I really, really want to read Stephen Colbert's I Am America (And So Can You!). Although I do not watch The Colbert Report on a regular basis, I greatly enjoy the show and Colbert's sense of humor. Several of my friends (whose tastes I trust) have recommended the book to me, one going so far as to read me a portion of the book (as if I needed the extra convincing). Every time I walk into a Borders or a Barnes and Nobles I see row upon row of the book sitting prominently out with the best sellers, mocking the pennies that jingle in the pockets of my sweatpants.
I want this book.
But why? As I was reading Ohmann's "The Shaping of a Canon: U.S. Fiction 1960-1975," I could not help but examine my own method's for choosing a book to read. (Although, I must be honest, with the amount of books I have to read for school, I rarely have the time to read anything that is not found on a syllabus.) I don't read The New York Times, but I do base much of my reading off the recommendations of others. In fact, I still exchange book recommendations with some girlfriends from high school. It's not impossible to imagine that, through a trickledown effect or degrees of separation, the recommendations I receive can be traced back to "elite" critics. I don't find that much has changed since the time period the article tackles. The middle class or professional-managerial class still plays the deciding role in determining the success of books (movies, music, etc). And, when traced back, the root of these decisions can probably still be found in New York, or other metropolitan epicenters.
Why do I want to read I Am America? To be slightly cynical: because Stephen Colbert was a success on The Daily Show and the higher ups decided it would be profitable to approve a spin off show and the show was (and is) highly successful and the higher ups (in whatever field) approved a book because they knew the fan base would make it profitable and that the soaring sales figures would garner attention...yada yada yada.
I would still like to cling to the belief that I want to read the book because I find Stephen Colbert amusing because I need to believe that my tastes are intrinsically determined. Because that helps me sleep at night.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
What's in a form? That which we call a story by any other form...
"The storyteller takes what he tells from experience--his own or that reported by others. And he in turn makes it the experience of those who are listening to his tale. The novelist has isolated himself. The birthplace of the novel is the solitary individual, who is no longer able to express himself by giving examples of his most important concerns, is himself uncounseled, and cannot counsel others." -Walter Benjamin
I suppose my hackles go up because I have grown up on the novel. One of my earliest "book memories" is of meeting the March family and sharing the girls' trials and triumphs in Little Women, and plunging into a good book is one of my favorite pleasures. But it seems, to me, that Benjamin would turn this pleasure into a guilty pleasure. That we readers are somehow cheating ourselves, fooling ourselves by reading the novel.
I can admit that there are differences between the novel and storytelling. I can admit that the author-novel-reader set up does not have the intimacy of the storyteller-story-listener model. But I would not say that only stories come from personal or related experience. Many novels are (at least in some small part) autobiographical, inspired by people, events or experiences in the author's life. And the author of a novel oftentimes writes about the experience of others, just as the storyteller oftentimes passes on stories that he or she first heard from another. The author of a novel, however, also writes the stories of imagined characters. I cannot recall from the article whether a storyteller creates fictional tales, but I would guess that (according to Benjamin) they do not. I would also defend the novel by saying that it too, can take the experience of the characters and "in turn make it the experience of those who are [reading the] tale." Isn't that part of what makes a novel enjoyable, engrossing to the reader? My favorite books are the ones where I feel as though I am right alongside of the protagonist, when their agonies cause me pain, and their joys send my spirits soaring.
I disagree that the author is "no longer able to express himself by giving examples of his most important concerns." Does it make a difference whether the author vocalizes his concerns by setting down his exact experience or whether the author relates his experience through fictional characters and events? I do not think this makes a great difference. Perhaps it could be argued that this makes the storyteller braver than the author of a novel, for the storyteller is willing to lay their personal story bare before an audience while the author hides behind the veil of fiction. But a storyteller also shares stories that are not their own when they relate stories second or third or fourth hand. I have trouble seeing such a stark difference between the author and the storyteller.
I also disagree (quite forcefully) with the idea that the novelist "cannot counsel others." If the story/novel leads the listener/reader to some truth or understanding, what difference does the form make? If a work, for example, leads the consumer to a better understanding of-- let's be flippant--the meaning of life, what difference does it make if the consumer found that understanding in a poem, a novel, a short story, an epic or a oral story? Should we be concerned with the form or the results?
I do agree that in letting oral tradition die we are losing a crucial form of communication, of intimacy. However, I do not agree with the harsh criticism that Benjamin levels against the novel.
