I had a couple of film criticism classes where the teacher would say, "The colors of the scenery in this particular scene emphasize the warmth of the characters, which shows the inherent dichotomy of the story, because these characters are the villains." My main reaction to that was "OK, I guess you could read it that way. Or maybe that's just the color of walls in a building that age."

With stuff like that, my view is that it doesn't really matter whether it was "Let's go find some red buildings to shoot in front of" or "Huh. These red buildings will work for this scene," or even just, "Let's shoot here." It's that putting all those elements together will enhance the mood of the scene, if it's done well. Or, sometimes, you'll get movies where the scenery or the lighting just really don't work at all with the characters, and they just destroy the mood of the scene. Personally, I love going through and trying to figure out how a particular mood or tone was created -- noticing that a scene seems really tense, for instance, then going back and looking and seeing that, in addition to the characters fighting, there's a lot of tension in the shapes and colors of the sets, and harsh lighting with lots of contrast, and sound that emphasizes every movement. Maybe some of it was intensional, maybe some not, but I find it interesting to look and see what's going on, and think about how that same scene would play if some different choices were made.

This is a question that has bugged me for ages--What *is* literary criticism? Is it discussion of why an author chose one word over another? Is it fitting a work into a particular historical/cultural background? (I'm predicting the answer to those two questions will be "yes".)

Good call. Literary criticism is, simply put, writing about literature. Exegesis, the most common form of lit crit in modern times, is about trying to draw meaning out of a text, whether a novel or a TV show or a comic book -- to make an argument about the stuff in the text, and explain why it could, should, might matter to our reading of that text.

There is historicist lit crit (Raymond Williams's The Country and the City, showing the different ways these two locales and the relationship between them are depicted over the course of the rise of capitalism in England), there is formalist lit crit (the New Criticism of people like John Crowe Ransome, who puzzled over every word in "The Waste Land" looking for its meanings), there is psychoanalytic lit crit (Kaja Silverman's reading of It's a Wonderful Life as a celebration of masochism clarified for me why I don't like the movie). Any way of thinking can spawn a way of looking at the world, and a related way of looking at culture.

Michele, how do you know this is what's going on in those passages? I had a couple of film criticism classes where the teacher would say, "The colors of the scenery in this particular scene emphasize the warmth of the characters, which shows the inherent dichotomy of the story, because these characters are the villains." My main reaction to that was "OK, I guess you could read it that way. Or maybe that's just the color of walls in a building that age."

OK, but here's the thing -- they chose to shoot in that place, with that lighting, that day. This is the Elizabeth Bennett thing in different form. Jane Austen created Elizabeth. The color that my building is a historical accident. There might be some interesting urban history to it, but there's no intent. There is intent, there is form, there are thinking minds behind works of art. And no, you can't ever know what a writer or director or painter was "really" thinking, even if they tell you, because God knows there are all sorts of aspects of the creative process that happen somewhere in the unconscious. But you can take the work and look at the ways in which the pieces work to make it what it is, and make an argument about what it says about itself, or its times, or another time.

Some of this is practice, pure and simple -- you need to spend a lot of time looking at the world with an interpretative eye before it becomes natural. I still remember the teacher who graded down my essay on Plato's "Ion" because in discussing the dialogue's take on truth and fiction, I'd neglected to consider that the dialogue itself was a fiction of sorts. Once he said it, it seemed obvious, but we're so used to taking the frame as a given that it's hard to see it for itself.

juliana is wise. I'm unsure how much I want to say and not feel like I'm baring my soul for attack, but a lot of my reactions in a discussion like this stem from the following three factors:

1. I'm the Smart Girl, and that's equally how others have labeled me from early childhood up and a central part of my identity and self-esteem.

2. I don't have any academic training in lit-crit to speak of--I'm just an insanely voracious reader who took a grand total of two English lit classes in college.

3. Being a writer, and a talented writer, at that, is nearly as core a part of my identity as being The Smart Girl.

Throw that all together, and I'm just covered in hot buttons if I feel like anyone's questioning my intelligence, my intellectual credibility, or whether I'm making worthwhile use of my brain as a reader or writer.

X-posty goodness with Hil!

