Saturday, June 23, 2007

A Marxist Reading of James Joyce's Clay and Gordimer's Charmed Lives

By: M. S. Zarei


Political Reading: Marxist Criticism

Marxist literary theory emerged firstly in the writings of the German critic and philosopher Karl Heinrich Marx (1818–1883). Marx grounded his theoretical assumptions on the notion of ‘determinants’ that has a fundamental role in any Marxist type of interpretation (Bressler 192). Marx tried to articulate a version of reality that could be defined and understood. In this respect, he believed that “social and economic realities were the ultimate determinants of culture and human consciousness.” Marx simply opposed the Hegelian theory of history which argued that ‘consciousness determines life’ and maintained instead that ‘life (social existence) determines consciousness.’ This, in part, entails that our social circumstances determine our lives. Likewise, Traditional Marxism claims that thought is also subservient to the material conditions under which it develops. (82) The clash between the capitalism and the labourers in society, according to Marxism, inevitably, brings about alienation on the part of the labourers. They become alienated from themselves; being constantly seen as production units, as objects rather than human beings. In fact, capitalism reifies them while they remain blind to their own condition because of the effect of what Marxism calls ideology. (Bertens 84)

Definition of Ideology

Ideology, in Marxist view, is what makes us misrepresent the world to ourselves. According to Marxists, “ideology is not so much a set of beliefs or assumptions that we are aware of, but it is that which makes us experience our life in a certain way and makes us believe that the way of seeing ourselves and the world is natural” (Bertens 84). In so doing, the reality one takes for granted is in fact distorted and thus falsely represented as natural. To succumb to ideology, therefore, means to live in an illusory world. The French Marxist Louise Althusser also defines ideology as “the imaginary ways in which people represent to themselves their real relationship to the world” (qtd. in Selden 153). Althusser believes that “Ideology is like the air we breathe and is the seemingly natural discourse which makes possible our sense of existence as human subjects” (Selden 153). Althusser’s views appear different from earlier Marxists who simply took ideology for a kind of ‘false consciousness’ produced by capitalism. Rather, to give a more accurate reason for the existence of ideology, Althusser shares the ideas held by the French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan who believes that due to the processes we go through while growing up, we are left incomplete. Therefore, having been aware of ‘that deep lack’, that makes us yearn for completion, we inevitably turn to ideology to fill up the lack (Bertens 86). We constantly delude ourselves as ideology–to which we have already consigned our free will– addresses us as ‘complete subjects.’

Ideological State Apparatuses and Interpellation

The driving forces behind ideology are the so-called State Apparatuses (religious, cultural, educational, judicial, etc.) that help sustain the dominant ideology at work. All subjects are greeted by the discourse of a particular State Apparatuses. In the same respect, Althusser defines a process called ‘interpellation’ (hailing) whereby ideology works through interpellating (addressing) us in different social roles (subject positions) that we play or occupy, so that we falsely appear to ourselves as complete subjects (Bertens 87). In fact, ideology tries to convince us that we are whole and real, filling up the crack we have all inherited in our fragmented identities.

The Blindfolded Narrative in James Joyce’s Clay

Pierre Macherey in his A Theory of Literary Production (1966) introduces an idea that literary form is capable of transforming ideology into fiction and thereby of showing us its internal incoherences and contradictions. In fact, the writer [here James Joyce], by producing an ideology in the form of a fiction, makes us feel the gaps, silences and absences which in their purely ideological form are less apparent (Selden 155).

Likewise, Clay describes a deceptively simple story whose narrative self-deception attempts, and fails, to mislead the reader. The blind protagonist Maria simply fails to blind even the less attentive reader of the blind spots in her story. Having been portrayed as a product of the Irish Ideology, the “old maid” Maria appears as a figure who “seems to lack everything and therefore embodies total desire, a desire for the recognition and prestige that would let a poor old woman without family, wealth, or social standing maintain her human status in paralytic Dublin…” (Norris 206). It seems that Maria, endowed with an ideological awareness, unconsciously tries to fulfill a Lacanian lack–if not the social and personal shortcomings– of her own life. The story seemingly unfolds by means of the contrasts between the narrator's view of Maria and her own emotionally limited self-awareness.

