Author: guerrina

“the troubling gap between words and meaning” (143). This passage of Fun Home really made me think of the relation between the signifier and the signified, that is the connection between a word and the notion to which it refers. In terms of retelling a story, as it is the case in Cereus Blooms at Night and Fun Home, do words interpret accurately acts and feelings? Is the narrator trustworthy?

In Cereus Blooms at Night, Tyler – the narrator – tells the story of Mala Ramchandin. Throughout the novel, he succeeds in giving form to his patient’s story thanks to a first source, Mala herself, but also through various second sources, such as Cigarette Smoking Nana or Otoh. In this case, we have a third person narrative and it seems legitimate to question the veracity of the facts reported. However, even when dealing with an autobiography written at the first person narrative, one can wonder about the relation between the words and the facts that they describe. Why deciding to choose this adjective in particular to translate this feeling? How come that there exists a word that expresses a precise idea in one particular language and not in another? “How did I know that the things I was writing were absolutely, objectively true?” (141) wonders Alison in Fun Home. It is undeniable that words and language set boundaries. This is what she comes to realize: “the troubling gap between word and meaning” (143). In Fun Home, Alison tells her story through a comic book. Although drawings are as subjective as writings – in terms of the choice of angles, colors, shape of the speech balloons, etc. – the fact that there are both text and drawing may be a way to make up for the limitation words set.

But in the end, one can ask whether the sincerity of a narrative is essential in the process of conveying the message(s) of a text.

In literary analysis, studying the text itself is essential, but it is also interesting to look at who tells it. Before the story begins, the narrator of Cereus Blooms at Night warns the reader about the content of the novel. First of all, he introduces himself – “I, Tyler” or “Nurse Tyler” (Mootoo 4) – and states himself as the witness of events that he has decided to relate. The fact that Tyler is “placing trust in the power of the printed word to reach many people” (4) goes beyond the fact that the novel may be a way to find Asha (Mala Ramchandin’s sister). Indeed, the novel, through the various themes that it tackles – such as gender and identity, territory and history, social class and race – reaches everybody.

However, this passage presents a paradox. Indeed, Tyler writes that he intends “to refrain from inserting [him]self too forcefully” (4), and yet, the reader has access to the whole story only through his account. The idea of a narrator relating other people’s stories questions the veracity of the facts reported: throughout the novel, Tyler employs different points of views, which contribute to the shaping of Mala’s story. Therefore, by speaking in the names of other characters and writing only about the knowledge he has access to, obviously leaving “lapses” (4), one may wonder about what the narrator chooses to tell and not tell. Everything is told subjectively. It may be the reason why the novel focuses on such queer themes: because Tyler does not fit into society, maybe does he shape involuntarily Mala’s story according to his queer being.

Although it tends to drive me crazy, I find the way Anne Carson uses punctuation very inventive. Indeed, on several occasions, the author does not use any punctuation marks. Any reader, from his/her younger age, is used to reading sentences structured by punctuation marks, which are sometimes essential to understand meaning. Carson’s choice not to use punctuation for some passages of Autobiography of Red may have different significations.

For example, on chapter XVIII, when the grandmother starts talking “without interrupting her sentence” (p. 57), it seems that the reader perceives her speech the way Geryon perceives it. Maybe he doesn’t get what she is talking about and the absence of punctuation marks confuses the reader, just as her speech confuses Geryon. Moreover, one can consider punctuation marks as a way to set boundaries. With no punctuation, one can set their own rhythm, can decide to read the text as they want. It may be a way to refuse conventions, just as Carson “resists the temptation to represent Geryon’s subjectivity through the limits of nameable social identities” (Georgis 165). Additionally, since the whole novel is a reference to a Greek myth, one can see the non-use of punctuation as a reminder that tales were originally told orally.

Written on the Body really made me think about the perception of time. Since Antiquity, human beings have kept trying to measure time, and it has become materialized through institutionalized rituals, such as obtaining job, marriage, raise of children, retirement… As a heterosexual girl who grew up in a heterosexual family, I never had the opportunity to think “outside the box” and unconsciously assumed that I was meant to follow “those paradigmatic markers of life experience – namely, birth, marriage, reproduction, and death.” (Halberstam, 2) Up until this class, I had never thought that there could be a queer time, which would distinguish itself from the time forged by capitalized society.

