ICLA 2004 Congress
»At the Edge«: Margins, Frontiers, Initiatives in Literature and Culture
Panel #5, Limits, Limitations, and Liminality (FA5)
Sebastian Donat (Ludwig-Maximilians-University Munich, Germany):
Absurd Literature: Exploring Limits[1]
In Western Europe, absurd literature has usually – beginning with Martin Esslin’s introduction of the term ‘Theatre of the Absurd’ in 1961 – been treated within the concept of traditional ‘genres’ in literary history. The assumption is that we are dealing with a ‘historically limited literary institution’[2], with texts that can be “examined as fulfilling or disappointing contemporary expectations to the genre”[3]. This expected scope is in turn directly connected to the exemplary work of Eugène Ionesco and Samuel Beckett, who started the genre.
As long as this perspective dominated all research into the matter, it also sustained the following four restrictions with all their considerable consequences:
– a spatial, or in terms of literature national, as well as temporal concentration in, even limitation to, Western Europe (starting in France) and the post-bellum,
– a much greater weight placed on drama than on anything else,
– an assumed connection between the philosophy of the absurd and that of French existentialism, especially Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphos (1942),
– and, in direct connection to all this, the general theme or the assumed declaratory authors’ intentions outweighing the particular texts and their textual forms as objects of examination when critics were trying to determing the essential direction of absurdist literature.[4]
Just how rigid that perspective has now become can be seen in the Reallexikon der deutschen Literaturwissenschaft, its three volumes, newly created between 1997 and 2003, presenting the most extensive and best respected compendium for literary theory and criticism in the German language. The entry on “Absurdist Theatre”[5] identifies the term with “avant-garde dramas from the 1950s, especially from France”[6] and so limits both its historic and regional extension tremendously. Existentialist philosophy is elevated to the place of an indispensable necessity for the “dramatic depiction of an absurd existence”[7], and at the same time, it must become necessary and even essential to any reader’s expectations for this genre. The considerably wider extension presented in the entry “absurd” limits the usage of the term in literary criticism to “texts dealing with the senselessness of human existence at large” and directly connects it to existentialist philosophy.[8]
What I would like to propose today is to complement this historically and regionally limited usage of the term with a systematic perspective. The starting point will be the dominant forms of utterance found in a group of texts much larger than that containing the traditional theatre of the absurd: A form of consequent resistance to reason, or refusal of meaning. Call it an examination of ‘the absurd’ as an aesthetic, a ‘textual strategy’.[9] In analogy to ‘grotesqueness’ or ‘parody’[10], the ‘absurd’ then refers to an invariant throughout various genres as an “element of a more or less ‘universal’ communicative competence”[11] and sometimes a “group-building structure referring to the common ground of otherwise differing historic genres”.[12] As opposed to ‘primary textual strategies’, such as narrative or drama, which are only available in certain situation types, the absurd can be regarded as a ‘secondary textual strategy’ that will appear in utterances in various situations.[13] So this strategy might be observed in narrative, in drama and in poetry.
Turning our attention away from the mainly historic examinations to a systematic approach makes it both possible and necessary to redefine some of the basics. Mostly, this concerns the following aspects:
–the new focus will be on the attractive quality of the absurd as a specific type of literary expression that appears throughout various periods and languages;
–the scope of potentially interesting texts is widened considerably, not least newly including some areas of Victorian nonsense-literature (e.g. Edward Lear, Lewis Carroll), and likewise of German ‘Unsinnspoesie’ (e.g. Christian Morgenstern and his Gallow Songs, 1905), as well as the Slavic absurd (e.g. Russian avant-garde author Daniil Kharms or contemporary Polish satirist Sławomir Mrożek);
–at the same time, we must question the relation of the literary absurd to other textual strategies including black humour, grotesqueness and several others;
–the importance of the theatre becomes more relative – it now appears merely as a point where a textual strategy apparent in many periods, and languages is ‘condensated’ in time and space to form one literary genre;
–the greater corpus of similarly structured textual forms exposes the one-sidedness of several traditional interpretative approaches (especially the deadly serious existentialist interpretation that regards all such texts as expressions of the “sense of metaphysical anguish at the absurdity of the human condition”[14]).
Beginning with an analysis of a short narrative by Daniil Kharms (1905/1942), arguably the most famous representative of the later Russian avant-garde, and including some examples from other texts, I intend to show that my theoretically motivated complementation of the traditional genre concept involved in the ‘theatre of the absurd’ is supported by a corresponding corpus. In addition, and more importantly, I want to develop a number[15] of necessary and alternative features to look for as structural elements in determining the textual strategy of the ‘absurd’ in literature as an “absolutely or relatively constant component of the ‘communicative competence’”[16].
Blue Notebook No. 10
There was a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears. Neither did he have any hair, so he was called red-haired theoretically.
He couldn’t speak, since he didn’t have a mouth. Neither did he have a nose.
