eJournals

1 The present paper goes back to a talk at the conference on Directions in English Language Studies (DELS) in Manchester in April 2006. We would like to thank the audience for a stimulating discussion. We are also grateful for the helpful comments provided by an anonymous reviewer. AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Ditransitive verbs in Indian English and British English: a corpus-linguistic study Sebastian Hoffmann and Joybrato Mukherjee Verb complementation has long been neglected as an area in which secondlanguage varieties of English deviate from native Englishes. The present paper focuses on Indian English as the largest institutionalised second-language variety of English and investigates differences between Indian English and British English at the level of ditransitive verbs and ditransitive verb complementation. By using various corpora, including large databases obtained from the World Wide Web, we show (1) that ditransitive verbs like GIVE are associated to different extents with individual complementation patterns in present-day Indian and British English, (2) that the range of verbs used in the basic ditransitive pattern (with two object noun phrases) is different between present-day Indian and British English, and (3) that the “new ditransitives” in Indian English do not represent cases of superstrate retention but rather genuinely innovative forms that Indian English users create on grounds of analogy. From a theoretical perspective, we argue that the concept of verbcomplementational profile is a useful framework for comparative studies of varieties of English. 1 1. Introduction: verb complementation in Indian English and British English The emergence of New Englishes around the world has led to an everincreasing interest in the description of differences between varieties of English at all linguistic levels. The largest institutionalised second-language Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 6 2 Note, for example, that Mukherjee and Hoffmann (2006) observe that convey does not occur at all in the double-object construction in a 31-million-word corpus of Indian English newspaper texts, which raises the question whether this syntactic variant is really preferred by Indian users of English. variety of English is Indian English, the educated standard variant of which is regularly and competently used by at least 35 to 50 million speakers (cf. e.g. Crystal 2003). Research into Standard Indian English has spawned a vast literature over the past decades, including the work by Kachru (1983, 2005), Shastri (1988, 1992) and Mehrotra (1998). Yet, apart from some notable exceptions such as Shastri (1996), verb complementation in Indian English has so far been relatively neglected as a distinctive area of variety-specific norm formations. Some isolated observations on deviant verb-complementational patterns in Indian English are listed in the second edition of Nihalani et al.’s (2004) Indian English dictionary. For example, Nihalani et al. (2004: 55) note that convey tends to be complemented with an object noun phrase and a tophrase in British English (e.g. Please convey my best wishes to him) whereas the double-object construction is acceptable as well in Indian English (e.g. Please convey him my best wishes). However, the descriptions offered by Nihalani et al. (2004) are entirely based on personal observations rather than on representative corpus data and therefore have to be taken with a measure of caution. 2 Olavarría de Ersson and Shaw (2003), in contrast, have provided an empirically sound and systematic pilot study of the complementation patterns of provide, supply, pelt and other semantically related verbs in British and Indian English by using large web-derived databases, including three on-line Indian newspapers. They find out, for example, that pelt tends to be complemented with an object noun phrase and a withphrase in British English (e.g. they are pelting him with cans), while Indian English speakers prefer a reverse order of postverbal elements with an atphrase (e.g. they are pelting cans at him). Olavarría de Ersson and Shaw’s (2003) observations corroborate that verb-complementation is one of the structural features at the lexis-grammar interface that are significant in shaping local lexicogrammatical norms in varieties of English. Both at the descriptive and the methodological level, their study inspired us to compare ditransitive verbs and ditransitive complementation patterns in British and Indian English by using corpus data and web-derived data (cf. Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006). Specifically, we not only compared the 1-million-word Indian and British components of the International Corpus of English (ICE; cf. Greenbaum 1996), but we also generated and analysed a large corpus of Indian English newspaper language, containing 31 million words from the national newspaper The Statesman. In this context, we introduced the concept of verb-complementational profile, which we believe is a useful frame- Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 7 work for the systematisation of differences in verb complementation between varieties of English. As visualised in Figure 1, the concept of verbcomplementational profile includes two related aspects: a) the range (and frequencies) of the patterns of an individual verb in a variety; b) the range of verbs with which an individual pattern is associated in a variety. individual verbs: GIVE individual patterns: S V [O i : NP] [O d : NP] basic ditransitive pattern other patterns Figure 1: Two complementary aspects of a verb-complementational profile - focus on ditransitive verbs and ditransitive verb complementation (Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006: 149). Figure 1 visualises the concept of verb-complementational profile by focusing on ditransitive verbs and ditransitive verb complementation. For example, give is typically used in the basic ditransitive pattern with both objects realised as object noun phrases (e.g. John gave Mary a book), but it can also be used in other patterns, e.g. the to-phrase variant (e.g. John gave a book to Mary) and passive constructions (e.g. Mary was given a book [by John]). From a complementary perspective, each individual pattern can be used with specific verbs in a given variety. For example, while provide is not acceptable in the basic ditransitive pattern in British English, it is admissible - and frequently used - in this pattern in American English. We believe that all varieties of English are potentially characterised by differences between their verb-complementational profiles with regard to individual verbs and/ or entire verb classes. In the present paper, we start off from some of the findings on which we have reported elsewhere (cf. Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006) and then go on to address the question as to whether the verb-complementational differences between present-day British English and Indian English can be explained by assuming a retention of “old” British English structures in Indian English, given that historically British English of the 18th and 19th century functioned as the actual input variety for the shaping of Indian English. This is reflected, for example, in a tendency for Indian English speakers to use lexical items that have a formal and/ or old-fashioned flavour in present-day British English (e.g. miscreant, thrice). Thus, we were interested in finding Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 8 3 Examples (1) to (4) are taken from the 1-million-word British component of the International Corpus of English (ICE-GB). The pattern exemplified in (5) is a rare pattern that could only be found in a much larger corpus, the 100-million word British National Corpus (BNC). out whether superstrate retention is also a useful explicans for verbcomplementational differences between present-day British English and Indian English, or whether alternative explanations seem more plausible. The plan of the present paper is as follows. In section 2, we will briefly introduce the system of ditransitive complementation patterns that is at the heart of our syntactic analysis. We will then show that the verbcomplementational profile of Indian English diverges from British English with regard to ditransitive verbs: on the one hand, there are clear quantitative differences in the complementation of established ditransitive verbs like give; on the other hand, individual complementation patterns like the basic ditransitive pattern are used with a different range of verbs. In section 3, we will focus on the basic ditransitive pattern and discuss to what extent the “new ditransitives” that we find in present-day Indian English are truly new. In this context, we will combine the synchronic focus on present-day Indian and British English with a diachronic analysis of old and new ditransitives in the history of British English and report on the findings we have obtained from various synchronic and diachronic corpora. Finally, in section 4 we will offer some concluding remarks. We will argue in particular that the innovative extension of the basic ditransitive pattern to new verbs has always been a creative process in the history of native varieties of English, and that this creativity is now also exerted by non-native speakers of institutionalised second-language varieties like Indian English. 2. Differences between the verb-complementational profiles of Indian English and British English: focus on ditransitive verb complementation In a previous large-scale study of the British component of the International Corpus of English (ICE-GB), Mukherjee (2005) has provided a detailed quantitative and qualitative analysis of the complementation of ditransitive verbs in present-day British English. The analysis is based on a categorisation of all patterns with which a given ditransitive verb is attested into five types. These five types are described and exemplified in (1) to (5) by instances of the most frequent ditransitive verb in English, i.e. give. 3 Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 9 4 Note in this context that at this explorative stage of our strictly syntactic pattern analysis we do not distinguish between ‘free’ combinations of arguments (e.g. type I: John gave Mary a book; type II: John gave the book to Mary; type III: Give a reason) and pre-constructed and/ or idiomatic units (e.g. type I: John gave it a try; type II: The story gave rise to new (1a) I (S) GIVE [O i : NP] [O d : NP] (1b) On Tuesday members of Parliament gave the government their overwhelming support <ICE-GB: S2B-030 #54> (2a) II (S) GIVE [O d : NP] [O i : PP to ] (2b) I meant to give it to you earlier <ICE-GB: S1A-022 #176> (3a) III (S) GIVE [O d : NP] O i (3b) he wanted physical love and I couldn’t give that <ICE-GB: S1A-050 #184> (4a) IV (S) GIVE O i O d (4b) The other major point he raises is in addressing the question of ‘why give in the first place? ’ <ICE-GB: W1A-011 #94> (5a) V (S) GIVE [O i : NP] O d (5b) … well she did […] she did give Mrs <anonymised_last_name> didn’t she? <BNC: KE6 2368-70> Type I is the most basic type of ditransitive complementation with both objects realised as noun phrases. Type II is the pattern in which the indirect object is realised as a to-phrase and placed after the direct object. In type III, the indirect object is not made explicit, in type IV both objects are deleted, and in type V it is the direct object that is not made explicit. Our system of five types is based on the assumption that even in those instances in which one or two object(s) are not made explicit, i.e. in types III to V, the verb give remains associated at the cognitive level with the ditransitive meaning ‘X causes Y to receive Z’ (X = agent; Y = recipient; Z = patient) in all instances and patterns (cf. Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006: 151). Note that from each of the five basic patterns, it is possible to derive many structurally related patterns, e.g. patterns with specific elements in fronted positions, relative clause structures, participle constructions and passive constructions (e.g. type IP as the passive construction derived from the type-I pattern). A full list of the patterns of give is given in the Appendix. 4 Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 10 speculations; type III: I don’t give a damn) within any one complementation type. It remains to be seen in future research whether differences in idiomatic usages of specific complementation types might be at the heart of divergent verb-complementational profiles of British and Indian English. 5 ARCHER includes 1.7 million words from various registers from the mid-17th century to the present and can thus be seen as complementing the Helsinki Corpus of English Texts (cf. Kytö 1991). As we intend to compare ditransitive verb complementation in present-day Indian English to the input variety of British English, it is useful to start off from a diachronic characterisation of the patterns of give in British English. It is well-known that in the history of English, the alternation between the double-object construction (type I) and the to-dative variant (type II), marked by different orders of the indirect object (O i ) and the direct object (O d ), was triggered by the loss of explicit dative case markings in the early Middle English period (cf. Denison 1993: 106). In fact, as Koopman (1990) observes, the double-object construction (with both objects case-marked and without a to-phrase) was used in Old English similarly frequently with both object orders. As McFadden (2002) notes, it is in the 14th century that a clear division of labour emerges between the two constructions, with the doubleobject construction (type I) exclusively used for the order ‘[O i ][O d ]’ and the todative construction (type II) clearly associated with the order ‘[O d ][O i ]’. Note, by the way, that the relevant literature is relatively agnostic about the development of the other basic patterns of give, especially the type-III pattern, which in present-day British English is the second-most frequent pattern of give (cf. Mukherjee 2005: 100). As British English entered the Indian subcontinent in the 17th century, after the East Indian Company had been granted a Royal charter in 1600, we were particularly interested in finding out whether the distribution of the by far most frequent patterns of give in present-day British English, i.e. type I, type II and type III, remained stable throughout more than three centuries of British colonisation of India (i.e. up to the Independence of India in 1947). Therefore, we analysed three randomly selected samples of 500 instances each of give from different 100-year periods in A Representative Corpus of Historical English Registers (ARCHER, cf. Biber et al. 1994): 5 1650-1749, 1750-1849, 1850-1949. Figure 2 provides an overview of the proportion of the complementation patterns I, II and III in these three 100-year periods. It also includes the proportion of the three patterns in ICE-GB, representing the present-day British English situation. Figure 2 shows that in present-day British English the most prototypical pattern - type I - is also the most frequent pattern in British English, accounting for well over a third of all instances of give. Type III (i.e. without explicit indirect object) is the second most common pattern, followed by type II (i.e. with toobject). The most interesting observation, however, is that the proportions remain relatively constant over the past 350 years. Although percentage Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 11 Type I Type III Type II other 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 1650-1749 1750-1849 1850-1949 ICE-GB values vary somewhat across time, the ranking of the three most common patterns stays the same for all the periods covered by the ARCHER and the ICE-GB data. Furthermore, none of the patterns exhibits a consistent increase or decrease over time. At least for the case of the most prototypical ditransitive verb give, then, a considerable level of stability in the system of verb complementation can thus be observed for British English from 1650 to the present, i.e. in the period of time when Indian English emerged. Figure 2: The most frequent complementation patterns of give in ARCHER and ICE- GB. Given the relative diachronic stability of the complementation patterns of give, it is not surprising that all of the patterns shown in examples (1) to (5), including the derivative patterns listed in the Appendix, are also attested in present-day Indian English. However, our exhaustive analysis and comparison of ICE-India and ICE-GB has shown that there are substantial differences in the frequency and distribution of the various give-patterns between the two varieties (cf. Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006). Figure 3 focuses on the most frequent patterns; these patterns account for 90% of all instances of give in the two corpora. As Figure 3 reveals, the most significant difference is the much lower frequency of the type-I pattern in ICE-India, which comes along with a markedly higher frequency of the type-II pattern and the type-III pattern, the latter being the most frequent pattern in ICE-India. Given the relative diachronic stability of give-patterns in British English displayed in Figure 2, this divergence of Indian English from the British English input variety is certainly striking. In particular, it clearly emerges that the complementational divergence in present-day Indian English is not a replication of an earlier stage of British English and, thus, not a symptom of superstrate retention. Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 12 Type III Type I Type II Type IP Type IIIP Type IIP Type IIIPb Other 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 ICE-India ICE-GB Figure 3: Complementation of give in ICE-India and ICE-GB - focus on the most frequent patterns (Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006: 152). From a cognitive point of view, differences in the complementation of give between British and Indian English are particularly interesting because give is a key verb in English with regard to both semantics and language acquisition (cf. Beermann 2001, Ninio 1999). Against this background, the much lower frequency of the type-I pattern of give in Indian English is quite remarkable. In Olavarría de Ersson and Shaw’s (2003: 159) opinion, this difference may at least partly be a reflection of cultural differences between Northern European and South Asian cultures. Thus the former cultures’ emphasis on subjectivism would favour the overt encoding of the recipient role - as for example in the type-I pattern - whereas the South Asian’s view of the individual as a part or a small object in a larger whole would be more conducive to the choice of a type-III pattern, where the recipient is not made explicit. A more language-internal explanation of the observed differences would be that give fulfils a larger range of communicative functions in Indian English. For example, Indian English speakers tend to use give in many contexts where in British English one would expect other verbs (e.g. give a complaint instead of make a complaint) and, more specifically, in collocations that are unusual in British English but which are linked to the type-II pattern (e.g. give provocation to someone instead of provoke someone). However, these are only tentative suggestions and a detailed explanation of the quantitative Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 13 6 A detailed description of the various steps involved in the compilation, reformatting and annotation of The Statesman Archive is provided in Mukherjee and Hoffmann (2006). differences between Indian English and British English must remain beyond the scope of the present paper. 3. “New ditransitives” and old ditransitives in Indian English and British English The verb-complementational profile of Indian English also differs from British English with regard to the range of verbs attested in individual ditransitive patterns. From a construction-grammar point of view, the type-I pattern is of particular interest because it represents a basic argument structure construction that is linked to the cognitive event of TRANSFER (cf. Goldberg 1995, 2006). From a syntactic point of view, it is the occurrence of a verb in the type-I pattern that defines the verb as a member of the class of ditransitive verbs. For a description of the verb-complementational profiles of Indian and British English, it is therefore interesting to find out whether the range of verbs that are used in the type-I pattern differs between the two varieties. Specifically, we were interested in identifying verbs to which the type-I pattern is extended in Indian English, i.e. “new ditransitives”. To this end, we made use of a large web-derived corpus of Standard Indian English, containing 31 million words from the on-line archive of the national Indian newspaper The Statesman. After converting the web pages to a format that can be searched with the help of standard corpus tools or Perl scripts, the corpus was part-of-speech tagged using the Constraint Grammar Parser of English (ENGCG, Karlsson et al. 1995). 6 This step made it possible to search for grammatical patterns (e.g. any verb that is immediately followed by two noun phrases) and consequently allowed us to also identify verbs that occur only sporadically in the basic type-I pattern. Table 1 gives an overview of ditransitive verbs in The Statesman Archive that usually do not occur in the type-I pattern in present-day British English. Some illustrative examples are given in (6) to (10). Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 14 7 With 26 instances in the Statesman Archive, gift is particularly interesting as a new Indian English ditransitive. Type-I pattern uses of this verb are indeed also found in low frequen- Table 1: “New ditransitives” in The Statesman Archive. Verb n Verb n ADVISE 10 NOTIFY 1 BRIEF 1 PRESENT 18 CONFER 3 PRINT 1 DESPATCH/ DISPATCH 1 PROVIDE 217 EXPLAIN 2 PUT 2 FATHER 1 REMIND 4 GIFT 26 ROB 4 IMPART 8 SUBMIT 1 INFORM 4 SUPPLY 15 INTIMATE 1 THREATEN 1 (6) I have advised him some technical changes like using both hands while stopping the ball. <The Statesman 2004-03-26> (7) She said she wanted to gift him a dream. <The Statesman 2003-02-17> (8) … teachers should study at least five times more than the students to be able to impart them the correct knowledge and wisdom. <The Statesman 2004-11- 13> (9) The employee is also required to inform the appointing authority the amount of monthly instalment … <The Statesman 2004-08-1> (10) I put him a question as to whether he had an auspicious time for … <The Statesman 2003-08-09> A number of the verbs listed in Table 1 are of course also found with a type-I complementation pattern in native varieties other than British English. Thus, as already noted, provide occurs quite commonly in the basic ditransitive pattern in American English (cf. Quirk et al. 1985: 1210, Mukherjee 2001: 299) and this is also increasingly the case for supply and present. However, a type-I use of the remaining verbs must clearly be considered marginal at best in any native variety of English - a fact that is supported by various native-speaker informants who considered none of the sentences shown in (6) to (10) to be acceptable in British English. Given that at least some of the verbs listed in Table 1 recur too frequently to be interpreted as errors or nonce uses (e.g. gift, advise and impart), a much more likely interpretation is that they are indeed “new distransitives” in Indian English. 7 Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 15 cies in British English. However, their occurrence is virtually limited to the domain of sports commentaries (e.g. gift the player the ball) while no such register-specific restriction appears to operate in Indian English. In fact, the BNC provides only a single type-I pattern occurrence of gift outside of the sports domain: (i) By conceding on the timetable, O’Neill gifted the Republicans an important advantage, helping them by drastically curtailing the protracted and damaging interplay of pluralist forces that would have otherwise taken place over the budget. (BNC: EAY: 1342) However, this sentence appears to be a metaphorical extension of the standard use in sports commentaries, which is therefore clearly distinct from the much more general Indian English uses illustrated by example (7). What sentences (6) to (10) therefore show is that Indian English speakers extend the ditransitive construction to new verbs in a creative way as is typical of native speakers (e.g. with new verbs like email someone something, fax someone something). In construction-grammar terminology (cf. Goldberg 1995: 50), the participant roles of the verbs in (6) to (10) are “fused”, as it were, with the argument roles of the ditransitive construction so that these verbs now refer to TRANSFER events like established ditransitive verbs. The examples illustrate that new fusions in Indian English only occur in contexts in which semantically closely related classic ditransitive verbs could be used as well: (6) advise ~ offer, (7) gift ~ give, (8) impart ~ teach, (9) inform ~ tell, and (10) put ~ ask. We are fully aware that the label “new ditransitives” for verbs that are used in the basic ditransitive pattern in Indian English but not standardly in British English is potentially misleading since our comparison of the two varieties has so far been based on synchronic data alone. A key question in this context is whether “new ditransitives” like the ones listed in Table 1 and exemplified in (6) to (10) are really the result of post-colonial divergence in Indian English or whether we are instead looking at the verb-complementational profile of 18th or 19th century British English which has been preserved by its Indian speakers in its original form (i.e. in terms of superstrate retention). In other words, the question is: could it be the case that the “new ditransitives” in Indian English are actually old ditransitives in British English? Since most of the verbs shown in Table 1 are fairly infrequent, we needed a much larger corpus than ARCHER in order to test this hypothesis. We therefore made use of the online Gutenberg Archive (cf. <http: / / www. gutenberg.org/ >) and compiled a corpus of approximately 23.5 million words of both fiction and non-fiction texts covering a time-span from the second half of the 17th century to the 19th century. The overwhelming majority of texts were written by British authors, but a small number of American texts were also included. Again, the data was part-of-speech tagged, which made it possible to run the same scripts that were devised for the retrieval of type-I ditransitive constructions in The Statesman Archive. This approach allowed Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 16 us to achieve two goals at the same time: on the one hand, our search retrieved historical instances of the “new” Indian ditransitives - if they exist. On the other hand, our retrieval method would find type-I verbs that are no longer used with this pattern in present-day British English. As was shown in section 2, the ARCHER data for the verb give reveal a high level of stability in the frequency and distribution of the complementation patterns of the most prototypical ditransitive verb over several centuries. We therefore expected to find no relatively frequent verbs whose complementational profile had radically changed since the 17th century. In fact, our analysis of the Gutenberg texts corroborates the relative stability of the complementation system of high-frequency ditransitive verbs over the past 350 years. Of particular interest, however, are those verbs that occur relatively infrequently in the type-I pattern. Table 2 provides a list of such verbs in the Gutenberg texts. Table 2: Verbs with type-I complementation pattern in the Gutenberg texts. Verb n Verb n ABATE/ BATE 5 KILL 1 ADDRESS 8 KISS 1 BANISH 1 LEAD 4 BESPEAK 1 LEARN 4 BESTOW 1 METE 1 BREATHE 1 MOUNT 1 CARRY 7 NUDGE 1 COUNT 1 PREVENT 1 DEPRIVE 1 PURVEY 2 DIGHT 2 PUT 8 DISPUTE 1 RECOMMEND 7 DISTIL 1 RESTORE 2 ENJOIN 1 REVIVE 1 EQUIP 1 SAY 3 FRANK 1 SPOIL 1 HOLD 2 TEND 1 INFORM 1 VOTE 2 Sample uses of some of the verbs listed in Table 2 verbs are given in (11) to (15). Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 17 8 For a more detailed discussion of the issues involved in using low-frequency corpus data, see e.g. Hoffmann (2004: passim, and in particular 196-8). (11) I had never encountered the great man at whose feet poor Dawling had most submissively sat and who had addressed him his most destructive sniffs … (Henry James: Glasses) (12) … and very often I would go and carry them some ears of barley, or a handful of rice, and feed them out of my hand. (Daniel Defoe: Robinson Crusoe) (13) “… I have often the satisfaction of hearing the publican, the baker, and sometimes even the parish-clerk, petitioning my housekeeper … to inform him the exact time by Master Humphrey’s clock.” (Charles Dickens: Master Humphrey’s Clock) (14) “I tell thee” said De Bracy, “that I mean to purvey me a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin (Walter Scott: Ivanhoe) (15) You ask me to recommend you some books for your perusal. (Elizabeth C. Gaskell: Life of Charlotte Brontë, Vol. I) A small number of verbs shown in Table 2 are clearly obsolete - for example dight (‘make ready’, ‘prepare’) or learn (as synonym of teach, a sense which the OED labels as “now vulgar”). The large majority of verbs in Table 2, however, are still current today in British English - but of course not with a type-I complementation pattern. The lists in Tables 1 and 2 show very little overlap - in fact, only two verbs (inform and put, both shown in boldface in Table 2) are found in both tables. While it is certainly true that comparisons of low-frequency phenomena across corpora have to be taken with a measure of caution, our data are nonetheless insightful: they do not support the view that the “new ditransitives” in Indian English are remnants of an earlier stage of the verbcomplementational profile of English. 8 In the light of our data, the superstrate retention hypothesis thus seems to be an unlikely explanation. Instead, we believe that both our rare present-day Indian English and our historical British English type-I pattern uses are in fact testimony to creative language use which allows speakers of native and non-native varieties of English alike - on grounds of semantic analogy - to extend the ditransitive situation schema to new verbs. Many of these type-I pattern uses clearly have no lasting effect on the verb-complementational profile of English - they are rare occurrences whose context-specific use is licensed by the systematic link between the basic argument structure, verbalising the cognitive event of TRANSFER, and the lexical meaning of verbs whose participant roles can be fused with the arguments of the ditransitive construction. Some of these uses, however, may be repeatedly employed by certain groups of speakers and may, thus, for example lead to a variety-specific extension of the pattern. This is no Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 18 9 In this context, it is also worth noting that the verb provide does not feature in Table 2. This suggests that its relatively common type-I pattern use in American and Indian English is indeed of fairly recent origin. However, a brief look at other historical sources such as the OED quotations database reveals that language users of earlier centuries occasionally extended the type-I pattern to provide, too. As a case in point, consider example (ii): (ii) Prouide me ynke and paper, and I will write. (1581; in Confer. III. 1584, Riv) This again underscores our point that the mechanism of creative extension is in principle available to all speakers of a language. However, we cannot at the moment offer any additional insight as to what causes a construction to become fully acceptable in some varieties while it remains highly marked in others. doubt the case for the verb gift, which is particularly frequent in Indian English - although, as mentioned above, not in principle restricted to this variety. 9 Finally, our data suggest that this type of extension may also be a reflection of idiolectal preferences. It is interesting to see, for example, that a disproportionally large number of “new” type-I pattern uses in the Gutenberg texts stem from Henry James. Among these, we find six instances of address - see example (11) above - and three instances of the combination to put somebody a question. 4. Concluding remarks In the present paper, we hope to have shown that verb complementation in general and ditransitive verb complementation in particular is an area where different varieties of English are marked by diverging preferences and structural options. More specifically, there are clear and identifiable differences between British English and Indian English with regard to the range of verbs to which the basic ditransitive pattern, the type-I pattern, is extended by way of analogy. The “new ditransitives” in Indian English that we identified by using various corpora, including large web-derived databases, are not reflections of older British English forms, but represent creative innovations introduced by Indian users of English. With regard to institutionalised secondlanguage varieties of English, it seems necessary to complement nativespeaker creativity as a potential source of language change (cf. Jones and Singh 2005: 18ff.) with non-native speakers’ creative force. In the light of the “new ditransitives” that we identified, it is obvious that the extension of the type-I pattern to novel verbs is not restricted to native varieties of English but can also be found in second-language varieties like Indian English. This process is based on what we wish to call nativised semantico-structural analogy: [Nativised semantico-structural analogy is] a process by means of which nonnative speakers of English as a second language are licensed to introduce new forms and structures into the English language because corresponding Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 19 semantic and formal templates already exist in the English language system. (Mukherjee and Hoffmann 2006: 166f.) With regard to “new ditransitives”, an analogy is drawn between the meaning of established ditransitive verbs such as give on the one hand and the similar semantics of other verbs like address and gift on the other so that the same ditransitive construction as a formal and semantic template can be used. The availability of this extension of the ditransitive construction is part of the common core of English grammar, as shown in Figure 4. However, the output of this creative process differs from variety to variety, e.g. Indian English and British English. Additionally, there may be idiosyncratic usages which may obscure variety-specific trends (e.g. in the case of Henry James’s writing). Common core: Nativised semantico-structural analogy GIVE ‘X causes Y to receive Z’ other verbs [S: NP] V [O: NP] [O: NP] Variety 1 (Indian English) Speaker 1 Variety 2 (British English) Speaker 2 Variety n Speaker n Figure 4: Extending the type-I pattern to novel verbs - common core, varieties and individual speakers. The tendency in Indian English to extend the ditransitive construction to verbs that are semantically closely related to established ditransitive verbs in British English ties in well with observations in other areas of corpus-based research into contact varieties of English world-wide. In identifying morphosyntactic features that are shared by geographically distant varieties of English, Sand (2005: 459), for example, suggests that second-language speakers of English may find themselves in a situation in which “language contact magnifies ‘problem areas’ or ‘weak spots’ in the grammatical system of English and intensifies a development away from these”. Note, for example, that from a semantic point of view it is rather implausible that the verb address, which is closely related to tell, is not used in the ditransitive construction in British English. The extension of the ditransitive construction to address in Indian English, as exemplified in (11), thus indicates a ‘rationalis- Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 20 10 This idea is closely related to the concept of ‘pre-determined breaking points’ in a grammatical system, that is areas which are characterised by forms and rules which are highly arbitrary and non-transparent and/ or only very partially systematic, and hence particularly liable to simplification and rationalisation in dialect contact, language contact or the emergence of new standards (Christian Mair, personal communication). ation’, as it were, of the verb-complementational system. 10 It might well be - and this is certainly a speculative claim at this stage - that it is the non-native second-language speaker who, to a greater extent than the native speaker, simplifies and increases transparency and systematicity in the grammatical system of English in general and the verb-complementational system in particular. References Beermann, D. (2001). “Verb semantics and double object constructions.” In: M. van Oostendorp & E. Anagnostopoulou (eds.). Progress in Grammar: Articles at the 20 th Anniversary of the Comparison of Grammatical Models Group in Tilburg. Available at <http: / / www.roquade.nl/ meertens/ progressingrammar/ beermann.pdf>. Biber, D., E. Finegan & D. Atkinson (1994). “ARCHER and its challenges: Compiling and exploring A Representative Corpus of Historical English Registers.” In: U. Fries, G. Tottie & P. Schneider (eds.). Creating and Using English Language Corpora. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 1-14. Crystal, D. (2003). The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Denison, D. (1993). English Historical Syntax: Verbal Constructions. London: Longman. Goldberg, A.E. (1995). Constructions: A Construction Grammar Approach to Argument Structure. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Goldberg, A.E. (2006). Constructions at Work: The Nature of Generalization in Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Greenbaum, S. (ed.) (1996). Comparing English Worldwide: The International Corpus of English. Oxford: Clarendon. Hoffmann, S. (2004). “Are low-frequency complex prepositions grammaticalized? On the limits of corpus data - and the importance of intuition.” In: H. Lindquist & Chr. Mair (eds.) Corpus Approaches to Grammaticalization in English. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: Benjamins. 171-210. Jones, M.C. & I. Singh (2005). Exploring Language Change. London: Routledge. Kachru, B.B. (1983). The Indianization of English: The English Language in India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Kachru, B.B. (2005). Asian Englishes: Beyond the Canon. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Karlsson, F., A. Voutilanen, J. Heikkilä & A. Anttila (eds.) (1995). Constraint Grammar: A Language-independent System for Parsing Unrestricted Text. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Koopman, W. (1990). Word Order in Old English. Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam, PhD thesis. Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 21 Kytö, M. (1991). Manual to the Diachronic Part of the Helsinki Corpus of English Texts. Helsinki: University of Helsinki, Department of English. McFadden, T. (2002). “The rise of the to-dative in Middle English.” Syntactic Effects of Morphological Change, ed. D. Lightfoot. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 107-123. Mehrotra, R.R. (1998). Indian English: Texts and Interpretation. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Mukherjee, J. (2001). “Principles of pattern selection: a corpus-based case study.” Journal of English Linguistics 29(4). 295-314. Mukherjee, J. (2005). English Ditransitive Verbs: Aspects of Theory, Description and a Usage-based Model. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Mukherjee, J. & S. Hoffmann (2006). “Describing verb-complementational profiles of New Englishes: a pilot study of Indian English.” English World-Wide 27(2). 147-173. Nihalani, P., R.K. Tongue, P. Hosali & J. Crowther (2004). Indian and British English: A Handbook of Usage and Pronunciation. Second edition. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Ninio, A. (1999). “Pathbreaking verbs in syntactic development and the question of prototypical transitivity.” Journal of Child Language 26. 619-654. Olavarría de Ersson, E.O. & P. Shaw (2003). “Verb complementation patterns in Indian Standard English.” English World-Wide 24(2). 137-161. Quirk, R., S. Greenbaum, G. Leech & J. Svartvik (1985). A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman. Sand, A. (2005). “The effects of language contact on the morpho-syntax of English.” In: L. Moessner & C.M. Schmidt (eds.). Anglistentag Aachen 2004: Proceedings. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. 449-460. Schneider, E.W. (2001). “Rev. Douglas Biber et al., Longman grammar of spoken and written English (Harlow: Longman, 1999).” English World-Wide 22(1). 137-143. Shastri, S.V. (1988). “The Kolhapur Corpus of Indian English and work done on its basis so far.” ICAME Journal 12. 15-26. Shastri, S.V. (1992). “Opaque and transparent features of Indian English.” In: G. Leitner (ed.). New Directions in English Language Corpora: Methodology, Results, Software Developments. 263-275. Shastri, S.V. (1996). “Using computer corpora in the description of language with special reference to complementation in Indian English.” In: R. Baumgardner (ed.). South Asian English: Structure, Use, and Users,. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. 70-81. Corpora and electronic text collections used The British National Corpus (BNC), <http: / / www.natcorp.ox.ac.uk/ > The Gutenberg Archive, <http: / / www.gutenberg.org/ > A Representative Corpus of Historical English Registers (ARCHER) The Statesman, <http: / / www.thestatesman.net/ > Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 22 Appendix The pattern formulas are based on the following notational conventions: - […] obligatory element; - […(…)] obligatory element with a specific form/ function; - (…) optional element; - O i / O d clause element which is not part of the lexicogrammatical pattern at the level of syntactic surface structure. Type-I patterns I (S) GIVE [O i : NP] [O d : NP] (a) Give me a warning next time <ICE-GB: S1A-091 #313> I a (S) GIVE [O d : NP] [O i : NP] (b) ‘He’s my dog. You gave him me.’ <ICE-GB: W2F-001 #107-108> I b [O d : NP antecedent ] (rel. pron.) [S] GIVE [O i : NP] (c) Those batteries that you gave me lasted an hour <ICE-GB: S1A-085 #132> I c [O i : NP antecedent ] (rel. pron.) [S] GIVE [O d : NP] (d) Uh an American lady that I gave a lecture uhm on architecture […] <ICE-GB: S2A-024 #34> I d [O d : NP fronted ] [S] GIVE [O i : NP] (e) Somebody she gave me <ICE-GB: S1A-043 #69> IP [S < O i active] BE given [O d : NP] (by-agent) (f) One was that I was being given the opportunity to uhm learn and develop uhm physical skills <ICE-GB: S1A-001 #34> IP b [O d : NP antecedent ] (rel. pron.) [S < O i ] BE given (by-agent) (g) And uh this the letter that the UN Secretary General has been given uh by John McCarthy <ICE-GB: S2A-008 #166> Type-II patterns II (S) GIVE [O d : NP] [O i : PP to ] (h) Well perhaps you ‘re giving too much to other people <ICE-GB: S1A-067 #288> II a (S) GIVE [O d : NP] [O i : PP for ] (i) The defendant had been ordered to attend at Leeds Crown Court to give evidence for the prosecution in a fraud trial <ICE-GB: W2B-020 #68> Ditransitive verbs in Indian English 23 II b [O d : NP antecedent ] (rel. pron.) [S] GIVE [O i : PP to ] (j) One of the great things about by-elections […] is of course this extra bit of power that they give to a voter <ICE-GB: S1B-029 #60> II c (S) GIVE [O i : PP to ] [O d : NP] (k) It was the Queen of course who gave to Norman Schwarzkopf the knighthood that makes him now Sir Norman <ICE-GB: S2A-019 #9> IIP [S < O d active] BE given [O i : NP to ] (by-agent) (l) more time should have been given to sanctions <ICE-GB: S2B-018 #93> IIP b [antecedent] co (S < O d ) co (BE) given [O i : NP to ] (by-agent) (m) I’ll leave you with the final message that was given to the world leaders at the summit <ICE-GB: S2B-022 #148> Type-III patterns III (S) GIVE [O d : NP] O i (n) he wanted physical love and I couldn’t give that <ICE-GB: S1A-050 #184> III b [O d : NP antecedent ] (rel. pron.) [S] GIVE O i (o) The sermon he gave when his daughter was married <ICE-GB: S1A-053 #186> IIIP [S < O d active] BE given O i (by-agent) (p) More specific implementation details are given at the end of the report <ICE-GB: W1A-005 #5> IIIP b [antecedent] co (S < O d ) co (BE) given O i (by-agent) (q) […] it also is of relevance when considering the evidence given by Mr Holt because there is a clear conflict […] <ICE-GB: S2A-068 #40> Type-IV patterns IV (S) GIVE O i O d (r) If you give and take when there’s that close bodily contact it’s great <ICE-GB: S1A-003 #146> (s) IVP given O i O d (by-agent) The run rate here as given by our scorer immediately and it’s two point four one <ICE-India: S2A-016 #12> Sebastian Hoffmann / Joybrato Mukherjee 24 Type-V pattern V (S) GIVE [O i : NP] O d (t) … well she did […] she did give Mrs <anonymised_last_name> didn’t she? <BNC: KE6 2368-70> Sebastian Hoffmann Lancaster University Joybrato Mukherjee Universiät Gießen 1 A much shorter version of this paper was read at the symposium “CALLing, Expanding, Transcending” organized on the occasion of Bernhard Kettemann’s sixtieth birthday in January 2006. I dedicate this paper to Bernhard. My sincere thanks go to Johann Hüttner for providing invaluable information on nineteenthcentury Vienna theatre and some bibliographical references; furthermore, to Theresa Illés for tracing references to Ira Aldridge’s stay in Vienna in the contemporary Viennese press, and to Susanne Reichl for a number of welcome comments and references. AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation of Isaac Bickerstaff’s The Padlock Herbert Schendl The present paper discusses an unusual case of code-choice in a Viennese farce from the late 1850s, Carl Juin’s Das Vorhängeschloß. One of the main characters of this play, the black servant Mungo, uses English as well as English-German code-switching in the otherwise German play, though English was hardly ever used on the 19 th century Viennese stage. Trying to account for this clearly marked use of language, the paper first looks at the source of Juin’s play, Isaac Bickerstaff’s comic opera The Padlock (1768). In a second step, the historical context in which Das Vorhängeschloß was written and produced is analysed. A link to the highly successful Continental tour of the black British-American actor Ira Aldridge is established, whose English production of The Padlock on the Viennese stage in 1853 is considered as a trigger for Juin’s German adaptation of The Padlock. An additional model for Juin’s language use is found in Aldridge’s bilingual production of The Merchant of Venice, also shown in Vienna in 1853. 0. Introduction 1 Literary language in general and dramatic language in particular have a variety of functions, among them perhaps most prominently the characterisa- Herbert Schendl 26 2 For the use and functions of nonstandard English in literature see, e.g. Mair (1992), Taavitsainen, Melchers and Pahta (1999), Reichl (2002: 107-111). 3 For a recent survey on grammatical approaches to code-switching see Muysken (2000). 4 For a survey on historical code-switching see Schendl (2002), for modern studies on written code-switching see Callahan (2004). tion of the different dramatis personae and their changing relations to other characters of a play, but also to the audience. Since dramatic texts are texts ‘written to be spoken’, they are generally thought to be closer to spoken language than more formal text types and thus to occupy an intermediate position between spoken and written. Some obvious linguistic features to place dramatic characters socially, regionally, emotionally or in relation to their own or their interlocutors’ gender and age are the use of specific phonological, lexical, morphological or syntactic features, which may be marked socially, regionally or stylistically. 2 Other frequently used devices are more pragmatic and include, for example, the use of interjections, speech acts such as curses or apologies, discourse markers, and malapropisms. A further strategy for achieving such effects is the use of material in other languages, i.e. bilingualism and code-switching, which will be the main focus of the present paper. The study of code-switching in living speech has been a rapidly expanding field of research since the 1970s, starting with individual studies of spontaneous code-switching between English and Spanish in New York, or English and French in Canada. While individual case studies of bilingual interaction were the focus of early research, soon more theoretical aspects of code-switching became central. On the one hand, syntactic-grammatical approaches tried to discover general, possibly universal syntactic constraints on the switching behaviour of bilingual speakers within specific linguistic models. 3 On the other hand, the functions of code-switching were studied from a functional-pragmatic point of view, starting with Gumperz , whose list of functions of switching is still often quoted. More recent theoretical models worth mentioning are Myers-Scotton’s ‘Matrix Language Frame Model’ and Auer’s conversation analytic approach. In general, theoretical models of code-switching have been based on and have tried to account for spoken data, which have been extensively collected and analysed for many language pairs. Written code-switching, on the other hand, has attracted less scholarly attention and still lacks a theoretical framework of its own, though there is a vast amount of written code-switching data both from the history of English and from the modern period, data which has increasingly been subject to linguistic analysis. 4 However, there is growing awareness that written code-switching both in literary and non-literary texts is a valid research topic in its own right, not only in regard to its relation to spoken data. Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 27 5 For the purpose of this paper, we will use the well-established definition of code-switching as the alternate use of different languages in one piece of discourse or conversation, while we will disregard the switching between different varieties of the same language. 6 For a more detailed discussion of the functions of code-switching in English medieval drama, see Diller (1997/ 98). Code-switching by definition always includes an aspect of code-choice, and the use and change of a specific code in a bilingual conversation at a given point in time may be highly functional, both in real-life situations and on stage. 5 Since dramatic texts are addressed to an audience and, except for soliloquies, to one or more dramatis personae, the functional range of switching in drama may be considerable and, as in real life, furthermore depends on the status which the involved languages and their speakers have in a specific society or speech community, a status which may obviously change over time. Code-switching in English drama may not be as frequent as switching in other written text types such as novels or religious texts, and it has so far not received a lot of scholarly attention, although it has a long history. In medieval drama, code-switching between English and Latin, less frequently between French and Hebrew, was already used in a variety of functions. 6 In Middle English drama, Latin, for example, is frequently used as the ‘divine’ language in the religious sphere, though there are exceptions to this tendency. In the following dialogue from the Mary Play of the N-Town Cycle, Mary switches into Latin when she quotes the texts of the Magnificat and the Gloria, while Elizabeth provides an English version of the Latin text after every second line. This dialogue-like presentation in two different languages is “a convenient device to differentiate the women’s status, but by rhyming the English with the Latin the latter is made less distant from the former than it usually is” (Diller 1997/ 98: 525, from where the quotation is taken): (1) Mary Play (ll. 1492-1539) Maria: For þis holy psalme I begynne here þis day: Magnificat: anima mea dominum Et exultauit spiritus meus: in deo salutari meo Elizabeth: Be þe Holy Gost with joye Goddys son is in þe cum, þat þi spyryte so injouyid þe helth of þi God so. M.: Quia respexit humilitatem ancille sue Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generaciones E.: For he beheld þe lownes of hese hand-mayde e, So ferforthe for þat all generacyonys blysse ou in pes. […] M.: This psalme of prophesye seyd betwen vs tweyn, In hefne it is wretyn with aungellys hond; The use of different languages in the dialogues between the young King Henry and Katharine in Shakespeare’s history play Henry V is another Herbert Schendl 28 7 For details on Juin’s work see <www.ricercamusica.ch/ dizionario/ 389.html>. famous early example of the functional use of different codes in dramatic language (cf. Kürtösi 1994): (2) W. Shakespeare, Henry V, V.ii. 229-36 Henry. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon très cher et divine déesse? Katharine. Your majesté ave fausse French enough to deceive the most sage demoiselle dat is en France. Henry. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English I love thee Kate. However, this is not the place to present a historical survey on the distribution and functions of code-switching in English drama, though such a diachronic study might be of both linguistic and literary interest (see also Callahan 2004: 86f.). The present paper will rather look in some detail at an unusual case of code-choice and code-switching between English and German in a mid-nineteenth-century Viennese play, Das Vorhängeschloß (1857), an adaptation from an English eighteenth-century source. 1. Code-Choice and Code-Switching in Carl Juin’s Das Vorhängeschloß (1857) 1.1 The Play and Its Source Carl Giugno (1818-1891), also known under his pseudonym Carl Juin, was a prolific and, in his time, quite popular Viennese dramatist and composer, though his limited literary and musical merits have not granted him any lasting place in the history of Austrian literature or music. Having learned his father’s profession as a chimney-sweep, he early in life started his career as writer and composer and wrote a total of more than twenty libretti, some of them co-authored, not to mention his compositions. 