Bait, Art, Holocaust

I just wanted to post some links that could help us place Albahari's Bait in context as a specific literary response to the Holocaust, as well as the Yugoslav wars in the 1990s. It may be helpful to continue the discussion on silence, representation and its limits when it comes to historical traumas, whose scale, as it has been often argued, exceeds the grasp of both reason and imagination. Yet, despite this claim, artists and writers keep dealing with this topic in various ways.

Albahari was supposed by very influenced by Art Spiegelman's Maus. Here is an interview with Spiegelman where he explains how he came up with the idea for the graphic novel. 

Another interesting personality from the "world of arts" is Christian Boltanski, who acquired international recognition for his installations that feature doctored photographs of children, producing a haunting aura that has been termed by Dora Apel as "the Holocaust effect." The disturbing fact that documents related to Holocaust are easily reproducible and that our response to them is in many ways preconditioned, as abstract horror without any content or thought.

Christian Boltanski, Autel de Lycee Chases, 1989

Finally, I am posting a link on Yugoslav Partisan Memorials, many of which commemorated places where enormous crimes were committed on the fascist side. As you can see, may of the memorials were abstract and open to interpretation, in many ways in line with the "anti-monument"  aesthetic in Western Europe.

Monument Commemorating the Battle of the Sutjeska - Tjentište, Bosnia and Herzegovina

For you winos and foodies...

http://catavino.net/croatia-a-wealth-of-flavors-and-experiences-part-1/

Zograf, War, Balkans

Kelly, I think your post provokes some interesting questions for discussion tomorrow. First, it would be productive to focus on the form and genre. Mallory already mentioned the fragmentation and stream-of-consciousness effect in Zograf's comics. We are not getting a "realistic" narrative here, but rather a collection of thoughts, dreams, fragments of everyday life. Moreover, Zograf's drawing style is rather unique, surrealistic, playful, ironic, and at times very stark and "Kafkaesque," to use a literary analogy. He mobilizes pop culture and subculture references to estrange the Western reader/viewer who comes to this text with certain expectations and prejudices about the "the Balkans", "the Serbs" etc. For stylistic comparison, see R. Crumb and some other underground comic artists, such as Art Spiegelman, Chris Ware. This is definitely strategic on Zograf's part; but it is also part of his artistic genealogy, in the same way Shklovsky, Nabokov, and Brodsky are appropriated and quoted by Ugrešić in The Museum of Unconditional Surrender.

For example, Zograf comments on his form and genre explicitly in one of the comics: "...my stuff is not strictly 'documentary' ... it is some kind of fantastic realism, in a good Russian tradition... I think that the whole situation could be properly described by pointing at some peripheral details... in our life, we are always watching just fragments ... we have to use our imagination if we want to grasp the whole picture..." (54)
There's plenty of stuff to discuss in this one quote. How does Zograf achieve the documentary effect? I would argue in several ways: by indexing specific dates and using the explicitly autobiographical diary genre, by inserting fragments of "reality" (the dinar bills, NATO propaganda leaflets) etc. We saw this in other texts as well. We can also discuss the use of marginalia..."the peripheral details" which, as Zograf argues, can be more revealing than master narratives (compare to Jameson, who laments the grand narrative of History in postmodern age). What about the use of fantasy, dreams, urban legend and folklore? To what extent is popular culture a site of resistance, both against the ruling authoritarian regimes in the ex-Yugoslavia (which is also appropriating popular culture and folklore, think of Ugresic's Culture of Lies) and against neo-colonial dehumanization of peoples outside of the "West"?
This also feeds into Kelly's post about the power of images. I think there are few things we can discuss here. First, the fact of postmodern warfare. What I have in mind here is the appearance of  "imbedded" reporting, and televised images that shape our perception of the "enemy" on the ground, which is additionally connected to the whole mass media/military apparatus. It has become apparent that in such "humanitarian" interventions, "preemptive" wars, and wars against terrorism--such as the NATO bombing of Serbia, Kosovo (in the former category) and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan (in the latter)--the line between civilians, soldiers, and "enemy combatants" is very blurry, to say the least. Not to mention the line between civilian, military, and industrial infrastructure subjected to bombing. And since Western countries have vested interest in decreasing the number of domestic casualties, most of these wars have been waged from the air, or more recently, by combat drones (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/20/world/asia/20drones.html). Moreover, the media will often uncritically use the same terms as the military and the government to describe the situation. I have already mentioned some terms that have invaded our language about war: "humanitarian intervention", "preemptive strike", "shock and awe", "enemy combatant", "homeland security" etc. etc. All of this, I would argue, has changed our perception of war and its horrors, as well as the ways in which war is viewed, discussed, remembered or, more likely, forgotten. The fact is that we encounter these images most often out of context, disconnected from narratives of people on the ground. Since we have people to think strategically and technically about our wars, we, the citizens of countries involved in these wars, somehow don't have to think about it, (although we will have to pay for it in the long run). 

"Shock and Awe"

I agree with Kelly that images of horror are much less effective at times than pictures of people in wartime trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, dignity, or just trying to survive. After all, we live in an age (perhaps we've always lived in such an age) where representations of horror and violence--and shock in general--have become a mundane aesthetic experiences. Any thoughts?
To return to Zograf, I want us to briefly discuss the representation of the Serbian other, the Kosovo Albanians in this case. In what way does Zograf make room in his comics for the plight of Kosovo Albanians? How does his marginal position enable him to stay critical of the Milošević regime and at the same time condemn the NATO bombing? And to include the point of view of the other? Were you satisfied with this representation? I think this is important to discuss since many of the cultural ties between Kosovo Albanians and Serbs have been severed and revanchist feelings on both sides still haven't subdued, not only because of the fresh war traumas but also the ongoing territorial disputes, questions of sovereignty.  Recently, the younger generation of Serbian and Kosovo writers have been trying to reestablish connections by translating short stories, which I see as a positive, if not a radical move towards some sort of dialogue and understanding of the trauma of the other: http://www.seecult.org/vest/iz-beograda-s-ljubavlju-na-albanskom (text in BCS).

