Blog 1 (January 24): Radial Reading in Three Versions of “The Heart of Darkness”

Depending on which particular version of the text one holds, the experience of reading Joseph Conrad’s “The Heart of Darkness” can vary greatly. In “How to Read a Book,” Chapter 5 in his novel The Textual Condition, Jerome McGann argues that “the linguistic and linear reading model may not by any means comprehend the structure within which the reading process is to be executed” (108). He moves to explain his concepts of “spatial” and “radial” reading; the former concerning the text’s aesthetic and positioning on the page, and the latter the various related contexts in which we engage while reading. In other words, although strictly speaking the words themselves in each edition of Conrad’s novella are the same, the reading of a particular edition is informed by a multitude of non-linguistic and non-linear signifiers and codes. In my readings for this seminar I was exposed to three unique editions of “Heart of Darkness”: firstly, a digitized version of its original 1899 publication in Blackwood’s Magazine, then a plain-text version online at Project Gutenberg, and finally in hardcover form, in a 1992 collection of Conrad’s short fiction. Needless to say, each of these readings was coloured by the particular version’s physical appearance on the page (my spatial reading), as well as its engagement with the story’s various contexts (radial reading).

Visually speaking, Blackwood’s Magazine presents “Heart of Darkness” in a vastly different manner than does Project Gutenberg or the hardcover collection of Conrad’s short fiction, and this unique spatial reading in turn informs radial reading. In Blackwood’s the story is printed in three installments, newspaper-style, in two narrow columns, with the text justified and the date of printing on each page. This presentation enables a sort of vicarious radial reading. As I was perusing Blackwood’s I was cognizant of the sheer newness of this initial publication, and how it would have felt to read it in 1899. This realization triggered an exploration of its surrounding contexts, enabled by the copious amount of advertisements, other features, and editorials contained in the magazine, all of which enriched my reading and interpretation of “Heart of Darkness” in this original context.

The Project Gutenberg version of the text is completely minimalist and devoid of contextualizing or structuring material, which presumably limits any reading other than the linear/linguistic. However the simplicity itself provides a sort of context; the fact that a plain-text, e-book version of “Heart of Darkness” even exists is a testament to its established position in our literary canon, a realization which stimulates a response in the reader to asses the reasons behind the novella’s critical and popular success. This e-book is explicitly geared toward anyone and everyone with Internet access; the story has evidently transcended its original Blackwood’s audience, and the reader cannot help but process this fact.

Finally, I encountered the text in actual book form, where it was consciously arranged, situated and published within Volume III of The Complete Short Fiction of Joseph Conrad. Here the text is clearly and simply displayed, but as with Blackwood’s the surrounding materials provide a radial reading of significant richness. This compilation features its own contextualizing materials, including a “Conrad Timeline” and various introductory remarks. The book is likely intended for scholarly reading; a complete collection alludes to an intended reader who wants to engage with Conrad as an author rather than “Heart of Darkness” as a story. Thus the reader is made conscious of Conrad’s role in his own works, and we radially read him into our own reading of “Heart of Darkness”. What’s more, I borrowed this book from the library, and while reading I could not help but take note of jotted phrases and comments in the sidelines – vestiges of past readers (See Fig. 1). This further draws attention to the story’s long-established readership, critical heritage, and position in the literary world.

Fig. 1: Marginal Notes

Thus, through engaging with what McGann termed “spatial” and “radial” reading in the various manifestations of Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” that have materialized since 1899, I have come to see the story as surrounded by its own discourse. Different published versions of the text provide points of access into its bevy of contexts and potential meanings, and each provides a distinct reading experience.

Works Cited

Blackwood’s Magazine. Feb. 1899: 47. Web. 17 Jan. 2012. <http://www.conradfirst.net/view/image?id=22844&gt;

Conrad, Joseph. “The Heart of Darkness.” The Complete Short Fiction of Joseph Conrad Vol III. Ed. Samuel Hynes. Hopewell, NJ: The Ecco Press, 1992. 1-86. Print.

Conrad, Joseph. “The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heart of Darkness.” Project Gutenberg. N.p., 09 Jan 2006. Web. 17 Jan 2012.

McGann, Jerome. The Textual Condition. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992. 101-28. eBook.

Freudian Poetry: Barrington Gates’ “Abnormal Psychology”

“Abnormal Psychology” is a short poem written by Barrington Gates in my copy of The London Mercury (published in June 1921). It first caught my eye because of its unusual title; scientific terms appear in poetry rarely at best. My curiosity was rewarded when, upon reading the poem, I found a poetic exploration of the metaphysics of being informed by psychological theories of the time. This reading piqued my interest further due to my (very basic) background in psychology, and I proceeded to investigate the biography of the author.

