An Ambiguous Tribute to Orwell??

From the New Yorker, A Critic at Large: "Honest, Decent, Wrong: The Invention of George Orwell" by Louis Menand.

I was surprised at this article, posted by a colleague on Facebook. Apparently, it is necessary to debunk Orwell. The article meanders, mostly stressing the "constructedness" of Orwell's nonfiction and his use of a persona, and moving to the inaccuracy of his fiction. The assumption is that the person who would see Orwell's vision in 1984 as relevant in some way has been deluded into thinking that it is not fiction but prophecy. In doing so, the writer is speaking first of all to an audience of intellectual equals and like-minds, who look down on all of the uninitiated who get dangerous ideas from reading without guidance. At the same time, a group of outsiders is constructed, who are misinformed about the author and his works, and the connection between life and fiction in general. Though not the primary audience of the article, these individuals can benefit from the wisdom imparted, while the intended audience is invited to dismiss Orwell intellectually, or to take comfort in the fact that those who use him incorrectly are ignorant of Orwell's true character and purpose in writing. What risk does he pose? What is the motivation behind this article? What occasioned the discussion of his life and works? Any ideas I might have about it derive from the following passages:

Some people in 1949 received "1984" as an attack on the Labour Party (in the book, the regime of Big Brother is said to have derived from the principles of "Ingsoc"; that is, English Socialism), and Orwell was compelled to issue, through his publisher, a statement clarifying his intentions. He was a supporter of the Labour Party, he said. "I do not believe that the kind of society I describe necessarily will arrive," he continued, "but I believe (allowing of course for the fact that the book is satire) that something resembling it could arrive. I believe also that totalitarian ideas have taken root in the minds of intellectuals everywhere, and I have tried to draw these ideas out to their logical consequences."

The attitude behind this last sentence seems to me the regrettable part of Orwell's legacy. If ideas were to stand or fall on the basis of their logically possible consequences, we would have no ideas, because the ultimate conceivable consequence of every idea is an absurdity—is, in some way, "against life." We don't live just by ideas. Ideas are part of the mixture of customs and practices, intuitions and instincts that make human life a conscious activity susceptible to improvement or debasement. A radical idea may be healthy as a provocation; a temperate idea may be stultifying. It depends on the circumstances. One of the most tiresome arguments against ideas is that their "tendency" is to some dire condition—to totalitarianism, or to moral relativism, or to a war of all against all. Orwell did not invent this kind of argument, but he provided, in "1984," a vocabulary for its deployment.

"Big Brother" and "doublethink" and "thought police" are frequently cited as contributions to the language. They are, but they belong to the same category as "liar" and "pervert" and "madman." They are conversation-stoppers. [And "fascist." Don't forget "fascist." There are a lot of labels given to opponents that stop the conversation.] When a court allows videotape from a hidden camera to be used in a trial, people shout "Big Brother." When a politician refers to his proposal to permit logging on national land as "environmentally friendly," he is charged with "doublethink." When a critic finds sexism in a poem, she is accused of being a member of the "thought police." The terms can be used to discredit virtually any position, which is one of the reasons that Orwell became everyone's favorite political thinker. [True, but Orwell's lifetime saw, by the admission of the article, saw the actualization of extreme versions of ideas. One of the article's points is that Orwell considered Hitler attractive; that he had the same attraction to Hitler's brand of socialists as the "few" fascist sympathizers in England and France. And yet, he witnessed the extremist tendency of the ideas' implementation. Can we be secure in the assumption that ideas will NOT tend toward extremes?] People learned to make any deviation from their own platform seem the first step on the slippery slope to "1984."

