Structure and Self-will, Berlin and Murray

Posted by Glenn Jackson at Monday, September 5, 2011 5:20:44 PM EDT

Works:
Berlin, James A. “Rhetoric and Ideology in the Writing Class.” Teaching Composition: Background Readings, Third Ed. T.R. Johnson, Ed. Boston, MA: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2008. Print. 117-137.

Murray, Donald M. “Teach Writing as a Process Not a Product.” Cross-Talk in Composition Theory: A Reader. Ed. Victor Villanueva. Urbana, IL: NCTE, 2003. Print. 3-6.

Rowan's article, "A New Pedagogy for Explanatory Public Speaking."

Berlin begins by saying that, “Rhetoric is never a disinterested arbiter” (118), and this idea immediately presented a boundary in my mind: no one believes that writing takes only one correct path, yet I’d know that my students seek a correct structure for writing—that is, my best and most organized students do. In any form of writing, they want to find a formula, a structure, and a flowchart to help them emulate a model for writing. These are not my favorite students. My favorite students ignore all this information for narrative papers, and the reserve a select few of these techniques for research writing courses and work within their chosen major. I enjoy Berlin’s article because he appears to be addressing those writers who ignore structure and are willing to challenge what he calls mutability, consequences, ambitions, and fears (118). Like Rowan for our next class, Berlin asserts that rhetoric operates under a set of assumptions, and that those assumptions always break down rhetoric and knowledge because they prevent a writer from exploring her own mind.

Berlin quotes Flower and Hayes, and also like Rowan, asserts that a structure and a “hierarchical network” allows writers to convey their intentions more efficiently and logically (123). Because I am not a visual writer or a visual thinker, I am particularly interested in these flowcharts and attempts to diagram model essays—or speeches, in Perl’s case—to help with my own writing and to teach better. I am, however, dismayed with this unilateral demonization of “the world of corporate capitalism” (123 and later). I agree that this is the world where today’s college student lives, but the university is supposed in this article to be a place of three thinking and discovery. Since basic composition allows us to explore and to hypothesize, it seems very negative to dwell on corporatism and the pursuit of money. I suspect this also begs for essays full of angst and negative criticism rather than positive suggestions.

The sort of writing that this anti-capitalist rhetoric encourages are probably best treated by what Berlin calls “Cognitive Rhetoric” (121-126), which show disruptions, impediments, and the problem solving heuristics that can correct those errors. In my own mind, I compare these disruptions to what music calls accidentals, and I know that in written music, those anomalies are a spice, a varietal, and a trait of style. They don’t need corrected so much as pointed out, tempered, and used sparsely.

For peace of mind I wanted to summarize by saying that the Social-epistemic Rhetoric which Berlin champions looks like A combination of, rather than an evolution of, Cognitive Rhetoric and Expressionist Rhetoric.

I appreciate Murray’s analogy of dissection and autopsy, as well as his view of writing as craftsmanship. I very much disagree that producing a first draft takes only percent or so of an author’s time (4). His list of ten implications are welcome guidelines, and appear to fall in line with the spirit of 1972 writing programs according to Berlin. I will nitpick one point about “Teaching Writing as a Process Not Product,” though: he says that each draft should be “counted as equal to a new paper” (No. 4, p.4), but then stipulates that a student is “not graded on drafts” (No. 9, p.4). His point about the purchase of new class materials, including funding and gadgetry, speaks directly to me, and I will take his advice about “shutting up” in good faith—it’s advice I often deserve. Sallie Tisdale gave this writing advice: “You don’t write. You get out of the way.” If I could just be quiet and get out of my students’ way, I know their writing would flow steadily. When they are home, though, I don’t know what is in their way, so I wish I could convince them to free their personal space at home for their personal expression.