I wanted to respond to Rachel’s post addressing familial relations in Cracking India, particularly the power struggle present between Lenny and Adi and between Godmother and Slavesister.
First, I think the idea of authenticity and where authentic art comes from is relevant here. Smythe, in his essay “Space and the Irish Cultural Imagination,” claims that “all that is ’authentic’ in the way of human art and culture emerges from the reality of dwelling” (3). I think this logic follows from Edward Relph’s definition of dwelling as a secure and safe space where relationships, and consequently individual identity, is developed-- “a base to set down Being and to realise our possibilities” (3). Without a secure home or dwelling, and therefore a secure identity, can humans produce authentic art?
Daiya, in her article “Postcolonial Masculinity: Partition Violence and Nationalism in the Indian Public Sphere,” implies that authentic art has certainly come from the victims of the 1947 partition of India. She mentions the irony that, in the creation of “nations” India and Pakistan, dwellings (or safe spaces) were sacrificed (3). Yet she seems to imply that, in the absence of a certain dwelling, artists seem to have created an imaginative safe space, an artistic sphere wherein collective and individual identity can be developed through art. “The collective memory and cultural effects of the 1947 violence and migration,” she says, “can be apprehended in their imaginative inscription in the literature and film that inhabit the public sphere” (4). Cracking India seems to be an example of such art.
One way to reconcile Relph’s definition of dwelling and Daiya’s belief that authentic art has come from displaced citizens of India is to allow the ‘dwelling’ concept to include familial relations, as I suggested in my post on The Wind that Shakes the Barley. Can a stable family take the place of a stable space? Can a stable family even exist without a certain home space?
Here I think is where the power structure of Cracking India comes in. How does Sidhwa create a stable enough family structure to allow a novel that readers like and trust to emerge from the uncertain national structures created by partition? So far (in the first 100 pages or so) the men of the novel seem to screw things up, and the women hold life together. This is exemplified at the dinner party held by Lenny’s parents where the men become volatile over an impassioned discussion of politics, and Mr. Singh literally attempts to stab Mr. Rodgers with a fork. The women protest loudly and bring order back to the table. Lenny’s mother gets her father to take the fork away from Mr. Singh, then persuades Mr. Rodgers to apologize to Mr. Singh, then changes the subject to the serving of dessert (72-3). Ayah uses her sexual influence to make things happen for Lenny’s household, and protects Lenny and Adi the best she can from the creepy men in their lives. The power these women wield is not ideally obtained; they are sexually objectified. Yet they exercise enormous influence over their men, and their families. Lenny even mentions jealously hoarding her mother’s influence: “Mother’s motherliness has a universal reach. Like her involuntary female magnetism it cannot be harnessed. She showers material delight on all and sundry. I resent this largesse. As Father does her unconscious and indiscriminate sex appeal” (51). Whether despite or because of their positions as sexual objects, the women in this novel create a protective family unit, and Lenny’s idea of home, out of which she creates an identity and artistic voice.
A further note on power relations: Lenny’s observations of a conversation between men in Imam Din’s village is illuminating. The villagers, Sikh and Muslim, cannot imagine violence erupting between them just because they have different religious beliefs. They distinguish the Hindu-Muslim and Muslim-Sikh violence that is happening in nearby towns from what will happen in their villages. “’Our villages come from the same racial stock,”’ says a Sikh leader in the village. “’Muslim or Sikh, we are basically Jats. We are brothers. How can we fight each other?”’ (64). The differences between people that matter initially are based on region and class, not race or religion. The “city folk can afford to fight,” but the villagers “are bound by [their] toil” (65). Perhaps the relationship between Godmother and Slavesister is an example of what Lenny observes to be the traditional power hierarchy (pre-Partition). The class relationship even supersedes any familial relation implied by the name Slave-sister. Slave comes first, literally and figuratively. To Lenny, people were separated by class (social standing) and not by religion, until, suddenly, she becomes aware of religious differences (101). It’s like this awareness happens overnight, a result of British occupation and division, and ensuing violence.
