Dead Text Walking

This post is partly inspired by I Am Scrooge: A Zombie Story for Christmas, and partly inspired by my debilitating need to stop reading I Am Scrooge: A Zombie Story for Christmas, and do almost anything else.

This zombie story breathes life into Jacob Marley (or breathes in death-life... zombie biology is gravely unclear), who rips apart the people around him, and starts to make for Scrooge. The text immediately shows some wit, pointing out that Marley had been dead "for about three minutes,that is" (3). That's not dissimilar to how long his soul rests in Dickens' novel. It then becomes tiresome, unfunny, and graphically violent. So I'll readily admit to not finishing it, which is convenient since my title actually refers to the original text and not this bloody, "braaaaaaaaaaains"-less tripe.

My question is whether the classic novels like A Christmas Carol, the works that span decades through their spawn, are in a sense, dead. Does A Christmas Carol exist at all outside of its hideous/beautiful progenies? If the "culture-text," intriguingly introduced by Paul Davis, is the one that we "collectively remember," "the Carol as it has been intriguingly recreated in the last century and a half" (4), what space is there for the original text? Can it exist on its own shaky legs, or is this text only bolstered by its afterlife? 

I don't believe that the classics that have permeated our culture are dead, I think they are uniquely newly alive in how they can be devoured in so many different forms by so many. But I do think that recognizing and appreciation this new life that adaptation has breathed into these works is a crucial step towards (finally) moving away from fidelity complaints, from purist wringing, and from snobby eye-rolling at a text that may forcefully engage with pop culture as much as it engages with Dickens.

Keeping all that in mind... I Am Scrooge: A Zombie Story for Christmas is still awful. Please don't read it. And greeting from Dickens Camp in Santa Cruz!

- Lingerr Senghor

Not So Great Adaptations

We've been reading about a number of adaptations of A Christmas Carol, have seen one and now read one. Are the ones we are reading great? I think they're pretty good. And their stand-alone merit gives us a lot to talk about in terms of the idea of adaptation and fidelity.

But I always find it extremely entertaining to examine terrible adaptations and think about what made them come into existence. For instance, the newest Romeo and Juliet with Douglas Booth is pretty bad, but my students loved to hate it (and some of them just loved it––Paul Giamatti as Friar Laurence "was throwin' more shade than a gazebo" according to one student). 

Brown talks about directors who long for "pageantry and place setting and hoopskirts" (85). Why? How does our nostalgia for a fabricated past manifest itself today? I want to look at some not great adaptations, just briefly enough to entertain myself and question their origins.

So what not-so-great adaptations have you seen? What are your thoughts on them?

Last night, I watched a snippet of the Kelsey Grammer Christmas Carol. I couldn't have said it better myself, TheSoulMan8 (or is it TheSoleMan8?!):

TheSoulMan8

6 months ago

wow, this film is awful, but in a very enjoyable sort of way

Adaptation as Interpretation

We used to judge adaptations qualitatively, passing judgment on them on the basis of their “faithfulness” to the “original” (the movie almost inevitably losing out to the book, which was always deemed to be “better”). But this approach has become tired and uninteresting. Scholars also now see this “fidelity model” as naïve and critically unfair. Current approaches to adaptation studies might be described more broadly as intertextual investigation. Today’s scholars are becoming more attentive to the complex network of linguistic, generic, historic, and cultural exchanges that shape and inform any literary text and that determine how and why we read it. In challenging the idea that literary texts are stable, authoritative, and able to make meaning utterly independent of other texts or cultural contexts, scholars have destabilized the very concept of “originary text.” One result of this paradigm shift has been the rejection of traditional notions that direct fidelity to an original text is desirable or even possible. We can, for example, recognize Clueless as a recasting of Austen’s Emma and appreciate the ways in which the novel and film speak to one another. If we understand that You’ve Got Mail and Bridget Jones’s Diary reimagine, update, and variously make use of Pride and Prejudice, we get more than the simple pleasure of intertextual recognition (the delight that comes from smugly proclaiming the intertextual connection to our slower, less critically sophisticated friends); we obtain entrance to new interpretive avenues into both book and film and, moreover, are prompted to consider not only why Austen’s early nineteenth-century novel continues to speak to us in such compelling ways but also how her novel remains available for reinterpretation.  

Every critical reading of a text is an act of adaptation, as readers intervene to render the text coherent or to reshape it using theoretical tools. It is by adapting the novels that we read, refitting them to suit our modern perspectives and cultural needs, that we keep them alive and meaningful. In my own research, I adopt an approach that considers the act of reading as a complex negotiation among reader, text, and the cultural imagination. By focusing on the adaptations, I argue, we see a literary text in its fullest, as we consider how it adapts earlier texts to its own purposes and how imaginative reinvention keeps texts relevant to new audiences over time.

