Western Mold -JK

            From the very beginning, while the book sets out to properly portray “colonial Egypt” it seems to be playing heavily into the twisted Western notion of how people in the Middle East live.

            Amina the wife is subservient, happy to be locked away from the world, content with her chores and the birds on the roof. She is meek and subservient, to the point where she is almost eager to wake up and take care of her drunken husband every single night. Only once are we shown any sign of resistance, when she looks back and remembers a “polite objection to his repeated nights out. His response was had been to seize her by the ears…” Now she is content with her marriage that gives her a “type of security based on surrender”.

The way her children treat her can be seen as a continuation of her husband’s contempt towards her. She admits that she cannot contain her rowdy bickering children, and her daughter insults her only to be told a pray in response.

            Amina’s obsession with the “jinn” and constant need for prayer to restrain the ghosts around her immediately set off alarm bells, her mental state is called into question, and one can only wonder if she was always like that or if her marriage caused this imbalance.

            The only place she feels strong is in the kitchen “here she was queen” and from this comes the only way she can get complements from her husband, on her “perfect food” (14)

            Sayyid’s character fits into the mold of the wild Middle Eastern man, horrible to his family and drowning himself in booze. His thirst for alcohol is matched by his thirst for women

“…professional women entertainers of today are the slave girls of yesterday, whose purchase and sale God made merciful”

            He is presented as a boisterous drunk who despite being well liked by his friends, is seen a terror to his own children. “When they [the children] were in his presence they would not even look at each other, for fear of being overcome by a smile…” His departure is describes as a prison guard releasing the shackles on the prisoners.  

            The daughter who is said to be beautiful, Aisha, is described in a very western sense of beauty. “She has a white complexion suffused with rosy highlights and her father’s blue eyes…she had golden hair”. While it is not as if such traits cannot be found in Egypt, the entire combination can be seen as a Western ideal.

            So far the book seems to be fitting quite well into the Western mold that has been created for the people of the Middle East.

Do as I say, not as I do

al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad’s motto should be the age-old adage “do as I say, not as I do.” He presents himself as an honorable, religiously conscientious, morally strict man who accepts no excuses from anyone, especially his children and wife. He is much like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde in that he presents completely opposite personalities in front of his family, and then with his friends, business associates, and just about everybody else besides his wife and children. Even in the first chapter, Amina states that if she did not see his jolly, cheerful side herself while waiting up for him to come home, she would never have known it existed. His children are outright afraid of him while the employee at his store “revered and loved him the way everyone did who had any dealings with him, whether of business or friendship” (36). He asks his son, Fahmy, if the youngest boy, or “son of a bitch” is doing his homework and studying in school (20). In reality, al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad never finished primary school, even though he can interact with attorneys and more educated people from keeping up with reading the newspaper and becoming friends with these attorneys and government officials. He describes his religion as having no room for “innovation” but clearly takes some aspects of it more seriously than others (42). He does not understand why he should not be allowed to drink wine with his friends when he is not hurting anyone or causing any harm to anything. This may be the only thing I like about al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad thus far: he challenges Shaykh Abd al-Samad and does not back down, even if he is somewhat sarcastic and Shaykh Abd al-Samad does not appreciate his answers or “excuses” (45). Had any of his children given him sassy answers or explanations like the responses he gives to the Shaykh, al-Jawad would have been furious. He also states that he “goes crazy for a pretty face” but does not marry them so he does not have to divide his assets and land among his existing children. Judging from the Shaykh’s response, it would be more honorable to marry these other women that he associates with.

"The soul of the country"

Right from the beginning of the novel, we are presented with a family that lives within very strict guidelines and roles. Most startling is Amina's routine and submissive nature. She has learned to be happy with her life even though her husband is rarely home, preferring to be out on the town, drinking with his friends. Amina wakes up, out of habit, at midnight so she can receive her husband, undress and wash him. The role of women in the world of the novel has been set from the first chapter, which concerned me. The man, too, is just as bad, as Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad is portrayed as a nearly-absentee father. While he imposes strict rule upon his family, he gets to do what he wants; it's contradictory, like Bibi mentioned, that he and his family are Muslims, and while the family is forced to be strict and devout, the father is allowed to break the rules and see women and drink, out all night.
The problem this novel has already begun to pose is the question of the portrayal of Islamic worlds and families. In Newsweek, Christopher Dickey said about the novel, "[Mahfouz] writes about family, and to understand the Egyptian family is to understand, more clearly than any political treatise can explain, the soul of the country," basically reducing all of Egyptian culture to this family we are presented. Emily said that Americans, with a tendency to remain ignorant, are content to make and believe sweeping generalizations of other people, countries, and cultures. There is a danger, then, when Mahfouz uses a single family that is (so far) very one-dimensional and embodies a lot of stereotypes to explore his ideas and themes on this Egyptian street. He seems to be very reductive.
If, like Dickey said, understanding the family is understanding the soul of a country, then so far, we are to understand that Egypt is about submissive women, strained family relationships, perversions of religion, and dominant, inattentive men.