As Arendt has argued, birth--broadly considered--represents one of the most monumental political events, the fact that space is made in the world for a new, unique individual, or collectively speaking, a new generation of people. What we are seeing in the Balkans--and elsewhere--is that nationalistic war and authoritarian rule have deprived a whole generation of people of their future. Now they're trying to regain it, even though they are inevitably stuck with the traumas, guilt, and burdens of the previous generation which they must confront whether they like it or not. 

Here is a more recent comic by Zograf on this theme (part of his weekly contribution to the Serbian magazine, Vreme; translation follows) :

The Horror of Growing Up: Cap1: "As mature persons, it is hard for us to understand why during our early childhood the universe sometimes brought us to tears... What was the reason for this infantile pain in the face of our existence? I thought about this while sorting through photographs which I acquired at the flea-market..." Cap 2:  "In fact, it is perhaps understandable that the gentle soul of a child will be surprised when faced with the circumstances that govern physical reality. It can be a real challenge if--let's say--you were destined to grow up among moustachioed Montenegrins, some of which may even be armed."  

Cap3 : "In the end, you somehow come to the conclusion that it is completely natural for a youngster to be spellbound when confronted with a world that is about to plop down on your  feeble shoulders... Maybe we would bawl even more and even louder, if we only knew that we'd grow into all those boring, "serious" people..."

My Perestroika

Looks like a really interesting documentary for those interested. It deals with the Soviet collapse, not Yugoslavia, but nevertheless...

http://www.npr.org/2011/03/24/134764986/my-perestroika-revolutions-children-20-years-on

Zograf and Images

In light of the podcast we listened to for Sarajevo Blues, I have been reading Zograf and thinking a lot about this idea of the power of images that Sontag discusses. In the podcast, Sontag mentions Jeff Wall's piece as having the power to make the viewer continuously horrified and shocked--that the viewer does not automatically revert to the cliched image of war.

While I think that she makes a valid point, it's interesting to think about her argument juxtaposed against Zograf's work. Can't Zograf's drawings, these comics, just as effectively create "a narration that can continue to startle us," and remind us that human beings are capable of doing just about anything to each other?

For me, the answer is yes, and in some says Zograf's work is, in fact, far more startling to me than Wall's piece. Who is to say that a repulsive image of blood and guts and gore is more warranted in horrifying a viewer/reader than an extremely detailed, well-conceived, black and white drawing of a man on fire next to a grandmother holding a watering can?

I think it would be worth it to visit this question tomorrow, and ask ourselves what Zograf accomplishes with this genre of literature that, canonically, is represented in a, more often than not, opposite context.

sarajevo blues

In terms of discussion tomorrow, there are a couple of thematic questions that I think would be especially interesting to try and flush out. One would be the obvious influence of Kiš in this collection and the questions of art escaping artifice, the triumph or downfall of literature juxtaposed against history, literature as embodying responsibility, and the manifestation of art in reality.

I think, also, we could have an interesting discussion regarding the issue of space, especially in light of Michael's presentation last Thursday. It seems to me that the author very deliberately presents a particular representation of space. I'm thinking of this image in terms of Sarajevo as a city under siege, but also as the city's inhabitants living, literally, helplessly under their attackers. In what ways does Mehmedinovic manipulate this issue of space in the narrative, and why?

Sarajevo Blues

I found this band from San Francisco called Charming Hostess who turned "Sarajevo Blues" into an album. They essentially took some of the passages and just set them to music, but it's an interesting way to hear Mehmedinovic's work.

http://charminghostess.us/listen.html

Also, here is a link to a Flickr page with pictures of "Sarajevo roses." They are concrete scars from mortar shell explosions that have been filled with red resin. I cannot imagine how many there must be around the city. Amazing how beautifully tragic these "roses" are:

http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=sarajevo+rose

Guest Lecturer, this Thursday

We're going to have a guest lecturer this Thursday for the first part of the class. Michael Borowski, an MFA student at the School of Art and Design, will present his work in conjunction with his Thesis exhibition Make/Shift. Here is a short description of his work:

Make/Shift is a series of nomadic devices built by the desire to carry home with me as I move from place to place. Through the severing and ad-hoc reconstruction of buildings and furniture, these uncanny objects offer temporary attachments to a home that isn't fully here or there. They occupy the precarious border between interior and exterior, security and vulnerability, solitude and companionship. Household objects, detached from their domesticity, drift into places of passing interaction. Private, daily rituals make room for others to share in their intimacy. These fleeting furnishings speculate on inhabiting the unfamiliar, and belonging grounded in mutual displacement.

For more info: http://www.michaelborowski.com/

I suggest you check out the exhibition along with the other students' work at the Slusser Gallery on North Campus, on the 1st floor of the Taubman  Building, School of Art & Design.
http://art-design.umich.edu/exhibitions/special/mfa2011#Borowski

Hopefully, this will inspire some cross-disciplinary exchange. I'm sure Michael would be very curious about your responses to his work in conjunction with the readings we've had this semester.

Manchevski's latest

http://www.balkaninsight.com/en/article/mancevski-s-film-mothers-wins-belgrade-fest

Happy International Women's Day!

 Here is Milena from Makavejev's WR proclaiming death to (male) fascism and freedom to (female) people!

And here is a young smiling Partisan from the Kozara Offensive!

Sorry, here it is!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hOst_NExGI

It's a six-part documentary; as I recall, it's not terribly long.

