A Semester in Theory

Blog Summation :-)

In retrospect, I have really enjoyed this semester of study in theory. And in practice as well. (lol) But seriously, it has been an illuminating experience, to say the least. As an undergrad, I received no background in Theory at all. OK, we read a bit of Stanley Fish in my Milton class. But that was really all. And at the time, it did not even occur to me that it was theory…ah, to be young and naïve again. So, I was understandably a bit nervous about this class, and concerned that I would be horribly behind my classmates. Luckily, though, we all had our moments of complete bewilderment, and I took comfort in that. I think my perspective as a theory ‘virgin’ had a noticeable effect on my blogs, though. I have decided to reflect on how I felt about the blogging for a page or so, then actually go back and look at them and contemplate further, just for a fun little exercise. So, from the beginning of this process, I have found myself reading the works assigned, highliter in hand, trying to find some little recognizable nugget to hold onto, kind of a way in, if you will, to incorporate each way of thinking.






This process is interesting to me. To digress a bit, I often wonder about the process of highlighting while reading. My theory book is a previously used copy (who could surrender such a collection of wisdom?) and I am drawn to the passages highlighted by the previous owner, only to wonder, after I read the whole passage myself, “why did they highlight that part? Didn’t they notice that the important part is a few sentences later?” Personally, I found my own behavior with regard to this to be curious, as well. I discovered that, over the course of the semester, I grew more and more dependant on the process of marking out my theoretical territory with pink and blue pens. Somehow, this process made it my own, I digested the reading in this manner. It became so ingrained, I could not do my reading for theory without a hilighter. And I really tried. My fingers just itched uncomfortably to draw attention to arguments I needed to come back to…or disagreed with…or found to be particularly resonant. I even developed a carefully organized method of highlighting, simetimes just putting parenthesis around something, sometimes block parenthesis [] like so to indicate further study, sometimes I would underline something with a highlighter, if it was leading up to something, and then big broad marks for a main point, particularly if it was one with which I agreed. (big pink exclamation points next to such passages are likely, as well.) I have not had this experience with any other kind of reading, certainly not to this degree. I wonder why that is…perhaps something to do with the complex, and, lets face it, rather alien nature of the material…
OK, digression over. So, there I am, highlighter in hand, looking for some crumb of the familiar to latch on to. This will certainly be reflected in my blogs. When I look back, I expect to find a lot of statements like “I liked” “I really agreed with” or “____ really resonated with me” These are the nuggets I found, the gratifying little morsels of theory that I could actually relate to. Then there were the other bits, the ones I expect to look back and see described as “interesting” in my posts. The interesting bits are the ones that challenged me, that made me examine my views that I took for granted, and revise, or re-assert why I believe what I do.
OK, I have now gone back and looked at all of my past Blogs. I have to say, tracing my ideas on theory they have not been as simple as I thought they would be. I did see a lot of “interesting” and “liked”, ad even more “hmmm”. (this is apparently what I say when I am still formulating, and have no words yet :-P ) I think I have changed my perspective on a lot of ideas, though, and I honestly did not expect to find that. For example, earlier in the semester, when we read Marx, I talked about how “comforting” I found the idea that there is something deeper being behind literature, like social code or ideology. Maybe this was a rebellion against new criticism, or temporary insanity, but now I can’t help but say to myself: “what the hell were you thinking?” My final weekly entry on Eagleton’s Marxist look at literature is just the opposite, discomfort and rebellion against saddling literature with such a prosaic and conformist agenda. It is disturbing. There is nothing comforting about it. What an idiot.
Now then, to be easier on myself, I also noticed a running theme concerned with the enjoyment and appreciation of literature and reading. The theorists I go on about and fawn over are those like Pater, Poulet, Baudelaire, and Fish, and I rebel most strongly against Freud, Bourdieu, Eagleton, even Corneille; the theorists that try to put limits on, or identify some sort of agenda for literature. There is no agenda for literature, for beauty. It simply is. It does not exist to impose order or social control, to work through collective castration anxiety, or any of that. I remain insistent, perhaps even more so than before, that art and literature exist for the pure pleasure and enjoyment, appreciation, if you will; or perhaps, to quote Pater one more time, “The critic should posess...the power of being deeply moved by the presence of beautiful objects …the service of philosophy, of speculative culture, toward the human spirit, is to rouse, to startle it to a life or constant and eager observation.”

