Nationalism and the Other

I found this week's readings on Post-Colonialism to tie in to our readings from two weeks ago for race and ethnicity studies. Particularly, the readings on nationalism are relevant to our class discussion from that week when we talked questioned how Shelley treats nationality in Frankenstein. We asked if she is in any way contributing to the development of English national identity, and some of us came to the conclusion that she might be critiquing nationalism through the hybridity of the creature. Benedict Anderson argues in "Imagined Communities" that nationalism is a modern phenomenon - created to fill a need for a connection among people who no longer shared the same religion and made possible through print capitalism. Homi K. Bhaba builds off of this by stressing how nationality is narratively produced and not coming from an intrinsic essence. So I again ask, how does nationality figure in Frankenstein. As a work of writing, it might help to narratively produce national identity, or does it combat against the rising idea of nationalism, as some of us argued a few weeks ago? Is Shelley's nationalism/treatment of the other problematic in any way? Furthermore, I want to point out the description of Frantz Fanon's experience in France given by the editors of the Norton. They say that in France, Fanon "found that his service to the French state made no difference to the whites around him, who regarded black French subjects like himself as the Other - as alien and inferior, yet frightening and dangerous. He came to understand that despoite his intelligence, high level of education, and mastery of the French language, he was regarded not as a human being but as a specimen of an exotic and savage race, viewed through stereotypes developed over centuries of racial prejudice" (1437). This description screamed Shelley's monster to me. Even though he is clearly intelligent, has at least some education, and mastery of language, he is regarded as a savage and not a European. What I wonder is if it's possible that we have an other because nationality is developed? Or has there always been an other? I understand Anderson's argument about the development of nationalism, but didn't people always have a sort of patriotism for their nation? In Roman times, conquered peoples were referred to by the state from which they came. And since Fanon writes about the national identity that needs to be created in de-colonized African countries, would this imply that their lack of national identity prior to being colonized is what made them so easy to colonize? The key for Anderson is that this shared identity is "imagined." So for smaller groups such as African tribes, the sense of community is not imagined? I guess what I'm trying to get to through all of these questions is what is the connection, if there is one, between nationalism and the creation of the other?

The Creature Said

I see that many posts have considered Frankenstein as the paradigmatic colonizer, and I suspect that we will have very heated class discussions about the Creature as a colonized entity and its relation to Spivak’s notions of the subaltern, but to what extent is the Creature to be considered a colonizer? While the story Shelley’s devises between Safie and Felix is problematic on its own, the Creature’s narration of that story is of particular interest. In its delivery of Safie’s portion of the cottage narrative the Creature seems to adopt or partake in certain strategies and discourses associated with colonizer. Even if one were to argue that the Creature does not so clearly communicate through its narrative European imperialist conventions, the Creature’s representation of Safie, her father and the cottagers’ interaction with her does seem to suggest an underlying sense of difference. Safie’s father is referred to as “the unfortunate Mahometan” in the relation of his being sentenced to jail (Shelley 82). It seems peculiar to stress the religion of an unjustly convicted individual, but then the Creature presumably learns from the cottagers that Safie’s father’s “religion and wealth” are the cause of his incarceration (Shelley 82). For the rest of the narrative, Safie’s father is simply referred to as the Turk. The Creature’s representation of Safie is usually infused with emphases of the sensual and exotic. In his study of the study of Orientalism, Said addresses authority in terms of “strategic location” and “strategic formation” (1881). Said’s meta-study explains strategic location as the “way of describing the author’s position in a text with regard to the Oriental material he writes about”, while strategic formulation refers to an analysis of the “relationship between texts and the way in which groups of texts, types of texts, even textual genres, acquire mass, density, and referential power among themselves and thereafter in the culture at large” (1881). How does the portion of the Creature’s narrative that is devoted to Safie fit in with these concepts and concerns? Ostensibly, the Creature’s means of representation and signification of Safie in the narrative could be seen as the regurgitation of that which it observed and then internalizes from the cottagers, but what of the Creature’s description of its initial reactions and feelings towards Safie? The Creature may have be availed previous, even if unconsciously, inculcation or means of conceptualizing Safie as a member of ‘the orient’ from the readings (like Paradise Lost) and discussion of the cottagers. Its reactions to Safie seem to be strikingly consistent throughout. Does this suggest inherent feelings in the Creature toward Safie or inherent and essential aspects of Safie’s character? Or may this consistency in reaction and representation be an implied example of the Creature revising and editing his experience, or authority?

Fear the Subaltern.

Spivak uses the word "subaltern" to describe the Other in her postcolonial critique from this week's reading. "A subaltern, according to the dictionary, is a person holding a subordinate position," the book notes, also noting that it was originally used to describe a junior officer from the British army (2111). Let's remove that latter half, shall we? The "term's nuances" is what Spivak draws out- the unorganized mass caught between the "detested superiors" and "feared natives" (2111). "The "subaltern" always stands in an ambiguus relation to power- subordinate to it but never fully consenting to its rule, never adopting the dominant point of view or vocabulary as expressive of its own identity" (2111).

