Literary and Cultural Forays Into the Contemporary Literary and Cultural Forays Cultural Literary and Into the Contemporary

15 This book offers a collection of essays in literary and cultural studies. The Katarzyna Więckowska / articles explore a wide range of distinct problems and texts with the aim to Grzegorz Koneczniak question the already known and to interrogate the realms of ethics, literature, history and cultural identities. The contributors not only revive the mean- (eds.) ings and values as they were lived at the time of creating the specific works, but also point to the ways in which these meanings continue to function for contemporary readers. Literary and cultural forays into the contemporary Literary and cultural forays cultural Literary and into the contemporary

Grzegorz Koneczniak (eds.) · Koneczniak Grzegorz Dis/Continuities / Toruń Studies in Language, Katarzyna Więckowska is Associate Professor at the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, where she teaches cultural and Literature and Culture literary studies. Edited by Mirosława Buchholtz Grzegorz Koneczniak is Assistant Professor in the English Department of Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, where he teaches courses in editing and publishing. Więckowska Katarzyna www.peterlang.com ISBN 978-3-631-67480-2

DISC 15_267480_Wieckowska_AM_A5HCk PLE.indd 1 05.12.16 KW 49 11:33 15 This book offers a collection of essays in literary and cultural studies. The Katarzyna Więckowska/ articles explore a wide range of distinct problems and texts with the aim to Grzegorz Koneczniak question the already known and to interrogate the realms of ethics, literature, history and cultural identities. The contributors not only revive the mean- (eds.) ings and values as they were lived at the time of creating the specific works, but also point to the ways in which these meanings continue to function for contemporary readers. Literary and cultural forays into the contemporary Literary and cultural forays cultural Literary and into the contemporary

Dis/Continuities /Grzegorz (eds.) · Koneczniak Toruń Studies in Language, Katarzyna Więckowska is Associate Professor at the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, where she teaches cultural and Literature and Culture literary studies. Edited by Mirosława Buchholtz Grzegorz Koneczniak is Assistant Professor in the English Department of Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, where he teaches courses in editing and publishing. Katarzyna Więckowska Katarzyna

www.peterlang.com

DISC 15_267480_Wieckowska_AM_A5HCk PLE.indd 1 05.12.16 KW 49 11:33 Literary and cultural forays into the contemporary DIS/CONTINUITIES TORUŃ STUDIES IN LANGUAGE, LITERATURE AND CULTURE

Edited by Mirosława Buchholtz

Advisory Board Leszek Berezowski (Wrocław University) Annick Duperray (University of Provence) Dorota Guttfeld (Nicolaus Copernicus University) Grzegorz Koneczniak (Nicolaus Copernicus University) Piotr Skrzypczak (Nicolaus Copernicus University) Jordan Zlatev (Lund University)

Vol. 15

Katarzyna Wi ckowska / Grzegorz Koneczniak (eds.)

Literary and cultural forays into the contemporary

Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

This publication was financially supported by the Faculty of Languages, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toru .

ISSN 2193-4207 ISBN 978-3-631-67480-2 (Print) E-ISBN 978-3-653-06691-3 (E-PDF) E-ISBN 978-3-631-71234-4 (EPUB) E-ISBN 978-3-631-71235-1 (MOBI) DOI 10.3726/b10721 © Peter Lang GmbH Internationaler Verlag der Wissenschaften Frankfurt am Main 2017 All rights reserved. Peter Lang Edition is an Imprint of Peter Lang GmbH. Peter Lang – Frankfurt am Main · Bern · Bruxelles · New York · Oxford · Warszawa · Wien All parts of this publication are protected by copyright. Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution. This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microfilming, and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems. This publication has been peer reviewed. www.peterlang.com

Acknowledgments

We wish to thank the Head of the Department of English and the Dean of the Faculty of Languages, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, for making this publication possible. We are also very grateful to the supervisors of the MA dissertations in literary and cultural studies which, together with the MA projects completed under our supervision, served as the basis for the articles collected in the volume: prof. dr hab. Mirosława Buchholtz, dr hab. Anna Branach-Kallas, NCU prof., and dr hab. Edyta Lorek-Jezińska.

Table of Contents

Katarzyna Więckowska and Grzegorz Koneczniak Preface...... 9

Part One: Interrogating ethics

Małgorzata Żmijewska The Stolen Generations of Australia: In search of literal and symbolic dimensions in selected factual and literary sources...... 17

Paula Dutko Transmitted Holocaust trauma: Third generation experience in Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated...... 27

Adrian Woźniak The analysis of evil and its influence on people in Stephen King’s The Stand...... 35

Part Two: Questioning the literary realm

Jacek Stopa A soft voice whispers nothing: Nihilism and horror in the works of Thomas Ligotti...... 47

Karol Szewczyk References to literature in selected songs of Iron Maiden...... 57

Marta Sibierska Re-reading Virginia Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences...... 67

Emilia Leszczyńska Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women: The representation of time in the short-story cycle and its film adaptation...... 79

Part Three: Querying cultural identities

Joanna Korzeniewska In search of one’s identity: Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000)...... 91 8 Table of Contents

Małgorzata Borońska Facing the repressed: The doubles in Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (2010)...... 101

Joanna Antoniak Fatherlessness and postmodern society: Absent fatherhood and father hunger in Jonathan Safran Foer’s fiction...... 111

Part Four: Re-entering history

Olivier Harenda Apart yet together: The Partition of India as the catalyst for nationalism in post-colonial times...... 123

Paula Suchorska “Bloody Mary” and “Gloriana”… or maybe not necessarily? The depictions of Mary I and Elizabeth I in Virginia Woolf’s Orlando: A Biography and Mark Twain’s Prince and the Pauper...... 135

Anna Lewandowska Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets: The value of the touchstone-based analysis of the typography of sonnet 144 in the facsimile of the First Quarto of 1609...... 145

Part Five: Distant forays

Grzegorz Koneczniak Editorial and literary combination explored: The case study of Editing and Publishing Programme offered by the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń...... 159

Waldemar Skrzypczak Studying linguistics for fun and profit: From general semiotics to the stylistics of literary texts...... 171

Notes on contributors...... 191 Katarzyna Więckowska and Grzegorz Koneczniak Preface

Foray: A sudden attack or incursion into enemy territory, especially to obtain something; a raid; A brief but spirited attempt to become involved in a new activity or sphere (Oxford Dictionary) “The making of art,” as Raymond Williams claimed in 1977, is “a formative process” that is “never in the past,” but is incessantly made present again “in specifically active ‘readings’” (1977: 129). The present volume takes Williams’s statement as the point of departure to offer analyses of a variety of works by young scholars and to show their continuing validity for contemporary readers and critics. In a very literal sense, these readings are forays, that is, voyages into new territories by writers beginning their involvement with literary and cultural studies. Their incursions into the not-yet-known are also, metaphorically, struggles, whose ultimate aim may be described as one to discover and present “meanings and values as they are actively lived and felt” (Williams 1977:132) in what can be globally called the contemporary. Literary and Cultural Forays into the Contemporary is a collection of articles by young scholars from the Department of English at Nicolaus Copernicus Universi- ty in Toruń, Poland. The book is divided into five parts which, though focusing on different spheres and exploring sets of distinct problems, are all examples of “active readings” driven by the desire to question the old and to interrogate the known. As such, they not only revive the meanings and values as they were lived at the time of creating the specific works, but also point to the ways in which these meanings continue to function for contemporary readers. Accordingly, by interrogating the realms of ethics, literature, history and cultural identities, the articles attempt to present “thought as felt and feeling as thought,” and to (re)construct a certain “structure of feeling” that is not locked in the past, but that is re-lived “in a living and interrelating continuity” of the present (Willliams 1977: 132). The opening section of the book is dedicated to questions dealing with ethical issues in reference to specific past events, their literary representations, and le- gacy. The first two articles in this part revisit the historical traumas of the Stolen Generation and the Holocaust, and analyse their continuing impact on the survivors and their descendants. Małgorzata Żmijewska explores the consequences of the Aboriginal Australians’ stolen childhoods, re-discovering in their memoirs, autobiographies and poems a recurrent pattern of loss. Żmijewska examines the 10 Katarzyna Więckowska and Grzegorz Koneczniak troubled personal and cultural identity of members of the Stolen Generation, and highlights the different roles accorded to the past in official discourse and in the private lives of the survivors who shared with her their stories. A similar pattern of loss and troubled identity is traced in Paula Dutko’s article, which focuses on the transmitted trauma of the Holocaust and the problems of (post)memory. Dutko’s analysis of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated (2002) delineates the ways of coming to terms with the trauma of the past, placing them in the larger context of the function that postmodern art techniques may play in terminating the crisis of identity suffered by the members of the third generation of Holocaust survivors. Finally, Adrian Woźniak’s article considers the general nature of evil and the human propensity to perform evil deeds by offering a detailed reading of Stephen King’s The Stand, which he approaches from the perspectives delineated by Adolphe Gesche, a Catholic priest and theologian, and the French philosopher, Paul Ricoeur. The articles gathered in the second part of the volume explore some recent developments in literature and literary research by addressing such issues as genre development, intertextuality, interdisciplinarity, and film adaptation. The section begins with Jacek Stopa’s examination of the development of cosmic horror, a subgenre of horror fiction distinguished by a markedly nihilistic image of humanity as insignificant in the alien and alienating universe. Starting from a description of the genre as developed by Howard Philips Lovecraft, Stopa’s informative analysis of the work of Thomas Ligotti, a contemporary American writer, highlights the major transformations in cosmic horror, emphasizing the progressing pessimism of its depiction of the futility of the human search for meaning. The search for meaning, albeit from a different perspective, is also the basis of Karol Szewczyk’s analysis of intertextual references in selected songs by Iron Maiden. Reading the lyrics through the works of Lord Alfred Tennyson, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Wilfred Owen, Szewczyk successfully uncovers layers of meaning in the songs and aptly demonstrates the intertextual nature of contemporary texts. In a similar vein, Marta Sibierska’s reading of the works by Virginia Woolf examines the links between narrative structures and the production of meaning from the perspective of cognitive science. Starting with Woolf’s assumption concerning the relations between the mind and literary expression, as quoted in Sibierska’s article – “examining an ordinary mind on an ordinary day” – the author explores two works, The Voyage Out and Orlando: A Biography, within the interdiscipli- nary cognitive framework adapted for the purposes of her analysis. Temporal considerations in Lives of Girls and Women, both in Alice Munro’s collection of short stories and the adaptation based on her work, are addressed in the article by Preface 11

Emilia Leszczyńska. Emphasis is placed on the constitution of time as it is transferred from the medium of literature to that of film, and as it acquires a new significance in a comparative analysis – even if the author notices both similarities and differences in how the concept of time and its lapse are expressed in the original collection and its adaptation. The major issues discussed in part three are personal identity and the social and cultural forces that influence its formation. In the article opening the section, Joanna Korzeniewska approaches the protagonist of Christopher Nolan’s film Memento as exemplifying the fragmentation of identity characteristic for post- modernity: unable to form new memories and driven by nostalgia for the past, Nolan’s detective is representative of the ontological uncertainty that dominates postmodernist art, particularly its neo-noir cinematic visions. Korzeniewska’s analysis of the film draws attention to the role gender plays in the formation of identity, a theme thoroughly explored in Małgorzata Borońska’s investigation of the figure of the double in Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan. Drawing on Freudian psychoanalysis, in particular on the notions of the return of the repressed and defence mechanisms, Borońska’s article underlines the importance of the body in the creation of identity and deconstructs the harmful contradictions inherent in the image of docile femininity in ballet. Psychoanalysis provides also the interpretative framework for Joanna Antoniak’s analysis of the reations between sons and fathers in Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated (2002) and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2012). As Antoniak convincingly argues, Foer’s novels present the absence of fathers and father hunger as a universal condition, a kind of “cultural fatherlessness” which becomes the key sign of the postmodern condition. While many of the articles in the volume refer to past events and texts to explore contemporary society and culture, history and its interpretation form the explicit theme of the texts in the fourth section. Olivier Harenda’s detailed survey of the Partition of India, the article which opens the fourth section, sheds light on the processes leading to the formation of modern India and illustrates the complex mechanisms involved in colonial and nationalistic projects. If Harenda’s essay addresses postcolonial issues and focuses on the repercussions of colonial practices, Paula Suchorska’s article deals with two controversial historical figures, at least one of whom is said to have moved the English colonisation of the New World forward. However, instead of discussing the early colonial foray involving Elizabeth I, Suchorska has chosen to compare perhaps the most famous English Queen to Mary I, her sister, on the basis of Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper and Virginia Woolf’s Orlando: A Biography. The interpretations of how the two great Queens, but, as Suchorska stresses, minor figures in the works discussed, 12 Katarzyna Więckowska and Grzegorz Koneczniak behave and/or are perceived in the realities depicted and in the eyes of other characters add more dimensions to the existing literary descriptions of the two historical, and cultural, figures. Suchorska’s discussion of Orlando: A Biography from the perspective of its depiction of Elizabeth I also offers a noteworthy juxtaposition with Sibierska’s cognitive treatment of the work. Anna Lewandowska’s article highlights the ways in which editorial practices and typographical solutions influence the response to and the interpretation of the (historic) text of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 144. If Matthew Arnold, in the nineteenth century, sought to establish the determinants of literary perfection which could be used as a comparative basis to evaluate works of literature in terms of their structural properties and thematic seriousness, Lewandowska, in the twenty-first century, finds another set of “ensigns of perfection” in the typographical and orthographic constitution of selected editions of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Editorial decisions which give rise to the specific textual and graphic renditions of the sonnet play a significant role in shaping the unique processes of “active reading,” to use Williams’s term. The final section of the book, “Distant forays,” features articles by experienced scholars who approach phenomena which are only apparently beyond the literary and cultural realms. As humanistic disciplines are more and more frequently invading the areas of other fields and are adopting other approaches, so are the problems discussed in the essays included in the last part. The first article, by Grzegorz Koneczniak, can be read as a commentary on the educational context in which Lewandowska’s essay in the fourth section was created. Exploring his previous research, the author discusses selected courses offered in the new specialisation Editing and Publishing, prepared by the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, in the academic year 2014/2015. Special emphasis is placed on the diploma projects which deal with various aspects of editorial- literary relations and which were developed during the MA seminar in editing. The last contribution, Waldemar Skrzypczak’s essay, is also oriented towards the educational context. However, the scope of his research interests reaches beyond literary and cultural areas into the distant linguistic forays. As Skrzypczak argues, works of literature and artifacts of culture are texts which can be investigated from the perspective of a linguist. A review of general linguistic approaches, which can be adopted for the analysis of literary and cultural texts, is presented and illustrated with authorial examples as used in his teaching practice. As suggested by the titles of the sections of the book, Literary and Cultural Forays into the Contemporary is a collection of texts that interrogate and query the already known, documenting the various ways in which young scholars make use Preface 13 of what is familiar, but also signaling the routes that may be taken in future inves- tigations. Since most of the articles are based on the MA projects in literary and cultural studies developed in the Department of English at Nicolaus Copernicus University, they can be seen as instances of individual uses of acquired knowledge, of the “archive” which they do not merely reproduce, but which they “enable […] both to survive and to undergo regular modification” (Foucault 1972: 130). They are, to follow Williams’s trope yet again, active readings which, though anchored in the past, modify the old and point to an emergent structure of feeling (1977: 123).

References Foucault, Michel. 1989. The Archeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on Lan- guage. Trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith. New York: Pantheon Books. Williams, Raymond. 1977. Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Part One: Interrogating ethics

Małgorzata Żmijewska The Stolen Generations of Australia: In search of literal and symbolic dimensions in selected factual and literary sources

Abstract: The Stolen Generations of Australia refers to the group of indigenous citizens forcibly taken from their birth families as a part of the infamous government assimilation programme. This article analyses selected literary works, film representations, and testimonies of the Survivors to depict their disturbed sense of belonging and loss.

Introduction The aim of this essay is to identify and analyse the literal and symbolic dimensions of the Stolen Generations of Australia which cannot be limited to sociohistorical occurrences. The full comprehension of this concept requires identifying and analysing its various dimensions in a variety of sources. For the sake of deciphe- ring both literal and metaphorical meanings, authentic materials as well as works of art representing several latent aspects ought to be scrutinised and interpreted. Therefore, the introductory section of this essay defines the Stolen Generations as the group affected by the harmful policies. The consecutive part focuses on their experiences in the form of testimonies, while the final one is devoted to detecting dimensions of the Stolen Generations in literary sources. The term is frequently used interchangeably with the words “theft” and “stolenness,” depending on the context. The consistent use of the plural form “Generations” points to the multidimensionality and the perennial extent of these occurrences.

Defining the Stolen Generations of Australia The historical and social overview of the theme constitutes the basis for developing the search for its latent dimensions. The very term Stolen Generations refers in the first instance to Aboriginal children forcibly taken from their birth families by the government under the White Australia policies. These children were adopted, placed in foster homes, missions or girls and boys homes and thus separated from their relatives, language and culture, often for life. The time frameworks encompassing the policy of forced removal are not stated precisely. According to the European Network for Indigenous Australian Rights, these practices lasted between 1910 and 1970. The beginning of forcible 18 Małgorzata Żmijewska separation, however, dates back to the very first days of the European settlement in Australia. As the Guide to Australia’s Stolen Generation states, authorities started to take children away towards the end of the 19th century; the Aborigines Protec- tion Act established in 1909 constituted just a legal framework for these actions. The government used underhand means to steal Aboriginal children from their families. The simplest way consisted in government officials invading Aboriginal homes and taking the babies away against their parents’ will. Due to the fact that very often the Stolen Children were too young to remember the whole incident, many of them were simply told that they were orphans. Sometimes children were taken away under the pretence of a routine vaccination or treatment in hospital, preceded by written consents signed by oblivious mothers, never to be seen again by their relatives. The basic presumption of the governmental practices was to “breed out” the Aboriginal genes within a short time. In other words, by means of assimilation into the mainstream (“white”) society and bringing these children up “white,” the government wanted to dispose of the Indigenous residents of Australia. Federal and state laws were designed in order to integrate children of the indigenous people into the mainstream part of society. Simultaneously, the white government wanted to end Aboriginal culture. By means of separation and prevention from any contact with relatives, the officials wanted to weaken the cultural identity of young Aborigines (http://reconciliaction.org.au). The official explanation given by the government was the intention of pro- tecting the Indigenous children against supposedly unavoidable negligence on the part of their parents. The officials labelled the Aboriginals as the race having no future and intended to justify their actions by showing white families as a more conducive environment for young people of Aboriginal descent. In fact, the government’s assurances of better future, along with providing education for young Aborigines, turned out to be empty promises. In many cases, Aboriginal girls were trained in domestic service and, as a rule, Aboriginal children were expected to become servants or labourers (www.independent.co.uk). Poor record keeping and changes in administrative bodies render it impossible to state accurately the number of Indigenous citizens who were affected. In order to make readers aware of the scope of the removal policies, most sources estimate that 100,000 indigenous children were stolen, up until the 1960s (http://reconciliaction.org.au). A 1994 survey presented by the Australian Bureau of Statistics (Federal Race Discrimination Commissioner, 1997) revealed that one in every ten Aboriginal people aged over 25 had been forcibly taken away from their families in childhood (home.vicnet.net.au). The Stolen Generations of Australia 19

Testimonies of the Survivors Due to the political and social changes that have occurred in Australia within the last decade, the experiences of the Stolen Generations have become an issue that offers a wide scope of sources and data. Once the national apology was made and the shameful practices ceased to be a taboo, the interest in authentic statements grew considerably. An insight into the harrowing experience is provided by testimonies, which are frequently touching and intimate. The statements rely solely on personal recollections and are analysed in search of further dimensions of the Stolen Generations. The major source used in this section is the website www.stolengenerationstesti monies.com featuring “The Voices. The Lives. The Testimonies of Australia’s Stolen Generations.” For many of the Survivors the moment of removal is the earliest childhood memory. Young Aborigines were mechanically taken away from their homes and separated in various missions. Vince Wenberg, among others, experienced violent removal and openly states that upon this moment “they devastated [their] family” (www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com). The arrival of the welfare board equalled a raid; no one was able to escape being captured and no one could convince the officials not to steal the children. Rita Wright’s story proves that very often children were removed not only without parental consent, but also without them knowing about it: “the welfare had come and had taken us away. And not – and mum not knowing” (www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com). The moment of theft, brimful with dread, constituted only a prelude to the traumatic experience of being put in missions or foster homes. Vince Wenberg is the one who openly shares the memories of both physical and emotional mistreatment. Being told that “Your mother didn’t want you, your parents didn’t want you,” the children easily got depressed and created in their psyches a distorted image of family. Wenberg mentions the presence of paedophiles among the attendants. Going further, his memories of Kinchela boys are inextricably connected with corporal punishment: “We had some very sadistic attendants in charge. One used to carry a stick around all the time. He wasn’t frightened to use it either” (www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com). Additionally, children at missions were poorly nourished. Ruth Mackenzie still remembers the taste of the leftovers which were heated up in order to provide food for a few days. It was often the case that mice droppings were found in the meals. Even more drastic scenes are described by Michael Hannah who recollects being treated as a “bad apple,” as he calls it. He was punished for wetting himself by being sprayed with cold water in the middle of winter or by having his nose rubbed into urine (www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com). 20 Małgorzata Żmijewska

While children were taken under the pretence of redemption from malfunctio- ning families, it was missions that were guilty of gross neglect of young Aborigines. Irrespective of how poignant the treatment was, it exerted a detrimental impact on their psyches, identity and future life. What the Survivors stress is the incalculabi- lity of the loss that they sustained. Some of them describe themselves as “mission kids” who severely experienced forced separation. Gus Wenberg supports this statement by saying: “With your family, your culture’s gone, you know. It’s hurtful, you’ve been deprived of something which you should have had and haven’t got” (www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com). Therefore, a common problem among the Aborigines brought up in missions was the loss or malformation of identity. What disturbed their sense of belonging was that some of them had their names changed, others did not know their birthdates or were raised to believe that they were orphans. The Survivors suffer from the split identity of being “neither black, neither white,” as Sam Dinah calls this. Rita Wenberg regards the conflicting identity as one of the most crucial consequences of being a Stolen Child: “So you don’t belong to the white one, you don’t belong to Aborigine people, you’re just in the middle. But we haven’t got no identity” (www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com). Val Linnow represents one of the most extreme cases of the struggle against oppression and abuse. While at the mission, she attempted suicide; later, after leaving the camp, she sorely needed psychiatric help. At the moment of recording, she admits to being on strong anti-depressants. Her statement is full of grudge and sorrow: “I started to try to kill myself, slash my wrists. I wasn’t the first one that was raped and abused. It happened, widely spread among Aborigine girls and Aborigine boys. I would never forgive them” (www.stolengenerationstestimonies. com). Linnow’s story is not an isolated instance of acting in a self-destructive way to show one’s resistance towards the policies at the missions. This one, along with other similar cases, however, confirms the neglectful treatment of the stolen children and the harmfulness of the governmental programme of separation and assimilation. The biography of Katherine Phyllis Joinbee also contains reminiscences of the living conditions at the mission. She recollects the acute pain caused by sleeping on the wooden floor, even in wintertime, and skimpy poor rations. Children at the mission, without proper nutrition, rest and clothing, were forced to work. As Joinbee puts it, people who were supposed to be teachers, were de facto supervisors: “I was frightened of all Staff” (Joinbee in Wright 2013: 5). Hey Mum, What’s a Half-Caste?, the autobiography of Lorraine McGee-Sippel whom I had the great privilege of meeting, is one of the most compelling stories of loss, cultural identity and reconnection within the frameworks of the Stolen The Stolen Generations of Australia 21

Generations. Starting from the discussion of the aforementioned question, the author reveals the effects of displacement and shares the memories of a descendant of the Yorta Yorta people who was brought up as an adoptee not knowing about her real origin. To a considerable extent, the autobiography does not only underline the importance of Aboriginality brought back to her life but it also points to the internal struggle that she had to face while finding herself in the new environment and community. The stolenness led not only to the internal disturbances but also to the sense of inferiority: “I didn’t feel special. My real mother probably didn’t think I was either, otherwise she would have kept me” (McGee-Sippel 2009: 43). Lorraine speaks also of her fears as a child who could not fully comprehend or discover the reason beyond different skin color. She shares the memory of her foster mother who “threatened time and again to send [her] to Parramatta Girls’ Home if [she] misbehaved or didn’t stop asking ‘bloody’ questions” (McGee-Sippel 2009: 58). Another difficulty that she had to cope with was pursuing and accepting one identity. Misguided by the upbringing, in search of the roots from the moment of discovering the truth, Lorraine was both torn apart and shaped by the white community: “Living with white parents, growing up in a white society, I had internalized prejudiced negativity about dark skin. I was both an insider and an outsider” (McGee-Sippel 2009: 87). Only at the age of thirty-eight did Lorraine meet her birth family. Upon re-discovering her identity, she aligned herself with the Stolen Generations. For her, writing down the story of her life became “an important part of [the] healing process” (McGee-Sippel 2009: 265). Her work appeared in numerous publications and won the National Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Awards for outstanding achievement in literature. In 2010 her book was shortlisted for the Australian Book Industry Award and the Victorian Premiers Award. What the Stolen Generations’ members emphasise is that sharing their personal statements does not serve to blame the Australian people of today for what happened in the past but to raise people’s awareness of how they were treated, especially due to the fact that silence was cast over the governmental practices for several decades. What follows the vast majority of the statements is hopefulness that the history will not be repeated: “I wish to tell my story to hopefully make sure that what happened to the families back then does not ever happen again” (Murray Harrison, www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com).

Aboriginal poetry: accounts and representations An analysis of the accounts and representations of the impact of forced removal and assimilation in poetry can provide a more holistic view on the Stolen 22 Małgorzata Żmijewska generations. Though often simplistic in their form, selected poems written by the Survivors give an insight into stolenness, thereby turning attention to its other dimensions. Ali Cobby Eckermann has gained international acclaim as an indigenous Aus- tralian poet and memoirist. She shares the story of her life as the Stolen Genera- tions’ member and openly discusses the impact of these experiences. In her poem “Circles and Squares” the central device is based on the distinction between two geometrical shapes: circles and squares. The knowledge of Aboriginal culture serves to explain the importance of circularity; as Eckermann puts it, she “ha[s] grown to recognise that [her] Life travels in Circles” and was taught that “Universal Life is Circular.” Therefore, a circle stands for the repetitiveness and rhythm of life; as nature makes circles, so does the life of the tribe and of an individual. In contrast to the original land, the dominant shape in “the white man’s world” is the square. This neatness, however, does not recall any positive memories since it stands in opposition to natural circularity. Eckerman notices the influence of angularity in other spheres of life; she has experienced a troubled relationship with her own identity: “I looked at myself in a Square mirror and did not know who I was.” Despite living a seemingly well-organised and geometrically fitted life, Ali did not feel comfortable or serene. The inability to follow the natural circuit of existence causes severe disturbances in her identity. Only by means of return and reunion is she able to enjoy the blissful roundness which captures the sense of community, affiliation and unity. For the same purpose, namely to stress the integrity of the group, the poet begins each line with the pronoun “We.” She mentions the role of her grandmother in the Healing Circle which can be defined as groups designed to “explore, understand and improve [one’s] state of physical and mental wellbeing by re-connecting [them] to their Aboriginality and spirituality” (http://www.spiritdreaming.com.au). Although the woman seems to appreciate the possibility of encountering both ways of life, she confesses that the negative impact of being stolen and put into square frames does not persist. The “Square hole” is a form of a trap which prohibits Eckermann from developing in the way that is natural to her. Impelling the young person to live in the “square world” is aimed at disturbing the natural circuit, and, consequently, leads to a sense of disorientation. In the event, re-union with the ancestors and original community is the only means by which the Survivor can regain harmony and serenity. Jacquline Frail and her seven siblings were taken away from their community when she was eleven. She recollects that they travelled on a train she used to call “The Iron Horse,” with an elderly lady as their guard. Frail spent over a year in two children’s homes and, in 1972, she was sent to a family in Parramatta NSW. Their The Stolen Generations of Australia 23 way of life, as she remembers, was entirely different from what she had known earlier; however, she managed to adjust to it fairly quickly. When Frail was given the opportunity to reunite with her mother, she took the chance, and moved to Lightning Ridge where she lives now.1 “The Tin Shack,” a poem written by her, focuses on the description of the shack in which Jackie had lived before she was taken away. She mentions the elements of which the house was composed and does not fail to enumerate certain features that would seem to be shortcomings, such as a leaky tin roof, dirty floors, lack of a toilet, electricity and basic domestic appliances, or water shortage. Despite enumerating these seemingly unhygienic and poor conditions in the prevailing part of the poem, the author expresses her longing for that place. In view of the fact that the poem was written in 1997, after Frail’s return to her community, it serves to represent past memories of an abducted person living away from the place of origin. Therefore, the feelings experienced by the Stolen Generations could be partly attributed to homesickness. What appears to be linked with this notion is the idealisation of the homeland – in this case represented by the tin shack. Archie Roach, an award-winning singer and a Survivor sharing his memories in verse, was three or four when he and his two sisters were taken from their family and placed in a Salvation Army orphanage. As a young man, Roach decided to abandon his foster family and started to look for his birth one, meanwhile struggling with alcohol addiction. Together with his lifelong partner, Ruby Hunter, also a Survivor, he managed to develop his music career. The song “Took the Children Away,” from his first album released in 1990, has gained the status of the iconic song of the Stolen Generations (Heiss et al. 2008: 134) and has been internationally acclaimed as the milestone in the process of recognising the impact that the removal and assimilation policy has had on Indigenous Austra- lians. As Kalukas (2012) puts it, “the range and complexity of human experience [are] captured in a few carefully chosen words and a simple melody” (Kalukas, http://www.melbournereview.com.au). Roach refers to the activities conducted by the officials, namely placing the Aborigines in missions and reserves (“fenced us in like sheep”), teaching them how to write, read and pray; afterwards, he describes the abduction of the youngest. The eponymous phrase “took the children away” reappears in the lyrics several times. The theme of failure to keep the promises also reappears in the song. None of the assurances came to be realised by the white government. Although these policies were thought by the officials to be far more

1 Jacquline kindly shared this biographical information with me by means of email correspondence. 24 Małgorzata Żmijewska efficacious when compared with the upbringing that the natural parents could provide the Aboriginal children with, the effects of the outwardly pro-Aboriginal policy were, as Roach calls them, instances of “humiliation.” The song constitutes also an autobiographical account of Roach as a Stolen Child. The scene is sated with the despair of lamenting mother and father ready to fight in order to protect the family. The welfare workers, however, remained indifferent to the protests and wailing, and stole the children. What came afterwards was sending the children to foster homes. Yet, there they could not enjoy the sense of belonging. Therefore, the Stolen Generations’ members experienced the split of identity; being brought up white interfered with the identification with the Aboriginal culture and ethnicity. In the case of Roach, this confusion resulted in disillusionment, troubled early adulthood and periods of alcoholism. However, the poem also voices a sense of hope and elation caused by the return of the Stolen Children. The adverb “back” is used with great frequency in order to emphasise the retrieval in various spheres of life. The poem echoes the homeco- ming and the reunion with the relatives and tribes by enumerating family members. What is stressed by listing these areas is the mental and emotional stability that can only be regained upon the return to the homeland and its community. The significance of the song within the range of all the reconciliation processes is emphasised by Gibson (2006), who ascribes “aesthetic, transformative power” to the work (http://www.transformationsjournal.org). In addition, the song was announced one of ten Australia’s Top Ten (Political) Rock Songs (http://dailyre view.crikey.com.au). Indeed, Roach has managed to combine his personal experiences with telling the story of the Stolen Generations in three steps (removal, assimilation, reunion), and thereby has contributed to the dissemination of the awareness of these issues worldwide.

Conclusion The aforementioned and scrutinised sources, including official documents, testimonies and literary works, point to the wide scope of the dimensions of “stolenness.” While the figures and dates give us an idea of the extent of the affected citizens, particular memoirs and biographies help understand the poignant experiences of an individual. The poems analysed in the consecutive part can also be perceived as forms of testimonies, often representing the general scheme of loss, search for identity and sense of belonging. What cannot be questioned is that the experience of the Stolen Generations is a multidimensional one. Due to the fact that this group of the indigenous Aust- ralians is not monolithic, it is possible to discern diverse forms of the impact that The Stolen Generations of Australia 25 the governmental policies have had on it. Identifying the dimensions of this phenomenon can be perceived as part of the steadily advancing processes of raising social awareness and broadening the knowledge about the Stolen Generations. Discussed and presented openly in various media, as well as constituting the major theme of literary and film works, the theme of the stolenness leaves space for further analysis.

Acknowledgments I would like to note that a substantial part of the materials analysed in this essay has been obtained through the Internet due to the recentness of the theme and the uniqueness of the research. Therefore, I would like to extend my sincere thanks to Rudi Maxwell, the Editor of Koori Mail, for publishing my request in the January 2015 issue of the newspaper, and to Lorraine McGee-Sippel, Jacquline Frail and Delwyn Sellin, who kindly shared with me the materials used and discussed in this article.

References Frail, Jacquline. “The Tin Shack,” “My Dear Aunty” (poems received via e-mail on February 11, 2014). Gibson, Ross. “Places Past Disappearance,” http://www.transformationsjournal. org/ journal/issue13/article_01.shtml, DOA January 29, 2013. Heiss, Anita, Peter Minter, Nicolas Jose (eds.) 2008. Macquarie Pen Anthology of Aboriginal Literature. Sidney: Allen & Unwin. Phil Kakulas. “Took the Children Away. Archie Roach,” http://www.melbourner eview.com.au/arts/article/WORDS-MUSIC-May-2012, DOA February 27, 2014. Rose, James. “Australia’s Top 10 (Political) Rock Songs,” http://dailyreview.crikey. com.au/australias-top-10-political-rock-songs, DOA January 25, 2014.

Internet sources http://australia.gov.au/about-australia/australian-story/sorry-day-stolen-genera tions, DOA January 16, 2013. http://www.allmusic.com/artist/archie-roach-mn0000601551/biography, DOA February 20, 2014. http://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/people/racism-in-aboriginal- australia, DOA July 12, 2013. 26 Małgorzata Żmijewska http://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/politics/stolen-generations. html, DOA January 15, 2013. http://www.health.gov.au/internet/publications/publishing.nsf/Content/brin ging-them-home, DOA July 2, 2013. http://www.mwf.com.au/2013/?name=Writer-Cobby-Ali-Eckermann, DOA Feb- ruary 1, 2014. http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/relationships/my-life-as-a-stolen-child-by-ali- cobby-eckermann/story-fnet0he2-1226645410986, DOA January 20, 2014. http://www.reconciliation.org.au/, DOA January 15, 2014. http://www.stolengenerationstestimonies.com, DOA September 20, 2013.

Paula Dutko Transmitted Holocaust trauma: Third generation experience in Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated

Abstract: Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated (2002) presents the problems of transmitted trauma, postmemory, and identity of the descendants of Holocaust victims. This article approaches the novel as an illustration of the third generation transmitted trauma, the search for establishing one’s identity, and the struggle to preserve memory.

Introduction The Holocaust has always been incomprehensible, even for the generation that lived during the Second World War. We can get a glimpse of the suffering of the Holocaust victims by reading first-hand accounts of the events from journals, memoirs, and diaries. The experience of the Holocaust has given rise to various kinds of trauma, starting from the personal trauma of a victim suffering in a death camp. Another type of traumatic condition is survivor’s guilt, known also as the concentration camp syndrome, which is characterised by an overwhelming guilt within the survivors of traumatic events springing from the lack of understanding of the reason behind their survival, when confronted with the fact that a multi- tude of other people who were in the same environment and circumstances had perished. More varieties of trauma can be observed, among them the collective trauma of a whole nation, the shared trauma of the entire society of the Western world, and also transmitted trauma, transferred onto the generations that were born after the Holocaust. The generation of eye-witnesses of the Holocaust, the first generation, suffered from the trauma of the victims. Their direct involvement in the shocking events changed their lives forever, often leaving them without any family and with an abundance of physical and mental problems. The first generation suffered from abuse, forced labour (also child labour), abandonment, witnessing a mass murder taking place, surviving harsh conditions of the camps, and even monstrous experiments on people. An example of the first generation writer is Eva Mozes Kor, who survived the concentration camp and the experiments performed on her by Josef Mengele himself. Later in her life, she decided to describe her experience, which was done by many Holocaust survivors. 28 Paula Dutko

Critics such as Eva Hoffman, Marianne Hirsch, and Zygmunt Bauman have delved into the topic of transmitted trauma and postmemory, attempting to explain the distinctiveness of the second generation experience. The second generation of survivors, called also the hinge generation and, in specific cases, the “memorial candles,” are the children of the victims and eye-witnesses of the Holo- caust. The individual experience of trauma is different for every victim; therefore, it is difficult to compare particular cases of transmitted trauma of the Holocaust. Moreover, factors which are often overlooked for the sake of generalisation, such as gender, location, number of siblings, the structure of the family unit, and numerous other elements also introduce uncertainties into the theory of transmitted trauma. The question why children from the second generation of Holocaust survivors were susceptible to trauma to such an extent can be posed. Without a doubt, children absorb all that surrounds them, they are vulnerable to negative influences and situations that could possibly endanger stable relationships within a family. A number of the next generation children, usually a particular one in a given family, is treated as a “memorial candle,” a child named after a relative who perished during the Holocaust. Such children are treated as a replacement for the dead and are often identified with the person they were named after (Hoffman 2010: 409). The identity of the second generation children can be described as full of contradictions. It is rather an endless struggle to establish an identity, a fluid construct with a fragile basis. The children of this generation suffer from a loss of their own individual identity, as a new one is imposed on them by their parents. Frequently, the victims do not feel adequate and do not consider themselves experienced enough to speak about the Holocaust, even though they possess vast knowledge about the topic and are aware of an enormous amount of details unknown to the rest of the society. They refuse to share this information because they assume the memories do not belong to them. Art Spiegelman describes his experience as the member of the second generation in Maus, using a graphic novel as his medium. In the book, Art illustrates his own transmitted trauma as well as the relationship with his father who was a survivor of the Holocaust. The two opposite approaches to giving an account – either sharing too many details or completely repressing the memories – are clearly visible in literature. At times, they are even merged into one, when the parent refuses to share but then, due to the child’s curiosity, finally decides to tell the story. Even if the memories are not shared, the trauma is still transmitted, for example by the neurotic behaviour of the parent. A significant difference between the three generations after the Holocaust emerges from the sources that are available to each of the generations. The first generation is the group of witnesses, people who experienced the events directly, Transmitted Holocaust trauma 29 and the trauma which is connected with their suffering is unquestionable. The second generation members acquired their knowledge from the testimony of the first generation witnesses; the trauma in this case was transmitted directly from those who suffered. What is more, the second generation was raised by the first generation and the influence was a significant part of the second generation upbringing, having long-term consequences for the rest of their lives. The third generation consists of the grandchildren of the Holocaust victims. While there is no difficulty in identifying the first or even the second generation’s members, there are many obstacles in defining the particular group that can be called “a generation” for numerous reasons. Having spreading all over the world after the War, the Jewish community ceased to be a specific group of people. Because of this, there are great cultural differences between the children and grandchildren of the Holocaust victims, as the new generations were raised in completely different environments. A new type of witness emerges in the third generation. In contrast to the first and second generation, there is more than one source of knowledge about the Holocaust available to the third generation. While some members of the first and second generation chose to speak about the Holocaust openly, others preferred not to acknowledge the Holocaust as an element that had a significant impact on their lives. For this reason, the third generation, in some cases, could receive knowledge and testimony from the second generation, their parents, uncles, and aunts. On the other hand, some third generation representatives could not depend on their immediate family to gain information concerning the Holocaust, as the family decided to forget about the painful past. Some members of the third generation gain knowledge from the all-present media. Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated is an attempt at describing the third generation experience and understanding the Holocaust by the grandchildren of the Holocaust survivors. Postmemory, a term coined by Marianne Hirsch, describes a process that can be observed in the second and third generation of Holocaust victims. Deprived of their own memories of the events that have shaped their existence, taking into consideration the fact how important the history of the ancestors is for their descendants, the second and third generations create their own “memory.” This is not memory as typically defined in science, but a conscious process of inventing a foundation on which the members of the new generations can base their emotions connected with memories that do not belong to them but to their ancestors. The painful traumatic memories are transmitted, indirectly becoming the memories of the new generations. Their organisation and interpretation by a person struggling with the traumatic past of the ancestors is what forms postmemory. 30 Paula Dutko

As a result of the transmitted trauma inflicted upon the second generation, many of its members decided to shelter their children from the memories of Holocaust, so that they would not suffer from transmitted trauma, at least not intentionally sine the unconscious elements of transmission could not be avoided. Sheltering the third generation from the Holocaust bears a striking resemblance to the overprotective behaviour of the first generation towards their children.

Everything Is Illuminated as a third generation experience Everything Is Illuminated (2002) is a novel written by Jonathan Safran Foer, who is well-known for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2005). A common link can be observed between the two novels as both of them delve into the topic of trauma, its consequences, and the ways in which the protagonists try to come to terms with it. Everything Is Illuminated tells the story of a young American Jew who travels to Ukraine in order to discover more details about his roots and to find a mysterious woman named Augustine, who probably saved his grandfather’s life from the Holocaust. The protagonist, named Jonathan Safran Foer, exactly like the author, meets his tour guide, a young Ukrainian named Alex, who struggles with written and spoken English, and a driver who is Alex’s grandfather. In Foer’s novel, three narratives can be distinguished. The use of metafiction, intertextuality, magic realism, as well as numerous other elements typical for postmodernist fiction provide the author with more freedom of artistic expression. Even more importantly, postmodern features emphasize the confusion and loss linked with the horrors of the war as well as transmitted trauma. The main narrative focuses on the journey which leads Jonathan Safran Foer to the Ukrainian countryside, where he and his tour guides, Alex and his grandfather, face the forgotten tragic events of the war. Led by no more than the name of the place and a photography, Jonathan must find the home of his ancestors and his own origins. The first narrative provides the foundation through which the two other narratives can be explored, describing the main events written by Alex in a very peculiar and distorted style. The strange vocabulary serves as a comic element; however, the absurdity of the language also appears as a device that creates an alienating effect and points to the problem of putting experience into words, showing how far from America the author travels. The second narrative takes place in a completely different setting, in an 18th- century shtetl in Ukraine, the same one that Jonathan is searching for. It describes the history of Jonathan’s origin and is, in fact, a piece of fiction invented by Jonathan who, with the little information he has, attempts to create memories. In the second narrative, magic realism is used to create a fictional world, which is Transmitted Holocaust trauma 31 only based on some scattered information that Jonathan has gathered. In magic realism, the border between what is real and unreal is blurred, which bears a striking resemblance to the situation of the third generation. Postmemory, therefore memories that are invented on the basis of given knowledge, unlike direct experience that forms real memories, is also a mixture of what is real and what is created artificially. Magic realism is a useful genre for creating mythic stories and the Holocaust is the most important myth for the modern Jewish community. The two stories are intertwined and the reader is offered more explanation within the third and last narrative, which consists of the letters written by Alex to Jonathan illustrating the attempt to understand the writing process and to come to terms with transmitted trauma. The third narrative explores the medium of letters, focusing on the feelings and afterthoughts from the journey. Jonathan and Alex cope with their feelings of trauma in different ways. Not only do they resolve their transmitted trauma in distinct manners, they also argue about the definition of writing and the question of the extent to which an author can change reality in his writing. While Jonathan creates impossible events in his text, he urges Alex to change elements of his own, so that it will be more sophisticated. On the other hand, Alex criticises Jonathan for writing sad stories filled with sex and violence, portraying his ancestors in an unflattering manner, while, in Alex’s opinion, the medium of writing allows him to change the facts to his ancestors’ advantage. According to Francisco Collado-Rodriguez, the use of two narrators in the novel allows for a more successful encounter with repressed memories, in two distinct ways, by two characters that are very different from one another (2008: 54). A large portion of the novel is dedicated not only to past events and finding the truth, but also to the relationships between generations affected by the Holocaust. Jonathan’s family lives in the United States and consists of him, his mother, and grandmother. Jonathan is sheltered and the past is hidden from him. His overprotective grandmother attempts to keep him away from the truth to such a degree that Jonathan has to keep his journey to Ukraine a secret. However, he is already traumatised by his heritage, by the sole fact of being a Jew and a descendant of Holocaust survivors. Without the aid of a testimony, Jonathan needs to find his own way to discovering his identity. Duality and pairs are an important part of the novel. Numerous elements appear in pairs, or two characters seem to be parallel to one another. First of all, there are two narrators, who are two members of the third generations of Jews. Their narratives are compared and contrasted, attempting to form one narrative but in the end failing to do so. Another form of duality is visible between the two writers and their grandfathers. Alex is named after his grandfather; similarly, Jonathan’s 32 Paula Dutko second name comes from his grandfather. Names are an important element of a new life. The first Safran changes his name to Yankel after repaying his crimes and being abandoned by his wife. Alex’s grandfather, who is destroyed and traumatised by guilt because of betraying and murdering his best friend, changes his name from Eli to Alex. It is clear that the change of one’s name indicates a new beginning, a new life that emerges from death.

