In today’s complex world, the more analytical and rhetorical tools you have, the better off. That thinking was confirmed uniquely a couple years ago when I put up a a blog on "reading subtexts.. Surprised by the comments and “thank yous,” I’ve decided to go a bit further into what my discipline of rhetoric calls “close reading.” By “close reading,” I’m referring to both print and spoken messages and to more than just the literal words. As in, “If I’m reading the vice-president correctly, he’ll reject that proposal out of hand.”
So, when I talk about subtexts, I’m referring to covert meanings, hidden commitments, undiscussables,” or what's not said. The meanings are not immediately clear, but over time and with context, the listener can understand what’s meant.
For example, a student goes to turn in his paper. After looking through two pages, his teacher asks, “Are you sure you want to turn this in?” The literal text is a question that asks for a yes or no. The meaning of the text is suggested by the actual words, message and action discussed. But the student understands her subtext--that his paper may have some typos, misspelling or syntax problems. By her question, she gives the student the latitude to make his own decision about the paper—or receive a lower grade.
A different tool, beyond that notion of subtext, is what does the meaning of a text do to a person’s thoughts, motives, actions or predispositions? This is the kind of analysis that is usually much more complex. It requires a richer, fuller understanding of the context—the teacher’s past comments about his writing ability.
In this larger context, the student remembers many positive comments his teacher has made about his writing. So her question means that there’s nothing wrong with the paper as such. But given the larger context, he recognizes that she’s reminding him that he’s more capable of original, creative writing. Based on the past, her question asks whether he wants to enhance his writing. So what does he think about redoing the paper, giving further thought, insight and color to his article? In sum, it’s a question about his unusual originality and creativity.
This analytical tool can be even more useful for stories, anecdotes and movies.
I watched a couple of absolutely fascinating movies over the past month. The stories and the acting in both were rich and warm. One about a heterosexual relationship and the other about gay relations. The first, the 2005 “Pride and Prejudice” starred Keira Knightly and Matthew Macfadyen. The second was the BBCs “Man in an Orange Shirt,” with Vanessa Redgrave. Curious, because of their power over me, I watched both of them a couple times...
“Pride and Prejudice” is Jane Austen’s tale of an upper-class, convoluted, man’s love of a sophisticated middle-class young woman in late eighteenth-century England—narrated from the perspective of the woman. The verbal language was just knockout, as only the Brits can do. After all, they’ve been at great drama for twice as many centuries as we Americans. Though that culture left women dependent upon men, Austen uses narrative to challenge the status quo with the sophistication of “Miss Elizabeth.” The impact of the nonverbals on me was especially telling. Not merely the refined curtsying and bowing, but the innate distancing of the spoken language when compared to our casual linguistic familiarities. When you put the languages of verbal and nonverbal together, the film accentuated the unusual sophistication of one woman in a society that deferred to male dominance and intelligence.
But what I walked away with was the highly distinct caste system of British society, male dominance, the power of the upper-class and the challenges a woman faces. I found myself thinking about our American caste system, exaggerated by financial, educational and racial differences, has created seemingly unresolvable distinctions over 250 years. And rethinking how our society marginalizes groups of people. I also mused over the numbers of people who watched, but may have seen only the surfaces, the different polite behaviors and a woman speaking back to a man—completely missing Austen’s point, much less the insights it suggests about our world.
The “Orange Shirt” begins during WWII, a time in England when gay relations were punishable with prison terms. Close reading emphasizes that we take the historical context seriously, and what we can miss if we misunderstand that context. Those who had watched The Imitation Game in which Benedict Cumberbatch played Alan Turing--the homosexual British mathematician who has since been acknowledged as one the most innovative and powerful thinkers of the 20th century and the progenitor of modern computing--would have an awareness of the film’s context. Turing committed suicide as a criminal, having been convicted under Victorian laws as a homosexual and forced to endure chemical castration.
Britain didn’t take its first steps toward decriminalizing homosexuality until 1967. It was not until 2009 when the Prime Minister apologized for the horrible treatment of homosexuals. But it was not until 2016 that Oscar Wilde, the Irish playwright and novelist was also pardoned posthumously. An action that the brilliant, gay, British actor, Rupert Everett, called the “last fart of British hypocrisy.” “The Man in the Orange Shirt” depicts two generations, the conflicts between the gay grandfather, his lover and young wife in the early years after WWII. The second episode showed the struggles of his widow--played by Vanessa Redgrave--as a casualty of that pointless prejudice, sixty years later, and the grandmother of a gay grandson.
Portrayed eloquently by the almost unbelievable humanness of the actors, I was moved by the depiction of the injuries prejudice foists upon people. The legendary Redgrave, displaying the multi-layering of her role, was glorious to behold. Her acting calls to mind the dazzling panoply of the human emotions, yet the difficulty the technological world creates in our control of emotional expression. And how many face limitations and sometimes damage because of their lack of an emotional vocabulary. And also how difficult it can be to express our humanness—and what that failure can do to our world and our children. It was another confirmation of our pointless, destructive prejudices about gender and marriage. Prejudices now taking still a different shape from the rampant, thoughtless American tribalism.
I hope you can see that communicating the results of a close reading to other people is what turns you into a critic—and a far more interesting conversationalist. What I’ve found over the years is that when I engage in conversations using these critical tools, my colleagues and clients want to engage with me. It makes for very interesting conversations, liberates people to healthy conflicts and adds to my own insights, sometimes calling them into question. Sure, I can engage in boring sports conversations, but I sure as hell want conversations that are a lot more than that.
Ohh, yeah. I’ve had numerous clients tell me in many different ways that these are the abilities that result in still, more business. It usually shakes out as “where did you get that idea?” Or, “god, your ideas are off the wall,” but always said respectfully, as in, “I’ve never thought about that before.” The tool is clearly a driver of both business and personal success. Of course, as you go up the business ladder, it’s your conversational ability that maximizes your future, not your technological competency.