The Australian Occupation(?)

Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad is a powerful merchant both feared and loved (mostly feared) by his family, but loved, respected, and highly sought after by fellow merchants, government officials, attorneys, and women of Cairo. Amina, Ahmad’s wife, learned early on in their marriage to fear her husband:

It had occurred to her once, during the first year she lived with him, to venture a polite objection to his repeated nights out. His response had been to seize her by the ears and tell her peremptorily in a loud voice, “I’m a man. I’m the one who commands and forbids. I will not accept any criticism of my behavior. All I ask of you is to obey me. Don’t force me to discipline you.”

She learned from this, and from the other lessons that followed, to adapts to everything…in order to escape the glare of his wrathful eye.” (4)

Kamal’s harmless, childish pranks must be hidden from his father, and even Yasin, the eldest, who’s body “resembled his father’s in size and bulk” (16) feared Ahmad as well.

            Ahmad is as loved by those who do not have to endure his tyranny as he is feared by those who do, and is even reprimanded by friends for missing a party because “they had not found the same pleasure in drinking that they did with him. Their party, as they put it, lacked its soul” (83). Despite being either loved or feared (and sometimes both) by, seemingly, all of Cairo, Ahmad has an almost unavoidable adversary: The Australian army. What angered him the most, sadly, was that their “tyranny separated him from the Ezbekiya Garden entertainment district, which he had abandoned in defeat…He could  not stand to expose himself to soldiers who openly plundered people of their possessions and took pleasure in abusing and insulting them without restraint” (12).

            Yasin, who takes after his father in his lust for women, is also forced to abandon the “festivities” of the Ezbekiya entertainment district: “Then the Australians appeared on the field, and Yasin had been obliged to forsake his place of amusement to escape their brutality” (72). He too laments his circumstances: “God curse the Australians! Where are you, Ezbekiya, for me to disperse my care and sorrow in you and draw a little patience from you?” (75).

            Besides interrupting—or only slightly hindering—nights of debauchery and infidelity, the Australian occupation seems to be of little consequence to the people of Cairo. The merchants, thus far, remain unharmed, as do the families and regular townspeople, seemingly, so long as they avoid the entertainment district. I feel like I keep waiting for the Australians to exhibit signs of widespread tyranny, but all Ahmad and Yasin can complain about is the army getting in the way of their escapades. Is Mahfouz simply introducing sporadic moments of tyranny to later fully release the Australians on the people of Cairo, or is this as far as it goes? And if this is “as far as it goes,” then what is Mahfouz saying about Australia’s occupation of Egypt during this time? That their presence was a minor annoyance? That is was necessary because it was a time of war? I feel like I have more questions than answers at this point, but hope to see the actual effects of an occupation, rather than the minor inconvenience the Australians pose to wanton men. 

Hypocrisy of Religion in Palace Walk

            In the novel Palace Walk written by Naguib Mahfouz, Al-Sayyid Ahmad is shown as a very religious man who is quite strict with his wife and children. He does not allow his wife to leave the house without him and uses Islam as the reason. However we can clearly see his hypocrisy through his late night exploits. The interactions that al-Sayyid Ahmad has with his children show the hypocrisy of his religion.

            Yasin—who is the oldest son of al-Sayyid from a first marriage—seems to have the closest relationship to his father, and is constantly worried about the reputation of his mother who he considers “a bitter humiliation” (77). After divorcing his father, she has begun to see many other men—something that both Yasin and his father find “degrading and demeaning” (77). At one point when the two are speaking about the impending nuptuals between her and a new man, al-Sayyid asks his son “didn’t we vow to consider her a person who never existed?” (107) which implies that they are so ashamed of her that they don’t even acknowledge her anymore.

            When al-Sayyid Ahmad’s son Fahmy decides he would like to marry a girl who lives next door to the Ahmad family, his mother is ecstatic—she would love to have such a respectable addition to their family—but his father is outraged that his son would make such a bold decision. When speaking with his wife about it, he says “what could corrupt a schoolboy to the extnt that he would make such an outrageous request” (128), showing that he does not approve of young boys being so determined one way or another. He also believes that his son has seen this girl (which is forbidden). He says “I didn’t know I had sons who were sneaking looks at the respectable women of our neighborhood” (129) which is especially hypocritical since he is doing much more than “sneaking looks” at other women.

            We do not see very much interaction with his daughters Aisha and Khadija or his youngest son Kamal (at least this far in the novel), but we do see their interactions with Amina who very much respects (or more likely fears) her husband and always relays his beliefs to the children. The daughters have a good relationship with their mother, and cherish eating breakfast because “it was one of the rare times in which the three women were alone” (29) and they could gossip and tell secrets that they would not tell their father. They never show any interest in gossiping with their father—let alone telling him their secrets. This disconnect shows that he is not as interested in his female children but instead prefers his sons. 

