Sunday, September 27, 2009

September 28, 2009

I thought the handout on Birkerts' The Gutenberg Elegies was interesting. Although I am very impressed with much of his foresight into what will occur in print culture (and what already has since 1994), I am not sure that the situation is as drastic as he thinks it is. For example, I don't think language will lose it's complexity and depth of meaning because of electronic communication. I don't know too much about linguistics, but one of the few things I do know is that languages are universally complex and logical. Just because a language or a dialect does not look the way we are used to seeing "proper" grammar does not mean it is not logical and complex. I do not think that language will lose subtlety, wit, and irony because of electronic communication. Electronic communication is primarily for the masses, and were the masses ever the masters of wit and paradox? No, but they have always been able to communicate effectively, and often beautifully, whether in print, song, or visual representation. Clearly, electronic communication can be used for academic discourse as well as common communication (ahem.... blogs).

I am also interested in what was said on this handout about the lack of physical interaction that develops from electronic information and communication. It is true, I often communicate more with friends online than I do in person, and I definitely prefer to research online than in the library. I am just not sure as to what the implications of these preferences and practices are. As far as friendship and love are concerned, I think that technology has increased our capacity for maintaining relationships. Personally, it has been much easier for me to maintain deep, meaningful friendships because of e-mail and facebook. When I do have the opportunity of seeing those people face to face, I think our interaction is enriched by the communication we have had online. With the invention of the railroad two centuries behind us, society has long moved past the age when everyone one might communicate with remained in relative proximity. Communication, and print, must change to keep up with the physical distance.

This handout has prompted me to think about how print culture has changed since Stephen Burroughs wrote his memoir. People who think they are more important than they are still write memoirs. And those memoirs are still read by lots of people. The letters that are included in his memoir are interesting in light of the topic of the changes in print culture. Traditional "correspondence" has all but diminished from popular society. But we can see from Burroughs' memoir that that may not be a bad thing. He says he wrote several letters to his father that his father never received (if we can believe him that he actually wrote them, that is). Burroughs also has hardly any communication with his wife and family when he is separated from them. He also has no way of knowing that his whole reason for going all the way to Georgia has already left the state. Then we must also consider the literacy rate and how that would effect Burroughs' readership. Even if people are not reading as closely as they once did, as Birkets says, at least people are reading.

I would also be really interested in looking at how the carnivalesque interacts with the changes in print culture, but I do not feel competent enough on this subject to get to into it yet. From what I do think I understood of Vice, however, the larger public body is important to carnival elements. What does it mean then that electronic print allows for the larger public body to interact in the same texts more readily? People can also actively respond to the actors because of electronic print. Does that more electronic print more carnivalesque?

Sunday, September 20, 2009

September 21, 2009

I found Vice's explanation of polyphony very interesting. I immediately thought of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan, which I think has one of the most unique narrators in fiction. I wrote a paper on that narrator for a class last year, but I wish I had read Bakhtin before that. In Peter Pan, the narrator is obviously (and humorously) intrusive. At one point, the narrator is describing how exactly Hook uses his hook to kill. The narrator then says, "Let us now kill a pirate" and immediately a pirate is brought forward and Hook obediently kills him. This narrator is not recounting a story that has taken place, but is actually creating the story as he (or she, but really I think it's a he) is telling it. Vice cites that Bakhtin has commented on the polyphony within Dostoevsky: "the author's discourse about a character is organized as discourse about someone actually present, someone who hears him (the author) and is capable of answering him." Barrie's text is not polyphonic because the characters do not have control over their actions. What is unique about Barrie's text, however, is that the narrator is so obviously, and playfully, in control.

As I began again with Burroughs, I wanted to apply some of this polyphonic discussion to that text. I realized, however, that I don't think we have discussed Burroughs too much as a narrator. I am not sure what historical evidence we have about the writing of this memoir. Do we know that Burroughs is the author? Is he the sole author? I was also very curious in this reading about all of the letters Burroughs included. I do not really trust Burroughs that those letters are entirely, or perhaps even partially, accurate. Those letters are also an interesting piece of dialogism. They are the words of one person as read, interpreted, and reprinted by their intended reader, then read, interpreted, and reprinted by an unintended reader (an editor), and then finally read and interpreted by me. How much of their original intent must have been lost through all of these filters? 

