Margaret
Cohen’s “Narratology in the Archive of Literature” is an intriguing follow-up
to last week’s reading by Moretti, also questioning the canon and the way we
read in the hope of finding ways to productively expand it. Her meditation on
the canon begins, as one might expect, with questioning what makes some
literature worthy of study than others, and I think she is right in pointing to
“taste” and “social expectations” although I hadn’t thought of those as answers
before (52). I guess I thought of the canon as it was explained in the GRE
Subject Test study book—useful as a baseline to gauge literary knowledge. We
all have to have something in common
right? We teach classical myth and even some biblical scripture in high schools
not only because they have been appreciated (and privileged) for millennia, but
because even every day experiences put us in contact with them. We encounter allusions
to these stories, to “classics,” and the canon at some point in the idiomatic
speech of our daily lives—whether we’re chasing our white whale or declaring
pizza to be the food of the gods. Without learning these references, we wouldn’t
be able to communicate with the world that already knows them. In this sense,
the canon perpetuates itself. Without its assignment, one would be considered
ill-prepared for native conversation, much less literary study.
Despite
the canon’s usefulness, it is definitely limiting, as any specialist knows. And
from even a bibliophile’s perspective, it seems unfair to leave out 99% of all
published writing just for the sake of making it easier on us. It is
understandable that Cohen, Moretti, and company would brainstorm ideas on how
to expand the canon to privilege as much literature as possible. I’m skeptical
of what Moretti seemed to be suggesting, which is relying on other scholars to
be right about a text in order to use their analysis for distant reading one
could then synthesize into some kind of understanding. But Cohen offers some
interesting suggestions, including an attempt at cutting out snobbery—that is,
insisting that literature meet some abstract measure of greatness rather than
just being as it is.
Cohen’s
argument that sea adventure narratives leave one with a better payoff when a
reader appreciates its perfectly visible surface qualities instead of
attempting a close reading is a compelling one. She explains that the value in
sea adventure narratives such as Robinson
Crusoe is in the action of the story rather than something repressed by the
text (66). I rather like this idea of appreciating a text based on what it
says, and in it being a test of a critic’s attention to detail rather than his
or her imagination or assumptions about its author. An approach like this
almost leaves the text with more integrity.
This
argument leads into Cohen’s final meditation on whether literary scholarship is
an art or a science. While I like to think of literary scholarship (not just
literature) as an art because of the emphasis on original thought and the
creativity it takes, it is a viewpoint that can very easily lead to snobbery.
By implementing more distant and/or surface reading, one can more easily
approach it as a science—an activity that follows methods and procedures and
attempts a measure of accountability. But Cohen’s conclusion is that
scholarship may be better described as a craft, invoking cunning and talent but
also skill and precision, something of a balance between the two. As the word “craft”
evokes for me the practice of creative writing, a practice recognized as an art
while still very firmly considered hard work, I think it a fair word to apply
also to literary study.
I think that what you said about the literary canon as self propagating is an interesting idea. I'd thought of it as something that's become culturally ingrained, but it hadn't occurred to me that it perpetuates itself. You've got a point; the literary canon informs our culture which, in turn, cements the place of the canon and bestows significance on canonical tests.
ReplyDeleteI'm also interested in what you said about the universality of canonical literature. Universality is complicated. I'm glad that you brought it up and I feel like it's worth unpacking.
For a while I would have agreed that the (Western) canon is universal, but recent talk about decolonizing the literary canon has got me thinking about whether or not a book really can be universally relevant. On one hand there are certain experiences that transcend cultures and social identities. I'm always a bit astounded when I pick up a piece of literature that's hundreds of years old but still resonates. On the other, there is the question of representation. Since the current canon of Western literature is so overwhelmingly straight, cis, white, male, and able-bodied, there are certain perspectives and experiences that are largely absent. There are also other experiences--those associated with the aforementioned white maleness--that are over-represented and which are taken to be universal but actually lack resonance with a large part of the readership.
Can something be exclusive but still universal? Can it be universal in some ways but limited in others? Can a small, non-representative group of people claim to speak to (or for) everyone?
I agree with your skepticism regarding Moretti's implied reliance on other scholars to create guidelines for a synthesis of understanding. What I took from the essay was that the whole point of distant reading was to form a new way of looking at texts, rather than looking for others to define quality literature. I also liked Cohen's meditation on sea adventure as being critiqued on the action of the story as opposed to a close read. I wonder if detective fiction would fall into this category - where the unfolding of the mystery is the basis for analysis.
ReplyDeleteThe surface reading approach came up in my office hours yesterday with a student who has just switched majors. Coming from the sciences, she was concerned that she doesn't understand the right methodology to tackle English effectively. I told her about surface reading and how it might be a useful tactic at this stage before she is fully immersed in literary devices that take some time to become familiar with.