Ismail S. Talib's "The Language of Postcolonial Literatures" (Book Note)

 

The Language of Postcolonial Literatures seeks to introduce newcomers to the field of postcolonial literary studies, addressing the complex issues surrounding the role of language in postcolonial contexts. However, it becomes evident that the book focuses exclusively on Anglophone literatures, tracing the trajectory of English from its marginalization in eleventh-century England to its establishment as a global lingua franca under British and American imperialism. The narrative suggests that English overcomes resistance from writers in subjugated societies, eventually taking root in postcolonial settings.

 

The book's Anglocentric approach is not unique to the author, as it aligns with a broader tendency in postcolonial studies to emphasize the British empire and the English language in narrativizing the history and culture of imperialized societies. This tendency has historical roots, such as the emergence of "Commonwealth literature" in the 1940s, which initially focused on literatures from white settler colonies but later expanded to include works from decolonized African and Asian nations. The term "Commonwealth literature" was later replaced with terms like "New Literatures in English" and "postcolonial literatures," with a particular focus on Anglophone writings.

 

The book aligns with the theoretical framework presented in The Empire Writes Back (1989) by Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, which distinguishes between standard British English as a metropolitan language and "english" (in lowercase) as its postcolonial mutation. This framework establishes a binary opposition between colonizer and colonized while homogenizing the diverse ways in which English has transformed in different postcolonial settings.

 

Despite the Anglocentric perspective, the author is not solely responsible for this trend in postcolonial studies. The field itself has been criticized for sustaining cultural imperialism by prioritizing English-language literature and reinforcing colonialist hierarchies of languages. The author, Ismail Talib, appears to accept the theoretical framework of The Empire Writes Back without extensively addressing its controversial aspects, perpetuating the Anglocentric nature of postcolonial studies.

 

In contrast, postcolonial studies should ideally encompass literatures in all languages used by writers from imperialized societies, rejecting colonial hierarchies of languages. Emily Apter contends that postcolonial studies should align with the foundational disposition of Comparative Literature, inheriting its historical legacy without replicating colonialist frameworks. The critique underscores the need for a more inclusive and diverse approach to postcolonial literary studies that transcends the limitations of an Anglocentric perspective.

 

 

The ambivalence evident in the book's use of both "literatures" and "literature" reflects an ongoing struggle between embracing diversity and multilingualism on one hand and succumbing to homogenizing Anglocentrism on the other. Although Talib acknowledges Aijaz Ahmed's critique of the "Anglocentric tendency" and "theoretical imperialism" in postcolonial studies, the subsequent design of the book appears to dismiss these concerns.

 

The section on "Binary Oppositions" further highlights the book's internal contradictions. While acknowledging the potential positive aspects of binary categorizations, the author fails to adequately address the legitimate charges of Anglocentrism and Eurocentrism raised earlier. The book attempts to defend the use of binary oppositions as a conceptual approach, despite their association with colonial and racial discourses. This unresolved tension, coupled with the inconsistent acknowledgment of critiques, constitutes significant flaws in the book's approach.

 

Despite these issues, the book serves as a comprehensive overview of the challenges related to the use of English in postcolonial literatures. Covering various aspects such as the status of English in different regions, debates over its usage, and stylistic transformations, the book contributes valuable insights. The chapter on the stylistic transformations of English is particularly noteworthy, challenging the polarization of "English" and "english" proposed by Ashcroft et al.

 

As a textbook intended for students entering the field of postcolonial studies, the book unfortunately promotes an Anglocentric perspective and upholds a polarized, Eurocentric worldview that echoes imperialist justifications. However, it does hold merit as a resource within the established boundaries of Anglophone postcolonial studies. While it may not be suitable for introductory courses due to its problematic theoretical framework, individual chapters can prove useful for scholars and teachers seeking concise overviews of specific aspects related to language in Anglophone literatures. Notwithstanding significant omissions, such as neglecting Black Vernacular Englishes in the UK, the Caribbean, and the US, the book offers well-researched insights into the designated scope of Anglophone postcolonial studies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Timothy Brennan's "Salman Rushdie and the Third World: Myths of the Nation" (Book Note)

 

Timothy Brennan’s book primarily revolves around a detailed exploration of Rushdie's four novels: Grimus, Midnight's Children, Shame, and The Satanic Verses. This examination is guided by the initial two chapters, which establish crucial contexts for understanding Rushdie's work. These contexts include the role of fiction in contemporary nationalism, and conversely, how nationalism influences fiction. Additionally, the relationship between Third-World literary cosmopolitanism and anti-colonial liberalism is explored. This approach allows the book to simultaneously position Rushdie as both a unique individual and a representative figure. It enables the book to establish and question the role of internationally renowned Third-World writers in shaping post-colonial discourse.

 

While some categorization strategies may lean towards being overly prescriptive, such as the provision of a two-columned checklist of differences between "postmodernists" and "Third-World cosmopolitans," overall, this analysis presents an original and engaging exploration of a complex subject.

 

Throughout his argument, Brennan indirectly suggests why the Rushdie affair captured the attention of both liberal and less liberal Western minds. The "Third-World cosmopolitan" writers, with whom Brennan associates Rushdie, are characterized by their constant evasion of fixed national and ideological identities, which has become a defining characteristic of humane cosmopolitan writers from the Third World. One obvious result of this evasion is the translation of "authorial ambiguity" into a dualistic moral framework where every group is assigned both a positive and negative expression. Brennan identifies this radical relativity as a governing principle of duality in much of Rushdie's work.

 

This mode of translation inevitably leads to an ambiguous relationship with authority and tradition, and only a slightly more stable connection with an immigrant culture that lacks the former and strives to establish the latter. Twentieth-century English liberalism has often appeared, at one extreme, as nothing more than the refined high-mindedness portrayed by Forster (material that Rushdie criticizes as ripe for cinematic "Raj revisionism"), or at the other extreme, a form of Orwellian slumming. Brennan's portrayal of Rushdie, despite his outrage in the face of Thatcher's England or the Ayatollah's Iran, suggests that he cannot entirely avoid the pitfalls faced by well-intentioned political efforts due to his gender and class.

