Call me...humbled...

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my “teaching ethos” (mostly because the leader of my teaching mentor group has asked me to do so); and after reflecting on my first year teaching composition during my MA program, I’ve decided to publically apologize to my former students.

During the years between my programs, I worked as an assistant director at a learning center. Here, I worked with students (and their parents) from different backgrounds with different ability levels. Although these students had various learning (dis)abilities, they had one thing in common: they needed someone to tell them they could be good in school, not another person telling them exactly what they sucked at.  [I also learned that many kids cannot comprehend what they are reading and nobody has cared (or noticed) that they couldn’t comprehend—but that is a different post.]

I think the biggest mistake I made as a pretend professor was forgetting that as freshman they were not college students or college writers yet. I had wrongly assumed that they could handle criticism without feeling hurt and that they should be able to do college level work and think at a college level (they were in college after all). I was angry and saddened by their lack of ability, and I interpreted this as apathy.  However, what I discovered later was that none of my students had really ever been asked to think or express their opinions. I was also frustrated by my personal lack of support…I had no idea how to “fix” my class and I did not have the resources (nor did the university) to help me figure out a solution.  After my experience, I was ready to give up teaching—basically because I thought I sucked.

After working at the learning center, and being able to help students, I realize I did not suck, but I did have the wrong perspective. I had these visions of what it mean to be a “Professor”—I thought I had to be tough, be intellectual, be…I don’t even know what I thought it meant. But really, being a professor is being a teacher and remembering that these are just kids trying desperately to be college students but who do not know what that means yet. I asked myself: what do I need from a professor? I am, after all, still a student—a reminder that I needed to humble myself.

A recent quote sums up my newfound teaching goal: “The writing teacher must not be a judge, but a physician. His [her] job is not to punish, but to heal.” –Donald Murray.

Although there are those students who are apathetic and don’t want to try, rarely do students try to write terribly on purpose... or because they hate me.

*** I feel like the time between my posts gets longer and longer, and I am determined to shorten those gaps! Therefore, I’ve decided to post on Tuesdays. All of the reasons why we started this blog are still things I think are important, especially now that I am re-school-a-fied (basically, I’m back in school), and I want to keep our conversation about literacy and books and all things bookish going.

My life in books...

It’s been almost two months since I last posted, and my blog silence can mostly be attributed to the fact that I've been reading...and working and just too tired to write. I’ve read about eight since my last post: I am the Messenger by Markus Zusak (the author of The Book Thief), One of our Thursdays is Missing by Jasper Fforde, The Paris Wife by Paula McLain, and several young adult books. I am a devoted fan to the first two authors in this list, and my high expectations were, unfortunately, not met.

For those, like myself, who were transformed after reading Zusak’s The Book Thief, Messenger comes across shallow. Although the premise is interesting and different, the book’s progression felt unnatural. The story begins with the narrator, Ed an unmotivated 20-something, stopping a robbery, which he admits is out of his character. Then, he starts to receive playing cards with mysterious instructions. Ultimately, the different cards lead him to people throughout his community whom he must help in some way--from a woman who is raped by her alcoholic husband every night to an old woman who just needs company.  The book progresses in much the same tone, and through much overdone self-reflection and many statements like “I just knew what I had to do,” the narrator calls the reader to question what we would do for a stranger in need. Although this “moral of the story” may sound cheesy, the book and it’s characters are in no way sentimental, which saves the book from being unenjoyable. Most of the book’s attraction lies with the outlying characters, the strangers in need. They are drawn with life, and as they are each saved in their own way, the reader is pulled into the main character’s mission. It’s an easy read if you like Zusak’s style.

Next, for those who were anxiously waiting those two years for the newest installment of the Thursday series, you may be a little disappointed. The book works more like an illustration of the workings of the Bookworld rather than a development in Thursday’s story. It’s clever and full of fun booky allusions just as his other books are fun and clever, but the story never develops into anything.  Most of it seems to set up the groundwork for the next book’s major mystery.  My favorite parts were when he makes fun of literary tropes. To Fforde’s credit though, he really tries to liven up our impression of books, and he explore what it means to create--to create characters, to create worlds, to create ourselves. And, if nothing else his books always inspire me to read and write more.

Finally, I get to my favorite: The Paris Wife. Let me begin by admitting that I am in no way a Hemingway scholar. In fact, despite many attempts, I just don’t like reading Hemingway. I have read several of his novels and have really tried to like his books, but most of the time I end up rolling my eyes at many of his characters...Despite this, I’ve always found his life and his persona fascinating. I’ve visited his childhood home in Chicago, I’ve sat in the back booth at Les Deux Magots in Paris (though it seems much changed since Hemingway was there), and I’ve watched the bulls run in Pampelona. My favorite read of his is A Moveable Feast. I’m drawn to the time period so often romanticized: the smoky cafes in Paris stuffed with struggling artists, the crowded bull fighting arenas in Pamplona.

The Paris Wife chronicles the relationship between him and his first wife, Hadley, and captures that time in Paris. However, more than that, the book focuses more on the creation of Hemingway’s persona through the eyes of a woman. At the book’s beginning  Hemingway is no more than a romantic, lonely young man come back from war. He’s desperate to write and desperate to be in love.  As the story progresses, he slowly creates the myth behind the man, and we meet Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, and Ezra Pound as we watch him struggle to place himself amongst the literary elite. It is very easy to hate him because he is really such an ass, but somehow the reader cannot help but be drawn to him, just as Hadley and every other woman in his life. It is hard not to admire his success and his talent and the way he gives himself to his art and life.

The book is also, probably even more so, about Hadley, and her struggle to find a place in the literary world, one that is much quicker and tumultuous than she ever wanted. Although at times the book threatens to become a book clubby book, I think it’s saved by its intelligent and unique portrayal of this famous couple. It is not over-stuffed with romance but a simple and realistic portrayal of a marriage the reader know is doomed from the beginning. It’s about the woman who is behind the myth that is behind the man...

There you have it...my past few months in books.

"You don't choose what to believe. Belief chooses you"

Wollstonecraft's take on The Cellist of Sarajevo:

I want to pick up with Shelley’s questions about how the characters maintain their sanity and how they prevent themselves from breaking down. It was this theme that intrigued me those most: the idea that almost anything can become “normal.” I do think that these characters are strong and brave, but I wonder if we think that because the world of war-torn Sarajevo is so unbelievable and removed from our own. It is important to note that these characters do not feel strong. They constantly question their own resolve, and a few do not remain in Sarajevo out of choice. Many remain in the city because they have no where to go. Others realized the reality of the war too late, and by that time, the gates to the city had been closed.

I am not by any means dismissing their strength to survive; in fact, I think that this book is about how people survive: not out of bravery or any heroic impulse other than the basic need to survive and to survive with their humanity intact. What I found fascinating was the idea that humans can survive so much pain, and we can convince ourselves of normalcy no matter how awful the reality. The ability to adapt and to change one’s perception in order to keep living is at the heart of the characters’ struggles.

This is represented by the Cellist and his desire to play despite the obvious dangers he faces by being out in the open. He wanted to create hope by convincing himself that there is humanity in his art and music that can still be touched.

I think this story is more about trying to remain “human” while at the same time deeply concerned with what that even means. Life is made up of thousands of tiny moments that don’t seem to represent anything important other than the importance we want to give it.

In Arrow, the young girl soldier, we see this the most: “This is how she now believes life happens. One small thing at a time. A series of inconsequential junctions, any or none of which can lead to salvation or disaster. There are no grand moments where a person does or does not perform the act that defines their humanity. There are only moments that appear, briefly, to be this way.”

I don’t think these characters want to be examples or heroes. They second guess their accepting attitudes. While I do think they have hope that there is a future for their city, and they are attached to the lives they used to live, they wonder why they can’t do more, or even if there is something they should be doing besides trying to survive.  And, they wonder what it means to be right or wrong, good or evil. What is happening to them seems so evil, but the people fighting in Sarajevo are just as corrupt as those attacking the city. These questions about survival and humanity transcend war because they are questions that we all struggle with, yet only become truly obvious in the worst moments. And, we are then left asking ourselves what we believe in.

