Timelessness through critical theory in In the Skin of a Lion

An essay. Not really intended for HSC consumption/usage. Mostly just me think­ing about how cer­tain things could be argued and pay­ing out post-modernism’s erro­neous nature… you can call that state­ment what you will, so long as you take the time to read the fol­low­ing. 2260 words, or thereabouts.

Michael Ondaatje’s novel, In the Skin of a Lion, can be said to have tex­tual integrity as a result of the way in which the com­poser has shaped this novel, through a vari­ety of tech­niques employed. Tex­tual integrity itself can be said to embody a time­less­ness in lit­er­a­ture: that is, ‘good’ lit­er­a­ture is shaped by its tex­tual integrity, reflected in the ways in which val­ues within a text are pre­sented, as well as the uni­ver­sal­ity of themes discussed.

‘Set­ting’ exists in three spheres that are often seen to inter­sect, these spheres being Loca­tion, Time, and Crit­i­cal Influ­ence. And, fur­ther to this, any text that recre­ates the past – espe­cially when post­mod­ernism is an accepted influ­ence – involves two inter­sect­ing fields of time: The author’s own, and that in which they delin­eate the events of their work.

Visual representation of the intersection of these three spheres

Con­struc­tion of a work that can be said to have ‘tex­tual integrity’ and hence be con­sid­ered a model of ‘good’ lit­er­a­ture, or lit­er­a­ture of time­less value, is there­fore com­pli­cated when a post-modern style is employed that attempts to con­struct a text ade­quately flex­i­ble to accom­mo­date the cre­ation of new mean­ing in a way that accu­rately reflects the val­ues of a period now elapsed.

Ondaatje’s novel, In the Skin of a Lion, is one such text: it cre­ates lay­ered mean­ing, employ­ing a form true to the post-modern ideal – that is, rejec­tion of a man­date that mean­ing must be cre­ated through tex­tual delin­eation, as mean­ing in a post-modernist form can be con­structed in any num­ber of ways, though the nature of this mean­ing is mal­leable – whilst depict­ing events that pre­ceded the advent of such an ideology.

Inher­ently, this poses chal­lenges: How­ever, used effec­tively, jux­ta­po­si­tion of his­tor­i­cal con­tent and crit­i­cal per­spec­tive of this period against con­tem­po­rary influ­ences in the sphere of crit­i­cal the­ory can yield in lit­er­a­ture a qual­ity that is best described as time­less – it cre­ates an integrity that spans ide­olo­gies and events, and trans­forms the nar­ra­tive into an over­ar­ch­ing ves­sel that may func­tion as a con­tainer for any num­ber of (even oppos­ing) ide­olo­gies and social par­a­digms, simultaneously.

This, of course, is the defeat of intent in a work. Ondaatje can­not be said to have achieved any­thing, as he set out to achieve noth­ing and every­thing when his work first assumed a post-modern form. Indeed, post-modernism is inher­ently an abstrac­tion, inca­pable of embody­ing any par­tic­u­lar mes­sage. In embrac­ing its doc­trines, authors sur­ren­der wholly their work’s value to the whims of the respon­der: but Ondaatje can­not be said to have wholly embraced this ideal.

Cer­tainly, the struc­ture of his work is post-modern. Irrefutably, the syn­tax utilised for denot­ing struc­tural ele­ments in this work could be described thus, for no other rea­son than it is a rejec­tion of con­ven­tional form and syn­tax utilised in nar­ra­tive works: it is eclec­tic, “loose” in nature. Ondaatje writes of the “extreme loose­ness of the struc­ture of all objects”, and, on the sur­face at least, his nar­ra­tive reflects this ide­ol­ogy. Yet, his trib­ute to post-modernism is con­fined to the super­fi­cial. Post-modernism is Ondaatje’s link to the con­tem­po­rary world, impor­tant in pre­sent­ing an image of time­less­ness. There is, per­haps, a truth in his asser­tion that all objects have a loose­ness of struc­ture – but, in accor­dance with the post-modern par­a­digm, this truth is open to chal­lenge. And, in beau­ti­ful irony, Ondaatje’s own work is the ves­sel from which an attack on this truth may be instigated.

