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Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Nigel Beale’s Evaluation Criteria
Back in October Nigel Beale called on the Booker judges to reveal the criteria they used in arriving at their judgments. After some caveats, including the stricture that the judges be familiar with canonical works (as an implicit standard) Beale suggested the following criteria:
Critical evaluation will involve the measurement of among other things:
• The extent to which the reader is entertained and to which his/her attention and interest is held.
• The believability/plausibility/probability/of events which occur in the narrative, and activities and dialogue engaged in by the work’s characters, relative to the context of the world /environment created
• The unity, coherence, originality and complexity of the work’s structure, theme, story, characters and style. The presence of beauty, wisdom and humour in its phraseology
• The extent to which the reader is drawn into the story and the lives of its characters; the degree to which emotions are stirred, and the imagination filled and innervated
• Finally, the book’s power to change lives: its ability to instigate new heights of self knowledge, understanding of human nature and ‘life’, and transcendence in a significant number of readers.
These points, or ones like them, shouldn’t necessarily be used as a ‘checklist’ but rather as a guide by which judges could justify their decisions. Decisions that I think should be explained in some detail.
Hmmmm . . . those detailed explanations would, no doubt, be interesting in some way. Just what way, that’s where much of the interest lies. I think Beale’s preceding remark is shrewd, not a checklist, but simply terms of justification. For I do think that’s more or less how evaluation is done, intuitively, with post hoc rationalization if needed. So Beale’s stating, in broad strokes, the terms of rationalization. So why’d he talk of “measurement” in introducing the list? A hope, a slip?
Comments
"Innervated” ? He can’t mean “enervated,” can he?
No, I think he means “innervated.”
Figurative usages for that term are rare, and it’s an uneasy synonym for “stimulate,” esp. given how easily it’s confused with the far more common (and antonymic) ‘enervate.’
Nigel probably meant “innervated”, because in the original post, at the GU blogs, he wrote “enervated”. The list is fine as a description of what the individual reader may (or may not) be “looking for” in a text, but the whole point of the exercise was some standardized form with which to come to stable conclusions about “better” and “worse”... hence the “measurement” bit, which was no slip: it was the whole point. Which is exactly the way in which it fails; as I wrote (back then; edited to remove a dangerous ad hominem or two):
•The extent to which the reader is entertained and to which his/her attention and interest is held.
How is this considered an objectively verifiable metric? And, again: for which reader? The “judge”? And isn’t this, in any case, the system that’s already in place?
• The believability/plausibility/probability/of events which occur in the narrative, and activities and dialogue engaged in by the work’s characters, relative to the context of the world/environment it creates
What’s the objective gauge for plausibility? Is Obama’s being the Democratic nominee for the American Presidency in 2008 “plausible”? (it certainly wouldn’t have been in 2001). If we can’t nail that concept down for real events, how do we nail it down for fiction?
• The unity, coherence, and complexity of the work’s structure, theme, story, characters and style.
Any clever rhetorician can make a case for or against the presence of this in any text; ask your typical out-of-work Structuralist.
• The originality of the work’s structure, theme, story, characters and style.
Again: subjective, as some will claim there’s nothing new under the sun, while others will find quite a lot of the above in a book that might bore me to tears.
• The extent to which the reader is drawn into the story and the lives of its characters; the degree to which emotions are stirred, and the imagination filled and enervated.
I’ll skip the authority-subverting solecism of “enervated”, for now, and get to the point: absurdly subjective. Down to taste, innit? Not to mention mood-contingent.
• Finally, the book’s power to change lives: the universality of its ability to instigate new heights of self knowledge, improvement, and transcendence in the reader.
I like how Nigel slips the qualifier “universality” in there; show us the text with global unilateral results in this regard, please. You name the text and I’ll round up 10,000 humans who remain unmoved by it and hostile to it, even…
For a treat, let’s have a comparative look at the Evaluative Criteria of Socialist Realist (ie, non-degenerate) Art:
1. Proletarian- art relevant to the workers and understandable to them.
2. Typical- scenes of every day life of the people.
3. Realistic - in the representational sense.
4. Partisan - supportive of the aims of the State and the Party.
5. The extent to which the reader is drawn into the story and the lives of its characters; the degree to which emotions are stirred, and the imagination filled and enervated.
Ooops… that last one is Nigel’s. Not sure if Stalin would have agreed with that “enervated”, though.
I’m sympathetic to your critique, Steven. But I kinda’ wished you’d held off. I was hoping someone would venture forth in defense of the list, or at least in defense of the exercise.
I’m inclined to believe, for example, that the Western canon is not simply an arbitrary exercise of ideological power on the part of a paternalistic elite, that there is real quality there. But it’s not clear to me that we can rationalize such a judgment in an interesting and compelling way. Or, more personally, it’s not clear to me how I would proceed if I were to take on the challenge.
"I was hoping someone would venture forth in defense of the list, or at least in defense of the exercise.”
Bill, isn’t my posting almost a guarantee that someone will? (laugh)
Bill: He means innervated.