Also, to say, I absolutely don't "know" what's going on in a work I'm interpreting -- there's no final right answer. Just a whole bunch of partial interesting ones. The argument has to have what I call the "so what?" factor, and it has to not be contradicted by the other parts of the text I'm leaving out, but there's no final answer. Consider, e.g., the debates over whether Buffy in S6-7 can still be fairly considered a feminist hero. There are strong arguments to be made on both sides of that issue, and even a strong argument to be made that the show's incoherence on the matter says more about the real state of feminism in society than either side can lay claim to. All that criticism asks is that you make a compelling case.

(As my friend Hilary says to her students, "There are an infinite number of interpretations of any text. That doesn't mean some of them aren't wrong, though.")

I'm just covered in hot buttons if I feel like anyone's questioning my intelligence, my intellectual credibility, or whether I'm making worthwhile use of my brain as a reader or writer.

Knowing your own hot button issues is an admirable piece of self-knowledge. I wish I could be as clear about my own.

But now you've been told that your hot button issues are part of a thread culture that other people think is disparaging the use to which they put their brains as readers and writers. What do you do now?

But you can take the work and look at the ways in which the pieces work to make it what it is, and make an argument about what it says about itself, or its times, or another time.

So a lot of modern litcrit is subjective, then? Many of the pronouncements I've seen have tended heavily toward objective, received truth. I'm suspecting we're headed into the algebra/geometry type of dichotomy that messed about with me as a kid. I nearly failed algebra on several occasions, because my brain is wired in a very "a = x, x = a, none of this a = x if b = q, unless j is present as a factor of q, wherein b = a." Though, to give algebra credit, I once explained a problem at work using algebraic notation.

Anyway. If I understand this correctly, interpretations are presented, then defended with various readings of the texts modified by knowledge of the author's milieu. I imagine the reputation of the interpreter comes into play as well.

These kinds of discussions are interesting, but a great deal of the problem comes in when an interpretation is presented as fact and disagreement is considered willful obtuseness.

What is "deconstructiveism" or whatever the word is?

And my post turns into an x-post with Michele's further explanation.

t shrugs It'd probably help if I was quicker to ask for clarification and explanation, and slower to fly off the handle. That said, it cuts both ways--I've felt pretty damn disparaged myself at points today, and I feel like it should be a matter of agreeing to disagree or meeting each other halfway rather than one side submitting to the other.

Because really, if it can be done without making people feel belittled or disparaged, what people consider excellent in a book, what they see as the core point of literature/reading, is a fascinating topic.

Michelle, at this point, you're reminding me so much of my very most beloved prof that it's kind of creepy and I'm reading your posts in her voice.

You've managed to strike the exact tone that strikes a chord in me and makes me go out and buy books on lit crit in an effort to better my brain. Thank you.

Evergreen was great for giving me a broad knowledge base that was well integrated, but not so great for fine-tuning my writing skills as a critical thinker, despite my kick-ass performance in my critical reasoning class. I entered into the experience with undergrad level writing experience already under my belt thanks to my years in IB, and never was really forced to move beyond that. Did I mention the part where I am lazy?

Most of my critical discussion has been in a seminar format, with occasional formal writing, and my streams cross trying to talk about books as if it were seminar when my conversation is happening through my fingertips. If that makes sense. I want to talk in my free-flowing seminar riffing way, but my brain locks up with academic insecurity.

It was interesting catching up with this discussion on my short break this afternoon. I'm kind of in the middle. I understand a lot of what Hec and Hayden are saying, but I found the way in which they initially said it to be off-putting. It read as insulting, intended or no. Still, I do feel like people jerk their knees at genre slights, when many genre slights contain at least a grain of truth, and usually a whole beach, and this causes my eyes to roll something fierce.

You can find excellent work in any genre, but as a rule of thumb, it's harder with mass-market paperbacks than with something that aims for a less-broad audience. As a reader and a writer, there is nothing wrong or disloyal about saying, yeah, this is where I live, and the 'hood could use a little work.

I haven't been around much (not posting anyway) because we're moving and other real life stuff that's going on, but I lurk. I'm still fairly new, too, so apologies to anyone who's thinking, Who the hell is this?

