Project Niggle: Final phase

So at this point, ideally, you should have four leaves -- your own, that of your writing partner, and each of your "response" leaves. You can think of the relationship between a leaf and its response as the two leaves sharing a "branch," and in that sense you have two neighboring branches.

For the final phase, you'll be taking a step back from creative to descriptive and then analytical writing; the goal is to reflect on, and write about, these inter-leaf (or, we might say, inter-textual) relationships. Begin by writing a sentence that summarizes each story and its response. Then look at the relationships along the "stem" -- how did you and your partner choose to respond to one another? If the two have things in common, note that; if there are significant differences, note those as well. Consider also the relationships between the two pairs.

Then, drawing from these notes, shift your viewpoint away from the original context of these materials -- imagine yourself to be someone else, a stranger who has just "stumbled" upon these leaves. If you like, you can think of this in terms of our museum metaphor: if you were running a small museum, and received these leaves, just as they are, in an envelope in the mail, and planned to display them, how might you describe them (with your own leaves, try to set aside what you thought about when you made them -- your intentions -- and focus on what meaning they might have to others, with no knowledge of you and your motives. Just as you did with exercise one, describe both the material and design -- the paper, the colors, the shape -- alongside the content. Having described them as best you can, then shift to analysis -- what do they mean? Do they say something about the present historical moment? If so, what? Or do they perhaps speak also to the subjective experience of life itself? In your analysis, quote at least one sentence from the text of each leaf; choose one that you feel represents it best.

This will be your final class paper.

Project Niggle: Second Stage

So now you have sent a leaf, and received a leaf -- and on its other side, a tale or story. Read the story you've received, and reflect not only on the story itself, but on the message it seems to send. Can you deduce anything about the teller from the tale? Does this leaf seem serious or silly, sad or happy? Or does the story, perhaps, remind you of one you know, or stir up a memory, either of lived experience or of a tale you may have heard somewhere? Also: look closely at the visual design of the leaf -- what do its shape and colors suggest to you? Is the leaf realistic, or fanciful? Bright and colorful or more muted? Let you mind roam through every association that occurs to you.

Then make a second leaf. On the back of this leaf, write a story in return, a story for a story. You may, if you wish, direct it very specifically at the sender, or you can write in broader terms with no particular audience in mind -- but you must, in some way, write in response to the leaf you have received. Then send your leaf to your writing partner, remembering to cc: me in your e-mail. One both of you have both leaves in hand -- your own one, and the one you've received -- then come back to this space here on the blog and you'll be ready for the third and final phase of what I'm calling "Project Niggle."

Leaf by Niggle

Poster for the theatrical version

The work of J.R.R. Tolkien is known worldwide, both through his books (The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings) and though the numerous audiobooks, plays, and films based upon them. Many regard the Rings trilogy as among the greatest works of "high fantasy" literature ever written, and there are more than 250 million copies of Tolkien's books in print.

But until quite recently, very few people seemed to know, or care, about the brief parable Tolkien published in 1945, Leaf by Niggle. Then, just this year, a curious thing happened: a theatrical version starring and directed by Richard Medrington became a surprise hit, and, for the first time since its original appearance in the Dublin Quarterly, it was published as a stand-alone book. The reviews of the play have been stellar, with the Guardian punningly referring to it as the "Lord of Small Things," although its reviewer, as have many of the readers of the book, puzzled over what it's really all about. And that's the thing -- as Medrington muses in a preamble to the play, almost the moment the story begins, "the possible meanings “double, treble and quadruple” before your eyes."

And it's an intensely visual story, though presented without illustrations (save the cover), a tale of a would-be artist in an imperfect world, with considerable ambition but only modest talent, "the sort of painter who can paint leaves better than trees." Niggle knows that, at some point, there's a journey he has to take, which he ought to pack for -- but in the meantime, he has something more important to attend to. It's a grand painting -- in part composed by sticking together several smaller canvasses -- which depicts an enormous tree, within which are nesting birds, as well as a far-off range of snow-capped mountains. His work, however, has its costs: his garden is neglected, and he finds himself cursing and muttering uncharitable things (to himself) whenever he's interrupted. Which he is, particularly by his neighbor Parrish, who seems to have little regard for Niggle's great work, and is critical of his neglected property. Things come to a head when the local building inspector arrives, demanding that Niggle's canvas be taken and used to patch Parrish's leaky roof! And just then, to top it off, he learns that his long-postponed journey must begin.

