English Literature

Toward the end of his farewell to English literature--the island of the title has pretty well sunk, and only a life raft or two bobs among the flotsam--Hugh Kenner addresses the long poem, "Briggflats," by Basil Bunting, whom he regards as one of the few surviving raftsmen. Kenner starts to say what "Briggflats" is about, and then he turns on his own word. You may about him no abouts. Kenner doesn't write about literature; he jumps in, armed and thrashing.

'The justice in the bow tie' April 20, 1920: Born John Paul Stevens in Chicago, the youngest of four sons to a successful hotel owner. 1941: Graduates Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Chicago with a bachelor's degree in English literature. June 7, 1942: Marries Elizabeth Jane Sheeren; they have four children (John Joseph, Kathryn, Elizabeth Jane and Susan Roberta). 1942: Begins three years of service in the U.S. Naval Reserve, earning a Bronze Star as a code-breaker.

I have been coming to Jefferson for three years. As a senior, I'm taking English Literature, Physics, Computers, Advanced Placement Government, Trigonometry and Basketball. I'm also involved in clubs. It's a wonderful place! CLARISA VARGAS

Alfred Appel Jr., 75, a Northwestern University English professor who was a leading expert on Russian American author Vladimir Nabokov and a scholar of modern art and jazz, died of heart failure May 2 at a hospital in Evanston, Ill., according to his daughter Karen Oshman. As a Cornell University undergraduate, Appel studied under Nabokov and in 1970 produced one of his best-known works, "The Annotated Lolita." The book laid out the layers of literary references and word play in Nabokov's story of a middle-aged man's obsession with a young girl, and helped push a novel some had condemned as obscene squarely into the literary canon, said Samuel Hynes, professor emeritus of literature at Princeton University.

Dan Neil's column about the value of getting an English degree ("Eat This Book," 800 Words, April 9) was a welcome change from the usual celebrity fare. I got my English Lit sheepskin from the talented faculty at Cal State Los Angeles, and I regard it as a moving force in my life. Anyone intimately connected to the "Norton Anthology of English Literature" knows that poems can express a wealth of feelings where more prosaic language fails. Like water through espresso beans, carefully chosen words filter through to the dregs of life, stimulating us and lifting our spirits.

Alfred Appel Jr., 75, a Northwestern University English professor who was a leading expert on Russian American author Vladimir Nabokov and a scholar of modern art and jazz, died of heart failure May 2 at a hospital in Evanston, Ill., according to his daughter Karen Oshman. As a Cornell University undergraduate, Appel studied under Nabokov and in 1970 produced one of his best-known works, "The Annotated Lolita." The book laid out the layers of literary references and word play in Nabokov's story of a middle-aged man's obsession with a young girl, and helped push a novel some had condemned as obscene squarely into the literary canon, said Samuel Hynes, professor emeritus of literature at Princeton University.

Call it, if you like, the Battle of the Two Margarets: Drabble took the field first, with the 1985 fifth edition of "The Oxford Companion to English Literature"; enter now Atwood, with the late 1988 first edition of "The Cambridge Guide to Literature in English." Actually, Margaret Atwood only contributes the foreword to the Cambridge book, which has been edited by Ian Ousby; Margaret Drabble is Oxford's Ousby. But call it the Battle of the Two Margarets anyway. Now then, which Margaret wins?

In "Nobody Likes a Brainiac" (Opinion, March 14), Jo Scott-Coe correctly identifies a central problem among the plethora plaguing education in America. The underlying anti-intellectualism one encounters in American culture has found an insidious nest, bizarrely, in the education system itself. Fear of excellence and a distrust of accomplishment are twin debilitations in this process. I am fortunate to teach in a marvelous public school setting: the Hamilton Humanities Magnet in the L.A. Unified School District.

'The justice in the bow tie' April 20, 1920: Born John Paul Stevens in Chicago, the youngest of four sons to a successful hotel owner. 1941: Graduates Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Chicago with a bachelor's degree in English literature. June 7, 1942: Marries Elizabeth Jane Sheeren; they have four children (John Joseph, Kathryn, Elizabeth Jane and Susan Roberta). 1942: Begins three years of service in the U.S. Naval Reserve, earning a Bronze Star as a code-breaker.

