Ostrava Journal of English Philology

Ostrava Journal of English Philology Volume 8 • Number 1 • 2016

Ostrava

OSTRAVA JOURNAL OF ENGLISH PHILOLOGY

Contents Linguistics and Translation Studies Ondřej Procházka Cohesive Aspects of Humor in Internet Memes on Facebook: a Multimodal Sociolinguistic Analysis.......................................................... 7

Literature and Culture Zuzana Klímová Memory of a Landscape: Resurrection of the Past and a Community in the Works of Wilson Harris ......................................... 41 Gabriela Boldizsárová In Sycorax’s Kitchen: Metaphors of a Feeding Mother in Marina Warner’s Indigo.............................................. 63 Tomáš Jajtner Like a great Ring of pure and endless light: On mysticism in Henry Vaughan’s Silex Scintillans .................................... 79 Ladislav Sedlák The Construction of Gender in Hip Hop....................................................... 97 Jakub Guziur Ezra Pound s bublinou: Tři komiksové podoby modernistického básníka.......................................... 109 Michal Kleprlík James Joyce a jeho hledání dokonalého jazyka ........................................... 127

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Book Reviews Gabriela Zapletalová Language and Humour in the Media (Jan Chovanec & Isabel Ermida, eds.)......................................................... 151 Jane Mattisson Ekstam The Lives of the Novel. A History (Thomas G. Pavel) ................................. 154

News, Announcements The Postmillennial Sensibility in Anglophone Literatures, Cultures and Media........................................... 159

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Linguistics and Translation Studies

Cohesive Aspects of Humor in Internet Memes on Facebook: A Multimodal Sociolinguistic Analysis Ondřej Procházka University of Ostrava Abstract This paper explores the cohesive capacity of internet memes within the communal and multimodal environment of Facebook. Attention is paid specifically to Countryball memes gathered and analyzed in the context of the POLANDBALL community. The paper proposes that the cohesiveness of the community rests on its inclination to linguistic as well as social homogeneity, based on disparagement humor revolving around cultural and national stereotypes. Grounded in the Social Identity Approach, stereotyping is analyzed as a cohesive device with respect to the multimodal dimensions of memetic communication and its recurring linguistic properties. Keywords: cohesion, internet memes, disparagement humor, political correctness, stereotypes, Social Identity Approach

1. Theoretical background The internet has revolutionized the way we communicate on an unprecedented scale. Its new features and capabilities have become amalgamated into a multifaceted and multimodal medium which has completely transformed social 7

LINGUISTICS AND TRANSLATION STUDIES

communication practices in the past twenty years. The internet has not only accelerated the speed, ease, and reach of human communication; it has also brought novel communication techniques giving rise to computer-mediated (virtual) communities of people sharing the same or similar experience, interests, values, and morals. Given the multimodal nature of the internet, members of virtual communities are able to disseminate any piece of information combining visual, textual, or auditory elements. It is argued that “as more of our world moves into online spaces, social media platforms become a central fountainhead for dispersed communities to share innovative ideas and original artifacts, as well as contribute to the discussions around those ideas” (Peppler and Solomou 11). This paper views these “innovative ideas and original artifacts” as internet memes. The term ‘meme’ was coined by the British ethnologist and evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins in his landmark work The Selfish Gene (1976). Dawkins defines a meme as a “unit of cultural transmission” analogous to the gene as a replicator of biological data. Almost 40 years later, the term has been revived to describe digital objects containing “a piece of culture, typically a joke, which gains influence through online transmission” (Davidson 122). There are, however, many approaches and perspectives that reflect the complex nature of this phenomenon. Carlos Díaz has recently analyzed and contrasted different memetic definitional frameworks in an effort to develop a formal characterization that could be used to study internet memes in various contexts: An internet meme is a unit of information (idea, concept or belief), which replicates by passing on via Internet (e-mail, chat, forum, social networks, etc.) in the shape of a hyper-link, video, image, or phrase. It can be passed on as an exact copy or can change and evolve. The mutation on the replication can be by meaning, keeping the structure of the meme or vice versa. The mutation occurs by chance, addition or parody, and its form is not relevant. An IM depends both on a carrier and a social context where the transporter acts as a filter and decides what can be passed on. It spreads horizontally as a virus at a fast and accelerating speed. It can be interactive (as a game), and some people relate them with creativity. Its mobility, storage, and reach are web-based (Hard disks, cell phones, servers, cloud, etc.). They can be manufactured (as in the case of the viral marketing) or emerge (as an offline event taken online). Its goal is to be known well enough to replicate within a group. (97)

As Díaz suggests, internet memes have sparked considerable discussion as objects of academic investigation. Their pervasive nature often serves as “prism(s) for understanding certain aspects of contemporary culture” (Shifman 9). Much current research is focused on memetic spread and distribution (Bauckhage, 2011; Shifman and Thelwall, 2009) and the role of internet memes in public discourse (Phillips, 2012; Milner, 2013; Rintel 2011). As far as social media are concerned, 8

Ondřej Procházka • Cohesive Aspects of Humor in Internet Memes on Facebook [...]

there is a substantial body of research on their participation in the digitalization of communication and media in general (cf. Wiggins and Bowers, 2014; Jantke et al., 2012), yet the effect of internet memes on virtual communities remains largely unexplored. It is evident from Diaz’s definition that memetic transmission thrives in a computer-mediated environment (i.e. virtual communities), considering the fact that a successful meme needs to be rapidly replicated (fecundity) with a sustainable replication pattern (longevity) while maintaining its original form (fidelity) (Dawkins 149). In other words, virtual communities may serve as efficient conductors of internet memes, and this is due to multiple reasons. Firstly, virtual communities are grounded in Web 2.0 platforms that ensure ample functionality for sharing and archiving the memetic content; this reinforces longevity, as the memetic content is constantly disseminated and subsequently stored. Secondly, virtual communities allow their members to “archive, annotate, appropriate, and recirculate media content in powerful new ways” (Jenkins 8), which ensures rapid replication of the memetic content, and thus its fecundity. Finally, sharing only the memetic content in line with the interests or ideology of the particular community maintains fidelity and, as this paper argues, also maintains the cohesiveness of the community. To reveal the mechanics of cohesiveness in virtual communities, this paper examines the POLANDBALL community, which is dedicated to a specific kind of internet meme commonly known as Polandball or Countryball. The meme involves user-generated cartoons with poorly drawn balls, each carrying the color schemes associated with a particular country’s flag and usually communicating in ‘broken English’. The community was established on 11 November 2009 and now, at the time of writing (July 2015), it has over 215,000 followers, i.e. people who ‘liked’ the community. Its description summarizes Countryballs as a type of geopolitical satire meme that was “originally featured in the multi-pane comic series that became popular in /INT/ (international) board on Krautchan, a Germanlanguage imageboard community similar to 4chan. These user-generated cartoons typically follow the lives of ball-shaped creatures representing different countries (also known as Countryballs) and ‘international drama’ surrounding their diplomatic relations” (POLANDBALL “About” n. pag.). As the description suggests, Countryballs are meant to poke fun at national and cultural stereotypes in an unconventional way, and Facebook provides an excellent outlet. Its multimodal interface allows members of the groups and communities such as POLANDBALL not only to view and spread the memetic content further, but also to react to it via the comment section. The community expands its reach with each new member; according to the Facebook Help Center, simple ‘liking’ (i.e. giving positive feedback and connecting with things you care about) is enough because it “lets people know that you enjoy it without leaving a comment” (“Like” n. pag.). Other users (i.e. friends) might be subsequently notified of such activities thanks to the News Feed algorithm, which is designed to manage 9


“the constantly updating list of stories in the middle of your home page, [including] status updates, photos, videos, links, app activity and likes from people, Pages and groups that you follow on Facebook” (“How News Feed Works” n. pag.). This means that the communities on Facebook can grow even without the active participation of their members in terms of commenting or otherwise expanding a community’s content. Given its size and activity, the POLANDBALL community is an interesting subject for a preliminary case study of the cohesive properties of memetic humor in a virtual community. This paper does not intend to present a comprehensive analysis of the Countryball memes in their entirety; the corpus is limited to three Countryball comics and 31 comments posted between April and September 2014, illustrating only the most common features of the POLANDBALL community. Instead, the paper lays the foundations for a more detailed sociolinguistic study exploring the synergy between the linguistic and social cohesion of memetic communication in the multimodal milieu of social network websites, particularly Facebook. The section presenting the theoretical framework for this study delineates some of the most important concepts of relevance to the virtual communities on Facebook within the larger scope of social networking sites (SNSs) and their accommodation of internet memes. It then presents an analysis of humor in internet memes – specifically, disparagement humor and its cohesive function within the POLANDBALL community. The cohesive aspects of disparagement humor are approached from both linguistic and social perspectives. The former employs a contrastive approach with two aims; first, to examine the underlying manifestations of linguistic interference which form the linguistic identities of the individual Countryballs; and second, to outline the basic features of the ‘Countryball variety’ of English, which is based on a number of recurring solecisms which have evolved into a set of conventions grounded in disparaging stereotypes. In addressing the second aim, I adopt the Social Identity Approach (Martineau, 1972; Fergusson and Ford, 2008), which incorporates Social Identity Theory (Tajfel and Turner 2004) and Self-Categorization Theory (Turner et. al 1987). Mirroring the cohesive patterns of linguistic stereotyping, this social approach examines the perpetuation and reinforcement of disparaging stereotypes as a campaign against political correctness, a practice which binds the community together and strengthens social cohesion. The results are discussed in the final section together with possible avenues for further research. 1.1 Virtual communities and social networking sites A virtual community consists of four important elements: “people who interact socially as they strive to satisfy their own needs or perform special roles; a shared purpose that provides a reason for the community; policies that guide people’s 10


interactions; and computer systems to support and mediate social interaction and facilitate a sense of togetherness” (Preece 10). Virtual communities may thus be considered social aggregations that facilitate public discussion and personal relationships through electronic media, such as social media platforms. Social media platforms – social networking sites (SNSs) in particular – have recently been in the spotlight of academic interest due to their extensive affordances and reach. Millions of people access various SNSs on a daily basis; for example, Facebook has over 865 million daily active users.1 As a social phenomenon, Facebook has increasingly been attracting attention in diverse fields such as sociology, psychology, education, law, communications, and media studies, resulting in a substantial body of work regarding its social, technical, and political ramifications (cf. Charnigo and Barnett-Ellis, 2013; Cheung, Chiu, and Lee, 2011; Kushin and Kitchener 2009). There are a number of reasons why social media such as Facebook, Twitter, or MySpace enjoy immense worldwide popularity. Firstly, their highly customizable interface and nearly unrestricted environment provide fertile ground for users to express themselves in a variety of ways. Secondly, they offer multiple kinds of interaction and participation by virtue of the combined power of one-way (broadcasted message to audience) and two-way (author and respondent) communication (Hogan & Quan-Haase, 2010). Thirdly, the design of their technological infrastructure contributes significantly to social cohesion in virtual communities and the achievement of their goals (Karpova, Correia, and Baran, 2009; Moffat & McLean, 2009). SNSs are often defined within the framework of Web 2.0 – a term encompassing a set of online technologies and services that have changed the pattern of participation and collaboration in the field of interpersonal interaction. O’Reilly contends that collective intelligence and participation bring radical decentralization and augmented user capabilities: Web 2.0 is the network as platform, spanning all connected devices; Web 2.0 applications are those that make the most of the intrinsic advantages of that platform: delivering software as a continually-updated service that gets better the more people use it, consuming and remixing data from multiple sources, including individual users, while providing their own data and services in a form that allows remixing by others, creating network effects through an ‘architecture of participation’, and going beyond the page metaphor of Web 1.0 to deliver rich user experiences. (28)

This suggests that Web 2.0, as a platform for co-operation, enables the transformation of readers into writers. Gillmor notes that “the Web has been transformed into a read/write-Web” in which all users can “write, not just read, in ways never before possible. For the first time in history, at least in the developed world, anyone with a computer and Internet connection could own a press. Just about anyone could make the news” (29). 11


The scholarship addressing Web 2.0 has engendered discussions addressing its utilization in various contexts, such as marketing, healthcare, education, or government (Zajicek 2007; Wilshusen, 2010; Boulos and Wheeler, 2007; Tredinnick, 2006). As for virtual communities, Web 2.0 provides their members with services such as content creation (i.e. establishing groups, communities, entertainment websites, fan pages, etc.), bookmarking, tagging, commenting, reviewing, ranking, evaluating, or sharing. All these services enhance an individual’s ability to post content on the internet. The products of Web 2.0 also encourage a participatory culture which “has relatively low barriers to artistic expression and civic engagement, strong support for creating and sharing creations, and some type of informal mentorship whereby experienced participants pass along knowledge to novices” and whose members “believe their contributions matter and feel some degree of social connection with one another” (Jenkins xi). According to Mojdeh, there are three general categories of Web 2.0 social websites: social networks (e.g. Facebook or LinkedIn), publicators (e.g., Wikipedia or Blogger), and aggregators (e.g. Reddit or Digg) (18-20). Social networks are based on two-way communication intended to connect people and promote further socialization. On the other hand, publicators employ predominantly only one-way communication for sharing personal thoughts (weblogs) and facts (wikis) with a wider audience. Aggregators utilize both types of communication, as their main function is to provide a venue for diverse content generated by individuals which can be consequently commented upon and/or voted ‘up’ or ‘down’ by other users to gauge its popularity. The boundaries between each type are fuzzy rather than clear-cut, especially when it comes to internet memes. Both aggregator and publicator websites may benefit from the multimodal nature of internet memes, allowing their users to make more complex contributions. Multimodality, intertextuality and other qualities of internet memes expand the means of expression as well as the level of obscurity for new users. As a result, many wiki-like websites (e.g. Know Your Meme or The Meme Wikia) have appeared in an effort to elucidate the workings and development of particular memes by “more experienced participants”, as Jenkins suggests. It is, however, outside the scope of this study to analyze the publicator and aggregator websites; the focus here is limited only to SNSs, namely Facebook. 1.2 Facebook and internet memes As has already been stated, electronic media based on the Web 2.0 technology have altered the significance of time and space for social interaction. The emergence of Facebook in 2004 allowed internet users to connect with one another on a hitherto unparalleled scale, as its mission is “to give people the power to share and make the world more open and connected. People use Facebook to stay connected 12


with friends and family, to discover what’s going on in the world, and to share and express what matters to them” (Facebook “About” n. pag.). It can be seen that the purpose of Facebook rests on connectedness and communality in order to create and maintain friendships and relationships online. This is largely possible thanks to the asynchronous type of communication which enables the intermittent transmission of information. Facebook affords its users the ability to communicate or collaborate regardless of their geographic location and time zone; the interaction takes place at different times but in the same place. Unlike in synchronous communication, multiple threads from multiple contributors may be simultaneously developed without interruption. The number of participants thus seems virtually unlimited, and SNSs such as Facebook have proved to be “versatile environments for sharing knowledge and keeping abreast of what is going on even within large networks of people” (Kauppila et al. 414). Given its interconnected character, Facebook gives space for multifarious communities, following and contributing to the flow and flux of various online phenomena, including internet memes. Bauckhage argues that “the majority of currently famous Internet memes spreads through homogenous communities and social networks rather than through the Internet at large” (49). As digital objects, the memes are habitually circulated, imitated, and transformed by individuals in their particular virtual communities, leading to a shared and homogenized cultural experience. By comparing virtual and physical social circles, danah boyd distinguishes four infrastructural features of Facebook as well as other SNSs that are highly conducive to memetic communication: Replicability: Digital objects are infinitely and perfectly reproducible. Easily used and free social media provide multiple and exponential channels for distribution, breaking the economic, cultural, and generation barriers to distribution of pre-Internet cultural industries. For most objects, no matter the creator or licensing regime, its form is replicable and thus exploitable. Searchability: Objects of popular and folk culture are easily found via search engines, especially as meta-data tags improves the indexing and curation of digital objects. As such both raw materials and templates for generating objects are easily found. Persistence: Although digital objects may not last as long as analogue objects, they are infinitely transferable and storable, and they certainly persist far longer than the ephemeralities of co-present interaction. Invisible Audiences: Digital objects are double articulations, created (by either cultural industries or individuals) for a particular audience but with the knowledge that they can and will spread to an unknowable audience wherever the Internet is available. (126)

Dawkins’s conditions for successful memetic transmission correspond with boyd’s model of SNSs’ infrastructural features; fecundity and fertility are sustained by replicability, while longevity is maintained by searchability and per13


sistence. Moreover, invisible audiences (users’ anonymity) also contribute to memetic transmission by disavowing any responsibility for their role in diffusing memetic content which is not always in accord with accepted standards of conduct. The inability to identify anonymous users enables the spread of such behaviors. Despite the fact that Facebook requires some identification details when creating an account, such as a name or a valid email address, there is no authentication mechanism ensuring a match between the real identity of the user and his or her Facebook identity. Kostantineas and Vlachos explain this departure from the generally accepted notion of appropriateness in terms of the moral relativism found in online humorous discourse. Members of virtual communities, especially those who publicize internet memes, frequently articulate humorous expressions with the ‘for teh lulz’ (for laugh) attitude – “a phrase that suggests an unconditional and unbounded tendency towards bantering about issues considered off limits due to seriousness or compassion. Based on that point of view, there is no image of pain, illness or misfortune that deserves to remain immaculately above a humorous scope” (4). For this reason, virtual communities on Facebook, such as POLANDBALL, frequently include unorthodox humorous features lacking any political correctness. It is true that many SNSs, and Facebook in particular, require consent to strict terms of service which prohibit indecent or illegal conduct and the propagation of such material, yet it is clearly stated there is no guarantee of users’ safety (cf. Facebook Statement of Rights and Responsibilities). Should a Facebook user or community publicize deplorable content and this content provokes a sufficient number of reports from other users, it might be marked as insensitive or removed. Further infringement might result in a permanent termination of the user’s account or the shutting-down of the whole community (cf. Oboler 2012). 2. Analysis Humorous discourse realized via virtual communities and internet memes is characterized by several distinct qualities. Formally, the memetic humor is characterized mostly by textuality in combination with images, videos, hyperlinks, and other features offered by the multimodal virtual environments. Functionally, memetic humor serves as a form of glue that holds the virtual communities together. This cohesive capacity, as this paper argues, rests on their aberrant content, which makes them an antithesis to political correctness and polite or diplomatic language. This is particularly visible in the Countryball memes. Countryball comics function as geopolitical satire, deriving their humor from the absence of decorum and avoiding linguistic appropriateness by exaggerating national and cultural stereotypes. In fact, Countryball memes have developed a distinctive linguistic variety that seems to directly oppose diplomatic language 14


and the language of political correctness. Its properties will be analyzed within the unique virtual environment of the POLANDBALL community, which also brings the opportunity to survey not only the locutions and illocutions of the memes, but also their perlocutions – with reference to the comments posted by the community members in reaction to the Countryball memes. Again, this would be not possible without the “architecture of participation” embodied in Web 2.0 (O’Reilly 28). The first example appeared in the POLANDBALL community on 12th April 2014, just one day after the German chancellor, Angela Merkel, visited Greece, where she said to a group of Greek entrepreneurs: “I firmly believe that after a very, very tough phase, this country harbors boundless possibilities still to be exploited” (Smith n. pag.). The “tough phase” here refers to the series of austerity measures enacted by the Greek government since 2010 in order to qualify for the EU-IMF loan packages, with Germany figuring as a major holdout. These austerity measures can Example 1. Posted on 12.4.2014 be interpreted as a “solution it is unorthodox” that is demanded by Germanyball in the comic. The adjective ‘unorthodox’ is used deliberately, as it signals a rather negative notion of unconventionality (the social repercussions of austerity), as well as an allusion to the Orthodox Churches of Greece, Romania, and Bulgaria, further highlighted by the Orthodox crosses. The first example illustrates some well-known German and Balkan stereotypes. Germans are viewed as sticklers for efficiency, punctuality and orderliness. In contrast, the Balkan region is generally seen as a symbol of economic and political instability (‘balkanization’); the Balkan states – especially Greece, and to a lesser extent Romania along with Bulgaria – are often viewed as rather lazy, corrupt, and prone to overspending (cf. PRC 2012). In the comic, it is probably the profligate spending that is the reason why “current work paradigm - ist not working”, in addition to the purported lackadaisical work ethic and government malfeasance on the part of Romania, Bulgaria, and chiefly Greece. Eventually, Germanyball makes an overbearing attempt to ‘fix the problem’. Although all of the featured states are sovereign and equal members of the EU, Germanyball clearly maintains its social distance – another German stereotype. Moreover, using the vocative “valued em15


ployee” in lieu of a standard salutation marks a superordinate and distant relationship with the addressee and satirizes the value-oriented pragmatism displayed by Germany. The example obviously contains a number of overt linguistic markers indexing a German identity (e.g. “ist”, “autside auf der box”, or “kan”); these will be discussed in the following section.

Figure 1. Some of the POLANDBALL community members commenting on example 1; extracted from the Facebook comment interface (i.e. the comment section). Last and middle names have been blacked out for privacy reasons.

The excerpted comments below the first example refer mostly to various associations related to the featured countries and the Orthodox religion. Greg and Lazar further develop the German stereotypes suggested by the comic, though they employ different means. While Lazar utilizes another Countryball comic propounding the stereotypical assumption that modern Germans are succeeding in conquering Europe by means of trade and financial discipline instead of warfare (i.e. the ‘Fourth Reich’), Greg identifies with the original style and accentuates the German penchant for efficiency. Some of the comments use religious caricature and persiflage. Łukasz presents a rather infamous substitute for the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church, Luke explores the etymological affinity of Roman (as in the Roman Catholic Church) and Romania, and Piotr entertains the connection 16


between the comic and one of the most famous sketches from Monty Python’s Flying Circus, “Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition”, which is inserted as a video. In a similar vein, Petr adds a political dimension as he presents an example of flag desecration, combining the Soviet and Greek flags. Finally, Grevin posts his Easter wish to the Orthodox members of the community and Stan expresses his amusement, along with Joseph.

Example 2. Posted on 19.9.2014

The second example presents a satirical interpretation of the Scottish independence referendum held on 18 September 2014. The referendum was meant to answer the calls for independence dating back to the 1707 Acts of Union, which are viewed by many historians as a “judicious bribery” (Ferguson 179). Following the sweeping victory of the Scottish National Party (SNP) in the 2011 Scottish elections, the First Minister of Scotland, Alex Salmond, sought to honor the party’s election pledge to hold an independence referendum and initiated negotiations with the UK government which eventually resulted in the Scottish Independence Referendum Act 2013. After more than 300 years, the Scottish Parliament was granted a mandate to hold a referendum, on the condition that it would be “fair, legal and decisive” (Bussey n. pag.). Voters were asked to answer either “Yes” or “No” to the question: “Should Scotland be an independent country?”, whereupon the “No” side won with 2,001,926 votes over 1,617,989 for “Yes” with a total turnout of 84.6 %. 17


Figure 2. Selected comments on the second example.

The comment section below the second example contains mostly personal remarks about the result of the Scottish referendum and its historical context. S Mayor is the only exception, as he reminds the community of the Countryball conventions; this will be addressed in the following section. Most of the comments feature irony and sarcasm, reflecting the fact that the referendum exposed the spuriousness of the stereotypical Scottish anti-Englishness. Alastair, Abi and Alessandro capitalize on the multimodal and intertextual potential of internet memes by referring to popular movies (Braveheart), shows (The Simpsons), and other memes (This is Why I Bomb People – Osama Bin Laden). Other comments retain traditional textual allusions and metaphorical comparisons; for example, by setting the Scottish/ English and Palestinian/Israeli relations on a par (Alex), or using the term “troll”2 to express the perceived Scottish inconsistency (Can). Similarly, Ruben makes a political point by presenting a choice between “EU” and “freedom”, implying their mutual exclusiveness. The remaining extracted comments illustrate amusement (Liam), approval (Cesar), and disapproval (Jack). Example 3 presents a ‘cultural exchange’ between Philippinesball, Indonesiaball and Japanball. Initially, Philippinesball is being reproached by Indonesiaball and then Japanball for its pro-American ardor; the Philippines has had an extremely strong and friendly relationship with the United States, whereas only 36% Indonesians and 37% Japanese viewed U.S. influence positively accord18


ing to a 2014 BBC World Service Poll. What is more important is that some American (or Western) values contrast sharply with Asian values, particularly in terms of shame and humility. The US cultural model emphasizes an independent self that is based on autonomy, uniqueness and individual achievement; however, in many Asian cultures, the assertion of individual desires is discouraged in favor of connectedness, social harmony, and face-saving. This means that shame in U.S. contexts is related to an internal sense of guilt and humiliation, whereas shameful events in Japanese contexts compromise the public face, such as being an object of open ridicule or rejection (Crystal et al. 122). Similarly in Indonesia, shame was also related to being “embarrassed by others’ importance” and “feeling inferior”, “stained”, or “dirty” (Tracy et al. 200). Hence the “shamefur dispray3” in celebrating the colonial past. Lastly, the example draws on Japanese popular culture, a major new current in the global culture industry. The hallmarks of contemporary Japanese culture such as manga or anime have become tremendously popular not only throughout much of Asia (including the Philippines and Indonesia), but also in Europe and North America (Macwilliams 13). The popularity sometimes develops Example 3. Posted on 24.6.2014 into Japanophilia – an excessive affection for Japanese cultural items, as demonstrated by the last segment of the comic. Philippinesball suddenly wears a kimono together with a conical hat while holding Pikachu (i.e. a central charac19


ter in the Pokémon anime series); and, in a similar fashion, Indonesiaball wears a ninja forehead protector (presumably from the Naruto anime series) and carries a traditional Japanese sword (with a price tag still attached). Furthermore, Indonesiaball also carries a manga comic (Yaoi) and what seems to be a Japanese grammar book (“Learn Desu”), while using the Japanese honorific senpai (appropriate for older colleagues) to address Japanball in the catchphrase “teach us yuor ways, senpai” – a mangled offshoot of the “I Hope Senpai will Notice me” meme – a catchphrase expressing a desire to resolve unrequited admiration that can be frequently found in romantic anime shows and manga books.

Figure 3. Selected comments on the third example.

The comment section below the third example displays various allusions to Japanese culture and stereotypes. Firstly, the term “kawaii”; this is roughly translatable as cute,4 and it is one of the most popular Japanese xenisms – words that reflect a foreign reality and are not yet fully accommodated in the recipient language (the first stage of a loanword). They are mostly, and often incorrectly, used by weaboos5 in order to create a somewhat exotic effect, but the general reception is rather negative (see Dwika’s comment). The problem with appropriating kawaii is that it contributes to the commodification and exotification of Japanese people and culture (Koma 51), as Vincent demonstrates. Secondly, the ‘weird stuff’. Japan is frequently perceived as a strange country from the Western perspective, mainly for its peculiar commercials, products, and 20


activities – just as Oliver tries to illustrate in his contribution: “BUYING FAKE BOOBS WITH YOUR MOM. A normal monday for japanese people”. Furthermore, some of the Japanese anime shows and manga comics often embrace salacious material (Hentai) ranging from ‘standard genres’, such as Yaoi (Gay; see Kamilla’s and Çağan’s comments), to rather infamously bizarre categories that feature, for example, tentacles (see Szabó’s comment). Thirdly, the cultural values. It is evident from the discussion of the example that in Japan, shameful events might have an immensely negative impact on one’s public face. To restore lost face, people sometimes resort to a so-called ‘honor suicide’, i.e. seppuku (parodied by Ikhsan as “sudoku”). The description also implies that putting little emphasis on individuality leads to a strong societal value of homogenized behavior and culture. This creates “a mythology of a ‘pure’ ethnic nation” (Brody 32), which is sometimes perceived as superior (see again Vincent’s comment). The remaining comments also broach the subject of ethnic superiority; for instance, Ratchawut suggests that although Japan has finally reached a worldwide cultural significance, foreigners are still treated with contempt. Interestingly, the U.N. Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination has been consistently voicing similar concerns regarding discrimination, racism and xenophobia in Japan since its initial report in 2001 (United Nations 2014). All of this is underlined in Val’s comment that disregards the Philippines and Indonesia as “Cultural sponges”, meaning that they soak up Japanese culture like a sponge (or a weaboo). 2.1 The linguistic perspective A brief survey of the Countryball comics and their comments will reveal that these memes frequently and deliberately distort the standard (and politically correct) language. The linguistic deviations serve to enhance the disparaging effect by authenticating national and cultural stereotypes with regard to the particular language and culture. POLANDBALL and similar Facebook communities usually consist of an international audience using English as a lingua franca. This means that the English language is usually mixed with the language of the respective Countryball. Such examples of linguistic interference can be found only sporadically, as it is rather difficult to blend the formal aspects of two languages while maintaining a certain humorous tone. Instead, Countryballs have developed their own variety, which does not significantly hinder the meaning of each utterance and sufficiently illustrates the struggles of English learners. The following subsections focus on this distinctive variety as well as providing more complex examples of specific language interference and its impact on cohesiveness.

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2.1.1 The Countryball variety In sociolinguistics, language variety represents a system of linguistic expression anchored in situational factors. Holmes argues that, in its broadest sense, the term embodies “different accents, linguistic styles, dialects and even different languages which contrast with each other for social reasons” (6); nevertheless, it is always “systematic and predictable” (Crystal 7). Countryball comics have become a global internet phenomenon, with a wide range of popular websites or their sections dedicated to this type of internet meme. In the light of Mojdeh’s Web 2.0 classification, these websites involve not only social networking websites (e.g. POLANDBALL Facebook, @polandball on Twitter, Polandball on Google+), but also publicators (e.g. “Polandball” Encyclopedia Dramatica, Polandball Wiki, Polandball | Know Your Meme), and aggregators (e.g. R/polandball on Reddit, polandballs on 9Gag, polandball on Tumblr). Having gained a massive online community base, many of its members have adopted the linguistic features manifested in Countryball comics when they relate to them, thus giving rise to a whole new variety inseparable from Countryball comics: the Countryball variety (CV). The distinctive features of the CV appear to be a conflation of grammatical insensitivity (related to the performance of English-language learners) and Netspeak – the language of internet users (cf. Crystal 2001). Unconventional orthography is one of the dominant characteristics of Netspeak in the CV. This usually includes letter switching (e.g. you becomes “yuo” and your becomes “yuor” – third example), clipping (e.g. Indonesia becomes “Indon” – third example, Thomas, Çağan; homosexual becomes “homosex” – Thomas), abbreviating (please becomes “pls” – second example, Jack, Ruben; by the way becomes “BTW” – Grevin; laughing out loud becomes a variant of “lol” – Robert, Liam, Joseph), and overpunctuation (e.g. “…” – third example; “!!!” – Grevin; “?!?!” – Greg). Some of the misspelled words are rather felicitous and allusive, for example Germany becomes “Germoney” (Greg), which signifies its monetary stereotypes. Scotlandball’s incessant repetition of “gib” instead of give (second example) invokes a childish behavior, and Philipinesball’s use of American slang words “‘merica”, “da”, “yo” (third example) indicates its warm relationship with America/USAball. The slang terms ’merica, ’murica or ’murika also denote extreme patriotism and regularly appear in other comics and memes, especially when American stereotypes are highlighted. Here it is mainly arrogance and boastfulness that is being mimicked by Philippinesball, but other stereotypes – such as obesity, the enforcement of democracy/freedom, anti-communism, or enthusiasm for guns – appear frequently as well. The CV can be also easily recognized by its various morphological and syntactic deviations from Standard English, such as the misuse of prepositions. 22


Countryballs repeatedly use the preposition of as a syntactic marker which performs no lexical or grammatical function and serves merely to create a notion of broken English. The preposition usually precedes the subject complement (e.g. “Indon’s of right” – third example; “Romania is of roman, why not of Roman Catholic?” – Luke), but it can occur virtually anywhere in the sentence (e.g. You of should not into grorify past” – third example). Another widely misused preposition appears in the generic catchphrase X can/cannot into Y (e.g. “Indon can into YAOI” – Çağan) which has most likely been adopted from LOLspeak.6 Despite the fact that CV allows the preposition into also in constructions other than the original pattern, it almost always lacks a prepositional verb (e.g. “im offended by this pls into removal” – Jack; “Yuo of should not into grorify past” – third example). Besides the misused prepositions, the CV displays several other linguistic lapses such as incorrect quantifiers (e.g. “many wrong” – third example), inappropriate negative prefixes (“un-Asian” – third example; “unshamefur dispray” – Vincent) and an assortment of grammatical omissions, including plural suffixes (e.g. “OK, valued employee[s]!” – first example; “Philippine[s]” – third example), articles (e.g. “Ve need [a] solution” – first example; have yuo not learn from [the] pain of being [a] colony?” – third example), subjects (e.g. “for [it] is very undignified” – third example; “indon [is] secretly of homosex, [it] is of haram” – Thomas), and linking verbs (e.g. “’merica [is] da best!” – third example; “indon [is] secretly of homosex” – Thomas). 2.1.2 Linguistic interference Non-English-speaking Countryballs often use specifically corrupted forms of English arising from the negative language transfer caused by applying knowledge from one language to another language. In other words; phonological, lexical and grammatical features of a non-English speaker’s native language are grafted onto English. Countryballs often deliberately exaggerate this interference to render the stereotypes more authentic. The first example illustrates linguistic interference between English and German (Denglish). Phonetically, one of the most noticeable markers of a German accent is the labiovelar approximant /w/ being substituted for the voiced labiodental fricative /v/ since the phoneme /w/ does not occur in German, hence the misspelled pronoun we in “Ve need”. Another substitution occurs in the last sentence “Kan you handle it?” where the letter c in the modal verb can is replaced by the letter k. The substitution is most likely motivated by the German modal equivalent können (i.e. kannst in the conjugated form). By the same token, the English copula verb is replaced by German “ist” in the verb phrase “ist not working” (see also Greg’s comment). 23


Grammatically, the sentence “Ve need solution it is unorthodox” marks a syntactic interference, in terms of relative pronouns. One of the closest German equivalents Wir brauchen [eine] Lösung, die unortodox ist shows that German relative pronouns are declined and reflect the gender and number of their antecedent while the case marks their grammatical function in the relative clause; die signals the feminine gender and singular form of Lösung (solution) as well as the nominative case. In contrast, declension and grammatical gender are virtually non-existent in modern English; therefore, the epicene pronoun “it” was probably chosen as seemingly the closest substitution. It can be also noted that the sentence refrains from transferring the syntactic arrangement of a German relative clause, which places the verb in the final position. This is largely incompatible with English SVO word order and its transfer would most likely diminish the humorous tone by increasing the cognitive effort to decipher the utterance. The sentence “Ve need to think autside auf der box” marks a lexical interference motivated by the idiomatic expression to think outside of the box, in addition to the lexico-phonetic similarities between the onset diphthongs /oʊ/ (English out) and /aʊ/ (German aus). The pre-modifier valued in the vocative “valued employee” suggests lexico-semantic interference possibly originating from the German collocation Sehr geehrte used in formal salutations, such as Sehr geehrte Mitarbeiterinnen und Mitarbeiter (much honored female employees/co-workers and male employees/co-workers). The German collocation signals social distance through respect and reverence, whereas the common English equivalent (dear employees) signals solidarity through affability and cordiality, even in formal contexts. However, transplanting the literal meaning into “valued employee” conveys quite the opposite – an ironically disparaging tone that underlines the stereotypical notion of German superiority and cold pragmatism in the comics. The third example contains discernable phonological interference between English and Japanese (Engrish/Japglish). Both languages have different phonotactic constraints, especially in the light of the mora-based nature of Japanese and syllable-based nature of English. This means that Japanese native speakers often resort to epenthesis (adding sounds) in order to make English consonant clusters more compatible with Japanese phonotactics, as the most common Japanese moraic form is CV and consonant clusters are largely not permitted in any syllable/word position (Martz 40). As a result, an epenthetic vowel frequently inserted to remove non-permitted codas in loanwords: [d] and [t] are followed by [o], and [ɯ] follows elsewhere; so, for example, fight becomes ‘faito’ and festival becomes ‘fesɯtibarɯ’ (Hall 1589, emphasis added). Vincent attempts to follow this pattern by adding an epenthetic vowel to the word life, changing it into “laifu”. Even more discernable is the lallation caused by imperfect enunciation of the alveolar lateral approximant /l/ which sounds like the postalveolar approximant /r/, such as in ‘fesɯtibarɯ’. While English distinguishes between the two phonemes, 24


Japanese has only one liquid consonant that is generally realized as an apico-alveolar flap [ɾ], yet its exact pronunciation differs in social and regional variants. This means that Japanese native speakers often mispronounce words like “arready”, “grorify” or “shamefur dispray”, because they do not naturally perceive the difference between the two sounds. Interestingly, this tendency is frequently accentuated in movies and anime shows – antagonists are sometimes easily recognized by the short and long apical trills [r] and [r:], which are characteristic of the socially marked variants spoken by the street thugs and yakuzas in Tokyo (Labrune 92). Lastly, Indonesiaball uses a Japanese honorific in addressing Japanball as “Senpai”, which signals lexical interference. Japanese honorifics reflect the configuration of the discourse participants, namely the attitude and relationship of the addresser to the subject matter or addressee. Although morphologically realized as a suffix (e.g. “Nihon-senpai” Vincent), Senpai can be used as a deferential standalone title; nonetheless, its transfer from Japanese into English makes it a xenism similar to kawaii. 2.1.3 Summary This section has shed some light on the linguistic conventions of the POLANDBALL community on Facebook. The language within this community exhibits a number of recurrent properties in accordance with its disparaging ideology, grounded in stereotypes. From the linguistic point of view, these properties involve disparaging solecisms driven by overt linguistic stereotyping, which is mainly inspired by some well-known challenges for learners of English and by the different linguistic backgrounds of each Countryball. Intriguingly, the second example deviates from this pattern by employing the graphematic features of CV in spite of featuring only Scotlandball and UKball, which are both considered English-speaking Countryballs and therefore “shouldn’t talk in broken English”, as S Mayor claims in the second example. This suggests that the members of the community are aware of the distinctive linguistic conventions and consciously attempt to maintain them. The next section addresses this rectifying mechanism, as well as exploring less overt elements of cohesion. 2.2 The social perspective The excerpted comments indicate that the community members co-create the content of the community according to the tenets of the community’s ideology of disparagement, and, by means of humor, strengthen the community’s cohesion. The specific means of achieving and enhancing cohesion will be discussed from the social viewpoint in this section. 25


This study draws on Martineau’s seminal ‘Model of Social Functions of Humour’ (1972), which outlines a group-based theoretical model of the functions of humor. Focusing on the variables that determine these social actions, Martineau distinguishes: the actor (the initiator of the humor), the audience or recipient (the butt of the humor), the judgment of the humor (esteeming or disparaging), the cultural context, and the social position of the involved parties (114). Martineau also identifies three group settings as a basic framework for the distribution of humor: intragroup situations, intergroup situations, and intergroup interactions – as illustrated below.

