About Rohan
Rohan Maitzen is an Associate Professor in the English Department at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Her main teaching and research interests are the Victorian novel, gender and historiography, and ethical criticism. Her academic career is mostly an excuse to keep rereading Middlemarch.
Email Address: Rohan.Maitzen@Dal.Ca
Website: http://maitzenreads.blogspot.com
Posts by Rohan
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Reminder: Villette Reading Starts Next Week
Just a reminder: The Valve’s Second Annual Summer Reading Project, on Charlotte Bronte’s Villette, starts up on Tuesday, July 7. Discussion will open then for the first eight chapters. For the full proposed schedule, see here. (To review last year’s Adam Bede event, start here or here.) Last year’s was, overall, such a good experience that I propose adopting the same simple guidelines for our discussions this time:
1. Let’s be cautious about “spoilers.” Some of us have read the novel before, or have read enough about it to know the story. Others are new to it. I’ve found that opinions are often divided on the issue of “spoiler alerts.” Personally, I think it’s nice to allow other readers to enjoy suspense and surprises, especially in a long book when curiosity about what happens next can be both pleasurable and motivating. Others see little or no value in such deference to plot, or argue for the interpretive benefits of knowing key developments ahead of time. Perhaps we can compromise by alluding to events beyond the ‘assigned’ material obliquely or elliptically, if the occasion arises.
2. By all means let’s bring in critical or contextual knowledge from “outside” the novel if we think it bears interestingly on our reading. But let’s avoid doing so in a way that shuts down discussion--by, for instance, implying that everything we might think of to talk about here has already been said, and better, by others--or that we can’t talk intelligently about this book unless we’ve read 86 others.
3. It’s summer: let’s have fun and not be snarky.
As before, the pace or format of the weekly posts can be changed if a consensus emerges that we are going too fast, or too slow, or would benefit from better defined starting points for discussion, or whatever.
Hope to see you here on Tuesday!
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Sunday, June 28, 2009
Shameless Literary Tourism II
My own recent perambulations around London were not quite as focused as Amardeep’s “Joyce-tinted” day in Dublin, but I thoroughly enjoyed the sites and sights I saw. Top literary-historical experience: Carlyle’s house in Chelsea.
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Thursday, June 11, 2009
Musical Versions
I was recently reminded of the Kate Bush song “Wuthering Heights.” I’ve learned, through the very scientific methods of chatting with friends and reading responses to posted videos on Facebook, that the song is haunting to some, unpleasantly whiny to others, and just plain weird to still others (actually, I expect all Kate Bush songs evoke at least this wide a range of responses). As it happens, I like “Wuthering Heights”, though I’m not altogether convinced it captures the mood of the novel:
Thinking about this song got me thinking also about the Loreena McKennit version of “The Lady of Shalott,” which I also like, but which I also know is not to everyone’s taste:
And thinking about these two songs made me wonder: what other musical adaptations are there of famous poems? Does anyone have any special favourites they’d like to recommend--or, for that matter, any they’d mention as particularly cringe-worthy?
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Monday, June 08, 2009
Summer Reading Project II: Villette
I am only just returned to a sense of the real world around me, for I have been reading Villette, a still more wonderful book than Jane Eyre. There is something almost preternatural in its power. (George Eliot to Caroline Bray, 15 February, 1853)
Why is Villette disagreeable? Because the writer’s mind contains nothing but hunger, rebellion, and rage, and therefore that is all she can in fact put into her book. (Matthew Arnold to Mrs. Forster, 14 April 1853).
