1 at Home Abroad: an Exploration Into the Genres of Expatriate Literature
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At Home Abroad: An exploration into the genres of expatriate literature By Sarah Marshall Veeder Kingston University Submission for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy January 2019 1 Abstract At Home Abroad: An exploration into the genres of expatriate literature This thesis is in two parts, the first part consisting of the creative submission and the second part consisting of the critical submission. The creative portion is titled ‘Finding Felicia’. In this diaristic memoir, I recount my first year and a half as an expatriate, living in London while attending Kingston University. During that time, the title character, Felicia, becomes instrumental in my personal growth as well as structuring how I approached expatriation. As friendship with Felicia grows, the realization dawns that I am becoming dependent on her as the cornerstone of the life I am building abroad. However, she is scheduled to leave a year before me. As her departure date nears, the focus turns toward securing my place abroad— applying for visas as well as trying to make sure life would not be entirely empty when Felicia flew back to the States. The second portion of this thesis consists of the critical submission, ‘At Home Abroad: An exploration into the genres of expatriate literature’. The critical thesis is an examination of possible categories within the overarching theme of expatriation. The thesis begins with an exploration of the expatriate literature from the 1920s post-war era through to the Beats living in Paris in the 1950s and 1960s to inform the categories of modern expatriate literature. The categories I propose split the overarching theme of expatriation into three, with each group representative of the ways in which expatriation might be approached, from narratives that show an intense focus on becoming a part of the new culture to an ambiguity concerning the expatriate’s ability to integrate. Where the protagonist of the 2 texts falls on the spectrum from isolation to community involvement is a major marker of the goals and expectations held by the expatriate, which in turn helps to situate the text within a category. The three categories I propose are the sabbatical, the bohemian, and the trailing spouse expatriate narratives. The sabbatical expatriate narrative, as exemplified by Frances Mayes’s Under the Tuscan Sun: At Home in Italy (1996), shows the focus of the expatriate to be integration as a pseudo-local, the narratives showing the expatriate’s integration process through the use of food, attention to landscape and history, as well as a focus on learning the language, all as ways to further ingratiate themselves into their chosen community. The bohemian expatriate narrative, as exemplified by Ben Lerner’s Leaving the Atocha Station (2011), shows the focus of the expatriate to be less on the actual facts of their expatriation, and more on the possibility of creating a new life or experimenting with possible identities. The third category I propose is that of the trailing spouse expatriate narrative, as exemplified by Brigid Keenan’s Diplomatic Baggage: The Adventures of a Trailing Spouse (2005). The trailing spouse expatriate narratives show a different starting point for expatriation—going abroad for work, or for someone else’s work—as well as show the possible difficulties of raising a family abroad and the constant sacrifices demanded to maintain the new lifestyle. All these categories address the threats to self and identity that arise with expatriation, but it is how these threats are approached by the expatriate that determines the category. This research relates to my own creative work as they both explore what it means to be an expatriate today. My creative work challenges the research by complicating different aspects of the three categories of expatriate literature discussed, despite fitting most comfortably within the bohemian narrative category. 3 Acknowledgements Firstly, I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr James Miller, for helping me feel as though I could not only survive this process but could produce something worthwhile in the meantime. I could not have done this without your guidance, critical eye, and support. I would also like to thank Rachel Cusk for her encouragement in pursing this PhD, and Dr David Rogers for his support when I felt myself overwhelmed. Of course, I owe a large debt of gratitude to my parents because without their support I would not have moved to England or been able to stay for as long as I have. I have to thank Richard, my partner, and his family for being my in-county support system along the way. And most importantly, I have to thank Felicia for being my go-to person during our time together in Kingston, as well as for the continued inspiration (and editing skills) she has provided since moving back to Kentucky. 4 Table of Contents Creative Submission: ‘Finding Felicia’……………………………………………………………………6. Critical Submission: ‘At Home Abroad: An exploration into the genres of expatriate literature’……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….170. Chapter 1: Introduction…………………………………………………………………………….………..…170. Chapter 2: An Overview of the History of Expatriate Literature……………..……………….187. Chapter 3: The Sabbatical Expatriate Narrative……………………………………………………….217. Chapter 4: The Bohemian Expatriate Narrative……………………………………………………….237. Chapter 5: The Trailing Spouse Expatriate Narrative..…………………………..…………………254. Chapter 6: Conclusion..……………………………………………………………..………………………….…267. Bibliography………………………………………………………………………………………………270. 5 Finding Felicia It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from retuning to that it has quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it: but then the throb of fear disturbs it… Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte I arrived at Heathrow airport at seven-thirty in the morning, in the middle of September of 2010. I—along with other international students—was due to meet university representatives who would then convey me to the school. The representatives’ designated lime-green t-shirts were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the airport was empty. There were a few men standing near the arrivals gate holding signs with names written across them, but there were only one or two people at the coffee stand and a tired looking clerk at the newsagents. I pulled my two large suitcases over to a bank of benches and sat down to wait. All I could think about was Jane Eyre, when she’s sitting alone in a parlour, waiting for someone to pick her up for her new position as governess. When no one was there to meet her. I was that inexperienced youth, twenty-two years old and alone in an airport overseas, with no immediate way of contacting anyone at home or in England, with no return ticket, left to wait and have faith that the lime-green t-shirts would appear and lead me to my new life. I certainly had adventure ahead of me and was proud I’d made the trip alone—it was the first time I’d flown by myself—but waiting on that cold bench made me realize how little a step that solo flight had been. Slowly, other students arrived, distinguishable by the slow steps, the large suitcases, eyes casting desperately around the arrival’s hall. Eventually, lime-green t-shirts appeared 6 and were immediately converged upon. A bouncy young woman checked my name off a list, and I sat down next to the other students to wait for the later arrivals. The easiest way to talk to strangers, especially when sitting in an airport, is to ask about home. “You look Scandinavian,” someone said to the girl next to me. She had a round face and dyed black hair, a small stud sparkled in her nose. “You look French,” she replied. I wouldn’t have been able to pick out their countries based on their features. They all simply appeared young and European, somehow. I wasn’t sure, other than the flare of my jeans, what would mark me as an American. “What year are you?” I asked the Scandinavian girl. “First year,” she said. “And you?” “I’m a grad student,” I said. “Any guesses where I’m from?” “You just look white American,” someone said. I don’t know what I expected, but I remember being a little disappointed. What made me so American? Why was that disappointing? Was it the word ‘just’? Though they were right, it made me feel plain and featureless. I felt smaller than them, despite the fact I had four extra years of education, they seemed intrinsically bolder, braver, leaving home years before I’d had the courage to. I’d had the chance to go to England straight out of high school but had stayed within three hours of home instead. I wondered if maybe, because Europe was smaller, the distance didn’t have the same effect on them? But distance and time are relative no matter where one lives, and I just wasn’t ready at eighteen. “So why come to England for college?” I asked, using the incorrect designation. A moment should be spared here for vocabulary. Having lived in England for eight years, I now have two sets of vocabulary to choose from when discussing higher education. 7 In America, most bachelor’s degrees are four years, so when I first arrived, I tended to use words such as ‘freshman’, ‘sophomore’, ‘junior’, and ‘senior’ to describe what the English were calling ‘first year’, ‘second year’, or ‘third year’. Their undergraduate degrees were only three years. In America, ‘college’ and ‘university’ are interchangeable. A ‘college’ is a specific school within a University, or an institution that does not offer post graduate degrees.