I feel like this is a blog that requires rigorous honesty in the most blatant way possible: I love quoting. I love quoting so much that it can turn quite violent at times – like the time I was convinced that “Mayonnaise” was actually my song Billy Corgan embezzled for the Siamese Dream single. Or the time I wrote a research paper on Captain Ahab’s dichotomy of the self - only to realize that I had pieced together a collage of quotes so meticulously that it wasn’t until after I alphabatized my works cited that I realized I had yet to address the point in my own words. This most assuridly places me in the number two category of Graff and Birkenstein’s “The Art of Quoting:” writer’s mistakes.
In defense of my love for quoting, I must say that it is for this very reason that I chose to pursue graduate studies in English Literature. Naturally, if quoting did not appeal to me, I would have taken the MFA in creative writing path. Yet, being apt to the darker side of literary scholarship, and an avid quoter, I probably fit best with those who think that everything original has already been said. But I try not to let this way of thinking curb my desire to say something in a new way, nor to chip away at my confidence and abilities as a writer. Consequently, I have found that over-quoting can easily be whittled down to good-quoting, as the more quotes that I identify with help shape my independent thoughts and feelings based on my own personal experiences.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Catherine Gallagher and the Intellectual Accessory
Upon reading Gallagher’s Historical Scholarship, my initial inclination was to leave this area of literary scholarship to the research of some other book guru. The idea of categorizing literature into any form of methodological order is a chore that feels far too scientific for a subject that is nearly entirely subjective. And, to be blatantly honest, Historical Scholarship is just the sort of text that spurs questioning towards my own motives of literary study, because this text could very well scare me away. Indeed, Gallagher’s essay is packed with so many different focuses within the field of “historical scholarship,” I struggled to keep up – and in doing this I found myself questioning the point of this essay. Yet Gallagher writes in such a way that oddly urged me to read on, as if the “aha” moment was just at the end of the next paragraph and everything was soon going to make sense. And it didn’t – but that’s perfectly fine because like I stated earlier, this text brought me back to the nature of my interest in literature, which is that I believe it is to connect like minds – to show that although we are diverse, we are not alone.
Gallagher seems to evoke a negative connotation when she writes “Books are certainly not disappearing, but, the argument goes, they are undergoing transformations in their environment of visual and electronic communication that change the nature of authors and readers” (184). I beg to differ with Gallagher. As a product of the electronic age, I value text in the same manner whether it is read from a screen or a book. Because it is the value that I take – the meaning that I extract from the words and apply to my quality of life that is the very essence of literature. Gallagher states “the author subject and the reader subject both seem to have depended on a certain stage of textual production, at which print was the primary medium of public communication and its most prestigious form was the book intended for private consumption” (184). It’s almost as if Gallagher views the book as an intellectual accessory – as if literature is a matter of personal possession rather than an enabler for shared experiences. Literature of the past is popularly viewed as something “intellectual” rather than something “human.” When I study literature, I am looking for that something that speaks of the human heart. And yes, of the mind. It’s a common place to say that literature has the power to say familiar things in new ways – and consequently in ways it may be heard again, as if for the first time.
Gallagher seems to evoke a negative connotation when she writes “Books are certainly not disappearing, but, the argument goes, they are undergoing transformations in their environment of visual and electronic communication that change the nature of authors and readers” (184). I beg to differ with Gallagher. As a product of the electronic age, I value text in the same manner whether it is read from a screen or a book. Because it is the value that I take – the meaning that I extract from the words and apply to my quality of life that is the very essence of literature. Gallagher states “the author subject and the reader subject both seem to have depended on a certain stage of textual production, at which print was the primary medium of public communication and its most prestigious form was the book intended for private consumption” (184). It’s almost as if Gallagher views the book as an intellectual accessory – as if literature is a matter of personal possession rather than an enabler for shared experiences. Literature of the past is popularly viewed as something “intellectual” rather than something “human.” When I study literature, I am looking for that something that speaks of the human heart. And yes, of the mind. It’s a common place to say that literature has the power to say familiar things in new ways – and consequently in ways it may be heard again, as if for the first time.
Monday, October 13, 2008
My Reaction to "Rhetoric"
While Susan C. Jarratt’s essay, “Rhetoric” is an eye-opening display the multifarious views of rhetoric’s place in history and the world, more importantly, it re-asserts the importance of critical inquiry in language and literature. Jarratt’s essay prompts such immediate assessment of the present moment’s crisis of language that I could not help but to reflect upon my own rhetorical values. Yet, given that I am new to the scholarly exploration of rhetoric and my personal thoughts on the matter still fragmented, I would like to focus this blog on the classical rhetoric of Aristotle and Cicero (which Jarratt describes in her essay), and the striking resemblance it bears to the modern-day formal rhetoric of Barack Obama.
