Woolfian Boundaries - Clemson University
Woolfian Boundaries - Clemson University Woolfian Boundaries - Clemson University
102 WOOLFIAN BOUNDARIES a statement by Sir Arthur Quiller Couch: “Intellectual freedom depends upon material things. Poetry depends upon intellectual freedom. And women have always been poor…. Women have had less intellectual freedom than the sons of Athenian slaves. Women, then, have not had a dog’s chance of writing poetry” (162-63). Th e troika slave-woman-dog is rooted in the legacy of counter-enlightenment discourse that links slaves and dogs, as well as an equally entrenched patriarchal discourse that links women and dogs. Th e signifi cance of dogs in the history of slavery is powerful and complicated, not least because of the way certain dogs were bred to discipline and hunt down fugitive slaves. But there is also a connected discourse that fi gures slaves themselves as dogs. Canine slave metaphors are simultaneously engaged and refi gured when Woolf interferes with the patriarchal legacy of misogynist canine troping, which, I have shown elsewhere, she sources in Johnson and Carlyle. 3 Woolf’s narrator, then, embodies her own predicament: to speak of Women and Fiction, she represents herself as already collared by the fi ction “woman” and its implicit synonyms “dog” and “slave.” Marcus’s thoroughgoing examination of the “fi ne negress” passage notes parenthetically the association “of the Negress with the dog [as wild creatures to be tamed and domesticated],” linked to Woolf’s earlier citation of Johnson’s canine analogy for a woman preaching (Marcus 49), but she does not address the more complicated canine troping at play in this passage (indeed, in the same sentence), nor the complexities of its racial marking. She does, however, judge Woolf’s conjunction of “Negress” with “woman” and “Englishwoman” that the embedded citation of Johnson’s dog makes available as “unfortunate” (Marcus 50). Can Woolf’s text, and Woolf herself, slip the collar of “racist” that Marcus’s persuasive argument seems inevitably to secure? She fi nds Woolf “has robbed her ‘very fi ne negress’ of subjectivity in much the same way as men appropriated hers”(52). She is persuasive on the alarming sense of appropriation in Woolf’s text. After all, ownership is overtly in the tract’s title. “Is she not saying,” Marcus asks, “we have rooms of our own because they don’t—our sisters in the former colonies on whose labor the ‘fi rst’ world largely functions?” (42). A “room” of one’s own discloses in mirror form the “moor” of one’s own, then, standing for the black dispossessed who make white freedom possible. Marcus’s concern for the subjectivity of the “fi ne negress” is reasonable especially considering the slippery metaphoric, and free indirect discourse of the sentence and the larger tract that she inhabits. In such a multi-vocal text, one that is at pains to explore the connected politics of voice and subjectivity, why, we must ask, is there no clear and direct citation of a black woman’s words? A more diffi cult, and radical, concern to voice would be over the subjectivity of the dog. Is it possible that the mutable speaker of this book, who famously acknowledges a destabilised subjectivity by declaring “‘I’ is only a convenient term for somebody who has no real being…(call me Mary Beton, Mary Seton, Mary Carmichael or by any name you please)” (7), does herself inhabit a canine morphology? In one version of the cited “Four Maries” Ballad, Mary Hamilton, whom Woolf pointedly elides and leaves unnamed, sings from the gallows of “Th is dog’s death I’m to die.” 4 In the controversial “fi ne negress” passage, women are distinguished from men by their historical, inured, “anonymity”: Th ey are not even now as concerned about the health of their fame as men are, and, speaking generally, will pass a tombstone or a signpost without feeling an
Virginia Woolf and the Signifying Dog irresistible desire to cut their names on it, as Alf, Bert or Chas. must do in obedience to their instinct, which murmurs if it sees a fi ne woman go by, or even a dog, Ce chien est à moi. (76) 103 Here Woolf prefi gures patriarchal colonialism and inscription as a dog marking its territory: women, unlike men, then, do not mark out territory as a matter of “irresistible desire” and “obedience” to “instinct.” Th e act of writing is expressed as “a refl ex reaction ingrained in any European male” to appropriate and colonise (Phillips 73). But even as she reproachfully fi gures men writing as colonial patriarchs, which are in turn fi gured as dogs pissing on signposts and monuments to the dead (themselves fi gures of signifi cation), she is also aligning—in the same sentence—the object of this very process, the “fi ne woman” with dogs: “Ce chien est à moi.” Marcus recognises this crucially presents women’s signature as erasure, but while she connects “ce chien” to Woolf’s earlier citation of Johnson’s canine trope, she ignores the dogginess of Alf, Bert and Chas. Th e double-gendered dog is both subject and object of colonialism. Th e repeated “even” (“even a dog;” “even a very fi ne negress,” herself reprising the “fi ne” of “fi ne woman”) strengthens the analogy between dog and negress, amplifi ed in the next sentence, to show the dog as interchangeable with “a piece of land or a man with curly black hair.” Th e dog as usual performs a number of vehicular tasks: its tenors are both men and women, English and African, coloniser and colonised. But who is speaking in this sentence? It is not a simple matter of plumping for either Woolf or her narrator: there are too many voices, citations, and ventriloquised citations compressed here. It begins by “speaking generally” of canine men provisionally called “Alf, Bert or Chas.” who are then the murmurers of “Ce chien est à moi” (“this dog is mine”), itself a citation of Blaise Pascal (Pascal 295), but which comes to Woolf, as Phillips points out, via her husband’s book, Empire and Commerce in Africa (1920) (Phillips 73). Already, deictic functioning is in crisis: the “ce” of “ce chien,” the this-ness of “this dog,” is receding just as “Alf, Bert or Chas.” recede. Th e proposition “Ce chien est à moi,” in keeping with Woolf’s free indirect mode, has no speech marks to collar it as the direct speech of “Alf, Bert or Chas.,” nor as the verbatim citation of Pascal, albeit a citation of Leonard Woolf’s citation of Pascal in the epigraph to his book on Africa: “‘Th is dog is mine,’ said those poor children; ‘that is my place in the sun.’ Here is the beginning and the image of the usurpation of all the earth.” Virginia Woolf has omitted from the epigraph Pascal’s amplifi cation of the claim “Ce chien est à moi” as the originating cause but also the image of all colonial appropriation. “Ce chien est à moi” has, then, a self-consciously fi gurative pedigree. But Woolf also elides the information that these words constitute the directly quoted speech of “ces pauvres enfants” (Pascal 295). Pascal has “poor children” as the origin of the primary utterance of appropriation, the universal image. Pascal universalises an instinct to appropriate by making the most innocent and the least wealthy his image of possessiveness. But Woolf sheds Pascal’s “pauvres enfants,” and the didactic “voilà” that Leonard Woolf retains. In her analysis, the poor are themselves the objects of appropriation, and the prospects of the poor to become poets is the basis of her argument, something she presses at the close of her book in her adapted citation from Quiller-Couch that embraces the images of the poor, women, slaves, and a dog. Th e sentence that comes between those of “ce chien” and the “fi ne negress” is also slip-
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Virginia Woolf and the Signifying Dog<br />
irresistible desire to cut their names on it, as Alf, Bert or Chas. must do in obedience<br />
to their instinct, which murmurs if it sees a fi ne woman go by, or even a<br />
dog, Ce chien est à moi. (76)<br />
103<br />
Here Woolf prefi gures patriarchal colonialism and inscription as a dog marking its territory:<br />
women, unlike men, then, do not mark out territory as a matter of “irresistible desire” and<br />
“obedience” to “instinct.” Th e act of writing is expressed as “a refl ex reaction ingrained in<br />
any European male” to appropriate and colonise (Phillips 73). But even as she reproachfully<br />
fi gures men writing as colonial patriarchs, which are in turn fi gured as dogs pissing on<br />
signposts and monuments to the dead (themselves fi gures of signifi cation), she is also aligning—in<br />
the same sentence—the object of this very process, the “fi ne woman” with dogs:<br />
“Ce chien est à moi.” Marcus recognises this crucially presents women’s signature as erasure,<br />
but while she connects “ce chien” to Woolf’s earlier citation of Johnson’s canine trope, she<br />
ignores the dogginess of Alf, Bert and Chas. Th e double-gendered dog is both subject and<br />
object of colonialism. Th e repeated “even” (“even a dog;” “even a very fi ne negress,” herself<br />
reprising the “fi ne” of “fi ne woman”) strengthens the analogy between dog and negress,<br />
amplifi ed in the next sentence, to show the dog as interchangeable with “a piece of land or a<br />
man with curly black hair.” Th e dog as usual performs a number of vehicular tasks: its tenors<br />
are both men and women, English and African, coloniser and colonised.<br />
But who is speaking in this sentence? It is not a simple matter of plumping for either<br />
Woolf or her narrator: there are too many voices, citations, and ventriloquised citations<br />
compressed here. It begins by “speaking generally” of canine men provisionally called “Alf,<br />
Bert or Chas.” who are then the murmurers of “Ce chien est à moi” (“this dog is mine”),<br />
itself a citation of Blaise Pascal (Pascal 295), but which comes to Woolf, as Phillips points<br />
out, via her husband’s book, Empire and Commerce in Africa (1920) (Phillips 73). Already,<br />
deictic functioning is in crisis: the “ce” of “ce chien,” the this-ness of “this dog,” is receding<br />
just as “Alf, Bert or Chas.” recede. Th e proposition “Ce chien est à moi,” in keeping<br />
with Woolf’s free indirect mode, has no speech marks to collar it as the direct speech of<br />
“Alf, Bert or Chas.,” nor as the verbatim citation of Pascal, albeit a citation of Leonard<br />
Woolf’s citation of Pascal in the epigraph to his book on Africa: “‘Th is dog is mine,’ said<br />
those poor children; ‘that is my place in the sun.’ Here is the beginning and the image of<br />
the usurpation of all the earth.”<br />
Virginia Woolf has omitted from the epigraph Pascal’s amplifi cation of the claim “Ce<br />
chien est à moi” as the originating cause but also the image of all colonial appropriation.<br />
“Ce chien est à moi” has, then, a self-consciously fi gurative pedigree. But Woolf also elides<br />
the information that these words constitute the directly quoted speech of “ces pauvres<br />
enfants” (Pascal 295). Pascal has “poor children” as the origin of the primary utterance<br />
of appropriation, the universal image. Pascal universalises an instinct to appropriate by<br />
making the most innocent and the least wealthy his image of possessiveness. But Woolf<br />
sheds Pascal’s “pauvres enfants,” and the didactic “voilà” that Leonard Woolf retains. In<br />
her analysis, the poor are themselves the objects of appropriation, and the prospects of<br />
the poor to become poets is the basis of her argument, something she presses at the close<br />
of her book in her adapted citation from Quiller-Couch that embraces the images of the<br />
poor, women, slaves, and a dog.<br />
Th e sentence that comes between those of “ce chien” and the “fi ne negress” is also slip-