Imagine a piece of literature. A poem perhaps. For instance:
Roses are red, violets are blue
Sugar is sweet, and so are you.
This is literature. You might not think it is very good literature, but it’s literature nonetheless. So far so good. Now for the tricky part: can you tell me why this is literature?
Some say that literature consists of texts that employ certain poetic functions of language, like alliterations, rhyme and a metre in the case of a poem. Like in Róses are réd, viólets are blúe / Súgar is swéét, and só are yoú. However, if you read in a manual of pharmacy that The main tranquilizers are benzocaine, lidocaine and novocaine, is that poetry or even literature?
Others say that literature consists of texts that tell certain stories. They’re often a story about a hero, faced with a difficulty which (s)he needs to overcome, helped by certain people and hindered by others. Think about it: if you don’t take this literally, you’ll probably be able to fit just about any book you’ve ever read into this scheme. However, can you fit Roses are red into it? And even if you think you can, what about Lewis Caroll’s famous nonsense poem Jabberwocky (1872)?
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
(…)
Still others would say that literature consists of texts that are the product of literary acts. In other words: whenever someone declares ‘This is literature!’, it is. Indeed, Roses are red… was published by someone who definitely would have called it literature. That seems to solve a lot of problems, doesn’t it, as it can account for even the most absurd forms of literature around? However, if I stand on a chair shouting ‘This is literature!’ while holding up a cell phone manual, what does that mean? I might be a performance artist (or out of my mind), but has this text, this cell phone manual, now become literature?
Congratulations! You have just been introduced into formalist, structuralist and functionalist literary theory. Why? Well, I thought I should prove Fred wrong and show you there are even stranger people than mathematicians.
Indeed, ever since people devised an alphabet to write down literature, they have been thinking about the question What is literature? Of course this has to do with the fact that literature and the way we look at it, changes all the time. Most of you wouldn’t consider an anatomic book about the eye to be literature, but two hundred years ago people did. Most of you wouldn’t consider a song to be literature either, but two thousand years ago people did.
Literary theorists.
Will we ever solve the problem of what literature is? Absolutely not. On the other hand, I’m sure someone (perhaps it will be Fred?) will eventually know how hyperfloors in 7 dimensions behave. So you see, we’re definitely stranger, looking for answers that do not even exist…
Perhaps you’ll say this is insane, or you’re more practical and think: ‘Thanks a lot, then, Mr. Academic Asshole, for squandering my tax money!’. But ask yourself this question. Will the squirrel in Ice Age ever get the acorn? Absolutely not. But will he ever stop trying?
So you see: we might be strange, we’re not nuts!
Roses are red, violets are blue
Sugar is sweet, and so are you.
This is literature. You might not think it is very good literature, but it’s literature nonetheless. So far so good. Now for the tricky part: can you tell me why this is literature?
(the sound of a rusty rattling brain)
Some say that literature consists of texts that employ certain poetic functions of language, like alliterations, rhyme and a metre in the case of a poem. Like in Róses are réd, viólets are blúe / Súgar is swéét, and só are yoú. However, if you read in a manual of pharmacy that The main tranquilizers are benzocaine, lidocaine and novocaine, is that poetry or even literature?
Others say that literature consists of texts that tell certain stories. They’re often a story about a hero, faced with a difficulty which (s)he needs to overcome, helped by certain people and hindered by others. Think about it: if you don’t take this literally, you’ll probably be able to fit just about any book you’ve ever read into this scheme. However, can you fit Roses are red into it? And even if you think you can, what about Lewis Caroll’s famous nonsense poem Jabberwocky (1872)?
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
(…)
Still others would say that literature consists of texts that are the product of literary acts. In other words: whenever someone declares ‘This is literature!’, it is. Indeed, Roses are red… was published by someone who definitely would have called it literature. That seems to solve a lot of problems, doesn’t it, as it can account for even the most absurd forms of literature around? However, if I stand on a chair shouting ‘This is literature!’ while holding up a cell phone manual, what does that mean? I might be a performance artist (or out of my mind), but has this text, this cell phone manual, now become literature?
(the sound of people thinking "Where the hell is this going?")
Congratulations! You have just been introduced into formalist, structuralist and functionalist literary theory. Why? Well, I thought I should prove Fred wrong and show you there are even stranger people than mathematicians.
Indeed, ever since people devised an alphabet to write down literature, they have been thinking about the question What is literature? Of course this has to do with the fact that literature and the way we look at it, changes all the time. Most of you wouldn’t consider an anatomic book about the eye to be literature, but two hundred years ago people did. Most of you wouldn’t consider a song to be literature either, but two thousand years ago people did.
Literary theorists.
Will we ever solve the problem of what literature is? Absolutely not. On the other hand, I’m sure someone (perhaps it will be Fred?) will eventually know how hyperfloors in 7 dimensions behave. So you see, we’re definitely stranger, looking for answers that do not even exist…
Perhaps you’ll say this is insane, or you’re more practical and think: ‘Thanks a lot, then, Mr. Academic Asshole, for squandering my tax money!’. But ask yourself this question. Will the squirrel in Ice Age ever get the acorn? Absolutely not. But will he ever stop trying?
So you see: we might be strange, we’re not nuts!
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