The New Formalism and Heart of Darkness: Aesthetic and Ideological Parallels, Oppositions, and Symmetries
←
→
Page content transcription
If your browser does not render page correctly, please read the page content below
161
The New Formalism and Heart of
Darkness: Aesthetic and Ideological
Parallels, Oppositions, and
Symmetries
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
BRIAN RICHARDSON*
In her book, Forms: Whole, Rhythm, Hierarchy, Framework, Caroline Levine has recently
offered a radically expanded concept of form in literature. She argues that broadening
our definition of form in literary studies to include social arrangements has “immediate
methodological consequences. The traditionally troubling gap between the form of the
literary text and its content dissolves. Formalist analysis turns out to be as valuable to
understanding sociopolitical institutions as it is to reading literature.” Such patterns, she
affirms, “are at work everywhere.”1 As her subtitle indicates, Levine goes on to identify
and analyze formal features of wholes, rhythm, hierarchies, and networks. In a similar
vein, Samuel Otter argues that form “refers to disposition, contour, structure, and
specificity. It opens, rather than closes, questions about the relations of parts to wholes
and inside and outside.”2 This approach seems singularly promising for examining the
numerous parallels, repetitions, and symmetrical elements in Heart of Darkness. In what
follows, I will juxtapose these parallels to another set of forms: the hierarchized binary
oppositions of the colonial discourse that characterize the events of the story. We will see
that the patterns Conrad creates may be largely aesthetic, powerfully ideological, or both
at once. Juxtaposing them can reveal how distinctively literary and intensely political
patterns undergird and imbricate each other.
Early in his voyage along the west coast of Africa, Marlow observes the French ship he
is on firing its cannons into the jungle, a spot devoid of any buildings: “In the empty
immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing away into a
*English Department, University of Maryland, College Park MD 20742, USA. E-mail: richb@umd.
edu
1
Caroline Levine, Forms: Whole, Rhythm, Hierarchy, Network (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
2015), 2.
2
Samuel Otter, “An Aesthetics in All Things,” Representations 104.1 (2008): 118. Otter also discusses a
number of other recent New Formalist approaches in this article.
Literary Imagination, volume 23, number 2, pp. 161–169
doi:10.1093/litimag/imab017 Advance Access Publication 28 June 2021
ß The Author(s) 2021. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the Association of Literary Scholars,
Critics, and Writers. All rights reserved. For permissions please e-mail: journals.permissions@oup.com162 Brian Richardson
continent.”3 Not surprisingly, Marlow reports that “nothing happened. Nothing could
happen. There was a touch of insanity in the proceeding” he concludes (14). This scene
will be associated with several others, most strikingly, as the steamer, having picked up
Kurtz, is starting to head down the river. Many tribespeople gather on the riverbank, and
the gunmen onboard excitedly prepare to fire into the crowd. Marlow blows the steam
whistle and the Africans scatter before the men can enjoy their miniature massacre, but
they fire away nonetheless. These two scenes form symmetrical arches at the beginning
and the end of Marlow’s voyage to recover Kurtz and as such produce a palpable sense of
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
aesthetic design. The two firings are different as well, the first being inane and ineffec-
tual, the latter being proximate and singularly murderous, as the Europeans shoot at the
people they had just been on shore with and whose faces they could see. Far from
adapting to the different society around them, they became more cruel and deadly—a
common pattern throughout the novella. The repeated scene thus shows the growing
savagery of the Europeans.
Generally speaking, Conrad in this work starts with the standard, hierarchical
Victorian social and cultural oppositions of the day and, by a series of parallel figures
and events, collapses the opposition in a variety of ways, some stark, others extremely
subtle. We see this at work in Marlow’s first words: “And this also,” he states, referring to
Britain, “has been one of the dark places of the earth” (5). In Roman times it was “the
very end of the world” (6); the civilized Roman would “land in a swamp, march through
some woods, and in some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed
round him—all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the
jungles, in the hearts of wild men” (6). This defamiliarizing parallel makes us rethink
unexamined associations as it affirms civilization and savagery, conqueror and colonized
to be relative rather than immutable conditions; the rest of the narrative will disclose how
reversible they can be. And for any who might dismiss Marlow’s identification of ancient
Britain with central Africa as excessive, given the vast amount of time that had passed,
Marlow goes on to note: “nineteen hundred years ago—the other day” (5). Conventional
oppositions of different eras are here superimposed, suggesting how transitory the
averred progress of civilization may be.
