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Retropost (2006): Grave grabación de ultratumba

Retropost #1248 (4 de diciembre de 2006): Grave grabación de ultratumba

 

William Drummond of Hawthornden, Flowers of Sion, soneto XXV:
  
More oft than once death whispered in my ear,
Grave what thou hears in diamond and gold:
I am that monarch whom all monarchs fear,
Who hath in dust their far-stretched pride uprolled;
All, all is mine beneath moon's silver sphere,
And nought, save virtue, can my power withhold:
This, not believed, experience true thee told,
By danger late when I to thee came near.
As bugbear then my visage I did show,
That of my horrors thou right use mightst make,
And a more sacred path of living take:
Now still walk armèd for my ruthless blow,
  Trust flattering life no more, redeem time past,

                       And live each day as if it were thy last.


Si la blogosfera se prestase, lanzaría yo un meme, el meme "ntomori", en el que habría que poner un poema o frase alusiva al tema de la mortalidad. Pero sugerírselo a alguien sería como señalarlo con el dedo esquelético. Así que paso, y me conformo con traducir el soneto de Drummond.


Más de una vez me murmuró la muerte en el oído,
Graba lo que vas a oír en diamante y oro,
Soy ese monarca al que los monarcas temen todos,
Que en polvo ha hecho rodar su orgullo desmedido.
Todo, todo bajo el orbe de plata de la luna es mío
Y nada, sino la virtud, contendrá mi potencia.
Esto, no creído, te lo mostró una experiencia cierta,
Cuando a tí me acerqué hace poco, en un peligro.
Como espantajo a niños mi rostro dejé que vieras,
Para que a mis horrores buen uso les dieras
Y un curso de vida más sagrado emprendieras.
Contra mi golpe final camina ahora siempre armado,
No atiendas a la vida engañadora, redime tu pasado,
Y vive en cada día el último que tienes asignado.
Had we but world enough and time

 

Retroposts
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Retropost (2006): Sobre estilo, crítica, comunicación y narración ficticia




Sobre estilo, crítica, comunicación y narración ficticia

Publicado en Literatura y crítica. com. José Ángel García Landa

En "Une théorie mentaliste du roman", localizable en Vox Poetica, Sylvie Patron comenta la obra de Jon-Arild Olsen L'Esprit du roman: Oeuvre, fiction, et récit (Peter Lang, 2004). También tiene allí esta entrevista con el autor. Ambas tienen que ver con algunas cuestiones que me ocupan últimamente, como la narratividad, la intencionalidad y la descripción estilística. 
"Qu’est-ce que le style ? À l’opposé des conceptions dominantes du style, qui sont toutes anti-intentionnalistes, Olsen affirme que 'le style comprend toutes les propriétés intentionnelles de l’œuvre qui ne sont pas communiquées. Le style n’est donc pas généré par un code comme la signification des phrases et il n’est pas non plus communiqué de façon inférentielle comme le sens des énoncés ; identifier le style ne consiste ni à décoder des significations, ni à inférer des sens, mais à identifier celles des propriétés intentionnelles de l’œuvre qui sont dépourvues de fonction communicative' (p. 39)."
Me parece excesiva esta restricción del concepto de estilo. Hay aspectos deliberadamente comunicativos del estilo, diría yo, aunque no agoten éstos el área de lo que es estilo. El estilo no comunicativo, podríamos decir, es generado entonces tanto por el autor (o la obra) como por la perspectiva desde la que ésta es contemplada, y que permite que ciertos elementos no intencionales resalten. Depende también del analista o crítico que es capaz de hacernos ver el estilo como un objeto identificable, formulando sus rasgos en un discurso que (esta vez sí) es comunicativo. También hace una labor crítica comparable el parodista que es capaz de captar esos elementos no codificados de una obra, enfatizar su carácter sistemático y así hacerlos perceptibles (y comunicarlos) a un tercero. Esta dimensión no comunicativa del estilo explica por qué el estilo de una época o un género contemplados desde una distancia histórica o cultural aflora muy claramente a la percepción lectora, sobreponiéndose los efectos de estilo a los elementos voluntaria e intencionalmente comunicados por el autor.