There are Big Brothers and thought police in the world, just as there are liars and madmen. "1984" may have been intended to expose the true character of Soviet Communism, but, because it describes a world in which there are no moral distinctions among the three fictional regimes that dominate the globe, it ended up encouraging people to see totalitarian "tendencies" everywhere. There was visible totalitarianism, in Russia and in Eastern Europe; but there was also the invisible totalitarianism of the so-called "free world." [I wonder what is in the author's head here. Hasn't discussion of U.S. "imperialism" become common place? How is that different from the "invisible totalitarianism of the so-called "free world"? The author's intentions are well-concealed, here. The U.S. is mentioned in the article as a variable that was outside of Orwell's consideration. So is the "free world" evoked ironically here because Orwell viewed it skeptically? Or is the "free world" being evoked skeptically by the author, who does not believe in a distinction between the "free world" and "totalitarianism"? I tend toward the former interpretation: that the author is referring to Orwell's supposed fallacy. But it seems to me that this is contrary to how we see the U.S. represented--oh wait! It seems contrary to how the U.S. was described under Bush. But this is a Brave New World! And we should not see it in Orwellian terms--so this author seems to say. Or Huxleyan terms either.] When people talk about Big Brother, they generally mean a system of covert surveillance and manipulation, oppression in democratic disguise (unlike the system in Orwell's book, which is so overt that it is advertised). "1984" taught people to imagine government as a conspiracy against liberty.

And the conclusion:

Orwell's prose was so effective that it seduced many readers into imagining, mistakenly, that he was saying what they wanted him to say, and what they themselves thought. Orwell was not clairvoyant; he was not infallible; he was not even consistent. [How many theorists are?] He changed his mind about things, as most writers do. [BINGO!] He dramatized out of a desire to make the world more the way he wished it to be, as most writers do. He also said what he thought without hedging or trimming, as few writers do all the time. It is strange how selectively he was heard. [Don't we typically take the works that are most useful or relevant and apply those works? It is strange how selectively Kristeva was heard, and she wasn't writing imaginative prose. . .] It is no tribute to him to turn his books into anthems to a status quo he hated. [Nor is it a tribute to him to ignore that which he critiqued--even if he hated everything!!] Orwell is admired for being a paragon when he was, self-consciously, a naysayer and a misfit. If he is going to be welcomed into the pantheon of right-thinking liberals, he should at least be allowed to bring along his goat. [Really, he was an intellectual freak. Don't use his works to refute US.]

No, really. . . Stanley Fish is my hero!

Check out his own words, here and here. I understand his position perfectly.

A couple of things, though. . .

First, I just love that the inventor of Reader Response Theory has this to say:

Bob reports that he was not able “to obtain a grade above a ‘C’ until I changed my political views when interpreting, say, a Robert Frost poem.” But why should your political views have anything to do with the interpretation of a Robert Frost poem? You’re trying to figure out where Frost stands, politically or otherwise; where you stand is simply not to the point.

First thing--DEATH OF THE AUTHOR. We might try to figure out what discourses Frost's poem is tapping into, or historicize it according to issues of his day. We are absolutely NOT "trying to figure out where Frost stands" (anymore). You should know that, Mr. Fish! Second thing--Aren't the students' political views part of what they "bring to the table" in the act of interpretation in which the reader and the author collaborate through the written text in the creation of a separate but more valid text that is the result of the reading process (since how can a text exist unless it is read)? Or was all that kind of thing just an exercise in theoretical loop-de-loops?

Then, there's this piece of loveliness:

It would be no more difficult for a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer to set aside his or her views and concentrate on the pedagogical task than it would be for a devout Catholic or a militant atheist.

I object to "devout Catholic" being named alongside a "a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer" (admittedly, not terms supplied by Fish himself, merely repeated from comments), since the latter terms are anti-social, hate-filled ideologies and extremist positions. If one should object that "devout Catholic" was being equated, rather, with a "militant atheist," the objection doesn't improve matters. Observe the term, "militant." Is "devout" even analogous? Only if one assumes that both positions are equally invalid, and even so, devotion does not imply domination of others through belief. Or if one thinks that religious belief itself, or perhaps the beliefs of certain religions (not Islam, for example) is inherently extremist. (Anastasia has some interesting thoughts on extremism. . .)

