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Franco Moretti at the Valve
The Franco Moretti event at The
Valve is going along swimmingly, and I again seem to have been
self-selected as the bad fairy at the feast.
Primarily I will be responding to
the piece by
Cosma Shalizi, an author whom I generally like and admire. I
only read enough of Moretti's stuff (most of Graphs) to be
annoyed by his attitude. It does not bother me that Moretti is doing
the things that he's doing, or that others should follow him, but
the consensus of the symposium, at least at the beginning, seemed to
be that Moretti's project might be the new paradigm, and
should replace other ways of studying literature rather than just
providing an additional approach: e.g., Benzon's "Beyond
that, I too believe that we need to bracket the search for meaning
and put it on the shelf". (Given the realities of
disciplinary politics, it may be inevitable that proposals be
competitively stated -- with limited resources, someone has to
lose -- but it's my bias to think that disciplinary politics is
usually a negative force.)
I organize my criticisms around
two main themes: explanation and la longe durée.
My position on the first of
these is the standard old-fogy position, whereas the second
criticism is more peculiar to me.
Shalizi says, "The small-scale
details of literature and of human life have an intrinsic interest
and value that is missing from the small-scale detail of molecular
chaos, so there is certainly all the room in the world for what
Moretti would like to do
and
close reading, and even essayistic appreciation." This is about
half-way to where I want to be, but it sounds a bit concessive. Let
me say it this way: Moretti's sort of analysis could just as easily
be applied the shoe styles as to fictional genres, and would come up
with interesting results either way. Most people involved in
literature, however, would feel that such an analysis, even though
it might come up with interesting insights, ignores and obscures
what literature is all about. Literature just seems more
interesting, complex, and important than shoes. For this
reason, I
think that study of the small-scale detail of literature should not
merely be allowed, but should have priority over the kind of thing
that Moretti wants to do.
Take
physics, for example. Imagine a Morettian social history of physics.
It might come up with interesting stuff, but it would generally be
regarded as misleading if there wasn't some attention to the fact
that some physicists were right and others wrong, some physicists
made discoveries and others didn't, and that some of the trends were
dead ends and some of them fruitful. In other words, an objective
description of physics as a series of events is misleading if it
doesn't take into account the "subjective" aspect of physics as an
attempt to understand the world -- an attempt which can be either
successful or not.
Humanists are touchy about this
objectified kind of approach because we always suspect that people
who work this way do not actually believe that literature really
does anything or ever is really successful. This is not a straw man;
we often run into people who think that way, and every once in
awhile someone will make a detailed argument to that effect. And
that's OK -- it's a free country, as Cosma says -- but we humanists
tend to believe that the one place where people of this sort should
never be found is in departments of literature.
This will seem paranoid to many,
but let me reiterate the analogy. Can you imagine a physics
department in which social historians of physics had an equal status
with actual working physicists? This is more or less impossible -- a
high proportion of physicists have no respect whatsoever for
sociology, and very little for history, and the median number of
historians of physics in physics departments is probably zero. (When
it was decided to finally include some social scientists at the
Institute for Advanced Studies, there were protests). But the way
Moretti works seems very similar to what I just described.
Thus, in the same way that
physics should be thought of normatively -- with priority given to
the major successful attempts to explain and understand physical
reality, less attention given to the minor attempts, and essentially
no attention given to the unsuccessful attempts -- the primary way
to think about literature should be in terms of its success in doing
whatever it is that literature does. Criticism, in this sense, would
be comparable to science education and to general science writing,
which try to help people who want to know about the important and
interesting conclusions of physics.
This might be called
appreciationism, but I don't see the problem with that. If
literature is intentional and of value, the way physics is of value,
the primary role of the critic should be to point the way to that
value. And of course this is elitist, but I don't see any escape
from that. Even people who read bad books think that they're reading
good books, and even among the bad books they read, they always will
prefer some to the others.[i]
My second point has to do with
the Braudelian model behind Moretti’s work. The direction of
attention to la longe durée, the ordinary, and
history-from-below has come up with results which couldn’t be
attained otherwise, but l'histoire
événementielle and elite
history have their claims too, and by and large I think that the
pendulum has swung too far in the Braudelian direction. On the one
hand, it’s one of the defining traits of the elite that they are
able to control resources, take initiatives, and make things
happen, whereas commoners normally are forced to get by as best they
can or not at all. On the other hand, it just isn’t true that every
seemingly sudden change is really just the sudden manifestation of a
long gradual development. (And as for cycles, the ones I’ve seen --
one by Andre Gunder Frank explaining Eurasian history, and others
relating Eurasian history to climate change -- haven’t seemed
to be grounded on data at all, and Frank’s seems to have neither
mechanisms nor data. Sometimes scientists find cycles because
finding cycles is what scientists do.) In many fields we've recently
seen a move from gradualism and uniformitarianism to discontinuous
change, and I think that in human affairs, including novel-writing, sometimes these changes
are the result of the actions of individuals ("great men", if you
will).
I see a tension between two
strains in Shalizi’s piece. He expresses the first “This
commitment….should make you more interested in exploring variation,
and not dismissing it’,
and the second,
"But looking at larger scales, the randomness averages out, leaving
regularities which are simpler and more nearly comprehensible by
finite minds, and more reliable."
To me it seems that Moretti’s method, by discussing genres and
bracketing out the individual differences, errs in the side of the
second strain. From an evolutionary point of view, the difference
(as Shalizi says elsewhere) is an individual. Most individual
differences “average out”, but evolution happens because certain
individual differences (favorable mutations), do not average out, so
that the unique exception eventually becomes the rule.
From this point of view, the
canonical works have much greater importance than the non-canonical
ones; they are the equivalent of the first carriers of favorable
mutations. (The biological analogy breaks down here, since books
don’t die but sit on the shelves indefinitely, and immortal books
establish descent-lines which are independent of any kind of
adjacency. Both Melville and Twain explicitly acknowledge their
debts to Rabelais and Cervantes, for example, but their debts are
ahistorical and independent of affiliations of language or genre.)
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[i]
The above is my response to the following passage by Shalizi:
"If you want to say that
asking literary history to be communicable, testable and
reliable is asking it to be scientific and that’s icky, well,
it’s a free country (at least for now). The more I think about
what makes something a science, the less that seems like an
important question. But whether something is a rational
enterprise of inquiry matters. I’m sure it’s possible to object
to wanting history to be more rational in this sense, but I find
that thought so alien and pointless I won’t even try to engage
it. "
(A peripheral point I won’t
develop is the goal of “explanation”. In general, I think that
the more interesting something is, the harder it is to explain,
and that the best writers are trying to be as interesting as
possible; you could even say that they are trying to move
themselves to the far frontier of possible explanation. Thus, a
critic whose goal is explanation works somewhat at cross
purposes to the author he or she studies).
I am emersonj at gmail dot com.
Original materials copyright John J
Emerson
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