“All fiction can be profitably regarded as argument”
The OED Online defines “profitably” as: “with advantage or benefit; usefully” ("profitably, adv."). “Profitably” caught me off guard, but when I consider it in this junction, I’m inclined to agree. I found this quote in a work by Ronald Sukenick called Narralogues: Truth in Fiction. Sukenick makes this argument after establishing that he finds “significance” through the narrative as opposed to the plot. When I originally read the word “profitably” I felt myself wanting to be in disagreement with the claim because of the monetary implications of “profit.” Then again, I found it hard to make a case for a work of fiction that didn’t stand to gain from profit. We all have writings (and maybe even written narratives) that we don’t plan on showing to the world, but it’s hard to imagine not being willing to exchange those writings when offered money. That’s not an ideal way of thinking, but we don’t live in an ideal world. However, when I consider profitably in the OED Online’s terms, I think we can shift this way of thinking to consider a broader intention of the use of the term “profitably.”
Many of our readings this week referred to Burke’s concepts of identification and consubstantiality. These terms are particularly parsed out in his work A Rhetoric of Motives, but when considering this quote (“All fiction can be profitably regarded as argument”) turning to an older work may be more useful. In Permanence and Change, Kenneth Burke states:
“A way of seeing is also a way of not seeing…”
This idea has a few implications. One, by attuning ourselves to the idea of “profitably” as the use of advantage, we are dis-attuning ourselves to its use as monetary gain. This could be dangerous, but since we’ve already addressed that it could be considered in this way, I’m going to move on. Another implication that Burke’s quote has is to counter the (perhaps) more obvious objection to the Sukenick quote. What we really want to say is that not all fiction is argument. Some fiction is for fun, pleasure, enjoyment. That is one way of seeing, but when we only see one way we might miss an intention, an appeal, or even a moral.
There are these books I often return to for the nostalgia about this wacky school called Wayside School. If you asked me to make up a rhetorical argument for them on the spot, it would be tough. But, books like these engage a particular audience of children. Like adults, children want a variety to choose from. Then, an argument could be made that these books engage children in learning and reading. However, since I have more time, let’s consider one of the books from the series.
Luis Sachar’s Sideways Stories from Wayside School was published in 1978. Each chapter is the name of a teacher, student, or staff member at Wayside School. In most cases, each chapter becomes a narrative from the perspective of whoever it is about. Check out this brief summary from Chapter 16. D. J.:
“D.J. is happy, and it spreads through the whole class, but he won't tell why. His explanation is that no reason is required to be happy.”
Even without much imagery, you can think back to being a child, and having a another kid come up to you telling you how happy they are and wondering, “why?” As a kid, it’s a funny chapter, and a reminder that you can choose happiness without a reason. As an adult, we could make an argument that this chapter is existentialist and suggests that claiming happiness is a way of claiming one’s own agency over their emotions.
Okay, so that’s just one example, and maybe it was an easy one. Are we really going to fight over say a book comprised only of pictures? Pictures placed with specific intention in a specific order? Intention is certainly fundamental to rhetorical discourse, and even by guessing at intention we are taking part in a larger argument, which I think is Sukenick’s point. We can argue about a picture book because we aren’t seeing the same book. The way you see it is one way, and the way I see it is another. I almost feel like Sukenick would be annoyed with my oversimplification.
There’s a tribute to Ronald Sukenick in the New York Times: Ronald Sukenick, 72, Writer Who Toyed With the Rules by Christopher Lehmann-Haupt. Lehmann-Haupt discusses the repeated boundaries Sukenick attempted to push until they broke:
“No aims no expectations no hopes and liked it that way”
A way of seeing is surely a way of not seeing.
