Dreams

At first, I didn’t quite know what to make of “Feminisms, Genders, and Sexualities.” As I read, the word “staccato” kept popping into my head and I kept wondering how much of the varied history I would remember or what my final impression would be. It seemed to come at me like a too quick inspection of a patch–quilt, and I just couldn’t seem to get a handle on the page after page description of so many different ways to view the subject matter. For a long time now, I’ve been aware of the fact that there is no simple way to look at gender and sexuality; I’ve met so many people in my life that differ in these areas in so many ways. It wasn’t until I read the following words that I was finally given something I could hold onto: “It is clear from this overview that subfields of feminist and sexuality studies are diverse and multiplying” (237). At that moment, an old familiar unequivocal idea popped into my head, and what I was feeling made sense one more time. For better or for worse I’m a white–hetero–male living in a world of incredibly diverse genders and sexualities, and when that came to mind, so did the last verse from an old Bob Dylan song called “Talkin’ World War III Blues.” It goes like this ––

Well, now time passed and now it seems
Everybody’s having them dreams.
Everybody sees themselves walkin’ around with no one else.
Half of the people can be part right all of the time,
some of the people can be all right part of the time,
but all of the people can’t be all right all of the time.
I think Abraham Lincoln said that.
“I’ll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours,”
I said that.

The Other Side of the Borderland

It was a natural progression for me to head straight into contemplation after reading Susan Stanford Friedman’s essay on how the “new” concept of globalization has led to the naming and claiming of a new field in postmodern studies. All her talk about geography, borderlands, Diaspora, migration etc., led me straight to a place inside my mind that’s been anticipating a visit for over a month now. The lighting was just right, the atmosphere hospitable, and the conversation could not have been more relaxed and informative. With the help of a few old friends, I got a chance to see other places I’d been traveling to inside myself recently, and I'm really not all that happy with what I saw. Some of those neighborhoods were downright ugly, and the images have left a pretty strong impression.

I saw myself walking down dark streets, lit only by dim flickering gas lamps and the dull glow from dirty windows in dilapidated tenement buildings. The night air was cold, and seeped through my jacket on a biting wind. The characters were all hardcases sitting on stoops, leaning on walls, or just staring at me as I passed by. The sideway glance one guy gave me said, “what–the–hell–you–been–comin’–down–here–for?” –– just as I was wondering the same thing myself. And that was only one of the shabby, rundown neighborhoods I've trudged through in the past month or so.

That long moment of meditation, afforded me by Friedman's "Migrations, Diasporas, and Borders," has led to the realization that I’ve been using a lot of external happenings as a reason for feeling hot–tempered lately. But now that the elections are over, nobody got assassinated, and the California Supreme Court voted 6–1 to hear legal arguments against an oppressive proposition, I’ve got no more excuses. Of course, the more personal reasons for my heading down to the dark end of the street are best left for conversations between me and the Milky–Way; but that’s for later. Right now, after seeing clearly where I’ve been, I think I’ve taken the first step toward turning around and heading for the more sunny amiable places on the other side of the borderland. The beach, that’s where I’m heading, and after I’ve lost track of time lazing around with some old friends there, I might just take a long walk in the open woods before cruising up to the jazzy side of town where the music floats by on a warm breeze and everybody’s got a kind word and a good sense of humor.

It’s not that I’ve left these better places behind altogether; in fact, I have been drifting back and forth between them much of the time lately. But tonight, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been walking too often into places that I have no business visiting because they leave nothing but a negative effect on my attitude, and if I keep heading into those dingy back alley’s, it’s just going to become harder and harder to get back out each time. Another thing I know right now is that I’m feeling a sense of gratitude toward Susan Stanford Friedman for sparking a train of thought that led me to an over–due visit with some old friends that have a nice quiet little place a long ways off from the hustle and bustle out there in our globalized society.