Amina in Palace Walk

Amina, the mother and wife in Palace Walk, is an entirely tragic character. She is pious, quiet, and obedient. She is almost completely content with her cloistered life. She loves her view from her screnned balony, where she can peek out a little hole in the screen to feel contected with the greater world. And she loves her kitchen, where she is queen. Page 14 describes how she rules the kitchen: "The fate of the coal and wood, piled in a corner, rested on a word from her".

Amina accepts her husband's decisions about how she will spend her days for the majority of her life, until the one time she does not follow his decrees. That one time, of course, she does not to go off and cavort like he does- she goes to worship. Through absolutely no fault of her own, she gets hurt and her husband learns about her minor transgression. Of course, he thinks her choice to venture outside of the home and go to the mosque is an earth-shattering event and sends her form the home as punishment. The irony of punishing someone for leaving the house by kicking her out of the house is not lost on the reader. Amina's sole sin earns her exile. She may rule her kitchen, but she cannot control any other aspect of her life except for her attitude towards it. She lives contentedly until her piety causes the end of her isolated time in her home.

M is for “Muslimism”*

           Mainstream American culture has become accustomed to memorizing misconceptions of cultures and religions outside of the states. Naguib Mahfouz’ Palace Walk complicates the issue of an Islamic perspective but does not resolve our contentions on the matter of so-called morality; effectively, it perpetuates the Americanized stereotype of Islam as an evil and misogynistic society.

Male Dominance and Obedience in Palace Walk: As is fairly obvious from the very beginnings of the book, Amina’s life revolves around her sometimes-neglectful, most-of-the-time strict husband. His treatment of her—verbal and emotional abuse—is considered normal by other characters in the book. Amina’s mother even tells her he could have “taken second, third, and fourth wives. His father had many wives. Thank our Lord that you remain his only wife.” (5), a proclamation of such validity Amina must accept it. She sits on the floor before him, as if in worship—the obedience to a master, and when once she asks him not to go out entertaining he fires back angrily, having been stripped of the authority entitled him.

Roles of authority don’t end with the couple, however. Their children exude the same tendencies; the boys’ relationship to their father is similarly docile because they are intensely frightened of him, the girls avoid him entirely when possible, and he them.

Perhaps part of the novel is rooted in Mahfouz’ life—if not literal details then at least thematic ones—and it should be accounted for that his male perspective influences the telling of the novel. But Ahmad Abd al-Jawad’s strong patriarchal influence is almost cartoonish in its representation of Muslim values, and only recycles American ideas about the violence “inherent” in the religion.

Americans have a reputation for ignorance. Perhaps we also have an affinity for it, at some times. Our culture is obsessed with simplification of other cultures because by contrast, our complexity makes us vaster, more intelligent, more able to conquer. “Muslimism” is a bastardization of two words, conjoining “Islamism” (Islamic fundamentalism) and “Muslim” (a follower of Islam) to perfectly muddy the entirety of the religion and its place in society.

Our warped perception of external societies is also present in Palace Walk, which, though told “through the eyes” (okay, so it’s third person but you get the idea) of a Muslim, vilifies Muslims—at least Muslim men.

 *as if to emphasize my point, Microsoft Word’s error indicator did not try to correct my use of the word Muslimism (the red zigzag line did not appear); it’s become so culturally engrained that American software has accounted for it. 

Mahfouz's Speech: A Reading

I would like to take a look at selections from Mahfouz's Nobel Lecture:

I was told by a foreign correspondent in Cairo that the moment my name was mentioned in connection with the prize silence fell, and many wondered who I was. Permit me, then, to present myself in as objective a manner as is humanly possible. I am the son of two civilizations that at a certain age in history have formed a happy marriage. The first of these, seven thousand years old, is the Pharaonic civilization; the second, one thousand four hundred years old, is the Islamic one. I am perhaps in no need to introduce to any of you either of the two, you being the elite, the learned ones. But there is no harm, in our present situation of acquaintance and communion, in a mere reminder."

Like Orhan Pamuk, Mahfouz's literary persona is built upon a cultural crossroads between religions (pantheism and Islam),  historical periods (Ancient Egypt and the fall of the Byzantine Empire), and ideologies (kingship cults, the Quran). However, his barb pointed toward the predominantly Western European members of the Academy and the Swedish Nobel Prize Committee, a half-mockingly bow to their intelligence, reveals that Mahfouz has not abandoned his own perspective, despite the repeated Islamic extremist attempts on his life, and his own admission that an artist coming out of an austere Islamic upbringing is nigh impossible.

"It was my fate, ladies and gentlemen, to be born in the lap of these two civilizations, and to absorb their milk, to feed on their literature and art. Then I drank the nectar of your rich and fascinating culture. From the inspiration of all this - as well as my own anxieties - words bedewed from me. These words had the fortune to merit the appreciation of your revered Academy which has crowned my endeavour with the great Nobel Prize. Thanks be to it in my name and in the name of those great departed builders who have founded the two civilizations."

