In which I fail at academia
Aug. 15th, 2015 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerI was very flattered recently to be invited to take part in a discussion on Academia.edu, since, as is well known, I possess the academic credentials of a NO PARKING sign. My only just three A levels were a very long time ago, and my failed attempt at a degree is best not mentioned. However, the instigator of the discussion is a friend, and the discussion was on "Recognising Genre," something in which I consider myself reasonably competent, so I went along to see if I could make a useful contribution. I don't think I succeeded.
I was clearly out of my depth from the start. Luminaries such as Leavis, Barthes and Foucault were invoked, the sum total of my knowledge of whom, as I admitted at the time, is contained in this very sentence. However, I was startled, and a little disappointed, to encounter again an idea which I had first come across back when I worked at Titan Distributors, a now defunct arm of the Forbidden Planet organisation, and was able to eavesdrop on conversations between old-school trufans of the sort who were far too grand to speak to such scum as me at the monthly Tun gatherings. A Blake's Seven fan? Horrors!
I haven't browsed in places like Currys for a while now, for many reasons (bear with me), but back when I used to there were two kinds of stereo unit. There were the ones packaged in black or brushed steel, all sharp corners and uncompromising right angles, with lots of little controls and lights and sliders, for Real Men, and there were the ones that came in pink and lilac with big simple buttons for women and kiddies. I don't imagine for a moment there was the slightest difference when it came to the guts, but the intention behind the packaging was quite blatant, and Jan used to get very aerated on the subject, particularly when it became clear that her sight was starting to go and black-on-black became too difficult to deal with.
And much the same attitude prevailed among old-school trufandom regarding the difference between sf and fantasy. Sf was for Real Men. It was tough, demanding, you had to have brains to enjoy it, and of course it was always rigorously rational and realistic because it was about Science. Fantasy was for women and kiddies, because it was easy; the good guys always won and there was no need to explain anything because you could just say "it's magic." Having magic in a story apparently, in this view, absolved the writer of the need to plot, or to provide meaningful conflict or character development. Fantasy was for people who couldn't handle sf. Sf came in black or brushed steel with little sliders; fantasy came in pink with big buttons.
By these standards, of course, a lot of sf, especially non-book sf, can immediately be redefined as fantasy; Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, and just about any subsequent film or telly series you care to name, apart maybe from Terry Nation's Survivors. The makers of Star Wars wisely anticipated this reaction and made a point of yielding the ground before a shot was fired; they knew that the mass of cinema audiences didn't give a button about which genre a film might be as long as it was an enjoyable story. Divisions within the tiny ghetto of fandom, marginalised people desperately looking for people they could marginalise in turn, were of no importance and best avoided.
I've purposely avoided quoting or paraphrasing any of the actual discussion; it's not mine and I have not sought permission. The idea that brought this trope to mind, though, I have to mention if this is going to make any sense; in fantasy stories, it was contended, things happen not because they are the logical consequences of prior events, as in sf, but because the universe of the story "wants" them to. In fantasy, the good guys "can't help but end up winning"; they are swept along by fate from their humble beginnings to inevitable victory, with no action required on their part. This, according to the argument, is a defining characteristic of the type of story that fantasy is.
I call it bad writing, is what I call it, and I resent the hell out of the assumption that fantasy can be automatically equated with bad writing. It's no different from the assumption, mockingly hymned by Kingsley Amis, that sf can be automatically equated with bad writing, and that if something is written well then it cannot be sf. It's snobbery, pure and simple.
I won't say I have never read a badly written fantasy, or for that matter a badly written sf story; I won't say I am a good writer of either, though I try to be. I will say that in any competently written story of any genre, the outcome does not appear to be inevitable on first reading, and in any well-written story of any genre, the outcome can seem to be in question even on subsequent readings, given a minimal degree of engagement with the story on the part of the reader. Even if you know, because you've read the book, that Frodo and Sam will make it and be rescued in the end, if you have made the minuscule effort to let yourself be drawn into Tolkien's narrative, it can seem as though there is some doubt. Even if you've seen the film seventeen times or more and are word perfect on the dialogue, it can still lift your heart with a thrill of surprise when Han Solo joins in the battle at the climax. If you make the choice to let it.
If you don't make that choice, then no story, no book, no film, can ever grab you; you can stay safe in your armour, untouched, unmoved, and skip to the end and say wisely "Ah yes; I knew that was going to happen." And of course, if you are an academic, engaged in textual analysis, that detachment is absolutely essential. The mistake into which it's all too easy to fall is to imagine that that is the right way to read stories; that, having read a story that way, you have had the experience of reading the story; that reading a story that way can offer any insight into the experience that a lay person like me gets from reading a story, or into the quality of that story, or into the quality of the genre to which that story belongs, or into anything except what you came for, the bare academic analysis of the text.
