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Monday, 28 October 2024

AN EYE FOR AN EAR: FIFTH BUSINESS AND LA GROSSE FEMME D'À CÔTÉ EST ENCEINTE

Studies in Canadian Literature: Volume 14, Number 2 (1989): pages 128-149. 

The absence of Robertson Davies and Michel Tremblay from Philip Stratford's comparative study of the Québécois and the English Canadian novel, All the Polarities, is a gaping omission--particularly when the book purports to consider "the best works of our best authors" (1). Stratford's methodology, which is to pair individual works of similar theme and content, is simple, straightforward and remarkably effective in drawing out the stylistic differences between the English Canadian and the Québécois novel. The general descriptions of the typical roman québécois and the typical English Canadian novel offered in All the Polarities evidence what I would argue to be one of the most cogent distinctions to be made between the two cultures: the Québécois tendency towards "orality," on the one hand, and the English Canadian tendency toward "literacy" or "visuality," on the other.



Davies' Fifth Business and Tremblay's La grosse femme d'à côté est enceinte are superlative and archetypal examples of their respective milieus. The question remains as to whether or not such disparate novels can be compared according to the methodology Stratford has established in All the Polarities. At first glance one might well ask in what sense La grosse femme and Fifth Business are parallel. However, as we consider the themes, characters and attitudes of these works more closely a basis for comparison does emerge. Both Tremblay and Davies were well established as playwrights before publication of La grosse femme and Fifth Business. In each case the novels were to be the first of a trilogy; however, Tremblay's trilogy of Plateau Mont-Royal has grown to a tetralogy. Both novels are romantic satires treating the lives of the people of a small community. While the major characters of Fifth Business are from Deptford, Tremblay's characters live on the rue Fabre in Montréal and form their own closely defined quarter. Both novels romanticize their heroines to the point of mythologizing them. Mrs. Dempster, of Fifth Business, is first described as having an alluring, mysterious air, gentle, fragile, almost ethereal nature, and a generous heart. In the course of the novel she brings Willy Ramsay (the narrator's brother) back from the dead, she effects the miraculous conversion (through the innocent offering of her sexual favours) of Joel Surgeoner from degenerate vagabond to missionary and guiding light of the poor, and finally she appears to Dunstan Ramsay as a Madonna icon during the height of fighting at the battle of Passchendaele.



At the same time Davies satirizes, and occasionally almost vilifies, the community that was unable to see or appreciate Mrs. Dempster's saintly qualities. The townspeople at first tolerate her as a simpleton, then chastise her as a burden, and finally deride and denigrate her as an unfit, unsavoury and immoral woman. As well, Davies satirizes dull, narrow, malleable religious views as represented by Mrs. Dempster's husband, Amasa, and Mrs. Ramsay. The principal thrust of his satire, however, is against the prevailing philosophy of materialism. Dunstan chastises his colleagues for being unable to get beyond "scientific" reality or political realities, which he recognizes as being no more than personal prejudices. Boy Staunton is held up to ridicule for his perverse views of religion, his dull, pragmatic view of life and love, his prosaic concern for social mores, and his incredible naiveté about individual and social psychology. Davies also takes the opportunity to lance women's liberation as represented by Denise Hornick, Boy's second wife, as a philosophy bereft of a metaphysics.

Tremblay also takes aim against the philosophical materialism, narrow religious views and warped sense of propriety which entrap many of the residents of the rue Fabre and stifle growth, imagination and the zest of life. In the midst of this close, repressive atmosphere, Tremblay lionizes the character of "la grosse femme." Throughout the novel she is the prevailing symbol of love, and of imagination and dreams. She dreams of Acapulco as young Dunstan dreamed of Paris; she reads Bug-Jargal as Dunstan read A Thousand and One Nights and books on magic and hagiography. Eventually, she takes on transcendental, mythic proportions, as we discover that she is being carefully watched over by four invisible spinsters next door, mock versions of the Greek gods, who knit booties on her behalf.



The primary theme of both novels lies in the juxtaposition of the material world, that is, the common notion of "reality," with the realm of the mythic, the mysterious and the imaginative. In both books, the young, the infirm, the insane and the outcast seem to have privileged access to the transcendent ether. In Fifth Business, the young Dunstan Ramsay, the one-legged Dunstan Ramsay, the "simple" Mrs. Dempster, the near-deaf, delirious bum Joel Surgeoner, the pixilated Padre Blazon, and the gargantuan Liesl are all implied to be in touch with a spiritual reality for which concrete reality is but a faint shadow. La Grosse Femme, who is obese to the point of immobility, the diabetic, one-legged Ti-Lou, the near senile, reclusive, exacerbating Victoire, young Marcel, and the fabulous story-teller Josaphat-le-Violon all have visions which extend beyond the realistic worlds of Albertine and Rose Ouimet. Rose and Albertine are among the antagonists of Tremblay's novel and, like Boy Staunton, Mrs. Ramsay and Amasa Dempster in Fifth Business, they are the voices of disapproval, the representatives of narrow, repressive social and religious views. In both novels myth feeds back into everyday reality. Just as Davies tells us, through the voices of Dunstan Ramsay, Padre Blazon and Liesl, that myth and legend inform, anticipate and affect everyday reality, in La grosse femme we find the mythic spinsters comforting Marcel, humbling Victoire and watching over la Grosse Femme.

Both novels represent the thesis that life touched by myth, even if that mythology implies illusion and self-deception, is preferable to that insular life which struggles to attach itself to nothing but the hard, cold facts of common reality and normality. For example, Ti-Lou forms a myth of herself as "la louve" of Ottawa, exaggerating her own glory and importance while repudiating the discomfort and shame of being a prostitute. Her self-myth gives her pride and verve and the strength to turn her ignominious death into a kind of personal victory. The suffering of those without a sense of myth and dreams is unmitigated. Albertine turns angrily on Josaphat-le-Violon for telling Marcel fabulous fables. She then asks Laura Cadieux for her opinion of this outrageous story-telling.

"Pis toé, Laura, comment c'est que tu fais pour savoir quand c'est que ton père te conte des contes pis quand c'est qu'y te dit la vérité?" Laura arrêta pendant quelques secondes d'essuyer les assiettes. Elle semblait réfléchir profondément. Lorsqu'elle parla ce fut avec conviction et sa réplique n'appelait aucune réponse. "Ça m'intéresse pas de savoir, ma tante. J'dirais même que des fois ça m'aide à vivre qu'y me fasse voyager comme y fait." (316)

Laura finds comfort in her father's stories, but as for Albertine ...

