Wimsatt and Beardsley seem to take issue with an approach to poetic interpretation they call "author psychology," or "personal studies." Section IV of "The Intentional Fallacy" focuses on the conflation they see happening between criticism of poetry and personal studies, and the dangers lying therein. I had a very difficult time understanding both the significance of this section and the distinctions between internal and external and intermediate evidences for the meaning of a poem. I am going to try and piece at least part of their discussion together here.
It seems that Wimsatt and Beardsley are not trying to write-off personal studies completely as irrelevant or not useful because in the first paragraph they say, "Certainly it need to be with a derogatory purpose that one points out personal studies, as distinct from poetic studies, in the realm of literary scholarship," (814). So they at least see something useful in personal studies, but they do not want it to be considered alongside or as the same as poetic studies, because the next sentence says, "Yet there is danger of confusing personal and poetic studies; and there is the fault of writing the personal as if it were poetic." I do not see what is meant when they say "writing the personal as if it were poetic." Could it be that they do not want to take into account a poet's personal life into poetic criticism, because the poem should be able to stand on its own outside of the author and his/her life? After all, it is not so much what happens to a person that is important to writing a poem, but rather how the poet interprets their life. I wonder if this is what Wimsatt and Beardsley are trying to convey?
They then proceed to outline the three types of evidence so that the reader can see the subtle differences critics must discern in a poem. First is internal, which Wimsatt and Beardsley say is "also public," (814). If I understand this correctly, they are saying the internal is the semantics/syntax of a poem, which is a part of the greater language we all use to communicate, which therefore makes it public. Next comes the paradox that the "external is private" (814), which is to say that while language is a public good, it is used to illustrate things most personal to the poet. The external is used to make the private available to the public. And finally, the intermediate type of evidence is one that straddles both the public and private. I think this means that language may be used that some, but not all, will understand to have a particular meaning.
What I am now trying to understand is why these distinctions are necessary, and why is it so disconcerting to Wimsatt and Beardsley that some critics will emphasize certain types of evidence over others? Or is it not the emphasis that is troubling, but rather that the distinctions are not given explicitly by critics when analyzing a poem?
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Suggestive Power of Allusions
When reading Wimsatt and Beardsley's "The Intentional Fallacy" I was most intrigued by their discussion of allusions in writing. I found it comforting that they were critical of those who focus on what/who has influenced the poet in question. While learning about a poet's life and influences has helped me feel more confident in assertions I have made in academic papers in college, something about it also sits uncomfortably with me. It seems that this style of interpretation favors academia, who have access to information about poets that is not readily available nor accessible to the everyday reader. Not everyone can use things like the Lily Library, unfortunately, and it seems a shame to me that in order to "understand" a poem one must do background research. Shouldn't the words on the page be enough?
In section V of "The Intentional Fallacy" Wimsatt and Beardsley discuss T.S. Eliot's use of allusions to other works in his poetry, which apparently happens a lot. They conclude that, "Eliot's allusions work when we know them--and to a great extent even when we do not know them, through their suggestive power," ( 817). I am not very familiar with T.S. Eliot and so I do not want to try and test their theory using his poetry. I have, however, read poetry and heard songs that resonated very deeply with me, and yet I had very little grasp of what was being referenced in the allusions.
For instance, one of the most heartbreaking songs I can think of is Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," and yet I haven't the faintest idea of what most of the song is saying. I think this speaks to what F.O. Matthiessen says about Eliot:
In section V of "The Intentional Fallacy" Wimsatt and Beardsley discuss T.S. Eliot's use of allusions to other works in his poetry, which apparently happens a lot. They conclude that, "Eliot's allusions work when we know them--and to a great extent even when we do not know them, through their suggestive power," ( 817). I am not very familiar with T.S. Eliot and so I do not want to try and test their theory using his poetry. I have, however, read poetry and heard songs that resonated very deeply with me, and yet I had very little grasp of what was being referenced in the allusions.
For instance, one of the most heartbreaking songs I can think of is Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," and yet I haven't the faintest idea of what most of the song is saying. I think this speaks to what F.O. Matthiessen says about Eliot:
"If one reads these lines with an attentive ear and is sensitive to their sudden shifts in movement,
the contrast between the actual Thames and the idealized vision of it during
an age before it flowed through a megalopolis is sharply conveyed by that movement itself,
whether or not one recognizes the refrain to be from Spenser,"
(Wimsatt and Beardsley 817).
Leonard Cohen uses imagery that may very well come from specific sources I am unfamiliar with, but regardless of that his mastery of form and style portray the texts being alluded to so well that my naivete becomes moot.
It is a great feeling to read a poem and recognize that another work is being referenced/alluded to, but that knowledge is not (or at least in my opinion and I think Wimsatt and Beardsley's as well) necessary in order to understand and enjoy a poem. I think the use of the allusion is most successful when prior knowledge is unnecessary, because as both an academic and lay-person reader I appreciate accessibility. I'm willing to put time in to understand a poem, but I want to know that the poet is working, too.
the contrast between the actual Thames and the idealized vision of it during
an age before it flowed through a megalopolis is sharply conveyed by that movement itself,
whether or not one recognizes the refrain to be from Spenser,"
(Wimsatt and Beardsley 817).
Leonard Cohen uses imagery that may very well come from specific sources I am unfamiliar with, but regardless of that his mastery of form and style portray the texts being alluded to so well that my naivete becomes moot.
It is a great feeling to read a poem and recognize that another work is being referenced/alluded to, but that knowledge is not (or at least in my opinion and I think Wimsatt and Beardsley's as well) necessary in order to understand and enjoy a poem. I think the use of the allusion is most successful when prior knowledge is unnecessary, because as both an academic and lay-person reader I appreciate accessibility. I'm willing to put time in to understand a poem, but I want to know that the poet is working, too.
Levels of Troping
In Killingsworth "Appeal Through Tropes" the normal convention of a trope being a "figure of speech" is asked to be left behind and for us to take in the possibility of tropes being more "inclusive" rather than simply a figure (208). In my PE for class I looked at tropes tools for not only literature, but because they are so frequently used in everyday speech, but everyday life in terms of communication and identification. I asked myself, inclusive of what? So in the quest for inclusiveness I realized that aspects of life (or discourse as Prof. Graban directed me) are the basis of troping. Literature is only useful if applicable to life (discourse) in a larger sense of using what we learn from literature and applying the text to something physical and three dimensional. That being said, just because a piece of literature may seem nothing more than pleasurable and purely for entertainment, the use of tropes is still usual (the lack of being seemingly impossible).
I looked at tropes in the larger lens of human relations and interacting with society. While reading, my understanding of the different tropes and their relationships to each other, then to the understanding and successful usage of them as a construction of knowledge. Construction implies there is a base, a building upwards. It may have simply been the organization of his essay that lead me to this idea, but I now view tropes as a stepping ladder, upon which the bottom step is the trope metaphor. Metaphor is the identification trope which attempts to bridge conceptual gaps (209). Once a comparison is established, contiguity comes next. Metonymy is the association tropes and is about habitual associations rather than shared attributes or features (209). After people establish associations with their identities, effective simplification is highlighted in terms of communicating. Synecdoche is the trope of representation, and is used for simplification and focusing attention. It is a device of emphasis (213). After people identify they then associate with others, which from there comes a sense of representation. I believe the next step is representation of self while among the representation and association, also known as irony. Irony is saying one thing and meaning another. I think it is the establishment of understanding the other three tropes and using them successfully in conversation with each other. Irony is the trope of distance, it works at the level of individual phrases and at the larger level of whole discourses (214).
Donne and Killingsworth
I am just pumping out John Donne posts for this week, so if you don't like him I apologize.
Killingsworth had the idea that metaphors help us identify ideas and concepts. He also writes, "According to Lakoff and Johnson, the cognitive power of metaphor...has to do with the tendency of all metaphors to connect the world to the body, to relate unfamiliar things to the familiar experience of physical existence" (124).
I see this concept certainly talking place in "Valediction". Donne uses a few metaphors that all relate to the experience of life/death.
First Donne writes, "As virtuous men pass mildly away/And whisper to their souls to go/ Whilst some of their sad friends do say/The breath goes now, and some say; No/". This is cumbersome, but it seems that Donne is saying that virtuous men die so peacefully that people cannot tell whether or not he has passed on. He continues, "So let melt, and make no noise, No tear floods, or nor sigh-tempests move" Essentially, he relates how the two lovers should part peacefully in the same way that virtuous men die. Killingsworth says that metaphor is an "attempt to bridge conceptual gaps" (123). Metaphors are essentially vehicles for transmission of thoughts, had Donne just said "Let's part without crying and making a huge commotion" it wouldn't have been as effective. Why?
I think that good metaphors do lead us back to the body, or more importantly just something that is highly familiar because it makes it personal. Over the pass couple weeks, I've been wondering the place of pathos in literature. I've blogged about some of the negative aspects of this, but I feel like this is one of pro's of pathos. Without it, these metaphors mean nothing, but with them they strike emotional responses that link two separate logical ideas.