"Once Brothers"

Here is the link to a great documentary produced by ESPN about two NBA basketball players from former Yugoslavia, Vlade Divac and Dražen Petrović. It tells the story of how the relationship between two young, impressionable players in the US changes while developments back home worsen - this happens concurrent with the disintegration of Yugoslavia. After having read Jansen's dissertation and Kelly's post, I've been thinking more of the ways in which asserting your supposed "private" identity in the public sphere can be problematic, especially as competing ideologies are vying for currency in a diverse society and crumbling political structure. Also, how do sports play into this private/public dichotomy? In the documentary, you see that the falling out between these two players happens as a result of performances of identity (dictated by an ideology). It also begs the question of how we are perceived by others. Often when we don't confirm those perceptions, we agitate those onlookers who had made previous assumptions about our identity, basing their conviction on signifiers such as last name, place of birth, etc. etc.

Beyond Antinationalism

Jansen talks about jugonostalgija as a subversive practice that relied on the apolitical character of life before Yugoslavia's collapse. As a desire for"normalcy", for urban identity that goes beyond ethno-nationalist belonging, and, finally, for depoliticization of everyday life, jugonostalgija exposes its limits as a (temporary, contextual) strategy of resistance. Its potential was most subversive in Croatia, it could be argued, where Tudjman's regime relied on mass amnesia and destruction of the Yugoslav past to secure its legitimacy. But my question is to what extent does the insistence on the apolitical character of life in Yugoslavia--conceived here as "normalcy"--repudiate the subject as "always already" political? To use a cliche, "you may not care about politics, but politics cares about you." (See Jansen's informants who felt that relative prosperity and security stunted them from any public political involvement, until it was too late.) In this sense, we are always implicated in and condemned to politics. There is no way that we can not communicate politically, since silence and refusal to speak is also a form of political communication, a potential answer to politics. 

When we read Zograf's graphic "novel" we'll see other strategies of resistance, involving mass revolt against the Milosevic regime. This time, jugonostalgija took a backseat, but perhaps it prepared the ground for public, mass resistance against the authoritarian regime.

Here's an article about forms of political resistance that developed after Jensen's fieldwork in Serbia. It sheds some light on the current events in Egypt as well.

http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2011/02/16/revolution_u?page=full

Antinationalism

To start, I have to say I enjoyed Jansen's dissertation very much. I've always been interested in the anti-nationalist current in the former republics of Yugoslavia, especially because it is not something that's usually discussed or even easily accessible for that matter. However, I took issue with parts of the author's narration of conversations he had with various citizens of the former Yugoslavia, in particular his argument that anti-nationalism was a refusal to articulate nationality into a moment of everyday life (85). I was puzzled by Jansen's preoccupation with this "moment in everyday life." I'm actually not so convinced by this point. Would such a definite articulation disrupt the notion of a benign, contented identity. I think that the common denominator in these accounts was that being a Yugoslav was a way of life, part of one's biography, something that was by and large taken for granted. Yes, once the "situation" in Yugoslavia changed, the disintegration effectively began, there were instances in which one's identity was threatened or one had a need to announce his/her identity; thus, they retold special experiences they had in order to illustrate this. But, I think that Yugoslav-ness could be articulated just as well in these specific moments, and they have. Maybe I've misinterpreted Jansen's point, but I am interested to hear what others think of this.

Historical Maps of Yugoslavia

Changing Territories in the Western Balkans 1815-1999

                                      

Yugoslav Kingdom (aka. The Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes)

Socialist Federalist Republic of Yugoslavia (1945-1991)

Jansen and Antinationalism

I found Jansen's reading to be extraordinarily successful; these chapters call into question issues and concepts, which we've been discussing all semester, yet really push us to reformulate those issues. I'd like to start the discussion on Monday by doing just that--reassessing some of the questions we've raised, but forcing ourselves to restructure the context in which we evaluate those questions, and our answers, for that matter.

In The Human Condition, Hannah Arendt emphasizes (and this is simply my own reading; Vlad, perhaps you can elaborate much better than I can) the risk of blurring the public and the private spheres. The public, she says, is a crucial arena necessary for humanity to unfold, but at the same time, the public realm is dependent on the private. Thus, not only if the private sphere is destroyed do we, in turn, destroy the public, but if these two spheres are blurred, the interdependent relationship between the two realms is destroyed as well. Arendt argues that the public realm is needed to equalize. As a member of the public sphere, unity and understanding can be created by distinct individuals who can act in that world together. If people are deprived of being able to act in the public sphere, inequality prevails.

At the same time, the public sphere, in my reading of Arendt, is not confined to a physical space. Instead, it's a world where human relationships form, where people may act together, possibly towards some sort of worldly objective. This action does not belong to the private sphere--only the public. Both worlds are places for certain activities, but activities in the private, for instance, should not be blurred with the public, and vice versa.

Jansen's research and some of the interviews with informants reveal that in former Yugoslavia the national issue, for one, came to be appropriated both in the public and private spheres of life; ergo, "Antinationalist narratives then proceeded to explain that nationality, sadly, had become a key issue in people's everyday lives, even in the intimate sphere of love and romance." My questions, then, are as follows: Is it even possible, in the world in which we live, to keep the public and private spheres separate (perhaps, even, think in terms of the John Edwards scandal, just as an American example that we're all familiar with)? Furthermore, do we "buy" Arendt's argument that the two should be separate? How personal, or private, is nationality in terms of one's identity? Do we live in a world where nationality is still only one element of our identities? If nationality is a private part of identity, for example, is it actually and can it be completely private? If nationality is such a crucial societal issue when we think in terms of former Yugoslavia, or anywhere for that matter, if that privacy is violated, is our ability to act in the public sphere, together, doomed?

