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Dossier
Studi Culturali
Gianfranca
Balestra
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- SPANNING
THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE AMERICAS: PAULE MARSHALL'S
THE CHOSEN PLACE,
- THE
TIMELESS PEOPLE
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- Paule Marshall's cultural
identity as a first generation African American of
West Indian descent positions her in a problematic and
at the same time rich cross-cultural context, shared
by many writers of the diaspora. Acknowledging the
trouble critics had defining her as a Black American
or Caribbean writer, in a 1977 interview Marshall
expressed both the difficulties and advantages of her
situation, first stating: "I fall between two stools,
I'm neither West Indian nor Black American", and then
assessing it in a more positive light: "I have got my
feet in both camps so that I am able to understand and
respond to Black American culture as well as West
Indian culture. (...) This is what my work is about -
to bring about a synthesis of the two cultures and in
addition, to connect them up with the African
experience" (Ogundipe-Leslie: 1989, 33). Marshall's
discourse shows the unstable condition of a writer in
search of a synthesis at a time when the cultural
value of hybridization had not yet been extolled, as
well as her awareness of the fruitfulness of a double
perspective. She succeeds in turning these
contradictions into artistic representations of
cross-cultural situations, by creating multicultural
microcosms and mesmerizing plots, staging characters
of varied ethnic and cultural backgrounds and making
them interact. As a storyteller who learnt her art
from the "women in the kitchen", she is not afraid of
interweaving rich and varied threads in an ornate
language that owes a lot to oral tradition,
incorporating music and dance, West Indian dialect and
rhythms, biblical and literary
allusions1.
- Marshall's career, from when
she started writing in the 1950's about Caribbean
immigrants in the United States, shows a growing
multicultural awareness and reflects parallel
developments in theory and cultural perspectives. One
element, however, remains constant from the first
novel Brown Girl, Brownstones (1959) to the
most recent The Fisher King (2000), and that is
her creative effort to connect the world: not only the
United States, the West Indies and Africa, but also
South America and Europe. In a more recent interview,
Marshall confirmed the role of her work as a cultural
bridge: "I like to think of myself and my work -
especially my work - as a kind of bridge that joins
the two great wings of the black diaspora in this part
of the world" (Dance: 1992, 14). The Caribbean islands
represent geographically and metaphorically this
bridge. In The Chosen Place, The Timeless
People, her second novel published in 1969, they
are described as "stepping stones that might have been
placed there long ago by some giant race to span the
distance between the Americas, North and South"
(Marshall: 1984, 13). This novel can be seen as a
paradigmatic example of Marshall's pioneering role as
writer of a "literature of reconnection", to use a
term applied by Brathwaite specifically to it (1970:
225). She performs "ceremonies of reconciliation", in
spite of her awareness of their problematic
effectiveness, as implied by the ex-ergo to the novel,
taken from the Tiv of West Africa: "Once a great wrong
has been done, it never dies. People speak the words
of peace, but their hearts do not forgive. Generations
perform ceremonies of reconciliation but there is no
end".
- In this essay I will
concentrate on The Chosen Place, The Timeless
People, with special attention to its spatial and
cultural dimensions. The chosen place is a Caribbean
island and the timeless people are the native
inhabitants2,
in all their gradations of color and class. The
fictional Bourne Island can be identified as Barbados,
the homeland of Marshall's parents, but, as she
claims, it is a mythical island, representative of all
the Caribbean3.
In fact it is both a real island, very precisely laid
out on the map, and, in many respects, a symbolic
island. Or, to use Antonio Benìtez-Rojo's
expression, it is a "repeating island" in a
meta-archipelago that we need to reread in order to
reveal its textuality. This critic lists the
characteristics of the Caribbean that also constitute
the main obstacles to its study: "its fragmentation;
its instability; its reciprocal isolation; its
uprootedness, its cultural heterogeneity; its lack of
historiography and historical continuity; its
contingency and impermanence; its syncretism, etc."
(1992: 1). According to him, scholars from
postindustrial societies, who try unsuccessfully to
apply their methods, tend to define "the Caribbean in
terms of its resistance to the different methodologies
summoned to investigate it" (2). This is precisely
what happens in The Chosen Place, The Timeless
People when a team of American anthropologists
comes to Bourne Island to study its most stagnant area
(Bournehills) and prepare a development project for
it. Through this device the writer becomes herself a
sort of ethnographer - in fact a critic appropriately
talks about "the ethnographic novels of Paule
Marshall" (Coser: 1994, 35) - and puts the reader in
the same position, allowing her/him to gradually
explore the "chosen place", its social structures and
rituals, while the story unfolds with its conflicts
and revelations.
