Critiquing fiction in terms of myth

I haven't been a member here long, but I thought it might prove interesting to post an excerpt from my blog here and see how posters feel about the notion of drawing parallels between fiction of our times and the myths (or myth-like stories, such as folklore) from archaic periods. Some critics draw such parallels rather carelessly, without any awareness of the difference between the types of stories involved, while some critics can't countenance any parallels between different fictions simply because of those differences.

As an amateur critic (though I have been paid for stuff, albeit rarely), I'm probably something of a Fryean with strong influences by certain structuralists, esp. Propp.

Here goes:

'As with many blogs mine starts with the desire to set down assorted thoughts and/or ideas. My primary reason for doing so is to keep them in an easily-accessible form, though of course I’m open for comment as well.

My basic posture is what has been called a “myth critic” or “archetypal critic.” I subscribe to the idea that literature in all its modes and media-manifestations is essentially homologous in form (if not function) with archaic myth/ folklore. There are differences that can be explored as well, but I find the similarities to be of greater importance.

Most of the essays and articles that I’ve had published in assorted magazines have concerned popular media like films and comic books. This blog can in theory allow me to deal with pretty much any sort of fictional narrative, whether deemed “high” or “low” by the more repressive representatives of academia. (Whether I actually will or not remains to be seen.)

One of the themes I hope to explore is what I call “mythic complexity,” which I derive from an almost-offhand statement made by Northrop Frye, often considered the ancestor of all literary theories that stress literature’s continuity with myth:

“Archetypes are associative clusters, and differ from signs in being complex variables.”—ANATOMY OF CRITICISM, p. 102

At this point I won’t go into talking about what Frye calls “signs,” which is a term he loosely derived from early writings on semiology. The essential thought here is that there is a hierarchy between simple and complex manifestations of the units of communication—whatever one chooses to call them—that make up a narrative. Frye doesn’t go into great depth in terms of using “complex variables” as a means of evaluating how well a narrative communicates, but it’s a centerpiece of my theory. Often, in the critique of popular artforms, I have seen any number of complex symbolic formations show up in narratives that are, on the surface, apparently simple, as are most of the myth-stories in the handed-down forms that we have them. This appearance of the complex within the apparently-simple convinces me that even these variables that we call “archetypes” have a propensity to generate themselves, at times without the conscious intent of the author. The poet William Butler Years, commenting on the poetry of Blake, said:

“It is the charm of mythic narrative that it cannot tell one thing without telling a hundred others. The symbols are an endless inter-marrying family. They give life to what, stated in general terms, appears only a cold truism, by hinting how the apparent simplicity of the statement is due to an artificial isolation of a fragment, which, in its natural place, is connected with all the infinity of truths by living fibres.” '

Ruv Draba said:

This is an interesting opening manifesto, Gothos. My interest in critique is largely dilettante, but the possible connection between the social roles of traditional myth and how these social roles are met (or not) in modern storytelling has long held strong interest for me.

On a superficial reading of your post I'm not sure whether 'formations' of symbols as you describe them are simply associations of symbols (like frequency distributions in cryptography), or whether it may include some narrative structure - as in plot tropes; or whether they're more reflective of a cognitive element - as in themes. Can you elaborate please?

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Thanks for the response, Ruv.

I think your formation question is answered to some extent by the semiological notion of dividing the world of signs (meaning anything that is used to signify something else) into what semiologist Charles Morris named "signals" and "symbols." I confess I haven't read Morris in the original, but he seems to have had an effect on a philosophical tome I did read: Suzanne Langer's PHILOSOPHY IN A NEW KEY. Anyway, as I understand the argument a "signal" would be a sign that pretty much means something simple and uncomplicated: a red light signals drivers to stop, a green light signals them to go. A "symbol" would be a type of sign that takes more complex manifestations, which is more or less what Yeats is saying of myths in that quote: one symbolic construct suggests another, and then another, instead of just meaning one thing. In the major religions one can often observe this or that god taking on any number of seemingly-contradictory aspects.

