In a week on New Historicism, obvious questions emerge about the history surrounding Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. The introductin in the Norton says that "New Historicists study literary tex not as autonomous objects but as material artifacts made in interaction with specific social, cultural, and political forces" (30). What are the "specific social, cultural, and political forces" that surround and circulate through Frankenstein? To briefly name a few, these include the French Revolution and its aftermath, the abolition of the slave trade (1807), the growth of the British Empire, debates over the rights of man. How do these play out in the novel? Because I am doing my final paper through the lens of race and ethnicity studies, I'm curious if anyone has any ideas on ways that race and imperialism make their way into Frankenstein. In my research, I stumbled upon an essay by Anne K. Mellor that offers some insight into the way the French Revolution makes its way into the novel. In the essay, "Why Women Didn't Like Romanticism: The Views of Jane Austen and Mary Shelley," Mellor argues that Shelley responds to the French Revolution by showing what happens when one does take responsibility for his creation: "In her novel, she represented the havoc wrought by the French Revolution in the gigantic and misshapen body of Frankenstein's creature...Frankenstein's creature -- like the French Revolution -- originated in the idealistic desire to liberate all men from the oppression of tyranny and mortality. But the Girondist Revolution, like the monster, failed to find the parental guidance, control, and nurturance it required to develop into a rational and benevolent state" (284). This ties in with our determining last week that ultimately, Frankenstein is a novel about responsibility -- taking responsibility for one's creation, one's actions, and, in this case, one's political ideals.
I know New Historicism came about in response to the New Criticism that was prominent in the 1960s, but in a way I feel like it still focuses on the text. In "Against Theory," Knapp and Michaels argue against approaching literary works through theory. They argue that "criticism is an activity that cannot be governed by transcendent principles; rather, it is a 'practice,' prior to and not determined by any guiding theory" (2489). I like this idea because it brings the focus back to the text. I am an advocate of close reading and basing my analysis on the text rather than the theory, but I do like New Historicism. This is because you look at history through the text and try to determine how historical events may have constructed the work, but you still have to focus on the work. And I really do believe that literary works are socially constructed, which I suppose is why some of our critics for this week were Marxists.
So I guess my overall question up for discussion this week is, what social forces went into the construction of Frankenstein? And where do we see these played out in the novel?
A weekly conversation between 12 graduate students using Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" and its model of monstrous hybridity to explore the equally monstrous, equally hybrid field of literary theory. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Trouble With Theory
Jameson says “interpretation is not an isolated act, but takes place within a Homeric battlefield, on which a host of interpretive options are either openly or implicitly in conflict” (1826). He is calling for a pluralistic theoretical approach; this is not unlike Gates’s claims that theorists must “learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix, as well as its ‘white’ matrix. This is necessary because the existence of a black canon is a historically contingent phenomenon; it is not inherent in the nature of ‘blackness’ nor vouchsafed by the metaphysics of some racial essence” (2435). How would historical influences alter readings of black texts and black authors? Meanwhile, Adrienne Rich insists “feminist theory can no longer afford merely to voice a toleration of ‘lesbianism’ as an ‘alternative life style’ “ (1593). Rich’s essay is a call to arms for vocal and antagonistic feminist and lesbian theory. How is this different from Gates’s interest in crafting parallel canons, parallel interpretations? How is she different from Jameson’s open ended interpretations and claims that there are no wrong answers?
While the classical theorists seemed set on a single consideration, aesthetics or rather how aesthetics define and distinguish literature, the postmodern era is about dualities and pluralistic approaches. Contemporary to this is an interest in the alternative voices and an interest in minority literature—racial, gender, sexuality, non-western, non institutionally dominant culture. Postmodern theory too considers not canonical literature, but pop culture, pop art, mainstream, mass production, advertising, disposable media—it is an era that casts aside the classical hang ups with absolute definitions, aesthetic distinctions, and clear segregation between Literature and literature. It is an all inclusive, all accepting, welcome to the world attitude. In many ways this serves as an attack on the dominant culture—the institutional culture of the academy.
In Against Theory, Knapp and Benn attack the very idea of academic theoretical criticism:
“Some theorists have sought to ground the reading of literary texts in methods designed to guarantee the objectivity and validity of interpretations. Others, impressed by the inability of such procedures to produce agreement among interpreters, have translated that failure into an alternative mode of theory that denies the possibility of correct interpretation. Our aim here is not to choose between these two alternatives but rather to show that both rest on a single mistake that is central to the notion of theory per se. The object of our critique is not a particular way of doing theory but the idea of doing theory at all” (2492)
However, by making theory a subject of criticism, are they not simply furthering the theoretical approach, further expanding the hierarchies of literature, criticism, and theory? Are they not simply creating a new cultural matrix that includes theory?
Frankenstein can be read as a metaphor for Shelley’s ‘birthing’ a novel, that the act of creating a monster is in effect similar to writing a book. In reading the text as a metaphor for writing, Shelley is serving as a theorist constructing a critique of the mode of production of literature. She creates a monster after all, which should say something about literature. But if her literary creation results in this monster, is she suggesting a corruption of the process similar to Knapp and Benn’s insistence that the fault of theory is theory?
While the classical theorists seemed set on a single consideration, aesthetics or rather how aesthetics define and distinguish literature, the postmodern era is about dualities and pluralistic approaches. Contemporary to this is an interest in the alternative voices and an interest in minority literature—racial, gender, sexuality, non-western, non institutionally dominant culture. Postmodern theory too considers not canonical literature, but pop culture, pop art, mainstream, mass production, advertising, disposable media—it is an era that casts aside the classical hang ups with absolute definitions, aesthetic distinctions, and clear segregation between Literature and literature. It is an all inclusive, all accepting, welcome to the world attitude. In many ways this serves as an attack on the dominant culture—the institutional culture of the academy.
In Against Theory, Knapp and Benn attack the very idea of academic theoretical criticism:
“Some theorists have sought to ground the reading of literary texts in methods designed to guarantee the objectivity and validity of interpretations. Others, impressed by the inability of such procedures to produce agreement among interpreters, have translated that failure into an alternative mode of theory that denies the possibility of correct interpretation. Our aim here is not to choose between these two alternatives but rather to show that both rest on a single mistake that is central to the notion of theory per se. The object of our critique is not a particular way of doing theory but the idea of doing theory at all” (2492)
However, by making theory a subject of criticism, are they not simply furthering the theoretical approach, further expanding the hierarchies of literature, criticism, and theory? Are they not simply creating a new cultural matrix that includes theory?
Frankenstein can be read as a metaphor for Shelley’s ‘birthing’ a novel, that the act of creating a monster is in effect similar to writing a book. In reading the text as a metaphor for writing, Shelley is serving as a theorist constructing a critique of the mode of production of literature. She creates a monster after all, which should say something about literature. But if her literary creation results in this monster, is she suggesting a corruption of the process similar to Knapp and Benn’s insistence that the fault of theory is theory?
Yearning is the word.
"Yearning is the word," says bell hooks in "Postmodern Blackness." "Specifically, in relation to the post-modernist deconstruction of "master" narratives, the yearning that wells in the hearts and minds of those whom such narratives have silenced is the longing for critical voice" (2513). There is no question that hooks is right; those who have been silenced yearn for a critical voice. Does that not cut to the core of the monster as we know him to be? The creature in Frankenstein wants a father, a creator, to belong. Does not a father and creator act as a critical voice? Is that not the most important critical voice in development from immaturity? Society- no, life- is nothing but rules of what can/cannot, should/should not be done. The patriarchical role is that of laying down rules. As the monster is rejected by his creator/father, his only parenting is done through societal experience. The monster is literally raised by the society with which he surrounds himself.
This 'longing for a critical voice' may be a reaction to postmodernism in "that many groups now share with black folks a sense of deep alienation, despair, uncertainty, loss of a sense of grounding even if it is not informed by shared circumstance" (2513). Working under the basic assumption that the monster is an "other," albeit lacking the racial ties to 'black' or white,' he most definitely shares this sense of alienation and uncertainty, a "loss of a sense of grounding" (2513). Maybe the feelings bell hooks touches on are reactionary to more than merely "postmodernism." Yes, postmodernism critiques identity, but I don't think it threatens or closes down the discourse and practice of those who suffer (2513). Being suspicious of postmodern techniques arriving at the same time that many "subjugated people feel themselves coming to voice" is a little paranoid, at least to me. I find the reading to be incredible, but working under the chip-on-the-shoulder attitude that gets in the way of her analysis, more often than not- more often than in any other reading I can immediately recall.
Fighting Against the Death of the Subject
Jameson writes in Postmodernism and Consumer Society that "there is another sense in which the writers and artists of the present day will no longer be able to invent new styles and worlds--they've already been invented" (1851). To apply this postmodern text to Shelley's Frankenstein, one cannot help but notice that two of the novel's prominent characters have forged a rather "pastiche" existence: Walton, the ship captain who is searching for a passage through the arctic some 200 years after earlier explorers found that no such passage exists, and Victor, who is pursuing the "elixir of life" long after science deemed it to be nothing more than myth.
I don't wish to argue however that these characters have conceded the death of the subject, and are thus undertaking there own pastiche projects just as Jameson writes Roman Polanski turned to the past to create Chinatown. Instead, I believe Walton and Victor are natural 'partners' because of their shared belief in the subject: they are unwilling to abandon their faith in the "unique individual."
Walton and Victor share the same "lack of keeping" that drives them deeper into their endeavors with an undeniable passion. It is a distinctly pre-corporate "ardour" that these two men suffer from; an ailment, perhaps, not suited for the world of "bureaucracies" that Jameson speaks of. Their quest to save the subject drives them literally, as we've said in several different weeks now, to the margins of humanity.
This thought project has left me with several questions:
1) By picking up texts from the past--In Walton's case, old books of voyages, and Victor's antiquated alchemy books--are the characters pursuing pastiche projects that actually confirm the death of the subject? In other words, they seek novel innovations, a passage through the arctic and the secret to human animation, but by picking up an abandoned past are they really doing anything 'new' to validate the subject? (Seems like a question Greenblatt would enjoy)
2) Are these characters reacting to a world that fell out of love with the subject long before Jameson proclaimed its death? This week's readings have made our relation to the author and his or her intent more ambivalent than in previous weeks when it was completely forbidden, so I'll ask another question: did Mary Shelley foresee the death of the subject in the increasingly corporate environment of industrial age? If so, what do the pursuits of Walton and Victor ultimately say about the subject?
I don't wish to argue however that these characters have conceded the death of the subject, and are thus undertaking there own pastiche projects just as Jameson writes Roman Polanski turned to the past to create Chinatown. Instead, I believe Walton and Victor are natural 'partners' because of their shared belief in the subject: they are unwilling to abandon their faith in the "unique individual."
Walton and Victor share the same "lack of keeping" that drives them deeper into their endeavors with an undeniable passion. It is a distinctly pre-corporate "ardour" that these two men suffer from; an ailment, perhaps, not suited for the world of "bureaucracies" that Jameson speaks of. Their quest to save the subject drives them literally, as we've said in several different weeks now, to the margins of humanity.
This thought project has left me with several questions:
1) By picking up texts from the past--In Walton's case, old books of voyages, and Victor's antiquated alchemy books--are the characters pursuing pastiche projects that actually confirm the death of the subject? In other words, they seek novel innovations, a passage through the arctic and the secret to human animation, but by picking up an abandoned past are they really doing anything 'new' to validate the subject? (Seems like a question Greenblatt would enjoy)
2) Are these characters reacting to a world that fell out of love with the subject long before Jameson proclaimed its death? This week's readings have made our relation to the author and his or her intent more ambivalent than in previous weeks when it was completely forbidden, so I'll ask another question: did Mary Shelley foresee the death of the subject in the increasingly corporate environment of industrial age? If so, what do the pursuits of Walton and Victor ultimately say about the subject?