Así pues, según Olsen, un elemento estilístico sería a la vez no comunicado e intencional. Señala Patron que es problemática la división que hace Olsen entre elementos intencionales y no, pues es difícil trazar la raya entre unos y otros a la hora de describir una obra. Pero aún hay mayores problemas que hacen esta teoría un tanto decepcionante. De hecho, la noción que tiene Olsen de lo que es comunicativo y de lo que no es muy diferente de la mía, porque en lo básico no parte de una teoría comunicativa de la narración ni de la ficción. (De ahí en parte la extraña amplitud dada a la dimensión "no comunicativa" del estilo). Es decir, gran parte de lo que él considera no lingüísticamente comunicativo, ni narrativo, es para mí lingüísticamente comunicativo... y los auténticos rasgos de estilo no comunicativos (entendidos como gestualidad no codificada del texto) se encuentran mucho, mucho más allá del análisis que interesa a Olsen. (Algo de esta noción del estilo como gesto semiótico a interpretar por un tercero expuse en "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction and Interpretation", esp. nota 12).

También entra Olsen en el debate sobre el autor implícito, al que considera producto de un anti-intencionalismo vergonzante. Erróneamente, en mi opinión. Se trata de una estructuración de las intenciones comunicadas; mal se entiende el autor implícito sin recurrir a la intención. Lo que no deberíamos hacer es atribuirle al autor implícito todo elemento textual no comunicado.

[Inciso: sobre la cuestión del autor implícito (y problemas relacionados, como la narración no fiable) ha habido debates recientes que a veces más han contribuido a confundir que a clarificar la cuestión. Acaba de salir en la serie Narratologia el volumen de Tom Kindt y Hans-Harald Müller The Implied Author: Concept and Controversy (Walter de Gruyter, 2006). Estos autores son partidarios de conservar el concepto como exponente de un intencionalismo hipotético: al autor implícito le atribuimos el sentido de un texto. Y sin embargo rechazan que se le pueda considerar como un sujeto comunicativo.  Yo creo más bien que la función del autor implícito es irrenunciablemente comunicativa (incluyendo en "comunicación" no sólo cuestiones relativas a factualidad o veracidad sino también cuestiones valorativas y evaluativas—evaluaciones comunicadas). Y como digo no se puede atribuir alegremente cualquier "sentido" o elemento textual al autor implícito: antes bien, es una hipótesis comunicativa la que genera al autor implícito como sujeto textual. Al autor implícito no le atribuimos cualquier sentido de un texto, sino los sentidos que identificamos (o construimos) como intencionales, en especial los intencionalmente comunicativos.]

Distingue luego Olsen (como Pavel, dice Patron) entre la doble actitud del lector de ficción: "interna" (leyendo una narración, supuestamente factual, del narrador) y "externa" (leyendo una obra ficticia, responsabilidad del autor). La narratología clásica se ocupaba sólo de cuestiones "internas" y declaraba fuera de su ámbito las "externas". (Supongo que eso significa que mi libro Acción, relato, discurso sería una obra de narratología postclásica, pero a decir verdad no creo en estas dicotomías. Para mí, Wayne Booth es narratología, y lo es Henry James, y lo es Aristóteles, que también serían postclásicos según esta noción).

Los principios constructivos seguidos por el lector se adaptan en esta teoría de la obra de Kendall Walton:

Kendall Walton distingue deux principes d’inférences : le «principe de réalité» (p. 192), qui veut qu’en l’absence d’indications contraires, le lecteur imagine la fiction comme conforme à la réalité, et le «principe de croyances mutuelles» (pp. 203-204), qui demande au lecteur de solliciter, non ses propres croyances, mais celles que l’auteur a présupposées (ce deuxième principe est l’homologue du principe d’imagination directe dans le domaine de l’implicite).


Observa Olsen que las obras artísticas estos principios adoptan formas específicas (supongo que relativas a convenciones, épocas, contextos históricos, géneros—elementos que tenemos que tener en cuenta a la hora de comprender y juzgar una obra).

