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Reader Response Criticism
Reader Response Criticism
There were front and back doors and a side door which led to
the garage which was empty except for three parked 10-speed
bikes. They went in the side door, Mark explaining that it was
always open in case his younger sisters got home earlier than
their mother.
Pete wanted to see the house so Mark started with
the living room. It, like the rest of the downstairs, was
newly painted. Mark turned on the stereo, the noise
of which worried Pete. “Don’t worry, the nearest
house is a quarter of a mile away,” Mark shouted.
Pete felt more comfortable observing that no houses
could be seen in any direction beyond the huge yard.
The dining room, with all the china, silver and cut
glass, was no place to play so the boys moved into the
kitchen, where they made sandwiches. Mark said
they wouldn’t go to the basement because it had
been damp and musty ever since the new plumbing
had been installed.
“This is where my Dad keeps his famous paintings and
his coin collection,” Mark said as they peered into the
den. Mark bragged that he could get spending money
whenever he needed it since he’d discovered that his
Dad kept a lot in the desk drawer.
There were three upstairs bedrooms. Mark showed Pete
his mother’s closet which was filled with furs and the
locked box which held her jewels. His sister’s room was
uninteresting except for the color TV, which Mark carried
to his room. Mark bragged that the bathroom in the hall
was his since one had been added to his sisters’ room for
their use. The big highlight in his room, though, was a
leak in the ceiling where the old roof had finally rotted.
(This passage, taken from a psychological study conducted by J.A.Pichert and R.C.Anderson, is
used by Lois Tyson to teach reader-response theory. Tyson 155)
Imagine that you are a home buyer and circle any detail, positive or negative, that you think
would be important if you were considering buying the house described in the passage.
Positive Qualities
• tall hedges (safe from observation)
• no one home on Thursdays
• finely landscaped yard (those folks have money)
• 3 10-speed bikes in garage, side door always left
open
• Nearest house ¼ mi. away (safe from observation)
• many portable goods: stereo, china, silver, cut glass,
• paintings, coin collection, furs, box of jewels, tv set
• cash kept in desk drawer (Tyson 156).
«The house of fiction has in short not one
window, but a million – a number of possible
windows not to be reckoned, rather; every one of
which has been pierced, or is still pierceable, in its
vast front, by the need of the individual vision and
by the pressure of the individual will.»
What is a text?
Is it simply the words or symbols on a page?
How can we differentiate between what is actually in the text and
what is in the mind of the reader?
Who is this reader?
Are there various kinds of readers?
Is it possible that different texts presuppose different kinds of readers?
What about a reader’s response to a text?
Are the responses equivalent to the text’s meaning?
Can one reader’s response be more correct than another reader’s, or
are all responses of equal validity? (Bressler 81).
Although readers respond to the same text in a variety
of ways, why many readers individually arrive at the
same conclusions or interpretations of the same text?
What part, if any, does the author play in a work’s
interpretation? Can the author’s attitudes toward the
reader actually influence a work’s meaning? If a
reader knows the author’s clearly stated intentions for
a text, does this information have any part in creating
the text’s meaning, or should an author’s intentions
for a work be ignored?
The concerns of reader-oriented critics can be best
summarized in one question:
What is and what happens during the reading
process? (Bressler 81).
• The reader, including his or her view of the
world, background, purpose for reading,
knowledge of the world, knowledge of
words
• The text, with all its various linguistic
elements
• Meaning, or how the text and the reader
interact or transact so that the reader
can make sense of the printed material
(Bressler 81).
Prince’s concerns about the reader place him in the reader-oriented school
of criticism, though such an approach relies heavily on textual analysis.
Narratology is the process of analyzing a story using all the elements
involved in its telling, such as narrator, voice, style, verb tense, personal
pronouns, audience, and so forth.
In the 1970s, Gerard Prince helped develop a specific kind of structuralism
known as narratology.
Prince noted that critics often ask questions about the story’s point of view –
omniscient, limited, first person – but rarely ask about the person to whom
the narrator is speaking, the narratee. Prince argues that the narrative
itself, the story, produces the narratee. Prince believes it is possible not only
to identify the narratee but also to classify stories based on the different
kinds of narratees created by the texts themselves. Such narratees may
include the real reader (person actually reading the book), the virtual reader
(the reader to whom the author believes he or she is writing), and the ideal
reader (the one who explicitly and implicitly understands all the nuances,
terminology, and structure of the text). (Bressler 83).
