Last week, when Phillip Martin spoke at Harding about the role of a film critic, he made an interesting statement. He said that you never see the same movie twice, and nobody sitting in the theater at the same time sees the same movie. When you see a film, whether for the first or fifth time, you bring to it what you are at that very moment.
It’s the same with reading. More than once back in high school I read an assigned book and thought, “What’s the big deal?” Yet, years later, when re-reading the same book I ended by marveling at its wisdom and beauty. The book had not changed. I had.
Literary theorists have a term for this phenomenon; it’s called Reader Response Theory. Basically, this theory focuses on the reader and his or her reaction to the work. It sees the reader as an active participant in constructing the meaning of a text. Staunch proponents of this theory argue that there is no inherent meaning in a text; there is only the meaning that is created in the full cycle of author—text—reader.
I would not go so far. I believe that the text itself does have meaning, that the author makes all kinds of decisions—in plot, in diction, in structure, in allusion, etc.—in order to convey a particular idea or theme to his audience. But that does not negate the role of reader. I cannot help but approach every text from the viewpoint of who I am. My age, my gender, my religion, my family background, all the myriad experiences of my life go into shaping who I am as I approach a text, and therefore how I see it.
I think this is why I don’t feel as if the reading cycle is complete until I discuss what I’ve read with other people. My response alone is valid, but the combined responses of a group flesh out the possibilities of a text in a way impossible for me as a single reader.
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