Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
“Casting” and Speculation in Daniel Defoe’s Moll Flanders
Daniel Defoe opposed his fellow English citizen’s feverish impulse to invest, or “speculate,” in 18th Century England’s burgeoning stock market. Critic Colin Nicholson states that the English, at this time, “… encountered what we now term finance capitalism as a system of credit that expanded and shrank as developing stock and money markets rose and fell” (xi). Defoe’s critical attitude towards speculation is evident in his novel, Moll Flanders, the tale of a woman who overcomes an ignoble birth in London’s Newgate prison, growing up to become one of the city’s most notorious thieves, and ultimately prospering as a Virginian plantation owner. It is important to point out that Defoe critiques speculation in his novel from the perspective of a disadvantaged woman. Primarily, it is men who are in control of the economy and Moll is the “other in this economic environment. In this essay, I will demonstrate how Defoe denounces the capitalist system in England and public participation in the stock market, in particular. Moreover, Defoe uses the character of Moll Flanders to reveal the pervasive, negative effects that speculation and capitalistic behavior, in general, has on individual lives.
The narrative places an obvious focus upon the points in Moll’s life when she is not married and is compelled to survive and compete in the capitalist economy. The survival tactics that Moll must employ to successfully navigate her way through this economy demonstrates the fact that capitalism has a denigrating effect on “womanhood,” a fact that would have been alarming to an eighteenth-century reading audience. When Moll Flanders makes prudent and reserved decisions, particularly in regards to money, Defoe shows that she is rewarded in her dealings with men and, later on, in her criminal endeavors. But prudence and reserve, commonly perceived as feminine traits, have been twisted by capitalism and are utilized by Moll to further her own interests and to insure her own survival. Also, when Moll displays uncontrollable avarice, she is punished with imprisonment or “imminent” poverty. With this concept in mind, Moll Flanders can be read as a social commentary endorsing Defoe’s conviction that his fellow Englishmen (and women) should be prudent with their money and refrain from engaging in the high-risk, unpredictable arena of the stock market, a world which both impassions and impoverishes people, compromising virtuous behavior. Moll’s repeated use of the term, “Cast,” which relates important choices to a roll of the dice, parallels the chances that individuals took in the speculation of Defoe’s day. Living in these socio-economic conditions, Moll must take chances and participate in the capitalist system or perish within it.
Only two years prior to the1722 publication of Moll Flanders, England experienced the devastating effects of the South Sea Bubble, where misguided investing caused severe and widespread economic ruin (Richetti 150). Critic John Richetti asserts that Defoe disapproved of joint-stock businesses like the South Sea Company that were appearing everywhere (145). Defoe also condemned stock-jobbers, who were individuals or companies that sold stock for businesses like the South Sea Company at wildly inflated prices (150). Defoe wrote Moll Flanders in this environment of economic instability.
Moll’s ability to assert herself in a capitalist economy that is teeming with “fortune-hunters” is put to the test when she enters “the Marriage Market” as a young woman. Moll’s first marriage to the younger brother of her lover in Colchester is marred by impassioned decisions and a disregard for consequences. While Moll is in love with the elder brother and loses her virginity to him in the heat of passion, she is forced to marry the younger brother after the elder one loses interest in her. It is made clear, however, that Moll’s social position is compromised, as she is told by the sisters in the wealthy family, who inform her that, “…if a young woman have Beauty, Birth, Breeding, Wit, Sense, Manners, Modesty, and all these to an Extream; yet if she have not Money, she’s no Body, she had as good want them all, for nothing but Money now recommends a Woman; the Men play the Game all into their own Hands” (Defoe 20). This key quote reveals the emphasis that is placed upon money in this society along with the fact that men are the ones that are in control. As a woman, Moll is at an extreme disadvantage.
However, Moll is determined to shrewdly orchestrate her second marriage when her first husband dies unexpectedly. She states assertively, “…the Game was over; I was resolv’d now to be Married, or Nothing, and to be well Married, or not at all” (50). Here, it is clear that Moll has become disillusioned and she realizes that she will have to be more proactive and opportunistic in order to succeed in this socio-economic system. Moll attempts to control the forces of the so-called “Marriage Market,” which operates much like the stock market, through impulse, greed, and the promise of instant riches. Though Moll saves a comfortable amount of money to subsist on, she instructs her female friends to represent her as a woman of considerable wealth. Moll’s accomplices assist her in perpetuating the illusion of fortune to her prospective suitors while Moll remains quiet and evasive in regards to her actual monetary holdings; this way she cannot be accused of misrepresenting herself and the man has only himself to blame for relying on hearsay. Moll’s artifice can be related to Nicholson’s description of “…market-oriented perceptions of individuality where passion and fantasy are encouraged to operate in constant flux” (xii). In this way, Moll is like one of her contemporary stock-jobbers, selling herself at an inflated rate and causing an economic “bubble” in the Marriage Market. The illusion and promise of wealth that Moll perpetuates seems to be a lucrative investment, but she is merely playing on the “passions” of her suitor, who is depicted as gullible by Defoe. Her own shrewdness in “The Marriage Market” is contrasted with her suitor’s caprice, and Moll is rewarded in the form of a wealthy husband whom she has effectively duped. Moll speaks dismissively of any woman that would not follow her lead in the matter of marriage, stating that, “…they are a Sort of Ladies that are to be pray’d for…and to me they look like People that venture their whole Estates in a Lottery where there is a Hundred Thousand Blanks to one Prize” (Defoe 62).
In his depiction of the marriage market, Defoe is not only positing the negative effects that capitalism has had on interpersonal relationships, he is also foregrounding the “corrupt” behavior that women like Moll are forced to resort to because of these conditions. Whereas “trust” and “naiveté” are generally regarded as positive female characteristics, Moll pities women who are too trusting and naive because they will be taken advantage of in the marriage market. Moll makes it clear that men are the primary speculators in the marriage market, stating that, “…Men made no scruple to set themselves out, and to go a Fortune Hunting, as they call it, when they had really no Fortune themselves…” (56). Moll realizes that she must “Deceive the Deceiver” (63) if she wants to win in the marriage market. It is apparent that Moll must resort to lies and trickery, because it is the sort of behavior that is perpetuated in a high-risk, unstable economy that has filtered down into every facet of society, even marriage. Clearly, the stock market and the marriage market are both a form of gambling, and Defoe’s depiction of these institutions can be read as a negative critique.
Moll’s obsession with her net value is highlighted in the episodes where she lives off of her savings and refrains from accumulating additional capital. Even in times of relative financial security, when Moll is not earning income she equates the dwindling of her money to a mortal wound. She states, “…as I had no settl’d Income, so spending upon the main Stock was but a certain kind of bleeding to death…” (86). Additionally, when Moll’s banker husband dies, his death appears to be linked directly to a bad investment and his subsequent bankruptcy. His financial irresponsibility leads tellingly to his death. Defoe seems to be advising his reader against spending or speculating beyond one’s means, for it can bring about not only financial devastation, but also physical death. While the banker husband’s demise seems to convey a cautionary tale, Moll is presented in an attractive light because of her keen financial awareness. However, in order to prevent herself from “bleeding to death,” Moll must commit transgressive acts, lying and manipulating others in order to further herself financially.
In fact, the popular 18th century reference to credit as an “Inconstant Female” is discredited throughout Moll Flanders (Nicholson 45-6). While Moll is guarded with money, most of the men in the novel are befuddled by money matters. Ironically, Moll’s banker husband is one of the biggest offenders in this regard. This can be seen in his recommendation to her that she invest her money in stocks so that she will receive semi-annual “dividends” (Defoe 106). His disregard in conveying the inherent risk of such a venture is alarming considering the fact that the South Sea Bubble debacle would still be fresh in the reader’s memory. In addition to financial incompetence, Moll’s husbands consistently die prematurely, leaving her to scramble and support herself by any means necessary. The fact that Moll has little to say regarding the times in her life when she is married suggests that she is secure and content. It is only when she finds herself on her own that she schemes and plots to keep poverty (a state equal to death) at bay.
When Moll believes her “marriageable” years to be behind her, she turns to theft as a means of survival. At this point in the narrative, the accumulation of capital and the drive towards speculation and hazard is brought to the forefront. Moll realizes the direct exchange value of the gold watches, the necklaces, the quantities of Flanders lace, and the other pilfered items that Mother Midnight fences for her. However, even when she has earned enough money by stealing to live comfortably for the remainder of her life, she persists in her “craft.” She states, “…Avarice stept in and said, go on, go on; you have had very good luck, go on till you have gotten Four or five Hundred Pound, and then you shall leave off, and then you may live easie without working at all” (160). Speculation, which is usually associated with the stock market, now references Moll repeatedly “casting” her life in order to steal when the penalty for those who are apprehended is either transportation to the New World as indentured servants or death by hanging for old offenders.
At this point in the narrative, Moll no longer views men as a means of financial stability. Instead, she relies on another woman, Mother Midnight, to assist her in the thieving “trade,” as Moll calls it. Moll realizes, however, that there is an inherent imbalance in her business relationship with Mother Midnight. Moll states, that Mother Midnight “…had a Share of the Gain, and no Share in the hazard…” (169). Here, Defoe seems to posit the idea that unmarried women, who are outside of the socially accepted economic system, must resort to criminally corrupt behavior in order to support themselves. Moll refuses to be a servant, in spite of her low birth, and resorts to pick-pocketing and other forms of theft to accumulate her fortune. Moll is a true capitalist in furthering herself by any means possible; however, Defoe clearly condemns her misdeeds, as stated in the Preface to the novel. Defoe writes, “…there is not a wicked Action in any Part of it, but is first or last rendered Unhappy and Unfortunate…nor a vertuous just Thing, but it carries its Praise along with it…” (5). Therefore, Moll’s criminal acts can be interpreted as a negative critique of the economic circumstances and the behavior that is encouraged by the capitalist environment that Moll is living in.
