At first, I found the assigned readings for today frustrating- turned existential crisis inducing (at best). Let me explain: I saw three chapters all leading up to the resounding ‘well anything can mean anything’ because everything is ‘subjective’. Sure the chapters dance around it but it all seems centric to a broad notion of: why do we believe what we believe when we read something. My panties were further in a bunch when I came across working question 2 on page 42 “Are you unique?”. It was all starting to feel very Fight-Clubian. Then I thought, maybe that is what the text is trying to do, oh definitely, its trying to make me think differently, okay thats cool? That’s what Fight Club was trying to do as well, but then, that guy had split personality disorder. Anyhow, I’m thinking now not only have these chapters wasted my time reprising virtues of subjectivity in numerous methods, but they have basically forced me to admit that I likely am not unique at all- at least from other people who were raised in the same place and manner. But then same is also vague; same would have to mean that everyone else who shares my uniqueness has a Lebanese dad, a mom who once taught sunday school but is now steps from being atheist, did ballet for years, and shares countless other factors, experiences and neuroses. So, question 2 on page 42 yes, yes I am unique. Not just as a general individual human am I unique, but any given moment on any given day- at any point in time-I am in a different frame of mind, with different recurring, and repressed thoughts.
Then I started to think about Life of Pi. I, like most of us, read it when it was abuzz among book reviews and english teachers alike. I read it when I was thirteen. I thought the text was mind blowing. Now, in retrospect, I see that the assignment of the novel was, like today’s reading, a lesson in subjectivity. The lesson was meant to open up the majority of southern christian minds at my highschool, and to divide us while also uniting us on the basis of debate and conversation (or even confusion). Part of me wants to say that good literature should all do this. But I would hate to live in a world where every story was told like Life of Pi, where every line, phrase, and plot event was meant to target our subjectivity and stir up debate. Then we would end up with novels full of this: http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/01/11/1-equals-1, that read like the lyrics of a Radiohead song. Some people authors are good at telling stories STORIES; and some readers just want to read stories. I think the right balance of debate inducing and story would be somewhere between Slaughterhouse Five and Pineapple Express. But hey, thats just me.
I would completely read a novel that manages to strike a balance between Kurt Vonnegut and marijuana.
I think most interesting things in life happen somewhere between Slaughterhouse Five and Pineapple Express! I appreciate the honest reflections here on texts that seek always to disorient. That can only happen so many times; after a while, you get the “a ha” moment long before it arrives. Indeed, such moments come to seem heavy-handed. And this text can seem that way at times as well. It seeks to disabuse us of our naive notions of shiny selfhood, but doesn’t quote follow through with what this realization means for most people: we keep living; we maintain a nuanced sense of our uniqueness (as you say, often the result of the many overlapping influences in our lives that we continually negotiate); and we are away that truths can be subjective, that ideals can be freeing or damaging, progressive or regressive. Once we’ve turned on that switch and decided to be fully aware human beings, we also reserve the right to carve out moments of reprieve that allow us to escape this never-ended circle of scrutiny Nealon and Giroux describe and replace it with a moment or two of curious levity.
A word on more technical stuff: make sure you link rather than insert the hyperlink (use the chain button on the composition toolbar).