The significance of the uncanny in American Regional and Nuclear Literature
Sara Wasson
and Emily Alder posit that, while on the surface it may seem that gothic and
science fiction writing are ‘incompatible’, deeper analysis reveals underlying similarities
between the two.[1]
To borrow from Wasson’s and Alder’s sentiment slightly: on the surface,
regional and nuclear American literature may also appear to be incompatible.
However, both specialisms can be brought together by their use of Gothic
conventions. This essay is concerned with just one of the many aspects of the
Gothic that regional and nuclear writing utilizes: the uncanny. The uncanny is an intangible feeling evoked by
experiencing a strangeness in something familiar and is often linked to
repression: ‘everything that ought to have remained […] secret and hidden but
has come to light.’[2]
Alan Gardner Lloyd-Smith justly lists the uncanny as one of the major themes in
American Gothic: an assertion which will be supported by this essay.[3]
This essay firstly introduces the initial ideas surrounding the uncanny as
postulated by Sigmund Freud and explores the representation and significance of
the uncanny in William Faulkner’s As I
Lay Dying (1930). Joseph Masco adds a new dimension to Freud’s uncanny,
which Masco terms ‘the nuclear uncanny’.
This essay discusses Masco’s ideas and explores representations of this in John
Hersey’s Hiroshima (1946).
The Gothic is
an ideal mode of writing for both nuclear and regional literature to engage
with, as Louis Gross rightly notes, the Gothic ‘merges almost imperceptibly
with other genres.’[4]
It is necessary to briefly touch on the Southern Gothic as a genre within
regional literature. Southern Gothic, a term coined by Ellen Glasgow, is a
specific subdivision of American Gothic which is distinguished by its use of
the home as the site of trauma, and its use of people of colour as a representation
of the Other.[5]
Charles Crow best sums up why the south as a region lends itself to the Gothic
mode of writing: ‘the south had a great burden of history and myth, and a
treasury of stories to tell, many of them twisted and tragic’.[6]
The ‘great burden of history’ and ‘twisted and tragic’ stories Crow mentions
here is undoubtedly a reference to slavery in the region; Southern states in
America, such as Mississippi and Texas, were amongst the last to abolish
slavery, as Lloyd-Smith writes, ‘[…][Gothic conventions] of course finds its
new home in the haunted swamps and lost plantations and decaying towns of the
defeated South’.[7]
Although Southern Gothic literature largely uses the uncanny in relation to
repressed guilt surrounding the region’s history with slavery,[8]
this essay focusses only on the uncanny as a manifestation of anxieties
surrounding death and nuclear war.
In 1919 one of
the founders of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, published his seminal essay ‘The
Uncanny’, which was translated from the original German term ‘Das Unheimliche’.
As many critics, including Masco, have noted ‘Das Unheimliche’ also retains the
meaning of literal translation: the unhomely. The unhomely, or the unfamiliar,
does not entirely capture the uncanny; the uncanny is characterised as a
strangeness within the familiar. Freud posits that the other fundamental
characteristics of the uncanny are: repetition, unexplainable coincidences,
doubles, and the fear of castration.[9]
These ideas were not new to the twentieth century: Freud was expanding on the
work previously foregrounded by Josef Breuer and Ernst Jentsch, however Freud provides part of our vocabulary for
understanding repressed and unconscious feelings. Gordon Bearn adds to Freud’s
definition of the uncanny and argues it is ‘most powerfully felt in those
situations where there is the presence of what ought to be absent.’[10]
The presence of what ought to be absent is arguably the most overt aspect of
the uncanny evident in As I Lay Dying,
most notably in Addie’s posthumous narration and in Darl’s earlier description
of her death.[11]
In As I Lay Dying, the uncanny is also
consistently represented through the character Darl. Christopher White
brilliantly highlights, ‘his [Darl’s] uncanny knowledge of others’ minds, his
ability to predict future events, like the timing of his mother’s death, and
his awareness of events occurring miles away [...].’[12]
Although White provides great examples of Darl’s unique characteristics and
uses the term ‘uncanny’ to describe one of them, White ultimately concludes
that these are examples of ‘the occult’ within As I Lay Dying.[13] However, White does not qualify this argument with
further explicit evidence from the text and I believe the examples White has
listed can all be explained as manifestations of the uncanny. Cora tells us
early on in the novel: ‘I always said Darl was different from those others (emphasis added)’.[14]
Cora’s admission undoubtedly foreshadows Darl’s incarceration into a mental
asylum at the end of the novel. Darl is different. This is a sentiment also
echoed by his sister Dewey Dell: ‘It was then, and then I saw Darl and he knew.