The Creature's Body as a Symbolic Act
According to Fredric Jameson in "The Political Unconscious," "the 'interpretation' of the unique facial decorations of the Caduveo Indians--the starting point will be an immanent description of the formal and structural peculiarities of this body art; yet it must be a description already pre-prepared and oriented toward transcending the purely formalistic, a movement which is achieved not by abandoning the formal level for something extrinsic to it--such as some inertly social "content"--but rather immanently, by construing purely formal patterns as a symbolic enactment of the social within the formal and the aesthetic."(1828)
Trying to tie in Jameson's quote with last week's discussion regarding ethnic and cultural studies, I was wondering if the creation of the body of the Creature from multiple parts of unknown human bodies could be interpreted as Victor Frankenstein's way of turning the Creature's physical form into a symbolic representation of Ethnic or Cultural "Otherness." By making his body a human physiological pastiche, the Creature could be reflective of two things: a) He could be representative of the schizophrenic nature of the all-encompassing view of the individual in what we will later recognize as the modern and postmodern world. b) He could be representative of the Western world's view of the all-encompassing other. If he is the latter, it could be said that Frankenstein's repulsion towards the Creature is the West's attitude towards anyone outside of their world, making the society come off as a isolationist. If he is the former, then Mary Shelley not only succeeded in creating the first work of science fiction, but she may have also succeeded in creating the first postmodern man.
Trying to tie in Jameson's quote with last week's discussion regarding ethnic and cultural studies, I was wondering if the creation of the body of the Creature from multiple parts of unknown human bodies could be interpreted as Victor Frankenstein's way of turning the Creature's physical form into a symbolic representation of Ethnic or Cultural "Otherness." By making his body a human physiological pastiche, the Creature could be reflective of two things: a) He could be representative of the schizophrenic nature of the all-encompassing view of the individual in what we will later recognize as the modern and postmodern world. b) He could be representative of the Western world's view of the all-encompassing other. If he is the latter, it could be said that Frankenstein's repulsion towards the Creature is the West's attitude towards anyone outside of their world, making the society come off as a isolationist. If he is the former, then Mary Shelley not only succeeded in creating the first work of science fiction, but she may have also succeeded in creating the first postmodern man.
The Female Writer as Representation of the Other
Bell Hooks, in her work entitled “Postmodern Blackness” discusses the notion that there is a failure to recognize the presence of the black female writer in the realm of postmodernism. She questions that if in a world that is discussing the topic of “othering” the black woman is still not included, then where will there ever be a space for her writing? This notion proves interesting to me in that, for my final paper, I am focusing on the representation of the other in society, something which is also on Hooks’ mind. Similarly, Mary Shelley experiences the female “othering” in the realm of writing, in that her work was originally published under her husband’s name. Thus, this lack of inclusion of females in the literary world depicts the struggle between the male dominant class and the female “other” that is attempting to assimilate into it. As with various instances in the discussion of the factions in society, the group that is othered must exist on the outskirts of society, slowly trying to permeate into the accepted faction. This is often not something that is easily achieved, being that the presence of the other forces into question the foundation upon which the dominant class was built. However, in the case of female writers, it is obvious that they were able to achieve inclusion, and through doing so, prove that their work and ideas were, and are just as valid as those of their male peers.
Tampering with the evidence
"I am fascinated by the signs of alteration, tampering, even destructiveness which many museums try to simply efface" (Greenblatt, 2159).
"How were they originally used? What cultural and material conditions made possible their production? What were the feelings of those who originally held these objects, cherished them, collected them, and possessed them? What is the meaning of my relationship to these same objects now that they are displayed to me here, in this museum, on this day?" (Greenblatt, 2161).
I find Greenblatt's sentiments compelling, and wonder if we can apply them Shelley. How has the text of Frankenstein itself been tampered with by Percy, the publishers, and Mary by herself (during the novel's original drafting and of course it's reissue in 1831). Also, how has our culture's treatment of the story of Frankenstein since the time of its publishing affected its overall meaning?
That's all for now. I connected our readings regarding postmodernism to Frankenstein in my seminar paper, which I will post on blackboard shortly.
Dan
Monday, November 29, 2010
New-Historicism Seminar Paper
Hello!
I've posted this week's paper on Blackboard as a .pdf.
See you all on Wednesday.
ezt
I've posted this week's paper on Blackboard as a .pdf.
See you all on Wednesday.
ezt
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
When Worlds Collide
So, in correspondence with our readings in Ethnic and Racial Studies, I found a really interesting documentary on PBS on the creation of Latin America and Mestiza Culture. I'm posting it here just in case anyone is interested in watching it. Enjoy!
http://www.pbs.org/kcet/when-worlds-collide/video/
http://www.pbs.org/kcet/when-worlds-collide/video/
Monday, November 22, 2010
Hybridity
Anzuldua states that “all identities are hybrid, formed over time through the interaction of multiple cultures.” Thus, calling for a united and isolated culture can “only do harm” in a world of hybridity (2096). It seems to me that Anzuldua is in favor of a “hybrid progeny, a mutable, more malleable species with a rich gene pool” (2099). Although I agree with Anzuldua in her attempt to emasculate the hegemony of race, I cannot help but think of all the people who would think that a hybrid, mixed race is monstrous and hideous. This brings to mind Frankenstein’s Creature who is an embodiment of a hybrid race, as he is made from the concoction of deceased bodies. Being a mix of many people, the Creature is deemed hideous and terrifying, and by being rejected by the white hegemonic society, seeks to harm the world of his maker. The fact that the Creature carries many gene pools in his body makes him strong and powerful, able to endure physical hardships. The discrepancy in Frankenstein’s attitude toward the Creature before the latter is alive and after; by first seeing as beautiful and then considering him hideous; and overall his contradictory feelings about the Creature, echoes what Anzaldua says about the reaction hybridity evokes : “the ambivalence from the clash of voices results in insecurity and indecisiveness” (2099). The Creature like the “mestiza” “[has] no country as [his] homeland cast [him] out; yet all countries are [his]” (2101). Similar to the struggle within the different Latino races and between the Latino’s and the Whites in which “the struggles has always been inner, and is played in the outer terrain” (2106), there is a struggle both within Frankenstein and the Creature as well as between themselves. It seems that the lack of awareness towards the Creature is the source of most his troubles; almost everyone he encounters misunderstands him because they are repulsed by his looks which they judge to be evil. Anzuldua believes that awareness must come before inner changes: “nothing changes in the real world unless it happens first in the images of our heads” (2106).
Victor, Victor Victor!!
"The development of techno-sciences has become a means of increasing disease, not fighting it."
I've always wondered why Victor chose to use his scientific knowledge to create a new being. After discovering how to animate a previously lifeless being, why didn't he wake up his mother? Why didn't he reinstate her life? Why didn't he realize that a relationship between a man and a woman is also a means of creating and animating a[n always new] life? Why did he take bits and pieces of different beings to create an entirely new one? Why didn't his conscious step in earlier? Why didn't he question himself and his motives? "Certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men!" is said by- of all people- Elizabeth in response to Justine Moritz (61). Why did Victor not recognize the same? Why did he increase the disease and not fight it?
Victor is a slave to himself and his ego. The proof is seen everywhere- after reading a letter sent to him from another, he never commiserates or empathizes. The man can't sympathize with anyone- especially the monster. After creating the monster, Victor runs away into nature... and his thoughts of the monster are that of fear and loathing. He takes no personal responsibility whatsoever: "When I thought of him, I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation" (60). "I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head..." (112). What makes Victor feel "guiltless"? Yes, he admits often that he was the "true murderer," but he does not seem to believe it (57, 59, 61). Instead, he seems to say it for dramatic effect. What makes him think that he is truly guiltless? His unwavering ego.
When he and the monster are face to face, Victor asks, "why do you call to my remembrance circumstances off which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author?" (67). The obvious answer is "because you're responsible for these circumstances," but it's ridiculous to respond at this point. Either way, it's all about him. Although he cannot five sympathy, he fully expects sympathy... Of the monster, "you have made me wretched...you have left me no power..." (67). Marsha, Marsha Marsha!!
An interesting moment of sanity occurs during Victor's imprisonment, during supposed bouts of "madness." He shouts, "I am the cause of this- I murdered her. William, Justine, Henry- they all died by my hands" (128). Why does it need to be "madness" in order for Victor to admit his guilt? Why is he absolved of it when sane? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Or maybe, in this situation, his ego is removed, leaving him able to admit- in all honesty- his guilt.
Mostly, I ask why Victor can't empathize with the monster. The easy answer would be that the monster is the "other," and Victor is acting as the more dominant party. It is his lack of empathy and sympathy that starts his entire journey- if he had though ahead to the consequences of his actions, things would have turned out differently. If he had been able to put himself in the monster's place, things would have turned out differently. It is obvious now that he could not, and I feel it is his ego to blame. In that way, I find that the development of the techno-sciences has become a means of increasing disease because of the human ego. Not enough empathy and sympathy- thinking outside of and beyond oneself. Shelley seems to be saying this, exploring with, "Victor couldn't do it and look what happened to him."
Victor, Victor, Victor.
V is not for Victory.
I've always wondered why Victor chose to use his scientific knowledge to create a new being. After discovering how to animate a previously lifeless being, why didn't he wake up his mother? Why didn't he reinstate her life? Why didn't he realize that a relationship between a man and a woman is also a means of creating and animating a[n always new] life? Why did he take bits and pieces of different beings to create an entirely new one? Why didn't his conscious step in earlier? Why didn't he question himself and his motives? "Certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men!" is said by- of all people- Elizabeth in response to Justine Moritz (61). Why did Victor not recognize the same? Why did he increase the disease and not fight it?
Victor is a slave to himself and his ego. The proof is seen everywhere- after reading a letter sent to him from another, he never commiserates or empathizes. The man can't sympathize with anyone- especially the monster. After creating the monster, Victor runs away into nature... and his thoughts of the monster are that of fear and loathing. He takes no personal responsibility whatsoever: "When I thought of him, I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation" (60). "I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head..." (112). What makes Victor feel "guiltless"? Yes, he admits often that he was the "true murderer," but he does not seem to believe it (57, 59, 61). Instead, he seems to say it for dramatic effect. What makes him think that he is truly guiltless? His unwavering ego.
When he and the monster are face to face, Victor asks, "why do you call to my remembrance circumstances off which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author?" (67). The obvious answer is "because you're responsible for these circumstances," but it's ridiculous to respond at this point. Either way, it's all about him. Although he cannot five sympathy, he fully expects sympathy... Of the monster, "you have made me wretched...you have left me no power..." (67). Marsha, Marsha Marsha!!
An interesting moment of sanity occurs during Victor's imprisonment, during supposed bouts of "madness." He shouts, "I am the cause of this- I murdered her. William, Justine, Henry- they all died by my hands" (128). Why does it need to be "madness" in order for Victor to admit his guilt? Why is he absolved of it when sane? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Or maybe, in this situation, his ego is removed, leaving him able to admit- in all honesty- his guilt.
