A little rant about Flannery O'Connor

I had a conversation with my professor Susan yesterday. Somehow Flannery O'Connor came up, and she told me how O'Connor was a devout Catholic. I was utterly surprised. I didn't know anything about O'Connor, except that she was from the South. I read "Wise Blood" a while back and thought it was amazing in the way that it questioned religion while maintaining its spirituality. I even read it as semi-antichrist. Obviously I was way off.

But this is precisely why I don't really care for this kind of reading of literature. I believe that we should read a text with absolutely no consideration of the author's intention whatsoever. She might have had an idea for what she was trying to do, but as soon as the text gets out into the public, I can do whatever I want with it. Whenever people try to guess the writer's intention, I usually find their points invalid, and find that their reading is limited. Once you forget about the author, the possibility is endless.

As a writer I know that on some level my works are influenced by things that happen to me or things that happen around me. But I don't think people can tell exactly what kind of person I am and what I am trying to say by reading my work, nor do I want people to. If writers were worried about how they might be thought of by their readers, how dull would their works be?

Just a thought.

Susan also loaned me a copy of Charles Baudelaire's "Les Fleurs Du Mal" (translated by Richard Howard) which is absolutely gorgeous. I am completely enamored by it.

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Today I have been reading Octavia E. Butler's "Parable of the Sower" for my class. Usually I don't like science fiction, but this one is quite good. I'm enjoying it so far, which is always a good thing when you have to read something for a class. It feels nice to be reading while bathing in the sun. I'm beginning to enjoy this weather.

Nella Larsen's Passing

My Women in Literature class has introduced me to some really interesting works that I would probably not have heard of otherwise. Among those is Nella Larsen's Passing. It is a story about Irene and Clare, two black women who are able to pass as white because of their light skin tone. Irene criticizes Clare for lying to everybody, including her racist white husband, about her race, while she herself does try to pass on some occasions. The story questions racial pride and choices: in a world where people of color have to endure so much prejudice and discrimination, is it wrong for Clare to choose to luck out?

I think Larsen writes brilliantly, despite much ambiguity that appears throughout the text. There possibly is a homoerotic undertone, as well as some parts, including the ending, that are not clearly explained. But I don't think these are flaws; if they're not intentional then they are divine accidents that make the text more complex. Larsen has definitely become my favorite writer because of this. I encourage everybody to check it out immediately.



Nella Larsen