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Transgressing Self and Voice_Contmporary Fiction and the Death of the Narrator- (Introduction to Unnatural Voices).pdf

Transgressing Self and Voice_Contmporary Fiction and the Death of the Narrator- (Introduction to Unnatural Voices).pdf

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Theory and Interpretation of Narrative James Phelan and Peter J.

Rabinowitz, Series Editors

Unnatural Voices
Extreme Narration in Modern and Contemporary Fiction



Copyright © 2006 by The Ohio State University. All rights reserved. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Richardson, Brian, 1953– Unnatural voices: extreme narration in modern and contemporary fiction / Brian Richardson. p. cm.—(Theory and interpretation of narrative) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978–0-8142–1041–3 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978–0-8142–5157–7 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978–0-8142–9119–1 (cd-rom) 1. Fiction—Technique. 2. Narration (Rhetoric) 3. Fiction—20th century—History and criticism. 4. Fiction—19th century—History and criticism. I. Title. II. Series: Theory and interpretation of narrative series. PN3383.N35R53 2006 809.3’83—dc22 2006017229 Cover photo and cover design by Jason Moore. Text design and typesetting by Jennifer Shoffey Forsythe. Type set in Sabon. Printed by Thomson-Shore, Inc. The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials. ANSI Z39.48–1992. 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my brother, Alan
Extraordinary reader, intimate friend, and great companion, who many years ago joined me on a beach in Mexico where we first read Joyce and Proust

con tents
preface acknowledgments chapter one chapter two Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice— Contemporary Fiction and the Death of the Narrator “At First You Feel a Bit Lost”: The Varieties of Second Person Narration ix xiii



chapter three Class and Consciousness: “We” Narration from Conrad to Postcolonial Fiction chapter four chapter five chapter six I, etcetera: Multiperson Narration and the Range of Contemporary Narrators Three Extreme Forms of Narration and a Note on Postmodern Unreliability Unnatural Narration in Contemporary Drama



79 106

viii / Contents chapter seven Implied Authors. Historical Authors. and the Transparent Narrator: Toward a New Model of the Narrative Transaction chapter eight Conclusion: Voicing the Unspeakable 114 134 141 143 151 161 Appendix: Bibliography of “We” Narratives Notes Works Cited Index .

It explores in depth one of the most significant aspects of late modernist. I will also take care to identify substantial if unexpected antecedents in earlier texts by authors ranging from Gogol to Conrad as well as apposite modern and contemporary works not usually considered from this perspective. fragmentation. At the same time. This is an empirical study that describes and theorizes the actual practices of significant authors. such an inductive approach is essential because many extreme forms of narration seem to have been invented precisely to transgress fundamental linguistic and rhetorical categories. I include some discussion of ix . and reconstitution of narrative voices—and offers a theoretical account of these unusual and innovative strategies. instead of building on a priori linguistic or rhetorical categories. and postmodern narrative—the creation. I hope to give these practices the thorough analysis they deserve. has not yet systematically examined the impressive range of unusual postmodern and other avant garde strategies of narration. it is one that has often proven resistant to traditional narrative theory. By drawing on a wide range of examples and utilizing the work of postmodern narrative theorists. despite its emphasis on narration and narrators. though postmodernism is certainly the most important and successful literary movement of the last half century. avant garde. This book is intended to rectify these unfortunate absences.pre face Narrative theory. In addition.

identifying three major forms of second person fiction. I also pay attention to earlier and adjacent forms. first. the knowledge of other minds. that is. While concentrating on postmodern works. agrarian. and the constitution of a collective subject in these texts. “Transgressing Self and Voice. It also discusses indeterminate speakers and logically impossible acts of narration. The chapter outlines the existing range of first. second. The second chapter studies second person narration in depth. / Preface the work of Samuel Beckett in each chapter. thus providing a single (if knotty) thread that runs throughout the book. and follow out the varied construction and deconstruction of the narrators of his fictions. I then go on to offer a flexible model that can situate all of these odd but increasingly common voices. including such unusual types as “it. The third chapter traces the development of fiction narrated in the first person plural from its unexpected origins in Conrad’s Nigger of the ‘Narcissus’ to its more familiar present incarnations and its less known postcolonial avatars. noting salient continuities and ruptures. texts that employ both first and third or. The chapter goes on to provide a theoretical overview of recent deployments of narration and describes a new kind of textual drama that hinges on the disclosure of the unexpected identity of the narrator at the end of the work. corpses.” begins with a brief inventory of a number of innovative contemporary uses of narrators and narration. and a Minotaur. It assesses claims and debates that stretch from Lukács to feminism and new historicism concerning the ideological valence of specific kinds of narration. including narration by animals.” and passive voice narration. I also discuss “we” narration as a vehicle for representations of intersubjective feminist. The fourth chapter surveys recent developments in multiperson narration. This chapter elucidates the play of unreliability.” “they. reflecting on its functions and nature. small children. machines. second. in some cases. and postcolonial consciousnesses. and commenting on the reasons for its utilization by authors from a number of minority or disenfranchised communities. These analyses in turn are followed by explorations of new areas . Having completed three chapters of analysis of the most prominent alternative forms of narration. and third person forms. which move ever further away from conventional human speakers. I then contrast these practices with current theories of narrative poetics which are unable to fully comprehend the distinctive difference of such work. The first chapter. revolutionary. and third person narration. We will look briefly at the career of Robbe-Grillet.

” The last. and the contents of one mind contaminates another. Finally. The second is the phenomenon of “denarration. In the final chapter.” slips (or is collapsed) into other minds and discourses and speaks what should be impossible for it to know. found in the catechistic chapter (“Ithaca”) in Joyce’s Ulysses. Booth’s concept of the “career implied author” is reassessed and found relevant for the analysis of the larger oeuvre of writers throughout the history of fiction. This feature. and is common in subsequent French fiction and elsewhere. I end with a description of a general “anti-poetics” of narrative . and point to places where the author’s voice seems to override that of the narrator. The seventh chapter reassesses the question of the implied author and argues for the continued viability of this concept by assembling a range of texts that have two or more historical authors and either one or more implied authors. such as found in the sentences. Chapter Six surveys unusual narrators and antimimetic kinds of narration in contemporary drama. Duras. I go on to take up the understudied topic of multiple implied readers in a work and compare it to the case of multiple implied authors of a single text. I summarize the main argument of the book and go on to discuss further the modernist origins and historical antecedents of the anti-realist practices of so many contemporary works. this is a favorite strategy of Beckett. Paula Vogel. I focus on plays in which the nature and identity of the narrator constitutes part of the drama of the work. Yesterday it was not raining. I conclude this chapter with a brief analysis of distinctively postmodern types of unreliability. focusing on the more outrageous practices of Stoppard. which I call the “permeable narrator. I discuss the limits and utility of the concept. “Yesterday it was raining.” or the voice that asks questions that the rest of the narrative then answers. is fairly common in postmodern fiction. David Henry Hwang.Preface / xi of experimental narration that have not been studied from the vantage point of a comprehensive approach to the theory of narration. I begin (in Chapter Five) with an examination of three curious narrating figures that exist at the limits of the utterable: The first is what I call the “interlocutor. I conclude with a new model of the narrator–implied author–historical author continuum.” voices that erase the texts that they have been creating. and (naturally) Beckett. I also examine works by a single author that seem to emerge from antithetical aesthetic stances and speculate on the implications of such texts for a theory of the implied author. especially in the trilogy. and occupies an unusual and unstable position between narrator and narratee. where offstage voices construct events.

and conceptual modeling for the theory and analysis of narrators and narration. precision. I advocate the move away from rigid typologies and Chinese box-type models of embedded speakers and toward an alternate figuration that stresses the permeability. . It is hoped that this book will fill a large gap in narrative theory. and help provide enhanced coverage.xii / Preface for these and other anti-representational works to be conceived as a supplement and foil to the traditional poetics based on mimetic and “natural” narratives. instability. contribute to scholarship on Samuel Beckett and on modern and postmodern fiction. and playful mutability of the voices of nonmimetic fictions.

and Gerald Prince. who read and commented on most or all of the chapters.acknowl edgments This book has benefited greatly from the generous comments of many colleagues. Kershner. and personal. I am especially thankful to Monika Fludernik. B. Deep thanks also to those who read and commented on individual sections or chapters: Robert Ford. who deserve a special narratological term such as Superreader for their hard work. particular thanks go to Jim Phelan and Peter Rabinowitz. Emma Kafalenos. Sangeeta Ray helped me greatly at several levels. generous advice. Jennifer Riddle Harding. I thank these journals for permission to reproduce this material. Four. Style 28 (1994) 312–28. xiii . and brilliant editing. Earlier versions of Chapters Two. and Porter Abbott. Finally. scholarly. and New Literary History 28 (2001) 681–94. As always. R. William Nelles. professional. and Six appeared in Genre 24 (1991) 309–30.

the other is the rise of the unreliable narrator. with all its abilities and limitations (excepting. Kayser could not have been more wrong.Introduction TrAnsGressinG SeLf AnD Voice— ConteMporArY Fiction AnD tHe DeAtH of tHe NArrAtor chapter one In 1954. a never-remarked-upon ability to produce a highly narratable story that reads just like a novel).1 As it would turn out. Wolfgang Kayser warned that if we lose sight of the fact that the narrator is “someone” who “tells a story.  . of course. texts begin to tamper with or destroy outright the “mimetic contract” that had governed conventional fiction for centuries: no more can one assume that a first person narrator would resemble a normal human being. If we look back on the broadest trajectories of the history of the use of the narrator in fiction it will become apparent that such a move was probably inevitable.” the novel is dead: “The death of the narrator is the death of the novel” (34). which had been present in epistolary fiction and gained new prominence by the time Dostoevsky’s “Notes from the Underground” (1864) appeared. Narrative literature was about to explode with a wide range of post-anthropomorphic narrators while philosophy (soon to be followed by critical theory) was beginning its half-century assault on humanism. Two main features stand out in the development of fictional technique since Defoe: the exploration of subjectivity (beginning with Sterne’s play with unexpected associations of ideas and continuing with Jane Austen’s development of free indirect discourse). The significance of this shift should not be minimized—by moving beyond merely human narrators.