This choice of comparisons also introduces something that Fish does not address, namely, whether the "leave personal beliefs out of the classroom" admonition applies equally to all types of colleges/universities, since religious belief is clearly included. The implementing of curricula at Catholic colleges, hence, the organization of syllabi and selection of texts may be (but isn't always, I understand) done according to a Catholic perspective. What then? I guess if you accept that a university may explicitly contextualize itself within a certain worldview (or intellectual tradition), the goal of the educational experience might shift a bit, being framed within a religious context, so one might expect to find Joyce taught a bit differently, for example. I would still consider teaching Joyce within a context appropriate to the specific intellectual tradition or worldview represented by the university focusing on the task at hand, but the task is defined somewhat differently.

Which brings me to the conclusion of this piece:

Sarah touches on what is perhaps the most urgent question one could put to the enterprise of liberal education. What, after all, justifies it? The demand for justification, as I have said in other places, always come from those outside the enterprise. Those inside the enterprise should resist it, because to justify something is to diminish it by implying that its value lies elsewhere. If the question What justifies what you do? won’t go away, the best answer to give is “nothing.”

I like this, really. I've said before that I believe that reading and analyzing text is inherently valuable, in spite of the fact that it does not directly impact the "real world"--whatever that is. And a contemplative life (which I do not claim to live) may be valuable for the individual and those he/she touches, if intangibly so. I think that some colleges and universities are able to more openly acknowledge that not only "useful" subjects are "useful." And I think that some colleges and universities are able to couch this inherent worth by framing the learning process within the context of religious belief--at least, that's how I would imagine it would work. Does that mean that I would feel confident saying in the classroom that I find Obama morally repugnant? Not a bit of it. Does this mean I would feel comfortable comparing aspects of the worldview in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings to a papal encyclical? Yup.

The Worst Thing about this Potter Controversy. . .

. . . Is that, unlike most of the people involved in the "debate" (which for me is only a debate over whether the author's comments in the media have authority surpassing that of the text itself), is that I'm just starting to read the book, which my son has checked out from his school library. So as I'm reading, I'm either completely mocking the idea (uh oh, Dumbledore's brother "fiddled around with goats"!) or anticipating how one phrase or another might--scratch that, WILL--be used to argue for the truth of Rowling's "revelation." Suffice it to say, I am reading with the eye of a critic rather than an eye to leisure. Which kind of defeats the purpose of reading the books for me. If I didn't suspend my inner critic to a large degree, I wouldn't be able to read them at all. 'Cause frankly, I don't think they're all that good. They're sloppy, and this latest stunt is a continuation of that sloppiness--Rowling's attempt to include in the "next installment" an idea or aspect of the fantasy world that did not occur to her in the previous installments. This time, she couldn't write another book, though, because she promised she wouldn't.** And writing in homosexuality for a future edition would just be a tacky and paltry admission that she hadn't done it in the first place. The inconsistency has bugged me all along. So I read them in the way others read romance novels--as an entertainment and an escape. But this time, my unwillingness to pay for a hardback has backfired.

I have, however, been enjoying the debates from the perspective of literary criticism and what people think about it. Considering that I teach it (in a sense) and have definite ideas about it, I find a lot of this pretty stimulating. Either that, or the hormones are doing something really weird. . .

Anyway, if any of this floats your boat, take a look at Darwin, Mrs. Darwin, and the illuminating comments of Zippy, here and here.

**Although if you look at the comments to Darwin's post (the first I link to, above), he suggests a title for her next book. . . ;) If that particular book surfaces, I will break my resolution not to pay hardcover price!!

You Can Lead a Student to Literature, but. . .

You might gather two things from the title of this post--that I've been much engaged of late with teaching, and that the experience has been less-than-pleasant. The first assumption would be correct; the second, well, you'll see. . .

