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The end of closure?



There are a number of viewers who would argue that, even if The Jazz Singer had ended with the final rendering of Kol Nidre, it would not have dosed the film's dilemma as neatly as I suggested above. Both Mary, Jack Robin's co-star, and the producer of April Follies observe Jack singing Kol Nidre. How do we read their presence in this scene? Does it suggest an American cultural acceptance of the triumph of the old ways in a cultural harmony in which the old and the new co-habit? Or do we see them as cultural predators from American show business, busy appreciating the potential in Jack's voice? Earlier, Yudelson, coming backstage in the theater to plead with Jakie to sing in his father's place, is embarrassed by the beautiful bare legs of a dancer from whom he cannot tear his eyes. Is this the thin edge of the wedge for this Old World innocent? After Yudelson's visit, Jack explains to Mary: "I don't really belong there [in the synagogue] - here's where I belong, on Broadway, but there's something in the blood that sort of calls you - something apart from this life." To which Mary replies: "I think I understand, Jack. But no matter how strong the call, this is your life."

More insidious perhaps is the way in which, in both conclusions, sub­mission harbors domination. Submitting to his father, Jakie becomes the father, dominating with his voice his captive audience in the synagogue. In this way the old conclusion anticipates the same paradoxical combination that Jack Robin achieves in the film's final scene, submitting to his mother in an homage ("My Mammy!") even while he is raised above her on stage, dominating an audience of which she is a part. Finally, in 1927, it would be hard for an audience to suppress awareness that the cantor in the final scene of the original screenplay is none other than Aljolson, and that Jolson's fame is precisely the kind that Jack Robin aspires to. Jolson's fame as a popular singer is an insistent paratext that would seem to give the lie to Jolson the cantor. The guise of the cantor, in other words, might well have something of the same status as the guise of blackface.

In my way, what I have been doing here by opening up these interpre­tative gaps is to turn the original screenplay of this film into what Roland Barthes would call a "writable" text, as opposed to a "readable" one. In­stead of simply taking the concluding scene on what appears to be its own terms, I have been actively "writing" it by capitalizing on its contradictory possibilities. In the terms of this book, my interpretations are approaching adaptation. But I am also "deconstructing" the original conclusion: showing that what appears to be its ostensible argument contains within it the traces of an opposed reading. "Deconstruction," as I noted earlier, is grounded in the argument that uncertainty is inherent in the activity of making meaning through signs, be they written, oral, graphic, or otherwise. For Derrida, closure at the level of questions never arrives, regardless of the text. More­over, since meaning is grounded not in some absolute contact with reality but in the web of differences out of which any sign acquires its signifying power, any process of narrative negotiation will never shake the difference that subvert it. Answers, in other words, that appear to emerge with clo­sure at the level of questions will always contain traces of their opposites. Deconstruction no longer has the cachet it had in the 1970s and 1980s, but the concept has nonetheless left a permanent mark on the way we read. Thanks to the efforts of Derrida and others, there is, among humanists across the whole range of literary approaches, a persistent suspicion of closure at the level of questions, even in the simplest, most apparently readable, texts.

How far down this road do readers of narrative wish to go? One answer, of course, is that anyone is free to go as far as she or he wants. But does the multiplicity of readings turn narrative into a kind of game, disconnected from the world of action? Does narrative then become a place where readers sport together in endless displays of ingenuity? Opponents of deconstruc­tion were quick to charge that deconstruction was morally nihilistic and that it really meant that all readings were equal since one reading was just as good as another. But defenders were equally quick to say this was not the case. The Jazz Singer, they might have pointed out, does not advocate replacing American representative government with a parliamentary sys­tem, it does not comment on the digital revolution, it does not include a critique of nuclear energy. For deconstructionist critics, as for most others, the list of patently inferior interpretations is infinite. And for some, like J. Hillis Miller, in any given text the number of productive interpretations with both credibility and urgency are relatively few. But Miller and others would also argue that an awareness of the necessary openness of narrative, its lack of closure, far from being morally nihilistic, is the basis of any ethics of reading. It is ethical because it not only rests in an acknowledgment of the nature of all communication — its semantic porosity — but it also prevents the appropriation of a text to one monolithic meaning. It liberates readers to exercise their creative reading power in response to the full potentiality of narrative. In the terms of this chapter, such awareness activates the best and fullest range of passionate thinking that a narrative can catalyze in its negotiations.


This is beginning to sound good. Certainly it does to me. But in the general spirit of these comments, I would like to end this text without coming to closure on the subject of closure. I will do this by raising three questions. The first has to do with the rhetorical power of narrative that we discussed in earlier chapters. Allowing narrative to carry us from one point to another is one of the great pleasures it provides. But if we always require ourselves to introduce an attitude of questioning, even suspicion, into our reading, so that we have an awareness of the plurality of possibilities in any particular narrative, do we run the risk of separating ourselves from that pleasure? To put this question in another way, is the attitude of detached questioning something that functions to protect readers and viewers from the power that narrative has to move us with deep feeling?

The second question is closely allied to the first. One of the ancient func­tions of narrative is that it gives us sufficient understanding to make up our minds about things. It provides not only information but also values to be passed down from one generation to the next. Parents rely on stories to re­inforce moral behavior in their children. More broadly, anyone's capacity to act in the moral sphere, to make tough decisions, requires what is commonly called convictions. Convictions are not necessarily absolute. They are what the word implies: something about which we are convinced. Yet without be­ing absolutists — that is, people who feel they have found the only right way -we still need to dispose of ideas that are less convincing in order to arrive at our convictions. Now here is the question: if good reading depends upon maintaining in our minds opposed moral ideas in a kind of balance, does that work against the creation and maintenance of strong convictions? And by indirection does this work against the capacity for decisive moral behavior?

The third question is closely allied to the second. How true is it that narrative, by belonging to the world of language, acquires its meanings solely by the play of difference within that linguistic realm? Another way to put this question is: can we never test the truth of a narrative by reality? Derrida in a famous overstatement said that there is nothing outside the text. But many have wondered from what standpoint outside the text he made that statement. It would seem that, in order to generalize about a subject like language, one would have to have some sense of what is not language. And many scientists would argue that what they demonstrate in the narratives they tell, if they tell them well, is the "other" of language. The narratives they tell about matter and energy, or the symptoniology of disease, or the growth of cells, or the movements of the earth's crust, are continually being tested by a reality outside of language. And although, in the less empirically verifiable realm of human nature and moral behavior, our thinking is saturated with language from our earliest years, is it out of the question that wisdom leaks in from the world of feelings, actions, and consequences? And do we not judge a narrative by the way this wisdom tests it?

