What is the Neo-African American Aesthetic?

Since I have begun tossing this term around as though it was already a part of the literary lexicon, I thought that maybe it would behoove me to formulate an official definition, in order that others might understand what I mean when I say it. First, I should talk about how I came upon it.

Actually, it was a collaboration. A community effort. It was coined in an all black, African American Studies class on the Harlem Renaissance. It evolved.

New Black Renaissance.

New Black Aesthetic.

Neo-Black Aesthetic Movement.

I don’t remember which name came first, but Neo-African American Aesthetic (NAAA) developed from a discussion about what we personally expected from the literature and art of our people in the Age of Obama. It does, in fact, proceed from a combination of the intellectual efforts of the leaders of the Harlem Renaissance and the Black Arts Movement, in which members sought to create a black identity based on the black experience.

The Harlem Renaissance, which took place roughly from 1919-1940, was divided into two camps which became the primary debate of the movement: Art vs. Propaganda. But generally speaking, black writers during this time “shared common literary experiences,” and Sterling A. Brown lists those as: “(1) a discovery of Africa as a source for race pride, (2) a use of Negro heroes and heroic episodes from American history, (3) propaganda of protest, (4) a treatment of the Negro masses…with more understanding and less apology, and (5) franker and deeper self-revelation”.

The Black Arts Movement of the 60s and 70s, was spawn by young, politically conscious black artists who “proposed as one of its principal aims the grassroots mobilization and politicization of all black-identified people, using literature, music, dance, film and other art forms to achieve both artistic and political autonomy at any price”.

So, may I suggest, that the Neo-African American Aesthetic (NAAA) is a continuation of all these things. It is the best of both, with a 21st century awareness. It is art and propaganda reflecting the experiences of us all, the middle-class and the “low-down folks”. It is our beauty and our ugliness, however, presented in a way that is not always crass, not always proper, but always honest. It is an understanding that we no longer have to prove ourselves to be human and worthy to anyone but, each other. It is, in the Age of Obama, an understanding that “we can disagree without being disagreeable”. It is the profound declaration that who we are artistically is essentially priceless, and that no amount of money is worth selling our souls or the souls of our brothers and sisters. The Neo-African American Aesthetic (NAAA) should reflect our love of and commitment to craft, and it should always represent the apogee of our creativity, spirituality and humanity.


Source: The Handbook of African American Literature by Hazel Arnett Ervin
Artwork: John T. Scott, 1940-2007

Counting Down to Graduation

I'm really excited today,first: because today I begin my last full-time semester as an undergraduate student. I won't graduate until May, but I'll only be part-time starting in January. I'm also excited because I deliberately saved African American literature and studies for my last year, in order to spend this time reading and writing about the work that I was raised on and inspired by. With the exception of a World Music class, (which I'm taking to satisfy a humanties requirement), I'm taking a second semester of African American literature from 1919-the present, an African American studies class on the Harlem Renaissance, and I will be doing my thesis which is a close reading of the narrative, From the Darkness Cometh the Light or Struggles for Freedom by Lucy Ann Delaney.
I am especially geeked about the Harlem Renaissance class, not only because we will look at the films Lady Sings the Blues and The Great Debaters, but the text for the class will be engaging and I can't wait to get into that whole "art as propaganda" discussion brought forth by W.E.B. DuBois, and The Negro and the Racial Mountain by Langston Hughes. In addition to the Norton Anthology of African American Literature edited by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. (and the late Nellie McKay), I'll be reading The Cambridge Companion to the Harlem Renaissance edited by George Hutchinson, and Voices From the Harlem Renaissance by veteran, Nathan Irvin Huggins. We'll also be reading Ernest J. Gaines' A Lesson Before Dying, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and August Wilson's The Piano Lesson. If that isn't enough, we'll also be seeing productions of Wilson's Gem of the Ocean and Radio Golf.
Is this school, or literary Heaven?

[Last photo is a scene from Wilson's Gem of the Ocean.]

