PREFACE This book is about how Shakespeareans go about their business at the present time.It argues that we can perform more effectively and with more conviction by relaxing some of the materialist principles guiding current work,and by reconnecting with the traditions of Romantic commentary,beginning with Hazlitt and Coleridge and continuing up to A.C.Bradley,from which our own critical practice has developed. Since the Introduction spells out this argument in detail,I limit myself here to thanking at least some of the many people and institu- tions who have facilitated my work.A grant from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada helped with much of the research and writing.During the spring and fall of 2008,I was given the opportunity to try out some of my ideas in a number of academic settings,where the response made me realize that I was writing a very different book from the one I thought I was writing.For setting up these presentations and for filling up the seats with people poised to ask smart and usefully embarrassing questions,I am grateful to Tom Cain, Patrick J.Finn,Marcie Frank,Elizabeth Hanson,Lynne Magnusson, Kathleen McLuskie,Gordon McMullan,and Paul Yachnin. Parts of this book are based on prior publication.For editorial gen- erosity and advice,my thanks go to Graham Bradshaw (Shakespearean Interational Yearbook 3,Ashgate);Christy Desmet and Robert Sawyer (Harold Bloom's Shakespeare,Palgrave);Peter Holland(Shakespeare Survey 59,Cambridge University Press);Alan Sinfield and Peter Nicholls (Textual Practice,11 and 17,Taylor and Francis);and Paul Yachnin and Patsy Badir (Shakespeare and the Cultures of Performance,Ashgate). I benefited from the encouragement and advice of friends and col- leagues at the University of Victoria,including Gordon Fulton,Gary Kuchar,Richard van Oort,and Terry Sherwood of the English Department,and Sara Beam and Matthew Koch of the History
PREFACE This book is about how Shakespeareans go about their business at the present time. It argues that we can perform more effectively and with more conviction by relaxing some of the materialist principles guiding current work, and by reconnecting with the traditions of Romantic commentary, beginning with Hazlitt and Coleridge and continuing up to A. C. Bradley, from which our own critical practice has developed. Since the Introduction spells out this argument in detail, I limit myself here to thanking at least some of the many people and institutions who have facilitated my work. A grant from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada helped with much of the research and writing. During the spring and fall of 2008, I was given the opportunity to try out some of my ideas in a number of academic settings, where the response made me realize that I was writing a very different book from the one I thought I was writing. For setting up these presentations and for filling up the seats with people poised to ask smart and usefully embarrassing questions, I am grateful to Tom Cain, Patrick J. Finn, Marcie Frank, Elizabeth Hanson, Lynne Magnusson, Kathleen McLuskie, Gordon McMullan, and Paul Yachnin. Parts of this book are based on prior publication. For editorial generosity and advice, my thanks go to Graham Bradshaw (Shakespearean International Yearbook 3, Ashgate); Christy Desmet and Robert Sawyer (Harold Bloom’s Shakespeare, Palgrave); Peter Holland (Shakespeare Survey 59, Cambridge University Press); Alan Sinfield and Peter Nicholls (Textual Practice, 11 and 17, Taylor and Francis); and Paul Yachnin and Patsy Badir (Shakespeare and the Cultures of Performance, Ashgate). I benefited from the encouragement and advice of friends and colleagues at the University of Victoria, including Gordon Fulton, Gary Kuchar, Richard van Oort, and Terry Sherwood of the English Department, and Sara Beam and Matthew Koch of the History
X Preface Department.I got more help than I could have expected from Jo Roberts,Brigitte Shull,and Ciara Vincent at Palgrave Macmillan, and from Rohini Krishnan at Newgen.Special thanks to Michael D. Bristol,for characteristically smart and helpful suggestions,to Marjorie Garson,who made every page of this book better,and to Lesley Wynne Pechter,who conceived and executed the cover illustration,and who made writing the book feel worthwhile
x Preface Department. I got more help than I could have expected from Jo Roberts, Brigitte Shull, and Ciara Vincent at Palgrave Macmillan, and from Rohini Krishnan at Newgen. Special thanks to Michael D. Bristol, for characteristically smart and helpful suggestions, to Marjorie Garson, who made every page of this book better, and to Lesley Wynne Pechter, who conceived and executed the cover illustration, and who made writing the book feel worthwhile
