How To Read Literature. Because It's Awfully Tricky.

Anyone who’s been with 50 yards of me in the last eight months will probably know my stance on my current area of study: English. I’ve grown to rather resent the various subjective approaches that literary ‘experts’ adopt and see as acceptable.

The interpretation of poetry is one that I am currently feeling particularly strongly about as I have an impending exam hurtle toward me heavily involved in this supposed high art form.

I recently posted up a poem by the late Stevie Smith; my thoughts are already out there on that abomination. But today I’ll bring to light something John Osborne – who’s gone up in my estimations (as I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear) tenfold in my making of this discovery.

For those of you that don’t know, Osborne wrote a play called Look Back in Anger that was first published in 1957. It’s about a man – Jimmy – who enjoys a good rant about the world (not unlike myself). Jimmy lives with his girlfriend and a Welshman called Cliff.

In our lectures the fantastic example of Bournemouth University’s teaching staff – Helen Cooper – told us explicitly that there are ‘homoerotic undercurrents’ in the play and that Cliff could be the ‘brawny love he [Jimmy] seeks’.

All seemingly sensible, that could happen. In the 21^st Century we’re very open to this, and this reading of the play is fairly acceptable. Until, that is, you read pages 3 and 4 of the sequel to Look Back in Anger, Déjàvu. Here Osborne writes, as explicit as Helen Cooper told us the contrary, that Jimmy’s homosexuality is a ‘wearisome theory’. Osborne goes on to tell us that Jimmy is a comic character and the sexist and sadistic features we are taught are utterly misread as a Malvolio-style character was the true identity of young Jimmy Porter.

One might forgive this of a lecturer if the revelation was a new one, if this publication was in the last 6 months, after the course was conceptualised. Alas, Osborne died 16 years ago and the play in question was first performed in May 1992. As a result, it’s almost as old as me, yet it’s gone unnoticed by the wonder that is Bournemouth University and its staff.

Now, after reading the author’s note on this issue, it’s fairly obvious that homosexuality was far from Osborne’s mind when creating his characters. Yet we return to the ever-present ‘personal reading’ problem of literature. Bringing this up with any ‘qualified’ literature academic would only result in the jaded response of “Well, that’s an interesting revelation from Osborne, but the play reads as if there are homosexual undercurrents. It’s in the reading, not in the writing”.

I don’t want to bore you, but it’s fairly obvious that if a writer didn’t mean something to be interpreted in a certain way, then to interpret it in that way is the wrong way.

Nevertheless, I’ll change my tack to theirs, I will adapt my reading and it will reflect not what the writer intend, it will reflect what I get out of it. So I read poetry and novels and consume plays completely ignorant of any social or political stand the author might want to make, and without taking into account the situation of the world around them. I will read and imagine any text in familiar surroundings to me, and as a result the stories I encounter will be my reading. That’s what’s important.

But wait, most literature is a response to society or happens as a result of something going on in the world at that time. How can I fully understand the text if I chose to ignore the opinions and thoughts of the author?

To ignore the context is to ignore 90% of the meaning. Surely meaning is the sole reason for having literature, so to lose so much of it is a travesty.

I’m sorry this has been such a tirade today, but I find the lack of consistency in the study of literature simply abhorrent. If you’ve managed to get to the end of this when you have little interest in literature, then thank you, I’ll try to give you something more light hearted to read next time. But don’t hold your breath.