Blackness in the Modernist Movement

Some people (and scholars) believe (and teach) that all the black writers of the Modernist era (roughly 1914-1945)are contained in the movement known as the Harlem Renaissance. However, there were many black writers and poets who were writing well ahead of Alain Locke's "New Negro," but were perhaps less celebrated. According to W.E.B. DuBois, not only did William Stanley Braithwaite publish more than thirty books (mostly anthologies), and was the editor of the Poetry Journal, Poetry Review and the Stratford Journals, he was "the most prominent critic of poetry in America". Fenton Johnson (not to be confused with the Fenton Johnson at University of Arizona)is one of the least-known African Amerian writers, possibly precisly because his work falls in between the writers of the Reconstruction and the New Negro Renaissance. His most notable poems are probably "Tired" and "The Scarlet Woman," both of which embrace the vernacular, and represents a radical rejection of conventional rhymed structure. Alice Moore Dunbar Nelson is sometimes associated with the Harlem Renaissance, but she was writing just as that movement began. Themes of race and gender were of great importance to her, though she did not feel she had the "ability to manage dialect".

And there are others as well whose work should be studied and celebrated: Charlotte Forten Grimke, James D. Corrothers, Sutton E. Griggs and Angelina Weld Grimke (no relation to Charlotte, I think), are just a few.

Contemplating Baldwin Again

When I first read Giovanni's Room years ago, I was young and couldn't quite understand the homoerotic implications. But, I really enjoyed this beautifully tragic story by James Baldwin, and I was really excited to revist it in a graduate class I'm taking this summer on Gender and Sexuality in Literature...(a class I lovingly refer to as Gen & Sex). In class, my professor and I became engaged in a somewhat heated debate about the degree to which David, the protagonist being, and in my opinion not being, responsible for the death of his lover, Giovanni. I still feel now,just as I did all those years ago, that Giovanni, as sweet as he may have been, was too needy. He entered a relationship with the understanding that it would end, and when it ended he shattered like fine china. I agree, David was a jackass; mostly because of his own self-hatred. But, they were both technically adults in a homosexual relationship in Paris in 1956; what did he expect?

This was Baldwin's second book, and it wasn't well received. Critics were put off by the homosexual content and I suppose black people were put off because well, there were no black people in the book. I love that Baldwin was courageous enough to write the book he wanted to write, in spite of the criticism from Eldridge Cleaver about "homosexuals" and "baby-rapist," and from Richard Wright about insisting that black authors should only write about "the Negro problem". As a writer, I may want or need to write about something other than what others can see. And what others can't see, may be issues that we all struggle with, regardless of what you see on the outside. Giovanni's Room deals with classic issues of identity, self-denial, a loss of innocence (no matter how artificial it may be), and what I call, auto-expatriation (one's attempt to be someone else). And Baldwin makes these struggles clear, in spite of his characters packaging.

My London Dream Comes to an End

Bayswater

Well, I've been home for just over a week now, and it's time to get back to reality; no more petite custard tarts from the sweet, little Portuguese baker on the corner, no more Tube hopping in the middle of the night, no more imagining Mrs. Dalloway strolling down Bond Street with a bouquet of flowers.

Now, it's time for summer school, and maybe a gig in the Office of Student Affairs. Now, I really begin my countdown to graduation, which includes preparing to take the GRE at the end of the summer. My course loads will be a little lighter from here on out. Two classes this summer will include Gender and Sexuality in LIterature and finally, African American LIterature to 1850. I saved African American Literatures for my last year, because I know I already enjoy it, and I wanted to be able to focus on something I really loved. (As opposed to being stressed out about something that doesn't hold my interest as much.)

So, fare thee well, my London....maybe we'll meet again.

Live From London

Wow, what a great way to end the semester. I paid three pounds to use a computer in my hotel for an hour, so I suppose I should make it quick. So far, London has been pretty cool, I must say. I've been here for four days now, and I've visited the British Museum, Windsor Castle, the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, I saw the Lion King at the Lyceum Theatre (which is a blog all by itself)and the highlight...I spent yesterday in Paris where I saw the Eiffel Tour, the Arc de Triumph and the Louve....Thoughts...maybe it's me, but here in London, I'm not conscious of my blackness. I'm not sure how to explain that, and it's not that I've read to much James Baldwin or Richard Wright or Nina Simone. You may know that London is an international city, so there's nothing special about being white, or black or whatever. I don't feel as though people look at me and wonder, "what's that black women doing here in our neighborhood?" or "I'm gonna watch that black woman in my store, because you know they steal." Maybe it's still too soon to tell, but if I get noticed, it's because of my accent...especially in France.