One starts with flawed narration. there is simply a disembodied voice that does not have a name. mentions that The Brotherhood had him change his name but never informs us of either the old or the new name. 1824). begun by Sterne in Tristram Shandy (1767). go on to address particular questions of narrative theory posed by these odd words. were redeployed by a number of Romantic authors including Byron (Don Juan. 1833).and anti-mimetic narration. thereby preparing the way for the extended accounts of second. Finally I will attempt to categorize some prominent types of non. Each of these developments suggests further steps along the same path: one goes from unreliable narrators to incompetent ones to delusional and then completely insane storytellers. the next move is the anonymous narrator of the “Cyclops” episode of Ulysses (1922) followed by the unnamed though intimate narrator of Invisible Man (1953) who. I will begin by indicating the large range of the unusual narrators and consciousnesses of contemporary fiction.” “one. invented pronouns until one reaches the anthology of pronominal forms that make up Maurice Roche’s Compact (1966)? In what follows. it might be noted.” a pronounless passive voice. and then go on to explore the possibilities of narration from the perspective of “they. § . or the “you” that confuses them. first person plural. and in numerous works of Jean Paul. / Chapter One In addition. “Call me Ishmael”. With virtually all earlier fiction having been written in either the first or third person. and multiperson narration that will take up the three chapters that follow. 1827). Heine (Buch le Grand. narrative fragmentation and unexpected reconstructions. and ends with the semi-coherent and utterly opaque. this movement culminates in the multiple dubious narrators collapsed together in the more extreme nouveaux romans. The first person narrator with a full name and clear identity in earlier fiction becomes one who implies pseudonymity by stating. goes on to more fragmented forms. The represented consciousness is increasingly abnormal: we move from Woolf’s Septimus Smith to Faulkner’s Benjy to Beckett’s Molloy to Nabokov’s Charles Kinbote. and discuss unusual pronominal forms and comment on their functions. Pushkin (Evgeny Onegin. In Beckett’s The Unnamable (1953). and new. how could experimental writers fail to move on to the “we” form that combines them.

1967). a television set that appears to display the confused memories of the protagonist (Grass’ Local Anaesthetic. we will note how reflection on a typically postmodern practice can stimulate literary historical reflections that yield unexpected antecedents: narration from the other side of the grave is found at least as far back as Machado de Assis’ The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas (1881). In a trajectory that will frequently appear in the pages that follow. a mind that can perceive the unspoken thoughts of many others (Rushdie’s Saleem Sinai. 1984). “Stream of consciousness” writing. while bestial narrators and focalizers (whose function is not merely allegorical) stretch back to Tolstoy’s story “Kholstomer” (1886) as well as Virginia Woolf’s literal snail’s-eye-view of the events in “Kew Gardens” (1919). In addition to the demented narrators of Beckett or the mute storytellers in Calvino’s The Castle of Crossed Destinies (1969). impossibly eloquent children (in John Hawkes’ Virginie: Her Two Lives. has been unable to resist impersonating the mind of the other gender since the origin of this practice. voluble corpses (Beckett’s “The Calmative.” 1946). and obfuscation. § Play with the real or imagined gender of the narrator has also been a staple of contemporary fiction.” as Dorrit Cohn more precisely terms it. and even storytelling machines (in Stanisław Lem’s The Cyberiad. 1981). a ghost whose narrative is unreliable in Kurosawa’s Rashomon (1951). the Cretan Minotaur in Borges’s “The House of Asturion” (1949). a disembodied voice that narrates compulsively (Beckett’s The Unnamable). or “autonomous interior monologue. . a cybernetic device that allows one person to experience virtually the perceptions of another (Gibson’s Neuromancer. transformation. and this has produced its share of critical puzzlement. I am referring not only to Molly Bloom’s monologue but to Schnitzler’s early psychonarration. to note only some of the most prominent cases. we find. especially gender impersonation. sophisticated storytelling animals (a horse in John Hawkes’ Sweet William.2 It should be readily apparent that a model centered on storytelling situations in real life cannot begin to do justice to these narrators who become ever more extravagantly anti-realistic every decade. 1969). the 1924 novella. 1993). 1981).Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice /  The kinds of posthuman narrators that have appeared in the last several decades are protean.

” After all. being a fictional construct does not mean being ungendered: many fictional entities from unicorns to divine beings to implied authors are quite definitively gendered. gender. however. realistic. a similar dynamic of reception develops until the gender of the characters is revealed at the end of the text. genderless pronoun. more radical play with gender includes the strange first person narration of Evelyn. the assiduous. Needless to say. which simultaneously provides a woman’s narration (which is doomed to be suppressed) and resolutely refuses to narrate or otherwise speak for the African character. the man who will be made (against his will) into a biological woman in Angela Carter’s The Passion of New Eve (1977). it has been crucial to differentiate carefully between . and narration. Friday. “that silence and the extent to which it destabilizes both textuality and sexuality drive this novel at least as much as its surface plot” (“Queering” 250). As Susan S. This situation is provocatively foregrounded in Jeanette Winterson’s Written on the Body (1992). Flaubert’s Parrot. Louise Colet. is the refusal to identify the gender of the narrator. where the characters are referred to exclusively by an invented. / Chapter One “Fräulein Else. these works appear to refute the speculation of a few narratologists like Mieke Bal (122) who argue that since narrators are verbal constructs rather than actual people. Since early modernist fiction (if not before). Other. the narrator has sexual relationships with both male and female characters).3 Another seminal transformation that has occurred involves the relations between author and narrator. since the plot revolves around the narrator’s love of a married woman (and. “the unnamed autodiegetic narrator of [this book] is never identified as male or female”. and whose consciousness and narration will be transformed as completely as his/her body is. including Coetzee’s Foe (1986).” Since the cook and the carpenter form a union. “na. abruptly gives way in the eleventh chapter to the obviously fictive first person narration of Flaubert’s lover.” Since these texts appeared. and decidedly male first person narrator of Julian Barnes’ 1984 novel. Likewise. numerous authors have attempted such sustained transgendered representations. Lanser observes in her discussion of sex. The strategy that causes the most consternation among conventional readers. especially when the narrator is involved in sexual acts. they are not gendered and therefore should properly be termed “it” rather than “he” or “she. who offers to provide the other half of the story. This situation also appears in June Arnold’s The cook and the carpenter: a novel by the carpenter (1973). before that relationship has begun.

and never to assume uncritically that the speaker of the text represents the ideas of its author. is often eroded or assaulted by many postmodern authors. especially the first one. If a narrative is. Sebald glides in and out of the categories of documentary prose. Gérard Genette writes that the novelist must choose between two narrative postures. In many cases. is not identical with James Joyce. that is. which furthermore helped give rise to the concept of the implied author. however. essayistic reflection. G. Kurt Vonnegut incorporates his personal testimony of the Allied firebombing of Dresden into an antiwar novel. or impossible speakers found in contemporary works. who cannot resist interpolating characters who bear their own names and life history into the fictional world they have created. Some of Nabokov’s stories. as commonly averred. Summing up nearly all of the theorizing on “point of view” since the time of Henry James and Victor Shklovsky. unusual. “Marcel” in In Search of Lost Time is not Marcel Proust. these incursions are largely innocuous ontologically.” were published both as fiction and as autobiography. and Stephen Dedalus. and narrative fiction. when he writes in the first person at the end of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. That was the author of this book” (125). These figures are also much more challenging to traditional narrative theory. precisely this choice .Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice /  the author and the narrator of a work. someone relating a set of events to someone else. which is typically based on the mimesis of actual speech situations. then this entire way of looking at narrative has to be reconsidered in the light of the numerous ways innovative authors problematize each term of this formula. however. a foundational modernist type of narrator. such as “First Love.’ or to have it told by a narrator outside the story” (Narrative 244). It is. and affirms the historical accuracy of his descriptions and the identity of the character Vonnegut and the author: “That was me.” They are.4 Still more relevant to this study are the many odd. presupposes such a clear division. Other such incarnations. are much more transgressive of this boundary. This distinction. fictional characters that resemble their authors just as a character called Napoleon or Richard Nixon in a fictional text may (or may not) resemble the historical original but is in the final analysis merely a fictional construct. The author of the nonfictional preface of Nabokov’s Bend Sinister asserts he is the governing intelligence of the text that is dimly perceived by his protagonist. The work of W. The concept of the unreliable narrator. they differ little from Chaucer’s depiction of a bad storyteller named Chaucer in “The Tale of Sir Tophas. either “to have the story told by one of its ‘characters.

¿quién vivirá en esa separacíon?” (1115). the “you” invoked will at different points seem to be one of the characters. at others a narrator outside the story. del otro lado de la puerta. / Chapter One that is rejected by so many contemporary authors. Its narrator can only know what an autobiographer can know. move without knowing that someone hangs upon the sounds and silences of your life: who will live in that separation?” [30]). Genette goes on to express his consternation at the new fiction that “does not hesitate to establish between narrator and character(s) a variable or floating relationship. it may furthermore seem to refer to a narratee or the actual reader who holds the book. a pronominal vertigo in tune with a freer logic and a more complex ‘personality’” (246).5 Likewise. Thus. It is precisely this “logic” that needs to be investigated. for example. We might then begin by emphasizing that much recent fiction rejects a mimetic model. This is why. with the exception that the narrator is able to know what goes on in the minds of one or more characters. and this “vertigo” that needs to be savored. second person prose is perhaps exemplary in this respect. but may not stray beyond the established conventions of depicting such perceptions: the thought of . Dorrit Cohn. on the other side of the door. following Philippe Lejeune. sin saber alguíen vive pendiente de los ruidos y los silencios de tu vida detrás de la puerta. mimetic third person fiction will typically follow the basic conventions of biography or the history of a family. and a few other such acts. states that first person works of fiction can be differentiated from autobiographies only by explicit. (“When Catalina puts her ear to the door that separates her from you and listens to your movements. a conventional work like Roxana or Great Expectations is modeled on the nonfictional genre of the memoir or autobiography. It is precisely the space between the perceiver and the perceived over which the “you” narration hovers. when you. te muevas sin saber que eras escuchado. usually paratextual indications of fictionality or if the name of the narrator differs from that of the author (Distinction 58–60).6 A first person narrator cannot know what is in the minds of others. and must remain ignorant of other minds as well as of facts that s/he has not learned (such as the contents of private meetings by discreet individuals). cuando tú. As we will see in some detail in the next chapter. and a third person narrator may perform this. a traditional. Revealingly. We find this blurring of person cunningly represented in one of the “you” passages in Fuentes’ La Muerta de Artemio Cruz: “Cuando Catalina pegue el oído a la puerta que los separa y esuche tus movimentos.

