" 'After all, it's our women who make everything more difficult out here,' was his innermost thought" --> Part 2, Chapter 24, page 202, Penguin Classics).
Have a good weekend :)
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
A Passage to India: My Scattered Thoughts
A Passage to India resists a definate interpretation, as other posters before me have already noted. Despite the omniscent narrator, there are a multiplicy of interpretations possible, even at the level of basic plot (namely, what exactly happened in the caves?). All the characters in the novel strain to attain their own interpretation of India, but as the narrator notes, there is "no one India". In this sense, the novel fits the modernist mould of the instability of meaning, and the search for meaning that goes on anyway. But the search for the 'real' India is not the primary focus of the novel; rather, it ultimately hinges upon the relationship between Fielding and Aziz, which up to the end is everchanging, unpinnable, and destined never to reach a satisfactory conclusion.
As for the book's relation to imperialism, it has been cited in several places as one of the reasons the British pulled out of India with a sense of 'having washed their hands of a disagreeable affair'. Is it an anti-imperialistic book, then? Certainly, the Anglo-Indians are portrayed in a negative light, again as other posters have already noted. And yet there is more than a trace of Orientalism evident in Forster's portrayal of the various Indian characters. Even Aziz, the most 'rational' of the Indians portrayed, does not escape the stereotype of the irrational, mysterious Oriental... but the Anglo-Indians are behaving just as irrationally. In fact, it turns out that none of the characters are quite rational in their thoughts. After the shock of the First World War, perhaps it is starting to sink in that the colonizers are not as superior to the colonized as they first believed... and from here, one can speculate that modernism as a literary movement sprang at least in part from just such a realization and interaction. Seen in that light, Modernism and Imperialism are more tied together than one might had thought.
My thoughts are rather disjointed this week, so apologies if this comes off as just so much rambling.
-- Yingzhao
As for the book's relation to imperialism, it has been cited in several places as one of the reasons the British pulled out of India with a sense of 'having washed their hands of a disagreeable affair'. Is it an anti-imperialistic book, then? Certainly, the Anglo-Indians are portrayed in a negative light, again as other posters have already noted. And yet there is more than a trace of Orientalism evident in Forster's portrayal of the various Indian characters. Even Aziz, the most 'rational' of the Indians portrayed, does not escape the stereotype of the irrational, mysterious Oriental... but the Anglo-Indians are behaving just as irrationally. In fact, it turns out that none of the characters are quite rational in their thoughts. After the shock of the First World War, perhaps it is starting to sink in that the colonizers are not as superior to the colonized as they first believed... and from here, one can speculate that modernism as a literary movement sprang at least in part from just such a realization and interaction. Seen in that light, Modernism and Imperialism are more tied together than one might had thought.
My thoughts are rather disjointed this week, so apologies if this comes off as just so much rambling.
-- Yingzhao
Pandering and Performing in A Passage to India
--Leong Hui Ran
A thing that struck me as I read through the first part of the book was the recurrent references to plays. We are introduced to Adela and the rest of the Anglo Indians at the club, during and after the staging of a play, Cousin Kate. I found it interesting that other than the regular staging up plays, the Club generally is this utterly un-arty bunch. It seems to me that their reasons for performance, other than amusement were those of reinforcing their identity as the British, the civilised and cultured. So here we see not just a performance on stage, but that of a performance of identity for the British. References to plays crop up from then on. Take the scene in Chapter 7, where Fielding comes back from his walk to the college and sees the 2 Indians, a Moslem and a Hindu, Adela and Ronny. “A scene from a play, thought Fielding.” Moreover, Fielding’s living area is a 3-walled structure, suggesting a stage. Aziz, can be seen as a highly performative and pandering character in this scene, a highly sensitive character who acts and bends his words and actions to suit the characters around him, undermining Adela’s hope that he is the key to finding the “realIndia India
A thing that struck me as I read through the first part of the book was the recurrent references to plays. We are introduced to Adela and the rest of the Anglo Indians at the club, during and after the staging of a play, Cousin Kate. I found it interesting that other than the regular staging up plays, the Club generally is this utterly un-arty bunch. It seems to me that their reasons for performance, other than amusement were those of reinforcing their identity as the British, the civilised and cultured. So here we see not just a performance on stage, but that of a performance of identity for the British. References to plays crop up from then on. Take the scene in Chapter 7, where Fielding comes back from his walk to the college and sees the 2 Indians, a Moslem and a Hindu, Adela and Ronny. “A scene from a play, thought Fielding.” Moreover, Fielding’s living area is a 3-walled structure, suggesting a stage. Aziz, can be seen as a highly performative and pandering character in this scene, a highly sensitive character who acts and bends his words and actions to suit the characters around him, undermining Adela’s hope that he is the key to finding the “real
On another note, just a thought I had about the significance of Miss Quested’s name. “Miss Quested, what a name!” remarked Mrs Turton (Chapter 3). I’m struck by the past tense in her name. As some of my classmates have suggested, Miss Quested is unable escape perpetuating the imperial gaze in her “quest” to discover the real
PS: I’m not using page numbers as my edition’s some obscure Reading Classics edition. BTW, speaking about Miss Quested. On a fun note, does anyone remember this cartoon, Jonny Quest? It was my favourite cartoon growing up. The theme song kept ringing in my head as I read. Regressive and digressive moment for me, LOL!
Unpinnable India.
Unpinnable India.
I know “unpinnable” is not even a ‘proper’ word, but you get the drift.
“Unpinnable” – that which cannot be pinned (or rather pinned down in this case)
Reading / consuming the text does not in any way enable one to know India, as revealed in the text in multiple instances - "no one is India" (p.89). India cannot be defined. And I found myself noticing several other instances where this similar notion of the “unpinnable” is evoked:
"while the true India slid by unnoticed" (p.66) – How then do you notice the “true” India when nothing and “no one is India" (p.89)? Is it just impressions that you glean from texts?
“he desired to remember his wife and could not... He had known that she would pass from his hands and eyes, but had thought she could live in his mind, not realizing that the very fact that we have loved the dead increases their unreality, and that the more passionately we invoke them the further they recede" (p.74-5)
"The mere fact of examination caused it to diminish" (p.101)
"But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else" (p.101)
"Nothing embraces the whole of India, nothing, nothing" (p.156)
"She was only recommending the universal brotherhood he sometimes dreamed of, but as soon as it was put into prose it became untrue" (p.156)
I was wondering if this might in anyway relate back to the inability of words / poetry to capture the essence of a place / emotion / experience. I find Aziz’s frustration with his poetry congruent to this idea.
But at the same time, there are all these labels and racial stereotypes tossed about in the text. How do these smaller issues fit into the big picture?
“It matters so little to the majority of living beings what the minority, that calls itself human, desires or decides” (p. 126)
Somehow this makes it all seem so insignificant, Aziz often refers to the skies and his Moslem religion as something more than all of this, which seems to me to be a search for something more significant / a Truth beyond the material.
Perhaps, this text is really just a passage to India. Not a story about India, just a passage leading up to what India might be, and in passing by we glean an impression of what India is like.
Angel.
I know “unpinnable” is not even a ‘proper’ word, but you get the drift.
“Unpinnable” – that which cannot be pinned (or rather pinned down in this case)
Reading / consuming the text does not in any way enable one to know India, as revealed in the text in multiple instances - "no one is India" (p.89). India cannot be defined. And I found myself noticing several other instances where this similar notion of the “unpinnable” is evoked:
"while the true India slid by unnoticed" (p.66) – How then do you notice the “true” India when nothing and “no one is India" (p.89)? Is it just impressions that you glean from texts?
“he desired to remember his wife and could not... He had known that she would pass from his hands and eyes, but had thought she could live in his mind, not realizing that the very fact that we have loved the dead increases their unreality, and that the more passionately we invoke them the further they recede" (p.74-5)
"The mere fact of examination caused it to diminish" (p.101)
"But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else" (p.101)
"Nothing embraces the whole of India, nothing, nothing" (p.156)
"She was only recommending the universal brotherhood he sometimes dreamed of, but as soon as it was put into prose it became untrue" (p.156)
I was wondering if this might in anyway relate back to the inability of words / poetry to capture the essence of a place / emotion / experience. I find Aziz’s frustration with his poetry congruent to this idea.
But at the same time, there are all these labels and racial stereotypes tossed about in the text. How do these smaller issues fit into the big picture?
“It matters so little to the majority of living beings what the minority, that calls itself human, desires or decides” (p. 126)
Somehow this makes it all seem so insignificant, Aziz often refers to the skies and his Moslem religion as something more than all of this, which seems to me to be a search for something more significant / a Truth beyond the material.
Perhaps, this text is really just a passage to India. Not a story about India, just a passage leading up to what India might be, and in passing by we glean an impression of what India is like.
Angel.
Forstering Modernism
The question of how Forster is a modernist is not easily answered, not in the least within the confines of this blog post. But my sense is that while Forster is not a modernist in style and technique, in his thematic concerns and outlook he might be considered one. Allow me to explain.
Largely speaking, there is not a great deal of formal divergence of the kind we previously saw in Woolf with her use of free indirect discourse. Forster does not fracture time in the representation of the inner psychologies of his characters; there are flashbacks and excursions and echoes(!) of the past, but there is always a singular authorial voice that coheres the individual experiences of each of his characters. However, given the symbolic import of the Caves, of the echoes that resonate within the minds of Adele, Aziz, Fielding and Moore and of the religious imagery throughout the book one could make a argument aiming to strengthen Forster's relationship to modernism, for symbolism as a literary stylistic allows for the creation and expansion of an externalized objective significance within an interiorized subjective conciousness, which is what Woolf achieves in her fragmentary stream-of-conciousness.
Back from the verbosity of it all - I would think that one would find a greater justification for Forster as modernist and A Passage To India as a modernist text if we examine its thematic concerns. I put it to you that Forster depicts in this novel various individuals grappling with their own individuality and autonomy over and against the prevailing socio-cultural onslaught of a modernity shaped by the imperial enterprise. We see Adela struggling with the expectations of becoming a betrothed wife to an Anglo-Indian, Fielding dealing with a mid-life crisis of sorts as well as his own ambivalent relation to the Empire and India, and Aziz having to bear the weight of expectation of the British and Indians in addition to his incarceration, and so on in other characters as well. It is this emphasis of the individuals at odds with a received socio-cultural heritage which perhaps marks Forster and this novel as modernist. At the end of Chapter XXVI, Fielding considers that "we exist not in ourselves, but in terms of each other's minds" (234), evincing a kind of reverse solipsism, where the individual can never fully reckon himself or herself. This dismal internal void, which the Caves are metonymic for, underscores perhaps Forster's engagement with "modernist mode", and also points to modernism's relation with the Empire and the Orient, how this literary movement looked upon the colonized Other and reflected on the horror, the horror of its inner void.
Yet I would call Forster, at best, a marginal modernist, for while the emotional, spiritual and epistemological crisis that beseiges the characters in A Passage To India is what typifies much of modernist literature, much of the novel unfolds conventionally, in accordance with the norms of earlier nineteenth-century literature, where authorial authority and social critique are hallmarks of such texts. One should also bear in mind the connotations borne by "modernism" as a taxonomic classifier. Must any great work of the twentieth century necessarily be called modernist? Is the term, as a generic marker, normative and does it bestow some inherent prestige among its canonical works, that we may lay open such assumptions to contestation?
(I would have like to have touched on Aziz's concern with poetry and the emphasis on aesthetic experience, and the connections with the mythic, but I've run out of space. In class, perhaps?)
Largely speaking, there is not a great deal of formal divergence of the kind we previously saw in Woolf with her use of free indirect discourse. Forster does not fracture time in the representation of the inner psychologies of his characters; there are flashbacks and excursions and echoes(!) of the past, but there is always a singular authorial voice that coheres the individual experiences of each of his characters. However, given the symbolic import of the Caves, of the echoes that resonate within the minds of Adele, Aziz, Fielding and Moore and of the religious imagery throughout the book one could make a argument aiming to strengthen Forster's relationship to modernism, for symbolism as a literary stylistic allows for the creation and expansion of an externalized objective significance within an interiorized subjective conciousness, which is what Woolf achieves in her fragmentary stream-of-conciousness.
Back from the verbosity of it all - I would think that one would find a greater justification for Forster as modernist and A Passage To India as a modernist text if we examine its thematic concerns. I put it to you that Forster depicts in this novel various individuals grappling with their own individuality and autonomy over and against the prevailing socio-cultural onslaught of a modernity shaped by the imperial enterprise. We see Adela struggling with the expectations of becoming a betrothed wife to an Anglo-Indian, Fielding dealing with a mid-life crisis of sorts as well as his own ambivalent relation to the Empire and India, and Aziz having to bear the weight of expectation of the British and Indians in addition to his incarceration, and so on in other characters as well. It is this emphasis of the individuals at odds with a received socio-cultural heritage which perhaps marks Forster and this novel as modernist. At the end of Chapter XXVI, Fielding considers that "we exist not in ourselves, but in terms of each other's minds" (234), evincing a kind of reverse solipsism, where the individual can never fully reckon himself or herself. This dismal internal void, which the Caves are metonymic for, underscores perhaps Forster's engagement with "modernist mode", and also points to modernism's relation with the Empire and the Orient, how this literary movement looked upon the colonized Other and reflected on the horror, the horror of its inner void.