Donne and W&B
I feel compelled to comment on W&B's take on the Donne poem in section 4. I am taking a course on English Lit during the renaissance and we worked with this exact poem a few weeks ago. The poem is titled, "A Valediction: Forbidding Morning" and was written in 1633. According to my professor, John Donne is considered a "founding father", if you will, of the mode of Metaphysical poetry in the English language. What that means is: it is going to be conversational, especially rhetorical, and will contain some witty device which is usually a long and complex metaphor. This poem certainly fits all of these qualifications. The poem is a speaker (may or may not be Donne) urging his lover not to be too upset that they must be apart for some time, and to substantiate that claim Donne uses a conceit which compares his love to heavenly, perfect things and the love of common people to earthly things that will pass away.
W&B show us a critic, and then go on to show why it is unsuccessful. Especially if one has read the entire work, it seems like it would be really hard to argue with W&B. The unknown critic theorizes that the earth moving is a comparison to the Copernican Theory, but this totally contradicts interrupts and contradicts the conceit that Donne uses throughout the rest of the poem.
This was kind of eye-opening for me. I definitely have seen historical background information used as a basis of criticism throughout my academic career. That is often the very first thing that I look at when looking at a work, and just from this example I wonder how many times I have done the same thing this critic did. Looking at the historical context of a text can blind us to what the poem actually says. I'm not ready to say that historical context shouldn't be used, because I don't think W&B say that either, but I definitely feel like it plays a far to big a role in how students and critics evaluate the meaning of a poem.
understanding Hitler's Mein Kampf as Longinus' visualization, or phantasia
In Kenneth Burke’s The Philosophy of Literary Form: Studies in Symbolic Action, he explains the way in which Hitler’s Mein Kampf is “ideational imagery” or “imagistic ideation” and describes Hitler as “combining or coalescing ideas the way a poet combines or coalesces images” to effectively persuade his audience (Burke 206, 207). Longinus’ On the Sublime suggests a notion of visualization, or phantasia, which could be a way in which one understands Hitler’s image/persuasion process (Longinus 356). Longinus defines phantasia as “the situation in which enthusiasm and emotion make the speaker see what he is saying and bring it visually before his audience” (Longinus 356). Thus, if such rhetorical visualization is successful, both author and reader are actively responding within a work. According to Longinus, rhetorical visualization’s aim is “clarity” and it seeks “emotion and excitement” from its reader (Longinus 356). Thus, one can understand Hitler’s “caricature of religious thought” as an coherent, metaphoric representation of a “worldview,” exciting emotion in its appeal to a feeling of “inborn dignity” through the “projection device” of the Jewish scapegoat (Burke 202, 208). Longinus writes, “in an orator’s visualizations…it is the element of fact and truth which makes for its success” (Longinus 357). Ultimately, because Hitler’s visualization was a criticism of his society, it had extensive appeal. Critically, Longinus concludes, “There is much [rhetorical visualization] can do to bring urgency and passion into our words; but it is when it is closely involved with factual arguments that it enslaves the hearer as well as persuading him” (Longinus 357). For obvious reasons, this statement pertains to Hitler’s doctrine, an excitation of Aryan self-righteousness through the assignment of blame for social contradictions and inadequacies to an innocent people.
“Types of Narration” that can be found in “In Search of America”
In this piece, Asch’s narrator provides several of what Booth describes ‘Inside Views’ into the everyday lives of the characters that are met. By supplying these examples, it allows readers to learn and understand the struggles of working America. Booth states in “Types of Narration” that narrators can “provide inside views [that] differ in the depth and the axis of their plunge” (163). This allows Asch to focus in on particular aspects of characters lives that he deems most important and that will draw adequate sympathy from readers. It is the narrator’s goal to present enough information regarding the lives of the lower class that readers will sympathize with them and hopefully, “make people so mad they’ll have to do something about it” (Asch 288). Asch’s narrator explores the lives of the people he meets, while simultaneously providing the reader with detailed knowledge of their daily lives and exploiting the truth about American working conditions.
In addition to the ‘Inside Views’, Asch also utilizes Booth’s method of ‘Variations of Distance’. It is stated in “The Rhetoric of Fiction” that the narrator “may differ morally, intellectually, and temporally” from the characters in the story (156). In Asch’s piece, it is clear that the narrator is distant from other characters temporally and in some cases intellectually. At one point, the narrator states that he misses the “pleasant mornings in New England” (Asch 289). Not only does this show geographical distance, but also that the narrator never stays with the characters he meets for a long period of time. The sole purpose for the narrators visits to the squalors of working America is to research and report about their lives, not because he, himself, is struggling for work. The distance between Asch’s narrator and the characters in the story allow for more detailed reflections about the unseen way of life.
Aspects of Mr. Booth’s narrative techniques are clearly at work in “In Search of America” and undoubtedly add to the complexity and understanding of the piece.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Marji and McCloud's comical world
On the topic of the implied author in Booth's 'Rhetoric of Fiction,' Booth addresses how the second self is similar to "a stage manager, a puppeteer...an indifferent God, silently paring his fingernails" (151). When the narrator has dramatized himself, he shares the same beliefs and characteristics with whichever way he chooses to manifest in.
With thoughts similar to Miranda H's post 'Self Conscious Narration and Persepolis,' the author is able to completely be himself, comfortable with joking or even directly conversing with the reader.
I noticed that so far this year we have looked at 2 types of comics. One which is an autobiographical narration, and the other which is basically a lecture. In this type of comic the author is able to address the reader not only visually with drawings, but consciously by using the inclusive tones such as "ourselves," or "our paths." This is another technique of the author joining his reality with ours, making him all the more present.
In Persepolis, Marji visits an old friend Kia Abadi. As she comes to soak in the destructiveness of war on her friend, she makes an important realization: "That day, I learned something essential" we can only feel sorry for ourselves when our misfortunes are still supportable...once this limit is crossed, the only way to bear the unbearable is to laugh at it" (266). By presenting her personal realization at that point in her life, Satrapi shows us that she's seeing how this war has put her country at rock bottom. And this way it is not only more relevant to us but also shows how her perception and awareness comes to life.
McCloud touches on this when he mentions the outward flowing of consciousness into the extended identity. "Our ability to extend our identities into inanimate objects can cause pieces of wood to become legs...pieces of plastic to become ears...pieces of glass to become eyes. And in every case, our constant awareness of self -- flows outward to include the object of our extended identity" (39). Like Satrapi, McCloud speaks with us as if he were right there in the room. In one frame, the one about pieces of glass becoming eyes, McCloud shows himself motioning towards his own glasses. When the author exposes himself like that, it fills the authorial intention, really letting you see straight into his mind.
I guess what's led me to this the discussion on the author's identity, intent and whether the author should be labeled by his other works or just in one single work. Instead of distancing the author from the text, it is absolutely necessary for the author to be there. It gives the text a guiding personality, someone readers can converse with. This style is not only clever, but more meaningful than anything words can describe laid out in text form. It is why you can see in modern comic culture a healthy amount of comics being transformed into multimillion dollar films. In it's basest form the comic is just as text, a method of communicating. And when done well, it is powerfully affective.
With thoughts similar to Miranda H's post 'Self Conscious Narration and Persepolis,' the author is able to completely be himself, comfortable with joking or even directly conversing with the reader.
I noticed that so far this year we have looked at 2 types of comics. One which is an autobiographical narration, and the other which is basically a lecture. In this type of comic the author is able to address the reader not only visually with drawings, but consciously by using the inclusive tones such as "ourselves," or "our paths." This is another technique of the author joining his reality with ours, making him all the more present.
In Persepolis, Marji visits an old friend Kia Abadi. As she comes to soak in the destructiveness of war on her friend, she makes an important realization: "That day, I learned something essential" we can only feel sorry for ourselves when our misfortunes are still supportable...once this limit is crossed, the only way to bear the unbearable is to laugh at it" (266). By presenting her personal realization at that point in her life, Satrapi shows us that she's seeing how this war has put her country at rock bottom. And this way it is not only more relevant to us but also shows how her perception and awareness comes to life.
McCloud touches on this when he mentions the outward flowing of consciousness into the extended identity. "Our ability to extend our identities into inanimate objects can cause pieces of wood to become legs...pieces of plastic to become ears...pieces of glass to become eyes. And in every case, our constant awareness of self -- flows outward to include the object of our extended identity" (39). Like Satrapi, McCloud speaks with us as if he were right there in the room. In one frame, the one about pieces of glass becoming eyes, McCloud shows himself motioning towards his own glasses. When the author exposes himself like that, it fills the authorial intention, really letting you see straight into his mind.
I guess what's led me to this the discussion on the author's identity, intent and whether the author should be labeled by his other works or just in one single work. Instead of distancing the author from the text, it is absolutely necessary for the author to be there. It gives the text a guiding personality, someone readers can converse with. This style is not only clever, but more meaningful than anything words can describe laid out in text form. It is why you can see in modern comic culture a healthy amount of comics being transformed into multimillion dollar films. In it's basest form the comic is just as text, a method of communicating. And when done well, it is powerfully affective.
