I think it's correct to regard an effort to change the curriculum as a politically motivated act, but it's huge mistake to regard efforts to keep the curriculum the same as politically neutral. They're both political, and neither of them shows greater respect towards abstract notions of literary or cultural value. Regarding the curriculum as if it were a monolithic and unchanging syllabus of Great Texts is an appealing conservative fantasy, but it's also clearly nonsense.
I agree, we shouldn't necessarily hide books which are deemed 'dangerous'. But which books does society deem dangerous? Is anyone afraid of Homer or Shakespeare? Or are the readers of the Wall Street Journal terrified that anti-racist (or pro-gay or pro-trans) literature will appear on the syllabus?
Oho! I understand what you mean. I lay no claim to neutrality in this question. There is no such thing, truly. I understand that there is a political motivation, of a kind, in my wish to keep the classics in the curriculum, and my severe reticence in seeing it changed. And, indeed, there is no such thing as stasis. Things do change, over time. It is a tempting thing, to pretend to belong to the old sensible in the face of a vast, lunatic modernity coming to rip it all down and replace it with vapid fashions of now. It is, of course, much more complicated than that, and I do my damnedest to remember that.
As for outright dangerous works, I admit they are few. Neither of the examples would be. 'Dangerous' was the wrong word to use, as it carries a certain emergency and fear with it. Works that are considered malinfluential, problematic, odious or hateful, at a first glance, or as a basic reaction.
The works that were to replace them are not a danger, either. They would well have merits beyond being what the current climate demands, and they, too, deserve their time at the desk, but I am wary of them becoming a replacement, and being treated as an improvement – an an idea that all books are the same, and what matters is that they are a good fit for the present.
Now, I suppose 'The Anarchist's Cookbook' or some other insurgency manuals are the only truly dangerous books, and I could understand why they would make no appearance – but the question of such books and their availability is a different matter, I suppose. Ironically, an old CIA-issue bomb making leaflet or some-such on the loose would probably be considerably more dangerous than a traceable and supervised darknet site. Intriguing, how it falls sometimes.
I think you take a different meaning from "relevance" (or "relevancy") than I do. Relevance does not imply complete identity or recognition, but rather some ability to relate: to connect it to one's own experience (external or internal, personal or second-hand). I believe that pre-modern literature has a higher threshold to achieve that connection because it rarely features any kind of psychological realism, which when present offers a ready bridge. Few readers will have faced a situation like Hamlet's, but we can emotionally relate — directly or indirectly — to his resentment of a stepfather, to his indecision in the face of a moral dilemma, to the way he lashes out in anger and grief, etc. Achilles's petulant refusal to fight, and his uncontrollable rage after Patroclus's death, on the other hand, are more opaque to us, more alien. In the Odyssey, I can only hesitantly identify Odysseus's experience of dislocation upon his return, and perhaps Telemachus's absence from growing up without a father, as points of connection for a contemporary audience.
(On the other hand, a number of interpreters have retold the stories in various ways to bring out some of the emotion perhaps latent in the original. I'm thinking particularly of The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood, The Lost Books of the Odyssey by Zachary Mason and Circe by Madeline Miller. They do however rely on some pretty heavy revisionism. Oh, and as I've just learned, the poem by Tennyson, which turns out to be the source of a number of lines I recognize, apparently in part from Skyfall, and which I find rather good: "Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' / Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades / For ever and forever when I move.")
I see what you mean, in the matter of relating. That is a different question, and I do agree that there is need to tread carefully. It is easier for someone young to see themselves in, say, a trodden and beaten little boy suddenly getting a whole new life and going off to a wizard school than in a warrior leaving his team because he feels unfairly treated when the king takes away his slave. Even so, there is things to recognise in Achilles and the men and women around them, and with some training, any distance can be bridged, and what was alien to the reader become familiar. Personal experiences are important, but to look beyond even them..! Oh, splendour, the world is greater than comprehension will allow!
It is another power of the word; that we can be invited into the hide of anything and anyone, eventually. Some works makes it easy, some are very difficult. I do think the young should be encouraged to try this, however. It is splendour, and one of the requirements of modern civility and life is the ability to look beyond the self and into the condition of the other. Learning to relate, first in familiar surroundings and then in hallowed or horrid or alien circumstances, will be of immeasurable help.
I may over-estimate the contemporary audience, particularly the young. But I want to believe that I am not, that anyone can step over. Far better it is than to not push them enough. Indeed, with so much other media all around them, making the fantastical familiar, I imagine the young of today can, with practice, put their eyes and heart where-ever they choose.
And, truly, thank you for that link! It is a delightful poem, and I am happy to know of that web-site now.
For instance, Arabian poetry may not have seem relevant to me, but having had the opportunity to examine it in manhood, I see how it is universal. Indeed, Arabian literature is a trove of treasures I am just now discovering, and it is splendid. That is how the written word is so radiant; it breaches all types of relevancies, and yet you meet the same things in it, wherever you go.
Oh, interesting. I recently read The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyám by Edward FitzGerald for the first time (not the most faithful rendering, I'm told, but I thought the interpreter might help smooth the way into the text). I must admit that my appreciation was limited. Do you have any recommendations for what I could try, given that I'm limited to English translations?
