This week’s readings describe composition theory as the opportunity to explore marginalized voices in writing. In the words of Elizabeth Flynn, composition studies “demonstrate that the works produced by established authors are often the result of an extended, frequently enormously frustrating process and that creativity is an activity that results from experience and hard work rather than a mysterious gift reserved for the select few” (572). In essence, composition studies becomes a field which embraces these other voices since the goal is to understand and explore the composition process and its influences rather than produce an elite society and mystify the sacred and revered act of writing. This week, we are familiarized with the field’s interest in marginalized voices and the contribution they make not just to the larger study of composition itself but also to a better understanding of the experiences of marginalized academics in general.
As already mentioned, Flynn represents the feminist voice and envisions composition studies as an outlet for this marginalized voice in academic settings. By no means the first feminist, Flynn does, however, write at the earliest time among our sampling of seven scholars, 1988. At this time, as we have already studied, more and more developments were being made in the field and Flynn writes at a time when major changes and innovations were being made to composition studies. Among her ideas, I particularly was interested in the idea (reiterated by Culler) of reading as a woman. This process, which is admittedly difficult, is incredibly useful in that it seeks out the male-driven givens in our society, makes connections between facts and ideas that have been left unconnected by male-driven society, and empowers the individual female experience by using it as a tool to de-immaculate itself. I find this idea particularly interesting because it is one I continually use when critically reading. Trusting my own experience and intuitions has led me to great disagreements with academics or inspirations for papers. Whether or not I fit into the demographic of “white, middle-class male” is of unimportance. Reading from my own personal experience and perspective makes me an individual who can bring something to the discussion that no one else could. I feel like this—coupled with the importance of retrieving the female experience—is the heart of Flynn’s message and also Royster’s message in “When the First Voice You Hear Is Not Your Own.” She, like Flynn, advocates readers become alert and aware of voices which marginalize their own and argues we tune our own voices to become both “well-spoken” and “well-heard” (622).
Ritchie and Boardman also write on the marginalized feminine voice. Providing a brief history of the feminist voice from its emergence in the 70s to its explosion in the 90s, Ritchie and Boardman claim that while study of the feminist voice has flourished in the past years implementation of its study have not. “Many women still teach composition in the ‘basement,’” they write, “and the wider institutional, economic, and cultural conditions continue to create barriers against improving their status” (605). I find that this is still true today, over 11 years after Ritchie and Boardman write. But I agree with these scholars that feminism will do nothing but continue to improve our field and within the next 40 years there will be great changes even from now, to the point—I would not be surprised—that it dominates our study.
Villanueva opens the discussion of marginalization in composition studies up vastly with his work. By clearly asserting that we should not overlook concepts brought up by others due to racism or hatred, especially in his examples of the Latin Americas or Native Americans. His work reminds me of my first experience reading Marquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” So many of the concepts brought up in the novel are so foreign to me and I could not understand what they meant or why I was so drawn to them. Later I read the novel again in college in a literary theory class and realized that I was a marginalized voice in the novel, or rather the book was not written to my usually-heard voice of the white, middle-class man. It was much more playful, childlike, and awe-struck instead of commanding, authoritative, and direct. I loved it, and I completely agree with Villanueva in the assertion that discoveries like these are trademarks in becoming better scholars and better citizens.
Silva and also Zamel further explore the marginalize voice, but turn study to ESL students. From our sample, it seems as though the ESL student has had very little attention until very recently, Silva writing in 1993 and Zamel in 1995. This seems to be the hot topic of our current study, much like feminism was twenty to thirty years ago. The ESL student is completely lost in today’s systems of literacy, and even though it may be a long and hard right to reconcile with the student whose entire method of understanding and cultural givens differ from the traditional English voice of high literacy, the understanding that can come from this reconciliation holds major implications for the future of global communication, understanding, and knowledge. Suresh continues this point, arguing that there exist so many different voices left undiscovered, even within English. It will undoubtedly be a great contribution that composition studies will make to academia each time it considers and celebrates another marginalized voice; however, how long will it take before we finally realize that we all exist in plurality? Convention is the tie that keeps us together, but no one is ever fully exactly like the one beside him/her.
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