Dissertation abstract
I've been frantically copyediting my dissertation in anticipation of filing this coming Wednesday. One thing I've finally settled is the wording of my abstract, which took way longer than it should have. For those who're interested, here's the final text I've come reluctantly to accept:
“Wipe That Smirk off Your Face” examines a contemporary ethos of literary production I call “postirony” and relates this new artistic sensibility to longstanding critical debates about the value of irony. Starting in the late 1980s, postironic authors began critiquing the postmodernist fiction and poststructuralist theory they were exposed to in the academy while remaining committed to extending these traditions. Positioning themselves as a new type of counterculture or avant-garde, postironists claimed that the dominant culture had co-opted irony, thus robbing it of its critical power. My dissertation investigates the theoretical presuppositions underlying this claim and argues that both postmodern ironists and postironists rely on the same tacit theory of cultural politics, the notion that symbolic action can undermine the foundationally linguistic or symbolic apparatus through which the mainstream culture maintains its power. The authors I study all present literary models of ironic and postironic character as a means of resisting the hegemonic culture. My chapters therefore tell the story of irony’s decline through the analysis of three major countercultural figures who have noteworthy relationships to irony: the hipster, the believer, and the trendspotter.
My first chapter analyzes the ironic figure of the “hipster” in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (1952) and Thomas Pynchon’s V. (1963) and documents how cold war intellectuals celebrated the hipster for his powers of self-creation and ironic knowingness. In Invisible Man, Ellison joins this cold war consensus by positioning a hipster character (B.P. Rinehart) as the catalyst that awakens his protagonist to the ideological limitations of the Brotherhood, a thinly veiled version of the Communist Party USA. In contrast to social realist and protest fiction, postwar modernism was viewed as a potent anticommunist weapon, simultaneously an emblem of the freedom of the West and a bulwark against middlebrow American culture. A decade later, Pynchon invokes a post-Beat version of the hipster in V. as a means of finding a middle ground between postwar modernism and the emerging counterculture. Pynchon’s desire to court both sources of cultural legitimacy inflects the form of V., which is divided equally between a Beat narrative and a modernist narrative, each of which ironizes the other. Pynchon seeks to construct a higher-order critical irony above both modernism and hipness, and attempts to render this superior stance in the character of the African-American jazz saxophonist, McClintic Sphere.
In my second chapter, I turn to the “believer” in David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest (1996) and Dave Eggers’s A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (2000). Wallace and Eggers regard the higher-order irony Pynchon helped invent as hopelessly corrupted and alienating, and seek to use postmodernist techniques toward sincere ends. Their postironic metafiction constructs a picture of the believer as a secular figure designed to resist the disenchantment many felt at the end of the cold war, when the market came to seem triumphant and invincible. Wallace uses metafictional form to cultivate reader belief and to short-circuit what he sees as the irony characteristic of American consumer culture. For Eggers, the believer finds re-enchantment in an aesthetic practice of “quirky” juxtaposition, the aggregation of unusual consumer products and offbeat experiences, the transformation of lifestyle into a work of art that inextricably links ethics and aesthetics. I conclude that the ethos of the postironic believer fails to neutralize irony and cynicism because these authors propose to solve institutional problems through individual activity. Even Eggers, who has built popular literary and philanthropic organizations that have adopted postirony as something like their house style, links re-enchantment to the atomizing logic of the competitive marketplace.
My third chapter studies the trendspotter, a female figure that combines functions associated with economic production and consumption, in Alex Shakar’s The Savage Girl (2001) and William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition (2003). I relate these two novels, examples of a literary genre that Fredric Jameson has called “socioeconomic science fiction,” to an influential body of branding theory that tries to understand and manipulate the symbolic logic underlying consumer motivation. The Savage Girl imagines a satirical version of the present in which all values, including countercultural values, have been commodified. Shakar’s hip trendspotter characters forecast the rise of what they term “postirony,” a collective cultural backlash against postmodern irony, along the lines outlined in my second chapter. Shakar’s characters compete to define the word “postirony,” reproducing at the level of content the formal problems we face as readers of The Savage Girl. In Pattern Recognition, Gibson presents his protagonist, the trendspotter Cayce Pollard, as a model of how one might endure the marketing-saturated world of globalization. Gibson uses a brand-name-laden style as a means of creating for his reader “cognitive maps” of economic globalization. These maps, associated by Gibson with the figure of the trendspotter, are features of a postironic disposition inclined to link the intimidating complexity of real global supply chains to the glossy surface of the brand.