I've spent the last few days going through our many, many, many boxes of books. (I just read all of today's posts as an I'm-too-exhausted-to-pack-more treat.) And I realized this: I just gave away a lot of what's considered canon because I either never liked the book, or have tried time and again to read it and failed. I also saved quite a few books I know my kids may be asked to read and/or interested in one day. I saved some books I haven't gotten to yet because I still want to read them, and am hopingn to have time for one day. But (see below) I saved mostly the ones I think I will respond to personally, and not as many of the ones I feel guilty for never having read, knowing I can get them out of the library.

The conversation today was fascinating to me because I identify with so many of the points (and points of view) represented. To wit:

Mostly self-taught reader. Was on the, like, eleven-year BA plan and never finished. There's a huge "oh yes" in here for me concerning my perception of my own intelligence and what I perceive others' perception of my intelligence to be when/if I admit I've never read certain books, and didn't finish college.

There are classics I *love* that I often feel I shouldn't admit to because they'll be perceived as sentimental and/or girly favorites: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and much of Wharton among them. But when I look at that list of favorites, I notice that the reason I love them is because I've reacted to them viscerally, either on a storytelling or character level. And it's clear to me that the reason certain current books appeal to me is also that identification--it "looks" like a story and/or character that will speak to me on a personal level.

I worked in publishing for years (and still freelance, and write, in the industry), primarily as an editor of romance, and I, too, hate the blanket criticism of the genre as somehow unworthy. Some of the most talented authors I've known have written romance--their skill with characters and plot and language could compete any day with writers who get a blanket endorsement from the New York Times Book Review simply because they're writing "important" books. There's something to be said for any book, of any kind, that gives a reader food for thought, an emotional catharsis, or simply a pleasant afternoon, and I hate that romance writers are so often dismissed as hacks simply because they're not writing about what others consider Deep Thoughts. As Hec said, there are plenty of books in all genres that "transcend," and while I don't read science fiction, I know there are plenty on my mystery and romance and horror shelves that I consider fabulous novels. Period.

I think the idea of "canon" is a valuable one because of the framework of common reference it can provide. What should be in it, as others have already said, is never going to be agreed on upon by everyone, but I think it's worthwhile to have a starting point and add and subtract from there. There are quite a few reasons Moby Dick and Madame Bovary should be on it, and an important one, for me, is to inspire discussions like this one. Why do we react to literature (or any art form) the way we do? Why were certain books written in certain times or places? How much do current world events work their way into fiction, even unintentionally? How do writing styles change over the years? It's not so much about the novel itself at that point, although the novel is, obviously, essential, but what literature means to us.

Last (I swear I'm almost finished), one of the reasons I came to adore BtVS and Angel so much was the chance to discuss it (maybe because there was always so much to discuss, of course), but because I could take even an episode I *didn't* like and pick it apart with others. (Which usually resulted in finding things I loved about those episodes, too.) Like JZ, one of the reasons I would love to go back to school is the chance to sit around and talk about books. I miss that, too, and while I loved Buffy for a long time before I discovered the joys of discussion boards, finding a crowd of people willing to talk about the show was bliss. It's not criticism as I understand lit crit to be (which, admittedly, is probably wrong), but a more straighforward, honest explication of what made the show work, what juicy, delicious metaphors and symbolism lurked below the surface, what made the characters speak to me, what made the journey one I understood (or sometimes didn't) and wanted to take. I get Deb's aversion to picking apart books in a coldly objective, no-heart-involved way, but I love taking the meat off the bones of a book (or a show) with gusto and licking up all the juice and spitting out the occasional irritating bone, and asking for seconds and the recipe at the end. I lthink lots of posters do that here with books everyone is enjoying at the same time, again, as others have said before me.

Which brings to me to (whoops) my truly last suggestion: The book club idea appeals to me. I like this thread because I come in and have jotted down the titles of (and bought) lots of books I never would have heard of othewise. And the hivemind factor rocks--I never would have rediscovered a book I loved as a kid if I hadn't asked about it in here. Maybe one way to start a book club would be what someone suggested before, with a twist: Anyone who wants to participate could get in line. When your number's called, you "assign" your book. Then we could have a real variety of titles, and books some of us wouldn't pick up otherwise, and the bonus of knowing we could come in when the reading period was over and discuss it together.