Removing Ambiguity

They Say/I Say is really getting good. The chapter on honoring your own voice –– and not getting trapped in the thinking that one must use academic jargon in order to make one’s point –– put a smile on my face. I mean, if it’s the intention of the academic world to open its doors to a more diverse population, then encouraging people to appreciate their own way of speaking is imperative. Also, reminding us all that we have a right to say what comes naturally in order to help get our point across is timely, I think, after reading some of the stifling, overly done essays I’ve been assigned lately. I can’t tell you how often I’ve looked to the ceiling shaking my head while wishing the authors of certain texts would just write in a more straightforward manner, and I’ve also wondered if those same authors choose to write ambiguously just because they know that if they used down–to–earth language, no one would buy what they’re selling. Which is another reason to state things plainly… we have no place to hide that way, and I think readers appreciate that. I know I do.

The best essay I’ve read recently was the condensed, reworking of a conference speech. I didn’t find this out until after I’d read the essay. But, after thinking about it, I’m convinced that the author, Robert Connors, delivered the speech in a natural style because I remember how his essay came at me like a breath of fresh air after plowing through several dry, heady, confusing texts. His paper, for me, stood out as one that had ethos, pathos, and logos in such a wonderful combination that it shined. I loved his humor, I believed his logic, and the unassuming quality of his writing made it easy to trust him. I honestly did see him as a person using relatively down–to–earth language to get his point across rather than one who uses the kind of stiff academic language that oftentimes just gets in the way. The obvious reason Connor’s essay was such a joy to read is that the author wrote in his own voice, for the most part, and not in the voice of a highly trained academic writer. His position on the subject at hand, which he barely hinted at throughout the essay, became clear only at the end, but that was by design. Even though I disagreed with him, I remember thinking that his was the most memorable essay I’d read… and for me, as a sample of clean writing, it may remain the most memorable from that course. And it’s all because this author, who knew full–well how to write in high form academically, honored his own voice and spoke naturally.

I thought the authors of They Say/I Say would have to go some in order to top that chapter and they did with the chapter on “metacommentary.” The first paragraph under the heading “Use Metacommentary To Clarify And Elaborate” is one I’m thinking of copying, blowing up, and hanging on the wall somewhere. I’m also thinking of doing the same with some of the “passages” inserted by the authors of They Say/I Say. I loved the way these passages from other writers were used to drive home certain concepts, and even though this may be off the subject of writing lessons, as far as I’m concerned, those passages have been acting as meta–messages throughout the book, and of course, I love them because I agree with them. For instance, I couldn’t agree more with the statements, “the content of much of our public discourse has become dangerous nonsense” (126), and “show business has created…a destructive form of public discourse” (127). These lines come from only two of many poignant “passages” peppered throughout this book to illustrate writing lessons, and I believe these excerpts are worth reading just for the sake of contemplation. But for writing lessons, these two chapters have been the most encouraging for me because they not only suggest that we all remember our right to say what we mean in our own language, but also that, in order to write with more clarity, we should not be afraid to delve deeper into what we are thinking. This is turning out to be a great book.

Misinterpretation

I began reading Jerome McGann’s essay “Interpretation,” with my feet propped on the make–shift desk in my study. The book was in my lap and I quickly became engrossed, wondering if what I was reading was adding up to the idea that I had complete freedom to interpret his text any way I wanted to. I was so intrigued by the idea that as I reached for my coffee cup, I accidentally spilled a drop on the page containing the words, "As the literary work passes on through time and other hands…it bears along with and as itself the gathered history of all its engagements. Sometimes some of these codes [are]…physical transformations, like book damage […] Often, perhaps even more often, those multiplying histories have to be pursued; who were the readers of the book…?” I stared at the seemingly innocuous coffee stain wondering… wondering whom in the future might get lost in wonder while pondering its presence on the page... and about the nature of the person who spilled it.