If you are looking for a new author, try Fforde and his fantastical worlds

There are few (modern) authors to whom I am truly devoted and will read anything they write. Geraldine Brooks is one [http://geraldinebrooks.com]; her newest book will be released in May and will probably be my next book club suggestion. She is a “historical fiction” novelist who weaves the most beautiful stories from overlooked moments and places in the past. Her book March tells the story of Mr. March--the father of the Little Women--and received the Pulitzer. My favorite, Year of Wonders, is about a small 16th century English town that quarantined itself after the citizens discovered the outbreak of the plague. Her stories are about the past and about people, and they explore how we deal with heartbreak and catastrophe.

My other favorite is Jasper Fforde [http://www.jasperfforde.com/]. Completely unique, his books are part fantasy, part comedy, part science fiction--basically, they are a clever and fun mix of all genres defying any sort of definition. I was first introduced to his brilliance in my masters program when we were assigned The Eyre Affair, the first in his Thursday Next series. Thursday is an agent of SpecOps 27--a whole group devoted to all things fiction, its fraud, its misuse, etc. These stories take place in a parallel world where people actually care about books, Swindon is a cool pace to live, and, if you have the ability, you can live in books and hang out with the greatest characters of fiction like Miss Havisham and Hamlet.  Besides his amazing creativity and imagination, what makes his books so enjoyable is that he writes for readers. He writes for and to those who are completely devoted to their identities as readers-to those who as nerdy and clever as he is. His books are fantastic lessons in word play and allusions.

His latest series, Shades of Grey, tells about a world wherein each person can only see one color. And, this color determines everything about his/her life: whom they marry, what job they will do, and even what social class they are part of. Though you must be prepared to suspend disbelief, the story is a fascinating reinvention of the dystopian genre. It never takes itself too seriously and remains as comic and creative as his other novels. But, despite the lightness of the story, Fforde still subtly explores the seeming inevitability of hierarchy and of people’s lust for power. The book calls us to question our own capacity to make change. Can one person really change anything? What are those sacrifices? Would you have the strength to overcome your own apathy?

In his newest novel--I had to order it from a used bookstore in the UK, Abebooks.com-- Dragonslayer, Fforde ventures into young adult fiction. Although all of his books are playful, and he writes for the youthful spirit in the adult, this book is for kids. But, you know how I feel about young adult fiction, so for me this was the best of both worlds. He didn’t “talk down” to his reader nor did he get caught up in the overly dramatic trend that seems to be invading the young adult genre. With his usual playful imagination, he creates a world where society is no longer amazed by magicians, and witches and wizards must resort to plumbing work in order to stay relevant. Hilarious and unique, the book narrates the coming of age of a young orphan girl, unsure of her role in the not so distant “big magic” that will change her world. The book is fast-paced, sometimes too fast, and at times seems to skip through some character development. The ending was a bit rushed--I’m not a fan of the end-of-book wrap-ups. But, overall, it was a fun, short entertaining read--a pleasant way to spend a snowy afternoon.

What a blessing it is to love books as I love them, to be able to converse with the dead, and to live amidst the unreal

When I got married, I, like most brides, had a bridal shower (mostly because my mom threw it for me). However, I think it’s weird and a little self-indulgent (aren’t all weddings these days?) to invite everyone to throw you a party and bring you presents to celebrate another party you will have where they will have to bring you another present. So--here is where I reveal my great nerdiness at which my mom still continues to laugh when she tells the story--I told my friends instead to bring a book that meant something to them with a little note explaining why they wanted to give me this book. In this exchange, I learned more about each of my friends as well as what she thought about our friendship and me. One friend, who thought I needed to take a break from my “school” reading, bought me a mystery novel (much appreciated on the honeymoon); one of my non-English major but still literary friends gave me Snow Falling on Cedars (the best part was her thoughtful note explaining why she chose the book); Shelley bought me a beautiful edition of To Kill a Mockingbird, which I couldn’t stop myself from marking up while reading it (only evidence it is well-loved); and Melville (here is the point of this anecdote) gave me two collections of Anne Fadiman’s amazing essays.

[Needless to say, I've lost touch with the person who bought me Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus].

This morning, while grasping for a topic to write about--I didn’t think anyone wanted to read about my application adventure that seized my time for the last two months--I picked up my well-thumbed copy of Ex Libris, Anne Fadiman’s “Confessions of a Common Reader.” Whenever I read the collection, I intend to read and perfectly digest one essay at a time--each essay deserving of its own written reflection. However, drawn in by her easy storytelling and the feeling that we are kindred spirits, I inevitably read the whole collection in a sitting.

If you love books or love books about books, then you too will probably be captivated by her personal essays. A self-proclaimed bibliophile, she more than loves books--they are indeed part of her very being. And, in this culture that seems to be proud of its illiteracy and its impatience for reading, as Melville described in her previous post, or that seems to ignore its failing bookstores and libraries, Fadiman’s voice and passion instill hope that there will always be us crazy nerds, instinctively correcting other people’s bad grammar and preferring to buy books instead of food.

Every essay is about reading or books in some capacity, but each essay is also always about something else--because books are always more than books.  When you read, the story becomes part of you, it has revealed something to you, it has uncovered that little bit more about the world, it has built another connection. Her essays demonstrate how a book or a poem or a story can become so much more than something written on the page. For instance, In “Scorn not the Sonnet” she begins by discussing why she tends to favor the sonnet, telling about her own failed attempt at poetry and also relating why she cherishes the form: “You could fit the whole world in there if you shoved hard enough.” At the end of the essay, however, she narrates her father’s descent into blindness. He--as another bibliophile and writer--could not see a life without reading. Blindness was his death. Then, she reminds her father that Milton wrote Paradise Lost blind. Together they read Milton’s sonnet “On His Blindness” (posted in my previous post), and his hope is restored just enough to help him continue: “Milton’s sonnet provided the first glimmer of the persistent intellectual curiosity that was to prove his saving grace.”  The essay is not one of my favorites because she discusses Milton but because it shows how powerful words are--they can have an impact on our imagination and our selves if we just give ourselves the time and space to let them. 

[My other favorites include an essay comparing reading to eating and another playful essay on plagiarism and the many great kleptomaniac writers (like Shakespeare).]

[The quote in the title of this blog is not Fadiman’s but Macaulay’s] 

Milton! I hath great need of thee this day...

LONDON, 1802.

Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In chearful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on itself did lay.

--Wordswoth

Whenever I am downtrodden or disappointed or stressed, this poem echoes in my mind--especially in times like these as I painfully trudge through my writing sample and meet writer’s block at every sentence (Whilst studying for our comprehensive exams, Milton! became a sort of battle cry).  Even though it is a poem by Wordsworth, I have found it inspiring because it reminds me of Milton, his profound affect on western literature and just his general greatness. I have a severe case of author worship when it comes to Milton--for which I have already been laughed at and berated by plenty. (Just yesterday, in fact, someone responded to my love of him by saying Milton would be horrified that I wanted to get a PhD and laughed at my rather lame defense of him--But, really I don’t get why people are always getting on about Milton being a sexist. It’s not as if Shakespeare was a feminist crusader!).  