Maria’s job in the kitchen of a laundry established for the reform of prostitutes obviously does not secure her a proper social standing, yet her self-esteem as an important figure seems to stem from an ideological consciousness that has obscured her vision of reality. Maria has been “hailed” (interpellated) in the place of an important person in the society while in reality she is nothing more than a common dishwasher.

In fact, it is Maria’s social standing, affected largely by the Ideological State Apparatuses (attending the ritual ceremony, for example), that determines her consciousness. Her isolated consciousness thus feeds upon the ideological self-awareness she has been entrapped in.

Halloween

Halloween (October 31) is “the Celtic New Year's Eve and Feast of the Dead, Christianized as the Feasts of the Blessed Virgin and All Saints (November 1) and All Souls (November 2). In Irish folk custom, it is a night of remembrance of dead ancestors and anticipation of the future through various fortune-telling games.” Halloween as a ritual ceremony serves two important purposes in the story. Firstly, it is one of those Ideological State Apparatuses that almost controls Maria’s life. Secondly, it emphasizes the notion of past and ancient values that are embodied in Joyce’s stories. In fact, Maria as an allegorical representation of Mother Ireland is paralyzed by circumstances beyond her control or awareness. She can be taken as a version of the ancient symbolic representation of Mother Ireland dominated by imperial England.

The Charmed Lives of the Other(s)

Gordimer’s Charmed Lives seemingly probes the static and equally pathetic condition of “two harmless and handicapped people” whose mechanical and unchanging lives in the story mirror the very dull lives of the native habitants of the South Africa. These two harmless people were brought out to the country, as two imported ideological models, before Kate Shand was born. The little Kate grows up as her mother subconsciously injects a potion of a false ideology into Kate’s fragmented character, so that the watchmaker’s and the doctor’s faces become “bracketed for ever” in Kate’s own face. The watchmaker Simon Datnow, as introduced earlier in the story, becomes an Other into which Kate looks up and builds her identity. In this respect, the glass cage, where the watchmaker works seemingly for no end, may also embody the Mirror Stage (also called looking-glass stage) where Kate’s own image mirrored as a whole and complete being (as that of the Watchmaker) is but an ideal. The little Kate used to “stand for a long time with her face close to the glass cage [of the watchmaker]” who has been constructed as an ideal by Mrs. Shand. Upon trying “to get her husband to stand up to her” in vain, Mrs. Shand continuously champions the watchmaker against his timid husband’s will to seemingly fulfill her marital lack: “Datnow, she gave her children to understand, was a natural gentleman, a kind of freak incidence among the immigrant relations.” She subconsciously deludes her children to turn to the idealized watchmaker who is now and then symbolized almost as a Father figure for Kate.

The narrative structure, again like that of Clay, develops by the means of contrasts between what the mother (Mrs. Shand) strongly idealizes for Kate and what she herself comes to experience in the characters of the watchmaker and the doctor. This almost brings about a kind of disillusionment on the part of Kate who finally leaves the town where she finds the mechanical, charmed lives of the other(s) hardly accommodating of her expectation. The grown-up Kate finds no glamour in the empty lives of the watchmaker and the doctor, whom her mother still regards with high respect. Likewise, Kate becomes disgusted with the way the two men live; they are blind to their own state of affairs abused by an unknown power. The notion of survival is thus drawn as its most pitiful sense in the story. The watchmaker and the doctor both simply want to survive, regardless of what is happening around them. The whole story seems to be an allegory of an ideologically plagued town whose members including both the native Africans and the immigrants are paralyzed with an unknown power. They are constantly hailed in the roles they play blindly. Yet Kate never tells the reason for her leaving the town, the reason that “had taken shape for her, slowly, out of all her childhood, in the persons of those two men whom she had known…”




Works Cited

Bertens, Hans. Literary Theory: The Basics. London: Routledge, 2001.

