Breaches of Ownership

Bennett states in his criticism that the author is the "owner" of his or her work and that the labor of the person is intellectual property. This thinking explains our aversion to plagiarism in academics.

Ownership is clear when the copyright is present, but how do we prove ownership on the Internet? "Borrowing" occurs incessantly, and sites such as Wikipedia show layer upon layer of so-called authorship. These sites are owned by no one, and the origin of ideas becomes increasingly hazy. While the Internet often reflects and increases alienation and individualism, it seems to me that this layering of authorship resembles the original storytelling that Ohmann celebrates. Perhaps we are regressing into a form of synthesis.

Replacing the Gatekeepers

I find Richard Ohmann's idea of gatekeeper intellectuals fascinating, especially in the context of multiculturalism. Ohmann believes that these gatekeeper intellectuals determine which works of fiction amass a broad readership and receive critical acclaim. Essentially, they create the classics by approving of works that reflect the cultural ideologies of the day.

But what happens when gatekeeper intellectuals become more open-minded, when they allow the creation of classics that do not reflect the lifestyles of America's supposedly homogeneous readership? I consider works such as Ngugi wa Thiong'o's Devil on the Cross, which concerns itself with issues of neocolonialism in Kenya. This work appears to break down the ideologies that support social and economic hierarchies, but yet it has achieved critical acclaim and substantial readership on American university campuses. Perhaps it has not acquired the status of "classic literature" yet, but inclusion within the canon is not out of the question. When narratives supporting the plight of the socially and economically oppressed do enter into the canon, have these so-called gatekeepers fallen asleep?

Perhaps the inclusion of works that celebrate Marxism and multiculturalism-- which break down the conservative cultural establishment-- signals a shift in the hierarchy, not necessarily its abolition. This hierarchy has re-assigned values, giving some new ideas dominance over others.

Novel vs. Story

Walter Benjamin's "Storyteller" confused me at first because I had trouble distinguishing between the stylistic characteristics of the story versus the novel. I understood the concepts surrounding Marxism and production, but I needed to take a closer look at what makes the story unique.

One of my questions surrounds the issue of storytelling within the novel. Theoretically, an author could write down a story that has passed from generation to generation and publish it in a book. Would the author's actions-- which would be residual of a previous society-- be inherently bad, according to Benjamin?

I think Benjamin would disapprove. Although a novelist can publish a tale with the sole intention of sharing oral tradition and thus enriching the rest of the world, the author is still complicit with economic interests. To Benjamin, the act of publishing places the author-- and his or her good intentions-- under the confines of capitalism.

Perhaps Benjamin would consider the author presumptuous for publishing the story. After all, the act of publication implies that the author's version of the story is the final, complete iteration. The author has the AUTHORity. He or she claims to have finally gotten the family tale right. The storyteller, on the other hand, makes no such presumptions-- at least theoretically. Benjamin writes that "the perfect narrative is revealed through the layers of a variety of retellings." By refusing publication, the storyteller leaves room for multiple interpretations and multiple authors.

Personal Economy and Me

With all of Barbara Herrnstein Smith's talk of personal economy, I decided to delve into the issue for myself. Smith argues that art has no intrinsic value-- only "use" value, or the value that we as interpreters assign it. She states that our personal economy-- our ideals, our cultural background, what we value-- shifts. Supposedly we can't become conscious of our personal economics.

But I wonder whether that last statement is correct. Don't our preferences in art and literature speak to our values? Why, then, should we lack self-consciousness?

For instance, I can consider the titles under my "Favorite Books" list on Facebook. (Perhaps this is a cheesy example, but at least it's honest.) My first title is the Bible, which says quite a bit about my values: I find religion worthwhile, I can envision a divine ideal, I come from a Judeo-Christian background, I appreciate ancient poetry, I value narratives . . . etc. I also included the works of John Donne on this list, which means that I can swallow extended conceits, I respect the past, I read from an Anglo-American perspective, and I value form and order.

Yet another facet of Smith's idea is the concept that personal economies shift. I find this believable, and I can ask myself how my own personal economy shifts. How do my values and ideals change as I read?