Memory and identity of the third generation A crucial question concerned with the third generation’s trauma is why itsmem- bers attempt to return to the past which is tragic and painful. Many characters in the novel suffer from an identity crisis, illustrated by the use of many names and by attempts at writing an invented account of history by the youngest generation. Although Jonathan is named after Safran, his grandparent, in his search he reaches the first Safran in his family, his adoptive ancestor, who is more of a my- thical creation than an actual person. However, Alex is not free from an identity crisis either. It becomes apparent that Alex has a different identity for each person he interacts with. He shows many masks and uses many nicknames. Every member of the family knows a different side of him. Without a chance to form an identity on the basis of their family histories, all characters in the novel create stories. Every single narrative contains an invented story. Alex’s grandfather claims that he is blind, which is not the case physically, but metaphorically he is blind to the truth and to the past. The grandfather rejects his traumatic past, he is “blind” to it. Jonathan Safran Foer makes up the story of Trachimbrod, creating characters, connections between them, and magical events. The grandfather invents his whole life after the war, repressing his Jewish origin. Alex forms his identity upon imaginary events and achievements, for example claiming he is promiscuous when in fact he is a virgin, and he is also easily influenced by others, especially American popular culture, the media, and later on by Jonathan. In the novel, identity is also linked with place. For the villagers of Trachimbrod, their village is the core of their identity and their whole lives revolve around it. For Jonathan, visiting Ukraine, the place where his family comes from, is a search for identity. Once there is nothing to be found in Trachimbrod, as the place has been destroyed, Jonathan gathers some earth to take back home to the US with him, as the only way of taking Trachimbrod, at least a fragment of it, with him. Alex searches for his own place in the world. Initially, he dreams of travelling to America; however, after the journey, he realises that his identity is connected to his place of birth, Ukraine, and he decides to stay. Transmitted Holocaust trauma 33

Jonathan and Alex realise that they should base their identities as third generation Jews upon the accounts of their ancestors’ lives. This, however, proves to be a difficult task. It is hard to assess whether Jonathan has managed to achieve his goal by writing his narrative. The most shocking and moving, but at the same time most truthful account comes from the grandfather. In a way, the grandfather frees Jonathan and Alex from the burden of creating an imaginary past or continuing their search for the truth.

Conclusion Three generations of Jews born during and after the Second World War have been suffering from the results of the trauma of the Holocaust. What is surprising is that the features of trauma or PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder) are displayed not only by the victims who suffered through the traumatic experience, but also the members of the second and, arguably, even the third generation. Transmitted trauma is different from regular trauma, as those affected by it are traumatised by memories of the experience, not the experience itself. Being brought up in traumatised families, often broken and with missing members, has a substantial influence on the development and the construction of identity for the victims of transmitted trauma. The construction of identity is intricately linked with postmemory, formed by memories imposed on a person by another, often a parent or a close family member. In the case of the second and third generation, there exists a connection between imposed memory and imposed identity. In both generations, a loss of identity can be observed as a result of the imposition of the identity of a dead relative onto a child during his or her development, often by naming the child after a relative he or she has never met. The struggle to acquire one’s personal identity is frequently portrayed in the works created by the second and third generation members. As it can be proved by analysing various works of art created by the members of the second generation of Holocaust victims, there are different means of expressing the transmitted trauma that the victims are suffering from. More often than the first-hand witnesses, the second generation members seek for more postmodern ways to describe their emotions and experience. The children must discover their own way of life and often even help their parents get used to the new country. There is no doubt that the third generation differs from the first and second generation of Holocaust survivors. The struggles that the third generation has to face are different, connected with problems of the modern world. The main problem that the third generation has to face is the crisis of identity. Because of the 34 Paula Dutko difference in experience, location, age, upbringing, and many more variables, each member of the third generation suffers through the consequences of transmitted trauma in an individual way. The third generation as a whole is occupied with preserving memory that is quickly fading away with the increasing rate of deaths of the Holocaust witnesses. The new generation is burdened with the immense feeling of responsibility for the memories. Jonathan Safran Foer’s novel Everything Is Illuminated presents a fascinating illustration of the search for establishing one’s identity, preserving memory, and finding one’s own path in life, despite the life- changing transmitted trauma of the Holocaust.

References Arendt, Hannah. 1994. Essays in Understanding 1930–1954. New York: Harcourt Brace. Bauman, Zygmunt. 2000. “The Holocaust’s Life as a Ghost,” in Robert Fine and Charles Turner (eds.) Social Theory after the Holocaust, 7–17. Collado-Rodriguez, Francisco. 2008. “Ethics in the Second Degree: Trauma and Dual Narratives in Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated,” Journal of Modern Literature 32.1, 54–68. Davis, Colin. 2007. Haunted Subjects: Deconstruction, Psychoanalysis and Return of the Dead. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Fine, Robert and Charles Turner (eds.) 2000. Social Theory after the Holocaust. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Fine, Robert. 2000. “Hannah Arendt: Politics and Understanding after the Holo- caust,” in Robert Fine and Charles Turner (eds.) Social Theory after the Holo- caust, 19–46. Foer, Jonathan Safran. 2002. Everything Is Illuminated. New York: Houghton Mi- fflin Company. Hirsch, Marianne. 2012. The Generation of Postmemory: Writing and Visual Cul- ture after the Holocaust. New York: Columbia University Press. Hoffman, Eva. 2010. “The Long Afterlife of Loss,” in Susannah Radstone and Bill Schwarz (eds.) Memory: Histories, Theories, Debates, 406–415. Radstone, Susannah and Bill Schwarz (eds.) 2010. Memory: Histories, Theories, Debates. New York: Fordham University Press. Spiegelman, Art. 1986. Maus I: A Survivor’s Tale: My Father Bleeds History. New York: Pantheon Books. Spiegelman, Art. 1991. Maus: A Survivor’s Tale Part 2: And Here My Troubles Began. London: Penguin Books. Adrian Woźniak The analysis of evil and its influence on people in Stephen King’s The Stand

Abstract: Stephen King’s The Stand (1978) portrays various facets of evil and its influence on ordinary people. This article examines the vulnerability of humans in their encounter with evil forces by offering a reading of the story of Nadine, the protagonist of King’s novel, from the perspectives provided by Adolphe Gesche and Paul Ricoeur.

Introduction In most of his books, Stephen King portrays people as susceptible to evil entities whose disruptive nature they cannot resist because of their weaknesses and helplessness. King’s works frequently contrast good with evil and show people’s “natural” attraction to evil forces and the deficiency of human nature. In this article I analyse how human characters respond to evil in extreme conditions in King’s The Stand. The novel was first published in 1978, at the beginning of the writer’s career, and its latest, extended version appeared in 1990. The Stand shows the tremendous potential of evil and its disastrous influence on people. It presents the battle between good and evil in the Doomsday scenario, with mankind endangered by a deadly virus which kills almost all people in the world. This constitutes a great opportunity for evil to spread, and the more dramatic the situation becomes, the more people are willing to accept evil. The analysis focuses on Nadine, a teacher who survives the plague and who gradually loses her system of values and decides to join the evil camp. I intend to show how fear and threat change human nature as portrayed in the book, and to present the heroes’ vulnerability in their defense against evil forces.

The summary of The Stand The novel presents a post-apocalyptic vision of the world which was attacked by the deadly virus called “Captain Trips.” The book is divided into three parts. The first part starts with an accident in the USA base when, prepared as a biological weapon, a ravaging bug is released by one unconcerned soldier who escapes from the base before the alarm system locks all gates. He takes his wife and daughter, and runs away spreading the lethal virus. This initiates the chain of death. The 36 Adrian Woźniak superflu virus kills over 99% of the world’s population in several weeks. Those who survive dream about two opposing figures: Randall Flagg, the incarnation of devil who attracts evil and degenerated people, and Mother Abagail, an elderly woman who receives visions from God and who functions as a personification of good. The second part of the novel shows the journey of the survivors to Flagg’s or Mother Abagail’s camps. The centre of evil is located in Las Vegas, whereas the old woman resides in Hemingford Home in Nebraska. People are attracted to those places in their dreams. Mother Abagail grabs the attention of virtuous heroes and becomes their spiritual leader. Their ultimate place of settlement is situated in Boulder, Colorado, where they try to reenact democracy. Everything goes according to the plan until Harold and Nadine decide to betray the group and detonate a bomb during a committee meeting, killing several people. In the other camp, Randall Flagg recreates the society using harsh methods. He is able to punish his people for violating his rules. However, this group is well-organised and focused on restoring the previous technological level. The third part of the book describes the confrontation between the Las Vegas camp and the group of men from Boulder who decide to set off to Flagg’s lair. During the journey, one of them breaks his leg and cannot continue the expe- dition. The others, Glen, Ralph and Larry, are soon taken prisoner by Randall’s people. Glen is killed in a cage by Lloyd Henreid, the right-hand man of Flagg, after he refuses to cry for mercy. The other two are sentenced to death. Flagg decides to gather the whole society to let them watch their enemies’ execution. During the dispatch, Trashcan Man appears with a nuclear warhead. He approaches the crowd and then the bomb goes off, killing everyone. The last part of the book is devoted to Stuart Redman’s return to Boulder and the rebirth of Randall Flagg. The novel ends with an important question whether people have learnt something from this catastrophe.

Philosophical and religious concepts of evil In general, evil can be portrayed from two different perspectives. The first one is represented by the Christian point of view and the second shows the philosophical standpoint. Each of these perspectives presents a different view on the origin of evil, its nature and the influence it may have on people. In The Standevil is often portrayed through the figure of Satan, and that is why the Christian concept may be useful to analyse the novel. Adolphe Gesche, a Catholic priest and theologian, writes that we all rebel unanimously against the evil which besets our heart and mind (2009: 5). He considers several explanations of the nature of evil. The first one, called “Contra Deum,” The analysis of evil and its influence on peple in S. King’s The Stand 37 suggests that God is responsible for the presence of evil because He cannot or does not want to foil its plans (Gesche 2009: 11). This hypothesis may lead to some radical statements, such as “God does not exist” or “God is cruel.” The second explanation, “Pro Deo,” is a contradiction to the first one and claims that God is innocent: He is not responsible for evil but only allows it, as people are free and may decide about themselves (Gesche 2009: 14). Moreover, “Pro Deo” suggests that evil is not rational and that it is the lack of good (Gesche 2009: 15). According to the third explanation, “In Deo,” we cannot omit God considering the problem of evil: God is involved in this issue and we should trust Him because He shoulders the burden of evil (Gesche 2009: 20). Another explanation, called “Ad Deum,” em- phasizes the need to connect with God. The last conception, “Cum Deo,” presents God as an opponent of evil who could not accept and disregard the presence of evil, especially because it insults Him. Thus, God is on the people’s side because evil is unacceptable and it must be eradicated immediately (Gesche 2009: 29). Gesche claims that evil was not created because it does not belong to the concept of creation. In this respect, he echoes Kant’s idea that evil does not come from our world and that it appeared out of nowhere. Writing about the origins of evil, Gesche states that, symbolically, it comes from the figure of the snake, which represents Satan. Accordingly, Satan is the one who is responsible for the existence of evil and people should not accuse God or human beings of its presence (2009: 46, 51). In other words, evil does not come from people, but is the manifestation of Satan, who is utterly evil. People do wrong things but they do not result from their own bad foundations (2009: 55). Evil has a metaphysical character because it influences people’s fate: it tries to disorient their aims and disturb their destiny (2009: 52). Referring to Kant, Gesche states that, in people’s case, the inclination to good is stronger than the tendency to evil, and that, doing wrong, people only succumb to an impulse which comes from outside (2009: 73). Gesche portrays three different types of evil from the conceptual and ethical points of view. There is pure evil, which is radical, absolute and connected with the figure of Satan. In the second type evil comes from a sin. It might be willful or involuntary; however, it is linked with people. The third type concerns evil which is carried by one person, for example by Jesus or the Good Samaritan, for other people, and which simply means the ordeal (2009: 80). To sum up, Gesche defines evil as absolute disorder (2009: 86). People were created for good and happiness; however, they experience evil which they do not want and from which they would like to break free (Gesche 2009: 109). People are not entirely evil; they are only tempted by its forces which, as Gesche suggests, may come from other dimensions or may be strictly connected with the figure 38 Adrian Woźniak of Satan, who is the representation of pure evil. In most of Gesche’s conceptions, God and people are free from blame because it was not God’s idea to create evil and it is not people’s destination to be evil. As far as the philosophical aspects are concerned, it is worth taking a closer look at Paul Ricoeur’s works. In The Symbolism of Evil, Ricoeur refers to the Judaeo-Christian concept of sin, in which Adam is identified as the originator of people’s evil (1986: 11). He is regarded as the first example of evil (1986: 282). Moreover, Ricoeur depicts “the evil heart” as a source of evil which makes people cruel, despise other human beings and treat them as slaves (1986: 70). In his account, people are not only predestined to good but also prone to evil (1986: 278). With regard to the origin of evil, Ricoeur states that its beginning is concurrent with the onset of the universe. Evil has always existed (Ricoeur 1986: 212); it is a kind of chaos with which God fights (Ricoeur 1986: 206) and which might be as old as the “Divine Element.” Finally, Ricoeur implies that evil exists as God’s wrath (1992: 32). Ricoeur claims that evil is not an object or substance. It is also not a part of body or mind (Ricoeur 1992: 8–9). The philosopher claims that evil is not a simple mistake or a lack of order, but a power of darkness which must be constituted by something. That is why it may be eradicated (Ricoeur 1986: 187). Like Gesche, Ricoeur refers to Kant’s idea that a human being could not be absolutely evil. Evil is already present, and people are bad because they are tempted by it. Accordingly, the evil caused by them is secondary (Ricoeur 1986: 188). As presented above, some of Ricoeur’s ideas are similar to those proposed by theological concepts. What all of these theories imply is that evil is at least as old as mankind and its existence is inextricably connected with humanity. Mo- reover, most of them exclude the possibility that God might be responsible for the creation of evil. The same problem appears when people try to find out and characterize what evil is – the countless explanations are often contradictory. To sum up, all these perspectives do not offer a clear explanation of the origin of evil and its nature. Accordingly, and as suggested by most of Ricoeur’s statements, evil should be viewed from the metaphorical point of view.

The analysis of Nadine’s behaviour in Stephen King’s The Stand In The Stand, evil might be seen as a destructive force whose provenance is unknown but whose influence on people is tremendous. In other words, evil is often presented as a source of misery and as responsible for people’s wrongdoing. It is The analysis of evil and its influence on peple in S. King’s The Stand 39 not always represented as a unity, but usually as something that is dispersed and spreads without taking a form easy to define. King’s novel shows that harsh circumstances may lead to upsetting people’s stability which, in turn, may cause uncontrolled wrongdoing. Misery, fear, and solitude drive people to irrational behaviour. In extreme conditions, people are capable of performing terrible acts. They become selfish and unemotional, and do not fully control their emotions. Moreover, they cannot differentiate between good and evil, which is visible in their chaotic actions. Ubiquitous cruelty affects even a child, as can be seen on the example of Joe, a ten-year-old boy, who tries to kill a stranger, Larry, but is stopped by Nadine. Nadine’s act of preventing the murder proves that she is a rational and responsible woman who is aware of the value of human life. When later in the novel the boy repeats his attack on Larry, she stops him once again, trying to protect both of them and prevent a tragedy. This fragment indicates that people react to stressful situations in different ways. Some of them, like the boy, are able to kill others just because of their helplessness and irritation, while others, like Nadine, remain faithful to their moral values. Even though Nadine proves that she is a good-natured woman, she cannot stop thinking about Randall Flagg. She feels constant attraction to him. Despite the fact that she was a teacher before the plague and a calm, warm, and obliging person who loved children, she has a lot of doubts about her affiliation. Although she predicts that Randall Flagg is extremely evil, she desires his love and attention. Moreover, as an attractive woman in her mid-thirties she has had many admirers; however, she decides to wait for Flagg. Though there are many rational reasons why she should stay in Mother Abagail’s camp, she decides to betray them and join Randall Flagg’s side who by many others is considered as Antichrist. Rejection and incomprehension may be the most important reasons for a person to turn evil. That is why when Nadine’s advances are rejected by Larry Underwood, she finally decides to betray Boulder’s society. When they first meet, Nadine refuses to make love to Larry, because she wants to be faithful to Flagg, but later on, when she fights with the thoughts about treachery, she is desperate to disregard Flagg’s will and become involved with Larry. She tries to seduce him, although she knows that he is in a relationship with Lucy Swann. Although Nadine dreams about a mysterious stranger, she is able to remain a righteous and sensitive person before the plague. The situation changes after the pestilence, when she is too lost in the new reality to cope with all her problems and resist the attraction to Flagg. After her feelings are rejected, she has a dream in which Flagg tells her to join forces with Harold Lauder. Flagg’s intention in sending Nadine to Harold 40 Adrian Woźniak is to create an inside, undercover opposition against the Free Zone Committee. Moreover, he lets Harold and Nadine have some carnal knowledge, thereby im- plying that in his society life is more pleasurable. This false promise convinces them to conspire against Boulder’s society. Flagg’s task is easy to achieve, because both Harold and Nadine are thinking about taking revenge all the time they spend in Boulder. In both cases, rejection is the main reason why they decide to harm innocent people: Although Nadine had said little about her reasons for coming to him, Harold had an idea that she had been excluded in some way too, rebuffed, turned back. They were a couple of outsiders, and outsiders hatch plots. (King 2011: 950) Harold’s and Nadine’s emotions are unnoticed and disregarded, which impels them to think about betrayal. Even though they are aware of Flagg’s rigidity and cruelty, they make the decision to join his forces. The awareness of the extraordinary evil which Flagg is doing does not hold them back from choosing “the bad side.” Unimaginable hatred pushes Harold into constructing a dynamite bomb which is supposed to kill the Free Zone Committee members. Nadine does not want to stop him, because the planchette which she uses before she joins Harold tells her that he is the one who is chosen by Flagg to kill the management of the Free Zone Community. However, some doubts appear in her mind: She could not believe that any of these Zone people had more than a year’s life left in them, and that included the boy. It was not his will that they should live…so tell the truth, it isn’t just Harold who is his instrument. It’s you too. You, who once defined the single unforgiveable sin in the postplague world as murder, as the taking of a single life…Suddenly she found herself wishing that the dynamite was old, that it would blow up and put an end to both of them, a merciful end. (King 2011: 978) Although Nadine knows that what Harold is doing is evil, she does not protest. Moreover, she is aware of the threat to which she exposes the little boy by leaving him. Even though she takes care of him during the trip to Boulder, she does not want to be responsible for him any longer. What is more, Nadine is aware of her selfishness. She knows that she is just an instrument in Flagg’s hands and joining him means breaking her basic rules and values. In the end, desire and pleasure turn out to be more important for her than the well-being of the people around her. It is Flagg’s will to erase all positive emotions and memories from Nadine’s mind, and to make her entirely obedient. This is possible only by mixing the concepts of good and evil. Flagg lets Nadine stay in Boulder until Larry turns down her offer. It might be concluded that she is not totally aware of what she is doing at the moment of betrayal – she is just a puppet used by a cruel creature. The analysis of evil and its influence on peple in S. King’s The Stand 41

She cannot not resist Flagg’s temptation since it is much stronger than rational thinking and her world view. Nadine is a great example of a character who cannot face the new situation. She is too weak to protect her own moral values against the impact of evil and resist Flagg’s false promises. That is why she agrees to place the dynamite bomb in the house where the Free Zone Committee is planning to gather. She hides the box with dynamite in the closet and covers it with food stores. The last chance to prevent the tragedy appears when she is turning on her scooter and hears “the voice of reason”; however, the rest of her humanity is lost with the tremendous potency of Flagg, who is able to take control over her at that particular moment: She felt a blackness creeping over her vision. […] But the curtain came over her vision in steady blackout drifts and soon she was lost in it. She was blind, she was deaf, she was without the sense of touch. […] And she felt him creep into her. A shriek built up within her, but she had no mouth with which to scream. […] The dark man entered her, and he was cold. […] Her mouth was slack, trembling; the eyes themselves dazed and horror- drugged. The dark man had been in her, Flagg had been in her, and when he had come he had driven her away from the windows of her five senses, her loopholes on reality. (King 2011: 1001) Nadine’s last bastion of morality is lost with Flagg’s crafty plan. Her previous relations with him make it impossible for her to fully decide about her fate and she does not do anything to break free from his deceptive promises. When she realizes what he is planning to do, it is too late. Nadine crosses the boundary of self-control and madness. Even though she knows what she is doing, she has no impact on her actions. She is just used by Flagg to fight with his opponents. Seven people die due to the explosion. Nadine is jointly responsible for their death. On the other hand, Nadine would not be capable of killing all those people without Flagg’s interference, who is often presented in the novel as a master of puppets. This suggests that being under Flagg’s control people cannot make their own decisions: they are just driven by the sinister creature who is entirely corrupted and focused on harming others. Nadine knows that after the explosion in Boulder Flagg will try to get rid of Harold. She does not do anything to protect her former lover, but accepts the situation and refuses to help him. Moreover, she is aware of the fact that leaving him alone equals certain death as he cannot move because of the numerous wounds after his motorbike accident. Nadine simply betrays Harold. It is difficult to say whether her decision is dictated by fear or fascination with Flagg. After the plague, she betrays her values and rules, then Joe – the child whom she takes care of during her trip to Boulder – and finally Harold, who was her lover. Nadine’s cunning demeanour helps her to readjust to any kind of situation. She tries to persuade 42 Adrian Woźniak

Harold that her behaviour should not be perceived as an act of betrayal. What is more, she attempts to talk him into committing suicide. Nadine treats Harold as an obstacle on her way to happiness and pleasure. It might be concluded that after the plague she has lost such features connected with morality as sensitivity, charity or honesty, which makes it easier for Flagg to take control over her mind and body. It is often almost impossible to oppose evil. That is why, when Nadine and Flagg finally meet, she tries to reject his advances, but he does not let her thwart his plans. Flagg’s desire is so tremendous that he cannot not control it and rapes her. Only when Nadine sees Flagg face to face does she realize that he is not the person that he seems to be. He turns out to be the horrible creature who tries only to fulfill his own desires. Nadine understands her fault too late and then there is no return. Her decision becomes irreversible as she comes to Flagg, who does not tolerate any objections. At the end, she eventually realizes that she has been deceived. She understands what is happening and she uses the situation that a lot of people have run away from Flagg to provoke him. She cannot not live with him after what he has done to her. Nadine tries to ridicule Flagg, but this makes him lose control and kill her. She decides to sacrifice her life because that is the only way to break free of him. Death is the only choice for her. However, in this particular situation death means also a kind of redemption connected with great relief. Nadine’s character is difficult to assess. She is the best example of those who have changed after the plague. Her failures make her not strong enough to resist the deceptive enchantment of Flagg, who uses her weakness and loss to harm others. She is blinded by a morbid fascination, which makes it impossible for her to differentiate between good and evil. She may be unaware of her murderous incident committed along with Harold, but when the enchantment disappears and her rational thinking returns, she is able to outwit Flagg and take revenge on him. To conclude, Nadine is a tragic heroine who is used by evil embodied in Flagg.

Conclusion The Stand shows that a lot of people in the face of abnormal conditions act chaoti- cally and cannot cope with a new, changed reality. Harsh circumstances make people more susceptible to every kind of evil. Their decisions are often ill-conceived and illogical. Moreover, a lot of people change their behaviour or way of thinking in the face of death or extreme situations. There are several ways in which evil is portrayed throughout the novel. In the book, the main source of evil is represented by Flagg, who is a kind of embodiment of evil. Because of his abilities and way of life, he is often compared to Satan. Owing to his tremendous potency, Flagg may have a huge impact on both good The analysis of evil and its influence on peple in S. King’s The Stand 43 and bad people. Almost all of his actions are in one way or another connected with doing evil. The main type of evil, frequently described throughout the novel, is connected with physical violence, whose frequency increases significantly after the plague. Rapes, murders or thefts become more and more common. Even a small child is able to kill another person without any rational reason. On the other hand, people do not feel sympathy for innocent children. The survival instinct assumes control over human values or morality. Moral evil is another type of evil explicitly presented in the novel. It is often connected with lies, delusions, manipulation or intrigue. Its real purpose is very often hidden or distorted, so that sometimes even the people who deal with such evil are not aware of what they do. They are often beguiled by “evil forces.” In a metaphorical sense, evil as an unidentified entity or concept is often not apparent or visible to people. It is up to a particular person whether he or she will choose the path of good and righteousness or the track of evil and corruption. The Stand clearly shows that it is not easy to resist the deceptive power of evil. Many people in this book are deceived by its disastrous influence and have to pay the price in the end. Nadine turns out to be a weak person who is not able to distinguish between good and evil. Controlled by evil, she spreads destruction, completely unaware of the consequences of her evil deeds. Nadine decides to sacrifice a lot of people in order to fulfill her desire. In the end, she loses her own battle with the evil.

References Gesché, Adolphe. 2009. Zło. Poznań: Wydawnictwo Polskiej Prowincji Domini- kanów W drodze. Gołaszewska, Maria. 1994. Fascynacja złem: Eseje z teorii wartości. Warszawa: PWN. King, Stephen. 2011. The Stand. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Ricoeur, Paul. 1986. Symbolika zła. Warszawa: Instytut Wydawniczy PAX. Ricoeur, Paul. 1992. Zło. Warszawa: Instytut Wydawniczy PAX.

Part Two: Questioning the literary realm

Jacek Stopa A soft voice whispers nothing: Nihilism and horror in the works of Thomas Ligotti

Abstract: The subject of this article is Thomas Ligotti, a contemporary American writer of cosmic horror, known for his deeply pessimistic worldview and his penchant for philosophy. The essay focuses on the way in which Ligotti’s works are influenced by the texts of Howard Philips Lovecraft and the philosophical doctrine of nihilism.

Introduction Howard Philips Lovecraft’s premature death in 1937 left a void in the world of horror fiction which for many years seemed impossible to fill. Throughout the 20th century there appeared several potential heirs to the throne of the master of cosmic horror, a subgenre which portrays humanity as insignificant and powerless against the constant threat posed by the essentially alien and unfathomable universe. Among these writers were August Derleth, Robert Bloch, who ultimately became a highly successful author of thrillers about serial killers such as Psycho, and Ramsey Campbell. Sadly, they mostly failed to deliver a truly lasting and original contribution to this particular subgenre. None of them could really be singled out as the true successor. The truth is that to be the new Lovecraft one had to become, first of all, a completely different Lovecraft, free from the confi- nes of the Cthulhu Mythos and ideas belonging to the previous century. The 20th century brought with itself true horrors of a magnitude compared to which the ancient machinations of the Ancient Old Ones seem positively benign. Human beings, during the course of World War II and many subsequent conflicts, have proven themselves capable of atrocities more terrifying than Yog-Sothoth himself, however blasphemous and accursed he might have been. Demons and monsters of old suddenly have become harmless and oddly comforting when compared to the grim reality. The 20th century became the epoch of raging nihilism, with thinkers like Emil Cioran pointing out The Trouble with Being Born. Such a bleak perspective has finally found its voice in horror fiction in the work of Thomas Ligotti (born 1953). As a writer of cosmic horror Ligotti has been, of course, very much influenced by Lovecraft. But this influence is at the same time more subtle and complex than in the case of other followers. There are some obvious similarities between the two authors, in their work as well as in their personalities. Both, for example, are 48 Jacek Stopa atheists and loners, Ligotti having suffered from agoraphobia since his late teens (Schweitzer 1994: 73). But even though they have both created visions of a bleak and threatening universe, Ligotti combined it with an equally pessimistic insight into the human nature more akin to Poe or Kafka. He has also rejected the Love- craftian scientific realism. No longer would the very nature of horror be brought into the light of day, its mechanism described, its monstrous perpetrators revealed. In many of his stories Ligotti suggests that there might be no mechanism, no dis- cernible logic, however alien it might be, that govern this nightmarish universe of his. The horror comes not from a superior system threatening to crush the fragile order established by mankind, but from the ultimate insignificance of all systems. The real threat to the status quo is that there is no status quo. Lovecraft’s prose might seem very pessimistic from the point of view of its human protagonists, and in fact the humanity at large, but its underlying rationalism prevents it from descending into outright nihilism. Ligotti, on the other hand, completely embraces the nihilistic approach. In his stories there is no rationality on any level of existence, no purpose and no point to any part of creation. The horror of this prose is absolute, because ultimately there is nothing else but horror, nothing to justify the tragic nature of existence. The scariest possibility is not that the world may be destroyed at any moment by an alien power infinitely superior to humanity, but that it will continue to exist just the way it is now – as a living nightmare.

The shadow over Mirocaw: “The Last Feast of Harlequin” According to Ligotti, “The Last Feast of Harlequin” was his first short story that he deemed good enough for publication (Anderson 2005: 9). It is true that the tale creates an atmosphere thick with apprehension and dread, is at times quite suspenseful and altogether competently written. The celebrated S. T. Joshi himself considers “The Last Feast” to be Ligotti’s finest work (2003: 149). At the same time, American literature would have suffered no great loss if this particular manuscript had remained in its author’s desk drawer. The reason can be found in another of Joshi’s comments, that the story is possibly the finest homage to Lovecraft ever written. This is something of an euphemism. A less generous critic, like the author of this article, might put it more bluntly: “The Last Feast of Harlequin” is, in my opinion, an obvious rip-off of Lovecraft’s famous novella “The Shadow over Inns- mouth,” with certain minor elements borrowed from “The Festival,” a shorter and lesser-known story by the same author. Unfortunately, the imitation, even though a fine piece of fiction, pales in comparison to the original. It is no coincidence that this is the only work by Ligotti expressly dedicated to Lovecraft. Clearly, Ligotti was well aware of the literary debt he owed to the aforementioned texts, especially A soft voice whispers nothing 49 the novella. The similarity between “The Shadow” and “The Last Feast” is striking. Both stories involve an unnamed narrator who arrives at a mysterious and seclu- ded town (Innsmouth/Mirocaw). There, he discovers the inhabitants of the area follow an ancient and gruesome cult. In the decaying seaport of Innsmouth it is the Esoteric Order of Dagon, which preaches cross-breeding between humans and members of an amphibian race known as the Deep Ones. In Mirocaw it is a cult of death in which human worshippers (the Pure Ones) transform themselves into giant, man-eating worms. In both stories, the narrator learns about his own hidden connection to the cult. Although he manages to escape the town and its inhuman denizens, this final discovery ultimately drives him insane. Perhaps it should not be surprising that Joshi, a devout admirer of Lovecraft, enjoyed Ligotti’s story so much, seeing how faithful an homage it really is. But what was borrowed in order to write the story is ultimately less important for this dissertation than what was introduced. “The Last Feast of Harlequin” contains enough changes made to the Lovecraft formula to indicate where Li- gotti was going to take the art of cosmic horror in his later, more independent and original works. Probably the most significant difference lies in the inhuman creatures that appear in the two stories. The Deep Ones are a monstrous race typical of Lovecraft’s fiction. Their habitat lies beneath the surface of the ocean, in an environment completely alien to mankind. By their nature they are separate from humanity, and the threat they pose is not necessarily one of violence and death. Even though they apparently accept human sacrifice, the Deep Ones are, in fact, more easily associated with life, and through the unrestricted spreading of life they threaten the Apollonian order of the human civilization. It is the fact that the alien creatures are capable of mating with humans and producing hybrid offspring that is the major source of horror, especially to a society as terrified of racial contamination as the Americans in the early 20th century. The inhabitants of Innsmouth are monsters not only because they have developed gills and scales, but also, and perhaps more importantly, because they are the product of crossing sexual and ethnic boundaries. Thus, the Deep Ones represent the “Other” in its attempts to infect the white, Puritan “Same,” an outside threat to the established status quo. The author does not divulge any specific information about the origin of the Pure Ones. They are monsters of an entirely different breed. It is characteristic of Ligotti to provide his reader with only the slightest amount of data regarding the nature of his horrific creations. Unlike Lovecraft, at no point does he reveal the entire mechanism of the supernatural, suggesting instead that there might be nothing to reveal. This nihilistic approach is not yet explicitly stated, but already 50 Jacek Stopa present in “The Last Feast of Harlequin” and its portrayal of a cult devoted to the denial of life. Even though no concrete information about The Pure Ones is provided, the true nature of their order can be to some degree discerned from the few pieces of puzzle offered by Ligotti. The cultists are born human and later “picked out,” presumably by established members of their order. It is unclear how they are capable of turning into giant worms, whether the ability is innate or bes- towed upon them through an initiation ritual. More importantly, the reader never learns what precisely differentiates the potential candidates from other members of the human race. During the climax of the story it is revealed that the narrator himself is a Pure One, even though he participates in the ritual of the cult as an unwilling and horrified witness. Apparently, a person can belong to this monstrous race without even being aware of it. This revelation signals a theme that would become increasingly important in Ligotti’s later stories: people learning that they are unwitting allies of the malignant forces; protagonists discovering that they are, in reality, villains. The narrator flees from Mirocaw, but he is incapable of escaping the horror embedded in himself. The scariest possibility that can be found among Ligotti’s subtle hints is that in every human being there might lie a dormant Pure One, and the cultists are simply those willing to embrace the darkest part of their nature. This idea of a transcendent, omnipresent evil would be further developed in texts such as “Nethescurial.” Unlike the Deep Ones, the Pure Ones associate themselves not with the ocean, source of all life, but with the ground, the domain of death and decay, which are their objects of worship. Their chosen form is that of a worm, a being that “buries itself before it is dead” (Ligotti 2005: 42). They conduct their rituals in under- ground chambers, where they feast on human sacrifices. But the very act of dying, or killing, seems to be of secondary importance. Death is worshipped by the Pure Ones as a state of nonexistence, their ultimate goal is the rejection of all being: These words were a revelation of the moody malignancy which until then I had no more than sensed whenever in the presence of these figures. They were singing to the “unborn in paradise,” to the “pure unlived lives.” They sang a dirge for existence, for all its vital forms and seasons. Their ideals were those of darkness, chaos, and a melancholy half-existence consecrated to all the many shapes of death. A sea of thin, bloodless faces trembled and screamed with perverted hopes. (Ligotti 2005: 47) The one striking weakness of the story, apart from its obvious similarity to the tale of Innsmouth, is why the cultists do not commit suicide to fully embrace their coveted state of not being, instead of continuing this “half-existence” in a world they so clearly despise. This question is never answered. Ironically, it is the narrator, the only Pure One horrified by the sect’s ideals, who chooses suicide, therefore A soft voice whispers nothing 51 actually accepting these same ideals more fully than any of his brethren. What should have been defiance becomes compliance. The impact of this punchline is unfortunately diluted by the text’s rather vapid and shallow nihilistic understruc- ture. Luckily for his readers, Ligotti has later realised that there is a very limited number of ways one can say “nothing.” “The Last Feast of Harlequin” contains many ingredients of a classic cosmic horror story, such as its relentless hopelessness, the sense of creeping paranoia and the doubt in mankind’s ability to save itself from the cruel fate concocted by malignant forces. But its sense of scale is intimate rather than epic, and the aforementioned forces are less than compelling, as there is no omnipotent presence behind them, no mysterious or downright alien power that dictates their actions. In fact, the source of these actions is, quite literally, nothing. As stated before, such unabashed nihilism is hardly fertile ground for literary endeavour. Ligotti would remedy this in stories such as “Nethescurial” and “The Tsalal,” two works that manage to introduce not only Ligotti’s original creations to the pantheon of ancient deities, but also his unique take on the ideas of Transcendentalism, rejected by Lovecraft and his direct followers. In Lovecraftian tales the divide between humans and the universe that surrounds them is impassable. There is no connection within the human being to the ultimately unknowable Nature. Ligotti presents his own ironic twist to the formula: the Transcendentalist are in a way right, there is a unity between all living things and the world around them, a higher consciousness; but this entity is evil, not benevolent. The force threatening the imagined status quo this time is the actual, concealed state of reality. Once again one is incapable of escaping the nightmare, because the nightmare is a part of oneself (Cardin 2003: 77). Ligotti’s horror is absolute, a force both within and outside the human being. There is no comfort to be offered by Ligotti to his protagonists, they are not secure even in their own nature. They have meet the enemy, and he is them.

Pandemonism: “Nethescurial” In comparison to the earlier story, “Nethescurial” is a much more assured piece of fiction and a perfect example of Ligotti introducing the aforementioned themes and ideas into a typical cosmic horror tale. Again the story is told in a style very much reminiscent of Lovecraft, but this time it does not seem to emulate any particular work. There are some similarities to “The Call of Cthulhu” in terms of plot construction, but they might very well be unintentional and are definitely much less distracting than in the case of “The Last Feast.” In both stories the protagonists learn through research of an ancient cult surrounding a mysterious godlike entity which, when awoken, will bring chaos and destruction to the world. The 52 Jacek Stopa description of the remote island in “Nethescurial” may also remind the reader of the cyclopean city of R’lyeh where the climax of “The Call of Cthulhu” takes place. Finally, both stories take the form of manuscripts written by the protagonists, divided into three distinct parts and detailing other people’s testimonies as well as their own encounters with the malevolent power. The ending of “Nethescurial,” in which the thus far coherent and orderly narrative devolves into hysterical ram- blings, may also remind the reader of “The Rats in the Walls,” but this similarity is much more vague and almost certainly a coincidence. But where “Nethescurial” and “The Call of Cthulhu” clearly differ is in the respective nature of the eponymous beings. Cthulhu may be Lovecraft’s most famous creation, but he is merely one of many creatures in the writer’s bestiary, a powerful alien rather than an omnipotent deity. His godlike position in the cult of the Great Old Ones comes from his superior strength in comparison to human beings, but he is not almighty or unstoppable. In the story he is, in fact, defeated in a direct confrontation by a single man. Divinity, from Lovecraft’s ultimately rational point of view, is merely a matter of perspective. Nethescurial, on the other hand, is a pantheistic, or rather pandemonic deity, “the secret name of the creation” (Ligotti 2005: 157) that is the source of, as well as the driving force behind, all existing things. An ominous chant reappears in the story like a refrain, encapsulating the transcendental nature of the entity: In the rooms of houses and beyond their walls—beneath dark waters and across moonlit skies—below earth mound and above mountain peak—in northern leaf and southern flower—inside each star and the voids between them—within blood and bone, through all souls and spirits—among the watchful winds of this and the several worlds—behind the faces of the living and the dead… (Ligotti 2005: 144–145) Of all the creatures in the Chtulhu Mythos, Nethescurial and other omnipotent deities that appear in Ligotti’s prose most closely resemble Azathoth, The Blind Idiot God. They are essentially forces of chaos and confusion, malignant and destructive, yet also seemingly oblivious to proceedings taking place in the cosmos they are the source of. But even Azatoth in Lovecraft’s stories, though chaotic and irrational in itself, is a part of a highly organized system of reality as its nucleus. There exists a point to such a reality, a plan that governs its existence, incomprehensible though it may be from the limited perspective of mankind. But the world of “Nethescurial” seems devoid of any logic, understandable to humans or otherwise. There is only a blind, sinister power that destroys anyone unfortunate enough to become aware of its existence. Even the cultists who follow Nethescurial in the story fail to comprehend their god’s true nature, which is the only reason they worship him at all. Just as in “The Call of Cthulhu,” ignorance is bliss to those A soft voice whispers nothing 53 forced to exist in a hostile universe. Unlike in “The Call of Cthulhu,” life and death of those unfortunate beings are equally meaningless, and all their attempts to alter their fate in any way are doomed to fail.