Tropes and Sublimity
Killingsworth's extended look at tropes was rather intriguing, especially in the way that he extends how the different types of tropes work and interact with so many different parts of rhetoric and language in general. He really makes a great argument for how essential tropes are in language and rhetoric. Killingsworth writes, "Metaphor is everywhere, and so is the kind of value-laden, emotional language usually associated with rhetoric, no matter how hard scientific and academic writers may try to avoid it.(122)" This mention of "emotional language" somewhat hearkens back to Longinus's notion of sublimity in writing. Tropes somewhat take on a role as a piece of or contributor to sublimity. Metaphor and other types of trope would give Longinus's "greatness of thought" idea the opportunity too be sublime in the way that it is written. Longinus might say that Homer's Iliad has a large amount of trope adding to its sublimity while the Odyssey doesn't use it as much when he compares the two works as both having potential of sublimity, but Homer only executes it in the Iliad. If how a work is written is part of what can gauge a literary work's sublimity, then the use of tropes presumably would add to the sublime value of that literary work as well. Sublimity makes a text more vivid and realistic, and as Killingsworth explains, "Tropes tend to connect the abstract to the concrete. (122)" The more that a reader can in a sense "see" the events that are being written about, the more sublime a text should be considered. Tropes allow for a better understanding of a writing by adding another dimension to explanation in language.
Metephorical Expression
Reading Killingsworth's "Appeal Through Tropes" reminded me of an argument I came up with when I read Locke's "An Essay On Human Understanding." I remember thinking about how Locke wants language to be more closely related to what it represents, and wondering, How would that ever happen? With the emergence of slang and fads and (oh good heavens) texting, there is just no way to avoid the alterations in language that sometimes cause silly confusion.
Killingsworth described metaphors in a way that made me think about how people express themselves. By calling Queen Elizabeth II "the crown," people are expressing what they think of Queen Elizabeth II (127). More specifically, they are expressing what they don't think of Queen Elizabeth II. They think of royalty when they think of her, not her age or her wealth or her family. The same thing happens when things like slang emerge. People make connections when they speak. Televisions were called "the tube" years ago, and I have no idea why, though I think it was something about how televisions used to be made. I wish I had better examples, but the point is that language changes as a result of metaphors. Things just stick, and eventually get put in the dictionary, and eventually make the next generation wonder what on earth their parents are talking about when they talk about watching "I Love Lucy" reruns on the tube.
Irony doesn't exactly fit that particular example, but it still applies to the notion of expression. Using Irony is a way of expressing how one thinks something should be by pointing out how it is not. Sarcasm, for example. "Wow, that explanation was crystal clear," actually might mean, "Um, I'm confused. You didn't explain that well at all." In that case the sarcasm was used in order to express that the explanation "should" have been crystal clear, but wasn't.
Killingsworth described metaphors in a way that made me think about how people express themselves. By calling Queen Elizabeth II "the crown," people are expressing what they think of Queen Elizabeth II (127). More specifically, they are expressing what they don't think of Queen Elizabeth II. They think of royalty when they think of her, not her age or her wealth or her family. The same thing happens when things like slang emerge. People make connections when they speak. Televisions were called "the tube" years ago, and I have no idea why, though I think it was something about how televisions used to be made. I wish I had better examples, but the point is that language changes as a result of metaphors. Things just stick, and eventually get put in the dictionary, and eventually make the next generation wonder what on earth their parents are talking about when they talk about watching "I Love Lucy" reruns on the tube.
Irony doesn't exactly fit that particular example, but it still applies to the notion of expression. Using Irony is a way of expressing how one thinks something should be by pointing out how it is not. Sarcasm, for example. "Wow, that explanation was crystal clear," actually might mean, "Um, I'm confused. You didn't explain that well at all." In that case the sarcasm was used in order to express that the explanation "should" have been crystal clear, but wasn't.
Booth's Morality and Longinus' Sublime
Over the course of the semester, we have spent quite a bit of time discussing the role of the author. While I feel I have maybe overloaded the blog with posts concerning Longinus On the Sublime, his theories concerning the creation of the sublime are a nice complement to Boone's "Morality of Narration." The opportunity to compare the theory of two individuals who lived close to two thousand years apart was to enticing to pass up. It seems that both Longinus and Booth hold the author to a certain standard; that is, the each theorist has certain expectations of the author when writing a narrative.
For Longinus, of course, the author should be focused primarily on constructing and illustrating the sublime in his writing. As we have discussed in lecture as well as on the blog, the sources for sublimity involve the author and his technique and style of writing. For the purposes of relating Longinus to Booth, I want to focus explicitly on a few of the sources that have received little attention thus far by our class. Longinus asserts that in order to achieve sublimity, the author must use figures, "noble diction" (careful construction of words, phrases, and the use of metaphors) and "dignified and elevated word arrangement" (pg. 350). He notes the importance of these sources, claiming that "sublimity will be achieved if we consistently selected the most important of...inherent features and learn to organize them as a unity by combining them with another" (pg. 353). This is basically a really complex way to say that the author must make the effort to include and organize words and phrases in order to achieve sublimity.
But how does all this relate to Booth, who does not discuss sublimity at all, but instead focuses on the morality of narration? While Booth takes a little while to dispel common notes of morality in terms of the "right"/"wrong" and a works perceived social effect, he comes back to contend that the moral obligation of the writer is simply to "write well." Booth continues on morality, "writing well must include the successful ordering of your readers view of a fiction world...The 'well made phrase' in fiction must be much more than 'beautiful'; it must serve larger ends, and the artist has a moral obligation." (pg. 389). I dont think it would be a stretch to claim that Longinus and Booth would agree that the author has a moral purpose to organize his words and phrases to convey the sublime to the reader. It seems that the creation of the sublime for Longinus is similar to the act of "writing well" that Booth contends is the source of morality in a narrative. While neither theorist ignores the role of the reader, they both focus heavily on the obligation of the author to produce works that are meaningful and powerful.
For Longinus, of course, the author should be focused primarily on constructing and illustrating the sublime in his writing. As we have discussed in lecture as well as on the blog, the sources for sublimity involve the author and his technique and style of writing. For the purposes of relating Longinus to Booth, I want to focus explicitly on a few of the sources that have received little attention thus far by our class. Longinus asserts that in order to achieve sublimity, the author must use figures, "noble diction" (careful construction of words, phrases, and the use of metaphors) and "dignified and elevated word arrangement" (pg. 350). He notes the importance of these sources, claiming that "sublimity will be achieved if we consistently selected the most important of...inherent features and learn to organize them as a unity by combining them with another" (pg. 353). This is basically a really complex way to say that the author must make the effort to include and organize words and phrases in order to achieve sublimity.
But how does all this relate to Booth, who does not discuss sublimity at all, but instead focuses on the morality of narration? While Booth takes a little while to dispel common notes of morality in terms of the "right"/"wrong" and a works perceived social effect, he comes back to contend that the moral obligation of the writer is simply to "write well." Booth continues on morality, "writing well must include the successful ordering of your readers view of a fiction world...The 'well made phrase' in fiction must be much more than 'beautiful'; it must serve larger ends, and the artist has a moral obligation." (pg. 389). I dont think it would be a stretch to claim that Longinus and Booth would agree that the author has a moral purpose to organize his words and phrases to convey the sublime to the reader. It seems that the creation of the sublime for Longinus is similar to the act of "writing well" that Booth contends is the source of morality in a narrative. While neither theorist ignores the role of the reader, they both focus heavily on the obligation of the author to produce works that are meaningful and powerful.
Do, Re, Mi
I admit to being a major Julie Andrews fan. I have the Sound of Music and Mary Poppins completely memorized. However, reading Killingsworth's "Appeals Through Tropes" has given me some new insight in the "Do Re Mi" song, and how the song uses metaphor in an usual way.
Killingsworth writes "Tropes tend to connect the abstract to the concrete - again, "love is a rose" - expressing the emotional quality of our relationship to the world" (122). The "Do, Re, Mi" song uses tropes. Andrew's character, Maria, uses homophones, words that the children are familiar with to help them remember and identify the solfege syllables. The song begins with a metaphor: "Do, a deer, a female deer." "Do" is like a deer - not in its properties, but in its sound. This does not exactly match Killingsworth's definition of a metaphor, but I argue that it is a trope that involves comparing two unlike things for the purpose of understanding the unfamiliar one.
The tropes in this song are not simply embellishment- in contrast, they shape the children's thinking about how songs are put together, and they have a clear function. These metaphors for the various solfege notes "relate unfamiliar things to the familiar experience of physical existence" (Killingsworth 124). However, something interesting happens at about 3:08 in the video. Maria mixes up the notes, and they loose their metaphorical meaning. "So, do, la, ti, do, re, do" does not mean, 'Sew doe la tea doe ray doe." It wouldn't make any sense. One of the children points this out, and Maria says, "So we put in words. One word for every note." The metaphor served only a temporary purpose, to get the children in the story to the point where they were no longer needed.
I am curious - are there other places where tropes serve to cancel themselves out? I cannot think of other examples, but I am sure that there must be some.
Let's Talk About Metaphors
I haven't really been sure what to post about, but I keep being drawn back to Killingsworth's statement that "Metaphors run throughout any discourse in a variety of directions, but they ultimately lead back to the body" (126). I think this idea about the physical undertones of language is interesting, in light of the fact that much of what we have been reading speaks so explicitly about how abstract language is. This seems to lead to a fundamental distinction between the way that language is created and/or functions as a system of signs, and the way that it is used, to link ideas back to the physical world. In other words, the structure of language is abstract, but its use is concrete.
