Literary Studies, Identity, and Listening

In light of the recent election results, there could not be a more timely text than Krista Ratcliffe’s Rhetorical Listening. Bryan Lutz’s talk last week was particularly insightful as we discussed the ways listening has been important in his reflections and activism. I appreciated hearing about the ways Lutz has navigated a series of complicated relationships between himself, the groups he is working with, and the power structures he is working within and against.

I have, at times, wondered how much I identify with a particular identity, and I think that the fact that I have not had to think about my racial or gender identity shows that I have been privileged. And yet, I know that there is a frustration that comes from being told that you are privileged when it doesn’t feel that way. It is very difficult to get someone to listen when they do not feel understood, when they do not feel like the conversation has a place for them.

But my investment in communication and rhetoric comes from the belief that representing ourselves is an important step in entering into productive social relationships. If we want people to take our ideas seriously, then we need take the time to understand how communication is operating within a social context so that we too may be heard.

Clearly this is not the whole picture. My experience listening to marginalized narratives throughout my college career I have read a broad range of authors including African-American, Asian-American, Columbian, Puerto Rican, German, Middle-Eastern, and French writers (certainly more). I have been particularly moved by the writings of Toni Morrison, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Franz Kafka. In some ways, the diversity of perspectives has prompted me to see histories as complicated, but I also know that I have not entirely heard these texts as well as I should like.

See some of my previous work in literary analysis:

Apocalyptic Endings, Rosario Ferré and Magical Realism

The idea of eavesdropping seems particularly interesting as I think about studying literature. Ratfliffe offers us a view of eavesdropping that “signifies an effective rhetorical tactic…a rhetorical tactic of purposely positioning oneself on the edge of one’s own knowing so as to overhear and learn from others and, I would add, from oneself” (104-5). Reading literary fiction is one way, I think, that I have been able to expand my world view. Reading the texts wasn’t always enough, as I noted, because in my role as a student I would often read because I had to. But those texts that stand out in my memory, those texts that left a lasting impression because they revealed more that I could have anticipated, should act as reminders that I have more listening to do (I am thinking about Octavia E Butler’s Kindred and Manuel Puig’s Kiss of the Spider Woman).

 ­­­Ratcliff explains early that “rhetorical listening is defined generally as a trope for interpretive invention and more particularly as a code of cross-cultural conduct” (17). She goes on to differentiate listening and reading by noting that “when listening…we do not read simply for what we can agree with or challenge, as is the habit of academic reading” (25). As I read for my coursework I am more often looking for ways to write about and use the text, and at times this need to write comes at a price. The texts that have moved me most were successful in luring me into a deeper mode of reading, a mode that prompted personal attachments and reflections with the narrative.

When people see me, they see a white man. When people get to know me, I am not sure to what degree I confirm there understanding of white men and to what extent I complicate it. But I do know that the initial impression has benefited me in many ways, and as I work towards making sure that my classroom and curricula are as social responsible and aware as possible, it will be important for me to continue thinking about the ways I am listening to conversations that may not have had me in mind.