Albertine replongea les mains dans l'eau bouillante. "Bon, okay, j'ai compris. C'est moi qui est folle. Rêvez, toute la gang, rêvez, vous saurez ben me dire un bon jour que vous auriez été mieux de rester les deux pieds su'a terre comme moé!" (316)

In Fifth Business Padre Blazon offers a point of view which parallels that of Laura Cadieux. He calls Mrs. Dempster Dunstan's "fool-saint" (a saintly fool, tainted with madness and of no real good, as Father Regan suggests). Blazon is doubtful of the miracles Dunstan Ramsay feels she has performed, but he offers this reasoning, the ratiocination of the novel:

I have been thinking about your fool-saint, what I conclude is this: she would never have got past the Bollandists, but she must have been an extraordinary person, a great lover of God, and trusting greatly in His love for her. As for the miracles, you and I have looked too deeply into miracles to dogmatize; you believe in them, and your belief has coloured your life with beauty and goodness; too much scientizing will not help you. (249)

Though she cannot be proved to be a "true" saint, Padre Blazon counsels Ramsay that he should pray to Mrs. Dempster as a saint. The Padre points out: "Your life has been illuminated by your fool-saint, and how many can say so much?" (249). Boy Staunton, like Albertine, has his two feet on the ground and is also unprepared to accept the psychological comfort of an imaginative mythology.

He had embraced Denyse's rationalism--that was what she called it--fervently, and one day at the York Club, following the publication and varied reviews of my big book on the psychology of myth and legend, he denounced me petulantly for what he called my triviality of mind and my encouragement of superstition. (241)

Boy Staunton suffers from his confinement to reality much as Albertine does. Dunstan's reply defeats Boy, and it can offer us new insight into the character of Tremblay's Albertine.

     He had not read the book and I was sharp with him. He pulled in his horns a little and said, as best he could in the way of an apology, that he could not stand such stuff because he was an atheist. 

     "I'm not surprised," said I. "You created a God in your own image, and when you found out he was no good you abolished him. It's quite a common form of psychological suicide." 

     I had only meant to give him blow for blow, but to my surprise he crumpled up. (241)

Albertine is on the verge of this same psychological suicide. Her god, like herself, is harsh and mean-spirited. Throughout the novel her despair is frantic and acute at the inadequacy of the insensate and disapproving god she has created for herself.

Albertine is matched not only by the "realist" Boy Staunton, but also by Dunstan's strict and disapproving mother. Mrs. Ramsay's anger and bitterness lead to the breakup of her relationship with her son. Dunstan's reaction to his mother is, like Marcel's reaction to Albertine, fear and avoidance. Dunstan's resistance eventually turns to mistrust, disdain and contempt. As Dunstan lies in a hospital bed recovering from his war wounds, he learns of the death of his mother:

I was glad that I did not have to be my mother's own dear laddie any longer, or ever attempt to explain to her what the war was, or warp my nature to suit her confident demands. I knew she had eaten my father, and I was glad I did not have to fight any longer to keep her from eating me. Oh, these good, ignorant, confident women! How one grows to hate them! (81)

A similar anti-matemal malevolence arises in Albertine's daughter, Thérèse:

Sa mère ne lui faisait plus peur depuis longtemps et ses sautes d'humeur la laissaient indifférente ... non, pas tout à fait ... les sautes d'humeur de sa mère commençaient à réveiller en elle un sentiment inconnu qu'elle ne comprenait pas encore mais qui la remplissait d'une joie morne, mal définie, presque malsaine: le mépris. (38)

The anti-maternal feelings focused on Albertine and Mrs. Ramsay are counterbalanced in the novels by the great sympathy and quasi-adoration afforded la Grosse Femme and Mrs. Dempster. Dunstan describes Mrs. Dempster, saying:

she seemed to me to have a breadth of outlook, and a clarity of vision that were strange and wonderful; ... perhaps she was crazy, in part, but only in part; the best part of her brought comfort and assurance into my life; ... I regarded her as my greatest friend, and the secret league between us as the tap-root that fed my life. (52-3)

La Grosse Femme also provides an outlook which seems to transcend the daily squalor of the rue Fabre. She brings peace to the children and comfort and assurance to Gabriel, and she forms a secret league with Edouard which is mutually sustaining. In the final episode of the novel she is pictured with six of the neighbourhood's pregnant women gathered about her attending to her counsel--a symbol of maternity, a mother of mothers.

La Grosse Femme and Mrs. Dempster, the symbolic centers of the respective novels, are both presented as bizarre madonna figures. Mrs. Dempster is pregnant in the opening scene of Fifth Business, and la Grosse Femme is pregnant in Tremblay's novel. Both these pregnancies provoke disapproval. Mrs. Dempster walks the streets of Deptford when "it was not the custom in our village for pregnant women to show themselves boldly in the streets--not if they had any position to keep up" (10). La Grosse Femme's pregnancy is denigrated because she is obese and over forty, and her pregnancy is keeping her husband out of the war. The censure of these women becomes frenzied when each is discovered in an act of sexual intercourse. Albertine becomes hysterical when she realizes that Gabriel and la Grosse Femme are making love in the afternoon. Mrs. Ramsay goes into a righteous rage after Mrs. Dempster's tryst with Joel Surgeoner. Eventually both women are held under varying forms of captivity. La Grosse Femme is immobilized by her obesity and, as a consequence of her madness, Mrs. Dempster is tied up in the house by her husband, Amasa.

In addition to these similarities of theme, character and incident, the novels are parallel in that they are both explicitly governed by Greek notions of fate. In La grosse femme, fate is represented by the four old ladies knitting on the porch next door:

Florence avait posé ses mains à plat sur ses genoux. "Faut jamais retourner en arrière. On est là pour toute aille vers l'avant. Ce qui est tricoté est tricoté même si c'est mal tricoté." (101)

In Fifth Business, Boy Staunton pushes Dunstan to take control of his life and to make something of himself (in terms of Boy's view of reality). Dunstan is, of course, uninterested in following Boy's advice. "I was not sure I wanted to issue orders to life; I rather liked the Greek notion of allowing Chance to take a formative hand in my affairs" (129). This fatalism reflects in the politics, or rather lack of politics, of the novels. In the face of Fate, political action is absurd. Both novels, therefore, adopt a laissez-faire attitude toward politics. As Dunstan Ramsay explains: "My fondness for myth and legend have always blunted my political partisanship" (150). Tremblay offers a whimsical political allegory of the defeat of Duplessis at the hands of Aldéric Godbout in '39 in the form of Godbout, the dog, savaging Duplessis, the cat. There is no equivalent for the cat and dog allegory in Fifth Business but, of course, there is the corresponding political defeat of Boy Staunton. There is also a strong similarity of features between the vicieux, egotistical, eventually pathetic cat, Duplessis, and the sexual, cruel, selfish, arrogant, and finally tragic Boy Staunton. The sense of fate in La grosse femme supersedes politics, reducing it to phatic conversations and the occasional splash of oratory in the tavern on Sunday afternoon.

