Using critical theory lois tyson pdf

USING CRITICAL

THEORY How to Read and Write About Literature

S E C O N D E D I T I O N

L O I S T Y S O N

Using Critical Theory

“I know of no other book on critical theory for beginning and intermediate students that offers the same depth and breath. It offers thorough and clear applications of each theory while its rhetorical tone puts students at ease as they attempt to think about the world in new and different ways … [this] is the perfect text for students new to critical theory and stands in a league of its own.”

Gretchen Cline, Muskegon Community College, USA

Explaining both why theory is important and how to use it, Lois Tyson introduces beginning students of literature to this often daunting area in a friendly and approachable style. The new edition of this textbook is clearly structured with chapters based on major theories that students are expected to cover in their studies. Key features include:

� coverage of all major theories including psychoanalysis, Marxism, feminism, lesbian/gay/queer theories, postcolonial theory, African American theory, and a new chapter on New Criticism (formalism)

� practical demonstrations of how to use these theories on short literary works selected from canonical authors including William Faulkner and Alice Walker

� a new chapter on reader-response theory that shows students how to use their personal responses to literature while avoiding typical pitfalls

� new sections on cultural criticism for each chapter � new “further practice” and “further reading” sections for each chapter � a useful “next-step” appendix that suggests additional literary examples for

extra practice.

Comprehensive, easy to use, and fully updated throughout, Using Critical Theory is the ideal first step for students beginning degrees in literature, composition, and cultural studies.

Lois Tyson is Professor of English at Grand Valley State University, USA. She is the author of Critical Theory Today: A User-Friendly Guide (2nd edition, Routledge, 2006).

Using Critical Theory

How to read and write about literature

Second edition

Lois Tyson

First edition published as Learning for a Diverse World 2001 by Routledge

This edition published as Using Critical Theory 2011 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 2001, 2011 Lois Tyson

The right of Lois Tyson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Tyson, Lois, 1950- Using critical theory: how to read and write about literature / Lois Tyson. p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Criticism. 2. Critical theory. I. Title. PN98.S6T973 2011 801’.95 – dc22

2011008274

ISBN: 978-0-415-61616-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-415-61617-1 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-80509-1 (ebk)

Typeset in Bembo by Taylor & Francis Books

For Mac Davis and the late Stephen Lacey, who both know that a good teacher is one who remains a good student.

Contents

Preface for instructors xiv Acknowledgments xviii Permissions xix

1 Critical theory and you 1

What does critical theory have to do with me? 1 What will I learn about critical theory from this book? 3 Critical theory and cultural criticism 6 Three questions about interpretation most students ask 9

My interpretation is my opinion, so how can it be wrong? 9 Do authors deliberately use concepts from critical theories when

they write literary works? 10 How can we interpret a literary work without knowing what

the author intended the work to mean? 11 Why feeling confused can be a good sign 11

2 Using concepts from reader-response theory to understand our own literary interpretations 13

Why should we learn about reader-response theory? 13 Response vehicles 15

Personal identification 15 The familiar character 15 The familiar plot event 15 The familiar setting 15

Response exercises 16 Personal-identification exercise 16 Familiar-character exercise 18 Familiar-plot-event exercise 21 Familiar-setting exercise 23

How our personal responses can help or hinder interpretation 26 The “symbolic leap” 27 The difference between representing and endorsing

human behavior 28 Using our personal responses to generate paper topics 29 Food for further thought 31

Thinking it over 31 Reader-response theory and cultural criticism 32

Taking the next step 35 Exercises for further practice 35 Suggestions for further reading 36

3 Using concepts from New Critical theory to understand literature 38

Why should we learn about New Critical theory? 38 Basic concepts 41

Theme 41 Formal elements 41 Unity 43 Close reading and textual evidence 44

Interpretation exercises 45 Appreciating the importance of tradition: Interpreting

“Everyday Use” 45 Recognizing the presence of death: Interpreting “A Rose

for Emily” 51 Understanding the power of alienation: Interpreting

“The Battle Royal” 57 Respecting the importance of nonconformity: Interpreting

“Don’t Explain” 63 Responding to the challenge of the unknown: Interpreting

“I started Early—Took my Dog” 69 Food for further thought 74

Thinking it over 74 New Critical theory and cultural criticism 76

Taking the next step 78 Questions for further practice 78 Suggestions for further reading 80

4 Using concepts from psychoanalytic theory to understand literature 81

Why should we learn about psychoanalytic theory? 81 Basic concepts 83

viii Contents

The family 83 Repression and the unconscious 83 The defenses 83 Core issues 84 Dream symbolism 85

Interpretation exercises 86 Analyzing characters’ dysfunctional behavior: Interpreting

“Everyday Use” 86 Exploring a character’s insanity: Interpreting “A Rose

for Emily” 91 Understanding dream images in literature: Interpreting

“I started Early—Took my Dog” 95 Recognizing a character’s self-healing: Interpreting “Don’t

Explain” 99 Using psychoanalytic concepts in service of other theories:

Interpreting “The Battle Royal” 103 Food for further thought 104

Thinking it over 104 Psychoanalytic theory and cultural criticism 106

Taking the next step 108 Questions for further practice 108 Suggestions for further reading 109

5 Using concepts from Marxist theory to understand literature 110

Why should we learn about Marxist theory? 110 Basic concepts 112

Classism 112 Capitalism 113 Capitalist ideologies 114 The role of religion 116

Interpretation exercises 116 Understanding the operations of capitalism: Interpreting

“Everyday use” 116 Recognizing the operations of the American Dream: Interpreting

“The Battle Royal” 119 Analyzing the operations of classism: Interpreting “A Rose

for Emily” 124 Resisting classism: Interpreting “Don’t Explain” 128 Learning when not to use Marxist concepts: Resisting the

temptation to interpret “I started Early—Took my Dog” 131

Contents ix

Food for further thought 133 Thinking it over 133 Marxist theory and cultural criticism 134

Taking the next step 137 Questions for further practice 137 Suggestions for further reading 138

6 Using concepts from feminist theory to understand literature 139

Why should we learn about feminist theory? 139 Basic concepts 141

Patriarchy 141 Traditional gender roles 142 The objectification of women 142 Sexism 143 The “cult of ‘true womanhood’” 143

Interpretation exercises 144 Rejecting the objectification of women: Interpreting