Figure 4. Martineau’s diagram of the humor process in the three structural situations with the first variables – the actor (A) and the audience (Au); each circle represents a social group where H stands for the source of humor and arrows indicate the direction of flow of the humor. The shaded area is the focus of analysis in each situation (115).

The analysis is primarily focused on the intragroup situation, with the POLANDBALL community being the focal point of the analysis; the two remaining situations could be considered in analyzing the relations with/among other Facebook communities devoted to Countryball comics. Adopting the model to the study of internet memes, Countryball comics in particular, it is necessary to consider the inward-looking nature of intragroup humor which is being exchanged solely within the ingroup, and therefore can have either the ingroup or the outgroup as its target. In this study, the ‘ingroup’ comprises members and proponents of the humorous ideology embraced by the POLANDBALL community (i.e. community administrator(s) posting the memes in the community, but not necessarily their author(s), contributors in the comment section, and regular non-contributing members). The ‘outgroup’ includes generally non-members inclining towards the principles of diplomatic language and political correctness in such contexts (i.e. possibly Joseph’s acquaintance in the first example and seemingly Jack in the second example). Martineau’s model will be integrated with the Social Identity Approach, which covers a broad framework of more specific theories – primarily Social Identi26


ty Theory (SIT; Tajfel and Turner 2004) and Self-Categorization Theory (SCT; Turner et. al 1987). The following subsections will employ both SIT and SCT to explain the cohesive workings of the community from the social point of view. The SIT-based analysis touches on the intergroup relations and indicates that the POLANDBALL community consolidates cohesion by maintaining a sense of positive distinctiveness (representing a countermovement to political correctness). The SCT-based analysis then examines the intragroup relations and describes the cohesive mechanisms based on stereotyping and self-categorization in the reactions to Countryball memes. 2.2.1 Social Identity Theory According to Thomae and Pina, “Social Identity Theory (SIT) proposes that a person’s identity exists on a continuum between personal identity and social identity. The latter is based on social group membership (e.g., sex, race, profession, sports team). The salience of this social identity depends on context and can lead to behaviour disadvantaging outgroup members.” Since the group membership applies here solely to the POLANDBALL community, the salience is determined by Countryball memes, whose content appears to completely disregard the notions of diplomacy and political correctness (PC) through their proclivity for disparaging the outgroup. There is an extensive body of literature on diplomatic language (DL) (cf. Rommetveit, 1974; Kurbalija and Slavik, 2001). Burhanudeen subsumes its basic principles under several points (38): (i) Emphasize ‘what to say’ constructively. Avoid ‘what not to say;’ (ii) Think of the language you use as a peace-building, peace-making, peace-promoting force; (iii) Learn to identify and to avoid potentially aggressive, insensitive, offensive, destructive uses of language; (iv) Communicate both tactfully and tactically; and (v) Adopt a constructive perspective, for expressing your attitudes, beliefs, and emotions. (qtd. in Matos 283–285)

It can be argued that that PC constitutes a more radical and prescriptive derivative of DL, which has spread into “numerous agendas, reforms, and issues concerning race, culture, gender, disability, the environment, and animal rights. […] As a result of these transitions it has become a misnomer, being concerned with neither politics nor correctness” (Hughes 3). Although PC originally asserted itself as essentially an idealistic and moderate attempt to sanitize language in order to improve social relations, the term has recently gained negative connotations since it has become a subject for parody of egregious policies that pursue various linguistic interventions aimed at protecting particular groups of people (usually minorities) from offensive speech and social discrimination – in other words, from 27


disparagement. Such exaggerations are sometimes sources of humor, for example the transformed title of a well-known fairly-tale, Melanin Impoverished and the Seven Vertically Challenged Individuals (Holmes 340). Countryball memes go in the opposite direction, as they defy the very core of PC through their morally and ethically disputable nature. The focus is therefore laid particularly on disparagement-based humor, defined as “remarks that (are intended to) elicit amusement through the denigration, derogation, or belittlement of a given target” (Ferguson and Ford 283). Ferguson and Ford review the literature on disparagement humor particularly with respect to Social Identity Theory, and they suggest a theoretical model according to which people initiate this type of humor in response to a threat to personal or social identity as a means of bolstering or maintaining positive distinctiveness, and consequently, amusement (298):

IDENTITY THREAT DISPARAGEMENT HUMOR POSITIVE DISTINCTIVENESS AMUSEMENT This paper suggests that PC, as a prescriptive derivate of DL, poses an identity threat due to the fact that it has had a considerable degree of influence on what is regarded as ‘acceptable’ or ‘appropriate’ in linguistic and social behavior. Countryball memes directly flout the regulations imposed by PC and DL, and by doing so, the community maintains its positive distinctiveness. This is well instanced in the stark contrast between Merkel’s statement and its possible interpretation in the first example. While Merkel conforms to the austere language of diplomacy, the comic renders her statement in a distorted language that signals German identity (flouting the first and fourth principle) and in a far more dictatorial and bold manner (flouting the second, third, and fifth principle) – which is, needless to say, hardly acceptable in such a situation. The remaining examples flout the principles in a similar manner due to the inherently satirical qualities of the comics. Looking at the excerpted comments, there seems to be virtually no desire to uphold DL or PC (except for Joseph’s acquaintance from the first example, who can be thus considered a representative of the outgroup). It might be argued that Jack from the second example opposes the disparaging ideology, as he allegedly feels offended and wants the comic “into removal”; however, his use of the Countryball variety (CV) neuters his request and marks his affiliation with the community. In any case, his request is quickly denied and ridiculed by another member of the community (Robert). In the same vein, S Mayor criticizes the divergence from the CV in the same example, and Kamilla corrects Thomas in the third example. This can be seen as a rectification mechanism enacted by certain community members in order to maintain consistency in disparaging the outgroup exactly after the fashion of the Countryball variety, thereby effectively securing positive distinctiveness and enhancing ingroup cohesion. 28


The comment sections below each example show that the positive distinctiveness is maintained mainly by contributions that are consistent with the community’s ideology, which is rooted in disparagement humor. Highly inconsistent, irrelevant or opposing contributions are likely to be pointed out and/or ridiculed by the ‘community enforcers’. Such practices shift personal identity towards social identity – the individual self gradually identifies with the collective self, which ultimately strengthens the communal homogeneity in a manner described by SelfCategorization Theory (see the next section). 2.2.2 Self-Categorization Theory Self-Categorization Theory (SCT) postulates that “people tend to maximise differences between categories and minimise differences within categories (meta-contrast principle). Furthermore, category (or group) members will perceive themselves less as individuals and more as interchangeable exemplars of the group prototype” (Thomae and Pina 5). This process is generally known as depersonalization. From the SCT perspective, Countryball memes subscribe to disparagement humor as an ingroup norm that facilitates depersonalization by outgroup stereotyping, thus enhancing ingroup cohesion. The excerpted comments are sufficiently illustrative; none of them pose a challenge to the disparagement-laden ideology of the community. On the contrary: the contributions usually encourage the ideas introduced by the respective comics on the basis of the personal associations that perpetuate various stereotypes within the confines of the community’s ideology. By reinforcing and augmenting the stereotypes, the community members identify with its ideology and adhere to its norms. This means that community members may be cognitively assimilated to the ingroup prototype, thus becoming interchangeable to a certain extent. For instance, Greg’s comment in the first example: “Germoney ‘ist not working’?!?! Das ist impossible” is almost non-distinguishable from the original comic; not only does it adhere to the assumed stereotypes, it also follows the same pattern of language interference; just as Vincent’s comment does in the third example: “Japan’s just terring wolrd that they should show unshamefur dispray and submit to Nihon-Senpai for Nihon is the kawaii, the moe, the laifu desu.” Stereotypes are also conceived and perpetuated in a more subtle way, through framing. It is argued that people use cognitive shortcuts called schemata (frameworks) drawing on stereotypes to help make sense of the world around them (Goffman 1974). In other words, both communicator and audience rely on certain schemata to produce and process information; and, as a result, “content producers craft media frames, which may in turn influence audience frames via frame setting and ultimately shape attitudes, attributions and behaviors” (Parrott 20). This is instanced in Oliver’s contribution in the third example, which stereotypes Japanese 29


culture as outlandish. Considering that “frames are manifested by the presence or absence of certain keywords, stock phrases, stereotyped images, sources of information, and sentences that provide thematically reinforcing clusters of facts or judgments” (Entman 52), the second sentence in Oliver’s contribution “BUYING FAKE BOOBS WITH YOUR MOM / A normal monday for japanese people” reinforces the stereotypical weirdness and prurience that is suggested in the visual content of the example. Disparagement humor frequently relies on stereotyped images and stock phrases due to the fact that this allows “the listener to resolve the incongruity and ‘get the joke’” (Martin 139). For example, Lukasz’s contribution in the first example addresses the religious dimension of the first example by showing Darth Vader – a despotic fictional character from the Star Wars franchise – in Patriarch Alexy II’s attire. The outgroup values (i.e. the sanctity of the Church) are disparaged by being set on par with a piece of popular culture; the humor stems from combining two incongruent ideas – the Dark Lord of the Sith and the Patriarch of an Orthodox Church. It should be borne in mind that self-categorization or depersonalization does not always occur. For example, Grevin’s comment “BTW merry Easter, orthodox Bros!!!” does not carry any subtext of disparagement, and yet it does not contest the ideology. The informal features of Netspeak steer the message away from the principles of DL and PC. It is also possible to express personal observations or remarks without stereotyping or following the linguistic patterns of Countryball memes (e.g. Davi in the second example or Joseph in the first example). In such cases the cohesion is sustained mainly by relevance, which is typical of discussions in the comment sections. Any contribution can spark a debate via the ‘reply’ button provided by Facebook interface. This is unfortunately illustrated only partially (e.g. by Liam and Cesar in the second example), because the strings of replies usually stretch beyond the spatial constraints of the analysis presented in this paper. The analysis of comments shows that the community’s predilection for disparagement tips the balance in favor of a social identity, thus increasing the ingroup’s homogeneity in line with the SCT. Nonetheless, self-categorization in the comments is less prevalent than in the comics themselves; only a minority of the contributions adhere to antecedent stereotypes as well as to the pattern of language interference (full self-categorization). In fact, most of the contributions use the Countryball variety instead of a particular form of interference when referring to the original comics or preceding comments. Even in the absence of CV features, an undertone of disparagement (or the approval of disparagement) are largely present (partial self-categorization). Contributions that are devoid of disparaging content and linguistic deviations marking the CV (zero self-categorization) usually still possess some degree of relevance. This suggests that the cohesive force in the POLANDBALL community combines adherence 30


with relevance to the memetic content in terms of their communal ideology and conventions. 2.2.3 Summary This section has discussed the cohesive function of disparagement humor initiated by Countryball memes within the POLANDBALL community in the framework of the Social Identity Approach, which draws on Social Identity Theory (SIT) and Self-Categorization Theory (SCT). SIT describes how the community members identify with the disparagement humor in order to distinguish the community from the politically correct alternatives, while also displaying a considerable self-sustaining tendency to rectify any breach of its purported conventions, which contributes considerably to its homogeneity and cohesion. SCT enables us to examine the process of identification on the basis of stereotyping, exploring its consequences for cohesiveness of the community. It appears that the homogeneity is not maintained only by its distinct linguistic properties, but also by its propensity to reject any notion of political correctness by stereotyping, which is evident in the comment sections. Community members who actively participate in the comment section display a certain degree of adherence to its conventions and/or relevance to the preceding content. This to some extent presupposes an affiliation with the community’s disparaging ideology. From the social point of view, the cohesive function of disparagement humor is maintained by its inclusive nature (strengthening the ingroup) as well as its exclusive nature (disparaging the outgroup). In other words, communities such as POLANDBALL help to forge unlikely social bonds due to the multimodal and inclusive environment of Facebook, which unites people in different geographical locations and hierarchical positions while creating a sense of shared ‘conspiracy’ in the illicit context of Countryball memes. On the other hand, people or contributions that do not approve of the community’s ideology are derided, and contributions flouting its conventions are likely to be corrected or ridiculed. 3. Concluding remarks and future directions This paper presents Countryball memes as an antithesis to political correctness. The memes provide a unique platform for expressing one’s views on international relations and events attracting global attention, yet the means of expression used on this platform should conform to its idiosyncratic conventions – which are rooted in prejudicial attitudes revolving around national and cultural stereotypes. This manner of expression also exploits Facebook’s multimodal interface, allowing its users to employ text concurrently with a picture or video, commenting on any Facebook 31


post (provided that the comment section is open). The table below illustrates the exact numbers for each example, including the non-excerpted comments.

First example Second example Third example

Text

Picture

Video

9 42 31

14 12 14

1 1 0

Text + Pic./ Vid. 3/0 6/2 8/0

Table 1. Multimodal composition of each example’s comment section, gathered in July 2015.

Except for the first example, the first table indicates a notable dominance of solely textual contributions. Contributions that combine textual and pictorial elements occur only sporadically. Contributions containing a video are extremely rare, and they are statistically insignificant in the analyzed examples. This suggests a tendency towards traditional modes of communication relying on purely textual features, yet the number of examples is insufficient and further research is required for a conclusive survey of the compositional preferences. The first table also reveals other aspects of cohesiveness, as contributing in the comment section represents only one part of the cohesive power holding the community together. Community members also relate to the Countryball memes by liking or sharing the memes outside the community. Surprisingly, passive participation (i.e. tacit consent) seems to be the strongest cohesive element; the community seems to be constantly growing, and new content is regularly added in spite of the fact that the number of contributions in the comment sections remains low in comparison: First example Second example Third example

Likes 986 4,327 734

Shares 42 649 61

Comments 27 63 53

Table 2. Relational aspects of each example, gathered in July 2015.

The second table shows that the vast majority of people relate to the comics without active participation in terms of contributing and co-creating its content. Instead, they share and ‘like’ the content published in the community, expanding its reach by virtue of the networked environment on Facebook. A user’s activities (such as commenting, liking and sharing) might be tracked in his or her profile, depending on the privacy setting. Moreover, these activities can appear in the news 32


feed of the whole network of an individual’s friends, and those friends will be notified of his or her involvement in the POLANDBALL community – so they might become acquainted with it and eventually join it. As was previously stated, the conclusions presented in this paper remain indicative rather than representative due to the small size of the corpus; furthermore, being limited only to one Countryball community on Facebook, this paper also lacks a broader insight into the Countryball phenomenon not only on Facebook, but also on other SNSs and participatory platforms such as blogs, forums, or imageboards. Nevertheless, the approach introduced in this paper might be utilized in future research exploring different platforms in order to draw more conclusive results. Incorporated in the Social Identity Approach, Martineau’s model (1972) might be easily adjusted for the study of intergroup mechanisms of humor. This would facilitate a comparison of the multimodal composition and relational aspects of the Countryball memes published in different communities across different platforms, such as @polandball on Twitter and r/polandball on Reddit. The same strategy might be used in comparing, for example, Germanyball/Greeceball communities regarding the Greek debt crisis or other subjects of public attention. Additional research might be also fruitful in comparing the ideologies and linguistic conventions of different Countryball communities in terms of adhering to their ideologies and enforcing their conventions, which might lend some insight into the cohesive mechanics of virtual communities in general. Finally, the research might be also extended to other types of internet memes, which could significantly broaden our knowledge about the dynamics of memetic communication and its social ramifications.

Notes 1

Facebook Reports Third Quarter 2014.

In internet discourse, trolling refers to extraneous contributions or activities aimed at disrupting normal on-topic discussion or provoking other participants into an emotional response. The term also frequently appears in online games. Trolls are players who intentionally sabotage the game or harass other players. Trolling generally qualifies as breaking the code of conduct and can be penalized if reported. Can’s comment “Report scotland for troll” is a good (yet displaced) example of this regulatory procedure. 2

A catchphrase from the 2011 strategy videogame Total War: Shogun 2. It is said by the virtual advisor when any of the units routs, and “since the probability of at least one unit routing every battle was extremely high, players were very likely to hear this phrase at least once every battle and the announcer’s heavy Japanese accent was found to be hilarious.” (Know Your meme n. pag.). 3

33


Translating the term Kawai simply as “cute” is rather problematic, because its signification varies: “[i] The term kawaii designates the esthetic which appreciates the immature or the childish. [ii] The term kawaii describes the decorative taste, which is one of the two principal esthetics in Japan, the other being minimalism, which is its opposite. [iii] Kawaii could be based on the miniature. [iv] Kawaii is a value associated with girls, who are considered to be weak in a macho society. If the term were used to qualify any object without distinction, the well-defined hierarchies would be subverted. [v] Kawaii is symbolically constructed by the culture of Japanese mass consumption. The fashion kawaii could not exist if it were not consumed” (Koma 52). 4

Originally ‘Wannabe Japanese’, an English slang term “used to describe a person (typically of non-Asian descent) who prefers Japan and all things in Japanese over one’s indigenous culture” (Know Your Meme n. pag.). 5

6

Another sub-variety of Netspeak originating from the LOLcats memes.

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Peppler, Kylie A., and Maria Solomou. “Building Creativity: Collaborative Learning and Creativity in Social Media Environments.” On the Horizon 19.1 (2011): 13–23. Print. Phillips, Whitney M. This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things: The Origins, Evolution, and Cultural Embeddedness of Online Trolling. Ph.D. Dissertation. University of Oregon, 2012. Print. POLANDBALL. “About.” Facebook. n.d. Web. 2 June 2015. PRC. “European Unity on the Rocks - Greeks and Germans at Polar Opposites.” Pew Research Center. 12 May 2012. Web. 24 July 2015. Preece, Jenny. Online Communities: Designing Usability, Supporting Sociability. New York: John Wiley, 2000. Print. Rintel, Sean. “Crisis Memes: The Importance of Templatability to Internet Culture and Freedom of Expression.” Australasian Journal of Popular Culture 2.2 (2013): 253–71. Print. Rommetveit, Ragnar. On Message Structure; a Framework for the Study of Language and Communication. London: Wiley, 1974. Print. Shifman, Limor and Mike Thelwall. “Assessing global diffusion with Web memetics: The spread and evolution of a popular joke.” Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology 60.12 (2009): 2567–76. Print. Shifman, Limor. Memes in digital culture. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. 2013. Print. Smith, Helena. “Greek Welcome for Angela Merkel While Protesters Are Held at Bay.” The Guardian. Theguardian.com/uk, 11 Apr. 2014. Web. 11 July 2015. Tajfel, Henry & John C. Turner. “The social identity theory of intergroup behavior.” In John T. Jost & Jim Sidanius (eds.). Political Psychology: Key Readings. New York, NY, USA: Psychology Press 2004. 276–93. Print. Tajfel, Henry, Michael G. Billig, R.P. Bundy & Claude Flament. Social categorization and intergroup behaviour. European Journal of Social Psychology 1.2 (1971): 149–78. Print Tracy, Jessica L. et. al. The Self-conscious Emotions: Theory and Research. New York: Guilford, 2007. Print. Tredinnick, L. “Web 2.0 and business: A pointer to the intranets of the future” Business Information Review 23.4 (2006): 228–34. Print. United Nations. International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination. „Concluding observations on the combined seventh to ninth periodic reports of Japan.” The U.N. Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination CERD/C/JNP/CO/7-9 (2014). Web. 5. July 2015. Wiggins, Bradley E., and Bret G. Bowers. „Memes as Genre: A Structurational Analysis of the Memescape.” New Media & Society (2014): 1–21. Sagepublications.com, 26 May 2014. Web. 5 July 2015. Wilshusen, G. C. Challenges in federal agencies’ use of Web 2.0 technologies. Washington, DC: United States Government Accountability Office, 2010. Print.

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Zajicek, Mary. “Web 2.0: Hype or Happiness?” Proceedings of the 2007 International Cross-Disciplinary Conference on Web Accessibility (W4A) 2007, Banff, Canada, May 07-08, 2007. Eds. Yeliz Yesilada and Simon Harper. New York: ACM, 2007. 35–39. Print.

Address: University of Ostrava Faculty of Arts Department of English and American Studies Reální 5 701 03 Ostrava Czech Republic [email protected]

38

Literature and Culture

Memory of a Landscape: Resurrection of the Past and a Community in the Works of Wilson Harris Zuzana Klímová Masaryk University, Brno Abstract In the early stages of political independence, nations in the regions formerly colonized by the European empires had to face a problematic situation. Trying to define their new independent identity, some of them had to deal with the complicated question of their origins. Shared cultural tradition and history belong among the main principles through which identification processes take place. In the absence of a clearly defined tradition and under the influence of existing (yet ambiguous and misleading) historical accounts, the formation of a strong individual and collective identity becomes very difficult. The Guyanese author Wilson Harris explored the topic of history and the alleged ‘historylessness’ of postcolonial communities from his earliest works, which correspond to the time when Guyana gained political independence. Moving beyond the postmodern theories of historiography, Harris questions the fixity of the representation of the past abiding by Enlightenment epistemic principles. Searching for alternative sources of the past and ways to capture it, he discovers a powerful image of a landscape (geographical as well as psychological) which, for him, becomes a bearer of memory through which the past can be rediscovered. Keywords: historylessness, postcolonial, collective memory, time-space, absent presence, memory, landscape

41

LITERATURE AND CULTURE

With the disintegration of the British Empire, new states began to emerge after the Second World War. However, gaining political independence was only one step towards attaining freedom from colonial oppression. Very soon, artists and scholars realized there was also a need for other, less obvious forms of independence. Art became a powerful tool through which the struggle for cultural and intellectual independence could find its expression. There are many ways in which art, and especially literature, contributed to postcolonial debates. In the countries that had been subject to decades of European supremacy, the exploration of the region’s history and its representation was one of the important areas which needed rethinking. Although regions with a colonial past share many aspects with regard to their history and its representation, the region of the West Indies is quite unique when compared to countries such as India or the postcolonial states of Africa. Because of its turbulent past and the extremely ethnically complex composition of its society – brought together during a short period of time from various corners of the world – this region has often been described as lacking its own tradition and history. In his novels, the Guyanese author Wilson Harris addresses this extremely problematic issue – the alleged ‘historylessness’ of postcolonial communities in the West Indian region. This article sets out to explore Harris’s alternative approach to history and its sources – an approach which has in a way moved beyond the postmodern theories which stress the instability and narrative nature of historiography. Using the example of Harris’s work I would like to show how multiple sources of memory can serve as sources of information about the past, thus contributing to the formation of a more stable identity – something which is so important for any community, especially if the community is still in the process of formation –as was the case of Guyana at the time when Harris started writing his novels. Besides discussing more conventional sources (such as mythology), I would like to highlight how both the geographical and psychological landscape can be understood as an important carrier of memory, which can be retrieved through creative imagination and thus become an important source of identity for places where more traditional sources of evidence of the past have been misused, suppressed, or are genuinely absent. Harris’s approach to history and the past in general differs diametrically from the western approach which builds on the ‘realistic’, scientifically grounded observation, collection and recording of historical data, with its chronological understanding of time and the stability/fixity of space, typical of Enlightenment epistemology. Although postmodern criticism has questioned the relevance of such an approach to history, revealing the significant limitations of traditional historiography especially in terms of its alleged objectivity, the way in which the West Indies (as well as other postcolonial countries and regions) are described still very much follows the old stereotypical representations. Moreover, if we look at the basis of the postmodern understanding of historiography promoted through the works of 42

Zuzana Klímová • Memory of a Landscape: Resurrection of the Past [...]

Hayden White and other scholars, we will discover a similarly hegemonic (though opposite) metanarrative. As Patrick Karl O’Brien notes when reviewing White’s book An Engagement with Postmodern Foes, Literary Theorists and Friends on the Borders with History, historians are not likely to succumb to absolute postmodern relativism, just as they no longer insist on the simplistic meta-historical narrative of an ‘Enlightenment Project’ (O’Brian). Already in the 1960s, Wilson Harris was wary of overly simplistic categorizations and approaches. While in his novels as well as his theoretical works we can clearly identify history as a form of narration – Harris calls West Indian history a fable (Bundy 21)1 – he resists the absolutism associated with postmodernity. As Hena Maes-Jelinek claims, he especially opposes postmodernism because of its focus on discursivity and its unavoidable nihilism (Introduction xv). Such an approach distances art from its active participation in the socio-cultural sphere and leads to passivity – something in stark contrast to Harris’s philosophy. Even though contemporary readers have at their disposal various texts criticizing the historiographies based on Enlightenment principles, these accounts still dominated the education systems in former colonies at the time when these nations were granted their political independence. It is therefore not surprising that their influence on the formation of the West Indian identity is profound. In a culture where the acknowledged sources of information about historical events in the region are biased towards the requirement for written accounts and eye-witnessing to give value to the information, the lack of such scientifically proven accounts of the past has a significant impact on the ideas of the origins and history of one’s nation. In the case of the West Indies, events taking place before the European colonization are often deemed to be insufficiently supported by evidence to be seriously acknowledged as relevant. In such circumstances, what is called for is a different perception of the past and a search for alternative sources of ‘evidence’ of this past – i.e. sources other than those acknowledged by official historiography. Harris’s perception of the world, and with it his understanding of the past and history, is more in accord with the principles of quantum mechanics and Einstein’s theory of relativity than with the ideas of postmodernism. The relativity of one’s perception is explored through the naturally paradoxical nature of things – which does not, however, lead to negativism. Harris is aware that “all the imageries are partial”; however, he also believes that they are “attuned to a wholeness one can never seize or structure absolutely”. There is always some kind of a thread uniting the images that together form the whole image, which may well be inaccessible to us in its totality, as our understanding is always incomplete, but that does not deny its existence or relevance. (Harris, “Unfinished Genesis” 252). Embracing the paradoxical nature of the universe, Harris casts doubt on the hegemonic perception of ‘reality’. Instead of the traditional western concept of history as embedded in the past and unwinding linearly towards the present, Harris is interested in the past in its more complex forms, and its relationship with the 43


present and the future in other ways than official historiography is able to convey. Part of the discrepancy stems from his exploration of the quantum concept of space-time as another of the paradoxical unities of the universe. Due to this philosophy, Harris’s novels are built on the principle of associative connections between images which are not ordered chronologically, and which are able to simultaneously operate on various temporal levels as well as in different settings. Such a writing technique, but also the consequent interpretation of the text by the reader, requires what Harris calls a “new architecture of consciousness” (Harris, “Amerindian Legacy” 175). He wants to encourage the reader “to read differently, to read backwards and forwards, even more importantly forwards and backwards” (Harris, “Unfinished Genesis” 252) – just as this approach is possible in the case of quantum physics, where time and space can be explored both forwards and backwards (Dubois 199). It is clear that history and its representation is by no means a straightforward topic which can be easily grasped – not even when approached from multiple points of view. Harris is exposing the ‘fable’ of the West Indian history by challenging the deterministic reading of history promoted in older historiographies written by Europeans, and also the presentation of history through education systems both in the West Indies and in Europe – a presentation which contributed significantly to the perception of West Indian history on both sides. The first written accounts about the region came mostly from the pens of European explorers and travelers.2 Not surprisingly, then, the official accounts usually presented the history of the West Indian region as if it had begun with the arrival of Europeans. With the absence of an existing written account of an earlier history, and with a majority of the population originating in different parts of the world, this model was in fact strengthened, and its deterministic interpretation of history – with its high degree of persuasion – helped to maintain and deepen the feeling of subjugation. For Harris, a reliance on limited sources of knowledge, but especially the oneway deterministic reading of those sources, is absolutely detrimental not only to an individual’s (self)identification, but also to one’s general ability to think more in a more complex way – a type of thinking which is necessary for overcoming stereotypes in our perception that are closely bound to the culturally transmitted dichotomies such as that of the colonizer and the inferior Other (the colonized). Harris expresses his worries about hegemonic control of the representation of history in his novel Jonestown, where he explains why simplistic tendencies in our thinking are so frequently accepted. He writes that “it may seem inevitable or convenient to submit to one frame or name, but in so doing, cultures begin to imprison themselves, involuntarily perhaps, in conquistadorial formula that kills alternatives, kills memory” (Bundy 51). The earlier history of the indigenous West Indian population was virtually lost because of the prevailing oral tradition of the native tribes, but also because of several waves of conquests between these early inhabitants – including the de44


feat of the Arawak population by the Caribs, followed by the violent and bloody conquest of the region by the Spanish and later by other European nations, which almost entirely destroyed the remaining native population and thus not only the possible witnesses of historical events, but also their mythologies and the narratives through which the early past could have been retrieved. With such biased and limited historiography of the region, and given the extremely limited sources of oral tradition that may have preserved stories of earlier events, the writer has to explore other means available to him to reach further back into the past in order to uncover possible sources of West Indian identity rooted deeper than the time of European colonization. Harris therefore sets up on a journey to discover what is left of those more traditional sources of the past – and also to find other alternatives which might shatter the simplistic, biased frame of West Indian identity. Harris finds a powerful source of the past in geographical and psychological landscapes. He is talking about the memory3 of the landscape, which offers alternative visions of the past that are retrievable through imagination. In a way, it is the complex concept of memory, rather than only historiography, which becomes a source of the past in Harris’s fiction. In contrast to stereotypical accounts of the past relying solely on historiography, Harris explores the possible plurality of interpretation of such historiographies, while also adding memories preserved within European, African, and Ancient Meso- and South American mythologies,4 but also dreams and the above-mentioned landscapes. By combining various sources of memory, Harris overcomes the limitations of historiography and keeps the past of the region and its peoples alive and full of potential interpretations. Harris uses landscape imagery, as well as various mythologies which he incorporates into this landscape, as sources of memory, conveying the past through a variety of experiences. In comparison to traditional “progressive history” (Van Brunt), which obeys the laws of Cartesian logic, memory must be approached rather intuitively. Harris, in fact, argues for “the primacy of an intuitive imagination to recover what appears lost without trace or very little trace in the past” (D’Aguiar 13). So in the situation of the West Indies, where the recorded ‘facts’ about the region’s history are so scarce, the past is more readily achievable through the creative process of imagination which can be intuitively revived from various sources of memory. I believe it is the nature of memory itself which privileges memory over historiography in its attempts to recover past experiences and in its ability to create a more complex identity of an individual or a community. This does not mean that a complex identity is always necessary in order to achieve personal happiness and fulfillment. A very simple singular basis of identity (such as strong feeling of nationalism, ethnic affiliation, religious belief, and so on) can be sufficient to create a feeling of stable and strong identity. However, a complex identity is necessary in order to form an individual and/or community capable of perceiving their own identity as satisfactory, while not positioning it in opposition to other forms of identities in order to create a form of safety barrier.5 Such a satisfying complex 45


identity, which does not define itself in terms of opposition to an “Other”, is highly desirable in the postmodern world, where the global movement of people as well as information is contributing to the fragmentation of traditional units of (self-) identification such as the nation. A more flexible process of (self-) identification allows more space for the creation of solidarity across various identities by perceiving differences as features that are distinctive yet not oppositional or threatening to the identity that one identifies with. When searching for one’s past with which to identify, memory is a much more flexible tool than traditional western historiography thanks to its capacity for incorporating paradoxical experiences without rejecting their coexistence. Moreover, it overcomes the limited perception of divided time and space and the notion of their alleged fixity, which is typical of western historiography. It unites time and space, because memory gives us the opportunity to (re)live6 the past at present through new perspectives. Furthermore, it also unites the past event with a particular way of recollection(s), thus connecting the past with our present experience and understanding of the world. It reflects our personal development as well as the cultural transmission of an experience. Herbert Marcuse describes this paradoxical relation of art and time as follows: “what is experienced through the medium of sensibility is present, while art cannot show present without showing the past. What has become form in the work of art has happened: it is recalled, re-presented. The mimesis translates reality into memory” (67). In a way, this idea shares some basis with quantum physics and its axiom that “posits the existence of multiple, parallel and multi-dimensional universes and associations between different forms of being” (Maes-Jelinek, “Latent Cross-culturalities” 490). In other words, at the moment when the writer describes some experience, he or she immediately translates this experience into a subjectively perceived memory. This memory can then be retrieved again at the present or in the future from this particular subjective representation by being (re)lived from a new perspective in the mind of the reader under different circumstances than those under which they were recorded. Thanks to this, a new dimension is always added to the experience – which can never be simply copied but is instead ‘updated’ by every instance of imaginative recreation. Memory allows for the fluidity of experience and its transformation, because it is not static and its perception and understanding may change – due to the observers’ ability to interpret it, and also through the possibility of changing one’s point of view. This has one very important consequence, which is highly relevant for postcolonial debates and especially the question of the trauma of the painful or “lost” past. Due to the transformatory potential of memory, it allows one to deal with one’s traumas and fears, which are often rooted in the past. Unlike western historiographies, which often present that past as fixed, unchangeable and therefore constantly threatening its victims through the feelings of loss, damage and inferiority (as well as victors through their guilt), memory allows us to transform the past through its imaginative recreation. Another point of view on a traumatic 46


event that took place in the past makes it possible to reassess the event and make our understanding of it and its consequences more positive. However, to be able to reassess the traumatic event from the past, we need some form of recollection of that past which is traditionally provided by historiographies. As has already mentioned, the history of the West Indian region is often perceived as having begun with the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus and continuing in subsequent waves of colonization (and later decolonization). Therefore it is rather a history of the European influence in the region than the actual history of its population – a point often made by West Indian authors such as George Lamming or Jamaica Kincaid. Because of this limited perception, the West Indies have often been seen as a space without its own history, or only with a history of conquest and colonization – a bitter standpoint which can be found, for example, in work of V.S. Naipaul (Ramchand 208). Even though the “absence” of history is obviously a false presupposition, the harsh presence of the idea is not alleviated by its fictionality. In circumstances where a lack of historiographic evidence – as well as its bias caused by the limited point of view – dominates the official records, it is not easy to challenge the stereotypical image of “absent” history. Wilson Harris realizes the importance of the past in the formation of personal as well as collective identity, and it is through the creative exploration of memory (be it the memory of an individual, community, landscape, myth, dream, or the ungraspable memory of the whole universe) that he tries to resurrect this past that is not so readily available. He says that “we are all shaped by our past; the imperatives of a contemporary culture are predominantly those of a relationship to this past, to history, to culture. Yet in the Caribbean and in Guyana we think and behave as though we have no past, no history, no culture. And where we do come to take notice of our history, it is often in the light of biases adopted from one thoroughbred culture or another, of the Old World…” (qtd. in Cudjoe 10). Harris insists that this sense of historylessness is self-created, and that the ‘void’, which many see as defective, is in fact “pregnant” with memory, as it is “peopled with the victims of history” (qtd. in Maes-Jelinek, “Palace” 30). This void is “as dense as the landscape he discovered when he led expeditions in the Guyanese jungle” (Maes-Jelinek, “Dynamic Perception” 520). This last comment shows one more point, and that is the importance of landscape in Harris’s fiction and its potential for carrying the signs of the past. However, landscape is not just a passive carrier of signs; it is alive, developing and ever-changing. Because of this, we can even speak of its memory. Harris manages to combine the images of void and emptiness with the ideas of potential, ‘pregnancy’, and richness within that void. What makes history, landscape, identity or culture seem void is, I believe, not its actual emptiness, but rather its inaccessibility. With an open ‘inner’7 eye, however, it is possible to intuitively discover its multifaceted nature and disclose some hidden realities that are not accessible through the ‘material’ eye. 47


In the early stages of political as well as cultural decolonization, some intellectuals called for a return to ‘authentic’ roots (mostly those connected to the African tradition) to recover parts of the newly recognized nations’ identity and/or past. However, such a practice soon proved insufficient. The main drawback noted by postcolonial critics was the simplistic reversal of roles, which in fact merely mimicked the previous practices of the colonizer, thus copying similar principles to those that they were trying to oppose. The second drawback was that a refusal to accept the colonial period as part of one’s past and identity did not mean a return to one’s actual roots, but instead deepened the ‘inauthenticity’ of ‘pure’ roots which did not genuinely reflect the newly evolved environment. Harris rejects both the “total recall of an ‘authentic’ African past or a sentimental privileging of indigenous Amerindian cultures as ‘true’ ancestry” (Green 11).8 Harris understands that in order to come to terms with their complicated past, its violence and injustice, the people of the West Indies (and not only them) must acknowledge all the sources of their identity, including those that were responsible for the pain inflicted on them. He is attempting to transform the painful memories into those that can also harbour some positive potential, even in the darkest of experiences. Thus memory helps to recreate historical experience from various viewpoints, showing both the positive and negative aspects it engendered. Despite its subjectivity and the inevitable personal and cultural bias of the observer, memory serves as an important source through which past experiences can be accessed, transmitted and imaginatively transformed or (re)created during processes of exploration as well as transmission.9 Individual as well as collective memory (conscious and unconscious/intuitive) is one of the vital sources for Harris’s creation of identity and placing oneself within the universe, as it is through memory, as Hena Maes-Jelinek notes, that experience can be retrieved – no matter how lost or forgotten it seems – because it “never dies completely but rests in a fossilized state of near-extinction” until it can be resurrected through exploration of memory (Maes-Jelinek, “Unimaginable Imaginer” 225). She points out that experience “forms an inexhaustible pool” which cannot really be wholly grasped, but which nevertheless surfaces in a variety of forms contributing to the formation of our self-knowledge (Maes-Jelinek, “Unimaginable Imaginer” 218). Part of the importance of memory and its ability to retrieve experience is also the possibility to pass this experience on to other individuals and/or communities. Art serves here as a medium which, through the workings of memory, revives but also transmits and transforms experience that might otherwise be lost or deemed ‘non-transferable’ without personal experience. The role of art is irreplaceable in this respect, because it involves the emotions which are encoded in, but also retrieved from, the work of art. Art can emotionally involve the perceiver, who can, through ‘open’ and informed reading, embrace and share the emotions connected with experiences he or she need not personally have lived through. By becoming emotionally involved, the reader shares the pain and injustice (as well as other 48


emotions) of those who lived through the experience, thus improving his/her understanding of such experience by associating the conveyed emotions with similar feelings experienced during the reader’s own life, and allowing one to identify with other people through the similarity of emotional experience.10 In this way it is possible to aspire towards greater personal sensitivity to forms of injustice present in current societies, and therefore, through individual and later communal responsibility, to strive towards the elimination of such instances that arouse negative feelings. Promoting feelings of solidarity with suffering people by ‘(re)living’ their experience through the medium of art, and by experiencing feelings of pain and injustice conveyed through art, the reader/perceiver may be moved towards personal involvement in the lives of the suffering people, and he/she may thus accept a form of responsibility that may lead to attempts at stopping and preventing similar injustice in the future. Memory is a form of emotionally laden experience, ideally suited to arouse such feelings. Moreover, it allows the events represented to be grasped from several points of view at once, without excluding the paradoxical nature of the perception of such experiences and their complex, plural, and even transforming interpretation. With regard to the feeling of insecurity and indistinct (self)identification caused by the idea of one’s uncertain anchorage within the history of the region or cultural tradition, even just the sharing of an experience can help people overcome trauma by giving it a form and exposing the feelings connected to it. Harris embraces the immense imaginative power of art, with its ability to incorporate various forms of memory and its creative potential leading to changes in our perception of the universe – which enables us to (re)live, as Durix points out, the forgotten moments of history (101). The important thing is that those moments of history can be (re)lived several times and from various viewpoints, offering the observer (or the ‘participant’11) experience in all its richness without the limitations traditional western historiography often requires in order to gain the required sense of stability and objectivity demanded by official records of history. Harris’s fictional communities contain within themselves memories of parts of history and the past that seem lost or nearly forgotten. He talks about ‘absent presences’, ‘phantom limbs’ within individuals, communities, but also landscapes. Through his novels, he resurrects from the ‘womb of space’ (an image often reflecting the idea of being ‘pregnant’ with memories and potentialities) the almost forgotten Arawaks or the Caribs, who once again become a living presence in the universe. They emerge from the “landscape saturated by traumas of conquest” (Harris, Secret Ladder 8). According to Harris, all men are “living fossils” bearing within themselves their history, so that, for example, “the black man of today’s Caribbean bears the compressed and combustive energy of historic suffering and labour [...] the potentially revolutionary fossil of the coal image, but also the crystalline beauty of the diamond image...” (qtd. in Burnett 65).12 49


