Avery's blog post about style and great literature got me thinking about why we rarely recognize contemporary literature as great. While people do tend to write in less formal English now, as Avery suggests, I think we consider these works to be great works of literature because they have been subjected to such rigorous study and criticism. Because this literature is older, people have had more time to interpret and debate it.
I think that what gets chosen, for one reason or another, as canon in literature greatly impacts how we see that literature in society. In the past, the canon of English literature was largely made up of white males. It was only recently that students began reading the works of African-American, Japanese-American, female, openly homosexual, etc., authors in school. Still, the greatness of much literature has been suppressed because it has not been allowed to flourish as other literature has. I think this suppression has little to do with style, and more to do with what sorts of authors our society has thought were worth reading.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Dialogue with an Author?
Wayne C. Booth writes that, in order to be a responsible reader, I must "enter into serious dialogue with the author about how his or her values join or conflict with mine" (252). Since this is the conclusion of Booth's essay, I am perplexed that he did not include more information on how a reader should engage in this dialogue with an author.
Perhaps Booth meant that a reader should engage the author in a spoken or written dialogue. The logistics of this might prove difficult; though the use of email might facilitate this process, maintaining email correspondence with an entire readership would be exhausting. This is also an option only available to authors who are still alive.
Perhaps, instead, Booth meant that a reader should engage in a simulated, pretend dialogue with the author. The reader should read an author's interviews, biographies, letters, and journals in order to be able to have enough information to role-play a real life conversation with the author. Realistically, this is quite a lot of work, perhaps too much work to go through with every author whose work one intends to read.
The way I choose to interpret Booth's suggestion is, simply, to read carefully and charitably. A reader should not approach a work hostilely, looking for inconsistencies or blunders, but should suspend her disbelief and trust in the author's intentions and capabilities, at least for the first time through a work.
Perhaps Booth meant that a reader should engage the author in a spoken or written dialogue. The logistics of this might prove difficult; though the use of email might facilitate this process, maintaining email correspondence with an entire readership would be exhausting. This is also an option only available to authors who are still alive.
Perhaps, instead, Booth meant that a reader should engage in a simulated, pretend dialogue with the author. The reader should read an author's interviews, biographies, letters, and journals in order to be able to have enough information to role-play a real life conversation with the author. Realistically, this is quite a lot of work, perhaps too much work to go through with every author whose work one intends to read.
The way I choose to interpret Booth's suggestion is, simply, to read carefully and charitably. A reader should not approach a work hostilely, looking for inconsistencies or blunders, but should suspend her disbelief and trust in the author's intentions and capabilities, at least for the first time through a work.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Metaphors in Philosophy
Q&A Question #2: Should metaphor have a place in philosophical writing?
The introduction to the metaphor section lists three common types of questions about metaphors, which I will paraphrase as 1) What are they? 2) How do we interpret them? 3) What is their purpose? I think that once these three questions have been explored, we must ask a follow-up question: 4) Ought writers to use metaphors?
I think that only the harshest opponent of metaphor would object to their use in fiction. Yes, perhaps metaphors run the risk of being vague or misleading, but no harm comes from their use in fiction.
The use of metaphor in philosophy, however, is a more contentious subject. Some thinkers, like Thomas Hobbes, condemned the use of metaphor in philosophy because metaphors are merely ornamental. Some think that philosophers should aspire for their writing to be as clear and straightforward as possible. While I agree with this sentiment, I also think that metaphors can help to illuminate ideas and facilitate abstract thinking. I also think that philosophical writing should aspire to be literary, and therefore even if metaphors are strictly ornamental, these ornaments are still a boon to philosophical writing.
The introduction to the metaphor section lists three common types of questions about metaphors, which I will paraphrase as 1) What are they? 2) How do we interpret them? 3) What is their purpose? I think that once these three questions have been explored, we must ask a follow-up question: 4) Ought writers to use metaphors?
I think that only the harshest opponent of metaphor would object to their use in fiction. Yes, perhaps metaphors run the risk of being vague or misleading, but no harm comes from their use in fiction.