 

 

If there is a concern about "the way Rushdie often depicts women" (126), Brennan seems to find this issue ultimately less troublesome than the disconnect between Rushdie's refined upbringing, shaped by public school and Cambridge, and the experiences of "the people," particularly those striving to find their voice within Britain's diverse black cultures. The former cultivates detachment, while the latter demands engagement. This issue is most directly addressed in the discussion of The Satanic Verses. Despite the distortions in media coverage, Brennan argues that the novel primarily centers on a very secular England (147). The offense taken by "ordinary lower-class Muslims in India and Pakistan—along with those in the English cities of Bradford, Birmingham, and London" indicates, for Brennan, "the class resentments simmering beneath the surface of an affair that has often been viewed solely through religious lenses" (145).

 

Brennan's own allegiances, as outlined in his earlier analysis of decolonization, which positions Third-World cosmopolitanism in contrast to the work of pragmatic theorists like Antonio Gramsci, José Carlos Mariátegui, Amílcar Cabrai, and Frantz Fanon, become more apparent towards the end of the final chapter. Here, Brennan adopts a Fielding-to-Rushdie dynamic, critiquing the detached and insensitive nature of cosmopolitan 'universality.' While Rushdie contends that "bigotry is not only a function of power," Brennan suggests that in the specific immigration and acculturation complexities of contemporary Britain, the central issue may not be solely one of 'human evil'. The means of perpetuating this evil are evidently highly unequal, and the violence stemming from defending one's identity or livelihood as opposed to one's privileges is not equivalent (165).

 

If this is indeed a truth, it's a perspective Salman Rushdie has likely been in a uniquely uncomfortable position to acknowledge, at least since February 14, 1989, compared to Timothy Brennan. Behind the occasional surface-level identification with the oppressed lies a serious and nuanced examination not only of Rushdie himself, but also of the paradoxes experienced by Third-World intellectuals. These intellectuals may not be the most equipped agents to address the problem of our collective struggle to recognize the colonial perspective as one that truly matters (166).

 

Chidi Okonkwo, "Decolonization Agnostics in Postcolonial Fiction" (Book Note)

 

In "

Decolonization Agonistics," Okonkwo challenges the prevailing trend of assimilating literatures created by ex-colonized peoples for social, political, and psychological remediation. He rejects the stance taken by postcolonial cultural and literary theorists against the historicity of colonial effects, pointing to the inherent liberties within poststructuralist frameworks that allow for shifting positionality. Okonkwo highlights how poststructuralism, aligned with constructionism, permits social actors to continually construct and reconstruct social reality, rendering meanings arbitrary and necessitating updates to align with contemporary exigencies.

 

Okonkwo notes that postmodernism, in rejecting traditional historical analysis approaches, views causality and structure with skepticism. To counter the influence of this theoretical disposition, Okonkwo proposes a reexamination and redefinition of decolonization literatures, utilizing the works of formerly colonized peoples as the basis for his alternative critique in "Decolonization Agonistics."

 

In selecting the literatures of Anglophone Africa, Polynesia, and the West Indies, Okonkwo focuses on regions that shared a colonial experience under a common imperial power—the British. The period of analysis spans from the late 1940s to the early 1990s, considering the acquisition of the art of writing concurrent with colonization. The decision is grounded in the shared colonial history and the proclivity of postcolonial theorists to subordinate decolonization literatures. Okonkwo argues that exploring the clash between indigenous (primarily oral) forms of "esthetic representation" and their exogenous (inherited) counterparts can pave the way for a broader interest in the comparative analysis of such literatures.

 

In the initial chapter of "Decolonization Agonistics," Okonkwo delves into the identity crisis within postcolonial discourse. He contends that the term "postcolonial" in literary discourse is inaccurately influenced by "postmodernist theories of knowledge and culture." Despite the intentions expressed by proponents—integration of marginalized literatures and empowerment of marginalized peoples—the resultant approach, according to Okonkwo, replaces the fundamental principles of decolonization literatures with a "universalist, homogenizing discourse." This, in turn, situates the experiences and priorities of ex-colonized peoples within the "strategic priorities" of the West.

 

Okonkwo expresses skepticism toward a concept of postcoloniality that encompasses not only former colonies in Africa, Asia, and the South Pacific but also English-speaking "European Diaspora-dominated" countries like Australia, New Zealand, and the English-speaking part of Canada while excluding non-English-speaking European Diaspora countries. He attributes this inclusivity to the historical repositioning needs of English-speaking European Diaspora, undermining the necessary reflection on the issue at hand.

 

Highlighting examples of the use of "cross-cultural studies" and "multiculturalism" as marketing points in postcolonial discourse, Okonkwo argues against the appropriateness of multiculturalism in cross-national contexts. He points out that, generically, multiculturalism refers to cross-cultural transactions within collective wholes rather than inter-national transactions. Okonkwo criticizes the shifting definition of multiculturalism, citing instances like Jeffrey C. Alexander's article on "Modes of Incorporation." While rejecting travelers' "tales" and "racist" anthropology as credible bases for cross-cultural studies, Okonkwo acknowledges the role of travelers and anthropologists as crucial agents in formulating common factors essential for cross-cultural comparisons.

In the second chapter of his work, Okonkwo delves into the significant role of indigenous oral literature within formerly colonized societies. He positions oral literature as both a strategy for neo(colonial) resistance and an expression of their unique perspectives on history and the universe. Drawing upon various cultural and linguistic studies, Okonkwo supports the assertion that oral literatures are equally valid as written literatures, challenging the connection often made between the two for etymological reasons. He disputes critics who dismiss early oral offerings within this genre and questions the disparate reception of similar literary works in Russian, German, and European oral ballads.

 

Okonkwo suggests a minimalist position for critics of early decolonization novels, proposing three key principles for evaluation. These principles involve recognizing novels that seek affirmation through the "reconstruction" of the "precolonial universe," acknowledging the link between language use and the "psychodynamic characteristics of the dominant cultures," and understanding that a novelist's identification depends on the "proximity between the narrative prose and the dialogue."