7 In 1857, Juin wrote a farce in one act, with music by K. Binder, called Das Vorhängeschloß, which, as the title page of the original printed text proclaims, was performed with huge success (“mit brillantem Erfolg gegeben”) at the Carl-Theatre. The Carl- Theatre was a popular theatre in Vienna’s suburb Leopoldstadt, where Juin’s plays had been shown for a number of years, and whose director from 1854 was the well-known Austrian playwright and actor Johann Nestroy. Das Vorhängeschloß was adapted from the English mid-eighteenthcentury ‘comic opera’ The Padlock (1768), a fact which is acknowledged on its title page, though its author, the popular Irish playwright Isaac Bickerstaff Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 29 8 The Padlock, in turn, is based on Cervantes’ El Celoso Estremeño known in English as The Jealous Husband. - The eighteenth-century ‘comic opera’ “combined traditional English comedy plots with music […] The songs were integral to the characters who sang them and were germane to the plot”. (Tasch, Introduction, in Bickerstaff 1981: x) 9 According to Marshall and Stock, Don Diego is “an ageing and very rich West Indian planter […] Leander, a young student of a nearby school” (1958: 71), but there is no indication of this in the original play, which explicitly gives Salamanca as location, and refers to Leander as a student of the university of Salamanca. 10 For Bickerstaff’s place in eighteenth-century anti-slavery drama see Sypher (1942/ 1969: 235-38); for a detailed discussion of Mungo’s language in The Padlock see Schendl (forthcoming); for the history of American minstrel shows see Toll (1974). (1733-1808? ) is not given any credit there. 8 The general plot of The Padlock and its Viennese adaptation are similar and rather simple. A rich old miser wants to marry a young girl whose money he is after. During a short absence, he locks her up with his servants, securing the door by means of a large padlock. But his precautions are thwarted by a young man in love with the girl, who is helped by the black servant Mungo and an elderly female housekeeper. Apart from that general frame and the central figure of Mungo in both versions, the original and the adaptation differ considerably, and Juin used his source rather freely. Das Vorhängeschloß is located in Cuba and all of its characters are Germans either living on or visiting the island, while the location of The Padlock is Salamanca and its characters are Spanish. 9 The enormous success of Bickerstaff’s play, which was performed in Britain, the United States and on the European continent well into the second half of the nineteenth century (see below section 2.), was mainly due to the character of Mungo, a caricature of a black slave from the West Indies, who made the audience laugh. He is portrayed as being comical and naive but also somewhat cunning, an impression which is reinforced by his use of a non-standard West Indies dialect, and in a number of ways Mungo anticipates the stereotypes of African Americans conveyed by nineteenth-century American minstrel shows. 10 The short passage in (3) illustrates some of the non-standard linguistic features of Mungo’s speech, such as the use of you as possessive, of me in subject position, the non-standard form of question, and lexical items such as Massa and lilly: (3) Isaac Bickerstaff, The Padlock (1768) (I. vi, Don Diego and Mungo) Dieg. How now. Mungo. Ah, Massa, bless you heart. Dieg. What’s that you are muttering, Sirrah? Mungo. Noting, Massa, only me say, you very good Massa. Dieg. What do you leave your load down there for? Mungo. Massa, me lilly tire. […] Dieg. Can you be honest? […] Mungo. What you give me, Massa? Herbert Schendl 30 11 Interjections and names have not been counted, contractions like don’t have been counted as two words; numbers have been rounded. This section has only provided a brief glance at the literary source of Juin’s Das Vorhängeschloß. The matter will be taken up again in section 2.2. 1.2 Language Choice in Das Vorhängeschloß This section will take a closer look at the use of language in Das Vorhängeschloß, especially Mungo’s speech, which clearly differs from that of its source, The Padlock. Not surprisingly for a play written in England, language choice in The Padlock does not reflect the real linguistic situation of the location depicted in the play, namely Salamanca. Though all the characters except Mungo evidently are Spaniards, they speak standard English, while Mungo, as already mentioned, speaks a kind of West Indies dialect. In the Viennese adaptation, on the other hand, all characters except Mungo are presented as Germans living on or visiting Cuba, and thus their use of the German language on stage would correspond to their language choice in real life. Their black servant Mungo, however, uses more or less standard English with quite a number of non-standard forms (or simply mistakes). However, when talking with his German interlocutors, Mungo often switches into a broken German full of grammatical mistakes. More specifically, Mungo’s songs and monologues, which do not address a German-speaking dramatis personae, are - with the exception of the monologue in scene 17 - monolingual in English, while he frequently switches from English to German in his dialogues with the German characters of the play (see below for details). Thus Mungo’s choice of language in Das Vorhängeschloß is also quite realistic, i.e. it would mirror real-life linguistic behaviour of a black slave working in a German-speaking household on Cuba, though Mungo’s frequent non-standard English forms cannot be clearly linked to a specific non-standard variety of English. Apart from the features mentioned above, Carl Juin’s adaptation changed his model quite substantially also in regard to the amount of speech delivered by the individual characters, making Mungo the central figure of his play. In The Padlock, Mungo’s part is only about 800 words long, while the number of words spoken by all the other characters together is about 5,800. 11 In Das Vorhängeschloß, on the other hand, Mungo’s part is about 1,270 words, i.e., it is about fifty percent longer than in the original, while the part of all the other characters together amounts to a mere 3,000 words, which is only slightly more than half of the length of their counterparts in The Padlock. Thus, Mungo’s part makes up for almost thirty percent of the Viennese adaptation. Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 31 12 Evident mistakes by the translator or printer such as ‘shellen’ for ‘shelter’d’ as well as spelling mistakes such as ‘don’, ‘Äbove’, which are not found in The Padlock, will generally not be commented upon in the following analysis. A closer look at some aspects of Mungo’s speech behaviour yields a number of highly interesting results. The text of Mungo’s monolingual English entrance song under (4) is taken over rather literally from The Padlock, though its original non-standard features have been largely removed, except for me in subject position in ‘Me wish to the Lord me was dead’. 12 (4) Mungo’s Entrance Song in Das Vorhängeschloß and The Padlock C. Juin, Das Vorhängeschloß, scene 4 I. Bickerstaff, The Padlock, I. vi Dear heart, dear heart What a terrible life J’ve led A dog a dog a dog has a better That’s shellen [sic, for ‘sheltered’] and fed - All Night and day it’s the same My pain is their game Me wish to the Lord me was dead Whate’ers to be done Poor black must run Mungo here Mungo there Äbove and below, Siräh come Siräh go! Do so and do so - oh! - oh! Dear heart, what a terrible life am I led, A dog has a better that’s shelter’d and fed: Night and day ‘tis de same, My pain is dere game; Me wish to de Lord me was dead. What e’er’s to be done, Poor black must run; Mungo here, Mungo dere, Mungo every where; Above and below, Sirrah come, Sirrah go, Do so, and do so. Oh! Oh! Me wish to de Lord me was dead. Immediately after the entrance song, Das Vorhängeschloß has the monologue quoted under (5), which is actually Mungo’s entrance monologue in The Padlock, where it already occurs a few lines before the song. Here again some of the original non-standard features from Bickerstaff’s text have been retained in the Viennese adaptation, such as d-deletion in tire ‘tired’, and two cases of possessive him (him inperance And him damn insurance), whose original function was possibly not recognized. (Cho for original ‘Go’, and gon for original ‘you’ may be either misprints or misunderstandings.) (5) Carl Juin, Das Vorhängeschloß (scene 4, Mungo) Cho get you down gon dam / Hamper! You carry me now! / Curse my old Massa, sending / Me al ways here and there for / One something to make me tire / Like a mule curse him inperance / And him damn insurance! Herbert Schendl 32 13 The only other songs in Das Vorhängeschloß are two German songs sung by the young sea captain Albert in scenes 8 and 9, while in the original play Mungo sings two songs on his own and part of a quartet and of the finale, while the other characters sing a total of thirteen songs. However, the adherence to the original becomes much less pronounced in the remaining part of Juin’s adaptation, where only a few rather short passages of Mungo’s original text have been taken over. In the Viennese play, Mungo sings four monolingual English songs with a total of about 340 words, but only the first of these (cf. above under (4)) has been taken over from The Padlock, while his three other songs are new additions (for their possible source see section 3. below). 13 Furthermore, Mungo speaks four monologues (three of them monolingual in English) with a total length of 245 words, which leaves about 680 words spoken by Mungo in dialogues with a German-speaking character. The main linguistic interest of these dialogues lies in a relatively large number of code-switches from English into German on Mungo’s part. A typical instance of this switching is found in the dialogue between Hochstratten, the old German owner of a plantation in Cuba, and his black servant Mungo, quoted under (6). Interestingly, the German and English parts are - though not always consistently - differentiated typographically in the original text edition of the play; in the following quotations bold print will be used for the English words, while italics will indicate Mungo’s switches to German: (6) Carl Juin, Das Vorhängeschloß (scene 5, Hochstratten and Mungo) Hochstr. Du Schlingel! Ich werde Dich schimpfen lehren! Mungo. Massa, bless your heart, massa; Mungo nicht wieder thun. Hochstr. Steh auf! Mungo. No! Hochstr. Ob Du aufstehen wirst! Mungo. Yes, massa. Hochstr. Da her! Mungo. Yes massa. […] Hochstr. Und wo hast Du Dich so lange herumgetrieben? Mungo. He? I do not understand. Hochstr. Wo bist Du gesteckt? Mungo. An die Market. Hochstr. Was? So lange auf dem Markt? Mungo. Weite Weg! - Much people, viel men arme Mungo stoßen um. […] Massa nicht bös sein, aber die nichs [sic] fortune - Mungo very unglücklich - I have lost - a piece of the fifth Dollar ich hab verloren ein Stuck von die Dollar - that is the rest. Hochstr. Was? […] Wo kommt die kleine Münze her? Mungo. It is very warm to day - das groß Hitzen hab geschmelzt die Dollar in die Hand von die Mungo. Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 33 14 As usual in code-switching research, every switch from English into German is counted once, but not the switching back into English from German. 15 As mentioned above, the typographical distinction between the two languages is not always carried out consistently, which makes the distinction between the two languages sometimes impossible. The difficulty is increased by the fact that Austrian (and Viennese) German has a number of forms which both in print and in speech are more or less identical with the English forms. This phenomenon of ‘blurred’ switching points as in “Here is a Leiter.” (scene 10) has also been observed in real code-switching data. On the basis of the typographical distinction of the first printing of the text, here in the above sentence has been analysed as English, while the rest of the sentence as German, since Viennese German has the forms is a for standard German ist eine, even though is a could also be English. Similar problems arise with “here”, whose pronunciation in the two languages is rather similar. - The difficult distinction between borrowing and code-switching is not relevant for a literary text. The total number of Mungo’s code-switches from English to German is 42, the number of German words in these switches being 144. 14 Of these 42 switches, four are found in the fourth monologue in scene 17, when the drunken Mungo staggers around the stage, while the majority of 38 switches occur in dialogue. As seen in the table under (7), the length of the switches (with names not counted) varies, but the majority of switches, namely 33, is between one and four words long, while the two longest switches are eleven and twelve words long. (7) Length of Switches into German (Words per Switch) Length 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 11 12 Number 8 11 8 6 2 1 3 1 1 1 The following linguistic analysis of Mungo’s switching will first briefly look at some syntactic features, before discussing its functional-pragmatic aspects. As the above table shows, less than twenty percent of Mungo’s switches are single-word switches, particularly nouns, adjectives and verbs, but also twice the German definite article die, a closed class lexical item (see 8.1); more than half of the switches, namely twenty-two, are ‘intersentential’, i.e. occur between sentences and sentence-like constituents (8.2). The remaining twelve are ‘intrasentential’ switches and thus occur between and within larger sentence constituents such as noun phrases, verb phrases and prepositional phrases (see 8.3): 15 Herbert Schendl 34 16 The discussion of syntactic constraints on switching and of possible switching points dominated code-switching research for a long time, see Muysken (2000) for a discussion of this issue. Today there is widespread agreement that only tendencies and preferred switching points exist, but no absolute constraints, cf. Muysken (1995). 17 For an analysis of a small corpus of Middle English texts along these lines and a comparison of the results with those of modern code-switching studies see Schendl (2000). (8) Types of Syntactic Switching Patterns in Mungo’s Speech in Das Vorhängeschloß (8).1 Single Word Switches You ara [sic] Zauberer (scene 13) Much people, viel men (scene 5) Mungo very unglücklich (scene 5) Give it to me friend Mungo probir (scene 13) Mungo will drink only die half, and the rest give to the friend again. (scene 10) (8).2 Intersentential Switches Massa, bless your heart, massa; Mungo nicht wieder thun. (scene 5) It is very warm to day - das groß Hitzen hab geschmelzt die Dollar in die Hand von die Mungo. (scene 5) Ah good morning dear friend! - have you not a little of brandy in the bottle. Mungo großes durstig. (scene 9) Oh one of the friend - geht nix! Mungo often tried do so! Oft probirt. (scene 13) Old thief! He always beats the poor good niggers! Mungo nicht schlagen! (scene 17) (8).3 Intrasentential Switches Mungo sich also sitzen a little an die Korb. (scene 5) Much people, viel men arme Mungo stoßen um. (scene 5) Mungo purchase brandy for die große Durst. (scene 5) O dear, o dear - what does a Mann mit so viele wive [sic]. (scene 9) perhaps we are to find die Schlüssel zu die vini. (scene 13) Here is the Schlüssel zu die cellar! (scene 13) Hier ist die Schlüss’l of die old massa. (scene 16) The greater part of the switching patterns found in the play seem to correspond to patterns found in modern spoken code-switching, though there is also a small number of more unusual switching points, as the switched definite article in ‘Mungo will drink only die half’. 16 However, since a detailed quantitative and qualitative analysis of the syntactic switching points, e.g. between or within a prepositional phrase, etc., is of no particular relevance for the topic of this paper, this issue will not be discussed any further. 17 Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 35 After this brief syntactic analysis, let us now look at the functional aspect of Mungo’s bilingual speech in Das Vorhängeschloß. Here we have to distinguish between two different levels. On the microlevel of Mungo’s monologues and dialogues, the only clearly discernible function of individual codeswitches is ‘reiteration’ (cf. Gumperz 1982: 78), i.e. translating or paraphrasing an English sentence or phrase into German, in this case to make it understood by the non-English-speaking audience, see the examples in (9) taken from different dialogues: (9) I have lost a piece of the fifth Dollar ich hab verloren ein Stuck von die Dollar (scene 5) Mungo often tried do so! Oft probirt. (scene 13) Old massa, we two fellows we are to rest alone - wir bleiben allein! (scene 18) This is particularly evident in Mungo’s monologue from scene 17 in (10), where three out of four switches have this specific function (stage directions in brackets and italics): (10) Oh! Hohoho! (Weint.) Old thief! He always beats the poor good niggers! Mungo nicht schlagen! For if you do so Mungo shall beat you again! […] I will have my wine. (Trinkt.) Oh! I am very sick! - O ich bin sehr krank! (Herzt die Flasche und singt.) Ill [sic] go to bed - where is my Jacket? Dam, die Jacke is verzaubert. I am very miserable! O, ich bin sehr krank! However, Juin also used another strategy to make Mungo’s English sentences or phrases understood by the audience, namely to have them ‘reiterated’ in German in the next turn by his German-speaking interlocutor, see the quotation from scene 16 in (11): (11) Mungo: The old Soldier climbed into the house through the windows! Hochstratten: Was? Ein Soldat in mein Haus gedrungen? Wo ist er? Considering the ‘macrolevel’ of the whole play and Mungo’s part in it, his code-switching evidently serves a more general function and has to be seen as a specific strategy used by the author of the Viennese adaptation. It has been mentioned above that in The Padlock, Isaac Bickerstaff made Mungo speak a kind of West Indies dialect as one of several ways to make Mungo a comical and funny character, a strategy which went down very well with the British audience. In Das Vorhängeschloß, Mungo’s use of English, a language little known in contemporary Vienna, and his frequent switching into broken German not only make him ‘funny’, but also mark him as an outsider, a representative of ‘the Other’, an impression which is reinforced by the exotic location of the play, Cuba. These attributes together with his very low Herbert Schendl 36 18 On the topic of ‘the Other’ in Vienna’s suburban theatres of the nineteenth century, see Hüttner (2003); for a wider discussion of this topic see also the other contributions in Bayerdörfer and Hellmuth (2003). 19 For a more detailed discussion of stereotypes on the English in nineteenth-century popular Viennese theatre see Hüttner (2003: 97-99). The following paragraph is based on Hüttner and on personal information provided by Johann Hüttner, see note 1. social status and his actions - both funny but sometimes also aggressive - not only amused the audience and gave rise to laughter, but also satisfied their desire for seeing foreign characters on stage. 18 However, with Juin’s Mungo there seems to be less open racial discrimination than in The Padlock, i.e., the Viennese Mungo is more of a clown or jester than the English one. This becomes even more apparent when one looks at the presentation of other foreigners on the contemporary suburban Viennese stage, such as Turks and Frenchmen, who were often depicted in a very negative and openly hostile way (see Hüttner 2003: section 7). However, by modern standards, there is undoubtedly a racist dimension with regard to the choice of language and the overall presentation of Mungo in both plays. 2. Das Vorhängeschloß in Its Contemporary Viennese Context 2.1 English Characters and the Use of English on Stage The extensive use of English and of code-switching between English and German in a mid-nineteenth-century Viennese farce written for and performed at a theatre with a mainly lower-middle class audience must seem surprising for the modern reader, the more so considering that English, as already mentioned, was still a less known foreign language in Vienna (and most of Europe) at the time, French being the lingua franca as well as the language of culture for the educated. This raises a number of questions about the general use of English and the presentation of the English on the contemporary Viennese stage, which, however, can only be addressed very briefly here. A further, at least as puzzling question is how Carl Juin ever got the idea of adapting an English play of doubtful literary merit written almost a century earlier. Let us briefly look at these two questions in turn, starting with the English characters and the use of English on the contemporary Viennese stage. 19 In quite a number of contemporary Viennese plays, including some by the highly popular Johann Nestroy, we find references to England and the English. The English characters are stereotypically presented as rich and eccentric, sometimes also as quite knowledgeable in railway engineering and machinery, and they are often shown or referred to as heavy drinkers (Hüttner 2003: 98). In Nestroy’s Der konfuse Zauberer, we find the English Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 37 20 There are, however, shorter code-switched passages from other languages, particularly French and Italian to be found in various contemporary plays. Thus, in Flott! , another play by C. Juin published in 1857, Nina, a young Viennese girl, in act I, scene vii, speaks some Italian words and phrases mixed with broken German to make the amorous Flott think she is Italian. These switches evidently have a very different function from Mungo’s codeswitching. 21 Between 1768 and 1776, The Padlock saw 142 performances at Drury Lane and another 70 at Covent Garden (cf. Tasch, Introduction, in Bickerstaff 1981: xx), and in this same character Punschington, whose main purpose in life is to drink punch (in German Punsch). On the other hand, poor English characters are virtually absent from contemporary Viennese plays, and very few are not members of the nobility. However, in spite of such frequent references to and appearances of English characters on the contemporary stage, we only find isolated English words and the odd English phrase in the plays, as when the desperate Schmafu shoots himself after having exclaimed in English “Yes Goddam - Yes! ” (J. Nestroy, Der konfuse Zauberer, III, 23). Linguistically interesting is James Inslbull in Nestroy’s Theaterg’schichten (1854), who speaks German with English word order (for further details see Hüttner 2003: 99). In view of this situation, Mungo’s extensive use of English and English-German code-switching clearly departs from contemporary Viennese stage conventions. - This leads to the next question, namely how Carl Juin may have got the idea of writing a farce based on Isaac Bickerstaff’s The Padlock in the first place. 2.2 English Language Productions in Mid-Nineteenth-Century Vienna: Ira Aldridge Quite generally, adapting foreign plays to the Viennese stage was in no way unusual in the nineteenth century, and with copyright laws being extremely lax and virtually non existent in Austria (see Yates 1996: 116), authors felt free to use foreign plays extensively for their adaptations (Hüttner 2003: 88-90), even without acknowledging their sources. Johann Nestroy, for example, adapted three of his plays from English originals, though, on the whole, French influence predominated (Yates 1996: 115f., Hüttner 2003: 88f.). 20 In order to be able to answer the second question asked above, namely how Juin got the idea of choosing a mid-eighteenth-century English play, we have to briefly look at the reception of The Padlock on the English and European stage up to the middle of the nineteenth century. The Padlock was first shown at Drury Lane Theatre in London, then under the management of David Garrick, in 1768. In the first production and for a number of years to come, the role of Mungo was played by the white British composer, dramatist and actor Charles Dibdin, who had also written the music for the songs of The Padlock. 21 With his blackened face, Dibdin was Herbert Schendl 38 period, at least 23,000 copies of the text were sold (Tasch 1971: 155); for further information on the play and its history see Tasch (1971: chapter 8). 22 Aldridge came to Britain in 1824, where he successfully toured the British Isles for more than a quarter of a century, a few times also playing on London stages. For details on his life see Marshall and Stock (1958); Hill (1984); Mortimer (1995). one of the earliest examples of the ‘blackface’, which was to become extremely popular especially in nineteenth-century American minstrel shows. In the following year, the production was successfully taken to the United States, where the play was frequently performed till the late 1830s (cf. Tasch 1971: 153-58). In England, the mainly positive reception of The Padlock and Dibdin’s success as Mungo made him integrate the songs and speeches of this role into an equally successful one-man show about black people in 1787. However, at a time when slavery and slave-trade were still legal in countries under British rule, though their abolition was hotly debated, the play and show also provoked criticism of the way in which black people were portrayed on stage, see, e.g., the critical “Epilogue to ‘The Padlock’” in the Gentleman’s Magazine from October 1787 (<http: / / www.brycchancarey.com/ slavery/ padlock1.htm>). The play saw a particularly successful revival in nineteenth-century Britain, when the African American actor Ira Aldridge (1807-1867) made the part of Mungo one of his favourite roles from the late 1820s onwards till his death. 22 Aldridge, who also actively supported the abolition movement, often played the parts of Othello and Mungo on the same evening to make his audience aware of the contrasting presentation of black people on stage, i.e. the noble black against the comic black slave or servant. At the same time he turned Mungo’s part “into a rebellion against slavery” (Hill 1984: 20), developing “the character of a simple, apparently stupid, slave into a rebel against slavery” (Marshall and Stock 1958: 75). But in spite of his success, Aldridge also met with open racial prejudice in the London press, which eventually made him go on his first Continental tour with a carefully selected group of English actors from 1852 to 1855 (Marshall and Stock 1958: 177). Starting in Brussels, Aldridge toured the major cities of Germany (Berlin, Leipzig, Cologne, Bonn, etc.), the Austro-Hungarian empire (Vienna, Prague, Budapest), Poland and Switzerland, to name the main stages of his tour. He was enthusiastically received and praised for his naturalistic acting, for which he received numerous honours by the Belgian and the Prussian kings and by German princes. The young Austrian emperor Francis Joseph awarded him the Grand Cross of the Order of Leopold in 1854. His most successful roles on this tour were the great Shakespearean characters such as Othello, Macbeth, Shylock, and the part of Mungo in The Padlock. Around February 11, 1853, Aldridge arrived in Vienna, the capital of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy, where he played in a number of performances Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 39 23 A separate paper on Ira Aldridge’s stay in Vienna is in preparation. 24 ‘In the vaudeville: “The Padlock” Ira Aldridge playing the role of the Negro Mungo, showed that he is as great a comedian as he is a tragedian. The cunning and naïve good naturedness of the Negro as he presents it, as well as the scene in which he is drunk are the best which comedy may achieve. Even with those who do not understand a single word of English, this achieves an extraordinary comic effect. The songs presented are highly interesting because of their originality. […] Nobody interested in real art should miss Ira Aldridge’s performance.’ at the Carl-Theatre between February 15, and March 12, 1853, and from April 19 to 22. His reception in Vienna by critics and audience was as enthusiastic as it had been on previous stops of his tour, documentated, for instance, by the highly positive review of his first performance of Othello in the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung (17 Feb. 1853). 23 Soon Vienna was seized by a kind of ‘anglomania’ and the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung reported such a craze for English language and literature with Viennese society that all English textbooks were sold out within days (see Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung, 19 Feb. 1853). During his stay in Vienna, Aldridge also performed Bickerstaff’s The Padlock a few times, always as the second play after a tragedy. His performance as Mungo was again highly praised, and it even led to the composition of a set of waltzes (“Der Padlock Walzer”) (Mortimer 1995: 90). The Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung (23 Feb. 1853), writes the following: (12) In der Vaudeville: “The Padlok” [sic] zeigte sich Ira Aldridge in der Rolle des Negers Mungo als ein ebenso großer Komiker, wie er ein Tragiker ist. Die Schlauheit und naive Gutmüthigkeit des Negers, wie er sie darstellt, sowie die Rauschscene sind das Höchste, was die Komik zu leisten vermag. Auch bei Jenen, die kein Wort Englisch verstehen, ist diese Komik von außerordentlicher Wirkung. Die vorgetragenen Lieder sind wegen ihrer Originalität höchst interessant. […] Möge Niemand, der sich für echte Kunst interessirt, versäumen, die Leistung Ira Aldridges zu sehen. 24 [my emphasis] The above quotation also gives important information on the language in which Aldridge and his company performed - a point central for the present paper. There is ample evidence that throughout his Continental tour, Aldridge himself always spoke his parts in English (see Marshall and Stock 1958: 177; Mortimer 1995: 62), and the above quote from the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung is not the only evidence for his acting in English in Vienna. More complex is the question which language was used by the rest of the company. As mentioned above, Aldridge began his Continental tour with a group of English actors (Marshall and Stock 1958: 177; Mortimer 1995: 62) and the performances given by that group were fully in English. We know from a playbill from the Stadttheater Leipzig from late November 1852 that this English company was still with him at that time (Marshall and Stock 1958: 177); however, already “after six months Aldridge is playing without Herbert Schendl 40 25 ‘Since Mr Ira Aldridge is very keen on presenting himself to the Viennese audience as Shylock (in “The Merchant of Venice”), but cannot produce this play with his own troupe, he them, speaking his roles in English, with the local companies playing in German” (Marshall and Stock 1958: 177; cf. also Mortimer 1995: 62). This seems to imply that he already did so during his stay in Vienna, a view which, however, cannot be reconciled with the following facts. C.H. Stephenson, one of the members of Aldridge’s English troupe, states in a reply in Notes and Queries: (13) On the 3 rd of Jan., 1853, Aldridge and his troupe, much reduced in numbers, appeared at the Italian Opera-House, Berlin. On the Sunday, Jan. 16 th , they appeared by royal command at the Court Theatre, Potsdam. They then travelled to Stettin, Posen, Frankfurt-on-Oder, Breslau, Vienna, Presburg, Pesth, etc. (Stephenson 1872: 373, my emphasis). This statement is corroborated by information given in the Almanach für Freunde der Schauspielkunst (1854, for the year 1853), where it is explicitly stated that Aldridge played in Vienna “mit seiner englischen Gesellschaft” (387). There we also find the information that Othello, Macbeth, The Padlock, and the ‘main scenes’ from Richard III were performed in English and similarly, Tasch (1971: 159) states that the Viennese performances of The Padlock were in English. However, due to his “much reduced” English troupe, not all plays could be produced by them, so that Aldridge resorted to the above-mentioned strategy of performing in certain cases with local German-speaking companies. Marshall and Stock in their discussion of the performances from January 1853 claim that “Aldridge must soon have come to the conclusion that it was better for the plays to be given in the mother tongue of the audience, with the single exception of his own role” (1958: 180). However, a bilingual production seems to have been used in Vienna only for a single play, namely Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. Again the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung provides interesting evidence for this practice and its reasons: (14) Da Herr Ira Aldridge einen besonderen Werth darauf legt, sich in der Rolle des Shylock (im “Kaufmann von Venedig”) dem Publikum Wiens vorzuführen, dieses Stück aber mit seinem Personale nicht besetzen kann, hat er die Mitglieder des Carl=Theaters ersucht, in diesem Stücke die Rollen in deutscher Sprache darzustellen, […] Wir werden also im Laufe dieser Woche den gewiß seltenen Genuß haben, den “Kaufmann von Venedig” gleichzeitig in deutscher und englischer Sprache dargestellt zu sehen. In Breslau und auf allen bedeutenden Bühnen, wo dies gleichfalls der Fall war, hat die Aufführung ungeachtet ihrer Ungewöhnlichkeit außerordentlich gefallen, da sie den Vortheil gewährt, dem Publikum, welches der englischen Sprache nicht mächtig ist, die Darstellung des Aldridge als Shylock sehr zu verständigen. 25 (Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung, Sunday, 27 Feb. 1853) Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 41 has asked the members of the Carl-Theatre to play the characters in this play in German, […] Therefore, in the course of this week we will have the certainly rare pleasure to see the “Merchant of Venice” simultaneously performed in the German and English language. In Breslau and all the other important theatres where this has already been done, the production has, in spite of its unusualness, been extraordinarily successful, since it enables the public that does not know any English to understand very well Aldridge’s performance as Shylock.’ 26 There is, however, evidence that in later years Aldridge also produced The Padlock in bilingual productions in other European cities, see the reference in his last letter from Lodz from 1867, in which “he expresses concern that the German version of it [i.e. The Padlock], […] despatched in a hamper of his belongings, has not arrived in time for rehearsals”. (Mortimer 1995: 89). 27 “Das Vorlegschloß’, a German adaptation of ‘The Padlock’, which has become known here through Ira Aldridge. The little play, mediocre in every respect, is merely the background for the actor playing ‘Mungo’, in which part of the life of a slave is illustrated. […] The actor also presented the ‘negro songs’ with that childish merriness which characterizes the child of nature. […] The theatre was tightly packed.’ Though the Viennese critics seem to have been in two minds about this bilingual performance (see Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung, 5 March 1853), Marshall and Stock are certainly right with their claim that “[e]vents were to prove him right in this most daring innovation, never before or since attempted by an actor in so many different countries” (1958: 180). However, as already stated above, on the testimony of the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung and the Almanach it is certain that The Merchant of Venice was the only bilingual performance in Vienna, and that Bickerstaff’s The Padlock was performed completely in English by Aldridge and his troupe. 26 Only four years after Aldridge and his company had played The Padlock at the Carl-Theatre in Vienna, the play was produced there again in Juin’s German adaptation Das Vorhängeschloß discussed above. It was first announced as Das Vorlegschloß [sic] in the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung (21 Apr. 1857) with explicit reference to Ira Aldridge’s English performance in the following way: (15) ‘Das Vorlegschloß’, eine deutsche Bearbeitung des durch Ira Aldridge hier bekannt gewordenen “the padlok” [sic]. Das Stückchen, in jeder Beziehung geringfügig, ist die bloße Staffage für den Darsteller des “Mungo”, in dem ein Stück Sklavenleben genreartig veranschaulicht werden soll. […] Auch die “Negerlieder” trug der Künstler sehr charakteristisch mit jener kindischen Lustigkeit vor, die den Naturmenschen kenntlich macht. […] Das Haus war dicht gefüllt. 27 The Viennese actor playing Mungo was a certain Karl Treumann, whose acting was highly praised. However, there is no reference to C. Juin’s authorship nor to any unusual use of language (except, possibly, the reference to the “Negerlieder”) in the Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung. This is surprising in view of the fact that the printed text (see bibliography) explicitly names Herbert Schendl 42 28 Unfortunately, no possible link to Aldridge has been found in Juin’s papers in the Wiener Stadtbibliothek. Carl Juin as author and states that the play is ‘based on the English The Padlock’ - though equally surprisingly, the printed text does not name Bickerstaff as its author. Further confusion is caused by the fact that the play is referred to alternatively as Das Vorhängschloß and Das Vorlegschloß within a few days. We have clear evidence that Carl Juin was already writing for the Carl- Theatre during Aldridge’s performances there in 1853 and thus it is highly likely that he had seen Aldridge playing Mungo in The Padlock - at least he must have heard of its enormous success there. Equally likely, he must have been aware of the bilingual performance of The Merchant of Venice. These two factors provide in all likelihood the background for the unusual linguistic experiment in his own adaptation of The Padlock, with Mungo using English in an otherwise German production, much like Aldridge as Shylock had used English with an otherwise Viennese cast in The Merchant of Venice. However, Juin added code-switching as a dramatic strategy in quite an innovative way, possibly also in order to facilitate understanding for an audience which predominantly would not have known any English (see also section 2.2 above). We do not know whether C. Juin ever heard about Aldridge’s bilingual performance of The Padlock in other European cities (see note 26 above), nor on which version of Bickerstaff’s play his adaptation is based. In scenes 6, 11 and 18 of Das Vorhängeschloß there are three songs in English not found in Bickerstaff’s original text. These new songs are actually two well-known American ‘minstrel songs’ almost contemporary with Das Vorhängeschloß, namely, “Boatman dance” and “Buffalo girls”, which were first printed in Dan Emmett’s collection of 1843 (Nathan 1962). None of these new songs have so far been linked to Aldridge’s performance, but we know that Aldridge repeatedly inserted new songs into his productions of The Padlock, in particular “Opposum up a gum tree”, and “The Negro boy” (Marshall and Stock 1958: 82f.), both of which were also sung in the Leipzig performance mentioned above, but also Russian songs about slavery in St. Petersburg (Tasch 1971: 161). On the other hand, the “Boatman” song ideally fits into Juin’s new plot, in which Albert, the young man in love with Leonore, is a German sea captain, so that it seems equally plausible that these songs were Juin’s own additions - the more so since parts of these songs are also quite cleverly integrated into Mungo’s prose speech. 28 Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 43 3. Conclusion The present paper originally started out as a basically linguistic study of code-choice and code-switching in a mid-nineteenth-century Viennese adaptation of an English play. However, it soon became clear that only a more interdisciplinary approach would do justice to the - for the period highly unusual - use of language in the play. Carl Juin’s version shows influences both from Isaac Bickerstaff’s original play in the choice of Mungo’s clearly marked use of language and from Ira Aldridge’s bilingual performances in Vienna, with the integration of two early American minstrel songs as an additional innovation when compared to the original. The two main functions of Mungo’s use of language in Das Vorhängeschloß are firstly to increase the ‘Otherness’ of the character of the black servant, though in a less racist way than in the original, but secondly also to add to the comic effect of the part, which made the audience laugh by using stereotypes of the naïve and cunning black. The Padlock increasingly developed into an anti-slavery play, particularly in the almost forty years in which Ira Aldridge played the role in many parts of Britain and the Continent. Das Vorhängeschloß, on the other hand, seems to have remained a rather unique and isolated experiment, and could not establish a new Viennese tradition of bilingual plays or extensive dramatic code-switching, particularly not in English. Both the topic and the use of the - at the time widely unknown - English language seem to have offered little attraction to the Viennese audience in the long run. Thus it is not surprising that the piece soon disappeared from the stage and remained a curious, forgotten episode in the history of nineteenth-century suburban Viennese theatre. References Almanach für Freunde der Schauspielkunst (1853). (1854). Ed. A. Heinrich, Berlin. Auer, Peter (ed.). (1998). Code-Switching in Conversation: Language, Interaction and Identity. London: Routledge. Bayerdörfer, Hans-Peter, and Eckhart Hellmuth (eds.) (2003). Exotica. Konsum und Inszenierung des Fremden im 19. Jahrhundert. Münster: LIT. Bickerstaff, Isaac (1981). The Plays of Isaac Bickerstaff. Facsimile edition, ed. with an introduction by Peter A. Tasch. 3 vols. New York: Garland. Callahan, Laura (2004). Spanish/ English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Diller, Hans-Jürgen (1997/ 98). “Code-Switching in Medieval English Drama”. Comparative Drama 31. 506-537. “Epilogue to ‘The Padlock’”. From the Gentleman’s Magazine, 1787. <http: / / www.brycchancarey.com/ slavery/ padlock1.htm>. [10 Aug. 2006]. “Giugno, Karl”. Dizionario dei musicisti della svizzera italiana. <http: / / www.ricercamusica.ch/ dizionario/ 389.html>. [10 Aug. 2006]. Herbert Schendl 44 Gumperz, J.J. (1982). Discourse Strategies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hill, Errol (1984). Shakespeare in Sable: A History of Black Shakespearean Actors. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Hüttner, Johann (2003). “Vorstadttheater auf dem Weg zur Unterhaltungsindustrie: Produktions- und Konsumverhalten im Umgang mit dem Fremden”. In: Hans-Peter Bayerdörfer / Eckhart Hellmuth (eds.). Exotica: Konsum und Inszenierung des Fremden im 19. Jahrhundert. Münster: LIT. 81-102. Juin (Giugno), Carl (1857). Das Vorhängeschloß. Posse in einem Akt. Nach dem Englischen “The Padlock”. Den Bühnen gegenüber als Manuscript gedruckt. Vienna. Juin (Giugno), Carl (1857). Flott! Posse mit Gesang und Tanz in drei Akten.Vienna: Lell. Kürtösi, Katalin (1994). “Bilingualism in Drama: Henry V”. In: Katalin Kürtösi / József Pál (eds.). Celebrating Comparativism. Szeged: Dept. of Comparative Literature. 479-486. Mair, Christian (1992). “A Methodological Framework for Research on the Use of Nonstandard Language in Fiction”. Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 17/ 1. 103-123. Marshall, Herbert and Mildred Stock (1958). Ira Aldridge: The Negro Tragedian. London: Rockcliff. Mortimer, Owen (1995). Speak of Me as I Am: The Story of Ira Aldridge. Wangaratta, Victoria: Published by the author. Muysken, Pieter (1995). “Code-Switching and Grammatical Theory”. In: Lesley Milroy / Pieter Muysken (eds.). One Speaker, Two Languages: Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives on Code-Switching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 177-198. Muysken, Pieter (2000). Bilingual Speech: A Typology of Code-Mixing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Myers-Scotton, Carol M. (1993). Duelling Languages: Grammatical Structure in Codeswitching. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nathan, Hans (1962). Dan Emmett and the Rise of Early Negro Minstrelsy. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. “The Padlock”. Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. <http: / / en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/ The_Padlock>. [10 Aug. 2006]. Reichl, Susanne (2002). Cultures in the Contact Zone: Ethnic Semiosis in Black British Literature. Trier: WVT. Schendl, Herbert (2000). “Syntactic Constraints on Code-Switching in Medieval Texts”. In: Irma Taavitsainen et al. (eds.). Placing Middle English in Context. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 67-86. Schendl, Herbert (2002). “Mixed-Language Texts as Data and Evidence in English Historical Linguistics”. In: Donka Minkova / Robert Stockwell (eds.). Studies in the History of the English Language: A Millenial Perspective. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 51-78. Schendl, Herbert (2005). “English Historical Code-Switching in a European Perspective”. In: C.B. Dabelsteen / J.N. Jørgensen (eds.). Language and Language Practices. Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen. 194-208. Schendl, Herbert (forthcoming). “An Early Literary Representation of 18 th Century ‘Jamaican Creole’? Mungo’s Language in Isaac Bickerstaff’s The Padlock (1768)”. Stephenson, C.H. (1872) “Reply: ‘Titus Andronicus’: Ira Aldridge”. Notes and Queries 254, 4 th S. X November 9. 373-374. Sypher, Wylie (1942/ 1969). Guinea’s Captive Kings: British Anti-Slavery Literature of the XVIIIth Century. New York: Octagon. Tasch, Peter A. (1971). The Dramatic Cobbler: The Life and Works of Isaac Bickerstaff. Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press. Taavitsainen, Irma, Gunnel Melchers and Päivi Pahta (eds.). (1999). Writing in Nonstandard English. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Language Choice as a Dramatic Device in an Early Viennese Adaptation 45 Toll, Robert C. (1974). Blacking Up: The Minstrel Show in Nineteenth-Century America. New York: Oxford University Press. Wiener allgemeine Theaterzeitung. 1853, 1857. Yates, W.E. (1996). Theatre in Vienna: A Critical History, 1776-1995. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Herbert Schendl Institut für Anglistik und Amerikanistik Universität Wien Narr Francke Attempto Verlag Dischingerweg 5 · D-72070 Tübingen Internet: www.francke.de · E-Mail: info@francke.de Literaturwissenschaft Dieter Hoffmann Prosa des Absurden Themen - Strukturen - geistige Grundlagen Von Beckett bis Bernhard 2006, XVIII, 506 Seiten, 59,-/ SFr 100,- ISBN 3-7720-8124-X Wenn von dem Absurden in der Literatur die Regel ist, denkt man zumeist an das Theater des Absurden - weniger dagegen an die Prosa des Absurden. Dies ist insofern erstaunlich, als beispielsweise für Beckett - der mit seinen Stücken Warten auf Godot und Endspiel das Theater des Absurden wohl am nachhaltigsten geprägt hat - „Theater (...) zunächst eine Erholung von der Arbeit am Roman“ war. Ebenso markieren auch im Falle Wolfgang Hildesheimers, der für gewöhnlich als der bedeutendste deutschsprachige Autor des Theaters des Absurden angeführt wird, die absurden Theaterstücke lediglich eine kurze Übergangsphase zwischen dem satirisch-grotesken Frühwerk und seiner in den 60er und frühen 70er Jahren verfassten Prosa des Absurden, der Hildesheimer nicht anders als Beckett wesentlich mehr Bedeutung beimaß als seinen Theaterstücken. Die vorliegende Studie möchte vor diesem Hintergrund Themen, Strukturen und geistige Grundlagen der Prosa des Absurden herausarbeiten. Der Schwerpunkt liegt dabei auf der deutschsprachigen Prosa des Absurden, insbesondere auf dem Werk Wolfgang Hildesheimers, Ilse Aichingers, Thomas Bernhards und Ingeborg Bachmanns. Im ersten Teil wird jedoch auch ausführlich auf philosophische Hintergründe des Konzepts des Absurden sowie auf das Werk Albert Camus’, Jean-Paul Sartres und Samuel Becketts eingegangen, auf das sich die deutschen Autoren bei der Entwicklung ihrer eigenen literarischen Konzepte nach 1945 bezogen. Daneben bemüht sich die Studie um eine Abgrenzung zwischen dem Grotesken und dem Absurden in der Literatur. AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Zu Samuel Becketts 100. Geburtstag - Die “Lange Nacht” in Zürich - ein Bericht Hans H. Hiebel Mythos und zugleich Faktum: Am Karfreitag, dem 13. April 1906, wurde Samuel Beckett in Dublin geboren. Zur hundertsten Wiederkehr dieses denkwürdigen Tages veranstaltete Marek Kedzerski (zusammen mit Thomas Hunkeler und Bruno Hitz) die “Lange Nacht zum 100. Geburtstag Samuel Becketts” im Schauspielhaus Schiffbau in Zürich - und zwar simultan in drei Sälen des Schiffbau-Theaters am 29. April von 18.00 bis 00.30 Uhr. (Parallelen dieser Veranstaltung erlebten Paris und wenig später Krakau.) Kedzierski, Kritiker, polnischer Übersetzer Becketts und Regisseur (von über zwölf Beckett-Stücken), Mitbegründer des Teatr Atelier in Krakau, hat bereits wesentlich zum Beckett-Festival in Strassburg 1996 (vgl. dazu meinen Bericht Hiebel 1997) beigetragen, er organisierte dessen praktischen Teil, die Theater-Produktionen und Lesungen. (Der theoretische Teil - das Symposion - wurde von Emmanuel Jacquart geleitet.) Zusammen mit Becketts Regieassistenten Walter D. Asmus hat Kedzierski auch den Festival-Teil des Symposions Beckett in Berlin 2000 geleitet. Erste Aktivitäten zum Thema Beckett-Regie entfaltete Kedzierski bereits im Rahmen des großen internationalen Beckett-Symposions bzw. Festivals in Den Haag im Jahr 1992. (Das allererste Symposion - ohne Theateraufführungen - zu Beckett fand 1973 unter dem Titel Das Werk von Samuel Beckett. Berliner Colloquium in Berlin statt.) Im Gegensatz zu den drei genannten Veranstaltungen (in Den Haag, in Strassburg und Berlin), die sowohl einen Festival-Teil mit Theateraufführungen und Lesungen als auch einen wissenschaftlichen Symposion-Teil umfassten, fanden dieses Mal in Zürich ausschließlich Lesungen und Theaterpräsentationen statt, wesentlich bereichert durch Filmvorführungen (in einem der drei Festspiel-Räumlichkeiten). Im Folgenden sei ein Rückblick auf die vorhergehenden Beckett Veranstaltungen gestattet: Hans H. Hiebel 48 1 Quartucci präsentierte großartig effektvolles Theater, aber verstieß vollkommen gegen Becketts eigene Regieauffassung; Primo Amore setzte sich aus Elementen zusammen, die aus den Stücken Breath, That Time, Footfalls, Rockaby, Ohio Impromptu, A Piece of Monologue, Catastrophe und Not I genommen wurden. Beispielhaft für dieses Anti-Beckett- Theater war die erotisch-obszöne Inszenierung des zutiefst melancholischen Stückes Rockaby. 