He said he knew without the words like he told me that ma is going to die
without words, and I knew he knew.’[15]
Dewey Dell’s repetition of the phrases ‘without words’, and ‘he knew (emphasis added)’, draws further
attention to Darl’s ability to communicate to her, about Addie’s death, only
using his mind. Darl’s implied superhuman characteristics is a recurring motif
throughout As I Lay Dying. The
description of Addie Bundren’s death is narrated by Darl, as if he were present
in the room when he is in fact miles away with Jewel. The uncanny nature of
Addie’s presence in the novel, even when she was still alive, is introduced by
Peabody:
The girl [Dewey Dell] is standing by the
bed, fanning her [Addie]. When we enter she turns her head and looks at us. She
has been dead these ten days. I suppose it’s having been a part of Anse for so
long that she cannot even make that change, if change it be. I can remember how
when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it
to be merely a function of the mind.[16]
This entire
passage is rife with ambiguity. In the second sentence it is not clear who
turns their head to look at Peabody and Anse. Upon first reading ‘she has been
dead these ten days,’ it seems as if this line concerns Addie, as the reader is
aware she is on her deathbed, which would qualify the immediate relevance of
Peabody’s subsequent lines theorising death. However, Peabody continues:
She looks at us. Only her eyes seem to
move. It’s like they touch us, not with sight or sense […] She looks at me, then
at the boy. Beneath the quilt she is no more than a bundle of rotten sticks.[17]
Addie is still
alive in this chapter. Although, looking in isolation at the description of her
body as ‘rotten sticks’ is interesting. The use of the word ‘rotten’, instead
of ‘rotting’ also hints that Addie is dead already. This ambiguity, much like
how the uncanny blurs the boundaries between the real and unreal, blurs the
lines between life and death. Peabody’s narration sets the tone for later on in
the novel when Addie narrates a chapter. It is not made clear whether this was
composed by Addie when she was alive, or posthumously from her coffin.
The ambiguity
of this, along with Darl’s suggested omnipotent nature, is made possible by
Faulkner’s experimental structure of the novel. Whilst a third person
omniscient narrator is a common motif in regional literature, As I Lay Dying is comprised of fifteen
different narrative points of view; the structure of which invites the reader
into the minds of each of the Bundren children illuminating the grief process
each child feels individually.[18]
This is made particularly effective by Faulkner’s use of a stream of
consciousness style that often interrupts many of the chapters. The
fragmentation of the narrative compliments the uncanny aspects of the novel,
resulting in the unsettling of the reader.
In returning
to Louis Gross’s point that the Gothic ‘merges almost imperceptibly with other
genres’, this essay will now explore the uncanny within nuclear literature. In The
Nuclear Borderlands, Joseph
Masco introduces a new dimension to Freud’s theory on the uncanny, which Masco
terms ‘the nuclear uncanny’. Masco sets out clearly from the offset that an
updated definition of Freud’s theory of the uncanny is necessary because: ‘The
nuclear age has witnessed the apotheosis of the uncanny.’[19]
During the Cold War, as Masco argues, the manifestation of the nuclear uncanny
is incited by:
[…] a fear of radioactive contamination
[that] has also colonized psychic spaces and profoundly shaped individual
perceptions of the everyday from the start of the nuclear age, leaving people
to wonder if invisible, life threatening forces intrude upon daily life,
bringing cancer, mutation, or death.[20]
A few examples
of literature which encompasses the life threatening forces intruding upon
daily life that include the bringing of cancer and the possibility of mutation
are Terry Tempest Williams’ Refuge
(1991), and Judith Merril’s ‘That Only A Mother’ (1948) respectively. Masco
continues:
radiation disrupts the ability of
individuals to differentiate their bodies from their environment, producing
paranoia. The nuclear uncanny is, therefore, a rupture in one of the basic
cognitive frames of orientation to the world. The ability to disarticulate a
traumatized self from the local environment is one experience of the nuclear
uncanny. It inevitably produces paranoia because it involves assimilation to a
radioactive space (real or imagined) […].[21]
One discernible similarity to Freud’s theory is how the
manifestation of the nuclear uncanny effects an individual’s ‘orientation to
the world’. Masco’s acknowledgement that the perceived threat of radiation
could be ‘real or imagined’ further demonstrates a fundamental similarity to
Freud’s work. Again, like Freud’s uncanny, the nuclear uncanny can be
characterised as fear caused by the crossing of boundaries - the real and
unreal, the certain and the uncertain.
