Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Entry 39--AKA: "Why read literature?" [FINAL DRAFT]

Jolene Brown

Dr. T. Morton

ENL 110B

30 July 2009

Why Read Literature:

Literature, Science and the Problem of Subjectivity

Those who cannot empirically measure the importance or value of literature have often questioned the value of it beyond basic storytelling or perhaps historical motivations or moral growth. It does seem counter-intuitive for a person to put a numerical value on the importance of literature in society, after all, the subjectivity that is implied by the idea of enjoyment is interpreted as a strict form of subjectivity, not reconciled to a single value that is the same to each person equally. Examples of this sort of subjectivity are found everyday in conversations about literature: people who will argue that one book is better than another for various reasons or an author is better than another because emphasis of certain stylistic qualities that change importance from person to person. It does seem absurd that the author would intend or even expect his text to have a "universal" interpretation for all readers. With the myriad of personalities in the world and the enormous potential for readership, the possibility of even two people identifying, interpreting and mentally constructing the text in an identical fashion is a statistical fantasy. It is, of course, up for argument that one can even distinguish intent of the author as an identifiable construct, or even that the ideas of the audience can be articulated in such a way to make them available for side by side comparison. It must be asked then, is there a certain particular, universal reason to read literature?

Superficially it would seem that science does not suffer the ambiguity of subjectivity as literature does. Instead, science maintains an attitude of ‘objectivity,’ expecting the same from all other studies. Biology, physics, and chemistry have descended upon the other disciplines as a merciless predator tearing away at the flesh of their victims with methodical scientific evidence to undermining all other superiority with the intended purpose of explaining and defining the world “objectively.” What the humanities, especially, have left are the few remnants of those things not yet explainable by science. Literature, which is at best an abstraction of reality, cannot compare to science with its powers of explanation, but literature has a strength that the sciences do not: literature can rule the realm of the imaginary because it is not limited by the numbers, empirical measurements and scientific method that bars science from exploring those things inside the realm of the mind. The measurements that science demands are exactly those things that literature can operate either with or without, so the flexibility of literature is exemplified in its flexibility of not demanding an empirical construct.

Of course it seems that literature has a certain inherent subjectivity in the way it is constructed that is eliminated in science by the use of methods and standards of measurements. For example, literature is often told from the perspective of one or two characters, which may or may not be identifiable with the audience for which the piece is written. This identification (or lack of) on the part of the audience seems to justify subjective interpretation: if each reader, ideal or otherwise, can cultivate their own an identity that either counters or cooperates with the identity of the character of the literature then is it hard to believe that the literature is creating an individual (subjective) experience for each member of its audience? Surely the author does not create his text with the intent that each reader should feel exactly the same way about the characters or the events. However, science may be expecting too much in their objectivity and find itself victim to the same kinds of subjective problems. Before any scientist can set out to measure his work he must first establish a basis of measurement be it the meter, the ounce, the gram, another construct of comparison. Once he establishes a method for measurement accurate enough for his purpose, he must convince others of the accuracy and relevance of his measurement. This process, though mostly unconsidered by the scientific community, might be a cause for concern only because the implication may be that measurement itself is based on completely arbitrary objects or lengths.

It must be wondered how this gap between science and literature might be reconciled or if it can be at all. The Formalists took a step to create a “science of literature that would be both independent and factual” (Eichenbaum 1062). The Formalists subscribed to the idea that science maintained a conviction for truth, and would not compromise itself to falling short of finding the truth: “science lives not by settling on truth, but by overcoming error” (1062). At first glance it seems that the Formalists may have found the olive branch to science; by adopting its structure and formulating an approach that understood all literature through the same basic “method” there might finally be some way of organizing the value of literature based on a set standard of criteria. Critics would be able to ask the same questions of each piece and attempt to find the answers given and there might be a direct connection between literature and science.

Can Formalism account for the broad spectrum of forms that are interwoven into so many literatures? Mikhail Bakhtin argues for the artistic formulation of the novel as both an aesthetic form and as a versatile use of language that exceeds poetry in its scope. The novel incorporates so many stylistic functions that it cannot be captured by only one set standard or subscribe to the same expectations of poetry.

The novel as a whole is a phenomenon multiform in style and variform in speech and voice. In it the investigator is confronted with several heterogeneous stylistic unities, often located on different linguistic levels and subject to different stylistic controls...These heterogeneous stylistic unities, upon entering the novel, combine to form a structured artistic system, and are subordinated to the higher stylistic unity of the work as a whole, a unity that cannot be identified with any single one of the unities subordinated to it. (1191-1192)

Formalism, because of its limited approach, cannot account for the multi-form structure of a work that is as complex as the novel, where there is more to the from than an algorithm or equation that dictates the placement of words in a kind of universal form.

