In an Ongoing Consideration of Literary Criticism

A methodology for reconciling the contents of the last two posts, as well as every other encounter I've had with the discipline of textual criticism is as follows:

I have a friend who is from Finland.  I met him, along with some other friends, while in London.  He's a a very interesting fellow who has extensively studied wine, spending years learning the craft of wine tasting at a college devoted to this purpose (Europe is in some ways, very cool.)  

I bring this up because I think this goes a long way in reconciling the very strong disagreements I find in reading literary critics such as Bloom, Kruger, and others. And I don't mean disagreeing with their opinion, I mean disagreeing with their right to exist as literary authorities.  My Dad is an Engineer.  I am not.  The echoes of his analytical personality are still very much alive in me, though I approach it in a different way entirely.  What charms me about wine infuriated me about literary critics.  And perhaps I am just now understanding why.  

When I read literary criticism, I would be irritated by how they make assumptions I thought unfair, unscientific, and wholly improbable.  "This fellow said he loved Keats, but in reality he was completely instructed by Tennyson.  Hear this cadence, here? Tennyson all over it!"

What was obvious to me about wine (that there is a high level of subjectivity to its appreciation) wasn't obvious to me about the written word.  I wanted to be told with certitude that this poet was good, and that this one was not.  With wine, there is at least an element of physicality involved.  Wine is made up of atoms and molecules that may be retained or qualified by the soil, the climate, the aging process, etc. Even with these scientific considerations the art of wine-tasting is nowise a science.  How much more so, the world of thought, ideas, and interpretation.  

What literary critics are observing instead, is how certain references, ideas, motifs, conceits, schemes, meters, etc.  are striking them, rather then influencing the author.  I think there is some level that you can be precise.  Shakespeare wrote sonnets.  Sure.  But concluding that Shakespeare wrote sonnet A, half of sonnet B, and 2/3 or sonnet C, D, and E, is opinion and could be severely effected by whether someone had just read Milton or Spenser 5 minutes before the Shakespeare, 10 minutes, an hour, etc.  It's the subjectivity of wine times 3 million.

So is literary criticism useless? No way!  Should it be trusted?  Certainly not always, no matter how qualified the source.  My experience with my Finnish friend and wine is illuminating in one other way. 

I asked him if he'd like to go and taste some wine sometime and, if he was feeling generous, teach a no-nothing about wine tasting.  He agreed and once we both sat with glasses of wine before us (types of his recommendation), he started giving me the lesson.  He told me how to swirl the glass, cleanse the palate, enjoy the color of the wine, the texture, the nose and how to sip for maximum flavor exposure.  I sipped it and he looked at me, expectantly.

I had absolutely no idea what to say.  I didn't taste much else but wine.  After a little reluctance, I told him as much.  He seemed to expect that and then revealed the most important lesson about wine tasting.  "Keep a journal," he said "and for each entry, record the wine, vintage, etc.  Then, when you taste it, try your best to apply a flavor to the taste.  If you decide something tastes like plums, look for that flavor again in the next wine you taste.  In this manner, your taste will be refined."

When you read literary criticism of any kind, realize you aren't reading a scientific analysis.  No matter who they think they are, it is not a scientific analysis.  Not even the most vacant-eyed, white-washed anthropologist is presenting a scientific analysis.  They are presenting their interpretation of the text they have encountered.  They are presenting you the text, defined by their vocabulary and set of precluded assumptions.  Also remember they are telling you how to enjoy the text.  The metaphor quickly breaks down here, because interpretive methodology quickly starts to become opinion, but they still teach how to enjoy it.  I disagree with Bloom about T. S. Eliot, utterly.  But when I see the way Bloom enjoys Shakespeare, I can apply a similar satisfaction to Eliot.

This isn't relativism.  I think there is good wine and bad wine, good poetry and bad poetry.  But it does meant there is some ambiguity on these matters.  Now on the topic of substantive issues, (e.g. the Bible) this still applies.  What I mean is that as a member of the invisible Church, a believer in the inerrancy of scripture and all that comes with that, I begin with a certain assumption: my faith. 

From that perspective I approach the Bible, and that really makes all the difference. Additionally, I fully believe that the perspective of this faith in the Judeo-Christian God, and this perspective only, presents an internally consistent framework for understanding and interpreting reality.  And the Bible.  

I really do love wine.  And I think this post sounds way more deconstructionist than I mean for it too.  But it will be refined, perhaps.