In my spare time. . . ;)
Cross-posted at Words, Words.
In Barnes and Noble the other day, I was looking in the nonfiction section to try to find a compelling book to replace the one we are currently using in our freshman composition course. I found one that I will be using in my own comp class next semester: Remix: Making Art and Commerce Thrive in the Hybrid Economy. It is a compelling topic that has impact on the life of universities--internet and copyright. Students have been trying to write about NAPSTER since I started teaching, and we are getting to the point where there is abundant scholarly material on the topic. In addition, the book stresses issues of writing and rhetoric and writing. The introduction refers to Lakoff and Johnson, gurus of metaphor and its implications. Another chapter begins with a discussion of use of sources in English papers--perfect! At any rate, I hope so. Of course, the best thing is that these are intellectual topics--subject to some emotional response, but not one that college freshmen (or non-freshmen) will be unable to control--and topics that I wouldn't mind discussing. This should prove to be an interesting book, but not one that I would necessarily read if not for teaching. . .
On the other hand, I found another book in B & N that I would really like to read: Anne Rice's memoir of her return to Catholicism, Called Out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession. I love conversion narrative--though not the early 17th century kind that you find in American Lit textbooks! I love the book Prodigal Daughters: Catholic Women Come Home to the Church, for example. Interesting thing--like the Anne Rice book, it is not really a conversion narrative, but a reversion--except that a conversion is a "turning toward," so indeed, it is a conversion, just not as "conversion" is usually meant. I have seen critiques of Rice's "brand" of Catholicism--that is, her failure to accept Church teaching on prominent social issues. This is hardly surprising, especially given her connection to New Orleans. On the other hand, it is perhaps important to recognize "conversion" as a process for anyone, including those who already see themselves as faithful Catholics. All of us have moments when we drift, even just a little, and come back, the important part is that we remind ourselves of the True Goal. So I am not looking to Anne Rice as a model of Catholicism, which I hope others do not do. I am well acquainted with Rice's novels, having read the first 4 vampire chronicles--repeatedly--in high school and early in my college career. Interestingly, it was Rice that first led me to investigate the meaning of the words "tabernacle" and "Transubstantiation." That alone is reason for me to read of her spiritual journey. I expect to find more than a touch of arrogance, even in her semblance of humility--but again, I'm not reading her as a spiritual guide, and it takes a bit of egotism to write such a book, though humility is a necessary part of the ethos of such an undertaking (a little rhetorical analysis). I am not particularly interested in her Road to Cana, etc. I picked it up once--in SAM'S club, I think--and was a little put off by the whole project. I'm not crazy about the idea of fictionalizing the life of Jesus. It just seems like treading on dangerous territory--theologically speaking. Remember that arrogance I mentioned? Yeah, that too. What I am primarily looking for in Called Out of Darkness is a feeling. And Rice is particularly good at evoking feeling. And seeing how rooted her feelings are in a particular place, and how we share that place as a common background, and share a common (or uncommon) religious experience, well, I think I could really enjoy reading the book. I told my son the other day that when I was a little girl, all little old ladies were Catholic, and their houses were all adorned with statues of saints and holy pictures. And that created a feeling--something that has become meaningful for me in recent years. I want to read about the influences of the beauty of Catholic culture on Rice, and how it influenced her conversion, since I know--on a level--what she is talking about. Perhaps one of these days I will have the opportunity to read it.
There are two others that catch my attention for cerebral reasons. From the New York Times "Notable Books of 2008":
The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic Book Scare and How it Changed America by David Hajdu
and
A Great Idea at the Time: The Rise, Fall and Curious Afterlife of the Great Books Project by Alex Beam
Because I am sitting down for the 4th or 5th time to try to finish this post, and because interruption seems imminent, I will not give too many of my impressions. After all, I have not actually held these books, I have just seen them online. You can, after all, tell a great deal about a book just from perusing it for 15 minutes--enough to write a decent review! I will say that these are rather predictable choices--being about literacy. Books about books--my specialty!