2 McGovern liest so reflektiert und vielstimmig, dass man seine Vorstellung als ausgezeichnete philologische Interpretation verstehen kann. Das erste und bisher größte Beckett-Festival fand in Den Haag vom 8. bis zum 18. April 1992 statt - drei Jahre nach Becketts Tod am 22. Dez. 1989. Den wissenschaftlichen Teil leitete der renommierte niederländische Beckett- Kenner Marius Buning. Die Lesungen und Theateraufführungen bestimmten Namen wie Barry McGovern, Pierre Chabert, Lou Landré, Carlo Quartucci, Carla Tato, Otto Sander und Peter Fitz. Buning hatte neben unzähligen anderen Beckett-Kennern Martin Esslin und James Knowlson zu Vorträgen und Diskussionen eingeladen, ebenso Ruby Cohn, Lois Overbeck, Rosemary Poutney, Karel L. Laughlin, Rosette C. Lamont, Martha Fehsenfeld, Robert Scanlan, Xerxes Mehta, Enoch Brater, Jonathan Kalb, Gottfried Büttner, Werner Huber, John Pilling, Hersh Zeitman, Linda Ben-Zvi, Matthijs Engelberts, Sjef Houppermans, Marek Kedzierski (zu Beckett’s Late Works), Everett C. Frost, Mary Bryden, Margaret Rose, Catherina Wulf und Emmanuel Jacquart. Insgesamt wurden auf diesem Mammut-Kongress 111 Vorträge und eine Podiumsdiskussion geboten. (Mein eigener Beitrag galt den späten Stücken und dem Medienaspekt: Quadrat I + II as a Television Play, vgl. Hiebel 1993.) Zum praktischen Teil gehörten eine Unzahl von Veranstaltungen: Aufführungen von Warten auf Godot (Het Nationale Toneel, Seven Stages), Primo Amore, Erste Liebe (La Zattera di Babele, Regie: Carlo Quartucci 1 , Het Nationale Toneel); eine großartige theaterwirksame Lesung Berry McGoverns (Gate Theatre, Dublin) nach Texten der Trilogie Molloy, Malone Dies und The Unnamable 2 ; Happy Days (Chabert, Théatre de l’Atelier), Enough (Theatre Emory), Eh, Joe, How it is, A Piece of Monologue, Company und Endgame (Schauspielhaus Bochum), For to End yet Again (Lazaro), Catastrophe (Tel Aviv University Group), Krapp’s Last Tape (Julien Schoenaerts, mit Pierre Chabert nach der Regie von Beckett) und das Ohio Impromptu. Musikalische Komposition, Tanz, Film und Videos nach den Fernsehstücken Becketts (Eh, Joe, Ghost Trio, What Where, Quadrat I+II, Nacht und Träume) komplettierten das unvergleichlich reichhaltige Festival. Das zweite große internationale Beckett-Festival fand vom 30.3. bis zum 5.4.1996 in Strassburg statt; für den wissenschaftlichen Teil war Emmanuel Jacquart verantwortlich, für den praktischen Teil Marek Kedzierski (vgl. dazu nochmals Hiebel 1997). Unter den Beckett-Forschern beeindruckten vor allem James Knowlson (der u.a. über seine Arbeit an der authorisierten Zu Samuel Becketts 100. Geburtstag 49 Beckett-Biographie berichtete), Lois Overbeck, Enoch Brater, Everett Frost, Mattijs Engelberts, Oliver Sturm, Konrad Schoell, Werner Huber, Erika Tophoven-Schöningh und Catharina Wulf. Im praktischen Teil dominierten Walter D. Asmus, Martin Esslin, Reinhard Müller-Freienfels (Stuttgart), Robert Scanlan, Xerxes Mehta und vor allem Marek Kedzierski. Esslin präsentierte die weltweit einzige Tonbandaufnahme einer Lesung Becketts, Scanlan zeigte seine originelle, medial reflektierte, metapoetische Inszenierung der “Trilogy”: Eh, Joe, Ghost Trio und Nacht und Träume; Marek Kedzierski brachte seine Watt-Adaption mit dem exzeptionellen, phantastischen polnischen Bücklein-Theater aus Krakau zur Aufführung; Xerxes Mehta zeigte That Time (mit drei verschiedenen Stimmen zu drei verschiedenen Lebensaltern), Not I und Ohio Impromptu mit seiner Maryland Stage Company. Die dritte große Beckett-Veranstaltung, wiederum mit wissenschaftlichen Vorträgen einerseits und Lesungen sowie Theater-Produktionen andererseits, fand zur Jahrhundertwende, im Jahr 2000, in Berlin statt: Berlin 2000. Beckett in Berlin. Internationales Festival und Symposion. Zu den Vorträgen, Lesungen, Filmen, Musikdarbietungen, Hörspielen und einer Photoausstellung kamen Inszenierungen aus Frankreich, den USA, aus Italien, Irland, Polen, Tschechien und Deutschland. Die Organisation der Tagung an der Humboldt-Universität lag bei Peter Brockmeier und Carola Veit (Berlin), die des Theater-Festivals bei Marek Kedzierski und Walter D. Asmus (Regieassistent von Beckett, vor allem bei den Suttgarter Inszenierungen der späten Kurzdramen bzw. Fernsehstücke). Unter den Vorträgen beeindruckten vor allem Reinhard Krügers “Die Zurückführung des Theaters auf die Geste, Samuel Becketts Beitrag zu einer Archäologie des Theaters” und Martin Middekkes Analyse “Samuel Beckett’s Late Theatre” im Hinblick auf die Verwandtschaft mit der “Minimal Art” (wozu auch Enoch Brater publiziert hat). Am großen Round Table diskutierten Martin Esslin (als Kenner des “absurden Theaters”), James Knowlson (Beckett-Biograph), der bekannte Anglist Manfred Pfister und die Grande Dame der amerikanischen Beckett-Society, Ruby Cohn. Pierre Chabert und Rick Cluchey sprachen über die praktische Theaterarbeit unter Beckett als Regisseur. Zur Aufführung gelangten neben anderen Stücken Krapp’s Last Tape, Not I (Regie: Kedzierski), That Time und Come and Go (Regie: Asmus), What Where (das 1983 in Graz uraufgeführt worden war) und Happy Days. Radio Berlin sendete begleitend Hörspiele Becketts; an ihnen war zu sehen, wie stark sie Tendenzen der späten Theaterbzw. Fernsehstücke vorwegnahmen (Ablösung der Stimme von der Person, Musikalisierung der Sprache). Als Schwerpunkte des Beckett-Interesses darf man wohl die Konzentration auf die späten Stücke und Prosaarbeiten und auf Becketts Deutschlandreise 1936/ 37 (auf die vor allem Knowlson und Erika Tophoven verwie- Hans H. Hiebel 50 3 “Wir schreiben keine Romane mehr […] es ist eine imaginative Arbeit, c’est un travail d’imagination”. (Materialien zu Becketts Endspiel 1968: 90) sen) hervorheben; dieser Trend gilt nicht nur für das Jahr 2000, sondern die Entwicklung der letzten Jahre überhaupt. (Mehr als 500 Seiten umfasst das bislang noch unveröffentlichte deutsche Tagebuch Becketts.) Daneben rückt das Interesse an Becketts Kenntnissen im Bereich der Bildenden Kunst, besonders der Malerei (der er nicht zuletzt auf seiner Deutschlandreise begegnete), immer mehr in den Vordergrund; exemplarisch dafür ist die Studie von Lois Oppenheim: The Painted Word. Samuel Beckett’s Dialogue with Art (Oppenheim 2000) sowie Knowlsons Hinweise in seiner Biographie: Damned to Fame. The Life of Samuel Beckett (Knowlson 1996). (Die Beiträge des Symposions wurden in der Nr. 11 von Samuel Beckett Today/ Aujourd’hui - Endlessness in the Year 2000 wiedergegeben.) Die “Lange Nacht” in Zürich am 29. April 2006 beschränkte sich, wie gesagt, auf Film- und Theaterpräsentationen. Im Schauspielhaus im Schiffbau wurden an zwei Orten Lesungen und Theateraufführungen abgehalten und am dritten Ort Filme gezeigt. Im Vordergrund der Filmvorführungen stand die kostbare Aufnahme der Inszenierung von Becketts Roman The Unnamable von und mit Harold Pinter. Auch der Film mit dem Titel Film (und dem Motto “esse est percipi”) mit Buster Keaton unter der Regie des früh verstorbenen Alan Schneider wurde gezeigt, ebenso Waiting for Godot mit dem San Quentin Drama Workshop nach der Regie von Samuel Beckett und Walter D. Asmus. Marek Kedzierskis Konzept der Veranstaltung orientierte sich an der Praxis des Berliner Festivals von 2000; so kam es vereinzelt zu Wiederholungen der bewährten Inszenierungen von 2000. Am Anfang der theaterbezogenen Darbietungen stand die beeindruckende Lesung von Szenen aus Molloy mit Conor Lovett aus Dublin. Lovett rezitierte die Szenen nicht in naturalistischer Weise - z.B. als Krüppel mit Fahrrad, sondern in unauffälliger Alltagskleidung. Es handelte sich quasi um eine Mimesis des schreibenden Ich, dessen Imaginationen sozusagen als Imaginationen vorgeführt wurden. Das entsprach vollkommen Becketts eigener Auffassung von seinem “Roman”; er schreibe keine “Romane”, was er mache, sei eine “travail d’imagination” 3 . Was Lovett kongenial vorführte, war eine Mimesis des Bewusstseins (des schreibenden bzw. imaginierenden Ich). Conor Lovett war 1991 Mitbegründer der Gare St Lazare Players. Er hat seine Adaption von Becketts Roman Molloy (Regie: Judy Hegerty) seit der Uraufführung 1996 im Battersea Arts Centre London an über 100 Orten gezeigt und in zahlreichen anderen Stücken von Beckett gespielt, unter anderem in Walter Asmus’ berühmter Produktion von Waiting for Godot am Dubliner Gate Theatre. Zu Samuel Becketts 100. Geburtstag 51 Die Lesung von Erste Liebe, der lange Zeit unveröffentlichten Erzählung von 1945, durch Martin Wuttke (der diese Lesung bereits in Berlin 2000 zu Gehör brachte), war nicht weniger kongenial. Der Ich-Erzähler saß inmitten einer Ansammlung von rosa Hyazinthen und markierte einen gehemmten, neurotischen, schreckhaften Charakter (er reagierte sensibel und irritiert auf kleinste Muckser im Publikum). Norbert Schwientek (Basel; 1991 wurde Schwientek zum Schauspieler des Jahres gewählt) rezitierte Aus einem aufgegebenen Werk. Cristin König (von den Münchner Kammerspielen und der Schaubühne) sowie Miriam Goldschmidt präsentierten Einzelszenen unter dem Titel Testi per Nulla/ Texte für Nichts. M. Goldschmidt trat statt der angesagten Giulia Lazzarini (die mit Giorgio Strehler am Piccolo Teatro Mailand tätig ist) auf und zeigte Szenen aus Glückliche Tage nach der Regie von Peter Brook. Eine quasi komparatistische Darbietung des späten, kurzen Stückes Not I, Pas moi, Nie ja - sollte auf Englisch, Französisch und Polnisch stattfinden; der englische Beitrag entfiel, doch Claire Aveline (Strassburg) und Dagmar Foniol (Krakau) traten auf. Claire Aveline war bis 2005 Mitglied des Ensembles des Théâtre National de Strasbourg und Professorin der dortigen Schauspielschule. Dagmar Foniok, in Tschechien geboren, spielte an zahlreichen Bühnen in Polen. Sie ist Mitbegründerin des Teatr Tradycyjny (Warschau). Sie spielte “Nicht ich” in polnischer Sprache nach der Regie von Marek Kedzierski. Serge Merlin (Paris) hatte 2003 seine begeistert aufgenommene zweite Inszenierung des späten Prosastücks Le Dépeupleur, Der Verwaiser, im Odéon Théâtre dem Pariser Publikum geboten; diese eindrucksvolle Inszenierung einer Danteschen Hölle kam in Zürich wieder zur Aufführung. Rick Cluchey hatte in den 60er Jahren im Gefängnis San Quentin Warten auf Godot gesehen und daraufhin eine Gefängnistheatergruppe begründet; freigekommen, traf Cluchey Beckett in Paris, der mit ihm Krapp’s Last Tape einstudierte. Diese geradezu klassische Inszenierung brachte Cluchey, nun dem Alter Krapps nahegerückt, in authentischer Weise in Zürich wieder auf die Bühne. Szenen aus dem Roman Watt (einer akribischen Arbeit von 1944) und aus Endgame brachten Oleg Liptsin (aus Kiew) und Marc McPherson (aus Atlanta) - ohne dass sie vorher gemeinsam geprobt hätten - gemeinsam ihrem Züricher Publikum sozusagen hautnah zur Anschauung, und dies mit einer Gelassenheit, als würde der eine selbstverständlich Russisch und der andere selbstverständlich Englisch verstehen. Gesten sind international. Der Schauspieler und Regisseur Liptsin, Absolvent der Moskauer Theaterakademie GITIS, inszeniert in Kiew, Moskau und San Francisco. Marc McPherson hat in den USA in fast zwanzig Filmprojekten mitgewirkt. Seine “Tonnen- Monologe” sind Teil von Marek Kedzierskis Endspiel-Inszenierung im PushPush Theatre, Atlanta. Gemeinsam spielten Liptsin und McPherson Hans H. Hiebel 52 Monologe aus dem Endspiel und beendeten dann die lange Nacht mit einem Ausschnitt aus Watt. Dem Festival konnte man entnehmen, dass neben den klassischen Werken Becketts die kleineren und die späteren Texte mehr und mehr in den Blick kamen und dass vor allem die Bühnenwirksamkeit der Prosatexte Becketts inzwischen voll bewusst geworden ist und nun markant hervorgehoben wurde (Watt, Le Dépeupleur, Texte um Nichts, Molloy, Erste Liebe, Aus einem aufgegebenen Werk). Das ist nicht verwunderlich, spielen doch die Stimme, das Optische und die theatralische Szene in den Prosawerken eine immens wichtige Rolle. Durch die akustische und optisch-mimische Darbietung der kurzen und auch der langen Prosawerke Becketts (wie sie Berry McGovern, Dublin, als einer der ersten auf die Bühne brachte) wird deren theatralisches Potential auch dem Skeptiker in evidenter Weise anschaulich und ‘anhörlich’. Auf dem Büchertisch im Schiffbau lagen - folgerichtig das Bild der neueren Beckett-Forschung spiegelnd - Bücher über Becketts Beziehung zu Deutschland: Roswitha Quadflieg: Beckett was here. Hamburg im Tagebuch Samuel Becketts von 1936 (2006), Erika Tophoven: Becketts Berlin (ein Bruchteil ihrer Forschungen) (2005), sowie Therese Fischer-Seidel und Marion Fries-Dieckmann: Der unbekannte Beckett. Samuel Beckett und die deutsche Kultur (2005); daneben die neue Monographie von Gaby Hartel und Carola Veit: Samuel Beckett (2006). Erinnerungen an Beckett und Gesprächsaufzeichnungen zuhauf; sie geben das biographische Interesse wieder, das spätestens nach Becketts Tod erwachte und das John Calder, Becketts Verleger in England, schon 1988 in einem Gespräch mit dem Verf. (vgl. Hiebel 1991) prophezeit hatte: James Knowlson: Damned to Fame. The Life of Samuel Beckett (1996) - natürlich! - und die deutsche Übersetzung Samuel Beckett. Eine Biographie (2003); Elizabeth und James Knowlson: Beckett Erinnerung (2005), Anne Atik: Wie es war (2003). Peter Goßens (2000), Mel Gussow (2006), Charles Juliet (1988) und andere mehr präsentieren, wie man sehen konnte, weitere Erinnerungen und Gespräche. A neverending story, obwohl doch Beckett wiederholt geäußert hatte, sein Leben sei uninteressant, nur sein Werk zähle. Literaturverzeichnis Atik, Anne (2003). Wie es war. Erinnerungen an Samuel Beckett. Mit neun Portraitzeichnungen von Avigdor Arikha. Übers. Wolfgang Held. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Fischer-Seidel Therese / Marion Fries-Dieckmann (Hrsgg.) (2005). Der unbekannte Beckett. Samuel Beckett und die deutsche Kultur. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Goßens, Peter (2000). Beckett in Stuttgart. Marbach: Deutsche Schillergesellschaft. Gussow, Mel (2006). Begegnungen mit Beckett. Übers. Ulrike Harnisch. Berlin. Alexander Verlag. Zu Samuel Becketts 100. Geburtstag 53 Hartel, Gaby / Carola Veit (2006) Samuel Beckett. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Hiebel Hans H. (1997). “Die Beckett-Konferenz und das Beckett-Festival in Strassburg (30.3.-5.4.1996)”. Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 22: 2. 161-171. Hiebel, Hans H. (1991). “John Calder on Samuel Beckett (An Interview)”. Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 16: 1. 67-99. Hiebel, Hans H. (1993). “[Samuel Beckett’s] Quadrat 1 + 2 as a Television Play”. In: Marius Buning / Lois Oppenheim (Hrsgg.). Samuel Beckett Today/ Aujourd’hui. Beckett in the 1990s. Selected papers from the Second International Beckett-Symposium, held in The Hague 8-12 April, 1992. Amsterdam & Atlanta: Rodopi. 335-343. Juliet, Charles (1988). Begegnungen mit Beckett. Übers. Martin Raether. Tübingen: Heliopolis. Knowlson, Elizabeth / James Knowlson (Hrsgg.) (2005). Beckett Erinnerung. Übers. Christel Dormagen. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Knowlson, James (1996). Damned to Fame. The Life of Samuel Beckett. London: Bloomsbury (Deutsche Übersetzung: (2001). Samuel Beckett. Eine Biografie. Übers. Wolfgang Held. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp). Materialien zu Becketts Endspiel (1968). Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Quadflieg, Roswitha (2006). Beckett was here. Hamburg im Tagebuch Samuel Becketts von 1936. Hamburg: Hoffmann & Campe. Moorjani, Angela / Carola Veit (Hrsgg.) (2001). Samuel Beckett Today / Aujourd’hui.11. Endlessness in the Year 2000/ Fin sans fin en L’an 2000. Atlanta, Amsterdam: Rodopi. Tophoven, Erika (2005). Becketts Berlin. Berlin: Nicolaische Verlagsbuchhandlung. Hans H. Hiebel Institut für Germanistik Universität Graz Knapp + kompetent: narr studienbücher Narr Francke Attempto Verlag Dischingerweg 5 · 72070 Tübingen www.narr.de · E-Mail: info@narr.de Joerg O. Fichte / Fritz Kemmler Alt- und Mittelenglische Literatur narr studienbücher, 3., überarb. Aufl., 2005, 40 8 Seiten, div. Abb., [D] 24,90/ SFr 43,70 ISBN 3-8233-6127-9 Dieses Lehrbuch wurde für Einführungskurse in die älteren Sprachstufen des Englischen konzipiert und ist auch für das Selbststudium geeignet. Neben einer Kurzgrammatik für das Alt- und Mittelenglische (Lautlehre, Formenlehre und Syntax) enthält der Band mit Erläuterungen versehene Lektüretexte aus beiden Epochen (Vers und Prosa). Ausführliche Glossare erleichtern den Zugang zu den Texten. Für die 3. Auflage wurde der Grammatikteil überarbeitet; einige Textauszüge wurden geringfügig erweitert und alle Erläuterungen kritisch durchgesehen. Die Glossare wurden vollständig überarbeitet und die Literaturliste ergänzt. Abbildungen aus einigen der Handschriften, auf denen die ausgewählten Texte beruhen, vermitteln einen ersten Eindruck der Überlieferung mittelalterlicher Texte. Jonathan Swift A Tale of a Tub The Battle of the Books The Mechanical Operation of the Spirit Edited by Frank H. Ellis 2006. XXIV, 242 pp., num. fig. ISBN 978-3-631-54673-4 · hardback € 44.80 Samuel Johnson, who did not like Swift, said that A Tale of a Tub “exhibits a vehemence and rapidity of mind, a copiousness of images, and vivacity of diction such as he afterwards never possessed or never exerted“. And in his old age “looking over the Tale,“ Swift called out to Mrs. Whiteway, “Good God! What a genius I had when I wrote that book! “ Harold Bloom says that A Tale of a Tub “is one of the handful of totally original works in the language“. This new edition presents the work as „an amazing comic book“ which puts it in a class with Rabelais’ Pantagruel. Both of these works became banned books, greatly increasing the sales. In this edition for the first time the Narrator of the text is discovered to be an authentic comicpathetic character, with cropped ears, ill-cured syphilis, and suicidal impulses, waiting to be admitted to Bedlam, the new insane asylum, as a terminal patient. This edition is also the first to recognize that the text of A Tale of a Tub is a mosaic, composed of quotations from other texts, which incidentally accounts for the necessity of many end notes. Peter Lang GmbH · Postfach 94 02 25 · D-60460 Frankfurt am Main Am schnellsten bestellen Sie über unseren Internetbookshop: www.peterlang.de Peter Lang 1 See Chalker 1969: 90-139. Chalker mentions the “apparent flabbiness in the structure” and adds that “the various episodes of the poem are not linked by an easily perceived structural thread” (92). AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring (1728) Sandro Jung In attempts to explain and account for the immethodical, irregular, and supposedly fragmented form of James Thomson’s The Seasons scholars have repeatedly discerned thematic and ideational patterns in the poem rather than tracing its generic diversity and acknowledging its formal integrity. Following Alastair Fowler’s notions of kind and mode, The Seasons is contextualised in generic terms as a long poem which draws on the conventions and utilises elements of the epic and the ode to create a novel poetic kind. The interplay between the discursive and the expository, the descriptive and narrative elements of the epic and the dramatic qualities of the lyric modes is traced in one of the seasons, Spring (1728). The exploration of the generic hybridity of the poem will make visible the formal and generic cohesion of Thomson’s composite The Seasons and enable a better understanding of the long poem generally. The mid-eighteenth-century long poem is best and in greatest complexity represented by James Thomson’s The Seasons and its revisions. While the idea of the long poem as a poetic genre is a twentieth-century effort of scholars to come to terms with an elusive form that finds a variety of expressions in the eighteenth century, there has never been a sustained attempt at defining the generic hybridity of the poem, its formal characteristics or its poetic techniques (see, for instance, Sportelli 1999). Alastair Fowler, like John Chalker, understands The Seasons in terms of the “modal extensions of georgic” (Fowler 1982: 108). 1 Others have related the poem to the epic Sandro Jung 56 2 See Steinman 1998: 9-41. tradition and especially to Milton. 2 Ralph Cohen, on the other hand, notes that it “was not […] either a Georgic or a scientific-didactic poem, and, although it had features of the epic, it was not an epic in any traditional sense” (Cohen 1960: 92). Fowler reaches the conclusion that Thomson “invented [a] strikingly novel ‘species’” which was “nevertheless acceptable to neoclassical critics” (Fowler 1982: 29), thereby placing him at the centre of the monogenesis of the long poem. The novelty of the genre that Thomson created with The Seasons, however, reflects the scholarly dilemma that a “new genre almost ipse facto lacks any agreed label” (Fowler 1982: 131). While a genre is characterised by a number of typical modal qualities, its validity also depends on inherent requirements of form that are prominently used in any denominated genre. Fowler in Kinds of Literature insists that “the kinds, however elusive, objectively exist. Their boundaries may not be hardedged, but they can nonetheless exclude. This is shown by the fact that features are often characteristic through their absence” (Fowler 1982: 73). In that respect, Barbara Kiefer Lewalski has usefully reconsidered Paradise Lost and its uses of genre. She holds that Milton included a “panoply of kinds” (Lewalski 1999: 114) in Paradise Lost which was not conceived of as a “mausoleum of dead forms” but with the belief that his “imaginative energy […] profoundly transforms the genres themselves, creating new models which profoundly influenced English and American writers for three centuries” (Lewalski 1999: 115). Richard Terry, in a similar way, speaks of the ability of the long poem “to embrace and harmonize contradictions” (Terry 1992: 496). Critics from the eighteenth century to the present day have censured the formal and methodical heterogeneity of The Seasons. Samuel Johnson, for instance, observed that the great defect of The Seasons is want of method; but for this I know not that there was any remedy. Of many appearances subsisting all at once, no rule can be given why one should be mentioned before another; yet the memory wants the help of order, and the curiosity is not excited by suspense or expectation. (Johnson 1950: 2: 292) David Mallet, the author of the long poem The Excursion, is equally criticised for his “desultory and capricious view of such scenes of Nature as his fancy led him, or his knowledge enabled him, to describe” (Johnson 1950: 2: 366). Johnson remarks that Mallet’s The Excursion “has Thomson’s beauties and Thomson’s faults” (Johnson 1950: 2: 366). These faults are explained in Johnson’s “Life of Savage” when he contextualises The Wanderer against the background of a similar poetics of methodical irregularity: Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring 57 It has been generally objected to The Wanderer, that the disposition of the parts is irregular; that the images, however beautiful, succeed each other without order; and that the whole performance is not so much a regular fabric, as a heap of shining materials thrown together by accident, which strikes rather with the solemn magnificence of a stupendous ruin, than the elegant grandeur of a finished pile. (Johnson 1950: 2: 92) Johnson, however, make a distinction between the (imaginative) long poems of Thomson, Mallet, and Savage and Pope’s “arbitrary and immethodical” technique of the didactic Essay on Criticism. He thereby - implicitly at least - acknowledges (and legitimises) what Edward Young termed “the bright walks of rare Imagination, and singular Design” as well as the “fresh untrodden ground” (Young 1966: 37) that Thomson explored in his long poem. Johnson defends Pope’s method by pointing out that Almost every poem consisting of precepts is so far arbitrary and immethodical, that many of the paragraphs may change places with no apparent inconvenience; for of two or more positions, depending upon some remote and general principle, there is seldom any cogent reason why one should precede the other. (Johnson 1950: 2: 151) He suggests that in a didactic production structure is less important since “by long circumduction from any one truth, all truth may be inferred” (Johnson 1950: 2: 151). It therefore follows that imaginative writing is in need of a structure that philosophical writings such as Shaftesbury’s do not possess. Johnson’s discussion of The Wanderer in particular focuses on the supposedly careless composition of the poem, the “irregular” “disposition of the parts” as well as the apparently accidental arrangement of “beautiful” “images” in the shape of a “heap of shining materials thrown together.” When writing about The Excursion, Johnson similarly remarked on the fact that many “of the images are striking, and many of the paragraphs are elegant” (Johnson 1950: 2: 366). Still, however, Mallet’s production was suffering from the same “faults” as The Seasons. In fact, Thomson, Mallet and Savage were part of the so-called brotherhood of “sublime-obscure” and were exchanging ideas on the writing of a new kind of poem that culminated in the publication of Thomson’s Winter, The Excursion as well as The Wanderer (see Jung 2007b: chapter 2). Some of the remarks on original genius that Edward Young, Thomson’s early London acquaintance, makes in Conjectures on Original Composition can usefully be related to the structure of The Seasons, for Thomson had chosen a subject which enabled him to use the organic structure of the seasonal cycle. Digressions were deliberately introduced to add a contemplative aspect to the devotional character of The Seasons, which enabled the reader to pause and reflect, realising at the same time the tonal and modal changes of the composition. Young notes, in that regard, that poetic produc- Sandro Jung 58 tion, while “we bustle thro’ the thronged walks of public Life, […] gives us a respite, at least, from Care; a pleasing Pause of refreshing Recollection” (Young 1966: 6). He then introduces his plant metaphor to describe the structure of original composition: “An Original may be said to be of a vegetable nature; it rises spontaneously from the vital root of Genius; it grows, it is not made: Imitations are often a sort of Manufacture wrought up by those Mechanics, Art, and Labour, out of pre-existent materials not their own” (Young 1966: 10). Young compares an original with a flower, implying that the flower is founded on the linearity of the stem, a number of well-ordered leaves and then culminates in the complex petal constellation of the blossom. Even better than the (ornamental) metaphor of the flower is the image of a tree, since the branches rather than following the linearity of the trunk divide and diffuse, and once they are covered with leaves create the impression of a unified entity. Another simile that Young uses to explain the nature of originals is the likening of originals to rivers, for originals “resemble Rivers which, from a small fountain-head, are spreading ever wider, and wider, as they run” (Young 1966: 41). Thomson would have agreed with Young that “No-Genius [owes] its frequent Ruin” to “Rules” and “rigid Bounds” (Young 1966: 27). While Thomson appears to have partly freed himself from the generic requirements and expectations of classical epic and georgic, he is aware that the various episodes he introduces in his poem are themselves defined by generic or modal contexts. Thomson’s choice of blank verse for The Seasons, although blank verse is usually (as in the “Life of Dyer”) rejected by Johnson, is acknowledged and commended as unique: His blank verse is no more the blank verse of Milton, or of any other poet, than the rhymes of Prior are the rhymes of Cowley. His numbers, his pauses, his diction, are of his own growth, without transcription, without imitation. […] His is one of the works in which blank verse seems properly used. Thomson’s wide expansion of general views, and his enumeration of circumstantial varieties, would have been obstructed and embarrassed by the frequent intersections of the sense, which are the necessary effects of rhyme. (Johnson 1950: 2: 291-92) According to Terry, the long poem is self-reflexive, “constantly involved in puzzling over its amphibian status as both a congeries of parts and a constructed integrity” (Terry 498). He is aware that the “most characteristic feature [of long poems] was their disparateness” but notes at the same time that “successful digression would actually reinforce the integrity of a work” (Terry 504). Although he mentions the “high-profile digressions” (Terry 504) of Paradise Lost he fails to provide a convincing argument concerning the way in which these digressions function as unifying elements of composition. To understand the digressiveness of The Seasons fully, it is necessary to consider the various digressions, discuss their generic as well as modal Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring 59 3 The revisions of Winter have been examined by Stormer 1992: 27-40. See also, Jung 2007a. 4 Cohen further notes (94) that the “unity of the whole […] is chronologically progressive, and the recurrence of this progression is cyclical. Only when the poet refers to the immortal world does the movement become infinitely progressive.” implications and then relate them to the “design” of Thomson’s production. The season chosen for this analysis is Spring, which was first published in 1728 and then revised repeatedly for inclusion in The Seasons. 3 A number of critics have attempted to explain Thomson’s structural and generic strategies: Ralph Cohen, in that respect, introduces the idea of “associative unity” (Cohen 1960: 93) 4 in which the diverse variety of the individual elements - both generic and semantic - combine to reconstruct a sense of the original prelapsarian unity of human existence: “The ‘unifying vision’ is that God’s love and wisdom, only fragmentarily perceptible in the beautiful and dangerous aspects of man and nature, will become fully perceptible in a future world” (Cohen 3). Cohen further remarks that The Seasons possesses a “unifying vision” that “appears in the manner in which it joins eulogies, elegies, narratives, prospect views, historical catalogs, hymns, etc.” (Cohen 3). Thomson’s technique of association (ranging from abstractions to descriptions of concrete objects) is described towards the end of Spring: From the abstracted oft, You wander through the philosophic world; Where in bright train continual wonders rise Or to the curious or the pious eye. (922-925) These wonders are, of course, inspired by Thomson’s observation of the natural environment and the seasonal changes he has experienced. Zoë Kinsley remarks that in writing The Seasons Thomson looked for “organizing motifs by which to arrange his writing but […] found those structural devices within nature itself. Far from detaching the poet from his subject, these structures provided a form and language by which to express and enhance that relationship” (Kinsley 2005: 6). Although she traces a variety of “motifs” such as the sun to construct a sense of structure and order, this attempt is unconvincing in that it relies ultimately on a technique of association that eliminates any sense of disproportion and imbalance. Chalker, on the other hand, follows a more promising stance when he identifies a complementary dialectical relationship between the parts of the poem: Looking at the poem as a whole […] the four books might be labelled very crudely as ‘Optimism’, ‘Doubt’, ‘Optimism’, ‘Doubt’, each book playing off against the preceding one. And within the books one finds similar contrasts being made by the juxtaposition of the different kinds of material. (Chalker 133) Sandro Jung 60 5 The poem will be cited from Sambrook ed. 1981. All line references will be given parenthetically. While Chalker suggests that in “the perpetual cycle and recurring balance Thomson found reflected the ideal unity which sustained the universe” (Chalker 130), I propose that it is more likely that Thomson was utilising the conventions of the ode with its dialectical and antithetical structure of strophe, antistrophe and epode. In that respect, the speaker’s subjective discursive invocations of various entities and descriptions represent the lyrical and epic elements inherent in the hymnal ode. When Bill Hutchings invokes the ut pictura poesis tradition to argue that simultaneity can only be expressed in painting, and that “spatial simultaneity of objects in a landscape cannot be equated by words’ sequential order” (Hutchings 2000: 43), he fails to realise that Thomson introduces tableaux that have a variety of functions; above all, they are moral and instructive. Rather than being overwhelmed with an all-comprehending image, however, Thomson’s descriptive passages - through the use of sub-clauses, conjunctions, parentheses and shifts of tense - are gradual and progressive, thereby enabling the reader to grasp their true import rather than merely obtaining a fugitive impression. Earl Miner, discussing the literary-historical development from the “narrative” of the epic to an emphasis on “description” and “sense,” insists that in the eighteenth century “description must be ‘general,’ ‘large,’ in order that it will admit of discursive truth” (Miner 1969: 483). He concedes that there “can be no question that there is a frequent tendency to separation of description and discourse in the poetry of the century” (Miner 1969: 484-85). Ideally, he argues, description and discourse should enter a union. (Miner 1969: 485) He explains, however: “The probable reason for the separation of descriptive and discursive passages in many eighteenth-century poems is that the poets had confidence in both” (Miner 1969: 486). Miner’s assertion about the “displacement of narrative” (Miner 1966: 487) - in the light of my research on the ode and its modal correlation with the long poem - cannot be maintained as absolutely as he tries to do. He is right, however, in stressing that the discursive and the digressive could be (and were) used in conversational contexts in which the poet was writing for an audience and expecting some kind of response, thereby confirming the Johnsonian “faith in conversation or persuasion” (Miner 1969: 486). Of all approaches hitherto offered to understand the genre of The Seasons Miner’s approach seems to me the most helpful to appreciate the structure and generic hybridity of Spring. 5 I intend to complement his approach by examining the invocations, transitions and contrasts that Thomson uses in the poem. The most popular convention that writers of long poems adopt is to provide an “Argument” in which the contents of the book or canto of their work Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring 61 6 Maren Sofie Rostvig (cited in Chalker 1969: 93) understands the long poem as a conflation of the Horatian ode (in the Miltonic tradition) and Virgilian epic. are given. The second edition of Spring (1729) contains a detailed table of contents in which Thomson titles the various passages, probably with the intention of providing a further structural aid to the reader; the list of contents also showed the progressive character of Spring from “a personage descending on Earth” to the conclusion of Spring “with the happiness of a pure mutual love, founded on friendship, conducted with honour, and confirmed by children.” Apart from this, Thomson in Spring uses the device of apostrophe repeatedly, mostly after long descriptive or contemplative passages, to create a sense of immediacy and dramatic action, as well as to evoke the impression of simultaneity of action, reflection and association, which is usually introduced by means of a digression. Thomson’s addresses of Spring, “ye virgins and ye youths,” Amanda, as well as the “Source of Being! Universal Soul,” are reminiscent of the hymnal address of classical Hesiodic and Homeric epic as well as of the hymnal odes of Thomson’s friend, William Collins. It may be argued that while the epic mode was translated and appropriated by the novel and the long poem in the eighteenth century, the long poem was characterised by features such as fragmentation that had been characteristic of the genre of the hymnal ode. 6 Thomson’s apostrophes are introduced on a number of occasions by the vocative imperative “come,” as at the beginning of Spring: Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come; And from the bosom of yon drooping cloud, While music wakes around, veiled in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. This invocation is followed immediately by another, to Lady Hertford, who is a synechdochal representation of Spring: O Hartford, fitted or to shine in courts With unaffected grace, or walk the plain With innocence and meditation joined In soft assemblage, listen to my song, Which thy own season paints-when nature all Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. Although, as Lawrence Lipking has argued, the use of personification became stylised in the mid-century in that a demythologising process cleansed personifications from the hitherto exclusive mythological contexts of classical antiquity, Thomson conceptualises some of his apostrophes (especially those of Spring) as invocations of deities (see Lipking 1997: 72, 77 and Schlüter 1960: 23-41). In that respect, the description introduced at the Sandro Jung 62 beginning of Spring is paralleled in the description of Lady Hertford and her season. The Homeric hero-deity relationship is translated into a poet-patron relationship, which however retains the associations of the classical hymnal address of the Iliad. In Book 1 of Pope’s translation there are three hymnal addresses. At the beginning of the book, the wronged priest Chryses invokes Apollo to support him in regaining his daughter: O Smintheus! sprung from the fair Latona’s Line, Thou Guardian Pow’r of Cilla the Divine, Thou Source of Light! whom Tenedos adores, And whose bright Presence gilds thy Chrysa’s Shores. If e’er with Wreaths I hung thy sacred Fane, Or fed the Flames with Fat of Oxen slain; God of the Silver Bow! thy Shafts employ, Avenge thy Servant, and the Greeks destroy. (I, 53-60) (Alexander Pope 1967: 88) In Thomson’s poem, both Spring and Lady Hertford are addressed in ways that are reminiscent of the hymnal invocations of Collins. A descriptive passage (which can be encomiastic, mythological or explanatory, as in Homer) is provided in Thomson’s address of Lady Hertford, too, thereby adding what Schlüter calls a “pars epica” (Schlüter 1960: 40). The “to come” formula, which is an integral part of the hymn, is repeated in lines 480-493: Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts Have felt the raptures of refining love; And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song! Formed by the graces, loveliness itself! Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, Those looks demure that deeply pierce the soul, Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mixed, Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart: Oh, come! and, while the rosy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread The morning dews, and gather in their prime Fresh-blooming flowers to grace thy braided hair And thy loved bosom, that improves their sweets. The dramatic effect of invocations like these testifies to their oral, recitative and public origins. While Homer establishes a reciprocity and dialogue between man and the gods, Thomson attempts to emulate this interactive relationship by introducing discursive addresses. Further, the invocations enable Thomson to include himself in the company he assigns to those deities or pastoral characters that he invokes by using the formula “together let us.” This interactive involvement with the reader (who is also included in the “us,” of course) is varied by descriptive or contemplative passages, confirming the importance that Chalker assigned to the creation of mood: Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring 63 “The Seasons is extremely varied, and it frequently happens that a major effect depends upon transpositions of mood which are reinforced by stylistic means” (Chalker 134). The “to come” formula occurs again in line 878 when Thomson’s speaker invokes those “generous minds, in whose wide thought, / Of all his works, Creative Bounty burns / With warmest beam.” Apart from that, there is a longer apostrophe of George Lyttleton, Thomson’s patron, equerry and later secretary to Frederick Prince of Wales: These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, Thy heart informed by reason’s purer ray, O Lyttleton, the friend! Thy passions thus And meditations vary, as at large, Courting the muse, through Hagley Park you stray- Thy British Tempè! There along the dale With woods o’erhung, and shagged with mossy rocks Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees, You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts Thrown graceful round by Nature’s careless hand, And pensive listen to the various voice Of rural peace-the herds, the flocks, the birds. (901-15) This address is completed in line 960, and comprises 57 lines altogether. Thomson invokes his patron, again in terms that are reminiscent of the classical “to come” formula, which, according to Kurt Schlüter, was a prerequisite of the hymn, necessitating the deity to appear in order to grant a petition (Schlüter 1997: 243, see also Jung 2006: 30-45). By addressing Lyttleton with the interjective “O,” he creates a rapport with him which, however, with the apposition, “the friend” (as opposed to “my friend”), is made more universal in the sense that Lyttleton not only is a friend to Thomson but also a friend to the country and the people. Not only does Lyttleton “listen to the various voice / Of rural peace” but through his opposition to the Government, aims to secure a lasting peace for Britain. In that respect, Thomson’s invocation of Lyttleton is not merely a conventional address to a patron but a petition for Lyttleton to imitate the “rural peace” and establish it politically in the country. In doing so Thomson is extending what A.D. McKillop has termed the “physico-theological theme” (McKillop 1942: 11) of his poem. This hymnal reminiscence is used throughout The Seasons. In Summer, for instance, the poet invokes Inspiration in the same way in which he had invoked his deities in Spring: “Come, Inspiration! From thy hermit-seat, / By mortal seldom found” (15-16). These addresses represent Thomson’s attempt at creating immediacy and action, a testimony to his own function of Sandro Jung 64 poet as poet-priest, poeta doctus, georgic husbandman, descriptor of the beauties and the sublimity of nature, as well as an instructive bard and pastoral shepherd looking after his flock of characters within The Seasons but also without, that is, the readers of the poem (for the various roles that Thomson’s speaker assumes in Winter, see Jung 2002). At the same time, they are lyrical or, to use Earl Miner’s term, “discursive” statements that provide relief to the less personal enumerative, contemplative and, above all, digressive passages of description. Thomson realised that a poem entirely dedicated to description would not be able to convey poetry’s didactic function. The rapport that he needed to establish with the reader was achieved through his more dramatic and discursive passages. These passages, however, did not always achieve Miner’s ideal balance and harmony but were often distorted structurally by the transitions and connections that Thomson used to link discursive passages and description. The majority of transitions that Thomson uses to connect different passages are introduced by a contrastive “but.” Another possibility of opening a new section - though less frequent - is the conditional “if.” Rhetorical questions can be part of the discursive invocations, while “then” (222, 240 and more often) denotes the consequence or effect of a process, or “thus” (186, 443) a demonstrative pointer given as a result of a lengthy digression. Rhetorical questions, too, are repeatedly introduced by “but.” Yet, the contrastive function is not always fully realised since in an accumulation of contrasts the conjunction loses its rhetorical and stylistic effect. Furthermore, “then” is introduced as an adverbial marker for a retrospect digression on the prelapsarian existence of man and nature, the age of eternal Spring, which is then contrasted again with the loss of innocence and corruption of the present. “Then” is frequently embedded in a “then … now”-construction which can also be introduced by “but” (272). Other (not always effective) connectives include “hence” (309), “since” (317), “now … then” (964, 973), “but now” (331) as well as “yet” (336). “Yet” is expressive of the contrast Thomson intends to establish to the preceding passage, but it also denotes simultaneity. “Now” occurs in different functions in Spring. As in the poems of John Dyer and Collins it need not always be used in its temporal meaning. It can be used in the sense of an interjection, which elliptically anticipates a later use: “Now, when the first foul torrent of the brooks / Swelled with the vernal rains” denotes an incongruity between the present of the temporal “now” and the past tense “swelled.” It therefore ought to be understood as an interjective statement that abruptly introduces a new passage, at the same time anticipating the following sentence: “now is the time, / While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, / To tempt the trout” (382-384). Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring 65 Imperatives, which are, among others, used in the hymnal address, also introduce rhetorical questions: Behold yon breathing prospect bids the Muse Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint Like Nature? Can imagination boast, Amid its gay creation, hues like this? (467-470) Apart from this, Thomson uses “now … now”-constructions to denote simultaneity. Contrasting discursive and descriptive passages, as Chalker noted many years ago in relation to the theme of The Seasons, is one of the poet’s central strategies. In a poem that is based primarily on juxtaposition and contrast, it is not easy to conceive how monotony or stylistic awkwardness could be avoided, as in a passage (714 and 729) where the same connective conjunctions are used (supposedly contrastively) for two consecutive passages. Rather than providing an effective contrast, levels of priority are blurred and description is not subordinated to Miner’s “sense.” The conjunctions that Thomson uses could effectively be employed in a shorter poem; the grammatical function of subordination is not always achieved when he opens new passages with temporal, conditional or causal clause structures. The poet’s dilemma, in that regard, consisted in his desire to approach the season from a multi-dimensional perspective which explored spring both spatially and temporally, as well as associatively. The lack of subordination of some parts to others is reflected in the imbalance between description and self-conscious address. Discourses exist next to each other but are not clearly related to each other. The hymnal elements, however, infuse the poem with a dynamism and dramatic effect which - despite the near-failure of connectives - establishes a unifying force that is also reflected in the sublimity commonly associated with the invocations in the odes of Collins. Mallet in The Excursion used a similar excessive repetition of identical transitions. Unlike Thomson, however, he has only one single hymnal invocation, at the opening of Book 1: Companion, of the muse, excursive power, I MAGINATION ! at whose great command Arise unnumber’d images of things, Thy hourly offspring: thou, who canst at will People with air-born shapes the silent wood, And solitary vale, thy own domain, Where Contemplation haunts; O come invok’d, To waft me on thy many-tinctur’d wing, O’er E ARTH ’s extended space. (1-9a) (Mallet 1728: 3) Mallet does not aim to establish the sequential dialogue of Homer, nor does he address a patron. Instead he overpopulates his landscape with (at times, Sandro Jung 66 mythological, but mostly rhetorical) personifications and indulges in his excursive view of the universe. Due to the lack of interactive engagement with reader, patron or deity and his focus on spatial exploration only, together with a strong fascination with the supernatural, The Excursion is even more structurally amorphous than The Seasons. Spring and The Seasons as a whole are held together by the interplay between the interactive aspect of apostrophe which echoes faintly Homer’s “Godlike Race of Heroes” (I, 345) communicating with the gods and imploring them for success in battle. Mallet, aware of the structural “fault” of his poem, admitted in the “Advertisement” that his objective “was only to describe some of the most remarkable Appearances of NATURE, [and that therefore] the Reader will not find in it that Unity, and Regularity of Design, which are essential in Epic and Dramatic Writings” (Mallet 1728: iii-iv). His focus clearly was on description and he therefore did not use the hymnal address in the ways that Thomson did. By its very nature, the hymnal tradition is focused on the invocation, the celebration of the apostrophised in encomiastic terms (which usually is part of the invocation and then elaborated in the “pars epica”) as well as the petition that the deity is asked to grant. The instructive aspect of poetry that Thomson mentioned in the “Preface” to Winter is represented by the georgic mode that he adopted from Virgil. Rather than writing a purely didactic poem in which there was no reason for a specific ordering of the ideas (as, according to Johnson, universal truth can be derived from the parts without being obscured by its structure), however, Thomson chose a number of generic elements that made the poem more varied but also more difficult to harmonise. Description, in that respect, is indirectly (judging by Johnson’s focus on instruction in his “Life of Pope”) understood as little instructive, but mainly entertaining the imagination instead. Furthermore, while Pope in the Essay on Criticism was conceived of as intent on articulating generalities, Thomson in The Seasons aims to single out specific scenes and characters to confirm his universal “hymn” of the creation, a hymn that is concluded by the appended “Hymn to the Seasons.” Lewalski’s argument about “imaginative energy” applied to rework the plurality of generic traditions is reflected in Thomson’s choice to combine different modal qualities and, thereby, to create a novel genre: the descriptive long poem. In this new kind of poem, none of the (lyric, epic and dramatic) modes exists independently of the others, but they are interrelated in a way that creates action and progression. The conflation of the dramatic and the lyric (as subjectified discourse in direct speech) is centrally acknowledged by Thomson’s use of hymnal elements, a fact that explains why scholarship has repeatedly comprehended him as an early Romantic. The interactive use of interjections, as well as temporal adverbs such as “Now” at the beginning of new paragraphs or semantic units focus attention and serve as transitions, which in the context of the Pindaric ode were expected to be abrupt as they Generic Hybridity and Structural Technique in James Thomson’s Spring 67 reflected sublime enthusiasm. Thomson’s descriptive digressions largely derive from the epic; the action that usually characterised classical epic is here introduced by means of lyric immediacy and invocations, as well as the drama of such interpolated episodes as “Celadon and Amelia” in Summer. The transformational and genre-synthesising qualities that characterise Thomson’s long poem make it possible to understand the poem and its generic contexts but also the discourses such as the sublime that the poet chooses. One problem of critics dealing with the long poem in the eighteenth century has been their desire to interpret The Seasons in the contexts of classical epic or Virgilian georgic while, at the same time, applying the Popean and Johnsonian category of ‘correctness’. Thomson, generically, is closer to Milton and Paradise Lost than he is to Pope. Apart from that, Thomson clearly takes inspiration from Milton’s companion pieces, “L’Allegro’ and “Il Penseroso,” two odes that adhere to the hymnal pattern. It is of central importance to recognise that the character of Thomson’s production not only is encomiastic but that it is hymnal, celebrating the divinity of the creation. As such, it is the product of an inspired poet who articulates a rhapsody in terms that eighteenth-century critics such as Thomson’s acquaintance John Dennis used to define the Pindaric ode. In his long poem Thomson succeeds in combining the two principal kinds of the hierarchy of genres, the epic and the ode. He is the first successful poet to use this ‘new’ genre of fragmentation and thereby paves the way for a more flexible and accepting appreciation of long poems which, in the Romantic period, will no longer use the hymnal tradition so central to The Seasons but will replace it with introspection, autobiography, and a more prominent sense of immediacy. References Chalker, John (1969). The English Georgic: A Study in the Development of a Form. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Cohen, Ralph (1960). The Unfolding of ‘The Seasons’. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Fowler, Alastair (1982). Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hutchings, W.B. (2000). “ ‘Can Pure Description Hold the Place of Sense? ’: Thomson’s Landscape Poetry.” James Thomson: Essays for the Tercentenary. Ed. Richard Terry. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. 35-65. Johnson, Samuel (1950). Lives of the Poets. London: J.M. Dent. Jung, Sandro (2002). “The Descriptiveness of James Thomson’s Winter (1726) and the Early Eighteenth-Century ‘Winter’ Poem.” LiLi: Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik 125: 3. 158-169. Sandro Jung 68 Jung, Sandro (2006). “Form Versus Manner: The Pindaric Ode and the ‘Hymnal’ Tradition in the Mid-Eighteenth Century.” LiLi: Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik 144: 3, 130-145. Jung, Sandro (2007a). “Updating Summer, or Revising and Recomposing The Seasons.” And Now for the Sequel: Examining Updates in Eighteenth-Century Works. Ed. Elizabeth Kraft and Debra Taylor Bourdeau. Newark: University of Delaware Press. 66-82 Jung, Sandro (2007b). David Mallet, Anglo-Scot: Poetry, Patronage and Politics in the Age of Union. Newark: University of Delaware Press. In print. Kinsley, Zoë (2005). “Landscape’s ‘dynamically in Motion’: Revisiting Issues of Structure and Agency in Thomson’s The Seasons.” Papers on Language and Literature 41: 1. 3-25 Lewalski, Barbara Kiefer (1999). “The Genres of Paradise Lost.” The Cambridge Companion to Milton. Ed. Dennis Danielson. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. 79-95. Lipking, Lawrence (1997). “The Gods of Poetry: Mythology and the Eighteenth-Century Tradition.” Augustan Subjects: Essays in Honor of Martin C. Battestin. Ed. Albert J. Rivero. Newark: University of Delaware Press. 68-86. Mallet, David (1728). The Excursion. In Two Books. London: J. Walthoe, 1728. McKillop, Alan Dugald (1942). The Background of Thomson’s ‘Seasons’. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Miner, Earl (1969). “From Narrative to ‘Description’ and ‘Sense’ in Eighteenth-Century Poetry.” SEL 9: 3. 471-487. Pope, Alexander (1967). The Iliad of Homer, Books I-IX. Ed. Maynard Mack, The Twickenham Edition of the Works of Alexander Pope. London: Methuen and New Haven: Yale University Press. Sambrook, James ed. (1981). James Thomson: The Seasons. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schlüter, Kurt (1960). Die englische Ode: Studien zu ihrer Entwicklung unter Einfluß der antiken Hymne. Bonn: Bouvier. Schlüter, Kurt (1997). “Shelley’s ‘To Night’ and the Prayer Hymn of Classical Antiquity.” Studies in Romanticism 36: 2. 239-260. Sportelli, Annamaria (1999). Il “Long Poem” nell’eta di Wordsworth: Percorsi critici e testuali. Bari: Edizione B.A. Graphis. Steinman, Lisa M. (1998). Masters of Repetition: Poetry, Culture, and Work in Thomson, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Emerson. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Stormer, Philip Ronald (1992). “Holding ‘High Converse with the Mighty Dead’: Morality and Politics in James Thomson’s Winter.” ELN 29: 3. 27-40. Terry, Richard (1992). “Transitions and Digressions in the Eighteenth-Century Long Poem.” SEL 32: 3. 