As I read on, I could barely hold back the excitement I felt when reading the line, “Literary works can be, have been, performed in a variety of interpretive ways, ‘Did you ever read one of her poems backwards…? A something takes over the mind.’ That is Emily Dickinson’s remarkable proposal for a recitation–based method of radical reinterpretation” (162). Right then and there, I decided to retrace my study of McGann’s essay, reading right to left instead of left to right. At first, I was uncertain whether to just read the sentences backwards, or the words themselves. But, I quickly opted for reading each word in reverse, because, if I was going to do this thing, I was going to do it right. I was on a quest, a glorious quest, bound and determined to find that “something” that would “take over my mind.” The reverse study of this portion of the essay (two pages), took twelve hours, but it was the most rewarding twelve hours I’ve ever experienced. By the time I reached the coffee stain on the previous page, I was in a state of delirious confusion so intense, so concentrated, so magnificently profound that explication defies description. I saw “something” in that coffee stain, something destined to forever remain as only a vision, only an apparition, only a taste of the infinite mystery of life itself.

I have now decided to read all texts backwards, and I’ll gladly take the heat for having absolutely no understanding of what the authors may have had in mind. I am now dedicated to a new and wonderful way of interpreting the work of others without regard for their thoughts or meaning, for as McGann points out at the end of his essay:

To deliberately accept the inevitable failure of interpretive adequacy is to work toward discovering new interpretive virtues […] Riding’s attitude toward the process of critical thinking is helpful: ‘our minds are still moving, and backward as well as forward; the nearest we get to truth at any given moment is, perhaps, only an idea––a dash of truth somewhat flavouring the indeterminate substance of our minds.’ This thought calls for a critical method intent on baring its own devices. We take it seriously because it makes sure that we do not take it too seriously. (168)

God, I love that last line.

Feeling Overwhelmed

Well, I guess I’ve had enough fun with Aristotle’s Topoi. Trying to figure out how to inject a topic of invention into whatever blog I happened to be writing lately has been enjoyable, and his topic “the possible and the impossible” turned out to be something I found useful last night at midnight while writing another poem about…hmm…that’s enough about that. Right now, I’m in the mood to do a little focused free writing about what’s going on inside concerning the Oxford Guide to Library Research, and the amount of information it contains, in the hopes it will ease this feeling of being overwhelmed.

This is a great book. If there was a way I could open the top of my head and pour this stuff in, I’d do it… but the more I read, the more I realize it’ll take at least two years to understand even half of the methods, tricks, and pathways it has to offer for doing research efficiently. I mean, in the first place, just last week, I found it hard to stay on top of this book, which is regrettable, and in the second, I’ve been aware from the start that this is the type of information I will only ever understand by using it in trial and error situations. In other words, hands–on work is going to be necessary to grasp the myriad ways I’m being shown to attack a research project, and hands–on work doing research, for me, takes a lot of thoughtful time. And, these days, it seems to be hard to find any kind of time. For instance, the other day I had to decide whether it was more important to stop for an In–and–Out burger, or stop for gas. I opted for the gas because I figured it would be better to reach my destination hungry than find myself sitting on the side of the road with a full belly and a long walk. But I’m digressing.

Here’s the paragraph from OGLR that lead to this train of thought –– “A repeated theme of this book is that no one way of searching does everything […] You simply have to be aware of the trade–offs among the several search techniques so that your overall strategy can balance their various strengths and weaknesses against each other. Remember, though, that what you cannot do with one way of searching, you can do with another” (133). OK, I get that… but at this point, even though I’m thirsty for knowledge of the techniques contained in this book, and I wouldn’t mind a drink, I feel like I’ve asked for a glass of water and somebody tossed the contents of a bucket in my face. Not that that’s a bad thing. Someday, after going over this stuff enough, in real life situations, I’ll get more and more of a grasp on how to become a good researcher. But at the moment, I really can’t see myself on a “search for articles whose authors are in the English Department of Loyola University of Chicago,” or any other university for that matter, and plugging in something similar to “AD=loyola u* AND AD=eng* AND AD=chicago.” This whole book seems to be suggesting that I figure out a lot of different codes, which I believe would be fun because I do have a nerdy side. But unfortunately, I feel like I have to try and do it between fill–ups and wolfing down junk food, so I’ve decided to take baby steps, and hang onto this book as a reference guide. And who knows? Maybe in a couple years I’ll be able to find any article written by any professor at any university in any country around the world. And, if I can do that, I’ll die a happy man.