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Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 · Heft 1 | 2017 Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH+Co. KG Dischingerweg 5 \ 72070 Tübingen \ Germany Tel. +49 (07071) 97 97-0 \ Fax +49 (07071) 97 97-11 \ info@narr.de \ www.narr.de \ periodicals.narr.de Notice to Contributors All articles for submission should be sent to the editor, Bernhard Kettemann, as a WORD document as mail attachment: bernhard.kettemann@uni-graz.at Manuscripts should conform to the AAA style sheet or follow either MHRA or MLA style. (Copies of the MLA Style Sheet may be obtained from the Treasurer of the Modern Language Association of America, 62 Fifth Ave, New York, N. Y., 10011; copies of the MHRA Style Book from W.S. Maney & Son Ltd., Hudson Rd., Leeds LS9 7DL, England.) Documentation can be embodied either in footnotes or in an appended bibliography, with name and date reference enclosed in brackets in the text. Footnotes should be numbered consecutively and listed on a separate sheet of paper. The footnotes will appear on the bottom of the page where they are mentioned. They should be limited to a minimum. Languages of publication are German and English. Authors are requested to provide an English abstract of their contribution of about 15 lines on a separate sheet of paper. In the normal procedure first proofs will be sent to the authors and should be returned to the editor within one week. Authors receive one free copy of the issue containing their contribution. It is our policy to publish accepted contributions without delay. Gründer, Eigentümer, Herausgeber und für den Inhalt verantwortlich / founder, owner, editor and responsibility for content: Bernhard Kettemann, Institut für Anglistik, Universität Graz, Heinrichstraße 36, A-8010 Graz. Web: http: / / periodicals.narr.de/ index.php/ aaa, Tel.: +43 / 316 / 380-2488, 2474, Fax: +43 / 316 / 380-9765 Herausgeber / editor Bernhard Kettemann Redaktion / editorial assistants Georg Marko Eva Triebl Mitherausgeber / editorial board Alwin Fill Walter Grünzweig Walter Hölbling Allan James Andreas Mahler Christian Mair Annemarie Peltzer-Karpf Werner Wolf Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) Heft 1 Inhaltsverzeichnis Artikel : Peter Freese Life Isn‘t a Script: Bret Easton Ellis‘s Imperial Bedrooms.......................................... 3 Stefan L. Brandt The American Revolution and Its Other: Indigenous Resistance Writing from William Apess to Sherman Alexie ................................................................ 35 Danica Čerče On Contested History and the Contemporary Social Order in Australian Indigenous Poetry............................................................................ 57 Sibel İzmir The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre: Mark Ravenhill‘s Shopping and F***ng .................................................................. 71 Gerfried Ambrosch Punk as Literature: Toward a Hermeneutics of Anglophone Punk Songs .........................................................................................................101 Janko Trupej The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis‘s Kingsblood Royal and its Translations into German, Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian.......................121 Nataliia Goshylyk ‗Small is Beautiful‘ in English Mass Media Texts on Sustainable Development...............................................................................141 Rezensionen : Sarah Frühwirth Bernhard Reitz (ed.), Das englische Drama und Theater von den Anfängen bis zur Postmoderne, 2016....................................................................................159 Guido Isekenmaier Johanna Hartmann, Literary Visuality in Siri Hustvedt‟s Works: Phenomenological Perspectives, 2016 ....................................................................162 Katharina Rennhak Eckhard Lobsien, Die Antworten und die Frage. Funktionen der Literatur - der irische Roman 1800 bis 1850, 2014 ...............................................................166 Felicitas Meifert-Menhard Jan Alber, Unnatural Narrative: Impossible Worlds in Fiction and Drama, 2016 ....175 Alwin Fill Franz Karl Stanzel, Die Typischen Erzählsituationen 1955-2015. Erfolgsgeschichte einer Triade. Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2015 ........179 This journal is abstracted in: ESSE (Norwich), MLA Bibliography (New York, NY), C doc du CNRS (Paris), CCL (Frankfurt), NCELL (Göttingen), JSJ (Philadelphia, PA), ERIC Clearinghouse on Lang and Ling (Washington, DC), LLBA (San Diego), ABELL (London). Gefördert von der Geisteswissenschaftlichen Fakultät der Karl-Franzens-Universität Graz. Anfragen, Kommentare, Kritik, Mitteilungen und Manuskripte werden an den Herausgeber erbeten (Adresse siehe Umschlaginnenseite). Erscheint halbjährlich. Bezugspreis jährlich € 88,- (Vorzugspreis für private Leser € 72,-) zuzügl. Postgebühren. Einzelheft € 54,-. Die Bezugsdauer verlängert sich jeweils um ein Jahr, wenn bis zum 15. November keine Abbestellung vorliegt. © 2017 · Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KG Dischingerweg 5, 72070 Tübingen E-mail: info@narr.de Internet: www.narr.de Die in der Zeitschrift veröffentlichten Beiträge sind urheberrechtlich geschützt. Alle Rechte, insbesondere das der Übersetzung in fremde Sprachen, sind vorbehalten: Kein Teil dieser Zeitschrift darf ohne schriftliche Genehmigung des Verlages in irgendeiner Form - durch Fotokopie, Mikrofilm oder andere Verfahren - reproduziert oder in eine von Maschinen, insbesondere von Datenverarbeitungsanlagen, verwendbare Sprache übertragen werden. Printed in Germany ISSN 0171-5410 Der gesamte Inhalt der AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Band 1, 1976 - Band 40 , 201 5 ist nach AutorInnen alphabetisch geordnet abrufbar unter http: / / wwwgewi.uni-graz.at/ staff/ kettemann Life Isn’t a Script: Bret Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms Peter Freese When, twenty-five years after Less Than Zero, Ellis revived its teenage characters as middle-aged people in Imperial Bedrooms (2010), this ‗sequel‘ created a big stir. Reviewers either hailed the slim novel by the ‗master of paranoia‘ as timely and significant or panned it as pointless and derivative, and critics pigeonholed it as yet another example of ‗blank fiction‘ full of brand names and commodities or of ‗trangressional‘ literature willfully violating social taboos. A moral evaluation of the pornographic story of a sadistic narcissist performing ―imperial‖ acts of sexual exploitation in his ―bedroom‖ depends on the reader‘s ethical position, and one might doubt whether Ellis is really ―a self-confessed moralist‖ who ―far from offering a celebration of evil and of nihilism, […] is presenting an examination of it‖ (Akbar 2011). But as an innovative narrative, which replaces a traditional plot with a steadily intensifying mood, performs puzzling narratological tricks, combines standard elements of generic fiction with meta-fictional experiments, ingeniously plays with the ontological difference between fact and fiction, achieves the rare juxtaposition of a lingering awareness of the text‘s constructedness with a self-referential lack of critical distance, and creates a unique mixture of mundane items of popular culture with crucial questions about human behavior, Ellis‘ idiosyncratic tale is an accomplishment that certainly deserves critical attention. ―Los Angeles, more than any other city, belongs to the mass media. What is known around the nation as the L.A. scene exists chiefly as images on a screen or TV tube, as four-color magazine photos, as old radio jokes, as new songs that survive only a matter of weeks.‖ (Thomas Pynchon, ―A Journey into the Mind of Watts‖) AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Peter Freese 4 ―Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in …‖ (Patrick Bateman in American Psycho) ―But one of the things that I‘m really interested in is the narrator. I‘m interested in the function of the narrator, the person telling the story. I‘ve never written a novel in the third person. My work is just a series of narrators, and I kind of give the books over to them.‖ (Ellis in Pearson 2010) In 1985, a twenty-year-old Bennington College undergraduate named Bret Easton Ellis published a book about a clique of self-destructive Los Angeles youths in their overprivileged world of drugs, casual sex and random violence. According to a false but highly effective rumor, he had typed this book on his bedroom floor in just a month. Michiko Kakutani of The New York Times reviewed it in an often quoted statement as ―one of the most disturbing novels I‘ve read in a long time. It possesses an unnerving air of documentary reality,‖ and then trounced it by saying: ―Unlike [the book‘s narrator], Mr. Ellis clearly possesses talent - and the drive to do something with his gifts. Perhaps in his next novel, he will bring them to real fruition - and write a story that doesn‘t merely depress us with sociological reports, but also moves us with the force of its imaginative transactions.‖ Although most early reviews were negative, the novel and its unknown young author soon got ―an almost unprecedented amount of critical attention from the American highbrow press‖ (Fodor and Varga 2014: 198). Less Than Zero turned into a sensational success, became a must on American campuses, was translated into more than two dozen languages, and was made into a film only two years after its publication. Today, Ellis is the established author of seven extremely controversial books, which have both ―been hailed as timely and significant and dismissed as substanceless and derivative‖ (Mandel 2011: 3), and the nation-wide scandal about his third novel, American Psycho (1991), has firmly established him as the bad boy of American fiction. In 1998, ITV did a celebratory documentation of his life titled This Is Not an Exit: The Fictional World of Bret Easton Ellis, and the ―laureate of paranoia‘s‖ (Lawson) singular influence upon popular culture ranges from the Bloc Party‘s ―Song for Clay (Disappear Here)‖ and an episode of The Simpsons, in which Lisa‘s uncle talks about the Great Books of Western Civilization ―from Beowulf to Less Than Zero,‖ to D12‘s songs ―American Psycho‖ and ―American Psycho 2‖ and assorted video games and action figures. Less Than Zero was not only parodied in Douglas E. Winter‘s horror story ―Less Than Zombie,‖ but Ellis is also the subject of two novels, Caroline Weiss and Margaret Wallace‘s Stalking Bret Easton Ellis: A Novel in Two Parts (2009) and Jaime Clarke‘s Vernon Downs (2014). Meanwhile, Less Than Zero has acquired the status of a literary breakthrough that defines the zeitgeist of a specific generation. In 1999, Jonathan Keats emphatically demanded in the prestigious online magazine Salon that ―it‘s time to add Bret Easton Ellis to the canon.‖ In 2011, Georgina Colby pre- Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 5 sented a reading of Ellis‘ novels as books by ―a more significant writer and cultural commentator than some previous critical accounts of his work have allowed‖ (Colby 2), and in the same year Bernadette Halkert investigated the ongoing process of the canonization of Ellis‘ novels in great detail. When, twenty-five years after Less Than Zero, Ellis announced that he would revive its teenage characters in a new book as by now middle-aged people, expectations were high. The eagerly awaited ‗sequel‘ appeared in June 2010 as Imperial Bedrooms and was accompanied by an audiobook read by Andrew McCarthy, the very actor who had played the earlier book‘s ‗hero‘ in its film version and who now published his comments on the new one on YouTube. The publication was heralded by a lot of promotional hype on twitter and in blogs, Ellis gave several explanatory interviews, and a surprising number of journals and dailies reviewed his new book. Once again, however, the majority of critics were skeptical or outright hostile. Tom Maurstad said in The Dallas Morning News: The first book took us to the dark side of youth culture; the new book takes us to the dark side of celebrity culture. The difference is that the world Ellis is writing about, and to, has changed. When he took the reader to the dark side the first time around, it was a place few had seen or even heard about. This time around, the dark side is a place that, thanks to media and technology, is hard to get away from. Thus what once seemed new and edgy now feels worn out and obvious. […] Just as the first video aired on MTV declared (in 1981) that ―video killed the radio star,‖ a quarter-century later, it seems reality has killed this particular literary star. Alexander Theroux, himself an accomplished writer, concluded in the Wall Street Journal that in its reductive lineaments and endless pages of dialogue, Imperial Bedrooms inevitably suggests a screenplay. Mr. Ellis, of course, does work as a screenwriter, so why should this not be the case? But the cult of spoiled bohemianism that has given him his propers - the almost insolent daring, the excess even - has given way to a dull, stricken, under-medicated nonstory that goes nowhere. Jay Atkinson roundly dismissed the novel as a total failure in The Boston Globe: […] for some infernal reason, Ellis is updating his 1985 cash cow by publishing Imperial Bedrooms, at 192 pages as thin and unconvincing as a chapbook of self-published poems, and so empty and venal and misogynistic it‘s downright insulting. […] Ellis is aiming for noir, for the territory of James Ellroy and Raymond Chandler, but ends up with an XXX-rated episode of ―Melrose Place.‖ What, exactly, is this book? Is it supposed to be some kind of cultural artifact? A time capsule from the era of parachute pants and big hair? It‘s certainly not a novel, in the sense that‘s worthy of that appellation. It‘s like some- Peter Freese 6 thing concocted by a roomful of marketing execs, mad men indeed, possessed of a bone-deep cynicism regarding the merits of actual storytelling. And Erica Wagner concluded in The NewYork Times that ―the resulting novel falls flat. For what starts off neat swiftly becomes pat, lazy and effortful all at once. […] ‗History repeats the old conceits, the glib replies, the same defeats,‘ runs one of this novel‘s epigraphs, a line from Elvis Costello. So it may, but fiction doesn‘t have to: that‘s the point. Let‘s hope Ellis figures that out.‖ But there were also positive voices. Alison Kelly found Imperial Bedrooms ―almost defiantly appalling and sickening,‖ but felt forced to admit that ―it is also brilliantly written and coolly self-aware.‖ Jeff Simon praised Ellis as ―a profoundly talented - occasionally even brilliant - writer,‖ found that ―the book itself has an intricacy and tidal pull that can‘t be dismissed,‖ and commented that ―it isn‘t long before you have to cede that ghastly narcissism or not, Bret Easton Ellis has a fictional territory all his own and, heaven forbid, a mastery there.‖ Mark Lawson explained that ―in terms of American literary inheritance, Easton Ellis adds the playful self-advertisements of Philip Roth to the ambiguously complicit social reportage of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Imperial Bedrooms ranks with his best exercises in the latter register, teeming with sharp details of a narcissistic generation.‖ Matt Thorne maintained that ―Imperial Bedrooms is a wonderfully merciless novel: where once was glamour we now find only horror.‖ J. Robert Lennon maintained that ―Imperial Bedrooms is but another unexpected swerve in a wonderfully weird career,‖ and Arifa Akbar concluded: Ellis, a self-confessed moralist, has suggested that far from offering a celebration of evil and of nihilism, he is presenting an examination of it. The nascent narcissist of Less Than Zero has lost all ability to empathise, switched off his humanity, and is now left in a ―dead end.‖ In that, it is a deeply pessimistic presentation of human nature as assailable, and in Clay‘s case, incapable of transformation; but also, perhaps, an unflinching study of evil. The Demise of the Plot, Loose Ends, and Unsolved Mysteries Ellis‘ controversial new novel begins with its protagonist-narrator‘s return to L.A. and thereby duplicates the action of Less Than Zero. In 1984, Clay had returned to his home town as a troubled undergraduate from the fictional Camden College in the east to spend the Christmas holiday with his dysfunctional family and his friends. In 2009, he returns as a successful screenwriter from a failed relationship in New York to spend the weeks around Christmas overseeing the castings for a movie for which he wrote the screenplay. During his stay in L.A. he becomes entangled in the sinister world of his former friends who are now in their mid-forties and Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 7 lead affluent lives in the status-driven world of Hollywood. Among them are his former girlfriend Blair who is now married to the gay Trent Burroughs; the former drug addict Julian Wells who is now clean and runs a secret high-class escort service; and the nihilistic sociopath Rip Millar, whose ―horrible face‖ (IB 30) is the result of cosmetic surgery and makes him look like a monster, and who is still engaged in criminal activities and rumored to be associated with a dangerous secret cult. Clay, ―an old-looking teenager‖ (IB 60) who no longer belongs to ―the youthful surface‖ (IB 51) of L.A., begins an affair with the talentless actress Denise Tazzarek aka Rain Turner, ―another girl who has gotten by on her looks‖ (IB 38). Since he is a sadistic narcissist keen on performing ―imperial‖ acts of sexual exploitation in the ―bedroom‖ of his condo, he resorts to his tested strategy of gaining control over aspiring actresses by promising them roles in his films in exchange for serving his sexual needs. And that this strategy will work with Rain is cleverly implied in the fact that she, who is selling herself for a career in a world in which ―exposure can ensure fame‖ (IB 42), has ―a hostess job at Reveal‖ (IB 52), whereas Clay, who abuses his position for sexual blackmail, wrote the script for the film Concealed (IB 26, 36, 159). When it turns out that Rain is not only seriously attached to Julian but also has mysterious ties to Rip and to the brutally murdered Kelly Montrose, Clay‘s life spins gradually out of control, and since he is unwilling to give up the role of the powerful master of a dependent damsel, he is drawn ever more deeply into a net of mysterious connections in which everybody seems to double-time everybody else. He is tailed by a blue Jeep, which in turn is followed by a black Mercedes. Someone must have broken into his condo because things are rearranged or missing, and he constantly gets anonymous text messages with vague threats from blocked numbers. The internet is full of anonymous speculations about the ritual murders of a Hispanic actress (IB 25, 42), the film producer Kelly Montrose (IB 57, 58, 59, 63, 66, 72, 95, 109, 111) and Rain‘s roommate Amanda Flew (IB 114ff., 143f.). Julian, about whom Clay discloses at the very beginning that he will be tortured and killed, comes to see him with signs of having been beaten up, and Rip spouts darkly menacing allusions. Although some hints remain unexplained, it becomes gradually clear that Clay is a repeat offender and that his exploitative relation with Rain is not the first affair of that kind. Recurring allusions reveal that his previous affair with an actress named Meghan Reynolds (IB 23, 27, 28, 32, 41, 44, 55, 56, 79, 89, 101, 105, 106, 126, 134, 151, 160) ended disastrously, but Clay‘s memory of ―pacing outside the ER at Cedars-Sinai apologizing to her on the Fourth of July‖ (106) remains irritatingly vague about what really happened. Passing references to Laurie, the woman he left behind in New York (IB 10, 15, 16, 23, 35, 64, 144, 160), show that she, too, is coolly discarded when he no longer needs her. And Clay admits that his sadistic impulses reach back into the Peter Freese 8 past when he muses that he ―can actually control‖ Rain‘s need to get the desired movie role and ―know[s] this because [he‘s] done it before‖ (IB 53). Moreover, all of his acquaintances seem to be aware of his narcissistic habit of bribing attractive young women into sexual servitude. Blair says about his obsession with Rain: ―Jesus, it‘s still all about you, isn‘t it? […] Do you know anything about her except how she makes you feel? ‖ (IB 74). Julian remarks ―that there‘s a larger world out there and it‘s not all about you.‖ (IB 111), accuses Clay of having ―done this so many times before,‖ and complains that ―you really won‘t do anything for anybody, except for yourself‖ (IB 151f.). Rip assumes that Clay‘s fixation on Rain ―isn‘t about her‖ but ―that maybe it‘s about you? ‖ (IB 85), and knowingly adds that ―You have a history of this, don‘t you? ‖ (IB 87) Trent, who blackmails Clay into acquiescence by reminding him of an earlier act of violence with a pregnant girl (IB 143), asks him to give up Rain and disentangle himself for his own safety from her dangerous connections. He observes ―See, there you go again, Clay. It‘s not about you,‖ when Clay petulantly asks ―And what about me? ‖ (IB 137), thereby repeating the very question - ―What about me? ‖ (LTZ 123) - which he had already asked his psychiatrist three times in Less Than Zero. The morbidly jealous Clay, however, is so intent on keeping Rain for himself - ―I Iike her.‖ (IB 113) - that he deliberately betrays his former friend to the scheming Rip, and when Julian‘s mutilated body is found, he knows full well that he has lost Rain for good and that ―in [his] own way, [he] had put Julian there‖ (IB 10). He tries to forget his defeat in a sadistic orgy with two bought youths (IB 156-159) and concludes his blurred tale with a visit to Julian‘s grave and the information that the police suspect him of being an accomplice to the murder of his former friend and that Blair has promised him a false alibi. Although meanwhile several hints have fallen into place and some of the insinuated connections have become clear, the plot still remains somewhat obscure. But despite the loose ends it is obvious that ―this time out,‖ to use Ellis‘s own words, ―the narcissist reaches a dead end‖ (in Kellogg 2010). Imperial Bedrooms, then, intermingles the repugnant case history of an obsessed narcissist with elements of the hard-boiled detective genre and flagrantly pornographic scenes, but since large parts of its action consist of people talking to each other on cross purposes, since situational contexts are often only alluded to instead of being explained, since everyday occurrences are presented in the same flat and affectless tone as matters of life and death, and since readers are at the mercy of an emotionally disturbed and therefore unreliable narrator, the novel‘s different strands, some of which come to nothing, do not really coalesce into a causally unfolding plot. Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 9 Metafictional Shenanigans and the Growth of Paranoia The narrative opacity of Imperial Bedrooms is intentional and might even be called Ellis‘s trademark. He repeatedly admitted that most of his novels have neither logically unfolding plots nor developing characters, and he stressed that his tales are built instead on atmospheric arcs of suspense generated by the steady intensification of a particular mood. The nonnarrative, or least plot-driven, books that I‘ve written, to which I would add Less Than Zero, were actually the most carefully structured. In Less Than Zero, where very little seems to be happening for most of the book, what keeps the reader engaged? Not a riveting plot certainly, since there‘s no plot until the last fifth of the novel. Not depth of character, since these characters seem to have no depth. What keeps the reader engaged is, probably, a gradually intensifying sense of dread. It may seem that you can shake the book up, dump the scenes on the table, and rearrange them any way you want and it wouldn‘t matter much - but that‘s not how it was created. If you took that approach, what you‘d end up with is a dead book, with zero momentum and zero at stake. I was very careful about the placement of each scene, each chapter. […] There are subtle gradations of menace. There‘s a faint hum of horror in the background at the beginning of the book, and as the book progresses the hum becomes, hopefully, deafening. If you looked at the book in diagram, you‘d see that the scenes are all carefully apportioned. (in Goulian 2012) And with regard to Imperial Bedrooms he said: My personal experiences aside, paranoia serves an important technical function in my books. In a novel that isn‘t exactly plot-driven, which you could argue is most of my novels, you need a sense of mystery, tension, menace, whatever it is, to keep it driving forward. What‘s around the corner? What‘s going on in the hills? Who‘s behind the wheel of that black Mercedes with the tinted windows? You‘ve got to have a tight plan for the book, with scenes of mystery and menace carefully placed, to make it work. (in Goulian 2012) The ―gradually intensifying sense of dread‖ and the ―faint hum of horror,‖ which already pervaded Less Than Zero, are even stronger in Imperial Bedrooms, one of whose two epigraphs is a quotation from Raymond Chandler‘s The Long Goodbye: ―There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.‖ Ellis admires Chandler‘s books as masterpieces in which ―the plots really don‘t matter. The solutions to mysteries don‘t matter. […] It‘s just the mood that‘s so enthralling. And it‘s kind of universal, this idea of a man searching for something or moving through this moral landscape and trying to protect himself from it, and yet he‘s still forced to investigate it.‖ (in Pearson 2010) He noted that Imperial Bedrooms was ―vaguely influenced by Chandler‖ and explained: ―I had no desire to write a sequel to Less Than Zero but I became very interested in Clay and this coincided with my interest in Raymond Chandler and then I Peter Freese 10 was involved in a movie that I wrote and produced that wasn't really working out. All these things started coming together and that is what produced the novel.‖ He immediately added, however, that Imperial Bedrooms is ―by no means a full-blown noir,‖ but at best ―a Hollywood novel that has elements of noir,‖ and - more importantly - that although he was interested in ―the tropes of noir,‖ Clay, his narrator, is not because he is only ―interested in being the star of his own movie when in reality he‘s just a supporting player‖ (in Baker 2010). Imperial Bedrooms actually contains a number of noir elements such as mysterious pursuits, menacing messages, shady characters, and ghoulish deaths, and it also presents both a love triangle and a Chandleresque femme fatale. Arifa Akbar even reads the affair of Clay and Rain, a middle-aged screenwriter and a young actress, as a clever reversal of that between an old actress and a young screenwriter in Billy Wilder‘s noir classic Sunset Boulevard (1950). Ellis might well have intended such a parallel, but it is more important to note that his novel reverses the logic of noir. Instead of being the femme fatale who tries to lure the private eye away from his task, Rain turns out to be the victim of Clay, who in turn does not solve a mysterious crime but, on the contrary, commits it. Imperial Bedrooms, then, uses some trappings of Hollywood Noir, but its relation to Chandler‘s novels is rather tenuous. There is, however, one noir aspect that prevails throughout, and that is the atmosphere of growing paranoia caused by mysterious threats which is enhanced by Ellis‘ s unusual narrative strategy. When Mark Amerika and Alexander Laurence in 1994 asked him about the influence of the internet upon young readers and their resulting visual orientation, Ellis explained: In terms of scenes in books I‘m writing, in terms of how words look on a page, in terms of space breaks, in terms of how much white should be on a page: these are all things that I think about constantly. If I see that a paragraph looks - just aesthetically, visually - too long and for some reason interrupts some narrative flow or fluidity, then I will break that paragraph up. Not necessarily because of the language or the words, but purely on a visual basis. With a conversation, you might want to get across the idea that they‘re not connecting, so in a visual way you can string along twenty single lines of dialogue. The visual stimulus that words have on a page is something I think about. I don‘t know if older writers are concerned with that. This awareness contributes to a narrative strategy which Ellis already used in Less Than Zero. In both novels, Clay presents a chronological sequence of events divided into brief narrative sections told in the unusual present tense and consisting mostly of extended dialogues in direct speech. The roughly two-hundred pages of Ellis‘s apprentice novel are divided into 108 chapters with an average length of less than two pages. Each presents a self-sufficient slice-of-life located in space and time, and since these short ‗takes‘ often switch abruptly from one place and time to Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 11 another it is left to the readers to connect them (Freese 1990). Obviously, such a structure is geared to the limited attention span of both the drugimpaired narrator himself and the readers whom he addresses, and it makes allowances for a development which Kurt Vonnegut had noted much earlier when he explained his similar strategy in Cat‟s Cradle (1963) by pointing out that ―we have a much shorter attention span perhaps, because of television and the film. We‘ve been educated to quick cuts and very little exposition.‖ (Bellamy 1974: 204) In 1985, reviewers of Less Than Zero compared its structure to the rapid sequence of video clips as abruptly and unceasingly following upon each other on the then still new Music Television and therefore dubbed Ellis‘s tale an ‗MTV novel‘ (Freese 1991). Meanwhile, the influence of film, TV, and the internet on written texts is taken for granted, and thus no reviewer was any longer surprised by the fact that the 169 pages of Imperial Bedrooms are divided into 122 sections with an average length of 1.4 pages, the longest filling six pages and the shortest just three lines. Although the short-lived notion of an ‗MTV novel‘ has been discarded as untenable, it is significant that Ellis himself characterized Imperial Bedrooms as a novel ―which has a movie-ish feel to it‖ (in Pearson 2010), and described Clay as ―interested in being the star of his own movie when in reality he‘s just a supporting player‖ (in Baker 2010). Thus, it is no accident that he makes him a ―screenwriter‖ (IB 39) who thinks of his own life in cinematic terms. Talking to Julian, Clay asks ―Are we gonna play out another scene? ‖ (IB 22), and questioning Rain about her relation with Kelly Montrose, he ―plan[s] how this scene will play out‖ (IB 118) and then, having forced her to have sex with him, contentedly comments that ―this is the way I always wanted the scene to play out and then it does‖ (IB 119). Referring to what will happen to his former friend, he talks about ―another - and very different - movie‖ (IB 10), reporting on a long party he mentions that ―the night begins sliding into its last act‖ (IB 46), and considering whether Julian went away or was kidnapped he thinks that ―depend[s] on which script you want to follow‖ (IB 161). In all these cases he views reality as if it were a movie. When he is depressed, ―the world becomes a science-fiction movie‖ (IB 62) for him, and when he is threatened by Rip, he asks ―What movie do you think you‘re in? ‖ (IB 125) When Clay wonders about what is ―real,‖ Rain trenchantly points out: ―That‘s because you‘re a writer. That‘s because you make things up for a living‖ (IB 40), thus insinuating that in Clay‘s ‗script‘ of his life the distinction between reality and imagination gets blurred. When he later asks her why they cannot be together, she answers ―Because you‘re just the writer‖ (IB 156). And when he blackmails her into sleeping with him, their exchange defines their roles as those of ―writer‖ and ―actor‖: Peter Freese 12 ―It‘s just a movie that you‘re writing.‖ She‘s crying openly now as she says this. ―But we‘re both writing this movie together, baby.‖ ―No, we‘re not,‖ she cries, her face an anguished mask. ―What do you mean? ‖ ―I‘m only acting in it.‖ (IB 131) There are many more passages in which life is understood as a movie. Thus, Clay explains his absence from the casting by saying ―I had to finish a script‖ (IB 94), thereby referring to both an actual screenplay he is working on and alluding to the ‗scripting‘ of his affair with Rain. This ambiguity is enhanced when he recommends Rain for a casting and lies that ―she just seems like who I had in mind when I was writing the script‖ (IB 95), which can again refer to either the script of the movie or that of his life with Rain. When he describes what happened during his sadistic debauch in Palm Springs, he suddenly relinquishes his perspective as a human observer to that of a camera: ―[…] water bloated, the sound of crickets everywhere, and then the camera tracks across the desert until we start fading out on the yellowing sky‖ (IB 159). And when, at the novel‘s end, he muses about his complicated relation with Blair, he speaks about ―the fades, the dissolves, the rewritten scenes, all the things you wipe away‖ (IB 169). That he thinks about his life in terms of a movie and that he wrongly assumes that he can ‗script‘ his relationships with others to his own liking, becomes most obvious when he tries to find out from Julian about the mysterious ―conspiracy‖ (IB 167) that threatens to engulf him, and when the latter angrily reminds him that ―this isn‘t a script. It‘s not going to add up. Not everything‘s going to come together in the third act.‖ (IB 112) The absence of a causally unfolding plot, the temporal depthlessness of the first-person present tense narration, the fragmentation of the text into small cinematic ‗takes,‘ the evocation of ever intensifying mysterious threats, and Clay‘s narcissistic concept of life as a movie for which he can write the script to his own liking make Imperial Bedrooms a very unusual narrative. The novel‘s strangeness is further increased by Ellis‘s idiosyncratic play with the relation between fact and fiction. After Truman Capote‘s ―creative reportage‖ In Cold Blood (1966) (Plimpton) and Tom Wolfe‘s ―new social novel‖ Bonfire of the Vanities (1987) (Wolfe), the ‗nonfiction novel‘ has become an established genre, and playful bordercrossings between the ontologically separated realms of fact and fiction have turned into a familiar narrative strategy in many meta-fictional historiographies. Nobody, however, has pushed this strategy further than Ellis, and this is yet another reason why Imperial Bedrooms is not simply a sequel to Less Than Zero. J. Robert Lennon observed: The marketing blurbs for Bret Easton Ellis‘s new novel, Imperial Bedrooms, would have it be a sequel to Less than Zero, the 1985 novel that made him fa- Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 13 mous. It is, after a fashion: all of Ellis‘s books are sequels, prequels, spinoffs and derivatives of each other. They share a universe, or perhaps a multiverse, of interconnected fictional lives and storylines, all of which bear, or are supposed to bear, or are trying to convince you they‘re supposed to bear, some resemblance to Ellis‘s actual life experiences, family members, enemies and friends. But if a sequel is a continuation of a previous storyline, or a recapitulation or recontextualisation of one, then Imperial Bedrooms doesn‘t quite fit the description. It shares a narrator with Less than Zero, along with several other characters, a distinctive and highly self-conscious prose style, a time of year, and a milieu of urban self-abuse and disaffection. But there is nothing straightforward about the relationship between the books. Lennon‘s accurate comment is best illustrated by Ellis‘s fifth novel, Lunar Park (2005), whose protagonist is a certain ‗Bret Easton Ellis,‘ who in some ways is completely identical with, but in others is decidedly different from his creator. The first chapter of this mock memoir is probably the best summary of Ellis‘s early fame, his sudden wealth, his druginduced debaucheries, his world-wide notoriety following American Psycho (1991) and the scandals and humiliations during his promotional global tour for Glamorama (1998), and in it the fictional Bret recalls the reactions to his apprentice novel as follows: The novel was mistaken for autobiography (I had written three autobiographical novels - all unpublished - before Less Than Zero, so it was much more fiction-based and less a roman à clef than most first novels) and its sensational scenes (the snuff film, the gang rape of the twelve-year-old, the decomposing corpse in the alley, the murder at the drive-in) were taken from lurid rumors that whispered through the group I hung with in L.A. and not from anything experienced directly. But the press became extremely preoccupied with the book‘s ―shocking‖ content and especially with its style: very brief scenes written in a kind of controlled, cinematic haiku. The book was short and an easy read [and] became known as ―the novel for the MTV generation‖ (courtesy of USA Today) and I found myself being labeled by just about everyone as the voice of this new generation. (LP 10) The real Ellis, too, repeatedly complained about his novels being misread as autobiographies. Thus, he extended an interviewer‘s statement that ―readers have always assumed that Clay, the narrator, is your alter ego‖ by saying: And when American Psycho came out, people assumed I was Patrick Bateman, and when Glamorama came out, they assumed I was Victor Ward. And when Imperial Bedrooms came out, they assumed I was Clay again. I get, ―Dude, are you Clay? ‖ all the time. Well, I write novels, and though there are autobiographical elements in them, who really cares how much of me is in the book? As it happens, there is very little in Less Than Zero that‘s based on my real life. Yes, like Clay I had two sisters, and my parents were divorced, and many of my friends were wealthy and did drugs and seemed promiscuous—or so I Peter Freese 14 thought at the time. But I was a relatively well-adjusted kid. I mean, I wasn‘t as severely alienated as Clay. (in Goulian 2012) Ellis emphatically repeated this position when he said to Joshua Klein: ―I‘ve never written an autobiographical novel in my life. I‘ve never touched upon my life. I‘ve never written a single scene that I can say took place. I‘ve never written a line of dialogue that I‘ve heard someone say or that I have said.‖ But in a 2014 interview he expressed the very opposite when he said about his œuvre that ―the six or seven books add up as a sort of autobiography. When I look at them I think, Oh, that's where I was in '91. That's where I was in '88. OK, I got it” (in Olah 2014). In his Shortlist interview about American Psycho he stated: That book is intensely autobiographical. I remember the pain and loneliness that I felt when I wrote it. I was 23, I moved to New York, I had some money. I was living a decadent lifestyle and it was not filling my voids. I was falling into what was then yuppiedom but was, in fact, the consumer lifestyle. My lifestyle was like Patrick Bateman‘s and American Psycho was my way of not falling into that. It‘s a novel, so I made him more dramatic and crazier than I am, but I agree with a lot of what Patrick Bateman says about society and I thought he was kind of funny. I really identify with his rage. Regarding the murders, I was always on the fence about whether they were fantasy or real. I don‘t know and I prefer it that way. (in Anonymous 2010) And to the interviewers of the Harvard Crimson he said: I wrote American Psycho as a book that I really think is in a lot of ways very autobiographical, I mean, not in terms of slaughtering people, but there are elements of that life-style that I was leading at that time that I was not particularly happy with ... I think there's something very honest about criticizing certain elements of your lifestyle and placing them within your fiction. (in Kay 1999) These willfully contradictory statements show that Ellis‘s comments on his own books are intentionally unreliable and demonstrate his love for meta-fictional shenanigans with the ontological distinction between fact and fiction. In the retrospective opening section of Imperial Bedrooms, which is the only part told in the past tense, his penchant for narratological prestidigitation not only makes him portray his protagonist-narrator as a person who in crucial aspects is identical with his creator, but he also has his fictional avatar aver that his depiction in Less Than Zero was based on a ‗real‘ person. Clay begins his tale with the abrupt statement ―They had made a movie about us. The movie was based on a book by someone we knew‖ (IB 3), and then adds that ―for the most part‖ that book was ―an accurate portrayal. It was labeled fiction but only a few details had been altered and our names weren‘t changed and there was nothing in it that hadn‘t happened‖ (IB 3). Thus, whereas the real Ellis Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 15 emphatically rejects the widespread assumption that Clay in Less Than Zero was a fictionalized version of himself, the fictional Clay takes the opposite position by confirming that the earlier novel dealt with a group of really existing youngsters. While Clay‘s attempt at verifying the real existence of himself and his peers can of course only be fictitious since it is made by a fictional character, things become more complicated when the Clay of Imperial Bedrooms asserts that he personally knew ―the author‖ (IB 3) of Less Than Zero and when he reveals that the author was a member of his clique and that it was only because of envy on the part of ―the writer‖ (IB 13) that he, Clay, was made ―the handsome and dazed narrator, incapable of love or kindness‖ (IB 3), thereby implying that his portrayal as the protagonist-narrator of Less Than Zero was distorted by the prejudices of the writer and that in Imperial Bedrooms the ‗real‘ Clay will be heard. Having briefly alluded to the unidentified writer‘s second novel, which is of course Ellis‘s The Rules of Attraction (1987), and having charged that novel with veering from the truth, Clay confesses that ―[I wanted] to become a writer as well, and that I had wanted to write that first novel the author had written after I finished reading it - it was my life and he had hijacked it. But I quickly had to accept that I didn‘t have the talent or the drive. I didn‘t have the patience. I just wanted to be able to do it.‖(IB 5) Here, then, Ellis achieves two things at once: retrospectively he makes his fictional projection, the Clay of the later novel, insinuate that the Clay of the earlier novel was not as unsympathetic as a prejudiced writer made him, and prospectively he implies that readers of the later novel will get to know the real Clay and at the same time forestalls potential criticism by having Clay admit that he lacks the talent and patience which a good writer must have. But Ellis is not content with this accomplished play with the ‗reality‘ of his fictions and has Clay comment on the film version of Less Than Zero, starring Andrew McCarthy, Robert Downey Jr. and Jami Gertz. He invents a pre-screening of the really existing film for the fictitious ―book‘s actual cast‖ (IB 8) and flatly - and correctly - states: ―The movie was very different from the book in that there was nothing from the book in the movie. […] The book was blunt and had an honesty about it, whereas the movie was just a beautiful lie.‖ (IB 7) He then explains why the film had to change the novel‘s action in compliance with the Hollywood code which demands, as he has learned as a screenwriter, that everybody ―had to be punished for all of his sins‖ (IB 8), and he adds another plausible explanation by saying: ―The reason the movie dropped everything that made the novel real was because there was no way the parents who ran the studio would ever expose their children in the same black light the book did. The movie was begging for our sympathy whereas the book didn‘t give a shit.‖ (IB 8) That Clay here speaks for Ellis is obvious from what the latter said in an interview: Peter Freese 16 With Less Than Zero, I asked myself how in the hell do you make a movie out of this book? They didn‘t. They made a completely different movie. They didn‘t use anything from the book. If you would have asked me how could they turn Less Than Zero into a sentimental, anti-drug, after school movie I would have said there‘s no way, but they did it. I‘ve learned to be cautious about saying oh they‘ll never turn this dark depraved character into any sort of interesting Mulholland Drive David Lynch kind of movie, but I could be totally wrong about that. I don‘t know. (in Baker 2010) Ellis‘s artful meta-fictional play with the blurred boundaries between fiction and reality and the intertextual connections between his two novels dominates the opening section of the later one but is only taken up once in its central part. There Clay makes Less Than Zero a meaningful object in Imperial Bedrooms when during his sadistic debauchery with bought youths in Palm Springs he mentions in passing that ―in the house was a copy of the book that had been written about us over twenty years ago and its neon cover glared from where it rested on the glass coffee table until it was found floating in the pool‖ (IB 159). Here, Ellis‘s earlier book fulfils a metaphorical function similar to that of a brief scene in Less Than Zero in which Blair borrows the Cliff Notes on Faulkner‘s As I Lay Dying (LTZ 22) from Trent and the telling replacement of a great text of ‗high‘ culture by its simplified study aids represents what Herbert Marcuse diagnosed as the consumer society‘s capacity for repressive desublimization. It is only towards the later novel‘s end that the intertextual play becomes prominent again. There Clay ponders Blair‘s unexpected behavior and wonders in a strange phrase whether she is ―moving the game as you play it‖ (IB 169). In doing so, he varies one of the epigraphs of Less Than Zero - ―This is the game that moves as you play… - X‖ - which is a line from the 1982 song ―The Have Nots‖ by the Los Angeles punk rock band X about the difficulties lower class members face when they try to move upwards. This textual bracket between the two novels might signal that Clay has changed from the passive observer he was in the earlier book into an active participant in the later one. In the same context, Blair says to Clay ―you‘re so pale‖ (IB 169) and thereby repeats and meaningfully varies at the end of the latter novel what she had said at the beginning of the former when she greeted Clay upon his return to Los Angeles with the observation ―You look pale‖ (LTZ 10). In Less Than Zero, Blair‘s reference to his missing tan implied that his looking pale at the beginning of the action was a passing state that could - and soon would - be remedied, whereas in Imperial Bedrooms his being pale at the end of the action is a lasting state that betrays his deplorable condition. This, however, is not the only repetition plus variation, for Clay‘s confession at the end of Less Than Zero - ―I don‘t want to care. If I care about things, it‘ll just be worse, it‘ll just be another thing to worry about. It‘s less painful if I don‘t care.‖ (LTZ 205) - is varied by Clay‘s concluding confession in Imperial Bedrooms - ―I never liked anyone and I‘m afraid of Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 17 people‖ (IB 169), which is prepared by his earlier admission that he made ―the mistake of starting to care‖ (56) about Rain and by his later correction ―I don‘t really care anymore‖ (IB 119), and which also implicitly varies the observation which opens, and then punctuates Less Than Zero that ―people are afraid to merge‖ (LTZ 9 and ff.). Thus, the conclusions of both novels reveal the extreme narcissism of Clay who has grown from an insensible youthful spectator into a sadistic middle-aged perpetrator. This development is anticipated by the later novel‘s epigraph from Elvis Costello‘s song ―Beyond Belief‖ - ―History repeats the old conceits, / the glib replies, the same defeats‖ - and once more shows that Imperial Bedrooms is not just a traditional sequel to Less Than Zero, but that the two novels not only structurally duplicate each other but are also thematically interrelated by several, sometimes rather subtle brackets. Typically, however, the clearest diagnosis of Clay‘s pathological decline is provided indirectly through an easily overlooked chain of seemingly unrelated details. After the mutilated body of Kelly Montrose is found, a worried Rain suddenly asks Clay ―What‘s the worst thing you‘ve ever done? ‖ (IB 59) and gets no answer. When later Clay accuses her of having something to do with Kelly‘s death, she varies her question into ―What‘s the worst thing that ever happened to you? ‖ Again he does not answer but revealingly thinks ―I know what it is but pretend that I don‘t.‖ (IB 120) Still later, Clay looks through an old audition reel of his film Concealed and finds a dialogue in which an actress asks ―What‘s the worst thing that ever happened to you, Jimmy? ‖ and gets the answer ―Unconditional love.‖ Clay comments that the actor ―was reading the line wrong, giving it the wrong emphases, smirking when he should have been totally serious, turning it into a punch line when it was never supposed to be a joke.‖ (IB 159) Since it was Clay who wrote the script which the actors enact, the implied message of this scene is obvious: for Clay, the pathological narcissist, unconditional love with its mutual responsibilities is the worst thing that could happen. The most obvious bracket between Less Than Zero and Imperial Bedrooms consists of the transfer of a crucial leitmotif from the one book into the other. In Imperial Bedrooms, Clay looks back at Less Than Zero and refers to ―a billboard that read DISAPPEAR HERE [which had] kept distracting‖ him (IB 4; LTZ 38), and he mentions the college in New Hampshire he had ―tried to disappear into‖ (IB 5). Musing about former acquaintances who have died, he thinks ―People just disappeared‖ (IB 15), but when Trent tells him that ―Kelly disappeared‖ (IB 18), the term begins to assume an ominous quality. When he later learns that it was Kelly who recommended Rain for an audition ―a couple days before he disappeared‖ (IB 96), and is informed by Trent that ―Rain was with [Kelly] when he disappeared‖ (IB 135), the implied threat grows. At a party Clay is told ―about a Hispanic girl who disappeared in some desert‖ (IB 25), and Jon, the film director who looks for actresses able to play the roles of Peter Freese 18 girls of the eighties complains that ―these girls are disappearing‖ (IB 36). When for a brief time things go well with Rain, the blue Jeep that has constantly trailed Clay ―disappear[s]‖ (IB 56), but stumbling into his bathroom after a bad dream he is shocked to find that somebody has written on his mirror ―two words: DISAPPEAR HERE‖ (IB 104) in red. When Amanda does not arrive in Palm Springs, Clay asks Rain whether her friend‘s ―disappearance is connected to Rip‖ (IB 118), and a little later Rip informs him that ―Julian‘s disappeared‖ (IB 127). In Less Than Zero, Clay had been lying listlessly on the beach staring ―out at the expanse of sand that meets the water, where the land ends. Disappear here‖ (LTZ 73). In Imperial Bedrooms he talks to Trent on the Santa Monica beach and feels lost because ―the land has disappeared behind‖ (IB 135) them in the mist, and later the man who trails them is ―disappearing into the haze‖ (IB 142). When he brings Julian to Rip, the latter is grabbed by Rip‘s Mexican henchmen and ―disappears so quickly it‘s as if he was never here at all‖ (IB 154). Julian‘s mutilated body is found ―almost a week after he disappeared‖ (IB 161), and Clay is accused of having a hand in the death of his former friend and the police say that he was seen with Julian in ―the night of his disappearance‖ (IB 166). This chain of iterative references takes up and deepens the implications which the motif had in Less Than Zero, and this is yet another indication that Imperial Bedrooms is not simply a sequel to but also a kind of remake of the earlier book. That is further confirmed when the middleaged Clay retrospectively rejects the way he is portrayed in Less Than Zero as the resentful writer‘s distortion of his real character by saying: ―That‘s how I became the boy who never understood how anything worked. That‘s how I became the boy who wouldn‘t save a friend. That‘s how I became the boy who couldn‘t love the girls.‖ (IB 4) One need only replace ―boy‖ by ―man‖ to recognize that this allegedly faulty portrait of Clay as a youth in the earlier novel is a perfectly correct description of him as a middle-aged man in the later one. In Imperial Bedrooms, Ellis not only plays with the relation between the younger and the older Clay, but also with that between himself and the Clay of the later novel, and the similarities between the real author and his fictional avatar are striking.  Clay moves from New York where he had ―an apartment below Union Square‖ (IB 160) to L.A. - Ellis moved from New York where he lived in ―a small apartment off Union Square‖ (in Goulian 2012) to L.A.  Clay moves into his condo No. 1508 ―on the fifteenth floor of the Doheny Plaza‖ (IB 12) - Ellis moved into his apartment in the Doheny Plaza (Oehmke 2010).  Clay‘s apartment is haunted by the ghost of the previous owner who ―died unexpectedly in his sleep‖ (12) - Ellis answered an interviewer‘s question whether the young man who had owned the condo Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 19 before him died unexpectedly by saying ―Ja. Die Wohnung wurde gerade neu gestaltet, Böden, Küche, alles war nicht fertig. Er lebte ein paar Straßen weiter, eines Nachts starb er‖ (in Kober 2010: 87).  Clay drives a ―BMW‖ (IB 55 and ff.) - Ellis drives a ―BMW‖ (in Goulian 2012).  Clay comes to L.A. to oversee the castings for the movie The Listeners for which he has ―adapt[ed] the complicated novel it was based on‖ (IB 13) - Ellis moved to L.A. to work on the movie version of his story collection The Informers (1994) 1 for which he had written the screenplay.  Clay has left his previous habit of snorting cocaine in New York (IB 16, 61) and likes to drink the expensive tequila Patrón (IB 130) - Ellis told a German interviewer that after moving to L.A. ―Ich habe aufgehört, Drogen zu nehmen [und] zurzeit mag ich Tequila sehr gern.‖ (in Kober 2010: 87) The similarities are so obvious and the border between fiction and reality is so blurred that a German interviewer who talked to Ellis in his L.A. apartment could conclude: Als wäre man hier schon einmal gewesen, so kommt es einem vor in der Artdéco-Eingangshalle des Doheny Plaza, eines Appartement-Hauses an der Grenze zwischen West Hollywood und Beverly Hills. […] Dann fällt es einem ein. Doheny Plaza, von diesem Haus und sogar von der Eingangshalle hatte man doch gerade noch gelesen. Hier wohnt nämlich nicht nur Bret Easton Ellis, der umstrittene, legendäre, immer etwas merkwürdige Schriftsteller. Hier wohnt auch Clay. Clay ist der Held in Ellis‘s neuem Roman Imperial Bedrooms. Und Clay ist auch jene moralisch bankrotte Romanfigur aus Ellis‘s Roman Unter Null, mit dem der Schriftsteller vor 25 Jahren berühmt wurde. […] An diesem Nachmittag im Doheny Plaza präsentiert sich Ellis als ein Schriftsteller, der in der Kulisse seines Romans haust; ein Schriftsteller, der genauso gut seine eigene Romanfigur sein könnte. […] Ellis hat seinen Roman in die Wirklichkeit hinein verlängert. Wenn bisher die Frage an Literatur lautete, wie viel wirklich Erlebtes in der Fiktion steckt, hat Ellis den Datenstrom nun in die andere Richtung geöffnet: Wie viel Fiktion steckt in dieser Welt, die wie hier vor uns sehen? (Oehmke 2010) 1 The Informers (1994) is a collection of 13 interlinked stories about movie makers, rock stars and other rich inhabitants of the L.A. of the 1980s, whose lives are filled with alcohol, drugs, and casual sex. The movie (2008) was directed by Gregor Jordan with a script by Ellis and Nicholas Jarecki. The filming began in October 2007 in L.A. and then moved to Uruguay and Buenos Aires. It was extremely complicated because of quarrels about the extent of sex and violence, the director‘s drastic cut of Ellis‘ script, and disagreements about the inclusion of a vampire subplot. Ellis told Jeff Baker that it was ―a project that seemed to have everything going for it but what started as a slow-motion avalanche ... everything started to going a little bit wrong and then completely combusted. It was an incredibly stressful period.