Students, below appears an example of a classification paper, option 2, as discussed on the course website here. Please note that the example, when formatted appropriately for submission as a paper (which it is not as it appears on the blog), is at the short end of acceptable length for a shorter paper in ENG 101. Please note also that it is an example of how the argument should be made; I make no explicit claims about its truth value.
Good citizenship consists of participating in the structures of public order while being willing to set them aside in the moment to be able to serve the greater ends to which those structures are directed. That is to say it involves following the "letter of the law" in most cases but being able to set aside that letter when it conflicts with the "spirit of the law." It would seem to be embodied handily in such characters as the Malorian Sir Lancelot. This is, however, far from the case.
It is true that, as Sir Thomas Malory depicts him, Sir Lancelot appears to be at the pinnacle of citizenry in King Arthur's court. As a member of the Round Table, Lancelot is among the most privileged of knights in the entire chivalric world, one of an elite one hundred fifty out of the tens or hundreds of thousands of knights in the world. Moreover, Lancelot is ranked as the greatest of the knights of the Round Table; "all the estates and degrees high and low said of Sir Launcelot great worship [sic]," and he is called "the most man of worship in the world" (228, 415). That is to say that he has the most renown and enjoys the highest regard among his fellow knights. Since in Malory's text, the knight is the pinnacle of human society, Lancelot is figured as a great among greats, the summit of society under the king.
There is some justification for his fame. Even a cursory survey of the table of contents highlights Lancelot's extraordinary work as a knight. For instance, in the sixth of Malory's books, Lancelot delivers prisoners unjustly held, slays a giant to free a castle, and ends what early twenty-first century America would term a domestic disturbance (8). In the ninth, he delivers other knights unjustly imprisoned (11). In the tenth, he serves as an officer of the court, bringing Arthur's subordinate lords to him for trial and judgment (13). In the eleventh, he fights a dragon to save a lady, an act prototypical of most conceptions of knightly valor (16). Through the eighteenth and nineteenth, he does even more to support his social structures by defending the queen in judicial combat. In the eighteenth book, the queen, Guinevere, is falsely accused of poisoning a knight; Lancelot's martial redemption of her redresses both the falsity of the charges and preserves the royal household of Arthur, which emblematizes his kingdom as a whole (21). In the nineteenth, he rescues Guinevere from imprisonment by Meliagraunce (22); by doing so, he asserts the dignity of the individual and the right to not be taken unjustly, both of which are commonly-held social structures.
In one of his most famous series of fights, however, he grievously contravenes the law, both in letter and in spirit, in which violation he proves himself a poor citizen instead of a good one. For some time, Lancelot and Guinevere had felt but largely resisted an illicit passion; the two loved one another, but because of Lancelot's vows of fealty and Guinevere's of marriage, they had not acted upon it. At length, though, they are caught in a compromising position, one which leaves little doubt as to the impropriety of their close regard for one another (453-54). At this point, Lancelot has been caught in adulterous treason, for in violating the sanctity of the king's marriage, he has offended against the king to whom he is sworn; it is a grievous act and one wholly unworthy of any good citizen. And he compounds his error; in making his escape from the scene at which he is caught, he slays a number of the knights gathered to duly and appropriately apprehend him (454); he resists a largely legal arrest, and slaughters his sworn comrades to do so, neither of which bespeaks good citizenship. He repeats the slaughter when pulling Guinevere away from her legally prescribed punishment for her complicity in treason against Arthur, killing many other knights to whom he had once been a friend and fellow--among whom were unarmed non-combatants especially dear to him (458-59). So he violates the law, interferes with justice, and commits murder; he may once have seemed to be a pillar of the community, but he fails in the end to uphold the social structures to which he is sworn.
That Lancelot demonstrably fails to act as a good citizen insofar as he fails to fully support the structures of public order for no reason but his lust--not to serve a greater good, but only his own private ends--calls for a re-evaluation of the regard in which his character is held. Since he is often regarded as the pinnacle of chivalry, perhaps a re-evaluation of that code of conduct is also warranted.
Work Cited
~Malory, Thomas. Le Morte Darthur. Ed. Edward Strachey. New York: Macmillan, 1899. Google Books. Google, n.d. Web. 7 February 2012.
Showing posts with label Classification Paper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Classification Paper. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sample Classification Paper, Option 1
Students, below appears an example of a classification paper, option 1, as discussed on the course website here. Please note that the example, when formatted appropriately for submission as a paper (which it is not as it appears on the blog), is at the high end of acceptable length for a shorter paper in ENG 101. Please note also that it is an example of how the argument should be made; I make no explicit claims about its truth value.
Good citizenship consists of participating in the structures of public order while being willing to work against them in the interest of a greater good, of being able to set aside the proverbial "letter of the law" in favor of supporting the "spirit of the law" or the underlying principles towards which the law is directed. A number of people have asserted that Mr. Elliott is far removed from such a definition. Those people are incorrect.
The assertions that Mr. Elliott is not a good citizen are grounded in several misperceptions. Perhaps the most emphasized of them is that Mr. Elliott takes delight in the suffering of his students, and of other living creatures, for no end but sadism--the simple enjoyment of the sufferings of others. And there is admittedly evidence that can be reasonably interpreted in such a way. Mr. Elliott is prone to pointing out the failings in what he sees around him, which does tend to cause discomfort in those targeted by his criticism. Also, his sense of humor runs to the morbid; he makes frequent reference to the eating of small animals, as in nature programs and the writings of Swift, and with evident jollity in his voice and manner. Further, he makes specific mention of inflicting pain on people as a recreational activity--and he often comments that the recipients include the elderly. In a view which takes his admittedly demonstrable appreciation for the discomfort of others as the dominant feature of his personality, there is no greater good to be served by his happiness at the misfortunes of others, and so he operates in a manner opposed to the underlying principles of most legal systems in the industrialized world, which assert the dignity of the individual as a core belief.
The problem with the interpretation is that it assumes that the demonstration of the enjoyment of pain is both the dominant feature of Mr. Elliott's personality and that it serves no end beyond itself. The viewpoint relies on accepting Mr. Elliott at his word, and if it is the case that his word is to be trusted, it must also be remembered that he has on many occasions remarked that he takes his job as a teacher quite seriously. As a teacher, and as a teacher of English, Mr. Elliott is engaged in the transmission of a specific set of cultural ideals that, while not shared among many of his students, are largely in line with the social structures in which he and they operate, both in the academic setting in which they interact specifically and in the broader social context of the United States of the early twenty-first century. By his very vocation, then, Mr. Elliott is participating in a deep-seated and fundamental way in the structures of public order.
His specific method of teaching also evidences his dedication to social structure. In each of his courses, Mr. Elliott distributes a detailed syllabus, a statement of the policies and procedures by which he seeks to conduct class. Semester after semester, students find themselves adjudged by the policies to which they tacitly agree by remaining in the classes for which he produces the syllabi, with Mr. Elliott adhering strictly to the rules for himself and his students which he has set. Additionally, he grades major assignments in his classes by stringent rubrics, even to the point of awarding good grades to students he finds personally objectionable and whose positions he finds execrable; they perform the tasks required of them by their assignments, and their performances are found satisfactory when compared to the rubric he creates, despite whatever personal feelings Mr. Elliott may or may not have. That he allows his explicitly stated standards, rather than his gut feelings, to inform his assessment demonstrates alongside the fact of his profession Mr. Elliott's dedication to and participation in the structures of public order.
He is not, however, unthinkingly rigid in following those structures, using them to drive the education which he and others value as a fundamental social good rather than allowing the rules to stand in all cases as the sole and final arbiter of what happens in and around him. The very standards come equipped with some room to negotiate. His syllabi carry the comment that the policies outlined on them are subject to change. This is primarily to account for the occasional change imposed upon him by the institutional hierarchy above him (his compliance with which is itself an indicator of his participation in structures of public order), but also allows him to adjust formal rules to suit evolving situations, should the need arise. His course calendars carry a similar message, and with similar intent. And his syllabi carry in many sections the explicit message that Mr.Elliott is willing to make case-by-case exceptions to his policies, so that those students who are putting forth effort but are running into difficulty have some time and cognitive space to use to get properly situated and adjusted to the demands being placed upon them. He is therefore avowedly willing to set aside the formal rules in the interest of student learning, which is the higher ideal which his policies exist to facilitate.