Curiously, Mahfouz highlights the trend that the Committee champions unique worldviews that belong to no single tradition, and this peculiar preference is likely what has barred any Americans since Toni Morrison (1993) or Saul Bellow (1976) from receiving the award. An American's identity, while the product of a "melting pot" cultural ideology, and even more as a member of a nation absolutely indebted to the West and the Enlightenment for its genesis, is nonetheless of no unique character other than the inward-looking gaze that European society scorns. That being said, the  aforementioned most recent American winners have none of self-possessed, middle-class, capitalist eye of past American recipient Sinclair Lewis (1930). Perhaps the Nobel Committee, in the light of World War II and the Holocaust's gutting and devastation of the Western European consciousness, had to revise their policy, favoring less an uncompromising individual vision and more a sense of cultural connectedness and unity in order to rebuild Europe and foster a sense of solidarity.

"You may be wondering: This man coming from the third world, how did he find the peace of mind to write stories? You are perfectly right. I come from a world labouring under the burden of debts whose paying back exposes it to starvation or very close to it. Yes, how did the man coming from the Third World find the peace of mind to write stories? Fortunately, art is generous and sympathetic. In the same way that it dwells with the happy ones it does not desert the wretched. It offers both alike the convenient means for expressing what swells up in their bosom."

What Mahfouz seems to be forgetting here is that the extraordinary nature of his circumstances tends to beget an individual with an extraordinary life, and this sort of experience is vital to writing. This "labouring" of which he speaks is the necessary struggle of a writer. There is a zero-sum proposition to be made here, where one's greatness and skill is proportional to the life's suffering they are prepared to face; the diligence, self-discipline, loss of anonymity, individual smallness, all of this -- for a book. But the writer does not choose his art, and then suffer. No, he writes, suffers, and writes for the catharsis. Mahfouz, in lighter terms, expresses a similar sentiment.

"I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I feel I may have somewhat troubled your calm. But what do you expect from one coming from the Third World? Is not every vessel coloured by what it contains? Besides, where can the moans of Mankind find a place to resound if not in your oasis of civilization planted by its great founder for the service of science, literature and sublime human values? And as he did one day by consecrating his riches to the service of good, in the hope of obtaining forgiveness, we, children of the Third World, demand of the able ones, the civilized ones, to follow his example, to imbibe his conduct, to meditate upon his vision."

The author seems to be at his most inappropriate in this passage, apologizing for embodying the image of him as a highly political supported of Egyptian nationalism and angry denunciation of Islamic groups such as the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood. But his aesthetic "vessel," his writing, must necessarily reflect his own individual views, predilections, and frailties. Palace Walk, featuring alcoholism, infidelity, female subservience, and crushing patriarchy, reflects the struggles of a man who came of age in a Third World regime where these misgivings are far too common and far too riveting to be anything but the source of great writing, and a difficult life.

The Fear of the Jinn

The Fear of the Jinn

From the start of the novel, it is easy to tell that religion and superstition play an important role in the life of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s family and the culture they live in.  Through the course of a simple conversation, the Qur’an is quoted and referenced in multiple contexts.  They are either asking for God’s forgiveness, or blessing, or submitting to his will.  Amina is especially religious and quotes the Qur’an often when speaking to her husband.  She seems to use these phrases when she is most terrified of his reaction.  For instance, when telling her husband about her accident, she adds to the end of the story, “May God spare you any evil, sir” (197).  Since Amina seems the most devout, I was intrigued when her intense fear of the jinn was introduced. 

The jinn are described as a type of demon that have a real and physical presence in Amina’s life.  Amina cowers at night with her only defense of, “reciting the opening prayer of the Qur’an… about the absolute supremacy of God” (7).  At first I compared the jinn to the devil of the Christian faith.  However, unlike the devil, the jinn are not blamed for tempting followers or causing evil.  They seem more to be invisible creatures who could harm humans through possession.  Amina states that they are, “demons who could not be lured away from these spacious, empty old rooms for long” and that she can, “frequently hear their whispers… be awakened by their warm breath” (7).  The jinn cause Amina great fear and she never feels safe unless her husband is home.  Even when Amina has children, their presence causes more anxiety than a sense of security.  She would hold them protectively and yell at the jinn, “Leave us alone.  We are Muslims and believe in the one God” (8).