 

In the third chapter, Okonkwo continues to emphasize the importance of language strategies in decolonization efforts, particularly the appropriation of the colonizer's language as a tool for self-assertion and resistance. He argues that all decolonization novels aim at self-assertion or rehabilitation. Despite mainstream criticism, cultural affirmation in early decolonization novels reflects a reminiscence of the ordered universe and societal dynamics disrupted by the colonial encounter. Okonkwo draws on works by W. B. Yeats and T. S. Eliot to illustrate the idea that societies, after collapse, adapt to new conditions that enable them to rebuild around surviving core values. The chapter proposes two tasks for decolonization literature: rejecting efforts to diminish the significance of oral traditions and resisting the obliteration of historical realities of the ex-colonized.

 

Chapters four and five address the debated question of whether the consequences of colonialism are episodic or continuous. Okonkwo argues, using insightful examples, that these effects are observable in practice. He contends that the psychological consequences of colonialism are real and enduring, influencing the colonized people's relationship with Europe and their self-conception. Despite the imperfections of their indigenous world, it was disrupted by the colonial encounter. In discussing cultural affirmation in chapter four, Okonkwo redirects attention to the coordinates within which early decolonization novelists operated, emphasizing that self-assertion is concerned with the dynamic presence of the past in the present, allowing glimpses into the future.

In chapter five, Okonkwo delves into the shadow side of the independence gained by ex-colonies, particularly focusing on the disillusionment experienced by many African, Caribbean, and Polynesian writers after attaining independence. This disillusionment stems from the failure of early governance structures, a complex issue attributed to various factors. Among these factors are the destruction of indigenous structures of order by the colonial power prior to departure, the Cold War rivalry between the West and the Soviet Bloc, frequently fought by proxy in ex-colonized regions, and the perception of the new state and its government as something alien, belonging to the departing imperial power.

 

Okonkwo's discussion highlights issues that have captivated serious-minded scholars from ex-colonies, reflecting the profound concern about the state of affairs in these regions. After gaining independence, the governing elite often retained significant aspects of the departing imperial power, including autocratic tendencies. Imperialism, as Peter P. Ekeh noted, introduced a version of the Western state stripped of its legislative attributes and legitimacy requirements, resulting in a postcolonial state unfamiliar to both Western civilization and precolonial African history.

 

The challenges stemming from this legacy, such as autocratic rule and the absence of separation of powers and the rule of law, have perplexed early decolonization novelists. Okonkwo emphasizes the need for a new reading of these texts, underscoring the moral dilemma inherent in post-independence politics. He critiques the allegiance owed to the local community being denied to the central (or Federal) government, exemplified by Ngugi's reaction against Achebe's prescription in "A Man of the People." Okonkwo discusses the concept of "home-beyond polarity," where the local community is morally regulated, contrasting with the amoral nature of the central government. This political configuration aligns with Ekeh's theory of the "Two Publics," describing a crisis of legitimation in ex-colonies where individuals straddle both a "primordial public" (moral) and a "civic public" (amoral), leading to complex allegiances and expectations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Francoise Lionnet's "Postcolonial Representations:Women, Literature and Identity" (Book Note)

 

"Postcolonial Representations: Women, Literature, Identity" enthusiastically engages with and praises the concept of hybridity in the literary works of "postcolonial" women writers. The celebratory analyses of women's texts unveil profound depth and complexity, shedding light on authors who historically received minimal critical attention. While this contribution is significant to the field, it may not wield the same influence as its predecessor. This is partly attributed to the evolving landscape of the field itself, with "postcolonial" feminist studies expanding as a distinct area of inquiry. Lionnet's work, once considered unusually theoretical, no longer stands out in the same way.

 

Furthermore, the book's status as a collection of previously published essays, lacking regional, cultural, or thematic unity, contributes to its diminished impact. This "incoherence" could be interpreted productively as Lionnet's deliberate refusal to establish a canon of marginalized women writers. The book comprises an introduction outlining the author's problematic, followed by eight essays mostly exploring woman-authored narratives from various nations worldwide.

 

In the chapter titled "Of Mangoes and Maroons," Lionnet focuses on Michelle Cliff's "Abeng," labeling Cliff an "autoethnographer" dedicated to the "re-creation of a collective identity" rather than the private self. Lionnet challenges previous interpretations of Cliff as inauthentically Jamaican, emphasizing the novelist's exploration of maternal filiation. This realignment connects Cliff genealogically with figures like Audre Lorde and Zora Neale Hurston, distancing her from male writers who favor exile as an escape from (neo) colonial confinement.

 

The subsequent chapter, "Evading the Subject," delves into the works of the lesser-known Indo-Mauritian writer Ananda Devi, complicating stereotypes about African writing and its exclusivity to the continent or black authors. Lionnet's examination of Rue La Poudrière's narrative of an urban prostitute in Port-Louis is suggestive but concise.

 

The following chapters, "A New Antillean Humanism" and "Inscriptions of Exile," could be interpreted as examples of the double gesture prevalent in much Francophone Caribbean women's writing—exile and return. "A New Antillean Humanism" focuses on Maryse Conde's reimagining of the Caribbean and its need for a complex politics, drawing on Edouard Glissant's notion of La Relation. The chapter "Exile" briefly discusses alienation in works by Myriam Warner-Vieyra and Suzanne Dracius-Pinalie, tracing ambivalent representations of the black and female body as historical commodity and uncertain contemporary agent on journeys from the Caribbean to Europe and Africa in the quest for selfhood.

 

The exploration of Warner-Vieyra's "Juletane" is revisited at greater length in the context of a broader examination that includes a short story from "Femmes échouées." These works are juxtaposed with "Dikeledi," a story from Bessie Head's "A Collector of Treasures," and Gayl Jones's "Eva's Man" in what stands out as the most robust essay in the collection. Despite its central thematic focus on the decidedly uncelebratory topic of female murderers, "Geographies of Pain" maintains a remarkably unsentimental approach to the victimization of the women depicted. Lionnet proposes a symptomatic reading of these characters, using the crimes they commit as a metaphor for "society's crime against the female individual" (106). By challenging the traditional portrayal of women as gentle nurturers, she foregrounds the constructed nature of her project. The relationship among the three black women writers is not only based on their "shared 'Africanness' but [on] a performative intertextuality" (108). Lionnet suggests that these works demonstrate a pattern of influence and cross-fertilization, utilizing themes and addressing negative mythic images of women in subversive ways.

