Sometimes, you just have to add your bias to the opinions of others, and since two discordant articles about literature are now closed for comments, I couldn’t help but contribute by means of a blog post.
To understand where this all comes from, you have to start with Anis Shivani’s article—Can Creative Writing Be Taught? Therapy For The Disaffected Masses—that ends on an outrageous note: “Yes, creative writing can be taught. And we’re all fucked because of it.” Hence, considering the title of the second one—Creative Writing Can Be Taught: Creative Writing Professors Answer More Important Questions—you have to expect a defensive article.
The collective opinions make for an interesting and balanced read. But I shudder at the narrow-minded premises that are disparaging of creative writing practices (teaching) outside of academic institutions. As for Mr. Shivani (and the others), if I’m fucked-up and needing therapy, it must be the result of socializing that exposes me to dogmatic ‘theorists’ who still draw a distinction between literature and creative writing, who obsess over literary criticism and literary genius, who claim their way is the only way, who assume they speak for everyone.
I have benefited from informal coaching as much as I have from my MFA program. If it wasn’t for some of my ‘so-called coaches,’ I might not have considered a masters degree at all. And now that I’m a graduate, I don’t necessarily want to teach via an academic institution. It’s not the only way to honor your talents; it’s not the only way to serve your community. Surely, it’s not only lofty academic terminology that maketh the teacher? And to take my own rant a bit further: fiction and poetry are not the only genres for ‘expressing’ oneself; and memoir is not necessarily an indication of the author ‘being fucked-up.’ What absolute tosh!
Of course literature is in crisis, as is the publishing industry, as might be MFA programs. We live in a dynamic world, and this is a particularly unsettling time in all spheres of life. But as dismaying as change might be, it’s the only way forward. We all know survival depends on being flexible, and who knows…one day…maybe cooperation might just beat conflict…maybe we could start listening to each other, instead of pounding our “Me! Me!” chests, insisting “My way is the best!”
“it must be the result of socializing that exposes me to dogmatic ‘theorists’ who still draw a distinction between literature and creative writing, who obsess over literary criticism and literary genius, who claim their way is the only way, who assume they speak for everyone.”
You go! What a voice you have. Love it.
Well, thank you kindly, Marina – I hope it doesn’t get me into more trouble than I can handle.
If my bachelor’s degree in English taught me anything, it’s that literary critics in academia have no f’ing idea what they’re talking about. I was too young and impressionable to realize it at the time, but the reason my professors didn’t see what I saw in a novel was because I understood it better than they did. They’re so immersed in the literature about the novel that they can’t see what’s plainly there in the text. A case in point is the imagery of the horses pursuing Ursula at the end of “The Rainbow” by D.H. Lawrence: “She was aware of their breasts gripped, clenched narrow in a hold that never relaxed, she was aware of their red nostrils flaming with long endurance, and of their haunches so rounded, so massive, pressing, pressing, pressing to burst the grip upon their breasts…” The professor said that there was no definitive theory about what the horses represented, but it was proposed that they signified a male force that Ursula hadn’t encountered yet. Breasts and rounded haunches represent MALE energy? No. Ursula is pregnant, and has just learned that her former lover has married someone else. She’s confronting her FEMALENESS, and the limitations it’s imposing on her. This was so flipping obvious to me at the tender age of 20, and yet, 70 years after the novel was first published, the literary experts hadn’t figured out what it meant? Give me a break. I had some wonderful professors, but others were self-congratulatory buffoons. The publish-or-perish mindset in the academic community leads literary critics to fantastical theories and delusions. And or course, no one can tell these “experts” they’re wrong, because authors can’t understand their own work.
Oh, Andrea, your account is priceless!
Research is, of course, the heartbeat of the academic world. But we’re living in a world of over-analysis that extends beyond academia; having an opinion has become the mainstream ‘right’ of our time. Maybe it stems from a chronic, low-grade sense of insecurity: ‘if someone else has an opinion, I had better have one too, lest I’m seen as idiot and feel unworthy.’ Or maybe it’s just more proof of another chronic affliction—entitlement: ‘there’s no way I’m having someone else have an opinion and not rebut it.’ Or maybe cynicism is just part of my mid-life crisis.
Thanks for your comment; it was a most entertaining read.
Belinda.
Hypocrisy is the essence of snobbery, but all snobbery is about the problem of belonging. Alexander Theroux
A wise quote. And a good reminder that we all have our virtues and vices—no one is just good or bad; in the end, it all balances out, I hope. Let’s not forget that our knee-jerk responses to criticism is really criticism, too.
Thanks!