Even the biting, morbid humor often cited as a case against Mr. Elliott serves to engage student learning, even if it is far removed from the usual practices of many other teachers. Students remember the extent and specificity of criticism offered in no small part because of the wit in which it is couched, so that the unusual practice serves to drive student learning. The supposed suffering he inflicts upon them is presented as a challenge to be overcome, which is itself another means of driving learning; while it is true that many students do complain about such things as the amount of work Mr. Elliott assigns or the specificity of his grading, those things do serve the greater educational purpose, as it is only through practice that proficiency is attained, and it is only through the receipt of correction that errors can be identified to be eliminated.
It becomes clear, then, that Mr. Elliott, insofar as he does engage with structures in the classroom even as he is willing to step aside from them to promote the learning of his students--the end goal of classroom structure--is a good citizen. That he is one should prompt some reevaluation of what goes on in his classrooms, and in classrooms generally.
Good citizenship consists of participating in the structures of public order while being willing to work against them in the interest of a greater good, of being able to set aside the proverbial "letter of the law" in favor of supporting the "spirit of the law" or the underlying principles towards which the law is directed. A number of people have asserted that Mr. Elliott is far removed from such a definition. Those people are incorrect.
The assertions that Mr. Elliott is not a good citizen are grounded in several misperceptions. Perhaps the most emphasized of them is that Mr. Elliott takes delight in the suffering of his students, and of other living creatures, for no end but sadism--the simple enjoyment of the sufferings of others. And there is admittedly evidence that can be reasonably interpreted in such a way. Mr. Elliott is prone to pointing out the failings in what he sees around him, which does tend to cause discomfort in those targeted by his criticism. Also, his sense of humor runs to the morbid; he makes frequent reference to the eating of small animals, as in nature programs and the writings of Swift, and with evident jollity in his voice and manner. Further, he makes specific mention of inflicting pain on people as a recreational activity--and he often comments that the recipients include the elderly. In a view which takes his admittedly demonstrable appreciation for the discomfort of others as the dominant feature of his personality, there is no greater good to be served by his happiness at the misfortunes of others, and so he operates in a manner opposed to the underlying principles of most legal systems in the industrialized world, which assert the dignity of the individual as a core belief.
The problem with the interpretation is that it assumes that the demonstration of the enjoyment of pain is both the dominant feature of Mr. Elliott's personality and that it serves no end beyond itself. The viewpoint relies on accepting Mr. Elliott at his word, and if it is the case that his word is to be trusted, it must also be remembered that he has on many occasions remarked that he takes his job as a teacher quite seriously. As a teacher, and as a teacher of English, Mr. Elliott is engaged in the transmission of a specific set of cultural ideals that, while not shared among many of his students, are largely in line with the social structures in which he and they operate, both in the academic setting in which they interact specifically and in the broader social context of the United States of the early twenty-first century. By his very vocation, then, Mr. Elliott is participating in a deep-seated and fundamental way in the structures of public order.
His specific method of teaching also evidences his dedication to social structure. In each of his courses, Mr. Elliott distributes a detailed syllabus, a statement of the policies and procedures by which he seeks to conduct class. Semester after semester, students find themselves adjudged by the policies to which they tacitly agree by remaining in the classes for which he produces the syllabi, with Mr. Elliott adhering strictly to the rules for himself and his students which he has set. Additionally, he grades major assignments in his classes by stringent rubrics, even to the point of awarding good grades to students he finds personally objectionable and whose positions he finds execrable; they perform the tasks required of them by their assignments, and their performances are found satisfactory when compared to the rubric he creates, despite whatever personal feelings Mr. Elliott may or may not have. That he allows his explicitly stated standards, rather than his gut feelings, to inform his assessment demonstrates alongside the fact of his profession Mr. Elliott's dedication to and participation in the structures of public order.
He is not, however, unthinkingly rigid in following those structures, using them to drive the education which he and others value as a fundamental social good rather than allowing the rules to stand in all cases as the sole and final arbiter of what happens in and around him. The very standards come equipped with some room to negotiate. His syllabi carry the comment that the policies outlined on them are subject to change. This is primarily to account for the occasional change imposed upon him by the institutional hierarchy above him (his compliance with which is itself an indicator of his participation in structures of public order), but also allows him to adjust formal rules to suit evolving situations, should the need arise. His course calendars carry a similar message, and with similar intent. And his syllabi carry in many sections the explicit message that Mr.Elliott is willing to make case-by-case exceptions to his policies, so that those students who are putting forth effort but are running into difficulty have some time and cognitive space to use to get properly situated and adjusted to the demands being placed upon them. He is therefore avowedly willing to set aside the formal rules in the interest of student learning, which is the higher ideal which his policies exist to facilitate.
Even the biting, morbid humor often cited as a case against Mr. Elliott serves to engage student learning, even if it is far removed from the usual practices of many other teachers. Students remember the extent and specificity of criticism offered in no small part because of the wit in which it is couched, so that the unusual practice serves to drive student learning. The supposed suffering he inflicts upon them is presented as a challenge to be overcome, which is itself another means of driving learning; while it is true that many students do complain about such things as the amount of work Mr. Elliott assigns or the specificity of his grading, those things do serve the greater educational purpose, as it is only through practice that proficiency is attained, and it is only through the receipt of correction that errors can be identified to be eliminated.
It becomes clear, then, that Mr. Elliott, insofar as he does engage with structures in the classroom even as he is willing to step aside from them to promote the learning of his students--the end goal of classroom structure--is a good citizen. That he is one should prompt some reevaluation of what goes on in his classrooms, and in classrooms generally.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
An External Work of Definition, Moving to Classification
It has been a while since this blog updated, and I suppose I will need to do more with it in the new term. For now, though, a link and some commentary.
The link is to Christina H.'s Cracked.com article, "5 Reasons Calling Someone a 'Nerd' Is Officially Meaningless," published 20 December 2011. In the article, Christina H. argues that the old label of "nerd," particularly defined as an intelligent social outcast who focuses overly narrowly and deeply upon an unusual field of interest, is no longer applicable. She systematically overthrows many of the old components of the definition, highlighting their historical contexts and explicating how they do not apply anymore. The article, being an online piece, is replete with links to referenced materials, helping the author to establish her veracity, and the combination of the adequate use of outside source materials and humor make for an effective article.*
I point the piece out because I find that it does represent an example of several things I wish to highlight in my classes. First, Christina H. does go through and underpin the traditional understandings and definitions with which she works, finding a number of examples which support her claims and highlighting how they do so. She also points out how those definitions fail to apply to many to whom the label "nerd" is often applied at present, so that she carries out classification according to the second option of my classification paper assignments in my first-year composition classes. In doing both, she provides an example of how the specific tasks to which I assign my students can and do show in in the "real world" as well as how the work called for in my classes need not be stilted and boring, but can be engaging and entertaining.
It is an important lesson, I think.
*I am aware that the author of the article references Wikipedia, which I advise against in my students' academic and professional work. The issue here is one of context. Cracked.com advertises itself as "America's Only Humor Site Since 1958," so that it immediately marks itself as something other than a major academic resource; the label as a "Humor Site" calls for regard as such, and the "Since 1958," a year that far predates the Internet, reinforces the idea by means of comic exaggeration. This is far different from the sober academic or technical prose that my classes call for my students to use; Cracked.com has the purpose of entertainment, and while that purpose necessarily requires that there be some informative work done, it lessens the obligation for scholarly rigor. That obligation is quite strong for my students, since I seek to train them with an eye towards scholarship; it is easier to pull back than to push forward.