 

One of Lionnet's boldest and most ambitious intellectual and political endeavors in "Postcolonial Representations" is her engagement with the highly charged topic of female excision. Negotiating between Eurocentric chauvinism and cultural relativism, she reads both the historical practice and its literary representation through a feminist lens. She situates this phenomenon discursively, highlighting its significance to gender formation, rites of adulthood, and various power relations affecting the body. The first of the two chapters, "Dissymmetry Embodied," delves into the topic and proceeds to conduct a close reading of Nawal El Saadawi's "Woman at Point Zero." While Lionnet compiles an impressive bibliography of anti-excision writings by African women, she appears to concede too quickly to the "authenticity charge"—the notion that Westernized women are too removed from traditional indigenous groups to be politically helpful. In "The Limits of Universalism," the sole non-literary chapter, Lionnet revisits similar issues of gender, power, and cultural difference but through the lens of a court case involving an immigrant Malian family victimized by the French legal system.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael Drayton's "The Parting" (Summary)

 

"The Parting" by Michael Drayton is a sonnet. The poem is structured as a Shakespearean sonnet, adhering to a consistent rhyme scheme of ABABCDCDEFEFGG. In this format, the volta, or the turning point, traditionally occurs between the twelfth and thirteenth lines. This is where a shift takes place in the speaker's tone and perspective. Initially, the speaker firmly declares their decision to end attempts at love with the intended listener. However, in a revealing twist, the speaker later acknowledges that if the other person desires, they could potentially revive and make the relationship work, contradicting the earlier claim of finality.

The sonnet explores the theme of separation and the complex emotions tangled with bidding farewell to a cherished individual. Beginning with a recognition of the inescapable nature of parting, the speaker conveys a profound understanding that the conclusion is an inherent aspect of all positive experiences. They express the acknowledgment that even the most fervent love affairs are not immune to the passage of time.

As the poem begins, the speaker straightforwardly states that he's giving up on trying to love someone. The person he's been trying to win over in previous sonnets has, in his view, defeated him. He firmly believes that their love is not going to succeed, so he suggests a farewell kiss and parting ways. The speaker expresses relief, stating that he is happy the situation has come to an end. He makes it clear that he wants nothing more to do with the person in question. The speaker's repetitive use of the word "glad" and his brief, assertive statements create the impression that he may actually desire the opposite outcome. Despite appearing ready to abandon the relationship, his choice of words suggests a reluctance to do so. The line "thus so cleanly I myself can free" suggests that the relationship felt constrained in some way. Now, by deciding to end it, the speaker implies a sense of liberation and freedom from this perceived entrapment.

In the next four lines, the speaker suggests a civil farewell by proposing a handshake and a clean break. They emphasize that any love they once shared should be completely discarded when they meet again. In the future, the speaker envisions a relationship of mere acquaintanceship, devoid of any lingering traces of their past affection. They stress that there should be no visible signs on their faces ("brows") indicating the existence of their previous love.

In the last four lines, the speaker uses personification to describe their love falling apart, likening it to "Love's latest breath" gasping and their "pulse failing." The speaker addresses Passion and Faith, indicating a heightened emotional state while emphasizing the finality of the end. However, a shift occurs between the twelfth and thirteenth lines, revealing the speaker's true feelings. Despite the earlier assertions of the demise of their love, the speaker admits that if the other person wished it, they could revive their affection. This admission contradicts the earlier claim that their love was completely extinguished.

Robin Hood and the Monk (Summary)

 

Robin Hood is a legendary character in Medieval England's folklore. "Robin Hood and The Monk" is found in the collection "A Lytell Geste of Robin Hode," published in 1489. It is as one of the earliest surviving ballads detailing the exploits of this legendary outlaw.

The ballad begins with Robin expressing his devoutness to the Virgin Mary, desiring to attend a mass in Nottingham. One of his trusted men, advises him to bring twelve companions for safety, but Robin, displaying his characteristic confidence, opts for only one companion, Little John. As they journey, a friendly bet arises between Robin and Little John. Despite Robin's defeat, he stubbornly rejects the agreed-upon payout, provoking Little John's anger, leading him to part ways with Robin. Upon reaching St. Mary's in Nottingham, Robin, unaware of the monk's presence whom he had previously robbed, engages in fervent prayer. The past deeds of robbing have left a mark on the monk's memory. This sets the stage for a tale that intertwines Robin Hood's piety, camaraderie, and the repercussions of his earlier exploits.

Swiftly, the monk reports Robin's presence to the sheriff, setting in motion a series of events that would test the loyalty and cunning of Robin and his band of outlaws. In a bid to rescue Robin, Little John, the sole keeper of Robin's whereabouts, organizes a daring mission with Much and the rest of the men. They successfully capture the monk and his young companion. Little John dispatches the monk, and Much eliminates the page, leaving no witnesses to their covert operation. Disguised as the monk's companion, Little John and Much approach the King, presenting the monk's letters detailing his untimely demise. The King, in gratitude for their supposed loyalty, reciprocates with gifts and instructions to bring Robin Hood before him.

Executing their plan, Little John delivers the King's letter to the sheriff, spinning a tale of the monk's promotion to abbot as the reason for his absence. Infiltrating the prison, they eliminate the jailer and liberate Robin. The successful rescue prompts Robin to acknowledge Little John's unwavering loyalty, leading him to offer leadership of the group to Little John. However, Little John declines, expressing his desire for Robin to remain as the leader. Meanwhile, the King, though angered by the incompetence of his men, admires Little John's loyalty. Realizing they had all been deceived, he chooses to overlook the situation, allowing Robin and his band to continue their exploits. In the end, Robin acknowledges his debt to Little John, recognizing the profound loyalty that transcended their earlier dispute over the wager.

