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Student Midterm submissions 2013 (2013 midterm assignment) |
LITR 5831 World Literature
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Jenna Zucha
Zucha’s Web Highlights:
The study of postcolonial text often demands of the reader an
acknowledgement of the past, as in Historicism or intertextuality, or the
creation of a dialogue between the colonial mindset and the literature that
mindset produced. Therefore, it also seems fitting to employ the same sort of
dialogue and acknowledgment to the past writings of students by present students
engaged in this area of study. Each person offers a unique perspective on the
subject matter, and as a student new to this area of study, I will benefit from
the analysis and observations made by others who have come before. In this
acknowledgment of the previous scholarly observations I noted three outstanding
perspectives that have aided me in my own inquiries.
Camille Buxton successfully sheds light on the concepts of
Eurocentric guilt and apologias meant to atone for the slipshod attitude of the
colonizers in her essay, “The Role of
Apologia in Post Colonial Studies” (2009). Buxton begins by defining the term
apologia as “a work written as an explanation or justification of motives,
convictions or acts,” and she uses this definition to apply the concept of
apologia to Conrad’s Heart of Darkness
in dialogue with Achebe’s Things Fall
Apart. Buxton argues that apologia literature “arose as colonial texts” in
order to defend the “Eurocentric attitude that often degraded and dehumanized
indigenous people, reducing their socio-cultural norms to childlike fetishes
because they were non-European.” Her argument seems motivated by the observation
that even in post colonial discussion “the colonizer was cast in the role of
human with flaws, whereas the formerly colonized became the expresser of
unwarranted, misdirected anger.” This essay was enlightening, even though Buxton
focuses on texts we will explore later in the semester, her attention to
complicated issues that frustrate any post colonial discussion equips new
students to the subject with unique issues to consider in their own research and
discourse. Her use of the term “apologia” helps stir my own analysis when it
comes to colonial and postcolonial literature.
In addition, Chrisoula Mouliatis focuses on the work of
Jamaica Kincaid in her research post, “Mother-daughter, Colonizer-colonized”
(2009), and extends the traditional question of maternal bonding by exploring
the mother-daughter relationship within the post colonial contexts of
Lucy and
Annie John. Mouliatis asserts that
Kincaid’s “passionate and emotional tone” stems from these turbulent
relationships, and that “the struggling bond between mother and daughter can
affect and even change a person’s life, and this is why I hope to discover the
real issue at hand between Kincaid and her mother and between Kincaid’s
protagonists and their mothers.” This post provided a close reading of
Lucy and
Annie John, and provided useful
insight into possible topics for research and exploration.
In conclusion, I was most intrigued by Abby Estillore’s
research post, “Film and Post colonialism” (2009), because she aims to answer
the question “what is the role of film in depicting the West and East’s
perspectives on social categories (race, gender, nationality, sexual
orientation) toward educating viewers about identity construction through film?”
Visual literacy and film is an interesting medium to explore when approaching
the topic of Colonial and Postcolonial literature because so much of the
discrimination and differentiation between the Self and Other is based on
physical/visual ques. Estillore uses information from Robert Stam’s
Film Theory and Laura Mulvey’s,
“Visual Pleasure and the Narrative Cinema,” to back up her claim that “film [is]
a type of text that forces preconceived concepts about one’s race to be shaped
and reshaped within a given social-historical context.” Estillore analyzes
the film White Teeth by Zadie Smith,
and looks “at the power structures between spectator and spectacle along with
social constructions of race, gender, class, and nationality” in order to
explain what potential “subconscious messages implied through images and social
interactions in film” may exists. Estillore goes onto assert that “the dialog
between the West and East’s perspectives about the ways they view each other
continues to undermine what we, as a society, know about our and someone else’s
identity through filmic representations.” I appreciate Abby Estillore’s
exceptional perspective and I am tempted to trace similar roads of research.