Moll succeeds in stealing and eluding capture for years owing to her cautious approach to each theft. She prefers to work alone (174), she avoids high-risk activities like counterfeiting, and she has escape routes (201). This is contrasted with her fellow thieves, whose carelessness is presented as a dangerous quality that soon sends them to the gallows. However, in what will be her final attempt at thievery after years of cautious criminality, Moll states that she is “…not at all made Cautious by my former Danger as I us’d to be…” and she is immediately caught (214). There is a direct correlation between the behavior of her suitors earlier in the novel and Moll’s inability to govern her passion for stealing. Defoe presents Moll as yet another example of the fact that, in an unstable economic environment, judiciousness is rewarded and carelessness is punished. With Moll’s capture, the novel suggests that avarice, a direct byproduct of capitalism, coupled with a lack of circumspection, will be punished sooner or later.
Moll escapes certain death through bribery and a legal technicality and she goes on to live a life of alleged repentance and financial prosperity with her fourth or fifth husband, depending on how you look at it. What is Defoe telling the reader with this ending? That it is alright to steal as long as you are repentant afterwards? That Moll is ultimately too lovable of a character to be killed and that her death would seem like martyrdom? The latter may contain a kernel of truth, but in a broader context Moll has set herself up financially to prosper after she escapes hanging, which is owed to the law’s defining of her as a “new offender” simply because she has never been “caught” before. Moll’s economic foresight is what truly secures her. While she is subject to the unpredictable circumstances of life and economics and she encounters disaster even when she takes the greatest pains to avoid it, Defoe posits Moll as being best served when she is prudent and calculating.
More importantly, however, Moll appears to repent her sins, though she does so by degrees. It is not until the final paragraph of the novel that Moll stops being deceptive and manipulative. She is honest with her husband about her past life and they “…resolve to spend the Remainder of our Years in sincere Penitence, for the wicked lives we have lived” (267). While the conclusion to Moll Flanders is a “happy” one, her long life of crime and deviant behavior does not seem to be acquitted by Defoe. Even though capitalism and “casting” eventually leads Moll to happiness and financial security, the novel suggests that avarice, speculation, and opportunism are unacceptable forms of behavior that she would not have engaged in if any of her prior marriages had lasted. Left alone as a fringe member of society and the economy, Moll does what she has to in order to survive. Defoe critiques the “immoral” economic system that brings about her desperate courses of action rather than condemning or punishing Moll for immoral behavior. Some critics may read Moll as behaving “monstrously,” in a Gilbert and Gubar sense of the word, but it is clear that in a money-driven society, “angelic” behavior is impossible.
Daniel Defoe opposed his fellow English citizen’s feverish impulse to invest, or “speculate,” in 18th Century England’s burgeoning stock market. Critic Colin Nicholson states that the English, at this time, “… encountered what we now term finance capitalism as a system of credit that expanded and shrank as developing stock and money markets rose and fell” (xi). Defoe’s critical attitude towards speculation is evident in his novel, Moll Flanders, the tale of a woman who overcomes an ignoble birth in London’s Newgate prison, growing up to become one of the city’s most notorious thieves, and ultimately prospering as a Virginian plantation owner. It is important to point out that Defoe critiques speculation in his novel from the perspective of a disadvantaged woman. Primarily, it is men who are in control of the economy and Moll is the “other in this economic environment. In this essay, I will demonstrate how Defoe denounces the capitalist system in England and public participation in the stock market, in particular. Moreover, Defoe uses the character of Moll Flanders to reveal the pervasive, negative effects that speculation and capitalistic behavior, in general, has on individual lives.
The narrative places an obvious focus upon the points in Moll’s life when she is not married and is compelled to survive and compete in the capitalist economy. The survival tactics that Moll must employ to successfully navigate her way through this economy demonstrates the fact that capitalism has a denigrating effect on “womanhood,” a fact that would have been alarming to an eighteenth-century reading audience. When Moll Flanders makes prudent and reserved decisions, particularly in regards to money, Defoe shows that she is rewarded in her dealings with men and, later on, in her criminal endeavors. But prudence and reserve, commonly perceived as feminine traits, have been twisted by capitalism and are utilized by Moll to further her own interests and to insure her own survival. Also, when Moll displays uncontrollable avarice, she is punished with imprisonment or “imminent” poverty. With this concept in mind, Moll Flanders can be read as a social commentary endorsing Defoe’s conviction that his fellow Englishmen (and women) should be prudent with their money and refrain from engaging in the high-risk, unpredictable arena of the stock market, a world which both impassions and impoverishes people, compromising virtuous behavior. Moll’s repeated use of the term, “Cast,” which relates important choices to a roll of the dice, parallels the chances that individuals took in the speculation of Defoe’s day. Living in these socio-economic conditions, Moll must take chances and participate in the capitalist system or perish within it.
Only two years prior to the1722 publication of Moll Flanders, England experienced the devastating effects of the South Sea Bubble, where misguided investing caused severe and widespread economic ruin (Richetti 150). Critic John Richetti asserts that Defoe disapproved of joint-stock businesses like the South Sea Company that were appearing everywhere (145). Defoe also condemned stock-jobbers, who were individuals or companies that sold stock for businesses like the South Sea Company at wildly inflated prices (150). Defoe wrote Moll Flanders in this environment of economic instability.
Moll’s ability to assert herself in a capitalist economy that is teeming with “fortune-hunters” is put to the test when she enters “the Marriage Market” as a young woman. Moll’s first marriage to the younger brother of her lover in Colchester is marred by impassioned decisions and a disregard for consequences. While Moll is in love with the elder brother and loses her virginity to him in the heat of passion, she is forced to marry the younger brother after the elder one loses interest in her. It is made clear, however, that Moll’s social position is compromised, as she is told by the sisters in the wealthy family, who inform her that, “…if a young woman have Beauty, Birth, Breeding, Wit, Sense, Manners, Modesty, and all these to an Extream; yet if she have not Money, she’s no Body, she had as good want them all, for nothing but Money now recommends a Woman; the Men play the Game all into their own Hands” (Defoe 20). This key quote reveals the emphasis that is placed upon money in this society along with the fact that men are the ones that are in control. As a woman, Moll is at an extreme disadvantage.
However, Moll is determined to shrewdly orchestrate her second marriage when her first husband dies unexpectedly. She states assertively, “…the Game was over; I was resolv’d now to be Married, or Nothing, and to be well Married, or not at all” (50). Here, it is clear that Moll has become disillusioned and she realizes that she will have to be more proactive and opportunistic in order to succeed in this socio-economic system. Moll attempts to control the forces of the so-called “Marriage Market,” which operates much like the stock market, through impulse, greed, and the promise of instant riches. Though Moll saves a comfortable amount of money to subsist on, she instructs her female friends to represent her as a woman of considerable wealth. Moll’s accomplices assist her in perpetuating the illusion of fortune to her prospective suitors while Moll remains quiet and evasive in regards to her actual monetary holdings; this way she cannot be accused of misrepresenting herself and the man has only himself to blame for relying on hearsay. Moll’s artifice can be related to Nicholson’s description of “…market-oriented perceptions of individuality where passion and fantasy are encouraged to operate in constant flux” (xii). In this way, Moll is like one of her contemporary stock-jobbers, selling herself at an inflated rate and causing an economic “bubble” in the Marriage Market. The illusion and promise of wealth that Moll perpetuates seems to be a lucrative investment, but she is merely playing on the “passions” of her suitor, who is depicted as gullible by Defoe. Her own shrewdness in “The Marriage Market” is contrasted with her suitor’s caprice, and Moll is rewarded in the form of a wealthy husband whom she has effectively duped. Moll speaks dismissively of any woman that would not follow her lead in the matter of marriage, stating that, “…they are a Sort of Ladies that are to be pray’d for…and to me they look like People that venture their whole Estates in a Lottery where there is a Hundred Thousand Blanks to one Prize” (Defoe 62).
In his depiction of the marriage market, Defoe is not only positing the negative effects that capitalism has had on interpersonal relationships, he is also foregrounding the “corrupt” behavior that women like Moll are forced to resort to because of these conditions. Whereas “trust” and “naiveté” are generally regarded as positive female characteristics, Moll pities women who are too trusting and naive because they will be taken advantage of in the marriage market. Moll makes it clear that men are the primary speculators in the marriage market, stating that, “…Men made no scruple to set themselves out, and to go a Fortune Hunting, as they call it, when they had really no Fortune themselves…” (56). Moll realizes that she must “Deceive the Deceiver” (63) if she wants to win in the marriage market. It is apparent that Moll must resort to lies and trickery, because it is the sort of behavior that is perpetuated in a high-risk, unstable economy that has filtered down into every facet of society, even marriage. Clearly, the stock market and the marriage market are both a form of gambling, and Defoe’s depiction of these institutions can be read as a negative critique.
Moll’s obsession with her net value is highlighted in the episodes where she lives off of her savings and refrains from accumulating additional capital. Even in times of relative financial security, when Moll is not earning income she equates the dwindling of her money to a mortal wound. She states, “…as I had no settl’d Income, so spending upon the main Stock was but a certain kind of bleeding to death…” (86). Additionally, when Moll’s banker husband dies, his death appears to be linked directly to a bad investment and his subsequent bankruptcy. His financial irresponsibility leads tellingly to his death. Defoe seems to be advising his reader against spending or speculating beyond one’s means, for it can bring about not only financial devastation, but also physical death. While the banker husband’s demise seems to convey a cautionary tale, Moll is presented in an attractive light because of her keen financial awareness. However, in order to prevent herself from “bleeding to death,” Moll must commit transgressive acts, lying and manipulating others in order to further herself financially.
In fact, the popular 18th century reference to credit as an “Inconstant Female” is discredited throughout Moll Flanders (Nicholson 45-6). While Moll is guarded with money, most of the men in the novel are befuddled by money matters. Ironically, Moll’s banker husband is one of the biggest offenders in this regard. This can be seen in his recommendation to her that she invest her money in stocks so that she will receive semi-annual “dividends” (Defoe 106). His disregard in conveying the inherent risk of such a venture is alarming considering the fact that the South Sea Bubble debacle would still be fresh in the reader’s memory. In addition to financial incompetence, Moll’s husbands consistently die prematurely, leaving her to scramble and support herself by any means necessary. The fact that Moll has little to say regarding the times in her life when she is married suggests that she is secure and content. It is only when she finds herself on her own that she schemes and plots to keep poverty (a state equal to death) at bay.