Mostly, I ask why Victor can't empathize with the monster. The easy answer would be that the monster is the "other," and Victor is acting as the more dominant party. It is his lack of empathy and sympathy that starts his entire journey- if he had though ahead to the consequences of his actions, things would have turned out differently. If he had been able to put himself in the monster's place, things would have turned out differently. It is obvious now that he could not, and I feel it is his ego to blame. In that way, I find that the development of the techno-sciences has become a means of increasing disease because of the human ego. Not enough empathy and sympathy- thinking outside of and beyond oneself. Shelley seems to be saying this, exploring with, "Victor couldn't do it and look what happened to him."
Victor, Victor, Victor.
V is not for Victory.
Further Considerations of Race Identity Contextualized Within the Literary Canon
I am posting this question separately from my response for the week as this post may address less specifically this week’s theoretical readings. I wish to pose a broader cultural question, though it does ultimately come back to our texts.
We as students of a master’s program in English study Literature in English. We of course do in our curriculum address texts written in foreign languages but primarily read these texts as translations in English. The philosophical approaches—the theory—is primarily a western philosophical tradition. There are of course exceptions to this, but primarily the Master’s in literature in English is the study of Western texts through Western philosophical approaches. For the curriculum we follow—and just look at the Master’s Exam Reading List--our texts are heavily focused on British Literature even to the exclusion in many cases of the U.S. American literary tradition. For another example, consider that in the Spring just one course in “American” literature is being offered.
But as we begin to discuss racial identity in literature in English, I believe it is worth noting at least for a short moment the differences historical context between Britain and the United States and race relations.
Both the United States and Britain have served as colonial powers; for Britain, that first meant the Americas and then later Africa, India and the Pacific. U.S Colonialism began with the Monroe Doctrine, a presidential edict declaring the Caribbean and American continents the purview of the United States and warning off European powers (though largely ignored) and later expansion into the Pacific. Both nations are guilty of the atrocities associated with colonial exploitation.
However, racial minority identity in the United States and Britain has a different relationship to the white dominant culture. Britain is overwhelmingly white—92% white compared to about 70% in the United States; and while roughly 12% of the United States identifies as black, only about 2% of Britain does. Moreover both nations have a complex but uniquely different history with slavery which has fundamentally influenced race and race relations.
The study of literature in English through the lens of racial identity (and later post-colonial theoretical approaches), raises a normative concern of where and how do these theories fit contextually within the western philosophical approaches that are so inherently dependent on white males. Barbara Christian goes as far as to say that “there has been a takeover in the literary world by Western philosophers from the old literary elite” (2128). Is minority literature in English marginalized because of an overt racial prejudice or because of a broader prejudice against non-British literature? Is the preference of British literature in the study of literature in English determining a preference for white literature? Or put another way, is deemphasizing American literature also having the effect of marginalizing non-white contributors to the body of literature?
When Henry Louis Gates states that “We must learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix” (Gates 2435), is he addressing all black literature or a specifically American black literature? Gilroy attempts to address the issue by suggesting “it is hard to wonder how much of the recent international enthusiasm for cultural studies is generated by its profound associations with England and the ideas of Englishness” (2560).
British literature must obviously be part of literature in English. However, while the intimate familiarity the English speaking world has with Shakespeare or to a lesser degree Milton or the Bronte sisters or Dickens, can the same be said for American authors within the literary traditions of literature in English. Can it be any surprise that a nation so wholly white as Britain produce so little in the way of minority literary texts?
The more fundamental question then is, can, given the diversity of historical context for race and racism in the United States and Britain (and other English speaking, English writing nations), can there truly be a universal theoretical approach for race identity and if so what are those limitations? Is there a universal blackness, or are race identity theorists attempting to create “absolute, universal standards for human achievement, norms and aspirations” recast from a minority perspective (Gilroy 2562)?
We as students of a master’s program in English study Literature in English. We of course do in our curriculum address texts written in foreign languages but primarily read these texts as translations in English. The philosophical approaches—the theory—is primarily a western philosophical tradition. There are of course exceptions to this, but primarily the Master’s in literature in English is the study of Western texts through Western philosophical approaches. For the curriculum we follow—and just look at the Master’s Exam Reading List--our texts are heavily focused on British Literature even to the exclusion in many cases of the U.S. American literary tradition. For another example, consider that in the Spring just one course in “American” literature is being offered.
But as we begin to discuss racial identity in literature in English, I believe it is worth noting at least for a short moment the differences historical context between Britain and the United States and race relations.
Both the United States and Britain have served as colonial powers; for Britain, that first meant the Americas and then later Africa, India and the Pacific. U.S Colonialism began with the Monroe Doctrine, a presidential edict declaring the Caribbean and American continents the purview of the United States and warning off European powers (though largely ignored) and later expansion into the Pacific. Both nations are guilty of the atrocities associated with colonial exploitation.
However, racial minority identity in the United States and Britain has a different relationship to the white dominant culture. Britain is overwhelmingly white—92% white compared to about 70% in the United States; and while roughly 12% of the United States identifies as black, only about 2% of Britain does. Moreover both nations have a complex but uniquely different history with slavery which has fundamentally influenced race and race relations.
The study of literature in English through the lens of racial identity (and later post-colonial theoretical approaches), raises a normative concern of where and how do these theories fit contextually within the western philosophical approaches that are so inherently dependent on white males. Barbara Christian goes as far as to say that “there has been a takeover in the literary world by Western philosophers from the old literary elite” (2128). Is minority literature in English marginalized because of an overt racial prejudice or because of a broader prejudice against non-British literature? Is the preference of British literature in the study of literature in English determining a preference for white literature? Or put another way, is deemphasizing American literature also having the effect of marginalizing non-white contributors to the body of literature?
When Henry Louis Gates states that “We must learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix” (Gates 2435), is he addressing all black literature or a specifically American black literature? Gilroy attempts to address the issue by suggesting “it is hard to wonder how much of the recent international enthusiasm for cultural studies is generated by its profound associations with England and the ideas of Englishness” (2560).
British literature must obviously be part of literature in English. However, while the intimate familiarity the English speaking world has with Shakespeare or to a lesser degree Milton or the Bronte sisters or Dickens, can the same be said for American authors within the literary traditions of literature in English. Can it be any surprise that a nation so wholly white as Britain produce so little in the way of minority literary texts?
The more fundamental question then is, can, given the diversity of historical context for race and racism in the United States and Britain (and other English speaking, English writing nations), can there truly be a universal theoretical approach for race identity and if so what are those limitations? Is there a universal blackness, or are race identity theorists attempting to create “absolute, universal standards for human achievement, norms and aspirations” recast from a minority perspective (Gilroy 2562)?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Limits of New Theoretical Approaches
Henry Louis Gates claims “We must learn to read a black text within a black formal cultural matrix as well as its ‘white’ matrix” and that it is “necessary because the existence of a black canon is a historically contingent phenomenon” (Gates 2435). Is Gates calling for the creation “together with itself, organically, one or more strata of intellectuals which give it homogeneity and awareness of its own function” (Gramsci 1002)? Is he calling to cast off the anxiety of influence of a white male canon, or does he accept that black literary theory and black traditions can and should coexist with the Western tradition?
Henry Louis Gates also serves as a faculty member at Harvard University, a renowned educational institution, but one that has also served as a launching platform for the privileged white male. As a faculty member at an institution of the State, can he truly be considered part of an emergent culture bringing about “new meanings and values, new practices, new significances and experiences” (Williams 1431)? Has Gates simply become a component of the dominant culture?
Barbara Christian suggests that “because those who have effected the takeover have the power…first of all to be published, and thereby to determine the ideas which are deemed valuable, some of our most daring and potentially radical critics…have been influenced, even coopted, into speaking a language and defining their discussion in terms alien to and opposed to our needs and orientation” (Christian 2129). Christian is referring to the limitations of theoretical approaches of studying literature. That is, once more approaching Bloom’s anxiety of influence and posing the question of how to create a new approach within the limitations of the existing theoretical approaches. She explains that new “literary critical theory is as hegemonic as the world which it attacks” (2129). Existing theoretical approaches then are ensuring “the subjection to the ruling ideology” (Althusser 1339). How then can theorists resist the dominant culture of existing academia? Is it possible to, as Gates suggests, develop a specifically black literary theoretical approach within the limits of the existing academic structures or are all theorists all limited by existing academic structures?
Henry Louis Gates also serves as a faculty member at Harvard University, a renowned educational institution, but one that has also served as a launching platform for the privileged white male. As a faculty member at an institution of the State, can he truly be considered part of an emergent culture bringing about “new meanings and values, new practices, new significances and experiences” (Williams 1431)? Has Gates simply become a component of the dominant culture?
Barbara Christian suggests that “because those who have effected the takeover have the power…first of all to be published, and thereby to determine the ideas which are deemed valuable, some of our most daring and potentially radical critics…have been influenced, even coopted, into speaking a language and defining their discussion in terms alien to and opposed to our needs and orientation” (Christian 2129). Christian is referring to the limitations of theoretical approaches of studying literature. That is, once more approaching Bloom’s anxiety of influence and posing the question of how to create a new approach within the limitations of the existing theoretical approaches. She explains that new “literary critical theory is as hegemonic as the world which it attacks” (2129). Existing theoretical approaches then are ensuring “the subjection to the ruling ideology” (Althusser 1339). How then can theorists resist the dominant culture of existing academia? Is it possible to, as Gates suggests, develop a specifically black literary theoretical approach within the limits of the existing academic structures or are all theorists all limited by existing academic structures?
The Language We Speak When We Theorize about the Creature
In "Talking Black: Critical Signs of the Times," Henry Louis Gates calls for the use of Afro-American language--the same vernacular that Alexander Crummell decried as "inferior" in the nineteenth century--in order preserve black "critical tradition" and avoid losing identity and legitimacy at the hands of Euro-centric universality and hegemony. To theorize about the Afro-American experience in the language and terms of the white master's narrative would, as Gates implies at the end, strip theory of its blackness.
Shelley's text offers competing linguistic narratives: the novel's empowered and universal narratives--the portions narrated by Walton and Frankenstein--and the creature's narrative. Even the title, "creature," that we use to identify the being makes its narrative essentially "other." The creature begins its narrative (I use the very 'name' that I have just insisted is used by Walton and Frankenstein to alienate the creation because I find myself trapped in their narrative's universalizing discourse) by recalling its origin, and it says "It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original aera of my being" (68). In this line, the creature asserts its own legitimacy by referring to itself as 'I' and claims ownership of its own existence with the phrase 'my being.'
The creature is engaged in reflection--it has already been incorporated by society's hegemonic language when it speaks of its origin. Though the use of 'I' and 'my being' is empowering, language has divorced the creature from its authentic identity; that "originial aera" which the creature can no longer remember represents a time of purity and originality prior to the creature's baptism into the English "matrix." A pure recollection of those moments, re-presented without the knowledge the creature gained after being appropriated by the rest of society's existing culture, would "defamiliarize" readers--including Frankenstein and Walton--but would preserve the true "integrity" of the creature's experience and history.
Thus, my questions: "How does the creature engage with language in a way that still preserves some of his true identity? In other words, what "perversions" of the language work to actually save the creature's cultural integrity? Do our discussions of the text work only to perpetuate the essentializing process first undertaken by Victor's narrative? How can we discuss the text in a way that lends the creature more legitimacy?
Shelley's text offers competing linguistic narratives: the novel's empowered and universal narratives--the portions narrated by Walton and Frankenstein--and the creature's narrative. Even the title, "creature," that we use to identify the being makes its narrative essentially "other." The creature begins its narrative (I use the very 'name' that I have just insisted is used by Walton and Frankenstein to alienate the creation because I find myself trapped in their narrative's universalizing discourse) by recalling its origin, and it says "It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original aera of my being" (68). In this line, the creature asserts its own legitimacy by referring to itself as 'I' and claims ownership of its own existence with the phrase 'my being.'