Second group of reader-oriented critics follow
Rosenblatt’s assumption that the reader is
involved in a transactional experience when
interpreting a text. Both the text and the reader
play somewhat equal parts in the interpretative
process. For them, reading is an event that
culminates in the creation of the poem. Many
adherents in this group – Wolfgang Iser, Hans
Robert Jauss, Roman Ingarden – are often
associated with phenomenology. (Bressler 83).
Phenomenology is a modern philosophical tendency
that emphasizes the perceiver. For phenomenologists,
objects can have meaning only if an active
consciousness (a perceiver) absorbs or notes their
existence. In other words, objects exist if we register
them in our consciousness.
Rosenblatt’s definition of a poem directly applies this
theory. The true poem can exist only in the reader’s
consciousness, not on the printed page. When a
reader and text transact, the poem and, therefore,
meaning are created; they exist only in the
consciousness of the reader. (Bressler 84).
Reading and textual analysis now become an
aesthetic experience, in which both the
reader and the text combine in the
consciousness of the reader to create the
poem. So, the reader’s imagination must
work, fill in the gaps in the text and conjecture
about characters’ actions, personality traits,
and motives. The ideas and practices of two-
reader-oriented critics, Jauss and Iser, serve to
illustrate phenomenology’s methodology.
(Bressler 84).
Toward the end of the 1960s, The German critic Hans Robert
Jauss emphasizes that a text’s social history must be
considered when interpreting the text.
He espouses reception theory and asserts that readers from
any given historical period devise for themselves the criteria
whereby they will judge a text. Jauss argues that because each
historical period establishes its own horizons of expectation,
the overall value and meaning of any text can never become
fixed or universal; readers from any given historical period
establish for themselves what they value in a text. A text, then,
does not have one and only one correct interpretation because
its supposed meaning changes from one historical period to
another. A final assessment about any literary work thus
becomes impossible. Jauss declares that although the text itself
remains important in the interpretive process, the reader plays
an essential role. (Bressler 84).
• The German phenomenologist Wolfgang Iser borrows and amends
Jauss’s ideas. Iser believes that any object – a stone, a house, a poem
– does not achieve meaning until an active consciousness recognizes
or registers this object. He declares that as soon as a text is read, the
object and the reader (the perceiver) are essentially one.
Iser differentiates two kinds of readers. The first is the implied
reader, who “embodies all those predispositions necessary for a
literary work to exercise its effect… consequently, the implied
reader… has his or her roots firmly planted in the structure of the
text” (Iser, 1978). In other words, the implied reader is the reader
implied by the text, one who is predisposed to appreciate the overall
effects of the text.
The actual reader is the person who physically picks up the text and
reads it. This reader comes to the text shaped by particular cultural
and personal norms and prejudices. (Bressler 84-85).
Similar to Jauss, Iser disavows the New Critical stance that
a text has one and only one correct meaning and asserts
that a text has many possible interpretations. For Iser, texts
do not possess meaning. When a text is concretized, ( the
phenomenological concept whereby the text registers in
the reader’s consciousness) the reader automatically views
the text from his or her personal worldview. As texts do
not tell the reader everything that needs to be known
about a character, a situation, a relationship, or other such
textual elements, readers must automatically fill in these
“gaps”, using their own knowledge, worldview. In addition,
each reader creates his or her own horizons of expectation
–that is, expectations about what will or may or should
happen next. (Bressler 85).
So,
Filling in the text’s gaps = making sense of the
text = continually adopting new horizons of
expectation
According to Iser, each reader makes “concrete”
the text; each concretization is, therefore,
personal, allowing the new creation to be unique.
The reader is an active, essential player in the
text’s interpretation, writing part of the text as the
story is read and concretized and, indispensably,
becoming its coauthor. (Bressler 86).
Wolfgang Iser
Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great
care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her
husband’s death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences. […] Her
husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her. She wept at once,
with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm
of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would
have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair.
Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that
haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees
that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of
rain was in the air. […] countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
[…]
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke
repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull
stare in her eyes.
[…]
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it,
fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and
clusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching
toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled
the air.
Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to
recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her…. When
she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her
slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath:
“Free, free, free!” […] “Free! Body and soul free!” she kept
whispering.
Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips
to the keyhole, imploring for admission. “Louise, open the
door! I beg; open the door – you will make yourself ill. What
are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.”
“Go away. I am not making myself ill.” No; she was drinking
in a very elixir of life through that open window.
Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her.
Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that
would be her own […] She arose at length and opened the
door to her sister’s importunities. There was a feverish
triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like
a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister’s waist, and
together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting
for them at the bottom.
Some one was opening the front door with
a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who
entered, a little travel-stained, composedly
carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had
been far from the scene of accident, and did
not even know there had been one. He stood
amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry; at
Richards’ quick motion to screen him from the
view of his wife.
