sobre las Madres

Standard

¿Cómo podemos, al escribir de las dictaduras y sus tecnologías de opresión en América Latina, al escribir contra la tortura y del terror, perturbar su poder no solo de imponer el tema, sino además de ejercer una fascinación sobre el texto? Para descomponer esa lógica debemos arriesgar la desilusión de también perturbar la ilusión de totalidad en el texto, cuyo poder de transmission es como la autoridad del dictador: una autoridad fundada en el poder de reproducit entre su público esa ilusión de orden por encima de la condición del terror… en otras palabras, un silencio…
Al igural que ese silencio, así también los desaparecidos, los ausentes y las fosas communes autorizan al Estado como la Fuente de la verdad.
Contra esto se levanta un arte que busca una cultura de la resistencia.”
~ Charles Merewether (quoted p.236, Butinx)

Gustavo Butinx once drew a series of quotes and writings together to convey some understanding of the politics and identity of the Madres. I still find some of these ideas thought-provoking… here is his opening, explanatory, statement (followed by quotes from within the essay):

madres-plaza-de-mayo“No es fácil escribir sobre las Madres. Lo que aquí se ofrece no es un texto orgánico y autorizado sino el inicio de una aproximación, construída a modo de collage y pensada para una discusión que no se agote en lo académico.” (Butinx, p.236)

“Pero la de las Madres es también una estrategia simbólica que arrebata al poder el poder de sus imágenes, ocupando y recuperando los vacíos de su retorica, parasitando sus contradicciones. Maternidad, femineidad, familia, religion. El pañal que flameó por primera vez sobre sus cabezas en una peregrinación official a Luján. Los nombres y reclamos “femeninamente” bordados sobre tan piadosos pañuelos. Los clavos de Cristo en la solapa. Los ayunos y retiros. Los encuentros en la iglesia, desde cuyas puertas serían ellas mismas secuestradas. Y esa notable capacidad para revertir el discurso del enemigo: “Las Malvinas son argentinas, los desaparecidos también”.
Pero eran las Madres. Al buscar a sus hijos usaban ingenuamente el sagrado derecho democrático de querer saber” (Osvaldo Bayer). La agudeza así lograda puede ser también interpretada como un doble filo. Ya en 1982 algunas feministas argentinas le comentaban a Jean Elshtain que, por las características de su accionar, las Madres “profundizaron y legitimaron la imagen de la madre de luto como típica e ideal identidad femenina. María del Carmen Feijóo cuestiona una estrategia “basada en los roles reproductores de la mujer que refuerza la convencional division del trabajo.” Pero Martha Ackelsberg y Mary L. Shanley enfrentan estas expresiones con la comprobación propia de cómo las Madres disolvieron las fronteras de lo público y lo privado en sup unto más sensible y al mismo tiempo más resguardado: la construcción de género. “Para proteger y cuidar a sus hijos tuvieron que salir de sus casas y hablar como seres politicos y como ciudadanos”.
Por ser madres ejemplares, dejaron de serlo (Alejandro Diago).” (Butinx, p.238)

“Espacio que se disuelve en tiempo: casi una definición etimológica de la utopia. Tanto más ponderosa pore star articulada a un rito. La Victoria es efímera pero año tras año reiterada. Más que una actuación, cada Marcha de la Resistencia, cada ronda de los jueves, es una actualización. La toma de la Plaza tiene ciertamente una dimension política y estética, pero sobre todo ritual, en el sentido más cargado y antropológico del téermino. No se trata tan solo de generar conciencia sobre el genocidio, sino de revertirlo: recuperar para una vida nueva a los seres queridos atrapados en las fronteras fantasmagóricas de la muerte.” (p.240)

“No solo el presente, también la presencia, esa primera y esencial forma de protesta asumida por las Madres. “Con su sola presencia empezaban a quebrar un sistema” dice Bayer. Los pañuelos-pañales en las procesiones y en los despachos, en los fastos oficiales, en la Plaza de Mayo. La ausencia del hijo encarnada en la presencia ubicua de la madre, iluminando el “cono de sombras” (Piera Oria) con que se pretendía sepultar a los secuestrados en un limbo sin memoria. La silueta actúa como una metáfora inversa pero de igual sentido: el vacío se vuelve pleno en la acción vital de quienes lo (d)enuncian y en ese mismo acto lo llenan. Aparición con vida. No la mera ilustración artística de una consigna sino su realización viva. Las Madres hicimos las siluetas. Esas siluetas eran la presencia de los desaparecidos en la calle (Hebe). Presencia-por-ausencia. Como la de los desaparecidos.” (p.242)

