The Big Questions...

Reading Percy Shelley and John Keats this week reminded me of the big questions that literary giants often tackle. The sheer immensity of these issues are so large and so largely personal, that authors can write on them for years and years to come. Because they are universal, readers always find and interest in these subjects, and as long a reader puts enough of themselves into the writing, it will be a joy to work through, if not a daunting task.

The two questions in question (ha!) are those of knowledge and immortality. Shelley tackles knowledge in "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty," which isn't so much about aesthetic beauty at all, or about the attractiveness of personality or intellect, but about knowledge itself. Shelley says that knowledge is beautiful, and that it takes on an otherworldly quality. At the same time, he recognizes that knowledge is gained through humanity, through our lives and out experiences. Everything about us has to do with our knowledge, and as we change and grow, our knowledge does as well. Though he views knowledge as something divine, he doesn't think it is bestowed from a higher power. It is the way in which human beings reach divinity, through their ability to gain and develop knowledge and wisdom.

Keats takes on another great question of literary giants, and especially poets, that of immortality. He ruminates that, as his life moves on and he gets older, he is becoming more and more doubtful of immortality. Like most artists, Keats believes that his work will be his legacy, a way he can live on forever, but his problem is different: he isn't sure that his work is worthy of living on forever. He worries that his writing isn't good enough to last, a worry that is as much unfounded as it is necessary. This is one of the most beautiful renditions of such a rumination, something destined to be read, studied, and enjoyed for years to come. The reason being so is it's overall self-awareness and ability to admit uncertainty.

So here we have two major questions from two majors. One wonders how many modern literary figures have new answers for them, or if they could render them as beautiful as Shelley and Keats have. I'm sure, as time and history change, perspectives change, and new answers and insights can be seen through modern works. But these two have laid a steady groundwork, creating meaningful poetry with a beautiful technique.

Interpretations, Authorial Intent, etc...

This post doesn't pertain to any specific author or work that we've discussed this week, but instead addresses an issue that I've noticed arise in every discussion forum over the last two weeks. This idea of interpreting the text, the author's intention, and all of that fun stuff. Being in English classes demands that we talk about these issues, but for me this has always been a pretty simple situation to work around.

It is self-evident to me that interpretation of a text should rely on the context in which it was written (everything from the state of the world to the socio-economic status of the author, and that author's personal and family history), the experiences which the reader brings to the text, and the larger issues which the story addresses, both directly or indirectly. The first part, context, has everything to do with the social, geo-political, and economic climate while the work was created. While more apparent in some works than others, it is rare to find works that exist completely outside of their environment. The second aspect, that of reader's experience, has been debated forever. I find it curious to believe that people assume they can completely remove themselves from their reading of a text, that they can look upon it with virgin eyes and a virgin mind. Our experience colors everything thing we see, from someone's words and actions in front of us to a fictional character's words and actions on the written page. An attempt at a "true reading" of a text by removing the emotional reactions to it is only making it more artificial. Finally, in reference to larger issues, I'm speaking mostly of critical techniques. We can view a work through a certain lens. Looking at a work this way might paint it into a certain corner, but at the same time it provides us with a fresh, new way to view something we might think we have all figured out.

Notice, I did not mention the author's intent as part of our interpretation of the story. The author's intent is his own, and while it might be useful as another way to view the text, this is usually not the case. Many authors have a much more minimal view of their work than critics do. They are often even annoyed by the process of analyzing their work. Creation is a very subconscious thing, so of course it is hard for them to see the true "meaning" of their work.

Not to mention, relying on the author's meaning is downright lazy from a critical standpoint. All intellectual engagement in the text is gone. Reading simply for recreation, this might be acceptable, but as a discipline it is baseless.

The Poet Revolutionary (Wordsworth)

In looking at William Wordsworth, I think the part I like most about the man is his political activism, as much as it was. In a day when artists are often criticized for pushing their political agendas to the forefront of their music and public image, we can see that Wordsworth did the same thing in colonial times. Not only did he write political, rights-centered poetry like " To Toussaint L'Ouverture," but he defended his stance when questioned by others. Often, you find that artists are immersed in their work, so much so that there is no separation between that work and their pulpit. Wordsworth, even though he wrote politically inspired poetry, seemed to be able to keep things apart when he needed to.

In his "Letter to Mary Ann Rawson," Wordsworth states his defense of slave owners. Obviously not a popular advocacy amongst abolitionists, I find this to be a bold and admirable move, if not slightly neglectful to the personal responsibility of the slave owners. Wordsworth rightly says that they aren't responsible for the legality of slavery, but that the legislature is. This is certainly correct. However, there are plenty of things that are legal today that could be considered immoral and contrary to basic human values, and those who participate in them cannot blame the government for their misstep.

I'm not saying that the abolition of slavery was a weak move. It was a wonderful move, a first step in a line of many that would eventually give people of color the same rights as all. However, I find Wordsworth to be in error in his simple deduction of the state of affairs. Are the slave owners 100% to blame? No. However, without their demand for slaves, Wordsworth would have no critiques of the legislature. He seems to take the stance of many neo-conservatives and members of the religious right today. Law makers are expected to dictate morality to the masses, rather than requiring the masses to make their own morality. Perhaps Wordsworth felt the common people weren't ethically responsible enough, and regardless for my admiration of the man's articulate defense of his beliefs, I can't help but find the undertones of his stance do be a dangerous precursor to the conundrum we find ourselves in today.

This is only a test...

Alright, so this is the English Literature Since 1800 blog, where I'll be talking about all kinds of dead (perhaps not?) white people and their goofy creativity. It's going to be a blast, I assure you.