Welcome to this week’s Reading Diary. You’ll need to post three times here this week week. Posts are due at 5pm on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. If you’re hosting an Appetizer this week, you don’t need to post here at all!
Speaking of Appetizers, you’ll also be posting in a special discussion section with a small group of other students in response to one of this week’s Appetizer posts. You’ll post there three times per week: Mondays and Wednesdays by 5pm, Thursdays before class.
Head on over to the Schedule for weekly Appetizer assignments, and check The Plan for a full description of changes to the course.
Opening Prompt: Much of our reading in the first half of Gargantua this week takes the form of catalogues: long, overwhelming, even bewildering lists of items, sayings, activities, etc. Think of the list of drinkers’ expressions in chapter 4, Gargantua’s testing of different toilet paper alternatives in Chapter 12, the list of curses in chapter 16, the unbelievable catalogue of games in chapter 20. Even sections of the novel that are not simply catalogues often take the forms of lists: the list of Gargantua’s clothes, or of his daily activities. I’d like to start our conversation this week by thinking about the reasons Rabelais might have included these catalogues. Might they work better read aloud? Does their sheer quantity have certain effects? Do they create or embody aspects of Bakhtinian carnival? Do they remind you of Breugel or other works of carnivalesque art or literature?
I think Bakhtin’s choice to include the immense lists is almost a poetic decision. By including these huge lists, some of which go on for pages and pages, the reader is immersed in this world of excess and surplus. Sometimes when I come to a list from Rabelais, I just scroll and scroll until I see when he has stopped. The lists can feel huge and expansive, just like the bodies that Rabelais is describing.
If the story were being read aloud, the speaker would spend a lot of time just saying everything in the list, and that could be comedic and carnivalesque on its own. In our previous weeks’ discussions, I feel like I and others in this class have been trying to tease apart what is funny about the grotesque and carnivalesque and I think the consensus is that huge exaggerations and amounts are necessary for Rabelais’s sense of humor.
I agree with your comment about the surplus and excess! I think that it’s one of his main functions of the lists. I also want to expand on your mention of the exaggeration humor in Rabelais, as I think it also gets at the purpose of the insane lists.
There is always a connection between exaggeration and consumption in Rabelais: not only are there excessive quantities, but they are always actively being used in some form, either as intellectual stimuli or physical slaughter and consumption. In some ways, I think, the fact that the readers are supposed to read these lists along with the characters makes them consume the material as well. Even if we’re just reading the titles, we can easily take a second to be like “What?” and try to figure out what it means. Rabelais exaggerates, but in doing so he seems to invite his readers to take part in his exaggeration. It’s incredibly carnival if we scoff or laugh even if we aren’t sure about what he’s actually doing. It’s a strange metaphysical humor that exists within the text but also outside of it, and the expansion from inside to outside is a huge part of the Bakhtinian carnival.
I would also agree with your comment. The length of these catalogues contributes to the abundance that we see in the carnivalesque. For some reason, when we read this type of thing aloud, it provokes laughter. I don’t know exactly why, but it’s probably due to the fact that this excessiveness is so outlandish and unnecessary, that it’s funny? I would also say that they work much better when read aloud. When reading passages such as these in your head, you can easily gloss through them and as a result don’t have the same effect as when read aloud. However, when you are forced to articulate the words, over and over, that is when it becomes funny.
At the risk of being redundant, I definitely want to echo what y’all have said about the function of these lists as contributing to ideas of abundance in relation to the carnivalesque. The ridiculous nature of the thing itself is carnivalesque (the idea of such expansive lists, that is), as well as the content of the thing (the expanse of said list). I also think that it is significant that many of these lists contain elements of the grotesque or vulgarity: lists of curses, possible implementations for wiping, et cetera. Even those that are not explicitly nasty — like the list of games in chapter 20 — retain an element of the carnivalesque in their purpose.
