Considering the Canon, Part II

A friend and I were walking back from town to my dorm.

Somehow Henry James came up.

Now I knew that my friend didn’t like Henry James; it was from him that I stole my copy of The Turn of the Screw, because he doesn’t actually read and one day in his room I was looking through his pile of books he was selling back to the library.

“That one sucked,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “You don’t read.”

“I like ghost stories,” I said, and took it.

Of course I liked The Turn of the Screw. I found it very interesting, and the reasons it would be studied in class are obvious.

“Henry James doesn’t suck. There’s a reason he’s in the canon. He’s a famous, classic American writer, like Nathaniel Hawthorne or Faulkner.” I retorted.

“How can Henry James be a classic writer if I’ve never even heard of him?”

“Well, you don’t read, for one. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of him.”

“I read him for class. And he sucked. The writing was horrible.”

“You’re just wrong. The writing is not horrible. Don’t you suppose that you read him in class for a reason?”

I already knew that somehow there was no winning this argument, because there was never winning arguments with this particular friend—he was one of those people—and it frustrated me hearing my preferred area of study being attacked by someone who knew nothing about it.

“C’mon. That’s all subjective. I have every right to think Henry James is a bad writer.”

“No, you don’t, because you’re wrong. Tell me why you think his writing is horrible and I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.”

The conversation went on, of course, in a similarly defensive and unproductive way. For the record, I do strongly believe that there is good writing, and bad writing, with a gray area in-between—but that one, if one knows anything about writing, is still able to objectively differentiate between the two extremes. It’s kind of like me and Bob Dylan. I don’t really ever listen to him, but I know he’s a damn good musician. Also, I did sincerely believe in Henry James, the canon, and the idea of the former being a part of the latter for a reason. I believed in my English professors. I believed everyone who told me that Henry James is important, and I still believe so today, even if perhaps he’s not quite as much of a household name as F. Scott Fitzgerald.

As I predicted earlier, though, there was no winning. My friend and I agreed to disagree, something we are both bad at doing.

But.

That’s all subjective.

Although my friend didn’t intend his statement to apply to the canon as a whole, if taken that way, he was rather correct—as much as I hate to admit it.

In my post last week, I brought up the subjective nature of the canon as one of the aspects of it that most bothers me. A lovely professor of mine spring semester (well, “lovely” may not be the best word; he was a very English-y English professor, rather tubby with gray muttonchops, but I apply the word “lovely” to anything or anyone I enjoy) brought this up randomly in class one day in a very off-handed way.

“Of course,” he said (as I paraphrase), “Who knows why [some random writer] is in this version of Norton and not the last one. I imagine one of the editors is doing a research project on her.”

Makes sense, but talk about disillusionment.

Growing up, the canon was a vague idea that took me a long time to grasp. I’m sure I looked it up on dictionary.com multiple times, just to make sure it meant what I thought it did. The trouble with the canon is that, in a way, it’s impossible to ever totally define. It’s fluid; it’s ever-changing, expanding to include this writer or that writer, and spitting out another. And then, if you turn to a different scholar, he or she may have a radically different idea of who is in the canon. In the world of the arts, however, you have to rely on what the “experts” believe, at least in the beginning, because there is no such thing as fact.

In my own experience reading works commonly found in the canon, it is easy to see how much personal opinions can vary from person to person even within such an acclaimed grouping of books. I hated As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. I found it extremely painful. And I hated the only Hemingway I’ve read so far, “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.” And, more than anything, I cannot stand Wuthering Heights. I hate it with the passion Heathcliff feels for Catherine.

Personal reactions aside—remember, I can respect Bob Dylan’s talent even if I don’t listen to him myself—any innocent reader is still left wondering what the criteria is for a book to go into the canon. Aha! Another subjective, twisting and turning, fluid set of ideas. There are no rigid rules for entry into the canon. There are some vague ideas, but nothing certain.

What’s somewhat disturbing about this is that all the information students are taught about important literature (and therefore, our history and values, to an extent) just comes down through a filter of other people’s opinions. First the canon editors, and then the teacher or professor. You have no choice but to trust them and rely on their expertise.

That paragraph makes me sound pretty paranoid, when in reality I do trust my professors and even those scholars somewhere off in the world canonizing stuff. But it does makes you wonder. Just today, a couple of the other interns and I were talking about how we were never taught the Beats in American Literature. The time constraint makes it impossible to teach everything, and perhaps you can objectively point out how the certain writers are more influential and important than Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg… but isn’t On the Road not only a bestseller, but one that is popular generation after generation, especially outside nerdy English students? That must’ve influenced the world somehow, and you definitely can’t say the same about Henry James. Just go ask Ken Kesey and the other drug culture participants of the 1960s.

As someone studying literature, how am I to take this? At what point do I turn my back on the canon and pursue only my own interests? And, as those interests become increasingly contemporary, I find this question even more urgent.

I still could care less about Wuthering Heights even after having studied it in class. I can see where As I Lay Dying is interesting from a more historical and social standpoint… but Wuthering Heights? (Sorry, professor!) It is generally considered a part of the canon, right? And who cares if you say it isn’t, anyway… let me ask around and I’m sure I’ll find someone with the “right” opinion.