This sort of social situation can be very frustrating
and can make you feel like an outsider; awkward and uncomfortable,
even when you are someone who usually feels quite secure having
conversations. Reading and writing theory and criticism often
creates these same sorts of feelings: awkwardness, insecurity,
and frustration. People new to theory and criticism often
express frustrations like these: Why can’t they just
speak plain English? Why do they have to use jargon? Why does
everybody drop names? Are they just showing off? Why doesn’t
anybody explain anything to me? Or, even, this is just B.S.
Of course, going back to the cocktail party
analogy, it helps to remember that you have friends now that
were, at one time, strangers. You are part of social groups
now, which initially might have felt uncomfortable or unwelcoming.
Indeed, you already know literary terms and concepts now that
may have seemed like jargon to you just a few years ago.
Academia is a discourse community and each sub-field
or discipline is also its own discourse community within that
larger community. We’ve all entered into new discourse
communities before, spaces where we had to learn new language,
new terms, and the ways some terms can take on new meanings
when they are in different contexts. When I waited tables,
for example, I had to learn that someone “in the weeds”
had just been slammed with too many tables and that “86
fries” meant that the kitchen had just run out of French
fries.
Why jargon and name-dropping, and not just "plain
English"? We need shorthand in order to communicate efficiently.
In a graduate course, for example, I don’t need to define
“syllabus” for you in ways that I do for first-year
college students. I don’t need to explain that the syllabus
lists the books, the reading schedule and assignments or explain
to you that it is a document you should keep and refer to
during the course of the semester, etc. Because you have been
in the college discourse community for a while now, you know
what a syllabus is – you are an insider and you get
the reference. Indeed, if I spent 15 minutes on the first
day of a graduate class explaining what a syllabus is, you
would most likely feel patronized. Similarly, criticism and
theory assumes a common knowledge, a repertoire of terms,
concepts, and names. So, if someone writes, “the scene
was reminiscent of Foucault’s theory of the panopticon,”
the assumption is that people reading this essay know who
Foucault is and know what he wrote about the panopticon. Most
likely, these sorts of specialized readers will feel patronized
if the author explains this familiar idea at length.
Because much criticism and theory assumes an
audience already familiar with some criticism and theory,
there is no easy entry point into this discourse community.
We’re just going to have to dive into the middle of
the conversation. Nor is it possible to read everything needed
to completely understand every reference—ever, if you
ask me! Therefore, one of the best strategies for beginning
to understand criticism and theory is to realize that you
won’t understand everything you read, you will feel
like an outsider at times, and you will get frustrated.
Here are some strategies that might help:
Let go.
• Many of us who study at the graduate
level are here because we enjoy a sort of mastery over writing
and reading. So, I think it is especially hard for us “type-A”
folks to let go, to read texts we can’t easily decode.
Don’t be hard on yourself: You don’t need to understand
every word or every passage. If it makes no sense to you,
mark it and move on. Ask a friend or your professor to help
you to work through the material.
• Remember, everyone else in class with you feels just
the same way! If you raise your hand to ask a question, chances
are five other students probably have the same question.
Buddy up.
• Nothing makes us feel more like an outsider
than entering a new situation alone! It helps to know that
others are struggling with the material too. Students in past
theory courses have done well by starting a support group,
I mean, a study group. It can be very liberating to meet with
fellow grad students to talk about the reading in a comfortable
(ie. professor-free) space where you can say things like,
“I don’t care what Professor Wannamaker says,
this essay is just B.S.”
Look it up.
• You won’t find good definitions
of theoretical terms on-line or on Wikipedia. (As a matter
of fact, Wikipedia has led some grad students astray by providing,
um, quirky definitions of terms.) Instead, learn to use the
library. Learn the key journals in the field. Read them.
• Ask your peers (see above) if they know what a term
means. I often learned as much from bright grad students who
were my peers as I learned from my professors.
Ask Questions.
• Do not be afraid to appear a fool or
to say, “I don’t know,” or to slow down
class discussion by asking for clarification. (Of course,
your professor is not a theory guru; sometimes I’ll
say, “I don’t know either! Let’s figure
this out together.”)
Initially, believe every word you read.
• Do not dismiss ideas because they seem
weird (Freud) or dense and difficult to understand (Derrida)
or “jargon-filled.”
• If you find yourself wanting to dismiss an idea, stop,
and examine yourself as a reader: what do you have invested
in the subject matter that makes you disagree with the author?
Are you turned off by the language? What are your assumptions
about the terms being used? Are they the same assumptions
about the terms the author has? Ask questions in the margins.
• We’ll work in class on gauging current debates
in the field and we'll discuss the ways in which academics
seem to disagree about just about everything. Once you’ve
read widely enough, we’ll practice ways to politely
and systematically disagree.
Give it time.
• Eventually (not over the course of one
semester—it takes much longer!) you’ll start to
see the same names and concepts over and over. Through this
repetition, you’ll start to learn the key terms, names,
debates, texts, and issues in the field. Be patient.
Be humble in the face of knowledge
• In my experience, the more I learn,
the more I come to understand that I know very, very little!
The wealth and history of children’s literature criticism
is awe-inspiring and daunting, and there is still so much
I don’t know about the field.
• As the fabulous Sherman Alexie wrote in The Absolutely
True Diary of a Part-time Indian, “The world, even
the smallest parts of it, is filled with things you don’t
know.” Wow, indeed.
Which leads to the final point:
• If you read enough theory, you will
begin to see that good literature itself is a kind of theory,
often anticipates theory in eloquent and profound ways, and,
vice versa, that the best theory is akin to literature in
the ways it can move us and help us to see the world in new,
different, and exciting ways.
