In Letters on the Improvement of the Mind (1773), Hester Mulso Chapone suggests that her young readers read "moral philosophy." These are, she notes, works that help readers understand "human actions." Such works "are particularly useful to young people . . . [and] introduce many ideas and observations that are new to them--and lead to the habit of reflecting on the characters and events that come before them in real life." Reading these books and essays, she claims, will help the reader to understand the world and the people around them. While many students in college (and high school) may be assigned to read Plato, Aristotle, or Plutarch--the ancient writers she may be thinking of--or Addison and Steele or Samuel Johnson--the eighteenth-century authors of moral essays--are these texts assigned as ways of understanding "the characters and events that come before [students] in real life"? Some of these texts, of course, reflect profound philosophical and ethical debates that continue today, but, as advice for real life, Chapone's recommendations seem a bit quaint.
Articulating a debate that sounds even odder to modern ears, Chapone sees a conflict between texts on moral and ethical matters and "fictitious stories," or novels. While she acknowledges the appeal of novels, she also worries that they compromise the "chief purpose of education" which is to "moderate and restrain" the "passions of youth." Here, we see clearly that Chapone is living in a world very different from our own. Surely very few people today would phrase the purpose of education in language that sounds so restrictive. Similarly, we now encourage students to read anything--and there are many recent attempts to prove the importance of reading fiction in particular (see "Your brain on Austen"; ""Read Chekhov"; "Novel Reading Improve Empathy" or just google "encourage students to read!).
In another way, though, Chapone sounds very contemporary--she wants education to be fun. She uses an idea that occurred often in eighteenth century discussions of education: utile dulci. The recommended books are "entertaining as well as instructive"; they will "afford you great pleasure and improvement"; there are "many agreeable and useful books"; these books will "introduce instruction in a easier dress." Utile dulci is a Latin phrase usually translated as "useful and agreeable." Chapone gets at the range of meanings: entertaining and instructive; pleasing and improving; agreeable and useful. This idea of utile dulci remains as important as ever--or maybe even more important. As a teacher, I am constantly bombarded with advice about how to keep my students engaged: don't just lecture; use different media; cycle through ideas within in each class period; use different kinds of activities; have students tweet about lectures.
While I applaud many of these techniques (and employ some), I do wonder about the line between entertaining and instructing. Does entertain and instruct mean education has to be fun all the time? Should we change the material we assign so that it is always agreeable? Who gets to define what is agreeable, anyway? I don't want to "moderate and restrain" my students' passions--or minds--but I do want them to be disciplined, rigorous thinkers. The process of becoming a disciplined thinker might not afford "great pleasure" all of the time! To what extent is it students' responsibility to stretch or change their notions about what counts as agreeable or entertaining? To what extent is it the teacher's responsibility to clothe learning in "easy dress?
Hester Mulso Chapone, Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, London, 1773. Quotations are from 186-187.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Sunday, January 25, 2015
One More Time
A reposted repost.
Around the time the first draft of the first essay is due I start hearing questions that all start the same way: Can I . . . . ? The student then, almost inevitably, voices a "rule" about writing that he or she is worried about breaking: Can I use I? Can I use "you"? Can I use "we"? Can I use contractions? Can I use the word "because"?
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
Around the time the first draft of the first essay is due I start hearing questions that all start the same way: Can I . . . . ? The student then, almost inevitably, voices a "rule" about writing that he or she is worried about breaking: Can I use I? Can I use "you"? Can I use "we"? Can I use contractions? Can I use the word "because"?
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Zombies
How was Seth Grahame-Smith's Pride and Prejudice and Zombies received when it was first published in 2009? Here are a few reviews.
New York Times
New Yorker
Washington Post
New York Times
New Yorker
Washington Post
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
"Any Satisfactory Description"
"Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways; with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all . . . "*
My epigraph comes from the beginning of Pride and Prejudice. Mr. Bennet has met Mr. Bingley, but, to his wife and daughter's dismay, won't reveal anything about Mr. Bingley's looks. A bit later in the novel, as Mrs. Bennet is relating the events of the dance, "Mr. Bennet protested against any descriptions of finery."* Mr. Bennet doesn't want to hear his wife prattle about clothes, which may not be so surprising, but it is interesting that Austen refuses to provide such description in any case. As John Wiltshire notes, Austen work is characterized by a "restriction of the visual." Her novels often "leav[e] it entirely up the reader to imagine or, rather not to imagine"** any description of setting, dress, or objects.
I like Wiltshire's essay--after all, I keep assigning it to my students! But I'm interested in, and more than a little worried about, what happens when we are told that a writer is leaving something for the "reader to imagine." Of course texts leave much of the interpretive process up the reader; a large body of scholarship, in fact, argues that it is only when a text is read that meaning is generated. But this can be a dangerous position to act upon--or to take too far. Does that mean we get to make up the meaning? Does that mean we let our imaginations run wild? Clearly, in some sense giving imagination free rein is a good thing--we would not have clever adaptations and loose interpretations (like The Bridget Jones's Diary or The Lizzie Bennet Diaries) without such imagination. I get worried though, when too much emphasis is placed on the reader and we neglect the words and worlds that writers actually create. The important part of Wiltshire's statement is that Austen might be allowing us "not to imagine." In other words, Austen leaves descriptions of things out not because she wants to imagine or make up those details, but because she wants us to direct our attention to other issues.
I would claim that Austen doesn't care about appearance; I can't fully support that claim here. I do want to emphasize, though, that whether we think Austen is making fun of human nature and our superficial interest in appearance, or whether we would argue that she is underscoring Mr. Bennet's odd relationship with his wife and daughters, the key is that her text should guide us--or at least be the first place we look--in making the argument.
*Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. Ed. Robert P. Levine (Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview, 2002), 48, 52.
** John Wiltshire, 'Why Do We Read Jane Austen?" in A Truth Universally Acknowledged. ed. Susannah Carson (NY: Random House, 2009), 164.
Image: By C. E. Brock (Scans from the book at Pemberley.com) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Monday, September 29, 2014
Novels and Education (repost)
Here's an old post on Northanger Abbey-still relevant!
When I heard that my proposed course on Jane Austen had been accepted for Expository Writing, I was thrilled. Austen is fun and the way her works remain popular presents fascinating questions for exploring contemporary culture and for thinking historically. And, of course, I love reading and teaching novels!
Novels play a significant role for students majoring or minoring in English literature. But the Expository Writing program is a general requirement; everyone takes it, or its equivalent. And classes need to to be not only interesting but widely valuable for a college student. Is it valuable to read novels? Does reading novels help you become a better writer? How useful is reading a novel going to be for, say a business major? Or a chemical engineer?
I struggle some with these questions every semester. But I remain convinced that these questions can all be answered with a firm YES. Interestingly, they are similar to the questions Austen herself asks in Northanger Abbey. In that novel Austen seems to suggest that the novel might play a role in the education of young people. When Catherine expresses astonishment at Isabella's deceptive character, Henry jests about her not having much experience: "Among all the great variety [of characters] that you have known and studied," he observes ironically (142). Perhaps, novels might teach their readers something about the "great variety" of characters in the world--and about those to avoid.
That probably sounds too simplistic--even if one considers how quiet and isolated life was before easy transportation and mass media. Catherine is innocent, but are we really meant to perceive her understanding as entirely limited when it comes to the obvious deceptions Isabella weaves through everyday conversation? Maybe.
But the "lessons" for the novel reader don't bear a one-to-one relationship to the lessons the characters within the novel learn. Particularly when those lesson apply, as in Austen's case, to social norms and modes of life long past. But maybe learning about that past is, in itself, important? Novels do not provide the facts of history; but, as Austen herself point out in Northanger Abbey, sometimes history needs the approach of the novel to keep it interesting. Eleanor finds the "embellishments" of historians to pleasurable and they seem to contribute to her understanding of the events (74). Reading the novels of the past can work to help us understand the ideas and the problems of the past on an individual level rather than from the perspective of the grand sweep of political and military history.
That deeper understanding of history may not be precisely pertinent to writing a business plan, or working out a chemical formula, but it does help make the reader a more generally educated person. I would argue further--although I don't have time right here--that reading novels gives one a larger vocabulary of words and ideas for understanding the world. And, while very few of those taking writing in college go on to be novelists, reading novels provides a deeper understanding of how language works and that produces better writing in all endeavors.
When I heard that my proposed course on Jane Austen had been accepted for Expository Writing, I was thrilled. Austen is fun and the way her works remain popular presents fascinating questions for exploring contemporary culture and for thinking historically. And, of course, I love reading and teaching novels!
Novels play a significant role for students majoring or minoring in English literature. But the Expository Writing program is a general requirement; everyone takes it, or its equivalent. And classes need to to be not only interesting but widely valuable for a college student. Is it valuable to read novels? Does reading novels help you become a better writer? How useful is reading a novel going to be for, say a business major? Or a chemical engineer?
I struggle some with these questions every semester. But I remain convinced that these questions can all be answered with a firm YES. Interestingly, they are similar to the questions Austen herself asks in Northanger Abbey. In that novel Austen seems to suggest that the novel might play a role in the education of young people. When Catherine expresses astonishment at Isabella's deceptive character, Henry jests about her not having much experience: "Among all the great variety [of characters] that you have known and studied," he observes ironically (142). Perhaps, novels might teach their readers something about the "great variety" of characters in the world--and about those to avoid.
That probably sounds too simplistic--even if one considers how quiet and isolated life was before easy transportation and mass media. Catherine is innocent, but are we really meant to perceive her understanding as entirely limited when it comes to the obvious deceptions Isabella weaves through everyday conversation? Maybe.
But the "lessons" for the novel reader don't bear a one-to-one relationship to the lessons the characters within the novel learn. Particularly when those lesson apply, as in Austen's case, to social norms and modes of life long past. But maybe learning about that past is, in itself, important? Novels do not provide the facts of history; but, as Austen herself point out in Northanger Abbey, sometimes history needs the approach of the novel to keep it interesting. Eleanor finds the "embellishments" of historians to pleasurable and they seem to contribute to her understanding of the events (74). Reading the novels of the past can work to help us understand the ideas and the problems of the past on an individual level rather than from the perspective of the grand sweep of political and military history.
That deeper understanding of history may not be precisely pertinent to writing a business plan, or working out a chemical formula, but it does help make the reader a more generally educated person. I would argue further--although I don't have time right here--that reading novels gives one a larger vocabulary of words and ideas for understanding the world. And, while very few of those taking writing in college go on to be novelists, reading novels provides a deeper understanding of how language works and that produces better writing in all endeavors.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Novels and the Brain
What happens when one reads novels? Are novels bad for the reader? Are novels particularly bad for readers who are young women? These questions were being asked and discussed in the late eighteenth-century when Austen wrote Northanger Abbey. And her novel takes up these questions quite directly. I'm not going to discuss Northanger Abbey right now, but I wanted to point out some of the ways these issues are being debated today.
Scholars who study cognitive science are looking at what actually happens in the brain when the individual is reading literature. Here are some articles in the popular press about those studies.