That the novels share a sense of fate, and are analogous in terms of symbolism, characterization and theme, confirms their parallelism. In the light of these similarities, the stylistic differences between the two novels become all the more distinct and striking. For example, if we consider the overall structures of the novels, we notice that Fifth Business is first of all a letter; it is a Bildungsroman, and it is a memoir. In addition to these structures, the book is modeled, in whole and in part, on the Jungian archetypes of human consciousness and unconsciousness. Events of the novel, as Dunstan Ramsay frequently points out to us, are patterned after myth--the story elements of the magic show, the pattern of the miracles, and various relationships. Dunstan likens his triangular relationship with Boy Staunton and Boy's first wife, Leola, to the myth of King Candaules, and likens himself to the "fifth business" of comic opera (the character who stands outside the action of the four main characters but becomes the catalyst of key events). The novel is thus designed with a multitude of infrastructures and superstructures, into which the basic elements of the story must be fitted, attached and subsumed. La grosse femme, on the other hand, is a-structural. While one perceives the musical composition inherent in the novel, it is remarkable for its lack of visible structures. The book has no chapters, no rubrics, no clearly identifiable structure beyond a form that is flowing, episodic and rhapsodic. The organic interrelations of events and characters seem independent of the traditional grids of literary convention.

The novels are opposed in terms of range as well. Fifth Business crosses countries and social barriers, and it spans sixty years. La grosse femme takes place in one poor neighbourhood in Montréal in about half a day.

These dichotomies are predicted in Stratford's descriptive definitions of the English Canadian and French Canadian novel in All the Polarities (97-8). In fact, although All the Polarities does not include the novels by Tremblay or Davies, and despite Stratford's explicit exclusion of La grosse femme from his definition, the general contrastive analysis of English and French Canadian novels which Stratford presents does identify most of the polarities to be found between Fifth Business and La grosse femme.

The basic thrust of Stratford's description of the typical or expected English Canadian novel is that such a novel depends on external conventions and a highly objectified sense of reality. The French Canadian novel, however, works with internal conventions and a communalized and personalized sense of reality. Stratford accounts for the tendencies of the Québécois novel through a consideration of the conditions of encirclement inherent to Québec's geographical and cultural situation. Time, space and history are collapsed into a confined community. These values can then only be communicated via a close appreciation of the community. The writer therefore moves more deeply into the community, rather than broadly across the world. The English Canadian novel by contrast moves horizontally through space and time. Stratford acknowledges the fact that in the English Canadian novel the individual is constantly emerging from a community into the world, but he does not account for this tendency, except to contrast it with that of the French Canadian character whose confinement redirects him to integration with the community.

The function of culture--custom, mores, fabric, ritual, and art--has always been to integrate the individual into the community (be it the Québécois, anarchist or theosophist community). From this perspective, the tendencies of the Québécois novel require little or no explanation. From this perspective, it is the English Canadian novel that is anomalous and that demands some explanation. For most English-speaking Canadians an invitation into what McLuhan has called the Global Village is without menace and accepted easily. In many cases it seems to be an invitation home, or a visit to the cousins. For the Québécois such a possibility automatically implies either submission to English or an alien French culture or else dispersion. Over the years the English Canadian has, unthinkingly, adopted citizenship in the world, while the Québécois has striven, against the pressures of the Global Village, to keep his community intact and alive.

If we carry McLuhan's notions of oral and visual/literate cultures to Stratford's descriptive definition of the Québécois novel, we discover a highly literate, visual perspective being brought to bear on a cultural phenomenon reflecting an "oral" bias. The upshot is that, in considering the Québécois novel, Stratford repeatedly notes the absence of visual values: lack of distance (focusing distance) from the object of perception, lack of order, lack of foreground/background distinction, "little perspective," and the absence of "a convincing external view of reality" (97).



The French Canadian writer grounded in Québécois culture, and thus encircled, is faced with two choices: either to embrace the Global Village and the technical universe with its culture of visual values, or to emphasize his immediate community and to adopt the "oral" values implied in this choice. If he chooses the latter, the direction of his choice will be the reverse of that of McLuhan's tribal man who adopts literacy.

Nearly all the emotional and corporate family feeling is eliminated from his relationship with his social group. He is emotionally free to separate from the tribe and to become a civilized individual, a man of visual organization who has uniform attitudes, habits and rights with all other civilized individuals. (265)

The passage reminds us that Fifth Business is the story of a literate young man who cannot find happiness in his small hometown. The novel emphasizes, as Stratford suggests is typical of the English Canadian tradition, "the individualistic hero" (97), and at the same time it draws upon the notion of the individual as a citizen of the world. For example, Dunstan describes his camaraderie with the circus performers in universal rather than communal terms:

It is not hard to be popular with any group, whether composed of the most conventional Canadians or of Central European freaks, if one is prepared to talk to people about themselves. (164)

Boy Staunton, as a character, is also universalized and standardized:

He was the quintessence of the Jazz Age, a Scott Fitzgerald character. It was characteristic of Boy throughout his life that he was always the quintessence of something that somebody else had recognized and defined. (174)

In contrast, Tremblay, in La grosse femme, recreates the world of Plateau Mont-Royal as a communal society where relationships are immediate and communication is primarily oral. Victoire is glued to the radio nightly, the community gossips, the men go to the tavern for conversation, and the family listens to the stories of Josaphat-le-Violon. Only the twelve-year-old children and young Laura Cadieux read the newspapers. La Grosse Femme herself reads, but she prefers to turn the experience back to its oral form. While fantasizing about Acapulco, she says to Gabriel: "Tu lirais Notre-Dame de Paris ou ben donc Eugénie Grandette, à voix haute, pis quand les vagues seraient pas dans mes oreilles j'écouterais" (40).

McLuhan notes that radio--the main technology of La grosse-femme--has the power to "retribalize" man and to effect an "almost instant reversal of individualism into collectivism" (256). McLuhan contrasts radio and the press, saying that:

Radio restores tribal sensitivity and exclusive involvement in the web of kinship. The press, on the other hand, creates a visual, not-too-involved kind of unity that is hospitable to the inclusion of many tribes, and to diversity of private outlook. (256)

Whereas Tremblay looks inward at the closely interwoven web of relationships within the community, in Fifth Business Davies is compelled to deal with uniform and universal views implicit in literacy and reinforced by other visual media--such as films and television. Therefore, for example, Deptford must be placed somewhere within the universal/technological notions of a small town.

Village life has been so extensively explored by movies and television during recent years that you may shrink from hearing more about it. I shall be as brief as I can, for it is not by piling up detail that I hope to achieve my picture, but by putting the emphasis where I think it belongs. 

     Once it was the fashion to represent villages. (16)

In La grosse femme, however, tribal attitudes toward territory are highlighted.

Jamais personne du groupe n'allait plus loin que chez Eaton. A l'ouest de ce grand magasin c'était le grand inconnu: l'anglais, l'argent, Simpson's, Ogilvy's, la rue Peel, la rue Guy, jusqu'apr6s Atwater, là où l'on recommençait à se sentir chez soi à cause du quartier Saint Henri, tout proche, et de l'odeur du port. Mais jamais personne n'allait jusqu'à Saint-Henri et jamais personne de Saint-Henri ne venait jusqu'au Plateau Mont-Royal. On se rencontrait à mi-chemin, dans les allées Eaton, et on fraternisait au-dessus d'un sundae au chocolat ou d'un ice-cream soda. Les femmes de Saint-Henri parlaient fièrement de la place Georges-Étienne-Cartier et celles du Plateau Mont-Royal du boulevard Saint-Joseph. (25)

In Fifth Business, Dunstan is obsessed with literacy. He is a writer, not a teller of stories like Joshaphat. Whereas Gabriel becomes the tavern orator every Sunday, Dunstan's father is a newspaper editor and writes a weekly editorial. Fifth Business is replete with the writing of books, the reading of books and the study of books. The novel is a letter, precipitated by a newspaper article, and ends with a letter within the letter. Most of the major turning points involve letters, notes, telegrams and newspaper articles.