Yet I would call Forster, at best, a marginal modernist, for while the emotional, spiritual and epistemological crisis that beseiges the characters in A Passage To India is what typifies much of modernist literature, much of the novel unfolds conventionally, in accordance with the norms of earlier nineteenth-century literature, where authorial authority and social critique are hallmarks of such texts. One should also bear in mind the connotations borne by "modernism" as a taxonomic classifier. Must any great work of the twentieth century necessarily be called modernist? Is the term, as a generic marker, normative and does it bestow some inherent prestige among its canonical works, that we may lay open such assumptions to contestation?
(I would have like to have touched on Aziz's concern with poetry and the emphasis on aesthetic experience, and the connections with the mythic, but I've run out of space. In class, perhaps?)
The polyphonic voices in A Passage to India
At first glance, Forster seems the omniscient narrator revealing all the various characters and following the conventional plot driven novelist. However, as we read on, there is also a sense of the polyphonic voices emerging as characters reveal their subjective understanding of the awkward relationship between the British and Indians. Although Forster seemed to present the British rather negatively in their interactions with Indians (with the exception of Fielding, Mrs Moore and maybe even Miss Quested), I did not think that the narrator is steering our opinions towards a bias for or against either the Indians or the British. What Forster comments on is the problematic social, political and religious conflict that inevitably occurs when two cultures meet, let alone at an unequal playing field.
Perhaps the modernist aspect lies in the subjectivity of the novel? Reality is presented as subjective as the characters reveal multiple perspectives based on their limited understanding of what they see and experience in their interactions with each other. India is perceived by the British as a “muddle” because of their inability to ‘box-up’ India and understand its culture, for “no one is India”. The multiplicity and complexity of Indian culture varies too widely within its peoples that even the natives cannot provide easy classification (consider the caste system, religion and level of education) that “no one is India”.
“In her ignorance, she regarded him as “India,” and never surmised that his outlook was limited and his method inaccurate, and that no one is India.”
Similarly, the text does not allow us to label and assign its characters - Aziz, Mrs Moore and Miss Quested, into definitive categories since they are constantly evolving and developing. This perhaps hints at the ‘unfinalizability’ of the self; that the self cannot be completely understood and known as we recognize that people change as they gain new perspectives and understandings. Therefore the individual can never be fully revealed just as India can never be fully understood.
At first glance, Forster seems the omniscient narrator revealing all the various characters and following the conventional plot driven novelist. However, as we read on, there is also a sense of the polyphonic voices emerging as characters reveal their subjective understanding of the awkward relationship between the British and Indians. Although Forster seemed to present the British rather negatively in their interactions with Indians (with the exception of Fielding, Mrs Moore and maybe even Miss Quested), I did not think that the narrator is steering our opinions towards a bias for or against either the Indians or the British. What Forster comments on is the problematic social, political and religious conflict that inevitably occurs when two cultures meet, let alone at an unequal playing field.
Perhaps the modernist aspect lies in the subjectivity of the novel? Reality is presented as subjective as the characters reveal multiple perspectives based on their limited understanding of what they see and experience in their interactions with each other. India is perceived by the British as a “muddle” because of their inability to ‘box-up’ India and understand its culture, for “no one is India”. The multiplicity and complexity of Indian culture varies too widely within its peoples that even the natives cannot provide easy classification (consider the caste system, religion and level of education) that “no one is India”.
“In her ignorance, she regarded him as “India,” and never surmised that his outlook was limited and his method inaccurate, and that no one is India.”
Similarly, the text does not allow us to label and assign its characters - Aziz, Mrs Moore and Miss Quested, into definitive categories since they are constantly evolving and developing. This perhaps hints at the ‘unfinalizability’ of the self; that the self cannot be completely understood and known as we recognize that people change as they gain new perspectives and understandings. Therefore the individual can never be fully revealed just as India can never be fully understood.
The hierarchy of A Passage to India
Hello :)
The hierarchy between British and Indians—thus the coloniser and colonised, which can be read symbolically as the male and female—mirrors the gender dynamics in the British community. The British community features various characters that make it seem fuller and more complete compared to the representation of India which is ‘muddled’ and symbolically represented by one single, and somewhat flat character, Dr Aziz. This elevates the political condition of Britain ruling over India because it adds the social and intellectual dimension to Britain’s superiority.
Let’s start with Fielding the teacher. As the teacher Fielding represents a father figure in India. There is a parallel between the father-like colonial Britain, and the English father, Fielding who teaches Indians. Juxtaposed to the logical and knowledgeable father Fielding is Dr. Aziz, who admires Fielding and in a way infantilises himself to be a child-like figure to Fielding. Socially, Aziz is the symbol of the ‘muddled’ and infantile India. He represents the disorder and dishonesty of Indians (‘There is no harm in deceiving society as long as she does not find you out’ 94). The way he does not seem to analyse facts, but follows his intuition also makes him intellectually inferior to the British father figure. Amongst the major characters in the novel, only Aziz is Indian. So, the novel indirectly critiques the fact that India is not given enough symbolic space for representation in English literature and that the British tend to stereotype Indians as an easily categorised or identified nation. I say that the novel is a critique because Forster does acknowledge the impossibility to contain or represent ‘India’ (‘no one is India’ 65).
The dichotomised sense of womanhood is a metaphor for the subordinate position of the female characters, which then mirrors the symbolic relation between the coloniser and the colonised. Mrs Moore and Adela represent dichotomised womanhood in the text. Moore represents the woman with the heart while Adela the woman with the mind. Despite the fact that they both want to see the ‘real India’, they are not complete and full characters because they are fragmented into either having the heart or the brain. This treatment of females draws an interesting parallel to the treatment of the colonised. Aziz, who is the most prominent Indian character in the novel, does not seem to be ‘full’ or with both the heart and mind. He seems affectionate (he is described as ‘tender’ 64) but he seems more emotional than logical. And if he is the symbol of India, then India is somewhat feminised and portrayed as emotional and bordering illogical.
Ronny Heaslop, to me, is the instrument for Forster’s critique of British officers/sahibs in India. He is ‘dictatorial’ (27) and extremely suspicious of India and Indians (‘[Aziz] had some motive in what he said’ 29). It is as if all that he learnt in England is inadequate compared to the ‘wisdom’ he has gained in India through the years. This leads to how the coloniser is schizophrenic in its beliefs. On one hand, there is the Western thought of justice and equality taught in England (also, ‘where [Ronny’s] compatriots were concerned he had a generous mind’ 77), while the sahibs ‘hold this wretched country by force’ (45) and are proud of it because ‘the British were necessary for India’ (88). The way he expects his wife to give in to him (‘now that Adela had promised to be his wife she was sure to understand’ 88) is also similar to his complacent attitude towards India’s obedience to Britain.
Sorry for being lengthy :)
The hierarchy between British and Indians—thus the coloniser and colonised, which can be read symbolically as the male and female—mirrors the gender dynamics in the British community. The British community features various characters that make it seem fuller and more complete compared to the representation of India which is ‘muddled’ and symbolically represented by one single, and somewhat flat character, Dr Aziz. This elevates the political condition of Britain ruling over India because it adds the social and intellectual dimension to Britain’s superiority.
Let’s start with Fielding the teacher. As the teacher Fielding represents a father figure in India. There is a parallel between the father-like colonial Britain, and the English father, Fielding who teaches Indians. Juxtaposed to the logical and knowledgeable father Fielding is Dr. Aziz, who admires Fielding and in a way infantilises himself to be a child-like figure to Fielding. Socially, Aziz is the symbol of the ‘muddled’ and infantile India. He represents the disorder and dishonesty of Indians (‘There is no harm in deceiving society as long as she does not find you out’ 94). The way he does not seem to analyse facts, but follows his intuition also makes him intellectually inferior to the British father figure. Amongst the major characters in the novel, only Aziz is Indian. So, the novel indirectly critiques the fact that India is not given enough symbolic space for representation in English literature and that the British tend to stereotype Indians as an easily categorised or identified nation. I say that the novel is a critique because Forster does acknowledge the impossibility to contain or represent ‘India’ (‘no one is India’ 65).
The dichotomised sense of womanhood is a metaphor for the subordinate position of the female characters, which then mirrors the symbolic relation between the coloniser and the colonised. Mrs Moore and Adela represent dichotomised womanhood in the text. Moore represents the woman with the heart while Adela the woman with the mind. Despite the fact that they both want to see the ‘real India’, they are not complete and full characters because they are fragmented into either having the heart or the brain. This treatment of females draws an interesting parallel to the treatment of the colonised. Aziz, who is the most prominent Indian character in the novel, does not seem to be ‘full’ or with both the heart and mind. He seems affectionate (he is described as ‘tender’ 64) but he seems more emotional than logical. And if he is the symbol of India, then India is somewhat feminised and portrayed as emotional and bordering illogical.
Ronny Heaslop, to me, is the instrument for Forster’s critique of British officers/sahibs in India. He is ‘dictatorial’ (27) and extremely suspicious of India and Indians (‘[Aziz] had some motive in what he said’ 29). It is as if all that he learnt in England is inadequate compared to the ‘wisdom’ he has gained in India through the years. This leads to how the coloniser is schizophrenic in its beliefs. On one hand, there is the Western thought of justice and equality taught in England (also, ‘where [Ronny’s] compatriots were concerned he had a generous mind’ 77), while the sahibs ‘hold this wretched country by force’ (45) and are proud of it because ‘the British were necessary for India’ (88). The way he expects his wife to give in to him (‘now that Adela had promised to be his wife she was sure to understand’ 88) is also similar to his complacent attitude towards India’s obedience to Britain.
Sorry for being lengthy :)
The contaminated, India and history
In light of the Gikandi and Levine readings that we did last week-- about how the colonized could be Westernized but the colonizers, in adopting the culture of the colonized, are seen as contaminated – doesn’t it seem particularly applicable to Passage to India and in particular, Fielding?
-Yuen Mei-
Significance of The Caves
The 'Caves', both as a chapter and as a setting in the novel, represents an important turning-point for the characters. As a consequence of visiting, Aziz gets accused of assault and becomes disillusioned with the idea of forming personal relationships with the colonials, Mrs. Moore suddenly comes upon a fit of nihilism which she never recovers from and Miss Quested's marriage engagement and reputation is ruined. We see that at the end of the entire ordeal of his trial and its aftermath, Aziz concludes that "the earth...the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace...they didn't want it, they said in their hundred voices: 'No, not yet,'" (267-8) to forming a friendship with Fielding. The novel shows that to the end, relations between the Indians and their colonials can never escape the implications of power and capitalist exploitation the colonizer-colonized relationship is always grounded in. (We are shown this by Aziz's inability to refrain from suspecting that Fielding has persuaded him not to sue Miss Quested, only to marry her and steal the money which was rightfully his.) We also see that the visit to the caves scarred Mrs. Moore irrevocably, as the echo "bou-oum" "began in some indescribable way to undermine her hold on life." (123) "Everything exists, nothing has value" (ibid) becomes the existentialist notion with which Mrs. Moore's heart is seized.
The Marabar Caves is a setting of darkness, violence and obscurity. In light of the effects of the visit on its visitors I have outlined, it almost seems to embody the country's meting out of penance for crossing the boundaries of propriety between the colonizers and colonized. We see that in itself it is not "an attractive place or quite worth visiting" (116), a geographical feature of the village which neither the locals (Aziz "had no notion how to treat this particular aspect of India" (117)) nor the foreigners could comprehend. And yet it has profound effects on them all, and "it robbed infinity and eternity of their vastness, the only quality that accomodates them to mankind." (123) This disillusionment with life, friendships and man's goodness is meted out by the caves as the land's punishment for these incursions into the boundaries between colonizers and colonized. It is as if there are to be no grey areas in this unnatural situation where the colonials have taken and exploited land which is not theirs to take. I would read the caves, especially in its presentation as a natural and untainted (by colonial exploitation) land, to signify what Forster believes is the country's protest to colonialization and any hypocrisies of friendship it might inspire.
--Charlene (using a Borders edition so page numbers might not match)
The Marabar Caves is a setting of darkness, violence and obscurity. In light of the effects of the visit on its visitors I have outlined, it almost seems to embody the country's meting out of penance for crossing the boundaries of propriety between the colonizers and colonized. We see that in itself it is not "an attractive place or quite worth visiting" (116), a geographical feature of the village which neither the locals (Aziz "had no notion how to treat this particular aspect of India" (117)) nor the foreigners could comprehend. And yet it has profound effects on them all, and "it robbed infinity and eternity of their vastness, the only quality that accomodates them to mankind." (123) This disillusionment with life, friendships and man's goodness is meted out by the caves as the land's punishment for these incursions into the boundaries between colonizers and colonized. It is as if there are to be no grey areas in this unnatural situation where the colonials have taken and exploited land which is not theirs to take. I would read the caves, especially in its presentation as a natural and untainted (by colonial exploitation) land, to signify what Forster believes is the country's protest to colonialization and any hypocrisies of friendship it might inspire.
