Postmodern Pooh

By Frederick Crews

A sequel of sorts to the classic (and bestselling) sendup of literary criticism, The Pooh Perplex

Thirty-seven years ago, a slim parody of academic literary criticism called The Pooh Perplex became a surprise bestseller. Now Frederick Crews has written a hilarious new satire in the same vein. Purporting to be the proceedings of a forum on Pooh convened at the Modern Language Association's annual convention, Postmodern Pooh brilliantly parodies the academic fads and figures that hold sway at the millennium.

Deconstruction, poststructuralist Marxism, new historicism, radical feminism, cultural studies, recovered-memory theory, and postcolonialism, among other methods, take their shots at the poor teddy bear and Crews takes his shots at them. The fun lies in seeing just how much adulteration Pooh can stand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Apr 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781429930758

Frederick Crews

Frederick Crews is Professor Emeritus of English at University of California, Berkeley. Nearly 40 years ago he wrote The Pooh Perplex, a trailer for this book. He is also the author of The Memory Wars, a withering attack on 'recovered memory syndrome' and numerous other works. He is one of the most distinguished critics in the United States.

Book preview

Preface

A second Pooh Perplex, thirty-eight years after the first? Well, why not? The idea has often been urged upon your editor by fans of the original Perplex—mostly literary academics, of course, who have felt bewildered by the proliferation of cutting-edge critical schools since 1963. Another sprightly methodological survey, focusing on the same classic fiction as before, might be just what the doctor ordered to get us all up to speed with the ever-accelerating march of knowledge in our discipline.

Not every reader, of course, is old enough to remember the stir caused by The Pooh Perplex, and fewer still will know how to account for it. Truth to tell, no one was more puzzled than I by the book’s overnight success. I was then a struggling assistant professor of English, keenly aware of the ticking tenure clock as I cast about fruitlessly for a project—literary-critical, bibliographical, biblio-critico-historical—whose timely completion might ensure my permanency at UC-Berkeley. As a stopgap, I adopted the then-familiar plan of compiling a freshman casebook of other professors’ ruminations on a single body of work, the Pooh stories. Little did I suspect that those essays, lively though they doubtless were, would captivate thousands of readers. Apparently, I had underestimated the public’s hunger to know the best that was being thought and said in the groves of academe.

Although the prospect of an updated collection has never been out of your editor’s mind, it receded as the seventies succeeded the sixties, to be followed in due course by the eighties and then, inexorably, by the nineties. Casebooks are now rarely adopted in freshman English courses; age and infirmity have taken their toll on my mental agility; and, to be candid, I have been no less mystified by Post-Colonialism and Destruction and Queer Chicana Studies than have other academics trained in the once innovative principles of the New Criticism. I might have been a likelier candidate for studying someone else’s updated Perplex than for compiling one myself!

Here we are, however, ready to go with an array of stimulating and demanding contributions that every student of literature will, I am sure, be eager to get under his belt. I owe this happy outcome to Princeton’s great scholar-critic N. Mack Hobbs. He it was who revived my faith that Pooh could still reward inquiry from any critical quarter, even the most arcane; who conceived of an instrumentality for generating completely fresh essays, not already printed ones such as those I had harvested from journals back in 1963; and who, with selfless dedication both to me personally and to the cause of disinterested learning, saw the entire project through to completion. It all came about as follows.

In 1997, when I was on the verge of retiring from forty years of service to my Berkeley department, that unit was vigorously attempting—in vain, I regret to say—to woo the distinguished Professor Hobbs away from Princeton. On recruiting visits, Hobbs made a point of meeting privately with every member of our tenured staff and cordially inquiring into the current state of our research. In my own case, awkwardly, there was nothing to discuss. But, faute de mieux, I did press into Hobbs’s hand a warmly inscribed copy of The Pooh Perplex. He leafed through the book with mounting and barely contained enthusiasm, finally exclaiming, This is wonderful stuff! Do you know what you’ve got here, more than three decades before its time? It’s Teaching the Conflicts!