Agreed! While reading I thought that the long expansive lists were comical, and simultaneously had a poetic quality to them. I think that in addition to the abundance and carnivalesque nature of the lists, there is a stream of consciousness that is comical. I imagine hearing the text out loud would be funny to an audience, and seeing an actor ramble on about how many different things he used to wipe his bum is crude, hilarious, and shocking. I think that Rabelais’ use of lists definitely conveys the carnivalesque spirit, and is also used for humor.
I think there is an aspect of parody to Rabelais’ catalogs and lists, in that writers (more specifically, natural scientists and philosophers) during the Middle Ages (especially the late Middle Ages) loved putting things into categories and making whole books of lists, as it was a very logical way of making sense of the world. Last year, I took a class called “Medieval Ecologies,” where we read a lot of these lists, most of them relating to the natural world. Specifically, we read excerpts from a lapidary by Isidore of Seville, which not only listed the properties of various rocks and minerals but their uses as well.
I think what makes Rabelais’ lists parodies of texts like lapidaries is how they are composed of all these seemingly absurd elements, therefore removing the logic that would normally accompany such a list. I also think that Rabelais brings typical medieval catalogs “down to earth.” As I said above, such catalogs were usually written by educated men, if not for the mere sake of putting things into categories, then for medicinal theory, with references to religion throughout. The catalogs by Rabelais are composed for the sake of more “down to earth” and grotesque/carnivalesque tasks, such as the list of different types of toilet paper or the list of ridiculous games.
I agree so much with this! There are certain lists in Rabelais which could be ordered, but he leaves them confusingly mixed. I think the easiest is Gargantua trying different toilet papers in Chapter 12, where he could easily group by type of object: clothing, animals, fake animals, jewelry, etc. But these categories are all mixed in together, as if Gargantua simply tried the next thing he set his eyes on. He didn’t go through the linen closet, then the wardrobe, then the jewelry box, then the farmyard; he tries “a pigeon, a cormorant, a lawyer’s bundle, a wollen hood, a night-cap and a stuffed decoy bird.”
I think if Rabelais did end up putting things in logical categories like these other educated men, even in reading it aloud would a lot of the insanity be lost. Hearing that he tried a headscarf (maybe not a far stretch for toilet paper) a couple items off from a basket? Much more shocking.
Reading this comment, I’m remembering the excerpt from Bakhtin that we read early in the semester (from Chapter 6 of Rabelais and His World) in which he argues that these items are actually listed in an order that can be seen as logical, but this particular logic is completely dependent on the Grotesque use of the object, rather than its ‘normal’ use/categorization. For example, Bakhtin explains that the first five items in the list are all associated with the upper part of the body and are therefore a “transfer of the upper to the lower bodily stratum” (378) to start off the list. So I think you bring up an interesting point about these lists because you’re right that each of these items has a comical disassociation from the item before it and is altogether unexpected in terms of normal categorization. But then we can go back and reread the list when each of the items has been degraded by the Grotesque and, if Bakhtin is correct, categorize them in this regard instead. I don’t know if I quite agree with Bakhtin’s interpretation here though; I feel like especially when these lists are read out loud to the public, they are meant to be consumed in the moment, prioritizing the humor of the unexpected without the kind of reflection that Bakhtin seems to suggest. I may be misinterpreting this though, so would love to hear anyone’s thoughts!
I had completely forgotten about this passage! Thank you for bringing it up. But to continue on your last point, I agree that the audience would probably not made that kind of connection in the moment. And maybe this is my own incompetence, but rereading that list even while in this class which fully focuses on the grotesque/lower body etc. I didn’t remember the connection. Perhaps the fact that all of the items are being used in the same way somehow distracts from their original upper/lower stratum? Not sure.
As others below have commented as well, this list could have become boring at some point, but I think it holds more novelty than 300 lines about ships. If Rabelais only listed linens, it would definitely be boring, but coming out of nowhere with a basket and jewels is (to me) really shocking. Perhaps there was an element of surprise in his writing; the reader hears cloth and paper (normal) suddenly jump to live animals.