Literature = the opiate of the masses?
OK, one last weekly blog. I am once again troubled by this week’s readings, and have been avoiding writing about it too long, so time to confront my fears. I am bothered by Eagleton’s assertions equating religion and literature, and even more troubled by the report that the undergraduate theory class found this to be a positive development. I guess I just don’t like to think of Literature having any kind of agenda, conscious or otherwise. It is inevitable, I suppose, that the political climate of the day will affect what people write. But using literature as a tool of social control, and worse, implying that it is a natural fit to derive political or social ideology from literature, is one against which I cannot help but rebel. I was discussing this with someone (Courtney?), and I remember she said something like “I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s just wrong.” I find myself agreeing. It is hard to identify a flaw in his logic, but I just cannot believe this. His writing seemed also to be deliberately inflammatory, insisting one moment that English Literature was a study ideally suited for women early in the discipline, since “English was an untaxing sort of affair…a convenient sort of non-subject”…and about the lower classes: “If the masses are not thrown a few novels, they may react by throwing up a few barricades”. Eagleton is not the first to make these assertions, indeed, he is documenting history, I am sure he would argue, but the manner in which he is doing so makes my brow furrow in disquiet. Damn you, Terry Eagleton, you’re just wrong. I don’t know how, but I know you are.
On a happier closing note, I really thought the Gloria Anzaldua article this week was great. The whole idea of being part of an excluded (or marginalized, if you will) part of society actually opening things up to make you part of a larger whole is a wonderfully deconstructive way of looking at binaries of social constructs. I found it to be so beautifully inclusive, it really made an impression on me. In fact, let’s close with a few words from Anzaldua:
“As a mestiza, I have no country, my homeland casts me out; yet all countries are mine because I am every woman’s sister or potential lover (As a lesbian I have no race, my own people disclaim me; but I am all races, because there is the queer of me in all races.) I am cultureless because, as a feminist, I challenge the collective cultural/religious male-derived beliefs of Indo Hispanics and Anglos, yet I am cultured because I am participating in the creation of yet another culture, a new story to explain the world and our participation in it, a new value system with images and symbols that connect us to each other in the planet.”

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Kiera Knightley as Elizabeth Bennett

female body

OK, here goes. I am deeply troubled by this week's readings, I guess they bring up things that I don't like to think about...like anorexia, and the ridiculous cultural standards in this country for women's bodies, and the idea that men and masculinity are the "norm" the "standard", and femeninity is, by definition, what masculinity is not...I just hate all of that crap. So, I am going to try to forget about all of that, and make some kind of insightful comment anyway...sigh!
I found it difficult to disagree with much of what Bordo asserts, which makes it more distressing. I do think the idea that the anorexic girl becomes more "male" as she loses weight is a little strange. Especially since just a few pages ago it was pointed out that the male ideal of beauty right now is bulky and muscular...so, if the anorexic is becoming male, she is therefore unsucessful at acheiving male beauty (which makes it even more depressing). OK, I don't have anything more to say about that right now. Except that, I wonder, on a slightly different note,
what to think of the Pride and Prejudice director's comment about Kiera Knightley being boyish, and therefore "un" beautiful enough to play Elizabeth Bennett. In light of the whole boyish/anorexic/female power thing...hmmm...and yet, her boyishness is what made her less attractive...hmmm.
Talking in class about drag queens and drag kings made me think a bit afterwards. It is interesting that men are more difficult to parody. I really don't want to agree with the justification that men are the "norm", or the standard, or whatever, so they have no obvious physical constructs to parody. It is odd, though, that the phenomenon of "drag kings" has not been as pervasive as that of queens. why is that? I guess the first thing that comes to my mind is the fact that most women wear mens, or at least gender ambiguous clothes often, but the same is not true for men. A discussion I had over the break comes to mind. A friend of mine from high school has two little boys, about the same age as my kids. She was expressing thanks that she had two kids of the same sex, so that they could share clothes, and I told her that I do that too, even though Bree is a girl, I often dress her in Matthew's old clothes. Then we had a laugh about what if it had been the other way around, we agreed that we would never dress a boy in girls clothes. Why not, though? Why do I see no problem with cross dressing my baby girl (and I put her in things that are obviously boyish) but agree that dressing a male infant in a pink sleeper, not to mention a dress, would be obviously deviant and downright unfathomable? Why is it such a big deal? Anyway, it made me wonder...is it because the boy clothes are not just for boys, but simply "normal" clothes? it makes womanhood seem so artificial...maybe Virginia had it right, we just all need to move toward androgyny.