I am wrapping up the second major work on the syllabus, after the introductory foray into poetry that always begins my lit classes. I love teaching poetry, but it has to be done early in the semester to allow time for the poetry paper-and-presentation combo that I generally assign. They can't work on those without some basic understanding of form, meter, and some basic steps of interpretation. Having wrapped up "Goblin Market" last week, we have been covering William Morris's utopia News from Nowhere because I just couldn't talk about feminism in a serious, unbiased way with Herland. I had a difficult time convincing students that the "it takes a village" method of parenting promoted in Gilman's book had any benefits. "No really!" I said, "Doesn't it make sense that the most competent women should be raising the children?" "Well yes," I said, "It would depend on your criteria for judging competency." And "Yes," I said, "that would be a rather difficult line to draw." And, "Oh by the way," I said, "Gilman was a big proponent of Eugenics." "Why, yes, the concepts are very complimentary, aren't they?" Besides, I'm a poster child for motherhood right about now. Talking about it theoretically gets to feeling a little, um, disingenuous. So I decided to tackle socialism instead. Well, not really.

Because, you see, Morris was a socialist politically, but his utopia basically does away with any form of economics. There is no "economy," just a willingness to share--a communalism (I don't want to say "commune" or "communism") that resembles a large-scale monastic existence (only the economics of it--for want of a better word) more than any other model. Marxists, socialists--they don't really want to see an end to economics. Money stays, private property goes. It may not have started that way--just ask Marx and Lenin. . .

What's interesting about this utopia are Morris's aesthetic ideas, including ideas about the aesthetic value of work. Well, this can be hard to impress upon a group of students whose self-stated purpose in life is to compete and to work to acquire "things." If this sounds harsh, I wish you could see the class discussion boards. I had someone grudgingly acknowledge that there are people who work because they enjoy their jobs, but most can't see why anyone in Morris's utopia would be inclined to work. They suggest instead that the mindset would, in reality, be more like those who "mooch" (my word--their sentiment) off of Welfare. Ooof. Well, considering the financial backgrounds of a lot of these students, I'm not all that surprised.

What is surprising to me is the way they harp on reality. I guess Morris's utopia is realistic enough and yet idealistic enough that the main question in their heads seems to be, "Could this really work?" With the implied answer being, "No, because people are. . ." (nasty, cruel, lazy, competitive--enter negative adjective of choice.) And many of these students are self-described Christians. I must say that it pains me to see students so young who are so cynical. I consider myself a pretty cynical person, but I realize more and more that I have a kind of idealism that runs pretty deep. At any rate, I do believe that there should be more to choosing a profession than the money one will make and the things that one will acquire by working in that particular job! And I do believe that there is a dignity in just knowing that one has a job and that there is a kind of despair that goes along with not believing that a job will ever come along--and that the despair leads people (not all, but some) to rely on social services. Why bother, when the world seems against us? Where I differ from many others who profess similar philosophies is in the solution--namely, that I don't claim to have one. I believe that the individual is the key--not the mass, and so to help the general, we must look for the one person who needs encouragement, then another, then another. My job here is just to get them to look beyond their social situations and their conceptions of reality and say, "Well, yes. . . I guess it would be better if people could do what work appealed to them and still be just as comfortable as the next person." Perhaps the next question might be, "Well, why isn't it like that, anyway?" At any rate, I actually mentioned the term "dignity of work" on the discussion boards, and pointed out that many people work who have no hope of ever gaining a Lexus, or even owning their own home--which so many people take for granted. And I asked why that might be, when many of the people in question do not enjoy what they do.

I guess this brings me to what a wonderful thing discussion boards can be if used correctly. Not that I'm a master by any means. I have modified how I moderate and assign the discussion boards from the beginning of the semester, and I have tried this in semesters past. Basically, I have to have them write questions about certain topics on certain days, and on alternate days, they answer others' questions. Then, depending on where their questions lead, I either use them as discussion-starters in class, or start my own discussion board and have them answer my thematic questions. The result is that they actually say more about the literature--when properly prompted, and when they don't get stuck on "how people really are" or "how the society works"! At any rate, the discussion can evolve much more naturally, and I like having the students set the agenda, since I'm not really trying to promote one (contrary to their expectations--when they saw the term "socialism," they expected the worst from me, I'm sure!!). I'm not a socialist, but at this point, you might have a hard time convincing them of that!