To uncover the multiplicity of ‘absent presences’ and to avoid the limiting point of view of dominant historiography, I have already pointed out that Harris makes use of several sources of memory to uncover the full potential of a particular experience. Apart from mythologies, it is the physical/geographical landscape and the psychological landscape of the human mind – reflected in intuition and dreams – that form probably the most significant source of memory. Mythology, dreams, and physical surroundings are incorporated into his complex vision as a valid source of memory and information about the past, but also the present and the future, because through continuous imaginative (re)creation in works of art all these sources allow us to revive parts of memories collaborating in the creation of our personal identity and that of the community that shares them. While mythology (and even the subconscious protruding through dreams) have been considered useful sources of memory, landscape seems to be somewhat neglected in this respect. Nevertheless, landscape is very closely bound to memory. It preserves memory, which can be retrieved through imaginative insight in the same way as it is preserved within the myths of the region – a region in which landscape plays a significant role, shaping imagery as well as physical form. An important feature of Harris’s approach would be his understanding of nature and landscape as a living entity. He criticizes a “man-made capacity to treat living landscapes and riverscapes and skyscapes as passive furniture” (Maes-Jelinek, “Unimaginable Imaginer” 228).13 Through imaginative exploration, landscape is given new relevance not only in the search for one’s self, but also in the intuitive recovery of the past that contributed to the creation of our self and that of our community – and, as a matter of fact, the whole universe (which, for Harris, are ultimately intertwined). The following example comes from the novel Palace of the Peacock and illustrates how alive landscape can be in Harris’s vision. It also contains an image of a landscape from which parts of the region’s past can be discovered (the conquest by the white colonizers and their violence against the slave population on sugar plantations): The river of the savannahs wound its way far into the distance until it had forgotten the open land. The dense dreaming jungle and forest emerged. Mariella dwelt above the falls in the forest. I saw the rocks bristling in the legend of the river. On all sides the falling water boiled and hissed and roared. The rocks in the tide flashed their presentiment in the sun, everlasting courage and the other obscure spirits of creation. One’s mind was a chaos of sensation, even pleasure, faced by imminent mortal danger. A white fury and foam churned and raced on the black tide that grew golden every now and then like the crystal memory of sugar. From every quarter a mindless stream came through the ominous rocks whose presence served to pit the mad foaming face. (21)

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Harris’s experience with the Guyanese landscape is not only artistic, but also scientific. He unites these points of view – which are traditionally seen as antithetical – and gives both of them equal relevance in shaping his understanding of the world, because he believes that “in the midst of the known and scientifically knowable world, there persists in nature, in ‘lost’ communities, in the individual human being, an unfathomable mystery which must be approached imaginatively and made to balance the achievement of civilized man, if the latter is not to be defeated by his own conquests” (qtd. in Maes-Jelinek, “The Writer” 27–28). Before becoming a writer and a scholar, Harris lived and worked in Guyana as a government land surveyor until the end of the 1950s, when he emigrated to England. The knowledge of the savannas and bush of the Guyanese interior that he gained as a land surveyor has provided a setting for many of his books, and the Guyanese landscape is one of the dominating themes in his fiction (Maes-Jelinek, “Wilson Harris” 139). The Guyana Quartet draws heavily on his experience as a land surveyor. In fact, The Secret Ladder is set exactly in the area that Harris surveyed in 1951–1952 with the same purpose as the character of Fenwick – assessing “possibilities of damming the area to provide a supply of constant irrigation for coastal rice farmers” (Louis 104). Harris puts his ‘scientific’ eye for detail to good use and combines it with his emotionally laden perception as an artist. It is through such a complex vision, combining artistic insight and close observation of his surroundings, that he realizes the continuous change in the landscape, its infinite transformation, as well as its mystery – which can be intuitively approached, but never fully grasped (Maes-Jelinek, “Unimaginable Imaginer” 218). The fullest understanding and interpretation of the landscape and its memory can therefore be reached only through a combination of close observation and imaginative exploration. The previous example suggests the importance of the geographical landscape as a rich source of West Indian memory. However, to speak solely about the geographical landscape would be misleading. Consciously or intuitively, with help of imaginative art and self-recognition, man can uncover traits of the past hidden within himself as well as within his surroundings. In both instances, in the case of Wilson Harris, we can talk about the landscape – the inner landscape of the human psyche and the geographical landscape of the material world, because in Harris’s work these two landscapes are intimately interconnected.14 Man and landscape share the same experience. In Harris’s novels we are often confronted with complex images of exploration, rape, conquest, rebirth, which resonate with several layers of meaning. Furthermore, in most of Harris’s work, landscape stimulates man’s intuition, and thus helps him to approach memory imaginatively, with an open mind. As Maes-Jelinek writes in her analysis of Palace of the Peacock, landscape mirrors man’s inner states and often serves as a catalyst that modifies them. She emphasizes the importance of “the glaring contrasts and uncertainties of the Guyanese natural world” that serve as “a phenomenal and spatial equivalent of the psyche, and the two blend in the narrative” (Palace 34). 51


Focusing more specifically on the geographical landscape (especially that of the Guyanese interior), it is depicted as a living organism with its own memory, reflecting changes in the past within its physical structure. It contains signs of lost nations as well as the presence of a heterogeneous population created by the violent past of colonialism. The landscape is being constantly changed, but it also changes those who enter it. In a reality where conscious individual and collective memory can fail,15 landscape holds within itself memory which can be retrieved from individual signs through the process of creative imagination. The ruins of ancient settlements overgrown by forest still retain the memory of those who built them, and diverted riverbeds bear witness to the agricultural schemes of the colonizers. In a similar way, Harris’s landscape images incorporate reflections of historical events such as the introduction of slavery, the plantation system and slave revolts, or the search for El Dorado. These subtle signs can be uncovered by an attentive observer who might be able to recover the past from them by questioning these signs and allowing them to ‘speak’ for themselves from the depths of the past. Moreover, as I have already suggested, the physical landscape in Harris’s fiction serves also as a parallel universe and an image for the inner self. Voyages into the jungle, and the search for El Dorado, the Mariella mission or the native people, reflect the search for one’s ‘inner’ or ‘spiritual’ eye, which can be understood as a route towards fulfilment, complete and complex self-perception, selfrecognition, finding one’s identity or reconciliation with one’s past, present and future. In a society where history has such a problematic place in the formation of an identity and self-perception, memory (and ways to revive it) becomes a key source enabling us to create such an identity through imaginative insight into experiences that are retrievable from that memory. By combining symbolic meaning and physical representation within one image, Harris combines several sources of memory to describe a particular experience, thus giving it multiple perspectives. Perceiving simultaneously several interpretations, and therefore acquiring different meanings from one experience, enables us to bring together the facets of experience that were previously separated by a more limited form of perception – a form of perception which was insufficient for an authentic expression of the West Indian identity. To give an example of such a multilayered use of landscape in Harris’s works, we can choose one of the early images which use landscape as both a symbolic and physical substance. It is the image of a conquest, and the depiction of the conquered land as a woman.16 Although this image is also quite typical of the hegemonic western tradition and its depiction of conquered lands,17 Harris incorporates it into his work – despite its controversial connotations. Not only is the image of a conquered land/woman shown from the viewpoint of the conquered (though the conqueror’s perception is also present), but the idea of a conquest or rape is depicted as far more complicated, with various feelings of love and hate accompanying the experience, reflecting the complex relationship between the conqueror and 52


the victim. It is not even clear at some points who is the conqueror and who the victim of the conquest. This image is problematized in several of Harris’s novels, such as Palace of the Peacock, The Far Journey of Oudin, Four Banks of the River of Space, and Heartland. This is not a particularly original use of an image to symbolize conquest - both from the position of the colonizer (mostly depicted as a woman conquered, subdued and taken under the ‘protection’ of a civilized man) and from the position of the colonized (the symbolic rape of an innocent indigenous female, resulting in damage or complete destruction). Nevertheless, Harris views the entire enterprise as having a more complex nature, often aiming for a hope of a positive outcome despite its springing from such a destructive action. Thus the conquest of the land or the rape of a woman (the rape of the land) coincides with images of continuation, resurrection and the creation of new life, the realization of the consequences of one’s actions and the horrors one is able to cause, which can lead to a better understanding of one’s self and an acceptance of responsibility for the universe one creates and is being created by. Apart from reflecting historical events of the region, landscape in all Harris’s novels also serves as a metaphor (if we can talk about metaphor at all, because physical nature and the psychological inner nature of man are inseparable in Harris’s perception of the world) for individual and communal consciousness. The voyages into the interior – the jungle – parallel an inner search for one’s identity, recognition, and understanding. A search for El Dorado (the City of Gold, or the City of God) becomes a search within one’s heart and soul, uncovering unconscious realities and memories accessible only to the ‘seeing’/‘living’ spiritual eye, not the ‘dead’ material eye which permits only limited perception – and on which we often rely too rigidly, refusing to accept what we cannot ‘objectively’ measure, touch or observe with our eyes (this would be the limited vision of the ‘dead’ unseeing eye).18 Harris’s landscape, in this respect, represents both the actual material substance and the ‘unconscious’ of the psychological world. In accord with ideas of quantum reality, the physical universe is intertwined with the unconscious inner universe of human beings, where we can find similar traces of the past, retrievable through close observation supported by imaginative creative insight. Thus the journey of the characters in Harris’s novels into the interior of the Guyanese territory also gradually becomes “a regressive trip up the river of memory” (Durix 98) and a voyage through the time-space, where the past continuously interferes with the present and therefore also the future. Both physical/geographical and psychological landscapes preserve similar kinds of signs/memories through which they can speak to us if we open our mind (our living-seeing spiritual eye) and allow the signs to speak to us. When observed attentively, on the geographical level, within the imagery describing physical surroundings (trees, rocks, rivers, waterfalls and so on) we can discern signs of the early attempts by various communities in the West Indian re53


gion to penetrate the interior. We can find traces of expeditions in search of gold. We can experience the transformation of the forest and the plains due to irrigation schemes designed for plantations – schemes which altered the tidal regimes of rivers and the form of riverbeds, thus changing the whole complex organism of the landscape and its workings. On the psychological level, if we transgress the limitations of our perception circumscribed by our upbringing and our own intellectual capacity, these images of penetration (rape), exploration, transformation or resurrection are paralleled by similar occurrences in the lives of communities that are gradually emerging in the West Indies, as well as on the level of individual characters – characters which not only represent these communities, but also serve as an image of a more general ‘individual’ of the wider universe. By exploring the previously neglected geographical and psychological landscapes and eliciting other “unexpected correspondences” – such as those between “pagan myths (Guyanese and Greek) and Christian history and belief, between nature and psyche, and in the perception, both scientific and imaginative, of the cosmos and human consciousness” – Harris transgresses the restrictions of historiographical perception of individual, communal, human, and universal origins (Maes-Jelinek, “Unfinished Genesis” 231). Maes-Jelinek notes that Harris’s work offers “an almost unlimited number of relationships on all levels of experience and their transformation into a ‘genuine open dialogue’” (“The Writer” 27–28). Such a multiplicity of images, and the overarching metaphor of creation of the West Indies, is found in the passage from The Secret Ladder where Poseidon’s house is described by the main character Fenwick. It looks like an ... exotic mission house, created equally by destiny and accident [...] it had an air of both foreign and native, ideal and primitive, at one and the same time; and yet it seemed so precariously and absolutely right, belonging so truly in this natural or unnatural context of landscape, that the thought of an imposition, of pretentiousness or absurdity in the life of the crumbling building, seemed equally ridiculous and impossible. [... It had a] stamp of a multiple tradition or heritage. (199–200)

Thanks to his ability to draw parallels between spaces and times, Harris allows the previously separate experiences to be seen as sharing similarities, and therefore, despite their difference, the writer/reader/participant is able to identify more readily with experience that would otherwise probably seem quite unfamiliar and inaccessible. Harris’s novels build bridges between cultures and individuals by showing them the fluidity of the past and therefore the irrelevance of insisting on its fixed interpretations, thus teaching greater tolerance for different ways of perception. Landscapes become sources of infinite resurrection of experience through their unobtrusive memory, which is not prescriptive, unlike the memory presented through traditional historiographies. Experience carried by the memory of the 54


landscape can be (re)lived again and again, offering a never-ending flux of new perceptions. Living fossils of a landscape (geographical and psychological) are made accessible through imaginative artistic (re)creation. The role of art in the transformation of our perception of history and the past is irreplaceable in this respect, because as Samuel Durrant says, “art can transform history into a sacred morsel or sacrament”, something we can “consume in remembrance” (qtd. in Maes-Jelinek and Ledent, 210). Through representations of the dead, lost, or forgotten we uncover “a latent potentiality of mourning”. Characters such as the dreamer, but also the writer and the reader themselves, become involved in the process of mourning by witnessing the experiences and thus recognizing “their implication in and responsibility for history” (Durrant qtd. in Maes-Jelinek and Ledent, 213–214). In the last section I would like to discuss one more element of Harris’s artistic expression that is in accord with his understanding of art and its role in the transformation and resurrection of the past through the exploration of various forms of experience preserved within the memory of landscape(s) – language. Language itself becomes an extremely important instrument in Harris’s representation of landscapes and its memory. It is presented as a living fossil, and Harris argues for its capacity to reflect ‘dormant’ presences in the same way as the landscapes that it describes. Despite the often-questioned usage of English (or other European languages) in literatures from former colonies, Harris speaks strongly in favour of its capability to convey the complex meanings he is searching for. He is convinced that within the English language itself “there exist the voices of dead cultures [ – ] the Macusi, the Carib, the Arawak; [...] pre-Columbian tongues that have been eclipsed. What one is saying is that when these ancient tongues come into play they affect the rhythm of the English language”. He is positive about the capacity of English to encompass “a configuration in the English language, springing from the fact that the English language in South America secrets within it the tongues of ancient peoples who have long vanished” (Gilkes 31–32). We can see the direct influences of the ancient tongues when he is describing the geographical landscape. It soon becomes obvious that Amerindian place names dominate the descriptions of the interior, while Dutch, French and English names prevail in the demographic sphere. The nomenclature of rocks, waterfalls and tributaries reflects, as Bundy notes, the vital influence of Amerindian guides on early Dutch traders, on official descriptions of Guyana (British Guiana) such as “Adriaan van Berkel’s Travels in South America between Berbice and Essequibo Rivers (1670–89), on explorations and surveys of the then unknown interior, such as Charles Warton’s Wandering in South America (1825), Richard Schomburgk’s Travels in British Guiana (184044), and lastly on inventories of the region’s mineral wealth, such as Sir John Harrison’s Geology of the Gold Fields of British Guiana (1908)” (19). For Harris, landscape is “like an open book”. However, this does not only mean images of the landscape he describes, but also the music/language of the land55


scape – “the preternatural voices in rivers, rapids, giant waterfalls, rock, tree” that he is trying to capture and convey through the English language he uses as his medium (qtd. in Bundy 40). Literature offers him an opportunity to combine the visual with the musical/auditory, creating a much more complex representation that overcomes the connotations of writing in an ‘inauthentic medium’ – as English is sometimes seen by those who are antagonistic to the cultural heritage of the former colonizing power. The poetic nature of Harris’s novels, the musicality of the language and the vivid imagery in his texts, play on several senses at once, opening up yet more new possibilities of perception. In this way, Harris’s style of writing may be viewed as one which opens the reader to intuitive perceptions and gives access to various traditions that contributed to its creation, all more or less hidden within its imagery, sound, structure, thought, etc., and which are retrievable through imaginative and creative insight into a text, but also into the inner spaces of the readers themselves. Hena Maes-Jelinek praises Harris for his “perfect coalescence of content and form”. She observes that “Harris believes in the interrelatedness of all elements in life. Nature, humanity, fauna and flora partake of the same essence, are partial materializations of an ‘unfathomable’ wholeness, unfathomable God or Spirit towards which his characters progress but never reach” (“Un Musica Poesis” 495). This claim reflects the basic principle of Herbert Marcuse’s idea about the true authenticity of art – which, for me, corresponds closely to Harris’s artistic expression, in which he combines rich descriptions featuring sources of perception that stimulate all the senses. Harris’s novels are neither mimicking nor blindly oppositional – features for which some of the early works of postcolonial literature tend to be criticized. He manages to gain authenticity “not by virtue of its content (i.e., the ‘correct’ representation of social conditions), nor by its ‘pure’ form, but by the content having become form” (Marcuse 8). Every aspect of Harris’s art reflects his understanding of the interconnectedness of the universe where the past cannot be separated from the present, geographical landscape from the inner landscape of a man, or a work of art from a world it represents and those who create it – whether by writing it or reading it. What once looked like a hopeless void from one perspective can become a rich source full of creative potential. In Harris’s novels the memory of the Guyanese landscape definitely becomes one of these sources. Notes Harris employs the idea of the fable of history very often, using his paradoxical approach and juxtaposing two elements which western methodology presents as oppositional. History, or rather historiography, is traditionally presented as something true, stable and unchanging, while fable is understood as fictional – i.e. not true. Harris deconstructs 1

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this idea by showing that even official history is a form of narrative, an image created from a limited point of view, and by no means objective or with unquestioned veracity. An example of an available text is Sir Walter Raleigh’s account of his journey into Guyana and one of the first written documents about the region that reached Europe – The Discovery of the Large, Rich, and Beautiful Empire of Guiana; with a Relation of the Great and Golden City of Manoa, which the Spaniards Call El Dorado. Other sources of early information preserved in written form include Adriaan van Berkel’s Travels in South America between Berbice and Essequibo Rivers (1670–89), Charles Warton’s Wandering in South America (1825), Richard Schomburgk’s Travels in British Guiana (1840–44), and inventories of the region’s mineral wealth in Sir John Harrison’s Geology of the Gold Fields of British Guiana (1908), mentioned later in the text. 2

Memory is defined by the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary as “your ability to remember things” and is therefore ascribed as an ability to people only. However, in the sense in which it is used in this essay it also refers to the ability of all living things (because Harris considers nature and the whole universe to be a living organism) to preserve the memory which can then be retrieved. 3

Officially recorded historiographies are used only marginally, and they are presented from various viewpoints. From the myths and beliefs Harris does not restrict himself only to those that originated in the region; he also takes into account those that were transported with the new population as well as disseminated through the education system. In his works we can find references to traditional western mythology (Greek, Biblical), African traditions (Bush babies, mama Legba, etc.), or early Mexican and South American cultural heritage (the tree of life, Quetzalcoatl, etc.), and also newer narratives about El Dorado and other conquistadorial images. 4

This ‘safety barrier’ – which is seen as necessary for the creation of a comfort zone for those who have created it – is, I believe, one of the major problems of negative identity formation. This essay attempts to pursue the possibility of creating an identity, and a feeling of comfort and safety surrounding it, without the necessity for such a barrier. 5

The format of the word ‘(re)live’ combines the meaning of living again through a familiar experience, but also living it anew – either because of the different perspective added to our understanding or because of encountering such an experience for the first time and therefore living through it for the first time, while also re-living the experience of the author who conveys it to us through his work of art. 6

7

Harris talks about the flexible inner/spiritual eye in contrast to the fixed material eye.

This vain longing is depicted, for example, in The Far Journey of Oudin, where one of the brothers – Hassan, whose grandfather came to Guyana from India – sets his heart on returning to this land of his father’s ancestors to find peace of mind. 8

I mean several possibilities of transformation of memory – first during our own exploration of our memory, but also its transformation while trying to access the memory of somebody else (for example as a reader), and transformation through the creative process 9

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of representation of that memory (in writing, but also in any other form of art which expresses the artist’s vision of that memory). I mention pain and injustice among the various other emotions that can be retrieved through art, because these emotions tend to arouse feelings of responsibility and personal involvement in the perceiver, thus leading to feelings of solidarity and attempts to erase possibilities of creating feelings of pain and injustice in the lives of other people. These problems are discussed, for example, in Swanson Goldberg’s and Schultheis Moore’s book Theoretical Perspectives on Human Rights and Literature (Routledge, 2012). 10

It is highly desirable, in my opinion, to push the reader (or any other receiver of a piece of art) away from impersonal detached observation towards his or her emotional involvement with the piece of art and what it represents. 11

Including the complex perception of the substance in this image as well as its transformational qualities. 12

References to landscape in this paper understand the term in its broadest sense, including what Harris in this quote calls riverscapes and skyscapes. 13

The image of landscape could also be broadened to include the physical landscape of the human body, which is also present in Harris’s work; however, for the purposes of this paper I shall omit this as a separate category, because it is merged with both images of geographical and inner psychological landscapes, and it could cause confusion if further distinctions were drawn. 14

I talk at this point about conscious memory as memory that is recognized and directly at hand, because it is either directly remembered from personal experience or recorded by official sources. However, this type of memory may not always be available. On the other hand, intuitive memory is always present, even when it is not searched for or when it is not retrieved at all. It can also be described as a phantom limb – something that is missing, yet we can feel its presence, and through the imagination and memory we can revive its presence in our mind’s eye. 15

The image of conquest also develops on the psychological level into the images of violation of one’s morals and integrity. 16

See for example the map “Imperial Federation”, Map of the World Showing the Extent of the British Empire in 1886 on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Imperial_ Federation,_Map_of_the_World_Showing_the_Extent_of_the_British_Empire_ in_1886_%28levelled%29.jpg or some allegorical representations of America on http:// clements.umich.edu/exhibits/online/american-encounters/american-encounters-women. php 17

18 A dead ‘unseeing’ eye does not necessarily mean impaired physical perception by sight in this case. Harris naturally values close observation and the ability to notice important details/signs in one’s surroundings. The dead/unseeing eye may refer to impaired perception by one’s physical eyes, or by the ‘inner’ spiritual eye (whose ‘sight’ can be similarly limited).

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Bibliography Bundy, Andrew J.M. “Introduction.” Selected Essays of Wilson Harris: The Unfinished Genesis of the Imagination. Ed. Andrew Bundy. London: Routledge, 1999. 1–34. Burnett, Paula. “Opening New Doors: A Glimpse of Wilson Harris and Derek Walcott.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 2002. 61–82. Cudjoe, Selwyn R. “Wilson Harris and the Architecture of Consciousness.” History, Fable and Myth in the Caribbean and Guianas. 1994. Wellesley: Calaloux Publications, 1995. D’Aguiar, Fred. “Love for the Vanished: Wilson Harris on Love.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 2002. 11–19. Dubois, Dominique. “The Redemptive Power of Bone’s Revisionary Fiction.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Ed. Maes-Jelinek, Hena and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 2002. 195–204. Durix, Jean-Pierre. “Origins in Palace of the Peacock.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2002. 83–101. Durrant, Samuel. “Coming Home ‘Upon Threads of Desolation’: The Reversal of Prophecy in Wilson Harris’s The Dark Jester.” Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2002. 203–15. Gilkes, Michael. “The Landscape of Dreams.” Wilson Harris: The Uncompromising Imagination. Ed. Hena Maes-Jelinek. Sydney: Dangaroo Press, 1991. 31–38. Green, James. “Mapping the Guyanese Dream-space.” Journal of Postcolonial Writing 43.1 (April 2007): 3-17. Web. 21 March 2010. . Harris, Wilson. “The Amerindian Legacy.” Selected Essays of Wilson Harris: The Unfinished Genesis of the Imagination. Ed. Andrew Bundy. London: Routledge. 1999. 167–75. ---. “Quetzalcoatl and the Smoking Mirror: Reflections on Originality and Tradition.” Selected Essays of Wilson Harris: The Unfinished Genesis of the Imagination. Ed. Andrew Bundy. London: Routledge, 1999. 184–95. ---. “Theatre of the Arts.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2002.1-10.

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---. The Secret Ladder. The Whole Armour and The Secret Ladder. London: Faber & Faber, 1973. ---. “The Unfinished Genesis of the Imagination.” Selected Essays of Wilson Harris: The Unfinished Genesis of the Imagination. Ed. Andrew Bundy. London: Routledge, 1999. 248–60. Louis, James. “Fenwick’s Log: Reading the Text of Landscape.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. New York: Rodopi, 2002. 103–09. Maes-Jelinek, Hena. “Palace of the Peacock.” The Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. HenaMaes-Jelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 29–89. ---. Introduction. The Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 2006. xv–xxvi. ---. “‘Latent Cross-Culturalities’ in Harris and Soyinka: Their Creative Alternative to Theory.” The Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. Hena Maes-Jelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 484–94. ---. “The Far Journey of Oudin: A Naked Particle of Freedom.” Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. Hena Maes-Jelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 91–102. ---. “The Secret Ladder: The Immaterial Constitution.” Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. Hena Maes-Jelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 115–27. ---. “The Writer as Alchemist: The Unifying Role of the Imagination.” Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. Hena Maes-Jelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 19–28. ---. “Unimaginable imaginer: The Dark Jester.” Theatre of the Arts: Wilson Harris and the Caribbean. Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek and Bénédicte Ledent. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2002. 217–29. ---. “‘Unfinished Genesis’ The Four Banks of the River of Space.” Wilson Harris: The Uncompromising Imagination. Ed. Hena Maes-Jelinek. Sydney: Dangaroo Press. 1991. 230–45. ---. “Un Musica Poesis. “Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. HenaMaes-Jelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 495–504. ---. “Wilson Harris’s Multi-Faceted and Dynamic Perception of the Imaginary.” Labyrinth of Universality: Wilson Harris’s Visionary Art of Fiction. Ed. Hena MaesJelinek. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006. 517–25. Marcuse, Herbert. The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique of Marxist Aesthetics. Boston: Beacon Press, 1978. “memory.” Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary. Oxford Dictionaries. OUP. 2016. Web. 23. Feb. 2016. .

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O’Brian, Patrick Karl. “Book Review: An Engagement with Postmodern Foes, Literary Theorists and Friends on the Borders with History.” Reviews in History. History in Focus. 2 (2001). Institute of Historical Research. 2011. Web. 23. Feb. 2016. . Ramchand, Kenneth. “The West Indies.” Literatures of the World in English. Ed. Bruce King. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974. 192–211. Swanson Goldberg, Elizabeth and Alexandra Schultheis Moore. “Introduction: Human Rights and Literature: The Development of an Interdiscipline.” Theoretical Perspectives on Human Rights and Literature. Eds. Swanson Goldberg and Schultheis Moore. New York: Routledge, 2012. 1–16. Van Brunt, Alexa. “The Postmodern Crisis of Narrative: Byatt, Carey, and Swift.” Contemporary Postcolonial and Postimperial Literature in English. Postcolonialweb.org. 1998. Web. 23. Feb. 2016. .

Address: Masaryk University Faculty of Education Poříčí 7 603 00 Brno Czech Republic [email protected]

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In Sycorax’s Kitchen: Metaphors of a Feeding Mother in Marina Warner’s Indigo Gabriela Boldizsárová Catholic University in Ružomberok Abstract Marina Warner’s novel Indigo has long been interpreted as a postcolonial rewriting of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, giving more space and voice to its female characters. However, there is another aspect in the novel that is worth exploring. Warner peoples her novel with a number of female characters who play motherly roles and who provide their motherly care in different forms and on different levels. Warner employs the metaphor of feeding to uncover several aspects of womanhood and motherhood. The paper explores the metaphor on the biological, cultural, social and spiritual levels from the feminist perspective. Keywords: body, feeding, identity, motherhood, Marina Warner

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Introduction The British writer Marina Warner (1946) is an author whose work is divided into two main areas: her scholarly work on myth, symbolism and fairy tales; and her fiction, in which she merges the mythical and fantastic with the real, often reshaping old texts using new voices which were previously unheard. Perhaps her most famous novel is Indigo, or Mapping the Waters (1992), which is a revision and rewriting of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. The novel is set on the fictional Caribbean island of Liamuiga and in London, and it covers a time span of over three hundred years. It tells the story of Christopher Everard, who conquered and colonized the island, intertwined with the lives of its indigenous inhabitants, represented by Sycorax, the healer and indigo-maker, and her adoptive children. As the story moves from the 17th century colonial Caribbean to 20th century post-colonial London it follows the lives of these characters’ descendants, the Everard family and their Carib nurse Serafine, who links the two spatial-temporal layers. Given the theme of the novel, perhaps the most prominent approach is postcolonial, exploring the colonial past and the postcolonial present of the setting. Apart from Warner herself speaking of her coming to terms with her family’s colonial role (Warner, Signs 264), scholars such as Chantal Zabus, Cao Li or María José Chivite De León have also rediscovered various aspects of Caribbean-British relations in the text. In addition, feminist criticism of the novel, represented by scholars including Richard Todd and Natali Bogosyan, focuses mainly on female voices – above all the voice of Sycorax, whom Warner (unlike Shakespeare) allows to speak. However, there is another strong aspect in the novel which should not be overlooked, and which offers a different perspective. Motherhood and its many dimensions are presented here on an extensive scale. Richard Todd claims that “Marina Warner takes on recent feminist commentary that has noted the striking absence in the work of Shakespeare of figures of motherhood” (109). Indeed, Warner introduces a variety of mother figures, representing different approaches to this role. This paper explores motherly care through the prism of food and feeding; besides representing the mother’s basic biological capacity, feeding also serves as a metaphor for other functions performed by the characters which may act as substitutes for nurturing, such as touching, healing, story-telling, or creating social bonds. The metaphor works on the biological, cultural, social and spiritual levels and allows for a multidimensional perspective on the protagonists. Theorizing the Feeding Mother Food, as a basic biological condition of human existence, is a multilayered concept, incorporating other meanings besides its biological necessity. Since the 1930s food has been acknowledged by scholars as a means of understanding culture, 64

Gabriela Boldizsárová • In Sycorax’s Kitchen: Metaphors of a Feeding Mother [...]

with approaches ranging from anthropology and sociology to history and literature, discussing the actual and symbolic significance of food in human life.1 Apart from the necessity of individual consumption, food also has a strong social aspect. Jon Holtzman argues that “unlike our other most private activities food is integrally constituted through its open sharing, whether in rituals, feasts, reciprocal exchange, or contexts in which it is bought and sold” (373). It is its social aspect in which we find the great symbolic power of food, and it is this aspect which draws the attention of scholars, writers and artists. Sarah Sceats claims that food “is a currency of love and desire, a medium of expression and communication” (11). Sharing food creates bonds in cultures across the globe, and ritual eating plays an essential role in many religions. Eating “is an act that (re)orders, constructs, destroys and mobilizes across cultural and geographical distances” (Lavis 2). Food, in its social aspect, facilitates the relation of an individual to the group or to another individual. This is the aspect I explore in the paper, focusing on the female characters of the novel. The connection of food and women seems natural, as it is a biological capacity of the female body to produce food to nurture infants, “which categorises them [women] as feeders” (Sceats 2). When the biological aspect is taken a step further we find the stereotypical image of a woman tied to the hearth to provide food for the whole family. As Sarah Sceats notes, “in western culture women have traditionally borne most of the burden of cooking for and nourishing others” (Sceats 2). As a result, the biological connection of food and women/mothers has meant that women’s value has frequently been judged according to their ability to nourish others. All the other functions of a mother towards her children and family – love, care, acceptance and support, or the relationships she enters – are viewed through the prism of this basic need. In the figure of the mother, the individual and the social aspects of food are combined. She herself must eat to be able to give herself, her milk, to feed others. Food may therefore act as an extension of the mother’s body, to retain or to create a bond with the child. It also assists her in creating communities, in tying the family together. The mother often projects her love into her offerings of food, which can take various forms and degrees of intensity. Excessive nutrition from the mother, or its opposite – undernourishment – is often associated with her (in)ability to love or care. In the metaphorical language of psychoanalysis, this is transformed into the archetype of the Great/Terrible Mother. In Carl Jung’s theory, the Great Mother archetype symbolizes creativity, birth, fertility and nurturing. She reflects “all that is benign, all that cherishes and sustains, furthers growth and fertility” (Jung 82). However, this positive force has a dark side, the Terrible Mother with her destructive power. She “connotes what devours, seduces, and poisons” (I 82). The limitless power to create/destroy can be perceived in parallel with the mother’s power/ failure to feed. In a similar way as she generates life, she can support that life with food, with her nurturing. In spite of the great power that resides in the figure of the 65


mother, her position is ambiguous, as she is socially and politically powerless due to her domestic position, which is perceived as inferior in Western culture. The ambiguous character and position of a woman/mother is also discussed in Julia Kristeva’s theory of abjection, which draws on the Freudian perception of the mother by her child. As the mother and her child form a biological unity, the child being dependent on her/his mother, the child perceives the mother as another, close subject and not as a distant object. “She is the other subject, an object that guarantees my being as subject” (Kristeva 32). She therefore becomes abject – close, yet separate, at the same time repulsive and attractive, both loved and feared for her great power. The awkward relationship with the mother figure is perhaps caused by her granting us life, but life which is mortal and full of pain (Kristeva 158). Food is frequently used to set up, continue and ease this relationship. It can symbolize the life that the mother can generate, but feeding others can be perceived as the execution of the mother’s power as well. The several dualities embodied in the figure of the mother – individual/social, creative/destructive, powerful/powerless, (un)able to feed/care/love – all contribute to her ambivalent status, which becomes evident when she provides food to meet the needs of her dependents. Food acts as an instrument for her to create or enhance relationships with her children or society, and also to form her identity. It is within these terms that I analyze two major and two minor female characters of the novel – Sycorax, the 17th century indigo-maker and healer, Serafine, the 20th century old storyteller and nurse, plus Gillian and Astrid, two young but dysfunctional mothers living in the 20th century. Sycorax: The Indigo-Maker In The Tempest, Sycorax is “the blue-eyed hag” (1.2), the witch who is not in fact given the space to express herself, but is only mentioned as a former ruler of the island. In Warner’s version of the story, Sycorax is given a voice, and she plays one of the main roles. Sycorax represents the island viewed by the first colonizers as a place of wonders and materialized fantasies.2 Her transition from an ‘ordinary’ mother, through an indigo-maker and healer, to a transcendental level of existence is marked by her specific use of food. Here I explore her use of food as a creative/ destructive force which contributes to her (dis)connection with her family and community. As a young wife and mother, Sycorax lives in the centre of her community. Although she is not an ordinary woman (being the daughter of one chieftain and the sister of another) the reader expects ‘ordinary’ behaviour in terms of her providing food and care for her family. However, Sycorax does not conform to the traditional image of a mother. Her preparation of food is unconventional, and the food is often inedible, making her “family run to other, more dependable cooks; who were not 66


always experimenting” (Indigo 109).3 Sycorax’s great knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and her desire to experiment, makes her exceptional. On the other hand, food does not become a safe way of creating a bond with her children, and her youthful egocentrism means that her children are on the margins of her interests, left to the care of others. Warner parallels Sycorax’s passion for food experiments with her bodily passion. As a young woman she “used to turn men into beasts” (I 110). Her body is “undiscovered territory” (I 108) to her, and she discovers it in a similar fashion to how she explores the properties of plants and animals. A Freudian analogy of food and sexuality is presented, with certain foods, like oysters, symbolically expressing Sycorax’s attitude to both. “Some of her ways with spices were quickly adopted: […] with a sprinkling of ground pepper and chilly bean, and a drop of lime juice, they [oysters] tasted more savoury” (I 108). At this stage she is neither a functional mother, nurturing and nourishing her children, nor a virtuous wife. Nevertheless, she is still accepted by her community. The shift occurs when the dead bodies of African slaves wash up on the shores of the island. The fact that Sycorax can hear their voices and brings life out of death – she delivers the baby Dulé from his drowned mother’s body – shows her power, which is feared as well as respected in her society. Her previous failure to feed her own children is now, in her fifties, shifted into her capacity to breastfeed the orphaned baby. The witching, unnatural character of an otherwise natural act of nursing a baby can be perceived as a subversive act against the law of nature, and it results in Sycorax’s alienation from human society. As a “wise woman”, a sorceress, she becomes abject and has to move out of the village, marking her position as liminal. Her difference means that she is perceived as a heterogeneous element, the ‘filth’ which the community, the ‘self’, must exclude. She represents a form of pollution which endangers the community’s integrity. In her seclusion she builds a new autonomy and becomes an indigo-maker as well as a famous healer. The shift is not perceived by her as a punishment, but as a liberation from her previous life and the social rules that bound it. In her new position she is able to devote herself to her passion for ‘cooking’, and to develop her powers. Warner parallels the alchemy of indigo-making with the preparation of food. It is described as a long process, consisting of several steps, with the necessary ingredients and the right conditions, temperature and timing. The smell of indigo, compared to the cooked beans, sometimes carries through the air to the villagers, who laugh: “‘That stinking Sycorax at her stews again’” (I 90). Indigo-making is viewed by Warner as a creative activity, bringing pleasure as well as prosperity to Sycorax. Together with her healing, her art is appreciated and respected, as opposed to her previous ‘ordinary’ preparation of food. Under the influence of her new ‘cooking’ her body is changed as well. The trade of indigo-making is imprinted on her skin, the whites of her eyes, and also her tongue, since she tastes the indigo grain to see if it is smooth enough. She takes on 67


a bluish shade, a sign of her trade. Metaphorically, indigo becomes her ‘bread’; it enters her body, disrupts her body’s boundaries, and it becomes the route which re-connects her to her society, similarly to how her healing does. The giving, helping nature of her trade makes her a Great Mother character, “the maternal imago” (Zabus, “Power” 135). Although she failed as a biological mother, she succeeds as a foster mother to Dulé, and later to the Arawak girl Ariel, and also as a spiritual Mother of her people, feeding them her remedies – both material (her potions and concoctions) and mental (her advice). These two levels are linked. Sycorax’s advice (words) can be viewed as a form of non-material nurturing. Although discourse is usually associated with paternity (Kristeva 45), it is also one of the maternal functions to nurture not only with food but also with words of comfort and support, such as those which Sycorax offers to her people. Further changes to Sycorax’s body and identity come with the arrival of the European colonizers. They see her first as an animal (climbing a tree), then as a witch, and they try to smoke her out of her refuge. This echoes the witch hunts taking place in Europe in the same period, and ordinary Europeans’ fear of single women with a certain type of knowledge. In the encounter she is severely injured, and she suffers immensely. Although Ariel saves her, she is in pain and her body remains deformed. Her destroyed, repugnant body can be perceived as abject – unruly, grotesque, and resistant to categorization, as defined by Kristeva (4). Mary Russo associates the grotesque body with animals, degradation, filth, death and rebirth (Carson 125), and it is in this way that Sycorax is viewed by the colonizers. In unbearable pain, she is no longer able to be a nurturing, giving Mother, and instead she changes into a malevolent witch. She curses those around her, and her speech becomes destructive, revealing her as a Terrible Mother. The process of Sycorax’s transformation culminates in the final stage of the novel, when, after her death in the battle between the colonizers and the indigenous inhabitants, she is buried under her tree, but her spirit remains alive. The bodiless Sycorax is embodied in the island, and she moves to the mythological and transcendental level of existence. She becomes a genius loci, worshipped by the locals who come to the tree to have their wishes fulfilled; this echoes the crowds praying to the Virgin Mary. Sycorax in this respect can be viewed as a motherly figure patiently listening to her children’s complaints and desires. She is also identified with the powers of the island and presented as the ruler of time. Here again the writer returns to cooking and preparing indigo. The islanders’ conception of time is cyclic, compared to a bowl, “in which substances and essences were tumbled and mixed” (I 122). Sycorax is depicted as the one holding the spoon and stirring the contents, commanding the elements to return “in the churn of the heavens” (I 212). Time, according to her, is blue like the indigo she used to make. The colour blue, usually associated with water, gives time a shape-shifting character, in this case a circular shape of a bowl, allowing for a creative approach such as that adopted by Sycorax. 68


