Literary Joke of the Day

A Pathetic Fallacy is when a naturally lifeless object is treated as having human traits; a Phallic Patheticy is when a human object is naturally lifeless and not straight.

With Boldness and Italicization

I am no longer involved in extensive academic writing nor reading others' essays, however I was writing something this morning and was horrified at my lack of linguistic integrity.  I seem to have forgotten my freshman rhetoric course which emphasized the fact that words, if used correctly, speak for themselves.

Basically, I was writing something and felt like I needed to put a particular phrase in bold or italics.  WTF.  If your main emphasis in a paragraph, sentence, or 20 page essay is placed correctly and properly surrounded by appropriate language, the words will rise to the top.

Take for example my last sentence, "If your main emphasis in a paragraph, sentence, or 20 page essay is placed correctly and properly surrounded by appropriate language, the words will rise to the top."  This sentence ends in a major letdown.  I begin by highlighting the subject of the sentence, the "main emphasis".  I follow it by examples and secondary premises, leading to a crescendo after the final comma.  Then I end with a lack of precision in the word choice.  It would be more effective to end with a concise conclusion, reiterating the knowledge that the audience has already discerned.  Instead, I use a semi-metaphorical cliche that leads the reader's mind in another direction.  I could have used any number of conclusions, like "the meaning will become apparent."

However, my lack of experience in writing and continued inability to express myself concisely sometimes leads me to write like I speak.  I try to slip in commas and semi-colons, hyphens and periods when they are not needed.  I bold or italicize words and phrases that I want the audience to remember.  Of course, I refuse to fall into the horrid trap of using three exclamation points or all CAPS when making a point, but what I do is almost worse.

So how should I solve it?  First, I should use less words whenever possible.  Why expound on something without a rhetorical purpose?  Yes, sometimes it is necessary to repeat in a different form what you say in order to re-emphasize your point.  At the same time, a simple 7 word sentence in the midst of 4-line monsters can stand out perfectly.

Second, every word should be considered in all its purposes.  Does the word rise or fall phonetically?  Is it a stop, plosive, or fricative?  Do the following words complement the focus?

Third, consider all points of grammatical structure, punctuation in particular.  Is the main purpose of the sentence separated by a comma, led into by a run-on phrase, broken by hyphens, followed by a period, ended with a question mark?  How do I want the phrase to be read?

There are many other ways to emphasize a point or word, but the reality is that the audience will be ultimate receptor.  They will discern by means of their experience and faculty of logic.  How much grammatical hand-holding do they need?  Many times what I think is the "purpose" of the paper/essay/sentence will be entirely moot to the audience, but I can influence their decision.

Naiveté and Greatness

Yes, another post about myself.  Remember, "to be, or to be believed to be, a Genus, you must adopt an objective viewpoint of the world...and a rather subjective viewpoint of yourself."

I am exceedingly naive.  Especially when it comes to reading and understanding books--whether philosophy, literary theory, or pure fiction.  I often love or hate a book, phrase, thought, or image without any knowledge whatsoever about the author.  Sometimes this gets me into trouble.

For example: I am an unabashed fan of Martin Heidegger.  I decided to bring in a comment about Heidegger and "Being" during a conversation (admittedly sophomoric) about sub-strains of generic existentialism in modern Christianity.  I was consequently shunned from the rest of the conversation for sympathizing with a Nazi.

Please remember that I qualified the discussion as sophomoric, so you can't really give much credit to the crowd or the conversation that ensued, but it is an example of my common way of thinking.  Another time, in a Graduate class on Shakespeare's Tragedies, while discussing the "Rape of Lucrece", I brought up something about the Neo-Platonic imagery in the poem and was immediately shot down, as that seems to be an observation that has been made about 30 trillion times in the great land of Academia.

Well, I don't care.  I would prefer to be somewhat naive about the things I read (not knowing that Emerson was a Transcendentalist, Marquez and Rushdie Magical Realists, etc.) than know about it going into the story.  I don't like carrying prejudices into my reading.  If I do, I will judge the material based on what I know going in and not on its own merit.  I guess this goes against more mainstream literary criticism, but even if I were to critique a work of literature or poem, I would rather not know the history.  I don't want to know that Ginsberg was a homosexual before I read "Howl".  Not because I will judge it more positively or negatively on that basis, but because I will begin to read things into it even in the first line.  It is extremely difficult to break myself of knowledge if I do have it.

Satire's Bleak Outlook

At first blush, it may seem that Bleak House is a satire.  Let us see.  If a satire is of little aesthetic value, it does not attain its object, however worthy that object may be.  On the other hand, if a satire is permeated by artistic genius, then its object is of little importance and vanishes with its times while the dazzling satire remains, for all time, as a work of art.  So why speak of satire at all?

The study of the sociological or political impact of literature has to be devised mainly for those who are by temperament or education immune to the aesthetic vibrancy of authentic literature.

