The following question and response were printed in Chris Woodhead’s column in The Sunday Times 03.04.11 (this reproduced material is the copyright of News International):
At the age of 14, my daughter has been given a play to study for GCSE called Our Country’s Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker, about the first colony of convicts in Australia in the 1780s. I had never heard of it before and was shocked by the language and content. This is a passage from the first page of the first scene – “At night? The sea cracks against the ship. Fear whispers, screams, falls silent, hushed. Spewed from our country, forgotten, bound to the dark edge of the earth, at night what is there to do but seek English c***, warm, moist, soft, oh the comfort, the comfort of the lick, the thrust into the nooks, the crannies of the crooks of England. Alone, frightened, nameless in this stinking hole of hell, take me, take me inside you, whoever you are. Take me, my comfort and we’ll remember England together.” I am sure you will agree that it is inappropriate for most adults, let alone children. As a country with the richest literature in the world, why does an exam board add an obscure and obscene play to its reading list?
Fiona Goldsmith, Bridgwater
I think that many parents would worry about the language used in the first paragraph of this play. Neither is it just the language, it is the explicit sexual content. Like you, I do not understand why, when we have one of the richest literary traditions in the world, time should be spent on a contemporary play, which might have won a number of awards, but which cannot be compared to works by Shakespeare or Hardy or Keats.
The edginess and the supposed relevance of the issues that the text explores now matter, I am afraid, more than its intrinsic literary worth. When I taught English 40 years ago my main aim was to introduce my pupils to as many classic works of English literature as possible. I still think that is what English teachers should be doing.
I fundamentally disagree with what Chris Woodhead and Fiona Goldsmith say here about Our Country’s Good and the position of similar texts within the curriculum. By using close textual analysis of their own language I hope to illustrate why they are misguided in their views of literature and education. Since they “worry about language”, this seems the most appropriate way to counter their views.
Prior to my undermining of Woodhead’s position, however, I shall first highlight a distinction between him and Goldsmith. She boldly asserts that England is “a country with the richest literature in the world.” Perhaps Goldsmith is an incredible linguistic and literary scholar with intimate knowledge of the classics of international literature, therefore giving her the intellectual authority to make such a claim. Her inability to punctuate correctly (her first comma is unnecessary) suggests, however, that she does not have this literary authority. Rather, her implicit judgment that other nations’ and languages’ literature are poorer (poorer being the antonym of “riche[r]”) indicates her narrow-minded jingoism. Woodhead recognises this and neatly rephrases her wording: “we have one of the richest literary traditions in the world” (my emphasis). Instead of addressing this difference of opinion, Woodhead silently amends her definite article, in a somewhat cowardly way, to minimise any disagreement.
The passage which Goldsmith cites -which incidentally is not “the first paragraph of this play” as Woodhead incorrectly states, but is the second speaker’s first words after the opening stage direction and scene title- contains the word “England” (including its paronym ‘English’) three times. These are the words of the character John Wisehammer, who specifically seeks “English cunt” rather than just “cunt” in general because he is trying to maintain his cultural and national identity – an identity which is disrupted when a criminal is expelled for his “country’s good”. But Goldsmith’s consideration of national identity by exalting our literary tradition as “the richest” is, in contrast, purely jingoistic.
While Woodhead may have demonstrated some sensitivity to language through his mute transformation of Goldsmith’s “the”, which as a former English teacher and Chief Inspector of schools one would hope he has, elsewhere in his response this sensitivity seems to be lacking. Besides his vague use of the word “language”, he makes a grammatical blunder and uses clunky phrasing: it should be ‘compared with’ not “compared to”, and his final sentence features the rather awkward “I think that that.” This might appear a pedantic criticism, but close scrutiny of language is an important aspect of the study of literature. Moreover, in the rhetorical figure of occupatio (also known as paralipsis or preterition) Woodhead states that the contemporary play Our Country’s Good “cannot be compared to works by Shakespeare or Hardy or Keats” – he does not literally mean “cannot” as he in fact wishes the reader to compare the play with these authors’ works in order to make his point that Wertenbaker is inferior to Shakespeare et al. As it happens, I believe that Our Country’s Good is considerably better than some of Shakespeare’s minor works, such as Pericles. And as I shall go on to justify, I think that students of literature should study a combination of old and new literature – giving them the independence to compare and contrast texts themselves. In other words, allowing them to think about and to pass judgment on texts without a teacher.
Value judgments about literature lie in the minds of readers – Woodhead’s phrase “intrinsic literary worth” is a fallacy: “worth” is an extrinsic consideration of a text, and is not intrinsic. The only intrinsic quality of a text is its printed paper. My own view is that Our Country’s Good is worthy of literary and theatrical study. Those who have not read the play will be able to recognise the lyricism of the language from the passage reproduced by Goldsmith. The richness of language which Goldsmith wishes her daughter to read is present in this play with its combination of modern and more “obscure” language from the eighteenth century; a richness which makes it a challenging text for students.