Ondaatje’s novel begins with a chap­ter enti­tled “Lit­tle seeds”, sup­pos­edly an allu­sion to the seeds of explo­sives that his father must painstak­ingly remove from his clothes… and the coin­ing of a metaphor, a per­sist­ing motif, for the grad­ual devel­op­ment of the char­ac­ter of Patrick through­out the text until he dons “the Skin of a Lion” and – in a fit­ting con­clu­sion to such a metaphor – ‘explodes’, or attempts to explode, the water­works. These lit­tle seeds are the first of many aspects of the text to defy post-modernism and this ide­ol­ogy of “extreme loose­ness of struc­ture”. The lan­guage used is rich in metaphor, cer­tainly: and, inher­ent in metaphor is the pos­si­bil­ity of deriv­ing mul­ti­ple inter­pre­ta­tions. How­ever, before the begin­ning of Book One even, Ondaatje speaks of “bring[ing] together var­i­ous cor­ners of the story” – and this stands not alone, but ties itself to a ques­tion with an invis­i­ble imper­a­tive: “Do you see?” This could, per­haps, be read as Patrick’s enquiry: “Do you see my story?” “Do you see”, it seems, con­notes some­thing that is to be seen, pro­poses that there is a struc­ture to things, and sug­gests that this struc­ture is resolved at some point. All of this, of course, defies the post-modern ideal of loose­ness. Cer­tainly there is an ele­ment of ‘loose­ness’ to this nar­ra­tive – but it is still a nar­ra­tive. There is a story behind it, and, whilst there can be more than one inter­pre­ta­tion, there remains a dom­i­nant mes­sage that Ondaatje has con­structed and resolved with the bring­ing together of “lit­tle seeds” to form a cohe­sive nar­ra­tive, and this cohe­sion, it seems, is against the post-modern ideal of “looseness”.

The post-modern aspects of this work, then, are utilised only fleet­ingly in order to develop an over­ar­ch­ing struc­ture – more accu­rately a super­struc­ture – in which var­i­ous other struc­tures of crit­i­cal the­ory are con­tained. This in itself cre­ates in the work a time­less­ness or tran­sient nature, though this time­less­ness does not come at the expense of a for­mu­lated nar­ra­tive: Ondaatje’s work has struc­ture, and def­i­nite plot, with an unde­ni­able pro­gres­sion and res­o­lu­tion. Yet, this plot with all its pro­gres­sion and res­o­lu­tion is open to a vari­ety of dif­fer­ent read­ings and inter­pre­ta­tions based upon the ide­ol­ogy of the respon­der, in accor­dance with post-modern doctrine.

How­ever, the scope of such vari­a­tion is restricted to the con­fines con­structed by Ondaatje. His text is crafted with par­tic­u­lar influ­ences in mind, namely, the crit­i­cal influ­ences that influ­enced much aca­d­e­mic thought of the early twen­ti­eth cen­tury. Con­se­quently, it is pos­si­ble to extract with ease Marx­ist and Fem­i­nist read­ings of this text, due to the focus of his nar­ra­tive. Ondaatje depicts char­ac­ters holis­ti­cally, char­ac­ters that defy stereo­typ­ing both within the text’s set­ting (chiefly 1920’s Toronto), and Ondaatje’s own (1988, Toronto); he also focuses on minor­ity groups, such as migrant com­mu­ni­ties. These groups appear to be dis­il­lu­sioned, dis­en­fran­chised with the bar­ri­ers that exist between them and main­stream soci­ety, but much of this is in the presentation.

The con­tent of In the Skin of a Lion lends itself to fem­i­nist or post-colonial read­ings – though post-colonial lit­er­ary the­ory was not to emerge as a recog­nised force until the mid– to late-1970’s (Said’s 1978 work Ori­en­tal­ism pro­vides some basis for these dates) – whilst the style and empha­sis of this con­tent (in an aes­thetic sense) enables a Marx­ist read­ing with themes of oppres­sion, class con­flict and “offi­cial” ver­sus “unof­fi­cial” his­to­ries preva­lent through­out the work. Com­plet­ing the ‘set­ting’ is the struc­ture of the work: namely, a struc­ture that is post-modern in nature, and encom­passes all other aspects of the work.