--Charlene (using a Borders edition so page numbers might not match)
Portrait of the Artist in India
A Passage to India fascinated me with its numerous references, both veiled and overt, to the figure of the artist producing art in both British and Indian contexts. This echoes, I feel, Forster’s own position as an artist trying to write the unknowable, subjective human consciousness – and more than that, the alien human - into his art. At the same time, he raises the question of the voice of the native artist: is there such a voice, as the Western artist understands the term?
In this way I guess you could see this novel as speaking in counterpoint to Gikandi’s rather damning account of the artistic interaction between West and East. Passage shows the complexity of this process; or rather, the struggle that Forster – bearing in mind his deeply humanistic (“only connect”) bent – faced in trying to connect, or create a literary passage, as it were, to India.
On the one hand, Forster seems to be saying that in this age of empire and modernity when contact with the East is inevitable, it is pointless and in fact ossifying to keep up the pretence of clearly demarcated boundaries between pure Western art and the influence of the East. A clear example of this is the faintly ludicrous affair of staging Cousin Kate with the British sweating it out manfully in order to keep the “windows…barred, lest the servants should see their memsahibs acting” (17, Penguin edition).
However, this doesn’t mean that Forster is all for placing India (in every sense of the word as a semiotic and artistic cipher) on an equal pedestal as the West; through his descriptions of India/ns vs the West (an observation: Forster tends to like to set up East-West comparisons in his expository sections, as in this passage that I found very poetic, notwithstanding: “In Europe life retreats out of the cold, and exquisite fireside myths have resulted—Balder, Persephone—but here the retreat is from the source of life, the treacherous sun, and no poetry adorns it because disillusionment cannot be beautiful”), the overwhelming impression one gets is that Indian art is still inferior to Western because it is formless; formless in the sense that Forster’s India is depicted as so mercurial and volatile – as in Aziz’s quick change of moods, the many faces of the Marabar Caves – and ultimately shapeless. And to Forster’s European mind, form is the measure of aestheticism – to quote Fielding as he leaves India: “He had forgotten the beauty of form among idol temples and lumpy hills; indeed, without form, how can there be beauty?” (250) In fact, to continue the earlier quote comparing Europe and India: “Men yearn for poetry though they may not confess it; they desire that joy shall be graceful and sorrow august and infinity have a form, and India fails to accommodate them."
Yet one can say that India appears formless to Forster because it eludes his grasp. Just as Indian society cannot be reduced to the colonizer’s classifying gaze (as Levine discusses), Forster cannot truly understand the mindset of the Indian artist and Indian art, even when these make use of European elements. I am thinking here of transmutation, of the native breaking down and appropriating European symbols for their own use, as when Mrs Moore’s name is transmuted into the chant and cause of Esmiss Esmoor, or the Indians’ raucous celebration of “God si Love”. Subversively, this breaks the form of European-ness and reshapes it according to Indian form, and in so doing Othering it to the Western mind.
More than that, ‘native’ Indian art resists the understanding of the Western mind. Godbole’s song of the milkmaid (as Xinwei has pointed out) and Aziz’s Persian poetry at the end of the novel can be read as examples of the Indian artist’s voice, evading Western comprehension. The deeper metaphysical implications of incomprehensibility are evident in the “ou-boum” echo of the caves: frightening, even shocking the Western mind out of its comfort zone. (Did anyone else see a similarity between “ou-boum” and Kurtz’s cryptic “the horror, the horror” in Heart of Darkness?)
As a closing thought on Forster’s quandary of how to deal with the Other in art, Godbole’s song also brought to mind Forster’s posthumously-published novel Maurice. In that novel, the protagonist makes a similar plea of “Come!” to the night; and since it is set in Forster’s artistic comfort zone (in terms of country and class), he is able to tie the novel’s ends together neatly – Maurice’s lover comes, and he is able to give the artist’s gift of a (somewhat) happy ending to the couple. Western artifice triumphs.
In Passage, however, Godbole says, “I say to Him, Come, come, come, come, come, come. He neglects to come.” (68) And indeed the mystery of the heart of the book remains – Forster has to end the book on an uneasy note: ne’er East nor West shall meet in unity, “no, not yet..no, not there.”
In this way I guess you could see this novel as speaking in counterpoint to Gikandi’s rather damning account of the artistic interaction between West and East. Passage shows the complexity of this process; or rather, the struggle that Forster – bearing in mind his deeply humanistic (“only connect”) bent – faced in trying to connect, or create a literary passage, as it were, to India.
On the one hand, Forster seems to be saying that in this age of empire and modernity when contact with the East is inevitable, it is pointless and in fact ossifying to keep up the pretence of clearly demarcated boundaries between pure Western art and the influence of the East. A clear example of this is the faintly ludicrous affair of staging Cousin Kate with the British sweating it out manfully in order to keep the “windows…barred, lest the servants should see their memsahibs acting” (17, Penguin edition).
However, this doesn’t mean that Forster is all for placing India (in every sense of the word as a semiotic and artistic cipher) on an equal pedestal as the West; through his descriptions of India/ns vs the West (an observation: Forster tends to like to set up East-West comparisons in his expository sections, as in this passage that I found very poetic, notwithstanding: “In Europe life retreats out of the cold, and exquisite fireside myths have resulted—Balder, Persephone—but here the retreat is from the source of life, the treacherous sun, and no poetry adorns it because disillusionment cannot be beautiful”), the overwhelming impression one gets is that Indian art is still inferior to Western because it is formless; formless in the sense that Forster’s India is depicted as so mercurial and volatile – as in Aziz’s quick change of moods, the many faces of the Marabar Caves – and ultimately shapeless. And to Forster’s European mind, form is the measure of aestheticism – to quote Fielding as he leaves India: “He had forgotten the beauty of form among idol temples and lumpy hills; indeed, without form, how can there be beauty?” (250) In fact, to continue the earlier quote comparing Europe and India: “Men yearn for poetry though they may not confess it; they desire that joy shall be graceful and sorrow august and infinity have a form, and India fails to accommodate them."
Yet one can say that India appears formless to Forster because it eludes his grasp. Just as Indian society cannot be reduced to the colonizer’s classifying gaze (as Levine discusses), Forster cannot truly understand the mindset of the Indian artist and Indian art, even when these make use of European elements. I am thinking here of transmutation, of the native breaking down and appropriating European symbols for their own use, as when Mrs Moore’s name is transmuted into the chant and cause of Esmiss Esmoor, or the Indians’ raucous celebration of “God si Love”. Subversively, this breaks the form of European-ness and reshapes it according to Indian form, and in so doing Othering it to the Western mind.
More than that, ‘native’ Indian art resists the understanding of the Western mind. Godbole’s song of the milkmaid (as Xinwei has pointed out) and Aziz’s Persian poetry at the end of the novel can be read as examples of the Indian artist’s voice, evading Western comprehension. The deeper metaphysical implications of incomprehensibility are evident in the “ou-boum” echo of the caves: frightening, even shocking the Western mind out of its comfort zone. (Did anyone else see a similarity between “ou-boum” and Kurtz’s cryptic “the horror, the horror” in Heart of Darkness?)
As a closing thought on Forster’s quandary of how to deal with the Other in art, Godbole’s song also brought to mind Forster’s posthumously-published novel Maurice. In that novel, the protagonist makes a similar plea of “Come!” to the night; and since it is set in Forster’s artistic comfort zone (in terms of country and class), he is able to tie the novel’s ends together neatly – Maurice’s lover comes, and he is able to give the artist’s gift of a (somewhat) happy ending to the couple. Western artifice triumphs.
In Passage, however, Godbole says, “I say to Him, Come, come, come, come, come, come. He neglects to come.” (68) And indeed the mystery of the heart of the book remains – Forster has to end the book on an uneasy note: ne’er East nor West shall meet in unity, “no, not yet..no, not there.”
The Eurocentric point of view in Passage to India
My post will be in relation to Prof Koh's quoting of Ashis Nandy quote that "All representations of India are ultimately autobiographical". I think this is necessary and to attempt to do otherwise can only be false, imperialistic and narrow-minded. I read Forster's Adela as a cautionary tale against people who impose general readings of India on their audience. One can consider the way Forster portrays India as The Other. Adela's intellectual vanity in insisting on trying to "see the real India" is punished by the primal chaos of the Marabar Caves. The search of an "authentic India" results in a trip to the caves, after which she is physically and emotionally affected. The caves are, I think, a distinctly modernist symbol: mystical, irrational and beyond definition.
This outcome suggests that any attempt to classify, define and label this Other is problematic and impossible. The Western mind, even with all its good intentions and healthy curiousity, still seeks out an exoticised India which is romantic and idealised. The West cannot penetrate the cultural, emotional and social landscape of India. In the novel, various people comment on on the strange the Indian thought and behavior of the Indians. Even the physical landscape in itself is bewildering. The modernist technique of multiple points of view in the narrative then offer a possible solution - one may never grasps at a complete India, but can at least view it from different perspectives that gesture toward a (fragmented?) whole.
This outcome suggests that any attempt to classify, define and label this Other is problematic and impossible. The Western mind, even with all its good intentions and healthy curiousity, still seeks out an exoticised India which is romantic and idealised. The West cannot penetrate the cultural, emotional and social landscape of India. In the novel, various people comment on on the strange the Indian thought and behavior of the Indians. Even the physical landscape in itself is bewildering. The modernist technique of multiple points of view in the narrative then offer a possible solution - one may never grasps at a complete India, but can at least view it from different perspectives that gesture toward a (fragmented?) whole.
Reading this Passage aloud....
One of the things that caught my attention while reading the text was the multitude of voices- Hindus, Moslems, British women, British men, Government officials, Colonial teachers and the list goes on. You’d think that with a multiplicity of voices (and hence perspectives), one would get a real sense of “India”. Levine states that “India was not a single country or entity… There was no single Indian language or religion”. (61) One can argue then, to gain a grasp of India, one had to look at it from all sides.
The text denies me the satisfaction of understanding "India", partly because of Forster’s underlying authorial voice, which dictates how the story pans out. Even as one reads the satirical representation of the British in India, through the eyes of the locals (who incidentally don’t agree on whether they can truly be friends with the British), one cannot refute the fact that Forster writes the passages for us. It is one author’s voice that pervades the text, writing the words that Dr Aziz or Fielding utters on these pages.
An act of ventriloquism, if you will.
Which begs the question- can a text ever be written to truly represent a people? On whose authority do we rely on to get a representation of a people? As shown in the text, even the locals cannot be relied upon to give us a clue into the people- Ralph Moore “was not so much a visitor as a guide” as compared to Dr Aziz.
The text denies me the satisfaction of understanding "India", partly because of Forster’s underlying authorial voice, which dictates how the story pans out. Even as one reads the satirical representation of the British in India, through the eyes of the locals (who incidentally don’t agree on whether they can truly be friends with the British), one cannot refute the fact that Forster writes the passages for us. It is one author’s voice that pervades the text, writing the words that Dr Aziz or Fielding utters on these pages.
An act of ventriloquism, if you will.
Which begs the question- can a text ever be written to truly represent a people? On whose authority do we rely on to get a representation of a people? As shown in the text, even the locals cannot be relied upon to give us a clue into the people- Ralph Moore “was not so much a visitor as a guide” as compared to Dr Aziz.
One attempt at mediating this issue is through a narrator or author who does not purport to fully understand each character in his text. It is precisely the characters eluding the reader’s grasp that stops the text from becoming a ventriloquist performance for readers. Ironically, it is this elusive nature that allows the readers a foothold on gaining an understanding of India.
Is there a resolution to the issues of representation? No, not yet.
A Passage to Multiplicity: Forster and (Colonial) Reality:
Forster’s novel was indeed an intruiging and lovely read for me; the arrest of Dr. Aziz and his subsequent trial reminded me greatly of Harper Lee’s classic To Kill a Mockingbird: similar issues of racial prejudice and social and ethnic tensions are probed in these two novels. What was intriguing for me in the novel was Forster’s positioning of “India” as the centre of a social and cultural nexus foregrounding the condition of multiplicity that very often proves refractory to any classification and codification. Forster reminds us early on that the entity “India” is in all actuality “a hundred Indias” (12); and later on, Aziz reminds Adela that “[n]othing embraces the whole of India, nothing, nothing” (160). Levine’s chapter on British rule in India also reminds us that India “was not a single country or entity… [and there] was no single Indian language or religion” (61). As against the colonizer’s need to categorize India for the sake of efficient administration and to impose a hegemonic language and value-system on the natives, (with all its, following Foucault, concomitant issues of power and subordination), Forster’s novel shows up the hypocrisy of this very discourse of the colonial administrators by demonstrating their shocking lack of empathy towards the natives, borne out through their artificial generalization of the “native condition” that obviate the need for genuine understanding and indeed, responsibility for the colonized.