There’s a passage that intrigues me at the end of Chapter 10: when Lenny lowers her eyes before a man (Gandhi) for the first time. She then says, “It wasn’t until some years later--when I realized the full scope and dimension of the massacres--that I comprehended the concealed nature of the ice lurking deep beneath the hypnotic and dynamic femininity of Gandhi’s non-violent exterior. And then, when I raised my head again, the men lowered their eyes” (96). She implies a certain feminine power that she can access once she understands it, but that Gandhi attempts to access and fails. I wonder if somehow this feminine power defines what is authentic in this novel. Maybe a point for discussion…
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Ice-candy-man crazed holyman and Woman expecting in “Cracking India”
When Ice-candy-man puts on the disguise and claims to be telephoning Allah, a pregnant woman comes asking for him to ask Allah for a son via telephone. Ice-candy-man, dressed as a “lunatic holy man,” proceeds to put on a completely nonsensical exhibition of showmanship of making a supposed phone call to Allah. “Holding the ends of the copper wire in one hand, the holyman stretches the other skywards. Pointing his long index finger, murmuring the mystic numbers “7 8 6,” he twirls an invisible dial. He brings the invisible receiver to his ear and waits. There is a pervasive rumble; as of a tiger purring. We grow tense” (Sidhwa 107). Ice-candy-man presents himself as a non-descript holy man, not belonging to any particular religion, whether Islam, Hinduism, or Sikhism, or christianity. He holds a trident, which is a mythological symbol belonging to the Ancient Greek god of the sea, Poseidon, granting him the ability to control the oceans. On top of his ambiguous costume as a lunatic holyman, Ice-candy-man claims to be able to speak to Allah, the God of Islam, through his invisible telephone, dialing the meaningless combination of numbers, “7 8 6.” He also dangles a copper wire around his neck which appears to have no purpose except to add to the showmanship of his act, which is an effective one, capturing his audience with each little gimmick. Finally, when he speaks to Allah he does so in an informal tone, as if he were having a casual telephone conversation. “Then, startling us with the volume of noise, the muscles of his neck and jaws stretched like cords, the crazed holyman shouts in Punjabi: “Allah? Do you hear me, Allah? This poor woman wants a son! She has four daughters…one, two, three, four! You call this justice?” (Sidwha 107). The crazed holyman parodies the role that religion plays in peoples’ lives. The whole idea of contacting Allah in this way is far-fetched, but on top of that, the only thing the woman wanted to ask for was that her fifth child be a boy.
Her four daughters, who are still very young on the other hand, are all wearing golden high heeled slippers are dressed identically. “The four daughters, ranging from two to eight, wear gold high-heeled slippers and prickly brocade shirts over satin trousers. Frightened by Ice-candy-man’s ash-smeared face and eccentric manner, they cling to their mother” (Sidwha 106). Judging from their dress and their immature behavior, these young girls seem to be nothing but a nuisance in the view of their mother, each of them seeming to act in unison as one entity. In this way, the individual value of each young girl is diminished and their combined worth is less than that of a single son. Next, however, the sisters are seen as acting immaturely, evoking punishment from their mother, who punishes them almost as if they were a single person. “The girls, clearly feeling their distrust of him vindicated, lean and wiggle against their mother, kick their feet up, and whimper. Their mother’s hand darts out of the burka, and in one smart swipe, she spanks all four. Nervous eyes on Ice-candy-man, the girls stick a finger in their mouths and cower quietly” (Sidhwa 106). The husband of the pregnant woman pays the holyman to commune with Allah to ask for a son as if after having to deal with four daughters they are entitled to one. Basically, the woman is asking the wrong question altogether and pleading her case with religion and is unable to see that society is truly at fault and not Allah. The woman is seeking some kind of empathy and a sense of control where she is powerless. Her husband is ultimately the one who pays for his wife’s spiritual indulgence. “The woman in the burka, believing that the holyman has interceded successfully on her behalf, bows her body in gratitude and starts weeping. The bearded man fumbles in the gathers of his trousers and places two silver rupees bearing King George’s image at the holyman’s entranced toes” (Sidhwa 108). The crazy holyman is fulfilling a need that is not being met by the traditional religious leaders, that of the theatrical, for which he is rewarded by the silver rupees, a remnant of colonial occupation.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Family as 'Dwelling' in The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Sorry I wasn't able to be in class today. Figured it was better that I not get you all sick. :/ I know you probably moved on to discussion of Cracking India, but I wanted to wrap up some thoughts on The Wind that Shakes the Barley.