Ultimate Fidelity

As we prepare to discuss fidelity today in light of our first film (the 1951 A Christmas Carol), it seems important to remember that ultimate fidelity is impossible. Thomas Leitch writes that every adaptation must include something "un-Dickensian" simply due to the fact that a different medium requires addition of material. "[C]ontinuous performance" by an actor on screen, for example, requires adding material since Dickens doesn't describe each character's actions during each moment of the story (Leitch 74).

Originary Text

Adaptation

Despite the knowledge that a truly faithful adaptation is impossible, I couldn't help asking myself, What would ultimate fidelity look like?

I was then reminded of Borges's Pierre Menard. The ultimate adapter, Menard sets out to write his own version of Don Quixote, which he thinks is best done by copying out the text itself, as written by Cervantes, word for word.

And yet, this is still an adaptation!

Borges's narrative, posing as a kind of fictional scholarly obituary, addresses the idea of adaptation and fidelity in a hilarious, comparative close reading:

"It is a revelation to compare Menard’s Don Quixote with Cervantes’. The latter, for example, wrote (part one, chapter nine):

. . . truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future’s counselor.

Written in the seventeenth century, written by the “lay genius” Cervantes, this enumeration is a mere rhetorical praise of history. Menard, on the other hand, writes:

. . . truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future’s counselor. 

History, the mother of truth: the idea is astounding. Menard, a contemporary of William James, does not define history as an inquiry into reality but as its origin. Historical truth, for him, is not what has happened; it is what we judge to have happened. The final phrases—exemplar and adviser to the present, and the future’s counselor —are brazenly pragmatic. 

The contrast in style is also vivid. The archaic style of Menard—quite foreign, after all—suffers from a certain affectation. Not so that of his forerunner, who handles with ease the current Spanish of his time."

So, despite its fidelity, Menard's adaptation is still quite different than the original, according to the critic-narrator.

As we discussed during our first class, each time we teach a text, we adapt it to our classroom. Each time we read a text, we are reading only one version. Fidelity is impossible because even the text itself shifts constantly under the changing lenses of time, culture, and context.

Read the entire Pierre Menard story here.

Dickens Forever

Evelyn Waugh's 1934 novel A Handful of Dust follows "civilized man" Tony Last deep into the Amazon jungle, where he falls ill, loses his guide, and is "saved" by Mr Todd, an illiterate man with a deep and abiding passion for Dickens. In this clip, from the 1988 film, Tony Last (played by James Wilby) comes to understand his new position in Mr Todd's (Alec Guiness) world.

Sorry for Repeating Myself: Link to Vrettos and Between Schwartz

Here is a link to the article that I mentioned in our seminar meeting on Monday as something that I felt connected to Hillel Schwartz's um...interesting, broad, and unique take on the power of repetition:

https://muse.jhu.edu/journals/victorian_studies/v042/42.3vrettos.html

The html link is through Project MUSE, and the article is called "Defining Habits: Dickens and the Psychology of Repetition," Victorian Studies 42.3 (2000): 399-426.

I think that, overall, Vrettos's discussion of habit provides an interesting point of intersection in relation to Schwartz's discussion of Tourette Syndrome and the importance of repetition in linguistic acquisition and retention (Schwartz 303).  Similarly, Vrettos's exploration of habit in Victorian characterizations (especially in Dickens) focuses on the psychological, discussing "obsessive behaviors" (Vrettos 413) that sound very similar to Tourette Syndrome or even Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) in Dickensian characters.  And as I mentioned on Monday, another interesting Dickensian context of the Vrettos and Schwartz pieces is the frequent criticism of Dickens over the years that he often depicted similarly quirky characters in his works, rendering him guilty of character repetition or recycling.  Also, the Vrettos article specifically discusses Great Expectations (Vrettos 409-411).

But on a broader scale, Schwartz's emphasis on the value and importance of repetition, and Vrettos's emphasis on the extent to which repetition is essential to character identity in Dickens's works, reveals even further the psychological complications that Pip and Scrooge must endure as they experience their changes of character and representation in their respective texts.  So, maybe this issue will come up a few more times in our seminar as we discuss those texts more specifically.

Adaptation and the Survival of the Literary Species

Adaptation is a nineteenth-century concept, popularized by Darwin, who adapted (borrowed, stole) it from Herbert Spencer. It’s the process that drives the evolution of species, the concept that shook the Victorian world by challenging the conventional view of the divine ordering of the universe. At its best moments, adaptation does just that: it offers us a completely new and game-changing point of view. It insists on an organic, evolving, intertextual and multi-media perspective. It is a dynamic concept with potential to open up exciting new avenues of critical textual investigation. Adaptation suggests an engaged and constructive form of reading, which can empower our students and yield an understanding of literature as a dynamic cultural form.