Indeed, what Forster’s novel depicts is nothing less than a whole assembly of, to use Louis Althusser’s term, ideological state apparatuses (i.e. colonial administration, railways, the court, the school) that seek to clamp down and impose a form on the multiplicity of India that seeks to resist this violence as such. Levine’s chapter thus delineates several colonial implementations that get subverted simple because they “failed to take into account” (72) the deep divisions and multiplicities that pervade “Indian” society and identity/identities. Forster’s description of the untouchable who pulls the punkah in the courthouse thus achieves significance: the facticity of the almost naked body of the Indian proves “to society how little its categories impress” (241) nature that refuses to be codified. Franco Moretti, in his book Atlas of the European Novel (London: Verso, 1998) makes the intriguing claim that metaphorical language increases in the European novel’s description of the “unknown”, or the Other because they “simultaneously express the unknown” (47) through an unexpected semantic association and also “contain it” (47) through codifying otherness in familiar linguistic territory. Read in this light, Mrs. Moore’s experience in the Marabar Caves where even “poetry” (165) as the most intensely metaphorical of Western literary genre is reduced to utter incoherence betokens this ultimate failure of European language to thematize and give shape to an Indian reality that nonetheless forcefully intrudes into the colonial consciousness.
Indeed, what Forster’s novel depicts is nothing less than a whole assembly of, to use Louis Althusser’s term, ideological state apparatuses (i.e. colonial administration, railways, the court, the school) that seek to clamp down and impose a form on the multiplicity of India that seeks to resist this violence as such. Levine’s chapter thus delineates several colonial implementations that get subverted simple because they “failed to take into account” (72) the deep divisions and multiplicities that pervade “Indian” society and identity/identities. Forster’s description of the untouchable who pulls the punkah in the courthouse thus achieves significance: the facticity of the almost naked body of the Indian proves “to society how little its categories impress” (241) nature that refuses to be codified. Franco Moretti, in his book Atlas of the European Novel (London: Verso, 1998) makes the intriguing claim that metaphorical language increases in the European novel’s description of the “unknown”, or the Other because they “simultaneously express the unknown” (47) through an unexpected semantic association and also “contain it” (47) through codifying otherness in familiar linguistic territory. Read in this light, Mrs. Moore’s experience in the Marabar Caves where even “poetry” (165) as the most intensely metaphorical of Western literary genre is reduced to utter incoherence betokens this ultimate failure of European language to thematize and give shape to an Indian reality that nonetheless forcefully intrudes into the colonial consciousness.
Finessing Intent
This is a cursory response to Peter Burra’s claim in his introduction to A Passage to India of the Everyman Edition (1957), that “the propagandist element in the book is undeniable, but one can hardly conclude that it was written with that for its final purpose.” What Burra formulates as justification for his claim – and he locates his evidence in the episode of Dr Fielding and Aziz’s last ride together, in which “the rocks that rise between them” that causes their horses to swerve apart seem to symbolize “Indian differences [insofar as they are] differences that are not more great, only more particular, than the differences that exist between any two men.” – is that Forster’s interest lies more emphatically in the clash of human beings, as opposed to personifications of race or class, and in “the struggle which any one individual must endure if he is to achieve intimacy with any one another.”
I do not quite understand the basis for which Burra claims to apprehend the propagandist element in Forster’s novel. This is surely a problem of reading, for in my reading the novel appears to me a text polysemous in its structure that to ascribe the label of propaganda, or even that which hints at a propagandist intent, would be, perhaps, to indulge in willful misreading of the notion of polysemy – whose nature is, to reference Deleuze and Guattari, of the topological rather than of the monolithic. Unless what Burra means by his claim is that Forster’s technique of novelistic orchestration incorporates narratological moments in which an event, on first reading, sets up an emotional response in the reader, that is compelled to be pulled along one particular sentient plane, urging the reader to feel in a particular and reactionary way, only to encounter opposition in the form of doubt – the reader asks “What basis do I have for feeling the way I do?” – in very same instant of that response.
To elaborate the technique which I find evident in Forster’s text, I would have to refer to Auerbach’s question of “who speaks?” that is contextualized by his reading of Woolf’s To The Lighthouse: a way of understanding a tenet of modernist literary sensibility is encapsulated by Auerbach’s analysis of the sentence “Never did anybody look so sad”, in which he says that such a technique “verges [the writing] upon a realm beyond reality”, that “in the ensuing passage the speakers no longer seem to be human beings at all but spirits between heaven and earth, nameless spirits capable of penetrating the depths of the human soul, capable too of knowing something about it, but not of attaining clarity as to what is in process there, with the result that what they report has a doubtful ring.” (532) What is useful for an understanding of the “doubtful ring” of Forster’s text lies not so much in the diminishment of “clarity” insofar as the text presents its exteriority quite emphatically as that which is crucial in the understanding of the actual politics in a particular history of India that is the basis of the human conflicts inscribed within the text – we know that the story takes place in pre-War India; we know that the story is grounded in actual sociopolitical conditions – but rather, insofar as the text seems to be narrated by a voice that vacillates between a third person, omniscient register and a first person register – as in, “There they were! Politics again.” (124); or “As long as someone abused the English, all went well…” (119) – such commentaries being indeterminate in relation to their source: the thoughts of the characters or of Forster’s, or that of his slyly ventriloquising through his creations. This polyphonic structure of Forster’s text is precisely that which grants its polysemous texture insofar as, knowing this, where and how does one begin to unravel an ethical response to the fiction Forster may or may not be presenting to us?
I will, perhaps, elaborate more in class, should there be a need to.
I do not quite understand the basis for which Burra claims to apprehend the propagandist element in Forster’s novel. This is surely a problem of reading, for in my reading the novel appears to me a text polysemous in its structure that to ascribe the label of propaganda, or even that which hints at a propagandist intent, would be, perhaps, to indulge in willful misreading of the notion of polysemy – whose nature is, to reference Deleuze and Guattari, of the topological rather than of the monolithic. Unless what Burra means by his claim is that Forster’s technique of novelistic orchestration incorporates narratological moments in which an event, on first reading, sets up an emotional response in the reader, that is compelled to be pulled along one particular sentient plane, urging the reader to feel in a particular and reactionary way, only to encounter opposition in the form of doubt – the reader asks “What basis do I have for feeling the way I do?” – in very same instant of that response.
To elaborate the technique which I find evident in Forster’s text, I would have to refer to Auerbach’s question of “who speaks?” that is contextualized by his reading of Woolf’s To The Lighthouse: a way of understanding a tenet of modernist literary sensibility is encapsulated by Auerbach’s analysis of the sentence “Never did anybody look so sad”, in which he says that such a technique “verges [the writing] upon a realm beyond reality”, that “in the ensuing passage the speakers no longer seem to be human beings at all but spirits between heaven and earth, nameless spirits capable of penetrating the depths of the human soul, capable too of knowing something about it, but not of attaining clarity as to what is in process there, with the result that what they report has a doubtful ring.” (532) What is useful for an understanding of the “doubtful ring” of Forster’s text lies not so much in the diminishment of “clarity” insofar as the text presents its exteriority quite emphatically as that which is crucial in the understanding of the actual politics in a particular history of India that is the basis of the human conflicts inscribed within the text – we know that the story takes place in pre-War India; we know that the story is grounded in actual sociopolitical conditions – but rather, insofar as the text seems to be narrated by a voice that vacillates between a third person, omniscient register and a first person register – as in, “There they were! Politics again.” (124); or “As long as someone abused the English, all went well…” (119) – such commentaries being indeterminate in relation to their source: the thoughts of the characters or of Forster’s, or that of his slyly ventriloquising through his creations. This polyphonic structure of Forster’s text is precisely that which grants its polysemous texture insofar as, knowing this, where and how does one begin to unravel an ethical response to the fiction Forster may or may not be presenting to us?
I will, perhaps, elaborate more in class, should there be a need to.
The Severed British Net
Hi all,
In the spirit of discussion/treating this blog as a forum for the exchanging of ideas, I would like to respond to Samantha's post for my entry this week, partly because the quotes she used in her entry were precisely what jumped out at me too.
Samantha states, 'I think we've undergone that same kind of ideological colonization through 'english-style education', and are still trapped in it today to a certain degree.'
Dr Koh, in reply to Samantha's post, wrote 'I wonder, so what do you think of the 'educated Indian class' vis-a-vis the Raffles schools and boulevards of Singapore? Does it indeed 'contaminate', or does it create a subservient class?'
My response to this is that the two outcomes offered, 'contaminat[ion]' or the 'creat[ion of] a subservient class', are too restrictive- I would like to propose that a third outcome, that can be seen in the context of Singapore, is possible: that another step towards the evolution of a national identity is taken.
Unlike Samantha, I do not think that the existence of current Singapore roads with British names indicates that we are still caught by the British 'net', but that they are instead simply markers of our colonial past. I do understand the discomfort one may feel from the knowledge that the memory of the oft-exploitative British remains today (street names, statues, school systems, etc). However, I feel that re-naming the streets Lorong Merlion just so that it is distinctly Singaporean (opening Pandora's box- what is 'distinctly Singaporean'?) results in a sort of historical amnesia, where we deny the fact that we were once a British colony. I think these vestiges of British influence are, while sometimes frustrating, essentially a part of Singapore today. In fact I could perhaps go so far as to say that the very fact that these British markers still exist encourage me in a warped way. They show that Singapore has progressed- insecurities no longer plague one enough to feel 'Alamak, British reminders everywhere, cannot cannot, must be nationalistic'. This sort of nationalism is, to me, unthinking and extreme; I am encouraged that we can today look at these roads and influences and feel secure in our identity as Singaporean, even if that means we remember that we were once a British colony.
Perhaps I come to this with a personal agenda- I am Peranakan, and since taking Prof Holden's module on Singapore Literature in my first year, I have felt a push to interrogate my own 'Singaporean-ness' like never before. We learned about how the Peranakans benefited pretty well from being under British colonial rule (as compared to other locals). They were often middle-class locals who took most easily to English customs, including the English language, and were often in civil servant positions. Effectively, they were people strategically used by the British to further their interests in the region, perpetuating the Anglicization of the country through local help. After learning about this in greater detail, I started seriously questioning how 'authentic' of a Singaporean I am- after all, my first language is the language of the colonizers. I can't say I fully understand my position still, but I have at least gotten to the point where I realize I cannot rail against the fact that my forefathers were arguably un-Malayan/Singaporean, that they belonged to a class that was created by the British for British ends. Bemoaning this would be unproductive and denying it means the denial of fact. I think that it is more productive instad to acknowledge this past and accede that the British left some of their entrails behind (sorry for the hantu penanggal image) even after Singapore attained independence. And that even whilst this may be true, we can simultaneously assert that these remnants in no way diminish our credibility as an independent nation, and as a country with a national identity that is constantly re-imagined.
As a side-note, I suppose this is why I am so interested in post-colonial, especially Singapore, literature- it (arguably) acts as aspirin for the colonial hangover.
Please let me know if anyone has any thoughts. I should also probably say that I'm not usually this 'RAH RAH GO SINGAPORE'.
Thanks!
-Kelly Tay
Toes
The quote “[t]he man who doesn’t toe the line is lost … If you leave the line, you have a gap in the line” struck me as particularly meaningful when thinking about issues related to modernism and empire (160).
The statement was made by McBryde as a word of caution to Fielding for being on the side of the Indians. In McBryde’s opinion, Fielding’s disregard for conforming to the standards and rules established by the Anglo-Indian community in Chandrapore will result in his expulsion, hence “lost”. The second part of the quote is McBryde’s obvious hinting at Fielding’s obligation and duty to his own kind.
In the colonial enterprise where everyone is obliged to “toe the line”, there is certainly “no room for – well – personal views” (160). Everything is based on the collective, which in a sense erases unique individual identities. The “wife of a small railway clerk” who was “generally snubbed”, becomes a symbol of “all that was worth fighting and dying for” with her “abundant figure and corn-gold hair” (170). The body is idealized and transformed into a symbol that makes it “all worth fighting and dying for”. All sense of the individual is erased from the body. Leaving the “line” results in a “gap”, a space that can be exploited and used against the collective. The anxiety that the hegemony of colonial rule will be threatened is a significant concern for the colonists. This is certainly a direct opposite of modernism, which celebrates the individual and rejects any rigid categorizing. And it is in this polarity (Empire / Modernism), that I find interesting, albeit in a nebulous way for now.
If we view “the line” as (Victorian?) literary tradition, modernist writers are certainly the culprits that do not “toe the line”. In leaving “the line”, they created “a gap in the line”, which I see it as an opening up of a space for multiple perspectives and voices. To allow for “a close approach to objective reality by means of numerous subjective reality by means of numerous subjective impressions received by various individuals” (Auerbach). Yet, there is also a sense of “los[s]”, with no omniscient meaning to be derived and no conclusions to be arrived at.