- This novel effectively
questions the role of anthropology in a postcolonial
world which has seen a radical change in the relation
between the observer and the observed. In a scene
towards the end of the book, there is a significant
reversal of roles, when the anthropologist Saul Amron,
who has been interviewing the local inhabitants for
his research, is interviewed by Merle Kinbona, the
native Caribbean protagonist educated in England.
Throughout, the novel addresses many of the
epistemological, ideological and even moral issues
that anthropology as a discipline has had to face in
its confrontation with "the Other", moving towards a
sort of postmodern self-questioning anxiety - an
anxiety often shared by white western literary critics
reading postcolonial texts. With Saul, Marshall
creates a positive version of the well-intentioned
open-minded anthropologist who, by doing fieldwork and
trying to promote social change, eventually looks back
at his homeland and into himself. He is portrayed
sympathetically and as well equipped for the job
precisely because of his failures and sufferance. Even
his physical description is made to establish a
connection, albeit feeble and improper, with the
African population, when his hair, coarse and
rust-colored, is called "nigger hair"4.
As a Jew he shares a history of oppression; as a man
he feels guilty for the loss of his wife and child; as
an anthropologist he has experienced defeat in other
parts of the world and has come back to the field
after a period of academic work. He is aware of the
ambiguity of his position: he is the head of a
research project financed by the Center for Applied
Social Research (CASR), an agency which is part of a
business corporation (Unicor), whose wealth came from
the exploitation of Third World countries and which
invests on their development to save on government
taxes5;
he is expendable and will be expended with; his
efforts to bring about change are within the old
political structure of exploitation and
neo-colonialism. Moreover, in spite of his
professional experience and intellectual honesty,
something in the most degraded part of the island
keeps eluding him, although he seems to be getting
closer to grasping it through his understanding of
personal and social history.
- The other anthropologist,
Allen Fuso, is a statistician, who has written a
doctoral dissertation on "The Quantitative Approaches
to the Analysis of Social Anthropological Data". His
scientific methodology is a necessary complement to
the research and, on a personal level, allows him to
maintain a certain degree of distance and objectivity.
Also in his case, however, the experience on the
island will bring about self revelations and repressed
conflicts. He is described in these terms: "All the
various strains that had gone into making him (and
between his parents these included the whole of Europe
from Ireland to Italy) might have been thrown into one
of those high-speed American blenders, a giant
Mixmaster perhaps, which reduces everything to the
same amalgam beneath its whirring blades" (17). This
whole-European version of the American melting pot has
a disturbing quality, underlined by the mechanical
metaphor and homogenizing result, and it serves as a
counterpoint to the different type of hybridization of
the Caribbean inhabitants.
- Merle Kinbona, the Caribbean
protagonist, is portrayed as a representative example
of the local hybrid, branded by a history of
colonization: she is the daughter of a white man of
British descent and a black West Indian mother, spent
her formative years in London, had an ambiguous
exploitative relationship with a white woman, married
and lost an African man before coming back to the
island. Her physical description stresses the presence
of different strains: Bantu face dusted over lightly
with talcum powder, earrings carved in the form of
European saints, colorful print dress with African
tribal motifs. The narrator's comment is most
significant: "She had donned this somewhat bizarre
outfit, each item of which stood opposed to, at war
even, with the other, to express rather a diversity
and disunity within herself, and her attempt,
unconscious probably, to reconcile these opposing
parts, to make of them a whole" (5). Her multiple
heritage produces painful fragmentation and lack of
identity. At the end of the novel Merle will stop
using talcum powder, discard her European earrings and
start on her voyage to Africa: it is an open ending,
but one that looks to Africa in search of an identity
and a lost daughter.
- Among the "visitors", the
only true Wasp and representative of white colonial
power is Saul's wife Harriet, a descendant of a family
directly involved in the slave trade and business
exploitation of the West Indies. Her controlling and
manipulative personality, her refusal to look into
herself and the past, her condescending attitude
prevent her from establishing a real cultural dialogue
and equal relationships. Her arrogance and capacity to
destroy inevitably result in self-destructiveness and
finally suicide6.
