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From Brock to Oxford and Beyond: A Lesson in Mentorship


In 2006, on the advice of a professor at Queen’s University, I began a second Masters degree in Studies in Comparative Literatures and Arts at Brock University.  It was at there that I met Dr. Cristina Santos, who would become the supervisor of my research, and, although I am no longer at Brock, she has continued to mentor me.

When I left Brock, it was with scholarly skills I had developed only because Professor Santos encouraged me to push the boundaries of my research, to dig deeper into the questions I was considering, and to read texts closely, textually, hermeneutically.

Earlier this year, while I was teaching as a part-time instructor at Brock University, she encouraged me to submit an abstract for a conference at Oxford University.  Writing abstracts for this particular conference was a key part of the course she was teaching – a course I had taken three years earlier.  That course is to prepare students for an academic career: writing abstracts, writing lectures, writing articles.

Needless to say, I submitted an abstract which was later accepted by the conference committee, and, thanks to the good advice of my mentor, I travelled to Oxford University where I presented my current research.  But I didn’t travel alone.  When I arrived at Oxford, I realized that I was accompanied by several of Professor Santos’ students, and we were all participating in a conference that she had encouraged us all to attend.

The lessons of mentorship, as I have learned, extend far beyond the one or two years we spend at a university.  As Cristina Santos demonstrates by her exceptional example, mentorship extends far beyond the one or two years we study with a supervisor.  Mentorship is a continued commitment to students and their scholarship.

New Year Resolutions

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My dear colleague Joe Adamson will resume blogging next week and we have at least one new confirmed byline correspondent, Glenna Sloan, whom we look forward to joining us.  We fully expect to confirm another handful of byliners very soon.

Our first four and a half months have been about as good as we could have hoped, thanks primarily to our benefactor, Bob Denham, whose generosity, despite years of exposure to it, continues to surprise and delight Joe and me both.  Bob is about as good a person as anyone could hope to encounter, and he’s brilliant and funny besides.  I have been fitfully blogging on his book, Northrop Frye: Religious Visionary and Architect of the Spiritual World, and so my first new year’s resolution is also the easiest to keep, and that is to continue to post on it as I make my way through it.  I’m a fast talker but a very slow reader, and the better the book, the slower the progress.  Bob’s book, being as good as it is — and I told him in all honesty recently that it so outclasses me that I’m simply hanging on for dear life, and I’m only on chapter two — will no doubt require all of my non-teaching attention through the winter.  This is also exactly the right time to thank our other correspondents as warmly as possible, Russell Perkin and Peter Yan, not to mention our regular guest bloggers.  You know who you are.  Thanks so much for everything you’ve done and everything you will continue to do.

My second resolution is to expand the purview of this site.  It began as a side project to the journal (which originally was to be an independent entity using another platform at another McMaster-hosted website), but took on a life of its own until it absorbed the journal altogether and spontaneously generated the Robert D. Denham Library, which, once again, thanks to our kindly benefactor, is now the most remarkable thing about it.  We are currently the most happening Northrop Frye-related social networking site in the known universe.  Yeah, I said it.  Happening.  Frye.  Here.  If you don’t like it, then call us out.  Or simply drop us a line at fryeblog@gmail.com

My third resolution is to at least try to stop blaming Bush/Cheney and all they represent for everything that is wrong with this world — even though they are and even though I won’t.

Fourth resolution: diet and exercise.

As for you, we ask only that you resolve to post here on any Frye-related thoughts that pass through your beautiful minds.

We’re here for you.

24/7.

And I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry . . .

A happy, healthy and prosperous 2010 to you all.

Recent Contest Answers: Spielberg, Seuss, and Milton

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Recent responses to my contest post :

From Russell Perkin:

Joe, I vaguely mentioned the Spielberg War of the Worlds in relation to romance in an earlier post. Looking more specifically at your list, like most Spielberg films it features a disintegrating family and a threatened child. Dakota Fanning’s panic attacks and terror are one of the reasons it is such a gripping film. Most of the film is a stage 3 descent, covering most of the bases in the list, with destruction of the domestic world, reduction of human beings to animal-like fighting for resources, scenes of apocalyptic destruction, and most vividly a descent into the belly of the monster (Tom Cruise taken inside the tripod, escaping and leaving a hand grenade behind).