(Much is made among intellectuals of the image of the lay public as passive consumers, sitting back and letting themselves be mindlessly entertained rather than vigorously questioning and challenging the material with which they are presented. I tend to think of it the other way round; it is the lay public who make the effort to become involved with what they are reading or watching, as opposed to tuning it out in favour of a lively internal dialogue on the general theme of how terribly clever one is to see all the flaws in the construction of the narrative, and so on, and on. Just my opinion; you may disagree.)
So I don't think I added much in the way of lustre to the discussion, and I don't think I'll be doing it again. I'm flattered to have been invited, as I said, but I don't have the right kind of mind for academia.
I was clearly out of my depth from the start. Luminaries such as Leavis, Barthes and Foucault were invoked, the sum total of my knowledge of whom, as I admitted at the time, is contained in this very sentence. However, I was startled, and a little disappointed, to encounter again an idea which I had first come across back when I worked at Titan Distributors, a now defunct arm of the Forbidden Planet organisation, and was able to eavesdrop on conversations between old-school trufans of the sort who were far too grand to speak to such scum as me at the monthly Tun gatherings. A Blake's Seven fan? Horrors!
I haven't browsed in places like Currys for a while now, for many reasons (bear with me), but back when I used to there were two kinds of stereo unit. There were the ones packaged in black or brushed steel, all sharp corners and uncompromising right angles, with lots of little controls and lights and sliders, for Real Men, and there were the ones that came in pink and lilac with big simple buttons for women and kiddies. I don't imagine for a moment there was the slightest difference when it came to the guts, but the intention behind the packaging was quite blatant, and Jan used to get very aerated on the subject, particularly when it became clear that her sight was starting to go and black-on-black became too difficult to deal with.
And much the same attitude prevailed among old-school trufandom regarding the difference between sf and fantasy. Sf was for Real Men. It was tough, demanding, you had to have brains to enjoy it, and of course it was always rigorously rational and realistic because it was about Science. Fantasy was for women and kiddies, because it was easy; the good guys always won and there was no need to explain anything because you could just say "it's magic." Having magic in a story apparently, in this view, absolved the writer of the need to plot, or to provide meaningful conflict or character development. Fantasy was for people who couldn't handle sf. Sf came in black or brushed steel with little sliders; fantasy came in pink with big buttons.
By these standards, of course, a lot of sf, especially non-book sf, can immediately be redefined as fantasy; Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, and just about any subsequent film or telly series you care to name, apart maybe from Terry Nation's Survivors. The makers of Star Wars wisely anticipated this reaction and made a point of yielding the ground before a shot was fired; they knew that the mass of cinema audiences didn't give a button about which genre a film might be as long as it was an enjoyable story. Divisions within the tiny ghetto of fandom, marginalised people desperately looking for people they could marginalise in turn, were of no importance and best avoided.
I've purposely avoided quoting or paraphrasing any of the actual discussion; it's not mine and I have not sought permission. The idea that brought this trope to mind, though, I have to mention if this is going to make any sense; in fantasy stories, it was contended, things happen not because they are the logical consequences of prior events, as in sf, but because the universe of the story "wants" them to. In fantasy, the good guys "can't help but end up winning"; they are swept along by fate from their humble beginnings to inevitable victory, with no action required on their part. This, according to the argument, is a defining characteristic of the type of story that fantasy is.
I call it bad writing, is what I call it, and I resent the hell out of the assumption that fantasy can be automatically equated with bad writing. It's no different from the assumption, mockingly hymned by Kingsley Amis, that sf can be automatically equated with bad writing, and that if something is written well then it cannot be sf. It's snobbery, pure and simple.
I won't say I have never read a badly written fantasy, or for that matter a badly written sf story; I won't say I am a good writer of either, though I try to be. I will say that in any competently written story of any genre, the outcome does not appear to be inevitable on first reading, and in any well-written story of any genre, the outcome can seem to be in question even on subsequent readings, given a minimal degree of engagement with the story on the part of the reader. Even if you know, because you've read the book, that Frodo and Sam will make it and be rescued in the end, if you have made the minuscule effort to let yourself be drawn into Tolkien's narrative, it can seem as though there is some doubt. Even if you've seen the film seventeen times or more and are word perfect on the dialogue, it can still lift your heart with a thrill of surprise when Han Solo joins in the battle at the climax. If you make the choice to let it.
If you don't make that choice, then no story, no book, no film, can ever grab you; you can stay safe in your armour, untouched, unmoved, and skip to the end and say wisely "Ah yes; I knew that was going to happen." And of course, if you are an academic, engaged in textual analysis, that detachment is absolutely essential. The mistake into which it's all too easy to fall is to imagine that that is the right way to read stories; that, having read a story that way, you have had the experience of reading the story; that reading a story that way can offer any insight into the experience that a lay person like me gets from reading a story, or into the quality of that story, or into the quality of the genre to which that story belongs, or into anything except what you came for, the bare academic analysis of the text.
