Prompt #6, blog #3

In literature, as in real life, it’s rare to come across two or more people who have identical interpretations of the same text. Even if the text has an ending or particular area that largely is definite or ambiguous, there are several levels of readers of whom this extra level is lost on. Take, for example, this picture from Alice in Wonderland of the caterpillar upon his mushroom. In the classic story, one may interpret this illustration as having either a man’s face (with a pointy nose and chin) or an actual caterpillar’s face (with both front legs of the caterpillar being above his arms). As a child, I always defaulted to the humanoid face, although often thinking it odd; every few years I would again discover that this picture had the capabilities to represent him as a more proper caterpillar, and, at the age of each discovery, it became the gem of my reading. While we tend to illustrate stories in our minds when we read them (I, as a rule, tend to illustrate much less than others I know), this picture forces us to attend to how much humanity (vs. realism, although I hesitate to use such a word in relation to Alice in Wonderland) we like to assign the caterpillar.

When you’re trying to read a text for analysis, however, it’s much more likely that you’ll initially uncover this prized double-meaning. One done as subtly as the above illustration really encourages thought outside of the reading. The trick to dealing with ambiguity, I believe, has not so much to do with picking a certain direction the story should go but analyzing your initial reaction to a piece of largely ambiguous text, and approaching the many possibilities to search for meaning. Why am I able to react to the caterpillar as more or less human? Does defining him as either change my reading experience? Do I feel differently towards him as a character because of my interpretation? With the proper push, ambiguity can be very rewarding to the more analytical reader.

Prompt #4, blog #2

It’s fascinating how often nature repeats itself, especially so when we consider that two incidents that seem wholly individual yet nearly identical to each other can develop independently and be published nearly at the same time (such examples are found numerously in particle physics findings). We’ve all been in a situation in which two people have simultaneously cried out of some wholly individual epiphany or thought and have become shocked at their counterpart’s similar thought. My friends and I have, jokingly, deemed this imaginary place from which two or more people accidentally grab the same thought the “thought cloud.”

Permutations, like infinity, remain elusive to our brains and while we can’t even attempt to fathom the amount of variables that contribute to making, say, a language, a person, or even a book, much less the combinations that can result from those variables, there must come a point when something, somewhere repeats. Yet we keep adding variables to the equation. The same combination of genes could generate a wholly different person in the 1800’s and 2012, not least of all because we use computers and other forms of technology (and operate in a very different social system) that could not be imagined in the 1800’s. While I do believe that literature, like many other things, is often a new combination of essential basic components, I also feel it’s fair to acknowledge that new components are being added even daily. Foster addresses this way of building onto old basics by suggesting that all of being is part of “one story” and while I agree with him, I can’t help thinking he was a big fan of The NeverEnding Story.

When writing or reading a story, I believe it is best that one be able to embrace and search for allusions or structure, characters, et cetera that resemble those of another work. Like Foster notes, there’s a certain thrill in finding either an intentional or unintentional Easter Egg. The ability to participate in building on and refining the information we find valuable and immortalize in our texts is overwhelming and awe-inspiring. And having the opportunity to partake in a discussion of a topic both you and your counterpart are simultaneously inspired of is as equally initially intellectually stimulating as it is a mind-boggling concept of which to think.

Prompt #2, blog #1

                Rereading can be a great key to analyzing a piece of literature. It allows for a new emotional approach that has the possibility of either enhancing or detracting from a text. Most very accomplished books achieve multiple layers of analysis (while occasionally still achieving resonance and poetic structure as in Shakespeare). Personally, I prefer to reread texts after a length of time away from the book (like Stephen King suggests for written work in his book, On Writing) in order to reevaluate not only the book but also my responses. Often, as many previous blog posts have suggested, these books are our favorites or those most emotionally touching. Rereading can enhance our reading experience or alternatively diminish it.

