Showing posts with label creator: george levine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creator: george levine. Show all posts

01 March 2024

qtd. in

I subscribe to a number of different academic subrebbits, and this semester, I feel like I've seen a lot of questions on a number of the "Ask" ones (e.g., "AskAcademia," "AskLiteraryStudies," "AskProfessors") about whether it's okay for an academic writer to cite someone's citation of someone else, rather than dig back into that original source themself.

There are two ways to think about this question. The first is that can you do this? And the answer to this is pretty simple: yes. I don't know how it goes for other citation formats, but in MLA you do this by putting "qtd. in" in your parenthetical citation and then indicating where you found your quotation; the best practice is that the signal phrase should indicate who actually said it. Here's an example from own eternally in progress book:

In an 1872 letter to an unknown correspondent, Charles Kinglsey vented his frustration at the way many men of science excluded men of religion: “There are many men – I among them – who love physical science as dearly as Spencer and Tyndall can; who are ready to follow Darwin… without the least fear. But when it is said to us. No. You shall not be a scientific man and a Xtian… then, I think, an honest man has a right to lose his temper deliberately, and use a few hard words” (qtd. in Conlin 123).

The signal phrase makes it clear that Kingsley is who said this, but the parenthetical makes it clear that to find this quotation, you will need to go to Conlin. Then, if you go to the Works Cited (which I've included at the bottom of this post), you can see where I actually got the quotation from.

So this achieves the two goals of every citation: giving credit, and providing documentation.

But as a wise man once said, "Just because we can do a thing, it does not necessarily mean we must do that thing" (Meyer and Martin qtd. in 137th Gebirg). There a couple problems that "qtd. in" is prone to, and a couple circumstances in which it is definitely warranted.

First, you are trusting that the source you read gets it right.

Charles Kingsley and his wife

This isn't always the case! Even among academics, sources can be misquoted, or even if quoted correctly, they can get the context wrong. For example, in his The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin (1887), Francis Darwin (Charles's son) quotes a letter from Charles Kingsley to Charles Darwin saying, "I have to thank you for the unexpected honour of your book [the Origin]. That the Naturalist whom, of all naturalists living, I most wish to know and to learn from, should have sent a scientist like me his book, encourages me at least to observe more carefully, and perhaps more slowly" (81). This is quoted all over the place. When I read this, I was surprised—would Kingsley really call himself a scientist, especially back in 1859 before the word really took off?

So I tracked down the letter in the Darwin Correspondence Project, where we find that Kinglsey actually says, "a sciolist like me" (emphasis mine). A sciolist is, as the OED tells us, a "person whose knowledge is only superficial, esp. one who makes much of it; a pretender to learning"; this is a far more likely thing for Kingsley to be calling himself. But searching "'charles kingsley' 'a scientist like me'" gets 1,490 hits on Google, whereas "'charles kingsley' 'a sciolist like me'" gets seven! That 1887 Francis Darwin misquotation has been endlessly reproduced and requoted by people who have not checked the original. (Both formulations get exactly three hits in Google Scholar, however, so professional academic have been more careful.)

Second, you may not be giving adequate intellectual credit (or not making an original contribution).

The most obvious form of plagiarism is, as everyone knows, taking someone else's language without credit. But it's also plagiarism (as, in my experience, many students do not know) to take someone else's ideas without proper credit. This actually recently happened to me; I was asked to peer review an article about a novel (let's call it "novel A") that I had published about myself. The paper I reviewed took another text (let's call it "essay B") and applied it to novel A—the exact same second text that I had been the first to apply to novel A. It cited me, but only in the sense that the citations didn't actually quote essay B themselves, they quoted my quotations (e.g., qtd. in Mollmann).

Now is this plagiarism in the sense of borrowing language without attribution? No. But I do think it was pretty fishy. One, it was my idea to bring these two texts together, and nothing in the article I peer reviewed made that clear, I was just cited as the source of quotations for essay B. There was a failure to adequately give credit for a comparison that only I had thought of, even if none of my language had been stolen. Furthermore, I did the work of picking out the relevant passages from both novel A and essay B, but received no credit for it. (The writer clearly had not read essay B themselves, because they quoted nothing from it that I hadn't.)

Second, even if adequate credit had been given... what's the point? If they don't go back to that original source themselves, they are entirely dependent on my interpretation, and thus cannot be making much of an original intellectual contribution—which is the whole point of academic writing. Even if I was credited, someone else had already had the idea of pairing novel A with essay B. Why do I want to read someone else making the exact same combination of texts, using the exact same selection of passages?

For me, this is the real issue with not going back to the original source. If one writer pulls a line that's important to them out of a source, I don't need a second writer to re-pull that same line. I want to know what the second writer thinks is important to their point.

So when is it a good idea to use "qtd. in"?