I remember after watching Fellini Satyricon we had a discussion about the shock factor and the unexpected and the way that effects the carnivalesque/ grotesque. I would like to draw out your point about the humor of the unexpected. When looking at the reasons these lengthy lists are comical, I believe this is an important one. Not knowing what is going to come next, hearing it, being shocked, but not having enough time to think about it before the next one comes. It could create a cycle of laughter, especially when read aloud to an audience.
I was actually more reminded (though I have no experience with Medieval natural science) of Homer’s catalogue of ships in Book 2 of the Iliad. It spans some 300 lines and is IMPOSSIBLE to actually read in its entirety, not because of its length, but because once you read one or two descriptions of captains from different cities with different military forces you’ve basically got the gist of the entire catalogue. This got my thinking about the context of the reception of the Iliad, which was (though it’s contested) very likely exclusively consumed as an oral text. Some Homer scholars have suggested that this oral tradition allowed the singer to cater the content of the poem to the audience, and, though this might be going to far (I’m not a Homer scholar), it seems only natural to me that whole chunks of the catalogue might have been left out if the interests of the audience went another way. In the same way, I can imagine oral readers of Rabelais only reading the stuff that really interested them and their companions out loud and that this was a standard practice for parodic catalogues, which I understand were very common for a long time. I’ve been on the receiving end of hearing an entire list of funny things, and, like the catalogue of ships, the format wears pretty quickly– unless the sensibilities of Renaissance readers/listeners are truly impregnable, I think Rabelais might have anticipated that much of these lists would be looked over on one day and the read a few days later. This is all speculation, though!
I also want to add to your comment about the catalogue of Latin tribes in Book VII of the Aeneid! One interpretation of the catalogues (as you said) is that it exists for the contemporary reader to recognize family names and regions and feel a sense of connection to their world. I think in Rabelais it’s an interesting dynamic where he’s drawing on these classical examples, both in style and in parody, so the purpose is not the same as Homer and Vergil. But I also think that your point about the interest of the reader is a good one, and perhaps it goes back to the idea of carnival: even if the people reading wouldn’t get the classical references, they would get that it’s a parody of academia and brings it to the “lower stratum” of the average person. I’m not wholly convinced that they would leave parts out of the catalogue because we have seen the effect of exaggeration that Rabelais uses, but I definitely think that the inclusion of all of these wild things would hit all the bases of people in the crowd.
I wonder if Rabelais’ interplay of high and low culture references also encouraged lower class readers to take up some of the scholarly ideas for their own. We talk about elites incorporating peasant culture into their art but what about the other way around? By degrading high culture and insisting on readers to engage with his texts, I think he respects and recognizes the formally unedcuated ability’s to take whatever their interested in.
I agree that this structure reminded me of Homer’s catalogue of ships in the Iliad and later Roman models, such as the procession of heroes in Book VI of the Aeneid and the catalogue of enemies that the Trojans encounter in Book VII. The catalogue was a common motif in classical literature and it’s cool to see how Rabelais plays with and parodies it. It’s like he’s trying to insert his writing into a well known epic tradition by subverting the tropes that define the genre.
I also really like the conversation surrounding how this would have been read. Would readers have picked and chosen what parts of the catalogue they read? In a way, would every performance of Rabelais’s work be different?
Just jumping on this train of thought, I found that Rabelais’ use of lists in his writing does (as many others have said) add to the humorous nature of the text and emphasizes some of its absurdity. In Chapter 10, for example, he begins by characterizing Gargantua as a typical “country boy”: happily participating in a loop of sleeping, eating and drinking. But Rabelais follows this normalization of Gargantua with a page full of bizarre and fantastical behaviors with a few normal ones haphazardly thrown in there. This imagery––especially read aloud––would no doubt incite laughter and shock.
The long lists produce imagery that each item adds to the overall image. While reading I found some of the lists too long so I lost interest as I read through. Even when this happens with these lists I can picture Gargantua easier doing the the activities listed. Like lists in children’s book that serve to engage the audience. They are not as long or randomized as in Gargantua but they tend to lift the air and may the mood more playful.
