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3.42 AVERAGE
3.42 AVERAGE
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
informative
medium-paced
I understood very little of this. But the little I understood was pretty interesting.
Interesting ideas, but Bloom appears to be very self-important and elitist and doesn't even try to seem humble. Makes it hard to truly enjoy reading this.
I went into this determined to put aside any outside opinions on Bloom and focus only on what he put on the pages (albeit a difficult task). There are certainly some atoms of oxygen throughout the theories, and although you can tell Bloom is truly talented in traversing different literary disciplines and seamlessly sewing them into his thesis, the spark that could have became a full fledged forest fire is lost when most of the air is snuffed out under a blanket of meandering metaphors, wherein any remaining intentions are too caught up in an aura of elitism to be taken to heart.
It's hard to critique a book of criticism as its usefulness to one seems, to me, rather more subjective than even the overall value of a work of fiction. Also, as a writer, I will probably tend to be more critical of critics, resenting their critiques of what I do more than the attempts, either successful or failed, of fellow writers of fiction and poetry in their efforts at self-expression. So, that said...
Having heard capsulized versions of Bloom's argument here for years in Graduate school (particularly from John Freccero, who found it quite applicable to Dante's presentation of the pilgrim's relationship to the character of Virgil in Alighieri's Commedia) I was quite pleased to find a cheap second hand copy and to actually read the source of the many mere scholarly references and "see for myself," as it were. Sadly, though, I don't feel all that much more enlightened now having read the text. The general thesis still seems quite valid--but I had garnered that from the anecdotal references. Most of the examples given are from Romantic and modern poets whose work I really don't know well enough to judge the validity of the points, as Bloom does in his great erudition. I found the chapter on Askesis or purgation useful as I have written an historical novel about a fellow artist (the Baroque architect Francesco Borromini) in Purgatory so that works for me particularly well--how can such a work not engage the subject, and, through the anxiety of being subsumed by both subject as his aesthetics, not be a kind of purgation of certain baroque impulses in my own work? Check.
Bloom writes like a douche. Sad to say, because I went to a couple of his lectures in grad school and I have never, ever been so impressed with someone's store of knowledge and perspicacity in person--I quite liked him. The prose of this text, however, is a bit much for what it is--sounds overly sure of itself and superior and flouncy (whatever that means)--not qualities I saw in the man when I heard him speak.
So, ramble ramble. It's an interesting theory/approach but there is more to poetry than anxiety, and more to the human mind as expressed in literature than even Freud imagined, I believe, so its POV is somewhat limited/limiting, no? What do you think?
Having heard capsulized versions of Bloom's argument here for years in Graduate school (particularly from John Freccero, who found it quite applicable to Dante's presentation of the pilgrim's relationship to the character of Virgil in Alighieri's Commedia) I was quite pleased to find a cheap second hand copy and to actually read the source of the many mere scholarly references and "see for myself," as it were. Sadly, though, I don't feel all that much more enlightened now having read the text. The general thesis still seems quite valid--but I had garnered that from the anecdotal references. Most of the examples given are from Romantic and modern poets whose work I really don't know well enough to judge the validity of the points, as Bloom does in his great erudition. I found the chapter on Askesis or purgation useful as I have written an historical novel about a fellow artist (the Baroque architect Francesco Borromini) in Purgatory so that works for me particularly well--how can such a work not engage the subject, and, through the anxiety of being subsumed by both subject as his aesthetics, not be a kind of purgation of certain baroque impulses in my own work? Check.
Bloom writes like a douche. Sad to say, because I went to a couple of his lectures in grad school and I have never, ever been so impressed with someone's store of knowledge and perspicacity in person--I quite liked him. The prose of this text, however, is a bit much for what it is--sounds overly sure of itself and superior and flouncy (whatever that means)--not qualities I saw in the man when I heard him speak.
So, ramble ramble. It's an interesting theory/approach but there is more to poetry than anxiety, and more to the human mind as expressed in literature than even Freud imagined, I believe, so its POV is somewhat limited/limiting, no? What do you think?
Um, okay. We all know what this book is about, but reading it: hard as nails.
I love that there was a time in American criticism when you could call this practical criticism-- in chapter 5, near the end of the book, there's almost a reading of a poem by Keats. That's the first practical thing I've seen! Oh well.
I love that there was a time in American criticism when you could call this practical criticism-- in chapter 5, near the end of the book, there's almost a reading of a poem by Keats. That's the first practical thing I've seen! Oh well.
This was my giving Bloom a chance and it did not go well. I can well understand why this is such a seminal text of poetic criticism, but it does not stand the test of time well, partly because of its dogged reliance on Freud and partly because Bloom's admittedly elegant sentences are so burdened by their own smug intellectual acrobatics as to render that elegance inert. I'll admit there were large swaths of the book that I just didn't make much of an effort to understand. I will also admit that I enjoyed both the preface and the final chapter, in which Bloom finally gets out of his head and into actual texts.
PS. Referring to schools of feminist criticism as "covens" is an appellation that does not age well. Oof.
PS. Referring to schools of feminist criticism as "covens" is an appellation that does not age well. Oof.
Every time I reread this, I become more dissatisfied with Bloom's central thesis about the poet's necessary "misprision" in order to clear the way for creative expression. "Misreading," to me assumes a correct reading, and I've had it up to here with professorially mandated "correct" readings decades ago in college. Age and experience has convinced me that every reader's engagement with a text is "correct" for that reader, the question is the ability to convey our ideas of the text.
I also believe that all literature is a constant conversation, so in that sense there shouldn't be an anxiety of influence at all.
That aside, the prologue to the new edition, basically a love letter to Shakespeare, is sheer pleasure to read.
I also believe that all literature is a constant conversation, so in that sense there shouldn't be an anxiety of influence at all.
That aside, the prologue to the new edition, basically a love letter to Shakespeare, is sheer pleasure to read.
This would have been far more interesting if Bloom didn't go on exclusively about male writers. Otherwives, interesting take on the influence of poetry/poets on other poets. There is definitely an "anxiety of influence" to be reckoned with when one writes one's own poetry.