Literary value is such a huge undertaking, and like the enormity of literature available (plus the numbers that are not accessible) it can seem futile to even try and establish. And yet, academics continually try and conceptualise a seemingly inconceivable abstract idea that has no resolution NOR consistency. We may just have to embrace the cliché that it is about the journey, in this case the everlasting, non-ceasing journey into the world of value discussion, not the destination. As much as I highly dislike circular concepts and continually fluctuating debates, Barbara Herrnstein Smith’s article enveloped me into this abstract literary world.
Smith uses an economic model to examine literary value. In doing so, she omits aesthetic value to provide a sophisticated, functional economic market analysis. By using an economic modeling framework to analyse something we are led to believe as ethereal, she maintains the dominance of economic rationalism within education. Contingencies of value are an effective model to examine determinates of value present within literary studies. Having said that however, Smith’s analysis often appears overly simplistic, yet simultaneously abstract. This I believe undermines the whole economic model utilised by Smith to analyse value, as economic models are logical progressions that, unless it is the electricity market, do not manage abstractions. Her conclusion from this framework however that ‘the value of literary work is continually produced and reproduced by the very acts of implicit and explicit evaluation’ (52) is well thought out and presented. There is an economy of value in literature and whilst this may be valorised by economic rationalism, it is not the only model that can establish value, especially within such a complex field as literature.
Having stated the flaws in her argument, (I am going to contradict myself in saying this) I am not convinced that her analysis is over simplistic. Even though her argument, though seemingly concrete was very abstract, I believe through this abstraction Smith demonstrated the complexities and difficulties of solely using an economic model to determine literary value. Whilst this did seemingly undermine her argument, I cannot help thinking that was part of her point? What she has explored is currently the dominant, yet not the only, model of determining value. Whilst this western economic capitalist model pathologises other models, constructs opposing, or different tastes as deviant, it does provide a stable framework to observe different values or rather, contingencies in value.
Whilst it is established that dominant capitalist economic model creates and maintains structures of power that disempowers the working class (or in this case other contingent values), it can also serve to empower people. Accessibility to education, whilst argued that within Australia is extremely high at almost 100%, the numbers however illustrate that accessibility to education is still a large social issue. Tertiary education is still as Margaret Simons pointed out a ‘minority pursuit’. In fact, Simons demonstrated in her essay ‘The ties that bind’ only 46% of Australians in 2001 had post-school qualifications, most common within that group were trade certificates (277). The distribution of university graduates varied dramatically with urban areas having almost 21% of people with university qualifications, in rural areas this slumped to 10-13% (277). There are many differing social reasons for this but mainly it still demonstrates that accessibility to education is still comparably low. An economic model gives non-academics, and ‘unprofessional’ readers a powerful voice and ability in determining the value of literature. Though some would argue popular texts are not literature, this devaluing of what majority of people want to read is another form of disempowerment that the economic model does to some extent rectify and allows a popular value to be ascertained. Again, having said this however (as Smith also mentioned), this still often reflects the dominant ideologies, beliefs and tastes, as the reading public is not a complete cross-section of a society. So on that level, the economic model does not provide any empowerment, rather continues to disempower other minority values and tastes.
In conclusion, it is a complicated issue all round!!!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Blog 3 – Michael Warner ‘Uncritical Reading’ 20/8/10
Michael Warner identifies and problematises the critical/uncritical binary in reading techniques. Through questioning the meaning and practice of critical reading, he concludes that, like many practices, ‘critical reading is a historically and formally mediated practice’ (35). Whilst deconstructing critical reading as a practice, he explores some alternative frameworks to critical reading simultaneously demonstrating the limitations of critical readings such as presupposition of objectivity. This also problematises the value placed upon critical reading over uncritical reading, and illustrates the transmission and continuation of the literary cannon including its cultural capital and value.
The value of Warner’s work is his questioning of the assumptions behind critical reading, or rather as he terms the ‘consensus and homogeneous belief’ behind the practice (14). By subverting the binary, Warner questions the assumptions that uncritical reading is always unreflective and non analytic. By centering uncritical reading, Warner illustrates the endless possibilities of ways to read texts, which can increase the value for the reader. For example: understanding the emotional journey that led a protagonist to go to college in another state, as occurs in The Secret History.
My question is: why does emotion automatically negate critical possibilities? Through the enlightenment within the 17th century, rationality and consciousness was valorised and masculinised. Conversely, irrationality and the unconscious were feminised and subservient to the rational being. This framework has continued within ways of reading, with uncritical reading highly feminised and thus devalued as a method of ‘critically’ engaging in a text. Historically, we can see where emotions within academia became devalued, yet why has this not changed?