While this is a frustrating experience in some ways, it is also inspiring in a way. Here, I actually do have an opportunity to get them to imagine the world in a different way--which is, indeed, the point of a utopia, and the value of fantasy. C. S. Lewis once wrote that one who reads fantasy “does not despise real woods because he has read of enchanted woods: the reading makes all real woods a little enchanted." Tolkien takes this a quite a bit further in his (much more scholarly) "On Fairy Stories," which promises to provide for a lot of good discussion in the coming week(s), by theorizing the nature of the enchantment (in a Christian context, which might inform some of the discussion board topics, but will probably not enter into class discussion).

As we wind down William Morris, who it seems we have barely started, and prepare to meet Tolkien, which meeting I look forward to eagerly, we have ongoing contemplation of poetry on an individual level as they prepare to write their poetry explications (with a fantasy twist). Today I met with a student who was so petrified of poetry that she was literally only reading words on paper, and wasn't really sure how they strung together to make meaning. This sounds harsh, but it is accurate. I have never seen such anxiety with regard to literature before. She was literally shaking as she answered my "What is this poem about? What's going on in this poem?" with a timid, "Well, it could be about . . . death?" I believe that answer seemed as likely as one of the other "Themes of Literature" she undoubtedly learned about in high school. But the beauty of assigning an explication paper is that it really allows the student a true opportunity to discover the meaning of the poem for him or herself--in this case, guided by me, but it was a good teaching opportunity. I believe I did "lead her to literature," and she does indeed understand this poem--and perhaps, by extension, all poems--better.

In short, I really love this syllabus. I hope that wherever I go next, I am able to continue my thematic course on fantasy. Maybe one day I will even be able to edit an anthology of British fantasy literature that can be used for such a course--you know, the Norton Anthology of British Fantasy or some such thing. . .

It's the idealist in me, perhaps (you know, the one I keep hidden like Boober fraggle and Sidebottom), but I think there might be some value in this reading and teaching literature thing after all. At any rate, this semester is giving me that feeling.

Fantasy Reading: The Fall List!

I just submitted my book order for the fall (dangerously late according to the preference of the department, but they assigned me late, too). I am really enjoying the theme of fantasy, and while I am doing many of the same works, I have varied it a bit. I have to work around the constraints of the pregnancy, too, which means I have allowed a few weeks at the end of the semester for them to present poems to the class. I will have already graded & returned explications of these poems early in the semester after we have discussed poetic techniques, so they will have an idea of whether or not their interpretations are complete before they teach "their versions" of the poems to the class. So far when I have taught the course, interpretations were not too far off, but every now & then it does get a little sticky. . . These are not to be researched papers or presentations, so I want them to really engage with the poem, meet with me (preferably, though this never happens) and then write without any so-called "expert" opinions (or web site opinions) about the poems. And using Wikipedia (with or without acknowledgment) is a fail-able offense.

I am excited about being able to do more with my fantasy class because I can really see it being a possible asset on a job search. Not that universities are dying to have someone to teach fantasy, mind you, just that it's a creative idea for a special topics or an honors course, and the way that I teach it avoids the strictly "popular" (ooooh--bad word) fantasy novels and demonstrates how fantasy operates within canonical (ooooh--another bad word) literature. Okay, so it's not really canonical, after all, does anyone really teach Rossetti's "Goblin Market" as part of the traditional canon? No, but she's Victorian, female, and Pre-Raphaelite, so she can be classified according to the standard ways of classifying literature, and yet she is a marginalized figure, more or less, having been neglected for a while in favor of the male Pre-Raphaelites (who are also neglected in favor of bigger & better Victorians, but that's rather a different subject). It is primarily a British fantasy course (I would love to edit an anthology, know any publishers?), though I include some Americans and an Italian (Calvino). I'm thinking that I could expand to include some stuff from the Middle Ages--the dream visions could arguably be the first fantasies--and even Dante, both of which would set the stage rather nicely for Christian fantasy, if such a thing were desired at the university where I eventually teach. The possibilities are endless! This is a bit out of my exact field, but it touches on the boundaries of my field. And I've done work in fantasy & science fiction before. Truly, I would have gone in this direction, had I not thought that it would mean committing academic suicide. Fantasy? Taken seriously? Only as a hobby, and then I'll probably still be thought slightly odd. And yet, in my optimistic moments, I imagine that it'll be an asset. Eh, who knows?

