Posts Tagged ‘essay’

On the theory of critique

Wednesday, July 30th, 2008

Well, here we are, together again for a few moments, my thoughts bridging a gap to enter yours. Why so philosophical, you might well ask? I read this post over at Animanachronism, and thought I should really tender a response of some kind.

Now, before I enter anything that approaches an opinion, I want to first say that I adore Daniel in the way only an obscure anime blogger with crazy literary ideas can. He does good work for the community; in a practical sense, it is the promulgation of serious literary study of a work that makes the work “literary,” rather than anything inherent in the work itself, and so work like Daniel’s furthers the general cause of getting some serious mainstream consideration for anime.

I’m afraid I let some of my opinion leak out there — the thing about what makes something literary. That’s now quite what I want to talk about, but it’s related.

Here, then, is the short version: what’s the difference between “good and bad” and “I liked and didn’t like?”

I have to disagree with Daniel’s conclusion: in my opinion there is no difference at all.

Bold, I know. Allow me, for a moment, to wield the powers of quotation at you. According to Northrop Frye,

the difference between good and bad is not something inherent in literary works themselves, but the difference between two ways of using literary experience. The belief that good and bad can be determined as inherent qualities is the belief that inspires censorship, and the attempt to establish grades and hierarchies in literature itself, to distinguish what is canonical from what is apocryphal, is really an “aesthetic” form of censorship. (The Stubborn Structure, Essays on Criticism and Society. 85.)

Let’s take this in two parts. First, “good” and “bad” are determined by how one uses the work in question, not by anything in the nature of the work itself. On the level of “serious business” criticism “good” works are works we can take things away from that affect our lives.

We can move away from that realm now to something a little more fun: enjoyment. At its core, literature (and I use the term here to mean anything consumed that functions with narrative) must be entertaining. Indeed, the whole “taking something ‘good’ away from a work of literature” concept is merely a form of entertainment. Just between us friends, right now, we could, if we wanted to, define “something good” as “having a good time.” So, if you have a good time when you watch an anime, or read a book, then the anime or the book was “good.” In the same way, something that bored you would be “bad.”

The issue with this — or, at least, one of them — is that it seems to leave us with nowhere to go. If everything is subjective, you might be saying, then what’s the point? Well, look at it this way: Derrida claimed that any work based on another work — he was primarily concerned with acts of criticism and scholarship here, probably not being aware of fanfiction at the time — is its own self-contained work, and not a kind of “lens” to view the original through. That is, T. S. Eliot’s famous essay about Huckleberry Finn is just as much an original piece of work as his The Waste Land is. The audience for criticism, then, reads criticism to get “something good” out of it, just as they might read the “original” pieces that the criticism is based on. Hopefully I was clear enough there to illustrate why it doesn’t matter if a critic is objective or subjective, but here’s the short version: it doesn’t matter because readers read the criticism to be entertained, given that intellectual stimulation is just another form of entertainment.

The second part of the above quotation is important as well, and also provides another reason why we might consider sticking to the “everything’s subjective” view. Frye argues, and I agree, that claims of objective reading lead to censorship. “This is good” and “this is bad” are judgments passed on the works in question, just as much as verdicts are in the courtroom. However, recast thost statements: “I thought it was good” and “I thought it was bad” say the same thing — because anyone who spends a moment to think about the first pair of statements will likely believe they’re opinions anyway. What the second pair of statements does is allow for disagreement. Of course we can disagree with any statement, but discussion, criticism — the forms of entertainment we’re concerned with here — aren’t safe when things are phrased as fact. (I know this forthcoming example has exceptions, just bear with me.) We can argue with theories about why gravity exists — scientists don’t know yet why mass, rotation, and other things cause bodies to pull at one another — but we can’t argue with the facts that gravity does exist.

Like the cast of House often say — there are two diagnoses, and only one of them has a solution. We don’t need a “solution” so much as a continuation of our discourse, but I would claim that discourse can’t function at its best when objective judgments rule the day. On the other hand, discussion can take full flight when we all accept that it’s just our opinions — because, re: Derrida, we’re all just entertaining each other.

