Keats and the Poems You Haven’t Heard Of

I am interested in examining John Keats’ lesser known poetry, including but not limited to “Two or Three,” in order to gain insight in to why the literary discourse around such a popular poet is silent about them, and then to determine if these poems are worthy of the attention and consideration that Keats’ odes are. These “lesser” poems contain a picture of Keats, as a person and a writer, that could be valuable when examining all of his work. Furthermore, it is my suspicion that Keats’ earlier, less technical, more playful works will be important on their own, at least because they will show how Keats developed into the writer he was at the end of his life. There is also, in my opinion, merit in frivolous content so long as it is not entirely devoid of meaning.

In terms of relevant critical theory, structuralism could be used in the comparisons to his entire canon. There will need to be some biography and history involved. Psychoanalytic criticism is the only one that has directly addressed the author and social context so far, but perhaps there is something that we have not discussed yet that brings in the author more directly.

The pre-existing articles on Keats discuss why he was underappreciated in his time: critics hated him. This is detailed in my secondary source. This could be a possible explanation as to why these poems have not been examined as frequently as the odes, which is the first component of my research in this project.

Secondary Source

Rovee, Christopher. “Trashing Keats.” ELH, vol. 75, no. 4, 2008, pp. 993–1022. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27654645.

The Quests and their meanings

Looking at literature through the lens of structuralism allows the audience to make easy access of knowledge found in the text through means of categorization. Even without meaning to, audiences may find themselves naturally sorting out aspects of a work of literature due to prior knowledge. People may find certain stories to find the same patterns and steps as they have seen in other cases, such as in the case of movies for example. Structuring a movie based on what aspects the plot shares with other movies before it. This in turn can allow the audience to trace story archetypes back to their origins. Taking something such as The Quest type of story allows itself to be lent to fictional work ranging in time periods and intended audience.

Taking a popular story such as the Harry Potter books create a world in which a hero emerges and begins a quest to defeat an antagonist. This basic version of the story is in no way original as it can be found in earlier works of literature such as Star Wars (The original movie or the Book written by George Lucas). A hero emerges and crosses a thresh hold. They are then taken in by an elder character with more experience and go on to defeat the antagonist. Even earlier than that and perhaps even more closely aligned with the Quest story type is The Lord of the Rings by Tolkien. Characters are sent out from their home, not in search of an item, but of a location. They take an object that it of great importance to another location in order to quell of large-scale conflict by destroying it, and in the process defeating an antagonist. All of these stories can indeed be boiled down to fairly similar plot structures that all seem to hit the same beats in their story type. A villain emerges, a hero emerges, they cross the point of no return and end with the defeat (at least temporally in some cases) of the villain.

Many of these simple stories can be traced back to far older literature such as the story of Beowulf. In the story of Beowulf there is a clear-cut skip to the antagonist being evil just because and the hero being the hero because the story said so. Even further back than this would be the stories present in the Bible. One can take the story of Moses and fit it into the steps all the other stories mention before followed. Although, while these are the same type of story being told multiple times and hit the same beats, they differ in many ways. Structuralism misses out on the ability to look deeper into a text and therefore misses out on the individual difference between each of these stories. Each one mentioned has its roots in the time and place in which it was created. The Bible and its stories, specifically the story of Moses reflects the values of Jewish and Christian heritage and relationship with God. On the other hand, the same story being told in The Lord of the Rings follows similarly but highlights the everyday people who are caught up in conflicts larger than themselves. While Structuralist thinking can help to make connections between works of literature, it ignores the deeper principles of the works covered and therefore misses much of the subjects that would otherwise be discussed in a close reading of said stories.

On Beat, Offbeat

When I reviewed my notes on structuralism and deconstruction, I realized that I noted binary opposition under both theories. In structuralism, binary opposition is defined a “two ideas, directly opposed, each of which we understand by means of its opposition to the other” (Tyson 202). In deconstruction, binary opposition is, well, deconstructed; that is, it calls into question why we consider binary pairs the way we do, and it challenges us to look at them differently (Tyson 241). Support and criticism of binary opposition exist in conversation with each other, and I find it difficult to examine one without the other. In fact, longer texts may have this conversation in real time, supporting a binary in one way and breaking down the same binary in a different way a few pages later.

