And possibly rambling into the ether....
(This began as a response to Dave's comments on my last post, but it grew out of control so I'm transplanting it to a new post.)
I've long thought overanalysis of literature is little more than an English-major form of mutual back-patting, if not a justification for existence. This exercise in futility always disgusted me. I wonder if these people hear themselves.
You might imagine my self-loathing in feeling obliged to teach out-to-in analysis. This bass-ackwards approach to literature--in my arrogant opinion (there's no use pretending I'm humble)--invites rampant speculation about "deeper meaning." If I approach the text seeking examples of irony or symbols, I will find them whether or not they exist. I can also find a bunny rabbit in the clouds at will. Psychologists know humans find patterns where none exist; our brains create patterns. Our ability to find metaphors and symbols in literature arises from the same phenomenon, which may come from our desire for order, control, and meaning. Or perhaps we simply abhor chaos. The futile, pretentious exercise of out-to-in analysis disgusts students. Kids can see the emperor has no clothes because they haven't spent years convincing themselves otherwise.
I mentioned earlier I "felt obliged" to teach literature a certain way, but I didn't expand on the idea. I considered the feeling more this morning as I began my preparation to teach Toni Morrison's Beloved. From the pile of Beloved handouts I amassed last week, which include historical context papers and outline/themes/symbolism info, I found a copy of an article from a professional journal entitled "Why I Hate Toni Morrison's Beloved." I read that piece first.
The author discusses the book's overriding ambience in our culture and his inability to simply feel alone with the book and to experience it free of society's overbearing expectations. I concur. I rarely enjoy over-hyped movies because the hype somehow overpowers them.
The author also discusses his "unforgiveable" dislike for the book. Academics rally to the "best book in American fiction" standard and vilify those who disagree. The author provides random examples. (A friend of his actually screamed at him in a restaurant when he told her he "was having trouble" with Beloved.)
In a discussion about Beloved several weeks ago, a colleague told me no one could dislike Beloved unless he's racist. His blatant lack of logic and instant condemnation of someone's opinion about a book shocked me. I suggested to this otherwise brilliant man that someone might dislike the story or even Morrison's style. Perhaps he dislikes books if they disorient him. A person might dislike a book for any number of reasons unconnected to bigotry.
In an early King of the Hill episode, Hank dislikes his new (rude) Laosian neighbors. Peggy says, "Now Hank...you have to try to be friends or people will think you're racist." He replies, "What kind of country is this where I can only hate a man if he's white?" Similarly, Beloved enjoys a god-like racial and sexual protection from negative criticism. Echoing ancient accusations of heresy, the book's priests label dissenters as racists and sexists. At the risk of my own condemnation to the fiery pits of racist and sexist HELLFIRE, I must ask: did Beloved win the Nobel Prize on merit or did it win because the committee feared vilification as sexists and racists?
We may never know.
I still don't know what to think of the story itself. However, the hype bugs me as does our societal condemnation of those who just don't like the book.
Back to my "feeling obliged" to teach literature a certain way. My problem stemmed, in part, from my lack of good experience in literature classes and my outright ignorance of a better way.* However, when the whole world seems to teach literature the same way, I feel as though maybe I missed something. You'd think I would be sensitive to such a feeling by now. I left formal training in the martial arts when I realized everyone went through motions they didn't understand because everyone does it. (They usually expressed the "because everyone does it" defense thus: "It's tradition." Same idea.) I left religion when I realized no one could prove the existence or nature of gods, meaning we all guess and build our beliefs on hope alone. In each case, I fought disillusionment for years, studying reasons and "apologetics"--applied to martial arts here, as well as religion--before acknowledging my own hypocrisy and the inevitable truth of my own instincts.
* One of my profs, Dr. Marion Michael, ran a wonderful literature class. He provided historical information on each author and book. I will implement his technique as time allows. For my first semester teaching, however, reading each text itself consumes most of my time.
Ironically, I fought out-to-in analysis of literature throughout my English undergrad program, then came to the Academy and promptly began to teach the approach I never believed in and actually abhorred. Why? I figured I would see the method's utility in time, just like I once figured I'd see the point of practicing poorly interpreted traditional karate techniques "in time," or I'd find a reason to believe in a god "in time." :roll: In each case, my epiphany came after I spent years trying to understand and believe. I suppose I should appreciate getting my wake-up call after only a month of teaching the standard academic hogwash.
I doubt he even knows I keep a blog, but for the record: thanks, Don.
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