“The Battle Royal” 144 Resisting patriarchal ideology: Interpreting “Don’t Explain” 147 Recognizing a conflicted attitude toward patriarchy:

Interpreting “Everyday Use” 151 Analyzing a sexist text: Interpreting “A Rose for Emily” 155 Understanding patriarchy’s psychological oppression

of women: Interpreting “I started Early—Took my Dog” 162 Food for further thought 166

Thinking it over 166 Feminist theory and cultural criticism 167

Taking the next step 169 Questions for further practice 169 Suggestions for further reading 170

7 Using concepts from lesbian, gay, and queer theories to understand literature 172

Why should we learn about lesbian, gay, and queer theories? 172

Basic concepts 175 Heterosexism 175 Homophobia 175 Homosocial activities 176 The woman-identified woman 176 Homoerotic imagery 177 Queer theory 177

x Contents

Interpretation exercises 178 Rejecting lesbian stereotypes: Interpreting “Don’t

Explain” 178 Analyzing homophobia: Interpreting “The Battle

Royal” 182 Recognizing the woman-identified woman in a heterosexual text:

Interpreting “Everyday Use” 185 Using queer theory: Interpreting “A Rose for Emily” 191 Drawing upon context: Interpreting “I started Early—Took

my Dog” 194 Food for further thought 198

Thinking it over 198 Lesbian, gay, and queer theories and cultural criticism 200

Taking the next step 202 Questions for further practice 202 Suggestions for further reading 204

8 Using concepts from African American theory to understand literature 206

Why should we learn about African American theory? 206 Basic concepts 209

African American culture and literature 209 Racism 211 Forms of racism 211 Double consciousness 213

Interpretation exercises 213 Analyzing the overt operations of institutionalized racism: Interpreting

“The Battle Royal” 213 Recognizing the “less visible” operations of institutionalized racism:

Interpreting “Don’t Explain” 217 Understanding the operations of internalized racism: Interpreting

“Everyday Use” 222 Exploring the function of black characters in white literature:

Interpreting “A Rose for Emily” 228 Learning when not to use African American concepts:

Resisting the temptation to interpret “I started Early—Took my Dog” 234

Food for further thought 237 Thinking it over 237 African American theory and cultural criticism 239

Taking the next step 242 Questions for further practice 242 Suggestions for further reading 244

Contents xi

9 Using concepts from postcolonial theory to understand literature 245

Why should we learn about postcolonial theory? 245 Basic concepts 248

Colonialist ideology 248 The colonial subject 249 Anticolonialist resistance 250

Interpretation exercises 251 Understanding colonialist ideology: Interpreting “The Battle

Royal” 251 Analyzing the colonial subject: Interpreting “Everyday Use” 257 Exploring the influence of cultural categories: Interpreting “A Rose for

Emily” 264 Appreciating anticolonialist resistance: Interpreting “Don’t

Explain” 268 Recognizing the othering of nature: Interpreting “I started

Early—Took my Dog” 273 Food for further thought 277

Thinking it over 277 Postcolonial theory and cultural criticism 279

Taking the next step 282 Questions for further practice 282 Suggestions for further reading 284

10 Holding on to what you’ve learned 285

A shorthand overview of our eight critical theories 285 A shorthand overview of our literary interpretation exercises 286

“Everyday Use” 287 “The Battle Royal” 288 “A Rose for Emily” 290 “Don’t Explain” 291 “I started Early—Took my Dog” 292

A shorthand overview of the range of perspectives offered by each theory 293

Critical theory and cultural criticism revisited 297 Critical theory and an ethics for a diverse world 300

Appendices

Appendix A: “I started Early—Took my Dog” (Emily Dickinson, c. 1862) 302

Appendix B: “A Rose for Emily” (William Faulkner, 1931) 303

xii Contents

Appendix C: “The Battle Royal” (Ralph Ellison, 1952) 311 Appendix D: “Everyday Use” (Alice Walker, 1973) 323 Appendix E: “Don’t Explain” (Jewelle Gomez, 1987) 330 Appendix F: Additional literary works for further practice 338

Index 344

Contents xiii

Preface for instructors

If you’re planning to use this book in your undergraduate classroom, then you know that critical theory is no longer considered an abstract discipline for a select group of graduate students, as it was fifteen or twenty years ago. Personally, I don’t think critical theory should ever have been limited to that mode of thinking or to that audience. In its most concrete and, I think, most meaningful form, critical theory supplies us with a remarkable collection of pedagogical tools to help students, regardless of their educational background, develop their ability to reason logically; to formulate an argument; to grasp divergent points of view; to make connections among literature, history, the society in which they live, and their personal experience; and of special importance on our shrinking planet, to explore human diversity in its most profound and personal sense: as diverse ways of defining oneself and one’s world. From this perspective, critical theory is an appropriate pedagogical resource not only for advanced literature courses, but for the kinds of meat-and-potatoes courses that many of us teach: foundation-level literature courses; introduction-to-literary- studies courses; diversity courses; and composition courses that stress critical thinking, social issues, or cultural diversity.

Creating pedagogical options

For most of us who see the pedagogical potential of critical theory, the question then becomes: “How can I adapt critical frameworks to make them useful to students new to the study of literature and to the social issues literature raises?” That is precisely the question Using Critical Theory attempts to answer by offering you: (1) a reader-response chapter to help students recognize and make interpretive use of their personal responses to literature; (2) seven carefully selected theoretical approaches to literary interpretation—introducing the fundamentals of New Critical, psychoanalytic, feminist, lesbian/gay/queer, African American, and postcolonial theories—from which to choose; and (3) five different ways to use each of these approaches through the vehicle of our “Interpretation exercises,” the step-by-step development of sample inter- pretations of the five literary works reprinted at the end of this book. Now,

the key word here is choice. I think we do our best teaching when we adapt our materials to our own pedagogical goals and teaching styles. For example, you can employ Using Critical Theory to structure an entire course, to create a unit or units on specific theoretical approaches, or to supplement the teaching of specific literary works with an increased repertoire of possible interpreta- tions. To provide maximum flexibility, each chapter is written to stand on its own, so you can choose which of the selected theoretical frameworks you want to use. Each interpretation exercise is also written to stand on its own, so you can choose which of the selected literary works you want to use. I hope the structure of these chapters will facilitate your own creation of