A traditional feminist framework would argue that academia is still heavily male dominated and so-called feminine values are still subservient to masculine values such as rational thinking. It is odd, especially because most literature that we insist on ‘critically reading’ and critically engaging in without opinions and emotions ARE about emotions, hopes, desires and fears. Would it not make ‘rational’ sense to utilise the emotions we are provoked into feeling whilst reading these emotional stories? To allow less distance between the text and ourselves? Furthermore, allowing readers to be completely absorbed and involved with the text? Rationalisation cannot read emotions only emotions can read emotions. Critically reading Donna Tart’s The Secret History would be fruitless without emotions. You could not read such a novel without being able to utilise your feelings of anger, disgust, betrayal and bewilderment.
So where does this place Warner? By dismantling the binary surrounding reading, he allows us to utilise his new framework (or rather postmodern framework) to use our emotions to further enhance our engagement with the text, furthermore enhancing our understanding whilst at the same time decreasing the distance within an academic sense between literature and reading. Rather, he blatantly shows us that ‘critical’ reading is an ideal that is never achieved nor established. Moreover, he demonstrates that distance from a text that is required within critical reading practices, does not yield the best from the text academically, or for enjoyment.
Having said this however, I think there needs to be a balance. Distance from a text can be beneficial, whilst not complete distance as now is valorised, but distance enough to see the text as a whole and where it is located within the literary cannon including its location socially, culturally and of course within the unit of study.
The value of Warner’s work is his questioning of the assumptions behind critical reading, or rather as he terms the ‘consensus and homogeneous belief’ behind the practice (14). By subverting the binary, Warner questions the assumptions that uncritical reading is always unreflective and non analytic. By centering uncritical reading, Warner illustrates the endless possibilities of ways to read texts, which can increase the value for the reader. For example: understanding the emotional journey that led a protagonist to go to college in another state, as occurs in The Secret History.
My question is: why does emotion automatically negate critical possibilities? Through the enlightenment within the 17th century, rationality and consciousness was valorised and masculinised. Conversely, irrationality and the unconscious were feminised and subservient to the rational being. This framework has continued within ways of reading, with uncritical reading highly feminised and thus devalued as a method of ‘critically’ engaging in a text. Historically, we can see where emotions within academia became devalued, yet why has this not changed?
A traditional feminist framework would argue that academia is still heavily male dominated and so-called feminine values are still subservient to masculine values such as rational thinking. It is odd, especially because most literature that we insist on ‘critically reading’ and critically engaging in without opinions and emotions ARE about emotions, hopes, desires and fears. Would it not make ‘rational’ sense to utilise the emotions we are provoked into feeling whilst reading these emotional stories? To allow less distance between the text and ourselves? Furthermore, allowing readers to be completely absorbed and involved with the text? Rationalisation cannot read emotions only emotions can read emotions. Critically reading Donna Tart’s The Secret History would be fruitless without emotions. You could not read such a novel without being able to utilise your feelings of anger, disgust, betrayal and bewilderment.
So where does this place Warner? By dismantling the binary surrounding reading, he allows us to utilise his new framework (or rather postmodern framework) to use our emotions to further enhance our engagement with the text, furthermore enhancing our understanding whilst at the same time decreasing the distance within an academic sense between literature and reading. Rather, he blatantly shows us that ‘critical’ reading is an ideal that is never achieved nor established. Moreover, he demonstrates that distance from a text that is required within critical reading practices, does not yield the best from the text academically, or for enjoyment.
Having said this however, I think there needs to be a balance. Distance from a text can be beneficial, whilst not complete distance as now is valorised, but distance enough to see the text as a whole and where it is located within the literary cannon including its location socially, culturally and of course within the unit of study.
Blog 2 – Thomas C. Foster How to Read Literature Like a Professor 13/8/10
Expecting this to be similar to Bayard’s disturbing manual to talk about books you haven’t read, I was pleasantly surprised when it detailed the common motifs found in literature, literary models drawn upon by different writers using the examples of geography and seasons. Focusing more upon geography, his thesis can be clearly applied to Henry James novel, What Maisie Knew, a rather dull yet comprehensive novel that utilises geography to illustrate the main plot and resolution of the novel (yet there is considerable debate whether there is any resolution to the novel at all as we never establish exactly what Maisie knew, and what she understood). Foster describes geography and its function in literature in many ways, and he uses many canonical texts to prove his point that mainly ‘Literary geography is typically about humans inhabiting spaces, and at the same time the spaces that inhabit humans’ (165-166).