The work’s unnamed frame narrator collapses crucial differences and thereby their
hierarchical relation, though his negations of official imperial discourse are largely inad-
vertent and he has no idea of the parallels he is suggesting. In the opening section of the
text, he fulsomely praises Sir Francis Drake as one of the great “knights errant” of the sea
and a national hero. Drake, however, is a very dubious hero: he did circumnavigate the
globe but he was much more occupied in privateering, a legal form of piracy, and was
notorious for sacking and destroying coastal cities of other nations, activities alluded to
in the narrator’s comment, “Hunters of gold or pursuers of fame, they had all gone out
on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within
3
Joseph Conrad. Heart of Darkness, ed. Paul B. Armstrong, 5th edition (New York: Norton, Norton
Critical Editions, 2017), 14. Subsequent citations of this edition will be incorporated into the body of
this essay.The New Formalism and Heart of Darkness 163
the land” (5). The narrator’s commendation of heroism and individual achievement is
rapidly dissolving into the admiration of sheer power and the justification of its abuses.4
This praise for the men of whom the nation was proud is decidedly mixed, as is further
established by his other explicit reference, to Sir John Franklin, which I will discuss
below.
Though the frame narrator is a simple and indulgent nationalist and imperialist,
Marlow’s position is radically opposed. He knows “the conquest of the earth, which
mostly means taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much” (7). He
explains the crucial difference between ancient Roman and contemporary European
imperialism, but it is done with a rhetoric that quickly collapses the distinction: the
Romans “were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force—nothing to boast of,
since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed
what they could get for the sake of what could be got. It was just robbery with violence,
aggravated murder on a grand scale” (7). By contrast, modern European imperialism is
said to be justified as “the idea only. An idea at the back of it: not a sentimental pretense
but an idea” (7). Anyone familiar with Conrad’s deep distrust of ideas, ideals, and
idealisms will not be surprised by Marlow’s continuation of the depiction of this idea
that quickly undercuts it: “something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a
sacrifice to” (7). The first sacrifice is idealism itself, as the rest of the narrative documents
the “robbery with violence” and “aggravated murder on a grand scale” that occurs in
Africa. Additional collapses of the rhetoric of idealism with the reality of cynical de-
struction are exemplified in Kurtz’s pamphlet, “a beautiful piece of writing” on the
suppression of savage customs, at the end of which was scrawled the line,
“Exterminate all the brutes!” (50).
Marlow, as already suggested, is often able to see things (or at least imagine seeing
them) from the perspective of the Africans. This occurs fairly frequently in the text, as
when he listens to far off drums, “a sound weird, appealing, suggestive and wild,” and
muses that they perhaps had “as profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a Christian
country” (20). Coming across an African village that had been abruptly abandoned, he
postulates that if a group of mysterious Africans “armed with all kinds of fearful weapons
suddenly took to traveling the road between Deal and Gravesend, catching the yokels
right and left to carry heavy loads for them, I fancy every farm and cottage would get
empty very soon” (20). That is, their flight is not something that only ignorant savages
would do, but a rational response to a very real threat, and one that would be quickly
paralleled if the situations were reversed.