Throughout the text. we have continuous narrative progression as seen through the eyes of a mobile though unmentioned focalizer. and Joyce could not resist planting a few stray private thoughts of one individual within the consciousness of an unwitting other in the later parts of Ulysses (see Peake 268–69). we learn that a terrible crime has been committed. Nikolai Gogol in his 1842 story.Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice /  one character may not be lodged within the mind of another without any intervening plausible explanation. Robbe-Grillet’s second published novel (1955). disclosing scenes that were unobserved. These rules. Petersburg at night in his new overcoat. beginning with “Three Reflected Visions” (1954): “Corridors” can be read as a series of inconsequential descriptions and unrelated events or. and generally assuming the prerogatives of a third person narrator—even as he complains that his memory is growing dim and he cannot recall all the details of the events he narrates. “The Overcoat. before going on to aver that there is no creeping into a man’s soul and finding out what he thinks. Gogol is obviously mocking these conventions and refusing to be bound by them. “In the Corridors of the Metro” (1959) is typical in this regard and represents a distillation of the techniques of many of the early short texts. however. he has been doing just that. however. hyperobjective acts of pure description. he is clearly telling his reader that when it comes to narration. Afterwards.” draws attention to both of these conventions. His first stories seem to be unconnected. A blank page in the text then appears. he sees a salacious figurine in a shop window and smiles. the rather ordinary thoughts of a certain Mathias are set forth minute by minute for a third of the book. In Le Voyeur. The narrator asks a few rhetorical questions concerning the cause of this smile. We can get a sense of some of these developments in the practice of narration and the representation of consciousness by glancing briefly at the way Alain Robbe-Grillet treats these related issues at different points in his career. revealing private thoughts. As his protagonist is strolling in the streets of St. have always been more frail and arbitrary than narrative theorists have usually wanted to acknowledge. Proust’s Marcel knows what transpires in Swann’s mind as well as any third person narrator could. and . each in fact plays with different facets of perception. “The Way Back” (1954) is a brief story that is significant for its exploration of the possibilities of “we” narration. he can do whatever he pleases—a sentiment many current novelists obviously share. if a single perceiving subject is postulated. Even the high modernists who perfected the verisimilar presentation of an individual consciousness could not resist violating these basic rules.

is in fact its narrator. as in “In The Corridors of the Metro. We have come to the end of a trajectory. as a character in the world he depicts. the doctor. / Chapter One Matthias seeks desperately to fill the void represented by those missing minutes. repetitions. One character asks a thirteen-year-old who they are. and may or may not be its narrator. as the epitome of either narrational objectivity or subjectivity. in the flagrantly and self-consciously contradictory narrative that makes up Projet pour une révolution à New York (1970). In his next novel. insistently prompt the reader to postulate a human eye (and ‘I’) behind the voice—not just a camera eye” (Transparent 207) All the events of this text are indeed perceived through the eyes of a figure who is never named or referred to. Robbe-Grillet employs what has been termed the je-néant or absent-I narrator. The narrator of La Maison de rendez-vous (1965) is. extreme subjectivity with a minimum of mediation. It is up to the reader to fill in the literally unspeakable crime that Mathias has clearly committed. As Dorrit Cohn points out. In Dans le labyrinthe (1959). “the changing angles of vision and spatial distances. he cannot begin to explain. and variations that. Robbe-Grillet ties up a confusing series of self-negating narrative strands by abruptly announcing that a minor character in the story. two men are seen in the bushes bordering a park. that is. We have. § . something of a cardboard figure that imperfectly represents a human being. Finally. the jealous husband. His narration is filled with contradictions. The inferred perceiver. thereby becoming the “voyeur” of the title. like every other figure in the text. including those noted by Cohn.” a most unusual figure that we might name the “hidden focalizer”. the narrator now is only an empty name to be parodied. the girl responds: “That’s easy: one is Ben-Said. Robbe-Grillet’s works from this period simultaneously flirt with an arch objectivism that goes far beyond the “camera eye” technique of a Dos Passos or Isherwood and also present an unusual. The work can be viewed. individualized perception without an identified perceiver. is certainly the sole focalizer of the text. and whose existence must be deduced from obscure hints hidden within the descriptions. the other is the narrator” (57). since it is not certain that he is responsible for the words of the book. La Jalousie (1957). as it were. this is very possibly a parody of a similar stratagem that had just been enacted by Camus (which I will shortly discuss). the obsessive repetitions of language and scene. Here we have instead.

In another sphere. Another recent theoretical essay should be mentioned here. Beckett and others demonstrate how third person narrators can erase the narrative world they have just created. Joyce’s third person narrations regularly incarnate what Hugh Kenner has called “the Uncle Charles principle. is fairly representative of its fall from favor among modernist and postmodern writers as well as theorists writing after Lubbock and Sartre. Henrik Nielsen’s analysis of . one which. And. and Jonathan Culler have recently qualified or debated the traditional notion of omniscience.7 Gordon Collier likewise examines “subjectivized third person narration” in Patrick White’s The Solid Mandala. . divine omniscience is not a model that helps us think about authors or about literary narration” (23). cannot have been fully known in advance of its reading. the words she might use to describe herself here find their way into the pen of the narrator.” which indicates the speaking subject is affected by the action depicted by the verb. the caretaker’s daughter. These examples do not begin to exhaust the many possibilities that recent writers have brought into being. “To Write: An Intransitive Verb?. . Barthes (Barthes) states: “‘he’ is nasty: it is the nastiest word in the language: the pronoun of the non-person. as Culler states. Hypertext narrators further problematize the idea of omniscience and even of third person narration by creating a series of narrative possibilities that a reader must then convert into a single story. If I say ‘he’ of someone.” Roland Barthes resurrected the archaic linguistic form of “the middle voice. Indeed. as we may observe in the opening sentence of “The Dead”: “Lily.Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice /  The third person is not what it used to be. was literally run off her feet”. William Nelles (“Omnisicence”). it nullifies and mortifies its referent. despite his playfully extreme language. I always have in mind a sort of murder by language” (171). Other theorists like Audrey Jaffe. Roland Barthes’ denunciation of it. In his essay. Dorrit Cohn (Distinction 132–49) and Margot Norris (216–36) show how the third person narrators of Thomas Mann and James Joyce display a demonstrable and idiosyncratic subjectivity that often makes them less than fully reliable.” in which the discourse of the narrator is infiltrated by language typical of the character being described. . by definition. “the fundamental point is that since we do not know whether there is a God and what she might know. as we will see in a later chapter. to represent the practice of the modern scripteur. introducing a critical term that we should probably expect to see more widely used in studies to come. and Brian Macaskill (1994) and Mario Ortiz-Robles (2004) have shown how this concept can be employed in the analysis of specific narratives.

only by the end of the tale do we realize that the narrator has been describing himself all along. This statement is clearly false. Rieux. the story of a cowardly traitor. the narrator who has guided us through the novel reveals himself to be the principal character.” in which a monologist appears to be speaking about another but is in fact unwittingly referring to scenes from her own life. does not accept person” (247). Robbe-Grillet’s more radical appropriation of this move in Dans le labyrinthe. “Not I. we need to posit an impersonal voice of the narrative” (133). as we will see. which changes the novel from a heterodiegetic to a homodiegetic one. we may note in passing. In other works that utilize this device for different purposes. discusses this example in Narrative Discourse (243–47) only to conclude.10 / Chapter One the impersonal voice in first person fiction. Dr. And what of the opposition itself? The distinction Genette finds so foundational (and which Stanzel and others cover by referring to fundamental first and third person narrative standpoints) is one which many recent writers cannot resist inverting. others are complicating our notion of first person narration. I will take a couple of pages to delineate some of the more interesting transgressions.8 . as the alternation between a “you” and a “he” is revealed in the end to be a spurious distinction. At the end of Camus’ La Peste (1947). a text that constitutes a sustained. as Didier Husson (1991) has noted. self-conscious exploration of pronominal positions. that “the Borgesian fantastic. calls into question the real significance of a relation that can be altered so easily. for now we may simply point to Beckett’s Company. for the entirety of the novel he has disguised his identity and spoken of himself in the third person. Borges’ protagonist recounts. which argues compellingly that in literary fiction. and therefore . In “The Shape of the Sword” (1944). . and identify a dramatic analogue in Beckett’s appropriately titled short play. the plot of the story and its reception is precisely about the consequences of person in narration. we might even state that part of the plot is the determination of the true identity of the narrator’s relation to the discourse. in the third person. . The same strategy also appears in other works of these two authors. We may term this specific practice a “pseudo–third person” narrative. Genette. “one cannot be certain that it is the person referred to as ‘I’ who speaks or narrates. a futile attempt by an isolated individual to engender company. Since these playful joustings with this convention deserve to be better known. rather strangely. If some theorists are demonstrating the subjectivity of much third person fiction. in this respect emblematic of a whole modern literature.

‘N’ has interviewed all the participants in order to gain the copious evidence of their thoughts. most flagrantly. 2001) also include this transformation. This innovation in narration is much more widespread in practice than is generally acknowledged. Murdoch. in which the protagonist. Once again. Bradamante. The strategy of narration thus tends to negate the ideological valence implicit in the story’s teleology. focalizer. The Golden Notebook (as interpreted by Beth Boehm). Evidently. write accurately as a third person teller seemingly privy to the thoughts of others. we are presented with what I would call a pseudo-second person narrative. Ian McEwan (Atonement. but it is one who turns out to be merely a character who uses her imagination to attempt to intuit the probable or possible thoughts of the others. including Raimbaut’s pursuit of the amazonian warrior. it is a third-person narrative of the postmodern adventures of several of Charlemagne’s paladins.Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice / 11 Another text that contains abrupt revelations or complications of the actual gendered identity of the narrator is Calvino’s The Nonexistent Knight (1959). Novels by Anthony Powell (A Dance to the Music of Time. however. within the bounds of realism. that of the (con)quest of the female. The other narrators tend to be rather less scrupulous concerning the sources of their apparent knowledge of other minds. the narrator first appears to be a traditional third person teller. 2000). a third person text is abruptly transformed into a more subjective narrative perspective. At the beginning. but is revealed in the end to be “involved in the action with the characters of the story world. feelings. and governing . in Iris Murdoch’s The Philosopher’s Pupil (1983). Margaret Atwood (The Blind Assassin.10 The same move can be made with the second person. 1969). Margaret Drabble (The Waterall. that is. demonstrates how a first person narrator might possibly. In Joyce Carol Oates’s story “You” (1970). and motivations that would usually be plausible only as funneled through an external authorial narrator” (41). in the case of McEwan this produces a kind of pseudo-focalization in which the thoughts of several individuals are presented as if by an omniscient third person narrator. 1975). Doris Lessing’s 1962 novel. The first third of the story seems to be a straightforward example of what I will call standard second person narration. At the end of the text she again employs the first person and discloses that she is in fact the very Bradamante she had been describing in the third person—and as the object of a male quest.9 And as Suzanne Keen explains. Some thirty pages into the novella. the author of the narrative makes her presence known and reveals herself to be a nun in a convent who is trying to imagine the foreign scenes she recounts. and.