Although there were a number of good suggestions in response to my previous message about a summer reading group, no consensus emerged for any other specific choice and several people expressed interest in Villette, so this book, which Charlotte Bronte’s friend Harriet Martineau considered “perhaps the strangest, the most astonishing” of her novels, will be the focus of this year’s Summer Reading Project. The format and tone of last year’s were both, I thought, very successful: we had wide and steady participation, the pace seemed manageable, and the discussions were always interesting and almost always congenial. Accordingly, I propose doing everything pretty much the same this time, and in fact will poach shamelessly from the previous set-up post:
The book:
Villette was Charlotte Bronte’s fourth novel. Her first, The Professor, was eventually published posthumously in 1857. Her first success, Jane Eyre, made its sensational debut in 1847; it was followed by Shirley, in 1849, and then by Villette in 1853. Villette was the first novel Charlotte wrote entirely without input from her sisters Anne and Emily, both of whom had died during the composition of Shirley: in the words of her biographer and friend Elizabeth Gaskell, “down into the very midst of her writing came the bolts of death:”
She went on with her work steadily. But it was dreary to write without anyone to listen to the progress of her tale,--to find fault or to sympathize,--while pacing the length of the parlour in the evenings, as in the days that were no more. Three sisters had done this,--then two, the other sister dropping off from the walk,--and now one was left desolate, to listen for echoing steps that never came,--and to hear the wind sobbing at the windows, with an almost articulate sound.
Villette was hailed as a work of genius; notable reviews compare Bronte to George Sand and to Balzac. Yet even among those who admired it, some found it morbid, disturbing, unfeminine, and coarse. I wonder what we will think!
The plan:
As many people as are interested will read Villette this summer, in instalments as outlined below. The idea is to complete the specified chapters by the date given. If the pace turns out to be too fast or too slow, we can change it. Each week, a simple message will be posted here at The Valve inviting discussion of the reading so far. Everyone is welcome to contribute; discussions will simply follow people’s interests. People who have their own blogs can post there and provide excerpts and/or links over here if they want (or the links and I’ll collate and post them). As a slight variation on last year’s procedures, we will follow our reading of the novel with a couple of weeks of posts on critical articles (specifics TBA). If this approach proves too open-ended and those involved would like more structure (e.g. posts to respond to, or questions to initiate discussion), we can consider how best to do that. Initially, though, let’s just see what people want to talk about. Lurkers especially welcome! Blogging is not meant to be a spectator sport.
Proposed Schedule:
By the given date, we’ll aim to have read at least the chapters specified. As I’ll be away on holiday over the end of June, we’ll start in early July.
Volume I:
July 7: Chapters 1-8
July 14: Chapters 9-15Volume II
July 21: Chapters 16-22
July 28: Chapters 23-27Volume III
August 4: Chapters 28-35
August 11:Chapters 36-42August 18 & 25: Criticism
Related Links:
Villette E-Texts: here, here, here
E-text of Gaskell’s Life of Charlotte Bronte
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Tuesday, May 26, 2009
But Why Always George Eliot? Ahdaf Soueif’s In the Eye of the Sun and Middlemarch
As I have posted once or twice here (and some more here) about my unfolding project on Ahdaf Soueif’s In the Eye of the Sun, I thought it was only fair to post the conference paper I delivered on Sunday at ACCUTE, which is the first concrete result of the research and thinking I have done so far. Tempering justice with mercy, I won’t put the entire paper, though anyone who wants all the details can let me know. The paper was written to be read aloud, and the time limit was strict (20 minutes): both of these requirements have certain effects on both style and substance. Beyond that, I have only myself to blame. In italics is some material I wasn’t sure I’d have time to read (mostly, I didn’t). This is very much a work in progress, so of course comments and suggestions are welcome (at ACCUTE, I didn’t get any of the tough ones I’d been anticipating and no doubt deserve). And so, without further hemming and hawing…
But Why Always George Eliot? Ahdaf Soueif’s In the Eye of the Sun and Middlemarch