Moving Right Along

Well the weather is warming up and another semester is coming to a close. And while I still have old co-workers asking, "So, when are you coming back to work?" and "Be careful, you might be too old to get a job in that field by the time you finish school," I still say, it's not the destination, it's the flowers you pick along the way. And while throughout the semester I was never quite able to get into it, I managed to finish up with an improved GPA.

So, now with one last paper to turn in, I look forward to a productive summer which will include two classes,(one a graduate class to spruce up my transcript), a part-time job, and the GRE. But, first...it's off to London town to chill with Liz, eat some fish n'chips, Piccadilly Circus, the British Museum and a weekend in Paris.

And although I hear that London is a rather cosmopolitan, relatively integrated place, I'm still curious to find those places that may be predominantly black...don't know why...I just think it would be interesting to see how and where regular black people like myself live in other places. Nevertheless, I plan on having a great time. Meanwhile, Paul Gilroy has written about race relations in Britian and is "renowned for his work exploring the social and cultural dimensions of black Britishness." Not to mention that really cool photo on the front of his book...

Down Easy With Dessert

A serving of the chocolate lava pie with vanilla ice cream would be necessary if I were going to go through with this. He always made me feel so inadequate with his high achieving M.B.A., his 653 hours of available sick leave and his perfect dental records. I feel a little disappointing, but this is the perfect opportunity for me to move on.
“Are you stressing about something, Jacie?” He asked, lowering his fork to the starched, white tablecloth. I picked Café Balabans for this occasion because it is his most favorite place to eat in the West End. It has always seemed a little pretentious to me; the Pasta Mauri Mauri and all. I prefer my ground beef cooked. But this was a regular haunt of his boss, and Preston looked forward to the moments we would run into him.
“Why would I be stressing?” I stuffed a piece of chocolate lava pie so big into my mouth that a little drip of chocolate oozed from the left corner, and I had to swipe it with my tongue.
“You know I hate it when you overeat”, he began, “I’m beginning to think you’re doing it to spite me.” It’s like him to think that it’s all about him.
“Actually,” I started.
“Ah, you are stressing.”
“I’ve been offered a job at a university. It’s an associate professorship; tenure track.” I explained.
“And what’s your excuse for not taking this one?”
“Actually, I will take it.” I said.
“Oh, then they must offer snacks.” He smiled a little at his own quip, and I thought, you jackass.
My weight was not an issue in the beginning, but he saw me as one of his projects. It was his intention to have me in the gym five days a week. First, he said I was being passive aggressive, then finally just down right stubborn when I’d called to say I had to meet with some collogues or students after work. Then on the days when I simply went straight home to work on my book, he told me I was just being plain lazy.
“The position is in Boston.” I loaded another scoop of chocolate and made room in my mouth for the ice cream. “I’ve already had my things moved from the apartment”, I told him.
“What are you talking about?” He was taken aback.
“While you were at work today, I got all of my stuff. I’m not coming home with you Preston.” I stuck my finger in the chocolate on the plate and licked it slowly.
“And you were going to tell me when?” I could hear the crescendo in his voice. His nose was flaring just as his boss walked into the restaurant with his wife. Now I knew he would not make a scene.
“After dessert.”

The Genius of Ernest J. Gaines

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman is one of those movies that whenever it comes on television, I watch it again as though I’ve never seen it before. I know everything that will happen before it happens and yet, when she shuffles her frail, 110 year-old body to that “whites only” water fountain in front of the Louisiana court house in 1960-something, the tears in my eyes are still unable to defy gravity; I cry like I’ve been spanked.

How often have you watched this movie or read the book with the assumption that “Miss Jane” had been a real live human being? Don’t sweat; you’re not the only one. It so happens we’re reading this classic, written and published in 1971 by Ernest J. Gaines, in my Contemporary Literature class, and apparently there are many who still believe that “Miss Jane” was an actual person. Even my well-informed professor was “not certain”, and people in the class gazed at me as though I’d blasphemed when I brought up the fact.