I searched my book manuscript for uses of "qtd. in" in order to write this post, and discovered that I use it thirteen times in 424 pages. My uses fall into two main categories:

First, when the original source isn't readily available. This is, I believe, the case with the Kingsley letter I quoted via Conlin above. (It has been a long time, so I'm not 100% sure, but I do feel sure I would have quoted the original if I could have.) Some sources just can't be easily accessed: they are letters that have never been reprinted or periodicals that have never been digitized and are only available in some archive in another country. This makes you entirely dependent on someone else... but what else can you do? In a quick skim of my "qtd. in"s, I would guess this accounts for more than half of them.

Second, when you are working with a secondary source, but you also want to provide some detail by quoting its quotation of a primary source. There must be a more elegant way of putting that, but let me provide some examples. For one, here's a passage where I'm discussing the work of my academic grandfather, George Levine:

Levine examines how self-abnegation figures into epistemology beginning in the 1830s, both within literature and within the work of actual scientists, drawing on the writing of scientists such as Tyndall who claimed “a self-renunciation that has something lofty in it… is often enacted in the private experience of the true votary of science” (qtd. in Levine 4). Levine does not examine any specific discipline, but examines both scientists and scientist-like figures during the Victorian period to see how self-abnegation functions as a narrative: how does science create a narrative of self-abnegation, and how do literary narratives incorporate self-abnegation?

Social Darwinism: "There's always a bigger fish" (Lucas qtd. in benjay2345).

Yes, I'm quoting Tyndall, but here I'm quoting Tyndall in order to elucidate something about the Levine passage where he quotes Tyndall. Thus, I think I'm doing a better job of giving Levine credit if I make it clear that this is his quotation of Tyndall that supports his point. Similarly, when discussing social Darwinism in the novel Zalma (1895), I draw on the ideas of Mike Hawkins:

But this is not purposeless violence; an important keystone of Darwinism was “that social conflict (at least in certain guises) could be presented… as the motor of progress” (Hawkins 146). Applying this kind of evolutionary vision to humankind leads Pahlen to anticipate some of the Darwinist writers who would come after Zalma. The German general Friedrich von Bernhardi would write in 1912, “Might is at once the supreme right, and the dispute as to what is right is decided by the arbitrament of war. War gives a biologically just decision” (qtd. in Hawkins 209), and the socialist writer La Monte argued in 1917, “Let us… assert the necessity and efficacy of cataclysmic revolution!” (113)

In this case, I think it's important to show that Bernhardi is Hawkins's own example of the idea he's discussing, though I also supplement them with my own example pulled from La Monte.

On the other hand, if you read a source that points you to another source, and you end up taking stuff from the second source that the first source did not, and don't use any of the ideas of the first source, I don't think there's any obligation to cite the first source. Yes, it was nice of that first source to lead you somewhere useful, but I would argue that it didn't make an intellectual contribution to your piece.

So... can you just depend on someone else's citation, and cite them? Well, sure, you can. But is it always the best choice? I don't think so. Like many aspects of writing, it's about context.

Works Cited

benjay2345. “Qui-Gon's quote 'There's always a bigger fish' in the first film of the Saga foreshadows the final film of the saga.” Reddit, 22 June 2020, www.reddit.com/r/StarWarsCantina/comments/hdzke3/quigons_quote_theres_always_a_bigger_fish_in_the.
Conlin, Jonathan. Evolution and the Victorians: Science, Culture and Politics in Darwin’s Britain. Bloomsbury, 2014. 
Darwin, Francis. The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, Including an Autobiographical Chapter. 1887. Vol. 2, D. Appleton, 1888.
Hawkins, Mike. Social Darwinism in European and American Thought, 1860–1945: Nature as Model and Nature as Threat. Cambridge UP, 1997.
Kingsley, Charles. Letter to Charles Darwin. 18 Nov. 1859. Darwin Correspondence Project, U of Cambridge, www.darwinproject.ac.uk/letter/DCP-LETT-2534.xml.
La Monte, Robert Rives. “Science and Revolution.” The Social-Democrat, vol. 13, no. 3, 15 Mar. 1909, pp. 105-13. HathiTrust, babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=njp.32101067578953&view=1up&seq=115.
Levine, George. Dying to Know: Scientific Epistemology and Narrative in Victorian England. U of Chicago P, 2002.
137th Gebirg. “The President's Address at Khitomer - Star Trek VI: TUC.” The TrekBBS, 8 June 2007, www.trekbbs.com/threads/the-presidents-address-at-khitomer-star-trek-vi-tuc.33640.
“sciolist.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, July 2023, doi: 10.1093/OED/3809113041.