Warner employs the phenomenon of cooking as a metaphor for constructing Sycorax’s identity, from the preparation of food, through cooking indigo as a creative and emancipating activity, to ‘cooking’ time – representing her transcendental and mythological powers. In the character of Sycorax Warner subverts the image of the mother as pure, perfect and stable. She brings together two opposed poles of womanhood – the witch with her fantastic, abject, anarchic body, and the good, virtuous, bodiless mother – close to the ideal virgin mother, the Madonna, discussed in Warner’s work Alone of All her Sex. The result of the long transformational process is a picture of a complex woman with a metamorphic identity who is able to cook who she is. Serafine: The Storyteller The contemporary counterpart of Sycorax is Serafine, an old nurse/servant in the Everard family, who can also be viewed as a Great Mother archetype, not only towards children but also within the wider community. She can be viewed as a descendant of Sycorax, inheriting some of her healing capacities, but on a smaller scale. Her character is depicted on two levels. The first is her ability to feed/care for others, and the other is her story-telling capacity. Both levels are interconnected and allow Serafine to fulfill at least some of the maternal functions. Serafine is a West Indian woman born on the island of Liamuiga, who always belonged to the household of the Everard family. As a young woman she was taken to England when the family moved there, but she had to leave her own daughter on the island. Although perfectly capable of fulfilling her maternal functions, under these circumstances she becomes a dysfunctional biological mother. However, she becomes a very welcoming ‘shadow mother’ in the Everard family, taking care of both children and adults alike. As a nurse and maidservant she has a specific position in the family – although only a few years older than the head of the family, Ant, she was his nurse after his mother’s death, and possibly also his concubine after the death of his first wife. She was a nurse to his son Kit and also, at the time when the novel is set, to Kit’s daughter Miranda and Xanthe, Ant’s daughter by his second wife Gillian. Serafine’s specific position is symbolized by the key to a private garden that the family can use. The garden in general is a common symbol for fertility and the feminine, also representing an enclosed and protected space (Stewart 184). As the keeper of the garden key, given to her by Ant, Serafine represents a protective force. In psychoanalysis the garden also symbolizes consciousness, while the forest, as a wild and open space, symbolizes the unconscious (Stewart 184). In Serafine the garden aspect prevails, although deep inside her she remembers the Caribbean rainforest of her youth. It is as if her life was divided by the ocean and by her forced move to London. Her London life is associated with the garden, a tamed version of natural space, and its positive, 69


protective connotations which she embodies – though she can still remember the dark forest of Liamuiga that she had to leave behind and bury deep in her heart and mind. Serafine provides for the biological and emotional needs of the family, serving them food which is comforting (e.g. golden syrup sandwiches, soothing tea with plenty of sugar in it, and baby bottle-feed). Sweetness is the most prominent taste associated with her, underlying her motherly character. Her flat smells of something sticky, and even her descriptions of the environment are sweet. “On the leeward side of my island, the water’s often calm and heavy as syrup, the breath of the wind sweet and shallow like a young girl sleeping, aïah” (I 217). Serafine’s sweetness of character is symbolically linked with sugar, the main crop of the Liamuiga plantations, a much-desired taste and a valuable commodity in European households. As Warner points out, “I put something sweet into almost every chapter of the book – stealthily – just to hint how pervasively sugar flows through our world” (“Rich Pickings” 30). Serafine’s feeding role is emphasized by the kitchen, a space she is associated with. The kitchen is a symbolic and actual space of her own, where she belongs and feels safe. There she is able to oppose Gillian in the argument over the baby Xanthe. As an experienced nurse providing feeding, as well as baths, care, emotional help and safety, she meets all the requirements of a perfect mother. When we compare Serafine to Sycorax and her higher level of motherhood, we may notice that Serafine is also an expert at healing. It is possible to view her knowledge of herbs and spices and their properties as inherited from Sycorax, although this knowledge is not so prominent in Serafine. She is able to relieve discomfort and assuage people’s problems: “Gillian used a paregoric Serafine had brewed for her from peppermint and ordinary tealeaves, and the crack healed quickly and she never ran a fever” (I 54). However, Serafine has her own way of helping, which is storytelling. Usually her speech is not extremely informative in terms of facts, but it is interwoven with stories which have a similar function as her food – to calm, to sooth, to bring comfort, and to educate. Storytelling can thus be paralleled with feeding. As Kristeva points out, “[there] is language instead of the good breast” (45). However, Serafine not only substitutes but also complements the biological (food) with the mental (language). Serafine adapts the stories according to her listeners, which only adds to the perception of her as a ‘sweet’ character. “The stories of Manjiku she heard on the island, when she was herself a girl, had not had happy endings […] But this savage story isn`t seemly for the little English girls, so Serafine has adapted it, as storytellers do” (I 224). Her creative approach to storytelling links Serafine to Sycorax, whose creativity finds an outlet in food. Even the fantastic aspects of Sycorax’s activities – as a sorceress – are mirrored in Serafine, who can “conjure” the island in her stories “even for those who had never been there, like Miranda” (I 51). Warner claims that “the storyteller often occupies a position both inside the society to which she belongs, and outside, 70


sequestered from it” (Warner, Signs 266), a position from which she can understand her own world and understand what lies ahead. Serafine occupies that liminal position, linking her with Sycorax in her position of a healer and a sorceress, which parallels the ambivalent character of the mother figure. Serafine is abject on the social level. Although she is accepted and welcomed by the children, adults perceive her as the other, placed on the other side of the border. Her skin – along with her cultural and social background – qualify her to remain abject within the family. She never becomes an integral part of the family ‘body’ and is perceived by some of the family’s members (Gillian) as ‘filth’ threatening this ‘body’. A very strong element of Serafine is her hands. Just like her stories, her touch can bring comfort and care. Little Miranda loves Serafine’s hands “for these were the hands which washed her in the bath and patted her dry and spooned food into her breakfast bowl and beat up the milk powder till the lumps were gone and spread jam on her bread” (I 4). Her hands can be perceived as an instrument of giving, as an extension of the mother’s body which helps to create the bond with the child or other people. Touch can have a creative quality (Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam in the Sistine Chapel), and a healing or comforting power (a mother’s touch to ease the child’s pain), as well as a destructive character (examples are endless). Serafine’s hands also represent a symbolic connection to Sycorax and her production of indigo. Indigo is “the colour of the ink used for the first pattern”, suggesting there is “the story or scheme that lay beneath the visible layers” (Warner, Signs 265). Serafine’s palms look as if they have been steeped in ink. Her palms are like paper or a page in a book from which she reads/tells her stories, although Serafine’s storytelling is based on orality and not on reading a written text. However, her hands can be perceived as having many layers (of skin) uncovering ever-deeper meanings. At first sight Serafine seems a one-dimensional, ever positive, good-mother figure, without the shadow of the destructive Terrible Mother. It is also difficult to perceive her as abject, since Warner describes her as being loved by the children without any reservations. However, her position among the adults is problematic, and her power(lessness), her liminal position within and on the margin of the family, makes her an ambivalent figure. Although the positive aspect of Serafine is highly pervasive, she has a deep, dark side which is hidden as if under many layers of ink, of her skin, where she hides her memories and her wounds. Dysfunctional Mothers Apart from Sycorax and Serafine, there are two more mothers in the novel who are worth mentioning. Both Gillian and Astrid belong to the Everard family by marriage, but they are antagonistic to each other. Although they do not display the complexity of the two great mother figures mentioned above, they complete the 71


spectrum of female characters perceived in the novel through the prism of nourishment. Both of them can be viewed as prototypes of a dysfunctional biological mother based on their attitude to and use of food, which on a greater scale reflects their inability to create bonds with their children, with the wider family or society. Gillian is a rich woman who married her much older husband Sir Ant Everard to achieve a higher social status. Although successful in her life, she is insecure in her new position. For this reason she puts a lot of effort into showing that she belongs to this higher class. This is reflected in her wish to find a more appropriate apartment for the family, her showing off of wealth, or her servile behaviour when speaking to people of higher rank. Although she is described as a loyal wife, as a mother she is not very effective. On the basic biological level, Gillian fails as a nurturing mother. Although she attempts to nurse her newborn baby, after a breast inflammation she refuses to continue. Her body has the capacity to ‘produce’ food but she is not willing to feed it to her daughter Xanthe. Neither is she willing to feed her daughter from a bottle, as it interferes with her life of comfort, so she leaves this feeding function to Serafine. On the whole, Gillian finds her daughter’s “physical processes repulsive” (I 54). Gillian’s problematic attitude to the physical aspects of mothering resonates with Kristeva’s notion of motherhood as polluting. The female body is often perceived as without firm boundaries, leaky, oozing bodily fluids.4 These represent the filth transgressing body boundaries and belonging to its margin (Kristeva 69, 71). As the fluids disrespect the body’s boundaries, it can be perceived as if the body itself were threatening its own integrity from within. Since Gillian insists on the firmness and the cleanness of her body boundaries, her feeling of threat grows. Mary Douglas says “pollution is a type of danger which is not likely to occur except where the lines of structure, cosmic or social, are clearly defined” (113). Gillian is afraid to have her body boundaries disrupted by her own ‘filth’ (milk, blood) as well as by her daughter’s (excrement, vomit), which can be perceived as a rejection of her own body as well as of motherhood as such. Gillian’s inability to create a physical bond with her daughter through nourishment parallels the lack of an emotional bond between them. Gillian feels guilty for not feeling enough love for her daughter. Instead, “[h]er principal feeling when she was near Xanthe was fear” (I 53). Relating herself emotionally to her daughter means for her another form of breaching boundaries, of endangering her identity. According to Kristeva, “abjection acknowledges it [subject] to be in perpetual danger” (9). With its boundaries breached, the subject (mother) may feel endangered by the child who disturbs the system and order of the mother’s body and life. Gillian embodies the paradox that on one hand she wants to defend her body boundaries, her identity, against her child and the maternity that Xanthe symbolizes, yet on the other hand, if she wants to create a bond with the child, her boundaries must be disrupted, whether physically or emotionally. However, as she is not capable of ‘opening up’, of giving herself, to her daughter, she only 72


remains an observer of her daughter’s early life, unable to cater for her emotional and other needs. Unable to create genuine, either physical (through food or touch) or emotional bonds, Gillian relies instead on a formal relationship. Her superficial mothering is reflected at the christening ceremony, when she views her baby as a trophy to present to the prominent guests, and to be proud of. “Gillian held out her child like a picture she was considering whether to buy, and when she began to turn her head and gnaw at her fist and cry, begged her, ‘Don’t start that, please don’t’” (I 51). She is unable to calm the baby naturally because she does not understand its needs. Nevertheless, Gillian wishes to be in control, but again her desire is only superficial, corresponding with her control of her body boundaries. With all her natural maternal functions delegated to Serafine, Gillian feels threatened by Serafine’s experience and expertise. The conflict between them over the baby culminates at the christening, where Gillian uses her formal power, originating from her higher social status, over Serafine’s earned respect and experience. As a result she attempts, and succeeds, in expelling Serafine from the house. The other dysfunctional mother to be discussed is Astrid – the wife of Kit, Ant’s son from his first marriage. She is Belgian by origin, with a husband who is not very successful or supportive. Living in the shadow of the great Sir Ant and his rich wife Gillian, they remain marginal within the family. Besides this, they also have to fight their own demons. Astrid suffers from a lack of money and esteem, but also from psychological problems and alcohol abuse. All these problems contribute to her feelings of restlessness, insecurity, and exclusion, which are reflected in her problematic motherhood. Her (dys)functioning as a mother is revealed in her attitude to cooking, as well as in other aspects of her relationship to her daughter Miranda. Astrid’s kitchen is a telling symbol of her attitude to cooking and feeding. It is not a place of warm acceptance, calmness and unselfish giving, like Serafine’s, but it is presented rather as a battlefield where Astrid fights with her husband and vents her anger towards the in-laws and herself, “where she now banged her head [on the table]” (I 15). In a rage she throws kitchen utensils on the floor, and instead of using them to produce nourishment for her family she curses Ant’s family with them. “One by one she had picked up the cooking utensils from the floor, and with each one, as she aligned it in its place in the drawer, she cursed – her husband, her husband’s father, his wife, […] and above all, […], the new Everard baby, Xanthe” (I 27). The image of the kitchen as a positive space, as the centre of family life, is distorted. Instead, it is presented as the centre of its destruction, with Astrid as a Terrible Mother type, and also as a malevolent witch – paralleled with Sycorax in her later years. Although Astrid’s use of speech is destructive, it must be stated that she does not aim her anger toward her daughter. However, her negativism has a great influence on her mothering capacity. 73


Astrid explains her lack of expertise with her daughter as a result of the young age at which she became a mother. Warner describes Astrid as egocentric, hysterical and always too immersed in her own problems. She is absent (or absent-minded) when nurture, support or comfort is needed by her daughter. “[Miranda] was crying too and wanted to take her mother’s hand and hear her voice; but Astrid’s spirit was somewhere else” (I 63). Her immersion in herself is best illustrated by the scene in the department store, where Astrid completely forgets that her daughter is there with her, so focused is she on her shopping. “’Oh God, it’s so awful of me! I forgot I brought you!’ she exclaimed as the store detective pushed Miranda into her mother’s sleek legs, only to provoke a little skipping step to the side. ‘Careful! My best nylons!’” (I 240). The quotation suggests that Astrid avoids a full and close relationship with her daughter. Instead, she remains enclosed in her own shell, and the normal bond with her child, as a continuation of the prenatal state, is manifested only by an occasional touching of hands. For Astrid the touch of her hands seems to be the only medium (different from food) to express her love for her daughter, who “liked the feel of her mother’s hands, working, smoothing, pinching, lifting, for it was seldom that she touched her” (I 17). The mother’s touch thus becomes a substitute, though rare, of other functions which she should fulfil. For Astrid, similarly to Gillian, the child represents a threat to her body’s boundaries and personal integrity, as theorized by Kristeva. In her mental state Astrid strives to keep her integrity intact, and to guard her own borders – which, as a consequence, increases the distance between her (subject) and her daughter (object). Her one-dimensional expression of love and care towards her daughter parallels her inability to create bonds with other members of the family and society, which confirms her marginal position. Both Astrid and Gillian are presented as dysfunctional biological mothers, incapable of catering for the needs of their children. Sceats claims that “[f]ailures of nurturing don’t have to be associated with malignity, and may on the contrary reflect a mother’s own insecurities and inadequacies” (18). This applies to both women whose inability to feed their children/family uncovers their inner insecurity, whether stemming from a new social position or psychological problems. Warner further mirrors their failure to feed in the lack of bonds with their children and family. Both women are afraid of disrupting their body boundaries, of ‘stretching’ to create bonds. The distance between the mother and the child, the border territory of abjection, becomes too wide, and it remains empty. With their boundaries intact, Astrid and Gillian remain distant objects rather than abject. Furthermore, their desire to connect and their inability to do so cause them to occupy ambiguous and marginal positions.

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Conclusion In the novel Warner introduces a variety of mothers presented on different levels, occupying different positions, with their identity undergoing transformations. Perhaps the most complex character is Sycorax, with her creative/destructive approach to food and life, who embodies the abject mother of Kristeva’s theory and also the Jungian Great Mother archetype, representing all dimensions. Serafine, with her ‘mental food’ of storytelling, is presented as a rather one-dimensional, prevailingly positive character. The negative aspect is represented by Astrid and Gillian, who, each in her own way, fail in the maternal role, as reflected in their inability to ‘feed’ their children – which is linked to their lack of bonds with both their children and with society as a whole. In Warner’s view the mother is an ambivalent figure, embodying great power but also powerlessness, occupying a liminal position with regard to her children/family/society. As the analysis has shown, this position presupposes the mother’s willingness to transgress her own body boundaries in order to create a bond with the child and with society. The border territory of abjection is filled with offerings of food, touch or words as tokens of love, and it reveals the in/ability of Warner’s motherly figures to play their roles. Warner develops biological feeding into a metaphor of motherly care sustaining life on many levels, confirming the mother’s identity, position and relationships. Notes The seminal work of the anthropologist Audrey Richards Hunger and Work in a Savage Tribe: A functional study of nutrition among the Southern Bantu (1932). Richards is considered the founder of nutritional anthropology - followed by Margaret Mead, who pointed out the centrality of food to human culture. Other scholars have also discussed food’s ability to convey meaning, among them R. Barthes and C. Lévi-Strauss. 1

Warner considers the Caribbean a “cross-cultural space, a mercantile and political confluence of heterogeneous peoples, histories, and languages, a shifting, metamorphic, and phantasmal zone” (Fantastic Metamorphoses 21) 2

3

Subsequent page references preceded with I are given in parentheses in the text.

Luce Irigaray discusses the fluidity of the female body in her work This Sex which is not One (215). See also Margrit Shildrick’s Leaky Bodies and Boundaries: Feminism, Postmodernism and (Bio)Ethics. 4

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Bibliography: Carson, Fiona. “Feminism and the Body.” The Routledge Critical Dictionary of Feminism and Postfeminism. Ed. Sarah Gamble, New York: Routledge, 2000. 117–28. Chivite de León, María José. Echoes of History, Shadowed Identities: Rewriting Alterity in J.M. Coetzee’s Foe and Marina Warner’s Indigo. Bern: Peter Lang AG, 2010. Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger. London, Boston and Henley: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1969. Holtzman, Jon D. “Food and Memory”. Annual Review of Anthropology. 35 (2006): 361– 78. http://mysite.du.edu/~lavita/anth-3135-feasting-13f/_docs/holtzman_food_ and_memory.pdf Irigaray, Luce. This Sex which is not One. Trans. Catherine Porter and Carolyn Burke. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1985. Jung, Carl Gustav. The Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious. 2nd ed. Trans. R.F.C. Hull. Bollingen Series XX (1959) Princeton: Princeton UP, 1968. Kristeva, Julia. Powers of Horror. Trans. Leon S. Roudiez. New York: Columbia University Press, 1982. Lavis, Anna. Critical Food Studies: Why We Eat How We Eat: Contemporary Encounters Between Foods and Bodies. Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate Publishing, 2013. ProQuest ebrary. Web. 2 February 2015. Richards, Audrey. Hunger and Work in a Savage Tribe: a functional study of nutrition among the Southern Bantu. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1932. Sceats, Sarah. Food, Consumption and the Body in Contemporary Women’s Fiction. 2000. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Shakespeare, William. The Tempest. Eds. Alden T. Vaughan, Virginia Mason Vaughan, London: Bloomsbury Arden Shakespeare, 1999. Shildrick, Margrit. Leaky Bodies and Boundaries: Feminism, Postmodernism and (Bio) Ethics. London and New York: Routledge, 1997. Stewart, William. Dictionary of Images and Symbols in Counselling. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 1998. Todd, Richard. “The Retrieval of Unheard Voices – A.S. Byatt and Marina Warner.” Liminal Postmodernisms: the Postmodern, the Post(-) Colonial and the Post(-) Feminist. Eds. Theo D’Haen and Hans Bertens. Postmodern Studies 8 (1994). Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi. 99–114. Warner, Marina. Alone of All her Sex. 1976. London: Vintage, 2000. ---. Fantastic Metamorphoses, Other Worlds: Ways of Telling the Self. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. ---. Indigo. London: Vintage, 1993. ---. “Rich Pickings”. In Clare Boylan, ed. The Agony and the Ego: The Art and Strategy of Fiction Writing Explored: 29–34. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1993. Print. ---. Signs and Wonders. London: Chatto and Windus, 2003.

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Zabus, Chantal. “Prospero’s Progeny Curses Back: Postmodern, Postcolonial and Postpatriarchal Rewritings of The Tempest.” Liminal Postmodernisms: the Postmodern, the Post(-)Colonial and the Post(-) Feminist. Eds. Theo D’Haen and Hans Bertens, Postmodern Studies, 8 (1994). Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi. 115–38. ---. “The Power of the Blue-Eyed Hag: Gynocracy in Marina Warner’s Indigo.” A Talent(ed) Digger, Eds. Hena Maes-Jelinek, Gordon Collier, Geoffrey V. Davis (Festschrift in Honour of Anna Rutherford. Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi, 1996. 216–20.

Address: Catholic University in Ružomberok Faculty of Arts and Letters Centre of Academic Preparation Hrabovská cesta 1 03401 Ružomberok Slovakia [email protected]

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Like a great Ring of pure and endless light: On mysticism in Henry Vaughan’s Silex Scintillans Tomáš Jajtner University of South Bohemia, České Budějovice Abstract This paper deals with mystical imagination in Henry Vaughan’s major collection Silex Scintillans (1650, 1655). The first part focuses on the definition and basic forms of mysticism in Vaughan’s work (especially the unified vision of his world and the dialogical nature of the poetic self). The second part traces the sources of his mystical vision to his association with Hermetic philosophy and discusses the imagery connected with it (i.e. the doctrine of the sentient nature of all reality, the problem of the quintessence and the images taken from the alchemical tradition). The third and final section links Vaughan’s mystical vision of the world with some of the principles of modern ecological thought. The article aims to present a reassessment of Vaughan’s mystical poetry as a source of inspiration for understanding the vital relation between the intuitive and rational understanding of human existence and its relation to other forms of life. Keywords: Henry Vaughan, mysticism, Hermeticism, English poetry, environmental awareness

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1. Introduction The work of Henry Vaughan (1621–1695) represents a distinctive type in English metaphysical poetry: while clearly following the meditative line of his great predecessor George Herbert (1593-1633), he developed his own distinctive style, deeply indebted to the Hermetic philosophy of his twin brother Thomas (1621– 1666). His devotional poetry is energised by a series of major oppositions (darkness/light, mute/musical cosmos, death/life etc.) whose source can be related to some of the basic tenets of Hermeticism. In that sense, he also represents a distinctive type of mystical poet and a visionary, whose “redeemed” sight sees the reality of organic, animated relations behind the veil of supposedly solid and lifeless objects. This article will focus on the type of Hermetic mysticism we find in his central collection Silex Scintillans, published in two versions in 1650 and 1655.1 I will argue that Vaughan’s mysticism is not only a central element in his work, but also a key to his understanding of the role of poetry in translating the content of a specific spiritual experience. I will therefore explore the different aspects of his mysticism – the concept of unity, forms of unification, hermetic principles – and finally, I will discuss the ecological aspects of his thought in relation to his vision of the sacredness of the whole of “Creation”. In that sense, I seek to offer a reassessment of Vaughan’s work, focusing on the role of this kind of poetry in cultivating an integral ecological awareness and the intuitive relation to the organic essence of natural reality. 2. The living, the living, he shall praise thee: towards a unified vision of the world The first edition of Vaughan’s central collection (1650) opens with an emblem capturing the key image of the work: it shows a crying flint with a human countenance struck by God’s hand with a rod and arrows.2 The author explains the emblem in the following Latin poem: “Surdus eram, mutusque silex” (“I was a deaf and mute flint”); in other words, the state “before conversion” was a state of inanimate, lifeless and insentient objects. However, when struck by God’s hand, the flint (i.e. the Biblical “heart of stone”) turns into a heart of “flesh”3: Accedis proprior, molemque et saxea rumpis Pectora, fitque caro, quod fuit ante lapis. (“You draw nearer and break that mass which is my rocky heart, and that which was formerly stone is now made flesh.”) (Vaughan 137)4

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Tomáš Jajtner • Like a great Ring of pure and endless light: [...]

The emblem thus expresses a truly substantial change: the stone acquires life and a new capacity to communicate, i.e. it re-enters the dialogical dimension of the human existence before and in God. Vaughan goes on to explain his poetic endeavour as a capacity to utter the reality of the new existence in the “Author’s Preface to the Following Hymns”. Poetry can either be “idle words” wittily dealing with “sensual” and thus unworthy subjects (139–140), or it can provide “nourishment or help to devotion” leading to the “refinement” of the spirit. Thus it “will procure for us (so easily communicable is that loving spirit) some small prelibation of those heavenly refreshments” (142). The author, therefore, suggests that the mission of poetry is to endow the reader with “redeemed sight”, which literally informs the “original”, “created” reality with a sense of an integral “holy”5 unity of all existence, springing from the unified and uni-versal6 “fountain of living waters” (Vaughan 144). Moreover, this new, redeemed sight should provide the engaged reader with an acute awareness of a fully animate reality. The last section of the introductory part of Silex Scintillans – a prayer – stresses precisely that: this unity is an organic one, the world has been given a new breath of life (i.e. it has been – theologically speaking – “recreated”),7 and it sings a hymn: The living, the living, he shall praise thee, as I do this day: the father to the children shall make known thy truth. [...] Therefore shall thy songs be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life. (144)

The poet thus introduces the reader to the sources of his poetic imagination, to his unified vision of the world, based on a sense of intuitive, living intimacy with the rest of the “created” cosmos. In this new consciousness, also known as the “graced consciousness”,8 all reality seems to be traced back to the unfathomable centre of the divine mystery. Thus it can also be seen as the source of communion, i.e. of the dialogical nature of human existence. The above-mentioned fundamental oppositions of Vaughan’s poetry – especially those of light and darkness and life and death – find their resolution and reconciliation in a vision of the world which is traditionally understood as “mystical”, i.e. unified and integral despite the apparent paradoxes and irreconcilable contradictions.9 In order to understand the specific imagery and language of Vaughanian mysticism, we need to explore his links with Hermeticism, since this doctrine profoundly formed (and in-formed) his vision.

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3. A quickness which my God hath kissed: mysticism and Hermeticism10 The most fundamental doctrine of Hermeticism is the belief in the sentient character of all reality ignited by the Divine Spark. This Spark is the agent of recollection of the unity of Creation.11 From now on, the reality is animated, inspired with the Spirit which enlivens it. Elizabeth Holmes’ study on the relation between Vaughan and Hermetic philosophy12 stresses two aspects: on the one hand, his conscious initiation into Hermetic philosophy, and his own deep inner experience “interpenetrated” by the (omni)presence of the “living Spirit”: His intercourse with this (i.e., sentient) Nature alternates between conscious discipleship and a kind of unconscious interpenetration of himself with a ‘Spirit’ which his special philosophy taught him to find in the objects of Nature, but which he could not have found, had not some inner experience of his own sharpened his investigation. (Holmes 6)

In his excursions into Hermetic philosophy, Henry Vaughan was inspired by his brother Thomas, an eminent Hermetic philosopher.13 Interestingly, Holmes finds Henry’s relation to Hermeticism somewhat “less credulous” than his brother’s, but definitely “more religious” (Holmes 16). For Henry, the world was made sentient primarily by the experience of God’s presence; it is thus personal and dialogical. In Silex Scintillans such an experience is typically associated with strong visual images: Stars are of mighty use: the night Is dark, and long; The road foul, and where one goes right, Six may go wrong. One twinkling ray Shot o’er some cloud, May clear much way. (“Joy of my life! while left me here”, 177)

And walking from his sun, when past That glimmering ray Cuts through the heavy mists in haste Back to his day […] (“Silence, and stealth of days”, 181)

Affliction thus, mere pleasure is, And hap that will, If thou be in’t, ‘tis welcome still; But since thy rays In sunny days Thou dost thus lend And freely spend, Ah! what shall I return for this? (“Cheerfulness”, 184)

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The sense of the divine presence floods the world with light and “quickness” blessed by God’s personal involvement: “But life is, what none can express/A quickness which my God hath kissed” (“Quickness”, 308).14 Perhaps the best example of this vision can be found in “The Morning-Watch”: as the day breaks, “night” and “sleep”, as symbols of muteness and lifelessness, are filled with an overwhelming energy of new life.15 Seemingly lifeless inanimate objects are seen participating in “the symphony of nature”, tuned by the presence of the divinity in an act of prayer, i.e. spiritual communication: O how it bloods, And spirits all my earth! hark! In what rings, And hymning circulations the quick world Awakes and sings; The rising winds, And falling springs, Birds, beasts, all things Adore him in their kinds. Thus all is hurled In sacred hymns, and order, the great chime And symphony of nature. Prayer is The world in tune, A spirit-voice, And vocal joys, Whose echo is heaven’s bliss.

Moreover, the initial imagery – characterised by the sharp distinctions of day and night and muteness and music – turns into a transforming experience of reconciliation: the climax of the poem “undoes” the above-mentioned oppositions in a vision of a mysterious intimacy with the divine: The pious soul by night Is like a clouded star, whose beams though said To shed their light Under some cloud Yet are above, And shine, and move Beyond the misty shroud So in my bed That curtained grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide My lamps, and life, both shall in thee abide. (179)

This sense of unity and intimacy in Silex Scintillans transforms not only the world of visual sensations; it also includes an experience of timelessness embracing all of reality. In one of the most famous of Vaughan’s poems, “The World”, 83


eternity becomes a transparent vision (“bright shoots of eternity”, “a white, celestial thought”, “The heavens (some say)/ Are a firy-liquid light […]”) uniting the fragmented sensations of our time-consciousness: I saw Eternity the other night, Like a great Ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright, And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years Driv’n by the spheres Like a vast shadow moved; in which the world And all her train were hurled [...] (227)

In the first two lines, the poem contrasts night and light; the latter, “transparent”, aspect of the vision being stressed with the following rhyme bright. The meaning of the vision is to illuminate the presence as if it were some form of timeless assembly of the past. Interestingly, the following rhyming pair (“years” and “spheres”) stresses precisely this transformation of the temporal into the spatial dimension of reality. The sequential, complex aspect of time is unfolded and unified in a single, transparent dimension. Finally, the past is vested with its time-less significance: The darksome states-man hung with weights and woe Like a thick midnight-fog moved there so slow, He did not stay, nor go; Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl Upon his soul, And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digged the mole, and lest his ways be found Worked under ground, Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see That policy, Churches and altars fed him; perjuries Were gnats and flies, It rained about him blood and tears, but he Drank them as free.

The central opposition of light and darkness/night is reiterated in the final stanza of the poem, where that unifying aspect of the vision (joining time and place), as a moment of transparency, climaxes in the surprisingly personal re-signification of the initial “Ring of pure and endless light”: the Ring becomes a wedding ring of the “bridegroom” for the “bride”, i.e. for the intimate union of God and the soul: 84


Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, And sing, and weep, soared up into the Ring, But most would use no wing. O fools (said I,) thus to prefer dark night Before true light, To live in grots and caves, and hate the day Because it shows the way, The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to God, A way where you might tread the Sun, and be More bright than he. But as I did their madness so discuss One whispered thus, This ring the bride-groom did for none provide, But for his bride.