It seems that the notion of “obscur[ity]” is itself threatening to Goldsmith – what we do not understand can be perceived as a threat to our personal and philosophical status quo. Just as she presumes that foreign literature is inferior to her own literature, she presumes that Our Country’s Good should not be studied because she “had never heard of it before.” What she particularly dislikes in this text, however, is the use of the word “cunt” – asterisked out in The Sunday Times. Since this is not “obscure”, and the meaning is evident, she finds it offensive. Woodhead seems to agree that the “explicit sexual content” and the swearword “cunt” make the play unsuitable for a 14-year-old to study. A more suitable dramatist for study would, he suggests, be Shakespeare. Yet Hamlet, one of the nation’s most popular plays, and a key set-text for generations, contains the word “cunt” in it too. This may escape the attention of some readers, however, because it is an aural pun. Ironically, Goldsmith perhaps might object to it less because it is more “obscure” and so less evidently explicit.
The pun occurs in the following passage of Hamlet (3.2.107-115, Oxford; modernised spelling):
HAMLET (to Ophelia) Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
OPHELIA No, my lord.
HAMLET I mean my head upon your lap?
OPHELIA Ay, my lord.
HAMLET Do you think I meant country matters?
OPHELIA I think nothing, my lord.
HAMLET That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs.
OPHELIA What is, my lord?
HAMLET No thing.
“Thing” is a euphemism for vagina, and continues the punning of “country matters”. In the recent television production of Hamlet by the RSC with David Tennant in the title role, he emphatically pronounces the first syllable of “country” to make the pun very clear to a modern-day audience. When the film was released by the BBC on DVD, it received a rating of 12 from the BBFC (British Board of Film Classification). Perhaps Goldsmith’s wish to isolate her daughter from the sort of language which is considered unsuitable for children (rather than teenagers) is zealously over-protective.
One might argue that “country matters” is merely explicit language rather than explicit sexual content. Imagery like the passage cited by Goldsmith from Our Country’s Good is, however, easy to find throughout the classics of English literature. Take Chaucer’s The Miller’s Tale, a popular and well-known text – and as it happens, explicitly rude both in language and subject matter: it tells the story of the cuckolding of an older man. This passage shows the sexual molestation of a young wife by the clerk Nicholas (The Canterbury Tales, 3271-78, Riverside Chaucer; semi-modernised spelling):
Now, sire, and eft, sire, so bifel the cas
That on a day this hende Nicholas
Fil with yonge wyf to rage and pleye,
Whil that hir housbonde was at Oseneye,
As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte,
And prively he caughte hire by the queynte,
And seyde, “Ywis, but if ich have my wille,
For deerne love of thee, lemman, I spille.”
As in Hamlet, a pun which might be “obscure” to modern ears is explicitly crude when the meaning is understood. The first use of the word “queynte” means ‘cunning’, but the second time it means “cunt.” To transpose these two lines from Middle English into modern idiom (or at least, in my attempt at an adequate translation): ‘Since scholars are very intelligent and crafty, / So in private he grabbed her cunt.’
Our literary tradition has a rich history of bawdy and explicit language depicting scenes of sexual content. Two of our greatest literary figures, in two of their most famous texts use the word “cunt.” These two examples are not isolated instances but are merely well-known exemplars of explicitness. It would be a shame to remove these brilliant texts from the reading lists of teenagers for being “obscure and obscene”; it would likewise be a shame to remove Our Country’s Good for this reason.
Finally, I shall challenge Woodhead’s notion of how literature should be taught. He writes in conclusion to his response: “[w]hen I taught English 40 years ago my main aim was to introduce my pupils to as many classic works of English literature as possible. I still think that that is what English teachers should be doing.” The verb “introduce” seems innocent enough, but in this context it is synonymous with the word ‘expose’ (as in ‘exposure’) – as if the study of literature just means being exposed to works which have been *extrinsically* judged by others to be worthwhile. Consider what the word “introduce” means: if the role of a teacher is merely to introduce students to texts, like a host at a party introduces his guests to other guests, than how can students develop the skills to read for themselves? Imagine if everyone in the world was only ever introduced to other people instead of being able to instigate their own conversations? This is directly analogous to Woodhead’s notion of teaching literature.
Students should develop their analytical skills at GCSE level by reading a rich range of language from both canonical and modern texts. Both Chaucer and Shakespeare were highly praised and popular with their contemporaries, and it was this acclaim which helped ensure they were printed and exist for readers today. To dismiss contemporary acclaim as irrelevant –it “might have won a number of awards”– denies the importance of independent criticism and thinking, and demonstrates Woodhead’s failure to understand the contexts in which literature has been, and is, produced. The richness of our literature is a result of its variety: literature created in various forms over the centuries and in various styles. Hopefully, teachers do inspire students to examine the words writers use closely, rather than merely attempting “to introduce” them to works other people have already considered closely. Such students might then have the ability to articulate the linguistic and literary ineptitude of their parents and newspaper columnists. A nation with a greater sensitivity to its rich language, and with better and more independent readers and writers, would certainly be for ‘our country’s good.’