Tag Archives: literary theory

American Archetypes: Five Jungian Motifs You’ve Adopted

You don’t have to be a psychology student or psychiatrist to know what Carl Jung recognized as archetypes. We can easily discern that Gandalf and Dumbledore both serve a familiar function in their stories as the old, wise man (impressing the “little” people with magic, offering brain-racking riddles as solutions for saving the world) just as much as we all acknowledge that Mario and Beowulf are both heroes. All memorable narratives have timeless motifs threaded through them that attempt to explain universal dilemmas and experiences. Like any great narrative (thank you, Hayden White), American history is filled to the brim with its own unique, yet recognizable archetypes. The following figures listed below include five of the most prominent —and unexpected—archetypes that inform our own collective American unconscious:

5.) Bigfoot as the Wild Man

While stories of the wild man can be found on every continent (maybe not Antarctica), the most famous and publicized ape-boy is America’s own, Bigfoot! While native legends extend the Sasquatch’s history back several centuries, the year 1958 and the Bluff Creek footprints helped catapult the Big Monkey straight through the canopy and into the limelight. Eight years later, the Patterson-Gimlin Film would transform the old Indian wives’ tale into an unmistakable American Icon.

Covered in shaggy fur and leading a life devoted to bipedalism, Bigfoot joins the ranks of the satyr, Yeti, and medieval Green Man in an archetypal lineage that extends all the way back to what was, perhaps, civilization’s first wild man, Enkidu. As the ultimate wingman in the Epic of Gilgamesh, Enkidu provided the standard for the wild man archetype that Bigfoot would inherit: gigantic, feral, furry, and all about “green living.”

With the recent airing of Animal Planet’s freak-nomena, Finding Bigfoot, the Tall Guy was reintroduced to the average American consciousness and allowed to maintain a cultural phenomena established by America’s first people, the Native Americans.

4.) Uncle Sam as the Father

Originally, there was “Brother Jonathan.”  Jon held the role as a vague personification of the Union before ultimately yielding to the charisma of his younger brother, Uncle Sam. While Old Sammy can originally be found in the 1775 lyrics to “Yankie Doodle,” his rise to fame supposedly began during the War of 1812, a conflict usually brought up during reviews for G.E. History courses or as a possible candidate for war re-enactors. His most famous appearance, however, was his spread for J.M. Flagg’s 1917 recruitment poster that infamously reads, “I Want You for U.S. Army.”

Like any good father, the U.S. government’s persona, Uncle Sam was protective, militaristic, and completely willing to pay for your college education. America’s Lord Kitchener became the subject of many political cartoonists who felt citizens could easily relate with a figure who strongly represented the demeanor of America’s founding fathers.

3.) Hurricane Katrina as the Deluge

For Christians, no flood was more important than God’s wrathful flooding of Noah’s world in Genesis. Anthropologists might claim that the Judeo-Christain account was nothing but a knock-off, with Greek, Mayan, Mesopotamian, and Native North American variations supporting their claims.  Most Americans, however, would probably cite Hurricane Katrina’s 2005 tempest tantrum as the most influential flood in recent history. As a category 5 hurricane, Katrina became the costliest cyclones in U.S. History in terms of both property damage and lives lost.

As a symbolic act of a deity’s compensation for sin, some (namely, The Westboro Baptist Church) might say the flood myth stood as God’s variation of ethnic cleansing. According to the likes of Pat Robertson, New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin and the W.B.C., Katrina was God’s reprimanding for America’s various purported offenses of abortion, Antisemitism, and provoking Al-Qaeda. Needless to say, Hurricane Katrina not only proved to be one of the deadliest natural disasters in U.S. History but also unveiled America’s unabashed ignorance.

2.) The Mob as the Trickster

As an archetype, the trickster holds prestige. Whether it’s Old Man Coyote redirecting rivers or even Bugs Bunny (yes, Warner Bros. mascot is quite the charlatan—just ask Elmer) outwitting the best of them, the trickster has swindled cultures around the world since the beginning of civilization. While Bugs may be a fair candidate for the title of America’s trickster,  his PG-Rated pranks fall flat compared to the pervasive influence of America’s most notorious gang, the American Mafia.