The creature is engaged in reflection--it has already been incorporated by society's hegemonic language when it speaks of its origin. Though the use of 'I' and 'my being' is empowering, language has divorced the creature from its authentic identity; that "originial aera" which the creature can no longer remember represents a time of purity and originality prior to the creature's baptism into the English "matrix." A pure recollection of those moments, re-presented without the knowledge the creature gained after being appropriated by the rest of society's existing culture, would "defamiliarize" readers--including Frankenstein and Walton--but would preserve the true "integrity" of the creature's experience and history.
Thus, my questions: "How does the creature engage with language in a way that still preserves some of his true identity? In other words, what "perversions" of the language work to actually save the creature's cultural integrity? Do our discussions of the text work only to perpetuate the essentializing process first undertaken by Victor's narrative? How can we discuss the text in a way that lends the creature more legitimacy?
The Other in White Hegemonic Society
Grace Ghazzawi
Introduction to Graduate Literary Theory
Dr. Larry Lyons
November 22, 2010
The Representation of “The Other” in White Hegemonic Society
Representation of “the other” in an established society emerges as a topic of comparison between Gloria Anzaldua’s excerpts from Borderlands and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. In Anzaldua’s various essays, portrayal of a person of mixed ancestry into the world of white hegemonic rule is detailed. These ideas, then, of the entrance of an “other” into the dominant white society are paralleled in Shelley’s Frankenstein. Both authors challenge the manner in which society views outsiders, and the notion that, in attempts to create an identity of their own, “the other” must transcend the borders and boundaries that are oppressing their development. However, problems undoubtedly arise, in that through challenging the patriarchal white conventions (Anzeldua, 2099), it is difficult to accomplish anything other than an increasing sense of animosity between these two, different factions. It is because of this sense of entrapment, due to their inability to be visible in society, and the coinciding difficulty in advancing the status and acceptance of “the other” that the respective experiences of such othered individuals become exceedingly important. Both Anzaldua’s works in Borderlands and Mary Shelley’s commentary in Frankenstein, depict the harsh realities of living as “the other” in society, and moreover, the manner in which the constraint of such factions by the dominant class alters the sense of self of these individuals, ultimately making them feel invisible in the society they are attempting to assimilate into.
Anzaldua relates, in an essay entitled “La Encrucijada” the experience of existence in the midst of numerous crossroads. This notion then, introduces the idea that as “the other,” one has no place to really exist, no true characteristics to call one’s own. She states, “As a mestiza I have no country…I have no race. I am cultureless because…I challenge the collective” (2101). Anzaldua, being a mestiza, a person of mixed race, is unable to relate to any of the societal structures that bind individuals to one another and to a larger group. In her inability to find a country to call her own, a race that she can identify with, or a culture of which she is a member, Anzaldua finds herself in a sort of solitary confinement in the midst of society. Regardless of the vastness of the society in which she lives, without others to whom she can relate, she will be alone, othered, by those around her. Such, is also the experience of the creation in Frankenstein. As he is the only creature created in such an image, it becomes impossible for him to find the kinship that humanity thrives on. Furthermore, Frankenstein denies him a companion after he tells him he will create one, even furthering his desolation. In the same manner in which Anzaldua discusses that as a person of mixed lineage, she “suffers from excessive humility and self effacement, shame of self and self depreciation” (2103), the creation becomes self loathing due to his loneliness and his lack of acceptance from the society that he is thrust into. This notion then, that the manner in which an individual is treated by society affects their developmental psychology is a concept that can be attributed to the behavioral patterns of both Anzaldua’s mestiza/o and the creature created by Frankenstein. Due to the lack of acceptance, and their inability to exist anywhere but at the crossroads of society, these individuals are unable to develop an actual sense of self, knowing that, even in the chance that they do overcome their self depreciation, they will ultimately never be taken in by society.
In Frankenstein, the reader is shown, through the telling of the creature’s attempts to assimilate into society, the experience of “the other” in a white hegemonic society. The creature is not welcomed by anyone because of his immense differences that challenge the status quo. The differences of the creation force society to internalize the possibility of change, something which it clearly does not want to do. In a society that is wary of anything that will disrupt its balance, the creature becomes the manifestation of instability, the face of societal transformation, that it undoubtedly unwelcome. The creature is, as Anzaldua so eloquently relates, “an act of kneading, of uniting and joining that not only has produced both a creature of darkness and a creature of light, but also a creature that questions the definitions of light and dark and gives them new meaning” (2101). In the worlds presented in the works, where change is discouraged, and difference is viewed as the root of all evil, Frankenstein’s creation forces society to question these beliefs, in that, through his formation, he gives a new meaning to the concept of existence.
The emergence of “the other” in society challenges the way that said society functions, forcing it to reconsider the morals that it was built on. However, in societies like the ones examined in both Anzaldua’s works and Frankenstein, that preach their morality and humanity, it is interesting to note the lack of these qualities in their treatment of “the other.” Through their mistreatment of these factions in society, the truth behind the white hegemonic power is uncovered, solidifying the fact that their ideal society is one of inclusivity. This inclusivity forces all who are not part of the dominant social class into the borderlands, the outskirts of society, where they are forced into invisibility. Such mistreatment, shown in both Anzaldua’s works and Frankenstein, depicts how the dominant white culture is ultimately destroying “the other” by taking away their self determination and making them “weak and empty” (2105). However, if society welcomes instead of rejects “the other,” it will not only be adhering to the morals and standards of humanity that it alleges it attains, but it will allow for the creation of a new consciousness which would transcend the existing, destructive power structures in society, and instead, replace them with a culture who’s foundation is based on the acceptance of all, which would thus diminish the faction of “the other.”
Works Cited
Anzaldua, Gloria. “From Borderlands.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Peter
Sullivan. Norton: 2010. 2098-2109.
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed J. Paul Hunter. New York: Norton, 1996.
Monologic, The Binary (again), and a call for a new kind of criticism
When reading Barbara Christian's, Gloria Anzaldua, and Henry Louis Gates, I couldn't help but think back to the Bloomian process of misprision, and to Deleuze and Guattari's concepts of "minority literature" and (yet again) the Rhizome.
Christian tels us that "the terms 'minority' and 'discourse' are located firmly in a Western dualistic or "binary" frame which sees the rest of the world as minor, and tries to convince the rest of the world that it it is major, usually through force and then through language, even as it claims many of the ideas that we, its 'historical' other, have known and spoken about for so long" (Christian, 2130). Yet again, we find that the Western Aborescent model of knowledge is oppressive and based in false binary logic.
Gloria Anzaldua seems to be calling for a Rhizomatic model when she says "A massive uprooting of dualistic thinking in the individual and collective consciousness is the beginning of a long struggle, but one tat could, in our best hopes, brung us to the end of rape, violence, and war" (Anzaldua, 2101).
I know I'm probably beating a dead horse (my last post had to do with the limitations of our tendency to organize knowledge in this way, and I'm pretty sure more criticism of binary thinking is coming up in our readings on New Historicism. Still, I can't help but point out this recurring theme.
Christian moves from a discussion of Western dualism towards our tendency towards "monologic," which I believe is also related to the aborescent model of knowledge. She tells us that we have a "tendency to want to make the world less complex by organizing it according to one principle" (2134). Is this "one principle" the "seed" of the aborescent model? Should we move towards a more Rhizomatic model of knowledge? When I first read Deleuze and Guattari, I thought they were pretty out there, but I'm starting to find the problems that they point out everywhere I look. Christian would say that the powers that be suppress a more Rhizomatic model of thinking because "variety, multiplicity, eroticism are difficult to control" (Christian, 2134).
Henry Louis Gates Jr tells us that some black authors and critics, such as Alexander Crummell, felt that "mastering the master's tongue was the sole path to civilization, intellectual freedom, and social equality for the black person" (Gates, 2432). This would support the current social hegemony: "We must understand as well that the quest was lost, in a major sense, before it had even begun, simply because the terms of our own self-representation have been provided by the master" (Gates, 2437). Gates, however, believes that blacks should embrace rather than abandon the "black vernacular, the language we use to speak to each other when no outsiders are around" (Gates, 2437). Is his call for a new kind of criticism, departing from traditional Western criticism, a part of the Bloomian process of misprision? Does Gates believe in Deleuze and Guattari's idea that minority literature should be written in the major language, but that that language should be invested with the language and culture of the minor? Or does Gates call for an abandonment of the master language altogether?
That's all I've got for now. Hope everyone's having a great weekend!
Dan
Saturday, November 20, 2010
My Terror is Greater than Yours
Perhaps our race and ethnicity readings will influence us to consider that Victor Frankenstein’s creature is not as different as once believed. He contrasts the context of Victor’s world, but – as evidenced by this week’s authors – just because one is unlike their society does not mean their ingrained value is any less relevant or useful.
As the Norton introduction points out, “Anzaldua is arguing that our whole understanding of identity has to be revised. The old notion that we can know who we are by tracing our roots, by referring back to some stable point of origin, has to be abandoned. There is no pure, single source” (Norton 2097). So, as we segue from our discussions about gender into discussions about ethnicity and race, we may ask the question: does it matter how or what the creature was? Does the novel challenge us to “accept the doppelganger in your psyche” in an effort to see – and accept – the values inherent in the “other” (2104)?
In an attempt to logically piggyback on Vanessa’s insightful and astute paper below, Victor begins to feel sympathy and compassion for the creature because of his eloquent oratory, but cannot get past the way the creature looks. The two of them have so much in common, yet one of Victor’s primary reasons for rejecting the monster is not because of his mind, or his speech, but for his appearance. Are these not the basic principles of racism, xenophobia, and lookism (99)?
Within the novel’s reality, however, the creature was not a mestiza with any chance of connecting with his “roots,” Instead, he was a singular mutant tormented by the impossibility of finding his place, one who could never experience “a struggle of flesh, a struggle of borders” because he had no borders and wore flesh that would always remain untraceable (2099). Perhaps Victor’s terror of the creature was not as great as the creature’s terror of his rudderless drift; this perception makes Shelley’s novel that much more horrifying.
As the Norton introduction points out, “Anzaldua is arguing that our whole understanding of identity has to be revised. The old notion that we can know who we are by tracing our roots, by referring back to some stable point of origin, has to be abandoned. There is no pure, single source” (Norton 2097). So, as we segue from our discussions about gender into discussions about ethnicity and race, we may ask the question: does it matter how or what the creature was? Does the novel challenge us to “accept the doppelganger in your psyche” in an effort to see – and accept – the values inherent in the “other” (2104)?
In an attempt to logically piggyback on Vanessa’s insightful and astute paper below, Victor begins to feel sympathy and compassion for the creature because of his eloquent oratory, but cannot get past the way the creature looks. The two of them have so much in common, yet one of Victor’s primary reasons for rejecting the monster is not because of his mind, or his speech, but for his appearance. Are these not the basic principles of racism, xenophobia, and lookism (99)?
Within the novel’s reality, however, the creature was not a mestiza with any chance of connecting with his “roots,” Instead, he was a singular mutant tormented by the impossibility of finding his place, one who could never experience “a struggle of flesh, a struggle of borders” because he had no borders and wore flesh that would always remain untraceable (2099). Perhaps Victor’s terror of the creature was not as great as the creature’s terror of his rudderless drift; this perception makes Shelley’s novel that much more horrifying.