Perhaps the
most overt aspect of the nuclear uncanny in John Hersey’s Hiroshima is the surprising effect the dropping of the atomic bomb
has on the environment. The eerie growth of the plants becomes a symbol of
‘grotesque monstrosity [which is] supposed to result from any meddling with
Nature’.[22]
Miss Sasaki encounters this grotesque monstrosity when she sees the ruins of
Hiroshima for the first time: ‘[…] the sight horrified and amazed her, and
there was something she noticed about it that particularly gave her the
creeps.’[23]
Miss Sasaki’s disarticulation from the local environment is elevated to a
sublime level by her feeling simultaneously ‘horrified’ and ‘amazed’. Miss
Sasaki’s experiencing of ‘the creeps’ sets the tone for the eerie description
that follows:
Over everything […] was a blanket of fresh,
vivid, lush, optimistic green; the verdancy rose even from the foundations of
ruined houses. Weeds already hid the ashes, and wild flowers were in bloom
among the city’s bones. The bomb had not only left the underground organs of
plants intact; it had stimulated them […] sickle senna grew in extraordinary
regeneration, not only standing among the charred remnants of the same place
but pushing up in new places, among bricks and through cracks in the asphalt.
It actually seemed as if a load of sickle-senna seed had been dropped along
with the bomb.[24]
Hersey’s use
of phrases ‘stimulated’ growth, ‘optimistic green’, and ‘extraordinary
regeneration’ in the description of the uncanny flourishing of vegetation in
Hiroshima profoundly contrasts to the lifeless imagery that describes the
buildings as: ‘charred remnants’, the ‘city’s bones’, and ‘foundations of
ruined houses’. The result of meddling with nature, by dropping the bomb, is
also witnessed by Mr. Tanimoto: ‘houses nearby were burning, and when huge
drops of water the size of marbles began to fall, he half thought that they
must be coming from the hoses of firemen fighting the blazes’.[25]
The unusual size of the falling raindrops is echoed later when they are
described as ‘abnormally large’.[26]
The eeriness
of the nuclear uncanny produces a perpetual anticipation of the future, in
terms of the initial uncertainty surrounding the lasting effects of radiation.
Indications of the nuclear uncanny were prevalent in Hiroshima before the
dropping of the atomic bomb. As psychiatrist Robert J. Lifton notes: ‘many used
the Japanese word bukimi, meaning
weird, ghastly, or unearthly, to describe Hiroshima’s uneasy combination of
continued good fortune and expectation of catastrophe.’[27]
Paul Saint-Amour usefully highlights that bukimi
also means ‘ominous or uncanny’.[28]
The impending presence of the nuclear uncanny results in a continued uneasy
suspense, the ‘expectation of catastrophe’ which Lifton observes. This
demonstrates a slight disparity to Freud’s theory on the uncanny. The nuclear
uncanny is not a past anxiety that only intrudes upon the present: the uneasy
ambiguity of the effects of radiation has much more of a hold on the future.
There is
magical realist quality about the nuclear environment that compliments the
literary usage of the nuclear uncanny. This is evident in the description of
Father Kleinsorge’s room after the explosion, which he first finds is in ‘a
state of weird and illogical confusion’,[29]
except for his papier-mâché suitcase, which is left unscathed by the bomb.
Later, Father Kleinsorge rationalizes that this was because his suitcase had ‘a
talismanic quality’.[30]
Magical realist writer Salman Rushdie, commenting on 9/11, says: ‘we all
crossed a frontier that day, an invisible boundary between the imaginable and
the unimaginable, and it turned out to be the unimaginable that was real’.[31]
Rushdie’s sentiment is applicable to the dropping of the atomic bomb on
Hiroshima; the invisible boundary between the imaginable and the unimaginable,
or the real and unreal, was obliterated. The ‘expectation of catastrophe’ sees
the uncanny manifest in this context as a response to these blurred boundaries.
The nuclear uncanny, therefore, becomes a vehicle for the expression of these
anxieties, because the bomb so perfectly confuses temporal and spatial
awareness, and the divisions between body and environment.
In conclusion,
the uncanny is expressed in a number of ways in both regional and in nuclear
literature. Paulina Palmer posits that the uncanny’s infiltration into different
forms of fiction demonstrates its ‘versatility and attraction it continues to
hold for writers and readers’.[32]
In full agreement with Palmer, and as this essay has demonstrated, the uncanny
is a versatile Gothic convention that can be adapted and deployed to represent
a number of anxieties. Freud puts forward: ‘many people experience the feeling
[of the uncanny] in the highest degree in relation to death and dead bodies, to
the return of the dead, and to spirits and ghosts.’[33] This
essay explored Freud’s ideas whilst discussing the many abstract manifestations
of the uncanny as a way in which to express the anxieties surrounding death or
the inexpressible. The nuclear uncanny is a manifestation of the psychic
anxieties that were prevalent during the Cold War, which included the fear of
radiation. The uncanny, and the nuclear uncanny, both comprise a crossing of
boundaries – whether between life and death, or the real and unreal. The
significance of the both types of the uncanny is represented perfectly by Dr.