Introduction This book takes off from three claims:(1)in Shakespeare studies at the present time,the level of conviction required to sustain a healthy critical practice is problematically if not dangerously low;(2)the quali- ties which the Romantics valued in an engagement with Shakespeare are either ignored these days or fundamentally misunderstood;and (3)there is a causal relation between the first two points.The Romantics invented Shakespeare studies(a bald assertion to which I shall return in a moment),and current Shakespeareans,having grown increasingly remote from their origins,have not been able to develop an adequate alternative foundation on which to build their work. The first claim is the least controversial.That Shakespeare studies finds itself at an“impasse”--stuck in a“morass”or stranded in“the critical doldrums"-is regularly asserted in its current work.For the critics using these terms and for many others(they will be identified in chapter 1),we are experiencing a malaise,or even worse.According to Josephine Guy and Ian Small,"English Studies"altogether is"a dis- cipline in crisis,"and many Shakespeareans(the editorial theorists we shall meet in chapters 2 and 4 are striking examples)would probably agree.For even the most phlegmatic,Shakespeare studies looks sub- stantially less robust than might be expected,let alone wished. These accounts may exaggerate the problem.According to Marcie Frank,"literary criticism finds itself'in crisis'with a regularity that could almost be called soothing"(p.4).Bad news is good news;it makes for a better story;good news is not newsworthy.(This is a ver- sion of Tolstoy's"all happy families are the same.")There is a wide gap between most people's daily lives,and the representation of those lives in the accounts of fires,murders,and car accidents that fill up the nightly news.Then too,the particular nature of our enterprise may tend to reinforce exaggeration.Criticism is essentially a problem-solving activ- ity;without a problem to solve,we'd be like the disembodied soul in
Introduction This book takes off from three claims: (1) in Shakespeare studies at the present time, the level of conviction required to sustain a healthy critical practice is problematically if not dangerously low; (2) the qualities which the Romantics valued in an engagement with Shakespeare are either ignored these days or fundamentally misunderstood; and (3) there is a causal relation between the first two points. The Romantics invented Shakespeare studies (a bald assertion to which I shall return in a moment), and current Shakespeareans, having grown increasingly remote from their origins, have not been able to develop an adequate alternative foundation on which to build their work. The first claim is the least controversial. That Shakespeare studies finds itself at an “impasse”—stuck in a “morass” or stranded in “the critical doldrums”—is regularly asserted in its current work. For the critics using these terms and for many others (they will be identified in chapter 1), we are experiencing a malaise, or even worse. According to Josephine Guy and Ian Small, “English Studies” altogether is “a discipline in crisis,” and many Shakespeareans (the editorial theorists we shall meet in chapters 2 and 4 are striking examples) would probably agree. For even the most phlegmatic, Shakespeare studies looks substantially less robust than might be expected, let alone wished. These accounts may exaggerate the problem. According to Marcie Frank, “literary criticism finds itself ‘in crisis’ with a regularity that could almost be called soothing” (p. 4). Bad news is good news; it makes for a better story; good news is not newsworthy. (This is a version of Tolstoy’s “all happy families are the same.”) There is a wide gap between most people’s daily lives, and the representation of those lives in the accounts of fires, murders, and car accidents that fill up the nightly news. Then too, the particular nature of our enterprise may tend to reinforce exaggeration. Criticism is essentially a problem-solving activity; without a problem to solve, we’d be like the disembodied soul in ity; without a problem to solve, we’d be like the disembodied soul in
2 Shakespeare Studies Today Donne's“Air and Angels”who“else could nothing do.”We cringe at the cliched opening claim that "people have noticed X,but no one has noticed Y,and there is a need"(sometimes a"very real need")"to notice Y."Kingsley Amis ridicules the maneuver in Lucky Jim.Reflecting on "this strangely neglected topic,"the phrase he has put at the beginning of his try-not-to-get-fired essay on "The Economic Influence of the Developments in Shipbuilding Techniques,1450 to 1485,"Jim asks, "This what neglected topic?This strangely what topic?This strangely neglected what?"