| Title | : | Love's Shadow |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | - |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 448 |
| Publication | : | Published January 12, 2021 |
Literary criticism is an agent of despair, and its poster child is Walter Benjamin. Critics have spent decades stewing in his melancholy. What if instead we dared to love poetry? To choose comedy over Hamlet’s tragedy, romance over Benjamin’s suicide on the edge of France, of Europe, of civilization? Paul Bové challenges young “lit critters” to throw away their shades and let the sun shine in. Love’s Shadow is his three-step manifesto for a new literary criticism that risks sentimentality and melodrama and eschews self-consciousness.
The first step is to choose poetry. There has been since the time of Plato a battle between philosophy and poetry. Philosophy has championed misogyny, while poetry has championed women, like Shakespeare’s Rosalind. Philosophy is ever so stringent; try instead the sober cheerfulness of Wallace Stevens. Bové’s second step is to choose the essay. He praises Benjamin’s great friend and sometime antagonist Theodor Adorno, who gloried in the writing of essays, not dissertations and treatises. The third step is to choose love. If you want a Baroque hero, make it Rembrandt, who brought lovers to life in his paintings.
Putting aside passivity and cynicism would amount to a revolution in literary studies. Bové seeks nothing less, and he has a program for achieving it.
Love's Shadow Reviews
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Paul A. Bové
ΦBK, University of Pittsburgh, 2017
Author
Shortlisted for the 2022 Christian Gauss Award
From the publisher: A case for literary critics and other humanists to stop wallowing in their aestheticized helplessness and instead turn to poetry, comedy, and love.
Literary criticism is an agent of despair, and its poster child is Walter Benjamin. Critics have spent decades stewing in his melancholy. What if instead we dared to love poetry? To choose comedy over Hamlet’s tragedy, romance over Benjamin’s suicide on the edge of France, of Europe, of civilization? Paul Bové challenges young “lit critters” to throw away their shades and let the sun shine in. Love’s Shadow is his three-step manifesto for a new literary criticism that risks sentimentality and melodrama and eschews self-consciousness.
The first step is to choose poetry. There has been since the time of Plato a battle between philosophy and poetry. Philosophy has championed misogyny, while poetry has championed women, like Shakespeare’s Rosalind. Philosophy is ever so stringent; try instead the sober cheerfulness of Wallace Stevens. Bové’s second step is to choose the essay. He praises Benjamin’s great friend and sometime antagonist Theodor Adorno, who gloried in the writing of essays, not dissertations and treatises. The third step is to choose love. If you want a Baroque hero, make it Rembrandt, who brought lovers to life in his paintings.
Putting aside passivity and cynicism would amount to a revolution in literary studies. Bové seeks nothing less, and he has a program for achieving it. -
'If there is one satisfactory mode, it is in the intermixture of art and criticism, of creativity and curiosity, which is the essential way to love and think such dense and rich human experience. It is the poetic attitude, shadowed closely by its critical child, which alone together sustain the species. The melancholics have forgotten or betrayed poiesis, limiting it the display of the unbearable.
Nevertheless, this bleakness about life, the inability to stand in the face of finitude's complexities that this reflects, betrays the species' fundamental quality of mimesis, of imagination as part of the answer to the human question. The consequences of this inability have been dire for intellectual life; it does not have confidence that imagination can, in the here and now, achieve an albeit always limited victory in struggle. Bleakness and weakness live in the allegorical, in the infinite deferral of hope over a utopian horizon. Committed to ruin, it cannot see or accept the hard truths of limit, love, and beauty. Therefore, it impoverishes the human, its capacities, and its challenges. It devalues its creations, their beauties, and their successes - simply because none of them is final, apocalyptic, erasure of the finitude that makes the secular world. It not only crystallizes the work of imagination in one key but condemns the imagination to the endless iteration of the same monotone. For the melancholics, bleakness is all.'