“in the novel [the] distinction between the three grammatical persons is much less rigorous than it can be in everyday life. Such an assumption is strengthened by narration that seems to depict the stream of thoughts of the titular character: “It strikes you that this is an important scene.” that can be so easily inverted. and all our train. as the text’s play with the conventions of narration and its reception is disclosed. All of these examples follow the same logic: the nature and identity of the narrator becomes itself a miniature drama as a familiar narrating situation is established throughout the text only to be utterly transformed at the end. You might be in a play. it and me. one narration is collapsed into another. the plot of the narrative and the poignancy of the events turn on the revelation of the narrator’s actual identity. Not one of those crappy television plays . perhaps.” (365). of her mother’s life. a first person narrator emerges. from the third person to the first.11 The foundation that Genette and others would use to ground their models of narrative is far more tenuous than usually imagined. And it will be noted that the move is always away from traditional objectivity and omniscience. it’s all the same dream. physical and mental. it turns out that the tale’s narrator is the neglected teenage daughter. an emotional scene. or a foreign text inscribes itself on a mind. the seemingly daring narrative “you” is instead a more conventional apostrophe. . Once again. and only lasts until the whim of the author intervenes. to draw on a self-reflexive statement on this subject by one of Beckett’s speakers in Stories and Texts for Nothing that articulates the fluidity (and. and one consciousness bleeds into a second one. The heterodiegetic narrator outside the story turns out to have been in there all along. revealing the artificiality of a perspective. A little more than a third of the way into the story. him and me.12 Or. . and all theirs. the same silence. the possible arbitrariness) of such differentiations: “it wonders. there’s no telling. however. People are watching you anxiously. As Michel Butor has clarified in one of his theoretical essays. The conventional practice is deployed until it is turned inside out. they are linked to each other” (Inventory 62). the story of another is revealed to be the story of oneself. These anti-mimetic interpenetrations can take numerous forms. In contemporary fiction. that voice which is silence. or it’s me. and all theirs” (139).12 / Chapter One consciousness of the text is a single figure designated by the second person pronoun. such as the extremely odd third person narra- . and the “you” refers entirely to the daughter’s imaginative construction of the probable events. it and him. whether designated “third person” or “heterodiegetic.

Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice / 13 tion of much of Beckett’s Watt (1953) which is abruptly “claimed” by a first person narrator. There is a similar movement from the psychological novel to more impressionistic renderings of consciousness to the dissolution of consciousness into textuality. metaleptic form of this conflation appears in Borges’ story “The Circular Ruins” (1940).and heterodiegesis. Up to this point. it can serve as a foretaste of the kinds of extreme acts of narration I will cover in this book. The narrative further contains interpolations of one speaker’s thoughts within the mind of another. non-human. Narrators can diverge from normal human speakers in still more ways. that someone else is dreaming him. perspective. The basic categories of first and third person narration or homo. we can in fact observe a number of distinct yet complementary trajectories these innovations have taken. There is a general move away from what was thought to be “omniscient” third person narration to limited third person narration to ever more unreliable first person narrators to new explorations of “you. according to Katheryn Hayles. Sam. and narration over the past fifty years.” “we. I have tried to identify the most interesting and striking deployments of voice. halfway through the book—an act which unmoors both narrative perspectives since a character narrator should not have been able to produce the text we have been reading up to the point of his admission of authorship. And occasionally. temporally distant speaker. opens with a preface narrated by one who states: “For two hundred years I have listened to the many-tongued chorus. as the figure of the narrator as a recognizable human being recedes into an ever greater eclipse. I have discovered those of my own children” (1). but simply by a daring auctorial fiat. among the sundry restless voices.” and mixed forms. planted there not by any naturalistic knowledge or preternatural telepathy. These are not random changes. The narrator at the beginning of Caryl Phillips’ Crossing the River. and anti-human speakers. and a corresponding move from human-like narrators to quasi-human. a novel composed of four novellas separated in time and space. which culminates in the protagonist’s realization that he and his thoughts are an illusion. This gesture both conveys the sense of a traditional tribute to the ancestors and explores the realm of a posthuman sensibility which. An extreme. themselves based on foundational linguistic oppositions articulated by Benveniste. are repeatedly problematized and violated . “privileges informational pattern over material instantiation” (2). Still other types of contaminated subjectivities will be noted in the description of “conflated narrators” below.

since it can refer to the protagonist. In the remaining paragraphs of this chapter. Among the virtues of these pronominal stances is the protean range of each: “you” is particularly devious. a rummage sale”). though in a more subtle manner. It can also approximate the ordinary function of the pronoun “one” in its “recipe” function (e. and perhaps unnerving narrational stances: the “you” and the “we” forms. and then go on to devote a chapter each to the three most important forms: second person. important. ironically.g. Monique Wittig has written a novel from the perspective of “one” (on). working models. oscillating between the functions of the first and the third person. it can grow or shrink to accommodate very different sized groups and can either include or exclude the reader. the narrator. it was translated into English as a “you” narration (to the horror of the author). The German equivalent. I will describe the range of pronominal perspectives that have been employed in narration in recent years. man. It also can be used in three different ways: in its standard form. as if it was felt that the “one” narration would be too alienating. first person plural. and theoretical conceptualizations of this neglected twentiethcentury tradition of non. Fludernik notes that there are three novels that extensively employ this mode. In L’Opoponax (1964).and anti-mimetic fiction. the narratee. also typically rejects the basic dyad of first and third person..13 This analysis will conclude with a flexible model of the varieties of contemporary narration at the end of the fourth chapter.14 / Chapter One by experimental writers. is dominant in many successive paragraphs near the beginning of Adalbert Stifter’s “Bergkristall” (1845). The second part of the book will go on to explore a number of other salient and even more transgressive techniques typical of postmodernism before setting forth a workable model of the narrative transaction capacious enough to include these unruly practices. authors using this form regularly play on this ambiguity as well as on its multiple possible meanings. this pronominal form can also refer to the reader holding the book. and multiperson modes. The rest of this book is intended to provide broad analyses. “We” is fluid in a different way. For the most part neither of the major theoretical approaches can begin to comprehend this plethora of new work for the simple reason that it rejects the type of mimetic representation that both theories presuppose. We may begin with the two most widespread. Other forms are considerably less common but equally interesting. a bar. finally. the first of which . or the reader. it designates a protagonist. “Begin by meeting him in a class. It too.

Couldn’t. Thus. “Na. Finally. tried to find her own voice. But still loved to write. have sections of their works written in a passive voice that dissolves the agency of individual characters. make the same confident claim with all the examples I am assembling here.14 Third person forms have also seen some interesting variations. There are brief “it” passages.” can be transformed and defamiliarized by dividing the letters that compose the word in French (j/e). as we will see below. Loved to play with language” [115]) and is thus perfectly suited to embody the story’s titular theme and oscillates oddly between first and third person perspectives.” George Perec’s similarly named novel Les Choses. autobiographies written in the third person such as Caesar’s Gallic Wars or The Education of Henry Adams are nevertheless related from a first person standpoint.” to refer to all people regardless of gender. there comes a point when the theorist notes that what is meant by first or third person narration is not the pronoun being used. This is equally the case with still stranger examples such as Henry James’ awkward use of “one” to refer to himself at the beginning of The American Scene or Rimbaud’s use of “he” to designate a past self the writer felt he had discarded. Joseph Conrad and Maurice Roche. in The cook and the carpenter. two chapters of Mary McCarthy’s The Group. H. these also appear in the work of Beckett. created a gender neutral pronoun. that intimate presentation of a single . likewise. In almost all books that center on narration. Other works depict a collective subject largely or entirely designated by the pronoun “they”: D. Kathy Acker’s story “Humiliation” (1990) is written entirely in a prose devoid of pronouns that thwarts individual agency (“Since wanted to be a writer. Other feminist authors have further extended the parameters of third person fiction. as Fludernik has noted. one may address oneself in the second person without transcending the normal boundaries of the position of the first person.Introduction: Transgressing Self and Voice / 15 is Joseph Roth’s Radetzkymarsch (1932). I cannot. “I. I am not certain what to do with Kathy Acker’s essentially pronounless narration. June Arnold.” Wittig’s subject is further limited to the female “they” form (elles) that is possible in French. as Monique Wittig does in Le Corps lesbien (1973) as she once again seeks a form of narration that will represent a distinct female experience. however. and Monique Wittig’s novel Les Guérillères. in Christopher Isherwood’s A Single Man and in John Fowles’ Mantissa. but the position of the narrator. and much of the discourse of Nathalie Sarraute’s later novels refers almost exclusively to a “they. we should also observe how a traditional narrative stance. Lawrence’s story “Things.

16 / Chapter One subjectivity that occasionally uses a third person genitive pronoun. We will pause here and treat this and the more extreme examples just noted as typical instances of the conceptual indeterminability and defamiliarizing power of such innovative techniques that will be discussed at length in the three chapters that follow. This ambiguity is precisely the point of the story: her practice thus represents an evacuation of agency.” One presumes that this kind of narration would normally occupy a third person position. though in this example Acker seems to be making it do the normal work of the first person. such as “her. .

