Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Charlotte y Peter Fiell son dos autoridades en historia, teoría y crítica del diseño y han escrito más de sesenta libros sobre la materia, muchos de los cuales se han convertido en éxitos de ventas. También han impartido conferencias y cursos como profesores invitados, han comisariado exposiciones y asesorado a fabricantes, museos, salas de subastas y grandes coleccionistas privados de todo el mundo. Los Fiell han escrito numerosos libros para TASCHEN, entre los que se incluyen 1000 Chairs, Diseño del siglo XX, El diseño industrial de la A a la Z, Scandinavian Design y Diseño del siglo XXI.

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GENRE AND THE INVENTION OF THE WRITER

UTAH STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Contents

Preface.................................................................................ix1 Introduction: A Meditation on Beginnings..............................................12 The Genre Function....................................................................163 Inventing the Writer in Composition Studies...........................................494 Constructing Desire: Genre and the Invention of Writing Subjects......................785 Sites of Invention: Genre and the Enactment of First-Year Writing.....................1126 Re-Placing Invention in Composition: Reflections and Implications.....................145Notes...................................................................................171References..............................................................................186Index...................................................................................203

Chapter One

A Meditation on Beginnings

A beginning is that which does not itself follow anything by causal necessity, but after which something naturally is or comes to be. ARISTOTLE, Poetics My way is to begin with the beginning. LORD BYRON, Don Juan The speaker is not the biblical Adam, dealing only with virgin and still unnamed objects, giving them names for the first time. M. M. BAKHTIN, Speech Genres Writers are ... different from the subjects of the composing processes we often describe, for they do not generate, transcribe, and fix meanings independently from the systems of language and cultural history that equally participate in these processes. SUSAN MILLER, Rescuing the Subject

Perhaps the most appropriate way to begin this book is by asking what it means to begin, because in many ways this book is about beginnings, about why and how writers begin to write, and about the ways we in composition studies imagine, study, and teach how, why, and where writing begins-the subject of invention. It attempts to locate and describe where invention takes place and what happens to writers when they begin to write. In so doing, this book extends the question, "what do writers do when they write?" by asking, "what happens to writers that motivates them to do what they do?" Framed in this way, the question invites us to examine invention not only as a site for the writer's articulation of desire, but also as a site for the writer's acquisition of desire. Recent scholarship in genre theory can contribute a great deal to such an understanding of invention, and in the chapters that follow, I will describe that contribution and explore what is at stake for the study and teaching of writing to imagine invention in this way.

But how can we begin to write about beginnings? Where do we begin? We could, as Byron suggests, begin with the beginning, the scene of origin that, according to Aristotle, "does not itself follow anything by causal necessity." Rejecting the in medias res (the "into the midst of things") strategy with which traditional epic poems begin, Byron announces that he will begin his epic poem, Don Juan, at the beginning, with the birth of his hero. Don Juan was born in Seville, Byron tells us; his father "traced his source/Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain," while his mother's "memory was a mine." Yet the fact that Don Juan is born in Seville, the fact of his father's lineage and his mother's memory-all these preclude any sense of a beginning unpreceded by "causal necessity." As soon as Byron announces his intention to begin with the beginning, he (perhaps unwittingly but more likely satirically) reveals the impossibility of beginning as such. The beginning of Don Juan is, in a very real sense, already in medias res, already taking place in the midst of things.

Such is the ironic nature of beginnings, performing at once an act of initiation and an act of continuation. This introduction-this beginning of the book-is a case in point. It initiates the book that follows, but it is also what Edward Said calls an "effort on behalf of discursive continuity" (1975, 69). That is, it sets up what is to follow at the same time as it situates what follows in the midst of what already exists, the "systems of language and cultural history" represented in part by the texts of Aristotle, Byron, Bakhtin, Miller, and the countless other texts that precede, flank, and make possible my own text. Beginnings are acts of departure, but always departures from something, in relation to something, so that, as Bakhtin reminds us, every beginning is a response to a prior beginning (1986). Along with Bakhtin, Said describes beginnings as gestures of continuation, nuanced repetitions, which emerge not linearly but in adjacency to other texts, such that a "text stands to the side of, next to or between the bulk of all other works-not in a line with them, not in a line of descent from them" (1975, 10). Beginnings take place in the midst of things.