The link is to Christina H.'s Cracked.com article, "5 Reasons Calling Someone a 'Nerd' Is Officially Meaningless," published 20 December 2011. In the article, Christina H. argues that the old label of "nerd," particularly defined as an intelligent social outcast who focuses overly narrowly and deeply upon an unusual field of interest, is no longer applicable. She systematically overthrows many of the old components of the definition, highlighting their historical contexts and explicating how they do not apply anymore. The article, being an online piece, is replete with links to referenced materials, helping the author to establish her veracity, and the combination of the adequate use of outside source materials and humor make for an effective article.*
I point the piece out because I find that it does represent an example of several things I wish to highlight in my classes. First, Christina H. does go through and underpin the traditional understandings and definitions with which she works, finding a number of examples which support her claims and highlighting how they do so. She also points out how those definitions fail to apply to many to whom the label "nerd" is often applied at present, so that she carries out classification according to the second option of my classification paper assignments in my first-year composition classes. In doing both, she provides an example of how the specific tasks to which I assign my students can and do show in in the "real world" as well as how the work called for in my classes need not be stilted and boring, but can be engaging and entertaining.
It is an important lesson, I think.
*I am aware that the author of the article references Wikipedia, which I advise against in my students' academic and professional work. The issue here is one of context. Cracked.com advertises itself as "America's Only Humor Site Since 1958," so that it immediately marks itself as something other than a major academic resource; the label as a "Humor Site" calls for regard as such, and the "Since 1958," a year that far predates the Internet, reinforces the idea by means of comic exaggeration. This is far different from the sober academic or technical prose that my classes call for my students to use; Cracked.com has the purpose of entertainment, and while that purpose necessarily requires that there be some informative work done, it lessens the obligation for scholarly rigor. That obligation is quite strong for my students, since I seek to train them with an eye towards scholarship; it is easier to pull back than to push forward.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Sample Classification Paper, Option 2
Below appears an example of a classification paper, second option, as discussed here. It treats a type of hero that is forbidden from consideration in student papers, so that it can serve as a model while not actually doing the students' work for them. Please note both that it is an early draft, and so can stand to be improved, and that it is a good length for student papers, when formatted according to stated submission guidelines here.
The anti-hero can be defined as a character who achieves heroic ends by carrying out actions that are themselves generally considered evil; they attain fair ends by foul means. On first glance, Fëanor from Tolkien's Silmarillion appears to fit the definition. In truth, he does not; he is not actually an anti-hero.
The misidentification of Fëanor as an anti-hero is unsurprising; the "hero" part of the term certainly seems easy enough to perceive at first. He is born into a position of privilege, certainly, as the eldest son of the lord of one of the three major branches of the Elvish people (Silmarillion 67). That position, the eldest son of a mighty ruler, is one usually reserved for heroes, as are the levels of skill and resolution that are attributed to him. To illustrate, Tolkien calls him "of all the Noldor [the second of the great groups of Elf-kind], then or after, the most subtle in mind and the most skilled in hand" and notes that "Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force" (68); both descriptions portray Fëanor as exceptional in the ways that heroes are usually exceptional. Also, his masterworks, the Silmarils, give their name to the text in which Fëanor himself is described in detail (27); that they do so seems to position Fëanor as the pivotal figure of the text, a position typically occupied by a hero.
Fëanor additionally operates by foul means, so that he appears to fulfill the "anti" portion of the term "anti-hero." He draws a sword against his half-brother in the house of his father, threatening to kill him (76); the offer of kin-slaying is an offer of ancient evil widely recognized as being such. That Fëanor makes such an offer is clearly an immoral act. That he comes to be a kin-slayer only intensifies his foul-acting nature; in pursuing a single-minded course of action, Fëanor leads his people in the slaughter of other Elves, to which some of them are akin (97-98). Leading people into iniquity is hardly a fair action, so that for Fëanor to perform it clearly situates him as undertaking an evil action. The multiple sentences of exile which are imposed upon Fëanor serve a similar function (77, 95); being twice cast out from one's birthplace and, indeed, from a paradisaical realm are easily recognizable effects of evil actions, so that the eldest son of the lord of the Noldor is marked as having done evil by being made to suffer exile.
How Fëanor fails to fulfill the role of anti-hero is that he does not achieve a fair end; despite the initial promise of heroism attached to him, he dies in failure and disgrace. That death comes as the result of a rash attempt to too-quickly fulfill a hastily sworn and poorly conceived oath. Fëanor is, at one point before his second and final exile, summoned to the capital city of the paradisaical realm in which he was born; when he answers the summons, he leaves his masterworks, the Silmarils, behind in the place where he dwelled in his exile (83). While he is in the capital city, the Satan-figure in Tolkien's work, Melkor/Morgoth, assails the exile-dwelling, slaying Fëanor's father and stealing the Silmarils as he does so (87-88). In grief at the loss of his works and of his father, Fëanor and his seven sons swear to pursue with unending hatred those who would keep the Silmarils from them, whatever power or purpose should guide them (93). Vows made in grief are not less binding, although they are usually less well planned, given the disruption of rational thought that deep sadness tends to create. The oath Fëanor and his sons swear, then, is a bad idea to begin with; it is made worse in that it is cited as the reason for the second exile (95).
Following the fallacious vow, Fëanor leads his people into Middle-earth. There, they are soon beset by the forces of Melkor/Morgoth. Although they are outnumbered, however, they manage to defeat the armies sent against them, which would bode well for Fëanor but for his own continuing folly; "Fëanor, in his wrath against the Enemy [Melkor/Morgoth], would not halt [in pursuing the retreating forces], but pressed on" (124). It is good tactics to pursue a retreating opponent when the reinforcements and fortifications toward which the retreat is headed are known and sufficient force is on hand to deal with them. This was not the case for Fëanor, however; "he drew far ahead of the van of his host; and seeing this the servants of Morgoth turned to bay, and there issued from Angband [the enemy fortress] Balrogs [demons of fire and darkness] to aid them" (124). The son of the lord of the Noldor is struck down in what should have been the moment of his victory, the victim twice-over of his own recklessness. It is not a heroic end, and so the evils that Fëanor commits are not redeemed through final heroism. Consequently, Fëanor is not an anti-hero.
There is a danger in being too eager to apply labels based on superficial readings. In works of literature, doing so leads to failed understandings of texts. In other works of art, doing so leads to other misunderstandings. In real life, doing so promotes destructive stereotypes and ethnocentrism. More attention to specific details is needed so as to prevent negative effects, which is as important as developing positive ones.
Work Cited
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. New York: Ballantine Books, 1982. Print.
The anti-hero can be defined as a character who achieves heroic ends by carrying out actions that are themselves generally considered evil; they attain fair ends by foul means. On first glance, Fëanor from Tolkien's Silmarillion appears to fit the definition. In truth, he does not; he is not actually an anti-hero.
The misidentification of Fëanor as an anti-hero is unsurprising; the "hero" part of the term certainly seems easy enough to perceive at first. He is born into a position of privilege, certainly, as the eldest son of the lord of one of the three major branches of the Elvish people (Silmarillion 67). That position, the eldest son of a mighty ruler, is one usually reserved for heroes, as are the levels of skill and resolution that are attributed to him. To illustrate, Tolkien calls him "of all the Noldor [the second of the great groups of Elf-kind], then or after, the most subtle in mind and the most skilled in hand" and notes that "Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force" (68); both descriptions portray Fëanor as exceptional in the ways that heroes are usually exceptional. Also, his masterworks, the Silmarils, give their name to the text in which Fëanor himself is described in detail (27); that they do so seems to position Fëanor as the pivotal figure of the text, a position typically occupied by a hero.
