You should read the Wikipage on Stephen King (of horror). There’s a cute story about identifying the writer from his writings. Identifying art originals pop to mind.
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Thanks for reminding me of Stephen King and how I met him.
Way back, sci-fi and horror were definitely not my ‘go-to’ books. Veered more to historical fiction.
Embarking on my first long-haul trip to America, I had a 3-hour delay at Glasgow airport (parts were being flown up from London!)
I browsed WHSmith for a book that would not hold my interest. Didn’t want to spend my holiday with my nose in a novel.
I found King’s ‘Needful Things’. What is it about Maine that attracts authors? I’ve never known time to pass so quickly. It captivated me. Enough said. It is worthwhile to travel away from home…with the unexpected.
Later, I read King’s ‘On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft’. An honest, fun, tragic and impressively engaging book, written after his accident in June 1999.
Wiki has this on King’s style, themes and influences. Relevant to our discussion on author/reader:
King writes that “The use of simile and other figurative language is one of the chief delights of fiction—reading it and writing it, as well. […] By comparing two seemingly unrelated objects—a restaurant bar and a cave, a mirror and a mirage—we are sometimes able to see an old thing in a new and vivid way. Even if the result is mere clarity instead of beauty, I think writer and reader are participating together in a kind of miracle. Maybe that’s drawing it a little strong, but yeah—it’s what I believe.” — Stephen King - Wikipedia
Mutual participation in a miracle — the magic of music and metaphor. Transporting.
And yes, a good question: can we identify the writer from his writings?
Alas, not much of a traveler myself. Relying inordinately on statistics to get an idea of what it is like to be in (say) Glasgow. I once tried to compute a Baha’u’llah place which I could visit (ceteris paribus). No luck. Have you thought of going to Mars? 
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I don’t understand authors because they don’t always embed themselves in their books. Some write from a neutral reporter’s perspective and so the book and the author have nothing in common.
As the reader goes through the book, he interprets the events and characters in ways that feel natural to him. The author in this case has no axe to grind and simply presents a story thst he feels is worth telling. We’re free to read whatever we fancy into the lines.
I happened upon this passage from Ferdinand de Saussure’s Course in General Linguistics, the 1916 lecture notes that laid the foundation of structuralism in linguistics and a lot of 20th century philosophy, and was probably the biggest influence on Barthes.
In a game of chess, any given state of the board is totally independent of any previous state of the board. It does not matter at all whether the state in question has been reached by one sequence of moves or another sequence. Anyone who has followed the whole game has not the least advantage over a passer-by who happens to look at the game at that particular moment. In order to describe the position on the board, it is quite useless to refer to what happened ten seconds ago. All this applies equally to a language, and confirms the radical distinction between diachronic and synchronic. Speech operates only upon a given linguistic state, and the changes which supervene between one state and another have no place in either.
There is only one respect in which the comparison is defective. In chess, the player intends to make his moves and to have some effect upon the system. In a language, on the contrary, there is no premeditation. Its pieces are moved, or rather modified, spontaneously and fortuitously.
— Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics
“The Death of the Author” is this, extrapolated into literature. Of course, it goes beyond it too, to assert plurality.
Well, it may be, it may not be ‘deliberate’. Your post display a constant reverence of what the author (Barthes) might have meant. I think the point of the essay is to tell us that that limits interpretation.
I do not know whether he uses ambiguity to make us find our own meaning and understanding. Barthes’ essay is prose and not literature. I think he presents what I think is the main thesis, in terms he thinks most understandable. In any case when I read the essay, I never think ‘what does Barthes mean?’. Instead, I think, what does the essay tell me.
Yes, his target is the concept of the author. I do not know if the human element is apparent, it is for you, but not much for me, but that is understandable. We are different readers.
I never think of ‘the real writer’, I also do not think there is a real Barthes. There is a person called Laurent Barthes, but we do not have access to him, he probably also does not have unlimited access to himself.
Why would that be dangerous and for whom? I think his message to us is exactly not to care to much about what the Author is trying to convey.
I do not think it is the goal of the author to be sovereign, but the concept of the author which Barthes criticizes is treated as if he or she is sovereign. Indeed, in the literary system the author is treated as sovereign and Barthes wants to ‘decenter’ the author, to put it in post-structuralist lingo.
