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This paper is the report of a study conducted by five people – four at Stanford, and one at the University of Wisconsin – which tried to establish whether computer-generated algorithms could "recognize" literary genres. You take 'David Copperfield', run it through a program without any human input – "unsupervised", as the expression goes – and ... can the program figure out whether it's a gothic novel or a 'Bildungsroman'? The answer is, fundamentally, Yes: but a Yes with so many complications that it is necessary to look at the entire process of our study. These are new methods we are using, and with new methods the process is almost as important as the results.
There has been a great deal of uproar about Darwinian approaches in literary scholarship. Statements range from enthusiastic prophecies of a new paradigm for literary studies to acrimonious scoldings of reductionism. Believing that the major challenge is first to find good questions to which evolutionary psychology might provide us with good answers, I outline and critically assess different veins of argumentation as revealed in recent contributions to the field. As an alternative to some simplistic mimeticism in present Literary Darwinism, I put forward the idea of evolutionary psychology as a heuristic theory that serves to resolve defined problems in interpretation and literary theory.
In the last few years, literary studies have experienced what we could call the rise of quantitative evidence. This had happened before of course, without producing lasting effects, but this time it’s probably going to be different, because this time we have digital databases, and automated data retrieval. As Michel’s and Lieberman’s recent article on "Culturomics" made clear, the width of the corpus and the speed of the search have increased beyond all expectations: today, we can replicate in a few minutes investigations that took a giant like Leo Spitzer months and years of work. When it comes to phenomena of language and style, we can do things that previous generations could only dream of.
When it comes to language and style. But if you work on novels or plays, style is only part of the picture. What about plot – how can that be quantified? This paper is the beginning of an answer, and the beginning of the beginning is network theory. This is a theory that studies connections within large groups of objects: the objects can be just about anything – banks, neurons, film actors, research papers, friends... – and are usually called nodes or vertices; their connections are usually called edges; and the analysis of how vertices are linked by edges has revealed many unexpected features of large systems, the most famous one being the so-called "small-world" property, or "six degrees of separation": the uncanny rapidity with which one can reach any vertex in the network from any other vertex. The theory proper requires a level of mathematical intelligence which I unfortunately lack; and it typically uses vast quantities of data which will also be missing from my paper. But this is only the first in a series of studies we’re doing at the Stanford Literary Lab; and then, even at this early stage, a few things emerge.
It is no accident that the figuration of rewriting as copying is an image from "One Way Street". This apparently casual assemblage of small, rather belletristic texts - still some of the least explored terrain in all of Benjamin - is in important ways the key to all of Benjamin’s later writing, and especially that writing based on the form of the "Denkbild" or figure of thought. In what follows, I will concentrate on one set of paired examples in order to demonstrate in a more focused way the practice of rewriting and its effects: on the relationship between "Berlin Childhood around 1900" and "One Way Street".
The virgin Mary and Eve constitute two opposite sexual poles in the way Christian discourse has approached women since the time of the church fathers. This stems from a predicament faced by the human male throughout hominid evolution, namely, paternal uncertainty. Because the male is potentially always at risk of unwittingly raising the offspring of another male, two (often complementary) male sexual strategies have evolved to counter this genetic threat: mate guarding and promiscuity. The Virgin Mary is the mythological expression of the mate guarding strategy. Mary is an eternal virgin, symbolically allaying all fear of paternal uncertainty. Mary makes it possible for the male psyche to have its reproductive cake and eat it too: she gives birth (so reproduction takes place) and yet requires no mate guarding effort or jealousy. Eve, the inventor of female sexuality, is repeatedly viewed by the church fathers, e.g., Augustine and Origen, as Mary's opposite. Thus, Eve becomes the embodiment of the whore: both attractive in the context of the promiscuity strategy and repulsive in terms of paternal uncertainty: "Death by Eve, life by Mary" (St. Jerome). The Mary-Eve dichotomy has given a conceptual basis to what is known in psychology as the Madonna-Whore dichotomy: the tendency to categorize women in terms of two polar opposites. This paper will explore the way mythology reflects biology, i.e., human psychological traits that have evolved over millennia.
Ein Vordenker, der in der internationalen Diskussion um « cultural translation » so gut wie nie diskutiert wird, ist Antonio Gramsci. Der Philosoph aus Sardinien, von Kindes Tagen an in Zweisprachigkeit (Sardisch-Italienisch) geübt, hat ein feines Sensorium für kulturelle Differenzen ausgebildet. In seinen Gefängnisjahren übersetzt er – als intellektuelles Training – aus dem Russischen und dem Deutschen ins Italienische, und in den Gefängnisheften setzt er sich wiederholt mit dem Begriff der traducibilità (Übersetzbarkeit) auseinander: Übersetzbarkeit von Sprachen, aber auch von Kulturen. Der Artikel geht den Linien nach, die von Gramscis Überlegungen zu der aktuellen Diskussion gezogen werden können, und diskutiert am Ende vergleichend die Positionen Homi K. Bhabhas und Gayatri Spivaks.
I would like to start off my cultural-historical intervention with a trouvaille from the 'Denktagebuch', a sort of intellectual notebook, of Hannah Arendt, the famous German-Jewish philosopher (1906–1975). Arendt's publications include a most profound book on the 'Human Condition' (1958, in German 'Vita activa', 1960) in which she develops the idea of 'acting / Handlung' as the crucial realm of intersubjectivity and humanity. This realm is based in the space between human beings, a literal 'inter-est' of togetherness. It is only in this space, only in the relationship to others, that the full sense of the Self, including the involuntary expressions of the person, manifests itself. It is the same realm in which the moral, social and political life is created. In the notebook of the 44-year-old Arendt one comes across the following entry: "In nichts offenbart sich die eigentümliche Vieldeutigkeit der Sprache [...] deutlicher als in der Metapher. So habe ich zum Beispiel ein Leben lang die Metapher 'es öffnet sich mir das Herz' benutzt, ohne je die dazu gehörende physische Sensation erfahren zu haben. Erst seit ich die physische Sensation kenne, weiss ich, wie oft ich gelogen habe [...]. Wie aber hätte ich je die Wahrheit der physischen Sensation erfahren, wenn die Sprache mit ihrer Metapher mir nicht bereits eine Ahnung von der Bedeutsamkeit des Vorgangs gegeben hätte?" (Notebook II, 22 December 1950, Arendt 2002, 46) The entry discusses the mutual transferral between mind and body by reflecting the role of language as a mediator for minding the body and the embodiment of the mind. Since the phrase of the 'open heart' belongs to a register of long-established metaphors, these reflections concern the comprehension of body-metaphors and their role for a 'shared meaningful space of experiences' (Gallese 2009a, 527), i.e. language as transmitter of experiences and memory in cultural history.
Theatre constitutes a form of collective creativity. This idea is not as self-evident as one might expect. To some extent the collective Character of this art form had to be rediscovered over the course of the twentieth century, as theatre emancipated itself from the primacy of the literary text and thus from the primacy of the author. In fact, the collective character of this art form was fully brought into view again only with the debates about a post-dramatic theatre of the last few decades. In this essay I will tum back to the point in cultural history when literature started to dominate theatre and when the supremacy accorded the author began to annul theatre's collective character. This paradigmatic shift in the evolution of theatre occurred during the eighteenth century, and it is represented primarily by Johann Christoph Gottsched. In the following I will investigate Gottsched's efforts to reform the theatre of his age from a mediological point of view.
'Perhaps the sodomites should be written out of Dante's "Inferno"', Jarman wrote in his journal on 1 August 1990: 'I'll offer myself as the ghostwriter.' What does he mean by 'ghostwriter' here? How queer is this odd speech-act? What is he offering to do to the homophobic landscape of the "Inferno", that forbiddingly sealed textual prison, with his Hollywood pitchman's casual bid to 'write out' the sodomites as if they were a slight embarrassment to the divine justice system? Is he speaking in jest as a writer of gay satires and sacrilegious memoirs, or in deadly earnest as an activist who had renounced the middle-class pretensions and frivolities of the pre-AIDS gay world? [...] Jarman counters the trope of homosexual theft visually with the triumphant figure of Man with Snake. The Dantesque merging of snake and thief is replaced by an erotic dance in which the gilded youth raises his phallic partner above his head and seductively kisses it on the mouth. Whereas Dante would have us notice the grotesque parody of the Trinity played out in the seventh bolgia - with the unchanging Puccio as God the Father, the two-natured Agnello-Cianfa as Christ, and the fume-veiled Buoso receiving his forked tongue from the serpent Francesco in a demonic replay of the gift of tongues from the Spirit - Jarman clears away all overdetermined theological meanings to revel in the purely aesthetic impact of the phallic dancer. All the ghosts from Dante's snakepit are conjured away in the film and replaced with the solid presence of a single gorgeously spotlit male body. Ghostwriting Dante, for Jarman, meant more than a mere appropriation of homoerotic scenes from the "Inferno" into his screenplay. It meant a complete reimagining of their aesthetic significance within the filmscape of his Dantean transformations.
The 1935 Fox Films "Dante's Inferno" (directed by Harry Lachman) traces the rise and fall of an entrepreneur. Its protagonist, Jim Carter (played by Spencer Tracy), begins the story as a stoker on a cruise liner. The narrative opens with a burst of flames from the ship's boiler, and the ensuing scene goes on to show the protagonist competing at shovelling coal for a bet in the sweltering engine-room. Interspersed are shots of the superstructure directly above with a number of elegant and vapid passengers following the game below. This initial sequence thus concisely conveys the main features of the film's social agenda through imagery that anticipates that of two of its later 'infernal' sequences. [...] Spectacular admonition and concern about the ruthless pursuit of wealth are the main features which link this "Inferno" of the thirties to the one that had appeared some six hundred years earlier. Wealth and avarice were, of course, demonstrably serious concerns for Dante: as Peter Armour, for example, has shown, there is a recurrent and pervasive concern with money, its meaning, and its misuse throughout the "Commedia". So it is not surprising that the "Inferno" should also have been appropriated by social critics some hundred years before the 1935 Hollywood fable. [...] Some of the narrative and visual patterns in "Dante's Inferno" imply an uneasy underlying vision of the movie industry and its practices. Other productions, publicity, and journalism of the time reinforce suggestions of such a metafictional approach to movies, morality, and the market in the 1935 "Dante's Inferno".
If there is one thing to be learned from David Foster Wallace, it is that cultural transmission is a tricky game. This was a problem Wallace confronted as a literary professional, a university-based writer during what Mark McGurl has called the Program Era. But it was also a philosophical issue he grappled with on a deep level as he struggled to combat his own loneliness through writing. This fundamental concern with literature as a social, collaborative enterprise has also gained some popularity among scholars of contemporary American literature, particularly McGurl and James English: both critics explore the rules by which prestige or cultural distinction is awarded to authors (English; McGurl). Their approach requires a certain amount of empirical work, since these claims move beyond the individual experience of the text into forms of collective reading and cultural exchange influenced by social class, geographical location, education, ethnicity, and other factors. Yet McGurl and English's groundbreaking work is limited by the very forms of exclusivity they analyze: the protective bubble of creative writing programs in the academy and the elite economy of prestige surrounding literary prizes, respectively. To really study the problem of cultural transmission, we need to look beyond the symbolic markets of prestige to the real market, the site of mass literary consumption, where authors succeed or fail based on their ability to speak to that most diverse and complicated of readerships: the general public. Unless we study what I call the social lives of books, we make the mistake of keeping literature in the same ascetic laboratory that Wallace tried to break out of with his intense authorial focus on popular culture, mass media, and everyday life.
