Any discussion of what constitutes weird fiction, like that of science fiction, can go on til the moon don't shine. What really matters is the mind of the editor gathering stories for any such anthology and how flexible he is with the tempered steel of definition. ....If I were editing the definitive collection of weird I'd be sure to include Ivan Turgenev's "Bezhin Meadows." ...
"Bezhin Meadows," a story I love, would fit the description of weird fiction that I offered. I hope you didn't misunderstand my intentions. I wasn't proposing a notion of weird fiction in order to criticize some stories for not being "weird," etc.
One reason to try out a description of weird fiction such as I have offered is that it is a net that catches fish from my years of reading and suggests that they may have unexpected but interesting affinities.* (Anyone who uses my proposed description to think about his or her reading will probably have the same experience.)
I could see the idea of weird fiction that I have offered as a way to encourage students to read literature alertly. I'm rather alienated from my profession when it obsesses about racismcolonialismgenderclass etc. and by its practice of inculcating in students the same outlook, as if this is "why" we read.
Thus I fear that quite often students approach, say, Conrad's
Heart of Darkness already "knowing" what they are expected to get from it: a depiction of imperialism first of all; then, oh, they find as they begin reading that Kurtz was engaged, okay, then the story is about the male world and the way it is kept secret from the homebound woman's world. Et cetera. Sure, these things are there, but do they account for the
fascination exerted by this story? If we focus on those things, I believe that the reading experience of the best readers is apt to be falsified. In fact, this is a weird story, or a story of (what Burke called) the Sublime. And a skilful one indeed. I think it is
this that, for many readers, keeps them coming back for a rereading -- however interesting the issues of race or "gender"** etc. also are.
A lot of misreading of Shakespeare goes on. (I will just "footnote" this comment by saying that anyone who wants to read Shakespeare well should take the time to read a 150-page book by S. L. Bethell with the not terribly alluring title of
Shakespeare and the Popular Dramatic Tradition.) People read the plays as if they were novels. They "detect" all kinds of ironies that are not really there. And everyone gets his or her turn as amateur psychoanalyst, for while psychoanalysis has fallen on hard times in the world of therapy (see Frederick Crews's
Skeptical Engagements etc.), it remains popular in high school and college classrooms. And so, as I said, a lot of misreading occurs. But now, armed with a notion of the weird in literature, we can get into some of the plays ready to respond to this element, which really does account for some of their attraction for readers. The easy example is
Macbeth. Sure, there are interesting things going on here with regard to (if we must use the term) "gender" (Lady M.'s "Unsex me now" etc.),
but this element is perhaps best seen as subsumed under the category of the weird in this play! But what chance is there of
that discussion happening in most classrooms?
So I think there's a heuristic value in doing the following to create a description or working definition of something like "the weird" and then applying it:
1.Look at the history of meanings of the word. (
Weird originally related to fate/doom.)
2.Work inductively -- gather examples from one's reading of works that surely are "weird."
3.Apply the emergent description, informed by a sense of examples, to other literary works that might after all be weird or have significant elements of the weird.
4.Discuss and enjoy.
5.If you come up with some really interesting insights, consider blogging about them, or writing a paper for your class about them, or publishing an article or a book, etc.
I'll share an example. Working on an MA in English (received University of Illinois 1987), I took a seminar on Swift from Claude Rawson and wrote about horror in his writings, relating them not to Swift's 18th-century peers but to Lovecraft, Ramsey Campbell, etc. The paper went over well. It's a good feeling when a prof who's an authority on an author says your comments showed him that author's work from a valid and (to him) new angle. Of course Rawson didn't need me to point out to him the element of horror in Swift, but I think he tended to think of it as there for the purpose of a highly aggressive kind of satire. My contention was that, when you see Swift using the same techniques that modern horror-genre writers rely on, you can see him as also writing horror for its own sake. You can consider that (since there's a popular appetite for horror) one reason Swift persists as a reader's favorite is not just his tremendous satirical prowess and verbal resourcefulness but his skill simply as a horror writer. (Set Gulliver's time with the Yahoos side by side with Lovecraft's "Arthur Jermyn" etc.) By doing this, I was not simply trying to score points with the teacher but to say something about the reader's actual experience -- but an element of that reading experience that may sometimes be overlooked to the degree that the reading experience is somewhat falsified.
So, Dask, if you don't get into questions of definition or description, aren't you losing a tool by which to talk about your reading and maybe even get some insight into the experience?
*Of course one needs to take into account other things in the story, too. The story is alive. Good criticism doesn't kill the literary experience. (I am familiar enough with the complaints about "dissecting" one's reading.) It is more like a conversation between two people or within a group of people who know some other person or some place, etc. Good criticism can help one to experience more of the life of a story, in fact.
**I am wary of the use of "gender" in literary criticism because it implies some (shall we say) philosophical dispositions that I reject, including a reductive attitude towards the human dimension, etc.