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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.