The reason for my worship and awe extends beyond his ability of pen to the strength of his convictions and his work ethic. Nothing derailed him. Even after the cause which he fought for his whole life failed, leaving him hated and blind, he wrote the greatest English epic. A champion of democracy and free speech, he resonates with the American spirit of “can”. One only has to read Areopagitica (http://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton/reading_room/areopagitica/index.shtml) to see his beauty of the language mixed with the power of his ideas:

“For books are not absolutely dead things, but... do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous Dragon's teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet on the other hand unless warriors be used, as good almost kill a Man a good Book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills Reason itself, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the Earth; but a good Book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.” (John Milton, Areopagitica)

Not many look at him as a source of inspiration, but whenever I feel that moment of defeat, I think about the defeat Milton must have felt when the monarchy was reinstated and the country was calling his blindness a punishment from God. I don’t just think about the intelligence and talent it took to write Paradise Lost, I think about why he wrote it and what he felt while he created his masterpiece. I am probably over-sentimentalizing the poem’s creation, but the first time I read Paradise Lost as a college Sophomore, I couldn’t help but feel more than analyze (that came with my second and third readings). My professor at the time said it was the perfect poem for the college student at a crossroads; the turmoil of change and personal confusion manifests in the poem.  Bubbling under the poem’s surface, spiritual confusion and defeat constantly threaten the poem’s thesis of justifying the ways of God to man. Although Milton is most definitely not of the devil’s party as Blake would like us to believe, I still can’t help but feel sorry for Satan when he returns to hell “victorious” but monstrously transformed listening to hisses rather than applause. Feeling like all you’ve worked so hard for has been for nothing is just so human and so real. And, that is why I have always loved Milton’s work in general--most of it is teeming with uncertainty and passion though one expects it to be a stable statement of his faith.  His work is at once inspiring but also is reminiscent of our own uncertainty; hopeful but also suspicious of hope. 

Although I have seen and discussed many readings of the sonnet he wrote on his blindness, I have always read it as the epitome of his uncertainty. He ends the poem apparently hopeful that he can still serve God, but the bitter disappointment he feels threatens his contentment. I have always read it that he is more questioning his condition than most.... 

On His Blindness

  

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

  E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,

  And that one Talent which is death to hide,

  Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

         5

  My true account, least he returning chide,

  Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,

  I fondly ask; But patience to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need

  Either man's work or his own gifts, who best

  10

  Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

  And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:

  They also serve who only stand and waite

Basically, just talking about Milton invigorates me, and I hope people can find him more approachable. It seems like many non-early modernists envision him as a grumpy old prudish white man. But I think that his writing is far from stale; it is full of anxiety and inspiration--his work illustrates and explores the complexity and hardships of the human condition still relevant to a modern audience, though it is deeply religious. I find his prose especially fitting for the current political climate. And, his life and work often remind me to not let feelings of defeat overtake me, to ignore the naysayers, and to continue working.  

RoundBlog: The Complicated World of YA Fiction and Incarceron

Wollstonecraft:

If you have read my post on The Hunger Games series or YA fiction, you already know in more detail my thoughts on the young adult genre and why we chose a YA book for our RoundBlog. In short, what I have found so fascinating about these series is the fact that they explore large and relevant themes, have complex characters, and treat young adults as intelligent human beings, AND that they still have creative stories that are so entertaining. Although, much of YA fiction is disappointing or just bad (just like there are many disappointing “adult” fiction books), there are many series that do not rehash different versions of the hero’s journey and many that do not feed into teen romance. In fact, with some searching, I have found many books that are incredibly imaginative and interesting, creating new and interesting worlds that can help us see our own from a different perspective. 

In The Immortals series (which admittedly does have some teen romance), one of the adult characters criticizes the moral absolutism of the young; and the books themselves think about (and make their readers think about) what it means when we divide our world into absolutes and how often this division fails to fully explain our gray reality. The main “bad guy” believes with his whole self that he is doing God’s work, and the series explores how different people can interpret events in completely different and often devastating ways.  There is also a gay teen struggling with his identity and a not so subtle theme examining people’s inclination to hate anything different and to create hierarchies of power wherever they can. Also, it deals with many themes from Paradise Lost, and the author even uses many quotes from the poem in chapter epigraphs. And, I *hope* that it is books like these that can lead teens to the harder stuff of Paradise Lost.  

And, as I read Incareron, that quote denouncing the moral absolutism of the young resonated with me. The novel occurs through two different narrative perspectives: Claudia, the girl on the outside used by her father as a pawn for power, and Finn, the boy inside Incarceron, the prison, trying to break free. Society created Incarceron as a sociological project; they thought they could create a kind of Utopia wherein they would put all the unwanted criminals, political and otherwise, and the poor or underprivileged. The prison has unknown dimensions (but is described as vast) and is ruled by a computer program and a single warden—mostly it is left to “run” on its own. The story follows both the outside world, which runs on a corrupt political system, and the prison, which has been corrupted by an all too objective and merciless computer system—as you might expect, the prison turns out to not be such a great idea (unbeknownst to the outside world). 

 What I found most fascinating was the fact that there was no clear Villain, which gives the reader freedom to judge and question the various (and often unclear) motives of the many characters involved. The boy “hero” kills (or causes an innocent to be killed) within the first chapter, and the girl hero is a cold and calculating soon-to-be royal. Neither is completely innocent and both are struggling to make sense of a world wherein they are pawns for everyone else’s games of power. Everyone is using everyone else for some end, and they struggle to find warmth and compassion in a world where compassion can get you killed. They struggle to make themselves happy while also considering the lives of others, leading to questions like, to what extent do we sacrifice our lives for another’s happiness? When does caring about our own life become selfish? Can we sacrifice the ones we love for the greater good? Why should we be responsible for others? And though many readers are not fighting for survival in a deadly prison, we daily fight (often against ourselves and our morals) for our own happiness, and these questions are ones we seek answers to everyday. Can we or should we think about our own life before the lives of others? Should we give up something important just to avoid hurting someone close to us? 

When I was teaching, many of my kids struggled with deciding to please themselves or please their parents. One student wanted to become a math teacher, but his parents were expecting him to become a doctor. At 14, is it really selfish for him to disappoint his parents? He thought it made him selfish (though I basically told him he should do what he wants). And, these choices and decisions only get harder as we get older, and our choices do not just affect our over-bearing parents, but affect our spouses and friends. Basically, I think that these books can even give adults something to think about. And seeing these moral quandaries through the eyes of teenagers, I think can bring a different perspective to our own problems.

 In the “outside world” of this novel, after a devastating war, the king has decreed that society needs to retreat into the past, “back to a simpler time” in order to avoid another disaster. The king declares he “will make a world free from the anxiety of change” and it will be “Paradise.” His decree: “We forbid growth and therefore decay. Ambition, and therefore despair. Because each is only the warped reflection of the other. Above all, Time is forbidden. From now on nothing will change.” Like in our world (which seems really relevant during election week), the king and the adults of this book look to blame the all abstract “change” and “time” instead of looking at the real causes of society’s unrest. Obviously, there is a backlash to the decree as the world becomes stagnant and frustrated in an unchanging world. It is not about change for change’s sake, but about finding names for those goals and seeing that progress is necessary for survival—that creating something new and changing our perspectives is just human nature. And, this is what our “heroes” struggle to do: find real solutions and name those nameless problems. And, in a court where politics is an illusion and they all act their parts, it is hard to find sincere answers and helpful solutions. Especially when the blame is placed on ideas and labels instead of where it should be:

“…or is it that man contains within himself the seeds of evil? That even if he is placed in paradise perfectly formed for him he will poison it, slowly, with his own jealousies and desires? I fear it may be that we blame the Prison for our own corruption…”

Essentially, the book also questions the abstract ideas of Utopia and Paradise, as they mean so many different things to different people. And, as the world does change, the notions of Paradise change with it.

Although I didn’t think that this book was amazing and there were parts I thought were lacking, overall, I thought the storyline interesting and unique. There were definitely “holes” in the story and there were moments where I had to ignore the logical fallacies. In a fantasy, you know you have to suspend disbelief, but on occasion, the logic of the world was hard to grasp. Because it is the first in a trilogy, I am sure that certain holes will be filled, but the prison’s abstract dimensions were just left to be believed.  The author seemed to take for granted that her young readers wouldn’t think too hard about whether something made sense...

Melville:

First of all, I have to say that I was thrilled we selected a YA book.  In the last few months, it seems the only thing I have time to read besides the books I teach are YA novels (aside from the blogs I follow religiously).  I love YA novels because with them, you have the freedom to really explore the real (and fantastic!) possibilities of life -- to imagine scenarios where worlds are inside wardrobes, boys can be wizards, and young Canadian women grow up to be famous writers.  As a younger reader, there is that sense that so long as you are willing to trust the writer, you can experience ANYTHING and that is an incredibly joyous feeling. 