Sidney Barrington Gates

Sidney Barrington Gates was quite an exceptional man. He was born in 1893 in a small town in England to parents whose marriage, in his own words, “was an alliance of haberdashers” (Thomas 181). Gates went on to become an airplane engineer, and was a leading innovator in his field. He was inducted into the Royal Society as a “Fellow”, an honour reserved for those whose peers consider them to have made a major contribution to the fields of engineering, mathematics, or medicine. He married Edith Annie Tofts in 1916 and had three children with her. He suffered from a stammer all his life. Gates, obviously, was also a writer. In his early years he wrote poetry and had a few collections published, one at Virginia Woolf’s Hogarth Press. Many of his works were published in various literary magazines. Gates’ biography reveals the complex man behind an unusual poem and his status as a scientist befits the poem’s content splendidly.

"Abnormal Psychology" on page 123 of The London Mercury

“Abnormal Psychology” is a fairly standard poem in terms of form: it consists of two stanzas of iambic tetrameter that feature a regular rhyme scheme. The content, however, is rather unorthodox. In the first stanza Gates’ speaker depicts the “darkling pool” of his existence, which represents the unconscious mind. Gates goes on to describe the creature who lurks in this pool as “childish and monstrous” and swirling with “the slow eddies of desire” (Gates 123). This creature “sleeps, eats, and lusts, and cries, / And never lives, and never dies” (Gates 123). In the second stanza Gates’ speaker finds salvation in nature, rather romantically, writing of the creature from stanza one: “If I am he, I’m also one / With all that’s brave beneath the sun” (Gates 123). In this poem Gates grapples with Freudian theories of the unconscious mind. Freud’s theories had swept the Continent by the time Gates was writing “Abnormal”; the psychoanalyst first presented his hypothesis of unconscious processes in 1912 and continued to publish psychological theories until 1940. As a scientist himself Gates would undoubtedly have been aware of Freud’s groundbreaking and controversial work in the field of psychology, and readers of The Mercury would likely have picked up on his not-so-subtle Freudian allusions. “Abnormal” represents his reaction to the disorienting and disruptive revelation that there may be a massive part of the human mind of which its owner knows very little.

Sigmund Freud

Gates’ poem ends on a hopeful note. He admits his basest urges, but concludes his work by asserting that his connection to nature transcends the “darkling pool” of the unconscious, and finally he rhetorically questions the importance of this darkness in the grand scheme of the natural world. It would probably have been thoroughly appreciated by readers anxious over the potential ramifications of Freud’s work. Gates’ “Abnormal Psychology” provides an interesting peek into the mind of a scientist-poet’s struggle to understand the intricacies of the mind in the early 1920s, a struggle that still concerns us today.

Works Cited

Gates, Barrington. “Abnormal Psychology.” The London Mercury. Vol. 4 Iss. 20. 1921: 123. Print.

Thomas, H. H. B. M., and D. Kuchemann. “Sidney Barrington Gates. 1893-1973.” Biographical Memoirs of Fellows of the Royal Society. Vol. 20. Royal Society Publishing, 1974. 181-212. Web. 12 Mar. 2012. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/769637&gt;.

James Joyce and Irish Thought Revival

In light of our class readings focusing on James Joyce in forthcoming weeks, I thought it appropriate to contextualize a literary essay from my periodical in which Joyce’s writing is discussed. Penned by reviewer Edward Shanks, “Reflections on the Recent English Novel” is featured in the June 1921 issue of The London Mercury. In it, Shanks discusses the progression of the novel as a literary form, considering Joseph Conrad’s realism as means versus Joyce’s new type of realism as an end in itself. Shanks’ ability to conceive of Ulysses’ revolutionary greatness is impressive, and sharply contrasts with the decidedly less positive reactions that pervaded many of the novel’s early reviews.

An example of a less complimentary (yet extremely comical) review of Joyce's novel. Click to expand

Shanks’ unwavering support of Joyce’s “new style of novel” hearkens to hopeful ideas of Irish literary improvement as proposed a decade and a half earlier by W. Gibson in his piece “On the Possibility of a Thought Revival in Ireland,” published in the July 1904 issue of Dana (Shanks 177). His conception of Joyce’s groundbreaking realist modernism is not only ahead of its time, it also suggests the realization of an Irish thought revival.

Front cover of the June 1921 London Mercury in which Shanks' essay appears

Shanks’ understanding of Joyce’s realism is surprisingly congruent to my own comprehension of the style, which I have developed through my studies aided by nearly a century’s worth of academic scholarship. Shanks writes that these new novels “come near to showing us life as it presents itself to a single consciousness,” and “have no other aim, no plot to develop, no idea to expound,” (Shanks 177). Though he is uncertain as to how the literary world will progress after the advent of modern realism, Shanks nonetheless feels that “Mr. Joyce appears […] to be passing over into a new kind of art. Here cerebral force and sensitiveness of perception are raised as much above what we find in real life as the emotions of the romantics above common experience,” (178). Shanks picks up on the distinction between realism of the past and the realism of Joyce; he recognizes the nuanced development of the novel form and remarks on the changes Joyce brings to the table thus drawing attention to groundbreaking nature of the Irishman’s writing.