495-510. Young, Edward (1966). Conjectures on Original Composition. Leeds: The Scolar Press. Sandro Jung School of English, Sociology, Politics and Contemporary History Salford University AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Edie Parker Kerouacs You’ll Be Okay und Eileen Kaufmans Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? - Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation Larissa Bendel For decades, the Beat Generation has been viewed solely in regard to its male participants. Research dealing with female authors classifiable as Beat has only begun to flourish in recent years. For these female authors, the genre of life writing has been recognized as one of the most important literary forms these women have been employing. The following essay seeks to discuss two autobiographical fragments by Beat women Edie Parker Kerouac and Eileen Kaufman, situating the analysis within the broader perspective whether female Beat authors have to be seen as an integral part of the Beat movement or not. The essay concludes by saying that the particular texts by Parker Kerouac and Kaufman have to be valued for seeing the œuvre of female Beat life writing in its entirety rather than for the literary complexity of the texts themselves. Die Publikation von Joyce Johnsons Memoiren im Jahr 1983 war programmatisch: Betitelt Minor Characters, schien Johnson einerseits zu affirmieren, was lange Zeit Konsens im Hinblick auf das Verständnis der Beat Generation war; andererseits widerlegte sie mit ihrer Veröffentlichung zugleich diese Annahme, indem sie die vermeintlichen Nebenfiguren der Bewegung in den Mittelpunkt jenes Künstlermilieus schrieb. In der Tat wurde die Beat Generation, eine heute aus dem Kanon der amerikanischen Literatur nicht mehr wegzudenkende literarische Gruppierung und gesellschaftspolitische wie soziokulturelle Impulsgeberin im Nachkriegsamerika, traditionell als “boy gang” begriffen, deren Triumvirat Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg und William S. Burroughs nahezu allein im Zentrum der Aufmerksamkeit stand. Erst im letzten Jahrzehnt begann die Forschung, sich auch verstärkt den weiblichen Mitwirkenden dieses Milieus zuzuwenden. Larissa Bendel 70 1 “A consensus about these might run thus: Beat is spontaneous composition, direct expression of mind, no censorious revision, jazz-based improvisation; or factualism, cut-up, surrealism; or first-thought-best-thought, cataloguing piled-up images, following breath line, prophetic utterance.” (Johnson und Grace 2002: 2) 2 Die Gründe hierfür liegen in einem komplexen Zusammenspiel literatur- und sozialwissenschaftlicher Faktoren: Dazu gehören der zeitgeschichtliche Kontext nach dem Ende des Zweiten Weltkriegs, eine Periode, die gemeinhin immer noch mit dem verallgemeinernden und wenig aussagekräftigen Schlagwort “konformistisch” belegt wird, und deren Vielschichtigkeit erst Gegenstand neuerer historischer und soziologischer Forschungen geworden ist. Außerdem ist die Erforschung der heute als life writing beschriebenen Erzählform(en) vor allem in der zweiten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts zu nennen, die zu einem der attraktivsten und lebendigsten Untersuchungsgegenstände der Literaturwissenschaft geworden ist. Unerwähnt bleiben dürfen drittens auch nicht die Herausbildung der feministischen Literaturwissenschaft in den 1970er und 1980er Jahren sowie die damit einhergegangene Gegenüberstellung männlicher und weiblicher Formen (autobiographischen) literarischen Erzählens und das übergeordnete Projekt feministischer Wissenschaftlerinnen und Wissenschaftler, kanonische Strukturen aufzubrechen und eine neue Diversität litarischer Produktion wie Rezeption zu fordern und zu etablieren. Vor dem Hintergrund dieser Studien, die die Beat-Frauen als einen integralen Teil der Bewegung anzuerkennen beginnen - darunter einige Aufsätze, ein Sammelband mit literarkritischen Analysen sowie zwei Anthologien mit Texten der Autorinnen -, kann “Beat Generation” denn auch nicht länger die Unterwerfung unter die literarischen Konzepte der bekanntesten männlichen Autoren implizieren. Stattdessen muss “Beat” auf ein Leben und (literarisches) Schaffen individueller Personen in einer kommunalen, schöpferisch und freundschaftlich verwobenen Gruppierung im Amerika Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts verweisen, an der männliche wie weibliche Künstler gleichermaßen - wenn auch auf unterschiedliche Weise - teilhatten: “What is distinctively Beat is the historical moment and social context in which its iconoclasms were practiced, and the specific communities from which Beat praxis took shape”, so Johnson und Grace (2002: 2). “Beat” vereint somit sowohl die bedeutendsten männlichen poetischen Konzepte 1 als auch das heterogene literarische Werk weiblicher Autoren, “[…] ranging from performance-based, spontaneous jazz poetics, to revolutionary, mystical, vernacular poetics, to traditional approaches to composition” (Johnson und Grace 2002: 2). Die Gründe hierfür sind vielfältig; und zweifellos hat auch die Veröffentlichung auffällig vieler autobiographischer Werke von Frauen der Beat Generation mit dazu beigetragen, dass diesen Autorinnen mittlerweile eine Plattform zugesprochen wurde 2 : So ist die Autobiographik eine Erzählform, die einerseits funktional definiert ist, weil sie insbesondere bis dato unerhörten Subjekten die Möglichkeit bietet, ihr Selbst öffentlich zu affirmieren, und andererseits, vor dem Hintergrund der aktuellen Autobiographieforschung, als ein Genre verstanden wird, dessen Literarizität und narrative Komplexität unbestritten ist und das sich zudem größter Beliebtheit - in Produktion wie Rezeption - erfreut. Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation 71 3 Es lassen sich selbst in bezug auf ihre Lebensdaten variierende Angaben finden; vgl. z.B. die Anthologien von Brenda Knight (1996: 76); und Richard Peabody (1997: 228.). Ich stütze mich auf die Publikation von Jim Jones, Use My Name: Jack Kerouac’s Forgotten Als ein Forum der Selbstdarstellung und Selbstkreation, dessen sich heute nahezu jede und jeder Literat/ in und Nicht-Literat/ in aus allen gesellschaftlichen Feldern bedienen kann - man denke etwa an die zahllosen Autobiographien von Musik- und Filmstars - steht das life writing denn auch wiederholt in der Kritik, an der Grenze zwischen hohem literarischen Können, wobei das erzählende Selbst eine komplexe Fiktion dieses Ichs entwirft, und purer Unterhaltung für ein voyeuristisches Massenpublikum, das sich intime Details aus dem Leben seines Idols erhofft, angesiedelt zu sein. Diesem Vorwurf sahen sich auch die autobiographischen Texte der Beat-Autorinnen ausgesetzt, gepaart mit der Kritik an einer solchen Nabelschau, die lediglich darum bemüht sei, das eigene Ich im Nachwirken der feministischen Revolution nun auch jener “boy gang” im Nachkriegsamerika aufzwängen zu wollen, die im Grunde auch ohne Frauen gut auskommt. Erst kürzlich erschien eine von mir verfasste Untersuchung zu den bis dato veröffentlichten autobiographischen Werken der Frauen der Beat-Bewegung, die sich diesen im Kontext der Programmatik der Beats sowie der Autobiographik widmet und die autobiographischen Texte mit Blick auf ihre inhaltlichen, narrativen und generischen Charakteristika untersucht. Obiger Vorwurf wurde dabei zweifelsfrei widerlegt und die Texte als in der Tat vielschichtige, inhaltlich wie narrativ komplexe und für das Verständnis der Beat Generation bedeutende literarische Werke etabliert (siehe Bendel 2005). Nicht berücksichtigt wurden in dieser Untersuchung jedoch zwei Texte von Frauen aus dem Umfeld der Beats, Edie Parker Kerouacs You’ll Be Okay und Eileen Kaufmans Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? , die in ihrer Ganzheit bis heute unveröffentlicht geblieben und von denen bisher lediglich einige Auszüge in verschiedenen Publikationen zugänglich sind. Im Folgenden sollen nun auch diese Fragmente einer genaueren Analyse unterzogen und im Hinblick auf inhaltliche wie narrative Charakteristika bewertet werden. Edie Parker Kerouac: You’ll Be Okay “‘I was just going down to my husband’s and friend’s funeral’”, erinnert sich Edie Parker Kerouac im Gespräch mit Scott Martelle von der Detroit News. “‘I went to [Jack Kerouac’s] funeral and realized how important he was. I figured I better write a book.’” (siehe Martelle 1989: 12). Bisher sind nicht viele Informationen über die Lebensgeschichte Frankie Edith “Edie” Parker Kerouacs (1922-1993), geboren und aufgewachsen als ältere von zwei Töchtern einer gut situierten Familie in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, bekannt. 3 Larissa Bendel 72 Families (1999), die zwar nicht mit der Enthüllung privater und zum Teil pikanter Details spart, aber offensichtlich sehr gründlich recherchiert worden ist. 4 Eine ausführlichere Schilderung der Beziehung Edies mit Jack Kerouac sowie der Umstände ihrer Trauung und Ehe ist in Use My Name nachzulesen (Jones 1999: 46ff.) 5 Interviews mit Edie Parker Kerouac wurden u.a. von Scott Martelle und William Dunn für The Detroit News geführt; außerdem wurde unter der Überschrift “Frankie Kerouac-Parker: The Sideshow Interview” im Jahr 1990 ein Gespräch mit ihr in The Moment: A Randomly Published L.A. Journal of the Arts publiziert; ferner ist sie in den Dokumentarfilmen What Happened to Kerouac? (1986) von Richard Lerner und Lewis McAdams und Kerouac (1995) von John Antonelli zu sehen. Und es gibt noch weniger verlässliche Angaben über die tatsächliche Bedeutung ihrer kurzen Ehe und die Motivation für Parker Kerouacs lebenslange Obsession mit der Figur Jack Kerouacs. Edie, getrieben von dem Bedürfnis, dem monotonen Vorstadtleben von Grosse Pointe zu entkommen, zog als junge Frau nach New York, wo sie, durch ihre Freundschaft mit dem Kerouac-Schulfreund Henri Cru und der Frau von William S. Burroughs, Joan Vollmer, alsbald Jack Kerouac und Lucien Carr, wenig später auch Allen Ginsberg und Herbert Huncke kennenlernte. Edie gab vor, künstlerische Ambitionen zu haben, besuchte Schule und College aber nur gelegentlich und verdiente sich vielmehr durch Tätigkeiten als Hafenarbeiterin und Zigarettenverkäuferin den Lebensunterhalt. Ihr Mitwirken am frühen Beat-Milieu war daher offenbar eher eine Möglichkeit, sich von den sozialen Zwängen der heimischen Kleinstadt zu befreien, als dass sie ernsthafte schriftstellerische oder künstlerische Absichten verfolgte. 1944 heirateten sie und Jack Kerouac; zwei Jahre später wurde die Ehe annulliert. 4 Obwohl sie und Kerouac zeitlebens sporadisch in Telefon- und Briefkontakt blieben, schien erst die Publikation von On the Road im Jahr 1957 und die dadurch einsetzende verstärkte öffentliche Wahrnehmung des Dichters Parker Kerouacs Bedürfnis ausgelöst zu haben, ihre Bindung zu Kerouac erneut zu festigen (siehe Jones 1999: 55f.). Ein Treffen kurz vor dem Tode Kerouacs im Oktober 1969 kam nicht mehr zustande; die letzte Zeile seines letzten Briefes an Parker Kerouac - “You’ll Be Okay” (Martelle 1989: 12) - dominierte von da an ihr Bemühen, die Bedeutung ihrer Liebesbeziehung zu Kerouac in Beat-Kreisen und Medien kundzutun (vgl. Jones 1999: 57ff.) 5 - ein Wunsch, aus dem heraus, wie obiges Zitat beweist, auch ihre Anstrengungen um die Veröffentlichung von Memoiren erwachsen zu sein scheinen. In Use My Name dokumentiert Jim Jones skizzenhaft die Entstehung der Autobiographie Parker Kerouacs. Seit ihrem nach dem Tode Kerouacs gefassten Beschluss, ihr Leben mit und ohne ihn niederzuschreiben, habe sie, so Jones, verschiedene Assistenten beauftragt, ihr beim Ordnen von Dokumenten und bei der Vollendung eines handgeschriebenen Manuskriptes zu helfen; eine Aufgabe, der sich jedoch aufgrund der beharrlichen Praxis Parker Kerouacs, selbst eindeutig recherchierte Fakten im Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation 73 6 Mir liegt ein Großteil dieser Dokumente als Kopie vor, wie etwa Notizen zur Chronologie von Ereignissen ihres Lebens insbesondere der 1930er-1950er Jahre, Kopien und Abschriften von persönlichen Briefen, einige kurze Skizzen von Bekannten und Freunden sowie einführende Texte zu ihrer Autobiographie. Bei einem Großteil des Materials ist jedoch weder die Autorschaft eindeutig zu bestimmen, noch eignen sich die Aufzeichnungen, um den eventuellen Umfang, literarischen Stil oder die inhaltliche Reichweite von You’ll Be Okay erschließen zu können. Die Analyse muss daher auf die wenigen veröffentlichten Auszüge begrenzt werden. 7 1987 erschien bei Ridgeway Press die schmale Textsammlung To William S. Burroughs von Edie Parker Kerouac. Diese enthält u.a. “Remembering Mrs. William Seward Burroughs: Joan Vollmer Adams”, ein Auszug aus You’ll Be Okay, der zuvor bereits in John Montgomerys Anthologie Kerouac at the ‘Wild Boar’ and Other Skirmishes (1986) erschienen war und schließlich erneut in Richard Peabodys A Different Beat veröffentlicht wurde. Von dem in bezug auf Parker Kerouacs Lebensgeschichte chronologisch früheren “The Popsicle Man” ist mir nur ein Abdruck in dem Fanmagazin The Kerouac Connection (1985) bekannt. “Jack and Neal in Grosse Pointe,” das den Besuch Jack Kerouacs und Neal Cassadys in Grosse Pointe im Jahr 1947 dokumentiert, erschien sowohl in Arthur und Kit Knights Kerouac and the Beats (1988) als auch in Brenda Knights Women of the Beat Generation (1996). Sinne ihrer eigenen Fantasie zu verändern, keiner ihrer Sekretäre gewachsen fühlte (vgl. Jones 1999: 43f.; und 59f.). Die umfangreichsten Aufzeichnungen zu ihrem Leben stammen wohl aus ihrer Zusammenarbeit mit Jim Perrizo in den 1980er Jahren. 6 Bis heute, mehr als ein Jahrzehnt nach dem Tode Parker Kerouacs, hat sich jedoch kein Verleger gefunden, der bereit wäre, das, soweit überhaupt vorhandene, Gesamtmanuskript von You’ll Be Okay zu veröffentlichen. Die wenigen publizierten Exzerpte enthalten eine Darstellung ihres Kennenlernens von Jack Kerouac sowie die Schilderung eines späteren Besuches von Kerouac und Neal Cassady in Edies Heimatort. 7 Der literarische Stil der Textauszüge ist nüchtern; eine parataktische Syntax dominiert Parker Kerouacs Schilderungen, die nur wenige Adjektive enthalten: “I first met Jack on Amsterdam Ave. & 116 th St., New York City […]. It was in the fall of 1940, and Jack was on crutches” (Kerouac Parker 1985: 3). Ereignisse und Erinnerungen werden im Folgenden oft auf kaum reflektierte Andeutungen reduziert. “What an experience the war was, even here in the U.S.”, schreibt Parker Kerouac etwa ohne weitere Kommentare im Anschluss an ihre Erwähnung eines toten Wachmanns in einer Lagerhalle am Hafen (Kerouac Parker 1986: 102). Auch die Figuren werden vielfach auf verallgemeinernde Attribute reduziert: “[Joan Vollmer] was the most feminine girl I ever knew. She wore some makeup, eyeshadow, powder, and lipstick.” Wenig später erfährt man, dass Vollmer täglich alle verfügbaren New Yorker Tageszeitungen zu lesen pflegte (Kerouac Parker 1986: 103). Vermeintlich nachdrückliche Aussagen werden durch einen inflationären Gebrauch von Ausrufungszeichen unterstützt: “Comfort was not on our minds! ” resümiert Parker Kerouac z.B. ihre Verliebtheit in Jack und die einfachen Lebensbedingungen, die Larissa Bendel 74 8 “We had to be alone, our love was choking us”, schreibt sie an einer Stelle, “we needed each other, desperately” (Kerouac Parker 1986: 100). diese Zeit mit sich brachte (Kerouac Parker 1986: 100). Die literarischen Personen, die die Verfasserin in den Auszügen entwirft, sind vor allem an pauschaler Legendenbildung orientiert und demzufolge wenig komplex. Auf “My, he was handsome” beschränkt sie die Eindrücke ihrer entscheidenden Begegnung mit Jack Kerouac, um im gleichen Kontext die mittlerweile in Studien zu den Beats unzählige Male wiederholte Anekdote zu skizzieren, nach der sich der Dichter vor allem aufgrund der mindestens fünf Sauerkraut- Hotdogs, die sie bei diesem Treffen gegessen hätte, in sie verliebt habe (Kerouac Parker 1985: 3). “Wahrheit” ist in Parker Kerouacs Texten keine erkenntnistheoretische Kategorie, die sich in der literar-ästhetischen Gesamtkonzeption ihres Lebens ausdrückt. In You’ll Be Okay wird Wahrheit auf die bloße Einbettung von Ereignissen in eine schematisierte Matrix beschränkt, die vor allem die Kreation von Mythen um die Beat Generation bedient und vor deren Hintergrund die Figuren des Textes als austauschbare Namen erscheinen, die nur den Zweck von Stichwortgebern für ein übergeordnetes Ziel erfüllen: das “never-to-be-forgotten life with Jack” (Kerouac Parker 1985: 5) zu ermöglichen. Aufgrund dieser Zweckgebundenheit des autobiographischen Textes erscheinen selbst essentielle prägende Erfahrungen, die zahlreiche Frauen in den 1950er Jahren durchmachen mussten - ganz im Gegensatz zu den Schilderungen ähnlicher Situationen in den Texten anderer Beat-Autorinnen - als vollkommen emotions- und sogar gewissermaßen bedeutungslos. “Boy, oh boy! ” formuliert Parker Kerouac z.B. an einer Stelle, “I was pregnant - and scared.” Doch anstatt dieses Problem vor dem Hintergrund nicht geklärter Vaterschaft sowie der Strafbarkeit von Abtreibungen zu der Zeit oder einem möglichen inneren Konflikt, nun über Leben und Tod eines entstehenden Menschen entscheiden zu müssen, differenziert darzustellen, wird diese Grenzsituation der Abtreibung durch künstlich eingeleitete Wehen auf kaum einen Absatz reduziert: “I was there for hours and finished labor sitting up on the edge of the table. It was a black haired baby boy.” Wichtig erscheint in diesem Zusammenhang nur die Vermutung, dass Kerouac wahrscheinlich der Vater des Kindes gewesen sei (Kerouac Parker 1985: 4). You’ll Be Okay ist damit ein Text, der, soviel lässt eine Deutung der wenigen verfügbaren Exzerpte zu, weniger auf literarischer Ebene als vielmehr in bezug auf einen sozialen Kontext einen eigentümlichen Blick auf das Geschlecht “Frau” als Teilhabende der Beat Generation zulässt. Die Diskrepanz zwischen ihren hyperbolischen, geradezu an Kitsch grenzenden Formulierungen ihre Liebe zu Kerouac betreffend auf der einen 8 und ihren nahezu teilnahmslosen Erwähnungen z.B. des suizidalen Wachmanns im Hafen oder der Abtreibung ihres Babys auf der anderen Seite verstellen Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation 75 9 Obwohl die vorhandenen Auszüge von You’ll Be Okay in den Publikationen nicht ausdrücklich in eine interne zeitliche Reihenfolge gebracht bzw. in die externe Chronologie der Memoiren eingebettet worden sind, könnte “The Popsicle Man” der Anfang des Gesamtmanuskriptes sein, weil die Autorin hier Zeit, Ort und handelnde Personen des Geschehens einführt. einen Zugang zum Text, der eine komplexe, differenziert porträtierte Persona der Erzählerin entstehen lassen könnte. Dennoch suggeriert Parker Kerouacs Text bereits durch die Affirmation der ersten Person Singular zu Beginn des erstveröffentlichten Auszugs der Autobiographie 9 ein unerschütterliches Selbstbewusstsein, mit dessen Hilfe sie sich in das Zentrum der Aufmerksamkeit männlicher Beats katapultiert hat. Parker Kerouac ist zu jedem Zeitpunkt ihrer Schilderungen agierendes Subjekt, das sich zuerst aus den Zwängen von Grosse Pointe befreit, sich in New York über die erzieherischen Maßnahmen ihrer Großeltern, bei denen sie zunächst lebte, hinwegsetzt und sich schließlich selbstbewusst als Gründungsmitglied der Beat Generation positioniert: “[Joan Vollmer and I] finally found our new home at 421 W. 118 th Street, Apartment #62. It was here that William S. Burroughs came into our lives, along with Herbert Huncke, Allen Ginsberg, Lucien Carr, and John Kingsland” (Kerouac Parker 1985: 100). Die Männer, so behauptet diese Passage, wurden Teil des Alltags der bereits im eigenen Appartement in New York lebenden Frauen; Joan und Edie, und nicht die männlichen Beats, so suggeriert dieser Text, legten damit den Grundstein für diese unkonventionelle Künstlerkommune. Vor diesem Hintergrund erscheint selbst das zunächst tröstlich und beruhigend anmutende Zitat, das Parker Kerouac als Titel ihrer Memoiren gewählt hat, als irrelevante Geste Jack Kerouacs: Edie hat, trotz ihrer lebenslangen Reue, die Beziehung zu Kerouac vorschnell aufgegeben zu haben, sogar diesen Umstand für sich umgedeutet. In You’ll Be Okay ist sie die wesentliche Figur für das Zusammenfinden der Beats; sie stellt sich mit Hilfe geradezu hysterischer Schilderungen ihrer gemeinsamen Zeit als zentrale Frau in Kerouacs Leben dar. Selbst über den Besuch von Neal Cassady und Jack Kerouac im Jahr 1947 in Grosse Pointe, bereits nach der Annullierung ihrer Ehe mit dem Dichter, erscheint ihre Beziehung zu ihm selbstverständlich und damit außergewöhnlich: “Jack and I had not conventionally ‘split up’ in our own minds anyway; in a manner of thinking, we never really did” (Kerouac Parker 1988: 223). Sie wird nicht müde, ihre Selbständigkeit und Risikobereitschaft als junge Frau in der Großstadt zu betonen, die sich insbesondere in ihrer Tätigkeit im Hafen zeigen; erfolgreich arbeitet sie in der beruflichen Männerdomäne longshoreman (Kerouac Parker 1986: 101). Mit Blick auf die kaum vorhandene Literarizität des Textes muss Parker Kerouacs Autobiographie also vorrangig als sozial-kommentatorisches autobiographisches weibliches Dokument der Beat Generation betrachtet Larissa Bendel 76 10 Allerdings erwähnt sie auch an anderer Stelle, dass nicht vorrangig das Bestreben um literarische Errungenschaften ihr Mitwirken an der Beat Generation begründet zu haben schien: “I never read books for pleasure […]! I was thrilled at the new world Jack was opening up for me” (Kerouac Parker1986: 99). 11 Der früheste Abdruck des Textes ist 1982 unter dem Titel “Laughter sounds orange at night” in der Anthologie Beat Angels, herausgegeben von Arthur und Kit Knight, erschienen. Weitere Abdrucke der Passage sind in Richard Peabodys (1997) und Brenda Knights (1996) Anthologien sowie in Ann Charters’ Beat Down to Your Soul (2001) zu finden. werden und weniger als Teil literarischer Innovationen. Dennoch widerlegt selbst dieser Text die bisherige Wahrnehmung der Beat Generation als boy gang. Zwar schreibt Parker Kerouac: “Rarely did [Jack Kerouac] discuss what he wrote with me” und verweist damit auf ihr Ausgeschlossensein aus Kerouacs beruflichem Alltag (Kerouac Parker 1986: 102) 10 ; trotzdem situiert sich Edie als konstitutive soziale Figur der Beat Generation, die sich das Künstlermilieu zunutze gemacht hat, um als junge Frau den limitierenden sozialen Anforderungen der Kleinstadt in Michigan zu entkommen. Eileen Kaufman: Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? Der Textauszug, der das Kennenlernen von Eileen und Bob Kaufman reflektiert, ist das einzige zugängliche Exzerpt der Memoiren Eileen Kaufmans (*1922), Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? 11 . Über das Leben Kaufmans ist kaum etwas bekannt. Geboren in Florida, absolvierte sie ein Englisch- und Musikstudium in Kalifornien, begann eine Bühnenkarriere als Opernsängerin und arbeitete schließlich als Musikjournalistin, bevor sie 1958 in San Francisco den afroamerikanischen Beat-Dichter Bob Kaufman (1925-1986) kennenlernte und heiratete. Seitdem war sie vor allem als seine Archivarin und Herausgeberin tätig, arbeitete sporadisch als Journalistin und kümmerte sich um den gemeinsamen Sohn Parker; 1973 begann sie die Arbeit an ihren Memoiren (vgl. Knight 1996: 103ff.; Peabody 1997: 228; und Charters 2001: 272f.). In der erwähnten Passage aus Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? manifestiert sich das autobiographische Selbst, die Identität der erzählenden Persona, ausschließlich durch die Relation zu anderen. Der Zeitpunkt ist Mai 1958, und Kaufmans damaliger Freund Mark Green wartet auf die Rückkehr Kerouacs, Ginsbergs, Cassadys und Bob Kaufmans nach San Francisco, denn: “[…] there really would be something happening.” Green initiiert denn auch die erste flüchtige Begegnung mit dem Dichter Kaufman, die bereits zum zentralen Wendepunkt in Eileens Alltag wird; Bob scheint die Inkarnation des Poeten Rodolfo aus Puccinis “La Bohème” zu sein, der Oper, die sie im Jahr zuvor gesungen hatte (siehe Kaufman 2001: 273). Mark ist sogleich vergessen - “I can’t really say that I considered his feelings” (Kaufman 2001: Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation 77 12 Tatsächlich bemerkt Kaufman an einer Stelle: “Hollywood is often chided for its use of music coming out of nowhere in a big love scene. Believe me, there is music then - music from the spheres” (Kaufman 2001: 277). 13 Im Kontext autobiographischer literarischer Praxis versteht Paul John Eakin (1999: 57) unter dem Terminus relational life “the story of a relational model of identity, developed collaboratively with others, often family members.” Für die Betrachtung dieses relational life führt er den Begriff proximate other ein: “In this section, however, I want to consider the most common form of the relational life, the self’s story viewed through the lens of its relation with some key other person, sometimes a sibling, friend, or lover, but most often a parent - we might call such an individual the proximate other to signify the intimate tie to the relational autobiographer.” (Eakin 1999: 86) 276) - im Angesicht Bob Kaufmans: “I could never love a lesser man than an artist” (Kaufman 2001: 278). Der Barde Kaufman, der seine und die Gedichte anderer charismatisch in Clubs und Coffee Shops in San Francisco vorträgt - der, einerseits “gesticulating as a European” (Kaufman 2001: 273), andererseits eine mystische Sensualität verkörpert (siehe Kaufman 2001: 277) -, wird geradezu konstitutives Element in Eileen Kaufmans Leben: “I knew at a glance and after one night that this man could create my life or destroy it.” “Tempestuous”, “Adventurous”, “Passionate” sollte von da an das Dasein des ehemals “greedy, mercenary career girl” sein (Kaufman 2001: 280). Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? erzählt eine märchengleiche Entwicklung mit einem Hollywood-reifen Happy End, 12 in der Hindernisse und Kontrahenten allerdings, anders als im traditionellen Märchen, keine Rolle spielen. In Form einer detaillierten Chronologie der Ereignisse, mit Hilfe von wörtlicher Rede, die das retrospektive Element des autobiographischen Textes gegenwartlich und sowohl für Verfasserin als auch Lesepublikum endlos wieder durchlebbar erscheinen lässt, dokumentiert der Textauszug das Verschmelzen der autobiographischen Identität der Autorin mit ihrem proximate other, 13 das fortan ihr Leben dominiert. Bob Kaufman, der Künstler, wird dadurch selbst zum Artefakt, dessen Körper und kreativer Geist zur unerschöpflichen Lebensquelle für Eileen werden. Bob, kaum noch menschliches Wesen, ist spirituelle Nahrung und ewige Notwendigkeit für Kaufman: “You have been lovers before in many other lives, so you are attuned to each other immediately”, schreibt sie (Kaufman 2001: 277). Die Stimme des Dichters, “hoarse and low”, einzigartig (Kaufman 2001: 274), lässt ihre eigene verstummen: “I would just sit adoringly at his side” (Kaufman 2001: 279). Kaufman ist wie eine Droge, Eileen süchtig: “I wasn’t high on peyote any longer. I was high on Bob Kaufman” (Kaufman 2001: 278). Sie selbst sieht sich diesem Vorgang wehrlos gegenüber, indem ihre Identität vollkommen mit der Sprache und dem Wesen des Dichters zu verschmelzen scheint. Betrachtet man allerdings die Darstellung Bob Kaufmans, dann wird deutlich, dass auch der Künstler nur in Interaktion mit seinem Gegenüber lebendig ist; er scheint keine Sprache jenseits lyrischen Rezitierens zu haben: “‘Hey man … my old lady, she threw me out … and I need a cuppa’ coffee’”, stammelt er inkohä- Larissa Bendel 78 14 So schreibt z.B. Davidson (1989: 199) zwar wohlwollend, aber wenig schmeichelhaft - und, mit Blick auf Russo, auch nicht korrekt: “Impatient with the roles their male colleagues consigned to them, [the women] seized upon the social and aesthetic advantages of 1950s bohemian culture and began to write ‘her’ story in the margins of ‘his.’” rent bei seiner ersten Begegnung mit Eileen (Kaufman 2001: 274). Die dichotomische Einheit des Liebespaares, suggeriert diese Episode, kann überhaupt nur jenseits alltäglicher Banalitäten funktionieren. Bob Kaufman wird in Eileens Text übermenschliche Metapher ihrer innersten Wünsche und Bedürfnisse, die nur die Inkarnation des fiktionalen Rodolfo-Bob erfüllen kann. Kunst, impliziert das Exzerpt, hat für Eileen jedoch auch materielle Bedeutung jenseits Bob Kaufmans Rolle als geradezu übermenschlicher Botschafter reiner Poesie. Ihre offenbar wirkliche Liebe zur Oper, aber auch ihre eigenen Ambitionen, Gedichte zu schreiben (Kaufman 2001: 275), sowie ihr Bemühen, Kaufmans Texte nach ihrer mündlichen Entstehung oder nachlässigen Niederschrift (“he would be writing on note paper, napkins, finally toilet paper”) zu bewahren (Kaufman 2001: 279), sind ein Vorausblick auf ihre spätere archivarische und editorische Arbeit. Jenseits der Schilderung ihrer Liebe zu Kaufman, die einem paradiesischen Urzustand gleicht und die die vollkommene Unterwerfung der Erzählerin unter diese Perfektion geradezu als selbstverständlich erscheinen lässt, dürfen jedoch ihre Verweise auf eigene dichterische und archivarische Tätigkeit nicht außer Acht gelassen werden. Linda Russo diskutiert in “On Seeing Poetic Production: the Case of Hettie Jones” die Implikationen des Begriffs der literarischen Produktion (“poetic production”), dessen Teilhabende sie als “‘gendered poetic subjects’” definiert (siehe Russo 2001: 8). “One is never situated on the margins of textual production”, konstatiert Russo mit Blick auf die vielzitierte randständige Position von Frauen innerhalb der New American Poetry und damit auch der Beat-Dichtung, “- one is either in it, or not” (siehe Russo 2001: 10). 14 Eine Sichtbarwerdung dieser Frauen - wie z.B. Hettie Jones’ und anderer der Beat-Bewegung - innerhalb der Literaturgeschichte kann demzufolge auch durch eine “vorsprachliche Dichtung”, etwa durch das soziale und/ oder editorische Mitwirken an der “poetic production”, begründet werden (siehe Russo 2001: 14). Oder, wie Russo über Hettie Jones schreibt: “Being the typist - but also getting Yugen distribution through the Partisan Review’s distributor, being the wife, mother, breadwinner, and hostess to a continual stream of guests - makes pages in the annals of the New American Poetry possible” (siehe Russo 2001: 12). Auch Eileen Kaufmans Funktion als Archivarin und Herausgeberin der Texte ihres Mannes muss demnach als literarische Tätigkeit verstanden werden, die sie somit weder außerhalb noch an den Rand, sondern innerhalb des Bereichs der “poetic production” positio- Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation 79 niert, zudem ergänzt durch die nicht länger “vorsprachliche” Literaturproduktion in Form ihrer Memoiren. Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? kann demzufolge als Schnittstelle zweier Konzepte gelesen werden. Während einerseits die völlige Hingabe der Erzählerin an ein (männliches) proximate other nicht zu leugnen ist, was einer Deutung ihres Lebens als wenig rebellische und schon gar nicht feministische Figur Vorschub leistet, sollte andererseits ihre Tätigkeit dennoch als ein Beitrag zur Beat Generation betrachtet und ihre diesbezügliche aktive Teilhabe anerkannt werden. In den Auszügen der Memoiren Parker Kerouacs und Kaufmans ist offenkundig, dass in beiden Fällen das Beat-Milieu und insbesondere zwei konkrete Dichter - Jack Kerouac und Bob Kaufman - einen wesentlichen Einfluss auf die Charakterbildung der Erzählerinnen und insbesondere auf den alltäglichen Verlauf ihres Lebens genommen haben. Dabei scheint dieses männliche Gegenüber das Selbstverständnis Parker Kerouacs und Kaufmans zu der Zeit sowie auch deren retrospektiven Blick in ihren Memoiren dominiert zu haben. Jenseits dessen bleibt jedoch die reale Teilhabe beider Frauen am Beat-Milieu festzuhalten, ein Akt, der, wie Wini Breines konstatierte, in der Tat Mut und Risikobereitschaft von diesen erforderte, indem ihm etwa eine Trennung von der Familie vorausging (siehe Breines 1994: 392). Inhaltlich wie narrativ zeichnen sich die zugänglichen Fragmente beider Texte jedoch eher durch eine simplifizierende und durch das den Schilderungen eigene Pathos auch oft trivialisierende Konstruktion des Selbst der Erzählerinnen aus. Hyperbolische, oft an Kitsch grenzende Formulierungen durchziehen die Texte und kreieren weniger eine komplexe, differenzierte Fiktion der Personae Parker Kerouacs und Kaufmans, sondern bedienen sich vielmehr des Klischees einer Oase trauter Zweisamkeit inmitten einer erwähnten, letztlich aber kaum wahrgenommenen Außenwelt. Der komplexe und auch oft schwierige Entwurf einer neuen Weiblichkeit inmitten einer Periode gesellschaftlichen Umbruchs, die gleichzeitig aber versuchte, das herkömmliche Bild einer Mutter und Hausfrau zu propagieren, sowie das Bemühen um eine differenzierte Selbstdefinition der Frauen als Teilhabende eines Künstlermilieus im Amerika Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts werden in You’ll Be Okay und Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? kaum deutlich. Ein Zugang zu den Gesamtmanuskripten wäre daher vermutlich lediglich im Hinblick auf die Vollständigkeit des Korpus’ autobiographischer Texte von Frauen der Beat Generation erstrebenswert. Larissa Bendel 80 Bibliographie Antonelli, John (dir.) (1995). Kerouac. Amsterdam: Mystic Fire Video. 73 min. Bendel, Larissa (2005). “The requirements of our life is the form of our art”: Autobiographik von Frauen der Beat Generation. Frankfurt a.M. et al.: Peter Lang. Breines, Wini (1994). “The ‘Other’ Fifties: Beats and Bad Girls.” In: Meyerowitz (ed.) (1994). 382-408. Charters, Ann (ed.) (2001). Beat Down to Your Soul: What was the Beat Generation? New York: Penguin Books. Davidson, Michael (1989). The San Francisco Renaissance. Poetics and Community at Mid-Century. Cambridge, New York, Port Chester et al.: Cambridge University Press. Dunn, William (1979). “A ‘Beat’ Era Love Story.” The Detroit News 19 August 1979: 1A/ 18A-19A. Eakin, Paul John (1999). How Our Lives Become Stories: Making Selves. Ithaca, London: Cornell University Press. “Frankie Kerouac-Parker: The Sideshow Interview” (1990). The Moment: A Randomly Published L.A. Journal of the Arts 13 (Fall 1990): 6. Johnson, Ronna C., und Nancy M. Grace (2002). “Visions and Revisions of the Beat Generation.” In: Johnson und Grace (eds.) (2002a). 1-24. Johnson, Ronna C., und Nancy M. Grace (eds.) (2002a). Girls Who Wore Black. Women Writing the Beat Generation. New Brunswick, NJ, London: Rutgers University Press. Jones, Jim (1999). Use My Name: Jack Kerouac’s Forgotten Families. Toronto: ECW Press. Kaufman, Eileen (1982). “Laughter sounds orange at night. From: Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers.” In: Knight und Knight (eds.) (1982). 29-38. Kaufman, Eileen (1996). “From: Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? ” In: Knight (ed.) (1996). 107-114. Kaufman, Eileen (1997). “From: Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? ” In: Peabody (ed.) (1997). 108-114. Kaufman, Eileen (2001). “From: Who Wouldn’t Walk with Tigers? ” In: Charters (ed.) (2001). 237-280. Kerouac Parker, Edie (1996). “From You’ll Be Okay.” In: Knight (ed.) (1996). 79-85. Kerouac Parker, Frankie Edith (1985). “The Popsicle Man.” The Kerouac Connection 6 (April 1985): 3-5. Kerouac Parker, Frankie Edith (1986). “Remembering Mrs. William Seward Burroughs: Joan Vollmer Adams.” In: Montgomery (ed.) (1986). 98-105. Kerouac Parker, Frankie Edith (1988). “Jack and Neal in Grosse Pointe. From You’ll Be Okay.” In: Knight und Knight (eds.) (1988). 222-228. Kerouac-Parker, Frankie “Edie” (1987). “Remembering Mrs. William Seward Burroughs: Joan Vollmer Adams.” In: Kerouac-Parker (1987a). 1-6. Kerouac-Parker, Frankie “Edie” (1987a). To William S. Burroughs. Essays & Poems Celebrating the 1987 River City Reunion. Roseville, MI: Ridgeway Press. Kerouac-Parker, Frankie “Edie” (1997). “From You’ll Be Okay.” In: Peabody (ed.) (1997). 115-123. Knight, Arthur Winfield, und Kit Knight (eds.) (1982). Beat Angels. the unspeakable visions of the individual 12. California, PA: Knight. Knight, Arthur Winfield, und Kit Knight (eds.) (1988). Kerouac and the Beats. A Primary Source Book. New York: Paragon House. Unveröffentlichte Autobiographien von Frauen der Beat Generation 81 Knight, Brenda (ed.) (1996). Women of the Beat Generation. The Writers, Artists and Muses at the Heart of a Revolution. Berkeley, CA: Conari Press. Lerner, Richard, und Lewis McAdams (dirs.) (1998). 1986. What Happened to Kerouac? New York: WinStar Home Entertainment. 96 min. Martelle, Scott (1989). “The Beat Goes On.” The Detroit News/ Michigan: The Magazine of the Detroit News 19 February 1989: 4-9/ 12-13. Meyerowitz, Joanne (ed.) (1994). Not June Cleaver. Women and Gender in Postwar America, 1945-1960. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Montgomery, John (ed.) (1986). Kerouac at the ‘Wild Boar’ and Other Skirmishes. San Anselmo, CA: Fels Firn Press. Peabody, Richard (ed.) (1997). A Different Beat - Writings by Women of the Beat Generation. London: Serpent’s Tail. Russo, Linda (2001). “On Seeing Poetic Production: the Case of Hettie Jones.” Open Letter 11.1 (September 2001): 7-15. Larissa Bendel Institut für Anglistik und Amerikanistik Universität Hamburg Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KG Postfach 25 60 · D-72015 Tübingen · Fax (0 7071) 97 97-11 Internet: www.francke.de · E-Mail: info@francke.de Exploring the complex relationship between literature and memory, the volume addresses a theme that over the last two decades has become one of the central issues in literary and cultural studies. Literature is one of the media that play a crucial role in the process of representing and constructing individual and collective memories. Throughout literary history, fictional texts have engaged in a discussion of the implications, the problems, and the purposes of remembering. Literature participates in the processes of shaping collective memories and of subversively undermining culturally dominant memories by establishing counter-memories, which seek to consider, for example, gender-conscious or ethnic perspectives on past events. The 25 articles explore various facets of the relationship between literature and memory from a number of different theoretical vantage points. Particular attention is paid to genrespecific ways of representing and constructing memories. Ansgar Nünning / Marion Gymnich / Roy Sommer (Eds.) Literature and Memory Theoretical Paradigms - Genres - Functions 2006, X, 318 Seiten, € [D] 59,00/ SFR 100,00 ISBN 978-3-7720-8163-7 AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time Claudia Schwarz Emily Dickinson proved to the literary world how she went “out of time” (J 336) as a poet by bridging the gap between her days and ours by means of her timeless poetry. It is hardly surprising that the very idea of transgressing time has always been inherent to her writings. This article outlines how Emily Dickinson uses imagination and creativity as her poetic tools to take on a position “Exterior - to Time” (J 448). From the perspective of a ‘timeless sphere beyond’, she manages to juxtapose two basic understandings of time: time as the irrevocable and steady flow towards death and time as the composition of appreciated, special moments. The signposts on this journey through Emily Dickinson’s poetic approaches and transgressions of time are her poems “Down Time’s quaint stream” (J 1656), “We do not know the time we lose -” (J 1106), “As Summer into Autumn slips” (J 1346), “Forever - is composed of Nows -” (J 624), “A Clock stopped -” (J 287), “Behind Me - dips Eternity -” (J 721), and finally “There is a Zone whose even Years” (J 1056). Lines from a number of other poems and letters are used to accompany both paragraphs and arguments. Time and Literary Timelessness Good friends with time (J 1345) One of the problems in the definition of time is that there is no place ‘outside’ of time; or so it seems. Time appears to have existed before we became part of the world, and we have the notion that it will still be there even when we are gone. Along this line of reasoning, the philosopher Kant treats time as the formal condition a priori of all physical appearance, similar to Heidegger, for whom time is prior to all subjectivity and objectivity because it enables the very idea of something ‘prior’ (Schmidt 1978: 768). It is a paradox how we are part of time while it is part of ourselves, how we live in time while it lives in us. Referring to time we often make use of a subtle but essential distinc- Claudia Schwarz 84 1 This dilemma or “mystery” is depicted by St. Augustine in his famous quote: “What, then, is time? If no one asks me, I know: if I want to explain it to someone who does ask me, I do not know” (St. Augustine 1960: 287). In his considerations he concludes that “time is a ‘protraction’ of the mind, and when we measure time we really measure a certain expanse in our conscious memory. Time is essentially subjective or psychological” (Gale 1968: 5). tion between ‘objective time’ measured in seconds, hours, and years and ‘subjective time’ grasped in moments, ‘nows,’ and stages of life. Time is internal and external; it is ever-present and ever-gone. In every respect, time is untouchable. St. Augustine remarks in his Confessions that as long as one does not attempt to find an answer to the question about what time really is, there appears to be no difficulty in using and understanding the term. 1 Trying to depict the very quality of time, one is confronted with the complexity of a concept that seems impossible to grasp, understand, or define. It is a challenge to turn the perpetual fight against time into a friendship; and it seems to be a good starting point in the attempt to come to terms with its forms, functions, limits, and possibilities. For Period exhaled. (J 1159) Great art transcends time. For that reason, encounters with great pieces of literature often seem like time-traveling, or, to be more precise, like traveling beyond time. Ralph Waldo Emerson commented on this phenomenon as follows: We read the verses of one of the great English poets, of Chaucer, of Marvell, of Dryden, with the most modern joy - with a pleasure, I mean, which is in great part caused by the abstraction of all time from their verses. There is some awe mixed with the joy of our surprise, when this poet, who lived in some past world, two or three hundred years ago, says that which lies close to my own soul, that which I also had well-nigh thought and said. But for the evidence thence afforded to the philosophical doctrine of the identity of all minds, we should suppose some preëstablished harmony, some foresight of souls that were to be, and some preparation of stores for their future wants, like the fact observed in insects, who lay up food before death for the young grub they shall never see. (Emerson 1940: 50f) 19 th -century poet Emily Dickinson laid up her “food before death for the young grub”: generations of literary scholars and students she “shall never see”. Her poetic imagination is key to Emily Dickinson’s artistic step outside of time and, thus, her view from ‘beyond’ time. By transgressing the limitations of time, Emily Dickinson radically reframes the conventional understandings of life, death, and nature - as imposed on the Puritan mind by religion - and challenges the reader to measure them against the background of infinity. Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 85 On the familiar Road (J 1291) The journey through time follows the lines of Emily Dickinson in order to meet the poet in the timeless sphere beyond. The approach is not historical but metaphysical and based on concepts rather than dates. After a remark on the poet’s position “Exterior - to Time” (J 448), the journey will start with her seemingly dreadful notion of our limited lifetime we are forced to sail “Down Time’s quaint stream” (J 1656), continue with the poetic expansion of the ‘now’ in order to underline “How much the present moment means” (J 1380), call upon the particularity of the moment of death when “A Clock stopped -” (J 287), and will finally end in the “Zone whose even Years” are outside of earthly time “And Consciousness - is Noon” (J 1056). A Private Poet Exterior - to Time (J 448) Charles Anderson describes Emily Dickinson “by temperament” as a “private person”, who was “aware of the revolutionary nature of her poems” (Anderson 1960: 292). The gap between her as a “private poet” (Anderson 1960: ix) and her posthumous audience can only be bridged by taking a position exterior to time. Born to a wealthy family in Amherst in 1830, Emily Dickinson grew up in a socially protected environment. As a visionary mind among a rather conservative community, Dickinson gradually withdrew from society, changed her image from the teenage “Belle of Amherst” to a mythical figure and took the step out of (her) time through her poetic voice. Only with few members of her “select society” (Salska 1999: 163ff) - the people she had an active, intimate, even passionate letter-correspondence with - did she share some of her poems. During her lifetime, just a handful of verses found their way into publication; and even those were considerably changed by the editors. For Dickinson, this was a further reason to distance herself and her work from the society and conventions of her days: “This was a Poet / […] Exterior - to Time” (J 448). I never heard the word “escape” Without a quicker blood, (J 77) Dickinson might have realized that her position as a woman poet and especially her unconventional poetic style were somewhat problematic in her days, the mid-nineteenth century, an era which was still very much marked by New England’s Puritan heritage. Her withdrawal from society is also a retreat from the rules and restrictions of her time. The fact that Emily Dickinson dressed in white exclusively in the latter part of her life, for example, can be seen as the visible manifestation of this life beyond the ‘colorful’ Claudia Schwarz 86 2 Derrick explains this notion with Heidegger’s remark on the paradoxical aspect of language “that it brings permanence out of the process of change - which allows us to experience time, which lets time ‘open out’ for man” (Derrick 1986: 32). 3 Dickinson wrote this letter in September 1846, during the time she spent in Boston with her aunt in order to recover from a permanent melancholy after the death of her friend Sophia Holland. social customs that threatened to silence her poetic voice. It is almost ironic (as she was) that this withdrawal offered her the means to transcend not only timely restrictions, but time itself and, hence, also death. Dickinson’s carrier between the limited human time and perpetual divine (creative) timelessness became her poetry: “With her poet’s sensibility, she deeply felt the transforming power of words. She, alone, realized that language, properly created, was a certain transcendence of life, a kind of immortality, the permanence beyond the flux, and that, in exercising this transcendence, she became her words” (Derrick 1986: 38). 2 Inder Kher similarly points out that “[t]he poet also lives in the now and here of time and space, but, paradoxically, she is beyond spatio-temporal reality. At will, she can go from now and here to nowhere and vice versa. The poet’s freedom lies in the captivity of her own commitment, in the captivity of womb-tomb, the source of love, creativity, life, and death” (Kher 1974: 177). As the creator of a world, she achieves immortality through the ability to create. In her poetry she reflects the “struggle with the uncertainty of death and her belief that art is her only sure means of transcending it” (Hockersmith 1989: 290). The biographer Cynthia Wolff calls Emily Dickinson’s achievement “a fusion of infinity and nothingness” (Wolff 1988: 192). Therefore, between infinity and nothingness is where our journey is set. Caught in the River of Time? That we are permanent temporarily, it is warm to know, though, we know no more (L 962) Dickinson expresses in her writings that she was well aware of the limited human time on earth and its unstoppable and inevitable suction towards death. Wolff states that “[t]he notion of time seems always to have haunted Dickinson, and she almost never remarked time’s passage without a tremor of fear” (Wolff 1988: 83); Roland Hagenbüchle even calls the knowledge about the flow of time a leitmotif in Dickinson’s work (Hagenbüchle 1988: 10). Already at the age of 15, Dickinson quoted from Young’s Night Thoughts in a letter to her friend Abiah Root: “We take no note of Time, but from its loss. T’were wise in man to give it then a tongue. Pay no moment but in just purchase of its worth & what it’s worth ask death beds. They can tell. Part with it as with life reluctantly” (L 13). 3 Dickinson herself gave this loss of time Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 87 4 Heidegger described this being in the world (“Dasein”) as being held into nothingness; in every moment. Death, according to Heidegger, is not the end of a certain period of life, the end of a term, which every human has to face at one point, but death informs every moment of human existence. By anticipating death (“Vorlaufen zum Tode”), man is capable of combining life in an entity. By including death into the being in the world, life is graspable as a whole and man liberates himself from the nihilism of everyday life (cf. Röd 2000: II, 456). a tongue in the form of several poems whose shared idea is that “time moves in only one direction and leads always to but one destination. Death” (Wolff 1988: 83). As I will try to argue, Dickinson finds the poetic means to challenge the certainty of time’s steady flow. Time is a Test of Trouble (J 861) The following poem reminds us of Heraclitus’ idea that one cannot enter the same river twice. It also conjures up the physical explanation - as brought forward by Newton - that time is ‘absolute’ in the sense that its flow, quite similar to a “river of time”, cannot be influenced by anything (Novikov 1998: 2, 30): Down Time’s quaint stream Without an oar We are enforced to sail Our Port a secret Our Perchance a Gale What Skipper would Incur the Risk What Buccaneer would ride Without a surety from the wind Or schedule of the Tide - (J 1656) Especially with the Puritan background in mind, this poem appears to be foremost a gruesome description of life’s risky journey down the river of time. We set out on this trip without knowing where or when, “Our Port a secret”, unequipped, “Without an oar”, and therefore also unable to influence where we are going. “Without a surety from the wind / Or schedule of the Tide”, we are caught in the stream of time and have to face unforeseeable risks on our way. Whereas the first part of the poem merely describes this situation as a given fact, Dickinson poses the question “What Skipper would / Incur the Risk / What Buccaneer would ride” in the middle of the poem and forces the reader to reflect upon the circumstances of our being thrown into the world. 4 To answer the question, one has to state that we, humankind, find ourselves on this dangerous journey; but the important underlying question is: Do we have a choice? By the implication of this essential and also existential idea of choice, Dickinson provokes a change in perspectives and escapes “Time’s quaint stream”, if only for the brief moment of the dash at the very end of the poem. Claudia Schwarz 88 The Glory of Decay (J 1280) “We do not know the time we lose -” Dickinson warns in another poem, which equally describes the loss of time in every instant: We do not know the time we lose - The awful moment is And takes its fundamental place Among the certainties - A firm appearance still inflates The card - the chance - the friends - The spectre of solidities Whose substances are sand - (J 1106) The passing, “awful moment” takes its “fundamental place / Among the certainties”. It is irrevocably heading towards death. The second stanza describes how everything that seems steady to us is really built on sand, evoking the image of an hourglass in which the sand runs down steadily. The “certainties” of the first stanza are juxtaposed with the “spectre of solidities” in the second one, the loss of time belonging to the first and “the card - the chance - the friends” to the latter. Almost like Plato, separating the world of ideas from earthly appearances, Dickinson wants us to distinguish between what is certain and what is built on sand. We pass, and she abides (J 811) The change of the seasons is probably Dickinson’s most frequent image for time passing, which she also uses to imply timelessness because of their steady renewal. Anderson wrote that “[t]he seasonal process of nature fascinated Dickinson even more than its daily motions, being a subtler demonstration of time running down - either to death or to immortality” (Anderson 1960: 143). In the description of seasonal changes Dickinson tries to grasp the “paradox that nature is a process of dying out of time as well as living in it” (Anderson 1960: 143), and she aims at encompassing it “by making its ambiguity concrete and hence acceptable as part of man’s inescapable ‘reality’” (Anderson 1959: 412). This dualism is contained in the following poem: As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say “The Summer” than “the Autumn,” lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 89 So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life’s Declivity. (J 1346) Even though this poem is dated around 1875, shortly after Emily Dickinson’s father had died, Dickinson’s letter from 1846 (already mentioned above) reads like an introduction to it: “Does it seem as though September had come? How swiftly summer has fled & what report has it borne to heaven of misspent time & wasted nows? Eternity only will answer. The ceaseless flight of the seasons is to me a very solemn thought, & yet why do we not strive to make a better improvement of them? ” (L 13). It is interesting to note that Dickinson comes back to the image of the seasonal flight on the occasion of the death of a person so close to her. Love - is that later Thing than Death - (J 924) There are two levels on which time is transgressed in this poem: seasonal renewal and (poetic) love. Even though the first one is more obvious, it is yet misleading. The seemingly ever-returning cycle of the seasons, their neverending renewal evokes what Dickinson termed “nature’s ‘changeless change’” (Anderson 1959: 412). In terms of hope for our own eternal life, this is misleading because we deceive ourselves; as reads the poem: “So we evade the charge of Years”. In other words, nature’s constant renewal is also “beyond the mortal poet’s grasp”, as Anderson put it (Anderson 1959: 412). Even though this might seem somehow far-fetched, I would like to offer a second approach to the poem, which emphasizes Dickinson’s transcendence of time. In the second stanza, as in the letter, the author claims what a shame it is not to make a better use of time in general and the “nows” in particular. She even says that it is counted an affront to live the present, “one however lovely”; instead we linger over “The one that we have loved -”. To live and to love the present as we lived and loved past moments seems to be the key to escaping the dilemma of nature’s “changeless change”. So the very love of the present moment bridges the gap between here and there, life and eternity. Again, it is the only dash in the poem, in line 8, that directs the word “loved” right in front of it away from the threat of “Life’s Declivity”. How love is a means of transcending time in Dickinson’s poems has also been described by Kher: Commenting on J 147 and J 403, he speaks of the transcendence of the seasonal (earthly) time for two lovers: “The point involved is that when time shows compassion for the silent lovers, the lovers perceive the mystery of creation and the nature of the endless process, and by apprehending these they earn respite: they are no longer baffled by the phantasm of reality, they perceive reality itself and their love becomes timeless” (Kher 1974: 152). The poet’s love of words remains silent and thus transcends human time by the introduction of the idea of a valuable, long, loved ‘now’. Claudia Schwarz 90 The Moment: Forever Now To wait an Hour - is long - If Love be just beyond - To wait Eternity - is short - If Love reward the end - (J 781) In 1996, the “Long Now Foundation” was established, whose aim is to construct and build a very slow clock that would run for the next 10,000 years. The philosopher Stewart Brand believes that, as an icon, such a clock reframes the way people think because it extends the perception of the ‘now’. The project works towards the establishment of a long-time responsibility in civilization as a complete juxtaposition to the short-lived and short-sighted present state of being. After all, “[c]ivilizations with long nows look after things better”, Brand states (Brand 1999: 29). But what is a “long now” in comparison to a short one, or is the now only “a knife edge without thickness which serves merely to connect the past with the future”, as Aristotle has it? (Gale 1968: 4). J.N. Findlay points out that “[h]ow narrow or wide the present will be depends on the context in which the question is asked” (qtd. in Gale 1968: 7). It lies within the capability of the poet to set up this context. Forever - is composed of Nows - ‘Tis not a different time - Except for Infiniteness - And Latitude of Home - From this - experienced Here - Remove the Dates - to These - Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years - Without Debate - or Pause - Or Celebrated Days - No different Our Years would be From Anno Domini’s - (J 624) The meaningful combination of the two furthest distanced expressions referring to time, the lasting “forever” and the ever-fleeing “now”, shows Dickinson’s ingenious poetic treatment of time. In this single line, “Forever - is composed of Nows -”, she bridges the gap between the immediate here and now and the remote forever, transcends the boundaries of the restricted human lifetime to see what lies beyond, and promotes the meaning of the moment by setting it on one level with eternity. The now is contained in eternity and vice versa. As a value of the living - and foremost of those who create - rather than the price they have to pay for life, time can be shaped by the poet and loses its supremacy over life and death. The word “composed” implies that time is created: each “now” is composed like a piece of music (or poetry) and becomes part of the universal harmony. Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 91 How much the present moment means To those who’ve nothing more - (J 1380) Wolff argues that “Forever - is composed of Nows -” explains how the poet repairs God’s deficient creation of isotropic time that has no focus, no goal, and no implicit point of view. As opposed to anisotropic time, isotropic time is time which does not contain an intrinsic shape or structure and every moment is equally important insofar as it impels us towards death: “No different Our Years would be / From Anno Domini’s -”. The poet provides this endless flow of time with a focus by imparting privileged moments, “Celebrated Days”, to the passage of time, which even enrich the message: “The poet can be guide, and the poet’s willingness to confront even death can qualify her to understand both life and eternity, and to explicate the very process of annihilation” (Wolff 1988: 237). By the creative and structure-forming act of the poet, the past and the future are subsumed. “Forever might be short” (J 434), Dickinson writes in another poem and shows how, “[i]n the ontological sense, past, present, and future are irrelevant categories of time” (Kher 1974: 82). Dickinson “transcends all time by experiencing it in the dynamism of the present moment” (Kher 1974: 148). Thus, the celebration of the moment enables the poet to step outside timely restrictions by means of the imagination: “The imaginative experience of ‘nows’ constitutes experience of the eternal time, the mythic moment, the dateless realm of consciousness in which linear months and years evaporate like fumes in the atmosphere of perpetual sunshine” (Kher 1974: 24). Time feels so vast (J 802) If imagination holds the power to transgress time, it inevitably also disputes the notion of space: “To escape from time is to escape utterly from the cosmic order, to enter another order and another universe. Time is indissolubly linked to space” (Chevalier and Gheerbrandt 1994: 1009). The poet, who is timeless, is therefore also spaceless and, from this ‘sphere beyond’ time and space, she has the chance to perceive the universe as a whole. “When the mind removes itself theoretically from the surface of the rotating earth, the sun ceases to measure years and hours and one’s speculation is quite simply out-of-time” (Anderson 1959: 420). Anderson quotes from an astronomical book Emily Dickinson might have been familiar with because it was part of the Dickinson library. A passage in The Stars and the Earth by Felix Eberty (Boston, 1854) discusses the physical possibility to perceive every single ‘now’ of world history simultaneously: The sequence of events that have happened in time continues to exist extended consecutively through space by reason of the time it takes for the ‘picture’ of them to travel, even at the speed of light. This spatial extension of time makes the two terms parts of a single concept. Hence if God exists at all points in space simultaneously, then the whole of history is spread out before Claudia Schwarz 92 his vision as one picture - that is, omnipresence is one and the same thing with omniscience. It is quite possible for man to achieve this god-like view through his imaginative grasp of astronomical truth. It is ‘possible’ because it does not contradict the laws of thought, though the chances of his achieving it literally may be remote, even beyond reach, because of the mechanical imperfection of man’s powers. (Eberty, cited in Anderson 1959: 424, n.6) In his comments on this text, Anderson says that “[t]he poet can escape from this limitation through his imagination, as Emily Dickinson proved” (Anderson 1959: 424, n.6). Indeed, imagination frees the mind from the restrictions of rational clock-time and earthly settings. As Kher remarks, “[i]n this transformation or distillation of our experiential reality, the poet achieves the ontological status of being exterior to time” (Kher 1974: 118). It is within the power of the creative mind to create long and short moments, to keep them or to let them pass, and to value or to disdain them. Creative imagination is also the key to the next part, which challenges death and what lies beyond. Death and Beyond Dying is a wild Night and a new Road (L 332) Dickinson was very eager to find out more about the moment of death. She takes this as a motif in a poem about a clock that stops ticking, which brings the reader closer to grasping what happens when time moves out and death moves in. A Clock stopped - Not the Mantel’s - Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing - That just now dangled still - An awe came on the Trinket! The Figures hunched, with pain - Then quivered out of Decimals - Into Degreeless Noon - It will not stir for Doctors - This Pendulum of snow - This Shopman importunes it - While cool - concernless No - Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Second slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him - (J 287) Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 93 5 The parallel between the clock that stops and a person who dies can also be drawn on a less metaphysical level: it is sometimes reported that all clocks in a house stop when a person who lived there dies. 6 For the following remarks on the clock poem and in particular the central meaning of the world “noon”, cf. Wolff 1988: 192ff. In a letter, Dickinson describes the actual occurrence when a clock stopped after a thunderstorm and the feeling of uneasiness it evoked: “and the clock stopped - which made it like Judgment day” (L 471). In another poem she makes use of the “audible ticking of a clock to reassure those keeping the deathwatch that time is real and life is still there: ‘T’was comfort in her Dying Room / To hear the living Clock’” (J 1703; Anderson 1960: 235). The image of a clock that has stopped is the perfect conceit for the moment of death. The figurative language applied to clocks in everyday speech can be counted on to personify the object. Clocks have hands and a face and even the heartbeat is imitated by their ticking sounds. The parallels to human life are also contained in the movements of the clock and the figures, respectively. The Infinite a sudden Guest (J 1309) The present poem works with this metaphor on several levels. The acoustic imitation of the last tick in the first line through the hard consonants in the successive words “clock” and “stopped” rhythmically imitate the dying of a clock, hence, evoking the image of the last heartbeat (or breath) of a dying person. 5 The stillness of dying and death is supported visually by Dickinson’s use of dashes at the end of almost every line. “[Death …] is the ‘Hyphen’ between the mortal life and man’s dream of immortality”, Anderson explains (Anderson 1960: 238). How all the Clocks stopped in the World (J 577) The first stanza of the poem basically depicts the moment of death: “That just now dangled still -” [emphasis added]. The dying of the clock is irrevocable, since not even the most crafted clockmaker (“Geneva’s farthest skill”) can “put the puppet bowing”. The “awe” on the Trinket’s face is reminiscent of the face of the dead and calls on the belief that they get a glimpse of heaven at the moment of passing. As the clock stopped, it “quivered out of Decimals - / Into degreeless Noon” 6 . The quivering out of decimals refers to the superimposed fingers with zero degrees between them pointing towards noon. The decimals that usually tell the time now tell the hour of death and eternity, because noon, so carefully positioned in the center of the poem with 37 words before and afterwards, is frequently used as a synonym for eternity by Dickinson. Noon is a palindrome with no beginning and no end, that reads the same way forward and backwards implying circularity and infinity. Moreover, it contains two “oo”s in the center, twice zero, which, combined, looks Claudia Schwarz 94 like the sign for eternity: . As Wolff remarks, “thus are boundlessness and nothingness fused in this single syllable” (Wolff 1988: 192). However, in regard to the dying of the clock, noon also mirrors the word ‘no’, which means that there is no way back to life. How deeply noon is associated with death and eternity becomes obvious in the lines from another poem: “And the Everlasting Clocks - / Chime-Noon! ” (J 297). The privilege of few - Eternity - obtained - in Time -” (J 800) The next surprising image in the poem is “This Pendulum of snow - / […] / While cool - concernless No -”. The pendulum of snow recalls the former beating of the heart which has become cool. Its only message is “concernless No”, which, read in one breath, again conjures up the word “snow” from two lines above. “Concernless” is one of Dickinson’s fairly frequent word-creations which highlight her creative power. For its whiteness and coldness, snow is an image of eternity and hence of death; it evokes the picture of blood that drains away from the body and turns the skin white, but also the freezing of lively motion into the stillness of death. However, white was also Dickinson’s “favorite color, one she associated intimately with her identity” (Vanderslice 2000: 197). Therefore, Dickinson once more positions herself as a poet outside of earthly clock-time since her “pendulum of snow” chimes “concernless No”. The poem ends with “Decades of Arrogance between / The Dial life - / And Him -”. Anderson explains that “‘Arrogance’ was her inspired word for defining the hostile encounter between life and death, the absoluteness of the distance between them both in time and space” (Anderson 1960: 238). If “Him” refers to God, the poem also mirrors the struggle between the poetic power of timeless creation and God’s power over a life that is caught in time. Whereas God has the power to give and to take away, the poet’s imagination transcends the boundaries he has set up and even turns his concepts upside down, because “‘dying to the world’ gives ‘birth’ to the Voice of the poet” (Wolff 1988: 190). And Time went out to tell the News And met Eternity (J 1039) Without going into detail here, I would like to mention the poem “Because I could not stop for Death -” (J 712), in which Dickinson equally makes use of rhythmical patterns already briefly described above. At first, the poem sets up the motion of life, where the galloping of the horses is convincingly made audible in the iambic meter. However, right in the middle of the poem the motion is interrupted by the line “Or rather - He passed - Us”, where this verbal flow from the two stanzas beforehand is unexpectedly stopped through the inverted syntactical arrangement of the line. The rhythmical pattern of motion versus motionlessness is also reflected on a semantic Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 95 level. The poem moves from the active ‘passing’ of the carriage to the passive ‘being passed’ by its surroundings. As the poem is composed from a point so obviously outside the conventional understanding of time, Dickinson also plays with the idea of external and internal perception of time when she writes, “Since then - ‘tis Centuries - and yet / Feels shorter than a Day”. Beyond that all is silence … (L 785) In a letter to Perez Cowan dated 1869, Dickinson writes: “I suppose we are all thinking of Immortality, at times so stimulatedly that we cannot sleep” (L 332). The poet’s uncertainty about where we come from and where we are going is reflected in a poem that moves between eternity and the Christian promise of immortality. Behind Me - dips Eternity - Before Me - Immortality - Myself - the Term between - Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray, Dissolving into Dawn away, Before the West begin - ‘Tis Kingdoms - afterward - they say - In perfect - pauseless Monarchy - Whose Prince - is Son of None - Himself - His Dateless Dynasty - Himself - Himself diversify - In Duplicate divine - ‘Tis Miracle before Me - then - ‘Tis Miracle behind - between - A Crescent in the Sea - With Midnight to the North of Her - And Midnight to the South of Her - And Maelstrom - in the Sky - (J 721) John Vanderslice summarizes that this poem “asserts the complexities and turbulence of her own individual life” and that the poet “is recast into the darkness of doubt” (Vanderslice 2000: 197). Dickinson starts out with the “timelessness before her consciousness existed” and “future timelessness into which her consciousness will survive” (Anderson 1960: 281). Looking back she sees the light in the East from which all life emerges; in the West she makes out the soul’s ultimate destination and concentrates on the human lifespan, “- the Term between -”. Against the background of eternity or immortality this “term between” is almost too small to receive a proper name. As both noun and unspecified period of time, the word “term” stands in between two ungraspable giants. Claudia Schwarz 96 Hope is a strange invention - (J 1392) The second stanza deals with the Christian promise of life after death. The poet distances herself from this heavenly vision by including the anonymous “they say”. The “perfect - pauseless Monarchy -” relates to the idea of isotropic time explained above, where the immortal consciousness is caught in the ceaseless passage of time. Hockersmith points at Dickinson’s dilemma of immortality: if immortality means the continuation of individual consciousness it must also mean a continuing awareness of time, whereas if one escapes the awareness of time in immortality, then immortality must mean “the end of all consciousness in oblivion” (Hockersmith 1989: 278). This might be cause for the lyrical persona’s hopeless confusion that is marked by “Midnight” all around her, the inversion of the moon in the sea, and the “Maelstrom - in the Sky”. Dickinson described the feeling that comes across on the bottom line of this poem in a letter: “I cannot tell how Eternity seems. It sweeps around me like a sea” (L 785). Emerging from an Abyss, and reentering it - that is Life (L 1024) Even though Dickinson conveys the image of confusion and unanswered questions when it comes to the edges of human lifetime, the poet once more shows how - led by the power of her imagination - she moves beyond time. Kher called “Behind Me” the “culmination of her aesthetics of continuity” (Kher 1974: 228). Dickinson shows how immortality and eternity absorb time; they do not annihilate it. Therefore she assures that “Time does go on -”: Time does go on - I tell it gay to those who suffer now - They shall survive - There is a sun - They don’t believe it now - (J 1121) Did Our Best Moment last - (J 393) Dickinson’s path to immortality lies within her art. Her creativity frees her from the sense of temporality and makes her recognize “life as a continuous process in which death ceases to be absolute and final” (Kher 1974: 179). She continues her journey through time in the “Zone whose even Years” are no longer interrupted and her consciousness is forever pointing towards eternity: There is a Zone whose even Years No Solstice interrupt - Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon Whose perfect Seasons wait - Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 97 Whose Summer set in Summer, till The Centuries of June And Centuries of August cease And Consciousness - is Noon (J 1056) Conclusion When I go out of Time - (J 336) The ancient Greeks distinguished between two kinds of time, kairos and chronos. Whereas the first stands for opportunity or the propitious moments, the second refers to eternal ongoing time: “Kairos is the time of cleverness, chronos the time of wisdom” (Brand 1999: 9). Dickinson strives for a combination of those two concepts by artistically moving from one to the other. Realizing how she is bound to natural cycles, Emily Dickinson recognizes the power of creative work. The poetry she lay out for the generations to come “Will entertain the Centuries / When I, am long ago” (J 290). Cynthia Wolff remarks that “[t]he voice of Dickinson’s verse could confound death and transcend time by springing to life anew for every reader. Her poetry, then, stands as rival creation to God’s” (Wolff 1988: 185). Dickinson’s poems do not deny the unstoppable passage of time. They confront the reader with the reality of the ultimate end of individual time through death. But this is not the end in Emily Dickinson’s understanding: Aesthetically, by being eternally present in the temporal moment, we reverse temporality into eternity. It is only through time that the artist transcends its finiteness. The creative imagination plunges into the reality of the lived moment and transforms it into its eternal significance by perceiving the temporal and the eternal at once. (Kher 1974: 82) As a poet, Emily Dickinson takes a step beyond time and encourages us to follow her either by appreciating the present moment, or by engaging in a creative process. I will end this journey through Emily Dickinson’s notions of time with a quote by Northrop Frye, who speaks of the power of poetry, time, and imagination: If even time, the enemy of all living things, and to poets, at least, the most hated and feared of all tyrants, can be broken down by the imagination, anything can be. We come to the limit of the imagination […], a universe entirely possessed and occupied by human life, a city of which the stars are suburbs. Nobody can believe in any such universe: literature is not religion, and it doesn’t address itself to belief. But if we shut the vision of it completely out of our minds, or insist on its being limited in various ways, something goes dead inside us, perhaps the one thing that it is really important to keep alive. (Frye 1997: 33) Claudia Schwarz 98 7 Adapted from J 721, with commenting lines from J 448, J 67, J 929, J 501, J 802, L 843, and J 174. I would like to thank Gudrun M. Grabher for most valuable comments and ideas that shaped and enhanced this article. P.S. 7 Eternity only will answer (L 13) Behind me - dips Your Poetry - Exterior - to Time Before me - critics’ Commentary - Myself - the Term between - I am Nobody Death but the Drift from common Roads, Dissolving into puzzling Thoughts, Before the Test begin - How far is it to Heaven? […] This World is not Conclusion ‘Tis timeless wor(l)ds before me - then Time feels so vast ‘Tis timeless wor(l)ds behind - between A Curser on the Screen - With Midnight to the North of Her - Night is my favorite Day - And Midnight to the South of Her - And letters - Beyond Time - Past Midnight! Past the Morning Star! References J The Poems of Emily Dickinson (1955). Ed. Thomas H. Johnson. 3 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP. (Citation by poem number.) L The Letters of Emily Dickinson. (1958). Ed. Thomas H. Johnson and Theodora Ward: 3 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP. (Citation by poem number.) Anderson, Charles R. (1959) “The Trap of Time in Emily Dickinson’s Poetry.” The Journal of English Literary History 22. 402-424. - (1960). Emily Dickinson’s Poetry. Stairway of Surprise. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Brand, Stewart (1999). The Clock of the Long Now: Time and Responsibility: The Ideas Behind the World’s Slowest Computer. New York: Basic Books. Chevalier, Jean, and Alain Gheerbrant (1994). “Time.” A Dictionary of Symbols. Trans. John Buchanan-Brown. London et al.: Penguin. 1008-1009. Derrick, Paul Scott (1986). “Emily Dickinson, Martin Heidegger, and the Poetry of Dread.” Western Humanities Review 40: 1. 27-38. Emerson, Ralph Waldo (1940). “The American Scholar.” 1837. The Complete Essays and other Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Brooks Atkinson. New York: Modern Library. 43-63. Frye, Northrop (1997). The Educated Imagination. 1963. Concord: Anansi P. Emily Dickinson’s Journeys Beyond Time 99 Gale, Richard M. (ed.) (1968). The Philosophy of Time. London and Melbourne: MacMillan. Grabher, Gudrun, Roland Hagenbüchle, and Cristanne Miller (eds.) (1999). The Emily Dickinson Handbook. Amherst: U of Mass. P. Hagenbüchle, Roland (1988). Emily Dickinson. Wagnis der Selbstbegegnung. Tübingen: Stauffenburg. Hockersmith, Thomas (1989). “‘Into Degreeless Noon’: Time, Consciousness, and Oblivion in Emily Dickinson.” American Transcendental Quarterly 3. 277-295. Kher, Inder Nath (1974). The Landscape of Absence. Emily Dickinson’s Poetry. New Haven and London: Yale UP. Novikov, Igor D. (1998). The River of Time. Trans. Vitaly Kisin. Cambridge: Cambridge UP. Röd, Wolfgang (2000). Der Weg der Philosophie. 2 vols. München: Beck. Salska, Agnieszka (1999). “Dickinson’s Letters.” The Emily Dickinson Handbook. Ed. Gudrun Grabher, Roland Hagenbüchle, and Cristanne Miller. Amherst: U of Mass. P. 163-180. Schmidt, Heinrich (1978). Philosophisches Wörterbuch. 21 st rev. ed. Georgi Schischkoff. Stuttgart: Alfred Kröner. St. Augustine (1960). The Confessions of St. Augustine. Trans. John K. Ryan. New York: Image Books. Vanderslice, John (2000). “Dickinson’s BEHIND ME - DIPS ETERNITY.” Explicator 58: 4. 195-198. Wolff, Cynthia Griffin (1988). Emily Dickinson. Reading et al.: Addison-Wesley. Claudia Schwarz Leopold-Franzens-Universität Innsbruck Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KG Postfach 25 60 · D-72015 Tübingen · Fax (0 7071) 97 97-11 Internet: www.narr.de · E-Mail: info@narr.de This book aims at giving students a comprehensive and comprehensible overview of the main theories, methods, and fields of interest of British cultural studies. Taking the city and the university of Oxford and their manifold cultural meanings as a case study, the book covers issues of representation, identity, ethnicity, class, gender, and (new) cultural geography. Combining the functions of a primary text reader and a conventional textbook, this innovative volume will help students to derive analytical tools from the theor y excerpts and to test their own approaches to the various forms of cultural texts against these theories. Throughout, texts and images are introduced by short explanatory passages and accompanied by suggestions for a stepbystep analysis and further reading, which makes the collection suitable for BA as well as MA students. Merle Tönnies / Claus Ulrich Viol Introduction to the Study of British Culture narr studienbücher 2007, IV, 314 Seiten, div. Abb. EUR 24,90 / SFr 41,70 ISBN 978-3-8223-6126-8 AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Rezensionen Erik Alder / Dietmar Hauck, Music and Literature: Music in the Works of Anthony Burgess and E.M. Forster. An Interdisciplinary Study. Tübingen/ Basel: Francke, 2005. Werner Wolf The aim of this study, which purports to be “written primarily for the scholar and interdisciplinary specialist” (12), is “to show the complex interrelations of music and literature, viz. what kinds of functions music can have in a narrative work” (11). Alder and Hauck discuss Burgess’s classic A Clockwork Orange and his less well known novel Napoleon Symphony as well as numerous works by E.M. Forster (“The Celestial Omnibus”, “Co-ordination”, A Room with a View, Where Angels Fear to Tread, Howards End, A Passage to India, Maurice and the libretto to Britten’s opera Billy Budd, but also several other texts (e.g. Tolstoy’s story “The Kreutzer Sonata”, de Moor’s novel Kreutzersonate and Ghedini’s opera Billy Budd). In their conclusion the authors mention “four main ways how music and fiction are connected” (183): (1.) “music [as] linked with the personality and psyche of the characters” (i.e. music as a shaping element on the story level), (2.) “[m]usic and society” (an odd way of referring to the meta-aesthetic function of some occurrences of music on the levels of story and theme, which the authors then reformulate as “criticiz[ing] different wrong attitudes towards and ways to understand music”), (3.) “adaption of thematic or formal elements from the area of music” (i.e. the employment of music as a shaping force on the discourse level), and (4.) mutual “inspir[ations]” of musical and literary works (i.e. intermedial transposition as in the “adaptation” of Melville’s “Billy Budd, Sailor” for a libretto and opera, and intermedial reference through thematization as in Tolstoy’s “The Kreutzer Sonata”, where “a piece of music becomes the centre of a literary work”). The authors have the merit of knowing what they are speaking about when it comes to musicological details and thus qualify in principle for a truly interdisciplinary study (this can, e.g., be seen in ch. 2 in the expert critical discussion of the musicalization of fiction through formal analogies in Napoleon Symphony). In addition, the broad spectrum of works mentioned permits them to make some valuable additions to the texts usually discussed in the field, including literature-inspired Rezensionen 102 1 This is true of many of Scher’s studies, which the authors do not appear to know, and also, e.g., of the book series Word and Music Studies (published by Rodopi/ Amsterdam since 1999) as well as of Werner Wolf (1999). The Musicalization of Fiction: A Study in the Theory and History of Intermediality. Amsterdam: Rodopi, which, for instance, also contains a chapter on Burgess’s Napoleon Symphony. operas, in particular Ghedini’s neglected Billy Budd (in this context it is regrettable that the references in Forster’s Maurice to Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony are given such short shrift [see p. 130]). In other respects the book is a puzzle, to say the least. One is, for instance, puzzled why the authors thought it unnecessary to do proper research in relevant fields before starting to write their book. For a study mostly dedicated to narrative fiction such a relevant field would obviously have been narratology, of which the authors appear to be totally unaware but also, and in particular, intermedial, notably word and music studies. Alder and Hauck limit themselves to mentioning two texts in their remarkably concise bibliography: a book by Alex Aronson from 1980, and Steven Paul Scher’s Music and Text from 1992. All the succeeding research of this flourishing field has apparently been disregarded, although some of it would have been central to the author’s project 1 . To go about their business in this way may be courageous, especially in the face of long-established contrary scholarly practice, as well as liberating, as it gives the authors the opportunity, so to speak, to invent the wheel anew, but the result is expectedly problematic. Disregarding the wealth of concepts and terminology which have been developed in narratology as well as in word and music studies may have spared the reader some ‘jargon’ but has hardly increased the quality of the analyses and rather gives them a home-spun ring (as discernible in the formulations of the four aforementioned functions). A further point worth mentioning is the cavalier manner in which the authors free themselves from the fetters of formal correctness which have traditionally been respected in scholarly writings. To Alder and Hauck quoting a title correctly does not appear to be important (“Point Counterpoint” [63]), nor does a bibliographical reference omitting the author (15, note 8) and the incongruity of citing book titles both in italics and in Roman types (124, notes 210 and 213) seem to bother them. The unconventionality of Alder and Hauck’s way of writing can also be observed when comparing the works cited in their main text and notes with their bibliography, where many are not included (e.g. Tame, McNeil, and Portnoy, cf. pp. 32, 40, 121), and it is even more forcefully revealed when the authors promise a discussion of “Two Poems” in the title of ch. 7 (131), although only one occurs in the subsequent text. In the light of such non-conformism further deviations from standard practice as, for instance, when the publisher “Rowman and Littlefield” appears in the bibliography as part of a title, and Rose Tremain’s novel Music and Silence is listed under “Secondary Sources”, may be regarded as a playful means of testing the readers’ ability to create order for themselves (provided, of course, they still expect it in this work at this late point). After what has been said it hardly comes as a suprise that the authors extend their non-conformism from minor formal elements to the construction of their book as a whole. Its chapter titles partly employ musical metaphors, but one should avoid the connotation of a ‘through-composed’ text and rather regret that the overall title of the Rezensionen 103 book does not also employ a musical metaphor such as ‘rhapsody’, for this would best suit its structure, which one cannot but think is wilfully loose. Thus, the reader is to a large extent saved the tedium of comparisons between the two main authors discussed - otherwise a sine qua non of any ordinary seminar paper at undergraduate level -, and the two-page conclusion is written in a manner which does not really detract from the previous looseness of construction. As a consequence, the book gives the impression of being a collection of more or less independent essays, which at least has the benefit of not straining the reader’s memory too much with criteria of comparison, or a thesis to be followed. The overall impression of a rhapsody is corroborated by the fact that no reasons are given why the main authors appear in the non-chronological sequence Burgess - Forster, and the model of a rhapsody also seems to have encouraged Alder and Hauck to dispense with criteria that would have explained why the author-centred main chapters are prefaced by a “Prelude” on two stories dealing with wunderkinder, why they are separated by an “Interlude” on various works inspired by Beethoven’s “Kreutzer Sonate” and why they are followed by a baffling “Postlude” on literary texts that foreground the performative aspect of music under ‘extreme conditions’. The most noteworthy non-conformism of the book is, however, its avoidance of the pedantry of a clear focus as well as the fact that the authors obviously did not intend to trespass on the reader’s attention with general, systematic aspects of word and music relationships. The bulk of the study is dedicated to summaries of the respective works, which do not really contribute to research and even frequently lose track of the intermedial subject but are at least easy to read. The reader-friendliness of the text is at times enhanced by interspersed anecdotes, and digressions that are only marginally related to the book’s subject (e.g. on “whizz kids” [13] or on the problem of human evil [179]) also contribute to avoiding the tedium of tightly woven arguments. The same holds true of the fact that remarks on some functions, in particular of musical elements on the story level, are kept to a well digestible minimum (while the thornier question why some texts try to imitate musical forms is happily not even asked). In a scholarly work on word and music interrelations one would perhaps have expected discussions that are centred on the main issue of forms and functions of these relationships, and instead of the many impressionistic remarks and rare conclusions some readers may have wished for more systematic explorations on the basis of existing research - but these are obviously inappropriate expectations in the present case. One should therefore not be too disappointed that in spite of the initial promise of focussing on functions of word and music interrelations interesting questions concerning the cultural and historical context, e.g., why in twentieth-century literature references to music appear to be on the increase, are not even raised. Nor should one expect that another intriguing phenomenon, namely the question as to why Beethoven figures so prominently in the texts discussed, only receives a partial and on the whole unsatisfactory treatment, since the larger context does not come into focus: the circumstance that on the one hand as well as in tendency in much modern and more recent fiction to privilege references to Beethoven are part of a music, while on the other hand there are also numerous novels which focus on popmusic, as recently emphasized by Claus-Ulrich Viol in Jukebooks. Contemporary British Fiction, Popular Music, and Cultural Value (2006). Rezensionen 104 All in all, the book provides an easily readable access to parts of an innovative field, is written in fluent English and constitutes a mine of material most of which is indeed interesting for the “interdisciplinary specialist” (12). Yet so much has been done which regrettably prevents its becoming a substantial contribution to the current debate on the relationships between literature, music and other media that one of the main puzzles of this study is the kind of “scholar” (12) the authors and the renowned publisher Francke had in mind when publishing this book. Werner Wolf Institut für Anglistik Universität Graz Heike Paul und Katja Kanzler (Hg.), Amerikanische Populärkultur in Deutschland: Case Studies in Cultural Transfer Past and Present. Leipzig: Universitätsverlag, 2002. Karin M. Schmidlechner Intention der Beiträge dieses Bandes ist die Untersuchung der Aneignung US-amerikanischer Populärkultur in Deutschland in unterschiedlichen historischen und zeitgenössischen Kontexten. Als dafür richtungsweisend galten den beiden Herausgeberinnen Katja Kanzler und Heike Paul die Arbeiten von zwei Experten der Thematik, einerseits Reinhold Wagnleitner, mit seinem Konzept der Eigenständigkeit von KonsumentInnen im Prozess des Kulturtransfers, andererseits Kaspar Maase, der die Vorstellungen vom westlichen Kulturbegriff neu konzipiert, indem er die Hybridität als kulturelle Norm begreift. In ihrer Einleitung weisen die beiden Herausgeberinnen darauf hin, dass die Beiträge dieses Bandes die Aufnahme amerikanischer Populärkultur in einem speziell deutschen Kontext nachvollziehen wollen, wobei es um die Behandlung von unterschiedlichsten Phänomenen - wie etwa die deutschen Reaktionen auf den amerikanischen Humor - in unterschiedlichen Zeiten - die Beiträge behandeln das 19. und das 20. Jahrhundert - und aus unterschiedlichen Perspektiven - historischen oder literaturwissenschaftlichen - geht. Die ersten vier Beiträge stellen eine Aufarbeitung aus historischer Perspektive dar. Heike Paul beschäftigt sich mit der deutschen Rezeption von Harriet Beecher Stowes Roman Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Diese wird dabei als zentrales Beispiel für die Verbreitung amerikanischer Populärkultur im Deutschland des 19. Jahrhundert analysiert. Paul weist auf zwei dominante Interpretationsstränge hin. Zum einen auf die Tendenz deutscher Rezensenten, die Aussagen des Buches auf deutsche Verhältnisse zu übertragen und dazu zu nutzen, soziale und ökonomische Missstände im eigenen Land zu thematisieren. Zum Zweiten ist das Buch wichtig für die Wahrnehmung und Betrachtung Amerikas in einer Zeit, als die deutsche Immigration in die USA einen neuen Höhepunkt erlebte. Paul sieht hier einen Einfluss des Romans bezüglich der Beschreibung deutscher und deutsch-amerikanischer Identitä- AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 105 ten. In ihrer Zusammenfassung stellt sie u.a. auch fest, dass eine vergleichende Studie der unterschiedlichen Übersetzungen und Adaptionen mehr Licht auf eine spezifische deutsche Leseerfahrung werfen könnte. Holger Kersten geht auf die frühe deutsche Rezeption des amerikanischen Humors ein, wobei er anmerkt, dass es ihm ein Bedürfnis ist, aufzuzeigen, dass der dominante Einfluss der amerikanischen Populärkultur sich nicht nur auf die jüngere Gegenwart erstreckt. Am Beispiel seines Themas will er zeigen, dass Interesse für amerikanische Populärkultur bereits im 19. Jahrhundert einsetzte. Bereits in den 1840er Jahren gab es die Möglichkeit, Texte amerikanischer Humoristen im englischsprachigen Original und in deutschen Übersetzungen zu lesen. Kersten stellt fest, dass die deutsche Leserschaft sehr an solchen Texten interessiert war. In ihrer Untersuchung “Fear of Shopping in Germany: The Americanization of Consumption in Early Mail-Order Business” weist Ann Koenen darauf hin, dass es nicht nur wichtig ist, was gekauft wird, sondern auch auf welche Art und Weise. Sie zeigt dabei auf, dass sich der Prozess der Amerikanisierung nicht nur auf einzelne Produkte bezieht, sondern auch auf die Struktur der Verbreitung, und versucht zu ergründen, warum sich das amerikanische Modell des ‘Mail-Order Business’ am Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts nicht durchsetzten konnte. Dies gelang erst nach dem 2. Weltkrieg. Silke Horstkotte und Olaf Jürgen Schmidt untersuchen in ihrem Beitrag “Heil Coca-Cola! - Zwischen Germanisierung und Re-Amerikanisierung: Coke im Dritten Reich” einen weiteren Aspekt der Geschichte von Coca-Cola in Deutschland, welches als das amerikanische Konsumprodukt schlechthin gilt und dem viele Deutsche häufig mit Misstrauen begegnen. Coke wird ja als Flagschiff der totalen Amerikanisierung betrachtet, und zwar einer Amerikanisierung, die die deutsche ‘Leitkultur’ gefährdet bzw. auslöscht. Gerade in der Nachkriegszeit waren solche Anschauungen sehr verbreitet, als Coca-Cola mit den Alliierten nach Deutschland gebracht wurde und sehr oft als ein Symbol der Besetzung und Verlust der nationalen Identität diente. Dabei wird nicht berücksichtigt - und war den meisten Deutschen auch nicht bewusst - dass es bereits vor dem 2. Weltkrieg eine deutsche Zweigstelle des Coca-Cola Konzerns gegeben hat und dass Coca-Cola in diesem Zeitraum erfolgreich als deutsches Produkt vermarktet wurde. Die beiden AutorInnen argumentieren nun, dass diese unterschiedlichen Auffassungen von Coca-Cola, einerseits als deutsches Produkt im Einklang mit der Nazi-Ideologie vor dem Krieg und andererseits als Symbol der Amerikanisierung und Globalisierung danach, dazu dienen kann, den Unterschied zwischen quasi isolierten Amerkanismen und der Amerikanisierung als einem globalen Phänomen zu exemplifizieren. Amerikanismen sind isolierte Elemente von Modernität, die nicht notwendigerweise zu strukturellen Änderungen in den europäischen “Gastländern” führen. Das ist der Ansatz, wie amerikanische kulturelle Einflüsse Anfang des 20. Jh. gesehen wurden. Amerikanisierung auf der anderen Seite bezieht sich auf eine hegemoniale Vorgangsweise auf einer globalen Skala. Der Unterschied zwischen diesen beiden Modellen des kulturellen Einflusses bestimmte auch den Wechsel in der deutschen Auffassung von Coca-Cola. Weil Coke zum Paradigma des isolierten Amerikanismus vor dem Krieg gehörte, war es nicht eindeutig als amerikanisch erkennbar und konnte deshalb als deutsches Produkt reüssieren. Das wurde aber unmöglich, als es nach dem Krieg als Teil einer umfassenden Amerikanisierung zurückkehrte. So gesehen kann die Geschichte von Coca- Rezensionen 106 Cola in Deutschland als Geschichte einer erfolgreichen Re-Amerikanisierung betrachtet werden, wobei die massive Ablehnung, die Coca-Cola nach dem Krieg entgegenschlug, neben psychologischen auch politische Gründe hatte. Vor allem aber standen wirtschaftliche Interessen dahinter, weil die einheimischen Produzenten von Erfrischungsgetränken mit allen Mitteln versuchten, Coca-Cola von den europäischen Märkten zu verdrängen und in ihren Argumentationen nicht gerade zimperlich waren. So wurden Artikel und wissenschaftliche Gutachten lanciert, in denen Informationen über die gesundheitlichen Schäden von Coca-Cola verbreitet wurden. Prinzipiell hat das Getränk die Deutschen nach dem 2. Weltkrieg in zwei Lager gedrängt. Die einen verehrten es als Erfrischungsgetränk, die anderen lehnten es als Sinnbild der amerikanischen Kultur ab. Während die Geschichte von Coca-Cola nach dem 2. Weltkrieg schon seit einiger Zeit Gegenstand von wissenschaftlichen Untersuchungen war, ist die Beschreibung der Verbreitung Coca-Colas in den 30er Jahren noch relativ neu. Interessant ist, dass Coca-Cola in Europa damals tatsächlich nur in Nazi-Deutschland wirkliche Erfolgserlebnisse bezüglich der Verkaufszahlen hatte. Bis zum Kriegsausbruch wurden in Deutschland 4,5 Millionen Kästen verkauft. Damit war Deutschland der wichtigste europäische Absatzmarkt, der auch nach Kriegsausbruch gehalten wurde, wobei das Getränk bis 1942 erhältlich war. Für die deutschen KonsumentInnen der 30er Jahre war dabei nicht unbedingt erkennbar, dass es sich um ein amerikanisches Produkt handelte, weil der Cola-Konzern daran interessiert war, es als ein deutsches, wenig später speziell als ein nationalsozialistisches Produkt zu präsentieren. Bei diesem Kulturtransfer veränderte sich also durch die spezifische Anpassungsstrategie das transferierte Produkt selbst, so dass schließlich das Image Coca-Colas weder als eindeutig amerikanisch noch als eindeutig deutsch zu identifizieren war. Wie die AutorInnen hinweisen, entsprach die Uneindeutigkeit der Marke in bezeichnender Weise dem ambivalenten Verhältnis der NS-Ideologie zu den USA und zur amerikanischen Kultur. Tatsache ist dabei, dass der Konzern selbst - der deutsche Coca-Cola Vertrieb nahm den Nazis gegenüber eine loyale Haltung ein - in der NS-Zeit durchaus politische Verbiegungen vornehmen musste. An die Cola-Thematik schließen zwei Beiträge an, die sich auf die ehemalige Deutsche Demokratische Republik beziehen: Anna-Christina Giovanopoulos behandelt in ihrem Beitrag “Humanistischer Aufschrei” oder “anarchistischer Protest? ” die DDR-Rezeption der amerikanischen Autoren Ernest Hemingway, J.D. Salinger und Jack Kerouac. Sie weist auf die trotz der ideologischen Unterschiede bestehende Faszination amerikanischer Literatur auf ostdeutsche LeserInnen hin und analysiert die Begutachtungspraxis der damit befassten staatlichen DDR-Institutionen. Auch Katja Kanzler bezieht sich in ihrer Untersuchung “,Rettet die Brüder! ’ Science Fiction in der DDR der 50er Jahre” auf Ostdeutschland. In ihrer Arbeit will sie belegen, dass Science Fiction damals nicht ausschließlich ein amerikanisches Phänomen war, sondern in internationalen Dimensionen gesehen werden sollte, und erläutert dann im Speziellen die Unterschiede zwischen der amerikanischen und der ostdeutschen Science Fiction Literatur. Den Abschluss des Bandes bilden vier Beiträge, die sich mit populärkulturellen Phänomenen beschäftigen, die aus deutscher Perspektive sehr oft mit Amerika identifiziert werden, worauf Anne-Kathrin Luchting in ihrer Untersuchung “Gedanken zu Sinnstiftungsprozessen bei Daily Soaps” hinweist. Soap Operas sind seit den 1990er Jahren ein wichtiger Bestandteil der deutschen Fernsehkultur geworden und Rezensionen 107 stellen bis zur Gegenwart eine sehr populäre Form für ein vorwiegend junges Publikum dar. Luchting zeigt in ihren Ausführungen die Dialektik zwischen Medienkultur und der Art und Weise, in welche diese in das Alltagsleben der ZuseherInnen integriert wird. Sie stellt weiters fest, dass ein Überblick über die deutschen Soap-Fans enthüllt, dass die Daily Soap ihre Attraktion nur in Interaktion mit anderen Medien entfalten kann, wobei auf diese Weise auch die sogenannte ‘Soap-Kultur’ entwickelt wird. Am Beispiel der Kriminalliteratur untersucht Katja Schmiederer in ihrer Studie “Betrachtungen zur Rezeption amerikanischer Kriminalliteratur in Deutschland,” ob und wie amerikanische Trends von deutschen AutorInnen aufgenommen bzw. verwendet wurden. Sie zeigt an den von ihr untersuchten drei Werkbeispielen, dass sich die besonders populären Motive amerikanische Kriminalromane auch in den zeitgenössischen deutschen Krimis finden, wenn auch in anderen Ausprägungen. Eine weitere Gemeinsamkeit findet sie im Schauplatz Großstadt sowie im Aufgreifen moderner Einflüsse des Polizeiapparats. Auch die Action-orientierte Komponente des idealtypischen US-Thrillers geht in die deutsche Variante der Kriminalliteratur ein. Im Unterschied zu zeitgenössischen amerikanischen Krimis - und dabei ähneln sich die von ihr untersuchten deutschen Beispiele - wurden jedoch die deutschen in multiperspektivischer Form verfasst, agieren in ihnen neben mehreren ErmittlerInnen auch mehrere TäterInnen und werden genderspezifische Rollenverteilungen hinterfragt. Deutlich wird von den deutschen AutorInnen auch Medien-und Gesellschaftskritik artikuliert. In “Areas of Uncertainty: Observations on the German Reception of Spike Lee and HipHop Culture”, verfasst von Zoe Antonia Kusmierz, wird die Aufnahme von Filmen von Spike Lee als repräsentativ für deutsche Reaktionen auf die amerikanische Populärkultur gesehen. Kusmierz zieht Parallelen zwischen der Lee-Rezeption und der Aneignung des Hip-Hop in Deutschland. In ihrer Zusammenfassung weist sie darauf hin, dass die deutschen Auseinandersetzungen mit afroamerikanischer Popkultur vielfältig und unterschiedlich sind und die Diversität der Zuhörerschaft von “popular culture”-Produkten reflektieren. Anne Troester schildert in “Translating Hollywood - The Challenge of Dubbing Films into German” aus eigenen Erfahrungen die Probleme, die sich bei der deutschen Synchronisierung amerikanischer Filme ergeben. Troester zeigt den Prozess der Bearbeitung des Originalmaterials im Synchronstudio auf und stellt dabei die Frage, wie weit man bei dem dabei entstandenen Produkt überhaupt noch von einem Holywood-Film sprechen kann. Sie kommt zu dem Ergebnis, dass durch die Synchronisierung das Produkt selbst verändert wurde, zu einem Film, der Geschichten von einer fremden Umgebung zeigt, gespielt von Schauspielern, die nicht einheimisch sind, aber die Sprache der Einheimischen sprechen. Ähnlich wie bei Coca-Cola hat sich also auch hier durch den Kulturtransfer das Produkt selbst verändert. Zusammenfassend ist festzustellen, dass alle Beiträge dieses Bandes durchwegs sehr interessant, aufschlussreich und gut lesbar sind, unabhängig von der fachlichen Grundausrichtung des Lesepublikums. Hervorzuheben sind die originellen und kreativen Fragestellungen der einzelnen Beiträge, die besonders zu neuen Erkenntnissen bezüglich der Gesamtthematik beitragen. Erwähnenswert sind hier die Studien zum 19. Jahrhundert und zum frühen 20. Jahrhundert. Erfreulich ist aber auch die Tatsache, dass mittlerweile auch die ehemalige DDR Gegenstand des For- Rezensionen 108 schungsinteresses zur Thematik ist, wenngleich sie in diesem Band nur einen vergleichsweise schmalen Raum einnimmt. Es ist zu hoffen, dass weitere Studien dazu folgen. Karin M. Schmidlechner Institut für Geschichte Universität Graz Genevieve Susemihl, “…and it became my home.” Die Assimilation und Integration der deutschen Hitlerflüchtlinge in New York und Toronto. (Studien zu Geschichte, Politik und Gesellschaft Nordamerikas, Band 21). Münster: LIT Verlag, 2004. Karin M. Schmidlechner Die vorliegende Arbeit beschäftigt sich mit der Assimilation und Integration der deutschen Hitlerflüchtlinge in den USA und in Kanada. Dabei handelt es sich um etwa 120.000 Emigranten, die, aus Deutschland und aus Österreich stammend, während der Nazi-Ära emigrierten, wobei Susemihl nicht zwischen Flüchtlingen aus Deutschland und Österreich unterscheidet. Dies begründet sie damit, dass Österreich seit 1938 Teil des Deutschen Reiches war und von der nordamerikanischen Einwanderungspolitik als solches behandelt wurde. Die Autorin problematisiert leider nicht, ob die für die Flüchtlinge zweifellos unterschiedlichen Lebensbedingungen in Deutschland und Österreich Einfluss auf ihr weiteres Leben in den USA bzw. in Kanada gehabt haben. Studien, die sich speziell mit österreichischen Flüchtlingen in den USA auseinandersetzen, zeigen allerdings, dass für diese die nationale Komponente eine wesentliche Rolle spielte (siehe Strutz 2006, Lechner/ Strutz 2005). Etwa 16% der Flüchtlinge waren Kinder bis zu 16 Jahren, etwa 60% Erwachsene zwischen 16 und 45 Jahren. Ein Großteil von ihnen ließ sich in New York nieder. Von Kanada wurden etwa 5.000 Flüchtlinge aufgenommen. Dazu kamen noch 2.000 deutsch-jüdische Flüchtlinge, die zunächst in England waren und von dort nach Kanada transportiert wurden. Die Letztgenannten unterscheiden sich von den anderen insofern, als sie unfreiwillig eingewandert sind. Die meisten Kanadaflüchtlinge zogen in den Westen, in und um Toronto und Montreal ließen sich nur wenige nieder. S. weist darauf hin, dass die Amerikanisierung der Hitlerflüchtlinge vielfach beschrieben wurde, wobei schon im Jahre 1941 die Feststellung erfolgte, dass wahrscheinlich keine andere Gruppe von EmigrantInnen so schnell die Sprache, Sitten und Kultur Nordamerikas annahm wie die deutschen Hitlerflüchtlinge. Diesem Befund schließt sich auch die Autorin an, die in New York 30 und in Toronto neun Interviews führte, aber auch auf unveröffentlichte Memoiren, Autobiographien und AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 109 Monographien zur deutsch-jüdischen Migrationsproblematik zurückgreift. Susemihl geht bedauerlicherweise nicht darauf ein, ob und wie viele Personen die Bitte um ein Interview abgelehnt haben, was im Hinblick auf die zu Beginn der Erörterungen konstatierte positive Einschätzung der InterviewpartnerInnen mit dem Verlauf ihres Lebens nicht uninteressant gewesen wäre. Hier könnte sich nämlich ein Phänomen zeigen, das bei biographischen Interviews immer wieder zu beobachten ist, nämlich, dass Menschen, die bereit sind, Auskünfte über ihr Leben zu geben, dieses häufig als Erfolgsgeschichte darstellen, bzw. nur jene, die ihr Leben als “erfolgreich” betrachten, darüber sprechen wollen, während jene, die mit dem Verlauf ihres Lebens nicht zufrieden sind, Auskünfte darüber verweigern. Somit wird mit den präsentierten Erfolgsgeschichten nur ein Teil der Möglichkeiten eines Lebenslaufes ausreichend abgedeckt, die Frage nach den Lebensläufen der anderen, die möglicherweise nicht so erfolgreich waren, bleibt offen. Susemihl begründet dieses “Defizit” mit dem Hinweis - allerdings, ohne eine Begründung dafür abzugeben -, sich mit Fragestellungen nach Erinnerung, Gedächtnis, Konstruktion persönlicher Lebensgeschichten sowie Vergangenheitsbewältigung nicht auseinandergesetzt zu haben, weist auf deren Relevanz allerdings ausdrücklich hin. Susemihl stellt fest, dass in der Forschung der Tatsache, dass sich die Assimilation der deutschen Flüchtlinge nicht vollständig vollzog, erstaunlich wenig Beachtung geschenkt wird, und findet auch durch ihre eigenen Studien bestätigt, dass ein Festhalten an deutschen und europäischen Werten zu konstatieren ist. Ziel ihrer Untersuchung ist nun, herauszufinden, ob sich die Hitlerflüchtlinge heute als nordamerikanische Menschen fühlen oder eher mit ihrer deutschen Heimat identifizieren, und in weiterer Folge, wie stark sie an ihren Wurzeln festhalten. Sie untersucht auch, ob und wie sich der jüdische Glaube und ihre Identifikation mit dem Judentum durch die Migrationserfahrung änderte. Interessanterweise gibt es bislang keine konkreten empirischen Untersuchungen zum Ergebnis der Assimilierungs- und Integrationsbestrebungen der Hitlerflüchtlinge, wobei Susemihl eben auch darauf verweist, dass Emigration und Exil der deutschen Hitlerflüchtlinge im allgemeinen besonders in New York vielfach untersucht wurden. Weiters stellt sie fest, dass die Verarbeitung der Fluchterfahrungen einen wichtigen Untersuchungsgegenstand in der Forschung darstellt, wobei sich die Hauptdebatte der Forschung mit den Beiträgen der Flüchtlinge zur amerikanischen Gesellschaft beschäftigt und dabei zunächst vor allem berühmte Persönlichkeiten Gegenstand von ausgiebigen Forschungen waren. Aber auch dabei wurden die Probleme bei der Assimilierung bzw. Integration nur selten beachtet. Ebenso wenig Beachtung wurde auch den Emigrantenkindern geschenkt, d.h. jene, die als Kinder, Jugendliche oder junge Erwachsene nach Amerika kamen, und ihren spezifischen Problemen bei der Einwanderung und Anpassung, die sich doch sehr stark von jenen der Elterngeneration unterschieden. Bezüglich Kanada ist auch darauf hinzuweisen, dass der Forschungsgegenstand noch wesentlich weniger bearbeitet wurde und auch die Zahl der Publikationen geringer ist. Als Gründe dafür werden die begrenzte Einwanderung, weiters die räumliche Verteilung der Flüchtlinge im Land sowie mangelnde statistische Daten angeführt. Es ist vor allem die Ungleichgewichtigkeit der vorhandenen Informationen, die den Versuch eines Vergleichs der Bedingungen in New York und in Toronto problematisch erscheinen lässt, obwohl die prinzipielle Intention - nämlich eine Differenzierung von Anpassungserfahrungen nach regionalen Kriterien - sehr zu begrüßen ist. Rezensionen 110 In der Auflistung ihrer Ergebnisse verweist Susemihl u.a. darauf, dass alle ihre InterviewpartnerInnen im Laufe ihres Aufenthalts zu loyalen AmerikanerInnen bzw. KanadierInnen wurden und sich im zunächst fremden Land ein neues Zuhause aufgebaut haben. Generell lebten sich dabei junge Flüchtlinge leichter ein als ältere und Frauen leichter als Männer. In diesem Prozess des Einlebens haben die ImmigrantInnen nicht nur die Wertestrukturen und Verhaltensmuster der Einheimischen übernommen, sondern auch die Empfängergesellschaft bzw. deren kulturelle Strukturen entscheidend beeinflusst. Das bedeutet aber nicht, dass sie ihre ursprüngliche Identität, sowie die Normen, Werte und Gewohnheiten ihrer Herkunftsgesellschaft vollständig und zugunsten einer neuen Identität abgelegt hätten. Ihr Erfolg war auf ihre Hintergrundvariablen (Bildung, Fähigkeiten, Talent) aber auch auf ihre Motivation und überdurchschnittliche Leistungsbereitschaft zurückzuführen. Daneben waren aber auch die Rahmenbedingungen der Empfängergesellschaft, die in New York völlig andere waren als in Toronto, für die Integration der Flüchtlinge von Bedeutung. Dies zeigt sich vor allem am anfänglichen Engagement in jüdischen Gemeinschaften. Während dies infolge der hohen Zahl von deutschen Juden in New York problemlos möglich war, konnten die Flüchtlinge in Toronto aufgrund der geringen Anzahl keine deutsche Subkultur aufrecht erhalten und integrierten sich in die bestehende Gruppe der einheimischen, vorwiegend orthodoxen Juden. Ein weiterer Unterschied ergibt sich in der Selbsteinschätzung bezüglich der Zugehörigkeit zu gesellschaftlichen Schichten, für welche weniger Ausbildung oder Beruf die Grundlage bildeten als der Lebensstandard. Hierbei ergibt sich eine vorwiegende Einordnung der Flüchtlinge in die Mittelschicht für New York und in die obere Mittelschicht für Toronto, wobei sich die Frauen in New York derselben Schicht zurechneten wie ihre Männer. Mit der Adaptierung der Frauen beschäftigt sich Susemihl im vierten Teil in einem eigenen Kapitel. Immerhin sind zwischen 1939 und 1943 fast 30.000 Frauen aus Deutschland und Österreich in die USA und Kanada emigriert, wobei der größte Teil davon in der Heimat nicht berufstätig war. Viele von ihnen waren in der neuen Heimat gezwungen, ihren Anteil am Erhalt der Familie zu leisten, weil ihr Mann entweder zu wenig verdiente oder überhaupt arbeitslos war. Hier zeigt sich, dass die Flüchtlingsfrauen trotz fehlender beruflicher Erfahrungen im Allgemeinen schneller eine Arbeit fanden als die Männer und sich leichter den neuen Bedingungen am Arbeitsplatz anpassten. Sehr oft kam es auch vor, dass Frauen ihre eigenen Karriereambitionen zugunsten ihrer Männer zurücksteckten. Durch diese neue Rollenverteilungen veränderte sich auch die Binnenstruktur der Flüchtlingsfamilien. Wie schon zu Beginn erwähnt, interessiert sich Susemihl speziell für das Schicksal der Immigrantenkinder und weist darauf hin, dass deren Assimilation und Integration besonders erfolgreich verlaufen ist. Sie waren im Allgemeinen flexibler als die Eltern, lernten die Sprache schneller und waren aufgeschlossener für das Neue, das ihnen begegnete. Trotzdem war es auch für sie nicht leicht, sich in der fremden Kultur zu Hause zu fühlen, und viele litten auch sehr unter dem Verlust ihrer Heimat. Im Bereich der Familie mussten sich die Kinder an die neuen Rollenverteilungen gewöhnen, was sehr häufig bedeutete, dass auch sie selbst neue Aufgaben übernehmen mussten, wie etwa Tätigkeiten im Haushalt oder die Beaufsichtigung der Geschwister. Oft konnte aus finanziellen Gründen die begonnene Schulbildung nicht beendet oder eine höhere gar nicht eingeschlagen werden. Im Bereich der Schule Rezensionen 111 fanden sich die meisten sehr gut zurecht, trotz der Tatsache, dass das primäre Ziel der Schulen damals nicht die Berücksichtigung unterschiedlicher ethnischer Identitäten, sondern eine möglichst rasche Anpassung und Eingliederung von Immigrantenkindern war. Die Kinder waren ungewöhnlich strebsam und leistungsorientiert. Susemihl weist darauf hin, dass v.a. der Umgang mit einheimischen Gleichaltrigen sich günstig auf die Eingewöhnung auswirkte, wobei jüngere Kinder schneller Anschluss an amerikanische Gleichaltrige fanden als Jugendliche, die Kontakte mit Immigrantenfreunden zumindest anfangs bevorzugten. Als besonders vorteilhaft erwiesen sich Partnerschaften mit Einheimischen; solche einzugehen, war allerdings für die jungen ImmigrantInnen oft schwierig. Neben Sprach- und Finanzproblemen stellten auch die unterschiedlichen Wertvorstellungen sowie kulturell bedingte unterschiedliche Auffassungen vom Anbahnen bzw. von der Bedeutung von Beziehungen große Hemmnisse dar. Darauf ist zurückzuführen, dass binationale Ehen erst in späteren Jahren üblicher wurden. Das Buch stellt einen sehr wertvollen Beitrag bzw. eine Bereicherung zur Migrationsthematik dar, wobei Susemihls Ausführungen über die Situation von Kindern und Jugendlichen als besonders aufschlussreich und interessant hervorzuheben sind. Als weniger geglückt kann der Vergleich zwischen unterschiedlichen regionalen Einheiten bezeichnet werden, was, wie schon erwähnt, nicht am grundsätzlichen Vorhaben liegt, sondern v.a. auf das Defizit an Materialien für Kanada zurückzuführen ist. Dies ändert aber nichts daran, dass die Ergebnisse, die Susemihls Forschungen zeitigen, ohne Zweifel zu neuen Einsichten führen, wobei sich aber auch die Notwendigkeit zu weiteren Studien zeigt. Literaturverzeichnis Strutz, Andrea (2006, im Druck). “‘… Something you can recreate’. Aspekte der Erinnerung und des intergenerationellen Gedächtnisses am Beispiel aus Österreich vertriebener Jüdinnen und Juden und ihrer Nachkommen.” In: Exilforschung. München: edition text + kritik. 