With this idea in mind, I was immediately delighted with Incarceron's ability to draw me into a world completely unlike my own.  As Wollstonecraft covered so thoughtfully, I enjoyed the lack of moral absolutism and the questioning of traditional expectations of Paradise/Utopia and our understanding of how these visions shape our understanding of our own lives.  It was a clever book and one that I think that readers will appreciate even more in this increasingly complex world of ours.   The plot itself was a rollicking adventure and let me tell you, I would never want to be trapped in that prison world after going through those scenes with the Jabba-the-hut like character who sucked the life out of others to fit his whims.  

However, while I appreciated all the new reflections on how we can view the world, I was, truth be told, disappointed by the world itself.  Having grown up with a brother who is literally a rocket scientist and always demanded that my explanations be logical, factual, and involve way fewer fluffy unicorns named Marvin, I have learned to appreciate a certain amount of credibility in a story (this from someone who wrote her undergraduate thesis on Isabel Allende).  I was disturbed that my general understanding of the prison world was that the author cobbled together her explanation from the final scene of one of the most well-paid actors of my generation -- Will Smith in Men In Black.  While I like Men In Black as well as any teen of the 90s, I think there are many more inventive ways to explain the ability to jump from one world to the next and how they fit in with each other.  And when that realization set in, I started to look back at other scenes and the plot holes started to yawn open and languish on the pages of an otherwise great novel.  

I understand now that these plot contrivances (like the better-than-gold servant girl) must have significance and further depth in later books but I see that as problematic.  Too many books (and far too many films) settle nowadays for the cliff-hanger, the threads of unresolved storylines, and remain well past their prime, ingratiating themselves to an audience who has to go home and have their parents explain the jokes.  Some writers are clever enough to re-imagine some of their characters in new scenes, but I think that the focus should be on getting the first book right before cranking out more novels to help close these narrative loopholes.  Now, don't get me wrong, these assessments are not aimed solely at Incarceron, for it was a page-turner and a great first effort (I would even be curious to read the sequels), but I think these issues were probably suggested (or not corrected) by a publishing house that was thinking about short-term profits rather than long-term literary perfection.  

Be that as it may, it was a great pick for October -- for there were plenty of ghoulish characters both internally and externally.  Well-done Wollstonecraft!

Our next pick will be The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell.

http://www.thousandautumns.com/

Because it is a relatively longer novel and November continues to get busier, we will actually be discussing this book in our December RoundBlog. The November RoundBlog will feature a poem. And, if you have any suggestions, please write them below... 

Please, please give them something other than Romeo and Juliet

“Who lives by cunning, mark it, his fate‘s cast:
When he has gulled all, then is himself the last."
A Mad World, My Masters (last lines)

I may be biased because he is the subject of my current project, but I think Thomas Middleton is awesome and everyone should read his plays.

When I set out to write a new sample for my applications, I wanted to avoid the more popular names of English Literature, ie Shakespeare and Milton. If I wanted to set myself apart from other applicants, I thought I should probably avoid the authors and texts everyone seems to have already written about. Though Middleton is a “big” name in the early modern world (and there is PLENTY written about him), I doubted many students had been exposed to his works (based on my experience: in 6 years of school I only read one of his plays as opposed to more than half of Shakespeare’s works). At first, I did not decide to research “The Ghost of Lucrece” (his narrative poem) because I liked it but because very little has been written about it (which is very exciting when your field has been around for 400 years and usually you find that the essay you were thinking about writing has already been published and is better written). In fact, the first time I read the poem was in conjunction with Shakespeare’s version of the legend, and I thought Middleton’s version…well, kind of sucked in comparison. But it’s funny how almost 2 years away from a work can change your mind. (By the way, I don't think it sucks anymore).

For the past two and half months I have become very close to Middleton and his body of work, and I have found him fascinating. He may not be as “quotable” and his universes aren’t as “neatly” constructed as Shakespeare’s, but I find his cynical reality at this moment in time so much more fascinating and very… modern. Very often when I finish his plays and the Tyrant has just molested the corpse of the woman he’s been lusting after and an entire stage of players have killed each other in such a fashion that would put Hamlet to shame, I have that moment of, “What just happened?” It’s almost absurd. (in a good way) Bear in mind that I am no expert in Jacobean plays and this era generally tends to me be more cynical than that of the Elizabethan plays, but I have read enough Jonson and Heywood to at least feel that Middleton’s work is distinctly unique and so entertaining.

Firstly, his plays have this tension between wanting to moralize his audience and yet wanting nothing more than to entertain them; between tragedy and comedy; between laughing at the world and judging them; between the most bawdy humor and dirty jokes and the most penitent characters. His is a “mad” world full of contradictions; he can be scathing in his assessment of the state of society yet so playful in his treatment of vice. I think A Mad World, My Masters epitomizes these contradictions: a whore tricks her way into a wealthy marriage, the penitent adulterer is forgiven of his sins, and the adulteress gets away with tricking her silly husband and he ends up none the wiser. Yet in the end, they are all “gulled” in their own way. His universe works “quid pro quo” but is in no way "fair" (in fact, I think his plays redefine/question what that word means or if its even possible that fairness exist). He seems to believe that the world is rotten to the core but doesn’t want to give up hope yet. And, it is this double personality that makes his work not only entertaining but so interesting as well.

And, what’s more is the kind of “equal” showing he gives to women. He is no way a “feminist”-- which is kind of a superfluous title to throw at early modern writers anyway -- but I think the way he constructs female characters again is unique. Both men and women are criticized equally throughout his plays. It is not as if he blames the world’s failings on women; in fact, he seems to lay the responsibility on men. It is their inability to control themselves properly that has caused the downfall in the court and the kingdom. The idea that they “need to control their women better” is in itself misogynistic to modern thinkers, but the men in the plays who are “too controlling” are made to be the villains: the father who wants to force his daughter into a loveless marriage, the jealous husband who hides his wife in a closet, the suspicious husband who no longer touches his wife because he is so afraid she will cheat on him, the tyrant who overthrows the king for a woman. Yes women are constructed as second to men, but they are just as desiring, just as deceitful and just as complex as their male counterparts.

Now, it is not to say that we shouldn’t be reading Shakespeare and Milton (those close to me know that my love for Milton is borderline inappropriate), but I really think we should expand our reading beyond that of names familiar to all. I know this is easier said than done as the early modern department already suffers a lack of new enthusiastic fans. Most have only heard of Shakespeare so that is the only class that can fill easily--even Milton courses are having trouble with attendance. Our departments and students seem drawn to “trendy” literature and technology gimmicks that we miss out on great literature. And, what is truly sad is that the current trend is to make people feel guilty about studying dead white men. But these are the works that our the foundation of our culture and it bothers me that it is being dismissed as too exclusive. I just have trouble seeing why we can’t embrace our dead white male authors and not be yelled at for limiting the canon. And, what’s more, is most modern authors allude to the greats more often than not, which should make them necessary (you can’t study Romantic poets without have first reading Milton). It’s not about devaluing the minority it’s only about maintaining the value of our beginning.

And, this is why I think Middleton would be fun to teach even in high school. He is slightly easier to read than Shakespeare because his language isn’t as poetic, but his ideas and struggles are as thought-provoking and interesting. And, his cynical tone I think is so relevant to teens who seem to be getting more cynical by the year. There are very few great Heroes in his work, and I think his universe so aptly fits that of our modern world and has the same contradictions we post-modern thinkers struggle with. I think highlighting “new” authors from a period that seems “dated” to most students can possibly make it more exciting. Again it isn’t about saying Shakespeare doesn’t deserve his fame, but showing that there was a literary world beyond Shakespeare. There was a market and competition, and I think it could make the period seem more real to kids who see Shakespeare as a sole god from a shiny period. So instead of reading 3 Shakespeare plays they read 2 and a Middleton…(and, dear god, give them something other than Romeo and Juliet).

So, even if you aren’t a student or a teacher, I think we should create a new readership for Middleton--that is outside of early modern scholars. I don’t think he is as daunting as Milton and Shakespeare, and, he is very funny. I suggest diving in with some of his comedies and working your way to the tragedies. Maybe if we create a new audience, I could actually find a performance of one of his plays. And, now that there is actually an edition of his collected works, hopefully it will happen.

