Wednesday, October 29, 2003
An example of literary criticism tripping over its own shoes.
I posted this quotation a while back:
"There was someone out there operating in a new context. They were being lifted into unknown areas, deep pathologies. Was the cortex severed? They both felt a silence beginning to spread from this one. They would have to rethink procedure. The root of the tongue had been severed. New languages would have to be invented."
E. McNamee, 1994
Eoin McNamee's an Irish writer, and Resurrection Man is his book about the violence in Belfast. I took a class on Irish novels a year ago, and the first day we talked about RM, we focused on this quotation. I could tell the class had begun to slow, lose its momentum, of late. We must have spent 15 minutes on that quotation.
Victor Kelly essentially becomes famous because he's a gangster who has raised the level of violence. People aren't just getting knocked off, shot down, or taken out. They are being slowly tortured, their span of pain becoming a measurement of humanity.
And this quotation nails the whole thing: one of Kelly's victims has had his tongue severed at the root. This was shocking, all agreed -- in the book, in my class. The professor went on and on, how this violence was a form of communication, that Kelly was illustrating his intense hatred for Catholics, as well as indulging in a form of play-acting, in which he would emulate mobster behavior he'd seen on television and in films. The rest of Belfast saw Kelly's work, and withdrew in a frightened, shocked realization -- by upping the ante, Kelly was forcing them to "rethink procedure". He had gone way beyond what they were used to, so procedure was useless. The rivals would have to invent "new languages" to communicate on Kelly's level.
Now I agree -- all well and good. Makes a lot of sense. I like it. This is one of the key passages in the book. Easily the most recognizable. But we stayed on that point forever and ever, and we never ever pointed out the literal meaning of the words. There is a perversity attached to the literal meaning here: a man's tongue is severed . . . new languages would have to be invented . . . yet the man is dead. Is it too difficult to understand that -- while the concept of invention was not introduced as an effect of the crimes -- the invention of new languages follows the description of the crime? This is a clear authorial choice -- it's called syntax, the ordering of language. I'm pointing out the obvious here, I know that. The man is without a tongue; new forms of communication are necessary; the man is dead.
My professor, a good guy who needs to rein in his Marxist leanings, didn't even understand my point: "But that's not what McNamee wants you to focus on; he's talking about the communication between warring societies and the effects of violence."
My unstated response: You're the one pointing out the obvious. McNamee wrote a passage in which the connotative meaning was more evident than the denotative meaning . . . yet you managed to ignore that . . . refused to see its brilliance even. It's this ignorance that's dangerous to the study of literature. Because by scratching off one side of the coin, you've destroyed the entire piece's value. By refusing to acknowledge the literal meaning, you've made it impossible to draw any conclusions of meaning regarding the perversity of a dead man utilizing new language and the disintegrating humanity in Belfast. You've not even hinted at the implied impossibility or the inherent contradictions that the statement holds for the city, its people, and the prospects for peaceful communication.
And, call me crazy, but I think that's the point of Resurrection Man.
"There was someone out there operating in a new context. They were being lifted into unknown areas, deep pathologies. Was the cortex severed? They both felt a silence beginning to spread from this one. They would have to rethink procedure. The root of the tongue had been severed. New languages would have to be invented."
E. McNamee, 1994
Eoin McNamee's an Irish writer, and Resurrection Man is his book about the violence in Belfast. I took a class on Irish novels a year ago, and the first day we talked about RM, we focused on this quotation. I could tell the class had begun to slow, lose its momentum, of late. We must have spent 15 minutes on that quotation.
Victor Kelly essentially becomes famous because he's a gangster who has raised the level of violence. People aren't just getting knocked off, shot down, or taken out. They are being slowly tortured, their span of pain becoming a measurement of humanity.
And this quotation nails the whole thing: one of Kelly's victims has had his tongue severed at the root. This was shocking, all agreed -- in the book, in my class. The professor went on and on, how this violence was a form of communication, that Kelly was illustrating his intense hatred for Catholics, as well as indulging in a form of play-acting, in which he would emulate mobster behavior he'd seen on television and in films. The rest of Belfast saw Kelly's work, and withdrew in a frightened, shocked realization -- by upping the ante, Kelly was forcing them to "rethink procedure". He had gone way beyond what they were used to, so procedure was useless. The rivals would have to invent "new languages" to communicate on Kelly's level.
Now I agree -- all well and good. Makes a lot of sense. I like it. This is one of the key passages in the book. Easily the most recognizable. But we stayed on that point forever and ever, and we never ever pointed out the literal meaning of the words. There is a perversity attached to the literal meaning here: a man's tongue is severed . . . new languages would have to be invented . . . yet the man is dead. Is it too difficult to understand that -- while the concept of invention was not introduced as an effect of the crimes -- the invention of new languages follows the description of the crime? This is a clear authorial choice -- it's called syntax, the ordering of language. I'm pointing out the obvious here, I know that. The man is without a tongue; new forms of communication are necessary; the man is dead.
My professor, a good guy who needs to rein in his Marxist leanings, didn't even understand my point: "But that's not what McNamee wants you to focus on; he's talking about the communication between warring societies and the effects of violence."
My unstated response: You're the one pointing out the obvious. McNamee wrote a passage in which the connotative meaning was more evident than the denotative meaning . . . yet you managed to ignore that . . . refused to see its brilliance even. It's this ignorance that's dangerous to the study of literature. Because by scratching off one side of the coin, you've destroyed the entire piece's value. By refusing to acknowledge the literal meaning, you've made it impossible to draw any conclusions of meaning regarding the perversity of a dead man utilizing new language and the disintegrating humanity in Belfast. You've not even hinted at the implied impossibility or the inherent contradictions that the statement holds for the city, its people, and the prospects for peaceful communication.
And, call me crazy, but I think that's the point of Resurrection Man.