Timothy Brennan's "Salman Rushdie and the Third World: Myths of the Nation"

 

Timothy Brennan’s book primarily revolves around a detailed exploration of Rushdie's four novels: Grimus, Midnight's Children, Shame, and The Satanic Verses. This examination is guided by the initial two chapters, which establish crucial contexts for understanding Rushdie's work. These contexts include the role of fiction in contemporary nationalism, and conversely, how nationalism influences fiction. Additionally, the relationship between Third-World literary cosmopolitanism and anti-colonial liberalism is explored. This approach allows the book to simultaneously position Rushdie as both a unique individual and a representative figure. It enables the book to establish and question the role of internationally renowned Third-World writers in shaping post-colonial discourse.

 

While some categorization strategies may lean towards being overly prescriptive, such as the provision of a two-columned checklist of differences between "postmodernists" and "Third-World cosmopolitans," overall, this analysis presents an original and engaging exploration of a complex subject.

 

Throughout his argument, Brennan indirectly suggests why the Rushdie affair captured the attention of both liberal and less liberal Western minds. The "Third-World cosmopolitan" writers, with whom Brennan associates Rushdie, are characterized by their constant evasion of fixed national and ideological identities, which has become a defining characteristic of humane cosmopolitan writers from the Third World. One obvious result of this evasion is the translation of "authorial ambiguity" into a dualistic moral framework where every group is assigned both a positive and negative expression. Brennan identifies this radical relativity as a governing principle of duality in much of Rushdie's work.

 

This mode of translation inevitably leads to an ambiguous relationship with authority and tradition, and only a slightly more stable connection with an immigrant culture that lacks the former and strives to establish the latter. Twentieth-century English liberalism has often appeared, at one extreme, as nothing more than the refined high-mindedness portrayed by Forster (material that Rushdie criticizes as ripe for cinematic "Raj revisionism"), or at the other extreme, a form of Orwellian slumming. Brennan's portrayal of Rushdie, despite his outrage in the face of Thatcher's England or the Ayatollah's Iran, suggests that he cannot entirely avoid the pitfalls faced by well-intentioned political efforts due to his gender and class.

 

 

If there is a concern about "the way Rushdie often depicts women" (126), Brennan seems to find this issue ultimately less troublesome than the disconnect between Rushdie's refined upbringing, shaped by public school and Cambridge, and the experiences of "the people," particularly those striving to find their voice within Britain's diverse black cultures. The former cultivates detachment, while the latter demands engagement. This issue is most directly addressed in the discussion of The Satanic Verses. Despite the distortions in media coverage, Brennan argues that the novel primarily centers on a very secular England (147). The offense taken by "ordinary lower-class Muslims in India and Pakistan—along with those in the English cities of Bradford, Birmingham, and London" indicates, for Brennan, "the class resentments simmering beneath the surface of an affair that has often been viewed solely through religious lenses" (145).

 

Brennan's own allegiances, as outlined in his earlier analysis of decolonization, which positions Third-World cosmopolitanism in contrast to the work of pragmatic theorists like Antonio Gramsci, José Carlos Mariátegui, Amílcar Cabrai, and Frantz Fanon, become more apparent towards the end of the final chapter. Here, Brennan adopts a Fielding-to-Rushdie dynamic, critiquing the detached and insensitive nature of cosmopolitan 'universality.' While Rushdie contends that "bigotry is not only a function of power," Brennan suggests that in the specific immigration and acculturation complexities of contemporary Britain, the central issue may not be solely one of 'human evil'. The means of perpetuating this evil are evidently highly unequal, and the violence stemming from defending one's identity or livelihood as opposed to one's privileges is not equivalent (165).

 

If this is indeed a truth, it's a perspective Salman Rushdie has likely been in a uniquely uncomfortable position to acknowledge, at least since February 14, 1989, compared to Timothy Brennan. Behind the occasional surface-level identification with the oppressed lies a serious and nuanced examination not only of Rushdie himself, but also of the paradoxes experienced by Third-World intellectuals. These intellectuals may not be the most equipped agents to address the problem of our collective struggle to recognize the colonial perspective as one that truly matters (166).

 

Barbara Harlow's "Resistance Literature" (Book Note)

 

Barbara Harlow undertakes a compelling exploration in her book "Resistance Literature" to evaluate the significance of the emerging 'resistance literature.' In this ambitious work, she gathers the voices of poets and writers engaged in organized national liberation struggles across Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East. Harlow contends that literature, akin to armed resistance, plays a crucial role in reclaiming cultural history from the clutches of colonialism and imperialism. The authors of this burgeoning resistance literature, in their pursuit of sowing the seeds for a new social order, are, at each turn, crafting a fresh aesthetic that disrupts the very categories that traditionally define Western literature. A novel language is evolving, not only in response to external forces like invaders and aggressors and the regressive impacts of colonialism but also in addressing its own historical context.

In her modest preface, Barbara Harlow acknowledges that this work is a 'preliminary and explorative study.' Undoubtedly, the expansive task of examining the literature of numerous authors and countries is formidable. Nevertheless, she achieves her goal of bringing attention to literature that has been largely overlooked in the Western sphere.

The initial chapter of the book delves into the theoretical and historical backdrop against which this new literature is taking shape. The term 'resistance literature,' originally coined by Ghassan Kanafani in 1966 in his work "Literature of Resistance in Occupied Palestine: 1948-1966," frames the discussion. The subsequent four chapters are organized around specific genres: poetry, narrative, prison memoirs, and literature related to post-independence development.

 

The first chapter, particularly enthralling, focuses on the resistance poetry of figures such as Nicolás Guillén (Cuba), Ernesto Cardenal (Nicaragua), Balach Khan (Baluchistan), Jorge Rebelo (Mozambique), Pablo Neruda (Chile), ANC Kumalo and Dennis Brutus (South Africa), Antonio Jacinto (Angola), and Mahmud Darwish (Palestine). Harlow supports her argument that poetry stands as the "most powerful force for political mobilization" by drawing on the perspectives of critics and writers from the Third World. She emphasizes the diverse roles poets assume as historians, educators, and standard bearers of the struggle. Poetry, in this context, becomes a repository for popular memory and consciousness, with many of these poems imbued with imagery from the armed struggle. Harlow asserts that poetry need not shy away from being a call to revolutionary action.

