in the ‘Network’ Economy” by Jordan Ballor for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

John Hartley, the founder and editor of the International Journal of Cultural Studies [...] takes his experience as an editor to reflect on the current state of the scholarly journal amid the challenges and opportunities in the digital age.

Hartley opens his study, “Lament for a Lost Running Order? Obsolescence and Academic Journals,” by concluding that “the academic journal is obsolete,” at least as regards to its “form– especially the print journal.”

One could say the same about any timely, community-based writing. However, one feature of the “ivory tower syndrome” that afflicts literary scholarship is a dependence on academic journals for self-propagation. Like it or not, the future of print will have a profound impact on the way we read and teach literature and scholarship.

Hartley’s article comments further on this idea:

For now that it is available online, ‘users’ (no longer ‘readers’!) can search for what they want and ignore the journal as such altogether. This is presumably how most active researchers experience any journal – they are looking for articles (or less: quotations; data; references) relevant to a given topic, literature review, thesis etc. They encounter a journal online through its ‘content’ rather than its ‘form.’ The latter is irrelevant to them, and may as well not exist.

What is lost when form is shattered?

• Order. The editorial process of organizing articles in a logical pattern is ignored.
• Unity. The impact of cover, design, and image is separated from text.
• Context. Individual articles are skewered from the associated–either complementary or contrary–viewpoints in the field.
• Contemplation. The act of reading is no longer set apart from checking email, reading the news, or watching a video clip. Room for critical thought becomes scant.

Ballor concludes that “the complete digitization of journals and casting off the printed form ‘may reduce collegiate trust and fellow-feeling, increase individualist competitiveness, and inhibit innovation.’”

He doubts that journals will become entirely obsolete, and I tend to agree, but I do think we will see the gulf widen between academia and well-read, educated members of the non-academic community. That, in my mind, is one of the biggest losses of all.

Thanks, Jordan, for a thought-provoking post.

Poets Go Tweet Tweet Tweet

I got interested in Twitter poetry while writing my last post and decided to check it out. Here are some results in true Twitter style (almost).

(Twitter Poetry, from Tom Watson in 2007)

I went looking for words to stitch together.  [...] I saw [Twitter] as a way to plumb the common mindset, to see what communal wisdom and beauty and insight the group of geeks could register…

(Twitter Poetry from NowPublic Blog in 2007)

Today I came across the first example I’ve seen of Twitter poetry.  Could twitter be the re-birth of the art?

(Twitter Poetry, from Home is Where You Hang Your @ in 2008)

I like the creative limitation that 140 characters gives you. In exchange, twitter gives you a whole new medium for your poetry…

(Join Us in Twitter Poetry from Servant of Chaos in 2009)

(Baracku: The Twitter Poetry Experiment for the Inauguration from Whose shoes are these anyway in 2009)

Baracku [...] is a way for poets, writers, artists and others to read the positive expressions of people participating in this poetic twitter stream for this historic moment.

(Twitter Poetry from Make Literature in 2009)

is a free Twitter application that lets you share your thoughts, feelings, views or ideas about anything in a poetic manner.

Isn’t it interesting. What do you think? Keep your eyes out for more of my thoughts on this topic later.

…all the literati on Baker street
love to hear the poets go tweet, tweet, tweet…

Twitterpoeted From Iran

For those who fear that new media is the beginning of the end of traditional literature, let’s take a “half-full” perspective for a moment. Although the popularization of authorship may bury the next great American novel under a slough of blogs, the Internet and technology can also transmit literature that might otherwise be lost.

That’s one reason I’ve chosen Poetry From Iran, One Tweet at a Time, by NPR’s Davar Iran Ardalan, for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

Persians are known for their poetry. So it is not surprising that as recent dramatic events have unfolded in Iran, so many Iranians who have been alerting the world have written poetically — even in their tweets.

At twenty-six, Parham Baghestani is an engineering student and Web developer from Isfahan. He’s also a poet. Living through the last few weeks of sometimes violent dissent in Iran, Baghestani has used Twitter to share his verses with the rest of the world. (In translation, from NPR).

If the world sees all these pictures, what are they going to say about Iran? I’ll let you know tomorrow!

A new sorrow has been added to my sorrow. The thought of darkness and this destruction.

My love has gone underground. The taste of night is nothing but awareness.

I am curious if someday the 140-word “Tweet” will become an accepted form of poetry unique to our generation, alongside the haiku and sonnet. What other characteristics might define it?  I think this is the subject for another post…

Thanks, Davar, for a thought-provoking post.

Heroes Need Mentors Too

“The language describes the true nature of things, not the superficial aspects that everyone sees.” – Eragon

“I’ve told you. A Namer has to know who people are, and who they are meant to be.” – A Wind in the Door

I have a high standard for fantasy, formed by my early exposure to the creative stylings of J.R.R. Tolkien and Madeleine L’Engle, followed by C.S. Lewis, Star Wars, Ursula LeGuin, and J.K. Rowling, then Philip Pullman. After years of recommendations for Christopher Paolini’s Eragon, I picked up the book at a library book sale and, three months later, have finally begun to read it. 

This is not a book review. This is not a critical comparison to earlier authors. As I read, what I notice more and more are the commonalities in fantasy, and I have begun to wonder if they are, in fact, inevitable.

