In nomine Collector: Context manipulated

In Part II. The Collection, Paradise of Consumption, Susan Stewart says that "the archetypal collection .. [is] a world which is representative yet which erases its context of origin," (152). Her example, Noah's ark, illuminates her idea of a collection in so far as Noah's ark was allegedly the only trace left of all earth's animals after God smote every thing else off the planet. I don't think Susan's point is that a collection can only be a collection if it's original context is destroyed or irrevocably lost, but that the oblivion to which the collection piece's original context is consigned, derives from the whims of the collector. I guess then, the collector defines the new context of a collection, but how does a collector reconcile this idea that the original context must be lost in order to call it a collection? Perhaps by virtue of the collector him/herself, a collection must be something at least separated in space from where it came from. One can speculate further as to what "original context" means exactly, but I'm finding it difficult to come up with an example of an original context that has been destroyed and from which we have artifacts that could be called a collection of sorts. I know! What about in Star Wars, when the first death star destroy's princess Leia's home-planet? Would the destruction of an entire planet satisfy Stewart's definition of a "Context Destroyed"? Yes, Star Wars is really the best I can do.

I think context, especially original context, with regards to the collection is a tough area in which to obtain much traction. In other words, I'm not sure how much significance original context bears on a given collection or collector. Verily, the first thing that comes to my mind when someone says, "collection," is some sort of collected works of some author bound in volumes. But what about collections of farm animals and livestock, or collections of pokemon playing cards? Whence cometh the original context for pokemon cards? Further, can you call it a collection if it's nothing more than a barn full of pigs you plan to butcher and eat over several months?

As scientific and technical as a barn full of pigs and some playing cards may seem, I'm not quite ready for my point to be lost in what may soon degrade into how you might be able to collect various cuts of pork. If someone has a collection of pigs (and likely many people do) what is the original context of the pig? Arguably, the original context of bacon is the pig, but I return to the pig, because I'm having difficulties reconciling my idea of Stewart's idea of the definition of a collection with common place (or my lack of access to common place) ideas of collection. Why does context (destroyed, restored, or manipulated) matter if you're just going to eat the collection anyway? Noah probably wanted to eat all those animals he put on his ark, naturally he couldn't because they had divine purpose. Strangely enough, that brings up another good question about this Noah's Ark analogy: namely, who is the collector? God or Noah? And under whose context began this new series? Perhaps this Noah's Ark example isn't such a great example of the archetypal collection after all? This might be a decent place to end and invite speculate from other colleagues. For some strange reason I have an uncontrollable urge to go fry a package of bacon.. out of my collection of packages of bacon....




(Suckling Pig photo courtesy of Pico De Gallo's restaurant, Philadelphia)

"You hate this, I feel great."

My understanding of perhaps the largest criticism of literary theory is that it lacks praxis. Critics of the kinds of theory that professors of Literature tend to engage in tend to say things like, "This essay lacks any sort of action or practical application beyond philosophizing about life, the universe and everything." These critics usually do not go so far as Dyre in saying that these professors actually "kill" the literature they devote their lives and careers to studying and reading. What does it mean to kill literature or even an author that for all intents, purposes, and accordances are already dead? I'm not exactly sure how you can kill ideas, so I apologize for asking a question without really speculating answers. Maybe others have opinions on this subject?

I suppose then my reluctant task is to defend theory against this strange charge of murder. I'm not sure I want to defend theory, but if I think back to my earlier theory days, I recall Paul DeMann writing somewhere that the "resistance to theory is the resistance to language," and Derrida saying something (much more eloquently than I can paraphrase) to the effect of "Well, people who think that deconstruction means destroying a text by pulling apart all the pieces, simply do not understand what I'm really talking about." The crowned-prince of Theory, Derrida, suggests that in deconstruction some meaning is always constructed simultaneously with this often misunderstood act of 'deconstruction.' Deconstruction afterall, is not the same as Destruction. Truth be told however, I get skeptical and a little suspicious when I see words of 4+ syllables and the presentation of ideas that could not be explained to and made sense of by, say, a 15 year old of average intelligence. In other words, I like it when things make sense. Killing Literature (when I think of writing as already, in some ways, dead) makes no sense. How many theory books must become an effigy before Dyer's pyromaniacal appetite for denying people's will to philosophize is sated? May I humbly suggest Mr. Dyer that you leave Foucault alone and go after people like Paris Hilton, Brian Bozworth, Donald Trump and others who are really killing literature by publishing their thoughts in any form of written print.

A defense of theory must also be defense of philosophy and in this case, with respect to Dyer, also a defense of how important it is to foreground and examine the sustaining postulates of the "literature" we read, rhetorics we encounter, and cultural ideologies that influence and form the human condition. Finally, Dyer uses a literary theory to denounce literary theories. This hypocritical move is not surprising though. After all, Dyer is not an uneducated man. He is familiar with literary theory and seems to have created a non-theory, which as a thing in itself, is a theory. So ultimately he is guilty of representing the very things he sees as oppressive of Literature, i.e., people telling other people how to read books and what to think about them.

An Inquiry into Ex-Patriatism and Scientific Work/Travel

Filled with thoughts and dreams of one day escaping the American continent(s), I've often naively contemplated on the lives of ex-patriates and on perhaps becoming one myself. My first real attempt to escape was in the summer of 2006 when I went to Bangkok, Thailand with the intention of becoming an ESL teacher. Job connections arranged, tickets purchased, a taxi called, and a plane boarded. Long story short, after a month or so I decided it would be best not to establish residence what with all the militant Muslim incursions from the South, an ailing King (who died shortly after I left), and open sewers in the nation's capital. Once I quit the job I hadn't actually started, it turned out that I couldn't book a return flight for another three weeks and therefore I would have plenty of time to travel in Thailand and attempt to steer clear of touristy activities like see the world's third oldest venomous snake farm, and focus on documenting my interaction with an extremely foreign culture.
The only sciency part of this interaction was that I decided to visit during the Summer monsoon season. Growing up in Western Washington, I've always considered myself used to and even a fan of the rain, but the amount of rain monsoon season in Thailand brings exceeded far beyond beyond any realistic expectation I had of what it meant when someone says "a lot of rain." I could ramble on about how low and fast the clouds moved in and out over my humid hotel room or how the seemingly 50mph winds turned the rain completely sideways, but I don't want to digress from how I think ex-patriates may potentially cope with notions of home, work, and the field (having seriously considered ex-patriatism myself by this point).
Usually, the scientific or intellectual field expedition ends and people go back home. But when people make field and home the same place, how might their work, or perhaps more specifically, their politics of identity, change as a result? I can only speculate about how a white male, for example, could move from America or Europe to Singapore, take up residence for some 15 plus years and consider himself a local -- especially when scientific / intellectual work continues throughout those years using field now home as a data set. I do not feel entirely qualified to answer this inquiry with any certainty, but I think that ex-patriatism is the extreme case when work and travel influence home and indentity.