Author interviews and signing tours have become a chief element in bookselling. If not by their covers, today's books are known by their jacket photos. So it's odd that, for much of publishing history, anonymity was a vastly common practice. In "Anonymity: A Secret History of English Literature," John Mullan cites a whole pantheon of illustrious names. Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte and George Meredith concealed their identities, sometimes with a pseudonym.

Dan Neil's column about the value of getting an English degree ("Eat This Book," 800 Words, April 9) was a welcome change from the usual celebrity fare. I got my English Lit sheepskin from the talented faculty at Cal State Los Angeles, and I regard it as a moving force in my life. Anyone intimately connected to the "Norton Anthology of English Literature" knows that poems can express a wealth of feelings where more prosaic language fails. Like water through espresso beans, carefully chosen words filter through to the dregs of life, stimulating us and lifting our spirits.

In "Nobody Likes a Brainiac" (Opinion, March 14), Jo Scott-Coe correctly identifies a central problem among the plethora plaguing education in America. The underlying anti-intellectualism one encounters in American culture has found an insidious nest, bizarrely, in the education system itself. Fear of excellence and a distrust of accomplishment are twin debilitations in this process. I am fortunate to teach in a marvelous public school setting: the Hamilton Humanities Magnet in the L.A. Unified School District.

It's Saturday night. It's black tie. It is to be held at the Century Plaza Hotel. What could "it" possibly be? If you guessed an NRA convention, you would be wrong. It's an awards ceremony. And stop rolling your eyes. You know you can't get enough of them. The board of directors of BAFTA/LA, that is, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts and Sciences, Los Angeles, knows this, too.

It began, as many things do, in a bar. An Oxford pub, circa 1940, called the Eagle and Child, or the Bird and the Baby to the locals. At Tuesday luncheons, one table was occupied by an odd assortment of men--a couple of middle-aged dons, a writer or two or three--who smoked and drank and read to each other from scratched-out, scrawled-down pages. The Inklings they called themselves.

I lost much of my hearing when I was 4 due to meningitis. My first memories are of being in the hospital, and I don't remember what it was like to hear without a hearing aid. Then, after I turned 16, it got dramatically worse, and now I am legally deaf. I read lips and use an FM loop--a transmitter to hear my professors' lectures. So I guess I'm what is called "disabled." It took me several years before I could ask people to speak up, face me and repeat themselves without feeling flustered or embarrassed.

It's Saturday night. It's black tie. It is to be held at the Century Plaza Hotel. What could "it" possibly be? If you guessed an NRA convention, you would be wrong. It's an awards ceremony. And stop rolling your eyes. You know you can't get enough of them. The board of directors of BAFTA/LA, that is, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts and Sciences, Los Angeles, knows this, too.

It began, as many things do, in a bar. An Oxford pub, circa 1940, called the Eagle and Child, or the Bird and the Baby to the locals. At Tuesday luncheons, one table was occupied by an odd assortment of men--a couple of middle-aged dons, a writer or two or three--who smoked and drank and read to each other from scratched-out, scrawled-down pages. The Inklings they called themselves.

I have been coming to Jefferson for three years. As a senior, I'm taking English Literature, Physics, Computers, Advanced Placement Government, Trigonometry and Basketball. I'm also involved in clubs. It's a wonderful place! CLARISA VARGAS

Call it, if you like, the Battle of the Two Margarets: Drabble took the field first, with the 1985 fifth edition of "The Oxford Companion to English Literature"; enter now Atwood, with the late 1988 first edition of "The Cambridge Guide to Literature in English." Actually, Margaret Atwood only contributes the foreword to the Cambridge book, which has been edited by Ian Ousby; Margaret Drabble is Oxford's Ousby. But call it the Battle of the Two Margarets anyway. Now then, which Margaret wins?