‘[F]uck you money’ (1)

As a first dedicated post on the new piece about Neal Stephenson’s novel,Cryptonomicon (interestingly, the web browser’s suggested correction for the title is microeconomic, which is rather apposite,) I thought I’d begin by sketching out a rough outline of what I’m envisaging. The title of this post is a quotation from the novel, and, at least in part, it is what Randy and Levi aspire towards – a sum of money (adjusted for inflation, stock and commodity prices etc through a real-time spreadsheet) which allows the self to seemingly escape – to be able to ‘buy’ a way out of – any trouble which may be encountered, legal or otherwise. As such, ‘fuck you money’ is the ultimate embodiment of negative liberty, representing the freedom from governmental, social or individual sanction or restraint.

Such a conception and conflation of the possession of capital with the possession of (negative) liberty is also borne out in the novel’s portrayal of the role of government and civil society. Limiting the scope of its depiction to a generally white, generally male world of hi-tech start-ups (according to the novel), the only real visible manifestations of governmental intervention is in the form of coercive ‘law enforcement’ and its tacit support of litigious actions undertaken by corporations and investors. The application of such power is shown to be undertaken primarily in service of preserving existing concentrations of wealth and power; preventing their destabilisation by such forces as Randy and Levi’s Epiphyte Corporations (1) and (2). The novel therefore posits a binary relationship between the motility of capital and information – and the seeming social mobility it allows – and the entrenched, ossified concentrations of capital and privilege which sustain the status quo: a (right-wing) libertarian conception of the valency of money versus a conservative ideology; laissez faire capitalism versus regulated crony capitalism. It is clear where the text’s sympathies lie and the distinction is portrayed as the choice between freedom (in the case of the former) and repression (in the case of the latter). The choice of company name – Epiphyte – further reinforced this dichotomy, as what Randy et al  desire is to be separate, to not be dependant upon anyone beyond their own free association – though they are unavoidably forced to share a spatial location with those with whom they do not wish to associate, by forming a company and obtaining fuck you money they believe that can become a separate, self-sustaining organism, living in parallel rather than in union with society at large.

It is for this reason, I will argue, that the whiteness of the novel is not coincidental. Randy and his associates are all in a comparable position of privilege viz. race, sexuality, class, education etc. They are not dependent upon a social safety net, and, as they are living largely transnational lives, they are also not visibly supported by existing national social structures. Within the period of their lives which the novel depicts they do not benefit from society, and, as they associate with people of comparable status, in areas of relative affluence and privilege (during their time in the US), they do not encounter those who do benefit. In such narrow, homogeneous depiction, Government can be seen as solely coercive and Machiavellian, utilising its security resources not to defend the nation against foreign threat, but as part of an internecine conflict within an elite social class, undertaken in order to sustain a particular gradation of power which favours ‘old’ money over ‘new’.

What is absent, however, and what I will discuss in detail in the next post is what such a politics which underpins Stephenson’s depiction means for those who lack both old money and new. Who can never obtain fuck you money, or who choose not to participate in a system which limits liberty to such options.

Update (3)

It’s been a rather busy month since my last update. The project with John has now been fleshed-out – though we’re delaying the launch of the website for a few months and the AHRC application for a few weeks due to scheduling and deadlines. Almost all of the costings are done, so we’re now moving on to the writing. More on the project once the first draft of the application is finished.

In the meantime I’ve taken over co-ordinating the literary theory module at the University of St Andrews, EN3201, and it has been fun putting together the reading list and planning the classes. A great opportunity to teach some of the theory that I’ve been passionate about and to familiarise myself with things I’ve never gotten round to reading. Really looking forward to the start of term. I’ll post a link to the course when the website goes live.

In terms of my own research, while I’ve been continuing work on The Devil’s Footprints, I’ve also started preparing a piece on Neal Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon in light of a call for papers. I’ll write a dedicated post about it during the next week.

 

Update (2)

Though the new project, and its grant proposal, continue to monopolise the majority of my time, I thought I would provide an update on how my research is going.

I seem to be currently working on both essays, concurrently, which I think is mainly due to not having had a prolonged period of time to write and concentrate on a single work, meaning that I have been reading in fits and starts – fitted in around drafting a case for support and having meetings.