classroom activities and homework assignments. For example, students can work in small groups to find the textual data required by a given interpretation exercise, and that activity can be organized in a number of ways. Each group can work on a different section of the same interpretation exercise, thereby each contributing a piece of the puzzle to a single interpretation. Or each group can work on a different interpretation exercise from a single chapter, thereby using concepts from the same theory to complete interpretation exercises for dif- ferent literary works. Or if students feel they fully understand a given inter- pretation exercise, you might invite them to develop one of the alternative interpretations suggested in the “Focusing your essay” section at the end of each interpretation exercise or to develop an interpretation of their own. Finally, once the class has become acquainted with a few different theories, different groups of students can use different theoretical approaches to collect textual data from the same literary work, thereby getting an immediate sense of the ways in which concepts from different critical theories can foreground different aspects of the same literary work or foreground the same aspect of a literary work for different purposes. Similarly, the “Basic concepts” sections of Chapters 3 through 9 can be used

to generate activities by having students apply these concepts to short literary works other than those used in this book. For example, students can be given—singly, in pairs, or in small groups—one of the basic concepts of a single theory and asked to find all the ways in which that concept is illustrated in or relevant to any literary work you assign. Or you might allow students to select one of the basic concepts of a theory the class is studying and explain to their classmates how an understanding of that concept helps illuminate the lyrics of a song of their own choosing, a magazine advertisement, a video game, or some other production of popular culture. To whatever uses you put this book, I think you’ll find that the seven

theoretical approaches it introduces, taken in any combination, provide a comparative experience, a sense of how our perceptions can change when we change the lens through which we’re looking. In this way, these theories, all of which are in current academic use, can help students develop a concrete, productive understanding of the diverse world in which we live. Our five literary works—Emily Dickinson’s “I started Early—Took my Dog” (c. 1862),

Preface for instructors xv

William Faulkner’s “A Rose for Emily” (1931), Ralph Ellison’s “The Battle Royal” (1952), Alice Walker’s “Everyday Use” (1973), and Jewelle Gomez’s “Don’t Explain” (1987)—were chosen because each lends itself to our selected theories in ways that are accessible to novices and that are typical of the kinds of perspectives on literature each theory offers us. Thus, each interpretation exercise serves as a template for future literary analysis. In addition, our five literary works are heavily weighted in favor of fiction because I have found that most novices respond most readily to stories and, indeed, most of the drama and much of the poetry we offer our introductory-level literature and compo- sition students have a perceptible narrative dimension. Thus, the interpretive skills and strategies students learn here will carry over to the interpretation of works from other literary genres, genres which are represented in each chapter’s “Questions for further practice” and in the “Literary works for further practice” provided in Appendix F.

Responding to pedagogical challenges

Of course, Using Critical Theory is not intended as a complete introduction-to- literature textbook: for example, it does not define such basic literary vocabulary as plot, character, setting, stage directions, rhyme, or meter. Nevertheless, the book addresses several common problems encountered by students new to the study of literature, problems which I suspect you’ve encountered in the classroom many times. For example, Chapter 1, “Critical theory and you,” explains, among other things, the difference between an opinion and a thesis, the purpose of a literary interpretation, and how we can analyze the meaning of a literary work without knowing what the author intended. Chapter 2, “Using concepts from reader-response theory to understand our own literary inter- pretations,” includes an explanation of the difference between a symbolic interpretation justified by the literary work and a symbolic interpretation arbitrarily imposed by a reader’s personal response to the work. This same chapter also explains the difference between a text’s representation of human behavior and its endorsement of that behavior, which students’ personal responses to a literary work often lead them to confuse. Chapter 3, “Using concepts from New Critical theory to understand literature,” aims to solidify students’ understanding of thesis-and-support argumentation, which remains an area of pedagogical frustration for many of us. Moreover, the interpretation exercises provided in Chapters 4 through 9, in addition to their primary function as sample literary applications of our remaining selected theories, are all lessons in close reading, for each exercise guides students through the process of collecting textual evidence to support the interpretation at hand. Students are thus encouraged to see the equal importance of two aspects of current critical practice that they often mistakenly believe are mutually exclusive: (1) that there is more than one valid interpretation of a literary text; and (2) that every interpretation requires adequate textual support. The goal here is to

xvi Preface for instructors

correct a misconception you’ve probably encountered in the classroom all too often: once students have accepted that there is no single correct interpretation of a literary work, they frequently conclude that their own interpretations do not need to be supported with textual evidence. Finally, Chapter 10, “Holding on to what you’ve learned,” in addition to its other functions, brings students back to the kind of personal connection that opens Chapter 1: how their study of critical theory can help them understand, develop, and articulate their personal values within the context of the changing world in which they live. Perhaps you will find, as I have, that this last connection—between students’

sense of themselves as individuals and the cultures that shape them—is the most valuable connection the study of critical theory can help students make. For it is a connection that has the capacity to spark imaginative inquiry in every domain of their education. And it seems to me that few things motivate students more thoroughly—if we can just find the keys that open those doors—than their own imaginations.

Preface for instructors xvii

Acknowledgments

My sincere gratitude goes to the following friends and colleagues for their many and varied acts of kindness during the writing of this book: the late Forrest Armstrong, Kathleen Blumreich, Brent Chesley, Patricia Clark, Dianne Griffin Crowder, Michelle DeRose, Milt Ford, Roger Gilles, Chance Guyette, Michael Hartnett, Avis Hewitt, Rick Iadonisi, Regina Salmi, Christopher Shinn, Gary Stark, Veta Tucker, and Brian White. Special thanks also go to Dean Frederick Antczak; to Grand Valley State

University for its generous financial support of this project; and to my editors at Routledge, Emma Nugent and Polly Dodson. Finally, the deepest appreciation is expressed to Hannah Berkowitz, Jeremy

Franceschi, Gretchen Cline, and, especially, Mac Davis for service above and beyond the call of friendship—and to Lenny Briscoe for his untiring and invaluable support.

Permissions

“I started early—took my dog” by Emily Dickinson – Reprinted by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.

“A Rose for Emily” by William Faulkner – Reproduced with permission of Curtis Brown Group Ltd, London on behalf of The Estate of William Faulkner, Copyright © William Faulkner 1931.