The OED Online defines “profitably” as: “with advantage or benefit; usefully” ("profitably, adv."). “Profitably” caught me off guard, but when I consider it in this junction, I’m inclined to agree. I found this quote in a work by Ronald Sukenick called Narralogues: Truth in Fiction. Sukenick makes this argument after establishing that he finds “significance” through the narrative as opposed to the plot. When I originally read the word “profitably” I felt myself wanting to be in disagreement with the claim because of the monetary implications of “profit.” Then again, I found it hard to make a case for a work of fiction that didn’t stand to gain from profit. We all have writings (and maybe even written narratives) that we don’t plan on showing to the world, but it’s hard to imagine not being willing to exchange those writings when offered money. That’s not an ideal way of thinking, but we don’t live in an ideal world. However, when I consider profitably in the OED Online’s terms, I think we can shift this way of thinking to consider a broader intention of the use of the term “profitably.”
Many of our readings this week referred to Burke’s concepts of identification and consubstantiality. These terms are particularly parsed out in his work A Rhetoric of Motives, but when considering this quote (“All fiction can be profitably regarded as argument”) turning to an older work may be more useful. In Permanence and Change, Kenneth Burke states:
Any performance is [discussable] either from the standpoint of what it attains or what it misses. Comprehensiveness can be discussed as superficiality, intensiveness as stricture, tolerance as uncertainty—and the poor pedestrian abilities of a fish are clearly explainable in terms of his excellence as a swimmer. A way of seeing is also a way of not seeing—a focus upon object A involves a neglect of object B.
“A way of seeing is also a way of not seeing…”
This idea has a few implications. One, by attuning ourselves to the idea of “profitably” as the use of advantage, we are dis-attuning ourselves to its use as monetary gain. This could be dangerous, but since we’ve already addressed that it could be considered in this way, I’m going to move on. Another implication that Burke’s quote has is to counter the (perhaps) more obvious objection to the Sukenick quote. What we really want to say is that not all fiction is argument. Some fiction is for fun, pleasure, enjoyment. That is one way of seeing, but when we only see one way we might miss an intention, an appeal, or even a moral.
There are these books I often return to for the nostalgia about this wacky school called Wayside School. If you asked me to make up a rhetorical argument for them on the spot, it would be tough. But, books like these engage a particular audience of children. Like adults, children want a variety to choose from. Then, an argument could be made that these books engage children in learning and reading. However, since I have more time, let’s consider one of the books from the series. Luis Sachar’s Sideways Stories from Wayside School was published in 1978. Each chapter is the name of a teacher, student, or staff member at Wayside School. In most cases, each chapter becomes a narrative from the perspective of whoever it is about. Check out this brief summary from Chapter 16. D. J.:
“D.J. is happy, and it spreads through the whole class, but he won't tell why. His explanation is that no reason is required to be happy.”
Even without much imagery, you can think back to being a child, and having a another kid come up to you telling you how happy they are and wondering, “why?” As a kid, it’s a funny chapter, and a reminder that you can choose happiness without a reason. As an adult, we could make an argument that this chapter is existentialist and suggests that claiming happiness is a way of claiming one’s own agency over their emotions.
Okay, so that’s just one example, and maybe it was an easy one. Are we really going to fight over say a book comprised only of pictures? Pictures placed with specific intention in a specific order? Intention is certainly fundamental to rhetorical discourse, and even by guessing at intention we are taking part in a larger argument, which I think is Sukenick’s point. We can argue about a picture book because we aren’t seeing the same book. The way you see it is one way, and the way I see it is another. I almost feel like Sukenick would be annoyed with my oversimplification.
There’s a tribute to Ronald Sukenick in the New York Times: Ronald Sukenick, 72, Writer Who Toyed With the Rules by Christopher Lehmann-Haupt. Lehmann-Haupt discusses the repeated boundaries Sukenick attempted to push until they broke:
The further darkening of his vision, always relieved by his sense of humor, was reflected in ''Long Talking Bad Conditions Blues'' (1979), in which a fragment of the book's single long sentence, broken into paragraphs, reads, ''no aims no expectations no hopes and liked it that way,'' and in his autobiographical nonfiction narrative ''Down and In: Life in the Underground'' (Beech Tree Books, 1987), a tour of the 1980's counterculture from the vantage point of Manhattan's bars.
“No aims no expectations no hopes and liked it that way”
A way of seeing is surely a way of not seeing.
I am in love with this blog and its use of Calvin & Hobbes <3
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