 

In Chapters three and five, Harlow meticulously examines the 'narratives of resistance,' emphasizing that these narratives are distinct from the Western twentieth-century novel tradition that seemingly suspends individuals in time and space. She focuses on the literature dealing with historical specificity and delves into what she terms the literature of 'utopian vision and dystopian reality.' Within this context, authors such as Achebe (Nigeria), Thiong'o (Kenya), and Armah (Ghana) grapple with the realization of utopian goals and visions, exploring the aftermath of unfulfilled aspirations within the national liberation movements. However, it is notable that these chapters lack the clarity observed in those dedicated to poetry and prison memoirs, possibly due to the extensive volume of material, necessitating detailed historical contextualization for each country's narrative. This complexity requires Harlow to navigate through specific historical circumstances while extracting the broader significance of each narrative and its theoretical implications for resistance literature.

 

In the conclusive chapter titled "Commitment to the Future: Utopia, Dystopia, and Post-Independence Developments," the previously established generic divisions undergo dissolution, giving way to an exploration of literary texts endeavoring to envision potential futures marked by a radical transformation of familiar literary and political categories. Notably, narrative takes precedence in this discussion, eclipsing poetry, and leaving theater unexplored (an omission worth noting), along with various forms of popular, non-literary resistance culture. This discreet favoring of narrative over other literary forms carries implicit implications for both resistance literature and the field of critical studies, opening avenues for further exploration, particularly concerning the politics of genre.

 

"Resistance Literature" transcends mere literary analysis; it serves as a concise guide to the pressing political and cultural dialogues occurring within liberation movements. Barbara Harlow adeptly navigates through recent social and political developments in Lebanon, South Africa, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Kenya, Egypt, and Nigeria, providing readers with a succinct understanding. She portrays texts and culture as battlegrounds intricately connected to specific liberation movements and the collective endeavors of people to assert control over their lives.

 

Harlow goes beyond the apparent assertion that the literature of liberation movements is inherently political. "Resistance Literature" concurrently asserts the unavoidably political nature of critical commentary on such literature. In doing so, it challenges Western or First World critical practices to reevaluate their own political stances and the definitions governing their literary criticism. Consequently, "Resistance Literature" becomes a form of resistance itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert Lynd's "On Not Being a Philosopher" (Summary)

 

The essay "On Not Being a Philosopher" begins with a humorous encounter where the author overhears a conversation about Epictetus. This sparks Lynd's curiosity about Epictetus and whether his teachings might hold the elusive wisdom he's sought since his school days. He maintains his youthful belief that wisdom can be found within the pages of books, desiring to acquire it without great effort or expense. While he previously read works by Emerson and Marcus Aurelius, he realizes that their disparate perspectives did not yield the desired impact. Turning to Epictetus, he finds himself in agreement with nearly everything the philosopher professes. However, while he can theoretically align with these principles, putting them into practice proves to be a far greater challenge. In moments outside of his armchair reading sessions, he views death, pain, and poverty as very real hardships. Even in small, everyday situations, finding solace proves to be a difficult endeavor.

 

Epictetus unequivocally advocates against succumbing to anger when one doesn't receive what they desire. However, Lynd candidly acknowledges his struggle to refrain from irritation, humorously suggesting that while Epictetus may excel at this, practical application proves to be a different story. Lynd humorously admits his own shortcomings in maintaining steadfastness in trivial matters. When Epictetus expounds on his philosophy regarding material possessions, advising indifference in their loss, Lynd contemplates its feasibility in an ideal world where nothing goes awry. Nevertheless, in practice, he confesses to falling short of embodying this principle, despite his theoretical alignment with Epictetus.

 

Epictetus upholds invulnerability as an ideal state of being, assuring that it can be achieved by assigning minimal value to material possessions. Lynd, however, maintains a pragmatic view that philosophy often proves challenging to implement in practical, real-world situations. Nevertheless, there is an undeniable pull towards acknowledging the validity of the philosophers' insights, even though their perspectives may differ.

Epictetus' reasoning may be logically sound, but both individually and collectively, we find it difficult to fully adhere to his principles. The idea of holding material possessions in low regard, as advocated by philosophers, is a tough proposition for us to embrace. Lynd concludes by musing on the alluring notion of attaining wisdom solely through listening or reading—a captivating dream. He shares a personal experience of dreaming about reading Epictetus, only to awaken and realize it was but a fleeting illusion. It's as though wisdom is staged beautifully, but the audience is unable to step onto it.

Wendy B Faris' "Ordinary Enchantments: Magical Realism and the Remystification of Narrative" (Book Note)

 

In "Ordinary Enchantments," Faris emphasizes the global reach of magical realism by bringing together renowned authors like Günter Grass, Wilson Harris, Salman Rushdie, Carlos Fuentes, Toni Morrison, Patrick Süskind, Gabriel García Márquez, Ben Okri, and Isabel Allende, among others. Rather than delving into individual works, Faris employs a comparative approach across five chapters to support her arguments about magical realism. This method allows her to incorporate a diverse range of critical sources from various disciplines, enriching her literary and cultural analysis. While this fragmented examination underscores the transnational and transcontinental aspects of magical realism that Faris advocates for, it occasionally leaves the reader with a somewhat disjointed understanding of the significance of these works within their cultural and socio-historical contexts.

