English Literary Education in a Diasporic Age
What? How? and Why?
English Language / Literature / Cultures in the University Curriculum
A paper presented at the summer 2005 Conference of the English
Lanaguage and Literature Association of Korea (ELLAK) on June 29 2005
at Onyang.
Asked to express myself on a topic like today’s, that was decided at a
higher level and only slowly trickled down to me, I cannot help feeling
nervous. What, I wonder, can anyone expect to learn from a Cornish-born
medievalist nearing retirement, who as a Korean is only twelve years
old? Like you, perhaps, I examined the overall topic with some
curiosity. The term “English literary education” struck me as rather
old-fashioned. It made me think of earlier centuries when the sons of
the English gentry, like those of the Korean Yangban, strove in
unheated classrooms at unearthly hours of the morning to repeat
passages from the Classics (Latin or Chinese) they had memorized by the
light of a candle the previous night. The successful outcome of that
“literary education” was gentlemen who were able to compose poems that
were a recognizable pastiche of those they had studied in childhood.
They did not learn anything that had a more directly utilitarian
purpose. Reading the Classics was seen as a moral education in itself,
it did not need any further justification. It was simply good for one,
like rhubarb. I doubt if our graduates today compose sonnets in their
idle hours; perhaps it is a sign that we have failed them? Yet the way
we assume that we have to teach all the young Koreans in our English
departments about Chaucer, Shakespeare, Moby Dick and Wuthering
Heights, Woolf and Joyce, Frost and Eliot strikes me as rather similar.
“Learn this,” we tell them, “it’s good for you.” Can we really justify
that claim?
To postpone the awkward questions, I will start by
recalling some past history. It was only late in the 19th century that
the ancient Universities of Britain and elsewhere began to change, as
the Modern Age dawned, and tried to become a little more “useful” to
society. Under pressure to be “modern and scientific” the teachers of
the ancient Greek and Latin Classics created a science, Philology,
which they then shared with their colleagues introduced to teach only
slightly less ancient literary texts written in the Modern Languages –
English, Italian, French, German etc. Philology ensured that the texts
studied would not be read for any kind of aesthetic pleasure or moral
enlightenment. When I studied in Oxford, 40 years ago, almost nothing
written after 1900 was included in the curriculum of the English
department. Reading texts by living writers, or barely dead ones, was
not considered scholarship, it was relaxation, if not dissipation.
The rest is a familiar story, with the two main
streams of Literary History and Literary Criticism emerging and
combining to give birth to the discipline we still find widely imitated
in Korean Universities—the “academic study of English Literature.” Once
Cleanth Brook’s Well Wrought Urn had suggested by its title that poetry
is closely associated with death, the formally exquisite texts by dead,
white, male writers, marked by multiple levels of irony and ambiguity,
that New Criticism proposed to spend a lifetime analyzing, began to
provoke resistance. Where the older notions of the study of literature
had encouraged, and indeed assumed, an educational process of
initiation, leading to appreciation, appropriation, even admiration or
veneration on the part of the young generation, a shift began, based on
the good old, negative, revolutionary notions of dissent, discontent
and dissection.
This was, of course, just one aspect of the Age of Doubt
that arose first on a combination of Marx and Freud, erupted into the
social and ideological turmoil of 1968, then went on to become the full
flood of recently invented Literary Theory. The University worldwide
has certainly benefited from this to gain a new awareness that the task
of the scholar, and the mark of the educated person, has more to do
with dissenting resistance to the conventionally admired than with
advocating it. To a considerable extent, the main site where this has
been seen is in the field of the Canon; the relatively new awareness of
texts written by people other than the rich white men of earlier times
has given the marginal, the female and the members of ethnic minorities
a new claim to significance, and literary value.
So much for my response to “English literary education.” I was also
perplexed by the term “in a Diasporic Age” in our topic. I had never
met it before. What Diasporas do we have in Korea, I wondered? I
finally realized that the “Diasporic Age” in question was not located
here but in North America, and perhaps also to a lesser degree in
Europe. The discovery of “the Diasporic” is a North American academic
phenomenon, arising first in South Asian Area Studies in the earlier
1990s. Virtually every major world culture has a Diaspora in the United
States. The word applies to the cultural products resulting from the
American diaspora of Indian, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Jewish,
Vietnamese and every other ethnic group one can think of.
That means that the main axis in today’s given topic is
linked strongly to what has happened and is happening in the West, in
the University in the West, and it is symptomatic that it is therefore
now being exported here. It has been more than ten years since I once
tried to point out, at a meeting of this Association, that the
curricula of the departments of English Language and Literature in
Korea seem to have been modeled on the programs of universities in the
United States, with almost no serious recognition of the fact that
English is the native language of most students there, but a very
foreign language here. Since then, instead of more courses designed to
teach our students English, there has been a growing emphasis in our
Korean university English departments on various kinds of more or less
obscure “literary theory” imported from the same American paradise, and
also a growing tendency to turn away from the strictly literary in
favor of a hazily defined area called “culture,” again in harmony with
a similar shift in the West.