Monday seminar paper
Matthew Savage
26:350:503: Introduction to Graduate Literary Study
Prof. Larry Lyons
November 20, 2010
Difference and Essentialism
Barbra Christian and Henry Louis Gates Jr. are both engaged with Black and Ethnic studies through what appear to be their exclusive notions of theory. In opposition to predominantly White and Western formulations, Christian and Gates both attempt to advance the roles of the Black critics and the Black authors through divergent notions of theory. Gates’s “Talking Black: Critical Signs of the Times” views literary criticism and theory as potentially valuable and advancing, while Christian’s “The Race for Theory” is a personally inflected call for the abandonment of entrenched critical methods and what is generally understood as literary theory. Though Gates and Christian may espouse different opinions of literary theory and criticism, they converge on many points that further inscribe the essential paradigms of racial difference and distinction. In its own fashion, each theorist’s essay fails to destabilize the socially ascribed oppositions and divisions responsible for the racial binaries and inequalities that they both realize to deride and de-value Black literatures and criticism; instead, they enforce and affirm racial dualism and racial essentialism.
Shelley’s Frankenstein can be used to arrive at a better understanding of the dangers of essentialism even though it does not specifically deal with the literatures and identities concerning Christian and Gates. During Safie’s reeducation, Felix explains and separates races based on what he understands to be essential of their characters. With “slothful Asiatics” he reduces an entire continent of peoples to an erroneously ascribed characteristic (Shelley 80). Also limiting and negatively generalizing are the personal reflections that litter the Monster’s narrative. These personally inflected remarks are totalizing; they are employed by the Monster in the creation of an identity. Reactionary and oppositional, this identity is limited by the Monster’s belief, both imposed and self-ascribed, in its fundamental or essential difference – “I was not even of the same nature as man” (Shelley 80).
Christian’s critique of Western theory latently functions to further inscribe racial essentialism and difference. After identifying current literary theory as an academic, esoteric and exclusionary commodity that is either pandered or protected by predominantly White and Western producers, Christian presents a contrasting portrayal of Black criticism and theory (Christian 2128). Invoking a racially essential character culturally or biologically derived, Christian appropriates what she deems to be distinct of ‘Blackness’ in the production of a perspective that escapes the appellation of ‘theory’ only in distancing itself from all that is deplored of White and Western theory. This differentiation is self-defeating in that racial binaries are affirmed or re-inscribed. In proclaiming that “people of color have always theorized – but in forms quite different from the Western form of abstract language”, Christian instantiates inherent racial differences that limit and further entrench parties on both sides of a racial distinction (2129).
Opposed to Western literary theory, Christian explains that “My folk […] have always been a race for theory – though more in the form of the hieroglyph, a written figure which is both sensual and abstract, both beautiful and communicative” (2129). While she identifies the stultifying foundations and exclusive nature of what has become accepted as literary theory in the West, Christian instantiates a racially dualistic, racially essential and reactionary approach to theory; ‘Black theorizing’ is distanced, reduced and mystified. In her language describing ‘Black theorization’, Christian’s use of “the hieroglyph” – the ancient written language of Egyptians in Africa - is suggestive of her agenda to establish and promote that which is distinctly Black, but this distinction further fuels the binary opposition out of which arose the racial inequalities and injustices she observes and intends to remedy. Speaking of the new hegemonic critical theory, Christian condemns “the language it creates as one which mystified rather than clarifies our conditions, making it possible for a few people who know that particular language to control the critical scene” (2131). It is easy to see that a similar system is enacted here with the hieroglyphs. Subverting her call to limit or abandon institutionalizing and exclusionary theory, Christian fails to depart from the underlying system of racial essentialism and exclusion that prompted that institution. For all of the emphasis on the “multiplicity of experience” in Christian’s “The Race for Theory”, where she does incorporate the concerns of different classes and racial identities, the essay reads as a-historical and exclusive; the “mechanical man” is appropriated (or created) and reduced as a counterpoint to enact racial essentialisms (Christian 2130).
Similarly to Christian, Gates identifies the cultural, and potentially political, power that is housed in the language and concerns of literary theory and criticism and observes how that power is monopolized and exerted by primarily White and Western literary theorists and critics. While Christian reverts to racial essentialism in distancing ‘Black theory’ from dominant (White Western) theory, Gates calls for the critic of Black literature “not to shy away from white power – that is, literary theory – but to translate it into the black idiom” (2435). While embracing racial dualism in literary theory that is disallowed by Christian, Gates still affirms fundamental and essential racial differences when he calls for the synthesis of “critical principles peculiar to the black literary traditions” (2435). Despite his understanding that “race is a text (an array of discursive practices), not an essence”, Gates continuously reverts to (or insists on) the promulgation of this racialized text (2434). Gates may deconstruct this ‘text’, but he does not abandon it and the insubstantial ‘text’ that informs race is shown in Gates essay to become an identifying essence.
The problematic and limiting racial essentialism interwoven in Gates’s and Christian’s concerns with theory may be investigated further through Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Gates asks, “Can we derive a valid, integral “black” text or criticism or ideology from borrowed or appropriated forms?” (2437). Supplementing the identifier “black” with “female”, this question may have been considered by Mary Shelley in her writing of Frankenstein, but as an author and a text produced from within a Western tradition, Gates and Christian implicitly deny Shelley space in their conversation. According to Gates “doubleness, alienation, equivocality […] have been recurrent tropes for the black tradition”, but these tropes and the frustrations they convey can be traced in other works, like Frankenstein – especially depicted in the Monster’s narrative (2434).
Reduced to the hegemonic White Maleness that Christian distances from and Gates aims to translate, works and critics that may share in and illuminate the concerns of the Black writer and literary critic may be unduly excluded; this is the danger of essentialism. The racial essentialism of Christian and Gates may be intended towards advancement and liberation, but it inevitably becomes limiting and totalizing.
Works Cited
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed J. Paul Hunter. New York: Norton, 1996. Print.
Christian, Barbara. “The Race for Theory”. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Eds. Vincent B. Leitch et al. New York: Norton, 2010. 2128-2137. Print.
Gates, Henry Louis Jr. “Talking Black: Critical Signs of the Times”. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Eds. Vincent B. Leitch et al. New York: Norton, 2010. 2430-2438. Print.
Seminar Paper for Monday
Vanessa Velez
Intro. to Graduate Literature Studies
Prof. Larry Lyons
20 November 2010
Defining “Otherness” in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
Identity is a topic which is addressed from many different viewpoints in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The novel addresses concerns regarding national and ethnic identity, but also transcends these issues and moves towards the question of how individuals self-indentify and how they are capable of creating their own world based upon their intellectual pursuits. The novel in a way points out that many of the characters, not only the Creature, are facing the dilemma of trying to define themselves outside the limits of heritage into a world of their own choosing and creation. By first analyzing the position of the Creature from a racial and ethnic standpoint we can then see how many of his obstacles can be compared to the experiences of other characters in the novel. Beginning the analysis from this standpoint will give us a better view of how the Creature is not the only character who could be considered the historic “other” within the story, but that the story itself is based upon multiple views of “otherness” through different character perspectives.
According to Gloria Anzaldúa in her essay “Borderlands/ La Frontera: The New Mestiza” (2098) “the mestiza’s dual or multiple personality is plagued by psychic restlessness…La mestiza is a product of the transfer of the cultural and spiritual values of one group to another.”(2099) As can be seen in the novel, The Creature in Frankenstein is a prime example of Anzaldúa’s statement. Not only is he alienated by the world because of his form, but he is composed of different people’s body parts. In a way we can think of his body as an allegory for the compound psychic nature of La Mestiza. Anzaldúa states:
“As a mestiza I have no country, my homeland cast me out…yet I am cultured because I am participating in the creation of yet another culture, a new story to explain the world and our participation in it, a new value system with images and symbols that connect us to each other and to the planet. Soy un amasamiento, I am an act of kneading, of uniting and joining that not only has produced both a creature of darkness and a creature of light, but also a creature that questions the definitions of light and dark and gives them new meanings.” (2101)
Corresponding to this statement made by Anzaldúa, after learning of the outside world through overhearing Safie’s lessons, the Creature states “And what was I? Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant…I was, besides, endowed with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even of the same nature as man…When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled, and whom all men disowned?”(81) By having the Creature question his own identity and place in the world, Shelley calls upon the reader to question what defines his or her idea of ethnic identification. Is ethnic or national status ascribed to us at birth, or do we, as individuals, create a space within society for ourselves to exist? Anzaldúa stresses in “Borderlands” that to relieve oneself of this psychic struggle with inner duality we must rise above the “borders and walls that are supposed to keep the undesirable ideas out” (2100) and instead focus on the creation of a “new mythos—that is, a change in the way we perceive reality, the way we see ourselves, and the ways we behave—La mestiza creates a new consciousness.”(2101) However, the Creature does not immediately ascribe himself to Anzaldúa’s point of view of self creation.
In his essay “Talking Black: Critical Signs of the Times” Henry Louis Gates Jr. describes Alexander Crummell’s efforts to prove his intellectual competency to then South Carolinian Senator John C. Calhoun by mastering Greek syntax. Crummell narrates a story in which he overheard Calhoun speaking at a dinner “One of the utterances of Mr. Calhoun was to this effect—‘That if he could find a Negro who knew the Greek syntax, he would then believe that the Negro was a human being and should be treated as a man.’”(2431) Crummell accepted Calhoun’s challenge and went on to Queen’s College in Cambridge where he proceeded to master the antiquated syntax, but as Gates Jr. states “Calhoun, we suspect, was not impressed.”(2432)
Much like Crummell, the Creature goes on to educate himself in the writings of Paradise Lost, Plutarch’s Lives, and the Sorrows of Werter, only momentarily drawing sympathy and understanding from Victor. As Victor states in response to the Creature’s story of his beginnings: “His tale, and the feelings he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of fine sensations; and did I not, as his maker, owe him all the portion of happiness that it was in my power to bestow?”(99) However, Victor, rethinking his position, retreats back to his original disposition for loathing of the Creature: “His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him, and sometimes felt a wish to console him; but when I looked upon him, when I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred.”(99)
After this event the Creature resorts to what Anzaldúa described as a “counterstance” which “locks one into a duel of oppressor ad oppressed.”(2100) Although Anzaldúa views this situation as “a step towards liberation from cultural domination”(2100) she resigns “But it is not a way of life. At some point on our way to a new consciousness, we will have to leave the opposite bank, the split between the two mortal combatants somehow healed so that we are on both shores at once.”(2100)
In agreement with Anzaldúa on this point, Barbara Christian in her essay “The Race for Theory”(2128) suggests that the use of language is what could bind people together from all societal realms. However, much like Anzaldúa, she acknowledges what the construction of binary oppositions may create: “Constructs like the center and the periphery reveal that tendency to want to make the world less complex by organizing it according to one principle, to fix it through an idea which is really an ideal.”(2134)
In Frankenstein, however, we can see that this ideal is challenged. Almost every character comes from a background that in a way is as much of a cultural pastiche as the Creature’s quilt-stitched body. For example, minor characters such as Beaufort, Caroline Frankenstein, the De Lacy’s, Safie, and Elizabeth Lavenza all come from a cultural situation of hybridism. After Beaufort has lost his wealth, it is stated “he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness.”(18) When entreating his brother to take his daughter into his care and avoid having her raised by an Italian stepmother, Victor’s uncle states “decide whether you would prefer educating our niece yourself to her being brought up by a stepmother.”(19) The De Lacy’s, much like Beaufort, faced a new life of poverty as a consequence to political dissent, and Safie, as well, came from a bi-cultural household; her mother being Christian and her father being Muslim. From these examples we can see how just about everyone in the novel comes from a state of “otherness”. Their beginnings share many similarities with that of the Creature’s own beginnings; they all had to depart from one threat of cultural oppression to something they would find more suitable to their individual needs. Unlike the Creature, however, most of these characters’ needs are met. The ongoing obstacle for the reader would be to determine is if any of these characters are actually in any way so far removed from the disposition of the Creature.
