In late 2015 a satiric article from The New Yorker took a turn around my SoMe circles. It was titled “Academic Job Listings for my Exes” and contains what might reasonably be described as
a clash of form and content. One of the listings read:
The renowned Department of Psychology at Dartmouth College is
soliciting applications for a tenure-track Associate Professor of Hypochondria.
We seek a candidate with an affinity for Peter Pan shoes, extensive experience
diagnosing resting bitch face, and a willingness to see other people. Teaching
responsibilities include courses in Recreational Ambien Use and upper-division
seminars in Neediness and/or Polyamory. Successful applicant will be expected
to establish a research agenda of panic attacks, puppy-dog eyes, germaphobia,
and a chronic mistrust of happiness.
The text is, of course, an uptake (Freadman) on the
genre of the job listing, it is parodic, but in keeping with the theory of
parody of Linda Hutcheon it is not directed at the “high” genre that it mimics,
but rather at the low material, fitted into it.
The
uptake into this satiric article, obviously, voids the original function–and
thus the original raison d´être–of the job listing genre. There are no job
opening to be filled, and no place to send the application. In terms of
Rhetorical Genre Studies, the job listing would usually be part of (at least)
one genre set (Devitt), a genre system (Bazerman), and a genre chain (Swales)
leading to the actual hiring of an applicant. No such patterns exist in this
case. Or rather: The genre patterns into which these listings fit are very
different and have to do with news publications rather than job hirings.
Furthermore, the basic job description, and the qualifications described, are
such that nobody in their right mind would ever search for a person with those
rather dubious qualities. So you´d have to be a fool to take these job listings
seriously–not that such fools don´t exist: There is at least one homepage dedicated to tracking
people who foolishly buy into stories from the satiric news service The Onion (and its equally prankish
sister site Clickhole)–and it has
plenty to report.
However,
despite the fact that there clearly is no job listing at all, the genre of the
job listing is still there as a template on which the text is molded. There is
the institution hiring, the actual job to be filled, and a description of the needed candidate. To specify this as an academic job offering the job listing
given here also specifies the teaching obligations and the research expected of
the chosen candidate. Moreover, the style, choice of words, sentence structure
etc., is largely compliant with the job listing as a genre. I say “largely
compliant”, of course, because some of the wording used to describe the required applicant
is exactly what is off compared to the usual job listings.
This,
of course, begs the question “why?” What is achieved by this alternate uptake
on the genre of the job listing? Well, first of all we have the fundamental
method and effect of almost all
parody: The clash of styles. These two elements belong together: It is a
method, because it is effective, and the effect usually is comical. This kind
of entfremdung or making the known
slightly strange as a way of making you see differently, is a mainstay of
generic manipulation.
What
you see differently is something which is usually presented in another, less
formally organized genre: the rant. Each individual job listing draws a picture of a
perfectly insufferable boyfriend, whose faults will make him a living nightmare
to be with. However, if presented simply as a listing of the bad qualities of
the boyfriend it would come off as a pitiful or aggressive rant, however the
choice of an alternate genre gives it a form which makes it humerous, ironic, and even somewhat elegant.
So why the choice of
the job listing? Probably because it has a certain affinity to the search for a
partner. In both cases there is a sort of “open” need that can be filled by one
person or another, but where the person actually chosen to fill the need will
be an important presence to the employer/partner. Thus, making a viable choice
is of crucial importance. Both the would-be employer and the person who
searches for a partner will have certain requirements that they want to have
met in order to commit to a hiring or a relationship. Even if in the case of the search for a
partner the demands are rarely made completely specific.
The
title of the piece clearly marks the retrospective character of the job
listings, they are “for my exes”, and thus there is a clash between the open
character of the call on one side, and the specific person, they claim to have
be molded on, on the other. By presenting the deplorable qualities of the
person in the genre of the job listing, the article makes their shortcomings
abundantly clear, and also exposes the stupidity of dating them. The contrast
between the usual content of the genre and its actual realization in the
article makes evident that nobody in their right mind would ever search for a
person with those qualities. And thus even the hiring purpose of the job
listing-genre, which the text so evidently discounts, has a role to play in the
interpretation of it.
As is evident even from this very simple example,
picked up more or less at random, the normative and the creative elements in
the text intertwine, and though the text itself is some kind of generic
novelty, it is clearly determined by the formal, thematic, and rhetorical
character of the job listing as genre. This does not entail that the
relationship between norm and creativity always follows this exact pattern,
quite the opposite: The relationship is highly mutable and hard to put on a
fixed formula. So it has to be examined and re-examined according to the
particular context over and over.
To belabor my point: Genres
are not, nor have they ever been, immutable. Genres have a strong regulative
influence on our interpretation of a given utterance or situation. This
influence, however, is of a special nature, as regulations imposed by genre can
be broken at a moment’s notice or made the subject of manipulation or
interpretation. Depending on the character of this break, it can lead either to
an ingenious use of the genre, to a break between genre and utterance, or to a
work that moves into, or even defines, an entirely different genre. Generic
knowledge may not be a result of what is written “between the lines” on the
lines as such; but all the necessary information certainly is not written on
them either. What happens is that the text generates meaning by referring to or
making a play on our structure of expectation.
As we move from simple examples to more complex ones, it will come as no surprise that fitting a given text into a genre becomes more and more difficult, and that the generic patterns involved become increasingly complex. However, the tacit interpretative interchanges between reader and genre persist into the more advanced cases. Indeed, in such cases the task of much scholarly interpretation becomes simply to make explicit what has in fact already been communicated tacitly.
This may well be one of the great advantages of generic interpretation. By focusing on the relationship between an utterance and the kinds of utterances that it is involved with, or that have been shaping it, we highlight a central point in the communication between utterance and receiver: the textual or cultural knowledge that is assumed by the utterance to be known. This enables us to see what the text does with the assumed cultural knowledge, how it repeats it, reinterprets it, twists it, or develops it into something new.