Building on this, as well as on Ugrešić's novel, I think it would be useful to discuss memory and nostalgia in terms of their vulnerability and interdependence. We have seen, throughout the semester, how vulnerable and arbitrary memory can be. That said, is it possible in today's world to not define ourselves--and others--by a moment through memory? Is it still possible to envision our memories and longing, and the way we perceive ourselves individually and in the context of others through a narrative instead of by, in Jansen's terms, "a defining moment" ? Is Ugrešić's approach to this issue of memory successful in portraying a narrative? Or can we pinpoint one or two moments in the novel by which the narrator defines herself?

The Hole in the Subject

In fact, every one of us carries some fault within oneself, right. Everyone. The only question is what we should do with this fault. What? Because the presence of a fault is precisely the catalyst for activity, for the correction of that fault, for its neutralization, that is to say, for the search for an "ideal situation" (a situation without a fault)... Every one of us therefore carries within oneself this "hole," due to which he is propelled to fill it in (to level oneself)... The question that remains is how to do that, how to arrive from the fault, the hole, and from the need to remove the fault and fill in the hole to the creative process. How to act "positively" towards oneself? How to create? That is the only question... In essence, when we find this crucial activity, this creativity, which fulfills us, only then do we realize that we are happy precisely because we posses a "fault" ("hole"), right. We are happy that we are "ailing" (that we are not "healthy," "ideal," that is to say, that we aren't "empty"), right.

--Žarko Radaković, "Events That Will Not Be Of Any Historical Significance," Sarajevo Notebooks. 

Kazimir Malevitch, Black Square

Exile and Schizophrenia

„Šizofrenija“ kojoj sam se prepuštao nije bila samo proizvod nego i cilj stanja u kome sam se u svom stranačnom životu nalazio, stanja koje je pretilo da mi oduzme sposobnost prosuđivanja i izbora. Pretilo je da se svedem na nekoga ko je samo još opažao i doživljavao svet koji je delovao samo još u „jakim“ slikama. Pretilo je da zauvek ostanem „na tripu“: da zauvek zaboravim svoje poreklo, svoju povest, svoje „sadržine“; da, u strahu od „pada u rupu“ gubljenja identiteta, učestalo produžujem „stanje“ burnog „senzacionalnog“ doživljavanja „sadašnjosti“, dakle, da postanem neka vrsta „narkomana“, „alkoholičara“ i „strastvenog pušača“ moje savremenosti.
Sećanje, razmišljanje, promišljanje i mišljenje je, „u takvim stanjima“, bilo neminovno. Bilo je izlaz u borbi za mentalni opstanak.

(Žarko Radaković, "Pred- i post-nomadska stanja", Sarajevske sveske, br. 23/24)

"Schizophrenia" to which I surrendered myself was not only the product but also the goal of the state in which I found myself while living in a foreign land, the state which threatened to take away my ability to make judgments and form selections. It threatened to reduce me to someone who was now only observing and experiencing the world, which now only appeared as a series of "intense" images. It threatened to make me never come down from "my trip": to make me forever forget my own origin, my own history, the "contents" of my own self; it threatened that--in fear of "falling into the void" that is the loss of one's identity--I persistently prolong "the state" of ecstatic, "sensational" experiencing of the eternal "now", in essence, to become some sort of an "addict," "alcoholic," and "passionate smoker" of my contemporaneity.

Remembering, reflecting, deliberating, and thinking  in "these states" proved indispensable. It was a way out in a battle for mental survival.

(Žarko Radaković, "Pre- and Post-nomadic States", Sarajevo Notebooks, br. 23/24, my translation)

Rabbit a la Berlin

A short film that I was reminded of while reading.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEHi4DE2uAY

Apples

While reading The Museum of Unconditional Surrender I was surprised by the amount of times apples were referred to by each character while considering their own memory and nostalgia. This can't necessarily be considered unusual since apples are indigenous to the area of the Balkans. I'm familiar with apples mainly as religious symbolic of the forbidden fruit, but couldn't necessarily see how this fit into the stories. Perhaps the apples were symbolic of a better time in which they area was not pitted in war? I'm not sure the importance of the apples, but was hoping that there was a deeper meaning that someone else knew of?

Museum of Unconditional Surrender

Elephant seal Roland IV moved in to the Berlin Zoo in 1955. By the time he died in 1961,

he weighed over a ton. He died from injuries sustained by swallowing a foreign object

that had been thrown into his enclosure.

— Der Spiegel 

 

 

 

                                      
Literary theorist Yuri Lotman has argued that the beginning, the conclusion, and the title are structurally the most privileged places in a literary work. This seems to be especially true in Ugrešić's novel, where the author decided to separates (or frame) the two opening fragments from the main "narrative," if we can call it such.  In fact, the photograph and the beginning narrative fragment, describing the visitor's encounter with the walrus in the Berlin Zoo, tell us much about how we should read this work and how we should not read this work. We would say that the Roland fragment is metatextual--it comments on the work that we are about to read, giving it a certain interpretive framework. It also announces the major themes, motifs, and places that will repeat throughout the novel: photography, three women, Croatia (Yugoslavia), Berlin exhibit or display, archeological site, objects, fragments, fate vs. chance, reading and the reader (suitable for this kind of literary work), connections or correspondences, poetry, autobiography, and police (political authority). (Also, pay attention to the titles of individual chapters. They contain important clues as to the text's meanings and Ugrešić's literary strategy.)

How do these themes and motifs recur in the rest of the text? What purpose do they serve? What is the best analogy for this type of novel: archive, museum, art installation, archeological site, scrapbook? Why does Ugrešić insist that we do not read this novel as an autobiography? And finally, what do you make of the novel's title, The Museum of Unconditional Surrender?