Where might one turn to reconcile the ties between science and literature? Communication is necessary in both disciplines without which even the most basic of ideas cannot be constructed for consideration among peers or the public. The next place to look might be found within the one thing that both disciplines have in common: language.

At any given moment of its evolution, language is stratified not only into linguistic dialects in the strict sense of the word…but also…into languages that are socio-ideological: languages of social groups, “professional” and “genetic” languages, languages of generations and so forth. (Bakhtin 1199)

There are, of course, different kinds of languages for different disciplines, made clear when one directly compares the words and styles used by science and literature when communicating within the disciplines. However, the fundamental elements of language are present, the syntax and grammar rules remain mostly intact, and communication can be maintained between two different people of two very different disciplines with mostly ease and only little explanation of terms. The reconciliation then, must take place within the structure of language itself and the recognition of the heteroglossia that permeates the language throughout, lending itself to constant comparisons and contrasts for the sake of importance or social relevance.

Though taking a scientific approach to literature does not seem effective in its empirical study of literature, at least in the way it has been explored by the Formalists, one might be inclined to wonder what would happen if science was explored through literature. Science fiction explores the ideas of science in great depth, but another way to look at science ‘literarily’ might be to take scientific theories and explore them not only as if they were fiction, but postulate them as fiction, removing entirely any links to the reality which they try to explain, and instead imagine the possibilities of a world where these empirical facts were deemed meaningless or unimportant. Given the arbitrary nature of measurement, as described above, it is not much of a stretch to imagine the shortcomings of science in such a way to render the discipline helpless in the realm of the imaginary. Literature, on the other hand, can operate both in the realm of science, as a tool for exploring hypothetical scenarios, and in the realm of the imaginary, by creating worlds where the laws of science are not only inapplicable, but deemed completely useless or even unnecessary.

For example, in science the concept of time is an important tool of measurement to assist in the accuracy of experimentation and longevity of scientific measurement. Time is not questioned in science except to establish a ground for comparison between experiments and it is not doubted that time is an influence on the outcome of experimentation. Literature, in the realm of science, is also subject to time—the time of the reader to sit and physically read the text—which constitutes participation in a sort of science experiment by timing the point at which a subject begins reading and finishes reading a text. Once the same experiment is moved into the realm of literature, the same rules do not necessarily apply: within the text what is postulated as truth is what is true, regardless of the experience of the reader. If an author writes, for instance, that there exists no concept of time within the frame of the novel, then it does not matter how much science attempts to interfere with the experience of the words on the page, the literature is impenetrable to the effects, and science is helpless to influence the experience of the reader since science cannot operate in the imaginary, enforcing absolute objectivity and adherence to its rules.

Why read literature? Literature is an opportunity to cultivate ideas in a realm free from the constraints of not only science, but also of subjectivity. Though it feels like a safe argument to say that all literature is subjective, due to the nature of language, without any inherent qualities, it can be argued that the perceived subjectivity is only a product of disciplines—like science—enforcing rules and methods on the world in an attempt to make sense of reality according to their own standards. The rules are an illusion to bring sense to an otherwise unpredictable world. Even the rules of language fall victim to the incessant rules and regulations of science, but they are only constructs of the human mind. These constructs allow us to see patterns, but they also enforce the rule of subjectivity—an interpretation that can only be conceived of within the constructs of the rules of both science and literature. Literature, however, offers more freedom for ideas, allowing the mind free reign and ultimately an escape of the confines of law and rules, which may be seen as a great reason to find one lost in a good piece of literature.

Works Cited

Bakhtin, Mikhail. From Discourse in the Novel. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. First Edition. Editors: Leitch, Vincent B., et. al. W.W. Norton & Company, New York and London, 2001. Pp. 1190-1220.

Eichenbaum, Boris. From The Theory of the “Formal Method”. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. First Edition. Editors: Leitch, Vincent B., et. al. W.W. Norton & Company, New York and London, 2001. Pp. 1062-1087.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Entry 38--AKA: "Sensitive to words lately."

You change the equation that I add up to
And all of the things that I thought I knew
You turn it around
I'm amazed
--"Amazing" by Poe

I stay
focused on details
they help me from feeling
the big things.
But watch
the microscope long enough
things that seem still
are still changing.
--"Still" by Ben Folds

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

--"This is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams

Lately, my ear for songs and poetry has become very sensitive. I like it, but it's hard to stop thinking about it.

I have to admit, I like it. It's just distracting. Strange how things work out sometimes.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Entry 37--AKA: "Two blogs in one day?!"