Hobbs went on to explain that Teaching the Conflicts was now all the rage in collegiate literary pedagogy. Previously, majors in English had been lurching haphazardly from one opinionated professor to another, picking up contradictory signals about the correct way to interpret, say, Paradise Regained or Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. But under Teaching the Conflicts, all of those clashes of viewpoint are anticipated and given a curricular function. Today, Hobbs told me, the very disputes that cause professors of literature to defame one another as sexists, fascists, and idiots can become the organized heart of the major.

A Teaching-the-Conflicts English department says in effect to expectant nineteen-year-olds—and Hobbs kindly wrote out this baffling lingo at my request—"Here is Husserlian phenomenology, here are the Jungian archetypes, here is Jakobsonian structuralism, here is Zizekian Lacanianism, here is Counterhegemonic Post-Gramscian Marxism, and here is the Deleuzoguattarian Anti-Oedipus; now you decide which hermeneutic should prevail." Thus a newly minted B.A. can step confidently into the greater world, not knowing Milton and Gray, perhaps, but knowing exactly how he would want to account for the magic of their art, should the occasion ever arise.

Wasn’t that, Hobbs asked, just what I had implicitly proposed in 1963? Apparently so, though I hadn’t realized it at the time; The Pooh Perplex had anticipated the most advanced thought of the sophisticated nineties. Why not greet the millennium, then, with a completely fresh exemplar of the same project? Hobbs immediately came up with a plan.

He himself, he said, would be attending the Modern Language Association’s December 2000 convention in Washington, D.C., and he had already been seeking a panel to chair. Given his international prestige, he could easily solicit methodologically acute papers on Pooh from leading figures in our field. And if the draft papers were circulated in advance, the participants would be sure to have usefully conflictual things to say about one another’s premises. Moreover, a team of Hobbs’s own graduate assistants could see to collecting and editing the papers and preparing the biographical headnotes that would introduce each chapter. All I had to do myself was compose this preface and mail it off to Professor Hobbs.

These proposals were so handsome that I hesitated before making one request of my own. Still a bit uncomfortable with the novelty of deliberately fomenting conflict, I asked whether Hobbs could include in the panel a social and cultural critic whom I especially admire, Dudley Cravat III. I knew that if any other presenter were to stray into incivility, Cravat would be the man to steer the assembled company back to a duly literary atmosphere. Hobbs graciously acceded to my plea. Though Cravat, as a nonmember, was technically ineligible to join an MLA forum, Hobbs assured me that he would be making up the rules for this panel.

As of this writing, your editor of record hasn’t yet seen the full text that both he and you will soon be savoring. I have been assured by Professor Hobbs, however, that the Washington conference matched or exceeded all of his expectations. My only regret is that I was too frail to make the scene in person and hear the warm tributes to The Pooh Perplex that were doubtless voiced by Hobbs and others.

But there is one further disappointment to report. I had hoped that this volume, like its predecessor, would be graced by illustrations from the Pooh books. To my surprise, however, Professor Hobbs has informed me that permission for that use was denied by Dutton Children’s Books and the Trustees of the Pooh Properties. Why, I wonder? Surely a classic of juvenile literature has nothing to fear from a fresh generation of scholarly knights riding off in quest of image patterns, paradoxes, and mythic parallels. And even if those worthies have ventured into yet more exotic forests of poly-signification and organic form, what of that? Each uncovered nuance will only have added a leaf to the garland crowning the brow of the Best Bear in All the World.

My first hypothesis, when I heard the distressing news about the pictures, was that there must now be a uniform policy forbidding any reuse of Ernest H. Shepard’s drawings. A glance at Books in Print, however, disabused me of that notion. The very publishing house that seems to have found Postmodern Pooh objectionable has employed Shepard’s work to adorn Pooh’s Little Coloring Book, Baby’s First Winnie-the-Pooh, Eeyore Has a Birthday, Tigger’s Giant Lift-the-Flap Book, Pooh’s Little Etiquette Book, and Eeyore’s Gloomy Little Instruction Book, along with a number of adult titles such as The Tao of Pooh, The Te of Piglet, Pooh and the Philosophers, Winnie-the-Pooh on Management, and Winnie-the-Pooh on Problem Solving. Each publication, I feel sure, meets a pressing social need. But what, then, about the needs of college students adrift on the choppy, horizonless seas of literary interpretation?