En la tercera parte, se ocupa Olsen de cuestiones de narratividad. Define así la narración (un tanto imperfectamente, al faltarle el término "representación"):

Contre les définitions anti-intentionnalistes et conventionnalistes de l’histoire, Olsen propose la définition suivante : «une histoire consiste en la succession chronologique de différents états liés par une causalité intentionnelle» (p. 227)  (...)  c’est-à-dire qu’elle concerne, non des événements quelconques, mais des actions humaines. Cependant, ces actions ne peuvent s’organiser pour former une histoire qu’en devenant l’objet d’une narration, c’est-à-dire, selon Olsen, d’une forme d’explication essentiellement rétrospective.
 
La representación de una sucesión, etcétera, diría yo. También la palabra "intencional" está mal aplicada en la definición, porque intencionalidad puede haber en el acto narrativo, y no en el acto narrado: es decir, en el acto de representar intencionalmente, en un acto de ligazón conceptual, un fenómeno cronológico-causal que en sí no es intencional (por ejemplo, cuando narramos la evolución de las especies, o la deriva de los continentes).

La temporalidad de la acción es prospectiva, dice Olsen; la de la historia (o relato), retrospectiva. Pero al ignorar la función retrospectiva de la narración implícita autorial, se queda Olsen sin poder justificar la naturaleza narrativa de formas como la novela epistolar, o el diario ficticio, o el monólogo interior, formas cuya lógica retrospectiva no puede situarse al nivel de los narradores, sino al nivel del autor implícito. Para Olsen hay en estas formas una historia o relato, pero no una narración. En efecto, no hay narración —globalmente entendida— al nivel ficticio, pero sí la hay al nivel autorial que Olsen, como tantos otros narratólogos, pierde de vista. Sí resuelve la cuestión de la narración omnisciente como juego narrativo en boca del propio autor (Esto me recuerda a la discusión que hacía yo del 'narrador-autor' y del 'autor-narrador' en Acción, Relato, Discurso). Pero no parece que el sistema de Olsen permita dar juego para decir que el autor "narra" cuando usa técnicas no primariamente narrativas (mediante cartas, pensamientos, etc.). Lo cual es contraintuitivo, pues de los novelistas decimos que son grandes narradores, y de la narración simple deriva, por emergencia, la narración artística y literaria.

Para Olsen, sin embargo, esta comunicación entre autor y lector no es comunicación narrativa, tiene lugar a algún otro nivel ajeno a las cuestiones de construcción imaginativa de la forma narrativa:

Le public sait que l’histoire fictive lui est communiquée par le romancier ou le réalisateur, mais il n’imagine pas qu’elle lui est communiquée par qui que ce soit. […]. De l’autre côté, il y a les œuvres de fiction comportant une communication fictive qui correspond plus ou moins à leur communication réelle.


Pues tampoco, diría yo. En las obras que incluyen un nivel ficticio de comunicación (entre narrador y narratario), esa comunicación en absoluto corresponde a su comunicación real (ni tampoco a la comunicación allí representada entre un autor y un lector implícito).

Así pues, Patron relaciona la teoría de Olsen con las teorías "no comunicativas" del relato tal como fueron formuladas por Kuroda y Banfield (un tanto paradójicamente, visto el desdén de Olsen por la obra de Banfield). Para ser más precisos, según Olsen en algunas novelas (las que no tienen relato ficticio) hay comunicación autor-lector, pero no hay narración. Para Olsen, en lo fundamental, la narración de ficción no es un fenómeno propiamente verbal o lingüístico. Esto es, según Patron, repetir el movimiento básico de la narratología clásica (o sea, ignorar la dimensión interactiva y comunicativa entre autor y lector). Esa paradoja de la narratología clásica la explicaba bien Rimmon-Kenan ("How the Model Neglects the Medium", 1989): "linguistics was indeed the master-discipline for narratology, but it was mainly applied to non-verbal aspects of narrative (such as its succession of events or “story”), rather than to its verbal medium". Le faltaba, naturalmente, una lingüística de la enunciación (más allá de Benveniste), una lingüística del acto de habla, y en suma, una pragmática del discurso. Patron echa en falta (en Olsen, en la narratología) una mayor atención a la lingüística y al análisis de intenciones e inferencias. Tanto en Acción, Relato, Discurso como en otros estudios más recientes he trabajado yo en esa dirección.