Zucha Mid Term
Silenced and Amplified Voices
in Colonial and Postcolonial Literature
The novel serves as a representation of societal views, it
has modernity as a genre, and, as characterized by Bakhtin, the novel serves as
a meeting of many voices or world views through character’s dialogue and
narration. Therefore, the novel has functioned as one of the primary vehicles
for Colonial literature and continues as the genre of choice for postcolonial
writers. In this field of study two questions seem to dominate discussion: Can
the Colonizers be understood as anything other than villains? Moreover, can
postcolonial texts successfully move out from under the shadows of an oppressing
colonial superpower when the language of the Oppressor is used to tell the story
of the oppressed? Kincaid and other postcolonial writers attempt to create
voices for the muted masses of colonization, but are confronted with this
problematic aspect of language and the issue of identifying a self-image for the
Other. By contrasting or inverting
perspectives, characterizations of Imperial tropes, and representations of
voices in colonial and postcolonial literature many understood notions of
identity begin to dissolve, and postcolonial authors find effective ways of
amplifying the silenced voices of the
Other even when using the language of the colonizer.
Postcolonial texts often center on a polarized depiction of
the Self and
Other as victim and victimizer, and
most colonial/postcolonial discourse follow this same trend. As part of an
anti-colonizing resistance this tradition of opposition seems fitting and often
necessary. As we see in Jamaica Kincaid’s
Lucy and “A Small Place,” an unforgiving and aggressive depiction of the
Colonizers is justified when a Nation’s identity and culture has been forcefully
stripped away. Kincaid is speaking for all the silenced voices, the “Antigua
[that] no longer exists” (92). In dialogue with colonial texts it is clear that
the Nation she speaks of no longer exists because the Colonizers were so
successful in indoctrinating their culture and customs that when they reseeded,
and took their culture and customs with them, Antigua was left without any sense
of an independent identity. Not only does a postcolonial writer feel a social
obligation to speak out against the Colonizer, but the writer must reestablish
substance of thought, culture, and independence behind the voice he or she is
using to speak.
As a
result, one of the principal motivations behind writing literature from a
postcolonial perspective is to establish a voice to represent the many
eradicated voices of Colonized Nations. Subsequently, we see a perversion of the
dehumanizing tropes found in colonialism and colonial literature. In order to
fully understand the effectiveness of postcolonial literature a review of the
colonial mindset and perception of the Imperial
Self is imperative. The dominating
mechanism of Imperialism was the re-education of the Native and the god-like
elevating of the Colonizer. Both parties had to see the
Other as inferior in order for
Imperialism to sustain power and control.
In his essay “Literature and Society,”
Ngugi Wa’ Thiong’o explains
that “the English colonizers presented the image of the ideal Englishman to the
Indians. This ideal was conveyed for the most part through literature,” and the
re-education of the Native’s self-image was made complete through
“negative images of themselves and their culture.” The idea was to eliminate as
much violent force as possible by molding submissive inferior Indians. “[The
colonizer] would like to have a slave who not only accepts that he is a slave,
but that he is a slave because he is fated to be nothing else but a slave. Hence
he must love and be grateful to the master for his magnanimity in enslaving him
to a higher, nobler civilization (12). An unequal partnership is established and
reinforced through religion, education, and literature.
This Imperial mechanism is present in Dafoe’s
Robinson Crusoe through the
re-education of Crusoe’s man Friday. Friday is first characterized by Crusoe as
a simple savage cannibal that must be shown the error if his ways through
Crusoe’s compassion and guidance. He begins by breaking Friday’s taste for human
flesh; “I thought that, in order to
bring Friday off from his horrid way of feeding, and from the relish of a
cannibal's
stomach, I ought to let him taste other flesh” (15:1).
Once he is successful in converting Friday’s stomach he moves onto converting
his mind by “instruct[ing] him in the
knowledge of the true God” (15.12). This conversion is necessary but
Friday is still identified as inferior and somehow different from Crusoe in
order to maintain the Master/Slave relationship.