Dark messiah: “The Tsalal” “The Tsalal” offers a refreshingly different and less straightforward approach. It is in many ways the most interesting and, arguably, the best written of Ligotti’s short stories. It emphasises, and at the same time subverts all the major themes that reappear in his tales. One could argue that “The Tsalal” is both typical of and contrary to Ligotti’s entire body of work. Once again Ligotti introduces a corrupted protagonist, this time by having as the main character one Andrew Maness, a literal child of god, born during a gruesome ritual in which his mother was “inseminated” (the details remain unclear) by the eponymous deity in order to create an Antichrist, a living conduct or an avatar that would bring about the age of the Tsalal, an equivalent of the Apocalypse. Once more the reader is reminded of a classic Lovecraft story, but in the case of “The Tsalal” the influence is much more subtle and intermingled with ideas either borrowed from other writers or wholly original. The aforementioned Lovecraft story is of “The Dunwich Horror,” in which another blasphemous ritual leads to the birth of the monstrous Whate- ley twins, sons of a human female and Yog-Sothoth. But the theme of a deity’s or demon’s child, sired in order for it to usher in the end of days, appears in many works of horror literature, most famously Rosemary’s Baby. Ligotti’s use of biblical themes and allusions, undercut by a dry and ironic approach, is very much reminiscent of Ira Levin’s bestseller. The name of the malignant deity, Tsalal, is borrowed from The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. The connection to Poe’s single complete novel is explicitly pointed within the story (Ligotti 2005: 182). In The Narrative Tsalal is an island near the South Pole, inhabited by treacherous and bloodthirsty natives who slaughter Pym’s companions. The word itself comes from Hebrew and means “to be or grow dark” (http://biblehub.com/ hebrew/6751.htm). In Poe’s tale the natives’ bodies are entirely black, including the teeth. Ligotti’s Tsalal is often referred to as “blackness” (Ligotti 2005: 182). The Tsalal seems similar to Nethescurial. It is an all-encompassing malignant god that manifests its presence through constant grotesque changes to the material world. But whereas the two deities from previously discussed texts are described as the true masters of all creation, and their evil nature as inherent to our world, the Tsalal is more akin to a claimant to the throne, not yet in full power. It is an aggressor, the equivalent of Satan rather than the monotheistic God: 54 Jacek Stopa

Yet I was able to sense this shadow and see that it had eclipsed the old gods without in anyway being one of their kind. For it was even older than they, the dark background against which they had forever carried on their escapades as best they could. But its emergence to the foreground of things was something new, an advent occurring not much more than a century ago. Perhaps this great blackness, this shadow, has always prevailed on worlds other than our own, places that have never known the gods of order, the gods of design. (Ligotti 2005: 180–181) Likewise, the Tsalal’s advent resembles the Christian version of the end of the world, with a half-human child paving the way for his father to begin the age of darkness. The story’s connection to Christianity is emphasized by the figure of Reverend Maness, Andrew’s surrogate father and the former leader of the sect responsible for bringing the Tsalal’s son to this world. After the realization what exactly he and his flock have thus invited, Maness becomes a Christian minister and tries to undo the ritual. Since Andrew is practically immortal and can rebuild his body even after being dismembered, the Reverend tries to raise him as a Chris- tian, creating a shield of faith in the boy’s mind against the influence of the Tsalal. Ultimately, he fails and commits suicide. Although the lack of belief in the power of religion is hardly surprising given Ligotti’s nihilistic frame of mind, this heavy use of religious themes and even direct quotations from the Bible is something atypical of his stories. After all, the author himself has stated in an introduction to one of his collections: For a horror story to be effective, it must both reflect and deform the world we know, the place in which we eat and fight and procreate. This means that it must not intrude on the sacred ground already being worked by the established institutions of faith, which at some point inevitably deviate into the unknowable in order to comfort the audience rather than distress them. […] No horror tale shall take advantage of its readers by playing upon their religious beliefs. This is an easy and a vile game that only the lowest form of scribe would perpetuate on those who already have their heads filled with all kinds of fears conditioned into them since they were children in the hands of an angry god. (Ligotti 2005: 10) Yet in “The Tsalal” Ligotti continues to tread this sacred ground right to the end. In a rather unexpected climax, especially for a reader familiar with Ligotti’s other works, Andrew Maness sacrifices his life in order to sever the link between himself and the evil god, thus preventing the end of the world. This sacrifice takes place in a church, where the congregation has to literally tear Andrew apart and consume his flesh in order to end his existence. Through a macabre rendition of the Holy Communion, the Antichrist becomes the Messiah. Simultaneously he emerges as the sole heroic figure in Ligotti’s body of work, where protagonists usually either embrace the darkness or are devoured by it. This pattern of failure and corruption reflects the author’s lack of belief in mankind and its ability to transcend its A soft voice whispers nothing 55 limitations. Rather fittingly, the hero of “The Tsalal” is not even a human being. In a universe where humans are doomed to fall, only an inhuman creature is capable of actual heroism. Ironically, it might actually be the demonic part of Andrew’s nature that makes his sacrifice possible. Perhaps, since the reader is granted no insight into his actual motivation, the whole act is not even as benevolent as it initially appears. It might just as well be the Tsalal’s choice to prolong humanity’s anguish and postpone the ultimate and inevitable advent of the great darkness. In the end, no definite answer appears. A question emerges whether “The Tsalal” is as subversive in relation to the author’s other stories as it initially appears? Ligotti introduces Christian themes into the story, but their role is not to “comfort the audience.” Lines from the Bible are reduced to empty words taught to Andrew by his surrogate father in a futile attempt to change the boy’s nature, and the tenets of the Christian faith prove insufficient to prevent the rise of the Tsalal. Reverend Maness admits his own impotence by killing himself, an act traditionally perceived by Christianity as blasphemous, an expression of the lack of faith in God. Religion becomes a source of despair rather than comfort and hope. Even the apparent happy ending leaves the reader with a sense of unease, the climactic sacrifice seeming more like a gruesome travesty of the Eucharist, an act of pure destruction, rather than a holy rite of communion with the divine power. And just as in “The Dunwich Horror,” the climactic victory against the darkness is hardly lasting. The Apocalypse is ultimately inevitable, it can only be postponed. In fact, the perspective offered in “The Tsalal” is even more grim. In Lovecraft’s story it is at least the humans themselves who save their world through their courage and wisdom. In Ligotti’s merciless universe the fate of the world depends on the arbitrary decision of a superior power whose intentions remain impenetrable.

Conclusion When reading a story such as “The Tsalal,” one may be tempted to associate Andrew’s sacrifice with Christ’s, but one of the things that Ligotti says time and again is that all such patterns are self-imposed delusions of a mind desperately searching for a meaning in a reality that has none. All rules are, in the end, artificial. It is a purely nihilistic and relentlessly grim prose, which teases the reader with the promise of hope only to show how powerless all hope is against the anguish of existence in a malignant universe. The only comfort, therefore, can be found in nonexistence. This is the final conclusion that can be drawn from Ligotti’s fiction. Asked in an interview whether he dreams of the “purity of an absolute void” as represented by the “all-consuming darkness” of the Tsalal, Ligotti responds: 56 Jacek Stopa

Well, “all-consuming darkness” kind of suggests that there’s something going on in the universe. That’s not what I would wish. I don’t want an universe in which even nothing could be going on. (Angerhuber and Wagner 2003: 71)

References Anderson, Douglas A. 2005. “Foreword,” in Thomas Ligotti,The Shadow at the Bottom of the World, 5–9. Angerhuber, E.M. and Thomas Wagner. 2003. “Disillusionment Can Be Glamor- ous: An Interview with Thomas Ligotti,” in Darrell Schweitzer (ed.) The Thomas Ligotti Reader, 53–71. Cardin, Matt. 2003. “The Transition from Literary Horror to Existential Nightmare in Thomas Ligotti’s ‘Nethescurial,’” in Darrell Schweitzer (ed.) The Thomas Li- gotti Reader, 72–77. Cioran, Emil. 1976. The Trouble with Being Born. Trans. Richard Howard. New York: Arcade Publishing. Joshi, S.T. 2003. “Thomas Ligotti: Escape from Life,” in Darrell Schweitzer (ed.) The Thomas Ligotti Reader, 135–153. Ligotti, Thomas. 2005. The Shadow at the Bottom of the World. Cold Spring Harbor: Cold Spring Press. Lovecraft, Howard Philips. 2011. The Complete Fiction. New York: Barnes & Noble, Inc. Schweitzer, Darrell. 1994. Speaking of Horror: Interviews with Writers of the Super- natural. San Bernardino: Borgo Press. Schweitzer, Darrell (ed.) 2003. The Thomas Ligotti Reader. Holicong: Wildside Press.

Internet source http://biblehub.com/hebrew/6751.htm, DOA October 24, 2015. Karol Szewczyk References to literature in selected songs of Iron Maiden

Abstract: The article presents intertextual references to literature in three selected songs by Steve Harris, the leader of Iron Maiden. Referring to the works by Alfred Tennyson, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Wilfred Owen, it demonstrates how such references enrich the heavy metal genre and contribute to the status of Iron Maiden as the most prominent British heavy metal band.

Introduction The purpose of this article is to present intertextual references to literature which can be found in three selected lyrics of Iron Maiden, one of the most recognizable British bands playing heavy metal music. The band played a crucial role in the emergence of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal in the 1970s and due to perseverance, “vision and intense drive to add verve in performance [and] greater creativity in the song writing” (Stenning 2006: 14) as well as precisely defined aims of its founder and leader Steve Harris, it managed to conquer the music scene all over the world. As a result, Iron Maiden has become “one of the biggest heavy metal bands on the planet” (Daniels 2014: xi). The three selected songs are widely recognized as Iron Maiden classics; they have been written by Steve Harris, the leader and main author of Iron Maiden lyrics, inspired by such great literary works as Lord Alfred Tennyson’s “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Wilfred Owen’s “Anthem for Doomed Youth.” The article focuses on the analysis of the lyrics based on the theory of intertextuality presented by Julia Kristeva in the late 1960s and developed by other scholars, such as Roland Barthes or Gérard Genette.

“The Trooper” “The Trooper” was released on the Piece of Mind (1983) album. It is one of the most recognizable Iron Maiden songs, played almost in every concert. The song was inspired by Lord Tennyson’s poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade” that “immortalized the last phase of the battle” of Balaclava on 25th October 1854 58 Karol Szewczyk

(Sweetman 1995: 67), and describes a charge of British light cavalry led by Lord Cardigan against the Russian army during the Crimean War (1853–1856). According to Sweetman, “the charge of the Light Brigade […] has overshadowed all previous action and for many people this action alone represents the Battle of Balaclava” (1995: 67). Through a series of unfortunate circumstances and due to miscommunication in the chain of command, the Light Brigade was sent on “a frontal assault against a well-prepared, heavily-armed Russian artillery battery with excellent strategic positions,” which resulted in “one of the bloodiest, most glorious and senseless engagements in British military history” (Sweetman 1995: 68). The Light Brigade, comprising 670 men, set off down the valley. Unfortunately, Lord Cardigan led the charge in the wrong direction. When the messenger who had brought the order realized Cardigan’s mistake and tried to stop him, Cardi- gan refused to listen to him and the massacre began. Although during the attack the brigade was not completely destroyed, according to Sweetman, “of the 673 men who went into action, the Light Brigade could muster only 195; 113 men had been killed, 247 badly wounded; 475 horses had been lost, and a further 42 injured” (1995: 82). Six weeks after the event, on 9th December 1854 Lord Alfred Tennyson published the poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” The poem which praises the Brigade, emphasizing the courage and obedience to their orders, immediately became hugely popular even among the troops in the Crimea. Tennyson’s poem consists of six stanzas and each stanza tells a different part of the story. Steve Harris also closed his vision of the battle in six verses of the song, but he told the story through the eyes of a soldier. The song was released as a single accompanied by a video which included clips of a cavalry battle from the 1936 movie The Charge of the Light Brigade, starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland. At the beginning of the video the first stanza of the poem is quoted: Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. (Tennyson 1988: 103)

Tennyson’s words “Into the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred” refer to the biblical “valley of the shadow of death” from Psalm 23, a Psalm often read at References to literature in selected songs of Iron Maiden 59 funerals. The second verse of the song depicts the beginning of the battle: “the bugle sounds as the charge begins / but on this battlefield no one wins / the smell of acrid smoke and horses breath / as you plunge into a certain death.” Although Tennyson’s poem highlights the nobleness of supporting one’s country, its tone and rhythm depict the beat of horses’ hooves and illustrate the horror of war. Similarly, the riffs and rhythmical tones of Harris’s bass guitar reflect the dynamic situation on the battlefield described in the third verse of the song: “the horse he sweats with fear we break to run / the mighty roar of the Russian guns / and as we race towards human wall / the screams of pain as my comrades fall.” The meaning is emphasized by the quotation from Tennyson’s poem which appears for a while in the middle of the video: Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them. Cannon in front of them Volley’d and thunder’d. (Tennyson 1988: 103) Stenning comments that with the introduction of the song by “a speedily rendered guitar lick, Steve Harris wanted to recreate the galloping horses in the charge of the light brigade” (2006: 91). Also the cover of the single, painted by Derek Rig- gs, features “Eddie as a soldier in the war, trailing through the carnage, carrying a British flag. Steve Harris loved it so much he got a tattoo of the sleeve on his forearm” (Stenning 2006: 91). What is more, while performing “The Trooper” at concerts, vocalist Bruce Dickinson always waves the British flag and sometimes wears a British red coat uniform. In his poem Tennyson depicts the Crimean war as monstrous, predatory “jaws of death” lurking for the cavalry galloping in the hail of whistling bullets: Storm’d at with shot and shell. While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro’ the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. (Tennyson 1988: 104) Harris refers to this stanza in the lines written from the perspective of a soldier galloping in the charge against the enemy: “we get so close near enough to fight / when a Russian gets me in his sights / he pulls the trigger and I feel the blow / a burst of rounds takes my horse below.” The unfortunate wounded soldier falls on the ground and knows that death is near. The last verse of the song presents his last thoughts: “and as I lay there gazing at the sky / my body’s numb and my throat 60 Karol Szewczyk is dry / and as I lay forgotten and alone / without a tear I draw my parting groan.” The soldier dies on the battlefield and the video ends with the scene presenting dead bodies and a quotation of the last stanza of Tennyson’s poem: When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made. Honor the Light Brigade. Noble six hundred. (Tennyson 1988: 104)

“Rime of the Ancient Mariner” Released on the Powerslave (1984) album and written by Steve Harris, the song is based on the famous poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and constitutes an excellent summary of the story told by the poet. The song lasts over thirteen minutes and is ranked as the greatest Iron Maiden’s epic ballad. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is the longest poem written by Coleridge. It was published in 1798 in the first edition of Lyrical Ballads and, along with other poems included in that collection, it “marked a profound shift in sensibi- lity” (Poplawski 2013: 328) and determined the beginning of British Romantic literature. The poem presents an old sailor who “has returned from a long sea voyage” and begins to tell his story to a man who is heading for a wedding reception. Soon all the wedding guests listen to the mariner’s story which arouses their fascination and fear. Harris encourages the audience to listen to his version of the tale in the first verse of the song: “hear the rime of the Ancient Mariner / see his eyes as he stops one of three / mesmerizes one of the wedding guests / stay here and listen to the nightmares of the Sea.” Personification and repetition are the narrative techniques most frequently used by Coleridge in order to evoke an atmosphere of uncertainty, serenity and danger with a sense of the supernatural. The hypnotizing force of the mariner’s tale is also depicted in the song: “and the music plays on, and the bride passes by / caught by his spell and the Mariner tells his tale.” The mariner in Iron Maiden’s song starts his tale with his ship’s departure on a voyage. Unfortunately, the initial good luck disappears when severe storms push the ship into Antarctic icy waters: “driven south to the land of the snow and ice / to a place where nobody’s been.” After some time “through the snow fog flies the albatross” and leads the ship out of the unfavourable surroundings. The ship’s crew praise and hail the bird “in God’s name” as a good omen “hoping good luck it brings.” When the mariner kills the albatross, this provokes a murmur of References to literature in selected songs of Iron Maiden 61 dissatisfaction among the sailors, but gradually when the weather gets better, the crew starts to support the crime: “the mariner kills the bird of good omen / his shipmates cry against what he’s done / but when the fog clears, they justify him / and make themselves a part of the crime.” Supporting the crime proves to be a grave mistake. It has triggered the wrath of the spirits and the curse of the albatross falls upon every member of the crew: “the albatross begins with its vengeance / a terrible thirst, a curse has begun / his shipmates blame bad luck on the Mariner / about his neck, the dead bird is hung.” In this part, the tempo of the song slows down, gentle guitar chords and other sound effects illustrate the mood, and Bruce Dickinson starts to whisper an extract from Coleridge’s poem: Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. (Coleridge 1988: 321) Eventually, the ship meets a ghostly vessel with a deathly-pale woman and a skeleton on board. They are playing dice for the souls of the crew. With every throw of the dice, Death (a skeleton) gains the lives of the sailors and the second player, Life-in-Death (a pale woman), wins the ancient mariner’s life: “Death and she, Life in Death, they throw their dice for the crew / she wins the Mariner and he belongs to her now.” The mariner’s terrible deed has brought the severe punishment of death on the whole crew: “then crew one by one / they drop down dead, two hundred men.” Again the music slows down and Dickinson recites another stanza: One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. (Coleridge 1988: 324) The old sailor stays alive and for seven days and nights he sees the curse which has fallen upon the crew and is reflected in the eyes of the dead. Finally, the curse is lifted: “then the spell starts to break / the albatross falls from his neck” and the mariner notices the beauty of all sea creatures swimming in the ocean and blesses 62 Karol Szewczyk them. When the albatross falls from his neck, the mariner starts to pray and his guilt seems to be partially forgiven. In a magical way the dead sailors rise to steer the ship: “hear the groans of the long dead seamen / see them stir and they start to rise / bodies lifted by good spirits / none of them speak and they’re lifeless in their eyes.” When the mariner’s homeland appears on the horizon, it seems to him that he is experiencing some hallucination: “now the curse is finally lifted / and the Mariner sights his home.” A mysterious whirlpool appears on the surface “and the ship sinks like lead into the sea.” A hermit from the mainland comes to meet the mariner: “and then a boat came sailing towards him / it was a joy he could not believe / the Pilot’s boat, his son and the hermit / penance of life will fall onto Him.” After the prayer the hermit “shrives the Mariner of his sins” and finally they reach the land. The mariner is obliged to atone for shooting the albatross; his punishment includes wandering the earth and telling the story of his life to everyone he encounters: “the Mariner’s bound to tell of his story / to tell his tale wherever he goes / to teach God’s word by his own example / that we must love all things that God made.” When the mariner finishes his story and leaves, the wedding guest returns home, but thanks to the lesson given by the old mariner, he is “a sad and wiser man and the strange tale goes on and on and on and on.”

“Paschendale” The song was composed by Adrian Smith and appeared on theDance of Death (2003) album. The lyrics are set in the trenches of World War I. The calm beginning of the song suddenly interrupted by a loud blast of music is aimed to illustrate the uncertainty and state of alert of the life in the trenches, where periods of calmness are followed by heavy shelling. The lyrics tell the story of a lonely soldier who experiences the horrors of the battle at Passchendaele in Belgium, but it also describes the situation on any battlefield of the First World War. Harris has chosen the third battle of Ypres, also known as the battle of Pas- schendaele, to describe the atrocities of the Great War and the waste of soldiers’ lives during the period from 31st July to 12th November 1917. The first verse of the song presents a wounded soldier waiting for approaching death: “in a foreign field he lay / lonely soldier, unknown grave / on his dying words he prays / tell the world of Paschendale.” According to Morgan, “the war on the western front took the unfamiliar form of a prolonged slogging match between heavily defended forces on either side, dug into slit trenches” (2009: 526). Soldiers were always alert in the trenches, waiting for the final command, as the soldier in the lyrics: “I stand my ground for the very last time / gun is ready as I stand in line / nervous wait for the whistle to blow / rush of blood and over we go.” References to literature in selected songs of Iron Maiden 63

For almost four months of “military operations in Flanders” there was no ad- vance, until the British commander-in-chief, Sir Douglas Haig, ordered to take the village of Passchendaele (Morgan 2009: 527). According to Morgan, “over 300,000 British troops were recorded as dead or wounded, many of them drowned in the mud of Flanders amidst torrential rain” (2009: 526). This is rendered by Harris in a soldier’s words: “on my face I can feel the falling rain / never see my friends again.” McDowall increases the death toll to 400,000 and highlights that after the battle at Passchendaele in August-September 1917 “the British army advanced [only] five miles” (2008: 160). This nonsensical loss of lives is summed up in the lyrics: “cruelty has a human heart / every man does play his part / terror of the men we kill / the human heart is hungry still.” Flanders in Belgium is an area widely known for its unpredictable weather conditions and torrential rains, which followed by the shelling during the battle, created a huge bog area where many wounded and exhausted soldiers drowned in the mud (Morgan 2009: 526). Harris depicts their tragedy in the lyrics: “many soldiers eighteen years / drown in mud, no more tears.” In the song there are many references to the poetry of the War Poets, especially Wilfred Owen (1893–1918). His poem “Anthem for Doomed Youth” was used as an introduction to the song “Paschendale” on Iron Maiden’s live album Death on the Road (2005): What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle… No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells. (Owen 1988: 359) In the song the situation of a doomed soldier waiting for the signal to attack is described in the verses: in the smoke, in the mud and lead smell the fear and the feeling of dread soon be time to go over the wall rapid fire and the end of us all whistles, shouts and more gun fire lifeless bodies hang on barbed wire battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb be reunited with my dead friends soon. Harris’s vision of the battle at Passchendaele, the story of death in mud-filled trenches, the horror caused by the poisonous gas used during the war and bodies hanged on barbed wires reflect the atrocities of the Great War. The last verse of 64 Karol Szewczyk the song refers to another poem by Wilfred Owen, “Strange Meeting,” where the spirits of the dead enemy soldiers meet in a tunnel leading them to the afterlife. A similar situation is described in the ending of Iron Maiden’s song, when after the battle there is a large number of “the bodies of ours and our foes / the sea of death it overflows,” yet after death they show no hatred as they were ordinary people who suffered equally, thrown into the slaughter by their leaders. The dead soldier speaks on behalf of all the dead soldiers: “see my spirit on the wind / across the lines, beyond the hill / friend and foe will meet again / those who died at Paschendale.”

Conclusion Iron Maiden, the most prominent British heavy metal band, gained their repu- tation through perseverance, hard work and a bit of good luck when their demo tape attracted the attention of Neal Kay, a London DJ who regularly organized “heavy metal nights” in his club called the Bandwagon Heavy Metal Soundhouse (Wall 2001: 67). When in the late 1970s artist Derek Riggs created for Iron Maiden a mascot figure Eddie, which since then has appeared regularly on the covers, it was immediately accepted by the heavy-metal youth. Steve Harris, the bassist and founder of the band who dedicated his life to Iron Maiden, after many changes found a line- up including Steve Harris (bass), Bruce Dickinson (vocal), Dave Murray (guitar), Adrian Smith (guitar), Janick Gers (guitar) and Nicko McBrain (drums) able to follow his musical ideas and gradually paved new paths in heavy metal music. He has composed music and written most lyrics finding inspiration not only in great literary works, as it was presented in the article, but also in history (“Inva- ders,” “Alexander the Great”), mythology (“Flight of Icarus”), and popular culture (“Children of the Damned,” “Where Eagles Dare,” “The Clansman”), spending a lot of time studying the themes he wants to present in his lyrics. When in 1982 Bruce Dickinson joined the band he helped Harris in writing songs. Like Harris, Dickinson showed wide interests reflected in lyrical themes which referred to the ancient history and mythology (“Powerslave,” “Lord of Light”), great literary works (“Brave New World”), and occult philosophy inspired by the life and works of the English magician Aleister Crowley (“Moonchild”). The three selected examples of Iron Maiden songs discussed in the article show intertextual references to literature stemming from the broad interests and knowledge of their authors. These intertextual references found in Iron Maiden lyrics have not only enriched heavy metal music with an intellectual dimension, but also proved to be thought-provoking and encouraged lots of inquisitive fans to widen their knowledge by reading the literary works referred to in the lyrics. All of those References to literature in selected songs of Iron Maiden 65 achievements and contributions to the evolution of heavy metal allowed Iron Maiden to gain the status of a widely recognized “institution” on the world-wide metal scene.

References Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. 1988. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, in John Wain (ed.) The Oxford Library of English Poetry Vol. 2, 321–324. Daniels, Neil. 2014. Killers. The Origins of Iron Maiden 1975–1983. London: Sound- check Books. McDowall, David. 2008. An Illustrated History of Britain. Harlow: Longman. Morgan, Kenneth O. 2009. The Oxford Illustrated History of Britain. Oxford: Ox- ford University Press. Owen, Wilfred. 1988. “Anthem for Doomed Youth,” in John Wain (ed.) The Oxford Library of English Poetry Vol. 3, 359. Poplawski, Paul. 2008. English Literature in Context. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press. Stenning, Paul. 2006. Iron Maiden 30 Years of the Beast. New Malden: Chrome Dreams. Tennyson, Alfred. 1988. “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” in John Wain (ed.) The Oxford Library of English Poetry Vol. 3, 103–104. Wain, John (ed.) 1988. The Oxford Library of English Poetry Vol. 1–3. London: Guild Publishing. Wall, Mick. 2001. Run to the Hill. Iron Maiden – The Authorized Biography. London: Sanctuary Publishing.

Marta Sibierska Re-reading Virginia Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences

Abstract: This paper offers a reading of Virginia Woolf’s The Voyage Out (1915) and Or- lando: A Biography (1928) from a cognitivist standpoint. It examines the novels’ narrative structuring in terms of three selected cognitive concepts – categorisation, figures and grounds, and deictic shifts – to prove their usefulness for the analysis of Modernist texts.

Introduction Virginia Woolf was “enshrined among the most important women writers of the twentieth century” (Dibattista 2009: 361) and proclaimed one of the most prolific authors of European modernism. One of the organising principles of her works was that of “higher realism,” the realism of the everyday experience in all its ent- anglements and enigmas. It has become her goal to: Examine for a moment an ordinary mind on an ordinary day. The mind receives a my- riad impressions – trivial, fantastic, evanescent, or engraved with the sharpness of steel. From all sides they come, an incessant shower of innumerable atoms; and as they fall, as they shape themselves into the life of Monday or Tuesday, the accent falls differently… (Woolf 1984: 160) How did Woolf carry out this examination? How accurate were her insights and intuitions? How many of them were ingrained in the narrative techniques she used? In order to verify that, I propose to refer to the insights from the present- day cognitive sciences, one of the disciplines that is currently most interested in uncovering the workings of the human mind. The aim of this article is, then, to verify whether Woolf’s works can be analysed and interpreted from a cognitive standpoint and whether juxtaposing her insights into “the inner life” with the cognitivist concepts built on both philosophical and empirical basis is indeed a way to look more closely at her project of “examining an ordinary mind on an ordinary day.”

The Modernist mind Woolf’s interest in the mind was a part of a much grander project that took place in the Modernist period. It was as early as in the nineteenth century that the tendency in fiction to focus on the mind began to be a noticeable trend. It was 68 Marta Sibierska then that “the ways in which the intimate interconnections between mental and physical response had become central to the narrative strategies of prose fiction” (Taylor 2010: 184). The techniques that began to dominate narratives at that time included “the use of first-person narration and free indirect style to represent the complexity of character and the working of consciousness; the development of multiple narrators and multiple plots to emphasize the subjectivism of experience; the use of mystery and suspense to probe the hidden traces of the past and the conflicted nature of motivation;” they all accounted for unravelling the mysteries of the mind in fiction (Taylor 2010: 184–185). It was also the time of “a shift in emphasis from the soul to the mind as the core of selfhood” (Taylor 2010: 186). What is more, the mind as such began to be perceived as the product of the brain (Taylor 2010: 186). At that time, the inner life began to be translated onto “the language of the body,” “the visible codes of physiognomy or phrenology,” “the subtle internal processes linking the nerves, the mind and the brain,” “the power of reflex and ins- tinctive response,” or “the embodiment of memory” (Taylor 2010: 185). It was a germ of what later developed into a full recognition of the embodied mind. Such a shift in paradigm was possible due to the developments in nineteenth-century natural sciences and psychology (Taylor 2010: 185) that “undercut the dualistic separation of mind and body with studies of the relationship of the brain and the nervous system” (Taylor 2010: 186). Though at that time a number of literary figures – such as Charlote Brontë or Charles Dickens – took their interest in the workings of the mind, the discourse of the mind (including that of narratives), “the language linking mind and body,” was yet to develop (Taylor 2010: 187). This development took place at the beginning of the 20th century with the modernist interest in “the representation of inward states of consciousness” (Bradbury 1976: 393), characteristic of the period, in which, in fact, “the most innovative fiction […] is described in relation to, and only in relation to, a perceiving mind” (Trotter 1999: 71). The perceiving mind becomes a prism through which a story, as well as its manifestation in the form of a given narrative, is filtered. The literature of modernism “had to be daring, to break with convention and show life as its falling atoms were experienced rather than as it was conventio- nally recorded” (Linett 2010: 2). The idea of verisimilitude was all at once wi- dened: it was no longer only the realism of the outside, but began to mean also delving deeper into the intricacies of the mental lives of narrators, protagonists, and readers. Thus, the modernist novel “becomes the novel of fine consciousness; it escapes the conventions of fact-giving and story-telling; it desubstantiates the material world and puts it in its just place; it transcends the vulgar limitations and Re-reading V. Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences 69 simplicities of realism, so as to serve a higher realism” (Bradbury and Fletcher 1976: 408) and to “record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall,” to “trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight of incident scores upon the consciousness” (Woolf 1984: 161). This is the kind of writing pursued by Woolf: freed from the shackles of convention, self-contained, and ontologically complex, but by no means un- readable. It is with her – more than with other writers of the period – that, to use David Trotter’s words, “the mind grows rings” (1999: 92). In order to verify that, I will refer to two of Woolf’s novels: the earliest, The Vo- yage Out of 1915, and a later one, Orlando: A Biography of 1928. Though the time span between the two is not so significant – sometimes, after all, thirteen years are apt to write one novel – they are a substantial sample of her writing concentrating on cognition and consciousness. Undoubtedly, both are instances of the modernist scheme of uncovering the mind. Both include intuitions on “the inner life” born on the premises of the philosophy, science, and “spirit” of that period. Both, at the time of their publishing, evoked enthusiasm as experimental and novel narratives. But have they stood the test of time, especially in the context of today’s cognitive studies and cognitive stylistics? Is their insight still legitimate? And is it possible to arrive at any original conclusions on Woolf’s writings by employing praxis unheard of at the time of their production and publication?

Cognitive approach(es) to literature Today, the interest in the workings of the human mind has been revived by cognitive sciences. To all appearances, cognitive studies and literary criticism as such are affiliated to two conflicting categories: the sciences and the humanities. Still, analysing art through the spectrum of cognitive phenomena seems more than plausible, since “[w]hat such divergent works of art as Yann Martel’s The Life of Pi, Johann Sebastian Bach’s Concerto in A minor or Aelbert Cuyp’s River Landscape with Horseman and Peasants have in common is that they express human experience of life in an act of creation which translated certain mental content (information) into a more or less permanent original, material form” (Teske 2008: 15). Such a supposition is at the core of studies of neuroaesthetics or neuroarthistory, instigated by John Onians.1 As far as literature and literary analysis are concerned, “it has become inevitable to consider the resemblance and the difference between […] the structures of the work of art, including the

1 For further reference, see: Neuroarthistory: From Aristotle and Pliny to Baxandall and Zeki (2008) by John Onians. 70 Marta Sibierska literary text, to their presumed or observed psychological effects on the recipient, including the reader” (Gavins and Steen 2003: 1). And this, of course, is not the only perspective possible. Some efforts to combine cognitive and literary studies were made as early as in the 1970s; Brône and Vandaele give the example of the endeavour of story grammarians (e.g. Rumelhart) and some of the insights of cognitive linguistics (e.g. Lakoff) (2009: 1–2). So far, there have been several schemes for analysing literature from a cognitive standpoint. Here, I would like to briefly speak of some cognitive concepts in the literary context, as elaborated on by cognitive stylistics and cognitive narratology, i.e. categories, especially figures and grounds, and deictic shifts. Below, I will refer them, respectively, to both The Voyage Out and Orlando in an attempt to compare the composition of these two works in terms of some of the facets of their cognitive orientation.

Categories and categorisation Our cognition consists, to a considerable extent, in categorisation. It is indeed “the main way that we make sense of experience” (Lakoff 1987: xi). It can be characterised simply as “the way that we divide the world up and name it to ourselves” (or the way that others divide it up and name it for us), and as such it “determines what we think the world is, and, even more importantly, how we think what we think at all” (Stockwell 2002: 27). Cognition depends on categories to such a considerable extent that “[t]o change the very concept of a category is to change not only our concept of the mind, but also our understanding of the world” (Lakoff 1987: 9). Peter Stockwell claims that categories and categorisation have “consequences for our perception of certain details of language in literary reading” (2002: 27). As far as literary studies are concerned, for Stockwell, categorisation is, first and foremost, the grounds for generic classification (2002: 27). The functioning of categorisation can also aid us, for instance, in determining what a narrative is and what its “design principles,” to use David Herman’s words, are (2007: 8). It can aid our understanding of the narrative components, such as the narrator, the characters, the story and the plot, or the spatial and the temporal arrangements; it can also account for the fact that these are not always “central” examples of their own category. In the case of The Voyage Out, all the conventional categories constituting a narrative – the story, the plot, the characters, the temporal arrangements affiliated with order, duration, and frequency, and so on – are certainly there. However, these are not necessarily clear-cut. For example, the voice of the narrator does somehow go beyond the bounds of its own category: as Woolf employs not only Re-reading V. Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences 71 direct thought acts, but also indirect ones, the narrator dissolves in the stream of consciousness of the characters. The narrative “distance,” then, decreases, and the boundaries between diegesis and mimesis are blurred. This blurring, in fact, works both ways. It is not only the category of the narrator that collapses as an entity of its own: the characters also lose something of their ontological separateness. The “dissolution of character,” as Sage calls it (2009: xxvii), consists chiefly in defying – or paying less attention to – the physicality of characters’ bodies and stressing the states of consciousness that they are subject to instead. The mind is, then, able to transgress the brain: Inextricably mixed in dreamy confusion, her mind seemed to enter into communion, to be delightfully expanded and combined with the spirit of the whitish boards on deck, with the spirit of the sea, with the spirit of Beethoven Op. 112, even with the spirit of poor William Cowper there at Olney. (Woolf 2009: 35) Its transgressions do not overthrow the categories they concern, though. They tease them, perhaps abandon them at times, but only temporarily. The categorisation-driven order is always restored. In this way, The Voyage Out is marked with “the impatience with the limits of the self, and with definition in general” (Sage 2009: xxvii). If The Voyage Out bears the traces of “the impatience with the limits,” Orlando is a materialisation of what happens when all the patience is lost. Categories and definitions, on the level of structure as well as the level of diegesis, are constantly de- and re-constructed. All in all, Orlando addresses divisions and dichotomies at many levels, and always with an appropriate dose of mockery: “[t]his bringing together […] of what is serious and what is fun, applies also […] to the kinds of division the novel addresses – between periods of history and phases of people’s lives; between words and what they talk about; and, most of all, between the two sexes and their desires” (Bowlby 2008: xviii). These kinds of division, as well as the categories that appear in the structure or plot of Orlando are actually tackled with a non-categorising attitude. Taking characters and their construction as an example, Orlando is a coherent construct, and, yet, her/his attributes are a conti- nuum rather that discrete units, i.e. cognitive categories. First of all, there is the issue of Orlando’s “ambisexuality” (Guiguet 1965: 274): Orlando looked himself up and down in a long looking-glass, without showing any signs of discomposure, and went, presumably, to his bath. We may take the advantage of this pause in the narrative to make certain statements. Or- lando had become a woman – there is no denying it. But in every other respect, Orlando remained precisely as he had been. (Woolf 2008: 133) 72 Marta Sibierska

After this shift of and in Orlando’s sexuality – for (s)he does not only change physically, but also expands her/his gender traits – the dualism of the male and the female no longer makes any sense, as in the scene in which Orlando talks to her/his husband-to-be: “Are you positive you aren’t a man?” he would ask anxiously, and she would echo, “Can it be possible you’re not a woman?” and then they must put it to the proof without more ado. For each was so surprised at the quickness of the other’s sympathy, and it was to each such a revelation that a woman could be as tolerant and free-spoken as a man, and a man as strange and subtle as a woman… (Woolf 2008: 264) The overall “fantastic character of the hero” (Guiguet 1965: 265), as alluded to above, accounts for her/him not being a clear-cut entity, as his/her sex and gender shift without any spur, and also his/her age works its own ways, showing that “the complexity of a personality is an elusive and incommunicable mystery to which there is no other answer” (Guiguet 1965: 271). Orlando is, then, constructed upon the creed that the world is not as easy to divide up and name as chief cognitivists – such as Lakoff – claim. It points not only to the fact that “[t]he boundaries of the category are fuzzy rather than fixed” (Stockwell 2002: 29), but rather to the fact that the categories we construct have no true correspondence to the reality.

Figures and grounds The two metacategories that we use on a daily basis and that we divide the world into are those of “figures” and “grounds.” For Stockwell, figures and grounds are “means of understanding general literary concepts” as well as “the connected idea of attention” (2002: 13). Foregrounding, i.e. the process of presenting a “figure” against a “ground,” accounts for focusing readers’ attention, and is possible due to the use of “devices” such as puns, repetitions, rhythm, rhyme, etc. The distribution of figures and grounds in The Voyage Out seems to be based on a more or less stable pattern, which, perhaps, is a ground in itself: grounds can be attributed to landscapes, and figures to particular protagonists and their shifting perceptions. Such a distribution is distinct from the first sentence. The novel opens with the landscape of London: “As the streets that lead from the Strand to the Embankment are very narrow, it is better not to walk down them arm-in-arm” (Woolf 2009: 3). Such an opening sketches out a landmark of the city, comprising a number of trajectors, such as pedestrians or cabs moving along and across the streets. All of them, however, belong to what is being referred to by the name of “London,” a ground for figures to appear. The first of them include Mr and Re-reading V. Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences 73

Mrs Ambrose, who appear at the very opening page (see Woolf 2009: 3). Their figures are put forward by pronouncing their silhouettes – also in their physical aspects, such as Mr Ambrose’s height – against a ground of other people of common characteristics and the rhythm of the city. Once the protagonists set off toward the New World on the deck of theEu - phrosyne, though, the landscape of London is replaced with the image of the sea. For a brief moment it functions as a figure – for any new element in narration, in the moment of its introduction, is a figure – as something novel that captures the audience’s attention. The sea and the deck of the Euphrosyne, however, very quickly become a ground for the passengers, who come onto the stage. As The Voyage Out is a novel of progression, and it involves much movement – that of the ship as well as that of the characters in terms of their surroundings and their thoughts – the ground is constantly changing. Analogously to the landscape of London and the deck of the Euphrosyne, the ground of the South American scenery serves to focus attention on the characters and their mental states. It is difficult to discern “figures” and “grounds” Orlandoin , as it tries to treat the narrative and the storyworld as entities that cannot be categorised. Also, everything – or almost everything – in and about Orlando is extraordinary. Thus, anything about it seems a figure rather than a ground to our perception. If there is a ground of any sort, it is the ground of our conventionalised experience, as represented – though with much irony – by the narrator: The change seemed to have been accomplished painlessly and completely and in such a way that Orlando herself showed no surprise at it. Many people, taking this into account, and holding that such a change of sex is against nature, have been at great pains to prove (1) that Orlando had always been a woman, (2) that Orlando is at this moment a man. Let biologists and psychologists determine. It is enough for us to state the simple fact; Orlando was a man till the age of thirty; when he became a woman and has remained so ever since. But let other pens treat of sex and sexuality; we quit such odious subjects as soon as we can. (Woolf 2008: 133–134)

Deictic shifts “Deixis” is simply “pointing” (as in the case of indexes, including personal pro- nouns, or demonstratives), and is connected with “the capacity that language has for anchoring meaning to a context” (Stockwell 2002: 41). Literary texts are packed with “deictic” patterns (perceptual, spatial, temporal, relational, textual, and compositional, to use Stockwell’s classification) whose task is to compose a certain context. Interestingly, it is most probably the so-called “deictic shift” that allows readers to “get inside” such a context; in other words, “taking a cognitive 74 Marta Sibierska stance with the mentally constructed world of the text” (Stockwell 2002: 46). It is specifically this “imaginary capacity” that “allows the reader to understand projected deictic expressions relative to the shifter deictic centre” (Stockwell 2002: 46–47). Depending on which deictic field is involved, we – as readers – may, for instance, be transported through different temporal dimensions (hence flashbacks and flashforwards). Deixis can also encompass the setting, in which the reader immerses, and the characters, with whom the reader identifies. It also apparently encompasses narration modes, as one of the examples Stockwell uses is Wuthering Heights and its narrative structure (2002: 53–55). The spatial and temporal organisation of The Voyage Out seems quite simplistic. As far as setting and space are concerned, we are transported from London out to the sea, to Santa Marina, into the jungle, and back. More importantly, however, we move not only between different physical locations, but also in-between the protagonists’ minds, their perceptions, and the interplays between them. We follow the linear unveiling of time and space guided by the narrator. The narrator of The Voyage Outis non-focalised: (s)he is, for the most time, omniscient and narrates from outside the action. (S)he is, then, heterodiegetic. However, this heterodiegetic, “regular,” third person narration in intertwined with dialogues – i.e. direct speech acts – as well as the streams of consciousness of the characters – i.e. direct thought acts. Thus, the voice of the narrator dissolves into the inner considerations of the characters, and the boundaries between the two deictic planes are not really marked. Accordingly, we are not only put into the over-encompassing deictic context of the narrator, but we also experience deictic shifts between the characters’ inner selves. These function against the setting and temporal arrangements, but also are somehow settings in themselves. Though in the course of Orlando we move through a number of settings, it is primarily the temporal frames that prove particularly interesting. The book violates linearity with flashbacks, flashforwards, and repetitions that make its internal frequency more than untypical. For example, an event happening once is narrated twice.2 Further, Orlando disregards the basics of duration, employing

2 “‘All ends in death,’ Orlando would say, sitting upright, his face clouded with gloom. (For that was the way his mind worked now, in violent see-saws from life to death, stopping at nothing in between, so that the biographer must not stop either, but must fly as fast as he can and so keep pace with the unthinking passionate foolish actions and sudden extravagant words in which, it is impossible to deny, Orlando at this time of his life indulged.) ‘All ends in death,’ Orlando would say, sitting upright…” (Woolf 2008: 44). Re-reading V. Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences 75

“[t]he expansion of a moment or the shrinking of centuries” (Guiguet 1965: 270). As a result, Orlando does not offer us any stable deictic frames to which we could refer. Even the actual world – grasped in the novel by introducing actual persons, actual events, or actual dates – becomes a part of the game. As the story reaches its conclusion in 1928, it also reaches the precise date on which Woolf finished writing Orlando. The trick, simple as it is, undermines our basic assumptions about the ontology of not only the storyworld, but also our “actual” world.

Conclusion The two novels are both similar and different in their treatment of human concep- tualising capacities and cognition. Though they share the core concern for inner life, they express it in two distinct ways, presuming different proportions of cognitive phenomena and ordering their storyworlds according to different cognitive patterns. The Voyage Out sketches the frames with which we operationalise the world and of which we are not always aware. Orlando, in turn, overtly confronts them. In The Voyage Out, the mind is confined to a stream of consciousness that can interact and intertwine with the streams of consciousness of others. In Orlan- do, each and every one of us has at least “two thousand and fifty-two” personalities or psyches (Woolf 2008: 294), and so at least two thousand and fifty-two streams of consciousness. As Guiguet observes, “[a]lready in The Voyage Out, the human personality was seen as overflowing the narrow bounds” (1965: 271). In Orlando, this limitlessness of our inner lives is overtly celebrated. If the self is actually “selves,” and it cannot be closed in any single category, the ontology of the Western world based on clear-cut and coherent ratio collapses. Whatever the interpretative conclusions of such a cognition-oriented reading as this one are, most importantly, it seems to confirm that Woolf had quite a deep – though intuitional – understanding of the basic organising principles of cognitive processes. Her works display different perspectives on the mind, many of them being tints of what later became the basic propositions of cognitive studies, such as managing attention via patterns of figures and grounds. Thus, re-reading Woolf’s works through the prism of present-day cognitive studies proves them to be a valuable commentary on the state of examining an ordinary mind on an ordinary day, both at the beginning of the 20th century and now.