At least he’s playing a dude…

Wednesday, June 25th, 2008

It’s difficult for me to talk about the space opera side of Macross Frontier. It just is, like clouds or sunlight. It is right, it is in place, and it buoys me — though, of course, the sun doesn’t just come round once a week. I actually watched this episode a few days ago, but I want to talk about it, rather than what I’m actually doing right now (which looks to be powering through Shakugan no Shana II, actually.

By the way — does anyone know what’s up with the missing episode of Spice and Wolf?

Anyway. Macross Frontier is made of poly-awesome fibers. But you already know that, you don’t suck. If you do suck? I don’t care.

The show continues apace, basically. Ranka is finally moving up in the world, and Alto is, uh, pretty much the same as always. Oh, and Sheryl’s sick, or something. This latest episode is almost entirely character stuff, which is just fine with me. Actually, the asides they take pains to include about the actual plot, the space, alien, war stuff (remember that?) are a little jarring; I appreciate them, but in the past few episodes we’ve been seeing so much about the characters that it feels almost superfluous.

Not that giant bio-mech aliens are ever superfluous.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet that I watched about half of Steamboy a few weeks ago, and I have yet to finish it. I will, but this does not bode well for my opinion on the thing.

Yes, I know I’m very random right now, hush.

I think it’s the point in the night where I’m forced to let you peek behind the great and wonderful wizard’s curtain: I don’t have a whole lot to actually say right now about Macross Frontier. I just wanted an excuse to use that wonderful, horribly embarrassing screencap of Alto. The topic I’ve been thinking about lately is the demarcation between anime fans and people who aren’t.

I don’t mean a border, though perhaps I should have used a different word if I didn’t want to suggest it. I honestly don’t believe there’s actually much of anything separating anime fans, otaku if you will, from other people. I have often said, in tones of sadness and pity, that some random person walking by will never know who in the hell [pick your anime lead of choice, I think the time I'm remembering I used Vash the Stampede as an example] is. People who wall themselves off from an entire venue miss a lot. I probably miss some good stuff because I pretty much won’t watch American romantic comedies. My girlfriend, in dire straits with her computer a few months ago, watched both Bridget Jones’ Diary movies back to back for comfort, and I liked them a decent amount. I probably would have never watched them otherwise.

Actually, let me retract part of that. I don’t categorically refuse to watch American romantic comedies, they just have to hint at something that will entertain me, and the typical “boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl again” arc doesn’t interest me too much. Unless the girl is an elf or something (I’m looking at you, Record of Lodoss War).

The thing I’m getting at in my own, awkward way is this: some people think there’s a difference. I have never thought there was. I have recently seen a little evidence to contradict my own opinion.

Where to start? Okay. My girlfriend and I have been going back and forth, foisting our favorite entertainments off on each other. She’s the reason I’m going to read Stephen King’s Dark Tower books, at least the first two. She’s finally going to try her hand at The Lord of the Rings (or try again, as is more accurate) because of me. In between her showing me movies I showed her The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. As my girlfriend’s pretty intelligent and into methods of storytelling, I showed her the episodes in the original air order. The arrangement didn’t bother her too much, though she didn’t think the first episode was all that funny.

I am assuming most of you enjoyed Haruhi. I know OGT enjoyed it, but wasn’t a huge fan. What I mean is that maybe you didn’t think the fake movie was funny either. I did. The fact that someone animated bad acting and film shooting is a joke to me, and it makes everything that happens in that twenty-some minute space funnier. I once did a project where some friends and I sat in our desks and read from scripts while a powerpoint full of pictures of ourselves, posed to match the scenes, scrolled by. No one in the class got the joke, ongoing, that we could have just done it in the classroom with no computer.

Moving on. My girlfriend enjoyed Haruhi most of the way through, but upon finishing the last episode was irritated and her opinion of the whole show fell. If you need a quick refresher, it’s the episode where Haruhi and Kyon go into closed space together, Kyon finally figures out that Haruhi’s into him, they kiss, and everything’s cool.

My girlfriend says she dislikes Kyon, that he never changes throughout the show.