Friday, December 5, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Giver, Sexuality & Literacy
Warning!: If you are consulting this paper for a school assignment on The Giver, it will not help you. If you are planning to plagiarize part of this--don't. This writer has a Ph.D. Your teacher will never believe it is you, and you will be caught. In fact, the only reason this post has not been taken down is so that your teacher will know if you plagiarize. This writer has also used Turnitin.com, and knows how it works. Trust her. That is all.
***
This is more a reminder than an actual post. My son's 6th grade English class is reading The Giver by Lois Lowry, which I have never read, and after his mention that a few things seemed "inappropriate," I decided to see what I could find out about the book. Well, I learned that the part he found inappropriate was an erotic dream in which the (male) protagonist imagines trying to convince his friend (a girl) to remove her clothes so he can bath her. His accompanying feelings are his first "Stirrings"--of puberty, of sexual feelings, which are too strong to be permitted in a perfectly ordered society, and so must be suppressed with medicine. There are a few interesting things here, the point that I'm not really ready for him to be reading this notwithstanding. . . First, this is pretty standard stuff for dystopia. But it seems to me that the minimization of difference, the promotion of sameness, is associated with a different area of the political spectrum than the suppression of sexuality. This probably means that, like most dystopian novels, The Giver critiques not one particular form of government, but all the dehumanizing tendencies of society. Is Brave New World a critique of Marxism or Fascism? Exactly. The thing I find interesting is that there is a pill taken to suppress sexual urges. This stands in stark contrast to Brave New World, in which women take a "Malthusian" regimen of contraceptive pills to enable sexual availability at all times, the theory being that if the sexual urges are released at will, they will not erupt, resulting in social disorder. Of course, the sexual urges of a non-civilized individual do erupt, resulting in social disorder in Brave New World, so perhaps the eunuch pill (my term) really is a better strategy than compulsive, institutionalized sexual availability. The Giver is also a children's book. What I find interesting is the contrast between the birth control pill and the sexual urge control pill. Both are uses of hormones that regulate sexuality. One acknowledges--while suppressing--fertility. The other does not. The message of The Giver seems to be that suppression of sexual urges is dehumanizing. Brave New World suggests that the separation of sexuality from fertility is dangerous in some way, and also dehumanizing. The Giver does not, as far as I can tell, link sexuality and fertility in any way. Now, this is a feature of the society, but it is also a feature of the novel. After all, separation of sexuality from fertility is a feature of the society of Brave New World, but the novel emphasizes that the separation is unnatural. How to remedy this in a children's novel, I'm not sure. However, the author chose to address sexuality in the first place, and the production of children is a separate issue. Completely. Separate. (As far as I can tell.) This is by way of reminding myself to verify this impression whenever I am able to read the novel myself.
Literacy becomes relevant because, as is common in dystopia, access to books is restricted. Only the individual who is the keeper of memories of the past, including emotion, unique experiences, and pain, has unrestricted (it seems) access to books. Now, I am not completely sure why this is--for consolation, perhaps? To allow the individual to cope with his/her knowledge of pain? (Very Freudian, btw) Or possibly to supplement the memories by providing records of other experiences and provide knowledge to use as the basis for important decisions. At any rate, books are seen as unnecessary and possibly dangerous for the populus, who have access only to the dictionary, community volume, Book of Rules--decidedly utilitarian volumes. That there is an association between the Receiver of Memories (who is permitted to feel and think deeper than anyone else) suggests an association between literacy and introspection. I'm not sure where Lowry takes this association, or whether she carries the implied literacy discourse any further, but it will be interesting to see if she does anything further with this dystopian theme. . .