In closing, we should also examine how the ship plays a part in the telling of Frankenstein in regards to what Paul Gilroy explains in his essay “The Black Atlantic.” “It should be emphasized that ships were the living means by which the points within that Atlantic world were joined. They were mobile elements that stood for the shifting spaces in between the fixed places that they connected. Accordingly they need to be thought of as cultural and political units rather than abstract embodiments of the triangular trade. They were something more—a means to conduct political dissent and possibly a distinct mode of cultural production.”(2572) By having the entire telling of the story take place on the ship, the story is removed from any distinct cultural “center” which could confine its meaning, and the desolate pole in which it sails could be thought of as presenting no “periphery” to which its meaning could be limited. It is in a way isolated but also freed from any boundary which could restrict its signification. Choosing this spatial setting allows readers to remove themselves from the confines of cultural practices or politics which may have been restricted if the story were land-locked, and enables them to step away from the story and view the subjects and topics it presents from a wider perspective.
Bibliography:
Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, and J. Paul Hunter. Frankenstein: the 1818 Text, Contexts, Nineteenth-century Responses, Modern Criticism. New York: W.W. Norton, 1996. Print.
Anzaldúa, Gloria. "From Borderlands/ La Frontera: The New Mestiza." The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. 2nd ed. New York: W.W. Norton &, 2010. 2098-109. Print.
Gates Jr., Henry Louis. "Talking Black: Critical Signs of the Times." Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. 2nd ed. New York: W.W. Norton &, 2010. 2430-438. Print.
Gilroy, Paul. "From The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness." Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. 2nd ed. New York: W.W. Norton &, 2010. 2556-575. Print.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Gender Retribution and the Chase
Frankenstein’s marriage to Elizabeth is not a ceremony of desire—we see Victor’s ambivalence in multiple scenes, and the emotional effect that his fickle interest has on Elizabeth—but what Butler would call a “performance” meant to solidify the groom’s gender. The actual ceremony of marriage and the ensuing physical appropriation of the female body, the consummation of the marriage, are “ritual social dramas” that are reenacted and experienced to reproduce “a set of meanings already socially established” (Butler 2552). This “ritual” is an inevitable social experience that Victor must complete in order to fulfill the ‘male’ identity he was endowed with at birth. Elizabeth’s tears may not actually be rooted in grief over Victor’s tenuous love for her, but could be caused by the fear that she will forever be kept from fulfilling her own gender expectations: she needs to wear the costume of the bride in order to reach what society has deemed a pinnacle of femininity.
These are the stakes when the creature threatens to intervene on the couple’s wedding night. The creature’s promise is not vengeance for stealing a loved one—the creature’s revenge after Frankenstein destroyed a female ‘monster’—it is retribution for denying the creature’s role in the gender performance. While watching the cottagers exist within the confines of a culture that was still altogether alien(ating), the creature became a spectator to the gender performance: the scene is a textual embodiment of what Butler deems a “a performative accomplishment which the mundane social audience, including the actors themselves, come to believe and to perform in the mode of belief” (2552). In the absence of an actress, the creature will forever be a spectator—ungendered and incapable of accessing the social power that society has made inherent within masculinity.
By murdering Elizabeth, the creature is able to engage with Frankenstein at the “polluted” (2545) margins of social normatives. Both are denied their female actresses, denied the ultimate performance of masculinity, and denied a role in the hegemonic heterosexual value system (2544-5). Two males engaged with only one another have to exist literally at world’s edge, chasing one another across a landscape in hopes of a climactic encounter that does not occur—and perhaps the possibility for another meeting was never possible, for there is no script for such an act to follow, no performance that these two can knowingly duplicate. All that exists is their chase.
My question is this: what kind of performance does their chase produce? The creature’s reaction to Victor’s death is not what you’d expect of a victorious rival—was this chase a quest for an impossible love? Or was it two beings deprived of their gender roles engaged in a battle out of sympathetic frustration?
These are the stakes when the creature threatens to intervene on the couple’s wedding night. The creature’s promise is not vengeance for stealing a loved one—the creature’s revenge after Frankenstein destroyed a female ‘monster’—it is retribution for denying the creature’s role in the gender performance. While watching the cottagers exist within the confines of a culture that was still altogether alien(ating), the creature became a spectator to the gender performance: the scene is a textual embodiment of what Butler deems a “a performative accomplishment which the mundane social audience, including the actors themselves, come to believe and to perform in the mode of belief” (2552). In the absence of an actress, the creature will forever be a spectator—ungendered and incapable of accessing the social power that society has made inherent within masculinity.
By murdering Elizabeth, the creature is able to engage with Frankenstein at the “polluted” (2545) margins of social normatives. Both are denied their female actresses, denied the ultimate performance of masculinity, and denied a role in the hegemonic heterosexual value system (2544-5). Two males engaged with only one another have to exist literally at world’s edge, chasing one another across a landscape in hopes of a climactic encounter that does not occur—and perhaps the possibility for another meeting was never possible, for there is no script for such an act to follow, no performance that these two can knowingly duplicate. All that exists is their chase.
My question is this: what kind of performance does their chase produce? The creature’s reaction to Victor’s death is not what you’d expect of a victorious rival—was this chase a quest for an impossible love? Or was it two beings deprived of their gender roles engaged in a battle out of sympathetic frustration?
Don't read this!
This is a little piece of tonight's pie of feminist and queer theory.
Get ready for an awesome class.Elizabeth the Archetypical Woman
After reading Shelley’s Frankenstein, many often wonder why the daughter of early feminist thinker Mary Wollstonecraft did not include any strong feminine roles in her novel. As to the most important female role in the novel, that can be argued, as I am sure Victor Frankenstein’s mother is of more importance to the story than her brief introductory anecdote and appearance in his dream makes her out to be; however, it is Victor’s playfellow and future wife Elizabeth Lavenza that receives the most attention throughout. Elizabeth is positioned opposite Victor as his love-interest and future wife, though she does not play a significant role in her actions or voice. Instead, Shelley portrays Elizabeth as what Beauvoir calls the “living enigma,” a myth from the male perspective. Elizabeth is not a strong and independent woman, rather a simple, bland character easy to overlook. It is obvious that Shelley means for Elizabeth to be this archetypical female character for readers to easily understand her role in the novel as that of Victor’s romantic “other.” Shelley does this on purpose, as to not only use Elizabeth as a motivation and prize for Victor’s actions- vengeful or otherwise- but also as a means to not distract readers from the important relationship in the novel- Frankenstein and his creation. Elizabeth must remain transparent in order to make room for Victor, and she must remain in the background of the novel- sometimes years- for him to finish his complicated duties. In this essay, I will be discussing how Shelley formulates Elizabeth for exactly this purpose.
Elizabeth’s formulation starts in the first chapter of the first volume, as a character in Victor’s history. He begins with her inclusion to the Frankenstein family after Victor’s aunt passes away, leaving Elizabeth Lavenza to Herr Frankenstein’s care. The language surrounding Elizabeth is riddled with an outside opinion on Elizabeth, that of Victor’s mother. Although Elizabeth is the subject, she is pushed to the side by Victor’s mother, the more important point of view according to Victor. Victor “often heard” his “mother say, that she was at that time the most beautiful child she had ever seen, and shewed signs even then of a gentle and affectionate dispostion” (19). It was “these indications, and a desire to bind as closely as possible the ties of domestic love” that “determined my mother to consider Elizabeth as my future wife” (19). Even in her introduction, Elizabeth is not the central focus of the paragraph.
Next, Victor himself describes Elizabeth as “docile and good tempered, yet gay and playful,” and that “although she was lively and animated, her feelings were strong and deep, and her disposition uncommonly affectionate” (19). He is proud of her mind as her “imagination was luxuriant” and her “capability of application” was “great,” though Victor does not support it (19). Instead, he cuts in halfway through describing her to point out their differences: “I delighted in investigating the facts relative to the actual world; she busied herself in following the aerial creations of the poets. The world was to me a secret… to her…a vacancy” (20). It seems Elizabeth is lacking with this vacancy. Shelley leaves a lot of room for interpretation with Elizabeth’s character with Victor’s generalities regarding her. Readers are not meant to look at Elizabeth the character with more interest than any interest Victor gives. Rather, Elizabeth’s role in the novel is simple- that of an attractive partner for Victor.
Elizabeth does not have many functions within the novel, either, outside of personally functioning as a motivation for Victor. After Victor’s mother passes away, Elizabeth takes care of little William, though readers see little evidence of this in the text. After William is murdered, Elizabeth acts as a tie to his home through her letters. Elizabeth’s voice in her letters is typical to the meek female characters portrayed, that of the worrying, always crying damsel: “Dear, Victor, I cannot conclude without again anxiously inquiring concerning your health… I cannot bear to think of the other side of the question; my tears already flow” (41). Elizabeth is a heroine by no standards, and her function extends little past that of concerned future wife.
Of the many myths concerning women, Beauvoir’s myth involving the “feminine “mystery”” is pertinent to Elizabeth’s role in Frankenstein (Norton 1268). Substantiated for the man who “does not understand” a woman, the “feminine mystery” is a happy “substitute” to an “objective resistance for a subjective deficiency of mind; instead of admitting his ignorance, he perceives the presence of a “mystery” outside himself (1268). In this way, the man not only flatters his vanity but also excuses his laziness in learning about his partner. Furthermore, “in the company of a living enigma man remains alone- alone with his dreams, his hopes, his fears, his love, his vanity” (1268). With Elizabeth in this role, Victor is able to leave her in one country to continue his studies in another, personally absolved of any guilt. More importantly, he is alone with his experiment, therefore absolving everyone else in the novel absolved of any guilt. Elizabeth remains innocent and uninvolved.