Between 1816 and 1821, the philologist François Raynouard (1761–1836) published a "Choix des poésies originales des troubadours". His connections with Madame de Staël's cultural circle at Coppet determined the construction of the myth of courtly love as a forerunner of Romantic love. [...] Acording to this cultural tradition, Dante is an intermediate (although pre-eminent) step in the history of Western desire, a process begun in medieval Provence and revitalized by European Romanticism. When Lacan approaches Dante, it is therefore one Dante - this Dante - that he is approaching. The present essay, in which Fabio Camilletti analyses three tightly interwoven texts, explores some of the reverberations of this encounter. In 1958, Lacan published in "Critique" an article entitled 'La jeunesse d'André Gide, ou la lettre et le désir'. This text, later included in Lacan's "Écrits", was meant to be a review of a biography of the young Gide published in 1956 by Jean Delay, entitled "La jeunesse d'André Gide". In comparing Gide's life with his works of youth, Delay notably focused on Gide's novel of 1891, "Les Cahiers d'André Walter", the third text on which Camilletti focuses his inquiry. These three texts evoke in various ways the relationship between Dante and Beatrice, using it as a cultural allusion through which specific problems of sexuality (or, better, of the absence of sexuality) are conveyed. This essay aims therefore to be a study in the rhapsodic and subterranean presence of Dante and the "Vita Nova" between the end of the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries, as well as in the relationship between literature and psychoanalysis through the quartet Dante-Gide-Delay-Lacan.
'Dante and Ireland', or 'Dante and Irish Writers', is an extremely vast topic, and to cover it a book rather than an essay would be necessary. If the relationship between the poet and Ireland did not begin in the fourteenth century - when Dante himself may have had some knowledge of, and been inspired by, the "Vision of Adamnán", the "Vision of Tungdal", and the "Tractatus de purgatorio Sancti Patricii" - the story certainly had started by the eighteenth, when the Irish man of letters Henry Boyd was the first to produce a complete English translation of the "Comedy", published in 1802. Even if one restricts the field to twentieth-century literature alone, which is the aim in the present piece, the list of authors who are influenced by Dante includes Yeats, Joyce, Beckett, and Heaney - that is to say, four of the major writers not only of Ireland, but of Europe and the entire West. To these should then be added other Irish poets of the first magnitude, such as Louis MacNeice, Ciaran Carson, Eiléan Ní Cuilleanáin, and Thomas Kinsella. Therefore Piero Boitani treats this theme in a somewhat cursory manner, privileging the episodes he considers most relevant and the themes which he thinks form a coherent and intricate pattern of literary history, where every author is not only metamorphosing Dante but also rewriting his predecessor, or predecessors, who had rewritten Dante. Distinct from the English and American Dante of Pound and Eliot, an 'Irish Dante', whom Joyce was to call 'ersed irredent', slowly grows out of this pattern.
In a 1949 letter, Cesare Pavese describes with great zeal the genesis of a new work - one he compares, albeit with a certain amount of irony, to Dante's Commedia. [...] This embryonic project would quickly become the novel "La luna e i falò", completed in less than two months and published shortly before Pavese's suicide in 1950. On the surface, there would seem little reason to take seriously the analogy drawn by the author between "La luna" and the "Commedia", for the novel in question contains no explicit references to the medieval poet. Tristan Kay argues in this essay, however, that the presence of Dante in "La luna" is both more pervasive and more significant than has previously been suggested. While critics have noted in passing several narrative and structural parallels between the two texts, which Kay details in Section II, no attempt has been made to consider their wider significance in our understanding of Pavese's novel. What follows is a reading of "La luna" which shows that the "Commedia" functions not simply as a formal model for Pavese, but, more importantly, as an ideological anti-model, in dialogue with which the author articulates his deeply pessimistic understanding of the human condition.
"Nel regno oscuro" is the first part of a planned trilogy inspired by the "Divine Comedy", integrating the Middle European style of Giorgio Pressburger's previous works with the attempt to engage with the first part of Dante's poem. The role of Virgil, Dante's guide in the "Inferno", is taken by Sigmund Freud, and the journey of the melancholic protagonist begins as psychoanalytic therapy to enable him to come to terms with the loss of his father and his twin brother, but soon turns into a journey through the realm of the dead which, like the "Divine Comedy", takes the shape of a series of encounters with the shades of historical figures. Thus Dante's descent to hell metamorphoses into a phantasmagoric voyage to the most intimate and obscure dimensions of the human psyche as well as a journey through the tragic events of history in the twentieth century - and the Shoah in particular. The combination of the personal, the collective, and even the universal is one of the most interesting aspects Pressburger takes from Dante's poem. In the following analysis Manuele Gragnolati explores how both Dante's "Divine Comedy" and Pressburger's "Nel regno oscuro" place personal and collective suffering at the centre of their own narratives and stage writing as a political, ethical, and possibly 'salvific' way to deal with this dual suffering, even as they differ in their concepts of identity and selfhood on the one hand and in their models of history on the other.
In December 1960 the Leo Castelli Gallery in New York displayed a series of thirty-four illustrations of the "Inferno" by the avant-garde artist Robert Rauschenberg. Rauschenberg had developed this project over the previous two years, working on it almost exclusively, first in New York City, and then in an isolated storage room in Treasure Island, Florida, where he retreated to concentrate on the last half of the cycle. [...] Whatever the spark that set the project in motion, we find Rauschenberg's reply to his detractors here: the refuse that crowded his "Combines" was no joke, nor was it there to undermine or deride high art in the spirit of Dada. With his collection of things, he was composing a new language, turning fragments - the ruins of his environment and culture - into emblems. And what is an emblem if not a composite figure, an assemblage of diverse fragments into a new unity and order? As such, it is an elusive visual allegory whose pictorial image tends to lose its consistency and become a sign open to interpretations; in it, the different narratives springing from its multiple nature come together and give birth to a polysemic language. It is with this language, abstract and referential at the same time, that Rauschenberg translates Dante's poem and makes it new by linking it to something in existence, present in the viewer’s reality of mechanically reproduced images. By choosing 'to ennoble the ordinary', he, perhaps unconsciously, became the hermeneutist of his age and gave durability to what was trivial and precarious.
Early in his life Pasolini showed interest in Dante: in a letter sent to Luciano Serra in 1945, he declared that 'la questione di Dante è importantissima'. He later reaffirmed his interest in Dante in two attempts to rewrite the "Commedia": "La Mortaccia" and "La Divina Mimesis". [...] In 1963 he mentioned "La Divina Mimesis" for the first time. [...] Critics have mostly focused on the work's unfinished condition as a sign of the poetic crisis which Pasolini experienced at the end of his life. Scholarly interpretations of "La Divina Mimesis" can be divided into three main groups: the first strain can be primarily attributed to a 1979 essay by Giorgio Bàrberi Squarotti, four years after the publication of La Divina Mimesis. Bàrberi Squarotti attributes Pasolini's difficulty in completing his rewriting of the "Divine Comedy" to the author's ideology. The work's intermittent irony and its unfinished state are good indicators of the impossibility of recreating Dante's achievement, in particular the Dantean ideology. [...] The second strain of interpretation stresses the work's linguistic dimensions. The period when Pasolini conceives of the project of "La Divina Mimesis" corresponds, according to his repeated declarations, to a time of dramatic change in the Italian linguistic context. [...] Finally, the third type of interpretation locates "La Divina Mimesis" in the theoretical context of Pasolini's final conception of poetry. Here critics stress in particular the difference between the poet's intentions and the final result.[...] These three interpretative strains share the conviction that, in comparison with its model, Pasolini's project ends in failure. It is a failure in at least three senses: on the level of its ideology (not as strong as Dante's), on the level of reality (because of the linguistic standardization of Italian society), and on the level of aesthetics (even though the author pretends that his failure possesses an aesthetic value). This paper would like to question this conclusion: by redefining the object of mimesis and its conditions Davide Luglio tries to understand the reason why the author decided to print his work in a form that at first sight appears ill-defined and fragmentary.
Dante as a gay poet
(2011)
The reception of the "Vita nuova" among contemporary Italian poets is not based on the love theme. The "Vita nuova" provides Italian twentieth-century poets more with a model of autobiographical writing than with an erotic paradigm. What is essential is that the imitation of the "Vita nuova" expresses a clearly polemical anti-Petrarchan poetics - something which, of course, one would have no reason to look for in American poets. The American poet Frank Bidart's idiosyncratic appropriation of the young Dante, as opposed to the Dante-versus-Petrarch-based interpretation of Italian poets, is peculiar but by no means as exceptional in the American panorama as it might at first appear. Other gay American poets also treat Dante as a model: Robert Duncan, J. D. McClatchy, and James Merrill. In this essay Nicola Gardini attempts to explore, however rapidly, the grounds on which Dante may have become so essential for such poets. To be sure, the Dantism of these gay American poets may be viewed as a particular moment of the well-established American interest in Dante which goes as far back as Emerson and Longfellow and had its peak in Pound and Eliot. But Gardini argues that such gay Dantism - which no survey of Dante's twentieth-century influence has yet brought to the fore - is a kind of cultural allegiance stemming originally and specifically from the soil of gay discourses and gender preoccupations. Interestingly, Dante, not Petrarch, also serves as a model for some Italian homosexual poets: Michelangelo, Pier Paolo Pasolini, and Giovanni Testori. What, then, is it in the work of a poet like Dante, who confined the sodomites in hell and mostly sang the praises of one woman, that is so compatible with, indeed inspiring for, gay views?
The 'fortuna di Dante' among English and American poets of the twentieth century is a rich story that continues on into this millennium with new permutations and undiminished energies. Pound and Eliot canonized Dante for more than one generation of poets and readers. It was "Purgatorio" rather than "Inferno" that both Pound and Eliot valorized, its charged and affectionate poetic encounters serving as a model for key moments in both their works. [...] Yet it was two American poets, James Merrill and Charles Wright, who focused their attention and delight specifically on the "Paradiso", a much less common predilection for both poets and general readers. [...] Wright says that he writes for the dead; sometimes he seems to write as the dead. It is this premature identification with the dead, even if sporadic, which makes Wright so different from both Dante and Merrill, for whom the afterlife is ultimately an affirmation of life. Both Dante and Merrill make us understand the usefulness of the fiction of the afterlife as a way of staging a dialogue with the dead - which is what much of poetry, perhaps much of life, is about. What all three poets share is a dream of paradise as a site that emboldens the imagination.
Transforming a text - narrative or poetic - into a play, made of dialogues and organized into scenes, has been one of the most frequent forms of literary transcodification both in the past and in the present. We can find examples of this procedure at the very origins of Italian theatre, which indeed began as the rewriting of earlier texts, both in the "sacre rappresentazioni" and in the profane field: the Bible in the first case and the Ovidian mythologies in the second. Poliziano's "Fabula d'Orfeo" and "Cefalo e Procri" by Niccolò da Correggio are the first well-known examples of this process. Thus, the metamorphosis of a text into a dramatization has many models in the history of theatre and literature. It would be of great interest to start with an overview of the different types, aims, and forms of transcodification of texts that are enacted in order to create dramatizations capable of being performed on stage. Erminia Ardissino attempts to offer an introduction to her study of Giovanni Giudici's play about Dante's "Paradiso" with a brief discussion of three different practices of theatrical transcodification. She looks at three pièces written at the request of the Italian scenographer Federico Tiezzi between 1989 and 1990 as stage productions of the three cantiche of the Divine Comedy. Although they belong to the same project, are inspired by the same person, and share a unified aim, the three pièces created by Edoardo Sanguineti, Mario Luzi, and Giovanni Giudici show three different approaches to the task of transcodifying a text in order to produce a drama - the task, in Genette's words, of creating a theatrical palimpsest.