In the Hermetic tradition, the fundamental unity of reality is often related to the concept of the “Essence” (or materia prima) which lies at the heart of things: this essence fundamentally enables the transformation of the reality (e.g. in alchemy), since the core, the “womb” of the reality, is the same. In The Three Principles of Divine Essence, Jacob Böhme (1575–1624) equates the “pure and clear” essence of things with the quintessence, i.e. with the outcome of the final stage of alchemical refinement: […] a thing that separateth, and bringeth the pure and cleere, from the impure: and that bringeth the life of all sorts of Spirits, or all sorts of Essences, into its highest […] degree […] Yea it is the cause of the shining, or of the lustre: it is a cause that all creatures see and live. (105)

Vaughan uses this Hermetic/alchemical imagery in his “Resurrection and Immortality”: in a clear allusion parodying John Donne’s “Broken Heart”,16 he unfolds a vision of the world regenerated after being destroyed and refined in the fire of suffering. The alchemical process of refinement then qualifies the believer to enter and re-enter the intimacy with the Creator, before the latter finally “remarries the soul”: [...] For no thing can to Nothing fall, but still Incorporates by skill, And then returns, and from the womb of things Such treasure brings As Phoenix-like renew’th Both life, and youth For a preserving spirit doth still pass Untainted through this mass,

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Which doth resolve, produce, and ripen all That to it fall; Nor are those births which we Thus suffering see Destroyed at all; but when time’s restless wave Their substance doth deprave And the more noble Essence finds his house Sickly, and loose, He, ever young, doth wing Unto that spring, And source of spirits, where he takes his lot Till time no more shall rot His passive cottage; which (though laid aside,) Like some spruce bride, Shall one day rise, and clothed with shining light All pure, and bright Re-marry to the soul, for ‘tis most plain Thou only fall’st to be refined again. (152-3)

The vision is refined to its Essence/substance – which, however, does not lose its capacity to be enlivened. For the “religious” Vaughan, the re-enlivening of the dead reality finds yet another significance in the trans-substantiation “wonder” of the Communion. In “Holy Communion” Vaughan reiterates this fundamental transformation of the dead matter into the living materia: dead things are not only made alive, they become sentient: Welcome sweet, and sacred feast; welcome life! Dead I was and deep in trouble; But grace, and blessings came with thee so rife, That they have quickened even dry stubble; Thus souls their bodies animate And thus, at first, when things were rude, Dark, void, and crude They, by the Word, their beauty had, and date; [...] (217)

Nevertheless, even in this poem the imagery of trans-substantiation is transformed into the “religious” language of the personal dialogue between the human and the divine party. Ultimately, the intimacy between God and the believer at the end of the poem is that of a sacrificial marital union: O rose of Sharon! O the lily Of the valley! How art thou now, thy flock to keep, Become both food, and shepherd to thy sheep. (218)

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Such a communion thus seems to present a vision of a creative intimacy, an animated universe overflowing with life. In that sense, it can be seen and conceived as a poetic world: a world vested with signs and symbols and a world which needs to be communicated, i.e. literally shared with others. Such a vision accommodates a new reading of the world: the world becomes a house, an οἶκος, in which men can – using the Hölderlinian/Heideggerian expression – “dwell”, or – to be more precise – “dwell poetically”: For dwelling can be unpoetic only because it is in essence poetic. For a man to be blind, he must remain a being by nature endowed with sight. A piece of wood can never go blind. But when man goes blind, there always remains the question whether his blindness derives from some defect and loss or lies in an abundance and excess.17

This type of reading of the world, which restores it to a fully human dwelling, reveals the surprisingly topical relevance of Vaughan’s work, namely its intuitive ecological awareness. 4. Seeing the joy of creation: Vaughan’s mysticism and eco-thought As a lifelong student of Vaughan’s works, Alan Rudrum pointed out that the poet’s visions of the unity of “Creation” in theological terms gain a surprisingly new and topical significance in relation to our contemporary ecological considerations.18 The Norwegian philosopher Arne Naess (1912–2009) created a remarkable system of ecological thought, known as “deep ecology” based on the idea of the self-realisation of different life forms of the planet and the need to respect them.19 Naess traces the origins of his eco-philosophy to his childhood experiences of watching life in shallow seawater and his identification with nature (cf. Naess 2). In fact, the intuitive faculty plays an important role in defining his approach: ecological consciousness is built up in natural sympathy with nature, as in the case of ecological field workers: To the ecological field worker, the equal right to live and blossom is an intuitively clear and obvious value axiom. Its restriction to humans is an anthropocentrism with detrimental effects upon the life quality of humans themselves. This quality depends in part upon the deep pleasure and satisfaction we receive from close partnership with other forms of life. The attempt to ignore our dependence and to establish a master-slave role has contributed to the alienation of man from himself. (Naess 28)

Diane K. McColley thus summarises Naess’s concept of the ecological self as the self who matures in proportion to his/her ability to identify with other forms of life (McColley 289). In that sense, ecological awareness has a “deep” vision: a 87


vision of the fundamental unity of all life forms and their respective roles in constituting our environment, our space of life. Indeed, Vaughan’s identification with the Creation seems intuitive and simple: in “Repentance”, it is expressed as a litany of praise on the magnificence of nature, though tainted with a sense of distance, i.e. a rupture between humans and the rest of Creation. Man sees the unity and is aware of being “part of it”, but lacks the original spark of life which animates the innocent reality beyond human sin: The blades of grass, thy creatures feeding, The trees, their leaves; the flowers, their seeding; The dust, of which I am a part The stones much softer than my heart, The drops of rain, the sighs of wind, The stars to which I am stark blind, The dew thy herbs drink up by night, The beams they warm them at i’the light, All that have signature or life, I summoned to decide this strife, And lest I should lack for arrears, A spring ran by, I told her tears, But when these came unto the scale, My sins alone outweighed them all. (206–207)

The final comment reiterates the vital, self-defining and self-constituting relationship of finite man and infinite God: defining oneself means succumbing to the trap of finality. In fact, only the infinite source overcomes the “profaneness”, “defects” and “pollutions of the body” unconfined: He is the centre of long life, and light, I am but finite, He is infinite. O let thy justice then in him confine, And through his merits, make thy mercy mine! (208)

Vaughan is not only aware of the fundamental unity of Creation in his “co-substantial” relation to it; he also thematises the vital links between the things we use and their natural origins. He, the poet, is writing a book, and he wonders about the fate of the various subhuman life forms that needed to be transformed to become the substance for the poet’s work: Eternal God! maker of all That have lived here, since the man’s fall; The Rock of ages! in whose shade They live unseen, when here they fade. Thou knew’st this paper, when it was Mere seed, and after that but grass;

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Before ’twas dressed or spun, and when Made linen, who did wear it then: What were their lives, their thoughts & deeds Whether good corn, or fruitless weeds. Thou knew’st this tree, when a green shade Covered it, since a cover made, And where it flourished, grew and spread, As if it never should be dead. Thou knew’st this harmless beast, when he Did live and feed by thy decree On each green thing; then slept (well fed) Clothed with this skin, which now lies spread A covering o’er this aged book, Which makes me wisely weep and look On my own dust; mere dust it is, But not so dry and clean as this. Thou knew’st and saw’st them all and though Now scattered thus, dost know them so. (“The Book”, 309)

The poem climaxes in an implicit question: what will happen to the wasted life energy of the substances from which the book is made? Vaughan, the Christian, answers with a reference to Revelation 9:3–4 (“And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads.”20): everything has its own place, i.e. both in the original design and in the final consummation: O knowing, glorious spirit! when Thou shalt restore trees, beasts and men, When thou shalt make all new again, Destroying only death and pain, Give him among thy works a place, Who in them loved and sought thy face! (310)

As I have pointed out earlier, the natural world in Henry Vaughan’s poetry is holy:21 the mystical intuition cannot accept a commodifying interaction with the environment, i.e. it cannot see the environment as a mere collection of dead products to be used and wasted. While man – “the high priest” of Creation22 – risks his own “death”, since he can freely break the vital bond with his divine origin, the natural phenomena cannot. In fact, they are always at least potentially transparent signs of the original vitality of all reality: even when fallen and rotting, they seem to retain a hint of their original vitality. The tree in “Timber” retains its sensibility towards the signs of time, the signs that humans miss: 89


But thou beneath the sad and heavy line Of death doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark. And yet—as if some deep hate and dissent, Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, Were still alive—thou dost great storms resent Before they come, and know’st how near they be. (262)

The fallen trunk remains a sign, even though its vitality is gone. It never sinks into the oblivion of mere waste. Thus it seems to point to the “more” of reality, to its spiritual inexhaustibility. In “And do they do so?”, Vaughan refers to the Pauline concept of the throes and sighs of subhuman creatures, waiting for the moment of liberation from the curse of Adam (cf. Romans 8:19–22).23 As Diane K. McColley has pointed out, Vaughan engages in an interesting controversy with Aquinas, and some other influential Christian thinkers, as regards the participation of the subhuman world in the final consummation of the parousia. Together with Thomas Browne and Paracelsus, Vaughan is convinced that the shapes of things cannot have just a functional and temporal relevance24: they also reflect the intimate, personal relation of the Creator to the Creation (Cf. McColley 274). In the beginning of “And do they do so?”, the author defines the status quaestionis of the issue: i.e. what is the reality of this expectation when confronted with the functional understanding of their existence: And do they so? have they a sense Of ought but influence? Can they their heads lift, and expect, And groan too? why the elect Can do no more: my volumes said They were all dull, and dead, They judged them senseless, and their state Wholly inanimate. (Vaughan 188)

Nevertheless, after a short and clear answer: “Go, go; seal up thy looks,/And burn thy books”, the poem turns into a discussion of the misery of man, who, by contrast, is incapable of experiencing this fullness of the experience of time, i.e. time as advent. In fact, it is man who is in danger of being wasted in time, without hope for the final consummation, without the joyful experience of “liberty”: I would I were a stone, or tree, Or flower by pedigree, Or some poor high-way herb, or spring To flow, or bird to sing! Then should I (tied to one sure state,)

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All day expect my date; But I am sadly loose, and stray A giddy blast each way; Oh let me not thus range! Thou canst not change. (188)

The creatures are of different sorts (“Some [...] Erect peep from their beds;/ Others [...] Sigh there, and groan for thee,/their liberty”); however, all of them are firmly aware of their place in the order of things. As regards the final telos of all things, therefore, no creatures can be merely functionalised, consumed and lost (as Aquinas and others suggest in relation to the “dumb animals and plants”); they return back to their origin: “O brook it not! why wilt thou stop/After whole showers one drop?/Sure, thou wilt joy to see/Thy sheep with thee (189).The unified vision of life – so typical of the mystics – thus describes a full circle in the joy of belonging, i.e. in the joy of overcoming the tension between the subject and the object in the Naessian logic of the indivisible (cf. McColley 289). This indivisibility makes us aware of the impossibility of a functional and consumerist type of thought in relation to the mystery of life and the needs of the various life forms to be fully enjoyed – and thus, necessarily, also protected. 5. Conclusion As we have seen, Henry Vaughan’s mystical poetry thematises the reality of a unified, organised world, i.e. a world abounding in life. Vaughan’s sense of this union is religious in the literal, etymological sense of the world: it is a binding (re-ligio from re-ligare, re-connect) and a personal relation. The personal aspect not only re-enlivens the reality; it necessarily transforms it into a place of dwelling, which – given its overwhelmingly symbolic nature – tends to be a poetic one. In line with the Spanish mystics of the Siglo de Oro (St John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila), the German/Silesian mystic Angelus Silesius (Johannes Scheffler), or, indeed, his English predecessors (especially Robert Southwell and George Herbert), the spiritual experience in Vaughan finds its ultimate expression in the art of poetry. This is not an experience of abstract reasoning, distanced from the experiential aspect of reality; it brings us back to the vital core of the experience itself. In Vaughan’s work, the link between poetry and mysticism is a process of mutual explanation: mysticism finds its authenticity in the experiential richness and lucidity of language, and poetry acquires its ultimate dignity in its non-functional, “sacramental” mediation. Not surprisingly, therefore, Vaughan’s poetry thus also thematises a non-functional, respectful approach to the world around us, based on a living sympathy with all species of our planet: in the end, our environmental consciousness presupposes not only factual knowledge, but also this non-functional understanding of the value of life and the resplendent beauty of the world. 91


Henry Vaughan may not be the greatest of the English Metaphysicals, but his acute sense of the mystery and fragility of life makes him still a relevant poet, even in a non-religious age. Notes Usually referred to as Silex I and Silex II. Besides Silex Scintillans and poems scattered in his or his friends’ prose works (Flores Solitudinis, 1654; Hermetical Physic, 1655; The Chemists’ Key, 1657, or Thomas Powell’s Humane Industry, 1661), Vaughan published three other collections of poetry: Poems with the Tenth Satire of Juvenal Englished (1646), Olor Iscanus (1651), Thalia Rediviva: The Pastimes and Diversions of a Country-Muse in Choice Poems on Several Occasions (including some poems of his brother Thomas, 1678). Silex presents by far the most voluminous, original and concentrated work by Henry Vaughan. Unlike other collections, it contains no occasional poems, translations and other such pieces which are abundant in other collections. The acuteness of the spiritual vision in Silex Scintillans makes it a truly unique achievement in his oeuvre, whose value has gained recognition by broad critical consensus. I therefore restrict the discussion of his poetry to this collection only. 1

Thomas O. Calhoun (Henry Vaughan, the Achievement of Silex Scintillans, Newark, University of Delaware Press, 1981) discusses the “missing emblem” in the later 1655 edition. His conclusion is the following: “It is safe to assume that Vaughan considered his emblem for Silex Scintillans 1650 as an authentic biographical statement, but not as a limitation or final definition of himself. By 1655, the emblem of a flinty heart struck by arrows and converted into a human countenance was no longer singularly appropriate” (222). 2

3 A clear allusion to Ezekiel 36:26: “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.”

All quotations are based on Alan Rudrum’s classic edition of The Complete of Poems of Henry Vaughan (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976). The typographical differentiation is the author’s, unless stated otherwise. 4

In fact, the origin of the word (OE hālig; related to hāl whole) refers to the sense of unity, integrity. See http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/english/holy, 10 January 2016.) 5

I am referring to the literal meaning of the word uni-versal, i.e. turning around a single point/centre. 6

Cf. Arthur L. Clement’s comments on this aspect of Vaughan’s poetry in the following words: “All things are empty and as nothing unless God fills them. [...] All things in the universe are not isolated fragments but interdependent parts of the whole, sustaining one another. All things flow from God and return to Him, Who is the fountain, means, and 7

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end. Arthur L. Clement. Poetry of Contemplation: John Donne, George Herbert, Henry Vaughan, and the Modern Period. (New York: State University of New York Press, 1990), 162. See the definition in the classic study by Richard McBrian Catholicism (London: Geoffrey Champan, 1994): “Mysticism [...] is the graced transformation of consciousness that follows upon a direct or immediate experience of the presence of God leading to deeper union with God (1052). 8

Definitions as well as analyses of mysticism are innumerable; however, here I will restrict myself to the core meaning of mysticism in the Christian tradition, i.e. the apprehension of the divine presence. See e.g. the definition we find in The Blackwell Companion to Christian Spirituality (ed. A. Holder, London: Blackwell, 2005): “The experience of oneness or intimacy with some absolute divine reality is at the heart of what has come to be commonly identified as mysticism” (444). 9

Here I draw and expand on my earlier discussion of the topic in my monograph on English metaphysical poets. See Concepts of Harmony in Five Metaphysical Poets (Červený Kostelec: Pavel Mervart, 2012), 168–174. 10

Cf. Dion Fortune and Gareth Knight. Principles of Hermetic Philosophy. (Thoth Publications: Loughborough, 1999), 16. 11

Elizabeth Holmes. Henry Vaughan and Hermetic Philosophy (New York: Haskell House, 1966). 12

Thomas Vaughan published a number of Latin treatises on the topic – e.g., Anima Magica Abscondita, Anthroposofia Theomagica, Magia Adamica or Lumen de lumine. 13

“The Peripatetics [Aristotelians] look on God, as they do on carpenters, who build with stone and timber, without any infusion of life. But the world, which is God’s building is full of spirit, quick, and living.” Thomas Vaughan, Anthroposofia Theomagica. “The Author to the Reader”, sig. B3V. Quoted from A. Rudrum’s notes to the Complete Works of Henry Vaughan, 557. 14

“But unlike Herbert, Vaughan sees nature as more than symbol. ʻThe MorningWatchʼ concerns not only the renewal of the self but also the renewal of nature, and in Vaughan the two are closely related or at one. After all, divinity graces, animates, and pervades the self and all creation. As in the poem beginning ʻAnd do they so?ʼ Vaughan sees all of nature filled with a kind of intelligence, a sense, and a desire for God.” Clement 160. 15

16

Here I am referring to lines 25–32 of the poem: Yet nothing can to nothing fall, Nor any place be empty quite ; Therefore I think my breast hath all Those pieces still, though they be not unite ; And now, as broken glasses show A hundred lesser faces, so My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such love, can love no more.

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M. Heidegger: “Poetically man dwells”. Quoted from the English translation of Albert Hofstadter. Cf. Martin Heidegger. Philosophical and Political Writings. Ed. by Manfred Stassen (New York: Continuum, 2003). 277. 17

Cf. Alan Rudrum. “‘For the Earth shall be all Paradise’: Milton, Vaughan, and the Neo-Calvinists on the Ecology of the Hereafter.” Scintilla 4 (2000): 39–52; or “Henry Vaughan, The Liberation of the Creatures, and Seventeenth-Century English Calvinism.” The Seventeenth Century 4 (1989): 33–54. 18

19

Cf. e.g. Arne Naess. Ecology, Community and Lifestyle. (CUP: Cambridge, 1989).

For this reference I am indebted to Alan Rudrum’s notes to his edition of Vaughan’s Complete Poems (641). 20

“The basic experience is an overwhelming conviction that the objects confronting [the mystic] have a numinous significance and importance, that the existence of everything he is aware of is holy. And the basic emotion is one of innocent joy, though this joy can include, of course, a reverent dread. So long as the vision lasts the self is ‘noughted,’ for its attention is completely absorbed in what it contemplates; it makes no judgment and desires nothing, except to continue in communion with what Gerald Manley Hopkins called the inscape of things” (13, 14). W. H. Auden. “Introduction” to The Protestant Mystics. Ed. Anne Fremantle (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1964), 13, 14. Cf. also Clement 152. 21

22

Awake, awake! hark, how the wood rings, Winds whisper, and the busy springs A consort make; Awake, awake! Man is their high-priest, and should rise To offer up the sacrifice (“Christ’s Nativity, 199).

“For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God. For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same in hope. Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.” 23

“I answer that, since the renewal of the world will be for man’s sake it follows that it should be conformed to the renewal of man. Now by being renewed man will pass from the state of corruption to incorruptibility and to a state of everlasting rest, wherefore it is written (1 Cor.15:53): ‘This corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality’ [...] On the other hand, dumb animals, plants, and minerals, and all mixed bodies, are corruptible both in their whole and in their parts, both on the part of their matter which loses its form, and on the part of their form which does not remain actually; and thus they are in no way subjects of incorruption.” Thomas Aquinas. Summa Theologiae. Part Three, Supplement, Question 91, Article 5. English translation quoted from http://www.newadvent.org/summa/5.htm . 10 January 2016. Translation of the English Dominican Order. 24

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Bibliography The Authorised Version Bible (King James Version). Bible Gateway. 10 January 2016. https://www.biblegateway.com/. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologiae. Translation of the English Dominican Order. Web. 10 January 2016. http://www.newadvent.org/summa/ Auden, W. H. Introduction. The Protestant Mystics. Ed. Anne Fremantle. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1964, 3–42. Böhme, Jacob. The Three Principles of the Divine Essence. Trans. J. Sparrow. London: Humphrey Blunden, 1648. Calhoun, Thomas O. Henry Vaughan, the Achievement of Silex Scintillans. University of Delaware Press: Newark, 1981. Clement, Arthur. L. Poetry of Contemplation: John Donne, George Herbert, Henry Vaughan, and the Modern Period. New York: State University of New York Press, 1990. Fortune, Dion, Knight, Gareth. Principles of Hermetic Philosophy. Loughborough: Thoth Publications, 1999. Heidegger, Martin. Philosophical and Political Writings. Ed. by Manfred Stassen. New York: Continuum, 2003. Holder, Arthur, ed. The Blackwell Companion to Christian Spirituality. London: Blackwell, 2005. Holmes, Elizabeth. Henry Vaughan and Hermetic Philosophy. New York: Haskell House, 1966. Jajtner, Tomáš. Concepts of Harmony in Five Metaphysical Poets. Červený Kostelec: Pavel Mervart, 2012. McBrian, Richard. Catholicism. London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1994. McColley, Diane Kelsey: “Water, Wood, and Stone: The Living Earth in Poems of Vaughan and Milton.” Of Paradise and Light: Essays on Henry Naess, Arne. Ecology. Eds. Donald R. Dickson, and Holly Faith Nelson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. 269–91.

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Rudrum, Alan. “ ‘For the Earth shall be all Paradise’: Milton, Vaughan, and the NeoCalvinists on the Ecology of the Hereafter.” Scintilla 4 (2000): 39–52. ---. “Henry Vaughan, The Liberation of the Creatures, and Seventeenth-Century English Calvinism.” The Seventeenth Century 4 (1989): 33–54. Vaughan, Henry. The Complete of Poems of Henry Vaughan. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976.

Address: University of South Bohemia Department of English Branišovská 31a 370 05 České Budějovice Czech Republic [email protected]

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The Construction of Gender in Hip Hop Ladislav Sedlák Charles University, Prague Abstract Hip hop culture has recently become the subject of numerous academic studies due to its ever-increasing popularity. Gender, and the way in which gender conventions are represented in rap music, are often criticized. Rappers are accused of spreading misogynistic and homophobic attitudes. As much as some of the imagery may be considered offensive by some, we need to realize that the art only disseminates the viewpoints of the wider society. The way in which rap uses the images is often a form of tongue-in-cheek hyperbole referencing the stereotypes and issues that have been rampant in the disadvantaged and victimized African American community. Neither should we forget that rappers are artists, whose gender roles are performative in nature. Keywords: hip hop, rap, masculinity, violence, performance, gender

Hip hop culture has recently been widely discussed in academic circles as it has become a worldwide phenomenon. Many rappers have been accused of spreading misogynistic and homophobic attitudes, and although we cannot deny the fact that the content of rap lyrics is often profoundly controversial, the problem of misogyny and homophobia is not limited to this music genre. We should not forget that the issue of misogyny and homophobia was rampant in society before DJ Kool Herc and others birthed the worldwide phenomenon of hip hop culture. The problem of rap music lies in the language used (bitches, hoes, faggots, bitch-ass niggas etc.) as well as in the allegedly poor variety of roles that women are given in the 97


culture. However, the subculture of hip hop was not born into a cultural vacuum, and even though it may utilize a rather controversial set of imagery, it all derives from the stereotypes and flaws that are present in the general cultural background. Miles White writes that “hip hop brings minstrelsy full circle, with the troubling difference that the carnivalesque of the grotesque implied in its racial play now comes not from outside black American culture, but from within it” (White 18). However, we must add that these stereotypes are not originally products of African American culture only; they are common to society in general. Rappers only use them in a slightly more obvious fashion. The gender roles of the characters created by rappers are founded upon stereotypes, and they are constructed to entertain, to report, and sometimes to teach. The gender roles of rappers evolve during their careers. An artist like Nas goes from a street thug known as Nasty Nas on his classic album Illmatic to his later successful records where he calls himself NasNas Escobar, presently assuming a role as a responsible and caring father, mainly on the track “Daughters,” on his latest record Life is Good. Christopher Wallace’s character started as a common drug dealer and worked his way up to calling himself Biggie Smalls and even a Mafia Don. Notwithstanding, as Tracy Marrow a.k.a. Ice-T once pointed out: “I’m no more a gangsta or a cop killer than David Bowie is an astronaut” (Sutherland). Here Marrow basically states that he is not Ice-T; he is merely an artist who brings to his fans pictures of the urban decay of African American communities through the eyes of a “gangsta” called Ice-T. Marrow denies literal accuracy as we usually conceive of it, and he suggests the importance of taking into account rap music’s essence, which is that it is still art, regardless of how accurately it depicts reality. To clarify basic terminology, as Krs One once said, “rap is something that is being done, hip hop is something that is being lived” (Krs One). Therefore we will be using the term rap to refer to the musical element of the wider cultural movement that consists of rap music, DJing, b-boying, graffiti, and nowadays we may include even clothing, film and speech. Judith Butler and the performance of gender Gender is one of the most frequently discussed aspects of rap music, and it is also the one that is most responsible for passionate anti-rap arguments and campaigns. The controversy surrounding rap music stems most often from its construction and performance of masculinity. Generally speaking, according to Judith Butler’s gender theory, both sex and gender have been culturally constructed. Gender is imposed upon people, and it is based very much on gender stereotypes. The pressure to succumb to gender requirements is so strong that the supposedly biological category of sex is either insignificant for one’s identity because it is fully consumed by the category of gender, or it is looked upon by Butler as a cultural 98

Ladislav Sedlák • The Construction of Gender in Hip Hop

construction as well. In any case, gender is adopted by means of performing gender conventions. Therefore, we may say that one adopts gender by performing what one is given by one’s surroundings – and the acting as gender ultimately, and subconsciously, becomes part of one’s gender identity. Butler, in the “Preface” to Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, mentions “the radical dependency of the masculine subject on the female ‘Other’” (vii). We should perhaps add that the “Other” is also represented, in rap particularly often, by weaker men, and we very often encounter efforts to figuratively effeminate other men, whether in regular rap lyrics or in rap freestyle battles. In rap music, the “Other” against which masculinity is defined is the weak, effeminate man, possibly gay but not necessarily. Rap’s hypermasculinity is confirmed by feeding on other men, by masculine rivalry and vying. Patricia Hill Collins points out that “hegemonic masculinity is fundamentally a dynamic, relational construct. Because it is constantly tested by the behaviors of others, such masculinity must always be achieved.” Without competition, “hegemonic masculinity becomes meaningless” (Collins 186). The Philadelphia-based rap artist Vinnie Paz exemplifies Collins’s notion: “low shit, baggy nautica with the gatt cocked/you ho shit, tight jeans, pink with the tank top/you make the kind of rap music that fags watch/I make the kind of rap music that stab cops/I brought it raw, I been here ever since/I remember you the fagget wearin’ gear like you Prince” (Paz). Big L offers many battle rap lines that aim to ridicule the imaginary opponent, such as: “niggas be gettin’ mad ‘cause I hit more chicks than they spoke to,” or “And you ain’t made a hit yet, you flop in a split sec/In the shower’s the only time you get your dick wet.” The lyrics might be shockingly offensive, such as Big L’s “No dame can give me a bad name, I got mad fame/I’m quick to put a slug in a fag brain” (Big L); or they can be playful and humorous, for example Sean P raps: “Y’all niggaz are softer than wack shit/My rap slap the Earth off of its axis,” or “Shoot the fair one, mano-a-mano the clown/I’ll pull the pound on a Ronald McDonald/You a Happy Meal nigga with the toy in the box/I clap the steel nigga, put your boy in the box” (Sean P). Regardless of the style that is adopted for its expression, the performance of hypermasculine images stands at the centre of rap music. Gender conventions are even more strongly imposed on African Americans (male and female) because the minority is generally a highly stereotyped one. Since minstrel shows, continuing all the way to contemporary Hollywood movies, African Americans have been presented in very limited ways. The ways of presenting them have been so powerful and ever-present that African American people have had almost no choice but to accept and internalize these stereotypes. Rap artists are often accused of spreading stereotypical images of hypersexual, violent, uncontrollable individuals. We should bear in mind firstly that the performance of these particular gender stereotypes sells very well; and secondly, that they indeed often stem from what the artist has seen in the streets. Hypermascu99


linity is, therefore, the aftermath of street life and a “gangsta” lifestyle where one cannot afford to show weakness; this attitude also prevails in the prison culture, and many African American males have to adjust to the attitudes due their stay in correctional facilities; as Ice-T says: “In the jungle, masculinity is at a premium. Anybody weaker than the next man will be victimized by the stronger […]. Displays of strength and aggression are prized because you’re always walking like a prison inmate” (Ice-T 10). Collins also argues that “interpersonal violence among young African American men reflect a desperate search for respect. Possession of respect is highly valued” (190). Speaking of the jungle and the predatory environment of hip hop’s roots, one needs to bear in mind the conditions into which hip hop was born. The Bronx in the 1970s has been described as “a Necropolis – a city of death,” an area of devastation, rotting vermin, garbage, social collapse. This “mythical Wasteland,” which was once visited even by Mother Teresa, the patron saint of the world’s poor, birthed the multibillion dollar industry that is hip hop today. Under those dog-eatdog conditions, the harm caused to black masculinity in the US was significantly enhanced, and the desolate neighborhood also increased the need to restore and defend one’s manhood by any means necessary – very often violent means (Chang 16–19). The hypermasculine element of African American culture is also a valuable commodity on the market. Rappers often sell what they have seen because it is the easiest way to earn money. David Banner once said: “There is nothing in my lyrics that you can point your finger at and say that it doesn’t exist in my community” (Banner). Instead of blaming rappers for all the evil in black communities, one should perhaps examine what it is that actually makes them rap about the things that they rap about. This is not to say that rap artists do not distribute images, but simply to recognize that the musicians are themselves products of the atrocities, decay and violence that have been poisoning cities like Detroit, Chicago or East St. Louis. Consequently, we may say that the construction of hip hop masculinity is both free will and determinism to a certain extent. The black body of a rapper starts as a passive medium onto which cultural conventions are projected; but the same conventions that he is forced to accept are later supported and cultivated in his art because he is aware that they are found desirable and that they are profitable. Therefore, the rapper creates art that is based on the life in the ’hood and, simultaneously, it offers the promise of financial gain; so he essentially uses his body as the instrument to both testify and gain profit. Butler’s passive medium becomes an instrument (Butler 8). We thus encounter a paradoxical situation where an artist is basically made to produce authentic art which, although fans do not realize this, denies their conception of authenticity as well as the subjective authenticity of the artist who raps about what the public desires. 100


The enemies of hip hop’s public Judith Butler talks about “spectres of discontinuity” – and her term suits our analysis of gender in rap as well. “Intelligible genders” are those that fit and “maintain relations of coherence and continuity among sex, gender, sexual practice, and desire” (Butler 17). Interestingly, the “intelligible” gender in rap consists of both heterosexual and homosexual characters; but one of them (the heterosexual male) controls the others. What makes the other intelligible is the fact that they contribute to the overall stability and they seem to be necessary to many narratives of the genre. Therefore, the intelligibility of the female and homosexual elements lies in their simplification; and also in their being turned against the (hyper)masculine supremacy. They are skeletonized in order to become intelligible. They are also constantly “prohibited and produced” at the same time, for the same reasons: the rap versions of feminine gender and homosexuality are produced in order to be destroyed. We may speak about the establishment of masculine cultural identity through “an overt act of differentiation.” Butler argues that “the differentiating moment of social exchange appears to be a social bond between men, a Hegelian unity between masculine terms that are simultaneously specified and individualized” (40). On the one hand, there is the bonding aspect of men who are above the rest of society. We may differentiate between two possible bonding concepts: the “me-andmy-homeboyz” concept, based on what might be called a friendship; and “meand-real-nigs” concept, which accentuates not necessarily a personal relationship to the other “nigs” but which connects them usually in an emotionless association of people who are, to use Ice Cube’s term again, “the wrong niggaz to fuck wit’” (Ice Cube, Death Certificate). The former concept is typical for the “badmen” or “bad niggas”; the latter is usually seen with “bad niggers.” Tupac characterizes the former relationship in his songs as “two niggaz of the same kind/Quick to holla at a hoochie with the same line […] like distant cousins, fightin, playin dozens/Whole neighborhood buzzin, knowin, that we wasn’t/Used to catch us on the roof or behind the stairs/I’m gettin blitzed and I reminisce on all the times we shared” (Shakur, All Eyez on Me). Tupac admits that shared time between him and his friends might have involved activities that were not strictly speaking legal; however, what drew them close together was their common background and the hardships they had been through. The latter kind of association – which we can call “me-and-real-nigs” – can be illustrated in Big L’s raps: “I’m known to pull steel trigs and kill pigs/I run with ill kids and real nigs who peel wigs” (Big L). Big L associates himself only with “the real nigs who peel wigs,” which is what makes them close. The “gangstas” who show the same kind of “I-don’t-give-a-shit” attitude are the only ones he wants to be with. They distinguish themselves from the weak and law-abiding citizens precisely by their “badness.” The difference of being “bad” provides a 101


bonding opportunity for them; yet it does leave them enough space to function as individuals. Butler also says that “one is one’s gender to the extent that one is not the other gender” which “presupposes and enforces the restriction of gender within the binary pair” (22). In the rap game, however, not to be feminine does not automatically mean to be masculine, it is hard to speak of a binary pair, and if so, the pair is defined by the antagonism between its components, not by its complementary nature. The “true masculinity” in rap is represented by the gangsta or the hardcore rap narrators who shift the masculine conventions by their exaggerated accentuation of toughness, violence and domination. To use the words of the ex-Crip Sanyika Shakur, both street gangs and gangsta rap rose out of “the ashes and ruins of the sixties” (92). The ruined areas of South Central Los Angeles, the criminalization of many Civil Rights Movement activists and the constant oppression and brutality at the hands of the LAPD sparked an influential subgenre of rap music called “gangsta rap.” It found a way to vent the frustrations and anger of African American community. Gangsta rap can be described as fury with a political edge. In terms of artistic expression, African Americans decide to use the stereotypes that had been imposed upon them for centuries, bringing a form of mayhem that solidified certain rules of gender performance. The ones who do not give in to those new rules are not considered masculine; they are called weak, sissies, bitches or “bitch-ass niggaz.” Accordingly, one can claim that the binary opposition both does and does not exist in rap music. It does not exist in the sense that men and women are not really antagonized or placed strictly in an either/or relation. It does exist if we endorse the fact that what we come across is usually men, i.e. the hypermasculine hardcore rap individuals, and that everything else might be labeled as the “Other.” The intelligibility of the hypermasculine gender identity is exceptionally prominent in rap music. The opposite of a man is often not really a woman but a weak, timid and helpless man. The binary opposition in hardcore rap music is usually constituted by strong men on one side and everything else on the other. However, to make this issue even more complex, it is possible, to a certain extent, to deconstruct what has just been said about the binary order of gender; that is to say, we may point out that the binary system exists so far as the way of referring to the “Other” is concerned. Anything that is not hypermasculine in the rap music sense is referred to by means of effeminizing remarks. As I have noted earlier, both women and weak men are called bitches. Men are called “bitch-ass niggaz,” sissies, pussies, etc.; thus, in terms of reference, the binary opposition is in force. It exists between two sorts of men, each of them differently gendered. We notice “the fear of ‘feminization’ associated within heterosexual cultures with male homosexuality” (Butler 59). Rappers perceive homophobic remarks as most offensive, and they use them frequently in “beefs.” As an example, we may look at Nas’ lyrics at the time of the 102


famous beef between him and Jay-Z. Although Nas is considered a very progressive rapper, politically outspoken, he called Jay-Z “Gay-Z” and Jay-Z’s Roc-AFella Records were changed into “Cockafella Records” (Nas). The Los-Angeles based crew G-Unit (consisting of 50 Cent, Tony Yayo, and Young Buck, to name a few) was often called Gay-Unit by other rap artists who had a “beef” with them. The animosity among rap artists and rap crews is often expressed by using similarly homophobic remarks, which also supports the extremely masculine appearance of the other side. The exaggeration and also distortion of masculine elements partially stem from the excessive emphasis on masculinity in general and the urgency of keeping up with it. Butler writes: The sexuality that emerges within the matrix of power relations is not a simple replication or copy of the law itself, a uniform repetition of a masculinist economy of identity. The productions swerve from their original purposes and inadvertedly mobilize possibilities of “subjects” that do not merely exceed the bounds of what cultural intelligibility is, but effectively expand the boundaries of what is, in fact, culturally intelligible. (29)

If personas such as Shaft predicted the rise of hypermasculine black man, we can say that rap music is the ultimate representation of it. We obviously need to generalize somewhat for the sake of analysis, because these days we cannot safely say what rap does and what it does not do, as it has developed into a very diverse genre, and the performance of masculinity takes many different forms, which will be addressed later in more depth. Hypermasculinity − “the exaggeration of the posture of manhood and the aggression associated with male identity” − according to Michael Eric Dyson, reflects a “broader American trait” (93). The rappers perform in accordance with the widespread idea of masculinity in American culture. Additionally, bell hooks says that “black males who reject racist stereotypes must still cope with the imposition onto them of qualities that have no relation of their lived experience. […] If you are going to be seen as a beast, you may as well act like one” (hooks 49). The overwhelming everyday presence of stereotypes leads to their internalization. Butler further notes that “gender is the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being” (33). The “natural being” in rap music is currently the hypermasculine “gangsta,” which is not in itself to be condemned; the problem comes when the hypermasculinity turns against others, particularly women and homosexuals. The possible solution is not to invite more gay and female rappers to the “game” so that the “natural sort of being” of rap changes, but to make all rappers aware of the message that they send to the community through their lyrics. To change the essence of rap music as a masculine art is an unnecessary disruption that would compromise the art’s uniqueness. 103


Butler is absolutely right when she says that “[t]he conflict of masculinity appears, then, to be precisely the demand for a full recognition of autonomy that will also and nevertheless promise a return to those full pleasures prior to repression and individuation” (45). This is true especially for African American males, if we endorse the fact that they have been emasculated in the past, and they still bear the psychological scars of their uneasy history. The hidden underlying notion of a homosocial desire that Judith Butler mentions seems to be too radical for our purpose of analyzing rap music. She argues that relations among patrilineal clans are based in what Irigaray would call “hommo-sexuality,” which is a repressed sexuality involving bonds between men (45). Indeed, strong relationships among men are common in rap lyrics, particularly for “badmen,” whose personal bonding with other men is significant in their narratives, and whose level of individuality is not as high as in the “bad nigger” psyche. Michael Eric Dyson talks about another prominent field of African American performance where this bonding is even more visible than anywhere else – that of African American athletes: Patting one another on the behind to say ‘good game’ or ‘good play,’ hugging each other and kissing one another, falling into each other’s sweating arms to boost camaraderie, and so on. This is a sexualized choreography of suppressed black desire and the way it is portrayed from the gridiron to the hardwood floor, pun intended! (Dyson 270)

We see the powerful bonds among African American men in hip hop by their references to each other as “homeboys,” “homies,” “bros;” while referring to women as “bitches,” “hoes,” “chickenheads,” or to their girls as “baby mamas,” that in itself suggests a lack of emotional relationship to the women who give birth to African American children. Everything is created, as Tupac might say, “strictly for my niggaz,” (Shakur, Strictly) or in Kool G Rap’s words: “for tha brothaz” (Kool G Rap). The appearance of rap performers tends to correspond to the hypermasculine nature of their lyrics. However, this does not prove, as some might argue, that the rap artists truly honor the hypermasculine code of life while off-stage; rather it tells us something about the amount of time they spend preparing for their role. During a concert, they often start taking their clothes off until they end up halfnaked, exposing their muscular bodies. Rappers such as 50 Cent, Nelly, LL Cool J, DMX, and Ja Rule support the power of their masculine performance by flexing their muscles, showing their abs, etc. The surface of the body is in this case, as Butler might say, over-sexed due to its performative purpose. It becomes the “necessary sign of a natural(ized) identity and desire” (Butler 71). They let no one doubt their sexual orientation, strength, and fearsomeness. In Butler’s work we also come across the notion of violence with regards to assuming one’s heterosexuality. She writes: “the norm of compulsory heterosexuality does operate with force and violence” (123). In rap performance and lyrics, 104


this might be interpreted literally, as violence is clearly related to the heterosexual performance of masculinity. It’s bigger than hip hop Nevertheless, if we look at what rap is most famous for, it is the hardcore “gangsta” character. It is precisely this character that has expanded our understanding of what it means to be a man in African American art. What unsettles people is the possibility that the “gangsta” persona may become (or may already have become) acceptable. However, we may argue that the advocates of rap music, and the artists themselves, do not fight for its acceptance but simply for its intelligibility. To reject the character blindly due to its offensiveness means refusing to attempt to solve the problem. It is necessary to examine the reality of the predatory conditions found in the projects. Although gender in rap music is based on performance, it also mirrors some of the harsh circumstances that many African Americans are born into. Connected with the authenticity, when 50Cent raps: “I got a itchy itchy trigger finger/ nigga its a killa in me not to spray that shit/I got enough ammo shots to blow up a hole in every mothafucka out this bitch/[…]niggas get knocked if they start askin’ question, my name end up in all types of shit I be a gangsta, a nigga till I die fo’ sho’, whether I’m poor or I’m filthy rich” (50 Cent), it would be absurd to assume that Curtis Jackson indeed lives by the rules he conveys in the lyrics he writes. Nonetheless, the narrator of the song “This Is 50” provides us with an idea of the attitudes that are held in certain layers of American society; the narrative does what movies such as The Godfather, Scarface, or more recently American Gangster did when they came out. Curtis Jackson is a gangster as much as Al Pacino is Tony Montana. What is paradoxical about gender in hip hop is that rappers are often accused of being too “real”; they are accused of supporting negative stereotypes. We need to bear in mind that rappers are performers, and their performance is only an exaggerated version of gender rules that are themselves a performance of the larger society.

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Bibliography Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge, 1990. Chang, Jeff. Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of Hip Hop Generation. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005. Collins, Patricia Hill. Black Sexual Politics. New York: Routledge, 2004. Dyson, Michael Eric. Open Mike: Reflections. New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2003. hooks, bell. We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity. New York: Routledge, 2004. Ice-T. The Ice Opinion: Who Gives a Fuck? Los Angeles: St. Martin’s Press, 1999. White, Miles. From Jim Crow to Jay-Z. Race, Rap, and the Performance of Masculinity. New York: University of Chicago Press, 2011.

Sources Music 50 Cent. The Massacre. Santa Monica: Aftermath, 2005. Big L. Lifestylez ov da Poor and Dangerous. New York: Columbia, 1995. Ice Cube. Amerikkka’s Most Wanted. Los Angeles: Priority, 1990. ---. Death Certificate. Los Angeles: Priority, 1991. Kool G. Rap. 4,5,6. New York: Cold Chillin’, 1995. Nas, Stillmatic. New York: Ill Will, 2001. Paz, Vinnie. The Sound and The Fury. New York: Babygrande, 2006. Sean P. Mic Tyson. New York: Duck Down, 2012. Shakur, Tupac. All Eyez on Me. Los Angeles: Death Row, 1996. ---. Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z.. Los Angeles: Interscope, 1993.