And even if we have abstract words within this system of abstract signs and sounds, we explain them through metaphor in physical ways. Killingsworth states that it is the "tendency of all metaphors to...relate unfamiliar things to the familiar experience of physical existence" (124). Of course, one could argue that the "unfamiliar things" to which Killingsworth alludes include all of language, since a word doesn't resemble the idea it denotes/connotes in any way. However, he is making a distinction here between the words that are more abstract and complex signs, and those that are signs for objects in the physical world. And what we need for these complex signs, he implies, are more words that bring them back to the physical realm that we understand. To make language more comprehensible and more evocative, therefore, abstract words need to be paired with concrete words.
And what about the abstract structure of language in all of this? In a system of physical abstractions (letters/words that don't actually resemble anything) there are differing degrees of abstraction in meaning. And it is the aim of language to work within this system to make meaning as close to real life as it possibly can...
Some Fun with Killingsworth's Tropes
While reading Killingsworth's Appeal Through Tropes, I found myself often mixing up how a metaphor and a metonym work. According to Killingsworth, the metaphor function is identification, while the metonym works to establish association. I would like to utilize the blog to sort through how the author distinguishes between these appeals, or tropes, and how they function differently in language. In order for us to examine how tropes are rhetorical, I feel the distinction between these figures of speeches and their functions are of importance.
First, Killingsworth defines a trope as a figure of speech that works to capture rhetorical appeal (hence why he lables them "appeals" throughout the essay). The function of tropes that the authors discusses, however, work quite differently, often engaging the reader in different ways. He begins by discussing the metaphor, something that most of us are familiar with from our early days as English majors. Killingsworth requests that his readers approach metaphors a bit differently than we may have in the past, "Instead of thinking of metaphor as a comparison that leaves something out, try thinking of it as an identification, a way of bringing together seemingly unlike things" (Pg. 123). When an author utilizes a metaphor, he is urging the readers to identify the relationship between two words (or phrases). I think back to my time spent reading Donne's poem "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning " in E302, in which the poet compares a compass to his and his wife's love. The poet utilizes the metaphor in a manner that allows the reader to identify the relationship between a moving compass and the long distance love that Donne is describing in his poem. Killingsworth, along with other prominent theoriests, contain that while the metaphor is not always direct, it works to "connect the world to the body" and in Donne's case, the world to his human experience.
To many readers, the function and appeal of the metynomy works the same way as a metaphor. That is, it works as a comparative device. However, as we can see from Killingsworth's explanation of the metaphor and from Donne's poetry that metonyms function in a different manner, often utilizing different comparisons. "If metaphor works by identifying similar things, metonymy works by subsituting a thing for a closely associated thing." The main difference that we must identify is the role of subsitution in metonyms and how they work in persuading readers to associate words or phrases. I feel that this is where most readers confuse metaphors and metonyms, because it seems that both appeals work to compare two things. But the metonym as a figure of speech subsitutes a word or a concept for something else, while a metaphor asks the reader to make a conceptual connection and identify the relationship of words and phrases. The use of symbols in metonyms is an important aspect of this appeal, as the symbol is meant to stand-in for a connected and implied idea.
In assessing the function of tropes in language, we are also forced to ask ourselves many other questions that we have ecountered this semester, such as authorial intention and agency. For metaphors and metonyms to work as rhetorical devices, the author seems to need to have the intented effect and its meaning in mind for it to function. However, it seems as if the author also leads agency to the reader to identify and associate words and phrases in order to understand the authors intention. Thus, the trope manages to forge a complex relationship between writer and reader.
First, Killingsworth defines a trope as a figure of speech that works to capture rhetorical appeal (hence why he lables them "appeals" throughout the essay). The function of tropes that the authors discusses, however, work quite differently, often engaging the reader in different ways. He begins by discussing the metaphor, something that most of us are familiar with from our early days as English majors. Killingsworth requests that his readers approach metaphors a bit differently than we may have in the past, "Instead of thinking of metaphor as a comparison that leaves something out, try thinking of it as an identification, a way of bringing together seemingly unlike things" (Pg. 123). When an author utilizes a metaphor, he is urging the readers to identify the relationship between two words (or phrases). I think back to my time spent reading Donne's poem "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning " in E302, in which the poet compares a compass to his and his wife's love. The poet utilizes the metaphor in a manner that allows the reader to identify the relationship between a moving compass and the long distance love that Donne is describing in his poem. Killingsworth, along with other prominent theoriests, contain that while the metaphor is not always direct, it works to "connect the world to the body" and in Donne's case, the world to his human experience.
To many readers, the function and appeal of the metynomy works the same way as a metaphor. That is, it works as a comparative device. However, as we can see from Killingsworth's explanation of the metaphor and from Donne's poetry that metonyms function in a different manner, often utilizing different comparisons. "If metaphor works by identifying similar things, metonymy works by subsituting a thing for a closely associated thing." The main difference that we must identify is the role of subsitution in metonyms and how they work in persuading readers to associate words or phrases. I feel that this is where most readers confuse metaphors and metonyms, because it seems that both appeals work to compare two things. But the metonym as a figure of speech subsitutes a word or a concept for something else, while a metaphor asks the reader to make a conceptual connection and identify the relationship of words and phrases. The use of symbols in metonyms is an important aspect of this appeal, as the symbol is meant to stand-in for a connected and implied idea.
In assessing the function of tropes in language, we are also forced to ask ourselves many other questions that we have ecountered this semester, such as authorial intention and agency. For metaphors and metonyms to work as rhetorical devices, the author seems to need to have the intented effect and its meaning in mind for it to function. However, it seems as if the author also leads agency to the reader to identify and associate words and phrases in order to understand the authors intention. Thus, the trope manages to forge a complex relationship between writer and reader.
Ubiquitous Rhetorical Language Illuminated Through German Verb Construction
A lot of what Killingsworth said of modern rhetorical theorists I found interesting. It is easy to think of figurative langauge as deceitful, therefor posing questions such as "Why can't we communicate without deceit?" or "Why can't we just say what we say what we mean?" or, as quoted from Killingsworth, "How could all this technical fuss improve our understanding of language and the world?" (122). But, as is more modernly accepted, figurative language is "pervasive", an integral, unavoidable part of our language, and thus would be erroneous to dismiss it. Figurative language, as a technique of rhetoric, was born, as it seems, simultaneously with language itself, and our entire language consists of "dead" and "dying metaphors" (122).
This concept of hidden "dead" metaphors became very apparent to me as I began to learn German. Germans have a very similar way of using verbs with prefixes (by this I mean "wake up/ reise auf" or "come back/ kommen zuruck"), but the way German's construct these verbs with prefixes within sentences is very different than the English language, and thus revealed to me how figurative this use was. The German verb for to rise is "reisen", while Germans use "aufresien" when saying wake up. This of course makes sense, because "auf" more or less means up. But when constructing a sentence the "auf" splits from the"reisen" and is sent to the end of the sentence. For example, when saying "I wake up every morning.", the translation would be "Morgens reise ich auf." (notice the "auf" at the end). Although this is a grammatical practice Mark Twain found to be "awful" (he writes a whole piece called "The Awful German Language"), the point is that "dead" figurative phrases, such as "wake up" or "feel low", are ubiquitous throughout language, even when unrecognized. German (as I'm sure it would be with attempting to learn any new language through grammatical rules as opposed to the deep woven memorization of our first language) helped me realized just how frequent figurative language was, especially through verb/prefix constructions.
The reason why figurative language is in fact so ubiquitous is how they so well represent human thought. Killingsworth says tropes are "not merely embellishments of language but ways of thinking" (122). Figurative language represent the "way we think" (a good example of this is the metaphor, which is, because of its comparison to the body, "the foundation of human thought" (126)). And why should we try to imagine language as not conforming to the way we think? If the goal of language is to relay our thoughts, then shouldn't language follow the same patterns of human thought? Isn't this most effective? Sorry "old Greek and Roman masters", but figurative language is just too ubiquitous, too necessary to understanding and thought to be unconsidered (or considered as simply "eloquence").
Self-Conscious Narration and Persepolis
The idea of self-conscious narrators in Booth's article seems particularly interesting to me as it applies to Satrapi's Persepolis. Booth states that self-conscious narrators are "aware of themselves as writers" as opposed to those narrators "who seem unaware that they are writing, thinking, speaking, or 'reflecting' a literary work" (155). It seems to me that Marji is a generally self-conscious narrator. There are several instances in the text when she turns directly to the audience and speaks not to somebody within the frame, but (presumably) to her readers outside of the frame.
This self-conscious narration is an effective tool because it makes Satrapi's protagonist seem all the more real. While Marji's simplified appearance allows the reader to better place himself into the story according to McCloud, having this character speak directly to the audience makes her appear not like a passive element in a story the reader is watching unfold, but like an active and very much living person in a story that the reader is invited to interact with as well. This narration style is particularly useful in a story like Persepolis because it forces the reader to identify with the protagonist even if she is not someone whose life characteristics are similar to that of the reader.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Enchanted: a FAKE Postmodern Fairy Tale
I really enjoyed our discussion on Friday about postmodern fairy tales, broken narratorial frames and manipulation of tropes like we saw in the Three Little Pigs re-telling. When it came time to blog I trolled around on the internet looking for other examples of postmodern fairy tales, and came across this very interesting article about the Disney movie Enchanted.