 

Chapter 1, titled "Definitions and Locations: Magical Realism between Modern and Postmodern Fiction," establishes the criteria for identifying a text as magical realist. Faris highlights elements such as the presence of magic that defies empirical explanation, the coexistence of the phenomenal and the magical, and the reader's uncertainty about the nature of events. Among these characteristics, the irreducible element of magic holds particular prominence in Faris's considerations of whether a text falls within the realm of magical realism. The chapter also traces the evolution of this narrative mode since Franz Roh coined the term in 1925. Faris extends its usage beyond its more prevalent association with a specific Latin American reality, as articulated by Alejo Carpentier in his concept of "lo real maravilloso." She positions magical realism as a force of decolonization and a postcolonial style. While acknowledging the limitations of the term in addressing the realities of the First and Third Worlds, Faris believes that recognizing "significant similarities that indicate a worldwide trend" outweighs the risk of reducing magical realism to a "monumentalizing category," as cautioned by Stephen Slemon, that erases the very distinctions it seeks to establish. For Faris, viewing magical realism as a global trend is closely linked to its role as a critical tool for addressing the neglect of the spiritual in contemporary theory.

 

Indeed, the connection between magical realism and the sacred is the overarching theme of the book, enabling Faris to draw comparisons across disparate texts in terms of geography and chronology. Chapter 2, "‘From a Source Within’: Magical Realism as Defocalized Narrative," delves into how magical realism reintroduces the sacred into Western discourse. Faris introduces the concept of "defocalization" to explain a narrative that emanates from two fundamentally different perspectives simultaneously. This defocalization both arises from and gives rise to what Faris calls "the ineffable in-between," a space where the realistic and the magical coexist. She emphasizes that this ineffable quality is not confined to the text; rather, it is generated by it. These ideas, far from existing solely within the textual realm and divorced from "real" needs, give rise to a cultural hybrid with shamanistic powers. This mystification of narrative, alluded to in the book's title, is a common trait in magical realist texts, which often emerge in the midst of cultural crises, as if their magic is summoned when rational approaches have proven inadequate.

Chapter 4 of Faris's book delves into the complex questions surrounding the potential reconciliation of tangible and imaginative worlds, or those based on science and those rooted in spirituality. Preceding this, in Chapter 3 ("Encoding the Ineffable: A Textual Poetics for Magical Realism"), Faris continues her exploration of the ineffable, elucidating how the text constructs a particular discourse through techniques like the accumulation of realistic details surrounding an implausible event, the ambiguity of space and time, a hallucinatory or dreamlike perspective, and the shifting references in reflective structures. These methods give rise to a form of verbal enchantment that, akin to postmodernism, highlights the role of language in shaping or reshaping our understanding of reality.

 

Chapter 4 ("'Along the Knife-Edge of Change': Magical Realism and the Postcolonial Dynamics of Alterity") grapples with contemporary debates surrounding magical realism, especially its effectiveness in expressing marginalized identities and alternative worldviews. Faris ultimately affirms its potency in this regard, aligning with critics who emphasize its involvement in transcultural processes. This capability arises from its hybrid nature, its subversion of narrative authority, and what Faris terms the "speculation about the way in which the spirit-based aura of magical realism as it combines the miraculous and the quotidian may contribute to its decolonizing function". The decolonizing function, a confrontation of overarching master narratives as termed by Foucault, stands as a pervasive aspect that unifies the production of magical realism across diverse geographic contexts.

 

However, divisions within magical realist literature become apparent as Faris acknowledges the challenges stemming from its use as a transcultural practice, which often involves appropriating someone else's voice. This manipulation, rooted in a fascination with a primitivist aesthetic, presents a significant concern. Yet, Faris regards most of these issues as a form of "collateral damage" in a literary practice whose merits outweigh its risks. While Alberto Moreiras sees the impossibility of finding transculturation in magical realism as a signal of its decline as a representation of an indigenous world, Faris celebrates what she views as "radically hybrid literary primitivism". This stance challenges the notion, articulated not only by Moreiras but also by anthropologist Michael Taussig (whom Faris extensively discusses), that the power of magical realist narrative is exclusive to shamans themselves.

 

The book's final chapter, "‘Women and Women and Women’: A Feminine Element in Magical Realism," centers on an exploration of the attributes in magical realism that enable the identification of a female spirit characterized by diffusion, polyvocality, and a focus on embodiment, an earth-centered spiritual realm, and collectivity, irrespective of authorship. Faris draws on the work of French feminists like Julia Kristeva and Luce Irigaray, as well as border feminists like Gloria Anzaldúa, to consider the tropes in magical realism aligning it with feminist, postmodern, and postcolonial thought, alliances that account for its boundary-breaking nature. This transgression is made possible by the magical capacities traditionally associated with the female body, though it also carries the risk of appropriation as a subaltern Other that "enables male writers to access the world of the second reality". Ultimately, Irigaray's concept of "la mystétique" allows Faris to situate her examination of representations of the sacred in magical realism within the realm of a female sensitivity. In Faris's view, Irigaray's notion positions a mystical discourse expressed through the female body as "a bridge to the beyond".

 

Faris provides a comprehensive exploration of the subject matter, meticulously dissecting both its textual and cultural dimensions. Her captivating comparisons in the analysis of the textual elements of the works, along with in-depth examinations of certain narratives, demonstrate her profound familiarity with the texts, some of which are less widely known than others. However, the poetics of magical realism don't always align with practical applications. This divide is not, for the most part, a flaw in Faris's analysis but rather underscores an inherent and irreconcilable separation at the core of this narrative style.

Tobias Doring's "Caribbean-English Passages: Intertextuality in a Postcolonial Tradition" (Book Note)

 

Tobias Döring's book "Caribbean-English Passages: Intertextuality in a Postcolonial Tradition" is a work of great merit, notably for its continual emphasis on the profound interconnectedness that defines the Caribbean, as succinctly articulated by the Haitian scholar Michel-Rolph Trouillot. Trouillot aptly states that "the Caribbean is nothing but contact". Additionally, Döring's book stands out for its meticulous examination of genre politics, effectively dismantling the notion of a singular imperial/colonial discourse. Instead, it redirects postcolonial discourse towards the rich history of cultural and textual resistance in the Caribbean. Döring takes readers on an extensive exploration of Caribbean and English literature. Through careful close readings and rigorous theoretical analysis, he transcends the initial encounter with the text, echoing Antonio Benitez-Rojo's assertion that the reader inevitably reflects themselves in the act of reading. What Döring excels at is a form of reading where each text, at times unexpectedly but always enrichingly, begins to reveal its own textured layers—a concept aptly described by Benitez-Rojo.