In one form or another, these objections have followed deconstruction from its arrival on the literary scene. None of them, in my view, is a knock­out blow. But I want to end with them. They are very much alive — as alive as the perception that narrative is always and forever full of gaps that we must fill and that closure, however much narrative may seem to invite it, is finally something only we can confirm, and only if we choose to do so.

^

Further secondary reading



The story of Solomon's wise decision can be found in the Old Testament in 1 Kings 3:16-28. The most famous version of the story of Oedipus can be found in two plays by Sophocles, Oedipus the King and Oedipus at Colonus (Fifth century BC). For many of the variants on this continually fascinating story, you can consult two good books: Lowell Edmunds and Alan Dundes (eds.), Oedipus: a Folklore Casebook (New York: Garland, 1983) and Lowell Edmunds, Oedipus: The Ancient Legend and Its Later Analogues (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985).

In thinking about narrative as thinking, it may help to consider Stanley Fish's distinction, in his ^ Self-Consuming Artifacts, between a "rhetorical text" that "satisfies the needs of its readers" by mirroring "the opinions its readers already hold" and a "dialectical text" that "is disturbing, for it requires of its readers a searching and rigorous scrutiny of everything they believe in and live by."11 Of all the works on narrative, the one that for me best features the capacity of narrative to find new understanding through the working out of the story is Paul Ricoeur's magisterial three-volume work, Time and Narrative. His writing can be a little dry, but it is well worth the effort.

^

Additional primary texts



My argument in this chapter is that most narratives of any complexity can be read as efforts to negotiate opposing psychological and cultural claims. And there are in fact some authors who have capitalized on the centrality of conflict in narrative to structure their narratives quite openly like a debate. These are perhaps worth special attention here, but only because of the way they foreground the process of narrative negotiation. Dostoevsky's longer novels almost invariably operate in this way. Among others are Shakespeare's Hamlet (c. 1601), both parts of Goethe's Faust (1808, 1831), Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain (1924), Andre Malreaux's Man's Fate (1933), Georges Bernanos's The Diary of a Country Priest (1937), Arthur Koestler's Darkness at Noon (1941), John Barth's companion pieces The Floating Opera (1956) and End of the Road(1958), Nikos Kazantzakis's The Fratricides (1963), and Saul Bellow's Herzog (1964). In almost every one of these narratives, the central figure is torn by a moral dilemma and, as the narrative proceeds, is pulled back and forth between competing moral claims.


Glossary and topical index


What follows are definitions of useful terms for discussing narrative. Terms in bold face are the terms that are essential and that have been emphasized in this book. You will also find other terms that have either proven their use or been used so often that they are now unavoidable in the discussion of narrative. This glossary also serves as a topical index for the book.

Act: ^ Event caused by a character (as opposed to happening).

Action: The sequence of events in a story. The action and the existents are the two basic components of story. Some (including this author) prefer the term "events," since "action" can conceivably mean the collective acts in a story. 12, 16, 123-6

Adaptation: The transmutation of a narrative, usually from one medium to another. 105-22

Adaptive reading: One of three fundamental modes of interpretation (see also intentional and symptomatic readings). Adaptive readings range from interpre­tations freed from concerns for overreading or underreading to fresh narratives of the story either in the same medium or in a different one, as, for example, the film versions of Flaubert's Madame Bovary or Shakespeare's Henry V. 100-2, 130, 172

Agency: The capacity of an entity to cause events (that is, to engage in acts). Characters by and large are entities with agency. 124, 130

Agon or conflict: Most narratives are driven by a conflict. In Greek tragedy, the word for the conflict, or contest, is the "agon." From that word come the terms protagonist and antagonist. 51-2, 140, 153, 156-74

Analepsis: Flashback. The introduction into the narrative of material that happens earlier in the story. The opposite of prolepsis. 157

Antagonist: The opponent of the protagonist. He or she is commonly the enemy of the hero. 51, 140

Author: A real person who creates a text. The author is not to be confused with either the narrator or the implied author of a narrative. 36, 63, 77-9, 95, 97, 99

Authorial intention: The author's intended meanings or effects. The concept of authorial intention has taken a beating in this century on a variety of grounds. It has been argued that authorial intention is indeterminable; that authors are as fallible as the rest of us in reading their own work and therefore unreliable guides to reading; that the idea of an author essentializes and presumes to fix an identity that is indeterminate and fluid; and finally that seeking authorial intention encourages the idea of a single privileged meaning for a narrative even though narratives are necessarily plural in their meanings. But don't count this concept out. We seem strongly inclined, in spite of all arguments, to read for authorial intention. Witness, for example, how authors continue to be praised or blamed for the meanings and effects readers attribute to them. An important related, but distinct, concept is that of the implied author. 77-9

Autobiography: A narrative about the author, purporting implicitly or explicitly to be true in the sense of non-fictional. Autobiographies come in many forms, even in third-person narration, as in The Education of Henry Adams. Autobiography is another one of those porous concepts, and the field abounds in narratives that seem to fall in a generic no-man's land between autobiography and fiction, as in James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man or Maxine Hong Kingston's The Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood among Ghosts. 49-50, 63, 131-7, 176n.4

Beginning and end: Though the meanings of these concepts would seem to be obvious, their functions can be both complex and crucial. Sometimes the end can relate to a narrative the way a clinching point does to an argument. Bear in mind, too, that neither the beginning nor the end of the narrative discourse necessarily corresponds to the beginning or end of the story. Epic narratives, for example, traditionally begin in the middle of the story (in medias res). 52-3

Character: Human or humanlike entity. Sometimes the broader terms "agent" or "actor/actant" are used for character. Characters are any entities involved in the action that have agency. These would include, in addition to persons, any quasi-volitional entities like animals, robots, extraterrestrials, and animated things. E. M. Forster distinguished between "flat" and "round" characters. The former can be "summed up in a single phrase" and have no existence outside of a single dominating quality. Round characters cannot be summed up in the same way and are not predictable. In this sense, they have depth. 17, 47, 109-11, 123-37, 146-7

Closure: When a narrative ends in such a way as to satisfy the expectations and answer the questions that it has raised, it is said to close, or to have closure. Notice that there is a distinction here between "expectations" and "questions." By expectations are meant kinds of action or event that the narrative leads us to expect (the gun introduced in Chapter One that has to go off in Chapter Three). King Lear, for example, satisfies the expectations that are aroused early on when we perceive that its narrative pattern is tragedy. We expect among other things that Lear will die, and he does. But major questions are raised over the course of the play that for many viewers are not answered by the conclusion. So for many, King Lear has tragic closure (giving satisfaction at the "level oi expectations") but not closure of understanding (giving satisfaction at the "level of questions"). 51-61, 62, 80-2, 90, 168-74

