Image: Kofi the black and white cat helping me work
(CW: discussion of fatphobia)
In the modern world it can feel pointless to study a non-vocational, non-science degree. Time and time again I’ve heard my students’ parents lament their child’s intention to take literature further; the world feels too unstable to risk studying a subject you enjoy. Yet, two minutes of reflection show me the benefits of studying literature for the world at large.
The trouble is that, unlike science subjects like Biochemistry, or even social sciences like Economics, studying Literature isn’t about finding a solution to specific problems. The suffix ‘(o)logy’ found at the end of many scientific subjects (Pharmacology, Oncology, Immunology) comes from Greek and essentially means ‘total knowledge about’. So a word like ‘Pharmacology’ is made up of the Greek words ‘farmakon’, meaning either ‘medicine’, ‘drug’ or ‘poison’ and ‘logy’. It makes sense, then, that Pharmacology is just the study of all knowledge about medicines, drugs and poisons. The word defines the subject. There is a clear purpose and an evident benefit to society. The word ‘Literature’ gives students no such clear definition of its purpose, so scholars and students must work out for themselves what it is they are meant to be doing. This ambiguity can scare us off.
The world we live in likes the idea of linear progress, that is, likes the idea that society steadily improves via inventions and technology and social changes. This can make a lack of defined purpose tricky – how can we steadily improve society via a field with no set objectives and no specific field of study? Even the word ‘literature’ doesn’t give us much to go on, given current debates about which art forms it includes!* Meanwhile, all these ‘ology’ subjects can find treatments to terrible diseases, fight climate change, and generally contribute to linear improvements. Seen like this, it makes sense to prioritise the sciences. Seen like this, it makes sense that ex-British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak would propose that all British 16-18 year olds should have to study Maths but not English.
I can’t help but think there must be more to life than linear progression.
Personally, my life has never been linear. Of course there have been linear stages – playgroup, school, undergrad, first job, postgrad, etc. But in terms of the sort of linear improvement we always talk about? Not so much. Every stage has been a mix of good and bad, things I’ve loved and things I’ve hated. After all, I’d never want to be a teenager again, but I wouldn’t mind my parents still being in charge of calling the plumber! To me, this is also how the world at large works.
It goes without saying that certain scientific advancements have massively benefitted humanity, not least vaccines, surgical advancements and all sorts of other medical progress. To some extent, linear progression does exist. Yet, every era also comes with its own problems and challenges. Take the modern day: we are so privileged to have technology that can make day-to-day chores easier. Yet, world conflicts, unemployment and the rise of AI can be really scary. Meanwhile, both World Wars brought massive technological advancements, and the ‘war spirit’ in the UK is a source of constant nostalgia. Meanwhile, some of the worst atrocities in human history were committed in the 1940s; technological advancements go no way in justifying any of what happened. Even considering the medieval age, when lack of medical knowledge meant that very little could be done to treat illness, the absence of plastics, ultra-processed food and desk jobs presents a host of positives idealised by modern people. Human progress, then, isn’t totally linear.
But what does any of this mean for literature?
First of all, the idea that society does not develop in a straight line means that we can’t take steady improvement for granted. On a very real level, the ability to think critically about diverse situations we haven’t encountered in ‘real life’ is necessary. From childhood, reading teaches us these skills. From reading toddlers the same stories on repeat to help them learn to speak, to reading Enid Blyton’s school stories in the build-up to going to Secondary school, books are a means through which young people can get to know the world. As we get older, this doesn’t change. Personally, I recently read Albert Camus’ The Stranger for the first time, and it exposed me to ideas about criminality, human identity and relationships that I’d never thought about before.
As adults, however, we are capable of reading critically. We don’t just absorb information like we did as children; we think about what we’ve read. A great example of this is the experience of going back to books we loved in our formative years. For me, this has been a return to Blyton’s Malory Towers. What started almost 20 years ago as a fun little series to occupy myself with when I didn’t want to read something too intense now gives me a lot to think about. Listening to the books as a way of relaxing before bed, I find myself critiquing a lot of the themes discussed in the books. Then I have to consider how these themes play out in my own life.
One such theme is fatphobia, which is particularly prevalent in. Upper Forth at Malory Towers. In this story, one child’s bad attitude is corrected by reducing the size of her body. It’s implied that her fatness is a symptom of her selfishness.
As a child growing up in the early 2000s, this idea wasn’t particularly foreign to me and so I read it, accepted it and moved on. The joy of being trained in literary analysis is that, now, I can reread the book more consciously. I have gained the ability to ask questions like:
Why is body size linked to morality in these books?
What about the 1940s-1950s context would create this sort of perspective?
Is this opinion still held today/ in today’s books, and if so, why?
These questions showcase why I think of literary studies as a combination of psychology, sociology and politics they also lead on to the big question:
How can we stop associating body size with morality?
By tracking these questions in books, we can relate to characters in situations we ourselves are not in. We can then step away from the book and ask questions that are relevant to all of us today.
This is why literarature studies has played such a big role in so many political and social movements. Over the years, these have included the anti-slavery movement, feminism, anti-climate change, socialist, LGBTQ+, and every other discourse you can imagine. There will be a story in support of almost every belief out there, some subtle and some very loud: books project authors’ visions. But the possibility of discussing these visions is what makes a difference.
Studying literature isn’t all about studying things that don’t exist. It’s about thinking critically about how we all live and how the world could improve for us all. The ideas we study don’t just stay in universities, either – just like how technology is distributed in shops and reviewed by buyers once it’s been developed by the experts, ideas discussed by experts in literature eventually get distributed and discussed and reviewed by other people too. This is all part of political and social development in society, which is a necessary part of human development.
As the world progresses into new eras, it is always important to be aware of the ideas, ideologies and discussions that occur around us. It is crucial to be able to decide for ourselves what we do and don’t agree with, and why. The alternative is being led by our gut reactions, which aren’t often very kind. For some people, this means listening to diverse perspectives on the radio or reading them in the papers. Perhaps reading a book or two on particular subjects. These are all good and powerful things to do.
Nevertheless, it has to be someone’s job to come up with new ideas. Literature studies is one of the fields that allows this to happen. Through books, specialists come up with new ideas about humanity and the world that other people can read about and consider for themselves. In a world that doesn’t just improve with every passing year, this is crucial work.
So why is Literature an important field? It teaches a new way of thinking. It pushes us to think about the world as a whole and to engage in important conversations. It encourages good communication, confidence in your own beliefs, and the ability to debate them whilst also listening to other perspectives. Whether literature students stay in the field or go out into the world, these skills will always be important.
* Recent debates have asked whether literature must always be written down, and about the role of oral cultures in literary studies. Other debates have included when exactly art becomes writing if it’s clear that certain drawings tell a story, for example on an ancient vase.
Book recommendations of the day:
- The Colour Line – Igiaba Scego
- Scego’s 2023 novel documents questions about race, nationality, womanhood, migration and the lifechanging experiences that form each individual. A masterpiece of colour and depth, the novel had me from the first page and carried me all the way through to the end. A very important read.
- Rewitched – Lucy Jane Wood
- A gentle read that nevertheless tackles important questions about belonging and family, this book was a joyful way to detach from the stress of day-to-day life.
- Lessons in Chemistry – Bonnie Garmus
- Tackling feminist issues head-on, Lessons in Chemistry is beautifully constructed from the first page to the last. Taking us back to 1950s America, Garmus reminds us that, whilst a lot has changed for women (and men) in some respects, a lot more change is still to come.
Lively Words 