--Vladimir Nabokov on Bleak House

Of Course Not and Other Conundrums

Fundamental to this view of the relation between text and culture, then, is a refusal to allow any rigid distinction between the inside and the outside of a work.  To study literature is to study culture, but, conversely, to understand literature, we have to understand a culture.  Literary study is of value in this account because it leads to a fuller cultural understanding but, equally, it is this understanding that informs the reading of the literary text.  There may appear to be a certain circularity to this explanation, but it is better to think of it as another version of the chiasmus that I quoted from Louis Montrose in the 'Why Greenblatt?' chapter.  Greenblatt's thinking here may be rendered as: culture produces literature and literature produces culture.  Thinking of literature in terms of culture allows the critic to see the ways in which culture may be seen as both inside and outside literature.

-From Stephen Greenblatt by Mark Robson...and of course there is no "circularity to the explanation", rather, it is the explanation that encircles the thing explained.  Conversely, it is Greenblatt's very understanding of culture that helps us to understand Robson's explanation of the understanding.

As Predicted

Remember back when I wrote about the posthumous publication of Vladimir Nabokov's The Original of Laura?

This is the most ridiculous marketing ploy in the history of mankind.  People will do what I am doing now--they will berate the publishers, tear apart the novel before they have read it, then read it and pine for the last wishes of a great and dead white man--and the publishers will use it to make more fatuous and puerile productions to draw in those who have never before thought about reading a 500 page novel.

Well, now it's been released, and every publisher and reviewer out there is following my predictions to the  letter, viz.:

Before Nabokov's death in 1977, he instructed his wife to burn the unfinished first draft—handwritten on 138 index cards—of what would be his final novel. She did not, and now Nabokov's son, Dmitri, is releasing them to the world, though after reading the book, readers will wonder if the Lolita author is laughing or turning over in his grave.

Every review I have read concerns the nature of the release more than the actual content of the book.   I am dismayed, but not surprised.

Tempestuous Procedures

Sometime around 1610, Shakespeare penned The Tempest, one of his most famous and interesting works.  Except he didn't really write it.  At least not the whole thing.  On his own.  I dislike as much as anyone bickering and arguing about whether Mr. Shaxpere or Sir Bacon, or whomever the hell else might be involved actually wrote one play, sonnet, line, or word, but evidence in The Tempest is overwhelming.  Yet this work remains, without the Author's explicit signature, one of the great literary masterpieces of all time.  The work, whether we like it or not, is a great work, with or without Shakespeare's involvement.  If it was completed by a court jester or a plebeian patch worker, or a bourgeois land-owner, our Marxist critics will have a bit of a time reading it, but they cannot deny its beauty (actually, the New World allusions, the dis-Utopian and power-play tendencies of the play make it quite a Marxist mayhem!).

I assume that I do not need to argue the point that The Tempest is a great work.  Nor should I need to argue that it stands apart from its author(s).  But consider this:

A new wave of posthumous books by iconic authors is stirring debate over how publishers should handle fragmentary literary remains. Works by Vladimir Nabokov, William Styron, Graham Greene, Carl Jung and Kurt Vonnegut will hit bookstores this fall. Ralph Ellison and the late thriller writer Donald E. Westlake have posthumous novels due out in 2010.

How can I logically read a Graham Greene or Vladimir Nabokov novel I know has been tampered with?  Do I want to read it?  I have become familiar with the authors based on the books I have read previously, and now it is quite difficult to overcome my desire to reject these posthumous offerings.

My reasons for not wanting to read these books are different than you may think.  It is not because I want to preserve an aura of health and holiness around the author's oeuvre.  I have come to terms with the fact that someone I have never heard of, who was chosen at random by Knopf's low-ranking no-name publisher, will finish Vlad's book.  Nor do I really care whether he or Twain or Kafka requested that their stuff be burned (they should have burned it themselves, a fact which reduces their intelligence in my mind) after death.  I don't want to read the books for the same reason I have never liked Michael Jordan--it's all a publicity stunt.

The Original of Laura, will cause more debate over its construction and publication than over its literary content.  That pisses me off.  The publisher is going to put the 138 index cards that the novel was penned on in perforated sheets so you can reconstruct the novel yourself.  WTF.  Lolita was written the same way.  Can you imagine putting Humbert Humbert's reflections on innocence after his final encounter with Lola?  Didn't think so.  This is the most ridiculous marketing ploy in the history of mankind.  People will do what I am doing now--they will berate the publishers, tear apart the novel before they have read it, then read it and pine for the last wishes of a great and dead white man--and the publishers will use it to make more fatuous and puerile productions to draw in those who have never before thought about reading a 500 page novel.

As Prospero says in the Epilogue to his play,

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

I hope to God that the writings of average authors will stand above their stories and give good credit to the only name that will appear on the dust jacket (besides Alfred A. Knopf pub., or HarperCollins).  That they may say, "What strength I have's mine own."