Constituent and supplementary events: Also referred to as kernels and satellites (Chatman) and nuclei and catalyzers (Barthes), these concepts distinguish two fundamental kinds of events in narrative. Constituent events are essential to the forward movement of the story (Barthes also called them "Cardinal functions )\ they are not all necessarily "turning points," but at the least they are essential to the chain of events that make up the story. Supplementary events are not necessary to the story; they seem to be extra. The distinction between constituent and supplementary events is often helpful because it reminds us to ask the question: Why has this supplementary event been included in this narrative? Since it is not necessary to advance the story, why did the author see fit to include it? Like many of our distinctions, however, this one is not always obvious - one reader's constituent event may be another's supplementary event. 20-2, 32-3, 47-8, 55-6, 87, 89, 109, 134, 140, 145

Crux: A major point of disagreement in the interpretation of a text. Cruxes are sometimes characterized by a ga£ in the narrative, as for example the critical gap that makes us question whether or not in ^ Wuthering Heights Heathcliff killed Hindley Earnshaw. This is a crux because how we fill the gap determines whether or not we see Heathcliff as a murderer. 85—8, 91

Diegesis (1): Strictly speaking, this is the telling. It goes back to Plato's distinction between two ways of presenting a story: as mimesis (acted) or as diegesis (told). (2): Frequently "the diegesis" is used to refer to the world created by the narration. Narratologists also speak of levels of diegesis. The "diegetic level" consists of all those characters, things, and events that are in the world of the primary narrative (i.e., having to do with the main story). There can be, then, other events and characters in the text that are not in the primary narrative at all but outside it in the extradiegetic level. The narrator, for example, is often found telling a story in an extradiegetic situation — that is, in circumstances and among people that have nothing or little to do with the story told. 68, 75,

^ Discordant narrator: See unreliable narrator. 70, 77

Distance: Used in two main senses: 1) the narrator's emotional distance from the characters and the action (the degree of his or her involvement in the story) and 2) the distance between the narrator s moral, emotional or intellectual sensibilities and those of the implied author. A narrator's distance (in both senses) affects the extent to which we trust the information we get from the narrator, and its moral and emotional coloring. 64, 67-8, 73

^ Embedded narrative: Commonly, a "story within a story," or a narrative nested in a framing narrative). Genette calls embedded narratives the one sure sign offictivity since the device is shunned by historians. Its absence, however, cannot be taken as a sign of the opposite - that is, of non-fictivity or factuality. 26, 35

End: See beginning and end. 52-3

Entity: Also referred to as "existents" or "actors and actants," entities comprise one of the two basic components of a story, the other being the events or action. Humanlike entities capable of agency are referred to as characters. Most of the remaining entities in a narrative - those not capable of agency - are part of the setting. There is a third class of entities, however, for which neither the term "character" nor "setting" is appropriate. We can tell the story of a planet, for example, and how it was struck out of its course by an immense asteroid. As they are the subject entities, neither the planet nor the asteroid is part of the setting. Yet it would be an error to refer to them as characters, particularly if scientific objectivity is at a premium, since they are insentient objects incapable of action on their own. 17 Event: The fundamental unit of the action. Also called an "incident," an event can be an act (a kick or a kiss), or a happening when no character is causally involved (a bolt of lightening). 3-6, 12-17, 20-2, 33

Existents: See entities.

Extradiegetic level: See diegesis, frame, metalepsis.

Fabula and sjuzet: See story. 16

Fiction: Made-up, as opposed to factual. As a noun it refers to the whole range of made-up narratives that stand opposed to the "non-fictional" genres - history, biography, autobiography, reportage, etc. Like so many efforts to categorize the kinds of narrative, the distinction between fiction and non-fiction is often found to collapse, yielding troublesome hybrid classifications like the "non-fictional novel."

^ First-person narration: Conventionally, narration by a character who plays a role in the story narrated. Note that there are many examples of narrators who are not characters in the story but who talk in the "first person" — sometimes at length (the narrative persona of Henry Fielding, for example, in Tom Jones). These are not usually considered "first-person" narrators because they tell the story in the third person. For this reason, Gerard Genette found greater utility in the distinction between homodiegetic and heterodiegetic narration. 64—6

^ Flat and round characters: See character.

Focalization: The position or quality of consciousness through which we "see" events in the narrative. In English and North American criticism, the phrase point of view has been used for this concept, or something quite close to it, but point of view is more general and often includes the concept of voice. "Focalization" may be more polysyllabic, but it is more exact. Usually the narrator is our focalizer, but it is important to keep in mind that focalizing is not necessarily achieved through a single consistent narrative consciousness. Focalization can change, sometimes frequently, during the course of a narrative, and sometimes from sentence to sentence, as it can, for example, in free indirect style. In this study, I present focalization and voice as companion concepts. Both frequently convey a sensibility, the one through what we "see," the other through what we "hear." 64, 66-7, 70, 77, 115, 117-18

Frame and framing narrative: The term "frame" is used so inconsistently in discussions of narrative that it is important to define how you are using it. Here are two main ways in which the term is used. 1) Much recent work on narrative has drawn on cognitive theory in which frame is understood to mean a mental configuration of representative bits that stand for something in the world and that is triggered by cues that we sense, allowing us to understand what we are seeing or hearing. 2) A more informal use of "frame" refers to any extradiegetic preliminary and/or concluding material in a narrative not essential to the story.-Sometimes the frame in this sense is a framing narrative, a narrative within which a narrative is embedded. Conversely, one can speak of an embedded narrative-25-6, 34-5, 143

Free indirect style: Narrative representation of a character's thoughts and expres­sions without quotation marks or the usual addition of phrases like "he thought or "she said" and without some of the grammatical markers. Take the following example: "It was a hot day. Elspeth wondered to herself: 'What on earth am I doing lugging stones on a day like this?'" In free direct style, it becomes: "It was a hot day. What on earth am I doing lugging stones on a day like this?" This hfree because the attributing phrase "Elspeth wondered to herself" has been dropped. In free indirect discourse, the passage becomes: "It was a hot day. What on earth was she doing lugging stones on a day like this?" Here, the key second sentence is still marked by Elspeth s intonations, but it is cast in the third person and in the past tense, neither of which she would use. In other words, the third-person narration freely adapts itself for the temporary indirect expression of a character's words or thoughts. 70-2, 74

Gaps: Wolfgang Iser's term for the inevitable voids in any narrative that the reader is called upon to fill from his or her experience or imagination. Gaps are everywhere in narratives, many of them quite small. But there are also major gaps in narratives, some of which, over the years, have become interpretive cruxes. 83—7, 100, 114— 15, 125-7, 146-7, 158, 172, 174

Genre: A recurrent literary form. There are narrative and non-narrative genres. The novel, the epic, the short story, the ballad, are all examples of narrative genres. Genres can be highly specialized. The Bildungsroman, for example, tells the story of its hero's coming of age. It is a genre that fits within the larger genre of the novel. Sometimes, genres can be so discrete and specialized that scholars use the term "sub-genre" to describe them. 2, 45—6, 54, 57

Gutter: The space bet-ween frames in a cartoon comic sequence. The gutter is a form of narrative gap that is built into the medium of the comic strip. It is the space in which the reader imagines events unfolding in time. 115—16 Happening: One of the two kinds of event in a narrative. Unlike actions, happenings

occur without the specific agency of a character.