Fëanor additionally operates by foul means, so that he appears to fulfill the "anti" portion of the term "anti-hero." He draws a sword against his half-brother in the house of his father, threatening to kill him (76); the offer of kin-slaying is an offer of ancient evil widely recognized as being such. That Fëanor makes such an offer is clearly an immoral act. That he comes to be a kin-slayer only intensifies his foul-acting nature; in pursuing a single-minded course of action, Fëanor leads his people in the slaughter of other Elves, to which some of them are akin (97-98). Leading people into iniquity is hardly a fair action, so that for Fëanor to perform it clearly situates him as undertaking an evil action. The multiple sentences of exile which are imposed upon Fëanor serve a similar function (77, 95); being twice cast out from one's birthplace and, indeed, from a paradisaical realm are easily recognizable effects of evil actions, so that the eldest son of the lord of the Noldor is marked as having done evil by being made to suffer exile.
How Fëanor fails to fulfill the role of anti-hero is that he does not achieve a fair end; despite the initial promise of heroism attached to him, he dies in failure and disgrace. That death comes as the result of a rash attempt to too-quickly fulfill a hastily sworn and poorly conceived oath. Fëanor is, at one point before his second and final exile, summoned to the capital city of the paradisaical realm in which he was born; when he answers the summons, he leaves his masterworks, the Silmarils, behind in the place where he dwelled in his exile (83). While he is in the capital city, the Satan-figure in Tolkien's work, Melkor/Morgoth, assails the exile-dwelling, slaying Fëanor's father and stealing the Silmarils as he does so (87-88). In grief at the loss of his works and of his father, Fëanor and his seven sons swear to pursue with unending hatred those who would keep the Silmarils from them, whatever power or purpose should guide them (93). Vows made in grief are not less binding, although they are usually less well planned, given the disruption of rational thought that deep sadness tends to create. The oath Fëanor and his sons swear, then, is a bad idea to begin with; it is made worse in that it is cited as the reason for the second exile (95).
Following the fallacious vow, Fëanor leads his people into Middle-earth. There, they are soon beset by the forces of Melkor/Morgoth. Although they are outnumbered, however, they manage to defeat the armies sent against them, which would bode well for Fëanor but for his own continuing folly; "Fëanor, in his wrath against the Enemy [Melkor/Morgoth], would not halt [in pursuing the retreating forces], but pressed on" (124). It is good tactics to pursue a retreating opponent when the reinforcements and fortifications toward which the retreat is headed are known and sufficient force is on hand to deal with them. This was not the case for Fëanor, however; "he drew far ahead of the van of his host; and seeing this the servants of Morgoth turned to bay, and there issued from Angband [the enemy fortress] Balrogs [demons of fire and darkness] to aid them" (124). The son of the lord of the Noldor is struck down in what should have been the moment of his victory, the victim twice-over of his own recklessness. It is not a heroic end, and so the evils that Fëanor commits are not redeemed through final heroism. Consequently, Fëanor is not an anti-hero.
There is a danger in being too eager to apply labels based on superficial readings. In works of literature, doing so leads to failed understandings of texts. In other works of art, doing so leads to other misunderstandings. In real life, doing so promotes destructive stereotypes and ethnocentrism. More attention to specific details is needed so as to prevent negative effects, which is as important as developing positive ones.
Work Cited
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Silmarillion. New York: Ballantine Books, 1982. Print.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sample Classification Paper, Option 1
Below appears an example of a classification paper, first option, as discussed here. It treats a type of hero that is forbidden from consideration in student papers, so that it can serve as a model while not actually doing the students' work for them. Please note both that it is an early draft, and so can stand to be improved, and that it is on the short end of acceptable length for student papers, when formatted according to stated submission guidelines here.
Also, I am well aware that I give Le Morte d'Arthur where the source I reference gives Le Mort d'Arthur. The spelling of the title varies from edition to edition, as is evident here, and I use the one with which I am most familiar.
The anti-hero can be defined as a character who achieves heroic ends by carrying out actions that are themselves generally considered evil; they attain fair ends by foul means. Typically, the Arthurian knight Sir Gawain is not lumped in with such figures as stand to define the anti-hero type. A close examination of his attributes, however, reveals that he very much fits the model.
As a knight of the Round Table, the highest order of traditional chivalry in English-language literature, and a close kinsman of King Arthur, the legendary paragon of royal virtues, Sir Gawain would be expected to be a fairly common sort of hero. A common image of the Arthurian knight is one of an ennobled warrior riding a white horse while wearing shining armor. He (and it is almost always a he) is seen rescuing maidens from unjust captivity and battling against evil creatures given to laying waste to the peaceful countryside and its population of simple farmers who would otherwise sing merrily as they go about their honest work of tilling fields and husbanding livestock.
Sir Gawain falls short of that standard. For example, in Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, the standard text of English-language Arthurian legend, Gawain errs gravely in his first mission as a knight in Arthur's service. He moves to slay a knight who was attempting to yield himself, actively denying the plea despite the fact that "a Knight that is without mercy, is without worship [sic]"; he intemperately kills the knight's lady, instead, as he is unable to check his sword-swing when she throws herself over her knight in an attempt to protect him--"he smote off her head by misadventure" (Malory 1.119). In failing to show mercy to a foe who had conceded defeat, and in failing to control his martial abilities, particularly as they befell a noblewoman, Gawain violates the Round Table Oath to which all those of the high chivalric order were sworn not just at their induction, but annually (1.134). Violating one's sworn oath is generally regarded as an action good people do not perform; neither is killing those who have yielded or who are not in a position to defend themselves. Gawain's commission of both acts is marked as evil.
Even so, Sir Gawain does manage to meet his end well. When his brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, are killed by Sir Lancelot as he rescues Queen Guinevere from being burned at the stake, Gawain vows vengeance upon him (3.312). Given the dictates of the warrior culture in which all four lived, it is a wholly appropriate response, the more so because Gawain is the eldest brother and therefore the patriarch of the Orkney royal household; Gawain's actions thus read as well performed. He does eventually have the opportunity to attempt that vengeance, and fights against Sir Lancelot, receiving a head-wound in the process. Complications from that injury lead to Gawain's death. On his death-bed, though, he forgives his recent foeman, absolving him of guilt for his death; "I Sir Gawain, Knight of the Round Table, sought my death, and not through thy deserving, but it was mine own seeking." He recalls the greater good of Arthur's realm above his own personal vendetta; "come over the sea in all the haste that thou mayest, with thy noble Knights, and rescue my noble King that made thee Knight, that is my lord and uncle, King Arthur." He even refers to Lancelot as "Flower of all noble Knights that ever I heard or saw in my days," which is high praise (3.350-52). Gawain dies as a result of performing his duties, which is admirable, and he forgives his enemies as he dies, which is the mark of a particularly noble soul. He ends his life in line with the promise of his chivalric calling. He passes on as a hero.
That the Arthurian Sir Gawain functions as an anti-hero becomes obvious upon consideration of his knightly career in Malory's depiction. Since Le Morte d'Arthur occupies a position of singular importance in English-language Arthurian legend, serving as the primary reference text for it, its portrayals of the knights of the Round Table and their deeds underpin much other writing in the English language and indeed of productions in other media. The anti-hero that figures so prominently in many of them is thereby shown to have much older iterations than is commonly realized, showing that what goes on now is very much of a piece with what has gone on for a long, long time. It illustrates that our past can yet teach us much about our present selves.
Work Cited
Malory, Thomas. La Mort D’Arthur. Ed. Joseph Haslewood. 3 vols. London: R. Wilks, 1816. Print.
Also, I am well aware that I give Le Morte d'Arthur where the source I reference gives Le Mort d'Arthur. The spelling of the title varies from edition to edition, as is evident here, and I use the one with which I am most familiar.
The anti-hero can be defined as a character who achieves heroic ends by carrying out actions that are themselves generally considered evil; they attain fair ends by foul means. Typically, the Arthurian knight Sir Gawain is not lumped in with such figures as stand to define the anti-hero type. A close examination of his attributes, however, reveals that he very much fits the model.