As far as the authors' own confessed writing habits are concerned, they again show oral (spontaneous) versus literate (structured, visually organized) tendencies. Tremblay describes the writing of his play, Les Belles-Soeurs, as simply putting thirteen women on the stage to see what they would say.1 Tremblay has described his general approach to the writing of his plays as thinking about the idea for a year or two, and then writing the play very quickly--usually in less than six weeks.2 Davies' approach is described by Elspeth Buitenhuis in her book, Robertson Davies.

Whenever an idea occurs to him, and that may well be while lecturing, or in the middle of the night, or during a party, he jots it down in one of the many tiny notebooks he carries with him. Gradually these little notebooks are filled with the tidy notes in which characters are born and themes plotted. Because he is prey to writer's cramp, Davies composes at the typewriter. Each day begins with the extensive revision of the work of the day before, consisting largely of condensation and rephrasing of what he has written. Once this first draft, on yellow paper, is completed, it is typed on blue paper and the whole book undergoes total revision again. This last revision is almost, at times, another rewriting of large sections of the book. Finally it goes to the publisher. (16)

The polarities of orality and literacy apply not only to the approaches to writing and to the universes they chose to describe, but, consequently and most importantly, to the writing styles which the novels display. Stratford describes the logic of the narrative of the French Canadian novel as dreamlike, while that of its English counterpart is chronological. According to Stratford, the French Canadian novel is coded, clannish, perplexing, not clearly ordered, "a state of mind" (97). The English Canadian novel seems to follow the logic of historical and daily events, and time and memory supply a further degree of order to the extensive detail which the novel typically offers.

These descriptions apply to the novels at hand, but McLuhan's observation that in literate societies there is a "strong bias toward sequence as logic" (88) born of the linear and sequential nature of the alphabet and of print does much to explain this polarity. Thus, in Fifth Business the logic of the narrative is sequential and linear. Fifth Business relies on chronology as its organizing principle. La grosse femme, on the other hand, is an intense, episodic investigation of a brief, and seeming frozen time frame. Primitive man and, by extension, the man who attaches himself to oral culture operate primarily on subjective time. Whereas literate man depends on objective, scientific, clock time, the universe of La grosse femme is logical, without necessarily being linear, sequential or dependent on objective time. Tremblay's basic model for the style of La grosse femme is the body of his own plays. Characters, situations and the style of dialogue in La grosse femme can be found in his earlier plays: La Duchesse de Langeais, A toi pour toujours, ta Mary-Lou, A ton tour, Laura Cadieux and others. Tremblay's stated ambitions are to model his works on the Greek classics, and for his writing to rival the qualities of music.3

Patricia Morley, in her book Robertson Davies, contends that

Davies' love of music is evident in everything he writes. Most of his plays contain a song, a dance or both, and music also plays an important part in his novels. The title of his best known novel, Fifth Business, is taken from an operatic term. (2)

Despite Morley's intimations, there is little musicality in Fifth Business. A few fragments of verse and popular song are included in the novel but, far from melody, they produce a documentary effect. If anything, the novel displays Davies' background as a journalist, and its model would be the newspaper or some rough equivalent in the press. In Understanding Media, McLuhan notes the particular style which writers such as Addison and Steele developed specifically for the press:

there occurs a change, not only in the physical appearance of the press, but also in the prose style of those writing for it. The first great change in style came in the eighteenth century, when the famous Tatler and Spectator of Addison and Steele discovered a new prose technique to match the form of the printed word. It was the technique of equitone. It consisted in maintaining a single level of tone and attitude to the reader throughout the entire composition. By this discovery, Addison and Steele brought written discourse into line with the printed word and away from the variety of pitch and tone of the spoken, and even the hand-written, word. (189)

While the style of Fifth Business is characterized by the equitone prose of the press, McLuhan's analysis of a radio diskjockey's banter captures the essence of Tremblay's writing style.

A few seconds from a popular disk-jockey show were typed out as follows: 

     That's Patty Baby and that's the girl with the dancing feet and that's Freddy Cannon there on the David Mickie show in the night time oooohbah scuba how are you booboo. Next we'll be Swinging on a star and ssshhhwwwoooooo and sliding on a moonbeam. 

     Waaaaaaaa how about that ... one of the goodest guys with you ... this is loveable, kissable D.M. in the p.m. at 22 minutes past nine o'clock there, ahhrightie, we're gonna have a Hitline, all you have to do is call WALnut 5-1151, WALnut 5 -115 1, tell them what number is on the Hitline. 

Dave Mickey alternately soars, groans, swings, sings, solos, intones and scampers, always reacting to his own actions. He moves entirely in the spoken rather than the written area of experience. It is in this way that audience participation is created. The spoken word involves all the senses dramatically, though highly literate people tend to speak as connectedly and casually as possible. (82)

Being in harmony with oral communication, Tremblay's prose is immediate and absorbing, and does indeed seem to soar, swing, groan, sing and intone. His style is built on onomatopoeia, changes of pace, pauses, and the rise and fall of pitch and tone. The opening of La grosse femme, for example, is composed of the clicking of knitting needles, silence, the creaking of a rocking chair, silence suddenly broken by a few lines of dialogue, the hiss of a cat, a reaction and silence. The next movement begins with Marie-Sylvie calling out in the street for her cat, Duplessis.

The oral style demands, as McLuhan suggests, immediate participation--what Stratford calls, in literary terms, intimate and uncritical participation, and a narrative point of view "in an immediate and unreflective present" (98). On the other hand, the persistent sense of "distance from the action" (97) which Stratford sees in the English Canadian novel is a predictable consequence of visual culture. As McLuhan argues in Understanding Media:

The literate man or society develops the tremendous power of acting in any matter with considerable detachment from the feelings or emotional involvement that nonliterate man or society would experience. (83)

Literacy, and the highly visual culture which ensures, forces man to separate himself from his own feelings and events, to exteriorize and objectify them. This fact not only colours the style of Fifth Business but, paradoxically, it is one of the themes of the novel. For example, Dunstan Ramsay, being a truly literate man, discusses his relationship with his mother as if it were a case study in Freudian psychology. Dunstan, in this manner, separates himself from the events of his life. In fact, as Liesl points out, he separates himself from life. Significantly, it is this tendency which makes Dunstan Ramsay the "fifth business."

Tremblay, rather than offering a sense of distance from the events, encourages the reader to participate "intimately and uncritically" in the world of La grosse femme, through, as Stratford suggests, "the vividness, the suggestiveness, the exceptional quality, or the emotional charge carried by the details selected" (98). To this list of adjectivals we might add the modulation, rhythm, fluidity and sensuousness of the novel. This immediacy and sensuousness, the lack of separation or distance are, as McLuhan has suggested, the marks of orality.