When Moll believes her “marriageable” years to be behind her, she turns to theft as a means of survival. At this point in the narrative, the accumulation of capital and the drive towards speculation and hazard is brought to the forefront. Moll realizes the direct exchange value of the gold watches, the necklaces, the quantities of Flanders lace, and the other pilfered items that Mother Midnight fences for her. However, even when she has earned enough money by stealing to live comfortably for the remainder of her life, she persists in her “craft.” She states, “…Avarice stept in and said, go on, go on; you have had very good luck, go on till you have gotten Four or five Hundred Pound, and then you shall leave off, and then you may live easie without working at all” (160). Speculation, which is usually associated with the stock market, now references Moll repeatedly “casting” her life in order to steal when the penalty for those who are apprehended is either transportation to the New World as indentured servants or death by hanging for old offenders.
At this point in the narrative, Moll no longer views men as a means of financial stability. Instead, she relies on another woman, Mother Midnight, to assist her in the thieving “trade,” as Moll calls it. Moll realizes, however, that there is an inherent imbalance in her business relationship with Mother Midnight. Moll states, that Mother Midnight “…had a Share of the Gain, and no Share in the hazard…” (169). Here, Defoe seems to posit the idea that unmarried women, who are outside of the socially accepted economic system, must resort to criminally corrupt behavior in order to support themselves. Moll refuses to be a servant, in spite of her low birth, and resorts to pick-pocketing and other forms of theft to accumulate her fortune. Moll is a true capitalist in furthering herself by any means possible; however, Defoe clearly condemns her misdeeds, as stated in the Preface to the novel. Defoe writes, “…there is not a wicked Action in any Part of it, but is first or last rendered Unhappy and Unfortunate…nor a vertuous just Thing, but it carries its Praise along with it…” (5). Therefore, Moll’s criminal acts can be interpreted as a negative critique of the economic circumstances and the behavior that is encouraged by the capitalist environment that Moll is living in.
Moll succeeds in stealing and eluding capture for years owing to her cautious approach to each theft. She prefers to work alone (174), she avoids high-risk activities like counterfeiting, and she has escape routes (201). This is contrasted with her fellow thieves, whose carelessness is presented as a dangerous quality that soon sends them to the gallows. However, in what will be her final attempt at thievery after years of cautious criminality, Moll states that she is “…not at all made Cautious by my former Danger as I us’d to be…” and she is immediately caught (214). There is a direct correlation between the behavior of her suitors earlier in the novel and Moll’s inability to govern her passion for stealing. Defoe presents Moll as yet another example of the fact that, in an unstable economic environment, judiciousness is rewarded and carelessness is punished. With Moll’s capture, the novel suggests that avarice, a direct byproduct of capitalism, coupled with a lack of circumspection, will be punished sooner or later.
Moll escapes certain death through bribery and a legal technicality and she goes on to live a life of alleged repentance and financial prosperity with her fourth or fifth husband, depending on how you look at it. What is Defoe telling the reader with this ending? That it is alright to steal as long as you are repentant afterwards? That Moll is ultimately too lovable of a character to be killed and that her death would seem like martyrdom? The latter may contain a kernel of truth, but in a broader context Moll has set herself up financially to prosper after she escapes hanging, which is owed to the law’s defining of her as a “new offender” simply because she has never been “caught” before. Moll’s economic foresight is what truly secures her. While she is subject to the unpredictable circumstances of life and economics and she encounters disaster even when she takes the greatest pains to avoid it, Defoe posits Moll as being best served when she is prudent and calculating.
More importantly, however, Moll appears to repent her sins, though she does so by degrees. It is not until the final paragraph of the novel that Moll stops being deceptive and manipulative. She is honest with her husband about her past life and they “…resolve to spend the Remainder of our Years in sincere Penitence, for the wicked lives we have lived” (267). While the conclusion to Moll Flanders is a “happy” one, her long life of crime and deviant behavior does not seem to be acquitted by Defoe. Even though capitalism and “casting” eventually leads Moll to happiness and financial security, the novel suggests that avarice, speculation, and opportunism are unacceptable forms of behavior that she would not have engaged in if any of her prior marriages had lasted. Left alone as a fringe member of society and the economy, Moll does what she has to in order to survive. Defoe critiques the “immoral” economic system that brings about her desperate courses of action rather than condemning or punishing Moll for immoral behavior. Some critics may read Moll as behaving “monstrously,” in a Gilbert and Gubar sense of the word, but it is clear that in a money-driven society, “angelic” behavior is impossible.
Works Cited
Defoe, Daniel. Moll Flanders: A Norton Critical Edition. Ed. Albert J. Rivero. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2004. Print.
Gilbert, Sandra, and Susan Gubar. “The Madwoman in the Attic.” Literary Theory: An Anthology. Ed. Julie Rivkin and Michael Ryan. Massachusettes: Blackwell, 2004. 812-25. Print.
Nicholson, Colin. Writing and the Rise of Finance: Capital Satires of the Early Eighteenth Century. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. xi-50. Print.
Richetti, John. “Moral, Social, and Economic Writings 1714-31.” The Life of Daniel Defoe. Massachusettes: Blackwell, 2005. 143-73. Print.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Merrick as the “Abject” Other in “The Elephant Man”
Theorist Julia Kristeva has argued her notion of the “abject” as the sense of revulsion that we experience upon encountering something that is at once repulsive, but is also an inescapable part of ourselves as human beings. This repulsive “object” can be anything from bodily fluids to a dead body to the concept of evil, or “deviant,” human behavior. In David Lynch’s 1980 film, “The Elephant Man,” the character of John Merrick is posited as this abject other. Merrick’s extreme physical deformities make him seem “not human,” yet his one perfectly formed arm and his unaffected genitals clearly establish him as a man. Merrick is “abjected” in that other characters in the movie are repulsed by the fact that Merrick is undeniably human, along with the fact that the undetermined source of his deformity is something that could affect any newborn child.
Upscale society’s “acceptance” of Merrick is proven to be nothing short of a farce in that they present him with gifts such as a vanity kit, when it is his very appearance that excludes him from society altogether. A key difference between Bernard Pomerance’s play, “The Elephant Man,” and Lynch’s film is the scene where Mrs. Kendal disrobes for Merrick, who has no experience with women. Of course, Dr. Treves steps into the room and is appalled by Mrs. Kendal’s gesture. This is a telling moment in the narrative because, while Treves seems to sympathize with Merrick, he clearly does not see Merrick as a man. Instead, Treves is shocked, both by Mrs. Kendal’s “unladylike” behavior and by the fact that Merrick has been viewed by a woman as a potentially sexual being. In Pomerance’s play it is clear that Mrs. Kendal is the only character who sees beyond physical “illusions” and perceives Merrick as a man. For Treves, Ross, and the remainder of society, Merrick cannot transcend his abject state. In both the play and the film, Merrick’s realization of this failure on society’s part to accept him as human, coupled with his rapidly declining health, results in his final act of self-assertion: suicide.
Upscale society’s “acceptance” of Merrick is proven to be nothing short of a farce in that they present him with gifts such as a vanity kit, when it is his very appearance that excludes him from society altogether. A key difference between Bernard Pomerance’s play, “The Elephant Man,” and Lynch’s film is the scene where Mrs. Kendal disrobes for Merrick, who has no experience with women. Of course, Dr. Treves steps into the room and is appalled by Mrs. Kendal’s gesture. This is a telling moment in the narrative because, while Treves seems to sympathize with Merrick, he clearly does not see Merrick as a man. Instead, Treves is shocked, both by Mrs. Kendal’s “unladylike” behavior and by the fact that Merrick has been viewed by a woman as a potentially sexual being. In Pomerance’s play it is clear that Mrs. Kendal is the only character who sees beyond physical “illusions” and perceives Merrick as a man. For Treves, Ross, and the remainder of society, Merrick cannot transcend his abject state. In both the play and the film, Merrick’s realization of this failure on society’s part to accept him as human, coupled with his rapidly declining health, results in his final act of self-assertion: suicide.
“A Clockwork Orange” and Foucault’s Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison
Some compelling parallels can be drawn between the infamous “aversion therapy” scene in Stanley Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange” and Michel Foucault’s highly influential book, Discipline and Punish. Foucault discusses the fact that, prior to our modern-day prison system, public torture and execution was the prevailing form of punishment for criminals. Foucault goes on to say that an unintended consequence of this form of punishment revealed itself in the fact that crowds would inadvertently “identify” with the tortured individual and that mobs would break out in protest against the monarchy that was meting out punishment. In this sense, the tortured criminal becomes a victim, if not an outright martyr, and the monarchy is posited as an even worse criminal in the inhumanity that it shows towards its deviants.
This idea plays itself out in Kubrick’s film. While Alex is guilty of unspeakably inhumane acts, the aversion therapy that he undergoes (albeit willingly) makes him a sympathetic character. Alex volunteers to be a guinea pig, but it is clear that he gets more than he bargained for when his free will is taken from him. The medical and political audience that witnesses Alex’s torture is criminalized in that they inhumanely observe Alex’s suffering, and they are “panoptic” in the sense that their main objective is the transformation of Alex into a harmless, self-governing member of society. The idea of Alex as a sympathetic character is reinforced when one of his former victims, as well as his former gang members, beat and torture him because they know that he is unable to defend himself. In this sense, it is a triumph when Alex is restored to his “normal” raping and murdering self. One of the film’s messages is that the removal of free will is even more of a crime than rape and murder. Foucault, on the other hand, demonstrates how “real” society has chosen to remove the free will of criminals through imprisonment and a highly regimented schedule within the prison system. Through this analytical lens, “A Clockwork Orange” is a corrupted, social fantasy/nightmare where individuals like Alex are celebrated; as opposed to Foucault’s analysis, which demonstrates how our society deals with individuals like Alex in the most “humane” way they can.
This idea plays itself out in Kubrick’s film. While Alex is guilty of unspeakably inhumane acts, the aversion therapy that he undergoes (albeit willingly) makes him a sympathetic character. Alex volunteers to be a guinea pig, but it is clear that he gets more than he bargained for when his free will is taken from him. The medical and political audience that witnesses Alex’s torture is criminalized in that they inhumanely observe Alex’s suffering, and they are “panoptic” in the sense that their main objective is the transformation of Alex into a harmless, self-governing member of society. The idea of Alex as a sympathetic character is reinforced when one of his former victims, as well as his former gang members, beat and torture him because they know that he is unable to defend himself. In this sense, it is a triumph when Alex is restored to his “normal” raping and murdering self. One of the film’s messages is that the removal of free will is even more of a crime than rape and murder. Foucault, on the other hand, demonstrates how “real” society has chosen to remove the free will of criminals through imprisonment and a highly regimented schedule within the prison system. Through this analytical lens, “A Clockwork Orange” is a corrupted, social fantasy/nightmare where individuals like Alex are celebrated; as opposed to Foucault’s analysis, which demonstrates how our society deals with individuals like Alex in the most “humane” way they can.