(p.16).Embarrassing as we know it to be,a version of this strategy nonetheless launches all critical work,including this one. Even those convention-flouting anecdotal beginnings in early Stephen Greenblatt are,as he himself acknowledges,back formations,produced by the convention they purport to flout("Writing,"45). All this notwithstanding,the worried accounts of our current cir- cumstances still deserve to be taken seriously.For one thing,the cri- sis claims may not be baseless:as Frank adds to her witty comment about soothing regularity,"the rhetoric of crisis masks the fact that the question of legitimacy has haunted literary criticism from its late seventeenth-century beginnings."Besides,the view that Shakespeare and literary studies are in a precarious condition is shared,as we shall see,among some of the most respected and influential scholars writing today,and this consensus extends to a conviction about the originating place(if not the cause)of the problem-namely,the redirection of criti- cal interest,effectively negotiated sometime during the 1980s,away from literary objects and effects to the cultural contexts within which these are produced and experienced.We cannot be dealing just with a predisposition to dramatically bad news or with a make-work project designed to prevent idleness.Something is really wrong.In Shakespeare Studies Today,I am trying to determine what is wrong,how we got into this situation,and what we should be doing about it. The usual way to explain what is wrongistosuggest that Shakespeareans have failed to achieve a coherent agreement about the subject and how to treat it.The absence of an effective cognitive and methodological consensus is a striking aspect of the current critical environment,and it may not be helping our situation;but the claim guiding this book is that our problems derive not so much from having too many different interests pulling us in too many different directions as having too pre- carious a commitment to the value of any of these interests to sustain a healthy practice.If the energy driving current practice feels intermittent and uncertain,this may have something to do with conceptual incoher- ence but more to do with unsustainable affect.It is the attenuation of
2 Shakespeare Studies Today Donne’s “Air and Angels” who “else could nothing do.” We cringe at the clichéd opening claim that “people have noticed X, but no one has noticed Y, and there is a need” (sometimes a “very real need”) “to notice Y.” Kingsley Amis ridicules the maneuver in Lucky Jim. Reflecting on “this strangely neglected topic,” the phrase he has put at the beginning of his try-not-to-get-fired essay on “The Economic Influence of the Developments in Shipbuilding Techniques, 1450 to 1485,” Jim asks, “This what neglected topic? This strangely what topic? This strangely neglected what?” (p. 16). Embarrassing as we know it to be, a version of this strategy nonetheless launches all critical work, including this one. Even those convention-flouting anecdotal beginnings in early Stephen Greenblatt are, as he himself acknowledges, back formations, produced by the convention they purport to flout (“Writing,” 45). All this notwithstanding, the worried accounts of our current circumstances still deserve to be taken seriously. For one thing, the crisis claims may not be baseless: as Frank adds to her witty comment about soothing regularity, “the rhetoric of crisis masks the fact that the question of legitimacy has haunted literary criticism from its late seventeenth-century beginnings.” Besides, the view that Shakespeare and literary studies are in a precarious condition is shared, as we shall see, among some of the most respected and influential scholars writing today, and this consensus extends to a conviction about the originating place (if not the cause) of the problem—namely, the redirection of critical interest, effectively negotiated sometime during the 1980s, away from literary objects and effects to the cultural contexts within which these are produced and experienced. We cannot be dealing just with a predisposition to dramatically bad news or with a make-work project designed to prevent idleness. Something is really wrong. In Shakespeare Studies Today, I am trying to determine what is wrong, how we got into this situation, and what we should be doing about it. The usual way to explain what is wrong is to suggest that Shakespeareans have failed to achieve a coherent agreement about the subject and how to treat it. The absence of an effective cognitive and methodological consensus is a striking aspect of the current critical environment, and it may not be helping our situation; but the claim guiding this book is that our problems derive not so much from having too many different interests pulling us in too many different directions as having too precarious a commitment to the value of any of these interests to sustain a healthy practice. If the energy driving current practice feels intermittent and uncertain, this may have something to do with conceptual incoherence but more to do with unsustainable affect. It is the attenuation of