It think it’s interesting to note that often the lists get pretty long and tough to make it through. If I were Rabelais, I don’t think I would mind this. I think a really fun thing about the lists, at least in my reading of Gargantua, is that they’re nearly always entertaining in their humor, but somewhat seldom necessary to knowing what’s going on. I like this feature of the lists. It’s a feature of the novels that Rabelais commits to pretty hard and includes in abundance, and I think he does so knowing that they’ll be somewhat enjoyable flair that sometimes may not always be read thoroughly. I sometimes find looking at a huge list equally as humorous as reading the list.
Rabelais suggests to readers that the best way to read his texts is to mimic a dog cracking open bones to suck out the marrow. He gives an earthly comedic method to reading, reminding readers how dogs carefully but firmly observe and grasp bones, energetically breaking them open and joyfully consuming the treasure inside. A dog instincitively knows that the most nutritious morsels lie in unassuming packages.
I think Rabelais is challenging readers to readily engage with his comedy on its own terms. With the fantastic lists that abound in Gargantua, he might have anticipated boredom or perplexion in his audience. Where’s the order and logic? Like Hannahand Sophia were talking about, there is an insistence on uncoventional categorization and comparison of diverse sets of objects, places and people. It is these unconventionalities related to the Grotesque that I think Rabelais is encouraging readers to extract. Additionaly, I believe the very wisdom in these lists comes from their ability to produce carnivalesque laughter. Going back to what we talked about in the first weeks of class, Rabelais understands that his audience needs to prime themselves to be amused to gain anything from his work.
Responding to your comment that these list are able to produce carnivalesque laughter, I want to pose a question to the ground in general: did you laugh at/with them? Speaking for myself, they got pretty tedious–and that might be due to the exhaustion of the present moment or just be my own fault, of course. I guess what I keep coming up against is that, even as I’m inundated with funny references I don’t get and funny listed thing after funny listed thing and know that they *ought* to make me laugh, I’m not going to laugh if I’m reading alone in my room (during a global crisis, no less). When there are other people watching/reading/listening with me, though, I feel like I’m more receptive to obvious comic cues even if I don’t get the reference /am bored by the reiteration (though, again, my boredom may be totally incumbent upon me). I think that these lists can definitely produce carnivalesque laughter, but I think they accomplish that goal MUCH more easily and perhaps more appropriately when there’s a party of people involved in the reading.
I can really relate to this. I worry that I’m getting tired of Rabelais soemtimes (clearly not a helpful attitude for this course) One of my favorite moments in class where I think I really got the carnivalesque feel was from watching the performance of Henry IV with Falstaff. There my laughter just came so easily. Maybe it is best to not keep searching for that personal reaction while we’re all analyzing these texts. It definitely does take some concentration to crack open the meaning of some of these chapters. At other times (like the builiding the walls of Paris) even the sad socially-distanced me starts chuckling. I think I remember from Screech’s introduction that no sane person would read this entire book and each story cover to cover. It’s a weird spot to be in reading one of the “greatest” comedic texts from this era and not finding yourself engaging with it in a humorous way. I doubt even Bakhtin laughed at every sentence though, so I wouldn’t worry too much.
I really appreciate your and Helena’s discussion about how to best read/enjoy Rabelais. I think I am also burning out on Rabelais to a degree. As Helena mentioned above, it is probably easier to engage with these long lists/material when you’re experiencing it in community.
I am wondering if I am burning out reading Rabelais or if I am just burnt out from my college career. I am also left wondering how Rabelais would feel if he was in our classroom with us. He was an academic–he also must have read long, tedious, boring texts. I wonder if he would be laughing at us, sitting in Zoom meetings/a college classroom, trying to understand the ~deeper meanings~ from Pantagruel and Gargantua’s adventures.