In class last Wednesday, we discussed the differences between Teddy and Damien’s choices to fight for the IRA. I said initially that I thought Damien was motivated more by ideology (the belief that all men should be treated equally and with dignity, and the anger that inevitably came when other men violated that belief), while Teddy was driven more by pride (nationalistic and individualistic). I felt all through the movie that Damien fought because of, or on behalf of, others, while Teddy fought for his own sake, to defend his manhood. Maybe that assessment is not entirely fair; Teddy had to suffer a lot of pain (and give up all his fingernails) during the fight. But the instant that the British gave a little bit (in the Anglo-Irish Treaty), and that Teddy’s efforts for Ireland could not be deemed a total failure, he concedes. He stops fighting even though the Ireland that he was supposedly fighting for still did not exist independent of Britain. Damien, though, holds fast to the fight for Irish independence, despite his initial aversion to violence.
From the beginning of the film, it is clear that Damien is more gentle by nature than his brother. He is a care giver, a doctor by trade, and plans to leave Ireland entirely to go to school in London. However, right before he leaves, he witnesses the death of a close friend by the hands of the British, and the beating of a railway guard in an Irish train station. Ironically, his complete abhorrence of unnecessary violence (and his empathy for the innocent) is, at least partially, what drives him to fight. We, as viewers, in turn completely empathize with Damien at this point. We understand his decision to fight, despite his choice to sacrifice a career opportunity.
As the movie progresses, Damien’s reluctance to kill becomes more and more apparent, especially when he “has” to shoot his friend Chris Reilly. We recognize that Damien is sacrificing his sense of self, changing who he is and what he feels he can do, for the IRA. But is he really fighting for the IRA, and for Irish independence? Is he fighting, as I initially thought, for ideals of justice and equality? Before he almost leaves for London, Teddy and other friends beg him to stay. Was the entreaty of his brother(s) too much to refuse? We also learn more about the nature of his relationship with Sinead. Was his love for her a factor in his return? Given what we observe to be true about Damien, that he is fundamentally kind, caring and self-sacrificing, and that he has lived with and around Teddy, Sinead, and his other friends his entire life, it makes sense that he would feel completely wrong leaving them to pursue a career, especially in such a dangerous and violent political climate. His love for his family defines him. I think it is essentially this love, and the home that love creates, that he is fighting for. In my mind, this is why his political reaction to the Anglo-Irish treaty feels forced and unnatural (as opposed to the same reaction from Dan which feels empowering and natural--and results in one of the best lines in the movie [“the accents of the powerful and the color of the flag” line]). This is also why the ending of the film is so awful. The family for which Damien was fighting betrays him, and so he ends up dying for something that he was never really fighting for in the first place. His last letter to Sinead is real, and especially heartbreaking because it contains glimpses of truth in an utterly confused world. The truth in the movie comes from love born out of familial community. Any true, authentic community in the film centers around family, and not nationality or political ideology. This, I think, is why the film is essentially a critique of nationalism.
According to Smythe, a person “negotiates her/his identity in relation to a range of competing social and political discourses, and this process of negotiation emerges in terms of her/his use of space” (15). However, he also reminds us that “space itself is dialectically produced” (15). In other words, like Heidegger thought, space is created by horizontal and vertical dimensions: a horizonal place which is “determined by the state and socio-political discouse, and a vertical place “connoting the subject’s existential reality” (2). The house, or dwelling, is where these dimensions and ideas are negotiated to form a person’s identity. I think family or familial community is a key part of Relph’s idea of ‘dwelling:’ a “base to set down Being and to realise our possibilities” (3). Smythe holds that “all that is ’authentic’ in the way of human art and culture emerges from the reality of dwelling” (3). Here I think the film really rings true; Damien’s authentic being was rooted in family, and a nationalistic war uprooted his foundation.