This paper is a study of language disorders in two works by twentieth-century poets in dialogue with Dante's Paradiso: Vittorio Sereni's "Un posto di vacanza" (1971) and Andrea Zanzotto's 'Oltranza oltraggio' (1968). The constellations that Francesca Southerden focuses on are linguistic, and the specific 'disorder' she wants to consider is aphasia - the dissolution of language. Charting the way in which Sereni and Zanzotto construct the universes of their poems as 'per-tras-versioni' of their Dantean counterpart - something 'turned aside' or 'diverted', which 'cuts across' the ideal, Dantean scheme - she shows how, in different ways, the intertextual dialogue between modern and medieval author manifests itself as a 'resemanticization' of the language of "Paradiso" or, better, of that coming-into-language of desire and the poem which, textually speaking, Dante's third canticle takes as its alpha and omega.
Manuela Marchesini brings Agamben's ideas to bear on Gadda's "Pasticciaccio" and vice versa. While preserving the specificity of their different fields of operation, this mutual exposure contributes to reframing the Culture War of yore. On the one hand, we have a novel published after World War II with a tortuous gestation and convoluted publication history and reception, written by an author who happened to outlive his creative 'canto del cigno'; on the other, a philosophical and essayistic speculation on contemporary events. The function of Dante's "Comedy" in each author spans from the textual to the allegorical, but rests upon one single crucial common denominator: both Gadda and Agamben take literature seriously. [...] The present essay, part of a larger project unfolding along the same lines, attempts a 'close reading' in the spirit that Edward Said has solicited from the humanities in his lectures at Columbia - or, to put it differently, a tentative 'exercise' of critica in the wake of modern Italian Romance philology and textual criticism from Pasquali through Contini and Debenedetti (a lineage of which Agamben's approach appears to be mindful). [...] Marchesini passes over the general Dantesque infernal allegory of "Pasticciaccio" in order to expand on its final scene. Her thesis is that "Pasticciaccio's" allegorical use of Dante's "Comedy" does not just unravel its interpretive knot. It also points to a utopian overcoming of binarism that concurs with Agamben's reflections. "Pasticciaccio's" closure is neither an epiphany (in the sense of a final celebration of the missing piece that completes the puzzle of the novel), nor does it signal a collapse into ambiguity or irrationality (in the sense that everything is left undecided, wavering between one possibility and its opposite). Gadda maintains his interpellation of wholeness unequivocally throughout the novel.
During the Black Revolution, LeRoi Jones used a radical adaptation of Dante to express a new militant identity, turning himself into a new man with a new name, Amiri Baraka, whose experimental literary project culminated in "The System of Dante's Hell" in 1965. Dante’s poem (specifically, John Sinclair's translation) provides a grid for the narrative of Baraka's autobiographical novel; at the same time, the Italian poet's description of hell functions for Baraka as a gloss on many of his own experiences. Whereas for Ralph Ellison and Richard Wright, Dante marks a way into the world of European culture, Baraka uses Dante first to measure the growing distance between himself and European literature and then, paradoxically, to separate himself totally from it. Baraka's response to the poet at once confirms and belies Edward Said's claim that Dante's "Divine Comedy" is essentially an imperial text that is foundational to the imperial discipline of comparative literature. That Baraka can found his struggle against imperialist culture, as he sees it, on none other than this specific poem suggests the extent to which it is a richer and more complex text than even Said imagined. To see exactly how Baraka does this, Dennis Looney proposes to read several extended passages from "The System of Dante's Hell" to take stock of its allusiveness to the Italian model. For all the critical attention to Baraka, surprisingly no one has undertaken the necessary work of sorting out his allusions to Dante in any systematic way.
The subject of this paper is a recent comic movie version of Dante's "Comedy": a 2007 puppet and toy theatre adaptation of the "Inferno" directed by Sean Meredith. It is certainly not the first time that Dante and his theatre of hell appear in this kind of environment. Mickey Mouse has followed Dante's footsteps and very recently a weird bunch of prehistoric animals went a similar path: in part three of the blockbuster "Ice Age" (2009), a new, lippy guide character named Buck uses several Dante quotes and the whole strange voyage can be described as a Dantesque descent into dinosaur hell. In the following pages Ronald de Rooy argues that Meredith's version of Dante's "Inferno" is not only funny and entertaining, but that it is also surprisingly innovative if we compare it to other literature and movies which project Dante's hell or parts of it onto the modern metropolis.
Dante's 'Strangeness' : the "Commedia" and the late twentieth-century debate on the literary canon
(2011)
A reflection on Dante and the literary canon may appear tautological since nowadays his belonging to the canon seems a self-evident matter of fact and an indisputable truth. It is for this very reason, though, that a paradigmatic role has been conferred on Dante in the contemporary debate both by those who consider the canon a stable structure based on inner aesthetic values and by those who see it as a cultural and social construction. For instance, Harold Bloom suggests that 'Dante invented our modern idea of the canonical', and Edward Said, in his reading of Auerbach, seems to imply that Dante provided foundations for what we call literature "tout court". While his influence on other poets never ceased, the story of Dante's explicit canonization through the centuries revolved around the same critical points we are still discussing today: his anti-classical 'strangeness' in language and style, the trouble he occasions in genre hierarchies and distinctions, and the vastness of the philosophical and theological knowledge embraced by the "Commedia" (and, as a consequence, the relationship between literature and other realms of human experience). Dante's canonicity is also evinced by the ceaseless debates that he has inspired and the many cultural tensions of which he is the focus. In the next few pages Federica Pich tries to reflect on the features that make the "Commedia" central both to the arguments of the defenders of the aesthetic approach, such as Bloom and Steiner, and to the political claims of the so-called 'culture of complaint'.
Walter Benjamin's 9th thesis on the concept of history is his most-quoted and -commented text. As it is well known, his idea of the "Angel of History" appears as a commentary on Paul Klee’s famous watercolor titled 'Angelus Novus'. I think it is necessary to open another way of interpretation through the connection of Benjamin’s Angel of History with the political iconography of Berlin, the city where he was born and lived for many years and about which he wrote in his memories of childhood, his Berlin chronicles and radio programs. I shall begin the historical narrative of Berlin's political iconography with a figure to which Benjamin paid little attention: the Goddess Fortune.
Walter Benjamin's best-known comment regarding nihilism - "to strive for such a passing away [for nature is messianic by reason of its eternal and total passing away] [...] is the task of world politics, whose method must be called nihilism" (SW III, 306) - occurs at the conclusion of his "Theological-Political Fragment" (1920–1921). In this pithy fragment Benjamin challenged the distinction between the political and the theological by pointing out the necessary relation - even codependence - of historical time and messianic time, the secular and the redemptive. The focus is the temporal dimension that dictates one’s "rhythm of life," on the one hand, and politics - its formative power - on the other. Benjamin’s translation of such abstract principles into different systems - the secular and the religious, the abstract and the particular, the collective and the individual - have confused scholars for many years. The result was often a misreading of Benjamin’s last sentence, connecting politics to nihilism and identifying the maker with his method. In order to reverse such readings, this chapter moves in four consecutive stages. I begin with the "temporal-rhythmic" principle, relating it to Benjamin's notion of Nihilism as a method. Second, I consider the specific meanings of "Nihilism" during the 19th and early 20th centuries, which I identify with the idea of a temporal 'stasis'. Third, I track down Benjamin’s uses of Nihilism and demonstrate that they reflect a certain methodological approach rather than a solution to a problem. Finally, commenting directly on contemporary interpreters of Benjamin who see him as a "nihilist" or an "anarchist," I show that Benjamin focused on the temporal and critical dimensions in order to 'overcome' nihilism and stasis.
Although Dante’s influence on modernism has been widely explored and examined from different points of view, the aspects of Virginia Woolf's relationship with the Florentine author have not yet been extensively considered. Woolf's use of Dante is certainly less evident and ponderous than that of authors such as T.S. Eliot and James Joyce; nonetheless, this connection should not be disregarded, since Woolf's reading of Dante and her meditations on his work are inextricably fused with her creative process. As Teresa Prudente shows in this essay, Woolf's appreciation of Dante is closely connected to major features of her narrative experimentation, ranging from her conception of the structure and design of the literary work to her reflections concerning the meaning and function of literary language.
This article presents new directions of literary and media memory studies. It distinguishes between (1) the study of "traumatic pasts", i.e. representations of war and violence in literature and other media, (2) diachronic and intermedial approaches to "literary afterlives" and (3) recent insights into the inherent transculturality of memory and their consequences for literary and media studies. Keywords: cultural memory studies, literature and memory, media and memory, transcultural memory
Tagungsbericht: Playing False : representations of Betrayal
16. bis 17. September 2011, Lincoln College, Oxford University
From antiquity through the present, from the political sphere to the most personal relationships, betrayal is a ubiquitous and multifaceted phenomenon. Because of its many forms, however, betrayal demands an intensive examination within an interdisciplinary forum that transcends the narrower, political or literary spheres of betrayal, and that strives to address the multiplicity of its representations, rather than reducing it to a single definition. It is precisely such a forum that the conference, "Playing False: Representations of Betrayal" created, which Dr. Betiel Wasihun and Kristina Mendicino organized.
In its elusive form between drama, novel and film, "Teorema" marks a 'new turning point in Pasolini's oeuvre'. Both the narrative and the style are remarkable, juxtaposing elements of different genres, nourishing the unresolved tensions within the film: the family members are shown in various scenes that follow one another in seemingly random order. Instead of a cohesive narrative unfolding in time, there reigns a sense of timelessness that gives rise to an oppressive feeling of drifting. Claudia Peppel's essay 'The Guest: Transfiguring Indifference in "Teorema"' explores the figure of the guest, which has always been closely connected with myth and whose appearance often triggers the dramatic conflict. Peppel focuses on "Teorema", in which a sensual stranger causes a bourgeois family to acknowledge its delusions. When he departs, the members of the family are left in a state of unfulfilled yearning, searching for new meaning. While critical literature on Pasolini regularly points to the importance of the figure of the guest but rarely analyzes it, Peppel discusses theories of the guest and hospitality to illuminate the role of the stranger in Pasolini's film. The guest's exceptional state, which is removed from everyday life and removes others from their everyday lives, is meticulously staged and resembles the evenly-suspended attention of the psychoanalyst. He triggers projections, desires, and, ultimately, existential crises.
The nascent field of neuropsychoanalysis positions itself as a putative bridge between two »historically divided disciplines«. In this chapter, we address this attempt to bridge these two disciplines, through considering a particular scientific and conceptual debate that is taking place within this new field. Neuropsychoanalysis is a diverse and loosely defined interdisciplinary field that comprises the efforts of researchers and clinicians within several branches of both psychoanalysis and the neurosciences to construct a shared space of inquiry in which clinical concepts and findings can be correlated with neuronal data and models. While researchers differ in how they conceptualize the specific contours of this shared space, they tend to converge in their desire to figure out how Freudian concepts might be anchored through neurobiological and anatomico-functional investigations.