May I close on a frankly autobiographical note? Postmodern Pooh forms a bookend, as it were, concluding my long if uneventful career of devotion both to humanistic values and to Pooh. And are they really so different, one from the other? The bright critics assembled in this volume will doubtless show, in their sophisticated and ingenious new ways, that just as Pooh is suffused with humanism, our humanism itself, by this late date, has become full of Pooh. On that one point, at least, I feel certain that no conflict is likely to emerge.

Frederick Crews

Berkeley, California

CHAPTER ONE

Why? Wherefore? Inasmuch as Which?

FELICIA MARRONNEZ

Felicia Marronnez is Sea & Ski Professor of English at the University of California at Irvine. All of her degrees, however, were awarded by Yale University, and it was from Yale’s English department that she relocated to Irvine in 1990, with the specific aim of helping to narrow the sophistication gap between our two coasts. In view of her prizewinning dissertation, "Heidegger Reading Pooh Reading Hegel Reading Husserl: Or, Isn’t It Punny How a Hun Likes Beary?," Marronnez has been well situated to demonstrate how the ethically serious Derrideanism of the Yale school illuminates the subtleties of the Pooh books. That promise was fully realized in her subsequent monograph, (P)ooh La La! Kiddie Lit Gets the Jacques of Its Life (Yale University Press, 1992).

Well, said Pooh, "we keep looking for Home and not finding it, so I thought that if we looked for this Pit, we’d be sure not to find it, which would be a Good Thing, because then we might find something that we weren’t looking for, which might be just what we were looking for, really."

ONE might say that the reader who has grasped the full significance of this passage has seen to the bottom of both Winnie-the-Pooh and its author. Yes, one might say that. But one would thereby be branded as a simpleton, a theory-starved dunce. Grasped the full significance? Seen to the bottom? Not very likely.

Pooh, it’s true, manages, through byzantine byways that I will track below, to body forth the key principles of Deconstruction with uncanny fidelity. And that fact, given the apparent temporal priority of Milne over Derrida, would seem to prove the timeless pertinence of the latter’s approach to textuality. Yet what is the leçon of Derrida, that consummate rhetor of the iterable and the dehiscent, if not that clear sight, the grasping of significance, and even historical precedence (to say nothing of timeless truth) are all illusions, effects of that very différance that constitutes the only legitimate object of critical scrutiny?

I wonder how many of you went for my feint that we might learn something here about the author of Winnie-the-Pooh. C’est pour rire. Pooh Bear, at least, knows better:

I sometimes wonder if it’s true

That who is what and what is who.

After all, J. Hillis Miller has pointed out that there is not any ‘Shakespeare himself,’¹ and Derrida once observed that there is not, strictly speaking, a text whose author or subject is Jean-Jacques Rousseau.² It’s fairly clear, then, that Miller is right when he characterizes every author as merely an effect of the text.³ A. A. Milne himself or itself concedes the point in the preface to When We Were Very Young:

You may wonder sometimes who is supposed to be saying the verses. Is it the Author, that strange but uninteresting person, or is it Christopher Robin, or some other boy or girl, or Nurse, or Hoo? … you will have to decide for yourselves.

As for the reader, spare me! The term elides difference, attempts to inscribe on a bubbling bouillabaisse of potentialities one model of a stolid, passive, tabula rasa receptor. Grant yourself a reader and you automatically become a writer—worse, a communicator with a plain message that the reader will supposedly open like some ersatz telegram announcing that he has been declared a finalist in the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.

Now that we’ve dispensed with both author and reader, you will be interested to learn that I’m going to go right on discussing them. And the same holds for both truth and literary meaning, notions at once fallacious and essential to the work of Deconstruction. After we have registered the fatal instability of our concepts, they still remain our concepts, all the more precious for our awareness that they, and therefore we, fail to intersect with reality at any point. As Pooh shows in numerous ways, we cannot do otherwise than yearn for unwobbling transcendence, especially when we see it dissolving into linguistic supplement and

Reviews for Postmodern Pooh

[mmyoung_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I appreciated the spirit behind the book but felt the actual attempt fell rather short of expectations.

[aulsmith · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Anyone who has had to slog through pomo lit crit, hoping against hope that the author has a point other than how bright they are, will love this wickedly funny book. The only downside is that it led me to reread the Pooh books, which don't hold up very well to adult rereading.