Heterodiegetic narration: Narration from a narrator situated outside of the

diegesis or world of the story. Opposed to homodiegetic narration. 68, 75

Homodiegetic narration: Narration from a narrator situated within the diege­sis — that is, a character in the story. Opposed to heterodiegetic narration. 68 Hypertext narrative: Narrative conveyed in electronic media (on CD or the Web) that capitalizes on hypertext capability to permit (or require) the reader to switch attention instantly to other lexia — texts or graphics, which may (but not neces­sarily) be different segments of the narrative discourse. 28—30

Implied author: Neither the real author nor the narrator, the implied author is the image of the author constructed by the reader as she or he reads the narrative. In an intentional reading, the implied author is that sensibility and moral intelligence that the reader gradually constructs to infer the intended meanings and effects of the narrative. The implied author might as easily (and with greater justice) be called the "inferred author." 61, 69, 77-9, 80, 83, 86, 87, 90, 91, 95-9, 128 Implied reader (implied audience): As the implied author should be kept distinct from the actual author, so the implied reader should be kept distinct from the actual reader. The implied reader is not necessarily you or I but the reader we infer to be an intended recipient of the narrative. Some argue that the implied reader is the reader the implied author writes for. My own view is that implied authors and implied readers are not neatly symmetrical concepts. There are any number of implied readers that an implied author may well scorn, even as he or she creates them. This is the case in much satirical narrative.

^ Intentional reading: An interpretation that seeks to understand a text in terms of the intended meanings of its implied author. 83, 95-7, 98-104, 128, 135

Interior monologue: The thinking and feeling of a character conveyed without the usual grammatical signs of narrational mediation (e.g., quotation marks or the phrases "he said, she said"). "Interior monologue" is sometimes used inter­changeably with the phrase "stream of consciousness." My preference is to use the latter to describe how thinking and feeling occur (or might be conceived as occurring) in human beings, and the former for representational modes used to convey that stream of thinking/feeling. In short passages, interior monologue is often indistinguishable from free indirect discourse. 71—2

Interpretation: The act of conveying in one's own way the meanings — including ideas, values, and feelings — communicated by a text. Interpretation can take a number of forms. Commonly it is found in critical or hermeneutic writing. But the production of a play is often referred to as an "interpretation" of the play or script, and even a narrative can be seen as an interpretation of a story that has been told before. In this book, I distinguish three kinds of interpretation: intentional readings, symptomatic readings, and adaptive readings. 21, 25, 36, 62-3, 71, 73, 76-104, 128, 135

Intertextuality: The condition of all texts, including narratives, as comprised of preex­isting texts. Intertextuality can be distinguished from "allusion" and "imitation" as an inevitable, rather than a necessarily selective, condition of texts. It is based on the assumption that we can only express ourselves through words and forms that are already available to us. In this view, the work of even the most original of artists draws in all its parts on the work of predecessors. The power of such work must lie in the way it recontextualizes the multitude of bits that have been cannibalized in this way. 94, 106

^ Kernels & satellites: See constituent and supplementary events.

Lexia: Roland Barthes in S/Z called lexia the "units of meaning" in a text, "blocks of signification" which amount to anywhere from a few words to several sen­tences. The term has since been adapted in discourse on electronic narrative to refer to passages of varying length triggered by hypertext linking. 28—31

Masterplot: Recurrent skeletal stories, belonging to cultures and individuals that play a powerful role in questions of identity, values, and the understanding of life-Masterplots can also exert an influence on the way we take in new information, causing us to overread or underread narratives in an often unconscious effort to bring them into conformity with a masterplot. As masterplots, by their nature, recur in many different narrative versions, it is an obvious mistake to employ the often misused term "master narrative" for this concept. 16, 42-6, 47-8, 49-50, 54, 57, 59, 88, 119, 120, 132, 148-52, 158, 160

Medium: The vehicle conveying a narrative — written language, film, oil paint, lithe bodies moving silently on a stage. Some of these media would be considered unfit for narrative by the first set of scholars referred to in the definition of narrative below. 72-3, 105-22 Melodrama: Sensational narratives deploying flat characters who are either very good or very bad and who often speak in overwrought language. Originally used to describe plays, the term is frequently used in a derogatory way to describe narratives in other media. 51 Metalepsis: A violation of narrative norms, usually in which the diegesis, or world of the story, is invaded by an extradiegetic entity or entities, as for example when a "spectator" leaps on stage and becomes a part of the action, or the "author" appears and starts quarrelling with one of the characters.

Mimesis: The imitation of an action by performance. According to Plato, mimesis is one of the two major ways to convey a narrative, the other being diegesis or the representation of an action by telling. By this distinction, plays are mimetic, epic poems are diegetic. Aristotle (Plato's student) used the term "mimesis" as simply the imitation of an action and included in it both modes of narrative representation.

Montage: Literally, in French, "assembly." The art of editing film by connecting

disparate shots one after another. 114—16, 117

Motif: Prince defines motif as a "minimal thematic unit." This works well. A motif is a discrete thing, image, or phrase that is repeated in a narrative. Theme, by contrast, is a more generalized or abstract concept that is suggested by, among other things, motifs. A coin can be a motif, greed is a theme. 88—90

Narration: The telling of a story or part of a story. Often used indistinguishably from narrative, narration as it is used here refers to the activity of a narrator. 60, 62-75

Narrative: Commonly, the telling of a story. I prefer to call it the representa­tion of a story. Some scholars have argued that there cannot be a narrative without someone to tell it (a narrator), but this view would exclude most drama and film, which though they present stories, usually do so without a narrator.

^ Narrative discourse: The story as narrated — that is, the story as rendered in a particular narrative. Some narratologists use the term plot for this concept, but this can be confusing because in English we commonly use "plot" and "story" interchangeably. Note that the distinction between "story" and "story as narrated" can be taken to imply that stories exist independently of narrative presentation — in other words, the same story can be narrated in more than one way. This distinction raises a number of ontological (perhaps even metaphysical) questions. If a story does not exist in its narrative presentation, where does it exist? If the same story can be presented in different ways, how do we recognize it as the story that it is? What is necessary for us to see that it is this story and not another? And can a story ever be fully told? 13-22, 28, 29-34, 43

Narrativity: A disputed term, used here to mean the degree to which one feels a

story is being told or performed. 22-3, 38, 40-2

Narratology: The descriptive field devoted to the systematic study of narrative. Some narratologists see their field as a science analogous to linguistics. Many of the terms in this glossary come from the work of narratologists. In the first section of the Bibliography ("Foundational Works") are entries squarely in the field of narratology by Bal, Barthes, Chatman, Cohn, Genette, Prince, and Rimmon-Kenan.