In order to contrast the exteriorizing, distancing, literate style with the immediate, sensuous, oral style, let us consider passages of similar substance from the novels. In the following passage from Fifth Business Dunstan is in the hospital recovering from his war wounds and is being nursed by Diana. In this scene we discover that Dunstan has lost his leg.

They had other news for me, not so good. My burns had been severe, and in those days they were not so clever with burns as they are now, so that quite a lot of skin on my chest and left side was an angry-looking mess, rather like lumpy sealing wax, and is so still, though is a little browner now. In the bed, on the left side, was an arrangement of wire, like a beeskip, to keep the sheets from touching the stump where my left leg had been. While my wits were off on that paradisal holiday I had been fed liquids, and so I was thin and weak. What is more, I had a full beard, and the pretty nurse and I had a rare old time getting it off. (80)

In this passage Davies gives us a picture, but does not encourage us to involve ourselves in the incident. We should, of course, notice the visual qualities of the passage--the reference to colour, frequent indications of left and right, the visual similes of "the angry looking mess . . . like lumpy sealing wax," and the arrangement that looked "like a beeskip," the picture of Ramsay, weak, thin and bearded, and the suggestion of "the pretty nurse." The passage is classic in demanding that the reader distance himself from events. This distancing is achieved first by the visuality of the passage, then furthered in several ways. As Stratford predicts, the passage is an explicit "act of memory" (97). We are pointedly reminded of the distance in time between "those days" when the action occurred and "now." The passage is even in tone, rhythm and pace. The lines allow only a constricted quiver of emotion with little resonance. Author and narrator strive for understatement. The revelation of the missing limb is buried in the middle of the passage and the difficulty of shaving a full beard becomes the anti-climactic conclusion of the passage. We should, in particular, notice the absence of sounds, feelings, smells, reactions, suspense, immediate action, and emotions from the passage.

Let us now consider a parallel passage from La grosse femme in which we discover that Ti-Lou's stump is gangrenous. She is being nursed by Rose Ouimet, and Rose is helping with her bath.

Rose Ouimet l'aida à entrer dans l'eau. "C'est pas trop chaud?" "Non, non, c'est correct, ça fait du bien . ." Rose Ouimet, la main recouverte d'un gant de ratine, entreprit de frotter les épaules et le cou de Ti-Lou avec de l'eau savonneuse mais quelque chose attira son attention: le bout de jambe droit de Ti-Lou flottait et une tache noire soulignait la cicatrice à l'extrémité du moignon. "C'est drôle, le boutte de vot'jambe droite est tout noir!" Ti-Lou hurla comme si on lui avait arraché le coeur. (134)

The passage also contains references to colour and direction, but its overall style, being sensuous and immediate, is the polar opposite of the detached style found in Fifth Business. In this passage, we should note the sounds implicit and explicit in the movement and actions, the interspersing of dialogue, the tactility of human closeness, the immediacy of action and reaction, the sensuousness of soapy water, of heat, of floating, and the rubbing of neck and shoulders with a terry-cloth glove. There are several modulations of tone, an element of suspense, and a build-up to a high emotional pitch and a dramatic, aural climax.

In general, Fifth Business seems to have been written primarily for the eye, while Tremblay writes for that sensual involvement epitomized by the ear. Davies' highly literate style, with its architecturally composed sentences with many relative clauses, interrupting and antecedent structures, and parenthetic remarks too linear and involved for the ear, does not translate easily or naturally into speech. Tremblay's rambling, run-on, highly modulated rhapsody of dialogue, onomatopoeia, repetition, extended description and ellipse challenges the printed page and takes us beyond speech into a kind of "total" prose.

As we reconsider the content of the novels in light of this oral/visual dichotomy, a significant internal contradiction becomes apparent in the fact that Fifth Business satirizes what its style reflects--the detached, uniformly ordered civilization of our technological universe. The point is brought home in the novel's conclusion. Boy Staunton's funeral (though a funeral is almost by definition a communal ritual) is turned into a uniform, universalized, impersonal event. Dunstan describes it this way:

The funeral was not quite a state funeral, though Denise tried to manage one; she wanted a flag on the coffin and she wanted soldiers, but it was not to be. However, many flags were at half-mast, and she did achieve a very fine turnout of important people, and others who were important because they represented somebody too important to come personally. 

     The reception after the funeral was in the great tradition of such affairs .... Denise was wonderfully self-possessed and ran everything perfectly. (252)

The final gathering in La grosse femme reflects exactly the solace, the catharsis, the humanity and transcendence which Boy's funeral lacked. In contrast to Boy's funeral which aspired to an historical event, the gathering on the rue Fabre is immediate and sustaining. Josaphat-le-Violon tells his tales and provides music, the children dance, Victoire is assuaged from her fears of senility, la Grosse Femme is lifted from her depression, and all the pregnant women of the neighbourhood come to be reassured.

Stratford notes that the French Canadian novel is "unlikely to have an historical nature" (97). Clearly, the encircled community--the tribe, the neighbourhood, the family--lives by custom, habit and ritual, and therefore community truth must preempt historical truth. Historical events rarely impinge on the community, and even when they do, like the war in La grosse femme, they seem impossibly distant and fantastical. The war is relevant to the rue Fabre only in so far as it disturbs and restructures the habits and state of mind of the community, as do a missing husband, the presence of soldiers, a boom of pregnant women, and a change in the talk and attitude of the patrons of the tavern. The war itself, and history in general, are irrelevant. As La grosse femme reflects in its final passage, the community and the state of mind of the community appeal beyond history; they appeal directly to the cosmos.

Rose, Violette et Mauve tricotaient. Leur balcon était plongé dans le noir mais leurs mains retrouvaient automatiquement les gestes justes et le bon rythme. Florence, leur mère .... Elle écoutait en souriant les voix des sept femmes enceintes au-dessus d'elle. (329)

Fifth Business, with its symbiosis of particularity and universality, and its theorizing on the inter-relation of the mythic and the mundane, still manages to ignore the cosmos. Paradoxically, however, one of the main points of the novel is about the danger of ignoring the cosmos. Boy Staunton's atheism and Dunstan Ramsay's bookishness are cases in point. As McLuhan comments in Understanding Media:

Literate man, once having accepted an analytic technology of fragmentation, is not nearly so accessible to cosmic patterns as tribal man. He prefers separateness and compartmented spaces, rather than the open cosmos. (118)

Boy specializes in sugar and money and knows little else about the world. Dunstan's love of books and saints causes him to spend his life in cloisters, museums and libraries. It is only his association with Mrs. Dempster and later her son that saves him from missing life altogether. Understanding Media again applies.

Indifference to the cosmic, however, fosters intense concentration on minute segments and specialist tasks, which is the unique strength of Western man. For the specialist is one who never makes small mistakes while moving toward the grand fallacy. (118)

This indictment applies not only to the grandly senseless life of Boy Staunton but perhaps to the bookish old hagiographer who becomes the fifth business as well. The novel implies that though Dunstan may be a genius in books, he is a plain Dunce in the world. As Dunstan joins the oral/tribal world of the circus, he is at the perihelion of his journey toward the cosmic. However, neither Dunstan nor Boy are capable of opening themselves up to the cosmos, as members of a tribe do naturally and automatically. The novel suggests that a mere glimpse of the cosmos killed Boy and gave Dunstan a heart attack.