I wanted to respond to the last question posed, as to how the lists respond to Bruegel. As we’ve previously talked about in this reading diary, the length and the abundance of the lists can be carnivalesque. I think these lists are similar to a Bruegel painting, such as the Peasant Dance, where Bruegel portrays these very intricate, detail-packed scenes. There’s a lot to unpack in a Bruegel and when I am looking at his paintings or Rabelais’ lists, it always takes me a few look-throughs to pick out my favorite moments. As Hannah Chayet said, Rabelais’s lists can be humorous because of the way they can combine comedic mentions with very serious items. This mixture of funny and serious things is also kind of like a Bruegel painting, especially ones like Carnival vs Lent.
I really like this observation! I think if we were to list out everything we see in some of Bruegel’s paintings, we would end up with a list very similar to those in Gargantua. I think there is also something about the chaos in the Bruegel paintings that are reminiscent of the lists, as well as the carnivalesque in general. When we were discussing the Bruegel paintings in the class, we talked about the loudness that seemed to radiate off of them, and I think this also applies to the things that Rabelais lists. This is especially true with the list of games in chapter 20, with names like “Gee up little donkey,” hopping magpies,” and “screech-owls.” Just the names of these games conjure up a feeling of noisiness and chaos. Bruegel even has a painting called “Children’s Games” (which I think is the one our book references?) that captures the feeling this list evokes extremely well.
Just for reference, here is the link to the “Children’s Games” painting on the Inside Bruegel website:
https://insidebruegel.net/#p/v=udroom&lan=en&a=1017&x=s:3_l:2_v1:1017,vis_v2:1017,irr
I totally agree– the Bruegel paintings create a great comparison to Rabelais’ lists in that they both have so much happening in so many unexpected ways. I hadn’t really thought about what the translation of these paintings into writing would look like, but I think that Bruegel’s paintings are essentially long catalogues of people and events and movement and sounds. I’m especially thinking about the day in class when we looked at Carnival vs Lent and the Peasant Dance and went around the room noting specific images within the painting that we found significant. Doing this was a kind of cataloguing or listing of the events of the painting, and I think that this activity really emphasized (for me, at least) the sheer scope of all of the activity that was going on within one painting. Like others have said, this seems really similar to the way that Rabelais is able to pack so much humor and information about Gargantua’s life into just one varied and unexpected list. So to me, this is one of the first times that I’ve been able to see Bruegel’s paintings translated into words, instead of just seeing the concepts of Bakhtin and Rabelais represented in Bruegel’s paintings.
I think a lot of times, grotesque literature is meant to conjure images and stimulate a sensory response in your brain, but personally I had a harder time trying to imagine a lot of the things on Rabelais’ lists due to their sheer size. The comparison of these lists to a Bruegel painting is something that I would have totally missed if not for the minds of everyone here, but at the same time is now so clear to me that I feel like it’s obvious. The chaos and convergence of multiple narratives in a Bruegel painting perfectly sum up the feeling I get when I encounter one of these obstacles in the text.
I also think that the translation between text and physical art provides a look into culture and the carnivalesque spirit. I think that Lent vs. Carnival is a great example of this and it reflects the lists that are in Gargantua. I also think that there is an auditory and visual component to the Bruegel, when looking at the painting you can hear the noise, the drunk people, the music. You can imagine how overwhelming the scene is, and how it is a sensory overload. In my view, the lists in Gargantua work similarly, its an information overload that overwhelms your brain, you don’t know where to look but you do get a sense of carnivalesque spirit.
This point is really interesting and definitely if you listed out all the things going on in a Bruegel painting it would look a lot like the catalogues that we’ve read in Gargantua. The lists in Rabelais were full of super vivid imagery that you could imagine it in a visual and auditory way. It engages the senses like Bruegel paintings do.
The Bruegel paintings that we saw in class are a great example of abundance. There are so many things going on at once that you discover new details whenever looking at these paintings. In particular, the Lent vs Carvnival and the Peasant Dance even the Peasant Wedding paintings are fulled with abundance. I could see Rabelias listing the things in the painting to bring out the carnivalesque spirit even more with his humor and absurdity.