“Rose for Emily”, copyright © 1930 and renewed 1958 byWilliam Faulkner, fromCollected Stories of William Faulkner byWilliam Faulkner. Used by permission of Random House, Inc.

“A Rose for Emily”. Copyright 1930 & renewed 1958 by William Faulkner, fromCollected Stories of William Faulkner byWilliam Faulkner. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.

“Battle Royal”, copyright © 1948 by Ralph Ellison, from Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. Used by permission of Random House, Inc.

“Everyday Use” from In Love & Trouble: Stories of Black Women, copyright © 1973 by Alice Walker, reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc.

Every effort has been made to trace and contact copyright holders. The publishers would be pleased to hear from any copyright holders not acknowl- edged here, so that this acknowledgements page may be amended at the earliest opportunity.

Chapter 1

Critical theory and you

If you’re reading this textbook, then you’ve probably got a lot on your plate right now. You might be preparing to enter college. Or you might be in your first or second year of undergraduate studies. Perhaps you’re taking your first literature course. If you’re specializing in literary studies, at this point you might be a bit concerned about what you’ve gotten yourself into. If you’re not specializing in literary studies, you might be wondering if you can get away with skipping this part of the course or putting forth a minimal effort. After all, you might be thinking, “What does critical theory have to do with me?” As I hope this book will show you, critical theory has everything to do with you, no matter what your educational or career plans might be.

What does critical theory have to do with me?

First, most of my students find that the study of critical theory increases their ability to think creatively and to reason logically, and that’s a powerful com- bination of vocational skills. You will see, for example, how the skills fostered by studying critical theory would be useful to lawyers in arguing their cases and to teachers in managing the interpersonal dynamics that play out in their classrooms. In fact, as you read the following chapters I think you will find that critical theory develops your ability to see any given problem from a variety of points of view, which is a skill worth having no matter what career you pursue. As important, if not more important, than your future role on the job

market is your future role as a member of the global community. Many people are coming to realize that the numerous and diverse cultures inhabiting planet Earth each has its own history of struggle and achievement as well as its own part to play on the modern stage of national and world events. However, while each culture has its own unique heritage, we share the need to learn to live together, to learn to work with and for one another, if we want our planet to survive. And the issue becomes more complex when we realize that cultures don’t occupy tidy bins determined by race or ethnicity alone. In reality, cultures consist of patchworks of overlapping groups that define

themselves in terms of many factors, including race, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic class. It’s easy for each of us to think ourselves tolerant of cultural groups other

than our own, to believe that we are unbiased, without prejudice. But it’s not meaningful to say that we are tolerant of groups about which we know little or nothing. For as soon as our tolerance is tested we might find that the tol- erance we thought we had doesn’t really exist. For example, take a minute to think about the schools you attended before you entered college. Didn’t the student population of at least one of those schools, if not all of them, divide itself into social groups based largely on the kinds of cultural factors listed above? If your school had a diverse student body, didn’t students tend to form close bonds only with members of their own race? Didn’t students from wealthy, socially prominent families tend to stick together? Didn’t students from poorer neighborhoods tend to stick together as well? Didn’t students with strong religious ties tend to be close friends with students of the same religion? If your school environment was safe enough for gay students to identify themselves, wasn’t there a social group based on gay sexual orientation, which may have been subdivided into two more groups: gay male and gay female students? You can see the strength of these cultural ties if your school had athletic teams made up of students from diverse backgrounds. The athletes may have bonded with their teammates at school, but how many of them formed close out-of-school friendships with athletes of a different race, class, or sexual orientation? Of course, it seems natural for us to form close ties with people who share

our cultural background because we have so much in common. The unfor- tunate thing is that we tend to form only superficial relationships, or none at all, with people from other cultural groups. And worse, we tend to classify other groups according to misleading stereotypes that prevent us from getting to know one another as individuals. We might even find ourselves looking at members of another group as if they were creatures from another planet, “not like us” and therefore not as good, not as trustworthy, and in worst-case scenarios, not as human. One solution to this problem is to begin to under- stand one another by learning to see the world from diverse points of view, by learning what it might be like to “walk a mile in another person’s moccasins.” And though it might sound like a big claim, that is precisely what critical theory can help us learn because it teaches us to see the world from multiple perspectives. Naturally, critical theory has specific benefits for students of literature. For

example, critical theory can increase your understanding of literary texts by helping you see more in them than you’ve seen before. And by giving you more to see in literature, critical theory can make literature more interesting to read. As you’ll see in the following chapters, critical theory can also provide you with multiple interpretations of the same literary work, which will increase the possibility of finding interesting essay topics for your literature

2 Using critical theory

classes. Finally, a practice that is increasing in popularity in literary studies is the application of critical theory to cultural productions other than literature— for example, to movies, song lyrics, and television shows—and even to your own personal experience, which will help you see more and understand more of the world in which you live.

What will I learn about critical theory from this book?

So now that I’ve been trying to convince you of the value of critical theory for the last several paragraphs, perhaps it’s time to explain in some detail what critical theory is. If you’ve looked at the table of contents of this textbook, you’ve probably discovered that what is commonly called critical theory actually consists of several critical theories. And what is most interesting, each theory focuses our attention on a different area of human experience—and therefore on a different aspect of literature—and gives us its own set of concepts with which to understand the world in which we live and the literature that is part and parcel of our world. Think of each theory as a different lens or a different pair of eyeglasses through which we see a different picture of the world and a different view of any literary text we read. To help you get a feel for how each critical theory changes what we see in a literary work, here’s a brief overview of the theories from which we’ll draw in this book. Reader-response theory focuses on how readers make meaning—on what

happens to us as we read a particular literary work. It asks us to analyze how, exactly, we interact with a given text as we read and interpret it. In Chapter 2 we’ll use concepts from this theory to help you understand some of the per- sonal sources of your own individual interpretations of literature—that is, to help you understand why each of us tends to interpret particular literary texts the way we do. For this reason, Chapter 2 won’t show you how to analyze literary texts; instead, it will help you understand the ways in which we bring our own beliefs and experiences to our literary interpretations. In addition, Chapter 2 will offer you ways of dealing with the personal, subjective nature of interpretation. Once you’re in touch with the personal factors influencing your interpretations, you’ll be ready to bring that awareness to subsequent chapters in which we use concepts from different critical theories to analyze literary works. Whereas reader-response theory focuses on the experiences of the reader

during the act of reading, New Critical theory focuses exclusively on the ways in which language operates in a literary text to make meaning. Chapter 3 will provide concepts from New Critical theory to help you interpret literature thematically—that is, in terms of a literary text’s meaning as a whole con- cerning general topics about human experience, such as love and hate, tradition and change, the initiation into adulthood, conformity and rebellion, and the like. And in order to help you analyze how a text’s meaning is linked to its language, this chapter will help increase your understanding of such literary