Is Leaf by Niggle a metaphor for Tolkien's own work? After all, his conception of Middle Earth was, like Niggle's painting, a lifetime's labor, in which some smaller things (The Hobbit) were patched onto other things (The Lord of the Rings), and yet so much was left unfinished (The Silmarillion). Doubtless Tolkien, like Niggle, hated interruptions, and yet was always, unfailingly, polite about them, yet really kind-hearted (though grumblingly at times). But perhaps Niggle is also all of us, with some larger thing we imagine and wish to be our life's great task, our escape from the mundane things of everyday life, our great reward -- and yet, again and again, life breaks in!

Changes and updates for the second half of the term

After taking stock of how the first half of our summer session has gone, I wanted to announce that I'm making some changes to our class structure. Many students reported that the groups they were in had not been functioning very well; many had simply not heard from other group members, and no one had been using either the group discussion pages or the shared group folders (there were also, initially, some technical issues with the folders). Group work may be one of the hardest things to translate into an online-only class; I'm sorry that it hasn't worked out well, but wanted to let everyone know that I'm aware of the situation, and am making some changes to the second half of our class (those who joined me for the optional Zoom meetings earlier this week have already heard about these).

The most significant change is that we won't be doing any group work for the rest of the class. I know that some of you have, however, had good results from working with your writing partners, so please do continue to work with them; our second exercise will include many points at which the two of you can work together to give each other support and feedback. If, on the other hand, you weren't able to successfully reach your partner or exchange writing with them, don't worry -- just let me know, and I'll work as your writing partner at those stages in the process.

So for now: by the end of this week, please send me what you have. If you haven't been able to get feedback, don't worry, just send the parts of the exercise that you've completed. Since the "group" stage wasn't a part of this process, you should just go ahead and add a paragraph or two describing your own idea of what kind of museum you'd like to imagine your chosen object being displayed in. Think of the possibilities: a re-creation of the early 21st-century room that the object actually is in? A formal setting, like a glass case in a quiet room? A shrine? A pyramid? Be as imaginative as you like.

Then, once you've sent in that work, go forth and read -- or listen to -- J.R.R. Tolkien's story "Leaf by Niggle." The first step after that, Project Niggle part one, is already up on our blog's links; you can start in on it whenever you're ready. Our goal will be to have these ready by next Monday, so that they can be exchanged with your partner and we can begin the next cycle of writing.

From essay to museum

Having revised your object essay, the next step is to translate the information about your object into the kind of informative card that might accompany your object in a museum display. Refer to your peer response sheet; your peer reader can represent your imaginary museum-goer. Be sure the physical description is as complete as possible.

Then it's time to consider the narrative description. The slide-show on Writing effective Museum Text is a good place to start. So, think about the audience for an exhibit in which your object, as well as those of other students, might be displayed. You'll need to decide what the most important facts about the object are, explain its use (assuming that museum-goers will know nothing of you or your history), account for any significant features (damage, wear, stains, etc.), and assign it to a place and period. What would a typical person of the period do with such an object? What's different about what you have done? What additional significance does this object have for its owner (you)?

The final placard should look somewhat the one pictured here, though the description should be a bit briefer -- aim for no more than 150 words. Remember, this doesn't take the place of your essay -- but it will accompany the object in the imaginary museum you and your group will create this week.

Once you and others in your group have completed your individual placards, you'll be ready for the next step, which is to design a small museum in which your several objects can be displayed, along with the title or your exhibition and a longer description. Share your completed cards, and then discuss your ideas in the page for your group -- I've set up boards for Group #1 and Group #2 for this purpose. You can also share your files with each other -- I've also set up folders where you can drop your files so that your fellow group members can see them; they're linked to our blog at "shared class documents," or you can go directly to the Group 1 shared folder or the Group 2 shared folder to upload your own, and see others.

If you have any general questions about this process, please leave them in the comments field below this post, and I'll answer them there -- that way, if other students have the same questions, the answer will be there for them as well.