From her very first glimpse of the island from the
plane, her fearful encounter with the "heart of
darkness"7
is suggested: "Because of the shadows Bournehills
scarcely seemed a physical place to her, but some
mysterious and obscured region of the mind which
ordinary consciousness did not dare admit to light.
Suddenly, for a single unnerving moment, she had the
sensation of being borne backward in time rather than
forward in space" (21). Saul's encounter with the
island will later be depicted in similar terms -
"Bournehills could have been a troubled region within
himself to which he had unwittingly returned" (100) -
but it will have entirely different
consequences.
- Time and space, the two
elements stressed in the title, could be taken as the
main coordinates for an in-depth analysis of the
novel. I will concentrate here on the spatial
coordinate, with inevitable references to the other,
in an attempt to explicate "the chosen place", with
its biblical echoes of "the chosen people" and ruined
Eden. All of the characters, in fact, but especially
those from the outside, have to confront themselves
with the "chosen place", and by doing so they either
deteriorate or find themselves. In this process,
moreover, they reread the "repeating island". Instead
of concentrating on the important psychological
implications of this story, I will elaborate on this
rereading.
- The first encounter with the
island is from the inside, when Merle is stuck in the
mud with her car on her way to the airport: the road
has been washed away by the heavy rain. The first
overview of the island is from an airplane descending
towards it. From above the map is clear: the
approaching island is the most eastern in a string of
islands in the Caribbean sea (as quoted above,
stepping stones that bridge the Americas), but the
mere geographical facts are overcharged with symbolic
language. The whole passage is worth quoting because
it establishes an important reading of the
island:
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- The island that
had finally claimed his attention was essentially
no different from the others he had flown over
since leaving Florida at dawn. From this height it
was simply another indifferently shaped green knoll
at the will of a mindless sea, one more in the line
of stepping stones that might have been placed
there long ago by some giant race to span the
distance between the Americas, North and South.
Like the others, it was small, poignantly so, and
vulnerable, defenseless. At any moment the sea
might rise and swallow it whole or a hurricane
uproot it and send it flying. Like all the rest, it
seemed expendable: for what could it be worth to
the world, being so small? Unlike the others,
though, which followed each other in an orderly
procession down the watery track of the Caribbean,
the island below had broken rank and stood off by
itself to the right, almost out in the Atlantic. It
might have been put there by the giants to mark the
eastern boundary of the entire continent, to serve
as its bourn. And ever mindful of the
responsibility placed upon it in the beginning, it
remained - alone amid an immensity of sea and sky,
becalmed now that its turbulent history was past,
facing east, the open sea, and across the sea,
hidden beyond the horizon, the colossus of Africa
(12-13).
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- The point of view is
initially that of Vere, a native of the island who is
returning home after a period of work in the United
States, but the narrator's voice introduces unexpected
images and mythical elements, inviting interpretation.
First of all, the island is repeatedly connected to
the other islands: "essentially no different from the
others", "simply another indifferently shaped green
knoll", "Like the others", "Like all the rest". The
essential unity and similarity of the Caribbean is
underlined: this and all the islands are small,
vulnerable, defenseless, expendable; they are at the
mercy of nature, the mindless sea that might swallow
them, the frequent hurricanes that might uproot them.
A rhetorical question denies their worth for the
world, but their geographical location is charged with
symbolism: while the Caribbean archipelago is seen as
bridging the Americas, Bourne Island (Barbados) is
seen as connecting to Africa, the colossus on the
other side of the open sea, the place of
origins.
- As mentioned earlier, at the
end of the novel Merle goes back to Africa. Her
journey is symbolic in more than one way: she does not
take the usual northern route through New York and
London, but she flies "south to Trinidad, then on to
Recife in Brazil, and from Recife, that city where the
great arm of the hemisphere reaches out toward the
massive shoulder of Africa as though yearning to be
joined to it as it had surely been in the beginning,
she would fly across to Dakar and, from there, begin
the long cross-continent journey to Kampala" (471).
This itinerary further signals the interconnectedness
of the Caribbean, South America and Africa: geography
counts, as does a history of slavery and colonialism.