During the 1930s through the 1940s and into the 1950s, Spanish and German presentations in opposition to ardent nationalism share strikingly common aesthetic and ideological strategies supporting claims to a transnational, international space. Specific examples of common geography, identity and language in German and Spanish presentations (theater, short stories, reports, essays, speeches and poetry) in Spain and Latin America by German (Regler, Renn, Uhse), Spanish (J. Bergamin, R. Alberti, M. Aub) and Latin American (D. Rivera, P. Neruda, C. Vallejo) intellectuals, artists and activists during the 1930s through the 1950s will be explored. For example, German-speaking audiences and artists in Spain and Mexico shared a common lived and aesthetic space as Spanish-speaking audiences and artists. Further, many German presentations were translated into Spanish and visa versa. Here, presentations in “Das Wort” and “El Mono Azul” in Spain as well as “Freies Deutschland/Alemania libre” in Mexico will be referenced in developing a sense of re-definition of the concept of ‘foreign’ and ‘commonness’ beyond simply nationality (tradition, history and geography) and language. The impetus for an alternative, international and even revolutionary ‘space’ (as defined by Henri Lefebvre in The Production of Space) was produced in and through common Spanish and German strategies and realizations in their presentations. This Spanish-German example from the early/mid-part of the 20th century is a significant contribution to contemporary interdisciplinary discussions in the 21st century.
Figura lacrima
(2012)
Hervé Joubert-Laurencin’s article 'Figura Lacrima', which explores Pasolini's figure of Christ, consists of two interconnected parts. The part called 'Lacrima' argues that Pasolini's Christ sheds a small tear which is analogous to the salvific tear of Dante's Bonconte da Montefeltro. This heretical tear is not explicitly referred to or shown but can only be perceived through the coherent text represented by the ensemble of Pasolini's films. The part called 'Figura' argues that Pasolini invents the new concept of 'figural integration', which extends beyond Erich Auerbach's analysis of medieval figural and typological interpretation and allows him to conceptualize a kind of non-dichotomous tension between the poles structuring his thought and art. Joubert-Laurencin argues thereby that Pasolini's scandal of Christ's small tear is not the simple provocation of a sinful Christ, but the utopian image of a West that frees itself from its own closure through the promise of another world, coming not from somewhere else but from the powers of an outside that it possesses within itself.
Pasolini's literature, film, theatre, and essays engaged with Classical tragedy from the mid-1960s onwards. As Bernhard Groß shows in his paper 'Reconciliation and Stark Incompatibility: Pasolini's "Africa" and Greek Tragedy', this engagement forms a modality in Pasolini's politics of aesthetics that seeks to grasp the fundamental transformation from a rural-proletarian to a petit-bourgeois Italy. Since the mid-'60s, Pasolini was concerned with the bourgeoisie and its utopian potentials, which he sought to make productive by reading Classical tragedy as a possibility to make contradictions visible. Pasolini realized his reading of the Classical tragedy by having 'Africa' and 'Europe' - as he understood them - confront one another without mediation. By means of film analyses and film theory, Groß argues that this confrontation, especially in the films on the ancient world, generates an aesthetic place where the incompatible can unfold in the spectators' experience.
The body of the actor : notes on the relationship between the body and acting in Pasolini's cinema
(2012)
Agnese Grieco's paper 'The Body of the Actor: Notes on the Relationship Between the Body and Acting in Pasolini's Cinema' deals with the specific physiognomy of the actor within Pasolini's 'cinema of poetry'. It argues that Pasolini's films allow the spectator to experience directly a complex and polyvalent reality beyond the traditional idea of 'representation'. As a fragment of that reality, actors quote and present themselves beyond and through their interpretations of a role. Instead of conceiving of the actor as a 'professional of fiction', Pasolini employs a variety of actors who are able fully to convey their own anthropological history. It is particularly the body of the actor, Grieco concludes, that becomes a door opening towards a deeper reality. For instance, the figure of Ninetto Davoli can push us back towards Greek antiquity, and the codified art of the comedian Totò or the iconic fixity of Maria Callas can interact with the African faces of the possible interpreters of an African Oresteia.
Slovenian partisan film is a term which denotes films glorifying Slovenian communist-led guerrilla fighters (so-called 'partisans'), who resisted the German and Italian occupying forces during WW II. These films were made during the decades of communist rule in post-war Yugoslavia and were an important part of the official ideological propaganda. Since the fall of communism in 1989 and Slovenia's secession from former Yugoslavia two years later, however, partisan films have fallen into complete neglect. This is regrettable since they not only represent an important (and not necessarily unattractive) part of Slovenian film history but also allow unique insights into the complexities of the official ideology during the decades of communist rule in the country (1945−89). Namely, the existing ideology was not as simple as might have seemed from the outside: while the Slovenian Communist party had no problems with class issues (class inequalities were regarded according to the Marxist agenda as bad and everything was actually done to eliminate them), there were many important areas of social life that were neglected or dealt with in ideologically relatively ambivalent terms.
Astrid Deuber-Mankowsky's paper 'Cinematographic Aesthetics as Subversion of Moral Reason in Pasolini's Medea' explores the 1969 film "Medea". Pasolini's Medea, masterfully played by Maria Callas, betrays her homeland and her origin, stabs both her children, sets her house on fire, and dispossesses Jason of his sons' corpses. But Deuber-Mankowsky argues that it is ultimately not these acts that render the film particularly disturbing and disconcerting, but, rather, the fact that the spectator is left behind in suspension precisely because Medea cannot be easily condemned for her acts. Pasolini's film and its cinematographic aesthetics thereby not only subvert the projection of Medea into the prehistorical world of madness and perversion, but also undermine belief in the validity of the kind of moral rationality developed and constituted in an exemplary way by Immanuel Kant in his "Critique of Practical Reason". In particular, Pasolini seems to relate conceptually to Nietzsche's artistic-philosophical transfiguration of Dionysus and to accuse belief in a world of reasons of failing to grasp the groundlessness, irrationality, or even a-rationality of reason itself.
'[C]ulture as text' initially proved to be a pivotal bridging metaphor between cultural anthropology and literary studies. Following an admittedly ambivalent career path, the concept of 'culture as text' has nevertheless continued to rise and has become an over-determined general principle, an emphatic key metaphor, even an overall "programmatic motto for the study of culture" […]. At first, this concept was still closely connected to ethnographic research and to the semiotic framework of interpretive cultural anthropology. However, since the end of the 1990s it has been utilised to encompass a much broader interdisciplinary horizon for the study of culture. 'Culture as text' advanced from being a conceptual metaphor for the condensation of cultural meanings to a rather free-floating formula frequently referred to in analyses within disciplines involved in the study of culture. Surprisingly, 'culture as text' has remained a consistent key phrase throughout the discourses concerned with the study of culture—even after the culture debate had long since turned away from the holistic understanding of culture implied by the formula.
Verbal storytelling – in a sense broad enough to include all forms from casual conversation across oral folklore to written literature – seems to be a universal human activity and has thus been considered an evolutionary adaptation several times in the past few years. The fact that a particular trait is a species-wide universal, however, does not automatically make it an adaptation; it could also be a contingent universal, that is, a cultural behavior which notably relies on biological substrates and therefore emerges in similar fashions in all human cultures, times, and milieus. Yet verbal storytelling is not only universal but also distinct to our species. The uniqueness of a trait can indeed be indicative of a biological adaptation1 in that we have reason to assume that this trait emerged newly in the given animal lineage and thus might owe its existence to the process of natural selection. However, since verbal storytelling completely depends on language, that is, another uniquely human faculty, the uniqueness of storytelling is hardly surprising and cannot serve as a conclusive argument for considering storytelling itself to be a specifically selected trait. Storytelling could simply be a particular use of language (though we shall see below that the relationship between language and narration is a little more complicated). A third possible indication of a biological adaptation, however, is the fact that storytelling seems to be a notably self-rewarding activity. It occurs on a much larger scale than would seem justified by rational choice or other reasons. As fitness-enhancing behaviors should, as a rule, be intrinsically motivated under certain conditions, the unusually high frequency of storytelling might indeed be revealing of an innate preference for this behavior.
Pasolini's first visit to a Third World country dates to 1960-61. His impressions and experiences during this journey are told in the collection of articles "L'odore dell'India", which, in Silvia Mazzini's opinion, also reveals his (perhaps characteristic) tension between being up-to-date and being out of time. This essay can thus be understood as a small journey through the author's travels in and relations with India. It argues that while in the 1960s the myth of India became a veritable spiritual fashion, for Pasolini this fashion trivialized the sharp contradictions of a country at once poor and splendid, full of traditions and subversive, rich with mysticism and pragmatic vitality. The collection of journalistic articles "L'odore dell' India" (1961) and the documentary "Appunti per un film sull'India" (1968), which originate from Pasolini's first journeys to the so-called 'Third World', intertwine sharp sociological analyses with instinctual observations and remarks. Mazzini shows that between the effluvia of incense and the adventures of a tiger, one can catch a glimpse of the Pasolinian vision of a humanity which is at once disruptive, archaic, and subversive, and which represents an alternative to the standardization of the consumerist society and its tendency to suppress and absorb any cultural difference.
Before completing his uncharacteristically hopeful filmic vision of an African Oresteia, Pier Paolo Pasolini invented a theatrical continuation of Aeschylus's trilogy. "Pilade" (1966/70) imagines what happens after Orestes, having being absolved by the Aeropagos in Athens, goes back to Argos. With its clear allusions to political developments in the last century - fascism, the Resistance, and Communist revolutions - the play reads as a mythical allegory for the situation of engaged intellectuals in thetwentieth century. As Christoph F. E. Holzhey's contribution '"La vera Diversità": Multistability, Circularity, and Abjection in Pasolini's "Pilade"' shows, Pasolini's imagined continuation of the Oresteia challenges an ideology of rational foundation and progress by moving through a series of aspect changes prompted by sudden events that allow for some integration while also creating new divisions. After all possible alliances among the principal characters - Orestes, Electra, and Pylades - have been played through, Pylades curses reason for its deceptive, consoling, and violent function and embraces his abjected position of true diversity beyond intelligibility. However, Holzhey argues, rather than functioning as the play's telos, this ending is an open one and participates in the paradoxical performance of a self-contradictory subjectivity and a circular temporality without entirely giving up hope for a truly different alternative.
Manuele Gragnolati's paper 'Analogy and Difference: Multistable Figures in Pasolini's "Appunti per un'Orestiade africana"' discusses Pasolini's preference for the figure of contradiction and his opposition to Hegelian dialectics by exploring his attempt to look at Africa's process of modernization and democratization in the 1960s as analogous to the synthetic transformation of the Furies into Eumenides at the end of Aeschylus's trilogy. Gragnolati shows that Pasolini is aware of the dangers of analogy, which risks imposing the author's or filmmaker's symbolic order onto that of the 'other' represented in the text or film, and he argues that Pasolini seeks to deal with this danger by constantly shifting back and forth between differing positions. "Appunti per un'Orestiade africana" can thereby be thought as a multistable figure that is left suspended and not only resists synthesis, but also problematizes its own feasibility and challenges its own legitimacy.
Giovanna Trento's article 'Pier Paolo Pasolini and Panmeridional Italianness' engages Pasolini's aesthetic, poetic, and political approach in terms of the complementary dichotomy of national and 'local' issues, on the one hand, and transnational and panmeridional topoi, on the other. Trento argues that despite his 'Third World' and Marxist sympathies, Pasolini showed strong poetic and political attention to national narratives and the building of Italianness. But Pasolini's 'desperate love' for Italy and Italianness, Trento argues, can be fully grasped only if we read it in the light of his fluid, transnational and panmeridional approach marked by different - and at times antithetical - factors, such as the pan-Africanist perspective and the colonial memory. Pasolini was indeed able to build a deterritorialized and idealized never-ending South: the Pan-South (Panmeridione) - that is, a fluid, non-geographical topos where 'traditional' values are used in non-traditional and subversive ways with the goal of resisting industrialization, mass media, and late-capitalist alienation.