The use of metaphor in philosophy, however, is a more contentious subject. Some thinkers, like Thomas Hobbes, condemned the use of metaphor in philosophy because metaphors are merely ornamental. Some think that philosophers should aspire for their writing to be as clear and straightforward as possible. While I agree with this sentiment, I also think that metaphors can help to illuminate ideas and facilitate abstract thinking. I also think that philosophical writing should aspire to be literary, and therefore even if metaphors are strictly ornamental, these ornaments are still a boon to philosophical writing.
Hey Juliet, Throw Me Down Some SPF 40
Q&A Question #1: Do metaphors damage or bolster meaning?
I think that metaphors do have the ability to damage and to bolster meaning in a text. As Jacob mentioned in class, it is a question of whether the benefit from the literary potency of the metaphor outweighs the vagueness of the metaphor.
When an author uses a metaphor, she runs the risk of that metaphor skewing her intended meaning. When Shakespeare wrote that "Juliet is the sun", he left that line within the context of play, rather than interfering with a footnote to say, "In that she is bright, Romeo needs her to live, etc., and NOT in that she is a giant ball of gas, or that Romeo's skin will start to burn if he stays in her presence too long, etc." This lack of explicit explanation leaves room for various interpretations, but does not, in my opinion, detract from the potency of the metaphor.
Perhaps not every emotion or phenomenon is possible to or meant to be explained literally. In the same way that explaining why a joke is funny makes the joke lose its humor, explaining why a metaphor is potent cheapens the meaning of a metaphor. Metaphors can bolster meaning and emotion in ways that literal prose cannot, and having profound meaning and eliciting strong emotions from readers are often boons in the world of literature. Metaphor, therefore, is indispensable.
I think that metaphors do have the ability to damage and to bolster meaning in a text. As Jacob mentioned in class, it is a question of whether the benefit from the literary potency of the metaphor outweighs the vagueness of the metaphor.
When an author uses a metaphor, she runs the risk of that metaphor skewing her intended meaning. When Shakespeare wrote that "Juliet is the sun", he left that line within the context of play, rather than interfering with a footnote to say, "In that she is bright, Romeo needs her to live, etc., and NOT in that she is a giant ball of gas, or that Romeo's skin will start to burn if he stays in her presence too long, etc." This lack of explicit explanation leaves room for various interpretations, but does not, in my opinion, detract from the potency of the metaphor.
Perhaps not every emotion or phenomenon is possible to or meant to be explained literally. In the same way that explaining why a joke is funny makes the joke lose its humor, explaining why a metaphor is potent cheapens the meaning of a metaphor. Metaphors can bolster meaning and emotion in ways that literal prose cannot, and having profound meaning and eliciting strong emotions from readers are often boons in the world of literature. Metaphor, therefore, is indispensable.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Dorian Gray & Moral Realism
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all."
-Preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
As we discussed in class on Friday, books can have content that discusses characters performing moral or immoral actions, but cannot be in themselves moral or immoral. Nicole mentioned that books cannot be moral or immoral because they are not conscious beings; that is, books are not moral agents capable of being moral or immoral. I agree with these two points.
We also discussed how the morality or immorality came from the reader's interpretation of the content of the book. Stacy mentioned moral relativism, and decided that books could not be moral or immoral because they could always be interpreted in different ways, by different cultures. As a moral realist, I feared that Wilde's theory led to moral relativism, but I am now confident that it does not.
I retract my statement that the (im)morality lies in the reader's interpretation; instead, I think it lies in the actions of the characters in the work. When a character performs an action, that action falls on the spectrum of morality (or, it is perhaps amoral, if there is such an action), or at least it would if that action were occurring in the real world, rather than in a work of fiction. The reader can decide whether or not an action is moral, but that one person's decision is not the ultimate marker of morality.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all."
-Preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
As we discussed in class on Friday, books can have content that discusses characters performing moral or immoral actions, but cannot be in themselves moral or immoral. Nicole mentioned that books cannot be moral or immoral because they are not conscious beings; that is, books are not moral agents capable of being moral or immoral. I agree with these two points.
We also discussed how the morality or immorality came from the reader's interpretation of the content of the book. Stacy mentioned moral relativism, and decided that books could not be moral or immoral because they could always be interpreted in different ways, by different cultures. As a moral realist, I feared that Wilde's theory led to moral relativism, but I am now confident that it does not.