For Better Social Skills, Scientists Recommend a Little Chekhov
This is your brain on Jane Austen
How Literature Changes Your Brain for the Better
How Literature Changes Your Brain for the Better, part 2
For another (much less scientific) direction in this conversation about what people should--or should not--read, try googling phrases like "should girls read Twilight" or "50 Shades of Gray censorship." There are still people out there trying to control or limit what others read.
And on that note, I want to remind everyone that September 21-27 is Banned Books Week. Check out the website.
http://www.bannedbooksweek.org
On the website you can find this list of the most challenged books in 2013:
- Captain Underpants (series), by Dav Pilkey
Reasons: Offensive language, unsuited for age group, violence - The Bluest Eye, by Toni Morrison
Reasons: Offensive language, sexually explicit, unsuited to age group, violence - The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie
Reasons: Drugs/alcohol/smoking, offensive language, racism, sexually explicit, unsuited to age group - Fifty Shades of Grey, by E.L. James
Reasons: Nudity, offensive language, religious viewpoint, sexually explicit, unsuited to age group - The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins
Reasons: Religious viewpoint, unsuited to age group - A Bad Boy Can Be Good for A Girl, by Tanya Lee Stone
Reasons: Drugs/alcohol/smoking, nudity, offensive language, sexually explicit - Looking for Alaska, by John Green
Reasons: Drugs/alcohol/smoking, sexually explicit, unsuited to age group - The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky
Reasons: drugs/alcohol/smoking, homosexuality, sexually explicit, unsuited to age group - Bless Me Ultima, by Rudolfo Anaya
Reasons: Occult/Satanism, offensive language, religious viewpoint, sexually explicit - Bone (series), by Jeff Smith
Reasons: Political viewpoint, racism, violence
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
What I Like About You
The perception that writing is "all subjective" is one I have to fight all the time. Many students seem to have received the impression that getting a good grade in writing classes is about "what the teacher likes."
I can't help but wonder if this comes from various seemingly arbitrary rules. The "I" rule is one. Many writing teachers simply ban it. That is probably easier than explaining the appropriate ways to use it--and the pitfalls of relying on it in argumentative writing. Other teachers come up with lists of "pet peeves"; these are often rules and conventions that are somewhat flexible--or, perhaps undergoing change, since language does change--and for which the teacher has a preferred form. A common example of this is the use of gender neutral language. (Here's the Grammar Girl's take on that one.)
What would we poor writing teachers do if we had to explain ourselves EVERY time one of these issues comes up? Language has so many rules and so much flexibility and changes so constantly that we can't always articulate every single reason why one word works in a sentence where another sounds awkward, why a comma rule that holds in most cases can be tossed in others, or even why sentence fragments are sometimes just fine. As soon as I've explained that the most common English sentence follows a Subject-Verb-Object pattern and that this pattern is the easiest for the reader to grasp, a brilliant sentence shows up that utterly contorts that pattern and works. Do I mark this down to be consistent and avoid the "just liking" it accusation? No.
Rules never seem to take into account context. Is the writer deliberately choosing a fragment? Or, is the writer unable to recognize sentence fragments? I'm pretty sure that I can tell the difference--I'm a highly trained reader of texts, after all, and I have a specialized knowledge of language that allows me to make informed judgements. Can I explain why a "mistake" or breaking the rules in one case is fine and works, but needs to be corrected in another? Probably. Will I always explain? Probably not. Does that mean evaluating writing is all subjective? Absolutely not.
Ah, all those little rules--of which, as linguists point out, we only know a portion--make for some big confusion about "good" writing. Here is one definition of good writing: a well-reasoned, thoughtful, insightful argument supported by evidence employed in a rigorous and responsible way. It's not subjective, but neither is it simple. And that complexity may just add to the trouble!
I can't help but wonder if this comes from various seemingly arbitrary rules. The "I" rule is one. Many writing teachers simply ban it. That is probably easier than explaining the appropriate ways to use it--and the pitfalls of relying on it in argumentative writing. Other teachers come up with lists of "pet peeves"; these are often rules and conventions that are somewhat flexible--or, perhaps undergoing change, since language does change--and for which the teacher has a preferred form. A common example of this is the use of gender neutral language. (Here's the Grammar Girl's take on that one.)
What would we poor writing teachers do if we had to explain ourselves EVERY time one of these issues comes up? Language has so many rules and so much flexibility and changes so constantly that we can't always articulate every single reason why one word works in a sentence where another sounds awkward, why a comma rule that holds in most cases can be tossed in others, or even why sentence fragments are sometimes just fine. As soon as I've explained that the most common English sentence follows a Subject-Verb-Object pattern and that this pattern is the easiest for the reader to grasp, a brilliant sentence shows up that utterly contorts that pattern and works. Do I mark this down to be consistent and avoid the "just liking" it accusation? No.
Rules never seem to take into account context. Is the writer deliberately choosing a fragment? Or, is the writer unable to recognize sentence fragments? I'm pretty sure that I can tell the difference--I'm a highly trained reader of texts, after all, and I have a specialized knowledge of language that allows me to make informed judgements. Can I explain why a "mistake" or breaking the rules in one case is fine and works, but needs to be corrected in another? Probably. Will I always explain? Probably not. Does that mean evaluating writing is all subjective? Absolutely not.
Ah, all those little rules--of which, as linguists point out, we only know a portion--make for some big confusion about "good" writing. Here is one definition of good writing: a well-reasoned, thoughtful, insightful argument supported by evidence employed in a rigorous and responsible way. It's not subjective, but neither is it simple. And that complexity may just add to the trouble!
