A Treatise on the Undergraduate
Study of Literature
Nope,
this piece is not going to be as serious as it’s titled to be. I’m just in the
middle of a period of angst in which I have been thinking (a bit too) much
about studying literature in a local university. I just hope this may help
people know more about literature and debunk some myths that might be
inhabiting one’s thoughts.
(I’m
doing this instead of working on my essays because I’m trying to de-stress. Not
a very productive way, but at least it keeps my writing juices flowing ß not ‘creative’ juices, because
you usually don’t get too creative with critical essays.)
I’ve
got to add another disclaimer: This is only my personal view of how the study
of literature is, mediated through my experiences as an undergraduate. I would
think the academia has a different view; even other literature majors would
have differing views.
I’d
guess I have a little bit of authority to be able to talk about this having
gone through six semesters, approaching my Honours year. Perhaps one of the
first things that bugs me really hard is how most
people believe studying arts is easy. I would be the first to admit that it’s
really hard to fail an Arts module, especially a literature one. Yet the
opposite is true: It’s just as hard to score well.
Just
recently, I think I’ve had an epiphany about how one can really score in
literature. It’s a mixture of several ingredients:
That
list is definitely not exhaustive, and I’ll probably be adding more as I go
along. Right now, I’d want to talk more about how literature is different from
other disciplines, and what makes it so hard.
Keeping
in mind how it is really easy to merely go along with the system and graduate
with a pass, I’m talking about why it’s so hard to get good honours as compared
with the sciences, or other arts subjects. For one (as with disciplines like
Philosophy), there are no absolute answers. There is no marking scheme from
which the marker can tick off, and give one mark, or one-and-a-half mark. There
is no assurance that one will do well after leaving the examination hall. Even
if one’s a consistently brilliant student, it’s impossible to be lucky all the
time and get markers who agree fully with your writing style. Hence, over a
period of four year, over twenty-two literature modules, there are bound to be
modules in which there are the fluke B-’s that destroy one’s good records. That’s
why you probably never hear of a literature major with a CAP of 5.0, unlike in
the sciences, or even economics.
I’ll
be getting flak from other disciplines for my next point, but it’s my sincere
belief that to get the same brilliant result (for example, an A), a literature
major has to read the most out of all disciplines. Having taken various
cross-faculty modules, I still haven’t encountered any module that got me
reading more, working harder than in literature. And the scariest thing is, I do way better in non-literature modules despite working
less hard, averaging 4.69. (In comparison, I average a 4.0 for literature.)
Maybe it’s exaggerated, inflated pride, but I believe I’ll be burning the
rubber in any other discipline. But I’m sticking with literature because
strangely, it’s fulfilling. What irks me is just how it’s never reflected in
the tangible things – the certificates we get finally. The number of people
graduating with first-class honours in literature over the past decade can be
counted on two hands.
Then
I’ll move on to more gratifying stuff: Why literature is fulfilling. What I
read today from Professor Christopher Ricks changed my ideas of literature
quite a bit, and I’d want to take this opportunity to share it.
Literature does not pretend to be
more than what it is
Yup,
we are not pretentious:
‘The
law, science (particularly medicine), religion, history, psychology, even
psychiatry… embody truthful and essential ways of dealing with life that are
not the way of literature. Law, history, psychology, science – they are in
their turn judged by literature, and their
limits, the potentialities and even the actuality of their arrogance, are all the time insisted on. The juxtaposition of
literature with all those other ways of understanding humanity performs the
two-fold task: it shows that literature can never be the be-all and end-all of
human existence, and it shows that there is no
substitute for literature.’ (Ricks xx)
Still,
the high degree of self-reflexivity in literature enables us to acknowledge
that we may be behaving somewhat like this:
‘But
I’m not trying to get credit with you by saying I know I’m a bastard. Nor by
saying I’m not trying to get credit. Nor by saying I’m not trying to by saying…
trying… you know what I mean. Nor by saying that. Nor by saying that.’ (Amis, quoted
in Ricks xxix)
Yet,
I am pretty confident that the discipline of literature produces the most
critical-thinking students: people who are confident with speaking on their
feet, voicing their opinions, utilising clear, rational, non-tautological
arguments. As a classmate put it, this is what we would be trying to convince
our would-be employers if we tried for a banking job (for example. not trying
to diss banking grads here):
‘Why
should we employ you, a literature graduate, rather than a banking/finance
graduate?’
‘One
of the most crucial things of being a good and efficient employee is to be able
to communicate, and that’s what we are trained to do. We think critically,
fast, sharp. We may lack specific knowledge of the technicalities involved, but
a finance education does not offer the exact requisite job-specific knowledge
as well. We are trained to pick things up fast, absorb things fast, and whereas
it takes a shorter time to pick up technical stuff, it definitely is not as
simple to learn to communicate well in the same amount of time.’
‘You’re
hired.’ (Dream on)
After
so much smoke, I think I’ve finally managed to arrive at my point – that of
self-assurance. Our tangible results/grades may not reflect the amount of hard
work we’re putting in. We may not get the recognition among people from other
fields, who just find it impossible to understand how much work we actually
have to put in, and therefore find it incredulous that we’re working so hard
while they can ‘find the time’ to go out and play.
Perhaps
it’s because, in the end, we learn the most.
References
Ricks,
Christopher. ‘Introductory Essay’, in The Life and Opinions
of Tristram Shandy,
Gentleman.
dejectium out
0022 hrs gmt +8