Ahdaf Soueif’s 1992 novel In the Eye of the Sun has been called ‘the Egyptian Middlemarch,’ a comparison invited by its numerous intertextual gestures towards George Eliot’s masterpiece—most conspicuously, its epigraph is the famous ‘squirrel’s heartbeat’ passage. Critical work on the novel so far has focused on Soueif as a postcolonial writer and thus on her Arab or Egyptian perspective, on issues of national identity or the possibilities of “cultural dialogue” (Massad 74), and on her works as examples of cultural and linguistic hybridity (Darraj, Malak). Though I believe that these are not just inevitable but also illuminating approaches to Soueif’s fiction, including In the Eye of the Sun, I also think it is important not to limit the range of questions we ask of a text because it appears to fit into a particular category (in this case, the postcolonial novel). In doing so we risk enacting a kind of literary essentialism by which our interpretation of a text is determined by the geographical origins of its author. Priya Joshi notes that the “persistent critical reference to writing from once colonial lands as postcolonial” may inhibit attention to their particularities:
When does it end? For how many years after empire ends does writing have to be “post” before it can become itself? . . . does it ever end or does all literature from once colonized lands always bear the stamp that comes with the appellation “colonial”? . . . The danger, therefore, of preserving any part of the term “postcolonial” is that it ultimately eviscerates the possibility of conducting a historically grounded or specifically directed study. . . . (233)
A particular danger seems to me to be that reading a text as “postcolonial” means fixing it in a certain relation to the world, and especially to the literature of the “colonizer”--often viewed within postcolonial studies as “a vehicle for imperial authority” (Tiffin et al.). The work of Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak, and many others on the ways 19th-century novels are “implicated” or even complicit in imperialism, for instance, has established a near-normative paradigm that predisposes us to find a confrontational (or at least corrective) relationship between a “postcolonial” author or critic and any given Victorian text he or she might invoke. I will argue that Soueif’s allusions to Middlemarch work against this oppositional paradigm. Rather than writing back against Eliot’s novel, Souief writes with it, sharing and extending some of its central ideas about how we perceive and live in the world, ideas that are not determined by national identities or other historical contingencies but appeal to “a commonality of human experience beyond politics, beyond forms” (In the Eye of the Sun 754). The two novels coexist, that is, in a literary version of the space defined by Soueif in her non-fiction writing as the ‘mezzaterra,’ or common ground. There, “differences [are] interesting rather than threatening, because they [are] foregrounded against a backdrop of affinities” (Mezzaterra 7).
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Monday, May 04, 2009
More About Books
As a follow-up to my earlier post asking “Why Books?", here’s a link to a post from historian Karl Jacoby at Edge of the American West that makes some interesting points about “the good,” “the bad,” and “the ugly” of “History Beyond the Book.” A sample:
If we cannot figure out in the next few years how to present meaningful historical research on the web, I fear for my current grad students. Newcomers to the profession will likely find themselves trying to land jobs and earn tenure at a time when publishing opportunities may be radically reduced. Yet senior colleagues and administrators may well continue to expect them to produce books to move up the academic ladder.
At the same time, I also fear the creeping workload in academia: that in the not-so-distant future, historians will be expected not only to research and write books, but also to create companion websites for their projects as well.
Jacoby has in fact created a (very impressive) “companion website“ for his own book; the comments on the original post cover some of the issues raised by such a ‘supplement,’ including the opportunity for “revision, comment, [and] expansion“ of the book but also the problems of “longevity and access.”
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Friday, May 01, 2009
Who Cares Who Killed … Whoever It Was?
I’ve just finished reading the latest releases by two of my favourite mystery novelists, P. D. James‘s The Private Patient and Elizabeth George‘s Careless in Red. (I know they’ve been out for a while; I was waiting for the paperback editions.) Both books are better than fine as examples of their type--though George is in fact American, both authors write what we could call highbrow British police procedurals, leisurely in pace, attentive to setting, driven by character more than plot. Both write well; James’s prose is more economical, while George’s would (IMHO) benefit from more stringent editing, but both offer their readers intelligent complexity of language and thought. The depth of character and theme both achieve justifies James’s repeated assertion that crime fiction provides a useful structure for the novelist without necessarily limiting the literary potential of her work.
Yet for all their virtues, I found myself unexpectedly dissatisfied with both of these novels, for reasons that are based in their form.