"Caribbean-English Passages" is organized into six chapters, each focusing on a specific genre: travel writing, nature poetry, adventure novels, autobiography, picture poetry, and the epic. The first chapter places particular emphasis on travel writing, as it embodies the idea of passage most tangibly. It offers an interrelated reading of texts such as Naipaul's "The Middle Passage", J.A Froude's "The English in the West Indies", Edgar Mittelholzer's "With a Carib Eye", and Amr Johnson's "Sequins for a Ragged Hem". Chapter 2 delves into plantation writing and nature poetry, with James Grainger's "The Sugar Cane" serving as a pivotal text—the first West Indian georgic. This genre aims to reconcile the pressures of experience with prevailing cultural norms, presenting itself as a noteworthy precursor to postcolonial Caribbean writing exemplified by works like Grace Nichols's 1990 poem, "Sugar Cane," and David Dabydeen's 1984 collection, "Slave Song." Chapter 3 juxtaposes Wilson Harris's novel "The Secret Ladder" with Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" and, somewhat unexpectedly, Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Lost World". Chapter 4 centers on V.S. Naipaul's "The Enigma of Arrival" and David Dabydeen's "The Intended", examining their engagement with English and Caribbean pre-texts. Notably, both Caribbean texts grapple with Conrad's fin-de-siècle novel. In Chapter 5, Dabydeen's extended poem "Turner" is studied alongside J.M.W. Turner's painting "Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying - Typhoon Coming on" and John Ruskin's renowned review of it. Döring illustrates how postcolonial ekphrasis can be a powerful strategy for dismantling the colonial past. Chapter 6 analyzes Derek Walcott's "Omeros" as an act of poetic ekphrasis and a challenge to the canon. Among other things, Döring addresses the appropriation of a Caribbean epic. Each chapter is complemented by a thought-provoking illustration, such as Nicolas Vleughels's "The Shield of Achilles" in Chapter 6 and "Waiting for the Races," an engraving from Charles Kingsley's travelogue "At Last: A Christmas in the West Indies" in Chapter 1. This Victorian portrayal of different racial groups in Trinidad is discussed in the context of Naipaul's reinterpretation of the image in his own travelogue.

 

 

 

 

Cudjoe's "Resistance and Caribbean Literature" (Book Note)

 

Cudjoe's intention, as stated in the introduction, is to meticulously analyze the artistic forms utilized to convey the ideological content of Caribbean literature. In Part I, titled 'Caribbean resistance: an historical background', a materialist interpretation of history is applied to the historical struggle of a people who endured slavery or indentured servitude in the 'plantation colonies' of the Hispanic, French, and British Caribbean. The pivotal concept of 'resistance', central to the book's overarching argument, is defined as encompassing any act or series of acts aimed at liberating a people from their oppressors, whether they be slave masters or multinational corporations. Therefore, within Cudjoe's thesis, Caribbean literature is to be endowed with a comprehensive structural foundation encompassing socio-economic and political-aesthetic elements.

 

This structural foundation within the historical continuum, with revolution as a dominant theme, adheres to a deterministic rationale in a series of chapters thematically interconnected in Part II. 'The beginning' traces resistance to foreign dominance back to the Incas' resistance against the Spanish conquistadors, progressing inexorably through 'The liberation movement'. This phase encompasses pivotal events such as the French and American revolutions, which have reverberations in local conflicts, uprisings, and rebellions within the Caribbean. The narrative culminates with the Cuban revolution in 1959. In a natural dialectical progression, we then encounter a chapter titled 'The transition', where representative Caribbean writers—such as Jean Price Mars, Rene Maran, Claude McKay, and Aime Cesaire, to name a few—are depicted as exploring themes with a shared aspiration for spiritual emancipation. The author's primary objective is to harmonize the dialectical elements in writers' works with the historical events of the Caribbean. In the chapter 'Towards self-government', V.S. Reid's conservatism in 'New Day' (1949) faces scrutiny. Conversely, in 'Towards independence', Lamming receives acclaim for being "the first writer in the British Caribbean to seriously examine the relationship between them [the colonizer and the colonized] on a psychological level." Nevertheless, it is in novels like Bertène Juminer's 'Au seuil d'un nouveau cri' (1963), which explores the efficacy of revolutionary violence in the vein of Fanon, in the chapter 'Smashing the ties', where a genuine form of 'socio-political realism' is achieved.

Cudjoe contends that such concern within the writer's perspective is imperative for the restoration of the debased victim of colonial history to a state of manhood. To illustrate this necessity, the author turns to the poetry of Nicolas Guillén and the novels of Alejo Carpentier and Wilson Harris, emphasizing the crucial universality of vision that is needed. The inclusion of Wilson Harris, who is considered the least politically inclined among representative Caribbean writers, in this context may raise some curiosity. In Harris' work, particularly in his treatise 'Tradition and the West Indian Novel' (1965), from which Cudjoe draws quotes in an attempt to demonstrate Harris' deep-seated connection to Caribbean history, we encounter a manifesto stating: "It seems to me vital - in a time when it is so easy to succumb to fashionable tyrannies or optimisms - to break away from the conception so many people entertain that literature is an extension of the social order or a political platform." As of 1965 and continuing into the present, Harris' work remains a tapestry of impressionistic responses within a surrealist vein, lacking the dynamism found in the works of his Caribbean counterparts. These writers, while acknowledging the inherent alienation between the artist and society as a central challenge of realism, do not attempt to negate this realism, but rather strive to imbue it with coherence and structure within a mythology of art intertwined with socio-economic processes.

 

Furthermore, a notable value judgement in Cudjoe's assessment is his categorical statement, unsupported by documentary evidence or footnotes, that Caribbean writers such as John Hearne, Orlando Patterson, and Derek Walcott endorse an 'anti-democratic and nihilistic Naipaulian tendency'.