Dust, settling
Feb. 18th, 2010 02:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I found myself heavily involved in an internet shit-storm. What surprised me the most was that I managed to sustain an argument about slash and Star Wars for nearly 17 hours. Neither slash nor Star Wars figure heavily in my life, to be honest. So what the hell was it that so exercised me I felt the need to argue back and forth for half a day with an author whose books I don't even read?
Something about what Miller was saying pushed all my buttons, somehow.
Somehow, despite my best intentions, I seem to have turned into an honest-to-goodness, Death of the Author postmodernist (and I use 'postmodernism' in its loosest, vernacular sense of 'literary theory combining elements of post-structuralism, queer theory, feminist theory, post-colonial theory'). This is quite odd, because in my field, we tend to take an approach that is 75% New Historicist with a dash of close reading and motif studies thrown in. Anti-theory, if you like.
But I was reacting to Miller's posts and comments from three different perspectives - the three different ways I work with texts - and from each perspective, I realised that there was a profound disconnect between the way I (and those of my opinion) viewed 'ownership' of texts and the way Miller (and her defenders) viewed it.
Miller constantly asserted that she, as an author, controlled the facts about her texts (initially, she didn't even make a distinction between facts and interpretations, an oversight she later clarified). It sounds simple, doesn't it? Well, yes, but...
Wearing my academic hat
I work with medieval texts. And not the nice, simple kind of medieval texts written by, say, Chaucer, Gower or Malory. Mine are the kind of texts written by Anonymous. The kind of texts written by more than one Anonymous, bundled together in books written by other Anonymouses who weren't even alive at the time that the first Anonymous was writing. The kind of texts where one or two or fifty Anonymouses composed and modified the text before the version copied down by another Anonymous was preserved and came into the property of a university or private collection.
Are you starting to see why the idea of an author's intention, in my field, is kind of complicated at best and laughable at worst?
Before I can even begin to answer what the 'intention' or 'meaning' of one the texts with which I work is, I have to figure out when it was written, whether it shows evidence of being modified over time, whether other, different versions of the text exist and when THEY were written and/or modified, what it means that this text is bound in the same book as a series of other texts (many of which might be from completely different time periods) and whether said text bears any resemblance to texts of similar genres.
When the majority of my life is spent answering these kinds of questions, the idea that an author's intentions (or even 'facts') are straightforward enough to be accepted (to use Miller's phrasing) 'at face value' seems kind of simplistic.
Wearing my fan hat
One thing that became apparent yesterday was the profound disjunction between how authors understand 'ownership' of texts, and how certain segments of the fannish community (segments of which I view myself a part) understand 'ownership'. For a lot of the day, the arguments (my own included) seemed to be more a case of crossed wires. At one point, I, exasperated, replied to Miller:
'So you were angry that readers were putting words into your mouth, and denying your ownership of the text. I was angry that you seemed to be denying readers the right to interpret your text. But we're on the same page: writers own texts, but they do not own readers' interpretations of the texts. Readers own interpretations, but they do not own the texts.'
That's putting it quite bluntly, and Miller accepted this, but does not take it any further. I, with my particular opinion about what fandom is, think this can be extended further.
Readers do not own texts, in that they do not own the thoughts that were going through writers' heads as they wrote said texts. But in owning their reactions to the texts, they do, in a sense, own them. Reading is not a passive act (I'm limiting this to reading for the sake of simplicity, but this can be extended to all types of interaction with texts): you do not sit there and imbibe a book's words (at least I hope you don't). Rather, you react to those words, interpreting them in relation to your experiences, beliefs and tastes. If you're lucky, and it's a really amazing book, it might actually cause you to reexamine and change your experiences, beliefs and tastes.
And no one can take those reactions from you. If you see gay subtext in Obi-Wan and Anakin's relationship, Karen Miller and George Lucas can shout the opposite from the hilltops until they're blue in the face - but it doesn't change your interpretation unless you allow it to do so.
Wearing my reviewer hat
This is probably, to be honest, the hat which caused the bulk of my outrage.
For those who don't know, I've been a newspaper book reviewer for just over seven years. (I also write reviews on a blog that is not affiliated with the newspaper in any way.) I mainly review young-adult books for one of Australia's broadsheet newspapers. The nature of the books I review means that my job mainly entails forming assessments of books and translating these assessments into language that will help parents (who are the main buyers of books in this category and who are the main people who read newspaper reviews of YA books) determine whether such a book is a good choice for their children.
I have never pulled punches as a reviewer. If I don't like a book, even if it's by one of my favourite authors or a childhood favourite (and this has happened), I say I don't like it. But I try always to explain why, and I try to explain why in such a way that shows my readers that my dislike is subjective, allowing them to make up their own minds. I never pretend that my word is final, but I own my opinion, and, since the newspaper has given me space to share it, I will.
I'm proud of the fact that Kate Elliott praised my review of her Crossroads series in her blog and said I really got what she was trying to do with her character Mai. I'm proud that Sophia McDougall told me my interpretation of her character Drusus was spot on. I'm proud that Australian YA author Sophie Masson once told me that she considered me the best YA reviewer in Australia because I got to the heart of what she (and other authors) were trying to say and even if I wrote negative reviews, I reviewed the books on their own terms, not my own.
But I'm equally proud of all the negative reviews that authors haven't responded to. The ones that they probably read and thought, 'she didn't read the book I wrote'. Because those reviews represent my interpretations too. It's great when my interpretations match with a writer's intentions, but it's great when they don't, too.
As a reviewer, I truly believe that no one can 'misinterpret' a book. If a reader's interpretation doesn't match a writer's intention, then the writer has failed to convey his/her intention clearly enough. It is NOT the reader's fault for 'misunderstanding' what a writer wrote.