Muzey bezogovorochnoy kapitulatsii fashistskoy Germanii v voyne 1941-1945 (Berlin)

            

Communist souvenirs, 1990
 

Postmodernism and Body as Aesthetic

I was reminded of Jameson's piece today while reading for another class. Just as in this seminar, in my anthropology seminar we discuss the meaning of "self" all the time, but more in relation with health and the body. One of the readings was about the complete face transplant that was completed in 2009 in France. The question was brought up about whether people would have difficulty dealing with such a drastic change in appearance, going from looking like yourself, to being mauled and then to looking like someone completely different post-op. The woman how had the transplant surgery coped with this drastic change in aesthetic much better than would be expected which brings up another question: do we place so much emphasis on personal aesthetic and aesthetic in general in our postmodern society as Jameson says? He looks down upon Warhol's superficial depiction of shoes and comments that this is a primary characteristic of post-modern society but I feel as though our we aren't as superficial as Jameson thinks...if our face, the image of ourselves, can be completely transformed and yet we still can name ourselves as ourselves, then "self" lies deeper then just in the aesthetic.

'Code Red'

Slavoj Zizek discusses the concept of superego, using A Few Good Men as an example. He explains the idea of a 'Code Red' situation in which "an act of transgression" is condoned (p. 54). Zizek believes that this, inevitably, creates a greater group cohesion. I tried to make a connection between this and Praxis, but I'm not sure I believe that it's the same in both cases. Especially since the Praxis group is concerned with self-realization.

Jameson and Warhol

I found Jameson's reading of Warhol as commodification particularly interesting and enjoyable. That said, what then, do we make of his reading when we juxtapose the Campbell's soup piece against this:

http://remixtheory.net/remixImages/cheWarholRemix.jpg

What does this say in terms of the commodification of counter culture, or, in terms of how we may agree or disagree with Jameson's reading?

AGIG Fim Screening

Written Biography = Self

"A Tomb for Boris Davidovich" fits perfectly in our discussion about the idea of "self." The battle of writing the perfect biography, fought between Novsky and Fedukin is interesting and scary in that how you are remembered in history is as much about what other people think of you and want to think of as it is about what you think of yourself and what you actually did. The thought of Novsky killing himself is not tragic to me for that reason. It is heroic and beautiful, because it is his last chance to have autonomy over his life. Even though he is not marked in the history books as a great revolutionary hero (as Kis stated at the beginning) and his biography was rewritten, he ultimately had the last say.

Kis' Writing Style

In "The Magic Card Dealing," Kis writes about Tarot cards. In his description of the cards he writes, "Two sides of the same coin. The head and the tail. Light and dark. Tragedy and comedy. A parody of one's own grandeur. The proximity of sex and laughter. Sex and death" (p. 66). When I read this, I was immediately struck by how this description could also be said to describe the style in which Kis writes, specifically "Tragedy and comedy". On the previous page discusses a game involving lice, which is equally comedic and desolate. I noticed many similar passages, which create a feeling of realism in Kis' work.

Excellent Summary of the Kiš Polemic

Danilo Kis, A Tomb For Boris Davidovich: A Literary Scandal

 

Events this Week

February 03, 2011
4:00 PM - 5:30 PM, 1636 International Institute/SSWB, 1080 S. University.
Conversations on Europe. "The Balkan Sight of the Mediterranean (or the unbearable similarity of the Other)"

Further Information:

Gazmend Kapllani, a prominent Greek journalist and author, was born in 1967 in Lushnje, Albania. After the collapse of totalitarian regime in Albania, he immigrated to Greece in 1991, where he worked as a builder, cook, and kiosk attendant while studying at Athens University. In 2007 he received his PhD in political science and history from Panteion University of Athens, with the dissertation “Otherness and Modernity. The Image of Albanians in the Greek Press and the Image of Greeks in the Albanian Press, 1991-2001.” Kapllani is fluent in several European languages including Greek, Albanian, English, French, and Italian. Freelancing since 1999, Mr. Kapllani is one of the most renowned columnists in Greece, and he also writes a column for the Albanian newspaper Shekulli. In 2006, he published his best-selling first novel, A Short Border Handbook, which has been published in English, Polish, and Danish. This was followed in 2009 by his second novel, My Name is Europe. Kapllani is also a playwright, and since 2004 has taught religion and Albanian national identity in the Department of Political Science and History at the Panteion University of Athens.

Description:

Gazmend Kapllani, author. Part of "The Connecting Sea: Charting the Mediterranean across the Disciplines." Sponsors: CES-EUC, Modern Greek Program.

Contact Information: ces-euc@umich.edu or 734.647.2743

The Romance of Revolution

To what extent can we equate romance and revolution? I love this passage from "A Tomb For Boris Davidovich," which begins, "A letter from those years, written in Novsky's hand, remains the only authentic document that combines, deeply and mysteriously, revolutionary passion with sensual love..." Perhaps it is too simple of a task to answer my question, or perhaps the answer itself is blatantly obvious. But, I think it could provide for interesting discussion. This question, in relationship to literature and reality, is one with which I have been fascinated for a long time. Think about, even in American literatures, all of the instances when we see revolutionaries "kissing the ceiling"--Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron," for example.

Aleksandar Hemon on Kiš

Aleksandar Hemon, "Reading Danilo Kiš", Context No 9, Dalkey Archive Press

Also, speaking of the tower of Babel and "impossibility" of translation, check out this blog: http://wordswithoutborders.org/

Kiš

Throughout the novel, Kiš inserts characters who are extremely complex, with multiple aliases, murky histories and something sinister about them. However, all of his protagonists (within each chapter) seem to be uncomfortable with their origins. G. Verschoyle had a revulsion for his native land, while Taub preferred to speak Russian over his native German. What do you make of these characters' reluctance to confront the past?

Fiction v. Non-Fiction

The thing I was most struck about the stories by Kis were that they were based more or less on historical events, or at least, they were given a context (like actual dates, etc). Hoe does this change how we feel about the stories and the characters? The Damned Yard was a fiction political metaphor while these stories are all non-fictional political metaphors. How does that change how we think about self, when it's less of an abstract concept but placed in a time and place that we can envision.