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Videos and others Banner, David. From Imus to Industry: The Business of Stereotypes and Degrading Images, 2007. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8L8xTG7tufM Krs One. Rhyme and Reason. Dir. Peter Spirer, Prod. Daniel Sollinger, Ed. Andy Robertson. Miramax, 1997. Sutherland, John. Rappers Are Not Gangsters; They’re Poets. 23. 06. 2012. http://www. youtube.com/watch?v=Vs3n1ujkflc

Address: Charles University in Prague Faculty of Arts Department of Anglophone Literatures & Cultures Nám. Jana Palacha 2, 116 38 Praha 1 Czech Republic [email protected]

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Ezra Pound s bublinou: Tři komiksové podoby modernistického básníka Jakub Guziur University of New York in Prague Abstrakt Esej se zabývá simulakry amerického modernistického básníka Ezry Pounda ve třech soudobých komiksech: výtvarném životopisu James Joyce: Portrét Dubliňana (James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner, 2013) Alfonsa Zapica, parodické Pustině (The Waste Land, 1990) Martina Rowsona a Jasonově Partě z levého břehu (The Left Bank Gang, 2006). Kulturní, dějinná a literární kontextualisace má ukázat, jak současní umělci utvářejí obraz representující jejich pohled na jednu z ikonických postav „vysokého” modernistického umění. Obecně se esej vyjadřuje k přístupu post-kulturních umělců k odkazu avantgardy. Klíčová slova: modernimus, komiks, Ezra Pound, post-kultura, kulturní kritika Abstract The essay deals with simulacra of the American Modernist poet Ezra Pound in three works of contemporary graphic storytelling: Alfonso Zapico’s biography James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner (2013), Martin Rowson’s parody The Waste Land (1990), and Jason’s The Left Bank Gang (2006). Cultural, historical and literary contextualization aims to show how contemporary artists shape the images representing their view of one of the iconic figures of high Modernist art. In broad terms, it comments on post-cultural artists’ approach to the legacy of the avant-garde. Keywords: modernism, comics, Ezra Pound, post-culture, cultural criticism

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Na konci první dekády 21. století si již jen málokdo kladl otázku, zda je komiks plnohodnotnou uměleckou formou. Dlouhá řada tvůrců – takřka namátkou: Will Eisner, Harvey Pekar, Bryan Talbot, Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Dave McKean, Frank Miller, Art Spiegelman, Eddie Campbell, Chris Ware, Joe Sacco, Charles Burns, Chester Brown aj. – dokázala využít charakteristických vlastností tohoto media k vytvoření úctyhodného počtu děl nesporných uměleckých kvalit, která už nebylo možné dále pomíjet. Přízeň široké čtenářské obce a kritiků si získala především výtvarná vyprávění s autobiografickými rysy – v anglofonních zemích např. Art Spiegelman, Chester Brown, Seth [Gregory Gallant], Daniel Clowes, Jeff Lemire, Adrian Tomine, Al Davison, Craig Thompson, Alison Bechdelová – která dosud dominují komiksovému formátu výtvarného románu (graphic novel). Po jejich úspěchu dosáhly značné obliby tzv. výtvarné životopisy (graphic biographies), vycházející rovněž z tzv. vzdělávacích vědeckých komiksů (educational science comics; na př. práce Jaye Hoslera) a komiksového žurnalismu (comics journalism; např. Joe Sacco, Guy Delisle) (Mazur a Danner 295–301). Mnozí tvůrci komiksů si uvědomili, že osudy nekonformních moderních umělců, zejména stoupenců různých avantgardních hnutí, představují vděčné thema a skýtají lákavé umělecké možnosti. Svědčí o tom např. výtvarný životopis tanečnice Isadory Duncanové (1877 nebo 1878–1927), americké výtvarnice Sabriny Jonesové, svérázný portrét avantgardního malíře Julesa Pascina (1885–1930) z dílny plodného francouzského výtvarníka, spisovatele a filmového režiséra Joanna Sfara nebo rozsáhlý výtvarný životopis Kiki de Montparnasse (2007) francouzské výtvarnice Catel Mullerové a spisovatele José-Louise Bocqueta. Životu Ezry Pounda zatím žádná podobná práce věnována nebyla, Pound ovšem vystupuje jako důležitá vedlejší postava v díle španělského ilustrátora Alfonsa Zapica (*1981) James Joyce: Portrét Dubliňana (2011). Zapicovi se v celku podařilo vystihnout úlohu, kterou Pound v Joyceově životě hrál: spřízněného umělce, jenž v pravou chvíli dílo irského spisovatele ocenil a po jistou dobu neúnavně pracoval – slovy Petera Ackroyda – jako Joyceův „neplacený literární agent” (Ackroyd, Pound 44).1 Zapico se při popisu Joyceova života přidržuje informací z klasického životopisu Richarda Ellmanna (1959, 1982). Ačkoli občas pozměňuje pořadí jednotlivých událostí a upravuje promluvy některých osobností, od Joyceova příběhu – jak ho Ellmann podává – se neodchyluje. Používá-li např. pro navození dojmu autentičnosti přímé citace z Poundových dopisů, nezachovává jejich přesné znění, význam ovšem ano.2 Ospravedlnit jistě lze i scény, které pocházejí ze Zapicovy představivosti; zřejmě aby obměnil převážně městské prostředí, vykresluje cestu redaktorky a Joyceovy mecenášky Harriet Shaw Weaverové (1876–1961) a Ezry Pounda k venkovskému sídlu britské spisovatelky Virginie Woolfové (1882–1941), kterou chtějí přesvědčit, aby knižně vydala Joyceova Odyssea (Ulysses, 1922) (Zapico 134–135).3 Ačkoli scéna obsahuje několik anachronismů a představa Ezry Pounda za volantem automobilu je 110

Jakub Guziur • Ezra Pound s bublinou: [...]

úsměvná,4 nepůsobí zcela nevhodně, protože ztvárňuje obětavost a úsilí, s nimiž oba aktéři Joyceovo dílo prosazovali.

Zkreslujícím dojmem však působí některé panely, jejichž prostřednictvím Zapico dramatisuje nebo dále vykládá Ellmannem popisované události. Na příklad kritická reakce Harriet Weaverové a Ezry Pounda na jedenáctý oddíl Odyssea, označovaný jako „Sirény”, rozhodně nebyla tak vyhrocená, jak ji Zapico zpodobňuje (Zapico 144; srov. Read 159–161, Ellmann 459–460). Roku 1926 odmítl Pound připojit svůj podpis pod veřejný protestní dopis, jehož signatáři – mj. T.S. Eliot, Albert Einstein, Havelock Ellis, Benedetto Croce, André Gide, E.M. Forster, Ernest Hemingway, Paul Valéry, Thornton Wilder, D.H. Lawrence, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Virginia Woolfová, W.B. Yeats – požadovali zastavení pirátského vydávání částí Joyceova Odyssea v americkém časopisu Two Worlds Monthly, který řídil a vlastnil newyorkský tiskař Samuel Roth (Read 224, Ellmann 585–586; srov. Beach 180–182). Podle Richarda Ellmanna se Pound mohl domnívat, že se Joyce takto snaží získat nezaslouženou pozornost, protože problém se v té době již snažili vyřešit Joyceovi právníci; Ellmann ovšem nezamlčuje vysvětlení, které Pound poskytl Joyceovi (Ellmann 586). Modernistický básník byl přesvědčen, že protest nebyl namířen správným směrem, spíše než psát stížnosti na nelegální vydávání bylo podle Pounda třeba protestovat proti americkým zákonům, které v té době bránily vydat Odyssea legálně (Read 226–227).5 Zapico kontroversní událost krátce popisuje a uzavírá následujícím panelem (Zapico 175):

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Ellmannova domněnka, takto vytržena z původních souvislostí, zde vzbuzuje dojem, že Pound protestní dopis nepodepsal, protože Joyceovi publicitu záviděl. Jelikož jde o poslední panel, na němž je Pound ve výtvarném životopisu zobrazen, lze se domnívat, že postihuje příčinu konce přátelství dvou velikánů modernistické literatury.6 Zřejmě největší nedostatek Zapicovy práce spočívá v její stylisaci. Evropa první poloviny 20. století, stejně jako osudy jejích obyvatel, zde působí poněkud neskutečně, mnohdy nepatřičně malebně. Pound – podobně jako většina jeho uměleckých souputníků – žil trvale ve velmi skromných podmínkách; jak známo, výdaje na domácnost snižoval tím, že si sám z dřevěných prken vyráběl potřebný nábytek (Beach 26–27). Zapico ovšem jeho domov zobrazuje takto (Zapico 113):

Španělský kreslíř sice příležitostně pracuje s dobovými fotografiemi, zachází s nimi ovšem příliš svévolně, jak patrno z následujícího panelu (Zapico 170), který vychází ze známé fotografie Pounda, právníka, mecenáše a sběratele modernistického umění Johna Quinna (1870–1924), prosaika Forda Madoxe Forda 112


(1873–1939) a Joycea, pořízené v básníkově pařížském bytě roku 1923 (Ellmann XXXVI). Ford a Joyce sedí na židlích, které stloukl Pound (Moody, obrazová příloha, komentář k fotografii č. 3).

Není podstatné, že se společnost rozrostla o Ernesta Hemingwaye, který v té době ostatně v Paříži pobýval a se všemi zúčastněnými se znal. Z Poundovy skromné místnosti s prostými dřevěnými palandami se v Zapicově podání stal útulný salon. Stolní telefon v pravém horním segmentu snad představuje post-kulturní žert, případně jeho prostřednictvím autor naznačuje, že ho daná doba ve skutečnosti příliš nezajímala. Ani Joyceovy útrapy a chudoba v Zapicově díle nevyznívají tísnivě, ale přinejlepším groteskně, místy dokonce komicky. Dramatičnost Joyceova života se autorovi tohoto výtvarného životopisu postihnout nepodařilo především proto, že jednotlivé osobnosti zde urputně nebojují za to, aby mohly žít a tvořit podle svých představ, působí spíše jako poněkud přerostlé děti, které hrají sice zábavnou a zajímavou, ovšem v celku bezstarostnou hru na život a umění. Autorem zřejmě nejméně uctivých obrazů Ezry Pounda je britský karikaturista, výtvarník a spisovatel Martin Rowson (*1959). Jeho první rozsáhlejší prací, která měla výrazné výtvarné i literární ambice, byla komiksová parodie Eliotovy Pustiny.7 Modernistovu básnickou sekvenci Rowson považuje za „v nejasnostech si libující, nemastný neslaný, zarputile pobožný, elitářský, nesoudržný, ubohý přeceňovaný nesmysl”8 a podle toho k ní ve svém stejnojmenném díle přistupuje: jako k modle s kladivem. Rowson původně zamýšlel vytvořit Pustinou inspirované posměšné omalovánky (Rowson, „Afterword“ 69), později si ale uvědomil, že svého záměru – „kopnout si do toho starého sukovitého totemu” (Rowson, „Afterword“ 69) – dosáhne mnohem lépe, převypráví-li Eliotovu báseň jako chandlerovský detektivní příběh, výtvarně vycházející z klasických amerických noirových filmů Hluboký spánek (1946) a Maltézský sokol (1941) (Rowson, „Afterword” 69, 70).9 Protagonista Rowsonova příběhu, soukromý detektiv Chris(topher) Marlowe, sdílející příjmení s hrdinou všech Chandlerových románů Phil(ip)em Marlowem a celé jméno s alžbětinským dramatikem a básníkem Christopherem Marlowem 113


(1564–1593), řeší spletitý případ, v němž důležité úlohy hrají travestie postav z Pustiny a několika Eliotových raných básní: záhadná „dívka s hyacinty”,10 nepravá věštkyně madame Sosostris, která Marlowea zdroguje, mafiánský obchodník Eugenides, řidič Flébas, komorník Sweeney11 a úplatní detektivové Burbank a Bleistein.12 Jednotlivé postavy parafrasují verše z Pustiny řečí postav detektivních románů americké drsné školy. Rowsonovu práci s Eliotovou básní výstižně dokládá travestie jejího čtvrtého oddílu „Smrt utopením” (Death by Water), zřejmě nejpovedenější část celé komiksové knihy. Eliot: Féničan Flébas, mrtvý čtrnáct dní, zapomněl na křik racků, na vzedmuté moře, na zisky, ztráty. Podmořský proud s šepotem obíral jeho kosti. Stoupaje a do hlubin se noře, ve víru prodělal si výjevy z mládí i starších let. Ty u kormidla, křesťane či žide, ó štíhlý, krásný, který hledíš k návětrné straně, pomysli na Fléba, jejž obdivovali tak jak tebe lidé. (Eliot, „Pustina“ 76)

Rowsonův Flébas je zavražděným řidičem Marloweovy klientky, jehož mrtvé tělo právě i s autem nechávají policisté vytáhnout z oceánu (Rowson, The Waste Land 56–57); scéna nevychází z Chandlerovy předlohy (Chandler, Spánek 42–46), představuje výtvarnou citaci její filmové verse Howarda Hawkse.

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Jelikož má čtenáře zřejmě těšit především sledování intertextuální hry s odkazy na klasická i post-kulturní díla a jejich autory,13 jejichž počet bez nadsázky dosahuje trojmístného čísla, příběh komiksové knihy není příliš podstatný. Stačí zmínit, že klíčem k vyřešení případu je nalezení odcizeného Svatého grálu. Poté, co je grál navrácen původní majitelce a viníci předáni policii, uvědomí si Marlowe, že zločiny zosnoval T.S. Eliot s pomocí Ezry Pounda. V závěrečné části komiksové knihy, která odpovídá začátku Eliotových autorských poznámek k Pustině, detektiv oba básníky vyhledá, aby se seznámil s jejich pohnutkami. Eliot mu ovšem cituje ze svých poznámek a Pound se mu vysmívá. Smyslu Eliotovy básně – „té příšerné mantry modernismu” (Rowson, „Afterword“ 73) – se komiksový Marlowe nakonec nedobere. Rowsonův odpor k modernismu je zřejmý už z obálky jeho Pustiny, která odkazuje na brakovou estetiku obálek brožovaných amerických vydání detektivních příběhů, na níž T.S. Eliot ukazuje čtenářce moderní poesie „strach v hrsti prachu” (Eliot, „Pustina“ 65) a místo hromu promlouvá Poundův revolver:

Obrazy T.S. Eliota a Ezry Pounda, zpodobující básníky v různých obdobích jejich života, jsou v Rowsonově díle všudypřítomné. Vycházejí takřka ve všech případech ze známých fotografií nebo malířských portrétů a působí většinou samoúčelně – jako karikatury nebo pouhá výplň. Ezra Pound v Rowsonově Pustině vystupuje v několika úlohách. Jako muž před Prufrockovou galerií (Rowson, The Waste Land 15). Opilec v Sweeneyho baru, který „napodobuje policejní 115


zprávy různými hlasy” (Rowson, The Waste Land 16).14 Dále jako host madame Sosostris, který pomůže zdrogovaného Marlowea uložit do dřevěné bedny, v níž je detektiv přepraven do Londýna (Rowson, The Waste Land 17, 18). Stetson ze závěru prvního oddílu Eliotovy básně, podivná postava s kriminální minulostí a vlivnými známostmi, který má na zahradě zakopanou mrtvolu (Rowson, The Waste Land 20; srov. Eliot, „Pustina“ 66). Člen umělecké společnosti, jež se sešla v jedné londýnské restauraci (Rowson, The Waste Land 27). Návštěvník Britského musea (Rowson, The Waste Land 42). Jeden z budhistických mnichů – společně s T.S. Eliotem a modernistickým malířem a spisovatelem Wyndhamem Lewisem (1882–1957) – kteří parodují Eliotovu citaci z Upanišad (800–400 př. n. l.) v závěru pátého oddílu Pustiny (Rowson, The Waste Land 67; srov. Eliot, „Pustina“ 161). Pouze jediná z mnoha podob, kterou Rowson Poundovi ve své Pustině přisoudil, o americkém básníku cosi sděluje. Jde o starého domovníka, kterého čtenář spatří na chodbě před Marloweovou kanceláří (Rowson, The Waste Land 65).15

Zde se zřejmě autorovi komiksu skutečně daří vyjádřit svůj názor na modernistickou poesii, již považuje za zbytečný, nesrozumitelný pozůstatek nenávratně minulé doby. K dobru je Rowsonovi ovšem třeba přičíst, že spojení T.S. Eliota – a modernismu – s Raymondem Chandlerem není náhodné. Autor komiksu uvádí, že ho inspi116


rovala následující pasáž z Chandlerova vrcholného románu Loučení s Lennoxem (The Long Goodbye, 1953): „‚Stáří se hlásí… stáří se hlásí… Kalhoty dole podkasám si.’ Co to znamená, pane Marlowe?” „Starou bačkoru. Ale zní to pěkně.” Usmál se. „To je z Eliota. Z jeho ‚Písně lásky J. Alfreda Prufrocka’. Nebo tenhle verš ‚Ženy přecházejí sem tam pokojem, zaujaty v řeči Michelangelem.’ Říká vám to něco, pane?” „Jo, říká, že ten pán toho moc nevěděl o ženách.” „Mám přesně stejný dojem, pane. Nicméně T. S. Eliota velmi obdivuji.” „Vy jste řek ‚nicméně’?” (Chandler, Loučení 330)

Raymond Chandler skutečně hodnotil modernismus a modernisty kriticky16; Eliota a jeho básně ostatně v Loučení s Lennoxem ironisuje ještě na dvou místech (Chandler, Loučení 85, 220).17 Tento americký rodák, který ovšem prožil značnou část dětství a dospívání v Anglii, se v mládí pokoušel prosadit jako formálně a převážně i thematicky dosti tradiční básník. Zanechat této snahy a vrátit se do Spojených států se Chandler rozhodl roku 1912 (Williams 49–51), tedy právě v době, kdy modernisté začali získávat uměleckou sebedůvěru. Eliot, který se později rozhodl přesídlit z Ameriky do Velké Británie natrvalo, do Anglie přicestoval o rok dříve (Hiney 37). Přinejmenším jedno měl ale Chandler s Eliotem společné – znechucení z hodnotově vyprázdněného moderního světa18 a s ním spojené rozčarování ze soudobého stavu západní kultury a umění. Poetiky obou autorů, jež na hodnotový úpadek Západu svébytně reagují, byly zásadně odlišné, stejně jako způsob, jímž se je snažili prosadit. Eliot si postupně vydobyl posici nejvlivnějšího básníka své generace a po druhé světové válce se mu podařilo nenápadně přimět západní kulturní elity, aby přejaly jeho estetické cítění a převzaly hodnoty, které vyznával. Chandlera, který se literaturou začal opět zabývat až za hospodářské krise třicátých let 20. století (Williams 102), kdy přišel vinou alkoholismu o zaměstnání v ropném průmyslu (Hiney 71–73), kulturní elity nezajímaly, uplatnil se jako autor žánrové literatury. Dokázal ovšem obrodit detektivní žánr, kterému dodal nebývalou hloubku a závažnost, aniž by sebeméně ztratil na zajímavosti a zábavnosti.19 Literární a myšlenkové kvality Chandlerových románů nakonec oceňovali i sami modernisté,20 Eliota nevyjímaje.21 Postava Phila Marlowea Eliota jistě oslovovala, Chandlerův soukromý detektiv bloudí pustinami amerického velkoměsta, obývanými eliotovskými dutými lidmi,22 a hledá alespoň z části smysluplný způsob existence v odlidštěné civilisaci. Marlowe vyznává takřka rytířské ctnosti, jichž se není ochoten vzdát, přestože si uvědomuje, že v moderním světě těžko najde pána, do jehož služeb by mohl vstoupit. „Není to rytířská hra” (Chandler, Spánek 140), konstatuje melancholicky v Hlubokém spánku. Na svých ryze soukromých a dosti idealistických zásadách 117


ale lpí, závisí na nich jeho sebeúcta, proto je ochoten snášet, že se na něho policisté dívají „jako na nějaké podivné zvíře, které uteklo z putovního cirkusu” (Chandler, Spánek 185). Marlowe je moralista, který si nasazuje masku cynika, aby mohl přežít ve „světě, kde poctivost vyšla z módy” (Chandler, Spánek 182). Své snažení chápe jako marné – podobně jako zatoulaný brouk, kterého v románu Sbohem buď, lásko má přenesl z kanceláře oddělení pro vraždy na květinový záhon, i on směřuje „vstříc ničemu, na cestě nikam” (Chandler, Sbohem 181). Chandler shrnuje Marloweův úděl následovně: „Jde o boj všech ze zásady poctivých lidí, kteří se snaží uživit v prohnilé společnosti. Ten boj je nemožný, nemůže zvítězit” (Chandler, „Letters“ 1038). Rowsonovo pojetí chandlerovského soukromého detektiva působí povrchně. Zatímco Chandlerův Marlowe považuje vyřešení případu za věc cti a v pátrání pokračuje i v situaci, kdy klient už o jeho služby nemá zájem, Rowsonův detektiv je převážně pasivním pozorovatelem, který se nechává unášet událostmi, je to resignovaný alkoholik, který se řešení případu dobere náhodou. Ačkoli se Phil Marlowe občas chová povýšeně a zatrpklosti dává průchod posměchem, rozhodně není nekultivovaný23 a vyznává pevné mravní zásady, které mu zaručují jistou důstojnost. Rowsonův Marlowe má kultivovanosti a důstojnosti asi tolik jako hadrová panenka. Koncept Rowsonova komiksu sice skýtal zajímavé možnosti, na příklad ukázat rozdíl v Eliotově a Chandlerově chápání authentické existence v moderním světě, ty ovšem autora očividně nezajímaly. Rowson zjevně se soukromým detektivem sympatisuje, jeho chandlerovský pastiš ale nakonec působí nejen jako parodie Eliotovy básně, ale i Chandlerových románů. Skýtá pouze samolibý výsměch, který vychází z autorova kulturního cynismu. Norský komiksový výtvarník a scénárista Jason (*1965, vl. jm. John Arne Sæterøy) se proslavil jako tvůrce stylisovaných příběhů, jež se snaží zaujmout ztřeštěnými, případně bizarními, nápady nebo pojetím. Čtenář, který se nechá zlákat – např. šachovým westernem V nepravou půlnoc (Low Moon, 2007), osudy Dumasova mušketýra ve 20. století Athos v Americe (Athos in America, 2010) nebo případy chandlerovského detektiva za mimozemské invase Zatoulaná kočka (Lost Cat, 2012) – zjistí, že jde vždy o existenciálně laděná podobenství, více či méně působivě zachycující disharmonické mezilidské vztahy a mezní stavy lidské duše – odcizení, frustraci, samotu, citovou závislost, následky traumatických zážitků aj.24 Rafinovaná stylisace postav coby antropomorfních zvířat, která v lecčems připomíná animované grotesky studia Warner Brothers, společně s početnými odkazy na klasické němé filmové grotesky,25 vyvolávají ve čtenáři dojem, že se ocitl v důvěrně známém a v celku bezpečném prostředí. O to účinnější jsou pak kruté scény psychického a přímočaře zobrazovaného fysického násilí, podávané navíc s šibeničním humorem. Výsledný dojem z Jasonových příběhů, k němuž přispívá autorova poměrně poučená práce s estetickou distancí, je charakteristický v soudobém komiksu nepříliš častou lyričností a relativní citovou hloubkou. 118


Parta z levého břehu (The Left Bank Gang, 2006) je hříčkou vycházející z nedokončené vzpomínkové knihy Ernesta Hemingwaye Pohyblivý svátek (A Moveable Feast, 1964, restaurovaná edice 2009).26 Její hlavní protagonisté – Ernest Hemingway, Pound, James Joyce a F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896–1940) – se v Paříži dvacátých let 20. století pokoušejí prosadit jako autoři komiksů. Pound, Hemingway a Fitzgerald mají podobu antropomorfních zvířat, připomínajících psy (Jason 1).

V první části komiksu si Jason pohrává s některými postavami a událostmi z Pohyblivého svátku. Pojetí práce i autorovy stylistické dovednosti dobře ukazuje následující variace (Jason 10) na známou pasáž, v níž se Jasonovi podařilo zachovat posmutnělé kouzlo výchozího textu.27

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Jasonův Hemingway je unaven stálou nouzí, povýšeným poučováním Gertrude Steinové (1874–1946), nezájmem vydavatelů a jinými obtížemi začínajících umělců, navrhne proto kolegům, aby svou hmotnou situaci vylepšili vyloupením peněžního ústavu. Druhá část komiksu je pojata jako fragmentární sled obrazů zachycujících opakovaně události během loupeže z pohledu jednotlivých protagonistů. Příčiny, z nichž se po zločinu nikomu nepodařilo s penězi uniknout, stejně jako okolnosti násilné smrti Jamese Joyce, Zeldy Fitzgeraldové a neznámého Francouze, žádná z postav nezná. Rekonstruovat je musí ze zkušeností jednotlivých postav čtenář sám. Není jistě náhodné, že jde o vyprávěcí postup, který k dokonalosti dovedli a prosadili právě modernisté. Ezra Pound je sice – společně se Zeldou Fitzgeraldovou – zápornou postavou příběhu, příliš na tom ale nezáleží. Kromě jména nemá nic společného ani se skutečným Poundem, ani jeho laskavým portrétem v Hemingwayově knize. Pouze do120


tváří přitažlivé kulisy dalšího z Jasonových příběhů o zradě, věrnosti, odpovědnosti a citové nejistotě. Zapico, Rowson a Jason k Poundovi přistupují jako k barvité – ovšem pouze částečně skutečné – postavě, kterou si čtenáři jejich komiksů mohou mlhavě pamatovat z učebnic. O modernistického básníka se ve skutečnosti příliš nezajímají, nakládají s ním podle potřeb vyprávění. Práce těchto umělců podává výmluvné svědectví nejen o vztahu post-kultury k minulosti a kulturnímu dědictví, ale rovněž o důsledcích globalisace vzdělávání, která vytvořila podmínky, v nichž mohou mít podobná díla úspěch u čtenářů.

Poznámky Ackroyd rozhodně nepřehání, když tvrdí, že „Pound ve skutečnosti vytvořil vkus celé literární generace; bez jeho úsilí mohlo Eliotovo a Joyceovo dílo zůstat v celku neznámé” (Ackroyd, Pound 50). Vychází ostatně ze slov Joycea samotného, který roku 1932 přiznal: „Je naprostá pravda, že [Poundovi] jsme všichni velmi zavázáni. Já ale jistě nejvíce. Od doby, kdy zahájil energické tažení v můj prospěch, uplynulo téměř dvacet let a je pravděpodobné, že bez něho bych zůstal neznámým nádeníkem, kterého objevil – pokud tedy skutečně šlo o objev” (cit. in Ellmann 661–662). 1

2

Viz např. Poundův dopis Joyceovi (Zapico 174) (Srov. Read 228).

Woolfová se setkala pouze s Harriet Weaverovou, Pounda nesnášela (Wilhelm 170– 171, srov. Ellmann 443). 3

Pound je v Zapicově díle nejen řidičem, ale i silný kuřákem, kterým ve skutečnosti nebyl, na rozdíl od T.S. Eliota, Joyceovy vydavatelky Sylvie Beachové (1887–1962) nebo právě Jamese Joyce. 4

5 Forrest Read dále popisuje konkrétní právní kroky, které Pound později proti Samuelu Rothovi podnikl (Read 227).

Důvodů, proč jejich přátelství nebylo tak intensivní a vřelé jako dříve, bylo vícero. Irský spisovatel během dvacátých let 20. století nabyl značného renomé a nebyl již natolik závislý na Poundově podpoře. Od počátku dvacátých let žil Joyce s rodinou v Paříži, Pound, který navíc příliš neoceňoval Joyceovo pozdní dílo, se ale roku 1925 natrvalo přestěhoval z Paříže do italského Rapalla a svou pozornost soustřeďoval na vlastní básnickou a esejistickou tvorbu. Jak dokládá Forrest Read, jejich přátelství ukončily až v druhé polovině třicátých let stále se prohlubující názorové rozdíly, nejen v problémech politických, ale i estetických (Read 258–259). 6

Práce vyšla roku 1990 v anglickém nakladatelství Penguin Books; jelikož ovšem držitelé autorských práv k Eliotovu dílu Rowsonovi zakázali modernistickou báseň citovat, je komiksová kniha takřka nesrozumitelná. V tomto textu bude citováno americké vydání z téhož roku, které těmito zásahy nebylo poznamenáno. Později Rowson vydal dvě svérázné komiksové adaptace klasických děl anglické literatury: Života a názorů 7

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blahorodého pana Tristrama Shandyho (1759–1767) Laurence Sternea (1713–1768) a Gulliverových cest (1726) Jonathana Swifta (1667–1745). Takto svůj postoj Rowson vyjádřil v doslovu k druhému britskému vydání svého díla (Rowson, „Afterword“ 73). 8

Režijní debut Johna Hustona (1906–1987) The Maltese Falcon je adaptací stejnojmenného románu Dashiella Hammetta (1894–1961) z roku 1930, film Howarda Hawkse (1896–1977) zpracováním prvního románu Raymonda Chandlera (1888–1959) The Big Sleep (1939). 9

Eliotovu Pustinu cituji v překladu Jiřího Valji. „Dívka s hyacinty” (Eliot, „Pustina“ 65) z prvního oddílu „Pohřbívání mrtvých” (The Burial of the Dead) v Rowsonově Pustině eliotovsky splyne s písařkou z třetího oddílu „Kázání ohně” (The Fire Sermon) (Rowson, The Waste Land 44). 10

Postava Sweeneyho vystupuje hned v několika Eliotových básních, kromě Pustiny jde o texty „Sweeney Among the Nightingales” (1918), „Mr. Eliot’s Sunday Morning Service” (1918) a „Sweeney Erect” (1919). 11

Srov. Eliotovu báseň „Burbank s bedekrem: Bleistein s doutníkem” (Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar, 1919) (Eliot, Collected Poems 42–43). 12

Rowson tvrdí, že se „mu podařilo vytvořit první a jedinou skutečně postmodernistickou komiksovou knihu” (Rowson, „Afterword“ 69). 13

„He Do the Police in Different Voices” byl původní název Eliotovy básnické sekvence, jde o citaci z románu Charlese Dickense (1812–1870) Náš společný přítel (Our Mutual Friend, 1865) (Eliot, Facsimile 5, 125). 14

Zdánlivě nesmyslná slabika, kterou Pound opakuje, rytmuje – jako zvuk hromu – závěr páté části Eliotovy básně; Jiří Valja doplňuje Eliotovy poznámky o informaci, že představuje kořen sanskrtského slova „datta”, tj. dávej (Eliot, „Pustina“ 161). 15

16

Modernistickou literaturu Chandler pozorně sledoval (Williams 48–49).

Podobně si v románu Sbohem buď, lásko má (Farewell, My Lovely, 1940) Chandler Marloweovými ústy dělá legraci z Ernesta Hemingwaye: „‚Co je to vůbec zač, ten Hemingway?’ / ‚To je chlápek, který tak dlouho opakuje pořád totéž, až člověk nakonec uvěří, že na tom něco je’” (Chandler, Sbohem 140). 17

Před odjezdem do Spojených států psal Chandler v básnickém textu o „rozpadající se civilisaci” (Chandler, Papers 8). Roku 1940 napsal: „Divná věc, ta civilisace. Tolik slibuje, a co dává. Masovou výrobu aušusového zboží a aušusových lidí” (cit. in. Hiney 39). 18

„To jediné, co jsem chtěl, když jsem začínal, bylo pohrávat si s fascinujícím novým jazykem a snažit se, aniž by si toho kdo všimnul, zjistit, jak se projeví jako prostředek vyjádření, které může zůstat na úrovni neintelektuálního přemítání, ale současně získat sílu k postižení věcí, o nichž se zpravidla mluví výhradně v literárním duchu” (Chandler, Letters 1023). 19

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K jeho obdivovatelům z řad modernistů patřili na př. W.H. Auden (1907–1973) a Stephen Spender (1909–1995) (Hiney 71–73). 20

Modernistický básník Chandlerovy romány časopisecky recensoval a s oblibou o nich diskutoval s přáteli. (Ackroyd, Eliot 167; srov. Chinitz 155) V obecném povědomí sice přetrvává obraz T.S. Eliota jako vážného autora skličujících děl, není ovšem zcela přesný. I Eliot se domníval, že literatura musí být zábavná (Chinitz 56) a oslovovat co nejširší obecenstvo; snad z tohoto důvodu se v závěru svého života věnoval převážně psaní divadelních her. Bez zajímavosti rovněž není, že Eliot – stejně jako ostatní modernisté – měl v oblibě mnohá díla populární kultury. Cenil si nejen zábavných pros Jamese Thurbera (1894–1961) a P.G. Wodehouse (1881–1975), ale i kreslených seriálů George Herrimana (1881–1944) Krazy Kat a Walta Kelleyho (1913–1973) Pogo a filmů bratrů Marxových (Chinitz 56, 155–156). Jak výstižně shrnuje David. E. Chinitz, „jeden z mnoha paradoxů Eliotovy dráhy spočívá v tom, že se veřejně proslavil jako strohý a povznesený elitář, nikoli jako milovník pokleslé komedie a fanoušek Raymonda Chandlera” (Chinitz 174–175). Pro zajímavost: když přijal komik Groucho Marx (1890–1977) pozvání svého slavného obdivovatele k večeři, byl zklamán, že Eliot nechce hovořit o poesii, ale jeho filmech (Kanfer 361; viz Marxovu a Eliotovu korespondenci a popis návštěvy u Eliota, Marx 91–101). 21

V románu Sbohem buď, lásko má vypráví Marlowe: „Zavěsila a nechala mě s podivným pocitem, že jsem hovořil s někým, kdo vůbec neexistuje” (Chandler, Sbohem 233). Příkladem podobně neexistujícího člověka je – jak naznačuje už jeho jméno – poručík Nulty z téhož díla (Chandler, Sbohem 15–36). 22

Když se v Hlubokém spánku Marlowe představuje Generálu Sternwoodovi, přiznává, že „kdysi studoval” (Chandler, Spánek 10); tento soukromý detektiv pozná modernistický design a Rembrandtovu vlastní podobiznu, když vidí její reprodukci (Chandler, Sbohem 36), a příležitostně cituje zločincům Shakespearea (Chandler, Sbohem 154). 23

Jasonovo zřejmě umělecky nejhodnotnější dílo Hele, počkej… (Hey, Wait…, 2001) zobrazuje život protagonisty, trvale poznamenaný vzpomínkou na smrt nejlepšího kamaráda, jíž byl v dětství svědkem. Česky dosud vyšel soubor existenciálních črt Pšššt! (Sshhhh! 2000) a příběh nájemného vraha, jemuž zkomplikuje život cesta časem Zabil jsem Adolfa Hitlera (I Killed Adolf Hitler, 2006). 24

Jason byl očividně ovlivněn personou Bustera Keatona (1895–1966), i jeho komiksové postavy si zachovávají kamennou tvář, ať už se ocitnou v jakékoliv situaci. 25

Hemingwayův text spojení „parta z levého břehu” neobsahuje, je ale možné, že Jasona rovněž inspirovala četba vzpomínkové knihy Sylvie Beachové, jejíž knihkupectví Shakespeare & Company, které sídlilo na „bohémském” levém břehu Seiny, představovalo jedno z kulturních center anglofonní komunity: „Ezra Pound, velký propagátor a vůdce party, která se potloukala kolem časopisu The Egoist a zahrnovala tak podezřelé osoby jako Richard Aldington, H[ilda]. D[oolittleová]., T.S. Eliot, Wyndham Lewis a další, skoro stejně špatné” (Beach 45). Zvýraznil JG. 26

„Byla to příjemná kavárna, teplá, čistá a vlídná, a tak jsem starý plášť pověsil oschnout na věšák, obnošený a omšelý plstěný klobouk jsem odložil na poličku nad sebou 27

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a poručil si bílou kávu. Vrchní ji donesl a já jsem z kapsy kabátu vytáhl poznámkový sešit a tužku a začal psát. […] / Do kavárny vešla dívka a posadila se sama ke stolku u okna. Byla moc hezká, obličej měla svěží jako čerstvě raženou minci, kdyby se mince razily do hladkého masa s pletí osvěženou deštěm, a vlasy černé jako vraní peruť, zastřižené do špičky šikmo přes tvář. / Díval jsem se na ni, uváděla mě do rozpaků a moc mě vzrušovala. Byl bych ji rád dostal do té povídky nebo kamkoliv, jenže se usadila tak, aby viděla na vchod i na ulici, a tak mi bylo jasné, že na někoho čeká. Psal jsem tedy dál. / […] A pak byla povídka hotová a byl jsem hrozně unavený. Přečetl jsem si poslední odstavec a potom jsem zvedl hlavu a rozhlédl se po té dívce a ta už byla pryč. Doufám, že s nějakým slušným chlapem, říkal jsem si. Ale bylo mi smutno” (Hemingway 13–14).

Bibliografie Ackroyd, Peter. Ezra Pound. London: Thames & Hudson, 1987. ---. T.S. Eliot. London: Abacus, 1986. Beach, Sylvia. Shakespeare & Company. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991. Eliot, T.S. „Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar.” Collected Poems 1909– 1962, Faber and Faber, London 1986, s. 42–43. ---. „Pustina.“ Pustina a jiné básně. Přeložil Jiří Valja. Praha: Odeon, 1967. 64–80, 154–63. ---. „Sweeney mezi slavíky.” Pustina a jiné básně. Přeložil Jiří Valja. Praha: Odeon, 1967. 62–63. ---. The Waste Land: A Facsimile and Transcript of the Original Drafts Including the Annotations of Ezra Pound. Ed. Valerie Eliot. Orlando: Harcourt, 1971. Ellmann, Richard. James Joyce. New York: Oxford University Press, 1983. Hemingway, Ernest. Pohyblivý svátek. Přeložil Stanislav Mareš. Praha: Odeon, 1966. Hiney, Tom. Raymond Chandler: Životopis. Přeložil Bruno Cempírek. Praha: BB art, 2003. Chandler, Raymond. Hluboký spánek. Přeložil František Jungwirth. Praha: Mladá fronta, 2011. ---. Loučení s Lennoxem. Přeložil Josef Schwarz. Praha: Mladá fronta, 2013. ---. Sbohem buď, lásko má. Přeložila Heda Kovályová. Praha: Mladá fronta, 2011. ---. „Selected Letters.” Later Novels & Other Writings. New York: Literary Classics of the United States, 1995. 1021–52. ---. The Raymond Chandler Papers: Selected Letters and Non-Fiction 1909–1959. Eds. Tom Hiney a Frank MacShane. London: Penguin, 2000. Chinitz, David. E. T.S. Eliot and the Cultural Divide. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Jason. „Athos in America.” Athos in America. Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2011. 167–96. ---. Hey, Wait… Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2001. ---. Lost Cat. Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2013. ---. The Left Bank Gang. Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2006. ---. „Low Moon.” Low Moon. Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2011. 39–91.