He didn’t even have any arms or legs. He had no stomach and he had no back and he had no spine and he had no innards whatsoever. He had nothing at all! Therefore there’s no knowing whom we are even talking about.
In fact it’s better that we don’t say any more about him.
(Daniil Kharms, in the translation by Neil Cornwell)[17]
This text was written in 1937. It serves as an introduction to Kharms’ cycle by the title of Incidents (orig. Slučai) and demonstrates a number of features denoting an absurdist textual strategy. These features are easily identified, as they all constitute conspicuous breaches of a general reader’s expectations.
The opening “There was a red-haired man” introduces a character which, though indeterminate in space and time, is characterized by one significant exterior feature: His read hair. This establishes some essential basic necessities of fictional narrative: We recognize a characteristic introductory phrase, a narrator’s voice demonstrating sovereignty in the choice of information, and a protagonist. The following relative clause – “who had no eyes or ears” – continues the depiction of this character. The drastic bodily defects of this man, his lack of two whole sensory organs, specify the type of the red-haired man to the concrete case of a highly extraordinary, albeit still nameless individual. At this point, we begin to expect that this character will become the protagonist in a likewise extraordinary plot as the narrative progresses.
In the next sentence, the hitherto merely scurrilous narration turns to the absurd. For the following bit of information, “Neither did he have any hair,” contradicts the initial proposition, which claimed that we were dealing with a red-haired man. Such an elementary contradiction in such little space necessitates a good explanation. The following words, “so he was called red-haired theoretically” reveal the man’s red hair to be no more than a lingual convention baring any factual basis. But that explanation is hardly satisfactory, as it does no more than pass the responsibility for the illogical contradiction from the narrator to another character: a collective, rather unspecified, that calls this bald hero a red-haired man. The factual contradiction within the fictitious world results in a basic questionability of the narrator’s competence and reliability. He denies the responsibility for the contents of his report, and worse, he seems utterly uninterested in solving the obvious problem. Instead, he continues his description of the hero’s bodily defects in the same matter-of-fact tone. The logically unobjectionable proposition “He couldn’t speak, since he didn’t have a mouth.” involves an obvious structural contrast to the paradoxical talk of the red-haired bald man. It also reaffirms the impression of an inappropriate apathy on the narrator’s part considering the all but unimaginable physical disabilities of his hero.
If the reader has not long given up any illusionist receptive stance towards this narrative, the following details on the lack of a nose, of arms and of legs will make him do so. Any trust in the imaginarily authentic descriptions presented by the narrator is now suspended, removing one of the most important necessities for the functioning of fictional speech. Attention is diverted away from the text’s pretended reference to its argumentative and lingual structure. Instead, we focus on the seriality of the gradual destruction of the protagonist’s body. Ignoring its uncommon topic, we find that the text has already acquired a high degree of structural predictability in the course of very few lines: The reader is hardly surprised by the continued enumeration[18] of lacking body parts. Even the fact that the lack of stomach, back, spine and innards destroys any kind of probability as to the protagonist’s existence is of secondary importance compared to the rule of the series. Instead, we experience the incoherence in that series (the heterogeneity of the organs, organic complexes, extremities etc.) as well as its redundancy (the lack of a back already implies a lack of spine).
The exclamation “He had nothing at all!” abruptly marks a limit to this series. It surprises us with an emotional participation on the part of the narrator, who is apparently beginning to notice the outrageous quality of his own report. As if suddenly awakened from the semi-conscious mechanical enumeration of his series, he regains some common sense. In this case, that means that he recurs to that basic convention of the narrative that demands that a protagonist be traceable somehow, that is, he must be describable: “Therefore there’s no knowing whom we are even talking about.” While this auto-reflexive remark contributes to the anti-illusionist quality of the text, it yet reinstitutes the narrative function itself. The reader can draw hope once more that the narrator might know what he is doing and what is expected from an acceptable narrative. At least given some non-realistic framework, e.g. that of phantastic literature, narrations involving such incorporal protagonists might yet be conceivable.
But the reader is again disappointed. The lapidary conclusion, “In fact it’s better that we don’t say any more about him.” marks the sudden end of the speech. It is here of all places that we are confronted by a personalized narrator for the first time.[19] But the reader vainly hopes to receive an explanation from the person of the narrator, he is finally left alone and abandoned, questioning the meaning of it all.
This short analysis of Kharms’ “Blue Notebook No. 10” yields some of the basic features of the textual strategy of the absurd.