‖ (Baker 2010) Peter Freese 20 Ellis‘s self-referential play with both the intertextual relations of the two novels and the fragile borders between fact and fiction receives its final touch when Imperial Bedrooms is dedicated ―For R. T.,‖ which could stand for Rain Turner and would then puzzlingly imply that not only the fictional Clay but also the real Bret Easton Ellis has come to know and desire the novel‘s femme fatale. Brand Names, Signature Clothes, and Pop Music Not only the ‗real‘ writer and his fictional character show uncanny resemblances, but also all of the novel‘s places of action can be located in the real world. Clay‘s casting sessions take place in Culver City (IB 62), which is the home of the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios, and he works out with his trainer at the famous Southern California Fitness Club Equinox (IB 14, 68, 98). He attends after-parties or meets people in such fashionable places as The Roosevelt (IB 15), a historic hotel designed in the Spanish Colonial Revival style on Hollywood Boulevard, goes to a cocktail party at the Chateau Marmont (IB 42), modeled after a French royal retreat on Sunset Boulevard, meets Blair in the Hotel Bel-Air (IB 71) that has housed numerous Hollywood celebrities, or attends a Golden Globes party at the Sunset Tower (IB 87), a luxury Art Deco hotel on Sunset Strip. He watches the premiere of a movie in the Chinese Theater (IB 15) on the historic Hollywood Walk of Fame, sees a classic French film at the Nuart (IB 41), a landmark theater on Santa Monica Boulevard, or goes to a fund-raising concert at Disney Hall (IB 160), a concert hall at South Grand Avenue in Downtown L.A. Clay meets Julian in one of the premier dining spots in all of L.A., the Polo Lounge (IB 20) in the Beverly Hills Hotel, has lunch with an actress in the famous French restaurant Comme Ça (IB 24) on Melrose Avenue, and takes Rain to dinner at Dan Tana (IB 75), a fashionable Italian restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard. He has a drink at the bar in Barney Greengrass (IB 67), an outlet of the famous New York restaurant in the Beverly Hills branch of the legendary department store, and attends an award party at Spago (IB 104), Wolfgang Puck‘s iconic restaurant in Beverly Hills. He walks through The Grove (IB 31), a shopping and entertainment complex in the Farmer‘s Market, shops with Rain ―at the Bristol Farms on Doheny‖ (IB 55), and nostalgically remembers that ―the market used to be Chasen‘s‖ (IB 55), the famous restaurant in which he dined with his parents in Less Than Zero and which closed in 1995. He meets Rip for an unobserved talk at the Observatory at the top of Griffith Park (IB 79) with its magnificent view of the city, he has a long talk with Trent on the Santa Monica pier (IB 132) with its original wooden carousel from the 1920s, and he attends Julian‘s memorial in the Hollywood Forever cemetery (IB 164) that borders on the Paramount Studios. Thus, the fictional world of the novel consists of ‗real‘ Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 21 places, and it is revealing that soon after the publication of Imperial Bedrooms the Los Angeles magazine published a guide to twenty-two selected locations in L.A. which appear in the novel, together with an article with Ellis‘s comments on them (Arnold 2010). Since most of the novel‘s actors are working in or related to the film industry, movies play an important part, and here again Ellis unfolds his uncanny interplay of fact and fiction in several stages. Clay‘s passing references to Brad Pitt (IB 82), ―the new James Bond movie‖ (IB 89), ―a Michael Bay movie‖ (IB 47), ―a Jim Carrie movie‖ (IB 54), ―CSI Miami‖ (IB 47) or the American television drama series ―Lost‖ (IB 58) make sense for the average reader. When Clay watches Contempt (IB 41), Jean-Luc Godard‘s 1963 masterpiece of world cinema, at the Nuart or refers to ―one of Cindy Sherman‘s untitled film stills‖ (IB 43), the famous series of conceptual portraits by an American photographer and film director, he shows that as a screenwriter he has a more intimate knowledge of the movie world. But when he refers to the critically acclaimed movie L.A. Confidential (IB 48), a 1997 American neo-noir crime film loosely based on James Ellroy‘s 1990 novel of the same name from his L.A. Quartet series, Ellis makes this allusion thematically relevant because that film explores the connection between corruption and celebrity in Hollywood. The same is true of Clay‘s reference to ―the new Friday the 13th‖ (IB 105), his viewing of ―a remake of The Hills Have Eyes‖ (IB 157; 160), and his work on the script for ―a remake of The Man Who Fell to Earth‖ (IB 165). The first is part of a successful American horror franchise comprising twelve slasher movies, a TV show, novels, and comic books; the second is a 2006 horror film about a family that is attacked by a group of murderous mutants after their car breaks down in the desert; and the third is a 1976 British science fiction film about an extraterrestrial who crash lands on Earth seeking a way to ship water to his planet. All three movies deal with serial murderers or fearful aliens and thus help to deepen the novel‘s atmosphere of undefined horror and imminent threat. The blurring of fact and fiction becomes even more obvious when Trent tells Clay that ―Daniel Carter‘s interested in doing Adrenaline‖ (IB 142) and when one finds that this is not a film invented by a novelist but that a movie of that name was actually released in 2015 and might have been in preparation when Ellis wrote his novel. The same happens when Clay refers to a film titled Concealed (IB 26, 36) and later reveals that he wrote it (IB 159), and when one discovers that a film of that title actually came out in 2013. The situation becomes even more puzzling when Clay says with regard to the casting for his film The Listener, which is a fictional variant of the real film The Informants, that they are auditioning for ―the part of Kevin Spacey‘s son‖ (IB 36, 97, 98), have a particular actor ―under consideration for Jeff Bridges‘s son‖ (IB 36), and that ―Josh Hartnett […] was going to play one of the sons in The Listeners and then bailed‖ (IB 46). The ontological logic of a fictional tale would demand Peter Freese 22 that these names refer to invented characters, but Kevin Spacey Fowler, Jeffrey Leon ―Jeff‖ Bridges, and Joshua Daniel ―Josh‖ Hartnett are famous American actors. The daily life which unfolds in Imperial Bedrooms is basically similar to that of Less Than Zero, because in 2009 Hollywood is still a world that runs on exploitation and is characterized by consumerist overload, careless affluence, and marketable sexuality, up-to-date fashion, plastic surgery, and aggressive self-aggrandizement. It is a world which tries to ―keep everything young and soft, keep everything on the surface, even with the knowledge that the surface fades and can‘t be held together forever‖ (IB 51), a world where personality becomes commodity, authentic selves are replaced by impressive roles, and ―everyone lies‖ (IB 22) and cultivates an imposing surface because mere ―exposure can ensure fame‖ (IB 42). What has changed, however, is that due to Clay‘s work as a screenwriter the movie business has replaced the youthful subculture of the earlier book and that technology has advanced so that now there are digital billboards and Apple stores, iPhones and internet videos, IMDb pages and Earthlink pics, and everybody is constantly texting everybody else. Ellis referred ironically to the effect of the new technology when he said: […] someone recently noted that if Less Than Zero were written now it would be about twenty pages long because of cell phones and texting. There‘s a long stretch in the book where Clay is driving around looking for Julian, stopping off at friends‘ houses to use their phones. He even stops in at a McDonald‘s to use a pay phone. But people can find each other very easily now. A single text - ―Dude, where the fuck are you? I want my money‖ - would take care of three-fourths of the action in the book. (in Goulian 2012) Since the callous sons and daughters of Less Than Zero have become the jaded parents of Imperial Bedrooms, the middle-aged Clay ruefully observes ―boys barely old enough to drive swimming in the heated pool, girls in string bikinis and high heels lounging by the Jacuzzi, […], a mosaic of youth‖ (IB 17), and realizes that Hollywood has become ―a place you don‘t really belong anymore‖ (IB 17). Although he dyes his hair (IB 51) and takes Viagra (IB 56), he is aware that it will become ever more difficult to keep up with what he recognizes as ―the youthful surface‖ (IB 51) of life. But he and his contemporaries still spend their affluent lives in famous hotels and fashionable bars and still drive trendy cars, wear the latest fashion, guzzle expensive drinks, and listen to current pop songs. Thus, Clay (IB 55 and ff.), Rain (IB 40, 50) and sometimes Rip (IB 30) drive BMWs. Clay‘s psychiatrist (IB 107), a nameless producer (IB 16) and sometimes also Rip (IB 43) drive Porsches. Julian has an Audi (IB 34 and ff.), a film director drives a black Jaguar (IB 16), and Clay is followed by both a blue Jeep (IB 10 and ff.) and a black Mercedes (IB 103 and ff.). When Rip goes out on official business he does so in a chauffeur-driven Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 23 black limousine (IB 86), while his henchmen use the only U.S. car mentioned besides the Jeep, namely black Escalades (IB 153), luxury SUVs made by Cadillac. In his leisure time Clay wears a ―Nike hoodie‖ (IB 11), for a party he puts on a ―James Perse T-shirt‖ (IB 105), and for Julian‘s burial he dons a ―Brioni suit‖ (IB 165) which he might later exchange for the ―Prada suit‖ (IB 67) he considers buying. He listens to music on his ―Bose headphones‖ (IB 144), used to transport his cocaine in a ―Versace bag‖ (IB 61), and has a very refined taste when it comes to alcoholic beverages. His preferred types of vodka are the equally expensive French brand of Grey Goose (IB 13) and the Polish rye vodka Belvedere (IB 20), for gin it must be the Scotch brand of Hendrick‘s (IB 165), and for tequila it has to be Patrón (IB 130). And when he and his ‗friends‘ drink water, it has to be the expensive brand of ―Fiji‖ (IB 20, 111). Rain sports ―Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses‖ (IB 54), Blair carries ―a Michael Kors bag‖ (IB 72), Julian wears a ―Tom Ford suit‖ (IB 9) and ―Ray-Bans‖ (IB 109), and at one of his numerous parties Clay meets men wearing ―Band of Outsiders suits‖ (IB 16). Brand names and signature clothes are major signifiers in all of Ellis‘s novels so far, but even more important in his fictional world are pop songs (Temple). In Imperial Bedrooms one finds references to the music of the season such as ―U2 Christmas songs‖ (IB 16), ―New Age Christmas music‖ (IB 17), or Bob Geldof‘s ―Do They Know It‘s Christmas‖ (IB 55). There is a passing allusion to ―On the Sunny Side of the Street‖ (124), which at a first glance seems curiously out of date. But in Less Than Zero (LTZ 163) this evergreen from 1930 was the favorite song of Clay‘s grandmother and thus in the later novel it conjures up memories of a better time. Most important, however, is the music of the eighties that already reverberated through Less Than Zero. Thus, Clay states that after the early novel came out he could no longer ―listen to the Elvis Costello songs we knew by heart (―You Little Fool,‖ ―Man Out of Time,‖ ―Watch Your Step‖)‖ (IB 4), and he remembers that in the old days Blair had danced with him, significantly ―mouthing Culture Club‘s ‗Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? ‘‖ (IB 4; LTZ 30), a 1982 song by an English band with lead singer Boy George. He recalls that in Less Than Zero he was depicted as ―an inarticulate zombie confused by the irony of Randy Newman‘s ‗I Love L.A.‘‖ (IB 5), a 1983 song about the gap between the promises of the Hollywood dream of fame and the shortcomings of L.A.‘s reality. He dismisses the sentimental end of the Less Than Zero movie at which ―Roy Orbison wails a song about how life fades away‖ (IB 9), briefly refers to Duran Duran‘s 1982 hit ―Hungry Like the Wolf‖ as ―a song from the past‖ (IB 15; LTZ 127), and mentions in passing their third single ―Girls on Films‖ (IB 165) of 1981. At a party thrown by a British actor he listens to ―Werewolves of London‖ (IB 42), a rock song of the late seventies by Warren Zevon, who is again referred to when Rip has ―an old Warren Zevon song hovering in the air-conditioned darkness‖ (IB 123) of his lim- Peter Freese 24 ousine, and later ―The Boys of Summer,‖ released in 1984 by the Eagles vocalist and drummer Don Henley, keeps ―repeating itself on the stereo‖ (IB 127). When Clay meets Amanda at a party, he sees ―a girl dancing by herself to an old Altered Images song‖ (IB 99), a song by an early 1980s Scottish new wave/ post-punk band. When he listens to the radio in his own car, he hears a ―Eurithmics song‖ (IB 153) from the eighties by a British music duo. When he has a nightmare about the former owner of his condo, he hears ―China Girl‖ (IB 130), a song written in 1977 by David Bowie and Iggy Pop during their years in Berlin. And when he meets Trent on the Santa Monica pier, ―the calliope [is] playing a Doors song‖ (IB 133), a song by the most controversial American rock band of the 1960s. Clay‘s world, however, is not only filled with pop music from the eighties, but also with contemporary hits. At a party ―the Beck song [is] booming throughout the lounge‖ (IB 44), that is, a song by the American singer Beck Hansen who rose to fame in the early 1990. When Rain visits Clay in his apartment, ―Counting Crows‘ ‗A Long December‘ plays softly in the background‖ (IB 51), and this 1996 song by an American alternative rock band, which according to its frontman Adam Duritz is about the hope that things might change for the better, might well signal Clay‘s expectations of a fulfilled future with his new girl. Rain‘s ―favorite band is the Fray‖ (IB 48), and when Clay opens her MySpace page, he hears ―How to Save a Life‖ (IB 48), the Fray‘s most successful song released in 2005 which deals with an adult‘s failed attempt to help a troubled teen. This song might well be applied to Clay and Rain, but later its thematic relevance is cynically subverted when Clay rapes the drugged Rain on the floor of his apartment and ―the Fray [is] blaring from the stereo‖ (IB 131). Another recent song, which Clay plays on his car radio from a CD that his former lover ―Meghan Reynolds burned for [him] last summer‖ (IB 101) is also much more than mere background music, because the English singer and songwriter Natasha Khan‘s aka Bat for Lashes‘ 2006 hit ―What‘s a Girl to Do‖ fittingly deals with a love that has ended. The same is true when Clay waits in his car for his psychiatrist, ―listening to a song with lyric So leave everything you know and carry only what you fear …over and over again‖ (IB 107). These lines come from Bruce Springsteen‘s song ―Magic‖ that was released in September 2007 and ranked number two on Rolling Stones‟ list of that year‘s Top 50 Albums. It is certainly no accident that in his worried state Clay changes feel into fear in what correctly reads ―So leave everything you know / Carry only what you feel.‖ This is not the only time that Ellis makes Clay misquote a song text. Coming back from a boring casting session, he muses: ―Songs constantly floating in the car keep commenting on everything neutral encased within the windshield‘s frame (… one time you were blowing young ruffians … sung over the digital billboard on Sunset advertising the new Pixar movie) and the fear builds into a muted fury‖ (IB 32). The musical Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 25 fragment Clay quotes comes from ―Racing Like a Pro,‖ a 2008 song by The National, an American indie rock band from Cincinnati, and Clay revealingly sexualizes a text that correctly reads ―One time you were a glowing young ruffian.‖ That Ellis had Clay distort this text in order to convey some additional meaning was confirmed when, asked by a German interviewer whether listening habits change with age, he answered: Die von Clay auf jeden Fall. Er ist 25 Jahre älter geworden. Musik spielt dann eine geringere Rolle. Das passiert, wenn man im Beruf erfolgreich ist. Fokussiert zu sein, zu wissen, was man will - schon sinkt die Bedeutung der Musik. Clay will einfach nur mit den Mädchen ficken. Wozu da noch Musik? So, wie ich mit den Erzählern meiner Romane gealtert bin, spielt auch Popmusik später eine geringere Rolle. Bat For Lashes kommt kurz in Imperial Bedrooms vor, weil ein Mädchen, das Clay fickte, ihm eine CD brennt. Bruce Springsteen kommt vor. Später zitiert Clay einen Songtitel von The National falsch, er sexualisiert ihn: Ursprünglich heißt es: ―One time you were a glowing young ruffian.‖ Clay macht daraus: ―One time you were blowing young ruffians.‖ (in Niasseri 2010) A last example which is more than just local color occurs when Clay meets Trent on the Santa Monica pier and the latter tries to convince him to give up Rain. During their talk Clay hears that ―someone faintly sings you‟re still the one from a radio inside a surf shop‖ (IB 142). ―You‘re Still the One‖ was recorded in 1998 by the Canadian country music singer Shania Twain and became her first top ten hit on the Billboard Hot 100. Its defiant statement ―They said, ‗I bet they‘ll never make it.‘ / But just look at us holding on / We‘re still together, still going strong‖ fittingly expresses what Clay would like to happen with him and Rain. The central importance of pop music in Ellis‘s fictional world is of course also signaled by the novel‘s title which once again is taken from an Elvis Costello song. The title of Less Than Zero was an unacknowledged reference to a 1977 song by the British punk and New Wave singer Declan MacManus, who later renamed himself Elvis Costello. 2 His song refers to ―Mr Oswald with his swastika tattoo‖ and connects President Kennedy‘s assassination with general social decay by stating that ―Mr Oswald said he had an understanding with the law / He said he heard about a couple living in the USA / He said they traded in their baby for a Chevrolet.‖ The refrain of the song reads: Turn out the TV, No one of them will suspect it. Then your mother won‘t detect it, So your father won‘t know. 2 Sabine Hedinger, the translator of the German version, obviously did not recognize the source of the novel‘s title and mistakenly translated it as Unter Null, thus distorting the intended meaning which should be ―Weniger als gar nichts‖ into a ‗meteorological‘ statement. Peter Freese 26 They think that I got no respect, But every film means less than zero. Since Costello‘s song evokes the atmosphere of a chaotic world riveted by generational conflict and filled with the ubiquitous noise of the mass media, it conjures up the same atmosphere as Ellis‘s novel and places the latter within the wider context of a youthful punk and rock revolt. With Imperial Bedrooms, however, the connection is much more tenuous. Costello‘s song about ―The imperial bedroom, the regal boudoir / This casual acquaintance led to an intimate bonsoir‖ has hardly any thematic relevance for the novel, and Ellis confirmed that by stating: ―Ich liebte Elvis Costello vor allem wegen des Klanges. Ab und zu gab es dann mal eine Songzeile, die mich zum Nachdenken brachte. Aber viele seiner Texte sind so clever, dass es der Musik nicht gut tut. Sie wird dann kalt. So wie Imperial Bedrooms, das Album, nach dem ich mein Buch benannte.‖ (in Niasseri 2010) But the title might have yet another implication which Ellis suggested when he explained: Es gab Momente, in denen ich intensiv über den Buchtitel Imperial Bedrooms nachdachte, darüber, ob er wirklich passt. Schließlich geht es in dem Roman um sexuelle Ausbeutung. Bedrooms alleine hätte noch keinen großen Anspruch. Aber Imperial Bedrooms, das klingt wirklich gut. Nun kann man nach der buchstäblichen Bedeutung des Titels fragen. Und, ja, mein Buch handelt von Imperialismus: Wir holen uns, was wir wollen! Wir besorgen es uns, wir versauen es, und dann hauen wir ab! Amerikanischer Imperialismus! Unabhängig davon bin ich kein sehr politischer Mensch. Der Titel passt, global gesehen. Aber im Grunde geht es mir um die imperialistische Beziehung auf persönlicher Ebene. (in Niasseri 2010) In several interviews, Ellis alluded to the concept of the American ‗Empire‘ and what he considers its demise, 3 and this is why one reviewer has 3 In an interview with Jeff Gordinier, Ellis answered the question ―Do you miss the eighties? ‖ by saying: ―Oh, well, yeah! The eighties were a lot better. The eighties seem fairly sunny compared to where we are now, don‘t they? I mean, we were in the empire then. The empire‘s over. It‘s gone.‖ - In an interview with Nathalie Olah he explained his use of the empire concept by stating: ―Empire is the US from roughly WWII to a little after 9/ 11. It was at the height of its power, its prestige, and its economic worth. Then it lost a lot of those things. In the face of technology and social media, the mask of pride has been slowly eradicated. That empirical attitude of believing you‘re better than everyone - that you‘re above everything - and trying to give the impression that you have no problems. Post-empire is just about being yourself. It‘s showing the reality rather than obscuring things in reams and reams of meaning.‖ - Asked by Jeff Baker whether the scandal surrounding American Psycho were still possible today, Ellis answered: ―Never. It will never happen again. It‘s over. It‘s part of the empire. That only could have happened in the empire. It never could have happened in the post-empire world. That a novel could have caused that kind of outrage and that kind of collective cultural concern. It‘s just not there anymore. It doesn‘t exist. That world is as far away from us now as the world of xerox machines and typewriters.‖ Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 27 speculated that ―underneath the surface of this novel, something political may be going on. The title Imperial Bedrooms […] could also carry a subtext concerning US neo-imperialism. And the silhouette of a devil on the book cover might - just - be linking the image of America as the Great Satan to the characters‘ diabolical sexual exploits.‖ (Kelly 2010) In the novel, however, only a single sentence relates to the world outside of L.A. and might extend the notion of ‗imperial‘ behavior beyond individual relations, namely Clay‘s statement that ―Rip tells me he‘s lying in bed watching CNN on his laptop, images of a mosque in flames, ravens flying against the scarlet sky‖ (IB 65). There is, however, also the irritating fact that the students who found Julian Wells‘ disfigured body thought it was an American ―flag‖ (IB 9) because his white suit was streaked with red blood and his bled-out head was blue. The mutilated body of Kelly Montrose is found in Júarez with a note in Spanish (IB 58), Rip frequently uses Hispanic terms, and his henchmen who drag away Julian are Mexicans. In the week in which Julian‘s body is found ―three young Mexican men connected to a drug cartel were found shot in the desert, not far from where Amanda Flew was last seen‖ (IB 161), and in CNN‘s memorial to Amanda the music segues from the soundtrack of a film in which she took part ―into the dangers of the drug wars across the border‖ (IB 165). So there are several details that might justify Georgina Colby to maintain that ―sexual relations function in Imperial Bedrooms as objective correlatives of American neoimperial relations‖ (2010: 172). But when she reads the novel as involving ―a confluence of two central concerns: the duplicitous politics surrounding the U.S. intervention in Iraq and the violence and exploitation of Hispanic immigrants in a climate of border enforcement‖ (2010: 166), she burdens it with implications it cannot sustain. And when she asserts that Rip‘s cosmetically redone face ―implies interrelations between the American political elite, the border violence, and tortures and the violence inflicted on foreign communities in places such as Mexico and Iraq as a result of the reconstruction practices of such as Bechtel and Halliburton‖ (2010: 181) or reads Julian‘s comment on the entanglement of Rip, Kelly, Clay and himself with Rain - ―Maybe this wasn‘t thought out enough. Maybe there were too many … I don‘t know … variables … that I didn‘t know about‖ (IB 113) - as ―tacitly commenting on America‘s invasion of Iraq‖ (167), Ellis‘s text does not warrant such connections, her interpretation turns into mere speculation, and Graham J. Matthews rightly complains that her analysis ―focuses on depths the novel does not necessarily possess‖ (2015: 72). Narcissism and the Omnipresence of “the Fear” Because readers experience the world of Imperial Bedrooms only through Clay‘s eyes, the picture they receive is not only limited by his obvious Peter Freese 28 unreliability as narrator, his uncommon choice of the present tense as a narrative medium, which was such a controversial innovation in Less Than Zero, but also by the degree to which his alcoholism, his anxieties, and his bad physical health impair his perception. Whether Clay tries to drown his fear in alcohol or whether his drinking increases his fear, the fact is that he is almost constantly drunk. He already arrives ―drunk‖ (IB 10) in L.A., with his ―gin-soaked breath‖ (IB 10) and the sleeves of his Nike hoodie ―damp from a drink [he] spilled during the flight‖ (IB 11). The first thing he does upon entering his condo is to pour himself ―a tumbler of Grey Goose‖ (IB 13), and then he takes ―an Ambien to get to sleep since there‘s not enough vodka‖ (IB 16). Alone at home, he ―drink[s] a glass of vodka, and then […] another‖ (IB 31) or he is ―drinking from the second bottle of gin‖ (IB 144). When Rain is with him, they are ―buzzed on champagne‖ (IB 53), break ―the seal of a bottle of Patrón‖ (IB 130), or he soothes Rain with ―the tequila and the dope and the Xanax‖ (IB 117), mixing hard liquor and drugs with benzodiazepine used for the treatment of panic and anxiety disorder. At the numerous parties he attends he gets ―drunk enough‖ (IB 17) to stand the people he meets, ―drink[s] vodka from a plastic cup― (IB 98), or ―start[s] with champagne‖ (IB 43) in order to last longer. When he meets with Julian, he orders ―a Belvedere on the rocks‖ (IB 20), when he comes home and finds Rip sitting on his couch with ―an open bottle of tequila,‖ he is ―too drunk to panic‖ (IB 123), when he views the disk with the gory video of Julian‘s ritual murder he must ―drink enough gin to calm down‖ (IB 163), and when he considers whether to go to Julian‘s memorial he contemplates ―the bottle of Hendrick‘s‖ (IB 165) on his desk. Although he observes on a bleak and foggy day that ―it‘s a world where getting stoned is the only option‖ (IB 62) and describes himself during Rain‘s absence as ―stoned‖ (IB 67), he has left his previous habit of regularly snorting cocaine in New York, rejects to take part in ―snorting lines‖ (IB 16) at a party, and refers to his ―Versace bag that had once been filled with packets of cocaine‖ (IB 61) as a thing of the past. Throughout the novel, then, Clay is constantly either lost in ―alcoholic dreaminess‖ (IB 97) or ―hungover‖ (IB 80), and it is this condition that helps explain not only his repugnant behavior but also his blurred and often incoherent narration. Clay‘s perception, however, is not only impaired by his incessant drinking but also by his shaky health, his narcissistic view of the world as a movie he himself can script, and the nagging fear bred by his narcissistic vulnerability. Frequently his hands are shaking uncontrollably (IB 83, 101, 103, 104, 112, 141, 151) and he is close to collapsing (IB 57), sometimes he is racked by sudden weeping fits (IB 79, 101, 145), and having delivered Julian into Rip‘s hands, he discovers that he has wetted himself and his car ―seat is soaked with urine‖ (IB 154). Moreover, he is constantly haunted by an undefined fear that makes him tremble on the brink of panic. Ellis has repeatedly maintained that L.A. is a place of Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 29 alienation and loneliness, and in 2010 he explained to Jesse Katz how the city had affected him when he came back to it after many years in New York: ―The force of the alienation and isolation really hit me full on in a way that it never had. Regardless of if you‘re in a relationship or have a lot of friends or whatever - in L.A., it doesn‘t matter. You‘re still alone a lot of the time. It‘s just a totally different idea of living.‖ This feeling was already pervasive in Less Than Zero, in which comfort and catastrophe, affluence and apocalypse constantly intermingled and Clay collected newspaper cuttings about catastrophes (Freese 1990: 76f.), but in Imperial Bedrooms it becomes even more acute. Whereas Clay‘s film partners calmly state that L.A. is a city with a high ―desperation factor‖ and that its inhabitants are filled with ―so much bitterness‖ (IB 45), for the overwrought Clay this become much more personal because for him ―everything seems imminent with disaster‖ (IB 69), ―even the most innocent figures in the distance seem filled with ominous intent‖ (IB 81), and an unknown actress ―instantly provide[s] a steady hum of menace that left [him] dazed‖ (IB 24f.). Consequently, Clay is continuously haunted by a formless fear. When he sees the Jeep that has trailed him parked in front of his house, ―the fear returns‖ (IB 13). When he looks at the milling people at an after-party, once more ―the fear returns and soon it‘s everywhere and it keeps streaming forward‖ (IB 16), and when the cameras flash, ―the pale fear returns‖ because ―whoever was in that blue Jeep last night is probably in the crowd‖ (IB 16). When Clay talks to Rip, ―the fear is swarming‖ (IB 30), and when he drives home from the casting, ―the fear builds into a muted fury and then has no choice but to melt away into a simple and addictive sadness‖ (IB 32). During his few relaxed days with Rain for a brief period her presence ―helps cause the fear to fade away‖ (IB 56), but her leaving for San Diego ―causes [his] fear to return‖ and makes it more than just ―a faint distraction‖ (IB 64). When he meets Rip on the terrace of the Griffith Park observatory ―the fear, the big black stain of it, is rushing forward‖ (IB 83) and fills the whole world. When he learns that it was the murdered Kelly Montrose who recommended Rain for the casting, he tries in vain to ―submerge the pain‖ (IB 96f.) rushing through his body, and when he later asks Trent about what happened to Kelly, ―the fear begins swirling around [them]‖ (IB 135) again. Even when he just goes shopping, ―the fear [is] returning‖ and mixes with ―the alcoholic dreaminess of everything, the ghosts swarming everywhere whispering You need to be careful who you let into your life‖ (IB 97). And when he brutally rapes Rain, ―the fear [is] vibrating all around her‖ (IB 131). In all these instances, the curious use of the definite article for an amorphous feeling elevates ―the fear‖ into a kind of independent external agent that threatens to attack him. Peter Freese 30 An Accomplished Storyteller with Moral Deficiencies? The mostly hostile reviews of Imperial Bedrooms show that Ellis‘s evocation of a world of immoral exploitation, instant gratification, commodified sexuality and perverted violence is widely dismissed as shallow, trivial, and amoral and that his affectless and unreliable narrator is rejected as a pathologically disturbed narcissist. After the short-lived and mediadriven label of the ‗brat pack‘ went out of fashion, Ellis‘s fiction was frequently pigeonholed - and thus domesticated - as an example of either ‗blank fiction‘ with its ―relentless emphasis on brand names, popular culture and commodities, coupled with its detailed descriptions of consumerism, the reifications of violence, decadence and extreme sexuality‖ (Annesley 1998: 136) or as ‗transgressional‘ literature willfully breaking all social taboos in a disinterested and minimalistic style and in which ―the author is dead and ‗character‘ comes to us in wraiths, projections, pastiche, mutating entities, archetypes, comic cut-outs and intertextual refugees from history, film, fiction and myth‖ (Young 1992: 20). 4 Obviously, any evaluation of the world of Imperial Bedrooms depends on the reader‘s moral and ethical position, but with regard to its idiosyncratic presentation one cannot deny that Ellis masters the craft of story-telling and that his accomplished tale employs highly unusual narrative strategies, presents an ingenious combination of standardized elements of generic fiction with daring meta-fictional experiments, achieves a rare juxtaposition of a lingering awareness of the text‘s constructedness with a selfreferential lack of critical distance, and creates a unique mixture of mundane items of popular culture with crucial questions about human behavior. One might doubt whether Ellis is really ―a self-confessed moralist‖ who ―far from offering a celebration of evil and of nihilism, […] is presenting an examination of it‖ (Akbar 2011), but one will have to concede that in his unmistakable way he presents disturbing narratives that deserve critical attention. Works Cited Akbar, Arifa (2011).―Imperial Bedrooms, By Bret Easton Ellis.‖ The Independent (Lon don), October 23, 2011. [online] www.independent.co.uk/ arts- 4 In his interview with the Süddeutsche Zeitung the following exchange occurred: ―SZ: Definiert sich so die so genannte ―Transgressional Fiction,‖ als Genre, das Sie angeblich lanciert haben? - Ellis: Jaja, die Nummer kenne ich. Glauben Sie kein Wort. Das ist ganz alt. Damit habe ich nichts zu tun. - SZ: In einschlägigen Werken findet man Sie aber als wichtigsten Autor dieser ―grenzüberschreitenden Literatur.‖ - Ellis: Das beruht alles auf einem einzigen Essay von Elizabeth Young. Sie hat damals geschrieben, dass es eine neue Autorengeneration gibt, die mehr Grenzen überschreitet und Tabus verletzt als jede andere Generation zuvor. Vor allem was Sex und Gewalt betrifft.‖ entertainment/ - Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 31 books/ reviews/ imperial-bedrooms-by-bret-easton-ellis-2021683. html. 5 Amerika, Mark & Alexander Laurence (1994). ―Interview with Bret Easton Ellis.‖ The Write Stuff. [online] www.altx.com/ interviews/ bret.easton.ellis.html. Annesley, James (1998). Blank Fictions: Consumerism, Culture and the Contemporary American Novel. London: Pluto Press. Anonymous (n.d.). ―The Bret Easton Ellis Interview.‖ Shortlist. [online] http: / / www.shortlist.com/ entertainment/ the-bret-easton-ellis-interview. Arnold, Shayna Rose (2010). ―My LA to Z: Clay Easton.‖ Los Angeles magazine, June 1, 2010. Atkinson, Jay (2010). ―Less than zero: Bret Easton Ellis‘s sequel misses.‖ The Boston Globe July 4, 2010. [online] http: / / www.boston.com/ ae/ books/ articles/ 2010/ 07/ 04/ less_than_zero_bret_easton_elliss_sequel_misses/ . Baelo-Allué, Sonia (2011). Bret Easton Ellis‟s Controversial Fiction: Writing Between High and Low Culture. London: Continuum. Baker, Jeff (2010). ―Q&A: Bret Easton Ellis talks about writing novels, making movies.‖ The Oregonian, July 7, 2010. [online] http: / / www.oregonlive.com/ books/ index.ssf/ 2010/ 07/ qa_bret_easton_ellis_talks_abo.html. Bellamy, Joe David (1974). The New Fiction: Interviews with Innovative American Writers. Urbana: U of Illinois P. Colby, Georgina (2011). Bret Easton Ellis: Underwriting the Contemporary. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Costello, Elvis (n.d.). ―Less Than Zero‖ [lyrics, online]. www.metrolyrics.com / less-than-zero-lyrics-elvis-costello.html. ----- (n.d.). ―Imperial Bedrooms‖ [lyrics, online]. www.azlyrics.com/ lyrics/ elvis costello/ imperialbedroom.html. Ellis, Bret Easton (1986). Less Than Zero. New York: Penguin. ----- (1991). American Psycho. London: Pan Books. ----- (1994). The Informers. London: Picador. ----- (1998). This Is Not an Exit: The Fictional World of Bret Easton Ellis. Directed by Gerald Fox. Independent Television UK, August 23, 1998; USA April 7, 2000. ----- (2005). Lunar Park. London: Picador. ----- (2011). Imperial Bedrooms. New York: Vintage Books. Fodor, Péter & Péter L. Varga (2014). ―The Disjunction of Event, Recording, and Experience: The Dilemmas of Reading Ellis‘ Oeuvre.‖ In Zoltán Kulcsár-Szabó & Csongor Lórincz (Eds.). Signaturen des Geschehens: Ereignisse zwischen Öffentlichkeit und Latenz. Bielefeld: transcript. 197-213. Freese, Peter (1990). ―Bret Easton Ellis, Less Than Zero: Entropy in the ‗MTV Novel‘? ‖ In Reingard M. Nischik & Barbara Korte (Eds.). Modes of Narrative: Approaches to American, Canadian and British Fiction Presented to Helmut Bonheim. Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann. 68-87. Rpt. in Peter Freese (2002). Teaching „America‟: Selected Essays. München: Langenscheidt-Longman. 368-390. ----- (1991). ―The MTV Novel,‖ Praxis des Neusprachlichen Unterrichts, 38: 1. 89-91. Gordinier, Jeff (n.d.). ―Bret Easton Ellis: The Eternal Bad Boy.‖ Details. [online] http: / / www.details.com/ story/ author-bret-easton-ellis-less-than-zero-sequelimperial-bedrooms. Goulian, Jon-Jon (2012). ―The Art of Fiction No. 216.‖ Paris Review, 200 (Spring 2012). [online] http: / / www.theparisreview.org/ interviews/ 6127/ the-art-offiction-no-216-bret-easton-ellis. 5 All Internet sources were accessed in January 2017. Peter Freese 32 Halkert, Bernadette (2011). Paradigmen literarischer Wertung und Kanonisierung in der amerikanischen Gesellschaft des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts untersucht am Beispiel von Bret Easton Ellis. Salzhemmendorf: blumenkamp Verlag. „Ich habe dieses Monster mitkreiert: Ein Gespräch mit Bret Easton Ellis über Tränen, Songs, Philip Roth und seinen eigenen Roman Lunar Park.― Süddeutsche Zeitung, 17. Mai 2010. [online] http: / / www.sueddeutsche.de/ kultur/ interview-mit-bret-easton-ellis-ich-habe-dieses-monster-mitkreiert-1.432279. Kakutani, Michiko (1985). ―Books of the Times; the Young and Ugly.‖ The New York Times, June 8, 1985. [online] http: / / www.nytimes.com/ 1985/ 06/ 08 / books/ books-of-the-times-the-young-and-ugly.html. Katz, Jesse (2010). ―Reflections of a Valley Boy.‖ Los Angeles, 55, 6. 128-161. [online] http: / / www.lamag.com/ longform/ reflections-of-a-valley-boy/ . Kay, Shara R. & Jonathan S. Paul (1999). ―Don‘t Be an Asshole.‖ The Harvard Crimson Magazine. February 18, 1999. [online] http: / / www.thecrimson. com/ article/ 1999/ 2/ 18/ dont-be-an-asshole-p-pp/ . Keats, Jonathan (1999). ―It‘s Time to Add Bret Easton Ellis to the Canon.‖ Salon, January 22, 1999. http: / / web.archive.org/ web/ 20110820213442/ www. salon.com/ books/ feature/ 1999/ 01/ cov_22feature.html. Kellogg, Carolyn (2010). ―Bret Easton Ellis: Interview Outtakes.‖ Los Angeles Times, June 11, 2010. [online] http: / / latimesblogs. latimes.com/ jacketcopy/ 2010/ 06/ bret-easton-ellis-interview-outtakes.html. Kelly, Alison (2010). ―Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis.‖ The Observer, June 27, 2010. [online] http: / / www.theguardian.com/ books/ 2010/ jun/ 27/ imperial-bedrooms-bret-easton-ellis-book-review. Klein, Joshua (1999). ―Bret Easton Ellis.‖ A.V. Club, March 17, 1999. [online] http: / / www.avclub.com/ article/ bret-easton-ellis-13586. Kober, Henning (2010). ―Bret Easton Ellis: ‗Ich bin American Psycho.‘‖ Die Zeit, 29. Juli 2010. [online] http: / / www.zeit.de/ 2010/ 31/ L-B-Bret-Easton-Ellis- Interview/ komplettansicht. Lawson, Mark (2010). ―Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis.‖ The Observer, June 26, 2010. [online] http: / / www.theguardian.com/ books/ 2010/ jun/ 26/ imperial-bedrooms-bret-easton-ellis. Lennon, J. Robert (2010). ―Via ‗Bret‘ via Bret.‖ London Review of Books, vol. 32, No. 12, June 24, 2010. [online] http: / / www.lrb.co.uk/ v32/ n12/ j-robertlennon/ via-bret-via-bret. Mandel, Naomi (2011). ―Introduction: The Value and Values of Bret Easton Ellis.‖ In: Bret Easton Ellis: “American Psycho,” “Glamorama,” “Lunar Park”. London: Continuum. 1-14. Matthews, Graham J. (2015). ―Cynicism and the Cultural Imaginary: Bret Easton Ellis‘s Imperial Bedrooms.‖ College Literature, 42, 1. 62-88. Maurstad, Tom (2010). ―Imperial Bedrooms' by Bret Easton Ellis.‖ The Dallas Morning News, June 13, 2010. [online] http: / / www.dallasnews.com/ entertainment/ headlines/ 20100613-Book-review-Imperial-Bedrooms- 2924.ece. McCarthy, Andrew (n.d.). ―Andrew McCarthy on Imperial Bedrooms.‖ [online] http: / / www.youtube.com/ watch? v=D5BzbjaA15U. Niasseri, Sassan (2010). ―Genesis zu loben - das war das Schlimmste.‖ musik express, 1. December 2010. [online] http: / / www.musikexpress.de/ genesis-zuloben-das-war-das-schlimmste-63703/ . Oehmke, Philipp (2010). ―Autoren: Zu Besuch in einem Roman.‖ Spiegel Online, 27. September 2010. [online] http: / / www.spiegel.de/ spiegel/ a-719875.html. Brent Easton Ellis’ Imperial Bedrooms 33 Olah Nathalie (2014). ―Bret Easton Ellis Says We‘re All a Bunch of Cry-Babies.‖ Vice, December 30, 2014. [online] http: / / www.vice.com/ read/ bret-eastonellis-interview. Pearson, Jesse (2010). ―Bret Easton Ellis.‖ Vice, May 2, 2010. [online] https: / / www.vice.com/ read/ bret-easton-ellis-426-v17n5. Plimpton, George (1966). ―The Story Behind a Nonfiction Novel [interview with Truman Capote].‖ The New York Times, January 16, 1966. [online] https: / / www.nytimes.com/ books/ 97/ 12/ 28/ home/ capote-interview.html. Pynchon, Thomas (1966). ―A Journey into the Mind of Watts.‖ The New York Times Magazine, June 12, 1966. [online] https: / / www.nytimes.com/ books/ 97/ 05/ 18/ reviews/ pynchon-watts.html. Simon, Jeff (2010). ―Editor‘s Choice,‖ The Buffalo News, June 20, 2010. [online] http: / / www.buffalonews.com/ article/ 20100620/ LIFE/ 306209925. Springsteen, Bruce (n.d.). ―Magic‖ [lyrics, online]. http: / / www.metrolyrics.com/ magic-lyrics-bruce-springsteen.html. Temple, Emily (2012). ―A Musical Overview of Bret Easton Ellis‘ Oeuvre.‖ Flavorwire, March 7, 2012. [online] http: / / flavorwire.com/ 266962/ a-musicaloverview-of-bret-easton-ellis-oeuvre. The National (n.d.). ―Racing Like a Pro‖ [lyrics, online]. http: / / www.metro lyrics.com/ racing-like-a-pro-lyrics-the-national.html. Theroux, Alexander (2010), ―Zero Progress: Twenty-five years later, a return to the hapless crew from Less Than Zero.‖ Wall Street Journal, June 17, 2010. [online] www.wsj.com/ articles/ SB1000142405274870400980457530894016047 9402. Thorne, Matt (2010). ―Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis: Review.‖ The Telegraph, July 11, 2010. [online] http: / / www.telegraph.co.uk/ culture/ books/ 7877348/ Imperial-Bedrooms-by-Bret-Easton-Ellis-review.html. Twain, Shania (n.d.). ―You‘re Still the One‖ [lyrics, online]. http: / / www.metro lyrics.com/ youre-still-the-one-lyrics-shania-twain.html. Wagner, Erica (2010). ―Bret Easton Ellis, Back to Zero.‖ The New York Times, June 25, 2010. [online] http: / / www.nytimes.com/ 2010/ 06/ 27/ books/ review/ Wagner-t.html? _r=0. Waters, Tom (2005). ―Stories Built On Emotions: The Bret Easton Ellis Interview.‖ acid logic, October 1, 2005. [online] www.acidlogic.com/ bret_easton_ellis.htm. Wolfe, Tom (1989). ―Stalking the Billion-Footed Beast: A Literary Manifesto for the New Social Novel.‖ Harper‟s Magazine, 279, No. 1674 (November 1989), 45-56. [online] http: / / harpers.org/ archive/ 1989/ 11/ stalking-the-billionfooted-beast/ . Young, Elizabeth & Graham Caveney (1992). Shopping in Space: Essays on America‟s Blank Generation Fiction. London: Grove Press with Serpent‘s Tail. Peter Freese Institut für Anglistik und Amerikanisitik Universität Paderborn The American Revolution and Its Other: Indigenous Resistance Writing from William Apess to Sherman Alexie Stefan L. Brandt Since the early U.S. republic, indigenous writers have learned to cope with their (mis-)representation as potential threats by confronting readers with the inherent paradoxes of American society, employing imitation and mirroring as narrative strategies. Both rhetorical devices, grounded in acts of performance, reveal the gap between the nation‘s promises and its sobering reality. In such Native American ‗performances,‘ the specter of the ‗American Indian‘ that has so long haunted the white imagination is used to articulate and reveal the hidden power and omnipresence of Indian figures in the U.S. cultural imaginary. From early indigenous writers like William Apess to representatives of the Native American Renaissance, such as Sherman Alexie, mimicry and specularity are used as forms of resistance, empowering Native American speakers to find their voices in order to confront whites with their privileges and prejudices. If the notion of doing can be connected to the postcolonial concepts of mimicry and specularity, performativity emerges as the capacity to construct identity, to shape the voice of the subaltern, and to transform it into an instrument of power and resistance. Through the rhetorical means of appropriation and reflection, Apess transcends the discourse of colonization and effectively articulates a formerly subjugated voice. Alexie, on the other hand, offers us a mirror image of dominant prejudices, assumptions and fears regarding American Indians, putting the reader into the role of the subaltern. Introduction: The ‘Spectral’ Presence of Native Americans in U.S. American Culture When the American Constitution was signed on September 17, 1787, Native Americans were more or less regarded as footnotes in the larger AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Stefan L. Brandt 36 project of colonization and settlement, barely visible in federal documents or legislature. Although they had inhabited the region of North America for more than 10,000 years, American Indians were denied basic civil rights such as the right to vote or the right to gain U.S. citizenship. The ‗American Indian Wars,‘ that is, the series of armed conflicts between the white settlers and the indigenous population that had been part of American everyday experience since the 1620s, had not yet come to an end when the U.S. republic was founded in the 1780s. While the dominant rhetoric usually targeted the British as archenemies of American political independence, many speeches and publications also dealt with the indigenous inhabitants of the continent as potential threats to the new republic. In a personal letter written in the summer of 1783, George Washington, the leader of the American Revolution and soon the nation‘s first President, compared Indians to ―Wild Beasts of a Forest‖ (―Letter to James Duane‖). 1 In the document, which was codified as a decree of the Continental Congress on September 22, 1783, Washington insisted that both the ‗savage‘ and the wolf were ―beasts of prey though they differ in shape‖ (―Letter to James Duane‖; cf. Utter 1991: 387-88). The ―gradual extension of our Settlements,‖ Washington predicted, would ―certainly cause the Savage as the Wolf to retire‖ (ibid.). A similarly expansionist imagery can be found in numerous official documents released by the U.S. government, especially the ―Ordinance for the Regulation of Indian Affairs‖ of 1786 and the ―Northwest Ordinance‖ of 1787, two declarations strongly inspired by Washington. In the latter, the authors proposed the following procedure for dealing with Native Americans: The utmost good faith shall always be observed towards the Indians; their lands and property shall never be taken from them without their consent; and, in their property, rights and liberty, they shall never be invaded or disturbed, unless in just and lawful wars authorized by Congress. (Qtd. in Prucha 1984: 18) The rhetoric of the ―Northwest Ordinance‖ is marked by a conspicuous paradox: While hypocritically rejecting the appropriation of land from Indians ―without their consent,‖ it condones these actions in the same sentence under the circumstance of ―just and lawful wars authorized by the Congress.‖ The U.S. government is staged here as the civilized counterpart to the seemingly ‗uncivilized‘ practices of the indigenous population. In this rhetoric, Native Americans clearly figure as inferior beings, 1 James Duane was one of the leaders of the American Revolution (as part of the infamous ―Committee of Sixty‖) and served - together with George Washington and Benjamin Franklin - as a member of the Continental Congress between 1774 and 1786. He was also Indian Commissioner for the Colony of New York in 1774. The American Revolution and Its Other 37 as heathens and subhumans, barely a match for the white Christian pioneers. As to political practice, American Indians were not granted U.S. citizenship for almost 150 years after the Revolution, let alone voting rights. 2 In the dominant imagination of the 18 th and 19 th centuries, Native Americans mainly functioned as the nation‘s ghostly ‗Other‘ - a terrifying specter that allegorically represented everything the white American was not (or secretly rejected). 3 In Charles Brockden Brown‘s novel Edgar Huntly, or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker (1799) 4 , the American Indian figures as a figment of the white man‘s imagination - a warning of the hidden flip side of civilization. The novel‘s Indians belong to a whole set of ―ugly phantoms‖ (EH 151) that keep haunting the protagonist. Edgar both emulates the Indians in their skills of surviving in the wilderness (EH 203) and participates in grisly scenes of mass murder committed on them (EH 185-189). This double discourse of simultaneously fearing and imitating the Indian permeates Brown‘s novel from beginning to end. Edgar equates the American Indian with ―the rest of animals‖ (EH 203), but also transforms into one himself in the notorious pit scene, in which he slaughters a panther with a tomahawk (EH 158-161). In addition, the first-person narrator Edgar Huntly points to numerous parallels between himself and Queen Mab, a squaw sachem from the Delaware tribe. ―Queen Mab,‖ he informs us, ―were sounds familiar to my ears, for they originated with myself‖ (EH 197). The name ―Queen Mab‖ is also familiar to most readers, who recognize it from Shakespeare‘s play Romeo and Juliet. Originally a white character (in Shakespeare‘s drama she appears as the fairies‘ midwife), Queen Mab in Edgar Huntly transforms into an American Indian, now also signifying the absence of civilization and the surfacing of repressed emotions. Probably forced to convert to Christianity as a child (thus her Christian name ‗Old Deb‘), Queen Mab is a key symbol of Indian subjugation by the white settlers. Having been expelled from her homeland together with members of her tribe, she roams through the rural areas of Pennsylvania as a nomad, accompanied by ―three dogs, of the Indian or wolf species‖ (EH 198). When giving orders to her dogs, her ―sharp and 2 The Indian Citizenship Act was signed on June 2, 1924 by U. S. President Calvin Coolidge. Also called ‗Snyder Act‘ (after New York Representative Homer P. Snyder who had proposed it), this law granted Native Americans the right to become full U.S. citizens. 3 The American-Canadian writer Thomas King draws our attention to the founding events and documents of the U.S. republic to explain this long absence of American Indians in the cultural imaginary: ―[W]hen Great Britain, France, and the newly formed United States sat down in 1783 to hammer out the details of the Treaty of Paris that would officially end the American Revolution, Native people, who had fought alongside both England and the colonies, were neither invited to the negotiations nor mentioned in the treaty itself. So long and thanks for all the fish‖ (2013: 100). 4 In the following, Brown‘s novel Edgar Huntly will be abbreviated as EH. Stefan L. Brandt 38 shrill‖ voice can be heard across a great distance. ―An [sic! ] hearer would naturally imagine she was scolding; but, in truth, she was merely giving them directions‖ (EH 199). The spectral presence of Queen Mab, that is, her appearance in the form of threatening images and sounds, is symptomatic of the representation of Indians in the book. 5 As the example of Brown‘s novel shows, Native Americans were often stylized into a kind of nemesis of the westward movement. It is no coincidence that the American frontier was imagined as the dividing line between white civilization and Indian savagery. In the dualistic rhetoric of ‗Us versus Them,‘ Native Americans were assigned the part of the rebels, the archenemies of progress and enlightenment. It is the goal of this essay to explore how Native Americans responded to the rhetoric of ‗othering.‘ Which forms of disobedience did they develop? How did they deal with their own ‗ghostly presence‘ in U.S. cultural practice? Apart from the militant resistance against the invasion of their lands since the 17 th century (see Porter 2005: 48), Native Americans have resorted to various types of less violent protest. In 1827, for example, several Native American tribes, the so-called ―Five Civilized Tribes‖ (Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole) attempted to emulate the U.S. Founding Fathers and announced the creation of an independent Indian Nation, the so-called Cherokee Nation. In the following law-suit of 1831, John Ross, principal chief of the newly-formed state, defined the suitors as ―the Cherokee nation of Indians, a foreign state, not owing allegiance to the United States, nor to any state of this union, nor to any prince, potentate or state, other than their own‖ (―Cherokee Nation‖ 1831: 2). As a result of the Indian Removal Act, signed by U.S. President Andrew Jackson in 1830, most of the Cherokee were expelled westward to plateaus in Missouri and Oklahoma during the 1830s. What followed was the so-called ‗Trail of Tears,‘ during which 60,000 Native Americans died, including the 2,000 free African Americans and black slaves they took with them. Gerald Vizenor uses the neologism survivance to describe the cultural techniques used by American Indians to authentically document their presence (traditionally in oral form): 5 In his epic novel Moby Dick (1851), written half a century after Edgar Huntly, Herman Melville symbolically reawakens the ghost of ‗Queen Mab,‘ naming the book‘s 31 st chapter (131-133) after the mythical character. Here, Queen Mab is the specter that haunts the crew of the Pequod, that ship which is itself named after a native tribe. Stubb, the second mater of the Pequod, recollects a ―queer dream‖ (131) he had the night before which might - or might not - have revolved around Queen Mab. We can only speculate if Stubb saw a vision of Shakespeare‘s fairy character or that indigenous, ghostly figure from Brown‘s novel. Like the name ‗Pequod‘ itself, ‗Queen Mab‘ is used here as a signifier of doom which connects Native American imagery with a sinister notion of spectrality. The American Revolution and Its Other 39 Survivance is an active sense of presence, the continuance of native stories, not a mere reaction, or a survivable name. Native survivance stories are renunciations of dominance, tragedy, and victimry. Survivance means the right of succession or reversion of an estate, and in that sense, the estate of native survivancy. (1999: vii) Recent examples of such strategies of survivance include the founding of the American Indian Movement (AIM) in 1968 and, in the following year, the activities of the Red Power Movement which culminated in attempts to occupy the island of Alcatraz (that had once been a part of the protesters‘ native territory) (see Nagel 1995: 947-965). 6 For many decades now, Native Americans have protested against what they see as the unjustified celebration of crucial events in American cultural history, beginning with the discovery of the ‗New World‘ by European explorers. This ‗discovery,‘ they argue, was not glorious or heroic (as many history books seem to suggest), but, in reality, entailed the enslavement and gradual eradication of 536 Native American tribes, culminating in a history of bloody wars. In the wake of this increasingly political climate of discussions surrounding the continent‘s colonial history, Native American activists have engaged in symbolic protest such as the pouring of fake blood over a statue of Christopher Columbus on Columbus Day 1989. 7 Frequently, ironic mirroring is used as a strategy to question established modes of representation. The image series ―Reconsider Columbus Day‖ employs the Columbus theme for a ―Wanted Poster‖ with the Italian explorer as a criminal on the run. ―Grand Theft - Genocide - Racism - Rape - Torture - Destruction of an Entire Culture,‖ it says on the poster, which ironically evokes the image of the famed explorer as a mass murderer (―Christopher Columbus: Hero for the Ages or Genocidal Maniac? ‖ 2010). Another artwork from the same series comments on the idea of ―Thanksgiving,‖ de- 6 It should be added that the American Indian Movement is controversially discussed by Native American scholars. Chippewa writer and scholar Gerald Vizenor, for example, strongly critiques the AIM for their ‗assimilated‘ and ‗commercialized‘ policies: ―The American Indian Movement could be an unusual measure of tribal resistance and the pose of postmodern revolutions. Dennis Banks, for instance, became the kitschyman of reservation capitalism. Russell Means is a postindian movie actor. Bellecourt, on the other hand, has become the kitschyman of liberal bounties, foundation monies, criminal justice, and resistance enterprises in the name of tribal children. This portrait is not an Indian‖ (1999: 43). 7 Such attempts to push Christopher Columbus from the pedestal as one of the nation‘s iconic heroes resonate with similar strategies in literature. A powerful case in point is Thomas King‘s unconventional account of Indian-White relationships The Inconvenient Indian (2012), in which the author suggests to literally remove Columbus from the national imaginary: ―Let‘s forget Columbus. You know, now that I say it out loud, I even like the sound of it. Forget Columbus. Give it a try. Forget Columbus.‖ (3) Stefan L. Brandt 40 veloping the following logic: ―Genocide - Poverty - Hunger - No Thanks No Giving! What are you celebrating? ‖ (Genocide). 8 The sarcastic twist of the ―Columbus Day‖ posters can also be found in numerous works of American indigenous resistance literature, 9 from early U.S. writings to postmodernism. Out of this sheer variety of literary expressions, 10 I have selected two authors whose works temporally frame 8 These acts of political activism surrounding ―Columbus Day‖ stand in the literary tradition of the ‗Native American Renaissance‘ of the 1960s during which intellectuals of indigenous descent articulated their protest in writing. A major representative of this movement is the activist and historian Vine Victor Deloria, Jr. who, being the director of the National Congress of American Indians between 1964 and 1967, became a leading figure of indigenous resistance. It is Deloria to whom the term ‗Red Power‘ is attributed. A major concern of Deloria‘s many historical studies - for example, Custer Died for Your Sins: An Indian Manifesto (1969) and Red Earth, White Lies: Native Americans and the Myth of Scientific Fact (1995) - is to demythologize white Americans‘ assumptions about American Indians. 9 Following the definition given by Joy Porter in the Cambridge Companion to Native American Literature (2005), I am using the phrase ‗resistance literature‘ as an umbrella term for writings that are concerned with topics of indigenous resistance against colonial and postcolonial oppression. ―Given some of the chronic conditions many Indian peoples live under and the structural limitations placed upon Indian development by non-Indians,‖ it can be argued ―that Indians in fact live under paracolonialism and that it is […] appropriate to think of Indian literature as part of resistance literature‖ (Porter 59). As Arnold Krupat critically remarks in Red Matters, the concept ‗resistance literature‘ is often used abstractly to refer to any type of anticolonial or emancipatory literature, thus obscuring ―the very particular nature of Native American resistance‖ (2002: 9). While acknowledging the desire in many cosmopolitan writings to situate Native literatures in the context of ―any literature directed against oppression and dominance‖ (for instance, by the LGBT community), Krupat strongly warns against this ―universalizing of resistance‖ (2002: 22). 10 In this context, countless indigenous authors could be mentioned who dealt with the dominant discourse of colonial oppression in their writings. In his essay on non-fiction indigenous prose, Bernd Peyer lists the historical studies by George Copway (1850), William Whipple Warren (1851-54), Peter Jones (1861), and Andrew J. Blackbird (1887) as examples for 19 th -century indigenous authors who subtly rejected hegemonial notions of the westward movement. ―All four,‖ Peyer claims, ―perform a precarious balancing act between a sincere show of deference toward mainstream notions of social advancement and an equally candid manifestation of pride in traditional ways, especially their native languages‖ (2005: 119). Numerous books written during the Native American Renaissance since the 1960s by authors such as N. Scott Momaday, Louise Erdrich, Paula Gunn Allen, Janet Campbell Hale, Leslie Marmon Silko, and Thomas King, can be interpreted as ‗resistance literature.‘ The writings by these (and other) authors express unique indigenous voices linked to the rich cultural imaginary of American Indians rooted in performativity and confident self-fashioning. Examples of influential works of this type of literature include Momaday‘s groundbreaking novel House Made of Dawn (1966), which centers upon an alternative, indigenous vision of history and worldunderstanding, and King‘s parodic short story ―A Seat in the Garden‖ (1993b), in which two white farmers experience visions of an Indian spirit which turns out to be a mere projection of their imagination. Krupat further lists Silko‘s Almanac of the Dead (1991) as resistance literature due to ―its insistence on a north- The American Revolution and Its Other 41 the development of U.S. resistance literature: William Apess‘s autobiographical writings of the 1820s/ 30s and Sherman Alexie‘s tongue-incheek narratives of Indian life from the 1990s and 2000s. The writings by Apess and Alexie seem representative of indigenous literature for a number of reasons. Like many other texts by American Indian authors, they eloquently articulate resistance to the pervasive effects of colonialism. This resistance is shaped in the form of a stylistic feature of great rhetorical power - irony, and frequently outright cynicism. Through this literary device, Apess‘s and Alexie‘s works reveal a harsh disappointment in and skepticism of the promises of the American Revolution. This irony also stands for a whole set of aesthetic techniques employed by indigenous writers to enable readers to immerse themselves in the texts. ―Indian voices,‖ Joy Porter explains in her essay for the Cambridge Companion to Native American Literature, ―must perform complex and shifting negotiations […] in order to make a strategic and subversive impact upon literate Euro-America‖ (2005: 59). As I will show in the following, two strategies have become particularly essential in this type of indigenous resistance literature: 1. imitation - that is, the playful emulation of the American ideal of equality, and 2. mirroring - that is, the reflection of the injustices of U.S. social life through the metaphor of the ‗looking glass.