I like Amy Adams. She's super cute and has a great voice. But as a feminist, this movie kind of infuriated me. As Megan Griffith-Greene writes in her article "Puzzled by Enchanted," Disney presents the film as "a kind of post-modern fairy tale, inverting the stereotypes that Disney has helped construct about femininity," when in reality it's anything but.
As Griffith-Greene points out, Adams' character Giselle's waist is "the size of her neck, her eyes are wide and doe-like, and she's pluck and perky as she trills about dreams and true love and her perfect prince." This is just another case of bajillions in which the message to women seems to be, 'You're allowed to be different, even smart (gasp!), as long as you're still pretty and skinny and focus the majority of your attention on gettin' a man.' Giselle is also "hyper-domestic." And yes, she does save her (male) love interest from a dragon at the film's conclusion, but the movie still ends in traditional Disney-style heterosexual romance. And, Giselle replaces Patrick Dempsey's smart, working-woman girlfriend! AND Dempsey's daughter prefers Giselle to the women he tries to present to her as role models, from Rosa Parks to Marie Curie.
What all this made me realize is perhaps how difficult it is to escape the tropes of a narrative form you're trying to invert. The tropes of a princess story (true love, cleaning houses with animals, singing sweetly, and all that jazz) are rampant in a film whose stated goal (Disney is culpable of intentional fallacy, of course) is specifically to trump them!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Secondary Character Job, the Revealers
I found Booth's narrator "reliability" to be a very interesting concept, and something that, indeed, has become much more prevalent in modern literature. It's realistic, because certainly not all storytellers are truthful (one could make an easy case that, in fact, none are), so why should the protagonists we read about be truthful? This kind of narrator psychological examination is very difficult to relay in words though. How are we as readers supposed to recognize the protagonists (especially if the narration runs close to the protagonist's consciousness) unreliability through the text? This is the job of the secondary character (though not entirely).
Where primary characters can be very unreliable, secondary characters generally are not. They act, much like the implied author, as foils to aid in examining the protagonist's flaws in character and judgement. Booth writes, "both reliable and unreliable narrators can be unsupported or uncorrected by other narrators [in this sense secondary characters as well] or supported or corrected. When an author wants to relay that a character is correct in his judgements or morals, he simply surrounds him with those that agree. When the main character is incorrect, he must then be surrounded by those who oppose, including the "implied author" himself, which can act in this way as somewhat of a secondary character (as long as he doesn't insert himself too much).
Think "Catcher in the Rye"; it is often the other characters (the prostitute, the sister) that, in their actions, reveal to us the flawed character of Holden, although we are closest to Holden throughout the novel. Another example would be "The Sound and the Fury", where only through Quentin, Cady, and Jason's later narrations are we able to make sense of Benji's tangle of unreliable and knotted prose.
Thus the job of a secondary character is very important, crucial to the text (especially if your desire is to prove protagonist unreliability). This can be somewhat related to Killingsworth's description of irony, that you need a shift of party identification, in a sense. The secondary characters make this shift possible, allowing the reader to understand them and thus distance themselves from the protagonist and his opinions. The reader, in coherent understanding with the secondary character revealers, can become the "We" with them, the "We" that is then able to view the primary characters as the "Them", seeing their flaws from a distance.
I've heard in many English classes that whenever you find a story moving slowly just add another character. Now I see why. Secondary characters can reveal more truth about your primary character than often he can (especially if unreliable), that is their job.
Superiority of Synecdoche
M. Jimmie Killingsworth works in Appeal Through Tropes to make the claim that tropes function beyond the typical "figure of speech" sense. He writes, "They always involve swerves, indirections, substitutions, twists, and turns of meaning"(121). This fluid and poetic view of a typically concrete subject emphasizes the function of the text and its relationship to the reader. Killingsworth makes the connection between tropes and the connections they make back to individuals. Reader response is much more accurate and emotive with the use of tropes because they relate on a more personal level and demand a closer look at the text.
In terms of effectiveness, synecdoche stood out to me as the best trope. Its function is very similar to the icon that McCloud writes about in his text concerning comics. By reducing a concept down to its core symbol, the message becomes amplified. Killingsworth refers to a poem by Emily Dickinson that utilizes synecdoche of the symbolized eye. He writes, "By referring to people as "eyes," using a part to stand for the whole, she focuses on the part of the body that we look into to determine how others feel. The poet's wordplay hints at the old saying that the eyes are the windows of the soul"(130). The eye takes on then a very loaded meaning with cultural values that readers can cling on to. The narrowing of words packs a big punch, especially in poetry, as the icon does in comics. Because it connects most with the characteristic of mutability that Killingsworth states as the main quality of tropes, I found it to be superior to the metaphor that merely restates, metonymy that pulls an external example to stand for a whole, or irony that often complicates more than it solves.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Death of the Author 2: The Author Dies Again
(Sorry, I couldn't resist playing with the cheesy sequel intro.)
Roland Barthes argued for the exclusion of the identity and intention of the author in literary criticism in "The Death of the Author," published in 1967. Twenty-one years earlier, W.K. Wimsatt and Monroe C. Beardsley touched upon the same argument in their 1946 essay, "The Intentional Fallacy."
Wimsatt and Beardsley view a literary work ("poem") as independent from its creator, who, after bringing the work into being, loses all authority over how it is received, interpreted, or criticized: "The poem is not the critic's own and nor the author's (it is detached from the author at birth and goes about the world beyond his power to intend about it or control it). The poem belongs to the public (Wimsatt and Beardsley 812).
"Once the Author is removed," writes Barthes, "the claim to decipher a text becomes quite futile. To give a text an Author is to impose a limit on that text, to furnish with a final signified, to close the writing" (Barthes 877). Here is where the critic may find a shining moment, in the discovery of the Author.
These arguments overlap into a seeming call for literary individualism. Wimsatt, Beardsley and Barthes oppose the imposition of meaning onto readers. If every nuance is provided for them, what is left for readers to conclude on their own? Since the 40's and 60's, however, their wishes have not, it seems to me, come true. Consumers and books, plays, and film are popularly content with being told about art, as is evident from the high demand for author interviews, printed scripts, and DVD commentaries. We live in such a time when the author's intention is readily available, always, and absorbing the intention of the author is the easy way to think about art.
Roland Barthes argued for the exclusion of the identity and intention of the author in literary criticism in "The Death of the Author," published in 1967. Twenty-one years earlier, W.K. Wimsatt and Monroe C. Beardsley touched upon the same argument in their 1946 essay, "The Intentional Fallacy."
Wimsatt and Beardsley view a literary work ("poem") as independent from its creator, who, after bringing the work into being, loses all authority over how it is received, interpreted, or criticized: "The poem is not the critic's own and nor the author's (it is detached from the author at birth and goes about the world beyond his power to intend about it or control it). The poem belongs to the public (Wimsatt and Beardsley 812).
"Once the Author is removed," writes Barthes, "the claim to decipher a text becomes quite futile. To give a text an Author is to impose a limit on that text, to furnish with a final signified, to close the writing" (Barthes 877). Here is where the critic may find a shining moment, in the discovery of the Author.
These arguments overlap into a seeming call for literary individualism. Wimsatt, Beardsley and Barthes oppose the imposition of meaning onto readers. If every nuance is provided for them, what is left for readers to conclude on their own? Since the 40's and 60's, however, their wishes have not, it seems to me, come true. Consumers and books, plays, and film are popularly content with being told about art, as is evident from the high demand for author interviews, printed scripts, and DVD commentaries. We live in such a time when the author's intention is readily available, always, and absorbing the intention of the author is the easy way to think about art.
Generic Sublimity
While reading Bakhtin’s Problem of Speech Genres I began thinking about Longinus’ thoughts on sublime language. I highlight a point in the introduction of Longinus’ essay, “The ideal orator is acutely alive to the subtleties of verbal effects, but sees these effects as dependent on the moral qualities of the artist and audience as much as on the their taste in stylistic embellishments” which is what was claimed as a “necessary source” for experiencing sublimity (Longinus 345). My thoughts began to whirl because I began to wonder where sublime fit in the genre of languages, or why the sublime and concept of genre seem so similar in properties of defining themselves. It is stated that “sublimity will be achieved if we consistently select the most important of….features and learn to organize them as a unity by coming one with another” (Longinus 353). Bakhtin also approaches the organization of language in a similar way, however Bakhtin also says that “In essence, language, or functional, styles are nothing other than generic styles for certain spheres of human activity and communication” (Bakhtin 64), so does this mean that sublime language is a genre, but one of that is seemingly, as a whole, generic because it is still nonetheless a style of language used for a certain level of communication? Or is it even communication because communication relies on the response of the listener or reader? I ask these questions because sublime is created by the speaker, yet reliant on the audience, but the with sublime language the audience does not hold the responsibility of responding in the same genre (or style) as the orator, so how exactly is sublime language classified? I honestly have no answers, but simply curiosities.
I Object
I highlighted a quote that I wanted to blog about from class on Friday in the reading from Bakhtin.