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Saturday, April 25, 2009
Speaking of Group Readings…
Bill’s allusion to last summer’s Adam Bede reading prompts me to say that I have been contemplating doing something similar again this summer. I thought overall the format was successful: it was organized and yet open-ended in terms of what we could talk about, and the simple post+comments approach seemed congenial, at least to those who visibly participated. (Overall there were more than 250 comments posted across the whole thread; though the majority of those came from just a few people, it was nice to see contributions from quite a few people who don’t routinely post or comment here, too.) The choice of a slightly lesser-known novel by a major novelist also struck me as a successful approach, as the work was not so familiar that we felt we were belaboring the obvious, but not so obscure that we couldn’t pretty readily find useful contexts or, if we wanted, criticism, to enrich our thinking about it. Finally, but not incidentally, I didn’t find the event a difficult thing to set up, as the onus was never on me to run or steer the discussion. The upshot of this is that if I organize another group reading, I would do everything more or less the same way, though if you feel strongly that something should be different, you can comment here or individually. The one idea I had for a slight change was to extend our reach a bit by having a couple of weeks after we’ve worked through the novel in which we would read a small selection of critical material about it.
Although Adam Bede was not initially my own suggestion last year, there turned out to be some advantage to me as I set things up that we were working in “my” period--so the cost of my being the organizer again would be that we would do another Victorian novel. My nominee for the main text is Charlotte Bronte’s Villette, which differs quite substantially from Adam Bede (and from Jane Eyre). I am open to other suggestions, but Villette (which I know only moderately well myself) seems like something that would be at once an engaging read and give us plenty to talk about. I’d thought about Hardy, maybe The Mayor of Casterbridge, but Hardy’s awfully depressing to read in the summer (though Villette is no laugh-a-thon, to be honest). Anyway, if there’s no swell of enthusiasm either for another reading group in general or for Villette in particular, of course, I’ll reconsider. If there seems to be interest, on the other hand, I was thinking we might start things up around the same time we did last year, early June.
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Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Why Books?
This post from Sisyphus is timely for me, as I had a meeting recently with a representative from a university press to discuss what kind of monograph might lurk beyond the discrete research and writing projects I have been engaged in lately, and as a result I have been thinking a lot myself about the shape, purpose, and necessity (or not) of academic books. Sisyphus asks,
why is the “gold standard” in literary studies a book for tenure if we are not assigning them in our classes?
I hadn’t thought about monographs in our discipline from quite that angle before, but it’s true that, consistent with what Sisyphus says about other disciplines, I remember being assigned quite a lot of scholarly books to read in their entirety when I was a history student, and doing assignments that were essentially a kind of book report or review. But it would never occur to me to assign more than a fraction of a scholarly book in one of my own undergraduate classes, or, for that matter, in my graduate classes. If I assign anything besides a stand-alone article, it is most likely to be the framing chapter(s) from a book, where the main theoretical or interpretive argument will be laid out, sometimes along with a chapter directly addressing an assigned primary text.
I’m not sure, though, how to connect these observations (keeping in mind, of course, that my practices in this respect may be anomalous) with what we ought to value when it comes time to assess tenure files. Our classroom work typically bears little overt relation to our published work, doesn’t it? Also, as the students doing Sisyphus’s library assignment discovered, however dynamic and engaging we are when we teach, in our books and articles our “academic voice” becomes “difficult, contentious, and completely boring”! That may be one reason why, as has been pointed out in a couple of places recently, even academics hardly read other academics any more.
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Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Exploring Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies
One of the things I need to do (or at least think I need to do) for my work on Ahdaf Soueif’s In the Eye of the Sun is enhance my understanding of post-colonial theory. My own interests in the novel are rather different than those I take to be the usual concerns of post-colonial criticism, but given the Anglo-Egyptian contexts of the novel and its author, I know I need to give some thought to ways they might be engaging with Egypt’s colonial history, through the novel’s portrayal of Egyptian history and politics, and also through the role played in the novel by Asya’s literary studies and by Soueif’s own intertextual allusions, particularly to George Eliot. Surprisingly, perhaps, I have muddled along this far in my professional life without paying a lot of attention to post-colonial theory: I have always had plenty to read in the areas of my own research and writing, though I have made occasional forays, mostly for teaching purposes, into specific debates, such as those over post-colonial readings of Jane Eyre. But I have never tried in any systematic way to map out this field--and I don’t intend to do so now, either, as I do know enough to be aware just how complex, varied, and wide-ranging it is. Still, I feel I need to orient myself (so to speak!) well enough that I can consider how or if to draw on the insights of post-colonial theorists to explain what I think Soueif is up to in her novel. More particularly, I have a tentative working hypothesis that Soueif is actually offering a kind of counter-argument to some of the assumptions of post-colonial theory, particularly about the ways the Victorian novel is typically treated as “a vehicle for imperial authority”: to test or develop this hypothesis, I need to improve my fluency in this discourse.