Steven: Since we are re-rolling the past, here’s my response to your response. Perhaps we could move the conversation forward here with a tad more gentility?
“How is this considered an objectively verifiable metric?”
Steven: If you’d read what I’d written, instead of doing what you do best, which is playing the peacock, you’d have noticed that I’m calling for the Booker organization to publicize their set of judging criteria.
Without common ground, useful conversation is impossible, there can be no debate. Exchange degenerates into meaningless point getting and name calling. Given that you specialize in both, it doesn’t surprise me that you are so hostile to the establishment of such ground.
As for Obama and plausibility, where’s your imagination? If the world of a novel is one in which there have only ever been black presidents in the White house then an Obama character would be eminently believable.
You refer to the making of cases by clever rhetoricians. This is in fact what I am calling for: the use of rhetorical skill on the part of Booker judges to defend choices based on publicly stated criteria.
MrStevenAugustine
Jul 19 08, 9:21am
Nigel, if you were just a *little* brighter, it’d be a lot more fun to argue with you. Arguing with you is almost exactly like arguing with a fervent Jehova’s (sic) Witness, or a pro-Iraq-war Bush supporter. Do you understand the comparison?
Nigel, as long as I’m not penalized for the appearance of those Ad Hominems in *this* thread, I have no problem with you bringing them back.
Anyway, I certainly believe that some books are “great” and others are the opposite; I just don’t believe that it’s possible to “prove” the judgment. My question: why is it even necessary, even for a “good” discussion of literature?
We’ve managed to discuss politics and religion (rather heatedly), for quite a few centuries, without reaching definitive conclusions (Islam good, Christianity bad, or vice versa), either.
Ohh-K. This from today’s (UK) Guardian ... you may have seen it:
Louise Doughty, one of the judges of this year’s Man Booker prize, has already spilled the beans on who nearly won this year’s cheque: Sebastian Barry, for The Secret Scripture. But now Michael Portillo, speaking to the Economist, has given away more details of precisely why The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga came out from behind the pack to take the prize. There was a feeling among the judges, apparently, that after Anne Enright’s victory last year, that was enough Irish literature for a while, thank you very much; there were also problems with Barry’s plot, which depends on a humungous coincidence near its close. Still, Portillo conceded that The White Tiger is “not such a beautiful book [as The Secret Scripture]; not written to the same heights of literary magic”. Which may - or, more likely, may not - be a comfort to Barry.
I’d happily endorse the forcible retirement of the word ‘humungous’ from the lexicon of reviewers and journalists, incidentally.
Agreed, Adam, “humungous” is out. What about “phat”?
Nigel: While I can’t read Steven’s mind, I suspect that his concern about ad hominems alludes to an incident earlier this year in which I killed a discussion because I felt it had degenerated into pointless point-scoring. At the moment I don’t see that going on here. Let’s hope.
I do note, however, that three of us - me, Steven, and Nigel - agree that literary greatness is real. Two of us, Steven and me, are doubtful about the prospects of talking about it while Nigel remains optimistic.
As for the mysteries of the Booker deliberations, if Steven and I are correct, then they could state whatever criteria they will and justify their conclusions in those terms in a convincing way. And someone else could take those same terms show that the Booker judges arrived at the wrong choice, that someone else deserved it.
In looking at Nigel’s criteria I note that 1, 4 & 5 pertain to the reader while 2 & 3 pertain to the work itself. Thus, in some sense, the phenomena indicated in 2 & 3 should determine the phenomena indicated in 1, 4, & 5. Works “scoring” high on 2 & 3 should also score high on 1, 4, & 5 and works scoring low, etc.
OTOH, if I have to judge books I’m likely to arrive at an intuitive judgement on 1 & 4 (but not 5 as that involves experience of many readers not just me) and, if I have to, seek to justify that judgement in terms of 2 & 3.
Steven: I agree with you that it’s not possible to “prove” the judgment. However, this is exactly where the most interesting literary discussion takes place...the weighing of arguments in favour or against specific works of art. And as I have repeated ad nauseum, for a meaningful exchange of ideas to take place I believe certain parameters need to be outlined and agreed upon.
Otherwise it’s just one subjective opinion pitted against the next. I’m not saying there’s a right or a wrong. As for the necessity of evaluating literary merit: speaking as a non-academic reader, I think it is most natural to either like or dislike a work. The pleasure, at least for me, lies in exploring why these likes and dislikes exist. And comparison sharpens the pleasure...offers insight...meaning, understanding etc. I prefer Coetzee to Delillo. I suspect you don’t. Learning about why you favour D, might change my opinion of his work...probably not...but it might at least alter my reading of him… sure we could talk about the politics of race, or how society is best depicted without having to rank merit, but ultimately framing the question this way, I think, brings out the most passionate, considered responses...there’s incentive—ego-based as much as anything—to present the best arguments possible.
re: politics and religion: no definitive conclusions, and lots of carnage thanks to these enterprises...more discussion based on common ground would certainly help stem the bloodshed.