Crusoe seems revived and empowered by his position as Master and Savior when he
states: “I had a singular satisfaction
in the fellow himself: his simple, unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and
more every day, and I began really to love the creature; and on his side I
believe he loved me more than it was possible for him ever to love anything
before” (15.6). Friday’s voice is censored by Crusoe who continues to speak for
him, and the relationship between Crusoe and Friday seems to exemplify
the English-Colonial mindset. Friday’s
subservience and acceptance of his Master’s teachings elevates Crusoe’s sense of
superiority and helps to eliminate any fear or anxiety of the
Other. The unequal partnership
created by the Imperial mechanism of re-education becomes necessary for both the
Self and the
Other to survive.
George Orwell’s short story, “Shooting an Elephant,” offers an extension of this
partnership by addressing the phenomena of the Native’s demand for the Colonizer
to uphold the near-godly perfection they have contracted to provide, and it also
hints at how flimsy the Imperial mechanism really was. The narrator describes a
bitter “anti-European feeling” among the Burmese who would jeer, sneer, and
laugh at “their oppressors, the British,” and he goes onto explain how much he
hates his position and the Empire; “[a]ll I knew was that I was stuck between my
hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little
beasts who tried to make my job impossible.” The
narrator’s voice is garlanded with doubt, and even though the voices of the
Natives are filtered by the narrator’s own voice, the reader gets a sense of how
much the Native’s voice affects the narrator’s disposition, which in turn, is
giving the voice of the Other more of
a presence than is seen in Robinson
Crusoe. The re-education of the Native is failing on both ends in Orwell’s
depiction of the British Empire. Both parties have failed to maintain the
self-image of the colonizer the Imperial mechanism has demanded. The narrator
does not believe in his or the Empire’s superiority, and as a result, the
colonized natives begin to show small signs of rebellion. The narrator reflects
on his perplexing position and recognizes his role in the charade;
“Here
was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native
crowd—seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an
absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind. I
perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own
freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the
conventionalized figure of a sahib [Urdu "sir" for
addressing Europeans; cf. Swahili Bwana]. For it is the condition
of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the "natives," and
so in every crisis he has got to do what the "natives" expect of him. He wears a
mask, and his face grows to fit it.”
This passage of reflection is significant in many ways because it highlights a
progressive moment of clarity from the perspective of the Colonizer who
recognizes the instability of his role as a superior and dominate power over the
Other, and it complicates the role of
the colonized as an active participant in Imperialism. The crowd demands that
the narrator kill the elephant by using the very technology (the gun) that was
used to subdue and control them. In contrast with Dafoe’s novel, Crusoe never
has a moment of reflection that is comparable. His reflections function as
reinforcements of the Imperial ideal, and Friday’s thoughts, reactions, and
sentiments towards his situation are filtered by the dominating voice of the
narrator. Crusoe is constantly establishing his superiority when he reflects on
the progress of his situation;
“My island was now peopled, and I thought myself
very rich in subjects; and it was a merry reflection, which I frequently made,
how like a king I looked. First of all, the whole country was my own property,
so that I had an undoubted right of dominion. Secondly, my people were perfectly
subjected—I was absolutely lord and lawgiver—they all owed their lives to me,
and were ready to lay down their lives, if there had been occasion for it, for
me. It was remarkable, too, I had but three subjects, and they were of three
different religions—my man Friday was a Protestant, his father was a Pagan and a
cannibal, and the Spaniard was a Papist. However, I allowed liberty of
conscience throughout my dominions” (16.42).
For Orwell’s narrator the delusion of dominance has been effaced, but we see no
sign of uncertainty or apprehension coming from Crusoe. The explanation for this
blind confidence is two-fold: within the context of the novel’s setting Crusoe
is the King of his own island while the narrator in “Shooting an Elephant” is
not isolated from society, and historically Dafoe is writing
Robinson Crusoe at the height of
Imperialism (1719) while Orwell is writing near its decline (1936). Even prior
to the postcolonial and post-modern movement there is a clear decline in
promoting the Empire and colonization as a fail-safe system for improving the
world. Moreover, in Rudyard Kipling’s The
man Who Would be King (1888), there is a criticism towards the contradictory
and often dangerous aspects of one superior group ruling over another group that
is made inferior through perception and manipulation. In Kipling’s narrative we
have two men who have been re-educated by the British Empire to believe in their
own unwavering superiority. They have been taught through example that any
unknown territory to the Empire can be easily invaded, conquered, and ruled by
force and manipulation. Drovot explains to the narrator why they have become
restless and wish to move into Kafiristan; he wants to “go
away to some other place where a man isn't crowded and can come to his own.