• High fantasy is concerned with the purity of language and its deterioration over time.
• Fantasy acknowledges a connection between name and being.
• Young heroes must break decisively with their past, often through violence done to a loved one.
• Young heroes require tutelage from an older, more experienced person, often a father-figure.
• A period of respite, often traveling, trains the hero, through minor conflicts, for a final confrontation. 
• A defining moment in the hero’s journey occurs when the guide steps aside or is killed.

The pattern is not rigid or complete, and there are certainly exceptions; however, many of these characteristics are present in some form. But why? I have spent some time researching and writing about the question of language, so this time, I was particularly interested in the role of the teacher. 

Fantasy is built on the premise of worlds fundamentally different from our own. For the sake of continuity and immersion, the author cannot step in and define the rules of his or her world. To do so would acknowledge them as creations and thus alienate the reader, making suspension of disbelief nearly impossible.

The teacher, however, can do what the author cannot. Sometimes the hero, as in Harry Potter, is actually in school to learn about his new world. Sometimes, as in The Golden Compass, the hero has a variety of tutors. And sometimes, facilitated by a physical journey toward the climactic conflict, a single mentor completes the task.

What if there were no teacher?

First, the hero would have to uncover the metaphysics of the world experientially or empirically. S/he could never be certain that a spell or type of magic would work. Imagine Eragon exclaiming, “Go fire, go. Fly!” Like Spiderman in Spider-Man 2, when his powers deserted him, the hero would be left to seek counsel for “a friend” at the local psychologist’s office.

Without established wisdom, the hero would never know if evil could be destroyed, or how to do it. There could be no comfort of final victory for the reader either, rendering the story similar to an endless cycle of comic book villains and summer popcorn flick sequels. 

Apparently, heroes need mentors too.

E-Book: Bane of the Literati?

A few weeks ago, the Wall-Street Journal published: How the E-Book Will Change the Way We Read and Write. After reading a few commentaries on the subject, I decided it was time to take a look at the original and consider some of its conclusions.

Some of the major effects the author, Steven Johnson, expects are: 

• New innovation as book collections become broadly available.
• The growth of book sales via impulse buys.
• A decline in books finished as competition increases. 
• Increasing intertextuality and less authoritative scholarship.
• An increase in writing for search-engine optimization.
• Rise of fragmentation and sensationalism.

Taking a step back for a moment, many of these phenomena are not new. The E-Book is escalating, rather than inventing, trends in reading and writing that have characterized the postmodern era of blogs, graphic novels, and film-to-book series. 

That said, I do think the digitalization of books will cost us something.

In an era when science fiction and fantasy, spearheaded by Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, His Dark Materials, and Twilight, are all the rage, I think we run the risk of forgetting how to engage with smaller, quieter, thoughtful worlds like those of Jane Austen, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, or Pearl Buck. The ability to think deeply about a complex subject that cannot be reduced to sound bytes is also compromised as our attention spans continue to shrink.

Print-on-demand publishing now allows more books to be published than ever. If an author’s first concern is search-engine optimization and capturing the reader in that first paragraph, depth and creativity lose something in the bargain. The values of quick consumerism become mirrored in the types of novels that sell, and, by consequence, in the types that are written. And the spiral continues.

I think it is important to remember, however, that dime novels have been around since the 1860s, and yet somehow, Crane’s Red Badge of Courage was still written and still read. And although bear-baitings and public executions raised crowds on the streets of Elizabethan England, Hamlet still captivated audiences in the Globe.

Will the 21st century produce the same quality of literature as earlier ages? Perhaps not. Will more voices join the conversation? I hope so. Will great literature still have the ability to reach out from the mass of competing texts and touch lives? Without a doubt.

2 Kindle or not 2 Kindle

Image courtesy of Amazon

Amazon has done it again. Less than a year after the emergence of the Kindle electronic reading device), wireless readers are nowtold they need to upgrade to the Kindle 2, available for only $359. 

Are You Upgrading Your Kindle? asks the popular economics blog Freakonomics. Boasting a slimmer design and access to even more books, the Kindle 2 is meant to reach out to a “younger” readership than the first Kindle; a readership already initiated into the rapidly outmoding world of the cell phone and i-pod. 

What is intriguing to me is when authors, rather than allowing their works to be shaped to the medium of the day, actively take part in the debate. Stephen King is a good example. King took the forefront in e-publishing, beginning as early as 2000.

What does e-publishing mean to traditional print books? In a shrinking economy, it may signal trouble. Try out this analogy for size: Blogging is to Print Journalism as E-Publishing is to Print Publishing.

I wonder about the other side: what e-publishing means to the nature of what is written. To make his e-book The Plant cost-effective, King brought back a very old convention in the history of the novel: serialization. I’ve mentioned it before, but reading in small chunks seems to be what Americans do best. Perhaps King was on to something that might make classic literature more accessible without resorting to abridgement.

So while the Kindle 2 may convince a few more tech-savvy Americans to “pick up” a book, it also raises a more subtle question. Who chooses the relationship between Marshall McLuhan’s “medium” and “message”? Perhaps it is not as one-way as we used to think.

To read my thoughts on the original Kindle, see this post.