Defining the Genre

On page 140, Rabinowitz wrote, "... it is possible to define genre not only in the traditional way, as a group of texts that share textual features, but also as a group of texts that appear to invite similar interpretive strategies." When I first read this line I was baffled as I had never thought of genres in such a way before, but when I read it again (as I started to write this post actually) I realized it makes genres more complex and confuses them.
One of the key parts of defining the genre in the line above is "invite similar interpretive strategies." I think, in order to fulfill that definition, the reader would first have to set standards and define similar. Two interpretations may have the exact same view of the characters, but a different interpretation of the entire plot. There needs to be some measure of how similar two interpretations need to be. Therefore, whoever is comparing the two interpretations has to have some sort of system for the interpreters. The interpreters need to have some sort of interpretation of all the characters, or just the main characters, or one particular motif, or the overlaying plot. However, that also messes with the interpretation because the interpreters are being forced to write about certain things and not necessarily just what their interpretation encompasses. Nonetheless, in order for similar to be defined there needs to be some sort of measuring system. (There can't be one interpretation that talks solely about the characters and, in the case of "The Dead," the snow motif while another talks about the plot and specifically the stair scene with Gabriel and Gretta. That would make it near impossible to determine if they're similar even if they touch upon other topics in their specific interpretation).
Even if interpretations are so carefully written that they can be compared properly to define similar, as said before, that still limits the interpretation because the interpreter is being told what to write. If he or she is told to discuss the snow motif, but wants to discuss the stair scene with Gabriel and Gretta then their interpretation is bound to be skewed. The snow motif could have gone right over their heads (as it did mine) or the interpreter could just have a very frustrated interpretation of the motif because they're writing about something they don't want to be writing about. Thus the interpretation becomes a bit void. (It would be like asking a high school student what they thought of a specific passage when they're going to write exactly what the teacher wants to hear so they can get the grade).
The person determining if two interpretations are similar or not could possibly wait until two interpretations discuss the exact same thing or piece meal interpretations together so he or she could compare those equally, but what about the rest of what the interpreter was saying? Does that get cast aside and considered useless? Even if the scraps of the interpretation are kept, part of the interpretation is reading it as a whole. The interpreter wrote about what he or she did because it really stood out to them, perhaps more so then the piece stolen by the mysterious comparing person. Taking bits and pieces that interest the one comparing, the ones that fit his or her needs, would take away from the rest of the interpretation and not necessarily reflect what the interpreter was really feeling or getting at.
All in all, I think defining genres in how they're interpreted doesn't quite work out the way Rabinowitz had hoped. Although it is a cool concept and a new way of looking at genre, it has too many loose ends that will only restrict the interpreter if tied. Personally, I think the genre should be left at "groups of texts that share textual features."
By the way, as a note to my readers, I am most certainly sure that I over thought that.

The Novella of "The Dead"

I'm going to ever so briefly mention that I loved the Pride and Prejudice reference on page thirty three. I am quite a big fan of that book and couldn't help but grin like an idiot as I read over the reference to Mr. Darcy.
On to "The Dead" itself though. I loved how, even a little over a hundred years later, I felt like I was part of this 1900's Dublin world. The historical context is everywhere and reveals exactly what the society is like. It stresses gender roles, the importance of religion, the impending threat of England, and just how much pride the Irish have. "The Dead" even uses specific references to people, important happenings (like the Pope banning women from choirs), and specific locations in Dublin. It pulls you in and doesn't miss a beat, making sure that even readers of future generations would understand his context.
I also loved how it made me sympathize with Gabriel. One differing opinion about the English threat and everyone seemed to treat him poorly, like he was suddenly of a lower standard. On page thirty three Miss Ivors calls him a "West Briton," one who isn't as nationalist as everyone else, and Gabriel freaks out as if being called a "West Briton" was the worst fate imaginable. Seeing Gabriel as a reflection of Joyce makes this term pretty accurate and all the more scary. As stated in the introduction, Joyce was clearly in favor of the English taking over Ireland. If he had straight out told people about his differing opinion, people would have reacted poorly. Gabriel was called a "West Briton" just on the assumption of being in favor of an English takeover because he wrote reviews for a conservative newspaper. Joyce would have probably been ripped to shreds. The same can be seen today. Abraham Lincoln was shot because he tried emancipating the slaves. Martin Luther King Jr. was shot trying to lessen the gap of inequality between whites and blacks. This just made me feel bad for Gabriel, like he had to keep everything inside because there was no other choice. If he didn't he would have been killed.
So what do you guys think? Do you think Joyce did a good job placing you into the world of 1900's Dublin? Did you take pity on Gabriel's character?