Narrator: One who tells a story. The narrator is not necessarily the author. Some narratologists assert that the narrator can never be the author, even if the narrative is an autobiography. Others (a bit more moderate) say that, since at the least we can never know for sure if the narrator is the same as the author, it is senseless to speak of the author as if he or she were necessarily implicated in the views of the narrator. This is an interesting philosophical question involving the relation of voice, character, and identity (whose voice is this you are reading now? Is it my voice or is it the voice of a character-like entity I created to present these ideas — a mask that I wear in print, my persona?). 13, 17, 47, 69—75, 76

Omniscient narration: Narration by a narrator assumed to know everything connected with the story narrated. Though it is widely used, this is a troublesome term that is finally more confusing than helpful. There are, it is true, narrators who seem to know everything, but no narration was ever omniscient (literally "all-knowing"). All narration is riddled with blind spots — gaps — which we must fill from our limited knowledge. 66

Overreading and underreading: The activity of importing into the text mate­rial that is not signified within it (overreading) or of neglecting material that is signified within it (underreading). Both would appear to be inevitable to some degree. Reducing them to a minimum could be said to be the object of an intentional reading. 79-83, 87, 88, 90, 91, 94, 100, 127, 133, 171

Paratext: Genette's term for material outside the narrative that is in some way connected to it. Paratexts can be physically attached to the narrative vehicle (book, magazine): prefaces, tables of contents, title pages, blurbs on the jacket, illustrations. They can also be separated from the vehicle but nonetheless con­nected by association: comments by the author, reviews, other works by the same author. Paratexts have the capacity to inflect the way we read and inter­pret a narrative, sometimes powerfully. Genette did not include plays and movies in his discussion, but here, too, we can see paratextual material in the form of playbills, previews, marquees, public disclaimers, etc. 26—7, 34, 35, 99, 101, 144, 172

Performative: A term widely and diversely used in a variety of fields (linguistics, philosophy, dramatic art, feminist theory). In this book, the term has been used to stress not what a narrative is about, or what its story is, but how it func­tions in the world, with the implicit or explicit object of achieving certain ends. 134-6

Persona: Literally "mask," persona is used most commonly to refer to the personality constructed by an author to narrate or, at the least, speak in his or her name. See first-person narration. 66, 168

Plot: A vexed term. Commonly in English plot is used to mean story. Another (generally European) tradition equates plot with the order in which the story-events are arranged in the narrative. Plot has also been used to mean the chain of causally connected events in a story. But if it is used in this way, then the common

phrase "episodic plot" would be a contradiction in terms, since in this context "episodic" usually means "causally disconnected" events. 14, 16, 43

Point of view: Prince distinguishes point of view from focalization as being the percep­tual or conceptual position as opposed to the perspective "in terms of which the nar­rated situations and events are presented." But in practice, perceptual/conceptual position and perspective are often difficult to discriminate. I recommend using the term focalization for that complex of perspective, position, feeling, and sensi­bility (or the lack of these) that characterize specifically our visual purchase on the narrative, even if it may fluctuate from moment to moment. And I recommend the use of the term voice for the same complex as it is achieved through the language we imagine ourselves hearing. 66, 73

Prolepsis: Flashforward. Introduction into the narrative of material that comes later in the story. The opposite of analepsis.

Protagonist: In an agon, the hero (though not necessarily a "good guy"). Opposed by an antagonist (who is not necessarily a "bad guy"). 51, 57, 140

Recit: Sometimes used in French narratology for narrative discourse and opposed to "histoire" (story). See narrative discourse and story.

Reflexivity/reflexive narrative: A reflexive or self-reflexive (or self-conscious) narrative is one that, either by formal or thematic means, calls attention to its condition as constructed art. Reflexivity is a condition that can be found in non-narrative as well as narrative texts. 144

Repetition: The recurrence in narrative of images, ideas, situations, kinds of characters. Repetition is one of the surest signs of the meaningful. If you are stuck trying to interpret a text, one good question to ask yourself is: What is repeated in this narrative? Theme and motif are terms commonly used for kinds of repetition in narrative. 88-90, 91, 99, 166

Retardation: The slowing down of the narrative discourse. Often, but not always, a way of increasing suspense. 109

Setting: All those elements within which the entities of a story take part in the story's events. 17, 48, 55

Sjuzet: See story. 16

Stereotype: See type. 45, 137

Story: With narrative discourse, one of the two basic dimensions of narrative. Conveyed through the narrative discourse, story is a sequence of events involving entities. Slightly adapting Chatman, events in a story are of two kinds, acts and happenings. Entities are also of two basic kinds: characters (who can engage in acts) and settings (in which happenings occur). Story should not be confused with narrative discourse, which is the telling or presenting of a story. A story is bound by the laws of time; it goes in one direction, starting at the beginning, moving through the middle, and arriving at the end. Narrative discourse does not have to follow that order. The distinction between story and narrative discourse was first anticipated early in this century by Russian structuralists. The terms they used for this distinction - fabula (for story) and sjuzet (for the order of events in the narrative) - are still widely employed in the discourse on narrative. 13-22, 29-34, 55

^ Stream of consciousness: See interior monologue. 71—2

Suspense: Uncertainty (together with the desire to diminish it) about how the narrative will develop. Suspense can vary from mild to acute, but it is possible to argue that suspense is always present to some degree in those texts that keep us from putting them down or from walking out of the theater. 53-7, 59, 109, 155

Suture: In film, the point at which one fragment or sequence or shot is connected with another. The term connotes the invisibility of these connections.

^ Symptomatic reading: Decoding a text as symptomatic of the author's uncon­scious or unacknowledged state of mind, or of unacknowledged cultural condi­tions. Generally opposed to intentional reading. 97—100, 101—4, 135, 171

Temporal structure: How the time of the narrative discourse relates to the time of the story. There are two major ways in which the time of the narrative discourse can depart from that of the story: 1) by rearranging the order in which events are revealed to us (see prolepsis and analepsis), 2) by expanding or contracting the time devoted to individual events (see retardation).

Text: Used broadly in much, though not all, narrative theory to mean the physical embodiment of the narrative, as book, short story, performed play, film, and so on. Texts, of course, are thought of in common discourse as things composed of words. The broader meaning of the term invoked here rests on the idea that, regardless of the vehicle, narratives are always "read" in the sense that we grasp them through a process of decipherment. Without some understanding of the symbolic code in which the narrative is told, we cannot know what happened.

