I find that most of the readings for this week sound more like instruction manuals than anything else, a list of suggestions and rules for writers and aspiring writers. This is, of course, truer for some of the selections, Pound for instance whose “A retrospect” actually includes, “A LIST OF DON’TS for those beginning to write verses” (59). Although Pound’s writing most directly illustrates what is good, “Direct treatment of the ‘thing’” and composition in musical phrase, (58) for instance, others such as Hulme and Eliot describe similar directives in their work regarding modernist writing. Though all describe the specifics slightly differently and all hone in on variations of certain rules, Eliot, Hulme, Pound, Rainey, and Kermode tend to mention several of the same factors and urge writers of poetry and prose to comply with several of the same rules of what the major players of modernism consider most crucial to literary success.
Speaking of literary success, several of the readings focus on economic issues that faced writers in the early twentieth century. I believe it was Rainey who went into the most depth as he described Eliot’s difficulties in deciding where to publish The Waste Land. After careful consideration of the three contenders, the Little Review, the Dial, and Vanity Fair, he chose the Dial because they “offered to give Eliot the annual Dial Award of $2,000 as a price for the poem,” (51) and, possibly because Eliot negotiated as successfully as he wrote, “the Dial also agreed to purchase 350 copies of the first printing [of The Waste Land]” (51). I bring any of this up because I think it is important to understand that despite the academic voice that permeates “Tradition and the Individual Talent” or Hulme’s “Romanticism and Classicism,” these men were concerned with the payoff of their work, which is something that I, at least, had not commonly associated with them or with modernism as a whole.
I instead tend to think of the advice that Eliot provides in his essays. For instance he urges, “The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all” (43). Or, in a later passage, Eliot similarly emphasizes the importance of taking something that is not necessarily brand new, but rather to mold what has been done before in a different way. He says, “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different” (153). The overall point here is that what has been done before can be done again and should be reused if done properly. He eloquently reminds readers that this is an unavoidable reality saying, “‘The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did’. Precisely, and they are that which we know” (40). Modernism may have been all about making things “new,” but there is no need to reinvent the wheel.
However, let me return to my original observation that Pound and Eliot read like technical guides; “A retrospect” and all of Eliot’s essays sound as though they could be printed in modernism for not-so-dumb dummies. For example, we learn “A few don’ts” from Pound, one of which explains “An ‘Image’ is that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time” (59). I find this much like the “objective correlative” that Eliot describes in “Hamlet.” He refers to this as “The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an ‘objective correlative” (48). He continues to explain, the ‘objective correlative’ as a formula wherein the image and emotion work together, one evoking the other—I think.
I found most of the other instructions to be far less complicated. Eliot’s suggestions regarding language and structure are much more straight-forward. This is fitting since he asserts, “the language of these poets is as a rule simple and pure" (62). Pound too echoes this sentiment, “Use no superfluous word” (60). Overall, it was the agreement between Pound and Eliot in what they felt the best advice to give other writers and readers of modern literature most striking. I was also surprised, despite reading several of the works before, at how straight-forward their advice was. Complex matters remain complex, but the language in which they are articulated is simple.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Howards End
As we learn early on in Howards End “Esprit de classe,” or class solidarity, is among the most important concerns for many of the characters in the novel and seems to be high on Forster’s own agenda as he continues to base central conflicts, relationships, and actions on it. Forster’s work seems to also highlight the importance of place, with particular regard to the aforementioned preoccupation with class and social standing, questions of national identity, as the German Schlegels are contrasted with the English Wilcoxes, and finally the modernist concerns of technology and industrialization.