Due to the academic framework in which we read What Maisie Knew (this brings many issues to the surface such as what it means to read academically rather than for enjoyment and other judgements) we are doubly conscious of context and assimilate this into our reading. James’s use of satire allows us to distinctly be aware of the anguish surrounding Maisie, and thus creates concern. The use of geography by James, does I believe, add to the cultural value of What Maisie Knew and therefore cultural capital. There is however, a fine line between being descriptive of the surrounding environment and prescriptive thus dictating how geography in a particular way must enhance the readers understanding. I believe James dances upon this line, waiting for a wind to push him either side (yes, that use of season was deliberate to draw attention to Foster’s argument). His choice of France, for Maisie’s ‘becoming’ is in some ways prescriptive. This is compounded when compared to England, the setting for the majority of Maisie’s tumultuous times. The geography of France, including its social, political and cultural history and environment makes it the perfect choice for the resolution of the novel. Paris was the site of the beginnings of the French Revolution, in 1789 where the republic of France was born with the secular beliefs of fraternity, liberty and equality. Social cohesion and aristocracy was dismantled which led to individualism. This is in contrast to England, where the monarchy and aristocracy was very much in place and this is reflected with the still, controlled environments that Maisie was situated in, such as the parks and scenes within Brighton, another controlled and in the novel, a sedate seaside village.
The paradox of ‘lose yourself in Paris’ is clear as Maisie found herself in the French capital. The irony James uses, is Maisie had to lose herself in Paris in order to find herself, some may say, her true self in the city of love. James capitalised on Paris’s cultural and social capital by developing Maisie. In France, the most passionate display occurred, Maisie was not composed rather morally and emotionally unstable. Having traveled south, in which Foster tells us ‘when writers send characters south, it’s so they can run amok’ (171), Maisie’s subconscious is in direct control. Finally, she makes a decision for herself, becomes an individual within her own right. Here we can see a clear example of the Foster’s argument of the effectiveness of geography in ‘define(ing) or even develop(ing) a character’ (167).
Cultural understanding is fundamental in extracting this much information from literary geography, or rather, geographical settings. Placing so much emphasis on geography can be dangerous, as without cultural understanding, we can completely misunderstand its significance. Foster raises this point, yet I think it is more significant than he mentions, thus somewhat limiting geography’s ability in enhancing literary understanding.
Due to the academic framework in which we read What Maisie Knew (this brings many issues to the surface such as what it means to read academically rather than for enjoyment and other judgements) we are doubly conscious of context and assimilate this into our reading. James’s use of satire allows us to distinctly be aware of the anguish surrounding Maisie, and thus creates concern. The use of geography by James, does I believe, add to the cultural value of What Maisie Knew and therefore cultural capital. There is however, a fine line between being descriptive of the surrounding environment and prescriptive thus dictating how geography in a particular way must enhance the readers understanding. I believe James dances upon this line, waiting for a wind to push him either side (yes, that use of season was deliberate to draw attention to Foster’s argument). His choice of France, for Maisie’s ‘becoming’ is in some ways prescriptive. This is compounded when compared to England, the setting for the majority of Maisie’s tumultuous times. The geography of France, including its social, political and cultural history and environment makes it the perfect choice for the resolution of the novel. Paris was the site of the beginnings of the French Revolution, in 1789 where the republic of France was born with the secular beliefs of fraternity, liberty and equality. Social cohesion and aristocracy was dismantled which led to individualism. This is in contrast to England, where the monarchy and aristocracy was very much in place and this is reflected with the still, controlled environments that Maisie was situated in, such as the parks and scenes within Brighton, another controlled and in the novel, a sedate seaside village.
The paradox of ‘lose yourself in Paris’ is clear as Maisie found herself in the French capital. The irony James uses, is Maisie had to lose herself in Paris in order to find herself, some may say, her true self in the city of love. James capitalised on Paris’s cultural and social capital by developing Maisie. In France, the most passionate display occurred, Maisie was not composed rather morally and emotionally unstable. Having traveled south, in which Foster tells us ‘when writers send characters south, it’s so they can run amok’ (171), Maisie’s subconscious is in direct control. Finally, she makes a decision for herself, becomes an individual within her own right. Here we can see a clear example of the Foster’s argument of the effectiveness of geography in ‘define(ing) or even develop(ing) a character’ (167).
Cultural understanding is fundamental in extracting this much information from literary geography, or rather, geographical settings. Placing so much emphasis on geography can be dangerous, as without cultural understanding, we can completely misunderstand its significance. Foster raises this point, yet I think it is more significant than he mentions, thus somewhat limiting geography’s ability in enhancing literary understanding.