I am not sure, however, if we should not rather have been
trying to free ourselves from the hypnotic prestige attached to “what
they are doing in American departments of English,” in order to move
toward creating a more specifically Korean program, one better adapted
to realities here. Are we really convinced of the validity or
possibility or necessity of automatically adopting in Korea the
curricula and approaches found in the universities of the West? Is it
desirable to go on importing them as Korea imported Literary History
and New Criticism twenty or thirty years ago? If dissent, discontent
and dissection are capable of being naturalized into recognizably
Korean attitudes, how do transgression, nonconformism and iconoclasm
fit in with the ways Koreans construct their own cultural identity?
I would certainly like to repeat what I said ten years
ago. English is a very foreign language for Koreans. And by “language”
I really mean “mind-set.” The differences between English and the
Korean language seem to be such that it is far more difficult for young
people here to acquire natural, fluent English without going abroad
than it is in China, say, or even Cambodia. It is not something that
our students can simply pick up by studying Shakespeare or poring over
the Norton Anthologies. Yet there is at present an increasing pressure
on our English departments, from university administrations and from
businesses, to produce graduates who are able to speak and write really
good English. This pressure is likely to turn into a real impatience in
the coming years, and I think that it must be taken seriously if we
want our Major to survive at all. The values of society are
increasingly oriented toward cost-efficiency; we cannot keep saying
that we teach our students to think well, if after graduating they
write letters that begin with something like “You letter give me many
pleasure.” And they far too often do just that.
In this reputedly “Diasporic” Age, we need to ask
ourselves some not too scattered questions: What are we supposed to be
doing as professors of English literature in Korea? What should we be
teaching? How? and Why? First, then, what is the central subject of our
teaching and research? The answer used to be simple: some aspect of
English literature. But since then undergraduate English Major
curricula have expanded until today they are usually full of a whole
series of different topics: practical English, theoretical linguistics,
cognitive science, “British and American” literature (including works
from Ireland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, India, South Africa, the
Caribbean, Kenya, and elsewhere), creative writing, translation, and
everything that can be termed the “culture” of the entire
English-speaking world. “Culture” in this context involves everything
expressed in every kind of media, especially cinema and pop music, but
it also includes history, art, philosophy, sociology, economics,
religion, folklore, mythology, sports and food. It is all very
interesting. Yet whereas in times past students took 48 or more credits
in a Major, today they mostly only take 36 credits and sometimes less.
There is therefore no time for them to learn anything about anything.
Now, the fact of the matter is that what our students want, more than
anything else, is simply to learn English. What they are being offered,
in Korea’s most “prestigious” universities at least, is a curriculum
still largely dominated by the study of old-fashioned literature and
theoretical linguistics, together with a certain number of courses
about various aspects of modern “culture.” Very few courses focus on
really contemporary literature, that written in the past ten years,
although that will always be the most interesting of all. And there are
few Major courses in “practical English,” partly because of wishful
thinking that the students have acquired that already, partly because
it is not deemed sufficiently “academic” or “serious” in terms of
content. And above all, I fear, because no professors want to teach
practical English courses.
Suppose for a moment that we were going to establish an
entirely new “English Major” somewhere at undergraduate level,
unconstrained by the presence of an existing set of faculty members
with their predetermined special areas; what would it look like? Given
the overall climate of opinion in Korea today, a priority would have to
be given to practical English; the program should produce graduates
capable of speaking and writing clear, grammatically correct,
colloquial English. The priority given to practical language learning
would mean that several faculty members would have their main
qualification in teaching English in a non-English-speaking context.
Some if not all should be native English-speakers, not only to ensure
that correct models of grammar and pronunciation are available, but
because intense, free-wheeling, confrontational discussions and
debates, in which people must formulate their own opinions about
important issues in a flash, then defend them, are not yet natural to
most Korean teachers of English. Without the practice of such debate, I
believe, students will never be able to interact well with westerners.
As one senior Korean professor once asked me at an international
conference: “Why don’t we Koreans know the art of lively conversation?”
The second main focus ought to be to produce
graduates familiar with the ways of living and attitudes to life (ie.
“culture”) current in the English speaking world today. This would
involve courses offering exposure to news media and entertainment
(cinema, drama, music) as well as contemporary fiction and poetry, from
a variety of countries. Here, beyond mere experience and factual
knowledge, there would be a need for students to acquire a specific
methodology of critical response. One possible methodology, perhaps the
easiest one, would be comparative; Indian movies can fruitfully be
compared with Korean movies; the topics covered in Australian
newspapers or the BBC, and their style of coverage, can be contrasted
with that found in the Korean daily press and media. Fiction written in
English in Africa or the Philippines, as well as the US or the UK, can
be contrasted with that now being published in Korea. Such courses
would, of course, be conducted entirely in English.