Before I go into examining this within a text, it seems relevant to note Roland Barthes’ concept of plurality. On the subject, Barthes writes, “…[the Text]  accomplishes  the  very  plural of meaning: an  irreducible (and not merely an acceptable) plural.  The Text is not a co-existence of meanings but a passage, an overcrossing…” (159).  To me, this means that each text not only has an infinite number of meanings, but all these meanings intersect with each other. This includes any meaning devised from any theory, even structuralism. There is no one meaning or interpretation. There is a collection of interconnected meanings, mingling together instead of simply standing adjacent to one another.

With that in mind, I return to where I left off at the end of the first paragraph: what is the nature of binary opposition in longer texts? Does it favor a structuralist reading or a deconstructive reading? Or does it turn out to be equally divided? Obviously, the answers to these questions hinge on the text that is under examination, so for the purposes of this further reading, I will look at Leah On the Offbeat.

Leah On the Offbeat is a coming-of-age novel about a teenager growing up, facing the challenges of high school, and falling in love. In this sense, structuralist would probably categorize it as a comedy, if they were going to file it under one of the seven archetypes (Walker). In terms of binary opposition, Leah, the titular character, is a young woman who falls in love with another young woman named Abby. This overarching plotline is quite deconstructive; it is typical for this narrative to be about a boy who falls in love with a girl. Therefore, the marginal female side of the gender binary, as well the queerness on the sexuality binary, are drawn to the forefront. However, Leah has an overwhelming desire to fit in. She tries to fit the typical structure that American society has created for teenage girls. In one of the more poignant moments like this, Leah tries to find a dress for prom. She eventually finds one that she likes, but she laments about how she wishes that she was one of the girls to whom fashion comes easy.

Leah’s attempts to fit into the pre-existing structure are an acknowledgment of their existence and influence, but in the case of this novel, it becomes clear that it is deconstructing their validity. Therefore, a conversation between structuralism and deconstruction needs to exist; it is difficult to unpack something before we know what we’re unpacking.

Works Cited

Albertalli, Becky. Leah on the Offbeat. Balzer & Bray, 2018.

Barthes, Roland. “From Work to Text.” Image Music Text. Translated by Stephen Heath, FontanaPress, 1977.

Tyson, Lois. Critical Theory Today. 3rded., Routledge, 2015.

Walker, Tommy. “The 7 Story Archetypes, and How They Can Dramatically Improve Your Marketing.” Social Media Today. www.socialmediatoday.com/content/7-story-archetypes-and-how-they-can-dramatically-improve-your-marketing. Accessed 13 Sept. 2019.

Further Reading – Structuralism and the 4 chords

            In today’s discussion on structuralist theory, I began thinking about how it could be applied to music.  Many people know that the top 40 pop songs tend to sound very similar, but most don’t know just how similar.  The majority of popular songs in the past few decades have only used the same four chords played in various arrangements and time signatures.  Those chords are C, G, A minor, and F, which are all actually just variations on the C scale.  So many songs use these chords that these are typically the first ones any musician learns when learning to play a new instrument.  These four chords allow a musician to play so many songs and so many simplified versions that many people don’t go far past learning these four if they are only interested in casual mastery of their instrument.

            The fact that so many songs use the same four chords has led to many people creating their own songs, tutorials, and videos based around this phenomenon.  You can find many different mash ups on YouTube that provide an example for how many songs use the four-chord formula, but the best one I’ve found is from the spoof band The Axis of Awesome.  Their song, literally called “4 Chords”, is approximately 6 minutes long and includes 47 snippets of different songs.  The video starts off with one of the three members playing the opening melody to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” while the other two walk up.  The man at the piano asks the other two if they recognize the song, they answer yes, and the man at the piano says, “Well, there’s a few more songs with the same chords, check it out.” (The Axis of Awesome)  The man at the piano then slips into a simple melody that is used for the rest of the song.  The three men then proceed to sing the snippets of other songs over this melody line, showing how all those other songs follow the same formula with the same four chords.  The never changing melody line, but ever-changing lyrics and beat at which the men sing forms their structuralist criticism.  It shows how many popular artists use the same framework to construct their songs.  The song ends with the lyrics,

Doesn’t that sound familiar?

Doesn’t that hit too close to home?

Doesn’t that make you shiver?