” 1924 Ignazio Silone.” 1981 Mark Helprin. 1989 Jeffrey Eugenides. 1971 Ayi Kwei Armah.” 1954 Mauro Senesi.” 1930. 12 Million Black Voices. 1975 Pierre Silvain. . “A Rose for Emily. Les noces d’or. Tu ne t’aimes pas. 1992 Julio Cortázar. Kanthapura. die Sängerin.” 1964 Gabriele Wohmann. 1987 John Barth. 1938 Richard Wright. and Laendisches Fest. Fontemara. “North Lights” in Ellis Island and Other Stories.” 1931. Lazare. La Case du commandeur. oder Das Volk der Mäuse. NArrAtiVes EntireLY or LArGeLY in tHe “We” ForM Franz Kafka. 1971. “Shingles for the Lord. “The Way Back.” 1931. 1981 Edouard Glissant. .” 1931. “The Giraffe. 1941 Alain Robbe-Grillet.” 1932. stories in Gegenangriff. 1930 William Faulkner. Les Eoliennes. in The Teachings of Don B. Mahogany.” 1935.” 1948 Raja Rao. 1993 141 .. “Divorce in Naples. Sabbatical. “Queremos Tanto a Glenda. 1982 Joan Chase.” 1943. 1981 ———.Bibliography of “We” Narratives appendix 1. “A Courtship. The Virgin Suicides. 1974 Donald Barthelme. “Death Drag. During the Reign of the Queen of Persia. . “We dropped in at the Stanhope . Two Thousand Seasons. 1983 Nathalie Sarraute. “Josephina. “That Will Be Fine. 1973 Arlette and Robert Brechon. “A Justice.” 1963 Michael Butor. “That Evening Sun. “La Gare St.” 1978.

We. 1931 Gertrude Stein. 1999 3. 1857 Yevgeny Zamyatin.’ 1899 Henri Barbusse. Chapter 15. The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus. Malemort. A Grain of Wheat. “Immortality” and “Persimmons. Many Pretty Toys. “Alma Pura. Ways of Dying. 1967 Edouard Glissant. Los Cachorros.” 2005 2. 1924 Victor Serge. Everybody’s Autobiography. Tracks. 1951 Carlos Fuentes. 1991 Jean Echenois. beginning of Madame Bovary. 1999 Jill McCorkle. L’Innommable. NArrAtiVes witH SiGnificAnt Sections in tHe “We” ForM Gustave Flaubert. “Billy Goats. 1992 Patrick Chamoiseau. 1947 Samuel Beckett. 1997 Joyce Carol Oates. 1967 Toni Morrison. 1995 Patrick Chamoiseau. Nous trois. The Bluest Eye. NArrAtiVes SuBstAntiALLY in tHe “We” ForM Joseph Conrad. Speak Memory. Feu. Broke Heart Blues. 1970 Julia Alvarez. 1975 Louise Erdrich.” 1937 Albert Camus. Compact. “The Noutéka of the Hills” (121–31). L’Esclave vieil homme et le molosse.142 / Appendix Zakes Mda. 1916 Mario Vargas Llosa. 1966 Ngugi wa Thiong’o. How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents. “America.” 2001 Yiyun Lee. Texaco. La Peste. Chapter 4. Naissance de notre force. 1950 Vladimir Nabokov.” 1964 Maurice Roche. 1988 Hazard Adams. 1992 .

See his very different critique of treating the narrator in anthropomorphic terms (76–82). 8. For a stimulating account of the ideological maneuverings of female authors who employ male narrators. See William Nelles’ article. see Stanzel 192–93. see Scott Simpkins’ 1992 article on “narrative cross dressing” in Sand and Shelley.” for a perceptive overview of some of these techniques. they do not know what went on in their subject’s mind.notes Notes to CHApter 1 1. This thesis on the gendering of narrators in turn is further corroborated from a different angle by Daniel Punday’s canny work on the implicitly embodied form of even the most austere narrators (2003: 149–84). who affirms that “the voice tries to give life to a ‘you’ lying on his back in the dark by telling him his whole life story from beginning to end” (431). see Margolin (1990). even this relation can be skewed in unexpected ways. 4. “Beyond the Bird’s Eye: Animal Focalization. unlike the novelist. 3. 7. And as we will see in Chapter Five. For a different reading of the play of voice and narration in this work. 143 . 6. I am here using the translation and paraphrasing of Patrick O’Neill (76). I discuss these and similar cases in a forthcoming article on postmodern authors as fictional characters. 5. 2. Even those contemporary biographers or historians who “record” the thoughts of their protagonists are making educated guesses. For an earlier discussion of the “contamination” of the narrator’s language by that of a character.

7.144 / Notes to Chapters 1–3 9. For a discussion of the narrative ethics of such a practice. creating an . 5. 12. I am going to write it for you. I am here building on Fludernik’s excellent account (1994) in Natural Narrative. which concludes with the following admission: “About six weeks ago Gertrude Stein said. 6. see Teresa de Lauretis’s excellent article. however. “Reading the (Post) Modern Text. it does not look to me as if you were ever going to write that autobiography. DelConte makes a comparable point. This passage is translated by and cited in Ann Jefferson (1980: 100). Toklas (1933). . that the narrative’s “you” does address a female reader for six pages. such as Donald Barthelme’s short text. see Phelan (2005). and Kacandes (157–62). van Rossum-Guyon (114–74). “We dropped in at the Stanhope . You know what I am going to do. 232–35). For a thorough discussion of gender and the reader(s) of this novel. for it manifests in narrative technique the notion that someone or something outside of yourself dictates your thoughts and actions” (205). issues of omniscience do not arise. . see Felber (1995. after which Calvino seems to need to reassure the male reader that the book is not losing sight of him (139–40). 156–61). see Fludernik’s bibliography (1994). observing that this novel suggests “that in the eighties. 224–36. .” Notes to CHApter 2 1. 10. who considers many second person texts as works in “the apostrophic mode” (2001. . 11. The only work I am aware of that moves in the opposite direction is Gertrude Stein’s Autobiography of Alice B. she provides a good introduction to many of the more famous and extreme forms of narration in the nouveau roman. free choice was illusory. In the end its effect is rather like that of Norman Mailer describing himself in the third person in The Armies of the Night (1968). Jonathan Holden similarly observes that “most poems that deploy the blurred-you are far more effective when delivered by the poet in person to a live audience” (54). 13. . for example. 3. for additional items. On the differences between French. See.” the “we” speaker remains unidentified throughout. see Fludernik (1996. In rare cases. 2. Second-person narration exemplifies this cultural climate. see Morrissette (“You” 13–18). 14. For a theoretically informed account of Powell’s practice. see Schofield (1999). 141–96). Irene Kacandes. Since this is a nonfictional work.” In it she notes. And she has and this is it” (252). Drabble’s novel will be discussed below. . Passias. German. It might be noted that the English translation does not employ the pronoun “one” to translate “man. Carlos Fuentes’ La Muerta de Artemio Cruz is the only text I know of to use the future tense for standard second person narration. Notes to CHApter 3 1. 4. For several other titles. and English usages and implications of this pronoun. For additional discussion of the shifting of pronouns in Butor.

For an analysis of Glissant’s three “we” novels. as Paul Brians points out (39). however. There may even be an allegorical image of this preternatural narrator in the figure of the captain. . one Yukon Native begins the story of her life with a history of her nation. on the relation between Glissant and Chamoiseau. Jakob Lothe identifies two main kinds of narrator. 13. who states that the text “deconstructs the subject who narrates by juxtaposing a third-person narrative voice that refers to the crew as ‘they’ with a first person voice that says ‘we’” (27).Notes to Chapter 3 / 145 irreversible estrangement effect. our destination the village at the end of the road” (5). 3. “We” narratives continue to proliferate and gain recognition: two of the stories in Yiyun Li’s prize-winning collection. seem to hear nothing. 10. Ian Watt identifies a single narrator. however. occasionally possess surprisingly detailed knowledge of situations she is unlikely to have encountered. “She does not even get to her own birth until page 52 (and then it is buried in a long list of her brother and sisters arranged in birth order)” (174). see every fleeting shadow of their ship’s life” (125). see Dawn Fulton. Even during this scene. the “‘narrator as character’ (I as personal pronoun)”. who is said to be “one of those commanders who speak little. 4. 2. she states that “there are only twenty-four houses in the village. waiting until from longing we joined them. For an exhaustive account of these possibilities from the perspective of linguistics. see Celia Britton. the other heterodiegetic “they as personal pronoun” (97). look at no one—and know everything. 11. This seems tiny indeed. specifically. there is a significant return to a collective consciousness that is signaled by the reversion to “we” form: the solidarity of the men reappears while they selflessly work to free Wait from his berth below deck (66–73). 12. see Margolin (“Telling” 116–19). and goes on to claim that these two basic narrating perspectives are repeatedly modified and fused. the histories of her mother and other close relatives. Thus. We would all be together on the journey then. as “they” merges with “we. hear every whisper. 9. who argues that Conrad’s narrative technique is “more controlled and more inventive than he has generally been given credit for” (170) and Bruce Hendricksen. 7. 5. Monika Fludernik has identified a number of other texts that alternate “we” and “I” narration. Others postulate two (or even more) narrators. his inexplicable omniscience is an apt analogue for the oscillating perspectives of the uncanny voice of the text. The fusion of recently deceased tribesmen in the collective living subject. one homodiegetic. ultimately he identifies six types of narrating positions. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers (2005). “a special kind of privileged narrator who functions as a collective voice (101).” deserves quotation: “They would sit in the snow outside the door. until we realize she is counting the houses of Brahmins” (34). As Brians notes. and the origin myth of her people. are written in the first person plural. More helpful perspectives on Conrad’s play with voice are offered by John Lester. She does. Still others find the text’s narration to be a mistake: Jeremy Hawthorn refers to the work’s “technical confusions in the manipulations of narrative perspective and distance” (101) and Marvin Mudrick condemns Conrad’s “gross violation of point of view” (72). 8. 6. these include Mauro Senesi’s “The Giraffe” (1963).

