I feel more at home examining, correcting or falsifying already existing theories in the light of concrete examples than when I have to put forward an alternative theory. And while I am convinced that empirical research is impossible without a guiding theoretical framework, I am by no means sure that I am personally cut out for this sort of work. But there are two differences of some substance in the way it deals with them.įor one thing, this is my first attempt at a systematic and abstract discussion of issues that I have always approached in an occasional, intuitive and concrete way: in relation to a specific text or literary genre. Not that it has nothing to do with them: on the contrary it tackles precisely those theoretical problems that continually recur in the book. I do not even know whether it is a good idea to read it before the other essays. But I might as well admit to feeling that this introduction has rather run away from me. I have tried to resist this impulse, then to subdue it, then to disguise it. In short, immediately one starts writing an introduction, one wants to write the exact opposite of an introduction. One would like to discard everything and start afresh – or at least look forward, not back, and pursue what has not yet been done, without worrying about making presentable what has long since been left behind. Rereading one’s own work, one immediately notices mistakes and gaps, the ideas that seem so obvious now but which then – God knows why – seemed impossible to grasp. Introductions always get written last, perhaps years after some of the work they are supposed to ‘introduce’. The Soul and the Harpy Reflections on the Aims and Methods of Literary Historiography
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