***
This is more a reminder than an actual post. My son's 6th grade English class is reading The Giver by Lois Lowry, which I have never read, and after his mention that a few things seemed "inappropriate," I decided to see what I could find out about the book. Well, I learned that the part he found inappropriate was an erotic dream in which the (male) protagonist imagines trying to convince his friend (a girl) to remove her clothes so he can bath her. His accompanying feelings are his first "Stirrings"--of puberty, of sexual feelings, which are too strong to be permitted in a perfectly ordered society, and so must be suppressed with medicine. There are a few interesting things here, the point that I'm not really ready for him to be reading this notwithstanding. . . First, this is pretty standard stuff for dystopia. But it seems to me that the minimization of difference, the promotion of sameness, is associated with a different area of the political spectrum than the suppression of sexuality. This probably means that, like most dystopian novels, The Giver critiques not one particular form of government, but all the dehumanizing tendencies of society. Is Brave New World a critique of Marxism or Fascism? Exactly. The thing I find interesting is that there is a pill taken to suppress sexual urges. This stands in stark contrast to Brave New World, in which women take a "Malthusian" regimen of contraceptive pills to enable sexual availability at all times, the theory being that if the sexual urges are released at will, they will not erupt, resulting in social disorder. Of course, the sexual urges of a non-civilized individual do erupt, resulting in social disorder in Brave New World, so perhaps the eunuch pill (my term) really is a better strategy than compulsive, institutionalized sexual availability. The Giver is also a children's book. What I find interesting is the contrast between the birth control pill and the sexual urge control pill. Both are uses of hormones that regulate sexuality. One acknowledges--while suppressing--fertility. The other does not. The message of The Giver seems to be that suppression of sexual urges is dehumanizing. Brave New World suggests that the separation of sexuality from fertility is dangerous in some way, and also dehumanizing. The Giver does not, as far as I can tell, link sexuality and fertility in any way. Now, this is a feature of the society, but it is also a feature of the novel. After all, separation of sexuality from fertility is a feature of the society of Brave New World, but the novel emphasizes that the separation is unnatural. How to remedy this in a children's novel, I'm not sure. However, the author chose to address sexuality in the first place, and the production of children is a separate issue. Completely. Separate. (As far as I can tell.) This is by way of reminding myself to verify this impression whenever I am able to read the novel myself.
Literacy becomes relevant because, as is common in dystopia, access to books is restricted. Only the individual who is the keeper of memories of the past, including emotion, unique experiences, and pain, has unrestricted (it seems) access to books. Now, I am not completely sure why this is--for consolation, perhaps? To allow the individual to cope with his/her knowledge of pain? (Very Freudian, btw) Or possibly to supplement the memories by providing records of other experiences and provide knowledge to use as the basis for important decisions. At any rate, books are seen as unnecessary and possibly dangerous for the populus, who have access only to the dictionary, community volume, Book of Rules--decidedly utilitarian volumes. That there is an association between the Receiver of Memories (who is permitted to feel and think deeper than anyone else) suggests an association between literacy and introspection. I'm not sure where Lowry takes this association, or whether she carries the implied literacy discourse any further, but it will be interesting to see if she does anything further with this dystopian theme. . .
Sunday, June 15, 2008
SF Stories: "The Bookshop" by Nelson Boyd (1946)
I have been trying to get the ball rolling on a research project I'm committed to. I'll be investigating representation of literacy in science fiction in the archives of the university where I live. Last Saturday I managed to squeeze in an hour before they closed up to talk to the Science Fiction archive librarian, a friend who has helped me a lot with knowing where to start looking! This Saturday, having taken his hints and gotten in my request of things for them to pull ahead of time, I still only managed to squeeze in a little while before they closed, but even so, I managed to look at a few things and read one short story. This truly is archival research, as some of the stories are not available in anthologies--ANY anthologies. Pretty exciting. If there was not already a glut of super-specialized Science Fiction anthologies, both in and out of print, that serve only about 5 science fiction readers and researchers each, I might have dreams of a "literacy in SF" anthology. Oh well. I'll stick to my dreams of a fantasy anthology that would actually work for the class I teach.