I’m enjoying this discussion immensely, and appreciate the many lines of thought you all have explored: the abundance of the grotesque catalogue; the parody of classical catalogues; the encyclopedic spirit of Renaissance intellectualism; the brimming overabundance of Breugel’s art. I’d like us to take a lead from Collin, though, as our conversation moves forward: take a look back at the “note to the reader” and the “prologue of the author” (203-208). How is Rabelais himself telling us to approach his work? What sort of relationship does he establish between us and his text? What will it mean for his readers (ie us) to be a “good company of Pantagruelists”? Are there ways having already read “Pantagruel” enable us to understand this prequel?
After re-reading the prologue, the lines that struck me were: “That is why you must open this book and scrupulously weigh what is treated within. You will then realize that the medicine it contains is of a very different value from that which its box ever promised: in other words, that the topics treated here are not as frivolous as the title above it proclaimed” (207). When it first read it, it struck me as oddly both straightforward and unfunny; reading it again after your prompt, I think it’s more along the lines of what we’re all getting at. Rabelais wasn’t uneducated, and the type of parody he produced is a style that requires an expansive and good education. These lines almost scoff at the people who want to read it as just a silly and moronic novel with no taste or style because the contents and topics he discussing are actually important and well thought-out. I think then he’s inviting us to be our own sort of Pantagruelists and looks beyond the base humor and surface jokes to see what he’s really poking fun at. It’s important to have fun with the work, but at the same time the reader has to appreciate the effort and awareness of the author.
To add to the idea of looking past the base humor, I think Rabelais is really pushing back against real comments he received about his writing; the Sileni boxes he compares it to were “decorated all over with frivolous merry figures…arbitrarily devised to make everyone laugh!” (p. 206.) But inside are the rare and special things, which a lot of people don’t see because they essentially judge a book by its cover. He seems to be responding to those who criticized his books (much like Greek/Roman authors who would stick in little comments in their introductions!) Especially since Gargantua was written after Pantagruel, he is not asking to be taken seriously in advance, but after so many (according to him) dismissed it as “jests, idiocies, and amusing fictions” (p. 206.)
Rabelais wants us to be open reading his work. Not to go into it with perceived notions and not ready to defend against the offense a person may feel. We should not be expecting anything . Specifically Rabelais wants us to be wise dogs and break the bone to extract the marrow of this text. He views his text as medicine that helps us view the actual truths within every aspect of life. So we should not take something like the discussions of education at face value but , view it as a way to have another discussion of is there truth in what Rabelais says.
I believe that Rabelais is calling on us to read his text in between the lines. He is saying that while his writing has meaning on the surface, there is more (the marrow) within. I also believe that this may connect to the wide range of people he is writing for. His work can both satisfy the learned, and the uneducated, it all depends on how deep one looks into it. I believe the quote on the bottom of 207 sums it up well. “…by careful reading and frequent meditation…matters of state and family life.” His writing both satisfies both the less serious comedic style, but also “reveals the highest hidden truths and most awesome mysterious touching up on our religion as well as upon matters of state and family life.”
I agree with the idea that Rabelais provokes us to look below the surface of the humorous front of the novel and analyze the “marrow” of the text (as others have said). I think that, as Liam said, the text is intended to appeal to a wide audience and be easily digestible by different levels of education. However, I also think that Rabelais caters to the more intellectual audiences by writing with a greater depth than might be accessible to lower levels of education. His critique of higher education, for example, is targeted to a specific audience that is knowledgable of (or have experience with) higher education.
I think you bring up a really good point about reader responses, and how even if people are interpreting parts of the text differently, or even if they are unable to engage with specific moments in the text, they are still receiving something from it. Rabelais wants people to delve into the depths of his writing, but he also recognizes that not everyone has the tools to do so. I think this adds a certain significance to the surface-level humor then, because, based on this prologue, we get this idea that it is to some extent for everyone. Even if you can’t engage with the references to law and higher education, you can still get something from this book, and that is laughter.