for example. a practice which the disgusted I strenuously resists. Laurence’s The Fire Dwellers. 9. 2. . in rendering the experience of childhood or of rural life. as the following sentence suggests. 7. 15. we read her first person accounts through his eyes.146 / Notes to Chapters 3 & 4 Gabriele Wohman’s “Fahrplan” (1968). “To get there you follow/one follows Highway 58. see Fludernik. 4. Fludernik notes that in these cases the we text usually represents an extended first person narrative. only to deny the importance of person as a category of narrative analysis. 6. see Suleiman. Woller (346–48). 245n). the rational self speaks in the first person. 76–78. “and it therefore includes the first-person narrator in a larger community of playmates or village folk” (“Natural” 224).” Genette also describes several interesting examples of alternating persons in Narrative Discourse (243–47). Drabble’s The Waterfall. For a more extended discussion of this pronominal strategy. John Barth’s Sabbatical (1982). and Jean Echenois’ Nous trois (1992). 8. and always depicts the id in the third person. Fulton (1113n3). Genette simply asserts that “the collective witness as narrator” is an unremarkable variant of homodiegetic narration (1980. 5. Stanzel’s A Theory of Narrative. 14. who points toward a more fluid model of the narrative transaction in “Critical Constitution of the Literary Text: The Example of Ulysses. the most recent criticism and theory of “we” narrations often explicitly rejects the parameters of realism: Britton (136). “Persons. Two important partial exceptions to this practice are Franz K. the id keeps attempting to use the first person plural. That is. Interestingly. see Andrew Brown (123–25). Much subjunctive second person narration could be rewritten using “one” instead of “you” with little change in meaning. novels written by a protagonist that at times refers to himself in the third person. . for example. some of which are necessarily slighted in my summary remarks. Thus. Notes to CHApter 4 1. For additional discussion of how women and gays have used the second person and other uncommon pronominal forms to combat stereotyping and enhance potential reader identification.” while the “I” can take “its place beyond convention” (35). which includes a fine discussion of alternating first and third person pronominal reference in. Indeed. see Ostrovsky. Barthes had affirmed that “‘he’ is a typical novelistic convention. The specific novels referred to here are Atwood’s The Edible Woman.” This similarity may have led Wittig’s translator to use the English word “you” to render the ubiquitous . See the appendix to this volume for still more titles of other recent “we” narratives. For a compelling overview of the book’s narrative stances. and Hazard Adams. See Cohn (Distinction 163–80) for a sound refutation of this farfetched notion. . In Writing Degree Zero. 3. For a perspicacious account of the complexities of Barthes’s position. such as Henry Esmond (99–110). 44–49. The few times we encounter the woman expressing herself in the first person occur primarily when her nemesis discovers and reads her old journals and letters the better to manipulate her.” 10.

This is equally true of a third superficially similar type: in La Chute. are then stated to be merely allegorical depictions of the men being ravished by honor. see Dearlove (64–67).” see Thwaites. which resists transformation [into conventional categories of narration] because the questions ‘Womb? Weary?. I believe the examples adduced here show instead that denarration effectively undoes the earlier assertions. as is the case with other statements (false statements. The earliest example of this “interpretive” kind of denarration that I am familiar with occurs in the ninth canto of Camões’ The Lusiads. As Monika Fludernik observes. 2. 217). one encounters narratological “difficulties at the end of the episode. Senn. In addition to compelling examples from Pynchon. who asserts that “the ‘erased’ state of affairs still persists. but you won’t find these personifications here [in Senn’s work]” (45). Here I must disagree with Brian McHale. in which the riotous adventures of Vasco da Gama’s crew on the Island of the Blessed. if only as a kind of optical afterimage” (1987: 99). 99). so that the same sentence may contain an observation and its immediate negation” (New Novel. so that the present moment not only repeats another moment belonging to the past. For useful discussions of textual negations in Molloy. watching us. and the present moments or states of which it is made up. . partially repeating that person’s replies and responding to his questions as they occur or are imagined (“You are in business. but these are constantly in the process of contesting themselves. it should be noted. which concentrates on Beckett’s fiction after 1972.’ and ‘Where’ cannot be interpreted realistically or made to tally with the preceding description of Bloom’s posture in his bed” (“Ithaca. Notes to CHApter 5 1. lies) once we learn the actual state of affairs. typographical errors. destroying themselves. after being described with brio. no doubt? In a way? Excellent response!” [8]). who observes that “Time. 5. 4. For an excellent recent discussion of the catechistic form of “Ithaca. a difference I suspect is rooted in divergent narrative persons. rendering them as if they had not occurred. 6.Notes to Chapters 4 & 5 / 147 “on” of L’Opoponax. Hill (72–78). and Connor (56–63). 33. 3. but reconstitutes that moment” (62). Brooke-Rose. mouth open. jeopardizing themselves. the narrator Clamence appears to be telling a story to an offstage audient. 7. The most thorough treatment of this general phenomenon can be found in Carla Locatelli’s Unwording the World. is endlessly reimagined.’ ‘When. there is no lack of events.” 94–95). in McHale. has no use for Hayman’s arranger: “If you want to label this entity—it or him or why not her or them?—Narrator or arranger you are in good critical company. 8. It will be helpful to quote Robbe-Grillet’s description of Beckett’s use of this practice: “in Beckett.’ ‘With. McHale cites the actual erasing of events in Clarence Major’s Reflex and Bone Structure: “It’s Dale who stands there. 9. I erase him” (20. and others. Sukenik. cited in Begam. Wittig’s subsequent annoyance over this choice suggests an important difference between the two.

It can also function as a generative narrator. 17. such as Susan S. entirely agree with Begam’s conclusion. E. 2. see Kristin Morrison’s book on narration in the drama of Beckett and Pinter (214–18). See Nünning for a thorough refutation of many of these conceptions. On the posthumanist implications of Beckett’s assault on the concept of personal identity. one refers to the act of stroking his moustache. see Rabinovitz (95–101). 3. see Phelan (2005. 49–53). There are of course still more possibilities. For a more nuanced and compelling framing of this issue that suggests Beckett “expresses an openness to the possibility of an extralinguistic personal force” that is “quite compatible with The Unnamable’s suspicion of the knowing voice” (54–55). For an overview and bibliography of narration in drama. 2. see Porter Abbott (1996: 52–62 and passim). however. or believe to be defensible. 16. Beckett does not allow us to move beyond it via a Derridean notion of écriture. This is the only one of several definitions still circulating that I will defend. see Phelan (2005. H. see my articles on the subject (the later of which is partially reproduced in this chapter). “Beneath the apparent and artificial diversity of traditional associations is the universal figure of a self coming into being via its self-perceptions. esp. 3. at one point. who earlier had identified comparable distinctions. 149–55). Such a stance ultimately begs the question “a self” and “his own” narration. For a catalogue of statements in the trilogy relevant to this debate. Porter Abbott discusses this kind of narrational slippage from a different perspective in his chapter on Beckett in Diary Fiction (201–2). for the most capacious model of unreliability (which includes six types). that the space of the in-between “not only refuses to resolve itself into either of these two terms but renders impossible their very articulation” (156). This unresolved opposition of both terms remains. several of which have been set forth by Gary Adelman (2004). 15. . nuanced critical summary of this debate. I do not. 14. 73. it is opposed to scholars like J. Eyal Amiran also agues for an ultimately unified position (116–22). For an excellent. see Eric Levy (1980: 70 and passim) and Begam (17–25. The reading I will be offering tends to corroborate the critical position set forth by Andrew Kennedy. 38–49). of a narrator creating himself through his own narration” (61). as it does in cases of Cocteau and Benmussa described below. I am here both drawing on and straying from Emma Kafalenos’ ingenious narratological account of indeterminacy in postmodern fiction (1992). 67–75. 13. For a deft analysis of the interplay of voice and text in this play. 11. Notes to CHApter 6 1. Cohn’s paper (“Discordant”) identifies other theorists. It is also the case that Eliot’s narrators present themselves as male.148 / Notes to Chapters 5–7 10. Notes to CHApter 7 1. Dearlove who asserts. Lanser. 12. positions Beckett resolutely undermines.

For a discussion of the postmodernism of Ulysses. some individual voices do emerge. 14. say. 15. see Nelles. xxxvi). see Hazard Adams. Genette makes this statement after adducing the admittedly monovocal work of collaborators like the brothers Goncourt.” 17. “One fancies Mr. 12. Naturally. For a recent discussion of this issue. journal entries. see Nelles’ discussion of Gulliver’s Travels (43–45). As David Hawkes notes in his introduction. I develop this position at length in my article. The best account of the gender of reading remains Patrocinio Schweickart’s foundational essay. only that one may bring external evidence (essays. For another example of a clear distinction of a discontinuous historical author. which he tentatively calls prosopopaea. implied author.” in which she states: “Reader response cannot take refuge in the objectivity of the text. 18. feministinflected second chapter). For an elaborate schema employing eleven different levels including the actual author. “Reading Ourselves. 25–44 and 192–206.” 10. the arranger. the narrator. the final chapters seem to be written by “someone who was very familiar with [Tsao’s] drafts and wanted a different ending” (18). “The Other Reader’s Response. there is a pronounced shift in tone between the farcical first chapter and the much more serious. Notes to CHApter 8 1. See also pp. conversations with friends) to bear on this question in a way that is pointless concerning. and caused to produce an excellent parody of himself. The reviewer for The Nation wrote. as if in spite of himself” (Bendixen.” 2. who concludes that its historical author “is composed of at least seven flesh-and blood people. See Aarseth (1997) for a nuanced discussion of this issue (162–67). and narratee. Or perhaps it is that all authors of Harlequin romances aspire to reproduce the tone and sensibility of same implied author. 9. 5. “The Critical Constitution of the Literary Text” (90–110). etc. “Bad Joyce. James hypnotically persuaded to take his place in the circle between facetious Mr. 6. See Ferrer (1990. “(Im)plying” 156–59. “The Genealogies of Ulysses. among whom the initial creator is by far the least concrete” (“Implied” 23). see Lanser.Notes to Chapters 7 & 8 / 149 4. . he does not consider any of the more challenging cases I mention below. our notion of the historical author. This does not imply that there is any easy way to determine such a correspondence. 65–96) for an extended discussion of the oddities of this kind of narration.. geographical correspondences. For a magisterial account of the multiple yet unknowable identity of the actual authors and redactors of Beowulf. 13. see my article. [John Kendrick] Bangs and soulful Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 11. 8. or even in the idea that a genderneutral criticism is possible” (38–39). they do not perfectly blend together into a single implied author (for example. 7. I pursue this analysis further in my article. 16.