This weekend's story is "The Bookshop" by Nelson Boyd (1946), republished in Avon Fantasy Reader in 1951. The interesting thing about these early SF/F short stories is that they are very reminiscent of early Twilight Zone episodes. Maybe because they often became Twilight Zone episodes. Or Star Trek.
"The Bookshop" has that familiar feel about it. The narrator begins the tale trying to complete a novel--his best, he believes--but he is stuck, and feeling the heat. He gradually realizes he is sick--actually physically ill. In his illness, he comes to fixate on a bookshop where a poet friend of his stops suddenly during a bus ride--a bookshop our narrator has never noticed before--very shortly before the poet friend dies suddenly of a heart attack. The narrator is drawn to visit the place when he recovers, and finds a familiar-looking proprietor presiding over a very dark shop containing volumes upon volumes by many of the usual names--Shakespeare and Twain among them--but unusual titles: Shakespeare's Agamemnon, for example. He sees among the books, the work his poet friend told him he was writing before his death--supposedly, his masterpiece. The bookshop, then, contains the works that authors were unable to finish (or even begin) in their lifetimes, including the novel of our narrator, in all of its perfection.
The bookshop, then, is an allegory for heaven, suggesting a comparison to E. M. Forster's "The Celestial Omnibus," in which "heaven" is a literary creation--filled with the characters from literature as early as Homer and continuing through the 19th century with Dickens's Mrs. Gamp and Fielding's Tom Jones. The idea, I argue, is that literary enjoyment (as opposed to dispassionate "appreciation" of literary texts) transports one to heaven--though in retrospect, Forster's allegory suggests a disbelief in an actual Heaven in a way that "The Bookshop" does not. In "The Bookshop," one can not return from "heaven" where one's works exist in their perfection (much like Plato's realm of Forms). In "The Celestial Omnibus," one is transported back and forth between "heaven" and "the real world" by the authors themselves, who pilot the omnibuses. (Dante is one of the drivers, and his horses are black, grey, and white--the grey being the finest.) The idea of perfection isn't important for Forster, who seems to focus more on how the literary works act upon or are received by the reader rather than the writer's quest for perfection (which is largely irrelevant to the reader once the work has been published).
Some of the important ideas in "The Bookshop" from the perspective of literacy theory are some tidbits about the permanence of writing, curiously undermined by the ephemeral nature of the unwritten masterpiece. There is a kind of lonely near-despair that permeates the story, which clearly takes the solitary vision of the "writer writing in isolation" to heart. The idea of "the Story" as it could be or should be rather than the story that "IS" situates the perspective of "The Bookshop" as far removed from the theoretical reader, who doesn't really matter to the writer-as-artist. However much we might wish to read Shakespeare's Agamemnon (a singularly unlikely title), we realize, being left in the cold by the voice of Sarumon, that it (like Hamlet or Macbeth) was clearly not written for us.
This weekend's story is "The Bookshop" by Nelson Boyd (1946), republished in Avon Fantasy Reader in 1951. The interesting thing about these early SF/F short stories is that they are very reminiscent of early Twilight Zone episodes. Maybe because they often became Twilight Zone episodes. Or Star Trek.
"The Bookshop" has that familiar feel about it. The narrator begins the tale trying to complete a novel--his best, he believes--but he is stuck, and feeling the heat. He gradually realizes he is sick--actually physically ill. In his illness, he comes to fixate on a bookshop where a poet friend of his stops suddenly during a bus ride--a bookshop our narrator has never noticed before--very shortly before the poet friend dies suddenly of a heart attack. The narrator is drawn to visit the place when he recovers, and finds a familiar-looking proprietor presiding over a very dark shop containing volumes upon volumes by many of the usual names--Shakespeare and Twain among them--but unusual titles: Shakespeare's Agamemnon, for example. He sees among the books, the work his poet friend told him he was writing before his death--supposedly, his masterpiece. The bookshop, then, contains the works that authors were unable to finish (or even begin) in their lifetimes, including the novel of our narrator, in all of its perfection.