31 March 2016

Review: Dying to Know: Scientific Epistemology and Narrative in Victorian England by George Levine

Hardcover, 326 pages
Published 2002
Borrowed from the library
Read January 2013
Dying to Know: Scientific Epistemology and Narrative in Victorian England
by George Levine

George Levine's book here is one of the three to have the most influence on me and my scholarship. Something that frustrates me about the field of Victorian literature and science is how focused it is on disciplines and discoveries: people write about evolution and literature (Levine included), astronomy and literature, thermodynamics and literature, geology and literature. Much of this work is great, but to only pursue this kind of work neglects the fact that science is more than a series of discoveries that scientists pick over to employ in their novels-- it's an epistemology and an orientation towards truth.

Levine's book is probably the most prominent monograph that looks at the Victorian scientist in literature from a general epistemological perspective rather than as embodiments of particular disciplines. Levine examines how self-abnegation figures into epistemology beginning in the 1830s, both within literature and within the work of actual scientists, drawing on the writing of scientists such as Tyndall who claimed “a self-renunciation that has something lofty in it… is often enacted in the private experience of the true votary of science” (qtd. in Levine 4). Levine does not examine any specific discipline, but examines both scientists and scientist-like figures during the Victorian period to see how self-abnegation functions as a narrative: how does science create a narrative of self-abnegation, and how do literary narratives incorporate self-abnegation?

This is important (Levine argues, and I agree) because the Victorian realist novel's very project is about finding epistemologies. Levine argues that “the problem of how to find things out, of uncovering what is hidden, is pervasive in Victorian fiction” (148). He goes on to note that there is a “remarkable consistency with which ‘truth’ is registered in Victorian fiction as the most fundamental of Victorian values” (149), citing novels as diverse as Bleak House, Jane Eyre, Great Expectations, Middlemarch, Adam Bede, Vanity Fair, and Shirley. Drawing on these works, Levine says that the practice of realism “suggest[s] how central to the Victorian novel was the enterprise of knowledge seeking and truth telling, how often plots turn on the power of protagonists to develop the proper temper and state of mind to allow realistic confrontations with the ‘object’—what one might see as the acquisition of the proper ‘method’” (149). And our ways of telling truths and seeking knowledge have a moral dimension: he says in a discussion of Sartor Resartus that “the ethical and the epistemological are, in the nineteenth century, sanctioned by the same values” (70).

There's a lot to like in Levine, in that in his focus on what novels aim to do moralistically, he highlights a lot of what I like about realist novels, especially those by George Eliot and Elizabeth Gaskell. (Though Dying to Know doesn't mention Gaskell, which feels to me its a glaring omission. But then it would.) This is the best sort of literary criticism: the kind that leads you to return to familiar texts with a greater understanding of what makes you like them so much. I really must get around to properly reading his The Realistic Imagination: English Fiction from Frankenstein to Lady Chatterley (1981) someday, which Dying to Know continues the project of.

04 June 2014

Review: Darwin and the Novelists by George Levine

Hardcover, 319 pages
Published 1988
Borrowed from my advisor
Read December 2012
Darwin and the Novelists: Patterns of Science in Victorian Fiction
by George Levine

Levine is my academic grandfather-- that is to say, he was my dissertation director's dissertation director. But he also is one of the critics responsible (the others are Gillian Beer and Sally Shuttleworth) for creating the subfield of Victorian literature and science back in the 1980s, and so I owe him a lot. Like Beer, Levine mentions Darwin in his title, but he's less interested in evolutionary patterns than her: Darwin and the Novelists focuses more on the task of science, on science as a way of thinking and interacting with the world.

For example, his discussion of Austen's Mansfield Park argues that Fanny enacts a pre-Darwinian ideal of scientific observation: "Austen's heroines learn to see clearly by curbing their desires, and by so doing they can then see those desires more clearly" (62). As he points out, there's some hypocrisy in this approach, which is perhaps easier to see in the context of novel than in science itself. Darwin, though, did not believe in this disinterested approach: "Darwin complained about the view that geologists should observe and not theorize. 'How odd it is,' he remarks, 'that anyone should not see that all observation must be for or against some view if it is to be of any service'" (101).

How to carry out effective observation is the key problem of science, but it becomes even more pressing when the domain of observation is the realm of the human. This problem (I think Levine would argue and, if not, I definitely would) is tackled by the realist novel. Darwin's project (and problem) was "to transform his peculiar subject, organic life, including-- especially-- human life, into material for scientific observation and investigation. The power science exercised over nature, by virtue of its extension of knowledge, was to extend over human beings themselves.... [T]he human subject becomes equivalent to the planetary or the geological" (211). It is this attempt to extend science into the human realm that the nineteenth century sees as either so liberating or so threatening, and which novelists like Gaskell, Eliot, Collins, Hardy, Wells, Griffith, and more I'm sure attempt to grapple, both directly and indirectly. Levine's work brilliantly opens up a path for discussion that many (including myself) are still attempting to follow.