References Bowlby, Rachel. 2008. “Introduction,” in Virginia Woolf. Orlando: A Biography, xii–xlvii. 76 Marta Sibierska

Bradbury, Malcolm. 1976. “The Modernist Novel,” in Malcolm Bradbury and James McFarlane (eds.) Modernism 1890–1930, 393. Bradbury, Malcolm and John Fletcher. 1976. “The Introverted Novel,” in Malcolm Bradbury and James McFarlane (eds.) Modernism 1890–1930, 394–415. Bradbury, Malcolm and James McFarlane (eds.) 1976. Modernism 1890–1930. Harmondsworth-New York: Penguin Books. Brône, Geert and Jeroen Vandaele (eds.) 2009. Cognitive Poetics: Goals, Gains and Gaps. Berlin-New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Brône, Geert and Jeroen Vandaele. 2009. “Cognitive Poetics. A Critical Introduc- tion,” in Geert Brône and Jeroen Vandaele (eds.) Cognitive Poetics: Goals, Gains and Gaps, 1–29. Dibattista, Maria. 2009. “Virginia Woolf,” in Adrian Poole (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to English Novelists, 361–376. Gavins, Joanna and Gerard Steen. 2003. “Contextualising Cognitive Poetics,” in Joanna Gavins and Gerard Steen (eds.) Cognitive Poetics in Practice, 1–12. Gavins, Joanna and Gerard Steen (eds.) 2003. Cognitive Poetics in Practice. London-New York: Routledge. Guiguet, Jean. 1965. Virginia Woolf and Her Works. London: The Hogarth Press. Herman, David. 2007. “Introduction,” in David Herman (ed.) The Cambridge Com- panion to Narrative, 3–21. Herman, David (ed.) 2007. The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lakoff, George. 1987. Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind. Chicago-London: The University of Chicago Press. Levenson, Michael (ed.) 1999. The Cambridge Companion to Modernism. Cam- bridge: Cambridge University Press. Linett, Maren Tova (ed.) 2010. The Cambridge Companion to Modernist Women Writers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Linett, Maren Tova. 2010. “Modernist Women’s Literature: An Introduction,” in Maren Tova Linett (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Modernist Women Writ- ers, 1–16. McNeille, Andrew (ed.) 1984. The Essays of Virginia Woolf. Volume 4: 1925 to 1928. London: The Hogarth Press. Poole, Adrian (ed.) 2009. The Cambridge Companion to English Novelists. Cam- bridge: Cambridge University Press. Sage, Lorna. 2009. “Introduction,” in Virginia Woolf. The Voyage Out, xii–xxix. Re-reading V. Woolf’s works through the prism of cognitive sciences 77

Shattock, Joanne (ed.) 2010. The Cambridge Companion to English Literature 1830–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stockwell, Peter. 2002. Cognitive Poetics: An Introduction. London-New York: Routledge. Teske, Joanna Klara. 2008. Philosophy in Fiction. Lublin: Maria Curie-Skłodowska University Press. Taylor, Jenny Bourne. 2010. “Body and Mind,” in Joanne Shattock (ed.) The Cam- bridge Companion to English Literature 1830–1914, 184–204. Trotter, David. 1999. “The Modernist Novel,” in Michael Levenson (ed.) The Cam- bridge Companion to Modernism, 70–99. Woolf, Virginia. 2009. The Voyage Out. Oxford-New York: Oxford University Press. Woolf, Virginia. 2008. Orlando: A Biography. Oxford-New York: Oxford University Press. Woolf, Virginia. 1984. “Modern Fiction,” in Andrew McNeille (ed.) The Essays of Virginia Woolf. Volume 4: 1925 to 1928, 157–165.

Emilia Leszczyńska Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women: The representation of time in the short-story cycle and its film adaptation

Abstract: The article compares the representation of time in Alice Munro’s short story cycle Lives of Girls and Women (1971) and its film adaptation (1994). Two aspects of the comparison are considered – the temporal setting of the narrative and the progress of time – to discuss the similarities and differences between both versions of the story.

Introduction Michiko Kakutani, a literary critic for The New York Times magazine, observes that Alice Munro’s stories are frequently “set […] in small-town and rural Cana- da and […] focused on the lives of girls and women” (www.nytimes.com). This comment may serve as the onset for the discussion of time in Lives of Girls and Women. Indeed, in a broader perspective, the short-story cycle may be read as a portrayal of everyday life in a particular place – the small Canadian town – and in a particular time: the 1940s. Both elements of the setting had to be transposed into the adaptation in order to preserve the character of the narrative. The present article focuses on the construction of time. The film, directed by Ronald Wilson, was made for the television and first broadcast in 1994. It must have been a challenge for the filmmakers to create a continuous history from a collection of short stories. Although all the tales in Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women share the same protagonist and are arranged chronologically – with minor exceptions such as the epilogue – thus creating the impression of a novel-like piece, it can be noticed that they were designed in such a way that they could also be read separately. One clue suggesting that this is the case is the fact that Del, as the narrator, presents some details anew in subsequent parts: for instance, in “Age of Faith” she introduces her brother, Owen (Munro 1990: 87), and the Jordans’ dog, Major (1990: 93), as if the reader did not know them, although they had appeared earlier, in the previous stories. It becomes evident that the eight stories that make up Lives of Girls and Women could be read as separate literary pieces. Not only are they independent, but also there seem to be temporal gaps between them. Del locates some events in time, referring to the 80 Emilia Leszczyńska

Second World War, to her age, or to the grade she is in at the given moment, and these clues clearly show that there are some intervals between the eight stories.

The construction of time in the book and the adaptation The presence of intervals that set apart the stories collected in Lives of Girls and Women has been emphasised, because there are signs – such as the protagonist’s age in the subsequent parts – suggesting that substantial time periods were omitted in the narrative. However, this could be seen as the standard manifestation of the difference between the story and the plot, or fabula and sujet, proposed by Viktor Shklovsky. Paul Cobley explains that “fabula [is] the raw material of a story, and sujet [is] the way a story is organised” (2006: 2). Naturally, narratives do not describe all the events and actions performed by characters and this is where the difference between the story and the plot lies. If readers are given a depiction of how a protagonist is getting out of his or her bed, searching for eyeglasses, looking outside the window to check the weather, and preparing breakfast, then it is for a purpose. Elements such as these that belong to the story are hardly ever found in the plot. Readers or viewers are usually presented with important moments, the ones that propel the narrative and that form its core, as opposed to all the transparent details that surround it. However, at this point there appears the question of how much can be omitted for the narrative – especially in the case of an adaptation, which, nevertheless, frequently involves further omissions – to remain a continuous one, only without some details such as descriptions of everyday activities, unless they serve a special purpose. There may be no precise answer to this question and it can be argued that every narrative is a separate case for discussion. Yet it can be noticed that in Lives of Girls and Women, the events omitted in this narrative are much more numerous than the elements that are excluded from the majority of literary or cinematic histories. It has been mentioned that Del’s comments about her own age as well as the class or school she is in serve as reference points in the written version of the narrative. In “Heirs of the Living Body,” which is the second story in the collection, she informs the reader indirectly that she is not yet in high school (Munro 1990: 50). In “Age of Faith” Del says she was 12 years old “the second winter [they] lived in town,” so she must have been about 11 years old when she moved from Flats Road to the centre of Jubilee. The action of “Lives of Girls and Women” takes place during Del’s “first year in high school” (1990: 123), while the opening sentence of “Baptizing,” which immediately follows “Lives of Girls and Women,” informs the reader that Del is in “third year [of] high school” (1990: 148). The protagonist’s final examinations provide the background for “Baptizing,” and this Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women 81 story also presents some events that take place after Del has finished high school. In “Epilogue: The Photographer” the narrator describes the holiday months after her examinations – “the last summer [she] was in Jubilee” (1990: 206). (This last part recounts events that overlap with those presented in the previous story, “Bap- tizing.”) Thus, Lives of Girls and Women encapsulates the entire period when the protagonist attends high school, as well some time before and after it. The significant time breaks in between the eight parts of the book allow the collection of stories to cover an extensive period, yet the price is that the reader may feel that Lives of Girls and Women is a random set of tales, even though they all share the same setting and characters. Nevertheless, those readers who do know that Alice Munro writes short stories rather than novels will not be surprised. However, if a film is to function independently of the story on which it is based, it must constitute a coherent narrative in itself. Thus, the treatment of time in the film had to be adapted and altered, in order to create a more coherent story. If the temporal gaps between the eight parts of the book were maintained, and Del’s age was progressing as rapidly and visibly as it does in Munro’s collection, the adaptation would most probably seem to be a set of separate images, especially since numerous details that bind the stories together had to be omitted in the process of film production, due to the time limit. Despite the comments mentioned by Allardice (www.theguardian.com) as to Lives of Girls and Women being a novel, the book seems to be a collection of short stories. Taken together, they do create one narrative, but they can also be read separately, and the relations between single stories are different from those between chapters in a novel. The eight parts can be seen as a continuous story as if incidentally; it is a possibility, not an obvious feature. Their primary characteristic is that they are distinct, and only might be perceived as one narrative. Munro is known as a short-story writer, and she underlines the fact that her 1971 book is not a novel (www.theguardian.com). Therefore, at least those readers who know the author are likely to approach the book as a set of short stories. These stories can be viewed as stages of a continuous narrative, but it is clearly stated that each of them is independent. When it comes to transforming such a literary work into a film, it would be challenging and perhaps pointless to create an adaptation composed of a few distinct parts, each connected with the other only by the protagonist and some other characters, and those few background details that could be transposed from the book into the film. Such an adaptation might be confusing to those viewers who are not familiar with the original story and Munro’s characteristic of composing short stories only. One’s unfamiliarity 82 Emilia Leszczyńska with the book could even make the film incomprehensible. Thus, the adaptation had to be composed as a more homogeneous narrative. Nevertheless, the viewer, just like the reader, must be aware that Lives of Girls and Women covers quite a substantial period of time and what is left out are not days but, in some cases, years. The gaps had to be acknowledged and the intervals needed to be addressed. Omissions of events and quite sudden forward jumps are marked by black screen being shown just for a moment. An example of this practice can be observed during the passage between the scene in which the Jor- dans consider moving to Jubilee and the moment when Del and her mother are unpacking their belongings in their new house in the town (00:16:42). However, while watching the film, one can still have the subjective impression that it covers a shorter time period than all the short stories taken together. The narrator in the stories makes sure that readers are aware of the time flow by mentioning her age, or commenting on the level of her education. In the adaptation, Del provides some general comments and the technique of voice-over was used to implement them into the structure of the film. Yet, the crew chose not to include indications of Del’s age in that overt form. The only clues suggesting that she is becoming more mature are references to her school. Early in the film Ada remarks that her daughter is going to “[start] high school in September” (00:04:09–00:04:11), yet her conversation with a potential client who could buy encyclopaedias from her takes place when Del is reciting the names of presidents of the United States – to show how knowledgeable one can become owning the encyclopaedias – and as a result, the viewer’s attention is divided between the conversation and Del’s monologue. Ada’s comment can potentially remain unnoticed. Later, towards the end of the film, the topic of Del’s final high school exams is as prominent as it is in the corresponding short story. Thus, even if the initial signs showing that the heroine is relatively young were missed by the viewers, the last scenes present Del as a young woman rather than a child, and through contrast it becomes clear that many years have passed since the beginning of the story. Apart from the moments when black screen is shown to indicate time gaps, there are few marks of progress in the film. If the viewer pays close attention to Del’s appearance, the way she dresses and styles her hair, he or she can see that those arrangements may be very indirect proofs of the fact that the protagonist is becoming older, and that Del whom he or she sees at the riverbank in the opening scene of Wilson’s motion picture is significantly younger than Del sitting at the desk with her typewriter in the last scene. Even though the protagonist is played by the same actress throughout the film, the characterisation implies that Del is becoming more mature. Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women 83

There is another aspect, though much less complex, that is worth mentioning in the discussion of time in Lives of Girls and Women. Apart from the story’s progress in time, the temporal setting is also important. The narrator in Munro’s short stories gives the reader precise information about when the action takes place. In the very first tale, “The Flats Road,” Del happens to be writing a letter and she puts the date on it: “August 22, 1942” (1990: 10). In the epilogue, she says that she wants to know “the titles of movies that played at the […] theatre from 1938 to 1950” (1990: 210), so it must be at least the year 1950. In Wilson’s adaptation there is no such overtness; his interpretation of the story lacks any direct signs that would locate it in time. The viewer can only guess what the historical period is by observing how the characters are dressed and how the city and the interiors that are presented look like. This lacking historical definition makes Wilson’s Lives of Girls and Women a more universal story. Some visual details do suggest that the action takes place approximately in the middle of the 20th century, but due to the fact that it is not the story of the year 1942 and some years after, as it is in the book, it is closer to a universal narrative that could be happening anytime. The perspective from which the stories are narrated is also significant. In Munro’s book, Del narrates events using past tenses. The very language, the grammar of all the stories is enough to situate the story in the past. The reader instinc- tively and naturally sees the occurrences as ones that happened some time ago. However, it is not possible to determine how long ago. Initially, the reader may possibly assume that the heroine might be retelling the events from a point in time that is just after the end of the action presented in the last part of the book. There is no overt sign that when she is narrating the stories, Del is an adult woman and a lot of time has passed since the occurrences described in “Baptizing” and “Epilogue” – the two stories at the end of the book. Nevertheless, there are some indications that may be interpreted as signs vaguely suggesting a more distant perspective. For example, as Del describes some of Ada’s embarrassing behaviours and traces of character, she says: “I myself was not so different from my mother, but concealed it, knowing what dangers there were” (1990: 68). It may be argued that this statement implies the passage of time through its psychological depth – possibly, in order to be able to look at her relation to mother and honestly admit the presence of certain similarities, Del had to mature. Such a statement requires both the passage of time in itself and the maturity that comes with it. Another fragment, consisting in fact of a few words only, which suggests that Del may be narrating the story from a point in time far ahead of them, can be found in the very last story, the epilogue. There, the protagonist says: “Every morning, starting about the middle of July, the last summer I was in Jubilee, I would walk downtown 84 Emilia Leszczyńska between nine and ten o’clock” (1990: 206). This inconspicuous sentence conveys the sense of melancholic distance. If she was narrating the events from a point in time immediately after the last fragment of the epilogue, Del probably would not use the phrase “the last summer I was in Jubilee” (1990: 206). None of these fragments is a solid proof for the assumption that as the narrator Del presents all the events as a relatively distant past. They do indicate maturity and melancholia which, in turn, suggest passage of time, but they do not seem to be overt enough to fully confirm the hypothesis that the narrator is an adult woman and that the moment in time from which she is narrating the events is far ahead of them. They are hardly enough to create a sense of distance – an indistinct one – and the length of the distance is probably impossible to be determined. The film adaptation takes the same viewpoint; that is, it presents the events in Lives of Girls and Women as stories from the past. In order to give the viewers a sense of distance, the filmmakers have introduced a heterodiegetic narrator. She appears at the very beginning of the film, saying: “Looking back, I can see that the Wawanash River flowed through my veins. I did not know it at the time” (00:00:25– 00:00:32). The river – both shown and spoken of in the opening scene – may be read as a symbol of the flow of time. The first two words and the second sentence of the quoted fragment – just like the passage from the book in which Del talks about her last summer in the town – suggest passage of time. They introduce the sense of melancholia and prove that the narrator is now able to look at the past events with an insight she has gained as she became an adult woman. She admits she did not know certain facts earlier, showing she now has both the knowledge needed to know them and the maturity to objectively and bravely talk about herself. It is not only the words spoken by the narrator that allow the viewer to recognise the events presented in the film as ones located in the past in relation to the moment in time from which they are being recounted. The form is also significant. A simple yet extremely effective strategy adopted by the filmmakers and used from the very first scene enables the viewer to immediately acknowledge the fact that the events that are going to be presented happened in the past. This simple device is voice, or, to be more precise, its timbre. The voice that can be heard saying the initial words of the film with high probability belongs to a mature woman. And even if she was to be a young girl with a voice exceptionally low and deep for her age, the doubt disappears when the viewer hears Del – the protagonist visible on the screen, not the narrator – speak. The first words she utters are shouted: as Ada calls for her, she responds “I’m coming!” (00:00:54). Even though she shouts, the difference in the timbre of her and the narrator’s voices can be heard. The contrast Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women 85 becomes unmistakably clear when the two voices are heard one after the other. Such a juxtaposition is presented when Ada, Del and Owen are in a car, going for one of Ada’s sales trips. As Del is opening an encyclopaedia, the narrator says: “I couldn’t help it. I shared my mother’s appetite for knowledge (00:02:38–00:02:42). Immediately after, the heroine starts reciting the names of presidents of the United States (00:02:43–00:02:55) and her voice is clearly different from the one heard just a few seconds earlier. Thus, the narrative parts are defined as not spoken by the protagonist, in the sense that it is not the Del who is visible on the screen. Even though the heroine and the narrator are one and the same person, they are present in the adaptation as two separate beings: one of them is a teenager involved in the current events on the screen, the other one is an adult woman and invisible. Thus, the narration can be defined as a heterodiegetic one: she is not a participant in the events presented. Heterodiegetic narration as a device that locates the action in the past in reference to the point from which it is recounted does not appear at the beginning only. It is used at other moments as well, as if to remind the viewer that what he or she is watching are events that happened some time ago and are now told by an adult woman. For instance, when Del comes home from the sales trip and is walking towards the house, the viewer can see and hear her describing the surroundings as if she was writing a literary passage. She is talking about the hot weather and dogs’ sleepiness, and when the camera shows flies on a fly screen a few seconds later, Del’s description changes from being spoken to being thought only, but the viewer can hear it. As she is arranging the remaining part of the sentence in her mind, she is presented sitting on the floor in her room, already writing the fragment down in a notebook. Then, the viewer can hear her saying another sentence in her thoughts, but the words become more and more quiet, and a moment before they fade away, the voice of Del the narrator appears as she says: “I took what I saw around me and found a way of nudging it into whatever story I was in the middle of” (00:04:53–00:05:21). Another occasion at which the older Del appears in the film as a heterodiegetic narrator is Fern’s departure and the conversation between the heroine and her mother that follows it. Del’s responses and facial expressions show that she disagrees with the stance Ada has presented, and it is the narrator that voices her subconscious decision to “do what men did” (00:48:24–00:50:23). This reminds the viewer that the adult Del is present outside the ongoing story. Moreover, this particular scene proves that she is now capable of analysing her behaviours and decisions from the past, just like the narrator in Munro’s short-story cycle. The very last words that are spoken in the adaptation, 86 Emilia Leszczyńska as well as the initial ones, belong to the narrator. At that point, she comments on the need for writing that she feels at that particular moment.

Conclusion To sum up, both similarities and differences can be found between the treatment of time in the book and in its adaptation. The two versions of the story are told from the same perspective: the events are treated as ones that happened in the past and are recounted from the present moment. It is not only the content, or the words, that allows the reader to perceive the presented events as belonging to the past. It is also the form. The narrator in the book simply uses past tenses. The adaptation employs the technique of introducing the adult Del as a heterodiegetic narrator. The presence of the protagonist as a now mature woman implies that some time has passed since all the events presented were happening. Without the heterodiegetic narration, the adaptation would not be a story of the past and, instead, it would seem to be a presentation of events which the viewers might interpret as current. The fact that the narrator is present outside the ongoing story informs the viewer that there is a certain distance between the present moment– that is the moment from which the narrator is speaking – and the time when the events were taking place. The difference between the voice of teenage Del – the protagonist – and adult Del – the narrator – suggests how much time might have passed between the events and the moment from which they are recounted. The older Del’s ability to analyse and interpret the views held and the decisions taken by her when she was younger implicates her psychological maturity and emphasises the narrator’s implied adulthood, suggested by the deep and low voice. However, differences in the presentation of time can also be found. In Munro’s version of Lives of Girls and Women there are significant time periods between the eight stories and they remain visibly excluded from the plot. Del’s comments about her own age as well as her remarks about education prove that time passes quickly. Lives of Girls and Women is not a novel but rather a collection of short stories that can be seen as one narrative but in fact it is made of eight separate entities. Hence, breaks like these do not create the effect of incoherence, because there is no coherence to be expected. One should not assume that the content of Munro’s books is interconnected in terms of plot, since she is known as a short story writer and defines herself as one, calling Lives of Girls and Women “really just a collection of linked stories” (Allardice, www.theguardian.com). It is a unique book, as all the tales have common protagonists, but still it must be remembered that it is a set of distinct stories, not a novel. Time gaps do not break the continuity of the narrative, because there is no obvious continuity. It is just a possibility. Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women 87

In Wilson’s film the time gaps are present in the form of black screen being shown for very short moments. Del’s overt comments regarding her age are missing. Instead, there are clues provided by her mother, but these are less prominent than in Munro’s narrative and thus easy to remain unnoticed by the viewer. Gaps are present and made visible but in a much subtler form. It can be accepted that the book is a collection of separate short stories but its visual adaptation should be a coherent narrative for technical reasons – creating a film made of separate images, each lasting several minutes, would be pointless, especially since Munro’s short tales can be connected into a continuous narrative quite easily – and for the sake of understanding. Many of those who saw Wilson’s production probably had not read Munro’s work. Thus, the original story had to be altered so that the film could be an independent, understandable, and coherent narrative in itself. It is important that Lives of Girls and Woman is a story about maturation, and therefore the filmmakers had to indicate that years pass between the first and the last scene. The book has its eight distinct parts and Del’s clues about her age. The film has fewer overt signs of time passage, thus remaining a smoothly flowing narrative, and the most important sign of progress is placed in the visual layer of the story. The protagonist’s changing look is a subtle, far from obvious but – especially towards the end of the film, when the viewer can compare the way Del looked in the initial part of it with her final characterisation – at the same time powerful tool that renders the quick time flow. By transferring the signs of time progress from the verbal layer into the visual one – though verbal ones are also present – the filmmakers have managed to maintain the notion of Del’s maturation, and even though it is not shown as openly as in the book, the final effect is that the viewer can be as much aware of how swiftly the time passes in the story as the reader. The episodes from Munro’s collection are more connected in the adaptation, but the effect of progression in time was successfully transposed by means other than clear division of the story into parts.

References Allardice, Lisa. 2013. “Nobel Prizewinner Alice Munro: ‘It’s a wonderful thing for the short story,’” www.theguardian.com/books/2013/dec/06/alice-munro- interview-nobel-prize-short-story-literature, DOA January 22, 2015. Cobley, Paul. 2006. “Narratology,” in http://www.davidlavery.net/Courses/Narr atology/JHGTC/ Narratology.pdf, DOA February 2, 2015. Kakutani, Michiko. 2013. “Master of the Intricacies of the Human Heart. Alice Munro, Nobel Winner, Mines the Inner Lives of Girls and Women,” http://www. 88 Emilia Leszczyńska

nytimes.com/2013/10/11/books/alice-munro-mining-the-inner-lives-of-girls- and-women.html?pagewanted=2&_r=1&, DOA January 3, 2015. Munro, Alice. 1990. “Age of Faith,” in Lives of Girls and Women, 77–97. Munro, Alice. 1990. “Baptizing,” in Lives of Girls and Women, 148–201. Munro, Alice. 1990. “Epilogue: The Photographer,” in Lives of Girls and Women, 202–211. Munro, Alice. 1990. “Heirs of the Living Body,” in Lives of Girls and Women, 24–53. Munro, Alice. 1990. Lives of Girls and Women, Toronto: Penguin Books. Munro, Alice. 1990. “Lives of Girls and Women,” in Lives of Girls and Women, 117–147. Munro, Alice. 1990. “The Flats Road,” in Lives of Girls and Women, 1–23.

Film Lives of Girls and Women. 1994. Dir. Ronald Wilson. Paragon Entertainment Cor- poration. Part Three: Querying cultural identities

Joanna Korzeniewska In search of one’s identity: Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000)

Abstract: This article offers an analysis of the identity problems of the protagonist of Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000). The figure of Leonard and the use of the neo-noir conventions are analysed as reflecting the fragmentation, instability, and sense of lostness which have been seen by critics as characteristic for postmodern identity.

Introduction Christopher Nolan’s acclaimed neo-noir film Memento (2000) tells the story of Leonard, the protagonist searching for a man who has murdered his wife. Not credible in the eyes of the police, Leonard starts the investigation on his own, mingling with strange figures and involving himself into hazardous situations. Sig- nificantly, the protagonist struggles with a major condition, a short-term memory loss, which prevents him from remembering anything recent and which renders him extremely vulnerable and confused about who he really is. Leonard differs considerably from the classic heroes of Hollywood cinema and can be regarded as the embodiment of the noir protagonist cast in the postmodern world. Whereas “the archetypal American hero” can be described as very masculine, resourceful, courageous and incorruptible, the main character in neo-noir is far from being so (Spicer 2007: 47). The protagonists in noir and neo-noir are insecure, morally ambivalent, and unable to solve the problems they encounter on their way (47). Additionally, they are always troubled by some mental conditions which are reflected in their actions and the decisions they make. Frequently, a noir antihero has lost his memory, cannot make new memories, or remember past events due to a trauma or an accident (Abrams 2007: 10). Therefore, he feels lost and is not sure about the past or even the present actions he is involved in (Spicer 2007: 47). The reality around him is familiar, yet disturbing, and the mental condition he is struggling with contributes to the difficulty in understanding the cause and effect sequence of events (48). As a protagonist of a neo-noir film, Leonard mixes the characteristics of both the detective and the villain. However, his actions seem to be pointless, since whatever choice he decides to make, he is already trapped by his past. Leonard’s futile attempts to solve the riddle and the strong conviction that his actions will ultimately provide the answer he is looking for contribute to the sense of fatalism 92 Joanna Korzeniewska and utter absurdity of the whole situation (49). In this regard, he mirrors the noir protagonist’s inability to change or comprehend the reality around him, which provides the picture of “pervasive problematising of masculine identity” (Krutnik in Spicer 2007: 47). The neo-noir antihero’s investigation and clues “exist solely within his own mind” (Abrams 2007: 9). Leonard narrates the story only for the audience to realise that the subject of the investigation is closely related to the protagonist himself. Thus, he is not “looking for some mysterious villain in the city [but] for himself as an other” (Abrams 2007: 10) and is “ultimately investigating issues that go to the very core of his own identity” (Gilmore 2007: 127).

Gender and power relations in Memento One of the essential aspects to be considered in discussing Memento’s protagonist’s troubled identity are his relations with women. It can be observed that Leonard’s actions and decisions throughout the film are closely connected to them. The whole investigation aims at finding the murderer of his wife, Catherine; in the process, he becomes involved with another woman, Natalie, who is extremely different. Additionally, during his search, he tries to trigger his memory with the help of a prostitute. Interestingly, both Leonard’s behaviour and physiology change depending on the woman he interacts with. The nature of his complicated relationships with women, the way they treat him as well as the way he perceives Catherine, the prostitute, and Natalie provide a closer look on the gender and power relations in the film and the striking discontinuities in Leonard’s identity. Leonard’s wife, Catherine, is the embodiment of his nostalgia for the lost past that cannot be returned. The flashback scenes depicting her are shown in bright light and are accompanied by delicate musical tones, evoking the sense of peace- fulness and happiness. Catherine is shown as a fairly pretty woman with no make- up, with her curly hair and freckles giving her a subtle, pure appearance. In her husband’s memories she is never presented as a sexually confident woman: she wears white cotton underwear and girlish flowery dresses. The physical image of Catherine, always bathed in light and displayed against a bright or white background, makes her look angelic and almost asexual. In Leonard’s mind she is the epitome of the innocence and the heavenly delight lost forever that need to be avenged. However, the image of Leonard and Catherine’s ostensibly perfect marriage is strongly undermined by the remaining pieces of the protagonist’s memories. In one of his recollections, Catherine is lying in bed, holding a tattered book while Leonard is getting ready for work. He looks at her highly disappro- vingly and mocks her for reading the same book many times. They argue over the pleasure of reading, which, according to Leonard, lies in not knowing what In search of one’s identity 93 happens next. Finally, Catherine states that he is mean and asks him to let her read. In yet another scene, he pinches Catherine in her thigh, and she gets visibly irritated. What is more, throughout the film, whenever somebody calls him Lenny, Leonard says that he hates it and that his wife used to call him that. Obviously, although they were in love, the real life of the couple was not as idyllic as Leonard wants to remember it: in the flashback scenes, there can be observed the tension between the two of them, and great annoyance on the part of Catherine. She seems to be tired of the domineering and judgemental husband who wants to control her actions. However, he apparently does not notice that his recollections are not very positive ones. Therefore, as Leonard admits later in the film, memory should be treated just as an interpretation of events, not the record of it. Having lost his stability, his home, job and wife, Leonard filters his memory so that he is left with the distorted, nostalgic view of his perfect past that is now forever out of his reach. Leonard’s difficulty in copying with his changed life after the assault is evident in the scene with the prostitute. He treats her as a trigger for his memory: when he calls for a girl he does not care for her appearance or hair colour; he is evidently not interested in her as a woman. He merely asks her to take a few of Catherine’s possessions: a clock, a bra, a teddy bear, a hairbrush, and a book, and put these around the room. She is supposed to lie in bed until he falls asleep and then to slam the bathroom door. The girl performs her part; however, Leonard no longer remembers anything of their deal. He wakes up and goes to the bathroom only to find there the prostitute taking drugs; his face shows signs of astonishment and disappointment. Although Leonard claims to have done it only to force his mind into remembering again, this seems to be a mere excuse. He knows that to succeed in his search, he must leave the past behind, and therefore he cannot admit the weakness of being unable to overcome the grief after losing Catherine. The peculiar game he plays with the prostitute is an instant of delusion which gives him a momentary fulfilment: he can feel the warm sheets, see his wife’s things around the room as if nothing had happened. Although by that moment it is obvious that his condition cannot be improved due to that trick, the moment of false security and happiness makes him call the agency a few times, which proves that triggering his memory is not what he truly aims at. Finally, Leonard decides to burn the items at night in an isolated place to get over his despair; nevertheless, he is aware that it is pointless as he has done it numerous times before, using Catherine’s other possessions. The repetitiveness of the action reflects the inescapability of the situation and the hopelessness of a man who can never heal if he cannot feel the time passing. 94 Joanna Korzeniewska

Leonard’s relationship with Natalie seems to be particularly intriguing as it takes unexpected turns throughout the film. She is a person to whom Leonard is most attached and whom he trusts despite many situations that should make him doubt her intentions. It is likely due to the fact that Natalie may be considered Catherine’s doppelganger. Physically, the women are quite alike: they are about the same age, slim, pale, with shoulder-length brown hair. However, in other aspects Natalie represents everything that Leonard’s wife does not: sensuality, confidence, danger and ruthlessness. Natalie is the embodiment of the noir femme fatale both on the outside and on the inside. Her attire, unlike Catherine’s, is provocative, with dark make-up, jewellery, a short black transparent shirt showing her navel, and a black bra underneath. She is visibly attractive and lacks the pure quality of Catherine’s appearance. Even on the photograph Leonard takes of her, Natalie stands in the shadow, with half of her face in the dark, which reflects her dubious nature. What is more, Natalie is in control of the whole situation. When Leonard was with Catherine, she was the object of his gaze and he was the dominant party; he also was the one to support the family as she was apparently not employed. However, with Natalie the things are different. She is in a difficult situation as well, having been a girlfriend of a now dead drug dealer, but she is cunning enough to manipulate Leonard to achieve her goals. In this relation, it is her who is the holder of the gaze as she numerous times watches his body, touches the tattoos and also undresses him. Moreover, she lets him stay in her house while she goes to work at the pub, offering him a feigned sense of security and thereby making him dependent on her. Due to the misleading film structure, it is initially believed that Natalie is kind and wishes to help Leonard, but then it transpires that she is not a victim in need of his help but a femme fatale who, for her personal gain, involves him in jeopardous situations which might get him killed. Furthermore, it is not just due to her problems that she decides to trick Leonard, as she obviously en- joys the cruel game she plays with him. When she comes home furious, she starts shouting at confused Leonard, hitting him and calling him and his wife names to provoke him to hit her. She is visibly repulsed by the disoriented, weak man and displays her advantage over him by claiming that she can say or do whatever she wants, and he will not remember that. Natalie is completely unsympathetic and seems to find sadistic pleasure in mentally torturing him. In addition to that, she later deceives Leonard by playing a victim who has supposedly been beaten and thus making him attack Dodd, another drug dealer. Although the physical resemblance to Catherine draws Leonard to Natalie, it turns out to be deceptive, like virtually anything that surrounds him. In their relation, Natalie has power over Leonard and entraps him by making him a mere puppet in her hands. Believing In search of one’s identity 95 that, as a man, he has control over the situation and that Natalie is another fragile victim to be avenged, the protagonist becomes entangled in an absurd situation which leads him further astray in his already convoluted investigation. As it can be observed, Leonard’s behaviour and attitude are prone to change due to his relations with women. His delicate and obedient wife has made him feel masculine and superior. When she is gone, the protagonist becomes devoid of the stability that patriarchy offers him. In this respect, Leonard represents the crisis of masculinity at the turn of the last century. He feels disoriented and alienated in the new situation since without Catherine he cannot define himself any more. In order to fight his condition, he tries to re-enact the last night with Catherine with the help of a prostitute in order to get his memory back. However, apart from the fact that his attempt turns out to be futile, he realises that his grief cannot be ever overcome as he does not feel the passage of time which is the only thing that could ultimately soothe his sorrow. Having met Natalie, Leonard feels needed again; nevertheless, she only pretends to be helping him while exerting her influence on the clueless man. Leonard changes from an active, confident man to one obedient to the decisions made by the femme fatale who internally mocks his condition and his tragedy.

Leonard and the issue of identity Memento is a story of a man who is searching for his identity, and although he believes that the problem lies solely in the loss of his short-term memory, the issue appears to be much more complex. Despite the fact that Leonard cannot place himself within any place or community since he does not remember anyone or anything for more than a couple of minutes, his identity problems can be traced back to his old life. Undoubtedly, Leonard changes as the story unfolds, and the man before and after the assault are diametrically different. The analysis of Leonard’s selves – the insurance investigator presented in the flashbacks; Sammy Jankis, the protagonist’s alter-ego; and Leonard the detective – provides an interesting insight into the fragmentation of the protagonist’s identity. Leonard from the past is presented in a relatively unfavorable light. As an insurance investigator, he is supposed to find grounds to decline his clients’ insurance petitions and to see through their lies. Leonard is shown as a very confident, suspicious, carrier-oriented man, with neat, professional appearance and a fake smile on his face. While investigating the case of a man with a short-term memory loss, he finds a loophole in law which makes it possible for the company not to grant the man and his wife insurance. Despite the fact that he knows that the man is sick and needs support, Leonard does not waver to seize the opportunity 96 Joanna Korzeniewska to boast about his perspicacity to his employers. Preoccupied with making money even at the expense of the people in need, he embodies the corporate spirit of postmodern times. Having deprived the sick man of the sources for his treatment, Leonard does not have a guilty conscience. Moreover, he thinks even better of himself as he gets promoted by the company. While at home, Leonard seems to be no better. He does not display any signs of affection towards his wife; on the contrary, he seems to be mean to her on numerous occasions. While meeting the sick man’s desperate wife, who has come to look for some answers to find a way to help him, bored and annoyed Leonard lies to her without scruples, believing that she just needs an answer, whether it is right or wrong, which proves that all he is interested in is his carrier. However, as the events at the end of the film suggest, the aforementioned disab- led man, Sammy Jankis, in all likelihood is the alter-ego of Leonard himself. After the assault, Leonard has been telling everyone the story of Sammy, his client, who, just like him, lost the ability to create new memories and remembered only those events that happened prior to the accident. Sammy had a loving wife who could not live this way and wanted him to start remembering again. After the period of treatment using conditioning which was supposed to make Sammy remember things by instinct, his wife decided to try the ultimate way, believing in getting her old husband back. She readjusted her watch several times so that Sammy gave her a few insulin shots instead of one. Seeing no recognition in his eyes, she realized that he truly could not remember having done it a moment before, but it was already too late. However, at the beginning of the story and the end of the plot, Teddy, the police officer, tries to convince Leonard that Sammy Jankis was actually just a con man who was not even married, and that the described events tell the story of Leonard and Catherine themselves. As Teddy is not a flawless character, his statement cannot be taken for granted; moreover, Leonard stub- bornly refuses to admit that his wife had diabetes. However, it is highly possible that the trauma of involuntarily having caused the death of his beloved wife who survived the assault might have resulted in Leonard’s trauma and denial of these events. As he could not cope with the reality, he externalised the part of himself that he could not accept by projecting it onto Sammy Jankis, a figure from his past. It was easier for Leonard to believe that Catherine was murdered during the assault than that he himself caused her death. What is more, throughout the story, Leonard constantly mentions the feeling of guilt and confusion that he cannot comprehend. By repressing the unwanted truth, he could ascribe a meaning to his life from now on, a romantic quest as Teddy calls it, by finding a mysterious Johnny G. and avenging his wife. In search of one’s identity 97

Leonard the detective combines the features of his old self with the new posttraumatic characteristics. During his investigation he behaves like the cold professional he used to be while working in the company: he is determined, mistrustful, even aggressive. He is also very meticulous and well-organised, believing that routine is the only way for him to make his life manageable. Even Leonard’s smart attire, the shirt and the suit, resembles his old self. Nevertheless, he certainly no longer concentrates on himself as he used to. Leonard’s body, from a sign of professional success and well-being becomes a mere tool which helps him on his mission and reminds him what his ultimate goal is. As he covers himself with unflattering but informative tattoos, it becomes clear that he has ceased to be preoccupied with prestige and the acclaim of others. It is his naked body that shows that Leonard is no longer a corporate worker, but someone whose whole life revolves around revenging someone he loves. Additionally, the body is the only thing that provides the protagonist with a relatively stable sense of identity and truth about himself when nothing else around him can be perceived as certain. Especially important in Leonard’s condition, the body is what ultimately defines him for himself and others. With any information he tattoos on his skin, Leonard asserts his beliefs concerning his own self. The body serves as a reminder of who he is; however, paradoxically, since it is changing with any new, often unreliable, information he tattooes, Leonard’s only point of reference can be regarded as neither a stable nor a truthful source of information about his identity that, in fact, is being constantly re-shaped. The traumatic experience visibly changes not only the protagonist’s body, but also his mind. Once an emotionless man not showing any sign of weakness, now Leonard displays a whole range of feelings. Especially while being alone or talking on the phone and therefore not having to look anyone in the eye, Leonard goes from one extreme to the other, either having fits of passion and aggression, or crying because of guilt and despair. The belief in the righteousness of his aim is the only thing that keeps him sane and drives him to fight the obstacles piling up before him every day. Therefore, when he is finally faced with the possibility that his whole mission is an act of self-delusion, he instantly dismisses it. Although all the repetitious acts, strong and disturbing feelings as well as the inner importance of Sammy’s story point directly to Leonard’s trauma, he decides to repress it once again. In the film’s final scene, Leonard drives his car thinking about his wife and smiling, saying that “We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are. I am no different.” As he is constantly finding himself lost due to his condition, his wife and old life are the reference points, the mirrors that help him define himself in 98 Joanna Korzeniewska the world where everything is constantly changing and does not let him remain the man he wants to be. The core of Leonard’s true identity seems to be impossible to determine. The unflattering image of the insurance investigator, the double in the person of Sam- my Jankis representing the repressed part of Leonard’s self, and the detective avenging his wife deciding to live a lie can all be considered parts of his identity. The question remains whoMemento ’s protagonist really is: the man he used to be and he would still be if not for the assault and the condition that followed; or maybe the one he has ultimately become, regardless of the circumstances. Although the film does not provide any final answer, what appears to be truly important in analysing Leonard’s identity is who he decides to be in the end: it is his choice that makes him who he is in his own eyes. However, it is difficult to determine whether Leonard’s decision is made in the heat of passion and cannot be undone as he does not remember lying to himself in the first place. Therefore, the question arises whether he should be rendered morally responsible for something he cannot remember, and whether it still constitutes a part of his identity. Another point is whether Leonard has every right to decide about his own self, even if what he truly wants is living a life of mere delusion. All the philosophical, existential as well as ethical questions raised by Memento are to make the viewers question and reconsider what they have always taken for granted as far as personal identity is concerned. Leonard perfectly illustrates the postmodern self denied any sense of stability or unity but instead characterised by fragmentation, fragility, and uncertainty as well as a tendency to constant changes.

Conclusion The dramatic changes in Leonard’s personality throughout the story indicate that the core of his identity is hardly possible to determine. After his wife’s death leading to his mental breakdown, Leonard’s identity proves to be prone to fragmentation and becomes visibly unstable. Deprived of the reference point for his sense of self due to the loss of his wife, Memento’s protagonist illustrates the masculinity crisis in the Western world. Leonard becomes weak, adrift, and susceptible to manipulation. The mentally fragile and unstable detective differs considerably from the insensitive, professionally oriented man he used to be before the accident. Moreover, Leonard transpires to have created his alter ego, Sammy Jankis, who externalises the undesirable part of his identity. Although determining the core of the protagonist’s identity or defining his true self seem to be impossible, it is not what Nolan’s narrative seems to aim at. The conclusion about the nature of postmodern identity that can be drawn from the film is that In search of one’s identity 99 the problem is ontological rather than epistemological and that it is individuals’ prerogative as well as responsibility to decide which of their selves they consider themselves to be.

References Abrams, Jerold J. 2007. “Space, Time, and Subjectivity in Neo-Noir Cinema,” in Mark T. Conard (ed.) The Philosophy of Neo-Noir, 7–20. Conard, Mark T. (ed.) 2007. The Philosophy of Neo-Noir. The University Press of Kentucky. Gilmore, Richard. 2007. “The Dark Sublimity ofChinatown ,” in Mark T. Conard (ed.) The Philosophy of Neo-Noir, 119–136. Krutnik, Frank. 1999. In a Lonely Street: Film Noir, Genre, Masculinity. London: Routledge. Spicer, Andrew. 2007. “Neo-Noir’s Existentialist Antihero,” in Mark T. Conard (ed.) The Philosophy of Neo-Noir, 47–63.

Film Memento. 2000. Dir. Christopher Nolan. Newmarket Capital Group.

Małgorzata Borońska Facing the repressed: The doubles in Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (2010)

Abstract: Since its beginning, ballet has played a key role in preserving the traditional Western model of docile femininity. This article analyses the figure of Nina Sayers, the heroine of Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (2011), as embodying this ideal and explores the meaning of the doubles that are one effect of the psychic conflicts she experiences.

Introduction The 2010 film Black Swan, directed by Darren Aronofsky, is a psychological horror in which the transformation of Nina Sayers into a perfect Swan Queen turns into a gradual descent into madness. The roles of Odette (the White Swan) and Odile (the Black Swan) require that Nina, the obedient daughter and diligent dancer, face her inhibited emotions and fantasies. In consequence, her life changes into horror. The line between the reality and the hallucinations blurs, which is reflected in the numerous encounters with doppelgängers and the obsessive-compulsive behaviours that finally lead the protagonist to self-destruction. This article focuses on Nina’s body as a surface reflecting the clash between the ideal of docile femininity and the protagonist’s internal imbalance. The doppel- gängers and delusions she suffers from are interpreted from the psychoanalytic perspective, which is outlined in the first part of this text. The second part is devoted to the ideal of femininity promoted by ballet, which seems to be the source of Nina’s inhibitions. This theoretical introduction is the starting point for the analysis of Nina’s figure as the image of a docile body, tragically trapped between the contradictory requirements designated by the ballet company and her inner urges that have been repressed.