Monday, September 8, 2014
Revision is Really Writing
Getting a first draft finished feels good. Perhaps it is disheartening, then, to realize that a first draft is only the tiniest of first steps towards a finished essay. As a writer, I really love the revision process--I'm one of those writers who finds it hard to let go of a piece of writing (blogging is good practice in letting things go before they feel really finished; if you want to read a post about my process, click here). Tinkering with my ideas, moving sections around, developing the relationships between sections, and, finally, editing for clarity and precise language--this is what I love about writing.
I'm not going to try to convince you to love revision. But I AM going to try to convince you take the process seriously. Here is what a few of the pros say (with thanks to John Trimble for the first two and the last):
From Nora Ephron, Revision and Life, “ in The New York Times, reprinted in The Writer magazine, April 1987.
I'm not going to try to convince you to love revision. But I AM going to try to convince you take the process seriously. Here is what a few of the pros say (with thanks to John Trimble for the first two and the last):
From Nora Ephron, Revision and Life, “ in The New York Times, reprinted in The Writer magazine, April 1987.
In my 30’s, I began to write essays, one a month for Esquire magazine, and I am not exaggerating when I say that in the course of writing a short essay--1,500 words, that’s only six double-spaced typewritten pages--I often used 300 or 400 pieces of typing paper, so often did I type and retype and catapult and recatapult myself . . .*From an interview with Ernest Hemingway in the Paris Review:
Interviewer: How much rewriting do you do?
Hemingway: It depends. I rewrote the ending of Farewell to Arms, the last page of it, thirty-nine times before I was satisfied.
Interviewer: Was there some technical problem there? What was it that had stumped you?
Hemingway: Getting the words right. *
From Anne Lamott:
For me and most of the other writers I know, writing is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts.
This is from Bird by Bird. You can read an excerpt of this here.
And then there's editing. This is Oscar Wilde:
All morning I worked on the proof of one of my poems, and I took out a comma; in the afternoon I put it back in.*
I love the way Wilde's comment underscores the stylistic choice one might make about the comma (sometimes; sometimes rules must be followed). As facetious as Wilde perhaps is, this little quip also indicates how seriously a writer should consider every single choice, large or small. Re-seeing those initial choices is what revision is all about.
*Quoted in John
Trimble, Writing with Style (Upper
Saddle River, Prentice Hall, 2000, 1975), 6, 99.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Definitions
If you were in class on the first day and participated in the scavenger hunt, you should have some sense that I consider many issues up for debate: What is meant by "popular adaptation"? By "text"? By "image"? It was interesting to see that "image" meant "what we think about Austen" to some students; when I wrote that I was thinking, more literally, of pictures we have of what she looks like! Both definitions, of course, are right. The key--as always--is in defining your meaning. Language is so flexible. There might be many ways to understand and use a single word depending on its context.
I was struck by a similarity between Elizabeth and Mr Bennet along these same lines. As Mr Bennet is slowly revealing that he has, indeed, met Mr. Bingley, he notes the "A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight" (4).* The joke, of course, is that he does know Mr. Bingely and the family also will have known him for a few weeks by the time of the assembly. But Mr. Bennet's likes to philosophically meditate on meanings. What does it really mean to meet someone? When we say we are acquainted, does that mean we know him? What is the difference between knowing and being acquainted? These are questions that the novel itself takes up in the relationship between Elizabeth and Darcy, which begins as a somewhat strained acquaintanceship but develops into love.
After the assembly ball has taken place, as Elizabeth and Jane are discussing it, Elizabeth comments on Jane's inability to be critical of others. She calls this quality "candour" and carefully distinguishes Jane's candour from that of other people's: "Affectation of candour is common enough--one meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design--to take the good of everybody's character and make it still better and say nothing of the bad--belongs to you alone" (8). Elizabeth voices one of Austen's criticisms of the hypocrisy her society by noting that many people pretend to be candid; within the specific context here, she also reveals one of Jane's important character traits. This moment turns on a carefully situated definition.
What would happen to these two moments if Mr. Bennet or Elizabeth simply pulled out a dictionary and said "According to Johnson, the definition of acquaintance/ candour is . . . "? I argue that the moments would lose much of their power and interest. The definitions provided by Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth work within the context of the novel to lead us to some significant issues.
So what does all this have to do with writing? One of the important elements of writing an expository essay is defining your terms. Many students seem to take that as meaning opening the dictionary and copying the meaning. But, as I hope this tiny comparison of two moments in Pride and Prejudice suggests, working to define terms on your own--within the context of your own project--may have larger payoffs.
* Page numbers refer to the course-packet; The text of Pride and Prejudice being used is from Project Gutenberg.
I was struck by a similarity between Elizabeth and Mr Bennet along these same lines. As Mr Bennet is slowly revealing that he has, indeed, met Mr. Bingley, he notes the "A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight" (4).* The joke, of course, is that he does know Mr. Bingely and the family also will have known him for a few weeks by the time of the assembly. But Mr. Bennet's likes to philosophically meditate on meanings. What does it really mean to meet someone? When we say we are acquainted, does that mean we know him? What is the difference between knowing and being acquainted? These are questions that the novel itself takes up in the relationship between Elizabeth and Darcy, which begins as a somewhat strained acquaintanceship but develops into love.
After the assembly ball has taken place, as Elizabeth and Jane are discussing it, Elizabeth comments on Jane's inability to be critical of others. She calls this quality "candour" and carefully distinguishes Jane's candour from that of other people's: "Affectation of candour is common enough--one meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design--to take the good of everybody's character and make it still better and say nothing of the bad--belongs to you alone" (8). Elizabeth voices one of Austen's criticisms of the hypocrisy her society by noting that many people pretend to be candid; within the specific context here, she also reveals one of Jane's important character traits. This moment turns on a carefully situated definition.