Now, I don’t ascribe to the creative writing class axiom that a story must chart a character’s change — I think stories function just as well sometimes when they focus on how a character doesn’t change. I’m thinking of Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster stories, as well as several of Terry Pratchett’s protagonists (like Rincewind and Carrot Ironfounderson). But I think Kyon does change. In fact, most of the characters change, with the possible exception of Mikuru — if you use her future self as one of the poles, then she does as well (unless you believe, as Koizumi does, that she’s faking the super-sweet act because Kyon likes that sort of thing). Yuki becomes slightly more human, finding a hobby and coming to like Kyon. Koizumi seems like the best example of a character who doesn’t change, but I think he opens up a little — he definitely shows how much he likes Kyon more as the months go by. Haruhi and Kyon each mellow in their respective ways: Haruhi becomes (believe it or not) less demanding, while Kyon becomes better able to deal with things outside his expectations.

This essay (if you can call it that) isn’t about defending my position, though. Not specifically, though I guess it does it in a roundabout way. My point, long time in coming, is that I can’t see how my girlfriend, who reads and watches complex things all the time, doesn’t see what I see in a show as relatively simple as Haruhi. One possibility is that it’s an anime. She doesn’t watch any on her own, despite being a fan of both fantasy and science-fiction. The prevalence of those two genres in anime — easier to get ahold of than on American tv — is what drew me to the whole world of Japanese cartoons in the first place. She claims that she’s not familiar with the way anime works, that it doesn’t make sense to her. That confuses me. Anime has never struck me as having a different way of working — it does different things than American media sometimes, but I felt it worked in the same way as a tv show or movie from anywhere else might. I am, perhaps, wrong.

I certainly know there are types, standards, clichés, and other things that are different. While we might be able to think of American analogues to the Genki Girl, very few people who don’t watch anime would think of her as a “trope.” Yet there’s her page on the tv tropes wiki. But, in the same way, it seems like knowing it’s a trope isn’t required to get the jokes she’s the butt of. A few meta shows, like Excel Saga, Pani Poni Dash, and Sayonara Zetsubou-Sensei do that sort of thing, but America has its own parody shows and the like — such as Chappelle’s Show — wherein you have to get the reference to get the joke. But
(hopefully) the specific isn’t the cornerstone of the general in those examples.

I will readily admit that I am a bit ignorant when it comes to motion picture analysis. Plot, story, so on, those I can deal with about as well as in a book, but things like animation, cinematography, they befuddle me. I’m getting better, and I’m much better at looking at the technical bits of anime than I am of live-action films, even concerning genres. I watched Hot Fuzz with commentary last night, and I was astounded at all the references to movies the director, Edgar Wright, made, both in the movie and the commentary itself. I had no idea what half the movies were, and hadn’t seen most of the others (Lethal Weapon and Die Hard, yes, but Point Blank? Chinatown?) Along with that, he talked about the visual clues throughout the movie. I don’t suffer from genre blindness — I often know what’s going to happen because of the curve of the story that I see, but I often don’t pick up on deliberately-placed clues in movies like that. I just seem to miss that kind of knack. Is the same thing going on with my girlfriend and anime? Could it?

With those strange, melancholic words, I must leave you. But, to reward you for plugging away at my ramblings, here’s a present:


Because what’s better than that expression on his face? Nothing, that’s what.

Why in God’s name does anime hold such a terrible grip on the soul?

Tuesday, January 8th, 2008

Penny Arcade! – Universal Themes

That link right there got me to thinking about something just a few moments ago, and I thought I would pop open Scribefire and let you fine people know — or, more accurately, peek in on my thought processes, as I haven’t really cogitated fully; this may be a bit like swallowing steak whole, instead of chewing, but we shall see how it goes.

The quick version of things is as so: the fellows from Penny Arcade received a Nintendo DS from a game company, along with a promo of their new game. They played the game, enjoyed it, and ended up sending the DS to a contest winner. Only later did they read the letter send alongside and found it was signed by a famous game creator, for use in PA’s charity, Child’s Play. They have since, as that newspost says, righted things, but something fascinating came up.

One might ask why they even did that, but Tycho explains well enough.

There are people in the games industry whose job it is, literally, to befriend you – and you must constantly correct for it. I don’t apologize for this process. If one wishes to write about videogames, they must constantly bat away sucking, vile tendrils. On this topic, you will find wide agreement.