Although the Mob has roots in the Sicilian Mafia, our own version began to flourish along East Coast metropolises such as New York during the Italian diaspora at the turn of the 20th Century.  Maintaining holds in cities such as New Orleans, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Chicago, the Mob would rely on a rigid hierarchy and harsh codes to rise to national notoriety. At the height of their influence, the Mafia would work with the U.S. Government during World War II and attempts at Fidel Castro’s assassination. Pop culture relics such as Scarface, The Sopranos , and the Oscar-winning The Godfather would pay tribute to what The Wall Street Journal claims is “the largest organized crime group in the U.S.”

1.) Communist China as the Shadow

Carl G. Jung, founder of analytical psychology (and the whole reason this article is able to exist!), claimed that the Shadow represents “those aspects of oneself that exist, but which one does not acknowledge or with which one does not identify” (Fordham). Essentially, our own Shadows consist of traits we either refuse or fail to acknowledge in ourselves. Jung himself claimed the Shadow was the “seat of creativity” and akin to the “unconscious” of his mentor, Freud.

Seeing both the constructive and regressive qualities of what the Shadow is capable in an individual, how might America’s own Shadow be expressed? The answer might lie somewhere West of America’s Promised Land in the unlikely tendencies of Communist China.

Although America’s First Red Scare seemed mainly concerned with Russian Bolshevism, which later became the Federation’s own Communist party, the Second Red Scare roused suspicions in Americans following Communist China’s success in the Chinese Civil War and consisted of the infamous act of “McCarthyism.” With media hysteria plaguing the minds of Post-WWII America, Communism was undeniably off-limits to any respectable American. Nevertheless, the Communist Party USA remained to remind us that as an ideology, communism has free reign in a constitutionally founded country and is very much on the mind of America.

While America may boast of its own self-empowered system, a stroll through your local Toy-R-Us or Walmart will quickly remind any consumer that China practically monopolizes America’s production of goods. Furthermore, with China owning $1.268 trillion in U.S. debt (Amadeo), Communist China appears to be more of an underlying economical backbone rather than a foreign competitor. At this point, American patriotism might as well be another name for Jungian repression and denial.

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Precession of Extinction: How applying Baudrillard’s Simulacra can save our Tigers!

Whenever I visit my mother’s house or, as she refers to it, “her enchanted cabin in the woods,” I am forced to watch the South Korean News. But it’s not only the T.V. that’s antiquated.The cabin itself is technologically sparse: Internet is only accessible through my mother’s smartphone which mounts into a separate keyboard. A dated, but ample stereo system lies on the floor, with a screen that flashes an “Asteroids” inspired light-show in tandem with Pink Floyd’s Animals. Across from the stereo, a Yamaha PSR 175 flaunts its dirt-smeared keys after being lifted from a neighbor’s refuse pile of abandoned Christmas gifts.

The unserviced satellite only receives transmissions from three obscure foreign networks. When compared, however, to the two other available options of Australian or Middle Eastern News, the South Korean stations relatively sluggish and dated approach quells her distaste for the violent and fragmentary “propaganda” of American broadcasting.

One evening, I saw a news brief on the instillation of the “Smart Aquarium” in South Korea’s Busan Station. The news clip showed a young woman pointing out pop-ups that sprouted from the mix of cartoons and digital representations of existent tropical species (such as regal blue tangs and clownfish; surely meant for the Finding Nemo enthusiast) swimming across the screen. Manga imposters of Brian Griffin, Tweety Bird, and Dory meandered around reefs of pixels before camouflaging into schools of fish. Their animated paddling motions looked awkward and infantile in contrast with the ease of the fish, who had millions of years of evolutionary refinement. Within a few moments, the screens flipped to montages of cascading tidal waves and Red Bull Advertisements. In a moment, the tranquility of a vibrant biosphere drowns in a flood of glaring advertisements.