I suppose my hackles go up because I have grown up on the novel. One of my earliest "book memories" is of meeting the March family and sharing the girls' trials and triumphs in Little Women, and plunging into a good book is one of my favorite pleasures. But it seems, to me, that Benjamin would turn this pleasure into a guilty pleasure. That we readers are somehow cheating ourselves, fooling ourselves by reading the novel.
I can admit that there are differences between the novel and storytelling. I can admit that the author-novel-reader set up does not have the intimacy of the storyteller-story-listener model. But I would not say that only stories come from personal or related experience. Many novels are (at least in some small part) autobiographical, inspired by people, events or experiences in the author's life. And the author of a novel oftentimes writes about the experience of others, just as the storyteller oftentimes passes on stories that he or she first heard from another. The author of a novel, however, also writes the stories of imagined characters. I cannot recall from the article whether a storyteller creates fictional tales, but I would guess that (according to Benjamin) they do not. I would also defend the novel by saying that it too, can take the experience of the characters and "in turn make it the experience of those who are [reading the] tale." Isn't that part of what makes a novel enjoyable, engrossing to the reader? My favorite books are the ones where I feel as though I am right alongside of the protagonist, when their agonies cause me pain, and their joys send my spirits soaring.
I disagree that the author is "no longer able to express himself by giving examples of his most important concerns." Does it make a difference whether the author vocalizes his concerns by setting down his exact experience or whether the author relates his experience through fictional characters and events? I do not think this makes a great difference. Perhaps it could be argued that this makes the storyteller braver than the author of a novel, for the storyteller is willing to lay their personal story bare before an audience while the author hides behind the veil of fiction. But a storyteller also shares stories that are not their own when they relate stories second or third or fourth hand. I have trouble seeing such a stark difference between the author and the storyteller.
I also disagree (quite forcefully) with the idea that the novelist "cannot counsel others." If the story/novel leads the listener/reader to some truth or understanding, what difference does the form make? If a work, for example, leads the consumer to a better understanding of-- let's be flippant--the meaning of life, what difference does it make if the consumer found that understanding in a poem, a novel, a short story, an epic or a oral story? Should we be concerned with the form or the results?
I do agree that in letting oral tradition die we are losing a crucial form of communication, of intimacy. However, I do not agree with the harsh criticism that Benjamin levels against the novel.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Don't Believe the Hype
Is plagiarism that bad?
Yes, and no. I've been trying to figure out my stance (or really, any stance) only plagiarism for awhile now. We're reminding every semester, in every class syllabus that taking the work of others and presenting it as our own is w-r-o-n-g, wrong. But in some of those same classes, I have learned about the great English poet and playwright, Mr. Bill Shakespeare, who lifted many of his plots from other writers--and we hold his works in highest esteem.
What brought this subject to my mind this past week was the example we were given in class to ponder (example 3). Although the question was "does it really matter who is speaking," that was not the question that lay on my heart. As we have been discussing the role of the author and the author's connection to their works, I find myself wondering what some of the critics we are reading would say if their work was plagiarized by another writer. Would they be angry? Would they see it as a violation of their craft or would they see it as nothing at all? If they view their work as something that loses all connection to them (the author) after it is written, then would they say that it really does not affect them if it is stolen? As usual I do not have answers to these questions, but I do wonder.
As a consumer of film and television, I was struck by the plight of the writer earlier this year when we were in a media drought due to the WGA (Writer's Guild of America) strike. While many people were annoyed that their favorite shows were temporarily off the air, I found myself worrying about, praying about, fretting about thousands of writers that I didn't know, that I had never and would never meet. I was outraged on their behalf, and I while I couldn't wait for my favorite shows to return (The Office), I didn't want to see them come back until the writers that made them possible were given fair compensation for their talents.
Although money matters are always a touchy subject, especially when they're Hollywood money matters, the strike made me consider the plight of the author in the internet age. When anything can be placed on line and read/viewed for free, where does that leave the person who has poured their life into creating the work of art, piece of literature, segment of film that we so gleefully watch online (for free) rather than viewing in it's tangible (not free) form? Although the act of writing, for many authors, is not done for the money, it is how they chose to make their living, so what does that mean when we take the fruit of their labor and do not pay them for it?