When a war over ‘empirical place,’ or the space you can see, occurs between conflicting factions (in the movie’s case- conflicting nationalities), knowledge of ontological place (or individual identity) is prevented. We see this in the movie: Teddy becomes swept up in the British political movement and Damien is killed. In war over place, there is no resolution of horizontal and vertical place, to use Heidegger’s terms. Opportunity for individual identity, or ontological ‘Being’ is lost.
Though Heidegger doesn’t say this, perhaps the movie helps to imply it: that without a certain horizontal place, vertical place cannot exist. Socio-political warfare disrupts every kind of space (no safe spaces in the film, as Jae said in his post). The home space, creating family community and the security and freedom that comes with that community, is the best opportunity individuals have to find their identity (or vertical place), but even that is destroyed by the film’s end. When Damien dies, so does our hope for a safe space.
In class last Wednesday, we discussed the differences between Teddy and Damien’s choices to fight for the IRA. I said initially that I thought Damien was motivated more by ideology (the belief that all men should be treated equally and with dignity, and the anger that inevitably came when other men violated that belief), while Teddy was driven more by pride (nationalistic and individualistic). I felt all through the movie that Damien fought because of, or on behalf of, others, while Teddy fought for his own sake, to defend his manhood. Maybe that assessment is not entirely fair; Teddy had to suffer a lot of pain (and give up all his fingernails) during the fight. But the instant that the British gave a little bit (in the Anglo-Irish Treaty), and that Teddy’s efforts for Ireland could not be deemed a total failure, he concedes. He stops fighting even though the Ireland that he was supposedly fighting for still did not exist independent of Britain. Damien, though, holds fast to the fight for Irish independence, despite his initial aversion to violence.
From the beginning of the film, it is clear that Damien is more gentle by nature than his brother. He is a care giver, a doctor by trade, and plans to leave Ireland entirely to go to school in London. However, right before he leaves, he witnesses the death of a close friend by the hands of the British, and the beating of a railway guard in an Irish train station. Ironically, his complete abhorrence of unnecessary violence (and his empathy for the innocent) is, at least partially, what drives him to fight. We, as viewers, in turn completely empathize with Damien at this point. We understand his decision to fight, despite his choice to sacrifice a career opportunity.
As the movie progresses, Damien’s reluctance to kill becomes more and more apparent, especially when he “has” to shoot his friend Chris Reilly. We recognize that Damien is sacrificing his sense of self, changing who he is and what he feels he can do, for the IRA. But is he really fighting for the IRA, and for Irish independence? Is he fighting, as I initially thought, for ideals of justice and equality? Before he almost leaves for London, Teddy and other friends beg him to stay. Was the entreaty of his brother(s) too much to refuse? We also learn more about the nature of his relationship with Sinead. Was his love for her a factor in his return? Given what we observe to be true about Damien, that he is fundamentally kind, caring and self-sacrificing, and that he has lived with and around Teddy, Sinead, and his other friends his entire life, it makes sense that he would feel completely wrong leaving them to pursue a career, especially in such a dangerous and violent political climate. His love for his family defines him. I think it is essentially this love, and the home that love creates, that he is fighting for. In my mind, this is why his political reaction to the Anglo-Irish treaty feels forced and unnatural (as opposed to the same reaction from Dan which feels empowering and natural--and results in one of the best lines in the movie [“the accents of the powerful and the color of the flag” line]). This is also why the ending of the film is so awful. The family for which Damien was fighting betrays him, and so he ends up dying for something that he was never really fighting for in the first place. His last letter to Sinead is real, and especially heartbreaking because it contains glimpses of truth in an utterly confused world. The truth in the movie comes from love born out of familial community. Any true, authentic community in the film centers around family, and not nationality or political ideology. This, I think, is why the film is essentially a critique of nationalism.