As for the recognition scene at the end of the film, there is an element of parody in the way the Boston ex-in-laws have been unscathed through all the horror, looking in the final scene like something out of an LL Bean catalogue while Tom Cruise and his daughter have been to the depths of hell and back!

I have some material on Frye and Graham Greene that I will be posting soon that relates directly to this contest/game.

From Clayton Chrusch:

There are a lot of images of ascent and descent in Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss.

The unnamed protagonist thinks he is someone who does not like green eggs and ham, which is a loss of identity, irrational anger, and a rash vow all at once that drives him from home in pursuit of his lost identity, or rather in flight from his proper identity into a world of trees and foxes (forests and animals) and increasing distance from home and family. Throughout there is a doubling of his identity with Sam-I-am, his other and better self whom he has alienated by choosing not to like. He descends into a cave and encounters a goat (an oracular animal helper). He then is involved in a shipwreck and descends into the ocean where the whole circus that has been following him falls away and with his last breath he denies liking green eggs and ham, a judgement and death.

At this point the ascent, primarily an escape, begins. Floating on the ocean, the protagonist rejects his persistent ignorance (revolt of the intelligence), recognizes that he does like green eggs and ham, takes the plate from Sam-I-am (reversal of twins), discovers his true identity as a lover of green eggs and ham, comes out of the water (recovery from the sea). The name “Sam-I-am” is used towards the end to suggest that the protagonist has discovered his true name, which I think is the significance of the final words: “Thank you!/Thank you,/Sam-I-am!” (a higher state of identity, breaking of enchantment).

From Russell Perkins:

“Floating on the ocean”: the protagonist is “a fragile container of sensitive and imaginative values threatened by a chaotic and unconscious power below it” (CW 17:89) aka a drunken boat.

From Clayton Chrusch:

Thank you so much for that quote Russell. Now that I’ve heard the main character of Green Eggs and Ham described as “a fragile container of sensitive and imaginative values threatened by a chaotic and unconscious power below it,” my life is complete.

From Trevor Losh-Johnson:

I would suggest that Milton’s Satan is an example of both structures aligning. His basic course is his awaking in Hell, constructing Pandemonium, encountering Sin and Death (a parody both of God’s creation of the Son and of Eve from Adam), escaping Hell’s gates and disguising himself to intrude into Paradise, all followed by his return to Hell and subsequent punishment- this course oscillates between both structures and hits all the major buttons. The wrath of God engenders a parodic structure of demonic doubles. Satan’s escape involves a sequence of disguises akin to Ovidian metamorphosis. His remembrance of his former glory as Lucifer reinforces his resolve towards evil. The temptation of Eve is extremely sexual and ends in Eve’s and Adam’s recognition of their nakedness, displacing their original, innocent identities. Satan’s final return to Hell culminates is a scene of punishment, where the parody is punished by a parody of his deeds in the garden. Beyond this, the enchantment of Man’s fall may only be broken by the submission of the Son to be sacrificed to Death.

. . .  It is certainly no contender compared to Clayton’s post, but I think any day Dr. Seuss beats Milton is worthwhile enough

A Summary of Frye’s The Secular Scripture

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A Summary of The Secular Scripture: the following is a revised and expanded version of the summary published in the introduction to The Secular Scripture and Other Writings on Critical Theory, 1976-991. Volume 18 of Collected Works of Northrop Frye. Edited by Joseph Adamson and Jean Wilson. University of Toronto Press © 2005.

The Secular Scripture: A Study of the Structure of Romance was originally delivered in April 1975 as a series of lectures during Frye’s term as Charles Eliot Norton Professor of Poetry at Harvard University. The occasion spurred Frye to develop more extensively his thoughts about romance as a literary form, a subject already central to the four essays in Anatomy of Criticism. At the end of his discussion of archetypal criticism in the second essay of that book, he observes that “archetypes are most easily studied in highly conventionalized literature: that is, for the most part, naive, primitive, and popular literature,” and he suggests “the possibility of extending the kind of comparative and morphological study now made of folk tales and ballads into the rest of literature” (104). In NB 56, one of the “Secular Scripture” notebooks, he remarks that after searching for some time for “a unified theme,” he now has “the main structure of a book [he has] been ambitious to write for at least twenty years, without understanding what it was, except in bits and pieces” (par. 157). His hope is to “make it the subject of [the lectures] at Harvard. After all, it’s fundamentally an expansion of the paper I did for the Harvard myth conference.” The latter paper, “Myth, Fiction, and Displacement” (FI, 21-38), outlines and develops a “central principle about ‘myth criticism’: that myth is a structural element in literature because literature as a whole is a ‘displaced’ mythology” (FI, 1).

