264 American Literature
Of American literature, Kolodny is quite explicit about this last point: “the success of these projects will be measured not by their finality but by their success in offering information and cognitive skills that enable readers to appreciate a fuller variety of texts than those which now compromise our standard canon.” I agree with this goal and much else in Kolodny’s argument, which I have only begun to sketch here; but I would add that these projects should also be judged by what they offer concerning the standard canon, those old masters and mistresses (however few) who will now be surrounded by other figures but who will still be major presences. So long as we are engaged with Hemingway (or Emerson, or Thoreau, or Hawthorne, or Melville), we should ask our literary historians to present information and cognitive skills that will helps us to understand the aesthetic value of the writer’s works as well as their political or cultural implications.
My obvious skepticism about the fate of the old masters in a feminist literary history can of course be dismissed as nostalgic elitism. In any case, what I have just said about understanding the writer’s works will certainly be seen as a very old-fashioned aestheticism, for I seem to imply that the political and cultural implications of a work are irrelevant to its value. And in fact I do believe that the aesthetic achievement of most works is only partially conditioned by their political implications. So I am not likely to agree with Jane Tompkins that “works that have attained the status of classic, and are therefore believed to embody universal values, are in fact embodying only the interests to embody universal values, are in fact embodying only the interests of whatever parties or factions are responsible for maintaining them in their preeminent position.” Tompkins’ book, Sensational Designs, is an extremely forceful plea for this view, reminding us that we speak quite confidently of, say, Melville’s “universality” while neglecting the obvious fact that in his own time Melville was not even popular, let alone a classic. Tompkins also reminds us that to some extent a writer’s continuing reputation depends
“The Integrity of Memory: Creating a New Literary History of the United States,” American Literature, 57 (1985), 301. For statements of editorial purpose concerning these projects, see Sacvan Bercovitch, “America as Canon and Context: Literary History in a Time of Dissensus,” American Literature, 59 (1986), 99-108, and Emory Elliott, “New Literary History: Past and Present,” American Literature, 57 (1985), 611-21, and “The Politics of Literary History,” American Literature, 59 (1987), 268-76.
Tompkins, p. 4.