How beautiful the season is now...I will need to enjoy it before winter

“How beautiful the season is now--How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather--Dian skies--I never liked stubble-fields so much as now--Aye better than the chilly green of the spring. Somehow, a stubble-field looks warm--in the same way that some pictures look warm. This struck me so much in my Sunday's walk that I composed upon it.” John Keats


On Sunday, I went apple picking for the first time (at least that I can remember--my dad swears that he took me as a kid and that there are orchards in California). And, it was the most beautiful autumn day.

As a native Californian, I had been told by my Midwest and East Coast friends that I had never really experienced the “true” seasons. I always defended my beloved state by saying that in the Bay Area we do have our own versions of the seasons and have some variety of color and temperature (in So Cal, however, we really only have Summer and “Light Summer”). But I learned this weekend that nothing is quite like a real Autumn: clear crisp chilly air, pale blue skies smeared with bright clouds, a plethora of color in the trees that sway in a light breeze. What I think the Bay Area misses is that clear transition into another part of the year, which I think is what truly makes Autumn feel more like an event, more like a purposeful move by nature to continue on its way. Last month, the weather had been holding onto summer, and then all it once the air dropped to just above chilly and the trees turned fiery red and orange. The air even felt and smelled differently-- the balmy weather of summer left and the lighter air of autumn arrived.

And, I think that’s what people like about distinct seasons in general; it feels like a different time of year. Those who are in school usually measure time by semesters--we know summer is over when school starts. And, the constant newness is refreshing, new teachers/ students, new classes, new projects. But for those of us who have entered the ever monotonous existence out of the school system, it is good to measure time with nature. I can’t generalize these feelings to everyone, but for me at least, it’s nice to feel as if time is progressing; it’s satisfying to see change around me when my life no longer has that constant newness that I thrive on.

It isn’t to say that my life hasn’t changed in big ways; I’ve moved states and we’ve just closed on a house today--but they don’t feel like my personal accomplishments. And, moving somewhere, for me, is a very slow immersion process. It takes awhile for it to sink in and to feel as if my life has changed. Life is more than just a place; it’s a job, it’s friends and family, it’s habits, it’s favorite restaurants and mostly, it’s school. Illinois may look a little different with it’s open spaces and flatness, but it’s not as if I feel like I live in a different country. It’s not as if I feel any different now that my person is in another state. And, especially with our modern technology, Skype, Facebook, airplanes, email, I don’t think distance and place really mean that much anymore--technology has eliminated these boundaries (And, I‘ve never been one to get homesick, no matter where I‘ve been). The biggest difference I can find is that the people are much more friendly here.

The changing seasons also remind me that the year is almost over, and it inspires me to work and write and accomplish--reminds me to keep progressing forward with my goals because nothing is permanent and the year is moving on without me. It may be morbid, but the dying world serves as a reminder that I only get one life and I need to make it count--which brings me back to my beloved Keats.

“Dying” may not be the best descriptive for Autumn, though that may be what literally is happening. When I went apple picking in a small orchard in Wisconsin, I didn’t see death--I was overwhelmed by life, which is what Keats found so inspiring on his Autumn walk. The sun was bright, and the trees were weighted down with apples. The air smelled sickly sweet because of the rotting and half-eaten apples littering the ground-- it felt like I was walking through apple juice. Anyways, I finally could truly understand why he wrote a poem “To Autumn”:


SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies

Autumn here is at once teeming with life but also subtle in its beauty and calm. In the first stanza, the season brings an overabundance: everything “swells” and is “plump” and “ripe” with life. However, the season paradoxically alleviates the strain that comes with its overabundant creativity. For instance, the coolness of autumn comes as a relief from the “warm days” of summer that felt as if they would “never cease”; the harvest lightens the trees that “bend” with fruit. In the second stanza, the abundance has been harvested, and there is a lazy calm that comes with this wealth--the sense of urgency that I feel is not present in this poem yet. The hours of autumn are slow, “drowsy,” and “oozing” forward. It’s as if the earth is falling asleep into winter. At the farm, the apples were so ripe that they were falling off the trees and rotting on the ground--autumn is they very picture of life and death, which I think is what makes this season so unique. In the third stanza the music of autumn seems that of preparation for parting--Autumn is the anticlimax of the year, but a beautiful one. The poem helps us appreciate the beauty of both the plentitude of the season and the death that lies underneath the surface. Autumn IS the passing of the seasons, of time. Life is full of both creative moments and movement towards an end.

Although the poem is about the season, it is also “about” the harvesting of one’s own teeming mind (if you don't harvest, all you will have is rotting fruit?). Just like the season, this poem reminds me (us) to create (whatever it is that you create) and to appreciate all that life has to offer… before it’s winter.

Round Blog: The Whistling Season and our longing for those simpler times

Melville: I know my comments lately have relied heavily on reader response for this blog and that trend is going to continue yet again today because, frankly, I adore this book. Ivan Doig's "The Whistling Season" was a treat to read. I love any novel that not only celebrates the art of teaching but ALSO manages to allude to Yugoslavians (some of the kids in the school were Slavs -- and frankly, this is the first book I've read in about five years that actually mentions anything remotely related to my Slovenian heritage)!

With that said, Doig is a master of regional literature. He so effortlessly captures a sense of place with turn of the century Montana -- a land of homesteads, open sky, and men with big dreams. To show us this place from a child's perspective also helps make Montana seem like a wondrous adventure -- from the daring backwards horse race to the marvels of a snow day. The older voice of the narrator effectively unmasks the unhappy truth that these small towns are slowly withering away and giving in to the pressures of a globalized (and, consequently, a homogenized) world. The narrator leads us to the conclusion that we must look back and treasure our gifts from the past.

My favorite character, and I'm sure my fellow "Bookers" will agree is Morrie -- the former crooked boxing manager who turns into a master one-room schoolteacher. His scenes in the classroom motivate me to be a better teacher and to want to bring that sense of vast possibilities of life back to my (mostly) already-worldly students. Doig cleverly set the plot of this novel as the same year as Halley's Comet appearance -- 1910. Morrie himself is like the comet, a brilliant visitor who flies through and sparks new life into the community, and disappears just as quickly. After all, what student wouldn't like a teacher who so comfortably fits in among scholars and schoolyard boys? I thought it was very clever that this Latin-spouting, Spat wearing, mustacchioed Morrie was also a man who can slip on a pair of brass knuckles to fight. What a teacher!

Anyway, before I talk about how much I wish Morrie was a flesh and blood man...I better turn this conversation over to Shelley.

Your thoughts Shelley?

Shelley: Great comparison of Morrie to the comet, which, until you so beautifully pointed out, I hadn't really put together. I also think the comet bears some significance in relation to Doig's perspective about memory, which is obviously inextricably bound with the past. Like the comet, the older Paul describes memory as being "magical" and "faithful," and exuding "radiance": "The Rembrandt light of memory, finicky and magical and faithful at the same time, as the cheaper tint of nostalgia never is. Much of the work of my life has been to sort instruction from illusion, and, in the endless picture gallery behind the eye, I have learned to rely on a certain radiance of a detail to bring back the exactitude of a moment" (152). Although viewing the comet (which I remember doing as a wee kindergartner) is vivid and impressionable, it does happen quickly and sparsely (like every 75 years). Such an experience is a memory in itself, but it also mimics the general experience we have while remembering a moment--certain parts are vivid and detailed, while most of the occurrence surrounding the details we remember are not (similar to the many dreams/nightmares Paul has growing up); at the same time, despite the more "illusive" parts of it, aspects of the experience and soon-to-be memory--essentially, our past--hugely influence the rest of our lives.