                My expectations of an “accomplished” text, or book, can somewhat rival that of William Darcy’s accomplished lady (That is, witty, somewhat narcissistic, well accomplished in both allusions and intertextuality, humorous—in a self gratified way, eloquent language and structure, set in a complex world with characters and plot equally of depth and believable development and intelligence, etc) and as such, I really appreciate (and in some cases expect) a book that can withstand multiple rereading while the reader is still able to glean some new meaning or allusion previously undetected. We see such excellent texts in all that is written by Shakespeare, but also in the works of Douglas Adam and even Katie Bridges. In such works (and even in less well-composed texts), rereading phrases, paragraphs, or even an entire text for any of a variety of reasons (refreshment, for future allusion, reevaluation, etc) is a wonderful practice. Additionally, attempting to constantly call to memory books or texts you’ve read in the past really encourages such rereadings and more developed analyses. In my experience, rereading any amount of text can be infinitely helpful and should be encouraged. Yet the quality of the reread largely depends on the text subjected to said rereading.

Prompt 3

I don't believe I have very much experience with sonnets. I'm sure I have read a handful of sonnets throughout my life, but I wouldn't be able to recollect them. The structure of a sonnet is basically written in stone, for the fact that it's more than likely always a square. This structure gives it stability and consistency throughout the reading. There's no adjustments the reader needs to make because of a curveball like change in the writing. If it did this, it would throw the reader off, especially an easily distracted reader like myself. This would hinder the effect the author is trying to create. It would generate an imbalance that one is just unable to correct. Authors know to stick with one structure during a story or an idea they are trying to convey. In How To Read Literature Like A Professor, Thomas C. Foster talks about the sonnet being, "the only poetic form the great majority of readers ever needs to know" (P. 22). He goes on to elaborate on this point by talking about how it is the one poetic form that is so general and so petite that it is the one form he would choose over any other form. I think he feels this way because, like I said earlier, a sonnet won't throw you a curveball. A sonnet is a sonnet, no matter what the author writes about or portrays, it stays the same. It won't change on you, it will stay loyal, and it usually sounds good when read aloud.

Prompt 2

I, personally, do not find myself to be a re-reader often, but I will reread on two occasions. One, if it is a favorite of mine or two, if I didn't catch the idea of the text the author was trying to get across. I believe everyone will reread in one of these occasions, but that's my reasoning. Rereading is not only for those who don't understand the text. Rereading one of your favorite books or a book you remember from your childhood doesn't mean you never understood them, it means you get enjoyment from them. A thrill, if you will, from being caught in the moment of the text. That breathtaking scene in which the main character struggles to survive, or chases after the solution to who took the last cookie. I'm more related to the audience captivated by the latter, but aren't we all? I mean, who doesn't want a cookie? In my experience, rereading has brought a rush of excitement through me, either in the form of remembering how amazing a piece of literature was, or in the fact that I was able to understand and comprehend the author's point in his/her writing. Such as, Harry Potter, which I know is mainstream, but I still love the books, and The Count of Monte Cristo. The way JK Rowling and Alexandre Dumas can suck you into the story and create suspense and feeling through their characters' hardships is excellent, in my opinion. In all, no, I don't think rereading is just for people who didn't understand it there first read through. I think it's also for those who enjoyed what they read. For those that enjoyed being challenged or thrilled or terrified by what they were reading and wanted to feel that way again.

Prompt 1

Literacy is a collection of arts brought together through the years consisting of information and events that have happened throughout history, along with fictions that have been established for the purpose of entertaining others. To be literate, in one aspect, is to have the ability to comprehend and utilize new information. A literate person has the ability to take facts from something, a story or a riddle or an article, and piece together the solution before it is given to them, or to create an argument towards the topic being spoken of. In today's society, there many people who can't read or write, only because they haven't been taught yet, but there are also many people who can read and write but cannot truly comprehend ideas from literature. Does that mean that these people should be classified as illiterate? I don't necessarily think so. As said by Alvin Toffler, "The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read or write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn." I agree with this statement. I believe an individuals greatest ability is to regain lost knowledge. I'm just rambling. Of course you will forget things. It's part of everyday life. But your ability to "relearn" those things, to regain that knowledge astounds me. Think about this for a second. What if Einstein had forgotten his equation and couldn't piece it together from his notes? Do you still think he would be as widely known? Of course not, because everyone would be unable to remember his name, his actions, his influence in the scientific field. We would have lost everything that happened in our history long withstanding because after we had learned it, we could have easily forgotten it.

How To Read Literature Like a Professor

Prompt #6

Where or how does ambiguity come into play in a reader's experience? Is ambiguity a roadblock to understanding or appreciating a text? Are the only satisfying outcomes definite? Discuss your thoughts.