Critical theory and you 3

devices as, for example, setting, characterization, point of view, ambiguity, imagery, symbol, and metaphor. Many of you will be familiar with this approach because it resembles the way we are usually taught to interpret lit- erary works in high-school or preparatory-school literature classes. In addition, Chapter 3 will help you improve and expand your ability to generate a thesis (a debatable opinion that forms the main point of your interpretation) and to support your thesis with evidence from the literary work you are interpreting. Taken together, then, Chapters 2 and 3 should help you develop both the self-awareness and interpretive skills that will serve you well as you move on to the critical theories offered in the following chapters. Chapters 4 through 9 introduce you to a range of critical theories that

I believe you will find very interesting as well as very helpful to your study of literature. In Chapter 4, we’ll use concepts from psychoanalytic theory to interpret literature. Psychoanalytic theory asks us to examine the emotional causes of the characters’ behavior and to view a given story, poem, or play as the unfolding of the characters’ personal psychological dramas. In contrast, Marxist theory, as we’ll see in Chapter 5, asks us to look at the ways in which characters’ behavior and plot events are influenced by the socioeconomic conditions of the time and place in which the characters live. From a Marxist perspective, all human experiences, including personal psychology, are products of the socio- economic system—which is usually some sort of class system—in which human beings live. In Chapter 6, we’ll see how feminist theory asks us to look at the ways in which traditional gender roles, which cast men as naturally dominant and women as naturally submissive, affect characters’ behavior and plot events. Lesbian, gay, and queer theories, as Chapter 7 demonstrates, ask us to examine the ways in which literary works reveal human sexuality as a complex phenomenon that cannot be fully understood in terms of what is currently defined as heterosexual experience. In Chapter 8, we’ll see how African American theory focuses our attention on the many different ways in which race and racial issues operate in literary texts. Postcolonial theory, as we’ll see in Chapter 9, asks us to look at the ways in which literature offers us a view of human experience as the product of a combination of cultural factors, including race, class, gender, sexual orientation, and cultural beliefs and customs. Finally, Chapter 10, “Holding on to what you’ve learned,” offers shorthand

overviews both of the critical theories you encountered in Chapters 2 through 9 and of the interpretation exercises provided to help you learn to use these theories. In addition, Chapter 10 revisits the relationship between critical theory and cultural criticism discussed later in this chapter. Chapter 10 closes by examining a question implied by our use of reader-response concepts in Chapter 2, which is also a question raised whenever any critical theory attempts to promote cultural understanding and the appreciation of cultural difference: How can critical theory help us understand, develop, and give voice to our personal values, particularly as those values affect and are affected by the values of others?

4 Using critical theory

Of course, there are many more critical theories than those introduced here. For example, in addition to the theories we draw upon in this book, courses in critical theory may include units on structuralism, deconstruction, new historicism, rhetorical criticism, or Jungian theory, among others. The theories I’ve chosen for you were selected because I believe you will find them most helpful as you develop your understanding of literature and most relevant to your life. And these theories will lay a strong foundation for further study in critical theory, should you choose to pursue your education in that direction. Analogously, the five literary texts that appear at the end of this book

(Appendices A–E) and are used for our interpretation exercises were chosen for specific reasons. Each text shows you something useful about our selected theories. And collectively, these literary works offer a range of authorial voices in terms of race, gender, and sexual orientation. These works include Emily Dickinson’s poem #520, “I started Early—Took my Dog” (c. 1862); William Faulkner’s story “A Rose for Emily” (1931); Ralph Ellison’s “The Battle Royal,” which is the first chapter of his well-known novel Invisible Man (1952); a story by Alice Walker entitled “Everyday Use” (1973); and Jewelle Gomez’s story “Don’t Explain” (1987). Although, as you can see, we focus primarily on fiction, our theories can be used to interpret any genre of literature. For like short stories and novels, most plays and poems contain a narrative element—they tell a story—and stories usually offer us the best starting places for learning to use concepts from critical theory. One secret for developing a good initial relationship to critical theory is to

not expect of yourself more than you should at this stage of the game. For example, although you should be able to understand the interpretation exercises I offer you in each chapter—or be able to ask questions about those exercises that will allow your instructor to help you—you should not expect yourself, at first, to come up with similar interpretations completely on your own. At this point in your acquaintance with theory, it is quite natural that you should need some guidelines to help you develop your own theoretical interpretations. The “Interpretation exercises” found in Chapters 3 through 9 offer those guidelines: each interpretation exercise demonstrates a different aspect of the theory at hand and thus serves as a model for analyzing literature on your own. In addition, to help insure that you take one step at a time, each chapter

presents only the basic concepts of the theory it addresses. This will help you get a firm grasp of the theory at hand without overwhelming you with the kind of full-blown explanations of each theory you would need in a course devoted exclusively to critical theory. If you want to learn more about a particular theory, I suggest you try “Taking the next step” at the end of any chapter that especially interests you. There you will find “Questions for further practice,” to help you gain experience using the theoretical concepts you’ve learned in that chapter by applying them to additional literary works, and a selected bibliography, “Suggestions for further reading,” to guide you to additional discussions of the critical theory at hand. Finally, Appendix F, “Additional

Critical theory and you 5

literary works for further practice,” recommends a range of specific titles that lend themselves readily to our selected critical theories. To customize Using Critical Theory for your own purposes, you can study

just those theories that interest you or that your instructor selects for you. Each chapter is written to stand on its own and will make sense without requiring you to read other chapters. Once you have read the chapters you’ve selected, it might also be useful to “read across” those chapters, so to speak, by rereading the different interpretations of the same literary work offered in different chapters. See what happens, for example, as Alice Walker’s “Everyday Use” is interpreted through the successive lenses of the theories you’ve studied. You will notice, especially if you look at all of the interpretation exercises offered for any one of our literary pieces, that some theories work better than others for analyzing a particular text. Indeed, literary works tend to lend them- selves more readily to interpretation through some theoretical frameworks than through others. For this reason, our interpretation exercises analyze our sample literary works in the order in which those works are most accessible to the theory being used in that chapter. Clearly, the ability to pick the appropriate theory for a literary work you want

to interpret, or to pick an appropriate literary work for a theory you want to use, is a skill worth developing. For most of us, it’s a question of trial and error. We experimentally apply different theories to a piece of literature we want to analyze until we find one that yields the most interesting and perhaps the most thorough interpretation. Of course, the ability to use any given theory to analyze any given text differs from person to person, so the key is to find the combination of theory and literary text that works for you. In fact, you might see some of the ways in which different readers can use the same theory to come up with different readings of the same literary work if you or your instructor interprets any of our five literary texts in ways that differ from the interpretation exercises I offer you.