Tex­tual integrity is con­structed care­fully through embrac­ing a range of intel­lec­tual and crit­i­cal analy­ses, and thus allow­ing the work to be viewed from a vari­ety of per­spec­tives (Marx­ism, Fem­i­nism) in a vari­ety of cul­tures (Post-colonialism). These ‘per­spec­tives’ (a sim­pli­fied aspect of crit­i­cal the­ory as a whole) are accepted or legit­imised by the aspects of this text that sup­port such the­o­ries or read­ings. In this way, the text can be said to have tex­tual integrity, as it becomes uni­ver­sally applic­a­ble in the sense that it is no longer bound to a spe­cific time, or place. For exam­ple, a Marx­ist critic can draw a ‘truth’ con­sid­ered in the Marx­ist frame­work of thought to be unde­ni­able and absolute in the human expe­ri­ence – namely, that there exists a sys­tem of oppres­sion in soci­eties that advo­cate (or, do not opposed) “bare-knuckled cap­i­tal­ism” such as that exhib­ited by Ambrose Small in In the Skin of a Lion.

Post-modernism, there­fore, can be seen to encom­pass all aspects of the text, and pro­vide for their exis­tence – much as Ondaatje him­self pro­vides for their exis­tence through craft­ing the work. Other aspects of the text are tran­sient and non-requisite: the enabling force in all of this is the post-modern struc­ture encom­pass­ing all other the­o­ries and ide­olo­gies in a neu­tral or even ambiva­lent form. Post-modernism is purely con­tem­po­rary, an ide­ol­ogy that has emerged only in the late twen­ti­eth cen­tury – unlike those con­tained within it in this text. Whilst there is a con­flict of inter­est between the ideal of truth being [absolutely] rel­a­tive in post-modern thought and notions of ‘truth’ as pre­sented in other crit­i­cal the­o­ries, such incon­gruities are largely dis­re­garded in Ondaatje’s con­struc­tion of In the Skin of a Lion.

It is, how­ever, impor­tant to con­sider the rea­sons for which Ondaatje has con­structed his text thus. Cer­tainly, the pre­sen­ta­tion of ide­olo­gies inex­orably bound to the­o­ries dom­i­nant in pop­u­lar and aca­d­e­mic thought of another time is inevitable in a piece of good lit­er­a­ture when such a work is set as In the Skin of a Lion is. This may be accepted to be self-evident, and is of lit­tle con­se­quence aside from its mar­ginal con­tri­bu­tion to the preser­va­tion (or cre­ation) of tex­tual integrity. Of greater impor­tance is the effect of such pre­sen­ta­tion [of alter­nate ide­olo­gies] on the time­less­ness of a work, its flex­i­bil­ity, and, con­se­quently, its poten­tial value in any other ‘set­ting’ or con­text (encom­pass­ing time, place, and crit­i­cal thinking).

The rift between the ‘set­ting’ of In the Skin of a Lion and that of its com­poser is the bet­ter part of a cen­tury char­ac­terised by rapid change in ide­ol­ogy in response to glob­al­i­sa­tion, the wide­spread adop­tion of com­mu­ni­ca­tion tech­nolo­gies, and pop­u­lar dis­il­lu­sion­ment in response to con­flicts that have resulted in more peo­ple being killed in that cen­tury than in any other period in his­tory – pop­u­lar dis­il­lu­sion­ment that man­i­fested itself in widely in the decade pre­ced­ing the ‘set­ting’ in which Ondaatje writes through the anti-war move­ment of the time.

This dis­il­lu­sion­ment man­i­fests itself in post-modern thought and in a sub­se­quent pop­u­lar revival of rel­a­tivism. This is, there­fore, reflected in the form of Ondaatje’s work – a form based on post-modernism’s rejec­tion of con­ven­tional struc­ture. There is even an anar­chis­tic ele­ment to the struc­ture in its alter­na­tion between con­ven­tional and post-modern styles, with this demar­ca­tion clearly apparent.