Shelley makes Elizabeth a bland enough character for readers to forget about as often as Victor does, in order to keep the focus on the tensions between Victor and the creature. Elizabeth’s role is so simple and small that she does not become a distraction to the important story at hand. It makes sense then, that Shelley would include such a transparent and simple female character in the novel. Elizabeth’s role is none other than Victor’s future partner. Her use to the novel is congruent with her use to Victor. It seems that the most important female role of the novel may not be a female at all; rather, a character with feminine traits. Either way, Shelley plays with the rules of sex and gender. Instead of introducing strong, female characters she introduces confused male characters with both masculine and feminine traits.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Troubled Gender
According to Ian’s seminar paper “The critical moment for Victor is the destruction of the female monster before giving her life; by destroying the she-creature, Victor sets in motion the destruction of his own family and his inevitable premature death” (MacAllen). Ian also suggests that “The male creature alone presents no threat to the dominant culture Victor represents” (MacAllen). I would argue that the destruction of the she-creature is the pivotal moment in the Monster’s potential cultural indoctrination into the gender performance and that the Monster is never able to actualize, or in the sense of society legitimize, any maleness. In destroying the she-creature, Victor effectively obfuscates the Monster’s actualization of a gender and further ostracizes his creation from the acts and roles prescribed by society. I agree that Victor’s decision to destroy the creature heralds his own demise and the unraveling of his immediate society, but it turns out that the solitary creature is the greatest threat to “the dominant culture Victor represents” (MacAllen). Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble can be applied to this idea. In framing the body as a surface on which gender may be inscribed and displayed or performed, Butler concludes that “the body as the medium must be destroyed and transfigured in order for ‘culture’ to emerge” (2543). There is nothing essentially male or female inherent of the body; anything natural or inherent of the body is culturally appropriated to create and enforce an ‘Other’. In a sense, the Monster, as any other person, begins as neither male nor female, but due to its existence outside of society, the Monster is never able to receive or establish a gender. The Monster may see gender modeled by Felix and Safie, but it is never expected to satisfy nor perform gender specific acts and actions. The Monster’s uncertain identification with the different characters of gender in Paradise Lost – explored by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar in “Mary Shelley’s Monstrous Eve” – speaks to this claim. The Monster is never indoctrinated by society, it is never persuaded to adopt a gendered identity, and in result its body is never claimed or ‘destroyed’ as in the framing by Foucault and Butler. This unclaimed space results in the Monster’s frustrated relation with its body and its image; the Monster concurrently despises and dwells on its body, while the body itself is described as incredible powerful, graceful, while otherwise indescribable. Arguably, the Monster attempts to actualize a male identity and claim its body for maleness in asking Victor to create a female mate. With the creation of an ‘Other’, a female creature, Victor may have indoctrinated his creature into maleness; he may have projected or inscribed maleness onto the Monster’s body/surface. This projection or inscription would have functioned as the transmission and repetition that “become domesticated and recirculated as instruments of cultural hegemony” (2551). The Monster is denied this opportunity and then dangerously adopts “certain kinds of parodic repetitions [which are] effectively disruptive” to the social norms his unclaimed body and apocryphal identity traverses (2551). The Monster has no recourse once denied a gender and externalizes either his frustration or his vacant identity with humorless parodies (the pastiche) of others’ actions (2550). Violence is revisited by violence, in the way that Milton’s language is pathetically appropriated. The Monster’s wish with the desired female creature to ascribe to the patriarchal model may also be seen as pastiche or mock-performance. The solitary Monster, denied an inscribed or self-determined gender or identity, employs an unclaimed body in inimical performances to disrupt and destroy the dominant culture and society.
Enough with binary logic!
I'm enjoying the readings for this week. Judith Butler in particular really got me thinking.
Dan
She brings attention to the fact that humans have a tendency toward "problematic dualisms" and we seem to have a need to order things into binary pairs. Any deviation from boundaries defined by this binary distinctions, such as homosexuality, is perceived as "untidiness" (Douglas) and "cultural unruliness and disorder "Butler, 2544). In reality, the way we order reality is not the way nature is in fact ordered:
"The construction of coherence conceals the gender discontinuities tat run rampant within heterosexual, bisexual, and gay and lesbian contexts into which gender does not necessarily follow from sex, and desire, or sexuality generally, does not seem to follow from gender - indeed, where none of these dimensions of significant corporeality express or reflect on another. When the disorganization and disaggregation of the field of the bodies disrupt the regulatory fiction of heterosexual coherence, it seems that the model loses its descriptive force. That the regulatory ideal is then exposed as a norm and a fiction that disguises itself as a developmental law regulating the sexual field that it purports to describe" (2548).
Brilliant. This makes me think of Deleuze & Guattari's call for the abandonment of the binary, aborescent model of knowledge. While D & G rhizomatic modell perplexes me at times, it seems obvious that the range of human sexuality (and, indeed, human experience) cannot be simplified to binary logic.
Applications to Frankenstein? Well, it got me thinking of the creature as a person existing outside of society and culture. Now, the creature identifies himself as male. We might say this is due to the fact that he is exposed to society and culture, despite not being a part of either, and his gender identity is the same repetitive performance as ours. Or we might say that the creature naturally falls into a male identity because Frankenstien is a novel that adheres to the notion that gender is connected to essence. In this case, the creature's desire for a mate may reflect the primal need to establish his existence within a binary frame.
Gonna stop there. Looking forward to reading the other posts.
Dan
Monday, November 15, 2010
Seminar Paper
Feminist Discord: Male Overtones in Shelley’s Frankenstein
Many readers of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein cannot help but notice the reticence of the female characters and the dominance of the male voice. The creation of inefficient and somewhat static female characters is in itself unusual for a woman writer who is not only unconventional, but is also the heiress of a feminist legacy inherited from her mother Mary Wollstonecraft, author of “The Vindication of the Rights of Women” published in 1792. Still, a feminist reading within Frankenstein is possible, yet I suggest examining it from the vantage point that it was written under a male nom-de-plum, as an attempt to conceal the author’s femininity, thus it makes sense that Mary Shelly would not try reveal her identity by expressing feminine sentiments. Taking Frankenstein at face value, it can be argued that it is a novel which conveys male viewpoints and values by diminishing overall female significance by confining women into stereotypes, constructing gender, imposing compulsory heterosexuality, and disrupting female camaraderie; all in spite of Mary Shelley’s feminist heirloom.
According to Gilbert and Gubar, the woman writer is culturally conditioned by patriarchal society which assigns her an inferior status and dubs her the “other” (1930). The dilemma of the creative woman in the 19th and early 20th century was in her alienation from male forerunners and apprehension of male readers; simultaneous with her yearning for a feminine tradition of writing as well as a female audience (1930-31). Rather than overcoming this “anxiety of authorship” and finding her voice among other 19th century feminist writers, Mary Shelley writes under a male standard that reinforces sexist stereotypes of women. These stereotypes tend to form in oppositions that sum up women in very minimalist terms that are not a reflection of reality but a projection of patriarchate values (Beauvoir 1266-67). A woman claimed for home (the mother, sister, wife, and daughter) occupies the myth of an angel- altruistic, benevolent, and surrounded by a delightful heavenly aura. In Frankenstein, the women of Victor’s family home are represented in such manner. Victor’s mother, to begin with, was a faithful daughter that took care of her father with “the greatest tenderness” and dedication (Shelley 18). It is this devotion that makes her a desirable wife for Victor’s father who “like a protecting spirit” takes her into his care (Shelley 19). The image of her kneeling by the coffin of her dead father, like a praying nun kneeling at the altar, very much impressed Victor’s father and transfixed in his mind, to the extent that he has it painted and hung with “an air of dignity and beauty” over the mantelpiece of his house. The beauty in this portrait lies in the fact that even after the death of the patriarch, the woman continues to uphold his values by literally not raising above her subservient and inferior position, which is represented by kneeling. For a society to identify a woman this way is to “guarantee to man the absolute rights in her devotion” (Beauvoir 1267). The nun-like daughter then becomes the saintly mother, whose benevolence and affection entreats her to attend her sick orphan niece, risking her own life in the process. Victor describes that even “on her death-bed the fortitude and benignity of this admirable woman did not desert her” as she encouraged Victor and Elisabeth’s union, and bequeaths Elisabeth her place in the family (24).
Elisabeth, likewise, satisfies the myth of the angel- or the “ideal” woman that is, from early childhood, beautiful and of a “gentle and affectionate disposition” and “docile and good-tempered” (Shelley 19). Henceforth Elisabeth is completely subjected to Victor’s narration and assessment, to which he fails to see her outside of the myth. There is also something patronizing and superior in Victor’s attitude towards her. He strips a part of her humanity by describing her as “playful as an insect,” “lively as a bird’s”, “fragile creature,” whom he loved to tend on as “a favourite animal” (Shelley 19-20). The way that Victor visions Elisabeth is shallow and periphery as he further describes her “person as the image of her mind”, so transparent is she that he knows her from inside and out. Nonetheless, Beauvoir contends that it is almost impossible for men to speak of the inner self and existence of a woman, which in turn makes his sentiments shallow and imaginary (1269). Therefore, the only way to distinguish between the imaginary and real is by “behavior”, in which a man actively shows his support for a woman, by marriage, gifts, or even spending time with a woman, all which she accepts passively (1269). This contradiction between a man’s imagination and actions is seen in the way Victor neglects Elisabeth for almost six years, despite his professions of love and admiration, while she faithfully waits for him to take the initiative, and is ready to sacrifice her happiness for his. It is also seen by the way he carelessly lets her out of his sight on their wedding night, although the Creature vehemently threatened to be there, and has a history of hurting the ones around Victor, rather than Victor himself. For Victor to claim that Elisabeth’s murder was unforeseen is a feeble excuse, and one might doubt Victor’s love for his cousin who was indirectly responsible for his mother’s death. One also suspects the double meaning of Victor’s words before his wedding: “Alas! To me the idea of an immediate union with my cousin was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise which..[I] dared not break” (Shelley 104). Although these words directly relate to Victor’s promise of creating a mate for the Creature, they might be suggestive of Victor’s subconscious abhorrence of marrying his cousin. Nonetheless, even in her death, Elisabeth reinforces innocence, the virgin bride sacrificed for her husband’s sins.
Conversely, the Creature’s bride that Victor begins to create is rendered a mysterious monster that might even surpass the evil-doing of Victor’s original Creature. Conveying a male point of view, for Victor “the enigma is presented in its most disturbing form in woman” (Beauvoir 1268). Since he is the one shaping the female creature’s existence, he claims to know her inner self in assuming that “she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness” (Shelley 114).Victor is further horrified by the female creature’s sexuality in her having the ability to procreate, in which “a race of devils would be propagated on the earth” (Shelley 114). He is also faced with the dilemma of the ugly female, as his Creature asks for a mate that is as hideous as him. This female ugliness is associated with masculinity, therefore rendering female masculinity as “completely abject, aesthetically displeasing, and uninhabitable position” (Halberstam 2649). Victor might also harbor a fear that the female creature in her feminine masculinity would disrupt the patriarchal social order by being a lesbian. According to Halberstam, “lesbianism has long been associated with female masculinity;” this is, in turn, linked to female ugliness (2650). If it is probable for the female creature to spurn her mate when faced with “the superior beauty of man,” it is also possible for her to be attracted to women in the same homoerotic way the Creature is attracted to Victor (Shelley 114).
Furthermore, the Creature meant to make the female creature his equal, his companion, and not a subservient “other” or inferior. That would change the male attitude toward the female, in a way empowering her that was usually powerless. Victor could not handle the idea that he would be the one to subvert the patriarchal system by the race he created. For a true woman to be feminine, she must make herself the “other” in male-female relationships (Beauvoir 1272). In being isolated from human society, forming a league of their own, the Creature and his female mate are not likely to abide by the patriarchal norms that determine the male-female relationship. For Victor this female creature is two times the “other”, the first being that she is an abnormal agglomeration of deceased bodies’ constituting a deformed race, the second being that she is a female. Nonetheless, Butler argues that gender is a fabrication inscribed upon the surface of bodies. Therefore, the second creature Victor is working on is essentially genderless; still she is to be created as an imitation of a woman, precisely like a drag. For Butler, drag is a performative act that inverts the appearance of the socially constructed gender (2549-50). Thus, the existence female creature might upset the established notion of femininity, in which women are delicate,beautiful, and small. According to Butler, “all social systems are vulnerable at their margins, and that all margins are accordingly considered dangerous” (2545). Hence, Victor feels that it is his duty to mankind to destroy the female creature and deprive her existence.