Ok, now I want you to picture the monster as an example -GET THIS!- of a subaltern. ( I know. you didn't think I'd go there. But I did, and so we continue. ) "Because subalterns exist, to some extent, outside power, theorists and advocates of political transformation have consistently looked to them as a potential source of change" (2111). It's hard to picture the future of the novel Frankenstein within the diegesis that Shelley sets up, and I'm completely sure that this was done on purpose. Does the monster kill himself? Does he move to the tropics anyway, by himself? Does he entertain himself by continuing his murderous hobby? Does he move to Russia and join the circus? Essentially, none of the answers to these questions matter- it is the fact that these questions come up at all that Shelley drives for. But I digress.

The reason I bring up the "subaltern" is to not only place the monster under its light, but to also draw out whether or not he is a "potential source of change." Obviously, he has "potential" to do something- he's affected more lives than just Victor's- but I feel that the only "change" he is the source is for more security. I don't think De Lacy or Feliz ever realize the monster's responsibility for the firewood, nor the extent to which the monster watched them. They never went into the room that the monster lived in! As soon as they met the monster, they abandoned their home in fear.

We haven't spoken too much in class about it, but fear is what motivates and influences people to the greatest extent. At least to me, it is fear that motivates more than... love, per say. Fear of another holy book's influence on its people in another country. Fear of terrorism for more airport security measures. Fear of someone else's sexuality because you don't understand the science behind it and feel that they'll rub off some of their gayness on you... but again, I digress.

In this light, the monster is influential. Now, it seems that he does not completely live up to his "subaltern" potential, or he does outside of the text of the novel. Nevertheless, the subaltern is one who "should be" feared, for it is the subaltern that exists outside of the power structure. It is out of control. This touches on the greatest fear of all time, what humans fear the most: not being in control.

Now, there are too many of us here on planet Earth for there to be no control- no country borders, no laws, no society, no classes, no races, no religions. And so the subaltern reigns.

The Global Creature

Because post-colonial studies “overlap with those of race and ethnicity studies,” one is able to view Frankenstein through the combination of theories and critiques employed in both schools of thought (Norton 28).

Indeed, it appears to be a study that shares many familiar concepts with our conversations surrounding Frankenstein as “it aims to describe the mechanisms of colonial power, to recover excluded or marginalized ‘subaltern’ voices, and to theorize the complexities of…identity; national belonging; and globalization” (Norton 27).

It is of great interest to imagine that Shelley created a character facing these exact issues itself. The creature does experience being a “marginalized” voice and also questions his identity, not only nationally, but globally! In 17__, the creature had a global perspective: a concept that the twenty-first century reader is wholly familiar with, but one that would have been a hard sell in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It could not identify with any other creatures on the globe because it was not of them, however, its “Otherness” instilled within it a global frame of reference so as to grasp its global place.

How does Frankenstein go against the usual “representations of third world countries” and “the political interests of their makers” (27)?

Reality A & Reality B

Thought some of you might be interested in the article "Reality A & Reality B," which appeared last month in the New York Times. Haruki Murakami is a Japanese novelist whose work (in translation) has done fairly well in the US. I read his novel, After Dark, a couple of years ago and it is interesting in that it represents the "chaos," to use his word, of a single night in a strictly linear narrative. In some ways I think you could say that it is this very rigid linear structure that creates the sensation of chaos, which is sort of odd. It also uses what I remember as a "camera angle" feel to distance the reader from the narrative and keep our perception of the story very tightly focused. This close-up framing leaves the reader very much aware of what you are unable to see and creates an interesting tension with the images that are revealed.

Anyway, I digress and it has been a while since I read the novel so maybe I'm remembering it wrong. In any case, give the article a look. I think it fits in nicely with our readings this week.

Chris

Edited to note that my response to the readings is on Blackboard.

Edited again because I'm procrastinating writing my paper and thought this was interesting, too: "If an Island State Vanishes, Is It Still a Nation?" Now, no more internet! Back to work!

Victor's Vision - Ultimate Colonialism

While reading about Post-Colonial theory, I began to wonder if we might interpret Victor as the Ultimate Colonialist. Rather than having to resort to “cultural obliteration [that is] made possible by the negation of a national reality, by new legal relations introduced by the occupying power, by the banishment of the natives and their customs” (Fanon, 1440), etc., Victor plans to create a new race with no culture to speak of. A tabula rasa to be molded and controlled from the ground up. Consider: “A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs” (Shelley, 32). Of course this all goes wrong, as we know, but we might say that Victor is driven by an extraordinarily strong and yet suppressed colonial drive.

Dan

New Methods of Approaching Language and Literature

The New York Times had an article about new methods being used in looking at language in texts; the researchers are taking a quantitative approach and analyzing texts digitally. Relying on text scans, they looked at the frequency words appeared during the Victorian era. I thought it interesting that "Christian" falls over time while "science" rises in frequency.

Analyzing Literature by Words and Numbers

I find this to be completely relevant to our class discussion.

New Historicism and Frankenstein

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?

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?

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?

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

New-Historicism Seminar Paper

Hello!

I've posted this week's paper on Blackboard as a .pdf.

See you all on Wednesday.

ezt

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.

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)?

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?

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?