Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Parker is on board

Good news! I heard back from Blanford Parker about possible discussion of The Triumph of Augustan Poetics: English Literary Culture from Butler to Johnson. He writes:

I am moved that anyone might be interested in discussing my book. I would be glad to respond to the discussion in the ways you suggested once I get up to speed on blog and blogging. I always like a chance to clarify my (sometimes unintentionally cryptic) meaning and I have been altering my views slightly on satire and other matters.


I've asked Prof. Parker to give us some possible dates when he'll be available, and I'd like input from you on this as well. When might be a good time to do this? The Triumph is, mercifully, about 250 pages, and quite a good read. I'll be very interested to see how his views have changed between the initial publication in 1998 and the paperback release this summer.

Who wants to play this round?

Sunday, October 22, 2006

The Enlightenment and Universal Law

I just told my class a few weeks ago that the European Enlightenment was characterized by, among many other things, a healthy skepticism for dogmatism, a rejection of blind authority to traditional sources of power and knowledge, an openness to different ideas and opinions from the New World and beyond, and a driving curiosity to explore selfhood and subjectivity (seen best in the 18c novel, via Locke).

But just the other day we were reading Alexander Pope's "Essay on Man," and I heard myself telling the same students that the poem is a representative Enlightenment text for its assertive appeals to Universal Truth and an unchanging "Nature" (human and otherwise) that parallels Newton's "laws" of gravity and physics and the subsequent confidence in the culture at large that God's ways could finally be explained as a function of Reason.

So which is it? Is Pope's poem an Enlightenment text for its foundation in Unchanging Universal Truth, or is it a kind of anti-Enlightenment text for its completely trusting capitulation to an (albeit Reasonable) God and its refusal to acknowledge that different people might have different angles on Truth?

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Housekeeping #2


For those keeping score, here are the recent traffic statistics. Obviously, the collaborative reading generated a great deal of traffic. Click on the graphic to enlarge it.

The reading included posts by five of our contributors and responses by Professor McKeon. I have added links to these posts, in chronological order, in the sidebar for easy access. Everyone should feel free to continue contributing comments to these posts, which will remain "live" due to the sidebar links.

If anyone has any ideas for future group readings or for further development of the blog, please don't hesitate to email.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Announcements for those in the New York area

Next Friday, October 20th at 2pm, Prof. David Kazanjian of the University of Pennsylvania will be giving a talk entitled "'When they come here they feal so free': Liberia and the Equivocal Freedom of Return" at the City University of New York Graduate Center. This event will be held in the Eighteenth-Century Reading Room, where I work, which is C196.05 on the lower level of the Mina Rees Library. To reserve a seat (and refreshments!), please email me at carrieshanafelt@gmail.com.

For those teaching in the CUNY system, please encourage your undergraduate and masters students to enter the Eighteenth-Century Reading Room Essay Competition. Three prizes are awarded in amounts of $500, $300, and $200. We encourage students of all disciplines to enter. The full entry requirements are here.

Lastly, I'd like to bring your attention to the presence of my name on this year's MLA ballot. I am #109, running for a New York State regional delegate position, and I humbly request the favor of your vote. The information about all candidates is at the MLA website here, but you must be logged in to view it.

Please contact me if you're curious about any of these matters.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Why Lewis and Clark Matter

I don't mean to interrupt the wonderful conversation here about British print culture and McKeon, but I did want to respond to this Slate article condemning the current interest in Lewis and Clark.

David Plotz is absolutely right to say that Lewis and Clark's travels are mythologized, wrongly, as a narrative of the great American expansion project. Anyone who has read the journals has felt the deep sense of dread and unmitigated failure. (As my friend Brooks Hefner is fond of saying, "All early American narratives are about unmitigated failure.") But why is that a reason to turn away from them?

As Jim Chevallier mentioned in his first post here, there is an exhilarating pleasure to be had in examining the early modern, that of "tugging at Santa Claus' beard to see if it is real." I fear that while conservative mythologies of the Founding Fathers and expansion narratives seek to canonize these narratives for the purpose of erasing the failures of the birth of the Republic, the response of those who resist the mythologies is to forget them altogether.

As a scholar, I've been increasingly drawn to Lewis and Clark, Franklin, and Jefferson, because to read them is to find those mythologies erased before your eyes. Tugging at the beard of the early Republic reveals a very human and conflicted face. As much as Jefferson is celebrated as a historical figure, reading Notes on the State of Virginia uncovers the conflicts between his devotion to American freedom and his racism, between his desire for expansion and his deeply troubled view of the Indian nations.

Shouldn't the United States be looking at these narratives for what they are? Is it not important for us to know our history of failure and internal ideological conflict? I am shocked by how few Americans, conservatives and liberals alike, have actually read the words of the people they idolize or attack in the name of current political argument. Is it that we are afraid to find that those who constructed our nation were, like all human beings, great and terrible at once, and that this is our legacy?