This is only one of millions of patented technologies that blends Western advertising sense with the renowned gadgetry of the Far East. For most commuters of Busan Station, “Smart Aquarium” is just that; an educational advertisement using simulations to entertain audiences with the foreign while advocating for corporations such as Red Bull. No, appeals to logos are hardly revolutionary in the 21st Century (with the Aristotelian concept dating back to Classical Greece) nor is the fetishizing of the foreign ( Think Said’s Orientalism or, if your college days were one boozy blur, try Pocahontas, both Disney and historical).

Even the awkward installation of a digitized Australasian Reef in a South Korean train station is all too familiar after the emergence of prominent Postmodern markers such as Jameson’s pastiche and Baudrillard’s simulacra. What, then, is so revolutionary about the “Smart Aquarium” in 2014?  With the new year promising new innovations in space tourism, wearable technology, and synthetic biology (McNicoll), why should we be concerned about the ethics of a digital exhibit?

The answer lies in the current methods and approaches to species conservation. While Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic takes aim at exploring the new frontier of space, Earth’s inhabitants indulge their naivety toward the sustainability of Earth’s habitats and its respective species. Recent reports emerging from India confirm that its vulnerable tiger population (which currently accounts for 40% of the global count) faces the risk of extinction at the hands of canine distemper. If the virus were to successfully wipe out India’s wild tigers, it would be a tragic loss that would only highlight man’s approach to conserving endangered species: “museumification”.

The present world wide distribution of tigers is perhaps the best exemplar of how species conservation is progressing toward Baudrillard’s famed “precession of the Simulacra.” Like reality T.V. and author Don Delillo’s caricature of media, the original reality of a species’ existence is slowly being replaced by representative, yet de-contextualized populations that eventually yield to pure simulation through photos and videos of the wiped out species.

The United States currently holds an estimated 5,000 captive tigers, an estimate that, according to the World Wildlife Fund, outnumbers the 3,200 wild individuals roaming the Indian Subcontinent. Using this decimation of wild tigers and other extinct species as an example, we can chart out the four stages of Baudrillard’s precession of the simulacra in the area of species conservation:

1.) The first stage of the precession is that of the “faithful copy of the Real” that of “good appearance.” With our tigers, the Real would be the prior century’s  30,000 wild tigers roaming freely across the Indian Subcontinent. Therefore, the “faithful copy” of the Real would be the 53 wildlife reserves in India run by the Tiger Project, which maintains their original habitat and, in turn, the authentic behavior of wild tigers interacting with their environment. What maintains a preserve as a “faithful copy” rather than the genuine Real, are the ideological boundaries we impose on the physical borders of the preserve. Essentially, tigers within the confines of the reserve are free to behave naturally; if a tiger leaves the protection of the reserve, however, he is susceptible to capture or hunting. What is sacrificed through this first reflection is the mobility of a species to move (In other words, tigers must remain in reserves in order to exist as authentic tigers).

2.) The second stage consists of the “perversion of the Real” that “masks and denatures the Real.” In our example, this perversion occurs when tigers are relocated to zoos and held in captivity. While the zoos and captivity programs may strive to replicate the original habitat of the Indian Subcontinent (and in essence “hint at the existence of an obscure reality which the sign itself is incapable of encapsulating” [“Simulacra”]), it holds restrictions that denature the authentic lifestyle of tigers. These “perversions” include any breeding programs, feeding regiments, tourism, and the static nature of the enclosure. In other words, the “perversions” that make captivity an “unfaithful copy” are the ones that affect or dealign the tigers with their natural behaviors. Behaviors present only under captivity begin to replace wild instincts or accommodate a natural need (for instance, the feeding regiment of tigers with fresh, yet dead meat eliminates the need to hunt).