According to Smythe, a person “negotiates her/his identity in relation to a range of competing social and political discourses, and this process of negotiation emerges in terms of her/his use of space” (15). However, he also reminds us that “space itself is dialectically produced” (15). In other words, like Heidegger thought, space is created by horizontal and vertical dimensions: a horizonal place which is “determined by the state and socio-political discouse, and a vertical place “connoting the subject’s existential reality” (2). The house, or dwelling, is where these dimensions and ideas are negotiated to form a person’s identity. I think family or familial community is a key part of Relph’s idea of ‘dwelling:’ a “base to set down Being and to realise our possibilities” (3). Smythe holds that “all that is ’authentic’ in the way of human art and culture emerges from the reality of dwelling” (3). Here I think the film really rings true; Damien’s authentic being was rooted in family, and a nationalistic war uprooted his foundation.
When a war over ‘empirical place,’ or the space you can see, occurs between conflicting factions (in the movie’s case- conflicting nationalities), knowledge of ontological place (or individual identity) is prevented. We see this in the movie: Teddy becomes swept up in the British political movement and Damien is killed. In war over place, there is no resolution of horizontal and vertical place, to use Heidegger’s terms. Opportunity for individual identity, or ontological ‘Being’ is lost.
Though Heidegger doesn’t say this, perhaps the movie helps to imply it: that without a certain horizontal place, vertical place cannot exist. Socio-political warfare disrupts every kind of space (no safe spaces in the film, as Jae said in his post). The home space, creating family community and the security and freedom that comes with that community, is the best opportunity individuals have to find their identity (or vertical place), but even that is destroyed by the film’s end. When Damien dies, so does our hope for a safe space.
The Question of Slavesister and Godmother: A God Among Slaves, or Slaves Among God?
I thought I clicked the right button to submit this, but when we looked at blog entries in class i noticed this was not there, so now im reposting it...
In Sidhwa's Cracking India I wanted to bring up Slavesister and Godmother's relationship and I want to get a discussion/responses started about all the names Lenny has for the female figures, (Godmother, Electric-Aunt, Mini-aunty/Slavesister, etc.). I find the names Electric Aunt and Mini Aunty interesting especially in regards to the fact she is called mainly "Slavesister". I am struck by this concept of "slavesister". Slave, sister. Sister, slave. The words do not mesh in my mind in a harmonic way. (I might as well blame my ignorance in such areas, being caucasian American with the guilt doubly earned from being a Catholic and a first-generation american with British ancestry. But that is another tangent we can discuss and parody later. I dont mind). Anyway, looking at Slavesister and her interactions with godmother, I found an interesting dynamic that is concrete in verbal discussions, or rather verbal fights between the two women. Slavesister is just that, a slave and a sister. She is a submissive to Godmother, yet she provides banter that engages a common ground between her and Godmother. Its a kind of sisterly-love that is unique, yet not so uncommon so as it is exclusive to these two characters. It shows up in Lenny and Adi's realtionship as well, but it is more sibling rivalry, without the expicit titles to express dominance or submission over a person that add complication to a relationship. There is no adjective to discribe what kind of sister Lenny is, or what kind of brother Adi is, other than elder and younger. In Godmother's world, her seniority allows her to call and have others call or refer to her younger sister as a slave as connoted by the postion of the words within the title; slave comes first, the strongest word as you approach it, then ends with "sister", a word that throws you completely off.