As we review the polarities of Fifth Business and La grosse femme, we must conclude that in the warp of time and space, parallel lines do draw closer together. In Fifth Business, despite its detached, equitone style, we find a subtextual story of an individual struggling through the universalized, standardized values of modern, technological civilization toward a more communal, immediate and human form of existence--one which allows at least the possibility of cosmic influence. In La grosse femme we find the communal universe and natural transcendence for which Dunstan Ramsay's heart yearned. The general movement of La grosse femme is one of re-integration within the community, rather than toward visual culture. However, the book is, after all, a book, and therefore a part of the visual universe. Yet, as we attempt to converge oral and visual, French and English Canadian cultures in a phrase, mixed metaphors and paradox seem unavoidable. La grosse femme is a glimpse of the oral universe. Fifth Business strives to make us see what it would have us hear.

NOTES

1 Michel Bélair, Michel Tremblay (Montréal: Les Presses de l'Université du Québec, 1972) 18.

2 Michel Tremblay, from his lecture at Concordia University, Montréal, February 4, 1977.

3 Michel Tremblay, a lecture at Concordia University, Montréal, Feb.4, 1977.

WORKS CITED

Bélair, Michel. Michel Tremblay. Montréal: Les Presses de l'Université du Québec, 1972.

Buitenhuis, Elspeth. Robertson Davies. Toronto: Forum, 1972.

Davies Robertson. Fifth Business. Markham, Ontario: Penguin, 1970.

McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. Scarborough, Ontario: Mentor, 1964.

Morley, Patricia. Robertson Davies. Toronto: Gage, 1977.

Stratford, Philip. All the Polarities. Toronto: ECW Press, 1986.

Tremblay, Michel. La grosse femme d'â côté est enceinte. Ottawa: Leméac, 1978.

Thursday, 13 January 2022

Dialogue Is Dead. So Now What?

Dialogue is dead

In the history of the planet, there has never been a time which even compares with the circumstances, technologies and possibilities for communication and dialogue which are currently available to us.  Overwhelmed by this abundance, we face the opposite of what we might have expected:  dialogue is dead.  




Algorithms and polarization

One point of agreement these days is that we are living in an era of widespread disagreement and polarization.  Computer algorithms exacerbate polarization by feeding our prejudices and cognitive biases with a steady diet of whatever we already like and believe.  The problem isn't that people disagree but that populations at opposing poles, fed with a constant diet of affirmation, have become impenetrable to contrary ideas.  Dialogue has become impossible.  We are bombarded with tweets and images and conspiracies reaffirming what we think we know, making us ever more convinced that we've got it right and of the wrongheadedness of anyone who would dare to think otherwise. 



The History of dialogue

For the last 3000 years or so, the intellectual and social development of Homo Sapiens has been presumed to be based on dialogue.  In Plato's Republic, we read Socrates' dialogue exchanges with lesser lights--question and answer, question and answer--leading us eventually to some consensus, insight, or enlightenment if not final, unanimous agreement. 

Can there be democracy without dialogue?

From the Assembly of the Greek polis to the Roman Senate to the British House of Commons and their numerous variations, dialogue and, more formally, debate were the presumed underpinnings of the system.  Dictatorship is government without dialogue.  Mob rule is dictatorship with a lower IQ. The 2020 US presidential debates were much decried as they quickly devolved into ramshackle exchanges of jibes and slurs.  They were the reductio ad absurdum of the incapacity of politicians to engage in an earnest exchange of ideas.  

I'm an ENTP

My guru once told me I was an ENTP.  Which sounded great, except that I didn't know what ENTP meant.  What I took away from my guru's elaborate description of personality types was "When I think I'm right; I think I'm right."  Isn't everyone an ENTP?  Apparently, my reaction proves I am definitely an ENTP.  I want to be challenged but that would require someone, like me, who is eager to debate vigorously and logically.  

There's a rule somewhere that if you don't get a joke, it's probably about you.  I don't remember that I ever said this, but I have definitely thought it:  


Debate inside academia

Over and over again, at academic conferences, I have heard the claim that the most dire of problems, from racism to genocide to misogyny, could be solved with an open discussion of the contingencies, a fulsome discussion, a serious debate, a conversation.   I've even used this gambit myself.  Yet, inside academia, if ever a debate becomes energetic, someone will sense the imminence of an ad hominem retort and propose that most abhorrent of all compromises:  "Let's agree to disagree." While the dogma of prevailing "isms" reigns supreme in academia, even diffident discussions of fine-tuning and specifics risk being condemned as confrontational, conflictual, or heretical.

"Free Speech" and the world turned upside down

Reading the headline that "Trump threatens to cut funding for colleges 'hostile to free speech,'" it seemed to me that the world had been turned upside down.  How is it possible that universities, the crucibles of free speech, were being accused of resisting exactly what "universities" are supposed to stand for:  universality?   The origin of the word "university" is from the Latin for "whole, entire." We need to distinguish between free speech and hate speech, but the possibility of vigorous debate needs to be preserved somewhere.

Woke and cancel culture

I have wondered aloud how "woke," an Ebonic term for being conscious of social injustice, has become derogatory--a right-wing locution to mock precious claims of discrimination and racism and anything that might be called politically correct. The devolution of the word is a good example of how even vocabulary is co-opted by polarized extremes, and language, the necessary ground for consensus-building, compromise and dialogue, has become the problem rather than the solution.

I have defended "cancel culture"--though the expression has, with overuse and misuse, become meaningless--on the basis of a need to distinguish between free speech and privileged speech. "Cancel culture" hits the news and becomes clickbait when someone wants something or someone to be canceled and that cancellation is likely to irritate, outrage or befuddle a significant audience.  The true malaise is that "cancel culture" is evidence of disbelief in dialogue.  It is evidence of an absence of the trust necessary for dialogue to happen. 

So now what? 

"Actions speak louder than words."  "Might is right."  Is this what we are left with?   

 

 

Monday, 13 November 2017

Why Did Shakespeare Make Juliet Thirteen Years Old?

"I might've fallen for that when I was fourteen and a little more greenBut it's amazing what a couple of years can mean "

                                                Avril Lavinge's  "Nobody's Fool"


Why did Shakespeare make Juliet thirteen years old?

Whenever I lectured on Romeo and Juliet, I always started by asking “Why did Shakespeare make Juliet thirteen years old?”  As I fielded answers from students they generally fell into two broad categories.

In Shakespeare's time, people married young.  Not really.

Category 1: “People in Shakespeare’s time married young.”  Actually, they didn’t.  Shakespeare himself was 18 when he married Anne Hathaway who was 26 and pregnant with their first child, Susanna, but Shakespeare needed permission from his father to marry at such a young age.  Shakespeare’s own daughters, Susanna and Judith, were married at 24 and 31 respectively.  