Theme: A subject (issue, question) that recurs in a narrative through implicit or explicit reference. With motif, theme is one of the two commonest forms of narrative repetition. Where motifs tend to be concrete, themes are abstract. 88-90, 99

^ Third-person narration: Conventionally, narrative in which the narrator is not a character in the story, and the characters are referred to in the third person ("He did this"; "She says that"). Like first-person narration, the term is not a satisfactory generic classification since third-person narrators can refer to them­selves in the first person, and first-person narratives almost invariably abound in stretches of third-person narration. Genette features the cleaner distinction between homo- and heterodiegetic narration. 64—6

Type: A kind of character that recurs in different specific renderings across a range of narrative texts. Oedipus, Othello, and Willy Loman all fit within types of the tragic hero. But characters in narratives are almost invariably compounds of various types. Othello is a compound of the types of the tragic hero, the jealous husband, the outsider, the military hero, the man of eloquence, and the Moor. Willy Loman is a compound of the types of the tragic hero, the optimist, the dreamer, and the salesman. When a character is composed without invention, adhering too closely to type, it is considered a stereotype. Stereotype can also be used more broadly to refer to any literary cliche. 45, 48, 109, 119, 129-33, 136-7, 148-52

Underreading: See overreading.

Unreliable narrator: A narrator whose perceptions and moral sensibilities dif­fer from those of the implied author. There can be degrees of reliability and unreliability among narrators. It is useful to follow Dorrit Cohn in distinguish­ing between those narrators who are unreliable in their rendering of the facts and those who are reliable in rendering the facts but unreliable in their views. The latter she designates as discordant narrators. 63, 69-70, 71-2, 73-4, 77, 109-10, 143

Voice: The sensibility through which we hear the narrative, even when we are reading silently. Voice is very closely associated with focalization, the sensibility through which we see the characters and events in the story, and sometimes hard to distinguish from it. 64-6, 68, 70-1, 86


Index of authors and narratives


Aarseth, EspenJ., 33-4 Alger, Horatio, 43-4, 49, 50 Amis, Martin, ^ Time's Arrow, 30, 35 Andrew, Dudley, 106, 119 Apocalypse Now (Francis Ford

Coppola), 115, 122 Aristotle, 15, 53, 123, 125, 163 Armstrong, Paul, 103 Asheron's Call, 32, 33 Atkins, G. Douglas, 103 Augustine, St., 93-4, 96

Confessions, 132-3, 134-5, 137 Austen, Jane, Emma, 61

Film adaptation (Amy Heckerling's

Clueless), 120, 122 Film adaptation (Diarmid

Lawrence), 122 Auster, Paul 3, 95

Bacon, Francis, ^ Three Studies for Figures

at the Base of a Crucifixion, 9-11 Bal, Mieke, 12,74, 117 Balazs, Bela, 105 Ballard, J. M., The Atrocity Exhibition,

24,7'4

Bandello, Matteo, 106 Barbellion, W. N. P. [Bruce

Cummings], The Journal ofa

Disappointed Man,

27, 135-6 Barth, John

End of the Road, The, 175 Floating Opera, The, 175 Barthes, Roland, 1-2, 12, 20, 23, 28,

36, 39, 48, 53-6, 60, 63-4

Bazin, Andre, 106 Beckett, Samuel

Molloy, 50, 61, 74, 92

"Ping," 129-30

The Unnamahle, 12, 24

^ Waiting for Godot, 27, 102, 107, 119 Bellow, Saul, Herzog, 175 Benstock, Shari, 136 Beowulf, 92

Bergman, Ingmar, 105 Bergson, Henri, 126 Bernanos, Georges, Diary oj a Country Priest, 106, 175

Film adaptation (Robert Bresson),

106 Bible

Genesis, 37

Wisdom of Solomon, 157—8 Black Elk, ^ Black Elk Speaks, 137 Blair Witch Project, The (Eduardo

Sanchez and Daniel Myrick), 117

Bloom, Harold, 101, 103 Bluestone, George, 105, 120 Boccaccio, Giovanni, Decameron, 25 Booth, Wayne, 49, 69, 73, 77-8, 90 Bordwell, David, 12, 72, 74, 77, 90 Branigan, Edward, 74 Braudy, Leo, 111 ^ Brazil (Terry Gilliam), 120 Bremond, Claude, 18 Bronte, Emily, Wuthering Heights, 61, 67-8, 69, 74, 82, 85-6, 88, 91

Film adaptation (William Wyler), 73, 108-10, 119-20

Brooke-Rose, Christine, 103 Brooks, Peter, 3, 49, 151, 154 Brown, Arnold R., 154 Bruner, Jerome, 49, 162 Bruss, Elizabeth, 136 Bulwer Lytton, Edward, 61 Bunyan, John, ^ Crace Abounding, 12 Burgess, Anthony, A Clockwork Orange,

121 Film adaptation (Stanley Kubrick),

72, 121 Burroughs, William, Naked Eunch,

24,28 Burton, Virginia Lee, Mike Mulligan

and his Steam Shovel, 50 Butor, Michel, Ea modification, 64

Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Robert Wiene),

120 Calvino, Italo, If on a Winter's Night a

Traveler, 64, 74, 92 Carpentier, Alejo, "Journey to the

Source," 35 Cassavetes, John, 15 Chandler, Raymond, Farewell My

Lovely, 75 Film adaptation (Edward Dmytryk's

^ Murder My Sweet), 72, 75 Chatman, Seymour, 14, 20, 23, 30,

38 Chaucer, 22

Canterbury Tales, The, 25, 131 Troilus and Criseyde, 106 Chekhov, Anton, 56, 169 Christie, Agatha, Witness for the

Prosecution, 155 Film adaptation (Billy Wilder),

155

Cinderella, 18-20, 42, 44, 82 Clarke, Arthur C. "Sentinal, The," 121

Film adaptation (Stanley Kubrick's

^ 2001: A Space Odyssey), 121 2001, 121 2010: Odyssey Two, 121

Film adaptation (Peter Hyams's

2010: The Year We Make

Contact), 121

2061: Odyssey Three, 121 Cohn, Dorrit, 70, 77 Collins, Wilkie, The Moonstone, 61 Conrad, Joseph, Heart of Darkness, 35,

61, 122

Contact (Robert Zemeckis), 117 Corneille, Pierre, 15 Corrigan, Timothy, 120 Cortazar, Julio, Hopscotch, 29, 92 Coverly, C. D., Califia, 28 Culler, Jonathan, 18, 23, 32, 40, 49,

103

Defoe, Daniel, 168 DeLillo, Don, Underworld, 35, 91 de Man, Paul, 103 De Palma, Brian, 6 Dernda, Jacques, 98, 103, 172-4 Dickens, Charles, 106, 126 ^ David Copperfield, 61, 88 Great Expectations, 61, 67 Nicholas Nickleby

