Living like literature

I'm starting to read for class--last semester's class--just because I think literary theory is something I should be better versed in than I am.  Especially since Steve says in literary criticism lies the easiest road to a Ph.D.

I was reading some thoughts by Terry Eagleton on how we might define literature.  He discusses how what is considered literature can change over time--we might imagine a world in which Shakespeare is no longer considered to have any literary value--and can be quite independent of the author's intent--that is, whether the author considers his or her work to be literature.  Except Eagleton phrases it as whether the authors consider themselves literature.  Just a little quirk in his language; I'm sure he didn't mean to shift the conversation away from the topic at hand.  But the ADHD kicked in, and I started thinking about how people might be thought of as literature.


A few pages earlier, Eagleton is offering various definitions for literature.  The first option he offered (and ultimately rejected) was in step with the Formalists, claiming that literature is "organized violence against language," or, as I have been putting it, "queering language."  Because literature isn't how we talk or write business e-mails; it's something different.  In literature, blades can be described as pale.  Godric comes to mind.  Literature is language that calls attention to itself; it is not the content that matters so much, but the words.  The medium, not the message.

Hold on to that for a second.

There exists a bias (I could be all snooty and say "in Western society," but I think we hippie types draw that particular contrast a little too freely) towards the content of one's life.  Occupation, family, income, volunteer work, musical talent, penchant for mathematics--that's all content.  That's all what people do in life, and that's what we tend to see.  But I think there's also a how, a way of walking and speaking and reacting that won't show up on even the most overdone résumé.  I can certainly think of people who seem to have a literary grace about them quite independent of everything that goes on in their lives.  It's not the content of life; it's the language in which it's lived.

Therein, I think, lies my ambition.  I have always been rather ambivalent about my future plans, be they career, locale, or family, and I think it's because what I truly want is for my life to have the ring of literature.  I'm quite sure I'm not there--I doubt people look at me and see that grace.  I'm too impulsive and quick-tempered, and I speak too loudly.  But at least I've figured out what I want.

This week.