James Joyce

James Joyce’s style of realism marked the beginning of a new kind of literature not only for Ireland but all of Europe. He revitalized the Irish literary scene, an event so pined for by Gibson in his 1904 contribution to Dana. In that essay Gibson laments the stagnation of Irish thought and literature, noting Ireland’s “absence of a habit of thoughtfulness” as one of “the more potent causes of [the] country’s present incapacity to right herself,” (90). Where Gibson sees Dana as the answer to his plight, Shanks provides an alternative solution to the problem: Joyce’s modern realism. Gibson calls “for each man, as far as possible, to confine his investigations to the thoughts and doings of those with whom he is most closely in touch,” and in turn Ireland’s literature and thought will find renewal. Ulysses is not traditionally Celtic nor did it fit seamlessly with Ireland’s literary history. It is undeniably modern. Yet, in its own way, as conceived by Edward Shanks, James Joyce’s new novel shouts a resounding and lilting “Yea!” to Gibson’s request.

Works Cited

Gibson, William. “On the Possibility of a Thought Revival in Ireland.” Dana. Vol. 1 Iss. 3. 1904: 89-92. Web. 10 Feb. 2012. <http://dl.lib.brown.edu/pdfs/1117808295171212.pdf&gt;

Shanks, Edward. “Reflections on the Recent History of the English Novel.” The London Mercury. Vol. 4 Iss. 20. 1921: 173-183. Print.

Imagist Poetry and Modern Art

The sixth issue of Poetry, published in 1913, features two articles about a burgeoning literary movement called Imagism. One was written by F.S. Flint, and the other by Ezra Pound. The two pieces generally agree with one another, with Pound’s contribution reading like an insider’s expansion on Flint’s more basic observations. Both state the major tenets of Imagism to be economy of language, direct treatment of things, minimal abstraction, and in terms of meter, to write in the manner of a musical phrase as opposed to a metronome.

Pound and Flint were commenting on the Imagistic movement away from wordiness and excessive authorial interpretation. The Imagists wanted to create an picture in the mind of a reader that would speak for itself; in a sense, they wanted to show, simply, rather than tell their readers what was happening in their poems, and allow the reader to react to their words organically. Imagist theory carried on through to writers of the Beat Generation such as Hart Crane, Allan Ginsberg and William Carlos Williams, a prime example of Imagist writing being the latter’s (in)famous short poem “The Red Wheelbarrow.” But how does Imagism relate to art? More specifically, how does the literary theory of Imagism relate to the theories of modern art that were sweeping Europe at the same time?

Modernist artists and Imagist poets both de-emphasized mastery, in a classical sense at least. The Imagists shed rigid rules of meter and rhyme as modern artists shed rules of composition and symmetry. Both stressed a return to the everyday; what is likely Pound’s most famous poem is, ostensibly, about the simple, quiet moment of perceiving faces in the metro, and the subjects of Picasso’s Les Demoiselles D’Avignon (below) are prostitutes. Both strove to elevate the everyday experience through new treatment. Modern painters no longer aimed to realistically represent a landscape or the human form (see Demoiselles and Matisse’s Landscape at Collioure below), just as Imagist poets no longer yearned to describe their feelings but rather denote, or connote, them. Art became about conveying the feeling of perception rather than accurately representing the perception itself. This concept is mirrored in a comment from Pound wherein he condemns literary description: “When Shakespeare talks of the ‘Dawn in russet mantle clad’ he presents something which the painter does not present. There is in this line of his nothing that one can call description; he presents” (Poetry 1.6, 203). The painter Pound refers to in this passage must be a painter in the classical sense of one who represents an image as it appears to the eye, because he is suggesting that Shakespeare’s words add something to the painted presentation that simple artistic mimesis lacks. He is writing about that moment of connotation, of recognition in the mind of a significance or poignancy, be it represented in poetry or in modernist art, which requires no authorial or artistic mediation for readers’ personal comprehension.

Les Demoiselles D'avignon (Picasso, 1907)

                             Landscape at Collioure (Matisse, 1903)

At first glance it might seem that the Imagist’s dislike for abstraction would prevent congruence between that movement and the undeniably abstract modern art movement, but one must keep in mind the difference between linguistic and visual abstraction. In terms of language, abstraction serves to tell a reader what a concrete item means, or what the author wants a reader to think about or feel while considering it. It is a sort of description. In visual art, however, abstraction does quite the opposite. Instead of telling you what to feel about a particular concrete image or object abstraction takes you away from its reality and allows for an utterly new and unique consideration of the object presented. Where in poetry abstract language tells the reader how to perceive, in visual art, abstraction liberates and gives the viewer a new freedom of perception.

Modern art and Imagist poetry almost simultaneously conceived of a new version of beauty, and a new method of perception. Both move to free their readers (or viewers) by moving away from rigidly composed works that tell rather than show. In poetry, showing happens by minimizing abstraction and emphasizing simplicity. In art, the opposite must occur, because simply representing an object as it appears in reality leaves less room for individual connotation and experience of perception.

Works Cited

Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  Vol. 1 Iss. 6. 1913: 203. Web. 08 Feb. 2012. <http://dl.lib.brown.edu/pdfs/1201897921671875.pdf&gt;