My research dealing with objects related to pilgrimage, magic, and late antique piety has shaped how I read fiction. In my last post, I commented on the role of objects, in particular Frank Frink's creation of American art, in the book and film adaptation of Man in the High Castle. This week, I finished reading Orhan Pamuk's A Strangeness in My Mind, which follows Mevlut from his Turkish village to Istanbul in a saga stretching from the 1960s into the 2000s. The tale is told by a cast of first person narrators and occasionally an omniscient third person. The entries for each narrator are short, typically one to three paragraphs, and occasionally a few pages. Through their collective eyes, we see the sympathetic protagonist Mevlut arrive in Istanbul as an adolescent, build a squatter's home in Istanbul with his father and other relatives, begin selling yogurt in the day and boza at night, try to finish school and fail, do his army service, court an older sister through letters when he believes he is courting the younger one, elope with the older sister, realize his mistake, marry the older sister anyway, start a family and raise two daughters, sell rice and chicken from a food cart, lose his cart, oversee a kebab restaurant, lose his job when he fails to report an employee scam, open a boza shop with his childhood friend, see the shop closed because of forces beyond his control, work as a parking lot attendant, quit after his wife dies in a home abortion, begin working with the same childhood friend as an electrical inspector, lose that job after the same friend is murdered, marry his childhood friend's widow (who is also the younger sister of his wife whom he thought he was writing letters to years ago), see his daughters married, and see his childhood squatter's home purchased for a large sum of money and turned into a high-rise apartment, in one of which he and his (second) wife will live before relocating to be further from their extended family. As should be obvious, the story of the humble Mevlut is epic in length and scale.
A constant if Mevlut's life is his love for the streets of Istanbul and his constant desire to walk the streets selling boza, a mildly alcoholic drink make from cereals. Pamuk's descriptions of the objects associated with Mevlut's making and selling of boza, as well as his food cart, the furnishings of his squatter's house and his later apartments, and other objects and spaces are where the book really shines, and such details unify an intentionally fractured narrative and not-enterirely-honest narrators. Pamuk has focused on the relationship between memory, narrative, and everyday objects in other works -- most notably Museum of Innocence, which has small museum in Istanbul where objects from the book are displayed, and perhaps my favorite Pamuk work, The New Life, which vividly describes nostalgia for the commercial objects of one's childhood and lost cityscapes.
The pole that Mevlut uses to carry yogurt and boza trays across his back is introduced early in the book, and through all the vicissitudes of Mevlut's life, this object is a constant presence, even as friends, a spouse, his childhood home, and daughters are all lost or change. His journey with the pole and the objects it carries becomes a meditation for Mevlut until he can finally realize the continuity between his inner life and the streets and public life of the city.
Other, minor objects receive just enough mention to evoke their presence and make their significance to the story felt. The glasses that are constantly being washed at the boza shop are tangible and their presence -- demanding filling and washing. Mevlut's food cart provides a livelihood for his family and his family surrounds it with their efforts to make his (not very profitable) enterprise a success. The cart was an object around which the family gathered, chained safely to a tree at night in the courtyard. When it is stolen, Mevlut cannot choose another, even when a replacement is offered to him.
I cannot hope to do justice to the range of objects and material spaces that operate in the story, and obviously there are other aspects of the book that are worthy of praise and comment. However, in this short note, I want to point out that the humble objects associated with Mevlut's work and the way those everyday objects can summon connections to his family and Istanbul that have stuck with me after finishing the book. I can still see Mevlut's cart chained up to a tree and see the cups that his wife and sister in law washed in the back of the boza shop. I can still see the swept-dirt floor and table of the house his father built. Such objects and spaces render sensible the imagined lives and voices of his story.