 

“The constantly diminishing future creates a new emphasis on the here, the present, the now, and while the threat of no future hovers overhead like a storm cloud, the urgency of being also expands the potential of the moment” (Halberstam, 2)

 

This quote by Halberstam sums up exactly the spirit of Written on the Body. Prior to Louise’s arrival in the narrator’s life, he/she seemed to be living only “on the here, the present, the now”. This is conveyed by the fact that he/she used to live at the pace of her/his conquests. There is no mention of his/her everyday life, just names of people with whom he/she was in a relationship. As far as the reader knows, the narrator is not suffering from AIDS and is therefore not threatened by “no future”. But Louise is. Indeed, she has cancer, and that alters the narrator’s perception of his/her relationship with his/her lover. It seems that the narrator’s time evolves according to the one he/she loves: the fact that she has little time to live increases the narrator’s love for Louise. Moreover, the ending is ambiguous: whether they are both dead and meeting in Heaven, or they meet again in real life, it seems that the narrator is setting his/her own time with Louise. Indeed, there seems to be no constraints (“reach the corners of the world” Winterson, 190), no socially defined pattern to follow.

“I have flown the distance of your body from side to side of your ivory coast. I know the forests where I can rest and feed. I have mapped you with my naked eye and stored you out of sight.” (Winterson 117)

This excerpt fits perfectly into the theme “Map and territory” that we started to discuss in class. Although her name is not mentioned throughout a dozen of pages, here the narrator is talking about Louise, using the pronouns “you” (117), as though he/she is talking to her directly.

This passage reminds me of the colonization of Africa. Historically, the British have colonized certain regions of Africa, inhabited by African peoples, just as the narrator is appropriating Louise’s body, which, since she is married, “belongs” to Elgin. The reference to “ivory” (117), a very valuable material, conveys the idea that Louise is precious to the narrator; but also, since ivory was used to be traded between nations, it reminds the reader that Louise is the property of two persons, who fight to possess her. Louise’s body is compared to a land the narrator has “mapped with [his/her] naked eye” (117). The love of the narrator for Louise becomes real through his/her appropriation of her body. These three sentences start with the anaphora of “I”, reinforcing the idea that the narrator has the power and the authority that enabled him/her to conquer Louise. Also, beyond the sexual connotation, the idea that “the forests (…) feed” (117) the narrator shows that Louise’s love is vital to him/her, which is developed in the last part of the book when the narrator keeps desperately looking for Louise. Indeed it seems that the possession of Louise’s body brings safety to the narrator, as he/she says later on the same page: “Your body is my landing strip.” (117) Moreover, the fact that Louise’s body is “stored (…) out of sight” seems to anticipate the rest of the plot. Indeed, although Louise is no longer physically present, her body is deeply imprinted in the narrator’s mind.

“Is it odd to say that your lover reminds you of a tree?” (p. 29)

This question of the narrator is found in a passage where he/she introduces Louise as his/her new lover. The space, followed by “And then I met Louise” suggests that she is going to play an important role in the narrator’s life. To me, the beginning of the paragraph is Romantic in the sense that the narrator seems to have fallen deeply in love and is naively comparing her to butterflies (“a swarm of butterflies” (28); “a million Red Admirals” (29)) and to a tree (29). This association of feelings and nature reminds me of romanticism, an artistic movement from the 18^th century, known for the confrontation of characters’ feelings and emotions to the beauties of nature. Here, however, I think the narrator mocks traditional writings about love. After the beautiful – and symbolic – comparison of a woman with a tree, the narrator wonders about his/her own writing, which makes this moment almost funny. He/she seems to be addressing the reader, as though saying “Hey, I am writing this book about someone who falls in love with a woman, do you think it’s cool to compare her to a tree?” Up until this passage, the novel has been about breaking up all the stereotypes about love and the disappointments it generates. The narrator has held one relationship after the other and he/she is quite critical about how love is said/supposed to be and how it actually is.