Narración, interacción e interpretación

 

Retroposts
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Retropost (2006): Retroactive Thematization, Interaction and Interpretation

Retroactive Thematization, Interaction and Interpretation

The hermeneutic spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman (PDF).
 
 Publicado en Literatura y crítica. com. José Ángel García Landa
Añado a la web este artículo que ya va cumpliendo años. Empezó como una comunicación en español para un congreso. ("Tematización retroactiva, interacción e interpretación: La espiral hermenéutica de Schleiermacher a Goffman", XXVI Congreso AEDEAN, Santiago de Compostela, diciembre de 2002). Por error de los editores se quedó fuera de las actas... así que lo convertí en un artículo en inglés que envié a un número especial sobre La interfaz Lengua/Literatura que publicaba la revista BELL (Belgian English Language and Literature) —nueva serie, vol. 2 (2004).

 Una versión en español ligeramente diferente apareció como "Tematización retroactiva, interacción e interpretación: La espiral hermenéutica de Schleiermacher a Goffman" en un volumen de homenaje a Gadamer, Hans-Georg Gadamer: Ontología estética y hermenéutica. 

_________
 Texto del artículo en inglés y español, impreso y en repositorios:

José Ángel García Landa.  "Tematización retroactiva, interacción e interpretación: La espiral hermenéutica de Schleiermacher a Goffman." En Hans-Georg Gadamer: Ontología estética y hermenéutica. Ed. Teresa Oñate y Zubía, Cristina García Santos y Miguel Ángel Quintana Paz. Con el "Grupo de Investigaciones estético-políticas Palimpsestos". Facultad de Filosofía, UNED. Libro + DVD: "Gadamer: memoria de un siglo". Madrid: Dykinson, 2005. 679-88.  http://www.uma.es/gadamer/OnateI.htm


_____. "Tematización retroactiva, interacción e interpretación: La espiral hermenéutica de Schleiermacher a Goffman." iPaper en Academia.edu 1 junio 2011.*
http://unizar.academia.edu/Jos%C3%A9AngelGarc%C3%ADaLanda/Papers/641129/Tematizacion_retroactiva_interaccion_e_interpretacion_La_espiral_hermeneutica_de_Schleiermacher_a_Goffman

_____. "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction, and Interpretation: The Hermeneutic Spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman / Tematización Retroactiva, Interacción e Interpretación: La espiral hermenéutica de Schleiermacher a Goffman (Spanish)" PDF en red en Social Science Research Network 17 junio 2011
http://ssrn.com/abstract=1856424


_____. "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction, and Interpretation: The Hermeneutic Spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman." BELL (Belgian English Language and Literature) ns 2 (2004):  155-66.* (Special issue, "The Language/Literature Interface). http://www.baahe.be/BELL2004.html


_____. "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction, and Interpretation: The Hermeneutic Spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman." PDF en red en Net Sight de José Angel García Landa 29 Nov. 2006.
http://www.unizar.es/departamentos/filologia_inglesa/garciala/publicaciones/spiral.pdf


_____. "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction, and Interpretation: The Hermeneutic Spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman." iPaper en Academia.edu (2010)

http://unizar.academia.edu/Jos%C3%A9AngelGarc%C3%ADaLanda/Papers/92673/Retroactive-Thematization--Interaction--and-Interpretation--The-Hermeneutic-Spiral-from-Schleiermacher-to-Goffman


_____. "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction, and Interpretation: The Hermeneutic Spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman." PDF en red en Zaguán 3 Feb. 2009.
http://zaguan.unizar.es/record/1986


