Saturday, December 1, 2012

Transcorporeal subjects in Titus Andronicus


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)?


[1] McNeill, E. J. M. "Management of the transgender voice." The Journal of Laryngology & Otology 120.07 (2006): 521-523.

[2] Callaghan, Dympna. "Shakespeare's stage. "Alternative Shakespeares 2 (1996): 192.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Steph! Great post to end on!

    It'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)

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