So here's the list of actual texts they will purchase:

• Rossetti, Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover)
• Morris, News From Nowhere (Dover)
• Paul Negri, English Victorian Poetry (Dover)
  
• Stanley Appelbaum, English Romantic Poetry (Dover)
  
• Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (Dover)
  
• Bob Blaisdell, Irish Verse (Dover)
• J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan or the Boy Who Would Not Grow Up: A Fantasy in Five Acts (Dramatists Play Service)
• Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities (Harvest Books/Harcourt)

Then, on course reserve or electronically:

• Tolkien "On Fairy Stories"
• Preface to Lord of the Rings
  
• "Riddles in the Dark" from Tolkien's The Hobbit--the original and revised versions
• selected chapters from Tolkien's Two Towers
• Lawrence “The Rocking Horse Winner”
• Forster “The Celestial Omnibus”
• Forster “The Other Kingdom”
• Woolf “Solid Objects”
• Patrício “The Fountain Man”
• Bradbury “The Veldt”
• Murphy “Peter”
• Yolen “Snow in Summer”
• Barthelme “The Glass Mountain”
• Frazier “Coyote v. Acme”
  

You will notice that instead of one large poetry anthology, I have selected several Dover anthologies (at a couple of dollars a pop) and that all of the short stories are on reserve. No suitable anthology of fantasy fiction exists to my knowledge. There are some pulp things out there, but they don't really fit the bill for an intro to lit. course. My contemporary short stories lead into postmodernism, and thence to Invisible Cities (which they will tackle on their own in an online "distance" unit--regrettably!).

Many of my short stories make reference to Peter Pan, so I have made the tough decision to replace The Tempest with Peter Pan for drama. Tough decision, but Peter Pan is pretty classic, has been extensively interpreted through film, and suggests the ways in which innocent children's fantasy can be made much, much darker without being perverted too much. I have also replaced Gilman with Morris's News from Nowhere this semester, swapping gender for socialism (she was a socialist, too). We'll see how that works. I was just finding it hard to talk about her ideas in a fair way, especially when all the students were rather vehemently denouncing her communal motherhood ideas. It's hard to point out what's good about an idea that is, at base, scary and counterintuitive. But I feel that utopia is a necessary part of "fantasy" and needs to be addressed in my course.

Tolkien, of course, defined the genre of fantasy, though it preexisted him, with Lord of the Rings and his "On Fairy Stories." I would love to teach one of the three parts of LOTR in its entirety, but I prefer Two Towers, and don't feel comfortable teaching just that one. It's incredible how many students have not read them. So I will address Tolkien's definition of allegory in the Preface, discuss the locus amoenus (a sweet place of rest, most often in Italian literature--especially Dante--and Classics, not really discussed in English lit--I also like to think of them as "sanctuaries"--think Catholic, too) in some chapters of Two Towers (likely the ones dealing with Treebeard). I would introduce The Silmarillion, but really, would that be fair? (Trying not to make the course too Tolkien-heavy. . .)

Anyway, I would feel better about this if I thought that I would really be able to focus the necessary amount of time on the class--what with being 7, 8, or 9 months pregnant. But we'll see how it goes! It always helps to teach something you like!