But Richards was too late.
When the doctors came they said she had
sied of heart disease –of joy that kills.
Chopin’s “The Story of an Hour” (1894) is about a
woman, Mrs. Mallard, struggling with heart trouble.
Her sister Josephine tells her the news of her
husband’s death. She weeps at once. She can see in
the open square trees, which can be the symbol for
freedom, and new spring life, symbol of rebirth. She
can taste the delicious breath of rain in the air. She
hears the notes of a distant song and sparrows. She is
rediscovering life. However, at the end of the story,
she dies when she sees her husband, Brently Mallard,
alive. The end of the story may be tragic but a
woman’s understanding of what the freedom is
apparently more effective.
I belong to that classification of people known
as wives. I am a wife. And, not altogether
incidentally, I am a mother.
Not too long ago a male friend of mine
appeared on the scene fresh from a recent
divorce. He had one child, who is, of course,
with his ex-wife. He is looking for another
wife. As I thought about him while I was
ironing one evening, it suddenly occurred to
me that I, too, would like to have a wife. Why
do I want a wife?
I would like to go back to school so that I can
become economically independent, support
myself, and, if need be, support those dependent
upon me. I want a wife who will work and send
me to school. And while I am going to school, I
want a wife to take care of my children.
[…]
I want a wife who will take care of my physical
needs. I want a wife who will keep my house
clean.
[…]
I want a wife who will keep my clothes clean,
ironed, mended, replaced when need be, and
who will see to it that my personal things are
kept in their proper place so that I can find what
I need the minute I need it. I want a wife who
cooks the meals, a wife who is a good cook. I
want a wife who will plan the menus, do the
necessary grocery shopping, prepare the meals,
serve them pleasantly, and then do the cleaning
up while I do my studying. I want a wife who will
care for me when I am sick and sympathize with
my pain and loss of time from school.
I want a wife who will not bother me with
rambling complaints about a wife's duties.
If, by chance, I find another person more
suitable as a wife than the wife I already have,
I want the liberty to replace my present wife
with another one. Naturally, I will expect a
fresh, new life; my wife will take the children
and be solely responsible for them so that I
am left free.
When I am through with school and have a
job, I want my wife to quit working and remain
at home so that my wife can more fully and
completely take care of a wife's duties. My
God, who wouldn't want a wife?
The speech “Why I Want a Wife?”, a legendary feminist satire, was
delivered by Judy Syfers delivered on August 26, 1970.
Bety Friedan, an extract from “That Has No
Name” (1963)
The problem lay buried, unspoken, for many years
in the minds of American women. It was a strange
stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction, a yearning that
women suffered in the middle the twentieth
century in the United States. Each suburban wife
struggled with it alone. As she made the beds,
shopped for groceries, ate peanut butter
sandwiches with her children, lay beside her
husband at night – she was afraid to ask even of
herself the silent question – “Is this all?”
In this presentation, all the
works of art as the examples
reflecting the gender issue are
given to indicate the application
of Reader-Response Criticism to
the literary texts.
Reader-response theory does not aim
for uniformity of interpretation, nor
does it assume that uniformity is
possible; it does, however, help to
account for the diversity of
interpretations and to encourage
participation in a community of
interpreters. (Weele 146).
Works Cited
• Bressler, Charles E. Literary Criticism: An Introduction to Theory and Practice. Fourth Edition. New Jersey:
Pearson Education, Inc., 2007.
• Carter, Angela. “The Snow Child” in The Bloody Chamber. London: Vintage Books, 2006: 105-106.
• Doss, Erika. Twentieth-Century American Art. Oxford New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
• Fish, Stanley. Is There A Text in This Class? : The Authority of Interpretive Communities. London: Harvard
University Press, 1980.
• Grimm, J.L.C. and Grimm W.C., “Snow White” in Grimms’ Fairy Tales, London: CRW Publishing Limited,
2004: 199-208
• Holland, Norman H. The Dynamics of Literary Response. New York: Columbia University Press, 1989.
• Iser, Wolfgang. The Act of Reading: A Theory of Aesthetic Response. London: The Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1987.
• Rosenblatt, Louise M. The Reader The Text The Poem: The Transactional Theory of the Literary Work.
Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University Press, 1994.
• Tompkins, Jane P. Ed. Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to Post-Structuralism. London: The Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1992.
• Tyson, Lois. Critical Theory Today: A User-Friendly Guide. New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc.,
1999.
• Weele, Michael Vander. “Reader-Response Theories” in Contemporary Literary Theory: A Christian
Appraisal. Eds. Clarence Walhout and Leland Ryken.