Group Report: “The Elephant Man”
“The Elephant Man” group, consisting of Dylan, Catherine, Tiffany, and myself, worked very well with each other. Each of us brought great ideas to the table of knowledge and we worked together to weed out any proposals that seemed extraneous to our presentation. Dylan brought an incredible body of knowledge in regards to critical theory to our group and we benefited greatly from it. We decided early on, as a group, to compare scenes from “The Elephant Man” to another movie that was closely related ideologically (but not too closely related), and we decided on Catherine’s astute recommendation of “A Clockwork Orange.” We met as a group four times (three times before class and once at Catherine’s house) and all four of us brainstormed various critical approaches to both films and we chose key scenes from each movie that we would show to the class, allowing them to make their own connections and to establish their own critical evaluations. In our group, there was a complete absence of ego and we respected each other’s opinions and ideas completely. I would say that, in terms of my own individual contribution, my reading of the play version of “The Elephant Man,” by Bernard Pomerance, helped to shed some light upon the film adaptation. For example, in the play, Merrick’s character is much more aware and critical of the individuals who are supposedly “helping” him. This is in stark contrast to the movie, where Merrick is depicted as passive and completely trusting and grateful to his “guardians.” Our presentation was the direct result of a group effort and I feel that we were all eager to contribute and that we all found it to be a rewarding experience.
Bella Swan as “The Angel in the House”
note: the following analysis is based exclusively on the first Twilight novel. I have not yet read the rest of the series and any rebuttals to my argument are more than welcome.
In Stephenie Meyer’s wildly popular Twilight series, the female protagonist, Bella Swan, is posed as yet another “Angel in the House,” as the concept is illustrated by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar. From a superficial standpoint, Bella appears to be a strong, individualistic heroine who asserts her will and tries to hold her own in the world of vampires and werewolves. However, Bella actually represents many of the traits of an “Angel in the House.” In Twilight, there is a direct correlation drawn between a vampire’s insatiable desire for blood and the human sex drive. Bella’s rejection of a human boyfriend, her desire to hide her involvement with the supernatural world from her family and friends, and her biological exclusion from the vampire world posits her as an isolated “other.” In this sense, Bella is entirely “pure.” She is untainted by the human desire for sex and the vampire’s desire for blood. With Edward, Bella is made entirely passive, contrary to whatever delusions of control or trust that she chooses to hold on to. Edward loves to watch Bella sleep (the most passive state) and he makes it clear to her that she is physically powerless against him. Even Bella’s language is deficient in the world of vampires that she inhabits, since they can communicate at speeds that she is incapable of. Bella is reliant completely upon her vampire protectors. She is also posited as virtuous in that she chooses to sacrifice her own life to save Edward, her parents, and her vampire friends when James begins to hunt her down. Even in this selfless act, however, Bella proves to be duped by James and needs Edward to save her from certain death. It is unsettling to think that Bella Swan would be a role model for anyone. The fact that some women (and some men) feel such a strong attraction to Edward Cullen seems to parallel a desire to be made completely passive and ineffectual.
In Stephenie Meyer’s wildly popular Twilight series, the female protagonist, Bella Swan, is posed as yet another “Angel in the House,” as the concept is illustrated by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar. From a superficial standpoint, Bella appears to be a strong, individualistic heroine who asserts her will and tries to hold her own in the world of vampires and werewolves. However, Bella actually represents many of the traits of an “Angel in the House.” In Twilight, there is a direct correlation drawn between a vampire’s insatiable desire for blood and the human sex drive. Bella’s rejection of a human boyfriend, her desire to hide her involvement with the supernatural world from her family and friends, and her biological exclusion from the vampire world posits her as an isolated “other.” In this sense, Bella is entirely “pure.” She is untainted by the human desire for sex and the vampire’s desire for blood. With Edward, Bella is made entirely passive, contrary to whatever delusions of control or trust that she chooses to hold on to. Edward loves to watch Bella sleep (the most passive state) and he makes it clear to her that she is physically powerless against him. Even Bella’s language is deficient in the world of vampires that she inhabits, since they can communicate at speeds that she is incapable of. Bella is reliant completely upon her vampire protectors. She is also posited as virtuous in that she chooses to sacrifice her own life to save Edward, her parents, and her vampire friends when James begins to hunt her down. Even in this selfless act, however, Bella proves to be duped by James and needs Edward to save her from certain death. It is unsettling to think that Bella Swan would be a role model for anyone. The fact that some women (and some men) feel such a strong attraction to Edward Cullen seems to parallel a desire to be made completely passive and ineffectual.
Judith Butler and Shamanism is Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior
In Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior, it is relatively easy to draw a comparison between Butler’s theory of gender as performance and the female protagonist in the section of the novel entitled “White Tigers.” However, a parallel also exists in the “Shaman” section of Kingston’s novel. The story of the mother, Brave Orchid, who trains to become a doctor in China, is enhanced when viewed through the lens of shamanism. Shaman are seen as mediators between the material world and the spiritual realm, healing individuals and the community from the inside (the spirit) out (the physical being). In the “Shaman” section, Brave Orchid serves as a shaman to her community of female student doctors when she rallies them together in order to defeat the “Sitting Ghost.” As a shaman, Brave Orchid’s own encounter with the Sitting Ghost is described in terms of a physical showdown; however, when the other young women are brought in, the vanquishing of the Sitting Ghost is more of a ritual; the other women do not actually see the ghost as Brave Orchid did. In this particular example, it is interesting that this sort of spirituality is juxtaposed with the more scientific, modern study of medicine. Brave Orchid helps her community of women doctors to overcome and vanquish their superstitious fear of a monster that haunts the dormitory by night. In this sense, Brave Orchid helps them to move beyond old world beliefs and to enter a more modern world of science and rationality. Brave Orchid is a mediator that effectively changes, or “heals,” her fellow doctors from the inside out. She asserts, “Run, Ghost, run from this school. Only good medical people belong here. Go back, dark creature, to your native country. Go home. Go home.” “Go home,” sang the women (Kingston 75).
Here, Kingston has constructed another “woman warrior.” While there are male and female shaman, warriors are traditionally identified as male. Thus the role of “attacker” that Brave Orchid assumes operates as a way to subvert social norms that dictate “female” behavior. Brave Orchid, as a warrior/shaman, is a powerful, complex, and assertive role, a role that displaces the “no name women” in the text.
Kingston, Maxine Hong. The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1989. Print.
Here, Kingston has constructed another “woman warrior.” While there are male and female shaman, warriors are traditionally identified as male. Thus the role of “attacker” that Brave Orchid assumes operates as a way to subvert social norms that dictate “female” behavior. Brave Orchid, as a warrior/shaman, is a powerful, complex, and assertive role, a role that displaces the “no name women” in the text.
Kingston, Maxine Hong. The Woman Warrior. New York: Vintage, 1989. Print.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
“Veselija” Foreshadows the Triumph of Capitalism
In Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle, the opening scene of the Lithuanian “veselija” comprises virtually all of the key elements of the text as a whole. The traditional concept of the veselija, as it was performed in the Lithuanian homeland, can be related to the Socialist aspects of The Jungle. The fact that “everyone contributes” and that “no one goes hungry” posits that everything is done for the collective good, an important tenet of Socialism. However, it is clear from the start of the novel that the more insidious aspects of Capitalism have already infiltrated the tradition of the veselija, placing importance on the individual's needs and the exploitation of opportunities like free food and drink at the wedding. The fact that many of the guests at the veselija do not contribute (because they cannot afford to, which is a direct result of the influence of the Capitalistic environment) reveals that their very traditions and “identities” have already been compromised. Of course, this sort of greed and exploitation is depicted as being a reality in Lithuania, as well; however, there is a vast gulf between the illusion of prosperity that is projected by the U.S. and the reality that this illusion is carried on the backs of millions of struggling and overworked individuals.
Unfortunately, the Socialist message delivered at the end of The Jungle is not quite convincing, especially to modern day readers. More importantly, it seems unrealistic to think that the traditional values that were a part of the veselija could be restored when they have already been so thoroughly corrupted from within by the Capitalist system.
Unfortunately, the Socialist message delivered at the end of The Jungle is not quite convincing, especially to modern day readers. More importantly, it seems unrealistic to think that the traditional values that were a part of the veselija could be restored when they have already been so thoroughly corrupted from within by the Capitalist system.
Homosexuality as Political Identity
Homosexuals as a collective are set apart by the fact that they include “everybody.” As demonstrated in Anzaldua's Borderlands/La Frontera, individuals are comprised of a multiplicity of identitiesThere are gay, or “queer,” individuals of every race, gender, social class, religion, etc. Homosexuality represents such a multiplicity of identities, it seems like nonsense to reduce a person down to their sexual orientation. This is especially true when “sexual orientation” is a fluid concept in and of itself. Of course, this same idea of multiplicity can be applied to virtually any collective. Is it really possible to reduce someone down to their race (a term as fluid as sexuality), social class, religion, or anything else at all?All of these identities carry weighty political implications as well. To "come out of the closet” is to assume a politicized identity. Opponents love to reference the “gay lifestyle,” but what is this supposed gay lifestyle exactly? Is a gay man who gets up in the morning, goes to work, comes home to do chores, watch TV, and goes` to bed living the “gay lifestyle?” Echoing Judith Butler’s article, “Imitation and Gender Subordination,” does it make any sense to say that a queer individual is “more queer” when they’re at Gay Pride than when they’re at Wal-Mart? It is true that we can “perform” our identity more overtly in certain spaces while downplaying it in others. Nevertheless, the fact that gay/lesbian/queer identified individuals encompass so many identities (Mother, Father, Son, Daughter, Black, Iranian, “White,” Jewish, Man, Woman, Transgendered, Activist, Humanitarian, Politician, Citizen, etc.) emphasizes the injustice of persecuting or marginalizing any individual simply because of their sexuality. No matter what stance a person takes on the issue of homosexuality, there’s no denying that discrimination against someone for one portion of who they are is discrimination against the individual as a whole.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Cultural Materialism in Stardust
Note: The above clip has been altered for comedic purposes by the original poster. However, this scene (in its original form) is the scene that closes the movie and illustrates my main argument.
