ABSTRACT
Most of us are intrigued, I think, by the prospect of learning something interesting or useful about ourselves. That’s precisely what reader-response theory offers us, and perhaps that’s why it has become a popular framework for the study of literature. There are, however, several different kinds of reader-response theory, and
they aren’t all interested in the same kinds of self-knowledge. Some readerresponse approaches examine the ways in which our literary interpretations are influenced by social factors: for example, by the social or cultural group with which we identify, by the system of education that tells us what literary works are important and how they should be interpreted, or even by the classmates whose opinions influence our responses as we read literary works together. Other reader-response approaches analyze literary works themselves in order to determine how our responses are guided by the way a work is written: for instance, the amount of information provided about characters and plot, the order in which that information is provided, and the attitude of the narrator that provides it. Finally, some reader-response approaches try to determine how our responses to literary works are influenced by our personal experiences, by the emotional or psychological dimension of our daily lives: for example, our likes and dislikes, our loves, our fears, our desires, and our memories. It is this last kind of reader-response theory that we are interested in here.
For despite their differences, all reader-response theories have one important thing in common. They all believe that readers play an active role in making meaning when they read. So let’s begin at this common point by focusing, in this chapter, on the following question: how does each of us make meaning when we read a literary work? And to find answers to this question, let’s use a reader-response approach that helps us examine the emotional events that occur within us as we read. For although we might believe that our literary interpretations are completely objective and based solely upon “what happens” in a story, poem, or play, in fact a good deal of what we think happens in a literary text, and what we think the text means, comes from the history of our
personal experiences, which acts as a kind of emotional filter through which we perceive the literary work. It seems reasonable, then, to see if we can improve our ability to understand and enjoy literature by improving our ability to understand the role that our personal responses play in our literary interpretations. One well-known framework for exploring the personal dimension of our
individual reading processes is offered by Norman Holland,1 who suggests that we respond to literary texts in much the same way that we respond to experiences in our daily lives. Holland believes that each of us has what he calls an identity theme, which is the pattern of our emotional challenges and coping strategies by which we respond to people and events on an everyday basis. To offer a simple example, if I don’t trust people who remind me of my emotionally manipulative Aunt Betty, then I won’t trust literary characters who remind me of her. And if I deal with my negative feelings about my Aunt Betty by refusing to see anything good in her at all-by reducing her to her character flaw so that I don’t have to deal with her emotionally-then I will deal in the same way with literary characters that remind me of her: by refusing to see anything good in them at all. In short, the same kinds of people, places, and events that create anxiety and
activate my defenses in my everyday life will create anxiety and activate my defenses when I see representations of those kinds of people, places, and events in-or project them onto-a literary work. For obvious reasons, Holland calls this reading experience, which can occur for different reasons at multiple points throughout our reading of a literary work, the defense mode. To go back to the example of Aunt Betty, I will go into defense mode as soon as I spot a literary character that reminds me of her because, although I’m probably not aware of it, this reminder makes me anxious. My defenses are activated because I feel in need of some emotional protection. When we are in defense mode, we will interpret what we are reading, not
in a manner that reflects the actual words on the page, but in a manner that reduces our anxiety. In other words, we will imagine that the troubling passage means whatever our defenses require it to mean at that point in time. Holland calls this part of the reading process the fantasy mode. For example, my defenses having been raised by encountering a literary character that reminds me of my Aunt Betty, I will see only the negative side of the portrayal even if the character is portrayed positively in some respects. Most probably without realizing it, I will view this character in a very limited way so that-just as I do in my relationship with my Aunt Betty-I can avoid dealing with the emotions it will otherwise create in me. For many of us, however, it is rather difficult to know when we are in
defense mode or fantasy mode. For these two modes occur in order to keep us from knowing something we don’t want to know about ourselves and, therefore, about the literary work we are reading. How, then, can we use Holland’s ideas to help us discover how our personal reading responses operate to influence our interpretation of literature?