We are not little men, and there is nothing that we are afraid of
except Drink, and we have signed a Contrack on that.
Therefore,
we are going away to be Kings" (1.42). Again we see this unbridled confidence
that is apparent in Robinson Crusoe
but it is exaggerated in Kipling’s story to comment on this idea of Native
rulers who have larger than life perceptions of their abilities and no
consideration for the customs and culture of the Natives. Unlike Crusoe, Dravot
and Carnahan are unsuccessful in the ruling of their kingdom because Dravot
equals himself to that of a god, whereas Crusoe only sees himself as ordained by
God to teach and rule over Friday. Kipling seems to be exploring the potential
consequences of the Colonial mindset: if a man or Nation believes they have been
ordained by God to rule over all other Nations then this sense of unconquerable
superiority could lead to megalomania or a god-complex. Dravot has an inflated
sense of self-esteem and importance and even when he is defeated and facing
death he yells
‘“An Emperor am I,' says Daniel, 'and next year I shall be a Knight of the
Queen”'(2.80).
In Postcolonial texts the partnership and roles of the colonized and colonizers
is transposed or inverted in order to reestablish a culture and voice that had
been eradicated by the process of Imperialism. To return to Jamaica Kincaid,
this role reversal is evident in “A Small Place” through her style and diction.
One strategy used by the Colonizer to establish power among the colonized was to
over generalize the Native and to remove any trace of individuality. David
Cannadine explores this concept in his book,
Ornamentalism, when he explains that
members of the Empire would often think of the Natives in “collective
rather than in individualistic categories, they were inclined to see them,
literally, in terms of crude stereotypes of black and white, and no-less crude
relationships of superiority and inferiority (122). Kincaid successfully
repurposes this traveling trope by categorizing all English as “crazy,
bad-minded people” who “hate each other and they hate England, and the reason
they are so miserable now is that they have no place else to go and nobody else
to feel better than” (92). This is shocking to the reader and establishes the
desired affect which is to invert the perception of the
Self and
Other. The
Other now has a unique and
individualized voice while the Self
has been reduced to general and unflattering types that can be subjected to
blame and ridicule.
This idea of establishing an individual voice for the
Other is extended in Kincaid’s novel,
Lucy, in which the main character is
given an opportunity to speak out against her re-education. Early in the novel
Lucy recalls a particularly bitter moment in her re-education when she was
forced to read, memorize, and recite William Wordsworth’s poem, “I Wondered
Lonely as a Cloud,” and through this experience she came to view daffodils as a
symbol of colonization; “I felt sorry that I had cast her beloved daffodils in a
scene she had never considered, a scene of conquered and conquests; a scene of
brutes masquerading as angels portrayed as brutes” (30). Lucy deeply wants to
confront Mariah with all of this bitterness and betrayal, but instead she
stammers and bites her own tongue attempting to speak. She awkwardly manages to
say ‘”Mariah, do you realize that at ten years of age I had to learn by heart a
long poem about some flowers I would not see in real life until I was
nineteen?’” (30) They very fact that she stumbles over and struggles to say
these words that barely begin to scratch the surface of what she really feels
exemplifies the fact that the individual voice that Kincaid has created is still
struggling to speak against the Empire that has held sway for so long. Can this
voice ever be real outside the context of colonialism? Will it ever find
language that is independent of the Empire?