The way that things have gone? …

It’s something I do remember

To never go this far

That’s all it takes to be a star.  (The Axis of Awesome)

The criticism here is how simplistic most songs are and how simple it is to construct a top hit song.  The Axis of Awesome is using structuralism to form their argument by showing just how many songs they can throw together into one piece with the same melody line, which shows how all the songs are using the same frame work.

If you’re interested in the video, you can watch it here.

The Axis of Awesome, director. 4 Chords | Music Videos | The Axis Of Awesome. YouTube, YouTube, 20 July 2011, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOlDewpCfZQ.

The Deep Structure of Feminine Temptation and its Consequences

Structuralist criticism teaches the scholar of literature to look for recurring deep patterns in the framework of the composition of many texts. These comment elements or themes give us insight into the conscious or subconscious themes that are repeated time and time again throughout history.

One such deep structural pattern is the recurring concept of a virginal female character being tempted into sin by an evil male influence. The innocent pays dearly for her transgression, nearly loses her life, and is saved by the positive influence of another, more virtuous woman.

In “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti, two seemingly parentless young maiden sisters are called to by the evil, masculine goblins who offer them their fruits. Each day, the sisters endure the increasingly confrontational calls from the goblins hawking their wares. When one of the sisters, Laura, is tempted beyond reason, she must give a golden curl of hair to the goblins in exchange for the fruits they offer. She gorges on the sensuous feast of fruits and returns to her sister with tales of the pleasures she’s enjoyed. Her sister Lizzie scolds her and reminds her of another maiden who once dealt with goblin men and withered away. Laura reassures Lizzie that she’ll be fine, but when she realized she can no longer see or hear the goblin men, she begins to pine for the fruits they offered. She wastes away until her virtuous sister goes to the goblin men and purchases fruits and rubs the juices upon her face without enjoying the sensual pleasure of them herself. She returns to Laura who kisses the juices from her sisters face and is restored to health, grateful and chastened by her experience with the goblin men. Laura then expresses gratitude for the intervention of Lizzie and her sister’s virtuous nature.

Fifty years prior, Marianne and her sister Elinor in Jane Austen’s tale, “Sense and Sensibility” have a similar relationship. When Marianne falls for the dashing Willoughby, she lets all propriety go by the wayside. She spends scandalously unchaperoned time with him and provides him with a lock of her hair as if they were engaged to be married. After she’s risked her reputation and social standing on him, he abandons her for a more advantageous match with a wealthier woman. Devastated, Marianne jeopardizes her health and catches a fever that nearly kills her. Elinor saves the day enlisting Colonel Brandon to fetch their mother to nurse Marianne back to health. Marianne realizes the error of her ways and begins to take her sister’s advice and settles down.

126 years later, a popular movie (based on the novel by the same name) “Practical Magic” follows the structure. Sister Sally marries and settles down with a family. Her sister Gillian chases her impulses across the country and ends up linked with an evil man. Only the intervention of her sister Sally can rescue her from the consequences of her misdeeds. Gillian nearly dies in the process and decides to emulate her sister for her own well-being once she’s recovered.

Time and time again, young woman in literature and film fall victim to the evil influence of tempting male figures. They suffer gravely for the mistake, and rely upon a woman, often her sister, of better character to pull them back to the right path. This deep structure is used a cautionary tale to young women and reflects our society’s fear of sexually empowered young women.

Works Cited

Austen, Jane. Sense and Sensibility. Edited by Peter Conrad, D. Campbell, 1992.

Dunne, Griffin, director. Practical Magic. Village Roadshow Pictures, 1998.

Rossetti, Christina. “Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti.” Poetry Foundation, Poetry Foundation, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44996/goblin-market.

Into the Narrative: A Structuralist Look at Gretel Ehrlich’s Memoir

A critical concept that particularly interested me in the reading is the structure of narrative. In the context that I want to interrogate this concept, I am working with the definition that narrative structure deals with the “inner ‘workings’ of literary texts in order to discover the fundamental structural units . . . or functions . . . that govern texts’ narrative operations” (Tyson 212). In terms of structuralism as a whole, the structure of narrative is concerned with characterization and plot formulation in relation to language structures within the text. Ultimately, the structure of narrative is useful in that it gives the structuralist critic a way to examine the how the narrative operates within the text and to what end. One thing I realized when reading this section was the specific use of this concept with fiction; therefore, I wonder how applicable this concept is to nonfiction texts. How does structuralist narratology work with a nonfiction text such as a memoir, which does not include the same plot formula as a fiction work?