As a knight of the Round Table, the highest order of traditional chivalry in English-language literature, and a close kinsman of King Arthur, the legendary paragon of royal virtues, Sir Gawain would be expected to be a fairly common sort of hero. A common image of the Arthurian knight is one of an ennobled warrior riding a white horse while wearing shining armor. He (and it is almost always a he) is seen rescuing maidens from unjust captivity and battling against evil creatures given to laying waste to the peaceful countryside and its population of simple farmers who would otherwise sing merrily as they go about their honest work of tilling fields and husbanding livestock.
Sir Gawain falls short of that standard. For example, in Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, the standard text of English-language Arthurian legend, Gawain errs gravely in his first mission as a knight in Arthur's service. He moves to slay a knight who was attempting to yield himself, actively denying the plea despite the fact that "a Knight that is without mercy, is without worship [sic]"; he intemperately kills the knight's lady, instead, as he is unable to check his sword-swing when she throws herself over her knight in an attempt to protect him--"he smote off her head by misadventure" (Malory 1.119). In failing to show mercy to a foe who had conceded defeat, and in failing to control his martial abilities, particularly as they befell a noblewoman, Gawain violates the Round Table Oath to which all those of the high chivalric order were sworn not just at their induction, but annually (1.134). Violating one's sworn oath is generally regarded as an action good people do not perform; neither is killing those who have yielded or who are not in a position to defend themselves. Gawain's commission of both acts is marked as evil.
Even so, Sir Gawain does manage to meet his end well. When his brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, are killed by Sir Lancelot as he rescues Queen Guinevere from being burned at the stake, Gawain vows vengeance upon him (3.312). Given the dictates of the warrior culture in which all four lived, it is a wholly appropriate response, the more so because Gawain is the eldest brother and therefore the patriarch of the Orkney royal household; Gawain's actions thus read as well performed. He does eventually have the opportunity to attempt that vengeance, and fights against Sir Lancelot, receiving a head-wound in the process. Complications from that injury lead to Gawain's death. On his death-bed, though, he forgives his recent foeman, absolving him of guilt for his death; "I Sir Gawain, Knight of the Round Table, sought my death, and not through thy deserving, but it was mine own seeking." He recalls the greater good of Arthur's realm above his own personal vendetta; "come over the sea in all the haste that thou mayest, with thy noble Knights, and rescue my noble King that made thee Knight, that is my lord and uncle, King Arthur." He even refers to Lancelot as "Flower of all noble Knights that ever I heard or saw in my days," which is high praise (3.350-52). Gawain dies as a result of performing his duties, which is admirable, and he forgives his enemies as he dies, which is the mark of a particularly noble soul. He ends his life in line with the promise of his chivalric calling. He passes on as a hero.
That the Arthurian Sir Gawain functions as an anti-hero becomes obvious upon consideration of his knightly career in Malory's depiction. Since Le Morte d'Arthur occupies a position of singular importance in English-language Arthurian legend, serving as the primary reference text for it, its portrayals of the knights of the Round Table and their deeds underpin much other writing in the English language and indeed of productions in other media. The anti-hero that figures so prominently in many of them is thereby shown to have much older iterations than is commonly realized, showing that what goes on now is very much of a piece with what has gone on for a long, long time. It illustrates that our past can yet teach us much about our present selves.
Work Cited
Malory, Thomas. La Mort D’Arthur. Ed. Joseph Haslewood. 3 vols. London: R. Wilks, 1816. Print.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sample Classification Paper, Option 2
Students, please find below a draft of a classification paper that follows Option 2, as discussed during class. As with the earlier sample definition paper, keep in mind that it is a draft and not a finished work. Do also note that the classification at work is not allowed for student use.
Oh, two other things:
1) This is an example of how to make the argument. It is not necessarily true.
2) The example is the minimum acceptable length for your own papers, when formatted for class submission.
An antagonist is anything that hinders or prevents a focal figure or focal figures from pursuing an end goal. Many people claim that Mr. Elliott keeps his students from effectively pursuing their end goal of getting an education and thus that he is an antagonist. As it turns out, this is not entirely true.
It is admittedly the case that Mr. Elliott does teach a subject that many people hate: English. It is also true that he assigns a fair amount of work to the students in his English classes and that he has high standards of performance on the work he assigns; few people earn As from him, and many fail to pass his classes. But none of this means that students do not receive educations from him.
That a person hates a given thing does not mean that the person will neither have use for the thing nor benefit from understanding it. In the case of English, students in Mr. Elliott's classes are in a country whose dominant language is English, so that there is a larger social impetus for them to learn the language. More specifically, English in its various forms remains a worldwide common tongue; scientists and businesspeople across the planet conduct their affairs in the language, so for students to successfully navigate the broader technical and commercial world, thereby earning a living as many of them profess a desire to do, they will need to have a command of the subject matter Mr. Elliott teaches. His subject, then, is far from antagonistic, but is instead a significant facilitator of student desire, and so in that subject, Mr. Elliott is not an antagonist.
That a thing requires effort, even sustained and at times dull effort, does not necessarily make it a hindrance. The English language, like all currently spoken human languages, is vast and nuanced, with quirks that have grown up across fifteen centuries and more of use by populations widely disparate in time, geography, cultural heritage, and socioeconomic status. It is a complex system, and like all complex systems, it is not necessarily easily understood, let alone mastered. It requires difficult work to achieve competence in English, and Mr. Elliott provides that difficulty for his students both in the amount of work assigned and in the standards of performance he enforces. Repeated practice is necessary to move practitioners past they point at which they must think about the specifics of the actions they perform and into the area in which they consider when and for what purpose to perform those actions. Thus, Mr. Elliott assigns much work. Also, if practitioners are told at the outset that their skills are sufficient, then they have no motivation to improve those skills; it is only by insisting on a higher standard of performance that higher levels of performance are achieved. As such, Mr. Elliott does not reward lower levels of proficiency, and in the combination of his restriction of reward and expectation of amount of practice, he provides students with the necessary difficulty to improve. As such, he necessarily helps them to learn what they need to learn, and so is far from hindering them as an antagonist must.
It is unfortunately true that some people have overly inflated opinions of themselves and their abilities. In such cases, they need to learn the true measure of their skills, and this means that some will not receive high grades and that others will need to repeat courses. As regards Mr. Elliott's classes, students in both situations are given opportunities to learn about themselves and the system into which they have voluntarily entered by registering for college level coursework. The lessons thusly offered are not necessarily those that students either expect or desire, but that does not mean that they are not lessons and that being offered them is not concomitantly educational. Accordingly, even in issuing low grades based on low performance--or, more commonly, a lack of observable performance--Mr. Elliott teaches. If the point of being a student is to gain an education, any teaching furthers that goal, and so Mr. Elliott serves to facilitate education, denying him status as an antagonist to the students in his classes.
That Mr. Elliott does not necessarily follow the easygoing model of a great many other instructors does not make him an antagonist. Rather, it offers a divergent opinion and a specific set of challenges to students that they are not likely to find in a classroom elsewhere--although they will face harder tasks yet when the worst consequence is, instead of the poor grade Mr. Elliott can assign, unemployment, homelessness, injury, or death. His classroom, then, is potentially a place well worth seeking.
Oh, two other things:
1) This is an example of how to make the argument. It is not necessarily true.
2) The example is the minimum acceptable length for your own papers, when formatted for class submission.
An antagonist is anything that hinders or prevents a focal figure or focal figures from pursuing an end goal. Many people claim that Mr. Elliott keeps his students from effectively pursuing their end goal of getting an education and thus that he is an antagonist. As it turns out, this is not entirely true.
It is admittedly the case that Mr. Elliott does teach a subject that many people hate: English. It is also true that he assigns a fair amount of work to the students in his English classes and that he has high standards of performance on the work he assigns; few people earn As from him, and many fail to pass his classes. But none of this means that students do not receive educations from him.