Stage adaptation (Royal Shakespeare Company), 107

Doherty, Thomas, 136 Dostoevsky, Fyodor, 175

Brothers Karamazov, The, 57, 62—3,

91

Notes From Underground, 61 Douglas, Frederick, ^ Narrative of the Life

of Frederick Douglas, 137 Dujardin, Edouard, Les lauriers sont

coupes, 71

Dungeons and Dragons, 31 Dworkin, Ronald, ML, 154

Eakin, Paul John, 136 Eco, Umberto, 77, 103 Eisenstein, Sergei, 106, 114 Eliot, George, Middlcmarch, 131 Eliot, T. S., The Waste Land, 12

198

Ellison, Ralph, ^ Invisible Man, 44, 50, 126-7

Fahey, William A., 49 Faulkner, William, 71, 128

Absalom! Absalom!, 30 Faustbuch, 21 Fish, Stanley, 154, 175 Fitzgerald, F. Scott, 83

The Great Gatsby, 50, 74 Flaubert, Gustave, Madame Bovary,

66-7, 70-1, 80, 97-8, 127-8 Flax, Jane, 49 ^ Floating Admiral, The, 96 Forster, E. M., 38, 91, 126, 128, 136

A Passage to India, 92 Four Hundred Blows, The (Francois

Truffaut), 111

Freud, Sigmund, 163—4, 167 Frost, Robert, 95

Gaimon, Neil, 115

Garcia Marquez, Gabriel, "A Very Old

Man with Enormous Wings,"

80-1 Gamier, Michel, ^ La douce resistance,

7-8

Genette, Gerard, 12, 23, 27, 34, 68 Gide, Andre, The Counterfeiters, 61,

91

Gittes, Katherine S., 34 Goddard, Jean-Luc, 15 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang Faust, 21, 175

Sorrows of Young Werther, The, 74 Goffman, Erving, 26 Goodman, Nelson, 31 Goodwin, Doris Kearns, 49 Gosse, Edmund, ^ Father and Son, 137 Gould, Stephen Jay, 43 Greed (Eric von Stroheim), 107 Griffith, D. W, 106 Guare, John, Six Degrees of Separation,

61, 114

Film adaptation (Fred Schepisi), 61,

75 Guyer, Carolyn, Quibbling, 24

Hartman, Geoffrey, 103 Harvey, W.J., 136 Hayman, David, 77 Hemingway, Ernest, 99, 104 "Doctor and the Doctor's Wife,

The," 68

Farewell to Arms, A, 100 For Whom the Bell Tolls, 100 "Now I Lay Me," 83-4, 86-90,

93-4, 99-101, 105 "Short Happy Life of Francis

Macomber, The," 99 ^ Sun Also Rises, The, 99 Highsmith, Patricia, The Talented

Mr. Ripley, 105 Film adaptation (Anthony

Minghella), 105-6 Hochman, Baruch, 136 Hogan, Patrick, 103 Hogg, James, The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, 69-70, 77 Homer, 92 Iliad, 131 Odyssey, 91, 124 Howells, William Dean, 63

Imbert, Enrique Anderson, "Taboo,"

52 Iser, Wolfgang, 84-5, 87, 91, 94,

103 Ishiguru, Kazuo, ^ The Remains of the

Day, 11

Jackson, Shelley, Patchwork Girl, 24 Jahn, Manfred, 177 n. 2 James Henry, 108, 124 Ambassadors, The, 118 Turn of the Screw, The, 25-6, 34, 61,

74,91-2,99, 111-12 James, William, 71 Jameson, Fredric, 1

^ Jazz Singer, The (Alan Crosland), 169-73 Jennicam.org, 134

Jonson, Ben, "Song to Celia," 2, 31 Joyce, James, 71

Finnegans Wake, 24

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, A, 92

Ulysses, 28, 72, 92 Joyce, Michael

Afternoon, A Story, 28, 30, 61, 92

Reach, 31

Jules etJim (Francois Truffaut), 75 Jung, Carl, 43

Kafalenos, Emma, 81 Kafka, Franz, 60

"Common Confusion, A" 57—9, 98

"Metamorphosis, The" 50 Kawin, Bruce, 91

Kazantzakis, Nikos, ^ The Fratricides, 175 Kendall, Robert, A Life Set for Two, 31 Kenner, Hugh, 74 Kermode, Frank, 41, 44, 60, 79-80,

91,93 Kingston, Maxine Hong, The Woman

Warrior, 136, 137

Koestler, Arthur, Darkness at Noon, 175 Kristeva, Julia, 94

Laffay, Albert, 77

Landow, George, 28, 31, 34

Lawrence, D. H., 168-9, 171

Lee, Harper, ^ To Kill a Mockingbird, 155

Film adaptation (Robert Mulligan),

155 Lermontov, Mikhail, A Hero of Our

Time, 35 Levinson, Sanford, and Steven

Mailloux, 154 Levi-Strauss, Claude, 165-7 Lizzie Borden, 138-54 London Consequences, 96 Long, Elizabeth, 49 Lorde, Audre, 103

^ Cancer Journals, The, 136

Lumet, Sidney, Twelve Angry Men, 154—5 Lyotard, Jean-Francois, 1

Malcolm X, The Autobiography of

Malcolm X, 50

Malreaux, Andre, Man's Fate, 175 Mann, Thomas

Doctor Faustus, 21-2 Magic Mountain, The, 91, 175 Marlowe, Christopher, Doctor Faustus,

21

Mauriac, Francois, 168 McCarthy, Mary, Memories of a Catholic

Girlhood, 132 McCloud, Scott, 115-16 McHarg, Tom, The Late-Nite Maneuvers

of the Ultramundane, 12 Memento (Christopher Nolan), 35 Mighty Aphrodite (Woody Allen), 51 Miller, Frank, 115 Miller, J. Hillis, 91, 103, 173 Milton, John, Paradise Lost, 37, 85, 104 Minow, Martha, 152 Momaday, N. Scott, The Way to Rainy

Mountain, 37

Murasaki, Tale of Genji, 91 Musil, Robert, The Man Without

Qualities, 41, 81, 129

Nabokov, Vladimir

Ada or Ardor, 91

Lolita, 14

Pale Fire, 61

Naked Came the Stranger, 96 Nelson, Katherine, 176 n. 4 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 40 Newman, John Henry, Apologia pro

Vita sua, 50 Norris, Frank, McTeague, 107

Film adaptation (Eric von Stroheim), 107

O'Brien, Flann, At Swim-Two-Birds, 74 O'Connor, Flannery

"Good Man is Hard to Find, A," 104

O'Connor, Flannery (cont.)