The bookshop, then, is an allegory for heaven, suggesting a comparison to E. M. Forster's "The Celestial Omnibus," in which "heaven" is a literary creation--filled with the characters from literature as early as Homer and continuing through the 19th century with Dickens's Mrs. Gamp and Fielding's Tom Jones. The idea, I argue, is that literary enjoyment (as opposed to dispassionate "appreciation" of literary texts) transports one to heaven--though in retrospect, Forster's allegory suggests a disbelief in an actual Heaven in a way that "The Bookshop" does not. In "The Bookshop," one can not return from "heaven" where one's works exist in their perfection (much like Plato's realm of Forms). In "The Celestial Omnibus," one is transported back and forth between "heaven" and "the real world" by the authors themselves, who pilot the omnibuses. (Dante is one of the drivers, and his horses are black, grey, and white--the grey being the finest.) The idea of perfection isn't important for Forster, who seems to focus more on how the literary works act upon or are received by the reader rather than the writer's quest for perfection (which is largely irrelevant to the reader once the work has been published).
Some of the important ideas in "The Bookshop" from the perspective of literacy theory are some tidbits about the permanence of writing, curiously undermined by the ephemeral nature of the unwritten masterpiece. There is a kind of lonely near-despair that permeates the story, which clearly takes the solitary vision of the "writer writing in isolation" to heart. The idea of "the Story" as it could be or should be rather than the story that "IS" situates the perspective of "The Bookshop" as far removed from the theoretical reader, who doesn't really matter to the writer-as-artist. However much we might wish to read Shakespeare's Agamemnon (a singularly unlikely title), we realize, being left in the cold by the voice of Sarumon, that it (like Hamlet or Macbeth) was clearly not written for us.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Literacy Narratives and Children's Lit: A Review from The Wine Dark Sea [UPDATED]
I have been sadly idle after my ambition and promise of bookish thoughts. That should change eventually, as deadlines become more pressing! For now, I will be content with reading about books from time to time, and recording interesting ones that cross my path.
Two books that interest me from a literacy perspective, if not from a literary one, are children's books. The first, I saw at the bookstore yesterday, did not buy, and forgot the author and title. Oops! It looked to be fantasy, and the cover resembles the Series of Unfortunate Events umm... series? or the Spiderwick Chronicles--dark & cartoony, if you know what I mean. [UPDATE: The book is Fly By Night by Frances Hardinge. I have a library copy and hope to review it in the future.] The cover also had across it, "Imagine a world in which books have been outlawed" or some such. My response? Ummm, yeah. It's been done. Multiple times. Clearly, I am not their intended audience. Still, from professional interest, I should probably take a look. Or at least go back & find the author & title to add to my list of literacy fictions. Guess I need to start a young adult list. That actually should be interesting!! I just find it grating when someone peddles an old idea as a new one. *sigh*
The second literacy narrative masquerades (sort of) as the story of a saint's life, but attempts to be a kind of How the Irish Saved Civilization for kids. Definitely not intended to inspire your children to Faith. So says Melanie at The Wine Dark Sea:
I had high hopes for Across a Dark and Wild Sea, writen and illustrated by Don Brown, the story of St. Columcille (also known as St. Columba), but I am sadly disappointed. It isn't a terrible book, but it falls short of what it should be and could be and its deficiencies are in strong contrast when it's read next to the excellent book about St Kevin.
I had two main complaints. The first is an overly didactic tone that gets in the way of telling a good story. Brown's decision to incorporate definitions of words, information about the historical period, and a long discourse about the process of making manuscripts into the flow of the story is an unfortunate one. This information, while quite welcome, could have been included as notes at the back of the book rather than in the text of the story. (This is what the story of St Kevin does and I think it allows the story to be entertaining to a much younger audience while still informing an older reader.) The story frequently bogs down and I noticed Isabella's interest waning at the same time I began to be annoyed.