Kis

A couple of extra readings that you guys might find interesting, and which also pair well with Kis, I think, (to read in your copious amounts of spare time :)) are A Scrap of Time and Other Stories (Ida Fink) and Ordinary Men (Christopher Browning). Browning's book provides an interesting argument in history/theory and Fink's is an interesting fictional parallel of the Jewish experience (original is in Polish).

Although it's not a very original comment, I am interested in the references in Kis to the idea of extremity--ordinary people acting in extraordinary situations. How does this idea play into the problem of blame and responsibility, and more important, into Judaism in literature? Perhaps it's a thought to save for when we discuss Arendt, but I think it's also relevant in Kis's work.

The "post-oriental" condition

Here is an interesting article by Toma Longinović, "The post-oriental condition", on the "vampiric" Serbian national myth of the Kosovo Battle and its function in the the current "Balkanist" discourse. Longinovićis has written many articles on "Balkan vamipirism" and contemporary geopolitics.

Balkan Identity Today

You can consult these interviews with Ivaylo Ditchev, a Bulgarian intellectual and expert on the Balkans, for the current configurations of Balkan identity vis-a-vis European integration: Territory, identity, transformation: A Baltic-Balkan comparison (Eurozine); Lifestyle nationalism (Sign and Sight).

 

Andrić's Damned Yard and Balkan Identity

The Damned Yard is Andrić's late work, published in 1954, after his better known novels The Bridge on the Drina (Na Drni ćuprija, 1945) and The Bosnian Chronicles (Trvanička hronika, 1945) were already proclaimed classics of Yugoslav literature. Andrić was best known in the west for his Bridge on the Drina, for which he won a Nobel Prize in literature in 1961. It portrayed four centuries of Ottoman rule in Bosnia through the lens of legends, fables, and myths that became associated with the eponymous bridge in Višegrad. As a student Andrić joined the Young Bosnia Organization, which advocated the unity of South Slavs against the Austro-Hungarian and other dominance in the region. During WWI, which was triggered by the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, Andrić was arrested by the Austrian authorities for supporting the pro-Yugoslav movement and spent a year in prison for his political and literary activities. In both the first (monarchist, 1918-1941) and second (socialist, 1946-1991) Yugoslavia Andrić enjoyed the highest honors bestowed on the writer by a state. In the first Yugoslavia, he maintained multiple diplomatic posts and in the second, he became the first president of the Writer's Union. In many ways, both in Yugoslavia and in the West, Andrić's literary opus represented the motley of cultures and confessions that made up the mosaic of Yugoslavia, and Bosnia in particular.

This privileged status of a national writer changed with the break-up of Yugoslavia. Andrić's legacy became entangled in the wartime ideology, with some claiming him exclusively as a Serbian (due to ideology and self-identification after '45), and other as a Croatian author (due to parentage and other factors). Among some Bosniak intellectuals, on the other hand, he was seen as an orientalist and anti-muslim bigot, who propagated false and pernicious stereotypes about Bosnian Muslims. He was additionally seen as a tool of greater Serbia ideology in his privileging of the Serbian heroic ethos as personified in the epics of Vuk Karadžić and Petar Petrović Njegoš. In many ways, his legacy is still being negotiated and picked apart, whether in narrowly ethnic or broader literary-aesthetic terms.

I chose to include The Damned Yard in our readings because, to my mind, it goes against the stereotypical image of Andrić as an Orientalist author. Something which we can discuss in more detail.  In fact, the novel was written after his 1953 visit to Turkey and it reassesses the Ottoman legacy in a different light from his previous novels. (The image of Andrić as an Orientalist writer in fact originates from his dissertation--The Development of Spiritual Life in Bosnia Under the Influence of Ottoman Rule--where he blames the Ottoman domination from cutting off Bosnia from the cultural and spiritual development of Europe, of which Bosnia, according to Andrić, was and is an integral part.) The novella also harks back to his years spent in prison, allowing Andrić to reflect on the nature of authority, power, and government. By far his most complex and modernist work, The Damned Yard also contains the meditation on the paradoxes and intricacies of Balkan identity, formed amidst the power struggle of two opposing Christian and Muslim, Oriental and Occidental empires. I think the text really works well with Todorova's more recent analysis of Balkan identity and memory, especially in terms of the continuity and perception of the Ottoman legacy. Of course, the literary text asks universal and not just question pertaining to the Balkan region.

The Question of the Other

Waldenfels’ discussion of the Other in many ways leaves me puzzled. I understand his notion that there exists the possibility of feeling out of place at home (“Otherness originates in ourselves…”) because otherwise there would be no in-between. Instead, the other would theoretically reside somewhere completely outside our identifiable home domain. But, can we translate these phenomena somehow, characterize them in simpler terms? In what instances do we find ourselves alienated in our “home”? And, what does Waldenfels mean by “monopolization of the logos”?

Vulnerability

I thought the Radio Lab podcast was really interesting, and I was really struck by the story the young woman told about her mother's brain aneurism. The discussion later led to ideas about human beings' possession, or lack thereof, of an immaterial soul, and that we are not closed off, or walled up, but rather porous creatures, who are shaped by other people and by our surroundings. In reference to the narrative about the mother who had the brain aneurism--while this young woman's point was that her mother's injury to her body caused her to sort of lose her old self, I started to think about what else causes this. I think it's especially relevant when talking about the breakup of Yugoslavia, for example, and the search for identity--what makes people act the way they do? Can we attribute violence, war, or extreme nationalism to human beings acting out of the ordinary? In other words, can we lose ourselves to extraordinariness in extraordinary circumstances as some authors and theorists have proposed?

