I recently checked out Judith Butler's book, Gender Trouble, from the university library. I haven't read it yet, but I'm hoping to find some good support for my theory on Gatsby, and maybe just learn something in general.
In related news, I just finished reading M. Butterfly, and if I wasn't at a coffee house I might have let myself shed the tears that welled up in my eyes as I digested this heartbreaker. I like its political comments, especially now that it seems China is more America's master than ever before. But really, of course, I enjoy a good love story, especially one that argues gender as a performance, and quite persuasively I might add. I read this play for the Masks class I am taking for the Humanities requirement, and I wish I was going to write my paper on this play instead of a photograph of a mask. I might be able to -- I might be able to convince him to let me write about a mask in literature (provided I can include as many quotes as possible). That will be a great paper to write, and a welcome break from learning about Western Civilization.
I titled this post personal truth because it something I feel that all literature revolves around. It's not the personal truth of the author alone, but the collective personal truth that lies in the unconscious nature of humanity. It is the tendency to mask that gives us literature. It is overwhelming, and needs a shroud to be understood -- it's sort of like an invisible entity that only appears when a sheet is thrown over it -- the sheet is not the entity, but it is how we can verify that the mass exists. We wield many sheets -- we use many masks to identify this truth. For Rene, the truth about his sexuality lies in the mask that he places over the object of is desire -- he imagines it as woman -- but "woman" is the mask, and the personal truth is revealed as genderless. Words are even a mask. Words are maybe the first mask, the most ancient mask. Without words, we lose more than the ability to communicate, we lose our identities, and maybe, as Westerners, we loose our grip on the fear of death. For without an identity, what do we have to lose? The more we reinforce our identity, with words, with titles, with categories, with names, the more we have to lose.
2 comments:
Just an aside...
Several years ago, the college actually presented M. Butterfly. I was relatively new to the campus at that point, but I had already heard that other faculty members gave extra credit to students who went to productions. Ever the good soldier, I offered it to my students.
I was vaguely familiar with the play although I had not seen it myself. I didn't tell the students ahead of time about the subject matter or anything because I didn't want to ruin the surprise, as it were.
The first class meeting after the performances were over, I couldn't take roll because this one guy was very upset and wouldn't stop talking about the show. He said I should have warned him that it was about "that stuff." And he didn't much appreciate that he also saw a guy's butt exposed during the course of the night.
I've since taken to warning people if there's going to be nudity in any of the productions at the college. I don't tell them if the play's going to be about "that stuff," but you'd be surprised how much even a naked body can shock people who are college age. I've often wondered if some of the theater/theatre faculty don't choose plays with the intention of shocking some students out of the comfort zone.
I do realize that this is quite a tangent, but I've not told that story before, I don't think, and your post somehow reminded me of a distant memory.
Gender Trouble was THE book to read while I was in graduate school. Everyone owned a copy of it. There's a similar book called Essentially Speaking (I think that's right) by Diana Fuss (I also think that's right) that's about the same topic but less inclined to the use of academic jargon.
I'm not even sure how a nude rear end even works for the play...but, I suppose it wasn't the actual butt that posed a problem. I thought the play was, at best, a drama revealing the deceptive nature of desire. I found the end particularly fascinating, when Song came to France and was wearing a suit...the whole coversation after Song becomes nude is simply perfectly hearbreaking as it lifts the veil for everyone. For everyone.
We're going to be disucssing the play in class in about an hour, and I'm dreading having to discuss this play with...well, my DH community.
And there are just too many people in this class -- something like 42.
Post a Comment