I hadn't intended on reading this much Derrida...EVER. Not that I hate Derrida, as some do. I find his ideas...sparky. Little flashes of light behind my eyes. I latch onto the singular moments I understand. Then I go back, and reread and reread. Reading Derrida requires enacting his ideas--recognizing that writing allows us to return, to re-mark, re-iterate. And one MUST return to writing, or it is not real writing; if something is perfectly clear, one cannot call it "writing"--there is no need. All writing, then, attempts to reveal even as it conceals. Literature is "literature" because it illuminates this relationship.
It also illumniates the relationship of general to specific, of genre to member of genre--whole to part. It points out its own conventions and the necessity of those conventions; otherwise, we would not be able to read the text. But the conventions are repetitions for which there is no original; there is no "ubertext" which taught us all how to read a certain genre. As much as we want to call 1984 the prototype dystopia, it is only one member of a group, which we can only recognize as a group and not singularly. We could not, that is, have "learned" to read a genre from some original text--because we never would have been able to read that text in the first place. Therefore, to call Pamela the first "novel" is a ridiculous distinction; there is no first novel; they are all copies (with, of course, slight variations) of some other structure. No novel is entirely within the "novel" genre, either. There is no pure example of a genre, only hybrids; our social relations encourage us to name these as genre members, for ease of discussion.
Where does that leave Miller, then? Miller says we recognize genres based on their actions. This does not seem contrary to Derrida, more like a supplement (if I am allowed to use that word in such a way). If Derrida (and Burke! They overlap so much!) wants to say that there is no pure genre, Miller will take the more pragmatic (BURKE) angle, by asking us to consider the fact that we do name genres, despite their impurities (Burke says that purity is barely possible, and if it is possible, is a destruction of essence). How can we do so, with so many "constellations" of forms shifting and changing? What is a good way to talk about these things that we use, but cannot define an essence of? Like Burke, (and lots of other rhetoricians), Miller points to the effect; like the wind, which we cannot see, genres are not quite visible to us except by what they do. It's the doing that matters here, not the essence, or our overall Western inability to discuss essence and being. We still must act.
The dystopian (topian?) novel is a hybrid genre. If it were merely a "novel" we would call it so; however, we feel the need to include that adjective, to point to a difference. How is it different? What is the social action that changes? It is, at least, more subversive than the "regular" novel (although I would argue that as a genre, novels are fairly subversive in themselves). But Burke said that most revolutionary rhetoric is conservative...is dystopian fiction conservative? I want to say no, because of how 1984 came to me, how it came to symbolize everything that Hum and Monty and (oh god) Derek were doing in their little punky universe in high school. How Marx inflitrated our (their?)attempts to break the hegemony of Ashland so unsuccessfully that it just about drove them mad. And Orwell, to me, seemed to be describing the extremes of what I was seeing; total control, absolute hegemony, the need to hide subversion underground. The feeling of being in "lock down." Reading Orwell was a subversion; he wanted the text to be revolutionary--that much you can feel--and even if it did turn out to be, as Burke predicts, conservative, the act of reading something known as revolutionary is itself a subversion. I'm not saying this well. It doesn't matter what actions 1984 leads to in this case; it's the act of reading that is subversive, that is a change in attitude. Even if the resulting actions only maintain the current status quo, they are still revolutionary.
Pamela on the other hand, or other novels, do not have this same call to action within them. They may lead to action due to the representative anecdote, and reading them may be seen as subversive (not really any more, but in the 18th century it was), but the novels do not call attention to the social situation in the same way. The defamiliarizing aspects that "science fiction" is defined by allow for a social transformation rhetoric. This defamiliarization, this hidden-yet-obvious commentary on the dangers of the present is what makes the adjective "dystopian" necessary.
Is Moll Flanders subversive? Yes and no. As Burke says, that which seems subversive is often actually conservative. This is why the ending matters (entelechy!); if Moll had been caught and punished for "real," the subversion would have failed. The representative anecdote would tell us that "even if theiving and other non-social activities are fun for awhile and lead to good things, there is eventually a consequence. Do not desire this life, young ladies, for Moll only ends up in a bad situation." That Moll escapes and lives without consequences means that the representative anecdote is exactly as DeFoe states in his thesis: Sometimes you have to steal to make a living. Society sucks; there is no choice. Good job, DeFoe!
However, we must look not only at the representative anecdote, but how the text is actually read--there may be an "obvious" anecdote for us, but for the original readers (and later readers...) a different "moral" may appear. The fact that Moll was so popular makes me immediately question its subversive abilities: If attitudes were indeed changed (if the Pentad shifted due to the Act of reading), and there were so many attitudes to be changed, why was there no middle class uprising? Why did young ladies not take to theiving? The critics of the day feared this outcome, but it did not happen. Why not? What prevents someone from acting on the (proposed) attitude change?
Why do violent video games not lead to violent children?
Here is the question of rhetoric. To be effective, one must have a very tight mimesis, a strong mimetic desire, the desire for complete identification. You must lose yourself and become the speaking/writing Other for there to be a resulting Act. What Moll failed to do, and what video games fail to do for most children/teens is create this identification. While I am engrossed in the action of Moll (wheee theiving), I am not able to identify with her, due to the time and context change. Her own readers were not themselves in her condition (or they couldn't have afforded the novel)--a revealed/concealed distance is present, one rhetoricians are always trying to overcome.
It is the problem of communication in general: We cannot speak as the angels. Angels have perfect communication, no trace, no reiteration, no remarking. No doubt. Lucky angels. We, however, always have the problem of the Other, who we want to be like, who we can imitate, but never become so wholly as to (commune)icate.
This is where Gerald would say something about Christianity--where he has said something about Christianity. What did Jesus do that we could not? As the Son of the Logos, he was able to become part of us completely, and yet remain human enough for sacrifice. Jesus was the Other and himself all at once. As Gerald said, because of this, Christianity's main job is to "seek the distinction of radical inclusion."
And I still am not sure how to do that.
Enough heavy stuff.
| You Are a Soy Latte |
At your best, you are: free spirited, down to earth, and relaxed
At your worst, you are: dogmatic and picky
You drink coffee when: you need a pick me up, and green tea isn't cutting it
Your caffeine addiction level: medium |
Medium????????
MEDIUM? Not EVEN!
Your Personality Profile
|
You are dignified, spiritual, and wise.
Always unsatisfied, you constantly try to better yourself.
You are also a seeker of knowledge and often buried in books.
You tend to be philosophical, looking for the big picture in life.
You dream of inner peace for yourself, your friends, and the world.
A good friend, you always give of yourself first.
|
Um. Hmm. So much for not having compassion. They're close, I suppose. Not bad for an internet quiz.
What would Burke say about this?
Um.
Hmm.