That, I think, is the genius of Ernest J. Gaines. In a 1978 article for Callaloo titled “Miss Jane and I”, Gaines talks about the “creation” of this character

“…The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman is absolute fiction. By that I mean I created Miss Jane, and if I did not create all the events she mentions in her narrative, I definitely created all the situations that she is personally involved in”.

His “Jane” is a Bahktinian figure of epic proportions through which many black women slaves who never had a voice speaks to us decades later about the atrocities they faced, about their tenacity, their fears and triumphs. Indeed, for us “Jane” is most certainly real, and it didn’t hurt that Cicely Tyson’s portrayal of her has ingrained an image on our hearts and minds for all time.

Lady Mary

Lady Mary Wroth is credited with being the first woman to publish a sonnet sequence, and an impressive one it is. Unless you've majored in English or Literature, chances are you haven't heard of her. Yet, during the Renaissance, her sonnets, Pamphilia to Amphilanthus, gave insight into a woman's heart and creativity. I sometimes wonder, if when I first read Wroth's sonnets without knowing she was a woman, is there a way to tell from simply reading them that the writer is female? Here are a couple of her sonnets, see if you can tell.

1.

When night's blacke Mantle could most darknesse proue,
And sleepe (deaths Image) did my senses hyre,
From Knowledge of my selfe, then thoughts did moue
Swifter then those, most [switnesse] neede require. swiftnesse
In sleepe, a Chariot drawne by wing'd Desire,
I saw; where sate bright Venus Queene of Loue,
And at her feete her Sonne, still adding Fire
To burning hearts, which she did hold aboue,
But one heart flaming more then all the rest,
The Goddesse held, and put it to my breast,
Deare Sonne now [shut] , said she: thus must we winne; shutt (shoot)
He her obey'd, and martyr'd my poore heart.
I waking hop'd as dreames it would depart,
Yet since, O me, a Lover I haue beene.

70.

Poore Loue in chaines, and fetters like a thiefe
I mett ledd forth, as chast Diana's gaine
Vowing the vntaught Lad should no reliefe
From her receiue, who gloried in fond paine.
She call'd him theife; with vowes he did mainetaine
He neuer stole, but some sadd slight of griefe
Had giuen to those who did his power disdaine,
In which reuenge, his honour was the chiefe.
Shee say'd he murther'd and therefor must dye,
He that he caus'd but Loue, did harmes deny,
But, while she thus discoursing with him stood;
The Nymphes vnti'de him, and his chaines tooke off,
Thinking him safe; but he (loose) made a scoffe,
Smiling and scorning them; flew to the wood.

Renaissance Ideas of Blackness

When I started a Renaissance Literature class this semester, I didn’t expect the luxury of viewing it (or having it presented to me) from a black woman’s perspective. After all, we are talking about Shakespeare, Lady Mary Wroth and George Herbert, right? Well, Kim Hall’s book Things of Darkness: Economies of Race and Gender in Early Modern England is a fascinating and thorough examination of the black/white dichotomy in seventeenth century British society, in particular, its literature and art. If you’ve ever wondered about the issues of race and gender during this time in history but didn’t know where to read about it, this is an excellent place to start.

Studying 19th Century Black Women Writers

So, one of the highlights this semester for me will be this directed research that I’ll be doing. This is like, taking a class, only I’ll be the only student. That’s a good thing in that I’ll get time and attention (or at least I think I will) with studying and focusing on a subject or genre of particular interest to me. It will be under the direction and guidance of a professor that I’ve chosen, and I’ll be using this information to help prepare for my thesis in the fall. I had to create and propose the syllabus for this research, which had to be accepted by he Language and Literature department head. For me, this subject will be 19th century African American women writers.

The two texts I’ve chosen as primary are Reconstructing Womanhood: The Emergence of the Afro American Woman Novelist by Hazel V. Carby and Written By Herself: Literary Production by African American Women, 1746-1892 by Francis Smith Foster (a scholar at Emory University that I hope to ultimately have more interaction with). The writers that I’ll be studying are the narratives of Harriet Jacobs and Elizabeth Keckley, Anna Julia Cooper, Pauline Hopkins, Francis E.W. Harper, Ida B. Wells, and Mary Church Terrell. It will be interesting to study the similarities and the individualities of these black women and their work through the veil of the Victorian era and in the aftermath of the Civil War.