First and foremost, there is the consistent refusal to make sense. Kharms’ narrative, like all texts dominated by an absurdist textual strategy, allows for no coherent interpretation. This is true in the most emphatic sense. Note that we are not dealing with that well-known multitude of meanings that texts from so many areas of literature will allow for; rather, we confront a lack of even one acceptable perspective for an interpretation, for a comprehension of the whole of the text or at least of its main structures.[20] This feature is connected to a general unreliability or absence of evaluating passages. The absurd in literature is marked, among other things, by a principally ambivalent mode of speaking. As opposed to textual strategies such as those of satire and parody, this strategy does without any direct ironical reference to any specific object (be it a group of persons or another text). But even so, many of the features we have just observed do signal an irony, but one that cannot be unequivocally reduced to an ironic solidarity between author and reader, “because the ‘saving’ commentary by the narrator is missing”, thus destabilizing the process of textual comprehension.[21]
So it is symptomatic that many interpreters of absurdist literature seek refuge in existentialist maximal formulas, such as exposing the “absurdity of the human condition itself”[22], often coupled with a religious perspective.[23]
This overall impression is achieved by exploring the limits of various aspects of syntax, semantics and pragmatics. While the consistent refusal of meaning is a necessary feature of the dominantly absurdist textual strategy, the following enumeration names some alternative features that can appear and combine in various ways in any particular text.[24]
One characteristic pertaining to Kharms’ “Blue Notebook No. 10” as well as to a number of other texts marked by a dominantly absurdist textual strategy is the serial structure. This can either envelop the whole text or it can be limited to certain parts, as in the example we just saw. Recall the circular song “A dog came in the kitchen” at the beginning of the second act in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, expressing the potentially infinite iteration of the eversame. Or think of the concluding scene in Ionesco’s The Bald Soprano, in which all four characters engage their absurd conversation exclusively by creating various kinds of series: Pseudo-idioms, alliterations, end rhymes, and finally even identical repetitions of words. The concluding stage direction reveals seriality to be the constructing principle throughout the ‘anti-drama’: “The whole thing begins anew, the same sentences are uttered, while the curtain slowly drops”. Serial structures are not limited to the characters’ speech, but also appear in their mute actions.[25] They result in a mechanization and predictability of the depiction, from which the absurdist textual strategy draws a considerable part of its comical effect.[26]
Lack of logical coherence is another important feature of absurdist textual strategy.[27] It appears, for instance, in the irreconcilability of two predications, as with the bald redhead in Kharms’ “Blue Notebook No. 10”, or in the obvious violation of the rules for logical deduction, especially striking in the chapter “A Mad Tea-Party” in Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland.[28] In drama, the contradiction is often between main text and paratext, between words and actions. One famous example is the conclusion of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot:
Vladimir:Well? Shall we go?
Estragon:Yes, let’s go.
(stage direction)They do not move.[29]
Another frequent variation of that lack of logical coherence is in the violation of causality. In its most distinct form, this violation involves a contradiction between cause and effect, as is the case in the seventh scene of Ionesco’s The Bald Soprano, where the doorbell will ring several times while nobody is outside. But it is also a violation of causality if an effect is inappropriate to its cause. Examples include such cases in which a small cause elicits a disproportionately large or vehement effect. One of the most famous examples is the obstinate “Off with his head!” in Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, the death sentence with which the Queen of Hearts punishes even the most miniscule of transgressions. This type also covers those utterly inappropriate cruelties that are characteristic for so many absurdist texts.[30] But we also encounter the reverse constellation: An inappropriately small effect is part of the standard repertoire of the absurd. It is found in the depicted events[31] as well as on the level of the characters’ or the narrator’s reactions. This is the systematic home for the apathy of characters and narrator so frequently found in absurdist texts.
Another alternative feature of the absurd as a textual strategy is a suspension of the criterion of relevancy for the tale.[32] Taken to its extreme, this method allows for completely limiting a text to the depiction of irrelevant events.[33] Another variation involves in the inappropriate topicalization of details irrelevant to the portrayal of characters and the development of the plot. This feature is often combined with the seriality I discussed earlier and is then even more conspicuous. We already saw the redundancy of several elements in the list of missing body parts in “Blue Notebook No. 10”. In Kharms’ narrative “The Story of the Fighting Men”, which is from the same cycle and only four sentences long, even the naming of the protagonists violates the criterion of relevancy. The names are not only presented in the especially long (and polite) combination of first name and patronymic (Aleksey Alekseyevich and Andrey Karlovich), but they are also presented seven and four times respectively in the short text.[34]
The irrelevancy of the presented material is not only evident to the recipient; often the fictitious characters are also conscious of this lack. One expression of this awareness is in the explicit topicalization of boredom on the protagonists’ part, as is the case in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot[35], or in their bored reaction to events.[36]
One final alternative feature of absurdist textual strategy that I would like to cover today is the exploration of the limits of architextual affinity. It is often the case that dominantly absurdist textual strategies make it impossible to assign texts unequivocally to certain historic or systematic genres or to specific areas of the literary market. The most evident phenomenon of this kind is the much debated ‘un-childish childishness’[37] especially of such texts as those by Lear, Carroll, Morgenstern and Kharms. While it is often difficult to decide whether such texts are even addressed to children, it is frequently the case that texts with a dominantly absurdist textual strategy seem similar to parodies of traditional genres or systematic text classes. They use the specific literary means of expression which traditions and norms associate with those forms and take them ad absurdum by means of a text which belongs itself to that very genre or class.[38]