The Joy of Text

In the traditional approach to the study of literature one attempts to explain the meaning or message of the text. This method of study is, in fact, governed by two presuppositions, which on careful reflection may appear to be somewhat peculiar. First, it is presupposed that a text has certain fundamental meanings, which it is the reader's job to discover and second, and that this task is necessary because the author has, for some reason or other, built those meanings into the text and made them available for discovery.

The French thinker Roland Barthes (1915-1980) describes an alternative approach to reading texts in which the reader can take a more active part. It is not just the author's intention, and the content of the text, but the reader who can give meaning to the text. Not all texts allow the reader this freedom. Those that do, Barthes refers to as writerly texts. A writerly (Fr. "scriptible") text is one that allows more than one way of being looked at by virtue of its not being full of pre-existent meanings. Alternatively, a text that is full of pre-existent meanings and so offers the reader little or no freedom is a readerly (Fr. "lisible") text which requires the adoption of a somewhat passive approach to reading. The main difference between the writerly text and a readerly text, is that in the former the reader is active in the creative process, whereas he is restricted to merely reading in the latter. The meanings within a readerly text are literally ready-made. All the reader has to do is identify or locate those meanings. Otherwise, there is no creative effort required on the part of the reader who remains somewhat unchallenged by the whole process. Writerly texts require active engagement and interaction on the part of the reader. As such it is a form of work with the reader ceasing to be a mere consumer and becoming instead a producer.

In The Pleasure of the Text, published in 1973, Barthes suggests that texts have two effects: to produce pleasure and to produce bliss. Pleasure is obtained from a text which does not challenge the reader's currently held position. The reader is informed or entertained by what is essentially a readerly text or a text approached in a readerly way. Bliss (Fr. jouissance) is obtained from a text which permits the reader to transcend their currently held position. The reader is liberated by what is essentially a writerly text or a text approached in a writerly way. Obtaining bliss from a writerly text is the better position in which to find or place oneself.

I suggest that one can approach the study of the biology of bodies in a similar way. One can adopt a readerly approach and obtain pleasure from gaining more and more information that conforms to the standard scientific pattern to which one has become accustomed, or one can break out of this and into a writerly approach and obtain bliss by exploring new ways of interacting with one's object of interest. If we liken biological bodies to texts in need of being read in the right way, then they must surely be approached in a writerly way. After all, they exist in different contexts and perform many different tasks. They are not constant objects, but change in different ways and at different rates throughout life.

Unfortunately, many biomedical textbooks have turned bodies into readerly objects/texts as if there was one standard way in which the human body is to be described and understood scientifically. While most textbooks that combine anatomy and physiology have a lot of similarities, books on pathology do not have the same homogeneity. There appears to be much more scope in pathology texts for the author's perspective on the subject to influence what is written.

In the mid-1970s, I went to a meeting at Guy's hospital to hear the Home Office pathologist Professor Keith Simpson talk about his work. At one point, he described how, during strangulation, the body of the thyroid cartilage fractures. During questions at the end, a woman with a rather upper-class accent and overbearing manner to match stated that in "book after book after book" that she had read it stated that it was the cornu of the thyroid cartilage and not the body that fractured. "Which are we to believe," she asked, "you or the books?" A buzz went around the auditorium in response to the question and, not least, the manner in which it had been asked. In response, Simpson was a perfect gentleman – and, as a result, utterly destructive. "Madam", he replied with a care that was almost apologetic, "I can only tell you what I have see during many years of experience." That, in itself, would have been enough to answer his inquisitor, but he went on to explain – and this is the point of me giving this anecdote – that "book after book after book" of anatomy is written, not from going to the dissecting room, looking and reporting on what is seen but from what is to be found in other such books. In short, books on anatomy and physiology are written based upon other books of anatomy and physiology. So once an error creeps in, it tends to get perpetuated [1] - not least by those who take pleasure from a text rather than bliss.

Note

1 - A case in point, from my own experience, is the cisterna chyli. Medical students try like mad to find it during dissection classes because dissecting guides say it should be sought and every anatomy book describes it. However, look in the footnotes in Gray's Anatomy and the suggestion is that it can be found in only about 14% of humans. The error can be dated back to 1629 when an anatomist called Piquet described it having performed his dissections on dogs. It has been in the literature ever since. (Piquet later went on to die of his own research, which was into the physiological effects of alcohol.)