As a first step, I have been working my way through the handy volume Post-Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts, by Helen Tiffin, Gareth Griffiths and Bill Ashcroft (the source of the quotation near the end of the previous paragraph).
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Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Weak Reading; or, That’s Not What It’s About
A while back Dan Green posted a link to this interesting exchange between Derek Attridge and Henry Staten. I’m attracted by the idea of “weak” or “minimal” reading they discuss, because it seems related to my own reservations about some tendencies of academic literary criticism. Here’s an excerpt from Attridge’s introduction:
I’ve been trying for a while to articulate an understanding of the literary critic’s task which rests on a notion of responsibility, derived in large part from Derrida and Levinas, or, more accurately, Derrida’s recasting of Levinas’s thought, one aspect of which is an emphasis on the importance of what I’ve called variously a “literal” or “weak” reading. That is to say, I’ve become increasingly troubled by the effects of the enormous power inherent in the techniques of literary criticism at our disposal today, including techniques of formal analysis, ideology critique, allusion hunting, genetic tracing, historical contextualization, and biographical research. . . .
The notion that it is smarter to read “against the grain” rather than to do what one can to respond accurately and affirmatively to the singularity of the work can compound this disregard of what is truly important. This is not to say that the use of literary works as illustrations of historical conditions or ideological formations (including abhorrent ones) is invalid or reprehensible; just that to do so is not to treat the works in question as literature. . . .
I’m not (yet) familiar with the other work in which Attridge develops this notion of critical responsibility or the value (or even obligation) of responding “accurately and affirmatively to the singularity of the work.” But so far it sounds as if his work would help me articulate my own dissatisfaction with the often sizable gap between what literary texts themselves are primarily concerned with--the conversation they are consciously having with their readers--and what we talk about when we talk about them in our criticism. At stake, I think, is the issue a friend with a library science background has told me is called in his world, perhaps unofficially, “aboutness.” In determining the appropriate way to catalogue a book, a decision must be made (note the bureaucratic passive voice) regarding its central identity or “aboutness”: where it belongs depends on what is it ultimately about. Another useful concept might be what Henry James called the author’s “donnee," or Denis Donoghue simply calls the text’s “theme"--though Donoghue emphasizes that at issue is the text’s theme, not the critic’s (in The Practice of Reading he protests, regarding recent criticism of Yeats’s “Leda and the Swan,” that “Yeats is not allowed to have his theme: he must be writing about something else"). Often, when hearing or reading examples of recent critical analysis, I find myself thinking, “very clever, but that’s not what the book is about!"* So at least initially, I like the idea of rigorously minimal reading.
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Saturday, February 21, 2009
Naguib Mahfouz, Palace Walk
(x-posted)
By the end of Palace Walk I was enjoying it a lot more than I was at first, and I think that’s because I had learned to let go of some of the expectations I had for the novel--or for novels more generally. Although I knew at an intellectual level how many of my assumptions about the plots and forms of novels must be bound up in very culturally specific literary and other values, much about Palace Walk seemed familiar at first, and I think that sense of familiarity misled me, so that it took a while for me to realize how far from home I had really gone. It’s a “family saga” novel, for instance, the first in Mahfouz’s ‘Cairo Trilogy.’ It’s a novel of urban life; one of the critical blurbs on the back cover proposes that the “alleys, the houses, the palaces and mosques and the people who live among them are evoked as vividly in [Mahfouz’s] work as the streets of London were conjured up by Dickens.” So far, so familiar. It opens as a novel about a young wife immured in her home, waiting (like an angel in the house) for her husband to return from his nightly carousing. As the novel goes on, we learn about Al-Sayyid Ahmad’s nearly tyrannical control of his home and family--his wife Amina rarely leaves the house, certainly not without his permission, and his daughters are never seen by outsiders, observing the street life outside the house from peepholes in their latticed balcony. In the world of the novel, his strictness is unusually conservative, and the license he grants himself (particularly his series of mistresses) raises even within his own consciousness some concern about hypocrisy. Further, early in the novel one of his sons catches glimpses of a neighbour’s daughter and becomes illicitly enamored, while one of his daughters trades glances with a handsome police officer who has spotted her one day dusting the curtains. Both matches are forbidden by the head of the family.