Pasolini was simultaneously a revolutionary Marxist and a man forever influenced by his religious childhood. So his question was: do the revolutionary becoming of history and political negativity represent a destruction of the tragic beauty of the Greek myths and of the peaceful promise of Christianity? Or do we have to speak of a subtraction where an affirmative reconciliation of beauty and peace becomes possible in a new egalitarian world?
Bruno Besana's article 'Badiou's Pasolini: The Problem of Subtractive Universalism' also deals with Pasolini's script about Saint Paul, but from the perspective of Alain Badiou's theoretical essay "Saint Paul and the Foundation of Universalism" and of Badiou's different thoughts on Pasolini, on the logic of emergence of novelty, and on its thwarted relation with universalism. Two main points appear in Besana's comparative reading. First, the idea that radical novelty or change can only be built in a 'subtractive manner', i.e. via the appearance of something that, by its sole presence, erodes the consistency upon which the present is structured. This is developed through Pasolini's ideas of 'inactuality' and 'forza del passato' and by Badiou's concept of 'event'. Second, a fundamental paradox inherent to the logic of change: change is only possible if it is organized in a set of coherent consequences, but the organized mode (for instance, the party) of such consequences inevitably reduces change to a constant compromise with the present.
Robert S. C. Gordon's article 'Pasolini as Jew, Between Israel and Europe' examines a remarkable trope in Pasolini's encounter with the cultures and geographies of Europe and its beyond: his imaginary identification with the figure of the Jew. Gordon examines in turn the site of Israel and its Jewish citizens; the 'Lager' and the Jews as victims of genocide; and finally the figure of Saint Paul and his earlier Jewish identity as Saul, both sacred and a figure of the Law, as a model for the twentieth-century Church and its ambiguous response to Nazism. In all three of these threads, Pasolini's Jew is a 'queer' and destabilizing trope for exploring the border of the European and the non-European, the self and the other.
By focusing on Pasolini's uncompleted film project "San Paolo", Luca Di Blasi's article 'One Divided by Another: Split and Conversion in Pasolini's "San Paolo"' analyzes the notion of split (the split in the structure of time and, above all, the split of the figure of Paul) and concentrates especially on the very moment of Paul's Damascene conversion. Di Blasi refers to the "Kippbild" as a model that can be used to understand better certain ambivalences in Pasolini's Paul. Locating Pasolini's reading of the founder of the Church in a triangulation with two major contemporary philosophers, Alain Badiou and Giorgio Agamben, Di Blasi shows that two opposing possibilities of interpreting Paul - as militant subject of a universal event and its necessary consequences (Badiou) and as representative of softness, weakness, poverty, "homo sacer" (Agamben) - fit perfectly with the two aspects of Pasolini's Paul. Pasolini's profoundly split Paul thus represents a dichotomy which disunites two major figures of contemporary leftist thought.
Francesca Cadel's paper 'Outside Italy: Pasolini's Transnational Visions of the Sacred and Tradition' points out that in the 1940s and 1950s Pasolini's themes were all related to the specificity of Italian society, history, and traditions, while, beginning with the 1960s, Pasolini started travelling around the world, widening his perspectives on a rapidly changing world. Hence he developed new critical patterns, combining an increasing interest in sprawling transnational post-colonial economies with his strenuous defence of tradition and the sacred within human societies. Cadel uses different examples - including Pasolini's Indian travelogues - to show how his initial devotion to Italian millenary traditions and peasant cultures finally led to an open vision and understanding of human behaviours and mores, beyond any national boundary.
Law and literature: that is a sufficiently broad subject to warrant reference to the Fontane character Effy Briest’s "wide field." Indeed, the sites where law and literature encounter each other, where they border on each other, merge, converge, overlap, or where they relate as opposites, even finding themselves as rivals or enemies seem legion. In contrast to the intentions of Effy Briest in that famous novel, my reference to this line is not intended to abort further inquiries; instead I want to chart the field in question with the aim of developing a preliminary typology of the ways in which law and literature have been engaged and have engaged one another. Against the background of this overview, I want to turn to a much smaller field. This small field - a plot of long fallow farmland, to be exact, located between two adjacent, perfectly maintained wheat fields in a fictive Swiss village - will serve as an example or test site for "law and literature" as they emerge in Gottfried Keller’s narrative 'Romeo und Julia auf dem Dorfe', from his mid-nineteenth century collection of novellas 'Die Leute von Seldwyla'. Whether and how the case study of that small field at the centre of Keller’s story can make a case for the larger field of "law and literature" remains to be seen.
It is no longer possible to ignore how crucial processes of cultural translation and their analysis have become, whether for cultural contact or interreligious relations and conflicts, for integration strategies in multicultural societies or for the exploration of productive interfaces between the humanities and the natural sciences. The globalisation of world society, in particular, demands increased attention to mediation processes and problems of transfer, in terms of both the circulation of global representations and 'travelling concepts' and of the interactions that make up cultural encounters. Here, translation becomes, on the one hand, a condition for global relations of exchange ('global translatability') and, on the other, a medium especially liable to reveal cultural differences, power imbalances and the scope for action. An explicit focus on translation processes— something increasingly prevalent across the humanities—may thus enable us to scrutinise more closely current and historical situations of cultural encounter as complex processes of cultural translation. Translation is opened up to a transnational cultural practice that in no way remains restricted to binary relationships between national languages, national literatures or national cultures.
The nineteenth century in Britain saw tumultuous changes that reshaped the fabric of society and altered the course of modernization. It also saw the rise of the novel to the height of its cultural power as the most important literary form of the period. This paper reports on a long-term experiment in tracing such macroscopic changes in the novel during this crucial period. Specifically, we present findings on two interrelated transformations in novelistic language that reveal a systemic concretization in language and fundamental change in the social spaces of the novel. We show how these shifts have consequences for setting, characterization, and narration as well as implications for the responsiveness of the novel to the dramatic changes in British society.
This paper has a second strand as well. This project was simultaneously an experiment in developing quantitative and computational methods for tracing changes in literary language. We wanted to see how far quantifiable features such as word usage could be pushed toward the investigation of literary history. Could we leverage quantitative methods in ways that respect the nuance and complexity we value in the humanities? To this end, we present a second set of results, the techniques and methodological lessons gained in the course of designing and running this project.
Around 1800, aesthetic debate suddenly places music at the very top in the hierarchy of the arts, even superseding poetry: This has become a commonplace not only in scholarly discourse. The protagonists of this re-arrangement of the artistic disciplines are Wilhelm Heinrich Wackenroder, E.T.A. Hoffmann and Ludwig Tieck. In their programmatic texts, they state that music is to be free and absolute and stress its metaphysical quality and its close relation to the supernatural. Furthermore, music is supposed to be no longer dependent on the other arts, and music releases the listener or the musician from prosaic everyday life. As Wackenroder writes in Die Wunder der Tonkunst, […] [a]ll sickening thoughts which, according to Wackenroder, are the illness of mankind vanish with a piece of music, making our mind sane again. Literary romanticism here recurs to a long tradition that reaches back to the classical ages in Greece and Arabia: Music is used as a remedy for curing illnesses of various kinds. In classical antiquity, Apollo is the god of music, poetry and dancing as well as the god of healing. He was also named “Iatros” (physician) or Apollo Medicus. […] Orpheus as a bard and demigod was also said to be capable of curing diseases by means of his music. […] Thus, music in history is part of treating physical illness on the one hand, but on the other hand is more and more considered to provide a remedy especially for mental deficiencies. Music is meant to improve nervous disorders and sometimes it is even prescribed as a regular medicine. As we will see in Hoffmann’s text Die Genesung, there is a connection between the ritual healing processes in the temples of Aesculapius and the setting of the forest in which the old man regains his health.
Though one should be very careful with reaching conclusions about the social views conveyed in 'The Beach of Falesá', and there are many opinions on the story's social message, one of them is "the exposure of white racism" (Menikoff 1984,57) and imperialism. The logical question, why this country, which is declaring itself a bulwark against the world's imperialism, would disapprove of such novel, reasonably appears. And the censoring of it could seem a complete non sequitur. Which 'ideas' could make this novel not suitable for an average Soviet reader in the eyes of the Soviet censorship?
If projection and transference represent similar terms that imply a fundamental form of ignorance, the aim of this investigation can not be to draw a sharp distinction between projection and transference. Of course, the dialectic of inside and outside doesn't play the central role in transference like it does in projection. In a certain way, the notion of projection concerns all forms of perception and seems to be wider than the notion of transference. But on the other hand, the notion of transference as a poetic act of creating metaphorical analogies seems to be wider than that of projection. My interest in the following lines lies not in the attempt to draw a valuable distinction between both terms, but to look at their interplay in a novel that discusses all forms of archaism, primitivism and regression, commonly linked with projection, a novel, that at the same time tries to give an explanation of the foundation of modern art. Thomas Mann's Doktor Faustus offers an insight not only into the combination of projection and love, but also into ignorance as the common ground of projection and transference. I will therefore first try to determine the modernity of Thomas Mann's novel in regard to the abounding intertextual dimension that characterizes the text, and then closely examine the central scene of the novel, the confrontation between Adrian Leverkühn and the obscure figure of the devil.
Taking as starting point some collective volumes since the year 2000 which aspire to provide new views on narratology, this essay discusses the problem of how to conceive the history of narratology in a way that is more enlightening than the linear narrative used so far to tell this story. It lists some aspects which are neglected by the usual narrative and favors a decentered conception of narratology’s development.
Dream worlds and cyberspace : intersubjective tertiary reality in fantasy and science fiction
(2013)
What is real? Or rather, is that which we perceive with our senses "real", in the sense that it objectively exists? This question has kept philosophy and literature busy for centuries. An obvious answer is mirrored by language: The German verb "Wissen" for instance, as well as the English "to wit", derive from Proto-Germanic *witanan, "to have seen": We know that which we have seen. Equivalent verbs in Romanic languages derive from Latin "sapere", "to taste, have taste". Sensory input determines our knowledge of the world - a practical truth proven also in scientific experiments.
For Plato, of course, it wasn't so simple. In his allegory of the cave, he shows that "to see" doesn't necessarily mean "to know" in the sense of "to have a correct view of objective reality". His cave dwellers perceive only shadows of artificial objects on a wall, while the true light of reality remains outside, unseen and unknown. Their knowledge of "the world" is an illusion, a fiction existing only in their (and the fiction-makers') heads – a shared sensory experience misleading to a limited, distorted and conventional view of reality. Because we're bound to the physical world by the limitations of our bodies, sensory experience is no valid proof for its ultimate reality.
At first glance, "The Name of the Wind" and "The Wise Man's Fear", volumes I and II of Patrick Rothfuss' as yet incomplete trilogy "Kingkiller Chronicles", appear to fulfill many conventions of heroic fantasy. The books are set in a world called the Four Corners (of civilization), consisting mostly of feudal states, a mostly rural and agrarian landscape. This world has a distinct but slightly vague "old-timey" atmosphere – there is little technology, transport is mainly by horse-power, there seem to be no fire-arms and no media. However, a form of postal service exists, science and medicine are taught at university and women have access to university education, so it is hard to place this fictional universe within a "real-life" historical epoch.