Thacker describes modernity “with its characteristics of movement, speed and the furious restructuring of spaces” (47). Forster’s novel embodies all three completely, firmly situating Howards End as a modernist work. Movement occurs at both the national and domestic level as Helen Schlegel and Paul Wilcox leave England for Germany and Nigeria, respectively. There is also an emphasis on movement for the reader as the initial action finds Mrs. Monk traveling by train then by car to visit Helen. Of the two types of movement found in Howards End the movement of the narrative and the speed with which readers must often reorient themselves most closely parallels the domestic disruption found throughout the novel. Andrew Thacker asserts, “People move house repeatedly in Howards End, emphasizing how modernity disrupts a stable sense of place” (55). This can be seen in Helen’s return to the city, in Mrs. Wilcox’s move to the city, in the pending relocation of the Schlegel family as Wickham Place is to be sub-divided into several flats.
Aside from the incorporation of movement, particularly domestic spaces, Forster’s use of technology, discussion of gender and gender roles, albeit in an indirect way, illustrates ways in which his work signals to readers that it is in fact modern. For example, Mr. Wilcox is “taking up his work—rubber—it is a big business” (78). Also, Mr. Wilcox explains the need to rent Howards End because he doubts his son Charles would ever move in. He confesses, “If Charles ever wanted it—But he won’t. Dolly is so dependent on modern conveniences” (100). Another way in which to position the text as modern is Forster’s use of the motorcar. This point is brought up by Thacker who states, “By focusing upon the motorcar’s role in Howards End we can further situate the novel within a spatial history of modernity” (62).
Less obvious to the narrative’s overall focus on modernism are the depictions of gender and gender appropriate behavior that lie couched in sibling spats and pithy banter. Margaret and Helen’s brother Tibby is called in passing “Auntie Tibby” for his lack of what his sisters feel is proper male behavior. Paradoxically, Helen’s misidentification stems from Margaret’s desire to have “a real boy in the house—the kind of boy who cares for men” (33). Despite the many themes listed here, technology, space, domesticity, movement, gender norms, and class, it is the latter which ties the novel together and superseded all other concerns which these characters may have. Other conflicts arise, other action takes place, but it seems that in one way or another, all roads lead back to class. The novel clearly situates characters as haves, the Wilcoxes and the Schlegels, and have-nots, the Basts. However, it is in the interactions between the classes so distinctly separate in Forster’s book that class distinguishes itself from the lengthy list of themes in Howards End. This main and lasting conflict is set up very early in the work as Mrs. Monk and Mr. Wilcox debate which family is better: “Schlegels were better than Wilcoxes, Wilcoxes better than Schlegels” (18). It appears that class and money are incorrectly equated in Forster’s novel. At one point Miss Schlegel announces, “Money pads the edges of things.” She continues, in a vain effort to seem caring, “God help those who have none” (46). The focus on class and money and their relation to space and place or location is not unique to Howards End. I am reminded of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and the conflicts arising between those in East Egg and West Egg, but Forster seems to weave the discussion of class and status seamlessly into a more complete story, one that seems to be even more concerned with where one lives than who one is, or possibly for Forster, like his characters, there is no such distinction.
Thacker describes modernity “with its characteristics of movement, speed and the furious restructuring of spaces” (47). Forster’s novel embodies all three completely, firmly situating Howards End as a modernist work. Movement occurs at both the national and domestic level as Helen Schlegel and Paul Wilcox leave England for Germany and Nigeria, respectively. There is also an emphasis on movement for the reader as the initial action finds Mrs. Monk traveling by train then by car to visit Helen. Of the two types of movement found in Howards End the movement of the narrative and the speed with which readers must often reorient themselves most closely parallels the domestic disruption found throughout the novel. Andrew Thacker asserts, “People move house repeatedly in Howards End, emphasizing how modernity disrupts a stable sense of place” (55). This can be seen in Helen’s return to the city, in Mrs. Wilcox’s move to the city, in the pending relocation of the Schlegel family as Wickham Place is to be sub-divided into several flats.