As I mentioned previously, my essay on Glister has taken a slightly new direction and at the moment my research has been mainly on biblical intertexts. I’m putting together some close readings, particularly on Job and Revelation, and I think this is helping me conceptualise the opening section of the novel where, at the moment, I believe I want to focus my reading.

The Devil’s Footprints, however, seems to be rising once again to prominence and I had a breakthrough on Monday – appropriately enough a moment of second sight. I realised that while a tripartite structure was the correct way to proceed, the order in which I conceived of the sections was wrong. Once I switched them, viewing the ending first and the penultimate section second – reversing the novel’s chronology – the structural and conceptual problems I had found with the essay evaporated. The change meant that the moment of failed compassion was now the beginning of the essay, as it had been the genesis of my own research and interest in the novel. I also changed the balance of the sections, lengthening the third part, and shortening the first two sections. I hope (project permitting) to have a complete draft down by the end of August.

As the essay on The Devil’s Footprints comes together I’ll add a further update providing more detail.

Update

Been a busy month.

The collaborative project with John Burnside is now officially up and running and I’ve started a research position at the University of St Andrews, contracted until February in the first instance. We’ve titled the project Saint Hubert and the Deer and it will consist of a series of twelve multi-media publications on selected ecological topics, combining creative work and ecocriticism, and placing them in dialogue. At the moment we’re putting together a funding application for an AHRC highlight notice and most of the last month has been taken up with drafting the various sections and attachments of the application form, and arranging assorted meetings. Hopefully by the end of this month or next we should have submitted.

With the extra travel I’ve been reading rather than writing – principally biblical research for the Glister essay. After a really helpful conversation with Jake (as always) another angle has occurred and I am thinking about doing The Devil’s Footprints second.

Further updates as things develop.

Havoc and Desire (5)

In a further attempt to capitalise on my (probably temporary) post-retreat inability to procrastinate I’ve managed to finish my essay on A Summer of Drowning (though I do still need to chase down a Sartre quotation as I don’t have Being and Nothingness to hand, but that should only take a few minutes tomorrow). I quote below the hopefully error-free abstract:

Desire as “havoc in the fabric of the given world”: Subjectivity and Text in John Burnside’s A Summer of Drowning’

 

A Summer of Drowning (2011) outlines two divergent modes of seeing: a limited, given form of vision, and an alternate, more individualistic perception. The essay argues that the principle differentiation between these two modes centres around their contrasting perspectives upon the role of desire. While the former advocates the transformation of desire into a heteronormative narrativity, theorised through the critical lens of Edelman’s monograph No Future, the latter form of desire is unmediated and uncontained, explored within the novel through the destabilising presence of the huldra, Maia. Engaging with these differing conceptions through a close reading of Liv Rossdal and Martin Crosbie, the essay proceeds to explore the role of these two modes of vision in the act of writing — both critically and creatively – arguing that Burnside’s text questions the very possibility of writing as a means of engaging with the interrelation of self, society and desire.

The Language of Self

After a couple of weeks on retreat – no phones, no email, no work, no speaking – I’ve returned and finally managed to finish the book proposal for The Language of Self. Was harder to write than the actual thesis. Thanks to Jake for help and perseverance.

The proposed monograph is a revision of my PhD thesis, entitled, ‘[T]he language of self’: Strategies of Subjectivity in the Novels of Don DeLillo. Exploring DeLillo’s portrayal of subjectivity, the work theorises that his characters form a particular conception of self, conditioned by the tension between connection and isolation. Such an articulation is shown to be both shaped by, and in turn formed through, an interaction with larger, social constructions of agency. In order to explore this phenomenon from both an individual and social perspective, the monograph undertakes detailed close readings of DeLillo’s texts, informed by nuanced theoretical analysis, stressing the symbiotic interaction of social and individual context. Through such an analysis, the work seeks to contribute to the burgeoning area of DeLillo studies, and to the fields of literary theory and criticism.