This contribution outlines the evolutionary history of aesthetic illusion, drawing on both its biological and its cultural evolution. Unlike other 'biocultural' accounts of human behaviour, however, the present considerations strictly distinguish between these two processes by resorting to the system-theoretical reformulation of evolutionary theory as offered by Niklas Luhmann. After introducing the theoretical framework, two core elements of aesthetic illusion are described as biological predispositions: the ability to become 'illuded' (as deriving from a biological adaptation for play behaviour in mammals) and the ability to take an interpretive, quasi-communicative attitude toward artifacts (which might be a by-product of the human capacity for symbolic cognition). Particular emphasis is given to the competency for cognitive metarepresentation which emerged together with play and other capacities in fundamentally intelligent animals, and which, in combination with the evolution of language in the human species, has developed into a complex cognitive apparatus called 'scope syntax' by Leda Cosmides and John Tooby. In the last part of the present article several cultural processes are pointed out which have influenced the cultural concepts that, as a cognitive 'scope' tag, guide the experience of aesthetic illusion, the most important among them being the idea of autonomous art as brought about in Western modernity.
We would study not style as such, but style 'at the scale of the sentence': the lowest level, it seemed, at which style as a distinct phenomenon became visible. Implicitly, we were defining style as a combination of smaller linguistic units, which made it, in consequence, particularly sensitive to changes in scale—from words to clauses to whole sentences.
In 2013 Disney released its 53rd animated movie "Frozen". (Very) loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale "The Snow Queen", it tells the story of two sisters, one of which, Elsa, has the power to manipulate ice. Instead of making her the real villain of the film, Disney opted for a misunderstood and suppressed young woman, who flees her castle, which she deems a prison, when her subjects find out about her powers. Her younger sister Anna vows to bring her back and to show everyone that her "sister's not a monster. [i]t was an accident. [...] So [Anna] needs to go after her." "Frozen" is the story of the re-bonding of two sisters and Elsa even saves her kid sister eventually by showing Anna that she truly loves her and not some prince. According to Stephen Holden, it is supposed to be a story that "shakes up the hyper-romantic "princess" formula that has stood Disney in good stead for decades and that has grown stale." Holden's review reverberates a general agreement that "Frozen" is finally a movie that can be truly enjoyed by both sexes and that does not promote the idea that love triumphs over anything else.
Ever since the European discovery of the Hawaiian Islands by Captain James Cook in 1778, this island state has been shamelessly exploited economically and reimagined for a wide, mainly white, audience in the media. The island state continues to occupy a unique place in public consciousness, evoking escapist fantasies of dazzling long, sandy beaches, spectacular sunsets, swaying palm trees, and beautiful hula dancers as well as skilled surfers enjoying perfect waves. Numerous novels, TV series, and movies have helped to foster this positive image, at the same time suppressing the dark side of colonial Hawaiian history in favor of a more convenient paradise image. Especially the American movie industry with films such as "Waikiki Wedding" (1937), "Blue Hawaii" (1961), "Paradise Hawaiian Style" (1966) or more recently "50 First Dates" (2004) and "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" (2008) has helped to create Hawai'i as a "fantasy-scape" for a larger audience. The majority of movies set on the island state imagine this place as a tropic paradise resort, mainly for wealthy white Americans, thus almost completely erasing the native population from the screen.
Disney's animated movie "Lilo and Stitch" (2002) can be read along the lines of those preceding movies representing the islands solely as an ideal holiday destination and multicultural paradise as well. Thus, it seems not surprising that in 2002 Disney signed a $3.9 million marketing contract with the Hawaiian Visitors and Conventions Bureau (HVCB), which markets the islands under the control of the Hawai'i Tourism Authority, to promote Hawai'i as a family destination. However, on closer scrutiny, the movie indeed depicts trouble in paradise as it does not only depict Hawai'i as a heterotopic space where intergalactic immigration is possible but – on a more subtle level – criticizes American colonial practices and the forced annexation of the former independent kingdom, thereby rendering the island state still a highly contested space.
From New Corbuzon to UnLondon, China Miéville's works show a preoccupation with the city which transcends the function of setting and serves as a subtext to the plot. As one of the most prominent representatives of weird fiction Miéville constructs cityscapes that fascinate the reader with their eccentricity and strangeness, but also with their social, historical and architectural complexity. In "Perdido Street Station" the eponymous landmark in New Corbuzon is essential for the denouement of the plot rather than merely a backdrop. The city is a character in its own right. This is also and especially true for Miéville's 2009 novel "The City and the City". Here, the city seems at first normal, then alien and in conclusion utterly quotidian. The way the literary space and place is built permeates everything in the novel: the way the characters act, the crime plot, the philosophy and mood. At the core, "The City and the City" captures the everyday creation and maintenance of social space and illustrates the human capacity to deal with conflicting, layered realities of communal life and the human condition.
The "City and the City" is set in the twin city states of Besźel and Ul Qoma that occupy much of the same geographical space, but are perceived as two very different cities. The borders between the cities are invisible and intangible, but reinforced by citizens by "unseeing" and "unsensing" the other one. Meaning: someone in Besźel must ignore everything Ul Qoman even what is right next to them. Some parts of the cityscape are totally in one city but quite a few are "cross-hatched", meaning in either city depending on what is unseen. Unsight is an acquired habit, but one that is performed unconsciously. To unsee the other city is an integral part of being a citizen and important in the socialiation of children. Acknowledging the other city even accidentally is a serious crime called breaching punished by an all-seeing, all-powerful agency named Breach. Why and how the state of separation between the cities came to pass is unknown: an event ambiguously called "cleavage" split or united the cities.
"The City and the City" won several awards for fantasy writing, although it is fantastic only in one aspect and – plotwise – the novel is crime fiction: a police procedural with noir and hard-boiled touches – genres that lay claim on gritty realism. It is precisely this uncertainty of genre that allows a subversive reading of the text and contributes to the social criticism therein. In the novel Inspector Tyador Borlú from Besźel investigates the murder of foreign student Mahalia Greary across the cities and uncovers a conspiracy to exploit the cities' cultural heritage for profit.
Before turning to the essay on the experiment from 1793, which is unavoidable when discussing series, but does not exhaust the varied functions of seriality in Goethe’s morphology, a few words about the purpose of reconstructing Goethe’s practice of seriality are necessary. I want to argue that Goethe’s morphology is the site of a massive transformation of the notion of form, the scope and implications of which resurface after long latency at the beginning of the 20th century, for example, with Georg Simmel’s sociological notion of form-processes and the related idea of "reciprocity" ('Wechselwirkung') (cf. 265). My interest lies in interpreting what looks like a theory of organisms and nature as a more general theory of formation and transformation.
Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" is analyzed from an evocritical perspective in order to consider evolved human reproductive strategies through the psychology and behavior of the novel's three principal characters: Tess, Alec and Angel. It is argued that Hardy made the episode of Tess' and Alec's sexual contact, as well its interpretation by the characters, ambiguous, thereby suggesting the possibility of seduction rather than rape. In this context, two female mating patterns — inherited from our hominid ancestors — appear in Tess' behavior: a) the collection of high quality genes from a genetically fit male (Alec) who is not likely to stay with the female and provide for the offspring and b) mating with a provider male who is interested in long-term parental investment (Angel). Conversely, Angel and Alec represent two male mating strategies that evolved as possible courses of action in our species: the dad and the cad respectively. The unwillingness of Angel to forgive Tess her sexual past is considered in the context of another evolved feature of the human mind: paternal uncertainty (the fear of the male's genetic extinction through the possibility of raising another male's offspring). This is juxtaposed with studies of male jealousy in different cultures and periods. Tess' decision to tell Angel about her past is viewed in connection with the concept of modularity: an approach to human psychology based on the assumption that the mind is divided into specialized modules (responsible for different cognitive spheres) which can sometimes conflict.
In post-Kantian idealist aesthetics, at the very latest, literature and philosophy come to rival each other as producers of "history" At this point, philosophy takes it upon itself to "adopt" art and literature, treating the image as an object upon which to lavish the philosophical "labor of the concept" and explicitly asserting the primacy of concept over image. This objectivation of the image by the concept, however, goes hand in hand with the attempt to cover up and efface the poetic act that underlies the paradigm of "history," an act that had still informed the older, premodern meaning of the concept and had been conspicuously retained and reflected in the modern literary genre of historical drama. I therefore wish to propose that the origin of the logocentric discourse of history is to be found in Hegel's philosophy of art. In the first part of my essay, I will accordingly set out to reconstruct Hegel's effacement of the poetic origin of "history" by jointly examining his aesthetics and his philosophy of history. In the second part, I will confront Hegel's logocentric approach with a reading of Goethe's historical drama Egmont that exposes the poetic origin of "history" and thereby offers an alternative to Hegel's logocentrism.
Comparatists have always had misgivings about the concept of comparison. The status accorded to comparison within Comparative Literature is far from dear. Although the discipline's very name derives from the concept, we are not quite sure what comparison refers to. Does it define what we do? Does it delineate a field of study, a range of objects?
The concept of length, the concept is synonymous, the concept is nothing more than, the proper definition of a concept ... Forget programs and visions; the operational approach refers specifically to concepts, and in a very specific way: it describes the process whereby concepts are transformed into a series of operations—which, in their turn, allow to measure all sorts of objects. Operationalizing means building a bridge from concepts to measurement, and then to the world. In our case: from the concepts of literary theory, through some form of quantification, to literary texts.
Throughout the humanities, greater attention is being paid at present to the category of translation. More than ever before, the tradition al understanding of translation as the (philological and linguistic) translation of text and language is being expanded upon. Increasingly, translation is being spoken about as cultural translation. Yet often the use of this term is merely metaphorical, or even downright inflationary.
At the forefront of those who tenaciously pondered this issue are, I would claim, Walter Benjamin and Ludwig Wittgenstein. Benjamin and Wittgenstein both are philosophers of language who tried to establish in unique ways the doctrine of resemblance respectively: "Lehre vom Ähnlichen" and "[Lehre der] Familienähnlichkeit." What they see and find in language are not communication and mutual understanding but instead one of the weirdest phenomena in/of the world, viz., resemblance (likeness) in/of language. This phenomenon, I would insist, indicates the correlation of appearing and disappearing, of differentiating and integrating, and of dividing and imparting of language as such. For Benjamin and Wittgenstein, to sum up, language is a paradigmatic paradoxical site of (dis)appearance, differentiating integrity, and divisive imparting. For this reason, it is worthwhile to pin down where their thoughts on language converge and where they diverge.
Benjamin's early reception in the United States can be broken into eight phases: 1) a few notices of his work in the 1930s; 2) the appearance of two major works, without translation, in the 'Zeitschrift für Sozialforschung', when it was published in New York and mimeographed in Los Angeles; 3) several reports of his suicide along with the death of other Jewish and left-wing writers who fell victim to Nazi terror; 4) scattered use of his work in the late 1940s and 1950s; 5) a growing realization in the early 1960s that American literary and cultural criticism was missing something of significance by neglecting Benjamin's work; 6) the appearance in the 1960s of competing portraits of Benjamin by four of his surviving friends, including Hannah Arendt, who edited and introduced the first collection of his writings in English; 7) an uncanny repetition of the earlier neglect, as a significant number of Benjamin's texts are published in Great Britain during the 1970s and early 1980s but remain unavailable in the States; 8) the beginning of a sustained critical engagement with Benjamin in the late 1970s.