Since the life I lead is very different from that of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s family, and I am not a Muslim (nor familiar with the religion), I looked up information on the jinn to fully understand them.  I found information on the Wenner-Gren Blog which publishes findings of the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research.  In the blog, they describe jinn as, “a type of sentient, invisible creatures whose creation by God from fire is mentioned in the Qur’an—to harm humans, either directly, by entering their body and possessing them, or indirectly, from the outside.”  This definition goes along with that one found in the novel.  The blog goes further to explain that possession by the jinn can only be healed by Quranic healer because many Egyptians are convinced that the Qur’an, as the Word of God, can cure any disease including physical and mental ones.  Amina is a direct example of this belief as she tries to heal from her accident.  She attempts to refuse to see a doctor because, “she did not believe in modern medicine and associated it with major catastrophes and serious events” (188).  Even al-Sayyid Ahmad expresses this sentiment when he tells Amina, “Stay in bed till God heals you” (197).  This explanation of Quranic healers being able to cure everything also explains why Amina sees the Qur’an as her only defense against the jinn and surrounds herself with, “a protective shield of Qur’an suras, amulets, charms, and incantations” (7).

Religion and superstitions obviously play a large role in the novel.  By learning more about the relationship between the Qur’an and the jinn, it is easier to understand many of Amina’s thoughts and actions. It becomes clear that religion exists as a protection against other beings as well as being a method of forgiveness, acceptance, and blessing.

Source - link to the Wenner-Gren Blog: http://blog.wennergren.org/2013/02/interview-ana-maria-vinea-and-between-the-psyche-and-the-soul/ 

A Bend In The River

            Within the beginning of the novel I was reminded of a few of the other books we have read previously in the semester. The focus on time has been a central theme within many of the books. In “ A Bend in the River” Salim presents Africa as if it is outside of time he describes the blending of past events with one another until it is impossible to tell which one came before the other, and says that Africa has been ruled by Arabs and then Europeans yet remains the same.

            The main link I thought of was between Salim and the Magistrate in “Waiting for the Barbarians”.  Both men are in the middle of the situation with their hands holding onto both sides, unable to devote himself to one or the other. Salim says that the Europeans not only want slaves and gold, but also to have statues put up of them as people who had done good things for the slaves.

            Then he says that slavery on the east coast was different for they had domestic servants “protection of a foreign family was preferable to being alone among the strange and unfriendly Africans” within this he is saying Africans are afraid of other Africans. This contrasts with what he said about Zabeth, how she was safe in her village, and that leaving it was dangerous.

            When he talks about the slaves that his family had, he is convinced that they wanted to be there. Many times he makes it seems as if his family was doing the slaves a favor “We were stuck with them” “The slaves could take over…” “The slaves have swamped the masters” etc. It could be seen as a toned down version of the European lie he is upset about.

            Parts of “A Bend in the River” also reminds me of Siddhartha whenever Salim describes his family. The first look the reader gets at his family is when Salim discusses their religious ways, and the overall life they lead, in a disparaging tone. “To stay with my community…was to be taken with them to destruction” “I wanted to break away”.

Perverse Comforts

“...It was extraordinary to me that some of the newspapers could have found good words for the butchery on the coast. But people are like that about places in which they aren't really interested and where they don't have to live...People who had grown feeble had been physically destroyed. That in Africa, was not new; it was oldest law of the land” (29). There are ways to be banal, dismissive, and trite about human tragedies, and the distance that empowers us to say, with cheerful ease, “dead” over “passed away” is that which allows imperialism to dominate and mold a national ideology. Furthermore, from my own distinctly American perspective, it is logical that I should find works such as Grass’ The Tin Drum, or Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude more gripping, of greater literary merit, and more masterfully told than Naipaul’s A Bend in the River, or Pamuk’s My Name is Red; the “Western” strains -- the World War II backdrop of Drum, the nihilist metaphysic of Solitude -- are the touchstones of contemporary American and European thought, and our education within what in many ways is still an Orientalist system conditions us to treat Naipaul’s, Mahfouz’s, and Pamuk’s masterpieces as material designed to keep Sparknotes afloat.

Of River’s many flat, devastatingly aphoristic lines, the declaration that “in Africa...[tragedy] was the oldest law of the land” only adds to our American feeling of alienation from the text, especially in regards to how the Western presence which normally acts as our safeguard and sense of security within an “Eastern” Western narrative (see Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians), is ghostlike in Naipaul’s work. How are we to feel about our own culture if our security in reading a non-European-American’s novel is derived from the fact that we are represented as the imperialist, cruel, conquering people history has shown us to be?

Answers to the 5 Questions

Laura asked “Why is the empire called, the "Empire," instead of given a specific name?”

It seems to me that generic names for locations in novels make it easier for the reader to apply their own experience to the novel and relate more to the story. It also gives the effect of the Empire being so pervasive that this is the only name that the residents of the Empire require, or could conceive for it. Additionally, it sounds authoritarian and ominous.

Sarah asked, “Why do the Magistrate’s views on the barbarians differ so greatly from the rest of the officials of the Empire?”

The magistrate lives with the daily reality of the barbarians. At this frontier town, the barbarians are a fact of life, an entity that directly affects the Magistrate. To the officials of the Empire, they are some far-off, nebulous, dangerous group that must be handled firmly. The Magistrate views them much more humanely, which he must do because they are a concrete part of his world. The officials of the Empire need only address their notions of what the barbarians represent.

