The Reader's Duty

What is the reader's duty?

I suppose that question sounds out of the blue, but for me it is something I have been trying to consider for awhile. As we moved into the sections of the course dealing with Ethnic and Feminine theories, I began to ask myself--what should I be reading?

Despite our attempts to change, the fact remains that most of the writers I have read in my fifteen, sixteen odd years of schooling have been white males. Their perspective has been promoted and privileged, and I would think that you would be hard pressed to find someone who wouldn't consider this unfair or wrong in some way.

In class we discussed Ngugi's idea of abolishing English Departments and replacing them with Departments that focus more on the study of language and literature, with the literature of the department's native culture serving as the primary focus of study. We affirm this, because we recognize that his culture has been oppressed by colonization, and this oppression should be lifted.

At the same time that we affirm Africans for wanting to focus on African literature, we chastise Americans for wanting to focus on American literature. Specifically, we look unfavorably upon Caucasian Americans for studying primarily Caucasian (American and British) literature.

If studying your own culture's literature is wrong in some cases but admirable in others, it begs the question: why? Obviously, we would say, because Caucasians have long since dominated the literary scene, and ought to open themselves to the discourse of those Other than themselves, whereas those groups that Caucasians have oppressed ought to have the chance to affirm their own writing.

As I've said, I would not necessarily disagree with this, I would, however, question the validity in being ethnocentric in any way, to any degree. I wonder whether it wouldn't be better for all Language and Literature Departments to try and study the fullest, most balanced variety of perspectives possible. Shouldn't it be the duty of all readers to respect and acknowledge diverse views by reading writers of African, Asian, European, Hispanic, female, male, heterosexual, homosexual, etc, etc backgrounds?

Perhaps that is too idealistic--but is such optimism wrong?

Storytelling in the Internet Age

In addition to taking Literary Criticism this semester, I've also been taking a course on science and technology, focusing specifically on psychological science and technology. In that class we've had many chances to consider the benefits and dangers of the technologies which are cherished fixtures in our everyday lives. As my generation has watched the Internet grow and progress by leaps and bounds, and since it is probably one of the most popular and controversial technologies for my generation, it has been on of the biggest sources of discussion for the class.

One question we have focused on in particular is whether the Internet brings people together or whether it instead isolates us. In my Sci/Tech class we examined aspects such as email, instant messenger, Facebook and MySpace, Skype, etc. However, one aspect we did not spend much (if any) time on, but which I feel relates to the issue of isolation, is the ability we have to "publish" works on the Internet, or to upload works previously published in print to the Internet.

Walter Benjamin believed that works in print isolated both the writer and the reader, especially in comparison to the socially engaging storyteller who relayed personal tales to a physical audience. If Benjamin was critical of printed books for isolating readers and writers, I wonder what he would have to say about the Internet.

On one hand, I can see Benjamin criticizing the Internet as being an isolating force. What is relational about sitting in front of a screen? What is relational about reading about your friend's semester abroad on Facebook rather than sitting together with them and hearing their story in person?

On the other hand, I would suggest that in some ways the Internet is reviving Benjamin's notion of a storyteller--to an extent. According to Benjamin a storyteller relates their own experiences to others and provides some sort of counsel. I would submit that this is done, to some extent, by some people, in blogs. My cousin, for instance, maintains a blog where she faithfully records stories from her life and the life of her family, creatively recording them so that her relatives (many of whom are scattered around the globe) can keep up to date on her life. Since she is relating personal experiences, her reports will inevitably contain counsel based on her experiences.

I wonder what Benjamin would think of this form of storytelling. Would he reject it based on its tendency to isolate, or would he appreciate the return of personal storytelling?