"I Am a Hottentot" : africanist mimicry and green xenophilia in Hans Paasche and Karen Blixen
(2014)
Claims that industrialized western countries must reform their environmental practices have often been made with reference to less-developed non-western societies living in greater "harmony" or "balance" with the natural world. Examples of what I call green xenophilia (from the Greek "xenos", meaning strange, unknown or foreign, and "philia", meaning love or attraction), are myriad, wide-ranging and culturally dispersed. They range from the appearance of the iconic "crying Indian" in anti-pollution TV and newspaper spots in the months leading up to the first Earth Day on April 22 1970 to numerous environmentalist individuals' and groups' use of the fabricated "Chief Seattle's Speech" as an authoritative touchstone of ecological consciousness, and from the British Schumacher College's endorsement of India as a source of simplicity, holism, humility, vegetarianism etc. to leading deep ecologists' advocacy of East Asian religions (especially Buddhism, Jainism and Taoism) as "biocentric" alternatives to "anthropocentric" Christianity (Rolston 1987; Dunaway 2008; Krupat 2011; Corrywright 2010). Invocations of non-western cultures, identities and worldviews have proved potent heuristic devices, enabling greens both to critique the status quo and to gesture (however schematically) towards the possibility of alternatives. Pervasive media-borne ideas and images like "the Green Tibet" (Huber 1997) and "the ecological Indian" (Krech 1999) have given environmentalist ideas about the good life physical incarnation, making them seem less remote and abstract. Yet the prevalence of xenophile dis course has also made environmentalism vulnerable to recurrent accusations of romantic primitivism, orientalism and exoticism, as western greens have sometimes (though not always) appeared to buttress traditional socio-cultural norms in the very act of challenging them (Guha 1989; Lohmann 1993; Bartholomeusz 1998). What is gained and what is risked when western greens speak about, with, for or as "the other"? In this essay I engage with two early-twentieth-century North European writers, the German Hans Paasche (1881-1921) and the Dane Karen Blixen (1885-1962), whose works bring this question to the forefront. Critical of European industrialization, and awkwardly positioned vis-a-vis their upper-class social milieus, Paasche and Blixen wrote as self-made "Africans", testing the limits between colonialism, anti-colonialism and emergent forms of environmentalism and green" lifestyle reform. More precisely, Paasche in "Die Forschungsreise des Afrikaners Lukanga Kukara ins Innerste Deutschland" ("The African Lukanga Mukara's Research Joumey into the Innermost of Germany" (1912-1913) and Blixen in "Out of Africa" (1937) deploy the ambiguous form of mimicry that Susan Gubar labels "racechange", impersonating or appropriating culturally other voices and perspectives on animals, food, physical embodiment and human-natural relations (Gubar 1997). Paasche and Blixen, I argue, used their considerable intercultural insight to construct images of Africa that they hoped would stand in redemptive contrast to the humanly and environmentally ruinous beliefs and practices of European modernity. I am interested in the acts of ethnic and textual self-alienation that these writers perform because they highlight the discursive, ethical and political ambiguities of green xenophilia - ambiguities that can be explored from different positions within the developing field of ecocritical studies.
If we take Benjamin's definitions to their logical conclusion, then the monad and the reproduced copy are set unequivocally into binary opposition, as we, the masses capable and most needful of action, are implicitly denied the potential for liberation through aesthetic experience. This denial could not have been his long-term intention. When we take into account the breadth of his writings in response to Fascism, and we look at the artistic movements, Dada in particular, that Benjamin defines as 'politicizing art,' it seems as though we risk too narrow a reading of Benjamin's theories by assuming the aura can be, or must be, done away with. Rather, I would argue that this moment of auratic interaction is crucial to effectively politicizing art at all. Mechanically-produced art, in order to function politically, must allow its audience the space necessary to step back, awaken their 'Geistesgegenwart', and take action 'before' the present moment is finished and past. The elimination of aura - as per Benjamin’s own definitions of aura - neuters the interaction this awakening requires. While Benjamin provides the framework and asks the right questions, when determining what will allow his definitions to realize their aims most fully, I submit that he draws his line in the wrong place.
The flourishing of literature and thought during the age of Goethe may have inspired German nationalism in the 1930s, but Walter Benjamin identified other values in the period worth defending. 'Deutsche Menschen' is a short collection of edited letters by well-known German authors which Benjamin published in 1936 under the pseudonym Detlef Holz in order to hide his Jewish identity. In his inscription to Scholem's copy of the book, Benjamin wrote, "May you, Gerhard, find a chamber in this ark - which I built when the Fascist flood started to rise - for the memories of your youth," and in his sister’s copy Benjamin wrote, "This ark, built after a Jewish model, for Dora - From Walter." This essay considers what Benjamin may have meant by those inscriptions. Looking beyond discussions of "German," "Jewish," and even "German-Jewish" identity, this essay explores Benjamin's descriptions of his letter collection, asking how he conceptualized and framed it at first and how it may have changed between 1931 and 1936. The categories of tradition and agency will be my focus, which I will develop in the context of Benjamin's other writings and his particular interests in quotation and materialism. &e formation and reception of 'Deutsche Menschen' reveal a complex, ambitious project that combines many of Benjamin's ideas and goals.
Walter Benjamin had a revealing fascination with the legend of a Chinese artist who entered his painting and disappeared in it. In his writings this character becomes an emblematic figure that enables the philosopher to discuss the nature of representation in its various infections (in games and in painting, in theater and in cinema); to explore the status of the image and of the threshold that simultaneously separates and connects image and reality; to analyse the different bodily (i. e. "aesthetic") attitudes of the beholder in his/her close or distant relationship to the image; to investigate the manifold implications of empathy ('Einfühlung ') toward the figurative world; and finally, to approach a peculiar kind of dialectics, namely the "Chinese". My paper aims at considering such varied aspects in Benjamin's interpretation of the Chinese painter, understanding it as a true "dialectical image" that in its 'non-coincidentia oppositorum' provokes not only significant hermeneutic oscillations, but even a radical inversion of its fundamental meaning.
To explicate what distinguishes pain, Benjamin elaborates: "Of all corporeal feelings, pain alone is like a navigable river which never dries up and which leads man down to the sea. [...] Pain [...] is a link between worlds. This is why organic pleasure is intermittent, whereas pain can be permanent. This comparison of pleasure and pain explains why the cause of pain is irrelevant for the understanding of man's nature, whereas the source of his greatest pleasure is extremely important. For every pain, even the most trivial one, can lead upward to the highest religious suffering, whereas pleasure is not capable of any enhancement, and owes any nobility it possesses to the grace of its birth - that is to say, its source. (SW I, 397)" In these important lines, pain's unique strength is linked not to its origin (this is reserved for pleasure), but rather to the way that its strenuous flow throughout the suffering body has the power to lead it to infinite heights. In contrast to pleasure, which is forever seeking out its sources, pain manifests itself most consummately when it is intensified; it fulfills itself most deeply by gradually reenforcing its own fortitude. To make sense of pain, therefore, we must understand the nature of its 'movement': and in Benjamin's metaphor of the "navigable river" - its flow. In what follows, I develop Benjamin's idea of the nature of pain as manifested in the internal law of its ,ow in two other of Benjamin's texts: 'Berlin Childhood Around 1900' (1934) and 'Thought Figures' (1933).
One of the cruxes of Walter Benjamin’s work is the tension between an indebting and an expiating "memoria", i. e. the afflicting and the salvific insistence of history within the present moment. On the one hand, memory inscribes itself onto spaces and bodies in the violent and painful fashion of Kafka's "Penal Colony" apparatus. On the other hand, it can, in the form of rememoration ('Eingedenken'), sublate these very inscriptions. This sublation usually involves some form of redemptive, timely (re-)verbalization, but Benjamin’s conception of it varies. To gain a better insight into this inherent, varying tension, the article will take a closer look at the connection between pain, memory and law-positing violence in some Benjaminian texts, occasionally relating them to the historical background of his discussion.
The Future of the Noosphere
(2014)
In this article, a Koselleckian approach to the issue of time will be employed. In Koselleck's view, modernity has been characterized by a multiplicity of synchronous times, or as Helge Jordheim puts it, by "multiple temporalities". By temporality, Koselleck means something different than epochs or periodizations. More precisely, Jordheim asserts, Koselleck uses this term to reach for experiences of time, such as "progress, decadence, acceleration, or delay, the 'not yet' and the 'no longer', the 'earlier' or 'later than', the 'too early' and the 'too late', situation and the duration". Especially pertinent for this article is Koselleck's category of a horizon of expectations (Erwartungshorizont), understood as perceived prospects for the future. In both the noosphere and the Anthropocene discussion, the notion of an Age of Man seems to merge different timescales into one another, or, as stated by one of the most prominent scientists in the early debate, "The division of historical and geological time is levelled out for us". This article examines the temporality implied in the noosphere concept in order to formulate a specific question regarding the Anthropocene. The article is thus intended to contribute to the on-going examination of the Anthropocene concept by way of historicising its temporality.
Ecocriticism started out in the early 1990s in the framework of American literary studies - in the Anglo sense that equates "America" with the "United States." In fact, the new field's first professional organization, the Association for the Study of Literature and the Environment, was founded as an offshoot of academic interest focused on a particular region of the United States, in the backroom of a casino in Reno, Nevada, during the 1992 annual convention of the Western Literature Association. During its first decade, the bulk of ecocritical attention focused on American literature as shaped by Thoreau and British literature as shaped by Wordsworth - a limited but powerful concentration on nature writing in the genres of poetry, nonfiction prose, and the noveI, with particular attention to Native American literature. By the turn of the millennium, in a story that has by now been told repeatedly, interest in the literature-environment nexus had grown and diversified enough that ecocriticism almost literally exploded into a much broader research area encompassing multiple historical periods (from the Middle Ages to postmodernism), genres (from poetry to the graphic novel and narrative film), and regions: the Caribbean, Latin America, East Asia, and Western Europe all emerged as new areas of ecocritical exploration. New encounters between postcolonial theory and ecocritical analysis proved particularly productive for both fields: linking historical exploration and political ecology with literary analysis, the emergent "poco-eco" matrix opened new perspectives on the connections and disjunctures between imperialism, ecological crisis, and conservation. Over the last few years, the concept of "Environmental Humanities" has increasingly co me to accompany and to superimpose itself as an umbrella term on ecocriticism and comparable research areas in neighboring disciplines: environmental history, environmental anthropology, environmental philosophy, cultural geography, and political ecology. Driven by the impulse to connect environmental research across the humanities, to justify humanistic research at institutions often prone to cut first in the humanities, and to bring the knowledge generated through humanistic research into the public sphere, environmentally oriented scholars have used the term "Environmental Humanities" as a shorthand for what they hope will be a new vision of their discipline. As of this writing, the concept remains somewhat more aspirational than real. While ecocritics and environmental philosophers have long collaborated in Australia, and environmental historians and ecocritics sometimes collaborate in the United States, the disciplines that make up the Environmental Humanities have to date largely pursued their own disciplinary trajectories. But there are signs that the tide may have begun to turn. Various universities and research organizations have started programs in the field. The Swedish environmental historian Sverker Sörlin published a brief outline of the new interdisciplinary matrix in the journal 'BioScience' in 2012, and a longer manifesto followed from the editorial collective of the newly established journal 'Environmental Humanities' at Macquarie University in Australia (Rose et al. 2012). Another journal focusing on the environmental humanities began publication in early 2014 from the University of Oregon under the title 'Resilience'.
The present article analyzes a prominent yet relatively understudied contact space among Native American, New Zealand Maori, and aboriginal Taiwanese literatures: the struggle of indigenous peoples to negotiate optimal relationships between themselves and the natural world, particularly in light of capitalist modernity and globalization. Many indigenous narratives draw sharp distinctions between native peoples and outsiders, predictably portraying the former as protectors and the latter as destroyers of both nature and indigenous local cultures. The Native American Chickasaw writer Linda Hogan's (1947-) novel 'People of the Whale' (2008), the Maori writer Patricia Grace's (1937-) novel 'Patiki' (1986), and the aboriginal Taiwanese writer Topas Tamapima's short story "Zuihou de lieren" are no exception. But these texts also problematize notions of the so-called "ecological native." They do so most conspicuously by revealing the ambiguous relationships those peoples believed closest to nature have with the nonhuman world, that is to say their environmental ambiguity ('ecoambiguity') (Thornber 2012).