I found that most of those letters were curiously flattering of Burroughs. His wife's plea to the court was especially vexing. He admits in his memoir to having sexual relations with one of his students, but his wife insists on how excellent a husband he is and that he should be released from prison for her sake. Although I was frustrated with both Burroughs and her, I did find that her plea brought an interesting (and I think largely unintentional) feminist issue into the text. Her plea points out the hopeless situation of women who must rely on their husbands for sole economic stability. Burroughs's text overall is largely egotistical and self-serving, but the inclusion of this letter does show a larger political problem. Burroughs attempts to be political and philosophical with his rants against the government and the court system for the injustices he has faced (he compares himself to slaves- really?), but I think that his wife's letter more compellingly argues a real problem in the early republic. What is a woman to do when her husband turns out to be a selfish, counterfeiting, sexual predator?

On his more philosophical musings, I thought it was interesting that a con man would agree so much with Confucius. Burroughs writes about benevolence, and he believes that the state should treat its subjects as children. He believes that children will mirror their parents' benevolence, and thus they will be deterred from crime. Confucius had the same thoughts about leadership, but I'm also pretty sure that Confucius did not have as much trouble with the law. Burroughs repetition of a great thinker's thoughts creates another interesting dialogic question. What happens when an utterance is dialogically responding and interacting with a previous utterance made by a very different person? To what extent does the identity of the speaker affect the meaning of an utterance? Burroughs may not be the most trusted or reliable narrator, but does that make his words any less true? Perhaps benevolence really is the best way to lead, not just the most convenient solution for Burroughs.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

For September 14

Let's just start with Bakhtin and get him out of the way. Oh, I jest. This reading was much better. And an article I just read for another class had Bakhtin, heteroglossia, and dialogism all over it, and it was exciting to have a faint idea of what the author was talking about.

"Words, phrases, utterances in general, place themselves and interact in a momentary spark of meaning" (47). I think this is an interesting idea because it is so true, and this is the reason why we study language. We would not have much to discuss, analyze, and re-read if language was stagnant or permanent. We talk about the "definitions" of words, but such a discussion is never as short or as simple as it first seems it should be. There are primary definitions, then secondary definitions, and then we need to think about all the different connotations. These connotations themselves change based on people, situation, context, setting, time, pitch, and certainly many, possibly an infinite number of, other elements.

I also thought it was interesting what Vice recorded of Bakhtin's ideas on Dostoevsky's contradictions within a character. Bakhtin wrote, "One could say, in fact, that out of every contradiction within a single person Dostoevsky tries to create two persons, in order to dramatize the contradiction and develop it extensively" (57). I think this contradiction within individuals will be interesting to keep in mind in the examination of counterfeiters. Certainly counterfeiters will exhibit some contradictions. The confidence-man is full of contradictions as he portrays trustworthiness and good faith in the same instance that he steals and deceives. Are they essentially creating two-people? If you can counterfeit money, can you also counterfeit yourself? This possibility would suggest that there is dialogism outside of the written, or even spoken, word. Dialogism could possibly also exist within the very essence of the man. As he contradicts himself he creates another voice. These voices bounce off one another as individually as two people. If Bakhtin believed that language was part of the very essence of humanity and what it means to be human, then it would make sense that other elements and intricacies of language, like dialogism, are also present in man.

I very much enjoyed reading Stephen Burroughs' narrative. I found him interesting and a generally sympathetic character until the end of what I read for this week. Although he certainly faced cruel and unusual punishment in prison that I do not agree with, he did not seem to believe that he had any reason for being there. He emphasizes again and again how prejudiced they all were against him and how he never had a chance in his trial. Burroughs seems to be one of those people who is born thinking that the world is a bit against them. These people then use the unfair prejudice of the world as an excuse for any bad behavior. Burroughs was convinced while at Dartmouth that there was even a triumvirate against him, although the footnote seems to disagree (28). What would give Burroughs this victim mentality? Perhaps many other counterfeiters and confidence-men also see themselves as victims. If they could convince themselves that the big, bad, world has been out to get them, then they could more easily justify victimizing others.

I thought Burroughs' narrative also raised an interesting moral question concerning identity and expectations. Burroughs "pretends" to be a preacher in Pelham, and the townspeople are furious when they discover that he is not really a preacher. Their outrage raises a number of questions, the first of which may be, what is a preacher? Must he have some formal training? Must he have been ordained by a church? Or is it enough if he can deliver a good sermon? Perhaps the real significance comes from the earnestness of his heart. Before they knew he was not a preacher, the townspeople were satisfied with his job performance. He even passed a truly daunting test by creating a sermon about old shoes. If someone said they were a burger flipper and they flipped our burgers well and grilled them to perfection, we probably wouldn't really care if he had originally been making it up. Some lies are different. Some identities cannot be built solely on words; some must have been earnestly created to be authentic.