On Jane Gallop’s “Ethics of Reading: Close Encounters”

     In addition to the benefits to writing and understanding, Gallop tells us that close reading is most important in the process of eliminating projection, that “[c]lose reading schools us for the truly hard and really valuable task of learning to hear what the other is saying, not what we expect him to say, not a general impression of what he is saying, but--as much as possible--what he is actually, literally saying” (13). It allows us to know what a person’s intent or beliefs are instead of assuming what we want them to say. This I agree with. Her concept of “close listening” resonates with me in particular: from childhood, I was told that I paid too much attention to irrelevant details. I would discern attitudes about various topics based on words or tones, but pointing them out led to scolding. For Gallop to reiterate the importance of this kind of listening, an analytical listening, is refreshing and vital. As Gallop says, sometimes the only way to figure out what someone is really saying is to consider the details. Doing so helps discover not only what others say, but also what we say ourselves, allowing us to avoid or accept misunderstandings and create a more tolerant community.

     There is one part that bothers me--this statement: “Coming to a book armed with a mental checklist is as much a prejudice as sexism” (16). On my first reading, I noted simply the idea that prejudging a book is just as closed-minded as prejudging a person; it is important that we allow equal opportunities for everyone to explain themselves, giving credit and criticism where it is due. Upon rereading, this section stood out to me as--not forgetting my first reading--well-meaning but somewhat ridiculous. A book is a portion of the beliefs or words of an individual, but it is not an individual. Comparing prejudice against a book with sexism could be illuminating--if not for the implication of exact sameness in offense. In a society in which millions of people are discriminated against on the basis of sex (or “something else from the ever-growing list of official prejudices” [15] of which Gallop is clearly aware), it is insensitive and inappropriate to equate a book with a human being in this way. A book cannot be oppressed. A book cannot have its rights taken away the way a person can. If we fail to acknowledge the content of a book, it is a sign of disrespect for the author, but the author is not restricted by this refusal to acknowledge the text in the way that a woman is restricted by sexism or a person of color is restricted by racism. 

     It happens all the time that people make inappropriate analogies (such as celebrities comparing aspects of their careers to rape). Based on Gallop’s commitment to diversity and morality, on her hope for everyone “to fight and love more fairly” (17), I think it is safe to say that she intended only the first reading (my “general impression”) rather than to trivialize the issues that so many are working to uproot. But it is exactly this kind of mistake that Gallop encourages us to use close reading to avoid.