Though Jarratt presents an overwhelming array of scholarly opinion, she is clear in her motive when she states, “Our time presents its own urgencies and moments of desperation. Like the ancient Greeks, we fear the violent potential of language but, at the same time, have a sense that language can help us contain or master violent forces. Scholarship in rhetoric takes up these tensions and is invigorated by them in a time when terror, war, and states of emergency create an urgent need for analyses of public arguments; when manipulations of language cause grave concern and erode the legitimacy of government” (74-75). I concur with Jarratt that our own times are desperate times – and this desperation is by no means countered by the mediocrity of most rhetoric in this era. But when reading Jarratt’s “short version” of rhetoric’s origins, I immediately attached the “art of good judgment and civic engagement” to Obama’s rhetorical style.
Turning to one of Jarratt’s sources, in A Rhetoric of Motive Kenneth Burk states that “For the orator, following Aristotle and Cicero, will seek to display the appropriate ‘signs’ of character needed to earn the audience’s good will. That is a lesson that many contemporary speakers or writers have not learned. Or if they have learned it, they have chosen to ignore it.” Although Obama’s gifts in his own rhetoric have been deemed “all talk” by his Republican rival, he is incredibly persuasive in his sensitive, genuine, and honest approach that is most effective. Interestingly enough, the September issue of The Atlantic features a story by James Fallows in which he addresses the unusual style of Obama’s orations – he even quotes Cicero’s maxim “The effect is in the affect,” in regards to Obama’s rhetorical style. Fallow’s hits Aristotle dead on when he writes, “Based on his rhetoric, Barack Obama would arrive not because of support for his list of programs, although he has offered them, but because of support for his cast of mind. His speeches and debate answers show us how he thinks, much more than they reveal exactly the policies he would advance…but for some presidents, cast of mind is a central feature – the person, much more than the plan, represents the promise of the presidency. Obama is one of these.” Here, Fallow’s directly answers the third stasis – of what value is rhetoric – presented in Jarratt’s essay.
For me, Jarratt’s essay did exactly what it intended to – it prompted me to examine rhetoric’s role in contemporary society. Even more importantly, Jarratt’s essay excited me to pursue further inquiry on the subject – so much that I took it upon myself to look up a considerable amount of Jarratt’s own works cited and further reading.
Though Jarratt presents an overwhelming array of scholarly opinion, she is clear in her motive when she states, “Our time presents its own urgencies and moments of desperation. Like the ancient Greeks, we fear the violent potential of language but, at the same time, have a sense that language can help us contain or master violent forces. Scholarship in rhetoric takes up these tensions and is invigorated by them in a time when terror, war, and states of emergency create an urgent need for analyses of public arguments; when manipulations of language cause grave concern and erode the legitimacy of government” (74-75). I concur with Jarratt that our own times are desperate times – and this desperation is by no means countered by the mediocrity of most rhetoric in this era. But when reading Jarratt’s “short version” of rhetoric’s origins, I immediately attached the “art of good judgment and civic engagement” to Obama’s rhetorical style.
Turning to one of Jarratt’s sources, in A Rhetoric of Motive Kenneth Burk states that “For the orator, following Aristotle and Cicero, will seek to display the appropriate ‘signs’ of character needed to earn the audience’s good will. That is a lesson that many contemporary speakers or writers have not learned. Or if they have learned it, they have chosen to ignore it.” Although Obama’s gifts in his own rhetoric have been deemed “all talk” by his Republican rival, he is incredibly persuasive in his sensitive, genuine, and honest approach that is most effective. Interestingly enough, the September issue of The Atlantic features a story by James Fallows in which he addresses the unusual style of Obama’s orations – he even quotes Cicero’s maxim “The effect is in the affect,” in regards to Obama’s rhetorical style. Fallow’s hits Aristotle dead on when he writes, “Based on his rhetoric, Barack Obama would arrive not because of support for his list of programs, although he has offered them, but because of support for his cast of mind. His speeches and debate answers show us how he thinks, much more than they reveal exactly the policies he would advance…but for some presidents, cast of mind is a central feature – the person, much more than the plan, represents the promise of the presidency. Obama is one of these.” Here, Fallow’s directly answers the third stasis – of what value is rhetoric – presented in Jarratt’s essay.