Such anar­chy is sim­i­larly reflected in the con­tent of the work, depicted through the influ­ence of Alice on Patrick, cul­mi­nat­ing in both her death and his own anar­chist aspi­ra­tions (that are ulti­mately realised not through action but through assum­ing “the skin of a lion”): and, before them, the death of Cato. It appears to be the result of cat­a­lysts in suc­ces­sion — Cato on Alice, Alice on Patrick, Patrick who is reached through Clara. This, once again, denies the “extreme loose­ness of the struc­ture of things” in that there is a clear rela­tion­ship that exists, that can be expressed, and even under­stood. Post-modernism is indif­fer­ent to anar­chy, whilst anar­chy [iron­i­cally] sets about destroy­ing the struc­ture of things, and yet the evo­lu­tion of such an ide­ol­ogy in In the Skin of a Lion rejects the super­struc­ture in which it is ‘contained’.

Anar­chy, of course, stems from alter­nate ide­olo­gies that pro­vide a rea­son for the ter­ror­ist actions. Behind anar­chism is an ulti­mate goal other than sim­ply the destruc­tion of struc­ture and the cre­ation of an “extreme looseness” – there is always a dri­ving ide­ol­ogy that exists behind it. Anar­chism func­tions with an intent to reform, to later recon­struct a new struc­ture that will empower the dis­en­fran­chised and those who are dis­il­lu­sioned with the present order of things. This is so in the text, with Marx­ism being the dri­ving force behind such anar­chism: there is always an intent to over­throw the impe­ri­al­ist rul­ing classes and give a voice to those who are with­out one. Marx­ism is recog­nised as being a preva­lent influ­ence not of the author’s set­ting, but rather of the period in which the text is set – and this ide­ol­ogy is recog­nised with a close link to that of voice and the ‘immi­grant experience’ – notably, linked closely to post-colonialism and the break­ing away from pre­con­cep­tions of for­eign states.

This idea of ‘voice’ in a place with an estab­lished lan­guage and cul­ture (pri­mar­ily west­ern) is a sub­ject with far-reaching links not sim­ply to the Marx­ist con­struct of oppres­sion by an impe­ri­al­is­tic soci­ety and an ever-expanding bour­geoisie class, but also to the far more con­tem­po­rary emer­gence of post-colonial lit­er­ary the­ory. Thus, the idea of a mis­rep­re­sented and voice­less class for­mu­lated from immi­grants in a post-colonial frame­work is chal­lenged, just as Marx­ism was seen to chal­lenge the sta­tus quo of the 1920’s as pre­sented in the text. Ondaatje uses this con­ver­gence of chrono­log­i­cally dis­tant ide­olo­gies to exhibit a tex­tual integrity through demon­strat­ing the time­less nature of lit­er­a­ture in terms of the themes explored.

The respon­der wit­nesses a par­a­digm that tran­scends the bet­ter part of a cen­tury (or more, if the time between the advent of Marx­ist thought and the emer­gence of post-colonial lit­er­ary the­ory is con­sid­ered) to present an ide­ol­ogy that remains con­gru­ent irre­spec­tive of set­ting – iron­i­cally, demon­strated through the jux­ta­po­si­tion of set­ting to exhibit its irrelevance.

In this way, Ondaatje binds chrono­log­i­cally dis­tant ele­ments together, encap­su­lat­ing a period of time and estab­lish­ing ‘truth’ that pre­vails across a series of ide­olo­gies – tex­tual integrity is estab­lished through the devel­op­ment of such time­less­ness in terms of the con­cepts pre­sented, and this is bound together by aspects of crit­i­cal the­ory com­bined under the aus­pices of post-modernism.

Extension 1 presentation

At least one of these has to work okay with the school’s tech­nol­ogy…
Native OpenOf­fice
MS Pow­er­point

Macro­me­dia Flash
Adobe PDF

*Josh really really really hopes fonts embed­ding works properly*

Aaaannnddd the Flash ver­sion worked great, fonts and all! Thankyou, OpenOffice!

Full­text of the pre­sen­ta­tion, with slide cues, as promised. PDF, file­size: stu­pidly large (280KB). Don’t know what hap­pened there!