The Secular Scripture explores three related areas of thought that will continue to preoccupy Frye: the dialectical polarization of imagery into desirable and abhorrent worlds; the recovery of myth in the act of literary recreation; and the struggle and complementarity between secular and sacred scriptures, between human words and the word of God.

The specific subject of The Secular Scripture is the study of sentimental romance, the literary development of the formulas found in the oral culture of the folk tale. It first appears in European literature in the Greek and Latin romances of the early common era. As a central form it surfaces again in the medieval romances and in the Elizabethan reworkings of the conventions of Greek romance, reemerging in the Gothic novels of the eighteenth century, and forming the structural basis of a great variety of nineteenth-century prose fiction, most explicitly in writers such as Walter Scott, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Morris.

In the twentieth century and beyond it appears again most unabashedly in fantasy and science fiction. Recent examples of the recurrent appeal of romance can be seen in the long-term success of the Star Wars films, the spectacular popularity of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter novels (and films), and the renewed interest in the cinematic version of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, as well as in the widespread appeal of mystery novels, crime fiction, and Gothic horror fiction and “thrillers,” not to mention the remarkable pervasiveness of all these forms of romance in current film and television.

Frye observes that the forms of storytelling peculiar to saga, legend, and folk tale do not differ essentially from those of the Bible and certain other texts–the “epic of the creator”–which have had a sacred circle drawn around them by religious and cultural authority. The distinction between sacred and secular scriptures, as far as Frye is concerned, is primarily one of social context. Sentimental romance–the “epic of the creature”–has been vilified for centuries by the established cultural tradition, largely because of its unsanctioned preoccupation with sex and violence, and the disapproval of such “proletarian” or popular forms holds even today. Even when they become privileged objects of study, as is currently the case in cultural and film studies, the interest is often largely confined to their hidden ideological imperatives–what they tell us to believe or do.

The term “popular culture” has a widespread currency today, and its definition is often disputed. Frye offers what appears to be a very simple definition, at least of its literary form. It is that area of verbal culture–ballads, folk tales, and folk songs, for instance–which requires for its appreciation minimal expertise and education, and is therefore available to the widest possible audience. At the same time, by virtue of its wide-ranging appeal, popular literature often points the way to future literary developments, for with the exhaustion of a literary tradition there is often a return to primitive formulas, as was the case with Greek romance and the Gothic novel. Frye does not imply any value judgment in distinguishing popular from elite culture. He insists, instead, that they are both ultimately two aspects of the same “human compulsion to create in the face of chaos.”

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Frye and Thanksgiving

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Some pertinent (and impertinent) references to the theme and occasion of Thanksgiving. 

“The Concept of Sacrifice” (Northrop Frye’s Student Essays, CW 3).

There are many motives in primitive sacrifice: communion, propitiation, bribery, feeding of the god, establishment of a blood bond, reinforcing the efficacy of a curse, obtaining of an oracle, transferring of a disease to an animal, preserving a newly built house, and so on: but all of these fall under the two fundamental categories of communion and gift, or an application of either idea.  Probably sacrifice starts simply with man’s fondness for company and for a feast, the feast being the only occasion on which the idea of group cohesion becomes evident, through relaxation of activity.  Refreshments are the mainstay of social activity, as such, in any level of civilization, and there is no reason to suppose that primitives at the very beginning of conscious life had any loftier spiritual attitude than, say, we evidence toward Thanksgiving.  Even when the idea evolves of the critically important ritual feast with overtones of a larger significance, the meal is retained.  It does not occur to the primitive that the god does not necessarily eat or drink.  He leaves food for the god, who eats it up in the form of a jackal, vulture, or hyena.

Bible lecture no. 12, “The Question of Primogeniture” (Northop Frye’s Notebooks and Lectures on the Bible and Other Religious Texts, CW 13).