Freud, the repressed, and the double According to Sigmund Freud, each human being that enters a civilized community has to inhibit his or her natural urges, especially the sexual ones, which are perceived as dangerous for the established order. From the cultural point of view, the sexual instincts are useful only if they serve reproduction (Freud 1973: 47–48 in Storey 2009: 91). In his research Freud proved that the human mind cannot be 102 Małgorzata Borońska limited just to consciousness, as some experiences unexpectedly become the content of, for example, one’s dreams, thus indicating that there exists a considerably more powerful part of our mind which impacts our actions and choices (Ryan 2007: 93). Those images and thoughts as well as instinctual drives belong to the part of mind which is named the id (the unconscious). It is the most archaic element of human psyche, where our most innate drives and memories of important events from our life are located (Ryan 2007: 93). The id is guided by two needs: to fulfil these drives at any cost and to avoid any dissatisfaction in life, called the pleasure principle (Storr 2001: 60–61). The second part of the human mind distinguished by Freud is the ego (the conscious). It is shaped in the course of interaction with the external world, through which social norms and rules are inscribed on the body; simultaneously, it tries to satisfy the id without breaking the social rules and facing unpleasant consequences. Sticking to the reality principle, the ego acts as an intermediary between the id’s urges and the generally accepted standards of behaviour. It can control the id’s passions, waiting for some more opportune time and situation or completely restraining them. (Storr 2001: 61–62) The importance of the body in this process of inculcating what is appropriate and inappropriate is crucial as the body takes part in the creation of one’s sense of identity. Moreover, the narcissistic characteristic of the ego makes it impossible for the subject to be indifferent to the body: the subject has either a positive or negative attitude towards it as the corporeal existence is assigned some meaning. This could be illustrated with the examples of people who commit suicide, mu- tilate or starve themselves and hence express their dissent. They prove that the psyche and the soma cannot be treated as separate, but rather as mutually reliant. (Grosz 1994: 28, 32–33) The third element of the human mind is called the super-ego. It is formed in childhood in the process of incorporating the system of morals and values learned from parents and other adults (Storey 2009: 92). Adopting the moral standards accepted in the society, the child starts to look at itself more critically and tries to conform to the model of conduct set by adults, named by Freud the “ego-ideal.” The contradictory demands of the id and the super-ego force the ego to employ certain strategies that help to convey the unacceptable urges in an acceptable way, so that one avoids the feelings of discomfort and uneasiness, releasing the inner tension (Hentschel et al. 2004: 6). These are defence mechanisms which “arise as the body’s own sieve, filtering out an alternate reality in favour of the reality that the mind prefers” (Brassfield http://www.lifescript.com). Below I present just those mechanisms relevant for this article: Facing the repressed 103 a) Reaction formation is a process in which one reverses the unacceptable urge into its opposite. b) Projection consists in ascribing other people one’s unwanted emotions and thoughts, so that one can put oneself in the position of the person that is per- secuted. c) Denial is a form of defence in which one consciously denies the existence of some people or facts because they make him or her feel uneasy. d) Repression takes place when one pushes unpleasant facts from one’s conscious into the unconscious (yet, they are not actually forgotten). e) Undoing is connected with reversing the attempted actions and behaviours in such a way that the object of the threatening ideas is not hurt by them. Usually, one engages in actions contrary to those one wanted to take. f) Turning against oneself often takes the form of self-harm. By this behaviour one tries to deal with the negative feelings toward oneself such as low self-esteem. g) In somatization one transforms psychical tensions into physical symptoms and tries to cope with the inner conflict by focusing on these symptoms. (Kline 2004: 44–45, 48; Ryan 2007: 96) Although defence mechanisms are supposed to protect the ego from anxiety, Freud notices that the suppressed material, even if pushed out of consciousness, may always unexpectedly reappear, reminding us that it has not been completely eliminated from our mind. It can be evoked when one reads the texts or sees the images that, though deviant or appalling, attract one’s attention (Freud 1919: 45 in LeDrew). Once it happens, one feels discomfort realising that the thing that ought to have been kept away from sight has found a way to resurface. Such an experience produces the effect of “the uncanny” whose existence is explained as the method through which the id tries to cope with the constraints imposed by culture. (LeDrew, http://www.psychoanalysis-and-therapy.com) A special instance of the uncanny, often represented in literature and film, is the double, known also as the doppelgänger. The beginnings of this motif can be traced back to the pagan mythologies where the double was usually the embodiment of the spirit of natural forces which visited the living to indicate that there is “some disbalance and disorder in a communal exchange between man and nature” (Živković 2000: 123–124). With the increasing interest in folklore among the Romantic artists in the 19th century, the doppelgänger started to be seen as the manifestation of a split personality, not revealed to the public because “it returns us to an encounter with our own ‘heart of darkness’ – that area which has been ‘silenced by culture’” (Živković 2000: 125). Thus, it is not surprising that Freud explored this topic in his essay on the uncanny as it ideally portrays the struggle 104 Małgorzata Borońska between the id, ego and super-ego. On the basis of his conclusions, it is possible to interpret the double from the psychoanalytic point of view in two ways. The first one is to treat it as the embodiment of the simultaneously felt hatred and love towards the alter ego (Faurholt, http://www.doubledialogues.com). The second one indicates the existence of another part of one’s personality which, though strange, is interesting and sits in one’s unconscious. Having identified what the double stands for, a protagonist of a film or a book decides to eliminate it, which symbolizes the achieved suppression of the threatening urges. However, due to the fact that these urges are only suppressed, there is always the possibility that the doppelgänger will reappear.

Docile femininity in ballet As Deirdre Kelly notices in her book on the history of ballet, ballerinas have been perceived in two completely different ways since this type of performance dance became widely acclaimed as sophisticated, aristocratic entertainment at the French court in the 17th century. People who knew what their lives looked like off- stage, identified ballerinas with fallen women from poor backgrounds who found in ballet a way to social advancement by capturing the attention of male spectators who occupied high social standings. Having become aristocrats’ or (after the French Revolution) businessmen’s mistresses, female dancers received financial support and, for a while, a stabilization in difficult life situations. (Kelly 2012: 9) On the other hand, the Romantic ballet reflected the “classical,” patriarchal views that emphasized “tradition, chivalry, and […] hierarchy of all kinds – gender, performer’s rank, the distinction between types of roles, spectators’ placement, stage organization, the canon” (Daly 1997:112). That is why the tragic heroines of some ballets, such as Giselle or Swan Lake, though betrayed by their beloved, never take revenge, but are always innocent victims who accept their destiny (Alderson 1987: 295–296; Banes 2005: 61–62). Female dancers, in the opinions of 19th-century critics, were not destined for playing parts requiring some activity because the women’s role in ballet was to embody beauty and poise, attract spectators’ eyes and be adored. These were male dancers who performed the parts of the characters that actively shaped the course of the staged history (Daly 1997: 113). The best illustration of these views is the structure of the famous pas de deux in which the ballerina’s movements depend mainly on the support of her male partner (Daly 1987: 13). At the beginning of the 20th century, the situation of the ballerina in her company started to be more and more under her choreographers’ control. Often responsible also for organizing and financing ballet performances, the choreographer Facing the repressed 105 treated the ballerina as merely a tool for embodying and staging his visions and ideas, which decided about the company’s commercial success. This new way of managing ballet companies found its most famous representative in the person of George Balanchine, the cofounder of the New York City Ballet (Kelly 2012: 87). His statement that “ballet is woman” did not refer to women’s importance, but to their eye-catching role. Stating that “man is a better cook, a better painter, a better musi- cian, composer. Everything is man – sports – everything. […] And woman accepts this. It is her business to accept. She knows what’s beautiful” (Gruen 1976: 284 in Daly 1987: 11), Balanchine implied that the female dancer’s role is to captivate the male audience and satisfy their fantasies, and that “the women’s function is to fascinate men” (Lewis 1976: 45 in Daly 1987: 17). Balanchine also expected ballerinas’ bodies to create the “illusion of weightlessness.” The all-pervasive presence of mirrors in studios as well as the careful scrutiny of the dancers’ appearance by the choreographer made many dancers become obsessed with their weight and acting, feeling constantly insecure and not perfect enough. The fact that Balanchi- ne was so preoccupied with moulding the ballerinas’ bodies in accordance with his standards deprived them of any individuality and, as Judith Hanna notices, degraded them to the role of machines or robots that have to work properly and efficiently. (Kelly 2012: 91–94)

The White Swan and the Black Swan: Nina’s encounters with the doubles It is no accident that Nina’s delusions start taking place the moment she meets Lily and begins her training for the lead role in Swan Lake. Having dared to be seductive to Thomas, the artistic director of the company, Nina discovers that the role of perfect ballerina does not only consist in being docile but also provocative. It turns out that the ideal of femininity in ballet still requires that a ballerina should be simultaneously innocent and tempting in order to catch the attention of wealthy sponsors for the company. Lily, set to her as a model of dancing to follow, is the embodiment of these features of character that, though unacceptable from the perspective of the discipline she lives in, arouse Nina’s curiosity and concealed admiration. Nina observes how effortlessly Lily trains at the rehearsal, flirts with male dancers – and this is probably the time when Nina’s hidden feelings of allurement and hostility towards her repressed self become liberated, and the inhibited thoughts return. Lily, in contrast to Nina, does not forgo eating fatty food, drinking alcohol and socializing. She talks about sexual matters in crude terms, not being ashamed of this sphere of life. Subconsciously, Nina would like to be as self-confident as Lily, but the rules she has been taught and the image of ideal 106 Małgorzata Borońska femininity she is supposed to represent stand in contradiction to her super-ego and do not allow her to follow this path. On the other hand, Nina adopts a negative attitude towards Lily due to the fact that she makes Nina conscious of the lack of excitement and passion in her life. Furthermore, Lily wins Thomas’ recognition, and thus Nina becomes obsessed with the thought that Thomas will replace her with Lily. The story of Odette from Swan Lake starts to resemble Nina’s situation: she fears that like the docile Odette she will lose to the more seductive opponent, because in the patriarchal system in which ballet functions, it is Thomas who decides about the cast to the performance. Jealous of Lily’s sensuousness, Nina projects on her the feelings she does not accept as they do not match the image of the “sweet girl” for whom she is commonly taken. She claims that Lily wants to take over the role of the Swan Queen, hallucinating that Lily seduces Thomas, while actually it is Nina who has tried to please Thomas with the intention of replacing Beth, the previous prima ballerina and his mistress. Nina’s behaviour can be regarded as displaying classical ego defences: reaction formation, when the admiration towards Lily is turned into hatred, and projection, with Lily being ascribed the emotions that do not fit the image of a “sweet girl.” Nina’s first encounter with a double takes place when she returns home, devastated that Thomas has not chosen her to the lead role. She blames this on Lily, who has interrupted her presentation, entering the rehearsal room. Going through the passageway, she sees a woman with her face, in black garment, with loose hair and an appealing look. She is the opposite of upset, insecure Nina. If we take into consideration the fact that Nina does not acknowledge Thomas’ decision and trains at home, it is possible to deduce that she must have planned earlier how she would convince Thomas. She has stolen Beth’s possessions to resemble the ex-prima ballerina and arouse Thomas’ interest. Thus, the first double can be interpreted as the embodiment of her seductive nature and suppressed sexuality, which Nina is afraid of, but does not hesitate to use. It could also be taken for the materialization of Nina’s ruthlessness in her aspirations, which would explain why Nina is so consumed with guilt over Beth’s suicide attempt. Having met the first double in the passageway, Nina starts hallucinating that she has a bleeding rash on her shoulder blade. Nina’s mother reproaches her for scratching herself, which would prove that the rash that we could see at the beginning of the film actually no longer exists. Since then, Nina has observed herself in the mirrors and the recurring rash becomes her obsession, as well as the impression that her cuticle is bleeding. These symptoms could be construed as symbols of her internal, spiritual imperfection that she does not want to recognize and the Facing the repressed 107 reason why she seeks relief in masochistic excoriations. On the one hand, Nina punishes herself for this imperfection, scratching herself even more, but on the other the marks that are left on her body only make her spiritual flaws evident in the physical dimension. It is possible to identify two more ego defences in this behaviour. The first one is somatization: Nina unconsciously converts psychical tension into physical symptoms and tries to cope with the inner conflict focusing on these symptoms. The other one is turning against herself: Nina harms her body to deal with the negative feelings she has towards herself. Hence, Nina’s body becomes a text on which her suffering is inscribed and a medium of expressing what she is not able to articulate verbally. Nina meets the second double after a chat with Lily, which takes place shortly after Thomas has humiliated her, asking Nina’s dancing partner whether he is interested in such a passionless girl. Left alone, Nina cries and suddenly Lily enters the rehearsal room and asks her if Thomas is not too demanding and coarse for her. When Nina defends Thomas, Lily suggests that “someone’s hot for teacher.” Nina does not deny and leaves the room without a word. Having returned home, Nina has a bath and touches herself. While doing this, she sees the blood drops falling on the surface of the water and then notices the double with Lily’s face above her. Then, she spots that the rash and cuticle bleed again. This delusion can be interpreted as the illustration of Nina’s loss of virginity, symbolized by blood drops. Furthermore, it may be construed as the depiction of Nina’s wish to appeal to Thomas. Thus, Nina’s intention resembles that of Odile from Swan Lake, who wants to trick Prince Siegfried. Additionally, the second delusion could be the representation of the fact that it is Lily to whom she is actually attracted. Nina may fantasize about Lily, but when she sees Lily’s double, she is aghast because homosexual fantasies are unbecoming for the “sweet girl.” These “improper” thoughts leave their mark in the form of hallucinated injuries, which are signs of masochistic punishment. In this double Lily is the personification of the sexual side that Nina wants to erase from her mind. The next encounter with a double is preceded by Nina’s visit to the club, where she talks to Lily about Thomas. Lily brings to Nina’s attention that the phrase used by Thomas, a “little princess,” is a compliment paid to Nina with a view to make her his next girlfriend because he called Beth in the same way. She suggests to Nina that she should take a rest from Thomas and her painful experiences. In order to achieve this, Lily adds to Nina’s drink a drug and lends her black underwear, which might symbolize the Black Swan’s sensuality. Under the influence of the drug, Nina gives free rein to her fantasies and unrestricted sexuality: as she claims later, she has slept with two guys from the club. Then, Nina returns home by taxi, where Lily 108 Małgorzata Borońska caresses her at the back seat. At home, Nina barricades herself in her room and has sex with Lily. However, there comes a moment when Lily’s face morphs into Nina’s. The double smiles, saying “sweet girl,” and throws a pillow on Nina’s face. When she returns to the rehearsal, Nina meets Lily and learns that what she saw the previous day did not happen in reality: it was a dream. Since that moment, her paranoia deepens because this secret is now known to her main “enemy,” Lily. That is why Nina cannot look into the eyes of her double which she sees in the rehearsal room the day before the Swan Lake premiere. The more she learns about her unstable, Odile-like psyche, the more she tries to perfect her performance: she works out as the last person in the theatre. There Nina is under the delusion that Thomas and Lily, dressed as the Black Swan, have sex backstage. Then, suddenly Lily’s face once again turns into Nina’s, whereas Thomas morphs into Rothbart: a villain from Swan Lake who puts Odette under a spell, turning her into a swan. This double can be a projection of Nina’s fears that she is only a sexual object for Thomas and this role will lead her to the same tragedy as Beth’s. More and more consumed with guilt, Nina visits Beth in hospital and returns the stolen possessions, explaining that she just wanted to be as perfect as her. Beth takes the returned emery board and stabs her own face. This view scares Nina, who runs from hospital to her apartment, where, once again, she finds her double with Beth’s face covered in blood. It seems that this double is a bad omen of Nina’s future, portending that Nina’s unstable self will lead her to the same mental and physical debilitation as Beth’s. The act of self-destruction takes place during the performance, in Nina’s dressing room, when she hallucinates that Lily sits at her dressing table and prepares for the role of the Swan Queen. Then comes a fight between both women, during which Nina stabs the double with a piece of the mirror and hides its body in the bathroom. At the interval between the acts of the ballet, Nina is visited by real Lily, which makes her realise that in fact she has hurt herself, not Lily. Nevertheless, she plays her role till the end, when Thomas and Lily notice the stain of blood on her abdomen.

Conclusion It could be stated that having stabbed her double and with it her threatening urges that would spoil the image of the “sweet girl,” Nina symbolically and actually destroyed herself. The suppression of the dark Other has become successful, but there is a chance that the double will return, even if Nina has not hurt herself mortally. She has not managed to liberate herself from the gender ideology conveyed by the institution of ballet. Despite noticing that the ballet ideology aims at objectifying Facing the repressed 109 and making her a docile girl, Nina still bases her self-definition on her successes in ballet. She does not find her place beyond this discursive construct, not being able to face and accept her sexuality due to the socially constructed model of femininity that has been inculcated in her since childhood.

References Alderson, Evan. 1987. “Ballet as Ideology: Giselle, Act II,” Dance Chronicle, 10.3, 290–304. Banes, Sally. 2005. Dancing Women: Female Bodies on Stage. London, New York: Routledge. Brassfield, Marissa. “19 Common Defense Mechanisms: How And Why We Use Ego Defense Mechanisms,” www.lifescript.com/well-being/articles/0/19_comm on_ defense_mechanisms.aspx, DOA: November 10, 2014. Daly, Ann. 1987. “The Balanchine Woman: Of Hummingbirds and Channel Swim- m e r s ,” The Drama Review: TDR, 31.1, 8–21. Daly, Ann. 1997. “Classical Ballet: A Discourse of Difference,” in Jane Desmond (ed.) Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance, 111–120. Desmond, Jane (ed.) 1997. Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance. Durham: Duke University Press. Faurholt, Gry. 2009. “Self as Other: The Doppelgänger,” Double Dialogues 10, http:// www.doubledialogues.com/issue_ten/faurholt.html, DOA: November 10, 2014. Grosz, Elizabeth. 1994. Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism. Blooming- ton, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Hentschel, Uwe, Juris G. Draguns, Wolfram Ehlers, and Gudmund Smith (eds.) 2004. Defense Mechanisms: Theoretical, Research and Clinical Perspectives. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Kelly, Deirdre. 2012. Ballerina: Sex, Scandal, and Suffering Behind the Symbol of Perfection. Vancouver: Greystone Books. Kline, Paul. 2004. “A Critical Perspective on Defense Mechanisms,” in Uwe Hent- schel, Juris G. Draguns, Wolfram Ehlers and Gudmund Smith (eds.) Defense Mechanisms: Theoretical, Research and Clinical Perspectives, 43–54. LeDrew, Stephen. 2009. “Freedom and Determinism: The Uncanny in Psychoanal- ysis and Existentialism,” http://www.psychoanalysis-and-therapy.com/articles/ ledrew.html, DOA: November 10, 2014. Ryan, Michael. 2007. Literary Theory: A Practical Introduction. Malden: Blackwell. Storey, John. 2009. Cultural Theory and Popular Culture: An Introduction. Harlow: Pearson Education. 110 Małgorzata Borońska

Storr, Anthony. 2001. Freud. A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Živković, Milica. 2000. “The Double as The ‘Unseen’ of Culture: Toward a Defi- nition of Doppelganger,” Facta Universitatis: Linguistics and Literature. 2. 7, 121–128.

Film Black Swan. 2010. Dir. Darren Aronofsky. Phoenix Pictures Studio. Joanna Antoniak Fatherlessness and postmodern society: Absent fatherhood and father hunger in Jonathan Safran Foer’s fiction

Abstract: Postmodern society is characterised by cultural fatherlessness, with absent fatherhood and father hunger influencing every aspect of human life. In this article, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated (2002) and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2012) are analysed as presenting father hunger as a universal postmodern condition.

Introduction The noun “father” can be defined simply as “a male parent” (Longman 2005: 575). The concepts of “fatherhood” and “father figure” are equally easy to define as, respectively, “the state of being a father” and “an older man who you trust and respect” (Longman 2005: 576). The aforementioned simplicity of presented concepts suggests that those notions can not only be classified as the most essential and fundamental ones in human civilisation, but also found among different cultures. The importance and sacredness of fatherhood seem to be highlighted by the disdain with which even the members of the most primitive cultures approach the crime of patricide. Moreover, the significance of the father’s involvement in taking care of children is reflected in the impact his absence has on the child’s psyche and personality. The theme of the absent father can be found in the works of a contemporary American writer Jonathan Safran Foer, the novels Everything Is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

The concepts of the absent father: Freudian and Lacanian approaches The postmodern notion of the absent father has its roots in the findings of the key figures in psychoanalysis: Sigmund Freud and Jacques Lacan. Freud is known for coining the term “Oedipus complex” used to describe the situation in which “the boy’s close involvement with his mother’s body leads him to unconscious desire for sexual union with her, whereas the girl, who has been similarly bound up with the mother and whose first desire is therefore always homosexual, begins to turn 112 Joanna Antoniak her libido towards the father” (Eagleton 2008: 134). The tension between the child and the parents begins when the father interrupts the mother-infant relationship. In Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality (1905) Freud states that the Oedipus complex influences the sexuality of adults and that it is necessary to master it in order to properly function in the society; the inability to do so results in the development of neurosis (Freud 2000: 92). Moreover, according to Freud, the father complex is characterised by emotional ambivalence which, in consequence, forms the basis of many social prohibitions such as that against patricide, as well as important cultural institutions such as the ruler. Although the origins of this ambivalence are unknown, Freud favours the possibility that it “was acquired by the human race in connection with their father-complex” (Freud 2004: 182). The Freudian Oedipus complex also became the basis for the Lacanian concept of the Name-of-the-Father (http://courses.nus.edu.sg). In his works, Lacan distinguishes between the real father and the imaginary father. Lacan defines the real father as the biological father of the object and “the agent […] who performs the operation of symbolic castration” (in Evans 2006: 63), therefore playing the crucial role in the Oedipus complex. In contrast, the imaginary father is constructed as either an ideal and protective father or as the cruel and terrifying one. This symbolic father – the Name-of-the-Father – plays an enormous role in a child’s cultural, social, and psychological development. The intrusion of the father, not the natural one though, into the relation between the mother and the child, not only stops the doomed incestuous relationship, but also ensures that the child will be able to establish normal romantic relations with other people (Lacan 2006: 95). The symbolic father is also the imposer of the Law and prohibitions (Evans 2006: 122). Similarly to Freud, Lacan also claims that, as the role of the symbolic father is so important in child’s life, his absence often results in psychosis (Lacan 2006: 481).

The absent father and father hunger: postmodern approaches The Lacanian concept of the Name-of the Father has become the foundation of the postmodern psychoanalysis approach to the absence of the father and its influence on the child. American psychiatrist James L. Schaller distinguishes two types of what he calls “father deficiency”: obvious deficiency, where the father is permanently absent from the child’s life, and broad deficiency which “occurs when a father lives at home but provides little or no quality parenting” (Schaller, http://www.personalconsult.com). Such isolation from the child, marked by emotional coldness, is very often characteristic for fathers addicted to drugs or alcohol, sexually and physically abusive fathers, insecure fathers, fathers with too high Fatherlessness and postmodern society 113 standards and expectations, physically weak and chronically ill fathers, and emotionally isolated fathers. (Schaller, http://www.personalconsult.com) Effective fathers, as Michael J. Diamond calls them, “were not only absent from the popular imagination, but from the professional literature as well” (http://www. drmichaeljdiamond.com). This period of “ignorance” ended in the 1970s due to the fight for women’s rights resulting in more flexible gender roles and the development of paediatrics and psychology. Nowadays, more and more people recognize the uniqueness of the father’s role in raising children and the impact he has on them “from the day of conception, beyond his own death, until the day [the child] dies” (Diamond, http://www.drmichaeljdiamond.com). Edward Kruk describes the impact of the father’s absence as “holistic” as it influences not only the child’s psyche, but also other aspects of its life. According to Kruk, the father’s absence is devastating for the child: fatherless children, apart from having a diminished self-concept and a feeling of security, are also unable to deal with emotions, have difficulties with social adjustments and the formation of deep and healthy relationships, and often develop an intimidating and violent persona as well as turn to drugs and alcohol to numb their physical and mental health problems. Moreover, the absence of the father also negatively affects children’s academic performance, which, in turn, may lead to homelessness and unemployment in their adulthood. Kruk concludes his findings stating that “father absence may well be the most critical social issue of our time … [and] ‘father deficit’ should be treated as a public health issue” (Kruk, http://www.psychologytoday.com). According to Kruk, the answer to this problem lies in the society itself. In the Western society, a father is treated as a second-class parent whose only role is that of a provider. Also, both boys and girls are taught that, because of the special bond between the mother and the child, men are not able to connect with an infant. Moreover, our culture promotes the image of a man who does not show emotions or affections which are perceived as belonging to the feminine sphere. As a result, fathers distance themselves from their families as much as possible, leaving their children without the affection and emotional closeness they need. (Kruk, http:// www.personalconsult.com) Similar conclusions have been reached by Margo Maine and James L. Schaller, who claim that, instead of blaming fathers for their absence and inability to support their children, scholars should focus on the way the Western culture has limited the man’s role to that of a provider and, at the same time, placed him on the border of the family (Schaller, http://www.personalconsult.com). As long as in modern consumer societies fatherhood is perceived through the thickness of 114 Joanna Antoniak one’s wallet − the more money a man earns, the better father he is − the fragile link between the father and his children would be impaired. (Maine 2004: 25) According to Maine, in the era of feminism, young men “often grow up devoid of deep connections and […] deprived of meaningful relationships with father figures” (2004: 84). Moreover, Western culture forces boys to separate with a loving mother and connect with a distant and demanding father. The loss of the mother, however, is very traumatic and “the father’s absence, disinterest, harsh criticism, unrealistic expectations or […] rejection” (Maine 2004: 85) only deepen this trauma. As a remedy to father hunger, she proposes a shift in the way Western culture perceives fatherhood and family: from a provider and a second-class parent to the active participant in all spheres of family life.

Everything Is Illuminated (2002): the story of father’s absence The protagonists of Safran’s novel represent two extremes: Alex Perchov, a young Ukrainian obsessed with American culture, is contrasted with Jonathan Safran Foer, an American Jew obsessed with his grandfather’s past. The two men are not able to communicate because their world views are based on stereotypes: Alex treats Jonathan as a spoiled and stupid Jew (Foer 2003: 3) and the young American assumes that the other man is, like his ancestors, an anti-Semite (Foer 2003: 63). Alexander Perchov is the first character introduced to the readers. He describes himself as a popular, socially successful, and handsome 20-year-old man: he has many friends who adore him and want to spend their free time with him; girls find him interesting and attractive; he is a very good student and an exceptional dancer (Foer 2003: 1–4). However, this is only a mask he wears to hide his true thoughts and emotions caused by his father emotional coldness and aggression. In his description Alex presents his father as a ruthless man. He resembles Sla- voj Žižek’s traditional father who acknowledges his children’s desires and needs, but at the same time does not accept them, forcing other family members to do what he wants them to do (Taylor 2010: 131). This pathological need to control his family and the inability to accept any signs of disagreement are visible in his relationship with both of his sons, particularly Alex (Foer 2003: 4). The man’s need to control is visible in his insistence to refer to his son as “Shapka” rather than using his first name and forcing his children to do as he wishes. He also uses physical violence to exercise his control over his family. Physical abuse, defined by Schaller as one of the main factors behind the broad father deficiency, seems to be omnipresent in the Perchov family, despite the fact that the topic is never explicitly discussed in the narrative; however, there are several hints and allusions that strongly suggest the seriousness of the problem. Fatherlessness and postmodern society 115

At the beginning of the novel Alex calls his father “a first-rate puncher” (Foer 2003: 6) and then he very often mentions how his father treated him when he was a child. He says that he remembers “when [he] was a boy and Father would punch [him], and after he would say, ‘It does not hurt. It does not hurt.’ And the more he would utter it, the more it was faithful. [Alex] believed him, in some measure because [he] too did not want it to hurt” (Foer 2003: 115). In one of his letters to Jonathan, the young man writes: “I must inform you, Jonathan, that I am a very sad person. I am always sad, I think” (Foer 2003: 227). This quotation suggests that Alex may suffer from depression caused by constant physical and psychological abuse, the condition described by Kruk as characteristic for children suffering from father hunger. Yet, despite being constantly humiliated and abused by his father, it can be argued that the young man still tries to impress him. Alex hopes that his achievements at the university will make the man proud. Later, he reveals that he has been lying about his supposedly rich sexual life because he does not want to disappoint his father, who claims that a true man should be also a Casanova. The young man desperately tries to fulfil his father’s expectations, his behaviour illustrating Schaller’s theory concerning “emotional orphans” and their almost pathological need to please the people around them. What is more, those expectations corre- spond with social ones, according to which, in order to prove their masculinity, men should be not only sexually active, but also successful in this particular sphere of their lives. The social norm defining masculinity is even more visible in Alex’s comment on the difference between him and his father in understanding love. Everything changes after the journey with Jonathan as, thanks to their friend- ship, Alex gains a new perspective on life and becomes a different person. This transformation is important as a year later the family of the young Ukrainian deteriorates: his father starts drinking heavily and beats Igor almost every day. Alex tries to protect his brother from the abusive father, but he does not always manage to do so. Alex assumes his father’s role of looking after his own family, especially his little brother for whom he feels responsible. He also realises the parental absence in his family which causes him to compensate for it. However, the young man seems to be scared of the new situation. The possibility that sons resemble their fathers suggested by Jonathan deeply saddens Alex who claims that when “[he] look[s] in the reflection, what [he] view[s] is not Father, but the negative of the Father” (Foer 2003: 54). This passage suggests that Alex may be worried that, in the future, he will copy his father’s behaviour, which will eventually lead to the vicious circle of the father’s absence and father hunger discussed by Maine. However, in his last words to his father – “Take it … and never return” 116 Joanna Antoniak

(Foer 2003: 274) – Alex shows willingness to forgive him all his wrongdoings. Those final words also indicate that Alex wants not only to forget about his past and start a new life, but also to break the vicious circle of father hunger in order to protect his younger sibling from the same fate. Alex’s narrative can be interpreted as a story of a young person slowly realising that they suffer from father hunger. However, this process of realization has its roots in the change of one’s surroundings resulting in challenging one’s ways of perceiving the world. The self-portrait painted by Alex suggests that he has a diminished sense of self-concept and feels insecure. In order to deal with these feelings, he tries to win his father’s approval through adopting the persona of a successful young man and telling lies to convince his father that he wants to follow his way of living. Alex hopes that pleasing his father will win him the man’s love. Moreover, the young man seems to be unable to deal with his emotions. When Alex witnesses his brother crying after a particularly nasty beat-up, he starts to laugh. His reaction, although shocking and even disturbing to some readers, may be perceived as a repressive mechanism used when emotions are too difficult to face. Alex’s confession about his unhappiness may suggest that the young man suffers from depression, which, according to Kruk, is a condition common among children with emotionally cold and abusive fathers. Alex also displays behaviour characteristics for Schaller’s “emotional orphan”: he tries to please, first his father, then his brother, and, finally, the rest of the family. Alex also blames himself for everything bad that happens to his relatives, although those matters have been outside his control. It is worth noticing that in his narrative Alex always capitalises the word “father”; such tendency can be perceived as a reference to the Lacanian concept of the “Name-of-the-Father,” or the symbolic father. Moreover, the presence of the symbolic father is crucial for the development of language, as his absence disturbs the process. Although English is not the protagonist’s first language, the way he uses it may be seen as an unconscious manifestation of the father’s absence. The emotional absence of the father in Alex’s life seems to affect the process of learning the foreign language as the young man’s insistence on using words in the wrong context can be seen as the lack of ability to follow and understand rules which, in “healthy” families, are introduced to children by their fathers. Although Jonathan is deprived of his own voice, from his letters to Alex it can be concluded that his life is dominated by women, namely his mother and grandmother. However, it is his grandmother with whom Jonathan has the strongest connection. Jonathan’s grandmother is not only the guardian of the young man’s safety but also a person who has instilled in him love for words and probably Fatherlessness and postmodern society 117 encouraged him to become a writer. The role of a protector is assumed by women as men are absent from Jonathan’s life: Safran died before his grandchildren were born and the young American’s father is never mentioned. This absence in the narrative may be interpreted as the manifestation of the permanent father’s absence in Jonathan’s life.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2005): the story of parental abandonment The most important person in the life of nine-year-old Oskar Schell was his father, Thomas. Oskar “loved having a dad who was smarter than the New York Times, and … loved how [his] cheek could feel the hairs on his chest through his T-shirt, and how he always smelled like shaving, even at the end of the day” (Foer 2012: 12). The boy highlights that “[b]eing with him made my brain quiet. I didn’t have to invent a thing” (Foer 2012: 12). It seems that only in his father’s company the boy felt loved and safe. After his father’s death, Oskar suffers from depression, anxiety and the feeling of loss. His state affects his everyday life as sometimes even the simplest action seems to be too difficult and too challenging to do. The boy also develops a habit of inventing things which can be seen as a repressive mechanism used by the boy to deal with the trauma caused both by the father’s death and the terrorist attacks on World Trade Center as they occupy his mind and help him forget about the reality. This theory is supported by the fact that most of Oskar’s inventions, such as a birdseed shirt or skyscrapers with safety nets, are designed to save lives. Oskar’s trauma of losing his father seems to be deepened by the fact that the boy was the only person who heard the man’s last messages recorded on their answering machine (Foer 2012: 15). After listening to the recordings, Oskar did not know what to do: call his mother; contact his grandmother via walkie-talkie; hide under his bed; or run downtown to save his father (Foer 2012: 68). He blames himself for being too scared to answer the phone when his father rang home for the last time. The main plot of the novel concerns Oskar’s search for the lock which is opened by the key he found in his father’s closet after the man’s death. At the beginning, the boy sees his mission as the way of coming to terms with his father’s sudden death. However, when his search proves to be fruitless he realizes that he misses his father more than when he started, “even though the whole point was to stop missing him” (Foer 2012: 255; original emphasis). Hence, Oskar’s search for the mysterious lock is not only the means of satisfying his curiosity or connecting with his father, but also a therapeutic way of dealing with loss, grief, and anger. 118 Joanna Antoniak

Due to the death of his father, Oskar suffers from the obvious father deficiency. The boy, like other fatherless children, has a diminished sense of self-concept and of security; he is also unable to deal with his emotions and has several episodes of self-loathing, during which he squeezes his skin hard enough to bruise it. However, it should be remembered that Oskar’s psychological reaction to the absence of the father is deepened by the trauma of the man’s tragic death. Oskar’s actions, though, are characteristic for people suffering from father hunger. The boy’s search for the lock can be perceived as an attempt to fill the emotional “hole” left by father’s absence. Oskar’s loyalty and mimicry of his father’s behaviour − when he meets people, he tries to imitate Thomas’ gestures and tone − can be interpreted as a way of dealing with anger and sadness caused by the loss. Moreover, the boy tries to control his environment through developing anxious and obsessive-compulsive disorders; for instance, he refuses to wear clothes in other colours than white. It is also worth noticing that Oskar’s father hunger does not seem to be less prominent, despite the fact that Thomas’ disappearance from the boy’s life was not the result of a conscious choice. The nine-year-old yearns for his father even more, his feeling of abandonment fuelled by the man’s tragic death. Although Oskar’s father hunger is the main focus of the novel, he is not the only character who suffers from it. Similarly to his son, Thomas Schell Jr. suffers from the obvious father deficiency. However, despite the permanent father’s absence from his life, the man does not seem to display any symptoms of father hunger. The only significant sign is the strange need to resemble his father visible, for instance, in the decision of running the family jewellery shop. Thomas seems to be aware of the danger posed by the lack of father in his life: he breaks the vicious circle of father hunger as he tries to create a healthy and loving family for his only son. Alt- hough he himself was deprived of fatherly love, the man becomes a model father.

Conclusion In his novels, Foer presents the impact of fatherlessness and father hunger on the postmodern society. Foer manages to cover the whole spectrum of behaviours associated with father hunger, creating a very realistic portrayal of the contemporary society, at the same time connecting it with the experience of the previous generations. In both Everything Is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close it is suggested that the vicious circle of the father’s absence and father hunger has its roots in the trauma of World War II. Moreover, the postmodern structure of the novels highlights the characters’ confusion and inability to cope with the conflicting emotions resulting from father hunger. Split into two semi-independent arcs and characterised by peculiar use Fatherlessness and postmodern society 119 of English, wordplays and non-textual means, the two narratives represent the protagonists’ state of mind and, at the same time, suggest that the language fails to convey the whole array of emotions and thoughts. Additionally, the first-person narrator, although he might be seen as unreliable, helps the readers to connect with the protagonist not only on the level of similar experience, but also through the way of perceiving the world. Giving the voice to only one character mirrors the way the readers themselves observe their surroundings, “reading” other people and trying to create the whole picture from the pieces of information. The absent father and father hunger are depicted in Foer’s novels as a sign of the postmodern society. Lost, confused and affected by the tragic past of the previous generations reinforced by the feelings of abandonment and insecurity, Foer’s protagonists show that the condition they suffer from is universal. Father hunger affects people of different age, nationality, religion, socio-economical level, and ethnic background.

References Diamond, Michael J. “Suggested Questions for Michael J. Diamond, Author of ‘My Father Before Me: How Fathers and Sons Influence Each Other Throughout Their Lives,’” http://www.drmichaeljdiamond.com/docs/MJD_SuggestedQue stionsRevisedwithAnwsers_20070621.pdf, DOA: December 2, 2012. Eagleton, Terry. 2008 [1983]. Literary Theory: An Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Evans, Dylan. 2006. An Introductory Dictionary of Lacanian Psychoanalysis. London-New York: Routledge. Foer, Jonathan Safran. 2002. Everything Is Illuminated: A Novel. New York-London- Toronto-Sydney: Harper Perennial. Foer, Jonathan Safran. 2012. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. London: Pen- guin Books. Freud, Sigmund. 2000 [1905]. Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality. New York: Basic Books. Freud, Sigmund. 2004 [1913]. Totem and Taboo. London-New York: Routledge. Kruk, Edward. “Father Absence, Father Deficit, Father Hunger: The Vital Impor- tance of Parental Presence in Children’s Lives,” http://www.psychologytoday. com/blog/co-parenting-after-divorce/201205/father-absence-father-deficit-fa ther-hunger, DOA: February 4, 2013. Lacan, Jacques. [1970] 2006. Ecrits. New York-London: W.W. Norton & Company. Maine, Margo. 2004. Father Hunger: Fathers, Daughters, and the Pursuit of Thin- ness. Carlsbad, CA: Gürze Books. 120 Joanna Antoniak

Schaller, James L. “The Search for Lost Fathering: Rebuild Your Father Relation- ship,” http://www.personalconsult.com/books/lostfathering1.html, DOA: Feb- ruary 4, 2013. Taylor, Paul A. 2010. Žižek and the Media. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Internet source http://courses.nus.edu.sg/course/elljwp/psycholondon.htm, DOA: November 28, 2012.

Dictionary Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English. 2005. Harlow: Pearson Education Limited. Part Four: Re-entering history

Olivier Harenda Apart yet together: The Partition of India as the catalyst for nationalism in post-colonial times

Abstract: The article examines how the historical event of the Partition of India trans- formed the colony into an independent country and a subcontinent of nationalities. It discusses the conquest of India by the British, outlines India’s changing political stage in the 1940s, and explores the direct results of the Partition.