To describe beginnings as situated and textured is to describe them in what Said calls secular terms, terms that oppose a view of beginnings as divine or magical acts of unpreceded origination. Such a secular view of beginnings upsets a powerful desire for ultimate origins, what David Bartholomae calls the "desire for an open space, free from the past ... deployed throughout the discourses of modern life, including the discourses of education" (1995, 64). This desire is particularly strong in the discourses of writing instruction, in which the blank page or computer screen stands symbolic of the open space, the frontier space, from which writers begin. The blank page is mythologized as an unmarked space waiting to be marked, its physical blankness masking the fact of its specification in discursive and ideological conventions, including genres, which already situate it, already mark it.

By and large, the way we imagine invention in writing reflects and enacts this desire for unpreceded beginnings. This desire finds expression in the dozens of self-help writing guides currently lining bookstore shelves that assume the writer as the point of origin for writing, and that purport to teach the aspiring writer how to unleash his or her ideas, voice, and untapped creativity. This desire also finds expression in the countless composition textbooks scattered around writing program offices, some of which are not unlike Marjorie Ford and Jon Ford's Dreams and Inward Journeys: A Rhetoric and Reader for Writers (a textbook in its third edition by 1998). In it, the authors tell students that writing is an inward journey, a "process of discovering what resides within your mind and your spirit" (8). They go on to write:

Many people find it difficult to begin, wondering, perhaps, how they will be able to untangle all of their thoughts and feelings, how they will finally decide on the most accurate words and sentence patterns to make their statements clear and compelling. You may feel overwhelmed by the possibilities of all that is waiting to be discovered within you, and at the same time you may feel a sense of wonder and excitement, anticipating pleasures and rewards of uncovering and expressing new parts of your mind, imagination, and spirit. (8)

This is, without question, an extreme version of the articulation of this desire, and to say this view reflects current representations of invention in composition textbooks would be unfair and not altogether accurate. Still, despite the enormous contribution work on collaboration, intertextuality, and situated cognition has made to our understanding of the thoroughly social nature of writing, it is not uncommon for composition textbooks, even those not designated as "expressivist," routinely to posit invention as "prewriting," as a practice within the writer that occurs before and outside the textured midst of things. Indeed, as Rebecca Moore Howard has recently noted, "one might even go so far as to say that expressionism is the prevailing model of writing in our culture" (1999, 47). Invention heuristics such as freewriting, brainstorming, clustering, and mapping locate the writer as the primary site and agent of invention.

Various factors account for this "normative model of the inspired, autonomous author [that] pervades contemporary pedagogy" (Howard 1999, 57), some of which I will examine in more detail in chapter 3. Briefly, the pervasive sense that invention, like beginnings, is a scene of origination helps contribute to the perception that invention is pre-social. This perception holds that only after something has originated does it become socialized. The scene of origination-the beginnings of a text-that we popularly designate as invention ostensibly resides before and somehow remains immune from the social, collaborative, and discursive conditions that later affect the text's production, circulation, and reception. Likewise, an investment in what Nikolas Rose has called the "regime of the self" also contributes to this perception. In Inventing Ourselves: Psychology, Power, and Personhood, Rose examines how psychology as well as other "psy" fields have invented the intellectual technologies for describing, regulating, and perpetuating the modern Western concept of the person as a locus of self. Such a self is "coherent, bounded, individualized, intentional, the locus of thought, action, and belief, the origin of its own actions, the beneficiary of a unique biography" (1996, 3). In such a fashioning of the self, the writer becomes the identifiable and self-possessed locus of invention, the origin of his or her own desires to act, even, as I will describe in chapter 5, when that desire is obviously prompted by a teacher's writing assignment. Not only is this account of agency politically frustrating; it is also pedagogically limiting when it comes to explaining how and why writers invent.

The "social turn" that has marked much of the scholarship and pedagogy in composition studies over the last twenty years has thoroughly challenged this view of the writer and writing. This social turn recognizes that there is more at work on the text than the writer's seemingly autonomous cognition; there are also various social forces that constitute the scene of production within which the writer's cognition as well as his or her text are situated and shaped. Within composition studies, this scene of writing is commonly (and, some would add, problematically) identified as a discourse community-the social and rhetorical environment within which cognitive habits, goals, assumptions, and values are shared by participants who employ common discourse strategies for communicating and practicing these cognitive habits, goals, assumptions, and values. Guided by an understanding of writing as a social activity, composition scholarship has become less concerned with inquiring into generalizable cognitive processes and more concerned with inquiring into the localized, textured conditions in which cognition and social activities are organized.