‘ Both rhetorical devices, I will argue, are grounded in acts of literary performance, revealing to readers the unsettling gap between the nation‘s promises and the sobering reality into which these promises eventually turned. In the literary performances by Apess and Alexie, the specter of the ‗American Indian‘ that has long haunted the white imagination is used to expose the hidden power and omnipresence of Indian figures in the U.S. cultural imaginary. In this context, I want to employ the term ‗specter‘ to refer to the ghostly presence of Native Americans in the dominant white imagination. French philosopher Jacques Derrida uses the concept to identify figures in the hegemonic imagination that are perceived as menacing and disruptive. However, he argues that these spectral figures also embody what he calls a ―condition of possibility‖ (1994: 82). They are unruly and free, transgressing norms and violating the boundaries of hegemonic culture. The spectral quality of the Native American is recognizable in the figure of Geronimo, an Apache leader fighting against the intrusion of white settlers into native grounds in the 1880s. Geronimo, whose tribal name was Goyaalé, became a symbol of indigenous resistance and cultural pride. Throughout his life, he remained an ambiguous character. Alsouth/ south-north directionality as central to the narrative of ‗our America‘‖ (1998: 51-52). What all of these texts seem to share is that they advocate a decisively critical stance towards U.S. history and ideology, poignantly criticizing that the nation, which prides itself on the motto ―All men are created equal‖ in its Declaration of Independence, has too often denied this promise to its ethnic minorities, especially American Indians. Stefan L. Brandt 42 though he converted to Christianity during his imprisonment in the 1890s and even recommended it to other natives in public writings, he also told his tribes-people that he remained faithful to the Apache religion. Despite his resistance to white cultural dominance (or maybe because of it), Geronimo has been appropriated into an imagery of non-conformism acceptable to all ethnicities in a series of Hollywood movies. In the Hollywood blockbuster Conspiracy Theory (1997), the name Geronimo is linked to a white man‘s desperate fight against a tyrannical system that culminates in madness and terror. Geronimo is not an agent in his own right in this movie, but simply a signifier for protest and, most importantly, the enabler of a love story between two white characters. There are numerous examples of Native Americans who are integrated into the dominant imagination as involuntary symbols of their own degradation and inferiority. Take Pocahontas, for instance. A historical figure, Pocahontas, whose tribal name was Matoaka, was the daughter of a powerful Native American chief named Powhatan in the Chesapeake Bay area in Virginia. As legend has it, she was involved in an event in the year 1607, when she saved the life of British captain John Smith, who was about to be executed by her father. The event was first reported in John Smith‘s Generall Historie of Virginia (1624), seventeen years after it supposedly happened. Even though the incident seems highly unlikely for a variety of reasons, Pocahontas, as a mythical figure, has turned into an indispensable part of the American imaginary, manly because she gave up her own culture and religion to accept the white man‘s beliefs. She even assumed a European name, Rebecca, and married one of the settlers, John Rolfe of Jamestown. Thus, she stands for the romantic union between America‘s first inhabitants and the pioneers from Europe. A comparable image of interracial union can be found in the annual holiday of Thanksgiving. First celebrated by the Pilgrims in 1621, Thanksgiving was designed to thank the Christian God for a good harvest. In common representations, settlers are shown eating turkey together with their Indian allies in an atmosphere of harmony and friendship. The main function of such idealizing images is to conceal the fact that the encounter between Native Americans and white settlers was in reality anything but harmonious. There were numerous bloody wars against the Native American population. Some of them, such as the Pequot War of 1637, took place before the Revolution, but the majority of these socalled ‗Indian Wars‘ happened even after, culminating in the Battle of Little Bighorn in 1876 and - the very last one - the Battle of Wounded Knee in 1890. In the following section, I will take a look at what Malini Schueller, in her book by the same title, has aptly described as the ―messy beginnings‖ of the early U.S. republic and its treatment of Native Americans. Following Homi K. Bhabha‘s approach of postcolonial theory and combining it with Richard Schechner‘s notion of performativity, I will discern between The American Revolution and Its Other 43 two modes of Native American resistance in literature and culture: mimicry 11 , that is, the strategic adaptation of a species to its environment, and specularity 12 , that is, a rhetorical play with mirror images with the purpose of undermining established notions and assumptions. The aim in both forms of resistance is to empower Native American speakers in a performative fashion and make their concerns heard to a mainstream audience. Voicing Resistance: Mimicry, Mirroring, and Performance in William Apess Notably, mimicry and specularity, as strategies of self-fashioning, are both based in the aesthetic realm of performativity. By using these devices, the speaker becomes an actor, articulating and negotiating aspects of identity which would otherwise be left unspoken. One of the key insights of performance theory is that acting is everything. Or, as the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has put it, ―there is no ‗being‘ behind the doing, acting, becoming. ‗The doer‘ is merely made up and added into the action - the act is everything‖ (1969 [1887]: 45). 13 Thus, I want to propose a reading in which this notion of doing is connected to the postcolonial concepts of mimicry and specularity as described by Bhabha. In particular, my essay will show how performativity, that is, the capacity to construct identity through acts of performance (Schechner 2002: 110-111), may be used to shape the voice of the subaltern and transform it into an instrument of power and resistance. 11 The Oxford English Dictionary defines ―mimicry‖ as ―the action, practice, or art of copying or closely imitating, or […] of reproducing through mime‖ (―Mimicry‖). Employed as a strategy of resistance, mimicry exposes the initially shallow nature of such imitation and transforms it into a gesture of ironic performativity. By utilizing techniques commonly attributed to white hegemonial practice, a Native American performer of mimicry makes visible the ideological patterns behind the discourse and subtly reveals the systemic imbalance lying at its heart. 12 According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ―specular‖ can be defined as the state of being ―obtained by reflection only; not direct or immediate.‖ The OED adds that ―specular‖ phenomena are characterized by ―having the reflective property of a mirror‖ (―Specular‖). In my usage of the term, ‗specularity‘ refers to the representation and performance of literary Indians as mirror images of the white imagination. Following Homi K. Bhabha, who employs the concept in his writings on postcolonialism, ‗specularity‘ originally connotes a sense of projection and misrepresentation. Used as a vehicle of resistance, the mirror image can be reversed into a performative vehicle that helps readers understand the mechanisms behind this kind of stereotyping and question their assumptions regarding native people. 13 For the notion of ‗acting‘ instead of ‗being‘ constituting the basic act of performance, see Butler‘s study Gender Trouble (1990: 25), Auslander‘s essay ―Just Be Your Self‖ (1997: 28-38), and Carlson‘s book Performance (1998: 1-9). Stefan L. Brandt 44 A good example of this use of performative strategies in early indigenous writing is William Apess, one of the first Native American writers whose works were published in book form. For good reason, Apess‘s five major works have been classified as ―resistance literature‖ (Weaver 1997: 55). And - as his contribution to the Mashpee Revolt shows - he was not only a man of words, but also a man with a ―militant consciousness‖ (O‘Connell 1992: xiv). When the Mashpee tribe demanded equal rights from the state government in May of 1833, Apess traveled to Cape Cod to visit the old indigenous town of Mashpee and, in the following months, published various articles on the ongoing events in newspapers (for example, the Boston Advocate and the Barnstable Journal). In all these texts, he voiced Native American concerns with an unusual tone of indigenous pride, basically instigating the natives to start a revolt. The recurring phrase in Apess‘s Mashpee pamphlets, ―We […] as the voice of one man,‖ clearly alludes to the ―We the People‖ from the U.S. Constitution. 14 I n the following, I will examine which rhetorical means Apess uses in his writings to create this distinctive voice of resistance. The first strategy he uses, which I position under the header of ‗mimicry,‘ is based upon the attempt to appropriate the white perspective. By modeling his own life story, published in 1829 under the title A Son of the Forest, on the basis of Christian narratives of conversion, Apess managed to stylize himself into a model American, a self-made man, very much in the fashion of Benjamin Franklin. Notably, his own father was of white and Pequot descent, his mother a Native American and possibly African American. In Bhabha‘s terms, Apess thus represents ―a hybridity, a difference ‗within‘‖ (1994: 13). It is the aim of A Son of the Forest to reconstruct this hybridity as a paradigm of the young nation, rebellious and striving, yet also disrupted and torn. This becomes obvious in the description of Apess‘s childhood ordeals. Rejected by his parents, he grew up under the regiment of a cruel grandmother who almost battered him to death. Throughout his life, he struggled with the pitfalls of civilization, including severe bouts of alcoholism. Despite these obvious shortcomings in his personal development, Apess managed to fashion himself, according to his autobiography, into an agent of his own fate. It was not until the publication of his fifth book, Eulogy on King Philip, that he changed his name from Apes with one ‗s‘ to Apess with two ‗s‘s. There are many speculations why he did this, one being that he no longer wanted to be called ‗Apes.‘ 15 ―Nothing scarcely grieved me so much,‖ he writes in his life 14 In a document entitled ―Let Us Rule Ourselves‖ from May 1833, Apess declared: ―We say as the voice of one man that we are distressed and degraded daily by those men who we understand were appointed by your honors‖ (qtd. in Nielsen 1985: 408). For a discussion of Apess‘s references to the founding fathers and their ―radical strand of democratic republicanism,‖ see O‘Connell (1992: lxxiii). 15 On the genealogy of spelling William Apess‘s surname in various editions of his writings, see O‘Connell (1992: xiv). The American Revolution and Its Other 45 story, ―than to be called by a nick name‖ (Son 20-21). Like so many other Native Americans in the 1820s and 30s, Apess rejected the distorted images of Indians in the public rhetoric. In order to effectively fight these injustices, he felt he had to enter the system and change it from within. Thus, his writings constantly oscillate between resistance to and a tactical employment of the dominant rhetoric. Apess continuously condemned the evils committed in the name of Christianity. At the same time, he also celebrated his conversion to the white man‘s religion and especially his call to becoming a Methodist preacher (Son of the Forest 83). In his writings, Methodism also figures as a performative tool, particularly since the movement‘s concept of ‗sacred self-sovereignty‘ can be used to convey his egalitarian ideas. If God is immanent within every human being, there can be no distinction between the races. In this view, the Native Americans who suffer from racial injustices have very much in common with the American revolutionaries. Both engage in a passionate quest for recognition and also share a yearning for unrestricted freedom. In A Son of the Forest, Apess aptly captures the rebellious foundations of Methodism and deploys them for an argument in favor of Native American self-determination. Since his own conversion to Methodism is characterized as an act of performance, his fellow Christians figure as ―happy instruments in the hands of the Lord Jesus‖ (73). According to Apess, the Methodists have accomplished that ―which others have failed in performing‖ (73). Seeing himself in the tradition of George Whitefield, Apess believed in the dialogic qualities of Christianity, especially itinerant preaching and open-air sermons. Again, the element of performance is placed in the foreground. Apess‘s appropriation of the dominant discourse can be seen as an ironic compromise - a strategy of subverting ideology from within. Throughout his writings, Apess inverts racial stereotypes and replaces them with a vision of shared global identity. In this manner, he accentuates the ―social kindness of the Indians‖ (129) and praises their ability to enjoy the ordinary things in life. ―They seem to lead the most wretched life in the world; and yet they [are] perhaps the only happy people in the world‖ (130). Apess‘s construction of Indians as model individuals for U.S. society is connected to the second important strategy in early Native American resistance writing. I want to term this technique ―indigenous specularity.‖ By this, I mean a play with mirror images with the purpose of making the white man see the world with Native American eyes. In his pamphlet ―An Indian‘s Looking-Glass for the White Man,‖ Apess invokes the image of the mirror to challenge traditional ways of seeing. ―Assemble all nations together in your imagination,‖ he writes, and then let the whites be seated among them, and then let us look for the whites, and I doubt not it would be hard finding them; for to the rest of the Stefan L. Brandt 46 nations, they are still but a handful. Now suppose these skins were put together, and each skin had its national crimes written upon it - which skin do you think would have the greatest? (―Looking-Glass‖ 157) Apess here invites his white readers to reflect on their views and perceive the world with fresh eyes. Skin, he claims, is used in the white rhetoric as a ―pretext‖ to keep Native Americans from their ―unalienable and lawful rights‖ (156). ―I would ask you if you would like to be disfranchised from all your rights, merely because your skin is white […]? ‖ (ibid.). Once again, Apess holds a mirror up to the reader‘s eyes, a ―looking glass‖ as he puts it. This ‗looking glass,‘ Laura Donaldson observes, ―turns the power of representation back onto the alleged ‗civilizers.‘ In so doing […], the mirror mutates from a vehicle of mimicry into a much more active political instrument‖ (211). 16 By conjuring up the authority of the Bible, Apess‘s essay performatively exposes a contradiction between the self-proclaimed tenets of the Christian doctrine and the practice of racial discrimination. Apess thus playfully reverts the double-edged discourse of ―colonial specularity‖ (Bhabha 1994: 114), putting the white audience into the subject position of an Indian. In many ways, Apess‘s Indians function as the better Christians, even the better Americans, since only they embody the virtues of respect and true spirit. 17 Colonial Specularity and Native American Performativity in Sherman Alexie A more contemporary version of colonial specularity is presented in the writings of Sherman Alexie, a Native American author who grew up on the Spokane reservation in the state of Washington. Alexie openly plays with the established images regarding Native Americans, often referring to popular texts such as comic books or Hollywood films. In his collection of short stories, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, Alexie reanimates two well-known characters from American popular culture, a 16 The image of the mirror is central in numerous writings of Native American literature. Often the ‗mirror‘ stands for an act of self-recognition, but sometimes also for acts of misrecognition. In a crucial passage in Momaday‘s House Made of Dawn (1966), Abel, the Native American protagonist, and Angela, the rich white woman who seduces him, stand naked in front of a mirror, now functioning as a vehicle for the indigenous gaze: ―He could see her reflection, like a silhouette, in an oval mirror on the wall. When she faced him again, they were both naked‖ (57). Central passages from Louise Erdrich‘s Love Medicine (1984) revolve around mirrors that either reflect the characters‘ true personality or symbolize the shallowness of stereotyped perception (48, 78, 174, 190, 206, 221, 336). 17 In a crucial passage from A Son of the Forest, Apess compares the American settlers to the Indians, since both were feared by the British due to ―their art of war‖ (156). The American Revolution and Its Other 47 former law enforcement officer named ―The Lone Ranger‖ and his Native American sidekick Tonto. Together the two fight injustice in the Wild West. The Lone Ranger was a popular radio show in the 1930s and became a TV series in the 1950s. It has also been turned into a comic and has just very recently been filmed again. In the title-giving short story in the book 18 , Alexie humorously confronts his readers with some of the stereotypes regarding Native Americans. The first-person narrator seems haunted by the vision of himself as a blood-thirsty Indian. At the same time, he struggles for his own voice and rejects restrictive labels. In one of his nightmares, he dreams that his white girlfriend, with whom he constantly fights, is a missionary‘s wife and he himself a war chief. We fell in love and tried to keep it secret. But the missionary caught us fucking in the barn and shot me. As I lay dying, my tribe learned of the shooting and attacked the whites all across the reservation. I died and my soul drifted above the reservation. Disembodied, I could see everything that was happening. Whites killing Indians and Indians killing whites. (―LR‖ 186) Alexie‘s stories are full of ghostly images haunting the Native American protagonists. For the character in ―The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven,‖ it becomes impossible to distinguish between the real and the imaginary. ―How do you talk to the real person whose ghost has haunted you? ‖ (―LR‖ 189). The setting of most of Alexie‘s writings is a haunted city - Seattle, the largest city in the Pacific Northwest region of the States. Notably, Seattle was named after a famous Native American, Si‘al, a chief of the Duwamish tribe in the Washington territory, whose name was anglicized and then used for the city. Alexie repeatedly refers to the symbolic presence of Chief Seattle in the city named after him. In one of Alexie‘s novels, a character notes that the Indian still haunts the city because his bones were supposedly lost somewhere in the urban labyrinth (IK 140). 19 In ―The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven‖ one protagonist laments that the city is in a way cursed from the Native American perspective. ―Indians can reside in the city [of Seattle], but they can never live there‖ (―LR‖ 187). The reason for this inability to live in Seattle is apparently because Chief Seattle‘s ghost is still lurking in the city. Alexie needs the spectral figure of Chief Seattle to endow his narratives with a sense of density. Like Pocahontas and Geronimo, Chief Seattle has been transformed into an icon of the white imagination, especially in light of a speech he gave to Governor Stevens in March of 1854 where 18 Henceforth, Alexie‘s story ―The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven‖ will be abbreviated as ―LR.‖ 19 In all further references to Indian Killer, I will use the abbreviation IK. Stefan L. Brandt 48 he allegedly mourned the ecological destruction of his homeland and encouraged Indians and whites to respect each other. Chief Seattle actually gave that speech, but he held it in the Lushootseed language. Someone transferred the words into the Chinook dialect, and a third person crafted an English translation. Years later, another English version of the speech was put together based on these fragments and published in 1891. Today, at least four versions of the speech exist. In one of them, Chief Seattle refers to ―railroads‖ (qtd. in Utter 1991: 124), although they did not exist in the Washington Territory in 1854. There is also mention of ―the slaughter of the buffalo‖ (ibid.), although there were no buffaloes in the area and Si‘al probably never encountered one in his entire life. He and his people lived on fishing. Despite these obvious inconsistencies regarding their historical accuracy, the surviving segments of Chief Seattle‘s speech seemed significant enough to be reconstructed in the 1970s as an example of early ecological consciousness. An especially drastic version of Seattle as a place of colonial specularity, eerily haunted by its Native American ancestry, can be found in Sherman Alexie‘s book Indian Killer. In this very controversial novel, referred to by Alexie himself as a ―feel good novel about interracial murder‖ (Egan 1998), the city is terrorized by a serial killer who massacres and scalps his white victims and embellishes the corpses with owl feathers. The main characters in this bizarre tale of revenge and blood-thirst are the following: John Smith, a 27-year old construction worker born to Navajo Indians but raised by white parents, who struggles with his complicated cultural background and soon emerges as a prime suspect; Marie, a beautiful civil rights activist and Spokane Indian from the University of Washington who feels distanced from her tribe; Jack Wilson, an expoliceman and writer who claims to be half-Indian and who writes the ‗book-within-the-book‘ novel Indian Killer; and Dr. Clarence Mather, a professor of Native American Studies, a ―wannabe Indian‖ (58) who brags about having been adopted by a Lakota Sioux family as a child. It is the white professor, an utterly unlikable character, who stylizes the mysterious Indian Killer into a ―creation of capitalism‖ (245) and a ―revolutionary construct‖ (ibid.). For enthusiasts of traditional ‗Whodunit‘ mysteries, Indian Killer proves quite disappointing since the actual killer is never exposed. The novel continually plays with the notion of John Smith being the Indian Killer (―John needed to kill a white man‖ 25), but we never learn whether John‘s homicidal anger is just a fantasy or whether it leads to an actual murder. Instead, we are left in the book‘s finale with the unsettling image of the anonymous Indian Killer decorating himself with birds‘ feathers and dancing on the graves in an Indian cemetery with the ghosts of his forefathers. This rather open ending was criticized by Arnold Krupat, one of the most acknowledged scholars of American Indian fiction, as evi- The American Revolution and Its Other 49 dence for Alexie‘s ―Red Nationalist rougetude‖ (2002: 115). 20 The fact that the killer remains unpunished in the novel, Krupat argues, suggests that acts of vengeance on the side of Native Americans can be deemed legitimate. According to Krupat, the novel encourages American Indians to express ―anger, rage, and a desire for murderous revenge‖ instead of suppressing or channeling them ―into other possible action‖ (2002: 103). The aesthetics of Alexie‘s novel, however, goes beyond a simplistic endorsement of retaliation against whites. Far from serving as a pamphlet encouraging Indians to avenge the century-long genocide of their people, Indian Killer can be interpreted as a mirror fantasy, exposing a situation that Native Americans and other people with an ethnic background had to suffer for centuries — being ostracized and persecuted simply because of the color of their skin. 21 Therefore, the novel‘s Indian Killer has to remain a specter, without race and, we might add, without gender. He or she may well not be a Native American, white or black or of any other ethnic background. It is the fantasy of a murderous past rooted in American history that haunts the city of Seattle in Alexie‘s book. In a story from The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, we are confronted with a similar Indian revenge tale that involves the notorious General Custer, who was famously defeated in the Battle of Little Bighorn by an alliance of the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho tribes (under the guidance of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse 22 ). In the narrative, it is the Indians who maraud and pillage white settlements. ―Last night we burned another house. The Tribal Council has ruled that anything to do with the whites has to be destroyed‖ (―Distances‖ 105). Likewise, Indian Killer narrates its tale of racial revenge as a fantasy of performance. The settings in which the acts of vengeance are staged seem exaggerated and almost fantastic in their dramatic composition. In one 20 Krupat uses the concept of rougetude (e.g., the proud insistence on a common indigenous identity) to identify what he calls ―‗racist‘ politics‖ in Indian Killer (2002: 116). As opposed to the idea of négritude from literary movements of the 1930s, denoting ―African essentialism‖ (Krupat 2002: 115), Alexie‘s rougetude is based upon the assumption that there is and should be a mixing of the races. However, this mixing is subsumed in the novel under the ―complex experience of being an Indian‖ (ibid.), thus insisting on the generic nature of the category ‗Indian.‘ 21 Other texts designed as ethnic ‗mirror fantasies‘ include Stephen King‘s horror novel Pet Sematary (1983) which is mainly set near the burial ground of a Native American tribe, and Michael Wadleigh‘s thriller Wolfen (1981), in which a group of Native Americans terrorizes the city of New York City by transforming into ferocious animals. Wolfen makes reference to the Native American past of the New York area which was owned by the Lenape tribe until 1626. 22 In Indian Killer, the mysterious title-giving character is associated with Crazy Horse. ―It was Crazy Horse,‖ one of the minor figures speculates, ―And he‘s more. This Indian Killer, you see, he‘s got Crazy Horse‘s magic. He‘s got Chief Joseph‘s brains. He‘s got Geronimo‘s heart. […] He‘s all those badass Indians rolled up into one‖ (IK 219). Significantly, one of the short stories from The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven is titled ―Crazy Horse Dreams.‖ Stefan L. Brandt 50 especially striking passage, Christopher Columbus is employed as an actor in a time-travel fantasy concocted by an elderly Duwamish Indian named Carlotta Lott. ―I‘ve got me a time machine,‖ Carlotta tells the protagonist John Smith, And I can show you how to use it. You can go back to that beach where Columbus first landed, you know? You can wait there for him, hidden in the sand or something. C-a-m-o-u-f-l-a-g-e. And when he gets on the sand, you can jump out of hiding and show him some magic, enit? Good magic, bad magic, it‘s all the same. (IK 253-254) Carlotta‘s bizarre tale is framed by her explanations that Indians were deceived and exploited by the first white settlers: ―We‘ve been good to white people, enit? When they first came here, we was good to them, wasn‘t we? […] And what did they do? They killed us‖ (IK 253). The act of striking back is vested in the implausible pattern of a science-fiction story, with only superficial resemblance to real (or even historical) events - especially given the fact that the novel is set in the state of Washington, some 5000 kilometers from the ―beach where Columbus first landed‖ (IK 253), namely the island of San Salvador on the Bahamas. Embedded in the sketchy anecdote of Indians going back in time and confronting the perpetrator Columbus is the idea of performance, or ―camouflage‖ (IK 254), as Alexie puts it. 23 This imaginary revenge is initially not more than a mind game that has not yet passed a reality check. When Carlotta asks John if he wants to actually see the ―time machine‖ (IK 253) she has just told him about, he answers ―Yes,‖ but the old lady‘s hand, with which she apparently offers him the device, is empty. All he is left with is the rusty paring knife from a dumpster Carlotta gave him as a present before she told him the Columbus tale. ―John stared at Carlotta‘s empty hand, and then at the knife in his own hand, and understood‖ (IK 254). What he apparently understands at this moment is the notion that he still has to perform a ‗magic‘ transfer (the word ‗magic‘ is used nine times in only two pages) from the abstract realm of fiction to the dirty reality of everyday life. The disappearance of the imaginary ‗time machine‘ into thin air after Carlotta‘s narration and the simultaneous materialization of the knife suggests a similar move to that performed in the novel‘s ending, when the still anonymous Indian Killer dances with the owls. The violence the Indian Killer epitomizes is at once there and not there. The knife 23 As far as the ideas of performance and performativity are concerned, Alexie‘s narratives strongly resonate with other texts written during and after the Native American Renaissance. Momaday‘s House Made of Dawn (1966) is permeated by the notion of indigenous songs accompanying and shaping the protagonist‘s actions (53, 129, 164, 185). Silko‘s Ceremony (1977) revolves around performances of dancing through which Native American knowledge and history (or the loss thereof) are conveyed (10, 116, 165-166). The American Revolution and Its Other 51 and the fire are physical manifestations but also richly filled with references to the world of fiction and mythology. Another point of reference in Indian Killer, linking mythology and social reality, is the connection to John Ford‘s western The Searchers (1956), after which a whole chapter in the book is named (IK 319-321). In Ford‘s movie, John Wayne plays the Civil War veteran Ethan Edwards attempting to locate his missing niece who was abducted as a child by Indians. Ethan‘s hatred of people of different skin color is mirrored by the raging obsession of his Native American counterpart, chief Scar. Notably, one of the characters in Indian Killer, the mixed-race youngster Reggie, imitates this entanglement of racial hatred by declaring sympathy with the Indian-hating white character played by John Wayne. ―I understand what John Wayne is feeling. How would you feel if some white people kidnapped an Indian kid? I‘d cut them all into pieces‖ (IK 320). Thus, the movie‘s oscillation between the white Indian-hater Ethan and the Native American white-hater Scar is effectively transferred to the level of Alexie‘s novel, in which racial hatred also crosses the lines of skin color. 24 Alexie‘s characters are deeply entrenched in a net of self-fulfilling prophecies and media-created images that produce a reality they purport to merely depict. Alexie‘s Native American and white characters seem both guided by such medial constructions, from Cowboys-and-Indians comic books to mainstream television series and Hollywood blockbusters. One protagonist in the short story ―The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven‖ tries to solve his personal problems by watching television day and night, carefully absorbing all the colorful images provided by the small screen. ―For weeks I flipped through channels, searched for answers in the game shows and soap operas‖ (―LR‖ 187). Equally, in Indian Killer, the writer Jack Wilson seeks inspiration for his major work, titled Indian Killer, from various media which he haphazardly peruses. ―The writing had always come easy to him before, but he could barely manage to write a few paragraphs of Indian Killer before he had to stand up, stretch, read a magazine, watch television‖ (IK 337). It is precisely those media that the hateful images directed against Native Americans seem to come from. The right-wing radio host Truck Schultz, an emblematic character in Alexie‘s novel, employs the sentiment generated by the Indian Killer panic to further his own purposes. Talking himself into a rage, Schultz adds fuel to the fire by exploiting the anger against Native Americans. ―It‘s true, citizens, it‘s true. We should have terminated Indian tribes from the very beginning. Indians should have been assimilated into normal society long ago‖ (IK 209). ―Now,‖ he goes on, ―we should find this Indian Killer, give him a fair and speedy trial, and then hang him by the neck until he is dead‖ (ibid.). And as if this did not already reflect the 24 For a detailed reading of the structural parallels between Alexie‘s novel Indian Killer and Ford‘s western The Searchers, see George Mariani‘s essay. Stefan L. Brandt 52 common stereotype of the ‗only good Indian being a dead one,‘ Schultz cheers himself into the climax of his speech: ―Yes, citizens, to paraphrase one of our great military leaders, Philip Sheridan, the only good Indian Killer is a dead Indian Killer‖ (ibid.). It is through Alexie‘s subtle sense of sarcasm that the stereotypes commonly attributed to American Indians are debunked in the novel‘s aesthetics. Instead, the reader is positioned into the role of subaltern, wondering how she/ he would react to the systemic racism and exclusory politics of an antagonistic environment. In the narrative construction of Indian Killer, established codes of representation are replaced by a more complex, however strongly ambiguous, image in which Native American agency and performativity emerge as key devices of identification. Conclusion: Sacheen Littlefeather and the Eloquence of Silence In the course of their histories, television, radio, and cinema have all created stereotypical images of Native Americans, silencing efforts to speak about the genocide of indigenous populations. In 1973, Hollywood actor Marlon Brando refused to accept the Academy Award for The Godfather in a spectacular gesture and instead sent a spokesperson from the American Indian Movement 25 to utter his criticism: Sacheen Littlefeather, a Native American civil rights activist, who had already participated in the occupation of Alcatraz Island by protesters in 1969 and the uprising at Wounded Knee on February 27, 1973. In her widely-discussed appearance at the Academy Awards ceremony on March 27, 1973, Littlefeather explicitly pointed to the negative portrayal of Indians in Hollywood films being the main reason for Brando‘s rejection of the Oscar. Originally, the civil-rights activist wanted to read out a 15-page statement by Brando, but was stopped by the producers, who threatened to have her arrested if she spoke longer than 60 seconds. Ironically enough, this unprecedented act of protest is anticipated in a short speech of one of the show‘s presenters, Swedish actress Liv Ullman. By way of announcing the next recipient of the trophy, which happened to be Littlefeather replacing Brando, Ullman quoted the phrase that ―often to be most eloquent is to be silent‖ (―Marlon Brando's Oscar® Win‖: 0: 05-0: 08 mins). Littlefeather did not quite follow the advice given by Ullman, talking for over a minute about the ―treatment of American Indians today by the film industry […] and on television, in movie-reruns‖ (ibid.: 1: 35- 1: 54). The organizers of the Academy Awards ceremonies learned their 25 For an analysis of the American Indian Movement as a significant grassroots movement in the 1970s, see Dan Berger‘s recent study Struggle Within (2014). See also Churchill and Wall (2002). The American Revolution and Its Other 53 own lesson from this incident, prohibiting proxy acceptances of awards for all future times. I have argued in my essay that the lens of performance theory offers an apt instrument for a postcolonial reading of Native American literature and culture. In William Apess‘s and Sherman Alexie‘s writings, indigenous resistance is subtly communicated through the vehicle of performance, based upon the authors‘ ironic adaptation of the dominant rhetoric and their masterly play with audience expectations. The rebellious gestures of these texts are underscored and intensified by the devices of mimicry and specularity, that is, by the modes of imitation and reflection. It is through these strategies that the underlying statements of the texts concerning Native American empowerment and retribution can come to life in the dynamics of the texts. The literary theorist Arnold Krupat has claimed that Apess aspires to be the ―licensed speaker of a dominant voice,‖ who merely imitates the colonizer‘s discourse (1989: 148). In contrast, I have contended that, through the rhetorical means of appropriation and reflection, Apess transcends the discourse of colonization and effectively articulates a formerly subjugated voice. Moreover, he encourages us to share this voice and accept it as ours. By the same token, Sherman Alexie offers us a mirror image of dominant prejudices, assumptions and fears regarding Indians. The force of stereotypes is broken in his writings by a distinctly ironic viewpoint. The ‗eloquence of silence‘ demanded from Sacheen Littlefeather is transformed in a typical Alexie text into a performative spectacle, in which repressed feelings and emotions are allowed to come to the surface verbally. It is by means of a frivolous staging of rage and revenge fantasies that the protagonists learn to cope with the tremendous injustice of everyday cultural and political practice. And it is with these voices that the impulse of resistance to white dominion in U.S. American society is articulated and strengthened. References Alexie, Sherman (1993a). ―Crazy Horse Dreams.‖ The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. New York: Grove Press. 37-42. Alexie, Sherman (1993b). ―Distances.‖ The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. New York: Grove Press. 104-109. Alexie, Sherman (1993c). ―The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven.‖ The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. New York: Grove Press. 181-190. Alexie, Sherman (1996). Indian Killer. New York: Grove Press. Apess, William (1831). A Son of the Forest, the Experience of William Apes, a Native of the Forest, Written by Himself. [1829]. New York: G.F. Bynce. Apess, William (1836). Eulogy on King Philip, as Pronounced at the Odeon, in Federal Street. Boston: Published by the Author. Apess, William (1992). ―An Indian‘s Appeal to the White Men of Massachusetts.‖ [Dec. 19, 1833]. On Our Own Ground. Ed. B. O‘Connell. Amherst: Univ. of Massachusetts. 205. Stefan L. Brandt 54 Apess, William (1992a). ―An Indian‘s Looking-Glass for the White Man.‖ [1833]. On Our Own Ground. Ed. B. O‘Connell. Amherst: Univ. of Massachusetts. 155- 161. 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(2000). ―Son of the Forest, Child of God: William Apess and the Scene of Postcolonial Nativity.‖ Postcolonial America. Ed. C. Richard King. Urbana and Chicago: Univ. of Illinois Press. 201-222. Egan, Timothy (1998). ―An Indian without Reservations.‖ The New York Times Magazine. Jan. 18. [online] http: / / www.nytimes.com/ 1998/ 01/ 18/ magazine/ an-indian-without-reservations.html. [Accessed 4 Apr. 2017] Erdrich, Louise (1984). Love Medicine. Rev. ed. London: Flamingo. ―Genocide - Poverty - Hunger… No Thanks No Giving.‖ [online] https: / / me.me/ i/ genocide-poverty-hunger-no-thanks-no-giving-what-are-you- 4667963. [Accessed 6 Apr. 2017] Hinds, Janie (2004). ―Deb‘s Dogs: Animals, Indians, and Postcolonial Desire in Charles Brockden Brown‘s Edgar Huntly.‖ Early American Literature 39.2. 323- 354. King, Stephen (1983). Pet Sematary. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. King, Thomas (1993). ―A Seat in the Garden.‖ One Good Story, That One. Toronto: HarperCollins. 83-94. King, Thomas (1993). Green Grass, Running Water. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. The American Revolution and Its Other 55 King, Thomas (2013). The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America. Anchor Canada. Krupat, Arnold (2002). Red Matters. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Krupat, Arnold (1998). The Turn to the Native: Studies in Criticism & Culture. 1996. Lincoln and London: Univ. of Nebraska Press. Krupat, Arnold (1989). The Voice in the Margin: Native American Literature and the Canon. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press. The Lone Ranger (2013). Dir. Gore Verbinski. Perf. Johnny Depp, Armie Hammer, Tom Wilkinson, William Fichtner, Barry Pepper. Walt Disney Pictures. Mariani, George (2011). ―Negotiating Violence and Identity in Sherman Alexie‘s Indian Killer.‖ fiar: forum for inter-american research. 4.2. Special issue ―Indigenous America - América Indígena.‖ [online] interamericaonline.org/ volume-4-2/ mariani/ . [Accessed 27 February 2017] ―Marlon Brando's Oscar® Win for The Godfather.‖ [online] http: / / www.you tube.com/ watch? v=2QUacU0I4yU. [Accessed 2 Apr. 2017] Melville, Herman (1992). Moby Dick. [1851] Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics. ―Mimicry.‖ Oxford English Dictionary. [online] http: / / www.oed.com/ view/ Entry/ 118659? redirected From=mimicry#eid. [Accessed 5 Apr. 2017] Momaday, N. Scott (2000). House Made of Dawn. [1966]. New York: Harper. Moon, Randall (1993). ―William Apess and Writing White.‖ Studies in American Indian Literatures 5.4. 45-54. Murray, David (1991). Forked Tongues: Speech, Writings, and Representation in North American Indian Texts. London: Pinter Publishers. Nagel, Joane (1995). ―American Indian Ethnic Renewal: Politics and the Resurgence of Identity.‖ American Sociological Review 60.6. 947-965. Nielsen, Donald M. (1985) ―The Mashpee Indian Revolt of 1833.‖ The New England Quarterly 58.3. 400-420. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1969). On the Genealogy of Morals. 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Schueller, Malini Johar (Ed.) (2003). Messy Beginnings: Postcoloniality and Early American Studies. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers Univ. Press. The Searchers (1956). Dir. John Ford. Perf. John Wayne, Jeffrey Hunter, Vera Miles, Ward Bond, Natalie Wood. Warner Brothers. DVD. Silko, Leslie Marmon (1992). Almanac of the Dead: A Novel. [1991]. New York: Penguin Books. Stefan L. Brandt 56 Silko, Leslie Marmon (1997). Ceremony. New York: Penguin Books. Smith, John (1632). The Generall Historie of Virginia, New-England, and the Summer Isles. London: Edward Blackmore. ―Specular.‖ Oxford English Dictionary. [online] http: / / www.oed.com/ view/ Entry/ 186108? redirectedFrom=specular#eid. [Accessed 6 Apr. 2017] Utter, Jack (1991). American Indians: Answers to Today‟s Questions. Norman: Univ. of Oklahoma Press. Vizenor, Gerald (1999). Manifest Manners: Narratives on Postindian Survivance. 1994. Lincoln/ London: Univ. of Nebraska Press. 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Brandt Institut für Amerikanistik Universität Graz On Contested History and the Contemporary Social Order in Australian Indigenous Poetry Danica Čerče In the light of the recent emergence of the field of critical whiteness studies in Australia and its new perspective on issues that have occupied postcolonial literary studies over the last four decades, this article examines the impact of Australian indigenous literature on the white reader. In particular, it aims to show that, in its overt objection to institutional and historical processes which maintain the entitlement and disavowal of whiteness on the one hand, and the concomitant political, economic and cultural subordination of indigenous Australians on the other, the poetry of Romaine Moreton and Alf Taylor destabilises assumptions about the authority and entitlement of white colonisers. In this sense, the article provides additional evidence that works of art have the capacity to either reinforce structures of domination and suppression of ―inferior races and cultures‖ or produce critical disruptions and generate alternative worlds (Levine 2000: 383). Introduction As one of the traditions of the new post-colonial literatures in English that have been described as ―writing back‖ to the literary traditions of empire (Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin 1989), Australian indigenous literature challenges the concept of European literary subjectivity (Lipsitz 1995) and the concomitant positioning of indigenous people as ―colonial subalterns,‖ a category that - according to Walter Mignolo - refers to those positioned outside European categories of proficiency and identity, and foregrounds racialised oppression and exploitation (Mignolo 2004: 386, 381, cf. Brewster 2008). With Anne Brewster, this description of Australian indigenous literature suggests that a ―postcolonial liberal Australia maintains a dominance without hegemony in relation to its colonial AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Danica Čerče 58 subalterns, a constituency that […] has never ‗ceded sovereignty‘‖ (2008: 60). It is true that Australian Aborigines were given civic rights in 1968, but the new legislation did not ―erase all inequalities‖ (Wimmer 2009: 113) and indigenous communities continued to suffer severe social and economic hardship. Their protest was manifested in the form of activism and writing. Indeed, with its political agenda focused on land rights and cultural self-determination, this literature, written in English in order to be heard in a form recognisable to British authority, has provided an important impetus for indigenous peoples' cultural and political expression (Heiss and Minter 2008: 2). However, as recently as the early 1970s, indigenous Australian authors were marginalised voices in Australian literary studies. With the exception of some critically acclaimed works such as those by prose writers David Unaipon and Sally Morgan, poets Oodgeroo Noonuccal and Lionel Fogarty, and playwrights Kevin Gilbert and Jack Davis, there were very few ―celebrated Aboriginals‖ (Wheeler 2013: 1). Although the success of these authors attained in the face of colonial pressure motivated several other indigenous Australians to share their thoughts and feelings, it was not until the Commonwealth Bicentenary celebrations in 1988 that the wider Australian public showed an interest in this literature and culture. 1 This resulted in a veritable outburst of indigenous Australians‘ expression in various genres, including autobiography, fiction, poetry, film, drama and music. Poetry has attracted more indigenous Australians than any other mode of creative expression. Poets like Oodgeroo Noonuccal, Lionel Fogarty, Kevin Gilbert, Mudrooroo Narodin, Jack Davis, Romaine Moreton, Alf Taylor, Lisa Bellear, Jeanine Leane, among others, have used this medium to forge new possibilities for conveying their political ideas. Drawing on Christopher Fynsk‘s 1991 observation that ―literature addresses an anonymous collective, but it convokes us as singular beings‖ (xxviii), this essay discusses the affective impact of Romaine Moreton and Alf Taylor‘s hard-hitting reflections on the political, economic and cultural subordination of Australian indigenous peoples. In this sense, and taking up George Levine‘s view that works of art not only had ―a deep implication in the politics of Western imperialism and the suppression of ‗inferior‘ races and cultures,‖ but also displayed a clear capacity ―to disrupt the exercise of power‖ (2000: 383-4), this discussion will show that the two authors‘ work, like the work of other contemporary indigenous poets, has played an important role in generating what Mignolo calls ―de-colonial thought‖ (2004: 391; cf. Brewster 2008) and contributed to improving the social and economic conditions of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in Australia. 1 In that year, nationwide demonstrations led by indigenous authors and activists were held. Australian Indigenous Poetry 59 Adam Shoemaker is probably right to claim that ―if there is any ‗school of Black Australian poetry‘, it is one of social protest,‖ arguing that ―most Aboriginal poets reject the art for art‘s sake argument and feel that their work have at least some social utility‖ (1989: 201, 180). Indeed, in accordance with Michael Lipsky‘s definition of protest activity as a ―mode of political action oriented toward objection to one or more policies or conditions‖ (1968: 1145), much of contemporary indigenous poetry is characterised by ―political or social critique in objecting to the conditions of indigenous people‘s minoritisation‖ (Brewster 2008: 61), i.e. to cultural and political domination and disenfranchisement by white Australians. Another essential aspect of protest poetry is its capacity ―to offer revelations of social worlds […] to which readers respond with shock, concern, sometimes political questioning‖ (Coles 1986: 677). As this study will also show, Australian indigenous poetry and the poetry of Moreton and Taylor in particular, is capable of having the maximum effect on the readers. I will begin with Moreton, given that her poetry is more radical than Taylor‘s. On the Invisibility of Indigenous Australians in the Poetry of Romaine Moreton Addressing a multitude of pressing social justice issues by exposing the institutional and historical processes and logics that have maintained political, economic and cultural subordination of Aboriginal people, the poetry of Romaine Moreton figures perhaps among the most penetrating fictional indictment of colonisation in Australia (cf. Brewster 2008, 2009, Russo 2005, Čerče 2010). Moreton‘s angle of vision, coupled with the anger and generative urgency, has made her work very popular with a huge participatory audience. She achieves the maximum affective impact by employing various poetic structures, such as rhetorical questions, direct address to the reader, satirical antitheses and repetitions, which all invite the readers‘ active participation through emotional identification and their subsequent conversion. Her verse engages white and other nonindigenous publics in ―a reassessment of history, an enquiry into contemporary cultural and economic inequality, and a scrutiny of white privilege, entitlement and denial‖ (Brewster 2008: 68). Thus ―The first sin,‖ one of many poems that perform this function by pointing to the political, institutional and cultural reproduction of white privilege on the one hand, and the invisibility of indigenous people on the other, begins: He was guilty of the first sin - Being Black He was sentenced very early in life - Danica Čerče 60 At birth and only substances appeased his pangs of guilt. (Moreton et al. 2000: 3) 2 Clearly, Moreton sees black life in Australia as inherently political. As she puts it in one poem, ―It ain‘t easy being black / this kinda livin‘ is all political‖ (2004: 111). Despite her awareness of the general unappreciative attitude to engaged writing, she continues to view her verse primarily as a site of resistance: ―To create works that do not deal with the morbid and mortal effects of racism for one, and the beauty of indigenous culture for another, would be for me personally, to produce works that are farcical (Moreton 2001: 1). Moreton has shown her objection to the social and political marginalisation of Black Australians, and her Goenpul nation in particular, by writing poetry, performing her verse, and making films. 3 However, and despite the compelling nature of her work, she is not yet widely known in the field of indigenous literary studies. Perhaps this is because her output has been comparatively slight, speculates Brewster (2009: 109). Her poems are collected in three books, The Callused Stick of Wanting (1995), Post Me to the Prime Minister (2004), and Poems from a Homeland (2012). She is represented in several anthologies of Australian indigenous writing, such as Rimfire: Poetry from Aboriginal Australia (2000), Untreated: Poems by Black Writers (2001) and the Macquarie PEN Anthology of Aboriginal Literature (2008). Her performance poetry (or spoken word poetry) has been included in two compilations of Indigenous music, Fresh Salt (2002) and Sending a Message (2002). Protest is not the only dynamic of Moreton‘s poetry, but is the main one. Aroused by both her anger at those inflicting injustice on other people and her affection for those experiencing the inhumanity of racial subordination, Moreton unrelentingly exposes and condemns the brutalising effects of the Crown‘s acquisition of 1770, which made sovereign Aboriginal land terra nullius and Aboriginal peoples vox nullius (Heiss and Minter 2008: 2). The poet reflects on incarceration, deaths in custody, child removal, high infant mortality rates, low life expectancy, suicide, poverty and similar socio-economic issues concerning contemporary indigenous Australians. The poem ―You are Black,‖ for example, abounds in references to the injustices Black communities have had to endure under the white settlers‘ dominance. It begins in the manner of English mockepic poetry and proceeds by piling on fact after fact about flagrant viola- 2 All quotations from Moreton's collection The Callused Stick of Wanting refer to the anthology Rimfire: Poetry from Aboriginal Australia (Magabala Books, 2000). In addition to Moreton‘s collection (1-71), the anthology includes Alf Taylor‘s Singer Songwriter (72-137) and Michael J. Smith‘s Calling Through (138-171). 3 Moreton‘s film work includes Cherish (1997), Redreaming the Dark (1988), and A Walk with Words (2000), which won the 2000 award for the best international short film at the World of Women Film Festival. Australian Indigenous Poetry 61 tions of the native Australians‘ civil and human rights, and their loss of dignity through threats, reprisals and violence. If you are oppressed in any way, you are Black. If you are a woman who loves women or a man who loves men, you are Black. If it is that people do not accept you simply for what you do, you are Black. If they do not accept that their God is not yours or yours is not theirs, and would want to crucify, you are Black. (Moreton et al. 2000: 55) In very much the same vein, Moreton reflects in ―Genocide is never justified,‖ in which she signals her moral outrage and outright disapproval already in the poem‘s title. Her fusion of intimate narrative sentences with a set of rhetorical questions reinforces the symphonic quality of the poem, with voices overlapping, complementing or opposing each other. The opening part reads: And the past was open to gross misinterpretation. Why do the sons and daughters of the raped and murdered deserve any more or any less than those who have prospered from the atrocities of heritage? And why do the sons and daughters refuse to reap what was sown from bloodied soil? And why does history ignore their existence? (Moreton et al. 2000: 31) The poem is a powerful protest against the practices of white colonisers. Characterised by a direct manner of writing, which gains poignancy by the ironic subtleties of her statements, the poem exposes key social injustices, including the tyranny of oppression and abuse, arrogance of power, poverty, and wilful destruction of indigenous peoples. Although not an autobiographical confession, the poem is acutely personal; it is a harrowing cry against all the forms of suppression and victimisation of the people who lived in Australia for thousands of years before the white settlement. ―Who was here first is not the question anymore‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 31), continues Moreton‘s hard-hitting exposure of social injustices, suggesting at least the recognition of oppression by majority Australians 4 : 4 In her 2003 interview with Andrew Ford, Moreton says that the most the indigenous population can hope for at the moment is that the emotional impact of colo- Danica Čerče 62 It is what you have done since you arrived, the actions you refuse to admit to, the genocide you say you never committed! ‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 31) A startling effect is achieved by finally pointing to the indigenous peoples‘ spiritual and emotional depth. This inherent quality has not only helped them survive in a hostile, morally decayed and emotionally sterile white environment, Moreton suggests at the end of this deeply felt elegy, but also distinguishes them from it. Several other poems also humanise indigenous Australians and attack atrocities carried out in the name of ―civilising the uncivilised,‖ as Moreton ironically refers to the inhuman practices of those who ―elect[ed] themselves as the supremacist race‖ in the poem ―What kind of people‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 45). ―What kind of people would kick the heads off babies / or rip at the stomach of the impregnated, / as would a ravaged wolf,‖ she continues in her disdainful address to apathetic readers, who repudiate any suggestion that their ancestors were capable of ―such murderous feats‖ (Ibid.). The poem proceeds in true Moreton fashion, compiling a catalogue of evidence to show the inhumanity of racial subordination. ―Are you beautiful today,‖ a poem included in Moreton‘s second collection (Post Me to the Prime Minister, 2004), mobilises the rhetorical strategies of argument and critique on the one hand, and poetic effects on the other. It opens: Are you beautiful today? Are your children safe and well? Brother, mother, sister too? I merely ask so you can tell. (Moreton 2004: 29) It is through such a conversational tone and direct address to the reader that Moreton establishes the textual illusion of a discourse and dramatises the inter-racial encounter (cf. Brewster 2008, 2009). With a series of satirical antitheses that elaborate a contrastive picture of the speaker‘s family, affected by the struggle to cope with difficult circumstances, and that of the addressee, a white woman with an apparent position of privilege and economic comfort, Moreton provides for an insight into the asymmetry of racial relationships and reveals the tensions underlying the relationships between white and black Australians. I laugh with my sisters and brothers at things that others wouldn‘t get nisation will be at least acknowledged by the non-indigenous population if it cannot be fully understood. Australian Indigenous Poetry 63 while talkin‘ ‗bout jail while talkin‘ ‗bout death. (Moreton 2004: 29) The repetition of a one-sided inquiry into the addressee‘s well-being foregrounds the absence of a response, pointing to the ―absence of responsiveness‖ in contemporary Australian culture and politics to the ongoing material deprivation and suffering of indigenous Australians (Brewster 2008, 66, cf. Wheeler 2013, Wimmer 2009, Heiss and Minter 2008). It has to be borne in mind that it was not until February 2008 that the Prime Minister Kevin Rudd opened a new chapter in Australia‘s relations with its indigenous peoples by making a comprehensive apology for the past policies, which had - in the Prime Minister‘s words - ―inflicted profound grief, suffering and loss‖ (Johnston 2008: 3) on fellow Australians. The indigenous response to the failure of multiculturalism‘s proclaimed mutual understanding is crying-laughter, established by the oscillation between the tonality of despair, anger and hilarity. Several forceful contrasts (e.g. ―complacency/ poverty,‖ ―health/ death,‖ ―peace/ distress‖) provide for a sense of farce. True to Andrew Ford‘s observation that Moreton‘s poetry ―packs a punch‖ (2003: 6), this can be found at the end of the poem, where the repetition of the catch phrase reminds us of the indigenous peoples‘ continuing poverty and neglect, resulting in high mortality rates. Are you beautiful today? your brother, mother, sister, too? are you well clothed and well fed? and are they alive and well not dead? (Moreton 2004: 29) Despite the seeming darkness of much of Moreton‘s verse, the poet‘s conception of art is not pessimistic, and her thorny plight is often brightened with instances of hope and optimism. In ―Time for Dreaming,‖ for example, she alludes to the passing of white supremacy by addressing the reader with the words: ―Do not wonder about the ways of the whiteman / for they have already run their course‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 1). The poem ―My tellurian grandfather,‖ too, ends on an optimistic tone, pointing to the native Australians‘ capacity for survival in a hostile world: ―[…] you can put the flame out / […] but there will always be fire‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 29). It is not hard by now to see that, despite her overt social criticism, which has had an important role in destabilising the white Australians‘ position of privilege, Moreton is a very ingenious and creative author who relies heavily on her Aboriginality for texture, diction and rhythm. Danica Čerče 64 The discussion that follows will show that the same applies to Alf Taylor, a Western Australian Nyoongah poet and writer. 5 His writing, too, functions to ―unsettle whiteness‖ (Brewster 2009: 118) or create what Wendy Brady calls ―a zone of discomfort around notions of what it means in contemporary Australia to be black‖ (Andrew 1998). The Indictment of Colonisation in Alf Taylor’s Verse Growing up in the Spanish Benedictine Mission at New Norcia, Taylor represents an older generation of writers, the members of the ‗Stolen Generation.‘ As a poet, Taylor has published two collections, Singer Songwriter (1992) and Winds (1994). His short fiction is collected in Long Time Now (2001). He seems to have turned to poetry for various reasons, including his desire to cope with the traumas of racial suppression and his painful upbringing: ―Only love / And / The pen / Can quell / This flame / That / Burns within,‖ he writes in the poem ―This Flame‖ (Taylor 1994: 39). For him, writing seems to have become a kind of sustaining addiction, a way of establishing his personal and economic identity and, above all, a necessary condition of existence. ―Now I can talk about the life of the child, and I‘m free of hurt, free of resentments, regrets […]. In other words, bearing a grudge,‖ he told Anne Brewster, when she interviewed him for the 2007 Aboriginal History journal (170). Although writing has made him comfortable in the social and emotional spheres of ordinary life and provided therapeutic value for him, it would be wrong to believe that he deals only with experiences of being Aboriginal. In addition to chronicling the suffering of his peoples and their capacity to survive in a hostile environment, Taylor examines the omnipresent themes of love, friendship, human joy and anguish. As Philip Morrissey notes in his introduction to Winds, ―Taylor presents us with an Aboriginal subject […] bound by a network of affective webs to family, lovers, places and strangers‖ (1994: vii). In contrast with his short fiction, which is tinted with humour, 6 his verse is often pervaded by a spirit of sadness and sometimes even despair. This is particularly true of poems dealing with such typical factors of Aboriginal life as solitude, isolation and loss. 5 I met Taylor at the University of Western Australia in 2007, while he was working on the manuscript of his life story ―God, the Devil and Me.