So, as you might guess from context clues, I wondered what other blogs and media outlets have to worry about. Anime blogging doesn’t really have much to contend with, I think. Sure, there are examples — like a video blog I will not mention which is basically comprised of clips followed by an anime merchandise site’s shill attempting to convince everyone that cheap shirts and miracle Nippon food are must-haves. But overall the most popular English-language anime blogs have little to worry about — the creators of the subject matter are hardly going to court us, over here in America. The big names among us are not (so far as I know) receiving DVDs and mobile phone charms from KyoAni.

And I think that explains some of the mysterious hold anime exerts on us. It is nearly impossible to to watch something while it airs in America and escape the context it creates for itself — the same is true for video games and comics. Books largely come holding themselves up, with no media frenzy coloring our thoughts. The exception, of course, is Harry Potter (and I haven’t read the seventh book yet, so shut the hell up) — I have never been comfortable with Rowling’s media whore tendencies. When Dumblegate hit the net my thought wasn’t slotted into the basic camps: I wasn’t gleeful that gay sexuality had made it into the books (possibly one of the most-heavily slashed Western entertainment on the Webs); I wasn’t angry that gay sexuality had made it in, either; I didn’t even make it into the camp where the coziest-looking fire had been laid, that of the people who think that it shouldn’t have mattered at all, as it hadn’t been in the books. Certainly there’s still meat on Barthes and Foucault — that is, to paraphrase their work, that “the author is dead.”

I hope you will forgive me for A: digressing and B: lumping these two fine writers together, but I’ve always taken them as a pair and it’s difficult to separate who said what. Anyway, the basic idea is that reading is an activity, just like writing, in that it creates meaning. So the author loses control of his or her text after the writing process. Once the book is published, the author can’t really go from house to house, contriving reasons why complaints aren’t accurate or ginning up excuses to keep people from their personal interpretations.

So I don’t quite believe Rowling should have never said anything unless it was in a book. I felt that way for a bit, but holding the writer to such a thing is a bit difficult — there’s always background material. If she genuinely wrote Dumbledore as gay but never got around to him having mad sex with a dude, then that’s fine (I have some doubt about whether she meant that to be true, though, until she realized it would give her final Potter book a great shot of adrenaline in the shops, but I am an asshole).

I do think she should shut the hell up, though, and let the writing stand on its own, in general. This isn’t her Dumbledore announcement I’m referring to now, because she did that at a signing, but all the media presence, interviews, and out-of-book information, like “two people will die in this book” and “one person will die in every book from now on” is both unfair and stupid. Just write the books, lady.

Anyway, sorry. I upset myself a little there. So, like I said, as folks in our country of origin most media is served to us with a context ready-made. We may balk, and even take entirely the opposite line — but I feel that, at least in part, that response is part of the context. If it were not present we would not feel the urge to buck its trend, to prove we aren’t sheep. It’s a bit like the argument (famous from that episode of South Park) that a totally dry alcoholic is still being controlled by alcohol, because it exerts a pressure on life. In the same way, if we vehemently disagree with a line of thought, even partly because it was provided by the businessmen, then we are being altered by their plan.

Also as I said, anime doesn’t really do this very much to us outside Japan. We can’t fall easy prey to their media machines. Of course we do, sometimes. There are loads of people who read Japanese websites or magazines and get this stuff as it’s released — but a good deal of fans are people like me, who are lucky enough to cherry-pick what looks good. Zombie-Loan hasn’t done very well at all among internet circles, from what I can tell. But I saw mention of a series about two zombie hunters and grabbed it, because that’s in line with what I enjoy. And I love that show. I consumed it more quickly (and during school time, mind) than I am currently going through Shakugan no Shana.

It’s a simple idea behind this essay, frankly. Anime seems awesome to us — in part — because we can move through it cleanly, without having to argue about everything with giant corporations.

There are two obvious caveats here. One is that the internet anime culture can act as a problem factor. Indeed, it was the fans and the way of discussing anime that I saw, taking things too seriously, that made me stop watching for several years. The second problem is that we escape the great, big-eyed gaze of anime business no longer. CLAMP is making their mangette stuff, which will simultaneously release in Japan and America, and it may not be much longer before the same is true.

There’s a whole second essay in this point, but I should have included it earlier: manga and anime creators don’t have to cater to us. They’re catering to someone, but we feel as though we’re getting a pure, uncut product, because we can’t see the little cogs and mouse-wheels turning in the heads of Madhouse or KyoAni like we can Warner Brothers’ or Miramax’s figurative heads.