The return to Africa has psychological, political and
cultural meanings which are only suggested in this
novel and will be fully developed by Marshall in
Praisesong for the Widow (1983). As Denniston
has argued, "the chronology of Marshall's publications
suggests her intentional design to reverse the 'middle
passage'; that is she examines the experience of
blacks not in transit from Africa to the New World but
from the New World back toward Africa" (1983:
xii).
- The interconnectedness of the
Third World, of all the areas depleted by colonialism
and other forms of exploitation is underlined in other
passages of the novel, most precisely when the
anthropologist Saul looks down from the hills to
Bournehills valley, a place which reminds him of all
the other areas where he has worked before: the
Peruvian Andes, the Highlands of Guatemala, Chile,
Bolivia, Honduras, Southern Mexico, the cotton lands
of the Southern United States, Chiapas. "It was
suddenly, to his mind, every place that had been
wantonly used, its substance stripped away, and then
abandoned" (100).
- From the very beginning and
throughout the novel similarities and connections are
established to make Bourne Island a paradigmatic
place, with its peculiarities, the most striking being
its sharp division into two unequal parts: the gentle
plain to the west terminating in the placid Caribbean
sea and the ragged eastern part towards the rough
Atlantic ocean, which resembles "a ruined amphitheater
whose other half has crumbled away and fallen into the
sea" (14). The white sand beaches with fancy houses
built by the wealthy expatriates and exclusive hotels
for tourists, encroach on the inland plantations of
sugar cane and the poorest areas. Harriet wonders how
"an island as small as this could sustain such a
dangerous division" (21), and this is precisely the
point: the island as a microcosm represents the sharp
contrasts and contradictions of the Caribbean, its
divided landscape reflects a history of social and
economic divisions that continues after emancipation.
Moreover, there is a consistent relationship between
physical place and psychological space: the fracturing
of the island mirrors the personal fragmentation of
the characters, Harriet herself, but also, in
different ways, all the other
characters8.
- The three Americans go and
stay at Merle's guest-house, a rambling, run-down,
bleak house which fits its surroundings, being built
on the Atlantic side of the island, where the sea is
"the color of slate, deep, full of dangerous currents
(...) and with a sound like that of the combined
voices of the drowned raised in a loud unceasing
lament" (106). The explicit reference, carried out
with powerful resounding language, is to the millions
of Africans who died in the Middle Passage and are
angrily mourned by the hurling sea. It is only
appropriate, as Spillers points out (1985: 155), that
Harriet commits suicide in this rough sea, and that
her body is never recovered, probably swept away by
the huge breakers into the open sea where the Atlantic
and the Caribbean converge off the island. One of the
local women believes that she has been borne back to
the United States, according to the African conviction
that one's soul returns to its native homeland. It is
at this time that the sea is undergoing its violent
seasonal change or, as "Bournehills people said, was
cleaning itself, and they stayed away from it"
(414).
- The sea, the precise
topography of the island and its larger geographical
setting operate at a metaphorical level, encompassing
all of the Caribbean. At the center of the island is
located the sugar factory with the big machine, "the
machine of machines" to quote again
Benìtez-Rojo, who adapts Deleuze and Guattari's
concepts specifically to the Caribbean and to the
plantation system, with its connections to slavery,
underdevelopment, capitalism, imperialism, repression,
and wars. As he points out, "Europeans finally
controlled the construction, maintenance, technology,
and proliferation of the plantation machines,
especially those that produced sugar"
(Benìtez-Rojo: 1992, 9). The history of this
Caribbean machine has been written, but Marshall
studied her subject thoroughly and managed to rewrite
it in her fictional text, interweaving it in the
intricate plot and in the web of metaphorical
language. Saul's first encounter with the sugar
machine is an illuminating example:
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- There was the
noise, for one - the loud unrelieved drumming and
pounding of the machines that powered the rollers
which crushed the juice from the canes, and the
shrill, almost human wail of the rollers themselves
as they turned in their deep pit. There was the
heat, for another, which came pouring up through
the metal floor from the furnaces below to join the
heat and steam flaring off the large open vats and
boilers in which the cane juice was boiled till it
turned to sugar. And the light in the place was dim
and murky as in the hold of a ship, the color of
molasses bubbling away in the boilers. Moreover,
because of the dimness and the cane chaff which
came flying up from the roller pit to whirl like a
sandstorm through the air, the men working there
appeared almost disembodied forms: ghosts they
might have been from some long sea voyage taken
centuries ago (154).