‖ Excerpts from this manuscript were published in the anthology of indigenous writing, Those Who Remain Will Always Remember (2001), and in the literary journal Westerly (2003 and 2005). The first Westerly excerpt received the Patricia Hackett Prize (2003). The whole book has still not been published. 6 Despite the seriousness of their depiction, several indigenous Australian authors have addressed issues of social injustice and racism by employing double-edged humour, so that the ―tensions that are aroused can be released as laughter‖ (Rappoport 2005: 50). Australian Indigenous Poetry 65 In terms of structure, because of Taylor‘s accessible mode of writing, his lines often seem pedestrian, particularly if assessed by strict rules of formalism. Admittedly, and as indigenous poets are often reprimanded, Taylor indeed seems to feel comfortable in the short line lyric with a meter of four stresses or fewer, or in free verse which often lacks fluidity. 7 His poems are written in a colloquial language, and his evenly measured end-rhyming lines are sometimes less than virtuosic. Rather than because of aesthetic purity, Taylor‘s verse is impressive because of the directness and sincerity that springs from his deeply felt personal experience. In his poems, he returns to his painful childhood and adolescence, to his hardwon struggles with alcohol and an attempted suicide, reviving memories of his tribe, parents, friends, youthful love, and heartfelt yearnings. Compared to Moreton‘s poetry, which is by her own admission very often received as ―confronting and challenging‖ (Moreton 2001: 1), Taylor‘s poems are more lyrical, generated by his urge to effect a significant metamorphosis in his psyche, and as a means of reconciliation with his own past. Generally speaking, they are also less poignant. As the poet reveals in his interview: ―The pencil is my weapon […] But I try to write from a neutral corner and go between the centre of that uneasiness, because I don‘t want my readers to be uncomfortable when they read‖ (Brewster 2007: 175). However, as this discussion will show, in mobilising various strategies of indictment and advocacy in the service of social justice agendas, several of Taylor‘s poems stir strong feelings of guilt, shame and remorse in non-indigenous readers. In Taylor‘s collections, the search for any kind of arrangement or logical sequence of poems would prove unproductive; the poems follow one another like uncontrolled thoughts, moving back and forth from childhood to adulthood, and veering from public to private realms. Both collections start in medias res, bluntly exposing the brutalising effects of indigenous socio-economic subordination in Australia. The collection Winds opens with the poem ―People of the Park,‖ which begins and proceeds as an idyllic description of a tribal gathering. It is not until the end of the poem that the poet overturns this one-dimensional cliché and surprises the reader with the heart-breaking claim: People outside The circle Think 7 Several critics concur that a failure to achieve high standard of English, symptomatic of much indigenous writing, has to be attributed to the limited formal education of these authors and their lack of confidence when entering a field that was previously monopolised by whites. Another aspect is political: for many indigenous Australians, the English language is still synonymous with colonial authority, so they are reluctant to purify it of tribal and colloquial speech patterns (Maver, 2000; Shoemaker 1989). Danica Čerče 66 The people Of the park Have Got no tomorrow. (Taylor 1994: 1) A similarly embittered voicing of the miseries suffered by the Black community is characteristic of ―Black skin,‖ the opening poem in Singer Songwriter. Its tone oscillates between despair and anger. A sense of hopelessness is achieved by the overwhelming presence of the colour black, which has a negative connotation in colour symbolism, as it is linked with death and sorrow. The yoking of rhyming companions (tomorrow/ sorrow/ hope/ rope) establishes a feeling of farce. Several other poems also deal with the consequences of racial exclusion. In ―Sniffin‘,‖ for example, Taylor meditates on widespread drug use as a means ―to get away / from that shadow / of pain‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 107). Many indigenous people seek refuge in heavy drinking, Taylor regretfully observes in poems such as ―The trip,‖ ―Dole cheque,‖ ―A price,‖ ―Last ride,‖ ―Hopeless case,‖ ―Ode to the drunken poet,‖ to mention only a few. It must be also because drinking used to be his own escape from the thoughts of his cruel upbringing that he writes, ―These are the people / of no life / and no hope‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 125), unreservedly taking the side of those who disapprove of this kind of escapism. That these poems are highly illustrative of the poet‘s own problems with alcohol is also clearly evident from his confession: ―I was quite lucky to realise that alcohol does not solve any problems; it adds problems to problems‖ (Brewster 2007: 174-6). Similarly, Taylor lists the effects of drinking in ―Gerbah‖: The time he‘s forty body wrecked his life nearly done. Dead brain cells and a burnt out liver, lays in a cold sweat and starts to shiver. (Moreton et al. 2000: 128) 8 The poem proceeds as a deductively reasoned analysis, piling up arguments and exhortations, and closing with an appeal to youngsters to learn and acquire an education. 9 Very much in the same vein regarding both theme and structure (both poems are written in six evenly measured four- 8 All quotations from Alf Taylor‘s first collection Singer Songwriter refer to the anthology Rimfire: Poetry from Aboriginal Australia (Magabala Books, 2000). 9 As discussed by Adi Wimmer (2013), until the 1968, the sale of alcohol to indigenous population was banned. With the 1967 referendum, through which indigenous Australian communities became autonomous, the ban had to be repealed. The real dimensions of alcohol abuse and its direct connection with violence and death did not become collective awareness before the turn of the millennium, which saw the publication of several studies by anthropologists, including Peter Sutton (2001, 2009), Louis Nowra (2007) and some others. Australian Indigenous Poetry 67 line stanzas, with rhyming end-stressed syllables), Taylor reflects in ―Leave us alone.‖ Unlike several of the poems characterised by pessimistic tonalities, and despite an undercurrent of satirical bitterness, ―Leave us alone‖ offers an optimistic view. In addition, articulating an indictment of injustice and ―advocating change‖ rather than merely ―interpreting‖ the situation, as proposed in the eleventh of Marx‘s Theses on Feuerbach 10 and later embraced by the Subaltern Studies group, the poem can also be regarded as an exemplary instance of protest poetry: Challenge problems, not running away, Forget about the booze and family fights, Let‘s stand up as individuals and make it right. (Moreton et al. 2000: 134) A rallying cry to his peoples to jointly strive for their rights, which underlies the recurrent themes of alcoholism, unemployment, poverty, and deaths in custody, is also heard in the poem ―We blackfellas.‖ Structured as sustained argument and exposition, it criticises the debilitating role of the media in their portrayal of indigenous peoples and concludes with the conviction: ―We blackfellas must stand / as one / as the fight still goes on‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 129). In an accusatory and disconcertingly direct poem in clipped line lengths, ―No names,‖ Taylor reveals his deep concern about numerous deaths in custody. He is critical of non-indigenous Australians, who are aware of the shocking statistics, but do not react to them. Taylor hints at their passivity with a set of rhetorical questions underpinned with sardonic bitterness: ―Who is / to blame? / Who is / to blame? / Lots of questions / but no names (Moreton et al. 2000: 110). The poet‘s experimentation with language‘s syntactic markers, such as direct address to the reader, rhetorical questions, and satirical antithesis to establish the point of view and evoke emotional and cognitive states in the reader, ensures the maximum participatory effect of his verse. In ―Why,‖ for example, Taylor employs rhetorical questions to lay bare different aspects of contemporary cultural and economic inequality and to stir intense feelings of guilt and shame: ―Why / Is he / Living / In this room / Infested with / Alcohol, drugs / And pills / […] he just can‘t / take it / No more / But why‖ (Taylor 1994: 20). Reading this poem is certainly not a passive process: despite its technical weaknesses, it deeply engages nonindigenous readers and evokes moral indignation, anger and empathy tinged with guilt and remorse. By articulating the multiple forms of trauma within the indigenous community, and advocating the indigenous peoples‘ unconquerable spirit in the face of adversity and loss, Taylor has had an important role in documenting the situation of the indigenous minority in contemporary 10 https: / / www.marxists.org/ archive/ marx/ works/ 1845/ theses/ Danica Čerče 68 Australia. And more than that; writing out of the intense presence of his whole self and embracing a poetic mode that allows an apprehension of and participation in the quality of his experience, Taylor has produced verse that evokes strong feelings of culpability in non-indigenous Australian readers. At the same time, it stimulates readers all around the world to draw parallels across national lines and consider the critique in the context of their own national traumas. Conclusion Both Moreton and Taylor owe their fame and recognition more to the fact that their verse embodies the shape of their faith and devotional posture than to the technical perfection of their expression. This quality of their writing places them in the league of poets who have considered verse as a ―verbal discourse in which message is dominant and the aesthetic function is subordinate,‖ as Narodin Mudrooroo defines Australian indigenous poetry (1990: 35). Given the increasingly wider public and scholarly interest in their message, which culminated in the Prime Minister‘s apology to indigenous Australians for past mistreatment and in the subsequent process of reconciliation, Moreton and Taylor have provided additional evidence that works of art are an important site for negotiating change. Destabilising white readers‘ assumptions about the authority and entitlement of their race, their poetry can be seen to contribute to what Mignolo describes as the ―undoing of the coloniality of knowledge‖ and a ―genealogy of de-colonial thought‖ (Mignolo 2005, 391, cf. Brewster 2008: 74). Despite articulating the Australian scene, their verse addresses larger experience of human disenfranchisement and evokes emotional and cognitive reactions everywhere, where belonging still means ―endur[ing] with suffering,‖ as Michael Smith writes in his poem ―Belonging‖ (Moreton et al. 2000: 153). All things considered, and although - in Gayatri Spivak‘s words - ―what is called history will always seem more real to us than what is called literature‖ (1988a: 243), it is probably safe to claim that the creative imagination of indigenous Australian authors deserves to be brought into the global exchange of values and messages; judging by the increased interest in ―all Others, marginal, minority, and peripheral literatures,‖ as proposed by Steven Totosy de Zepetnek (1999: 15), among other postcolonial critics that have stressed the need to expand Westerners‘ knowledge of non-Western literature and culture, this process has already come a long way. Australian Indigenous Poetry 69 References Andrew, Brook (1998). Blak Babe(z) & Kweer Kat(z). Chippendale: Boomalli Aboriginal Artists Co-operative. Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths & Helen Tiffin (1989). The Empire Writes Back. Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures. London, New York: Routledge. Brewster, Anne (2007). ―‗That Child Is My Hero‘: An Interview With Alf Taylor.‖ Aboriginal History 31. 165-177. Brewster, Anne (2008). ―Engaging the Public Intimacy of Whiteness: the Indigenous Protest Poetry of Romaine Moreton.‖ Journal of the Association for the Study of Australian Literature. Special Issue: The Colonial Present. 56-78. Brewster, Anne (2009). ―Indigenous Sovereignty in the Poetry of Romaine Moreton.‖ Australian Literary Studies 24 (3-4). 109-121. Coles, Nicholas (1986). ―Democratizing Literature.‖ College English 48. 64-80. Čerče, Danica (2010). ―Generating Alternative Worlds: The Indigenous Protest Poetry of Romaine Moreton.‖ Elope 7. 49-60. Čerče, Danica (2009). ―‗Making It Right‘ through the Poetry of Alf Taylor.‖ Acta Neophilologica. 42 (1-2). 83-92. Ford, Andrew (2003). ―Kerriane Cox, Romaine Moreton.‖ Transcript of an Interview with Cox and Moreton‖. [online] http: / / www.abc.net.au/ rn/ music/ mshow/ s751864.htm [Accessed 15 March 2011]. Fynsk, Christopher (1991). "Experiences of Finitude." In: Jean-Luc Nancy (Ed.). The Inoperative Community. Minneapolis: University Of Minnesota Press. Viixxxv. Heiss, Anita & Peter Minter (Eds.) (2008). Anthology of Australian Aboriginal Literature. Montreal et al.: McGull-Queen‘s University Press. Johnston, Tim (2008). ―Australia Says ‗Sorry‘ to Aborigines for Mistreatment.‖ The New York Times (13 February). Levine, George (2000). ―Reclaiming the Aesthetics.‖ In: David H. Richter (Ed.). Falling into Theory: Conflicting Views on Reading Literatures. New York: Bedford, St. Martin‘s. 378-391. Lipsky, Michael (1968). ―Protest as a Political Resource.‖ The American Political Science Review 62 (4). 1144-1158. Marx, Karl, Engels, Friedrich (1969). Selected Works. Volume 1. Moscow: Progress Publishers. [online] https: / / www.marxists.org/ archive/ marx/ works/ 1845/ theses/ [Accessed 15 Dec. 2016]. Maver, Igor (2000). ―Contemporary 'New' Aboriginal Poetry in English.‖ In: Mirko Jurak & Igor Maver (Eds.). Essays on Australian and Canadian Literature. Ljubljana: Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete. 13-20. Mignolo, Walter D. (2005). ―On Subalterns and Other Agencies.‖ Postcolonial Studies 8 (4). 381-407. Moreton, Romaine (1995). The Callused Stick of Wanting. Rozelle, Sydney: Breakout Design. Moreton, Romaine (2001). ―Working Note.‖ How 1 (5). 14. Moreton, Romaine (2004). Post Me to the Prime Minister. Alice Springs: Jukurrpa Books. Moreton, Romaine (2012). Poems from a Homeland. Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz. Moreton, Romaine, Alf Taylor & Michael J. Smith (2000). Rimfire: Poetry from Aboriginal Australia. Broome: Magabala Books. Morrissey, Philip (1994). ―Introduction.‖ In: Alf Taylor. Winds. Broome: Magabala Books. Danica Čerče 70 Mudrooroo, Narodin (1990). Writing from the Fringe: A Study of Modern Aboriginal Literature. South Yarra: Hyland House. Nowra, Louis (2007). Bad Dreaming: Aboriginal Men‟s Violence against Women and Children. North Melbourne: Pluto Press. Rappoport, Leon (2005). Punchlines: The Case for Racial, Ethnic and Gender Humor. Westport: Praeger. Russo, Katherine E. (2005). ―Post Me to the Prime Minister: Property, Language and Indigenous / Non Indigenous Relations in the Australian Nation.‖ Anglistica 9 (2). 103-125. Shoemaker, Adam (1989). Black Words, White Pages: Aboriginal Literature 1929- 1988. St. Lucia: Queensland University Press. Spivak, Gayatri C. (1988b). ―Can the Subaltern speak? ‖ In: Cary Nelson & Lawrence Grossberg (Eds.). Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. Urbna: University of Illinois Press. Spivak, Gayatri C. (1988a). In Other Worlds: Essays in Cultural Politics. Routledge: New York, London. Sutton, Peter (2001). ―The Politics of Suffering: Indigenous Policy in Australia since the 1970s.‖ Anthropological Forum 2. 125-173. Sutton, Peter (2009). The Politics of Suffering: Indigenous Australia and the End of the Liberal Consensus. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Taylor, Alf (1992). Singer Songwriter. Broome: Magabala Books. Taylor, Alf (1994). Winds. Broome: Magabala Books. Taylor, Alf (2001). Long Time Now. Broome: Magabala Books. Totosy de Zepetnek, Steven (1999). ―An Introduction to Comparative Literature Now.‖ In: Steven Tötösy de Zepetnek et al. (Eds.). Comparative Literature Now: Theories and Practice. Paris: Champion. 13-18. Wheeler, Belinda (2013). ―Introduction: The Emerging Canon.‖ In: Belinda Wheeler (Ed.). A Companion to Australian Aboriginal Literature. Rochester, New York: Camden House. 1-13. Wimmer, Adi (2009). ―Autonomous Aboriginal Communities in Australia.‖ Acta Neophilologica 42 (1-2). 111-122. Danica Čerče University of Ljubljana The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre: Mark Ravenhill’s Shopping and F***ing Sibel İzmir Drama and theatre, which are distinctive forms of art, stand among those concepts which are often used interchangeably regardless of their uniqueness. In order to contextualize and reassess this relationship between drama and theatre, Hans-Thies Lehmann, a German scholar and theoretician, has provided a useful formulation in his ground-breaking study Postdramatic Theatre. He claims that theatre has been subordinated by drama particularly in western cultures until the 1960s. This has naturally resulted in a domineering position of the dramatic text and the playwright in the final production. Lehmann argues that since the 1960s western theatre has demonstrated an interest in creating theatrical productions which display an equal treatment of the playtext, playwright, director, performers, costumes, décor, etc. in order to subvert the rooted hierarchal order. In his book, he does not neglect to mention that British ―in-yer-face‖ dramatists are also among those who have influenced the emergence of German-based productions with their shock tactics to capture the audience. In such productions, the events happening on the stage make the audience feel as if they are attacked. The British playwright, Mark Ravenhill, is one of such in-yer-face dramatists. This study will offer an exploration of Ravenhill‘s Shopping and F***ing in the light of Lehmann‘s theory of postdramatic theatre. The study puts forward that the play under examination goes beyond the confines of in-yer-face sensibility and exhibits a tension between dramatic and postdramatic theatre. AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Sibel İzmir 72 1. Introduction Drama and theatre 1 are art forms that are dialectically, paradoxically and mutually in relationship with one another: While drama refers to a dramatic text written in order to be read by readers and to be staged by directors, theatre connotes not only to the performance but also lighting, costumes, make-up, décor, the theatre building etc. In this respect, the analogy that drama is full of holes to be filled by another text during the performance, which is the staging, the mise-en-scène, is remarkable and meaningful (Ubersfeld qtd. in Carlson 1993: 498). This binary yet inseparable relationship between drama and theatre has led critics, scholars and theatre practitioners to question the value and superiority of each concept. Some assume that there can be no staged play without a text while others believe that a play text has no value if not staged. Although drama as a literary genre has lost its popularity in our media-driven age, it is important in its own merit just like theatre, since both of them are art forms that are fundamentally about life. From the ancient times to the present, drama and theatre, which have changed society and spectators, have been, in turn, affected and shaped by society and the audience. The strength of this reciprocal bond between theatre and society primarily stems from the fact that theatre is about human existence. It is a representation of life. Yet, it is not life. As it is explained by Richard Courtney: ―Drama is a fiction. It is the mirror of existence, the reflection of human life so re-created as to be meaningful and significant to the audience … it raises the key questions being asked within the community for which it is written‖ (1982: 2). This contradictory and collaborative co-existence of drama and theatre is one of the reasons why Hans-Thies Lehmann has preferred to use the term ―postdramatic theatre‖ in his book entitled Postdramatic Theatre (published in German in 1999 and translated into English in 2006). For Lehmann, while dramatic theatre is characterized by plot, dramatic action, dramatis personae, dialogues, a definable setting offering a ―fictive cosmos‖ (2006: 22), postdramatic theatre is generally marked by, or may include, ―states (instead of a plot), anonymous speakers, fragmented or juxtaposed speeches, indefinite time and place‖ (Sierz 2007: 379). These traits of postdramatic theatre put the power of such definitive traits of dramatic theatre as representation, mimesis, character, dialogue, time and place as well as the Western text-based theatre into question. Lehmann asserts that in order to understand postdramatic theatre, there is a need to comprehend to what extent there should be a ―mutual emancipation and division between drama and theatre‖ (2006: 46). Since theatre in Europe has been dominated by drama, Lehmann advises to use 1 Drama is a Greek-originated word meaning to ―act‖ while theatre comes from the word ―theatron‖ which means the place where the audience sit. The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 73 the term ―postdramatic‖ to refer to the newer developments and relate them to the older ones. As he explains: ―In postdramatic forms of theatre, staged text (if text is staged) is merely a component with equal rights in a gestic, musical, visual, etc., total composition‖ (2006: 46, original emphasis). This explanation constitutes one of the core assumptions of postdramatic theatre, which is equally important for this study. Aspects like plot structure (or the existence of it), the idea of representation, character development, physicality and the thin line between fact and fiction are all relevant in postdramatic theatre and this study will concentrate on the dramatic/ postdramatic world represented/ presented in the script. As stated by Peter Campbell, ―postdramatic theatre is not necessarily nonor even antidramatic, but is a theatre that does not valorize drama above all other elements of the theatrical experience‖ (2010: 55) and the current article will question the ―dramaticity‖ of the play considering that the text is not valorized above other theatrical components. In order to achieve a juxtaposed assessment of the dramatic and postdramatic theatre, this study will analyse Mark Ravenhill‘s groundbreaking play Shopping and F***ing. Considered to be the ―rude boy‖ of contemporary British theatre, Ravenhill was born in 1966 in England. As Aleks Sierz informs, Ravenhill discovered theatre at an early age. To no one‘s surprise, Ravenhill studied Drama and English at Bristol University. His controversial play Shopping and F***ing (1996) has attracted the attention of spectators, directors and reviewers not only by its provocative title but also ‗offensively‘ extraordinary content. Admitting to have been inspired by American novels of the late eighties and early nineties 2 , Ravenhill added that he had also watched the plays of Martin Crimp, David Mamet, Caryl Churchill and Anthony Neilson, by whom he seems to have been greatly influenced as well. However, in the course of an interview with Aleks Sierz, Ravenhill acknowledges that although he had not seen Sarah Kane‘s Blasted when he was writing Shopping and F***ing, he later considers this play as one of the best contemporary plays and Kane‘s influence on him has been immense (qtd. in Sierz 2001: 124). Though Sierz believes that at that time Ravenhill did not feel he was belonging to part of a movement (2001: 124), his stylistic similarity with the so-called in-yer-face playwrights was already apparent 3 . What is relevant and of vital importance for the current study is Lehmann‘s positioning of in-yer-face theatre within postdramatic paradigm in 2 Douglas Coupland‘s Generation X, Bret Easton Ellis‘s Less Than Zero and Tama Janowitz‘s Slaves of New York are among them. 3 His acclaimed success was strengthened by other plays, some of which include: Faust is Dead (1997); Sleeping Around (1998); Handbag (Evening Standard Award - Most Promising Playwright, 1998); Some Explicit Polaroids (1999); Mother Clap‟s Molly House (2000); Feed Me (2000); Totally Over You (2003) and Citizenship (2006); The Cut (2006); Pool (No Water) (2006); Shoot/ Get Treasure/ Repeat (2008); The Experiment (2009) and Ten Plagues (2011). Sibel İzmir 74 his book. He argues that German theatre during 1990s seems to have been inspired by British in-yer-face theatre. Since postdramatic theatre, both in practice and theory, is originally a German-based phenomenon, Lehmann‘s attempt to establish a bridge and similarity between German and British theatres is noteworthy for the current article. Although British theatre is generally considered to be a text-based theatre in which the playwright occupies a substantial place, Lehmann‘s argument that German plays have been inspired by British in-yer-face plays strengthens the claim of this study. He explains this inspirational interaction particularly with regard to the relationship between the spectator and stage: It should be mentioned that a (roughly speaking) neo-realist wave in the new German theatre of the 1990s has frequently been considered as having been inspired by the British movement of ‗in-yer-face‘ theatre. Indeed the ‗attack‘ on the spectator in such plays is a trait that would have to be theorized as a tension between dramatic and postdramatic theatre. (Lehmann 2006: ix) From a similar point of departure as Lehmann‘s, this study primarily argues that Mark Ravenhill goes beyond the confines of in-yer-face sensibility and his play, Shopping and F***ing, demonstrates a tension between dramatic and postdramatic theatre. 2. Avantgarde Aesthetics In order to discuss the roots of postdramatic theatre, there is a need to make an account of the historical avant-gardes to comprehend their similarities with and differences from postdramatic theatre aesthetics and how they disrupted the conventions of dramatic structure. As a matter of fact, no sooner had realism and naturalism became popular than the revolts against them began. Symbolism, expressionism, epic, surrealism, Dadaism, existentialism and theatre of the absurd will be briefly explored in order to see to what extent dramatic theatre has deviated from the conventional norms. Symbolism is the first revolutionary reaction against realism and naturalism. It emerged in France in the late 19 th century. As a movement, it denies realism‘s claim that ultimate reality can be found through five senses and rational thought process. Thus, it is antirealistic because of ―disdaining everyday reality and the realism that reflected it‖ (Cohn 1995: 1049). Thus, the aim of a symbolist play is, through symbols, to convey intuitions about a higher truth although symbolists did not think that truth can be expressed logically or rationally. Therefore, symbolist drama is characterized by being ―vague, mysterious and puzzling‖ in style The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 75 (Brockett 1969: 311) 4 . Therefore, the so called deviations in symbolic theatre are more ostensible in the perception of reality than in form. As a matter of fact, symbolist theatre is no different from realist theatre in terms of its plot structure. Whatever a symbol signifies, what is represented is still an illusion of reality as in realist theatre. The second revolt against realism is expressionism which aims to ―go beyond drama as interpersonal dramaturgy of conflict and beyond motifs inherent to it‖ (Lehmann 2006: 65). As a movement expressionism emerged in Germany at around 1910. Michael Patterson clarifies and formulates this movement as follows: Reacting against the limited and untheatrical nature of naturalism, the defining characteristics of expressionist theatre are, in addition to the depiction of powerful emotions: the rejection of individual psychology in order to penetrate to the essence of humanity; a concern with the contemporary social situation; episodic structures; generalized, often nameless characters; strongly visual incidents in place of scenes dependent on linguistic exchange; a highly charged, often abrupt language (telegraphese); symbolic scenography, lighting, and costumes; and powerfully theatrical performances. (2010: 195) Oscar Brockett is of the opinion that expressionism as a movement is difficult to describe because soon after its emergence, any departure from realism was defined as expressionism especially in Germany. He explains that its emergence is related to the fabric of modern society, which is industrial and scientifically driven. Man has been degraded to a machinelike position in such a society. Actually, there were two different approaches in the depiction of man‘s changed position in an industrialised and mechanical society: Many plays focus on how man has been transformed into a machine-like creature. Also, although smaller in number, some plays attempt to imagine the transformation of society and man‘s coming to terms with his environment. Thus, most expressionist plays are ―structurally episodic, their unity deriving from a central idea or argument rather than from a casually related action‖ (Brockett 1969: 324) 5 , and it is this unity which allows expressionist plays to be categorized under the rubric of dramatic theatre. J. L. Styan, in his comparison of realism and expressionism, points out that: ―In realism … actors sit about on chairs and talk about the weather, but in expressionism they stand on them and shout about the world. …‖ (V3 1981: 1). In other words, al- 4 The French poets Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud and Mallarme are considered as the precursors of symbolic theatre. The influence of Richard Wagner, who believed that greatest truths cannot be acquired through realism, is also noteworthy in the emergence of symbolism. The Belgian Maurice Maeterlinck (1862-1949) is among the most famous symbolic dramatists. William Butler Yeats and Garcia Lorca also showed many attributes of symbolism (Brockett 1969: 316-317). 5 The Swedish playwright August Strindberg and the German dramatist Franz Wedekind are thought to be the forerunners of expressionism. Sibel İzmir 76 though expressionistic theatre still carries realistic traits, it is characterized by a dreamlike/ nightmarish mood, unrealistic depiction, disjointed plot structure, nameless characters and poetical monologues or dialogues. Without doubt, it is impossible to investigate historical avant-gardes without an analysis of epic theatre. As it is well known, it was Bertolt Brecht who used the term ―dramatic theatre‖ to demonstrate the tradition to which his epic theatre aimed to put an end by creating a non-dramatic, anti-Aristotelian one. Epic theatre is marked by a rejection of following a structure of acts and scenes since ―Brecht attempted to destroy continuity by dividing his fables into series of episodes, each of which is selfcontained‖ (Morgan 1987: 77). Thus, the audience would be prevented from being captured by a fictional illusion since for Brecht the audience should be kept estranged from the play. That is Brecht‘s famous ―Verfremdungseffekt‖, translated variously as V-effect, A-effect, estrangement, alienation or distancing effect. The structure in epic theatre is related to the fact that Brecht totally disagrees with the conception of Aristotelian drama which aims at creating terror and pity in the audience as well as purging their emotions to obtain relief and refreshment by creating an illusion of real events and causing spectators‘ full identification with the characters. Brecht wholeheartedly argues that the audience members should not be made to feel, but should be made to think. Identification with the characters, however, prevents them from thinking due to the ―horrors‖ of illusion of reality. Therefore, the spectators should be constantly made aware of the fact that they are not watching a real event, on the contrary, they are ―sitting in a theatre, listening to an account of things which have happened in the past at a certain time in a certain place‖ (Esslin 1959: 110). However, in spite of all the anti-Aristotelian claims of epic theatre, Lehmann believes that it is still dramatic since it ―clings to the presentation of a fictive and simulated text-cosmos as a dominant 6 , while postdramatic theatre no longer does so‖ (2006: 55). Following epic theatre, theatre of the absurd gained prominence although it had its roots in the late 19 th century. Alfred Jarry, with his Ubu Roi (1896) is usually considered to be the first absurdist playwright. ―While this play, with its inversion of conventional values and its determinedly non-realistic techniques, certainly anticipates many later works, it had no immediate successors‖ (Brockett 1969: 362). At this point, before delving into absurd theatre, it would be proper to focus on dadaism, surrealism and existentialism since they are all considered as the forerunners of the absurdist school. Dadaism was first initiated by the Romanian Tristan Tzara in 1917. ―The term was meant to signify everything and 6 The word ―dominant‖ is used as a noun here by Lehmann‘s translator, Karen Jürs- Munby. Although, when used as a noun, it is a musical term meaning the fifth tone of a diatonic scale, here it is almost equivalent to ―norm, rule or style‖. The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 77 nothing, or total freedom, anti rules, ideals and traditions‖ (Cuddon 1999: 203). Works of art with a dadaistic aesthetic contain collage effects, the arrangement of unrelated objects and words chosen randomly (Cuddon 1999: 204). It is not surprising that such works were satirical, illogical and irrational. Dadaist artists ―championed automatic writing (i.e. setting down thoughts as they came into the mind regardless of connection or relevance), the formless nature of which was said to be a truthful expression of the writer‘s subconscious mind‖ (Brockett 1969: 362). Dadaism, however, did not last long and was succeeded by surrealism. Just like expressionism, surrealism privileges collage and montage which develop the speed and intelligence capacity of the recipient. The surrealists hardly produced any remarkable theatre, but their ideas influenced the newer theatre to a great extent. For the surrealists, truth can be attainable in the dreamlike state in which the subconscious recreates everyday reality by avoiding the monotonous process of thought. Thus, the mind is freed from rationality and the subconscious mind is activated. Just like Dadaism, surrealism ―drew from a similar rejection of bourgeois norms‖ (Causey 2010: 583). It began in Paris with a group of poets and theatre practitioners such as Antonin Artaud, André Breton and Tristan Tzara. In a surrealist staging practice, masks and costumes were used to change the performer‘s body with caricatured and cartoonish emblems. ―The stage was likewise distorted in fantastic imagery, bold colours, and a general sense of play‖ (Causey 2010: 584). The twentieth century theatre was affected by the surrealist experiments to a great extent. However, both Dadaism and surrealism became important movements because they were the precursors of other schools like theatre of the absurd. One of such precursors of absurd theatre is undoubtedly Luigi Pirandello. As a playwright who was primarily influenced by Sigmund Freud, Pirandello was amazed at the ―complexity of human psyche and the split nature of personality‖ (McMillan & Kennedy 2010: 465). This attraction naturally was reflected in his plays like Six Characters in Search of an Author (1921). Considered to be an epitome of metatheatre and theatrewithin-theatre, questioning the truth of performance and the performance of truth, the play ―dramatizes the discrepancy between illusion and reality‖ (McMillan & Kennedy 2010: 465). In almost all the plays by Pirandello, such as Right You are, if You Think You Are, Henry IV and As You Desire Me, truth is depicted as a relative phenomenon since for him there is no objective truth. Therefore, characters in his plays recount the same events and experiences totally different from each other, each believing that his version is the true one as if to suggest the impossibility of objective truth. However, like the symbolist or expressionistic theatre, which display similar tendencies, the theatre of Pirandello is still dramatic theatre since his plays make an audience ―experience the pathos and humour of human self-deception and the relativity of truth‖ (Styan V2 1981: 81). Sibel İzmir 78 Another forerunner of the absurdist school is existentialism. Actually, a majority of plays which are now labelled as absurdist were originally called existentialist. Existentialist philosophy, as its name suggests, questions the meaning of ―existence‖. It is not surprising that ―with its concern for moral values in a civilization which had engendered two world wars and produced the atomic and hydrogen bombs, existentialism seemed particularly relevant after 1945‖ (Brockett 1969: 364). Among the representatives of this school, Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus are the best known dramatists. As far as Sartre is concerned, man is born into a sort of void, a mud. He may either choose to remain in this mud and lead a passive, inert existence in a semi-conscious state or by coming out of this passive, paralysed situation, he may ―become increasingly aware of himself and, conceivably, experience angoisse (a species of metaphysical and moral anguish). If so, he would then have a sense of absurdity of his predicament and suffer despair. The energy deriving from this awareness would enable him to ―‗drag himself out of the mud‘, and begin to exist‖ (Cuddon 1999: 295). Both Sartre and Camus see man as possessing the potential to determine his own fate rather than being at the mercy of heredity and environment. ―In their plays, both dramatists adhere rather closely to traditional structural patterns‖ (Brockett 1969: 365). However, content-wise, the existential anxiety felt and verbalized by these playwrights has affected the playwrights who would succeed them, especially those in the absurdist vein. Absurdism as a term was coined by Martin Esslin in 1961 to describe the plays produced by playwrights such as Arthur Adomov, Samuel Beckett, Albert Camus and Eugene Ionesco which ―tend to reflect the influence of contemporary existential philosophy as well as a post war nihilism‖ (White 1995: 1). With such a worldview, the theatre of the absurd produced plays in which ―accepted stage conventions were largely abandoned in order to present a view of the world as meaningless and incomprehensible‖ (Law et al 1994: 2). As Kerry White clarifies, ―Art, and especially dramatic and theatrical art, therefore tends to present itself self-consciously as a metaphor of human existence in a world without absolutes‖ (1995: 2). Thus, absurdist plays ―lack a formal logic and conventional structure, so that both form and content support (while emphasizing the difficulty of communicating) the representation of what may be called the absurd predicament‖ (Cuddon 1999: 912). As seen in Samuel Beckett‘s Waiting for Godot, which is the epitome of theatre of the absurd, plays in this school use an unsettling form as a reflection and symptom of a society which has lost value and meaning because ―[s]tories cannot be told within traditional or recognizable forms; … The world of the absurd has lost the unifying factors of logic, reason and rationality … which is why the stage cannot maintain the qualities of realism‖ (Singleton 2010: 3). In the absurdist view, therefore, ―everything is possible, and the dramaturgical mechanics of tradi- The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 79 tional theatre are exposed as false‖ (Singleton 2010: 3). When compared with a play by Shakespeare or Ibsen, Waiting for Godot is [a]stonishing: no plot, barely any character and certainly no moral or emotional character development, no revelation, and no climax: but the facts remain that on stage and page alike it can be wholly compelling, and that its structural, cyclical, rhythmical, and philosophical means of being so are available to the attentive reader of its densely woven text. (Lennard & Luckhurst 2002: 46) Thus, it is not surprising that Eugène Ionesco, Arthur Adamov and other practitioners of absurd theatre are linked to the classical tradition because of the dominance of speech in their plays. Theatre was still a world of representation in the form of an absurd game since ―the absurd theatre remains pledged to the hierarchy that in dramatic theatre ultimately subordinates the theatrical means to the text‖ (Lehmann 2006: 54). It should not be gone unnoticed that although absurdist movement emerged in France, its influences were seen in other countries as well. In England, the early plays of Harold Pinter, such as The Room, The Dumb Waiter and The Birthday Party, display many absurdist features. Similarly, absurdist drama popularised new approaches which were inspired by Antonin Artaud. Artaud‘s theatre of cruelty is ―a kind of theatre that would subject the spectators to an emotional shock treatment, in order to free them from the grip of discursive and logical thought processes …‖ (Pavis, Dictionary 1998: 402). Thus, the aim in his theatre is to set the spectators‘ unconscious free from any repressions and enable them to embrace their true self. In productions that manifest the features of theatre of cruelty, ―mime, gesture and scenery are more important than words, and the director is a kind of maker of magic, ‗a master of sacred ceremonies‘. Much depends on spectacle, lightening effects and the exploitation of the full range of the ‗theatrical‘‖ (Cuddon 1999: 910). One must keep in mind that the disruption of dramatic norms is not limited to the afore-mentioned movements, playwrights or plays. There have been numerous playwrights in the preand post-Beckettian period who experimented with both form and content such as John Osborne, Arnold Wesker, Sean O‘Casey, John Arden, Robert Bolt, Edward Bond, Harold Pinter, Tom Stoppard and Caryl Churhill, to name but a few. As a matter of fact, it is assumed that British new writing (in theatre) begins in 1956 with John Osborne‘s Look Back in Anger. In addition to British playwrights, especially Austrian and German playwrights such as Peter Handke (for example his 1966 play Offending the Audience), the plays of Elfriede Jelinek, Heiner Müller and Wolfgang Bauer subverted all the norms of traditional theatre especially by breaking with a realistic plot structure, characterization and mimetic representation. It can be said that particularly since post World War II, Austrian and German theatres have Sibel İzmir 80 been among the most innovative ones throughout Europe and therefore it is no great surprise that postdramatic productions emerged in these countries. 3. In-Yer-Face Theatre Before an examination of postdramatic theatre, there is a need to concentrate on in-yer-face theatre for two primary reasons: Firstly, as was mentioned, Mark Ravenhill is assumed to be a pioneer and practitioner of inyer-face theatre which makes this theatre relevant in this study. Secondly and equally importantly, Lehmann in his book admits the fact that German theatre in the 1990s was inspired by the British in-yer-face theatre and this is what he considers as a tension between dramatic and postdramatic theatre. In order to figure out this tension, in-yer-face theatre is worth dwelling upon. Aleks Sierz, a British theatre critic, coined the term ―in-yer-face‖ with his 2001 book entitled In-Yer-Face Theatre: British Drama Today to refer to a group of British playwrights in 1990s whose common denominator was their use of sheer violence, physical and verbal, as well as the shocking and brutal content of their plays. In his thought-provoking book, Sierz claims that Mark Ravenhill is one of the most promising British in-yerface playwrights 7 . The reason why he was labelled as an in-yer-face playwright was the common characteristics he shared with many of his contemporaries: shocking plays with abundant graphic violence and sex. At this point, it must be remembered that British and European theatre history has numerous manifestations of violence on the stage such as murders in Shakespearean tragedies and histories, the male rape scene in Howard Brenton‘s The Romans in Britain or the baby stoning scene in Edward Bond‘s Saved, to name but only a few. However, as defined by Sierz, plays that could be categorized as examples of in-yer-face theatre are those that take ―the audience by the scruff of the neck‖ and shake it ―until it gets the message ... In other words, it is experiential, not speculative‖ (2001: 4). Employing shock tactics is a strategy to disturb both performers and spectators and to rid them of the conventional responses, since such plays present a more outrageous and experimental world than the one audiences are used to. In this respect, the characteristic traits of in-yer-face theatre are explained by Sierz as follows: 7 Other playwrights who were examined as in-yer-face British dramatists in the book include Philip Ridley, Philip Nagy, Tracy Lett, Harry Gibson, Anthony Neilson, Sarah Kane, Naomi Wallace, Jez Butterworth, Simon Block, David Elridge, Nick Grosso, Patrick Marber, Che Walker, Richard Zajdlic, Joe Penhall, Judy Upton, Martin McDonagh and Rebecca Prichard. The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 81 The language is usually filthy, characters talk about unmentionable subjects, take their clothes off, have sex, humiliate each other, experience unpleasant emotions, become suddenly violent. … Writers who provoke audiences or try to confront them are usually trying to push the boundaries of what is acceptable - often because they want to question current ideas of what is normal, what it means to be human, what is natural or what is real. … The most successful plays are often those that seduce the audience with a naturalistic mood and then hit it with intense emotional material, or those where an experiment in form encourages people to question their assumptions. In such cases, what is being renegotiated is the relationship between audience and performers - shock disturbs the spectator‘s habitual gaze. (2001: 5) After such an account, it is not surprising that in-yer-face theatre subverts the binary oppositions we use to define ourselves such as human/ animal, clean/ dirty, good/ evil, real/ unreal, etc. Any subversion is undoubtedly a painful experience. That is one of the reasons why Sierz is of the opinion that in-yer-face theatre is experiential, not speculative. As an audience, you are experiencing the same feelings presented on the stage rather than speculating about how it would be if the things you are watching befell you one day. Sierz also handles the issue of form in in-yer-face theatre as he believes that a play‘s strength as drama relies upon form, too. As he puts it: ―The further a play departs from the conventions of naturalism, especially those of the well-made three-act drama, the more difficult it is for many audiences to accept‖ (2001: 6). In this respect, forcing the audience to accept what they see on the stage (whether they accept or not) means radicalising the form, too. In Rewriting the Nation. British Theatre Today, Sierz enthusiastically assumes that meaning in theatre comes across by means of not only the content but also the form. He even gives a direct quotation by Tim Etchells, a British playwright and director, who declares that in theatre ―The meaning of what you do is the aesthetic and is the form‖ (qtd. in Sierz 2011: 7, original emphasis). In spite of all the attributed importance of form in in-yer-face theatre, it has been the content which attracts the attention of most critics and spectators, mainly because of the graphic violence and sexuality. However, the impossibility and impracticality of separating the content from the form manifests itself particularly by the language. As Sierz emphasises, as a set of theatrical techniques, in-yer-face theatre contains a stage language that ―emphasised rawness, intensity, swearing … a ninety-minute structure that dispensed with the relief of an interval. … in-yer-face theatre describes not just the content of a play but rather the relationship between the stage and the audience‖ (2012: 57-58). Sibel İzmir 82 4. Postdramatic Theatre Hans-Thies Lehmann‘s pivotal study Postdramatic Theatre was translated into English in 2006 with a substantial introduction by Karen Jürs- Munby. As Karen Jürs-Munby suggests in the introduction, Lehmann‘s book offers a new paradigm in theatre since it demonstrates the relationship between drama and the new forms of theatre that have emerged since 1970s and are claimed to be no longer dramatic in the Aristotelian sense. As Jürs-Munby points out, ―post‖ in postdramatic should be considered: neither as an epochal category, nor as a chronological ‗after‘ drama, a ‗forgetting‘ of the dramatic ‗past‘, but rather as a rupture and a beyond that continue to entertain relationships with drama and are in many ways an analysis and ‗anamnesis‘ of drama. (2006: 2) This affirmation of Jürs-Munby regarding the prefix ―post‖ is elaborated further by David Barnett, too. In his article entitled ―When is a Play not a Drama? Two Examples of Postdramatic Texts‖, he asserts that the term postdramatic ―can imply a reflection on the dramatic without necessarily presenting a complete break‖ (2008: 14). In another study entitled Postdramatic Theatre and the Political, Lehmann‘s use of the term is re-evaluated: ―Lehmann had deployed the term as an alternative to the then ubiquitous term ―postmodern theatre‖ in order to describe how a vast variety of contemporary forms of theatre and performance had departed not so much from the ‗modern‘ as from ‗drama‘‖ (Jürs-Munby 2013: 1). Lehmann himself points to the difference between the terms postmodern and postdramatic. The term ―postmodern theatre‖ has been widely used in order to talk about ―the theatre of deconstruction, multimedia theatre, restoratively traditionalist theatre, theatre of gestures and movement‖ (Lehmann 2006: 25). Defining and describing a field in respect to the epoch is a difficult task according to Lehmann. He believes that keywords such as ―ambiguity, celebrating art as fiction; celebrating theatre as process; discontinuity; heterogeneity; non-textuality; pluralism; multiple codes; subversion; all sites; perversion; performer as theme; and protagonist; deformation; text as basic material only; deconstruction‖ (2006: 25) function only to generalize; they are not persuasive. At this point, Lehmann explains why he has chosen ―postdramatic‖ as a term to use. As he puts it: The adjective ‗postdramatic‘ denotes a theatre that feels bound to operate beyond drama, at a time ‗after‘ the authority of the dramatic paradigm in theatre. What it does not mean is an abstract negation and mere looking away from the tradition of drama. ‗After‘ drama means that it lives on as a structure - however weakened and exhausted - of the ‗normal‘ theatre: as an expecta- The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 83 tion of large parts of its audience, as a foundation for many of its means of representation, as a quasi automatically working norm of its dramaturgy […]. (2006: 27) One should always bear in mind that in Lehmann‘s study, the text is only one component, one layer of theatre, ―as a material of the scenic creation, not as its master‖ (Lehmann 2006: 17). As emphasised by Markus Wessendorf , the idea of postdramatic theatre ―does not imply that theatre no longer uses texts or that writing plays would no longer be possible (or relevant), it only implies that the other components of the mise en scène are no longer subservient to the text‖ (Wessendorf 2013). In order to clarify and illustrate his argument, Lehmann explains his theory of postdramatic theatre with the following features: 4.1 Parataxis/ non-hierarchy In postdramatic theatre, theatrical means are in a relationship of dehierarchization. Such a non-hierarchical structure is in opposition with the tradition which has preferred subordination of elements to avoid confusion and to produce harmony and comprehension. As Lehmann clarifies: …in postdramatic theatrical practice: different genres are combined in a performance (dance, narrative theatre, performance, etc.); all means are employed with equal weighting; play, object and language point simultaneously in different directions of meaning and thus encourage a contemplation that is at once relaxed and rapid. The consequence is a changed attitude on the part of the spectator. (2006: 87) This changed attitude actually paves the way to enable the spectator of postdramatic theatre to postpone the meaning. In other words, the spectator, after contemplating on the details, can get the meaning. 4.2 Simultaneity The simultaneity of signs is related with the idea of parataxis and nonhierarchy. ―While dramatic theatre proceeds in such a way that of all the signals communicated at any one moment of the performance only a particular one is usually emphasized and placed at the centre, the ... ordering of postdramatic theatre lead[s] to the experience of simultaneity‖ (Lehmann 2006: 87). Likewise, language sounds are simultaneously presented on stage; thus, they are only partially understood particularly when different languages are being spoken. Sibel İzmir 84 4.3 Play with the density of signs Violating the established norm of sign density is like a rule in postdramatic theatre. Signs are either too much or too little with regards to time, space or the importance of the matter. An aesthetic intention to provide dialectic of plenitude or emptiness can be seen. In this situation, all levels of signification as well as presence, absence and density of signs become important. Lehmann states that in this respect theatre reacts to media culture and gives McLuhan‘s world as an example which increased the number of stimuli. Such a world with abundant images causes the ―disappearance of the naturally, physically perceived world‖ (Lehmann 2006: 89). As he explains: In the face of our everyday bombardment with signs, postdramatic theatre works with a strategy of refusal. … The play with the low density of signs aims to provoke the spectator‘s own imagination to become active on the basis of little raw material to work with. Absence, reduction and emptiness are not indebted to a minimalist ideology but to a basic motif of activating theatre. (2006: 89-90) 4.4 Plethora As opposed to minimum use of signs stands the idea of plethora, which refers to excessiveness in sign usage. Lehmann points out that exceeding the norm leads to a deforming figuration. In other words, rejecting conventionalized form and the normalized form of the image is usually done by a turning to extremes. The proliferation of signs disturbs the order of images. Furthermore, there is usually division of stage time and this division of time ―into minimal sequences, quasi-filmic ‗takes‘, already indirectly multiplies the data for perception, because, in terms of perception psychology, a mass of unconnected elements is estimated to be larger than the same number of elements arranged in a coherent order‖ (Lehmann 2006: 90). 4.5 Musicalization As Lehmann clarifies, musicalization is an important part of the sign usage in postdramatic theatre. By an independent auditory semiotics, directors apply their sense of music and rhythm, which is influenced by pop music, to classical texts. Moreover, ―in the course of the dissolution of dramatic coherence the actor‘s speech becomes musically overdetermined through ethnic and cultural peculiarities‖ (2006: 91). The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 85 4.6 Scenography, visual dramaturgy As a natural consequence of de-hierarchized use of signs and since logocentric hierarchy is dissolved in postdramatic theatre, there occurs the possibility of assigning the dominant role to ―elements other than dramatic logos and language‖ (Lehmann 2006: 93). Visual dimension is thus more emphasized than the auditory dimension. Visual dramaturgy does not solely mean a visually organized dramaturgy. It is the one which has not been subordinated to the text. Thus it becomes free to develop its own logic. In Lehmann‘s words ―a theatre of scenography” develops (2006: 93). He thinks that theatre of scenography, that is, ―a theatre of complex visuality, presents itself to the contemplating gaze like a text, a scenic poem, in which the human body is a metaphor, its flow of movement in a complex metaphorical sense an inscription, a ‗writing‘ and not ‗dancing‘‖ (2006: 94). 4.7 Warmth and coldness Lehmann explains these two concepts in postdramatic theatre by stating that the ―dethroning‖ of signs problematizes the situation of the audience who is used to the tradition of text-based theatre. As he clarifies, the participation of living human beings leads to a certain warmth in the theatrical event. However, for the audience who are familiar with such warmth, it would be difficult to accept a theatre which is devoid of the representation of a human. This can come across as coldness for them and equally difficult is the toleration of such coldness (Lehmann 2006: 95). 4.8 Physicality Lehmann openly puts forth that theatre conveys meaning and it is a difficult task to name this meaning. The body is not a carrier of meaning anymore; it is rather conceived in terms of its physicality. As he explains: ―Postdramatic theatre often presents itself as an auto-sufficient physicality, which is exhibited in its intensity, gestic potential, auratic ‗presence‘ and internally, as well as externally, transmitted tensions‖ (2006: 95). 4.9 ‘Concrete theatre’ A theatre without action/ plot or theatrical theatre has been called ‗abstract‘ theatre. Lehmann is of the opinion that at this point concrete theatre should also be mentioned due to the fact that abstract theatre lacks any reference to reality. He believes that ―the non-mimetic but formal structure or formalist aspects of postdramatic theatre are to be interpreted as ‗concrete theatre‘‖ (2006: 98). Sibel İzmir 86 4.10 Irruption of the real Traditional theatre has been produced by means of mimesis in a closed fictive cosmos. Although there are a number of disruptive elements in theatre such as asides and direct audience address, the play on stage is perceived as a reality shaped by its own laws. Such disruptions were considered as an insignificant aspect of theatre. Characters in Shakespeare‘s plays, for example, communicated with the audience. However, all these disruptions were integrated into the cosmic world and therefore addressing the real audience would not be considered as a disturbing attitude. For Lehmann, in postdramatic theatre, the main issue is not ―the assertion of the real as such … but the unsettling that occurs through the indecidability whether one is dealing with reality or fiction. The theatrical effect and the effect on consciousness both emanate from this ambiguity‖ (2006: 101). 