Linking the two points I have tried to make, I see the employing of the modernist technique as a possible/adequate way of addressing the issues of colonialism. Rather than taking sides (imperialist vs anti-imperialist), it opens up a gap to engage readers in formulating their own viewpoints and opinions. The ambivalence in A Passage to India has been astutely commented on by Jean, which I think is the main point of the novel. It is a “passage”, rather than Destination India.
The statement was made by McBryde as a word of caution to Fielding for being on the side of the Indians. In McBryde’s opinion, Fielding’s disregard for conforming to the standards and rules established by the Anglo-Indian community in Chandrapore will result in his expulsion, hence “lost”. The second part of the quote is McBryde’s obvious hinting at Fielding’s obligation and duty to his own kind.
In the colonial enterprise where everyone is obliged to “toe the line”, there is certainly “no room for – well – personal views” (160). Everything is based on the collective, which in a sense erases unique individual identities. The “wife of a small railway clerk” who was “generally snubbed”, becomes a symbol of “all that was worth fighting and dying for” with her “abundant figure and corn-gold hair” (170). The body is idealized and transformed into a symbol that makes it “all worth fighting and dying for”. All sense of the individual is erased from the body. Leaving the “line” results in a “gap”, a space that can be exploited and used against the collective. The anxiety that the hegemony of colonial rule will be threatened is a significant concern for the colonists. This is certainly a direct opposite of modernism, which celebrates the individual and rejects any rigid categorizing. And it is in this polarity (Empire / Modernism), that I find interesting, albeit in a nebulous way for now.
If we view “the line” as (Victorian?) literary tradition, modernist writers are certainly the culprits that do not “toe the line”. In leaving “the line”, they created “a gap in the line”, which I see it as an opening up of a space for multiple perspectives and voices. To allow for “a close approach to objective reality by means of numerous subjective reality by means of numerous subjective impressions received by various individuals” (Auerbach). Yet, there is also a sense of “los[s]”, with no omniscient meaning to be derived and no conclusions to be arrived at.
Linking the two points I have tried to make, I see the employing of the modernist technique as a possible/adequate way of addressing the issues of colonialism. Rather than taking sides (imperialist vs anti-imperialist), it opens up a gap to engage readers in formulating their own viewpoints and opinions. The ambivalence in A Passage to India has been astutely commented on by Jean, which I think is the main point of the novel. It is a “passage”, rather than Destination India.
Maintaining Power
Knowing only very little about the historical events that took place during the period of Imperialism, Levine's article was quite an informative read for me. What struck me was how easily the British initially managed to secure the "long-term loyalty ... of the [Indian] administrators" (69), despite the fact that they were a minority. One of the ways in which they did this was by 'allowing' the Indians/native culture and traditions to play a role/be a part of the administering of India- though significantly a limited one. Some of these examples include "reinvesting the Hindu Caste system with power" (72), "enforcing the caste system in courts," and allowing Indian princes to remain as local rulers. These measures made it seem as through the British were actually accommodating local traditions and customs instead of going against them, hence minimizing the totalitarian image of the British government.
This instantly reminded me of the recent move by our government to allow Singapore citizens to hold outdoor demonstrations without a permit, albeit only at the Speaker's Corner. At the surface level, it does seem as though the government has finally decided to loosen its foothold on political dissent, and many of the people interviewed by The Straits Times seemed to be really quite pleased about it. Yet, I guess this just another one of its ploy to strengthen its dominance. By creating a specific space or a 'playground' for opposing forces and ideologies to voice their dissent, the government is infact containing these opposing political groups and their voices in a space that appears to be relatively neutral to all Singaporeans, through a supposedly altruistic move (since this does not seem to benefit the government). In other words, this move that is widely perceived to be a 'relaxation of political control' is in fact, ironically strengthening the power of the government as it (a) makes the government seem very understanding, open to change etc, hence gaining the favor of the masses (b) contains any political dissent.
Although, these are pretty clever and cunning little ways of controlling huge groups of people, I can't help but wonder about its long-term effectiveness. As in Levine's readings, this move proves to be ultimately ineffectual, as the Indians do not stay contend for long and finally revolt against the British. As Fielding says in Passage to India, "Justice never satisfies them [the Indians], and that is why the British Empire rests on sand" (230)(mine's the penguin edition) In light of this, perhaps it is quite impossible to have an equal world, or "justice" anywhere, simple because people will not be contend with justice ?? Perhaps what people really want is to be IN power ... thus when the one in power falls, another will simply rise to take its place.
This instantly reminded me of the recent move by our government to allow Singapore citizens to hold outdoor demonstrations without a permit, albeit only at the Speaker's Corner. At the surface level, it does seem as though the government has finally decided to loosen its foothold on political dissent, and many of the people interviewed by The Straits Times seemed to be really quite pleased about it. Yet, I guess this just another one of its ploy to strengthen its dominance. By creating a specific space or a 'playground' for opposing forces and ideologies to voice their dissent, the government is infact containing these opposing political groups and their voices in a space that appears to be relatively neutral to all Singaporeans, through a supposedly altruistic move (since this does not seem to benefit the government). In other words, this move that is widely perceived to be a 'relaxation of political control' is in fact, ironically strengthening the power of the government as it (a) makes the government seem very understanding, open to change etc, hence gaining the favor of the masses (b) contains any political dissent.
Although, these are pretty clever and cunning little ways of controlling huge groups of people, I can't help but wonder about its long-term effectiveness. As in Levine's readings, this move proves to be ultimately ineffectual, as the Indians do not stay contend for long and finally revolt against the British. As Fielding says in Passage to India, "Justice never satisfies them [the Indians], and that is why the British Empire rests on sand" (230)(mine's the penguin edition) In light of this, perhaps it is quite impossible to have an equal world, or "justice" anywhere, simple because people will not be contend with justice ?? Perhaps what people really want is to be IN power ... thus when the one in power falls, another will simply rise to take its place.
What about Modernism?
Wonderful, thought-provoking questions and discussions on the question of empire so far... but where have we left Modernism in Forster?
Where are Forster's Modernist techniques? And why are they important -- are they even important in our discussion of this text?
Where are Forster's Modernist techniques? And why are they important -- are they even important in our discussion of this text?
Categories and labels
Reading “A Passage to India” made me think about categories and labels as being particularly problematic in the dialectic between the colonizer and the colonized. I thought the text presented categories and labels as being problematic firstly because they run the risk of pigeon-holing people into inaccurate and restrictive classifications based on the characteristics they are SUPPOSED to have, rather than the characteristics they do possess. This is evident for example in Chapter VIII, when Ronny recounts how “Aziz was exquisitely dressed, from tie-pin to spats, but he had forgotten his back collar-stud”. He then proclaims that this was “the Indian all over: inattention to detail; the fundamental slackness that reveals all the race” (75). The truth is Aziz had lent his collar-stud to Mr Fielding but Ronny conveniently attributes Aziz’s lack of a collar-pin to his “slackness” that was supposed to be characteristic of his race. Here, Ronny has wrongly judged Aziz just because of his belonging to a certain race category.
Colonizers were not the only ones guilty of this pigeon-holing. The colonized too, pigeon-holed their colonizers based on race too! This is evident already in Chapter II, where Aziz, Mahmoud Ali and Hamidullah broadly classified all Englishwomen as being “exactly alike” (9), and that granted the exceptions, “all Englishwomen are haughty and venal” (11). Again, the locals here have branded their colonial masters with certain characteristics based very loosely on their race and nationality and it is this labelling and categorising by both parties that create further misunderstandings between the colonizer and colonized and which widen the chasm between them. These categories only work to unite each nation while dividing both nations, and thus categories become particularly problematic in this colonizer-colonized dialectic.
Categories and labels are problematic also because they do not accommodate heterogeneity and difference between peoples. One example of this would be Mr Harris, who was Eurasian. Due to his mixed heritage, “when English and Indians were both present he grew self-conscious, because he did not know to whom he belonged. For a little he was vexed by opposite currents in his blood, then they blended, and he belonged to no one but himself” (84). Not being clearly European, or clearly Indian, Harris resists being classified and this places him in a state of limbo, belonging to neither race/nationality group. However, despite being in this state of limbo, I think that this is perhaps a more ideal space to exist in as it gives potential for Mr Harris to be seen as an individual, out of any narrow categories, as an individual who “belonged to no one but himself”. While not belonging to any group, Harris does not run the risk of being “mislabelled”.
While I recognise that these categories could have been deliberately drawn up by the colonial masters to differentiate themselves from the colonized, I think that these categories ultimately backfire because not only are the colonized and “in-betweens” subjected to being mislabelled or left behind, so too are the colonizers themselves. As Adela says on becoming labelled as an “Anglo-Indian” once she marries: “it’s inevitable. I can’t avoid the label. What I do hope to avoid is the mentality… Some women are so-well, ungenerous and snobby about Indians, and I should feel too ashamed for words if I turned like them” (135).
To end off, I thought this quote by Aziz quite apt—“Nothing embraces the whole of India, nothing, nothing…” (135). Perhaps then, a people should be united by diversity and multiplicity rather than a universal label.
Colonizers were not the only ones guilty of this pigeon-holing. The colonized too, pigeon-holed their colonizers based on race too! This is evident already in Chapter II, where Aziz, Mahmoud Ali and Hamidullah broadly classified all Englishwomen as being “exactly alike” (9), and that granted the exceptions, “all Englishwomen are haughty and venal” (11). Again, the locals here have branded their colonial masters with certain characteristics based very loosely on their race and nationality and it is this labelling and categorising by both parties that create further misunderstandings between the colonizer and colonized and which widen the chasm between them. These categories only work to unite each nation while dividing both nations, and thus categories become particularly problematic in this colonizer-colonized dialectic.
Categories and labels are problematic also because they do not accommodate heterogeneity and difference between peoples. One example of this would be Mr Harris, who was Eurasian. Due to his mixed heritage, “when English and Indians were both present he grew self-conscious, because he did not know to whom he belonged. For a little he was vexed by opposite currents in his blood, then they blended, and he belonged to no one but himself” (84). Not being clearly European, or clearly Indian, Harris resists being classified and this places him in a state of limbo, belonging to neither race/nationality group. However, despite being in this state of limbo, I think that this is perhaps a more ideal space to exist in as it gives potential for Mr Harris to be seen as an individual, out of any narrow categories, as an individual who “belonged to no one but himself”. While not belonging to any group, Harris does not run the risk of being “mislabelled”.
While I recognise that these categories could have been deliberately drawn up by the colonial masters to differentiate themselves from the colonized, I think that these categories ultimately backfire because not only are the colonized and “in-betweens” subjected to being mislabelled or left behind, so too are the colonizers themselves. As Adela says on becoming labelled as an “Anglo-Indian” once she marries: “it’s inevitable. I can’t avoid the label. What I do hope to avoid is the mentality… Some women are so-well, ungenerous and snobby about Indians, and I should feel too ashamed for words if I turned like them” (135).
To end off, I thought this quote by Aziz quite apt—“Nothing embraces the whole of India, nothing, nothing…” (135). Perhaps then, a people should be united by diversity and multiplicity rather than a universal label.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The British in India
Hello hello :)
As I was reading Levine's "Britain in India" and trying to link it to the narrative of Passage, what struck me the most about Levine's essay was the bit where she says:
"...in the 1830s there was considerable debate over the wisdom of encouraging an English-style education among Indian elites...British interests lay with whether or not an English education would secure the long-term loyalty of this essential class of administrators...Without the work of Indians...British India simply could not have functioned" (69).
and also:
"Macaulay...argued that English should be the language of state in India, and that westernization would improve the condition of India and guarantee the loyalties of India's educated classes" (71).
I'm sure that educating Indians so that they could be equipped to serve the British was a necessary measure and happened for practical communication purposes. However, doesn't this make the "educated" Indians go through (for lack of a better term) second colonisation? Not only are they colonised physically [the land of India], they seem to now be undergoing ideological colonisation by studying "English-style". Come to think of it, our Social Studies textbooks in secondary school seem somehow warped. We know that we were a former British colony, but our textbooks seldom speak of our colonial experience in a negative light. In fact, the British were often praised and exalted! Think of Sir Stamford Raffle's looming figure at Singapore River... Think of how we were taught how well the British planned towns, how efficiently they administered and governed. Think of how esteemed Raffles Girls' Secondary and Raffles Institution are in Singapore! Somehow, I think we've undergone that same kind of ideological colonisation through "English-style education", and are still trapped in it today, to a certain degree. Our exams are certified by Cambridge, we have "Speak Good English" campaigns, and our unique Singlish is severely frowned upon (please never let Singlish die out, it'd be such a waste). Remember how Aziz found that "[t]he roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles, were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India" (Passage 14)? I think Singapore in many subtle ways is still caught under that kind of net. We even have Clive Street (named after Robert Clive), not to mention Hasting and Minto Road as well. Street names probably don't amount to much, but it's as if these names were like the British colonial ghosts still staking their claim on our land... hmmm.