In the New Testament, if you look at the beginning at the Gospel of Luke, you find again the story that I referred to about the birth of John the Baptist, which picks up and repeats the theme of late birth.  The birth of Jesus is not said to be a late birth of the same kind, but again a triumphant hymn of thanksgiving is ascribed to the Virgin Mary at the time of the birth of Christ, the hymn which we know as the Magnificat [1:46–55].  The Magnificat has obviously been influenced by, if not modelled on, the Song of Hannah, and repeats this theme of social overturn.

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Jonathan Allan: Frye and Comp Lit

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It is interesting to note that Northrop Frye was the first chair of Comparative Literature at the University of Toronto. He was also one of its great advocates. Recently, Professor Mario J. Valdes spoke about this at the annual Comparative Literature conference at the University of Toronto. Professor Valdes’ lecture can be found here (though it was a lecture about poetry and the Spanish Civil War, Professor Valdes spent the first part of his lecture talking about the history of Comparative Literature at U of T): http://www.chass.utoronto.ca/complit/colloquium08-9.html

Interdisciplinary Connections

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In relation to the Adamson/Chrusch dialogue about ways that cognitive science, logic, and other disciplines might contribute to our understanding of Frye, it might be useful to reverse the context of the issue of dependency and consider the ways that Frye has contributed to thinking in other disciplines.  The most extended commentaries on Frye’s work are naturally within the field of literary criticism, but Frye was an interdisciplinarian, writing on numerous issues outside of literature –– social, political, psychological, historical, philosophical, religious, linguistic, legal, and educational.  He wrote about music, the fine arts, sacred texts, ballet, film, advertising and propaganda, the church, folklore, Canadian culture, comparative anthropology, humor, Utopias, student protest movements, the humanities, and numerous other nonliterary topics.  Frye was, of course, a polymath, and like other instances of the homo universalis, his ideas, especially those that form his literary theory, continue to spill over into other disciplines, affecting them in substantive ways.  His ideas have been applied by philosophers, historians, geographers, anthropologists, political scientists, and by writers in the fields of advertising, marketing, communication studies, nursing, political economy, legal theory, organization science, social psychology, and consumer research.  The contribution to other disciplines is one measure of the substance of a writer’s thought.  One thinks of the way Chomsky’s work has influenced, even developed, other fields of inquiry.  The following survey, which does not include the books and essays by scores of biblical critics and educational theorists who have drawn on Frye’s work, is a preliminary record of the dialogue between Frye’s criticism and other disciplines.  Interestingly, the debts to Frye come not so much from his writings about nonliterary topics: they derive, with a handful of exceptions, from the principles set down in Anatomy of Criticism

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Argument and Transformation

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In response to my previous posting, Clayton Chrusch has some very wise words. They remind me, sadly, how little value is given to listening and charity among many literary scholars:

Thank you so much, Joe, for your thoughtful response to my comment. I’ve been thinking about it, and my thoughts have been going in many different directions.

I owe too much to Frye to criticize him for the way he approached his work. My point about Frye being unfair to Chesterton is a minor point and I am not really invested in it because, though I am a fan of Chesterton, I have deliberately not read his criticism.

Also as far as teaching, criticism, and literature go, I’ll be happy to discuss that with you in a forum that doesn’t involve me putting down my ideas in writing and making them public. You obviously have a lot more experience than I do.

I believe that in science, politics, and religion (as far as it affects other people), a rational defence of one’s beliefs is necessary, or at least an admission that they are taken on authority from someone else. These are three spheres that are too consequential to be left to private judgement.

You say that Frye didn’t think arguing was productive, and that no one can argue anti-gay protesters out of their beliefs. Those are actually two quite separate claims, and the first in no way depends on the second. As I’m sure you know, I’ve argued with anti-gay activists, and though you cannot change their minds, there is a lot of productive stuff that can happen, beginning with the recognition of an opponent’s humanity. Most debating or arguing is unproductive because it is being done badly on both sides. There is no real listening, no real charity, no real belief that the other person is basically motivated by a loyalty to goodness and truth, no real attempt to find out what that goodness or truth is, no real attempt to get over differences and achieve reconciliation. One bad tactic you see over and over again is an obstinate refusal to admit that an opponent’s facts and reasons have any validity at all. But even if only one side is debating in a charitable way, the experience can be transformative.

I may not always leave an argument with a renewed hope for humanity, but I think I leave with a clearer vision of humanity, a stronger desire for reconciliation, and often more humility.