Weekly Journal Entry: 9/28/09

            Even though I am only 22 years old, I find the new advances in electronic communication overwhelming. I lack the ability to rapidly adjust to different technologies and this has inhibited my communication with others. For example, one day my younger brother wanted me to send him an image from my phone to his email. Of course, I lacked the technical expertise to perform this task. When I told my brother that I simply could not figure out how to send the picture, he rolled his eyes and said, “Even an 8-year-old could send a picture to someone’s email.” This single instance typifies the dizzying advances of electronic communication, which is overshadowing print culture. One arena of print culture that has already acutely experienced society’s preference for electronic information is journalism. Many newspapers are losing their subscribers. News can now be accessed online or via television channels focused entirely on delivering the latest political or international scandals. It seems as if the modern day Burroughs would have to be more wary of an incriminating blog post than he would of Mr. Woolworth’s “libelous publication” (312).

            One thing that struck me from Sven Birkerts’ The Gutenberg Elegies is the idea that our own ideologies are forcing print culture to fade away: “The printed word is part of a vestigial order that we are moving away from—by choice and by societal compulsion.” By choice we move away from the printed to the electronic. In short, if books lose currency, it is our fault; we are complicit in allowing printed works to become an old fad. Thus, as future teachers or advocators of works written we have to recognize that we will have to alter our presentation of these works in order to reach future generations. We cannot simply frown at new electronic communication—we too have aided in its advancement. Our shared culpability means that to teach others we need to recognize that we have had a part in shaping technologic ideologies; we have to adapt or we risk losing our students/hearers in a sea of archaic information that fails to reach the ears of those who are more inclined to read something online than visit a library in order to check out a book. This is not to say that I want print culture to fade away: by no means do I look at these changing forms of communication and information with welcoming acceptance. However, because I too at times choose to get my news online, watch TV instead of reading, play video games instead of going outside, and post on facebook instead of writing a letter, this means that I have to recognize the collective aspect of the growing electronic phenomenon.

            Another claim from Birkerts that I found interesting is the idea that “spin doctors and media consultants are our new shamans.” This is certainly the case—think of how much Obama’s campaign relied on electronic communication. Every politician in the United States seems to have a myspace or facebook page. Political discourse, like our other types of speech, is becoming absorbed into the growing influence of technological rhetoric. Computer degrees are gaining more popularity, and the “tech people” at a company are typically one of the higher paid groups of employees. This growing popularity and reliance of technologically adept experts raises some questions. How does this fare for future teachers of literature? Are we going to have to rely more and more on these experts in order to reach our students? Will the growth of online classes and even entire colleges make our jobs more obsolete?

            Even in Burroughs’ narrative we find a community frightened by the availability of information, though this time in the form of a library. In Bridghampton the citizens both desire and fear having access to a wide range of information. Today, our students have even more knowledge available to them, and in a quicker, condensed format. In this case, perhaps we need to act like Burroughs and help our students access this information beneficially and learn to interpret that same knowledge. Just as Burroughs hoped for a library in order that the people could expand upon what he had already taught them, we too need to provide our students with a way of continuing their education through this new form of electronic communication. Perhaps if we recognize the influence of electronic media, but retain our love for books and language, we can positively affect others to share our love for printed culture and retain the value of books as an important aspect of our social ideologies. 

Weekly Journal Entry: 9/21/09

            While we learn much more about Stephen Burroughs’s criminal activities in this second part of the narrative, nevertheless I feel as if I still do not know who Burroughs really is—criminal, victim, liar, actor, or genuine American idealist. All of these separate identities swirl around Burroughs, making it difficult to pin down how I as a reader think of him. One thing that I noticed this week was the frequent, yet subtle, humor present in the story. Burroughs describes his adventures with pathos and religious overtones, but there are still moments when the humor shines through. For example, when describing the horrible treatment he receives from the sheriff, Burroughs notes, “The sheriff then came to take his farewell, and parted with some hearty curses for my incorrigible conduct. The curses he received back again with interest” (112). At this point, the humor interacts with the other gruesome parts of the tale. In an odd way, this joke in the middle of the narrative alleviates the discomfort that the reader feels concerning Burroughs’s bodily conditions as a prisoner. It also heightens the ambiguity of Burroughs’s identity. If he can truly add jests into his narrative at this apparently painful recollection, then was his treatment as barbaric as he describes? The editor seems to believe so: “Notwithstanding his aggravated crimes, and irritating conduct, there is no question but Burroughs received punishment far exceeding his deserts” (115). Yet, because Burroughs is so deceptive, I find it hard to trust his descriptions. If Burroughs can wittingly recall some of his lowest moments, perhaps the entire imprisonment narrative is highly stylized and exaggerated.

            Along with Burroughs’s funny streak, he also has a penchant for ruling. His language, especially when he is at Castle Island, is impetuous and almost regal. He claims that “I had gained such an ascendancy over the prisoners, that they implicitly gave up to my opinion in all our little matters […]” (139). Soon after, he “orders” a fellow prisoner to make an iron crow. When they escape, another escapee challenges his throne of power, and this potential Wat Tyler scathingly remarks, “Well, Captain Burroughs, as you have had the command until you do not know what to do, it is best for some other person to take, who does know what to do” (144). Yet, this usurper is soon dealt with, and Burroughs continues to steer towards land and display his ability to quell any rebellion within his realm of power. Later, his grandiose plan to seize control of the island exhibits idealism and a false sense of security, which rash leaders sometimes possess. Burroughs’s enjoyment of ruling raises some questions: Does a counterfeiter naturally have tendencies to lead, to take charge, or to manipulate people for personal gain? Why do men like Burroughs, Syllavan, or even Rosencrantz become the apparent head honchos of their respective criminal operations? If we see many similarities between Benjamin Franklin and Stephen Burroughs, what qualities make one a leader in American politics and the other a leader of criminal rogues? The lines between Franklin and Burroughs appear to become increasingly indistinct. Interestingly, while Burroughs claims that his position as a leader was ostensibly thrust upon him, in a later reflection on the prisoners at Castle Island Burroughs notes “that person who could relate the most desperate and daring transgression of the laws of national justice, was considered the most honorable character among the prisoners” (177). Again, Burroughs’s narrative contradicts his earlier claims of innocence. If he is the leader of the prisoners, and yet the leader would necessarily, according to Burroughs, be the most villainous of the group, it seems as if Burroughs wishes to fulfill two roles at once—both saint and sinner. Just as the use of humor creates disparate images of the same man, Burroughs’s conduct and his subsequent philosophic or political ruminations seem to generate a character that escapes definition or understanding. Yet, is this not what a counterfeiter does? 

