Invisibility

I am interested in our discussion about the invisibility of power, and how effective power is transparent power, much like masterful language is also transparent.  I was recently reading an essay for another class called “White,” in which the author (Richard Dyer) analyzes representations of whiteness within the media.  He approaches a dead-end in his definition of whiteness, which he does not consider a racial category like other racial groups.  This, precisely, is why whiteness is so powerful.  He claims that whiteness derives its power, not from overtly claiming superiority, but by claiming to be the norm.  

To illustrate his point, he interviews white people about their identity and almost none of them self-define as white, or at least none of them consider whiteness to be a salient part of their identity.  Whiteness can always be reduced to more specific categories, such as nationality or ethnicity (i.e. Irish, Scottish, etc.).  A film depicting a white family is never a film about white people, but a film about Jewish, working class people (specificity), but there are films about black people, or black films.  

Dyer’s thesis about power and invisibility is especially compelling in light of another book I read for class, Toni Morrison’s Playing in the Dark, and her exploration of whiteness through the lens of blackness.  According to both Morrison and Dyer, whiteness as a category of power gains its substance through negation.  It is defined always in reference to what it is not, hence degrading representations of blackness contribute to a positive white image.  

I am wondering how this links to our discussions of power in V for Vendetta.  How can we see power, not only in terms of invisibility, but also in terms of emptiness.  Fascism is no doubt aggressive, yet much of its effectiveness requires consensus, self-regulation, and public participation in social policing.  

Race and Language

While reading, I was thinking about the significance of race in Absalom, how Faulkner uses language to racialize the characters, enable or disable their voice, and frame them as a presence or absence in the narrative.  In class, I realized that another way of thinking about this broad question was to frame it differently for myself:  What does Faulkner’s language do to the characters. 

Parentheses in Absalom Absalom!

We talked a little about italics in class, and I wanted to point out some observations I found in one of the book’s early passages (Location69):

“It seems that this demon–his name was Sutpen–(Colonel Sutpen)–Colonel Sutpen.  Who came out of nowhere and without warning upon the land with a band of strange niggers and built a plantation–(Tore violently a plantation, Miss Rosa Coldfield says)–tore violently.  And married her sister Ellen and begot a son and a daughter which–(Without gentleness begot, Miss Rosa Coldfield says)–without gentleness.  Which should have been the jewels of his pride and the shields and comfort of his old age, onle–(Only they destroyed him or something or he destroyed them or something.  And died)–and died.  Without regret, Miss Rosa Coldfield says–(Save by her) Yes, save by her.  (And Quentin Compson) Yes.  And by Quentin Compson.”

 

Faulkner’s use of parentheses stood out to me in this passage.  They interrupt this stream of memory with (clarifying and intensifying details) that finally make their way into the narrative, generating repetition.  This retelling of history is a culmination of the memories of these ghosts, making the account questionable.  Since these events occurred before Quentin was born, however, it characterizes his struggle to piece together this history based on hearsay.    

Water Map

“All I know is that water is that water is what you cannot carry without a container.  And the life of mine, still so young and uncontained, was already shaped and being shaped beyond what I could know.  I was fifteen and in a tipping vessel.” (37)

Tipping vessel:  The ship she happens to be on, but a reference to the container she signifies.  She is a tipping, off-balanced container.

Water: Fluid, revitalizing, destructive, pouring in, pouring out, transparent, deep, evasive.

Container:  Has no purpose apart from its function (to contain) which is embedded in its name.  It can serve other purposes but will always be misplaced and off-kilter.

Human beings:  Can be filled and emptied.  Hogan’s identity is shaped, not by the container ( her body), but by “unknown forces.”  There is no harmony between the life she leads, and the body she dwells in.

Water Map

“All I know is that water is something is what you cannot carry without a container.  And the life of mine, still so young and uncontained, was already shaped and being shaped beyond what I could know.  I was fifteen and in a tipping vessel.” (37)

 

I like the placement of her last sentence, since she happens to be on a ship.  I initially read this as a description of herself as a vessel that is tipping, unable to contain what is inside, spilling its contents all over.  Meaning becomes blurred, confused, messy, and unbalanced, and she tries to reconcile the disconnect between her identity and her body.  

Water:

Transparent, evasive, fluid, moving, deep, powerful, revitalizing, destructive, pouring (in/out), filling.

Container:

It has no purpose apart from its function.  Its function (to contain) is in the essence of its name.  It is useless otherwise.  It can serve different purposes, but there will always be a disconnect.

Hogan: 

This unhindered ocean forces itself into this underaged, confused, container.  The container and its contents are at odds, and in fact, the two struggle against one another.  There is no harmony between the container and the contained.  Her life is simultaneously uncontained because these “unknown forces” are shaping her life.  The water, not the container, is in control.   

 

 

That evil influence which…

There is one main character in Robinson Crusoe, yet there are equally significant–actually, I would argue more significant–characters in this book because of their sovereign presence and influence over Crusoe.  Danger, and Fate, overshadow and haunt each sequence of the story, even when Crusoe does not overtly mention them.