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---. Pšššt! Praha: Mot, 2007. ---. Zabil jsem Adolfa Hitlera. Přeložil Richard Podaný. Praha: BB art, 2008. Jones, Sabrina. Isadora Duncan: A Graphic Biography. New York: Hill & Wang, 2008. Kanfer, Stefan. Groucho: The Life and Times of Julius Henry Marx. London: Penguin, 2000. Marx, Groucho. The Essential Groucho. Ed. Stefan Kanfer. London: Penguin, 2000. Mazur, Dan, a Danner, Alexander. Comics: A Global History – 1968 to the Present. London: Thames & Hudson, 2014. Moody, A. David. Ezra Pound: Poet – A Portrait of the Man and his Work – II: The Epic Years 1921– 1939. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Muller, Catel, a Bocquet, José-Louis. Kiki de Montparnasse. London: Self Made Hero, 2011. Read, Forrest, ed. Pound/Joyce: The Letters of Ezra Pound to James Joyce. New York: New Directions, 1970. Rowson, Martin. „Afterword.” The Waste Land. London: Seagull Books, 2012. 69–73. ---. Gulliver’s Travels. London: Atlantic Books, 2012. ---. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. London: Self Made Hero, 2010. ---. The Waste Land. New York: Harper & Row, 1990. Sfar, Joann. Pascin. Přeložila Hana Zahradníčková. Praha: Mot, 2006. Wilhelm, J.J. Ezra Pound in London and Paris, 1908–1925. University Park and London: Pennsylvania State University, 1990. Williams, Tom. Raymond Chandler: A Life. London: Aurum Press, 2012. Zapico, Alfonso. James Joyce: Portrait of a Dubliner. Dublin: O’Brien, 2013.

Adresa: University of New York in Prague Katedra komunikace a masmédií Londýnská 41 120 00 Praha Česká republika [email protected]

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James Joyce a jeho hledání dokonalého jazyka Michal Kleprlík Univerzita Pardubice Abstrakt Po dokončení a vydání Odyssea (Ulysses, 1922) započal James Joyce po více jak roční přestávce práci na textu nové knihy s pracovním názvem Dílo v zrodu (Work in Progress). Tato kniha, jež Joyce zaměstnávala bezmála sedmnáct let a jež později dostala onen slavný název Oplakávání Finnegana (Finnegans Wake, 1939), představila mimořádně hutný a myšlenkově náročný text; mimo jiné i proto, že pro vlastní ztvárnění si Joyce stvořil svůj originální jazyk. Proč se k tomu Joyce uchýlil a co tím sledoval, bude předmětem následující stati. Klíčová slova: James Joyce, Oplakávání Finnegana, Martin Heidegger, forma locutionis, novotvary, koláž, obnova jazyka. Abstract After completing and finally publishing Ulysses (1922), James Joyce took more than a year-long break to draw breath and gather his strength before he began work on a new book originally titled Work in Progress, later renamed and known as Finnegans Wake (1939). This book, which kept Joyce busy almost until the end of his life, caused a stir due to its extraordinary, nearly unintelligible use of language, which convinced many critics to cast doubt on his sanity. This paper focuses on the book’s original use of language and sets out to examine its philosophical and aesthetic background.

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Keywords: James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, Martin Heidegger, forma locutionis, neologisms, collage, language renewal. Když se slovo zhmotní, zůstane po něm jizva. —Leonard Cohen

Je otázkou, zdali kdy spatřil světlo světa pozoruhodnější a tolika významovými vrstvami protknutý text, než jaký lze najít v Oplakávání Finnegana.1 V Odysseovi Joyce využil veškerých možností prozaického útvaru, dokonce lze tvrdit, že s Odysseem končí román jako takový, že jedna dlouhá a pro literární ztvárnění skutečnosti příznačná tradice západního kulturního dědictví v něm nachází své dovršení. Významnosti tohoto počinu si byl vědom i Ezra Pound, když výstižně poznamenal, že Joyce završil nejen literární útvar, ale i celou jednu epochu: “Odysseus je zakončení, shrnutí jedné epochy, epochy, již označil La Tour du Pin za ‘věk lichvy’” (Guide, 96). Obdobně se vyjádřil i americký literární kritik Harold Bloom, když prohlásil, že Joyceova snaha pro něj znamenala ukončení chaotického věku a vytvoření nového, teokratického období (425). Na OF se obvykle pohlíží jako na vyústění literárních experimentů započatých již v Odysseovi a vztah mezi nimi je chápán jako komplementární. S tímto názorem lze souhlasit, přesto je třeba zdůraznit, že z hlediska vytyčeného úkolu představuje OF spíše protipól, proti-prostředí. Prostředí, ve kterém běžně probíhá náš život, si všímáme až poté, co vytvoříme prostředí nové, a to proto, že staré prostředí se stane obsahem prostředí nového. Například televize jako nové medium pohltilo film, který se coby staré medium stal jejím obsahem.2 A obdobně lze pojmenovat vztah mezi Odysseem a OF: předešlé prostředí se stává obsahem prostředí nového, k čemuž odkazuje i původní název Dílo v zrodu (Work in Progress), pod nímž Joyce své dílo až do doby kompletního vydání uváděl. Odysseus představuje završení, jak románu, tak i celé jedné epochy, je analýzou doby, analýzou běžných záležitostí průměrného člověka a jeho problémů, poznáním světa z hlediska dne. OF chce naopak proniknout do snu, do míst, běžnému užití jazyka těžko přístupných, kde se odehrává významná část lidské existence: je to snaha o poznání světa z hlediska noci, jak píše sám Joyce v dopise Harriet Shaw Weaverové z listopadu 1926: E.P. [Ezrovi Poundovi] jsem na jeho žádost zaslal Λabcd3; všechno to odmítl, nemaje vůbec tušení, co si z toho vzít, snad jen místy nějakou hříčku atp. [...] Několik posledních týdnů jsem přepracován a dosti sužován, včera jsem opět nemohl nic než klidně ležet. Dnes se mi podařilo vrátit se k práci. Jedna významná část lidské existence se odehrává ve stavu, jejž nelze zachytit racionálně užitím bdělého jazyka, rutinní gramatiky a lineárního děje. (Joyce, Selected Letters 317–318)

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Michal Kleprlík • James Joyce a jeho hledání dokonalého jazyka

Jak lze chápat onu metaforu “poznat svět z hlediska noci”, co se pod ní skrývá a proč se k ní Joyce ubírá? Hésiodos ve své Theogenii uvádí, že bohyně noci a sama zosobněná noc Nyx je dcera prvotního Chaosu, a za její potomky, které zplodila s bohem věčné tmy Erebem, označuje Aithera a Hémeru – boha věčného světla a bohyni jasného dne (12). Antický mýtus vypráví, že den byl zrozen z noci, že se utváří v jejím zrcadle. V antickém kontextu byla noc chápána jako Smysl, tedy to, co se skrývá pod povrchem, co není na první pohled patrné, co je však přesto aktivně přítomné. Podle Patočky úděl či zákon noci spočíval v připomenutí skutečnosti, že existuje jistý příděl, který není pro člověka vlastní. Lidský zákon, zákon dne se bezprostředně stýká se zákonem noci, s přídělem božského a člověku nepřístupného. Noc je temnota, z níž však šlehá blesk bytí, osvětlující hranice vymezené člověku. Diktum “poznat svět z hlediska noci” zdůrazňuje právo noci, zdůrazňuje poznání toho, že “konečný a smrtelný člověk v sobě nese ustavičně signum toho, že není vše, že svět není jeho svět, smysl jeho smysl, že sám může upevnit a založit smysl dne jen tak, že jej opře o hlubší smysl Noci” (Patočka, „Ještě jedna“ 394). A právě mýtus nabízí pohled na svět z opačného, ne-lidského břehu, vypráví o události, která se odbyla, je pohled do minulosti, jímž se však osvětluje a funduje to, co je přítomné. Tato otevřenost k tomu, co překračuje zákon dne, stojí u samého zrodu dějinného vnímání Západního světa, jehož počátek lze vysledovat ke vzniku řecké polis a filosofie.4 Joyce si dobře uvědomoval, že kromě rutinních, člověkem vytvořených zákonů existuje sféra údělů člověku přidělených, svěřených, které představují Smysl. Sestupuje-li do iracionální sféry, do snu, zamýšlí tím proniknout do míst prapůvodních hybných sil, do míst, kde vzniká mýtus, jak vnímavě poznamenal Hermann Broch, „Mytické dědictví“ 92). A jelikož veškeré přemýšlení vychází od významu slov, stejně jako mýtus, který je bezprostředně spojen se slovem,5 vydává se cestou jazyka. Snad i proto si zvolil metodu slovní hříčky, neboť ta – na rozdíl od metafory, která je pouze vnějším odrážením smyslu – směřuje dovnitř, do náhodných struktur samotného jazyka.6 Exkurs – Forma locutionis Kde záře v slovo vchází a ticho tiší zněním. —James Joyce

Když čtenář poprvé přistoupí k četbě OF, nachází hutný, neprostupný text, podobný typicky neprůstřelným spisům německých filosofů. Zatímco v druhém případě je obtížnost referenční povahy, u OF nacházíme jistou novou obtížnost, kterou těžko prostoupit, třebaže jsme si jisti, že slova textu jsou nám známá a vesměs otevřeně prostá. Podle Steinera, který pro tento fenomén nachází příznačné označení “chybějící slova” (Po Bábelu, 162), došlo k zásadní změně v 70. letech 129


19. století. Do této doby si básník při popisu světa s jazykem vystačuje, jazyk je jeho útočištěm, je dostatečně výstižný k tomu, aby jím oslovil skutečnost. Později však přichází generace, pro niž se jazyk stává naopak vězením. Sem bychom také mohli zařadit OF: podobně jako díla ostatních velkých básníků, Rimbauda či Celana, i zde se jedná o jistou vzpouru literatury proti jazyku, proti systému znaků znásilňujících význam. Mezi soukromým významem básníka a veřejným vyjádřením vzniká bezedná propast, a než zradit význam, je lepší raději mlčet (Steiner, Po Bábelu 170). K problematice jazyka a jazykových struktur však nedošlo pouze v hájemství literatury, ale i v rámci filosofických diskusí. Počínaje 20. stoletím zde jazyk vstupuje do zjevnosti, že Wittgenstein bude dokonce moci říci, že “o čem se nedá mluvit, k tomu se musí mlčet” (83). Jazyk se svým způsobem stává hmotným, něčím materiálním, co lze tematizovat, co je vyňato z neviditelnosti a učiněno zřejmým, jak dokládají například i četné kubistické malby, kde se často uprostřed střípků polyperspektivy objevuje jasně čitelný nápis či ústřižek z novin.7 Na obecné rovině lze k této snaze o zneprůhlednění jazyka přistupovat z dvou různých hledisek. Buď se přikloníme k názoru, že vyzdvihnutí svébytnosti jazyka odkazuje k myšlence, že způsob, kterým čteme svět, není nikdy přirozený, že je vždy spjat s některým z jazyků, z nichž žádný není “posvátný”, a že jazyk tak lze chápat jako jednu z možných institucí, ustanovených konvencí;8 anebo můžeme konvenční charakter jazyka popřít a tvrdit, že existuje jistý před-expresivní smysl, jemuž jazyk od-povídá. Tematizací jazyka tak může být vyzdvihnuta skutečnost – tolik palčivá právě od konce 19. století – že jazyk tuto schopnost například v důsledku brutalizace žurnalismu ztratil a že je třeba se pokusit o jeho obnovu. Proto také snaha vyjadřovat se v jazyce nepřístupném “sprostému” davu. Otázka, zdali patří jazyk ke konvenci anebo zdali je to univerzální struktura pro všechny, kdo disponují schopností artikulovat smysl, je známa již od Platóna a problém, který je řešen v Kratylovi ve skutečnosti zastupuje jádro ostatních diskusí. Jistý nový pohled na filosofii jazyka přináší až konec 17. století a zejména pak století 18., v němž Giambattista Vico rozpracovává monadickou hypotézu G. W. Leibnize, pro nějž není řeč nositelem myšlení, ale jeho určujícím prostředkem (Steiner, Po Bábelu 82). Vico bude tvrdit, že jazykem poznáváme aktivně skutečnost a že pokud se zaměříme na psychologickou analýzu stávajícího člověka a etymologický rozbor existujících jazyků, můžeme pravdivě popsat dějiny idejí.9 Později se k podobné myšlence vztahovali představitelé německé duchovnosti Hamann, Herder, W. von Humboldt, kteří dále rozvíjeli tezi, že rozdílné jazyky plodí duchovně rozdílné konstanty reality. Ve 20. století jsou pak v duchu této tradice nejznámější teorie E. Sapira a B. L. Whorfa. Sapir uvádí pro postmoderní způsob myšlení patrně nejzásadnější poznatek, že “světy, ve kterém různé společnosti žijí, jsou různé světy, nikoli pouze týž svět opatřený různými nálepkami” (Steiner, Po Bábelu 91); a Whorf dokonce dochází závěru, že dosah lidského vědomí bytostně určují jazykové vzorce. Nad tvrzením, že rodilý mluvčí vnímá skutečnost jinak 130


než my, protože o ní jinak hovoří, však Steiner logicky a po právu vyslovuje pochybnost a dodává, že pokud by tomu tak opravdu bylo a jazyky přestavovaly samostatné monády, nebyl by přece možný překlad.10 Že je zbytečné hledat univerzální struktury jednoho přirozeného jazyka, našlo největšího uplatnění v postmoderní filosofii. Wittgensteinův obrat k jazykovým hrám nebo Rortyho kontingence jazyka spolu s ideou univerzální platnosti odmítají existenci jakéhokoliv před-expresivního smyslu, pravda je dána pouze konsensem dosaženým argumentací. Proto není tak důležité, jaký názor zvítězí, ale skutečnost, že zvítězí ve svobodném a otevřeném střetnutí. Tak se o funkci jazyka také vyjadřuje koryfej postmoderny Jacques Derrida, který rovněž zdůrazňuje diskurzivní aspekt jazykového vyjádření, jelikož smysl tu není před jazykovou zkušeností, ale naopak je na ní závislý, utvářen v rámci différance. Tento pojem je třeba myslet jako hru stopy, jako nikdy nekončící odklad: “žádný prvek nefunguje a neoznačuje, nepřijímá a nedává ‘smysl’, neodkazuje-li v ekonomii stop k něčemu jinému, ať minulému nebo budoucímu” (Derrida 40). Aby Derrida uhájil svou myšlenku před uvíznutím v metafyzice přítomnosti, kterou vyčítal zejména Heideggerovi a Lévi-Straussovi, přichází s “rozlomením přítomnosti”: différance je pole, kde se teprve děje bytí, nikoliv naopak. Jinými slovy neexistuje žádné centrum, odkud by mohlo něco pocházet, ba naopak, takový systém je zcela otevřen, bez chyby, bez původního označení. V důsledku toho nemá cenu ptát se po čistě mateřském či otcovském jazyce: chvíle, kdy – chybí-li centrum či počátek – se vše stává (shodneme-li se na tomto slovu) diskursem, tj. takovým systémem, v němž centrální, původní či transcendentální označované nikdy není absolutně přítomné a mimo systém diferencí. Absence transcendentálního označovaného donekonečna rozšiřuje pole a hru značení. (Derrida 179)

Je ovšem zřejmé, a to Derrida častokrát zdůrazňuje, že jeho différance je možná pouze tak, že nenáleží do horizontu bytí, ale že jej naopak nese. Jinak by se ocitl v situaci, v níž by musel uznat, že jeho hra stopy nutně na něčem spočívá, a tím by se jeho požadavek neexistence původního výchozího centra zcela rozplynul. Když však trvá na tom, že smysl je utvářen v samotném aktu ve vztahu k svému významovému protějšku, pak se musí brát zřetel na to, co tento rozdíl umožňuje. Smysl bílé barvy je dán nepřítomností barvy černé; aby však mohl být takový poznatek reflektován, musí se zde nejprve vynořit něco, co umožní samotné rozlišení. Podobný myšlenkový postup platí i na obecné rovině: pokud Derrida volá po dekonstrukci všech struktur, pak stále platí, že nejprve musí vyvstat rozdíl mezi dekonstrukcí a tím, co má být dekonstruováno. Právě snahu dokázat ontologický status rozdílu (Unterschied) můžeme najít v Heideggerově poněkud enigmatickém eseji „Řeč“ (Die Sprache, 1950), který vytváří jistý protipól vůči derridovskému pojetí řeči a určování smyslu. Svým pří131


značným fenomenologickým postupem dochází Heidegger k závěru, že člověk mluví, pokud odpovídá řeči. Jak se Heidegger dostává k tomu, že řeč mluví? Řeč je tradičně chápána jako zvukový projev vnitřních hnutí mysli, to však stále nic nenapovídá o tom, jak řeč mluví: abychom to mohli zjistit, musíme se obrátit k tomu, co je řečí vyřčené, jelikož v tom spočívá bytnost mluvení. Mluvit znamená něco jmenovat, ne však tak, že slovy ověsíme známé a představitelné předměty. “Jmenování nerozdílí názvy, nepoužívá slova, nýbrž vyslovuje, vyvolává ve slovo. Jmenování volá. Volání přibližuje to, co je voláno” (55). Volání tedy vyzývá k příchodu, zve věci, aby se k nám dostavily, aby se jako věci týkaly nás lidí. “Jmenováním jsou jmenované věci volány do svého věcnění” (57), a tím, že věcní, utvářejí, roz-víjejí (ent-falten) tvář světa. Jelikož věci věcní pouze tehdy, když se nás týkají, vzniká mezi světem a věcmi ambivalentní vztah: “Věci utvářejí svět. Svět skýtá [gönnt – dopřává] věci” (61). Svět a věci tak nestojí vedle sebe, ale vzájemně se prostupují, čímž vyměřují určitý střed. Tento střed, jejž nazývá Heidegger mysticky “Innigkeit”, neznamená jejich splynutí, ale vroucnou prostoupenost ve smyslu nerozlučnosti. Svět a věci jsou rozdělené, avšak nerozlučné, jasně se vydělují, ale zároveň vzájemně vroucně prostupují. Střed, v němž se svět a věci prostupují, tak představuje jistou mez mezi dvěma, proto roz-díl (Unter-Schied). Tato mez zde není chápána jako něco, co rozděluje, nýbrž jako dimenze, jako rozměr, jenž vyměřuje světu a věcem míru jejich bytnosti. Rozdíl tedy uvolňuje věc k tomu, co je jí vlastní, nechává ji spočívat v přízni světa. Zde nastává pravděpodobně nejslabší místo jinak velmi přesvědčivé argumentace: když se věci uvolňují k tomu, co je jim vlastní, ukrývají se do klidu, jinými slovy se tiší. Ticho není bezzvučnost, jak by se na první pohled mohlo zdát, ale pouze zvučení a znění, které setrvává v nehybnosti. Roz-díl tiší věci a svět k tomu, co je jim vlastní, a zároveň je vyzývá, doslova sezvání, aby se přivoláním shromáždily v roz-dílu. Roz-díl tiší a zároveň svolává, tento fenomén označuje Heidegger jako souzvon ticha (das Geläut der Stille). Spojíme-li konec a začátek dohromady, “řeč mluví jakožto souzvon ticha” (69). Pro člověka je typickou vlastností řeč, řeč jest uvlastněna, když mluví, člověk je tedy uvlastněn z mluvení řeči (aus dem Sprechen der Sprache ereignet), jíž odpovídá. Aby mohl ono odpovídání uvést ve znějící slova, musí nejdříve naslouchat, neboť to, co ve vlastním smyslu promlouvá, je řeč.11 Odpovídání se však neděje libovolně, nýbrž reflektuje to, co v sobě řeč v daném mluvení zhušťuje. Zhušťovat je bytostným úkolem básníka, i Heidegger si je toho dobře vědom, jak píše v jiném eseji nazvaném příznačně “...básnicky bydlí člověk...”: Čím je básník básnivější, tím je jeho slovo svobodnější, to znamená otevřenější a připravenější přijmout netušené – tím čistěji poroučí básník svoji zvěst stále usilovnějšímu naslouchání a tím více se to, co říká, vzdaluje pouhé výpovědi, u níž nám jde jen o správnost nebo nesprávnost. („básnicky bydlí“ 81)

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Úkolem básnictví je více než požadovat správné či nesprávné výpovědi, je to doslova opatření míry, nechávající vyjevit to, co je skryté, přesto však přítomné. Třebaže Heidegger vztahuje básnictví obecně na ontologický status člověka, básníka a básnicky bydlícího člověka spojuje to, že nepřestává naslouchat a že to, co je mu vyměřené, nechává přistoupit. Chápat takto řeč není ničím novým a nepřekvapí nás proto, že obdobné úvahy najdeme již ve spisech Danta Alighieriho. I on totiž ve známé knize De vulgari eloquentia zkoumá podstatu jazyka na základě toho, že poprvé člověk promluvil formou odpovědi, docházeje tím tak k názoru, že člověk nezačal vnímat, dokud nebyl sám vnímán, dokud neexistovalo něco, čím by byl prvně osloven (59). Z toho vyplývá i výměr, který přisuzuje řeči. Výraz “forma locutionis” totiž odkazuje k jisté dokonalé formě, která by umožnila vytvořit jazyk schopný odrážet podstatu věcí. Ten však nemusí nutně znamenat jazyk univerzální: univerzální jazyk může být všem společný, z toho ale ještě nevyplývá, že je dokonalý (Eco 64). Proto se Dante odklonil od v jeho době převládající tendence hledat a stanovit jeden jediný, prazákladní jazyk, v němž Adam rozmlouvá s Bohem, a sám naopak tvrdil, že původní stav lze obnovit vytvořením moderního jazyka, jazyka, jímž je možno v nejvyšší možné míře od-povídat, přiblížit se ke shodě mezi zobrazovaným a zobrazujícím. Jelikož není nikterak přehnané porovnávat Joyce s Dantem, pokusí se další část ukázat, že i jeho myšlenky se ubírají podobným směrem, že i on se na základě moderního jazyka bude pokoušet proniknout k původní dokonalosti, odrážející podstatu věcí, maje při tom na paměti právě Danteho slova, že ze své podstaty musí forma locutionis představovat vybrané, nezasvěceným jen stěží přístupné území. Obnova jazyka The seim anew. —James Joyce

Předchozí exkurs si přál nastínit, byť velmi stručně, dva stěžejní pohledy na možnost jazykového vyjádření. První přístup zastává názor, že jazyk je konvenčně smluvenou institucí a že smysl neexistuje předem, ale je utvářen až v rámci samotného diskursu. Druhý přístup se naopak snaží ukázat, že smysl je dán před jazykovou zkušeností, vcházeje řečí do zjevnosti. Není cílem této práce zabývat se dále tím, jestli lze tento smysl nazírat pouze redukcí na sféru čisté evidence, jak si myslel Edmund Husserl, nebo zdali je jím Bytí, které podle Heideggera promlouvá všude a skrze všechny jazyky. Je však zřejmé, že pokud má jistá forma locutionis odrážet podstatu věcí, již sama výpověď příznačně napovídá, že ji předpokládá předem. Friedrich Hölderlin byl přesvědčen, že pokud se na slovo vyvine dostatečný tlak, lze jím odhalit doposud netušenou podstatu, která je v něm pří133


tomna (Steiner, Po Bábelu 285). Podobný tlak, tlak, jenž má rozdrtit zrohovatělou slupku slov, vyvíjí i Joyce. Joyce totiž patřil – a to vpravdě s nebývalou intenzitou – k těm, kdo si zřetelně uvědomovali palčivý rozkol mezi soukromým významem a veřejným vyjádřením, mezi jazykem básnickým a jazykem každodenním. Již v Odysseovi se ozývá příznačné bušení tiskařských strojů, chrlících novinové články, jež mají člověka pouze zaplnit, vyplnit jeho čas seriálem tučných nadpisů a otřepaných frází, a Leopold Bloom si tesklivě uvědomuje, že slovo už neovládá člověk, ale stroj, razící slovo za slovem jako mince, z nichž se dříve nebo později stávají jednolité nečitelné plíšky. Z této perspektivy bývá Joyceova snaha o rozrušení zbytnělých schránek slov, jimiž neproniká žádný život, často přirovnávána k dadaistickým či jiným expresivistickým postupům; zde je však třeba uvést zásadní rozdíl: zatímco dadaisté nebo futuristé, ve snaze obrodit bezútěšný stav soudobé společnosti, si vytkli za cíl jazyk zničit, aby z jeho trosek mohl vzniknout jazyk zcela nový, neposkvrněný dosavadní civilizací, Joyce se nepokoušel o vytvoření nového media, nýbrž pouze o obnovu staré tradice, jak potvrzují i slova Williama Carlose Williamse: Joyce mrzačí slova. Proč? Protože otupěla: nejprve se jejich význam zkalil, později zcela vytratil, až byla slova nakonec překroucena a pohlcena všemožnými konotacemi [...]. Čas a události významy slov překrucují – a rigidní akademismus je takto uchovává. V nejhorším případě se z nich stanou netečné omšelé hodnoty něčeho, co si drží svůj tvar, čímž ale neproniká žádný život. Všechna slova, všechen smysl jejich oslovení je pryč, anebo do nich mechanicky roubován. Joyce se jej naopak pokouší obnovit. (85)

To, že Joyce nevytváří nový čistý jazyk, nezatížený nánosy pokřivených významů, potvrzuje skutečnost, že nikdy nemění slova do takové míry, aby je čtenář nemohl rozpoznat. Pokud by čtenář skutečně ztratil veškerý kontakt s původním slovem, dala by se tato snaha označit spíše za řemeslnickou zručnost, jak vehementně dokládá ve své kritice Joyceova díla Wyndham Lewis.12 Pak by se ovšem ničím nelišila od dadaistické Klanggedichte, což Joyce sám odmítal, třebaže i estetické požadavky dadaistů sledovaly podobný záměr oproštění od otupělého, nic neříkajícího jazyka každodenní mluvy.13 Joyce se však mezi dadaisty nepočítal, neboť jejich cílem bylo utéci ze světa – jak již vhodně napovídá samotný název vzpomínkové knihy H. Balla Útěk z doby (Die Flucht aus der Zeit, 1927) – navíc často motivován politickými událostmi. Joyce ze své doby utéci nechtěl, ba naopak, věrný své mytologické metodě se nepokoušel zničit systém starých omšelých hodnot, aby mohl být nahrazen systémem novým, ale snažil se dodat těmto hodnotám nového posvátného významu, významu, který každé slovo z podstaty věci muselo v sobě někdy uchovávat. Joyceovo záměrné rozrušování platných jazykových výrazů, jež jej odsoudilo do výlučné izolace slonovinové věže, tyčící se ještě o stupínek výše než elitářské akropole ostatních modernistů, zrcadlilo jistý požadavek po novém ztvárnění, kte134


ré však důsledně sledovalo požadavek etický. Především úzká skupinka Joyceových zastánců si byla této skutečnosti dobře vědoma. Právě Samuel Beckett, který měl k Joyceovi patrně nejblíže, neúnavně zdůrazňoval skutečnost, že Joyceovi nešlo o bezúčelnou originalitu vymezující se za každou cenu vůči přijímané konvenci: jeho metoda rozrušování slov a mluvnických pravidel, neologismů, kalků či kalambúrů se pokouší proniknout ke kořenům básnického jazyka, k možnému vyjádření, v němž se ztrácí rozdíl mezi formou a obsahem, mezi tvarem a látkou: Zde forma splývá s obsahem a obsah s formou. Neustále si stěžujete, že to, co tu stojí, není psáno anglicky. Jak by mohlo, vždyť není vůbec psáno, a ani určeno k četbě – nebo lépe řečeno pouze k četbě. Na slova máme pohlížet a poslouchat je. [Joyce] zde nepíše o něčem; ono samo zde je jako takové. (Beckett 10)

Slova tak jako by získávala ontologický status; sama vystupují jako sloupy, kolem nichž se můžeme obtáčet a sledovat je ze všech stran. V Joyceově pojetí si jazyk jako znakový systém přeje být víc než jen pouhý znak zastupující označované, s tímto označovaným si přeje docela splynout. Beckett k tomu vybírá příklad: Joyce zbavuje jazyk uhlazenosti. [...] Tak třeba slovo “doubt”: sotva nám přibližuje jakýkoliv smyslový náznak váhavosti, bytostné nerozhodnosti či nutnosti mezi něčím volit. — Zatímco německé “Zweifel” anebo, byť v menší míře, i italské “dubitare” ano. Joyce si dobře uvědomuje, že pro vyjádření stavu naprosté nejistoty je slovo “doubt” neadekvátní, a proto jej nahrazuje spojením “in twosome twiminds” [v dvojaké dvojmysli]. (Beckett 10)

Na rozdíl od očisty jazyka destrukcí, totálním odtržením smyslu a slova, aby v nich nezbyla sebemenší příchuť běžné komunikace, je zde patrné, že Joyce komolí slova, aby jimi přivolal a v co největší míře zpřítomnil význam toho, co označují. Je třeba však zdůraznit, že vždy setrvává v oblasti každodenního života; podstata slov nesoucí významovou složku, kterou Joyce vyzdvihuje a spájí s jinými, vždy odráží lidskou zkušenost v žitém světě. Ke své metodě “mrzačení” slov Joyce sám dodává: těch několik fragmentů, které jsem publikoval, stačilo přesvědčit mnoho kritiků, že jsem se nadobro pomátl, jak již mimochodem po dlouhou dobu neúnavně předpovídali. A možná že je to vskutku bláznivá snaha, drtivou silou rozrušovat slova, aby se z nich vytáhla jejich podstata, aby se vzájemně mísily a vytvářely nové varianty, otevírající pro tato slova netušené možnosti, aby se spájely zvuky, jež spolu předtím nikdy nevystupovaly, ale jež si byly vzájemně určeny; nechat vodu mluvit jako vodu, ptáky ptačí řečí, osvobodit všechny zvuky od úslužné, podřadné role a vsunout je na špičky tykadel, tápavě sondujících možnost oslovit doposud neoslovené. [...] S

135


touto fašírkou zvuků vytvářím jeden velký příběh každodenního života. (in Škrabánek 2)

Tento krátký Joyceův komentář vydá asi za všechna kritická zkoumání toho, o co v enigmatické metodě, již Beckett označil za odstranění uhlazenosti slov, vůbec šlo: otevřít prostor pro nové oslovení skutečnosti, nespoutané krunýřem vyčpělých slov. Toto oslovení se však nerodí v Joyceově fantazii jako imanentní svět vnitřních představ, zvuky, jak stojí výše, jsou si již určeny a úkolem básníka, což Joyce dobře věděl a svou estetikou bytostně zpřítomňoval, není nic jiného, než tyto vztahy poodhalit a postavit je do nového světa. Neozývá se právě zde to, co jsme výše uvedli s odkazem na Heideggerovo ontologické podání řeči? Řeč je příbytkem člověka, v ní je doma a pouze skrze ni se mu otevírá možnost proniknout k podstatě věcí, a to tím, že naslouchá její mluvě. Lze namítnout, že tato slova platí pouze básnictví, ale jak dodává Heidegger: “Ryzí próza není nikdy ‘prozaická’. Je právě tak básnická, a proto tak vzácná, jako poezie” („Básnicky bydlí“ 75). A ryzí se stává pouze tehdy, když rozmlouvá, když vede dialog. To ale neznamená mimeticky imitovat, ale zpřítomňovat ono původní, nepřítomné, skryté pod nánosem běžných konotací praktického jazyka, skryté pod tím, co McLuhan nazývá “morovým lingvistickým smogem” (From Cliche 115). I Jak se tohoto lingvistického smogu snažil Joyce zbavit, nastínil již Beckettův příklad slova “doubt”. Následující část se pokusí uvést a systematicky pojmout několik dalších ukázek, v nichž lze rozlišit dva pro OF příznačné metodické postupy: (I) tvorba novotvarů v podobě jazykových hříček (paranomasia) a (II) koláž v podobě kufříkových slov (portmanteau). U první skupiny slov Joyce rozrušuje běžně známé významy, které jsou s odkazem na další možné konotace kombinovány v různé konceptuální představy. Slova jako by se otevírala, rozlomila neprostupný krunýř a nechávala v sobě usouvztažnit veškerý svůj význam. Jinými slovy, řečeno s Poundem, jazyk je zde nabit významem na nejvyšší možnou míru. Jako příklad uveďme následující slovo “aequal” (FW 300). Jednoduché a jasné označení pro “stejný”, “rovný” – “equal”, zde přibírá písmeno “a”, čímž vzniká archaická latinská verze, ale rovněž zde rozpoznáváme slovo “aqua” – “voda”. Voda, mimo jiné, nám slouží jako ideál rovnosti, podle vodní hladiny poměřujeme, co je rovné. V jednom slově se tak snoubí představa vody a představa rovnosti, jelikož je to nejvýstižnější způsob, jak ve slově zpřítomnit význam rovnosti. “Nemůže nad mořskou pláň na světě větší být klid,” jak věděl již Solon (Plutarchos 129). Jako další příklady slov, jež zřetelně dokládají Joyceovu snahu o vystižení předmětného smyslu, lze uvést například slovo “hazeydency” (FW 305), kde je původní slovo “hesitancy” (váhavost) nahrazeno slovy “haze” (mlha, opar) 136


a “dense” (hustý, neproniknutelný): váhavost je vyjádřena, znásobena obrazem neprostupného oparu, v němž člověk tápavě váhá, kudy zvolit další krok; dále spojení “pressantly be felt” (295), které má vyjádřit “pocítit něco v přítomnosti”: původní slovo “presently” (nyní, zrovna), je pozměněno na “press” (činit nátlak, tlačit, stlačit) a německou předložku “an” (na): být si něčeho vědom v přítomnosti, znamená doslova cítit tíži tohoto přítomného okamžiku. Anebo spojení “You don’t reckoneyes him? ” (465): k původnímu slovu “recognise” (rozpoznat) jsou připojena slova “reckon” (považovat, myslet si, vypočíst) a “eyes” (oči), což opět odkrývá podstatu rozpoznávání (zde vizuálního): rozpoznání je nejdříve závislé na smyslovém počitku, proto tedy smyslový orgán vidění, a na aktivním rozvažování. Věci rozpoznáváme tak, že je v prožívání myslíme. A takto by šlo pokračovat a projít celým plánem OF. Výše uvedené příklady slouží pouze jako názorná ukázka, zároveň však zřetelně ukazují, že metoda neologismů, s níž se Joyce pokouší proniknout k podstatě věcí, není žádná metafyzická ekvilibristika, ale důsledné ztvárnění toho, jak se nás věci týkají, jak s nimi přicházíme do kontaktu. Kromě toho, že Joyce vytváří nová slova, v nichž nechává bytostně zpřítomnit různé významové vrstvy, aby co nejblíže vyjádřil jejich předmětný smysl, přistupuje rovněž k jejich vzájemné konfrontaci uvnitř textu. Slova mezi sebou komunikují, vzájemně se ovlivňují, aby opět v nejvyšší možné míře dostála podstatě svého označovaného. Jako příklad poslouží následující úryvek z kapitoly, v níž vystupují bratři Kev a Dolph, symbolizující dva rozdílné, avšak vzájemně se potřebující protipóly: Now, as will pressantly be felt, there’s tew tricklesome poinds where our twain of doubling bicirculars, mating approxemetely in their suit poi and poi, dunloop into eath the ocher. (FW 295) A nyní, jak možno přitomna cítit, máme zhle pár dvoutížných bodů, v nichž se, v místech, kde se poi poi, naše birozené soukružnice mesi zebou sváří.

O první částí tohoto souvětí je zmínka výše, druhá věta pokračuje “tew tricklesome poinds”, což se nese ve stejném duchu – “tew” v sobě kombinuje “few” (pár, několik) a “two” (číslovka dvě), “tricklesome” pak “trickle” (hrstka) “tricky” (obtížný, rafinovaný), a “poinds” pojí “points” (body, záležitosti) “pound” (libra–jednotka váhy). Další věta pokračuje “twain” (dvojice), “doubling”—“double” (dvojí) a “sibling” (sourozenec); a “bicirculars” (dva kruhy). Kruhy odkazují ke geometrické úloze, při níž každý z bratrů kreslí jeden kruh, jež se vzájemně protínají ve dvou bodech, P a π – k nim odkazuje následující “poi and poi”. Svářejíce se (“suit” – pře, žaloba), dva kruhy (“loop”–cyklus, uzavřený kruh), dva bratři, dva rozdílné principy na sebe vzájemně neodbytně dotírají (“dun” – upomínat, dotírat). Představa vzájemnosti, vyjádřená spojením “eath the ocher”, je zde zdů137


razněna vzájemnou výměnou dvou souhlásek. Když ze slov “eath” a “ocher” mezi sebou prohodíme “t” a “c”, získáme spojení “each other” (navzájem). Podobného postupu si lze všimnout i na dalších místech, na příklad ve spojení “his innermals menody” z následující věty: BUTT (at the signal of his act which seems to sharpnel his innermals menody [...]. (FW 341)

Butt a Taff se ocitají ve váleční vřavě. Taff připomene postavu Perse O’Reillyho a jeho nepřístojné chování v parku, což Buttovi (připomínající postavy Shauna a HCE) rozjitří staré vzpomínky a otřese jeho nitrem. Ve slově “sharpnel” se ozývá “sharp” (zbystřit, zostřit) a rovněž “shrapnel” (šrapnel, střepiny granátu); ve spojení “innermals menody” pak “inner man” (duše, vnitřní člověk) a francouzské “mal” (zlo) a “melody” (melodie) spolu s “menace” (hrozba, nebezpečí). Kromě této roviny, odkazující na podlé vlastnosti, existuje ještě jedna další, jež zdůrazňuje vnitřní melodii: původní označení pro duši, vnitřního člověka – “inner man” – jako by chtělo zdůraznit svou podstatu niternosti tím, že si od následujícího slova přivlastní, doslova do sebe vtáhne písmeno “l”, takže z původního “his innerman melody” (melodie jeho nitra) vznikne “his innermals menody”. Zachytit obě významové úrovně při překladu je opravdu nesnadný úkol; ve snaze neminout ty nejpodstatnější by věta mohla vypadat následovně: BUTT (v reakci na jeho čin, jenž zdá se rozbuchstřil jeho zvnitzrezlou melodii [...].