_____. "Retroactive Thematization, Interaction, and Interpretation: The Hermeneutic Spiral from Schleiermacher to Goffman." PDF en red en Social Science Research Network 1 junio 2011.
http://ssrn.com/abstract=1856427


Sobre los límites de la interpretación

 

 

Retroposts

 


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Austen, the 'Regional' Novel, and Scott

lunes, 28 de noviembre de 2016

Austen, the 'Regional' Novel, and Scott




(From The Short Oxford History of English Literature, by Andrew Sanders) 
 


Wordsworth, goaded by the high poetic standing accorded to Crabbe by the critics of the great early nineteenth-century journals, consistently denigrated his rival's work. In one of his sharper asides he even ventured to compare Crabbe's poetry to Jane Austen's fiction. Though he admitted that her novels were 'an admirable copy of life', he nevertheless insisted that he could not be interested in 'productions of that kind' and, he protested, 'unless the truth of nature were presented to him clarified, as it were, by the prevailing light of imagination, it had scarce any attraction in his eyes'. Wordsworth's comment suggests something of the breadth of the gulf which seemed to separate the new poetry from the staid, older fashion of a literature which aspired merely to represent nature by copying it. The idea of the transforming power of the imagination, which was to become so much of a commonplace of subsequent criticism, cannot uniformly be applied to the literature of the English 'Romantic' period, nor can the absence of visionary gleams or pervading lights be now seen as crucially detrimental to a substantial portion of the poetry and the fiction of the period. Jane Austen (1775-1817) was, according to her first biographer, an admirer of Johnson in prose, Crabbe in verse, and Cowper in both; she 'thoroughly enjoyed' Crabbe's work and would sometimes say 'in jest' that if ever she married at all 'she could fancy being Mrs Crabbe'. Such conservative tastes in matrimony and literature should not be viewed as inconsistent either with Austen's own work or with the opinions of many of her original readers.

J. Austen-Leigh's memoir of his unmarried aunt assumes that she shared the feeling of 'moderate Toryism which prevailed in her family'. Austen's novels ostensibly suggest little active political commitment or deep involvement in national and international affairs. The class to which she belonged, and which her fiction almost exclusively describes, had largely remained unruffled and unthreatened by the ructions across the Channel, but the immediate aftermath of the French Revolution, the long-drawn-out conflict between Britain and France and the active risk of a French invasion, left few families untouches by the Napoleonic Empire and the domestic and foreign policies of the succession of repressive Tory governments. Although a well-connected cousin of the Austens had died on the scaffold in France, and although the novelist's two yhounger brothers served as officers in the navy in the great campaign against Napoleon, any discussion of revolutionary politics is eschewed and the war remains a relatively marginal (or at least, largely male) concern, even in novels such as Mansfield Park and Persuasion which introduce naval officers as characters. The desperate domestic measures introduced by British governments to counter political dissent, notably the frequent suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act (which secured the liberty of the citizen against arbitrary imprisonment) and the emergency legislation aimed against all kinds of 'sedition' (such as the enforcement of the Combination Acts), are passed over silently. The agricultural depression which left many farm labourers destitute and the widespread evidence of rural pauperism is glanced at only as the occasion of genteel charity or, as in the case of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice, as an occasion for scolding the poor 'into harmony and plenty'. The vast advances in industrialization and imperial expansion, and the social earthquake consequent upon both, elicit mere allusions. The upper-middle-class world of Austen's fiction is seen as secure in its values, its privileges, and its snobberies. It is a society which defines itself very precisely in terms of land, money, and class and it accepts that rank is an essential guinea-stamp. Its awareness of geographical space is generally revealed only with reference to far-flung estates and the incomes derived from them, and to forays into the fashionable society of London or Bath. Its attachment to nature and to natural scenery is expressed in transitory enthusiasms for picnics at Box Hill and trips to the seaside or for parkland disciplined and tidied up by landscape gardeners.