Our ideas of English girls’ marrying at thirteen (or younger) being common practice was likely provoked by infamous cases of royal betrothals.  For example, Mary Queen of Scots was sent to France to marry Francis, the Dauphin, when she was six.  She married him when she was sixteen and he was fourteen—he died three years later.  In 1480, ten-year-old Prince Edward was betrothed to the four-year-old daughter of Francis II, Duke of Brittany.  (According to another Shakespeare play, young Edward was murdered by his uncle, Richard III.) Such marriages were entirely intended to forge political alliances and tell us little or nothing about common attitudes concerning the appropriate age for marriage. Best estimates are that attitudes, though relative to life expectancy, were not wildly different in Shakespeare’s time from those of today.

The real Juliet was thirteen

Category 2.  “The ‘real Juliet’ was thirteen.”  Tourists visiting Verona today will be invited to see the balcony purported to be the one where Romeo proposed to Juliet.  That a “real Juliet” ever existed is doubtful.  The age of the woman who might have inspired the “Romeo and Juliet” story, if such a woman ever existed, is shrouded in a deeper level of the unknown.  



Sources for the Romeo and Juliet story

Juliet is twenty-one in the Italian version of the story.  In the narrative poem in English by Arthur Brooke, THE TRAGICALL HISTORY OF ROMEUS AND JULIET, which is generally accepted to be Shakespeare’s source for the story, Juliet is sixteen.

Bill Bryson, At Home: A Short History of Private Life

The question remains: Why did Shakespeare make Juliet thirteen years old?  I would invariably tell students that the answer was quite obvious, and once they saw the answer they would better understand the play.  Imagine my surprise, shock and even dismay, reading Bill Bryson (who happens to be one of my favourite writers these days) who claims in At Home:  A Short History of Private Life that the reason Shakespeare made Juliet thirteen years old “is, like most of what Shakespeare did, unknowable” (397).

Shakespeare had a 13-year-old daughter

Unknowable?  Granted some inference is required, but in this case it is more a matter of arithmetic than literary theory.  Romeo and Juliet, the first quarto, was published in 1597—we can reasonably surmise that it was written and first performed around this time.  Shakespeare’s daughter was born on May 26, 1583.  1597-1583 = 14!  Why did Shakespeare make Juliet thirteen years old?  Because from May, 1596 to May, 1597, when he was writing the play, he had a thirteen-year-old daughter.

Shakespeare was obsessed with father-daughter relationships

As Peter Ackroyd points out in Shakespeare: A Biography, the relationship of “father and daughter” was one of Shakespeare’s “most enduring preoccupations” (449): Polonius and Ophelia, Shylock and Jessica, Lear and Cordelia, Brabantio and Desdemona, Baptista and Katherine, Duke Senior and Rosalind, Duke Frederick and Celia, to mention but a few.  (For more see https://www.enotes.com/topics/william-shakespeare/critical-essays/fathers-and-daughters-shakespeare#critical-essays-fathers-and-daughters-shakespeare-introduction).

Typically, Shakespeare portrays these relationships as troubled and casts the fathers in an unflattering light.  The one extraordinary exception to this rule is Shakespeare’s last complete play, The Tempest, in which Miranda’s father, Prospero, has magical powers with which to grant his daughter her every wish and happiness.

In Act 1 of Romeo and Juliet, we see Capulet firmly defending his daughter against an early marriage on the grounds that “too soon marred are those so early made.”  However, by Act III the political climate has obviously changed.  Although never explained in the play we are left to infer that a marriage to a relative of the Prince has become politically exigent, as Capulet now threatens to disown Juliet and abandon her in the street if she doesn’t “get to church o’ Thursday” to marry Paris.

Shakespeare drops lots of hints that he is thinking about Susanna

Shakespeare makes the age thirteen a repeated discussion in the play, and if we need an additional hint that he was thinking of his own thirteen-year-old daughter,  Susanna, he introduces the name Susan—somewhat tangentially—into the dialogue about Juliet’s age.

Nurse:
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

Lady Capulet:
A fortnight and odd days.

Nurse:
Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.*

Shakespeare's spelling of names was always approximate (including his own)

If “Susan” and “Susanna” strike you as completely different names consider, as Bryson points out in Shakespeare:  The World as Stage, in extant documents, Shakespeare never spelt his name the same way twice.  Ackroyd among others is categorical that “Hamlet” is a variation of the spelling of “Hamnet”—the name of Shakespeare’s son who died at age eleven.  And, of course, if  Shakespeare was following the Brooke poem he should have called his eponymous hero “Romeus” not “Romeo.”  In short, precision in the spelling of names was not part of Shakespearian culture.  The dialogue above explicitly tells us that “Susan”—a name we can reasonably surmise that Shakespeare called his own daughter—if she were in the play, would be thirteen.  How much of a wink and a nod do we need?

The theme of Romeo and Juliet is haste

Once the idea that the author was the father of a thirteen-year-old daughter takes hold, it becomes impossible to view the play as anything other than a cautionary tale about the risks of succumbing to enflamed passions, of rushing to hasty judgments, solutions and actions.  Haste, in a word, is the theme of the play—and haste, in the play, invariably leads to disaster.



Haste equals disaster

Mention of the play invariably brings to mind the “balcony scene” but, in context, Romeo and Juliet knew no more than these few minutes of happiness in the entirety of the play.  From beginning to end in the play, their lives were replete with unrelieved anxiety, conflict, and sadness.  Even the consummation of their marriage is unable to alleviate the newfound misery of their existence as they immediately imagine each other “As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.”

Every major character in the play is guilty of haste

Romeo and Juliet provide the most poignant example but, in this play, every agent acts in haste and shares in the guilt of the disasters it provokes.  The passionate hatred between the Capulets and Montagues provides the ambiance for the drama, but the underlying folly of haste is repeated by each of the characters in turn.  Tybalt is an icon of choler—boundless, unruled, passionate anger.  Mercutio, as his name suggests, is mercurial.  Even the Prince is hasty in his declaration that any Capulet or Montague caught fighting in the streets will be put to death, and must retract his declaration when Romeo kills Tybalt.  Paris pushes to marry thirteen-year-old Juliet and is supported in his haste by Lady Capulet and the Nurse.  Capulet at first resists this haste, then becomes its most egregious provocateur when he threatens Juliet with abandonment if she refuses to marry in two days' time.  The tragedy could not have occurred without the active, ill-conceived, precipitous participation of the Nurse and Friar Lawrence.

Friar Lawrence is ultimately responsible for the tragedy

Friar Lawrence is the play’s raisonneur, providing the underlying ratiocination of the entire drama that “they stumble who run fast.” In other words, he is the author’s mouthpiece telling us that this play is about haste, but he is also the worst example of the haste which he platitudinously opposes. He marries Romeo and Juliet, then proposes that Romeo consummate the marriage, then devises the half-baked plan for Juliet to feign her own death, then fails to ensure that Romeo is informed of the plan, then, worst of all, abandons Juliet in the mausoleum where she eventually commits suicide.  In short, more than anyone else, Friar Lawrence is responsible for the tragedy, while paying lip service to the reasoning which could have prevented it.