5. Mark Ravenhill and Shopping and F***ing The relationship as well as the interaction between the stage and the audience and the tension between the dramatic and the postdramatic act in Ravenhill‘s Shopping and F***ing represent a common denominator of in-yer-face and postdramatic theatre. Therefore, dramatic and postdramatic qualities in his play are also common to some of the characteristics of in-yer-face theatre. Verbal and physical violence as well as topical and controversial themes such as people‘s addiction to consumerism, sex, shopping, drugs and commodification of culture mark many of Ravenhill‘s plays (Buse 2003). However, the controversy in his plays stems not only from the ―brutal‖ content, but it is, more importantly, the result of the form or ―aesthetic norms‖ employed in his plays. Experimentation with content and particularly, with form, urges one to question the value and scope of the deviations and novelties brought about by Ravenhill who has been extensively analysed as an in-yer-face playwright with the result that the content of his plays has gained importance while the form has often attracted less attention. In addition to the unsettling violence and brutal content of his plays, like many other in-yer-face dramatists such as Sarah Kane or Martin Crimp, the form of Ravenhill‘s plays is as noteworthy as the content. When the characteristics of postdramatic theatre are taken into consideration, it becomes apparent that postdramatic theatre is particularly marked by its liberation from the printed script and avoidance or minimization of a representative unified world. In Lehmann‘s exclusive study, the clear-cut yet inseparable division between the dramatic and postdramatic as well as the blurred boundaries between mimesis and presence, between text and performance, and ―self-reflection, decomposition The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 87 and separation of the elements of dramatic theatre‖ (Lehmann 2006: 48) will all serve as an illuminating guide in the analysis of Ravenhill‘s play since the new trends in today‘s English stages ―definitely help us understand how post-dramatic is not only concerned with the downfall of logocentricity [of the text] but with the deconstruction of the frontier between fiction and reality‖ (Angel-Pérez 2013). Being the first full-length play of Ravenhill, Shopping and F***ing was first performed in 1996 at the Royal Court, produced by Out of Joint and directed by Max Stafford-Clark and its scandalous title, let alone the content, was enough to shock the public. It is not surprising at all that the title not only in the first posters of the play but also in the printed version was written with asterisks as Shopping and F***ing. Initially, while writing the first draft in 1995, Ravenhill imagined to create ―characters whose whole vocabulary had been defined by the market, who had been brought up in a decade when all that mattered was buying and selling‖ and these characters would be those who were driven to extreme situations since ―the market had filtered into every aspect of their lives‖ and they were leading lives in which ―sex, which should have been private, had become a public transaction‖ (Ravenhill qtd. in Sierz 2001: 123). What he conjured up in his mind regarding buying, selling, sex and addiction turned out to be a real coup de théâtre and became one of the canonical works of 1990s. The emergence of in-yer-face playwrights producing plays similar in style and content is considered to be a reflection of or a reaction to the cultural and political zeitgeist of the 1990s Britannia and the new world order which are characterized by the following: fall of the Berlin Wall (1989), decline of communism, neo-liberal economies, globalization, consumerism, rising popularity of media and digitalized technologies, to name but a few. Mark Ravenhill‘s Shopping and F***ing was no exception and it is this play which caused him to be labelled as a theatrical ―enfant terrible‖. Dan Rebellato in his ―Introduction‖ to Ravenhill Plays: 1 agrees with this label but reminds the readers that in addition to this, ―Ravenhill is profoundly moral in his portraiture of contemporary society. His vision is elliptically but recognisably social, even socialist‖ (2001: x). Ravenhill himself explains his moralist attitude in a rather theatrical way: ―I want audiences to make moral choices: to decide moment by moment - intellectually and emotionally - whether what the characters are doing and the choices they are making are right or wrong. I find this dramatic. It makes good theatre‖ (2004: 313). However, Ravenhill‘s determination to have a say in changing ―things‖ around is not direct. He is of the opinion that a playwright‘s task is not to give definite answers to the audience but to ask the right questions: ―One of the major shifts in audience attitudes is that now people don‘t expect someone to give them a neat answer after two hours in the theatre ... they feel rather insulted if you do. The thing is Sibel İzmir 88 to more urgently and more cogently ask the right questions‖ (Ravenhill qtd. in Sierz 2001: 149). Shopping and F***ing is the first play with which Ravenhill literally shook up the theatre. The play has been extensively examined as an example of in-yer-face theatre or in terms of its affinity with postmodern aesthetics. Some critics such as Clare Wallace argue that although Ravenhill seems to be criticizing the postmodern condition, he does not employ postmodern techniques in his critique of postmodernity: Ravenhill‘s drama is less involved with theatrical postmodernism as practice, than with postmodernity as a subject. In fact, although the plays flaunt references to pop culture blended with allusions to and borrowings of ideas from critical texts on postmodernism, and are structured around rapid sequences of scenes and visceral images, a relatively coherent narrative usually unfolds in a manner structurally indebted (at least superficially) to television or cinema. Rather than being formally innovative, Ravenhill does not significantly break with the conventions of plot, character and narrative. (2005: 270) However, critics like Aleks Sierz believe that Ravenhill is playfully making use of postmodern techniques while still clinging to the traditional. To illustrate, Sierz exemplifies the way Ravenhill employs these techniques in Shopping and F***ing by fusing the postmodern with the dramatic, which seems to be a complete mixture: ―On one level, the play is a very postmodern mix of savage critique and playful entertainment; on another, the evident longing of its characters for something more than postmodern irony, for narratives that make sense of the world, links the play with an older tradition of committed drama‖ (2001: 133). Composed of fourteen scenes ―in a series of sequential but disconnected episodes to explore the lives of a group of young people‖ (Kritzer 2008: 39), Shopping and F***ing contains five definable (in the dramatic sense) characters: Lulu (the only female), Robbie, Mark, Gary and Brian. Actually, they are ―sketched with the minimum detail; their identities are delineated primarily by their roles in a system of commodities and commodification‖ (Wallace 2005: 270). Although the characters are dramatically definable, they are, as Ravenhill confesses, named after the members of the boy band Take That. At this point, it is important to note that, as Rebellato points out, by naming everyone after members of the then very famous boy band, ―Shopping and F***ing perhaps draws attention to the artificiality of the very idea of character‖ (2013: 29). By the artificiality of the idea of character, Rebellato clearly refers to the postmodern idea of the fluidity of identity and characters whose moral values are subject to change at any moment just like their identities. The characters in this play will demonstrate similar tendencies. In addition to Rebellato‘s comments, Aleks Sierz, who is definitely an ardent lover of Ravenhill‘s plays, criticizes the playwright for his unrealistic idea of character and he The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 89 considers this as the most problematic side of Shopping and F***ing. Ravenhill responds to this criticism by saying that his characters are ―the sum of their actions‖ and that he is a type of playwright who would allow ―the actor to add to them [characters] and the audience to project onto them‖ (qtd. in Sierz 2001: 131). It is precisely his stance as a playwright that his plays, while they carry the features of dramatic theatre, also refer to postdramatic aesthetics. Giving the actor/ actress the opportunity to add to the characters they are playing and similarly giving the audience the chance to project onto the characters mirror Lehmann‘s assumption that the text and the playwright do not have the supreme power in the theatrical event. Structurally, the play revolves around the lives of five characters. As Caridad Svich points out, the play ―presents snapshots of increasingly disconnected moments of human behavior … revolving around work and sex in which every moment can be reduced to a transaction‖ (2003: 82). The setting in Scene One is a flat - ―once rather stylish, now entirely stripped bare‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 3). Such a setting would make it impossible for the audience to predict the characters‘ lifestyles when they first see the décor. In this sense, the play is in parallel to what Lehmann calls ―non-hierarchical use of signs‖ (2006: 86). In a fully dramatic play, we find an ―established hierarchy, at the top of which we find language, diction and gesture and in which visual qualities such as the experience of an architectonic space - if they come into play at all - figure as subordinated aspects‖ (Lehmann 2006: 86). In Shopping and F***ing, the space and setting are intentionally designed to be bare and filthy, with minimum décor, which deconstructs the notion of the established hierarchy. Instead of a rich décor that provides a picture of the living space of the characters to the audience, technological means such as neon signs are applied. As Amelia Howe Kritzer relates, in the first production of the play, the characters ―move in a fast-paced and brightly lit urban landscape evoked in Max Stafford Clark‘s production through neon signs, video, and rhythm-driven techno music‖ (2008: 39). Moreover, it is known that the so called in-yer-face plays were produced in intimate, small spaces which were ―generally ordinary places with a sense of familiarity if not comfort‖ (Kritzer 2008: 30) - this is certainly valid for Shopping and F***ing. Ravenhill already confirms that he wrote the play for ―a close-up audience of 65 people‖ (qtd. in Sierz 2001: 127). Without doubt, staging the play in an intimate space carries an anti-dramatic quality. As Lehmann remarks: ―In general it can be said that dramatic theatre has to prefer a ‗medium‘ space. Tendentially dangerous to drama are the huge space and the very intimate space. In both cases, the structure of the mirroring is jeopardized‖ (2006: 150). In this respect, the play valorises the text equally with the décor, setting, music and technology, a technique seen in postdramatic productions. Sibel İzmir 90 Content-wise, the play begins with the appearance of Lulu and Robbie trying to get Mark to eat from a carton of takeaway food, a scene which will gain importance throughout the play. At the very beginning of this scene, Mark vomits. It is understood from Lulu‘s reaction that Mark has been vomiting recently. Mark does not utter a word till this point and his vomiting is not pretended since in most productions 8 he has this ―vomiting material‖ already put into his mouth. Although vomiting may be a part of everyday life and although the audience may be prepared for such scenes because of the provocative title of the play, it is likely that they are surprised to watch this scene very early in the play. This scene, though it is not as shocking as the scenes to come, may hinder the identification of the audience with the character from the very beginning. As mentioned before, in-yer-face theatre shares a similar view with postdramatic theatre in that there should be a sort of ―attack‖ on the spectator. ―While the dramatic body was the carrier of the agon, the postdramatic body offers the image of its agony. This prevents all representation, illustration and interpretation with the help of the body as a mere medium. The actor has to offer himself‖ (Lehmann 2006: 163, original emphasis). In this play, most of the time the actor/ actress will go beyond the confines of playing a role and offer his/ her body as a medium by which agony is presented. As the play proceeds, more ―physical attacks‖ will be seen. In a dramatic work, it is by way of dialogues, monologues or soliloquies that the audience gets to know about the characters and their past. Traditionally speaking, ―all explanations and digressions which hinder the flow of the dramatic action are to be abolished; drama is by definition a strict organisation of time in linear sequence‖ (Karschnia 2007). In this play, most of the time, we learn the characters‘ past experiences by way of long narrative texts that remind us of short stories and that digress the flow of the dramatic action. In the middle of the characters‘ interaction with each other through dialogues, there comes a story-like narration which definitely results in a sort of de-concentration on the part of the audience and fragmentation of the text. As Lehmann explains, the ―principle of narration is an essential trait of postdramatic theatre; the theatre becomes the site of a narrative act. … One often feels as though one is witnessing not a scenic representation but a narration of the play presented‖ (2006: 109). In Shopping and F***ing, there are various narratives related by Mark, Robbie, Lulu and Gary and these narratives ostensibly subvert the traditional plot structure which Ravenhill claims the play has. The relationship between the three characters is revealed through the narration of Mark at the beginning of the play. Although Lulu and Robbie are adults, Mark says to them ―Look … you two go to bed.‖ (Ravenhill, 8 The Process Theatre Co.‘s version directed by DeWayne Morgan and another production directed by Sebastián Cruz Prieto on YouTube are among them. The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 91 Shopping 3), in a manner normally used while speaking with children. These are the clues at the very beginning of the play which make the audience question the relationship among the three. When Lulu and Robbie want Mark to tell them the ―shopping story‖, the use of present tense to refer to the past is linguistically interesting: ―Robbie: We have good times don‘t we? / Mark: Of course we have. I‘m not saying that. / Robbie: Good times. The three of us. Parties. Falling into taxis, out of taxis. Bed. / Mark: That was years ago. That was the past‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 4). It is apparent that the two are speaking about the past in the present tense, at least till the point Mark reminds Robbie of the time. Although we can follow the plot in the traditional sense so far, this does not seem to be in parallel to the theatre of illusion which ― ‗mirrors‘ a world in which language is reliable, in which the ‗real‘ may lie buried but can be unearthed, in which the ―self‖ is more or less at one with itself‖ (Hollinger 1992: 184). This sense of lack of reliability in language and the ―real‖ may remind us of Harold Pinter‘s Old Times (1971). Similarly in Ravenhill‘s play, language, the self and reality are concepts that are put into question from the very second page on, and their reliability will be questioned throughout the play. Reality is constantly juxtaposed with fiction in this play, and consumerism is one of the central themes that allows the playwright to question the blurring boundaries between fact and fiction. Lehmann juxtaposes the idea of real and fictive and gives a clear-cut account on the subject: Without the real there is no staging. Representation and presence, mimetic play and performance, the represented realities and the process of representation itself: from this structural split the contemporary theatre has extracted a central element of the postdramatic paradigm - by radically thematizing it and by putting the real on equal footing with the fictive. It is not the occurrence of anything ‗real‘ as such but its self-reflexive use that characterizes the aesthetic of postdramatic theatre. (2006: 103) The ―shopping story‖, which Lulu and Robbie beg Mark to tell, is one of the accounts that puts the real on equal grounds with the fictive. Mark narrates how he has ―bought‖ Lulu and Robbie from a fat guy in a supermarket: ―It‘s summer. I‘m in a supermarket. It‘s hot and I‘m sweaty. Damp. And I‘m watching this couple shopping. I‘m watching you. And you‘re both smiling. You see me and you know you don‘t have a choice‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 5). Thus, Mark ―buys‖ Lulu and Robbie for twenty pounds, by way of transaction. From that time on, Mark has been keeping a room for them: ―And I‘ve been keeping a room for you and I take you into this room. And there‘s food. And it‘s warm. And we live out our days fat and content and happy‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 5). This shopping story is significant in the play for two reasons. First, it creates a ―fictive cosmos‖, though not a coherent one as Lehmann refers to, and this makes the audi- Sibel İzmir 92 ence feel that they are in a world of illusions. Secondly, however, since buying a couple from a supermarket is not an ordinary action, the audience once again questions the validity of this weird story. As Clare Wallace points out: ―This embedded narrative functions as an abstract synopsis of all relationships in the play, and introduces a sense of self-conscious performativity at the outset, where identity is considered in terms of ownership of oneself or others‖ (2005: 271). This ―self-conscious performativity‖ is one of the points that problematizes the issue of representation and mimesis. The audience rightly wonders whether the characters on the stage are really representative of what they seem to represent and possess because, as Wallace maintains, ―while the shopping story expresses a fantasy of objectification, it is significantly the means by which Lulu, Robbie and Mark negotiate and perform identities in the alternative family unit …‖ (2005: 271). In this play the setting is constantly shifting from one place to another. In this respect, and to no one‘s surprise, the play manifests an anti- Aristotelian structure. After Mark‘s farewell scene, the setting shifts to an interview room with a man named Brian showing an illustrated plastic plate to Lulu. While he is showing the plate, he makes a speech about the Disney film The Lion King (1994 American animation film), and relates how the protagonist, the Lion King, was crushed by wild cows intentionally and how it was arranged by the uncle. Brian obviously wants Lulu to internalize this story ―while Lulu anticipates its incidents by drawing from a cultural reservoir of which Brian seems completely ignorant‖ (Kritzer 2008: 42). The inclusion of such intertextual materials is also significant in terms of postdramatic theatre since for Lehmann ―the postdramatic both embraces and challenges the fundamental differences (even contradictions) between reality and art‖ (Woolf 2013: 40) and in this play by putting reality and art side by side, Ravenhill points to a similar tendency. The audience and its responses are constantly challenged in the play. For example, the setting is ostensibly an interview room; Brian is the interviewer and Lulu is the interviewee. However, for a period of time that could be said long, there is no reference to the job being applied for. It is after some time that Brian gives the plastic plate to Lulu, who, as a ―trained actress‖, is going to promote it in an advertisement - again a commercial activity. What Brian says to Lulu about the product summarizes the policy of global trademarks: ―Our viewers, they have to believe that what we hold up to them is special. For the right sum - life is easier, richer, more fulfilling. And you have to believe that too‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 10). Consuming a product and believing that you are a ―whole‖ special person when you do it is how the postmodern individual gets entrapped in the contemporary world. Brian seems to be the one who is one of the ―experts‖ of capitalism and his relationship with Lulu is of a ―master-slave‖ type for the time being. Thus, Brian does not hesitate to The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 93 force Lulu to take her jacket and blouse off to ―assess [her] talents‖ and ―do some acting‖, any acting speech will be acceptable (Ravenhill, Shopping 13). Lulu, with a clear reference to Chekhov‘s The Three Sisters, says: ―One day people will know what all this was for. All this suffering. There‘ll be no more mysteries. But until then we have to carry on living. We must work. That‘s all we can do. I‘m leaving by myself tomorrow …‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 13). This is the second intertextual reference after The Lion King. Ravenhill has a point here. As Alexander Karschnia (2007) states: ―Postdramatic theatre is polylogical, intertextual and transgressive‖. Certainly, such references make the play transgressive since they go beyond their literal meaning at the end of the play. The interview of Lulu by Brian ends in Brian‘s giving three hundred E, i.e. ecstasy pills, as a pretrial to see whether she has the ability to sell anything or not. Her acceptance of the offer will alter the course of the action in the rest of the play. The use of obscene words in the play is another technique that shocks the audience. Up to this point in the play, words such as ―f***, cunt, shit‖ or graphic sexual scenes like Robbie‘s dropping his trousers to be kissed by Mark (and rejected) have been already shocking. However, it is from this scene on that both verbal and sexual ―indecency‖, increasing in number, gets even more shocking. Gary, who is a rent boy, has a role that is considerable in terms of two points: his perceptions about reality and sex. His speech about virtual reality is noteworthy: ―Course, any day now it‘ll be virtual. […] Couple of years‘ time and we‘ll not even meet. We‘ll be like holograph things. We could look like whatever we wanted. And then we wouldn‘t want to meet ̓ cos we migh t not look like our holographs‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 22). This presupposition of Gary about a virtual future is supported by Mark‘s finding him on the phone because of liking his voice. Again, Mark wants sex based on transaction so that ―it won‘t mean anything‖ and what he demands from Gary is ―to lick your [Gary‘s] arse‖ and then pay for it (Ravenhill, Shopping 25). In such a commercialized sexual environment, the distant sounds of coins clattering in the casino downstairs surely complete the picture. While this graphic scene of sexual intercourse is taking place, Gary talks about a ―big bloke‖, a rich man with a big house, who wants to live with him. However, ―when Mark emerges from rimming Gary, his mouth is covered in blood from the unhealed wounds inflicted on Gary previously‖ (Alderson 2010: 865). Gary‘s outcry that he is not infected, his giving Mark champagne to rinse the blood out from his mouth, Mark‘s demanding his money back because of the incomplete sexual attempt all are scandalizing enough for the audience. These really come as an ―attack‖ on the spectator because such sexually graphic scenes pose problems in terms of the issue of representation. In other words, the audience, rather than establishing identification with the characters or with their assumed roles, is likely to begin questioning the representationality of the characters on the stage. As Sierz relates his experience of the play, Mark‘s ―rising with his mouth bloody Sibel İzmir 94 after rimming Gary provoked groans‖ among the audience (2001: 127). This, no doubt, shows Ravenhill‘s skill to create a tension between dramatic and postdramatic theatre aesthetics by simultaneously conforming to a traditional plot structure on the one hand, and calling representation into question, on the other hand. Such scenes should also be considered in terms of the text‘s hierarchical place within the production. The possibility of staging the play by remaining loyal to the text does not seem possible, at least culturally, for such scenes. At this point, the interpretation of these scenes will depend on the imagination of directors which calls the supremacy of the text into question. For example, during the first production by Max Stafford-Clark, the play opens with the song ―Life‘s a bitch‖ (by Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones known as Nas) whose lyrics ostensibly reflect the content of the play and ends with the song ―Love is the sweetest thing‖ (by Ray Noble) and its lyrics refer to the end. Similar to the effort made by Robbie to attain a sort of self-liberation, Lulu tries to react against the situation she has been put into. When the telephone rings stop, it is understood that Lulu, exhausted, has disconnected the telephone line to find peace at least for a few minutes. Soon it is clarified that one of the callers, while speaking on the phone with Lulu, is watching a video ―of a woman, a student girl who‘s in the Seven- Eleven, working behind the counter‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 61). Lulu tries to disconnect from this issue of phone sex by eating ready-made food, which she insists that Gary eat, too. However, Gary expresses how he hates such food: ―it doesn‘t taste of anything … This is shit. / This? I wouldn‘t feed a f***ing paraplegic with cancer this shit‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 61-62). This scene brings Mark, Gary, Robbie and Lulu together. Envious of Gary, Robbie tries to irritate him. Soon they quarrel over whether Mark loves Gary or not. In the meantime, Lulu‘s only effort is to protect the ready meals. Gary explains that actually Mark is not his type as he is too soft. As he talks about the firm guy he is imagining, Robbie interrupts him: I think we all need stories, we make up stories so that we can get by. And I think a long time ago there were big stories. Stories so big you could live your whole life in them. The Powerful Hands of the Gods and Fate. The Journey to Enlightenments. The March of Socialism. But they all died ... we‘re all making up our own stories. Little stories. It comes out in different ways. But we‘ve each got one. (Ravenhill, Shopping 66) Now, all the stories narrated so far in the play find a meaning by the intertextual reference of Robbie to François Lyotard‘s thoughts on the idea of postmodernity. As David Lane clarifies: In 1979 the postmodern philosopher François Lyotard articulated in The Postmodern Condition the inadequacies of such grand narratives as religion, the The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 95 Enlightenment and a knowable history; ... Our thirst for story is now quenched through the day-to-day narratisation of life through the media, television, film and a technological world that offers audiences the ability to narrate, engage and even live their own virtual performances. (2010: 9-10) Robbie will be quick to make up their stories and thus enhance a more virtual reality. He offers Gary to play a game for which he will pay. When Gary changes his mind and retreats from playing, the four begin playing the game of ―truth or dare‖. The first question goes to Mark from Lulu: ―Who is the most famous person you‘ve ever f***ed? ‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 69). He starts narrating the story: It was about 1984 or 85. Mark is in Tramps or Annabel‘s; he does not remember the place exactly. He goes to the toilet where he sees a woman, in a police uniform, watching him. While he is telling the story, he is careful about attracting the attention of his listeners; therefore he tries hard to conceal the name of the woman until the end to keep the others‘ curiosity. After telling all the details of this sexual intercourse in the toilet, at the end it is revealed that the woman is Fergie, the American singer and actress. Following this account, the turn is Gary‘s. He is going to tell the story, the pictures ―in his head‖ and Robbie assures him that he will help him. As Robbie verbalizes the story in Gary‘s head, it becomes exactly the same shopping story of the trio; Mark, Robbie and Lulu. Just like Lulu and Robbie who have been sold, it is being imagined that Gary is being sold from the fat man to Lulu and Robbie. Thus, we hear the same story for the second time in the play. However, when they arrive home, Gary, according to the story, is blindfolded. Although Mark tries to stop this game, Gary fervently rejects the idea. His trousers are pulled down by Robbie. Then, the hardcore sexual intercourse is initiated. First, Gary is seen to spit on his hand. ―Slowly he works the spit up Gary‘s arse … Robbie unzips his fly. Works spit on his penis. He penetrates. … He starts to f*** him. … Robbie pulls away. Mark goes through the same routine‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 83). Mark soon hits Gary repeatedly because Gary wants Mark to pretend that he is his father, which Mark rejects. Robbie continues the attempts while Gary tells that his stepdad has always used knife instead of his penis. Although even Robbie tries to disagree with this violent offer, Gary is determined to finish this game: ―When someone‘s paying, someone wants something and they‘re paying, then you do it. Nothing right. Nothing wrong. It‘s a deal. So then you do it. I thought you were for real. Pretending, isn‘t it? Just a story‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 85). Mark requests Robbie and Lulu to leave them alone. When they exit, Gary begs Mark to finish what he desperately needs, sex by knife: ―I‘m sick and I‘m never going to be well. … He‘s got no face in the story. But I want to put a face to him. Your face. … Do it and I‘ll say ‗I love you‘‖ (Ravenhill, Shopping 85). Gary‘s desperate desire for this experience undoubtedly reflects his quest for reality since ―in an age in which reality tends to become more and more virtual, Sibel İzmir 96 young people try to recover ‗reality‘, above all the ‗reality‘ of the body, by extreme forms of sex, violence and self-harm‖ (Broich 207). The scene ends with the implications that Mark has accepted the offer and taken the risk of killing Gary who already has anal bleeding. As Ulrich Broich puts forth: ―Apparently he is given this experience after the end of this scene, and we must assume that he dies from it - death as the ultimate experience of one‘s own body, of reality. (Fortunately, this was not shown on stage.)‖ (2001: 218). Actually, Gary‘s story is thus left open to interpretation since ―the play does not reveal its conclusion. The gap in dramatic action exposes an awkward desire for traditional resolution but an inability to represent such closure‖ (Kritzer 2008: 43). When this scene is considered from the viewpoint of the audience and its reaction, one should remember that, this play, as an example of ―experiential‖ theatre, offers a sort of live experience, in which ―anything can happen. The paradox is that while the audience is watching in perfect safety, it feels as if it is in danger‖ (Sierz 2003: 19). It is definitely the paradoxically presented body of Gary which offers a staging that goes beyond the limitations of dramatic theatre, reminding us of Lehmann‘s claim that ―The dramatic process occurred between the bodies; the postdramatic process occurs with/ on/ to the body‖ (2006: 163, original emphasis). 6. Conclusion Dramatically speaking, the play is a manifestation of Ravenhill‘s talent to create a tension and resolve it. As Caridad Svich very well summarizes: Ravenhill‘s skill in creating moments of dramatic tension and sustaining them for long periods of time is admirable … Each scene effectively ‗tops‘ the other, as we see: a) Lulu undress to get her job; b) Robbie drop his trousers to get Mark‘s attention; c) Mark lick Gary‘s ass only to find blood on his mouth; d) Lulu blood-stained from witnessing a violent drug-store burglary, Robbie bruised and bleeding from a club altercation; e) Robbie attacks Gary only to have Mark attack him, etc. … Shopping and F***ing places the audience as voyeur to the outré actions presented in the piece. In an intimate space, there is no question as to the power of the graphic nature of the physical interactions presented by Ravenhill on stage. (2003: 83) In this respect, when the plot of Shopping and F***ing is taken into consideration, Ravenhill has a traditional style though with fragmentary narrations. The play has a climax towards the very end (the scene when Gary is blindfolded) and each scene, though disconnected, has their own climax, which are brought together and resolved at the end. Although this is not the plot structure Aristotle advocates for, it still belongs to dramatic theatre. The questions that must be asked at this point are: How The Oscillation Between Dramatic and Postdramatic Theatre 97 does Ravenhill succeed in portraying this postmodern world with a plot structure that contains a climax and resolution? Why does Ravenhill write in traditional style while he is exploiting the boundaries of content? Can it be claimed that the form and content of Shopping and F***ing have an ambivalent relationship? All these questions have their answers when replied in terms of the aesthetics and rubric of postdramatic theatre. It is true that Shopping and F***ing has a well-structured plot, definable characters, structured time and space as well as understandable dialogues and monologues, all of which characterize dramatic theatre. However, the play certainly problematizes such major points as its potential to render mimesis possible, the blurred boundaries between fact and fiction, text‘s place/ validity in the theatrical production and the ―attack‖ on the spectator. David Lane‘s ideas on the place of text in contemporary theatre indicate a similarity with the theatre of Ravenhill: Even across many diverse European forms of theatre, the use of paradigmatic dramatic features such as plot, imitative action, characters facing dilemmas and the resolution of conflicts to reach some sort of goal or super-objective has persisted. These elements remain present even in theatre that has moved increasingly away from a text-based culture; German academic Hans-Thies Lehmann‘s influential study Postdramatic Theatre … finds evidence of theatre‘s literary legacy even through ‗new‘ forms of theatre which have rejected text as the dominant mode of discourse. (2010: 8) In conclusion, in Shopping and F***ing, Ravenhill does employ strategies which give him the opportunity to enrich his theatrical ―space‖ as a playwright. While he is fully interested in plot structure and characterization, the play, nevertheless, seems to be lacking ―a naturalistic plot and well-rounded characters, but its strength is density of metaphor and theatrical flair‖ (Sierz 2001: 130). The play is also marked by a juxtapositional approach to fact and illusion, de-hierarchal setting, sexual and violent scenes which problematize mimetic representation. Besides, the reduced centrality of the text within the theatrical production and the ―experiential‖ atmosphere forces the audience members to question the validity of the play, all of which suffice to show that Ravenhill in this play demonstrates a tension between dramatic and postdramatic theatre aesthetics. References Alderson, David (2010). ―Postgay Drama: Sexuality, narration and history in the plays of Mark Ravenhill‖. Textual Practice 24 (5). 863-882. [online] [Accessed 12 November 2015]. Sibel İzmir 98 Angel-Pérez, Élisabeth (2013). ―Back to Verbal Theatre: Post-Post-Dramatic Theatres from Crimp to Crouch‖. Études Britanniques Contemporaines 45. [online] http: / / ebc.revues.org/ 862 [Accessed 30 September 2015]. Barnett, David (2008). ―When is a Play not a Drama? Two Examples of Postdramatic Texts‖. New Theatre Quarterly 24 (1). 14-23. [online] [Accessed 19 March 2016]. Brockett, Oscar G. (1969). The Theatre. An Introduction. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc. 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London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Sibel İzmir English Language and Literature Atılım University Punk as Literature: Toward a Hermeneutics of Anglophone Punk Songs Gerfried Ambrosch Over the last forty years, the Anglophone punk culture has produced a plethora of poetic texts - with varying degrees of elaborateness - in the form of song lyrics. Most punk lyrics assume the typical superficies of a poem and should, therefore, be categorized as poetry, albeit with some qualification. In the performative realm, the lyrics are part of a larger whole and stand in a reciprocal relationship not only with their musical environment (intermediality) but also with the culture that begot them and within which they take full effect. Relying on subversive-transgressive tactics, this culture - punk culture - has cultivated what we might call an ‗aesthetic of dissent.‘ ‗Inarticulate‘ vocal styles are part of this aesthetic - or as one participant put it when interviewed by this author, ―[P]unk fashion is about looking unemployable, punk politics are about refusing to play the game, and even punk vocalization is about incomprehensibility, is about becoming wild‖ (Brian D. 2011). These factors must be taken into consideration when attempting to establish a hermeneutics of punk songs, a project to which this article is intended to be a contribution. Relevant to the present subject, questions of performance and performativity are given special attention. As a practical example, the article closes with an in-depth song analysis. 1. Introduction ―We‘re the flowers in the dustbin / We‘re the poison in the human machine,‖ the Sex Pistols sang in 1977. Their crudely poetic sentiment, along with the idealistic belief that ―a social fact could be addressed by a broken chord‖ (Marcus 2011: 76) sparked the early punk movement. For over four decades, punk has survived as a multifaceted cultural reality wherein lyrical expression, in the form of song lyrics, has taken on a central role as a means of artistic self-expression and discourse formation. As performed literature, punk lyrics stand in a reciprocal relationship with specific visual and musical signifiers and between the conflicting priorities of internal and external performance due to their intermedia nature. AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Gerfried Ambrosch 102 The following pages are part of an effort to develop a hermeneutics of Anglophone punk songs 1 , focusing on the song lyrics written and performed by British and American punk artists, while taking into account questions of performance and intermediality. As the community‘s epistemological basis, punk lyrics, which are an ideal means by which to trace the developments and explain the conflicts and schisms shaping the punk culture, are best understood when put in a broader literary and cultural context, both in terms of artistic precedents and hegemonic culture, the latter serving as a collective ‗constitutive other,‘ one to which many punk songwriters have made explicit lyrical reference 2 . Parallels can be drawn to poetic traditions such as modernism and romanticism. Eliot‘s bleak depiction and profound critique of modern life in The Waste Land, for instance, is echoed in countless punk songs 3 and in the collage-like punk aesthetic itself. Inspired by dada and radical groups such as the Situationist International, Early Punks used many of the revolutionary tactics employed by members of early avant-garde art movements: unusual fashions, the blurring of boundaries between art and everyday life, juxtapositions of seemingly disparate objects and behaviors, intentional provocation of the audience […]. (O‘Hara 1996: 34) As for Romantic influences, let us, by way of example, take a brief look at a song by the band AFI entitled ―No Poetic Device‖, which contains romantic elements - and, ironically, a number of poetic devices: I‘ve been dreaming. I was lucid. I was dreaming blood was seeping from my pores. Who‘d believe that it was all my own decision? Cracked faces and medicated smiles. Set fire to my home before I turned and walked back in. For every needle open my chest and insert ten pins. I just anticipate what awaits when I awake…break…I die in my daydreams. The gardens have all been overgrown. I pushed my hands through the thorns just to crush the final rose. A deadly secret only I suffer to know, I can‘t eradicate what awaits when I awake...break. I die in my daydreams. (AFI 1999) 1 For the purpose of this article, hermeneutics shall be defined as the science of interpretation and critical text analysis. The British philosopher Roger Scruton defines it simply as ―the art of interpretation‖ (Scruton 2015: 42). Punk has been given a great deal of academic attention, but never have the lyrics, as performed literature, been the main focus of this attention. 2 E.g., ―Coffee Black‖ by As Friends Rust (excerpt): ―Every step that you take forward is a generation back for us […]. We are the ugly. We are the gay. Impoverished, effeminate, and overweight. Take your consumer culture back from us‖ (2001). 3 E.g., ―What the Thunder Said‖ by Catharsis (1996) and Trial‘s ―Reflections‖ (1999). The latter opens with the lines, ―the wreckage of humanity has been strewn across the land / and now the hour of desperation is at hand‖ (Trial 2009). Punk as Literature 103 Conveying a similar sense of nightmarish mystery as some of the works associated with dark romanticism, especially those of Edgar Allen Poe, the lyrics‘ melancholy, dream-like description of the speaker‘s highly subjective, inward-looking experience is also reminiscent of Wordsworth‘s ―I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud‖, Keats‘s ―On a Dream‖, and Coleridge‘s ―Kubla Khan‖. In this connection, Percy Bysshe Shelley‘s influence on punk should not go unmentioned. One of the most blatant examples is Strike Anywhere‘s 2003 song ―Blaze‖, which borrows, almost verbatim, an entire stanza from Shelley‘s The Masque of Anarchy (cf. Shelley 2012: 512, lines 368-72), thereby establishing an acutely potent connection not only between the two texts (intertextuality) but also between Shelley‘s worldview and their own 4 : We! Rise like lions after slumber In unvanquishable number, Shake these chains to earth like dew. You are many, they are few! […] (lines 1-4, transcribed by this author) 2. Musical poetry: performance and performativity Given that they are inextricably interwoven with their musical environment, following the rhythm of the music rather than a poetic meter, are song lyrics in general, and punk lyrics in particular, to be considered poetry? It is one of the goals of this article to demonstrate that they are, albeit with some qualifications. In their written form, most song lyrics assume the typical superficies of a poem - they are composed in verse and utilize language in ways that are noticeably different from everyday usages - and employ tried and trusted poetic devices. Moreover, they ―deal in human values, meanings and purposes‖, as Terry Eagleton puts it (Eagleton 2007: 29). In poetic texts, these moral concerns are performed rather than stated. There is a substantial difference between nonvocalized poetry and song lyrics, however: [W]hile the voice in poetry is generally perceived as an internalized one encoded in the medium of writing, the voice of lyrics is by definition external. Lyrics, this is to say, cannot be perceived outside of the context of their vocal (and musical) actualisation - i.e. their performance. (Eckstein 2010: 10, original emphasis) 4 See Shelley‘s essays ―The Necessity of Atheism‖ and ―Vindication of Natural Diet‖. Anarchism, atheism, and vegetarianism are widely subscribed to in the left-leaning punk community. Gerfried Ambrosch 104 I would argue, however, that the immanent voice of poetry is still present in song lyrics. It doesn‘t simply evaporate once the vocalization commences, nor does the fact that the music is the lyrics‘ sole raison d'être mean that they don‘t also exist as poetry. There are, to be sure, song lyrics that do not work outside of Eckstein‘s aforementioned context, but many do, especially in punk, where vocalists are encouraged to sing in ways that effectively eliminate lyrical understanding, forcing the listener to sit down and study the lyrics as literature. This point of disagreement notwithstanding, it certainly makes sense to distinguish, as Eckstein does, between two levels of performance: internal and external. With regard to song lyrics, we might describe them as different layers of performance. In this connection, Klaus W. Hempfer‘s distinction between ―structural performativity‖ - the inherent ‗stagedness‘ of poetic texts - and performance in the sense of artistic presentation (Aufführung) is useful; the former ―does not imply‖ the latter (Hempfer 2014: 65, my translation). However, in songs, these two spheres become intertwined, augmenting, or interfering with, one another. As externally performed literature, song lyrics both ‗perform themselves‘ and are performed. In Eckstein‘s words, they ―are always doubly encoded, as both verbal and musical referents‖ (Eckstein 2010: 67). I use the words ‗performance‘ and ‗performativity‘ in a rather narrow sense, leaving aside their meanings in other contexts 5 . The definition most relevant to the present discussion is this: a performance is an artistic presentation before an audience. In a ―performance situation‖ (Hempfer 2014: 61, my translation), the audience plays a significant role: […] the performance artist depends on an audience which can interpret her work through its own experience of performance, its own understanding of seduction and pose, gesture and body language; an audience which understands, however ―instinctively‖ (without theorizing), the constant dialogue of inner and outer projected by the body in movement. For performance art to work it needs an audience of performers; it depends on the performance of the everyday. (Frith 2002: 205-06, original emphasis) Frith is not wrong, but he seems to conflate two different conceptions: performance proper (artistic presentation) and what he calls ―the performance of the everyday‖, be it in Chomsky‘s sense as linguistic performance or in the sense of ‗performative identity‘. As Hempfer points out, it is important to make this distinction (cf. Hempfer 2014: 61f.). It is one of the defining characteristics of performance in the artistic sense that it contrasts with the everyday. Poetry is a good example. In songs and poems, linguistic signifiers are valued not only for their semantic but also 5 E.g., Austin‘s performative utterances, Chomsky‘s notion of performance as the surface structure of language, Foucauldian discourse analysis, and Judith Butler‘s theory of gender performativity. Punk as Literature 105 - and especially - for their aesthetic merits. In fact, it is often the case that ―the signifier predominates over the signified‖ (Eagleton 2009: 41), establishing itself self-referentially. This is fundamentally different from the way language is used in everyday situations (encoding and transferring information). Lyrics are highly self-contained, ―semantically saturated‖ (Eagleton 2009: 56) pieces of aesthetic writing. Though punk lyrics, especially those penned by explicitly political artists, often serve as vehicles for concrete messages, they, too, show signs of implicit self-referentiality and aesthetic detachment - they are, as scripted verbal performances, poetry. Their vocal actualization is best described as an additional, external layer of performance, one that stands in a reciprocal relationship with the text itself. Through the intimate route of the vocalist‘s body, these different layers become connected. A song‘s lyrical speaker can be overt or covert, tangible or elusive. The vocalist - the material ‗speaker‘ -, on the other hand, is always a person of flesh and blood - to an extent. Within the aesthetic construction of the band, the singer, too, becomes, in some sense, ‗fictionalized‘, i.e., part of the creation. However, behind the vocal performance, there is a real human being. Even if the lyrics explicitly state that the first-person speaker is a character and the vocalist, being bound by the lyrics, repeats this assertion, as is the case in the Dead Kennedys song ―California Über Alles‖ (1979, hereafter ―California‖), this fact does not change. In a sense, the vocalist becomes an actor playing a role. When Jello Biafra sings, ―I‘m Governor Jerry Brown / My aura smiles and never frowns‖ (Dead Kennedys 1980) he plays the part of Jerry Brown (in addition to his ‗role‘ as the group‘s singer) 6 . As a kind of externally performed dramatic monolog, the song ―encourages the reader to question the speaker‘s authority or intention‖ (Williams 2013: 83). The Mancunian singer Morrissey once said that singing before an audience is ―really a bit like starting and finishing a play; it‘s like stepping out and doing Hamlet or Macbeth; there‘s a lot of mental preparation‖ (Flintoff & Kelehar 2002). However, despite there being elements of dramatic art to the stage performance of the vocalist, singing is not quite like acting. The singer ―is precisely not an actor impersonating a character‖ - with the exception of special cases such as ―California‖ - and ―his speaking, therefore, not a priori fictional‖ (Hempfer 2014: 63, my translation) 7 . A film is, arguably, a more self-contained piece of performative art than a popular music record or concert in which the singer‘s biography directly informs the performance. And given the participatory nature of live con- 6 To further complicate the speaking situation, the singer uses a telling alias consisting of the sugary gelatin dessert Jell-O, an epitome of America‘s consumer society, and the name of a secessionist state in Nigeria beset with war and famine. 7 Hempfer‘s observation refers to medieval courtly love songs (Minnesang). Gerfried Ambrosch 106 certs, especially in the punk context, the experience of attending such an event obviously is, for similar reasons, different from watching a play. There is, nonetheless, an important difference between the person who sings and the semi-fictional persona of the singer as the latter‘s identity is inextricably tied to the performative realm. The situation is further complicated by the fact that in punk the singer is usually also the author of the lyrics. We find varying degrees of aesthetic detachment between the lyricist and the lyrical speaker. At one end of the spectrum, we have songs like ―California‖, where the speaker is explicitly fictional (a character), and at the other, songs in which the speaker clearly is the lyricist‘s mouthpiece, fictionalized only by the aesthetic context in which we encounter him. Sometimes speakers explicitly reveal themselves to be the author. In extreme cases, they even break the ‗fourth wall‘ and directly address the audience as a form of apostrophe. Two worlds collide. ―Less Talk, More Rock‖, a song by a band tellingly named Propagandhi, is an excellent example of this practice: ―We wrote this song because it‘s fucking boring to keep spelling out the words that you keep ignoring‖ (Propagandhi 1996). This lyric makes explicit the ―performative fiction [Performativitätsfiktion] of poetic texts‖ (Hempfer 2014: 67, my translation) by introducing a meta-lyrical element into the song. This leads to a paradoxical situation: The speaker cannot truthfully say that he wrote the lyrics, because, being intrinsic to the text, he is, technically, still ‗producing‘ them 8 . 3. The reciprocal relationship between the music and the lyrics in punk songs In songs, the lyrics and the music are inextricably intertwined and stand in a reciprocal relationship to one another. This is especially true for punk songs. In most punk communities, the lyrics have a prominent status as a means of conveying messages and sharing ideas. At the same time, the method by which the lyrics are conveyed within their musical environment is intrinsic to their meaning. The lyrics‘ immanent poetic voice and its external actualization may occupy different performative spheres, but they do not exist independently of one another. They are connected through the music, which is the reason they exist in the first place. The merging of music and lyrics affects the meaning of both. Trevor Thomas, drummer for London‘s Active Slaughter, explains: If you just look at the lyric sheet […], it can be said however you want to say it, but once you put music to it, it has a very distinct way of being said. I guess I would argue that the message is the most important thing, but the de- 8 Hempfer offers similar observations in connection with William IX. von Aquitanien‘s ―Farai un vers de dreyt nien‖ (66). Punk as Literature 107 livery of that message is very important as well, because if I just stood up and read out those lyrics, as great as they might be, they would lose a certain something. If they‘re delivered in a package that‘s angry and subversive, if you like, that adds to the message. (Thomas 2011) Like Thomas, most of the people interviewed for my research believe that the music and the lyrics are equally important. ―To me you can‘t have one without the other,‖ says Jello Biafra (Biafra 2012). And for Propagandhi‘s Chris Hannah ―it‘s kind of an equal give-and-take with both.‖ What implications does this have? ―When we‘re trying to put a song together,‖ the Canadian musician explains, ―it feels like there‘s equal emphasis on trying to make the music as interesting as we want it to be and still trying to get the lyrics to say what we really want them to say‖ (Hannah 2011). This trade-off is part of what we might call the ‗economy of songs.‘ It is sometimes necessary to sacrifice parts of the lyrics to make them fit within the musical parameters, and sometimes, it is the lyrics‘ ‗musicality‘ that suffers to the benefit of the message. Mark W. Booth, author of The Experience of Songs, describes this relationship as ―a continual interplay‖ (qtd. in Eckstein 2010: 78). However, there is also a ―danger that the music, when it is combined with words, may in some way ‗destroy‘ the words,‖ notes Walter Bernhart. ―This implies that music, in a multimedia situation, as far as its effect on an audience is concerned, possibly overrules, displaces, absorbs the words and what they have to say‖ (Bernhart 2015: 265). Bernhart goes on to argue that Texts of an argumentative character […] are unlikely to benefit from accompanying music in their adequate reception. Texts with a purpose, such as, e.g., a political message, are easily ‗destroyed‘ by music, which will distract the audience‘s attention from the indispensible [sic] referential meaning of the text. By contrast, a text which mainly establishes a mood or gives expression to emotions […] will far more readily benefit from musical accompaniment - on the condition that the music choose to take up that mood or emotion and ‗duplicate‘ it, as it were. (Bernhart 2015: 269) Expressing a similar notion, Greg Bennick, singer for the Seattle band Trial, describes punk rock as ―music that is played passionately as an expression of truth, and the lyrics augment that passion and specify that truth‖ (Bennick 2011). As for Bernhart‘s assertion that political lyrics are more ―easily ‗destroyed‘‖ than lyrics that mainly express emotion, I would posit that radical political messages, as we often find them in punk songs, benefit from the emotional charge provided by the music as it enhances their impact. Music, by itself, is unable to convey concrete semantic content (which is not to say that it has no meaning), and language may not always be the best tool to express emotions. ―At the end of the day,‖ explains Dan Yemin, ―language - you know we‘re talking about personal experience, Gerfried Ambrosch 108 we‘re talking about interior life - is a very imprecise tool to describe those things‖ (Yemin 2011). The American psychologist and punk singer has addressed this problem with the lyric, ―We don‘t know what we are, but we‘re sure of what we‘re not. / I know that language will fail us, but it‘s all we‘ve got‖ (Paint It Black, ―New Folk Song‖). Somewhat ironically, this meta-linguistic statement is made in a multimedia context in which language is precisely not ―all we‘ve got‖. In songs, words and music form a unified whole that is, in some sense, bigger than the sum of its parts. Many, though not all, song lyrics sound awkward when removed from their musical context, and lyrics written without any musical inspiration often lack the musicality necessary to merge into song. ―There is music which tries to enter into a dialogue with the words and concerns itself in one way or another with the meaning of the text […],‖ explains Bernhart, ―and it is this form which is less likely to be ‗destructive‘ than music which […] appears more or less independent from the text and mainly serves as a background‖ (Bernhart 2015: 269) - and vice versa! Song lyrics must be ‗songly‘; they must be able to enter into a meaningful dialog with the music, not just in terms of their message, but also in terms of their intrinsic ‗musicality‘. Bernhart speaks of varying degrees of ―word/ music harmony‖ (Bernhart 2015: 272). ―When I‘m writing a song,‖ explains Greg Bennick, I can‘t write lyrics unless the music is passionate and engaging. I‘ll just sit for years sometimes, just listening to it over and over and over again, if I‘m gripped by the music. […] When the music and the lyrics come together, something incredible happens. […] it‘s almost as if the music supports the lyrics, when lyrics are written in a way that‘s cognizant of that passion behind the music itself. […] The way that I write is: I listen for a moment in a song, and then I write around that moment. (Bennick 2011) Recommending an approach similar to that outlined by Bennick, P.G. Woodhouse once said, ―If I write a lyric without having to fit it to a tune, I always make it too much like a set of light verse, much too regular in meter. I think you get the best results by giving the composer his head and having the lyricist follow him‖ (qtd. in Frith 2002: 179). In other words, the music has a tremendous effect on the lyrical composition, but this effect need not be ‗destructive‘. The relationship between the music and the lyrics, especially in punk songs, where the medium is part of the message, is usually a symbiotic one. 4. The meaning of punk vocalization By accentuating phonetic properties, the vocalist can manipulate the lyrics in such a way as to highlight important textual elements, thereby eclipsing others. Such emphases may elicit a vocal rhyming pattern, in- Punk as Literature 109 discernible in its written form, which, in further consequence, creates intra-textual connections that may alter the meaning of the scripted lyrics. However, vocalization does more than just manipulate the lyrics. It is, in and of itself, meaningful. This is especially true with regard to what Greil Marcus refers to as the ―punk voice‖, which […] called attention to its own artificiality for more than one reason: as a rejection of mainstream pop humanism in favor of resentment and dread; as a reflection of the fear of not being understood. But the voice was unnatural most of all out of its fear of losing the chance to speak—a chance every good punk singer understood, that was not only certain to vanish, but might not even be deserved. (Marcus 2011: 76) Out of this sentiment developed an aesthetic tradition based on the punk vocalist‘s role as an instigator, adding something to the lyrics that cannot be achieved by writing: a powerful emotional charge, a physicality that impacts the listener on the gut-level. ―I recognized at an early age,‖ writes Bad Religion singer Greg Graffin, ―that a group could consist of superb musicians but what really brought a song to life was the delivery of the vocalist‖ (Graffin and Olson 2010: 104). Punk songs are meant to be performed with utmost passion, which is why many punk singers, seeking an outlet, exhaust themselves almost to the point of self-destruction when they perform. Iggy Pop is a good example. The proto-punk icon and Stooges frontman is known for his highly physical performance style. ―There is just something in a certain kind of music that suggests the way the song should be performed,‖ he says (―Iggy Pop‖ 2004). ―Iggy does not so much sing as relieve himself,‖ explains Morrissey. ―All of the body is thrown into the vocal delivery‖ (Morrissey 2013: 113). This approach adds a tremendous amount of emotional content to the lyrics. ―Penetration‖ by the Stooges is a good example. ―On paper,‖ explains Catharsis singer Brian D., the phrase ―‗penetrate me‘‖ may be ―a little bit risqué, but Iggy Pop hissing and moaning and yowling and whispering ‗penetrate me‘ over and over on that last Stooges record is an obscene and intense experience that you can‘t just do by writing‖ (Brian D. 2011). Punk singers‘ vocals are expected to genuinely reflect their deepest feelings, even if this entails a loss of articulacy. In fact, incomprehensibility itself has meaning in punk. Extreme vocalization, be it screaming or shouting, is a part of punk‘s aesthetic of dissent, a transgression of culturally accepted norms of expression. Brian D. elaborates: As a context in which people are encouraged to become - by the aesthetic points of reference that everyone has in common in this society - inhuman, to sound like animals, to sound like different from what everyone is familiar with right up to the point of permanently injuring themselves [...] punk is a really fundamental refusal of the way that human beings are constructed in Gerfried Ambrosch 110 this society: punk fashion is about looking unemployable, punk politics are about refusing to play the game, and even punk vocalization is about incomprehensibility, is about becoming wild, and that creates a situation in which the lyrics are not important in the way that they are in conventional acoustic guitar folk music. (Brian D. 2011) Hurled at us with incredible speed and distortion, the individual words no longer convey linguistic content. This does not imply, however, that lexical signification is irrelevant, but that the vocals mainly impact the listener ―on a visceral level, at the level of the gut, the deep emotional level,‖ as Dan Yemin puts it (Yemin 2011), especially when unmediated lyrical understanding is made impossible by the singer‘s oral ‗inarticulacy.