(Adjective?) Writer

"One of the most promising of the young Negro poets said to me once, 'I want to be a poet--not a Negro poet,' meaning, I believe, 'I want to write like a white poet'; meaning subconsciously, 'I would like to be a white poet'; meaning behind that, 'I would like to be white.' And I was sorry the young man said that, for no great poet has ever been afraid of being himself." -Langston Hughes

When I read the line "I want to be a poet--not a Negro poet" I interpreted a different meaning than Langston Hughes did. When I first read the line I thought it expressed a positive sentiment. If I were a poet I do not think I would want to be called a woman poet; I would feel that by tacking "woman" before poet it creates a separation between myself and other poets, "real" poets, male poets. Of course, that might just be the little feminist in me talking. But in any other situation wouldn't we feel offended by such qualifying terms? I wouldn't feel right about someone saying "a woman doctor" or "Negro lawyer." Are they any more or less a doctor/lawyer because they are black/a woman? Does that change the quality of their work?

I can see, that in the case of poets, the nature of the work might change due to race, gender, etc. But despite differences in subject matter, poets are still poets, are they not? Hughes is no more a less a poet for being an African American poet. Dickinson is no more or less a poet for being a woman poet.

Is there a benefit to making racial/gender/etc distinctions between poets?

Limits of Language

Just a brief word or two, before I leave off beating the dead (or if not dead, then dying) horse also known as the subject of gender.

I find it difficult to discuss gender, because our language for it is so limited, so bound up in the established, old ways of think about gender. Woolf had to coin new terms with man-womanly and woman-manly to even begin to talk about gender in a new and understandable way. The words man, woman, masculine, feminine, sex and gender have such heavy, ancient connotations to them--we can't use them without dragging the culturally established meaning along with them. We're still in the beginning of the Conversation on how sex and gender are two different things (or may be, since the discussion has not yet finished). And since we're still at the beginning, still using terms such as man and woman, and masculine and feminine, still hindered in our ability to discuss the issues due to the restrictions of our language.

Even now I feel myself spinning in circles because I don't know of a better way to state my point, but perhaps in admitting that I am making my point: that I am not shaping language to illustrate my point, language is shaping my point.

Please Put the Stones Down

“At the same time that women writers were being reconsidered and reread, male writers were similarly subjected to a new feminist scrutiny. The continuing result—to put ten years of difficult analysis into a single sentence—has been nothing less than an acute attentiveness to the ways in which certain power relations—usually those in which males wield various forms of influence over females—are inscribed in the texts (both literary and critical) that we have inherited, not merely as subject matter, but as the unquestioned, often unacknowledged given of the culture.” – Kolodny (2148-2149).

Sometimes I am really frustrated with feminism. I cannot fully explain why, but what little explanation I have would likely anger staunch feminists. You see, I often find myself feeling poorly for mankind (and by that I do not mean “humankind,” but the portion of society that bears an XY chromosome). It’s not that I don’t recognize, and to an extent resent, that men have been the privileged gender, that they have—for far too long—wielded “various forms of influence over females” but—and here is where I am liable to be stoned by hordes of angry female types—can we really blame the male gender as a whole?

My problem with some feminist writings (not necessarily Kolodny, she merely got me thinking) is that they gloss over the fact that men are just as much a product of culture as women are. We all (men and women alike) inherit “the unquestioned, often unacknowledged given[s] of” our own culture, be they gender related, race related, etc. How can we place such weighty blame on men’s shoulders when—for centuries—these men had no chance to form any worldviews that weren’t gender biased. Right from the womb the entered into a world of vast gender inequality. Their fathers had been raised in that world, their mothers had been raised in that world—that was all they knew. I don’t think we can truly blame men for going along with this “given” any more than we can blame women.

I am sure that this all sounds horrible and absurd. Of course we must place blame. There’s no true merit in the “well they just didn’t know any better excuse.” I wouldn’t try and argue that sexism is right any more than I would try to argue that the South had the right idea with slavery. What I think I am trying to say is that we have to be fair in our assessment—to blame complacent women as much as we blame complacent men. Of course when you reexamine male writing in light of feminism you will find that their work is fraught with gender inequality. But we must also recognize that many times literature, “even in the hands of women writers,” often implied “the inferiority and necessary subordination of women” (2149).