Also, I found the last line of the passage I quoted from p.69 particularly ironic. For all their strength, might and hold over India, the British colonists actually had to depend on the "natives", the Indians. They were their odd-job labourers, their armed forces; they were their surrogate butlers. To me, the irony lies in that British strength in India is not actually British strength, but Indian strength. (If I may insert a crude, if not simplistic analogy + digression here, I am reminded of the table tennis matches in the Olympics that just passed. The logic doesn't quite match up, but I am just somehow reminded of my friend remarking that watching Li Jiawei play against China was like watching China vs China instead of Singapore vs China. I mean sure, yes, we can say she's officially Singaporean and all, but it just doesn't feel the same!) Anyway, back to what I was trying to say: if we can consider educating the Indians in the British style to work for the British to be a form of anglicizing the Indians, then the quoted passage reflects a certain anxiety over such anglicization. Aziz represents for me a fully, but not successfully anglicized Indian. He's well-educated, speaks good English, and knows British customs well ["I know everything about you" (130).] But his loyalties lie far away from the British. In fact, he seems anti-British most of the time. I'm reminded again of Levine's "Ruling An Empire" chapter, where she writes that Indians assimilating into British society "was considered contamination, not assimilation" (107). Characters like Aziz seem to pose such a "contamination" threat to the British in Forster's novel. For example, people like the Turtons look upon Mrs. Moore's friendship with Aziz in disdain. In the courtroom scene, we see how prejudiced the British are against Aziz, even though he had not yet been proven guilty. All in all, the more I read about the British in India, whether as described by Levine in her essays, or as narrated by Forster, the weaker and more caricatured they seem to become.
As I was reading Levine's "Britain in India" and trying to link it to the narrative of Passage, what struck me the most about Levine's essay was the bit where she says:
"...in the 1830s there was considerable debate over the wisdom of encouraging an English-style education among Indian elites...British interests lay with whether or not an English education would secure the long-term loyalty of this essential class of administrators...Without the work of Indians...British India simply could not have functioned" (69).
and also:
"Macaulay...argued that English should be the language of state in India, and that westernization would improve the condition of India and guarantee the loyalties of India's educated classes" (71).
I'm sure that educating Indians so that they could be equipped to serve the British was a necessary measure and happened for practical communication purposes. However, doesn't this make the "educated" Indians go through (for lack of a better term) second colonisation? Not only are they colonised physically [the land of India], they seem to now be undergoing ideological colonisation by studying "English-style". Come to think of it, our Social Studies textbooks in secondary school seem somehow warped. We know that we were a former British colony, but our textbooks seldom speak of our colonial experience in a negative light. In fact, the British were often praised and exalted! Think of Sir Stamford Raffle's looming figure at Singapore River... Think of how we were taught how well the British planned towns, how efficiently they administered and governed. Think of how esteemed Raffles Girls' Secondary and Raffles Institution are in Singapore! Somehow, I think we've undergone that same kind of ideological colonisation through "English-style education", and are still trapped in it today, to a certain degree. Our exams are certified by Cambridge, we have "Speak Good English" campaigns, and our unique Singlish is severely frowned upon (please never let Singlish die out, it'd be such a waste). Remember how Aziz found that "[t]he roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles, were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India" (Passage 14)? I think Singapore in many subtle ways is still caught under that kind of net. We even have Clive Street (named after Robert Clive), not to mention Hasting and Minto Road as well. Street names probably don't amount to much, but it's as if these names were like the British colonial ghosts still staking their claim on our land... hmmm.
Also, I found the last line of the passage I quoted from p.69 particularly ironic. For all their strength, might and hold over India, the British colonists actually had to depend on the "natives", the Indians. They were their odd-job labourers, their armed forces; they were their surrogate butlers. To me, the irony lies in that British strength in India is not actually British strength, but Indian strength. (If I may insert a crude, if not simplistic analogy + digression here, I am reminded of the table tennis matches in the Olympics that just passed. The logic doesn't quite match up, but I am just somehow reminded of my friend remarking that watching Li Jiawei play against China was like watching China vs China instead of Singapore vs China. I mean sure, yes, we can say she's officially Singaporean and all, but it just doesn't feel the same!) Anyway, back to what I was trying to say: if we can consider educating the Indians in the British style to work for the British to be a form of anglicizing the Indians, then the quoted passage reflects a certain anxiety over such anglicization. Aziz represents for me a fully, but not successfully anglicized Indian. He's well-educated, speaks good English, and knows British customs well ["I know everything about you" (130).] But his loyalties lie far away from the British. In fact, he seems anti-British most of the time. I'm reminded again of Levine's "Ruling An Empire" chapter, where she writes that Indians assimilating into British society "was considered contamination, not assimilation" (107). Characters like Aziz seem to pose such a "contamination" threat to the British in Forster's novel. For example, people like the Turtons look upon Mrs. Moore's friendship with Aziz in disdain. In the courtroom scene, we see how prejudiced the British are against Aziz, even though he had not yet been proven guilty. All in all, the more I read about the British in India, whether as described by Levine in her essays, or as narrated by Forster, the weaker and more caricatured they seem to become.
Gender and empire
I think that there is always going to be something to say about gender whenever one discusses empire and imperialism. For instance, I’ve always known that India was the crown jewel of the British Empire, “a symbol of Britain’s overseas power” for other colonial cultures to see, but after reading chapter 17 to 20 of Passage, I came to see it as a site of British anxieties as well, particularly in their attitudes towards the white European woman. All the hullabaloo made after Adela was ‘assaulted’, particularly the lack of rationality used in dealing with the situation (the extinguishing of the “lamp of reason” in place of “emotion”, the use of the phrase “women and children” with growing hysteria etc), suggest to me that the British were conscious of their women as signifiers of a greater domestic culture.
This is how my logic follows: children are the future of the nation --> women care for the children --> British customs and values are transmitted from a mother to a child --> women are therefore seen as guardians of British domestic culture and the future of that heritage --> the protection of women is thus paramount to maintain this great culture. Since the native has, to a majority of the British, become a site of corruption and debauchery (indeed, there are many snide throwaway remarks made about Mohammedans and their 4 wives), the white European female must then be kept away from the vile beasts lest they be infected by native impurity. The heavy emphasis placed on white female virtue objectifies the female because she has become more of a national emblem than a fellow human being. We see how the treatment of Adela reveals this—“their kindness was incredible, but it was her position, not her character, that moved them.” This symbolic position is made more demeaning because it is a symbol which confers importance to the bearer only for a little while—“The wife of a small railway official...with her abundant figure and masses of corngold hair, she symbolized all that is worth fighting and dying for; more permanent a symbol, perhaps, than poor Adela...”
I wonder if the vehicle status of colonial women does not then mirror the status of the colonized women in some sense. Levine mentions the traditional practice of sati or “suttee” as she terms it, where the wife of a deceased Hindu was compelled to die upon his funeral pyre “in recognition of his centrality to her existence”. Not seen as an individual of her own right, she is but a signifier of the male-centred system, a blank slate on which Patriarchy inscribes whatever it wishes.
Different culture, same condition.
This is how my logic follows: children are the future of the nation --> women care for the children --> British customs and values are transmitted from a mother to a child --> women are therefore seen as guardians of British domestic culture and the future of that heritage --> the protection of women is thus paramount to maintain this great culture. Since the native has, to a majority of the British, become a site of corruption and debauchery (indeed, there are many snide throwaway remarks made about Mohammedans and their 4 wives), the white European female must then be kept away from the vile beasts lest they be infected by native impurity. The heavy emphasis placed on white female virtue objectifies the female because she has become more of a national emblem than a fellow human being. We see how the treatment of Adela reveals this—“their kindness was incredible, but it was her position, not her character, that moved them.” This symbolic position is made more demeaning because it is a symbol which confers importance to the bearer only for a little while—“The wife of a small railway official...with her abundant figure and masses of corngold hair, she symbolized all that is worth fighting and dying for; more permanent a symbol, perhaps, than poor Adela...”
I wonder if the vehicle status of colonial women does not then mirror the status of the colonized women in some sense. Levine mentions the traditional practice of sati or “suttee” as she terms it, where the wife of a deceased Hindu was compelled to die upon his funeral pyre “in recognition of his centrality to her existence”. Not seen as an individual of her own right, she is but a signifier of the male-centred system, a blank slate on which Patriarchy inscribes whatever it wishes.
Different culture, same condition.
friezes and spirits
“She and Ronny would look minto the club like this every evening, then drive home to dress; they would see the Lesleys and the Callandars and the Turtons and the Burtons, and invite them and be invited by them, while the true India slid by unnoticed. Colour would remain…—and movement would remain…But the force that lies behind colour and movement would escape her even more effectually than it did now. She would see India always as a frieze, never as a spirit”
I would like to use this quote, taken from pg 43 of the Penguin edition, as the focus of my post. Throughout the novel I found Adela an intriguing character, and her repeated desires to look beyond the unseeing stereotypes perceived by other Anglo-Indians (as named in the quote) seemed, at first, an attempt to more positively represent the relationship between Empire and its Indian subjects.
However, I find myself questioning now if Adela’s attitude towards India is a counterpoint to the prevailing one expressed by such men as Ronny (“We’re not out here for the purpose of behaving pleasantly”), or if they are merely two sides of the same coin. For all her desire to see the “real’ India and her apparent interest in meeting Indian people, she assents to Fielding’s observation that “The first time I saw you, you were wanting to see India, not Indians” (245). Her desire to see the “spirit” behind the “frieze” of colour of movement too can be read in colonial, essentialising; while the frieze suggests a superficial and static apprehension of one’s surroundings, the desire for an essential and transcendental ’’spirit’ takes one away from direct experience and subsumes it beneath the search for a general and totalising essence.
Thus, while Ronny and his compatriots have essentialised India into an absence that is to be ‘avoided’ as far as possible and is spoken about only in utilitarian, or otherwise derogatory terms, Adela seeks an exoticism in India marked by its difference from the Empire and, and finds it best answered by the cold beauty of a moonrise reflected in the mirror (She isn’t really happy most other times, not even when she gets taken around ‘real’ Indian caves by the ‘real’ Indians Azia and co). For all her interest in native customs and fair treatment of Indians and so forth, Adela, it seems, cannot help but perpetuate the imperial gaze that she wants to hard to avoid.
What, then, is one to do if both interest and disinterest in the reality of India can be equally read as colonialist and oppressive? What sort of attitude is there left for a foreigner – an Anglo India – to take? To me, Forster’s novel complicates the easy binary of self and exotic other, perhaps by suggesting an impossibility of perceiving the world otherwise.
Lynnette
Fractured Identity and the Road to Partition
Levine's Britain in India reflects the historical fact that the Indian population in British India was as diverse as the Princely States on the Indian subcontinent before the East India Company annexed them and ruled them with a one-size-fits-all governance. In Forster's Passage to India, the diversity of cultures between Indian Hindus, Indian Muslims, Indian Sikhs and more are simplistically categorised as "Indians" by the British, especially the British women accompanying their husbands to colonial postings in British India. Not being in touch with the administration of the settlements, the women's aversion to contact with the Indians (Forster 39) show the rift of understanding between the colonised and the colonisers. With such insentivities and the trial of Aziz for the attempted rape of Adela as a catalyst, the riot in the subsequent acquital of Aziz brings to the foreground the previously simmering undercurrents of interracial tensions. These tensions do not merely exist in the plane between the British and the Indians, but with the the Indian population, the Indian Hindus and the Indian Muslims. The majority-Muslim mob that riots outside the courtroom and the hospital show the fragmented Indian culture. Suspicions between the ethnic groups within the Indian population can be seen when the mob confronts Dr Panna Lal, an Indian Hindu doctor, outside the hospital and demands the release of Nureddin (238).
The interracial tensions are true historical facts and are very much alive in the present day. While the setting for Passage to India maybe fictitious, there are two links to the present geography of India. Chandrapore's nearest similarity in name, Chandragarth in the northwestern edge of India, is located close to the border clashes with Pakistan in the present day, and the state of Bihar where Forster is said to have based his narrative on, suffers prejudice from the people of more centralised Indian states. In the historical and geographical sense, Forster chronicles the history of British India's development up to 1924, the publication date of the book. What Levine describes in Britain in India supports the larger facts of government policies and history in Forster's narrative, and Forster's zooming-in on the everyday life of the community in Chandrapore gives the history more human and emotional description.
But Forster's narrative foreshadows many issues arising from the British India diaspora that the colonial offices in London would never have predicted. The insensitive handling of racial issues and the subsequent Partition of Punjab to Pakistan and India caused intercommunal violence and a huge displacement of Hindus and Muslims uprooted to cross the borders. There were many other displacement of the Indian population under the British's haste in drawing the boundaries for post-independence Pakistan and India. Such violence, in the tensions against the British in the mutinies and among ethnic groups in the civil wars, show the fragmented loyalties of the Indian population. There will be too many compartments if we were to categorise the identities of the "Indian" (which, in Passage to India, is shown impossible). From the basic ethnic groups, the Indian subcontinent has too many of them, as the Subaltern had got mixed up with in his entreaty to send in the Army (191). And then from these, throw in the categories of religion and the loyalties to British/Mogul Emperor descendancy/Hindu Prince descendancy. We get a seemingly infinite number of permutations that render India a complex web of identities from before Forster's writing to beyond our lives. The issue here is how the Modernist anxieties of the individual is equal in both the British and the Indian. Of course I would like to point out that at the outset the Indian has more to worry about since the flux to the cities (advanced to modernity by the British) would include more diverse racial and cultural differences than the British moving into any European city.
