On the Lexington School
For Alex and Carter
Four and a half years ago, a new literary movement was born. While some people might argue it isn’t a movement so much as just three dudes, all movements must start somewhere.
The first time we all got together at Charlie Brown’s, a dimly lit, lounge-like bar in Lexington, Kentucky, the discussion was propulsive, naturally jumping from one topic to the next, drawing surprising syntheses at each turn. We had all been starved for intellectual connections like this, the social life at our English Master’s programs having essentially ended after one semester due to the pandemic. For me, the world had not yet fully reopened until this meetup. What has followed is years of close friendship, of casually having the types of deep philosophical discussions typically reserved for graduate seminars, and of endless laughter and banter along the way.
With the other two Lexington School members, Carter Davis Johnson and Alex Gergely, recently defending their dissertations (I am the lone PhD program dropout of the three. No literary movement would be complete without at least one rebel), I felt it appropriate to reflect on just what it is, to me, that the Lexington School stands for.
First off, The Lexington School felt like a natural name for our group chat. From scholarly essays, to creative works, to memes, rants, and a cascade of jokes, this chat has come to play an important role in my life, serving as a space to bounce ideas around with two of the smartest and wisest people I know. In these chats and our in-person discussions over the years, some key themes have emerged:
Successful literary criticism must engage with texts on a deeply aesthetic level. If a critical essay only engages with themes in the text, or worse, forces themes and ideas on a text, then the risk is that the essay could be about anything. Why bother writing about literature at all at that point? The Lexington School calls for a return to formalism, aesthetics, and poetics.
Not all theory is created equal. There is a human subject, and this subject has agency. Yes to German Idealism, phenomenology, and psychoanalysis. No to most literary and critical theory.
Literature and art are transcendent. Great works, just like the human spirit, are excessive—they exceed their surroundings and the sum of their parts.
Criticism, at its best, is a meaningful aesthetic encounter. The critic is shaped and changed by this encounter. When practiced regularly, it becomes a way of life, an orientation toward the world.
The list could go on, but I like this as a start. We can save the rest for our future aesthetic manifesto. Congrats to my two dear friends on becoming PhDs. This is just the beginning of what I know will be long, incredible careers as writers and scholars for both of you. Everything I write is marked by your influence.