‘ The vocal delivery itself is potent enough to emotionally affect both the sender and the receiver. We might call this the ‗transformative power‘ of punk vocalization. Screaming and shouting, being unrestrained and uncivilized modes of expression, liberate the vocalist from society‘s aesthetic norms. Moreover, there is a sense of vulnerability, honesty, and loss of control attached to these forms of vocal delivery. ―Certain physical experiences,‖ writes Simon Frith, ―particularly extreme feelings, are given vocal sounds beyond our conscious control—the sounds of pain, lust, ecstasy, fear, what one might call inarticulate articulacy: […] we hear them as if they‘ve escaped from a body that the mind—language—can no longer control‖ (Frith 2002: 192). The emotional content of punk vocals is not ―limited to the emotion of hostility‖ (Yemin 2011). Ian MacKaye agrees. The legendary hardcore punk frontman, famous for his bands Minor Threat and Fugazi, believes that, in the performative context, passion is often mistaken for aggression: ―People often say to me, ‗God, you seemed so enraged in Minor Threat,‘ but I didn‘t feel enraged. I was joyful. I was passionate. I meant it‖ (MacKaye 2011). But how can screaming and shouting be an expression of anything other than rage, distress, or hostility? Yemin: Compassion and empathy are liabilities to succeeding in mainstream American culture, in mainstream capitalist culture. That‘s why I think aggressive, oppositional music is the best tool to express compassion and empathy, because it‘s not the language of our culture. The things I‘m yelling about are generally not values that are reinforced in our culture. I think the anger in this context makes sense and the louder we scream the more maybe we‘re defining ourselves as something that attempts to go against the grain. (Yemin 2011) Extreme vocalization is only one possible pathway, however. Some punk singers went in the opposite direction, trying to sing with the greatest clarity. Greg Graffin, for instance, ―found that delving into areas of philosophical inquiry and intellectual challenge greatly enhanced the conceptual quality of my songwriting. I wanted my newly discovered concepts Punk as Literature 111 and words to be audible, so I took great pains to be more eloquent and articulate when I sang‖ (Graffin and Olson 2010: 190). Singers who utilize more articulate vocal styles also manipulate the lyrics, albeit in subtler ways. Morrissey‘s highly suggestive vocals, especially his trademark camp falsetto, are a case in point. Gavin Hopps characterizes the post-punk singer‘s vocal delivery as ―carnivalesque‖, by which he means his ―bold stretching out of words, far beyond their customary length or shape, and conversely, his squashing of words or complicated syntax into the conventional spaces of popular music‖ 9 . The former Smiths frontman toys with linguistic signifiers ―without commitment to meaning [thereby] destabiliz[ing] not only the song‘s meaning […] but also meaningfulness as such‖ (Hopps 2012: 25). 5. Toward a hermeneutics of punk songs: Analysis of “Arsonist’s Prayer” Having outlined the peculiarities of punk lyrics as a form of externally performed poetry in a specific socio-cultural and aesthetic context 10 , I wish to conclude this article, as a practical demonstration of what I mean by ‗a hermeneutics of punk songs‘, with an interpretative analysis of the song ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ (2001) by Catharsis, a mainstay of the American anarcho-hardcore scene for over two decades. ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ is an excellent example of heavy punk music, elaborate poetry, and radical politics coming together in one song. It draws not only on several different traditions from within punk but also on outside influences. Due to the use of religiously connoted language, the lyrics, metaphorical as they are, possess a serious, almost solemn quality, permeating the composition as a whole with a sense of drama. The listener is taken on a journey down valleys of despair and up summits of unbridled idealism. The lyrics brim with pathos while also painting a bleak picture of the ―world as it is‖ (line 10), a world the speaker wishes to 9 See the Smiths‘ ―This Charming Man‖ (1983): ―Why pamper life‘s complexity when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat? ‖ (Smiths 1995). Here, Morrissey makes use of both techniques, squashing and stretching. Singing the word ‗seat,‘ he moves between several different notes (melisma): see-ee-e-eat. 10 In the interest of brevity, I choose not to discuss the relationship between text and paratext, a term coined by Gérard Genette, and the social and didactic functions of punk lyrics. Suffice it to say, paratext, typically provided by LP sleeves and CD booklets, plays a fundamental role in the reception of punk songs as a framing device (images, liner notes). As far as the functions of punk lyrics are concerned, it makes sense to broadly differentiate between social, didactic, and cultural functions. In punk, the lyrics play a central role in individual as well as communal identity formation processes (social function), are morally instructive (didactic function), and establish, maintain, and perpetuate codes of lyrical practice (cultural function). Gerfried Ambrosch 112 destroy. The singer‘s ‗destructive‘ vocal style - he, too, seems intent on ―raz[ing] it all‖ (line 55), sparing nothing, not even the lyrics themselves - is a metonymy of this sentiment. Matching the lyrics‘ radicalism, the tuneless vocals are raging and spat out with utmost aggression. The instrumental music, on the other hand, is heavy but tuneful. Dark minor chords and somber melodies dominate the song. Recall Bernhart‘s notion of ―word/ music harmony‖ mentioned in chapter 3. ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ is an epic ten minutes long, which is quite extraordinary given that most punk songs fall short of the three-minute mark. The lyrics consist of no less than 62 lines, hardly any of them end-stopped (enjambment). Some sentences are spread out over entire verse paragraphs and have relatively complex, in some cases hypotactic syntaxes. Structurally, the song does not seem to follow any particular formula. There is no identifiable verse or chorus; the individual lines and verse paragraphs are highly irregular in length. In place of a classic versechorus structure, the song creates its own narrative of conflict and resolution as it dynamically alternates between different levels of intensity, between thundering, heavy sections and more delicate, quieter passages. 1 The horror—that we may not live We may not live To see the walls fall from between us Between us and the world for which these songs cry out 5 That the desire—which still lives—to contest, a mark of shame upon certain foreheads, Will remain an offering unto the dead: illegible, irrelevant And we will be shaped into priestly statues in poses of defiance before our own masters To softly, safely sing the praises of a disarmed war, a lukewarm love So lest we fall out of lust for life, let us risk all we have to risk 10 For only a fool—only a fool—would cling to this world as it is If I could strike one blow to spite their force, though I might bear one hundred more, I would wear the welts like rubies, and the shackles for a crown And if I had one hundred hearts I would throw them all before their bullets Before I‘d sell a single one to wield their power 15 So lest we fall out of love with life, let us give all we have to give For only a fool would cling to this world: Autumn—the leaves fell Then the trees Became fences and factories Punk as Literature 113 20 Now winter is coming Let‘s put the heat on …but no fire or ice, their absences suffice The nights now will be long and cold, with a silence like you‘ve never known And you‘ll shake in it, cry out at it, but it will wrap you in its spider‘s thread 25 Perhaps you‘ll stare into that blankness until it peers back into you And both of you see nothing - and it will wrap you in its spider‘s thread: That blessed are the wombs that are barren Blessed are the branches that bear no fruit Blessed are the rivers run dry 30 For we have come to the end of the world To die So die—die and become—perish, let go and be done With all the tangled threads that keep you tied to husks of false hopes, fossilized If these years still wait for those who will be more merciless than history 35 To burn the chaff and make an end, to make the fields fertile once again Then break—break the skin, Open—open, and reach in And draw the nerves out taut to play a song upon those tight strings Such as this world has never heard 40 Let it be dirge, hymn, or dance, vomit or tears, absolving snowfall or acid rain Summer that sets fire to the harvest, or ice age that, thawing, blossoms crimson pain Pleasure or death, splendor or rust, flash flood or drought that turns jungles to crust Those tender caresses for which the skin aches Or tear gas to breathe and plate glass to break 45 The uproar of riot, the hush of nightfall, or sirens announcing the doom of us all The triumph of failures who fought at all costs, or despair of derelict dreamers who lost Silence and space—hungers to be—momentary eternities The furrows of ash left by passion and wrath The faithless fixed stars over our wandering paths 50 As the moon moves the sea we could move these mountains As comets drop to earth, so might empires end As old suns explode rather than fall to dust Let us steal fire and pay with our lives if we must For if all this world is God‘s, and man a mere plaything of laws and things 55 Then why not raze it all, and in destroying at least set sail on borrowed wing? Anything other than what we have known Strike the match, take a breath now—the hour has come To dance the resistance, teach tied tongues to sing: This is the end of the calendar, the Last Loosening! Gerfried Ambrosch 114 60 Around and inside you, the violence you fear—for or against it, it‘s already here It forged the cord that bound you to the ground—it built these walls LET‘S BURN THEM DOWN (Catharsis 2001) ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ presents itself as part of a canon (―these songs‖, line 4). It calls on the listener to join a revolutionary struggle. Leading by example, the speaker completely commits himself to the destruction of the repressive apparatus that is the capitalist state. For this cause, he is prepared to be martyred. Again, this is reflected in the singer‘s unrestrained, potentially voice-damaging vocal delivery. Though this makes lyrical understanding impossible, we understand the singer, whose ‗dehumanized‘ vocals ‗embody‘ the speaker‘s struggle (cf. chapter 4). As the title intimates, the song‘s central metaphor is fire. On the one hand, it symbolizes passion, freedom, and insurrection; on other hand, it is an agent of repression. This deliberate metaphorical inconsistency is best captured in the song‘s final two lines: ―It forged the cord that bound you to the ground — it built these walls / LET‘S BURN THEM DOWN.‖ 11 The lyrics moreover allude to Greek mythology, specifically to the story of Prometheus, who, as legend has it, gifted mankind with fire stolen from the gods (lines 52-53). Intertextuality generally plays an important role in ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ (cf. chapter 1. Introduction). ―Many of the lyrics for that song,‖ the author explains, ―were inspired by a poem by [Mexican surrealist] Octavio Paz, who was writing about the Marquis de Sade‖ (Brian D. 2011). This poem was ―the newspaper, if you will, that I was cutting the words out of to rearrange in the Tzaraist tradition.‖ 12 The poem in question, ―The Prisoner‖ (1947), is a powerful text that deals with destruction, suffering, freedom, desire, excess, sex, and joy. One of the song‘s most blatant borrowings is the oxymoronic line ―Silence and space - hungers to be - momentary eternities‖ (line 47). The corresponding passages in ―The Prisoner‖ are: ―Man is inhabited by silence and space. / […] / forms, images, bubbles, hungers to be, / momentary eternities‖ (Paz 1998: 5, 6). And the phrase ―summer that sets fire to the harvest‖ (line 41) is lifted verbatim from Paz‘s poem (Paz 1998: 6). Celestial bodies feature prominently in both texts. ―As comets drop to earth, so might empires end‖ (Catharsis); ―Comet with a ponderous phosphorescent tail: reasons-obsessions‖ (Paz 1998: 5). In ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ suns ―explode rather than fall to dust‖ (line 52). In other words, they don‘t just fade away; they go out with a bang - as should we, the meta- 11 Strictly speaking, the noun replaced by the pronoun ‗it‘ is ‗violence,‘ not ‗fire,‘ but the verb ‗forge‘ clearly belongs to the same semantic field as ‗fire.‘ We can infer that fire symbolizes violence. That which was created by fire/ violence can be destroyed by such. 12 Brian D. refers to dada artist Tristan Tzara. Punk as Literature 115 phor seems to imply. Like a supernova, we should aspire to die in a moment of splendor (line 42). This requires that we also live splendidly. ―The bodies, facing each other like wild stars, / are made of the same stuff as the suns. / […] / Dream is explosive. Explode. Be a sun again,‖ as Paz phrases it (1998: 4, 6). What are we to make of these obvious intertextual parallels? After all, ―The Prisoner‖ and ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ deal with different kinds of subject matter. Paz‘s poem alludes to Sade‘s theories about sexual excess and the infliction and endurance of pain as a form of pleasure, while the Catharsis lyrics constitute an allegory for the anarchist struggle against the capitalist system. At the end of the day, however, both texts advocate a life of pleasure without restraint, whatever the cost: ―Death or pleasure‖ (Paz 1998: 6); ―Pleasure or death‖ (Catharsis, line 42). In the latter case, this passionate attitude is not just written into the text (internal performance); it is performed by the band (external performance), especially by the vocalist, who uses his own body as an instrument, screaming his heart out (cf. chapter 2). Tristan Tzara is not the only lyrical connection to dada in the lyrics. Toward the end of the song, there is a reference to Walter Serner, specifically his 1920 book, Last Loosening (line 59). The original German title, Letzte Lockerung: Manifest Dada, was accompanied by the subtitle: Ein Handbrevier für Hochstapler und solche, die es werden wollen. In the same way that Serner‘s subtitle elicits the allure of becoming a con man, arson is portrayed as an act of courage in ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖. Given the lyrics radicalism, it comes as no surprise that we also find a Nietzsche reference in them, reflecting one of the philosopher‘s best-known aphorisms from Beyond Good and Evil (line 25) 13 . Before we go deeper into the text, let‘s take a brief look at the paratext. The record cover presents a moody painting of a violinist wearing a gas mask, while the typeface mimics a painter‘s signature. The nightmarish cover image functions as a visual reference for the music (intermediality). It frames our expectations as to what the music is going to sound like. Presuming aesthetic consistency, we‘d be very surprised if ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ was an upbeat tune in a major key. The lyric sheet is adorned with the image of a bonfire in the silhouette of a rearing horse (white on black). The drawing symbolizes the song‘s main themes: passion, freedom, and insurrection. Next to the horse, we find the lyrics, the recording credits, and an additional text which states: Not to suggest that the young woman who burns down a posh resort acts more nobly than the one who spends her years in libraries—but nor is she any less noble, so long as she acts to nurture what is beautiful within herself and find 13 The original quotation is: ―Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein‖ (Nietzsche 1999: 98). Gerfried Ambrosch 116 common cause with others. We‘re not in the least afraid of ruins, nor of making them, living, as we do, in them—as they do within us. Until we have cleared these away—as the woman who burns down the resort does—so the seeds in the soil beneath can germinate again, uproar can be our only music. (Catharsis 2001, excerpt) The text speaks of the consecration of radical measures, informing us that ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ is essentially an ode to extremism. The phrase ―uproar can be our only music‖ is a Keats reference 14 . The note tells us not to be afraid to leave ruins as we revolt against the status quo; after all, we already live in ruins ―as they do within us‖, meaning that we have internalized the ruinous structures of repression that sustain the capitalist order. The same sentiment is expressed toward the end of the song (line 60), reminiscent of a passage from George Orwell‘s Down and Out in Paris and London, in which he criticizes the intelligentsia‘s irrational fear of an underclass uprising: ―The mob is in fact loose now, and - in the shape of rich men - is using its power to set up enormous treadmills of boredom, such as ‗smart‘ hotels‖ (Orwell 1989: 128). Orwell‘s ―‗smart‘ hotels‖ are replaced by ―a posh resort‖ in Catharsis‘s additional text. As the song opens, a melancholy piano overture cautiously tiptoes over distant chanting and cheering. It lasts just over a minute. The voices in the background sound exuberant and assertive: the sound of a demonstration, ―recorded April 21, 2001 in Quebec City, Canada [...] during the people‘s resistance to the ‗Free‘ Trade Area of the Americas summit‖ (Catharsis 2001: liner notes). The lyrics make explicit reference to this context (lines 44-45). The moment the piano intro ends, the heaviness of the guitars and drums begins. This part is played in half-time. It picks up speed as the drums break into d-beat, a classic punk rhythm. The song remains instrumental until the drums briefly cut out while the heavily distorted guitars keep playing. In this fog of noise, the vocalist roars: ―The horror— that we may not live / We may not live,‖ thus making a dramatic entrance. When the drums resume, he continues with the rest of the first verse paragraph. Lyrically, this section is remarkable on several levels. For one, it is reminiscent of the opening lines of the Keats sonnet ―When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be‖: ―When I have fears that I may cease to be / Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain‖ (Keats 1996: 1016). Both passages evoke the same kind of fear or horror, i.e., the idea that we may die before we are finished or before our efforts come to fruition. Furthermore, the first verse paragraph has a strangely staggered syntax. Each line starts by repeating the tail end of the previous one (anadiplosis), 14 In a letter to his brothers, Keats wrote, ―[T]here is nothing stable in the world; uproar‘s your only music‖ (Keats 2014). Punk as Literature 117 which makes for a striking effect. The individual lines become peculiarly interwoven as each line modifies the meaning of its immediate predecessor as well as the sentence as a whole. The em dash after ―The horror‖ signifies a pause for reflection 15 . The horror continues in the second verse paragraph. There are two telling parentheses in this passage. The first one, ―which still lives‖, emphasizes the connection between desire and the affirmation of life. To be alive is to have the capacity to act on one‘s desires, even though doing so may leave a scarlet letter ―upon certain foreheads‖, i.e., win the scorn of society. Of what use would ―the desire … to contest‖ be to the dead? It would indeed be ―illegible‖ and ―irrelevant‖. The second parenthesis simply repeats the phrase ―only a fool‖ for emphasis (epizeuxis). Who in their right mind would embrace a status quo that ―shape[s individuals] into priestly statues in poses of defiance‖ in order to ―softly, safely sing the praises of a disarmed war, a lukewarm love‖ 16 ? The meaning of these oxymorons is that modern life is pacified, dull, and meaningless as it is devoid of extremes (see also line 22: ―but no fire or ice, their absences suffice‖). The speaker concludes that it is better to perish fighting the system than to idly live in it. When we examine the inner structure of the third verse paragraph, we find that it contains two conditional clauses with more or less identical syntaxes. This parallelism lends a pleasing structuredness to the passage. On a different level, however, the same two sentences are chiastic as singular and plural are reversed. The verbatim repetition of the hyperbole ―one hundred‖ foregrounds the underlying chiasmus. The paragraph‘s final two lines are almost identical to their counterparts in the previous verse paragraph. The function of this macro-parallelism is to further enhance the song‘s lyrical structuredness. If there is anything in ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ that resembles a chorus, this is it. However, the subtle differences between the two passages are almost more significant than their similarities (not that listeners unfamiliar with the lyrics would be able to discern such ‗nuances‘): So lest we fall out of lust for life, let us risk all we have to risk For only a fool—only a fool—would cling to this world as it is So lest we fall out of love with life, let us give all we have to give For only a fool would cling to this world 15 We are reminded of Joseph Conrad‘s Heart of Darkness: ―He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision - he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath - ‗The horror! The horror! ‘‖ (Conrad 1994: 100). Another possible reference is Shakespeare‘s Macbeth. In Act II, Scene iii, Macduff exclaims, ―O horror, horror, horror! ‖ (Shakespeare 2008: 134). 16 See also Revelation 3: 16 (KJV): ―So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth.‖ Gerfried Ambrosch 118 The speaker no longer deems it necessary to insert the parenthesis ―only a fool‖ when he repeats the last line. What‘s more, by substituting ―love‖ for ―lust‖, the text calls attention to the fact that these words are semantically related but not synonymous while still keeping the alliteration alive. Similarly, we learn that to risk everything, even one‘s life, is to give something to humanity. The colon at the end of this verse paragraph prepares us for a caesura - clearly discernible in the lyrics and reflected by the music - and promises an explanation as to what the speaker means by ―this world‖. The vocal delivery changes. Rather than full-throated screaming, the singer utilizes more restrained forms of vocalization: lines 22-26 are whispered; then, following the crescendoing music, he switches to diabolic hissing, dramatically ‗embodying‘ the lyrics‘ unsettling message (recall the different performative roles of actors and singers discussed in chapter 2). The fire-ice dichotomy alluded to in this verse paragraph draws on an old topos. (We find it in texts such as Edmund Spenser‘s ―My Love Is Like to Ice‖ and, more recently, Robert Frost‘s ―Fire and Ice‖.) The abundant use of the / b/ sound in this passage (as in ―blessed‖, ―barren‖, ―branches‖, ―bear‖) is conspicuous. These ‗warm‘, voiced consonants contrast starkly with the ‗cold‘ sibilants they are juxtaposed with (both categories are represented in the word ‗blessed‘). The conflict between fire and ice appears to be echoed phonetically. Another intriguing feature of this passage is that it bears a striking resemblance to the ―Hail Mary‖: ―blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.‖ Catharsis utilize the same ―blessed are‖ anaphora, but in their inverted version the wombs (and trees) are infertile. This is strongly reminiscent of Luke 23: 29: ―For, behold, the days are coming, in which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck‖ (KJV). ―[I]t will wrap you in its spider‘s thread‖ is likely a reference to The Waste Land, lines 407-08: ―Which is not to be found in our obituaries / Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider‖ 17 (Eliot 50), once again demonstrating the song‘s elaborate web of intertextuality, which may, in itself, be a nod to Eliot, who used a wide variety of external references and voices in his epic masterpiece. ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖ is a powerful piece of poetry and an intense musical experience, echoing the famous lines out of Goethe‘s Faust: ―Nur der verdient sich Freiheit wie das Leben, / Der täglich sie erobern muss‖ (Goethe 1996: 348, lines 11575-76). Despite its intricately poetic nature, however, it only does what many punk songs have done: it fuses vigorous music with subversive content and compelling poetry. I have demonstrated that punk, as a particular sphere of cultural production, has spawned a distinct literary art form - punk lyrics - informed by an aesthetic framework 17 The first line seems to convey a similar sense of horror as the song‘s opening lines. Punk as Literature 119 of reference that pertains to the community‘s basic ideological structure. Though most general observations about song lyrics apply, punk lyrics constitute a special case in terms of their epistemological significance for the community and because of the way they are performed. Distinguishing between internal and external performance, I have shown that seemingly inarticulate vocalization is, in many cases, encouraged as a means to enhance the physical impact of the musical-lyrical package that is the song. In other words, the deliberate ‗destruction‘ of the written lyrics is an intrinsic part of the performance and constitutive of its meaning (and therefore highly relevant to the hermeneutical approach outlined in the previous pages). This affects both the music-text relationship and the experience of the listeners who are denied linguistic access unless they engage with the lyrics as literature. References AFI (1999). ―No Poetic Device‖. Black Sails in the Sunset. Huntington Beach: Nitro. As Friends Rust (2001). ―Coffee Black‖. Eleven Songs. Wallingford: GOLF. Bennick, Greg (2011, March 1). Personal Interview. Bernhart, Walter (2015). ―The ‗Destructiveness of Music‘: Functional Intermedia Disharmony in Popular Songs‖. In: Werner Wolf (Ed.). Essays on Literature and Music (1985-2013) by Walter Bernhart. Leiden/ Boston: Brill. 265-72. Brill Online Books and Journals. [online] http: / / booksandjournals.brillonline.com/ content/ books/ b9789004302747s021 [Accessed Jan. 31 2017]. Biafra, Jello (2012, March 5). Telephone Interview. Catharsis (2001). ―Arsonist‘s Prayer‖. Catharsis/ Newborn Split 12”. Ludwigshafen: Scorched Earth Policy. Conrad, Joseph (1994). Heart of Darkness [1899]. London: Penguin. Dead Kennedys (1980). ―California Über Alles‖. Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables. London: Cherry Red. D., Brian (2011, 2 March). Personal Interview. Eagleton, Terry (2007). How to Read a Poem. Oxford: Blackwell. Eckstein, Lars (2010). Reading Song Lyrics. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Eliot, T.S (2002). The Waste Land and Other Writings. New York: The Modern Library. Flintoff, Tina & Ricky Kelehar. Directors. The Importance of Being Morrissey [Film]. Chrysalis Television. Frith, Simon (1996/ 2002). Performing Rites: Evaluating Popular Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1996). ―Faust: Der Tragödie zweiter Teil‖ [1832]. In: Erich Trunz (Ed.). Faust. München: C. H. Beck. 146-365. Graffin, Greg & Steve Olson (2010). Anarchy Evolution: Faith, Science, and Bad Religion in a World without God. New York: Harper Collins. Hannah, Chris (2011, Aug. 24). Telephone Interview. Hempfer, Klaus W. (2014). Lyrik: Skizze einer systematischen Theorie. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Hopps, Gavin (2012). Morrissey: The Pageant of His Bleeding Heart. New York: Continuum. Gerfried Ambrosch 120 ―Iggy Pop‖ (2004, Dec. 5). The South Bank Show. ITV. Granada, London. Keats, John (1996). ―When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be‖ [1818/ 1848]. In: Duncan Wu. Romanticism: An Anthology. Oxford: Blackwell. 1016. Keats, John (2014). ―To George and Thomas Keats‖ [1818]. In: Sidney Colvin (Ed.). Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends. University of Adelaide. [online]. https: / / ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/ k/ keats/ john/ letters/ letter28.html [Accessed 2017, Jan. 31]. MacKaye, Ian (2011, June 10). Telephone Interview. Marcus, Greil (1989/ 2011). Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the Twentieth Century. London: Faber and Faber. Morrissey (2013). Autobiography. London: Penguin. Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm (1999). Jenseits von Gut und Böse: Zur Genealogie der Moral [1886]. München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. O‘Hara, Craig (1999). The Philosophy of Punk: More than Noise. Oakland: AK Press. Orwell, George (1989). Down and Out in Paris and London [1933]. London: Penguin. Paint It Black (2008). ―New Folk Song‖. Song Lyrics: Know the Words. [online] www.songlyrics.com/ paint-it-black/ new-folk-song-lyrics/ [Accessed Jan. 31 2017]. Paz, Octavio (1998). ―The Prisoner‖ [1947]. An Erotic Beyond: Sade. Orlando: Harcourt Brace. 3-6. Propagandhi (1996). ―Less Talk, More Rock‖. Less Talk, More Rock. San Francisco: Fat Wreck Chords. Scruton, Roger (1998/ 2015). Modern Culture. London: Bloomsbury. Shakespeare, William (2008). ―Macbeth‖ [1611/ 1623]. In: Nicholas Brooke (Ed.). The Oxford Shakespeare: Macbeth. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shelley, Percy Bysshe (2012). ―The Mask of Anarchy‖ [1819]. In: J. M. Beach (Ed.). Complete Works of Poetry & Prose Volumes 1-3. Southwest Press. 504- 513. Smiths, the (1995). ―This Charming Man‖ [1983]. Singles. New York: Warner. Strike Anywhere (2003). ―Blaze‖. Plylyrics.com. [online] plyrics.com/ lyrics/ strike anywhere/ blaze.html [Accessed Jan. 31 2017]. Thomas, Trevor (2011, Jan. 18). Personal Interview. Trial (1999/ 2009). ―Reflections‖. Are These Our Lives? . Seattle: Panic. Williams, Rhian (2013). The Poetry Tool Kit: The Essential Guide to Studying Poetry. London: Bloomsbury Academy. Yemin, Dan (2011, May 23/ 24). Telephone Interview. Gerfried Ambrosch Independent Researcher Vienna The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal and its Translations into German, Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian Janko Trupej Racial terms play an important role in the character development and the depiction of racial relations in Kingsblood Royal, a novel addressing the struggles of African Americans in the pre-Civil Rights Movement era; therefore, shifts in translating these terms, especially the numerous racial slurs, may result in shifts on the macrostructural level of the text, and thus somewhat alter the interpretive potential of this literary work. The article addresses the extent to which this is true for the translations into German, Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian. The translations of all the instances of a particular racial term are compared, shifts are categorized and examples of particular categories of shifts are provided. The strategies for translating racial terms are compared with one another, the general characteristics of a translation into a particular language are established and the possible reasons for the translation strategy are discussed. The results show substantial differences between the three translations, which may have been affected by the attitude towards the acceptability of offensive language in the given culture, the contemporary political situation, as well as the translator‘s personal experiences with racism. 1. Introduction Racial terms have long been a delicate subject in societies that have significant experience with racism and where works of fiction often contain racial slurs. This is particularly true for the United States of America, where the acceptability of several terms for black people has changed over time, which has led to many literary works (including classics) being challenged on account of their alleged racism (see Karolides 2006; Sova AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Janko Trupej 122 2006; Karolides/ Bald/ Sova 2011). Literature addressing racial issues has attracted some research attention in the field of translation studies (see, e.g., Fernández López 2000; Lavoie 2004, 2007; Kujawska-Lis 2008; Weissbrod 2008; Trupej 2015c); however, this research was primarily focused on the translation of explicitly racist discourse rather than racial terminology. The present article 1 will compare the strategies for translating the terms for black people in Sinclair Lewis's 1947 novel Kingsblood Royal into Serbo-Croatian 2 , German and Slovenian. The text was translated into the three languages within five years of its original publication and has not been retranslated since. It was translated into Serbo-Croatian by Nada Ćurčija-Prodanović and published in Belgrade by Prosveta in 1950; the translation was reprinted several times, most recently in 2004 3 . Since Serbo-Croatian was the lingua franca in the Federal People's Republic of Yugoslavia, this translation was also read in the other republics of the federation. The German translation by Rudolf Frank was first published in Zürich by Steinberg Verlag in 1951, and later by various publishing houses in both the Federal Republic of Germany and the German Democratic Republic; it was also distributed in Austria 4 . The Slovenian translation by Janez Gradišnik was published in Ljubljana by Državna založba Slovenije in 1952, but it has never been reprinted 5 . The analysis of the three translations will thus enable a comparison of how the translators‘ 1 Part of the research for this article was conducted during a post-doctoral research stay at the University of Tübingen in 2015, which was made possible by a grant from the DAAD. 2 In modern linguistics, Serbian, Croatian and Bosnian are widely perceived as different varieties of the same language; from the middle of the 19 th century, to the dissolution of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in 1991, the language was termed Serbo-Croatian. 3 Nada Ćurčija-Prodanović (1923-1992) was born in Banja Luka but moved to Belgrade after World War II. In addition to being a painter, she was a prolific translator into both Serbo-Croatian and English. Among her translations were works by Conrad, Lewis, Osborne, Shaw and Wilde. She received an award from the Serbian Translators' Guild for her life‘s work (Hawkesworth 1992). 4 Rudolf Frank (1886-1979) worked as a theatre director in post-World War I Germany, but because he was Jewish he began to encounter difficulties after Hitler came to power. By the time he was stripped of his citizenship in 1939, he had already immigrated to Switzerland, where translating (Steinbeck, Wright, Wolfe, Buck, etc.) became his main source of income. In the decades after the War, he received several honours, including the Federal Cross of Merit (N.N. n.d.). 5 Janez Gradišnik (1917-2009), one of the most renowned Slovenian translators, mostly translated from English (Hemingway, Twain, Joyce, Kipling, Huxley, London, etc.), German (Mann, Hesse, Böll, Musil, Kafka, etc.) and French (Verne, Malraux, Camus, etc.). Furthermore, he served as editor-in-chief of a cultural magazine, authored several works of fiction, as well as books about the Slovenian language, and devoted considerable time to translation criticism. He was the first person to receive the lifetime achievement Prešeren Award primarily for translating (Trupej 2014b). The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 123 decisions with regard to racial terminology may have influenced the perception of Kingsblood Royal across not only three languages, but also several cultures with distinct political and social systems. The narrative revolves around Neil Kingsblood, a middle-class World War II veteran from the Midwest, who discovers that one of his ancestors was black. Subsequently, the protagonist begins to question the racist views that he had previously shared with a large part of contemporary American society, and as time goes on, he starts to associate with African Americans, and increasingly begins to identify as black himself. After publicly disclosing the truth about his racial background, Kingsblood loses his lower-management position in a bank, his friends and acquaintances start treating him differently, and his neighbours try to force him to sell his house, eventually even threatening him and his family with physical violence. By our count, 25 different terms for African Americans are used 1072 times altogether in the source text; these play a significant role in the characterization and the depiction of the relationships between characters, as well as the relations between races as a whole. The potential for interpreting the novel may thus be somewhat altered in the case of shifts, which can be defined as ―changes which occur or may occur in the process of translating‖ (Bakker/ Koster/ van Leuven-Zwart 2009: 269) or as ―[a]ll that appears as new with respect to the original, or fails to appear where it might have been expected‖ (Popovič 1970; qtd. in Bakker/ Koster/ van Leuven-Zwart 2009: 271). All the translations of a certain term for black people are therefore analysed, and the shifts in denotative and connotative meaning are categorized using some of the categories proposed by Kitty van Leuven-Zwart (1989, 1990) and introducing other categories 6 . 2. Terms for black people in American English, German, Serbo- Croatian and Slovenian The negative vocabulary for black people in English (particularly in American English) is extremely rich: the online Racial Slur Database lists more than 600 slurs. The term ‗nigger‘ is the most notorious amongst them and has been offensive for several centuries (see, e.g., Kennedy 2003: 4-5; Asim 2007: 11; Hill 2008: 51) 7 . ‗Negro‘ and ‗colored‘ were 6 See the Appendix for the list of all the translations of a particular racial term. Lists with all the references are available in the electronic attachment to the article at the following web address: https: / / sites.google.com/ site/ jankotrupej/ home/ bibliografija/ electronic-attachment-janko-trupej-aaa. 7 The relation between the term ‗nigger‘ and other somewhat less offensive slurs can be colourfully illustrated by a statement from segregationist Leander Perez (1891- Janko Trupej 124 long the standard terms (Hill 2008: 51), but in the second part of the 20 th century these gradually began to be replaced by ‗African American‘ and ‗black‘ as the most politically correct terms (Rattansi 2007: 116) 8 . The term Nigger also exists and has a negative connotation in German; until the latter part of the 20 th century, the most common German terms for black people were Neger, generally used for those with darker skin (Arndt/ Hamann 2012: 650; see also Arndt 2012: 654) and Farbiger/ farbig, used for those of mixed ancestry (Sow 2012a: 684) 9 . Similar to ‗negro‘ and ‗colored‘ in American English, these two once-standard terms have become pejorative - especially Neger, which was even branded as the German ‗N-word‘ by Susan Ardnt (2012: 653) -, while Schwarzer/ schwarz turned into the most acceptable term (Sow 2012b: 608) 10 . None of the nations which would eventually form Yugoslavia had any experience with colonialism in Africa, and prior to the formation of the Non-Aligned Movement in 1961 they had very limited direct contact with black people. 11 Consequently, the terminology for denoting black people in Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian and Slovenian is less rich in comparison to the languages of nations with different historical experiences. In 2001, Janja Prešern noted that the Slovenian terminology for black people was not clearly defined. Recent research on this issue has shown that the most frequently used negative Slovenian term for black people črnuh has been pejorative since at least the second part of the 19 th century; historically, the most frequently used terms were zamorec and črnec, but the former 1969) about African Americans (qtd. in Alston/ Dickerson 2009: 30): ―Bad ones are niggers and good ones are darkies.‖ 8 Changes in the connotative meaning occurred in the 1960s: while, for instance, Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X still used the term ‗negro‘ in their speeches, the younger generation of activists began to prefer ‗black‘, as is for instance evidenced by the ‗Black is Beautiful‘ movement. In 1969, a young African American even confronted the prominent writer James Baldwin for still using the term ‗negro‘; the latter responded as follows: It was not I, nor any black man in America who invented the word Negro. It was not I who wrote that on my birth certificate. […] I cannot change my vocabulary overnight. […] [W]e‘ve been called and call ourselves American Negroes, for all nearly 400 years. […] [Y]our generation, not mine, will call itself black. That‘s good enough for me, that‘s the whole point. My mother, my mother‘s mother, called herself a nigger. (n.d.: 5; cf. Guy 2005: 2). 9 From the 16 th to the 18 th century, the most frequently used term was Mohr, which later came to denote black people from northern Africa or light-skinned black people in general (Arndt/ Hamann 2012: 650; cf. Raeithel 2009: 101) but had fallen out of active use in this function by the middle of the 20 th century (cf. ‗moor‘ in English and zamorec in Slovenian). 10 Gert Raeithel notes that a decline in the use of Neger in the 1970s can be perceived (2009: 101). 11 More so than black people, Romani people (Urh 2014: 118-129) and Turkish people (Žigon 2013: 267-286) represent the ―Other‖ in Slovenia. The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 125 term gradually became pejorative in the 1950s, while the latter turned into the standard term, before itself being replaced by temnopolt towards the end of the century (see Trupej 2014c: 636-39). The historical development of the terminology for black people in Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian has not yet been investigated; therefore, for the purpose of this study, the connotative meaning of the relevant target-language terms was established solely with the help of appropriate dictionaries. 3. Defining racial terms in Kingsblood Royal From the opening chapters it becomes evident that the terms used to refer to African Americans will play an important role in the narrative; in a conversation between Neil Kingsblood and his wife Vestal, the (un)acceptability of some of the most frequently used racial terms is discussed 12 : [―]The lives and ideas of these niggers are certainly incomprehensible to our kind of people.‖ ―Neil, I think they like you to say ‗Negro,‘ not ‗nigger.‘‖ ―Okay, okay! Anything to oblige. These Negresses, then.‖ ―But Belfreda says that ‗Negress’ is the one word that you must never use.‖ ―Oh, for God's sake! Why are all these - uh - Negroes so touchy? What difference does it make what they‘re called? As I say: we don‘t know where Belfreda goes or what she does - rug-cutting or witchcraft or maybe she belongs to some colored leftwing political gang that‘s planning to take this house away from us. One thing is obvious: the whole biological and psychological make-up of the Negroes is different from that of white people, especially from us Anglo-Saxons (course I have some French blood, too). It‘s too bad, but you have to face facts and it‘s evident that the niggers - all right, the Negroes - don‘t quite belong to the same human race with you and me and Biddy.[‖] (Lewis 2001: 13-14; see Example 1) 13 In the German translation of this passage (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 16), the term ‗nigger‘ is transferred in its original form. 14 A shift with regard to 12 In citations, emphasis in bold has always been added by the author of the article; emphasis in italics was always already present in the text. 13 In the continuation of the article, the translation of a particular example will only be discussed in case a shift occurs. However, for the purpose of comparison, all three translations of a particular example are listed in the electronic attachment available at the web address listed under Footnote 6. 14 It needs to be noted that, while negative terms for black people certainly exist in German, Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian, no term in those languages carries the connotations of discrimination, oppression and violence that the term ‗nigger‘ does in American English. Therefore, each and every translation of the term in question by default constitutes a decrease in offensiveness; this is a testament to the assertion that ―source language texts and items are more or less translatable rather than Janko Trupej 126 the acceptability of the term ‗negro‘ occurs in the second line, which reads: ―Neil, sie mögen es, glaube ich, nicht, wenn man sie Nigger oder Neger nennt.‖ By translating ‗not‘ as oder (meaning ‗or‘ in English), both Nigger and Neger are deemed unacceptable, instead of the former being defined as the unacceptable and the latter as the acceptable variant. All the remaining occurrences of ‗negro‘ in this passage are retained in their original form; the translator added the following footnote: ―‚Negro„ bezeichnet nicht nur den Schwarzen, den ‚Neger„, sondern auch jeden Abkömmling eines solchen ohne Rücksicht auf seine Hautfarbe.‖ 15 The fact that the term Schwarzer is not in quotation marks, while for the term Neger quotation marks were used further indicates that the translator considered the latter a pejorative term. Both instances of ‗negress‘ are retained in the original form in the translation, while the neutral term ‗colored‘ is translated as farbig, which was also considered neutral at the time of publication. In the Slovenian translation of the above passage (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 14-15), črnuh is consistently used for ‗nigger‘, while the term črnec is given as the neutral alternative to this racial slur. The third instance of the term ‗negro‘ in the passage is translated as zamorec, while in all other instances the translation of this term again reads as črnec. The term ‗negress‘ is translated as zamorklja, a negative term, while colored has no corresponding term in the Slovenian text; a deletion clearly occurred. In the Serbo-Croatian translation of the passage in question (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 19), the terms ‗nigger‘ and ‗negro‘ are consistently translated as the pejorative term crnja and the neutral term crnac, respectively. The latter term also serves as the translation for ‗colored‘, while for the term ‗negress‘ the adjective garav is used; although this term can denote somebody with a dark complexion, it does not usually carry a negative connotation; the level of offensiveness is thereby reduced. From the first time that racial terminology is addressed in the narrative, the three target texts thus present quite different and at times inconsistent translation strategies. The various examples of shifts that occur in the translations will therefore be addressed in the continuation, and afterwards, the characteristics of each translator‘s strategy will be elaborated upon. absolutely translatable or untranslatable‖ (Catford 1965; qtd. in Fernández Dobao 2006: 224). 15 Translation: ―‗Negro‘ refers not only to black people, the ‗Neger‘, but also to their descendants, regardless of the colour of their skin.‖ All the translations/ backtranslations of citations not originally in English were made by the author of the article. The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 127 4. Shifts in translating racial terms in Kingsblood Royal 4.1 Addition On a few occasions, negative racial terms are added; however, this strategy is exclusive to the German translation. For instance, the translation of the sentence ―He looked now at Ash Davis, but he did not see a ‗Negro,‘ a ‗colored man‘.‖ (Lewis 2001: 78; see Example 2) reads: ―Aber wie er Ash Davis so ansah, erblickte er keinen „Nigger‟, keinen „Negro‟, keinen „Farbigen‟[…]‖ (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 84). The addition of the racial slur Nigger to the two neutral terms emphasizes the protagonist‘s change in attitude: after he becomes aware that he is part black himself, he gradually stops perceiving African Americans in a negative way. Further notable additions occur in a passage where the protagonist speaks to his new African American acquaintances but is unsure how to address them properly: ―What I wanted to ask - I don't quite know how to express it, but certain things have happened, and they make me feel that I ought to know you, uh -‖ ―'Negroes' is the word,‖ said John Woolcape. ―Or ‗colored people.‘ We don't mind either,‖ said his wife, and they were both suave about it and rather tolerant. ―What Mother means,‖ Emerson explained, ―is that we dislike both terms intensely, but we consider them slightly less ruffling than ‗nigger‘ or ‗coon‘ or ‗jig‘ or ‗spade‘ or ‗smoke‘ or any of the other labels by which white ditchdiggers indicate their superiority to Negro bishops. We expect it to take a few more decades before we're simply called ‗Americans‘ or ‗human beings.‘‖ (Lewis 2001: 99; see Example 3) Frank retained all five terms listed as offensive in the original, and added the terms Darky, Moke, Dinge, Boogie and Zigaboo, thereby defining ten instead of five terms (all of which are used in other parts of the narrative) as insulting to African Americans (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 106). 4.2 Deletion In the Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian translations, the opposite strategy was used for the passage above (Example 3); only three instead of five offensive terms are listed: crnčina, crnja and crnjan in the former (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 113) and črnuh, črnavs and črnogelj in the latter (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 94). The majority of deletions in all three translations occur at the clause level; one such instance can be found in the German translation of the sentence ―Neil could not but chuckle at this darky malapropism.‖ (Lewis 2001: 83; see Example 4), which reads ―Neil konnte ein Lächeln über das falsch angewandte Fremdwort Janko Trupej 128 nicht unterdrücken.‖ 16 (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 90). One of the exceptions is the deletion of the whole sentence ―I'll bet some of 'em insist that Niggardly ought to be pronounced Negrodly.‖ (Lewis 2001: 201; see Example 5) in the Serbo-Croatian (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 96) and Slovenian (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 79) translations 17 . However, the only instance of racial terms being deleted because of the deletion of whole passages can be found in the German translation: in a series of 25 passages describing white people‘s stereotypical perception of African Americans, four passages are deleted; two of them refer to black people‘s reputed sexual prowess (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Frank 1956: 180/ 192; see Example 6). 4.3 Increase in offensiveness Increasing the level of offensiveness is almost exclusively characteristic of the German translation 18 . For instance, in the translation of the sentence ―You got to fire that nigger tonight‖, the compound Niggeraas is used (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Frank 1956: 19/ 22; see Example 7); in this context, the term Aas can denote ‗bitch‘, ‗devil‘, ‗swine‘, etc. However, in most instances when this shift occurs, a neutral term is replaced with a pejorative one, e.g., using Nigra in the translation of the sentence ―Didn't you know I'm a Negro, too? ‖ (ibid.: 320/ 335; see Example 8) or Nigger in the translation of the sentence ―The name Sant Tabac was made from the initial letters in their slogan: ‗Stop all Negro trouble, take action before any comes.‘‖ (ibid.: 289/ 304; see Example 9). 4.4 Decrease in offensiveness In Kingsblood Royal, negative terms for black people are mostly used by white people. A notable exception is the following statement by the bootblack Wash about his granddaughter Belfreda Gray, Neil Kingsblood‘s maid: ―She sleeps with every no-count niggah in town. Can't do nothin' with these biggity young No'th'n niggahs, no suh! ‖ (Lewis 2001: 83; see Example 10). While the German translator used the terms Nigger and Nigga (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 89), in the Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian trans- 16 Translation: ―Neil could not suppress a smile at this misapplied loanword.‖ 17 Although the term ―niggardly‖ is not etymologically related to ‗nigger‘, its use has sparked some controversy in the 20 th century (Allan/ Burridge 2007: 102-104, 242; Hill 2008: 51). Unlike the other two translators, Frank did not avoid trying to find a suitable example of wordplay, and translated the sentence as follows: ―Sie verlangen womöglich noch, daß man den Niger-River in Afrika in „Negro-River‟ umtauft! ‖ [Perhaps they will even demand that the Niger River in Africa be renamed the ‗Negro River‘! ] (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 214). 18 The only exception is the Serbo-Croatian translation of ‗negro‘ as crnika (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 304/ 340). The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 129 lations this character does not use negative terms when referring to other African Americans, but neutral ones instead: crn and crnac (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 95) and črnec (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 78). In some cases, the offensiveness is decreased in all three translations; for instance, in the translations of the sentence ―I always thought he looked like a light-complected darky‖ (Lewis 2001: 195; see Example 11): the term Farbiger is used in German (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 208), črnec in Slovenian (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 183) and crnac in Serbo-Croatian (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 220). 4.5 Substitution with a pronoun Occasionally, the use of a racial slur was avoided by using a pronoun in replacement. For instance, the German translation of the sentence ―Those niggers are so dumb they'll believe it‖ reads ―Sie werden sehen, sie sind so dumm, daß sie drauf hereinfallen.‖ 19 (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Frank 1956: 75/ 81; see Example 12), while the Slovenian translation of the sentence ―I don't hate the shines.‖ reads ―Saj jih ne sovražim.‖ 20 (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Gra-dišnik 1952: 184/ 173; see Example 13). 4.6 Change of meaning In certain instances, racial terms were translated to mean something completely different from the source text. Such a shift occurs in all three translations of the sentence ―Yeh, why don't you can the zig? ‖ (Lewis 2001: 19; see Example 14). In the German translation, the term Bestie, meaning either ‗beast‘ or ‗animal‘, is used (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 22); in the Slovenian translation, the racial term is replaced by hudir, a variant of the term hudič, which denotes the devil (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 107); the Serbian translator opted for the term cigančura, which means ‗gypsy‘ (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 130). A change of meaning also occurs in all three translations of the sentence ―The young spooks that would have taught Sunday school a generation ago are working for the N. Double-A C.P., and all the hot ones, that would have become hell-roaring deacons once, have joined the Communist Party‖ (Lewis 2001: 113; see Example 15): in the German translation, the term Funktionäre [‗functionaries‘ or ‗officials‘] is used (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 122), the racial term was translated as pusteži [‗bores‘ or ‗boring people‘] in Slovenian (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 107), while the Serbo-Croatian translation reads zanesenjaci [‗dreamers‘] (Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 130). 19 Translation: ―You‘ll see, they are so dumb that they‘ll fall for it.‖ 20 Translation: ―I don‘t hate them.‖ Janko Trupej 130 5. Comparison of translation strategies and their effects on the interpretive potential of Kingsblood Royal Frequent shifts are a common characteristic of all the translations: by our count, 166 shifts occur in the Serbo-Croatian, 103 in the Slovenian and 99 in the German translation. However, as Table 1 illustrates, different categories of shifts are most frequent across the translations: in both the Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian translations, the most common shift is a decrease in offensiveness, followed by deletion, whereas in the German translation, the latter category occurs most frequently, with the second most common shift being an increase in offensiveness 21 . Table 1: Shifts in translating racial terms in Kingsblood Royal Translation Deletion Decrease in Offensiveness Increase in Offensiveness 22 Change of meaning Substitution with a pronoun German 45 16 20 8 10 Slovenian 10 89 0 3 1 Serbo- Croatian 24 130 1 10 1 Furthermore, a substantial level of inconsistency is characteristic of all the translations; for the vast majority of the original racial terms, even for those with only a few occurrences, several different translations were used (see Appendix). For instance, for the term ‗negro‘, four different translation strategies were used in the Slovenian, five in the Serbo- Croatian and as many as 14 in the German translation. In the latter translation, inconsistencies exist even when this term is used in the same context. For example, in an interior monologue, the protagonist contemplates what it means to be black, using the neutral term ‗negro‘ 13 times in the original (Lewis 2001: 66-68); in the translation, the neutral term Negro is used five times, while the terms Neger and Negress are also used five and 21 However, in only 12 of the 45 instances is an offensive term deleted in the German text. 22 Additions of offensive terms were included in this category, since they essentially constitute an increase in offensiveness. The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 131 three times, respectively (Lewis/ Frank 1956: 60-62). In the Slovenian translation of this passage, the neutral term črnec is consistently used (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 58-59), while in the Serbo-Croatian translation, the term crnac is used twelve times and crn once (Lewis/ Ćurčija- Prodanović 1964: 71-73). Frank was similarly inconsistent with regard to the 13 instances of the collocation negro blood, for which he used the compound Negerblut seven times (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Frank 1956: 59/ 65, 70/ 75, 119/ 128, 142/ 152, 221/ 235, 238/ 252, 310/ 325) and Negro-Blut six times (ibid.: 165/ 177, 197/ 210, 201/ 214, 210/ 224, 211/ 225, 226/ 240). The Slovenian and Serbian translators were again more consistent: the former used črnska kri (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 59/ 57, 70/ 66, 119/ 113, 142/ 134, 165/ 156, 197/ 186, 201/ 189, 210/ 197, 211/ 198, 221/ 207, 226/ 213, 238/ 223, 310/ 290) and the latter crnačka krv (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 59/ 70, 70/ 81, 119/ 136, 142/ 162, 165/ 187, 197/ 222, 201/ 227, 210/ 237, 211/ 238, 221/ 248, 226/ 255, 238/ 267, 310/ 346). In the German translation, more than half the racial terms are transferred in their original form; on occasion, a foreign term different from the original is used. For instance, ‗Grand Army of the Negroes‘ is translated as Grande Armée des nègres (Lewis 2001, Lewis/ Frank 1956: 108/ 116), ‗Lady of Color‘ as Dame Darky (ibid.: 268/ 283), ‗colored boy‘ as Blackboy (ibid.: 68/ 74), ‗coons‘ as Smokes (ibid.: 213/ 226), etc. Frank even left the title and the initials of the ‗N.A.A.C.P. - the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People‘ in English (ibid.: 108/ 116), while Gradišnik and Ćurčija-Prodanović translated the title and changed the initials correspondingly (Lewis/ Gradišnik 1952: 102, Lewis/ Ćurčija-Prodanović 1964: 123). It is thus evident that the German text is - to use Lawrence Venuti‘s (1995) terminology - a foreignizing translation, while the Slovenian and Serbo-Croatian texts are domesticating translations. As far as translation strategies are concerned, the number of offensive terms used in a particular translation is perhaps the most significant and has the most far-reaching consequences. By our count, 262 offensive terms for black people are used in the source text, while the number is lower in all the target texts: 234 offensive terms are used in the German, 161 in the Slovenian and 121 in the Serbo-Croatian translation 23 . In the latter two translations, the level of racist discourse is thereby significantly reduced, which may alter the interpretive potential of this narrative dealing with race-relations. Because racial slurs are used less frequently in the translations, the characterization of the protagonist is particularly affected and somewhat changed. He starts out as a racist member of the 23 The term Neger was not counted among the offensive terms, since it can be presumed that most of the readers in the 1950s did not perceive it as offensive, although it was defined as such by the translator, as noted in Chapter 3. Janko Trupej 132 white middle-class, and frequently uses racial slurs when referring to African Americans, but after he finds out and reveals that he has ‗black blood‘, he is himself subjected to the very racial slurs he had previously used, and has to face obstacles similar to those endured by African Americans in the pre-Civil Rights Movement era. However, because in the translations Neil Kingsblood uses racial slurs less frequently, he appears to be somewhat less racist; since the same is true for mid-western society in general, the amount of racial prejudice the protagonist has to face is also reduced, which diminishes his moral growth later on, when he completely changes his opinion about black people. Thus, it is evident that frequent shifts on the microstructural level caused a shift on the macrostructural level of the translated texts 24 . 