My conclusion analyzes aspects of Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign, which skillfully presented the candidate as a human symbol able to neutralize voter apathy and cynicism and reinvigorate engagement with public life. I link the sophisticated marketing techniques of the campaign to Obama’s Dreams from My Father (1995), which I describe as a postironic Bildungsroman, suggesting that his presidential campaign should be understood as an extended paratext of his memoir. A postironic figure, “Brand Obama” was able to speak to different groups in different linguistic registers while maintaining a highly regimented, technologically savvy, and unified identity. His success may foretell the growing relevance of the postironic project to cultural life.
Well, I've settled on this version until I inevitably change my mind about this or that word or phrase five seconds before I submit. Who knew writing the abstract would be so hard? (I'll semi-surreptitiously change the text of this abstract if and as I make any future changes, just so you're warned. Down the memory hole!)
Return to Life
I've been woefully negligent as a blogger (and, I should say, as a fiction writer), too busy putting the finishing touches on my dissertation to do much else. My primary chapters are all done, and my introduction and conclusion are mostly written. Two-three more days -- finishing the intro and conclusion and doing a global revision of the whole diss. -- and it'll be complete.
After three years of (more or less) continuous work, I am going to print the sucker off next week and give it to my committee for review, and then gleefully commit myself to the tedious but intellectually relaxing work of checking all my citations and the formatting of my Works Cited page. It's a little bit hard for me to believe that I'm so close to the end, and in a sense I've only just begun the process of turning the dissertation into a book, but it's finally happening.
But between frantic bouts of chapter writing and revision in the coming days, I will also be doing a reading from Pop Apocalypse at a fantastic science fiction/fantasy/horror speciality store on Valencia Street in San Francisco called Borderlands Books.
If you can, stop by tomorrow (Saturday, July 25, at 2 p.m.). It'll be fun, though you may notice dark circles under my eyes.
Postirony, again. And DFW.
One negative consequence of publishing Pop Apocalypse is that I've been blogging very little about my dissertation. For four years, I pretty regularly updated my other blog, The Postironic Times, but in 2008 I closed up shop there, transferred all my postings to this site, but lost a bit of momentum in the switch.
Well, of course, I never stopped writing my dissertation (it sometimes seem as if I'll never stop!) or conducting research on postirony or going to conferences or doing any of that tasty academic stuff.
Today, I received some good news: an MLA special session I proposed on the legacy of David Foster Wallace's writing has been accepted. The roundtable panel will feature a distinguished group of academic folk who have done great work on Wallace. We are also very fortunate to have Michael Pietsch, Wallace's editor at Little, Brown, participating in our discussion.
Here go a few key paragraphs from our proposal, which'll give you a sense of what we have planned:
The September 2008 suicide of David Foster Wallace sent shock waves through the literary world. Equally admired for his fiction and nonfiction, Wallace was considered one of the best writers of his generation, “a huge talent, our strongest rhetorical writer,” according to Jonathan Franzen. As early as 1993, academic critics recognized the importance of Wallace’s prolific body of experimental writing, which as of now comprises two critically acclaimed novels--including the thousand-page “Infinite Jest”--three short story collections, two collections of eclectic essays, a book-length mathematical history of infinity, a co-authored book on rap culture, a short book on John McCain’s failed 2000 primary campaign, and others. Wallace’s writing style seemed utterly original but hard to categorize, weaving together a number of characteristic features: hypotactic, sometimes pages-long sentences that fuse highly technical vocabularies with colloquial diction; extensive digressions, footnotes, and endnotes, also sometimes many pages in length; a mixture of silly, elaborate jokes with a deep sense of moral seriousness; and a love of philosophical paradoxes and puzzles.