Bressler, Charles E. Literary Criticism: An Introduction to Theory and Practice. 4th ed. New Jersey: Pearson, 2007.

Norris, Margot. Narration under a Blindfold: Reading Joyce's "Clay”
PMLA, Vol. 102, No. 2 (Mar., 1987), pp. 206-215


Selden, Raman. Peter Widdowson. A Reader’s Guide to Contemporary Literature Theory. Hertfordshire: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993.
Krapp’s last Tape by Samuel Beckett

By: M. S. Zarei

Krapp’s Last Tape stages in part the incessant plays of human foibles and regret. Upon sketching an intimate portrait of the individual alone, Beckett seems to offer a worldview of an empty, cyclic nature of human life overshadowed by almost infinite regressions into a painful past. The 69-year old Krapp is almost at a trial to assess his younger self (the 39-year old Krapp) through his taped memories on the “awful occasion” of his birthday, yet he realizes that how strange his former self appears to battle with his current self, hence “brief laugh in which Krapp joins” that emerges as a result of a realization of his own futile and ambitious desires in his younger self.

The blankness of Krapp’s cyclic life, as representative of human life in general, is marked by his empty and futile documented past whose paling fire is still burning deep down inside him, yet inadequate to prod him yearning back for them.
'Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.'– Krapp's Last Tape
Krapp’s reflection on his past self, fraught with his double sense of mockery and regret, appears to draw on significance as merely “separating [of] the grain from the husk.” The aging Krapp is assessing his accomplishment, if any, as any human being might do in that very age, however it seems to be to no avail for Beckett’s worldview affirms the undeniable futility of human life.
The techniques and methods Beckett uses to achieve and create this worldview are notable. The language of the play with its precise functionality hardly seems to convey any meaning. Thus the plot seemingly emerges as being devoid of meaning and meaning if there is such a thing may reside in stage directions. Moreover, the brevity of Beckett language is aptly highlighted here which in large scale marks the division of the whole play into a one-act play as to stage the shortness and emptiness of Krapp’s life whose pathetic ending is paralleled with recoding his last tape. Repetition also plays an important role as another method to achieve that worldview. Krapp’s life is plagued with jaded repetition as is the dead language of the play in its limited functionality. After all, Beckett seems to aim at representing Krapp’s blank life as a support for his absurd view about human life in general, and in so doing he uses different techniques and method to achieve that goal.

Back Again!

Long time’s passed after publishing my last post in this, and there was time I reveled in googling my blog in net, thrilling all the day long reading my rhythmical pieces out aloud. And now all are passed in a very brutal sweep of time. I am not going to lament the old days, nor am I attending the blank future, just here I am again, blogging.

Decided to change the nature of posts from now on, sending a few term-papers along with some reaction-papers that are mostly dedicated to English Literature. The nickname, however, is still the same Alex as I found it needless to adopt a new one. A reminder of bygones!

Monday, April 17, 2006

Let's Go Then, You and I!

My heart aches, no wine to drink, no nightingale to sing a song, and no hope to live a life; just being drowned in despair. There, out of light, the darkling leaves of night dwell upon my eyes and I determined to leave! The new year is ravaging the torn pages of my calendar, yet the ugly spring brings no blossom to crying leaves of whiteness. Life is mostly spent with e-motion, chatting and sharing e-feelings, e-looks, and e-tears! Long time’s passed ever since I was dreaming about the rosy days of my life, but now there is nothing to come to that uneasy mind. I am going to graduate on BA; leaving collage for good and burying down all the memories I had treasured once and for all. The tone of day is thus lamenting the very melody of my life. The winter's been approaching in the guise of spring, dressing my days and nights in a murky blue. Had I ceased the winged chariot turning on, I would have had much to please. I am going to miss the empurpled hours passing by; yet wishing to stop it. Alas, we are to leave, not the poor collage with its nasty staffs, but friends and teachers who have been the major casts of my life. Oh, let's go then you and I!

