In this episode I look at the importance of place within short fiction. My hay fever flared up towards the end, so I’ve inserted the subject matter I was working from below. These are a combination of my script and extracts from my PhD exegesis:
Over a century after the modernists sought to find new ways of expression in a changing world, writers today find themselves faced with a similar, if not greater, challenge. As with the modernists, the world in which we live is one in a state of flux. Shockwaves from multitudes of profound changes and transitions ripple through every aspect of our society, some of which have been so seamless, that for those of us born in the latter decades of the 20th century there is the surreal sensation of realising we have long passed the point of entering the future we once looked forward to in wonder. In that sense, we are almost like a sleepwalker jolted awake, disoriented by this new reality we find ourselves marooned in.
In her book, Hauntology: The Presence of the Past in 21st century English Literature, Katy Shaw points to what she calls ‘an obsession’ (Shaw, K, 2018, p.3) with the latter years of the 20th century. This obsession, she writes, ‘has become a major influence’ on contemporary literature, ‘one that has led to a new range of hauntological writings that profile the spectral and its capacity as a critical tool for comprehending the post-millennial period’ (Shaw, K, 2018, p.3).
A term originally coined by the French philosopher Jacques Derrida, hauntology arguably found its greatest exponent in the writings of Mark Fisher. For Fisher, one aspect of hauntology lay in the inability of the post-millennial period to move on from 20th century ideas and culture, particularly those of the 1970s onwards. This period, argues Fisher, still has a hold over our perceptions and creative outputs, recycling itself in music, cinema, fashion, and literature. We refuse to ‘give up the ghost,’ but also, there is ‘the refusal of the ghost to give up on us’ (Fisher, M, 2014, p.54). Fisher’s observation speaks of a stagnated state afflicting our culture, where we remain at a standstill, obsessing over the cultural highlights from an increasingly distant past.
Going back to the modernists, and their relevance here (urbanisation, industrialisation, new tech), it can be argued that a changing society influenced the approach they took to their works of fiction, one that required ‘new methods’ of storytelling. As S.G. Mann wrote in The Short Story Cycle: A Genre Companion and Reference Guide, ‘one repeatedly discovers that twentieth century cycles are preoccupied with certain themes…’ (Mann. S.G. 1989, p.13). These themes, such as alienation, isolation and identity, became more widespread throughout the following generations. As the twentieth century rolled on, fuelled by an insatiable capitalism, Western society was rapidly transformed into one purely based around consumerism. The human experience, therefore, began to change, resulting in those themes having more influence over works of art, and artists themselves. Art began to reflect the ‘fragmentary nature’ (Mann, S.G, 1989, p.12) of contemporary life.
This idea of life having a fragmentary nature is an interesting one. Through my research I found that Mann was touching on mass urbanisation, gentrification, and collapse of community that had occurred throughout the twentieth century up until the time of her writing the book (1989). Fragmentation, then, is one of absence, or the disintegration of old societal and community structures that people belonged to. In a way, this fragmentation could all also be described, in its manifestation within the short story, as liminality. As I will expand upon, the fragmentation of modern life became, or could be seen as, a transitional stage of industrial society and/or capitalist society as a whole. It is an in-between-ness of the post-industrial and whatever was to come next. Of course, we are only now beginning to get an idea of what comes next.
The turn of the millennium has seen an increase in fragmentation manifested in the loneliness of social media, the polarisation brought about by failed political ideologies (neo-liberalism), both of which exacerbate shifts in sense of place. The ‘fragmentary nature’ of modern life, I would argue, is well suited for exploration within short story formats. The reason being that the short story itself is purely, by its own nature, also fragmentary. The short story sees readers dipping in and out of the lives of characters. In a short story cycle, we meet the characters at various points, with very little background or context given to their story. Some characters we meet recurrently or once or twice, some we meet only to then never hear from them again. Or as Ailsa Cox notes in her book Writing Short Stories:
[…] the short story is bang up to the minute. There could be no better medium for the age of the text message, the soundbite, and Twitter. In the twenty-first century news travels fast. Communications are speeded up, and the pace of change accelerates relentlessly. The short story has the flexibility to capture the heat of the moment. A short, compressed form captures the intensity of contemporary urban life.
There are many modern works of short fiction that attest to this – such as Jessie Greengrass’ The Decline of the Great Auk, According to the One Who Saw It, and Laura Groff’s Florida, amongst others. But in this particular episode, I want to stick with the modernists, particularly James Joyce and my favourite book, Dubliners.
Dubliners is a masterpiece in so many ways, but it is in capturing sense of place, and the capturing of sense of place within the short story format, that stands out for me. Again, it’s the little details as opposed to simply describing the physical landscape, or the sights and smells, etc. What works of this nature do so well is to reflect the speech and verbal mannerisms of their characters in an authentic way. This requires variation, between class, and cultural background.
Also of importance are the elements of repetition. As Dunn and Morris observe in their book The composite novel: The short story cycle in transition,
Throughout the stories of Dubliners there is the ubiquitous “boose,” “stout,” “bitters,” or simply “drink” – until one can see an alcoholic haze hovering over the city (Dunn, M, & Morris, A, 1995, p.42).
For Joyce, the Dublin he depicts in Dubliners is ‘a place of entrapment, an environment that renders its people weak, enervated, unable to escape…setting is not only a place but also the effect[1] of place’ (Dunn, M, & Morris, A. 1995, p.40).
Again, what makes this ‘effect of place’ so pronounced is the repetition of details, experienced by a variety of characters. In this way, the ‘effect’ is not specific to one individual, and one individual’s state of mind. It is the place itself. What is manifested is felt by everyone. In a book of short fiction, place becomes a character in and of itself. Furthermore, it is all-pervasive, infusing the book with its sights, sounds, and smells. In this way, sense of place is amplified in works of short fiction.
The genius of Dubliners is summed up by Anthony Burgess in his book, Here Comes Everybody: An Introduction to James Joyce for the Ordinary Reader – it is in ‘the solemnisation of drab days and the sanctification of the ordinary’ (Burgess, 1969, p.25) that Joyce thrives. In capturing that, Joyce created a work that would reflect the daily lives of people, and the environments in which they inhabit.
Again, what makes this ‘effect of place’ so pronounced is the repetition of details, experienced by a variety of characters. In this way, the ‘effect’ is not specific to one individual, and one individual’s state of mind. It is the place itself. What is manifested is felt by everyone. In a book of short fiction, place becomes a character in and of itself. Furthermore, it is all-pervasive, infusing the book with its sights, sounds, and smells. In this way, sense of place is amplified in works of short fiction.
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