Your object, yourself

The original "Pooh" Bear at the NYPL

We all have them. They might be personal, they might be familial, and they might even be accidental -- but almost all of us have objects in our lives which have come to symbolize something about ourselves, our identity, and our history. Sometimes, they are a little worse for wear -- while at other times, they're carefully preserved, even after their original people have long gone. Winnie the "Pooh," a beloved toy of A.A. Milne's son Christopher, became immortalized as the subject of his father's stories. As characters, Pooh and Christopher Robin may well be called immortal, but the real Christopher died in 1996, and his Pooh doll, along with his friends Eeyore and Piglet, now reside in a glass case at the New York Public Library. There, they've been visited by millions of children, but never loved so much as they once were by one small boy.

Stuffed animals are only one such thing, though. A treasured baseball card, a pair of shoes, a porch-rail carved by one's grandfather, an old car, a ticket stub -- almost anything can take on these associative powers. "Things" have a life of their own, it seems, as you'll see in Pablo Neruda's poem -- and even when discarded in a rubbish bin, they still have their dignity, as can be seen in Richard Wilbur's poem, "Junk."

So have a look at our first assignment -- and think about the things you've known. Choose one, and take up the invitation our exercise offers. If the thing represents an aspect of yourself, think about how the words you write about it can represent that aspect. In museums, one often sees an object that has come to represent a person or a whole culture -- we don't know their stories, but we can imagine them. You know the object you've chosen better than anyone else in the world -- let's see what you, with the help of your peers, can make of it.

And the survey says ...

The results are in! And it turns out that our class, as a group, isn't all that different from many of the statistics found in the PEW survey of American reading. Nevertheless, however much we have in common, it's in our differences that we find definition, and our own self-survey tells us a great deal.

Let's start with some of our favorite books and characters. The two most popular books that we read as kids were the Magic Tree House and Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. In addition to the imaginary journeys of the one, and the teenage angst of the other, both are series books, a format in which the incessant demands of young readers is met by the incessant labor of writers. There is something in every reader that detests the words "the end," and series books offer a ready remedy. Some of them, indeed, have been carried on even after the deaths of their original authors, such as L. Frank Baum's Oz books -- the series started in 1900, and continued long past Baum's death in 1919 -- the last issued by the original publisher, Merry-Go-Round in Oz, appeared in 1963!

Other series books, such as Harry Potter, The Baby-Sitters' Club, and I Am Number Four, got at least one vote. Several of you were not fans of graphic novels or comic books, but those who did like them were voracious readers and devoted fans; the manga series One Piece and the manhwa series The God of High School were both mentioned.

And then there was television and film: Sponge Bob rules (as he should) but several other shows/films had more than one fan: That's so Raven, Pan's Labyrinth, Star Trek, South Park, Family Guy, Sandlot, the Harry Potter films, and The Wizards of Waverly Place among them. I think it would be fair to say that animated series, and series/films with an element of fantasy or science fiction, were generally favored.

So much for the what -- but what about the how? Some respondents did not care for e-books or audiobooks, but among those who did, about equal numbers used laptops as used cellphones; only one respondent used a pad. This is a more pronounced pattern than in the PEW survey, where a much larger number reported using pads or dedicated devices such as the  Nook or the Kindle (this may be due to when the survey was made).

And why did we read? Work or school was the leading reason (understandable given that all who were surveyed are students!); keeping up with current events came in second, followed by learning about a specific topic, and reading for pleasure came in last. Of course, one category doesn't preclude the other, but in terms of our regular reading, it's clear that we've all been doing a bit of multi-tasking.

Lastly, as to the ownership of books, most reported owning 20 or fewer, but an equal number (one each) reported owning 21-50, 51-100, or more than 100. It's fair to point out that many who love books get them from libraries, or borrow them, or trade them away once they're read -- so the number on hand doesn't necessarily reflect one's passion for reading. There's one site online, interestingly, which catalogs individual people's books -- anyone can use it for free -- it's called LibraryThing. And, since it also contains the libraries of many famous people, once you enter your own books, you can see how many you might have in common with (say) Thomas Jefferson, Katharine Hepburn, or Tupac Shakur. It even includes the library of the International Space Station!