The storyline of the 2007 film Stardust can be connected to the British Marxist notion of Cultural Materialism. The film is set in the small English village of Wall and the fantasy world of Stormhold. Class issues play an important role in the movie. For example, the main character, Tristan Thorne, represents the lower classes as a common shop boy. Tristan develops romantic feelings for Victoria, who is representative of a higher social class, the bougeousie.
Likewise, in Stormhold, royalty and nobility are represented by the King, who has passed away, leaving his sons to murder each other in an attempt to be the last one standing and to assume the throne. This representation of royalty posits the ruling class as morally corrupt and villainous, traits that are usually ascribed to the lower class. Tristan, however, is noble and brave, eventually taking the throne of Stormhold when the princes have all been murdered, leaving only Una, the sole princess of Stormhold, remaining. Tristan is the only "male heir" to the throne, which bypasses Una and makes Tristan the new King. While this is an obviously sexist decree, there are also class issues and criticisms to be examined in it. As a member of the lower class, Tristan's taking of the throne reveals the social class structures as "contingent." Tristan, unlike the Princes, was not reared to become the king of Stormhold; however, through a series of fantastic circumstances he becomes King, which is as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else. While Tristan is the "hero," his character creates "dissonance" through his incredible leap from the lowest social class to the highest. This dissonance is kept in check, however, due to the fact that his ascension has taken place in a "fantasy" realm. Social order is still affirmed in the "real" world because this type of social mobility is as improbable as the witches and flying pirates that are present in Stormhold. In Stardust, we see that only in a "fantasy world" can "shop boys" become kings.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Peter Shaffer’s Revision of The Oedipal Complex in Equus
In Equus, playwright Peter Shaffer creatively revises Sigmund Freud’s Oedipal complex, taking the psychoanalytic paradigm to real-life, violent extremes. Frank, Dora, and Alan Strang comprise the traditional Oedipal triangle of father, mother, and son respectively. However, their narrative transforms the “textbook” Oedipal outcome of a son who learns to “repress” sexual desire for the mother in fear of being “castrated” by the father (Fowler 413). Equus presents repeated symbolic castrations suffered by Alan, who refuses to submit to his father and integrate himself successfully into society. In the text, Alan’s efforts to realize his Oedipal desire for the mother take the form of his close, religious bond with Dora, a bond that is later replaced by his obsession with horses.
Freud’s Oedipal complex is embedded within the text of Equus. In keeping with Freud’s model, Frank Strang is a removed, authoritative father. He is also disapproving and suspicious of his wife and son’s close relationship. Frank states, “They’ve always been as thick as thieves. I can’t say I entirely approve” (Shaffer 27). Moreover, Dora is in Alan’s bedroom “hour after hour,” talking to him about the Bible. It is clear that Frank monitors this activity since Dora and Alan are “whispering” and he stands close enough to hear what they are discussing (27).
Alan and Dora’s “incestuous” bond can be read in this shared interest in religion, an interest that Alan later develops into a private obsession with horses. The origin of Alan’s preoccupation with horses can be found partly in Dora’s repeated readings to him when he was young from a book about a white horse named Prince who would only allow his “young Master” to ride him (24). Dora also teaches Alan about “pagans” who “thought horse and rider [were] one person…a god” (24). These two stories reveal how Alan’s close relationship with his mother slowly takes the shape of a fixation on horses, along with the religiously elevated, “god-like” status that he assigns to them.
Alan knows that his father is highly critical of his and Dora’s shared religious devotion. Frank Strang’s disapproval of this relationship can be connected to his own vision of religion, which is infused with sexuality. For example, Frank refers to the “religious pictures” that Alan likes as “real kinky ones” and to religion as “bad sex” (28). His reference to “sex/religion” as “bad” can be read as a condemnation of Alan and Dora’s close relationship, which is corrupted incestuously by the sexual overtones of religion. The “incestuous” bond can also be inferred from Frank’s reluctance to discuss sex with his son, while Dora offers her son a religious, “spiritual” view of sex (28).
Overtly Oedipal scenes can be found in scenes that depict Alan’s relationship with his father. For example, Alan is “hysterical” when his father violently removes his “reproduction of Our Lord on his way to Calvary” picture; but Alan recovers when the picture is replaced by the image of a horse. The removal of the religious image can be read as a Freudian “castration” scene, since Frank Strang is effectively attacking the religious connection between Dora and Alan. The substitute picture also explains Alan’s transfer of religious devotion from Biblical characters to horses. Interestingly, Frank’s extreme act does not finish or resolve Alan’s Oedipal complex; instead, Alan finds a way to continue his forbidden desires by substituting religion with horses. Frank’s attack/castration of Alan’s shared religious devotion with his mother results in Alan rebelliously transferring this “incestuous” devotion to horses.
This exchange of one fixation for another can also be read in Alan’s rewriting of Biblical “Geneology” with references to imagined horses (46). The names that Alan assigns to these horses are significant because they reference parts of the body along with sexualized acts (“Flankus and Spankus”) (46). A related “castration” sequence can be found in this scene as well, when Frank interferes and abruptly ends Alan’s chanting with a “cough,” thereby terminating the pleasure that Alan derives from it (47).
Most notably, however, is the scene where Frank Strang forcibly removes the six-year-old Alan from a horse. Alan confesses to Dysart the sense of “power” that he experienced when riding the horse (43). This power is described in sexualized terms when Alan states that, “There was sweat on my legs from his neck. The fellow held me tight, and let me turn the horse which way I wanted...” (43). The sexual power Alan experiences on the horse can be connected to the “horse story” that Dora was reading to Alan at this same age, a reflection of the mother/son bond. Alan recalls that, “suddenly I was on the ground, where Dad pulled me. I could have bashed him…” (43). This scene pointedly reflects the implications of the Oedipal complex in the hostility between father and son and the son’s desire for sexual power.
Alan’s Oedipal fantasy is realized when, as a teenager, he and Nugget enter the “place of Ha Ha” (67). This scene is highly sexualized with descriptions of Alan “mounting” Nugget (69) along with his use of “The Ark of the Manbit,” which prolongs “it” (68). This “it” can be read as the sexual gratification that Alan experiences when he rides Nugget. Alan’s statement that “His neck comes out of my body” reveals how Nugget becomes a “phallic symbol” that Alan appropriates (70). This key description can be analyzed in a way similar to critic Doreen Fowler’s Freudian and Lacanian analysis of Faulkner’s Sanctuary. In the case of Equus, Nugget fills the role of a Lacanian “phallic symbol” in opposition to the strict Oedipal guideline of a “father.” Alan is appropriating the phallic authority not from his father, though as we see later, the father is still present in the “eyes” of the horses. For Alan, sexual power is derived from the riding of the horse.
Alan’s naming of this field as the “place of Ha Ha” can be read in two ways. One way describes the subversive joy that he experiences in the playing out of his Oedipal fantasy, but another interpretation could be a mocking laughter that is directed toward the father, since Alan has been able to undermine Frank’s authority and gratify his own desire.
Alan’s ritualistic chanting and riding of Nugget are repeated behaviors that can be placed in another Freudian model, that of “the pleasure principle.” Freud writes, “At the outset [Freud’s grandchild] was in a passive situation-he was overpowered by the experience [of his mother’s repeated departures]; but, by repeating it [with toys], unpleasurable though it was, as a game, he took an active part” (432). Alan’s riding of Nugget in the “place of Ha Ha” can be read in a similar way. It becomes Alan’s own attempt to assert control over the painful memory of Frank yanking him off of a horse when he was young.
Alan’s Oedipal complex experiences a shift, however, when he and Jill see Frank at an adult theater. Rather than seeing his father as the threatening, powerful figure that has “castrated” him repeatedly, Alan realizes that he and his father are alike in that he has a “prick” and does his own “secret things at night” (Shaffer 96-7). It is significant that Alan had “never thought about [this]” until now (96). In contrast to the traditional Oedipal complex where the son identifies with his father and submits to patriarchal authority in order to evade “castration,” Alan rebels further against the authority that is imposed by the father.
When Alan is inside the barn/Temple with Jill, his subconscious Oedipal desires affect him drastically. Interestingly, Jill confesses to Alan that she too has perceived horses as a sexual “substitute” (89). In this scene, however, Jill becomes a substitute for the mother figure in the Oedipal triangle and the “Him” who is watching Alan and Jill have sex is Frank, the “father” whose authoritative gaze is expressed through the eyes of the horses in the stable. Alan’s father makes him feel powerless because of the repeated “castrations” that he is forced to endure. Alan’s frustration stems from the unavoidable fact that his father always “sees” him. Whether Alan is on a horse, chanting in his room, or sneaking into a theater with Jill, his father consistently undermines his efforts to assert himself sexually.
Alan’s conflation of his father’s strict authority, the patriarchal “eyes” that monitor his every subversive move, and the “castration” scene that has most recently played out in Alan’s inability to complete the sex act with Jill are what drives him to blind the stable horses. This blinding scene, which calls to mind the blinding scene in Oedipus the King, is Alan’s final, violent attempt to free himself from the constant judgment and subjection that are a part of the Oedipal complex. Peter Shaffer does an extreme rewriting of Freud’s concept here because Alan never recognizes or submits to his father’s absolute authority, a recognition that is described as instinctive in the traditional Oedipal complex. Instead, Alan fights to subvert this authority to the point of committing a violently criminal act.
Equus does not offer Alan’s Oedipal complex a “successful” resolution, which would involve his submission and assimilation into society. Dysart’s analysis of Alan’s isolated life and his lack of socialization can be read as contributing to this inability to defer to his father and to integrate himself into a functioning, well-ordered society, since Alan has never been given any real concept of this society and how it works (79).
Freud’s Oedipal complex is embedded within the text of Equus. In keeping with Freud’s model, Frank Strang is a removed, authoritative father. He is also disapproving and suspicious of his wife and son’s close relationship. Frank states, “They’ve always been as thick as thieves. I can’t say I entirely approve” (Shaffer 27). Moreover, Dora is in Alan’s bedroom “hour after hour,” talking to him about the Bible. It is clear that Frank monitors this activity since Dora and Alan are “whispering” and he stands close enough to hear what they are discussing (27).
