October 14, 2004
Little Leeches of Subtlety
Henry James, in his short story "The Figure in the Carpet," calls literary critics "little demons of subtlety." Even though he means it disparagingly, I think the positive implications of the phrase are quite right. The variety of readings and the insights into a work they provide greatly enriches your experience of the work while allowing you to consider how and why you may disagree. In other words, rather than wasting time adumbrating meanings that have already been more clearly and deeply explained than you are likely to be able to do on your own, you can move on to the more elusive and difficult nuances of a text. As one who once was suspicious of reading too much criticism, I find now that I truly love it. Of course, I still avoid reading any criticism until after I've already read the work myself and thought sufficiently about it so that my opinions won't be entirely informed by another's reading.
Something struck me today as an essential characteristic of most (if not all) criticism that led to this post—it's all parasitic. The scholar or critic explains some minor point about a work that hadn't been noticed before and finds themself endlessly cited from that point on as a near permanent part of the constellation of criticism surrounding the particular poem, novel, or what-have-you. Even in the case of truly brilliant and erudite critical work, the critic's noteworthiness hinges upon that of their source's. It's an odd and obscure immortality they seek. Nevertheless, the work is worthwhile and incredibly useful to us poor, confused students. I don't mean to denigrate the critic's efforts at all, but in most cases they're still only leeches. All hail the mighty author!
I think the use of criticism, or the injunction to be critical, is threatening to the reader at first because it requires exploding the mythos of the book--the magical ability of the book to transport you into another reality. One is used to allowing a text to master your imagination while the reader falls into passivity. But criticism requires mastery--discovery of meaning and categorisation of meaning. This exertion, though pleasant for most with the passage of time, seems to take all the pleasure out of reading.
Yet I think that with time, we realize that developing the critical consciousness opens up multiple textual meanings, and thus allows for not one but many pleasures. Nuance and complexity seem threatening at first, but eventually give way to an arguably more fulfilling reading experience, especially considering the analytical and experiential tools one gains through with time.