Another issue that affects femininity in Frankenstein, regardless of the angel/monster opposition, is that both the Elisabeth and the female creature are subjected to patriarchal norms that enforce what Rich calls “compulsory heterosexuality,” which is manifested in arranged marriages and the breaking up of the “lesbian continuum” (1594-95, 1604). Both Elisabeth and the female creature are destined to unions for which they practically do not have a say in. From her early childhood, Victor’s parents have already decided that Elisabeth be the future wife of their son. Victor also realizes that the female creature “might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation” (Shelley114). It is as if the existence of the female is solely for the benefit of her male counterpart. According to Rich, imposing female heterosexuality establishes men’s right to emotional, physical, and economical access to women (1602). Hence, patriarchal society is suspicious of female companionship or the lesbian continuum, and will go through efforts to dissolve it. For instance, Elisabeth more than once admits to Victor that she loves Justine tenderly, the latter being pretty, affectionate, and kind, much like Elisabeth herself. Elisabeth even expresses her desire to die with Justine to escape “from a world which is hateful to [her] and the visages of men which [she] abhor[s]” (Shelley 56). During their emotionally charged ( perhaps sexually) farewell, Victor’s heart is filled with “horrid anguish”, allegedly for being responsible for the death of an innocent person, yet he passively lets Justine die when he is the only one who can save her by incriminating the Creature he made. It is likely that Victor was threatened by the relationship and intimacy between Elisabeth and Justine, therefore he permits Justine to die.
To conclude, one cannot consider it outrageous that Frankenstein at one time was thought to be a work of a man rather than a woman, although for an altogether different reason. One might also question how much an influence Percy Shelley, Mary’s husband, had in influencing her work. The male-centric attitudes in the novel deem it a construct of patriarchal society in the way it encourages female stereotyping of the angel or monster. Furthermore, the female acts only as an object that satisfies the various needs of the male. The female is also forced into a heterosexual way of life, to the extent that female relationships are discontinued. Thus, femininity in the novel occupies an insignificant space within male-dominated outlooks, manners, and mindsets.
Works Cited:
Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 2540 – 2553.
De Beauvoir, Simone. The Second Sex. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 1423 – 1437.
Gilbert, Sandra M., Gubar, Susan. “The Madwoman in the Attic.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 1926 – 1938.
Halberstam, Judith. “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Men, Women, and Masculinity.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 2638 – 2653.
Rich, Adrienne. Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 1591 – 1609.
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed J. Paul Hunter. New York: Norton, 1996.
Many readers of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein cannot help but notice the reticence of the female characters and the dominance of the male voice. The creation of inefficient and somewhat static female characters is in itself unusual for a woman writer who is not only unconventional, but is also the heiress of a feminist legacy inherited from her mother Mary Wollstonecraft, author of “The Vindication of the Rights of Women” published in 1792. Still, a feminist reading within Frankenstein is possible, yet I suggest examining it from the vantage point that it was written under a male nom-de-plum, as an attempt to conceal the author’s femininity, thus it makes sense that Mary Shelly would not try reveal her identity by expressing feminine sentiments. Taking Frankenstein at face value, it can be argued that it is a novel which conveys male viewpoints and values by diminishing overall female significance by confining women into stereotypes, constructing gender, imposing compulsory heterosexuality, and disrupting female camaraderie; all in spite of Mary Shelley’s feminist heirloom.
According to Gilbert and Gubar, the woman writer is culturally conditioned by patriarchal society which assigns her an inferior status and dubs her the “other” (1930). The dilemma of the creative woman in the 19th and early 20th century was in her alienation from male forerunners and apprehension of male readers; simultaneous with her yearning for a feminine tradition of writing as well as a female audience (1930-31). Rather than overcoming this “anxiety of authorship” and finding her voice among other 19th century feminist writers, Mary Shelley writes under a male standard that reinforces sexist stereotypes of women. These stereotypes tend to form in oppositions that sum up women in very minimalist terms that are not a reflection of reality but a projection of patriarchate values (Beauvoir 1266-67). A woman claimed for home (the mother, sister, wife, and daughter) occupies the myth of an angel- altruistic, benevolent, and surrounded by a delightful heavenly aura. In Frankenstein, the women of Victor’s family home are represented in such manner. Victor’s mother, to begin with, was a faithful daughter that took care of her father with “the greatest tenderness” and dedication (Shelley 18). It is this devotion that makes her a desirable wife for Victor’s father who “like a protecting spirit” takes her into his care (Shelley 19). The image of her kneeling by the coffin of her dead father, like a praying nun kneeling at the altar, very much impressed Victor’s father and transfixed in his mind, to the extent that he has it painted and hung with “an air of dignity and beauty” over the mantelpiece of his house. The beauty in this portrait lies in the fact that even after the death of the patriarch, the woman continues to uphold his values by literally not raising above her subservient and inferior position, which is represented by kneeling. For a society to identify a woman this way is to “guarantee to man the absolute rights in her devotion” (Beauvoir 1267). The nun-like daughter then becomes the saintly mother, whose benevolence and affection entreats her to attend her sick orphan niece, risking her own life in the process. Victor describes that even “on her death-bed the fortitude and benignity of this admirable woman did not desert her” as she encouraged Victor and Elisabeth’s union, and bequeaths Elisabeth her place in the family (24).
Elisabeth, likewise, satisfies the myth of the angel- or the “ideal” woman that is, from early childhood, beautiful and of a “gentle and affectionate disposition” and “docile and good-tempered” (Shelley 19). Henceforth Elisabeth is completely subjected to Victor’s narration and assessment, to which he fails to see her outside of the myth. There is also something patronizing and superior in Victor’s attitude towards her. He strips a part of her humanity by describing her as “playful as an insect,” “lively as a bird’s”, “fragile creature,” whom he loved to tend on as “a favourite animal” (Shelley 19-20). The way that Victor visions Elisabeth is shallow and periphery as he further describes her “person as the image of her mind”, so transparent is she that he knows her from inside and out. Nonetheless, Beauvoir contends that it is almost impossible for men to speak of the inner self and existence of a woman, which in turn makes his sentiments shallow and imaginary (1269). Therefore, the only way to distinguish between the imaginary and real is by “behavior”, in which a man actively shows his support for a woman, by marriage, gifts, or even spending time with a woman, all which she accepts passively (1269). This contradiction between a man’s imagination and actions is seen in the way Victor neglects Elisabeth for almost six years, despite his professions of love and admiration, while she faithfully waits for him to take the initiative, and is ready to sacrifice her happiness for his. It is also seen by the way he carelessly lets her out of his sight on their wedding night, although the Creature vehemently threatened to be there, and has a history of hurting the ones around Victor, rather than Victor himself. For Victor to claim that Elisabeth’s murder was unforeseen is a feeble excuse, and one might doubt Victor’s love for his cousin who was indirectly responsible for his mother’s death. One also suspects the double meaning of Victor’s words before his wedding: “Alas! To me the idea of an immediate union with my cousin was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise which..[I] dared not break” (Shelley 104). Although these words directly relate to Victor’s promise of creating a mate for the Creature, they might be suggestive of Victor’s subconscious abhorrence of marrying his cousin. Nonetheless, even in her death, Elisabeth reinforces innocence, the virgin bride sacrificed for her husband’s sins.
Conversely, the Creature’s bride that Victor begins to create is rendered a mysterious monster that might even surpass the evil-doing of Victor’s original Creature. Conveying a male point of view, for Victor “the enigma is presented in its most disturbing form in woman” (Beauvoir 1268). Since he is the one shaping the female creature’s existence, he claims to know her inner self in assuming that “she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness” (Shelley 114).Victor is further horrified by the female creature’s sexuality in her having the ability to procreate, in which “a race of devils would be propagated on the earth” (Shelley 114). He is also faced with the dilemma of the ugly female, as his Creature asks for a mate that is as hideous as him. This female ugliness is associated with masculinity, therefore rendering female masculinity as “completely abject, aesthetically displeasing, and uninhabitable position” (Halberstam 2649). Victor might also harbor a fear that the female creature in her feminine masculinity would disrupt the patriarchal social order by being a lesbian. According to Halberstam, “lesbianism has long been associated with female masculinity;” this is, in turn, linked to female ugliness (2650). If it is probable for the female creature to spurn her mate when faced with “the superior beauty of man,” it is also possible for her to be attracted to women in the same homoerotic way the Creature is attracted to Victor (Shelley 114).
Furthermore, the Creature meant to make the female creature his equal, his companion, and not a subservient “other” or inferior. That would change the male attitude toward the female, in a way empowering her that was usually powerless. Victor could not handle the idea that he would be the one to subvert the patriarchal system by the race he created. For a true woman to be feminine, she must make herself the “other” in male-female relationships (Beauvoir 1272). In being isolated from human society, forming a league of their own, the Creature and his female mate are not likely to abide by the patriarchal norms that determine the male-female relationship. For Victor this female creature is two times the “other”, the first being that she is an abnormal agglomeration of deceased bodies’ constituting a deformed race, the second being that she is a female. Nonetheless, Butler argues that gender is a fabrication inscribed upon the surface of bodies. Therefore, the second creature Victor is working on is essentially genderless; still she is to be created as an imitation of a woman, precisely like a drag. For Butler, drag is a performative act that inverts the appearance of the socially constructed gender (2549-50). Thus, the existence female creature might upset the established notion of femininity, in which women are delicate,beautiful, and small. According to Butler, “all social systems are vulnerable at their margins, and that all margins are accordingly considered dangerous” (2545). Hence, Victor feels that it is his duty to mankind to destroy the female creature and deprive her existence.
Another issue that affects femininity in Frankenstein, regardless of the angel/monster opposition, is that both the Elisabeth and the female creature are subjected to patriarchal norms that enforce what Rich calls “compulsory heterosexuality,” which is manifested in arranged marriages and the breaking up of the “lesbian continuum” (1594-95, 1604). Both Elisabeth and the female creature are destined to unions for which they practically do not have a say in. From her early childhood, Victor’s parents have already decided that Elisabeth be the future wife of their son. Victor also realizes that the female creature “might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation” (Shelley114). It is as if the existence of the female is solely for the benefit of her male counterpart. According to Rich, imposing female heterosexuality establishes men’s right to emotional, physical, and economical access to women (1602). Hence, patriarchal society is suspicious of female companionship or the lesbian continuum, and will go through efforts to dissolve it. For instance, Elisabeth more than once admits to Victor that she loves Justine tenderly, the latter being pretty, affectionate, and kind, much like Elisabeth herself. Elisabeth even expresses her desire to die with Justine to escape “from a world which is hateful to [her] and the visages of men which [she] abhor[s]” (Shelley 56). During their emotionally charged ( perhaps sexually) farewell, Victor’s heart is filled with “horrid anguish”, allegedly for being responsible for the death of an innocent person, yet he passively lets Justine die when he is the only one who can save her by incriminating the Creature he made. It is likely that Victor was threatened by the relationship and intimacy between Elisabeth and Justine, therefore he permits Justine to die.
To conclude, one cannot consider it outrageous that Frankenstein at one time was thought to be a work of a man rather than a woman, although for an altogether different reason. One might also question how much an influence Percy Shelley, Mary’s husband, had in influencing her work. The male-centric attitudes in the novel deem it a construct of patriarchal society in the way it encourages female stereotyping of the angel or monster. Furthermore, the female acts only as an object that satisfies the various needs of the male. The female is also forced into a heterosexual way of life, to the extent that female relationships are discontinued. Thus, femininity in the novel occupies an insignificant space within male-dominated outlooks, manners, and mindsets.
Works Cited:
Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 2540 – 2553.
De Beauvoir, Simone. The Second Sex. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 1423 – 1437.
Gilbert, Sandra M., Gubar, Susan. “The Madwoman in the Attic.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 1926 – 1938.
Halberstam, Judith. “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Men, Women, and Masculinity.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 2638 – 2653.
Rich, Adrienne. Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed Leitch, Vincent B.; Cain, William E.; Finke, Laurie; Johnson, Barbara; McGowan, John; Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean; Williams, Jeffrey J. New York: Norton, 2010. 1591 – 1609.
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed J. Paul Hunter. New York: Norton, 1996.
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