That a person hates a given thing does not mean that the person will neither have use for the thing nor benefit from understanding it. In the case of English, students in Mr. Elliott's classes are in a country whose dominant language is English, so that there is a larger social impetus for them to learn the language. More specifically, English in its various forms remains a worldwide common tongue; scientists and businesspeople across the planet conduct their affairs in the language, so for students to successfully navigate the broader technical and commercial world, thereby earning a living as many of them profess a desire to do, they will need to have a command of the subject matter Mr. Elliott teaches. His subject, then, is far from antagonistic, but is instead a significant facilitator of student desire, and so in that subject, Mr. Elliott is not an antagonist.
That a thing requires effort, even sustained and at times dull effort, does not necessarily make it a hindrance. The English language, like all currently spoken human languages, is vast and nuanced, with quirks that have grown up across fifteen centuries and more of use by populations widely disparate in time, geography, cultural heritage, and socioeconomic status. It is a complex system, and like all complex systems, it is not necessarily easily understood, let alone mastered. It requires difficult work to achieve competence in English, and Mr. Elliott provides that difficulty for his students both in the amount of work assigned and in the standards of performance he enforces. Repeated practice is necessary to move practitioners past they point at which they must think about the specifics of the actions they perform and into the area in which they consider when and for what purpose to perform those actions. Thus, Mr. Elliott assigns much work. Also, if practitioners are told at the outset that their skills are sufficient, then they have no motivation to improve those skills; it is only by insisting on a higher standard of performance that higher levels of performance are achieved. As such, Mr. Elliott does not reward lower levels of proficiency, and in the combination of his restriction of reward and expectation of amount of practice, he provides students with the necessary difficulty to improve. As such, he necessarily helps them to learn what they need to learn, and so is far from hindering them as an antagonist must.
It is unfortunately true that some people have overly inflated opinions of themselves and their abilities. In such cases, they need to learn the true measure of their skills, and this means that some will not receive high grades and that others will need to repeat courses. As regards Mr. Elliott's classes, students in both situations are given opportunities to learn about themselves and the system into which they have voluntarily entered by registering for college level coursework. The lessons thusly offered are not necessarily those that students either expect or desire, but that does not mean that they are not lessons and that being offered them is not concomitantly educational. Accordingly, even in issuing low grades based on low performance--or, more commonly, a lack of observable performance--Mr. Elliott teaches. If the point of being a student is to gain an education, any teaching furthers that goal, and so Mr. Elliott serves to facilitate education, denying him status as an antagonist to the students in his classes.
That Mr. Elliott does not necessarily follow the easygoing model of a great many other instructors does not make him an antagonist. Rather, it offers a divergent opinion and a specific set of challenges to students that they are not likely to find in a classroom elsewhere--although they will face harder tasks yet when the worst consequence is, instead of the poor grade Mr. Elliott can assign, unemployment, homelessness, injury, or death. His classroom, then, is potentially a place well worth seeking.
Sample Classification Paper, Option 1
Students, please find below a draft of a classification paper that follows Option 1, as discussed during class. As with the earlier sample definition paper, keep in mind that it is a draft and not a finished work. Do also note that the classification at work is not allowed for student use.
Oh, two other things:
1) This is an example of how to make the argument. It is not necessarily true.
2) The example is the minimum acceptable length for your own papers, when formatted for class submission.
An antagonist is anything that hinders or prevents a focal figure or focal figures from pursuing an end goal. As a teacher, someone whose ostensible purpose is to aid students in pursuing their educations, Geoffrey B. Elliott should be far removed from being an antagonist. All too often, however, the reverse is true, and Mr. Elliott is very much an antagonist.
By some accounts, such formal education as takes place in a classroom is exactly that: formal. It is old-fashioned, ritualized, and more or less removed from the day-to-day practical realities of contemporary life. This is particularly true in studying the fine arts and humanities (under which heading the study of English, and therefore Mr. Elliott's teaching, falls), in which the focus is commonly on people and works that, however interesting and/or relevant they may have been when they were created, are now so old as to be fully disjunct from what is going on now. Less commonly, the fine arts and humanities turn their attentions to constructions so strange that they defy common sense and the typical aesthetics of the population at large, and so do not even have the claim of the older stuff to have been relevant once; they are the "never-was" to the commonly-studied "has-been." In either case, they do not bear in on what people need to know now to get ahead now, and their study takes up time that could be devoted instead to finding ways to do things and make money. As such, in the very subject Mr. Elliott teaches, he serves as a hindrance to student success, making him antagonistic.
His antagonism becomes more overt and direct than the simple fact of his subject area, though. In the classroom, Mr. Elliott is known as a tyrant. Most of his students seek to have high grade point averages (GPA), rightly thinking that to have a 3.5 or better GPA will lead them to institutional honors and to improved abilities to find employment after graduation. Getting such a GPA requires that the grades assigned in coursework be high, the traditional B or better. Mr. Elliott, however, rarely offers that level of grade to his students; typically, students will make the so-called average C, and a high number of students fail his class for one reason or another. Both sets of students do not receive the high grades that mark successful experiences in formal education, making it more difficult for them to secure a good overall GPA and therefore limiting their abilities to attain institutional honors and after-graduation employment. His grading, then, marks Mr. Elliott as a direct antagonist to the students who are, after all, the focus of school.
Other classroom conduct displays Mr. Elliott's antagonistic tendencies. The low grades he hands out are, at least in theory, based on a number of assignments, including long readings and pages-long papers. Completing the assignments takes time, and students typically do not have time outside of class to devote to performing the kinds of mental labor that Mr. Elliott unmercifully demands of them. They do not have the time or energy to spend poring over pages of a textbook they purchased as cheaply as possible and are not going to keep past the end of the semester or to sit and type out two or three pages of text about a subject nobody cares about and only one person--and that a person who, following an old adage, teaches because he cannot get a real job--is going to read with anything approaching interest. But students are expected to do so, rather than going out and actually enjoying themselves, and they are punished if they fail to meet Mr. Elliott's demands. That punishment takes the form of low grades, with the consequences outlined above, and so in assigning the work he requires of his students, Mr. Elliott presents himself as an antagonist towards them.
It is expected of teachers that they facilitate learning and help their students to set and achieve goals. At the college level, the end goal is already in place, so that all a teacher need really do is facilitate learning so as to help students get where they want to be. Mr. Elliott does not do this, but rather performs the opposite function, getting in the way of students making good grades and doing the things that they actually need to do by forcing them to do things of minimal or zero importance. He is an antagonist, and like all antagonists, he is to be avoided or defeated.
Oh, two other things:
1) This is an example of how to make the argument. It is not necessarily true.
2) The example is the minimum acceptable length for your own papers, when formatted for class submission.
An antagonist is anything that hinders or prevents a focal figure or focal figures from pursuing an end goal. As a teacher, someone whose ostensible purpose is to aid students in pursuing their educations, Geoffrey B. Elliott should be far removed from being an antagonist. All too often, however, the reverse is true, and Mr. Elliott is very much an antagonist.
By some accounts, such formal education as takes place in a classroom is exactly that: formal. It is old-fashioned, ritualized, and more or less removed from the day-to-day practical realities of contemporary life. This is particularly true in studying the fine arts and humanities (under which heading the study of English, and therefore Mr. Elliott's teaching, falls), in which the focus is commonly on people and works that, however interesting and/or relevant they may have been when they were created, are now so old as to be fully disjunct from what is going on now. Less commonly, the fine arts and humanities turn their attentions to constructions so strange that they defy common sense and the typical aesthetics of the population at large, and so do not even have the claim of the older stuff to have been relevant once; they are the "never-was" to the commonly-studied "has-been." In either case, they do not bear in on what people need to know now to get ahead now, and their study takes up time that could be devoted instead to finding ways to do things and make money. As such, in the very subject Mr. Elliott teaches, he serves as a hindrance to student success, making him antagonistic.