Introduction There are various noticeable connotations which come to people’s minds after hearing the word nationalism. The term is contemporarily associated with a strong sense of patriotism, or, in other words, devotion to one individual’s homeland, which might take radical forms. Yet, in colonial times, this particular ideology served as a means of unification of the oppressed groups against their exploiters in order to achieve independence. A showcase example of such phenomenon is the case of the Republic of India. It is even more remarkable when compared to other post-colonial nations due to the ability of Indian people deriving from highly diversified local cultures to unify for the common cause that obtaining independence actually was. For it has to be noted that prior to the 17th century, India was not technically what we would call today a country, but a territory divided between a few small empires and kingships, inhabited by people from many different cultural as well as religious groups who had never communicated with each other with only one language. Therefore, the aim of the article is to show how exactly the concept of nationalism pushed colonial India towards independence on the basis of the troubling historical episode that the infamous 1947 Partition of India was and how indeed this diversified colony became a subcontinent of nationalities. In order to carry out this analysis, the article firstly provides the historical background of increasing nationalism in British India, next focuses on the events leading up to the Partition, and finally explores the historical episode itself. 124 Olivier Harenda

Growing political climate towards independence The introduction of India to the worldwide stage began at the end of the 15th century; to be more specific, with Vasco da Gama’s discovery of the sea route to the Indian subcontinent in 1498. Since then, the Portuguese as well as the Dutch (mainly operating in Ceylon) started setting up their trading posts in the most populated areas of the subcontinent and therefore laid the foundations for Indo- European commerce. However, it has to be mentioned that when the first foreig- ners set foot on Indian soil, India was not a unified country. To be more precise, the whole of Asia Minor did not have a clearly singled-out piece of land that could have been described as a country. We should bear in mind that we are discussing the times shortly after the end of the European Middle Ages and back then, the Asian continent had all sorts of well-established and medium-sized empires or kingdoms, with Zhongguo Kingdom (the Middle Kingdom, contemporarily known as China) being the largest one. Therefore, India of the 16th century was mostly divided between the reigns of the Mughal Empire (Muslim rule) and gradually expanding Maratha Empire (Hindu rule). It was not until the year of 1612 that the British arrived and, by employing skilful diplomatic means, were granted a permission from the Mughal Emperor to establish the first industrial areas in the state of Gujarat. From then on, the expansion of the British East India Company began. (Marshall 1998: 271–273) Apart from the constant struggle for influence against the Portuguese and the French, the British managed to gain permits for duty-free trade in Bengal. Nevertheless, the Nawab of Bengal opposed such a state of affairs and in 1757 the British troops crushed the Bengali rebellion. In view of the fall of the Nawab, an Englishman, Robert Clive, was appointed as the Governor of Bengal and for the first time ever the East India Company gained an administrative control over a territory in Asia. After this significant victory, the Anglo-Mysore, Anglo-Maratha, Anglo-Sikh, and Anglo-Nepalese conflicts ensued, which enabled the colonisers to acquire more and more of the Indian territories. By the 1850s, the Company controlled roughly 90% of the lands previously occupied by the Mughals and the Marathas. (Das 2009: 48) The Seppoy Rebellion of 1857 was the concluding event in the British struggle for absolute power in India. A mutiny that was brought about by the Indian soldiers of the Company’s army (the seppoys; infantry soldiers) very quickly consumed the central regions of the subcontinent. Unfortunately, poor coordination, lack of strong leadership, little resources, and discordance among the rebels led to their inevitable defeat. The rebellion was suppressed 13 months after it began. Although the colonisers managed to contain the threat, the scale and durability Apart yet together 125 of the armed resistance pushed the British government to ascertain full, direct control over Indian territories, thus relieving the Company from its duties and taking India onto a higher political level, that is the leadership of the Crown, which would last until the decisive year of 1947. (Das 2009: 23)

The Indian National Congress, Mahatma Gandhi, and the Nehru Family Back in 1857, a young administrator of Etawah city in the state of Uttar Pradesh experienced the magnitude of the Seppoys’ rebellion and, unlike his fellow coun- trymen, perceived this desperate act of resistance as a direct result of profound misuse of colonial power. In consequence, that man endeavoured to better the lifestyle of the Indian natives, which would eventually lead to the creation of the largest anti-colonial organisation in India. In 1885, Allan Octavian Hume, an Englishman born and bred, became the co-founder of the Indian National Congress. (Kalmar 1989: 17–18) The organisation’s primary aim was to establish a link of communication between the Indian intellectuals and the British officials, in order to collaborate on resolving the issues of poverty and harmful societal practices (such as, for instance, arranged marriages between children). However, due to continuous reproach and unwillingness to co-operate from the side of the colonial authorities, representatives of the movement eventually decided that its primary focus should be more oppositional to government practices. (Das 2009: 48) The origins of the Indian National Movement can be consequently viewed in terms of double irony. Namely, the movement was created by an Englishman and also very quickly shifted its goals from power-conforming to anti-colonial ones. Yet, allegedly, Hume’s intention was not at all to allow the Indians to fight for their freedom, but rather to avoid the possible danger of the most morbid revolution ever (Kalmar 1989: 17). Hence, founding the Congress was to serve as a distraction for the natives. Nonetheless, instead of the movement of progress and change, the INC entered a state of relative stagnation at the turn of the century. Hume tried to encourage the Hindus to form a dialogue with the British, but sadly the native activists were not very enthusiastic about that. For about 20 years from its creation, the Congress found itself under the control of Anglo-Indians, in whose best interest was to do absolutely nothing on the political stage. This situation lasted until the early 1920s. (Banerjee, http://www.victorianweb.org) When World War I broke out, the Congress reassured the British authorities about its full support for the cause. In addition, a special act was enforced which stated that INC “shall always be at the side of the British Empire” (Kalmar 1989: 126 Olivier Harenda

18). However, in 1919 an enormous wave of strikes spread across India paralysing the state economy. What is more, on the 13th of April of the same year, the infamous Jallianwala Bagh massacre in Amritsar took place.1 The scale of hatred towards the British was constantly growing. The economic crisis of 1920 only escalated the conflict. The same year, Hindus and Muslims for the first time joined their forces under the banner of the Khilafat Movement and protested against the partition of the Ottoman Empire (Das 2009: 71). Although the protesters’ desire to restore the Ottoman Caliphate was an outdated and ill-fated cause, the unification of both religious groups set the scene for the first non-violent campaign of civil disobedience, fighting for the attainment of the so-called Sawaraj (in English, self-rule). This non-cooperation movement was led by Mahatma Gandhi. (Das 2009: 44) Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi arrived in India from South Africa at the beginning of 1915. After returning to his homeland, he was immediately approached by the authorities of the Congress and three years later, Gandhi started an open resistance against the British Raj by organising a 24-hour-long general strike which paralysed the whole subcontinent. Apart from the fact that the Indians did not go to work, transportation was held up, plunging the subcontinent into chaos and generating high financial losses (Jayakar 1992: 70). At that point, Gandhi became the magnet which caught the attention of millions of followers. At the party’s convention, he postulated for peaceful resistance by means of, for example, not wearing clothing imported from England, leaving posts in civil/police/military services, and not sending Indian children to British schools (Das 2009: 81–83). Gandhi named this new philosophy of non-cooperation Satyagraha (direct translation: insistence on truth). It is based on the principles of Ahimsa (Cha- krabarty 2006: 13), a concept deriving from Vedic Texts that consists in the assumptions of causing no harm, since by hurting the other person we also hurt ourselves. In consequence, we should avoid violence at all costs and at all layers of life. Gandhi believed in resistance by adherence to the truth, the baseline of which is that the oppressed have to reject the fear of the oppressor in order to defeat him. (Das 2009: 72) It was at that time when Gandhi encountered the Nehru family. Two prosperous and influential lawyers, Motilal along with his son Jawaharlal, strongly supported the ideas of social progress and socialism. The father and the son were convinced that a liberated India would be capable of leaving behind its backward cultural practices, modernising itself, and growing to the rank of a superpower, equal to

1 On that day, a defenceless crowd of Sikhs was surrounded and executed by English troops (Das 2009: 70). Apart yet together 127 the United Kingdom, by means of proper education, advancing technology, and a properly managed economy. Consequently, this was a major clash between them and Gandhi. The spiritual leader believed in Old India, the land of tradition and withdrawal to the cultural and religious heritage, whereas the Nehrus did not want religious beliefs to be the sole determinants of existence; they wanted to create a secular state in which caste and class division would no longer play a divisional role and one individual would have the capacity to self-excel. Still again, these differences did not prevent the political activists from cooperating together for the common cause. (Kalmar 1989: 84–85)

Other national movements representing religious minorities in India When discussing the key figures and movements behind the process of fighting for the independence of India, we should bear in mind that the Hindus did not chase away the British from the subcontinent singlehandedly and mercifully passed independence over the whole of India. It was the unification and cooperation of many religious groups that, along with the establishment of the INC, created their own political parties and organisations that were meant to act in their people’s best interest during the opposition against the colonisers. The parties collabora- ted together in the period from the 1920s until 1947. The ultimate result of their mutual cooperation was, however, the disastrous Partition of India. First of all, the All-India Muslim League was the second largest party established in British India after the INC. Founded in 1886, and initially known as the Muhammad Educational Conference, it was an association of Muslim individuals who wanted to promote the western style of education among the Muslim society and also enforce teaching Islam as a subject in English schools. It was not until the year 1906 that the movement shifted its spectrum to a political one and reformed itself to become the All-India Muslim League. Since then, the party’s main aims were to protect the civil rights as well as the economic interests of the Indian Muslims of the United Provinces. For over 20 years, the League developed structurally alongside the Indian National Congress and in 1916 the leadership of the party was taken over by Muhammad Ali Jinnah. (Kalmar 1989: 24) The third force on the political stage of colonial India was the Shiromani Akali Dal who represented the Sikh minority. In contrast to the two aforementioned organisations, Akali Dal was founded in 1920, decades later than the INC and the Muslim League. The party supported the concepts of civil disobedience and self-rule; nevertheless, it was more focused on acting on the local scale rather than nationwide. In the 1940s, Akali Dal with its prominent leader, Master Tara Singh, 128 Olivier Harenda started advocating the creation of Khalistan (meaning: the territory) for their own religious minority. Unfortunately, this call for independence was disregarded by the British authorities as well as the Congress during the concluding stages of the transference of power to the Indians. (Das 2009: 296) Another important faction that needs to be mentioned is the Dalit Buddhist Movement. Although it had never engaged in political activity in its own right, the movement had a profound impact on changing the class structure of the colonial society. It was led by Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, a social activist, who would after 1947 become the first Minister of Law of an independent India. He strongly opposed the caste system and the widespread discrimination of Untouchables (the most disregarded and excluded group of society in India). Ambedkar deeply disregarded the divisional practices of Hinduism and publicly advocated the idea of mass conversions to Buddhism. In consequence, the overwhelming quantity of people from the lowest castes started accepting the new religion. Escape from Hinduism became a sociological trend that led Ambedkar to comment that India undergoes denationalisation (http://www.britannica.com). What the politician meant was that people who feel oppressed by Hinduism not only renounce religion itself, but along with it they also reject the emotional affiliation with the concept of Hindustan; as a result, they choose to fight for their individual dignity rather than an idealistic concept of a unified nation. (Chakrabarty 2006: 104–109)

The concept of Pakistan Since the 1930s, there had already been vivid calls among the members of the Muslim League to create a separate state of Pakistan, independent from Hindu Raj. Nevertheless, the party’s leader, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, was quite reserved about such radical measures. However, the leader’s attitude changed in the late 1930s. The flash point that sparked the degradation of the relationship between the INC and the League was the failure to form a political coalition between the two factions in 1937. Mahatma Gandhi tried to alleviate the situation by stating that the citizens of India are inseparable and that there will be no Swaraj without Hindu-Muslim unity (Das 2009: 230). Yet, Jinnah proclaimed the same year that the Congress became his personal enemy. He went on to add that the Congress was a Fascist organisation, whose sole objective was to realise the idea of “Hin- dustan for Hindus” (Das 2009: 206). This falling out with the Congress pushed the Muslims to proceed with the campaign urging the British to divide the Indian subcontinent and establish a separate country for Muslims out of the merger of the western provinces whose largest populations consisted of Muslims. The word itself, Pakistan (Land of the Pure), served not only as an indicator that the land Apart yet together 129 on which they would live was supposed to be solely for pure followers, but it was also a clever composition of the letters taken from the names of, respectively, Punjab, Afghanistan, Sindh, and Balochistan, thus designed in order to evoke a nationalistic feeling among the Muslims. (Kalmar 1989: 104)

British handover of power: 1946–1947 With the outbreak of the Second World War, the magnitude of hatred towards the colonisers in India achieved a snowball effect. This was triggered off by the sole act of the British Empire’s involvement of India into the War without even discussing it with any of the Indian political representatives. Needless to say, many nationalist movements perceived the Second World War as a chance to tear In- dia out of a weakened Britain, which was busy fighting with Germany. However, Mahatma Gandhi intervened and called the Indians to cease any activities related with civil disobedience. As the leader stated, he “did not seek India’s independence out of the ashes of a destroyed Britain” (http://historum.com). As an alternative for outbreaks of violence, Gandhi and Nehru came up with the conception of the “Quit India” Movement, which was implemented in July 1942 (Kalmar 1989: 87, Das 2009: 220). Basically, the Congress demanded that the British forces should leave India after the end of the war. Meanwhile, India should be granted independence immediately and it would participate in the war as a sovereign nation. The captivating name of the movement swiftly fuelled the excitement of the masses, yet in August the same year, the colonisers arrested all of the members of the INC along with the leaders and imprisoned them till the end of the war. Consequently, the Indian people protested in the streets throughout the United Provinces and the authorities were forced to open fire and brutally crush the protesters, killing approximately 1000 people and wounding another 3000. Nevertheless, in order to calm down the public unrest and fully mobilise all of India’s resources for the fight with the Nazis, Britain promised that India would become independent after the end of the war. (Kalmar 1989: 87–89)

The last Viceroy of British India and his mission Once the war was over, the idea of maintaining control in India seemed to be no longer a reasonable option for Britain. Certainly, the United Kingdom wanted to keep at all costs such a lucrative and rich in natural resources colony as India, but it was no longer the same land which they had conquered back in the 17th century. In 1946, there were frequent uprisings across the subcontinent. The most repeated 130 Olivier Harenda instances of violent insubordination were found among the ranks of Royal Indian Navy in Bombay, the Police, Air Forces in Calcutta, as well as British Indian Armed Forces (Kalmar 1989: 100). Britain, exhausted economically after the war, could no longer rely on the unity of the imperial army and maintenance of order in India; consequently, the British Prime Minister Clement Atlee announced that by June 1948 India would definitely have become an independent country. (Das 2009: 246) It was the mission of the last viceroy of India, Lord Louis Mountbatten, to conduct and to ensure the safe handover of power as well as the partition of British India. Members of the Congress already knew Lord Mountbatten from his flawless service in the South East Asia Command as well as his relationship with the Royal Family (he was a grandson of Queen Victoria and a cousin of Queen Elizabeth II). On the day of his appointment, 24th of March 1947, the Lord reassured the Indian public that Great Britain would not withdraw from its promise and would provide India with its freedom. (Das 2009: 247) Yet, shortly after this sincere announcement, terrifying riots arose in locations such as Calcutta, Rawalpindi, Peshawar, and Lahore. This time, it was not the Bri- tish who were the target of the attacks, but religious minorities. The geographical location where the rioting occurred should be taken into consideration. Calcutta was the capital of the Bengal province in the North East of British India, whereas the cities of Rawalpindi, Peshawar, and Lahore were all part of the Punjab province in the North West. Hence, the turmoil happened on the territories which were inhabited mostly by the Muslims. Confident about the lands which would be in- corporated into Pakistan, they had already started violent persecutions of Hindus, Sikhs, and other minorities who resided in those provinces. Needless to say, the victimised communities did not obediently let themselves be repressed, they re- taliated on the territories where the Muslims constituted the minority (Das 2009: 243). As a direct response to such horrible acts of violence, Viceroy Mountbatten decided to quicken the date of the Partition. All of the Round Table conferences, government missions, discussions on the shape of the future Constitution, the divisions of power, and talks on the special rights for Bengal and Punjab were cut abruptly short. What is even more surprising is that all of the parties (the INC, the Muslim League, Shiromani Akali Dali) unanimously accepted the official date of partition. (Das 2009: 255–256)

The Partition of India: 15th of August, 1947 With the stroke of midnight, Indian conches were blown in the Parliament of India and members of the Assembly shouted “Mahatma Gandhi Ki Jai!” (Victo- ry to Mahatma Gandhi!). Shortly afterwards, Lord Mountbatten was appointed Apart yet together 131

Governor-General of the Republic of India, while Muhammad Ali Jinnah was assigned to the corresponding post of the Governor-General of Pakistan (Das 2009: 265). Also, on that (in)famous midnight, Nehru gave the eminent speech that he himself entitled “Tryst with Destiny.” What is more, while celebrating inde pendence, the excited citizens of New Delhi also started chanting “Lord Mount- batten Ki Jai!” (Das 2009: 266). This was the final tribute of the colonised to the last representative of the British Raj. Nevertheless, the Indian Independence Day was not only about touching spee- ches, peaceful celebrations, and the infectious excitement of the masses. That day had also its opposite side. On the night from the 14th to the 15th of August, 1947, the fights of religious nature throughout the country did not cease; regrettably, it was quite the contrary. A fratricidal war was set into motion. In the eastern parts of Punjab the Muslims robbed and murdered, while in the west, riots were led by the Hindus and the Sikhs, and the clashes raged in the provinces of Bengal (with a Muslim majority) and Bihar (with a Hindu majority). Apart from that, the boundary commission responsible for the establishment of new borders did not release its resolutions until the 17th of August. The roads became cramped with hundreds of thousands of displaced people, constituting probably the greatest migration flow in the history of the world. (Kalmar 1989: 107–108, Das 2009: 276–277) According to the statistics, approximately 15 million people crossed the borders in order to find themselves on the right side. The new governments of the two countries were not capable of handling the population exchanges of such massive proportions, therefore the only form of transportation which was provided for those who were not travelling by car or by foot were special train lines, cruising between New Delhi, Dhaka, and Lahore. Nevertheless, massive killings, slaughter, and assaults on trains occurred, especially around the day of independence. The statistics to date are not accurate. The number of casualties among the Hindus and the Muslims range between two hundred thousand and roughly one million of the deceased. Upon his return to Britain, Lord Mountbatten notified Prime Minister Atlee that “the Partition was relatively peaceful […] with only 3% of the population participating in the fightings” (Kalmar 1989: 99). Unfortunately, the Governor-General failed to notice that in a country with 390 million citizens at that time, 3% comprised quite a substantial quantity of the subversives. Also, it is often pointed out that neither the Nehrus nor the authorities of Pakistan had anticipated the possibility of massive migration flows (Kalmar 1989: 109–110). If their attitude had been different, India may not have shed the chains of colonialism in such a tragic way. 132 Olivier Harenda

Conclusion On the basis of the aforementioned issues, we can infer the idiosyncratic nature of India’s nationalism. Paradoxically, it can be observed in the Republic’s topographi- cal representation. Namely, the country is divided between 29 states and 7 union territories which are not bonded together in any standard way as a European nation would be, for Indian citizens do not speak the same language. Although Hindi is referred to as the official language of government due to the large number of its speakers, it has never been given the status of a national language. In contrast, the rest of the citizens who do not speak Hindi resort to using their own native tongues, which they call the official State languages (like Bengali, Telugu, Tamil, Punjabi, Kannada, etc.). All things considered, India serves as a prime example of a colony that succeeded and failed at the same time during the struggle for liberty. It succeeded, because members of highly diversified local cultures unified together against the colonisers; and failed due to the impermanence of that unity when independence was finally attained. Nationalism became split between Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and other minority groups, in this way rendering India a subcontinent of nationalities.

References Anderson, Benedict. 1983. Imagined Communities, Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London-New York: Verso. Banerjee, Jacqueline. “Allan Octavian Hume (1829–1912),” www.victorianweb.org/ victorian/history/empire/india/hume.html, DOA October 23, 2015. Canny, Nicholas (ed.) 1998. Oxford History of the British Empire Vol. 1: The Origins of Empire. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chakrabarty, Bidyut. 2006. The Social and Political thought of Mahatma Gandhi. London: Routledge. Das, Durga. 2009. Indie: Od Curzona do Nehru i później. Trans. Magdalena Jędrzejewska, Marek Jurczyński, Agnieszka Ostrowska. Warszawa: Wydaw- nictwo Trio. Jayakar, Pupul. 1992. Indira Gandhi: A Biography. New Delhi: Penguin Books. Kalmar, Gyorgy. 1989. Indira Gandhi. Trans. Tomasz Kulisiewicz. Warszawa: Książka i Wiedza. Marshall, P.J. 1998. “The English in Asia to 1700,” in Nicholas Canny (ed.) Oxford History of the British Empire Vol. 1: The Origins of Empire, 264–285. Apart yet together 133

Internet sources www.britannica.com/biography/Bhimrao-Ramji-Ambedkar, DOA July 5, 2015. www.historum.com/asian-history/63494-gandhi-12.html, DOA July 5. 2015.

Abstract: The article analyses the depictions of Mary I Tudor and Elizabeth I in Virginia Woolf ’s Orlando: A Biography (1928) and Mark Twain’s Prince and The Pauper(1881). It explores the classification of the texts as historical novels and the possible functions they may have performed at the time of their publishing.

Introduction The Tudors’ age is claimed to have been one of the most interesting and revolu- tionary periods in the English history which is frequently illustrated in films and books to the present day (http://www.pbs.org). The aim of the following paper is to explore the ways in which two great Queens from the Tudor dynasty, Mary I and Elizabeth I, have been portrayed in Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper and Virginia Woolf’s Orlando: A Biography. Although in both novels the Queens are minor figures, they are depicted in an innovative way. However, none of the academic sources on Orlando which I encountered while preparing this article, including Jane Goldman’s Cambridge Introduction to Virginia Woolf, Christine Froula’s Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury Avant-garde: War, Civilization, Moder- nity, Randi Koppen’s Virginia Woolf, Fashion, and Literary Modernity, or Jane De Gay’s Virginia Woolf’s Novels and the Literary Past, analyses the image of Elizabeth in the novel, focusing instead, for instance, on the role of gender (Goldman 2006) or autobiographical elements in Orlando (Froula 2005), Woolf’s relationship with Vita Sackville-West (Goldman 2006; Froula 2005), fashion and style (Koppen 2009), or rewriting of the history of literature in the book (De Gay 2006). Similarly, in the case of The Prince and the Pauper, I found no information on the depictions of the Queens in the book since, for instance, in Twain, Alcott, and the Birth of the Adolescent Reform Novel, Roberta Trites puts emphasis on the figure of Edward (Trites 2007). By contrast, in Mark Twain, Larzer Ziff (2004) concentrates on the critical reception of the novel, its strengths and weaknesses, while Tom Quirk in 136 Paula Suchorska his study entitled Mark Twain and Human Nature (2007) analyses mainly both the similarities between Tom Canty and Huck Finn and the image of King Edward. Hence, the present paper constitutes my own analysis of the issue. Moreover, I would like to argue that both masterpieces in question exemplify major defining features of historical novel as a genre.

The Prince and the Pauper and Orlando as historical novels Each literary genre has certain characteristic features which distinguish it among others, although some of them can be arguable and controversial, as Jacek Woj- ciechowski emphasises with regard to historical novels (1989: 64). He claims that it is difficult to determine one specific set of features typical of historical fiction due to not only sometimes unclear boundaries between historical novels and other genres, but also different variants of the genre itself, including, for example, a traditional historical novel, the core of which constitutes the relation between the past and present; a novel-epic, which presents a broad image of a particular epoch through a series of ground-breaking events; or a biographical novel, which is dominated by the story of one specific historical figure (Ostrowski 1968: 160 quoted in Wojciechowski 1989: 64). Nevertheless, it can be assumed that a novel is historical when its author uses the events from the past in his or her story (1989: 65). According to Wojciechowski, the first historical novels were set in a distant past, so it was not difficult to determine whether a book was historical or not (1989: 67). Yet, in modern times it is not so easy any more as the dividing line between “history” and “present” is no longer strict. In the 1930s, Alfred Sheppard claimed that a novel should be called “historical” if its action is situated at least fifty years before its publication (Sheppard 1930: 16 in Wojciechowski 1989: 67). Wojciechowski agrees with this conventional statement, arguing that both human life and the world change faster nowadays and events are regarded past much soo- ner than before (1989: 67). Nevertheless, the author emphasises that this division is arbitrary and it is not the most significant one as the time of action is only one factor indicating the genre (1989: 67). According to Wojciechowski, apart from including the date of a particular event, a writer should also take into consideration its significance, since the more crucial the event is thought to be, the less important is its temporal distance (1989: 68). The critic claims that what distinguishes the historical novel from contemporary fiction is its commitment to dates and chronology, which the latter does not have to follow (1989: 68). Thus, historical fiction must be “historical” indeed, that is, novelists have to let their readers locate the action in a particular period in the past and if they do not explicitly determine the date, they should refer to significant events which everyone knows (1989: 68). “Bloody Mary” and “Gloriana”… or maybe not necessarily? 137

Furthermore, Wojciechowski, following Walentin Oskockij, the author of Ro- man i istoria [Novel and history] (1980), claims that historical fiction differs from other genres thanks to its reliance on documents and historical sources (Oskockij 1980: 270 quoted in Wojciechowski 1989: 65), the list of which is frequently presented at the end of a book. However, the author highlights also that the use of historical sources does not restrict a writer’s work in any way, but instead reinforces and justifies the presented images of an epoch, whereas the major part of a novel is still made up by the artist (1989: 65, 66). Hence, although many readers are still not aware of it, historical fiction should not be treated as a source of knowledge as it can lead in consequence to maintaining or creating new stereotypes concerning the described epochs (1989: 70). Obviously, some writers decide to hold as close to the facts as possible and in this case their works become examples of historical novels-essays (Dubowik 1968: 115 in Wojciechowski 1989: 71), while others focus mostly on reflecting the atmosphere of the period (Gołaszewska 1982: 228 quoted in Wojciechowski 1989: 71) and treat history only as an inspiration for their own alternative stories from a particular epoch. Wojciechowski states that the most common attitude among writers is to mix these two extremes; however, the former one appears to dominate (1989: 71). In addition, what is frequently a feature typical of historical novel is its stylization of language, when writers attempt to adapt the language they use in their works to the linguistic standards of the described times (1989: 66). It is a challenging technique for a writer, yet at the same time gripping for readers, as they can become even more involved in the story, feel the atmosphere of a particular time, and know better the characters since the language they use is a sign of their social background as well as their cultural manners and education. It can be argued that both novels analysed in this paper present major defining features of historical novel as a genre. Nevertheless, Orlando does not qualify as a traditional historical book. Both masterpieces are set in the past in relation to the authors’ lifetimes, though with an exception. It is worth emphasising that the protagonist of Orlando travels throughout centuries and at the end of the book she lives in times contemporary to Virginia Woolf. Thanks to these changes of the time of action, the reader can analyse the relation between the past and the present in Woolf’s book, which, as it has already been mentioned, is also perceived as one of characteristic features of historical novels (Ostrowski 1968: 160 in Woj- ciechowski 1989: 64). In both cases the authors pay attention to chronology, even if they do not provide the readers with exact dates, which is particularly evident in Orlando, where the time of action is indicated mainly by means of reference to historical events and the appearance of significant figures. This point can be 138 Paula Suchorska illustrated, for instance, with the passage describing the events happening “[i]n the summer of that disastrous winter which saw the frost, the flood, [and] the deaths of many thousands” (Woolf 2002: 39), or another one, in which “the most delicate negotiations between King Charles and the Turks” are mentioned as well as the revolution against King Charles, which resulted in the decapitation of the monarch in 1649 (2002: 71). Furthermore, some scenes depict the Great Fire of London in 1666 (2002: 71). These descriptions help the reader to specify the time when Orlando lives in particular chapters of the novel. In the case of Twain’s novel, the time of action is determined by important events from the life of Edward VI, including his birth in 1537, Henry VIII’s death in 1547, and the coronation of the young Prince in the same year. Moreover, the dialogues in the novel resemble original conversations from this period thanks to the stylization of language. Apart from this, Twain bases his book on genuine historical sources, which is stated in the “Author’s Note” at the end of the novel, where he adds more details concerning the presented places, events, or objects. Significantly, at the end of each note, the writer provides an appropriate reference. Twain’s novel cannot be defined as a novel-epic as it is not focused on demonstrating the broad image of the epoch with ground-breaking events in the background. Instead, the book presents mainly the story of Edward VI, who has fallen into oblivion because of his famous older sisters. Hence, the novel can be perceived as a biography novel to a certain extent, though the whole story with exchanging positions between the King and a poor boy was Twain’s idea. By contrast, Orlando can be perceived as a satire on the traditional historical novel. In spite of the fact that the relation between the past and the present seems to dominate the book as the readers have an opportunity to travel with the protagonist through centuries and observe changing conditions of living as well as key political events including, for example, the conflict between the British and the Turks at the beginning of the nineteenth century, the author’s lack of historical precision and her tendency to mix realism with fantasy apparently subvert the whole genre. Moreover, Woolf’s book contains meta-fictional elements concerning the art of writing biographies. It does not present historical figures in a standard way. Although the writer includes brief characteristics of the epochs in which Orlando lives, they seem to be exaggerated and satirized. This point can be illustrated, for example, with the description of the Elizabethan age, which is characterised by the protagonist as tiring not only [because] of the discomfort of this way of life, and […] the crabbed streets of the neighbourhood, but [also because] of the primitive manners of the people. For it has to be remembered that crime and poverty had none of the attraction for the Elizabethans “Bloody Mary” and “Gloriana”… or maybe not necessarily? 139

that they have for us. They had none of our modern shame of book learning; none of our belief that to be born the son of a butcher is a blessing and to be unable to read a virtue. (2002: 18) Such descriptions are, in fact, ironic and constitute examples of Woolf’s satirical view of her time. Owing to the fact that Orlando was published in 1928, it can be assumed that the author based Elizabeth’s portrait on her imagination, stereotypes, and the already existing historical materials.

The depictions of the Queens As it has been already stated in this paper, Mary I and Elizabeth I are minor characters in Twain’s and Woolf’s novels. Nevertheless, their depictions are worth analysing for the sake of the original techniques the writers used in their masterpieces and in order to compare the Queens’ early images with the contemporary ones. In The Prince and the Pauper, the most transparent features of Mary I seem to be her gloom and brutality, which are emphasised almost every time the future Queen is mentioned. The first sign of her bitterness is provided by Edward, when he describes his sisters to Tom and claims that Mary has a “gloomy mien” and has forbidden her servants to smile as it could “destroy their souls” (Twain 2004: 35). This excerpt suggests not only that Mary was a morose person, but also that she was already so obsessed with religion that she regarded every expression of joy sinful. Moreover, the same point can be illustrated with another scene, when Mary meets Tom, who pretends to be the King of England, and states that “at the end of the visit his ‘elder sister’ – afterward the ‘Bloody Mary’ of history – chilled him with a solemn interview which had but one merit in his eyes, its brevity” (2004: 100). Apart from the fact that the author reminds his readers of Mary’s infamous nickname, which can prejudice them against this character, he also puts emphasis on her reserve and coldness towards her “brother.” At this moment Mary is official and serious. She does not behave like a caring, loving sister. Hence, Tom dislikes her and readers are encouraged to see her in a negative way as well. Furthermore, a very pejorative description of Mary’s character is presented in the scene when Tom mentions that [o]nce, when his royal ‘sister,’ the grimly holy Lady Mary, set herself to reason with him against the wisdom of his course in pardoning so many people who would otherwise be jailed, or hanged, or burned, and reminded him that their august late father’s prisons had sometimes contained as high as sixty thousand convicts at one time, and that during his admirable reign he had delivered seventy-two thousand thieves and robbers over to death by the executioner, the boy was filled with generous indignation, and commanded her to 140 Paula Suchorska

go to her closet, and beseech God to take away the stone that was in her breast, and give her a human heart. (2004: 192) First of all, the excerpt quoted above confirms that Mary is cruel and merciless in the novel since she would not pardon as many people as Tom did. Moreover, the passage shows that the future Queen admires her father, whose strict rule of the country she seems to imitate. Readers can also be under the impression that Henry VIII’s cruelty fills Mary with pride and respect for him. Finally, the claim that Henry’s first-born daughter lacks “a human heart” is a very serious accusation which can also make readers feel antipathy towards her. Elizabeth, by contrast, is presented in the novel briefly, but in a favourable way. She appears to be the opposite of her older sister as she is tactful, graceful, and cares for Edward. Initially, her tact is noticed by Tom, who claims that it was indeed “the tact of the Princess Elizabeth [that] saved him” (2004: 51) when he almost confessed to changing positions with the real King of England. Further- more, her good nature and a close relationship with the “brother” are visible in the scene when Tom forgets that now he has to pretend to be Henry VIII’s son and claims that his father does not know how to speak correctly, whereas Elizabeth at this moment takes “her ‘brother’s’ hand between her two palms, respectfully but caressingly” (2004: 52) and reassures him that he does not have to worry about anything and the whole court knows that it is not his fault, but it is because of his illness that he sometimes says weird things (2004: 52). Then, Tom replies that she is “a gentle comforter” (2004: 52) and Elizabeth changes the topic of conversation in a graceful way (2004: 52). Having read these short passages, readers can notice that in Twain’s novel Elizabeth is a warm and caring person. Apart from that, she is intelligent and well-mannered. None of her weaknesses is mentioned in the story. Hence, it can be argued that in The Prince and the Pauper, the Queens’ images are based on binary oppositions, with one of the sisters being presented in a fully favourable way, and the other shown in an entirely pejorative light. A different and more original image of Elizabeth is offered by Virginia Woolf, who portrays the monarch when she is an ageing but still strong woman. Choosing this particular time in the Queen’s life distinguishes the author from, for example, modern writers, including Philippa Gregory and Christopher Gortner, as they usually prefer to present Elizabeth in her heyday, that is, when she is young, beautiful, and glamorous. However, what is the most pioneering feature of the Queen’s description in Woolf’s novel is that initially readers encounter only the depiction of Elizabeth’s hand, which is so meticulous and vivid that on the basis of it, we can learn a lot about the monarch’s character. The hand is described by Orlando as he is so shy at the moment of meeting the Queen that he dares to look neither “Bloody Mary” and “Gloriana”… or maybe not necessarily? 141 at Elizabeth’s face nor her body. The protagonist characterizes the woman’s hand as “a memorable hand; a thin hand with long fingers always curling as if round orb or sceptre; a nervous, crabbed, sickly hand; a commanding hand; a hand that had only to raise itself for a head to fall” (Woolf 2002: 13). While analysing this passage, one is confronted with a contradiction as Elizabeth’s hand appears to be delicate and weak and at the same time strong and powerful. However, taking into account the possibility that the hand is only an example of figurative language and, more specifically, a synecdoche signifying both the Queen and her character, this inconsistency seems to be understandable. As a woman, Elizabeth may have been identified as emotional and weak, but the Queen’s personality in the book does not suit this symbolism at all for she is decisive and dominant. This contradiction is repeated also a few lines later in the text, when the protagonist confirms that by looking at Elizabeth’s hand only, he noticed her “crabbedness, courage, frailty, and terror” (2002: 13), which reinforces the previous image of a strong woman. One could argue, however, that these oppositions mentioned by Orlando could be the expression of his doubts concerning his view on the Queen as he seems to hesitate how to perceive her: either as a strong monarch or as a weak woman. This would suggest that Elizabeth in Woolf’s novel is unpredictable and it depends on readers in what way they will interpret her figure. Nevertheless, in the first excerpt, Orlando emphasises primarily that Elizabeth’s hand was “memorable,” which suggests that the Queen was, above all, an impressive figure and this proves that she should be seen as a strong character in the novel. However, later in the story readers can discover, for instance, that Elizabeth could also be suspicious and careful as “[t]he sound of cannon was always in her ears. She saw always the glistening poison drop and the long stiletto. As she sat at table she listened; she heard the guns in the Channel; she dreaded – was that a curse, was that a whisper?” (2002: 14). This quotation proves that Elizabeth was not perfect. Thus, her figure in Orlando appears to be more realistic and vivid to readers. Yet, it should be noticed that the description of Elizabeth’s personality is dominated by her strengths. In addition, in one of the scenes Orlando implies that the Queen was exceptionally perspicacious as only by looking at him, she could “pierce his soul […] [and] read him like a page” (2002: 14). Apart from describing his reflections concerning Elizabeth’s character, the protagonist attempts, also by looking only at her hand, to deduce the monarch’s appearance, although it is not as meticulously presented as the Queen’s personality. The protagonist is aware of the Queen’s advanced age and thinks that her body smells “like a cupboard in which furs are kept in camphor” (2002: 13). Nonetheless, he thinks also that she looks splendid at that moment thanks to an appropriate 142 Paula Suchorska make-up and rich jewellery (2002: 13). What is more, Orlando imagines that the Queen’s eyes are yellow and wide open (2002: 13) and then he compares them to hawk’s eyes (2002: 14). It is significant as a hawk is thought to be a symbol of majesty, splendour, power, and bravery (Kopaliński 1990: 226). Another excerpt in which Orlando focuses on the Queen’s image at that time is when he reflects on the definition of love and recalls the view of the “old Queen Elizabeth, [lying] on her tapestry couch in rose-coloured brocade with an ivory snuff-box in her hand and a gold-hilted sword by her side” (2002: 59). Her appearance seems to be masculine at this moment because of the attributes she carries, namely, a snuff-box and sword. Rose brocade, however, can be associated with womanhood. Moreo- ver, the protagonist recalls the Queen’s strong perfume, which also makes her feminine. Thus, again readers can see that in Orlando, Elizabeth combines both male and female features in terms of both appearance and character. Due to the fact that readers learn everything about the Queen through the protagonist’s eyes, this mix of features can be subjective and it can foreshadow Orlando’s subsequent problems with determining his/her gender.

Conclusion What could influence the images of both sisters in the novels analysed in this paper is the time when the two books were published. The Prince and the Pauper was originally printed in 1881, whereas Orlando in 1928. Probably for this reason, Elizabeth and Mary are shown in the former book in a more stereotypical way, whereas Woolf uses a modernist perspective. Importantly, Twain maintains in his novel the traditional views on Mary and Elizabeth for in The Prince and the Pauper the former is presented as “Bloody Mary,” while her sister is described only in superlatives. In addition, Virginia Woolf depicts the younger sister as an assertive, self-confident figure and highlights her charming nature, which is also consistent with the traditional way of perceiving her. Yet, as it has already been emphasized in this essay, Woolf’s depiction of Elizabeth is unique among the Queen’s several literary portraits owing to a non-standard way of presenting the character through describing her hand. Finally, due to the fact that in the present article it has been advanced that both The Prince and the Pauper and Orlando can be regarded as historical novels, the issue worth analyzing is their possible function in the periods when they were published and the reasons why the writers decided to depict particular historical figures in their books in a specific way. First of all, in the case of Orlando, it may be suggested that Virginia Woolf presented Elizabeth I in an original and surprising way as she aimed at rewriting history. Although Jane De Gay, the author of the “Bloody Mary” and “Gloriana”… or maybe not necessarily? 143 study entitled Virginia Woolf’s Novels and the Literary Past, claims that “Orlando rewrites literary history […] by following the fortunes of an aspiring writer who is female from the seventeenth century onwards” (2006: 133), I would like to argue that rewriting history also applies to the figure of Elizabeth. Woolf presented the Queen not only as a powerful monarch, but also as a woman, frequently in the form of parody. However, significantly, as De Gay emphasises, “Woolf uses literary parody and allusion in Orlando as strategies for putting her alternative model of history into practice” (2006: 147), and not to mock the past. The author of The Prince and the Pauper did not aim at rewriting the history of Edward VI. According to Roberta Trites, Twain’s novel was “widely read by youth” (2007: 117). Moreover, the scholar suggests that the book is a classic example of an “adolescent reform novel” (2007: 143), which means that by presenting young characters in a specific way, writers can make their adolescent readers think about the influence they can have on the society in which they live (2007: 143). Hence, as Trites explains, when the teenagers reading The Prince and the Pauper notice that the young King “can become more educated and thus more sensitive to the needs of the poor” (2007: 143), they realize that it is possible also for them and other people around (2007: 143). Furthermore, the possibility of social change is highlighted also by the fact that the adolescent protagonist of the novel grows, which can be perceived as a metaphor of the development and improvement of the society (2007: 144). It can be argued that Twain decided to make Edward VI, who is often overshadowed by his older half-sisters, the protagonist of The Prince and the Pauper since he aimed at provoking young readers to reflect on possible social changes which America needed after the Civil War.

References DeGay, Jane. 2006. Virginia Woolf’s Novels and the Literary Past. Edinburgh: Edin- burgh University Press. Froula, Christine. 2005. Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury Avant-garde: War, Civilization, Modernity. New York: Columbia University Press. Goldman, Jane. 2006. Cambridge Introduction to Virginia Woolf. New York: Cam- bridge University Press. Kopaliński, Władysław. 1990. Słownik symboli. Warszawa: Wiedza Powszechna. Koppen, Randi. 2009. Virginia Woolf, Fashion, and Literary Modernity. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Quirk, Tom. 2007. Mark Twain and Human Nature. Columbia: University of Mis- souri Press. 144 Paula Suchorska

Trites, Roberta Seelinger. 2007. Twain, Alcott, and the Birth of the Adolescent Re- form Novel. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Twain, Mark. 2004 [1881]. The Prince and the Pauper. New York: Barnes & Noble Classics. Wojciechowski, Jacek. 1989. Powieść historyczna w świadomości potocznej. Zarys problematyki. Kraków: Uniwersytet Jagielloński. Woolf, Virginia. 2002 [1928]. Orlando: A Biography. Ware: Wordsworth Editions. Ziff, Larzer. 2004. Mark Twain. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Internet source www.pbs.org/wnet/sixwives/about/behind_int_starkey.html, DOA July 3, 2014. Anna Lewandowska Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets: The value of the touchstone-based analysis of the typography of sonnet 144 in the facsimile of the First Quarto of 1609

Abstract: The article discusses the merits of implementing the assumptions of the touchstone method to interpret Shakespeare’s intentions in sonnet 144. Matthew Arnold’s arguments are customized to explore aspects of typography in the facsimile of Thorpe’s edition and the publishing practices found there, and to comment on the role of the reader.

Introduction Ever since their first appearance as the First Quarto collection in 1609, Shakespeare’s 154 sonnets have agitated a considerable interest among literary critics wishing to explore the message conveyed in between their lines. Suffice it to say, few of the critical conclusions would ever have emerged had it not been first for Gutenberg’s and then Caxton’s contributions to the printing and publishing practices of the 15th-century England. Parallel to the introduction of these professional developments to the industry was the flourishing of the Renaissance and the general growth in literacy rates. It was the concurrence of these tendencies that eventually paved the way for the increasing number of publications of and on Shakespearean sonnets. Admittedly, the market managed to satisfactorily respond to the omnipresent interest in the bard’s creative output—characteristic of professionals and of the dilettanti alike. And, naturally, the emerging publications reflected the multiplicity of editorial approaches to presenting the bard’s sonnets. In the present article, after delineating the cross-section of tendencies in this respect, I intend to advocate the reliability of Matthew Arnold’s perspective for today’s readers’ analyses of Shakespearean sonnets. My focus on the typography of sonnet 144 from Locker’s facsimile of the First Quarto of 1609 is, hence, to prove that individual—and not any editor-influenced—views informed by the pre-selected formal touchstones allow for the most in-depth understanding of the sonneteer’s intentions. Finally, the article suggests further directions for such analyses in the light of current publishing trends and practices. 146 Anna Lewandowska

The impact of editors’ fondness for the sonneteer’s “linguistic patriotism” on Shakespeare’s original meanings Initially, the fondness for discovering the intention(s) hidden in those 154 poems was largely motivated by the deftness with which the bard tended to approach the circumstances of his life as well as the most controversial issues of his day. That concern with the sonnets as peerless primarily in terms of their expressiveness resulted in little critical accounts of the sonneteer’s style of writing (Leishman 1961: 11). Indeed, these peculiar qualities characterizing Shakespearean writing stylistics are to be regarded as stemming from his conviction of the powerful expressive potential of his mother tongue even in the light of those days’ unstable linguistic circumstances. That deep feeling, which may as well be, sonorously enough, called “linguistic patriotism,” eventually led the poet to the pioneer’s position as regards the number of pure-English words and phrases created at that time. Remarkably, all those tended to be as explicit in the conveyance of intended meanings as the Latinate and French borrowings—numerous and trusted at that time (McDonald 2001: 15). In the light of such Shakespeare’s inventiveness and his innovatory approach to the English language, in time, more and more editors of the sonnets saw themselves as the guides to the most in-depth understanding of the message hidden by the poet in his sonnets. They tended to indicate their interventions into particular texts in various forms: as annotations, footnotes, or content analyses. Apart from Benson’s edition of 1640—featuring so many changes to the First Quarto of 1609 as to have been commonly considered too far-fetched an intervention—it was well into the 19th century when the subsequent editions of Shakespeare’s sonnets tended majorly to contain either textual commentaries or the analyses of the poems’ whole content. The most famous examples of these include Malone’s edition of 1790 or Ticknor and Field’s of 1865. More recent publications are, in turn, the ones by Stephen Booth (1977), G. Blakemore Evans (1996), or Katherine Duncan-Jones (1997), to name a few (Sofield 2013: 432).

Criticism of editors’ excessive focus on matter At this point it appears relevant to delineate Robert Graves’s (1970: 89–95) stance. Namely, he regarded that general tendency of editors’ to insert their footnotes containing indications to the content of particular sonnets as distorting the meanings there—even if their ultimate aim was, in fact, to facilitate the understanding of the matter to the major part of the audience, i.e. its common members. That aforementioned unfavorable result consists, to Graves (1970: 92), in the fact that, instead of encouraging the reader to become immersed in the sonnet’s message Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets 147 and discover its meaning for themselves, editors tended to suggest the ready-made pathway for understanding Shakespeare, which significantly limited the scope of alternatives to be taken. A similar phenomenon, according to Graves (1970: 92), characterizes even the issue of punctuation of the sonnets in their subsequent editions. To him, these very marks are capable of serving as the “road signs” im- plying the recommended interpretative direction right in the text of the sonnet. In effect, the more alterations as regards the punctuation schemes are devised by editors of the sonnets, the fewer novel propositions in this respect are likely to emerge later on (Graves 1970: 92). Therefore, despite the incessant growth in the number of these publications, each and all of them are eventually likely to inhibit the reader’s creativity as regards shaping their opinion on the bard’s artistry. To Graves (1970: 93), the only sufficient remedy for that tendency is to return to publishing sonnets without the insertion of any amendments as this would provide the readers with the opportunity to construct their own interpretations of these literary works. In reality, however, that practice was hardly ever the case. The only exception, as mentioned by Graves (1970: 93), was the edition published in 1766 by George Steevens, who claimed that there was no necessity to insert any emendations or commentaries to the original text. It is precisely this argument that inspired me to focus my article on sonnet 144 in Locker’s facsimile of one of the 13 extant copies of Shakespeare’s sonnets, instead of on any anthologized collection including the sonnet.