What would happen to these two moments if Mr. Bennet or Elizabeth simply pulled out a dictionary and said "According to Johnson, the definition of acquaintance/ candour is . . . "? I argue that the moments would lose much of their power and interest. The definitions provided by Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth work within the context of the novel to lead us to some significant issues.
So what does all this have to do with writing? One of the important elements of writing an expository essay is defining your terms. Many students seem to take that as meaning opening the dictionary and copying the meaning. But, as I hope this tiny comparison of two moments in Pride and Prejudice suggests, working to define terms on your own--within the context of your own project--may have larger payoffs.
* Page numbers refer to the course-packet; The text of Pride and Prejudice being used is from Project Gutenberg.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Highlighters Anonymous
I am writing to day to ask you to stop using your highlighters. Or, at the least, give some reflection to HOW you use them.
When you are writing about a text--and by writing I also mean THINKING, not just pulling out a summary or a few facts--you need to be open to the way a text changes each time you come back to it. Something that didn't seem important on a first reading might significantly change your understanding on a second read. Your eye will be drawn to highlighted text--that's the whole point. But as you focus exclusively on what you've highlighted, you might neglect the surrounding ideas. That might be fine for some kinds of texts, but it isn't good for texts that you are writing about. If you've highlighted the text, it's harder to experience the way your ideas about a text evolve and mature.
And highlighting is basically passive. You are just drawing lines.
Annotating, on the other hand, is active. It requires more thinking because it requires you to use language. Annotation might include some underlining or circling of words, but good annotation will be words and phrases written in the margin (or in a notebook). Annotation should provide you with a record of your thoughts while reading--and that is more useful than a bunch of bright green lines! Not that color is bad--I annotate in bright reds and pinks so I can easily find my notes.
When I go back to re-read and write, I can find the places easily (time saver!), but the text itself isn't covered with highlights, so I can truly re-see the whole thing--and make more annotations as new ideas develop.
Here are a few tips for making useful annotations. While I would argue that good annotation will give you a deeper understanding of ANY reading material, by "useful" I mean useful if you are planning to write about the text you are reading. So, if you are driven by efficiency rather than intellectual curiosity (alas), at a minimum this kind of annotation will save you time when you start drafting your exercises and essays for this class.
When you are writing about a text--and by writing I also mean THINKING, not just pulling out a summary or a few facts--you need to be open to the way a text changes each time you come back to it. Something that didn't seem important on a first reading might significantly change your understanding on a second read. Your eye will be drawn to highlighted text--that's the whole point. But as you focus exclusively on what you've highlighted, you might neglect the surrounding ideas. That might be fine for some kinds of texts, but it isn't good for texts that you are writing about. If you've highlighted the text, it's harder to experience the way your ideas about a text evolve and mature.
And highlighting is basically passive. You are just drawing lines.
Annotating, on the other hand, is active. It requires more thinking because it requires you to use language. Annotation might include some underlining or circling of words, but good annotation will be words and phrases written in the margin (or in a notebook). Annotation should provide you with a record of your thoughts while reading--and that is more useful than a bunch of bright green lines! Not that color is bad--I annotate in bright reds and pinks so I can easily find my notes.
When I go back to re-read and write, I can find the places easily (time saver!), but the text itself isn't covered with highlights, so I can truly re-see the whole thing--and make more annotations as new ideas develop.
Here are a few tips for making useful annotations. While I would argue that good annotation will give you a deeper understanding of ANY reading material, by "useful" I mean useful if you are planning to write about the text you are reading. So, if you are driven by efficiency rather than intellectual curiosity (alas), at a minimum this kind of annotation will save you time when you start drafting your exercises and essays for this class.
- Mark words or concepts you don't know or understand. Stop periodically and look them up. WRITE the meaning next to the word/ concept on the text itself (if it's a borrowed book, use a post-it). We don't fully digest new terms until we've encountered them a few times; writing a definition down is an important step in truly learning the new term.
- Write a brief summary of each paragraph off to side (or in your notebook). Or, stop every few paragraphs and do the same.
- Write down your questions. This is really important. Maybe you don't understand the text well enough to write a summary. Starting to ask questions will help. On the second reading you might surprise yourself by being able to answer them!
- Make note of turns and sections. Has the writer shifted to a slightly new idea? How does it fit with what came before?
- Pay careful attention to the beginning and the end.
- Find the thesis statement in an argumentative texts. Mark the thesis statement. ( I usually put a bracket along the side of page and write "TS.") If you've marked the thesis statement, you can easily return to it when things get confusing along the way. Try to rephrase the thesis statement in your own words in the margin or in your notebook.
- Finally--and MOST IMPORTANTLY--make notes of YOUR RESPONSE. Are you excited, interested, intrigued by the ideas? Do they make you angry? Why? What would you like to say to the writer? Your responses are the seeds of your writing. Plant them.
I'd love to hear more tips for annotating--or maybe even arguments about uses for highlighters.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Worth Repeating
(This is a post from last year, but it's worth a re-run.)
Around the time the first draft of the first essay is due I start hearing questions that all start the same way: Can I . . . . ? The student then, almost inevitably, voices a "rule" about writing that he or she is worried about breaking: Can I use I? Can I use "you"? Can I use "we"? Can I use contractions? Can I use the word "because"?
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
Around the time the first draft of the first essay is due I start hearing questions that all start the same way: Can I . . . . ? The student then, almost inevitably, voices a "rule" about writing that he or she is worried about breaking: Can I use I? Can I use "you"? Can I use "we"? Can I use contractions? Can I use the word "because"?