Friday, February 24, 2017
Friday, February 10, 2017
The Power of Objects and Art in "The Man in the High Castle"
So, I've been thinking of reviving this blog for some time, but I've been struggle with exactly what to write about here. As some readers may know, my current research relates to Roman and early Christian pilgrimage, and specifically the role of objects and space in the shaping pilgrimage experience. Over the past few years, I've also been reading works of fiction in which objects come to exert powerful forces on the characters and narrative. I've decided to dedicate at least a few entries to my thoughts on some of these works of fiction, all of which have served to stimulate my thoughts about the power of objects and space in late antique religion.
My first essay is inspired partly Bill Carahers's blog and his discussion of the role of objects in Philip K. Dick's novels, as well as by the Amazon series based on "Man in the High Castle." After watching the Amazon series, I decided to read Dick's novel of the same name. The Amazon series diverges from the original book in many ways, which is to be expected, but I found one point of divergence to be particularly enlightening as to the role of art and objects in the book vs. the adaptation, the function of the art that Frank Frink produces.
Viewers of the Amazon series will recall the bendy-heart-shaped necklace that Frink produces for Juiana, which she takes to Rocky Mountains and back to San Francisco before it eventually ends up on the desk of Mr. Tagomi, the Japanese Trade Minister. Tagomi seems to recognize something of its merits, declaring that the pendant has great "wu" and meditating on the pendant at his desk. In the series, the production of new American art appears to be outlawed, and only American art of the past can be bought and sold -- as happens at Mr. Childan's store. The implication is that Japanese authorities recognize the power of art as a potentially subversive force and have thus banned the creation of new American art. Frink's creation, and Juliana's and Tagomi's possession of it, is therefore illegal, and perhaps an act of resistance.
The book describes Frink's creation of a similar object, along with others. Ed McCarthy assists Frink with his creations, and (unlike in the series) Robert Childan agrees to sell their creations at his store on consignment. As in the series, a Japanese man recognizes the great "wu" of Frink's creations. However, it is not Tagomi who recognizes it here, but Paul Kasoura, an attorney who (along with his wife) is an aficionado of Americana. Kasoura's and Childan's relationship is similar in the book and the movie -- with Childan trying to ingratiate himself with a powerful Japanese couple by presenting them with American art. In the book, however, Childan takes a risk and gives Kasoura one of Fink's consignment pieces as a gift, thinking that perhaps the Japanese collector will like it, even though Childan himself doesn't seem to think much of it. Childan only sees the new American art's merits when Kasoura perceives it, describing the appearance of new, American, art and marveling at its existence. Kasoura's pronouncement that new American art exists is met with incredulity (at first) by Childan and by Kasoura's Japanese colleagues.
The impossibility of American art is a revealing divergence between the book and series. In the series, such art is illegal because Japanese authorities recognize its power. In the book, it is not that American art is illegal, it is simply inconceivable. Dick's descriptions of Childan's and Kasoura's dawning recognition of what they are seeing in Frink's work are evocative of how one learns to "see" art and recognize the power of objects to shape and transform. Soon after this recognition, Childan begins to believe in a new, authentic American material culture and (it seems) in the idea of America as well.
The appearance and recognition of Frink's new American art builds along the same time-line as Juliana's journey towards her apparently anticlimatic meeting with the Man in the High Castle [Hawthorne Abendson], who consults the I Ching to discover that the book (yes, here it is a book, not films) he has written about the Allies winning the war is true -- although this would seem not be so, as Germans and Japanese have divided up much of the world. As he and Juliana say regarding the Oracle's response:
Raising his head, Hawthorne [the man in the high castle] scrutinized her. He had now an almost savage expression. "It means, does it, that my book is true?"
The book ends rather abruptly after the meeting of Juliana and the Man in the High Castle. The reader is left to wonder in what way Germany's and Japan's loss is "true." One possibility is a multi-verse, a idea borne out more fully in the series than the book. However, the role of Frink's art in the book suggest other possibilities, such as the re-appearance and re-emergence of an authentic America in the midst of occupation. Frink's art suggests that the story of allied struggle against Japanese imperialism and European Nazism is not over. Rather, America lives and that, is spite of appearances, Germany and Japan may have already lost the war.