For me, Jarratt’s essay did exactly what it intended to – it prompted me to examine rhetoric’s role in contemporary society. Even more importantly, Jarratt’s essay excited me to pursue further inquiry on the subject – so much that I took it upon myself to look up a considerable amount of Jarratt’s own works cited and further reading.
Monday, October 6, 2008
They Say I Say: What did you say?
As elementary as They Say I Say appears (not merely due to the bold primary colors on the cover, nor the overall pocketbook size), the book distills common sense that is vital if writing is to have any redeeming quality. Reading and writing at the academic level is so popularly viewed as something “intellectual” rather than something “human.” Graff and Birkenstein conveniently remind us of the essential elements that enable writing to be not just an intellectual exchange, but something that speaks to the human heart.
Through my own observations, the conversational component of “putting in your oar” is so urgently thrust into exchanges with others today, it is clear that our world lacks the elemental moves that the template “they say I say” implies. Graff and Birkenstein re-awaken the literary consciousness of academic writing when stating, “The central piece of advice in this book – that we listen carefully to others, including those who disagree with us, and then engage with them thoughtfully and respectfully – can help us see beyond our own pet beliefs, which may not be shared by everyone” (13).
The strategies presented in They Say I Say are so blatantly refreshing, not simply for the absent-minded academic the book is obviously aimed at, but for every writer, speaker, politician, or any human that wishes to engage and participate in the world.
Through my own observations, the conversational component of “putting in your oar” is so urgently thrust into exchanges with others today, it is clear that our world lacks the elemental moves that the template “they say I say” implies. Graff and Birkenstein re-awaken the literary consciousness of academic writing when stating, “The central piece of advice in this book – that we listen carefully to others, including those who disagree with us, and then engage with them thoughtfully and respectfully – can help us see beyond our own pet beliefs, which may not be shared by everyone” (13).
The strategies presented in They Say I Say are so blatantly refreshing, not simply for the absent-minded academic the book is obviously aimed at, but for every writer, speaker, politician, or any human that wishes to engage and participate in the world.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
English 609: Coping Techniques for the OGLR
As intimidating as the title may be, The Oxford Guide to Library Research is no less staggering than a common For Dummies instructional book. However, unlike the popular “reference for the rest of us,” Mann takes his instruction to an unnecessary level of rhetoric for a book of reference. Although the first 45 pages are full of search techniques, I quickly found it to be an encumbering reading experience. And while Mann is urgent to show his investigative manner of sharing these techniques, I soon found myself jaded with his elaborate energy when it came time to learn the “four ways to find the right subject headings for your topic.”
Mann has a compulsive need to (over)use phrases like “I cannot recommend this too strongly,” “Note a further important point” and “Another practical tip.” Being that I consider myself to have an unusually selective memory, I discovered that the most effective way to retain anything Mann said was to read the first and last sentence of each paragraph. However, as I do not judge a book by its cover, I try my best not to judge it by the first 45 pages (assuming it is longer than 200), and I in fact see The Oxford Guide to Library Research as an excellent tool for my own future research. But until I am physically looking for a specialized encyclopedia, or a book in a library catalog or typing in a subject heading that is too general or maybe doesn’t even exist, I’m afraid much of Mann’s terminology will lie dormant in the outer reaches of my selective mind. Mann has so much specific advice to offer, that the only way I see myself retaining this knowledge is when I put it to real use. Having this in mind, I will probably never go anywhere without Mann’s guide – by chance I stumble into the four “very important” code designations and forget what they stand for.
Mann has a compulsive need to (over)use phrases like “I cannot recommend this too strongly,” “Note a further important point” and “Another practical tip.” Being that I consider myself to have an unusually selective memory, I discovered that the most effective way to retain anything Mann said was to read the first and last sentence of each paragraph. However, as I do not judge a book by its cover, I try my best not to judge it by the first 45 pages (assuming it is longer than 200), and I in fact see The Oxford Guide to Library Research as an excellent tool for my own future research. But until I am physically looking for a specialized encyclopedia, or a book in a library catalog or typing in a subject heading that is too general or maybe doesn’t even exist, I’m afraid much of Mann’s terminology will lie dormant in the outer reaches of my selective mind. Mann has so much specific advice to offer, that the only way I see myself retaining this knowledge is when I put it to real use. Having this in mind, I will probably never go anywhere without Mann’s guide – by chance I stumble into the four “very important” code designations and forget what they stand for.
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