ABSTRACT
The mention of “a” or “the” literary canon often elicits many reactions from English teachers, professors, and educators. For some, it represents the greatest literary achievements that have withstood the test of time, the font of our cultural heritage: enduring values; impregnable ideals; abounding confidence and optimism in the American dream; and indefatigable faith in the face of challenges from every front—everyone must be baptized in this font or they will be irrevocably lost. Others believe it is a bastion of oppression that marginalizes writers and peoples who are not part of the West’s dominant White patriarchy. They argue the canon is exclusionary, power entrenching power, the lines of cultural heritage gerrymandered around the work of male writers of European descent, many from affluent backgrounds (families, schools, societies). To detractors, the canon’s hegemonic representation of this country is but one perception of the human condition, one that marginalizes or negates the perceptions of others: indigenous writers, writers of Asian, African, Central and South American heritages. Differing sides have divergent hopes for the future of the canon. Some, like Bloom (1994), want the canon preserved, others such as Greenbaum (1994) want it opened, while still some, like Thomas (2017), want it blown up and discarded. These discussions of the literary canon can incite a range of opinions and emotions; however, rarely in these arguments is it explicated which canon is being debated:
