The novel is dead, long live the novel

The American novel is dead, did you know? And it has something to do with how English lit is taught in universities and why nobody wants to be an English major anymore:

What Killed American Lit By Joseph Epstein

The study of popular culture—courses in movies, science fiction, detective fiction, works at first thought less worthy of study in themselves than for what they said about the life of their times—made the next incursion against the exclusivity of high culture. Multiculturalism, which assigned an equivalence of value to the works of all cultures, irrespective of the quality of those works, finished off the distinction between high and low culture, a distinction whose linchpin was seriousness.

In today’s university, no one is any longer in a position to say which books are or aren’t fit to teach; no one any longer has the authority to decide what is the best in American writing. Too bad, for even now there is no consensus about who are the best American novelists of the past century.

With the gates once carefully guarded by the centurions of high culture now flung open, the barbarians flooded in, and it is they who are running the joint today.

Hahahahahaha, no, seriously? Literal barbarians at the gate? Wow. That’s almost cute.

Mr. Epstein’s essay espouses a vaguely George Will-ian conservatism of a type that seems downright quaint in the current era of the unhinged teapartyist right wing: only conservatives, with their good, old-fashioned good old-fashionedism, have their heads on straight. As such, it’s fairly predictable — mock a bit of justifiably mock-worthy academese, then blame everything on political liberalism and conclude that nothing’s been right in this country since 1965.

He seems to be under the impression that the primary purpose of an English lit class is to read a carefully curated selection of only the Very Best Stuff Ever Written and then just sit back basking in its gloriousness, going “aaaahhhh, Hemingway” or whatever. But the actual purpose of an English lit class is to read (or watch) something and then subject it to literary analysis.

So, when it comes to analyzing pop art in the same manner as “fine” or “high” art, there are two choices — either it holds up well under literary analysis, or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, the professor probably wouldn’t be teaching it, except as a Bad Example. If it does — then what’s the problem?

Multiculturalism, which assigned an equivalence of value to the works of all cultures, irrespective of the quality of those works,

Ah, multiculturalism, the eternal whipping-boy of the academic conservative. Would he consider my African-American literature class an example of “multiculturalism”? How about my Classical literature class? Canadian literature? Women in literature? What if one of the women is Willa Cather, one of his picks for best-ever American writer? Literature in translation? How about when the literature in translation includes “high culture” giants like Dostoyevsky? When, exactly, does studying a variety of literary styles and traditions cross the line and become the dreaded “multiculturalism”?

Does Mr. Epstein imagine that I would today be more well-educated if, instead of one class in Classical literature and one class in African-American literature and one class in Virginia Woolf and one class on the English Romantics and so on, it was just — I don’t know, the classics, then the classics again, then some more classics?

finished off the distinction between high and low culture, a distinction whose linchpin was seriousness.

This bit cracks me up, for some reason — I just imagine it being delivered in such a supercilious manner. A distinction whose linchpin was seriousness! Seriousness, do you hear me? You freshman lit major over there, yes, you, GET MORE SERIOUS.

Maybe it’s just me, but studying a great quantity of approved literary classics actually made me more bullheaded about the fundamental triviality of the high/low distinction. After all, when you haven’t read a lot of it, it’s easy to maintain the illusion that Real True Literature is some kind of sacred holy thing that would surely provide a transcendent experience surpassing all others — if you ever did happen to read some, that is. But when you do read some, you realize it’s just books.

Books are written to be read and enjoyed. They are not written to be put up on a pedestal and worshiped as icons.

In today’s university, no one is any longer in a position to say which books are or aren’t fit to teach

Um. Yes, in fact, there is. Each teacher makes that call. What, he doesn’t believe in individual liberties for teachers? Anyway, if he thinks teachers aren’t capable of making that decision themselves, what business does he think they have teaching at all?

no one any longer has the authority to decide what is the best in American writing.

He’s right that there is no Pope of literature, issuing top-down decrees about what does or does not belong in the sacred canon. But there never was. Some critics might like to think they fill that role, but this delusion can only be sustained to the extent that other people buy into it. I can style myself the Lord High Grand Poobah of what is best in American writing, but there is no force on earth that can compell anyone else to take me seriously.

Too bad, for even now there is no consensus about who are the best American novelists of the past century.

Why is this too bad? What purpose would consensus serve in this case? To have a hard and fast canon of… oh, let’s say, twelve — books that every freshman student is compelled to read? Well, there’s nothing stopping a particular university from instituting such a policy. But, outside of an academic setting, it’s hard to imagine what anybody would use such a consensus for.

I mean, you could have a list. There. You have a list. And just like every other “best of” list, it gives the people who care enough to bother to read it another bunch of books they can feel vaguely guilty that they haven’t read. The end.

Anyway, conservatives have such a lack of respect for the scientific consensus on global warming, I don’t know why he thinks a critical artistic consensus would be any different. Unless that consensus was a politically conservative one, which I suppose would include only the Best of the Best, as long as it was written by long-dead white people, in order to avoid charges of multiculturalism, plus Ayn Rand.

With the gates once carefully guarded by the centurions of high culture now flung open, the barbarians flooded in, and it is they who are running the joint today.

Who are these centurions? Where do they come from? Who imbued them with the authority to guard these gates? And what horrid things are the barbarians actually doing, now that they have the run of the castle? Sometimes teaching books that are, in one man’s opinion, artistically inferior? Sometimes taking science fiction or movies seriously as a literary art form? Failing to indoctrinate young people so that they end up having good conservative values?

If English is in decline as a college major — a fact he laments and blames (surprise!) on political liberalism — essays like this are exactly the opposite of helpful. It seems to present the ideal English lit grad as a hothouse orchid of delicately tended artistic literary sensibilities. And of course, nobody thinks that sort of thing is going to prepare you very well for things like life and holding down a job and so forth.

But here are some of the things you really get: reading comprehension, critical thinking skills, and an ability to express your thoughts coherently.

And so, thanks to my English lit degree, I am able to comprehend that his essay is rubbish, and explain exactly why I think that.