The title is complicated, compromised by the combination and order of the words. In a way, I find Slavesister's femininity compromised by the title of "slave" as well, just by the title she has been given by Godmother. In addition,the title of Godmother is also complicated by the placement of the words in relation to Slavesister. There is a huge gap between the relationship of the words that work with each other as well as complicate each other. Lets revisit the titles looking at them as just words, just titles, no people attached to them: "Slave" and "sister"; "God" and "Mother". Slave sister is submissive to God Mother. Slaves serve God, sisters are offpsrings of mothers. Sister and mother are both universal that is, everyone has a mother (biologically) and that mother can be a sister to someone and a mother can have daughters that are sisters. However, mothers can have dominance over their daughters (whom are sisters), but there is a toss-up of dominance and submission between their own sisters depending upon age. It is the idea of siblings and the relationship between them that allows slave sister to put her two-cents in regards to Lenny and her disposition as well as comment upon the turmoil India is in during partition. Godmother threatens slavesisters wellbeing when she voices her mind, but never acts upon it. This can relate to the idea that "God is a merciless/merciful God" or the idea of "fearing God". The instance in which I am referring to is the scene in which Godmother scolds Slavesister after starting the dangerous Primus stove (91-92). Here we see the dynamics between the two sisters in regards to sibling rivalry/banter and the dominance and submission between the them as well:
"She calls to Slavesister. Her voice still stern from the scolding: 'I want that Japanese kimono Mehrabai brought me two years back. That red one. I want to give it to Bachamai's Rutti. Do you remember where it is?'
"No answer.
"She raps her punkah on the wall to attract her sister's attention, raising her voice to accomodate the hissing stove, repeats the text, adding: 'Did you hear me?'
"Still no answer.
"'Oh? We are sulking, are we?'
"No comment." (92)
Here there is an instance of sibling interaction here, the beginnings of teasing at the end of this excerpt. The fact that Slavesister doesn't answer to her teasing contributes to Godmother's dominance and her silence solidifies her submissive disposition. However, the silence does add a definance to her character, as this allows her to keep the title of "sister" in addition to "slave". Godmother is demanding an answer from Slavesister' commanding her authority over her, but she ends with teasing, a more childish act that allows Godmother to stoop down a level to be equal to her sister.
Looking back at what I'm asking, I suppose I am stuck on the need for these titles as a way to define family in regards to social interactions. Is it really necessary for there to be these titles when such basic names for the place they live (ie boundaries/borders/countries are up for debate)? Why are such clear lines drawn when the lines are so unclear?
In Sidhwa's Cracking India I wanted to bring up Slavesister and Godmother's relationship and I want to get a discussion/responses started about all the names Lenny has for the female figures, (Godmother, Electric-Aunt, Mini-aunty/Slavesister, etc.). I find the names Electric Aunt and Mini Aunty interesting especially in regards to the fact she is called mainly "Slavesister". I am struck by this concept of "slavesister". Slave, sister. Sister, slave. The words do not mesh in my mind in a harmonic way. (I might as well blame my ignorance in such areas, being caucasian American with the guilt doubly earned from being a Catholic and a first-generation american with British ancestry. But that is another tangent we can discuss and parody later. I dont mind). Anyway, looking at Slavesister and her interactions with godmother, I found an interesting dynamic that is concrete in verbal discussions, or rather verbal fights between the two women. Slavesister is just that, a slave and a sister. She is a submissive to Godmother, yet she provides banter that engages a common ground between her and Godmother. Its a kind of sisterly-love that is unique, yet not so uncommon so as it is exclusive to these two characters. It shows up in Lenny and Adi's realtionship as well, but it is more sibling rivalry, without the expicit titles to express dominance or submission over a person that add complication to a relationship. There is no adjective to discribe what kind of sister Lenny is, or what kind of brother Adi is, other than elder and younger. In Godmother's world, her seniority allows her to call and have others call or refer to her younger sister as a slave as connoted by the postion of the words within the title; slave comes first, the strongest word as you approach it, then ends with "sister", a word that throws you completely off.