INTRODUCTION 3 desire that best explains why our critical performances seem unable to furnish a thoroughgoing satisfaction to ourselves or those for whom and with whom we perform them.We need to relocate the problem,so I am arguing here,from the reason to the will. From this perspective,focusing chiefly on desire and will,how should we account for the redirection of critical interest from which our present state of affairs seems to emerge?The trajectory of this still ongoing process may be suggested by means of the following stand- on-one-foot-and-talk-really-fast synopsis of shifting norms in literary studies during the last thirty years or so. One:In 1981,two junior faculty in the Rhetoric Department at Penn State,Jeanne Fahnestock and Marie Secor,undertook a study of the "institutionalized norms"for and"field-dependent constraints on the published interpretation of literature"as a way of"understanding the available means of persuasion"(p.77).By analyzing a sample of essays published between 1978 and 1981 in the most prestigious schol- arly journals,they determined that this work exhibited the standard marks of Aristotle's third rhetorical motive-the epideictic:a "ceremo- nial”and“subtly ritualized form of communication'”that has“much in common with religious discourse"in that it"affirms the shared values of a community and harmonizes new insights with what is already believed"(p.94).They wrote up their work as "The Rhetoric of Literary Criticism"and submitted it to the PMLA,where it was deci- sively rejected.Fahnestock tells me she doesn't recall why,but I'd guess that the editorial board mistook the piece to be saying that the emperor had no clothes.As an imperial organ,the PMLA could not be expected to countenance let alone disseminate a view of its own nakedness. Two:According to Stephen Greenblatt in Learning to Curse,"one of the more irritating qualities of my own literary training"was"its relentlessly celebratory character"as"a kind of secular theodicy.Every decision made by a great artist could be shown to be a brilliant one; works that had seemed flawed and uneven...were now revealed to be organic masterpieces[,]the triumphant expression of a healthy,inte- grated community"(p.168).As Greenblatt remembers it,graduate school at Yale in the late1960s“was epitomized”by the“Elizabethan Club-all-male,a black servant in a starched white jacket,cucumber sandwiches and tea,"over which"the imposing figure of William K. Wimsatt'”held forth“on poetry and aesthetics”as if presiding at“the hierophantic service'”ofa“mystery cult'”Greenblatt himself“wished to resist"(p.1).By 1990,when these passages were published,it was no longer taboo to identify academic literary study with epideictic rhetoric
Introduction 3 desire that best explains why our critical performances seem unable to furnish a thoroughgoing satisfaction to ourselves or those for whom and with whom we perform them. We need to relocate the problem, so I am arguing here, from the reason to the will. From this perspective, focusing chiefly on desire and will, how should we account for the redirection of critical interest from which our present state of affairs seems to emerge? The trajectory of this still ongoing process may be suggested by means of the following standon-one-foot-and-talk-really-fast synopsis of shifting norms in literary studies during the last thirty years or so. One: In 1981, two junior faculty in the Rhetoric Department at Penn State, Jeanne Fahnestock and Marie Secor, undertook a study of the “institutionalized norms” for and “field-dependent constraints on the published interpretation of literature” as a way of “understanding the available means of persuasion” (p. 77). By analyzing a sample of essays published between 1978 and 1981 in the most prestigious scholarly journals, they determined that this work exhibited the standard marks of Aristotle’s third rhetorical motive—the epideictic: a “ceremonial” and “subtly ritualized form of communication” that has “much in common with religious discourse” in that it “affirms the shared values of a community and harmonizes new insights with what is already believed” (p. 94). They wrote up their work as “The Rhetoric of Literary Criticism” and submitted it to the PMLA, where it was decisively rejected. Fahnestock tells me she doesn’t recall why, but I’d guess that the editorial board mistook the piece to be saying that the emperor had no clothes. As an imperial organ, the PMLA could not be expected to countenance let alone disseminate a view of its own nakedness. Two: According to Stephen Greenblatt in Learning to Curse, “one of the more irritating qualities of my own literary training” was “its relentlessly celebratory character” as “a kind of secular theodicy. Every decision made by a great artist could be shown to be a brilliant one; works that had seemed flawed and uneven ... were now revealed to be organic masterpieces[,] the triumphant expression of a healthy, integrated community” (p. 168). As Greenblatt remembers it, graduate school at Yale in the late 1960s “was epitomized” by the “Elizabethan Club—all-male, a black servant in a starched white jacket, cucumber sandwiches and tea,” over which “the imposing figure of William K. Wimsatt” held forth “on poetry and aesthetics” as if presiding at “the hierophantic service” of a “mystery cult” Greenblatt himself “wished to resist” (p. 1). By 1990, when these passages were published, it was no longer taboo to identify academic literary study with epideictic rhetoric