(Much is made among intellectuals of the image of the lay public as passive consumers, sitting back and letting themselves be mindlessly entertained rather than vigorously questioning and challenging the material with which they are presented. I tend to think of it the other way round; it is the lay public who make the effort to become involved with what they are reading or watching, as opposed to tuning it out in favour of a lively internal dialogue on the general theme of how terribly clever one is to see all the flaws in the construction of the narrative, and so on, and on. Just my opinion; you may disagree.)
So I don't think I added much in the way of lustre to the discussion, and I don't think I'll be doing it again. I'm flattered to have been invited, as I said, but I don't have the right kind of mind for academia.
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no subject
Date: 2015-08-15 10:42 am (UTC)1. Anyone who starts throwing Leavis, Barthes and Foucault around is immediately suspect. These are crutches used by people who have few or no valid ideas of their own and merely seek to exclude those who are unable or unwilling to play the jargon game.
2. Though you are right that there are people in academia who don't engage as Readers with the works they are studying, these are not the best of the academics. Those who truly impress me are the ones who retain this level of sensibility while they continue to apply a rigorous interpretive and analytical eye to what they're studying. If an academic can't remember or understand why a work of literature (or film) actually WORKS (or doesn't), then they've missed the entire point of the exercise. Writers, no matter who they are, write for readers.
My PhD supervisor would have loved you and your approach. He'd have argued you blue in the face, and he'd have delighted in your love of what you read. Seriously. I remember once, after a two hour session rummaging in the guts of the Faerie Queene, he asked me a question I was too tired to answer in anything other than a purely "I react to the story in this way" manner, and he laughed delightedly, saying it was absolutely the right place to start.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-15 11:06 am (UTC)Do bear in mind that I haven't quoted from or paraphrased any part of the discussion that didn't bear on what I was saying. There were some very good points made, and some that were probably good if I'd only understood them. The ideas I've been discussing came from just one or two contributors.
Love of what I read (and what I write) is about all I can bring to any talk of this sort, but I can definitely bring it. :)
no subject
Date: 2015-08-16 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-15 01:33 pm (UTC)For what it's worth, on usenet in the nineties, rec.arts.sf.written (which I'd call a very trufannish* venue) had many discussions which tried to define the difference between fantasy and science fiction, and while none of them came up with anything definitive, they weren't about insulting fantasy or avoiding girl cooties.
In fact, the Pern books were the default example of why it's hard to draw a line, since we're talking about dragons with psychic powers on another planet.
As far as I could tell, the big emotional difference wasn't between fantasy and science fiction since there were many people who liked both. However, there were people who liked hard science fiction (the stuff with a large component of science and little in the way of unscientific premises) and didn't like softer sf or fantasy.
As I recall, the people who preferred hard sf weren't nasty about it, but I grant that I wasn't as sensitive to insults back then. I may have been better off for it.
*In the sense of having many people who'd been reading sf for a long time.
but what is genre fiction?
Date: 2015-08-15 01:52 pm (UTC)- and i'm willing to get a spare copy or six of up to half a dozen p/bs (winner pays postage - or collects - if i lose) that the academics involved failed to take this basic first step before invoking their authorities.
- but the essence of a genre is that there is something, or are some things, generic to it. and without acceptance of this, and agreement - at least for the length of the discussion, or until the discussion reaches some contradictor conclusion - upon what generic thing or things define membership within a genre by its or their presence, or exclusion from it by their absence, recognising any particular genre, or genre in general, must surely be both logically and philosophically impossibile.
- specifically with regard to fantasy and science fiction, it is tricky arriving at an acceptable definition of fantasy, that does not include the author's recognition of the distinction between their experience and hearsay, between their understanding of the world and (whatever passes for) reality, and their conscious awareness of the distinction between their intention and their accomplishment.
and fantasy's the easy one to define: with regard to sf, i'm not aware of anything whose presence is essential - whose absence rules a work outside the boundary or boundaries of science fiction, save perhaps an author's approach to the thematic subject matter - that if certain things were, become, were to be, were to have been, or had been, different, then things would be (have been, etc.) significantly different for their protagonists, which would (would have, etc.) present them with problems & opportunities from those we face (have faced, etc.) and the successful following-through of this approach to an - again, thematically - satisfactorily climactic conclusion, and usually also a satisfactorily climactic conclusion for at least some of the protagonists. (- phumph!)
(which awkward definition rules out a lot that is published, and especially released in film, as sf; and includes all successful historical fiction within sf. (which i don't mind at all, but many seem to.))
- and it's perishing hard to infallibly determine an author's intention, or the successfulness of a thematic development & conclusion, by analysis of the hardware, technological development, clothing, customs, religion, or mode of speech of the characters portrayed in a work of - intended - fiction.
- it's easier to run an sf list, than to satisfy academia and reality at the same time - leastways, it is in this.