Reading the Book Through Once

I'm just going to come out and say it: most of what Gardner talked about in the second chapter of Reading and Writing about Literature I already knew. Annotating text and asking critical questions has been drilled into my head, particularly from my AP Language class my junior year of high school. If I didn't get into the hang of it, I probably would have failed every test my teacher had ever given me (his tests were absolutely ridiculous). But, that being said, I personally think Gardner missed a key step when it comes to annotating and critical reading: you should read the whole work through once before commenting and asking questions.
Reading a work for the first time and scribbling away in the margins and asking critical questions can take away from the book and make it lose its magic. You become so busy with thinking that you lose sense of enjoying. Sometimes the annotations can actually be what makes you love a book because it gives the book a new sense of meaning, but I still think you should read through it once. Often times it's good to just read through the book once to get a feel for the story and really understand what's happening. You learn all the details of the character's life and you're fully encompassed in the plot. Often times something you may comment upon in the text is something that'll be cleared up by just reading a little further. One time I sent my friend a short story I had written to get her opinion on it and the first thing she said to me was that there was no sense of time. It bothered her to no end and she complained that, as a writer, I should know better, but I told her to keep going and she did. When she finally got to the end she understood why. I had set up the story so the character was in a dream. Screwing up the sense of time was my way of hinting at that. If she had calmed down and read the whole thing through she would have seen that. I think that's what a lot of people who annotate a book the first time through do. They would notice the change in time and comment on it, wondering why I did that and what significance it could hold. They would continue to ponder and maybe even eventually figure out that the story itself was a dream. To me, that takes away from the magic of the story. It's as if the reader is purposefully ruining the plot for themselves. (Have you guys ever watched a TV show where you're so into it that you come up with some crazy theory for the ending? If you're right, you kind of shrug your shoulders like you knew it was going to happen; it's nothing special. But, if you're wrong, then you feel disappointed because the ending you created wasn't used. It's kind of like that to me). Even if the reader doesn't come up with their own ending, but does comment upon the lost sense of time, it seems like a waste to me. What's the point of commenting upon something that you'll soon find out in a couple of pages? Just enjoy the book and the magic behind it and then, after finishing it and getting to know the full story, comment upon the things that interested you and you want to know more about because then you know you're not wasting your time on something that's already answered in the book itself. Gardner even hinted at this herself on page seven: "Rather, if a text is not immediately accessible to you, it is because you need to read more actively...." Not all text requires multiple readings to gather a meaning, so trying to actively find one on your first go around seems rather wasteful.
What do you guys think? Do you think you should read a book through once before annotations to get a feel for it or do you think annotating it the first time through helps you understand better, even if what you're annotating is nearby in the text?

EDIT: I'm sorry this post sounded more like a ramble instead of a response. I was really passionate about this one and just let myself go.

The Difficulty of Communication

As I read more of Gleick and The Information, I stumbled upon the quote: "Not withstanding the incessant chatter about communication that we hear daily, it has not improved; actually it has become more difficult" (399). Personally, I've always agreed with this statement. We live in a world where we can't even have a conversation with someone without having a phone out, at the ready. But then I really began to think about the quote. It doesn't just pertain to talking; it pertains to everything.
As said in the previous chapter, a simple term like "Babel," leads to a lot of results on Wikipedia alone. Looking up "Babel" on Google leads to almost eleven million results. Granted some of them are repeats, but that's still a lot. In fact, it's too much. Someone online could have the best story ever written entitled Babel, but it's so underfunded that it could be one of the last  hits on Google. Thus, the Internet will have limited the author's communication. This blog is another good example. I have followers because I have to have followers (thank you to those that are reading), but chances are no one else will ever find this blog. Ever. There are too many blog websites and too many people on each one. My ideas will never be communicated outside of this class. That's the general problem. Everyone can be heard, but no one can be heard. So many people are talking at once that it's only those with the loudest voice that can be heard.
The problem with communication nowadays, what makes it so difficult, is the fact that there's so much we need to sort through to find that one thing we're actually looking for. Sometimes it's just a quick Google search, but other times can be hours worth of research. The vast pool of information is what leads professors to say things like, "Your articles need to be credible." There's just so much nonsense out there that really shouldn't be there, that blocks the way to the useful information and clogs up our line of communication.

Repetition is an Information Key

I must admit that James Gleick's The Information is not the most exciting book in the world. As I get further and further into it, I find my mind wandering off more and more, causing me to have to reread the same passage over and over again. It doesn't help that the book isn't an easy read. There are some confusing passages that need to be worked out by reading them multiple times; it just doesn't come across as smoothly as Manguel's A History of Reading. That being said, through my multiple readings, I stumbled upon a rather interesting bit that I most likely would have passed up normally.
On page twenty five when discussing the African drums, Gleick says the language is redundant since many beats mean the same thing. In order to say something simple, the drummers have to add clarification after clarification to make sure the meaning is clear; the moon becomes "the moon looks down at the earth." But I think this stresses the importance of repetition in any form of communication; the more redundant something is, the easier it is for us to understand. As Gleick says, "It provides second chances." The best example I can think of is a romantic song. The singer spends three minutes or so telling his or her lover he loves them in every way possible, describing everything imaginable. It's so much more complicated than just saying, "I love you," but after those three minutes, the singer knows with absolute certainty that his or her lover knows he loves them. I guess it just never dawned on me how important repetition was in transmitting information and I'm interested to listen to myself speak and see what I write to see how much of that repetition slips in to my everyday life.