Loudness in the novel
(2014)
The novel is composed entirely of voices: the most prominent among them is typically that of the narrator, which is regularly intermixed with those of the various characters. In reading through a novel, the reader "hears" these heterogeneous voices as they occur in the text. When the novel is read out loud, the voices are audibly heard. They are also heard, however, when the novel is read silently: in this la!er case, the voices are not verbalized for others to hear, but acoustically created and perceived in the mind of the reader. Simply put: sound, in the context of the novel, is fundamentally a product of the novel’s voices. This conception of sound mechanics may at first seem unintuitive—sound seems to be the product of oral reading—but it is only by starting with the voice that one can fully appreciate sound’s function in the novel. Moreover, such a conception of sound mechanics finds affirmation in the works of both Mikhail Bakhtin and Elaine Scarry: "In the novel," writes Bakhtin, "we can always hear voices (even while reading silently to ourselves)."
Franz Kafka's (1883-1924) "Die Brücke" is one of the less well-known texts by one of the most prolific authors of literary modernity. However, this short prose text embodies prevalent questions of literary modernity and philosophy as it reflects the crisis of language in regard of identity, communication, and literary production. Placed in the context of fin-de-siècle's discourse of language crisis, this article provides a dialogue between Kafka's "Die Brücke" and Hannah Arendt's (1906-1975) philosophy of thinking and speaking in "The Life of the Mind". Contrary to Arendt's understanding of the metaphor as "a carrying over" between the mental activities of the solitude thinker and a reconciliation with the pluralistic world shared with others, this article argues for a deconstructionist reading of "Die Brücke" as a tool to reevaluate Arendt"s notion of a shared human experience ensured through language and illustrates the advantages of poetic texts within philosophical discourses.
Emotional competence has an important influence on development in school. We hypothesized that reading and discussing children’s books with emotional content increases children’s emotional competence. To examine this assumption, we developed a literature-based intervention, named READING and FEELING, and tested it on 104 second and third graders in their after-school care center. Children who attended the same care center but did not participate in the emotion-centered literary program formed the control group (n = 104). Our goal was to promote emotional competence and to evaluate the effectiveness of the READING and FEELING program. Emotional competence variables were measured prior to the intervention and 9 weeks later, at the end of the program. Results revealed significant improvements in the emotional vocabulary, explicit emotional knowledge, and recognition of masked feelings. Regarding the treatment effect for detecting masked feelings, we found that boys benefited significantly more than girls. These findings underscore the assumption that children’s literature is an appropriate vehicle to support the development of emotional competence in middle childhood.
This study explored the organization of the semantic field and the conceptual structure of moving experiences by investigating German-language expressions referring to the emotional state of being moved. We used present and past participles of eight psychological verbs as primes in a free word-association task, as these grammatical forms place their conceptual focus on the eliciting situation and on the felt emotional state, respectively. By applying a taxonomy of basic knowledge types and computing the Cognitive Salience Index, we identified joy and sadness as key emotional ingredients of being moved, and significant life events and art experiences as main elicitors of this emotional state. Metric multidimensional scaling analyses of the semantic field revealed that the core terms designate a cluster of emotional states characterized by low degrees of arousal and slightly positive valence, the latter due to a nearly balanced representation of positive and negative elements in the conceptual structure of being moved.
Connecting narrative worlds
(2014)
Donald Siegel's 1971 film entitled "The Beguiled" is compared to Tale 1 of Day 3 from Giovanni Boccaccio’s "The Decameron". Both stories are about a man who arrives in a garden setting and finds nine sexually starved women. In Boccaccio's tale, a male gardener finds himself in a convent occupied by nine nuns with whom he proceeds to have sexual relations to everyone's satisfaction. Siegel's film is about a wounded soldier taken in at a girls' finishing school whose nine female residents become the objects of the hero's amorous attention. While Boccaccio adopts a philogynist tone with respect to the material, "The Beguiled" appears to be a virulently misogynist film projecting its female characters as jealous demons who end up mutilating and then killing their male suitor. Findings from evolutionary psychology pertaining to female jealousy and reproductive strategies are used to consider the respective attitudes toward women in the medieval tale and the twentieth-century film. Conclusions are drawn about the difficulty of placing either of the stories within a clear-cut philogynist or misogynist category.
Aspects and abstracta
(2014)
Philosophers of perception and psychologists first studied 'multistable' or 'reversible' figures, 'Kippbilder', in the nineteenth century. The earliest description of the phenomenon of a 'sudden and involuntary change in the apparent position' of a represented object occurred in a letter written by Louis Albert Necker in Geneva to Sir David Brewster on 24 May 1832 and published six months later in the "Philosophical Magazine". The picture in question would become known as the Necker cube.
KippCity
(2014)
On 28 April 2011, on the Rathausplatz of Neukölln, Christine Hentschel's puzzlement vis-à-vis Neukölln's liberation met the neighbourhood's flickering urbanity, which she seeks to capture in a project called KippCity. KippCity is an experiment in tracing urban change while it happens. If space is the 'event of place', as Doreen Massey holds, the space of KippCity is the transformation of Neukölln. This chapter explores the potentials of multistable figures (Kippbilder) for conceptualizing urban change. This potential, Hentschel argues, lies in the flip-moment itself, in the space-time of urban transformation. In Berlin-Neukölln, a neighbourhood long branded as poor and failing, multiple and partly conflicting flip-scenarios have begun to inspire and haunt the neighbourhood and its self-reflective talk. KippCity Neukölln is thus a flickering figure. But unlike an artefact Kippbild, which flickers between duck and rabbit, for example, KippCity Neukölln does not simply tip into a new pre-fabricated form, but rather wavers between different future scenarios. Neukölln's flickering urbanity is thus nervous, full of uncertainty, frustration and enthusiasm. The article shows how the neighbourhood seeks escape from the dystopia of two dominant flip scenarios of ghettoization and gentrification by digging its claws into its 'Now'.
The Rubin vase and duck-rabbit have two things in common: not only are they famous multistable figures, or 'Kippbilder', but before being discovered by scientists and philosophers, they both started their career as simple jokes. In contrast to usual understandings of 'Kippbilder', this paper will try to demonstrate that 'Kippbilder' can be a helpful model for understanding better dramatic, existential, and even religious events and their consequences. Multistable figures or 'Kippbilder' combine reversibility and irreversibility in an interesting way. While the so called first aspect change introduces an irreversible split, all subsequent aspect changes can be understood as an endless chain of reversible changes. After discussing the specificity of the Rubin vase and its aspect changes and focussing then on the distinction between first and further aspect changes, Di Blasi suggests the productive potential of the multistable figure as model for eventful events in discussing the conversion of Paul and his 'hōs mē' ('as if not').
Introduction
(2014)
The experience of multistable figures or so-called Kippbilder - the sudden and repeated 'kippen' of perception as the same object is seen under different aspects - is fascinating in its own right. However, what animated the year-long discussion leading to this volume was a critical exploration of the proposition that such figures may offer a helpful model for thinking through the intercultural and interdisciplinary effort of productively negotiating between conflicting positions.
In his major theoretical work on experimentation, "Towards a History of Epistemic Things" (1997), Hans-Jörg Rheinberger writes: 'If experimental systems have a life of their own, precisely what kind of life they have remains to be determined.' Rheinberger is alluding to the slogan Ian Hacking gave to the post-Kuhnian 'practical turn' in the history and epistemology of science.
In 1989 the triumphant discourse on the 'end of history' brought the death of socialism and the expansion of liberal democracy. The proclamation of the end of history could also be read literally, as the death of 'history' as a discipline with a homogenized narrative. It is in the same year that Pierra Nora wrote a groundbreaking article, which disentangled the fundamental opposition between history and memory, and at the end assumed the standpoint of memory. The article departs from the diagnosis of post-Yugoslav contemporary accounts of Yugoslav and partisan events. The critique of nationalist and Yugonostalgic discourses discloses shared assumptions that are based on the 'romantic' temporality of Nation and on history as a closed process. In the main part of the article the author works on the special, multiple temporality of partisan poetry that emerged during the WWII partisan struggle. The special temporality hinges on the productive and tensed relationship between the 'not yet existing' - the position of the new society free of foreign occupation, but also in a radically transformed society - and the contemporary struggle within war, which is also marked by the fear that the rupture of the struggle might not be remembered rightly, if at all. The memory of the present struggle remains to be the task to be realized not only for poets, but for everyone participating in the struggle. This is where the revolutionary temporality of the unfinished process comes to its fore, relating poetry to struggle, but again producing a form of poetry in the struggle.
Identity politics redux
(2014)
Pornography reappropriated by feminist and queer pornographers is being reimagined as a site of activist productions, be it through the reshaping of desire or engaging with wider discussions of representational politics. Here, K. Heintzman takes up Shine Louise Houston's feature length film, "The Wild Search", as a unique case study for addressing the relationship between debates of identity politics and queer activist practice.
The notion of ambivalence currently seems to be an invigorating figure with heuristic potential in political, social, and art theory. It refers to a plurality of possibilities, a paradoxical multiplicity, and a complex relationality. It foregrounds thinking in terms of indeterminacy and incommensurability, as well as in terms of the possible. Ambivalence has been deployed in positive ways, as offering political promise, while, at the same time, being regarded with suspicion.
This paper deals with the general topic of subjectivity and subjectivation, considered through a philosophical tradition opposed to the 'philosophies of consciousness': that is, a philosophical tradition, from Spinoza to Althusser, that rejects as a myth the supposed primacy and presocial character of subjective identity.
The children's book "Duck! Rabbit!" dramatizes the lesson that just because one is right, others don’t have to be wrong. An endless dispute is quickly settled once the quarrellers experience an aspect change or gestalt switch and thereby realize that the same picture can be seen in different ways. This simple scenario offers an intriguing model for arbitrating between conflicting positions by going back and forth between different aspects and thereby realizing that conflicting accounts can be equally valid.
Nations are signified by their constructed or mythicized cultural memory, since "identity is part of memory discourse". There are shared historical legacies in Southeast European countries, among which the most significant are Byzantium and the Ottoman Empire: "It has been chiefly the Ottoman elements or the ones perceived as such which have mostly given rise to the current stereotype of the Balkans, so that it would not be an exaggeration to say that the Balkans are, in fact, the Ottoman legacy." Contrary to it, the Habsburg legacy and the belonging to the Habsburg Monarchy have mainly not been seen in the same, negative way. Consequently, there are two different understandings of national identity and different strategies in defining self-representation in the (previous) provinces of the two empires, which is also explicated in Southeast European operas. The construction of Croatian national identity is considered through the stage representations of the historical Siege of Szigetvár (1566).
Different scales, different features. It’s the main difference between the thesis we have presented here, and the one that has so far dominated the study of the paragraph. By defining it as "a sentence writ large", or, symmetrically, as "a short discourse", previous research was implicitly asserting the irrelevance of scale: sentence, paragraph, and discourse were all equally involved in the "development of one topic". We have found the exact opposite: 'scale is directly correlated to the differentiation of textual functions'. By this, we don't simply mean that the scale of sentences or paragraphs allows us to "see" style or themes more clearly. This is true, but secondary. Paragraphs allows us to "see" themes, because themes fully "exist" only at the scale of the paragraph. Ours is not just an epistemological claim, but an ontological one: if style and themes and episodes exist in the form they do, it's because writers work at different scales – and do different things according to the level at which they are operating.