250-266. Lechner, Manfred / Andrea Strutz (2005). “‘Unfortunately the Apfelstrudel died with my father’s mother.’ Fragmente generationsübergreifender Erinnerungen.” In: Christian Gerbel et al. (Hg.). Transformationen gesellschaftlicher Erinnerung. Studien zur “Gedächtnisgeschichte” der Zweiten Republik. Wien: Turia + Kant. 218-244. Karin M. Schmidlechner Institut für Geschichte Universität Graz Rezensionen 112 Cheryl Alexander Malcolm, Unshtetling Narratives: Depictions of Jewish Identities in British and American Literature and Film. Foreword by Jules Chametzky. (Salzburg Anglophone Critical Studies 3). Salzburg: Poetry Salzburg, 2006. Susanne Rohr The title of Cheryl Alexander Malcolm’s novel irritates and illuminates to equal measure. First of all, it takes quite some time to decipher it on the artistically notquite-successful cover. But it is true: Unshtetling Narratives. The neologism points towards the book’s intention: it sees itself as a “study of post-immigrant treatments of Jewish identity” (21) in Jewish-American and Anglo-Jewish works of art in different media and genres: literature, film, and the theater. The book investigates the specific period of the post-immigration phase from 1896 to 2003. In this period, as the author establishes early in her study, significant differences distinguish the American from the European approach: while Jewish-American literature has been an established literary genre for quite some time, Anglo-Jewish literature is a relatively new phenomenon still striving for full recognition on the literary market. The “Unshtetling” in the title thus bears a twofold meaning: it recalls the cruel end brought to East European shtetl culture with the Nazi-perpetrated genocide; concurrently, it refers to the continuing echo of this culture in the critical as well as the affirmative means by which British and American Jewish artists attempt to grapple with this inheritance. In these artistic and narrative negotiations, the concept of inheritance is “unsthetling” - though the expression also refers to (and this is the enlightening aspect of the rather irritating title) liberation from stereotyped conceptions of (a) Jewish identity. Cheryl Alexander Malcolm chooses the concept of identity as a central analytical criterion for her study. More precisely, she examines how processes of identity construction are not only staged in a textual manner, but how Jewish identity is also depicted as being culturally constructed. Hence, it comes as something of a surprise that Malcolm, who by recognizing identity as construct, performance, and choice reflects the latest theoretical reflections on the subject, reaches an unexpectedly conservative conclusion in her analysis of a specifically Jewish identity. The consistency which she identifies in works from Abraham Cahan to Anita Brookner is the understanding of a Jewish identity which, as during the days of the stereotyped “wandering Jew,” revolves around the state of iterance and unfamiliarity, isolation and loneliness, and the accompanying latent enmity and vulnerability. The fulcrum, for Malcolm, continues to be the wrestling of a subject for a position between the pull of assimilation and the pronounced recognition of ethnic belonging, together with the accompanying dynamics of personal loss and gain. This insight, however, requires revision in light of an entire generation of young Jewish-American authors, a group which includes Melvin Jules Bukiet, Allegra Goodman, Rebecca Goldstein, Jonathan Safran Foer, and many more. For these authors, the question of an ethnic or American belonging has become irrelevant, as with their understanding of Judaism as a religious identity they are ingrained in the liberal understanding of mainstream society. It is noteworthy that works by these authors are not included in the Unshtetling Narratives. AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 113 Despite these oversights, which make the study appear one-dimensional at times, the book captivates with its careful and sensitive close readings. With her comparative analyses, Cheryl Alexander Malcolm brings texts into a fruitful transatlantic dialogue which opens completely new perspectives on canonized as well as lesserknown texts. In her fifth chapter, titled “Poets and Other Imposters: Marrying In and Moving Up,” she reads the novel Providence by British author Anita Brookner in juxtaposition to “Virility,” a short story by the grand mistress of Jewish-American literature, Cynthia Ozick. The issues at stake are assimilation as conversion, loss, and concealment. Both protagonists are shown in the processes of denying their sexual belonging and their non-British background, respectively. The fluidity of their identity construction is thus shown in the sense of a “forged identity.” Cheryl Alexander Malcolm makes a similar argument in the next chapter, “Missing Mothers and Foreskins.” In this chapter, she compares Langston Hughes’ “Passing” with Bernard Malamud’s “The Lady of the Lake.” Both texts concern the phenomenon of “passing,” the denial of one’s own race, ethnicity, religion, or gender for the sake of resembling the norms of mainstream society. The “passing for white” of Hughes’ Afro-American protagonist follows the same dynamics as the denial of his Jewish background for Malamud’s main character. The result, in both scenarios, is the same: the characters do not only lose their status in the world but are also deprived of their masculinity, disappearing in a diffuse grey zone of culture. Other texts, as Malcolm reveals, are able to develop the characters’ oscillation between identities as a source of strength, as it is beginning to be for marginalized minorities in an increasingly globalized world: a transnational consciousness which can develop into a multiple consciousness of the limitations of cultural systems. Cheryl Alexander Malcolm’s lucid and well-informed study thus does justice to the task she had set for herself - “to provide a useful contribution to the field of Jewish studies in general and comparative Jewish-American and Anglo-Jewish research in particular” (25). Susanne Rohr J.F. Kennedy-Institut der Freien Universität Berlin Berlin Rezensionen 114 Mita Banerjee, Race-ing the Century. Heidelberg: Winter, 2005 (American Studies Vol. 124). Andrzej Antoszek Race-ing the Century by Mita Banerjee is a comprehensive and insightful study of the development, evolution and current face of ethnic articulations and representations in the US and their relations with the dominant white culture. Engaging in her monumental project, the author has successfully managed not only to portray the advancement of the field but also to look deeper below the surface of popular perceptions of and perspectives on ethnic studies, which often limit their scope to Latino/ a, Chinese, or African American literatures and cultures. Despite the fact that the author thinks that the range of the project might be too broad for some readers, it is exactly the reach of the study that makes it so panoramic and thus valid. Banerjee bravely, but quite justifiably, crosses the border of the theoretical and strictly literary discourse, allowing more room for various representations of popular culture. She is right in stating that without incorporating such voices into the current debate on race, ethnicity and the relations between dominant and “minor” cultures, and without treating these opinions on a par with more academic and traditionally “respected” contributions, one not only imposes artificial boundaries on the field but also estranges oneself from the domain that is founded as much on everyday experience as it is on scholarly work. The growing popularity of ethnic studies in recent years has of course promoted the advancement of hyphenated American agencies, politics and themes, but has also led to the emergence of issues that the field has to address to retain its credibility. It seems that a more thorough discussion of the repetitiveness and exhaustion of certain themes might be needed as well as answers to the questions of whether overusing (and sometimes even abusing) the life experiences of the writers may serve as one of the most important criteria of ethnic fictions’ status and validity. One may also wonder whether some voices are right in suggesting that certain canonical ethnic works - like the most-often taught novel in recent years, The Woman Warrior - may actually reproduce and thus reinforce ethnic and racial stereotypes (for instance the picture of the China girl discussed by Banerjee, too) due to the (academic) discourse’s unwillingness to engage in a discussion about whether critique could be seen as an anti-ethnic or even racist gesture. With Banerjee’s study, the reader will be able to develop a critical perspective on the aforementioned problems, but also to look at the historical evolution of the field, a view that ethnic studies aficionados often lack in developing their interest in what is undoubtedly absorbing and compelling but also fashionable and to some extent exotic these days. Including a wide spectrum of voices and representations in the study - ranging from William Faulkner to Josephine Baker to El Vez - is a conscious and well-executed strategy aimed at fighting some stereotypical and limiting perspectives and representations of hyphenated Americans. The apparent eclecticism of Banerjee’s project constitutes one of the few successful attempts in the field of ethnic studies to preserve and present the ever-changing and very dynamic nature of race relations. It is very important indeed that the author does not seem to favor any particular AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 115 author, literature, or culture, or that she does not hierarchize any mode or channel of cultural representations; for Banerjee, mural painting may be as important as the writing of William Faulkner, yet putting the equation mark between the supposedly “low” and “high” art is what some distinguished voices of American culture have already done: in his great American novel Underworld, Don DeLillo puts the sophisticated New York artist Klara Sax on the same level as Ismael Munoz, a NYC subway graffiti legend. Careful readers will immediately appreciate that, despite the author’s metafictionally playful statement that some may consider the project a failure due to its vast disciplinary scope, the work is in fact a very systematic and well-thought-out walk through the history and representations of ethnic studies, forcing the reader to look at the field with a very fresh eye and to realize its depth, complexity, and diversity. Divided into three parts, Race-ing the Century seeks to demonstrate that - to quote the author - “race is an integral part of all our daily lives” (9) and that “each mainstream culture will have an overall attitude towards cultural difference, an attitude that will manifest itself in various ways.” (11) Part I, dedicated to textual representations of ethnic issues by such canonical voices as Toni Morrison, Louis Chu, or Maxine Hong Kingston, brings to the fore the very absorbing question of the relationship between texts and what Banerjee defines as “extra-textual” reality. The author rightly claims that such texts should be juxtaposed and measured against the reality they may refer to rather than become independent cultural artifacts situated on a different ontological level than the world around, or seen as carriers of various theories of cultural studies whose relationship with the here and now is not necessarily very obvious. She is also prompt to notice that deconstruction - one of postmodernism’s flagships holding the promise of a new interpretation - may become precarious for the political agenda if it is limited to deconstructing without, however, reconstructing: “[deconstruction] is problematical if it proves untranslatable into a political agenda.” (14) A very interesting example of the clash between a (theoretical) reading of a text and the text itself is Banerjee’s article on Toni Morrison’s Beloved, where she claims that reading the novel through Homi Bhabha’s theory of the aporetic may in fact lead to a misconstruction of the masterpiece. Part II of the study discusses the relations between dominant (white) norms and ethnic difference, universality and whiteness, as well as ways of resisting the prerogatives of the controlling authority. The author believes that most of these resisting impulses come from or are triggered by popular culture that “may provide us with articulations of identity which are as yet inconceivable to literary theory.” (5) However, here one also needs to bear in mind that, much as popular culture is democratic, egalitarian and representative, it is frequently based on kitsch, appropriation and very lowbrow appeal, and sustained by more or less veiled agencies of power, namely predominantly white capitalism. One may wonder, too, whether those following the fashions and crazes of pop culture really become more open-minded and susceptible to the problems of race or ethnicity, or whether their objectives may be limited to experiencing pleasure and being cool. Therefore, the author’s statement that “the norm sympathizes with the ethnicity to the extent that it becomes itself ethnic” (14) is as promising as it is debatable at the moment. However, the examples Banerjee uses in her analysis of popular culture representations are very accurate and far from the Rezensionen 116 clichéd manifestations of today’s pulp fictions; she writes about Josephine Baker, the movies The Birth of a Nation and Falling Down, and mural arts. Part III of Race-ing the Century continues the investigation of popular culture focusing in particular on the ethics of impersonation (Elvis vs. El Vez), “the debasement of original iconicity” (14); Banerjee posits that impersonation may alienate normative strategies from themselves thus turning such representations into positive race-ing impulses. And in this case the message is carried by another powerful medium of popular culture: music. The author believes that both popular and elite culture can change the way one thinks - indeed a very humanist and affirmative assumption - and, therefore, they should embody the multiple (meaning multi-racial and multi-cultural) representations of which reality is composed. There probably is no better illustration of this point than the figure of the Mexican Elvis. Race-ing the Century by Mita Banerjee is a thorough and excellently written study of ethnic cultural representations which introduces an unusually wide perspective on the problems of dialogues and clashes between cultures, ways of resisting and deconstructing dominant discourse, and the democratization of various representations promoted and sustained by popular culture. Some readers may find the lack of typical chronology, and author’s refusal to look separately at Chicano, Native American, African American, Asian American, and mainstream productions slightly unusual, an aspect Banerjee herself acknowledges as problematic. Probably the book could also benefit from a discussion on contemporary African American (? ) hip hop music, a field where the politics of power, race, and de-constructing are very visible. Yet, the author might decide to explore it in another study, equally voluminous and illustrative as Race-ing the Century. Andrzej Antoszek English Department / American Studies Catholic University of Lublin Robert B. Westbrook, Democratic Hope: Pragmatism and the Politics of Truth. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2005. Ulf Schulenberg During the reign of analytic philosophy or logical positivism from the late 1940s to the 1970s, pragmatism seemed to be erased from the American intellectual map. Since the early 1980s, however, pragmatism’s fate has changed decidedly. It can be said that Richard Rorty’s Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979) and Consequences of Pragmatism (1982) initiated that change. The much-discussed revival of pragmatism has led to debates and sometimes bitter controversies whose effects can be detected across disciplinary lines (as the volume edited by Morris Dickstein, The Revival of Pragmatism: New Essays on Social Thought, Law, and Culture [1998], AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 117 amply testifies). Concerning the renaissance of pragmatism, American intellectual history has played a crucial role. Authors such as James Kloppenberg, David Hollinger, Casey Nelson Blake, James Livingston, and John Pettegrew have underscored the complexity and usefulness, as well as the inadequacies and insufficiencies, of American pragmatism. Often critical of the various versions of neopragmatism, they have sought to call attention to the contemporary significance of classical pragmatists such as Charles Sanders Peirce, William James, and John Dewey. Since the publication of his John Dewey and American Democracy (1991), Robert Westbrook, an intellectual historian who teaches at the University of Rochester, has developed his own brand of Deweyan pragmatism in numerous essays. His arguments in the conversation between philosophers and intellectual historians have mostly been stimulating and provocative. In Democratic Hope, Westbrook addresses a question which for various reasons has not yet reached center stage in the current revival of pragmatism. He discusses the political implications of various versions of pragmatism, and he seeks to elucidate those versions’ contributions to American democratic thought. To put this somewhat differently, Westbrook wants to show why pragmatism is the perfect epistemology for those who are committed to a democratic faith. He is of course not the first author interested in the political implications of pragmatism. In the 1980s, for instance, Cornel West developed his leftist version of neopragmatism which culminated in The American Evasion of Philosophy: A Genealogy of Pragmatism (1989). Yet while West presented himself as a democratic socialist in the 1980s, Westbrook rather sees himself as a Deweyan democrat calling for a participatory democratic culture and underlining the importance of the discourse ethics of democracy. Westbrook formulates his main interest as follows: “My principal concern in this book is with the political views of American pragmatists, which inevitably raises the question of what, if anything, about these views can be attributed to their pragmatism” (8). The book is divided into two parts. Part One (“Pragmatism Old”) consists of five chapters: “Peircean Politics”, “Our Kinsman, William James”, “Pullman and the Professor”, “On the Private Parts of a Public Philosopher,” and “Marrying Marxism.” This part discusses the work of Peirce, James, and Dewey. Part Two examines “Pragmatism New” and consists of four chapters: “A Dream Country”, “Democratic Logic”, “Democratic Evasions,” and “Educating Citizens.” This second part deals with the thought of contemporary neopragmatists and their critics (Rorty, West, Hilary Putnam, Cheryl Misak, and Richard Posner). Westbrook’s Introduction (1-17) summarizes the main characteristics of a pragmatist position: its antifoundationalism, antirepresentationalism, fallibilism, historicism, naturalism, as well as its gesture of simply setting conventional problems of modern philosophy aside. Westbrook is right in maintaining that pragmatism is not only valuable because of its severe critique of the idea of a correspondence theory of truth and of the quest for certainty, and its decidedly antimetaphysical gesture in general, but also because it urges one to grasp the complexity of a position which combines fallibilism and antiskepticism (Hilary Putnam and Richard J. Bernstein have repeatedly called attention to the crucial nature of this combination). Of utmost importance for Westbrook’s argument is the idea that pragmatism, because of its methodological commitment to experimental inquiry, “has a powerful elective affinity with democracy” (8). In other words, “at their best the methods of Rezensionen 118 democracy and pragmatic inquiry intersect. Pragmatic inquiry shares a ‘discourse ethics’ with democracy. Pragmatists who embrace Dewey’s conviction that politics should be a mode of ‘organized intelligence’ believe that the intelligence of political communities, like that of all effective communities of inquiry, should be organized democratically” (8-9). The application of scientific intelligence to social concerns, if one follows Westbrook, allows one to realize the importance of method as democratic, pragmatic inquiry and deliberation. While Rorty has called for a “pragmatism without method” (in his essay on Sidney Hook and other pieces), Westbrook emphasizes that since “it is pragmatism’s method that ties it to democracy - its argument that the best route to warranted belief is cooperative inquiry such as that practiced by scientists - a pragmatism without method would indeed be bereft of political implications” (10). The first part of Westbrook’s text tackles many interesting issues. In his essay on Peirce’s conservative pragmatism, Westbrook explains why this classical pragmatist is important for his understanding of a deliberative, participatory democracy. Peirce’s logical communitarianism and his “thin, methodological injunction not to block the road of inquiry and the pursuit of truth” (50) deserve special mention in this context. At the same time, however, Westbrook’s contention is that the Peircean heritage is problematic insofar as “he severed the connection between inquiry and politics that other pragmatists would forge into an epistemic argument for democracy” (30). To put it differently, Peirce was not inclined to turn his attention to the problems of men in a Deweyan sense and he argued that philosophers should stick to the problems of their trade. William James, in contrast, as Westbrook makes clear in the next chapter, more and more has come to be regarded as a public philosopher or as someone who contributed to the fields of social and political theory. Westbrook discusses texts by George Cotkin, James Livingston, and Frank Lentricchia. These three authors have attempted to draw attention to the political side of James’s texts, that is, his work as a political activist, his anti-imperialism, and his desire for cultural pluralism. Westbrook agrees with Cotkin, whose William James, Public Philosopher (1990) is probably one of the best studies of what might be termed James’s worldly pragmatism, that James’s social and political philosophy shows many weaknesses. Nonetheless, Westbrook advances the argument that while “Dewey’s democratic theory is the richest resource in pragmatist political and social thought on which we might profitably draw,” James “adds something to a pragmatist politics all too often missing in Dewey’s formulation of it” (73). In “Pullman and the Professor,” Westbrook offers a comparison between Dewey and Eugene Debs which focuses on what historians have called “producerism” or “producer-republicanism” (which “emerged in late-eighteenth-century America as an agrarian and artisanal variant of the civic republicanism that played such an important role in the ideology of the American Revolution” [83]). Westbrook is particularly interested in the impact of producerism on Dewey’s philosophy of education. This chapter contains an illuminating discussion of the Laboratory School of the University of Chicago, the Dewey School, and its significance as an experiment in education for industrial democracy. Another point worth mentioning is that Westbrook uses this chapter to remind his readers of Dewey’s concern with the labor question and his support of the working class. The first part of Democratic Hope closes with a discussion of the relation between pragmatism and Marxism. In this chapter, Westbrook Rezensionen 119 examines various aspects of this highly problematic relationship. Discussing Brian Lloyd’s Left Out: Pragmatism, Exceptionalism, and the Poverty of American Marxism, 1890-1922 (1997), Christopher Phelps’s Young Sidney Hook: Marxist and Pragmatist (1997), and essays by James Livingston, Westbrook stresses the incompatibility between the democratic discourse ethics of a pragmatist politics, central to his study, and the foundationalist nature of most versions of socialism. It is obvious that as a Deweyan (radical) democrat Westbrook has serious problems with attempts to argue for the necessity of developing an American brand of radical socialism. The goals of a “pragmatic socialism,” if we follow Westbrook, will be less revolutionary than those of a radical socialism: “dignified, well-renumerated labor, equal opportunity, and democratic citizenship” (128). Of utmost importance to Dewey’s socialism was the idea that individuality, autonomy, and self-government ought not to be eclipsed. The central essay of the second part of Westbrook’s study is undoubtedly the one on Rorty. Westbrook discusses the following aspects of Rorty’s thought: his work as a connected critic in Michael Walzer’s sense, his antiauthoritarianism (as antifoundationalism), his ethnocentrism, his understanding of America’s future and mission, his New Deal liberalism as the liberalism of a social democrat, and his reading of the American Left. Westbrook’s analysis of Rorty’s texts is suggestive since he focuses on the manner in which the latter seeks to connect his antifoundationalism or antiauthoritarian pragmatism to this patriotism or Americanism. While there have been numerous attempts to explain how Rorty brings his pragmatism, liberalism, and Americanism together, or fails to do so, Westbrook at least partly provides new insights into this problem. Recognizing the importance of “Rorty’s maturation narrative of progress from religious to rationalist to pragmatist outlooks” (160), which ends with his notion of a postmetaphysical literary or poeticized culture that no longer needs the certainty and reliability of what is more than another human invention, Westbrook at the same time critiques his fellow pragmatist’s understanding of method, theory, and liberalism. According to Westbrook, “a left without social theory is disarmed” (171). Concerning social change and the notion of (social-democratic) hope, Westbrook advances the argument that liberalism, “however necessary it is to the social democratic future Rorty imagines, may not be sufficient” (173). In the chapter “Democratic Logic,” Westbrook once again deals with Dewey’s concept of democracy, or rather with his attempt to find a sort of philosophical backup for democracy. In this context, Westbrook expands on a point he already addressed in his Introduction, namely, Hilary Putnam’s argument that he has found an epistemological justification for democracy in Dewey’s texts. Other authors discussed in this chapter include Cheryl Misak and Richard Posner. Chapter 8 (“Democratic Evasions”) concentrates on the work of one of the most fascinating neopragmatists of the 1980s: Cornel West. After having summarized the main ideas of West’s The American Evasion of Philosophy and his understanding of “Geistesgeschichte,” Westbrook elaborates on some of the main differences between West’s leftist prophetic pragmatism and Rorty’s liberal pragmatism. In the context of his discussion of West’s “postmodernist, Christian Marxism” (209), Westbrook critiques three theoretical features of West’s pragmatism. First, Westbrook claims that West never explains why one should still hold on to Marxism. This critique is not justified, though, as West has explained in numerous texts why he holds that certain aspects of Marxism, for instance, the concept of totality and the conceptual instrument of mediation, are still Rezensionen 120 significant for leftist thought. Second, Westbrook states that West should have said more about the manner in which he combines his Christianity and his Marxism. Finally, he wishes that West were more careful or hesitant in his attempts to combine pragmatism and postmodernism. Westbrook nicely describes his own position when he writes: “Pragmatists, to my mind, need to position themselves more centrally than West does between the epistemological, moral, and cultural relativisms of the academic left and the reactionary rationalisms of the intellectual right” (213). In the final chapter of his book, Westbrook reflects on past and present debates over public education, the educational purposes of American democracy, and Deweyan democratic citizenship, and he offers some pragmatic suggestions as to the direction future solutions to the current dilemma might take. Analyzing the political implications of various versions of (neo)pragmatism, Westbrook’s Democratic Hope is a highly illuminating and timely study that calls attention to hitherto neglected aspects of the revival of pragmatism. Moreover, while following Westbrook’s discussion of pragmatist politics, his own version of, or rather hope for, a Deweyan participatory democratic culture becomes increasingly convincing and attractive. However, the reader should not expect a systematic approach to the question of pragmatism and politics. The book somewhat suffers from the fact that it often appears as a collection of essays rather than as a tightly organized and structured monograph. As Westbrook admits, some of the essays “are occasional pieces prompted by this particular moment in American intellectual history, and all of them are reflective of it” (xiv). Nonetheless, the book would have profited, had its author refrained from repeating himself in several of these pieces (and from repeatedly quoting the same passages). What should also be mentioned is that an analysis of the problem of pragmatist politics ought to address the question of pragmatism and race. This question, which has mostly been ignored in other discussions of the renaissance of pragmatism, need not necessarily focus on West’s neopragmatism. As George Hutchinson’s The Harlem Renaissance in Black and White (1995) and Ross Posnock’s Color and Culture: Black Writers and the Making of the Modern Intellectual (1998) have shown, pragmatism had a profound impact on the thinking of W.E.B. Du Bois, Alain Locke, and other African-American intellectuals. Unfortunately, Westbrook only mentions this black pragmatist tradition in a footnote without examining it in detail (59). Yet in spite of these shortcomings, Democratic Hope is a book everybody interested in the future of American pragmatism, and American democratic culture, should read. Ulf Schulenberg Anglistik/ Amerikanistik Universität Bremen Rezensionen 121 Peter Glazer, Radical Nostalgia. Spanish Civil War Commemoration in America. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2005. Robert Sayre Slightly more than ten years after the publication of Peter N. Carroll’s The Odyssey of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade: Americans in the Spanish Civil War (Stanford UP, 1994), there now appears another work on that unit of volunteers, this time focused on the acts of commemoration of its engagement in Spain, starting before the conflict was over and continuing into the present. The author of this new study is Peter Glazer, an Associate Professor of Theater, Dance and Performative Studies at Berkeley, as well as a playwright and director. Not incidentally, he is also the son of a well-known folksinger, Tom Glazer, who, with Pete Seeger and others, produced in 1943 the recording Songs of the Lincoln Brigade, which was to become an important source for the musical aspect of the commemorations. As the author tells us at the outset, the work was originally undertaken as a dissertation, and the beginnings of his research go back to the early 1990s. Concomitantly with preparing the study, Glazer became friendly with many of the veterans and their families, and actively participated in many of the events himself. In fact, he directed a musical-theatrical performance at one of them in 1995, and scripted another that was performed at his university in 2000. Glazer is thus far from being a dispassionate observer/ analyst, and he acknowledges that throughout the project he has been both inside and outside his subject, “a charged role I am still negotiating” (5). The subject of the book, then, is the plethora of occasions that have been, and continue to be organized, which recall and honor the commitment of those the US government labeled “premature anti-fascists” at the end of World War II. Glazer treats his theme through two partially overlapping approaches: the historical/ political and, as we might call it, the phenomenological. On the one hand, Glazer gives us a rather full and well-documented diachronic overview of the evolution of the commemorative events, from those that called for US intervention on the Republican side while the war was still going on, through the diminished, harassed reunions of the McCarthy years, to the broadening of the audience of the veterans - become legendary - and their ceremonies, from the 1970s on, in conjunction with the rise of the New Left. Glazer further chronicles the return of the vets to Spain, to be honored there on several occasions after the death of Franco in 1975, the gala fiftieth anniversary celebration at Lincoln Center in 1986, and the surprisingly sustained interest in the annual events (particularly in San Francisco and New York) into the 1990s and beyond, as the numbers of surviving veterans have dwindled. In developing this historical material - concentrated especially in two chapters, one covering the period 1937-62, the other 1962-96 - Glazer has drawn on archival research, mainly in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade Archives, now housed in Tamiment Library, New York University. But he has also engaged in a fairly extensive ‘oral history’ project, conducting interviews with veterans, family members and friends, as well as performers like Pete Seeger and his own father. On the other hand, much of the book - predominantly in the four other chapters, outside the historical ones just mentioned - is devoted to a kind of phenomenological AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 122 analysis of the commemorative act itself, both in general and in its manifestations with regard to the VALB (Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade). Glazer discusses at some length the notions of nostalgia and memory, distinguishing between ‘restorative’ and ‘reflective’ nostalgia, ‘official’ and ‘vernacular’ memory, the first of each pair tending to be more conservative, the second more critical and open-ended in nature. In the embodiment of memory and nostalgia through commemoration, various aspects are considered paramount: the creation of ‘sacred space’, symbol and allegory, ritual and theater, the communality of an ‘interpretative community’. The latter term is taken from the literary theorist Stanley Fish, and throughout Glazer’s phenomenological reflections on commemoration he calls on concepts elaborated by thinkers in various areas of the human sciences: most notably, the ‘lieu de mémoire’ (‘locus of memory’) of the French historian Pierre Nora, and the ‘structure of feeling’ of the Welsh literary and social critic, Raymond Williams. Glazer lays particular emphasis on the role of music in the commemorations he is dealing with; he tells us that he was first drawn to his subject through the songs of the Spanish Civil War, and he devotes one chapter exclusively to them. With respect to music and song, it is from Roland Barthes that he borrows a key notion, that of the ‘grain of the voice’, and more generally the bodily, material force that is a potential of singing. In this book, then, commemoration of the Spanish Civil War and the VALB is dealt with in two different registers - historical/ political and phenomenological/ performative - sometimes separately, sometimes blended to a certain extent. The title of the book points to a thesis, and the demonstration of the thesis is carried out in both of these registers. Although it may seem to be an oxymoron, Glazer contends that the phrase “radical nostalgia” accurately characterizes the VALB commemorations. Nostalgia is not necessarily reactionary, but can be strongly ‘progressive’ in some cases. It can in fact galvanize its public into positive action oriented towards the present and the future, through the establishment of contact with a meaningful moment of the past, the intense reliving of a past ‘structure of feeling’ (Williams) held to be a model and an inspiration (in this case, courageous commitment to what has often been called the ‘good fight’). Glazer attempts to defend and illustrate this thesis both on the political and the performative levels. On the one hand, he details the ways in which at different times in its history the commemorating organization has intervened on contemporary issues: court cases during the McCarthy witch-hunts, condemnation (though belated) of the war in Vietnam, medical aid sent to the Sandinistas, etc. On the other hand, he attempts to show, through phenomenological reconstructions of the commemorative moment and interviews that evoke it, how the dynamic of commemoration can raise awareness, be energizing and forward-looking. Song - in Glazer’s view (and according to his own inclination) at the heart of the ceremonies he is studying - is naturally treated by the same double approach. In particular, in the chapter devoted to the musical aspect, Glazer engages in a prolonged discussion (taking up nearly half the chapter) of one especially important number in the commemorative repertoire. In this passage - one of the most interesting in the book - Glazer parses several different versions of “Jarama Valley”, revealing an extraordinary and important transformation that the song underwent. Put to the tune of “Red River Valley” and written in the spring of 1937 by a volunteer in the Fifteenth Brigade, which had been decimated in the battle of Jarama, the original version adopted a sarcastic tone to criticize bitterly the ineptitude of the political Rezensionen 123 leadership: after the horrors of the battle, the surviving remnant had been kept on the front line for months; then, when they had finally been sent back for rest, a counterorder had arrived, sending them immediately to the front again. The song in this form circulated in the International Brigade, and became popular as a vehicle to express general dissatisfaction with the leadership of the Brigades. At some time in the following months, however, it was rewritten by a ‘political commisar’; the critical element disappeared, and it came to be a simple expression of pride in the battalion in its struggle against fascism. Also, an ending was added which made it fit the frame of the commemorative gathering, asking the assembled to “stand to our glorious dead” (190). As Glazer points out, far worse than merely rewriting the song was the fact that the commissar attributed the bowdlerized version to the original composer, who had died in the meantime and could not protest. In discussing this key element (and some others as well) in the evolution of the song, Glazer is concerned with the political/ historical dimension. But he shifts towards the phenomenological when he goes on to point out that the modified version of “Jarama Valley” is the one that survived into posterity. It is that version that was sung by Seeger and the author’s father and that has been fervently intoned by generations of participants in the commemorations. It has functioned well in this role, Glazer suggests, because while the original was anti-nostalgic and disenchanted, the rewritten version taps into the emotional roots of the ‘commemorative urge’. I have already hinted at some of the strengths of Radical Nostalgia. It is generally a well-documented, informative history of a particular aspect of the American involvement with the Spanish Civil War, one that introduces a welcome element of oral history as well (although not all of the quotations given from participants are of equal interest). It is especially valuable in its descriptions and analyses of the commemorative events as performances. A creative dramatist and professor of performing arts, Glazer is well attuned to the nuances of meaning and the modes of their production in acts of commemoration that are first and foremost spectacles. His evocations of those at which he was present bring them to life as drama, and his readings of some of the photographs of earlier occasions (the book includes some thirty pages of illustrations) often perceptively tease out the theatrical dynamics implicit in the images. Finally, Glazer’s passionate involvement in his subject, and sympathy with its dramatis personae, produce a lively, compelling account from within. As is often the case, however, Glazer exhibits also the ‘vices of his virtues’, and the last quality of his work mentioned - strong identification with his subject - is probably the source of the main weakness of this study. For, while the discussions of the commemorations as performances are fully satisfying, in this reviewer’s opinion those that deal with politics are not. Although Glazer often refers to dissension within the ranks of the VALB, he is remarkably discreet concerning what was involved. He does state that the quarrels were often over political differences between Communist Party members and those of other persuasions, and perceived authoritarian tendencies of the former, but very little detail is ever given. Tellingly, in his thumbnail sketch of the Spanish Civil War itself in the introduction, Glazer omits those elements that form the centerpiece of Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia: the beginnings of revolution in the early days of the war, and the violent suppression of the same (through arrests, assassinations, and the military takeover of Barcelona) by agents of the Comintern in the Spring of 1937. In the same period a mendacious propaganda campaign Rezensionen 124 denied or ignored all earlier revolutionary activity, accusing those not in agreement with the Communist’s ‘Popular Front’ strategy of being in league with the fascists. This time frame corresponds exactly with the rewriting of “Jarama Valley” by a political commissar, as recounted by Glazer, putting it in a much more sinister context. Glazer seems unaware of the connection, however, or at least unwilling to bring it out. In the same way, Glazer does not probe deeply or critically concerning the role of the CPUSA in the VALB. When he does mention at one point that through to the end of the 1970s the former possessed the veteran organization’s complete archives and refused free access to them, he finds it only “disconcerting” (138). Later the issue is just touched upon lightly. Unfortunately, shying away from dealing with the unpleasant underside of the VALB has meant that Glazer has left unwritten a significant part of the history of that organization. Glazer’s reticence seems to come from lack of a modicum of distance from the object of his study. He clearly wants to emphasize the positive, perhaps both out of commitment to the cause and loyalty to friends. Also, doubtless, in support of his thesis that the ‘nostalgia’ of the Lincoln Brigadiers is indeed ‘radical’, that is, progressive and promising for the future. Yet on closing this book it is that very optimism which seems most open to doubt. Glazer tells us that in recent times the commemorative organization has largely overcome its disagreements by laying emphasis on what all have in common: anti-fascism. Yet this reference to a surface unity was precisely the ideological cover used as a means of repressive control in the first place. How, we would have to ask, can commemoration of the VALB be ‘radical nostalgia’ if the group devoted to it has not confronted head-on the demons of its past? Although, to his credit, Glazer does voice some tentative doubts and does not altogether brush the issue under the carpet, this question is never really fully posed in his study. In spite of these limitations, though, and judged for what is does do, Radical Nostalgia constitutes a significant contribution to the literature of the Spanish Civil War. Robert Sayre University of Marne-la-Vallée France Pultar, Gönül (ed.), On the Road to Baghdad or, Traveling Biculturalism. Theorizing a Bicultural Approach to Contemporary World Fiction. Washington, D.C.: New Academia Publishing, LLC, 2005. Patrycja Kurjatto-Renard. Contemporary fiction can no longer be confined within the limits of a single culture or a single nation. The articles composing the volume On the Road to Baghdad or, Traveling Biculturalism aim to offer a new way of analyzing texts which have been born out of a union of two or more cultures (in a narrow sense). This phenomenon AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 125 can be encountered more and more often in global literature. By putting the volume together, Gönül Pultar, the founding president of the Cultural Studies Association of Turkey, wanted to draw the readers’ and the scholars’ attention to the existence of “a growing body of fiction that possesses a significant dimension other than the one quite manifest for the linguistic culture - the so-called audience - in which it is published” (5). Today, many scholars still keep dismissing the idea that the subaltern may draw on more than the colonizers’ culture alone, thus neglecting the writers whose works do not fit within the confines of national cultures. Others, while working on bicultural fiction, may attribute unequal weight to different influences and treat bicultural texts as evidence for the writers’ accepting hegemonic culture. The present volume shows why the term hegemonic is problematic: in the world where the dissolution of national literatures is taking place, no culture can be seen as really hegemonic any more. And yet, scholars neglect the bi-/ multi-cultural nature of nascent world literature, which leads to severe flaws in the critics’ understanding of numerous literary works. So On the Road to Baghdad fills a gap in literary studies. But in reality, this book is more than a work of literary theory - it is also a meditation on cultures and civilizations in today’s globalized world. The title of the collection is taken from Gönül Pultar’s essay about a novel by Güneli Gün entitled On the Road to Baghdad. A Picaresque Novel of Magical Adventures, Begged, Borrowed, and Stolen from the Thousand and One Nights (1991). Pultar reads this text as a work characterized by a strong narrative tension between the two cultures that inform it: Turkish and American. These two source cultures have been combined to make a new entity: “Transformed into both object and subject interchangeably, the two cultures are so imbricated that it is almost impossible to distinguish components of one from those of the other” (51). Therefore, Gün’s novel is different from the widely read texts by Maxine Hong Kingston and Amy Tan in the way it addresses the representation of a bicultural experience. Pultar proposes calling this narrative perspective travelling biculturalism. The book contains fourteen essays, divided into four sections titled “Biculturality” (including Gönül Pultar’s text), “Transculturation and Cultural Translation”, “Hybridity and Interculturality”, and “Transnationalism and Postmodernism”. Perhaps the most amazing quality of the collection is the fact that it offers a discussion of so many totally different fiction writers, publishing in various languages, living in different countries, and belonging to a wide array of cultures. Indian writers using English or Bengali are well represented in the volume: Vikram Chandra, Chitra B. Divakaruni, Attia Hosain, Manju Kapur, Arundhati Roy, Salman Rushdie, and Rabindranath Tagore. Another large group are hyphenated Americans such as Chicana Sandra Cisneros, Chinese American Maxine Hong Kingston, Cuban American Dolores Prida, Greek Americans Nikos Papandreou and Catherine Temma Davidson, Japanese American John Okada, and Turkish American Güneli Gün. The other authors whose work is discussed are Black British Caryl Phillips, Danish Isak Dinesen, Kenyan Ngugi wa Thiong’o, New Zealander Patricia Grace, and Peruvian José Maria Arguedas. Through its presentation of such a wide array of writers, the book helps to build a rich picture of contemporary literature and to erase, or re-examine, the strict boundaries between national and ethnic literatures. And yet, there is unity in diversity. One of the issues which bind the different texts together is the question of identity formation in a subject for whom universal human- Rezensionen 126 ism may not be the best choice, or even a possible one. The opening essay questions the political implications of the dissolution of subjecthood in contemporary critical discourse; its author, Theodora Tsimpouki, focuses her analysis on the premise that ethnicity cannot be viewed as fully performative. Paloma Fresno Calleja (section one) evokes Charles Taylor’s concept that identity is based on “external contact and understanding between cultures” (32) and that it cannot be acquired in solitude. In her essay on Isak Dinesen (section three), Rachel Trousdale shows that appropriation of a culture that is not one’s own can be a tool for the reinvention of one’s self. Paul Smethurst (section four) analyses Caryl Phillips’s fiction and focuses on the instability of the postmodern subject. In section one, Mita Banerjee analyses the difficulties of claiming ethnic identity in today’s world, positing that intercultural encounters are impossible without abandoning the search for the authentic elements of each culture; since the authentic can only be imagined rather than become real. Certain essays invite meditation on contemporary social problems, in particular, on the strategies necessary to build a harmonious society out of various ethnic groups. To achieve this aim, which underlies most of the literary works discussed in the volume, the members of society need to engage in a “complete communication” (the term has been coined by Patricia Grace, a New Zealand novelist). Sharing the values of different cultures is seen as one of the prerequisites for building a productive and healthy community. As Trousdale says, “unity is impossible without difference” (172). Likewise, shared experience and emotion can help overcome the differences of culture. An important point stressed by many scholars in the collection is that postcolonial writers often struggle to avoid representing the members of ‘subaltern’ communities as victims, showing instead well-educated, urbane characters who can defend themselves efficiently against the dominant (white) society. In certain essays, the historical roots of strained relations between various communities are examined along with the literary expression of the clashes between these social groups. For example, Nadia Ahmad (section three) discusses the literature of Partition, evoking the historical trauma of the split between India and Pakistan. The tension between modernity and tradition constitutes another topic of interest in the collection. For example, Ahmad shows how modernity can be seen as ambiguous, being at the same time a liberating