Beyond this, there would be a need for students to
acquire the basis for a more objective, critical response to those
cultures that express themselves in English. The tools for this might
best be provided at the outset at least by Comparative Literature,
Women’s Studies and Post-colonial discourse, for it could involve
comparative examination of the cultural expressions of gender or ethnic
identity and history in a variety of forms, mainly literary, from
various countries.
Realistically, there would be a need for a special
focus on life in the USA today. The US have been the dominant foreign
influence in southern Korea since 1945; Britain, India and Australia
are all equally secondary, in comparison. It would not be acceptable
that students could graduate without some study of the social history
of the US, in order to understand the development of its current
fundamental features, its mixed cultural heritage and its particular
structures and institutions, as well as an outline of the world history
in which they developed. Slavery, European religious intolerance and
economic failures, Nazism, the Cold War and American imperialism are
all essential background to today’s specifically American forms of
discourse and practice regarding cultural identities, democracy,
freedom, justice and religion. They all matter a lot.
Familiarity with American realities would be
enriched by reading works of contemporary American fiction. It is here
that the discovery of the “diasporic” dimensions of current American
society and culture would need to be included, especially, of course,
regarding “Korean-American” writing and other cultural forms of
expression. It might be desirable to include a special study of the
sociology and culture of the Korean diaspora in the US, although that
might not be easy without direct experience. It would be most important
to develop through such readings an awareness of how different American
social realities are from Korean, and why.
So at the heart of our imaginary new curriculum
there would be two focuses that are not so far removed from those we
have now: (1) the English language (2) the culture of various
English-speaking regions, mainly the United States, including mainly
contemporary literature. Until very recently, this second focus has
been mainly represented in our curricula by older literary works,
almost exclusively from Britain and the US, but I reckon that is no
longer acceptable. Above all, we need to become more aware of the
distortions that have been caused by too much unthinking copying of the
American university’s English department’s curriculum.
So first, I would suggest that one half of our English Major courses at
least should be practical English courses, including the
confrontational forms of debate and discussion mentioned above, and
that our English Department’s main concern should be to produce
graduates able to express intelligent, informed opinions about many
aspects of life in good English. The second question I have tried to
raise and hope to see more discussion of in future is the need for a
much more specifically Korean dimension to our discipline. Our first
duty toward the rising generation of Koreans is to provide them with
knowledge about the complex English-speaking culture that is currently
so dominant across the world, and provide them with adequate means to
relate to it; but equally important, we need to provide them with a
rather more specifically Korean form of resistance and response; one
not inspired by fear, not expressed as conservative narrowness or
reactionary xenophobia, but a mature ability to remain rooted in ones
own cultural identity while interacting with people and artifacts whose
cultural identity is other.
What I have just been proposing would certainly
represent another way of doing things. Yet, as you will have
recognized, it would bring Korea much closer to its immediate neighbor
to the West. In China, the main priority in all university English
departments is given to teaching practical English. If literature or
other aspects of culture are introduced at all, and they quite rarely
are, care is taken to ensure that students view them through the lenses
of ideological forms of theory, analyzing the western, individualistic
alienations embodied in them, resisting their capitalistic and
imperialistic presuppositions. Such an ideological filter is in itself
not part of my program, but I think it might arise, and I could
understand why it would. It is one quite obvious form of the “resistant
reading” I have been advocating.
I would like to finish by stressing my feeling that
our students would benefit greatly from an undergraduate curriculum
focusing almost entirely on practical English and current cultural
realities, including contemporary literatures, in English, and with a
major focus on the US. Then our Graduate School programs might find a
new vigor and significance, offering a two-year MA in either
“Literatures in English” that would include older literature, or in
Culture, or in Linguistics. But I confess that I can see little point
in the Graduate School programs we currently provide, and the small
numbers applying for them suggest that young Koreans agree with me. I
believe that we ought to be giving a strong priority to undergraduate
teaching.
A recent visit by the British novelist Margaret Drabble has served to
make many people in Korea aware of the novel she published last year,
The Red Queen. Its first half retells the tragic life of Korea’s Crown
Prince Sado through the ghostly voice of his widow, the Lady Hong. She
recalls a brief visit her husband once made to Onyang: “He came back
much disappointed, and much earlier than we expected him. Onyang, he
complained, was a bore. The society was undistinguished and largely
octogenarian . . . and the buildings were unimpressive. Even the
landscape, he said, was dull. . . He wanted to set off again at once on
another trip.” Soon after this, in fact, he went seriously mad and his
royal father finally saw no other solution than to have him shut up
inside a rice box until he died. I hope that we shall not return home
unchanged, disappointed and complaining like the Crown Prince, that we
shall escape the confines of the rice-box, and that we can rather find
new hope and vision to face the challenges facing us in our profession
today.