In
consideration of the transcorporeal ethics Stacey Alaimo discusses in Bodily Natures, I am curious to see how
early modern drama, in which the concept of subjectivity has recently developed
(though not without misgivings) into the idea of resting within a consolidated,
autonomous individual, serves as either a breeding ground for more
transcorporeal readings or as a site of resistance to the “material transit
across bodies and environments [that] may render it more difficult to seek
refuge within fantasies of transcendence or imperviousness” (16).
Alaimo’s
postulate requires a rejection of the anthrocentric models of corporeality, and
suggests that through “[denying] the human subject the sovereign, central
position” in environmental ethics we can understand how “trans-corporeal
subjects must also relinquish mastery as they find themselves inextricably part
of the flux and flow of the world that others would presume to master” (16,
17). Must we assume, though, that such a participation in the
ethics of transcorporeality requires the denial of human sovereignty? Beyond the fascinating interactions
between human characters and “non-human nature” in Titus Andronicus, the politics of representation on the early
modern stage seem to call this opposition into question.
In
Titus, we see how the characters who
participate in a type of “viscous porosity” fall prey to other characters who,
though shaped by and shaping their surrounding environment, manage to retain a
sense of sovereignty and Renaissance subjectivity. If this viscous porosity is dominated by the idea of
“mediating membranes, which may be biological, social, and political,” (15)
then Lavinia’s mouth becomes particularly interesting. As a site that mediates between inside
and outside it is an organ that serves biological, social and political
functions. Prior to her rape,
Lavinia proceeds to “mouth off” to Tamora, cementing Tamora’s disdain for the
girl and provoking the empress to let her sons “satisfy their lust” with her
body (2.3.180). During her
rape, Lavinia’s tongue is cut off (along with her hands), in essence neutering
its political function (I’m going to assume that the rhetorical function of the
mouth leads it to political efficacy, and since I don’t have time to flesh out
this idea, you will just have to go along with it), biological function (she
can no longer eat) and social function (voice marks a significant gender
differentiation—it is one of the most important factors in transgender patients
gaining acceptance in their new gender[1]). Through the loss of this important
“membrane,” however, Lavinia develops a new possibility for agency, through the
manipulation of two bodies—her own (in developing a handless method of writing)
and the body of literature upon which her own existence relies (i.e. Ovid). Yet Lavinia’s new agency is not derived
from (secondary to) the original, hands-and-tongue-intact body and Ovid’s
original rendering of the Philomela tale; rather, she recreates and rewrites
these bodies and ultimately secures the death of her perpetrators. So, through the loss of this special
site for viscous porosity, Lavinia displays sovereignty and subjectivity not
reliant upon these dictated biological, social and political roles.
Approaching the question of
transcorporeality on the Elizabethan stage leads to another set of interesting
observations. The performance of
gender and race on the stage was largely facilitated through makeup; in the
case of “the Moor,” a white male actor donned blackface, a technique that
consisted of smearing onto the face a paste made from soot or burnt corks and
oil; in the case of a woman, the white male actor donned “whiteface,” a paste
of white lead with mercury and ground orris, in addition to rouged lips and
cheeks[2]. Both of these concoctions were highly
toxic, and often lethal. The
Elizabethan audience was highly aware of the fact that male actors played the
roles of female characters, and that white actors played the roles of black
characters, and so the representation of femininity and blackness became synonymous
with the painting of faces—painting with “natural” (i.e. non-human), yet toxic
materials. It is interesting to
note, too, that the painting of faces was preferable to the wearing of masks
and gloves, since the paint was “closer to the body of the actor” (Callaghan 195),
in essence blurring the line between person and costume, a non-human element. If we also consider the fact that women
and racialized bodies have long been associated with the “natural,” then I
wonder if we can draw the conclusion that femininity, blackness and nature are
considered toxic? (Femininity as
toxicity is not a new idea; early modern medical theories considered pregnancy,
a key factor in femininity, an ailment.)
This would explain why the feminists that Alaimo mentions have fought so
stringently against associations with nature, but what happens when nature
returns? Alaimo suggests that
“only by directly engaging with matter itself can feminism do as Tuana
advocates: render biological determinism ‘nonsense.’ For instance, rather than
bracketing the biological body, Birke insists upon the need to understand it as
‘changing and changeable, as transformable’”
(Alaimo 5). Indeed, the white,
male bodies on Shakespeare’s stage embraced this transformational ability; but
by transcending genetic makeup through stage makeup, they also maimed those
potentially subversive bodies. Can
we really agree that transcorporeality trumps an anthrocentric view of
environmental ethics; that “interconnected material agencies” really helps “erode
even our most sophisticated modes of understanding” (17)?
Hi Steph! Great post to end on!
ReplyDeleteIt's really interesting to think about staged femininity and blackness as involving actors literally smearing this toxic goop on their faces. But while we may well see it as poetic justice, I wonder whether they would have known about the literal toxicity of their face-paint. I did some googling and it looks like the toxicity of lead and mercury HAD been pointed out by certain writers prior to the Elizabethan age, but in the context of their effects on miners handling the substances daily. I doubt the dangers of contact with small amounts of lead or mercury were well understood at the time, since they continued to be used heavily in medicines (I know mercury was used to treat syphilis from research I did for a paper) for many years.
On the other hand, I totally agree about the cultural linkage of femininity, blackness and toxicity/disease you allude to. I'm TAing for a class reading King Lear, and that part of your post brought to mind Lear's mad "every inch a king" speech:
Down from the waist they are centaurs,
Though women all above.
But to the girdle do the gods inherit;
Beneath is all the fiend's. There's hell, there's darkness,
There is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding,
Stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! Pah, pah!
Give me an ounce of civet. Good apothecary,
Sweeten my imagination. (4.6.122-9 in Ioppolo's Norton edition)