I got it from the library, and unless you collect Sherlock Holmes-related works that’s what I’d recommend. Bayard puts together a pretty clever case for the alternate killer, but it’s my recollection that he spent too much time on justifying his basic premise – that there could be a “real” killer other than the one Doyle intended. Bayard is a lit professor and may have felt obligated to explain how this fit within the realm of literary criticism, but I kept waiting for him to get on with it. I wouldn’t have bothered reading the book if I weren’t already okay with the idea of fanwanking.
If you’re looking for witty, clever, and fun, I’d recommend instead John Sutherland’s books on literary puzzles, such as Is Heathcliff a Murderer? They’re collections of short essays that address things that are puzzling in well-known works of fiction, including omissions/mistakes on the part of the author and common misunderstandings by readers.
Ayn Rand genuinely believed that her books were the greatest literary masterworks of the 20th century, and the most important philosophical treatises of the modern age.
Wow. Seriously? Is it possible this is an UL? I mean… Wow. I know other people who hold those views about Atlas Shrugged, but Rand herself? That’s…that’s just lost, man!
Jeff Koons has repeatedly said his art isn’t making any underlying statements about anything, but I hold fast to the belief that his work is both a critical (in the critical thinking sense) and affirmative statement about the aesthetic significance embodied in kitsch and the commoditization of high art. Further, I believe that his statements that his art isn’t making any statement is part of the statement (in sort of a gloriously recursive dialogue about art in the age of mechanical reproduction).
A++ for the current retrospective at the Whitney, by the way.
I always believe an artist knows best what he was trying to create. If he indicates something different from what I’ve interpreted, I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.
One example that has not been mentioned here yet is Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. He meant it as an expose of harsh labor conditions, particularly those encountered by immigrants. But the health violations and unsanitary practices are what generated the most buzz.
For some reason, reading this thread makes me think about the movie Back to School, where Sally Kellerman’s character assigns Rodney Dangerfield’s character a report on Slaughterhouse Five (or something like that), and hands his paper back to him with the comment “Whoever wrote this probably never even read any Kurt Vonnegut.”
And of course, Dangerfield’s character had paid Vonnegut himself to write the paper.
Richard Donner claims that in Radio Flyer he had no intention for the younger brother to be imaginary as a way for Elijah Wood’s character to deal with abuse. I, and many others, think it’s very clear.
I think that most artists - or at least, most good artists - try to create something they themselves enjoy. They may not always know *why *they enjoy it, though.
The view you’re responding to is alive and well, and not just in pomo but in analytic philosophy. Look up derived vs intrinsic intentionality. Most philosophers (maybe all?*) put all written symbols on the derived side.
*I technically count as one by credentials and I actually put some texts in some contexts on the intrinsic side but I’ve got a really idiosyncratic account of intrinsic intentionality and I’m not anyone anybody should listen to.
ETA: People will probably want to jump on me for assimilating the derived/intrinsic intentionality discussion to the topic of authorial intent but suffice to say I think the connection can be made meaningfully, but don’t want to hijack the thread so I’ll leave it at that.
Wait, did Gene Wilder not like his work on Willy Wonka, or something? He defined that role so perfectly that in 30 years the only person who was audacious enough to even try to fill those shoes was Johnny Motherfucking Depp, and even he failed miserably, in a role that seemed all but tailor-made for his type of insanity.
IIRC, Agatha Christie once wrote a couple of female characters who live together and have no use for men – and one is, uh, kinda ‘butch’, and the other is, y’know, pretty danged ‘femme’ – and, as the author, she insisted that people were reading too much into it; she hadn’t intended them to be gay; they were simply based on two real-life women she happened to know, who just happened to live together and et cetera.
So if the real-life inspirations were gay, then what was she actually trying to create?
In the same way, Bob Dylan has a lot of turnover in his band, and he says that during rehearsals before every tour, some new musician will approach him and say, “Bob, my favorite song of yours is (I’m making this up) ‘Psychedelic Watermelon Blues’- can we do that one in the show?” And frequently Dylan will ask, “That’s one of MY songs?” The musician will respond incredulously, “Well, YEAH, it’s one of your songs! It’s, like, the best song you ever wrote.” Dylan will then ask, “How does it go?” And then Bob will have to re-learn a song he himself wrote that he’d completely forgotten.
Small wonder that, whenever people ask him what a song means, Dylan invariably gives the frustrating non-answer, “Well, I guess whatever you think it means is what it means to you.”
Decon has its place. Unfortunately, it’s kudzued all over the critical spectrum.
In my example above, for example, Heinlein was simply, flat-out, factually wrong in his statements about his work. No interpretation or subjective analysis required.