John asked, “Does the C.P. Cavafy poem (also titled "Waiting for the Barbarians") suggest why their absence is more powerful than their attack?”

I just read this poem right now, but I’m going to take a shot at answering this question anyway. The poem tells a story about an empire in which the lawmakers emperor, distinguished people, and citizens all pause their lives and wait for the barbarians to arrive so they can greet them civilly, with all the trappings of life in this grand empire. Perhaps in order for an empire to be important, it needs an adversary, someone to fight or impress. In their absence, the empire serves no purpose. This could explain why the Empire goes out to find the barbarians- the officials need a purpose, and the barbarians’ absence removes the purpose.

Nicki asked, “Why does the magistrate find it necessary to risk everything in order to bring the girl back to "her people"?  What is he proving, and to who is he proving it?”

It seems that the Magistrate makes the risky choice to bring her back to her people as an act of liberty. He frees her from her life in his home and also frees himself from the strange relationship he has with her. Furthermore, it is an act of penance for allowing the old man to die under his watch. To return the woman is his way of making up for that death.

Andrew asked, “What is the purpose of failing to name most characters or places, or even the time period, in this novel?”

This question is similar to Laura’s, but reading it reminded me of another point I hadn’t considered, so I wanted to include this question as well. Not naming characters, places, time periods, and other identifiers is a hallmark of dystopian literature. Remember The Giver, for example, which many students read around the age of 9 or 10. This technique is powerful because it lets readers project whatever they need to project in order to absorb the story in a way that meshes with their notions of the world. The ambiguity that is inherent to this technique means that the story could be about anything- it could be a situation that has already occurred in our world, is occurring now, or could occur in the future. All of these are equally anxiety-producing possibilities. 

Cultural Perceptions in A Bend in the River

The themes of cultural relevance, the self versus the “other”, and the effect of sociolinguistics and social chameleonism on culture are all topics in A Bend in the River.    

In Naipaul’s novel, the perception of history is warped by the books—what’s written by European imperialists is what Salim knows of his past. European culture permeates Salim’s life and is evident throughout the novel—most obviously, in the use of colloquial French language, such as « marchande » (merchant) 5, « boucané » (smoked, as in meat) 6, « patron » (same in English) 33, « cités » (towns) 87, « lycée » (high school equivalent) 35, and « malin » (malicious) 50.

Salim, though ethnically Indian, has lived in Africa all his life. He explains the dilemma of both places’ influence on his family: “True Africa was at our back…but we could no longer say we were Arabians or Indians or Persians; when we compared ourselves with these people, we felt like the people of Africa.” 10-11. And it was not only complex for his family, as he explains “The people in our servant houses were no longer pure African…the blood of Asia had been added to those people.” 14.

Because Salim’s an English-speaker he is forever seen as an outsider and utilized as such. He notes of his best customer’s son, “because I was a foreigner, and English-speaking as well, [I was] someone from whom Ferdinand could learn manners and the ways of the outside world.” 36

General knowledge of the “outside world” came down to the ideal divide of exotic and logical—the West’s scientific background is eccentuated as “Other”ness: “Ferdinand said, ‘Who are they?’…I didn’t give the answer I thought he was expecting. I didn’t say, ‘The white men.’…I said instead, ‘The scientists.’…I meant people far away from us in every sense…When we wanted to speak of the doers and makers and the inventors, we all—whatever our race—said ‘they’…The ‘they’ we spoke of in this way were very far away, so far away as to hardly be white. They were impartial, up in the clouds, like good gods.” 44-5

Similarly, Salim comments: “it seemed to me natural that someone like Zabeth, living such a hard life, should want something better for her son. This better life lay outside the timeless ways of village and river. It lay in the education and the acquiring of new skills; and for Zabeth, as for many Africans of her generation, education was something only foreigners could give.” 36 .

Interspersed with Salim’s cultural background are his assumptions of other culture; he makes judgments of many diverse groups: Europeans (“the Europeans could do one thing and say something quite different; and they could act in this way because they had an idea of what they owed to their civilization.” 17), Arabs (“They knew only that they were Muslims; and in the Muslim way they needed wives and more wives.” 14; “The authority of the Arabs…was only a matter of custom. It could be blown away at any time.”; “[Metty] threw himself into my arms, converting the Muslim embrace into a child’s clinging.” 31), Indians (“The bush of Africa was outside their yard; but they spoke no French, no African language, and from the way they behaved you would have thought that the river just down the road was the Ganges, with temples and holy men and bathing steps.” 28), and Africans (“The fishermen’s boats on that beach were still painted with large eyes on the bows for good luck” 12; “No one used the new names [of streets], because no one particularly cared about them. the wish had only been to get rid of the old, to wipe out the memory of the intruder. It was unnerving, the depth of that African rage, the wish to destroy.” 26).