Fate expresses its personality through religion and superstition, i.e. prophesy, curse, and Providence (Heaven and Providence are both capitalized in the text).  The supernatural impregnates the book’s beginning.  Crusoe’s father attempts to dissuade him from his nautical dream, and refuses to extend his blessing, thus damning Crusoe.  Crusoe establishes the inevitability of this misfortune immediately, and commences to live out this death sentence in full knowledge of what awaits him.  Fate, and the unfolding of this curse, commands a sovereign and eerie presence in the story, yet remains mysterious and unknowable.  Its presence makes me constantly apprehensive.  Fate possesses a strength and influence that Crusoe lacks, because at points in the book, Crusoe refuses to take responsibility for his actions, even his conscious and deliberate acts of rebellion. He consigns culpability to Fate (which often means something evil.  Heaven, as a positive concept, is more rare).  Here is an example from location 173:

“That evil influence which carried me first away from my father’s house-which hurried me into the wild and indigested notion of raising my fortune, and that impressed those conceits so forcibly upon me as to make me deaf to all good advice, and to the entreaties and even the commands of my father-I say, the same influence, whatever it was, presented the most unfortunate of all enterprises to my view…”

This “evil influence”, albeit Crusoe’s idea of it, acts upon him, both in this passage and throughout the book. He always remains a victim in his relationship to Fate, never an agent over his own life.

His misfortune also alludes to the Biblical importance of honoring one’s father and mother, and the consequences of Crusoe’s rebellion.

To make this situation even stranger, Crusoe seems programmed to self-destruct. His misfortunes do not merely pan out as consequences of his rebelliousness. If this evil influence forces him against all better judgement to rebel, then there is a relentless evil at work on Crusoe, making him not unfortunate, but determined and in some ways eager to fulfill this doom.  Misfortune does not find him, or happen upon him in an aleatory manner, but he seeks it out.  Cruseo says in his own words:

“I know not what to call this, nor will I urge that it is a secret overruling decree, that hurries us on to be the instruments of our own destruction, even though it be before us, and that we rush upon it with our eyes open.  Certainly, nothing but some such decreed unavoidable misery, which it as impossible to me to escape, could have pushed me forward against the calm reasonings and persuasions of my most retired thoughts, and against two such visible instructions as I had met with in my first attempt.” (Location 163)

Danger plays a prominent, yet invisible role in this book, because the possibility of danger constantly keeps Crusoe on edge.  Fear acts on him with a force.  There might always always be an enemy, a “savage”, a wild animal to kill him, therefor Crusoe operates within this potential, and thus interacts with an invisible enemy, an invisible “savage”, and invisible wild animals that want to eat him.  When he is stranded on the island, he conserves gunpowder, laments for want of weapons, and tries to fortify himself agains an enemy that he has not yet seen, yet could see in the future.  The possibility of danger replaces, and becomes just as ominous as the danger itself.  Danger, or Not-Danger, there no difference.  Danger becomes, an active and simultaneously nonexistent companion in many phases of Crusoe’s adventure.

 

 

 

 

Aggression Abounds

Way back when, during the second week of class (seems so long ago!), we spoke of aggression and aggressivity,  referring to the social aspects that compose aggression. More recently, we spoke of  language and words as cultural objects. We went on to discuss how words are related to the social environments in which they are used and how they predetermine the ways we conceptualize life and being. This got me thinking… What are the ways in which the English language dictates how we live and conceptualize our daily lives?

So much of how topics are discussed within the English language seem to involve aggression. One topic that is really interesting with respect to the use of aggressive language is health, specifically pertaining to chronic illnesses. Research on cancer and HIV/AIDS are often phrased as advancing the “War on Cancer” or fighting the “Battle Against HIV and AIDS”. The New York Times actually featured an article fairly recently on this topic in its Health section. The author voices the opinion that words do little to accurately represent the experience of cancer.  In response to this NYT article, this blog post states that the language around cancer (battle, survivor, etc) does carry meaning that is very relevant to the experience. I think it’s interesting and relevant to consider how aggression impacts the experience of illness, especially as we’ve discussed how forceful both intentional and unintentional aggression can be. Thoughts?

 

On another note, the language around breast cancer has changed a lot, as seen through these new awareness-raising techniques. How did this change occur, does it benefit the fight against breast cancer, and are other chronic illnesses also capable of experiencing this change?

Empathy Skills? Reflex Skills?… How bout Dancing Skills?

So there’s this random mini-series on Hulu that I started watching this summer called “The LXD” and I thought it might be interesting to write a post on it.  The LXD (The Legion of Extraordinary Dancers) is the story of superheros and villains who, using their extraordinary dancing powers, are fighting the battle between good and evil. The show is a really easy watch, each episode a maximum of about 15 minutes, and the dancing is really good. There’s one episode in particular that features a dancer who specializes in “The Robot” and I thought it would be fun(ny)/interesting to try and tie it to what we’ve been discussing in class recently – so here it goes.

—Here’s a clip to pique your interest:

Money talks – but through whose lips?

Today in class we discussed whether the white folks who watched the mock slave auction and sympathized translated that sympathy over to the black slaves as effectively. We dwelt on the issue of money as a barometer for measuring how effective the mock slave auction was in eliciting that sympathy. Prof. Parham insisted that it worked precisely because the money was successfully gathered and effectively used in saving many blacks from slavery to escape for life in the north. Money talks.

Ok.

But can we not as easily argue that the people who give money for the cause do so only to be spared such mock auctions or even thoughts on real human auctions? Or better yet, can we not as easily argue that those money-givers needed this venue to help the cause without being directly implicated in it? Their money go to causes and to families, yet they enjoy that space that can help them not be too involved but offer them the bragging writes to be liberal and forward-thinking – “I donated $10 dollars the other day for those poor unfortunate Negroes in the South.”

But do these black folks care? I would argue that most, if not all of them, were grateful for the legal cash that saved from slavery – dare I say basic human instinct? These enslaved or previously enslaved persons would not care to much about the sympathetic complexities or lack thereof of their saviors. Here, money talks through their lips because they own those very lips.

I would argue, then, that money did nothing in and of itself to convince the whites of the north to extend human-hood to the slaves of the south. In its futility it did, however, open up a discourse of action such that the civil war became necessary – money was simply not enough when long-term goals became subjects of discussion.

Thoughts?

Man v. Machine