What is Green Criticism?

What is Green Criticism?

The last time I was purposefully academic was probably when I sat my finals. Even then, we were well-educated in the philosophical contexts of the writers we studied, but not in the theoretical context in which we ourselves were operating. Since then, I’ve taught at half a dozen universities at least, but always as a practitioner. Academically cutting edge I am not. The question ‘what is green criticism?’ is not rhetorical.

Around the time I did my English degree, there were some books emerging that used ecology as way to approach literature: Jonathan Bate’s Romantic Ecology springs to mind; I probably should re-read it. The aim of these books seemed to be to understand how writers related to nature: how ‘green’ they were. But that’s about ecology, not employing it as a critical tool. I wrote an extended essay in my third year. It was about depictions of landscape in landscape and painting at the time of the first generation Romantics. I was interested in the sublime and the beautiful, not out of any kind of swoony romanticism but because they suggest two ways of modelling our desire for the external. I don’t really want to get into this in any detail here, as I still haven’t got to the real point I want to make in this post. Suffice to say, I’d noticed how some writers saw nature as a force that transformed the tiny figures traversing its landscapes while some saw it as something that framed or provided a kind of extension to, or illustration of, heroic anthropocentrism. I was somewhat out on a limb, frankly. It probably wasn’t my best work.

So, what might real green criticism be? Is anyone writing about how ecology, or ecosocialism, or green thought (which are of course all different – but that’s for another time) could be useful ways to look at culture?  Continue reading

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Cleansed/Deadpool

Cleansed/Deadpool

A few months ago I saw, in the space of a week, Katie Mitchell’s production of Sarah Kane’s Cleansed and the blockbuster movie Deadpool. The juxtaposition got me thinking. Of these two events, the live one was essentially a fourth wall play (we’ll come back that vexed issue) which uses extreme violence in way that offers a (deliberately) highly problematised take on catharsis. The prerecorded one also challenges us (or thinks it does) with the way it shows violence but is obsessed – paradoxically, I suppose – with breaking the fourth wall.

I have to get something off my chest, sorry. At one point in Deadpool, the eponymous hero addresses us directly, which leads into a story, in which he also addresses us directly. A fourth wall inside a fourth wall: that’s sixteen walls, he calculates. No it isn’t. Why would it be four squared? It’s clearly a concentric construction; four walls within four walls. Eight walls. Continue reading