The best way I can think of to delve into this question is to think about the “units of narrative progression” (Tyson 212) in both fiction and nonfiction. In fiction, the narrative progression takes the structural form of a plot mountain, with the conflicts, tensions, climaxes, and resolutions clearly labelled. In a memoir, I believe the narrative progression is not as easy to map out, mostly because the progression depends upon the order that the events are told in, such as in chronological order. Even if we cannot apply a plot map to a memoir in the same way we can with a fictional novel, I do think that the narrative structure of a memoir can be analyzed in the same or similar way if we look at the text in the way that Gérard Genette does: by observing the tense of the text in regard to order, duration, and frequency (Tyson 216). 

In Gretel Ehrlich’s The Solace of Open Spaces, she says in the preface that this memoir was “originally conceived as a straight-through narrative,” but was instead “written in fits and starts and later arranged chronologically” (ix). If we think about this memoir in terms of the order of the narrative structure, the relationship between the chronology of the story and the chronology of the narrative is technically the same, as the stories are told in the same order as they happened in real life. However, due to Ehrlich’s note in the preface, the reader knows that the writing process did not happen chronologically. With structuralism, this note about how the memoir was written does not really matter in terms of narrative structure. This moment of authorial intention is irrelevant because the critic aims to analyze the text alone, and the only thing that matters in analyzing this memoir is that the chapters or sections are arranged in chronological order. 

In terms of duration, The Solace of Open Spacesis 131 pages and covers roughly ten years of Ehrlich’s life in Wyoming. Individual stories may tell a few months in as little as 10 pages, but the relationship between the length of time of a certain event and the number of pages the narrative occupies is fairly even. Just as in a fictional novel, the speaker can stretch or condense events to fit however many pages she sees fit. The main difference here is that the speaker in a memoir uses the whole book to tell of one portion of her life, making that the main event that occupies all of the pages. In Genette’s last section about frequency, one might note the number of times Ehrlich describes the sky in her memoir, or the recurring trips she takes as a ranch hand and how the experiences differ. In this way, the events repeated in a memoir have much of the same effects as repeated events in fictional novels. 

Circling back to my original question, a critic is definitely able to analyze a memoir in terms of narrative structure in the same way that a fictional novel can be analyzed. Though characterization may not be as much of a focus, the plot of a memoir and the order of events in the memoir give the critic an insight as to what deeper structures are at work within the text. For example, after noticing that the events in a 10-year timespan occur chronologically over a good amount of pages, perhaps the critic would realize that the recurrence of specific events, descriptions, and syntax are additional structural functions at work that allow the reader to understand the landscape and atmosphere of Wyoming and how the land itself can affect a person. 

Ehrlich, Gretel. The Solace of Open Spaces. New York, Penguin, 1985.

Tyson, Lois. Critical Theory Today. 3rd ed., Routledge, 2015. 

The Death of the Author and the Birth of the Text

That ominous phrase and concept, “the death of the author,” has long been attached to deconstruction, or deconstructive criticism. Deconstruction is a leading critical theory of a larger grouping of literary and critical theory that emerges in the 1960s and 1970s in Europe, and thrives in American academic institutions (mostly) in the 1980s and 90s. That larger grouping is known as “poststructuralism,” a phrase which in some ways overlaps with the term “postmodernism,” but not entirely.

“Poststructuralism” (as an umbrella term for theories like deconstruction) is useful for our purposes this week since the phrase reminds us that deconstructive criticism follows and replaces structuralism, but does so by way of relation. Both focus on an understanding of language and writing as the foundation of any text–not the author, not the reader, not the historical era in which that text was composed or published.

To some extent, we are still talking about “text without contexts,” as we encountered in our readings of the New Criticism. But structuralism and then deconstruction take things a step further. In New Criticism, we had an author’s work (Brooks consistently refers to Keats and Eliot to “the individual talent”), but we understood that what mattered was interpretation of the poem/poetry, not the poet. Now, with structuralism and deconstruction, that individual author and work disappear into the writing of the text. Now, the text is all context–or as Derrida, leading proponent of deconstruction famously  put it: “there is no outside the text.” We move, as Roland Barthes phrases it, “From Work to Text.”  We will read that essay for Thursday, from a collection (Image/Music/Text) that includes his essay “The Death of the Author.” Barthes is a useful guide for us this week since his earlier work such as “The World of Wrestling” (from Mythologies) is a good example of a structuralist interpretation.

