Yesterday, I attended new teacher orientation for the school district where I'll be teaching starting next month. One of the things that was brought up in passing was how times had changed (some, like myself, have more than 5 years experience, and can remember seeing changes from the late 1990s to the present) and how the authority of the teacher had changed. I remember thinking how easily this could be applied to so much else.
Recently, there have been a few posts here and there (too lazy to look up the exact links, but I believe Matt Staggs had a few of them in the past couple of weeks included in his daily links posts) about how people have come to view critics (namely, those who discuss books) differently over the past decade or so. I'm not concerned with discussing the in's and out's of how critics can appeal to a changing audience or even with the dynamics of such changes, but rather I am interested in the notion of what "authority" means.
Used to be "authority" was more than someone imposing his (and occasionally her, but usually "his" in the more patriarchal past) viewpoints upon others. For literary/artistic matters, "authority" was not so much a fiat from above, but rather the result of a complicit agreement among the readership that the person discussing X, Y, or Z had something of value to say. In many cases, it was due to a somewhat homogenized form of education, one in which erudition was highly valued. Not always, of course, lest those reading this start reaching for their knives to sharpen, but it was part of the arrangement.
But to a large degree, those days have passed. There is much more heterogeneity in people's educations, standards of life, etc. Not as many things are held in common. Factionalization and the increased division of elements of culture into "defined" groups has only hastened in the past few generations. There is no longer any pretense of there being a "general audience." We are all specialized audiences.
In such a situation, "authority" is going to be viewed quite differently. Since there wouldn't be such a complicit agreement, observers might be more inclined to "challenge" or even "disavow" any sort of "authority" that runs counter to their own tastes. This certainly can be seen in the classroom, as teachers who expect to impose their "authority" tend to learn quite quickly (or else burn out in a couple of years) that the classroom environment has changed and the teacher as authority figure model has to change with it, or else risk losing legitimacy in the eyes of students.
I suspect a similar case applies with book reviewing and "authority." Nowadays, with the proliferation of various media, there are no real "authorities" remaining; only influential members of various consistuencies. There are no more Olympian proclamations, only commentaries that may be tailored to whatever audience the erstwhile critic is addressing. In a way, I kind of miss the notion of "authority," of the idea that someone could be educated and thoughtful enough to say things that a good number of people would find worthwhile enough to consider, if not something with which to agree. While I don't miss the baggage that came with it (racism, chauvinism, etc.) on occasion, there is something to be said for a model in which the audience could take the critic's comments into account.
I just don't know if I'm comfortable with the notion of just anyone writing reviews or commentaries and having them being considered co-equal. I'm one of those who like to seek out those who excel at communicating their ideas and their understandings of texts and right now, it can be a real hassle. I'm also distrustful of unqualified praise and sometimes I miss the snarkiness that a Mencken could bring to the table. Perhaps it's just a nostalgic feeling, perhaps not. Just something I pondered briefly yesterday, while my mind started its shift back to thinking about lesson plans, projects, and how to communicate a love of world history to my incoming students. Three weeks to go.
Top-left: Italian edition, Il Piccolo Principe; Hungarian edition, A Kis Herceg
Top-left: Serbian edition, Mali Princ (gift to me); English edition, The Little Prince