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4–5. and narrator. Honoré de. Kathy. John. Arnold. 120 Barbuse. 148n13 Acker. . 43 Barnes.” 144n1. 10. Henri. The Singular Life of Albert Nobbs. 4. 148n14. “You Are as Brave as Vincent van Gogh. Porter. Alfred. 149n4 161 . Samuel. 92–93. 123 anti-poetics. Richard. 131. 28. 124. 87. See also narrative. 148n12. Stories and Texts for Nothing. Flaubert’s Parrot.” 3. 97–102. 100. “The Calmative. 125–29. 96–97. . 35–36 Alvarez. The Unnamable. “We Dropped in at the Stanhope . 118–19 Beckett. 146n1. 52 Amis. 89–90. 12–13. 132–33. 149n4 Beowulf. 109 Bennett. implied.” 105 Barthes. Company. actual. 103–4. Feu.index Aarseth. 114– 33. 82. Malone Dies. 88 Ben-Zvi. Molloy. 73. 9. 35. 95. 115–16. 90. 116 Bal. Julia. “Fizzle 4. forged.” 102. “Cascando. 149n7 Benmussa.” 110–11. 18 Armah. Kingsley. Espen. 135–40. H. 66–67. 116 autobiography. 54 Aichinger. The cook and the carpenter.” 20. Ilse. 4. Hazard. 116. 120 author. 95. 83–84. Linda. 138–39 Begam.” 108. 76. 7. Two Thousand Seasons.” 15–16 Adams. 105. Julian. 31. 12. 150n18 Abbott. . 5. 148n17 Bendixen. 149n13. Roland. Mieke. Watt. June. 117–20. unnatural apostrophe. Donald. Ayi Kwei. 95–96. 15 arranger. “Not I. Sabbatical. pseudonymous. 49 Arnold. How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents. The Old Wives’ Tale. “Spiegelgeschichte. “Humiliation. 124–29. Worstward Ho. Many Pretty Toys. Simone. 38 Barthelme. 134 Beatles. 119–20. 4 Barth. 114 Balzac.

Denis.. 6..” 80–81 disnarrated.” 10 Bouloumié. Matt. “Borges and I. 131–36 Coppola. 42. 69–70 Cocteau. Lazare. During the Reign of the Queen of Persia.” 116 Cervantes. Sofia. Bertold. 57. 52–53 Cortázar. offstage voice in. The Infernal Machine. La Chute. 66. 65–66. 139 Chaucer. 138. “We Love Glenda So Much. 58. Luis Vas de. 128. 125. Thru. 108–10 Duras. 35–36. 55. 88 Djebar. the. Andrew. Italo.” 19. Paul. Albert. Dermot. Finbar’s Hotel. 11. 125. L’Amant. “La Gare St. 39. 109 Cobham.” 48 Culler. “Forrest. J. 22 Booth. 136 Chambers. 107. 145n8 Britton. Guillaume. Lord. 72. 116 denarration. Celia. Christine. 9 Connor. 2. Fyodor. M. 3. 106–13. 21–22. 117. 50 character narrator. perspective. 144n4 de Lorris. 148n17 Diamond. The Nigger of the ‘Narcissus. 127–29 Borges. 148n13 Defoe. Michel. 51. Jonathan. 10. 19. 131 Cixous. Charles. 8. 125 Dearlove. Geoffrey. “A King Listens. 146n5 Bunyan. Foe. 80 Diderot. Beth. 2. 108–9 Coetzee. Teresa. 132. 148n10 collective identity. 124. Edward. 45. Margaret. The Castle of Crossed Destinies. Patrick. 146n14 Brooke-Rose. Miguel de. Don Quixote. 80 Drabble. Wayne. 117. Nostromo. “The Shape of the Sword. Helmut. 57–60 Chase. George Gordon. 129–30 Butor. 116 Carter. Asa. 147n1. 147n5 Camus.” 8 Camões. “This Is Not a Story. Angela. La Modification. 146n7. 56– 58. 13. 145n11 Collier.” 131. “The House of Asturion. Elin. Jacques. 129 Calvino.’ 39–43. 34 Brecht. 36. Steven. 59. 65. 118 de Meun. Rhonda. 124. “The Circular Ruins. 2. 66 Dostoevsky. 8. In the Heart of the Country. Assia. If on a winter’s night a traveler. 4 Cohn. 45– 46. 10 Carroll. Joseph. 122.” 13. 31–33. 55–57. 70. narration in. 88–89 drama. Marguerite. 125–26. Ross. 147n8 Conrad. 62–63. Arlette. 11 Bolger. 94. J. 144n6 DelConte. 50–51. 147n8.162 / Index Boehm. The Virgin Suicides (film). represented. 57. Portrait of Dora. La Peste.” 57. 105 Brown. Bleak House. A Sister to Scheherazade. Jean. 116. 9 Dante Alighieri. Joan. Pilgrim’s Progress. . 7. 123. David. Hélène. 126 Chamoiseau. 121. 145n9.” 104. 76. 12.” 7. The Passion of New Eve. 120 Bonheim. 114. 118. 59 Chatman. 128. The Waterfall. Jean. Notes from the Underground. “The Immortal. 47–48. 109 Dickens. “camera eye. Dorrit. 115–16. 87–94 Derrida. 145n7. E. 4 Carter. Seymour. Julio. John. 61. Daniel. 116 Carter. Jorge Luis. 127–28 consciousness. 122 de Lauretis. 49–50. 130. Gordon. 35–36 Byron. 65 Branigan. 40. The Non-Existent Knight. 107 Brians. 39–40.

Dawn. 81 Handke. André. 47. Carlos. Aura. 50–52. 1. Ralph. 9. 116. 13 Hayman. The Virgin Suicides. William Dean. 58–59. 26–27. 131.” 38 Hemingway. 128. 115. Gérard. 103 Hawthorn. 116. 8. 150n2 Fetterley. 111–13. Madame Bovary. 70. Virginie: Her Two Lives. John. Light in August. Audrey. 3–4. David Henry. 7 Fludernik. 68 Hampson. Daniel. Luce. Katherine. 61–62. 17. 61–62.” 59 Felber. 30. 22. Nadine. N. 137 focalizer. unnatural. 131 Hendricksen. 132–33. 134–35. 145– 46n13. Neuromancer. 120 Helprin. Gustave. 5–6. 123. 82. Bruce. 14–15. 126. 40–52. 3–4. Henry. 26. “The Overcoat. 23–24. Lynette.” 47. George. The Good Soldier. 3 Gide. Edouard. My Children! My Africa!. 6. 149n5 ghostwriters. 144n7 Howard. 19. Peter. 74– 75. 3. 51–52 Eugenides. Henry. Jeremy. 69–70 Faulkner. As I Lay Dying. Paisajes después de la batalla. 21 Freeman. William. 50. 10.Index / 163 India Song. E. Mavis. 145n5 Hawthorne. See also gender interlocutor. Mark..” 34 Hawkes.” 26–27 gender. 117 Gibson. Ford Madox. 28. David. 119. hidden. 123. “With a Capital T.” 17. A Single Man. 57 Gogol. Cambio de Piel. 136. 33. Monika. 136n14 Gallant. 146n1. 68 Greene. 145n6 Herman. Sweet William. David. 109 Ellison. 131 fiction-nonfiction distinction. Invisible Man. 5. 75 Isherwood. M Butterfly. 15. 145n9. Nathaniel. 64–65. 67. 72 free indirect discourse. 35. 79–86 Irigaray. 125–27 film. 33–34. Ian. 131 forgery. The Sound and the Fury. 12. 149n3. Elizabeth Jane. 72 Gissing. 34–35. 144n9 Ferrer. 123. 144n1. 70. 105. 120 Goytisolo. “That Evening Sun. narration in. 19. M. 115. Juan. Jeffrey. Falling. 137. Robert. 61. 149n6 Hawkes. 80. 116 Forster. Inez. William. 59.” 7 Gordimer. Ernest. 146n15. Joanne S. 33–34 Erdrich. Casino Royale. 27–28. 9 James. Maps. “North Light. Louise. 135. 28. 118. 73–75 Fuentes. Christopher. 73–76. 60. 52–53 Flaubert. 147n4 focalization. Mary Wilkins. 66. 120 Glissant. 98 Holden. The Sea Change. 20 Fielding. 39 Fleming. 52 expressionism. 137. Athol. 91–92. The Lime Twig. 89. 19. 144n6. 35 Hayles. “A Rose for Emily. pseudo-. 11. 107 hypertext fiction. 116. 35 Farah. 144n5 Fugard. 125. 136 . Nuruddin. Judith.. 119. 26 Hesla. 2. 56. La Muerta de Artemio Cruz. 119–20 Hwang. Jonathan. Nikolai. 66. 64 Howells. 146n9. 34 Fulton. 84. 15 Jaffe. 131 ideology. Tracks. Gayle. 21. 149n8 Genette. 119 Frye. 3. 35. 114. The Whole Family. 49–50. David. 117. Les Faux monnayeurs. “The Haunted Mind. “Insulting the Audience. 144n14. 72–76. 68–69. David. 19 Ford.

Self-Help. Reflex and Bone Structure. The Group. 3 Lester. 129 mimesis and antimimesis. Ulysses. 103 Joyce. 47 Morrissette. 74 modernism. 6–7. Les Chants du Maldoror. Jay. 8 conventions of. 35. Eric. 30–32. See also narrative. 145n12 Larsen. 11 Kennedy. S. 34. John. 144n3 Mudrick. The Philosopher’s Pupil. Nella. 11. Georg. 50. 15 McEwan. 37–38. Bright Lights. 89. 92. 6–7. 6. 67 impossible. Toni. 19. Clarice. Agua viva. 137–38 monologized thought. 39. 12–14. 62–63. 137. 143n8 Martin. 38. Angela. 1 Keen. 128 Margolin.” 15. 144n11 Major. Lolita. 41. Stanisław. 148n14 Li. 6. “Things. The Posthumous Adventures of Brás Cubas. Mary. 23–25. 92. 47. Memory. 55–58. 21. 145n12 Lispector. Suzanne. Speak. “The Second Person. 63 Morris. 61–78. Trinh T. 41 pseudo–second person. unnatural Minh-ha. 137–38 Moore. 9. The Bluest Eye. 135 “one” (on. 34. 144n3 Kafalenos. 148n3 Morrison. “The Dead. Uri. 107. 120–21 Kacandes. 72 Macaskill. 22. Compte de. Thomas. 11–12 pseudo–third person. Atonement. man). 28. 129. Sarah.” 22 Milton. Passing. 1. 15. Ian. Clarence. “absent-I” (je-neant). Pale Fire. 29.” 9.. 33–34 Kingston. 144n2. 144n12 Johnson. 47–48. 55 Merwin. 5. 139 multiperson. 33. 85. 84. 147n6 McInerney. Charles. Carla. Maxine Hong. 9. 46. 3 MacPherson. 81–83. 95–105. Adelaide. Thomas. 131. Andrew. 101 Moravia. 32. 34.” 15 Lawrence. Hugh. 129–31 narration. 21. 88. 129. 147n6 Mallon. 79–80. 101. 43–44. Susan Sniader. Jamaica. 28–30 Moorjani. “The Genial Host. 104. 74. 148n11 Kayser. See also narrative. 116 magic realism. 51. Vladimir. 145n6 Levy. 97. Lorrie. 9 Kincaid. 48–49 Mailer. 11 Nabokov. 31 Lawrence. Norman. 72 McCarthy. 31 Kozloff. 5. 145n5 Murdoch. 39–41. 71. 130–31.” 20. Iris. 3 Lanser. 35. 109 Kurosawa. W. Brian. 75 Kirby.. 117 Mann. H. Akira. 145n5 Lukacs. 9–13. natural. 128. D. Alberto. 74 Morrison. John T. Timothy. Ways of Dying. Zakes. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Marvin. 95. 134–40. 89 McGahern. Jakob. Yiyun. 5. Irene. A Small Place. John. 9 Machado de Assis. Joaquin Maria. 18. Isidore Ducasse. Middle Passage. Bruce. Karen. The Cyberiad. 111–13 “it. 14–15. 7. Big City. Ann. 10–13 . Kristin. Io e Lui. 61. Emma. 8. The Dark. 35 Mda. 76. 49. 139 passive voice. 147n8 Lothe. 126 Locatelli. Rashomon. 69 McHale. 115. 64 narratee. 115. 148n13 Kenner. Brian. James. realism and anti-realism first person. 120 Lem. Paisley. 63–64 Livingston. James. 90. 130 Lautréamont. 78. 4. 85 Marxism.164 / Index Jefferson.. Wolfgang.