Sunday, March 12, 2006

O Tears, the companion of endless night,
That murky shadow burnt with a might,
Thou stain my waning words with despair
Yet behold in eyes an image to share
What more thou want of me?
Had I cradled thee not with barrier
Thou wouldst sweep down with full career
Off my burning cheeks; my fainting face

O the falling sun, thou give her to me again
From the yonder blue above the men
Ah, alas, out of love I dwell in her heart
Been expelled from the throne of part
My words doth yet lament in woe
Enchant my verse to sing a so:

"Love is a mundane grace, a shadowy pace
Love is a falling night, a perishing sight"

By: M. S. Zarei
Nostalgia


Calm and mysterious the waves were weaving wonder upon my gloomy eyes, so silent as though the drunken sea-birds had already stopped loving them. Off there in the middle, the wind was trying to lift the white tops on the waves as the yachts were tacking across the bay heaving like determined horses in soft sand. Along with the mournful tone of the day, a yacht was singing her own requiem to me, seemingly warning me of her pending departure. I just cast off my eyes far in her wooden face to hardly recall a childish dream of embarking. A sense of melancholy came to darken my heart while I was witnessing some black rings of smoke twisting up in the air as like to an arrogant lady's showing off her lock of hair to a lover. The patches of clouds in sky mirrored a semi-dark visage of the silent sea while a dense fog was slyly creeping down to blind the only lantern, erected up there in the wrinkled face of harbor for the last fifty years. I sat down in despair, sharing my tears with the lashing splash of waves, and kept looking on the yacht as she was moving away in the marine world. She finally faded away and left me alone in the harbor that was now well-painted in the colorful beams of morning sun. However, determined to leave, I forsook the harbor for a later encounter, as it was now stinking the very smell of loneliness I have been stained with.

By: M. S. Zarei

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Cageling Love

By: M. S. Zarei

I am caged up here in love
what is told to make me move
out of despair and dark night
and towards the very blue light

I need thy winged words
of life, thy heroic swords
to fight against the hunted soul
and to soar up to the very goal

My boat of hope is wrecked down
and I stink the corruptions of town
No one would pay me a murky look
not thy faded smile would ever hook

I would die in thy charming cage
down thy ended love and the last page
buried deep in ashes of time
and never remembered in thy prime

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Tomorrow Speech of A Lovelorn

Out, out brief passion
Love but a falling step, a sore stab
That crashes and smashes his subject upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is fate
Given to an idiot full of err and theory
Signifying nothing!

Friday, February 25, 2005

A Receip for Tear

A Recipe for Tears



Dark and dreary, came the strange feeling of within. My heart, determined to step out of the chest, was knocking impatiently and my legs were about to tremble in response. In the fog of memories, I reviewed the marching problems I had faced. Gradually, I came to believe that a growing anarchy was being inhabited within my soul while my mind, hunted by a charming passion, failed to get its bearing. There were almost dark and silence ruling in the poor surrounding. The footstep of heart, however, was trying to surpass the howling wind convincing the trees to cry their last leaves into the nearby pond. I sat down in doubt. The claws of fear were then gripped to my clammy hands, and they came to boast through my sobs! Having dealt with such a situation, I first resisted leaving any trace of tears on the puzzled eyelash. It may crash my personality as an egg!
I was big enough not to slender, but the impact held me so tightly that my bones were to crack. So I took a refugee by the crying tree as the first tear fell in shame. It freed me of the unknown fear though I felt to be a child rather than a man. Ignoring the differences, I did cry until my eyes afford!

An Onymous