His antagonism becomes more overt and direct than the simple fact of his subject area, though. In the classroom, Mr. Elliott is known as a tyrant. Most of his students seek to have high grade point averages (GPA), rightly thinking that to have a 3.5 or better GPA will lead them to institutional honors and to improved abilities to find employment after graduation. Getting such a GPA requires that the grades assigned in coursework be high, the traditional B or better. Mr. Elliott, however, rarely offers that level of grade to his students; typically, students will make the so-called average C, and a high number of students fail his class for one reason or another. Both sets of students do not receive the high grades that mark successful experiences in formal education, making it more difficult for them to secure a good overall GPA and therefore limiting their abilities to attain institutional honors and after-graduation employment. His grading, then, marks Mr. Elliott as a direct antagonist to the students who are, after all, the focus of school.
Other classroom conduct displays Mr. Elliott's antagonistic tendencies. The low grades he hands out are, at least in theory, based on a number of assignments, including long readings and pages-long papers. Completing the assignments takes time, and students typically do not have time outside of class to devote to performing the kinds of mental labor that Mr. Elliott unmercifully demands of them. They do not have the time or energy to spend poring over pages of a textbook they purchased as cheaply as possible and are not going to keep past the end of the semester or to sit and type out two or three pages of text about a subject nobody cares about and only one person--and that a person who, following an old adage, teaches because he cannot get a real job--is going to read with anything approaching interest. But students are expected to do so, rather than going out and actually enjoying themselves, and they are punished if they fail to meet Mr. Elliott's demands. That punishment takes the form of low grades, with the consequences outlined above, and so in assigning the work he requires of his students, Mr. Elliott presents himself as an antagonist towards them.
It is expected of teachers that they facilitate learning and help their students to set and achieve goals. At the college level, the end goal is already in place, so that all a teacher need really do is facilitate learning so as to help students get where they want to be. Mr. Elliott does not do this, but rather performs the opposite function, getting in the way of students making good grades and doing the things that they actually need to do by forcing them to do things of minimal or zero importance. He is an antagonist, and like all antagonists, he is to be avoided or defeated.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Sample Classification Paper, Option 2
Students, please find below a draft of a classification paper that follows Option 2, as discussed during class. As with the earlier sample definition paper, keep in mind that it is a draft and not a finished work. Note also that the genre, progressive rock, remains unavailable to you, and that, again, my prewriting has come from some thought and classroom examples.
As with the Option 1 example, this paper is the bare minimum allowable length for your assignment.
Progressive rock is a genre of music typified by songs longer than the usual length for rock, intellectualized lyrics, orchestral instrumentation, and unusual-for-rock rhythmic constructions. Kansas is recognized as one of the major bands to work in the genre, and so the band's "Point of Know Return" is often thought of as belonging to the genre. Such a thought is incorrect.
"Point of Know Return" is not long enough a song to truly qualify as progressive rock. Most progressive rock songs run between six and ten minutes. "Point of Know Return" is just over three minutes in length, solidly within the range of most rock music but far, far short of that common for progressive rock.
Intellectually, the song also falls short of the mark established by progressive rock. Most of the lines in the lyrics function as tetrameter, generally iambic. Iambic tetrameter is traditionally employed in light verse or in works of ridicule. In neither case is it closely associated with higher intellectual faculties; rather the opposite is true, as evidenced by the traditional "Thirty days hath September." Additionally, the lyrics contain a persistent usage error. The dominant American English of the time the song was released calls for the use of "who" or "whom" when referencing a person of uncertain identity. The lyrics repeatedly ask "Was it you that said" [emphasis mine], using the pronoun appropriate for an inanimate object or non-human animal rather than that fitting for human application. That it does so not just once but thrice marks the mistake as more than simply an incidental error, representing a distinctly anti-intellectual attitude far removed from that for which progressive rock calls.
Only in instrumentation does "Point of Know Return" meaningfully approach progressive rock. As with many of Kansas' songs, the sibilant strains of a violin playing are presented in the song. The violin is also featured in a brief solo between the second and third verses. It also sings forth in arpeggiated flourishes surrounding the repeated refrain "How long to the point of know return?" In those flourishes, though, the violin is accompanied by and blends fluidly with electric organ, an instrument not seldom employed in the rock music of the 1970s. Thus, even in presenting an orchestral instrument, the song integrates it with mainstream rock, frustrating the identification of "Point of Know Return" as progressive rock.
The rhythmic construction of the song also inhibits the classification of "Point of Know Return" as progressive rock. Typically, progressive rock songs will shift meter, with the shifts occurring frequently and among unusual time signatures. Measures in five, seven, and eleven are not uncommon. While it is true that "Point of Know Return" shifts meter, it only does so between the common-to-rock four and the not uncommon three. Additionally, the shits occur only in predictable places at the end of the second and fourth lines of verses 1, 2, and 4--the third verse serves as a sort of refrain, which is hardly unusual of rock music. Even during the violin solo, during which time shifts in time signature would be easily negotiated, the meter remains in four. As such, "Point of Know Return" is remarkably consistent to the common-to-rock four-beat measure, and so scarcely meets the rhythmic qualifications to be progressive rock.
To call "Point of Know Return" progressive rock is to misidentify it entirely. This is not to say that Kansas is a bad band. There is nothing wrong with the song itself, and Kansas has released many fine works. Instead, the problem is with the way in which "Point of Know Return" is classified. Because Kansas has done so much progressive rock so very well, almost every song the band has released is regarded as being progressive rock. This fosters (and possibly results from) paying insufficient attention to each song individually, which precludes judging each on its individual merits. As such, it is lazy listening, and, like all laziness, is to be avoided.
Work Cited
Kansas. "Point of Know Return." Point of Know Return. Epic, 2002. CD.
As with the Option 1 example, this paper is the bare minimum allowable length for your assignment.
Progressive rock is a genre of music typified by songs longer than the usual length for rock, intellectualized lyrics, orchestral instrumentation, and unusual-for-rock rhythmic constructions. Kansas is recognized as one of the major bands to work in the genre, and so the band's "Point of Know Return" is often thought of as belonging to the genre. Such a thought is incorrect.
"Point of Know Return" is not long enough a song to truly qualify as progressive rock. Most progressive rock songs run between six and ten minutes. "Point of Know Return" is just over three minutes in length, solidly within the range of most rock music but far, far short of that common for progressive rock.
Intellectually, the song also falls short of the mark established by progressive rock. Most of the lines in the lyrics function as tetrameter, generally iambic. Iambic tetrameter is traditionally employed in light verse or in works of ridicule. In neither case is it closely associated with higher intellectual faculties; rather the opposite is true, as evidenced by the traditional "Thirty days hath September." Additionally, the lyrics contain a persistent usage error. The dominant American English of the time the song was released calls for the use of "who" or "whom" when referencing a person of uncertain identity. The lyrics repeatedly ask "Was it you that said" [emphasis mine], using the pronoun appropriate for an inanimate object or non-human animal rather than that fitting for human application. That it does so not just once but thrice marks the mistake as more than simply an incidental error, representing a distinctly anti-intellectual attitude far removed from that for which progressive rock calls.
Only in instrumentation does "Point of Know Return" meaningfully approach progressive rock. As with many of Kansas' songs, the sibilant strains of a violin playing are presented in the song. The violin is also featured in a brief solo between the second and third verses. It also sings forth in arpeggiated flourishes surrounding the repeated refrain "How long to the point of know return?" In those flourishes, though, the violin is accompanied by and blends fluidly with electric organ, an instrument not seldom employed in the rock music of the 1970s. Thus, even in presenting an orchestral instrument, the song integrates it with mainstream rock, frustrating the identification of "Point of Know Return" as progressive rock.
The rhythmic construction of the song also inhibits the classification of "Point of Know Return" as progressive rock. Typically, progressive rock songs will shift meter, with the shifts occurring frequently and among unusual time signatures. Measures in five, seven, and eleven are not uncommon. While it is true that "Point of Know Return" shifts meter, it only does so between the common-to-rock four and the not uncommon three. Additionally, the shits occur only in predictable places at the end of the second and fourth lines of verses 1, 2, and 4--the third verse serves as a sort of refrain, which is hardly unusual of rock music. Even during the violin solo, during which time shifts in time signature would be easily negotiated, the meter remains in four. As such, "Point of Know Return" is remarkably consistent to the common-to-rock four-beat measure, and so scarcely meets the rhythmic qualifications to be progressive rock.