3.) Stage three marks the absence of the real by pretending to be a copy, yet failing to have a real. While this hasn’t yet happened to our tigers, we’ve already witnessed species immersed in the third stage. Such a stage would require the extinction of wild populations, which would leave only captive members alive; essentially, the International Union for the Conservation of Nature’s Red List status of EXTINCT IN THE WILD. Under these conditions, any behaviors unique to wild individuals are lost unless they are captured by other means of indirect signification such as footage or recordings. If all the species of tigers succumb to this state, only captive behaviors would exist and inform our future idea of what a tiger is. For example, the only observable behaviors that we can witness of the Seychelles island tortoise are those performed under the perversion of captivity. Any behavior exclusive to its wild habitat are gone, only accessible through secondhand representations of videos or recordings that are, in turn, limited to the time and location they were performed.

4.) The final stage of Baudrillard’s “sacramental order” is “pure simulation” or the complete replacement of the Real by its representation, a.k.a. a simulacrum. The best example of this state is that of the thylacine. An extinct Australian marsupial, the thylacine is only accessible to us through five film reels of the thylacine in captivity, a handful of black and white photos, skeletons, and scraps of native and colonial art. These artifacts come to completely represent our interpretation of the thylacine, with the behaviors exhibited in the footage as accounting for the entirety of the species. The thylacine and our modern interpretation of it is based entirely on representations captured at precise instances in time. If the tiger were to become truly extinct, future generations would only be able to interpret the tiger through representations that either showcase inauthentic captive behaviors or wild behaviors limited to the precise moment in which any footage or photography was taken. Any other, previously undiscovered attributes of the tiger are eliminated and replaced/re-interpreted only through the finite representations that are preserved. For instance, scientists can only learn about the thylacine through film, documentation and skeletons; a phenomenon that shoves the unexplored behaviors and attributes of the thylacine into the realm of myth and speculation.

As for now, the tiger wavers between the second and third stages, depending on the audience. For instance, most Americans will never witness a tiger in the wild but only through nature documentaries, books or zoo captives while those involved in the conservation of tigers can witness a more authentic tiger lifestyle.

The uncanny way in which Baudrillard’s speculations on signification relates to the process of forced extinctions reflects a massive error in which humans interact with their environment. We, as a species, allow representations to satisfy a species presence in favor of aesthetic pleasure (e.g. exotic pet trade, fur trade) or a reluctance to compromise (i.e. the extermination of, rather than a cooperation with a species in a certain environment; see wolves or cougars).

So. How does the aforementioned “Smart Aquarium” play into this precession of extinction? By allowing simulation to replace authenticity: we are satisfied in populating digital screens with virtual creatures programmed with a limited range of motion rather than conserving the actual environments and species that are being represented. Might we be satisfied enough with our holograms of regal tangs and clownfish so as to allow for their eventual decimation through habitat destruction?

In other words, our future children’s concept of tigers may be as vague and misinformed as the misrepresented and counter-factual animatronics of Spielberg’s Jurassic Park that defined my own generation’s understanding of dinosaurs.

The Monster of Scholarly Consumerism: Frankenstein and Monetizing the Public Domain.