Lessons Learned in a Creative Writing Class

So, I began an Advanced Prose class this semester with some ambivalence because, on the one hand, I don’t think you can be taught to be creative. On the other hand, if you have some creative talent, I think that it can be made better by learning and practicing the mechanics of writing and grammar, and by doing exercises that help generate a better flow of ideas. But, I’m always skeptical about taking a creative writing class where people who already think that they have some talent come expecting to leave a genius. (Not me, of course. I still have a hard time believing it when people tell me I’m good…but, I’m coming around.) Furthermore, in these classes, except for a midterm and final portfolio, you spend the rest of the semester being critiqued and evaluated by your peers. I understand that it might be challenging for a professor to have to read the feeble efforts of students’ (10 to 15 of them), week in and week out over the course of the semester. But, I didn’t pay $360 to hear some third year undergrad tell me my story is no good because it doesn’t involve a twenty-something, real estate mogul/stripper with a Ph.D. whose man is cheatin’ on them. I want the doctor in the room to tear it apart.

However, I did find that there were some things I learned that I can use. The text that we used for this course Writing Fiction Step By Step by Josip Novakovich included some simple exercises that make me believe that writer’s block could very well be a thing of the past. I found exercises on scene building and character profiles that I think will help me to develop better stories with more complex characters. New Sudden Fiction, ed. Robert Shapard & James Thomas and Short Fiction by 33 Writers, ed. Mark Winegardner provides a treasure chest of some of the best short stories to read and learn from. Overall, I think this class has shown me, perhaps, how rigid I have been. I tend to write in a linear way, that is, my histories tend to happen in a straight line. At least on paper they do. But, I am excited about the possibilities of moving back and forth in a story through scenes. I think this will allow me more flexibility and freedom in my storytelling. What’s more is that I think I am a little more open to the experience of a creative writing class, and I believe that I may even turn out to be a better writer as a result.

Live Cargo by Pauls Toutonghi

Live Cargo is a fascinating collection of short stories by Pauls Toutonghi that I wanted to highlight. We used this collection in my Advanced Prose class this semester as well as a few others. I found Toutonghi invigorating, classic and wise beyond his years. I love how he juxtaposes histories as in he does in “Still Life”, where he places side by side a story about the death of a friend of Pablo Picaso, with the experiences of a grandfather in the trenches during World War I. And in “The Lives of Saints” he infuses humor with Greek philosophy while exploring the possibilities of Socrates as a male, exotic dancer. I’ve wanted to read contemporary short stories that restored my faith in the short story form, and in the kind of literature that I want to read and write, and Toutonghi does that for me. This is a great night table book!

Semester Reflection

Virginia WoolfThe Thanksgiving holiday is a good time to begin reflecting over the current school semester. It’s the point where you’ve become progressively sick of school, but still schizophrenically looking forward to a fresh start in the coming semester. It’s also a good time to catch up on upcoming assignments, journaling, housecleaning, and oh yeah… blogging.

Now that I’m looking forward to my trip to London next May, I’ve been thinking a lot about the British Literature classes I’ve taken and the Brit Lit that I’ve read, including the Postcolonial stuff. I wasn’t expecting to like Shakespeare, or Milton, or Emily Bronte, but I’m really enjoying the wonderful connections and segues into early American Literature (for example the John Locke stuff), the similarities in subject matter and issues of the Victorian era on both sides of the pond, particularly in terms of the value of women and Africans in society. I love imagining that Bronte might of had a different ending in mind in Wuthering Heights where Catherine didn’t have to redeem herself by acquiescing to the idea of an “angel in the house”. And I’m totally into that scattered, fragmented narrative that Virginia Woolf uses in Mrs. Dalloway to reflect the alienation of individuals in a society that can’t talk to the people closest to them, and that delicate line of “Proportion” between the sane and the insane. Mrs. Dalloway uses that "stream of consciousness narrative technique" that is indicative of twentieth century literature; a quintessential Modernist work.