My second complaint is that the book is completely secular in its approach. That Columcille is a saint is only mentioned in the author's note at the end. It doesn't appear at all in the text of the story. God is never mentioned and religion, faith and prayer seem to be embarrassing incidentals to be glossed over and talked around as much as possible. The author seems to be an outsider, distinctly uncomfortable with the vocabulary of religion.
I think this discomfort can be demonstrated best in contrasting the way the two books handle the protagonists' entrance to monastic life. The Blackbird's Nest states simply:
Another passage that sounded a wrong note was when after a bloody battle Columcille imposes a penance of exile upon himself. Note, though, the absence of the vocabulary of faith (words such as vows, sin, virtue, and penance):
Later we are told that the monks at Iona "struggled to live worthy lives and shared their faith with their Scottish neighbors." That adjective "worthy" is anemic! Were I writing this story, I'd have written about their living lives of heroic virtue, serving God, and bringing the light and love of Christ to their Scottish neighbors.
Brown seems to want to tell the story of how the Irish monks saved civilization while being embarrassed that religion has to come into it at all. This is not a story about a man of faith, but about literacy and books. Not a bad thing in itself; but, as I said, disappointing when I was hoping for an inspiring story of a great saint. Here's the conclusion of the book:
Two more minor quibbles, I almost think it's overkill to include them. From the first page I was uncomfortable with the characterization of the Medieval period as "the dark ages". From a Catholic perspective the middle ages were in fact an era of light, the light of Christ shining in a formerly pagan world as monasteries spread . But the introduction presents the familiar secular perspective: "the darkness of ignorance and the shadow it cast over people's minds."
I also was distinctly uncomfortable with this characterization: "Reading and writing were like magic and the people who knew their secrets as rare as wizards. Columcille became one of them."
I think this book may still be useful, especially for studies of Ireland, Irish history, medieval history, etc. Not so good for catechetical purposes, looking at religious themes. It certainly isn't wrong in anything it says and I do appreciate the literacy narrative aspects of Columcille story.
Melanie's description interests me, but I can see the reasons for her reservations. The characterization of the Middle Ages is not only troubling from a perspective of faith, but also an intellectual perspective. Ask your professor of Medieval Literature or History about this time period. The monasteries were seats of mini-Renaissances! Even from the perspective of literacy-orality studies, some things seem a little simplistic. . . The ending, for example. Ummm. . . Let's think. . . Would his story have been transmitted entirely by way of literacy? What about the other ways Tradition/traditions and lives of the saints have been passed on? That's right! Orality! The two did not tend to exist independently of one another. It seems to preserve the superiority of literacy, which is a definite faux-pas as literacy studies go these days. Not one with which I'm super concerned, though. I do think that books brightened people's minds, though this language is rather telling:
The books made colonies of learning, and people's minds, once dark with ignorance, were brightened.
Let's look at that for a moment. These books have just been described as "little boats" being "made and dispatched." Now the books are making "colonies of learning." Hmmm. . . Aren't colonies baaaad?? The implicit discourse here is the discourse of colonization. The book itself seems almost to be making a post-colonial point: that people were having their minds colonized by ideas about faith and religion, which was (we guess) okay given the times and that it was all the people had access to. On the other hand, they were learning to read, which is generally accepted as "good" and must have had some residual benefits for the poor ignorant people. I find this fascinating on a number of levels. I really have to find this one. I don't expect to love it, but sometimes that's what scholarship is all about.