The inclusion of several Latin phrases is an equally interesting element in the novel. The inscription on the ruins near the dock reads: “Miscerique probat populos et foedera jungi” 26 which is, roughly, “He approves of the mingling of the peoples and their bonds of union”and comes from Virgil’s Aeneid— the "he" referring to the great Roman god, who approved of the settlement of Romans in Africa. According to Wikipedia, it is also an old motto of Trinidad and Tobago. Another example is the school’s slogan “[Africa] semper aliquid novi” 35 literally translates to “From Africa always something new”. “In his lycee blazer, Ferdinand saw himself as evolved and important…he had reduced Africa to himself; and the future of Africa was nothing more than a job he might do later on.” 48

Ferdinand is a notorious utilizer of social chameleonism, which is to change the manner of speaking, dress, humor, etc to fit the social group which one finds oneself in. Linguistics calls this practiced changing of social code “style-switching”. Because “he was a stranger in the land.” 35, Ferdinand “didn’t know what was expected of him. He wanted to find out, and he needed me to practise on…Whereas before he had waited for me to ask questions, now it was he who put up the little ideas, little debating points, as though he wanted to get a discussion going. It was part of the new lycée character he was working on, and he was practising, treating me almost as a language teacher.” 47

His chameleonism is highlighted when switching codes from Salim to Metty; Salim notices that “after [Ferdinand’s] stiff conversation in English or French with me…[he’d] switch to the local patois…And Metty could match him; Metty had absorbed many of the intonations of the local language, and the mannerisms that went with the language.”

A Bend In The River

Similar to what Liam was saying in his post, I believe another reason from the distant reporting and style of narrative is to convey a message about the main character. While the book walks the line between meditation and narrative, it is the quality and lens with which the main character sees the world the dictates the mood of the novel, mixed of course with the subject.
Of course the story deals with the results of decolonization, and the struggle of an emerging society that is a developing, third world. Naipaul approaches this subject in a realistic, dark, yet unwavering way. He is committed from the beginning-when describing the African bush and its jungley likeness-to portraying an accurate picture of the land that was after Europeans left it in shambles; the many separate, hostile tribes and borders, run down towns etc. He even mentions the anxiety with which the slaves went forward that is in a way echoed by the current generation that are trying to figure it out.
The narrator isn't the brightest character, but has some complex ideas to pass on in order to describe the state of affairs in Africa. We see a dictator too, in the story, and it all points to a convoluted idea, which represents the actual feeling towards identity-the struggle-in Africa.

The Mingling of People

"Miscerique probat populos et foedera jungi," is the Latin phrase that remains on a monument in Salim's new town. The phrase comes from Virgil's Aeneid and means, "He approves of the mingling of the peoples and their bonds of union. This is also the former motto of Trinidad and Tobago, where V.S. Naipaul was born and raised. After reading Naipaul's Nobel Lecture, I began to understand more about the novel. Salim consistently describes a life without a past, a life lived in darkness, and of groups of people who live together and intertwine their fates. Naipaul, in his lecture titled "Two World," speaks about his blindness about his Indian heritage because history was just not passed along as the immigrants attempted to fit into the new society to give their families better opportunities.
In the novel, Naipaul speaks of people without histories; this is a theme we keep seeing in our Nobel Prize novels. In relating some of his heritage, Salim says, "if I say these things it is because I have got them from European boos. They formed no part of our knowledge or pride. Without Europeans, I feel, all our past would have been washed away." Naipaul's lecture illuminates the reality of this situation: while he was trying to learn about his town, Chaguanas, which was named after a tribe of 1,000 that just disappeared, he finds a one letter from Spain to Trinidad, asking about this tribe in 1652. This group of people, Naipaul says, just vanished because they failed to leave anything behind, and no one else had cared to document them, so all that remains is one letter in a British museum. The novel addresses the importance of preserving history, and explains the importance of who is doing the writing. While it's good that at least the Europeans have kept histories of Salim's ancestors, the Orientalist views that he is left with are damaging. He lives in a world created by the West, with a history that makes him and his people the Others.
While the mingling of people has its benefits in a cultural exchange and sharing of ideas, it is important that each group retains its roots and takes care to guard its dignity in history.

Responses

Response to Bibi Lewis' 5 questions

1. Obviously the establishment of Empire vs. Barbarian suggests something to the portrayal of White vs. Blacks in South Africa, and to the horrors of their mistreatment. One of the feelings that emerges in Coetzee's writing is that this is inescapable. There does not seem to be a world outside the Empire that would be aware of the Empire's horrific treatment of others. Perhaps this is also Coetzee's point--that there was no outside world that saw, or listened to the atrocities of apartheid. It's unclear to me whether or not this is divergent, but missing those outside the empire and outside of South Africa seems an interesting direction to examine this divergence.

