Theorising Loss and the Nonhuman: Melancholia and Trauma in Contemporary Texts By Emily Thew A thesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy The University of Sheffield Faculty of Arts and Humanities School of English October 2017 II Abstract Since Freud’s ‘Mourning and Melancholia’ was published in 1917, many theorists have expanded upon as well as critiqued his work in order to think through questions of grief and subjectivity. In this thesis I argue that such questions are generally framed in relation to the human, and suggest that our contemporary moment is increasingly producing literary texts that are particularly concerned with imagining the relationship between loss and the nonhuman. Following David Eng and David Kazanjian (2002), I use ‘loss’ as a theoretical term that ‘names what is apprehended by discourses and practices of mourning, melancholia, nostalgia, sadness, trauma and depression’, and I argue that this term is able to usefully open up such discourses and practices beyond anthropocentric narratives. This thesis is organised into two sections. Each focuses on a particular instance of loss, the first being ‘Mourning and Melancholia’ and the second ‘Trauma.’ In the first section, I begin with an extended reading of Peter Carey’s 2012 novel The Chemistry of Tears. Here I examine Carey’s text in relation to the ‘critical agency’ Freud identifies as one of melancholia’s symptoms, exploring the ways this manifests in the novel as a form of ‘unworking’ that reorients the protagonists’ relationships to humans, nonhumans, and ‘things.’ In the two remaining chapters of this section, I firstly examine de-extinction projects in relation to recent theoretical work that identifies melancholic attachment as the basis of subject formation, and then undertake a reading of Chloe Hooper’s A Child’s Book of True Crime (2002) that explores the text’s portrayal of children and extinction in the light of recent work on queer negativity. In the second section I undertake a set of three linked readings that explore the relationship between trauma theory and interpretation. All three of the literary texts in this section feature ghostly animals as guiding elements of the plot, and my interest here is in exploring how hospitable their authors are to these uncanny subjects. I briefly examine Evie Wyld’s novel All the Birds, Singing (2014) as a depiction of PTSD, then move on to read Suzanne Berne’s The Dogs of Littlefield (2014) alongside critical work that is concerned with the concept of immunity. Finally, I undertake an extended reading of Fiona McFarlane’s novel The Night Guest (2014). Here, I trace the relationship between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ as it manifests in both trauma and hospitality theory, suggesting that McFarlane’s text offers an important disruption of this binary. III Acknowledgements I would like to thank the Wolfson Foundation for awarding me the scholarship that allowed me to complete this research. Their interest in and support for the humanities in a difficult climate is hugely encouraging and I am extremely grateful to them. Thanks also to the School of English at the University of Sheffield for making me welcome, and to Emma Bradley in particular. I am also grateful for the company and insight of all the attendees at ‘Academia and Affect,’ as well as to its co-organisers, Maryam Jameela, Ethel Maqueda, and Richard Woodall. The biggest of thanks, however, must go to my supervisors Robert McKay and John Miller. They have supported me with patience and kindness through some difficult times, and the thoughtful consideration they have given to my research has been invaluable. Although my name is the only one on this thesis, it is no exaggeration to say that it only exists because of the overwhelming love and support I have been lucky to receive from my family and friends. I could not have done this without them. To my incredible Jessop Folk: Jess Hannington, Sarah Jackson, Hannah Leach, Sarah Lund, Jess Norledge, and Rosie Shute. Thank you so much for everything, you have dragged me through this thesis with your kind words and great hugs. I am in awe of you all. To my generous, kind, and patient team: George Bradley, Jon Emberey, Maryam Jameela, Selina Thompson, and Charl Williams. Thank you a million times. I love you all so much. Thanks also to the furry pals in my life: Ronnie, Toby, Mal, and of course the spectacular Harris James Tweed. A special thank you goes to Ben Markham for his support, hugs, and great tea-making skills in the last few months of writing