Two books that interest me from a literacy perspective, if not from a literary one, are children's books. The first, I saw at the bookstore yesterday, did not buy, and forgot the author and title. Oops! It looked to be fantasy, and the cover resembles the Series of Unfortunate Events umm... series? or the Spiderwick Chronicles--dark & cartoony, if you know what I mean. [UPDATE: The book is Fly By Night by Frances Hardinge. I have a library copy and hope to review it in the future.] The cover also had across it, "Imagine a world in which books have been outlawed" or some such. My response? Ummm, yeah. It's been done. Multiple times. Clearly, I am not their intended audience. Still, from professional interest, I should probably take a look. Or at least go back & find the author & title to add to my list of literacy fictions. Guess I need to start a young adult list. That actually should be interesting!! I just find it grating when someone peddles an old idea as a new one. *sigh*
The second literacy narrative masquerades (sort of) as the story of a saint's life, but attempts to be a kind of How the Irish Saved Civilization for kids. Definitely not intended to inspire your children to Faith. So says Melanie at The Wine Dark Sea:
I had high hopes for Across a Dark and Wild Sea, writen and illustrated by Don Brown, the story of St. Columcille (also known as St. Columba), but I am sadly disappointed. It isn't a terrible book, but it falls short of what it should be and could be and its deficiencies are in strong contrast when it's read next to the excellent book about St Kevin.
I had two main complaints. The first is an overly didactic tone that gets in the way of telling a good story. Brown's decision to incorporate definitions of words, information about the historical period, and a long discourse about the process of making manuscripts into the flow of the story is an unfortunate one. This information, while quite welcome, could have been included as notes at the back of the book rather than in the text of the story. (This is what the story of St Kevin does and I think it allows the story to be entertaining to a much younger audience while still informing an older reader.) The story frequently bogs down and I noticed Isabella's interest waning at the same time I began to be annoyed.
My second complaint is that the book is completely secular in its approach. That Columcille is a saint is only mentioned in the author's note at the end. It doesn't appear at all in the text of the story. God is never mentioned and religion, faith and prayer seem to be embarrassing incidentals to be glossed over and talked around as much as possible. The author seems to be an outsider, distinctly uncomfortable with the vocabulary of religion.
I think this discomfort can be demonstrated best in contrasting the way the two books handle the protagonists' entrance to monastic life. The Blackbird's Nest states simply:
When he was seven, Kevin's parents sent him to live at a monastery where he could learn to read, write and pray. As he knelt beside the monks in chapel, he felt he almost belonged there.Across a Dark and Wild Sea, on the other hand, though clearly written at a much more advanced reading level, seems distinctly uncomfortable with the vocabulary of faith and introduces awkward circumlocutions to define the words "monastery" and "monk", words which the Kevin book simply uses naturally without any glosses:
These schools were part of religious communities called monasteries and were candles of learning in a dark world. Columcille became a monastery member known as a monk.Really, "monastery member"!?! Give me a break!
Another passage that sounded a wrong note was when after a bloody battle Columcille imposes a penance of exile upon himself. Note, though, the absence of the vocabulary of faith (words such as vows, sin, virtue, and penance):
Yet the victory felt hollow and wrong to Columcille. The blood shed over the book had betrayed his pledge as a monk to live a worthy life. He decided he must be punished and set the punishment himself: He would leave his beloved Ireland to make a more worthy life elsewhere.
Later we are told that the monks at Iona "struggled to live worthy lives and shared their faith with their Scottish neighbors." That adjective "worthy" is anemic! Were I writing this story, I'd have written about their living lives of heroic virtue, serving God, and bringing the light and love of Christ to their Scottish neighbors.
Brown seems to want to tell the story of how the Irish monks saved civilization while being embarrassed that religion has to come into it at all. This is not a story about a man of faith, but about literacy and books. Not a bad thing in itself; but, as I said, disappointing when I was hoping for an inspiring story of a great saint. Here's the conclusion of the book:
Books were made and dispatched, like small boats on a dark and wild sea, to places where reading and writing had been forgotten or ignored. The books made colonies of learning, and people's minds, once dark with ignorance, were brightened.Though I'm fascinated by Columcille the man who loved books, I think he would agree with me that more important than his love for books was his love for Christ. St. Columba wasn't just copying words but The Word. His greatest work was bringing light to darkened minds, the light of Christ. Sadly, the author of this book seems blind to that greater light.
Columcille, the man who loved books, helped the world love books. So we remember him and retell his story.
IN A BOOK.