Oh, goodness, no! I am still very much a beginner, and you are likely far more versed in it than myself. I can only recommend hunting for a wide selection, and see what takes your fancy from there. It is a vast field! I, too, rely on translations. Arabic is a fascinating language (or family of languages, I am still not sure), but it is beyond my reach for now. If I find a promising vein, I shall get in touch.
At a guess, the "classic epic poetry" quota was taken up by selections from the Norse corpus (themselves not very extensive).
That is time well spent, I shall say, although it is a pity that there must be a choice. I barely recall my school days, but I do remember a disappointing lack of Norse verse in it. Although, the Nordic mythology lessons did a lot to fill the gap. I may have been too cyclopean (ha!) previous. There are, after all, other lessons, that may make up for what the literature lessons simply do not have time for. Nonetheless, there was a glaring omission of Beowulf, I recall now.
Speaking of omissions, Johan Ludvig Runeberg was absent. And in that case, I do suspect that the reasoning may have been political. He is certainly not a hard read or unrelatable. I imagine that he was simply considered a bit 'icky' – martial and nationalistic – when they were pruning the curriculum, so poor old Runeberg had to bite it. A pity, really, considering the joint heritage he represents.
Homer is, of course, a hard digest, but the act of learning to read what is sometimes difficult and stodgy texts, to understand references you might not just at once – or indeed circumnavigating something that you do not have the frame of reference to understand – is as valuable knowledge that much exceeds the historical importance of the text.
As for the difference in value between Homer and modernity, I would say that is part of the point to teach it. Such things change, and I do believe even children benefit from being made aware of this, of seeing it. Knowing that the values of Agamemnon's men and those of we who live now differ – and knowing why – is very important. Addressing it is not only a necessity, it is the point. Relevancy and understanding.
Indeed, but I don't think either of those lessons require Homer specifically.
But I will not argue that you are wrong. Something is no doubt lost when command of the classics (as traditionally conceived) is no longer expected of students, and it is valid to regret that loss. However, as Ali correctly points out, to instill that knowledge comes at an opportunity cost of learning other things, of opening up to reading other kinds of texts, and we should not be blind to that cost simply because it has been the traditional choice.
Perhaps... Perhaps. It is a good point. With a holistic (is that the right word) method of education, where each part links and aids the others is the best. Tradition, I hold as very important, but there may indeed be a time when the gains taken at its expense outweighs the loss. I suppose that I am simply unconvinced that the exchange will be any good, but I am always prepared to be surprised.
Well, if there's one thing to be said for the Greek classics, they are at least not anti-gay. (Though unless I misremember, Achilles's love for Patroclus is not explicitly sexual in Homer.)
It is important to remember that the way we see these things are always changing. Truly, antiquity were no less bothered and baffled by sexual matters than we are now, I would wager, only that their peculiarities and distinctions are different. It is very complicated, and I do not think a direct adaption to modern culture can be made without some misunderstandings along the way.
If we're talking about the Odyssey, I don't remember ever being asked to read it in full in school, and personally, I don't see why it should be either. There are several million books in existence,
and I personally think there are lots of books that can spark more interesting discussions than a work whose biggest influence on western society was giving filmmakers some ideas on what monsters to put in their blockbusters.
But even if you disagree and think the Odyssey is one of the greatest books ever, from my experience, our teachers were so pressed for time we could barely fit one book into a school year,
so that would just mean excluding another work if they were to choose the entirety of the Odyssey as part of the curriculum. I for one think Right-Wing Women by Andrea Dworkin is one of
the most eye-opening books I've ever read and I'd wish everyone would read it, but I'm not going to say it's censorship because it isn't part of every school curriculum.
I disagree, on the premise that it is not only a book (if there was ever such a thing as 'only' a book), as it carries so much more else with it, and have meant so much more than merely an inspiration for monster-makers (as an aside, consider the Aeneid! The implications and inspirations of that work, and what it meant to Rome, which could be monstrous for two!).
As I mentioned earlier, the songs of Homer is a gateway, a glimpse into an old world, and a reflexion to our own, and an excellent place to cut reading teeth. As a story, on its own amongst untold millions, it is not much. It is the all-reaching legacy it represents, the timelessness, and the lineage, which is this archetype of a work's true value. As a book amongst others, it is mediocre. As an inheritance, and more importantly as a great gateway, it is invaluable.
Now, reading the Iliad and the Odyssey, back to back, in their entirety, would of course be too much, but that is not, in my mind, what should be done with this sort of literature. A few, choice verses, and a greater view of the picture, is all that it takes.
I remember so little from my school days, but I do remember that classics from antiquity were part of it. It was a very brief visit, shorter than it should have been, but it did awaken the interest, the understanding. Which is, of course, what literary studies should do, particularly if pressed for time.
What matters most in such studies, now that I think of it, is not to read great works to their final line and letter, but to grasp them. To learn what they mean, what they represent, what they are. For it is a fact of life that the most important reading you will do is not done in the school bench, but on your own – out in your own life.
I am grateful for having been introduced to so much splendour by the curriculum, but the books that have truly mattered to me have – of course – almost all been off the curriculum. The literature classes simply pointed me in their direction and gave me what I needed to hunt for them.
Now, I shall see about Andrea Dworkin. She seems quite intriguing, and I can never have enough books to read!