But, there’s this guy in my class…we’ll call him Jerry. Jerry absolutely doesn’t get it. He doesn’t like fiction, regarding it as “just a bunch of made up stuff that doesn’t make sense”. He only took the class to fill an English requirement, and Brit Lit was the only thing that fit into his schedule. I guess I should point out that Jer’ is some kind of technical major, and in a way I understand. I felt a similar isolation in a math class involving assigning equations to lines on a graph…((ugh)). But, I think Jer’ needs an attitude adjustment. I think literature, fiction can teach us a lot about societies and eras in our history through the lives of ordinary people. I don’t think it matters whether the character in the story is “a real person” or not. All of the values, beliefs, ideas, desires, dreams, etc. of the person who wrote the story are reflected in every aspect of a narrative; even if it’s not autobiographical. And that is real.

So Jer’, free your mind; consider the possibilities, breath…breath…breath…

"Above the Fall Line", a Reading by Amy Blackmarr

Amy Blackmarr is as much a reader as she is a writer. Listening to her there is the feeling that she has done this many times. And indeed she was quick to let it be known that this, not writing and selling books, is her bread and butter. I think she joked that, “The destiny of genius is poverty”. I liked that. I like being reminded that I should not expect to make a lot of money as a writer; that if I am planning on doing this, I’d better damn well like to write; and read. Blackmarr was confident about her genre as she talked about what it means to be a writer of place. Her goal, she explained, is to discover the particular genius loci of a place. And while I still need to look genius loci up in the dictionary, it seems to mean capturing the essence and soul of a place, through your senses, and to be able to convey those very intimate details to the reader, and to write about a place so that the readers can put themselves there. Blackmarr recalled driving down a road, seeing a snake caught in the beak of a hawk, and remembering that at the time, she felt just like that. Only she couldn’t tell if she was the snake or the hawk. “An image becomes an essay,” she says, “inner and outer landscapes reflect each other”.

From a collection called Above the Fall Line, she read a piece called, “Love and Kudzu”, which speaks honestly about a woman who may have let the right guy slip away because of her own indifference, and then later seeing her mistake. Blackmarr slips easily from first to second person obviously without even noticing. When asked about this, (and she took questions like a well-oiled politician), she explained that employing second person was a way of distancing herself, a narrative distance. Although she says, “when you write in first person you have to remove yourself, or the emotional weight will steal the power”, writing in second person, she says, immediately connects her to her readers. But in this essay that at times sounded very much like a memoir, Blackmarr says, “In the personal we find relationships to each other”.

While I am still trying to define my own writing process, by comparison, Blackmarr’s process sounds anal. After learning that writer’s block does exist, the key to dealing with that she said, was to establish a pattern, a structured routine or a particular period of time. On weekends, she doesn’t write at all, but the other five days of the week, from ten until two she has no connection with anyone and she writes. When asked about influences she claims that Charles Dickens taught her a lot about narrative, and that Ray Bradbury is “incredibly eloquent”, suggesting that we all make a point of reading Dandelion Wine. Short story writer, Ray Carver she says is “brief in presentations but deep in his thinking”. Barbara Brown Taylor and Richard Selzer also make her list of influences.

Like a lot of writers, Amy Blackmarr says she is never happy with her work, never satisfied. But she likes that as a personal essayist she is not obligated to write in a linear narrative. “Your life is your work and your art, and it take your whole life to create”.

Fall Semester, 2007

Another fall semester has descended upon me, and I am officially beginning my countdown to graduation. And while graduation won’t actually be until December 2008, I am just making sure that all my ducks are in a row and that everything will go according to plan. As I wind down to that anticipated date, most of my studies will be in my major, English, as I have planned it that way. But, I still have a couple of classes to fulfill some of my core requirements, one of which is Spanish. Then there’s Astronomy…a science for English majors... (clearing my throat).

As usual, I am looking forward to the literature classes, because I get read fiction and/or novels that I’ve always wanted to read but never got around to it. In British Literature II, I’ll be reading Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte and Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. I’m also taking the course, Women and Literature, which promises to be an intriguing and diverse mixture of American, Modernist/Post Modernist women writers. I’ve already begun reading Bastard Out of Carolina by Dorothy Allison, about growing up poor in South Carolina. This story has already plucked familiar emotional strings from my own childhood and is now very hard to put down. In addition to Allison there’s Tony Morrison’s Bluest Eye, which I’ve read before, but this will be a great time to read it again. Along with a Katherine Ann Porter reader there’ll be Sweat by Zora Neale Hurston, The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gillman (two short stories), and Coming of Age in Mississippi by Anne Moody.