bla bla blog

Baudelaire, Woolf, Hughes, Plato, Foucault
I must say, I really enjoyed all of the readings for this week...well, except for maybe the Foucault. The Langston Hughes piece was such an easy read, and really too short. I am glad we got to talk about a Hughes poem as well, in class, to fill it out a bit. The differences in the attitude of the poem and the essay was rather interesting. The poem seems to be earlier, from the title and attitude. His identity does not seem to be as...solidified, for lack of a better word. It is not surprising that he embraces his racial identity even as a young student (if this was indeed written when he was a student, which I will assume it was). I guess what appeals to me about the poem is that Hughes here is more individual, personal, I don’t know, kind of still developing,investigating, and questioning the place of the (black) artist in society, whereas the essay is much more didactic, trying to guide and advise Negro artists en masse. Perhaps this piece is different since it’s (presumable) audience is unique, in that it is a white professor, which is likely not an audience Hughes considers much later in his career. It does seem more honest, somehow...more genuine...less strident. But I liked the essay a lot when I read it. Especially the descriptions of jazz, and the types of negro audiences to literature. I did have a bit of a knee jerk negative reaction to his negative reaction against the negro poet who "wanted to be a poet". I think it is much more complicated than "wanting to be white"...I have often wanted to be considered for what I do, not as what I do in relation to being a woman...or whatever classification people use to define me. I don’t think this is because I want to be a man, but in part, maybe it is, because I want to be treated with the same respect and consideration as a man traditionally is, in our society.
This seems like a good segue to the Woolf. Again, I have to complain that the excerpt we read was just too short. For one thing, we didn’t even get much about the necessity independence and the female author, the theory behind the title. I think that part of the talk is fundamental, especially after the desolation of Shakespeare’s Sister. But, such is the pitfall of the ubiquitous anthology. Sigh! The points Woolf makes about female characters before Austen being portrayed from the perspective of and only in relation to men is true, and depressing. Is it really true, though, that men cannot write female characters convincingly, and vice versa? I like to think not, but then, I believe in very few fundamental differences between men and women, though there are many societally inscribed differences, which may amount to the same thing, in the long run. Upon reading this, I am reminded of a movie from a few years ago, "As Good as it Gets", with Jack Nicholson. Jack, a novel writer, is asked by a fan "How do you write women so well?" His smart ass reply is:
"I think of a man, then I take away reason and accountability". Naturally I don’t agree, but it is an interesting conundrum.
I am definitely going to address Baudelaire, but I think I will save it for the final project. So, I will sign off for now. Hope everyone has a nice, relaxing thanksgiving. Bye all!
Jenni
PS - we took Brianna to the Dr yesterday, it looks like she had a strep infection, but has gotten over it on her own...she is doing much better today. Thanks everyone for the concern and inquiries.

The Virgin of the Rocks (infrared reflectogram)
(this is all from the London National Gallery)
Full title: 'The Virgin of the Rocks' (infrared reflectogram)
Examination of the 'Virgin of the Rocks' by the Gallery's team of experts revealed two distinct underdrawings beneath the surface of the painting. Though one drawing corresponds with the final version of the painting, another shows a completely different picture of a kneeling figure. Her downcast gaze and pious gestures suggest that Leonardo's initial idea was to depict the Virgin in Adoration of the Christ Child. There is no sign of the baby Jesus, but this could be because Leonardo abandoned this idea before he came to include him.

A technique known as infrared reflectography was used to look through the layers of paint and reveal the hidden drawings

Art is in the mistakes?

This does not really apply to literature as much as, say, visual art, or even music. Or does it>? Maybe I’ll get to that.