To call "Point of Know Return" progressive rock is to misidentify it entirely. This is not to say that Kansas is a bad band. There is nothing wrong with the song itself, and Kansas has released many fine works. Instead, the problem is with the way in which "Point of Know Return" is classified. Because Kansas has done so much progressive rock so very well, almost every song the band has released is regarded as being progressive rock. This fosters (and possibly results from) paying insufficient attention to each song individually, which precludes judging each on its individual merits. As such, it is lazy listening, and, like all laziness, is to be avoided.
Work Cited
Kansas. "Point of Know Return." Point of Know Return. Epic, 2002. CD.
Sample Classification Paper, Option 1
Students, please find below a draft of a classification paper that follows Option 1, as discussed during class. As with the earlier sample definition paper, keep in mind that it is a draft and not a finished work. Note also that the genre, progressive rock, remains unavailable to you, and that, again, my prewriting has come from some thought and classroom examples.
One last note: this example is the bare minimum allowable length for your papers.
Progressive rock is a genre of music typified by songs longer than the usual length for rock, intellectualized lyrics, orchestral instrumentation, and unusual-for-rock rhythmic constructions. "Stairway to Heaven" is typically considered hard rock, given the association of the band that played it, Led Zeppelin, with that genre. Even so, the song is actually an example of progressive rock.
The length of the song marks "Stairway to Heaven" as progressive rock. Most rock, hard or otherwise, operates in songs three to four minutes in length. "Stairway," as the song is often known, is close to three times as long. This aligns closely with the lengths of songs defining the progressive rock genre.
Similarly aligned with progressive rock is the intellectual nature of the song's lyrics. The very title of the song, which is repeated in the lyrics, is an allusion to the dream-vision of the Biblical Jacob. Another Biblical allusion, if a less-concrete one, is evidenced in the lyric that "There's a sign on the wall," which obliquely references the hand writing on the wall in Daniel. Both serve to ground the song in the prevailing Western intellectual tradition by calling upon long-standing cultural referents. So, too, does the reference in the lyrics to paying the piper; the allusion is to the Pied Piper, a fairy-tale figure associated with the Norse god Odin. The lyrics also invoke contemporary literature; the discussion of longingly looking westward through trees and seeking out a white-light lady evokes images of Galadriel from Tolkien's Middle-earth corpus. In gathering in as wide a spread of material as it does, "Stairway to Heaven" displays a command of cultural referents which speaks to higher intellectual faculties, thus working as progressive rock.
The instrumentation of the song also brings it alongside progressive rock. The opening strains of the song famously employ woodwind instruments--recorders--which is entirely atypical of rock music. Recorders do figure prominently in Renaissance and older musics, however, and those musical styles are often assigned to orchestral ensembles. That "Stairway" uses recorders, then, means it employs orchestral instrumentation, and so is a piece of progressive rock.
Rhythmically, the song also functions as progressive rock. "Stairway" breaks easily into distinct sections. The first is that employing the recorders. At around the time the lyrics offer "You know it makes me wonder," the rhythmic construction shifts to a more typical-for-rock pattern, moving to strummed guitar chords rather than a recorder-accompanied plucked-string line. During this section, the tempo of the song slowly increases, until at around the time the singer sings "If there's a bustle in your hedgerow." At that point, the drummer begins playing in earnest, marking a new section of the song, one more solidly rock in nature; the drums mark out a pattern in four, with continual high-hat punctuated by snare and, less frequently, by bass drum. Afterwards, the song moves into a driving, hard rock passage that culminates in a return to an echoing, almost empty vocal solo.
The rhythmic changes structure the song as a series of short movements, each with a distinct character, but all unified in the presentation of a single theme and variations upon it. The movement structure typifies longer orchestral and symphonic works, but is rare in rock, in which there is seldom time to effectively sub-divide a song in such a manner. As such, "Stairway to Heaven" employs unusual-for-rock rhythmic structures and so, along with the other things it does, presents itself as an example of progressive rock.
That Led Zeppelin's most famous work is an example of progressive rock does not mean that the band as a whole is wrongly-identified as a hard-rock group. Rather, it serves to highlight the band's ability to participate in multiple musical genres. This makes of Led Zeppelin a better band.
Works Cited
Holy Bible: King James Version. Thomas Nelson, n.d. Print.
Led Zeppelin. "Stairway to Heaven." BBC Sessions. Atlantic, 1997. CD.
One last note: this example is the bare minimum allowable length for your papers.
Progressive rock is a genre of music typified by songs longer than the usual length for rock, intellectualized lyrics, orchestral instrumentation, and unusual-for-rock rhythmic constructions. "Stairway to Heaven" is typically considered hard rock, given the association of the band that played it, Led Zeppelin, with that genre. Even so, the song is actually an example of progressive rock.
The length of the song marks "Stairway to Heaven" as progressive rock. Most rock, hard or otherwise, operates in songs three to four minutes in length. "Stairway," as the song is often known, is close to three times as long. This aligns closely with the lengths of songs defining the progressive rock genre.
Similarly aligned with progressive rock is the intellectual nature of the song's lyrics. The very title of the song, which is repeated in the lyrics, is an allusion to the dream-vision of the Biblical Jacob. Another Biblical allusion, if a less-concrete one, is evidenced in the lyric that "There's a sign on the wall," which obliquely references the hand writing on the wall in Daniel. Both serve to ground the song in the prevailing Western intellectual tradition by calling upon long-standing cultural referents. So, too, does the reference in the lyrics to paying the piper; the allusion is to the Pied Piper, a fairy-tale figure associated with the Norse god Odin. The lyrics also invoke contemporary literature; the discussion of longingly looking westward through trees and seeking out a white-light lady evokes images of Galadriel from Tolkien's Middle-earth corpus. In gathering in as wide a spread of material as it does, "Stairway to Heaven" displays a command of cultural referents which speaks to higher intellectual faculties, thus working as progressive rock.
The instrumentation of the song also brings it alongside progressive rock. The opening strains of the song famously employ woodwind instruments--recorders--which is entirely atypical of rock music. Recorders do figure prominently in Renaissance and older musics, however, and those musical styles are often assigned to orchestral ensembles. That "Stairway" uses recorders, then, means it employs orchestral instrumentation, and so is a piece of progressive rock.
Rhythmically, the song also functions as progressive rock. "Stairway" breaks easily into distinct sections. The first is that employing the recorders. At around the time the lyrics offer "You know it makes me wonder," the rhythmic construction shifts to a more typical-for-rock pattern, moving to strummed guitar chords rather than a recorder-accompanied plucked-string line. During this section, the tempo of the song slowly increases, until at around the time the singer sings "If there's a bustle in your hedgerow." At that point, the drummer begins playing in earnest, marking a new section of the song, one more solidly rock in nature; the drums mark out a pattern in four, with continual high-hat punctuated by snare and, less frequently, by bass drum. Afterwards, the song moves into a driving, hard rock passage that culminates in a return to an echoing, almost empty vocal solo.
The rhythmic changes structure the song as a series of short movements, each with a distinct character, but all unified in the presentation of a single theme and variations upon it. The movement structure typifies longer orchestral and symphonic works, but is rare in rock, in which there is seldom time to effectively sub-divide a song in such a manner. As such, "Stairway to Heaven" employs unusual-for-rock rhythmic structures and so, along with the other things it does, presents itself as an example of progressive rock.
That Led Zeppelin's most famous work is an example of progressive rock does not mean that the band as a whole is wrongly-identified as a hard-rock group. Rather, it serves to highlight the band's ability to participate in multiple musical genres. This makes of Led Zeppelin a better band.
Works Cited
Holy Bible: King James Version. Thomas Nelson, n.d. Print.
Led Zeppelin. "Stairway to Heaven." BBC Sessions. Atlantic, 1997. CD.
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