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
Monday, December 9, 2013
A few Austen links
Here are a few of my favorite Austen-related links. Just in case you need more!
Have a great break!
What Jane Saw (online exhibition)
Thug Notes
Fictional Manuscripts project
Cartoon of Pride and Prejudice
http://www.npr.org/2013/01/27/170253360/pride-and-prejudice-turns-200?sc=emaf
http://www.npr.org/2013/01/27/170253360/pride-and-prejudice-turns-200?sc=emaf
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Ideas
I'm getting excited about the range of ideas the class is working on for the research essay. There is very little overlap in the various fandoms being explored, so I'll learn something new with each essay! I suspect that I might even be convinced to venture into some of the primary materials I've neglected so far. (I will admit to checking the kindle prices on George R.R. Martin's books and adding Glee to my Netflix queue.)
Our discussions, as everyone gives their presentations, are generating so many lines of inquiry and potential arguments. I feel like everyone really has embraced the challenge of exploring as they are getting their research underway.
The hard part--pulling all of the research together and creating a coherent argument is just ahead. I though this would be a good time to talk about some of the strategies for doing this.
One of the most common pitfalls in doing a research essay is failing to make an argument; the research overwhelms and by the time you've sorted through it all it can be hard to see what you can contribute. A working thesis helps--and sometimes a working thesis can have only the smallest gesture toward evaluation--this seems strange, this is good, this is a problem. But some kind of evaluation is necessary to move toward developing that more complex, arguable thesis.
The first stage of drafting is also a good place to think about MOTIVE. Why is this issue important? What larger problems does it touch upon?
Finally, given this particular topic of fandom, it seems important to keep thinking about why some authors, shows, books, books series, or even entire cultures, hold such lasting appeal. Can you capture and explain that in some way? Can you open this world up to your readers and make them want to enter it?
Our discussions, as everyone gives their presentations, are generating so many lines of inquiry and potential arguments. I feel like everyone really has embraced the challenge of exploring as they are getting their research underway.
The hard part--pulling all of the research together and creating a coherent argument is just ahead. I though this would be a good time to talk about some of the strategies for doing this.
One of the most common pitfalls in doing a research essay is failing to make an argument; the research overwhelms and by the time you've sorted through it all it can be hard to see what you can contribute. A working thesis helps--and sometimes a working thesis can have only the smallest gesture toward evaluation--this seems strange, this is good, this is a problem. But some kind of evaluation is necessary to move toward developing that more complex, arguable thesis.
The first stage of drafting is also a good place to think about MOTIVE. Why is this issue important? What larger problems does it touch upon?
Finally, given this particular topic of fandom, it seems important to keep thinking about why some authors, shows, books, books series, or even entire cultures, hold such lasting appeal. Can you capture and explain that in some way? Can you open this world up to your readers and make them want to enter it?
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The Thrill of the Chase
It is time to start the research essay. I fear that students may approach this unit with dread. It is a long essay and, here at the beginning, it looks like a long road. But I envy students just getting started on research. It's a world full of possibilities and interesting new ideas and arguments. I'm always most excited by the the research phase--it is only second in excitement and satisfaction to finally being finished!
Research is exciting because every avenue is open. You should approach your research with an open mind--the interesting possibilities will be missed if you simply go into your research hoping to find support for a pre-existing idea or argument. In fact, this approach--using research to back up an argument--is exactly the opposite of academic inquiry. In academic inquiry, in general--and academic essays, in particular--arguments and theories should develop from a close examination of the evidence. If you don't approach your research with an open mind, willing to see ALL of the different existing perspectives on a topic, you'll be shortchanging yourself, and--more importantly--misleading your reader. While misleading your reader may not seem like as big an issue as actual plagiarism, the end result is similar. Plagiarism makes it seem that someone else's ideas are yours. Ignoring important lines of thought in your sources makes it seem someone else's (or many people's) ideas don't exist. In both cases, the end result is a distorted picture of the actually existing evidence. As a writer, your job is to try to provide the clearest picture you can of your topic.
This doesn't mean, of course, that you have to agree with every source your use. In fact, some of the best arguments--and thus the best productions of new knowledge--come from strong disagreements. But such a disagreement MUST start from a strong understanding of the source as well. To dismiss a source, or a line of argument several sources take up, is to indicate a failure of understanding on the writer's part.
But I've gotten ahead of myself and into the more difficult territory of evaluating arguments and figuring out your own position amongst them. Here, at the beginning, dig in and try to enjoy the ride for a while.
Research is exciting because every avenue is open. You should approach your research with an open mind--the interesting possibilities will be missed if you simply go into your research hoping to find support for a pre-existing idea or argument. In fact, this approach--using research to back up an argument--is exactly the opposite of academic inquiry. In academic inquiry, in general--and academic essays, in particular--arguments and theories should develop from a close examination of the evidence. If you don't approach your research with an open mind, willing to see ALL of the different existing perspectives on a topic, you'll be shortchanging yourself, and--more importantly--misleading your reader. While misleading your reader may not seem like as big an issue as actual plagiarism, the end result is similar. Plagiarism makes it seem that someone else's ideas are yours. Ignoring important lines of thought in your sources makes it seem someone else's (or many people's) ideas don't exist. In both cases, the end result is a distorted picture of the actually existing evidence. As a writer, your job is to try to provide the clearest picture you can of your topic.