This may all sound like ramblings, but it has been on my mind since we so briefly touched on the topic of plagiarism. What does it mean for a writer when someone else takes credit for their work? Or does it matter? So long as the words reach people, spark discussion and thought, does it really matter who says it? Or is it the context? Is it wrong to fake a term paper but okay to take a preexisting plot and turn it into Hamlet and pass it off as your own? Is it okay to fictionalize world history but wrong to lie in an autobiography or memoir?
I find it so fascinating that people cannot decide where they stand on the issue of plagiarism and "lying" to the reader. We love Shakespeare and hate Cassandra Claire (shout out to all the purveyors of fanfiction :D), we accept that history is a fabrication but we lambaste an author for embellishing a memoir and passing it off as truth. But...as I am one of those people, I really don't have room to talk.
Yes, and no. I've been trying to figure out my stance (or really, any stance) only plagiarism for awhile now. We're reminding every semester, in every class syllabus that taking the work of others and presenting it as our own is w-r-o-n-g, wrong. But in some of those same classes, I have learned about the great English poet and playwright, Mr. Bill Shakespeare, who lifted many of his plots from other writers--and we hold his works in highest esteem.
What brought this subject to my mind this past week was the example we were given in class to ponder (example 3). Although the question was "does it really matter who is speaking," that was not the question that lay on my heart. As we have been discussing the role of the author and the author's connection to their works, I find myself wondering what some of the critics we are reading would say if their work was plagiarized by another writer. Would they be angry? Would they see it as a violation of their craft or would they see it as nothing at all? If they view their work as something that loses all connection to them (the author) after it is written, then would they say that it really does not affect them if it is stolen? As usual I do not have answers to these questions, but I do wonder.
As a consumer of film and television, I was struck by the plight of the writer earlier this year when we were in a media drought due to the WGA (Writer's Guild of America) strike. While many people were annoyed that their favorite shows were temporarily off the air, I found myself worrying about, praying about, fretting about thousands of writers that I didn't know, that I had never and would never meet. I was outraged on their behalf, and I while I couldn't wait for my favorite shows to return (The Office), I didn't want to see them come back until the writers that made them possible were given fair compensation for their talents.
Although money matters are always a touchy subject, especially when they're Hollywood money matters, the strike made me consider the plight of the author in the internet age. When anything can be placed on line and read/viewed for free, where does that leave the person who has poured their life into creating the work of art, piece of literature, segment of film that we so gleefully watch online (for free) rather than viewing in it's tangible (not free) form? Although the act of writing, for many authors, is not done for the money, it is how they chose to make their living, so what does that mean when we take the fruit of their labor and do not pay them for it?
This may all sound like ramblings, but it has been on my mind since we so briefly touched on the topic of plagiarism. What does it mean for a writer when someone else takes credit for their work? Or does it matter? So long as the words reach people, spark discussion and thought, does it really matter who says it? Or is it the context? Is it wrong to fake a term paper but okay to take a preexisting plot and turn it into Hamlet and pass it off as your own? Is it okay to fictionalize world history but wrong to lie in an autobiography or memoir?
I find it so fascinating that people cannot decide where they stand on the issue of plagiarism and "lying" to the reader. We love Shakespeare and hate Cassandra Claire (shout out to all the purveyors of fanfiction :D), we accept that history is a fabrication but we lambaste an author for embellishing a memoir and passing it off as truth. But...as I am one of those people, I really don't have room to talk.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Nobody Puts Plot in a Corner
"I do think, however, that plot is a notion that critics undervalue and, hence, often disregard."
(Todorov, 2102)
This does seem to be the trend in some of my classes. We do not disregard plot, but we are more interested in talking about the nuances of a character (their flaws, motivations, etc), or about symbolism, motifs, themes, etc. Plot oftentimes get shoved to the background, considered merely the framework for the story, but otherwise unessential compared to the "deeper" aspects of the story.
While plot is, by necessity, a framework that supports the motifs, themes and characters, I do agree with Todorov that we often undervalue it. Just this evening I was at a meeting where a film major was outlining his vision for his upcoming film. His goal is for it to be a Christian film, with Christian themes, etc, but (to paraphrase) he doesn't want it to be "crappy plot, crappy plot, crappy plot, salvation speech, BAM! conversion." He made (what I feel is) a valid criticism of some Christian works--film, books, etc--in that they focus too much on forcing in a literal conversion of one of the characters, that they forget to make the rest of the work any good. I have observed this unfortunate truth many times myself. In an effort to get at the "higher meaning," important aspects like plot and characterization are sacrificed. Unfortunately, when you neglect your important "base" elements (like plot and characterization), then your "higher meaning" often becomes as unbelievable as the shaky plot.