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

McKeon's Secret History of Domesticity: First Impressions

My first impression upon dipping into Michael McKeon's The Secret History of Domesticity was that it is very little like becoming absorbed in an idiosyncratic narrative of history, and much more like walking into a vast museum full of stunning pieces and not knowing where to look first. As he makes clear in the "Questions of Method" section of the introduction, McKeon is keenly aware that approaching a vast array of texts and historical situations with any guiding idea in mind readily yields an oversimple objection.
The nature of this objection may be evoked by citing its most frequent negative signposts: abstraction, reduction, teleology, evolution, master narrative. (xxv)
I immediately thought of the many enormous "histories of the book," which, no matter how detailed or carefully and complexly argued, fall prey to these objections if only because their authors proceed chronologically and with an implicit (or explicit) causality. McKeon takes great pains, in the theoretical chapters, to avoid this kind of chronological-narrative structure.

Rather, he asserts that there clearly was a self-conscious separation of the public and private spheres that occurred sometime between the beginning of the seventeenth century and the end of the eighteenth in England. Instead of examining the public-private separation from the teleological perspective of "Where do we come from?", McKeon instead concentrates on "How did this emerge?"
The significance of the early modern public sphere comes into focus when we approach it not from the present but from the past, not as social scientists testing its adequacy to modern liberal democratic standards of social justice but as historians aware of its context—aware, that is, of what it replaces. (74-75)
He proceeds to hash mostly unchronologically through various examples of what he calls the "explicitation" of that difference, which had previously existed merely as a distinction. To clarify:
The modern separation out of the public and the private is [...] like the abstraction of labor [in Marxism], a disembedding of figure from ground, an "explicitation" of what tacitly had always been there but now, in becoming explicit, also takes on new life. (xix-xx)
McKeon is not particularly interested in conjecturing about various authors' attitudes toward their public and private figures, as there has always been an implicit distinction there. The special thing about the conceptualization of public discourse in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries is that, suddenly, it becomes one of the main explicit concerns of writers and other public figures. In reference to Charles Taylor's conception of the "social imaginary," McKeon writes:
Modern social imaginaries are [...] reflexive entities in the radical sense that they not only refer to themselves explicitly and self-consciously; they also constitute themselves through that explicitating act of self-reference. For this reason their deployment of a collective agency bears an illuminating relationship to the self-actualizing capacities of the linguistic performative. (107)
As any of us working in the long eighteenth century are aware, almost every author of the period has passages explicitly describing, defending, and even performatively constructing a particular relationship between the public and the private selves of the author, or even between the private and public selves of the reader. The text itself self-consciously serves as a mediator between those selves, both creating a public community for discourse through the publicity of publication and offering a subject for private contemplation. McKeon moves through hundreds of these private-public passages, many of them immediately familiar, demonstrating again and again how carefully each text defines this separation.

Beyond a few hypotheses, McKeon resists any kind of extended theorizing about this separation apart from short responses to each of his wonderful examples. This method allows the reader of The Secret History of Domesticity to draw many of her own conclusions while being gently nudged in certain directions by the author. As a student working on theories of sovereignty and the public sphere, I often found myself putting McKeon's book down while my mind leaped from one possible application to the next. It is hard to point to any one particular passage in McKeon that explicitly forms the entirety of his theoretical assumptions, which are somewhat elusive. He allows the historical and literary examples to speak through the filters of excerption and arrangement, rather than through the bullhorn of a dominating theoretical approach.

I am particularly fortunate that we decided to review this book and that Dave Mazella arranged this event. This book is the missing link I was looking for in my dissertation research, and I think it will stay with me for a long time.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Domestic histories: another perspective

Much to my regret, I won't have time to participate in this week's reading event. But let me offer you instead a few mostly half-baked thoughts on a different kind of 'domestic' sphere - livestock husbandry - which also has an important place in the long 18th century.

Yesterday's Guardian had a review of Jenny Uglow's biography of the engraver Thomas Bewick. The paper version was illustrated with one of Bewick's engravings, the Leicestershire Improved Breed (from A general history of quadrupeds).

Bewick's interests ranged far beyond portraits of prize livestock; but the genre was much in vogue from the late 18th century onwards and well into the 19th century, until prints and paintings were superseded by photography. This went in step with the rise of livestock improvement and 'new breeds' (now of course very old breeds, and most of them very rare to boot).

Fashions of the time dictated that size (no doubt contrasting with the general run of small, skinny, scrubby mongrels at the time) was everything - the John Bulls of the animal world, you might even say. Vast cattle, fat sheep and long pigs, all perfectly groomed and set against a backdrop of idyllic pastures, sometimes tended by equally well-groomed, plump, smug yokels. No real sheep ever looked quite like these: the animal portrait was intended to advertise, and idealise, a breeder's wares.

They look so strange and quaint to us. But in the late 18th century these animals were at the cutting edge of scientific farming. They can be seen as symbols of 'progress', and a domestic and practical application of 'the Enlightenment'. And I think the impulse to have them painted was both hard-headedly commercial and sentimental.


A few links:

Thomas Bewick
Bewick Society

Livestock in Art
A matter of good breeding
Farm animal portraits