Forster's work, in my opinion, addresses all of us living in the postcolonial era, all the way back from 1924. Like Aziz and his compatriots, and any other historical being in this milieu of the Commonwealth, are our identities also manufactured by the British Empire to be this complex and subjective?
The interracial tensions are true historical facts and are very much alive in the present day. While the setting for Passage to India maybe fictitious, there are two links to the present geography of India. Chandrapore's nearest similarity in name, Chandragarth in the northwestern edge of India, is located close to the border clashes with Pakistan in the present day, and the state of Bihar where Forster is said to have based his narrative on, suffers prejudice from the people of more centralised Indian states. In the historical and geographical sense, Forster chronicles the history of British India's development up to 1924, the publication date of the book. What Levine describes in Britain in India supports the larger facts of government policies and history in Forster's narrative, and Forster's zooming-in on the everyday life of the community in Chandrapore gives the history more human and emotional description.
But Forster's narrative foreshadows many issues arising from the British India diaspora that the colonial offices in London would never have predicted. The insensitive handling of racial issues and the subsequent Partition of Punjab to Pakistan and India caused intercommunal violence and a huge displacement of Hindus and Muslims uprooted to cross the borders. There were many other displacement of the Indian population under the British's haste in drawing the boundaries for post-independence Pakistan and India. Such violence, in the tensions against the British in the mutinies and among ethnic groups in the civil wars, show the fragmented loyalties of the Indian population. There will be too many compartments if we were to categorise the identities of the "Indian" (which, in Passage to India, is shown impossible). From the basic ethnic groups, the Indian subcontinent has too many of them, as the Subaltern had got mixed up with in his entreaty to send in the Army (191). And then from these, throw in the categories of religion and the loyalties to British/Mogul Emperor descendancy/Hindu Prince descendancy. We get a seemingly infinite number of permutations that render India a complex web of identities from before Forster's writing to beyond our lives. The issue here is how the Modernist anxieties of the individual is equal in both the British and the Indian. Of course I would like to point out that at the outset the Indian has more to worry about since the flux to the cities (advanced to modernity by the British) would include more diverse racial and cultural differences than the British moving into any European city.
Forster's work, in my opinion, addresses all of us living in the postcolonial era, all the way back from 1924. Like Aziz and his compatriots, and any other historical being in this milieu of the Commonwealth, are our identities also manufactured by the British Empire to be this complex and subjective?
The "real India"
Adela’s quest for the “real India” is interesting because it brings us to the question: what is India? Is there a real India? As Levine states, India is not a single country but a collection of states differing in languages, religions, and customs. The notion of “India” then exists only as an ideological construct, as a result of the British rule. Colonialism brings centralization to India, but also seeks to contain the overwhelming-ness of India i.e. by having a central rule, India can be posited in a non-threatening space, and even of familiarity (resembling the environment left behind in Britain); in addition, the land is affixed to a point, a name, “India”. There is the mistaken (though convenient) perception that one Indian represents all Indians, as Ronny remarks, “Aziz was exquisitely dressed, from tie-pins to spats, but he had forgotten his back collar-stud, and there you have the Indian all over: inattention to details; the fundamental slackness that reveals the race.” (71) Or the idea that one Indian represents the whole of India, as seen in Adela’s behavior towards Aziz. It’s also funny to note how the British women ask Adela if she wants to meet one or two Indians, to get a sense of what India is like, as though the Indians belonged to a circus show, or as though one or two Indians could possibly represent India.
It’s hard to talk about India without merely scratching the surface or simply digressing! But the point I would like to make is that India seems to be of such complex nature, that the only way for the British colonizers to talk about India (and rule India), was to generalize, based on some assumptions, and to give India some sort of singular quality, not “a hundred Indias – whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one” (13). However, this construction of India also crushes the possibility of seeing India as a multilayered country of different cultures and meaning, and even suggests the need to "cleanse" India. This notion of one India ironically conveyed in the way Aziz describes the city: “The roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles, were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India. He felt caught in their meshes.” (14)
Yet, doesn't the Marabar Caves, left untouched by the British, pose a threat to any attempt to contain India into a single entity? Hmmm...
It’s hard to talk about India without merely scratching the surface or simply digressing! But the point I would like to make is that India seems to be of such complex nature, that the only way for the British colonizers to talk about India (and rule India), was to generalize, based on some assumptions, and to give India some sort of singular quality, not “a hundred Indias – whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one” (13). However, this construction of India also crushes the possibility of seeing India as a multilayered country of different cultures and meaning, and even suggests the need to "cleanse" India. This notion of one India ironically conveyed in the way Aziz describes the city: “The roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles, were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India. He felt caught in their meshes.” (14)
Yet, doesn't the Marabar Caves, left untouched by the British, pose a threat to any attempt to contain India into a single entity? Hmmm...
Levine, Forster and the Indian Animal
The indian animal, having "no sense of an interior", to which the interior is "a normal growth of the eternal jungle" (35)- This is an idea from Forster's A Passage to India that struck me as most interetsing and that made me see parrallels in Levine's Britain in India. The lack of an interiority or perhaps civility on the part of the Indian is an opinion held by the British, exemplified in Ronny in the nivel, who remarks "Nothing is private in India"(33). This notion of everything being thrown out into the open, the Indian ways of excess and abundance and "cultureless" behaviour, and Mrs Moore's reactions to the indian wasp in her room, all point to Britain's idea of itself being in many ways more cultured, more civilised and more knowing and discerning than the indians. which make its rule over india easier. Yet, the inherent paradox in this came clear to me in Levine's essay. The truth is that Britain's rule will always be one pinned down by fear and insecurity. It is not completely a ruling that stems from or is motivated by an attempt to aid India and modernise it. It is more of a desperate claim for power, where as Levine suggests, "India became more and more important not only for its products but increasingly as a symbol of Britan's overseas power after the loss of America". Hence, any labelling of the indians as people who lack civility and interiority may be seen as means to claim and foreground this sense of power and superiority.
Therefore, to the British( and Miss Quested is an embodiment of this), the "real India" is everything but the indina people themselves. They want to look for the essence of India while it stands in front of them. And on the other hand, to the Indian, everything is India, and everything can be adapted to, even the wooded peg in a British official's house. Hence, while Levine's criticism of the British and their dependency of India is starkingly obvious, Forster seems a little more subtle in his approach. .
Therefore, to the British( and Miss Quested is an embodiment of this), the "real India" is everything but the indina people themselves. They want to look for the essence of India while it stands in front of them. And on the other hand, to the Indian, everything is India, and everything can be adapted to, even the wooded peg in a British official's house. Hence, while Levine's criticism of the British and their dependency of India is starkingly obvious, Forster seems a little more subtle in his approach. .
A passage to India
The text’s treatment of the character of Ronny seems ambivalent. On the one hand, it satirizes his character as being an unthinking colonial administrator who simply apes the prevailing racial prejudices of the time. This is evident in his status as an Anglo Indian who exhibits stereotypical bigotry towards the colonized. However, the text also seems to avoid falling into the trap of reducing Ronny into the stereotype of the overbearing and evil colonial master by sympathetically attributing his prejudiced racial attitudes to be a detrimental result of colonial social conditioning and the overwhelming political pressures exerted on him in his role as a colonial administrator. (My argument is limited to the representation of Ronny, because it seems to me that Forster’s text does fall back into essentializing Indians in some parts of the novel).
As a stereotypical Anglo-Indian, Ronny possesses an arrogant sense of British superiority and perpetuates a series of received “second-hand”, reductive and stereotypical generalizations about Indians that ignore their heterogeneity, complexity and humanity. The text mocks the way in which Ronny imitates the views of previous colonial administrators that he looks up to, simply by virtue of their length of service in India, which he perceives as a factor that lends authority and wisdom to their colonial capacity to subjugate an inferior race. Ronny’s mindless conformity and his uncritical acceptance of received wisdom about British superiority is parodied in the passage where he argues with his (initially) kind and inclusive mother Mrs. Moore about what she perceives as his “improper treatment of natives”. Although Ronny projects a false “macho” bravado in expressing his convictions about the innately depraved natures of Indians, the text reveals that he is nothing but a mere parrot who quotes verbatim second-hand opinions, phrases and arguments (that he is not even sure about) from older colonial officials. Ronny seems to be a naïve and unquestioning servant of the British Empire, who accepts received knowledge unquestioning without challenging the moral validity of the colonial enterprise and the racial assumptions that it is premised upon. He buys into the whole colonizing rhetoric/grand narrative of “justice and keeping peace” and believes fervently that British rule is essential for the “good” of India. He is condescending when he stresses the childlike qualities of Indians, citing their innate irresponsibility, volatility, and propensities of violence (amongst other inferior flaws) that in his opinion, justifies the need for British rule. For instance, Ronny believes that both the Muslim and Hindu Indians are innately belligerent, and cites their nature to engage in violent religious antagonism as a justification for British rule. The constant rivalry between the two religious groups “proved that the British was necessary to India; there would certainly have been bloodshed without them. His voice grew complacent again; he was here not to be pleasant but to keep the peace.” Ronny also engages in cultural essentialism when he stereotypes Indians as possessing “inattention to detail, a fundamental slackness that reveals the race.” However, the text reveals his assumption to be flawed because Dr. Aziz had only exhibited such slackness in his attire as a result of his self-sacrificial act of kindness in salvaging Fielding’s wardrobe predicament at the expense of his own convenience and tidiness.
However, the text does not present Ronny in a completely unsympathetic light. It does not discount Ronny’s humanity by presenting to us a Ronny “before the fall”, as his mother reminisces about a pre-lapsarian time when Ronny possessed a “young man’s humanitarianism.” He used to possess a greater sense of cultural sensitivity towards music and the arts (he played the viola and had better taste in plays), and he used to possess unique opinions and morally sound judgments that were untainted, un-circumscribed or unconstrained by social pressures or “convention”. Thus, the text argues that Ronny’s bigotry arises neither from inherent evil, ill-breeding or a deliberate malicious intent to give offence, but rather due to the dehumanizing power of his position that has since corrupted him. Ronny’s racial worldview is stressed by the text to be the overwhelmingly normative attitude that colonial administrators were inculcated and pressured to conform to. In his confrontation with his mother (who demands he treats Indians with more humanity and respect), he rails against the political backlash he would face from his own Anglo-Indian community if he “behaved pleasantly” to the Indians. It is in his own beneficial self-interest and self-preservation if he conformed rather than rebelled against the status quo. The allure of social status and political power has corrupted him, as evident in how he pronounces his “predicament” in a “self-satisfied lilt”:
“Oh, look here, he broke out, rather pathetically, what do you and Adela want me to do? Go against my class, against all the people I respect and admire out here? Lose such power as I have for doing good in this country because my behavior isn’t pleasant? You neither of you understand what work is. […] I am not a missionary or a Labour Member or a vague sentimental literary man. I’m just a servant of the government […]”
As a stereotypical Anglo-Indian, Ronny possesses an arrogant sense of British superiority and perpetuates a series of received “second-hand”, reductive and stereotypical generalizations about Indians that ignore their heterogeneity, complexity and humanity. The text mocks the way in which Ronny imitates the views of previous colonial administrators that he looks up to, simply by virtue of their length of service in India, which he perceives as a factor that lends authority and wisdom to their colonial capacity to subjugate an inferior race. Ronny’s mindless conformity and his uncritical acceptance of received wisdom about British superiority is parodied in the passage where he argues with his (initially) kind and inclusive mother Mrs. Moore about what she perceives as his “improper treatment of natives”. Although Ronny projects a false “macho” bravado in expressing his convictions about the innately depraved natures of Indians, the text reveals that he is nothing but a mere parrot who quotes verbatim second-hand opinions, phrases and arguments (that he is not even sure about) from older colonial officials. Ronny seems to be a naïve and unquestioning servant of the British Empire, who accepts received knowledge unquestioning without challenging the moral validity of the colonial enterprise and the racial assumptions that it is premised upon. He buys into the whole colonizing rhetoric/grand narrative of “justice and keeping peace” and believes fervently that British rule is essential for the “good” of India. He is condescending when he stresses the childlike qualities of Indians, citing their innate irresponsibility, volatility, and propensities of violence (amongst other inferior flaws) that in his opinion, justifies the need for British rule. For instance, Ronny believes that both the Muslim and Hindu Indians are innately belligerent, and cites their nature to engage in violent religious antagonism as a justification for British rule. The constant rivalry between the two religious groups “proved that the British was necessary to India; there would certainly have been bloodshed without them. His voice grew complacent again; he was here not to be pleasant but to keep the peace.” Ronny also engages in cultural essentialism when he stereotypes Indians as possessing “inattention to detail, a fundamental slackness that reveals the race.” However, the text reveals his assumption to be flawed because Dr. Aziz had only exhibited such slackness in his attire as a result of his self-sacrificial act of kindness in salvaging Fielding’s wardrobe predicament at the expense of his own convenience and tidiness.