And that, in the end, was what drew my out of my lurky shell and caused me to write an impassioned defence of Star Wars slash.
Your book is not my book. I may not see what you want me to see, but I'll defend to the death your right to see it.
Something about what Miller was saying pushed all my buttons, somehow.
Somehow, despite my best intentions, I seem to have turned into an honest-to-goodness, Death of the Author postmodernist (and I use 'postmodernism' in its loosest, vernacular sense of 'literary theory combining elements of post-structuralism, queer theory, feminist theory, post-colonial theory'). This is quite odd, because in my field, we tend to take an approach that is 75% New Historicist with a dash of close reading and motif studies thrown in. Anti-theory, if you like.
But I was reacting to Miller's posts and comments from three different perspectives - the three different ways I work with texts - and from each perspective, I realised that there was a profound disconnect between the way I (and those of my opinion) viewed 'ownership' of texts and the way Miller (and her defenders) viewed it.
Miller constantly asserted that she, as an author, controlled the facts about her texts (initially, she didn't even make a distinction between facts and interpretations, an oversight she later clarified). It sounds simple, doesn't it? Well, yes, but...
Wearing my academic hat
I work with medieval texts. And not the nice, simple kind of medieval texts written by, say, Chaucer, Gower or Malory. Mine are the kind of texts written by Anonymous. The kind of texts written by more than one Anonymous, bundled together in books written by other Anonymouses who weren't even alive at the time that the first Anonymous was writing. The kind of texts where one or two or fifty Anonymouses composed and modified the text before the version copied down by another Anonymous was preserved and came into the property of a university or private collection.
Are you starting to see why the idea of an author's intention, in my field, is kind of complicated at best and laughable at worst?
Before I can even begin to answer what the 'intention' or 'meaning' of one the texts with which I work is, I have to figure out when it was written, whether it shows evidence of being modified over time, whether other, different versions of the text exist and when THEY were written and/or modified, what it means that this text is bound in the same book as a series of other texts (many of which might be from completely different time periods) and whether said text bears any resemblance to texts of similar genres.
When the majority of my life is spent answering these kinds of questions, the idea that an author's intentions (or even 'facts') are straightforward enough to be accepted (to use Miller's phrasing) 'at face value' seems kind of simplistic.
Wearing my fan hat
One thing that became apparent yesterday was the profound disjunction between how authors understand 'ownership' of texts, and how certain segments of the fannish community (segments of which I view myself a part) understand 'ownership'. For a lot of the day, the arguments (my own included) seemed to be more a case of crossed wires. At one point, I, exasperated, replied to Miller:
'So you were angry that readers were putting words into your mouth, and denying your ownership of the text. I was angry that you seemed to be denying readers the right to interpret your text. But we're on the same page: writers own texts, but they do not own readers' interpretations of the texts. Readers own interpretations, but they do not own the texts.'
That's putting it quite bluntly, and Miller accepted this, but does not take it any further. I, with my particular opinion about what fandom is, think this can be extended further.
Readers do not own texts, in that they do not own the thoughts that were going through writers' heads as they wrote said texts. But in owning their reactions to the texts, they do, in a sense, own them. Reading is not a passive act (I'm limiting this to reading for the sake of simplicity, but this can be extended to all types of interaction with texts): you do not sit there and imbibe a book's words (at least I hope you don't). Rather, you react to those words, interpreting them in relation to your experiences, beliefs and tastes. If you're lucky, and it's a really amazing book, it might actually cause you to reexamine and change your experiences, beliefs and tastes.
And no one can take those reactions from you. If you see gay subtext in Obi-Wan and Anakin's relationship, Karen Miller and George Lucas can shout the opposite from the hilltops until they're blue in the face - but it doesn't change your interpretation unless you allow it to do so.
Wearing my reviewer hat
This is probably, to be honest, the hat which caused the bulk of my outrage.
For those who don't know, I've been a newspaper book reviewer for just over seven years. (I also write reviews on a blog that is not affiliated with the newspaper in any way.) I mainly review young-adult books for one of Australia's broadsheet newspapers. The nature of the books I review means that my job mainly entails forming assessments of books and translating these assessments into language that will help parents (who are the main buyers of books in this category and who are the main people who read newspaper reviews of YA books) determine whether such a book is a good choice for their children.
I have never pulled punches as a reviewer. If I don't like a book, even if it's by one of my favourite authors or a childhood favourite (and this has happened), I say I don't like it. But I try always to explain why, and I try to explain why in such a way that shows my readers that my dislike is subjective, allowing them to make up their own minds. I never pretend that my word is final, but I own my opinion, and, since the newspaper has given me space to share it, I will.
I'm proud of the fact that Kate Elliott praised my review of her Crossroads series in her blog and said I really got what she was trying to do with her character Mai. I'm proud that Sophia McDougall told me my interpretation of her character Drusus was spot on. I'm proud that Australian YA author Sophie Masson once told me that she considered me the best YA reviewer in Australia because I got to the heart of what she (and other authors) were trying to say and even if I wrote negative reviews, I reviewed the books on their own terms, not my own.
But I'm equally proud of all the negative reviews that authors haven't responded to. The ones that they probably read and thought, 'she didn't read the book I wrote'. Because those reviews represent my interpretations too. It's great when my interpretations match with a writer's intentions, but it's great when they don't, too.
As a reviewer, I truly believe that no one can 'misinterpret' a book. If a reader's interpretation doesn't match a writer's intention, then the writer has failed to convey his/her intention clearly enough. It is NOT the reader's fault for 'misunderstanding' what a writer wrote.
And that, in the end, was what drew my out of my lurky shell and caused me to write an impassioned defence of Star Wars slash.
Your book is not my book. I may not see what you want me to see, but I'll defend to the death your right to see it.