The title is complicated, compromised by the combination and order of the words. In a way, I find Slavesister's femininity compromised by the title of "slave" as well, just by the title she has been given by Godmother. In addition,the title of Godmother is also complicated by the placement of the words in relation to Slavesister. There is a huge gap between the relationship of the words that work with each other as well as complicate each other. Lets revisit the titles looking at them as just words, just titles, no people attached to them: "Slave" and "sister"; "God" and "Mother". Slave sister is submissive to God Mother. Slaves serve God, sisters are offpsrings of mothers. Sister and mother are both universal that is, everyone has a mother (biologically) and that mother can be a sister to someone and a mother can have daughters that are sisters. However, mothers can have dominance over their daughters (whom are sisters), but there is a toss-up of dominance and submission between their own sisters depending upon age. It is the idea of siblings and the relationship between them that allows slave sister to put her two-cents in regards to Lenny and her disposition as well as comment upon the turmoil India is in during partition. Godmother threatens slavesisters wellbeing when she voices her mind, but never acts upon it. This can relate to the idea that "God is a merciless/merciful God" or the idea of "fearing God". The instance in which I am referring to is the scene in which Godmother scolds Slavesister after starting the dangerous Primus stove (91-92). Here we see the dynamics between the two sisters in regards to sibling rivalry/banter and the dominance and submission between the them as well:
"She calls to Slavesister. Her voice still stern from the scolding: 'I want that Japanese kimono Mehrabai brought me two years back. That red one. I want to give it to Bachamai's Rutti. Do you remember where it is?'
"No answer.
"She raps her punkah on the wall to attract her sister's attention, raising her voice to accomodate the hissing stove, repeats the text, adding: 'Did you hear me?'
"Still no answer.
"'Oh? We are sulking, are we?'
"No comment." (92)
Here there is an instance of sibling interaction here, the beginnings of teasing at the end of this excerpt. The fact that Slavesister doesn't answer to her teasing contributes to Godmother's dominance and her silence solidifies her submissive disposition. However, the silence does add a definance to her character, as this allows her to keep the title of "sister" in addition to "slave". Godmother is demanding an answer from Slavesister' commanding her authority over her, but she ends with teasing, a more childish act that allows Godmother to stoop down a level to be equal to her sister.
Looking back at what I'm asking, I suppose I am stuck on the need for these titles as a way to define family in regards to social interactions. Is it really necessary for there to be these titles when such basic names for the place they live (ie boundaries/borders/countries are up for debate)? Why are such clear lines drawn when the lines are so unclear?
Dispute over a site in Ayodhya
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-india-legal-20100923,0,6944582.story
The Wind that Shakes the Barley
In our most recent discussion of The Wind that Shakes the Barley, two main questions were asked (or there were two main questions that I remember and wanted to comment on): 1) what causes the change in Damian from healer to murderer? And 2) How do the readings of space play into the spaces of the movie?
In terms of the change from healer to murderer the progression was not an easy one for Damian to make, but in the fight for civil rights and one’s home violence is inevitable. Throughout history when we see people being oppressed or torn apart by colonizing monsters, those affected react in violent ways to get their message of disapproval to those in power. When savages like the black & tans are running around terrorizing people and killing them for simply not saying their name in the right language, peaceful protest is most definitely not an option. Also a cause for Damian’s transformation is the national idea, which consumed him and caused him to forget about his long-term plans of doctoral bliss and starting a family of his own. At times like this the short-term is what is (or what seems to be) most important, keeping loved ones safe while voicing opposition to the powers that be - wouldn’t violent behavior sort of be expected? I wonder if Damian’s future plans would even be feasible if he had gotten on that train to London (that’s where he was going right?)? Would something else awful and possibly fatal have happened to Sinead? What would have happened in his town had he gotten on that train?
In terms of spaces, what really stuck out to me was the fact that there really were NO safe spaces. Throughout the movie homes, which are usually safe havens, are invaded, community spaces are invaded, and any other places (train stations, bars, forests…) are ultimately invaded and terrorized on the regular. That’s a bit unsettling, there’s usually always somewhere safe and free of violence, what are people to do when there literally is nowhere? Its like the ultimate psychological slap in the face, much like what happens in horror movies. Another aspect of space is that while we cannot tell exactly what/where Ireland is, the members of Damian and Teddy’s army embody what their Ireland was and are fighting to keep it alive. I believe this idea of keeping the old Ireland alive is also seen in our latest reading on spaces. Casey explores the idea of subjection, which basically says that we are subject to places we have been because they are in us, whether is was a place we didn’t like, a place we enjoyed, or a place we frequented like home, places stay with us(688). I didn’t quite get it when I first read it, but thinking about the movie puts in into perspective.
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