In regards to DeLillo studies, the monograph’s central contribution is to critique and redress the fixation in much of the existing scholarship as to whether DeLillo’s writing conforms to paradigms of modernist or postmodernist writing. Instead, it focuses upon the evolving constructions of subjectivity in DeLillo’s texts which have stimulated such discussion – and which has too often been to the detriment of an understanding of the particularity of DeLillo’s conception of subjectivity. Through the monograph’s construction of a phenomenological critical matrix, the text also contributes more generally to the fields of literary theory and criticism, providing a theoretical method by which to interrogate the interaction of personal and social context in the work of other writers. As such, the text will be of interest to academics across literary and philosophical studies, and though its primary audience will be scholars and postgraduates, the detailed close readings undertaken will also be of use for upper-level undergraduates who study DeLillo’s texts across a wide range of university courses.

Unlike the majority of work addressing DeLillo’s oeuvre, this monograph does not offer a series of largely separate, sequential readings of his novels. Instead, The Language of Self is ordered thematically, emphasising the shared mechanisms and strategies of subjectivity which are present throughout DeLillo’s fiction and which are often overlooked. This methodology informs the book’s structure which is divided into two sections, the first conceptualising the language of self, and the second exploring its role in shaping social context.

Entitled ‘Dasein’, the monograph’s first section comprises two chapters and utilizes a critical matrix derived, primarily, from engaging with the thought of Martin Heidegger. By using such a Heideggerian critical matrix, I highlight the manner in which DeLillo’s characters experience a simultaneous pull and repulsion towards the other. The first chapter explores this phenomenon through detailed close readings of Americana (1971), Running Dog (1978), Mao II (1991) and Underworld (1997), examining the desire for a subjectivity formed primarily through isolation, ostensibly the product of individual agency. The second chapter offers an alternative reading of these same novels, conceptualising the opposing fascia of the language of Self, namely the desire for a subjectivity formed principally through connection and the embracing of alterity.

The second section of the monograph, entitled ‘das Man’, comprises six paired chapters and builds upon the foundation of the first section, proposing that any individual enunciation of self inevitably interacts with other forms of language. The first set of these paired chapters explores the binaries of logos and image in DeLillo’s fiction through detailed close readings of Americana, Endzone (1972), Players (1977), The Names (1982), White Noise (1985), Underworld, The Body Artist (2001) and Falling Man (2007). Informed by an analysis of the linguistic and visual theories of Wittgenstein, Benjamin, Heidegger and Baudrillard, such readings enable the monograph to explore the impact of denotation and image on the possibilities of individual subjectivity. This allows an interrogation of the manner in which such a binary shapes and informs the construction of a wider, cultural enunciation of self, termed by DeLillo as Middle American in nature. Through such nuanced analysis, the interdependence of individual and collective forms of subjectivity can be successfully demonstrated and theorised.

Capital and waste constitutes the second binary addressed in ‘das Man’, and to explore these phenomena, the fifth and sixth chapters offer detailed close readings of Underworld and Cosmopolis (2003). The fifth chapter focus upon the impact of commodification on the formation of a Middle American enunciation of self, highlighting its shaping influence upon the possibilities of individual subjectivity. Utilising Baudrillard’s theories of hyperreality and the simulacrum, the chapter examines the transition in DeLillo’s fiction from local, predominantly ethnic forms of consumption and subjectivity, towards the mass-marketed American dream of Middle America, and, finally, to the dominance of trans-national capital and globalisation. Through a close reading of Underworld, and the application of Edelman’s Lacanian criticism of heteronormativity, the sixth chapter analyses how the very transition which facilitated Middle American dominance also encouraged forms of sexuality that embrace the hyperreal and the simulacral. Such analysis shows how this transgressive sexuality destabilised the conservative values which underpinned Middle American hegemony, and allowed its collective investment in a shared body of commodities, values and desires.

