Where meaning lies
“Jessica, 10% of your right lung has collapsed. You’re not going into work tomorrow, and I really don’t think you’re going to go to school on Wednesday.”All I could tell myself was, Saddle-up Buttercup. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. I felt crushed. Physically and emotionally. I would miss work and school, not to mention, I would be in a lot of pain, plus, I had tickets to the Georgetown vs. Villanova basketball game that Monday! I promised myself that I wouldn’t blog about this to the class, but then I felt like I at least wanted to explain my reason (not excuse) for missing the last two blog exercises - just in case anyone notices, “Why did jgreeley put these two blogs so close together? Why are these late?” On to meaning…
After reading Crossman’s article, I’m reminded of a novel I recently read that I really misinterpreted (or mistranslated). Sometimes when we misinterpret poems or dramas or even song lyrics, we think, “Oh, I was so close!” Not this time. I was way off. An author friend of mine wrote a book titled The Abstract, and he gave me a beta-copy before he had his final copy published. So this was essentially his raw copy, only in a blank paperback, so he was still shaping his novel. The main character was referred to as “he” and there were no names placed in the novel yet. All of the chapters were un-numbered and out of order. Of course it was difficult reading at first, but after thirty pages, I decided I really liked the story. I realized this was a story about three characters, (a boy, a man, and an author) each with different personalities and scenarios. I really liked the novel, and he gave me a final copy. This time it had the character’s name. One name only. Only one character. All the events in the chapters seemed out of place. I was only slightly disappointed, and I told him that I actually liked his novel before, when it felt like I was reading about 3 separate protagonists. (And I was afraid to offend him as I explained my translation of his story.) Looking back now, I know that authorial intent isn’t the most important to reader-response, but it just seemed so obvious to me at the time that I “didn’t get it” or I “messed up” his story. Did I make up my own meaning? Yes, but after discussing this more with the author he was very pleased to discuss his story and also hear by feedback.
So here is my dilemma, for when I start teaching: For finding meaning and cultivating reader response, wouldn’t it have a 3-fold meaning for teaching? I mean wouldn’t it be my job to tell students how to analyze the text or what I know about the text? Or do I just not say anything at all and let them get the meaning on their own? Or (and this is my least favorite option, and I loathed when my teachers did this) do I always state my opinion/interpretation first and then ask for theirs? I like that reader-response can be applied to popular works and other forms of art and humanities as well such as photography, fashion, or art history. Since I can’t relate this to the classroom yet, I’ll explain in my experience at work, we are told “assumption equals death”. Never assume your client received your project if they don’t confirm with you first. Never assume your translator did a flawless job without typos, so you should always send your projects through a round of quality-control checking and editing. We are always told to verify everything. I think this is why reader-response feels like such an escape for me. I love that idea that as readers, we can safely assume what we want (as we’ve seen in the think aloud discussions) and we are allowed to analyze, create, explore, and defend our assumptions.
- Jessica
3 comments February 22nd, 2008