I retract my statement that the (im)morality lies in the reader's interpretation; instead, I think it lies in the actions of the characters in the work. When a character performs an action, that action falls on the spectrum of morality (or, it is perhaps amoral, if there is such an action), or at least it would if that action were occurring in the real world, rather than in a work of fiction. The reader can decide whether or not an action is moral, but that one person's decision is not the ultimate marker of morality.
Which Pronouns?
Q&A Question #2: Is it appropriate to use “he”, “she”, and “who” to describe characters? Ought we instead to use “it” and “that”?
The words we use to describe something can alter our perceptions of that thing. The example with which I am most familiar is in which words we use to describe animals; if I give my cat a name (Stormy) and say things about her like "she went outside" and "Stormy is a cat who likes to sleep", then these pronouns bolster my seeing her as an animal with personhood status. I am therefore more likely to treat her with the respect she deserves. If, however, I do not give my cat a name, say that "it went outside" etc., my perception will be altered so that I do not see my cat as a person, but rather as a thing to be treated however I like (as a side note, saying "my cat" does not necessarily imply ownership, any more than I own my grandmother or my boyfriend).
Let us now apply this phenomenon to characters in a literary work. I noticed that in "Fictional Characters as Abstract Artifacts," Amie Thomasson writes "a fictional character can go on existing without its author..." (145). Thomasson describes a character as an "it" rather than a "he" or "she". Since characters do not exist in the real world, do not suffer, do not have rights, etc., ought we to use "it" when describing them? I think that we indeed ought to whenever we are not trying to suspend our disbelief to become engrossed in a story. This will anchor our occasional perceptions of characters as real beings into a perception of characters as imaginary. Using "it" is not intuitive; we will naturally want to say "she" when describing Anna Karenina and "he" when describing Captain Ahab. I think, however, that purposefully saying "it" instead (especially during classroom discussions about characters) will remind us that we are not discussing real people.
The words we use to describe something can alter our perceptions of that thing. The example with which I am most familiar is in which words we use to describe animals; if I give my cat a name (Stormy) and say things about her like "she went outside" and "Stormy is a cat who likes to sleep", then these pronouns bolster my seeing her as an animal with personhood status. I am therefore more likely to treat her with the respect she deserves. If, however, I do not give my cat a name, say that "it went outside" etc., my perception will be altered so that I do not see my cat as a person, but rather as a thing to be treated however I like (as a side note, saying "my cat" does not necessarily imply ownership, any more than I own my grandmother or my boyfriend).
Let us now apply this phenomenon to characters in a literary work. I noticed that in "Fictional Characters as Abstract Artifacts," Amie Thomasson writes "a fictional character can go on existing without its author..." (145). Thomasson describes a character as an "it" rather than a "he" or "she". Since characters do not exist in the real world, do not suffer, do not have rights, etc., ought we to use "it" when describing them? I think that we indeed ought to whenever we are not trying to suspend our disbelief to become engrossed in a story. This will anchor our occasional perceptions of characters as real beings into a perception of characters as imaginary. Using "it" is not intuitive; we will naturally want to say "she" when describing Anna Karenina and "he" when describing Captain Ahab. I think, however, that purposefully saying "it" instead (especially during classroom discussions about characters) will remind us that we are not discussing real people.
Emotional Responses to Fiction
I like Ralph Clark’s view (paraphrased by Susan Feagin) that “Emotional responses to art are the result of entertaining various counterfactual conditionals” (186). In other words, our emotional responses to literature come from imagining that same set of circumstances happening to yourself or to someone you know. This is a possible explanation for why fictional characters who are in a situation you have once found yourself in, or perhaps remind you of your father, are so much more emotionally potent.
Radford’s fifth solution objects this idea. He says that when we weep for Anna Karenina, “we weep for her” (174), not for the situation applied to any person. Since Anna Karenina does not exist, this is not an adequate solution to the problem of emotional response to literature. However, I disagree; I do not think the reader weeps for Anna Karenina. The reader knows she does not exist, can not suffer, and is therefore weeping out of empathy and an active imagination.
Radford’s fifth solution objects this idea. He says that when we weep for Anna Karenina, “we weep for her” (174), not for the situation applied to any person. Since Anna Karenina does not exist, this is not an adequate solution to the problem of emotional response to literature. However, I disagree; I do not think the reader weeps for Anna Karenina. The reader knows she does not exist, can not suffer, and is therefore weeping out of empathy and an active imagination.
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