This doesn't mean, of course, that you have to agree with every source your use. In fact, some of the best arguments--and thus the best productions of new knowledge--come from strong disagreements. But such a disagreement MUST start from a strong understanding of the source as well. To dismiss a source, or a line of argument several sources take up, is to indicate a failure of understanding on the writer's part.
But I've gotten ahead of myself and into the more difficult territory of evaluating arguments and figuring out your own position amongst them. Here, at the beginning, dig in and try to enjoy the ride for a while.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Defective Understandings
I recently came across this bit of wisdom from I.A. Richards: "We are with difficulty persuaded that we have much to learn about language, or that our understanding of it is defective. And this illusion re-forms whenever is is shattered, though any efficient educational procedure ought to have no trouble shattering as often as is needed. The first condition for improvement in the adult's use of language must be to disturb this ludicrous piece of self-deception" (335, Practical Criticism, 1929).
Richards, although discussing poetry, hits on a key problem that teachers of writing confront. Our students usually have been speaking, or at least hearing, English their entire lives. Having learned the basics of reading and writing at 4 or 5, they come to college with experience reading and writing at a sophisticated level--what is there left to learn? No one likes to be told that his or her understanding is is defective--hence the seemingly protective reformation of the illusion. I wonder how often that illusion re-forms over the course of a semester of first-year composition? Is the underlying rationale behind grading and commenting to continue to shatter students' illusions and to break through the self-deception of believing that it is easy to understand texts?
Perhaps, but I am also thinking about the advice given to readers in some eighteenth-century essays and conduct books. We've been reading commentators like John Gregory and Hester Mulso Chapone who were worried about what their audiences--assumed to be young women--were reading and how their reading might affect their characters. The fears they express about novels and sentimental fiction suggest a defective understanding not so far from Richard's. We also read Samuel Johnson's famous Rambler #4, known as "The New Realistic Novel." Johnson certainly believes that reader's understandings are defective! He doesn't even trust them to understand mixed characters.
These eighteenth-century writers have specific concerns--that young readers will be misled by fiction and fall into corrupt or vicious habits. Richards, writing at a time when literature, including novels, was more acknowledge to be edifying than corrupting, wanted educated people to be better interpreters of language, although we can easily see the anachronism of his assumption that many people are interested in discussing literature, much less poetry, at all. My purpose in pointing out certain defective understandings is usually situated in the context of academic inquiry. Students in college must be able to rigorously examine and explain the sources they use as evidence to develop their arguments. But it seems interesting--and maybe not entirely productive?--that the first step in all of these processes must be so aggressive--shattering illusions and pointing out ludicrous self-deceptions.
Richards, although discussing poetry, hits on a key problem that teachers of writing confront. Our students usually have been speaking, or at least hearing, English their entire lives. Having learned the basics of reading and writing at 4 or 5, they come to college with experience reading and writing at a sophisticated level--what is there left to learn? No one likes to be told that his or her understanding is is defective--hence the seemingly protective reformation of the illusion. I wonder how often that illusion re-forms over the course of a semester of first-year composition? Is the underlying rationale behind grading and commenting to continue to shatter students' illusions and to break through the self-deception of believing that it is easy to understand texts?
Perhaps, but I am also thinking about the advice given to readers in some eighteenth-century essays and conduct books. We've been reading commentators like John Gregory and Hester Mulso Chapone who were worried about what their audiences--assumed to be young women--were reading and how their reading might affect their characters. The fears they express about novels and sentimental fiction suggest a defective understanding not so far from Richard's. We also read Samuel Johnson's famous Rambler #4, known as "The New Realistic Novel." Johnson certainly believes that reader's understandings are defective! He doesn't even trust them to understand mixed characters.
These eighteenth-century writers have specific concerns--that young readers will be misled by fiction and fall into corrupt or vicious habits. Richards, writing at a time when literature, including novels, was more acknowledge to be edifying than corrupting, wanted educated people to be better interpreters of language, although we can easily see the anachronism of his assumption that many people are interested in discussing literature, much less poetry, at all. My purpose in pointing out certain defective understandings is usually situated in the context of academic inquiry. Students in college must be able to rigorously examine and explain the sources they use as evidence to develop their arguments. But it seems interesting--and maybe not entirely productive?--that the first step in all of these processes must be so aggressive--shattering illusions and pointing out ludicrous self-deceptions.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Novels and Education
When I heard that my proposed course on Jane Austen had been accepted for Expository Writing, I was thrilled. Austen is fun and the way her works remain popular presents fascinating questions for exploring contemporary culture and for thinking historically. And, of course, I love reading and teaching novels!
Novels play a significant role for students majoring or minoring in English literature. But the Expository Writing program is a general requirement; everyone takes it, or its equivalent. And classes need to to be not only interesting but widely valuable for a college student. Is it valuable to read novels? Does reading novels help you become a better writer? How useful is reading a novel going to be for, say a business major? Or a chemical engineer?
I struggle some with these questions every semester. But I remain convinced that these questions can all be answered with a firm YES. Interestingly, they are similar to the questions Austen herself asks in Northanger Abbey. In that novel Austen seems to suggest that the novel might play a role in the education of young people. When Catherine expresses astonishment at Isabella's deceptive character, Henry jests about her not having much experience: "Among all the great variety [of characters] that you have known and studied," he observes ironically (142). Perhaps, novels might teach their readers something about the "great variety" of characters in the world--and about those to avoid.
That probably sounds too simplistic--even if one considers how quiet and isolated life was before easy transportation and mass media. Catherine is innocent, but are we really meant to perceive her understanding as entirely limited when it comes to the obvious deceptions Isabella weaves through everyday conversation? Maybe.