Más que una categoría política, el desaparecido es nuestra figura cultural por excelencia. No lo eliminado sino lo reprimido, en toda la complejidad de ese término. Lo negado, antes que lo proscripto. Pero el triunfo secreto de las Madres es la dialéctica intuitive que les permite revertir esa lógica perverse en sus propios términos. Hacer del desaparecido no el signo desplazado de la muerte sino el proyectivo de la latencia. El retorno de lo reprimido. El eterno retorno del mito.” (p.243)

“Como testimonio las Madres nos ofrecen sus existencias reconstruídas en la búsqueda de los ausentes. “Nuestros hijos nos parieron a nosotras, nos dejaron embarazadas para siempre” (Hebe).” (p.244)

Te seguimos buscando” es la frace característica. “Buscar, esa era la única manera de continuar siendo madre (Hebe)” (quoted p.246)

Ref: (italics in original; emphases in blue bold mine) Gustavo Buntinx (1993) ‘Desapariciones forzadas/ resurreciones míticas (fragmentos)’ pp.236-255, Arte y poder: 5as. Jornadas de Teoria e Historia de las Artes, Facultad de Filosofía y Letras (UBA) del 8 al 11 de septiembre de 1993

http://myhero.com/hero.asp?hero=MPM_isfa_AR_2011_ul

Werewolf romances

Standard

You know you like the article when you highlight so much of it that you defeat the purpose of using a highlighter!

In her analysis of the werewolf romances of Kelley Armstrong and Carrie Vaughn, Erin S. Young argues for a reconceptualisation of the borders around the genre(s) of Romance. She writes:

“In her introduction to Best New Paranormal Romance (2006), a collection of contemporary tales that explore the intersection of romance and fantasy, editor Paula Guran establishes a distinction between “paranormal romance” and “paranormal Romance”: “I contend that although some twenty-first century paranormal romance is still definitional Romance, another type of ‘paranormal romance’ has emerged that is not Romance. Perhaps it is time to acknowledge this duality or at least explore the idea” (8). Using Pamela Regis’ definition of romance—from A Natural History of the Romance Novel (2003)—as the foundation of her argument, Guran suggests that “the betrothal,” which signifies “happily ever after” at the conclusion of the conventional romance narrative, is one of the definitive elements that distinguishes “paranormal Romance” from “paranormal romance.” Romance novelists such as Christine Feehan and Sherrilyn Kenyon, who occasionally venture into paranormal territory, are producing “paranormal Romance.” In contrast, the works of Kelley Armstrong and Carrie Vaughn—which will be the central foci of this essay—are more appropriately labeled “paranormal romance,” because these novels violate the conventional romance formula by omitting “the betrothal,” as well as any other indicator of “happily ever after.”

Guran’s argument reveals the fundamental paradox that exists at the core of romance criticism. The “betrothal” must occur at some point in the romance novel. [-p.205] A romance novel without a betrothal is not a romance; it may contain a love story, but it should be categorized as belonging to some other genre. This logic suggests both the impossibility of a feminist reading of popular romance—if a romance novel must conclude with at least the promise of marriage, then the genre does, by critical definition, affirm the “patriarchal myths and institutions” that have long prevented feminist romance critics from giving it a stamp of approval—and more importantly perhaps, it suggests that women’s concerns, experiences, and ideas about love have changed minimally in the 200-plus years that have passed since the emergence of the domestic novel (Modleski 16). I would argue that it is more fruitful to read the paranormal romance’s nearly universal rejection of marriage—and reproduction—as a reflection of particular cultural fantasies about limitless consumption and flexibility, even in the development of romantic relationships. I hope to justify the inclusion of the paranormal romance in academic romance criticism, despite its significant deviations from the popular romance code, because it suggests a cultural shift in dominant ideas about identity and intimacy. If an acknowledgement of this shift leads writers and readers of romance to interrogate constructions of love, marriage, and reproduction as stable and permanent concepts, then new analyses of women’s subjectivity in the context of patriarchal and economic realities may become possible.” (pp.204-205)