"Language arises from man's need to express himself, to objectify himself" (45). I find this idea just fascinating. It kind of reminds me of Platonism. Plato and Socrates I suppose kind of denied at least to a certain extent, the reality of the "real world". To them, what was real was what was in our minds. Thinking about ideas and language in this way is kind of exciting, interesting. It's to say that there are very real icons or images in our mind, and our language is the only way that we can describe those images. It would certainly be much cooler to project these images onto a screen and show them to people, but as we all know that is impossible. So, we are left with language as our means for the transmission of ideas.
I think this is a very different concept from what we have previously seen in this class. Before this, I generally understood ideas as needs that arose from our need to communicate. Language therefore needed to be effective for the sake of making a person comprehensible. We saw this primarily with Locke and how words are signs for the words that they signify. Now I can kind of think language as something that arose because we have the ideas that need to be expressed and shared, and only effective language will do this ideas justice. Might this idea also reflect ideas that Austin presents as far as language being peformative? Maybe in this case, not so much that language describing the images in our mind's eye perform an action as much as they serve a function in our mental well being, but I am really not too sure.
Attaining the Sublime
When Longinus describes the sublime as an "excellence of discourse," I couldn't help but be reminded about Bahktin's section on the purity of prose and poetry. He writes in his concluding paragraph, "if the art of poetry, as a utopian philosophy of genres, gives rise to the conception of a purely poetic, extrahistorical language, a language of the gods - then it must be said that the art of prose is close to a conception of languages as historically concrete and living things" (331).
The goal of attaining the sublime for Bahktin is a revelation of understanding, like a new world something he describes as "edenic." The "art of prose" is the act of embodying the sublime, communicating something beyond just the text. While reading Longinus, I had difficulty separating the idea of sublime from typical writing. Bahktin, discussing prose art, says, "prose art presumes a deliberate feeling for the historical and social concreteness of living discourse, a feeling for its participation in historical becoming and in social struggle, it deals with discourse that is still warm from that struggle and hostility" (331).
To me this passage directly correlates to Longinus' sublime "excellence in discourse." I have not committed to a solid definition of what is sublime, but through the lens of Bahktin I can gather that it is a dimension of writing with a trajectory for becoming and consciousness. Could this be exactly what Bahktin references when he predicts the art of poetry to someday become "the language of the gods?"
The goal of attaining the sublime for Bahktin is a revelation of understanding, like a new world something he describes as "edenic." The "art of prose" is the act of embodying the sublime, communicating something beyond just the text. While reading Longinus, I had difficulty separating the idea of sublime from typical writing. Bahktin, discussing prose art, says, "prose art presumes a deliberate feeling for the historical and social concreteness of living discourse, a feeling for its participation in historical becoming and in social struggle, it deals with discourse that is still warm from that struggle and hostility" (331).
To me this passage directly correlates to Longinus' sublime "excellence in discourse." I have not committed to a solid definition of what is sublime, but through the lens of Bahktin I can gather that it is a dimension of writing with a trajectory for becoming and consciousness. Could this be exactly what Bahktin references when he predicts the art of poetry to someday become "the language of the gods?"
The False Intention
I understand what Wimsatt and Beardsley are saying, and I agree with them on the most part. An author shouldn't be judged based on their intention in writing the poem and whether or not the achieved that goal. This actually compliments Longinus' idea of "Sublimity" really well because they both say that looking at the literature as a work of art is more about its effect on the audience and less about the intention of the author. Longinus tends to deal more with the authorial control of the piece of literature while Wimsatt and Beardsley seem to minimize the authors importance in poetry. They even go so far as to say that poets "plan too much" (361). This seems to tell me that poets should just be a conduit through which the audience can view the world, but that seems to do a disservice to the poet. The conduit metaphor seems to work quite well actually, now that I have described it as such. This can even relate back to McCloud's idea of "identity vacuum" (as I like to call it), as we are forced into the mind of the poet when reading his work and we often times have no idea what this person looks like (they could just be a blank smiley face for all we know) so we are forced into viewing the world as they view it. And the author's magnitude of sublimity drastically affects this conduit. I just don't think that the poets skill with words should be totally relegated, that a poet does not have the ability to manipulate his work in order to manipulate his audience. If we think all the way back to Socrates, he definitely argues that writing is a skill, and skills can be developed and controlled according to the author's intentions. I think that, in this regardes anyway, Socrates is at odds with Wimsatt and Beardsley and that Socrates wins this round.
I was reading through Longinus again this weekend, and I decided to try to get a better understanding of his qualifications of the sublime. After looking at some of them, I've come up with some problems that I had with a few of them. First, I have issues with Longinus' first "source of sublimity" he writes, "The first and most important is the power to conceive great thoughts..."(255). To exemplify this, he points us back to Xenophon's description of eyes. While I think this observation sounds like it makes a lot of sense, I am left wondering just exactly what a great thought is? Is it just the fact that Longinus found this particular idea clever or is there some other basis for making this great? He goes on to point out how personifying eyes is used in other places, both by Achilles and Agathocles. Is this what makes this a "great thought", the fact that it is shared by other people? This seems to make little sense, it would seem that this makes this idea less great as it is quite common. So at this point, I'm not sure if I can define what exactly Longinus' "great thought" is exactly.
I feel like I can talk about my problems with sources 4 and 5 almost a the same time because they are very similar to me. Source 4 is "noble diction" and 5 is "elevated word arrangement"
These are sources of the sublime which Longinus says "contains much food for reflection" (255) and "makes a strong and ineffaceable impression on memory" (255). As a sort of anti-example, I thought almost immediately of George Orwell, one of my favorite authors, and also Ben Jonson a great poet of the Renaissance. Both of these guys, or at least its how I've always understood their work, preferred a simpler style that is pretty easy to read and understand. For their time, (for me especially Jonson) they really don't seem to use "noble diction" and "elevated word arrangement" but rather aim to simply be understood. Here is a passage from Jonson's poem "inviting a friend to supper"
TO-NIGHT, grave sir, both my poore house, and I
Doe equally desire your companie :
Not that we thinke us worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignifie our feast,
With those that come ; whose grace may make that seeme
Something, which, else, could hope for no esteeme.
It is the faire acceptance, Sir, creates
The entertaynment perfect : not the cates (food)
Doe equally desire your companie :
Not that we thinke us worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignifie our feast,
With those that come ; whose grace may make that seeme
Something, which, else, could hope for no esteeme.
It is the faire acceptance, Sir, creates
The entertaynment perfect : not the cates (food)
While the diction does seem a bit different to us, in his time it would have been much more commonplace. Even now, see this as a pretty simple poem to understand, basically it is an invitation to a dinnerparty. One might ask how does leave an "ineffaceable impression"? Well, if you read the whole poem we see Jonson place a huge importance on the power of friendship and fellowship and on that level this poem can certainly be food for thought.
These are my two problems with Longinus' sources. I'd love someone to just say I don't understand his full argument though because that would probably help me on a SCD or something lol
Bakhtin and Longinus Tango
Ok, so there will be no dancing on this post, but I do think that it is important to pinpoint where Longinus and Bakhtin seem to overlap when it comes to an audience's role and responsibility in regard to text and utterances. In 'The Problem of Speech Genres," Bakhtin says "that when the listener perceives and understands the meaning (the language meaning) of speech, he simultaneously takes an active, responsive attitude toward it" (Bakhtin 68). Here, Bakhtin is saying that there is more to speech than just a speaker and that a big component of it is the listener because of the interaction that occurs between speaker and listener. The speech expresses something but it is the listener that takes the language and interprets it, either agreeing or disagreeing with it, drawing from personal experience or reflection to augment the words the speaker uses. The interactions between speaker and listener would be immensely different if, say President Obama was speaking at a Tea Party convention as opposed to speaking to congress (though I'm sure some would say there is little difference at all).
This is where Longinus enters the fray with his excerpt form On the Sublime, indicating that it is the audiences (and in all actuality, human) "nature to be elevated and exalted by true sublimity" (Longinus 350). I'm not saying that President Obama delivers speeches that are sublime (though some do take the improvement over the predecessors speeches as a step, or ten, in the right direction), but I do think that, when applying Longinus's idea of our nature in regard to sublimity, it is our job to interpret and discover if his speeches satisfy that need for sublimity. That President Obama would face polarizing reaction depending on the venue underscores the lack of sublimity in his speech, since it is not all encompassing and effective in the same way even with different audiences. At least this is what I think Longinus means when he says "When people of different trainings, ways of life, tastes, ages, and manners all agree about something, the judgement and assent of so many voices lends strength and irrefutability to the conviction that their admiration is rightly directed" (Longinus 350).
This is where Longinus enters the fray with his excerpt form On the Sublime, indicating that it is the audiences (and in all actuality, human) "nature to be elevated and exalted by true sublimity" (Longinus 350). I'm not saying that President Obama delivers speeches that are sublime (though some do take the improvement over the predecessors speeches as a step, or ten, in the right direction), but I do think that, when applying Longinus's idea of our nature in regard to sublimity, it is our job to interpret and discover if his speeches satisfy that need for sublimity. That President Obama would face polarizing reaction depending on the venue underscores the lack of sublimity in his speech, since it is not all encompassing and effective in the same way even with different audiences. At least this is what I think Longinus means when he says "When people of different trainings, ways of life, tastes, ages, and manners all agree about something, the judgement and assent of so many voices lends strength and irrefutability to the conviction that their admiration is rightly directed" (Longinus 350).