Jako druhý postup příznačný pro Joyceovu estetiku lze uvést metodu koláže. Koláž se skládá z různých již hotových částí, které jsou spojovány do jednoho nového celku. Důvodem, proč se koláž stala oblíbeným postupem moderních umělců, je skutečnost, že při koláži jsou v nejvyšší možné míře zdůrazněny vztahy mezi jednotlivými částmi. Toho si byl zejména vědom Georges Braque, jak dokládají jeho slova: Koláží a malbou jsem chtěl vytvořit úzké vztahy mezi věcmi tak, aby žádný předmět nebyl izolován; obraz, to je spojení všech prvků. Nikdy nejde o věc samu. Zajímají mne jen vztahy. To je ta královská cesta malby, poněvadž vztahy se od díla k dílu mění. Revoluce probíhá ustavičně; nikdy nespatříme tutéž věc dvakrát. (in Lamač 130)

Jak metodu koláže používá Joyce, osvětlí například následující spojení “what kaind of beast” (FW 99): původní “what kind of beast” (jaká šelma, mizera, bestie) získává ve slově “kind” (druh) odkaz na biblickou postavu Kaina (anglicky Cain), který podle Knihy Genesis spáchal vůbec první vraždu na světě. Význam zvířeckosti a nelidskosti tak získává archetypální rozměr, jakož i konkrétní před138


stavu, vůči níž tento význam poměřovat. Ještě lépe lze tento postup deklarovat na následujícím úryvku z kapitoly, v níž Yawn přebírá vinu svého otce HCE a brání se proti obvinění z nemravného jednání ve Phoenix Parku: I protest there is luttrelly not one teaspoonspill of evidence at bottomlie to my babad, as you shall see, as this is. (FW 534)

Na první pohled obskurní novotvar “luttrelly” v sobě nechává zaznít slovo “utterly” (naprosto, totálně) a jméno německého teologa Martina Luthera. Luther je považován za zakladatele protestantismu, což zde odkazuje k předcházejícímu “I protest” (protestuji). A stejně čteme i následující “teaspoonspill of evidence”: “teaspoon” zní v doslovném překladu “čajová lžička”, čímž se zde chce vyjádřit, že neexistuje ani sebemenší důkaz, že by došlo k provinění. Joyce však ještě přidává “spill” (vylít, rozsypat), dohramady pak “teaspoonspill” odkazuje k známé události “Boston Tea Party” z roku 1773, kdy američtí kolonisté vysypali do moře zásilku dovezeného čaje, aby vyjádřili svůj nesouhlas s útlakem britského impéria. Překlad, byť s jistým posunem, by mohl vypadat takto: S brunotným výrazem kathereticky odmítám, že by na dně mého svědomí uvízla byť jen hustka viny, jak hned sami uvidíte.

Dva výše zmíněné estetické postupy si přály poukázat, na co vše je při četbě nebo překládání OF třeba dávat pozor. Jistým způsobem lze souhlasit s kritikou W. Lewise, jenž tuto snahu chápal spíše jako řemeslnický počin než jako výsostné ztvárnění uměleckého ideálu; některé slovní hříčky místy opravdu připomínají hravou zručnost a důvtip, avšak nikdy nepůsobí urputným nebo vyumělkovaným dojmem: velikost Joyceových literárních schopností dokáže i z tak profánní metody, jakou je jazyková hříčka a “mrzačení” slov, vydobýt ty nejjemnější a nejplnohodnotnější nuance předmětného smyslu. V reakci na nepochopení své metody a také z důvodu, aby odmítl přirovnání své osoby k dadaistickým a surrealistickým autorům, Joyce zdůrazňoval, že každé nově vytvořené slovo má v OF své místo, že každé obstojí, pokud jej budeme sledovat z pohledu toho, k čemu jako svému označovanému odkazuje. Obdobně jako Dante, který nacházel učesaná a uhlazená, pichlavá a rozcuchaná slova, aby s nimi vytvořil jazyk vulgaris illustri, jazyk, jímž by adekvátně prosvítala podstata věcí, tak i Joyce hledal podobnou formu locutionis. A třebaže Dante si ještě mohl myslet, že jazyk je nepostradatelný nástroj pro lidské myšlenky, stejně jako je nepostradatelný kůň pro vojáka, a že podobně jako k nejlepšímu rytíři patří nejušlechtilejší oř, tak i k nejlepším myšlenkám přísluší nejlepší jazyk (119), Joyce byl svědkem toho, že doba vysoké kultury zmizela v nenávratnu, a tak uchopuje nízká témata, profánní myšlenky bezprostřední každodenní zkušenosti, jimž se pomocí dokonalého jazyka snaží znovu vdechnout zapomínanou posvátnost lidského bytí. Extrémně mystický, hermetický jazyk, 139


připomínající kabalistickou nepřístupnost, je co do své obtížnosti jen přímou úměrou této zapomenutosti. II Popření jazyka jako možnosti sdělovacího media odráží jisté znechucení kulturou, rozpad hodnot, příznačný pro společnost, v níž se kýč povýšil na umělecké ztvárnění epochy. Moderní člověk kulturu chce, ale zároveň ji ničí; tuto stále se prohlubující propast mezi vysokým a nízkým, mezi posvátným a profánním zachytil Joyce vskutku s pronikavým vhledem již v Odysseovi, když povznesl eklektismus stylů na tvůrčí úroveň; v OF postupuje ještě o krok dál a v pochybnost uvrhuje základní princip novověké nauky o dvou vzájemně oddělených substancích, res cogitans a res extensa. Z celé řady experimentů a objevů na počátku 20. století lze za nejdůležitější označit právě ono zpochybnění do té doby neotřesitelného paradigmatu jasného odlišení mezi subjektem a jeho vnímaným objektem. Zatímco v eukleidovské geometrii byla mezi formou a obsahem vytyčena zřetelná hranice, takže platilo, že předmět si uchová tytéž geometrické platnosti (formu) bez ohledu na to, jestli jej umístíme na zemský pól nebo na rovník, v neeukleidovské geometrii je tento princip zpochybněn: geometrické vlastnosti předmětu se změní v důsledku jeho samotného přemístění, což znamená, že forma a obsah se jaksi matou a prolínají, svět, který v posledku již nemá onu pevnou kostru, kterou zajišťoval homogenní eukleidovský prostor. Prostor přestává být odlišitelný od věcí v prostoru, čirá idea prostoru od konkrétní podívané, kterou nám nabízejí smysly. (Merleau-Ponty 18)

Když se tedy takto proměňuje chápání prostoru a rozlišenosti mezi formou a obsahem, zůstává otázkou, zda i literatura má nadále plnit zobrazovací funkci, jen aby se zachovala zobrazitelnost prostoru. Nemá se také patřičnými prostředky, které vyplývají z její povahy, pokusit vyjádřit ono prolínání formy a obsahu? Joyce si byl vědom toho, že má-li ještě vůbec literární umění cenu, musí se pokusit o sjednocení metody a cíle. Této skutečnosti si všiml zejména Broch, který v přednášce věnované Joyceově tvorbě oceňoval nejvíce právě tuto snahu. Podle něj se v ní Joyceovi podařilo ztvárnit ony anonymní síly epochy: ...je třeba zapojit také subjekt zobrazení coby zobrazovací médium, tedy “vypravěče jako ideu”, a to včetně řeči. Joyce se snaží vytvořit jednotu pozorovaného objektu a pozorovacích prostředků v nejširším slova smyslu – tato jednota nepřipouští zbytečnou vycpávku, zbytečný přívlastek, jedno v ní přirozeně vyrůstá z druhého.

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[...] Na příkladu Anny Livii Plurabelly je možné objasnit, jak zde specifickým pojetím problému média dochází k onomu pozoruhodnému rozplynutí objektu, které je zároveň upřesněním, a právě to má svou analogii v rozložení fyzikální matérie pomocí matematických funkcí, jak to učinila moderní fyzika. („James Joyce“ 32–33)

Subjekt nestojí vně, mimo zobrazovanou skutečnost, nýbrž je její součástí. Jestliže subjekt a objekt splývají v jedno, na poli řeči odpovídá tomuto požadavku jednota mezi zobrazujícím a zobrazovaným. Etický požadavek se pak odhaluje v plném znění: pokud existuje rozdělení subjekt-objekt, subjekt se objektu vždy chápe, “zmocňuje” jako něčeho předmětného, co se mu dává před ním, co je mu před-staveno; když se však rozdíl ztenčuje a subjekt sám se stává procesem zobrazovaného, sám se na něm účastní, věc, kterou zobrazuje, je pro něj to, s čím je v kontaktu a jak se jej samotného týká. Jinými slovy: jestliže subjekt stojí vně zobrazované skutečnosti, svůj objekt chápe jako jisté bytí, které je mu pouze “po ruce” (Vorhandenheit) ve smyslu pouhé faktické přítomnosti, kdežto je-li její součástí, pak objekt chápe jako to, co je mu “k ruce” (Zuhandenheit).14 Heidegger, od něhož oba pojmy pocházejí, si ono “zu” (k) vypůjčuje z vazby “wozu?...um...zu” (k čemu?...aby), “k ruce” tak vyjadřuje to, k čemu daná věc je, jaký je její účel. A pouze pokud přistupujeme k věci z hlediska toho, k čemu slouží, tedy k čemu se vztahuje, vystupuje do zřetelnosti i okolní svět. Jednota zobrazujícího se zobrazovaným je dominantním rysem primitivních kultur. Maska, představující znak, neodkazuje vně, ale sama zastupuje zobrazované. Proto nacházíme u moderních malířů takový obdiv k těmto kulturám, jakož i k malířům, kteří ve svých dílech problematizovali kartesiánské rozdělení dvou substancí (Velázquez, Cézanne). U Joyce lze najít podobnou motivaci. Slova nejsou pouhým znakem odkazujícím k něčemu, tím něčím chtějí samy být. Následující ukázka pochází ze závěru kapitoly, v níž se bratři Shem a Shaun ocitají v dětském pokoji a provádí večerní modlitbu: Till tree from tree, tree among trees, tree over tree become stone to stone, stone between stones, stone under stone forever. O Loud, hear the wee beseech of thees of each of these thy unlitten ones! Grant sleep in hour’s time, O Loud! That they take no chill. That they do ming no merder. That they shall not gomeet madhowiatrees. Loud, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low! Ha he hi ho hu. Mummum. (FW 259) Nechť se strom od stromu, strom mezi stromy, strom nad stromem stane kamenem ke kameni, kamenem mezi kameny, kamenem pod kamenem na věky věků.

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Ó Pane všemohnoucí, vyslyš úpěnlivé prosby všech nás každého z nás tvých neosvěcených. Dopřej nám spánku v tuto pozdní hostínu. Ó Pane všemohnoucí! Dej nám usnout tiše. S Tvou pomocí ať proplujem temnou nocí. Ať nepoleví posluchnost naše a zlé síly nesvedou nás k thmlářství. Ó Pane všemohnoucí, smyhnůj se z námi, však nechej vzklíčit pagřechniště naše! Ha he hi ho hu. Mamam.

Že se jedná o dětskou modlitbu, je zdůrazněno vynecháním na výslovnost složité hlásky “r” ve slově “Lord” (Bůh). Místo něho čteme “Loud” (hlasitý), jež navíc zpřítomňuje, jak se nás boží existence týká: co jiného totiž znamená víra v boha, než se mu oddat a poslouchat jeho slova, jež jsou tak hlasitá, že není místa, kde se před nimi ukrýt. Na první pohled však zůstává nejasná první věta, kde se hovoří něco o stromech a kameni. Když se ale zaměří pozornost na slova samotná, ukáže se, že samy zpřítomňují jednotlivé postavy Shema a Shauna: budeme-li sledovat text a pokládat stromy a kameny vedle sebe, dostaneme ruské písmeno Ш (š) a jeho převrácenou verzi. Modlitba je za životy Shema a Shauna, a tak jsou v jejích slovech doslova sami přítomni. V nejintenzivnější míře lze podobné splynutí pozorovaného objektu a pozorovacích prostředků najít v závěrečné kapitole první knihy o ALP. S prvními slovy text svým uspořádáním odkazuje na počáteční horský pramen, kde řeka vyvěrá na povrch, a posléze sleduje, jak se břehy řeky rozšiřují a jak se z malé bystřiny stává velká řeka, protékající Dublinem: O tell me all about Anna Livia! I want to hear all about Anna Livia. Well, you know Anna Livia? (FW 196) Ó pověz mi všechno o Anně Livii! Chci slyšet všechno o Anně Livii! Nu tak, znáš Annu Livii?15

Když se pak dvě přadleny sklánějí každá ze svého břehu nad řekou, aby vypraly špinavé prádlo (a tím i doslova propraly záležitosti manželského páru HCE a ALP), Joyce uzpůsobuje i rytmus vět a srozumitelnost textu. S přibývající denní hodinou se pomalu začíná šeřit, blíží se noc a s ní se samotná hladina řeky stává temnější a neprostupnější. Jestliže na začátku kapitoly byl jasný den a řeka průzračně čirá u svého pramene, nyní se snáší večer a proud řeky je kalný, neboť musela pojmout všechnu špínu města. Ve chvíli, kdy řeka postupně opouští město a blíží se ke své deltě, i břehy se rozšiřují, přadleny si přestávají rozumět a slyší už 142


jen každé druhé slovo. Jejich lidská podstata se pozvolna rozplývá, až se nakonec obě dvě ovidiovsky promění, jedna ve strom a druhá v kámen: Can’t hear with the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flittering bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome? What Thom Malone? Can’t hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffeying waters of. Ho, talk save us! My foos won’t moos. I feel as old as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia’s daughtersons. Dark hawks hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as heavy as yonder stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who were Shem and Shaun the living sons or daughters of? Night now! Tell me, tell me, telm me, elm! Night, night! Telmetale of stem or stone. Beside the rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters of. Night! (FW 216) Neslyším pro šum vod. Šepotavých vod. Třepotaví netopýři, hraboši maří řeč. Hoj! Ještě nejdeš dom? Cože, Beneš Tom? Neslyším pro netopýří víření a šum těch liviných vod. Hohó, hlas duši spas! Mé nohy mátohy. Stáří mne přemáhá, jak onu olši. Mluvíš o Šaunu a Šemu, těch hoších? Všichni Livini dcerosyni. Posupné sovy nás posloukají. Brounoc! Brounoc! Má hle hlava hlesá. Tíže mne přepadá, jak ona skála. O Žánu či Šaunu povídka malá? Kdo byli Šem a Šaun z liviných synů či dcer? Dobrou noc! Šeplej mi, šeplej mi, olše! Brou! Noc! Šeplejmišeptem o kmeni a skále. U řekoucích vod, semotamotekoucích vod. Noc!16

Závěr Estetika je etika. Samo originální oslovení skutečnosti nestačí; aby mohlo být umělecké ztvárnění vpravdě plnohodnotné, musí svými estetickými postupy sledovat etický požadavek. Dvojnásob to platí u románu, jehož úlohou je, jak v předmluvě k jedné ze svých knih uvádějí bratři Goncourtové, stát se „mravními dějinami současnosti“.17 Už v Dubliňanech si Joyce předsevzal podat dílčí mravní kapitolu ze života Irů;18 u jeho pozdější tvorby se však na první pohled může zdát, že jak v Odysseovi, tak i v OF tento etický požadavek buďto chybí, anebo leží skryt v hlubinných strukturách daleko pod povrchem takřka nesrozumitelného a nepochopitelného textu. Však také musel Joyce za svůj život čelit spoustě kritických komentářů, jež označovaly jeho postupy přinejlepším za zručné řemeslnictví či arbitrární estetické hříčky bez nároku na nějakou vážnější (opravdovější) vypovídající hodnotu. Smyslem výše uvedených poznatků bylo ukázat, že jsou to úvahy liché, že Joyceova metoda novotvarů a koláží není arbitrární, ale naopak opodstatněný, do důsledků promyšlený a ke skutečnosti v pravém slova smyslu přiléhající způsob uměleckého ztvárnění. Neboť „zákony jsou vyryty slovy,“19 jak v eseji věnovaném Joyceově tvorbě napsal Ezra Pound: ztrácí-li slova svůj význam, stávají-li se z nich cliché, nicne143


říkající znaky, jež se mohou dle libosti a potřeby ohýbat, pak takto musejí skončit i zákony. Lze se domnívat, že jazyk do velké míry utváří způsob, jakým se chápeme okolního světa, a rovněž, že úpadek kultury do velké míry souvisí s úpadkem jazyka. Z tohoto pohledu se odkrývá etická hodnota Joyceovy metody: očistit jazyk, nabít slova opět významem, vrátit jim jejich původní jasnost a platnost, aby i zákony mohly nadále plnit svůj bytostný úkol, jenž nespočívá v ničem jiném než ve snaze učinit z neprostupné mlhoviny chaosu jasný řád.

Poznámky: Dále citováno jako OF, anglický text pak jako FW. Pokud neoznačeno jinak, převod vybraných míst z OF do češtiny je autorský. 1

Srov. Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (Cambridge: The Mit Press, 1994), XI. 2

3

Viz James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (London: Faber and Faber, 1975), 403–590.

Srov. Patočkův esej „Počátek dějin“, in Kacířské eseje o filosofii dějin (Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2007), 28–48. 4

5 Původně bylo slovo μῠθος používáno ve významu „slovo“. Viz Ernst Cassirer, Language and Myth, cit. in Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy (Toronto: University Press of Toronto, 1967), 26.

O slovní hříčce jako o metodě pronikající do vnitřních struktur jazyka se v eseji „K“ zmiňuje G. Steiner. In: Language and Silence: Essays on Language, Literature, and the Inhuman (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998), 126. 6

7

Tento motiv lze najít zejména u Georgese Braquea.

Srov. Miroslav Petříček, in Derrida: Texty k dekonstrukci. Práce z let 1967–1972 (Bratislava: Archa 1993), 17. 8

Srov. Giambattista Vico, Základy nové vědy o společné přirozenosti národů (Praha: Academia, 1991), 143–145. 9

Steiner zde odkazuje na argumentaci E. H. Lenneberga ze stati “A Note on Cassirer’s Philosophy of Language”: “Neexistuje průkazný důvod k domněnce, že se artikulace proudu řeči, jak ji popisuje gramatik, kryje s tím, jak je artikulováno poznání či myšlení.” Cit. in Steiner, Po Bábelu. Otázky jazyka a překladu (Praha: Triáda, 2010), 96. 10

Smrtelní mluví, pokud naslouchají: “to, co uvádějí ve znějící slovo, přejímají posloucháním výzvy roz-dílu. Naslouchající a přijímající mluvení je od-povídání [Das hörend-entnehmende Sprechen ist Ent-sprechen]” (Heidegger, “Řeč,” 72). 11

12

144

Srov. Lewisův soubor esejů Time and Western Man (Berkeley: Gingko Press, 1993).


Viz Hans Richter, Dada – Kunst und Antikunst (Köln: Verlag M. DuMont Schauberg, 1964), 41. 13

Srov. pojmy “Vorhandenheit” a “Zuhandenheit” u M. Heideggera, Bytí a čas (Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2002), kap. 17. 14

15 Přeložili M. Weatherallová, Vladimír Procházka a Adolf Hoffmeister. Viz James Joyce, Anna Livia Plurabella: Fragment Díla v zrodu (Liberec: Dauphin, 1996), 28. Dále citováno jako ALP. 16

Přeložili M. Weatherallová, Vladimír Procházka a Adolf Hoffmeister. Viz ALP, 79.

17

Edmont a Jules Goncourtové, Germinie Lacerteuxová, s. 8.

18

Viz James Joyce, Selected Letters of James Joyce, 83.

19

Ezra Pound, „Ulyses,“ in: Literary Essays of Ezra Pound, 409.

Bibliografie: Ball, Hugo. Die Flucht aus der Zeit. Luzern: Josef Stocker, 1946. Beckett, Samuel. “Dante...Bruno. Vico...Joyce.” Our Exagmination Round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress. London: Bradford and Dickens, 1961, 5–13. Bloom, Harold. Kánon západní literatury. Knihy, které prošly zkouškou věků. Přeložili Ladislav Nagy a Martin Pokorný. Praha: Prostor, 2000. Broch, Hermann. “James Joyce a současnost (Řeč k Joyceovým 50. narozeninám).” Román – Mýtus – Kýč. Přeložila Naděžda Macurová. Praha: Dauphin, 2009. 9–54. ---. “Mytické dědictví literatury.” Román – Mýtus – Kýč. Přeložila Naděžda Macurová. Praha: Dauphin, 2009. 79–93. Cassirer, Ernst. Language and Myth. Cit. in Marshall McLuhan. The Gutenberg Galaxy. Toronto: University Press of Toronto, 1967, s. 26. Dante Alighieri. O rodném jazyce. Přeložil Richard Psík. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2004. Derrida, Jacques. Texty k dekonstrukci. Práce z let 1967–1972. Sestavil a přeložil Miroslav Petříček jr. Bratislava: Archa, 1993. Eco, Umberto. Hledání dokonalého jazyka. Přeložila Zora Jandová. Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2001. Goncourt, Edmond, Jules Goncourt. Germinie Lacerteuxová. Přeložila Alena Hartmanová. Praha: Práce, 1976. Hésiodos. Zrození bohů. Přeložila Julie Nováková. Praha: SNKLHU, 1959.

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Heidegger, Martin. “...básnicky bydlí člověk....” Básnicky bydlí člověk. Přeložil Ivan Chvatík. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 1993. 77–103. ---. Bytí a čas. Přeložili Ivan Chvatík, Pavel Kouba, Miroslav Petříček jr., Jiří Němec Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2002.. ---. “Řeč.” Básnicky bydlí člověk. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 1993. 43–75. Joyce, James. Anna Livia Plurabella: Fragment Díla v zrodu. Přeložili M. Weatherallová, Vladimír Procházka a Adolf Hoffmeister. Liberec: Dauphin, 1996. ---. Finnegans Wake. London: Faber and Faber, 1975. ---. Occasional, Critical and Political Writing. Oxford University Press, 2008. ---. Odysseus. Přeložil Aloys Skoumal. Praha: Argo, 1993. ---. Selected Letters of James Joyce. Ed. Richard Ellman. London: Faber and Faber, 1992. ---. Ulysses. London: Penguin Classics, 2000. Lamač, Miroslav. Myšlenky moderních malířů. Od Cézanna po Dalího. Praha: Odeon, 1989. Lewis, Wyndham. Time and Western Man. Berkeley: Gingko Pres, 1993. McLuhan, Marshall. From Cliche to Archetype. New York: Pocket Books, 1971. ---. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. Cambridge: Mit Press, 1994. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Svět vnímání. Přeložila Kateřina Gajdošová. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2008. Patočka, Jan. “Ještě jedna Antigona a Antigoné ještě jednou.” Umění a čas I. Sestavili Daniel Vojtěch a Ivan Chvatík. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2004. 389–400. ---. “Počátek dějin.” Kacířské eseje o filosofii dějin. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2007. 28–48. Platón. Kratylos. Praha: Přeložil František Novotný. OIKOYMENH, 1994. Plutarchos. Čtyři životopisy. Přeložil Ferdinand Stiebitz. Brno: Nakladatelství Brno, 1948. Pound, Ezra. Guide to Kulchur. New York: New Direction Publishing, 1970. ---. „Ulysses.“ Literary Essays of Ezra Pound. Ed. T. S. Eliot. London: Faber and Faber, 1963. 403–409. Richter, Hans. Dada – Kunst und Antikunst. Köln: Verlag M. DuMont Schauberg, 1964. Steiner, George. “K.” Language and Silence: Essays on Language, Literature, and the Inhuman. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998. 118–127. ---. Po Bábelu. Otázky jazyka a překladu. Přeložila Šárka Grauová. Praha: Triáda, 2010. Škrabánek, Petr. Night of a Thousand Tiers. Eds. Louis Armand a Ondřej Pilný. Praha: Litteraria Pragensia, 2002. Vico, Giambattista. Základy nové vědy o společné přirozenosti národů. Přeložil Jaroslav Kudrna. Praha: Academia, 1991. Williams, William Carlos. “A Point For American Criticism.” Our Exagmination Round His Factification For Incamination of Work in Progress. London: Bradford and Dickens, 1961. 81–86. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Tractatus logico-philosophicus. Přeložil Petr Glombíček. Praha: OIKOYMENH, 2007.

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Adresa: Univerzita Pardubice Fakulta filozofická Katedra anglistiky a amerikanistiky Studentská 84 532 10 Pardubice Česká republika [email protected]

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BOOK REVIEWS

Jan Chovanec & Isabel Ermida, eds. Language and Humour in the Media. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012. With Language and Humour in the Media, our knowledge of humour and its place, mechanisms and function in the media has been substantially enhanced. As the editors state in their introductory chapter, “the volume brings together two areas that have not been previously subject to extensive attention by researchers: the interface between humour studies and media discourse analysis” (4). The reasons for this neglect lie in researchers’ focus on revealing the ‘mere’ mechanics of humour and exploring the functions of various types of humorous texts rather than investigating the contact between humorous content and particular domains – media discourse being just one (albeit rich and fruitful) possible area of exploration. Then there is the diversity of tasks involved in mapping and choosing from all the various forms that humour takes in the modern media – so editors are inevitably faced with difficult decisions as to where to focus their attention. Given the wide and varied nature of humorous discourse, it is not surprising that disciplinary studies and comparisons in this field are still rather scarce, at least in comparison to theories in humour analysis (e.g. Raskin 1985). It comes as little surprise that two chapters in the collection (those by Arampatzis and Koziċ, both dealing with the analysis of humour in sitcoms) are taken from doctoral dissertations. Studies with this level of intensity seem to more readily allow for the robust and successful investigation of complex phenomena involving the cognitive and emotive aspects of humour as well as social stereotypes hidden in dialect-related humour. Interestingly, this volume does not appear to suffer from an uneven quality of its contributions, a weakness typical of many similar collections uniting researchers from various streams of work. Still, it should be noted that the shortest chapter (14 pages), by Andrew, is an exploratory overview (or a ‘list’, as the author calls it) which does not address a hypothesis; the way in which Geddert’s arduous research is concluded suggests that there is little that could not have been predicted; and Arampatzis’ study does not offer much background information about its corpus. After a relatively short introduction by the editors, the three chapters in Part One attempt to deal with humour as interpreted from two distinct perspectives – sociolinguistic and pedagogic – with one chapter that might be classified as a generally oriented methodological text. Andrew’s opening chapter offers a socio151

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linguistic probe into ageist humour found in a corpus of pass-along email messages. It suggests that often self-directed ‘implicit ageism’ may draw attention to the negative aspects of ageing in a socially acceptable and tolerated fashion. Geddert tests English language students’ ability to recognize humour in written academic texts and seeks links between this ability and the length of time spent in the target culture. The final paper in this part is not a genuine interdisciplinary study: its strength lies in the fact that Raskin, a representative of “largely analytical, mostly American scholarship” (61), offers a methodological overview of two semantic theories of humour and shows how a third theory, the Ontological Semantic Theory of Humour, enables researchers to carry out reliable computational semantic analyses of natural language texts, including the analysis of jokes in terms of script opposition. Part Two contains five papers that deal with more specific topics, attempting to explore how humour actually works in the mass media. Arampatzis presents a comparative study of translation tendencies in two American TV shows, analyzing the originals and their Spanish versions. Dynel, in her engaging paper, studies the links between humour and metaphor: in a qualitatively-oriented study she examines cognitively challenging metaphors that occur in the popular medical mystery series House. Here Dynel demonstrates that the humorousness of the diaphoric metaphors (i.e. metaphors evoking incongruity between two concepts) rests in their incomprehensibility, which in turn leads to the employment of other humouroriented communicative strategies on the part of hearer as well as the speaker. Koziċ, focusing on framing communication as play in a sitcom, concludes her paper as follows: “What the analysis of verbal and nonverbal play cues in Frasier and Seinfeld identifies is that the instances of audience laughter (i.e., humour) here coincide with, and immediately follow, the play cues, thus lending support to the hypothesis that play cues facilitate the interpretation of communication as humorous” (134). While Koziċ deals with humour in its mediated form, i.e. separated from a real-life course of events, Chovanec’s fine paper takes on the topic of humour construction in online newspapers, a genre which is not primarily humorous but which draws on ‘live events’ and invites spontaneous reactions on the part of the audience. The contribution reflects the author’s long-lasting focus on forms of participatory media (such as blogging) and multi-voiced heteroglossic texts, which are based on the two-way interaction between the journalist and his readers. Via the perspective of two narrative layers – game description and gossip – the author examines how humour is used as a time-filler. Chovanec describes the key role of the journalist, who establishes the play frame and identifies two strategies – the joint fantasizing and the collaborative construction of unreality – through which the participants, stage-managed by the journalist, give rise to ‘vicarious entertainment’, i.e. “the audience entertained not (only) by the game but also the language used to report the game” (157). Together with Pinar Sanz in the last section, Okada 152

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is the author of one of two papers dealing with the genre of advertisements. The author examines a phenomenon that is typical of Japanese culture: the pun-making tradition which draws on phonological similarity with “good signs”, i.e. words or phrases which signify good luck or other positive meanings. One example is the KitKat chocolate bar, whose product name is phonologically similar to that of the Japanese sign meaning a lucky charm. Okada shows that this wordplay is used as a strong selling strategy aimed at students preparing for their exams. The papers in Part Three share the view of humour as an instrument of critique – either political or social. Ermida, in a very interesting paper, carefully examines a series of articles from a Portuguese satirical newspaper, attempting to identify and explore the linguistic mechanisms used in these parodic news satires. She comes to the conclusion that “parodic news satire is a multi-layered and multivoiced discursive genre, which summons echoes of various social facts, events, people and their shortcomings, in a simultaneously critical and humorous portrayal of contemporary reality” (207). Pinar Sanz offers a multimodal analysis of political billboards. To study multimodality, the author rejects Kress and van Leeuwen’s approach and instead opts for cognitive linguistics and non-verbal and multimodal metaphor as the framework. Why not – but claiming that Kress & van Leeuwen do not account for the relation between the verbal and the visual calls for a more profound insight into their theory. In the final paper, Dakhlia discusses the strategies that help create humorous effects in French gossip magazines. Language and Humour in the Media is a valuable collection: given the current state of research in the field, the book can serve, despite some minor weaknesses, as a rich source from which potential researchers can draw their inspiration. The publication can thus be seen as another piece in the mosaic of our knowledge within humour studies, discourse analysis, applied linguistics and cultural studies. Bibliography Kress, Gunter and Theo van Leeuwen. Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design. 1996. London: Routledge, 2006. Raskin, Victor. Semantic Mechanisms of Humour. Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1985. Gabriela Zapletalová University of Ostrava

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Thomas G. Pavel The Lives of the Novel. A History Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2013 (first published in France as La Pensée du roman, 2003) The Lives of the Novel discusses the history of the novel from Ancient Greece to contemporary fiction. It analyses more than one hundred works from Europe, North and South America, Asia and beyond. Divided into four parts: “The Highest Ideals”, “The Enchantment of Interiority”, “The Roots of Greatness” and “The Art of Detachment”, it offers a new and provocative reinterpretation of the development of the novel. Pavel begins his study by emphasising that “[t]he evolution of the novel is an astonishing success story. From its humble beginnings onward it has shown an unparalleled ability to adapt, innovate, spread, and prevail. At almost every turn, it has found the most intelligent, effective ways to reassert its place in the broader culture” (1). In examining the craft of the novel and its formal methods, Pavel places it in a wide cultural perspective. His aim is to explain “the changing lives of the genre, their secret pact with permanence, and the dialogue engaged in by novelists over the centuries” (16). He follows the example of Georg Lukács as he adopts the concepts that apply directly to human experience in order to capture the resonance of literary works beyond the historical period in which they were produced. The Lives of the Novel looks at long periods of time and the interactions between these periods. It is based on four core beliefs: novels are about human beings, their ideals, passions and actions; novels portray different kinds of human beings, with “strong souls, sensitive hearts, or enigmatic psyches” (18); novels are linked to their social and intellectual context but also enjoy a qualified autonomy; and finally, while the evolution of the novel has depended on individual decisions, its history does not, as many critics have argued, consist of great writers relentlessly furthering the development of the genre. Pavel discusses numerous “ideal types”, focusing on a few examples to elucidate his survey and to tempt the reader to discover or revisit the works. The novels discussed are generally regarded as some of the best examples of the genre, including Don Quixote, Pamela, Madame Bovary, Tristram Shandy, Robinson Crusoe, Middlemarch, and White Noise, to name but a few. These are categorised according to type and discussed in terms of the primary forces that have shaped their development. One of the most exciting chapters is chapter 11, “Syntheses, High Points”, which discusses the nineteenth century and its examination of the ideal, contrasting this with novelists’ determination to keep their plots and characters within the realms of plausibility. Pavel concludes that by the end of the nineteenth century, the novel appeared to have reached its full maturity because it could portray complex human 154

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beings who were able to break themselves free from pre-established norms and values. Their complex thoughts and actions are linked to a plausible social and historical context. The late nineteenth-century novel contains a surprising variety of characters and literary styles, as found in the works of, for example, Victor Hugo, Alessandro Manzoni, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, Anthony Trollope and Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, while these writers write within the same literary framework, they contain what Pavel terms a “teutonic fault” that makes it “hard to find a stable reconciliation between the individual and society” (296). As chapter 12, “Loners in a Strange World” demonstrates, until the second half of the nineteenth century, “the best, most revered novelists were eager to be read and appreciated by the largest possible public. After that point, writing popular fiction became an increasingly specialized activity, while in some circles, art and literature inspired a new kind of worship” (265). Novels began increasingly to feature individuals who fail to integrate into society or outsiders who despise conventions and moral laws, as evidenced in, for example, Flaubert’s Sentimental Education and Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Pavel concludes his study by observing that, while the novel has many lives, all have one very important feature in common: “the bid to make the ideal visible within a world of transitory, fragile, imperfect human interactions” (299). The Lives of the Novel is a work of substantial scholarly merit. The analyses of individual novels are deep and provocative, their placement in an historical context is illuminating, and the substantial reading lists for each chapter and the detailed index are extremely helpful. The Lives of the Novel is an invaluable work for scholars and students of intellectual and literary history, literary theory and moral philosophy. Jane Mattisson Ekstam Kristianstad University, Sweden

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News, Announcements

NEWS, ANNOUNCEMENTS

Conference organized by the Department of British and American Studies, Faculty of Arts, Pavol Jozef Šafárik University in Košice, Slovakia and the Slovak Association for the Study of English

The Postmillennial Sensibility in Anglophone Literatures, Cultures and Media 29 June – 1 July 2017, Košice, Slovakia CONFERENCE CALL FOR PAPERS Recent development in the field of cultural studies has produced an increased consensus about the emergence of a postmillennial sensibility, characterized by the end of postmodernism and its replacement by a new cultural paradigm. Cultural theorists have so far produced a rich variety of concepts and approaches that try to capture the essence of the new state of culture: Nealon’s study (2012) associates the ‘post-postmodern’ era with an intensification of postmodern capitalism and increasing influence of the economic sphere on everyday cultural life. Lipovetsky (2005), Kirby (2009) and Samuels (2010), though employing three different concepts, respectively hypermodernity, digimodernism, and automodernity, focus on the role of digital technologies and consumerism in the contemporary transformations of human relations and cultural production. Bourriaud (2009) uses the term altermodern to define new, anti-commercial trends in contemporary visual arts typical of globalized perception, cultural nomadism, and creaolization. Elshelman (2008) identifies the new epoch with performativism reflected in a wide range of performatist texts that encourage the viewer/reader to accept (at least for the duration of the text) the monistic and metaphysical values (e.g. unified self, transcendence, god) that postmodernism challenges through ironic deconstruction. Elshelman (2008) shows how performatist texts induce the suspension of disbelief by using ‘a coercive frame’ that cuts, at least temporarily, the reader/viewer off from the outside context of metaphysical scepticism and irony. Gans (2000, 2011), drawing on his theory of generative anthropology, sees the victimary discourse, reflected mainly in feminist, postcolonial and post-Holocaust narratives, as the defining feature of the postmodern era and associates postmillennial sensibility with the possibility to lead a dialogue with victimary thinking. 159

NEWS, ANNOUNCEMENTS

Finally, the new cultural paradigm is also addressed in Vermeulen and Akker’s work (2010) that suggests that metamodernism could be a useful umbrella term for such diverse cultural practices as digitalization of textuality, creolization of arts and performativism. Vermeulen and Akker believe that metamoderism finds its ‘clearest expression in an emergent neoromantic sensibility’, in ‘the return of the Romantic, whether as style, philosophy or attitude’. They find its reflection in the works that replace postmodernist rationalism (sarcasm, indifference, ironic deconstruction) with the perspective of childlike naivety and a desire for metaphysical truths, and the postmodernist focus on pastiche and parody with the focus on irrational principles (nature, the primitive, sublime, mysterious). These neoromantic practices are seen as playing a crucial role in the metamodernist oscillation between the ‘modern desire for sens’ (expressed in modern beliefs in utopism, linear progress and grand narratives) and the postmodern doubt about the sense of it all’. The conference aims to bring together scholars from across the world to explore the postmillennial sensibility in Anglophone literary, cultural and media texts. We invite proposals for twenty-minute papers relating to any of the theoretical issues outlined above. Submissions will be reviewed on a double-blind review basis. Authors of selected papers will be invited to extend their papers for publication in either international journals or in an edited book published by international leading publisher. PLENARY SPEAKERS: Prof. Dr. José Igor Prieto-Arranz, University of the Balearic Islands, Palma de Mallorca, SPAIN Web profile: http://www.uib.eu/personal/ABTE5MTA4/ Prof. Dr. Roberta Piazza, University of Sussex, Brighton, THE UNITED KINGDOM Web profile: http://www.sussex.ac.uk/profiles/24748 ABSTRACT SUBMISSION Abstracts of papers (500 words max.) clearly defining the topic and the objectives pursued in the paper should be submitted by e-mail as WORD attachments to: Dr. Soňa Šnircová ([email protected]) by January 31, 2017.

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Ostrava Journal of English Philology

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