Critical theory and cultural criticism

One of the most eye-opening and enjoyable features of critical theory is the way it can be used to practice cultural criticism. Contrary to what you might be thinking, cultural criticism does not refer to the evaluation of works of “high” culture, such as opera, ballet, symphonic music, or Renaissance painting. Rather, cultural criticism sees works of “high” and “popular” culture as equally important expressions of the societies that produce them. Indeed, cultural criticism often crosses the line between the two, for instance, by analyzing a work of “high” culture alongside a popular version of that work in order to see what similarities and differences the two can reveal about the societies from which they emerged. Think, for example, of Shakespeare’sRomeo and Juliet (c. 1595) andWest Side Story (directed by Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins, 1961), a musical film adaptation of Shakespeare’s play set amidst New York City gang rivalry in the late 1950s.

6 Using critical theory

Cultural criticism focuses primarily, however, on works of popular culture, on productions intended for popular consumption, such as movies, television and radio shows, song lyrics, “pulp” fiction, cartoons, games, toys, television and magazine ads, fairy tales, urban legends, children’s books and curriculum materials, self-help books, beauty contests, professional sports, state fairs, and the like. And as this list indicates, cultural criticism also crosses the line between forms of entertainment and information. So let’s think of cultural criticism as any analysis of any production of popular culture that seeks to understand what that production is “saying” to members of the culture that produced it. Let me explain. As you develop your ability to interpret literature using concepts from different

critical theories, you’ll probably catch yourself noticing new things—related to one or more of these concepts—about your favorite television program, about a movie you’ve recently seen, or even about a comic strip in the newspaper or a magazine ad. That is, you’ll probably start practicing cultural criticism with- out realizing that you’re doing so. For as we’ve just seen, television shows, movies, comic strips, advertisements, and just about any other cultural production intended for the general public are all examples of popular culture. They all grow out of a particular set of customs and values generally shared by a par- ticular population. Therefore, they all reveal something about the culture that creates them, whether they intend to do so or not. One way to discover what popular-culture productions reveal about the

culture that creates them—that is, one way to practice cultural criticism—is to analyze the cultural “messages” these productions send to the members of that culture or, as cultural critics put it, the cultural work these productions perform in reflecting, reinforcing, or transforming the values, beliefs, and perceptions of the culture that produces them. And concepts from the critical theories we’ll study in this book can help us do just that. For as we’ll see shortly, in addition to sharpening our interpretive skills, concepts from each critical theory provide a foundation for asking specific questions about cultural productions, questions that will help us “decode,” so to speak, the cultural messages being sent by those productions. Let me offer you two brief examples of cultural criticism suggested by my students. Although you may be familiar with these examples, you may not have thought of them as instances of cultural criticism. Suppose I want to analyze the availability of a certain doll intended for pre-teen

American girls; offered with a variety of hair colors, eye colors, and apparel; and extremely popular nationwide: the “doll of the year,” so to speak, which every girl owns or wants to own. If I pay particular attention to the dolls’ physical features in terms of their apparent race or ethnicity, I can use concepts from African American, postcolonial, and psychoanalytic theories to help me answer questions like the following. Do most or all of these dolls have white skin and Anglo-European facial features? Do most of them have blond or light-brown hair and blue or light-colored eyes? If the toy company that makes these dolls has produced a version intended as an African American doll, does that version have tan rather than medium-brown or dark-brown

Critical theory and you 7

skin? Does that version have the same Anglo-European features as the white dolls? Can the African American version of the doll be found as readily in stores—especially in stores located in racially integrated regions—as the white versions? Can Latina, Asian American, or Native American versions of the doll be found readily in stores located where these Americans live and shop? How does a parent of color decide, when there are no ethnic versions of the coveted doll available locally, whether or not to give his or her child a white version of the doll? What does it mean if a young girl of color prefers a white version or would reject a medium- or dark-brown version of the doll? In short, what cultural message does the racially based limited availability of

these dolls send to the doll-purchasing and doll-receiving members of the community concerning the value of certain kinds of dolls? And what message is being sent concerning the value of certain kinds of little girls? What dangers to children’s self-image and self-esteem are inherent in racially or ethnically biased marketing? Ideally, of course, children of all races and ethnicities would want to play with dolls of all races and ethnicities. How does the limited availability of anything but white dolls discourage this ideal? Can you find a brand of doll, or of any kind of children’s plaything, that offers more equitable multicultural representation and availability? It might be interesting to analyze the cultural messages sent by two such different toys. For, as noted earlier, although productions of popular culture often reflect and reinforce the values, beliefs, and perceptions of the culture that creates them, those productions also can transform the values, beliefs, and perceptions of the culture that creates them. Similarly, I can use concepts from postcolonial and Marxist theories to help

me examine video games intended for teenaged boys and marketed in many countries. I might analyze, for instance, video games in which players try to accumulate some form of wealth or social rank by shooting as many as possi- ble of the enemy figures that appear on the screen. The following questions might help me discover the cultural messages being sent by such games. What do the enemy figures look like? Do their physical features or apparel make them look less than or other than human? In other words, is the enemy dehumanized in some way? Why are the accumulation of great wealth and the acquisition of high social rank such motivating rewards? Why is competition against other players often an important part of the game? People who are not interested in cultural criticism would probably respond to these questions by saying, “It’s human nature to dehumanize our enemies, to be strongly motivated by the prospect of accumulating great wealth and acquiring high social rank, and to enjoy competition.” If you are interested in cultural criticism, however, you will want to know how concepts from postcolonial and Marxist theories can offer you ways of responding to these questions quite differently by showing you the connections between the rules governing a given video game and the values supporting the culture that creates and plays that game. To approach this kind of video game from a different perspective, we might use

concepts from feminist theory and from gay, lesbian, and queer theories to analyze