force and a tool of patriarchy and colonialism. She also points out the inadequacy of certain assumptions well-established in Western thought for dealing with non-Western societies, for instance the conception of religion as non-modern. Dora Sales Salvador (section two) celebrates the flexibility of tradition in bicultural literary works. The second section of the book is devoted to the problems linked to translation, its necessity and its limits. The objects of translation are words, of course, but also cultural paradigms, systems of knowledge and belief. Dora Sales Salvador compares the work of José Maria Arguedas and Vikram Chandra to examine the relationship between the languages they write in - Spanish and English respectively - and the languages of the marginalized cultures they were shaped by. Katrina Daly Thompson questions the strategies involved in translating an English-language novel by a Kenyan writer into Shona; this scholar also looks at the issue of choosing a language of expression when one is an African writer. Esther Alvarez Lopez speaks about using non-English words in English-language novels by Chicano writers, arguing that Rezensionen 127 this strategy increases the distance between readers and the text and at the same time invites the readers to look these words up, thus contributing to a better understanding of the culture described in the text. The volume will be helpful to students of literature, for it includes clear definitions of critical terms often used in contemporary research. For example, terms such as hybridity, transculturation, bicultural, transnational writers, historiographic metafiction, and narcissistic narrative are defined and discussed. At the same time, the usefulness of these heuristic tools in the study of contemporary world fiction is evaluated. And as William Boelhower notes in the introduction to the volume, “the notion of ‘world literature’ is as much a critical construct on trial as it is a global reality in the making” (11). Through its multi-cultural and multi-disciplinary approach, the collection explains how literature is a telling of the world rather than a mere artistic discipline. The telling need not be realistic to be truthful. Patrycja Kurjatto-Renard independent scholar France Kornelia Freitag, Cultural Criticism in Women’s Experimental Writing: The Poetry of Rosemarie Waldrop, Lyn Hejinian and Susan Howe. (American Studies - A Monograph Series, vol. 128). Heidelberg: C. Winter, 2005. Flutur Troshani At the heart of Kornelia Freitag’s study, Cultural Criticism in Women’s Experimental Writing: The Poetry of Rosemarie Waldrop, Lyn Hejinian and Susan Howe, lie three questions about women’s experimentation: how do women operate with language under the influence of contemporary critical developments of language theory, which are the bonds between the domineering paradigm and poetry, and to what extent are gender issues part of their writing? These three points of reference serve as safe anchorages for Freitag to develop her argument, because they insightfully reveal the progressive drive of women’s experimentation. On the whole, Freitag proposes to expand on the inner workings of women’s experimentation and to investigate why and how women experimentalists were able to assert themselves - albeit only relatively recently - inside the whole gamut of developments in Western thought and culture. The exact nature of the problem she deals with is to determine “the theoretical accomplishment and critical power” of women experimentalists “against assumptions that they wrote ‘just’ poems, and ‘pretty strange’ ones” (348). Freitag has developed an intelligent strategy to investigate this problem. She begins by locating its various dimensions - contemporary poetry by women, Rosemarie AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 128 Waldrop’s language games, Lyn Hejinian’s experimental poems with the genres of life writing, including biography, autobiography, and diary, and Susan Howe’s concept and practice of historiography. Each of these corresponds to a separate part of the book. In each part, she analyzes some of their poems, classifies their elements, outlines component structures, and finally articulates her interpretations. In the first part, Freitag discusses “contemporary women’s experimental writing,” including the “fiction” of a woman writer (17-24), the dynamics of gender in experimental poetry (24-43), the actual “visibility” of women in experimentation (61-68), and the postmodern tendency to challenge the mode of representation (69-89). Freitag picks the thread of Joan Retallack and convincingly situates her notion of “Poethical Wager” inside the context of her discussion. She agrees with Retallack in claiming that “women experimentalists inspect and reinvent in their texts the mechanisms of reality’s discursive representation” (3). Although women’s reality includes gender issues, their poems are not exclusively restricted to the bipolarity of male/ female. On the contrary, women’s writing involves a greater number of other “established normative discourses,” among which Freitag has identified three - philosophy, genre theory, and history as pertaining to Waldrop, Hejinian, and Howe respectively. To this point, she has located a common denominator for their experiments - the postmodern paradigm. “Postmodern and feminist re-visions in experimental women’s writing,” she argues, “are […] both a departure from and a risky engagement with traditional ways of literary representation […]” (3). The postmodern holds to the “function of language, genre, and media to construct reality.” It is possible therefore to create a whole “cultural critical practice in its own right” (10). Freitag forges significant links between women’s experimentalist texts and the “critical practice” that they insulate. She focuses upon three aspects of this practice - the dynamics of gender in experimental poetry (Language Writing), the development of feminist theory, and the “recent developments that led to the critical recognition of women’s experimental poetry as specific field of poetic practice” (24). These parallel aspects inspire experimentalist poets to shift ‘the crisis of representation’ and “the breakdown of the ‘cultural consensus on the representation of women and gender’” in particular into productive “poetic innovation” (71). This subversive potential emerges more clearly in the reading of eight poets, although Freitag has promised nine. They are Mei-mei-Berssenbrugge, Joan Retallack, Pam Rehm, Harryette Mullen, Tina Darragh, Hannah Weiner, Kathleen Fraser and Jenifer Moxley. In the second part of the published version of her Habilitation, Freitag inquires into the poetry of Rosemarie Waldrop. Waldrop argues that the point of contact between poetry and philosophy lies “in the radical turn of both discursive fields toward a [more] detailed investigation of language as both boundary and tool of knowledge” (102). It is important for her to investigate how the apparatus of language operates and how it can be used to explore knowledge. In Waldrop’s poetry there is, in fact, a progressive dissolution of allegiances among language, knowledge, presence, absence, and otherness as her poetry tends towards the state of being between opposites. The poet should “bind the play of absence and presence and unite the oppositions into a precarious linguistic whole” (91), she argues. “[I]t seems that it was just the artistic expression of the strangeness and undecidability (the ‘bet-ween’ess) of any culture, of any knowledge, of any Rezensionen 129 language, of any experience, and of any linguistic utterance,” Freitag argues, “that allowed Waldrop to write herself into the Anglo-American experimental tradition of poetry […]” (99). Waldrop’s inkling of the state of between-ness legitimizes her language games, which in turn insightfully demarcate themselves into experimental meta-texts. She ironically blends in her poems the “linguistic,” the “epistemological,” the experimental, and the theoretical (347). Rather than using language conventionally as a blueprint for perfection, Waldrop advocates a greater subtlety and suggests that language remains viable in itself. “What interests me most in poetry now is the shift of emphasis from the image (i.e. the relation of similarity) to contiguity: problems of combination, syntax, sequence, structure,” she claims (107). For Waldrop, poetry should be reconceptualized and put in its place inside the contemporary critical paradigm. In the third part, Freitag inquires into the poetry of Lyn Hejinian. Her poetry also contributes to and expresses the “critical-poetical re-conceptualization” of poetry and “Western thought and culture” (345). She does that by mixing various genres of lifewriting. Gesualdo, My Life, and The Cell characteristically share a common feature. In these texts, Hejinian questions the autonomy of brooding subjectivity by positioning the subject in different perspectives and by studying “the shifting sands of identity.” Her persona in My Life, for example, (re)discovers the multifaceted relationships between self and context, which among other things shapes the way we think and act. The functional link between the cultural context and “self-writing experiments” (345) in which Hejinian includes “biography, autobiography, travelogue, correspondence, and diary writing” (347) is reader-oriented. In My Life in particular, the participation of the reader is vital to (de)construct the text. In general, in this text, Hejinian presents chronological, processual, comparative, contrasting, and casual relationships in fresh and exciting ways. By blending genres, she creates texts that are innovative and gripping in their own special way. In The Cell, Hejinian investigates the complex relations between knowledge and writing. The text meditates upon the meaning of experience, knowledge, and their “cultural situatedness” (243). Overall, Hejinian’s texts converge on one point - the investigation of the self in life-writing texts lends an underlying intelligibility to our own intellectual pursuits that drives the poet to “participat[e] in the feminist project of reconsidering and redrawing the boundaries between the public and the private” (252). Her texts are public and private at the same time, cutting across the biographical and the autobiographical. She is very dexterous in indexing women’s changing perceptions and potential for transformation. In particular, she is very shrewd in tracing the essential contours of the self as it is fashioned under the influence of culture. In the fourth part, Freitag investigates the poetry of Susan Howe. Howe also challenges “theoretical textual practices” by incorporating into her poems revised versions of historiography. One of the assets of her writing is that she revises her poems as “critical revisions of a field of culture which has traditionally been thought to be governed by facts not by language and discourse” (347). History in her texts, including Hinge Picture (1974), Articulation of Sound Forms in Time (1989), Singularities (1990), and Rückenfigur (1990), is presented as “put Rezensionen 130 into perspective (263). Howe presents history based on the “unconditioned and general claims of knowledge as foundation of an epistemology,” by the “rejection of […] abstract historical truth as foundation of traditional and materialist historiography,” and finally by the development of a postmodern poetic hermeneutics of absence which is preliminary and critical” (263). These are the reasons that Freitag has identified to account for Howe’s poems as revised historiography. These reasons also intersect with Howe’s considerations of feminist and postcolonial issues. Women experimentalists have applied in most of their texts specific strategies which thematize at heart the “discursive construction and reconstruction, concealment and naturalization” of femininity in an ongoing process of innovation. Their writing strategies explore “non-linear[ly], anti-mimetic[ally], and anti-hierarchical[ly]” the state of being a woman (346). As a result, the conventional representation of women is questioned in the same way as “[t]heories like ‘the death of the Author’” (French Poststructuralism) or ‘the author as product or effect of the text’ (Critical Theory) are questioned to full effect (347). The displacement of women writers as homogenous cultural symbols and their emergence as creators says much about the influence and potential of their texts. A minor weakness of Freitag’s study is the rather elaborate system of footnotes, found on 276 of the 348 pages of the book (! ), which at times develops the argument of the text far beyond the actual scope of the book. On the one hand, Freitag gives useful information about minor points and references, but on the other, the multitude of notes is often rather disruptive for the reading process. Until quite recently, the efforts of literary critics to assess the values of experimental texts by women have been rather limited. Often their texts have been interpreted as obscure and inaccessible, thus alienating both the expert and the public. This study stands against the skepticism that critics have expressed so far by turning attention to a body of valuable work and by advocating its integration inside the cultural mainstream. The real strength of this study lies in its analysis of “the ways in which women experimentalists criticize and subvert critical practices or representation in their texts” (347). It delivers their diverse attitudes and highlights their potential for innovation and brings experimentalist women to the fore. This is a significant step in the right direction, and Freitag should be given credit for that. Flutur Troshani Department of English and American Studies University of Shkoder “Luigj Gurakuqi” Shkoder, Albania Rezensionen 131 Per Seyersted, Robert Cantwell: An American 1930s Radical Writer and His Apostasy. Introduction by Alan Wald. (Novus Studies in Literature, 6) Oslo: Novus Press, 2004. Hans Bak In 1960, during his groundbreaking work on Kate Chopin, the Norwegian Americanist Per Seyersted was directed by Edmund Wilson to seek out Robert Cantwell (1908-1978), who in 1956 had published one of the first serious treatments of Chopin. The meeting formed the beginning of Seyersted’s present biography, which seeks (in Alan Wald’s words) to explain the “central mystery” of “what happened” (vii) to propel this most promising young radical novelist of the 1930s into a deflected career as a mass market journalist, and into virtual oblivion. Seyersted confronts the many paradoxes of Cantwell’s career: a prominent “proletarian” writer who was a Henry James devotee long before it became fashionable, a committed radical who took on the writing of a capitalist’s biography, a believer in solidarity with the workers who went to work for Luce’s magazine empire, and finally: the “circumstances of character and history” that prevented him from fulfilling his promise as a “brilliant” fiction writer praised by Malcolm Cowley, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald. Whether Seyersted’s book will manage to draw Cantwell out of invisibility remains to be seen, but it justifies the author’s high standing as a first-rate European Americanist. Seyersted has organized a complex mass of highly resistant materials into a nuanced, compassionate yet critical portrait of a complicated individual, against the background of his literary and political times. He writes exceedingly well, in a style lucid, subtle, and free from jargon, yet suggestive of human and intellectual depth and complexity. The book is impeccably researched: it is based on a wealth of archival sources, letters, and diaries; numerous interviews with relatives, literary and political friends; and an immense number of local, regional, and national newspapers. To an unusual degree it distills crucial insights from unpublished manuscripts, drafts, or plans. All this is tricky and treacherous material, demanding sensitivity, circumspection, and respect in the handling and interpreting of it. Seyersted is a remarkably strong biographer in his ability to weigh personal perceptions against documentary evidence, tread a minefield of conflicting and contradictory memories and statements, read between the lines of Cantwell’s cryptic diary entries, and sort out probable truths among “partly suppressed, partly distorted” (66) memories. He is a conscientious and sensitive hypothesizer, and his book shows both the rewards and limits of responsible historical interpretation. Seyersted personally knew Cantwell for the last 18 years of his life, and his approach is a friendly one, evincing empathy and tolerance for Cantwell’s flaws and vulnerabilities. Persuaded of his considerable talents (“the greatly talented Cantwell” [28]), he makes a concerted effort to understand his life and personality, by exploring the intersecting forces of personality, politics, and history impinging upon the trajectory of his career. Yet he also retains distance and critical honesty: Cantwell was not always an admirable or courageous person, but could be evasive, cowardly, and near-delusional in his fear-driven suspicions. The book’s central focus is on Cantwell’s involvement with pro-Communist radicalism and its aftermath of pain, wreckage and disappointment. Filled with what AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 132 Wald calls “splendid detail” - one third of the book (100 pages) concerns the personal and political events of 1934 alone - Seyersted’s analysis is uncommonly strong in the richness of its contextualization. The descendant of sturdy Northwestern pioneers with a strong sense of social and racial solidarity, Lloyd Emmett Cantwell (he liked “Bob” better) grew up in a lumber company town, and at age 11 first witnessed the anti-labor violence of American Legionnaires at the Centralia Massacre. The “horror” of Centralia fostered an early radical inclination as well as fear of what rightwing violence could do. Prevented by family poverty from attending college beyond his first year, he worked for four years at Harwood Plywood Company as a veneer clipperman, before moving to New York in October 1929. There, a first published story drew the attention of Malcolm Cowley, who brought him into his flock of leftwing New Republic reviewers. At 22 Cantwell was accepted into New York’s radical literary circles: among his friends were Wilson, Cowley, Meyer Schapiro, Dos Passos, Kenneth Fearing, Fred Dupee, Granville Hicks, Newton Arvin and James T. Farrell. At 23 Cantwell was the author of a first novel and seven short stories of “high aesthetic quality” and “consummate artistry” (33), focused on individual psychologies rather than social analysis. On the basis of Laugh and Lie Down (1931), dealing with the aimless, alienated lives of “lost” youth in the Northwest, Cantwell was “uniformly welcomed as an exceptionally promising new novelist.” (46) That same year he first met Whittaker Chambers, editor of The New Masses and a Communist Party member since 1925. It was the start of a fateful friendship, Chambers effectively becoming Cantwell’s nemesis. Through the 1930s Cantwell sought “aesthetic guidance” (60) from Henry James (he owned the complete New York Edition), even as his Marxian leanings made him into the decade’s foremost “proletarian” novelist. Seyersted feels that it was his Jamesian sense of artistry and character psychology which kept him from becoming a doctrinaire ideologist; his celebrated second novel, The Land of Plenty (1934), ending in indecisiveness and ambiguity instead of on a requisite note of revolutionary hope, showed that Cantwell “to a very large extent” managed “to convey his propaganda through artistically valid means.” (104) Deeply embroiled in left-wing activities, he frequently consorted with Party members, but always remained “an independent person doing his own thinking” (58) and was never a member of the CPUSA. In late 1933 Cantwell’s persistent money problems tempted him into taking on an unusual assignment: the writing of the life of E.A. Filene, a Boston capitalist with a social conscience who tried to reorganize his father’s company business so that it could profit the spending power of the masses. Lincoln Steffens, famous but aging muckraker, had enlisted Cantwell’s help in the project. Cantwell conceived of the book as “the dramatization and analysis of [the] failure [of capitalism, even when wellintentioned].” (73) For the next three years he put his fate in the hands of Steffens and Filene, becoming the play ball of each, until in 1937, embittered and vengeful, he delivered a “consciously unpublishable” (180) manuscript, flabbergasting Steffens and disgusting Filene. The intricate episode of Cantwell’s convoluted involvement with both men fostered his tendency towards suspicion and paranoia: he was berated by his radical friends for having sold out, while inclined to be evasive about his radicalism in front of Filene’s fellow-capitalists - one of many double-binds that would feed his anxieties. Rezensionen 133 In 1934 Cantwell spent three months in California, to work on Filene’s life and report on the big San Francisco strike for The New Republic, becoming part of the radical circle around Steffens and Ella Winter in Carmel (including Langston Hughes, Tillie Olsen and the remarkable Richard Criley, whose deflected lives offer perspective on Cantwell’s). Seyersted’s detailed and original account of Cantwell’s involvement with the Carmel group and the anti-red terror in California offers a unique glimpse into this mostly unillumined West Coast chapter of American radicalism. Immersed in the San Francisco strike, Cantwell witnessed the statewide drive against Communism, the role of the Hearst media in whipping up anti-Red sentiment, the dubious manipulative orchestrations of Right and Left, and the hunting of Reds by the American Legion, resulting in sabotage, violent disruptions of radical meetings, deliberate bloodshed and intimidation, and the violations of private homes. While he was shocked by the violence from the Right, he was horrified by the Communist reading of the police killing of two strikers as beneficial to the “cause”; it signaled the start of his de-radicalization. When Red-baiting reporters sought him out in his own home, not once but thrice, he became so terrified of possible retaliatory violence that he resorted to denial of his radicalism and fled Carmel, first to Oakland, then back to New York, deciding to “lie low” and retreat “from openly being a radical” (159). Cantwell’s flight, read as an act of cowardice by his radical friends, filled him with a “weakened self-esteem” (162) but also a desire to “clear” his name and “redeem” himself (165-6) - it would be a lifelong struggle. Cantwell’s sense of menace was only fed by his close friendship with Chambers, who in 1932 had gone underground to become a Communist secret agent. A domineering, charismatic person, given to heroic and melodramatic posturings, he exerted a strong influence on the impressionable Cantwell. He fanned Cantwell’s latent paranoia by continuously seeking him out in secret for long confidential talks about his espionage maneuvers. Though Cantwell himself was “never directly involved” (86) in spy activities, he allowed Chambers to use his name (Lloyd Cantwell). Seyersted handles the extraordinarily complex story of the Chambers-Cantwell relationship superbly well (including the blatantly false statements by Chambers, evasive or inconsistent testimonies, and corrective evidence from Cantwell’s diaries), as he shows Cantwell’s journey from radicalism to apostasy running closely parallel to that of Chambers. From 1935 Cantwell began work for Time, a magazine considered (semi)fascist by left-leaning New York intellectuals, first substituting as book-editor, later, as part of Luce’s inner circle, on Foreign News and National Affairs. His nervous anxiety intensified by overwork and the threatening international scene, he became circumspect and secretive about his radicalism, hiding it from pro-fascist colleagues, while dreading retaliation from Communists on the staff. Though he came to regard Luce (whose interventionist sentiments he shared) as a father-like advisor and a trusted friend, Cantwell never felt at home at Time (or, later, Fortune). Things grew only worse when, helped by Cantwell, Chambers joined the staff of Time and began using its pages to ventilate his virulent anti-Communism (victimizing among others Malcolm Cowley). Chambers had carefully prepared his break with the Party, but threw much fear into Cantwell with his reports of Communist retaliation. Seyersted feels that Cantwell “was somewhat delusional in harboring an exaggerated sense of being in danger” (234), yet accumulated anxieties (including a strained Rezensionen 134 marriage) in 1942 drove him into a serious nervous breakdown, and a seven-month hospitalization at White Plains (paid for by Luce), where he found spiritual support in religion and was treated by insulin injections and electroshock therapy. He never fully recovered, but always retained a streak of persecution mania. He remained bitter about not being taken back on Time, even when Luce gave him a three-year subvention to write a biography of Hawthorne (1948). When Chambers’ crusade to expose Communists in the US Government led to the Alger Hiss trials of 1949, Cantwell lived in perpetual fear of being called upon to testify. Afraid to speak out, yet fearful that silence might be construed as an admission of complicity, he remained haunted by “irrational fears” and by the “inner storm” of his “unresolved relationship” (271) with Chambers. In 1956 he entered upon a 22-year-long connection with Sports Illustrated, which was his “lifesaver” (274). Respected by his coworkers, he rose to Senior Editor and was “liberated into a new writer’s life” (276). In almost 100 articles for the magazine - as well as work of “lasting value” like The Hidden Northwest (1972) - he now “vindicated” his early promise. Many saw him as a saddened, disillusioned man who felt he had failed and been tragically victimized by the fatal influence of Chambers. Yet, in his final years, Cantwell gradually mustered the courage to confront the ghosts of his past openly and directly. He was shocked to discover that his FBI file (now accessible under the Freedom of Information Act) held 20,000 pages: the bulk concerned Chambers using Cantwell’s name as his alias. It was not granted him, however, to fulfill his self-imposed duty to explore “the subject so long resisted, if not dismissed” (292): he died on 8 December 1978. In Seyersted’s estimate, if we consider “Cantwell’s complex and complicated nature, with its many vulnerabilities, it is very impressive that he managed to achieve what he did.” (289) Given the historical and political conditions under which he had to labor, Cantwell’s career remained a matter of unfulfilled promises. The more tragically so, Seyersted believes, as given his extraordinary talents his name “might have” resounded more lastingly in American literature. Hans Bak American Studies Radboud University Nijmegen, the Netherlands Klaus Benesch and Kerstin Schmidt, Space in America: Theory- History-Culture. Architecture-Technology-Culture 1. Amsterdam- New York: Rodopi, 2005. Jaroslav Kušnír This massive collection of essays is loosely arranged around the idea of space and its various forms in the geographical, theoretical, and cultural context of the USA. The essays are grouped around the themes of theory, landscape/ nature, architecture, AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 135 literature, and other forms of art (performance, film, visual arts). The collection does not represent a systematic exploration of theoretical models of space, but rather offers various views on the idea of space, its forms and representations not only in different kinds of arts, but also in theory and fields which are only loosely connected to art and the aesthetic concept of space (fields such as geography, sociology, partly architecture, and urban studies). This provides a collection with a ‘necessary’ interdisciplinary character many academic publishers currently prefer, although such an approach requires readers’ knowledge in fields s/ he may not be necessarily familiar with. The space in the main title of the collection refers not only to a theoretical, but also to a living space which, in Klaus Benesch’s view, has always been a space of action, communication, and discourse; how we perceive it, appropriate it, or exploit it as resource is constantly being transformed by technological and scientific progress and its concomitant erosion of traditional worldviews […] under changed economic and technological conditions, definitions of time and space change accordingly. (15) The editor’s words suggest one characteristic of the essays from the collection, that is that they deal with changing perceptions of space in different contemporary discourses, arts, and theories. In addition, many essays from the collection discuss connections between nature, city, and current technologies, understood as the relationships influencing our visions of the world. The majority of the essays address differences between traditional visions of space and nature as a coherent entity, versus a modern, postmodern, and contemporary understanding of it as rather fragmentary, chaotic, simulative, or alternative (virtual) space. In other words, many authors contributing to this collection focus on nature and human closeness to - or distance from - nature as understood through different concepts and representations of space in the past and in modern and postmodern times. Theoretical considerations of space in postmodernism and the representation of space in literature, film, and dance comprise, for this reviewer, the most interesting and relevant essays from the collection. So, for example, Wilfried Fluck deals with space as “aesthetic object”. Drawing on John Dewey’s, Jürgen Peper’s, but especially on Czech structuralist Jan Mukar ovský’s theories of aesthetics, he argues that literary as well as pictorial, represenations of space […] create not only mental but an imaginary space; even where this representation may appear life-like, truthful and authentic, its actual status is that of an aesthetic object that invites, in effect, necessitates a transfer by the spectator in order to provide meaning and to create an aesthetic experience. (34) Although Fluck does not systematically treat the American context of arts or theories of space and does not give too many examples from American arts (he rather refers to the Western arts), he launches a theoretical proposition related to an understanding of space as a fluid, unstable, and transitory phenomenon influenced by a subjective perception of it. Individual transfer of experience from the outer world is understood as the source of the formation of aesthetic experience. Very stimulating and more specific is Lothar Hönnighausen’s essay on the relationship between place, locality and space and his reflections on these relationships in the context of individual’s perception of postmodern reality. His ideas related to postmodern reality are Rezensionen 136 based on Merleau-Ponty’s, Paul Virilio’s, Pierre Bordieu’s, Clifford Geertz’s, Jean Baudrillard’s and Michael Foucault’s theories, which propose a different understanding of space in postmodern times and its virtual, visual and mediated aspects. Such a perception of space manifests itself, in Hönnighausen’s view, in the novels of William Gibson, Don DeLillo, Thomas Pynchon and Paul Auster, for example. These authors’ works serve Hönnighausen to illustrate and support his ideas, even though there are no close analyses of these works, and the inclusion of Paul Auster’s novel Moon Palace (1989) as an example of a text that offers innovative representations of space is not sufficiently substantiated and, thus, not completely convincing. Very interesting and perhaps most innovative are the last two contributions in the Theory section by Jochen Achilles and Hanjo Berressem, respectively. As the title suggests, Achilles’ essay is a survey of theories of landscape, consciousness, and technoscape; the author’s reflections on these theories (since Emerson and Thoreau) are arranged according to the Subject-Object paradigm and are grouped and discussed according to their orientation and emphasis on the subject or object. Achilles understands contemporary environmental theories (L. Buell, Ch. Taylor, J. Ritter) as rather object-oriented, while the Boston Transcendentalists (Emerson, Thoreau), Modernist theories of Consciousness (W. James, H. Bergson) and contemporary theories of cyberspace (N. Wiener, M. McLuhan, D. Haraway), in Achilles’s view, tend to be subject-oriented. Achilles does not simplistically group the theories into prescribed categories but tries to find a connection between these theories’ treatment of inner and outer space and different kinds of reality in the context of various visions of the world as represented by diverse artistic tendencies. Thus, from the point of view of the subject and her or his perception of the world, he also sees a parallel between the Romantic and postmodern vision of the world. Hanjo Berressem’s article takes an idea and a metaphor of the crumpled space and fold(ing) from Deleuze’s and Guattari’s critical studies to create a text oscillating between a critical study, a philosophical reflection and an almost artistic and selfreflexive work based on the use of the method treated in the article itself. Thus the quotations from Deleuze’s, Guattari’s, Koolhaas’s and other critics’ works form an intertextual space and the example of the crumpled and fold-in method, and thus also a new kind of space the author is treating here in its manifestations in various forms of arts and theories. Commenting on Koolhaas’s architectural theories, Projective Verse by Charles Olson, Burrough’s cut-up and fold-in methods and other kinds of artistic representations, Berressem emphasises a fluidity and “materiality” of the virtual space, his aim being to “… link space and materiality: to fold virtual space back onto real space through the concept of topological foldings, in which space and materiality are inextricably combined” (103). Thus Berressem’s article comes across as a successful application of space combined with materiality through the method of folding, consisting of Berressem’s comments, quotations, and reflections which form equal parts of the author’s critical and artistic ‘space’. Quite a considerable space in the collection is devoted to the chapter entitled Landscape/ Nature, yet most of the essays there are thematically rather loosely connected sociological (Fröhlich, Hoppe) or environmental studies (Robin Morris Collin and Robert W. Collin, Hoppe), some of which one might expect to find in different chapters of this book. For example, Gerd Hurm’s study of poetry would logically fit into the Literature section; Helmut Fröhlich’s interesting sociological study Rezensionen 137 of California is thematically and methodologically closer to Astrid Böger’s study of Chicago in the Technoscape/ Architecture/ Urban Utopia section; and one of the most interesting papers in this section, David E. Nye’s study of the technological narrative, deals mostly with literature, thus it would be more logical to find it in the Literature section. In his essay, Nye develops his theory of technological foundation narratives based on different perceptions and understandings of the land by Native inhabitants and the White colonizers of America, and their representations in literature. He understands technological foundation narrative as “the story of transforming a new space with powerful technologies” (121), which he associates with the settlers’ approach to the land. He genuinely points out a change in the perception of space and geography by the immigrants with the introduction of the cartographic grid system after the American Revolution, and, finally, offers his idea of the counternarratives, which he understands as the stories “told from the point of view of the indigenous community and […] emphasize the ecological effects of technological change” (131). This essay offers an inventive and innovative treatment of the understanding of the changing perceptions of space in America since colonial times through the use of a combination of geographical, cartographic, historical, sociological, and mainly literary approaches. Different from some of the sections mentioned above, the sections on Literature and Performance/ Film/ Visual Arts - with the exception of Brigitte Georgi-Findlay’s article on the American West - show the most coherent thematic unity of the collection since, however diverse the genres discussed in the essays, what unites them is the authors’ focus on arts, which creates a logical cohesion. Georgi-Findlay’s article is a very interesting sociological, cultural, and perhaps also urban study of the territory, its changing ethnic nature, rural and urban space, but it does not deal with arts, so with its focus and approach it is closer to the articles of Böger and Fröhlich mentioned above. What is interesting is that the essays from the Literature section do not generally treat the most respected or best-known works, and that they mostly do not focus on recent literature (such as Ruth Mayer’s study of the road novels by Stewart O’Nan and Stephen Wright; Elisabeth Schäfer-Wünsche’s ecocritical study of T.C. Boyle’s novels; and Florian Dombois’ study of Arthur Clarke’s sci-fi novel Richter 10), but that many essays try to re-assess older literary works from a different perspective, applying contemporary theories. Thus Heike Schäfer’s essay deals with the representation of place in H.D. Thoreau’s, Mary Austin’s, and Annie Dillard’s works; Joseph C. Schöpp’s article looks at the immigrant experience of the European German-speaking authors Charles Sealfield and Ferdinand Kürnberger in America and their vision of America’s culture and politics as influenced by their different cultural, social, and political backgrounds (Sealfield seeing America as a vast space of free businessmen, Kürnberger as a land of independent individuals, cultural diversity, and political unity); and Ulfried Reichardt’s is an innovative study of subject, self, object, and external environment understood as the relationship between the internal and external space expressing a changing sensibility at the beginning of the 20 th century, as it manifests itself in Henry James’ (The Ambassadors) and Edith Wharton’s novels (The House of Mirth). Concerning other sections, three more articles should be mentioned here: Arakawa and Madeline Gins’ project of “architectural body” and their reconceptualization of space in contemporary times that emphasizes an active role of Rezensionen 138 the subject in the perception of space. And, for the systematic, comprehensive, and inventive study of their topics, Martina Leeker’s study of contemporary dance and Kerstin Schmidt’s essay on John Jesurun’s drama. Both authors focus on the role of digital technology, media such as TV, and their manipulation and creation of a virtual space which not only replaces physical space but is actually equal to it. Both essays emphasize the active role of technology and media in dance and theatrical production, as well as in contemporary art. Although theoretical concepts of space are not studied systematically in this collection of essays, with its diversity of approaches, topics, and methodologies as well as with the innovative understanding and use of space (Berressem), this volume represents an important contribution to the current discussion on the nature of space and its various forms of presentation in the arts and other areas of study. Since the colonial times, the American context has mostly been seen as influenced by modern technologies and media which both have created and manipulated the understanding and representation of space. One might argue that this collection of essays could have been much more coherent and convincing, e.g., by reducing the too broad interdisciplinary scope and rearranging some of the essays in different sections/ chapters closer to their field of study; and that the sociological, urban, architectural studies could have formed a separate section, or perhaps even a different book. Yet the volume, which also supplements its diverse essays by adequate pictorial and graphic appendixes with tables, illustrations, figures, and pictures, represents current theoretical perspectives and critical ideas by significant, mostly European, scholars in the field and provides a highly informative survey of the contemporary discussion on the topic. Jaroslav Kušnír The University of Prešov Slovakia Christa Jansohn (ed.), Queen Elizabeth I: Past and Present. (Studien zur englischen Literatur, 19). Münster: Lit Verlag, 2004. Christa Jansohn (ed.), In the Footsteps of William Shakespeare. (Studien zur englischen Literatur, 20). Münster: Lit Verlag, 2005. Horst Zander In der Reihe “Studien zur englischen Literatur”, die Dieter Mehl im Jahre 1990 begründet hat, sind inzwischen mehr als 20 Bände erschienen, die einzelnen Autoren, Epochen oder spezifischen Fragestellungen gewidmet sind. Christa Jansohn, die bereits früher eine Monographie in der Reihe publiziert und dort zwei Anthologien ediert hat, ist auch die Herausgeberin der beiden hier vorliegenden Bände. Der erste, AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 139 Queen Elizabeth I: Past and Present, präsentiert die Beiträge einer Konferenz, die anlässlich des 400. Todesjahres von Königin Elisabeth im Mai 2003 an der Universität Bamberg stattgefunden hat. In the Footsteps of William Shakespeare hingegen besteht überwiegend aus Vorträgen, die im Wintersemester 2004/ 05 an jener Universität gehalten wurden. Der erste Band befasst sich, wie der Titel impliziert, vor allem mit der legendären Königin, der Kultur an ihrem Hof und Elisabeths Nachleben in der Literatur, auf dem Theater sowie in anderen Künsten. Die zweite Anthologie erhellt verschiedene Aspekte von Shakespeare, seinem Oeuvre und der Shakespeare-Forschung. Dennoch sind die Übergänge zwischen den Bänden letztlich fließend. Nicht nur finden wir in den Werken die gleichen Beiträger (Dieter Mehl, Paul Franssen), sondern es hätte auch ein Aufsatz wie Hugh Macrae Richmonds “Elizabeth I in Shakespeare’s Henry VIII”, abgedruckt in Queen Elizabeth I, genauso gut in dem anderen Band erscheinen können. Beim ersten Band erweist sich zunächst der Untertitel, Past and Present, als ein wenig seltsam, wenn nicht sogar irreführend. Die Beiträge beleuchten diverse Bereiche der elisabethanischen Zeit sowie das Erbe und Nachleben Elisabeths im 17. und im 19. Jahrhundert. Doch abgesehen von einigen wenigen Bemerkungen im Aufsatz von Michael Dobson, der bei der Untersuchung der Darstellung Elisabeths auf dem Theater des 17. Jahrhunderts auch auf die Verkörperung der Königin in jüngeren Verfilmungen verweist (z.B. pp. 141, 150), gibt es kaum etwas in dem Band, was mit Present zu tun hat. Die Konzeption des Bandes erscheint gleichfalls etwas eigenwillig. Eine erste Sektion, betitelt “History: Dreams, Facts and Fiction” enthält einen Aufsatz von Carole Levin zu Träumen Elisabeths und ihrer Untertanen über sie, einen Artikel von Ronald G. Asch zu dem schwierigen Erbe, das Elisabeth den Stuarts hinterlassen hat, und den bereits erwähnten Beitrag von Richmond zu Shakespeares Historie. Die folgende Rubrik heißt “Elizabethan Culture: Festivals, Dance and Music”: Hier analysiert Axel Stähler gedruckte Versionen von elisabethanischen Festivals, Mehl untersucht Edmund Spensers The Faerie Queene, Barbara Ravelhofer beschreibt die Tanzkultur an Elisabeths Hof, und Christian Kelnberger erörtert das Verhältnis von Elisabeth zu den führenden Musikern der Zeit, die durchweg Katholiken waren. Der letzte Teil schließlich trägt die Überschrift “Afterlives: At Home and Abroad” und bietet den genannten Beitrag von Dobson, sodann Mehls Analyse von Thomas Heywoods If You Know Not Me You Know Nobody, Franssens Untersuchung zur Bedeutung Elisabeths und zu dem Kult um ihre Person in den damaligen Niederlanden, Winfried Jungs und Bodo Plachtas Ausführungen zur Darstellung Elisabeths in der Oper des 19. Jahrhunderts sowie abschließend Velma Bourgeois Richmonds Auswertung des Bildes von Elisabeth in viktorianischen und edwardianischen Kinderbüchern. Der Akzent des Bandes liegt also ganz eindeutig auf Kultur, Literatur und anderen Medien, bzw. es werden so gut wie ausschließlich derartige Aspekte behandelt. Was man bei einem solchen Band erwartet und dann vermisst, sind geschichtswissenschaftliche Beiträge über Elisabeths kontroverse Stellung in jener Forschung. Auch verkündet der Werbetext auf dem Buchrücken: “The volume will appeal to everyone interested in the charismatic character of Elizabeth I, her time and afterlife”. Doch über Elisabeths Charakter erfährt man ebenso wenig wie über ihre Bewertung in der gegenwärtigen Geschichtswissenschaft. Rezensionen 140 Wie bei einem Sammelband üblich, bewegen sich die Beiträge auf recht unterschiedlichem Niveau. Als vorzüglich erweist sich etwa der Aufsatz von Dobson, der darlegt, wie Elisabeth nach ihrem Tode als Dramenfigur fungieren durfte und wie sich Darstellungen Elisabeths in jakobäischer Zeit, als immer noch ausschließlich Männer bzw. Jungen Frauenrollen verkörperten, von denen der Restaurationszeit unterscheiden, in der dann Frauen diese Rolle spielten. Gewiss kann auch Mehls Analyse von Heywoods Drama überzeugen. Nur ist es wenig vorteilhaft, wenn angesichts der Vielzahl der Aspekte, die im Rahmen des Bandes interessieren könnten, er dasselbe Drama untersucht, das schon Dobson erörtert hat. Als vor allem amüsant ist zudem der Artikel von Stähler hervorzuheben, der den illusionistischen und unbeständigen Charakter von festival books in elisabethanischer Zeit herausarbeitet. Seine zentrale These von dieser spezifischen Eigenart solcher Dokumentationen kann er besonders anhand von Berichten jener Veranstaltungen belegen, die gar nicht erst stattgefunden haben - wegen Regens. Ein eher enttäuschender Aufsatz ist der erste zu Träumen von und über Elisabeth. Hier werden weitgehend nur historische Dokumente aufbereitet, ohne sie in einen weiteren methodologischen oder theoretischen Rahmen einzubetten. Auch verblüfft, dass man einen Beitrag über Träume schreiben kann, in dem weder Freuds erste und bahnbrechende Monographie erwähnt, noch auf die fortdauernde Bedeutung von Traumdeutungen in der Psychoanalyse eingegangen wird. Wie die Konzeption des Bandes ist offenbar auch die Herausgebertätigkeit eher hastig und lässig erfolgt. So zählen die Titel der Sektionen schlicht die Themen der entsprechenden Aufsätze auf, ohne dass nach sinnfälligen Oberbegriffen gesucht worden wäre. Mit einer Ausnahme stimmen alle Querverweise in der Anthologie nicht (pp. 64, 154, 159); und trotz einer insgesamt lobenswerten Bibliographie zu diversen Aspekten im Zusammenhang mit Elisabeth, die den Band abschließt, zeigt die dort angeführte Filmographie “Elizabeth I on Film” (p. 248) doch deutliche Defizite auf. Hier werden bloß Jahr, Titel und Länge der Filme genannt (etwa “1998: Elizabeth - 118 minutes” [ibid.; dahinter verbirgt sich Shekhar Kapurs britische Verfilmung]), aber keine Angaben zu Regie und Herkunftsland gemacht. Zudem hätte wohl auch John Maddons Shakespeare in Love (GB/ USA, 1998) eine Erwähnung verdient, hat doch Judi Dench für ihren grandiosen achtminütigen Auftritt als Elisabeth immerhin einen Oscar erhalten. Im zweiten Band, In the Footsteps of William Shakespeare, besticht zunächst die Liste der Beiträger, die sehr hochkarätige Namen umfasst. Die erste Sektion, die “Shakespeare: Biography, Text, Canon and Theatre” benannt ist (eine Überschrift, die nur wieder die Themen der Aufsätze auflistet), wird eben von einem solch renommierten Shakespeare-Forscher eröffnet: nämlich von Stanley Wells, der die Shakespeare-Biographien der letzten Dekaden kommentiert. Danach folgt ein Beitrag der Herausgeberin über jüngere Shakespeare-Editionen, ein Artikel von Richard Proudfoot über Shakespeare-Apokryphen (hier wird die gängige These einer Kollaboration von Shakespeare und John Fletcher bei Henry VIII untermauert [pp. 59/ 60], während Richmond in Queen Elizabeth I die alleinige Verfasserschaft Shakespeares in Betracht zieht [pp. 45-47]) und ein Aufsatz von Andrew Gurr, der hervorhebt, dass das elisabethanische Theater primär ein dreidimensionales Hörtheater und kein zweidimensionales Sehtheater war. Rezensionen 141 Der folgende Teil wird dann - wiederum nicht gerade einfallsreich - mit “Shakespeare and his Works” überschrieben und präsentiert einen Beitrag von Katherine Duncan-Jones über Shakespeares Verserzählungen, Ausführungen von Mehl über Shakespeares Behandlung des Troja-Stoffes in Lucrece, Hamlet und Troilus and Cressida sowie Darlegungen von Terence McCarthy zu Shakespeares skeptischer Haltung gegenüber der Arthus-Legende, die er bekanntlich nicht dramatisiert hat. Weiterhin folgen hier Artikel von Paul Edmondson über Melancholie und Verlangen in Twelfth Night, von Catherine Belsey über die märchenhaften Elemente in The Winter’s Tale, von Grace Ioppolo über King Lear und die Lear-Rezeption sowie schließlich R.A. Foakes’ Plädoyer für eine Wiederbelebung der zuletzt eher vernachlässigten Charakterkritik unter neuen Vorzeichen. Die Rubrik “Shakespeare: Afterlives” enthält einen Aufsatz von Franssen über das Shakespeare-Bild in Frankreich und in deutschen Ländern im Zuge der französischen Revolution sowie einen feministisch-orientierten Beitrag von Juliet Dusinberre, die die Darstellung von Desdemona in Shakespeares Othello vor der Folie der ‘unschuldigen’ Protagonistinnen in Henry James’ Romanen The Portrait of a Lady und The Awkward Age interpretiert. Den Abschluss des Bandes bildet eine Sektion, welche “Shakespearean and Other Gossip” betitelt ist und in der Werner Habicht 22 Briefe präsentiert, die die tasmanische Malerin, Dichterin und Verfasserin von Reisebüchern Louisa Anne Meredith in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts an den englischen Shakespeare-Forscher Clement Mansfield Ingleby geschrieben hat. Viele der hier abgedruckten Artikel sind von beachtlicher Substanz. Das gilt etwa für den ersten, in dem Wells mehrere jüngere Shakespeare-Biographien (einschließlich seiner eigenen) nebeneinander liest und dabei unter anderem auf die Spekulationen zu Shakespeares Todesursache, auf Shakespeares Bewertung als entweder egoistischer Grundbesitzer oder aber als Freund der Armen und auf die kontroversen Deutungen von Shakespeares Testament eingeht. Der These von den katholischen Bindungen Shakespeares, die in den letzten Jahren im Umkreis von Richard Wilson entstanden ist, wird dabei eine deutliche Absage erteilt. Sehr gelungen ist gleichfalls der Beitrag von Proudfoot, der mit den 14 Stücken, die C.F. Tucker Brooke 1908 als Shakespeare-Apokryphen klassifiziert und ediert hat, ein amüsantes ‘Zehn-kleine-Negerlein’-Spiel betreibt, sie also nacheinander aussortiert. Proudfoot betont allerdings nachhaltig, wie verbreitet in elisabethanischer und jakobäischer Zeit eine Kollaboration von Autoren war und dass Shakespeare gleichfalls wohl weit häufiger mit anderen Dramatikern zusammengearbeitet hat, als bisher angenommen wurde. Zu den beeindruckenden Aufsätzen zählt auch der von Belsey, die den ambivalenten generischen Charakter von The Winter’s Tale als ‘realistisches’ und zugleich märchenhaftes Drama untersucht und die dabei zu dem Schluss kommt, die Zwitterhaftigkeit des Stücks sei letztlich nicht aufzulösen. Weniger überzeugen hingegen kann der Beitrag von Foakes. Dieser postuliert zunächst eine Rehabilitierung der zuletzt in Misskredit geratenen Charakterkritik und stellt gewiss auch treffende Thesen über die Probleme und die erforderlichen Neuansätze dieser Disziplin auf; doch was dann folgt, ist weitgehend nur eine komprimierte Rezeptionsgeschichte von King Lear, die er seiner früheren Monographie zu diesem Stück sowie der Einleitung seiner Arden-Ausgabe des Dramas entnommen hat. Zudem behandelt Foakes damit den gleichen Bereich und die glei- Rezensionen 142 chen Inszenierungen wie Ioppolo in ihrem Aufsatz, der unmittelbar vorher abgedruckt ist. Bei Mehl ist der ganze Aufsatz eine Übersetzung eines Artikels, der zuvor anderweitig auf Deutsch erschienen ist, ebenso verhält es sich mit dem Beitrag der Herausgeberin Jansohn. Obwohl durch die englischen Versionen die Aufsätze einem breiteren Leserkreis zugänglich gemacht werden, so fragt man sich doch, ob in Zeiten, in denen man sich vor Publikationen kaum retten kann, solche Mehrfachveröffentlichungen sinnvoll sind. Überdies wird gerade Jansohns an sich fundierter Aufsatz wieder durch manche Nachlässigkeiten getrübt: So übersetzt sie Zitate aus deutscher Sekundärliteratur ins Englische und gibt zumeist, aber eben nicht immer, das Original in einer Fußnote wieder (vgl. p. 46); erneut stimmt der Querverweis nicht (p. 33); und nach Jansohn wiederholt hier Ulrich Suerbaum wundersamerweise in einer Monographie von 1996 fast wörtlich das, was er in einer anderen erst im Jahre 2001 geschrieben hat (p. 25, n. 2). Trotz solcher Mängel und Einwände ist In the Footsteps of William Shakespeare dem Band Queen Elizabeth I: Past and Present deutlich überlegen. Die jahrzehntelange Erfahrung mit der Shakespeare-Forschung, die viele der Beiträger aufzuweisen haben, schlägt sich nachhaltig in ihren Artikeln nieder. Obendrein könnte eine Bemerkung von Wells im Zusammenhang mit Stephen Greenblatts Shakespeare-Biographie eine neuerliche Debatte um Shakespeare entfachen. Greenblatt deutet Shakespeares Testament als eindeutige Liebeserklärung an seine Tochter Susanna und verweist dabei zudem auf die späten Dramen Pericles, The Winter’s Tale und The Tempest, die allesamt inzestuöse Vater-Tochter-Beziehungen thematisieren (nicht zu vergessen King Lear). Wenngleich sich Wells darüber erfreut zeigt, dass Greenblatt solche Implikationen nicht weiter verfolgt und ausgeführt hat, so könnte eben dieser Kommentar eine solche Kontroverse auslösen, die dann die Shakespeare-Industrie weiter anheizt. Ob wir aber eine solche Debatte wollen oder brauchen, sei dahingestellt. Horst Zander Institut für Anglistik und Germanistik Hochschule Vechta Erinnerung und Vergessen bei Beckett Zu Sabine Kozdon, Memory in Samuel Beckett’s Plays. A Psychological Approach. Münster: LIT, 2005. Hans H. Hiebel Sabine Kozdons Studie ist die Übersetzung ihrer an der Universität Kassel eingereichten Dissertation Das Gedächtnis in Samuel Becketts Dramen; Gutachter waren Gerd Rohmann und Konrad Schoell. AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 143 Die Rolle des Gedächtnisses, so die These der Verfasserin, habe in Becketts gesamtem Schaffen eine wesentliche Rolle gespielt; in den frühen Dramen habe das Vergessen, “poor memory” oder “forgetfulness”, vorgeherrscht, in den späten das Erinnern, “reminiscing” (s. S. 9ff.). Der Begriff des Erinnerns wird von der Vf. fast ausschließlich