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It starts badly.
I manage, with difficulty, to move beyond the initial disillusion-- the ordinary-looking plump woman of fifty who reads from her paper without a shred of authority cannot possibly be Sedgwick, the renowned, celebrated pioneer critic of Queer Theory, the controversial, shocking, polemical author of the scandalous “Jane Austen and the Masturbating Girl.” But she is.
Fair enough: looks aren’t everything, suggests the muted conscientious wannabe-tolerant voice in my head, and thus I turn my attention to content. I expect to be slightly overwhelmed by insightful analyses of “Remembrances of Things Past” but she’s rambling semi-emotionally about textile. And I don’t mean a linguistic tissue exquisitely wrought by Proust in his famous complex prose, or even a textile of intertextuality creating a framework in which we might consider Queer Theory— No. She talks of real, bloody textile. Crochet. Embroidery. Kimono Cloth. Her fascination with Buddhism. Non-Dualism. Form does not differ from emptiness. Emptiness does not differ from form. Being disabused by the palpable fantasy of omnipotence. She nonchalantly throws at her audience the most random philosophical concepts that may or may not be intricately connected to literary theory, thoroughly contradicts them, uses polysyllabic words at a frequency that would drive a thesaurus mad, comments when somebody walks out, and then proceeds to explore the relationship between Shibori and fractality in her own textile art. I try very hard to believe that ‘textile art’ as an allegory for Literature. But it’s not.
In the next room, the English Department drinks have begun. I want to leave.
In the next room, the English Department drinks have begun. I want to leave. I wanted to before, but all this talk of texture and tuma-whatever-shi (a Japanese cloth-paint practice) and the ever-receding nature of Something which disrupts the schematics of dimension and scale, the mortifying powerlessness of her indolent cancer—well, frankly it’s not helping. I exchange semi-distressed, semi-amused glances with my neighbour. Again, I try to focus: “Making Things, Practicising Emptiness.” All that evokes, is my acute desire for a glass of wine and pseudo-politico-religious conversations with fellow students born out of mildly inebriated minds.
By now I am mourning for the hour I just lost. I might have used my time more wisely had I not come—read the texts for tomorrow’s seminar, or more realistically, had coffee with a friend or stalked people via facebook. But I’m here. I’m here reflecting upon the fact that out of all the words she has uttered in the last five minutes the only one I can correctly spell is “cyanotype” and only because of the “colour options” of my photo camera. More importantly, by now, I could be having free drinks. That’s a spondee.
“We’ll deal with that later,” she says evasively. Later? What does she mean later? How much later? I give furtive looks toward the clock and look through the door catching glimpses of my fellow students with their free drinks.
I’d never walked out of a lecture before. I have now.
I felt that it was time to speak up about those that walked out of the lecture given by Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. Firstly to illuminate some of you on the content of the lecture- this was NOT a lecture about queery theory nor was it intended to be, or about literature. In fact this lecture was arranged by the History of Art Department- hmmm yes that's perhaps why she did talk about textiles and techniques- fancy that?
Secondly, I think it says a lot about a person that feels that they do have attach significance to the way a person looks. Apparently it is true that you don't have feminist sympathies because despite Sedgwick's intellectual force that she has displayed through her pioneering work in Queer Theory, this seems to have evaporated in your mind when you saw this' plump- looking fifty year old' as you put it. But at least you have got one thing right- looks aren't everything.
Whilst I would have loved to have listened to Sedgwick's thoughts on Queer Theory or other literary matters I had actually read what the lecture was about. I was quite happy to listen to her lecture and had I felt disgusted at the lack of respect shown to this woman. It was embarrassing for our University to see that our students displayed a lack of intellectual strength- that they couldn't sit through a lecture! I'm not suggesting that one doesn't have a choice but perhaps next time, those that attend a lecture might want to think about whether they have the ability to open their minds and try and gleam something from what is being presented- and if not perhaps they should stay at home and watch T.V. - or read a book.
Your egoistic response to the visit of one of the most distinguished scholars in the world simply astounds me. This event had clearly been organised by the history of art department and, as such, your surprise at the content of the lecture is entirely down to your own ignorance and failure to simply assess what you were going to see. I agree with everything the person above me said, and only need add a few further things. You epitomise my disappoint in everyone who walked out of that lecture: it was only an hour long and I think that anyone who had come to speak (especially to an audience that had submitted themselves voluntarily) deserves the little respect of not having hoards of people leave every five minutes - distinguished scholars or not. You (and everyone else who left) also disgust me in your lack of respect to the staff and your other peers - for example, will the staff organise these events in the future if they run the risk of embarassment when people leave? If not, then the rest of us who enjoy such intellectual stimulation will be the ones that suffer. The only thing of substance that your article offered was your self-deprecating epithet as the 'naive english lit fresher'. Grow up, gain a modicum of respect, and open your mind to the possibility that some people are infinitely more intelligent than yourself: you might just learn something.
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