However, the text does not present Ronny in a completely unsympathetic light. It does not discount Ronny’s humanity by presenting to us a Ronny “before the fall”, as his mother reminisces about a pre-lapsarian time when Ronny possessed a “young man’s humanitarianism.” He used to possess a greater sense of cultural sensitivity towards music and the arts (he played the viola and had better taste in plays), and he used to possess unique opinions and morally sound judgments that were untainted, un-circumscribed or unconstrained by social pressures or “convention”. Thus, the text argues that Ronny’s bigotry arises neither from inherent evil, ill-breeding or a deliberate malicious intent to give offence, but rather due to the dehumanizing power of his position that has since corrupted him. Ronny’s racial worldview is stressed by the text to be the overwhelmingly normative attitude that colonial administrators were inculcated and pressured to conform to. In his confrontation with his mother (who demands he treats Indians with more humanity and respect), he rails against the political backlash he would face from his own Anglo-Indian community if he “behaved pleasantly” to the Indians. It is in his own beneficial self-interest and self-preservation if he conformed rather than rebelled against the status quo. The allure of social status and political power has corrupted him, as evident in how he pronounces his “predicament” in a “self-satisfied lilt”:
“Oh, look here, he broke out, rather pathetically, what do you and Adela want me to do? Go against my class, against all the people I respect and admire out here? Lose such power as I have for doing good in this country because my behavior isn’t pleasant? You neither of you understand what work is. […] I am not a missionary or a Labour Member or a vague sentimental literary man. I’m just a servant of the government […]”
The Unbearable Triteness of Boum and Other Problems
A Passage to India fills me with ambivalence - similar to my ambivalence over Kipling's Kim, and it is notable that twenty years separate them and my ambivalence does not wane (though admittedly twenty years is but a short span in history, literary or otherwise). Indeed, Forster is sympathetic towards the natives, indeed the white administration is portrayed far worse than the locals, but indeed it is nevertheless still a white man's sympathy. If there is a 'hero' in this polyphonic text, it is Fielding. Generalisations (on the part of the seemingly objective narrator, laying aside the generalisations made by characters whose viewpoints are incorporated into the narration) about India and Indians are made sweepingly even as Aziz points out "there is no such person in existence as the general Indian' (XXX, 232) - when Fielding reali[ses] "the profundity of the gulf that divided him from them. They always do something disappointing," his point is constantly being proven by the irrationalities and cruelties of every Indian character, no matter how likeable. In contrast, the generalisations too made about Westerners in India are often disproved by Fielding and to an extent Adela, the only characters in the book who always follow the path of truth without prompting. The capper is Ralph Moore, who descends during an Indian holy festival and directs the native Aziz to the uncanny image of the Rajah, prompting Aziz to "[feel] that his companion was not so much a visitor as a guide" (XXXVI, 274) - even if Aziz had declared him an "Oriental" (XXXVI, 272), it is still a white man who performs this ultimate messianic act. It struck me as a hypocrisy of sorts, the hypocrisy - conscious or otherwise? - of an English intellectual who can quite rightly lambaste the white administration but can too seem not to think it presumptuous to declare "there is something hostile in [Indian] soil" (11) and just about conclude with a white messiah. Dr. Koh's Ashis Nandy quote actually helped to quell my ire here; "all representations of India are ultimately autobiographical," and I tried to remind myself so too is Forster's. Even if his Indians indeed "always do something disappointing" and "there is something hostile in that soil," "a hundred Indias…whisp[er] outside beneath the indifferent moon" and the thought that "India seem[s] one"(I, 8) is merely illusion, whether for his Indians or him.
And yet, still ambivalence, for though "a hundred Indias…whisper" - "boum, it amounts to the same." (XXIII, 180) What am I to think of Mrs Moore's existentialist crisis? In Part III, we perhaps come to see that "boum" is hardly a problem for India as it is for Mrs Moore and Adela, for "it amounts to the same" is celebrated: "they loved all men, the whole universe…to melt into the universal warmth." (XXXIII, 249) Could it be a sign of the irreconcilability of the Eastern and Western mind, that the Caves, as the sky, say "no, not there" (XXXVII, 282) in "boum," so that Mrs Moore in her proclaimed Orientalness can "know" (XXIX, 228) but as inevitably a Westerner cannot cope with? The Western mind that "hope[s]" Shri Krishna will "[come] in some other song" where the Indian mind cannot "[understand the] question [of whether he comes in some other song]" and accepts that "he neglects to come," (VII, 66) that "God is not born yet - that will occur at midnight - but He has also been born centuries ago, nor can He ever be born." (XXXIII, 247) But then, if "Boum, it amounts to the same," what of the fact that the "hundred Indias" are not the same, and Sri Krishna is of the Hindu and Aziz is Moslem? Do Forster's contradictions have a point, or is he too struggling with India and "boum?" So for now, more ambivalence. I look forward to discussion, and while there are several other issues that seized my interest greatly, I'll save them for next week's blog post, just in case. One last point, to raise my dear Levine (whom, I have too noticed, seems oddly significantly less polemic in "Britain in India" than in "Ruling an Empire"), "Britain in India" illustrates that the India of which Forster writes was subject to a great many tensions, and often violent action. In Passage, I see little of chronicled widespread movement, and instead a strong focus on a singular and relatively trivial matter, that even when the community is moved to action, it is an easily subdued affair. Even the violence during Mohurram is all but elided, and defused with comedy. "It amounts to the same," Auerbach's (relatively) "random moment," (552) or something else altogether (such as lingering colonial sentiment, which I hesitate to suggest)? I cannot presume Forster's intentions, but I struggle to judge if I consider it a feature or a flaw.
And a clarification on Levine (er, outside of my two legitimate passages): contrary to what I fear might be popular opinion, I don't have a problem with her content in "Ruling an Empire" - there is not a lot she says that I don't agree with to one extent or another. What I have a problem with is that either 1. she takes it for granted that I would agree with everything she says, or 2. she is desperate to convince me that I should agree with everything she says. If it is 1, I take offence that she presumes me, the audience, so presumptously (as Dr. Koh conjectured in class), if it is 2, I am aghast at how blatantly she goes about her convincing, that I can see so clearly that what is intended to be read as fact is a desperately argued argument. It's just sloppy. Of course every "objective" historical article is really a subjective persuasive argument, but I consider it the hallmark of a successful(ly masquerading) historian to be able to couch the latter as the former. But you may also consider me a history prude, and it is only one person's opinion.
And yet, still ambivalence, for though "a hundred Indias…whisper" - "boum, it amounts to the same." (XXIII, 180) What am I to think of Mrs Moore's existentialist crisis? In Part III, we perhaps come to see that "boum" is hardly a problem for India as it is for Mrs Moore and Adela, for "it amounts to the same" is celebrated: "they loved all men, the whole universe…to melt into the universal warmth." (XXXIII, 249) Could it be a sign of the irreconcilability of the Eastern and Western mind, that the Caves, as the sky, say "no, not there" (XXXVII, 282) in "boum," so that Mrs Moore in her proclaimed Orientalness can "know" (XXIX, 228) but as inevitably a Westerner cannot cope with? The Western mind that "hope[s]" Shri Krishna will "[come] in some other song" where the Indian mind cannot "[understand the] question [of whether he comes in some other song]" and accepts that "he neglects to come," (VII, 66) that "God is not born yet - that will occur at midnight - but He has also been born centuries ago, nor can He ever be born." (XXXIII, 247) But then, if "Boum, it amounts to the same," what of the fact that the "hundred Indias" are not the same, and Sri Krishna is of the Hindu and Aziz is Moslem? Do Forster's contradictions have a point, or is he too struggling with India and "boum?" So for now, more ambivalence. I look forward to discussion, and while there are several other issues that seized my interest greatly, I'll save them for next week's blog post, just in case. One last point, to raise my dear Levine (whom, I have too noticed, seems oddly significantly less polemic in "Britain in India" than in "Ruling an Empire"), "Britain in India" illustrates that the India of which Forster writes was subject to a great many tensions, and often violent action. In Passage, I see little of chronicled widespread movement, and instead a strong focus on a singular and relatively trivial matter, that even when the community is moved to action, it is an easily subdued affair. Even the violence during Mohurram is all but elided, and defused with comedy. "It amounts to the same," Auerbach's (relatively) "random moment," (552) or something else altogether (such as lingering colonial sentiment, which I hesitate to suggest)? I cannot presume Forster's intentions, but I struggle to judge if I consider it a feature or a flaw.
And a clarification on Levine (er, outside of my two legitimate passages): contrary to what I fear might be popular opinion, I don't have a problem with her content in "Ruling an Empire" - there is not a lot she says that I don't agree with to one extent or another. What I have a problem with is that either 1. she takes it for granted that I would agree with everything she says, or 2. she is desperate to convince me that I should agree with everything she says. If it is 1, I take offence that she presumes me, the audience, so presumptously (as Dr. Koh conjectured in class), if it is 2, I am aghast at how blatantly she goes about her convincing, that I can see so clearly that what is intended to be read as fact is a desperately argued argument. It's just sloppy. Of course every "objective" historical article is really a subjective persuasive argument, but I consider it the hallmark of a successful(ly masquerading) historian to be able to couch the latter as the former. But you may also consider me a history prude, and it is only one person's opinion.
The politics and aesthetics of representation
“Nothing, nothing attaches to them, and their reputation” (116, italics mine) – than for its representation as an Indian mystery, one that is unknowable and eludes understanding. In other words, Forster’s representation of the
The question here is whether Forster, as a modernist artist, is also a colonialist that imposes a western-orientated view of the east?
I feel that Forster’s representation of the Caves (and here, this is similar for colonial or western attitudes towards representation) is ultimately a troubling and disturbing one.
In Forster’s novel, Adela and Mrs Moore’s quests to “see the real
Forster’s representation of the
Finally, Forster’s representation of
So, yes I agree with Ashis Nandy that "All representations of
Levine, Forster and Ashis Nandy
Having done one reading by Levine last week and concurrently reading “A Passage to
Whatever her intent was in always swiftly undercutting the Brits’ “good plans”, the article on the whole made one very important point or posed this one question for me--- did the Brits know their Indians? This was what connected Levine’s article for me to Forster’s novel. The reforms that the Brits undertook, though not completely useless or failures, demonstrate that the Brits were selective about who made up their
This is where I am compelled to agree that Ashis Nandy was spot-on when she(he?) wrote those wise words that “All representations of
Monday, August 25, 2008
In Difference
In Difference
(I’m using an old Penguin Modern Classic edition, so page numbers here are of little aid! Sorry!)
The values of the Enlightenment; Liberty, Equality and Fraternity are clearly echoes in A Passage to India. Both the British and the Indians struggle with the construction of and adaptation to the meaning of these ideals , reflected in the many layers of differences that are exemplified in the book.
Within the community:
Within British society in Chandrapole we see restrictions on the very liberty to choose where and how to live in the way the playing of the’ Anthem of the Army of Occupation…reminded every member of the club that he or she was British and in exile.’(p26-27) [CH3] The struggle for equality within British society in Chandrapole is also seen in the difference in status of women vs men and even amongst families ( Turtons ,Lesleys, Callenders). The idea of brotherhood is perhaps one that is taken as a source of psychological comfort and strength to them; that idea of being British, that ‘India isn’t home’ (p34) [Ch3]
In much the same way, the rise of education among the privileged (wealthy) and the rise of urbanity that allowed for that ‘increasingly mobile’ (Levine p70)indigenous population saw a class of Indian professionals ( Aziz, Das, Panna Lal, Mahmoud Ali, Hamidullah) that were motivated by western enlightenment but never quite manage to attain its values. Equality within the Indian caste system throughout the novel remains an unsaid impossibility with separations between the Mohammedians and Hindus as well as between the servants/drivers and the professionals. Fraternity is perhaps seen through the wave of national fervour in support of Aziz that we see in the courtroom and in the uproar created after Adela’s revelation (one that is perhaps as much to herself as to the courtroom).
Other ideas of difference:
Affluence and access to resources is not only what separates the British from the Indians but perhaps a certain sense of unease with the departure from their former way(s) of life. The British, in their exile, or in company of their spouses in exile are displaced to not just a foreign land but a foreign way of life to which they must adapt even while clinging on to comforts of home( Whiskey, plays like ‘Cousin Kate’ and card games). The Indians being put under colonial rule are subjected to the authority of the British, even while (some are) being educated and given a chance to rise up in society through interaction with the very same foreign (intruders?) presence. For the Indians , they adjust to the unease of accession to new authority as opposed to the ‘collection of states’ ruled ‘by local dynasties’ (Levine p.61). In a slightly more vexing way, the new class of Indian professionals faced a rising social status, but a n existence in a limbo between Indian and British, never quite belonging to either side or necessarily wanting to.
Just scratching the surface(s) here, hope I didn’t muck it up!
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