8 Using critical theory

the definition of masculinity—and perhaps the definition of femininity— promoted by these games. What masculine qualities does a player need in order to play the game successfully? What masculine qualities seem to be valued in the world created by the game? What personal qualities are devalued or seem to be irrelevant? Are female figures present in the game? What do they look like, and how are they dressed? What kinds of behavior do they exhibit? How do male and female figures relate to figures of the opposite sex? How do they relate to figures of the same sex? What seems to be the role of the female figures in the game? The issue here isn’t whether or not we play any particular kind of video

game or whether we approve or disapprove of any particular kind of video game. Rather, the issue here is our ability to notice and interpret the messages we receive every day from video games and from all the other modes of popular entertainment and information that are so much a part of our culture that we may not give them a second thought. These examples might seem, at this point, rather simple. As you become

acquainted with concepts from our critical theories, however, you’ll see how the everyday products and practices we take for granted are, in fact, much more complex and interesting than most of us realize. To that end, each chapter’s “Food for further thought” section includes an extended example of the ways in which cultural criticism relates to the critical theory addressed in that chapter. You will also find, included in the list of “Questions for further practice” that closes each chapter, an opportunity to apply the theory at hand to a production of popular culture in addition to the literary works to which these questions primarily apply. Chapter 10, the final chapter, offers further discussion of the relationship between critical theory and cultural criticism and includes guidelines for a cultural analysis of an episode from an old television series still popular today. When you reach the final chapter, I think you’ll be in a position to appreciate that the cultural analysis suggested there is somewhat more complicated than it might appear to the uninitiated eye.

Three questions about interpretation most students ask

By this point, I hope I’ve answered most of the questions you have about our reasons for studying critical theory and the ways in which this book can help you get started. However, there are three questions that seem to come up whenever students interpret literature and especially when they begin to use critical theories to help them develop their interpretations. So let’s take a brief look at those questions now.

My interpretation is my opinion, so how can it be wrong?

Yes, your interpretation is your opinion. That’s what it’s supposed to be. In fact, the definition of the word thesis is debatable opinion, and your thesis is the

Critical theory and you 9

main point of your argument when you write a paper that offers an inter- pretation of a literary work. But notice the word debatable in the definition of the word thesis. When you’re giving your interpretation of a literary work, you’re not saying “I like this work” or “I don’t like this work.” True, “I like this work” and “I don’t like this work” are opinions that can’t be wrong. (Your instructor can’t tell you that you’re wrong unless your instructor wants to suggest that you’re lying about your opinion!) But that kind of opinion is not an interpretation. It’s not a thesis because it’s not debatable. A reader’s interpretation doesn’t tell us whether or not he or she likes a

given literary work. An interpretation tells us what the reader thinks the literary work means. An interpretation is thus an opinion that is debatable. Your interpretation, therefore, can be judged right or wrong by other readers, just as you can judge their interpretations right or wrong. So the point in offering an interpretation is not just to state what you think the literary work means—not just to give your opinion—but to use evidence from the literary work to explain why you think your interpretation is valid. Interpreting a literary work, then, is like being both a detective and a lawyer: first you have to figure out what you think the work means; then you have to “make a case” for your opinion that will be as convincing to others as you can make it.

Do authors deliberately use concepts from critical theories when they write literary works?

Once students begin to use critical theories to interpret literature, they often see so many theoretical concepts in literary works that they think the authors must have put those concepts there on purpose. How else, many students wonder, could these critical theories show us so much about literature? The truth is, how- ever, that authors may or may not deliberately use concepts from critical theories when they write literary works. Let’s use psychoanalytic theory as an example. We are told that D.H. Lawrence knew some of Freud’s theories and

deliberately used psychoanalytic concepts when he wrote Sons and Lovers, a novel that focuses on a young man’s rather consuming and self-destructive oedipal attachment to his mother. But many authors were unfamiliar with psychoanalysis—or with any of the critical theories we use today—when they wrote literary works. Shakespeare, for example, lived and died long before Sigmund Freud developed his psychoanalytic approach to understanding human behavior. Yet we can use psychoanalytic concepts to interpret Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets, for instance, to understand his characters’ motivations or to gain insight into some of the psychological forces operating in the society represented in his work. For Freud didn’t invent the psychological forces that motivate human beings. As he himself stated, Freud simply observed those psychological forces and gave them names. That is, Freud discovered some- thing that had always existed and that would continue to exist whether or not anyone ever discovered it: the human psyche.

10 Using critical theory

Shakespeare, therefore, didn’t need psychoanalytic theory to create his emotionally complex and psychologically conflicted characters. All he had to do was represent human behavior accurately: his characterizations automatically included the operations of the human psyche. However, while Shakespeare didn’t need psychoanalytic theory to create his masterpieces, psychoanalytic theorists believe that psychoanalytic concepts can help us understand the work of Shakespeare and other writers more profoundly than we might be able to do without those concepts. And indeed, all schools of critical theory, including those upon which we draw in this book, make the same kinds of arguments for the usefulness of their approaches to literary interpretation.

How can we interpret a literary work without knowing what the author intended the work to mean?

When we interpret a literary work we assume that it may contain more meanings or fewer meanings or different meanings from those the author intended it to have. After all, writers are human beings. Sometimes what they produce goes beyond their expectations, beyond what is called authorial intention. On the other hand, sometimes a literary work doesn’t live up to what its author intended it to mean: sometimes authors fail to achieve their intentions. And even if literature were nothing more than the embodiment of authors’ intended meanings, we usually don’t know, or can’t be certain, what an author intended a particular work to mean. Many authors whose works we read are long dead, and there is no record of their intended meaning. Some authors, however, wrote essays in which they explained what they

wanted their work to mean, and, of course, many authors are alive and can tell us what they intended their work to mean. Yet even then, we still have to face the problem of whether a given literary work achieves the author’s intention, fails to achieve the author’s intention, or is even richer and more complex than the author expected it to be. All we really have to go on is the literary work itself, even when we know the author’s intention. So that’s what we go on: the literary work itself. Our interpretation can draw on historical elements relevant to the author’s life and times, but our interpretation must be supported by adequate evidence—elements of plot, characterization, dialogue, setting, imagery, and so forth—from the literary text. Therefore, even when we feel that our interpretation must be what the author intended the work to mean, we generally say “the text seems to intend” or “the text implies” rather than “the author seems to intend” or “the author implies.”