2. The narrator's two relationships early in the novel reflect a conflict of desire, it seems, as well as a lack of empathy. The narrator is both fascinated and disgusted by the 'barbarian' woman. But there is also an element of humility in the way that he washes her feet. It is both an act of servitude, but also one of selfishness. For in the rhythm he loses himself and finds something cathartic. Leaving her bed for the the woman who, he knows, lies to him about being happy to see him and enjoying having sex with him, also seems to show a difference between the two women: one honest, raw, real, one an escape. 

3. Coetzee is extremely attentive to the treatment of the horses as they ride them, to death, effectively. He is descriptive of their behavior, their hunger. Coetzee's own animal rights activism suggests that he considers humans and animals to be on an equal level. This is part of the reason why people are constantly described or move with animalistic qualities--Joll's insect-like eyes, the way the tortured narrator is described like a scrounging dog, etc.

4. Coetzee's prisoner scene manifests a blending that occurs throughout the novel. What is barbaric? What is civilized? Do we think of them in terms of technological dominance and perceived superiority? The barbarous mistreatment and complete lack of empathy to other human suffering, the blood-thirst of the empire shows how Coetzee suggests that barbaric and civilized are meaningless, relative terms, as the Empire uses them. The only acts of violence ever seen committed in the novel are by the Empire's soldiers and most of them are torturous and horrific in nature. 

5. The narrator strikes me as a very mixed individual through the first half of the novel. He is self-interested much of the time, but sometimes compassionate--washing the woman's feet, trying to find food and shelter for the first two prisoners that Joll brings in. Whether his treatment and humiliation makes up for anything I think becomes kind of meaningless. What is done to him is awful, regardless of who he is. He is certainly not a martyr figure, by any means. Coetzee does this consciously I think, showing the reader that human beings are not wholly kind or good, and nor are the 'barbarians' when the narrator meets with them in the mountains, but regardless there are certain levels of mistreatment that Coetzee suggests we inexcusably inflict on other human beings. Regardless of how morally good or bad they are, Coetzee seems to view this treatment as inherently wrong.

Time and Ferdinand

This book is concerned with the idea of time passing, the future and the past, in relation to the small village in Africa at the bend in the river.  Time seems to not exist for some people, and to be working against others.  On page 65 it is said that Father Huisman “saw himself at the end of it all, the last, lucky witness” (Naipaul).  He is then killed a little while later, and his love for Africa is mocked.  He believed that he was a master of time since he was able to travel to the bush and collect “primitive artwork” as the American who eventually takes it refers to it. 

            The motto for the school translates to “always something new” which is interesting because for all of the tribal traditions, this book is proving that the people of Africa are living in a constantly changing world.  They do not know who to fear or what to be.  Ferdinand is an excellent example of this since he does not really belong in this town.  He is separated from his mother’s village and his father’s so he puts on different acts trying to fit in.  Salim comments that his brain is jumbled, describing it as something quite similar to how he described his shop where he sells many different things in a chaotic manner, yet he always knows where everything is.  Ferdinand is learning how to organize his jumbled identity.  Ferdinand also becomes confused when it comes to time and “ideas of the past were confused with ideas of the present” (Naipaul 48).  This boy, the son of Zabeth who lives outside of time as Salim thinks of it, cannot become his own person until he stops trying to act as someone else.  

Simple

When Salim refers to Africa or refers to ‘Africans’, he does so as if he is an outsider: “from an early age I developed the habit of looking, detaching myself from a familiar scene and trying to consider it as from a distance” (15). It is with this attitude that Salim records the transition from past to future in the unnamed, newly independent nation. Though Salim is not from this part of Africa, his conception of what makes one ‘African’ hinges on history, on ancestry. Even after having been set up for over 6 years in the interior village, he considers the town: “I saw it now as an agglomeration of shack settlements. I thought I had been resisting the place. But I had only been living blind—like the people I knew, from whom in my heart of hearts I had thought myself different” (116).

When the characters talk about Africa, the word that keeps coming back, over and over, is ‘simple’. Whether it is Mahesh telling Salim that the best they can do is ‘carry on’, or Father Huisman’s belief that, “there would always have been a settlement at that bend in the river” (64), Salim saying that, “there is a simple democracy to Africa: everyone is a villager” (48), or how the Big Man appears in his photograph, “a picture of all Africans” (134), in order to try and understand the complex history, the complex future of Africa the characters try to shrink Africa, simplify it, give it a type, in order to understand it.

Yet what this simplification seems to make things harder for Salim in some ways—makes him sadder, makes him see himself as lost. “You felt like a ghost, not from the past, but from the future. You felt that your life and ambition had already been lived out for you and you were looking at the relics of that life. You were in a place where the future had come and gone” (27). That identity seems to be so hard to grasp in a place turning over and over with settlements, civilizations and rulers, that Salim wants to identify with a sense of permanence. As permanent as the River is, as the hard geological Africa, the cultural identity seems murkier, seems to slip the grasp of all the simplification for Salim.