this thesis, and also to Elspeth Kenny and Ruth Hawthorne. A special thank you also to two incredible pals, Helen Drake and Julia White. Helen, I don’t have words for how grateful I am to you for your unwavering support and kindness, and for making me snort laugh when things feel hard. You are the best lad I know. Jules, this thesis would most certainly not be here without you! You are just amazing. Thank you for everything, it really means more than I can say. To my ones, my mum Julie Thew, and my sister Charlotte Thew. You keep me going, always. I love you. Throughout the time spent working on this thesis I have had in mind Joyce Dobby, Derek Thew, and Shirley Thew, I miss them very much. Most of all, and most painfully, I miss my amazing dad, Chris Thew. This thesis is for him, with all my love. IV Declaration Chapter two of this thesis appeared in Journal of Environmental Philosophy, 14.1 (2017). V For Chris Thew VI Table of Contents Acknowledgements III Declaration IV Introduction Monstrous Metaphors: Theorising the Nonhuman in Loss Narratives 1 Chapter One ‘Any who sees the truth will be called mad’: Melancholic Critical Agency in The Chemistry of Tears 20 Chapter Two Narcissistic Attachments: A Melancholic Reading of De-Extinction Projects 84 Chapter Three ‘Futurity’s Unquestioned Value’: Precarious Subjects in The Hunter and A Child’s Book of True Crime 106 Chapter Four Subjectivity and Interpretation in Trauma Theory: Welcoming the Nonhuman 140 Chapter Five Ditching the Dogs: Discourses of Immunity in The Dogs of Littlefield 173 Chapter Six Beastly Encounters: Interpreting Strange Bodies in Fiona McFarlane’s The Night Guest 195 1 Introduction Monstrous Metaphors: Theorising the Nonhuman in Loss Narratives Belief is half of all healing. Belief in the cure, belief in the future that awaits. −A Monster Calls (2016) If it’s in a word, or it’s in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook. −The Babadook (2014) Letting go Conor O’Malley is twelve years old and he keeps having the same nightmare. He is leaning over the edge of a cliff, holding tightly on to his mother’s hand to stop her from falling. He has this nightmare because in waking life his mother is very ill: she is dying. One night the yew tree that stands in the cemetery behind his house starts to uproot itself from the ground; its branches twist into the shape of limbs and it grows tall and monstrous, then walks slowly and heavily towards his window, shaking the ground. ‘I have come to get you, Conor O’Malley,’ it says. The monster has a proposal for Conor; it will tell him three stories, over three nights, and then Conor will have to tell a story in return: the story of his nightmare. When it comes time for Conor to do this he refuses because the nightmare he keeps having, where he can hold on no longer and his mother falls, has a terrible truth at its heart. The monster knows this, of course; it has always known. ‘Speak the truth,’ it roars, ‘it will kill you if you do not!’ So Conor reveals the true story of his nightmare: he wants it all to be finished. ‘I let her fall,’ he tells the creature. ‘I let her die.’ Conor has been brave, the monster says, and together they travel for the last time 2 to the hospital where his mother is dying. This story, the creature explains, ‘ends with a boy holding on tight to his mother, and by doing so he can finally let her go.’ Hanging on Amelia’s husband was killed in a car crash. He was driving her to the hospital to give birth and the baby that was born that day is now seven years old. His name is Samuel, and he sees monsters everywhere. He is difficult and needy and Amelia struggles to look after him because she is still paralysed by grief. When Samuel finds a pop-up picture book about a monster called ‘the Babadook’, he becomes certain that it is in the house and wants to hurt them both. Amelia tries to destroy the book. She hides it, rips it up, and sets it alight, but it keeps coming back somehow, just as the story says it will. ‘If it’s in a word, or it’s in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook.’ Soon she starts hearing the monster in the house at night, whispering and knocking on doors. She follows it down to the cellar where she keeps all of her husband’s belongings and finds it there, dressed as him. Then, somehow, the monster is inside Amelia and she is filled with its anger and its violence. It makes her kill her little white dog and then it turns its rage towards her son, although she tries her best to fight it. ‘I haven’t been good since your dad died’, she tells Samuel.