Two more minor quibbles, I almost think it's overkill to include them. From the first page I was uncomfortable with the characterization of the Medieval period as "the dark ages". From a Catholic perspective the middle ages were in fact an era of light, the light of Christ shining in a formerly pagan world as monasteries spread . But the introduction presents the familiar secular perspective: "the darkness of ignorance and the shadow it cast over people's minds."
I also was distinctly uncomfortable with this characterization: "Reading and writing were like magic and the people who knew their secrets as rare as wizards. Columcille became one of them."
I think this book may still be useful, especially for studies of Ireland, Irish history, medieval history, etc. Not so good for catechetical purposes, looking at religious themes. It certainly isn't wrong in anything it says and I do appreciate the literacy narrative aspects of Columcille story.
Melanie's description interests me, but I can see the reasons for her reservations. The characterization of the Middle Ages is not only troubling from a perspective of faith, but also an intellectual perspective. Ask your professor of Medieval Literature or History about this time period. The monasteries were seats of mini-Renaissances! Even from the perspective of literacy-orality studies, some things seem a little simplistic. . . The ending, for example. Ummm. . . Let's think. . . Would his story have been transmitted entirely by way of literacy? What about the other ways Tradition/traditions and lives of the saints have been passed on? That's right! Orality! The two did not tend to exist independently of one another. It seems to preserve the superiority of literacy, which is a definite faux-pas as literacy studies go these days. Not one with which I'm super concerned, though. I do think that books brightened people's minds, though this language is rather telling:
The books made colonies of learning, and people's minds, once dark with ignorance, were brightened.
Let's look at that for a moment. These books have just been described as "little boats" being "made and dispatched." Now the books are making "colonies of learning." Hmmm. . . Aren't colonies baaaad?? The implicit discourse here is the discourse of colonization. The book itself seems almost to be making a post-colonial point: that people were having their minds colonized by ideas about faith and religion, which was (we guess) okay given the times and that it was all the people had access to. On the other hand, they were learning to read, which is generally accepted as "good" and must have had some residual benefits for the poor ignorant people. I find this fascinating on a number of levels. I really have to find this one. I don't expect to love it, but sometimes that's what scholarship is all about.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Welcome to My New Blog! -and- A Statement of Purpose
I have had this blog address "on reserve" for an unknown purpose--or perhaps as a springboard from my other blog, Words, words. But inspired by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made On and the multitude of hardcore book bloggers I have encountered through his posts, links, and challenges, the purpose has now come to light! "Booknotes from Literacy-chic" will (hopefully) be a record of the various books I want to read in the coming weeks, months, even--who knows?--years, as I gather material for future scholarship and teaching. I don't promise reviews, this will be more "thoughts that occur to me" with a wrap-up when I finish the book. But if I'm posting thoughts on the book all along, it might keep me honest--you know, I might actually finish the book lest the blog be disappointed.
The first things I will likely be reading are related to various academic projects. I have been given a short list of Modernist works that I need to read in order to market myself as an "expert" on the authors I cover in my dissertation. I will be working on some archival research on representation of literate activity in science fiction of the early 20th century. I will be preparing to teach children's literature in July. And I will be reviewing some nonfiction for freshman comp in the fall.
I recently read D. H. Lawrence's Women in Love, though perhaps not recently enough to have many coherent thoughts. I may see what I can recall from that reading endeavor, though, just as a starting point!
I hope to have many visitors--both familiar and new. Looking forward to sharing some bookish ideas!
The first things I will likely be reading are related to various academic projects. I have been given a short list of Modernist works that I need to read in order to market myself as an "expert" on the authors I cover in my dissertation. I will be working on some archival research on representation of literate activity in science fiction of the early 20th century. I will be preparing to teach children's literature in July. And I will be reviewing some nonfiction for freshman comp in the fall.
I recently read D. H. Lawrence's Women in Love, though perhaps not recently enough to have many coherent thoughts. I may see what I can recall from that reading endeavor, though, just as a starting point!
I hope to have many visitors--both familiar and new. Looking forward to sharing some bookish ideas!
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