Anyway, talking about vinyl records today in class made me think of this, and I think it is true of concerts even more. And isn’t this one of the reasons that painting is more artistic than, say, taking a photograph? The mistakes are a vital part of the process…it is what humanizes things, for me. I think we are always looking for mistakes in films, like we mentioned in class, because we want to see evidence that there is a human behind all of the equipment, after all. When someone’s voice cracks in concert…or forgets the words! That is what you remember…that kernel of humanity…I went to a Lyle Lovett show once (I am a big fan, I have to say, though I know I am in a small minority J) and was a little disappointed that there weren’t any little mistakes, or little personal touches that made his performance different from the recording. With painting, it is more difficult to pinpoint, but I think that the fact that each brushstroke could have gone a different way…that no painting is an exact representation of events (though I suppose the same could be said of a photograph, but not in the same way, I am going to have to insist) but the artist’s perception, and translation of them. And again, surely when a painting is complete, there are things that the artist wishes were different, little details that came out wrong, but make the whole work more special as a result…maybe even better than it would have been, in retrospect.
Back to music, I was just posting something about this on James’ blog, but I am going to repeat it here anyway. When I was a music major, many years ago, my college choir made a CD. It may sound fun and exciting, but really it was anything but. The process was so painstakingly perfectionist, this unreal effort to make a perfectly clear, seamless, flawless digital recording. My conductor was manic about it, we must have made 40 recordings of one song, because the piano sounds like it was in a tunnel, or Mark cleared his throat inbetween the chant and the Kyrie, or the hum of the lights was interfering with the pitch of the second sopranos (come on, give us a break, lady!). She would play us these “perfect” recordings by the Tallis scholars, or the Kings College Choir, and, sure, they are beautiful, but in an untouchable, unrealistically perfect way. Why is it desirable to hear a recording where the singers are so perfect, they sound almost like instruments or machines, not human voices? Hmmm. Does it say something about the innately flawed nature of humanity? That we need things to have flaws, to reassure us that our imperfections are OK? interesting. So, anyway, we finally finished the CD, we sang in the dark, with a new piano, and no one dared move or sing a note slightly off…if someone was sick, they weren’t allowed to sing, or even come near the rest of us if they might be contagious… in the end, I guess it sounded good, but to me, inauthentic. I prefer singing with the group in concert, feeling the pressure and the nervous zing of energy from singing in front of an audience, feeling like part of a living group of voices joining together. The mistakes we inevitably made, made it more vital and genuine. Even the audience gets into the act of making a performance unique. If people coughed, or clapped at the wrong time, or a child sings along to a familiar christmas carol, it makes the performance different every time, unique. It is remembered for the way a new soloist faltered at the beginning, and the final high notes ring truer and clearer because of it. We are able to enjoy the beauty of her performance because of the flaw at the beginning, almost as if we can forgive that perfection, or forgive may be the wrong word, but certainly enjoy it more, because the pressure of perfection has been removed. Hmmm. I think that vinyl works with this idea, because it is a flawed method of reproduction, and therefore more loveable because of it. I still have all of my records from childhood (albeit nothing on which to play them) because they are irreplaceable, and the cover art is part of it, but not all. The sound is special, unique, and constantly evolving, as they get older and are played. The performance is fleeting, fragile, the next time I play it will be different. OK, I have rambled enough here, but I am going to give this more thought…imperfection…hmmm…How would this translate to literature, though?

OK, time to catch up

Oops, I forgot to blog last week. Hmmm. I liked the James article, I found it a little incongruous with the works I have read of his, though. Hmmm. I think what we said in class, though, about his Novels being quite different from the shorter works, is true, though. I guess this article seemed a little...romantic, almost, in its idealisation of reading. Which I relate to, personally, it is just surprising from James. "A novel is in its broadest definition a personal, a direct impression of life" Hmmm. Very interesting, though. I may have to go back and read more Henry James, to articulate this further. Anyway.
I found the Corneille article amusing, and not a little extreme in the strictness of the rules. I am not sure I agree with him, even in the opening, where he asserts that "in comedy, unity of action consists in the unity of plot or the obstacle to the plans of the principal actors, and in tragedy in the unity of peril, whether the hero falls victim to it or escapes." I can see the point about comedy, I remember after it was pointed out to me that there is almost always a blocking agent or, more likely, character that was central to the plot, I was shocked to discover that it was really true. But "peril" as the unifying agent to drama just dosen't work for me. I like the definitions of comedy and drama that focus on comedy as the story of a community, and the blocking character playing out objection to something that goes against social mores or convention, but resolved in the end, and the community goes on to thrive, all is well. That goes along with Corneille's assertions. But in this definition, Drama is the story of the individual, and the development of the character and internal growth. Peril may of may not have anything to do with this, but I really don't see it at the level of importance Corneille seems to give it. Hmm. Often the character Drama focuses on does face some sort of struggle or life changing event, though...
OK, that's all I can come up with right now...I really need to do this right before or after class from now on...

Jen