Blog 1 – Pierre Bayard How to talk about books you haven’t read 13/8/10
I was bordering on alarm when I read this. As a University student, I have a high regard for academia; in fact, I look upon University Professors as omnipotent. They are the all-knowing person who has had no social life but has contributed to the world of academia. Their place within this ‘serious’ occupation is set. They relish in what they know, despair at what they do not know and constantly work towards being the best in their field. So imagine my disappointment when it appears through this framework, they are not. Firstly, they do not read the cannons within their units of study, and secondly dishonestly claim to have read them. Seriously, how can a UNIVERSITY Professor claim to read books with authority, yet have not looked beyond the cover. I do however understand that not only is this representation of university academics incredibly unfair, it is also highly unrealistic.
Through Bayard’s framework, it is possible to evaluate a book, without having read it, ‘after all, no reason for me to refrain from passing judgement on whatever works I come across, even if I have not heard of them before.’ (xix). His discussion on ‘non reading’ techniques, demonstrates how little we actually read, compared with how much we are meant to have read, claim to have read and/or desire to have read. Repositioning readers, Bayard states our primary way of relating to books is constituted by ‘the most radical’ non reading, ‘not to open the book at all’ (3). Whilst initially shocking, my resistance faded as I thought of the many volumes within Fisher Library. Whilst I never have intended, pretended, or even had the desire to read them all, it nevertheless demonstrated how futile my ideal of the ‘Professor’ was.
Bayard tries to abolish the read/non read binary by introducing new ways of reading, or rather ‘non-reading’ and bring the ideal of reading back to a social reality. Doing this, he believes will ‘significantly modify how we talk about books, even the specific words we use to describe them’ (xvii). His work is more of a social commentary on western society’s requirements for being an academic, a social comment rather than a true ‘reading’ of non-reading (excuse the pun). He is not successful in this particular quest, as non-reading still resonates negative labelling. And why should it not? Non-reading is a social reality that we must come to terms with. It is impossible, even for the ideal academic to have read everything about their chosen unit of study. It becomes problematic when academics speak on authority of what they have not read. It gives a false authority, which is unethical. Having said this however, there is a significant tension, stigma and anxiety about not reading and it is even more profound for academics. This should change, yet it is doubtful it will, especially within such an economic rationalist social environment. Productivity from academics must be maximised and that includes reading all there is, as futile as this quest may be. For this quandary, there is no simple solution.
The ‘trick’ to talking about books you have not read according to Bayard, is to locate the book in relation to others, which not only allows you to talk about books you have not read; it also increases your cultural capital. Whilst ‘trick’ brings imagery of the Artful Dodger in Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, that negatively frames this practice, there is no escaping that it is still blatantly dishonest. Yet, in this instance dishonestly is not something that requires forgiveness. In fact, I just proved Bayard right. I myself have not read nor seen the movie (or rather movies) of Oliver Twist yet I have no hesitation of bringing it up in conversation, not only socially but also in an academic discourse. I have just bowed down to the hypocrisy I despise, and it seems I do it often (though I am comforted to know I am not alone).
So where does a discussion of Bayard’s shocking admission that academics among other ‘lay’ people (including students such as myself) dishonestly provide false authority about books they have not read, other than claiming ignorance at the knowledge that Pandora’s box has been opened (again, never read the book but will casually drop it into conversation!)? I have no idea. Whilst Bayard’s use of hyperbole can relegate his work to almost ridiculous proportions, he nevertheless illustrates through his librarian whose ‘love of books – of all books – that incites him to remain prudently on their periphery, for fear that too pronounced an interest in one of them might cause him to neglect the others’ (8) the difficulty of dismantling the read/non read binary.
Retrospectively, there is something to be said about reading the books you are talking about; it does give a more authorative knowing. Although this completely negates what Bayard says about knowing, and continues to conform to current understandings of read/non read binary, it is valid. Beyond the questions of ethics and authority, understanding allows you to exhaust more value of a book. The Secret History, as much as I enjoyed the twisted, dark and meaningless world of the protagonists, I am not familiar with the classics and Greek mythology beyond what I have gained from popular culture. By only having this type of ‘knowing’ of the works within Tart’s novel, I was often disorientated and missed out on the deeper understanding/deeper layers present within the book. Now whilst, I enjoyed it just the same, I cannot help feel that I have missed out on some enjoyment by only knowing the classics through Bayard’s ‘location’ method, locating them within the cannon. There is the snub of non-reading.
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