As for the con­tent of the thing, no jokes are required about me being unable to write an essay/speech with­out ref­er­ence to acces­si­bil­ity! It’s purely inci­den­tal, I promise! On a slightly more seri­ous note, if some of the sen­tences utterly suck, chances are I didn’t speak them that way… my paper ver­sion had a few pencilled-in cor­rec­tions, and then there was the inevitable “read but speak dif­fer­ently” fac­tor. The end.

Read on for a HTML ver­sion of the same. Read the rest of this entry »

Depicting the plight of the individual

A crit­i­cal essay: How do nine­teenth cen­tury com­posers bring the plight of the indi­vid­ual to the con­scious­ness of their responders?

Because I haven’t got time to come up with con­tent solely for this web­site at the minute. 1645 words.

Nine­teenth cen­tury com­posers bring the plight of the indi­vid­ual to the responder’s aware­ness through their por­trayal of such char­ac­ters in a way that appeals to the respon­der either through the use of empa­thy, or, in the case of other works, through the use of a rising/falling con­flict model in con­junc­tion with elu­cida­tory dia­logue to elicit a response from the responder.

Hen­rik Ibsen’s play Ghosts uses the lat­ter model, mak­ing use of clever expo­si­tions pre­sented by char­ac­ter in order to force read­ers to ques­tion the soci­ety in which they find them­selves, and their roles as indi­vid­u­als within that frame­work. An encom­pass­ing work, Ghosts has been crit­i­cised as being “a lit­tle bare, hard, aus­tere”, in which Ibsen has con­formed too much to the pro­saic ideal and sti­fled his poetic nature – and, in this, become an author who “cares more for ideas and doc­trine than for human beings.” Iron­i­cally, it is this por­trayal of such ideas and doc­trine that, for many, makes this work one of over­whelm­ing humanity.

The model employed by Ibsen here ren­ders char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion super­flu­ous – his char­ac­ters are not bound to a sin­gle per­son, to a sin­gle indi­vid­ual, but are seen to rep­re­sent any num­ber of peo­ple indi­vid­u­ally within human­ity. Hav­ing said this, Ibsen’s works do not gen­er­ally sup­port the notion of a uni­ver­sal com­mon human­ity in which beliefs are shared, draw­ing a dis­tinc­tion between the “out­posts”, the rul­ing classes, and the “com­pact majority” – and there is no rea­son to sup­pose he devi­ates from this under­stand­ing in Ghosts.

Rather than being a character-driven book, in which empa­thy is used to endear a pro­tag­o­nist to the respon­der, Ibsen’s char­ac­ters are some­what flat and unde­vel­oped, although in their behav­iours, estab­lished through dia­logue and stage direc­tions, as well as their inter­ac­tions, they are por­trayed as being in con­flict. Pas­tor Man­ders embod­ies the oppres­sive, hyp­o­crit­i­cal nature of reli­gion – he is more con­cerned for the appease­ment of those who would crit­i­cise his lack of faith than he is for the prac­ti­cal­ity of insur­ance – a prac­ti­cal­ity he recog­nises, but advises against for “the attacks that would assuredly be made upon me in cer­tain papers and periodicals”.

The gulli­bil­ity of this char­ac­ter with regard to Jacob Engstrand’s nature is not sim­ply that, but rather a reflec­tion of the blind­ness of reli­gion to many aspects of indi­vid­ual natures within soci­ety as a whole – Ibsen com­ments on the irrel­e­vance of reli­gion in the lim­ited char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion of Man­ders, and then fur­ther delin­eates this irrel­e­vance through the con­flict intro­duced between var­i­ous char­ac­ters and this figure.