For me, the greatest shift occurs when I read for assignments as opposed to leisure. I want my assigned reading to make me think, to draw me into a narrative or a set of ideas. I also find that I value concise readings over lengthy, endless tomes written by authors who enjoy the appearance of their own words on the page. I want to grasp what's written and to be able to formulate a thoughtful response within my graded essays and research papers.

I think that some of my preferences within so-called academic reading bleed over into what I value in the works I read for pleasure. However, my personal economy also displays noticeable shifts. For example, I choose to read books or articles based on their relevancy to my own personal issues, and I tend to prefer nonfiction when I read for pleasure. (What kind of an English major am I?!) I value works that I can pick up again after setting them aside for a number of months. However, the stylistic preferences that I have within my assigned reading carry over in my leisurely reading: I want a work (however informal) to be written well. This means using clear, colorful, and powerful diction, imagery, and syntax as well as strong character development.

I guess I could say that Smith's "Contingencies of Value" fits within my personal economy. It certainly made me pause and evaluate my own personal reading economy.

Life on the Border

As an Anglo-American who has grown up on the border between the United States and Mexico, I have always been exposed to Mexican culture in some way or another. Perhaps I this explains why I found myself drawn to Gloria Anzaldua's "Borderlands / La Frontera: The New Mestiza." I experienced a sense of familiarity as I digested her bilingual text about inclusivity and the need to cast off the shame associated with being "mestiza," or of mixed race. Anzaldua's work reflects the new emphasis in literary theory on cultural studies.

One passage of her work, "Somos Una Gente," spoke to me because it expresses what Anzaldua desires of Anglo-Americans. She writes, "We need you to accept the fact that Chicanos are different, to acknowledge your rejection and negation of us. We need you to own the fact that you looked upon us as less than human, that you stole our lands, our personhood, our self-respect. We need you to make public restitution: to say that, to compensate for your own sense of defectiveness, you strive for power over us . . . . To say that you are afraid of us, that to put distance between us, you wear the mask of contempt. Admit that Mexico is your double, that she exists in the shadow of this country, that we are irrevocably tied to her."

Anzaldua's words of accusation and her call for public restitution do not surprise me (or even anger me) because I have heard similar things during the course of my college education. My interdisciplinary Pluralism course has pointed out that, in regards to reconciliation and the end of racism, white Americans tend to view the individual's decisions as sufficient whereas minorities generally see the need for larger structural changes. Anzaldua's work reflects this pattern because she speaks to the Anglo-American population and accuses the larger population (which is composed of individuals) of committing crimes against the Mexican people.

I also illustrate the pattern in my disagreement: Did I personally steal Mexican land? No. Did I commit brutal acts? No. Do I project my own sense of defectiveness on Mexican-Americans? I hope not. I cannot be held responsible for the regrettable decisions of those who held power long before I entered this world and for those who continue to promote racism. However, if an authentic apology for the acts and attitudes of my ancestors and for those who continue to promote white supremacy will bring about reconciliation, then I would support it.

I appreciate Anzaldua's statement about the need for multiracial collaboration. She says, "I think we need to allow whites to be our allies." This differs from more radical minority groups, such as La Raza or the Black Panthers, who want to eliminate "the Caucasian demon." I see Anzaldua's vision as more realistic, more feasible, because it wishes healing for both groups. Anzaldua's accusations of Anglo society's projection of its own negative qualities on the Mexican hurts, but she argues that "by taking back the collective shadow, the intracultural split will heal." In other words, she seems to say, "The truth hurts, but it will help you in the end." Whether or not I entirely agree with her, I respect her intentions.

Post-Structuralism: From Point A to Point B

I thought I had a basic understanding of postmodern / post-structuralist theory. Was I wrong?

This week, we looked at Foucault's teachings on what "writes" literary works. Foucault argues that a work is "written" by the mind of the group surrounding it-- it is a "fiction of discourse." He emphasizes the meaning of the author's proper name and concludes that only cultural discourse makes a work literary. Much of this seems foreign to my previous understandings of this movement.

I knew that postmodernism emphasizes the importance of context and the theory that works do not suddenly appear out of nowhere but rather are shaped by their "situatedness" within history. This coincides with Foucault's thoughts about the authorship of culture-- that the people create a work.