My first essay is inspired partly Bill Carahers's blog and his discussion of the role of objects in Philip K. Dick's novels, as well as by the Amazon series based on "Man in the High Castle." After watching the Amazon series, I decided to read Dick's novel of the same name. The Amazon series diverges from the original book in many ways, which is to be expected, but I found one point of divergence to be particularly enlightening as to the role of art and objects in the book vs. the adaptation, the function of the art that Frank Frink produces.
Viewers of the Amazon series will recall the bendy-heart-shaped necklace that Frink produces for Juiana, which she takes to Rocky Mountains and back to San Francisco before it eventually ends up on the desk of Mr. Tagomi, the Japanese Trade Minister. Tagomi seems to recognize something of its merits, declaring that the pendant has great "wu" and meditating on the pendant at his desk. In the series, the production of new American art appears to be outlawed, and only American art of the past can be bought and sold -- as happens at Mr. Childan's store. The implication is that Japanese authorities recognize the power of art as a potentially subversive force and have thus banned the creation of new American art. Frink's creation, and Juliana's and Tagomi's possession of it, is therefore illegal, and perhaps an act of resistance.
The book describes Frink's creation of a similar object, along with others. Ed McCarthy assists Frink with his creations, and (unlike in the series) Robert Childan agrees to sell their creations at his store on consignment. As in the series, a Japanese man recognizes the great "wu" of Frink's creations. However, it is not Tagomi who recognizes it here, but Paul Kasoura, an attorney who (along with his wife) is an aficionado of Americana. Kasoura's and Childan's relationship is similar in the book and the movie -- with Childan trying to ingratiate himself with a powerful Japanese couple by presenting them with American art. In the book, however, Childan takes a risk and gives Kasoura one of Fink's consignment pieces as a gift, thinking that perhaps the Japanese collector will like it, even though Childan himself doesn't seem to think much of it. Childan only sees the new American art's merits when Kasoura perceives it, describing the appearance of new, American, art and marveling at its existence. Kasoura's pronouncement that new American art exists is met with incredulity (at first) by Childan and by Kasoura's Japanese colleagues.
The impossibility of American art is a revealing divergence between the book and series. In the series, such art is illegal because Japanese authorities recognize its power. In the book, it is not that American art is illegal, it is simply inconceivable. Dick's descriptions of Childan's and Kasoura's dawning recognition of what they are seeing in Frink's work are evocative of how one learns to "see" art and recognize the power of objects to shape and transform. Soon after this recognition, Childan begins to believe in a new, authentic American material culture and (it seems) in the idea of America as well.
The appearance and recognition of Frink's new American art builds along the same time-line as Juliana's journey towards her apparently anticlimatic meeting with the Man in the High Castle [Hawthorne Abendson], who consults the I Ching to discover that the book (yes, here it is a book, not films) he has written about the Allies winning the war is true -- although this would seem not be so, as Germans and Japanese have divided up much of the world. As he and Juliana say regarding the Oracle's response:
Raising his head, Hawthorne [the man in the high castle] scrutinized her. He had now an almost savage expression. "It means, does it, that my book is true?"
"Yes," she said.
With anger he said, "Germany and Japan lost the war?"
"Yes."
The book ends rather abruptly after the meeting of Juliana and the Man in the High Castle. The reader is left to wonder in what way Germany's and Japan's loss is "true." One possibility is a multi-verse, a idea borne out more fully in the series than the book. However, the role of Frink's art in the book suggest other possibilities, such as the re-appearance and re-emergence of an authentic America in the midst of occupation. Frink's art suggests that the story of allied struggle against Japanese imperialism and European Nazism is not over. Rather, America lives and that, is spite of appearances, Germany and Japan may have already lost the war.
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