What really is sublime?
Like many of you, I also feel that I will never truly understand what Longinus considers to be examples of the sublime. To me, it seems that he often references sublimity as an ideal that is almost impossible to achieve, and once achieved, the meaning is oftentimes debated. However, in regards to achieving sublimity through text, it seems that Longinus is arguing that the manipulation of language, and manner in which thoughts are constructed and revealed can greatly affect the understanding of the audience. For example, we can see this when he says, “persuasion is on the whole something we can control” (347). Because of this, it is obvious that he sees awareness of the many forms language, as well as the various ways in which it can be utilized, demonstrates the flexible and unstable restrictions associated with this system of the communication. What's more, the theories of noble diction and visualization that he mentions additionally promote multiple uses of words to appeal to an audience, even if it hinders the expression of truth. In order to create “real sublimity,” which is compared to “those things which people everybody all the time as genuinely and finely sublime,” it appears that one must perfect his or her argument by appealing to the pleasure of the audience (350). This can be done by carefully incorporating “words and the use of metaphorical and artificial language” (350). So, one is then able to conclude that the individual utterance of a word holds little meaning if it is not associated with fancy literary elements that present the thought in a more appealing manner; however, “when [visualization] is closely involved with factual argument…it enslaves the hearer as well as persuading him” (357). Therefore, according to Longinus, in order to achieve control of a given situation, the speaker must persuade the audience into believing the exact idea in which he is preaching; most likely, this occurs by manifesting an overarching feeling of sublimity through the use of specific techniques designed to essentially trick the listener into attaining the intended comprehension.
The Sublime Reader
I don't think I will ever completely understand what Longinus has to say about sublimity, but hopefully through my confusion I can shed some light on some key ideas. My freshman year of college, I took ENG-W 170, which is the 131 alternative for those of you who did the overachieving thing and took 131 in high school. We talked a lot about the sublime in nature (the class focused on wilderness in literature). My understanding of the sublime back then was just something that a human could not completely comprehend. An endless valley, a gigantic mountain, the ocean floor. No matter how much you stare, you can't quite form a coherent thought. You can only feel awe. That might be why Longinus confuses me to no end. He seems so sure of his notion of the sublime, when up until now I thought that the sublime was, by definition, undefinable.
I'll try to provide an example. I keep using mountains as examples of the sublime, and I'll keep doing it here. Before I do, I'll quote Longinus: "Though nature is on the whole a law unto herself in matters of emotion and elevation, she is not a random force and does not work altogether without method" (347). Nature is not a "random force," and yet it can be sublime? If you look at Mt. Everest, for example (don't get too caught up on the specifics--I've never seen Mt. Everest) what do you experience? Quite possibly, that mountain is sublime to you. However, what if there was (and there could have been for all I know) a tribe of mountain people who lived on mountain tops for generations? They ate there (yes, they ate rocks), slept there, and raised their children to do the same. They stared at the same stupid mountain for their entire lives. So then, would that mountain be sublime? To me, yes. To the mountain people? I would guess not.
Longinus is talking about writing, of course, but it seems to apply both ways. I'm still clueless as to what exactly makes a text sublime, even with Longinus's examples and steps to achieve sublimity, because I keep coming to the conclusion that sublimity is completely dependent on the reader. So then, if I pretended that Longinus would agree with me in saying that the reader determines sublimity, I wonder how he would say a reader would go about doing that. Longinus says, "Sublimity is a kind of eminence or excellence of discourse" (347). This is preceded by him telling his friend, "Your education dispenses me from any long preliminary definition" (347), so I assume this isn't the only thing Longinus thought about sublimity, but it makes me ask, Is a written work sublime if the reader thinks it excellent? Then I would have to define excellent, and, honestly, I can't. It's relative as well. I am forced one again to go back to my original definition of the sublime by saying that a reader must experience some sort of awe in order for there to be sublimity. That is, the reader must be unable to fully comprehend the "excellence" of the discourse.
Longinus helps me to elaborate that point later in his essay. He says, "It is our nature to be elevated and exalted by true sublimity. Filled with joy and pride, we come to believe we have created what we have only heard" (255). Words like "elevated" and "exalted" make me believe that there is a change in the reader when the reader experiences the sublime. Perhaps that is the point of sublimity. Sublimity furthers understanding by pushing the boundaries of one's previous understanding. And, since everyone's original (before the sublime experience) will be different, the possibility of sublimity must vary from person to person.
I'll try to provide an example. I keep using mountains as examples of the sublime, and I'll keep doing it here. Before I do, I'll quote Longinus: "Though nature is on the whole a law unto herself in matters of emotion and elevation, she is not a random force and does not work altogether without method" (347). Nature is not a "random force," and yet it can be sublime? If you look at Mt. Everest, for example (don't get too caught up on the specifics--I've never seen Mt. Everest) what do you experience? Quite possibly, that mountain is sublime to you. However, what if there was (and there could have been for all I know) a tribe of mountain people who lived on mountain tops for generations? They ate there (yes, they ate rocks), slept there, and raised their children to do the same. They stared at the same stupid mountain for their entire lives. So then, would that mountain be sublime? To me, yes. To the mountain people? I would guess not.
Longinus is talking about writing, of course, but it seems to apply both ways. I'm still clueless as to what exactly makes a text sublime, even with Longinus's examples and steps to achieve sublimity, because I keep coming to the conclusion that sublimity is completely dependent on the reader. So then, if I pretended that Longinus would agree with me in saying that the reader determines sublimity, I wonder how he would say a reader would go about doing that. Longinus says, "Sublimity is a kind of eminence or excellence of discourse" (347). This is preceded by him telling his friend, "Your education dispenses me from any long preliminary definition" (347), so I assume this isn't the only thing Longinus thought about sublimity, but it makes me ask, Is a written work sublime if the reader thinks it excellent? Then I would have to define excellent, and, honestly, I can't. It's relative as well. I am forced one again to go back to my original definition of the sublime by saying that a reader must experience some sort of awe in order for there to be sublimity. That is, the reader must be unable to fully comprehend the "excellence" of the discourse.
Longinus helps me to elaborate that point later in his essay. He says, "It is our nature to be elevated and exalted by true sublimity. Filled with joy and pride, we come to believe we have created what we have only heard" (255). Words like "elevated" and "exalted" make me believe that there is a change in the reader when the reader experiences the sublime. Perhaps that is the point of sublimity. Sublimity furthers understanding by pushing the boundaries of one's previous understanding. And, since everyone's original (before the sublime experience) will be different, the possibility of sublimity must vary from person to person.
Some Criticism of New Criticism
In reading some of my fellow classmates thoughts regarding New Criticism and the Wimsatt and Beardsley piece The Intentional Fallacy, I know that I am not the only one that objects to some of the basic assumptions carried by the scholars and the movement of New Criticism. For a refresher, I would like to quickly revisit the underlying goal of this movement. According to the Bedford Glossary, The New Criticism movement of that began in the 1940's treats texts "as self-contained and self referential and thus based their interpretations on elements within the text rather than on external factors such as the effects of the work or biographical and historical materials." (Bedford Glossary 335). From our previous studies, I understand and fully contend that the language used in texts is interpretive and largely dependent upon the reader, I simply have trouble buying the claim that texts can be "self referential" and free from analysis of biographical and historical influences. While it is hard to take a stand against notable Yale professors and critics such as Wimatt and Beardsley, I just dont buy their claims and assumptions. First off, I would like to call into question the authors comparison between poetry, pudding and a machine. Wimsatt and Beardsley state in The Intentional Fallacy that "Judging a poem is like judging a pudding or a machine. One demands that it work. It is only because an artifact works that we infer the intention of an artifact. A poem should not mean, but be" (Wimsatt & Beardsley 811). I don't mean to come off as argumentative, but the comparision between poetry and a pudding or a machine seems to be a bit (well, a lot) of a stretch. I agree that poetry must "work" but pudding and a machine are not created or conceived in the manner that literature is. Poetry works as a form of expression, a intellectual and emotion creation genre that bares the marking of its creator. How can you analyze poetry, or any type of literature, without at least considering the emotions and intentions of the author, as well as the influence of the authors experiences in a historical framework. Without these considerations, literature as expression and its social implications are lost, negating the authorial purpose of the work.
I would also like to call into question the claim within The Intentional Fallacy that poetry, and literature, is public. "The poem belongs to the public. It is embodied in language, the peculiar possession of the public, and it is about the human being, an object of public knowledge" (812). Poetry, however, is not always public, and is not always intended for public eyes. So if a poem or a poet's works are unknown, does that take away from the fact that it is a work of literature? Take the case of Emily Dickinson, without a doubt one of the most beloved American poets to this day. None of her poetry was found or published until after her death. It could be argued that she never intended for any individual to read her work. Of course, the interpretation of her work is now "public knowledge" but her poetry is private. It details her emotions and experiences as a woman in a patriarchal society. Not only should her poetry be read as such, but it should be treated as if it was never meant to meet the eye of anyone but herself. Further, reading Dickinson without biographical and historical considerations takes away from the "meaning" and "being" of her work.