"Lame Shall Enter First, The," 104 "View of the Woods, A," 104 Oedipus, 158-68, 175 Olney, James, 136 Ondaatje, Michael, The English Patient,

121

Film adaptation (Anthony Minghella), 121

Pascal, Roy, 74

Pearson, Edmund, 154

^ Phantom Menace, The (George Lucas),

73

Phelan, James, 136 Pinter, Harold, Betrayal, 35 Piper, Watty, The Little Engine that

Could, 50 Pirandello, Luigi

Each in his Own Way, 74

Six Characters in Search of an Author, 74

Tonight We Improvise, 74 Plato, 68

Posner, Richard A., 154 Pound, Ezra, 119 Prince Gerald, 13, 23, 88 Propp, Vladimir, 164-5 Proust, Marcel, ^ In Search of Lost

Time, 92 Pynchon, Thomas,

Crying of Lot 49, The, 24

Gravity's Rainbow, 28, 61 Rabkin, Eric, 60 Racine, Jean, 15 Ran (Akira Kurosawa), 121 Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa), 69-70,

140, 155

Reising, Russell J., 60 Rembrandt, Belshazzar's Feast,

6-7

Renoir, Jean, Grand Illusion, 21 Richards, I. A., 59, 169 Richardson, Brian, 12, 23, 49 Richardson, Dorothy, 71

Richardson, Samuel, Pamela, 104 Richter, David H., 60 Ricoeur, Paul, 4, 103, 175 Riefenstahl, Leni, ^ The Triumph of the

Will, 156-7

Rimmon-Kenan, Shlomith, 12, 74 Ritt, Marin, The Outrage, 155 Robbe-Grillet, In the Labyrinth, 24, 61,

74

ronde, La (Max Ophiils), 75 Rorty, Richard, 103 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, Confessions,

104, 133-4, 134-5, 137 Rowling, J. K., Harry Potter and the

Goblet of Fire, 43

Saporta, Marc, Composition no. 1, 29 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 19, 23, 33, 128 Nausea, 19,23, 128, 129, 132 Words, The, 23, 132 Saving Private Ryan (Stephen

Spielberg), 131 Sax, Oliver, 176 n. 6 Scholes, Robert and Robert Kellogg,

73

Seinfeld, 35

Shakespeare, William, 22, 59, 130 Antony and Cleopatra, 112—13 Hamlet, 51-2 Henry V

Film adaptations (Laurence

Olivier; Kenneth Branagh), 121 King Lear, 18-19, 21, 54-5, 59 Film adaptations (Akira Kurosawa; Peter Brooks; Jean-Luc Goddard), 121 Macbeth, 21, 100-1, 149

Film adaptations (Akira Kurosawa;

Orson Wells), 121 ^ Much Ado about Nothing, 106 Richard III, 131 Romeo and Juliet, 106, 113 Troilus and Cressida, 106 Twelfth Night, 106 Shank, Roger, 43

Shelley, Mary, Frankenstein, 20-1, 35 Film adaptation (James Whale), 20-1

Shields, Rev. Robert, 134

Smith, Barbara Herrnstein, 12

Sondheim, Stephen, ^ Into the Woods, 74

Sophocles

Oedipus at Colonus, 160-8, 175 Oedipus the King, 15, 160-8, 175

Star Wars (George Lucas), 73

Stendhal, The Red and the Black, 91

Stephen, Leslie, 124

Sterne, Laurence, Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, 23, 108, 133-4

Story ofMulian, 125

Sturgess, Philip J. M., 23

Sukenick, Ronald, 163

Sutherland, John, 91

^ Tale of Genji, 125

Teresa of Avila, St., The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila by Herself, 137 Thousand and One Nights, A, 25-6 Throne of Blood (Akira Kurasawa), 121 Tolstoy, Leo, 128

Anna Karenina, 18, 43, 128, 131 Torgovnick, Mariana, 60 Travers, Robert, Anatomy of a Murder, 154

Film adaptation (Otto Preminger),

154 Trollope, Anthony, 168

^ The Eustace Diamonds, 61 Twain, Mark, 63

Vanishing, The (George Sluizer), 55, 57 Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock), 55, 57 Virgil, Aeneid, 37

War of the Gods, 37

Warhol, Andy, 15

Waugh, Evelyn, The Loved One, 120,

121 Film adaptation (Tony Richardson),

120, 121 Weeks, Robert P., ^ Commonwealth vs.

Sacco and Vanzetti, 154 Welty, Eudora, "Why I Live at the

P.O.," 50

White, Hayden, 11, 40, 49 Whitmore, Jeffrey, "Bedtime Story," 52 Wilde, Oscar, The Picture of Dorian

Gray, 27

Wilder, Thornton, Our Town, 72 Williams, William Carlos, "This is Just

to Say," 76

Woolf, Virginia, 71, 103 Jacob's Room, 23 Mrs. Dalloway, 72 To the Lighthouse, 72, 92 Waves, The, 28 Wright, Richard Black Boy, 36-7 Native Son, 50 Wyeth, Andrew, Dr. Syn, 8-9, 11

Young, Kay and Jeffrey Shaver, 176 n. 6


Notes


Chapter One

  1. Fredric Jameson, The Pohical Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), p. 13.

  2. Jean-Francois Lyotard, trans. Geoff Bennington and Brian Massumi, The Post­ modern Condition, Theory and History of Literature, vol. 10 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), p. 19.

  3. Roland Barthes, "Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narratives" in Su­san Sontag (ed.) A Barthes Reader (New York: Hill and Wang, 1982), pp. 251-2.

  4. The coincidence of the onset in infancy of both autobiographical memory and narrative capability has been widely observed in psychological literature. For one discussion, see Katherine Nelson, "Finding One's Self in Time" in Joan Gay Snodgrass and Robert L. Thompson (eds.), The Self across Psychology: Self Recognition, Self-Awareness, and the Self Concept, Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, vol. 818 (New York Academy of Sciences, 1997), pp. 103-16.

  5. Peter Brooks, "The Law as Narrative and Rhetoric," in Peter Brooks and Paul Gewirtz (eds.), Law's Stories: Narrative and Rhetoric in the Law (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), p. 19.

  6. See Oliver Sacks's discussions of Korsakov's syndrome in The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985), pp. 23-42, 108-15; and Kay Young and Jeffrey Shaver, "The Neurology of Narrative," SubStance 94/95 (March 2001), 72-84.

  7. Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude (New York: Penguin, 1988), p. 154.

  8. Paul Ricoeur, trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer, Time and Narrative, three vols. (University of Chicago Press, 1984), vol. 1:3.

  9. Brian De Palma, quoted in Eric Harrison, "De Palma," Los Angeles Times, Calendar Section, 2 August 1998, 30.

  10. Hayden White, The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Rep­resentation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987), p. 215n.



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