To Smithereens and Back
“Enter at your own peril, past the bolted doors where impossible things may happen that the world has never seen before.”
This pulsating addictive theme song resonated within as I awaited my one guilty pleasure, my one anointed creative catalyst in an otherwise gruelingly rigorous routine. Dexter’s Lab was intrinsically interesting to my generation; the seemingly original idea of the nuclear family with a twist and a very cat-and-mouse like relationship between the main character, Dexter, and his sister Dee-Dee captivated our oh-so-naïve minds. It always puzzled me how Dexter’s tries to invent in solitude, his efforts at scientific progress were halted by the immaturely creative genius that is Dee-Dee; it was in this deceptively parasitic relationship that I found food for thought: the boy genius immersed himself in the world of science to invent with a certain defined purpose, but the comically blunt sister found a different use, a different definition altogether for his inventions much to the dismay of our short accented protagonist.
Although “blown to smithereens” proved to be the end of this little analogy, their relationship dynamic transcends mere cartoon characters and develops into more of an abstract entity. Goulish interpreted this entity as the relationship between the writer and the reader, and in his essay “Criticism”, the idea of why a writer writes and why a reader reads is addressed in a very unique light. Goulish believes that “Any act of critical thought finds its value through fulfilling one or both of two interrelated purposes: 1) to cause a change 2) to understand how to understand.” (558) Endeavoring into the mind of a critic, Goulish is able to represent what, in essence, any fo...
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... very interesting that the word you use to describe this concrete, desolate chemical substance was in fact in meaning completely contradictory: “Plastic (n.): a structure or molded figure; a creative or procreative principle; a solid substance easily molded or shaped,” (Oxford English Dictionary).” (Letter to Roland)
This anomaly, this manifestation of a paradox hiding itself in the subtext of the writer’s subconscious could be explained by nothing more complex then just me overanalyzing the definition of a word, but it is a reflection of the writer’s process, it is what remains after the mental battle every writer goes through when faced with a certain subject; no writer can be completely convinced of the validity of his argument, because then he would not be writing about it. The mere fact that we write about a topic shows our want of a deeper understanding.
Among its detractors, literary theory has a reputation for sinful ignorance of both literature and the outside world; literary critics either overemphasize the word at the expense of context (as in formalistic criticisms) or overemphasize context at the expense of the word (as in political and historical criticisms). However, deconstruction holds a particularly tenuous position among literary theories as a school that apparently commits both sins; while formalistically focusing on the words on the page, deconstruction subjects those words to unnatural abuse. Thus, deconstruction seems locked in the ivory tower, in the company of resentful New-Critical neighbors.
The wonderful and talented personage who wrote this book is Lemony Snickets. He is a studied expert in rhetorical analysis, a distinguished scholar, an amateur connoisseur.
Americans have embraced debate since before we were a country. The idea that we would provide reasoned support for any position that we took is what made us different from the English king. Our love of debate came from the old country, and embedded itself in our culture as a defining value. Thus, it should not come as a surprise that the affinity for debate is still strong, and finds itself as a regular feature of the mainstream media. However, if Deborah Tannen of the New York Times is correct, our understanding of what it means to argue may be very different from what it once was; a “culture of critique” has developed within our media, and it relies on the exclusive opposition of two conflicting positions (Tannen). In her 1994 editorial, titled “The Triumph of the Yell”, Tannen claims that journalists, politicians and academics treat public discourse as an argument. Furthermore, she attempts to persuade her readers that this posturing of argument as a conflict leads to a battle, not a debate, and that we would be able to communicate the truth if this culture were not interfering. This paper will discuss the rhetorical strategies that Tannen utilizes, outline the support given in her editorial, and why her argument is less convincing than it should be.
Harold Bloom understands that we read not only to learn of literary composition but also because “we require knowledge, not just of self and others, but of the way things are.” This proves true to essentially all humans for any great work of writing. Furthermore, this “difficult pleasure” is not of entertainment or even frivolous enjoyment as one may initially presume. This difficult pleasure refers to quite the opposite: the necessity of bettering ourselves, broadening our minds, and somehow understanding the world in which we live.
Deep-seated in these practices is added universal investigative and enquiring of acquainted conflicts between philosophy and the art of speaking and/or effective writing. Most often we see the figurative and rhetorical elements of a text as purely complementary and marginal to the basic reasoning of its debate, closer exploration often exposes that metaphor and rhetoric play an important role in the readers understanding of a piece of literary art. Usually the figural and metaphorical foundations strongly back or it can destabilize the reasoning of the texts. Deconstruction however does not indicate that all works are meaningless, but rather that they are spilling over with numerous and sometimes contradictory meanings. Derrida, having his roots in philosophy brings up the question, “what is the meaning of the meaning?”