While I dearly love symbolism, motifs, themes, etc, I would not sacrifice the plot of a work for anything. Isn't that what we look for when we pick up a book? Plot? You can't tell me that when you're browsing in Barnes and Noble's you look for the book that looks like it will have the best symbolism. You don't read the back cover/inside flap for insight to the motifs of the novel. No, you look for a plot that looks, if not fresh (for we can argue as to how many "original" plots there really are), then intriguing.
Sometimes I think we get just a little too full of ourselves, a little to assured of our own deep insight as English majors, or literary critics, or whatever. I think we tend to tell plot to sit down and keep quiet, to not draw attention to itself.
But I say: "Nobody puts plot in a corner."
(Todorov, 2102)
This does seem to be the trend in some of my classes. We do not disregard plot, but we are more interested in talking about the nuances of a character (their flaws, motivations, etc), or about symbolism, motifs, themes, etc. Plot oftentimes get shoved to the background, considered merely the framework for the story, but otherwise unessential compared to the "deeper" aspects of the story.
While plot is, by necessity, a framework that supports the motifs, themes and characters, I do agree with Todorov that we often undervalue it. Just this evening I was at a meeting where a film major was outlining his vision for his upcoming film. His goal is for it to be a Christian film, with Christian themes, etc, but (to paraphrase) he doesn't want it to be "crappy plot, crappy plot, crappy plot, salvation speech, BAM! conversion." He made (what I feel is) a valid criticism of some Christian works--film, books, etc--in that they focus too much on forcing in a literal conversion of one of the characters, that they forget to make the rest of the work any good. I have observed this unfortunate truth many times myself. In an effort to get at the "higher meaning," important aspects like plot and characterization are sacrificed. Unfortunately, when you neglect your important "base" elements (like plot and characterization), then your "higher meaning" often becomes as unbelievable as the shaky plot.
While I dearly love symbolism, motifs, themes, etc, I would not sacrifice the plot of a work for anything. Isn't that what we look for when we pick up a book? Plot? You can't tell me that when you're browsing in Barnes and Noble's you look for the book that looks like it will have the best symbolism. You don't read the back cover/inside flap for insight to the motifs of the novel. No, you look for a plot that looks, if not fresh (for we can argue as to how many "original" plots there really are), then intriguing.
Sometimes I think we get just a little too full of ourselves, a little to assured of our own deep insight as English majors, or literary critics, or whatever. I think we tend to tell plot to sit down and keep quiet, to not draw attention to itself.
But I say: "Nobody puts plot in a corner."
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Art vs. Science
I feel (again I show how postmodernism has affected me) that there must be a distinction between art and science.
The standard distinction (however simplistic) would be that art is emotional and science is objective. That is true, I think. Art has some similarities to science, in that different forms of art have guiding rules and regulations that they must follow (a poem is not a sonnet, for example, if it only has five lines). I also believe that art and science are methods by which we can discover truth; however, I believe that they lead us to two very different types of truth (but that is a post for another day). The difference I want to talk about, is that I see art as an expressive way to illuminate truth. I would say a roundabout way, but that carries connotations that I don't want. Art (and specifically poetry, literature) provides a way of expressing a truth without using that wallop I spoke of, that frying pan to the face. Art is able to do so because of our emotions, because of the way true poets meticulously choose their words, their form, their spacing, their rhythm, so that they evoke in (most of) their readers the emotional response that they want. They pick and pluck at the common experiences and emotions that connect us, playing on them and drawing us to a crescendo of emotion that raises us up to the point they wanted to make.
True, the emotion is not the poem, the poem uses emotions as a tool to bring us to its meaning. W and B have it right when they talk about specificity of emotion (1398), but I feel that, overall, they come down a little too hard on emotion, and veer too far towards objectivity for my liking.
The standard distinction (however simplistic) would be that art is emotional and science is objective. That is true, I think. Art has some similarities to science, in that different forms of art have guiding rules and regulations that they must follow (a poem is not a sonnet, for example, if it only has five lines). I also believe that art and science are methods by which we can discover truth; however, I believe that they lead us to two very different types of truth (but that is a post for another day). The difference I want to talk about, is that I see art as an expressive way to illuminate truth. I would say a roundabout way, but that carries connotations that I don't want. Art (and specifically poetry, literature) provides a way of expressing a truth without using that wallop I spoke of, that frying pan to the face. Art is able to do so because of our emotions, because of the way true poets meticulously choose their words, their form, their spacing, their rhythm, so that they evoke in (most of) their readers the emotional response that they want. They pick and pluck at the common experiences and emotions that connect us, playing on them and drawing us to a crescendo of emotion that raises us up to the point they wanted to make.
