I wrote a thesis as an undergraduate student. When I finished my thesis (which had a rather embarrassingly stupid title when I turned it in to my advisor; I have since changed "Are You There God? It's Me, England" to "Looking for England: National Identity in Post-World War II Britain"), I was certain that I was going to study 20th century British literature, with a focus on Irish expatriates. I was sure of this up until halfway through last semester, when I realized that I kind of only liked Samuel Beckett and sometimes W.B. Yeats, and I had no desire to read James Joyce... ever. And I loved my 19th century American class. And I wanted to publish my paper on Washington Irving and Kierkegaard and include it in my thesis. I wanted to read more about the theater and its development in the United States. (And I wanted an excuse to write about Artaud again, because really, not enough people read him. Go read The Theater and Its Double. Right now.)
So, here I am, back at the American Antiquarian Society, reading obscure novels about actresses. I'm going to read more into Kierkegaard, education and seduction, and look up a performance history of Rip Van Winkle, and doubtless give myself carpal tunnel syndrome as I prepare to write another thesis.
The strange thing is, I'm starting to like research again. I really enjoyed the hours I spent in the reading room at the Antiquarian Society this afternoon. I think part of it is handling old books. I love leafing through a book that went out of print a hundred years ago, that perhaps no one else has read since 1920. Those books have lives and histories of their own, and I can take these flights of fancy wondering where they had been and where they would go next, how it is that I stumble upon them. There's a wonderful piece in The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, "The Mutability of Literature." Crayon picks up an old folio from the 17th century, and it begins speaking in an antiquated tongue. It had been on the shelf for over a hundred years, and couldn't believe that Shakespeare was more widely read than any other author of the time. I know that the books I'm reading might wonder at Hawthorne's popularity, Melville's ubiquity in American education, and, what interests me especially, the dissipation of theatrics and drama into every aspect of American culture except for the stage.
I'm almost done with being a student. I am still resolved to stop at my Masters degree and not get a PhD, but I'm now starting to appreciate the rare opportunity I have to conduct this kind of research, to read these obscure books, and to resurrect a few names that no one remembers any longer, but knowing myself that these names have something to say, that I should listen.
Showing posts with label Kierkegaard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kierkegaard. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
My Spring Break: Dutchmen and Danes
It's spring break wooooooo! In my grand tradition of taking tropical vacations and getting drunk off my face for spring break, I am writing an essay on Soren Kierkegaard and Washington Irving. (For the record, the bit about drunken spring breaks... in the past few years, I have spent spring break: taking the MTEL, preparing to defend my senior thesis, and visiting prospective grad schools. Yeah.)
Anyway, I wanted to write down a few of my main ideas for this paper, kind of sort things out here and then get cracking on secondary research.
While Irving predates Kierkegaard by a few decades, and there is no evidence of Kierkegaard regarding Irving as an influence on his writing or thought, what first got me thinking about reading these two in conjunction with each other is their use of pseudonyms and fictional sources. This is interesting to me in terms of authorial distance and textual authority. Kierkegaard's pseudonymous "editor" of Either/Or, Victor Eremita, is very careful to emphasize that he did not write these papers and functions in the text as little more than a reader, interfering as little as possible with the papers he "found" in a second-hand writing desk. Similarly, Washington Irving's narrator Geoffrey Crayon frequently references the posthumous papers of Dietrich Knickerbocker as the source of much of the New York Dutch folklore in the Sketch Book. Like Victor Eremita, Crayon regards himself primarily as a reader and an observer, not as the authoritive voice in the text, but a facilitator of a conversation between many texts. Rather than an all-seeing, detached, authoritative author capable of giving final meaning to the text as a whole, in both Irving and Kierkegaard, we get a multiplicity of voice, numerous and contradictory points of view that are impossible to reconcile. For Kierkegaard, this is very much the point, to have irreconcilable differences between texts so that the reader is forced to make an ethical choice between two mutually-exclusive absolutes. I think Irving employs numerous authorial voices and points of view to evade choice, so as to preserve the cultural multiplicity that he saw was dwindling in nineteenth century America. Irving counters the idea that there needs to be a single narrative for the nation; instead of the great American novel, he gives us a series of sketches that stretch across the Atlantic and across hundreds of years. Irving fights against homogenization of American culture by weaving together fragments of other cultures; he is especially fond of Dutch New York, perhaps because the Dutch were the first European settlers in America and he disdained the anglicization that began after the Revolution.
Geoffrey Crayon and A, the author of the first section of Either/Or, both refer to folklore frequently. Folklore and fairy tales are not authoritative texts; they come from the voices of the common people, coming to us from the indistinct, remote past. No one can identify a precise origin, a single author, in folk tales; rather, they are the result of multiple authors, each changing the myth slightly every time it is told, yet preserving something as well.
In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard describes the poet as the spirit of remembrance, and this is a very apt description for Irving's Geoffrey Crayon. Part of what makes Rip Van Winkle so comical is that he only slept for twenty years, yet in merely a generation, everything has changed so drastically that it is no longer recognizable; his community is alienated from the past, and as such, the individuals in it are alienated from each other. Rip Van Winkle, however, serves as a gathering point as the spirit of remembrance; he preserves the past that everyone has already forgotten. Rather than leaving a legacy of wealth for his own children, Rip Van Winkle leaves his stories to the community's children; he is not a father in the particular, insular family, but a patriarch of the entire community, initiating the liminal (children and travellers) into the society through his stories.