Bill: I use ‘measured’ advisedly. I think that based on my set of criteria, relative ‘worth’, or aesthetic value can be determined...up to a point. Valuing say War and Peace over The Bros Karamazov is impossible. Comparing the two is rewarding, but once a work has passed a certain threshold of ‘greatness’ then determining which great work is ‘better’ becomes much more contentious.
It’s not necessarily about proof...rather its about cogency of argument.
Though I don’t read books and decide how much I enjoy them in rational terms of their ticking or not ticking certain boxes, and Nigel isn’t saying he does either, it would seem odd that it were beyond us to describe certain aspects of why a book is good or not good. And perhaps more obviously on the level of it being a bad book.
Where I disagree with Nigel is where I think he cuts the branch from under himself by claiming “Valuing say War and Peace over The Bros Karamazov is impossible.” This destroys the entire arguement. As exsitential works of art, “passing a threshold of greatness” is a wholly irrelevant concern. I’d place Brothers Karamazov higher as Dostoevsky reaches deeper into the mystery of our nature than does Tolstoy. Fundamentally this is the scale of greatness across all art- how “meaningful” is it, and the more soaked with intrinsic meaning, the greater it is. If one listens openly to Bach’s Matthew’s Passion, there is no doubt that it is a profounder structure of truth than a work by Andrew Lloyd Webber.
In terms of literature perhaps it could be said that the greater work is more inexhaustible to reason, and in just this manner Tolstoy can be held in the mind rationally than Dostoevsky, whose greatest works spill beyond the rationalism that Tolstoy was more in thrall to. Dostoevsky is simply deeper.
"Dostoevsky is simply deeper.”
Very clearly a wholly subjective conclusion, Andrew; your overall argument has to reach the very fine level of stabilizing the “meaning” of key words (such as “meaning") before it can make any headway. What we are dealing with, in this debate, is the difference between that which can be measured (with measurements objectively verified) and that which cannot, and the perception/enjoyment of Art (literary or otherwise; formal or emotional), falls firmly in the latter camp.
I’m quite curious to see the objective *proof* that Jacqueline Suzanne’s “The Love Machine” is less “deep” or “meaningful” than “The Brothers Karamazov”. I’ve got ten Euros that say that neither you, nor anyone else, can produce one.
I think we’ve established that the enjoyment/perception of art is highly subjective. There is no argument here.
There is no right or wrong. The question is, putting this aside, can relative merit be determined using objective criteria.
Of those cited above, I think originality and complexity of the work’s structure, theme, story, characters and style; wisdom; and the book’s power to change lives: its ability to instigate new heights of self knowledge, understanding of human nature and ‘life’, and transcendence in a significant number of readers...over time…
can be applied with some objectivity. What wisdom has the The Love Machine conferred on you Steven? Is it more profound than that contained in passages from The Grand Inquisitor?
"The question is, putting this aside, can relative merit be determined using objective criteria.”
Nigel, if you can use “objective criteria” to *prove* that [name the trashiest beach read you can think of] has less “merit” than [name the noblest Bildungsroman you can think of], you’ll have answered that question with a thunderous “yes”. If you can’t, my contention that you can’t remains self-evident.
“I think we’ve established that the enjoyment/perception of art is highly subjective.”
Well, you can’t agree to that and yet continue to ask (rhetorically) if “relative merit [can] be determined using objective criteria”. Unless your definitions of “perception” are a radically poor match for mine.
This is my proposition: that the “argument” can (and will) continue, fruitfully, all over the planet, for as long as there are textual artifacts to consider formally/emotionally, with no necessary “common ground” for discussion more technical than a shared basic language. Ie, no two French women within a selection of 100 need even care for (eg) Dostoevsky’s work for a literary discussion amongst the 100 to produce ideas (and unstable conclusions) of interest. I’m not conjuring Nihilism; I’m making the (should be) obvious point that Art isn’t Science.
It’s my larger point that your apparent need for “objective criteria” or “common ground for discussion” is locked to your need to eulogize your *own tastes/preferences* in reference to a hierarchy most amenable to *you*. Likewise in the case of any grandly named role models you’d care to claim (laugh).
*The call for consensus in Aesthetic matters is a cheaply-veiled nostalgia for Hegemony.*
So, there is a political aspect to all of this, of course, though I’d stop short of endorsing-without-qualification Tony Christini’s recent, intelligently-argued tilt at Mr. James Wood as a *political symptom* just because I don’t want to trade Dostoevsky for Hugo in that particular culture war; I find the famous works of both of these grand writers too middlebrow for *my taste* (in translation, at least; I’ve read and enjoyed Thom Bernhard in the original so it’s a pity his name isn’t coming up in these arguments very often-laugh again). Please note that any devotees of either Fyodor or Vic have my tacit blessing.
Anyway: my challenge stands. Compare a “bad” book to a “good” book and *prove* that these judgments are irrefutable. Ten Euros (that’s, what… 17 bucks?) to anyone who can do it.