Have to share: I feel so old right now. OLD old. Wow...so, group project today; girl in my group brings up the age in reference to her current pregnancy (apparently people think she's an example of teenage pregnancy) and we console her, then come to find out she's 25. I admit I am 28, after the conversation heads that way. Another girl in my group says something like "was it weird for you to come back to school so old?"

I've never heard a better reason to retire.

(sigh)

Entry 36--AKA: "My Thumb Hurts"

I think there's something wrong with my left thumb. I have been getting this pain in it every so often the last few months that feels--this sounds weird, I know--like there is a spike running through my thumb from the tip through the knuckle, and when it feels like that I can't move it on its own. I have to take my other hand, and bend my thumb, and it pops, and it HURTS. It used to only be occasionally, maybe once a month, but this week it has happened almost every day, in many cases three or four times a day. Of course it becomes worse when I don't have good health insurance. I think I'm going to have to go find out how to see a doctor, or maybe go to the UCD Nurse center--maybe they can tell me.

Another thing is dental. Again, I've started to get a little pain in a tooth, but I can't tell if it really hurts, or if I'm just being paranoid because I don't have dental insurance. Whatever it is, I don't like it.

On a completely unrelated subject, I've been really grappling with an unusual epistemological crisis lately. I keep having these flashback memories of reading Tom McCarthy's novel Remainder, and reading Baudrillard's "Simulacra and Simulation" in the winter quarter. More and more the ideas from that class have become real to me; they are starting to "sink in" and are making me uncomfortable in my own mind. I have begun to question my mind, my thoughts, my.....I don't even know how to explain it. The idea that one cannot "know" something--that knowledge can escape as easily as water through a sieve--is something I find troubling. I think of my mind as a machine, I think most people do in our age of computers, and I imagine the shuffling and reshuffling of information through the electronic wires of my brain; but the mind is not a computer. It is a white mass of nerves and connections, and science cannot even isolate the energy that ideas give off when traveling through the mind. So what is it "to know?"

It's strange to think about.

I've been having weird dreams lately too. I don't know what about; I've never been one to remember my dreams. Leaves, lots of green leaves, and it's cold, but there's this bright light and a frustration that I wake up with, the closest way to describe it is a sort of sinking. It seems almost condradictory, those images with those feelings: now you know what I am so perterbed.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Entry 35--AKA: "Finding the light in the dark."

I suppose I have finally begun the process of coming to terms with my awful high school experience. I never expected to, and now that it is started, I can certainly see it is not going to be an overnight process. I have always joked that I intend to get a good-paying job just so I can afford all the therapy I will need to hash out some of my tucked away angst from high school, but in many ways I always doubted the humor in the joke.

High school was not fun. I've blogged about this topic before. It has been ten years--as of June 2009--since I graduated high school and I am as bitter today as I was the moment I walked across that stage for my diploma. Bitter at so many things: my perceived lack of acceptance, having to hide who I was, the feeling of being under a glass, and--probably worst of all--hating myself because I was supposed to: because that's what everyone else did. Well, maybe not everyone, but as a sensitive and (come to find out) depressed 18 year old girl, it sure felt that way. It must also be said that high school kids are cruel. The pressure to fit in, the pressure if you don't, and the desire to not want to desire to fit in; all of these things add to this ever-increasing angst that, at least for me, made me loath not only the experience buy myself as well, because I would see others who really looked happy, who really liked being there and I would ask myself "Why am I not more like them?"

I have joined some social networking sites in the last 5 years, and it has put me in touch with people that I thought I would never meet up with again. There some bad, of course, but--and this was unexpected--there was some good. It seems odd, but I have found that I have fallen into the trap of all things we encounter in life: I had forgotten all the good things about high school, even if they were just little things, and the people involved weren't major players in my overall high school experience, at least not at the time. Most, if not all, of these people were in the Marching Band.

Yes, marching band was a huge part of my high school experience, and it is the only thing I look back on with any sort of fondness (except of course the beloved Noelle). But until lately, I had forgotten entirely how much it had meant to me, and how much it continues to shape my life. My senior year in high school was probably the hardest for me because so many of my friends that I had the first three years had graduated the year before. However, I have realized that so many of my favorite people in band (and colorguard, of course!) were those who were there my senior year, classes of 2000, 2001, and 2002--those were good kids. They worked hard, they really tried, they made me laugh, and I know they saw me cry. I challenged them, I pushed them around, I yelled at them, I helped them, I asked for their help, and, when it came down to it, they pulled through every time, no matter what, and THEY MADE my senior year.