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- This hellish description
draws parallels between the factory and a slave ship,
between present-day workers and the original Africans
being carried as slaves to the Caribbean. Not much has
changed from the times of enslavement to the times of
colonialism and post-colonialism: exploitation and
dehumanization continue, the white man is still in
power, controlling the means of production. If the
black workers look like ghosts from the middle
passage, the white supervisor, with his total power
and ridiculous colonial outfit, calls to mind "some
ghost who refused to keep to his grave even during the
daytime" (161). Slavery and colonization cannot be
completely eliminated, "once a great wrong has been
done, it never dies". When the machine breaks down,
the factory will shut down, leaving the workers and
the small local farmers in trouble with their canes to
be ground. Merle will indict "the machine",
technology, and Saul, who cannot fix
it9.
He will eventually organize the farmers to carry their
canes to a different sugar mill, in a successful if
limited attempt to develop a community
spirit.
- The persistence of the past
in the present introduces the other polarity of the
novel, the notion of time and history. While space
coordinates are visible and, in a sense, more easily
readable, time coordinates depend more on cultural and
interior perception and conceptualization, not
necessarily in tune with natural cycles. Part of the
mystery of Bourne Island that eludes the
anthropologist is related to the concept of time, the
traditional African view of it that permeates life on
the island: a cyclic continuum rather than a linear
extension. As Denniston explains, founding her
analysis on various studies of African religions and
philosophy, it is a synchronic view of time, which
"might suggest the abolition of history as Westerners
ordinarily understand it, but it does not negate a
sense of history. The orientation is simply different.
Time from an African perspective must be experienced
in order for it to become reality, and experience
suggests the past and the present" (1983: xviii). Oral
tradition, the recovery of Caribbean history and its
re-enactment at Carnival are central issues in the
novel, and, in fact, a constant preoccupation in West
Indian literature10.
- Merle, who in many ways
embodies the history of the island, was fired from a
teaching job for telling the story of the Cuffee Ned
slave revolt, the same story which is re-enacted every
year in the Carnival pageant and offers an example of
rebellion and resistance. The episode, which has many
precedents in the Caribbean area11,
enables the community to find a cultural hero that
helps them come to terms with the past and might serve
as an example for the future. As Merle explains, "We
don't forget anything, and yesterday comes like today
to us" (102).
- The best intersection of
space and time can perhaps be found in Merle's room,
which encapsulates her personal fragmentation as well
as the island's history of slavery, plantation,
multiple heritage. When Saul enters, he finally feels
close to understanding not only Merle, but Bournehills
itself:
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- Like the room
it, too, was perhaps a kind of museum, a place in
which had been stored the relics and remains of the
era recorded in the faded prints on the walls,
where one not only felt that other time existing
intact, still alive, a palpable presence beneath
the everyday reality, but saw it as well at every
turn, often without realizing it. Bournehills, its
shabby woebegone hills and spent land, its odd
people who at times seemed other than themselves,
might have been selected as the repository of the
history which reached beyond it to include the
hemisphere north and south (402).
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- At the conclusion of the
novel Merle will dismantle her room, sell the old
colonial furniture and start her problematic journey
of reconciliation to Africa. She is a woman in quest
for wholeness, as most of Marshall's characters:
hybridization is still a painful story in her fiction.
Perhaps the island, too, will "someday be released
from the stifling grip of its history" (Pettis: 1995,
104), but no improvement project has been implemented,
and the anthropological team is temporarily leaving.
However, Paule Marshall's attempt at reconciliation
and reconnection is inscribed in this novel as in all
of her work, promoting cross-cultural encounters and
readings, projecting her vision on the extended
Caribbean and the wider experience of postcolonial
writing. This complex and over-layered novel
dramatizes many issues central to the Caribbean: the
consequences of slavery and British colonialism; the
effects of what is perceived as American
neo-colonialism; past and present history of struggle
and resistance; class, gender and racial relations;
cultural identity and the search for African roots;
music and dance rituals culminating in Carnival
celebrations. Moreover, The Chosen Place, The
Timeless People, with its Caribbean setting and
the problematic interaction of American and Caribbean
characters, is a significant contribution to the
multicultural dimension of the literature of the
United States in a period of enormous changes like the
1960's, anticipating important theoretical and
narrative developments.
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