More on the Man Front

There’s just something about feminism that makes me want to stick up for the male population.

I’m all for gender equality, but I really don’t think we’re there yet. Women have been seen as “inferior” to men for…well…a really long time. But now I feel that we’ve gone in the opposite direction, that men are beginning to be seen as inferior. If you want proof of this phenomenon, I challenge you to look at almost any television sitcom—what do you find? Bumbling men who constantly make mistakes, can never understand their significant other (who, usually is some snappy bombshell who is only with the poor schmuck by the grace of God), and generally causes mayhem due to his, well, stupidity. (Of course, you also tend to have a plethora of shrewish wives and girlfriends, which could support a continued inequality for women, but considering that the shrews are usually at least intelligent—and often beautiful—the shrewish-ness can often be explained away as frustration with the bumbler. Wouldn’t you be frustrated if every occasion ended with a cake/pie/pastry in a guest’s face?)

Women have worked quite hard for equality, but I think in trying to make themselves equal to men, women have felt the need to make themselves out to be better than men. I used to describe this as a “pendulum swing:” men had been superior (pendulum at extreme left), women—to gain equality—are overzealous and end up swinging the pendulum to extreme right rather settling in the middle (equality). Recently, however, I found a new metaphor that works a bit better.

My mother works as an office manager at a doctor’s office. Recently she had to forbid the other employees from touching the thermostat, declaring herself the only one able to adjust the temperature. No, she’s not a control freak. The other employees simply couldn’t grasp the way the thermostat works. If they felt too chilly they would move the temperature from, say, 65 all the way to 80. Now, obviously this would then make the room too hot, so they would change the temperature back to 60 or less. What my mother couldn’t get them to understand (no matter how many times she explained) was that although moving the temperature to such extremes will make it hotter or colder almost instantly, that “perfect” temperature will only last for a brief while. What they were too impatient to do was move the temperature by a few degrees and wait for the system to adjust. Sometimes I feel that’s what has been done. Women were too impatient to get equality, wanted to do it as quickly as possible—so they flung the pendulum or temperature or whatever to the opposite extreme; they made men inferior in order to make themselves superior.

What brought on this epic rant? As I read Cixous (and I regret that I do not have a nice quote to insert), I found myself wondering what she would think about the state of gender relations today. Would she be happy with this new inequality? Would she think that the role reversal is justified? Perhaps she would think that men have had their say for long enough, it’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine. I’m not sure. I really don’t have a handle on Cixous’s thoughts; that’s what makes me so curious. Would a woman who wrote so passionately for women be able to feel sympathy for what her cause has done to men?

"The Madwoman in the Attic"

In their book, The Madwoman in the Attic, Gilbert and Gubar write about the artist's "anxiety of influence." They explain it as the artist's "fear that he is not his own creator and that the works of his predecessors, existing before and beyond him, assume essential priority over his own writing" (2025 in Norton). Gilbert and Gubar go on to argue that this anxiety functions much like the Oedipal complex, where the artist seeks to prove his worth as an artist by "killing" his predecessors. This, they maintain, is the struggle that male artists endure; the struggle for female artists is quite different. For women, they argue, the struggle is to find a "female precursor who, far from representing a threatening force to be denied or killed, proves by example that a revolt against patriarchal literary authority is possible" (Norton 2027).

I understand the argument. Men have to worry about proving their worth as an artist, women have to prove that they can be artists. The distinction makes sense, especially examining the history of patriarchy as Gilbert and Gubar do.

However, in reading yet another work that emphasizes the difference between men and women, between their experiences and between them as artists, I find myself wondering when it will end. When will we look at an artist and not have to distinguish them as male or female, but just as an artist? Why can't we just say "author," why do we have to say "female author"? Can't we just accept what Woolf suggests: that we all are masculine and feminine, just in different proportions? I agree with Woolf that an awareness of our sex causes issues--it is what makes us scramble to label artists male or female. I wish we could erase the need for such qualifiers.