And:
To focus our inquiry into the nature and scope of Wallace’s achievement, our discussion will largely concentrate on what is indisputably Wallace’s magnum opus, “Infinite Jest.” “Infinite Jest” is a novel that draws on a staggeringly diverse range of discourses--neuroscience, advertising, game theory, philosophy of mind, self-help and recovery theory, marginal economics, television history, among others--in order to ask fundamental questions about what it means to be human in an era of mass hypermediation and widespread cynicism. We will take this novel as the most accomplished articulation of Wallace’s aesthetic and philosophical aims, his attempt, as he put it in a commencement speech delivered at Kenyon College, “to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of [his] natural, hard-wired default-setting, which is to be deeply and literally self-centered, and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self.” Though we will all make reference to “Infinite Jest,” we will not limit ourselves only to discussing this encyclopedic work; our talks will use “Infinite Jest” as a platform or hub from which to stage a searching analysis of the broader set of issues that animate Wallace’s fiction, criticism, and journalism.
I'll post more as the convention approaches in December. We hope to see you there.
Cognitive Science and Irony
I usually hate these sorts of thing, but the Stanford Humanities Center had a great conference on Friday on cognitive science and literature. I unfortunately could only attend the morning session on irony, which featured Herb Clark (Psychology, Stanford), Joshua Landy (French, Stanford), and Elaine Scarry (English, Harvard) and was chaired by Lanier Anderson (Philosophy, Stanford). The discussion largely focused on Clark's 1984 paper (with Gerrig), "Irony as Pretense," which argues, against the so-called "mentioning" theory of irony, that when X is being ironic, he is pretending to be X* speaking to Y*, a hypothetical conversant who may or may not be present. Irony thus becomes a form of pretense, a dramaturgical critique by X of X*. I googled Clark's paper and discovered a 2007 book Irony in Language and Thought: A Cognitive Science Reader, a collection of papers on cognitive science research on irony.
I came to Stanford thinking I'd be working on the relationship between cognitive science and literature, but then decided it would be too difficult to do a decent dissertation on that relationship unless I seriously engaged with the cognitive science literature. Complicating matters, most English departments are very strongly historical in their orientation and institutional organization, implicitly demanding that grad students specialize in particular periods and authors if they hope to find jobs. The result of these pressures is that even the most theoretical dissertations are grounded in specific periods and historical horizons, which is not necessarily a bad thing. And all things considered, I would rather not have to conduct empirical research into how our brains process literature because the necessary tendency of such research is to quickly abstract away from particular examples to cognitive structures and processes. So I moved on to other interests, first to the genre of postmodern encyclopedic fiction (Gaddis, Pynchon, DeLillo, Silko, Wallace) and then finally to postironic fiction, which I continue to work on. But it's nice to be led back, via postirony, to cognitive science. I want to try to make use of this literature in the diss., even if only in a peripheral way.
Cognitive Science and Irony
I usually hate these sorts of thing, but the Stanford Humanities Center had a great conference on Friday on cognitive science and literature. I unfortunately could only attend the morning session on irony, which featured Herb Clark (Psychology, Stanford), Joshua Landy (French, Stanford), and Elaine Scarry (English, Harvard) and was chaired by Lanier Anderson (Philosophy, Stanford). The discussion largely focused on Clark's 1984 paper (with Gerrig), "Irony as Pretense," which argues, against the so-called "mentioning" theory of irony, that when X is being ironic, he is pretending to be X* speaking to Y*, a hypothetical conversant who may or may not be present. Irony thus becomes a form of pretense, a dramaturgical critique by X of X*. I googled Clark's paper and discovered a 2007 book Irony in Language and Thought: A Cognitive Science Reader, a collection of papers on cognitive science research on irony.
