Category: literature

I would’ve run this yesterday, but the guy who wrote it didn’t get back to me about it until today. So, here’s a post-MLK Day rhetorical analysis by John Castro (John went completely nuts a few years ago when some internet company tried using the speech in a commercial about how well they distributed broadband):

Friends,

I was listening to MLKs “I have a dream” speech today. Something struck me about it.

There are a few phrases he uses in concentrated bursts — I’m sure there’s a rhetorical term associated with it, but I’m too lazy to look it up (a cup of coffee, on me, for anyone who knows the name of this rhetorical device). Here’s one example:

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

Of course, “I have a dream” itself is the most famous example.

If you take these phrases out, and line them up, they make a kind of poem that is the spine of the whole speech:

One hundred years later
Now is the time
We cannot be satisfied
I have a dream
With this faith
Let freedom ring
Free at last

Now, rhetorically, when he’s speaking, he does something interesting with these phrases. These phrases are the first half of a sentence, for instance:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”

But the interesting thing about this is that gradually, over the course of a paragraph, he starts taking the natural pauses that you would take at the end of a sentence in the middle of the sentence, between the introductory phrase and the end.

So he actually reads the passage like this:

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.” [pause]

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream [pause]

that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream [pause]

that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.

The effect is a wonderful reversal, where an innocuous phrase that kicks off a paragraph (“I have a dream”) becomes the final rhetorical focus of the whole passage. This transformation elevates what are really very simple, very plain phrases — and by that I mean no disrespect – into flourishes of great rhetorical power. These transformations — punctuating the speech with increasing frequency — elevate the text that follows each of them to a new level of intensity. They provide not just the spine and structure of the speech, but the rhetorical engine of the speech as well — constantly shifting it into higher gears. Until the famous climax of the last repeated phrase — “Free at last” — is followed, as we all know, by nothing less than the fanfare of the last forty years.

It’s a remarkable piece of work. Just some thoughts I wanted to share with you all – happy MLK day!

John

PS – Are you like me? Do you geek out about, and bore your people with stuff like this? If so, I’m sorry. But check out “Lincoln at Gettysburg“. Really cool book that will meet your fix.

Official VM buddy Tina B. sends a neat article about the sheer messed-up-edness of contemporary academic writing about literature. Here’s a piece:

The problem is not just that literary scholarship has become disconnected from life. Something else more suspicious has happened to professional criticism in America over the past 30 years, and that is its love affair with reducing literature to ideas, to the author’s or reader’s intention or ideology — not at all the same thing as art. As a result, literary critics are devoted to saving the world, not to saving literature for the world, and to internecine battles that make little sense outside academe.

Have fun.

My brother got me a couple of birthday presents via Amazon: The Young Ones – Every Stoopid Episode & The Broken Estate : Essays on Literature and Belief, by James Wood.

This makes me feel even guiltier about not sending out his (and his family’s) Chanukkah presents yet. No way around it; I’m a heel.

On the plus side, Amy & I got our wedding invites out this week, and the RSVPs have started trickling in. Today’s wedding-related missions: she goes for a fitting/alteration session on the dress, and then we get sized up for our rings, back at the Little King.

Arts critic Terry Teachout nearly died from congestive heart failure. He wrote an elegant piece about the experience. It includes a lovely passage from a novel I’d never heard of, The Edge of Sadness:

I believe with all my heart in the mercy and providence of God, and I believe in a future unimaginably brighter and better than anything I have known here–and yet of course the whole difficulty is that I have known and have loved “here.” Very much. So that when the time comes for me to go, I know that I will go with full confidence in God–but I also know that I will go with sadness [. . .]

You oughtta read the whole post.

I get nice presents for my friends, but I have to admit that I save the best ones for myself. Last year, it was the seriotypes of women’s portraits by Lorenzo Mattotti. This time around, I got myself this hardbound collection of Little Nemo color comic strips printed at their original 16″ x 21″ Sunday paper size. It’s a thing of beauty.

Harold Pinter used the occasion of his Nobel Prize for Literature acceptance speech to attack Bush & Blair over Iraq. Perfectly within his rights.

Karl Ritter, the AP writer covering the event, wrote, “The Nobel committee has not shied from rewarding writers who make a stand against authority, notably in rewarding the literature prize to Soviet dissident Alexander Solzhenitsyn in 1970.”

No, seriously.