And this brings me to one of the most significant themes of The Whistling Season: the experience of our past as children growing up--and more particularly, the memory of that experience (the feelings and emotions associated with it)--greatly shape who we are for the rest of our lives, during the time in which we are "being introduced to ourselves" (5). This may seem like an obvious statement, but, as Melville mentions, Doig is a beautiful regional writer; as such, he emphasizes the importance of place--specifically, the schoolhouse--in the significance of our experience, the memory of that experience, and then the ultimate construction of who we are and how we contribute to society as adults because of that experience and memory. The happenings of the country school is not only central to the novel, but it is central to all of the students' lives: because they live so far apart on their homesteads and such, the school is not only where they learn their subjects, but it is also where they learn to socially interact, and become educated about the morals enveloped within such interaction. Take Eddie, for instance: without the aid of his experience at school, there would be no doubt he'd end up with the same destructive and selfish tendencies of his dangerous father; it would be difficult for him to know differently. Although his circumstances might not prevent Eddie from following in his father's footsteps, Doig stresses the beneficial effect the schoolhouse has had on this apparent bully: he sways his father to not beat up (kill?) Morrie because doing so would be unfair and illogical. In this way, Doig not only celebrates the actual place of the schoolhouse, but the leader within it (a leader who affects Eddie in such a way): "All points of the plains: without my ever having said a word to him about it, Morrie was conjuring paths beneath the paths that had arrived to my eyes back there at the schoolhouse pump" (127). Like Paul, the reader's eyes, or perspective, are led to the importance of the schoolhouse and the teacher within it. Consequently, Doig honors the significance of being educated at a school, as well as the monumental power and impact teachers hold; but, as older Paul's title as school inspector implies, Doig is concerned about how society is progressing, perhaps about the loss of memory in relation to a time long since past, or the loss of a simplified life and place which could shape individuals so beautifully. What do other readers of this text think? Paul is obviously remembering his education and how his beliefs were shaped, but is he worried about the future of education, progression, or a loss of place (as emphasized by the older Paul's point of view)?

Like Paul, I remember moments of my childhood schooling in extreme detail, and can see how it has contributed to my present self. Like Paul and Doig, I also remember the beautiful region that is Montana: "the pesky...whistling" (1) wind that would wake me in the summer mornings, a "homestead etiquette" (97) that most citizens abide by, the ever-present dust following fields of wildflowers and green meadows, and the starriest, clearest skies I've ever seen. Now, as someone experiencing and greatly enjoying Montana summers throughout her entire life, these memories might be more nostalgic in nature, however true they really are. One thing is for certain: Doig captures how beautiful simple homestead (family) life can be and was in the American West, with all of the Millirons' sorrows, struggles, and complications. They are intelligent, honest, mature, and caring natives of the country, not slow hillbillies or backcountry neanderthrals. Like the land they inhibit, and like the pace of the novel, the Millirons nurture and embrace their simple, faithful, magical, and radiant lives.

Your thoughts, Wollstonecraft?

Wollstonecraft: I mostly agree with my fellow bookers. My favorite character was Morrie and I found his character inspiring. Today, because we all experience so much media and so much of the world through the internet and television, it is hard to feel that wonder he created in his students for the comet. I think most teachers can agree that it seems harder and harder to get students amazed by anything because they have seen so much already. Even though the lights of the city block out the stars, they can go online and see pictures of the Milky Way. They can watch Gladiator and gain a version of history more exciting than the one I can tell them. Our visual media and wealth of information take away from our ability to give students something they’ve never seen before. And, I think this can be applied to adults as well; we all live in such a “seen it” age, it is harder to find that sense of wonder in our everyday lives. And, in this sense the book made me nostalgic for a piece of that “simple” past.

However, once I realized I like my right to vote, I like that more kids have a chance at education, and I like running water, I no longer feel nostalgic for the past.

Though, for the most part, I did enjoy reading the book, I felt torn about Doig’s longing for this era. The book champions these one-room school houses as a piece of not just the character’s past but that of America, and a piece that we need to remember. However, the problems of this nostalgia that bubble under the surface are left unexplored. Although Morrie was ultimately able to diffuse Eddie’s violence, the fact that it existed points to a problem with this kind of simple past: the lack of access to a quality education and knowledge. Before Morrie, the students were not getting that great of an education and many of the students will just be recycled through the small town. And, the lack of education produces the ignorance and violence of Eddie’s father. With the simple life of the past also come the problems of the past: ignorance, racism, inequality, etc. The only female character in the novel was the “perfect” Rose: charming, sweet, pretty, but oh so stupid. I may be taking the book too seriously, but I couldn’t help but feel annoyed that part of her charm that captured all the men in the novel was that she was a little bit stupid.

Doig also seems to vacillate between advocating the simple life of the “honest laborer” and supporting a life of the mind, or the intellectual. And, I do not think the book decides if there is a “better” way; perhaps he seems to say we need to appreciate both. (The book felt like it was written by an intellectual who wanted to find “real” life in the hard-working small town citizen.)

That said, I liked how the book criticized the education system today. Our schools are in no way perfect, and the current obsession with standards and statistics is diverting attention away from the real problems in our system (as Doig demonstrates in the novel). The book begins and ends as we enter this era of standardized testing, which comes with a different set of issues. We label all changes as "progress" without really understanding if this progression is any more effective. I also think it is interesting how he criticizes the unfortunate relationship between politics and education; the narrator is superintendent during the cold war where “science will be king, elected by panic.” And, the loss of the schoolhouse the narrator feels is all the more poignant with such a terrible setting as the McCarthy era.

However, education is only a small piece in the complex experience of Paul, our narrator. He is coming of age, and the book shows how seemingly small moments impact us and our characters forever, as Shelley has already discussed. More than anything this book is about childhood, the confusion inherent in growing up, the wonder at new adventures, the realization that adults aren’t always what they seem, the feeling that this moment will change the rest of your life—everything that comes with discovering where you fit in, which transcends the place and time of the novel. In a sense, even though times have changed, “childhood is the one story that stands by itself in every soul.”

Lastly, looking back through my notes, I wonder how nostalgic the book is meant to be about the past. I am always skeptical of hoping for the “good old days” (unless I was a white rich male), and there are moments in the text that show perhaps Doig is too. It is always dangerous to wish for previous moments in times of nostalgia because we gloss over too many of the problems and only see the good. We tend to romanticize these moments, which skews the reality of it.

Overall, I thought it was prettily written, though I wish he further explored some of his themes. For me, it is hard to long for the days Doig writes about, though I see the value of them as a piece of our history. I am too much of the information, blogging and Facebook age to really wish to live in the time and place he writes about.

Taking the fear down a notch...

Oh my dear Melville, let me try and cheer you up.

I too often ride the waves of this same disappointment, especially after seeing the bestseller list at Borders (Sarah Palin? Stephanie Meyers??) or after teaching a class of apathetic teenagers. But two things usually make me feel better: 1) Perspective 2) My own intellectual journey.

[I do not have exact statistics for the following assumptions, so if you have more exact facts, please feel free to correct me.]

I think every intellectual (or reader or avid learner) in every generation feels like his/her society is decaying intellectually and that pop culture and contemporary fiction are getting stupider. Also, the thinkers always seem to feel like there is only a small percentage of those who care about intellectual pursuits…and they are probably right. But does this truly mark a decaying of society or is it just natural that the “intellectual” group is always smaller? And, is our society really losing readers and thinkers in comparison to other generations and societies?

When we look back 450 years ago, only a very small percentage was literate; only the wealthy or a specific class of people (as those in the church) could learn to read. Reading was a luxury many couldn’t afford or just weren’t allowed to do. Then, Luther, Calvin, and others preached that every one should be able to learn and the reading population expanded (this is an oversimplification of a small part of the reformation). However, it’s not as if every single person began reading and studying; more people were allowed to do it, but it’s not as if every person jumped at the chance (I imagine the pay was still as low for professors as it is today).

And, it’s not as if everything published was Literature. The pop culture “trashy” lit has existed since the expansion of the reading population. We’ve had romances since the medieval period, had crime pamphlets in the early modern, and had “dimers” that came out of the American West. Shakespeare wasn’t the only one writing in the Renaissance, like so many of my students think. And, not everything that was published was as good as Shakespeare.

