Foucault makes several very interesting points, but the questions Foucault seemed to be pursuing regarding an author's name interested me most. Foucault raises these questions: "What is an author's name? How does it function?" (906) After proposing these questions, Foucault acknowledges the difficulties in finding answers. Still, it seems that Foucault and I have something in common, and that is our interest in prodding at these questions.
Foucault seems to be saying, in a sort of round about way, that an author's name is essentially defined by his works. A good example of this is Edgar Allan Poe. When you read that name, there are some instant connections you make. First, because you have likely either read or heard of some of his grisly works, you think dark. Then, recalling The Tell-Tale Heart, you think of morbidity. And murder. The list goes on and on. But the important thing to note is this: "...an author's name is not simply an element in a discourse (capable of being either subject or object,of being replaced by a pronoun, and the like); it performs a certain role with regard to narrative discourse, assuring a classificatory function." (907) This explains why Edgar Allan Poe means more than the name of some dead poet. Author's names are like terms in a dictionary, and their works; the definition.
Author's names also dictate reader's expectations, and when an author produces a work that contradicts his/her reputation, readers must disregard it in order to cope. "If among several books attributed to an author one is inferior to the others, it must be withdrawn from the list of the author's works (the author is therefore defined as a constant level of value)." (909) I have personally done this before. Sometimes there's an author that I really like, and after reading several of his/her books, I learn what to expect from them. Then, it is as if the author has forgotten his/her writing style, and the author comes out with some book that is absolutely different from the rest. Just not up to par. When this happens, I have learned to block it out so that I can continue to read that author. It's quite an effective coping mechanism.
So to answer the question, "What's in a name?", I can only say this: A LOT.
2 comments:
That's right, there's A LOT in a name. Your observations on how an author's name can signify certain terms, emotions, and general information as well as "perform a certain role with regard to...a certain classificatory function" immediately made me think of Kenneth Burke's "Literature as Equipment for Living (Foucault, What is an Author, 109). The way Burke uses proverbs is how you seem to be showing the function of an author.
Proverbs, as well as an author's name, are no more than just words until they're put into practice. When someone uses a proverb, there's a lot more going on, according to Burke. He sees proverbs as "strategies for dealing with situations" (Burke, Equipment, 296). Proverbs label situations, just as an author's works label the author. Instead of having to explain oneself through a lengthy monologue each time a new situation arises, a proverb can concisely relate the situation to others. Proverbs bring about (as you put it) "instant connections". Edgar Allen Poe may be "the Tell Tale Heart guy" to most, thus creating the stream of mutual associations among people. Proverbs also create a relatabilty, because they "name typical, recurrent situations" (Burke, Equipment, 293).
You also touch on the reader's (in this case your) relationship with an author's constancy. The need to put an author in a certain classification seems typical, however I think Foucault would agree with Burke when he says that he wants "categories that suggest their [proverbs'] active nature" (Burke, Equipment, 296). Society is ever evolving, thus the use of certain proverbs evolve to fit in a new way. Similarly, "fiction would not be limited by the figure of the author" (Foucault, Author, 914). It's easy to disregard a piece of literature that doesn't seem to fit with your established relationship with said author. However, Burke and Foucault challenge you to resist this type of constraint, and instead use it as a an opportunity to provide new possibilities. In this way perhaps the author can transcend time just as proverbs do.
A brilliant coping mechanism, really.
I am glad that you brought this particular aspect of Foucault to the blog because, like you, I find it personally relevant. After reading even a few of any author's works I form a gestalt that I expect the author to adhere to. It is not only easier to analyze and characterize the works you have already consumed, but any that may show up in the future. This expectation, however, has the tendency to either misguide interpretation, or (as you pointed out) cause the reader to segmentalize the author’s works in order to maintain their previous notions.
I just got finished reading Ong's "The Writer Is Always a Fiction" and I wasn’t all that happy with his argument. The point you make here, however has helped me view his vision of “fictionalization” in a different light: the reader’s relationship to the reading. The formation of this relationship is, it would seem, human nature. The construction and sturdy establishment of archetypal boundaries is one that doesn’t stop at the reader’s relationship to the author. While I believe that Ong’s argument that readers are “demanded” to “play a role” (Ong, 12) is a bit over-the-top, I can now see that the relationship he describes is not a fictional thing when referring to some genres. I am inclined to say that the author-reader relationship is one that is only formed in some situations, but that the formation of some kind of relationship is inevitable. Whether this relationship is one that the reader forms with the genre itself, the format, the period in which the book was written, or some other factor, it can still have an enormous impact on the way a reader engages various texts. Maybe the development of the “roles” (Ong, 13-15) that Ong claims readers are forced into fulfilling aren’t meant to describe a kind of power that the author holds over the reader, but to define a “covert awareness” (Ong, 15) that we, as readers, choose to partake in. Whether this decision is pressed forward by authors or by our own desire to better partition information in our all-too-full brains is a question I won’t even begin to tackle.
Either way, thanks for posting. Your take on Foucault’s material helped me out more than you know!
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