"Green" Imagery

I noticed throughout the novel that at least once in every chapter Krleza used the color green in some form to describe Philip's surroundings. At first, I just thought it was the way in which he chose to describe the setting realistically, but he used it so repetitively that I think there may be some deeper meaning, although, I am not sure what that may be. Any ideas?

the women in their lives

One thing that I've that I've begun to think about since finishing "The Return of Philip Latinowicz" is how strongly affected men are by the actions and behavior of the women in their lives. Philip has a very complex relationship with his mother and he is also deeply inspired and troubles by his relationship with Bobocka. The same goes for Balocanski, who murders Bobo. And even Kyriales had a traumatizing experience when his sweetheart was shot; he is portrayed in the novel as being overly philosophical and spiteful. I find it interesting that there is an overall lack of male dominance within the novel. At the same time, I wouldn't say that my sympathies extend one or the other--troubled men or the women who have hurt them.

A former Russian professor just sent this to me...

http://www.theblacksheepdances.com/2010/12/2011-eastern-european-reading-challenge.html#comment-form

Capturing an Image

Last summer, while in Moscow, I went to the relatively new gulag museum--State History Museum of the Gulag, I think it is officially. I had never been there before, and it was only 40 rubles, or something ridiculously inexpensive for admission. That particular museum is such an interesting place, because of the art inside, but also because the building itself is literally situated on the horizon of the past 100 years of Russian history. Gulag art, protected by rusted barbed wire at the entrance is less than a stone's throw away from Burberry and Louboutin and all of the signs of "Novaya Rossia," so to speak.

So what does this have to do with our protagonist, Philip Latinowicz? The special exhibition (I don't know whether it is permanent or traveling) at the museum last summer was by a painter Симонов or Снимонов (I can't remember which). He had experienced the camp system as a prisoner in the late 1930s or early 40s, but his paintings were dated 1988 and 1989. As if the time discrepancy was not interesting enough, he had taken a brush to each of his pieces, dipped it in a cloudy gray paint, and smeared it all over shadows of emaciated prisoners, skeletons, and empty soup bowls.

For me, one of the dominant questions after reading Krleza is: how the hell is it possible to capture emotions, experiences, memories, nostalgia--whatever--in a painting, a picture, a conversation, or more frighteningly, in our own minds? I love this passage on page 61, "Thus Philip jogged drowsily along, his thoughts bubbling like carbonic acid in a glass of soda water; a process which is rather noisy and produces a lot of foam, but which is refreshing for the nerves: to think in pictures and intoxicate oneself with the endless variety of the changing images."

If memories--the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly are that fragile and volatile, maybe the answer to my question is that it's impossible. Maybe that is why I am still so perplexed by this gulag artist's paintings, as well.

Orhan Pamuk on European Immigration/Integration

When I look at Istanbul, which becomes a little more complex and cosmopolitan with every passing year and now attracts immigrants from all over Asia and Africa, I have no trouble concluding that the poor, unemployed, and undefended of Asia and Africa who are looking for new places to live and work cannot be kept out of Europe indefinitely. Higher walls, tougher visa restrictions, and ships patrolling borders in increasing numbers will only postpone the day of reckoning. Worst of all, anti-immigration politics, policies, and prejudices are already destroying the core values that made Europe what it was. 

Exile and its Definitions

Arendt, Said and Ugrešić all seem to communicate a similar definition of exile; however, each uses a different brand of nuance, which is inherent in their respective experiences as exiles. Arendt’s insistence on the use of the first-person “we” from the start of her essay establishes a curious fact, that even exiles belong to a community, albeit one that is less homogeneous than those whose constituents have a stable home, family, friends, etc. to which to attach themselves. I found this sort of shocking because I think I have tended to conceive of an exiled person as an individual, cut off from society, and singular (one who resists categorization).

· “WE lost our home, which means the familiarity of daily life. We lost our occupation, which means the confidence that we are of some use I this world. We lost our language, which means the naturalness of reactions, the simplicity of gestures, the unaffected expression of feelings.”

Ugrešić, on the other hand, is concerned with the role of a writer, especially in the twentieth century, a period in which borders have moved many times over. Writing is a an act through which the exile attempts to establish order in a state of chaos, of non-belonging. For her, writing seems to be therapeutic.

Definition of Exile

I find it interesting that at the beginning of Brodsky's essay he lists a variety of different types of exiles that I would otherwise label with a different word, such as immigrant or asylum-seeker or refugee. This makes it difficult to come up with a definition of exile because at least through the political science and anthropology classes that I've done research for, there are specific definitions for each of those terms, but in literary terms, those institutionalized definitions aren't always relevant.

Also, after reading Ugresic's chapter, I find myself a bit conflicted on whether or not Yugoslavs and Yugoslavs writers who left Yugoslavia after the break-up can actually be considered exiles. She describes a "dissatisfaction" amongst an audience at an academic conference she spoke at because some members did not buy her story of exile when she had a Croatian passport and was allowed to return to her country. This is part of the chapter entitled "exiles are not like us" and says that an exile's experience is unique to them and no comparable to another's exile. But I'm not sure I'm satisfied with that explanation. I wish she had defended her decision to call herself an exile further.

Contradiction?

In "Reflections on Exile," Edward Said writes, "Willfulness, exaggeration, overstatement: these are characteristic style of being an exile, methods for compelling the world to accept you vision-which you make more unacceptable because you are in fact unwilling to have it accepted. It is yours, after all. Composure and serenity are the last things associated with the work of exiles." He also writes, however "Because nothing is secure. Exile is a jealous state. What you achieve is precisely what you have no wish to share, and it is in the drawing of lines around you and your compatriots that the least attractive aspects of being an exile emerge: an exaggerated sense of group solidarity, and a passionate hostility to outsiders, even those who may in fact be in the same predicament as you."

The idea of exaggeration seems coherent, but it seems contradictory that a hostile exile could also be described as willful. What do you think Said meant by this?