Similarly, the high esteem which the local tribes bestowed upon Kurtz is not an
indicator of African credulity or servility, since it is matched or exceeded by the slavish
4
Tom Henthorne notes in this context that James Anthony Froude, in his Oxford lectures on English
seamen of the sixteenth century, affirms Drake “was a robber and a corsair, and the only excuse for him
is that he was no worse than most of his contemporaries” in Conrad’s Trojan Horses: Imperialism,
Hybridity, and the Postcolonial Aesthetic (Lubbock TX: Texas Tech University Press, 2008), 117–18.164 Brian Richardson
devotion which the Russian ivory hunter lavishes on him; as Marlow states, “If it had
come to crawling before Mr. Kurtz, he crawled as much as the veriest savage among
them” (58N). What we see is not the ignorant worship of a god-like figure by an
undeveloped people, but a studied response to eloquent rhetoric, personal charisma,
and accurate firearms.5 Similarly, the opposition between the English as a nation that
respects and adheres to the rule of law as opposed to imagined African incomprehension
of or indifference to such concerns is negated by the fact that the British studiously
follow out rules and laws that their subjects obviously are unable to understand: “They
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
had been engaged for six months (I don’t know that a single one of them had a clear idea
of time [. . .]), and of course, as long as there was a piece of paper written over in farcical
accordance with some law or other made down the river, it didn’t enter anybody’s head
to trouble how they would live” (40–41). This is part of a larger pattern of deception,
fraud, depredation, and murder. When informed that the heads on the stakes around
Kurtz’s house were those of rebels, Marlow retorts: “Rebels! What would be the next
definition I would hear? There had been enemies, criminals, workers—and these were—
rebels” (58), he scornfully states. Justice, like warfare, business arrangements, and labor
contracts, were a grotesque farce as long as one side did not understand the terms the
other was enforcing.
The opposition of the English as civilized versus Africans as barbaric is further col-
lapsed in two ways. First, the greatest savage around is Kurtz, with his cruel depredations,
ornamental skulls around his house (the faces pointing toward it), and his unspeakable
rites. Second, we see the especially fascinating figure of a highly cultured, “universal
genius” (28), with great creative abilities in several arts, powerful leadership qualities, and
outstanding navigational skills committing atrocious acts without any compunction or
regret. I do not know of any earlier figure in the history of literature (and very few
subsequent ones) who combines a truly creative cultural sensibility with numerous brutal
murders and savage spectacles. It is this uncoupling of cultural genius and moral good-
ness that is a distinctive achievement of Conrad in this text. He is one of the very few
Europeans who, had he lived a couple more decades, would not have been utterly
shocked to learn both of Nazi death camps and of their officers singing Beethoven’s
“Ode to Joy.” This sight that so repulsed the narrator of Alejo Carpentier’s Los pasos
perdidos (The Lost Steps, 1953), his rewriting of Heart of Darkness, that he was unable ever
to listen to that music again.
Marlow’s self-definition of someone who does not lie—with all that this entails,
personally and socially—is also subverted. He states “you know I hate, detest, and
can’t bear a lie, not because I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it
appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality, in lies” (27), and yet he feels
compelled to lie and condone lying twice in the novella. When meeting with Kurtz’s
intended at the end of the work, he tries to negotiate the articulation of the truth with his
desire not to damage her emotional state any further. He begins by speaking ironically,
5
Contemporary sources in fact advised Europeans to disseminate the idea that they were superhuman
creatures.The New Formalism and Heart of Darkness 165
though he knows the irony is not noticed by his interlocutor. She is moved by the fact
that he knew Kurtz well. Marlow agrees noncommittedly. She bursts out, “It was im-
possible to know him and not admire him” (74). To this, Marlow carefully states that
“He was a remarkable man” (74). He agrees with her statement that Kurtz’s words will
live on, since he has helped to get them published—without, of course, the damning
postscript. She insists his example will live on, and Marlow merely mutters, “‘True,’ I
said, ‘his example too. I had forgotten that’” (76) and goes on to state ambiguously that
his end “was in every way worthy of his life” (76). He adds that he heard Kurtz’s last
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
words. When she insists that he repeat them, he lies, and says it was her name. The
significance of this act to Marlow’s self-image is powerful; he feels he is no longer the
man he thought he was and desires to be. The fact of telling a white lie to a grieving
woman would not be much of an issue for most audiences were it not for the parallel
evasion involving Kurtz’s imperialist pamphlet. By passing the pro-imperialist document
on to a journalist who will have it published, Marlow becomes implicated in dissemi-
nating idealist falsehoods about Africa and its colonization. It is only among his friends
in the dark onboard the Nellie that he can privately express the truth in an oral narrative.