Citing David Harvey, Young asserts: “[“]”The dynamics of a ‘throwaway’ society . . . mean[s] more than just throwing away produced goods . . . but also being able to throw away values, lifestyles, stable relationships, and attachments to things, buildings, places, people, and received ways of doing and being” (156, 286). The heroines of “paranormal romance,” like the multi-volume structures that contain them, fully embrace the “dynamics of a ‘throwaway’ society” as they experience a multitude of romantic relationships, sexual encounters, and adventures that yield only temporary satisfaction.” (p.207)

With regards to the werewolf romances of Armstrong and Vaughn, Young explains, “What both of these series offer, then, are heroines whose paranormal attributes play a key role in their refusal—and sometimes, inability—to marry and bear children. Through the absence of these two central characteristics of romance, Elena and Kitty (as well as the readers of their narratives) are granted access to a very particular kind of capitalist fantasy.” (p.208)

In the works of Armstrong and Vaughn, lycanthropy functions as a paranormal inheritance that endows their heroines with altered physical bodies and perspectives that facilitate the indefinite pursuit of temporary and disposable pleasures. Lycanthropy also enables Elena and Kitty to interrogate and reject traditional “human” standards of gendered behavior, thereby reflecting the dissolution of stable identities in a flexible capitalist economy.
The werewolf romances of Armstrong and Vaughn share particular formulaic conventions that are identifiable throughout the genre of paranormal romance, [-p.209] including a first-person female narrator, a multi-volume structure, and a parallel universe in which magic exists.” (pp.208-209)

To be a werewolf is, for the most part, to consume without consequence.” (p.210)

“…the werewolf lens enables a critique of the monogamous relationship and the institution of marriage.” (p.211)

In both series, sexual intercourse is depicted as a “natural” indulgence for werewolves, especially when it follows a successful hunt. In contrast, the strict boundaries that surround acceptable forms of human sexuality (that it must be explored with only one other person, that it must be associated with love, and that it must be legally sanctioned by the State), are portrayed as heavily constructed rules of behavior that are distinctly “unnatural.”” (p.211)

“Armstrong’s Bitten offers the following premise: a female werewolf, uncomfortable with her lycanthropic identity, chooses to abandon her Pack and “pass” as an ordinary human woman with a stable career in journalism and a loving live-in boyfriend. In “The Politics of Passing” (1996), Elaine K. Ginsberg claims that “the possibility of passing challenges a number of problematic and even antithetical assumptions about identities, the first of which is that some identity categories are inherent and unalterable essences” (4). The conventional romance novel accepts the traditionally gendered categories of “male” and “female” as “inherent and unalterable essences,” as illustrated by Jayne Ann Krentz’s defense of the romance novel in Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women: Romance Writers on the Appeal of the Romance (1992): “[Romance novels] celebrate female power, intuition, and a female worldview that affirms life and expresses hope for the future” (8). Werewolf romances do not share this assumption; human standards of appropriate behavior—particularly along gender lines—are continually rendered “strange” as they are observed through the eyes of the werewolf protagonist. Elena’s painstaking attempt to “pass” as a human woman forces the reader to question the innateness of behaviors and values that are conventionally coded as “feminine.” Thus, Bitten poses a unique challenge to the romance genre; its focus on a werewolf heroine who is always conscious of performing human femininity is simultaneously a focus on gender as a socially constructed category of identity.” (p.214)

“…both series offer complex explorations of the lycanthropic inheritance as a specifically gendered form of power. Lycanthropy is constructed contradictorily as a condition that empowers its female hosts by granting them sexual, geographical, and economic mobility, while also signifying the source and consequence of patriarchal oppression. The explicitness of this contradiction may seem critically inconvenient, but it must be noted that the werewolf romance exposes a central contradiction at the heart of every romance novel. The conventional romance heroine is “empowered” by her access to the patriarchal institution of marriage at the novel’s conclusion, much to the dismay of early romance critics. In contemporary romances that feature career women, the heroine’s empowerment is dependent upon her access to the patriarchal business world—access that is solely the result of a fortunate accident of birth. Werewolf romances, in other words, may offer yet another fantasy of female empowerment—albeit one that suggests substantial changes in the needs and desires of women under flexible capitalism—but at least they reveal the incompatibility of that fantasy with the patriarchal conditions that continue to affect the choices available to contemporary women.” (p.225)

Ref: (emphases in blue bold, mine; italics in original) Erin S. Young (2011) Flexible Heroines, Flexible Narratives: The Werewolf Romances of Kelley Armstrong and Carrie Vaughn  Extrapolation, Vol. 52, No. 2, pp.204-226

Reference is to: Armstrong, Kelley. Bitten. New York: Plume, 2001.
Cohn, Jan. Romance and the Erotics of Property: Mass-Market Fiction for Women. Durham and London: Duke UP, 1988.