An Exercise on Invisible Cities

I asked my students, who are currently reading Invisible Cities by Calvino, to work in groups to answer a few questions--challenges might be a better word--in order to approach a better understanding of this intriguing exercise in postmodernism. Invisible Cities is a book that requires readers to find their own conclusions--or not. The "point" of the book, which I was asked to give as if there were a single easy answer, is really the process of reading and thinking about its content with a mind that is willing to engage in the exercises of thought that the book requires. Am I crazy, you might ask, for teaching this in a sophomore-level course? Perhaps not.

The book is framed within the context of Marco Polo describing to Kublai Khan the cities in the Khan's empire. The relationship between the two is one aspect of the text, but the cities are infinite and fascinating. They are categorized as "Cities and Desire," "Cities and Memory," "Cities and the Dead," "Trading Cities," "Cities and the Sky," "Hidden Cities," and "Cities and Signs," to name a few. Within these categories are cities with names that repeat, but not within a single category, and each category is composed of 5 cities.

For one of their questions--or challenges--I asked the pairs of students (I have a small class) to do the following:

Pick 2 of the “categories” of cities (“Continuous Cities,” etc.) and explain what that category means according to the cities within the category. I will ask the groups to pick one at a time so that no 2 groups will have the same category. HINT: This must be a bit more complex than “Cities that go on forever.” You’re not just defining, you’re explaining.

They will post their explanations on the course web site, which is contained within a wonderful interface called Moodle. There are 5 groups, and 11 categories, so to make certain that all categories were represented, and to provide an example of sorts, I posted the following on our course "glossary":

Continuous Cities

The "Continuous Cities" of Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino may be found in chapters 7, 8 and 9, and occur on pages 114, 128, 146, 152, and 156 of the text. They have the names Leonia, Trude, Procopia, Cecilia, and Penthesilea.

The city of Leonia renews itself daily by discarding and replacing all of its possessions from the day before, while the possessions themselves accumulate beyond the boundary of the city and threaten to crush the city. The neighboring cities, meanwhile, await the destruction of Leonia in order to expand into their territory.

The city of Trude resembles all other cities, which are also Trude. From the suburbs, to the downtown, to the languages and goods, Trude is like all other cities, and all other cities are like it, perhaps because it IS all other cities, and all other cities are it, and they all combine to make one Trude, which has nothing unique.

The city of Procopia is one that Marco Polo has visited on numerous occasions, watching year after year as the once bare and agrarian landscape became filled with identical people who displace the features of the landscape itself and eventually fill the landcape, the window out of which Polo looks, and even the room in which he lodges.

In the city of Cecilia, Polo encounters a goatherd who does not recognize the city, but recognizes the green places in between, while Polo himself knows only the cities and not the lands that connect them. In long intervening years, Polo travels other cities and continent, but happens upon the same goatherd, who has never been able to leave Cecilia, and realizes that he, too, has remained within the city, going deeper and deeper, because Cecilia has mingled with all other places and is now everywhere.

The city of Penthesilea is contrasted with cities that have definite borders through which you pass and realize that you are now inside and no longer outside of the city. It is a city into which you continue, always on the outskirts, until you are heading out of the city through its outskirts. Neither the traveler nor those who work there know where the city is, other than that it is not where they are, and is perhaps further on. You wonder "whether Penthesilea is only outskirts of itself, " whether "outside of Penthesilea . . . an outside exist(s)," whether the entire world, like Penthesilea, is a limbo that you are constantly trying to pass through in order to get in or out.

The "Continuous Cities" call into question the nature of cities, asking specifically whether any given city or cities has/have a beginning, a middle, and an end, whether they are not all the same either because of expansion of the city, its people, its rubbish, its boundaries, or because every city is like every other city in its endless monotony. The continuity among cities is stressed, and makes individual cities as indistinguishable from each other (because all are one) as they are from their own rubbish, monotony, inhabitants, surroundings, or outskirts.