Aside from the incorporation of movement, particularly domestic spaces, Forster’s use of technology, discussion of gender and gender roles, albeit in an indirect way, illustrates ways in which his work signals to readers that it is in fact modern. For example, Mr. Wilcox is “taking up his work—rubber—it is a big business” (78). Also, Mr. Wilcox explains the need to rent Howards End because he doubts his son Charles would ever move in. He confesses, “If Charles ever wanted it—But he won’t. Dolly is so dependent on modern conveniences” (100). Another way in which to position the text as modern is Forster’s use of the motorcar. This point is brought up by Thacker who states, “By focusing upon the motorcar’s role in Howards End we can further situate the novel within a spatial history of modernity” (62).
Less obvious to the narrative’s overall focus on modernism are the depictions of gender and gender appropriate behavior that lie couched in sibling spats and pithy banter. Margaret and Helen’s brother Tibby is called in passing “Auntie Tibby” for his lack of what his sisters feel is proper male behavior. Paradoxically, Helen’s misidentification stems from Margaret’s desire to have “a real boy in the house—the kind of boy who cares for men” (33). Despite the many themes listed here, technology, space, domesticity, movement, gender norms, and class, it is the latter which ties the novel together and superseded all other concerns which these characters may have. Other conflicts arise, other action takes place, but it seems that in one way or another, all roads lead back to class. The novel clearly situates characters as haves, the Wilcoxes and the Schlegels, and have-nots, the Basts. However, it is in the interactions between the classes so distinctly separate in Forster’s book that class distinguishes itself from the lengthy list of themes in Howards End. This main and lasting conflict is set up very early in the work as Mrs. Monk and Mr. Wilcox debate which family is better: “Schlegels were better than Wilcoxes, Wilcoxes better than Schlegels” (18). It appears that class and money are incorrectly equated in Forster’s novel. At one point Miss Schlegel announces, “Money pads the edges of things.” She continues, in a vain effort to seem caring, “God help those who have none” (46). The focus on class and money and their relation to space and place or location is not unique to Howards End. I am reminded of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and the conflicts arising between those in East Egg and West Egg, but Forster seems to weave the discussion of class and status seamlessly into a more complete story, one that seems to be even more concerned with where one lives than who one is, or possibly for Forster, like his characters, there is no such distinction.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
what is modernism
Modernism is a literary, artistic, and political movement beginning at the end of the nineteenth century and continuing into the middle of the twentieth. In general, modernism stretches from 1899 to 1945, but can also be subdivided into early modernism, 1899 to 1914, and high modernism, 1914 to 1945. Lacking a concise definition of my own, I find myself drawn to a line of The Waste Land noted in our course materials. While the poem itself is a famous work of modernism incorporating many of the thematic and formal hallmarks of the movement, one line in particular sees the fullest expression of these characteristics. For example, “These fragments I have shored against my ruins” illustrates some particular formal and thematic elements indicative of work of the period.
Fragmentation, for instance, was common in literature of the time. Poetry was often disjointed and novels such as Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury contain passages wherein separate thoughts and dialogues are often indistinguishable from one another. The world climate and a population reeling from staggering violence and death as a result of World War I and vexed emotions regarding technology as both salvation and destruction set the stage for fear and unease which then manifested itself in literature as fragmented sentences and seemingly incohesive thoughts. This is slightly different albeit related to Christopher Reed’s observation that modernism is “a cascade of oppositions.”
Perhaps it was the trauma resulting from the events of the war that led to a desire to reinvent much of literature and, by extension, a reinvention of the authors who created it in order to jump start the healing process. This is most available in Ezra Pound’s resounding command to “make it new.” The movement is described by Michael Levenson as “turbulent,” but how could it be anything but in a world that was not only shrinking--the emergence of a global community resulting in increased technology--but also now aware of the horrors of violent conflict in that global community. This was further magnified by the industrial revolution’s impact on weaponry as well as other less apocalyptic improvements.