So, here's to you--my forgotten band friends. You were there when I needed you and I forgot about you. You were overshadowed by all those bad things, but now I've realized that and will focus on the good instead. Thanks to YOU high school wasn't so bad, and thanks to you band is that much more a bright memory.

Thank you.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Entry 34--AKA: "Blogging for Mental Health"

I'll try to keep this short because I have so much homework to do: between the papers, reading and just plain mental run-throughs of highly intense material, my brain is working on overload with a definite shortage of time. I had this migraine from hell yesterday afternoon which I think is part typical mid-quarter stress, part strain of being mentally and physically active from 5 am to midnight three days a week, and part just plain old depression at the fact that I've become used to being called "no-fun."

It seems, as a matter of fact, that the word "fun" over the last few years has really lost meaning for me. "Fun" used to imply seeing my friends, going out drinking, staying up late, watching movies, having absurd parties that involved cheese, or puzzles, making iron-on decal tee-shirts, or doing word puzzles. Now, when I think of fun I imagine just sitting...that's it. Well, I suppose that's not all I'm doing in these visions: I'm not feeling rushed, I'm not panicking about a due-date, not fretting over my weekend time management, or fitting in appointments in where I can without juggling my ever-so-complicated work/school/life schedule. Sitting. What a concept. In these visions it's not about what I'm doing, it's about what I'm not doing. How strange that fun entails a negative connotation--that has to say something, I'm just not sure what.

So, I'm tired. I am looking forward to being finished with my A.B.--FINALLY--in just less than a year. Despite all these mental blocks, and the occasional depression-induced setback, I am feeling fairly good about things. I just have bad days sometimes, and I'm sure that today's was brought on by that nightmare headache last night, which hindered not only my motivation to get any homework done, but also impeded the large portion of my evening, even I had wanted to get it done.

Well, I had better stop putting off my homework now, since my minutes these days are precious and few. As always, thanks for reading.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Entry 33--AKA: "Yes, it really does bother me when you misspell my name."

I suppose some people don't mind, but I'll be the first to admit that I do: I hate when people misspell my name. I can stand it if you mispronounce it; this day and age everyone has a different way of saying everything that the possibilities of pronunciation are nearly endless, plus, I'll always politely correct you. But spelling is another matter entirely: most of the time my name is RIGHT THERE in front of the person writing it down--the room for error is zero to none.

Just for the record:
J-O-L-E-N-E

I think this angst for misspelling stems from my childhood. The only people in my family who have ever consistently spelled my name correctly are my parents and my brother. My parents have no excuse; they gave me my name, entered it on the birth certificate, so of course they are going to get it right. My brother, same deal: he's younger than I am, so his whole life his older sister has been "Jolene." Plus, it's his name with an "l" in the middle and an "ne" on the end--definitely not rocket science here. However no one in my immediately family has ever spelled my name correctly. I have a lifetimes worth of memories involving birthday cards, christmas gifts, and birthday gifts thoughtfully addressed to Joelene, Joleen, Joelean, Jolean, Joelean, Joeleen...the combination of vowel addition/placement is nearly endless. I have to admit, I was always slightly disappointed, as if the sentiment wasn't meant for me, but some bastardized version of me, misspelled out there in oblivion.

I used to think, in my youth, that my name was somehow spectacularly unique; I simply MUST be the only "Jolene" in existence, for how can so many of my nearest and dearest misspell my name with such consistency? It was the only logical conclusion: was was paving the way for the future of all young women to be named "Jolene" and the surprise misspellings only speak to the strange and unique power of my name. Then, as I grew older, I met other Jolenes. It occured to me that perhaps I was not so unique after all. Then the annoyance began...

Jolene is one of the (many) feminized versions of the male form "Joseph" which, of course, is a biblical name (the husband of Mary, mother of Jesus). It is also related (in the forms spelled with an "i" like Joline or Joeleine) to the name Jolie, which is a French name meaing "beautiful." It is not a particularly old name, as it only came into serious usage in the 20th Century, but the popularity has spiked substantially since it was used in Dolly Parton's song "Jolene" in 1974. The song has been covered by a miriad of artists, including The White Stripes, Olivia Newton John, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, Natalie Merchant and Keith Urban. The rock band Cake has also released a song titled "Jolene" but it is not a cover of the Dolly parton song, though it retains some of the darker undertones one might link with the song. Parton's song remains one of the top 500 songs according to Rolling Stone.

I hope this short history and explaination of my name will help clear up some of the mysteries surrounding my not-so-unusual name and help people to spell it correctly. I promise if you do, I will never take it forgranted. I'll even let you mispronounce it from time to time, if that will help.