Alan and Dora’s “incestuous” bond can be read in this shared interest in religion, an interest that Alan later develops into a private obsession with horses. The origin of Alan’s preoccupation with horses can be found partly in Dora’s repeated readings to him when he was young from a book about a white horse named Prince who would only allow his “young Master” to ride him (24). Dora also teaches Alan about “pagans” who “thought horse and rider [were] one person…a god” (24). These two stories reveal how Alan’s close relationship with his mother slowly takes the shape of a fixation on horses, along with the religiously elevated, “god-like” status that he assigns to them.
Alan knows that his father is highly critical of his and Dora’s shared religious devotion. Frank Strang’s disapproval of this relationship can be connected to his own vision of religion, which is infused with sexuality. For example, Frank refers to the “religious pictures” that Alan likes as “real kinky ones” and to religion as “bad sex” (28). His reference to “sex/religion” as “bad” can be read as a condemnation of Alan and Dora’s close relationship, which is corrupted incestuously by the sexual overtones of religion. The “incestuous” bond can also be inferred from Frank’s reluctance to discuss sex with his son, while Dora offers her son a religious, “spiritual” view of sex (28).
Overtly Oedipal scenes can be found in scenes that depict Alan’s relationship with his father. For example, Alan is “hysterical” when his father violently removes his “reproduction of Our Lord on his way to Calvary” picture; but Alan recovers when the picture is replaced by the image of a horse. The removal of the religious image can be read as a Freudian “castration” scene, since Frank Strang is effectively attacking the religious connection between Dora and Alan. The substitute picture also explains Alan’s transfer of religious devotion from Biblical characters to horses. Interestingly, Frank’s extreme act does not finish or resolve Alan’s Oedipal complex; instead, Alan finds a way to continue his forbidden desires by substituting religion with horses. Frank’s attack/castration of Alan’s shared religious devotion with his mother results in Alan rebelliously transferring this “incestuous” devotion to horses.
This exchange of one fixation for another can also be read in Alan’s rewriting of Biblical “Geneology” with references to imagined horses (46). The names that Alan assigns to these horses are significant because they reference parts of the body along with sexualized acts (“Flankus and Spankus”) (46). A related “castration” sequence can be found in this scene as well, when Frank interferes and abruptly ends Alan’s chanting with a “cough,” thereby terminating the pleasure that Alan derives from it (47).
Most notably, however, is the scene where Frank Strang forcibly removes the six-year-old Alan from a horse. Alan confesses to Dysart the sense of “power” that he experienced when riding the horse (43). This power is described in sexualized terms when Alan states that, “There was sweat on my legs from his neck. The fellow held me tight, and let me turn the horse which way I wanted...” (43). The sexual power Alan experiences on the horse can be connected to the “horse story” that Dora was reading to Alan at this same age, a reflection of the mother/son bond. Alan recalls that, “suddenly I was on the ground, where Dad pulled me. I could have bashed him…” (43). This scene pointedly reflects the implications of the Oedipal complex in the hostility between father and son and the son’s desire for sexual power.
Alan’s Oedipal fantasy is realized when, as a teenager, he and Nugget enter the “place of Ha Ha” (67). This scene is highly sexualized with descriptions of Alan “mounting” Nugget (69) along with his use of “The Ark of the Manbit,” which prolongs “it” (68). This “it” can be read as the sexual gratification that Alan experiences when he rides Nugget. Alan’s statement that “His neck comes out of my body” reveals how Nugget becomes a “phallic symbol” that Alan appropriates (70). This key description can be analyzed in a way similar to critic Doreen Fowler’s Freudian and Lacanian analysis of Faulkner’s Sanctuary. In the case of Equus, Nugget fills the role of a Lacanian “phallic symbol” in opposition to the strict Oedipal guideline of a “father.” Alan is appropriating the phallic authority not from his father, though as we see later, the father is still present in the “eyes” of the horses. For Alan, sexual power is derived from the riding of the horse.
Alan’s naming of this field as the “place of Ha Ha” can be read in two ways. One way describes the subversive joy that he experiences in the playing out of his Oedipal fantasy, but another interpretation could be a mocking laughter that is directed toward the father, since Alan has been able to undermine Frank’s authority and gratify his own desire.
Alan’s ritualistic chanting and riding of Nugget are repeated behaviors that can be placed in another Freudian model, that of “the pleasure principle.” Freud writes, “At the outset [Freud’s grandchild] was in a passive situation-he was overpowered by the experience [of his mother’s repeated departures]; but, by repeating it [with toys], unpleasurable though it was, as a game, he took an active part” (432). Alan’s riding of Nugget in the “place of Ha Ha” can be read in a similar way. It becomes Alan’s own attempt to assert control over the painful memory of Frank yanking him off of a horse when he was young.
Alan’s Oedipal complex experiences a shift, however, when he and Jill see Frank at an adult theater. Rather than seeing his father as the threatening, powerful figure that has “castrated” him repeatedly, Alan realizes that he and his father are alike in that he has a “prick” and does his own “secret things at night” (Shaffer 96-7). It is significant that Alan had “never thought about [this]” until now (96). In contrast to the traditional Oedipal complex where the son identifies with his father and submits to patriarchal authority in order to evade “castration,” Alan rebels further against the authority that is imposed by the father.
When Alan is inside the barn/Temple with Jill, his subconscious Oedipal desires affect him drastically. Interestingly, Jill confesses to Alan that she too has perceived horses as a sexual “substitute” (89). In this scene, however, Jill becomes a substitute for the mother figure in the Oedipal triangle and the “Him” who is watching Alan and Jill have sex is Frank, the “father” whose authoritative gaze is expressed through the eyes of the horses in the stable. Alan’s father makes him feel powerless because of the repeated “castrations” that he is forced to endure. Alan’s frustration stems from the unavoidable fact that his father always “sees” him. Whether Alan is on a horse, chanting in his room, or sneaking into a theater with Jill, his father consistently undermines his efforts to assert himself sexually.
Alan’s conflation of his father’s strict authority, the patriarchal “eyes” that monitor his every subversive move, and the “castration” scene that has most recently played out in Alan’s inability to complete the sex act with Jill are what drives him to blind the stable horses. This blinding scene, which calls to mind the blinding scene in Oedipus the King, is Alan’s final, violent attempt to free himself from the constant judgment and subjection that are a part of the Oedipal complex. Peter Shaffer does an extreme rewriting of Freud’s concept here because Alan never recognizes or submits to his father’s absolute authority, a recognition that is described as instinctive in the traditional Oedipal complex. Instead, Alan fights to subvert this authority to the point of committing a violently criminal act.
Equus does not offer Alan’s Oedipal complex a “successful” resolution, which would involve his submission and assimilation into society. Dysart’s analysis of Alan’s isolated life and his lack of socialization can be read as contributing to this inability to defer to his father and to integrate himself into a functioning, well-ordered society, since Alan has never been given any real concept of this society and how it works (79).
Works Cited
Fowler, Doreen. “Faulkner’s Return to the Freudian Father: Sanctuary Reconsidered.” Modern Fiction Studies 50.2 (Summer 2004): 411-434. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010.
Freud, Sigmund. “Beyond the Pleasure Principle.” Literary Theory: An Anthology. Ed. Julie Rivkin and Michael Ryan. Massachusettes: Blackwell, 2004. 431-437. Print.
Shaffer, Peter. Equus. New York: Scribner, 2005. Print.
Annotated Articles
Buchanan, Brad. “Oedipus in Dystopia: Freud and Lawrence in Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World.” Journal of Modern Literature 3.4 (Summer 2002): 75-89. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010.
Brad Buchanan’s 2002 article, “Oedipus in Dystopia: Freud and Lawrence in Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World,” argues the influences that the Oedipus complex and D.H. Lawrence had upon Huxley’s text (76). Buchanan asserts that the futuristic “utopia” portrayed in Brave New World attempts to vanquish the Oedipus complex in order to establish “social stability” (76). In the society presented to us by Huxley, “strong feelings” are discouraged, often interpreted as being “incestuous,” and individuals are placed in a state of existence that mimics the “womb/decanter” in an attempt to proactively eliminate the potential neurosis that might desire a return to this womb (77).
The Oedipus complex also comes into play, according to Buchanan, in regards to the novel’s portrayal of fathers, where John the Savage attempts to murder Popé, a father figure, and figuratively “kills” his own biological father by “addressing” him in “public” (78).
Buchanan argues that John the Savage represses all sexual desire in an effort to “[exorcise] the unconscious incestuous demons that plague him” (79). Buchanan aligns John’s “Victorian” manner of sexual repression with Huxley’s real-life views and Freud’s own argument for sexual repression in Civilization and its Discontents (80-1).
Buchanan also points to Huxley’s criticism of “Tragedy” as a “genre,” stating its inability to reveal the “Whole Truth” of a story along with the fact that John the Savage’s “tragic vision of reality” represents an “oversimplification” of Huxley’s take on “the complexities of modern life” (82).
Next, in terms of religion, Buchanan notes the similarity between Freud’s view of the “oceanic feeling” which references the negation of a collective whole with Huxley’s own emphasis on individuality and the minimizing of the “oceanic feeling” (83).
Buchanan also explores the role that D.H. Lawrence played in Huxley’s writing of Brave New World (84). Buchanan cites an essay written by Huxley on Lawrence where Huxley refutes the imposition of the Oedipus complex on Lawrence’s personal life that was made by many critics (85). Huxley later concedes, however, that critics like John Middleton Murry who made this assertion could be somewhat correct because of the real-life relationship between Lawrence and his parents. Buchanan also points to the parallels between Lawrence’s wife, Frieda, and Brave New World’s Linda, along with similarities between Lawrence and John the Savage (88).
In closing, Buchanan states that Huxley does not attempt to debunk the Oedipus complex as a psychoanalytic theory in Brave New World, but instead uses it “as a weapon in his satirical attack on the mores of modern life and on its utopian fantasies” (89).
Fowler, Doreen. “Faulkner’s Return to the Freudian Father: Sanctuary Reconsidered.” Modern Fiction Studies 50.2 (Summer 2004): 411-434. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010.