Sasaki in Hiroshima: ‘The dream had
particularly frightened him because it was so closely associated, on the
surface at least, with a disturbing actuality.’[34] The
uncanny interrupts everyday life and disrupts our sensory experience of the
world. Whether as a manifestation of anxieties surrounding death or as a
manifestation of anxieties surrounding nuclear fallout, the significance of the
uncanny is the disturbing actuality it embodies.
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Primary
Sources:
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Hersey, John, Hiroshima
(London: Penguin Classics, 2001)
O’Brien, Tim, The
Nuclear Age (London: Penguin Books, 1996)
Secondary
Sources:
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M. Flora and Lucinda H. MacKethon (Louisiana:
Louisiana State University Press, 2002), pp.311-316
Cordle, Daniel, ‘In Dreams, In Imagination: Suspense, Anxiety and the Cold War in Tim O'Brien's
"The Nuclear Age"’, Critical
Survey, 19.2 (2007), 101 -120
Crow, Charles, History of the Gothic: American Gothic (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2009)
Delville, Michel, ‘Alienating
language and Darl's Narrative Consciousness in Faulkner's “As I Lay Dying”’, Southern Literary Journal, 27.1 (1994), 61-73
Donaldson, Susan, ‘Making a Spectacle: Welty,
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Edwards, Justin D., Gothic Passages: Racial
Ambiguity and the American Gothic (Iowa City: University of
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Hardwick MacKethan, and Todd W. Taylor, The
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Genres, Places, People, Movements, and Motifs (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2002)
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Uncanny’, trans. by Alix Strachey <http://web.mit.edu/allan mc/www/freud1.pdf>
_ On Murder, Mourning and
Melancholia, trans. by Shaun Whiteside (London: Penguin Classics, 2005)
Gardner Lloyd-Smith,
Allan, American Gothic Fiction: An
Introduction (London: Continuum, 2004)
_ Uncanny American Fiction (London: The Macmillan Press Ltd, 1989)
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University Microfilms International, 1994)
Godden, Richard, ‘William
Faulkner’, in A Companion to the Literature and Culture of the American South, ed. by Richard J. Gray, and Owen
Robinson (Malden: Blackwell, 2004), pp.435-453
Goddu, Teresa A., Gothic America: Narrative, History and
Nation (Chichester: Columbia University
Press, 1893)
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1979)
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ed. by Joseph R. Urgo and Ann J. Abadie (Jackson:
University Press of Mississippi, 2007) pp.126-140
Martin, Robert K. and Eric Savoy, American Gothic: New Interventions in a
National Narrative (Iowa:
University Of Iowa Press, 1998)
Masco, Joseph, The
Nuclear
Borderlands: The Manhattan Project in Post-Cold War New Mexico (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2006)
Palmer, Paulina, The Queer Uncanny: New Perspectives on the Gothic (Cardiff:
University of Wales Press, 2012)
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DeLillo’s “Falling Man” and Paul Auster’s “Man in the Dark”’, Other
Modernities, 2.1 (2011), 76 -90
Pinkerton, Nick, ‘Southern Gothic’, Sight and Sound, 25.5 (2015), 44-50
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Alder, Gothic Science Fiction: 1980–2010
(Liverpool: Liverpool University Press,
2011)
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"As I Lay Dying" and the Uncanny Zoology
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©
[1]
Sara Wesson and Emily Alder, Gothic
Science Fiction: 1980–2010 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2011)
p.4. Wasson and Alder go on to highlight an interesting distinction between
gothic and science fiction: ‘unlike gothic, science fiction usually projects
its contemporary anxieties onto the future rather than the past’. This
distinction is also true of regional gothic and nuclear literature. In Sherwood
Anderson’s Winnesburg, Ohio (1919)
the characters are very much preoccupied with the past. One example is Wing
Biddlebaum in the short story ‘Hands’ whose anxieties about his past life as a
teacher interrupt the story through flashbacks and continue to haunt Biddlebaum,
to such an extent that he is physically unable to control his hands. However,
in Ray Bradbury’s ‘There Will Come Soft Rains’ (1950) the anxieties surrounding
what a nuclear war’s impact on the family home would be are projected on to the
future; the short story is set in 2026. The life-like qualities of the house
and its ability to run day-to-day life with technology in place of humans,
along with the silhouettes of the family that once lived there etched on the
wall outside, is an example of the uncanny.