What I've been most bending my brain over lately is the concept of "patterns," which is another way of speaking of "formations." For instance, Freud thought that his Oedipus complex was a pattern that possessed empirical existence. A lot of his examples don't hold water, but there are myths that seem to suggest such a pattern, some of which even do so better than the Oedipus tale. But once Freud puts the notion of the pattern into the minds of conscious readers, is it an empirical pattern as such, or is it an idea that educated writers are copying? I tend to think that if they're copying it just to score intellectual points, that their evocation is no more than a "signal," without any depth to speak of. However, a good artist like Richard Condon may be aware of Freud's identification of the complex before Condon writers MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, yet he still "fleshes out" his notion of the complex, making its pattern into his pattern, so that it can be fairly called a "symbol" rather than a "signal."

HeronW said:

The archetype of the girl who is harmed/oppressed and has to find her way through obstacles via her wits aka she grows up with a minimum of spilt blood-reflecting her menses as entry into womanhood, is opposite that of the boy who swings a sword hacking his way to adulthood without any real personal growth.

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I agree, though with a caveat. Though I think I may've been somewhat influenced by Ursula LeGuin's fantasy-critiquing essays from the 70s (which I encountered before I encountered Frye), I was never comfortable with her distinction (similar to yours above, maybe) between "true myths" and "false myths." I currently distinguish between "myths," which possess complexity, and "null-myths," which contain elements of myth that are so simple as to be negligible (and which I modeled on the mathematical concept of the "null set." Yet such a "null-myth," like your Conanesque example, can become mythic, depending on how its author chooses to relate that element to other elements, forming as it were a de facto literary "pattern."

Thanks for the responses. Unfortunately, my schedule is such that usually I can only post on lunch hour, so my responses will be slow.

Ruv,

I think we're basically on the same page despite any differences in terminology. I would say that there are elements in a given grouping of narratives (say, action movies, which do as you say make for good explication because of their simpleness) that tend more to fall into "signal" configurations and other elements that tend to be "symbols." The reason as I see it is that the former elements are to the narratives what the "spear-carrier" is to the acted play: someone who comes on and performs a needed narrative function. The latter elements tend to receive much more elaboration.

I'll pass over the "rule" you suggest for the present (to avoid complication) and contrast only your examples of signal and symbol.

It's quite possible that the signal you suggest-- "hero shows forbearance to establish beneficence"-- is fairly standard in its uses. Bruce Lee does it at the beginning of ENTER THE DRAGON, embarassing a showoff character rather than beating the guy up. I would generally concur that this motif doesn't tend to mean a lot, though in my theory it would always be *possible* for it to take on greater symbolic complexity.

In contrast, your example of a "symbol," also a plot-function, is an element that often receives greater symbolic attention: the matter of how the hero/heroine is dressed so as to display power and/or sexuality. The Rambo of FIRST BLOOD is an obvious example, since the hero clearly passes from looking like an ordinary-looking vet in ordinary clothes to something of a "Red Indian." The fact that David Morrell's text mentions Rambo as being part Amerindian makes one suspect that his physical transformation was consciously planned, as were other uses of Amerindian paraphernalia and imagery. Not every male hero loses clothes, though: James Bond may start a film in a tuxedo and end up in black-ops gear, but he's rarely barechested because he's not meant to suggest the world of savagery. Rambo could also be viewed as a refutation of older, intolerant views of Amerindians-- he is, technically, what early racist fictions would call a "half-breed."-- since instead of being divided into Lone Ranger and faithful Indian companion, he's actually both in one man.

(However, though R's displayed musculature does connote power, it doesn't seem to have much to do with how much action he gets, which is an area where the fully-clothed Bond does better in just about any film-to-film comparison.)

And it's certainly possible for another author to do a clumsy riff on Rambo that rips off the image of the barechested hero but has no undercurrents of American mythology to it. The old VHS sections used to be full of such ripoffs.

Medievalist said:

This is a side-ways glance at Freud's family romance, with a cursory nod at Propp.

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Well, it's just one example, that's all.

As to the Welsh legends you explicate later on, I didn't go through everything you wrote either, in part because I didn't get the context. I assume it's something you did in an academic setting, but I'm not clear from what I read of the essay's intent. I also don't follow the relevance. If as I surmise you're critiquing an authentic myth-tale, what has that to do with whether or not one can critique literary works with some (not all) of the same intellectual tools used on myth-tales?