Brad Buchanan’s 2002 article, “Oedipus in Dystopia: Freud and Lawrence in Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World,” argues the influences that the Oedipus complex and D.H. Lawrence had upon Huxley’s text (76). Buchanan asserts that the futuristic “utopia” portrayed in Brave New World attempts to vanquish the Oedipus complex in order to establish “social stability” (76). In the society presented to us by Huxley, “strong feelings” are discouraged, often interpreted as being “incestuous,” and individuals are placed in a state of existence that mimics the “womb/decanter” in an attempt to proactively eliminate the potential neurosis that might desire a return to this womb (77).
The Oedipus complex also comes into play, according to Buchanan, in regards to the novel’s portrayal of fathers, where John the Savage attempts to murder Popé, a father figure, and figuratively “kills” his own biological father by “addressing” him in “public” (78).
Buchanan argues that John the Savage represses all sexual desire in an effort to “[exorcise] the unconscious incestuous demons that plague him” (79). Buchanan aligns John’s “Victorian” manner of sexual repression with Huxley’s real-life views and Freud’s own argument for sexual repression in Civilization and its Discontents (80-1).
Buchanan also points to Huxley’s criticism of “Tragedy” as a “genre,” stating its inability to reveal the “Whole Truth” of a story along with the fact that John the Savage’s “tragic vision of reality” represents an “oversimplification” of Huxley’s take on “the complexities of modern life” (82).
Next, in terms of religion, Buchanan notes the similarity between Freud’s view of the “oceanic feeling” which references the negation of a collective whole with Huxley’s own emphasis on individuality and the minimizing of the “oceanic feeling” (83).
Buchanan also explores the role that D.H. Lawrence played in Huxley’s writing of Brave New World (84). Buchanan cites an essay written by Huxley on Lawrence where Huxley refutes the imposition of the Oedipus complex on Lawrence’s personal life that was made by many critics (85). Huxley later concedes, however, that critics like John Middleton Murry who made this assertion could be somewhat correct because of the real-life relationship between Lawrence and his parents. Buchanan also points to the parallels between Lawrence’s wife, Frieda, and Brave New World’s Linda, along with similarities between Lawrence and John the Savage (88).
In closing, Buchanan states that Huxley does not attempt to debunk the Oedipus complex as a psychoanalytic theory in Brave New World, but instead uses it “as a weapon in his satirical attack on the mores of modern life and on its utopian fantasies” (89).
Fowler, Doreen. “Faulkner’s Return to the Freudian Father: Sanctuary Reconsidered.” Modern Fiction Studies 50.2 (Summer 2004): 411-434. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010.
Doreen Fowler’s 2004 article, “Faulkner’s Return to the Freudian Father: Sanctuary Reconsidered,” asserts that “the texts of [Faulkner’s] novels reveal a persistent, even obsessive, engagement with Freudian motifs” (412). Fowler focuses on Sanctuary and the Freudian concept of “the primal scene” (412). Fowler’s argument centers around her attempt “to read the narratives of Freud, Lacan, and Faulkner as analogous texts and to propose that Faulkner’s representation of the origin story revises the phallocentric biases of Freudian and Lacanian theory” (413). In Sanctuary, the Oedipal scene is located within the inhabitants of the Old Frenchman’s Place, who constitute the “family,” and the “sexual conquest [of Temple] denotes ascension to the father’s position” (415). In this scene, Popeye fulfills the role of the “father,” Temple “is the daughter-substitute for the desired mother,” and Tommy is the child-witness to the sexual act of Temple’s rape in the primal scene (415). However, Fowler argues that Faulkner undermines the representation of the father as “invincible” in this primal scene due to the fact that, much later in the novel, the reader is alerted to the fact that Popeye is impotent and that he actually raped Temple Drake with a corncob (416). This representation is aligned with a Lacanian view of the “phallus” which replaces the position held by the Freudian “father” (418). This revises the concept of the phallus, according to Fowler, as “an always absent referent” that is replaced by “phallic substitutes” (424).
The Oedipal drive towards incest also comes into play when the reader learns the details of the rape through Horace Benbow, whose projections of these details upon an image of his stepdaughter, Little Belle, relates the “desire for incest” (420-1).
Fowler also discusses the lynching in Sanctuary as a primal scene (422). Fowler argues that characters like Lee Goodwin and Horace Benbow, both of whom are white, are racialized through their “black doubles,” “the doomed black man in the next cell” and Popeye (who is white but described as “black”), respectively (422-3). Fowler argues that the symbolic “phallic father,” represented by the mob-like townspeople in Sanctuary, maintains the racial and “(patriarchal) order” that is challenged in the text (424).
Lastly, Fowler examines “Popeye’s execution” and “Goodwin’s lynching” as primal scenes (425). She states that, like the previous examples, the “phallic authority” of the town is reinforced through their executions (425).
Poland, Warren S. “Oedipal Complexes, Oedipal Schemas.” American Imago 64.4 (Winter 2007): 561-565. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010.
Warren S. Poland’s 2007 article, “Oedipal Complexes, Oedipal Schemas,” questions whether Freud’s Oedipal complex is the key to “defining an individual’s character” or if it “[excludes] vast areas of human experience” (561). Poland seeks to resolve the disparity between individual experience and a “generalization” like the Oedipal complex (561). Poland finds the answer in a quote by Freud, which states that, “the simple Oedipus complex is by no means its commonest form, but rather represents a simplification or schematization” (562). Thus, Poland finds his answer in ascribing the term “oedipal complex” to individuals and “oedipal schema” to the generalized concept that we have traditionally associated with the Oedipal complex.
Next, Poland argues that Oedipus’s pronouncement, “The hand that struck me was none but my own,” is connected to the Freudian concept of “partial free will…a will that has choices even as it is constrained by inevitabilities” (563). Poland asserts that the forces within us can be partially controlled, thus “the possibility of therapeutic psychoanalysis was born” (563-4).
In closing, Poland cites and supports Loewald’s 1979 paper, “The Waning of the Oedipus Complex,” which states that Oedipus complexes are not resolved once, but are instead dealt with throughout life in a “movement toward individuation and autonomy” (564-5).
Reed, Michael D. “The Female Oedipal Complex in Maurice Sendak’s Outside Over There.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 11.4 (Winter 1986-87): 176-180. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010
In his article, “The Female Oedipal Complex in Maurice Sendak’s Outside Over There,” Michael D. Reed uses the female version of Freud’s Oedipal complex to analyze a story which has “puzzled” critics (176). Reed focuses on the relationship between Ida, the protagonist, and her father, who has “gone out to sea” (176). Reed uses “Freud’s concept of polymorphous perversity” to explain how “a male author [can] write a story that expresses a female psychoanalytic fantasy” (176). This concept states that every individual contains all “sexual drives” before they eventually become aware of their own distinct gender; hence, they are able to draw upon that early knowledge to write stories from the perspective of the opposite sex (176). Reed follows critic Norman Holland’s “model,” which states that texts are able to successfully obscure embedded Oedipal desires and that “symbols, images, [and] characters” need to be analyzed to locate these hidden aspects (177). Reed states that Ida fits the model of an Oedipal character in “the desire for the father, the desire to replace the mother and have sexual relations with him, the desire for a baby from the father, and the hostility and jealousy toward the mother” (177).
Reed also points to textual illustrations that depict both phallic objects, like the mast of a ship, and “female genitals,” represented by “sunflowers” (178). The positioning of these illustrations represents Ida’s recognition that she is female along with her movement towards this gender identity and away from the male (178).
Reed further argues that Ida’s female Oedipal fantasy is fulfilled during her search for her stolen younger sister (178). In this quest, Ida encounters a goblin-birthing scene, where Reed states that Ida symbolically replaces her mother and has her father’s “babies” (179). Ultimately Ida and her family are successfully reunited, and Reed asserts that this female Oedipal fantasy is effectively shrouded in a story that superficially asserts “that one should obey one’s father , and then, everything will turn out well” (179).
Rudnytsky, Peter L. “Oedipus and Anti-Oedipus.” World Literature Today 56.3 (Summer 1982): 462-70. Project MUSE. Web. 6 March 2010.
Peter L. Rudnytsky’s 1982 article, “Oedipus and Anti-Oedipus” argues in favor of “the Oedipus myth” (462), which had been facing challenges. Rudnytsky addresses three works which comprise what he terms “the unholy trinity of ‘anti-Oedipus’” (467), analyzing and refuting their claims. These works are Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s “Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia,” René Girard’s “Violence and the Sacred,” and Sandor Goodhart’s “…: Oedipus and Laius’ Many Murderers.”
Rudnytsky cites several problems with Deleuze and Guattari’s argument. Firstly, Rudnytsky asserts the extremity of the title, “Anti-Oedipus,” as revealing “a negative and sheerly destructive purpose” (462). Deleuze and Guattari, according to Rudnytsky, argue against the “universality” inherent in Freud’s Oedipus complex in favor of “fragments” and “partial objects” which make up “the production of desire” (463). They state that, “Schizophrenia as a process is the only universal” (463), an assertion which Rudnytsky uses to undermine their argument against any and all forms of “universalization” (463). Deleuze and Guattari also align themselves with Jung’s notion of dreams as being straightforward, as opposed to Rudnytsky’s belief in Freud’s notion of dreams as symbolic (464). Rudnytsky argues that Deleuze and Guattari’s insistence on separating “paranoia and schizophrenia from ‘all familial pseudo etiologies’” is too extreme and that they should place their argument in supplement to the Oedipus complex rather than in stark opposition to it (464).
Next, Rudnytsky argues against René Girard’s rewriting of the Oedipus complex as “mimetic rivalry,” where the son/subject desires the mother/object only because the father/rival desires it (465). This rivalry results in “violence,” which makes the subject and rival each other’s “double,” since they desire the same object, and these subjects/rivals are also the “doubles” of all other subjects/rivals that came before them (467). Once again, Rudnytsky states that Girard’s argument should be positioned as complimenting rather than undermining the Oedipus complex (467).
Next, Rudnytsky attempts to debunk Goodhart’s argument that the original text of Oedipus shows that Laius was murdered by multiple men, a claim that would exonerate Oedipus (468). Rudnytsky refutes this claim, however, stating that Oedipus’s original audience knew of his guilt and that the play’s reference to “murderers” was meant to heighten the drama when Oedipus’s guilt was finally “revealed” (469).