Some readers might find it odd that Shakespeare made his spokesman the unwitting cause of the tragedy, but self-mockery seems a common feature of his plays.  The terrible or feeble fathers which populate his plays are clear examples of his self-effacement.  One particularly visual example is the Shakespeare crest which William Shakespeare commissioned, the motif of which—black diagonal against a yellow background—he mocked mercilessly in his comedy Twelfth Night.   The butt of endless jokes, Malvolio is lampooned for believing that his Mistress will admire his being “in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered.”


Maybe my students were right all along

Upon reflection it occurs to me as it often does, maybe my students had it right in the first place.  Why did Shakespeare make Juliet thirteen years old?  Because the "real Juliet" was thirteen.  The "real Juliet" was Susannah Shakespeare.

Some editors reduce Susanna Shakespeare's "presence" in the play

In The Norton Shakespeare Greenblatt glosses this speech as meaning "The Nurse evidently suckled Juliet after her own daughter died." However, another possible interpretation is that Susan was Juliet's sister--a sister of similar age or even a twin--the child that Capulet is referring to when he tells Paris that Juliet is an only child because "Earth has swallowed all my hopes but she."  Greenblatt removes this quote from the play and, in a footnote, claims "probably rejected by Shakespeare in the writing process."  Removing Capulet's explanation of how Juliet came to be an only child reinforces Greenblatt's interpretation of the Nurse's speech.  Most versions of Romeo and Juliet that I have read or seen retain Capulet's claim, including the online version at

http://shakespeare.mit.edu/romeo_juliet/full.html

Eliminating Shakespeare from the study of his plays is a mistake

If we continue with this process so unfashionable in postmodern literary criticism (see After the Death of the Author)  of connecting the text to the author, we would note that Shakespeare's son Hamnet, died in 1596, the year before the quarto publication of Romeo and Juliet, and that he was a twin.  Nothing precise or definitive, but additional reason for us to imagine that Shakespeare was thinking about his own children when he wrote the play.

http://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/Library/SLT/society/family/marriage.html#juliet



Saturday, 5 November 2016

Does Knowledge Require Truth?

The absolute truth

I spent a career telling university students that if they encountered someone who claimed to know “The Truth,” they should run in the opposite direction because what would follow was bound to be religious dogma or a schizophrenic rant based on an encounter with God—the kind of truth that could not be checked or verified or even questioned. The notion of absolute truth disappeared after Nietzsche announced that “God is dead” in 1882 and Einstein followed up with a “theory of relativity” in 1905.  Marx’s claim that “religion was the opiate of the people” made it plain, at least for we egg heads who occupied the universities, that the Twentieth Century was going to have to get by without “The Truth.”

The tree of knowledge

The problem I faced as a professor was that my job was to be the serpent in the garden, encouraging young people to take a bite out of the apple from the tree of knowledge (no, not that kind of Biblical, carnal knowledge, just ordinary knowing things).  How could I claim to be passing on knowledge without at the same time claiming that what I was teaching was true?  Luckily, for me, I taught literature which had already been described as “The lies which tell the truth.”  This paradox allowed me to evade the issue of “The Truth” and even “the truth,” but the question still dogged me.


The correspondence theory of truth

Every five-year-old knows the difference between the truth and a lie, but once you’ve got a university degree under your belt, chances are you’re not so sure anymore.  The five-year-old knows that if Mom asks “did you eat the cookie?” and you’ve still got crumbs falling from your lips, the truth is “yes, I did” and the lie is everything else . . . Martians, the imaginary friend, the dog and plain old “nope.”  This is known as the correspondence theory of truth, and it is the default theory, which means if you have never thought of this question before this is what you think.  A statement is true if it corresponds to “reality.”  Did I mention that right after Nietzsche killed God, Einstein killed reality? 


Relativity, skepticism and the absence of truth

The reason the correspondence theory of truth doesn’t really work is that for the last hundred years or so, since Einstein said “E=Mc2,” and physicists admitted they really don’t know what “matter” is, we’ve all been pretty uncertain about what is and isn’t reality.   Actually, for as long as human beings have been able to record their thoughts on the question, we have been uncertain about the nature of reality.  The Greek philosopher Pyrrho took his skepticism and disbelief in reality so far that, we are told, his disciples had to go before him moving objects out of his way so that he wouldn’t walk into them. Nowadays our disbelief in reality isn’t so much of the walking-into-walls variety, but our certainty that we are uncertain has become widespread.  The problem is that this uncertainty gets translated into a vague belief that there is no truth or the idea that truth really doesn’t matter anymore.  Truth, in the postmodern era, is the baby that has gotten thrown out with the bathwater.


Coherent truth

However, in the absence of absolute, God’s honest truth, and corresponds-to-reality truth, what is left to us is an imperfect form of truth known as “coherent truth.”  Something is true because it is coherent in relation to something else that is true because it is coherent in relation to something else that is true and so on.  Truth prevails as long as there is no break in the chain, no spot where something believed true upon which other truths depend is proven false, then the chain of truth must be reconstructed.  More frequently, as we follow the trail of coherent truths we arrive at a moment where we have to shrug and admit that we just don’t know.  This moment and gesture (the shrug) are known in rhetoric as “an aporia.” 


Truth only applies when there is meaning

Why would I accept such a seemingly weak form of truth?  In the first place, there is a limited category of things which we can call true or false.  Wandering in the forest, you would never stop before a tree and declare “this tree is true!”  Entering a room you would never find yourself saying “this chair is true.”  We only apply the question of truth to things which have a meaning.  Only when there is a meaning can we say that something is true or false.  It is impossible to say that something is incoherent yet true.  


Heuristic truth

In fact, there is a form of truth, that some people would consider an even weaker form of truth, which I accept.  I accept it as the only kind of truth that is available to us. It is called “heuristic truth.”  “Heuristic” is a tricky, and even dangerous, word.  It derives from the Greek for “find” or “discover.”  Heuristic truth is the kind of truth we discover through trial and error, though dialogue, though logic, through deductive and inductive reasoning, from experience and evidence and examples, because, in the simplest of terms, it makes sense; it is coherent.
If you google the word “heuristic” you will find definitions like “temporary” or “a short cut” to the truth.  Maybe, but human life and the history of our species are temporary relative to the time frame of our universe.  “Short cuts” are all we have time for.


Heuristic pedagogy

Heuristics is also a form of pedagogy.  It is how we learn, not just in the classroom but in life.  We keep adding new information, and adjusting what we believe to be true.  The only test available to us is that we keep trying to put it all together and if the result is coherent, it is the truth so far.



The Acropolis: Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Plato and Aristotle

This is a picture of me standing on the Acropolis,  a few weeks ago, looking down on the theatre where the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides were first presented.  Here in Athens, this is where truth was first invented by Socrates and Plato and Aristotle.





How We Train University Students to Write Poorly (with Addendum)

When I was in the hunt for a tenure-track university position, I attended a mentoring session on how to publish led by Linda Hutcheon, who w...