He cannot publicly resist the official discourse of colonialism even after experiencing it as
a hellish lie.
Conrad also inverts the traditional European connotations of whiteness in this text.
In English and most of the other Indo-European languages, whiteness is associated with
goodness, health, purity, and innocence. In Heart of Darkness, Conrad provides opposite
associations. Marlow arrives in an unnamed city that strongly resembles Brussels, stating
that it “always made me think of a whited sepulchre” (9). Kurtz’s bald, skull-like head is
suggestively described as resembling “an ivory ball” (48). This in turn suggests the thin
posts in a row around the Kurtz’s house, “with their upper ends ornamented with round,
curved balls” (52), which are later revealed to be the heads of his “enemies” (57). The
most dangerous and deadly scene, in which Marlow’s boat is attacked, takes place just as
the dense whiteness of the morning fog starts to lift. Visiting Kurtz’s betrothed, he notes
that “the tall marble fireplace had a cold and monumental whiteness,” and the piano’s
surfaces gleamed “like a somber and polished sarcophagus” (73). It is evident that
Conrad is invoking traditional symbolic associations in order to subvert them by creating
alternative formal identifications that carry a powerful though oblique ideological cri-
tique. This kind of inversion of culturally coded signs, we might further observe, was
pioneered by Herman Melville in his chapter “On the Whiteness of the Whale” in Moby
Dick and redeployed visually by Sergei Eisenstein in Alexander Nevsky (1938), in which
the ruthless Teutonic knights invading Novgorod are dressed in white while the sturdy
Russian patriots are dressed in black.6
6
Ralph Ellison will also play in a comparable fashion on these figures of whiteness and blackness in
Invisible Man (1953); see Brian Richardson, “White on Black: Iconography, Race, and Reflexivity in
Ellison’s Invisible Man,” Southern Humanities Review 30 (1996): 139–50. This practice might also be
what informs Francis Ford Coppola’s covering Colonel Kurtz’s tribe in white in Apocalypse Now.166 Brian Richardson
The most extraordinary—and extraordinarily circumspect—dissolving of standard
British imperial ideology concerns the issue of cannibalism, perhaps the greatest possible
suggested difference between the two cultures. The native oarsmen are depicted as
cannibals, though Marlow humorously notes, “Fine fellows—cannibals—in their place”
(35). Reflecting on their evident hunger, he later wonders, “Why in the name of all the
gnawing devils of hunger didn’t they go for us—they were thirty to five—and have a
good tuck in for once” (41). He goes on to admire their restraint in the face of extreme
hunger, knowing that “no fear can stand up to hunger, no patience can wear it out,
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
disgust simply does not exist; and as to superstitions, beliefs, and what you may call
principles, they are less than chaff in the breeze” (42). His praise of the Africans’ restraint
dissolves another opposition, that between the principled, self-controlled Englishman
and the impulsive, unreflective “savage.” This is especially evident when we recall the
assertion that “Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint in the gratification of his various lusts” (57).
This discourse in turn suggests another parallel that is potentially much more pow-
erful: the case of Sir John Franklin, pointedly mentioned in the beginning of the text as
one of the “men of whom the nation is proud” (4). He led two expeditions in search of a
Northwest Passage. Both failed, the second disastrously, as the ship became frozen in the
ice and all the men perished. The following spring, when the bodies were recovered, it
was clearly established that some of the men resorted to cannibalism before they too
succumbed. Kurtz’s demonic participation in unspeakable rites, presumably cannibalism,
thus comes with a distinct British pedigree. Conrad’s symmetrical framing of these
events is a darkly ironic way to deflate British pretensions of social and cultural
superiority.
Representative women are strategically juxtaposed in the novella, most obviously the
straightforward opposition between the African woman who is close to Kurtz and the
virginal “Intended” back in England. Each one viewed independently is a rather embar-
rassing figure for the today’s reader: the passionate African woman seems a familiar
stereotype of the dangerous, fecund jungle that is depicted as female.7 Kurtz’s
Intended, by contrast, is devoted, demure, and profoundly ignorant of the true nature
of the world she inhabits. These are readily recognizable female stereotypes of the period,
the wild native woman and the angel of the house. The juxtaposition of the two, how-
ever, can start to corrode society’s denigration of the former and embrace of the latter.