Giddens, Anthony. The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love, and Eroticism in Modern Societies. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1992.
Ginsberg, Elaine K. “The Politics of Passing.” Passing and the Fictions of Identity. Ed. Elaine K. Ginsberg. Durham and London: Duke UP, 1996.
Guran, Paula, ed. “Introduction: What is ‘Paranormal Romance’?” Best New Paranormal Romance. New York: Juno Books, 2006. 7-17.
Halberstam, Judith. In a Queer Time & Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives. New York and London: New York UP, 2005.
Harvey, David. The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change. Oxford: Blackwell, 1989.
Krentz, Jayne Ann, ed. Introduction. Dangerous Men & Adventurous Women: Romance Writers on the Appeal of the Romance. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1992.
Modleski, Tania. Loving with a Vengeance: Mass-Produced Fantasies for Women. New York: Methuen, 1984.
Mussell, Kay. Fantasy and Reconciliation: Contemporary Formulas of Women’s Romance Fiction. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1984.
Vaughn, Carrie. Kitty and the Midnight Hour. New York: Warner Books, 2005.

Zaretsky, Eli. Capitalism, the Family, and Personal Life. New York: Harper & Row, 1976.

Monstrosity and motherhood in Bram Stoker

Standard

Lisa Hopkins looks at the representation of motherhood in Bram Stoker’s writing, declaring that:

Much critical attention has been paid to the representation of female characters in the novels of Bram Stoker. Often, his patent uneasiness about women has been attributed to his fear of the New Woman movement, to which Dracula, in particular, openly refers. […] I want to argue that Stoker’s response to the figure of the New Woman, and indeed his figuring of his female characters in general, is radically inflected and informed by the shaping circumstances of his early life in Ireland and his Irish identity – particularly when it comes to his representations of women as mothers or motherly, which are deeply rooted in the representations of maternity in the cultural imagery of his Irish background.” (p.5)

Dracula, instead of progressing, like so many other Victorian novels, towards a closing marriage, ends instead on an image of motherhood. The final paragraph of the novel is ostensibly offered as a celebration of domesticity, continuity, and affective ties.” (p.6)

Motherhood, then, is encoded at the close of the novel not as any idyllic image of Madonna and child – indeed the child sits not on its mother’s knee, but on Van Helsing’s, and Mina herself is silent throughout the closing ‘Note’ – but as a merely temporary refuge from precisely the kinds of sexual knowledge that initially unleashed the horrors of vampirism amongst the Crew of Light. In fact, despite its structural status as narrative telos, this closing representation of motherhood is fissured by the same kinds of ambiguity that have made many of the novel’s images of maternity only slightly less obviously monstrous than the figure of the Count himself. The figuration of motherhood as implicitly monstrous is pervasive.” (p.7)

Mother-figures in Stoker are closely and consistently associated with monstrosity.” (p.8)

Hopkins analyses both The Snake’s Pass and Dracula in some depth, concluding that “Stoker’s writing […] on one level insists on a separation of the sexual and the maternal while, at another, radically confounding them, seeing maternity as in fact impossible to confine within its appointed bounds but dangerously, monstrously, manifesting itself elsewhere. This is a patterning which seems, ultimately, only partly explicable in terms of a response to the unease generated by the New Woman. Underpinning it, surely, is a widereaching and deep-seated psychological unease with woman as mother, which may well be attributable to Stoker’s own feelings of ambivalence about the devouring mother and the maternal wife. Moreover, in his response to these two Irish women, we may well see Stoker as encoding a broader aspect of Irish culture as a whole, with its emphasis on the power of the mother who is also, in the legend of the pregnant women in the cave, available for marriage, or who, in the case of the Virgin Mary, transcends sexuality altogether to offer only maternity.” (p.8)

Ref: Lisa Hopkins (1997): Vampires and Snakes: Monstrosity and motherhood in Bram Stoker, Irish Studies Review, 5:19, 5-8