Literacy of Literature

Upon being told that I am an English major with a focus in literature and rhetoric, people feel the inherent overwhelming need to blurt: “What do you mean by literature? What will you do with that degree?” Initially, to this question I have no firm response. What do I mean by “literature?” It’d be far easier to describe what I do not mean by literature (the answer is math equations). A quick Google search of “what is literature?” brings forth results from Jacques Derrida, Jonathan Culler, and Gilles Deleuze, all of whom were and are prominent literary theorists thirsting for a solid definition of literature. When referencing scientific journals, mathematical essays, and historical analyses, these are all thrown into the canon of literature, verifying that literature and prose are not mutually exclusive. Instead, literature is an all-encompassing term used as a reference point for any written work and brings to fruition the words that so many want to express but are unable to do so.

Literature is virtually impossible to limit. There is a wide array of genres and categories; there are what many consider classic, what others consider taboo, what some consider obsolete. Literature is this, but it is also that. Some literary works — be it a novel, poem, journal, short story, what have you — skyrocket to fame, while some are beloved by few or none at all. Literature does a delicate dance on the precipice of “widely revered” and “collectively shunned.” It is a paradox — a conundrum. It is hard to confine because there are so many stipulations to what becomes mainstream. Literature has no color, no gender, no class — but it is censored based on these factors. It can be written by anyone, read by anyone, but few will succeed in obtaining immortalization through ink. Literature is everything because it can be anything. While this response seems particularly vague, I am met with the same struggle as Derrida. In “This Strange Institution Called Literature,” the praised theorist Jacques Derrida is quoted as saying:

First of all, it [a sole critical function of literature] would limit literature by fixing a mission for it, a single mission. This would be to finalize literature, to assign to it a meaning, a program and a regulating ideal, whereas it could also have other essential functions, or even have no function, no usefulness outside of itself. And by the same token it can help to think or delimit what “meaning,” “regulating ideal,” “program,” “function,” and “critical” might mean (38).

Derrida is insisting that literature cannot be confined to one single definition. To define it would be to limit it severely and deprive it of other facets of existing. The implication here is that literature can function within itself, but can also function outside of itself. Much like Derrida, I am met with the challenge of trying to describe literature as one concrete thing when the converse of that thing (however concrete it may seem) is also true. It is an institution designed to tear down institution — a vital cog in the machine that also seeks to destroy the machine. Literature is what the reader, writer, teacher, observer makes it out to be.

Now, it may seem easier to define literature when specificity comes to light, such as defining solely American literature rather than literature in its entirety. However, that is just simply not the case. Although it is a common misconception, American literature does not have to be written by an American (an easy assumption that I had previously made since I had never necessarily put tons of thought into what makes American literature “American”). Furthermore, it does not even have to be written in America, or anywhere close to it — take for instance TS Elliot waxing poetic in Kensington, London, composing what would eventually become essential analytical poetry accepted into the American literary canon. So what, then, makes it American? Perhaps it is the subject matter — American affairs, political climate, popular culture, et cetera, et cetera. Or perhaps it is literature written in a language and style that the majority of Americans relate to. Or does American literature simply fill a need for relatability and resonance in the minds and hearts of Americans and their shared experiences? American literature is, perhaps, simply the literature that finds its way into our institutions and settles down with us for generations, becoming timeless and remaining relevant throughout its lifespan. It is also pertinent to take cultural and political affairs into consideration. American literature has had the ability to portray a communal understanding of the American experience by incorporating upheaval, social change, and popular culture of the era in which each work was authored. The truly beautiful and confounding part about it is this: somehow, American literature is timeless. Generations have aged and withered; the country itself has expanded, shifted, imploded, rebuilt; political leaders, troublesome policies, and war after war after war have ravaged Americans’ lives. A work written hundreds of years ago during the infancy of America still holds relevance in its adolescence.

While the political climate in America now is experiencing a record heat wave, much of our literature remains relevant. Writers like Nathaniel Hawthorne and Arthur Miller and Ralph Ellison probably never imagined a man like Trump taking office (read that sentence in whichever tone you’d like while I attempt to keep my opinion out of this and remain neutral, although I think you know exactly how I intended “a man like Trump” to be read), nor could they possibly have imagined the divisiveness running rampant among seemingly every differing group of people. And yet, somehow, Hawthorne’s awareness of gender inequality and shaming of sexuality still holds pertinence; Miller’s heart wrenching tale of class structure and the plight of the poor still brings tears to our eyes and sympathy wells from our hearts for his protagonist; and Ellison’s timeless tale of racism and the dehumanization of the Black race can be read now with little to no questioning of what that possibly was like since it is still, well, kind of the same (the phrase “kind of” dripping heavily in facetiousness). To read a book written before the current reader was born and still echo so soundly and firmly within them is an immense power in and of itself. If literature in its entirety is a reference point for any written work, then American literature is a reference point of the collective American experience, allowing both insiders and outsiders alike to become a part of this experience.

So, to the next person to ask me what I mean by literature, I will tell them this: literature is my experience, it is your experience, it is our experience. It has had the ability for millennia to put our thoughts, desires, and fears into words. Literature has fiercely confronted us throughout our entire existence, but it accomplished this feat so subversively that we are seemingly unaware of its power. And what will I do with this degree? I will immortalize our experience on paper, starting with telling you what literature is.