In looking at the public domain edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, we see how Google Books displays traits of both innovative and inheritance methodology. The limited accessibility of the multiple editions and their subsequent specifications is only accessible to the scholar willing to pay for such access. Duguid’s characteristics of innovative and inheritance technologies ultimately highlight the ways in which resources like Google Books seek to monetize admittance into the public domain.
The edition scanned into the Google Archives originated from the Princeton University Library; the text is a direct scan of The Cornhill Publishing Company’s 1922 edition. With it’s inclusion of the parenthesized clarification of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly as “Mrs. Percy Bysshe Shelley,” the reader might conclude this version was published prior to the revival in Mary Shelley as an influential feminist figure (given the need to be associated with her more well-known husband).  Unlike many scholarly editions now in circulation, this edition of the text cuts not only any introductory essays, but also disregards including either Percy or Mary’s prefaces. Furthermore, the previous divisions of the novel into three sections (that mark the three volumes the novel was originally published in) aren’’t included; instead, the chapters are listed as one cohesive, linear progression without any breaks.DuGuid faces a similar phenomena when examining Tristan Shanty, in which Laurence Sterne’s divisions and preceding blank pages are not included in the scan.As a direct scan, the book has obviously avoided reformatting. No errors or quality issues are present in the scan, with the little color included (as seen in the stamps and titles) preserved. The clear preservation of the text highlights Google books as an inheritance technology in which the actual physical quality of the text includes no added features outside of the internet; namely, no hypertext links or interactive features within the text itself make the work anything more promising than Princeton University library could offer.
Google Books’ ability to search the text for keywords and scroll format are the only qualities that mark it as an innovative method of study. The search bar allows users to browse the text for pages where a certain phrase occurs. Instead of having to manually flip through hundreds of pages to locate a certain term, the standard internet technology of the search bar allows both the scholar and the casual reader to locate a term within seconds.
This ability to search also applies more generally to the inquiry of multiple editions of the book; as a public domain text, Frankenstein has dozens of editions catalogued in the Google Books archive with the more recent publications containing copy written material allowing the guest user to merely be able to preview the text. Interestingly enough, while both the 1831 and 1818 editions of the text are under public domain and are included in the archive, the only fully accessible version is the former 1831 edition.
The ability of Google Books to include many versions of a public domain text such as Frankenstein, make it a fantastic resource for the scholar and collector. The limited regard, however, for the plurality of a diverse text that includes multiple editions, supplemental material and divisions are not accounted for. In some ways, Google Books is very much a consumer tool rather than a scholarly resource in which gains can only be made through what the viewer is willing to pay for convenience.

Debutante of Science Fiction: A History of the Publication of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

Despite Mary Shelley’s well documented writing process of Frankenstein in her journals (having documented the completion of the novel on the specific date of May 14th, 1817) [Walling], not enough is known about the novel’s publishing and marketing to satisfy all the requirements of Darnton’s communications circuit model. Shelley’s most renowned work is notorious for it’s multiple publications within a short span of time: the novel was first published anonymously as a Victorian three-volume or “triple-decker” collection by the “London printers Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor and Jones on January 1st, 1818 (Hindle) after previous rejections from both Percy Shelley’s publisher, Charles Ollier, and Byron’s publisher, John Murray (Walling). A subsequent two-volume French publication accrediting the novel to Mary Shelley was published on August 11, 1823 by the publishers, G & W.B. Whittaker in order to capitalize on the success of Richard Brinsley Peake’s stage adaptation. (Bedford Publishing). The renowned “1831 edition” of the text appeared in a one volume publication by Henry Colbum and Richard Bentley on October 31st, after heavy revisions made by Shelley in order to create a morally conscious monster, a new preface cataloging Mary Shelley’s infamous inspiration for the novel, and revisions made in order to quell the novel’s assertive implications (Karbiener).

Despite mostly negative reviews from the like of the Quarterly Review and The Edinburgh Magazine (Walling), a letter to Shelley from friend, Thomas Love Peacock, showcases how by the first year of publication,  the novel came to “be universally known and read” (Walling) in part due to “the criticism of the Quarterly, though unfriendly, [which] contained many admissions of its merit, and must on the whole have done it service” (Walling).

The anonymous nature of Frankenstein’s initial publication attests to the harsh standards under which Victorian women author’s were exposed, with critical praise for Percy Shelley’s flowery 1818 preface  showing an inclination toward the poetic prose popular in the face of a Romantic Renaissance. Specifically, the Quarterly Review applauds Percy Shelley’s contribution as “highly terrific” and rational (Walling) while Mary’s revolutionary, yet direct narrative is condemned as “inculcat[ing] no lesson of conduct, manners, or morality” (Walling).