However, my previous courses have taught that postmodernism rebells against the modernist mantra, "Make it new," by returning to the past. I did not see this highlighted within Foucault's writings, but perhaps he makes implicit reference to the idea of "return" by acknowledging the importance of context. Related to this concept is the idea that works influence or even create each other. Does Foucault include the texts prized by the author / culture in his definition of culture?

I thought that postmodernism rejected of the scientific in favor of the spiritual or supernatural, but I didn't see this explicitly stated in Foucault, either. If Foucault assumes that the authority culture (which has authored texts) has rejected spirituality in favor of science, and he argues that this authority culture should be questioned in light of power, perhaps he lays a framework for the acceptance of the magical.

Finally, I always equated postmodernism with a rejection of metanarratives, or overarching truths. However, Foucault doesn't seem to make statements about the nonexistence of truth. (If he had, I could have thrown his work out my dorm window, since he would have no authority to tell me how to interpret literature.) Our lecture emphasized that Foucault wasn't concerned with ethics. We assumed that he believed that it didn't matter who authored a work. Does his lack of concern with ethics make him unethical? My heart's response says yes.

Assuming that my previous understandings of post-structuralism were correct, I would like to know how literary theory evolved from the statements of Foucault to the tenents declared in today's university courses.

Is the Author Really Dead?

In "The Death of the Author," Roland Barthes' theory illustrates how the literary theory of authorship had shifted from the blossomings of Romanticism to the structuralism of the 1960s.

I can see Barthes' idea of authorship as "mixing writing" as apparent in our education. Certainly what we read influences our creative writing, sometimes in the form of overt imitation. Our Introduction to Creative Writing courses demand that we write in in the style of particular established authors, and so our work does not necessarily belong to us. However, according to Barthes, our copying doesn't simply include the imitation of style: all of our literary devices and "ideas" come from others because of the extent that our writing is dependent on our reading. The remnants of Romanticism in me would like to think of the author as imaginative, though, but Barthes doesn't seem to value the creative.

From what we have read so far of post-Romanticism, I see Formalism as presenting the highest view of authorship. It doesn't seem to me that Eliot sees new works as a mere synthesis of established canonical literature. If the author serves as a catalyst, at least the resulting work has something new about it. In other words, the work does not equal the influences. But Barthes seems to disagree by arguing that our composition is never original.

As an author myself, Barthes' radical idea of mixing writings doesn't necessarily offend me however. (Perhaps I should be offended.) I feel jaded about my own work, as if what I put forth in writing merely imitates other established authors who have heard the muse more clearly. What, then, is the purpose of my own writing when I have nothing new to add?

What Affective Fallacy?

Back in 1949, Wimsatt and Beardsley stated that if a reader doesn't have knowledge of a poem's linguistic background, he or she had no right to judge the poem publicly. How times have changed!

Now that I have reached upper division courses in the English major, I can agree with this statement. It's not fair to a work of literature to judge it without investigation. However, our postmodern culture begs to differ. We can see evidence of this in various aspects of our 21st century society.

We need look no further than amazon.com to see scores of uninformed readers making critical, public judgments of literature. The customer review option makes it possible for absolutely anyone to influence the decisions of shoppers solely on the basis of opinion. This is an example of one such review on Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury:

"I tried to understand it, I even tried to re-read it, but I must need a translator from the South, because it was the most unreadable book I ever tried to read. The only part I remember was a girl sitting on a bed wishing she had boy parts. Give me a break! I know it is sacrilege to say Faulkner should be on this worst books list, but his writing doesn't do it for me."

The Internet has served as the great equalizer in our culture. The ease with which it transmits information makes it significantly easier to critique literary works publicly without the need of a publisher's approval. With the absence of a filter, all critical judgments become equally true and equally authoritative. The average high school student has the same amount of critical clout as the professor with a PhD.

Perhaps this development appeals to some people because of the easily obtained visibility that it promises. However, I see this outgrowth of postmodernism as dangerous. In my opinion, it shows what happens when democracy is exaggerated and taken too far.