Literary into cultural studies
A reply to Martin Ryle
Antony Easthope
To parody a well-known saying, I shall say that a little formalism
turns one away from History, but that a lot brings one back to it.
Roland Barthes
In Long Live Literature? (RP 67) Martin Ryle explores the implications
of the outcome of the crisis in `English', saluting the development of a
cultural studies committed to the reading of texts in a historical context but
proposing nevertheless that a separate place should be maintained for a
different, literary reading of literary texts (or `literary' texts). Ryle
further develops in suggestive outline an account of such literary reading as
based in a `humanist identification' (p. 26) of the reader with the text from
which may ensue a sense of what he terms the `complex interplay between
discursive construction of identity and refusal of that construction' (p.
26).
While welcoming this intervention by RP into the arena of literary/textual
theory I am a bit disappointed that it has taken the expression it does, and
some of that disappointment returns in what may be an over-harsh close reading
of Long Live Literature? (though the title alone bodes ill). Despite
important qualifications and refinements, and, I think, a certain amount of
denegation (it's not enough to put some words in scare quotes), Ryle's argument
tends to privilege an abstracted notion of `the literary text', to be
apprehended, he says, `at once in itself' (p. 23), so that he ends up with a
conservative legitimation of the aesthetic in textual studies of just the kind
he - and others beside him - have hoped to avoid. To hold his position in place
Ryle relies upon a series of oppositions: between literary and cultural studies;
between the aesthetic and the historical; between form and content. I shall aim
to show that none of these oppositions is stable in the way Ryle's main argument
presumes, and that his position is seriously damaged by the degree of its
adherence to an older paradigm of `the text', a view which has insufficiently
taken on board the recent shift to a more radical notion of the text as always
in a relation to its reader, implying a text/reader dialectic.
Ryle identifies cultural studies very much with a version of reading the text
as historical, `as instances of discourse in a given social and historical
conjuncture' (p. 21). Although cultural studies must be concerned with ideology
and the historical conjuncture of the text, I would argue that this is not and
should not be its exclusive and defining concern, and certainly not as Ryle
describes it. His account of the historical takes up a number of positions which
don't properly cohere. In writing of Hardy's Jude the Obscure Ryle says
that our sense of the versions of feminine identity the book proposes must be
rejected because of `our conviction that real women, at the time of the book's
writing, could not be reduced to one or other of the available positions' (p.
26). This humanist and essentialist appeal to `real women' disregards the fact
that we only have access to this reality on the basis of a historical narrative,
a narrative which necessarily implicates and finds a point of address in the
reader of that narrative in the present. I don't want (and for present purposes
don't think I need) to get further into the complex questions around metahistory
in order to register the point that here as elsewhere Ryle's argument is not
firmly and unequivocally dedicated to an acknowledgement that all texts are read
in a continuous present.
Ryle rightly warns against the `high theoretical discussion of literature and
ideology' in which an elite, `possessed of the master-discourse of the
ideological' and the `benefit of hindsight' carried out `forensic procedures' on
the dead body of the text (p. 25). What I would call British Cultural Studies
Phase 2 and date 1970-1980, the Althusserian-semiological moment in cultural
studies, did assume it spoke from the position of a worldless subject situated
outside the text within a metadiscourse which allowed it to assess precisely the
degree to which a given text was - simultaneously - progressive and conservative
in effect. Yet at the same time as distancing himself from it Ryle seems to wish
to return to this moment, for he writes that `an overarching theorisation of the
literary in relation to the social/historical is not within our grasp at
present' (p. 22, my italics). Well, I would say that the lonely hour when
we achieve a totalising theory of the literary in relation to the
social/historical will never come because the subject as master of a historical
narrative and the subject as he or she now experiences the text to be defined by
that narrative can never be in the same place.
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