Editorial focus on the matter and the manner, and technological advancements in printing The second “wave” of the collection’s editors consisted of individuals who, apart from their focus on the matter (as is still visible in the textual analyses and footnote commentaries concerning the recommended—i.e. most probable from their point of view—interpretations of the author’s intentions), tended to concern themselves with the formal aspects of their publications, the manner. Therefore, they pro- ceeded with the introduction of gradually more alternatives also as regards the typography of the sonnets. Since that tendency began to characterize the publications mostly from the 20th century onwards (which is not surprising considering the technological advancements in the profession), mentioning Martin Roger Seymour-Smith’s edition of 1963 as its example appears, at this point, relevant. More recently, the ever-increasing number of editions of the bard’s sonnets has entailed not only the growth in the number of editorial annotations and content analyses (common as they always have been), but also the even greater introduction of printing and publishing practices, inclusive of the use of gradually more 148 Anna Lewandowska modern typesetting techniques and patterns. These are, for instance, visible in the anthology titled The Illustrated Stratford Shakespeare of 1993, or Willen and Reed’s edition of 1964 (Sofield 2013: 432). These and similar technicalities of the sonnets’ editions have become the objects of considerable interest among literary critics whose concern tends to be still largely motivated by the willingness to arrive at conclusions valuable for their subsequent interpretations of the sonnets’ message. The most telling examples testifying to that tendency are, for instance, the multiple accounts of the italicized form of “Will” in sonnets 135 and 136 (e.g. in Seymour- Smith 1963: 182), or the conclusions concerning the appearance of parentheses in place of the couplet lines in sonnet 126 (Kalas 2010 in Schoenfeldt 2010: 261, or Pettitt 2010, to name a few). Not less significant are at this point the ideas proposed by Vendler (1997), Felperin (1985), and Duncan-Jones (1983, 2003). Illuminating as all these accounts of those rather formal aspects undoubtedly are, they are still the critics’ established interpretation. Given that, the peril appears that their opinions may eventually be found projected onto the minds of the readers having been impressed by the striking and often symbolic effects eventually achieved by those critics in their accounts also of the sonnets’ typography. Appreciating the perceived significance of such conclusions, the readers might abandon their efforts in this respect, considering themselves incapable of devising equally relevant ideas as regards Shakespeare’s intentions. Nonetheless, I am of the opinion that there is a solution to that dilemma. In the light of the present-day circumstances—in which the number of the critical accounts of each of the bard’s sonnets increases proportionately to the very number of editions of Shakespeare’s literary works—one solution appears particularly legitimate. I have devised it inspired by the aforementioned statement of Graves’s (1970: 97) concerning the value of the pure form of the sonnets’ publication for their subsequent interpretation by the reader. Searching for the precise tool which would, to me, enable them to deal with such a publication efficaciously, I have decided to refer to the general design of Matthew Arnold’s touchstone method. Needless to say, therefore, my proposition for the interpretation of Shakespearean sonnets as they appear in the subsequent editions assumes shaping the eventual critical stance on them as the result of the conclusions from the search for the individually predetermined ensigns of perfection concerning the typographical aspects of the sonnets. This approach is expected to satisfactorily decrease or even hinder the peril of the imposition of the prevailing opinions advanced by literary critics and concerning the sonnets’ conveyed messages on the readers’ minds. Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets 149

The original touchstone method and its alternative juxtaposed It has to be mentioned that—modeled on the Touchstone Method advanced by Matthew Arnold—the theoretical assumptions of my approach to discovering the sonneteer’s artistry remain congruent with the original only on their most general level, i.e. both recommend a comparative approach to literary works. As far as divergences are concerned, my alternative to Arnold’s approach assumes a significant limitation as regards the original scope of “subjects”: apart from the focus on a single poet, I also recommend the comparison of the subsequent representations of only one dimension of his artistry. Remarkably, my focus merely on the typographical aspects of sonnet 144 (from the facsimile of the First Quarto edition as the point of reference) has been intended to provide the tool for as much objectivity in the subsequent comparative analyses as possible, which is precisely what Arnold meant through his very ideal of disinterestedness. I expect that the reference to my alternative could decrease the level of ambiguity in the analyses conducted. It would result from the overt interpretative potential of the type set in the text as juxtaposed with fairly probable implicitness of the words and phrases when these—as wholes—are deemed the perfect media for the conveyance of the intended meanings. Moreover, crucial as it is for the subsequent interpretation of those typographical symbols, the role of the mind appears here only secondary to the reader’s first visual impression. Hence, from my point of view, the two constraints for the analysis (i.e. the focus merely on sonnet 144 and the selection of only the aspects of its typography as the meaningful ensigns of perfection) are to be expected to precondition the emergence of highly relevant and precise conclusions concerning Shakespeare’s message as originally hidden in the sonnet. Needless to say, with the aim so clearly specified, in the long term the procedure may prove useful also in enriching the scope of knowledge concerning the shifts in the sonnet’s reception in the circumstances specific to the publications of its consecutive editions. This is because the editors’ views on Shakespeare and his artistry may be deduced from these respective representations. Still, even greater multidimensionality of conclusions is to be expected of the comparisons of the (circum)stances of both parties (i.e. the editor as the creator—and also the first interpreter—and the reader as the receiver) over time.

The rationale for the source of touchstones It is the specificity of the circumstances in which sonnet 144 first appeared for the wider public which motivated my decision as regards its choice out of the 154 of Shakespearean sonnets. To put it briefly, it appears that the publisher of 150 Anna Lewandowska

The Passionate Pilgrim (1599)—in which this sonnet and the 138th one as the only two of such form, and two out of five originally composed by Shakespeare, were included—tended to approach his profession in a rather non-standard way. Namely, the very content of the anthology—with works originally coming from under Shakespeare’s pen comprising only 25 per cent of the whole—directly indicates William Jaggard’s economical sense on the one hand, and suggests his most presumable intention for embarking on the publishing process in that particular way on the other (Cheney 2004: 154). From my point of view, since the concurrence of these two aspects was directed towards the eventual popularizing of the bard’s creative output, it is as such to be considered the first explicit manifestation of the appreciation of Shakespeare’s contribution to English literature right at the editorial level. Nonetheless, the reason for which I have decided to refer to the version of sonnet 144 from the First Quarto of 1609 in lieu of the one which appeared a decade earlier in Jaggard’s publication was that the former is the first publication consisting of purely Shakespearean output, i.e. with no literary work falsely accredited to the bard, which was precisely the case of The Passionate Pil- grim (www.bartleby.com). This being so, I regard the First Quarto version of the sonnet as the proper—since more reliable—point of reference for my selection of the touchstones of typography to be searched for in the subsequent editions in which the sonnet appears. As has been stated above, the eventual recognition—or absence—of such predetermined elements ought to be deemed valuable since either case would eventually inform the interpretation of the message conveyed by the particular version of sonnet 144. Moreover, further conclusions concerning the bard’s as well as the editors’ attitudes and life circumstances are then liable to be largely enriched.

The ensigns of typographical perfection of sonnet 144 from Locker’s facsimile of the First Quarto of 1609 Intending to state the practical relevance of my approach, I am now going to point to these typographical aspects of sonnet 144 from Thorpe’s edition of 1609 which, in my opinion, deserve calling them excellent and, given the above merits, desirable to appear in subsequent publications of this type. Prior to that, it appears legitimate to delineate the circumstances surrounding Thorpe’s publication as these may justify several of the aspects concerning its typography, particularly the ones that are noticeable at the very first glance at sonnet 144. The impressive demand for books in the Renaissance grew in parallel to the increasing number of the literate. That tendency was largely inspired by the transfer of the classical values in education and culture into the reality of the turn of the Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets 151

17th century, itself resulting from the humanist appreciation of those. Therefore, what began to characterize the people of the period was the incessant pursuit for new knowledge, which also gradually embraced more walks of life. Being able to read was, however, only one side of the coin. The concurrent condition necessary for the sufficient satisfaction of that omnipresent demand for various kinds of books was the provision of such amounts of printed material that would grow ade- quately to the needs. Suffice it to say, it was owing to Gutenberg and then Caslon that the Renaissance printers and publishers were provided with the tool to deftly benefit from the widespread desire to know more. In time—bearing in mind the acquisition of knowledge as the major aim of reading—the professionals tended to search for the ways to make their publications as legible as possible. Facilitation of the reading process was seen as a chance to further enhance the profitability of their endeavors. Hence, what began to be gradually visible in Renaissance printing included setting the letters of the type less closely in words, the reversed ratio of the amount of black and white on the page, as well as the inchmeal departure from heavy ornamentations on the page; all of these shifts stood in clear contrast to the medieval quasi-publishing practices (www.citrinitas.com).1 In the light of the above, the way in which sonnet 144 is represented in Locker’s facsimile of the First Quarto (www.luna.folger.edu) appears to reflect that developmental direction clearly. Firstly, the lack of excessive decorations applied to the text could allow for the efficacious use of paper, still fairly expensive as it was at that time (www.citrinitas.com). The idea behind printing more than one work on the page was probably similar. Remarkably, these two aspects ought to be deemed facilitative to the reader’s reception of the message hidden in the lines of sonnet 144: the former allowed for more considerate attention paid to the message of the text itself, whereas the latter—for placing that intended meaning in the interpretative context of the surrounding texts. Moreover, the concurrence of the strict form of this sonnet by Shakespeare with the perceivable width of the left and right margins on the even and odd pages of the copy may be seen as another facilitation to the overall reception of the sonnet. Namely, the widths of the margins provide the visual impression of the text being placed more towards the center of the page (which is where the reader first directs their eyes on the very opening of any book). Enhanced by kerning, that effect enables the reader to perceive the bard’s work as an esthetic whole: its sense of structure appears to

1 That departure emerged only later in the period, as deduced from the initial tendency of Renaissance non-religious texts to “rival [the religious] for elegance of script, illu- mination, and binding” (www.citrinitas.com). Needless to say, that sense of refinement was what still largely dominated the type set at the time. 152 Anna Lewandowska be secured by the very arrangement of the letters. These spacing adjustments are particularly visible in the opening word of sonnet 144 (line 1; see www.luna.folger. edu), the words which contain double “l,” the ones featuring the “i” vowel, or in the clusters “ſp” (e.g. lines 1, 2, 4; see www.luna.folger.edu), “ſt” (line 2; see www.luna. folger.edu), or “ſh” (line 13; see www.luna.folger.edu), to name a few. In the cases of the last two, the close-up of spaces between their letters most presumably conditioned their eventual ligature appearances. In addition, this is exactly what both these clusters share with “ſi” (as in “ſight” and “ſinde” in lines 6 and 9, respectively; see www.luna.folger.edu). The only difference characterizing the three is that while in the two former the ligature appeared as the result of the connection of their ascenders with the instroke of the letterform representing the initial /s/ sound, in the case of “ſi” the ligature was achieved from the fusion of the tittle of the “i” with that instroke. At this point, it is the symbolic value of the three which appears particularly worthy of appreciation as one of the touchstones of the sonnet’s typography. That value consists in the perfect merger of perhaps the only reliable printing practice (the one concerning only two possible positions of the symbol “ſ” to represent the /s/ sound in words) (www.babelstone.blogspot. com) in the midst of the linguistic shifts of the period with the visual impression evoked by the shape of the “ſ” as part of the ligatures found in the sonnet. This symbol embraces the printer’s striving to make the type as proportional—and thus readable—as possible by means of kerning and, at the same time, the Renaissance fondness for providing the publications of the period with the sense of refinement. Needless to say, the latter may be inferred from the curved stroke of the symbol for the /s/ terminated with a rounded shape, possibly resembling a teardrop. In addition, since it represented a lowercase letter, its shape used in the copy had presumably been inspired by the medieval “carolingian scripts […] changed […] significantly to match the […] uppercase letters [inspired by the designs of the ancient Rome] and to better adopt to Gutenberg’s printing technology” (www. citrinitas.com). In the light of these, despite the still distinct adherence to the calligraphic designs, the clusters marked by that symbol ought to be perceived as the evidence of the gradually emerging recognition of the readability of Renais- sance publications as well. There are two other examples of ligatures in the text of the sonnet. These are visible in the words “[s]uspect” and “directly,” both found in line 10 (see www.luna. folger.edu). In each case the “ct” ligature was created as a curved stroke joining the ascending part of the stem of the letter “t” with the instroke of the preceding “c.” Remarkably, the idea underlying its presence in the text appears shared with that being the case of “ſ.” Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets 153

The rationale for deeming yet another feature of the typography of sonnet 144 in Locker’s facsimile a touchstone is similar to the reasons mentioned earlier. Na- mely, we may assume that the very form of the word introducing the whole work (i.e. “TWo”; see www.luna.folger.edu) was the only element intended to embellish the printed text of the sonnet. That very idea is, thus, likely to mirror the Renais- sance strong inclination towards the esthetics of printed books; possibly, it could also resemble the decorated initials in medieval manuscripts. Not surprisingly, therefore, it is the specific way in which that function of the word is realized in the sonnet which makes its form an ensign of typographical perfection. It consists in that while the design of the word “TWo” (see www.luna.folger.edu) appears to reflect the printer’s primarily practical (i.e. frugal) approach to typesetting (i.e. the application of only moderate decoration), still nothing of the sonnet’s inner beauty seems to be lost as the reader is likely to be attracted to the content precisely by the form of the first two lettershapes of sonnet 144. Another peculiarity of the appearance of sonnet 144 in this copy concerns what could perhaps be regarded as the printer’s error, i.e. the absence of the letter “g” in the word “ri[g]ht” (line 3, see: www.luna.folger.edu). Interestingly, if that is the case, the blank space still does not adversely affect the word’s capability of conveying the intended meaning. That being so, it may prove relevant to compare this particular representation of the word with several examples taken from later editions of the sonnets for it could eventually enhance our knowledge concerning the respective editors’ approaches to Shakespeare and to the readers. The proportionality and balance achieved from the aspects of typography of sonnet 144 mentioned above tend to largely facilitate understanding the authorial intention (see Koneczniak 2016). That effect of these ensigns of formal perfection is further reinforced by the type in which the copy is set. The supposition that the copy most presumably features Claude Garamond’s design appears relevant not only given the impact of that French type designer on the Renaissance printing industry (www.designhistory.org). This is also inferable from the lack of significant contrast in stroke weights of the serified letterforms which aids their eventually consistent, proportional, and thus reliable appearance. The presence of ligatures and the use of kerning, both of which are also typical of Garamond typeface, tend to enhance the consistency of the text as well. The only numbers which appear in the copy are the ones indicating the sequence of the sonnets. Incidentally, this is also one of the only two ways of navi- gating through the copy, the other one being the right-aligned first word of the next line if printing the sonnet had to be continued on the adjacent page (as is the case of “Tempteth” of line 6 in sonnet 144). Importantly, the two strokes crossing 154 Anna Lewandowska the baseline of the Arabic numeral 144 reflect similar proportions, which is to be found characteristic of the strokes occupying the x-height area in Garamond as well as its descenders and ascenders.

Conclusion Given the above, I expect that Jan Tschichold would consider those mentioned qualities of the sonnet—which in Locker’s facsimile is most likely rendered in Garamond typeface—to define the copy as the embodiment of the rules of the “old typography” (Tschichold 1995; see Koneczniak 2016). In Tschichold’s view, what is witnessed in the major part of that developmental process is the overshadowing of “considerations of form” by the “[p]roblems of formal aesthetics (choice of type, mixture of typefaces and ornament)” (1995: 115, emphasis mine). Hence, we may justifiably assume that only gradually did typographers’ predominant focus on the visual aesthetics yield to aesthetic functionality of publications. Therefore, as Koneczniak stresses when discussing Tschichold’s concept of the New Typogra- phy, “[o]ne can easily predict that the features absent from the Old Typography […] are ‘clarity’ and ‘functionality’”—ones commonly desired today (Koneczniak 2016). Still, the means to achieve these in publications tend nowadays to depend even on the very idea of the publisher, the realization of which is largely facilitated by professional developments and techniques. Nonetheless, I would rather opt for considering the selected touchstones of sonnet 144 the evidence that Locker was largely aware of the Renaissance circumstances of his publishing, which he competently exploited to popularize Shakespearean sonnets—and this is precisely what ought to be acknowledged. Still, since from today’s perspective that noble aim of Locker’s appears most satisfactorily realized through the practical (i.e. frugal) approach to publishing, it would perhaps be useful to search for sonnet editions featuring the most recent typesetting tendencies; subsequently, the reader could determine how useful a given typography is for in- depth understanding of the bard’s original message (referring to either the touchstones delineated above or ones chosen by oneself). If no such editions are found, an utterly novel typeface could perhaps be designed (even by a non-professional Shakespeare’s devotee) so as to reflect the bard’s artistry as clearly—and thus, perhaps, as faithfully—as possible. Interestingly enough, at this point Tschichold (1995: 121) advocates the use of sans-serifs even for the main text, claiming that serifs are also to be treated as “some kind of ornament” and that this decorative element hinders the type’s “require[d] […] clarity and purity” (1995: 121). His suggestion would, perhaps, be willingly followed by those who do not recognize the value of ornamentation for the reception of the text, and by printers whose Publishers’ contribution to the readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets 155 economical savviness would, in such a case, be the motive (Tschichold 1995: 121). On the other hand, still, Tschichold alleviates his determined view on serified types by admitting that there exist numerous readers fond of reading ornamented editions, which, apart from the costs, generates considerable income for publishers (1995: 121). As regards Shakespearean sonnets, this interdependency largely contributes to popularizing the bard’s artistry. The roles of the typesetter, printer, and editor as the first people to interact with the sonnets are crucial. Suffice it to say, their decisions will eventually affect the form–meaning correspondence, and thus also the reader’s stance on the sonnets and the bard.

References Graves, Robert. 1970 [1949]. The Common Asphodel. Collected Essays on Poetry. 1922–1949. New York: Haskell House Publishers. Kalas, Rayna. 2010. “16. Fickle Glass,” in Michael Schooenfeldt (ed.) A Companion to Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 261–276. Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2016. Prompting In/ex/tensions inside the Manuscript and the Digital Folio. An Exploration of Selected Early Abbey Theatre Production Books. Toruń: Nicolaus Copernicus University Press. Pre-press version. Leishman, James Blair. 1961. Themes and Variations in Shakespeare’s Sonnets. London: Hutchinson and Co., Ltd. McDonald, Russ. 2001. Shakespeare and the Arts of Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pettitt, Thomas. 2010. “Shakespeare’s Moonlight Sonnetto: Medium as Message in the Age of Typography,” http://www.sdu.dk/Om_SDU/Institutter_centre/Ikv/Videnska belige+tidsskrifter/AktuelForskning/InternetskrifJohsNorregaardFrandsen/ Bidrag+af/ThomasPettitt, DOA November 4, 2015. Post, Jonathan F. S. (ed.) 2013. The Oxford Handbook of Shakespeare’s Poetry. Ox- ford: Oxford University Press. Seymour-Smith, Martin (ed.) 1963. Shakespeare’s Sonnets. London: Heinemann. Schoenfeldt, Michael. 2010. A Companion to Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Malden- Oxford-Victoria: Blackwell Publishing. Shakespeare, William. [ca. 1984] Shake-speares Sonnets. Neuer before Im- printed. [no place]: Jolley, Utterson, Tite, Locker-Lampson, Halsey. http:// luna.folger.edu/luna/servlet/detail/FOLGERCM1~6~6~216949~113841? qvq=q%3ACall_Number%3D%22STC%2B22353%22%3Bsort%3ACall_ Number%2CMPSORTORDER1%2CCD_Title%2CImprint%3Blc%3AFOLG ERCM1~6~6&mi=38&trs=56, DOA November 18, 2015. 156 Anna Lewandowska

Sofield, David. 2013. “The Sonnets in the Classroom: Student, Teacher, Editor- annotator(s), and Cruxes,” in Jonathan F. S. Post (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of Shakespeare’s Poetry, 431–448. Tschichold, Jan. 1995. “The Principles of the New Typography.” http://t-y-p-o- g-r-a-p-h-y.org/MEDIA/PDF/ThePrinciplesoftheNewTypography.pdf, DOA: November 18, 2015. West, Andrew. 2006. “The Long and the Short of the Letter S,” www.babelstone. blogspot.com/ 2006/07/long-and-short-of-letter-s.html, DOA October 26, 2015.

Internet sources www.bartleby.com/215/0901.html, DOA December 5, 2015. www.citrinitas.com/history_of_viscom/masters.html, DOA November 18, 2015. www.designhistory.org/Type_milestones_pages/FrenchType.html, DOA Novem- ber 18, 2015. Part Five: Distant forays

Grzegorz Koneczniak Editorial and literary combination explored: The case study of Editing and Publishing Programme offered by the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń

Abstract: The article addresses the Editing and Publishing specialisation offered by the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. It analyses consciously expressed combinations of editorial and literary subjects and approaches in selected MA projects written within the new specialisation.

Introduction The relation between editorial and literary research stems from the similarity found in objects of such studies. On the one hand, one can argue that works of literature have been presented in their physical formats – frequently book forms, and these are discussed, analysed and assessed in editing and publishing studies. On the other hand, one can contend that the same works of literature have manifested various aesthetic qualities, have exemplified specific poetics, have reflected, undermined or opposed the given social, political or economic situation, and have been used to express artistic, individual and unique visions of reality affected by different factors. The two arguments are not mutually exclusive. They illustrate two approaches to literary works which complement each other. However, editorial and textual research reaches even further than into the forms of literary works.1

1 In one of my previous articles I also discussed the possibility of finding connections between literary research and cognitive science on the basis of the analysis of learning outcomes and study programmes, with their descriptions, offered by major Polish universities. However, no direct relation was found between cognitive science and literary studies in the aspects investigated (see Koneczniak 2015: 167–179). The implicit assumption about the connection was only possible because of the multidisciplinary character of cognitive studies, involving, for example, linguistics, which belongs to the philological field of study (see Koneczniak 2015: 167). However, “the list of ‘related fields’ on which the principles of cognitivism rely does not explicitly refer to literary studies” (Koneczniak 2015: 168). 160 Grzegorz Koneczniak

It focuses on the process – or the development – which starts at the moment of creating the work and giving it a material form, and ends with distributing it among readers and evaluating its significance and role in the context of readership (see Koneczniak 2016b: 107). At any point in such a process, ambiguities, missing or corrupt information, obscurities or revelations may appear and become the objects of editorial and textual scholarship (see Strzyżewski in Koneczniak 2016b: 106). Editorial and literary considerations were combined in the specialisation seminar which I prepared for the MA students of English: entitled “Composition and Typesetting of Literary Texts,” it was introduced in the winter semester of 2013, and offered a new approach to the study of literature, which, instead of a typical analysis and interpretation of literary works, dealt more with their structural and typographical elements.. The seminar sought to facilitate “the development of students’ skills in looking at works belonging to the canon of Anglophone literature from the editorial perspective and in analysing them by means of proper terminology and appropriate methodology” (Koneczniak 2014: 12). The present article is an exploration and development of my previous research into editorial and literary considerations on the basis of an analysis of diploma projects. 2 The points of tangency between literary and editorial research can primarily be identified because of the common philological origins of the two fields and mutual inspirations in their respective developments, which can justify why

2 For a discussion of the seminar entitled “Composition and Typesetting of Literary Texts,” of the MA dissertations with an editorial aspect written under my supervision prior to the introduction of the Editing and Publishing Programme, and of the textual result of the students’ work – the editing and translation project completed during my two specialisation seminars in literature, see Koneczniak 2014. The present article should be primarily considered in terms of the exploration of the publication including the project (see Koneczniak 2014), and, specifically, in terms of the development of the article preceding the translation (see Koneczniak 2014: 9–13). For the presence of Alice Munro studies in selected MA, BA, and PhD dissertations written at Polish universities, see Koneczniak 2016a: 141–149. The idea of surveying students’ diploma projects is similar to Ronnie D. Carter’s “research activity of compiling entries on theses written on English subjects in Poland” – referred to in the previously mentioned article (Kone- czniak 2016a: 142). The results of my separate research into diploma projects written in Poland were also presented in the guest lectures on “The Development of Chinese Studies in Poland,” delivered at Guangxi Normal University and Anhui University. For the approaches to more technologically advanced e-literary forms, see Koneczniak 2011: 187–197, particularly 194–197. For the combination of literary and editorial, and e-editorial, analysis and interpretation, see also Koneczniak 2016c. Editorial and literary combination explored 161 the MA dissertations written prior to the introduction of the Editing and Pub- lishing programme contained editorial elements (see Koneczniak 2014: 10–12). The article reflects the long-established relation between philological and editorial research; the argument explored refers to the features of specific instances of editorial approaches to literature and, to some extent, culture in the MA projects developed during the MA seminar in editing. The development of the dissertations to be discussed was aided by the participation in other courses pertaining to the editorial specialisation.

The origins and the development of the Editing and Publishing programme Although the seminar “Composition and Typesetting of Literary Texts” could not cover the required complete theoretical and practical dimensions of editorial research in the educational context, it was an inspiration to prepare and to launch the MA-level specialisation in Editing and Publishing. The idea behind creating the new programme was that the candidates, apart from selecting the Translation Studies or Language-Culture-Literature specialisation, could opt for the third one, created on the basis of the learning outcomes matrix generally ascribed to the language studies at the Faculty of Languages (see the MA-level programmes downloadable from http://www.fil.umk.pl), Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. It is crucial to note that the new Editing and Publishing programme was based on the existing field learning outcomes prepared for the philology, or language studies, and there was no possibility of changing them for the sake of the new specialisation. This again proves the reliance of the editorial and textual scholarship on philological studies (see Strzyżewski in Koneczniak 2016b: 107), the premise which turned out predominantly invalid in my attempt to find the traces of literary research in the cognitive science learning outcomes (see Konec- zniak 2016c: 167–179), but which could be responsible for the existence of such MA projects as the ones described in the other text (Koneczniak 2014: 10–12). The general philology-field learning outcomes designed for the existing study programmes, comprising practical language teaching, literature and its theories, linguistics, culture and cultural studies, and translation studies, were easily adopted for the specificity of the courses offered within the editing and publishing programme. However, as a result, the courses have manifested their similarity to their counterparts in the remaining MA-level programmes offered by the De- partment of English, NCU (see the MA-level programmes downloadable from http://www.fil.umk.pl). As regards literary research, the subject called “A History of the Anglophone Book,” offered in the first semester of the editing and publishing 162 Grzegorz Koneczniak programme, closely relates to such courses as literary theory or Anglophone literatures, as stated in the course description: The course addresses selected aspects of the history of the Anglophone book. In the class discussion part, an outline of writing, printing and publishing will be demonstrated on the basis of selected texts. In the practical part, the students will prepare multimedia presentations in small groups related to the aspects discussed. In general, major works of American and British literature will be analysed through the prism of the book-form developments. (The course description available at https://usosweb.umk.pl) The description makes it obvious that literary works are subject to an analysis during the course; however, the focus is more on the “form” in which such works have been made available to the reader. What is more, bearing in mind the extensive presence of literary works in book history, the course covers only selected aspects of its history, which is the reason why the name of the course reads as “A History of the Anglophone Book.” In the first year, in both winter and summer terms, the students of Editing and Publishing, apart from attending such more theoretically-oriented courses as “A History of the Anglophone Book,” could also participate in the laboratory classes entitled “Editing and Typography of Anglophone Texts: The Basics” (see the study programme downloadable from http://www.fil.umk.pl). In the second term, “[t]he aim of the course [was] to develop the students’ use of selected DTP software in typesetting a variety of book-form texts (mainly literary works)” (the course description available at https://usosweb.umk.pl). As a matter of fact, the course was an exploration of the subjects covered and activities performed in the specialisation seminar available to the students prior to the introduction of the new specialisation. Thus, the students could again create their own editions of literary works and suggest their own editorial hermeneutics by designing typographical and graphical features pertaining to the given piece. Additionally, in the second year, they could express their understanding of the literary work by means of creating the cover, which was possible during the course “Composition of English Texts: DTP,” described in the following way: The course comprises exercises which aim at gaining knowledge and skills concerning use of editing and desktop-publishing solutions in English text composition. Laboratory tasks include textual and graphic designs (for Anglophone literary works and artefacts of culture). The course will also comprise cover and poster design by means of DTP software. The students will learn how to combine graphics and typographical elements on the basis of layout design exercises. (The course description available at https://usosweb.umk.pl) The aspect of the course “Composition of English Texts: DTP” presented above was similar to the specialisation seminar mentioned earlier. However, during the Editorial and literary combination explored 163 course, the students could work not only on individual covers but also on film posters, for which they were supposed to combine graphic and textual elements, and to arrange them in accordance with the principles of aesthetics and typography. Their individual understanding of the literary work eventually took the form of the complete editorial composition thanks to which they could express their editorial visions, more advanced than the designs prepared during the 2013 specialisation seminar. What is more, in the second semester, the course helped the students in their exploration of editorial and literary connections in other directions. They could create literary texts in their unique forms of various “ephemera,” publications based on scanned versions of authentic “manuscripts” and “digital versions of literary works” (the course description available at https://usosweb.umk.pl). In each of the activities performed, the students could demonstrate their individual textual, graphic, and typographical literary-editorial designs. The courses presented in this section are most representative examples of literary and editorial relations; however, they do not cover all the subjects taught in the framework of the Editing and Publishing specialisation (for details, see the study programme downloadable from http://www.fil.umk.pl and the syllabus catalogue available at https://usosweb.umk.pl).

Editorial and literary combination developed The scope and context of the research materials are limited to the selection of MA dissertations completed in my seminar in editing (with elements of literature and culture) which started in the 2014/2015 winter term. In this respect, it is specifically the continuation and development of the discussion of the MA dissertations written under my supervision prior to the introduction of the Editing and Publishing programme. I focus on the projects in which explicit discussions of literary works are included and which were submitted and successfully defended by mid-July 2016.3 The MA seminar in editing was the most crucial subject offered within the new programme. However, the course could be selected not only by those who enrolled in the Editing and Publishing specialisation but also by those who attended courses pertaining to other MA-level programmes. Similarly, the students who selected

3 One of the dissertations still in progress in July 2016 concerns an analysis of the “poetics” of literary works in their e-book formats. It could be considered in terms of the approaches present in my article on digital poetry (see Koneczniak 2011: 187–197) and the book on traditional and digital prompting (see Koneczniak 2016c). 164 Grzegorz Koneczniak the editorial path of studies could select MA seminars in other fields: linguistics, culture, literature or translation studies (see the study plan available on the website of the Faculty of Languages, NCU). In the following section, I describe the ways in which editorial and literary aspects feature in selected MA projects – developed and completed by the participants of the MA seminar in editing. At the beginning of the MA seminar, the students were given a selection of research subjects for their development in individual projects – and most of the dissertations presented were based on this possibility of choice. Anna Lewandowska’s MA dissertation entitled Matthew Arnold’s “Touchstones” Appropriated. A Comparative Study of Locker’s and Praetorius’s Facsimiles of the First Quarto (1609) of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, whose part has formed the basis of the article included in the present volume (see Lewandowska 2016 – the article in the present volume), is the most representative example of how editorial and literary tools and methods can be used in the analysis of poetry. Assuming the concept of “touchstone,” primarily used by Arnold to assess literary classics in terms of their structural and thematic superiority, as the starting point, Lewandowska analyses and interprets selected editions of Shakespeare’s sonnets through their relation to the “typographical and orthographic” “ensigns of perfection” (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). The dissertation is an example of how a literary critical theory can be adapted, or “adjusted” (dissertation summary at https://apd. umk.pl), and oriented towards editorial and textual treatment of literary works in order to comprehend them in a different way. If Lewandowska’s project is based on the idea of adapting an originally literary approach into an editorial one, in the dissertations by Aleksandra Kula and Bartłomiej Czerny, one can observe a direct editorial approach to the study of literary works (see dissertation summaries at https://apd.umk.pl). In Native-Canadian Publishing Houses. A Comparative Analysis of Selected Details, the project inspired by my book Editorial and Publishing History of Canadian Drama (in progress) and the supervisor’s suggestion, literary works are analysed in the specific “publishing” contexts, as the dissertation, in its major part, attempts “to show how the Native Canadian publishing houses differ from each other in the field of literature, cover designs, and promotion of their authors’ works” (dissertation summary at https:// apd.umk.pl). In contrast, a particular editorial element of the literary work available in a given book form is explored in A Typographical and Graphic Analysis of Selected Covers of The Lord of the Rings on the Basis of the Editions by Ace Books and HarperCollins Publishers by Czerny (dissertation summary at https://apd. umk.pl). As I also indicated in the review of the thesis (access restricted), it is a noteworthy “combination of editorial and literary research.” The author presents Editorial and literary combination explored 165 a selection of typographical and graphic approaches to cover designs and reaches his own editorial framework for analysis and interpretation of selected covers (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). He also demonstrates his awareness of the connection between the plotlines of the works and the covers, which is crucial in terms of editorial approaches to literature – in this case an analysis and interpretation of selected The Lord of the Rings covers through the prism of editorial expressions, yet with reference to the literary stories told inside the book formats (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). The textual and editorial methodologies are also present in In Search of Features of Literary Value in Graded Readers. On the Basis of Evelyn Attwood’s Version of Wuthering Heights and Latif Doss’s Version of Oliver Twist by Kamila Romińska, in which different editions of the same works are subject to analysis and interpretation (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). However, in Romińska’s project the concept of “edition” assumes a specific meaning; namely, she focuses on the editorial and textual compositions called “graded readers,” on the basis of which she explores “selected features of literary value […] and aims to find the answer to the question whether adapted books may be perceived as ‘bridges’ leading learners of English to authentic literature” (dissertation summary at https:// apd.umk.pl). The project offers a kind of applied editorial approaches based not only on the relation between literary, editing and textual research but also on linguistics and methodology. In Idealisms in William Wordsworth’s Poetry by Bruno Janiszewski, the editorial approach does not constitute the major part of the analysis and interpretation of selected poems by the English Romantic author. However, Janiszewski notices and makes use of the editing complexity which relates to one of Wordsworth’s poems: As for the works that are used in the analysis […], Wordsworth’s autobiographical long poem “The Prelude” is majorly referred to, and more precisely its 1805 edition, as opposed to the 1850 one, the reason of which lies in the unedited and most genuine nature of the earlier publication that sees Wordsworth in his most creative period. (Dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl) In his literary consideration of poetry, Janiszewski demonstrates his editorial awareness of the significance of the edition selected for an interpretation. A similar awareness of the importance of the literary text available in the physicality of the book form is present in the MA dissertation by Judyta Samulska. In The Signifi- cance of the Manuscript and the Book in Selected Films. A Comparative Analysis of Manuscripts Don’t Burn and Fahrenheit 451, in order to analyse and interpret the two films, the author provides an extensive theoretical context concerning book history and addresses the ways in which literary works, in their physical forms, can 166 Grzegorz Koneczniak pose danger to the political authorities and thus have to be destroyed (Samulska 2016: 3–20, 54–55; dissertation summary at apd.umk.pl).

Conclusion In the conclusion to the article “Cognitive Science in Poland: Learning Out- comes and Literary Omission,” I contended that one of the cognitive science programmes, the description of which contained a cultural aspect (Koneczniak 2015: 178), “[…] opens up a more achievable possibility for combining cognitive and literary studies, closely related to culture studies or, in some respects, for example research into adaptation, part of such studies” (Koneczniak 2015: 178). In the case of editorial and literary studies, such combination is already an inseparable part of research. On the basis of the analysis of selected MA projects completed during the MA seminar in editing, the following observations which relate to the contextual specificity of such combination can be made. In contrast to the majority of the MA projects discussed in my previous article, in the ones written during the MA seminar in editing, the literary and editorial research, in most cases, is consciously and methodologically interlocked in the analysis and interpretation of literary works. It confirms the long-established assumption concerning the relation between the two fields, both stemming from philological scholarship. The relation, even if not intended, was also visible in the MA dissertations written prior to the introduction of the new Editing and Publishing programme. Thus, concepts developed in editing and textual scholarship can be used for analysis and interpretation by means of direct application (as in the case of Czerny’s project) or adaptation, which can also involve the literary dimension (as in the case of Lewandowska’s project). Furthermore, students’ comprehension of literary texts is facilitated by the awareness of the specific editorial context in which the given work was created (as demonstrated in Janiszewski’s project). If in “Cognitive Science in Poland: Learning Outcomes and Literary Omission” the link between cognitive science and cultural studies was treated as a possibility of finding traces of literary research in the former, in the present article a similar link can be used to illustrate editorial approaches to cultural artefacts. By way of illustration, Karen Kwiatkowski’s project The Ethical Roles of Publishers and Editors in Film. The Adaptation of Brian McNair’s Typology to the Analysis ofState of Play (2009), The Green Hornet (2011), and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) offers a perspective in which the figures frequently placed in the centre of editorial and publishing activities are considered in terms of cultural figures attributed with various functions (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). Such roles are analysed and interpreted on the level of the types which they represent: the Editorial and literary combination explored 167 project “[…] explores the ways in which journalists with administrative positions – editors and publishers – have been portrayed through the medium of film in recent years. The dissertation seeks to answer the question whether the journalistic roles introduced by McNair in Journalists in Film: Heroes and Villains may be applied to the characters presented in three cinematic productions released after 2008” (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). Similar editorial and cultural considerations, yet with reference to the publishing history, are demonstrated by Artur Sulecki in Propaganda Elements in Selected WWII Cartoons. On the basis of Scrap Happy Daffy (1943), Out of the Frying Pan into the Firing Line (1942), Herr Meets Hare (1945), and Der Fuehrer’s Face (1943) and by Izabela Sznajder in The Analysis of Selected Music Magazines in the United States and Great Britain: History, Design, and Comparison (on the Basis of Billboard, Melody Maker, New Musical Express, and Rolling Stone). The former seeks “to examine the impact of war on publication, paying special attention to selected American animation productions created during the Second World War” (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl), whereas the latter focuses on “presenting the history of British and American music press as well as describing typographical and graphical features of several music magazines popular in the United States and Great Britain” (dissertation summary at https://apd.umk.pl). The dissertations discussed in the previous two paragraphs are not the only projects, completed during the MA seminar in editing, which explore the connection between editorial and cultural studies. Other examples can be given, but the focus of the article is on the literary aspect. Nevertheless, as a comment on the three cultural-editorial projects addressed, the following conclusions can be drawn. In Kwiatkowski’s project, the profession for which the students of Editing and Publishing were prepared through their involvement in the specialisation courses becomes a motif explored in culture, which can also be investigated on the basis of literary works. In the projects by Sulecki and Sznajder, one can discern the awareness of the significance of the development of publication in its various forms, which is also present in Samulska’s dissertation.

References “A History of the Anglophone Book” [course description]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://usosweb.umk.pl/kontroler.php?_action=katalog2/ przedmioty/pokazPrzedmiot&prz_kod=0704-s2ANG1Z-HKA, DOA: 31 July 2016. 168 Grzegorz Koneczniak

Buchholtz, Mirosława (ed.) 2016. Alice Munro: Understanding, Adapting and Teaching. Cham–Heidelberg–New York–Dordrecht–London: Springer Inter- national Publishing. “Composition of English Texts: DTP” [course description, winter term]. Nico- laus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://usosweb.umk.pl/kontroler.php?_ action=katalog2/przedmioty/pokazPrzedmiot&prz_kod=0704-s2ANG2Z- DTP, DOA: 31 July 2016. “Composition of English Texts: DTP” [course description, summer term]. Nico- laus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://usosweb.umk.pl/kontroler.php?_ action=katalog2/przedmioty/pokazPrzedmiot&prz_kod=0704-s2ANG2L- DTP, DOA: 31 July 2016. “Editing and Publishing Specialisation” [study plans and programmes]. The Fa- culty of Languages, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. http://www. fil.umk.pl/pl/kat_2,63,108,128_Filologia_angielska.html, DOA: 31 July 2016. “Editing and Typography of Anglophone Texts: The Basics” [course description, winter term]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://usosweb. umk.pl/kontroler.php?_action=katalog2/przedmioty/pokazPrzedmiot&prz_ kod=0704-s2ANG1L-PAT, DOA: 31 July 2016. Janiszewski, Bruno. 2016. Idealisms in William Wordsworth’s Poetry [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://apd.umk.pl/dip lomas/104166/, DOA: 31 July 2016. Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2011. “W labiryncie poezji cyfrowej, czyli nowe wyzwanie analityczno-interpretacyjne.” Litteraria Copernicana 2(8)/2011, 187–197. Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2014. “Założenia metodologiczne i kontekst projektu edytorsko-tłumaczeniowego,” in Grzegorz Koneczniak (ed.) Teatr Neptuna w Nowej Francji. Marc Lescarbot. Projekt edytorsko-tłumaczeniowy studentów Katedry Filologii Angielskiej UMK (2013–2014), 9–13. Koneczniak, Grzegorz (ed.) 2014. Teatr Neptuna w Nowej Francji. Marc Lescarbot. Projekt edytorsko-tłumaczeniowy studentów Katedry Filologii Angielskiej UMK (2013–2014). Toruń: Nicolaus Copernicus University Press. Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2015. “Cognitive Science in Poland: Learning Outcomes and Literary Omission.” Theoria et Historia Scientiarum, vol. XII. Toruń: Nico- laus Copernicus University Press, 167–179. Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2016a. “Alice Munro at Polish Universities: An Analysis of Selected Academic Texts, Including BA, MA and PhD Theses,” in Mirosława Buchholtz (ed.) Alice Munro: Understanding, Adapting and Teaching, 141–149. Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2016b. “Works by Alice Munro in Textual and Editori- al Scholarship: Through the Prism of Konrad Górski’s Study,” in Mirosława Buchholtz (ed.) Alice Munro: Understanding, Adapting and Teaching, 105–113. Editorial and literary combination explored 169

Koneczniak, Grzegorz. 2016c. Prompting In/ex/tensions inside the Manuscript and the Digital Folio. An Exploration of Selected Early Abbey Theatre Production Books. Toruń: Nicolaus Copernicus University Press. Pre-press version. Kula, Aleksandra. 2016. Native-Canadian Publishing Houses. A Comparative Ana- lysis of Selected Details [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus Universi- ty in Toruń. https://apd.umk.pl/diplomas/104416/, DOA: 31 July 2016. Kwiatkowski, Karen. 2016. The Ethical Roles of Publishers and Editors in Film. The Adaptation of Brian McNair’s Typology to the Analysis of State of Play (2009), The Green Hornet (2011), and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://apd.umk. pl/diplomas/104048/, DOA: 31 July 2016. Lewandowska, Anna. 2016. Matthew Arnold’s “Touchstones” Appropriated. A Com- parative Study of Locker’s and Praetorius’s Facsimiles of the First Quarto (1609) of Shakespeare’s Sonnets [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://apd.umk.pl/diplomas/103769/, DOA: 31 July 2016. Nicolaus Copernicus University, the course syllabus catalogue available at https:// usosweb.umk.pl, DOA: 6 August 2016. Romińska, Kamila. 2016. In Search of Features of Literary Value in Graded Rea- ders. On the Basis of Evelyn Attwood’s Version of Wuthering Heights and Latif Doss’s Version of Oliver Twist [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://apd.umk.pl/diplomas/104187/, DOA: 31 July 2016. Samulska, Judyta. 2016. The Significance of the Manuscript and the Book in Selec- ted Films. A Comparative Analysis of Manuscripts Don’t Burn and Fahrenheit 451. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. [Unpublished dissertation and summary available at] apd.umk.pl/diplomas/106732/, DOA: 2 August 2016. Sulecki, Artur. 2016. Propaganda Elements in Selected WWII Cartoons. On the basis of Scrap Happy Daffy (1943), Out of the Frying Pan into the Firing Line (1942), Herr Meets Hare (1945), and Der Fuehrer’s Face (1943) [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://apd.umk.pl/dip lomas/104438/, DOA: 31 July 2016. Sznajder, Izabela. 2016. The Analysis of Selected Music Magazines in the United States and Great Britain: History, Design, and Comparison (on the Basis of Bill- board, Melody Maker, New Musical Express, and Rolling Stone) [dissertation summary]. Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. https://apd.umk.pl/dip lomas/104583/, DOA: 31 July 2016. “‘W kleszczach lęku.’ Strach się bać.” http://www.polskieradio.pl/7/2425/ Artykul/918481,W kleszczach-leku-Strach-sie-bac, DOA: 30 July 2016.

Waldemar Skrzypczak Studying linguistics for fun and profit: From general semiotics to the stylistics of literary texts

Abstract: The essay presents a range of aspects of curriculum design regarding teaching modules on language study in English Departments, with particular focus on implications of Cognitive Linguistics and Text Linguistics. Exploring the content and methods of studying language, it argues for extending its goals beyond mere analytical deconstruction.

Introduction The field of linguistics, like many other academic disciplines, is a realm that requires intellectual, imaginative and creative engagement from both lecturers and students. Viewing it from the perspective of “a backward glance over traveled roads” (a Whitmanesque metaphor), in the final decades of the 20th century the field used to aspire for the mathematical rigidity and precision and was formal and reduc- tionist in nature, as was the case with the highly elegant and thought-provoking, but also problematic, generative tradition. The conception of the so-called “cool reason” was held to be a virtue in the academic study of multiple aspects of reality, including the mind, philosophy, mathematics, logic and language. Today, we, cognitive linguists, assume rationality and cool reason to be part of the spectrum which spreads between mythology and science, between instinct and emotions, on the one hand, and pure mathematical proof, on the other, where abduction (or the so-called “inferential leap” – to use Charles S. Peirce’s term) seems to complement the traditions of inductive and deductive reasoning stemming from empiricist and rationalist traditions respectively. Thus, even mathematics, in its uttermost purity, needs to be taken as a field that requires intuitive and imaginative qualities, let alone aesthetic aspects employed in the exploratory process, on equal footing with what seems to be purely rational. In this essay we will try to look at some adventurous aspects of the study of language as a process of understanding that projects itself onto multiple spheres of our human mode of existence, especially striving towards the exploration of the refinement of literary texts, the most intricate constructions of human culture, in their descriptive, narrative and argumentative aspects, bearing purely aesthetic qualities along with the beauty of the intellectual mode. We shall try to address 172 Waldemar Skrzypczak three questions of what to teach in linguistics (content), how to teach linguistics (method), and, most importantly, what for (goals). For practical reasons, let us reverse the iconic ordering of what-how-what for and begin with the last one.