Readers and writers have had to defend the importance of literature for a long time as well. Over these hundreds of years as each new literary movement came about, there were literary articles about defending the importance of literature and defending the newest art form or literary movement. Since there has been literature, there always seems a defense to accompany it. And, like I said each generation has the “intellectual” decrying the ignorance of their society: Milton, Swift, Alexander Pope, Sidney, Wordsworth, Wilde, Joyce (I’m not so good with the Americans), etc etc etc. So, are we really any different? Is it just us? Maybe the general population has always been that illiterate…[Part of today’s issue is that with the internet we are far more inundated with the opinions of the ignoramus, so they have just appeared to multiply]

I think the problem we as educators have has to do with the fact that today (mostly) everyone does have access to education. What’s frustrating is that SO many seem to take this access for granted. Teachers who have been in teaching for years say there does seem to be a shift in today's students. But are today’s kids really dumber or is just a change in their attitude and priorities? And, isn’t shifting attitudes inevitable in a changing world? Again, is it really a sign of intellectual decay or just the decay of manners and maturity?

Whenever I start to harp on these teenagers I have to ask myself: what was I like when I was their age? And, I have a confession to make: I didn’t always read the assigned books nor did I give a crap about Shakespeare. First, I had really awful English teachers who didn’t even seem to take us or our opinions seriously. They were jaded and didn’t seem to think Shakespeare was all that relevant to the world. And, neither did my parents. My mom read to me, which I think developed my love of reading in general. However, it’s not as if I was ever asked to consider the importance of literature to my life; reading was a hobby or fun activity, nothing more. I always liked reading and had an interesting imagination, but I did not spend my high school days seeing Marxist implications in The Great Gatsby. In fact, I really did not see the importance of literature until I was a senior in High School and I was assigned to read 1984. I had meant only to scan the book when I found myself sucked into the story, and for the first time really wondering what it all meant. It did not just entertain me, but for the first time it made me think. It was frightening and it made me confront many of my beliefs, crushing that moral absolutism that so often comes in the young and opening a door in my mind.

Yet I did not enter college as an English major; I actually started as a criminal justice major. (I had grown up watching too many crime shows and wanted desperately to be a spy). My first criminal justice class was taught by a rather large woman who used to work as a parole officer, and the first day she said to us that if we thought real life was like CSI than we should go home now because we were going to be severely disappointed. Devastated that my romantic vision of spy life was not to be, I asked a friend back home for some advice. She asked me what I liked to do most, and when I realized it was reading, I decided to sign up for some English courses (not without some sniggers and comments like “what will you do with THAT degree”).

My first English class was a British Literature course; we started with Beowulf and ended with Paradise Lost. I remember reading Beowulf in an evening thinking it was the most fascinating and beautiful piece I had ever read. I didn’t understand half of it nor could I articulate all it made me feel and think about. But it did make me realize that literature was important to my life and that even though I read a lot, I was far from being well-read. By the time we got to Paradise Lost, I had recognized why books and stories and language were fascinating and important, through the help of a really amazing teacher, of course.

I tell you all of this not to bore you with the mundane details of my life, but to show that maybe students aren’t as apathetic and ignorant as we think they are. Maybe they just haven’t found that book that is, as Emerson calls it, their paradise. There were many other factors that kept me from thinking and reading beyond my comfort zone as a kid and it took awhile to break those. I did not become a really good student until I was a junior in college, when I decided I wanted to get my PhD.

I’ve become very cynical in the last few years, and it has as much do with the petty infighting inherent in today’s academia as it does with the illiteracy of my students. I have recently decided I am taking myself (and the world) to seriously, which I think explains my current reading trend (I have read 7 young adult books in the past 2 weeks). It is not to say that I do not think Literature is important anymore, but I needed to be reminded why I wanted to work so hard to get a degree in the first place: I love to read because it’s fun. When we are faced with same feeling of “literary doom” as Melville so aptly calls it, I think we need to have a little perspective and hope. Not every student will find their way out of the Twilight storm, but some will as they always have. The literary apocalypse is not around the corner, as John Stewart told us yesterday, we need to “take it down a notch.”

A short post on some small thoughts...

I was intrigued by Melville’s previous post and I wanted to respond at length because I think it sparks a longer topic: What does our reading say about who we are?

I think Melville’s steadfast loyalty to a few books speaks volumes about who she is. (Loyalty is one of her best qualities—I hope she doesn’t mind me saying this about her).

If I could describe the type of reader I was it would be passionate and devoted yet inconstant. When I read a book, as previously mentioned, I will be completely rapt; I will devote all my time to a book I love and come up very little for food and company. When I am with a good book, I need nothing. Then, when the book is over, I despair because I miss whatever I found in that book. However, I can never reread a book. I have tried, but I find all the magic is gone. I know this part of the story, and I do not want the same story; I want a different one. I like the newness of a story, the discovery of characters and then watching them grow. I like to unfold it and see the plot for the first time. (I have reread books for school—and I will say it is helpful analytically, it’s just not as fun).

And, I find that I do not feel the same way about it over time. I hated Jane Eyre when I was in high school and loved it in my twenties. When I was a kid, all I read was mysteries, but now I do not find them as spectacular as I once did. I can be completely enraptured by a book and then in a few years I will wonder what I loved so much about it. Just as our palates, I think our taste in books develops and changes over time, which I guess why it would be interesting to reread a book with different eyes.

I also find that an attachment to a certain book at a certain time reflects a part of my life—and I think that it does for others also. I can remember reading Paradise Lost for the first time and having it absolutely shake my life. It shifted my future and I think its turmoil and confusion spoke to me. Although, Paradise Lost is different to me for that reason; it is my soul mate text, and the only book I am and always will be loyal too.

Any thoughts on the type of reader you are and why?

How do you cure an addiction?

Firstly, I apologize for my lack of posts; I have been moving across the country. (More on that on a later date).

Secondly, I must admit I have this addiction, which becomes aggravated when I pick up a superbly original book, or in this case, a series. When this happens, I become so engrossed that I ignore everything (everyone) and can’t do anything until I finish (also why I didn’t post last week). It’s usually not a big deal, but when I am supposed to be moving and looking at houses, this addiction interferes with my real life. It is times like these that I am grateful for my husband who puts up with me, or lack of me, for three days until I finish whatever book I am obsessed with... [One time we had to go to a friend’s house for dinner, but I was so close to finishing a book, so I made him read me the ending as I drove—he was annoyed, but he did it].

I usually never take more than a few days to finish a book because something in me needs to know what happens (even if I am not particularly fascinated or even entertained by it). However, it is rare that I become so obsessed it is all I think about; the characters are so complex and fascinating that I want to know more about them, the plot is so entertaining that I can’t help but continue reading, and the ideas are so fascinating and original that I take days to digest all that I’ve read. It is also rare that a young adult series has this affect on me.

When I was twelve (okay maybe fourteen) I was lured in by the Harry Potter series because Rowling created a world I wanted to escape to. Despite the fact that a war brewed and an evil wizard killed without restraint, the fantastical world of magic appeals to children living such mundane existences with no such thing as magic, which is why I think children still love it. However, there was nothing particularly intelligent about the plot; it was still rather a basic “hero’s journey” and the characters rather typical. Especially, as the series ended, the plot became a cliché as if Rowling gave up and wrote the formula to please her obsessed fans (Anybody else roll their eyes at the nice and neat epilogue? Though, I admit I still read the 7th book in a day, and I will go see both movies this year).

The Hunger Games series is different.

It may not be a world I want to escape to, but it is a world I cannot stop thinking about.

Although it is labeled as “young adult,” there is nothing “young” in the ideas, in the story, or in the characters. I finished the series at 2am on Sunday night (I started Friday and there are three books), I reread the ending Monday morning, and, come today, I cannot stop thinking about it. The series opens in a dystopian, Orwellian America where the children in twelve districts of a corrupt capitol await a deadly raffle. To punish a rebellion that happened 74 years prior, each year the capitol chooses one boy and one girl from each district to play the Hunger Games. Twenty-four children total must fight to death in an arena filled with deadly obstacles as the districts watch live; there can only be one winner. However, this year will be different, setting a rebellion into motion with a young girl at the center: Katniss Everdeen. I do not want to give away any more specific details so that as you read, you can be just as fascinated by the plot’s numerous surprises as that is what makes the series such a fun read.