The final binary, that of power and terror, explores the connection between Middle America, the Military-industrial-complex, and domestic and foreign terrorism. Through such an analysis, the seventh and eighth chapters show how DeLillo portrays society as formed of an interconnected series of enunciations of self, on both an individual and collective level, which are simultaneously created and shaped by personal strategies of subjectivity. Through a close reading of Underworld‘s depiction of J. Edgar Hoover, and drawing upon the theoretical perspectives of Baudrillard and Foucault, the seventh chapter examines how such a transgressive individual is utilised to maintain and reinforce hegemonic subjectivity. The eighth chapter explores the opposing fascia of this binary through close readings of Underworld, Libra (1988), and Falling Man. Such analysis demonstrates how, as power becomes increasingly hegemonic, those who deviate to an unacceptable degree from prevailing cultural enunciations of self – and whose deviance is not utilised within hegemonic structures of power – are faced with the choice of either suppressing their articulations of self, or undertaking violently transgressive acts of resistance. This phenomenon is explored in DeLillo’s portrayal of a serial killer in Underworld, and his frequent depictions of terrorism throughout his novels. The Language of Self is thus able to offer a reading of DeLillo’s depictions of violence and transgression, showing how they argue for the impossibility of victory in the war on terror, since it is the very attempt for such control on a societal level which generates the violent opposition it strives to overcome.

The monograph concludes by summarising the readings undertaken, arguing that the book forms both a foundation and a resource for future DeLillo criticism. Participating in the ongoing dialogue that constitutes DeLillo studies, The Language of Self shifts the discourse from discussions of modernism and postmodernism towards more nuanced and complex interrogations of the formation of subjectivity in DeLillo’s novels.

A Willed Blindness

I’ve decide to write the next essay on The Devil’s Footprints, rather than Glister. The starting point is a quotation, ‘a willed blindness’ (p.208), and a recent essay of John’s called Walk the Tightrope. My initial conception is to divide the work into three parts which is something I’ve never really done in my writing, but I think it suits the project.

The first section will concentrate on a close reading of a passage from ‘Traffic from Paradise’, viewed through the lens of ‘Walk the Tightrope’ and looking at the way in which Michael Gardiner strips back the self. The epigraph will be ‘being present, being stripped of all pretence. Being myself at last, empty-handed, with nothing to defend’ (p.197). Building on this, the second section will focus on a close reading of ‘The Curlew Sandpiper’, addressing issues of connection and compassion – of how to reach out to the other, using the final few lines of the novel as a starting point:

I feel sorry for him, I suppose. I never speak to him, or give out any signal that I know who he is, but there are times when I want to take him out to the point and show him the birds. (p.224)

The third section will then be about the act of writing, both creative and critical (as well as questioning any such division), and, through the lens of ‘Walk the Tightrope’ and ‘Strong Words’, discussing the potential of writing to act as that bridge, and as a form of dwelling.

A New Project

Back in A Preliminary Sketch (1) I briefly mentioned the possibility of a collaborative project that was at a conceptual stage. The first element of funding has come together and I’m going to be lucky enough to work with John Burnside, putting together a pilot and applying for further grants to fund a longer series. The project should have its own blog/website in the next month or so, so I’ll leave the details for that and provide a link when it goes live.

Havoc and Desire (4)

I’ve received feedback on the essay and it’s been very positive. Only significant criticism has been of the introduction, which confirms a suspicion I had that it might be more suited to a chapter. The feeling was that it was too concerned with the place of A Summer of Drowning in John’s fiction, rather than focusing specifically on the novel. Jake also felt that a more conventional academic opening would set up a better contrast with the more experimental ending. I’ve given that a try and it seems to be an improvement. Going to leave it for a few days and then come back to it fresh.

Finished re-reading Glister and am torn on which way to go. I’ll devote a specific post to that when I’ve thought about it some more.

Also been feeling that I need to do more on desire. The piece that comes to mind isn’t really either academic or creative so I’ll just have to see where it goes. Update on that to follow.

Havoc and Desire (3)

Just a quick update.

Finished the first draft of the essay on A Summer of Drowning last week and it came in just under the limit – at about 5800 words. As predicted, I had to leave out the discussion of Ryvold and Angelica, but I think the more experimental ending incorporates those perspectives on desire and prevents the work from becoming simply a binary analysis. I’ve been lucky enough to have had some offers to comment on the draft, so I’ll wait for some feedback before I begin polishing.

In the meantime, I’ve started work on the Glister piece. I’m lacking a preliminary title, but I think Eliot’s The Waste Land will prove a useful intertext. I’m tempted to divide the piece into sections – to mirror the structure of the novel and the poem – but that’s never really suited my writing so I’ll have to see how it goes.

Longer update when I have a more concrete outline of the next piece.