As a way to distinguish structuralism from what comes after it, poststructuralism, I think it is particularly helpful to focus on the linguistic “structure” that both emphasize in understanding the birth of the text and the death of the literary work grounded in the authority of the author. Structuralism would have us think in metaphors and analogies of surface and depth, the structures we can see and the deep structure we can’t. Here are some relevant surface/deep structure relations:

structural linguistics:

parole (individual speech) / langue (the underlying language, grammar, syntactic structures

cultural (also called structural) anthropology: culture (individual practices or rituals) or myths (individual stories, mythemes) / underlying kinship rules or archetypal mythology across groups, cultures [Levi-Strauss: “incest is bad grammar”]

psychoanalytic theory: conscious/unconscious

Marxism: superstructure/substructure or base

New Criticism: Denotation/Connotation or Tension/Opposition/Paradox in the poem/organic wholeness underlying the poetry

 

Poststructuralist theory, most especially deconstruction, learns from the structuralist insights on language (Saussure is a key figure for both) and what is called semiotics (the science of signs, the understanding the a sign is comprised of something signified but also its signifier). But rather than believing, as strucutralism does, that the acts of signification are contained or closed off by the signified, deconstruction argues that one signifier suggests another signifier. The process of signification continues without end. Instead of a surface/depth metaphor where the signifier is grounded by the signified, deconstruction shifts attention to the metonymy of signifying: one sign leads to the next sign that is near it or in part related, which leads to the next sign, and so on. From the deconstructive perspective, there is no underlying deep structure in language that somehow stands apart from language. The very idea of a deep structure, and the very act of interpreting or perceiving a deep structure in anything, exists only in the thinking we do with language and signs.

deconstruction: sign–>sign–>sign / signification (but: signification is itself more signs)

mise en abyme: a phrase from French used by Derrida and others: “placed into the abyss.” Think of a mirror held up to a mirror–where does it stop? Or a play within a play (which also has a play within it, and so on). This is where “undecidability” comes into play.

In other words, from the perspective of deconstructive theory, there is no end to the signifying process, since there is no one or no thing outside the process of signification. (The sign tells us there is another sign ahead; but when we get up to that sign, we are still looking at a sign.) There is no “transcendental signified” that can stand apart from the language we use to think. According to deconstruction, traditional names for some transcendental signifieds used to (falsely) suggest a stable ground apart from the process of signification: Author, God, Nature, Being.

Last week we suggested that Brooks’ new critical perspective on Keats’s “Ode” is on to something valuable. The poem is contradictory, paradoxical, maybe even noisy–and close reading of the symbols and language help us to hear the noise more clearly. That makes it interesting to both the new critic and the deconstructionist. But Brooks in the end has to sweep the mess (all the stuff he can’t account for) under the rug, saying the paradox is resolved by Paradox (his transcendental signified). It’s circular (just as the statement made by the Urn: this poem is art because true art is poetic). Deconstruction calls out that circularity as a lie, but says it’s a lie that all texts, all poets and critics, can’t escape, due to the nature of language. Instead of sweeping the mess under the rug, deconstruction suggests that the rug is indistinguishable from the mess.

But does that mean we should stop caring about cleaning up the room, stop sweeping the floor since the rug in the end isn’t separate from the floor or the mess? And are we, in fact, separate from that mess? Doesn’t contemporary physics suggest that we–the stuff that really makes us–can’t be decidable or certain in the ways we used to think of nature (Descartes, Newton) before Einstein and Heisenberg? I fear that the metaphor of my analogy is slipping away from me into quantum physics, sliding into the abyme of my thinking of thinking, my language about the nature of language.

For some further reading and thinking about structuralist principles in the real world, for example the idea of “archetypes”:  The 7 Story Archetypes, suggesting that any story  or narrative (including film) can be read at a deep structural level.

And for more on Derrida and deconstruction, you can’t go wrong with YouTube.

To hear Robert Frost reading “Mending Wall” (the poem used as an example in the Deconstruction chapter). Consider what a structuralist reading of this poem would do compare to what a deconstructive reading would do.