Well, I do not know if he is functioning as a God, but indeed he likes to upend existing power dynamics and patriarchal structures. He is a good writer and as a writer he uses the tools of the trade. He cautions us against narrowing our interpretation to deciphering his intentions.
What I wrote is this: “I do not see what granting the author such a sovereign position brings us us, except for supplying a token of reverence for the subjective spirit of the writer.” What I mean is that the only reason to keep the author as a point of reference is to reward his or her genius, that spark of creativity through which we owe the authors work. I do not think we need that though, but to me, it is the only reason to accord such a central place to an author. The only reason is to praise him or her. I think we can do without that though.
I do not know what you mean here.
It is a decentring, yes. If it is ‘only’ a decentring I do not know. It sounds a bit disparaging.
What I mean is that we might lose more than we bargained for. When we ‘proceduralize’, ‘historicize’ writing, we might overlook the singular figure that is the writer. Even if there is no author god, there is a writer who laboured hard on her or his book. Interpretation may then become dry, stale.
No, not a specific knowledge, but he or she had the skill to capture a specific situation in words. Those words may be beautiful, or strong. The author and that special energy that he or she has invested to write, should bring her recognition.
No, on the contrary, I do not think he has. Standard interpretation though (the one that Barthes criticizes) treats authors as if they have it.
I do not know if intentions are knowable or relevant. According to Barthes we should not trace those intentions.
It is a reference to the dialectical framework. Concepts in that framework are mere ‘moments’. Being and nothingness for instance are moments within the higher concept of becoming, because becoming means to turn from something it is, to something it was, the something that was being no more.
Thank you for your response. I’m leaving this discussion now.
My stated position:
Barthes reduces the writer to a structural position, an impersonal element.
Individual intention, passion, and interiority are not given a space.
And yet, Barthes’ own rhetorical language reveals a strong personality that his theory would try to erase.
I agree. He depersonalizes the writer. It is reminiscent of what post structuralists more often do. When Foucault traces power relations he does not speak of a specific relation but always a structure. The model for it is I think Hegel’s master slave dialectic, which similarly discusses these positions impersonally, only in the abstract.
I also agree, he does not dwell on these individual characteristics. That is why I mentioned that he only proceduralizes them, treats readers and writers only as positions, ‘moments’ in the activity of interpreting. One might well see this as an omission.
Maybe and here your concern is I think a different one from mine, but I am totally prepared to acknowledge that is is basically an aesthetic preference. I do not care about Barthes, the real Barthes, the young or old Barthes, the person behind the work leaves me cold. That is me. I tend to treat his work in the same rather structural way. I think he has a point in questioning the authority of the author as a position in the system of literary criticism. I share your view that he eradicates the singuarity (or personality, passion, etc.) of the writer. I think too that that is a short coming which you have spotted.
Following a perusal of the ‘Literature and Humanities’ website, I discovered 2 relevant articles, covering previous issues raised:
@Dawnstorm’s Post 5 seems to support a view of tripartite creativity. The centrality of applied imagination. There is a collaboration between thoughts, feelings, words and language. This turns both writing and reading into a ‘profoundly personal and meaningful experience’.
From the article:
Iser uses ideas from phenomenology (a philosophy about how people experience things) to explain how reading feels like a unique, personal journey for every reader… When they read, the story only exists as they experience it. It’s not just words on a page—it’s the thoughts, feelings, and images that come alive in each reader’s head while reading… Iser talks about the “implied reader,” which is like an imaginary reader the book is written for. The author designs the story with a particular kind of reader in mind, using clues, hints, and gaps to guide how a reader should interpret it…
The implied reader is not a real person—it’s a role the readers step into when they read. The book’s structure, like its plot twists or vague descriptions, is designed to make the readers think in specific ways…
Iser says this virtual story is the heart of the aesthetic experience of reading. It’s not just about understanding the plot but about living through the story through imagination. — Understanding Wolfgang Iser’s Phenomenological Approach to Reading – Literature and Humanities
Next, @Jamal’s post 144:
From the article:
Sontag advocates against interpretations of a work that plays more importance in finding the meaning, message, intention in a work. She strongly believes that in trying to establish the content of a work the interpreter avoids the form of the work. This is because it has been believed that literature or any work of art has two major functions; – ‘to teach’ and ‘to delight’ in trying to assimilate art into thought or art into culture. An interpreter exercises all the sensory experiences to set up a “shadow world of meanings” and “turn the world into this world”. The world here she refers to is the text in all it’s gestalt glory and this is what the interpreter recreates. Hence, the world of art gets depleted and impoverished in the transformation of ‘the’ to ‘this’ work, art or world.