I would also like to call into question the claim within The Intentional Fallacy that poetry, and literature, is public. "The poem belongs to the public. It is embodied in language, the peculiar possession of the public, and it is about the human being, an object of public knowledge" (812). Poetry, however, is not always public, and is not always intended for public eyes. So if a poem or a poet's works are unknown, does that take away from the fact that it is a work of literature? Take the case of Emily Dickinson, without a doubt one of the most beloved American poets to this day. None of her poetry was found or published until after her death. It could be argued that she never intended for any individual to read her work. Of course, the interpretation of her work is now "public knowledge" but her poetry is private. It details her emotions and experiences as a woman in a patriarchal society. Not only should her poetry be read as such, but it should be treated as if it was never meant to meet the eye of anyone but herself. Further, reading Dickinson without biographical and historical considerations takes away from the "meaning" and "being" of her work.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Side Notes
I'd like to expound upon the notion that Wimsatt and Beardsley brought up in the end of "The Intentional Fallacy" about the effectiveness/necessity/disadvantages of side notes within a written work. In their text, they discuss notes to support specific literary allusions, notes that "function as guidelines to send us where we may be educated" (817). In my experience (as was, too, the opinions of many of my English teachers through the years) these side notes, although often helpful, can create an outside intrusion on the text. And so I wonder does the use of side notes create more disadvantages to understanding the true truth, "vraie verite", of the text than it does advantages (813)?
Wimsatt and Beardsley talk a lot about authorial side notes, ones placed by the author himself. To me, these don't seem like a big of an intrusion, because the author should have the ability to discuss the intentions of his own work, though why he wouldn't opt to relay these intentions better within the work itself makes little sense. What's worse (in terms of bogging down the work0 is when the notes-as-guidelines are placed not by the author, not in the present in which the work was written, but rather by some outsider critic, explaining with his own intentional concepts post-work. This concept of work intrusion is muddled with "intentional fallacy", as an outside critic can't post guide lines to understanding allusions without imposing his owns ideas of intention.
Back in high-school, my English teacher forbid (or tried to) us from using Sparknotes, and at the time I couldn't understand why. How could it hurt to better understand a book? The problem is that "summary sites" like Sparknotes tell you the story not as the author intended for it to be told, in words the author didn't choose to use. Often, when one reads a book, they aren't doing so just to see what happens (this is a major difference between literary works and history textbooks), but also to see how the author relays what happens, how the story is told. Simplified summary guide lines can only tell you what happens in a story. And the more subjective they are, the further your understanding runs from the authors.
Wimsatt and Beardsley claimed that notes within and about a text could become "muffling" to a text, and this is true (817). When reading a literary work and constantly having to switch from the narrative to the guiding side notes, one doesn't read the work with the flow the author intended. The flow is chopped, stuttered. And although they may help one understand specific things like allusion, how can they begin to relay authorial intention? If meaning is relayed through side notes, whose meaning is it? The author's or the critic's, who just imposes his subjective intentional opinions, forcing the reader to interrupt the text with a "muffling" affect (as I often found was the case in Shakespeare handbooks and poetry). Let the reader interpret free from other's subjective impositions, even if they are often correct.
Yet sometimes side notes can be very helpful (I attempted to read Ulysses this summer and would have been completely lost without the guide to every excessive allusion). But they must be objective, or as objective as possible. The more subjective notes become the more they inhabit Wimsatt's and Beardsley's idea of "Intentional Fallacy".
Intimidated by Charles Dickens
Wimsatt and Beardsely have a fascinating point about the relationship of the author to the text: "The poem is not the critic's own and not the author's (it is detached from the author at birth and goes about the world beyond his power to intend or control it). The poem belongs to the public. It is embodied language, the peculiar possession of the public, and it is about the human being, and object of public knowledge" (812). Copyright law aside, this statement is quite radical: works of literature belong to – me? You? People who’ve never read them and may not care?
I am not sure that texts can be so detached from their authors as Wimsatt and Beardsley would have it. The reputation of the authors of certain works certainly shapes out analyses and interpretations. Wimsatt and Beardsley write, "The evaluation of a work remains public; the work is measured against something outside the author" (814). Consider Shakespearean plays. Today, people who see these plays expect greatness, because culturally we revere Shakespeare’s writing. This is not merely an issue for the casual reader/watcher of the plays, but also for the critic. Often, English classes (both high school and college) take the “You should read great literature! Here is some great literature to read! Do not challenge its greatness!” approach to teaching literature. (I have serious pedagogical issues with this approach, however, that will have to wait for another post...) Thus, our analysis as students begins with the idea that “great” literature is tied to certain writers, and thus we have trouble evaluating or measuring the work outside of the author. Perhaps, we have trouble evaluating or measuring the work at all: what high school student really feels as though they are a powerful agent or critic when, after an enthusiastic and well-meaning English teacher has waxed poetic about Dickens’ genius, he/she is faced with writing an essay on David Copperfield? Being told over and over that certain authors are “great” and seeing this reinforced through culture seriously shapes our interactions with their texts. As we grow as students, and as thinkers and critics, we can become less intimidated and ready to take on the literature, but it is still difficult – if not impossible – to completely separate literature and authorship.
It seems to me that this becomes an issue of agency: to be a critic is to have power in a discourse situation. To view texts apart from their authors, as separate and as open to analysis, interpretation, and criticism, cannot simply be decreed. To interpret using the “intentional fallacy” might seem safe. In that way, a person isn’t necessarily adding new stuff to the discourse, rather, a person is appealing to a “higher” authority: the author. To be able to separate the author and the work for productive analysis – to accept and practice that idea that literature is publicly owned – requires significant maturity and confidence as a writer.
Intentional Fallacy- Refuting the Need for Author as 'Good Man'
In Winsatt and Beardsley's article "The Intentional Fallacy", the authors seem to negate Longinus' idea of the author as a 'good man', a moral character. They argue that "the design or intention of the author is neither available nor desirable as a standard for judging the success of a work of literary art" (354). This goes against Longinus' claim that only a 'good man' can produce sublime art, or the trend in literary criticism to think that "'In order to judge the poet's performance, we must know what he intended'" (354). If the author's intent has no bearing on the sublimity of the work, then the author's morality really doesn't matter in literary criticism at all.
I definitely side with Winsatt and Beardsley on this; like I said in an earlier post, there are a lot of writers who are completely immoral (cough, Bukowski, cough) but are excellent at what they do. In my opinion, literary criticism should focus on the success of a piece of writing in terms of its artfulness, not in terms of the author's inherent morality (or lack thereof).
Revisting Longinus and His Conception of the Sublime
In groups during Although the real author of the text of On the Sublime is unknown, his theories regarding literature became highly influential shortly before and during the Enlightenment. According to Longinus, the authorial voice in the text, the goal of an author is to produce a work that conjures up the "sublime" in the reader. While Longinus never explicitly defines exactly what the "sublime" is per se, he does explain that "Sublimity is a kind of eminence or excellence of discourse...grandeur produces ecstasy rather than persuasion in the hearer; and the combination of wonder and excitement proves superior to the merely persuasive and the pleasant" (Longinus 347). While many others in antiquity favored the rhetorical power of persuasion in written works, Longinus emphasizes the sublime as a force that has more pull than any other rhetorical device in literature. He goes on to say that "persuasion is on the whole something we can control, whereas amazement and wonder exert invincible power and force and get the better of every hearer" (pg. 347). I have one problem/question regarding this statement, however: Throughout much of the text, Longinus assigns agency to the writer, who is the one responsible for producing sublimity within literature. In the above quotation however, he also states that persuasion is something "we can control." Is sublimity something that cannot be controlled then? From the text, it seems that Longinus is pretty explicit in asserting that the sublimity is produced (and thus under the control) of the author.
We need not look further to affirm this claim that look into Longinus discussion of the sources of sublimity. He states that these five sources dictate whether or not a text can achieve sublimity. All five have to do with the author and his technique in writing. In writing a text, the author must have the power to conceive great thoughts, inspired emotion, utilize certain kinds of figures, "noble diction" and careful word arrangement. He even goes as far to state that "Nothing is possible without it" (pg. 350). Contrary to his statements regarding persuasion (as something that "we can control"), it seems that sublimity is also something that is, and can be, controlled by the writer. That is not to say that there is not a role for the reader and the hearer according to Longinus, but he seems to solely focus on the writer as the deciding factor in producing and controlling sublimity in literature.
We need not look further to affirm this claim that look into Longinus discussion of the sources of sublimity. He states that these five sources dictate whether or not a text can achieve sublimity. All five have to do with the author and his technique in writing. In writing a text, the author must have the power to conceive great thoughts, inspired emotion, utilize certain kinds of figures, "noble diction" and careful word arrangement. He even goes as far to state that "Nothing is possible without it" (pg. 350). Contrary to his statements regarding persuasion (as something that "we can control"), it seems that sublimity is also something that is, and can be, controlled by the writer. That is not to say that there is not a role for the reader and the hearer according to Longinus, but he seems to solely focus on the writer as the deciding factor in producing and controlling sublimity in literature.
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