Furthermore, the novel’s prior publications in multi-volume sets appears to disrupt the continuity needed in order to appreciate Shelley’s framed narrative. For the 1818 reader, a single novel publication may have been more than a necessity than a treat in appreciating Shelley’s multiple perspectives of the unnamed narrator, the views of Victor Frankenstein, and the heart-wrenching account of the monster himself.

According to an uncited segment on Wikipedia’s entry, the novel was “published in an edition of just 500 copies.” Such ambiguity concerning the details of the novel’s publication undoubtedly contributes to a lack of appreciation for how the first science-fiction novel evolved from a widely-read scandal into a canonical contribution to English literature.

Grotesque Triple Decker: A Casual Scholar’s Description of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

Nearly two centuries after its initial publication as a notorious “three-volume novel” of Victorian times (Bennett), Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein has often been combined into a single volume with added literary criticism and historical abstracts.

The revised 2003 edition of the Penguin Classics release contains relevant biographical material as well as a timeline of Shelley’s life, critical essays, and the associated works believed to have been written during Shelley’s infamous 1816 writing retreat, “A Fragment” by Lord Byron and John Polidori’s “The Vampyre: A Tale.”

As a classic work contained in the public domain, Frankenstein has seen a massive amount of publications and reprints (even during Shelley’s lifetime, specifically when asked by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley to release a heavily revised, single volume (Shelley)).

The Penguin Classics edition represents the standard approach many publishers have taken in regards to what is often considered the first “true” science fiction novel; measuring seven and a half inches by five and a half inches and containing 273 pages, the novel is compact enough for the casual reader to carry with ease (in fact, much of its thickness of seven-tenths of an inch is composed of extra scholarly material). The discrepancies between the 1831 edition and the grittier 1818 version are accounted for by including an appendix containing comparisons between the two editions.

Furthermore, the Penguins Classics edition contains a mere two images: the first is a detail from Nicolai Abildgaard’s  The Wounded Philoctetes (1775) (supplied by the Statens Museum fur Kunst in Copenhagen, Sweden) while the second is a facsimile of the first edition’s cover page as reproduced by the British Library. As a Classical Greek hero exiled from the Greeks for ten years, the anguish depicted on his face on the cover adequately reflects the ostracism of Frankenstein’s monster. Aside from these considerations, Penguin’s version of the text continues the publishing companies trend of black finish on the trimming and back cover with the story’s synopsis laid out in a white, sans serif font.

The actual content of the book is set in PostScript Adobe Sabon by Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd in Suffolk while the book was printed in England by Clays Limited. Interestingly enough, the editors chose to divide the novel into the original three volumes of the initial printing (a decision that isn’t reflected, for example, in the free Kindle version in Amazon’s Kindle store). The paper on which the text is printed on what Penguin Books proudly touts as Forest Stewardship Council certified paper. As a mass produced book, perfect binding is used to hold the signatures, or groups of sheets, together while a justified alignment of text further highlights Penguin’s mass production tendencies (Monroig). The combination of a justified text adjustment with this edition’s leading creates what BFA Design student, Daniel Monroig, says is a confusing format in which large gaps between words makes it easy for readers to lose track of lines.

Despite this edition’s attempt at using to extra resource material to contextualize Shelley’s story and plump up the novel, Penguin’s Classics isn’t my favorite version of this classic. Despite Paul Hunter’s scathing views on both Penguin’s and the Oxford World Classics, I prefer the latter version’s thoughtful consideration as to both the technical formatting and literary criticism.

A redeeming property of the Penguin edition, however, is the inclusion of an extensive “Further Reading” index which includes the authoritative Frankenstein Notebooks (which maintains both Mary and husband, Percy Shelley’s manuscript notes). As Hunter states, both editions are meant for the “casual scholar,” which, in turn, accounts for Penguin’s cheap adjustment and leading techniques meant to facilitate mass production.  Both versions, however, trump the sloppy, yet free, Kindle version which ignores proper paragraph indentation and refuses to divide the book into its original three volumes by merely numbering the chapters.