ENGL 4310

I remember reading Death of the Author in critical theory, not knowing this essay preceded Barthes. I remember feeling a sort of relief when I first read Death of the Author, and I feel the same way now, with Intentionally Fallacy. Because I am a writer, I am relieved; these two essays free the writer of the responsibility of autonomy. Autonomy is a big deal in life and in writing. In every piece of writing, especially poetry, we always ask, “what was the author trying to portray in this piece?” So often in workshops, we read and respond and ask questions that are centered around "what were you getting at here?" What if, as a writer, I don't know-- I just know that's how the story has to be? What if O'Connor just knew the leg had to come off, but she didn't know why?

So why do we so often as this of our written art? We don’t ask that of other art forms. For instance, in visual art, most of the time we simply ask what is there and how it interacts with the viewer. Now maybe that is my naïve experience with criticism with visual art, but that seems to be the case. I am not saying, really, that not asking what the author intended is the best way to go about something, but it certainly is less intimidating for a writer. If I don’t have to worry about “getting my message across,” it leave me more open to make observations, and I prefer to write that way, anyhow. The writers who are so forward with their point they could outline the "moral", fairy-tale style, are the ones I put down quickest.

I also love when, in section 5 of Part I, the text reads, "The poem belongs to the public. It is embodied in language, the peculiar possession of the public, and it is about human being, an object of public knowledge." That part is freeing as a reader. I've said before in this class that I hate the idea that once something is even halfway canonized, they are too far above our heads to question. (Sometimes I still feel like a country bumkin for not loving something all-important, but sometimes, I just don't. I can respect it without loving it.) And what I read in this, although it could be debated, is that the work is what it is for the audience that interacts with it. It is the public's. The public (or the individual) can reject or embrace whatever in that text repulses or appeals to them.

This has me thinking, though. Is the public the public? Meaning that the individual doesn't matter? It is a majority rule? Because that would seem like an entirely different essay to me, and one I would mind being written (writing, perhaps?).