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.