Susan Sontag’s Essay “Against Interpretation” – Literature and Humanities
From our discussion, I can see why:
Needless to say, at first glance, I feel a tendency to disagree. However, I agree this would be an interesting read. With its mix of art, literature and philosophy —what’s not to like?
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This is some light self-promotion but I think some of the participants in this group might be genuinely interested. Throughout this reading, I kept promising I’d write a full assessment of the essay—the exchanges I had in the group and the posts I wrote were building up to something interesting. But I never did it.
So a couple of weeks ago I started writing an article that would tie together the step-by-step analysis I did in the group with some more definite conclusions. I posted it a couple of days ago, for whoever is interested:
I was thinking about Barthes essay when I came across this classic Robert Herrick poem:
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
It seems to me that the main merit of the poem is that the reader is placed in Herrick’s point of view. “Then, then (methinks)” leads us to share the excitement Herrick feels at glimpsing his Julia. The “liquification” of her clothes references in part the suppleness of silk (compared to other fabrics of the period), but it also invites the reader to share the author’s excitement in seeing Julia.
The “glittering taketh me” – is a direct invitation for the reader to share the author’s perspective.
I’m not sure what Barthes would make of this – but other poems share this same quality of inviting the reader to participate in the author’s point of view.
Thanks for an interesting post. I don’t think it goes against Barthes’ essay.
A piece of literature has what Barthes calls a “special voice”. It has a point of view, often a narrator of some kind, whether one of the characters or standing over it. And often it’s first-person, as it is in most poetry—since this is the most intimate viewpoint.
But in all these cases, this textual viewpoint is part of the text and gains its meaning in the reading of that text, without external information about what the author intended, was going through, whether he really did know someone called Julia, etc. Even if that information can supply useful context, it can never determine a single authoritative meaning. The meaning is in the text, or in the interaction of the text and the reader.
In fact, I’d go further than just saying that the poem and your comments about it are consistent with the essay: they constitute a superb demonstration of the Death of the Author. Scholars seem to agree that Julia was a fictional invention. So, hundreds of years later we read it and feel “that glittering taketh me” without any access to Herrick’s private experience—and it turns out there may have been no such experience to have access to (literally speaking). The effect doesn’t depend on a real Julia behind it, nor does it depend on our knowing what Herrick’s actual experiences were.
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I’ve started reading this essay. It’s a wonderfully cogent and well-argued piece of work, and exceptionally readable. You reminded me that I studied Monroe Beardsley in aesthetics 30 years ago, and his fallacy of authorial intention greatly encouraged my intuitions.
I get it. But in many cases the “author” is also a character in the poem, or story, or (even more) memoir or autobiography. A memoir or autobiography is a text that is read and interpreted by a reader. But it is also influenced by the intentions of the author: does he want to portray himself in a particular manner; does he emphasize some portions of his life and ignore others?
Many poems (of course) are semi-autobiographical. To turn to another cavalier poet, Richard Lovelace’s famous “To Althea from Prison” was actually written in prison, although Althea may not have been a real person. Of course although this may add poignancy to the poem, it doesn’t actually change its impact or meaning. Nonetheless, the author as a character in the poem is the key feature of the poem.
The author is also a character in memoirs or autobiographies. I suppose that when these appear as a text, they relate to the reader in much the same way as novels or poems. Does that make a difference to Barthes claim about the death of the author? Or is the author’s life and motivation a significant factor in analyzing the text?
The author may not be “dead” in other forms of non-fiction as well. We might trust a history written by an Oxford or Yale professor based on their credentials. This seems reasonable. But is the distinction between fiction, poetry, memoir, autobiography and history a clear divide, or nuanced? If the author’s motives and prejudices might be an important factor in analyzing autobiography or history, can we be sure they are not valuable in analyzing poetry or fiction?
Also, an important critical operation is to place a work of literature into its historical context: what innovations did it make? What other works of art influenced it? Among these reasonable critical operations is placing an author’s work into the context of his or her body of work. How has his later work evolved from his earlier? What changes in style and theme have occurred? This seems a reasonable critical role, and perhaps in conflict with the notion of the Death of the Author.