True, the emotion is not the poem, the poem uses emotions as a tool to bring us to its meaning. W and B have it right when they talk about specificity of emotion (1398), but I feel that, overall, they come down a little too hard on emotion, and veer too far towards objectivity for my liking.
Responding to My Own Post...
In re-reading "The Affective Fallacy" (which I'm not sure I understood any better the second time around), I found these two passages towards the end of the essay:
"Poetry is a way of fixing emotions or making them more permanently perceptible when objects have undergone a functional change from culture to culture, or when as simple facts of history they have lost emotive value with loss of immediacy." (1402)
"In short, though cultures have changed and will change, poems remain and explain; and there is no legitimate reason why criticism, losing sight of its durable and peculiar objects, poems themselves, should become a dependent of social history or of anthropology." (1403)
I suppose the above quotes would be W and B's response to my long winded question of poet X and poem Y and World War Z. If I'm reading the essay correctly, W and B are saying that if poet X is responding to World War Z, then, for the poem to successfully display the author's intention, people of any time period should be able to deduce, simply from reading the poem, that it referred to World War Z.
I reluctantly admit that I agree, in part, with W and B. If the poet meant readers to understand that the poem was about a fear of growing old (for example), but the majority of readers do not arrive at this conclusion, then obviously neither the author nor the poem have done their duty.
But there is another part of me that does not agree with W and B, simply because what I feel (yes, feel) they want a poem to be is too straightforward, too clinical. I don't want to be walloped over the head with a poem's meaning; I want to have to think about it, to explore it a bit.
I know I am oversimplifying, but I have not yet learned to put aside my own feelings and emotional reactions, so my response to W and B will be an emotional response, not an entirely rational one.
And I'm okay with that.
"Poetry is a way of fixing emotions or making them more permanently perceptible when objects have undergone a functional change from culture to culture, or when as simple facts of history they have lost emotive value with loss of immediacy." (1402)
"In short, though cultures have changed and will change, poems remain and explain; and there is no legitimate reason why criticism, losing sight of its durable and peculiar objects, poems themselves, should become a dependent of social history or of anthropology." (1403)
I suppose the above quotes would be W and B's response to my long winded question of poet X and poem Y and World War Z. If I'm reading the essay correctly, W and B are saying that if poet X is responding to World War Z, then, for the poem to successfully display the author's intention, people of any time period should be able to deduce, simply from reading the poem, that it referred to World War Z.
I reluctantly admit that I agree, in part, with W and B. If the poet meant readers to understand that the poem was about a fear of growing old (for example), but the majority of readers do not arrive at this conclusion, then obviously neither the author nor the poem have done their duty.
But there is another part of me that does not agree with W and B, simply because what I feel (yes, feel) they want a poem to be is too straightforward, too clinical. I don't want to be walloped over the head with a poem's meaning; I want to have to think about it, to explore it a bit.
I know I am oversimplifying, but I have not yet learned to put aside my own feelings and emotional reactions, so my response to W and B will be an emotional response, not an entirely rational one.
And I'm okay with that.
The Intentional Fallacy
Because of the way poetry (and literature in general) is taught, I have trouble completely accepting Wimsatt and Beardsley's criticism in "The Intentional Fallacy." Ever since I can remember, my middle school, high school and even (gasp!) college teachers/professors have given us background information on the authors of the works we are reading. We learn about the time period they wrote in, their world views, their personal lives, their influences.
Wimsatt and Beardsley would probably (for I don't like to speak in absolutes) not like this method of teaching literature. They would probably flop my lit crit book down in front of me, flip to page 1376 and jab their fingers down on the line that reads: "The poem is not...the author's (it is detached from the author at birth and goes about the world beyond his power to intend about it or control it)," reminding me that searching for the author's biographical information to help me determine one of the meanings of the poem is to commit the intentional fallacy.