6. Conclusion The analysis of translation of racial terms in Kingsblood Royal into German, Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian is further evidence for the assertion that ―translation is a highly manipulative activity‖ (Bassnett/ Trivedi 2002: 2): in all three target texts, a plethora of shifts occurred. These were most frequent in the Serbo-Croatian translation, both with regard to the total number of shifts and in terms of the number of times that negative racial terms were omitted in translation: only 46% of the original negative terms were preserved, as compared to 61% in the Slovenian translation 25 . Since in this narrative racial slurs play an important role in establishing the relations between black and white Americans, the level of antagonism is somewhat reduced in both translations, which makes the protagonist‘s embrace of his heritage less meaningful. There are different possible explanations for the translation strategies into Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian. After a socialist regime was established in Yugoslavia in 1945, racism was deemed unacceptable by the government (see Trupej 2014a: 91-92); this is true even for the period before the African American Civil Rights Movement (which started in 1954) brought the issue of racism against African Americans to the attention of the international community, and before Yugoslavia became one 24 As Roger Sutton (1984; qtd. in Leonard/ Tenney 1992: 14) noted when commenting upon Mark Twain‘s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, in case of a ―softening of white bigotry […] readers can conclude that life wasn‘t so bad for blacks‖. 25 The fact that the offensiveness of the original racial slurs was reduced less often in the Slovenian than in the Serbo-Croatian translation goes against a common Slovenian belief that profane language is more acceptable in Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian than in Slovenian; many Slovenians believe that the lack of swearwords in Slovenian differentiates their language from the other ex-Yugoslav languages (Fras 2012: 229). This belief may be seen in the context of Slovenians wanting to distance themselves from the other nations which once formed Yugoslavia (see Žižek 2000: 601). The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 133 of the founders of the Non-Aligned Movement (1961), which strongly opposed racism. For instance, in a 1949 monograph on race, prominent Slovenian anthropologist Božo Škerlj declared that a person‘s race would be far less important in the future, ―ker socialistična družba priznava vsakega človeka, da je le res človek‖ 26 (1949: 55). Špela Urh goes as far as asserting that in socialist Yugoslavia talking about discrimination and social inequality was prohibited as it was believed that, under political rule in these countries, social justice and equality had been achieved. In this respect discussions regarding the status of minority ethnic communities was [sic] seen as unnecessary. (2014: 129) Such views led to ideological interventions in the translation of many literary works, even in some which actually denounce racism (see Trupej 2012, 2014a, 2015c) 27 . Furthermore, the Slovenian and Serbo-Croatian translations were published a few years after the Tito-Stalin Split, at a time when relations between the United States and Yugoslavia were quite good (Pirjevec 2011: 299-308), which may have influenced the softening of the level of racism portrayed in Kingsblood Royal 28 . With regard to the translation into Slovenian, a further possible factor may have been the status of the language: it played an important role in the establishment of Slovenian national identity (Jerman 1993: 13; Poniž 2002: 86); therefore, a high register was traditionally expected in written discourse (Hladnik 1983: 61; cf. Zlatnar Moe 2004: 223; Čerče 2012: 189; Onič 2013: 249; Trupej 2015b: 25; Udovič 2016: 381). The German translation is substantially different: the majority of slurs are preserved, sometimes offensive terms are used for neutral original terms, and on a few occasions slurs are even added: in total, only 11% fewer negative terms than in the original are used, and the interpretive potential is thereby preserved to a greater extent. The intensification of racist discourse in certain passages can perhaps be explained with the help of the translator‘s habitus (Simeoni 1998): Frank was Jewish and had thus experienced racism during the period of National Socialism, which might have led him to highlight discrimination against African Americans - an issue still largely unresolved in a post-World War II world. 26 Translation: ―[…] since a socialist society gives every human being his due, as long as he really is a human being.‖ 27 Changes in the Slovenian reception of literary translations addressing racism were also established (see Trupej 2015a). 28 In contrast, during the time that Yugoslavia and the United States were at odds, racism was intensified in a 1948 Slovenian translation of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Trupej 2012: 97-101; Trupej 2014a: 98-99). 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Appendix Original term German translation Serbo-Croatian translation Slovenian translation negro (449×) 288×Negro 99×Neger 23×Schwarzer/ schw arz 7×Farbiger/ farbig 4×Nigger 4×Negress 1×äthiopisch 1×negre 1×dunkel 1×Nigra 4×pronoun 8×deletion on the sentence level 3×deletion of the sentence 5×deletion of the passage 443×crn/ -ac 1×afrički (289/ 323) 1×crnika (304/ 340) 3×deletion on the sentence level 1×deletion of the sentence 421×črn/ -ec 25×zamorec 1×temen človek 2×deletion of the sentence colored/ cullud (208×) 172×Farbiger/ farbig 14×coloured 4×Schwarzer/ schwarz 2×Nigger 1×black 1×gebräunt 1×Darky 1×koloriert 2×pronoun 3×change of meaning (misch-, Farbe (2×)) 7×deletion on the sentence level 160×crn/ -ac 41×obojeni 7×deletion on the sentence level 105×temnopolt 87×črn/ -ec 12×zamorec 1×obarvan 1×barvast 2×deletion on the sentence level nigger/ niggah (154×) 143×Nigger 3×schwarz 1×Niggeraas 2×pronoun 1×change of meaning (Octeron) 4×deletion on the sentence level 60×crn/ -ac 26×crnja 20×crnče 12×crnika 10×crnjan 9×crni đavo/ -lo 6×Crni 4×crnčina 4×crnjo 2×crljan 1×deletion on the sentence level 107×črnuh 17×črnavs 11×zamorec 8×črn/ -ec 4×črnoba 2×zamorklja 1×črnjak 1×črnklja 1×črnogica 2×deletion of the sentence black (127×) 116×Schwarzer/ schwarz 118×crn/ -ac 2×taman 124×črn/ -ec 1×zamorec Janko Trupej 138 2×dunkel 1×Neger 1×black 6×deletion on the sentence level 1×deletion of the passage 1×change of meaning (grmalj) 6×deletion on the sentence level 1×temen 1×deletion on the sentence level darky (41×) 31×Darky 2×Schwarzer 2×dunkel 1×Negro 1×Farbiger 1×Nigger 1×pronoun 2×deletion on the sentence level 37×crn/ -ac 2×crnja 1×change of meaning (poreklo) 1×deletion on the sentence level 26×zamorec 10×črnec 1×črnokožec 1×črnavs 1×zamorček 1×temnopolti 1×temen nigra (17×) 11×Nigra 1×Neger 1×Negro 1×farbig 1×pronoun 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×deletion of the passage 11×crn/ -ac 2×crnja 1×crni đavo 1×crnic 1×crnjo 1×crnjan 8×zamorec 4×črnavs 2×črnec 2×črnuh 1×črnjavski coon (11×) 9×Coon 1×Darky 1×Smoke 7×crn/ -ac 2×crnja 2×crnika 4×zamorec 4×črn/ -ec 1×črnavs 1×zamorklja 1×črnogelj brownskin (10×) 8×Braunhaut/ braun häutig 1×gebräunt 1×deletion on the sentence level 3×crnokožac 3×crnac 2×tamne kože 1×crnpurast 1×deletion on the sentence level 3×rjavokožec 3×črnec 2×rjavopoltni 1×rjave polti 1×zamorec dinge (7×) 2×Darky/ Darkie 1×Dunkel 1×Negress 1×Schwarzer 1×Smoke 1×Dinge 2×crnac 1×crnika 1×crnja 1×crnjo 1×crnčina 1×change of meaning (gadura) 3×zamorec 2×črnogelj 1×temnopolt 1×črnoba Ethiopian (6×) 4×Äthiopier/ äthiopisch 2×deletion on the sentence level 5×Etiopljan/ -in 1×change of meaning (episkopski) 4×Etiopec 2×črnec (zig)aboo (5×) 2×Zigaboo 1×Jig 2×change of meaning (Zigeuner, Bestie) 1×crnac 1×crni đavolo 1×crnja 2×change of meaning (cigančura) 1×črnavs 1×zamorklja 1×črnogelj 1×zamorec 1×change of meaning (hudir) jimcrow (4×) 4×Jim Crow 3×crnac 1×change of meaning (poseban) 3×črnec 1×deletion on the sentence level negress (4×) 3×Negress 1×Neger 2×crnkinja 2×garav 2×zamorklja 2×zamorka smoke (4×) 3×Smoke 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×crnac 1×garavi 1×pronoun 2×črnavs 1×zamorec 1×deletion on the sentence level The Significance of Racial Terms in Sinclair Lewis’s Kingsblood Royal 139 1×deletion on the sentence level mulatto (4×) 4×Mulatte 3×mulat 1×melez 3×mulat 1×mešanec shine (3×) 1×Coon 1×change of meaning (Stiefelpützer) 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×crnja 1×najcrniji gad 1×crnac 2×zamorec 1×pronoun moke (3×) 1×Moke 1×Smoke 1×deletion of the passage 2×crnja 1×change of meaning (vucibatina) 1×črnavselj 1×črnogelj 1×črnuh jig (3×) 2×Jig 1×Nigger 1×crnjan 1×crnac 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×črnogelj 1×črnavs 1×črnec spook (2×) 1×Smoke 1×change of meaning (Funktionär) 1×crnac 1×change of meaning (zanesenjak) 1×črnec 1×change of meaning (pustež) pickaninny (2×) 1×Neger 1×piccaninniny 1×crnče 1×change of meaning (čupavac) 1×zamorček 1×change of meaning (razkuštranec) boogie (2×) 1×Schwarzer 1×Boogie 1×crnjan 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×črnavs 1×črnogelj octoroon (2×) 2×Octeron 1×melez 1×sa osminom crnačke krvi 1×osminarka 1×eno osmino črnka Afro-American (1×) 1×Afro-Amerikaner 1×Afro-Amerikanac 1×Afro-Američani spade (1×) 1×Spade 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×deletion on the sentence level tar-baby (1×) 1×deletion on the sentence level 1×ofarbano luče 1×katranast Janko Trupej Faculty of Arts University of Maribor ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts on Sustainable Development Nataliia Goshylyk This article analyses the conceptual metaphors of quality, quantity and direction in sustainable development discourse. The research applies the Ecolinguistic paradigm, focusing on the interrelations between language and environment and emphasizing their interdependence. These conceptual metaphors not only frame and are framed by the discourse, but are also discoursegenerating entities. The topic of growthism, which is entrenched in the conceptual metaphors in focus, has so far been analysed only from the lexical point of view, and the dynamic character of the conceptual metaphors which activate the growth frames has not yet been considered. My research looks at ―big and small‖ from an interdisciplinary perspective with the linguistic foundation being the priority. It argues in favour of the coexistence of controversial notions in sustainable development discourse. This type of discourse, which is sometimes rather confusing and requires both definition and content clarification, is based on the combination of natural surroundings and socioeconomic issues. It addresses the conflicting topics of environment and development and is shaped by the controversial conceptual metaphors which are the focus of my research. 1. Introduction The life of a modern human being is challenged by the constant appearance of new notions, terms and phenomena dealing with environmental, social and economic hazards. These threats and the awareness of them have caused the shift from anthropocentrism to a paradigm which takes into account all the players of the field with their reciprocal interaction and may be labelled as ecological/ ecosophical/ ecosystemic etc. The progress within this framework is evident in sustainable development dis- AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Nataliia Goshylyk 142 course, which is the consequence of the growing awareness of the global links between mounting environmental problems, socio-economic issues and promoting peaceful and healthy societies without poverty and inequality. Monitoring this progress using both qualitative and quantitative approaches is hampered by the ambiguity of the term ‗sustainable development‘, which is defined by Hopwood et al. (2005: 38) as ―concentrating on sustainable livelihoods and well-being rather than well-having, and long term environmental sustainability, which requires a strong basis in principles that link the social and environmental to human equity‖. However, the term is frequently used with almost the opposite meaning, viz. leading to growth. The key concepts framing this type of discourse, and their perception in the consciousness of contemporary society, will be revealed and studied in this article. One of these concepts is the concept of growth. Thus, the aim of this research is to present the interrelations of the notions of quantity, quality and direction in the contemporary sustainable development discourse with examples from English mass media texts and to answer the question of their conceptual representation. 2. Ecolinguistics as a fundamental contemporary paradigm The 21 st century poses new challenges in all spheres of existence, linguistics being no exception. One of the major tasks of linguists is to search for a new paradigm for all the interpretations of linguistic phenomena which is able to face contemporary challenges. One of these paradigms is Ecolinguistics, which is viewed as the umbrella term for a number of approaches. It can be defined as: 1) the study of the process and the activities through which human beings - at the individual, group, population and species level - exploit their environment, and how these processes are represented in discourse, 2) the study of the organismic, societal and ecosystemic limits of such processes and activities, i.e. the capacities necessary for upholding a sound and healthy existence for both human and non-human life on all levels. This vision is (a) based on a naturalized and realist philosophy of science, and (b) comprises the various dimensions described in the state of the art essay by Steffensen and Fill (2014: 16). Since my task is not to deal with the historic and theoretical background of Ecolinguistics - which has been dealt with, among others, by Fill and Mühlhäusler (eds. 2001), Alexander (2009), and Stibbe (2015) - , but to provide an insight into my vision of this paradigm and its validity ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 143 to the research suggested here. Two major strands of Ecolinguistics have to be mentioned: the first one focuses on the psychological and sociological ecology of languages (Haugen 1972); the second one emphasises the relations between the language system and the environment and the process of constructing discourse through various language units/ phenomena and observing their influence on the environment (cf. Halliday 2001). This research follows the second strand with the notion of mutual impact in focus. Within this approach ―our ‗reality‘ is not something readymade and waiting to be meant - it has to be actively construed […] by the language evolved in the process of, and as the agency of, its construal‖ (Halliday 2001: 179). Thus, the consideration of language units influencing and being influenced by the environment is one of the principles of Ecolinguistics, its major tasks being to raise the environmental awareness of human beings by singling out and critically analysing the language constructions that frame the environment. Framing is understood in this paper in terms of Cognitive Linguistics as a schematization of experience, which is represented at the conceptual level and relates elements and entities associated with a particular culturally embedded scene, situation or event from human experience (Evans 2007: 85). Another task of Ecolinguistics that is relevant to this research is ―to draw into question the positive connotation of all-growth words like growth-rate, enhancement, advantage, surplus, head-start, record, victory, pole-position, think big… and to get rid of the idea that stagnation equals shrinking‖ (Fill 1995: 509). 3. The ‘Small is Beautiful’ ideology and its underlying fundamentals The issues of size, amount, and value, reflected in the grammar and semantics of languages, have always been of key importance for people. The metaphoric patterns of growth reveal that the interrelations between quality and quantity are deeply engraved into human consciousness. The ideology of growthism, labelled as a kind of anthropocentrism by Fill (1995: 509), is profoundly entrenched in Western forms of speaking and is also widely encountered in so-called traditional societies (Mühlhäusler 2003: 132). Moreover, it has a definite directional axiology. Halliday argues that ―among the properties construed by the grammar as gradable, most have a negative and a positive pole: for example, with ‗good‘ and ‗bad‘, ‗good‘ is construed as positive. So the quality of a thing means either ‗how good or bad it is‘ or ‗the fact that it is good‘, but never ‗the fact that it is bad‘.‖ (2001: 194). [‗Grammar‘ is used here with the meaning of ‗the language system‘, A.G.]. Stibbe‘s evaluations and appraisal patterns, dealing with the axiological notions of good and bad, and conceptual metaphors according to Nataliia Goshylyk 144 Cognitive Linguistics, affirm the distribution of the existing positive and negative patterns (2015: 83-105). His detailed analysis testifies the existence of good/ big and bad/ small patterns, but does not answer the question of their coexistence and dissemination in contemporary discourse. The roots of this grammar of ‗big‘ being the grammar of ‗good‘, as opposed to the grammar of ‗small‘ being the grammar of ‗bad‘ (cf. Halliday 2001: 194), lies deeply in human consciousness. If something is small, it presumably will get bigger, will grow and reach its optimal size, since small entities/ objects etc. are not supposed to stay small. Mühlhäusler emphasizes ―the experience of children that grown-ups are more powerful‖ and he speculates that ―getting tall and growing derives its positive value also from human experience with plants that tend to be maximally useful in their fully grown state‖ (2003: 132). Apart from natural biological experience, human beings actively construct numerous ‗big/ good ideas and concepts‘ in various spheres and discourses. Fascinated by figures, society progressively rationalizes its productive capacity; yet, such production and consumption does not always result in personal satisfaction. The habit of quantifying the intangibles orients all aspects of a person‘s endeavours for the achievement of personal satisfaction toward the consumption of commodities. (Chawla 2001: 120) Thus, the question of the big/ small correlation encompasses various spheres of human existence, like philosophy, linguistics, economy etc. The philosophical movement Small is beautiful, which criticizes our modern unsustainable economy and economic growth, was created by Schumacher (1973). The very expression came from a phrase of his teacher Leopold Kohr, an Austrian born economist, lawyer and political scientist, known for his opposition to the ―cult of bigness‖ (1957). Schumacher‘s book Small Is Beautiful: A Study of Economics As If People Mattered (1973) brought the critique of Western economics to a wider audience during the late 20 th century energy crisis and the emergence of globalization. Schumacher not only criticizes conventional economic thinking for failing to measure the appropriateness of an activity, but also emphasizes that ―growth is good‖ and ―bigger is better‖ is relevant to the mass production in developing countries. This scholar was one of the first economists to question the appropriateness of using gross national product to measure human well-being, emphasizing that the aim ought to be to obtain the maximum amount of wellbeing with the minimum amount of consumption. In the epilogue to his book, he emphasizes the need for the ―philosophy of materialism‖ to take second place to ideals such as justice, harmony, beauty, and health, emphasising that the guidance we need for the work ―to put our own inner house in order‖ cannot be found in sci- ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 145 ence or technology, the value of which utterly depends on the ends they serve; but it can still be found in the traditional wisdom of mankind. 4. Linguistic and historical glimpses on the notion of sustainable development Sustainability and sustainable development have become trendsetters in global 21 st century discourse. Constructing a coherent vision on sustainable development has become a major task for the international community, national governments, policy-makers, and other stakeholders. Halliday emphasizes that ―a language is a metastable system, which can only persist by constantly changing in interaction with its environment. The slowest part of it to change is the grammar […]. The lexis is much more accessible; indeed, we already have our slogans for the new age, based on words like sustain; what we need now, we are told, is sustainable development‖ (2001: 195). The analysis of the usage of the lexemes sustainable/ sustainability by means of the Corpus of Contemporary American English (COCA) testifies that the 21 st century has witnessed the rapid and constant growth of the frequency of their appearance in all types of discourse available in the corpus, i.e. spoken, fiction, magazine, newspaper and academic texts. Compare the figures in Table 1: Table 1: Frequency of sustainable/ sustainability in COCA Time span Frequency (% per million) 1990-1994 12. 81 1995-1999 16. 32 2000-2004 17. 72 2005-2009 29. 93 2010-2012 35. 91 The word usage analysis also shows a range of collocations with the words sustainability/ sustainable, which denote abstract notions (development, use, management, growth, future etc.), environmental resources (forestry, water, fisheries, seafood, harvest, land etc.), economic terms (agricul- Nataliia Goshylyk 146 ture, energy, economy, business, production etc.), and social terms (society, living, communities, leadership, health, education etc.). The frequency of the use of the phrase ‗sustainable development‘ in mass-media discourse was different in different years, e.g. the period from 1990 to 1994 shows 36 usages, 1995-1999 - 15, 2000-2004 - 22, and 2005-2009 - 19. Thus, the overall increase of the use of sustainability cannot be proved by a frequency analysis of its collocations, though it may be explained by the increase of the number of its collocations and further segmentation of the basic notions. Despite the recurrent usage of these words in connection with numerous institutions dealing with sustainability managing (e.g. the United Nations University Institute for the Advanced Study of Sustainability, International Institute for Sustainable Development, Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership, the Schumacher Institute for Sustainable Development, and other institutes for sustainable development functioning at major universities in Europe, the USA, Australia etc.), the problem of defining the notion of sustainability has not been solved yet - neither for the academic community nor the global public opinion. The framework of sustainability generally emerged in a number of conferences between 1972 and 1992 with topics concerning environmental law and the promotion of intergenerational equity with respect to natural resources, the UN Conference on the Human Environment held in Stockholm in 1972 having been the first major international gathering to discuss sustainability at the global scale. In 1987, the famous Brundtland report initiated a generalized vision of sustainable development, defining it as follows: ―Development that meets the needs of current generations without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs‖ (Brundtland 1987: 54). In this very report, the challenge to arrive at a commonly accepted definition of ‗sustainable development‘ for all the actors in the development process, is verbalized (1987: 56). According to Theis and Tomkin (2012), the contemporary idea of sustainable development is to improve the quality of life for all people and therefore ranks among historical human social movements such as those for human rights, racial equality, gender equity or labour relations. The Sustainable Development Summit held by the United Nations in September 2015 set a 2030 agenda for sustainable development and outlined 17 sustainable development goals, integrating and aiming at a balance of the three dimensions of sustainable development: economic, social and environmental ones. Among these goals are ending poverty, achieving food security, promoting well-being for all at all ages, ensuring inclusive and equitable quality education, achieving gender equality, ensuring water/ energy sustainability, promoting economic growth and sustainable industrialization, reducing inequality among countries, making sustainable cities, combating climate change etc. ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 147 This paper investigates mass-media articles focusing on a new era in sustainable development, which consider social, economic and environmental dimensions as elements of a coherent whole, working for the good of the people and the planet. The articles have been chosen from the newspaper The Guardian of 2015 (from the Sustainability [accessed at www.theguardian.com/ sustainability] and Environment [accessed at www.theguardian.com/ uk/ environment] sections) on the basis of their potential to address the 17 sustainable development goals, since for ―ecolinguistics, what is important is not just temporary communities formed by specific texts, but the larger communities that are formed by common appraisal patterns which appear in ‗countless texts repeated daily all around the world‘, to use Halliday‘s expression‖ (Stibbe 2015: 86). Overall, 53 articles have been studied in the course of this research, of which only a limited number is presented in this paper. Unfortunately, the role of linguistics in framing sustainable development discourse has so far been underestimated, with other disciplines in the social sciences and humanities playing a more important part. Despite a range of works on sustainable development in Ecolinguistics (e.g. Alexander 2002) and linguistic sustainability (e.g. Fill and Mühlhäusler 2001, Fill and Penz 2007), linguistics and linguists look like this in the eyes of scholars of the field: Linguistics and its suband cognate disciplines can make significant contributions to sustainability discourses that are concerned with the future development of society. A shift from ‗the sustainability of languages‘ to ‗languages for sustainability‘ would present a more holistic approach to issues of human and educational rights. However, as yet, the discourse of SD (sustainable development) has no great presence in language studies research. As such, it is hardly considered to be a ‗typical‘ topic in discussions on sustainability, both within and outside academic research (Sundsbo et al. 2015: 202). Thus, one of the major goals of linguistics, with all the tools and possibilities of Ecolinguistics being in focus, should be a complex analysis of sustainability as a discourse-generating phenomenon of the 21 st century. 5. Conceptual metaphors as modes of understanding and framing media discourse: MORE is UP There is a vast scope of linguistic research on conceptual metaphors, which fully covers all the important trends dealing with these conceptual entities from the point of view of Cognitive Linguistics (e.g. Lakoff/ Johnson 1980, Lakoff 1987, Goatly 1997, Evans 2007, Gibbs 2008, Kövecses 2010). Nataliia Goshylyk 148 This paper will focus on the dynamic relations between metaphors and their environment from the point of view of Ecolinguistics. So far, conceptual metaphors have been analysed from the ecolinguistic perspective by a number of researchers: Fill (2010) discusses both theoretical aspects of metaphor theory and shows how metaphors we think with are realized non-linguistically in many aspects of contemporary life: building tall, levels of obesity, industrialization, use of time, travelling fast, urbanization, racial categorization and exclusion, medical practice, sexual behavior, militarization, evaluations of quality by quantity, commodification of nature, treatment of animals, education and the concept of progress. Mühlhäusler (2003) outlines the functions of environmental metaphors (control, suppress, mislead, liberate and empower) and shows two principal tasks of Ecolinguistics in the field of metaphoric analysis, viz. ―to make the role of metaphor in the perception of and interaction with the environment explicit and to help search for replacements for those metaphors that have perpetuated an unsustainable way of life‖ (Mühlhäusler 2003: 140); Döring (2008) introduces an ecolinguistic theory of metaphors based on different research strands on metaphor, which covers six basic functions of metaphor in discourse (the ubiquity of metaphor, the conceptual foundation of metaphor, the conceptual foundation of Idealized Cognitive Models, the necessity of metaphor, the creativity of metaphor, and the focusing aspect of metaphor) (ibid.: 147-148); Goatly (2001) analyses grammatical and lexical metaphors and shows how clusters of metaphors may contribute to certain worldviews (cf. Goatly 2001). Døør and Madsen introduced the conception of ―healthy food metaphors‖; they do not subscribe to the view that the mind is embodied, preferring a theory that says ―that persons are multi-dimensional beings with our mind, body, heart, brain, spirit, and social relations being our irreplaceable dimensions‖ (Døør/ Madsen 2007: 277). Stibbe (2015) presents a theoretical basis for metaphoric reasoning and reveals permanent destructive and constructive cognitive patterns in discourse. In this paper, we regard metaphors not as static entities, but as dynamic phenomena that ―adapt to the discursive and practical needs of those who use them in socio-natural context‖ (Döring/ Nerlich 2006: 56). Moreover, metaphors, shaping and being shaped by their environment, are considered as discourse-generating phenomena with the sustainable development context allowing interactive and cooperating management for its participants. Industrial culture, functioning on the global scale, being consumer oriented and ―overshooting the sustaining capacity of the natural systems, is based on the metaphorical thinking of earlier thinkers who were un- ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 149 aware of the environmental limits‖ (Bowers 2009: 4-5). One of the greatest challenges of modern civilization is not just the acknowledgement of those restrictions, but also active responsibility for sustainability management. Sustainable development discourse, as it is understood in the 21 st century, both recognizes those limits and emphasizes the necessity for joint individual and community actions aiming at minimizing the negative consequences of unsustainable practice and focusing on the destructive impact of anthropocentrism. Within this approach, the correlation of big/ small issues has attracted the attention of scholars in various fields. The economist Schumacher argues that human experience is dual in nature: What must be emphasized is the duality of the human requirement when it comes to the question of size: them is no single answer. For his different purposes man needs many different structures, both small ones and large ones, some exclusive and some comprehensive. … For constructive work, the principal task is always the restoration of some kind of balance. Today, we suffer from an almost universal idolatry of gigantism. It is therefore necessary to insist on the virtues of smallness -where this applies. (If there were a prevailing idolatry of smallness, irrespective of subject or purpose, one would have to try and exercise influence in the opposite direction) (1973: 49, italics mine). The philosopher Kohr, talking about the efficiency and glory of the small, emphasizes the roots of big: It was the knowledge derived from the Quantum Theory that has enabled us to penetrate the secret of the atom and, with it, of the entire universe. We found the key to the big by searching for the small, and it is not without significance that our age, which has developed such perverse yearnings for social colossalism and world embracing organizations, is not named the colossal or unitarian age, but the atomic age, not after the largest but after one of the smallest aggregations of matter (1957: 82, italics mine). In linguistics, the notions of big and small, good and bad are research topics in Cognitive Linguistics, axiology (value theory), Ecolinguistics and other fields. The traditional conceptual metaphors MORE is UP, GOOD is UP, i.e. MORE is GOOD are frequently spotted in various discourses, with sustainable development discourse being no exception. These metaphors are based on the interaction of the concepts of QUALITY (good), AMOUNT and DEGREE (more) and DIRECTION (up), functioning in the roles of target and source domains respectively. Here we understand quantity in terms of verticality. Nataliia Goshylyk 150 This may be illustrated by numerous examples found in English mass media texts (from now on all the phrases in italics and bold are my emphasis), e.g.: The initiative appears to have the support of the majority of shoppers in England, with 62% thinking it is reasonable to charge 5p for all carrier bags a 6% increase on 2012, a poll for the Break the Bag Habit coalition of litter charities found … (‗England's shoppers say goodbye to free plastic bags‘, Guardian, October 5, 2015). In this discourse sample, the conceptual metaphors MORE is UP and GOOD is UP are actualized. The domains MORE and UP are revealed by the reference to the increase of the percentage of people supporting the idea of the introduction of a charge for carrier bags. The target domain GOOD is understood by means of the noun support, defined as ―the approval, encouragement, or comfort‖, with approval being ―the belief that someone or something is good or acceptable‖ (OED). In discourse, these metaphoric mappings coexist with the controversial conceptual entities LESS is GOOD and LESS is UP, which so far have not been analysed thoroughly in theoretical publications and only rarely in empirical research. This may be exemplified with metaphors from sustainable development discourse. Thus, in the sentence ―Facebook, Arby‘s and Bank of America, among others, have taken up the challenge to reduce their energy use over the next decade‖ (about Facebook, Bank of America and others having committed themselves to cutting their energy use by 20% on January 29, 2015), the phrase taken up activates the verticality frame, reduce activates the quantity frame, and together they activate the metaphor LESS is UP. 6. Analysis of empirical data The analysed articles on sustainable development in the British mass media allowed me to single out five major clusters of conceptual metaphors with quantity and direction target domains in focus: Cluster 1 - MORE is GOOD and MORE is UP Cluster 2 - LESS is GOOD Cluster 3 - MORE is BAD Cluster 4 - LESS is UP Cluster 5 - MORE is UP and LESS is UP/ GOOD. Cluster 1 encompasses the traditional metaphoric mappings MORE is GOOD and MORE is UP. ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 151 An article on the solar school projects in the UK warning that a charitable scheme installing solar panels in schools in England and Wales might be threatened, if cuts to the feed-in tariff go ahead, says: The government estimates that more than £70m a year - and the lion‘s share generated by supermarkets - will be raised for good causes across England (‗Solar schools project threatened by renewable energy cuts‘, October 7, 2015). 1 The phrase ―more than £70m will be raised for good causes‖ activates the target domain of amount and the source domain of quality, resulting in the activation of the MORE is UP and MORE is GOOD metaphorical mappings. The metaphorical inferences are that: 1. Raising money for solar school projects is a good undertaking; 2. Collecting a greater amount of financial resources is beneficial to its participants and the environment; 3. Accumulating these financial assets moves its parties to a higher vertical position. MORE is UP/ GOOD is a deeply engraved metaphor with all human beings. It is common across cultures, seems physically real and is embedded in our experience. It is cognitively productive and profoundly fixed in thought and language. Once recognized, the mapping seems straightforward: the ordering of amount is projected to the ordering of direction/ quality, and inferences are achieved straightforwardly for the source domain and mapped to the target domain. Cluster 2 represents the metaphoric mapping LESS is GOOD, which often frames the sustainable development discourse and is framed by it. Numerous examples testify that the target domain LESS is activated by phrases like heavily reduced that problem; bag numbers to fall by more than 70%; cutting the number; cut their greenhouse gas emissions; to cut their energy use by 20%; energy reduction plans; reduce air conditioning use. As one might notice, the target domain expressing the concept of quantity may be activated by the lexemes of smallness and be supported by concrete figures, which are absolute and relative representatives of quantity. Within this cluster the source domain GOOD is represented either explicitly or implicitly. The direct representation is provided by word combinations and phrases with the unambiguous meaning of being superior in quality, e.g.:  The Better Buildings Challenge is a voluntary program in which the participants commit to cut their energy use by 20% over 10 years and provide 1 All the articles analysed are from The Guardian. Nataliia Goshylyk 152 progress reports on how they are reaching that goal. The energy department offers technical assistance and matches participants with financial institutions that have agreed to help them carry out their energy reduction plans. (‗Facebook, Bank of America and others committed to cutting their energy use by 20%‘, January 29, 2015).  You can imagine the important role that lighting plays for a retailer like Macy‘s. The department store cut its energy use by retrofitting lighting systems, upgrading heating and cooling equipment and use analytics software that collects data in 15-minute intervals in order to figure out ways to reduce wasteful energy consumption. (‗Facebook, Bank of America and others committed to cutting their energy use by 20%‘, January 29, 2015);  The real estate development and management company aims to reduce the energy footprint of a collection of military housing communities. Its approaches included fixing leaky ducts, improving building insulation and creating better ventilation to reduce air conditioning use. (‗Facebook, Bank of America and others committed to cutting their energy use by 20%,‘ January 29, 2015). In all these examples, GOOD/ BETTER is linked with REDUCTION of some kind, thus representing the metaphor LESS is GOOD. Indirect activation of the quality concept is achieved by means of contextual factors, as in the following samples (all from The Guardian): In England the average person goes through nearly 12 thin-gauge bags per month, while in Wales, where there has been a 5p charge per bag since 2011, shoppers use just two per month. (‗England‘s shoppers say goodbye to free plastic bags‘, Oct. 5, 2015). The notion of ‗benefit‘ is understood by means of the general line of the article focusing on preventing further damage to the environment, as well as (in this example) concerning the calculation of the number of plastic bags used in Wales and in England:  On the basis of charging elsewhere, the government expects bag numbers to fall by more than 70% - cutting the number ending up in landfill or in the oceans by many billions every year (‗England‘s shoppers say goodbye to free plastic bags‘, Oct. 5, 2015). Understanding of the advantage of the planned action is reached via the promise of minimizing the phenomenon which is a threat to the environment and its sustainable functioning (billions of plastic bags in landfill or in the ocean). ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 153 I speak to the young people there and they say they don‘t want to move. This is where our ancestors came from,‖ said Timon, who is a Pacific outreach officer at the Edmund Rice Centre in Sydney. ―Displacement really has to be the last resort. Pacific islands need help to adapt and the rich countries need to cut their greenhouse gas emissions. (‗UN drops plan to help move climatechange affected people‘, October 7, 2015). Realization of the beneficial effect of the planned action is achieved by means of the introduction of the chain of relations involving necessity to move (negative) - young people‟s displacement attitude (negative) - condition of the Pacific islands (negative, needs help to adapt) and the possibility to change that negative consequence of events, which is viewed positively. ―When processing source domain words in the context of a target domain subject matter, the fixed connections result in co-activation of the two domains‖ (Gibbs 2008: 28). Thus, source domain GOOD activations arising from inferences are projected onto the target domain LESS by means of the pre-established mapping. As attested by empirical analysis, the new conceptualization of the domain of quality is obtained through a projection from reduced quantity. Cluster 3 represents the metaphoric mapping MORE is BAD, which also conveys the idea of ―small is beautiful‖ in sustainable development discourse. A number of articles abound with examples of this type of metaphor, such as the article ‗UN drops plan to help move climate-change affected people‘ (The Guardian, October 7, 2015), from which the following examples are taken:  In areas of the Pacific, sea level is rising by 1.2 cm a year, four times faster than the global average. For coral-based islands two to three metres above sea level this has resulted in communities being relocated, and drinking water and crops are threatened by salt water inundation. Recent research suggests islands will not be submerged but will change shape and height, posing difficulties for fixed infrastructure… In wealthy nations such as the US, where people in Alaska have had to move and Boston faces a future of being a ‗city of canals‘ because of sea level rises. The target domain MORE is verbalized directly via the verb/ noun rise, while the source domain BAD is activated both contextually (relocation of communities/ had to move) and directly (threat/ posing difficulties);  People in Kiribati are now very worried about climate change. They say, ‗No wonder it‟s getting hotter that it‟s hard to find fish.‘ Nataliia Goshylyk 154 The implicit representation of the difficulty of successful fishing is accompanied by an explicit verbal message of the increase of the temperature level:  I think every country in the world responsible for CO2 emissions have some measure of responsibility for the predicament they‘ve caused. Top of that list is Australia, given it is the worst per capita emitter in the world. This discourse sample directly activates the target domain MORE (top) and the source domain BAD (worst). The metaphoric inferences occur due to the activation of the antecedent situation, which leads to the activation of the other meaningful node (the consequence of CO2 gas emissions for every country). Cluster 4 with its metaphor LESS is UP is not so frequently represented in our corpora of articles, which may be explained by its contradiction to human embodied experience. According to Gibbs (2008: 116): metaphors are processed by accessing the metaphorical abstraction and applying it (via structural alignment) to the target - essentially treating the base term as a category of which the target is an instance. This shift from horizontal to vertical alignment is not coincidental; rather, it is a natural consequence of the structural alignment process used to interpret novel metaphors. The following example testifies the possibility of seeing the correlation etween quantity and verticality in reverse order: Tech giants, fast food chains and financial institutions are the latest companies to commit to improving their energy efficiency, according to the US energy department. Facebook, Arby‘s and Bank of America, among others, have taken up the challenge to reduce their energy use over the next decade, the department announced Thursday. (‗Facebook, Bank of America and others commit to cutting their energy use 20%‘, January 29, 2015) The target domain LESS is introduced via the phrase to reduce their energy use, while the word combination have taken up the challenge activates the source domain UP (cf. above). Despite certain metaphors being grounded via correlations in embodied experience, others come from our social awareness and environmental knowledge. They frame the contemporary discourse, though do not abound in quantity. The metaphor LESS is UP simplifies the relations between progress and motion along a line which has not yet been thoroughly analysed, neither within metaphor theory nor within the Ecolinguistics framework. ‘Small is Beautiful’ in English Mass Media Texts 155 The final cluster 5 represents the conceptual entities MORE is UP and LESS is GOOD/ UP coexisting in discourse. The following discourse passages are analysed as a group, on the basis of their potential to express a common idea, as in the article ‗Emissions scandal: how the drive for diesel ran out of gas‘ (The Guardian, September 30, 2015): But with climate change a growing concern, diesel‟s lower carbon dioxide emissions caught the attention of politicians looking for easy ways to cut carbon. Sales of diesels in Europe crept up from 15% of new cars in 1990 to 25% by 1995, as politicians cut the taxes levied on diesels. In this passage, the traditional metaphoric mapping MORE is UP in the second sentence goes side by side with the metaphor LESS is GOOD, in which the source domain GOOD is understood contextually, by means of understanding the metaphoric inference of cutting gas emissions and the benefit of this for the environment.  A Decc spokesperson said: ―Our priority is to keep bills as low as possible for hardworking families and businesses, while reducing our emissions in the most cost-effective way. The government‘s support for solar has driven down the cost of the technology significantly and we delivered more than the promised subsidy amount to the industry.‖ In this discourse sample, the target domain LESS is activated by means of the phrases as low as possible and drive down, while the source domains of both metaphors are based on the verbalization of the domain MORE, which is activated by the noun priority, defined as ―the fact or condition of being regarded or treated as more important than others‖ (OED), and the phrase we delivered more. Both notions have a positive denotation, and this positive effect is also understood contextually. These metaphors are ubiquitous and highly organized forms of conceptualizing environmental experience. The potential of these metaphoric mappings is derived from their ability not only to assimilate new experiences to familiar patterns of perception, but also to coexist in the discursive environment and to be dynamic. 7. Conclusion The analysis has attempted to show how metaphors can elucidate the complex reality of the quality-quantity-direction relationship. The ecolinguistiс paradigm employed in this research is based on the principles of the active construal of reality, the mutual interdependence of its components and the idea of language units as influencing and being in- Nataliia Goshylyk 156 fluenced by their environment. The conceptual metaphors denoting quality, quantity and direction, deeply engraved into human consciousness, frame the contemporary discourse of sustainable development, which is at the top of the world policy-makers‘ agenda. In sustainable development discourse, the classical metaphoric mappings MORE is GOOD and MORE is UP coexist with the metaphors LESS is UP and LESS is GOOD, with some metaphors being grounded in embodied experience, others coming from our social and environmental awareness. Both of these conceptual entities are discourse-generating; they were constructed by society, and their use may have an influence on the environment. The latter metaphoric mappings, being novel and therefore particularly influential, frame the ecological, economic, and e-living styles. The results of this research facilitate the recognition of culturally unique and ecologically sensitive ways of perceiving both the environment and the process of human development. Moreover, they contribute to making us aware of the growthism ideology, which is anthropocentric and thus (! ) profoundly entrenched in language. This awareness may eventually lead to a more ecocentric worldview. References Alexander, Richard J. (2002). ―Everyone is talking about ‗sustainable development‘. Can they all mean the same thing? Computer discourse analysis of ecological texts.‖ In: Alwin Fill, Hermine Penz & Wilhelm Trampe (Eds.). Colourful Green Ideas. Bern/ Berlin: Peter Lang. 239-254. Alexander, Richard J. 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Nataliia Goshylyk Vasyl Stefanyk Precarpathian National University Rezensionen Bernhard Reitz (Ed.), Das englische Drama und Theater von den Anfängen bis zur Postmoderne. Trier: WVT, 2016. Sarah Frühwirth Although the volume under consideration begins its coverage with medieval drama and theatre, the book nevertheless lives up to its title, which promises to outline the history of English drama and theatre from its ―beginnings‖ until the postmodern era. Accordingly, the book‘s editor, Bernhard Reitz, does not leave blank the history of English drama before the Middle Ages, but also broaches the subject of pre-medieval drama in his introductory remarks. Having made good on the promise indirectly given in the volume‘s title, the book‘s first actual chapter is dedicated to the three main subgenres of English medieval drama, namely mystery plays, miracle plays, and morality plays. This first of altogether eight main sections delineates the main characteristics of each of these dramatic subgenres, mentions a few representative examples, and outlines the transition from medieval to Elizabethan drama. In contrast to the other seven main sections, this survey of medieval and early modern drama is not followed by sub-chapters dealing with exemplary plays of this particular historical period. Instead, the plots of a number of representative examples of these three early dramatic genres are already integrated into the editor‘s survey of the era. This decision to dispense with sub-chapters detailing individual plays might be related to the largely generic nature of medieval plays, but the decision to merely give a rough outline of individual medieval plays without quoting original text passages might also have been influenced by considerations of making the description more comprehensible for prospective readers as well as the limited accessibility to most of the manuscripts, which complicates their scholarly treatment. With the exception of this first main section focussing on medieval and early modern dramatic genres, all the other main sections follow a similar pattern. All in all, the body of the book consists of eight main sections, each of which deals with a different epoch in the history of English drama. The first main section on medieval and early modern drama is followed by sec- AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 42 (2017) · Heft 1 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Rezensionen 160 tions dealing in turn with different time periods and their dramatic output from the late sixteenth century to the end of the twentieth century, namely ―Drama and Theatre in the Shakespearean Period‖, ―The Restoration: A New Beginning in Tragedy and Comedy‖, ―The Drama of the Eighteenth Century‖, ―Verse-Drama, Melodrama, the Problem Play and Comedy in the Nineteenth Century‖, ―Drama and Theatre of the ‗Irish Literary Revival‘‖, ―Between Convention and Renewal: 1900 Until the Middle of the Century‖, ―Beckett, 1956 and After: From the Angry Young Men to In-Yer-Face Theatre‖. Each of these main sections is prefaced with a short, very informative introduction by the editor, in which he details the historical and literary context that shaped the dramatic products of the respective age, points out the poetics that informed contemporary dramatic works, refers to the most popular subgenres of every period and outlines their most prominent characteristics, gives interesting information on what contemporary theatres looked like and the types of stages that were in use then, and names important figures in the contemporary theatrical scene, like theatre directors, actors, or stage designers. These general remarks are followed by concise reviews of individual plays by different expert contributors. These reviews, though all of them are fairly short, provide a good overview of the respective play‘s plot (most of the time including direct quotations from the primary texts), biographical information on the author, as well as a short analysis of the play‘s most important themes and characters. The volume under consideration thus strikes a good balance between comprehensiveness and conciseness. The reviews of individual plays are sorted by their dates of composition, rather than by author; an approach perfectly logical, which, however, leads to slight confusion in a section like ―Drama and Theatre in the Shakespearean Period‖, where several plays by one and the same author are discussed, and Shakespearean plays thus alternate with those by Marlowe, Jonson and Webster. Considering the varying importance of theatre and dramatic composition in the various periods, a certain imbalance between the individual sections was unavoidable. While the editor‘s introductions to the respective main sections are of roughly equal length, the number of reviews of exemplary plays varies considerably between the eight main sections, and it soon becomes obvious that the volume‘s main focus is on drama and theatre of the second half of the twentieth century. While the section on eighteenth-century drama merely contains three sub-chapters, which respectively deal with Susanna Centlivre‘s The Gamester, George Lillo‘s The London Merchant, or The History of George Barnwell, and Richard Brinsley Sheridan‘s The School for Scandal, the last section ―Beckett, 1956 and After: From the Angry Young Men to In-Yer-Face Theatre‖ contains a total of twenty-five reviews of individual plays ranging from Samuel Beckett‘s Waiting for Godot (1953) to Martin Crimp‘s Attempts on Her Life (1997), thereby giving the reader a comprehensive overview of modern British drama. While the volume thus focuses on the dramatic products of some periods more than others, the selection of plays and authors on the whole is wellbalanced, since it does not privilege plays of authors of a particular gender, social class or region. By doing so, the book certainly fulfils its obvious aim of Rezensionen 161 giving as broad an overview of the English theatrical landscape as is possible within the confines of a single volume. There are some omissions which may seem surprising at first, which, however, are inevitable in a volume of this kind. It is noteworthy that renowned seventeenth-century playwrights like William Wycherley, William Congreve, George Farquhar, or John Vanbrugh are not discussed in individual reviews. The editor briefly refers to the three ―female wits‖, Mary Pix, Delarivier Manley, and Catherine Trotter, in his introduction to the section ―The Drama of the Eighteenth Century‖, but no play of these early female playwrights is subsequently presented in detail. The only eighteenth-century female playwright who is treated in the form of an individual review is Susanna Centlivre. Another literary figure missing from the volume is Oliver Goldsmith, whose 1773 play She Stoops to Conquer was an immediate success and is still occasionally performed nowadays, and therefore might have made a good addition to the slender section on eighteenth-century drama. It is, of course, virtually impossible to make a selection that pleases everybody. As regards the Victorian period, the ―sensation play‖ or ―sensation drama‖, which thrived in England in the nineteenth century, is subsumed under the general heading of ―melodrama‖, although the author does make reference to plays of Dion Boucicault as well as Hazlewood‘s stage adaptation of Lady Audley‟s Secret. The many stage adaptations of contemporary Victorian bestsellers are also treated only briefly in the editor‘s introductory remarks. The book is part of a series that aims at offering surveys of English literary history to the interested German reading public, a highly recommendable project. Hence the text is written in German, generously interspersed with English quotations (from the primary texts as well as secondary literature on the topic). Although the decision to include quotations from the primary texts in their original, untranslated form is perfectly understandable, since there might not be a German translation of all the plays discussed in this volume, some German readers who do not have sufficient command of the English language might therefore find the book difficult to read in some places, especially when older texts (e.g. from the Renaissance period) are discussed. These trifles, however, hardly have an impact on the overall very high quality of the book. The volume under consideration is a very informative book that will appeal to both scholars and the general public. By managing to detail the history of English drama and theatre within the confines of a 450page volume without creating an impression of superficiality, the editor has certainly accomplished a very impressive feat. Although a total of 33 experts have contributed to the volume, the high standard of quality of the individual contributions remains consistent from beginning to end. All in all, the volume presents itself as a well-researched and highly useful book that, if made an addition to one‘s personal library, will certainly be one of the first points of reference whenever one needs to brush up one‘s memory on a point relating to English drama and theatre. Sarah Frühwirth Institut für Anglistik und Amerikanistik Universität Wien Rezensionen 162 Johanna Hartmann, Literary Visuality in Siri Hustvedt’s Works: Phenomenological Perspectives (text & theorie 16). Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2016. Guido Isekenmeier In Nicola Graef‘s 2009 documentary about her life, Siri Hustvedt still remarked that she was ―always referred to as the wife of Paul Auster‖. But while the predicament of ―being considered the adjunct of her husband[s]‖ (275) has stayed with her artist-protagonists up until Harriet Burden in The Blazing World (2014), academic interest, it seems, might be gravitating away from Auster towards the artist formerly known as his wife. Hartmann, still noting the ―academic neglect of her works on both sides of the Atlantic‖ (13), refers to four other recent book-length studies of Hustvedt‘s œuvre published in Germany alone, two of them monographic, that testify to the fact that things are achanging, at least cisatlantically. One of the reasons for the well-deserved upsurge in interest in Hustvedt‘s novels (not so much her poetry, a fate she shares with her husband), is their sustained engagement with matters of visuality. And it is the merit of Hartmann‘s study to have approached this body of work from the wider perspective of literary visuality studies, instead of the more narrow confines of an inter-arts point of view. While the latter approach does find rich material in the novels‘ ekphrastic handling of paintings and photographs (both real and fictitious; cf. Reipen 2014), Hartmann justly recognises that visuality is also central to understanding other aspects of Hustvedt‘s texts. Thus, her study additionally addresses the ―characters‘ acting and interacting within the visual field‖ (19), the ―visual topographies‖ (33) of their dreams and memories, or the significance of ―impaired vision‖ (51) for an appreciation of the mediacy of their perception of the fictional world. Indeed, the major thrust of her argument is away from a strictly intermedial consideration of relations between (still) pictures and literary text(s) towards an appreciation of the ―representation of human experiences of the lifeworld as embodied and performative‖ (17), which amounts to what Hartmann calls a ―phenomenological reconfiguration‖ (60) of literary visuality. This phenomenological turn, ambiguously located between what Hustvedt‘s texts offer (a post-postmodernist concern with the ―concrete life realities of individual human beings‖, 15) and how Hartmann approaches them (in line with the ‗ethical‘ or ‗empathetic‘ turn in literary criticism), is aptly reflected in the theoretical part (―2. Literary Visuality as Theoretical Paradigm - The Visual Sense in Philosophy, Literature, and Culture‖) of her study, whose overall structure follows the established German dissertation formula (the other parts are: ―1. Introduction‖, ―3. Readings‖, and ―4. Conclusion‖). The theoretical toolbox of this second part includes a phenomenological account of ―Acting and Interacting in the Visual Field‖ (2.1) and a digest on ―Literary Visuality as Textual Phenomenon‖ (2.2) informed by intermediality studies. Rezensionen 163 The primary, if sometimes tacit, purpose of the phenomenological tour de force in 2.1 is to enable a reading of literary characters as valid textual proxies of human beings. It is this premise, now widely shared in cognitively informed literary studies (e.g. Zunshine 2006), that makes it possible to talk about the ―representation of human experience‖ or the ―concrete life realities of individual human beings‖, when we are in fact talking about textual ‗figures‘ (‗actants‘ in a structuralist terminology). Only when we ascribe intentionality (2.1.1.2) and embodiment (2.1.1.1) to literary characters can we go on to posit intersubjectivity (2.1.2.2) in their relations. Be that as it may, this stance turns out to be a very productive approach to character relations (read: ―the visual encounter between fictional characters‖, 54) in Hustvedt‘s novels, which do seem to stage intersubjective events in, for instance, the ―mutual looking at art and the dialogic exchange about this experience‖ (55). In her analyses of ―visual encounter[s] between human beings‖ (read: literary characters), which in Hustvedt are often ―tied to the notion of recognition‖ (304), or of the way in which ―intersubjectively negotiated processes‖ are ―relocated to the level of textual arrangement‖ (272), Hartmann‘s study is at its best. A second, more problematic outcome of the phenomenological detour is an alleged interest in reader response. Starting with the introductory proclamation that the ―phenomenological dimension‖ will be ―analyzed as a potential for visualized reading experiences‖ (14), the book returns mantralike to its concern with how showing ‗seeing‘ can ―become a form of seeing by the reader‖ (74), including a third theory chapter (2.3) on ―Transformational Processes and Creative Reading Experiences‖. What is meant to be a synthesis of the phenomenological approach (reading experiences) and the intermedial approach (transformational processes), in that the ―‗failure‘ of ekphrasis […] becomes a productive source for creativity when seen from a stance that takes into consideration the activity of the reader‖ (75), more often than not turns out to be a mere afterthought in the analyses of the novels, preferably given as the last sentence of a paragraph (266), of a chapter (200), or as reference to a section of text that does not even exist - except as that sentence just mentioned (167). The point of chapter 2.2 on the textual stage of literary visuality is, above all, to emphasise the centrality of description(s): ―It is the basic premise of this study that literary visuality manifests itself in the literary strategy of description‖ (19). As much as I agree with that premise, it is in this area that Hartmann‘s remarks sometimes lack clarity, sometimes scope. As for clarity, one may stumble across (and over) the following paragraph: In literary descriptions two phenomena coincide that have to be kept apart on an analytical level. On the one hand descriptions are results of the characters‘ staged acts of describing. On the other hand the description is a phenomenon of the literary text and determined by the subjective character of the described experience. This coincides with Iser‘s statement that quotidian description and fictional description have from a phenomenal point of view the same appearance but very different functions (62). Both are Rezensionen 164 necessarily interrelated as Dewey reminds us that ‗[e]xpression, like construction, signifies both an action and its result‘ (82). (33) Among all the phenomena (two in description and description itself), coincidences (of the two phenomena and of ‗this‘ with Iser‘s statement) and characters (the ones in the text and the one of the experience), one keeps wondering about what exactly it is that has to be kept apart by the contrastive conjunct (‗on the one hand - on the other‘): is it appearance and function? And if so, does ‗determined‘ mean that form inevitably has to follow function? Or is it action and result? And if so, does ‗descriptions are results of the characters‘ staged acts of describing‘ stand for action or result? Anyway, the logic of the paragraph seems elusive. As for scope, it would be unfair to expect a comprehensive treatment of the immense body of descriptological work done since Genette‘s ―Frontiers of Narrative‖ (first published in French in 1966). However, even a cursory glance might have revealed that every description is also a display of discursive mastery that suffers from a certain opacity resulting from its linguistic makeup (a case most prominently made in Hamon 1981). At times, Hartmann seems to be on the verge of acknowledging that as ―a phenomenon of the literary text‖, a description can never be ―determined by the subjective character of the described experience‖ alone, as when she mentions that the ―transformative process of describing verbally what is visual directs attention to the process of verbalization‖ (75). This tension between experientiality and literaricity, however, is never explicitly addressed. What you would expect, though, is that a critical text displays some awareness of the very field into which it inscribes itself, which in this case is neither that of the sister arts (2.2.1), nor that of ekphrasis (2.2.2) nor that of intermediality (2.2.3), but that of literary visuality studies. Two major problems seem to arise from this theoretical blindness: (1) Literature‘s role in visual culture is conceptualised as derivative or even parasitical. Briefly promising insight into the ―complex interrelations and dynamics between the representation of seeing in literature, the philosophical theorization of the visual sense, and the actual practices of seeing within the socio-cultural environment‖ (24), Hartmann quickly resorts to the idea (still enclosed in the use of the term ‗representation‘), that literature reflects and retraces, reacts and responds to visual cultural context. In the end (and at the end of the very same paragraph), it is the ―importance of the prevailing ‗visual culture‘ for the representation of seeing in literature‖ (25) that matters (cf. 302) in what appears to be a one-way street. Compared to Mergenthaler‘s ―osmotic processes of exchange‖ (2002: 394), Hartmann‘s appears to be a thoroughly mimetic model of literature as chronicler of rather than agent in the visual field. (2) In visual cultural terms, the sense of the historical place of Hustvedt‘s works suffers from myopia. To be sure, her novels are cursorily claimed as representative of a neo-realist or post-postmodernist trend in contemporary literature (15), which by the way, at least in The Summer Without Men, gives us the worst of both worlds, a compassionate or (em)pathetic postmodernism (―You, gentle reader out there…‖, cited 250 f.). But not a word on how ―Hustvedt‘s aesthetic program [that] captures the Rezensionen 165 intricacies and complexities of the contemporary world‖ (78) relates to literary texts of an earlier period no less noted for ―its increasing cognizance of the body‖ and ―the emergence of the body as a kind of afterimage, exposed in repeated betrayals of its situated partiality, its culturally determined distortions, its will to dominance and even violence‖ (Jacobs 2001: 2). After all, ―visualizing embodiment‖ (ibid.: 145) might not exactly be a contemporary invention. Turning to the third part (―Readings‖), the first thing that strikes the eye is the complete lack of advance organisers. Not a single sentence introduces the following six chapters (each dealing with one of Hustvedt‘s novels in chronological order), which amount to more than 200 pages (roughly two thirds) of the whole book. It is only in the conclusion that a rough outline of a narrative thread traversing Hustvedt‘s œuvre begins to emerge (―The six novels by Hustvedt subjected to analysis within the scope of this study show continuities and discontinuities concerning the configuration of the visual paradigm‖, 303; ―In Siri Hustvedt‘s novels, the visual encounter between human beings is tied to the notion of recognition - a theme apparent since her first novel‖, 304; ―Since What I Loved, the theoretical dimension has gained in significance‖, 305). In fact, the many elements that Hustvedt‘s fictional texts have in common with regard to both characters (cf. 253 on ―the distant father figure‖ as ―a kind of stock character‖; 269 on Oswald Case as ―a configuration of the hostile and vicious art critic who appears in several of Hustvedt‘s novels‖) and inventory (dolls and ‗story boxes‘, above all) make you wonder if the full pass through all six novels could not have been profitably replaced by a more Proppian analysis, which could have taken its inspiration from Leo Hertzberg‘s drawer in What I Loved, who muses that the meaning of the objects he stores in it ―depended on their placement, what I thought of as a mobile syntax‖ (cited 164). Apart from having their longueurs, though, the readings themselves are technically solid and pertinent as regards subject matter. On a minor note, the handling of the concept of filmic writing is noteworthy. Not having introduced it in the second part, Hartmann goes on to excessively claim the use of ―filmic devices‖ (217), ―filmic techniques‖ (247), ―a cinematic aesthetic‖ (209), ―cinematic techniques‖ (157, 220), ―cinematic strategies‖ (224), ―cinematic devices‖ (247, 256), or a ―cinematic imagination‖ (268) for Hustvedt‘s novels in the third. Many of the alleged examples seem ill-founded or hardly backed by textual evidence. From a strategic point of view, the offhand use of this controversial label might be a belated attempt to distance herself from Reipen‘s (2014) study (published ―[b]riefly before the submission of this dissertation‖, 14), in that cinematic/ filmic description effectively means something like dynamised pictorialist (as opposed to static ekphrastic) description. Still, this seems like a far stretch. Overall, I cannot help thinking that Hartmann‘s book would have profited from a stricter focus on the phenomenology of intradiegetic ‗human‘ relations, which would have resulted in a study both more concise and more consistent. Along this line, I might even venture a recommendation for pro- Rezensionen 166 spective readers: start with the theory chapter 2.1, then go on to the readings of those Hustvedt novels you are most interested in (The Summer Without Men seems a safe omission in any case or, at least, ―is in many respects different from the preceding and subsequent novels‖, 304), then stop. References Hamon, Philippe (1981). Introduction à l‟analyse du descriptif. Paris: Hachette. Jacobs, Karen (2001). The Eye‟s Mind: Literary Modernism and Visual Culture. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP. Mergenthaler, Volker (2002). Sehen schreiben - Schreiben sehen. Literatur und visuelle Wahrnehmung im Zusammenspiel. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Reipen, Corinna Sophie (2014). Visuality in the Works of Siri Hustvedt. Frankfurt a.M.: Lang. Zunshine, Lisa (2006). Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Columbus, OH: Ohio State UP. Guido Isekenmeier Institut für Literaturwissenschaft Abteilung Neuere Englische Literatur Universität Stuttgart Eckhard Lobsien, Die Antworten und die Frage. Funktionen der Literatur - Der irische Roman 1800 bis 1850 (text & theorie 15). Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2014. Katharina Rennhak Eckhard Lobsiens Studie besteht - wie der Autor selbst in der Einleitung klarstellt - „aus zwei selbständigen Teilen, die verklammert sind durch die Frage nach einer Funktionsgeschichte der Literatur, die aber nicht in einem Verhältnis von Modell und Applikation zueinander stehen― (12). In der Tat schreibt Lobsien zunächst eine „kleine Collingwood-Monographie― (12), die den funktionsgeschichtlichen Zugriff auf die literarischen Erzähltexte im zweiten Teil präzise fundiert und umsichtig rahmt. Darauf folgt eine funktionsgeschichtliche Analyse und Einordung des irischen Romans von 1800 bis 1850. Die Studie leistet so einen Beitrag zu zwei Forschungsfeldern, die in der anglistischen Literatur- und Kulturwissenschaft in den 1990ern und 2000ern etwas in den Hintergrund gerieten, in den letzten Jahren aber neu entdeckt werden. AAA Band 4 2 (201 7 ) Heft 1 Rezensionen 167 Die Rede ist vom wiedererstarkenden Interesse an hermeneutischen Lektüreverfahren 1 einerseits und an der Erzählprosa der irischen Romantik andererseits. 2 Im ersten Teil „Collingwood und die Reichweiten der Funktionsgeschichte― rekapituliert Lobsien R. G. Collingwoods Konzept der „fünf Konstitutionsformen des menschlichen Geistes― (14), das der britische Philosoph und Historiker in Speculum Mentis or the Map of Knowledge (1924) entworfen hat. Ziel dieser Ausführungen ist es, erstens zu zeigen, wie die hermeneutische Frage-Antwort-Logik für dezidiert literaturwissenschaftliche Textbetrachtungen fruchtbar gemacht werden kann. Zweitens soll die spezifische Leistung der Literatur im Vergleich zu anderen Denkformen bestimmt werden, um auf dieser Grundlage eine literarische Funktionsgeschichte zu schreiben. Der Nachvollzug von Lobsiens Collingwood-Lektüre im Folgenden wird recht schnell deutlich machen, dass sich Lobsien nicht scheut, eine Terminologie zu verwenden und Konzepte zu nutzen, die den Grundannahmen einer poststrukturalistisch informierten Literaturwissenschaft, wie sie heute weitüberwiegend in der Anglistik praktiziert wird, mitunter diametral entgegen zu laufen scheinen. Ich werde abschließend diskutieren, inwieweit dieser Schein trügt. Lobsien erinnert seine Leserinnen und Leser zunächst an die für hermeneutische Lektüren charakteristische Frage-und-Antwort Logik, wie sie sich bei Collingwood und Gadamer findet: Wissen und Verstehen setzt Fragen voraus, die Antworten generieren. Hermeneutikerinnen und Hermeneutiker verstehen, so erklärt Lobsien anschaulich und differenziert, ihr Untersuchungsobjekt als Antwort auf eine Frage. Diese Frage kann und muss aus dem Text, d.h. aus der vorliegenden Antwort, rekonstruiert werden. Weil das hermeneutische „Fragen nach der Frage hinter der [im Text] manifesten Antwort― (21), wie Gadamer in Wahrheit und Methode erklärt, „niemals in ihrem ursprünglichen Horizont stehen [kann]― (356; zit. in Lobsien 21), ist der Leser bzw. die Leserin gehalten, die jeweiligen Fragehorizonte mit zu bedenken. Dies gelingt nun nicht etwa (vorrangig) durch die Rekonstruktion des kulturhistorischen Entstehungskontextes auf der Basis einer Lektüre anderer Texte (wie kulturwissenschaftlich geschulte Leserinnen und Leser nahezu reflexartig annehmen mögen). Vielmehr gilt es, wiederum das vorliegende Werk zu befragen und „den Text, der uns fragt, selber auf eine Frage zurückzuführen, auf die er die Antwort darstellt― (20). Lobsien ist sich dabei durchaus bewusst, dass dieses hermeneutische Verfahren „auf eine perfekte Tautologie― hinausläuft (17). Diese kann aber im Frage-und-Antwort-Prozess so geöffnet werden, dass „ein Spielraum möglicher anderer Antworten― 1 Insbesondere Paul Ricœurs Hermeneutik ist nie ganz aus der Mode gekommen; eine interessante Reflexion über die Verknüpfung traditioneller hermeneutischer Lektüreverfahren mit narratologischen Methoden und Modellen findet sich in Julian Hanebecks (2017; im Druck), Understanding Metalepsis. Berlin: de Gruyter. 2 Siehe u.a. Claire Connolly (2012). A Cultural History of the Irish Novel, 1790-1829. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press; und Julia Wright (2014). Representing the National Landscape in Irish Romanticism. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse Univ. Press. Rezensionen 168 erkennbar wird, wodurch die „besondere Funktion― der vorliegenden Antwort „im Spektrum der Möglichkeiten einsichtig wird― (17). Nachdem die Grundlagen des hermeneutischen Verstehens geklärt sind, setzt sich Lobsien intensiv mit der Vorstellung von den fünf Bewusstseinsformen auseinander, die Collingwood in Speculum Mentis entwickelt. Diese fünf Bewusstseinshaltungen manifestieren sich in den Denkmustern, die die „Wissensregionen― Kunst, Religion, Wissenschaft, Geschichte und Philosophie jeweils prägen. Gefragt wird danach, wie - das heißt genauer: unter Rückgriff auf welche Formen der Komplexitäts-reduktion - das Bewusstsein, das als „weltkonstituierendes Tun― (23) verstanden wird, die Welt erfasst. Die Kunst betrachtet Collingwood als den radikalste Modus des Fragens und Antwortens, denn die Imagination entwirft stets nur Als-ob- Welten und ist dabei lediglich der „Kohärenz und Geschlossenheit― des jeweils imaginierten Weltmodells verpflichtet, das in Form des (Kunst-)Werks als Ganzem vorliegt und vom „Werk-Zeichen― (29) nicht abgelöst werden kann. Kunst und Literatur produzieren Wissen, das „nicht wahrheitsfähig […] und nicht referentialisierbar― (34) ist, sondern vielmehr neue Perspektiven erprobt und alternative Welten entwirft. Während das künstlerische Bewusstsein entsprechend mit „hyperkomplexen Zeichen― umgeht, operiert die religiöse Bewusstseinsform mit offenbarten Wahrheiten. „Den Sinn von Kunst kann man nicht paraphrasieren, weil dann die Komplexität seiner Bezeichnung zusammenfiele. Den Sinn religiöser Zeichen braucht man nicht zu paraphrasieren, weil er allemal schon ‚da‗ ist und sich gegen jede Explikation sperrt― (39). Das wissenschaftliche Bewusstsein dahingegen ist klassifikatorisch. Seine Denkoperationen bestehen in Abstraktionsleistungen, die „die realen Tatsachen dieser Welt― (43) im Zuge der Schematisierungen und Klassifikationen, die es vornimmt, verwandeln. Collingwood (und mit ihm Lobsien) interessiert sich nun bekanntlich besonders für das historische Bewusstsein, das - anders als die anderen Wissenschaften - „die realen Tatsachen dieser Welt― in „ihrer widerspenstigen Singularität― wahrnimmt (43) und über diesen Akt der Wahrnehmung das Prinzip der Perspektivität allen Wissens und Verstehens ernst nimmt. Allein schon weil der Historiker mit Dokumenten arbeitet, operiert das historische Bewusstsein immer mit einer doppelten perspektivischen Brechung: nämlich mit der Wahrnehmungsperspektive, die durch den Standort der Person bedingt ist, die das Dokument verfasst hat, und mit der des Historikers, der die Gedanken der Autorin bzw. des Autors in der Lektüre nachvollzieht: „All history is the history of thought. […] The history of thought, and therefore all history is the re-enactment of past thought in the historian‘s own mind― (Collingwood, The Idea of History, zit. in Lobsien 49). Eine weitere perspektivische Brechung ergibt sich aus der in der Regel narrativen „Supplementierung der erfassten Daten zu einem Kontext― (45). An diesem Punkt wird das bekannte Prinzip der Collingwoodschen „historical imagination― relevant. Während Lobsien mit Collingwood (und Hayden White) betont, dass es sich beim historischen Bewusstsein anders als beim künstlerischen um ein „aufdeckendes Bewusstsein― (46) handelt, das davon ausgeht, „that there is a world of fact independent of the knowing Rezensionen 169 mind― (Collingwood, „The Nature― 46; zit. in Lobsien 46), gründet es doch nicht nur in einem Akt der Wahrnehmung, sondern zugleich in einem ebenso fundamentalen „Akt der Imagination―, der das faktische Einzelwissen im Zuge von „narrativen Inszenierungen― als Geschichte fasst (47). Ein für Collingwood und Lobsien entscheidendes Problem ist bei alledem die epistemologische Frage, wie das historische Bewusstsein Zugang zu Vergangenem gewinnt. Sie wird (bei Lobsien phänomenologisch gewendet) unter Rückgriff auf die folgende Konzeptualisierung des Leseaktes beantwortet: „Lesen heißt in der Tat: Andere Gedanken nachdenken― (49). Durch das „re-enactment of past thought in the historian‘s own mind― (Collingwood, „Human Nature― 215; Lobsien 49) wird dabei auch die „intentionale Gerichtetheit― des Dokuments - freilich unter den Bedingungen des gegenwärtigen, nicht des vergangenen Horizonts - vom Historiker oder der Historikerin aktiviert und nachvollzogen. Auf dieser Grundlage kann Lobsien nun eine hochinteressante These formulieren, die den literarischen Text zur perfekten historischen Quelle erhebt: Ein literarischer Text ist - als historisches Dokument - ein ganz ausgezeichnetes intentionales Aggregat. […] Literatur ist die einzig wirklich unbezweifelbare, keiner Kritik bedürftige historische Quelle, weil sie all das, was sie ‚bezeugt‗, selber generiert; sie handelt sich deshalb auch keine kritischen epistemologischen Rückfragen ein. (49 f.) Literatur, so Lobsien, ist zugleich historisches Dokument und historisches Faktum (52). Sie hält stets zwei Antworten für fragende Historikerinnen und Historiker bereit, denn in ihr geht „Semantik […] einher mit Symptomatologie und Ikonizität― (53). Zum einen generiert Literatur über das in ihr Dargestellte eine Antwort, die auf ein historisches Problem reagiert. Als „Evidenzfaktum― ist der literarische Text, „noch ehe wir uns seiner besonderen ‚Welt‗ zuwenden―, als Antwort auf die folgenden zwei symptomatologischen Fragen zu verstehen: „(1) Warum gibt es den Text überhaupt, was signifiziert die Tatsache seines Bestehens? (2) Warum ist der Text so, wie er ist? ― (53) Der über die Textwelt etablierte Sinn ist dabei von der „‚Form‗ des Faktums― natürlich nicht „abtrennbar― (54). Dies wiederum bedeutet letztlich, dass die funktionsgeschichtliche Literaturwissenschaft ebenso wie der Collingwoodsche „historian― stets den konkreten Einzelfall ernstnehmen muss. Nur über die gründliche Lektüre bzw. das ‚Nach-Denken‗ des hyperkomplexen Zeichens, das jeder literarische Text darstellt, erschließt sich die Frage, auf die der Text eine Antwort liefert, und damit auch der Sinn und das funktionsgeschichtliche Potential der Antwort. Der abschließende Blick auf das philosophische Bewusstsein, dessen zentrale Funktion darin liegt, „die notwendigen Grenzen der anderen Bewusstseinsformen aufzuweisen― (58), dient Lobsien vor allem dazu, der Frage, welche Rolle „Literatur in der Reaktualisierung von Geschichte― spielt (63), noch differenzierter nachzuspüren. Die entscheidende These, die Lobsien hier von Collingwood her entwickelt, betrifft die „Kernfunktion von Rezensionen 170 Literatur―, die darin besteht, „die Präsuppositionen unserer Welterfassung jenseits aller Wahrnehmbarkeit reflexartig aufscheinen zu lassen― (64). Verkürzt gefasst, kann das literarische Bewusstsein die unhinterfragten Präsuppositionen allen Denkens, die, solange sie in einer bestimmten Kultur Geltungskraft besitzen, „weder empirisch noch reflexiv eingeholt― werden können, deshalb aufscheinen lassen, weil das literarische Bewusstsein mit künstlerischen Regeln operiert, die als ‚Reflexe‗ von absoluten Präsuppositionen verstanden werden können. Die Form oder Struktur einer im literarischen Text entworfenen Welt lässt Rückschlüsse zu auf die „epochalen Präsuppositionen― der Welt, in deren Horizont sie imaginiert wurde (64). Zudem interessiert sich Lobsien für die Überlappungen von Philosophie und Literatur, deren wichtigste in der undogmatischen Natur dieser beiden Bewusstseinsformen liegt, die das in der Welt vorhandene Wissen aufnehmen und überarbeiten (73). Philosophie und Literatur öffnen die Sicht auf „Relativität, Perspektivität, Transitorität, ja Opportunität― (69). Der entscheidende Unterschied zwischen diesen Bewusstseinsformen liegt darin, dass im „literarischen Text […] Semantik zur prozesshaften Semiotik― (73) wird. Semantische Einheiten bleiben in Bewegung, verändern ihren Sinn und gehen vor allem „schließlich [auf] in der Konstitution eines Zeichens über alle Teilzeichen hinaus, aber nicht ohne Rücksicht auf diese― (73). Während der philosophische Text stets vor allem auch seiner inhaltlichen Aussage verpflichtet bleibt, ist für Lobsien die prozesshafte Semiotik das alles entscheidende Merkmal der Literatur: „content ist nur noch asymptotisch denkbar und sagbar. Genau das befähigt die Literatur, Antworten auf Fragen zu erarbeiten und zu vermitteln, die so in keiner anderen Sprache und durch keine andere intentionale Haltung erreichbar wären― (74). Bevor der erste Teil von Die Antworten und die Frage, der einer literaturwissenschaftlichen Funktionalisierung von Collingwoods Theorie der fünf Bewusstseinsformen gewidmet ist, mit einer hilfreichen Rekapitulation der wichtigsten Punkte endet, wirft Lobsien noch einen kurzen Blick auf die Phänomenologie Bernhard Waldenfels‘, mit Hilfe derer die für das funktionsgeschichtliche Anliegen entscheidende Dynamik der Frage-Antwort-Logik von Lobsien noch einmal präzisiert wird. Unter anderem betont Lobsien mit Waldenfels, dass sich der Radius einer Frage so weiten kann, dass „ganze diskursive Ordnungen ins Spiel― gebracht werden (75) und dass Fragen ein Möglichkeitsdenken bedingen und Aufforderungscharakter haben. Der zweite Teil von Lobsiens Studie, die funktionsgeschichtliche Analyse des irischen Romans von 1800-1850, beginnt mit einer Klärung des Begriffs Funktionsgeschichte, die die Positionen Isers und Flucks referiert und, aufbauend auf Isers Triade des Realen, Fiktiven und Imaginären (wie schon im Zuge des Vergleichs der Collingwoodschen Bewusstseinsformen Philosophie und Kunst/ Literatur), einen Literaturbegriff favorisiert, der die weltgestaltende, entgrenzende und transformative Kraft literarischer Texte betont. Die zentrale Frage, um die Lobsiens Ausführungen dabei kreisen, ist die nach der Vereinbarkeit der Begriffe ‚Funktion‗ und ‚Geschichte‗. Dem Problem, dass wir „freilich wissen [müssen], was Literatur ist und was sie leisten kann, noch vor jeder historischen Untersuchung― (96), begegnet Rezensionen 171 Lobsien dabei mit der Bestimmung des literarischen Texts als Globalzeichen: Literatur entwirft dank der Kraft des Imaginären immer Weltmodelle (die in Konkurrenz zu den jeweils aktuell gültigen Wirklichkeitsmodellen einer Gesellschaft stehen), „und zwar so, dass über alle Zeichen (Sinneinheiten) hinaus sich ‚ein‗ oberster Sinn aufbaut, der nicht mehr als er selber artikulierbar ist […], doch unabweisbar wirksam wird und fungiert.― (95) Hierin liegt die ahistorische Funktion der Literatur. Was sich historisch verändert und wofür sich die literaturwissenschaftliche Funktionsgeschichte interessiert, ist der jeweils für eine „spezifische Situation― feststellbare und für den Einzeltext charakteristische Aufbau des Globalzeichens. Schließlich werden die methodischen Prämissen, die sich aus den Vorüberlegungen ergeben, noch einmal für die „spezifische Situation― des irischen Romans im frühen 19. Jahrhundert auf den Punkt gebracht. Hier sei zunächst nur die für die Textlektüren wichtigste (und letzte) aufgeführt: Die Frage, auf die laut Lobsien „die irischen Romane [allesamt] eine Antwort erarbeiten―, ist die (erstmals explizit von Maria Edgeworth am Ende von Castle Rackrent aufgeworfene Frage [111, 255]), was ‚Irland‗ nach dem Act of Union von 1800 bedeutet bzw. „ob der Name überhaupt noch eine Referenz besitzt― oder, noch einmal anders gewendet, „was eine ‚Entität ohne Identität‗ mit dem Namen Irland sein kann― (111). Lobsien untersucht sodann 14 Romane von sieben Autorinnen und Autoren: Maria Edgeworth, Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan), Michael und John Banim, Gerald Griffin, Samuel Lover, Charles Lever und William Carleton und lotet aus, welche Antworten die einzelnen literarischen Texte als Globalzeichen auf die zentrale Frage geben, um die sich der irische Roman von 1800-1850 dreht. Blättert man vor zur konzisen „Rekapitulation― der Ergebnisse am Ende des Buches, erkennt man schnell, worauf es der Lobsienschen Funktionsgeschichte vor allem ankommt: nämlich darauf, das Weltmodell, das jeder einzelne Roman als Antwort auf die Frage entwirft, in seiner spezifischen literarischen Gemachtheit ernst zu nehmen und zu zeigen, wie die Romane die Frage „Was kann ‚Irland„ nach Verlust seiner Identität noch sein? ― (260) überhaupt erst in die Welt bringen. Als Antworten wenden und perspektivieren sie diese Frage immer wieder neu und stecken so als Gruppe ein Antwort-Feld ab, das „die Reichweite der Frage immer neu verschiebt― (255). Lobsien interessiert sich dabei nicht dafür, textspezifische Erzählverfahren aufzudecken und zu funktionalisieren: „Natürlich gebrauchen unsere sieben Autorinnen und Autoren Verfahren, Techniken, Dispositionen, wie sie sich in hunderten englischer Romane der Zeit auch finden. Aber darauf kommt es funktionsgeschichtlich nicht an― (255). Vielmehr muss das je spezifische semantische und semiotische Problem- und Strukturensemble daraufhin abgeklopft werden, welches Irland-Phänomen mit all seinen epis-temologischen und ontologischen Implikationen der jeweilige Text entwirft. Dieses Erkenntnisinteresse gipfelt in der Zusammenfassung am Ende von Lobsiens Studie in einer Aufstellung der Ergebnisse, von deren Abstraktions-niveau wohl die allermeisten Leserinnen und Leser, die neugierig gleich ans Ende des Buches blättern, erschlagen werden. Edgeworths Castle Rackrent, so liest man, entwirft „eine Welt aus Rezensionen 172 kohärenter Inkohärenz―, ihr Roman Ormond dagegen eine „Welt konstanten Ebenmaßes―, Owenson‘s The Wild Irish Girl imaginiert „eine Welt überwältigender selbstevidenter Wahrheit― (256), ihr späterer Roman The O‟Briens and the O‟Flahertys liefert das Gegenteil: ein verwirrend multiperspektivisches und instabiles ‚Irland‗. Andere Romane operieren, mit je unterschiedlichem Effekt, gleichsam mit oder zwischen zwei Welten, Ordnungen oder Systemen. So etwa Banim‘s Crohoore of the Billhook, der zwischen einer „deiktisch korrekt verortet[en]― Irland-Welt und einem imaginierten Irland eine „unüberbrückbare Kluft erreichtet― (257); Lovers Rory O‟More „stellt die Ordnung der Dinge und die Ordnung der Wörter einander gegenüber― (258) und entwirft eine Welt, die „keine Synthesen― zulässt und durchweg auf - oft komische, mitunter aber auch tragische - „Fehlkommunikation angelegt ist― (258); Levers „Zweischichtenwelt― in The O‟Donoghue dahingegen entwirft ein Irland mit einem „stabilen Identitätskern―, zeigt aber auch, dass die stabilen Gewissheiten nicht immer lesbar sind, weil „die Zeichen und Anzeichen trügen― (259). Möglicherweise allzu abstrakt klingen diese Befunde, die vor allem von raumsemantischen, kommunikationsrelevanten und semiotischen Textverfahren und -strukturen auf die daraus resultierenden Weltmodelle rückschließen, aber letztlich wohl nur für ungeduldige Leserinnen und Leser, die gleich ans Ende des Buches blättern. Die einzelnen Analysekapitel im zweiten Hauptteil von Die Antworten und die Frage haben diese Ergebnisse in „mikroskopisch genauen Lektüren― (110) und ausgesprochen kohärenten Argumentationslinien vorbereitet. Lobsien nimmt in der Tat jeden einzelnen Roman als literarischen Text (d.h. als Globalzeichen) ernst und lotet minutiös aus, welchen imaginativen Entwurf jeder einzelne Roman den „unbewältigten Problemlagen― im Irland des frühen 19. Jahrhunderts entgegenstellt. Diese intensive Auseinandersetzung mit Werken von Autorinnen und Autoren, die im Bereich der internationalen Anglistik zum Teil mehr, zum Teil weniger bekannt sind, im Bereich der Irish Studies aber doch durchweg als einschlägig gelten, stellt zweifelsohne für die aktuelle Forschung zum irischen Roman von 1800-1850 eine enorme Bereicherung dar. Die luziden Textanalysen münden stets in überzeugend dargelegte Interpretationen, die man natürlich - sonst wäre das literaturwissenschaftliche Geschäft ja bald geschlossen und der wissenschaftliche (hermeneutische) Dialog allzu schnell beendet - im Einzelnen mal mehr, mal weniger überzeugend finden mag. So finde ich Lobsiens Interpretation der vieldiskutierten Erzählstruktur von Owensons The Wild Irish Girl beispielsweise überaus erhellend, zeigt sie doch, wie das für den Roman charakteristische Spiel mit und die Transformation von Erzähl- und Sprechsituationen - in Fußnoten und in der Textwelt sowie im epistolaren Hauptteil und im heterodiegetisch erzählten Ende des Romans - den Bildungsprozess des englischen Helden Horatio, der sich im Laufe der Geschichte das wahre Wissen über Irland aneignet, nicht nur nachzeichnet, sondern zudem auf der Textebene abbildet: „Schrittweise überwindet das ‚richtige‗ Wissen die Schwelle zwischen Kommentar und Briefen; es wandert auf den Seiten dieses Buches von unten nach oben― (141), bis schlussendlich ein Zustand erreicht wird, an dem die Textfiguren als Rezensionen 173 Vermittler und Kommunikatoren gänzlich überflüssig werden und sich Owensons ‚Irland‗ als „eine sich von sich selber her unwiderstehlich zeigende und durchsetzende Kraft des Wahren, Integral [sic] wahren Wissens, wahrer Quellen, wahrer Poesie― offenbart (144). Wenn eine Interpretation einmal etwas weniger überzeugend ausfällt, dann nicht etwa, weil die Ausführungen an sich irgendwo unschlüssig wären oder weil es zwischen Analyse und Interpretation zu unzulässigen Kurzschlüssen käme, sondern weil Lobsien etwas übersieht. So überzeugt mich zum Beispiel die Lektüre von Gerald Griffins The Collegians nicht vollends. Lobsiens These, der Roman arbeite vor allem mit Digressionen (184), Kontrasttechniken sowie „dem Indirektheitsbzw. Reflexprinzip― (180), ruht hier nämlich auf der Lektüre nur eines der beiden für den Roman konstitutiven Handlungsstränge, dem aufregenden Liebes- und Verbrechens- Plot des Byronischen Helden Hardress Cregan. Den berühmt-berüchtigt langweiligen, da handlungsarmen Plot um den zweiten ‚collegian‗, Kyrle Daly, der - so ließe sich zeigen - vor allem über die Ausgestaltung von narrativdeskriptiven Tableaux und eine komplexe Ausgestaltung des Chronotopos eine spezifisch irische Variante einer generationenübergreifenden modernen Bürgerlichkeit entwirft, blendet Lobsien schlicht aus. Geradezu virtuos fällt dahingegen die Interpretation von Carletons The Black Prophet aus. Im letzten, diesem Roman gewidmeten textanalytischen Kapitel werden zudem einige entscheidende Vorzüge deutlich, die den funktionsgeschichtlichen Zugriff Lobsiens auszeichnen. Anders als etwa Isers Theorie vom Imaginären ist Lobsiens Literaturverständnis erfreulich unelitär. Die Prämisse, „[g]ute wie minder gute Texte sind Texte―, müssen entsprechend ernst genommen und einer „mikroskopisch genaue[n] Lektüre― (110) unterzogen werden, bleibt kein Lippenbekenntnis. Im Gegenteil, mit Carletons melodramatischem Black Prophet bekommt in Lobsiens Funktionsgeschichte einer der vom ästhetischen Anspruch her sicher schwächsten Romane im Textkorpus eine herausragende Stellung, und zwar als diejenige literarische Antwort auf die Irlandfrage, die am deutlichsten „der Realität die imaginativen Deformationen des Realen― (253) aufzuzeigen vermag. Indem Carletons literarischer Versuch, das von Hungersnöten gebeutelte Irland historiographisch einzuordnen, eine „Welt ohne Hintergründigkeit― entwirft, in der Gut und Böse klar identifizierbar und überhaupt alle Zeichen stets transparent, bedeutungstragend und leicht entzifferbar sind, so Lobsien, verweist er schließlich mit besonderer Konsequenz auf das Phantastische und das Sprachlose in der nicht-fiktionalen Wirklichkeit. Und so zeigt sich am Ende noch einmal deutlich: Der Umstand, dass Lobsien auf einem starken Literaturbegriff beharrt und dabei aktuelle kulturwissenschaftliche Untersuchungen mitunter befremdlich pauschal als die „naive […] Sicht eines an Inhalten und Meinungen interessierten Publikums― (105) abtut, bedeutet nicht etwa, dass sich seine literaturwissenschaftliche Funktionsgeschichte nicht ihrerseits um eine präzise kulturhistorische Einordnung der literarischen Phänomene bemüht. Vielmehr geht es ihm immer auch darum, „den Einspruch, den die Literatur gegen ‚die Wirklichkeit‗ erhebt― (105), auszuloten. In diesem Zusammenhang ist es Rezensionen 174 besonders bedauerlich, dass die zwei bereits genannten anderen wegweisenden Studien zur irischen Literatur des frühen 19. Jahrhunderts, nämlich Claire Connollys Cultural History of the Irish Novel: 1790-1829 (2012) und Julia Wrights Representing the National Landscape in Irish Romanticism (2014) etwa zeitgleich mit Lobsiens Buch entstanden sind. Die Frage nach den methodischen Schwerpunktsetzungen und dem jeweiligen Literatur- und Kulturbegriff der Autorinnen und Autoren kann so in keinem der drei Bücher dialogisch entfaltet werden. Grundsätzlich stellt sich abschließend die Frage nach der Anschlussfähigkeit von Lobsiens Studie. 3 So ist insbesondere zu diskutieren, ob, wie und wo die funktionsgeschichtlich-hermeneutische Tautologie, die die Lobsiensche Argumentation prägt, auf einen literaturwissenschaftlichen Dialog hin geöffnet werden kann. Mir scheint, Lobsien bietet letztlich eine besonders anschlussfähige und produktive Variante des funktionsgeschichtlichen Ansatzes. Dies liegt - paradoxerweise? - an der Verankerung der hermeneutischen Frage- und Antwort-Dynamik im Bewusstsein des einzelnen Lesers bzw. der einzelnen Leserin. Die Leserinnen und Leser werden hier nämlich - auch wenn das bei Collingwood und Lobsien mitunter fast so klingen mag - nie als sich selbst-gegenwärtige und selbstgenügsame Entitäten gedacht. Vielmehr projiziert Lobsien - ähnlich wie Ricœur - eine feine, methodisch plausible Kombination von strukturalistischen und dekonstruktivistischen Denkbewegungen in das fragende, die Welt konstruierende Bewusstsein seiner idealen Leserfigur. Diese macht sich zwar für den Moment der eigenen Analyse und Interpretation auf die oben dargestellte hermetisch-tautologische Reise, die sie das vom Autor geschaffene Weltmodell ‚nach-denken‗ lässt. Sie bleibt aber grundsätzlich stets auch offen für die Fragen, die andere Leserinnen und Leser an denselben Text stellen. Die gemeinsame Bestellung und an sich unabschließbare Erarbeitung von Frage- und Antwortfeldern von unterschiedlichen subjektbezogenen Horizonten aus kann somit letztlich als ein Desiderat betrachtet werden, das die funktionsgeschichtlich orientierte, literatur-wissenschaftliche Arbeit stets begleitet. Die zentralen Prämissen - insbesondere die Vorstellung vom literarischen Text als widerständigem, irreduziblem Globalzeichen sowie von der produktiv tautologischen Frage-Antwort-Dynamik - muss man freilich zunächst erst einmal teilen. Von hier aus scheint aber ein produktiver und wissenschaftsförderlicher Dialog darüber, wie das Weltmodell, das der einzelne Text etabliert, genau zu fassen sei, nicht nur möglich, sondern unabdingbar. Kulturwissenschaftlich interessierte Leserinnen und Leser 3 Die mittlerweile übliche Floskel, wie bedauerlich es doch sei, dass das Buch nicht in englischer Sprache verfasst ist, weil so die internationale Wahrnehmung deutlich eingeschränkt ist, möchte ich mir verkneifen. An diesem Einwand ist natürlich immer etwas dran. Lobsiens Buch ist aber nicht zuletzt auch ein Paradebeispiel dafür, wie wohltuend und intellektuell stimulierend es sein kann, wenn sich ein Kollege einmal nicht dem allgemein üblichen angelsächsischen Wissenschafts-Jargon ergibt und stattdessen in der Muttersprache umsichtig und besonders wortgewandt Probleme vorsichtig abwägt und Konzepte und Begriffe in ihren Feinheiten sprachlich und gedanklich ausdifferenziert. Rezensionen 175 könnten Lobsiens Collingwood-Lektüre zudem dazu nutzen, die literaturwissenschaftliche ebenso wie die trans- und interdisziplinäre Text-Kontext- Debatte differenziert weiterzuführen, liefert sie doch zahlreiche spannende Anregungen zur Beantwortung der Frage, wie diskursanalytisch orientierte Studien textsortenbzw. wissenschafts-spezifische Unterschiede in Bezug etwa auf Relevanzsetzungen, semiotische Verfahren und performative Praktiken intensiver mitberücksichtigen können, als dies bisher oft der Fall ist. Ich jedenfalls wünsche Lobsiens Die Antworten und die Frage viele Leserinnen und Leser, die sich auf die letztlich immer nur scheinbar hermetische Argumentation einlassen und sich dem Prinzip des hier propagierten produktiv-tautologischen Denkens öffnen. Literatur Collingwood, Robin George (1964). ―The Nature and Aims of a Philosophy of History.‖ In: William Debbins (Ed.). Essays in the Philosophy of History. Austin: Univ. of Texas Press. 34-56. Collingwood, Robin George (1946). ―Human Nature and History.‖ The Idea of History. Oxford: Clarendon. 205-231. Katharina Rennhak Anglistik/ Amerikanistik Bergische Universität Wuppertal Jan Alber, Unnatural Narrative: Impossible Worlds in Fiction and Drama. Lincoln, NE/ London: University of Nebraska Press, 2016. Felicitas Meifert-Menhard Jan Alber‘s Unnatural Narrative: Impossible Worlds in Fiction and Drama constitutes a groundbreaking study of antimimetic, anti-illusionist, and antirealist strategies in literature. Rooted in the analysis of postmodern texts, but consistently and convincingly harking back to earlier periods of literature, Alber‘s book provides a comprehensive and wide-spanning survey of the startlingly pervasive presence of ‗unnatural‘ phenomena in fiction. These phenomena, he argues, not only hold ―unexpected story potential‖ (7), but also challenge our very perception of reality, both as it is represented in fiction and beyond. Far transcending a mere inventory of unnatural strategies throughout the history of fiction, Alber‘s diachronic perspective on impossible fictional occurrences, under which he compares postmodernist impossibilities to those found across earlier historical periods, not only provides a comprehensive survey of the unnatural across literary history, but constitutes a re-definition of the postmodern agenda itself. Such a re-definition is Alber‘s ultimate goal AAA Band 4 2 (201 7 ) Heft 1 Rezensionen 176 in the study, as he aims at ―unearth[ing] the history of the postmodernist rebellion against our natural cognition of the world‖, thereby ―qualify[ing] the stereotypical argument about the antimimetic extravagance of postmodernism‖ (9). He achieves this reconceptualization through connecting, rather than separating, postmodernist strategies with those of earlier literary periods by demonstrating how both functionalize - albeit to very different ends and with very different effects on the reader - fictional impossibilities to challenge conventional realism. In doing so, Alber extends the definition of postmodernism beyond classifications such as those of Waugh (1984) or McHale (1987), who foreground the self-reflexivity or metafictionality of postmodernist narratives. Alber, reaching for a broader understanding of the term, ―define[s] the postmodernist project in terms of the systematic undermining of our ‗natural‘ cognition of the world‖ (8). That is, he reads postmodernism as a fundamental challenge to real-world logic in terms of physical, ontological, spatial, and temporal laws because it consistently confronts us with impossibilities concerning these laws: a speaking human breast (in Philip Roth‘s The Breast, 1972), a house that is able to selftransform and alter its interior space (in Mark Z. Danielewski‘s House of Leaves, 2000), a story running backward in time (in Martin Amis‘ Time‟s Arrow, 1991), to name only a few of his examples (one could add the very recently published Nutshell by Ian McEwan to this list, in which the story is told by an unborn fetus in the womb). Such deviations from what we perceive as logical or ‗natural‘ (Alber concurs that his study is fundamentally based on the notion that ―the world we inhabit is dominated by physical laws, logical principles, and anthropomorphic limitations that are permanent and stable‖; 6) force us to reconsider what we know about the world, making us cognitively ―more flexible‖ (216) in our evaluation of difficult and challenging concepts and situations: the unnatural, Alber argues, ―celebrates the faculty of the imagination‖ (215). This is quite a sweeping claim, but it taps into the very heart of what literature is able to do: to be a playground of ‗what if's‘, an alternative space for trying out ideas that are in reality impossible. Alber‘s study provides a very thorough narratological mapping of this playground. Alber embeds his argument about the postmodernist foregrounding of logical impossibilities into a larger historical context, and it is this context which makes his conceptualization of postmodernism truly innovative. Steering away from the claim that postmodernism constitutes a separation from and rejection of earlier literary endeavors, Unnatural Narrative reads postmodernism as the radicalization of strategies that have been present in literature throughout time; in this sense, postmodernism is understood as a modification, an intensification even, of older literary forms, and not as a repudiation thereof. More specifically, Alber demonstrates how postmodernist texts take up unnatural phenomena and impossibilities present in earlier texts and insert them into a different context, thereby making them ‗strange‘ again in the sense of Shklovsky‘s ostranenie or defamiliarization. He convincingly argues that unnatural occurrences such as speaking inanimate objects, physically impossible beings such as animals blended with humans, Rezensionen 177 physically impossible objects and geographies such as flying islands, and unnatural chronologies are by no means exclusive to the domain of postmodernism, but have been present in literary history through time. What differentiates earlier presentations of the unnatural is that in the periods leading up to postmodernism, the unnatural tends to have become conventionalized in terms of genre - the beast fable, the satire, children‘s literature, the gothic novel, the science fiction novel - and has thereby become familiar and accepted as a generic particularity rather than a disturbance to the reader‘s conception of reality: in these earlier literary periods, ―the represented unnatural scenario or event has already become conventionalized and turned into a perceptual frame. In other words, the process of blending has already taken place, and we have converted the unnatural into a basic cognitive category that is part of certain generic conventions. In such narratives the unnatural no longer strikes us as being strange or unusual‖ (49-50). In contrast to this kind of ‗normalized‘ unnaturalness easily accepted by the reader, postmodernist unnaturalness achieves its defamiliarizing effect by being placed into an otherwise wholly familiar or ‗natural‘ context - namely, realism. ―[P]ostmodernist narratives‖, thus Alber‘s conclusive conceptualization of the term, ―not only consistently project unnatural scenarios and events but tend to form part of an intertextual endeavor that radicalizes physical, logical, or human impossibilities that have already been conventionalized in well-known historical genres and defamiliarizes these impossibilities again by transferring them to realist contexts where we do not expect them to occur‖ (225; italics in original). Such a perspective on postmodernism helpfully and productively serves to tie the postmodernist program into the web of literary history rather than setting it apart as merely reactionary, redefining postmodernism as ―connected to the history of literature through manifestations of the unnatural‖ (13) instead of presenting it as antagonistically severed from past literary endeavors. Postmodernism thus becomes metafictional in a double sense: not only because it foregrounds its own fictionality, but also ―because it harks back to the history of literature and recycles conventionalized impossibilities from earlier genres by transferring them to - or blending them with - realist contexts‖ (227). Apart from this diachronic approach, Alber also provides a synchronic perspective on the unnatural in fiction. He achieves this perspective first by defining the unnatural through relating it to other existing theoretical and analytical concepts (such as realism, narrativity, Shklovsky‘s ostranenie, metafiction, and anti-illusionism, among others; cf. 22), and second, by offering reading or interpretative strategies for coming to terms with impossible phenomena in literature. These reading strategies are then consistently applied to specific example texts in Part Two of the volume. Concretely, Alber (building on prior work by Ryan and Yacobi) identifies nine different reading strategies that help to process and make sense of unnatural occurrences in fiction. Each of these strategies offers an approach to dealing with impossibilities presented in a text, and Alber takes recourse to a variety of analytical tools and theoretical concepts, such as cognitive narratology (by which the whole of his story is thoroughly informed), genre Rezensionen 178 theory, literary periodization, and reader-response theory, to build his analytical tool-kit for the interpretation of unnatural narratives. As he concedes, the strategies are neither mutually exclusive (that is, readers may find more than one of them helpful in dealing with the same text), nor are they meant as fully comprehensive explanations of the unnatural - rather, they ―lead to provisional explanations that illustrate that the unnatural is not completely alien to our thinking‖ (55; italics in original). It is this kind of interpretative sensibility that makes Unnatural Narratives such a valuable contribution to the field of narratology, as Alber consistently manages to steer clear of broad-brush generalizations in his analysis while, at the same time, achieving analytical depth and differentiation by drawing on a multitude of concrete textual examples in Part Two. Part Two divides up the presentation of unnatural narrative features into four sections: ‗Impossible Narrators and Storytelling Scenarios‘, ‗Antirealist Figures‘, ‗Unnatural Temporalities‗, and ‘Antimimetic Spaces‗. Each of these subchapters provides a thorough investigation of unnatural phenomena in narrative texts, beginning with examples from postmodernism before turning back in time to older examples, demonstrating how texts from previous literary periods have functionalized the unnatural for their own purposes. The argument in each chapter is constant throughout: postmodernism takes up impossibilities that have been conventionalized in older forms of literature and provides a fresh - and often startling - perspective on these impossibilities by blending them with realism. Alber‘s examples cover a broad range of periods and genres, deepening and solidifying his theoretical claims in Part One of the study. The analytical readings thus concretize the theory; at the same time they present a comprehensive literary history of the unnatural in fiction, spanning an impressive timeline from Old English literature to postmodernism and beyond. Alber‘s study of the unnatural in fiction provides a valuable contribution to the fields of narratology, literary theory, and literary history. It not only fills a pressing gap in the theorization and analysis of impossible phenomena in literature, but challenges and reconceptualizes the very history of postmodernism itself. Felicitas Meifert-Menhard Institut für Englische Philologie LMU München Rezensionen 179 Franz Karl Stanzel, Die Typischen Erzählsituationen 1955-2015. Erfolgsgeschichte einer Triade. Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2015. Alwin Fill Der Doyen der deutschsprachigen Anglistik hat noch einmal ein Buch vorgelegt, in dem er den Erfolg seiner vor 60 Jahren entwickelten Erzähltypologie beschreibt und erklärt. Die drei Erzählsituationen, die er unterscheidet (Ich- Erzählung, auktoriale und personale Erzählweise) und in seinem „berühmtberüchtigten― ‚Typenkreis‗ einander gegenüberstellt, sind inzwischen Gemeingut der Erzählforschung geworden und aus der Interpretation von Romanen und Kurzgeschichten nicht mehr wegzudenken. Thomas Manns Ich- Erzählung Felix Krull, sein auktorialer Zauberberg und Kafkas personal dargestelltes Schloss sind als Standardbeispiele bekannt, und die Namen der Drillinge, wie Stanzel die drei Erzählsituationen nennt, sind household words geworden, zu deren sechzigstem Geburtstag sein Buch als Festschrift gedacht ist. Zur Entstehung seiner Drillinge schreibt Stanzel: „Die Geburt der Drillinge war nicht unordentlich (Thomas Manns Moses), aber auch nicht ganz einfach. Denn das Gedränge im Gebärkanal war groß― (S. 26). Es waren ursprünglich vier Erzählweisen, die Stanzel beschreiben wollte - eine davon, die neutrale mit ausgedehnten Dialogpassagen hat er „etwas unzeremoniell entsorgt―. Neben Anekdotischem (z.B. Kohleschippern vom Bahnhof zur Universität für die erste germanistische Lehrveranstaltung im WS 1946/ 47, S. 32) enthält das Buch auch viel Autobiographisches, etwa historische Begegnungen mit berühmten Autoren wie René Wellek, Levin L. Schücking, Horst Oppel und Herbert Koziol, dem der Autor 1962 nach Professuren in Göttingen und Erlangen-Nürnberg auf dem Lehrstuhl in Graz nachfolgte. Die Entstehung des Typenkreises und die Kritik daran, aber auch die ‚erlebte Rede‗ (z.B. „tomorrow was Christmas―) werden in eigenen Kapiteln behandelt, wobei die Auseinandersetzung mit Größen wie Gérard Genette, Dorrit Cohn, Jochen Vogt und Käte Hamburger großen Raum einnimmt. Die Diskussion zwischen Hamburger und Stanzel über episches Präteritum und Erlebte Rede wird in einem eigenen Abschnitt an Hand von Kurzfassungen von Publikationen der beiden und von Kommentaren zu dieser Debatte chronologisch dargestellt (S. 141- 144). Ein weiterer Teil des Buches (Teil 4, S. 73-91) ist James Joyce gewidmet, dessen Roman Ulysses sich zunächst als „Stolperstein― (S. 74) für die Anwendung der Erzähltheorie erwies, der sich aber durch die „Kühnheit des Produzenten der Drillinge― (S. 89) schließlich doch einordnen ließ und sich sogar als Quelle für ein später behandeltes Thema des Autors erwies, nämlich die Telegonie oder Fernzeugung. Stanzel wertet dies als „postumen Dank von James Joyce an mich― dafür, dass er das ‚Rätselbuch‗ Ulysses „in die Domäne des klassischen Romans einzugemeinden― verstand. Eine originelle Besonderheit des Buches sind die Abbildungen, die zum größten Teil Fotographien von sogenannten ‚Morschplastiken‗ (eigentlich AAA Band 4 2 (201 7 ) Heft 1 Rezensionen 180 ‚Morschholzskulpturen‗) sind, d.h. Fotos der Wurzelstöcke von mehr als hundertjährigen Edelkastanien, die auf der steirischen Koralpe bis zu 50 Jahre nach dem Fällen des Baumes in vermorschtem Zustand stehen geblieben sind. Der Sinn dieser Bilder ist zu zeigen, wie zunächst formlos Erscheinendes doch mit Bedeutung gefüllt werden kann, ähnlich wie in der Vielfalt der Erzählungsarten typische Züge und Strukturen aufgedeckt werden können (vgl. S. 20f.). Originell ist auch, dass Stanzel S. 98-101 vier sogenannte ‗found poems‗ abdruckt, die er aus Phrasen und Satzteilen in den Rezensionen seiner Werke über die Erzählsituationen und den Typenkreis zusammengestellt hat. Es handelt sich hier um Phrasen, die wie in einem Gedicht Zeile für Zeile untereinandergestellt werden. Die Texte sind selbstironisch-witzig, da Stanzel auch negative Kritik an seiner Arbeit in die ‚Gedichte‗ aufgenommen hat. Die Schrift zum 60. Geburtstag seiner ‚Drillinge‗, wie Stanzel seine drei typischen Erzählsituationen auch fürsorglich nennt, enthält nicht nur Texte des Erfolgsautors, sondern, wie bei Festschriften üblich, einige Gratulationsadressen von Schülern und Kollegen des zu Ehrenden. Da finden sich Beiträge von Martin Löschnigg, Karl Steinkogler und Ingrid Pfandl-Buchegger, die von einer Exkursion nach Wales (mit Untersuchung der Verwendung des Walisischen) und von Literaturtagen in Stanzels Landhaus bei Deutschlandsberg berichtet, wo literarische Größen wie Iris Murdoch mit John Bailey, Christine Brooke-Rose, Aritha van Herk, Stephen Scobie und Douglas Barbour zu Gast waren. Ein Gedicht von Ingrid Gutmann („Hoppla, Drillinge - oder wer war der Täter? ―) ist ebenso abgedruckt wie die Laudatio von Prof. Carmen Birkle zur Verleihung von Stanzels Ehrendoktorat (seinem zweiten nach Fribourg, 1985) an der Philipps-Universität Marburg/ Lahn anno 2015. Vielleicht sollte noch auf ein Thema eingegangen werden, das in Teil 8 (S. 155-160) des Buches besprochen wird und das dem Autor der Festschrift besonders am Herzen liegt: „Gegen die Totalanglisierung des anglistischen Diskurses―. Stanzel, fast 30 Jahre Mitherausgeber der GRM, beschreibt zunächst die immer größer werdende Bedeutung des Englischen bei Publikationen und in der Lehre und spricht auch von vielen Vorteilen dieser Entwicklung, warnt aber dann vor fachterminologischer Austrocknung und längerfristig sogar einer gewissen „Verarmung der hochdifferenzierten Ausdrucksfähigkeit des Deutschen, wie sie für die Interpretation anspruchsvoller literarischer Texte, vor allem von Dichtung, erforderlich ist― (S. 157). Er gibt auch Beispiele von Fehlübersetzungen wie etwa ‚Idealtypus‗ als ‚ideal types‗ oder ‚Personale Erzählsituation‗ als ‚personal narrative situation‗ anstatt ‚figurative narrative situation‗ (S. 158). Dass in deutschen und österreichischen Fachzeitschriften hauptsächlich englische Beiträge abgedruckt werden, hat generell eine Qualitätsminderung zur Folge, denn „viele der von deutschsprachige Verfassern eingesandten Beiträge in englischer Sprache waren offensichtlich, manchmal sogar nachweisbar, vorher schon von einer Fachzeitschrift in England oder Nordamerika zurückgewiesen worden, meist nicht ohne Grund! ― (S. 159) Besonders ärgerlich findet er, dass der österreichische Wissenschaftsfonds FWF bei allen Anträgen für geisteswissenschaftliche Forschungsprojekte auf Englisch als Antragssprache besteht. Dagegen schreibt Stanzel: „Für alle Geisteswissenschaften, ganz besonders aber die Literatur- Rezensionen 181 wissenschaft, ist die Ausdrucksfähigkeit in der Muttersprache ein, wenn nicht das schlüssigste Kriterium für die Fähigkeit des Antragsstellers (generisch! ), seine Gedanken und Interpretationen mit optimal differenzierter Ausdrucksfähigkeit zu formulieren.― (S. 160) Hier greift diese Festschrift, die im Allgemeinen eher narrativ geschrieben ist, kritisch ein ernstes Thema auf, das besonders (aber nicht nur) im deutschsprachigen Raum in größerem Rahmen diskutiert werden sollte. Stanzel hat ein gut lesbares Buch vorgelegt, das literarhistorisch äußerst interessant ist, aber auch auf originelle Weise Text und Bild nebeneinanderstellt und, wie eben gezeigt, auch auf wichtige Desiderata der linguistischliteraturwissenschaftlichen Forschung aufmerksam macht. Alwin Fill Karl-Franzens-Universität Graz periodicals.narr.de ISSN 0171 - 5410 Mit Beiträgen von: Peter Freese Stefan L. Brandt Danica Čerče Sibel İzmir Gerfried Ambrosch Janko Trupej Nataliia Goshylyk