Actually, it seems that all of my reading will be women authors.This much reading in the next four months will be grueling, but I have done it before, and ingesting so many satisfying narratives leaves me feeling, hmmm, spent, content and with a sense of accomplishment.

Experience, Imagination, Passion

While I’m still not convinced that someone can be taught to be a great or even a good writer, I believe that anyone with a talent for creating stories can learn to do it better. Grammar and writing skills can be taught, and I think it is safe to say that Formalism has its place. But, I think it takes more than knowing where to put your commas to create good literature. And, it is for these reasons that I choose to earn a literary degree rather than a creative writing degree. But, in the midst of my literary studies, I opted this semester to take the course, Advanced Prose. This will, I hope give me an opportunity to work on some of my own projects, processes and provide a little academic relief from the other four classes that I will be taking. I’m a little nervous though, because the professor is a French chick with a couple of poetry books under her belt. (A poet teaching prose, hmmm?) But, hey, she has a Ph.D., so I’m gonna take my chances.

British Lit: Only the Beginning

The one thing I like about taking a class in the summer is, by the time you begin to get burned out, the class is over. I began this British Literature class feeling a little intimidated, wondering if there would be anything that would command my attention without leaving me feeling, well, a little inadequate. I mean, come on, let's face it, the thought of trying to decipher Chaucer's Middle English or the courtly love poetry of Thomas Wyatt can seem as daunting and unattainable as Sir Phillip Sidney's Stella is for Astrophil. But, fortunately I had a really cool professor who allowed for many silly misinterpretations in an effort to get us to relax about the whole Brit-Lit thing. The result for me is a hard-earned A in the class, and a healthy appreciation for our British, literary predecessors. Of all the works we read, the ones I enjoyed the most were Twelfth Night or What You Will by William Shakespeare, Paradise Lost by John Milton and a really surprising story that was saved for last. It's called Oroonoko or The Royal Slave. It was published in 1688 by Aphra Behn; a woman. She tells the story of Oroonoko, an African Prince, his love for the beautiful, and strong, black woman, Imoinda, and how they were kidnapped and sold into slavery in Surinam. It was surprising to read this story among the usual line-up of dead, white men normally resurrected for such a class. Behn is a genre bender, writing at once a memoir, a biography and travel narrative, which is credited for being possibly the first novel. It is beautifully written, engaging, and I imagine, it had roughly the same effect on British women of the time as did Harriette Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin just before the Civil War. Try it on for size. It's not very long, and hey look...here's a free copy! For me, this is only the beginning; for I intend to take British Lit after 1800 in the fall. And, you know what that means...Virginia Woolf, baby, yeah!

An 'Early British' Summer

So, my summer vacation is technically over because for the first time since I’ve been back in school, I’m going to summer school! It shouldn’t be so bad; in addition to working on campus, I’m only taking one class. I’ve taken a lot of American Literature courses, Postcolonial and World Literature, but for the summer I will began my journey into British Literature. I’m looking forward to developing my understanding of early English language poetry and prose, ultimately focusing in on some Shakespeare, Marlow, Milton, and Sirs Philip Sydney and Walter Raleigh.

At the start of this class we’re reading some stuff with no known author, and also an epic poem that I read first in World Literature, Beowulf, which ironically is coming out this year as an animated feature. Beowulf is the oldest of the great long poems written in English, composed over twelve hundred years ago. It is a story about the cruelty of life, death and sorrow, but also of faith, courage and honor. The courtly love poetry of Sir Philip Sydney is still a bit intimidating to me, but the sonnets of Shakespeare are down to earth, and sometimes humorous.

And while I am somewhat suspicious of literature that functions as propaganda for religions, there is a poem which I find devastatingly beautiful. It is called The Dream of the Rood. It is about the dream of a tree’s memory of having Christ nailed to it and dying. Sentimental? Maybe. But, The Dream of the Rood is eloquent in the understanding that a tree is, not inanimate, but a living thing with a soul, a memory, a dream. Observing the crucifixion from the point of view of the cross is that defamiliarization, which Formalist Viktor Shklovsky talks about in his essay, "Art as Technique"; it causes you to see something which is recognizable, but differently. That’s good writing.