But this is where I have my hang up. W and B also say: "One must ask how a critic expects to get an answer to the question about intention. How is he to find out what the poet tried to do? If the poet succeeded in doing it, then the poem itself shows what he was trying to do." Alright, maybe that is true. But I still think that meaning cannot simply be gleaned from reading the words in a vacuum. If poet X wrote poem Y in reaction to the horrors of World War Z, then the people in poet X's own time, the time s/he published, then they would not even have to ask who poet X was or what they thought. The people of poet X's time would know that this bizarrely constructed and very abstract poem Y is not abstract just for the heck of it, that is reflects the effect of World War Z. Are the people of poet X's time period still committing the intentional fallacy? They've understood the author's intention from the poem, and they've arrived (let's assume) at the same meaning that poet X had in mind when s/he wrote the poem.
But what about the people who came after? Let's say poet X wrote a century before you or I were even born. If we read poem Y, having no knowledge that it was written after World War Z, we may look at it and say: "wow, that is a weird and abstract poem" and then proceed to interpret the symbols used according to our own situatedness (hurrah for postmodernism). But in doing so, we do not arrive at the poem's meaning. (Okay, and we also run the risk of the affective fallacy, but let's say--for this argument--that we avoided that risk.) Would W and B still say that it's the author's own fault that their intention was not made clear in the poem? Would W and B fault us for looking at poet X's time period for a better understanding of poem Y? If we didn't know a little about the poem's relation to World War Z then, in my opinion, it would be like we were reading two completely different poems.
Meaning doesn't come in a vacuum, and while it's nice to be able to interpret a poem without asking the author's permission, to be able to interpret it in light of our own knowledge, I can't help but feel like we're cheapening the poem. If the author did have something important to say, that would have been clear in his/her own time but less clear as time went by--then what is wrong with knowing that?
Perhaps I am being juvenile, or unsophisticated in my way of thinking. Perhaps I am just clinging to a security blanket of authorial intent. But as an amateur writer, one who merely writes every now and then for the fun of it, I can't imagine how it must feel for someone who pours their all into a work, only to be told that their intention is unimportant.
Wimsatt and Beardsley would probably (for I don't like to speak in absolutes) not like this method of teaching literature. They would probably flop my lit crit book down in front of me, flip to page 1376 and jab their fingers down on the line that reads: "The poem is not...the author's (it is detached from the author at birth and goes about the world beyond his power to intend about it or control it)," reminding me that searching for the author's biographical information to help me determine one of the meanings of the poem is to commit the intentional fallacy.
But this is where I have my hang up. W and B also say: "One must ask how a critic expects to get an answer to the question about intention. How is he to find out what the poet tried to do? If the poet succeeded in doing it, then the poem itself shows what he was trying to do." Alright, maybe that is true. But I still think that meaning cannot simply be gleaned from reading the words in a vacuum. If poet X wrote poem Y in reaction to the horrors of World War Z, then the people in poet X's own time, the time s/he published, then they would not even have to ask who poet X was or what they thought. The people of poet X's time would know that this bizarrely constructed and very abstract poem Y is not abstract just for the heck of it, that is reflects the effect of World War Z. Are the people of poet X's time period still committing the intentional fallacy? They've understood the author's intention from the poem, and they've arrived (let's assume) at the same meaning that poet X had in mind when s/he wrote the poem.
But what about the people who came after? Let's say poet X wrote a century before you or I were even born. If we read poem Y, having no knowledge that it was written after World War Z, we may look at it and say: "wow, that is a weird and abstract poem" and then proceed to interpret the symbols used according to our own situatedness (hurrah for postmodernism). But in doing so, we do not arrive at the poem's meaning. (Okay, and we also run the risk of the affective fallacy, but let's say--for this argument--that we avoided that risk.) Would W and B still say that it's the author's own fault that their intention was not made clear in the poem? Would W and B fault us for looking at poet X's time period for a better understanding of poem Y? If we didn't know a little about the poem's relation to World War Z then, in my opinion, it would be like we were reading two completely different poems.
Meaning doesn't come in a vacuum, and while it's nice to be able to interpret a poem without asking the author's permission, to be able to interpret it in light of our own knowledge, I can't help but feel like we're cheapening the poem. If the author did have something important to say, that would have been clear in his/her own time but less clear as time went by--then what is wrong with knowing that?
Perhaps I am being juvenile, or unsophisticated in my way of thinking. Perhaps I am just clinging to a security blanket of authorial intent. But as an amateur writer, one who merely writes every now and then for the fun of it, I can't imagine how it must feel for someone who pours their all into a work, only to be told that their intention is unimportant.
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