Why feeling confused can be a good sign

Perhaps one of the most unfortunate things about formal education is that it trains us to fear failure to such a degree that we become afraid to take risks. At the first feeling of confusion we often become terrified. When confronted

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with a new subject or even a new idea, the first time we silently say the words “I don’t get it”—the first time we feel confused—we usually experience any number of negative reactions that generally involve giving up without a fight: “Why should I waste my time when I’m not going to understand this anyway?” That is, we assume that our confusion is a sign of probable, if not inevitable, failure. Confusion, however, can mean just the opposite when we’re learning

something new. It can mean that we’ve let go of an old, comfortable way of seeing things in order to see something new. Because we’re trying to see something new, however, we can’t quite get a firm grasp of it immediately. It’s like crossing a river: we’re temporarily stuck in the middle. We’ve let go of the riverbank on which we were comfortably seated, but we’ve not yet reached the bank on the other side. This experience is especially common when we’re learning critical theory because critical theory requires that we temporarily let go of old ways of seeing things—old ways of seeing literature, society, ourselves—in order to see them in new ways. So whatever your experience as you work your way through this textbook,

remember that it’s natural to feel confused at times. In fact, I think you should honor your confusion because it means that you’ve been courageous enough to let go of your usual way of understanding things in order to try a new way that you haven’t quite grasped yet. You’ve let go of the riverbank in order to cross to the other side of the river. Although it may take a little while to get to that other side, you can’t even begin the journey if you don’t let go of solid ground. And no matter how you look at it, that’s a brave and a very worthwhile act.

12 Using critical theory

Chapter 2

Using concepts from reader-response theory to understand our own literary interpretations

Why should we learn about reader-response theory?

Most of us are intrigued, I think, by the prospect of learning something interesting or useful about ourselves. That’s precisely what reader-response theory offers us, and perhaps that’s why it has become a popular framework for the study of literature. There are, however, several different kinds of reader-response theory, and

they aren’t all interested in the same kinds of self-knowledge. Some reader- response approaches examine the ways in which our literary interpretations are influenced by social factors: for example, by the social or cultural group with which we identify, by the system of education that tells us what literary works are important and how they should be interpreted, or even by the classmates whose opinions influence our responses as we read literary works together. Other reader-response approaches analyze literary works themselves in order to determine how our responses are guided by the way a work is written: for instance, the amount of information provided about characters and plot, the order in which that information is provided, and the attitude of the narrator that provides it. Finally, some reader-response approaches try to determine how our responses to literary works are influenced by our personal experiences, by the emotional or psychological dimension of our daily lives: for example, our likes and dislikes, our loves, our fears, our desires, and our memories. It is this last kind of reader-response theory that we are interested in here.

For despite their differences, all reader-response theories have one important thing in common. They all believe that readers play an active role in making meaning when they read. So let’s begin at this common point by focusing, in this chapter, on the following question: how does each of us make meaning when we read a literary work? And to find answers to this question, let’s use a reader-response approach that helps us examine the emotional events that occur within us as we read. For although we might believe that our literary interpretations are completely objective and based solely upon “what happens” in a story, poem, or play, in fact a good deal of what we think happens in a literary text, and what we think the text means, comes from the history of our

personal experiences, which acts as a kind of emotional filter through which we perceive the literary work. It seems reasonable, then, to see if we can improve our ability to understand and enjoy literature by improving our ability to understand the role that our personal responses play in our literary interpretations. One well-known framework for exploring the personal dimension of our

individual reading processes is offered by Norman Holland,1 who suggests that we respond to literary texts in much the same way that we respond to experiences in our daily lives. Holland believes that each of us has what he calls an identity theme, which is the pattern of our emotional challenges and coping strategies by which we respond to people and events on an everyday basis. To offer a simple example, if I don’t trust people who remind me of my emotionally manipulative Aunt Betty, then I won’t trust literary characters who remind me of her. And if I deal with my negative feelings about my Aunt Betty by refusing to see anything good in her at all—by reducing her to her character flaw so that I don’t have to deal with her emotionally—then I will deal in the same way with literary characters that remind me of her: by refusing to see anything good in them at all. In short, the same kinds of people, places, and events that create anxiety and

activate my defenses in my everyday life will create anxiety and activate my defenses when I see representations of those kinds of people, places, and events in—or project them onto—a literary work. For obvious reasons, Holland calls this reading experience, which can occur for different reasons at multiple points throughout our reading of a literary work, the defense mode. To go back to the example of Aunt Betty, I will go into defense mode as soon as I spot a literary character that reminds me of her because, although I’m probably not aware of it, this reminder makes me anxious. My defenses are activated because I feel in need of some emotional protection. When we are in defense mode, we will interpret what we are reading, not

in a manner that reflects the actual words on the page, but in a manner that reduces our anxiety. In other words, we will imagine that the troubling passage means whatever our defenses require it to mean at that point in time. Holland calls this part of the reading process the fantasy mode. For example, my defenses having been raised by encountering a literary character that reminds me of my Aunt Betty, I will see only the negative side of the portrayal even if the character is portrayed positively in some respects. Most probably without rea- lizing it, I will view this character in a very limited way so that—just as I do in my relationship with my Aunt Betty—I can avoid dealing with the emotions it will otherwise create in me. For many of us, however, it is rather difficult to know when we are in

defense mode or fantasy mode. For these two modes occur in order to keep us from knowing something we don’t want to know about ourselves and, therefore, about the literary work we are reading. How, then, can we use Holland’s ideas to help us discover how our personal reading responses operate to influence our interpretation of literature?

14 Using critical theory

Perhaps the following common reading experiences can serve as vehicles for the kinds of responses described by Holland. That is, they can provide us with a hands-on, “up-close-and-personal” method to get in touch with and put into words the specific ways in which we are responding to a given literary work. In order to do so, these “response vehicles” focus on some of the very specific kinds of relationships that can occur between ourselves and various elements of a literary work.