University of Bucharest Review Vol. X, no. 2, 2008 Bogdan Ştefănescu University of Bucharest VOICES OF THE VOID: ANDREI CODRESCU’S TROPICAL REDISCOVERY OF ROMANIAN CULTURE IN THE HOLE IN THE FLAG Keywords: Andrei Codrescu, Romanianness, national/cultural identity, nationalism, history, discourse, tropes/tropology, void, absence, atemporal, exile, ideology, Lucian Blaga, Emil Cioran, Mircea Eliade, Constantin Noica. Abstract: An exile since 1966, Andrei Codrescu has constructed his pen-self mostly in the United States. One of the main ingredients he used in concocting his literary persona was his foreignness. Having started as a Western Transylvanian young artist in communist Romania, where the political and literary standards were dictated by the country’s South Eastern capital of Bucharest--and also as a Jew in a covertly anti-Semitic nation-state--Codrescu eventually had to settle for the status of an immigrant Central East European writer in America. His allogenous identity, like his NPR accent, has been one indelible stamp of his style. And a test. One he may have hoped to resolve as he completed his long imagined return to his country of origin after the fall of communism. The paper discusses the return of the native to post-1989 Romania and the negotiation of his reinsertion in Romanian culture in terms of an unsettled genealogy. Starting from the structural image of a signifying absence, I argue that. the symbolism of the void is pivotal not just for Codrescu’s self- representations in The Hole in the Flag and elsewhere in his texts on Romania, but also for at least two of the more spectacular lines of canonical discourse on the communal self in Romanian culture: the Anarchist-Metaphorical and the Radical-Antithetical. These terms come from a modified version of Hayden White’s tropology and I use them to distinguish between competing ideological discourses on Romania’s past, which aim to (re)construct Romanian identity starting from the image of the generative void. History (A)Voided In the fateful December of 1989, Romania became identified with a new image, as its revolutionary emblem became the old tricolor flag with a hole at its center. The gap was the result of the exuberant removal of what used to be the communist coat of arms. A photograph in Le Nouvel Observateur at the time showed in the vacated midst of the rebellious flag the faces of two young boys, their hands fingering a V sign: a symbol of Romania’s rejuvenation. By the end of that annus mirabilis, the Romanian exile Andrei Codrescu, an American academic, a popular NPR personality, and a surrealist poet, returned to Sibiu, his hometown in Romania, after a twenty-five-year exile. The book in which he narrates this quasi-surrealist experience is called The Hole in the Flag: A Romanian Exile’s Story of Return and Revolution. Riding a train from Hungary to Romania, as “[m]oonlit telegraph poles marched over the dark earth into nothingness”, Codrescu has a startling realization: suddenly there, under the cold moon, there it was, the Romanian flag with the socialist emblem cut right out of the middle. It fluttered over a square brick building marking the frontier. It's through that hole, I thought, that I am returning to my birthplace (67). The rest of the book makes it quite plain that the hole in the flag means much more than a fleeting eye-catcher for the media. It is an "objective correlative" for something that lies deep in his frustrated 11 University of Bucharest Review Vol. X, no. 2, 2008 soul. Just a few pages earlier, as he recounts his visit to an old synagogue in Budapest, Hungary, with its "deserted yard", Codrescu, a Jewish ethnic himself, ponders how "a once-full world . was now empty, a deserted center that was also somehow at the center of my being. Something lost, gone, irretrievable" (59). His insistence on the imagistic paradigm of the void seems to indicate a steady pattern of self- retrieval. The deserted center that Codrescu recurrently invokes on his voyage of rediscovery is paradoxically full of cultural meaning for Romania. This paper aims to show that, while the iconic image of the punctured flag may have been new in the early nineties, the tropological significance behind the placing of a significant void at the (symbolic) center of the nation’s identity is really part of a tradition that goes back at least to interwar Romania. The trope of the (re)creative void was employed by many canonical figures in twentieth-century Romanian culture to generate national self-representations. Most of these voices belonged to young intellectuals who emerged around 1930, who knew each other closely, and who were connected with a part of Transylvania that has been considered the geo-symbolic center of Romania ever since. A part that includes Codrescu’s native Sibiu and environs. Though all of the members of this cultural network employ the symbolism of