Yet Man­ders is not sim­ply the rep­re­sen­ta­tive of the church. Within Ibsen’s model of soci­ety, Man­ders wields a rul­ing influ­ence from which the “com­pact major­ity” draw their val­ues and belief sys­tems. The cri­tique is not only one of the reli­gious estab­lish­ment, but is inclu­sive of the state and legal sys­tems – some­thing reflected in the injus­tices por­trayed in A Doll’s House. The accu­sa­tion levied against such insti­tu­tions is one of aloof­ness – Ibsen pro­poses such insti­tu­tions are dis­tant from the indi­vid­ual, and can­not ade­quately com­pre­hend their needs. The epit­ome of this is his sup­port of euthana­sia in the clos­ing scene of the play – a some­thing wholly unac­cept­able within that soci­ety, and sim­i­larly open to ques­tion in this age. Ibsen argues in favour of this, the clos­ing scene of the play being emo­tive in its stark nature and elo­quent stage direc­tions. The work con­cludes almost poet­i­cally, with Oswald mind­lessly repeat­ing a phrase, as his mother, Mrs. Alv­ing, grows hys­ter­i­cal at what he has asked her to do – and the respon­der can empathise with both fig­ures, nei­ther of which have been under­stood by the estab­lish­ment. In estab­lish­ing such a dichotomy between the state and the indi­vid­ual, the plight of the indi­vid­ual in a col­lec­tive sense – that is, human­ity as a col­lec­tion of indi­vid­u­als – is brought to the con­scious­ness of the responder.

Empa­thy is lim­ited as a result of (delib­er­ately) restricted char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion, but Ibsen’s pur­pose is still achieved in this work, though per­haps with­out the nuance of his other works. An Enemy of the Peo­ple, also by Ibsen, draws a dis­tinc­tion not between the state and the indi­vid­ual, but rather between those on the “out­posts” and the com­mon peo­ple. It is not, how­ever, solely a work of philo­soph­i­cal self-gratification.

In this instance, the denun­ci­a­tion is instead of the fail­ure of soci­ety as a whole to hear any mes­sage con­tra­dic­tory to its desires, irre­spec­tive of what evils this may require, and sim­i­larly with­out regard for the sus­tain­abil­ity of such a stance. The pol­lu­tion, Dr. Thomas Stock­mann argues, is not sim­ply of the baths, but of soci­ety. He declares at a pub­lic meet­ing that he has dis­cov­ered “all the sources of our moral life are poi­soned and that the whole fab­ric of our civic com­mu­nity is founded on the pes­tif­er­ous soil of falsehood.”

Such bla­tancy is not wholly unchar­ac­ter­is­tic of Ibsen, his career being one of the more con­tro­ver­sial of the great nine­teenth cen­tury play­wrights – undoubt­edly also as a result of his pop­u­lar­ity. Yet the point remains as an ostracised indi­vid­ual shouts his dis­il­lu­sion­ment and cha­grin with soci­ety in this play, a point com­mon to each of his five prose plays, com­posed from 1877, and termed by Ibsen the “drama of ideas”.

The con­text in which it was writ­ten must also be con­sid­ered, quite apart from the period in time in which these works were com­posed. Ibsen’s plays were per­formed to audi­ences all across Europe, and resis­tance to these works var­ied from active cen­sor­ship in Prus­sia (uni­fied Ger­many) and Eng­land, to pas­sive cen­sor­ship – the play was eigh­teen months old before a the­atre agreed to pro­duce it – to pub­lic and media crit­i­cism. Ibsen’s plays attacked many aspects of the estab­lish­ment, and, by his own acknowl­edge­ment, point to nihilism as an inher­ent human con­di­tion for many peo­ple, lead­ing to their tur­moil dur­ing the play, and sub­se­quent social demise (or, more opti­misti­cally, their eman­ci­pa­tion) at its conclusion.