I came to Stanford thinking I'd be working on the relationship between cognitive science and literature, but then decided it would be too difficult to do a decent dissertation on that relationship unless I seriously engaged with the cognitive science literature. Complicating matters, most English departments are very strongly historical in their orientation and institutional organization, implicitly demanding that grad students specialize in particular periods and authors if they hope to find jobs. The result of these pressures is that even the most theoretical dissertations are grounded in specific periods and historical horizons, which is not necessarily a bad thing. And all things considered, I would rather not have to conduct empirical research into how our brains process literature because the necessary tendency of such research is to quickly abstract away from particular examples to cognitive structures and processes. So I moved on to other interests, first to the genre of postmodern encyclopedic fiction (Gaddis, Pynchon, DeLillo, Silko, Wallace) and then finally to postironic fiction, which I continue to work on. But it's nice to be led back, via postirony, to cognitive science. I want to try to make use of this literature in the diss., even if only in a peripheral way.
Granta v. McSweeney’s
I received a link to this Times article today. A few interesting quotes:
The McSweeney’s author is not above playing language games or creating work that is aware of its artificiality, although he is also careful not to let this playfulness detract from the work’s emotional impact. There is by no means a house style, but there is something that might be called the McSweeney’s tone: a buzzing, mischievous hipness, wrapped around a core of sentiment and hopefulness.
This seems to me pretty much the definition of postirony, although the question of "house style" is interesting and ambiguous. It seems clear enough that there is no official style among McSweeney's-affiliated writers. Their writers have a variety of perspectives and literary commitments, but there does seem to be some family resemblance born of self-selection and, possibly, social-network effects. Writer and publishing venue often converge subtly, in ways that are hard to document.
Another quote:
Anyone familiar with the publishing world understands that it is in the process of being irrevocably damaged by corporate owners who are crowding out the merely excellent in favour of the readily saleable; who are glad to put respected “mid-list” authors out to pasture so they can focus on publishing meretricious, photogenic newcomers.
I wonder about this claim. McSweeney's publishes and supports some excellent so-called mid-list authors, but the big names associated with the network are very successful. Eggers, Zadie Smith, Jonathan Safran Foer, among others, have done quite well. They're readily saleable, not to mention photogenic.
Which isn't to condemn their success--who wouldn't want to be successful?--but rather to suggest that the dividing line between what Amidon calls McSweeney's "opposition to the corporate model" and corporate publishing is very thin indeed. In fact, we might think of McSweeney's as doing something like nonprofit R&D for the big corporate publishers. They identify talent and, on the strength of their brand, corporate publishers will often publish that talent. If McSweeney's disappeared tomorrow, a new venue would have to be found--or invented--to serve exactly the same function.
Granta v. McSweeney’s
I received a link to this Times article today. A few interesting quotes:
The McSweeney’s author is not above playing language games or creating work that is aware of its artificiality, although he is also careful not to let this playfulness detract from the work’s emotional impact. There is by no means a house style, but there is something that might be called the McSweeney’s tone: a buzzing, mischievous hipness, wrapped around a core of sentiment and hopefulness.
This seems to me pretty much the definition of postirony, although the question of "house style" is interesting and ambiguous. It seems clear enough that there is no official style among McSweeney's-affiliated writers. Their writers have a variety of perspectives and literary commitments, but there does seem to be some family resemblance born of self-selection and, possibly, social-network effects. Writer and publishing venue often converge subtly, in ways that are hard to document.
Another quote:
Anyone familiar with the publishing world understands that it is in the process of being irrevocably damaged by corporate owners who are crowding out the merely excellent in favour of the readily saleable; who are glad to put respected “mid-list” authors out to pasture so they can focus on publishing meretricious, photogenic newcomers.
I wonder about this claim. McSweeney's publishes and supports some excellent so-called mid-list authors, but the big names associated with the network are very successful. Eggers, Zadie Smith, Jonathan Safran Foer, among others, have done quite well. They're readily saleable, not to mention photogenic.
Which isn't to condemn their success--who wouldn't want to be successful?--but rather to suggest that the dividing line between what Amidon calls McSweeney's "opposition to the corporate model" and corporate publishing is very thin indeed. In fact, we might think of McSweeney's as doing something like nonprofit R&D for the big corporate publishers. They identify talent and, on the strength of their brand, corporate publishers will often publish that talent. If McSweeney's disappeared tomorrow, a new venue would have to be found--or invented--to serve exactly the same function.