So what does all of this mean? Reading, certainly is not in danger -- one can say that for sure -- despite the array of technologies available to do it. But what do you think? Did any of these results surprise you? What do you think they say about our class as a group, or about this moment in time?  Or, looking at the PEW results, do they seem to match your own experience as a reader? Do you feel yourself reflected there?  Your answers below.

We are what we read

They're our "first steps," as it were, in the journey of language, and their impact is hard to overstate. Yes, of course, today a wide variety of other media, from television to movies to social media, compete with them for our attention -- but few other forms of human storytelling have the ability to get quite so far "under our skin." As the Irish novelist Flann O'Brien once quipped, a book is "like a drug, administered in private." It's we ourselves, with our own imaginations, who must give life to the stories within their pages. And, in so doing, we become a part of them, and they of us.

The earliest books we encounter are probably those especially intended for children, books that were read to us, perhaps, before we could read for ourselves. Others soon follow, but the imprint of our childhood reading can be a lifelong one. In my own case, I can vividly remember the first time I read The Lord of the Rings -- I was fourteen years old -- and immediately, decided that I must become a professor and give lectures about Middle Earth and its denizens (I recorded a few of these on an audio cassette, perhaps fortunately long-lost). It only took me another seventeen years, but I knew for certain from that point on that I'd found my calling in life. Other formative books, of course, can have less pleasant consequences, as when, in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, both Victor Frankenstein and Arctic sea-captain who encounters him turn out to have had their lives shaped by books -- narratives of exploration for the captain, and the occult tomes of Cornelius Agrippa for Victor. Even the "monster" is shaped by books, in his case Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther and Milton's Paradise Lost!

The power and danger of books has sometime led to them being chained to their shelves, as many volumes were in the Middle Ages; it's also led to them being banned and burned. And today, the familiar "book" has taken on other forms: the e-book (which, though I'm not sure is really a "book" in the full sense, is far more portable) and the audiobook, which -- particularly since it mutated from large and expensive boxes of tapes or CD's to streaming formats -- has steadily risen in popularity; according to the PEW Trust's surveys, 1 in 5 Americans listens to them. Most of us now have at least one portable device -- a phone, pad, or laptop -- that enables all the books we have in these formats to accompany us wherever we go.

So watch this space -- tomorrow I'll be posting the results of our survey, with an emphasis on reading, and some of the individual books and characters we came to love the most.

Welcome!

It's usually a criticism of someone who, foolishly, is bothering to do something that's already been done -- no need to re-invent the wheel! -- but it's also an apt description of what writers do when they begin to write. After all, there are only so many themes, so many characters, so many words in the English language, and only so many ways of combining them. Add in the additional constraints of genre and form (short story? Personal essay? Epistolary novel?) and it may soon seem an impossible task. Which is why, perhaps, so many writers today struggle so mightily for originality.

Of course, there was a time when originality, as such, wasn't held in very high esteem. Every single one of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales was based on pre-existing story, as were nearly all of Shakespeare's plays. One could say, certainly, that at the level of language these writers were innovators, but part of what enabled them to be bold with words was the fact that their listeners already knew something of the tales they (re)told. Even once the "novel" -- a genre once named for it newness -- took hold, a great many of its basic plot-lines were recycled. And yet, in this restless recycling of all that has been said, there yet remains something new -- a voice, a tone, a manner of connecting one thing with another, that feels particular to a certain writer, however universal her or his themes.

And, truth be told, college writing -- the vast majority of which is composed, critiqued, and consumed solely within the Bizarro world of writing classes -- is not usually meant to go anywhere, to endure, to reach wider audiences. It's rather like a vast practice session or dress rehearsal for a play that is never going to be staged, which of course makes it even more maddening to do (and to teach)!

So here, in this class, we're going to take a different approach: we're going to write as though the "wheel" -- in our case, the usual constraints and rules of academic writing -- had not yet been invented. What might a paragraph look like, if captured in the wild? What sorts of play and interplay might writing have, say, with drawing or photography? What if, instead of confining our words to the computer-screened page, we were to scrawl, scratch, engrave or emboss them, paint them with a brush? And most of all, what if we were to undertake the task of writing without any thought as to where we were "going" with it, or what it might all eventually mean. What if -- dare I say -- we were to write for the sheer fun of it?