about the “attention-grabbing newcomersnof both coasts.”nThings will probably not get betternfor Texas literature in the near future.nIt’s too much to hope that universitiesnin Houston, Dallas, and Austin willnsoon stop hiring their creative writingnBetween Shakespeare andnSorelnFor many centuries the Greek andnLatin classics were the only majornliterary force which united, evenndefined, the civilized West. Alongnwith theology and mathematics,nthey virtually were the curriculum.nTeaching English literature is actuallyna fairly new idea in Englandnand the U.S. It originated withnsuch late Victorians as MatthewnArnold, who believed that theologyncould no longer serve as the “queennof the sciences” and that some newnintegrative discipline would have tonbe erected in its place. In America,nEnglish literature won its place innthe schools less because of suchnexplicit secularizing than becausenof reflexive Anglophilia. But thenresults were much the same. “Innour culture literature has been positionednin much the same place asnscripture,” writes Robert Scholes innTextual Power: Literary Theory andnthe Teaching of English (Yale UniversitynPress; New Haven, CT).nSo long as neither the averagenEnglish teacher nor the average studentnquestioned the foundations ofnthe discipline—so long as they busiednthemselves with memorizingnverse, identifying hidden symbols,nscanning lines, and readingnDickens—the sacred new canonndid provide a cultural center for thenschools. But the new center couldnnot hold. Radical social critics werensoon attacking the holy books as thenmystifications of class- and genderboundnprejudice and ideologies.nOften infected by the skepticism ofnsuch radicals, the high priests of thennew literary faith—the critics andnliterary theorists — soon fell tonfighting among themselves over thenproper rules and methods for inter-nteachers from New York and California.n”Texas” literary prizes will likelyncontinue to be awarded by—and ton—despairing young men from HarvardnSquare. Graham may even benright when he concludes that “in thenend they [the Palefaces] nearly alwaysnREVISIONSnpreting the sacred texts, exposingnand undermining the dubious basisnfor their own social prominence.nBut mandatory classes in Englishncontinue. Some teachers try to keepnup the old pretense of thenArnoldian aestheticism, as thoughnnothing had happened. Many morenhave instead politicized andnideologized their teaching, turningnliterature study into an attack uponnthe very culture it was supposed tonsustain. Scholes, a professor of Englishnat Brown University, belongsnto this second group. He wants hisnstudents to recognize and criticizenthe cultural codes in literature. Fornhim, this means helping studentsnunderstand that every text is “partial,nits truth value various in relationnto historical changes.” Thenteacher should help students seizen”a share of textual power for themselves”nby challenging the assumptionsnof the works they read, thoughnthis may mean a “voyage of alienation”nout of Western values or evenna “challenge [to] the position ofnliterary art itself.” Naturally, thenliterature teacher must never presumento “settle the Tightness ornwrongness of these individual actsnof criticism,” but should merelyn”interact . . . negotiate, and . . .nmake available the critical positionsnalready on record.”nScholes is not as theory-mad asnsome of his colleagues—but thennneither is he as consistent. Evennafter he demonstrates the absurditynof many of deconstructionism’sncentral doctrines, he argues that wenmust “salvage” those other featuresnof deconstruction that help “feministsnand other socially committednwriters to obtain textual power overntheir worlds.” In one chapter henreminds us that—contrary to thenlatest semiotic thinking—there is annnwin.” There is at least one real Texannleft who remembers the Alamo. Grahamnconcludes his critical argumentsnby posing the Southwest’s most abidingnliterary question: “Where’s mynshooting iron?” ccndiscernible real world outside ofnand larger than language, but in thennext chapter he justifies the use of anpurely verbal science-fiction worldnof hermaphrodites to challenge thenlegitimacy of the extant world ofnheterosexuals. Scholes detects thentotalitarian danger in making thenmeaning of a text depend solelynupon an “interpretive community”;nyet in looking for some Archimedeannpoint, “a place to stand fromnwhich we can finally see the earthnand perhaps even move it,” he findsnonly “class interests.” The theoreticaln”middle ground” Scholes saysnhe wants to occupy turns into answamp of contradictions.nIf there is a way out it lies in anmore thoroughgoing critique of thensemiotic doctrine of the infinite circulationnof texts than Scholes offers.nTo correct the belief that “significationnis an endless network,nlinking sign to sign,” it is notnenough to “rescue the referent” bynrediscovering the nonlinguisticnworld of phenomena. We must alsonremember that human history andn”textuality” are not infinite or endless;nboth have a beginning, andnboth will have an end. All meaningn— including that encoded innliterature — lies suspended fromnthese endpoints. Since science stillntells us nothing about the origins ofnlanguage, perhaps we should wondernagain with Plato and the ApostlenJohn if all translucent human wordsndo not lead us finally back to somenself-existent and opaque Word, ifnall poems are only echoes of somendivine Poem. If we think this waynvery long, we may soon join T.S.nEliot in calling for a return to thenold humane learning—theologynand classics—on which we builtnour entire culture. That would requirena real “journey of alienation.”nOCTOBER 1985139n