The African woman is not just some worshiper or concubine, but a colleague who seems
to be strategizing with Kurtz—something none of the men, White or Black, dares to do.
7
As Marianne DeKoven points out, “Conrad emphasizes imagistically the female gendering, and
association with maternal origin, of the African wilderness: ‘The smell of mud, of primeval mud by
Jove, was in my nostrils [. . .]. The moon had spread over everything a thin layer of silver—over the rank
grass, over the mud, upon the wall of matted vegetation,’ divided in two by ‘the great river I could see
through a somber gap.’ This ‘great, expectant, mute [. . .] immensity’ of wilderness, ‘confoundedly big,’
that ‘couldn’t talk and perhaps was deaf as well,’ (29), corresponds powerfully with Irigaray’s account of
the maternal origin, vast, vaginal, abjected, material, silenced, and suppressed by patriarchal culture.”
“Heart of Darkness and Others” in Hunt Hawkins and Brian Shaffer, editors, Approaches to Teaching
“ Heart of Darkness” and “ The Secret Sharer (New York: MLA, 2002), 95.The New Formalism and Heart of Darkness 167
She seems to adore him, but on this side of idolatry. A Nietzschean perspective would see
her as a very positive figure of life, health, passion, and power. Carola Kaplan observes
that she “is both enticing and menacing. Wearing a helmet, armor, and magic charms
(60), she appears to belong to a matriarchal and polyandrous female warrior culture that
reverses the sexual hierarchies of the West.”8 (99).
Concerning her symmetrical opposite, Kurtz’s Intended, Jeremy Hawthorn quotes a
revealing description: “This fair hair, this pale visage, this pure brow, seemed surrounded
by an ashy halo from which the dark eyes looked at me” (73). Hawthorn goes on to note
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
“how words connotative of idealism such as ‘pure’ and ‘halo’ are made to seem unhealthy
and corrupted in this description. This seems to me to support the argument that the
way in which European women are portrayed in Heart of Darkness serves to strengthen
the novella’s depiction of idealism as weak, unhealthy and corrupted” (“Women” 355).
He goes on to state, “the Intended and the idealism she represents are sterile; nothing will
come of them but death. But the powerful life of the African woman is, like the wil-
derness represented in her, passionate and fecund” (356). More pertinently, in his later
book on sexuality and Conrad, Hawthorn describes the interpenetrating cultural con-
ceptual oppositions that pervade An Outcast of the Islands: “twisted-dark-corruption-
native-female” as opposed to “tall-light-strong-culture-European-male” (73) and goes
on to observe that “while these opposed binaries remain constant throughout the earlier
work, in Heart of Darkness they are disrupted and challenged” (73). The close juxtapo-
sition of the figures of the two women in the text at once produces an aesthetic symmetry
of opposites—English/African, chaste/passionate, ignorant/knowledgeable, morbid/life
affirming—and at the same time a profound ideological opposition.9
Kaplan asserts that “the narrative, as voiced through Marlow, attempts to contain,
that is to say, confine women. Yet in the language of the text women everywhere overflow
this narrative containment. Accordingly, when he downplays his aunt’s importance, he
inadvertently reveals his reliance on her” (99). He may be astounded that he needs to go
to a woman for assistance in getting a job, but it is the woman, and not the men, who is
able to arrange it.
A final possible example of transcendence of conceptual oppositions is suggested by
John A. McClure concerning the unexpected references to Buddhism in this text. The
identification of Marlow with an image of the Buddha occurs twice, once at the begin-
ning the other at the end of his narrative (6, 77). McClure suggests that the Buddhist
tradition “rejects at once the dualistic thinking that sponsors demonization and the
traditions of militant, world-saving expansion that underwrote imperialism” (46). The
rejection of dualism, as well as the Buddhist doctrine of the vanity of striving and
disapproval of violence, are well documented in this work.