But the "lessons" for the novel reader don't bear a one-to-one relationship to the lessons the characters within the novel learn. Particularly when those lesson apply, as in Austen's case, to social norms and modes of life long past. But maybe learning about that past is, in itself, important? Novels do not provide the facts of history; but, as Austen herself point out in Northanger Abbey, sometimes history needs the approach of the novel to keep it interesting. Eleanor finds the "embellishments" of historians to pleasurable and they seem to contribute to her understanding of the events (74). Reading the novels of the past can work to help us understand the ideas and the problems of the past on an individual level rather than from the perspective of the grand sweep of political and military history.
That deeper understanding of history may not be precisely pertinent to writing a business plan, or working out a chemical formula, but it does help make the reader a more generally educated person. I would argue further--although I don't have time right here--that reading novels gives one a larger vocabulary of words and ideas for understanding the world. And, while very few of those taking writing in college go on to be novelists, reading novels provides a deeper understanding of how language works and that produces better writing in all endeavors.
Novels play a significant role for students majoring or minoring in English literature. But the Expository Writing program is a general requirement; everyone takes it, or its equivalent. And classes need to to be not only interesting but widely valuable for a college student. Is it valuable to read novels? Does reading novels help you become a better writer? How useful is reading a novel going to be for, say a business major? Or a chemical engineer?
I struggle some with these questions every semester. But I remain convinced that these questions can all be answered with a firm YES. Interestingly, they are similar to the questions Austen herself asks in Northanger Abbey. In that novel Austen seems to suggest that the novel might play a role in the education of young people. When Catherine expresses astonishment at Isabella's deceptive character, Henry jests about her not having much experience: "Among all the great variety [of characters] that you have known and studied," he observes ironically (142). Perhaps, novels might teach their readers something about the "great variety" of characters in the world--and about those to avoid.
That probably sounds too simplistic--even if one considers how quiet and isolated life was before easy transportation and mass media. Catherine is innocent, but are we really meant to perceive her understanding as entirely limited when it comes to the obvious deceptions Isabella weaves through everyday conversation? Maybe.
But the "lessons" for the novel reader don't bear a one-to-one relationship to the lessons the characters within the novel learn. Particularly when those lesson apply, as in Austen's case, to social norms and modes of life long past. But maybe learning about that past is, in itself, important? Novels do not provide the facts of history; but, as Austen herself point out in Northanger Abbey, sometimes history needs the approach of the novel to keep it interesting. Eleanor finds the "embellishments" of historians to pleasurable and they seem to contribute to her understanding of the events (74). Reading the novels of the past can work to help us understand the ideas and the problems of the past on an individual level rather than from the perspective of the grand sweep of political and military history.
That deeper understanding of history may not be precisely pertinent to writing a business plan, or working out a chemical formula, but it does help make the reader a more generally educated person. I would argue further--although I don't have time right here--that reading novels gives one a larger vocabulary of words and ideas for understanding the world. And, while very few of those taking writing in college go on to be novelists, reading novels provides a deeper understanding of how language works and that produces better writing in all endeavors.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Fog and Castles
Northanger Abbey is often off-handedly called "Austen's satire on the gothic." That makes it sound so simple!
The more I read this novel, the more I find so many additional target of satire from the relatively small detail of "being denied" when calling upon someone to the larger issues of coercion among people who claim to have affection for one another.
Making fun of gothic conventions and gothic definitions of heroes and heroines is the obvious part of this novel. It is also the funny part--we laugh when Catherine finds a long lost manuscript that turns out to be a laundry list. But I don't find myself laughing when John and Isabella Thorpe physically hold her to prevent her from undoing John's rude canceling of her plans with the Tilney's. Surely this is plain cruelty.
Northanger Abbey, I think, challenges readers to figure out the distinctions between real and imaginary dangers.
The more I read this novel, the more I find so many additional target of satire from the relatively small detail of "being denied" when calling upon someone to the larger issues of coercion among people who claim to have affection for one another.
Making fun of gothic conventions and gothic definitions of heroes and heroines is the obvious part of this novel. It is also the funny part--we laugh when Catherine finds a long lost manuscript that turns out to be a laundry list. But I don't find myself laughing when John and Isabella Thorpe physically hold her to prevent her from undoing John's rude canceling of her plans with the Tilney's. Surely this is plain cruelty.
Northanger Abbey, I think, challenges readers to figure out the distinctions between real and imaginary dangers.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Permission
Around the time the first draft of the first essay is due I start hearing questions that all start the same way: Can I . . . . ? The student then, almost inevitably, voices a "rule" about writing that he or she is worried about breaking: Can I use I? Can I use "you"? Can I use "we"? Can I use contractions? Can I use the word "because"?
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Bridget
Of the various adaptations and continuations of Pride and Prejudice we are reading in class this semester, I have to confess that I like Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones's Diary most. I don't think this is simply because I remember the 90s in way that many students, most of whom were tiny babies when the novel was written, can't--although there is a certain nostalgia in my attraction. What I really like about Bridget Jones's Diary is that it is a riff on Austen, but it stands entirely on its own. It works as a novel without slavishly following the plot of Pride and Prejudice; in fact, many readers have to be told that it was inspired by the earlier novel. This same sort of relationship exists between Emma and Clueless, and, I think, is partly why Clueless has found so many fans. It holds its own as a self-contained film and finding out that there are parallels to an Austen novel only adds depth.
And then there is Bridget herself. What a complicated character--are we meant to laugh at her? Once that voice gets into your head it is so hard not to fall in love with her.
And then there is Bridget herself. What a complicated character--are we meant to laugh at her? Once that voice gets into your head it is so hard not to fall in love with her.
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