[2]
Sigmund Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, trans. by Alix Strachey <
http://web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/freud1.pdf> [accessed March 2016] (p.14).
[3]Allan
Gardner Lloyd-Smith, American Gothic Fiction: An Introduction (London: Continuum, 2004), p.74.
[4]
Louis Gross, Redefining The American Gothic (London: University Microfilms International,
1994), p.1.
[5]
Gross, Redefining, p.91.
[6]
Charles Crow, History of the Gothic: American Gothic (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2009), p.124.
[7]
Lloyd-Smith, American Gothic,
pp.149-150.
[8]
Examples include: Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird (1960), Flannery O'Connor’s
‘Everything That Rises Must Converge’(1965), and Eudora Welty’s ‘Clytie’ (1980). It is interesting
to note Welty’s disdain at being categorized as a Southern Gothic writer. On
the subject of being labelled as such, Welty famously said: ‘They better
not call me that!’. Eudora Welty as quoted in Susan V. Donaldson, ‘Making a
Spectacle: Welty, Faulkner, and Southern Gothic’, The Mississippi
Quarterly, 50.4 (1997), 567 -584 (p.568).
[9]
Freud, ‘Uncanny’, p.6.
[10]
As quoted in Martin Kreiswirth, ‘Faulkner’s Dark House: The Uncanny Inheritance
of Race,’ in Faulkner's Inheritance:
Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha, ed. by Joseph R. Urgo and Ann J. Abadie (Jackson:
University Press of Mississippi, 2007), pp.126-140 (p.127).
[11]
As I Lay Dying is not an isolated
example of Faulkner’s use of the uncanny; Martin Kreiswirth has labelled Faulkner’s
other works Light in August (1932)
and Absalom,
Absalom! (1936) as ‘fundamentally
uncanny texts’.
[13]
White, ‘Modern Magnetic’, p.94.
[14]
William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying (London:
Vintage, 2004), p.17.
[15]
Faulkner, Dying, p.23.
[16]
Faulkner, Dying, p.38.
[17]
Faulkner, Dying, p.39.
[18]
In one of his earlier essays, ‘Mourning and Melancholia’ (1917), Freud puts
forward his theory on what happens consciously and unconsciously during the
grieving process. Mourning, according to Freud, is a conscious behaviour and
the expected reaction after the death of a loved one. Melancholia differs
because it is a pathological, unconscious reactionary attempt to rationalise a
death that is incomprehensible. One of the ways melancholia manifests is by the
distancing of one’s self from the rest of the family members and engaging in a
path of self-destruction – we see this play out in As I Lay Dying as each of the Bundren children internalize their
feelings surrounding their mothers death and push each other away. The most
detrimental example of melancholia in the novel is Darl who, after burning down
the Gillespie’s barn, ends up in a mental asylum. See Sigmund Freud, On Murder, Mourning
and Melancholia, trans. by Shaun Whiteside (London: Penguin Classics, 2005), pp.208-210.
[19]
Joseph Masco, The Nuclear
Borderlands: The Manhattan Project in Post-Cold War New Mexico (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2006), p.27.
[20]
Masco, Nuclear, p.27.
[21]
Masco, Nuclear, p.32.
[22]
Masco, Nuclear, p.31.
[23]
John Hersey, Hiroshima (London:
Penguin Classics, 2001), p.91.
[24]
Hersey, Hiroshima, pp.91-92.
[25]
Hersey, Hiroshima, p.25.
[26]
Hersey, Hiroshima, p.52.
[27]
As quoted in Paul K. Saint-Amour, ‘Bombing and the Symptom: Traumatic Earliness
and the Nuclear Uncanny’, Diacritics,
30.4 (2000), 59 -82 (p.59).
[28]
Saint-Amour, ‘Bombing’, p.65.
[29]
Hersey, Hiroshima, p.30.
[30]
Hersey, Hiroshima, p.87.
[31]
As quoted in Ugo Panzani, ‘The insistent realism of Don DeLillo’s “Falling Man”
and Paul Auster’s “Man in the Dark”’, Other
Modernities, 2.1 (2011), 76 -90 (p.80).
[32]
Paulina Palmer, The Queer Uncanny: New
Perspectives on the Gothic (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2012), p.4.
[33]
Freud, ‘Uncanny’, p.13.
[34]
Hersey, Hiroshima, p.19.