France was per­haps one of the more lib­eral nations in Europe at this time, with the Enlight­en­ment of the eigh­teenth cen­tury per­haps hav­ing the most effect upon their state. The sub­se­quent rev­o­lu­tions that had swept across France had cre­ated a per­va­sive pro­gres­sive mood, but there remained a soci­etal struc­ture rather in accor­dance with Ibsen’s por­trayal of it, albeit with the addi­tion of a mid­dle class sup­port­ive of more lib­eral ideals. This notion of ‘class’ was, for many of the French peo­ple, a rem­nant of a time past which numer­ous rev­o­lu­tions had failed to abol­ish – or, more accu­rately, class dis­tinc­tions. Artists such as Gus­tave Courbet crit­i­cised this con­tin­u­ing soci­etal rift towards the mid­dle of the cen­tury, through the por­trayal of alms-giving. His work was not unique in this theme, with other artists such as Bon­vin and Pils cre­at­ing works depict­ing the same action in the same year, but Courbet’s The Vil­lage Maid­ens Giv­ing Alms to a Guardian of Cat­tle (or The Vil­lage Maid­ens, 1852.) is unique in the man­ner it por­trays such an act. The work is “an unvar­nished, enor­mous and most unwel­come reminder of class dis­tinc­tions in the provinces – a reminder that all was not smil­ing peas­antry and reas­sur­ing folk­lore in Franche-Comté, but that there too, the petty bour­geoisie was set­ting itself apart from the, now threat­en­ing, pro­le­tariat – and fur­ther­more, with the artist’s own sis­ters, clad in con­tem­po­rary bon­nets and dresses, rather than regional folk cos­tume, play­ing the role of mon­eyed ben­e­fi­cience.”1 This was, for the middle-classes of Paris, a rather unwel­come reflec­tion of them­selves that they sought to avoid recog­ni­tion of.

The theme of such char­ity is con­tin­ued in another of Courbet’s works, Beggar’s Alms (1868), which por­trays a beg­gar grant­ing a young boy a coin – sig­nif­i­cant, rel­a­tive to the beggar’s means. The plight of the indi­vid­ual in both these works is por­trayed as being of lit­tle con­se­quence in an uncar­ing soci­ety – the poor are required to care for the poor, as an indif­fer­ent bour­geoisie con­tin­ues life unburdened.

Bur­den­ing of the indi­vid­ual is another theme com­mon to many works of the nine­teenth cen­tury crit­i­cal of soci­ety, a key exam­ple of this being Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles. The pro­tag­o­nist of this text, Tess Durbey­field (or d’Urberville), bears the sin of a man who goes on unhin­dered by his act, unaware of its con­se­quence, until he again meets Tess some years later, lead­ing to his demise. Her mar­riage to Angel Clare is an unqual­i­fied fail­ure, despite her con­tin­u­ing devo­tion to him until, finally, under the weight of her des­per­a­tion, hope of his return elapses and she is com­pelled to reside with Alec d’Urberville in order to sup­port her mother and siblings.

With­out a hus­band, Tess d’Urberville is ‘incomplete’ – she is inca­pable, in the soci­ety in which she finds her­self, of liv­ing inde­pen­dently, as a result of the expec­ta­tions placed upon her. Soci­ety has caused this cir­cum­stance through the patri­ar­chal expec­ta­tion of ‘purity’ falling solely upon a woman with no means of recourse – Alec d’Urberville may be viewed as a motif of oppres­sion rather than an actual char­ac­ter, as his per­sona is devel­oped by its ele­ments, rather than explicit char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion. Con­versely, Angel Clare is exten­sively devel­oped so he is endeared in the mind of the respon­der, such that he exists as an indi­vid­ual as does Tess – his indi­vid­ual actions being guided by his own fail­ure to meet society’s expec­ta­tions (his lack of reli­gious con­vic­tions), but he remains in con­flict with this as he leaves Tess whom it is quite clear he loves from his uncon­scious actions on the first night of their marriage.

Ulti­mately, Hardy’s protagonist’s plight is the tragic con­se­quence of a sin against her held by soci­ety to be a fault of her own. The respon­der is brought to value the pro­tag­o­nist as an indi­vid­ual in such a con­flict through Hardy’s endear­ing por­trayal of her in accor­dance with the first model out­lined at the begin­ning of this crit­i­cal essay, and it is thus that an aware­ness of her plight is raised.

1 Nochlin, L. Real­ism. Pen­guin, 1971. Page 124.

Extension 2 stress

Or maybe just “extended stress”? Either way.

I’ve got a draft due at the end of next week, but iron­i­cally I’m not wor­ried about that so much. Of greater con­cern is the bun­dle of paper that has, for the past sev­eral months, sat rel­a­tively dor­mant atop a speaker in my room. So… umm… the glue is get­ting a work­out this week­end. Note to self — buy glue.

