In the introduction to the Lectures on Literature, Vladimir Nabokov argues about the nature of fiction. He wrote, "The truth is that great novels are great fairy tales," expanding on the idea of a novel as an independent body of work, a distinct world created solely within the author's mind. Nabokov resumes the idea, asking the reader whether Dickens's London can be a study of London. "Certainly not," he wrote, and I cannot agree less.
Studying literature from a historical angle is scholarly masturbation, a shiny generalisation some readers plunge into, chasing the illusion of comprehension, fitting the pre-made pieces of a puzzle that scholars enjoy in their sandboxes. Literature should, in my opinion, be enjoyed as unreal, fantastic, and magical, regardless of the genre and context. I like the time-machine effect a historical text can bring, but fictional work is the time-and-space-machine or more like space-and-time-machine.
As for Hitz, I agree that a book should rely entirely on itself, providing everything the reader needs to create the impression of the author's universe. The reader should fondle details, observe patterns, and see for himself what connects. A novel's historical setting is just an outer shell, the tangible form the author experienced at their time, but what lies beyond that is exactly what the reader should long for when enjoying literature - the flight of imagination, the thrill of sensibility, the disruptive drama, the [what are you looking for].
Thus, is Dickens's London just London? No, it is Dickens's London.
I disagree, of course, and note that you begin your argument by quoting... a secondary source! In fact, it's a secondary source that suggests one way of reading and warns its reader not to deviate from that way--precisely what Hitz criticizes secondary sources for doing. So I don't think you are exactly in agreement with Hitz, seeing as your method of reading seems to rely on an external theory which is imposed on a text (all literature is, in some sense, unreal and magical) and that predisposes readers to focus on certain features of the text (the job of the good reader is to find and enjoy the unreal and magical) while ignoring others (historical fact, political commentary). Correct me if I'm reading you unfairly.
I think the sensibility we share is that seeing novels only as historical objects can be reductive. I'm not a thoroughgoing historicist in that I don't see novels solely as being produced by, or solely as describing, history. That view flattens novels into nothing more than historical artifact and can lead readers to treat texts with a kind of cold, clinical approach. But I also think that any singular approach flattens and simplifies novels. Good readers, I think, should be open to the magical pleasures of novel-reading that you treasure and curious about how novels can allow us to have a kind of intimacy with the past. (and can help us work through our personal problems, and can simply be funny, and can challenge our own moral and political assumptions, and, and, and...)
Nabokov's lectures on literature are not secondary literature! At some level of interest and quality the "secondary-ness" drops away. I don't read Aristotle's Poetics as a secondary source on Oedipus Rex.
while I'm commenting I appreciate this post! But I wouldn't have called a performance secondary literature. I don't deny the challenges of teaching in tough environments (the anecdote from the podcast was pre-smartphone). Breaking a Shakespeare play into parts, reading or watching performances, that all makes perfect sense to me!
I apologize if I mischaracterized your views—now that I think of it, I ought not to have characterized performances as secondary literature. I’ll correct my text when I get a moment.
I admit that I’m still a bit confused on what distinguishes secondary and primary literatures. To me, “secondary” means writing that is about other writing—commentary, interpretation, theory, that sort of thing. That’s one reason I was so startled by your suggestion of “zero” of that stuff!
If by “secondary” you merely mean uninteresting, uninfluentual, or poorly-written interpretation, theories, or criticism, then I agree with you! I would not bring the kind of workaday, in-the-weeds literary history that populates peer-reviewed literature studies journals to a general reader or, for that matter, an undergraduate classroom. (History, literary and otherwise, I still think can be interesting, fun, and useful…)
But it also seems to me that the more classic and established and canonical a piece of interpretation/commentary/theory is, the more a reader might see it as an authority that can’t be differed with, and the more it might interrupt the kind of direct process of discovery you seem to want to encourage in your students. Then again, I think I get your point: when a piece of interpretation/commentary/theory achieves a certain level of excellence or influence, it becomes worthy of study in its own right.
I agree with you on the value and usefulness of secondary sources. I read a lot, but I know that there are a lot of things about the book I'm reading that would have escaped my attention, if they had not been pointed out by the critics and scholars who have read that same book closely and shared their ideas and insights with readers like me through the secondary sources they have written. These professionals may have devoted years reading and teaching and thinking about that book, which may give them an advantage over a common reader like me who has another day job and reads the great books as a hobby. They guide me to notice things that I simply would not have noticed myself, and why would I deprive myself of that gift? No person is so smart and insightful that he can find no value in the insights that others may have, especially when it comes to the great books whose value is precisely that they are an inexhaustible fount of ideas and insights.
As to the risk that students might be misled to think that the view offered by secondary sources is the only "right" or "proper" reading of a particular book, I think the solution is to expose them to multiple secondary sources. They will soon realize that a given book, especially the classics, can yield different readings from different critics and scholars, and they can all be equally legitimate or valid, as long as they are well supported and soundly argued and have basis in the text.
Finally, I think another value for students is to just realize, by reading secondary sources, that there are many other people who take the classics seriously and cherish and enjoy them enough to read them closely and deeply and share their thoughts with other readers. Hopefully, such appreciation is contagious and will inspire them to appreciate and enjoy the great works of literature themselves.
I think, also, just to respond to your last point: I think it can be valuable for students to see people get really mad at great books and to dislike them, too. (And to get mad at other readers or critics who misread!) Like, if someone doesn't at least get a little annoyed at Walden, are they truly reading it? Part of the whole emotional experience of reading the book is being needled by a self-righteous writer who is trying to get your goat--so if your goat remains un-got by the end, you're missing out on something important. (I say this as a lover of Walden.)