8
Carola M. Kaplan, “Women’s Caring and Men’s Secret Sharing: Constructions of Gender and
Sexuality in ‘Heart of Darkness’ and ‘The Secret Sharer,’” in Hawkins and Shaffer, 99.
9
Kaplan also asserts that “all binary oppositions collapse in the course of his narrative: colonists prove
to be conquerors, the gang of virtue is indistinguishable from the gang of greed, [and] the illusions of
women merely echo the illusions of men”: ibid. 98.168 Brian Richardson
Altogether, we see Conrad set out the basic cultural oppositions of Victorian Britain
and systematically deconstruct them one by one: Europe/Africa, civilized/savage, moral/
immoral, rational/superstitious, restrained/impulsive, church bells/wild drums, now/
then, cultured/cruel, white (good)/dark (evil), and omnivore/cannibal. These are thor-
oughly and utterly collapsed by parallels that refute the hierarchical order of the British
cultural master narrative. Sometimes these deconstructions are obvious, while others are
very subtle, discernible only through a careful close reading. The reasons for the more
opaque collapsings of official hierarchical orders are twofold: both aesthetic and ideo-
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021
logical. Conrad, like other modernists, generally preferred to show rather than tell;
nothing is more inartistic than overly obvious symbolic associations or thematic equa-
tions of the kind one sometimes finds in D. H. Lawrence or Tennessee Williams. As
Harold Osborne, the philosopher of art, observes, “to be effective, [symmetry] must not
be too obvious but remain subordinate to other sources of perceptual interest. [. . .] Too
much or too obvious symmetry defeats its own purpose. When it is unobtrusively sub-
ordinated to other perceptual stimuli symmetry may enhance the overall aesthetic po-
tentiality of a work; otherwise the aesthetic appeal is annulled.”10 (82).
Furthermore, to publish Heart of Darkness in the prestigious but conservative
Blackwood’s magazine, Conrad had to disguise his more overt anticolonial sentiments
so that the more jingoistic readers could plausibly find in it the conventional message
they expected to see. As the reviewer for the Manchester Guardian takes pains to reassure
his readers, “It must not be supposed that Mr Conrad makes attack upon colonisation,
expansion, even Imperialism.”11 Brian Shaffer, who quotes this review, points out that “a
surreptitious rather than an open critique, paradoxically, would be better digested by and
therefore make a greater impact on readers”; he also adds that “too harsh a treatment of
Conrad’s topic would have precluded the novella’s being published at all—certainly in
the respectable Blackwood’s.”12 (72). There are good reasons, both aesthetic and practical,
for Conrad to both present and obscure his heterodox ideas. He does however provide all
the necessary keys for a careful reader to identify the salient parallels, symmetries, and
oppositions that are collapsed into identities and thus correctly interpret the ideological
message and appreciate the aesthetic architecture of the text.
The analysis of the wide range of formal patterns in Heart of Darkness can help us get
a deeper grasp on the full extent of Conrad’s denunciation of the act and discourse of
imperial colonization and the treatment of the Africans. Such an analysis also discloses
how unfortunate it is to keep the patterns internal to the text conceptually and meth-
odologically divorced from the structures of the discourse of power and the hierarchies of
oppression, especially when, as we have seen, they are co-present in the same sentences.
10
Harold Osborne, “Symmetry as an Aesthetic Factor,” Computers and Mathematics with Applications
12B1-2 (1986): 82.
11
Cited in Norman Sherry, editor. Conrad: The Critical Heritage (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul,
1973), 142–43.
12
Brian W. Shaffer, “The Role of Marlow’s Nellie Audience in ‘Heart of Darkness’,” in Hawkins and
Shaffer, 72.The New Formalism and Heart of Darkness 169
The old formalist dismissal of the extratextual world is as needlessly limiting as post-
structural indifference, denial, and evasiveness toward the forms by which authors shape
their creations. The new, capacious formalism set forth by Caroline Levine and others
has shown us both a method and established the necessity of performing this task; in this
essay, I have tried to show revealing such an analysis can be.
Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/litimag/article/23/2/161/6310431 by guest on 18 October 2021You can also read
