Monthly Archives: January 2008

I believe, as others do, that one of the most important functions of literature is the expansion of the reader’s life experience. I believe literature has the power to help readers transcend their own existence by allowing them to live the realities of people outside their own immediate culture. Additionally, literature is a means of cultural definition. It offers readers an opportunity to learn about and affirm their own identities – their own specific place in a wider cultural identity.

Literature offers the teacher opportunities to recognize that which is too often marginalized or excluded altogether. Students can (and should) be introduced to texts that reflect not only their own lives, cultural environments, and realities, but also those of others in the diverse culture of the world. Students can do little but benefit from active participation in analyses of literature – engaging with, reflecting, questioning, and criticizing texts using their own backgrounds and experiences as a position for comparison.

            The language of American literature has changed over time. Humorists of the 1830s and 1840s expressed a more “American” alternative to the dominant British style of writing. Dialect use in literature began to appear in parts of Georgia, the Carolinas, Mississippi, and Arkansas as “Old Southwestern” humor. After the Civil War, use of the vernacular became very popular in American literature. All dialects, however, were not met with acceptance. Mass immigration and increasing urbanization in America at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries brought together diverse populations and a lot of linguistic variation in confined spaces. Language was increasingly regarded as the foundation of national identity and a barometer of cultural health. People began to claim that language policies should be implemented to protect the English (the American) language from linguistic contamination. Evidently, modern scholars, much like the alarmists of the turn of the century, express a tendency to ignore literary representations of what are called “ethnic dialects.” Put off by the possibility that such literature creates prejudice and supports stereotypes, critics often avoid close readings of these works, particularly if the works are written by writers perceived as “outside” of the dialect group (Mark Twain’s use of dialect in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn has been much maligned). Critics assume, unfairly, I think, that use of dialect as a literary device implies derogatory if not racist intentions.

            Use of dialect – stylized versions of ethnic speech – in literature does carry with it a stigma of inferiority, coarseness, even vulgarity since it has been used in the past and present with humorous (not necessarily good-natured) intentions. Humor, particularly anything considered ethnic humor, is often seen as an act of aggression, so dialect humor is often seen as a reflection of the author’s disdain for what he sees as crude, inferior speakers of a crude, inferior dialect. And, since it is common outside of literary criticism to consider deviant forms of English to be inferior, the users of those forms are considered inferior. But, as Charles Abbott said over one hundred years ago, “crudity of diction is not always indicative of crudity of thought.” Linguists have insisted for a long time that speech varieties are not better or worse than each other, just different.

        Whether or not it was Faulkner’s intention, his experimental narrative style depicts a family that is as disconnected as the narrative. The Bundren family suffers as a result of a number of circumstances – poverty, lack of education or intelligence of the world around them, a harsh climate – beyond their immediate control, but their own inability to connect with each other, to communicate, to be sensitive to the struggles of one another individually and thus as a family unit seems to be the worst circumstance of all and one which cannot be blamed on anything outside of themselves. In fact, if they had, sometime along the way, been sensitive to one another’s troubles, dreams, weaknesses, fears, maybe they would not have become such victims of the environment in which they barely survive.        

        All of the Bundrens, except Darl, are far too wrapped up in their own suffering to concern themselves with the others. They seem to be tenants living under the same delapidated roof, uninterested in the happiness of those with whom they share space on this farm. They do not function as a family unit and suffer together as a result. Suffering seems to be the only thing they share. 

        The only familial bonding apparent in the narrative are attempts by Darl to understand his siblings. I got the impression that he may have tried to connect emotionally with his brothers and sister, but was rebuffed, considered strange by them. Considering how self-involved the rest of the family members, it’s no surprise to read their impressions of their brother. His sensitivity is to them a weakness, a flaw, even evidence of insanity. Darl knows about the others’ suffering, they see it in his eyes, and they are frightened by his knowing. Ultimately, Darl’s sensitivity and the actions he takes to possibly ease his family’s suffering, result in them shipping him off to a mental institution where he degenerates into what they think he is, allowing them to return home and pick up where they left off – before they were so inconvenienced by Addie’s death and her desire to be buried with her original family. No doubt Addie knew this family was a lost cause and did not want to spend eternity with them.

I wrote this letter last year, but since this blog is a portfolio of writing samples, I’m including it here…

Dave Cooper, National Conservation Area Manager

Bureau of Land Management

Winnemucca Field Office

5100 East Winnemucca Boulevard

Winnemucca, NV 89445-2921

  

Dear Mr. Cooper,

        I admit that I sometimes find it difficult to understand the wrestling matches between agencies and bureaus and other such organizations of authority, but the present difficulties surrounding the issues of policing and safety at Black Rock City during Burning Man appear, clearly, unnecessary. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” would be a quite fitting (not to mention wise) axiom with respect to your decision on these matters.

        My wife and I have attended Burning Man four of the last five years and have been both impressed by and thankful for the organization of the event, the preparedness of the people involved, and the peacefulness of the proceedings. The cooperation of the entire community (paying participants, volunteers, and paid workers) has produced, each year, a bustling and beautiful city with the criminal reputation of a Sunday school picnic (certainly compared to cities and events of comparable size).

Requiring Burning Man to pay for local law enforcement and staff, giving said law enforcement unfettered eviction authority in Black Rock City, and establishing a population cap are not only unfair but unnecessary. The efforts to keep Black Rock City safe have yet to show themselves broken, Mr. Cooper. There’s nothing to fix.

  

Sincerely,

Keith Jenkins

Gorgeous, sad, inspiritional, lush, emotive,… Phillip Pullman’s novel – the third and final installment of the His Dark Materials series – is the best book I’ve read in a year. It’s an entertaining story and an inspiring novel. Pullman’s imagination (except the stuff he pirated from Stephen King’s Dark Tower series) and literary craftsmanship restored my faith in contemporary fantasy fiction.

Throughout, I kept wondering who he intended his audience to be, and the fact that I couldn’t pin one down galvanized my opinion that The Amber Spyglass is an excellent novel worthy of the attention of more than just escapism-loving fans of fantasy and reactionary protectors of Christian morality.

Pullman’s clever characters and imaginative plot breathe fresh air into the lungs of those debating the details of human belief systems. Who (or what) is God? Why are we here? What is good and what is evil? What does it mean to love? What is worth fighting for? Is anything worth dying for?

Pullman’s characters, seen through his Amber Spyglass, are smart, brave, and beautiful. What more could a reader ask for?