What for? What? and How? Why do we need to study language as a phenomenon? Traditionally, students were faced with curriculum demands to understand the phenomenon of language as a separate entity, bordering almost on the myth of the modularity of mind and the modularity of the order of the Universe. And its understanding was bound to strive for finite and complete models prescribed in textbooks, which occasionally included lists of questions and exercises. Most clearly such an approach fulfilled a very important demand of intellectual (rational) nature, namely, the demand of a fully rational engagement in the study of commonly acknowledged constellations of premises and notions, that were assumed constant and unquestionable. It is only along with the rise of functionalist and cognitive approaches when an important, and yet, gradual shift took place, the shift towards the acknowledge- ment that linguistic phenomena display uttermost complexity within both mental (subjective) and social (inter-subjective) realms. In the spirit of M.A.K. Halliday’s view – nothing is simple in linguistic description and explanation. Language is a poly-systemic, if not an entirely organic, phenomenon. In that case, the process of the study of language should reach beyond the purely intellectual venture and is bound to employ insight and creative thought. Jocularly, we can assume that there exists one more linguistic function, apart from the acknowledged typologies of Roman Jakobson’s or Michael Halliday’s, we need to add yet another function – the function of language as a plaything. In that case we can embark on an attempt to answer the question “what for?” in a more adventurous and unconstrained spirit. Apart from the traditional applications of linguistics (i.e. in language teaching and translation), the study of language as a phenomenon seems crucial for general intellectual and social-emotional development. The study of language for a better understanding of what is going on in the social sphere, literary sphere and other diverse and dynamic textual and semiotic spaces operating in multiple cultures and cross-cultural realms in the postmodern world. The study of language to enhance applicative powers of other academic disciplines, as well as artistic realms. That is where the profit rests. The study of language for fun and the awe of intellectual and aesthetic insight seems equally important, if not of utmost prominence, as it is no longer the study of language as the “art-for-the-art’s sake.” We do various things to entertain ourselves and exercise our brains. Some people do cross-word puzzles, solve riddles, others toy with paradoxes and mathematical problems, or Studying linguistics for fun and profit 173 play chess and other strategic games, and equally well, with playful engagement and unquestionable profit, some can carry-out an analysis of a textual formation and deconstruct it in terms of content and form across multiple lines, sometimes stemming from diverse linguistic theories and methodological stances. In that case, apart from the analytical awareness and understanding that seem to constitute the core motivation beyond the contents of linguistic modules, we will require to employ the spirit of such qualities as experimentation with language and creativity in language. Such a state of affairs, or – better – flux of affairs, is bound to produce in students and instructors an enhancement of flexibility and sensitivity in the domain of cognitive capacities other than language itself (visual, auditory, kinesthetic, etc. in visual arts, music and dance), and, at the same time, will contribute to the students’ expansion of purely linguistic skills that can enrich translation skills or textual-stylistic analytical skills and promote the development of creative capacities, very much in the vein of the so-called ”positive” transfer that must somehow also operate cross-modally. Lots of inspiration for an instructor of linguistics can also be drawn from the field of Humanistic Psychology (in the tradition of A. Maslow and C. Rogers), which celebrates the dynamic union of the body and the mind and the awareness of the mind through the body. If the notions of analytical awareness and creative experimentation in language need to stay a fairly inflexible mantra, we will need to realize what type of exercises are best to fulfill its demands, so there is ample space for flexibility and variations on multiple themes. In terms of teaching techniques it is advisable to consider problem-setting with a range of problem-solving activities such as: identifying elements in texts with regard to some selected aspects (morphological, lexical, figurative, syntactic, semantic, pragmatic, etc.) and encourage students to work towards creative extensions of what they have found – for example, in the vein of the ”productivity of a grammatical constructional schema” (e.g. All night long the train drummed its way across starlit bush. George Farwell, “A Long Journey home,” Australian Landscapes). Another set of strategies could involve “the-odd- man-out” selection from a set of elements, matching elements, sequencing and/ or reshuffling them, ranking elements in order of priority, providing contexts for utterances, creating utterances for contexts, etc. All in all, apart from the playful and creative nature of the exploratory process, we might conceive of an idea of creating a “thick description” of a piece of text in terms of the multiple parameters that the study of language offers. We shall also need to decide on the material, that is on where we could look for natural sources of diverse linguistic data (also to serve the purpose of maintaining a reasonable level of fun-generating atmosphere). In short, linguistic data can 174 Waldemar Skrzypczak come from virtually every kind of formation: dictionaries of euphemisms, dictionaries quotations, graffiti, poetry and prose, press articles along with headlines and advertising, political clichés, slang, limericks, jokes, signs and notices, etc. For instance, one can consider an airline poster: Breakfast in London. Lunch in New York, to which someone added: And your luggage in Bermuda. Or Muhammad Ali’s: Fly like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Or a note on an office door: Back in a minute. signed: Godot. Classical books on linguistic pragmatics, such as Jacob Mey’s Pragmatics, and the highly recommended Peter Grundy’s Doing Pragmatics, and Jane Thompson’s Meaning in Interaction are exemplary and show how the diversity of authentic data should be preserved.

Theoretical constellations and exemplary language awareness activities General and descriptive linguistics The classical definition of language can be taken for a start to show the nature of the mutual entanglement of linguistic subsystems stemming from the classical definition: “language is a system of signs used for communication.” The following steps and activities are suggestions for teachers of linguistics and can elicit the awareness of language mechanisms from their students. Step one: ask the students to consider some material artefacts, such as a knife or a magnifying glass, or a bicycle – and ask them to reflect and talk about how the structure of these items is inseparable from function (e.g. a sharp knife cuts easily, a complete and well maintained mechanism works/moves smoothly, etc.) Step two: show how this line of reasoning regards the above language definition, where all structural elements interface function; thus we receive a coherent representation of language as a system in terms of structure: phonology (phonemes), morphology (morphemes), lexicon (words), syntax (phrases, clauses, complex sen- tences), texts (utterances) used for communication in terms of function: semantics virtual, potential, idealized, in mind vs. pragmatics actual, real, in use, in context. Step three: point out the mutual interdependence of these subsystems, and thus their structural – functional integrity (morpho-phonemic, morpho-syntactic, etc.). Activity one: show how segments work without prosody (imitate a robot-like speech). Activity two: show how prosody works without segments (say /u:/ or /i:/ as if you were bored, angry, surprised, shocked, etc.). Studying linguistics for fun and profit 175

Activity three: extension of fully prosodic utterance to paralinguistic elements (bodily posture, facial expression, gesture and distance). Activity four: try also foreign accents and/or the accents of other varieties of English to see how far segments can be deformed relative to the accepted standard). Activity five: show the mutual entanglement (interpenetration) of morphology and syntax (to raise the awareness of parts of speech and derivational morphology), as in: Because it rained heavily the President could not arrive and they cancelled the press conference immediately, as a result. Due to heavy rain the President’s arrival was impossible, which resulted in the immediate cancellation of the press conference. Some more examples can be inspired by reflecting along the lines of Role and Reference Grammar of La Polla and Van Vallin, and the Hallidayan conception of the grammatical metaphor within the functional-systemic model. Activity six: to show how prosody (especially tone-units) and constituent structures (grammatical constructions) interface image construction (meaning). The famous ambiguity of: She[S] fed[V] her dog[O] biscuits[O] vs. She[S] fed[V] her[O] dog biscuits[O] would be good for a start. Then ask the students to try and assign two different meanings and two different types of syntactic organization of the following (use prosody): He [S] put [V] the ice [O] in the box on the desk [A]. He [S] put [V] the ice in the box [O] on the desk [A]. Activity seven: try more ambiguity examples and garden-path examples, such as: I shot the elephant in my pyjamas (How he got into my pyjamas, I’ll never know) The horse [S] chased [V] past the barn [A]. The horse chased past the barn [S] fell [V]. Activity eight: see how valency of some verbs works toward a diversity of syntactic patterns: I got into the room through the window [SVAA]. I got angry [SVC]. I got a present [SVO]. I got her a book [SVOO]. I got my shoes wet [SVOC]. Activity nine: Push syntax to possible limits. Start with a simple sentence and add one unit at a time (to help sharpen the awareness of a unit status – in the sense of cognitive grammar): The weather is nice. The weather is nice in Paris. The weather is very nice in Paris. Today the weather is very nice in Paris… 176 Waldemar Skrzypczak

Activity ten: try restructuring and reshuffling syntactic elements (also through cleft shifting, topic shifting, play with “island constraints” and the scope of negation, etc.) and see how they are responsible for image construction and information dynamism. Jane cooked tomato soup on Friday. It was tomato soup that Jane cooked on Friday. What Jane cooked on Friday was tomato soup. I don’t think Jane cooked tomato soup on Friday. What do you think Jane cooked on Friday? Activity eleven: try to point to how language is iconic (in prosody, segments, morpho-syntax), such as: intonation (emotions/attitudes), sound symbolism (hissing), reduplication (go-go-go), the rule of ordering (veni-vidi-vici), the rule of proximity (He is not happy. He is unhappy.) Activity twelve: to illustrate the Langackerian conception of grammar as image, and thus point out the importance of bound morphological elements (inflectional and derivational) and function words as rudimentary (content words are purely invented): The sneds trobbed neadly at the glane. A mirky mirk mirked mirkly at the mirk, do you mirk? What mirked me is beyond my mirk. Construal operations (focal adjustments, dimensions of imagery) in the sense of Cognitive Grammar should also be taken into account (scope, categorization by schema and by prototype, prominence, perspective, abstraction, selection). Activity thirteen: work on other “variations on the theme” regarding the assign- ment of syntactic roles and semantic roles in utterances (use authentic materials): Syntactic Roles and Relations: [S] Subject realized by a Noun Phrase, [V] Verb realized by the main Verb (in- transitive, transitive, linking), [O] Object (direct) realized by a Noun Phrase, [O] Object (indirect) realized by a Noun Phrase/or Prepositional Phrase in Ob- ject switch (prep Object), [C] Complement realized by a Noun Phrase for Role/by an Adjective Phrase for Attribute, [A] Adverbial realized by an Adverbial Phrase as in the following respectively: Basic Clause Patterns: SV: Birds sing. SVO: I kissed her. SVOO: I sent her a rose. SVOO: I sent a card to her. SVC: She is my love. She looks beautiful. SVOC: She made me happy. SVOA: I put the book down. SVA: They are at school. She went to London. Semantic Roles (Participants) – involving the windowing of attention [zooming], conflation [double exposure], perspective change [viewpoint shifts] and Studying linguistics for fun and profit 177 metaphorical transfer [vertical and horizontal mappings] – all within the matrix below; also for the transitive, reflexive and reciprocal framing of situations): Initial state (be/have) |------c----h----a----n----g----e------| Result state (be/have) Affecting------Affected AG/SOURCE•------>INST•------>PAT/GOAL• for energy transfer AG/SOURCE•------>MVR•------>REC/GOAL• for object transfer AG/SOURCE•------>STIM•------>EXP/GOAL• for stimulus transfer (including speech) Activity fourteen: work towards the semiotics of index–icon–symbol in: gesture, alphabets and other writing systems, road signs, musical notation, maps, city plans, diagrams, mathematics, religious symbolism, visual arts (mimetic/realistic, symbolic, towards purely abstract representations), etc.

Text Linguistics The main assumption of text linguistics, as proposed by Robert A. de Beaugrande and Ulrich Dressler (1981), is that any linguistic activity is a problem-solving activity which is regulated by efficiency, effectiveness and appropriateness. Text is a communicative occurrence that provides a continuity of senses and meets the seven standards of textuality, which in short embrace the following notions and processes: Cohesion: surface grammar, grammatical dependencies, linking, co-reference Coherence: knowledge structures/concepts, control centers Global Pattern: space, time, process, cause-effect, agency: intention-purpose 1. frame (participants and locations in space) 2. schema (event sequence, causal relations in time) 3. plan (intention-purpose/goals in agency) 4. script/scenario (a routine event structure) Infromativity: information dynamism: Theme/Given – Rheme/New Intertextuality: T-1  T-2: allusion, parody, allegory, quotation, literary parallels, etc. Types of texts: descriptive (frame), narrative (schema), argumentative (plan) Situationality: participants, time, place, situation monitoring and managing: planbox escalation Intentionality: attitude of the addresser, e.g. speaker/author – to achieve the goal (Speech Acts) Acceptability: attitude of the addressee, e. g. hearer/reader – to provide co-operation (Co-operation Principle and the Maxims of Quality, Quantity, Relation and Manner) Textual criteria of cohesion and coherence will provide us with a constellation of yet more complex elements reflecting such phenomena as continuity of senses accommodated by grammatical dependencies, co-reference and linking on the 178 Waldemar Skrzypczak side of surface grammar, i.e. cohesion – all of which activate conceptual networks and mutual relations among concepts (in terms of participants in time – space, their attributes, causation, purpose and the like), i.e. coherence, where the conception of the global pattern (akin to frames, scripts, scenarios, domains) is crucial. Let us consider co-reference: anaphora, ellipsis, recurrence:

There once was a lady of Bygur There once was a lady of Bright Who went for a ride on a tiger. Who traveled far faster than light. Theyreturned from the ride She set out one day With the lady inside. In a relative way. And a smile on the face of the tiger. And Ø returned home the previous night.

A long-distance cataphora: April come she will [when steams are ripe and swelled with rain]. May, she will stay [resting in my arms again] June, she’ll change her tune [in restless walks she’ll prowl the night]. July, she will fly [and give no warning toher flight]. August, dieshe must [the autumn winds blow chilly and cold]. September, I’ll remember, the love once new has now grown old. (April, Simon and Garfunkel) Ellipsis: Mama, Ø just killed a man, Ø put a gun against his head, Ø pulled the trigger now he’s dead… (Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen) Extra activities can be designed towards an establishment of a global pattern structure: frame: participants and locations in space, schema: sequences and causal relations in time, plan: purpose structure in agency, and scripts and cultural scenarios (global patterns). Cook-books, instruction manuals, notices are full of simple pointers to the “know-how” procedural type of knowledge. Rituals, pas- times and games, in likewise fashion, show the “know-how” of our agendas on wedding ceremonies, birthday parties, boarding a plane, checking in at the hotel, a visit to a dentist, a taxi ride, a restaurant (how they can vary cross-culturally and on individual basis, how we play the game and apply variations on the theme). Note also: Informativity (along with perspective and zooming operations) in the following examples: With eyes wet and huge the deer watched; the young man watched back. The youth was crouching over a spring as though talking to the ground, the water pluming up bright through his turquoise-ringed hand, and eddying black in the bottomless whorl it had sculptured neat and sharp in the orange rock. The rock retreated to a blue then to an almost chrome yellow at the foot of the deer. (Eastlake 1965: 78) Studying linguistics for fun and profit 179

Tomas Tomas, behind his round cracked face and shallow-set lizard eyes, was one hundred years old, or he was chasing one hundred. Or one hundred was chasing him… (East- lake 1965: 90) Identify intertextuality (use books of quotations, graffiti, etc.): Work is the curse of the drinking classes. (Oscar Wilde) A friend with weed is a friend indeed. (proverbial) Back in a minute. Godot. (a note on the door at a literary department) Einstein relatively Rules. OK. (scribbled on a desk at a physics department) Darling me no darling. (Priscilla, The Queen of the Desert) To sum up, cohesion and coherence coincide with information dynamism and also intertextuality. Other constitutive principles, such as situationality, intentionality and acceptability will allow us to establish deictic centers (personal, spatial and temporal), as well as to see into the attitudes of addressers and addressees, which calls for illocutionary forces of the sender to attain a goal specified in a plan and willingness to cooperate form the receiver of the message. This, of course brings us closer to linguistic pragmatics and the issues of the semantics – pragmatics con- tinuum, especially when we explore such inferential phenomena as entailments, presuppositions and implicatures (here the well-acknowledged books on pragmatics, especially Jean Peccei’s Pragmatics, will provide excellent activities, with a host of “hereby” tests, “but-why” tests, “negation” tests, cancellation/mitigation tests, etc.).

Cognitive Linguistics: Cognitive Grammar and Cognitive Semantics Cognitive Linguistics in its two brands (Cognitive Grammar and Cognitive Se- mantics) allows an even sharper focus on the aforementioned phenomena (along the phono-morpho-syntactic spectrum of linguistic constructions, especially when we employ scanning and construal operations (dimensions of imagery)). They show precisely how the “camera eye” of language works along units of various complexity. The guiding assumptions of Cognitive Linguistics will require a separate design of awareness raising activities, and they embrace such problems as: 1. The act of perception as the act of construction. Gestalt principles. 2. Figure – Ground alignment and Standard >Target in the act of comparison. 3. Scanning operations (summary and sequential scanning) in both general perception and linguistic processing. 4. Mind as a process and meaning as conceptualisation. 5. Meaning as embodied (on-line, peripherally connected, actual, i.e. mediated by sensory perception) 180 Waldemar Skrzypczak

6. Meaning as imaginative (off-line, autonomous, virtual, potential i.e. in the mind). 7. The perceptual cycle (alternating the on-line and off-line modes). 8. Lexical concepts as encyclopeadic. 9. A word as a matrix of domains and polysemous nature of words. 10. Grammatical constructions as imagistic. 11. The topological nature of linguistic units Cognitive Grammar is specifically concerned with the so-called alternatively referred to as dimensions of imagery, focal adjustments, or camera-work, also known under the label of construal operations (Langacker 1990, 2000). They can be summed up in the following short-cuts for the lexical and syntactic levels respectively: LEXICAL LEVEL (Concerns the conceptual content of words and the organization of the lexicon) Scope (Figure/Ground) and domain matrixes: [[[pupil[iris]eye] [[hypotenuse[right triangle] Categorization by schema (move>walk>stroll, substance>liquid>tea) by prototype (bread------caviar, sparrow------penguin) Polysemy via metaphorical processes of sense extension (head  head of a nail, leg  leg of a desk) Polysemy via metonymic profile shifting (church as a building v. congregation) SYNTACTIC LEVEL (Concerns grammatical constructions) Prominence (Figure/Ground) grammar as image: the cat’s [G] tail [F]; the plane [F] above the clouds [G]) v. the clouds [F] below the plane [G] Perspective: vantage point of access and directionality of scanning: The road diverges Eastwards. vs The road converges Westwards Perspective also concerns objective (externalist) vs. subjective (internalist) viewing arrangements Virtuality: virtual boundary (My collection contains 100 coins), virtual motion (The road runs to the forest) zooming operations: (the book on my desk in the office upstairs) Abstraction: an atom, π-value, a unicorn Selection size/colour/material/purpose: a tiny blue porcelain coffee cup

Cognitive Semantics is concerned mainly with what I would like to label through the use of an umbrella term, namely, “figurative phenomena,” that can be listed as follows: FIGURATIVE PHENOMENA (Concern imagistic shifts across domains and shifts of profile) (Lakoff, Johnson 1980, Lakoff and Turner 1989, Lakoff 1993, Fauconnier 1985) Conceptual and Novel Metaphors: SDà TD (virtual shifts/mappings across domains) My garden is a jungle. My home is a Central Station. [analogy] Conceptual and Novel Metonymies: [Y(y)] (profile shifs/mappings in a single domain) Plato is on the top shelf. I drank three cups. [contiguity] Mental Spaces (also fictional worlds): Space Builders, Roles and Values Studying linguistics for fun and profit 181

In reality Lisa’s eyes are blue, but in my dreams they are green If I were a millionaire my VW would be a Rolls Blends (novelty of expression via selective projections from input spaces):

{GENERIC} Ï Ð {INPUT 1} D {INPUT 2} Ê{BLEND}É

Activity One: A lexical concept can be analyzed as a matrix of domains, such as shape, size, colour, function, etc., and also in terms of larger conceptual complexes, such as frames, scripts and scenarios. Activity instruction: establish the scope of predi- cation in terms of perceptual modalities and score the below lexical concepts in terms of relevant domain activation according to your intuitions (on a 0–10 point scale).

Lexical concept visual auditory olfactory gustatory tactile kinesthetic Rose Kiss Tango Mango

Construal operations (or dimensions of imagery provide clues to how the “camera-eye” operates in language. A single utterance can be analyzed in terms of scope (F/G of a lexical concept) prominence (F/G of a morpho-grammatical construction), perspective (involving the point of access and directionality of scanning, and various levels of objectification), image transformations (such as imposing a virtual boundary or activation of virtual motion), as well as the dimensions of abstraction and selection. The examples below come from a literary work by Marjorie Barnard, The Persimmon Tree: I took a flat in a quiet, blind street, lined with English trees. It was one large room, high ceiling with pale walls, chaste as a cell of a honeycomb, and furnished with passionless, standardized grace of a fashionable interior decorator. It had the afternoon sun which I prefer because I like my mornings shadowy and cool. (1988: 3) Below is a list of my students’ findings of what construals were identified throughout the entire short story (camera-work) all conflated into an intermediate set of data for further analysis, discussion and creative modification (e.g. replication through the productivity of a schema): 182 Waldemar Skrzypczak

Scope: fit for every lexical item (F/G within the boundaries of a lexical unit & domain matrix shaping it) Categorisation by schema: plant>tree>persimmon tree Prominence: Figure-Ground in a grammatical construction There was a row [F-1] of persimmon trees [F-2]] down one side of the house [G]. When I arrived, the trees [F] were bare and still against the lilac dusk [G]. The shadow [F-1] of the burgeoning bough [F-2] was on the white wall [G]. The shadow pattern [F] on my wall [G] was intricate and rich. I saw a woman’s figure [F] opposite the curtains [G]. Perspective (point of access and directionality of scanning): Her window opposite mine (not mine opposite hers) […] [objective] I passed her in the street (not she passed me) [subjective, ego-centric] She was a lonely woman and so was I (not I was a lonely woman and so was she) There was a block of flats opposite […] one of the windows was opposite mine [+ zooming in] It was one large room, high ceiling with pale walls, chaste as a cell in a honeycomb, and furnished with the passionless, standardized grace of a fashionable interior decorator [descriptive elements – locations and attributes] Virtual motion (metaphorical mappings stative entities as dynamic entities): The afternoon sun threw shadow of the tree on my light wall […][sun as an agent and shadow as an object] The shadows of trees and buildings fell [shadows and buildings as objects] Persimmons cast a rosy light/blaze deep red […] The sun has left the sill […] I saw the spring come My blood ticked like a clock (simile) […] It was growing late and the sun would soon be gone Zooming out: I took a flat in a quiet, blind, street lined with English trees […] Dark gold fruit clinging to the branches A watercolour, pretty and innocuous, hung on the wall […] A bowl appeared on the sill Zooming in: The street was wide but because it was so quiet the window seemed near The window was open but there was a row of persimmons set out carefully on the sill The trees in the street showed green now, thick with budded leaves It was a shell [F] that fitted me [G] without touching me [G] Selection: a still warm milky day […] bowl of thick creamy pottery […] my old silver mirror […] hand-painted cans […] a quiet blind street lined with English trees Metaphors: My mind was transparent (SD: glass) à (TD: mind) Spring comes (SD: moving objects) à TD: seasons) […] The sun left (SD: moving object) à (TD: the sun) [see virtual motion above]. There is a gross overlap between Cognitive Grammar and Cognitive Semantics resulting from the common ground of phenomenologically licensed constructive Studying linguistics for fun and profit 183 processes that are attributed to linguistic phenomena. The overlap is inevitable even though the two brands display adherence to different notational conventions. The design of activities pertaining to categorization phenomena (categorization by schema and by prototype) should not pose particular problems in pedagogical terms, but can bring about new questions. Also the conception of polysemy, which goes along the “mantra” originating from John R. Firth: “we know what a word means by the company it keeps” (1957:11). In that case, we can assume that every word is n-times polysemous. Thus, the next step in establishing the polysemous nature of lexical concepts would be to raise the students’ awareness of linguistic units as being fully topological in nature (in the sense of Len Talmy’s (2000) “rubber-sheet geometry,” especially involving size neutrality, shape neutrality and closure neutrality). Thus the conception of the Idealized Cognitive Model (ICM) pertaining to the virtual-potential realm in the semantic space (conceptual memory) meets the demand to be matched against its respective collocational, constructional, textual and pragmatic environments. Let us note an example of the basic activity for metaphor and metonymy identification below.

Expression: Identification: METONYMY We need new heads in our Institute. Mapping: BODY PART FOR PERSON Expression: Identification: METAPHOR This is a sprouting idea. Mapping: IDEAS ARE PLANTS

You and I will sail the oceans forever Identification: LOVE What is going behind the scenes? Identification: LIFE Your theory lacks stable foundations Identification: THEORIES Sax has flu today. Identification: INSTRUMENT I bind my Plato in leather. Identification: AUTHOR

Last not the least is the question of novel metaphors in literary works. Here is a list of examples identified by the students in a short story by David Malouf The Sun in Winter: 184 Waldemar Skrzypczak

It was dark in the church, even at noon. Diagonals of chill sunlight were stacked between the piers, sifting down luminous dust, and so thick with it that they seemed more substantial than stone. He had a sense of two churches. One raised vertically on gothic arches and a thousand years old, the other compounded of light and dust. (1988: 12)

Expression: Source to Target mapping: Diagonals of chill sunlight (SD: geometry) à (TD: beams) Church compounded of light and dust (SD: light/dust) à TD: church) Blades of ice slicing in off the sea (SD: blades) à (TD: ice) (SD: substance) à (TD: sea) Crawling with fog (SD: animal) à (TD: fog) A great wish burned up in him: (SD: fire) à (TD: wish) Bells powdered with frost (SD: powder) à (TD: frost) He had exhausted his interest in art (SD: resource) à (TD: interest) There’s plenty of time (SD: resource) à (TD: time) The claws of ivy (SD: predator) à (TD: ivy) Picturesque corner of the past (SD: building) à (TD: time) The voice came from the pew (SD: moving object) à (TD: voice) His laughter came back to him (SD: moving object) à (TD: laughter) A kind of grace came over him (SD: moving object/substance) à (TD: emotion) Who had give birth to the decimal system (SD: children) à (TD: ideas) Sick with love (SD: sickness) à (TD: love)

We should also note the distinctions along the analogy – contiguity spectrum (corresponding neatly to the icon vs. index opposition), which opens the door to a more integrated study and understanding of metaphorical and metonymic phenomena, as: (a) polysemy can be based on analogy (head, neck, leg) and contiguity (profile shifting – as in: (1) church as a building and (2) church as a congregation) (b) synonymy in a likewise fashion metaphorically/by analogy (Life is a Journey, a Play, War) and metonymically/by contiguity (Plato is on the top shelf), and, finally, (c) analogy (like metaphor) and contiguity (like metonymy) work on the level of larger units, as intertextuality (perceived analogy of settings and participants between two texts, as in The Odyssey and Ulysses by J. Joyce, or The Iliad and Omeros by D. Walcott) and an extraction of a part or aspect of a frame or a script and spreading activation (as in the dialogue: (A) How did you travel? (B) I hailed a taxi. Or: Studying linguistics for fun and profit 185

(B) I had 20 $ for the taxi. Or (B) I was clever enough to tell the taxi driver the destination).

Mental spaces Mental spaces are transitional states of mind that embrace ongoing thought and imagination, physical action and discourse, hence they also give shape the dynamic nature of fictional worlds. They involve Space Builders, Roles and Values (Fauconnier 1985): In reality Lisa’s eyes are blue, but in my dreams they are green If I were a millionaire my VW would be a Rolls These phenomena inevitably address both the mental-subjective and social inter- subjective realms. They can grasp and explain such issues as explicit and implicit knowledge, hence also the notions of intuition and intelligence. They can reach far beyond language into the semiotic realm of symbolic behaviour and artistic creativity (visual, musical, choreographic). Therefore, cognitive-linguistic phenomena can be understood as an orchestration within the architectural design of the mind and cognitive pragmatic phenomena as an orchestration of the architecture of the social space. The use of real space for symbolic space (also involving the Invariance Hypo- thesis, which postulates the preservation of topological elements) is fundamental in raising the awareness of the Mental Space phenomena (the “trash-box as bas- ketball” example is now a classic). Let us consider some activities that enhance the awareness of mental space construction through the use of mime and gesture, and motor action and role-play activities: Mime and gesture: Perform the roles: of a bus driver, of a jumbo-jet pilot, of a choir con- ductor… in the classroom space. Also use pantomime to tell a story, instruct someone to do something, etc. beyond the use of words. Motor action: Get the students to act as planets in The Solar System, or get them to take up relevant locations around The Zodiac, etc. Blends accommodate the novelty of expression via selective projections from input spaces into the blended space. The generic space holds the most schema- tic elements of participants, locations, temporal locations and sequences, causal relations, purpose structure. Input spaces provide more particularized frames of situations. The blended space in the novel structure resulting from selective projections from input spaces. 186 Waldemar Skrzypczak

{GENERIC} Ï Ð {INPUT 1} D {INPUT 2} Ê{BLEND}É Blending processes take place on the lexical level (i.e. lexical blends: smog, slan- guage, motel, etc.), grasp metaphorical mappings and other mappings based on analogy, provide mappings for many proverbs, explain novel expressions (e.g. an injection of sad music, stock-market suffering a headache, etc), provide the framework for humour and jokes. Novel metaphor is a cross-domain mapping of specific elements. Image metaphor is a special case of cross-domain mappings of unique images where topology is preserved: Sally is a budding rose. Or the classical example: Her waist is an hourglass. Sally is a budding rose: (rose bud) mapped onto (Sally’s face) Her waist is an hourglass: (hour glass) mapped onto (a woman’s waist) Let us observe some selected examples of novelty ingrained in metaphorical mappings in Typewriter Music by David Malouf and in Bahadour by Judith Beveridge, respectively:

Source Domain à Target Domain Linguistic Realisation musical instrument à typewriter Typewriter Music grasshopper legs à type bars Grasshopper legs kick back meadow à typewriter keyboard A meadow dance on the keyboard meadow dancers à the finger-pads The finger-pads have it brailing à typing process Brailing through études of alphabet musical Études à alphabet études of alphabet region in space à time region [grass]-chop-[pers] the morning to soundbites material entity à sound soundbites food (bitten) à sound soundbites rifle/trigger à typewriter/ rifleshot keyboard hammer à font bar hammerstroke wood à silence notch in silence notchesà sounds notch in silence *** Studying linguistics for fun and profit 187

Source Domain à Target Domain Linguistic Realisation person à the sun (ag>Instr) The sun stamps his shadow on the wall a lasting image à shadow Shadow on the wall animate mover entity à kite His kite is working its way into the sky soldiers à diamonds Surrendering diamonds to the thin blue air diamonds à kites Diamonds (kites) recipient/goal à air To the thin blue air minters à legs His legs must mint so many steel suns steel suns à coins So many steel suns steel suns à days So many steel suns

Skrzypczak, Waldemar. (To appear) The Case of Novelty in Literary Imagery. A Cognitive Stylistics Perspective. An unpublished paper delivered at the IAUPE Conference in London, 25–29 July 2016, available from the author at the Department of English and Centre for Australian Studies, Nicolaus Copernicus University, Toruń, Poland.

Conclusion Literary expression appears to be the most specific and intricate representation of human mind in terms of intellectual and aesthetic inventiveness. Linguistic processes, namely, textual cohesion and coherence (grammar and meaning) and other imagistic operations resting at the core of our cognition, in linguistics terms, span the whole spectrum between technical instruction manuals and recipes in cook-books, which rely on fairly simple and unambiguous communication strategies, on the one hand, and the expression of wit and wisdom and gentility or the sublime states of mind mediated by the most refined literary geniuses, William Shakespeare, John Milton, Samuel Coleridge, James Joyce or William Faulkner. A language student may be satisfied with the mastery of the English language confined to the domains of specific fields, such as law, business or medicine, which require special knowledge and skill. But a language student should also profit and draw pleasure from the texts that await the discovery of novel realities, sometimes separated from us by time and by custom, encapsulated in literary expression. And the profit does not only come from the satisfaction derived from the sense of being skilled in terms of purely academic expertise that enables us to carry out an analytical deconstruction, but also, and primarily, for the joy of creative reconstruction of one’s own mode of existence, one’s own new mind. If stylistics means the explanation how linguistic choices of words and grammatical constructions produce stylistic effects that provide the impetus for intellectual, aesthetic 188 Waldemar Skrzypczak and emotional change, then the reader of a literary formation will be enriched to the point to return the pay-off by means of a feed-back as a better writer or a more articulate speaker in private life and public spheres. There is some inevitable circularity that dwells between both realms, that binds the both ends of discovery procedures and artistic creativity into a dynamic dyadic equillibrium.

References Bail, Murray (ed.) 1988. Contemporary Australian Short Story. London/Boston: Faber and Faber. Barnard, Marjorie. 1988. “The Persimmon Tree,” in Murray Bail (ed.), Contem- porary Australian Short Story, 3–8. Beveridge, Judith. 2009. “Bahadour,” in Geoff Page (ed.), 60 Australian Poems, 271–272. Creely, Robert (ed.) 1965. New American Short Story. New York: Random House Inc. De Beaugrande, Robert and W. Dressler. 1981. Introduction to Text Linguistics. London: Longman. Eastlake, William. 1965. “Portrait of an Artist with 26 Horses,” in Robert Creely (ed.), New American Short Story, 78–89. Eastlake, William. 1965. “Something Big is Happening to Me,” in Robert Creely (ed.), New American Short Story, 90–104. Fauconnier, Gilles. 1985. Mental Spaces: Aspects of Meaning Construction in Natu- ral Language. Cambridge, Mass./London: MIT Press/Bradford. Fauconnier, Gilles. 2001. “Conceptual Blending and Analogy,” in D. Gentner, K. J. Holyoak, and B. N. Kokinov (eds.), The Analogical Mind, 255–286. Fauconnier, Gilles, and Mark Turner. 2000. “Compression and Global Insight.” Cognitive Linguistic Research, Vol. 11-3/4, 283–303. Fauconnier, Gilles, and Mark Turner. 1996. “Blending as a Central Process of Grammar,” in Adele Goldberg (ed.), Conceptual Structure, Discourse and Lan- guage, 113–130. Firth, John R. 1957. Papers in Linguistics 1938–1951. London: Oxford University Press. Gärdenfors, Peter. 2001. Conceptual Spaces: The Geometry of Thought. Cambridge, Massattusetts/London, England: A Bradford Book/MIT Press. Gentner, D., K. J. Holyoak, and B. N. Kokinov (eds.) 2001. The Analogical Mind. Cambridge Mass./London, England, A Bradford Book MIT Press. Studying linguistics for fun and profit 189

Goldberg, Adele (ed.) 1996. Conceptual Structure, Discourse and Language. Stan- ford, California: CSLI Publications. Johnson, Mark. 1987. Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination and Reason. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George. 1993. “Contemporary Theory of Metaphor,” in Andrew Ortony (ed.), Metaphor and Thought, 202–251. Lakoff, George. 1987.Women, Fire and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: Univer- sity of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George and Mark Turner. 1989.More than Cool Reason: A Guide to Poetic Metaphor. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 1987. Foudations of Cognitive Grammar, Vol. I., Theoretical Prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 1990. Concept, Image and Symbol: The Cognitive Basis of Meaning. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Langacker, Ronald W. 2000. Grammar and Conceptualization. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Malouf, David. 1988. “The Sun in Winter,” in Murray Bail (ed.), Contemporary Australian Short Story, 233–240. Malouf, David. 2008. “Typewriter Music,” in David Malouf, Typewriter Music, 12. Malouf, David. 2008. Typewriter Music. St Lucia-Brisbane, Queensland: University of Qeensland Press. Ortony, Andrew (ed.) 1993. Metaphor and Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press. Page, Geoff (ed.) 2009. 60 Australian Poems. Sydney: UNSW Press. Semino, Elena and Jonathan Culpeper (eds.) 2002. Cognitive Stylistics, Langua- ge and Cognition in Text Analysis. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Skrzypczak, Waldemar. 2006. Analog-Based Modelling of Meaning Representations in English. Toruń: Nicolaus Copernicus University Press. Skrzypczak, Waldemar. 2016. “The Case of Novelty in Literary Imagery. A Cog- nitive Stylistics Perspective.” An unpublished paper delivered at the IAUPE Conference in London, 25–29 July 2016, available from the author at the De- partment of English and Centre for Australian Studies, Nicolaus Copernicus University, Toruń, Poland. Turner, Mark. 2001. Cognitive Dimensions of Social Science. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. 190 Waldemar Skrzypczak

Talmy, Leonard. 2000. Towards a Cognitive Semantics. Vol I: Concept Structuring Systems. Cambridge, Mass./London, England: Bradford Book, MIT Press. Wales, Katie. 2011 [1990]. A Dictionary of Stylistics. Edinburgh: Pearson Education Limited. Notes on contributors

Joanna Antoniak graduated from Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń with a master’s degree in English in 2013. In 2015, she earned a certificate in teaching Polish as a foreign language. Currently, she works as a freelance translator and proof-reader, studies Applied Linguistics at NCU, and is a PhD candidate in the Faculty of Languages, NCU. Her academic interests include postmodern literature and culture, postcolonial literature, and British pop culture.

Małgorzata Borońska obtained her BA degree in 2013 for a thesis on the portrayal of the soldier in Wilfred Owen’s war poetry. It compared two periods of Owen’s writing: before and after his stay in the Craiglockhart War Hospital. In her MA work, defended in 2015, she focused on the representation of body and identity in Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler and Black Swan. Its theoretical framework was based on social constructionist and psychoanalytical approaches to the body.

Paula Dutko studied English in the Department of English at Nicolaus Coperni- cus University in Toruń in the years 2010–2015. Her MA thesis was titled Trauma and the Holocaust: The experience and passing of trauma through generations. Her main research interests are Jewish culture and history, as well as studies of trauma.

Olivier Harenda was an MA student at the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, Poland. His BA thesis focused on the imaginings of Gothic antagonists in modern popular culture. During second-degree studies, he focused on the issues of postcolonialism and postcolonial literature. His other interests include literary adaptation, media and intertextuality, as well as film theory. Currently, he is a PhD candidate at the Faculty of Languages, NCU.

Grzegorz Koneczniak is Assistant Professor in the English Department of Nico- laus Copernicus University in Toruń, where he teaches editorial and textual aspects of literary works. His research interests also include postcolonial literatures, postcolonial theatre (Canadian and Irish), Anglo-Irish literature, literary theory, and comparative studies. He is the author of Women on Stage and the Decoloni- sation of Ireland. Counter-Discursiveness in the Drama of the Irish Literary Revival (1892–1926) (2011, based on his doctoral dissertation), a book on the history of Canadian drama, and articles dealing with Irish postcoloniality. He has also written Prompting In/ex/tensions inside the Manuscript and the Digital Folio. An Exploration of Selected Early Abbey Theatre Production Books, a book on selected aspects of digital publishing and textual scholarship. 192 Notes on contributors

Joanna Korzeniewska completed the MA studies at Nicolas Copernicus Univer- sity in Toruń and was granted the title of Master of Arts in the field of English Studies, specialization of Translation Studies and Teaching English as a Foreign Language, in 2015. Her research interests include gothic literature and film, literary and cultural theory, and film studies.

Emilia Leszczyńska obtained her master’s degree in 2015 in the Department of English, Nicolas Copernicus University in Toruń. Her MA thesis was dedicated to comparing the construction of time, space and events in Alice Munro’s Lives of Girls and Women and its film adaptation. She is a PhD candidate, writing about Janet Frame’s poetry. She is interested in early feminism as seen through the perspective of British novels, as well as in the concept of autobiographical traits in fiction.

Anna Lewandowska was an MA student of English philology at the Faculty of Languages at Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. She received her BA degree from the State School of Higher Professional Education in Konin for the dissertation titled Investigating the role of the teacher in fostering learner autonomy among high school learners of English. With reference to Matthew Arnold’s theory, in her MA dissertation she presents the relevance of the editor’s perspective for the interpretation of Shakespearean sonnets. Her current research interests include editing and typography of Anglophone texts, which is why she has enrolled to several editorial projects launched by the Faculty of Languages at the NCU in Toruń.

Marta Sibierska received her BA and MA degrees in English Studies from Nicolaus Copernicus University, where she is currently working toward a PhD in literature. Her theses have been devoted to philosophical and cognitivist threads in Virginia Woolf’s novels. Her research interests include the interrelations between literature and philosophy (particularly the pragmatist paradigm), and between literature and cognitive studies, as well as Darwinian Literary Studies.

Waldemar Skrzypczak is Associate Professor at the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University. He holds PhD and DLitt degrees in English Lin- guistics and is particularly interested in text and cognitive linguistics, the stylistic analysis of literary and non-literary textual formations, language variation and post-colonial varieties of English (Australian English in particular) and also in semiotics. He is Head of the Centre for Australian Studies at NCU. He is currently working on a synthetic interpretation of human universal conceptual categories. Notes on contributors 193

Jacek Stopa has a Master of Arts degree from the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. The title of his BA thesis was “The lightness of one’s dreams”: Influence of Irish myths and legends on the life and works of William Butler Yeats (on the basis of selected works). The title of his MA thesis isOblivious heavens: Evolution of cosmic horror in literature. He is a PhD candidate in the Faculty of Languages, NCU, and a member of the students’ theatre The Spinning Globe.

Paula Suchorska received her MA degree in English from Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń in July 2015. Her research interests include historical and realist fiction as well as British history, particularly the Tudors’ period and its depictions in literature and film. Moreover, she is interested in the methodology of teaching English. She is a PhD candidate in the Faculty of Languages, NCU.

Karol Szewczyk graduated from the Teacher’s of Foreign Languages Training College (diploma project: Teaching grammar and vocabulary through culture) as well as Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń with a bachelor’s degree (diploma thesis: The Origins of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal) in 2013. In 2015, he graduated from Nicolaus Copernicus University with a master’s degree (diploma thesis: Intertextual references to mythology, literature, history and cinematography in selected songs of Iron Maiden). His main interests include British literature, history and culture.

Katarzyna Więckowska holds PhD and DLitt degrees in British Literature. She is Associate Professor at the Department of English, Nicolaus Copernicus Uni- versity, where she teaches cultural and literary studies. She has published Spectres of Men: Masculinity, Crisis and British Literature (2014) and On Alterity: A Study of Monstrosity and Otherness (2008), and has co-edited a number of volumes, including The Gothic: Studies in History, Identity and Space (2012) and Ex-changes: Comparative Studies in British and American cultures (2012).

Adrian Woźniak graduated with a master’s degree in the Department of English, Nicolas Copernicus University in 2015. His MA thesis was titled Attitudes to evil: Representation of human behaviour in extreme situations in Stephen King’s The Stand. He is interested in modern literature. He loves horror stories and crime fictions, especially those which show people’s behaviour in extreme situations. His favourite author is Stephen King with The Stand as the magnum opus. His dream is to write his own horror story. 194 Notes on contributors

Małgorzata Żmijewska is a graduate of English Studies at Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. Her interest in the Stolen Generations of Australia was igni- ted by the film Rabbit Proof Fence (2002) and has been developing owing to the acquaintance with Lorraine McGee-Sippel. Emotionally engaged in the issue of the Survivors’ experiences and the reconciliation process, she aims at presenting the phenomenon of the Stolen Generations of Australia to a wider audience. In the summer of 2016 she hosted Mrs. McGee-Sippel and her husband Kevin in Poland during their round-the-world trip.