Authorship requires some distance, then; in order to be a storyteller, Rip Van Winkle abandons his domestic and work duties. He is not a man of business. Victor Eremita's name implies his distance from society as well; eremita is Latin for recluse, hermit. A also writes that he does not spend much time in society. Instead, he swoops down and retrieves pieces of it from time to time, bringing these scraps back to his nest to weave a tapestry of them.
There's a lot more that I'm going to write about this, but I need to do some more research first. I'm really enjoying this paper so far, though!
Anyway, I wanted to write down a few of my main ideas for this paper, kind of sort things out here and then get cracking on secondary research.
While Irving predates Kierkegaard by a few decades, and there is no evidence of Kierkegaard regarding Irving as an influence on his writing or thought, what first got me thinking about reading these two in conjunction with each other is their use of pseudonyms and fictional sources. This is interesting to me in terms of authorial distance and textual authority. Kierkegaard's pseudonymous "editor" of Either/Or, Victor Eremita, is very careful to emphasize that he did not write these papers and functions in the text as little more than a reader, interfering as little as possible with the papers he "found" in a second-hand writing desk. Similarly, Washington Irving's narrator Geoffrey Crayon frequently references the posthumous papers of Dietrich Knickerbocker as the source of much of the New York Dutch folklore in the Sketch Book. Like Victor Eremita, Crayon regards himself primarily as a reader and an observer, not as the authoritive voice in the text, but a facilitator of a conversation between many texts. Rather than an all-seeing, detached, authoritative author capable of giving final meaning to the text as a whole, in both Irving and Kierkegaard, we get a multiplicity of voice, numerous and contradictory points of view that are impossible to reconcile. For Kierkegaard, this is very much the point, to have irreconcilable differences between texts so that the reader is forced to make an ethical choice between two mutually-exclusive absolutes. I think Irving employs numerous authorial voices and points of view to evade choice, so as to preserve the cultural multiplicity that he saw was dwindling in nineteenth century America. Irving counters the idea that there needs to be a single narrative for the nation; instead of the great American novel, he gives us a series of sketches that stretch across the Atlantic and across hundreds of years. Irving fights against homogenization of American culture by weaving together fragments of other cultures; he is especially fond of Dutch New York, perhaps because the Dutch were the first European settlers in America and he disdained the anglicization that began after the Revolution.
Geoffrey Crayon and A, the author of the first section of Either/Or, both refer to folklore frequently. Folklore and fairy tales are not authoritative texts; they come from the voices of the common people, coming to us from the indistinct, remote past. No one can identify a precise origin, a single author, in folk tales; rather, they are the result of multiple authors, each changing the myth slightly every time it is told, yet preserving something as well.
In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard describes the poet as the spirit of remembrance, and this is a very apt description for Irving's Geoffrey Crayon. Part of what makes Rip Van Winkle so comical is that he only slept for twenty years, yet in merely a generation, everything has changed so drastically that it is no longer recognizable; his community is alienated from the past, and as such, the individuals in it are alienated from each other. Rip Van Winkle, however, serves as a gathering point as the spirit of remembrance; he preserves the past that everyone has already forgotten. Rather than leaving a legacy of wealth for his own children, Rip Van Winkle leaves his stories to the community's children; he is not a father in the particular, insular family, but a patriarch of the entire community, initiating the liminal (children and travellers) into the society through his stories.
Authorship requires some distance, then; in order to be a storyteller, Rip Van Winkle abandons his domestic and work duties. He is not a man of business. Victor Eremita's name implies his distance from society as well; eremita is Latin for recluse, hermit. A also writes that he does not spend much time in society. Instead, he swoops down and retrieves pieces of it from time to time, bringing these scraps back to his nest to weave a tapestry of them.
There's a lot more that I'm going to write about this, but I need to do some more research first. I'm really enjoying this paper so far, though!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Cough Cough Wink Wink
I'm sick and I'm failing to concentrate on reading at the moment. So I thought I'd post.
I'm working my way through Either/Or and I'm really enjoying it so far. I'm using it for my research paper (due in two weeks, good grief!!!) in my class on American literature, read in conjunction with Washington Irving's The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon. I know, it's a weird combination-- an early American short story writer and a Danish philosopher. But it makes sense (I swear); I'm writing about authorship, the writer's contentious relationship with larger society, aesthetic distance and pseudonyms. It's going to be a good time.
If only I could stop coughing.
:-(
I'm working my way through Either/Or and I'm really enjoying it so far. I'm using it for my research paper (due in two weeks, good grief!!!) in my class on American literature, read in conjunction with Washington Irving's The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon. I know, it's a weird combination-- an early American short story writer and a Danish philosopher. But it makes sense (I swear); I'm writing about authorship, the writer's contentious relationship with larger society, aesthetic distance and pseudonyms. It's going to be a good time.
If only I could stop coughing.
:-(
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