Both questions hold substantial weight in this area of study and often seem like
insurmountable obstacles when discussing postcolonial literature, but many
postcolonial writers have accepted the challenge presented by language and have
created great cracks and crevices in the wall of Imperial power. One obstacle
that fortifies this wall is the question of which language to use, and how a
writer justifies using the language of the oppressor to tell the story of the
oppressed? As we have seen with Kincaid, the inverting of established tropes and
images of the Colonizers as the inferior is one approach to breaking down this
wall. Another approach being the insertion of dialect, slang, and un-translated
phrases into the language of the colonizer, this creates a type of syncretism in
which the mixing of two opposing elements, in this case language is combined to
create a new whole. A whole that does not belong singularly to the colonizers or
the colonized; the partnership begins to equal out. We will soon see examples of
this syncretism when discussing Achebe’s
Things Fall Apart, Singh’s Train to
Pakistan, and Mukherjee’s Jasmine.
Works Cited
Cannadine,
David.
Ornamentalism.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Defoe, Daniel, Tom Keymer, and James William. Kelly.
Robinson Crusoe. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008. Print.
Kincaid, Jamaica. Lucy. New York: Farrar Straus
Giroux, 2002. Print.
---. “A Small Place.” Class handout.
Kipling, Rudyard. The
Man Who Would Be King. Annotated text from seminar.
Nesbit, Scott. "Myths of the Native." Postcolonial Studies
Emory. Emory University, Sept. 2001. Web. 07 Oct. 2013.
Ngugi Wa’
Thiong’o. “Literature and Society: the Politics of the Canon.”
Critical Perspectives on Ngugi.
Ed. G.D. Killam. Washington D.C.: Three Continents Press, 1984. 17-45.
Orwell, George. "Shooting An Elephant."
Online-Literature.com. The Literature Network, n.d. Web. 07 Oct. 2013.
Zucha’s Research Proposal:
·
2 Research Posts Option
·
I am going with the research posting option because I am interested in inquiry
into several topics and I do not want to be limited by one thesis or area of
focus.
·
After reviewing several past research postings, I was most struck by Abby
Estillore’s post on “Film and Postcolonialism” (2009). I am interested in apply
similar modes of analysis to the film
Rabbit-Proof Fence for my first post.
I also aim to define features of the film through a postcolonial lens.
o
Essential Questions for research include:
§
Defining the Australian “stolen generation.” What is it and how is the
Australian self-image transformed by this dark moment in their history?
§
Placing the Moore River Native Settlement in the global colonial spectrum. Where
does it fit? What where their motivations for establishing a presence among the
Aboriginals? Why a focus on young girls?
§
Possibly comparing reactions over film versus Garimara’s book.
§
Looking at Doris Pilkington Garimara’s life, connections to, and motivations for
writing on this subject.
§
How does the film portray the Natives and the Colonizers?
How are modes of film used to relay a particular tone or message about
the content?
o
Possible Sources:
Anderson, Hazel; Little, Ernestine; Wolfe, Wondy (1993),
Nyoongar Yorgas remember: early days at
Moore River Settlement, Green River Books.
Wadley Dowley, Carolyn (2000).
Through silent country. Fremantle
Arts Centre Press.
Haebich, Anna (1988). “For Their Own Good: Aborigines and
Government in the Southwest of Western Australia.” 1900-1940. Nedlands, Western
Australia: University of Western Australia Press.
Manne, Robert. "The Colour of Prejudice". Sydney Morning
Herald.
Susan Maushart (2003),
Sort of a place like home: remembering the Moore River Native Settlement
(Rev. ed ed.), Fremantle Arts Centre Press.
·
My second research post is less defined and focused but I am also interested in
exploring general issues concerning violence towards women in postcolonial
India.
o
Essential Questions for research include:
§
What types of violent acts are women subjected to in India?
§
What and/or who is to blame for this war on women?
§
What institutions reinforce such volatile treatment of women i.e. Ramayana,
Bollywood cinema, and Hinduism?
§
What role does the Imperial mechanism play? Has it added to or relieved some of
the violent tendencies?
§
What is being done to help? Has any progress been made?
o
Possible sources:
Hundal, Sunny. India
Dishonored: Behind a Nation’s War on Women. The Guardian, 2013.
La Quesne, Felicity. “Violence against women in India: culture, institutions and inequality.” The International. Sept. 2013.