Weekly Journal Entry: 9/14/09

            Stephen Burroughs reminds me of Prince Hal from Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part I. Burroughs revels in his ability to play the trickster, but he recognizes the foolishness of his youth and, at least in the first third of the narrative, seems to intimate a desire to shine once he is done walking through the muck of adolescent frivolity. However, unlike Prince Hal, Burroughs is not able to undergo a transformation. Instead, he merely retains his ability to play a role; indeed, his language is highly theatrical all throughout his story and he frequently regards his adventures as dramas to be exhibited to the public. For example, when he goes to Dartmouth, he notes that the new atmosphere calls for “another part to act” (23). Soon after, Burroughs makes his way to the coast in order to obtain employment at sea. He reflects on how his father “let me loose upon the broad theater of the world, to act my part according to my abilities” (30). Fortunately for Burroughs, his abilities at acting are adaptive and convincing. When he becomes a preacher at Pelham, Burroughs boasts that he was able to “adapt my conduct to their genius as far as I was capable” (53). Within a few days, Burroughs recognizes the character of the community and adopts a complimentary persona in order to achieve his desires through the mechanism of spectacle.

            The talent for performance is requisite for any con man, but Burroughs is unique in that he has the capability to both act and subsequently ruminate on his choices in a philosophic and moralistic manner. True, his ethics are entirely defunct, but to follow his reasoning and learn of his justifications presents the reader with the impression that Burroughs was a contradictory man—fully aware of the consequences, but attempting to use his intellect in order to vindicate his crimes. After deciding to retrieve supplies for counterfeiting in Springfield, Burroughs claims, “my motive for this undertaking is founded on the principles of uprightness. I think the sentiment of friendship is the uppermost object in this undertaking” (87). Of course, only a few pages before Burroughs describes with poignancy the acute disappointment he felt in being duped by Phillips. Burroughs continually undermines his declarations of altruism by including in his narrative intricate contemplations of his desire for wealth and a life of ease.

            In order to obtain this desired affluence, the counterfeiter must be prepared to maintain a life of contradictory words and actions. However, early in his “letter,” Burroughs exhorts his addressee to be wary of a child’s gaze, for a child can quickly learn of its parents “whether our words and our actions speak the same language” (6). As a counterfeiter, Burroughs can never achieve this harmony of speech and deed. Instead, language is a tool for Burroughs—his words cannot adequately express who he is or what he really does. In light of this contradiction, Burroughs chooses acts of deception involving oration; his stint as a preacher exemplifies his aptitude for supplementing appearances with eloquent rhetoric. When he first arrives in the small community of Ludlow, Burroughs is wearing clothes that do not look like a clergyman’s garb. Though he is not successful with the people of Ludlow, when he arrives in Pelham he soon is able to surmount this difficulty by using language as a means for obtaining the Pelhamites’ trust. Just as Dr. Hamilton used scientific language to fool people into believing that he was a true doctor, Burroughs employs words, both to the people of Pelham and in his narrative as a whole, to veil his actual criminal mindset.

            Armed with more understanding of heteroglossia, I found that I could actually somewhat grasp Bakhtin’s concept of dialogism. In criminal narratives, dialogism is bound to appear in almost every utterance. If words and actions never speak the same language, then dialogism accentuates this tension between the two. Burroughs continually speaks with “double-voicedness,” especially when he begins to describe his first arrest for counterfeiting. He recalls that “a part of the beforementioned clerks came into the office, hauling after them a man like the Trojans, when they had found the Greek Sinon vociferating, ‘Here is a man who knows him! Here is a man who knows him!’” (88-89). This phrase contains many associations with past utterances and literary forms—poetry, historical accounts, later dramatic reproductions, considerations of the Trojan war in philosophic and religious works, and even the young American republic itself. As Bakhtin himself says in Discourse in the Novel, “The word, directed toward its object, enters a dialogically agitated and tension-filled environment of alien words, value judgments and accents, weaves in and out of complex interrelationships […] and all this may crucially shape discourse” (276). In Burroughs’s phrase, the dialogical words and expressions serve several purposes at once; they connect Burroughs’s sense of injustice with past traitors like Sinon, they exemplify Burroughs’s supposed knowledge of ancient literature (and thus intimate that he is too civilized and intellectual to deserve mistreatment), and they remind the reader that problems of justice go back thousands of years.

            I look forward to further discussing dialogism in class because I think that solidifying my understanding of this concept will aid my comprehension of how texts, phrases, and individual words interact to create layers of meaning. I am also interested in discovering how everyone else interprets Burroughs; so far, to me, he appears complex and almost mysterious. Of course, how much of this narrative is actually Burroughs himself is up for questioning. Another question I would like to raise, connected with this idea, is: Given the nature of dialogism and the problem of authorship and veracity, can we ever read a narrative that allows words and actions to speak the same language?