As Charles Bazerman explains, such inquiry recognizes writing practices not only as forms of social participation, but also as "integral to ... complex forms of social organization" (2000, 6). Writing practices situate writers in these forms of participation and organization, so that writers are never alone, even when they are physically alone, and even during invention. In fact, as Richard Young, Alton Becker, and Kenneth Pike demonstrated in their influential book Rhetoric: Discovery and Change (1970), invention involves a process of orientation rather than origination. Young, Becker, and Pike's tagmemic rhetoric and their elegant and complex heuristic of particle, wave, and field presents a set of questions that enable writers to examine a rhetorical situation from various perspectives. Their heuristic framework orients writers in the midst of a rhetorical situation, and the eventual problems writers formulate and analyze as well as the eventual choices that writers make in relation to these problems emerge out of this orientation. Young, Becker, and Pike's tagmemic rhetoric, along with Richard Young's (1978; 1986; 1994) and Janice Lauer's (1967; 1970; 1984) influential work on invention, teaches us that invention is less an inspired, mysterious activity and more a location and mode of inquiry, a way of positioning oneself in relation to a problem and a way of working through it.

Karen Burke LeFevre's Invention as a Social Act (1987), building on and adding to the work of Young and Lauer, turns to research in linguistics, creativity theory, sociology, philosophy, and psychology to examine the thoroughly social and interpersonal nature of invention. Toward the end of the book, LeFevre calls for continued social-based research into invention, research that examines "a larger locus of inventive activity, a social matrix rather than an isolated writer and text" (1987, 125). She writes: "we should study the ecology of invention-the ways ideas arise and are nurtured or hindered by interaction with social context and culture" (126). A number of scholars, to varying degrees and with different agendas, have since taken up this study of invention and authorship, including Brodkey (1987), Bleich (1988), S. Miller (1989), Cooper and Holzman (1989), Crowley (1990), Ede and Lunsford (1990), Faigley (1992), Flower (1994), Berlin (1996), Howard (1999), and Halasek (1999). In this book, I build on and add to these studies by responding in particular to LeFevre's call for inquiry into the ecology of invention, which calls for "re-placing" invention in a social and rhetorical scene that shapes and is shaped by it. Turning to recent scholarship in genre theory, I examine invention as the site in which writers act within and are acted upon by the social and rhetorical conditions that we call genres-the site in which writers acquire, negotiate, and articulate the desires to write. Genres, which Carolyn Miller (1984) has defined as typified rhetorical ways of acting in recurring situations, position and condition discursive behavior in such a way as to preclude a sense of beginnings as unpreceded, unmediated, unmarked scenes of origin. If beginnings take place in the textured midst of things, as the aforementioned scholarship on invention argues, then genres are part of this midst of things, rhetorically sustaining and enabling the ways communicants recognize and act in various situations. Writers invent within genres and are themselves invented by genres. In arguing that genres are places in which invention (and writers) take place, I hope to contribute to and enrich our understanding of invention in composition studies.

When I began my research for this book a few years ago, my father asked me what I was studying. I told him, "Genre." Looking puzzled, he said, "Jon-ra?" I said, "Yes, jon-ra." Then, in an attempted French accent, he said, "Oh you mean genrrrr," rolling the r at the end. My brother, who was listening nearby, asked, "What is genre?" In all seriousness and without hesitating, my father replied, "Nothing; genre is nothing. You are writing a book about nothing?" Academics' sensitivity to the charge that we study "nothing" notwithstanding, my father's claim about genre was not unfounded. After all, the word genre, borrowed from French, means "sort" or "kind," and to study sorts or kinds of things (inherently an abstract notion) is not as substantial as, say, studying the things themselves. Certainly, genre appears to be nothing when it is defined as a way of innocently classifying or sorting kinds of texts. But in the past two decades, scholarship in genre theory has come a long way in dispelling the notion that genres are merely artificial and arbitrary systems of classification, positing instead that genres are dynamic discursive formations in which ideology is naturalized and realized in specific social actions, relations, and subjectivities. Indeed, genre is not nothing.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from GENRE AND THE INVENTION OF THE WRITERby ANIS S. BAWARSHI Copyright © 2003 by Utah State University Press. Excerpted by permission.
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