Thank you Tom, I appreciate it. I didn’t know about Monroe Beardsley until I did some research for this reading group. The line of thought from him to Barthes is very much in line with my intuitions too. It makes me wonder if you have to be somehow ready to agree with something to find it interesting or stimulating.
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It might be. The point is that it isn’t authoritative—it is one thread in the entanglement.
Your concerns occurred to me in the reading group:
And in my article, linked to above, I wondered about the significance of authorial intention when that intention is actually fulfilled in its reception by critics and the readership. About Proust I said this:
After all, the effects he achieved were no accident—he knew what he was doing. I think this objection does count against the deprecation of the writer as creative subject: a writer exercising this much deliberate mastery over his own posthumous meaning is not just a node where pre-existing materials happen to recombine. But it doesn’t count against the toppling of the Author-God. Designing the mechanism is not the same as controlling what it produces. What we now mean by “Proust” is a joint achievement of his own design and of the public reception that he could neither predict nor control.
Still, we are faced with the fact that Proust wanted the novel to eclipse his life, and it did. His intentions carried through. I don’t think it weakens Barthes’ position to admit that sometimes intention and interpretation coincide.
Not everything about an author is off limits, even for Barthes. Knowing that Cervantes spent years captive in Algiers is important context, not decipherment. Disentangling doesn’t require that we forget the actual writer. The line is somewhere else: between letting contextual facts enrich and inform a reading, as one thread among others, and letting any one of them fix the reading, closing off every other thread. The Proust case earlier in this article is the model for this: his intentions carried through, and Barthes’ position was not weakened by that fact, because a coincidence between intention and interpretation is not the same as an intention that determines it.
Do these answer your objections?
I wasn’t really objecting – just seeking clarity. Thanks. My opinion: criticism is a form of literature. There’s no right or wrong way to criticize. Instead, there’s entertaining or dull; enlightening or obfuscating. Just as there are many ways to write a good story, there are many ways to write a good critique. “The Death of the Author” makes sense – but it also seems prescriptive and limiting. The critic who enlightens his reader about the (supposedly) secret meaning of a text might educate or entertain his readers, however little this critique is necessary for understanding or exclusive of other interpretations.
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I think that’s because it’s polemical rather than circumspect. Due to its historical, political, and philosophical context, it’s pushing extra hard against something prescriptive and limiting—the habits, expectations, and practices surrounding prestige literature in France. In pushing extra hard, it runs the risk of imposing its own prescriptions, but we don’t have to take it that way.
Having said that, it does have a somewhat doctrinaire quality. It hardly mentions the writer as a creative individual, the individual subject who makes a meaningful work of literature. It’s fair to suspect that Barthes is just being overly structuralist here.
This video, which appeared a few days ago, is very relevant to the deciphering/disentangling aspect of the essay. It’s looking at today’s popular film criticism from the point of view of Susan Sontag’s “Against Interpretation”, which I mentioned earlier in this discussion as being in obvious sympathy with Barthes (terminologically, I think Sontag’s interpretation = Barthes’ decipherment).
Part of the reason I’m so interested in this angle is that so much discussion of books and films in popular culture assumes the approach of decipherment by default. As Sontag says, it’s unknowingly anti-art.
Disclosure: I’ve never seen Backrooms, and I watched only the first half of the video.
Nonetheless, since ignorance has never stopped me from expressing opinions, why should it begin to now?
“Decipherment” can mean “discovering the “true” meaning of a work of art”. Of course this is nonsense. Works of art are not codes to be deciphered. However, one role of the critic is to elucidate WHY a work of art resonates with its readers of viewers.
Look at the Oedipus story. Freud might say, “The reason the story has held the interest and attention of readers for 2500 years is our (if we are men) secret desire to kill our fathers and marry our mothers. That adds poignancy to the story – the tragedy of Oedipus is magnified by our own secret guilt.”
Freud might be right, or he might be wrong. But it doesn’t seem to me that he is “deciphering” the play (or story). Instead, he is trying to discover one of its virtues. Why does this story – of all the myriad of stories – persist and resonate?
Ignorant as I am, I imagine that the critiques of “Backrooms” might be similar. They may not be “deciphering” the show, but explaining its attraction. Isn’t that a fundamental critical activity?