John Silverio
Revised Thinking on Why We Write
From its beginning, this course exposed
me to the more subtle qualities of historical American literature. Our first day
of class included a review over the two prevailing purposes of literature: to
entertain or educate. We defined educational literature as all manner of
contracts, laws, and letters written in order to provide instruction or
information to the reader. Generally, such literature does not consider
creativity as a priority. The Mayflower Compact and the instructions in a
toaster manual have one thing in common: clarity. Ambiguity holds little value
in such writing; entertaining literature functions in the opposite way.
Creativity is embraced along with subtlety as entertaining novels, short
stories, and accounts take form under the pen of an intentional author. However,
the texts we studied frequently blurred the line between entertaining and
informative purposes. To my surprise, many of the texts also had structures and
themes found in modern stories. Before this course, I assumed that early
American literature was “boring” and all pertained to the formation of
government – but I discovered that the colonial and revolutionary times gave
birth to creative novels depicting relatable protagonists, and even poetry. A
text that both entertains and informs? Imaginative writing over social issues
that feels human? To credit these qualities exclusively to modern American
literature would be simply inaccurate.
Does
a piece that attempts to entertain and inform at the same time usually succeed?
The answer, of course, depends on the text. Thomas Paine’s wrote his patriotic
propaganda, Common Sense¸ with a
highly pragmatic purpose. History looks upon the pamphlet as a key document in
rallying the thirteen colonies towards revolution. Yet the Paine’s writing
displays a creative flair: “the
palaces of kings are built upon the ruins of the bowers
of paradise.” Such imagery makes the reading less of a chore
compared to purely legal texts, such as the Constitution. Numerous evocative
moments in Common Sense contribute to
the persuasive power of the piece. The efficacy of combining rhetoric and
creative writing techniques caused the piece to succeed. Even today the work
finds its place in classrooms, as an example of reason and literature.
More
modern texts also combine creative presentation with moral implications. In
1904, Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle
sought to initiate social change regarding unsanitary meatpacking conditions.
The novel focused on the difficult work conditions and included emotional
appeals as it describes how the packing plant employees struggled to provide for
their families. The story gripped readers, as did
Common Sense, and both texts
positively influenced society. Entertainment and logical persuasion are not one
and the same, but one can help the other.
Not
all historical texts that synergize rhetoric and evocative writing style earn
renown like Sinclair or Paine’s works. Though they remain useful for the study
of societal norms at their time of writing, often in education they have
inconvenient facts about individuals we would rather perceive as blameless. Yes,
Thomas Jefferson’s 1818 letters discussing the education of women contain
progressive notions about how women deserve to learn. In the first paragraph he
contends that education is “essential
…, which might enable them [his daughters], when become mothers, to educate
their own daughters.” Noting the cyclical nature of education and how it is an
investment that pays dividends from generation to generation aligns with much of
contemporary views on the value of investing in schools and is logical.
But
the Founding Father distances himself from modern thought by stating that “A
great obstacle to good education is …inordinate passion prevalent for novels.”
He continues by stating that novels are “time lost” and a “poison”. This diction
gives us a taste of Jefferson’s mood when considering novels and their
applications to education. He sees none. In the 21st century, one can
hardly walk into a higher level reading class without witnessing discussion and
dissection of classic novels. Jefferson would disagree with this practice. We
must admit that in the 1700s, novels and the American novel were new idea,
unrefined. But even back then, novels across the globe were revealing cultural
values and were a precursor to a modern narrative style that many writers make a
living off of. Nevertheless, Jefferson’s distaste for them was never known to me
until this course. His letter on women’s education and novels seems to have
fallen off the map of history, although the writing embodies both logic and
passionate diction. Perhaps this falls into the category of inconvenient truth,
like Franklin’s slaves or Paine’s multiple job failures. This class showed me
the value in seeing the figures of American history as real humans, even though
adding detail to the photo may reveal some wrinkles.
Past
the simultaneous use of logic and creativity, one of the writings we perused had
another interesting attribute: the use of archetypal characters that resembled
real people. Susanna Rowson’s late 18th century novel,
Charlotte Temple feels melodramatic
as protagonist Charlotte makes decisions by prioritizing her own emotion, rather
than pure rational thought. These aspects of the text may stem from the author’s
background in theatre arts, the Romantic Movement occurring in literature at
that time, or some combination of the two (an example of intertextuality). The
Romantic Movement not only swept through literature, but influenced the creation
of indulgent music and dramatic art. The character of Charlottle clearly
personifies these values, as she follows the attractive Montraville overseas to
America. In the sixth chapter, Rowson describes Charlotte as “a young heart…in
more danger than when attempted by a handsome young soldier.” The notations of
physical beauty and heart imagery made me picture a swooning, head over heels
girl. I used to consider this image as a recent development in writing. How
untrue. The story is the first in what would be a long line of American “coming
of age stories”: a young girl devoted to a man no matter what the cause. Coming
of age narratives persist even today, but
Charlottle Temple remains as a proud precursor of those stories.
Above
entertaining or informing, the very nature of all writing is to establish some
sort of relationship with the audience through words. I was aware of this
purpose before this course. But now I know that characters, rhetoric, and vivid
descriptions are all ways to achieve that purpose.
Common Sense establishes a
relationship of motivating, moral implications.
Charlotte Temple, though fictional,
does something similar while sharing the adventure of a vulnerable protagonist.
Edgar Huntly, Charles Brockden
Brown’s late 17th century novel, at its conclusion defines the
relationship between writer and audience as something much simpler. Following a
dark and violent tale, in chapter 27 the narrator declares “I fulfilled my
promise to compose a minute relation of my sufferings. I remembered my duty to
thee…” Though more complex purposes exist underneath the surface of the text, by
his own admission Edgar reveals his purpose in writing the letters was to share
something. This is no mean purpose. It is why, at some level, we all write. At
the very beginning of schooling, it is why we are taught to write. To relate
experience and establish relationships. Though we later learn the purpose for
those relationships may be to entertain, inform, even harm, or potentially
persuade – at the heart of all writing is the desire to connect. Connect across
time. Connect across cultures. Connect, because as writers write, readers
listen.
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