But what makes the series so smart, is Katniss. It is the first popular series with a strong, intelligent, and compelling female character who is not cliché or obsessed with a boy or made weaker by the presence of male characters. Although there is a romance, it is not the stupid cloying unrealistic romance that fuels lesser series with female characters. It is not the main concern of Katniss, only a fact of her life as a young woman reaching maturity. And, it is the real and painful messy love that is reminiscent of adult classics, yet the series maintains originality as Katniss never acts like a cliché or like the reader expects or like she thinks she will. And, these relationships only spur greater universal concerns and questions about love and life; they make the reader think about why we make the choices we do and what motivates our desires and goals.

Furthermore, the series central concern is with the horrors of human nature, asking similar questions that 1984 raises about the nature of power and control, about human complacency and defiance. The series asks: at what point would you fight back? How much pain could you go through? How much would you let yourself be changed by circumstance? Could you kill an innocent child to save yourself? Is there a right way to rule a society? And, much like in For Whom the Bell Tolls, in a rebellion, how can you tell which side is good or better? Although we may not live currently in a dystopian world, at times it feels we do have our own Hunger Games; there are times we have to make choices as a society where we must choose the lesser of two evils. And, the books make us think about our own world; there is a fine line between good and evil especially because these definitions are constantly shifting. The book also shows how politics in general is just a bunch of bull.

And, it is the way that Katniss explores these issues within herself that is truly grabbing. Although it may be typical of young adult fiction to feature a young character who must take on adult concerns too early, it is the way she confronts the above issues that makes this book a contemporary classic. The youth are the faces of a rebellion, and the way the book deals with these power-plays is truly fascinating.

As a hero, she is not perfect, and she compels the reader forward because she is confused and in pain but refuses to succumb to it. She is strong in order to protect those she cares about, but she is not invincible and her weaknesses are ours. She sometimes makes the wrong choices to do what she perceives is right because unlike other kids’ series, there is not a clear distinction between who is acting for good and who is acting for evil. [Just a sidenote: it always bothered me that Rowling made Harry such a Christ figure. Notice that he never actually kills anyone; even Voldermort’s death is mostly an accident.] The rebellion was not an easy automatic choice for her and the bad guy does not wear a black hat. Furthermore, her strengths are not the typical hero’s; she has emotions that often mess up her plans and those of others, and importantly, it is her compassion when others do not have any that makes her a great leader.

If you have read the series, or other young adult series, I would love to hear your thoughts! If you haven’t read it, you really should, and then we can talk about it.
[Also, if you have suggestions for my next addiction, I would love to have some. I miss Katniss and her story, so I need a distraction. My addiction is just a cycle…]

I think this is why I am an Early Modern Scholar

Sorry for the blog silence last week; I was going through major writer’s block.

I’ve just started researching again for a new writing sample, and when I start this kind of project it occupies my mind, leaving little space for other meanderings. For the first few weeks of the blog I have been writing about things on my mind, and what was on my mind last week was research, research about rape. Honestly, I didn’t know how to blog about it. I can write about my personal struggles, feelings, etc., but I struggle with discussing my projects, especially because the subject matter is usually uncomfortable for some people.

Three things happened this week that made me change my mind: 1) I read half of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, which has 3 horrific rape scenes; 2) I’ve been reading nothing but articles on rape and gender for the last week; 3) I read an interesting article on the Huffington Post about Women’s Literature and Chick Lit (which are sometimes insultingly conflated as the same) [http://www.huffingtonpost.com/diane-meier/chick-lit-womens-literatu_b_678893.html].

When (non-English majors) people ask me about my research, I first ask do you really want to know or are you just being polite. If they really want to know, I explain that I study representations of rape in early modern English culture and that coerced consent meant consent, so many victims were treated as guilty. Then explain some of the implications of that for the early modern culture and for our own. I am usually met with two responses: the polite “oh, that’s nice” and the argument, “women have it so much better now, why do you keep making a big deal about it?” So oftentimes to avoid arguments that are based on assumptions from Law and Order and about how some women do “ask for it” (don’t even get me started on this horrendous response), I usually avoid discussing my project with people who aren’t in my field. I also get very emotional/ passionate (something I am not necessarily trying to rid myself of because I think it adds to my insight, but at least control in front of people who equate emotion with lack of knowledge--these are usually the same people who think that some women “ask” to be raped); I get emotional because it is a deeply horrific topic, one that our society seems to be desensitized to like every other form of violence.

However, the reason why I research what I do is because I think it is so important to talk about how we represent rape in society and how it speaks to constructing our views on gender and place. This matters because even though women “have come far” (yes, we no longer are bartered and sold as goods and hooray we can own property), as the Huffington Post article reminded me, there are moments when women are told that there is a separated, constructed place for them and their women things (like domestic space), and this place is usually positioned below the male space.

Dragon Tattoo is one of the first modern books I’ve read with a horrific rape scene. I do study rape, but I think it is easier to emotionally remove myself from the older texts. And, in the early modern texts, the audience never witnesses the actual rape--it is always done off stage; the audience sees only the before and after. So I was quickly disgusted by the several rapes scenes in GWDR and had to stop reading for awhile. I know it shouldn’t really matter if a rape is implied or in detail; but for some reason, I found the details more exploitative--and I have yet to figure out why these scenes are there other than for shock value.

What I did find interesting was the response of the victim (importantly she is considered a victim unlike the early modern hero). In the early texts, raped women were shamed and disgusted by themselves because that is how misogynistic societies told them how to feel. However, Lisbeth in GWDR, is not at all ashamed, which in some ways is empowering; too often we still construct sexual purity as more important than human life (I’ve heard women say they would rather be murdered than raped). What I did find disturbing is that Lisbeth was also not ashamed because *it was something normal and that happened*… Yes, she proceeds to torture her rapist and the reader gets some sadistic satisfaction from that. However, I still wonder why the author includes in detail these really horrifying scenes. Why do we need this level of shock value? And, why is it passed off as something normal that just happens to the disenfranchised? Maybe, I should read the end, but these scenes bothered me. This could be why I am an early modern scholar and usually don’t read bestsellers.

And, I think the rapes bothered me more in the context of my research. Too often rape is used as a trope, employed as shock value art and then used to explore other avenues that minimize the importance of the woman’s pain. The literature uses her pain to explore other things besides what it should be exploring: why is rape one of the only crimes that continues to increase? Why are people afraid to discuss the social factors behind this increase? Why would society like to explain away this increase by still blaming the woman? (Something that has not changed since the beginning of civilization)

In a book I read this morning entitled The Female Tragic Hero in English Renaissance Drama, the introduction discusses our gendered language and how it still constructs much of how our society views place. It emphasized the importance of ridding our language of subtle (or not) gendered terms, such as heroine and actress, as they were first constructed to imply that the female version did not quite live up to the male’s. When Diana Meier published her book The Season of Second Chances , as she explains in her Huffington Post article, she was met with critics arguing whether her book was “Chick Lit” or too smart to be qualified that way. Her book focuses on domestic space, has flowers on the cover, and is written by a woman--all of these things automatically make the value of her book as Literature questionable to critics (someone even told her she would never qualify for a Pulitzer because it has flowers on the cover). There are so many things frustrating about her problems, not the very least is that it points to how we still put gendered spaces in an elitist hierarchy and how our society still constructs value based on gender.

And, I think this hierarchy partly constructs how our society views rape. Many investigators still do not consider it a serious crime and there are many rape kits that go untested or are not taken seriously.

Ultimately, I want to remind myself and others why it is so important to remain vocal about these issues. Representations, images, language and story still do so much to impact our world and (as Shelley mentioned in last week’s blog) to construct our national or social identity. I think we need to at least be aware of how our language impacts how the world (and the rules of this world) is formed.

I feel like my blog brings me to so many discussion avenues. Here are some other questions I was considering as I wrote:
When we use rape in literature, at what point is it an exploitation? At what point is it sensitive?
What do you consider the value of shock value art?
How do you see language as gendered in your own experience?
Where can we go from here? What’s after we have the conversation?

[I have been trying to edit to smaller posts, but it’s so hard!]