OK: a tyrannical patriarch hypocritically indulging himself while opposing young love--don’t we know where this is going? Resistance, rebellion, exposure, reconciliation, marriage. The model, I thought, was not so much Dickens as Trollope, with the balanced attention to an array of closely connected characters, the patient chronological unfolding of events (and then, and then, and then...) without narrative tricks or rhetorical flamboyance, and the evidence of incremental changes to social manners and mores, the gentle but persistent ceding of one generation’s norms to another’s.
But it didn’t take long for this complacent sense of “I know where this is going” to be disrupted.
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Thursday, February 12, 2009
Happy Darwin Day!
Today is the 200th anniversary of Darwin’s birth. I hope you can all find some appropriate way to celebrate. Some suggestions:
Watch Richard Dawkins’s “Growing Up in the Universe“ with your children. Buy “The Genius of Charles Darwin“ for yourself.
Watch any of the Stanford “Darwin’s Legacy“ lectures I keep recommending.
Spend some time browsing Darwin’s writings or correspondence.
How about this podcast from Scientific American?
In London? Enjoy the “Big Idea Big Exhibition“ at the Natural History Museum.
Check here for Darwin Day events in your neighbourhood.
Donate to the Charles Darwin Foundation.
Curl up with A. S. Byatt’s Angels and Insects or George Levine’s Darwin Loves You.
There is indeed a grandeur in this view of life.
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Monday, February 09, 2009
You Know Someone’s a Good Teacher When…
...they can convince you that you might want to read a 19th-century book about worm excrement. I’m just saying. (1:17 and following)
(More generally, I can’t recommend highly enough the entire series of lectures to which this one by George Levine belongs. They are from a course offered at Stanford last fall called “Darwin’s Legacy” and all are available on YouTube and through iTunes U. And, if you’re in a Darwinian kind of mood, I also recently enjoyed this interview with Ian McEwan--"I would want to claim for atheists a much greater and livelier sense of interest and connection with the world, a sense of its wonders, but its wonders that are amenable to our curiosity and can be unwrapped by them with delight...").
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Sunday, January 25, 2009
Writing in Plain Sight
I participated in an interesting on-campus event last Friday called “Write Here in Plain Sight.” Here’s a bit of the publicity blurb:
First introduced to the world in 2007, Write Here in Plain Sight (WHIPS) is a bold adventure in teaching. The project is based on the premise that, as with other skills, learning how to write an academic paper can be significantly enhanced by observing expert behaviour.
Every word, every typo, every moment of writer’s block will be projected on large screens in four different rooms. Audience members witness the horror, the struggle, and the triumph of writing as it is practiced.
Watching the writers will reveal exactly how messy and idiosyncratic the writing process is and how it actually happens. The writers will share their inner-most thoughts as they plow through the process. The audience will get to question what they see as it evolves.
Writing with people watching is an odd feeling: as one of my colleagues remarked, it’s a bit like taking a bath in public! I found it interesting trying to articulate my own approach to writing in response to audience questions. One thing I think all the participants demonstrated is that writing is not a linear process (as so many of our students seem to assume) in which you start at the beginning and go on until you reach the assigned word limit and then stop, but a messy process of putting pieces down and considering their coherence and usefulness, roughing in outlines, shuffling things around, adding quotations, shuffling things around again, and so on. Editing is also not a separate stage or even a distinct process (I find students typically think ‘editing’ means ‘proofreading’) but a pervasive attitude of inquiry ("is that right? that’s not the best word… should this go here or somewhere else? what am I trying to say here?"), a kind of perpetual dissatisfaction. In the end I didn’t get much writing done, but I thought and talked a lot about writing, which was valuable in its own way. I found one discussion that broke out a few times on Friday of particular interest, and I wondered what people over here might have to add to it: the topic was writing and technology.
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