the generative void, they are prompted by divergent ideologies to make equally divergent use of this imagery. In the following pages, I will indicate how Codrescu’s text can be read against this cultural backdrop and I will suggest that the book ironically incorporates the problematic intellectual genealogy behind the founding trope of the void. Andrei Codrescu does not bother to hide his irritation as he explains one of the reasons for which he accepted a TV contract on Romania: during the early stages of the overthrow of Ceauşescu’s dictatorship, the American "media had employed Polish, Hungarian, and Czech “experts” to explain the Romanian situation". The writer handles his discontent ambiguously. At first, he volunteers alleviating circumstances for the initial haste and confusion, and notes that Romanian exiles like Dorin Tudoran, Vladimir Tismăneanu, and Radu Bogdan were eventually discovered, whose English was excellent and whose expertise was genuine. But over the next page Codrescu jeers at the Americans’ clichéd ignorance of Romania in undertones of cultural criticism, offering more examples of how the West discriminates against remote primitive cultures it can hardly trust to speak for themselves (The Hole 113-4). Though Codrescu’s text invites both tolerant and hostile attitudes towards the exclusion of Romanian accounts of a Romanian history(-in-the-making), I suggest that the reasons behind this “muteness” exceed those provided by circumstantial or culturalist explanations. Though the American media may have treated Romania discourteously in December 1989 (again), The Hole in the Flag indicates that there is also a peculiarity in the way Romanians themselves construct and exhibit their historical self-image. As it is often the case, it may prove easier to see the light if you do not look directly into it. Codrescu is not the only exile who became upset by the absence of native historical accounts of Romania on the international scene. Just a few years before the fall of Ceauşescu’s dictatorship made it possible for the dislodged artist to see his birthplace again, Sanda Stolojan, another émigré writer who, like Codrescu, translated Lucian Blaga’s poetry (a coincidence whose cultural significance I will address presently), was making the following entry in her Paris journal on July 5, 1986: Only one Romanian from Romania attended the Congress of the International Association for Romanian Studies - and he was coming from Germany where he had been awarded a grant. It was inconceivable, this absence of the Romanians at a reunion that concerned them directly, that dealt with their history. Romania is an inexistent presence, a void that is filled today by the foreigners and a few exiled Romanians. Romanian history is studied in America, Romanian culture is discussed in Italian universities or in small seminars in the West. An absurd situation, the reflex of the incarcerated policy of Romania. (italics and translation mine) Like Codrescu, Stolojan deplores the absence of Romanian accounts of their own history, and like him, she also draws on the image of the void. Though the two expatriates coincide in their choice of theme and trope, Stolojan’s explanation for this absence is different from Codrescu’s. She thinks it is the outcome of Ceauşescu's policy of seclusion, of his denying Romanian citizens the right to travel, and of his banning free communication with the rest of the world. 12 University of Bucharest Review Vol. X, no. 2, 2008 So far, between the two writers, we have the Americans, Ceauşescu, and circumstance to blame for the adulteration of Romanian history. But there’s a third coincidence—and three is always a charm. Both Codrescu and Stolojan chose to translate Blaga’s poetry into the respective languages of their adopted cultures, and this particular poet is probably best known for his special metaphoric construction of national identity. Blaga’s imagery for the Romanians’ profound self may be the key to why his two melancholy translators converge on the theme of historical muteness and the symbolism of the void. In his quasi-lyrical philosophy of cultural styles, Blaga provides the paradigmatic trope of Romanians’ silent subsistence in (spite of) history together with the metaphysical support for it. This tropological construction of Romanianness provided one of the most popular narratives of the nations’ past. Codrescu shares with Stolojan an affinity to this line of canonical self-representations whose nebular origin goes well beyond Ceauşescu, the Americans, and the immediate circumstances of the revolutionary 1989, back to pre-communist Romania. Figural Versions of the Void as a Subterfuge for Threatened Identities Lucian Blaga (1895-1961) was a poet-philosopher who, in his 1936 Spaţiul mioritic, described Romanianness as a cultural style grounded in his trademark concept of a “boycott of/against history”.