In the introduction to the Lectures on Literature, Vladimir Nabokov argues about the nature of fiction. He wrote, "The truth is that great novels are great fairy tales," expanding on the idea of a novel as an independent body of work, a distinct world created solely within the author's mind. Nabokov resumes the idea, asking the reader whether Dickens's London can be a study of London. "Certainly not," he wrote, and I cannot agree less.
Studying literature from a historical angle is scholarly masturbation, a shiny generalisation some readers plunge into, chasing the illusion of comprehension, fitting the pre-made pieces of a puzzle that scholars enjoy in their sandboxes. Literature should, in my opinion, be enjoyed as unreal, fantastic, and magical, regardless of the genre and context. I like the time-machine effect a historical text can bring, but fictional work is the time-and-space-machine or more like space-and-time-machine.
As for Hitz, I agree that a book should rely entirely on itself, providing everything the reader needs to create the impression of the author's universe. The reader should fondle details, observe patterns, and see for himself what connects. A novel's historical setting is just an outer shell, the tangible form the author experienced at their time, but what lies beyond that is exactly what the reader should long for when enjoying literature - the flight of imagination, the thrill of sensibility, the disruptive drama, the [what are you looking for].
Thus, is Dickens's London just London? No, it is Dickens's London.
I disagree, of course, and note that you begin your argument by quoting... a secondary source! In fact, it's a secondary source that suggests one way of reading and warns its reader not to deviate from that way--precisely what Hitz criticizes secondary sources for doing. So I don't think you are exactly in agreement with Hitz, seeing as your method of reading seems to rely on an external theory which is imposed on a text (all literature is, in some sense, unreal and magical) and that predisposes readers to focus on certain features of the text (the job of the good reader is to find and enjoy the unreal and magical) while ignoring others (historical fact, political commentary). Correct me if I'm reading you unfairly.
I think the sensibility we share is that seeing novels only as historical objects can be reductive. I'm not a thoroughgoing historicist in that I don't see novels solely as being produced by, or solely as describing, history. That view flattens novels into nothing more than historical artifact and can lead readers to treat texts with a kind of cold, clinical approach. But I also think that any singular approach flattens and simplifies novels. Good readers, I think, should be open to the magical pleasures of novel-reading that you treasure and curious about how novels can allow us to have a kind of intimacy with the past. (and can help us work through our personal problems, and can simply be funny, and can challenge our own moral and political assumptions, and, and, and...)
Nabokov's lectures on literature are not secondary literature! At some level of interest and quality the "secondary-ness" drops away. I don't read Aristotle's Poetics as a secondary source on Oedipus Rex.
while I'm commenting I appreciate this post! But I wouldn't have called a performance secondary literature. I don't deny the challenges of teaching in tough environments (the anecdote from the podcast was pre-smartphone). Breaking a Shakespeare play into parts, reading or watching performances, that all makes perfect sense to me!
Oh, hello!
I apologize if I mischaracterized your views—now that I think of it, I ought not to have characterized performances as secondary literature. I’ll correct my text when I get a moment.
I admit that I’m still a bit confused on what distinguishes secondary and primary literatures. To me, “secondary” means writing that is about other writing—commentary, interpretation, theory, that sort of thing. That’s one reason I was so startled by your suggestion of “zero” of that stuff!
If by “secondary” you merely mean uninteresting, uninfluentual, or poorly-written interpretation, theories, or criticism, then I agree with you! I would not bring the kind of workaday, in-the-weeds literary history that populates peer-reviewed literature studies journals to a general reader or, for that matter, an undergraduate classroom. (History, literary and otherwise, I still think can be interesting, fun, and useful…)
But it also seems to me that the more classic and established and canonical a piece of interpretation/commentary/theory is, the more a reader might see it as an authority that can’t be differed with, and the more it might interrupt the kind of direct process of discovery you seem to want to encourage in your students. Then again, I think I get your point: when a piece of interpretation/commentary/theory achieves a certain level of excellence or influence, it becomes worthy of study in its own right.
I agree with you on the value and usefulness of secondary sources. I read a lot, but I know that there are a lot of things about the book I'm reading that would have escaped my attention, if they had not been pointed out by the critics and scholars who have read that same book closely and shared their ideas and insights with readers like me through the secondary sources they have written. These professionals may have devoted years reading and teaching and thinking about that book, which may give them an advantage over a common reader like me who has another day job and reads the great books as a hobby. They guide me to notice things that I simply would not have noticed myself, and why would I deprive myself of that gift? No person is so smart and insightful that he can find no value in the insights that others may have, especially when it comes to the great books whose value is precisely that they are an inexhaustible fount of ideas and insights.
As to the risk that students might be misled to think that the view offered by secondary sources is the only "right" or "proper" reading of a particular book, I think the solution is to expose them to multiple secondary sources. They will soon realize that a given book, especially the classics, can yield different readings from different critics and scholars, and they can all be equally legitimate or valid, as long as they are well supported and soundly argued and have basis in the text.
Finally, I think another value for students is to just realize, by reading secondary sources, that there are many other people who take the classics seriously and cherish and enjoy them enough to read them closely and deeply and share their thoughts with other readers. Hopefully, such appreciation is contagious and will inspire them to appreciate and enjoy the great works of literature themselves.
I think, also, just to respond to your last point: I think it can be valuable for students to see people get really mad at great books and to dislike them, too. (And to get mad at other readers or critics who misread!) Like, if someone doesn't at least get a little annoyed at Walden, are they truly reading it? Part of the whole emotional experience of reading the book is being needled by a self-righteous writer who is trying to get your goat--so if your goat remains un-got by the end, you're missing out on something important. (I say this as a lover of Walden.)