A Fantasy Class Update: Poetry and "Goblin Market"

Since it is occupying my mind a bit lately, I will post occasional updates on the workings of my Intro to Lit class, which is going extraordinarily well. At this point, I rather feel like I ever want to teach anything else, and that I always want to use this syllabus. It's the first time I have ever repeated the same syllabus in intro to lit, mainly because it is the first of my syllabi that I have felt was worthy of repetition. However, I am doing some things differently, simply because of the way the semester has been working, partly because every class dynamic is different. In this case, the dynamic is ideal. It's a small class, which can work either way. A small class of enthusiastic students can be better than a full class of students who are bored stiff and never say anything. But I've had small classes who were neither inspiring or inspired. It's never wise to underestimate classroom dynamic in teaching--the students' interactions with one another, their engagement with the material, the way they interact with and regard the teacher. It's why strategies that work with one class can fall completely flat with another. In this case, we have a good rapport, they are open minded about the course and the assigned texts, and seem to be making a real effort to understand the material being presented. I am thrilled!


My course, as I have said, has a fantasy theme. I begin with an introduction to poetry--what it is and how to read it effectively, the strategies poets use to engage the audience, including meter. I am a big fan of formal verse, and in my poetry-writing days, I favored formal verse above free verse. I still believe that learning to write formal poetry--sonnets and the like, iambic pentameter, iambic trimeter, effective uses of anapestic rhythms, the villanelle and the sestina--is the best strategy for learning the craft of poetry. It trains the ear and teaches the poet a certain amount of restraint. What makes amateur poetry so bad is frequently its sprawling quality--the words and emotions alike are unrestrained, and the audience in invited to wallow with the poet in something raw and unrefined. Good verse--even good free verse--avoids these pitfalls. Of course, I didn't treat my class to this soapbox, but I have been trying to build in them an idea of what makes poetry poetry--and not that it's boring and difficult to understand.

Having introduced poetry (without forgetting the theme of fantasy), with the aid of Shelley's "Ozymandias" and Yeats's "No Second Troy" and with the intention of turning each of them loose on a poem to present to the class and on which to write a paper (explication, more or less), we delved into a little-studied but still canonical poem, "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti. Now, as a rule I tend to avoid Rossetti poetry (especially her brother's), but this is a quirky little poem. Or, as one student told me, a not-so-little poem. How many Victorian poems do you know that were reprinted with original illustrations in a 1970s edition of Playboy? Yeah, didn't think you could name any others! Especially poems whose moral focuses on avoidance of sexual temptation. But consider these lines:

She cried "Laura," up the garden,
"Did you miss me ?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me:
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men."

Those are fun lines to read to a class full of undergraduates. It was rather difficult to suppress a smile, though. Th poem is didactic, and Victorian, and an allegory, and written by an incredibly pious poet, and a class full of undergraduates was fascinated, riveted, couldn't put it down. Truly, though I think the verse could be better, the story is compelling, and for that matter, this particular class taught me a certain appreciation for the rhythmic movement of the verse. I suspect it would be better read with a British "ear" rather than with American emphasis and intonation.

Class ended early today, which was fine, as we covered the poem and covered it well. Most of the students expressed surprise at being able to understand the poem and at being interested in the poem. Score one for literature! Classes like this make me realize why I like teaching (don't quote me on that--I frequently state the opposite!). But when I teach, I get a sort of adrenaline rush. Especially when I am well-prepared for class (which happens less than I'd like to admit), and when the student response is positive. A class like this makes it worthwhile to teach every day. It imparts energy rather than sapping it.

Tomorrow they select poems from my "fantasy list" for their presentations/papers. We will also start Gilman's Herland, also a curious piece of work in many ways. Herland is much less often read than "The Yellow Wallpaper," which I can't blame students for hating since they read it ad nauseum and since it is taught in a typically feminist way. Gilman may have some things in common with feminism, but in many ways, she is a poor poster child for the movement. I cite "The Giant Wisteria" as evidence. Hopefully the discussion of Herland will be as productive as "Goblin Market"!