Rudntysky closes with the assertion that the Oedipus complex is a “cultural touchstone” and that it “is destined to endure as long as people need to tell stories” (469).
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Discipline & Punish/Thelma & Louise
In this blog, I will be applying Michel Foucault's influential essay, Discipline and Punish, to the 1991 movie, Thelma & Louise. D&P works well in this example because T&L is about two women who are driven to subvert and flee the patriarchal/"democratic" authority that they have been subject to. Thelma and Louise had been living controlled, self-disciplined lives, without the need of being governed directly , much like the lives that Foucault illustrates with Bentham's Panopticon. In the opening, Thelma is confined to the home, a supportive wife to her philandering husband, and Louise is a productive worker at a midwest restaurant. They fit neatly into the societal and gender roles that have been pre-determined for them. Any propietor of "the gaze" could not find fault with either of them. The relevance of this is later emphasized by the fact that Louise had been raped years ago and that the perpetrators had never been brought to justice. Louise's intense discipline comes into play in the fact that she moves forward with her life in a highly regimented way, a prisoner of her earlier trauma.
When Louise "snaps" and kills a man that she stops from raping Thelma, the two women find themselves rejecting their former, disciplined roles and identifying with new roles that society will punish them for. Thelma and Louise are on the run from police who are searching them out in connection with the murder. Ironically, these law enforcement officials who are meant "to protect and serve" actually enforce an overarching ideology that has oppressed women. Justice was never served for Louise and it is unclear if she ever reported her own rape, since her socially instilled behavior of self-policing convinces her that she may have been responsible for it, in some way.
Thelma and Louise, as outlaws, leave the arena of "the gaze" and are sought by the federal police. They realize that prison and possible execution are one possibile future for them and that their prior oppressed lives are the other possibility. Fleeing the country proves to be a dream that is never realized. Ultimately, the film shows that these two women must fit into their predetermined, disciplined roles, because if they transgress those roles in any way, punishment will be meted out. Which begs the question, is a society that would punish Thelma and Louise, who have suffered under the patriarchal, panoptic gaze, a society that can be considered truly just and democratic?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Equus and The Pleasure Principle
Interesting parallels can be drawn between Freud's The Pleasure Principle and Peter Schaffer's play, Equus. For the sake of brevity, in this blog I will focus on the role that Alan Strang's "chanting" serves in the play and how this chanting can be related directly to the pleasure principle. To begin with, Alan's chanting is an obvious rewriting of Christian geneology, where horses have taken the place of biblical figures. This rewriting is also evident in Alan's replacement of Christian artwork in his bedroom with that of a horse. In the play, the source of Alan's relationship with religion is through his mother, and his morphing of religion into a form of "horse worship" can be related to his early childhood experience with a horse (which is sexually charged) and his father, Frank Strang, who brought that experience to a traumatic end.
Here, Alan's conflation of religion/horses/ sexuality/and the maternal can be read in terms of Freud's Oedipal complex. Alan is attempting to possess his mother and displace his father. The religious core of Alan and his mother's relationship (which excludes the father) shifts to Alan's worship of horses as a way to frustrate Frank's attempt to remove religion from the household, thus breaking the tie between Alan and his wife. Frank Strang consistently upsets Alan, even stopping Alan's chanting by "coughing" outside of his bedroom door.
The repetitive nature of Alan's chanting can be read in Freudian terms of Alan taking an active rather than a passive role in his relationship with his father. However, Alan's sense of agency through the worship of horses and his Oedipal desire to possess his mother is illusory, since he still believes that his father is always "watching." Frank is an authoritarian figure who, to Alan, seems "all seeing" and "all knowing."
Saturday, February 20, 2010
A Brief Saussurean Analysis of I Love You, Man
After reading Ferdinand de Saussure's Course in General Linguistics, I felt that I had a basic understanding of his "sign, signified, signifier" concept, along with the arbitrary nature of these signs and how they are dependent upon their difference from other signs, relative to the language structure as a whole. I did, however, wonder how Saussure would explain other elements of linguistics; for example, signs that are homophones. We, as speakers and listeners, recognize the difference between a homophone like tear (as in "teardrop") and tier according to the context that the sign is placed in. I suppose that this fact emphasizes and supports Saussure's idea of the arbitrary nature of language in that signs can be exactly the same (a potential source of confusion), and we are still able to distinguish what is being signified based upon the signs difference when placed in various contexts.
I am uncertain how his system explains linguistic parts of speech like determiners, conjunctions, prepositions, etc., since these do not signify a concept; however, these are all members of a closed class that we have all agreed upon. I suppose that these parts of speech potentially represent concepts in that, for example, a determiner can "specify" or "generalize" a sign. In this sense, "specification" and "generalization" could be seen as concepts.
I thought that applying Saussure's theory of signs to the movie, I Love You, Man, would be a humorous way of examining a dry concept. For example, in the clip that I have included, the character of Peter Klaven is always creating "Klavenisms" or nonsense words in an attempt to impress the receiver. However, these Klavenisms consistently end in confusion and, more often the case for Peter, embarrassment. In this clip, Peter's conclusion of the phone conversation with the spontaneously invented term/phrase (?) "latersonthemenjay" is a good example of what can happen when we step outside of prescribed linguistic boundaries. While the receiver can glean the general meaning of "later" from Peter, the balance of Peter's linguistic creation is confounding, even to its creator, who is left cringing in the end. Humor is derived when we, as receivers, attempt to extract some meaning from "onthemenjay" and are left perplexed. It is interesting though, that we do indeed attempt to assign meaning to Peter's nonsensical "word." As funny as it is, Peter's shame shows us that it is risky and unadvisable to leave the accepted realm of the lexicon and established signs.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Is the "Carnivalesque" Politically/Socially Effective?
Bakhtin's theory of the "carnivalesque" presents us with a way in which dominant or oppresive regimes are subverted through "folk humor." While Bakhtin applied this theory to Rabelais, I would like to apply it to the modern day example of a political cartoon. As an example, I have included a political cartoon depiction of President Barack Obama. Certainly here in the United States we are given the license to criticize and mock our leaders; however, is the carnivalesque (here seen in the "folksy" form of a cartoon) a truly effective or dangerous threat to ruling powers? I would argue that it is not. I read these cartoons more in terms of being a type of critique, or the "safety valve" that we encountered in our readings, a valve that releases built up pressure and unrest amongst the masses. These cartoons help to suppress or quell discontent and to make us all complacent. Though the Stalinist regime that Bakhtin lived under judged the carnivalesque to be a serious threat to its own authority, I think that the modern day political cartoon does not hold the same power as a Rabelaisian play, which would be viewed by a large group of people who could immediately mobilize and rebel. Readers of a political cartoon in a newspaper are a much more fragmented population who are probably not likely to mobilize simply because of a cartoon.If anything, these cartoons subvert dissatisfaction since participators (the creators and readers of the political cartoon) feel a sense of satisfaction in the fact that their ideas are being expressed publicly and not stifled, as they would have been under Stalinism.
Our readings of "carnivalesque laughter" state that this laughter is directed at everyone, including those identified with the carnival, and this is definitely true in the case of these political cartoons. These cartoons cause us to "laugh away" discontent so that, ultimately, the joke is on us.
The "Sublime" Star Trek?
In class on Monday February 1st, I suggested that the intro to Star Trek, the original television series, was a possible example of Longinus' notion of the "sublime." I think that this example was good in terms of being thought up "on the spot"; however, upon further analysis I can see definite flaws inherent in my idea. For example, as stated by a fellow student, the sublime is supposed to be rooted in reality and a science fiction show is not reality as we know it, though it may certainly be a metaphoric representation of reality or a commentary on that reality. I do think that the Star Trek intro employs "grand conceptions" with its dramatic presentation of "Space...the final frontier" along with the inspired emotion of "boldly [going] where no man has gone before," but these ideas are problematic in terms of identifying them with the sublime. The sublime is supposed to "speak to all people at all times" and I think that the Star Trek intro falls short of this rule. The idea of exploring an unknown "frontier" and making that frontier "known" can be read as a notion particular to Western culture. The Star Trek television show does operate favorably due to the absence of imperialism and conquest, yet the idea of venturing bravely into the unknown may not resonate with everyone. What seems more likely is that my idea is a direct product of the culture that I have been raised in. In other words, I may see "striking out into the unknown" as sublime simply because I have been taught that that sort of behavior is noble, though that same behavior may not operate in accordance with all cultures at all times.
Additionally, the statement "where no man has gone before" is, of course, problematic in terms of its implied sexism. After all, didn't Lieutenant Uhura go boldly forward as well?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Is "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" the product of a Misogynistic and Classist Society?
Hell0. My name is Larry Coulter and I am a student at California State University Northridge. In this blog, which has been set up for Dr. Steven Wexler's graduate class in Critical Theory, I will be discussing classroom and assignment-related topics. On our first night of class, we watched a film clip from the movie-musical "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" and came up with a variety of critical approaches that could be used to analyze and read the clip as a "text."
I would like to use this blogspot right now to add further discussion related to Monday night's primary classroom focus. I believe that the scene from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" can be approached in relation to our readings of Plato's concept of "mimesis." For example, the mechanical female doll and the male doll, portrayed in the film by human actors, can be read as mimetic representations of an ideal, Platonic "doll." However, the fact that our class can offer negative gender and class-related interpretations of the "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" dolls that point to societal inequalities reveals specific ways that these dolls have become corrupted through repeated mimetic representation. For example, while these "dolls" were being removed from their "ideal," they became more and more corrupted in transit. In this case, the dolls took on sexist and classist qualities found within our culture, which have been analyzed in our classroom. The "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" dolls do not seem to offer their audience an Aristotelian form of "catharsis," or restoration of health, but instead seem to reinforce our own societal ills, namely misogynism and class-based discrimination.
Another issue at stake in our readings is the censoring of art. I believe that it is wrong to censor or ban artistic means of self-expression, as Plato believed his own society should do. However, in an effort to minimize societal ills while safeguarding the rights of artists, an audience needs to be educated and capable of reading the obscured meanings behind texts such as "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang." In this way, artists can be permitted to create and audiences can prevent themselves from being subliminally swayed by sexist and classist artistic representations such as those seen in the film clip.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)