Hap­haz­ard organ­i­sa­tion is per­mit­ted, per­haps even encour­aged — insert some rub­bish about reflect­ing cre­ativ­ity here. I believe in spon­tene­ity and a cer­tain extent of anar­chy in com­po­si­tion, but, in my expe­ri­ence, there’s lit­tle that can’t be actu­ally coher­ently doc­u­mented — in fact, ‘spon­tene­ity’ gen­er­ally has a cat­a­lyst, although our abil­ity to rec­ol­lect these cir­cum­stances will fail. Essen­tially, I’m going to pre­pare a doc­u­ment I have lit­tle faith in the authen­tic­ity of. But that’s okay, pro­vided I do it well, and make it look substantial.

Gaps are cre­ativ­ity. Or something.

As for the draft that is due, I con­sider that to be more of a process that must be under­taken at some point, rather than any­thing of inher­ent impor­tance. Which, it may be added, is some­thing of an inver­sion of my per­spec­tive of some months ago when I first sub­mit­ted a pro­posal. Ini­tially, I believed the end prod­uct was ulti­mate, and the process was a nec­es­sary evil that must be under­taken to pla­cate markers.

I sup­pose not that much has changed — I’ve just refined my view­points some­what. The doc­u­men­ta­tion of process is still a nec­es­sary evil, but I don’t feel like the end prod­uct is so vital. Don’t under­stand that as my say­ing “I’m demo­ti­vated”… I’m per­fectly fine in terms of that.

I now respect process as nec­es­sary for the cre­ation of com­plex ideas, and the shap­ing of direc­tion from a bunch of (mostly) unre­lated threads. Right now, how­ever, I per­ceive the idea (“per­ceive” because it may change, of course) to have reached clo­sure. I recog­nise the plot in its entirety. I could now talk any indi­vid­ual through the story, ver­bally, albeit per­haps with­out the same elo­quence that may be achieved on paper, sans sponteneity.

Of course, the process of the writ­ing itself refines, but… I don’t mind the idea as is. And that’s what the process is about. Ideas. Not tan­gi­ble sen­tences, struc­ture, seman­tics and implicit post-modernist (con­trived) nuance, but con­cepts. Some­times, con­cepts work bet­ter than their extrap­o­lated cousins. Not, it must be said, in an under­de­vel­oped way — but sim­ply in terms of power of expres­sion. And confidence.

I think that’s a big part of it, actu­ally. Recog­nis­ing you have an idea and only you can put it onto paper. That it won’t go any­where from your mind, unless some­one else thinks of it, at which point it ceases to be your idea. The con­fi­dence that jus­tice can be done to a notion. Writ­ing some­thing that will be read, and that the author is pre­pared to have read. That it can be ade­quately rep­re­sented — this is my great­est concern.

My unre­lated threads are:

  • a work placement
  • new tech­nol­ogy at school
  • a web devel­op­ment proposal
  • weblogs
  • cyn­i­cism
  • influ­en­tial people/authors of related texts
  • other “stuff” I’ve read, influ­enc­ing style

An essay on the digital divide

What is the dig­i­tal divide, and what impli­ca­tions for soci­ety and the indi­vid­ual are seen to arise from this?

A rather broad topic, per­haps, but use­ful, nonethe­less. Warn­ing — it’s fairly long.

Update: Now in pretty PDF form! Read the rest of this entry »

Forest Blue photos

A photo or three from the play For­est Blue, which is still on at the Old Fitzroy for at least two more shows (next Sun­day and Mon­day) and pos­si­bly two more after that if it’s extended.

Character of Sissy dancing at front of performance space.

Writer Sarah Doyle standing next to character of Sissy.

Sissy moves towards stage left, where visuals are being projected onto the set.

Credit for these pho­tos to Sarah Doyle, author of the play, using my camera.

# by Josh on January 12th, 2005 Tags: , ,
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Design and licensing changes

As reg­u­lar or semi-regular vis­i­tors here would note, there have been var­i­ous minor quirky design changes in the last sev­eral days. Most imme­di­ately evi­dent is the new back­ground pat­tern, sourced from squidfin­gers most excel­lent pat­terns resource. If you’re par­tic­u­larly atten­tive, you would have also noted the changes to the footer of this web­site. Read the rest of this entry »

# by Josh on September 28th, 2004 Tags: , ,
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