Kelly's post

I am initially struck by a couple of things that I think would be worthwhile to discuss tomorrow, concerning the articles we have read. The first is the idea of exile in the context of utopia versus dystopia. Perhaps exile is a very dystopian way of thinking, but it is also important to consider that while there appears to be a very anti-utopian element, which dominates the identity of the exile, there in consequence could be an expectation or ambition--a direction--towards utopian thinking. If the nation-state, for example, is a contradiction in and of itself, if our rights in the world, in which we live are determined not by some system of universal human rights, but by the rights guaranteed by the nation-state, is the exile--or the exile as writer--directing us as readers to the idea of, or to ponder the idea of, a better, utopian world? Or, are exiles, refugees, etc.--and therefore as writers--simply, strictly dystopian thinkers?

Second, I am particularly interested in the idea of responsibility. In all of the articles, we come across what I think is a very controversial idea of blame in the context of exile. In other words, as we see in Said's article, the condition of exile being created by exiles. How much can we attribute the idea of exile as created by a "new kind of human being" (Arendt)? Perhaps Vlad has already posed this question, but to what degree is exile strictly blameworthy of the 20th and 21st century world/global political system and to what extent is it actually a historical phenomenon?

Varieties of Exile: Poetics, Tropes, Definitions

In our first session we will try to tease out the most common tropes that make up the "discourse of exile" in the 20th century. More than any other, 20th century has been defined by totalitarian political systems, mass displacement, and the all-encompassing feeling of  national and metaphysical homelessness. Hence the title of our course: nobody's home. 

Our starting point will be the three essays by writers from distinct national backgrounds, as well as historical and theoretical positions: Edward Said's “Reflections on Exile”, Hannah Arendt's “We Refugees”, and Dubravka Ugrešić's  “The Writer in Exile.” When reading these essays, keep in mind the following questions: What is the difference between an exile, refugee, immigrant, political dissident, and an expat? Are these categories clearly defined? In what terms? Economical? Political? Aesthetic? Can we think of these categories as politically and ideologically charged labels? In what sense? 

Both Said and Ugrešić talk about exile in terms of writing, as a specific "genre," philosophical and critical "attitude," or even a "mood." What are the predominant markers or tropes of the exile "genre"? What is the attitude of an exile towards his "homeland" and adopted country? How does an exile deal with his or her "double biography"? What kinds of a mood or moods are associated with the state of exile? Why?

As you're writing your response, be sure to look at the following posts dealing with the mythology and literature of exile in the ancient and modern world. I hope it will give you an idea of the long and complex genealogy of exile as both a concrete historical experience and a metaphor for the human condition as such.

Ovid's Exile

Ovid was another famous exile from the ancient world. By some accounts, he was exiled to Tomis on the Black Sea for writing erotic and  subversive poetry that was at odds with the strict moral codes imposed by Emperor Augustus. In his poems Tristia and Ex Ponto he describes exile as a crestfallen and desolate state, made worse by his isolation from civilized Rome. In Ex Ponto, he defines the fundamental mood of exile as one of sadness: "laeta fere laetus cecini, cano tristia tristis" (happy, I once sang happy things, sad things I sing in sadness). Ovid was especially concerned with his legacy at home--the fate of his poetry--and his poems take the from of letters imploring for his restoration to Rome.

Here is a short lament from Tristia, describing the "weariness of exile":

Still, while I was hurled, anxious, over land and sea,

the effort masked my cares, and my sick heart:

so, now the journey’s done, the toil is over,

and I’ve reached the country of my punishment,

only grieving pleases, there’s no less rain from my eyes

than water from the melting snow in springtime.

Rome’s in my thoughts, and home, and longed-for places,

whatever of mine remains in the city I’ve lost.

Ah, how often I’ve knocked at the door of my own tomb

and yet it has never opened to me!

Why have I escaped so many swords, so many

storms that threatened to overwhelm an ill-starred life?

Gods, I’ve found too constant in cruelty,

sharers of the anger one god feels,

I beg you, drive my slow fate onwards

forbid the doors of death to close!

(Book TIII.II:1-30 The Weariness Of Exile)

Ovid's poetry also describes the encounter with the Other, in this case the Scythian tribes in Tomis. While in Tristia  he feels isolated and estranged from them as a civilized poet among the "barbarians", in Ex Ponto he  forms friendships with them and even starts writing poems in their language. 

                Eugene Delacroix, Ovid Among the Scythians, 1862.

Odysseus: Exile as a Journey and Return

Homer's Odyssey is an epic poem about Odysseus's return home (Gr. nostos) to Ithaca after a twenty year absence. Odysseus had spent ten years waging war against Troy and additional ten years in exile wandering the Mediterranean. The poem deals with themes of longing, memory, and identity--themes that will crop up again and again in our readings.

Odysseus is described by Homer as a man of cunning, who uses deception and his gift of storytelling to overcome obstacles on his journey. Exile as a subversive strategy of mimicry and cunning was picked up by Joyce in his Ulysses. In his Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, Joyce writes of exile as both artistic posture and critical stance:

"I will not serve that in which I no longer believe whether it call itself home, my fatherland or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use, silence, exile, and cunning."

In the course of his travels, Odysseus also has to rely on the kindness of strangers. The strict system of rules in ancient Greece that governed hospitality is called xenia. The guest would often take a position of a suppliant, showing his need and dependent state. Xenia demanded that the host offer food and shelter to the wayfaring stranger, even before he inquired about his name and origin.  Here is a painting depicting Odysseus asking princess Nausicaa to offer him hospitality after he arrives on the shore exhausted, hungry, and naked.

Expulsion from Paradise: Genesis 3

Exile is a foundational myth of the Judeo-Christian tradition. Adam and Eve's expulsion form Paradise has received numerous interpretations, ranging from a parable about the passing of childhood and the entrance into adulthood to an allegory about the corrupting power of knowledge.

Here is the full text of Genesis 3, New International Version.