These non-violent and less morbid changes occurring during the decades in which modernism thrived are mentioned by Reed and helped give the era a recognizable look and feel. Aesthetically speaking, “high-tech design and abstract art became the look of modernity” as did “the refusal of norms of beauty” (Levenson 3). The authors themselves, individuals such as T.S Eliot, Ezra Pound, Virginia Woolf, and T.E Hulme, H.D., Joseph Conrad, and Gertrude Stein to name a few, were often serious and able to write, even in times of personal strife. Other names commonly associated with modernism include composers Stravinsky and Schoenberg, artists like Picasso, and architect Walter Gropius. In general, the movement and the work resulting from it are regarded as masculine despite the contributions of women, an inaccurate perception these women often addressed.
Personally, it was the intersection of gender and modernism that I found most intriguing in these readings. It was a pairing that I neglected to focus on in my own very limited study of modernism, but one which I am grateful for as I will now read these texts with an eye towards gender and its implications. I find it interesting although not surprising that it was the female writers, Woolf for instance, who focused more on gender in their writing. It seems the marginalized groups, be they race, gender, class etc. are the ones who must explore it in their work. It was though a single sentence in one of Scott’s introductions which struck me: “Modernism, particularly as negotiated through the cultural complex of gender, in the broader scope of modernity, and verging upon challenges of globalism is “new” once again. I imagine I gravitate towards this line since it incorporates a discussion of gender with the maxim that has stuck with me and defines so much of what I notice in the writing of the time.
Fragmentation, for instance, was common in literature of the time. Poetry was often disjointed and novels such as Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury contain passages wherein separate thoughts and dialogues are often indistinguishable from one another. The world climate and a population reeling from staggering violence and death as a result of World War I and vexed emotions regarding technology as both salvation and destruction set the stage for fear and unease which then manifested itself in literature as fragmented sentences and seemingly incohesive thoughts. This is slightly different albeit related to Christopher Reed’s observation that modernism is “a cascade of oppositions.”
Perhaps it was the trauma resulting from the events of the war that led to a desire to reinvent much of literature and, by extension, a reinvention of the authors who created it in order to jump start the healing process. This is most available in Ezra Pound’s resounding command to “make it new.” The movement is described by Michael Levenson as “turbulent,” but how could it be anything but in a world that was not only shrinking--the emergence of a global community resulting in increased technology--but also now aware of the horrors of violent conflict in that global community. This was further magnified by the industrial revolution’s impact on weaponry as well as other less apocalyptic improvements.
These non-violent and less morbid changes occurring during the decades in which modernism thrived are mentioned by Reed and helped give the era a recognizable look and feel. Aesthetically speaking, “high-tech design and abstract art became the look of modernity” as did “the refusal of norms of beauty” (Levenson 3). The authors themselves, individuals such as T.S Eliot, Ezra Pound, Virginia Woolf, and T.E Hulme, H.D., Joseph Conrad, and Gertrude Stein to name a few, were often serious and able to write, even in times of personal strife. Other names commonly associated with modernism include composers Stravinsky and Schoenberg, artists like Picasso, and architect Walter Gropius. In general, the movement and the work resulting from it are regarded as masculine despite the contributions of women, an inaccurate perception these women often addressed.
Personally, it was the intersection of gender and modernism that I found most intriguing in these readings. It was a pairing that I neglected to focus on in my own very limited study of modernism, but one which I am grateful for as I will now read these texts with an eye towards gender and its implications. I find it interesting although not surprising that it was the female writers, Woolf for instance, who focused more on gender in their writing. It seems the marginalized groups, be they race, gender, class etc. are the ones who must explore it in their work. It was though a single sentence in one of Scott’s introductions which struck me: “Modernism, particularly as negotiated through the cultural complex of gender, in the broader scope of modernity, and verging upon challenges of globalism is “new” once again. I imagine I gravitate towards this line since it incorporates a discussion of gender with the maxim that has stuck with me and defines so much of what I notice in the writing of the time.
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