Piercy, Marge, "A Work of Artifice". Literature: Thinking, Reading and Writing Critically. Ed. Sylvan et al. 2nd ed. New York: Longman, 1997: 882-83, 894
Tan, Amy. “Two Kinds.” Exploring Literature: Writing and Arguing About Fiction, Poetry, Drama and The Essay.4th e. Ed. Frank Madden. New York: Pearson Longman, 2009. 253-261. Print.
PostText6: The word “plastic” was introduced in 1925, about 100 years after first chemist started working with natural rubber.
The title highlights what is believed to be academic writing, thus the purpose in academic writing becomes lost, since exaggerated analysis containing complicated and elaborate sentences still occur. Though the title states a problem in academic writing, indicating the function placed upon academic writing being at fault, the article itself counter-argues. It says, “…bullshit does not necessarily involve a misrepresentation of facts, but must involve a misrepresentation of the self – one's feelings, thoughts, or attitudes.” (Eubanks and Schaeffer 2008, 375) suggesting the problem is the writer’s incapability to writing properly, resulting in a disconnect between the coherence in the paper and its readers, either because the skills for academic writing were not achieved or a to comprehend its importance. This can be supported by AW, as it notes, “…writing as a thinking tool in the processes of, for instance, verbalising, discovering, understanding, and communicating ideas...” (Björk and Räisänen 2003, 16) meaning conveying thoughts and ideas are means to develop a deeper understanding of information thus gaining implements to a concise language and coherence. AW goes on by stating, “…it will help you not only to learn new things, but to discover things you did not know you knew. Writing also presents an opportunity for critical thinking…”(Björk and Räisänen 2003, 16), thus it illustrates how writing, in general, needs to be seen as a method to relay knowledge as much as a process to receive
Comparing two works of literature is like Calculus. The graph of a wave represents the intertwining of the two works: the trough symbolizes the minimum, opposed to the crest, which symbolizes the maximum. Frankenstein, written by Mary Shelley, is the minimum, as the creator’s actions onto the created are minimal in quantity and quality. In turn, Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro, is the maximum, as the creators’ actions onto the created are maximal. The two novels are united in the argument that the creator holds a responsibility to nurture the created, and the created hold a responsibility of filial piety to the creator. When joined, the reader can see that the creators playing god is an immoral and unnatural task.
"Literary Theories: A Sampling of Critical Lenses." microsoft_word_-_literary_theories. N.p., n.d. Web. 27 Nov. 2013. http://www.mpsaz.org/rmhs/staff/rkcupryk/aa_jr/files/microsoft_word_-_literary_theories.pdf.
There are certain feelings that persuade writers to do what they do best. Of course, that feeling could be something different for each author, such as love, loss, peace, hatred, etc. The examination of these feelings is what makes an author’s work a piece of art and at the same time something humanly conceivable (since a majority of the time art is neither humanly conceivable nor understandable to those who merely observe it). And so when a writer decides to let these emotions that they have once felt, that perhaps they have felt for others, be translated into something perfectly tangible and comprehensible, an understanding is born between them and those they preach to. In John Gardner’s Grendel, Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre and Joseph
Barthes agrees with many of the methods that Wimsatt and Beardsley advocate in their two essays, such as disregarding the author’s intention, identity and personal history as well as the reader’s personal history and emotional connection to the text. He also asserts the text’s importance above everything else. However, he revises the relationship between the author, critic and reader. While Wimsatt and Beardsley believe the critic is the most important person in the relationship and place the power of interpretation wholly within their hands, Barthes places the power in the reader who he believes should play with the text in order to find an appropriate meaning.
Everyday, we act as critics, i.e., deciding which film to see or which channel to watch. Much of the time, experience guides us through the aesthetic judgments we make. Left on our own, however, we can go only so far. As Martin and Jacobus (1997) argue, in studying the essentials of criticism and in learning how to put them into practice, we develop our capacities as critics (p. 48).
In their essay, ‘The Intentional Fallacy’ (1946), William K. Wimsatt Jr. and Monroe C. Beardsley, two of the most eminent figures of the New Criticism school of thought of Literary Criticism, argue that the ‘intention’ of the author is not a necessary factor in the reading of a text.