This also made me think about the never-ending debate of the correct way to read (the answer being that there isn’t one). There are so many ways of viewing a text to the point where it’s kind of impossible to reach all of it. The solution is then to engage with what you can respond to. My favorite way of thinking about this is through Ron Swanson’s thoughts on Moby Dick, where he says: “Metaphors? I hate metaphors. That’s why my favorite book is Moby Dick. No frufu symbolism, just a good simple tale about a man who hates an animal.” Even though he refuses to acknowledge the figurative language and allegory in this novel, it is still his favorite novel. He engages with what is on the surface, and he loves it all the same. (Also I know we’re not supposed to take Ron Swanson super seriously here, but I thought it kind of got my point across?)
Reading the prologue, I had a lot of similar thoughts to others above, that it was meant as a call to the reader to make an effort to understand the deeper meanings and implications of the work, beyond the surface-level humor; however, this troubled me a little, because I know that we have talked a lot about the value of the surface-level humor, and how Rabelais’ work is meant to appeal to the uneducated as well as the educated, as the Carnivalesque always should. So I want to highlight Liam’s point, which reminds us that Rabelais’ work can connect with a wide range of audiences, and I want to explore whether this prologue continues to support this idea, or if it actually repudiates his less educated readers. The metaphor of the dog eating the bone seems to suggest that Rabelais doesn’t believe that readers will fully appreciate his work unless they are educated and aware of the things that are being parodied. To me, though, I think that one of the most important parts of this metaphor is that the dog doesn’t understand why it is eating the marrow from the bone– but it is still nourished by it either way. I think that here Rabelais suggests that if his audience reads his work deeply and derives any sort of meaning or benefit from it (whether or not that meaning is an intellectual one), then his readers will be nourished by his work as the dog is nourished by the marrow. Not sure if I’m articulating this well, but basically I think that Rabelais isn’t necessarily repudiating his less educated readers here; he wants his readers to enjoy his work fully, but I’m not sure that he means they need to understand it fully on an intellectual level.
I think that this is an interesting question, does Rabelais believe that the reader must understand the deeper meaning of his work in order to reap the benefits of the “marrow”, or if they read the text in general will they be “nourished”? I also don’t think im articulating this well, but I do think that it is a good way to question the accessibility of the text during the time period, and how the jokes that appear in Rabelais are multi-faceted and actually full of complex meaning. I also agree with the fact that Rabelais wants us to see more meaning in his texts and read beyond just what is presented on the page. There’s a lot of rich text and strategic usage of puns, jokes, and language.
A few have touched on how the marrow can refer to the less obvious and more gate-kept facets of Rabelais’ humor, which I think is an important part of the discussion, but I’m also interested in the vein that Tia heads in, namely that his work can help us to view “actual truths.”
I’ve said a few times that I’m pretty cautious about taking any comic writer at his word about stuff like this and unfortunately I haven’t been talked down from that particular ledge. I’m especially cautious with Rabelais because the episode of the argument by signs seems to EXPLICITLY demonstrate (and I choose ‘demonstrate’ instead of ‘argue,’ though that’s contestable) that looking for big heady truth in a guy (who says this is all very Important Stuff) sticking his right index finger through a hole he’s made with his right thumb and index finger is a fool’s errand– it is to *invent* or *pretend* meaning where there’s just *fun,* and I really want to make room for things that are just *fun.* I think Bakhtin succeeds in this aspect because (the way I’ve read Bakhtin) he’s not telling us what Rabelais is *arguing for* but what Rabelais is the *highest iteration of,* which doesn’t argument-ify the plot of the novels and still draws profound meaning from them. There’s plenty of profound meaning to be found– I just can’t imagine that Rabelais sits down *with the intention* to reveal the true way of things hidden in a story about giants boppin’ around and drinking 298572 pints of ale.
When Rabelais tells us to suck the marrow from his work, the very grotesqueness of that image lends itself to a less serious/weighty reading for me: get all the *fun* out of this that you can, which of course may involve a close reading to find all the little Easter eggs, but probably (to me!) doesn’t involve looking for Rabelais’ rhetorical agenda, at least/particularly in for the vernacular French peasants of the Renaissance. AGAIN: I could be wrong!!!