auf “individual memory”, “mémoire individuelle”, bezogen, während “mémoire intertextuelle” und “autotextuelle” ausgeschlossen werden (s. S. 4f.), d.h. Selbstzitate und literarische Verweise (auf die Bibel, Dante, Shakespeare u.a.) kommen nicht in Betracht, ebenso bleiben “historical” und “familial” bzw. “social” memory im Prinzip außerhalb des Gesichtskreises. (s. S. 5) Von Proust habe Beckett vielleicht die “unreliable, fragmented memories” seiner Figuren übernommen, aber die “mémoire involontaire” spiele für Beckett keine Rolle (s. S. 6 u. 21). Die untersuchten Werke werden von der Vf. in drei Phasen eingeteilt: Am Anfang - ausgezeichnet durch Darstellung des Vergessens und der Gedächtnisschwäche - stehen Eleutheria, Waiting for Godot und Endgame; zur mittleren Phase werden Happy Days und Krapp’s Last Tape gerechnet. In Happy Days trete das Erinnern mehr und mehr in den Vordergrund, in Krapp’s Last Tape spiele das Erinnern dann eine ganz wesentliche Rolle, aber die Gegenwartshandlung werde noch nicht aufgegeben. Zur dritten Phase zählt die Vf. die reinen “memory plays” (s. S. 9), in welchen die Gegenwartshandlung praktisch fehlt: Play, Not I und That Time; die Charaktere leben nun quasi in der Vergangenheit. Das Gedächtnis werde, heißt es in einem historischen Überblick, ab dem Ende des 19. Jahrhunderts zum Gegenstand der Literatur, als diese sich dem inneren Erleben zuwendet - vor allem bei Ibsen, Strindberg und Maeterlinck. Joyce kenne sowohl die “mémoire volontaire” als auch die “mémoire involontaire” (die aber durch Worte, nicht durch Sinneswahrnehmungen ausgelöst werde) (s. S. 21). Der Hypermnesie wird die Amnesie gegenübergestellt. Gedächtnislücken und Verfälschungen werden in Robert Pingets Hörspiel La Manivelle - von Beckett als The Old Tune übersetzt - ausgemacht. Besonders bei Harold Pinter (Landscape, Silence u.a.) käme es zur Darstellung einander widersprechender Erinnerungen und damit zur Thematisierung des “unreliable memory”. (s. S. 24ff.) Proust, der über alle Formen der Erinnerung reflektiere, privilegiere die “mémoire involontaire”, derzufolge - wie beim Genuss der “Madeleine” - ein lang zurückliegendes Erlebnis durch eine konkrete Sinneswahrnehmung - unwillkürlich, d.h. ohne bewusstes Einwirken - reaktiviert werde. “A similar mémoire involontaire is not to be found in Beckett’s plays.” (S. 30) Erinnern setzt stets ein Vergessen voraus: So schrieb Beckett in seiner Studie Proust von 1930: “The man with a good memory does not remember anything because he does not forget anything.” (S. 31) Beckett zweifle an der positiven Wirkung des Gedächtnisses, ja am Gedächtnis überhaupt (S. 31). Beckett “criticizes the banality of the situations in which it [mémoire involontaire] is triggered” (S. 33). (Es versteht sich von selbst, dass in Becketts düsterer Weltsicht (vgl. Calder 2001) auch das Gedächtnis nicht verschont bleiben kann.) Für Beckett, so die Vf., ist sowohl die Erinnerung als auch das Vergessen negativ. In einem Kapitel über verschiedene Theorien des Gedächtnisses, seien sie psychologischer oder neurobiologischer Natur, kommt die Vf. zu Differenzierungen im Hinblick auf die Grundlagen von Erinnern und Vergessen; die Definitionen und Differenzierungen werden dann in den konkreten Textanalysen immer wieder aufgegriffen. Rezensionen 144 Mit Freud weist die Vf. auf die Kraft der Verdrängung, die Vergessen motivieren könne. Aber unabhängig von Freud müsse gesagt werden, dass man sich generell eher angenehmer als unangenehmer Erlebnisse erinnere: “we tend to remember pleasant rather than unpleasant events.” (S. 45) Den Begriff des “kollektiven Gedächtnisses” bezieht die Vf. von M. Halbwachs und stellt ihn in den Zusammenhang sozialer und familiärer Kontexte. Hermann Ebbinghaus, den Beckett gekannt habe, liefere eine Erinnerungsverfallskurve, die in der Folge immer wieder aufgegriffen worden sei; Münsterberg habe deutlich gemacht, dass es die Gedächtniskraft trübe, wenn ähnliche Erlebnisse einander überlagerten und zu einem “interference”-Effekt führten (s. S. 37). In den 60er Jahren habe sich dann jene ganz entscheidende Differenzierung zwischen Kurz- und Langzeitgedächtnis entwickelt. Experimente und Untersuchungen zeigten, dass im Alter das Kurzzeitgedächtnis schwächer werde, während das Langzeitgedächtnis - selbst bei Korsakoff-Kranken - sich als sehr stabil erweise. Auch die Unterscheidung eines semantischen und eines episodischen Gedächtnisses wird aufgegriffen, ersteres beziehe sich auf “our abstract world knowledge”, letzteres auf “actual events from our own lives” (S. 41). Dennoch habe die Neurobiologie festgestellt, dass es gerade die Interaktion zwischen den verschiedensten Teilen des Gehirns ist, die letztlich ein lebendiges Gedächtnis ermöglicht. Andererseits werde in wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten Vergessen auf die begrenzte Kapazität unseres Gehirns zurückgeführt (s. S. 43). Alle diese Begriffsbestimmungen und Differenzierungen werden von der Vf. vorgenommen, damit in der Folge - gemäß ihrem Untertitel - die psychologischen Gründe für Erinnerung oder Vergessen bei den Charakteren der Beckettschen Stücke angegeben werden können. So wird im weiteren noch auf die “mood congruency” eingegangen (s. S. 45), also den Einfluss der jeweiligen Befindlichkeit des Subjekts auf die Auswahl der Erinnerungen, und ebenso auf die Differenz des “prospective” und des “retrospective memory” (s. S. 45) - Ersteres beziehe sich auf die zeitlichen Umstände eines Ereignisses, Letzteres auf die Inhalte der Erinnerung. Bei Gedächtnisschwäche bzw. im Alter schwinde zunächst das prospektive Gedächtnis. Nach Freud lägen die Gründe für Schwächen des “prospective memory” auch im Mangel an Motivation und Interesse. Die Gerontologie nun zeige, dass im Alter vor allem die Erinnerung an Namen von Personen und Orten schwinde. Andererseits komme es gerade im Alter zum Bedürfnis einer “life review” (s. S. 49ff. u. passim), einer bilanzierenden Rückerinnerung, um noch anstehende Konflikte zu lösen, Kohärenz herzustellen und Sinn zu konstituieren. So beinhalte Erinnerung also immer auch eine Wertung und Interpretation der ursprünglichen Erlebnisse. Depression, Angst und Schuldgefühle könnten durchaus Bestandteile solcher Rückblicke sein, die nicht immer nostalgischen Bedürfnissen entsprängen. In einem Abschnitt über Krankheit und Gedächtnis geht die Vf. auf Alzheimer, Korsakoff, Demenz und Schizophrenie ein, hält die Applikation solcher Phänomene auf die Charaktere Becketts aber - zu Recht - für abwegig. Erinnerungslücken in Becketts Stücken lägen im Bereich des Normalen und können ‘psychologisch’ erläutert werden, zum Teil auch als der Dramaturgie geschuldet. Hier könnte man sich allerdings fragen, ob angesichts fiktiver Figuren überhaupt psychologische Begründungen sinnvoll sind, insbesondere wenn es sich - wie bei Beckett - geradezu um Kunstfiguren handelt, die im Wesentlichen nach dramaturgischen Gesichtspunkten zum Zwecke der Verfremdung und der Dekonstruktion komponiert sind. Rezensionen 145 Die konkrete Analyse beginnt mit den - in der Tat zahlreichen und auffälligen - Erinnerungslücken und Fehlleistungen in Eleutheria. In Becketts Erstling von 1947 vergessen die Hauptfiguren in eklatanter Weise häufig Namen und Umstände der Mit-Protagonisten. Im Zentrum steht Victor Krap, der verzweifelt versucht, ein zurückgezogenes Leben zu führen. Seine Mutter, Mme Krap, vergisst den Namen von Victors Onkel Dr. Piouk und redet ihren Mann mit dem Namen ihres Sohnes, Victor, an. Victors Verlobte redet M Krap als “père” an. Dr. Piouk vergisst, dass Victor, sein Neffe, der Sohn der Kraps ist. Schließlich verfällt Dr. Piouk der totalen Amnesie, von der er sich dann aber wieder erholt. In Eleutheria werde neben dem Vergessen aber auch die Erinnerung thematisch. Von großer Bedeutung sei beispielsweise, dass sich M Krap einer Bootsfahrt mit seiner Frau, Mme Krap, erinnert. (Ein Motiv, das später in Krapp’s Last Tape wieder aufgegriffen wird.) In Viktors zentralem Traum taucht die Erinnerung an ein frühes Trauma auf: Der Vater verlangt vom Sohn, er solle ins Wasser springen. (Ein direkter Abkömmling eines tatsächlichen Traumas des Autors.) Das Interesse anderer Figuren an Gedächtnislücken der Mit-Protagonisten sei im Vergleich mit den übrigen Stücken Becketts in Eleutheria einmalig (s. S. 71). Man versucht, die anderen zum Erinnern zu motivieren und - sogar mit Gewalt, ja mit Folter - dem Gedächtnis der anderen aufzuhelfen. Viktor wehrt sich: “J’oublie! […] Laissez-moi! ” (Zit. S. 71) Hier wäre dem psychological approach der Vf. entgegenzuhalten, dass es im wesentlichen wohl dramaturgische Gründe sind, die den Gedächtnislücken der Figuren zu Grunde liegen: Alles zielt auf Komik und m.E. auf die Parodie der Psychoanalyse, die nach ‘Reminiszenzen’ gräbt, als mache sich Beckett über seinen Analytiker Dr. Bion, den er 1933 bis 1935 (s. S. 258) aufsuchte, lustig (vgl. dazu auch die detaillierten Ausführungen in Knowlson 1996: 175-186). Die dramaturgische bzw. komödiantische Verwendung von Gedächtnisschwächen scheint mir auch in Waiting for Godot, das die Vf. im Anschluss analysiert, gegeben zu sein. Die Beckett-Literatur hat wiederholt auf die Gedächtnisschwächen von Vladimir und Estragon hingewiesen. Die Vf. versucht indes, Vladimir und Estragon zu individualisieren und divergierende Gründe für das Versagen des Gedächtnisses auszumachen. Vladimirs Gedächtnis sei bedeutend besser als das Estragons. Aber auch Vladimir kann sich nicht an Godot, den die beiden angeblich schon gesehen haben, erinnern. Estragon aber vergisst sogar wiederholt, dass sie beide auf Godot warten (obwohl dies ja ihre Haupttätigkeit ist). Das erkläre sich damit, dass Beckett Godot absichtlich schattenhaft und unbestimmt lassen wollte. Estragons extrem schlechtes Gedächtnis “can be explained psychologically”: Er erwarte nichts von Godot, ja, er erwarte eher Negatives (s. S. 82). Als ein anderes Beispiel wird erwähnt, dass Estragon seine Stiefel nicht mehr erkenne. Das führt die Vf. darauf zurück, dass das Stück eigentlich offen lasse, ob der 2. Akt tatsächlich am nächsten Abend - oder nicht viel später - spiele. (S. 83) Auf diese Unbestimmtheit wird auch zurückgeführt, dass Pozzo im zweiten Akt nicht weiß, wann er erblindete. Im übrigen wird seine Vergesslichkeit auf sein hohes Alter bezogen. (Auch hier wäre allerdings wieder zu fragen, ob nicht die Absicht humoristischer Gestaltung und die der radikalen Verfremdung und Dekomposition der Charaktere die eigentlichen Gründe für die Erinnerungslücken sind. Der Versuch, die fiktiven Figuren wie reale Menschen zu betrachten, mutet recht bemüht, unreflektiert und humorlos an.) Schließlich wird die Vergesslichkeit der beiden Protagonisten mit Rezensionen 146 ihren eskapistischen Tendenzen in Verbindung gebracht und vor allem - unter dem Stichwort “interference” (s. S. 95ff.) - mit der vielfachen Wiederholung des immer gleichen Tagesablaufs begründet. Godot sei das Stück Becketts, in dem das schlechte Gedächtnis der Figuren am allermeisten ins Auge falle; im wesentlichen habe dies mit “Godot’s mysteriousness” (S. 97) zu tun. Die Frage nach den Gedächtnislücken in Godot scheint mir sehr schwer zu beantworten zu sein; die Deutungen der Vf. jedoch - besonders die “psychologischen” - greifen hier wohl zu kurz. In Endgame fällt zunächst Clovs Vergesslichkeit in der Eingangspantomime auf (er vergisst wiederholt die Leiter oder das Fernglas); sie wird auf einen Mangel an Motivation und zugleich auf die Demonstration eines Lernprozesses zurückgeführt. (Wieder ist die Frage, ob die slap-stick-Einlage nicht erneut humoristischen Absichten entspringt.) Bei Nagg und Nell trete zum ersten Mal die Bedeutung der Erinnerung zutage, hier vor allem die Erinnerung an den Tandemunfall, bei dem sie beide ihre Beine verloren haben, und an die glückliche Fahrt auf dem Comer-See. Es handle sich um Erinnerungen an entweder glückliche oder traumatisierende Erlebnisse, wie sie die späteren memory plays charakterisierten. Auch die Behausung von Nagg und Nell erinnere an Späteres (z.B. an die Urnen von Play). Da die Bühnen-Szenerie mit dem Inneren eines Schädels verglichen werden könne, erhielten die Bühnenereignisse den Charakter von Personifikationen von Gedanken, Impulsen, Fantasien und Erinnerungen. Hamm scheine beispielsweise mit dem Schließen der Deckel der Mülltonnen über Nagg und Nell, seinen Eltern, bestimmte Gedanken zu verdrängen. Zudem hätten die beiden Tonnen den Charakter der “vases clos et sans communication entre eux”, wie sie Proust beschrieben habe (s. S. 112). Obwohl Happy Days vier Jahre nach dem Erinnerungsstück Krapp’s Last Tape, das man cum grano salis als erstes memory play betrachten könnte, geschrieben worden ist, wird es von der Vf. im Anschluss an Endgame behandelt, denn einerseits werde die Darstellung von Gedächtnislücken in ihm fortgesetzt, andererseits träten die persönlichen Rückerinnerungen immer deutlicher in den Vordergrund. Die halb in der Erde vergrabene und im zweiten Akt bis zum Kopf in der Erde steckende Winnie sehe sich auf Grund ihrer Lage gezwungen, sich mit Rückerinnerungen zu beschäftigen. Die Inhalte ihrer Handtasche lieferten gewissermaßen Auslöser, die sie an bessere Zeiten erinnerten. Ihre Unbekümmertheit führe dazu, dass sie auch ihre Gegenwart als “happy” wahrnehme. Winnies Erinnerungen haben, so die Vf., vor allem den Charakter von “collective memories” (S. 119ff.), dies nicht im Sinne eines Weltwissens, sondern im Sinne ihres “individual memory” - alle Rückerinnerungen seien “recollections of her own past” (S. 143). Vor allem werde die offenbar glückliche Zeit vor der Eheschließung mit Winnie erinnert. Weniger personbezogen seien die vielen Zitate aus literarischen Werken - vor allem Shakespeare wird genannt, aber auch Milton, Thomas Gray, John Keats, Charles Wolfe, Victor Hugo, Robert Browning, Robert Herrick, Samuel Johnson und die Bibel. Obwohl Beckett einmal äußerte, er habe in Happy Days nie etwas Bestimmtes zitiert, lassen sich die Spuren jedoch eindeutig verifizieren. Die Erinnerungen an bessere Tage bezögen sich, so die Vf. , meistens auf “romantic incidents” (S. 134), sie seien jedoch immer auch als eine Art Zwiegespräch mit Willie im Hintergrund zu sehen, zu dem Winnie niemals den Kontakt verlieren möchte. Als charakteristisch - und Späteres vorwegnehmend Rezensionen 147 - wird auch das Fragmentarische der Erinnerungen angesprochen - niemals werden die zitierten Zeilen in ihrer Vollständigkeit erinnert. Auch frage sich Winnie selbst immer wieder nach den Quellen des Erinnerten (s. S. 133). Die Erinnerungen - wie die behüteten Gegenstände in der Handtasche - werden als identitätsstiftend gesehen. In Krapp’s Last Tape mache die innovative Verwendung des Tondbandgerätes die exakte und externalisierte Speicherung von Erfahrung bzw. Erinnerung möglich (s. S. 145ff.). Hier werden Erinnerungen erinnert, denn der 69jährige Krapp hört ein Band des 39jährigen ab, auf dem seinerseits wiederum 10 Jahre alte Erlebnisse festgehalten sind. (Man müsste hier deutlich zwischen Erinnern und Erinnertem bzw. Erlebtem unterscheiden: Das Erinnerte wird immer nachträglich beschrieben bzw. besprochen, so dass es im Grunde im Stück kein primäres Erleben gibt. Erlebnischarakter hat allein der Aussagevorgang (énonciation), der Stil, in den die Aussagen (énonces) gefasst werden.) Im Mittelpunkt des Erinnerungsstückes steht die gewissermaßen süchtig und wiederholt erinnerte Szene, als sich Krapp mit seiner Geliebten (Vorbild dürfte Becketts Cousine Peggy Sinclair gewesen sein) auf einer Bootsfahrt befindet. Die - technisch festgehaltene - Erinnerung speichert sozusagen Glücksmomente, erinnerte Glücksmomente. Da es sich um erinnerte Momente handelt, stellt sich - wie die Vf. wiederholt feststellt - immer auch die Frage nach der Zuverlässigkeit des Gedächtnisses und das Problem der Fiktionalisierung des Erinnerten. Das gelte in noch größerem Ausmaß für die Gedächtnisdarstellung in Becketts Prosa. Auch Traumata sind vom Tonband festgehalten, so die Erinnerung an den schwarzen Ball, “black ball” (zit. S. 153), den Krapp in der Hand hielt, als seine Mutter starb. Hier wird eine Entwicklung oder zumindest Veränderung des Helden sichtbar, denn der ältere Krapp kann sich, als er die Stelle abhört, nicht mehr an den Ball erinnern. Das zeugt von einer tief ironischen Haltung der Erinnerung, dem Schreiben, der Phonographie gegenüber. Vermutlich macht sich Beckett hier auch über die “mémoire involontaire” lustig, insofern sein Krapp keine Erinnerung an den schwarzen Ball und seine sinnliche Wahrnehmung hat. Die Vf. stimmt dieser These eigentlich nicht zu, aber sie betont, dass das wiederholte und bewusst-kontrollierte Abhören der Bänder nichts mit der sinnlichen Wahrnehmung zu tun hat, die Proust zufolge unwillentliche bzw. unwillkürliche Erinnerungen auslösen kann. Für den Autor, der sich paradoxerweise an das Nicht-Erinnern des Balls erinnert, muss der Ball indessen in der Tat assoziativ mit dem Trauma vom Tod der Mutter verquickt sein. Für charakteristisch hält die Vf. den Umstand, dass die abgehörten Bänder nicht authentische Erinnerung darstellen, d.h. nicht das authentisch Erlebte präsentieren, sondern immer vom Bewusstseinsstand des Sprechers und seinem Gestaltungswillen abhängige Diktate darstellen. Nie gehe es um die objektive Vergangenheit, sondern immer nur um ein “construct” (S. 164). (Dies schon allein insofern, als ja Erinnern und Erinnertes bzw. ursprünglich Erlebtes differieren. Vergangenes ließe sich durchaus als Jetzt-Erleben darstellen - im personalen Roman, im Tagebuchroman, in einem Stationen-Drama - aber bei Beckett geht es immer um Rückblicke.) Entsprechend der Differenz von jetzt und damals macht sich der ältere Krapp über den jüngeren Krapp lustig, der von einer “memorable equinox” deliriert, als er sich von der Liebe verabschiedete (“farewell to love”) und sich dem Verfassen eines “opus Rezensionen 148 1 Stiller geht davon aus, dass seine neue Identität nichts mit der alten zu tun hat (Frisch 1976: 361). magnum” zu widmen entschloss (s. S. 153, 156, 173, vgl. Beckett 1981: 90, 94, 98). Krapp spreche zuweilen, so die Vf., in der dritten Person von sich selbst, denn er könne sich nicht mehr mit seinen Erinnerungen identifizieren. Eben dies deute auf eine innere Entwicklung hin. (Genau wie bei Max Frisch, wenn er schreibt: “Ich bin nicht Stiller.” 1 ) Erinnerung und Vergessen sind in Krapp offensichtlich gleich wichtig. Auch das Fragmentarische ist wieder als Gestaltungsziel deutlich: Wörter werden unterbrochen (wenn Krapp in seinem Tonbänder-Verzeichnis liest), das mit dem Tonband Aufgenommene wird unterbrochen und wiederholt, rückwärts und vorwärts gespult … Zwar gebe es, so die Vf., noch eine Gegenwartshandlung in Krapp, wie sie Play, Not I und That Time fehle, aber die Gegenwart bedeute Krapp nichts mehr, so dass er sich ‘spulensüchtig’ seinen Erinnerungskonserven widme, im Ansatz eine life review vornehme (das “farewell to love” bedauere, das “opus magnum” verlache usw.) Krapp’s Last Tape wird von der Vf. als das erste Beckett-Stück bezeichnet, in dem das Erinnern zur Hauptbeschäftigung des Protagonisten wird. Während also in Krapp noch ein Minimum an physischer Handlung (Trinken, Bananen-Essen) vorhanden sei, fehle dies in den eigentlichem memory plays vollständig: In Play, Not I und That Time. Hier leben die Personen praktisch in der Vergangenheit. In Play und Not I sind es nicht angenehme Erinnerungen, sondern Traumata, die erinnert werden, in That Time, so die Vf., komme es indes zu einer Versöhnung zwischen dem Ich und seinen erinnerten Episoden. Das “enigmatic smile” (S. 185, vgl. Beckett 1984a: 235 (“5 seconds smile”)), das der Listener in That Time am Ende des Stückes zeigt, scheint mir allerdings nichts Versöhnliches zu haben, sondern das bittere Glück vor dem Tode zu signalisieren, wenn alle Mühen überstanden sind. Als Gattungskriterien des memory play werden genannt: Die Haupthandlung besteht in der Äußerung des/ der Protagonisten; es gibt keine Gegenwartshandlung, nur Augen und Mund des/ der Protagonisten sind sichtbar; der Gegensatz zwischen Gegenwart und Vergangenheit ist offensichtlich; die Atmosphäre ist deprimierend; wie es zur Gegenwart kam, wird nicht gesagt; die Bühne ist dunkel; die Erinnerungen haben den Charakter der life review. In Play wiederholen die drei Toten in den Urnen, W1, W2 und M (Ehefrau, Freundin und Mann) rapid und in eternum ihre Vergangenheit. (Man darf sich hier fragen, ob dies überhaupt ‘Erinnern’ genannt werden kann und nicht vielmehr eine - psychologisch nicht deutbare - Erfindung des absurden Theaters darstellt. Können sich Tote ‘erinnern’, kann man ihre ‘Motivation’ ergründen? ) Das gesamte Stück wird in toto wiederholt. Ein Lichtstrahl zwingt - wie ein “prompter” - die drei Protagonisten, sich zu äußern. Mit den Urnen werde das Motiv der Mülltonnen und der Be-erdung Winnies in Happy Days wieder aufgenommen. Der Inhalt ist trivial: Ein Mann zwischen zwei Frauen, er verschwindet und beide Frauen vermuten, er sei zu der jeweils anderen geflüchtet. Die Trivialität wird allein durch die Requisiten und das rapide Tempo zum Novum. Obwohl bei allen Erinnerungen, die Beckett thematisiere, die Nähe zur Unzuverlässigkeit des Gedächtnisses und zur fiktionalen Konstruktion groß sei, schließt die Vf. hier die fiktionalen Anteile weitgehend aus, da die drei - an sich subjektiven - Rückblicke bzw. Rückblicksfragmente auf einen wahren Kern schließen Rezensionen 149 ließen. Noch einmal wird Prousts Reflexion über die “vases clos et sans communications” (S. 199) vergleichend herangezogen. In Not I komme es, wie in Play, zu permanenten Wiederholungen; doch stellten sich hier Variationen ein, während in Play alles Wort für Wort wiederholt werde. Wieder fällt es schwer, aus den Fragmenten die Story zu rekonstruieren. “Mouth”, eine 70jährige, von der allein der Mund zu sehen ist, erinnert: Eine ‘sie’ (sie selbst? ) begann eines Tages plötzlich ihre Stummheit aufzugeben und ohne Unterlass zu sprechen. Sie wehrt sich dagegen, sich mit der “she”, von der sie - abgehackt und rapide - spricht, zu identifizieren: “Not I” (Beckett 1984b: 213-223). Die Protagonistin erscheint noch getriebener, gehetzter als die Personen in Play. Der “Auditor” ist machtlos. Als Stumme wurde sie von ihren Eltern verlassen und in ein Waisenheim gebracht. Dieses Urtrauma und der plötzliche Sprach-Ausbruch sind die Momente, die immer wieder vorgebracht - erinnert (? ) werden … (Sind die Halluzinationen von Psychotikern ‘Erinnerungen’? ) Parallelen zwischen dem “I” und der “she” legen indessen nahe, dass hier eine Traumatisierte von sich selbst spricht - und zwar in der dritten Person. Das entspreche psychiatrischen Beobachtungen. Damit ist die Vf. bei einer psychologischen Erklärung des traumatischen Sprech-Zwanges der Protagonistin; der “wish of dissociation” (S. 208) führe zu einer Ich-Spaltung, zur Absonderung der ‘sie’, der dritten Person, der “pseudo-third person” (S. 208) vom Ich. Akustische Halluzinationen bestätigen, so die Vf., das Bild einer Psychopathin, das in die Nähe der Schizophrenie gerückt wird. Das Fragmentarische der Erinnerungen bestätige, dass es um zwanghaftes und nicht wohlüberlegtes Erinnern geht, um “involuntary memory” (S. 210) (was nicht mit “mémoire involontaire”, hervorgerufen durch eine sinnliche Wahrnehmung, verwechselt werden dürfe). In That Time hört der Listener, das dramatische Ich der Stücks, aus drei verschieden positionierten Lautsprechern die Erinnerungen in Dubzw. Ihr-Form, die aus drei Lebensaltern des Ich genommen sind, aus der Kindheit, der Zeit des Erwachsenseins und dem späten Alter. (Als spule Krapp, permanent die Spulen wechselnd, drei seiner Bänder ab, genauer: als liefen diese ohne Krapps Zutun ab.) Wieder werden die Erinnerungen - wie in Play - unterbrochen (durch permanente Abwechslung der drei Stimmen aus den drei Lautsprechern), so dass dem Rezipienten erneut lauter Fragmente geboten werden. Am Ende des ersten und zweiten Durchgangs öffnet der Listener die Augen, am Ende des Stückes, nach dem dritten Durchgang, lächelt er. Dieses Lächeln (“enigmatic smile”) deutet die Vf. als Zufriedenheit des dramatischen Ich mit dem letzten Ablauf und der hergestellten - chronologischen - Ordnung. (Man könnte es aber, wie gesagt , als Lächeln kurz vor dem Tode, mit dem alles überstanden ist, deuten.) Auf ein “fading memory” (S. 220) führt die Vf. - wieder psychologisierend - die Gedächtnislücken des Erwachsenen- Ich zurück. Auch sei die Fiktionalisierung der Erinnerungen niemals so offensichtlich gewesen wie in diesem Stück. (s. S. 222) Erinnerung und Imagination verschmölzen miteinander; Widersprüche in den Textteilen legten eine solche Vermutung nahe. Wieder wird der Unterschied zur “mémoire involontaire” betont, da es sich um eine “past recycled rather than recaptured” handle (s. S. 228). Am emotionalsten erschienen die Erinnerungen des Kindheits-Ich, dieses und das Erwachsenen-Ich brächten die düstersten Erinnerungen zur Sprache. Es sei, als höre der Listener wie Krapp drei Spulen aus vergangenen Tagen, nur dass hier - fiktionsimmanent - kein externalisiertes, technisches Gedächtnis die Vergangenheit gespei- Rezensionen 150 chert habe. Fragen wie “when was that? ” (S. 226, vgl. Beckett 1984a: 228) markierten Momente des Vergessens, das - so die psychologische Erklärung - dem Altern geschuldet sei. In That Time sei es nicht klar, ob die Erinnerungen - wie in Krapp’s Last Tape - bewusst vom Listener aufgerufen würden, der sie vielleicht sogar ordne, oder ob - wie in Not I - der Listener, wenn er die Augen aufschlage, nur auf unkontrollierte, unwillkürlich auftauchende Erinnerungsschübe reagiere. Die Spontaneität aber scheint, wie die Vf. mit der - häufig zitierten - Biographie James Knowlsons festhält, zu überwiegen (s. S. 229). (Dann dürfte das Lächeln des Listeners aber nicht auf seine eigene Leistung bezogen werden.) Dass das Stück wieder eine life review darstelle, werde durch das Alter des Protagonisten und den drohenden Tod nahe gelegt. In ihrem Fazit stellt die Vf. noch einmal fest, dass die Erinnerungen wie die Gedächtnislücken bei Beckett überraschend “realistic” (S. 268) dargestellt seien und nichts Absurdes an sich hätten. (Die Zerstückelung der Erinnerungen in That Time oder Play sind aber zweifellos einem Kompositionsprinzip des absurden Dramas geschuldet.) Immer wieder werde der Erinnerungsprozess dargestellt und würden den Erinnerungen wie Erinnerungslücken bestimmte Gründe beigegeben. (Zu Krapp’s Last Tape, Play und vor allem Not I und That Time könnte man mit Daniel L. Schacter (1999) sagen: “Wir sind Erinnerung”.) Abgesehen von diesem Fazit endet die Studie mit zwei summarischen Kapiteln. Im ersten wird auf Becketts Kenntnis von Psychologie und Gedächtnisforschung eingegangen. Beckett, der selbst mit einem überdurchschnittlichen, photographischen Gedächtnis begabt gewesen sei, habe über Erinnerung und Vergessen bei seinem Analytiker Bion gelernt, habe einen Vortrag C.G. Jungs gehört, habe Hermann Ebbinghaus’ Experimente gekannt, habe Korsakoff und Janet gelesen, sei mit Erwin Schrödinger vertraut gewesen und habe Mauthner studiert. Im anderen Schluss-Kapitel werden die Themen des Erinnerns, Vergessens und vor allem der Fiktionalisierung des Erlebten und Erinnerten in Becketts Prosa verfolgt. Die Vf. beschränkt sich hier auf First Love, Malone Dies, How It Is und Company. In Letzterem werde das Thema des Stimmen-Hörens, das Beckett zunehmend beschäftigt habe, aufgegriffen. Die Stimme, die in Company zu hören sei, vermittle Jugenderinnerungen, die Anlass dazu gäben, dieses Werk als den autobiographischsten Text Becketts zu sehen (s. S. 249). Die verschiedenen Einzelstudien der Vf. vermitteln in ihren konkreten Textinterpretationen durchaus erhellende Einsichten in die jeweils besprochenen Werke. Dieser Aspekt ging in der vorgelegten Besprechung deshalb unter, weil ich mich auf die Fragestellung - Erinnerung, Vergessen - konzentrieren und die jeweils einleitenden und interpretierenden Teile weitgehend außer Acht lassen musste. Die konkreten Analysen von Erinnerungsakten und Gedächtnislücken bringen im Zusammenhang mit diesen konkreten Interpretationen sehr viel hilfreiche Einzelbeobachtungen zutage. Dennoch scheint mir der Hauptzugang - der ‘psychologische’ Zugang - etwas einseitig und teilweise sogar verfehlt zu sein. Kunstfiguren wie fiktionale Charaktere und die Technik der absurden Komposition erlauben nicht das Herangehen mit Kategorien, die wirklichen Menschen oder Patienten angemessen wären. Die Gedächtnisphänomene bei Beckett stehen m.E. viel deutlicher mit den dramaturgischen - oft humoristisch-komischen - Absichten des Autors in Zusammenhang. Sie sind Rezensionen 151 vermutlich - ich kann hier leider nur eine Andeutung beisteuern - in großem Ausmaß mit den radikalen Verfremdungs- und Dekonstruktionsmethoden Becketts in Zusammenhang zu bringen, mit Techniken, durch die Beckett die traditionelle Dramatik und ihre Figuren unentwegt entstellt und dekomponiert, mit Techniken, welche die personelle Identität der Figuren auflösen, welche absurde Konstruktionen, die Empirie und Logik oft radikal in Frage stellen, anstreben und welche Plot-Formen auf der histoire-Ebene und das Erzählen auf der discours-Ebene unentwegt und einfallsreich destruieren. Literaturverzeichnis Beckett, Samuel (1981). Krapp’s Last Tape. In: Samuel Beckett. Dramatische Dichtungen in drei Sprachen. Frankfurt a.M. 82-109. Beckett, Samuel (1984a). That Time. In: Samuel Beckett. Collected Shorter Plays. London: Faber and Faber 225-235. Beckett, Samuel (1984b). Not I. In: Samuel Beckett. Collected Shorter Plays. London: Faber and Faber 213-223. Calder, John (2001). The Philosophy of Samuel Beckett. London: Calder Publications. Frisch, Max (1976). Stiller. In: Max Frisch. Gesammelte Werke in zeitlicher Folge. Frankfurt a.M. Bd. III: 2. 359-781. Knowlson, James (1996). Damned to Fame. The Life of Samuel Beckett. London: Bloomsbury. Schacter, Daniel L. (1999). Wir sind Erinnerung. Gedächtnis und Persönlichkeit. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Hans H. Hiebel Institut für Germanistik Universität Graz Timo Lothmann, God i tok long yumi long Tok Pisin: eine Betrachtung der Bibelübersetzung in Tok Pisin vor dem Hintergrund der sprachlichen Identität eines Papua-Neuguinea zwischen Tradition und Moderne. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2006. Janna Zimmermann Timo Lothmann widmet sich in seiner Aachener Dissertation dem Buk Baibel (1989), der ins Tok Pisin (TP) übersetzten Vollversion der Heiligen Schrift. Anhand ausgewählter Bibelexzerpte analysiert er, inwieweit die sprachliche Umsetzung hinsichtlich Funktionalität, Standardisierung und Zielgruppenorientierung gelungen ist. Als AAA Band 32 (2007), Heft 1 Rezensionen 152 Maßstab dient hierbei das “etablierte übersetzungstheoretische Prinzip der funktionalen Äquivalenz” (S. 1). Mittels charakteristischer Beispiele aus Lexik und Grammatik wird untersucht, wie konsequent und effektiv die Sprachvarietät, die für das Buk Baibel gewählt wurde (rurales TP), umgesetzt wird. Lothmann beginnt, nach einer allgemeinen Einleitung, in Kapitel 2 mit einem fundierten Überblick zum Forschungsfeld der Pidgin- und Kreolsprachen. Ausgehend vom (typischen bzw. möglichen) Entwicklungszyklus dieser Kontaktsprachen werden die jeweiligen lexischen, grammatischen und funktionalen Charakteristika dargestellt. An die Zusammenstellung der gängigsten Erklärungsansätze zur Genese von Pidgin- und Kreolsprachen werden immer auch deren Gegenargumente angeschlossen. So postuliert z.B. die monogenetische Theorie eine Ableitung aller Pidgin- und Kreolsprachen von einem einzigen ‘Proto-Pidgin’; die sprachlichen Verschiedenheiten, welche die Kontaktsprachen weltweit aufweisen, können mit diesem Ansatz allerdings nicht begründet werden. Der Fokus auf TP erfolgt - bezüglich Aufbau und Terminologie offenbar stark an Mühlhäusler (1979, 1985) orientiert - im dritten Kapitel unter zwei Blickwinkeln: Zum einen wird die externe, zum anderen die interne Entwicklung von TP dokumentiert. Dabei verläuft die sprachliche Progression, gemäß des u.a. von Hall (1962) postulierten Lebenszyklus (vom Jargon zum Kreol), parallel zu jenen Phasen, die Papua- Neuguinea (PNG) sozio-historisch geprägt haben. Anhand von Beispielen aus den jeweiligen Stadien wird die sprachliche Entfaltung von TP veranschaulicht. Abgerundet wird dieses Kapitel mit einer Zusammenstellung der zentralen Soziolekte (exemplarisch seien hier Land- und Stadtpidgin genannt). Kapitel 4 widmet sich dem Christentum in PNG. Auch wenn für den Verfasser die Rolle der verschiedenen Kirchen im Zuge der Missionierung nicht unumstritten ist, so hebt Lothmann doch primär die daraus resultierenden Vorzüge hervor: Die Beiträge, die er als dem Allgemeinwohl zuträglich einstuft, reichen von Schulbildung über Gesundheitsfürsorge bis hin zum Aufbau wirtschaftlicher Infrastrukturen. Das Bekehrungsvorgehen war zwar mitunter fragwürdig (einheimische kulturelle und rituelle Praktiken wurden unterbunden, sog. Kargo-Kulte entstanden), es können dem Autor zufolge aber auch zahlreiche positive “Errungenschaften” (S. 102) vermerkt werden. Als bedeutendste Konsequenz des missionarischen Wirkens führt er die Übersetzung der Bibel und die damit einhergehende Verbreitung und Standardisierung von TP an. Das Kernstück der Dissertation bildet Kapitel 5: Hier wird zunächst der Weg zur Standardorthographie, die dem Buk Baibel zugrunde liegt, chronologisch nachgezeichnet. Das Prinzip der funktionalen Äquivalenz dient als Grundlage für Lothmanns anschließende Analyse ausgewählter Bibeltextstellen (Markusevangelium, Kolosserbrief, Offenbarung und Psalm 119) hinsichtlich ihres lexischen und grammatischen Materials. Dabei stellt der Verfasser fest, dass die Übersetzer sich “an einer mündlichen Realisierung erwachsener Sprecher eines mesolektalen Rural-TP orientiert” haben (S. 182). Dies wertet Lothmann als Versuch, der allgegenwärtigen Anglisierungstendenz im Land entgegenzuwirken. Ferner geht er auf die Nützlichkeit der im Buk Baibel bereitgestellten Verständnishilfen (wie Illustrationen, Karten, Glossare und Fußnoten) ein, die im Sinne der funktionalen Äquivalenz ausdrücklich gefordert werden. Die Leistung der Übersetzer bei der Umsetzung wird herausgestellt, doch auch auf die besondere Problematik, mit der Übersetzer angesichts der erforderlichen interdisziplinären Sachkenntnis konfrontiert werden, wird eingegangen. Rezensionen 153 In Kapitel 6 möchte der Autor die kirchliche Praxis vor Ort schildern. Hier verarbeitet Lothmann persönliche Eindrücke und Meinungen, die er während eines Feldforschungsaufenthaltes gesammelt hat. Für Lothmann bilden Massenmedien wie Fernsehen und Radio, aber insbesondere die Wochenzeitung Wantok, die in TP erscheint, den Gegenpol zum Buk Baibel. Daher wird in Kapitel 7 die ‘konservative’ Varietät, wie sie im Buk Baibel enthalten ist, der sprachlichen Realisierung von TP in den anderen Medien kontrastiv gegenübergestellt. Dabei muss laut Autor festgestellt werden, dass die Medienlandschaft stark vom anglophonen Einfluss geprägt und selbst die indigene kreative Literatur im weitesten Sinn häufig in englischer Sprache verfasst ist. Unter der Überschrift ‘Politik und städtische Kultur’ werden in Kapitel 8 landesimmanente Themen von allgemeiner Relevanz, wie beispielsweise Sprache, Bildung und Wirtschaft, angesprochen. U.a. werden die mangelnde Intervention zur Erhaltung von TP seitens der Regierung und die zunehmende Durchdringung zahlreicher Domänen durch das Englische aufgezeigt. Eine Zusammenfassung der Kernpunkte und deren Verflechtung sowie ein Ausblick auf die mögliche Zukunft von TP schließen in Kapitel 9 die Ausführungen Lothmanns ab. Seine eigene Einschätzung fällt dabei - entgegen des “in der wissenschaftlichen Literatur häufig zu findenden Pessimismus” (S. 334) - optimistisch aus; nicht zuletzt, weil er das Buk Baibel als “retardierendes Element” (S. 247) gegenüber der Anglisierung ansieht. Im Appendix (Kapitel 10) findet man vor allem ein paar Auszüge aus dem Buk Baibel sowie ein Wörterbuch (TP - Deutsch), das die in der Dissertation enthaltenen Lexeme auflistet. Insgesamt wird für jedes Kapitel die Vorgehensweise bzw. der Untersuchungsgegenstand klar umrissen. Der Aufbau der Arbeit ist gut durchdacht und die an verschiedenen Stellen eingeschobenen Zusammenfassungen sind stets hilfreich. Doch birgt dieses vom Autor als solches bezeichnete “Opus”, mit dem Lothmann “sowohl delektierend [wirken] als auch eine Basis für weitere Diskussion” (S. 1) schaffen möchte, einige Problemfelder. Als erstes ist das Korpus, mit dem er arbeitet, zu nennen. Das Datenmaterial ist “als repräsentative[s] Exempel für die prägnantesten in der Bibel verwendeten literarischen Gattungen” (S. 171) anzusehen. Für den Verfasser enthält das Markusevangelium informative und narrative Prosa, der Kolosserbrief steht für Briefliteratur, die Offenbarung gilt als Beispiel für apokalyptische Literatur und Psalm 119 repräsentiert die Gattung Lyrik. Doch wenn man auch die Bibel nicht in ihrer Gesamtheit analysieren kann, so wären m.E. Gesetzestexte, Gleichnisse und Gebete mindestens ebenso bedeutsam. Diese finden jedoch in Lothmanns Korpus keine Berücksichtigung. Sein Vorhaben, anhand des Prinzips der funktionalen Äquivalenz zu “prüfen, inwiefern […] das Buk Baibel den eigenen, selbstauferlegten hohen Ansprüchen in punkto Funktionalität und Standardisierung der verwendeten Sprache sowie Zielgruppenorientierung gerecht wird” (S. 1), ist der zweite problematische Bereich. Denn das Prinzip der funktionalen Äquivalenz “fordert in toto vom potentiellen Übersetzer prototypisch ein gleichermaßen hohes Maß an kulturellem resp. linguistischem Bildungshintergrund, an Erfahrung und Kreativität bzgl. sprachlicher Formulierung sowie an sozialem, d.h. insbesondere zielgruppenorientiertem Feingefühl” (S. 140). Was die sprachliche Kompetenz des Autors Rezensionen 154 anbelangt, weisen die TP-Konstruktionen und Analysen, die Lothmann ohne Übersetzungshilfen und Nachschlagewerke erstellt hat, beachtliche Mängel auf: - “no man no laik mi no smol - niemand mag mich auch nur ein bisschen” Dieser Satz, der “die optionale doppelte bzw. multiple Verwendung der Negationspartikel no” (S. 81) veranschaulichen soll, spiegelt ungenügende Kenntnis des Autors in TP wider. Die treffende TP-Konstruktion dieses Satzes ist zwar relativ komplex (i no gat wanpela man husat i laikim mi liklik), doch der Beispielsatz - woher auch immer er stammen mag - ist in dieser Form nicht akzeptabel (als Basis dienen Lothmann (S. 63-64) “eigene sowie aus der Literatur für diese Zwecke abgewandelte Beispiele […]”). - Beim sog. Stadtpidgin entlehnen Sprecher mit guter Kompetenz des Englischen bei Bedarf aus dessen Lexik. “Der Zuwachs lexischer Inhomogenität findet seine Parallele in der Überlagerung der bestehenden grammatikalischen Systematik durch anglisierte Muster auf allen Ebenen. Beispiele reichen vom phonemischen und morphematischen Inventar über Betonungsmuster bis hin zu syntaktischen Strukturen” (S. 94). So wird harim zu hirim, listenim oder pilim, und replaiim (S. 167) wird als neue urbane Alternative für ansaim angegeben. Im Zuge der Angleichung ans Englische erscheint es allerdings plausibler, dass bei listenim das / t/ weder lautlich noch orthographisch realisiert wird, dass das / p/ von pilim durch / f/ ersetzt wird, und bei replaiim würde man die Ersetzung von / e/ durch / / (riplaim) erwarten; auch die Vokaldoppelung ist unwahrscheinlich. - Lothmann gebraucht in den von ihm konstruierten Sätzen die Präpositionen long und bilong falsch: “Eine zukünftige Landeskirche, d.h. eine Sios long Papua Niugini […]” (S. 213); “Wohl aus Gründen historischer Integrität hat man sich gegen eine Übersetzung […] als king long ol Rom (- König der Römer) entschieden” (S. 234). In beiden Fällen wäre bilong für die intendierte Übersetzung treffend gewesen. - Yumi mas bilip wird mit ‘Ihr müsst glauben’ (S. 250) übersetzt. Richtig wäre ‘Wir [inkl.] müssen glauben’. Des Weiteren neigt Lothmann dazu, verallgemeinernde Aussagen, für die fundierte kulturelle Kenntnisse PNGs erforderlich sind, nicht zu belegen. Obgleich er einräumt, dass es “vermessen [wäre], als Beobachter eine indigene Perspektive einzunehmen zu wollen [sic]” (S. 315, Fußnote), tut er dies allzu oft. Dabei werden viele Ansichten als Tatsachen präsentiert und verlieren aufgrund der unzureichenden Quellenbelege an Glaubwürdigkeit: - “Tatsächlich ist das [wantok]-System viel komplexer und von Außenstehenden nicht zu durchschauen. Es beinhaltet quasi-ethnische Netzwerke mit normativen, auf Reziprozität beruhenden Moralkodizes, die u.U. massive Klüngelei bis hin zu mafiösen Strukturen offenbaren können […]” (S. 115). - Sanguma ist ein Begriff, der zwar mehrere Bedeutungsfacetten hat, jedoch traditionell mit der ‘dunklen’ Seite von Magie, speziell mit Todeszauber, in PNG assoziiert wird (vgl. Mroßko 1981). Bei Lothmann findet man nicht nur die für TP untypische Konsonantendoppelung (sangguma), sondern die Rezensionen 155 damit verbundenen Konnotationen “echte Zauberei” (S. 117) und “gute (heidnische) Magie” (S. 229). - “Merke: Das Besitzen [der Bibel] bedeutet in diesem Fall noch lange nicht das aktive Konsumieren, d.h. (Vor-)Lesen. Dem Prestige des Buk Baibel tut dies aber keinen Abbruch. Das Buch sowie die darin enthaltene Sprache erhalten auch auf diese Weise einen abstrakten, quasi-sakrosankten Symbolcharakter” (S. 246, Fußnote). - “Ausschließlich traditionelle, d.h. nicht-christliche Kunst besteht überwiegend nur noch losgelöst von ihrer ursprünglichen kultischen Zweckgebundenheit. Artefakte […] verkommen zu unauthentischen Souvenirs für den (kleinen) touristischen Markt - auch traditionelle Tanzeinlagen werden losgelöst von Zeit, Raum und aktuellem Lebensbezug (gegen ein Scherflein) zur reinen Unterhaltung dargeboten” (S. 275). - “Angesichts der weitreichenden Möglichkeiten dieses Mediums auf der einen Seite und der hohen Analphabetismusrate gepaart mit mehr und mehr TV-Süchtigen, die den eigenen Sorgen zu entfliehen suchen, auf der anderen Seite tragen die Macher des Fernsehens als ein Element des cultural clash in PNG - ob sie dies wollen oder nicht - eine nationale Verantwortung. Nicht geringe Teile der Konsumenten vor Ort nehmen die gesendeten Inhalte, seien es die lokalen Nachrichten oder ein US-amerikanischer Krimi, als wahre Begebenheiten hin […]” (S. 278). Während Lothmann hofft, dass das Buk Baibel “ein massives Gegengewicht zum progressiveren, anglisierteren Urban-TP resp. zum von Dekreolisierung gekennzeichneten Sprachgebrauch” (S. 245) darstellen möge, ist sein eigenes Vokabular von zahlreichen, z.T. schlichtweg unnötigen, Anglizismen und Fremdwörtern durchzogen: “disloziert” (S. 59), “elusive Phänomene” (S. 122), “solenne Distanz” (S. 206), “intertribale Differenzen” (S. 270), “[d]as Publikum in PNG digeriert” (S. 278), “persistieren” (S. 334) etc. Lothmanns Festhalten am Buk Baibel als Gegengewicht zur um sich greifenden Anglisierung von TP ist angesichts der wiederholten Verweise auf den englischen Einfluss (S. 181, 245-246, 265, 271 usw.) erstaunlich. Besonders, da die gleichzeitige Entfernung/ Entfremdung vom christlichen Glauben thematisiert wird: “in den Städten [wächst] die religiöse Indifferenz” (S. 323), der charismatischere Gottesdienst soll “langweilige und irrelevante ol skin dai lotu (- fleischlose Gottesdienste) [sic] besser vermeiden und Abwanderungen der Gläubigen zu fast allerorten präsenten Konkurrenzkonfessionen zumindest theoretisch mindern helfen” (S. 263). Vgl. zur Abkehr vom christlichen Glauben auch S. 250, 251. Auch einige formale Konventionen werden verletzt: fremdsprachliche Beispielsätze werden nicht durchgängig kursiv gesetzt, Quellen werden - außer nach Zitaten - meist ohne Seitenzahl (oder gar nicht) angegeben, in der Bibliographie stehen Aufsätze kursiv statt in Anführungszeichen etc. Insgesamt dürfte das Buch primär jene Leserschaft ansprechen, die an einer Behandlung des TP bzw. der Übersetzungsproblematik vor einem breiten interdisziplinären Hintergrund interessiert ist. “So transzendiert auch die vorliegende Dissertation notwendigerweise die unscharfen Grenzbereiche zwischen Sprach- und Rezensionen 156 Literaturwissenschaft, Soziologie / Ethnologie, Anthropologie, Geschichte sowie gar Philosophie und Politik / Ökonomie. Hinzu gesellen sich […] Ausflüge in die Übersetzungs- und Religionswissenschaft inkl. Missiologie” (S. 2), charakterisiert der Autor selbst einleitend seinen Arbeitshorizont. Doch vielleicht wäre gerade eine gezielte linguistische Fokussierung sinnvoller gewesen. Literaturverzeichnis Mroßko, Kurt-Dietrich (1981). Sanguma : die Rache der Geister - ein Kriminalfall aus Neuguinea. Erlangen: Verl. der Ev.-Luth. Mission. Mühlhäusler, Peter (1979). Growth and Structure of the Lexicon of New Guinea Pidgin. Pacific Linguistics Series C, No. 52. Canberra: Australian National University. Mühlhäusler, Peter (1985). “The External History of Tok Pisin”. In: Stephen A. Wurm / Peter Mühlhäusler (eds.). Handbook of Tok Pisin. Pacific Linguistics Series C, No. 70: 35-64. Janna Zimmermann Anglistisches Seminar Universität Heidelberg AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 32 (2007) Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Kongressbericht “The United States from Inside and Out”: The 2006 Convention of the American Studies Association Ludwig Deringer Perhaps more than ever, vistas of a democratic world community have currency in our age of globalism, and in view of the contested role of the United States in the fall of 2006. From an academic angle, such visions informed the annual conference of the American Studies Association, held in Oakland October 12-15, 2006. The largest ASA convention on the West Coast to date, the gathering drew scholars from all over the globe. Delineating the future orientation of the profession, the meeting opened up prospects on ‘America’ and American Studies from the perspectives of U.S. and international Americanists alike, as announced in the conference title, “The United States from Inside and Out: Transnational American Studies.” Perceptions of ‘America,’ from colonial to postcolonial times, were articulated across the disciplines organized in American Studies, as divergent as Race and Ethnicity, Middle East American Studies, Legal Studies, or Early American Studies. The convention’s theoretical frameworks for reconceptualizing the field hinged on interculturality in the broadest sense, foregrounding a number of assumptions and methodologies that appear particularly promising. The overriding line of argumentation was the perceived need to move American Studies away from a nation-based to a transnational discipline. As Emory Elliott (University of California at Riverside) emphasized in his Presidential Address, cosmopolitanism and transnationalism are values that not only benefit academia but engender “thoughtful citizenship” and a “humane future,” against the perils of American imperialism. Both from a theoretical and a practical stance, such reorientation necessitates diversified networks of academic cooperation, grounded in innovative pedagogies. The ongoing implementation of American Studies programs in former East Bloc countries, or educational settings employing transcontinental teleconference classes and webcasting, are just two cases in point. Significantly, experts called for a multilingual approach in order to facilitate not only global communication but also the study of foreign language literary texts in the original. If a turn away from the felt predominance of the Humanities to the Social Sciences, advocated by some speakers, would actually benefit American Studies in the long run remains to be seen. Kongressbericht 158 Within these wider frames, individual presentations from across the field often provided excellent insights. Thus, emphasis was given to reconsidering categorization politics and marginality: who defines who is “marginal”? or “white”? or “the enemy”? To rethink marginality, it was claimed, is to anticipate the New Histories of the future, to be written in the interest of justice. While Africanity and Latin American identity constructions were well represented in the debates, Arab American issues were particularly strong. Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo and CIA rendition flights figured prominently in discussions of Arab Americanness, the prison in American culture, or U.S. colonialism past and present, often evidenced in “chiastic Americas,” i.e., projections and self-perceptions of America in its representations of foreign cultures. One of the most thoughtful sessions was a literary reading by Vietnamese American authors Lan Tran, Truong Tran, and Andrew Lam, with the latter sharing his views of postwar acculturation from his memoir Perfume Dreams: Reflections on the Vietnamese Diaspora (2005). A complement to the discourses of margins and cultural memory is the emerging project of the ‘archive’ (both in the literal and the figurative sense), indispensable, for example, to the much-needed study of the Americas in the multinational and multilingual contexts of the colonial age. The topicality of ‘Archive Studies’ was illustrated by the timely exhibit at the nearby Berkeley Art Museum on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the Bancroft Library. From the vantage point of this foreign observer, American Studies continues to be the paradigmatic program which for decades has attracted students abroad toward a deeper understanding of the United States. Just as the American Studies movement of the 1960s superseded the “Old Regionalism” school of the 1930s, a globalized world scene is now embedding the discipline into ever expansive intellectual exchanges and dialogs, to the advantage of the profession worldwide and the public at large. While the 2006 convention expanded the discourses of transculturality and transdisciplinarity current for a while already, it was a wealth of new accentuations, along with a heightened sense of public responsibility, that showed American Studies at this time as vibrant and future-oriented as ever. Which is another way of saying that education remains our greatest cultural capital. Ludwig Deringer Lehr- und Forschungsgebiet Anglistik RWTH Aachen New Resource for American Studies Scholars: The Website of American Studies Journals Worldwide For more than two years, we-a group of editors from more than thirty American studies journals around the world-have been collaborating to build a website, www.theasa.net/ journals. This resource provides scholars with a ‘one-stop shop’ for the latest research published in American studies journals, and it contains tables of contents, calls for papers, announcements, editorial information, and submission guidelines from our respective publications. We are pleased to announce the launch of this website to all readers of ARBEITEN AUS ANGLISTIK UND AMERIKANISTIK (AAA). Under the International Initiative of the American Studies Association, this site seeks to further the 2006 ASA conference’s aims of studying the United States “from the inside and out.” By making this site available and updating it with the latest scholarship in American studies, we, the editors, collectively seek to connect scholars and researchers across national borders. Our work together began with the ASA’s International Initiative in 2004. As ASA President Shelley Fisher Fishkin said, upon unveiling the initiative, “Facilitating ongoing conversations between international scholars of American Studies and Americanists in the U.S. can help both groups achieve a better understanding of both the multiple cultures that have shaped U.S. culture from the start, and the impact that American culture has had on other countries around the globe.” To this end, the ASA, with support from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, sponsored networking meetings and discussion groups between directors of international American studies programs and centers, held a business meeting for editors of American studies journals, and published a directory of participating scholars and organizations at the 2004 conference in Atlanta. At that meeting, the international journal editors-together with those of American Quarterly-considered the idea of creating a website to list the tables of contents of American studies journals around the world. This idea became a top priority at the 2005 ASA conference in Washington, D.C., where the International Initiative again fostered communications between department chairs, organizational presidents, and journal editors in the field of American studies. At our second business meeting, we determined the website’s aim and scope, and set a goal of launching the American Studies Journals website this year. The publication of this online resource now realizes the goals outlined by the ASA’s International Initiative, but the website’s ongoing value will increase with each additional journal and issue posted to its pages. We are confident the website will further the aims of the International Initiative, and of the American Studies Association more broadly, and we look forward to maintaining these international connections in the years to come. We invite all readers of ARBEITEN AUS ANGLISTIK UND AMERIKANISTIK (AAA) to visit this new, valuable resource. Committee of American Studies Journal Editors ASA International Initiative Refractions of Canada in European Literature and Culture Ed. by Heinz Antor, Gordon Bölling, Annette Kern-Stähler, and Klaus Stierstorfer 2005. viii, 301 pages. 10 fig. Cloth. € 98.00 [D] / sFr 157.00 / *US$ 98.00 ISBN 978-3-11-018342-9 The contributions include literature, philosophy, language, life-writing and the concept of ‘Heimat’ (homeland) as well as the cultural impact of the World Wars. While there is an emphasis on literary texts, other fields of cultural representation are also included. Refractions of Germany in Canadian Literature and Culture Ed. by Heinz Antor, Sylvia Brown, John Considine, and Klaus Stierstorfer 2003. viii, 377 pages. 16 fig. Cloth. € 108.00 [D] / sFr 173.00 / *US$ 151.20 ISBN 978-3-11-017666-7 This volume presents a series of in-depth studies of particular authors or specific aspects of Germany in Canadian literature and culture, present and past. Individual investigations resonate with each other, adding up to a larger picture of Canada’s views on Germany and things German in all their richness, complexity and historical persistence. Birgit Neumann Erinnerung - Identität - Narration Gattungstypologie und Funktionen kanadischer “Fictions of Memory” 2005. xii, 507 pages. Cloth. € 118.00 [D]/ sFr 189.00 / *US$ 165.20 ISBN 978-3-11-018316-0 (Media and Cultural Memory / Medien und kulturelle Erinnerung 3) The author presents the first account of the fundamentals of a ‘cultural memory narratology’ and draws up a genre typology of the fictions of memory which opens the way to a description of the functions of literary constructions of memory. W W W . D E G R U Y T E R . D E * for orders placed in North America. Preisänderungen vorbehalten. Prices are subject to change. Preise inkl. MwSt. zzgl. Versandkosten. Canadian Studies at de Gruyter The contributions inc This volume presents