Literature in the Now

It is interesting the world we live in today. Reading no longer means looking at words on a page, but rather to read is to interpret. Texts no longer are books, poems, and scripts, but are cultural artifacts. New criticism is not a single limb of literary criticism, but has branched out into psychoanalytic criticism, feminism, queer literary criticism, and race/gender/sexuality modes of criticism. While what we define as modern, the twentieth century to now, has changed significantly since the 1900s. Post modernism is now our current day, where ideology has changed so fast that definitions are redefined, criticism is being criticized, and constructions are being deconstructed. We no longer give a care to what the author means by a text they write, but rather we separate the product from the producer. We interpret characters and situations based on their depictions and how it relates to political and cultural institutions.
For Example:
Logocentric texts. Logocentric tells us the differences that tell us what makes a human, human by looking at the reason that people have. I agrue that reason is nothing more than a constructed ideology by the patriarchal system, that reason has sprung from white male logic. We cannot define someone as human based on the logic of a certain group of the populas. We talk the word reason, and must redefine it. Do we really know what makes a human, human? Aren't we all blinded by our own perceptions, not allowing space for differencial opinions, divergent thoughts, and reconstructing ideologies? Post modernism has deconstructed essentialistic mind frames by targeting language, culture, race, and the human concious (ect.). Everything now-a-days is questioned, and everything we say, think, and notion is not to be trusted. As confusing as this all seems, I confess it makes sense.

"On Beauty"

Monday in class we discussed the poem within Zadie Smith's novel. I admit that it is very confusing and cannot present all of its meaning, but I can describe what I got from it. There were two lines that really stuck out to me, and for my interpretation of the poem--these lines are the basis of the Poet's goal in the poem and its overall meaning: "They are the damned / and so their saddness is perfect / delicate as an egg placed in your palm / Hard, it is decorated with their face." The subject of the poem is "they"--the beautiful--and by having the subject italicized we (the readers, observers, the unbeautiful) are distanced from them. We interpret them from afar, their meaning based on our observations, and their face an object of wanton desire. This desire is created by the desirous, leaving the beautiful cursed because of their appearance, form, and structure. "The beautiful know this": here we see where the "saddness" described is coming from. They are concious of their beauty and of their objectivity. Yet looking upon these lines I understand that this passage is meant almost to defend the beautiful, and since it is written by Claire, we can imagin her objectifying her own beauty by expressing that she, and those other beautiful ones, cannot help but be beautiful. The poem is asking why then must the unbeautiful be unforgiving of their "sins"? That with perfection, with the start of every snow fall, there comes unperfection, a chill. That they possess wounds--the very wounds we give them by objectifying them, damning them, and subjecting them. Just as an egg in our palm sits, they are dependant upon us. In any moment we can tip our hand vertically, letting the egg slide gently from it and shatter on the floor. Throughout this poem I could not help but think about the story of Laocoon, a man who defied the Horse created by the Greeks and then later killed by snakes. His statue came to mind for it encompassed pain, beauty, and should be looked upon at a distance, for we do not know his pain, but can only see him in this structured statue.

A University's Systematic Ideology

Our culture today is based on systematic ideologies. Everything is a system. During colonialization patriarichal reason and logic grew rapidly along with industrialism and commercialism. Within these companies grew a systematic hierarchy that resonated through daily living, creating a system therefore among people. In order to have a system it is essential to oppress and subjegate in order to have a top and a bottom. Patriarchy created aversaries amongst women, people of color, and everyone else that strayed from their normal straight, white, successful male in order to have a system. Unfortunatly this certain ideology still has its barrings on our society still. In "On Beauty" by Zadie Smith we see a culture that represents this deeply engrained notion on normality and what it means to be in the American culture. From the earlier creation of systemizing as a way of living, we see systems in everything we do within our culture. For instance, the subject of the Academic world is presented in "On Beauty", describing the culture wars within the University. On one side, the right side, we see a systematic hierarchy based on the genius, the levels of intellect, and the importance of the individual. Where the ellitist minds occupy, where the intellect feasts, and where language is a way to exhibit smartness. On the other side, the left side, we see a broader and more accepting view of the person, incorporating race, gender, and sexuality. This left side is a way to turn from the systematic right side, and its opposition has created a dychotomy of truths within the University.

What is Good writing? What makes a work Art?

While watching the interview of Zadie Smith a few things that she stated stuck with me. As someone who wishes to begin writing novels I took to heart her opinion about what makes a good novel and what makes a novel political. If our vanities and self-perceptions stand as an obstacle to us being a good writer, the only thing to overcome this obstacle is by being truthful and honest about your perception of the world and of life within it. Though it is easily stated, it's idea is extremely difficult to imagine. I have always thought that my writing is good if it is true to me, if it is told in my voice, and if it is of my experience. But what is self expression if it is not a selfish desire to outshine my contemporary writers and sit beside Shakespeare in popular status? Is telling your story an attempt to become part of them instead of becoming a part of us--the multicultural world we inhabit? I'm not saying you cannot create a story based on your experiences, but rather take those experiences and write about the people that influenced it and how it mirrors humanity and worldly ideology. Artful literature encompass the morality of its time through analogies or the political battles between government and individuals, individuals against one another, and individuals against societal standards. Art to me screams against normalities, expresses perceptions of truthful realities, and tries to move the audience. I try not to fall into the elitist-made pit full of books of so-called genius writers, by reading only great names and approach any book by any author with the attitude to accept it as art if it demands such a title.

Why Cherish a Haunting Past?

The nature of one's heart is so mysterious. We love unconditionally family, friends, and lovers when we are surrounded by them and while we are away from them. We have comfort that when the people we love fade in death they are illuminated by remembrance, that in hindsight they are alive in past memories. In times that prove difficult, we calm ourselves down by remembering a happy and funny time in our lives and our hearts thrive in its colors, outstriding present stress. I admit I fall victim to this ritual and sometimes days pass me by while I stand still in one spot. Why is it that the past is so emotionally controlling? We dwell on happy memories to forget that we are living now and capable of doing something new to better our self, our situation, and our lifestyles. In consequence of this behavior, with happy memories come sad memories. Memories so hurtful, a lost love, an abusive parent, that it is etched on our minds, tugging hard at our hearts, hindering us from ever overcoming its influence.
Jeanette Winterson in Arts and Lies creates a "medical parallel" to these such abusive behaviors: "...those who lose a limb, either through accident or amputation, continue to feel pain in the non-existant part. Some claim their vanished arm is still hanging by their side." (pg. 44) Is this what the past condemns us to? Memories inflict upon us still a sense that it still lives and is still attached to us, when in reality there is nothing there. How can we still feel pain from a past lover that no longer is there to hurt us? From a father who no longer beats us? It is silly to depend so wholly on the past when it has no real substance to support us--and let alone guide us! We have spent too long looking down in tearful remembrances and looking up in happy recollections and not seeing the world as it presents itself in every moment. "We were happy"...."Remember when you used to do this?"...."I can never forgive men because this one time at school...."
What about now? Why use a false limb of air to drink that special hot chocolate mom used to make, when you can use the other limb still attached to pick up a steaming cup of the tea that sits in front of you? Winterson uses the imagery of a city being built, by it reusing materials to build greater buildings--can we do that with memories? If we could create a recycling system of memories, we could create a home from its materials. While living we have to comfort of them surrounding us, sheltering us from the cold heartless night. They would not be used as a false limb, constantly reminding us of what we don't have anymore, but rather a foundation to live life looking straight ahead.