17–45. 10. 117 Queenan. 123. 20–21 Phelan. 7 Ricardou. 25–26. Brian. Henrik Skov. 56–58. 32. 143n3 Quayle. 144n3 Peake. 42–43. 112 posthumanist. 127. Shlomith. 40. 7–8. 130. Margot.Index / 165 second person. 7. 90–91. 59 Nielsen. Family Voices. 42–43. Georges. 148n1 Phillips. 1. Brian. 105. 149n14 Ngugi wa Thiong’o. 95–105. La Jaousie. 134 Richardson. 84. 76. 104 dis-framed. 103. 104–5. 129–31. 53–55. 5. 115 Proust. La Maison de rendezvous. natural. 9. 6. “You. 7 Perec. 92. Crossing the River. 100. 55 postmodernism. 31. Dans le labyrinthe. 59–60 history of.” 7. 46–47. 146n8 Passias. 82. 13 Pinget. 12. 129–30 generative (drama). 81–86. 95–105. 147n7. 8. actual. 8. 115. 9–10. 8. 19. 8. 117 Rabinovitz. Erica. Mario. 57–58. 128. 130 third person. 107. Jean. 144n10. Les Choses. 37. Marcel. 19. 3 permeable. 30–33. Edna. Katherine. 85–86. 135. 88. 49. 53. Joe. unnatural narrative. Jean. 36 O’Bryan-Knight. Peter. 9. 95–105. 77–78 standard form. 46–47. 46–47 reader. 114. 70–71 . 148n1. 110 reliable and unreliable. 143n1 Orieux. Caryl. 115. In Search of Lost Time. Kanthapura. 67. 116. Gerald. 124. 149n9. 107–8 humanist. 112 nonhuman. 136–37 Punday. 35. posthumanist incommensurate. “What Is the Connection Between Men and Women?” 84. 86. unnatural. 114. 1–2. A Grain of Wheat. 128–29 Nelles. See also narrative. 9 Ostrovsky. 134–40 narrator. 13. H. 149n2 Oates. The Inquisitory. Project pour une révolution à New York. 19. 1–3. 15. 48–49 omniscience. Dan. 70–71. as author. Le Voyeur. 9–10 Norris. Robert. 28. Un Homme qui dort. Compact. Ansgar. 3. 19. Patrick. 130 Rao. 49–50. 148n13 Rabinowitz. William. 7–8 Roche. C. 105 engaging. 20. 131. 21. See also McHale.” 11–12 O’Brien. 143n2. 19–28 hypothetical form. 107–13. 83 Pinter. 60. 107–13. Jean. 149n4. 103–5 transparent. 6–7. 103–4. 53–56. 148n16. contradictory. 53–54. 46–47. Broke Heart Blues. 131 realism and antirealism. implied. Raja. 129–31. Harold. Maurice. 110 postcolonial writing. 76–78. 131. 13. 30. 126 Ortiz-Robles. See also narrator. “In the Corridors of the Metro. 138–39 Rhys. 81–83. 76. 8. 30. 95–103. Alain. Rubin. 37–60 types of.. posthumanist Prince. 7. 134–40 posthumous. 33–34. A Pagan Place. Jean. 102. 107 fraudulent. 144n12 Nünning. 20–22. 30. 128 nouveau roman. 33. 94 Robbe-Grillet. After Leaving Mr Mackenzie. 7–8. 116. 32. Joyce Carol. 150n1 Rimmon-Kenan. 86. 73. 28–30 autotelic form. 9 O’Neill. 87–93. Daniel. 144n11 “we” (first person plural). James. narrator. 59 narrative.

Laurence. The Baltimore Waltz. Portrait d’un inconnu. To the Lighthouse. The Waves. 74. Alan. Salman. 44 serial fiction. 15. 64–65 Whitford. Fay. 144n11 Sterne. 126 Simpkins. Sharon. 3. Lars. 149n17 Scott. 66. Franz. Naissance de notre force. 53. Michael.” 63 Stanzel. Tom. Written on the Body. Rex. Le Corps lesbian. 129–30. 10. Jean-Paul. We. 66–67 Sontag. 21. The Glass Menagerie. 82. Nachdenken über Christa T. 15. Joel. 56. Monique. 124–25. Squaring the Circle. Richard. Ignazio. 43–44. 135 Sarraute. 146n14 Wong. Tu ne t’aime pas. Susan. 95–98 Voltaire. Patrocinio. Eugen. 131 Shakespeare. 109–10. The. S.” 3 Toolan. Margaret. 116 van Rossum-Guyon. Christa. Sweet. Fontamara. 66 Woller. 149n14 Sylvain. Robyn. “Kew Gardens. Marie-Laure. 144n3 Vargas Llosa. Dennis. The Autobiography of Alice B. 51 Woolf. author of. 107–8. 146n4 Swift. Les Eoliennes. Scott. 111–13 voice. Hertha D. Midnight’s Children. 17 Suleiman. 67. Philippe. Jacob’s Room. 116 Sollers. Virginia. 124 Williams. ix. 12 Million Black Voices. 9 voice. middle. 5 self. Joseph. The Cloning of Joanna May. Toklas. 89 Ryan. Gertrude. 54 Wakefield Master.” 3 Schweickart. 57 Roth. 118 Silone. 74. 109 Senn. Françoise. Nathalie. Susan. William. 50 Thwaites. 88. 34 Winterson. 144n1 Schnitzler. 75. Les Guérillères.166 / Index roman de nous. 146n1 Stein. Leo. Arthur. 122 Sebald. “Kholstomer. 14. 115. A Room of One’s Own. 63–64. Jeanette. 47–48 Zamyatin. 137–38 Wright.” 84–85. 143n7. 106–7 Willis. 49–50. “Fräulein Else.” 14 Stoppard. 17 Sokal. Yevgeny. Tony. Ian. 75 Wilde. Radetzkymarsch. Victor. L’oppoponax. 43–44 . 147n10 Wolf. 104. 1–2 Stifter. Mario. 145n5 Waverly.” 3. 48. 122 Weldon. Fritz. François Marie Arouet. Drame. “Bergkristall. Kurt. 107 Stout. Paula. 114 Tsao Hsueh Chin. 48–49 Vogel. 73 Schofield. May. 65–66 Wilson. 77. Jonathan. 147n3 Serge. “Unguided Tour. 137–38. Hot ‘n’ Throbbing. Zentropa. 131 Watt. 32. Adalbert. 126–27 Vonnegut. Kindheitsmuster. 147n2 Tolstoy. 62. 53 Sartre. “The Poetics of Sex. George. narrative. 122–23 Warhol. 60. 4 Wittig. W. Oscar. 15 Rushdie. Travesties. 143n3 Sinclair. 5 von Trier. 44–46 Simion. Tennesee.. 137. Pierre. Walter.

and Pragmatism: A Rhetoric of Feminist Utopian Fiction Ellen Peel Telling Tales: Gender and Narrative Form in Victorian Literature and Culture Elizabeth Langland Narrative Dynamics: Essays on Time. Plot. Narrative Causalities Emma Kafalenos Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel Lisa Zunshine I Know That You Know That I Know: Narrating Subjects from Moll Flanders to Marnie George Butte Bloodscripts: Writing the Violent Subject Elana Gomel Surprised by Shame: Dostoevsky’s Liars and Narrative Exposure Deborah A. and Frames Edited by Brian Richardson Breaking the Frame: Metalepsis and the Construction of the Subject Debra Malina Invisible Author: Last Essays Christine Brooke-Rose . Series Editors Because the series editors believe that the most significant work in narrative studies today contributes both to our knowledge of specific narratives and to our understanding of narrative in general. The series does not privilege one critical perspective but is open to work from any strong theoretical position. Rabinowitz. Warhol Politics. Closure. Persuasion. studies in the series typically offer interpretations of individual narratives and address significant theoretical issues underlying those interpretations. Martinsen Having a Good Cry: Effeminate Feelings and Pop-Culture Forms Robyn R.Theory and Interpretation of Narrative James Phelan and Peter J.

Ideology James Phelan Misreading Jane Eyre: A Postformalist Paradigm Jerome Beaty Psychological Politics of the American Dream: The Commodification of Subjectivity in Twentieth-Century American Literature Lois Tyson Understanding Narrative Edited by James Phelan and Peter J. Ethics. and Comedy Kay Young Narratologies: New Perspectives on Narrative Analysis Edited by David Herman Before Reading: Narrative Conventions and the Politics of Interpretation Peter J. Conversation. Rabinowitz Framing Anna Karenina: Tolstoy. Audiences. and the Victorian Novel Amy Mandelker . Representation. Lehman The Progress of Romance: Literary Historiography and the Gothic Novel David H. the Woman Question. Subjectivity Shlomith Rimmon-Kenan Narrative as Rhetoric: Technique. Richter A Glance Beyond Doubt: Narration.Ordinary Pleasures: Couples. Rabinowitz Matters of Fact: Reading Nonfiction over the Edge Daniel W.

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