Jane Austen is far too subtle, challenging, and inventive a novelist to be usefully defined by negatives. Her work may seem to stand apart from the preoccupations of many of her literary contemporaries, but it remains very much of its time. It is, in many significant ways, defined in Christianly conservative, but not necessarily reactionary, terms against current radical enthusiasts. It should also be seen as standing in, and presenting variations on, an established fictional tradition. Where new writers who had espoused Jacobin libertarianism spoke of rights, Austen refers to duties; where they look for steady human improvement, she remains sceptical about the nature of the fallen human condition. The late eighteenth-century cultivation of sensibility and sentiment, and the new 'Romantic' insistence on the propirety of passion, are consistently countered in her novels by an ironic exposure of affectation and by a steady affirmation of the virtues of restraint. Austen chose her own literary limitations, not simply because she held that 'three or four families in a country village' were an ideal subject for the novel, but because her omissions were considered and deliberate. Her moral message is infused with an ideological insistence on the merits of good conduct, good manners, sound reason, and marriage as an admirable social institution. She never scorns love, but she balances its often disconcerting and disruptive nature with a firm advocacy of the complementary qualities of self-knowledge, self-discipline, and practicality. Her heroines can be as vivaciously intelligent as Elizabeth Bennett and as witty, egotistic, and independent as Emma Woodhouse, but both, like the essentially introspective Elinor Dashwood or the passive and self-effacing Fanny Price, are finally brought to mature judgement and, by proper extension, emotional fulfilment. The narrative line of Sense and Sensibility (1811), which balances maturity against impulsiveness, also systematically undermines the attractions of superficial glamour and contrasts conflicting value systems and ways of seeing. In the two other novels which were probably begun in the 1790s and later revised, Northanger Abbey (1818) and Pride and Prejudice (1813), first impressions, illusisons, and subjective opinions or prejudices give way to detachment, balance, reasonableness and, more painfully, to humiliating reassessment. Mere cleverness, wit, or spontaneity, though admirable in themselves, are never allowed to triumph without being linked to some steadier moral assurance.

The scrupulous pattern of education that Austen requires of her major characters (both male and female) is also required of her readers. Those who merely seek to escape into a delicately placid and undemanding fictional world wilfully misread her novels. Throughout her work, but especially in her three later novels, Mansfield Park (1814), Emma (1816), and Persuasion (1818), she obliges readers to participate in the moral processes of disciplined learning, weighing, and judging, and in the gradual establishment of the principle that judgement is contingent upon understanding. This is not to imply that Austen is either priggish or stridently polemic (she is, it should go without saying, one of the most calculatingly amusing of all English novelists), but to suggest that her readers have to be constantly alert to her tone and to her supple narrative method. The relatively restricted world of her novels, and the social and physical confines of her settings, define the limits in which opinions are formed and within which her fools and snobs, her bores and gossips, her prudes and poseurs, must be both endured and accepted. The illusion of actuality which she so succintly suggests also enforces a response to a society confident of its own codes and values. In Emma, for example, we follow the heroine in her often wayward exploration of manipulations, misapprehensions, niceties, complacencies, and lapses in judgement, but we also see her finding a personal liberation within the enclosure of the society whose rules she learns to respect and use. Austen's often astringent anti-romanticism is nowhere more evident than in Mansfield Park, a novel centred on a heroine suffering from what she admits are 'faults of ignorance and timidity', but also one who embodies, like the man she finally marries, a Christian forbearance which can be seen as informing her grasp of tact and decorum. If the values of the novel, most clearly expressed in the embarrassments surrounding the play-acting which so offend Sir Thomas Bertram, often seem to be at odds with twentieth-century preconceptions of character and social action, for Austen such values are projected as essential to the happy development of human affairs. The relatively sombre tone of Persuasion also emphasizes the importance of the process of learning and judging through which all her heroines pass. Anne Elliot is not only Austen's most astute literary critic (she finds it 'the misfortune of poetry, to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely'), she is also her most discriminating woman character, the one whose intelligence most effectively balances the merits of conflicting opinions, ideas, impressions, and feelings. It is against Anne's sunny 'domestic' virtues that the world in which she moves so often seems shallow, worldly, petty, and vain. The freedom which all Austen's lovers attain is a freedom of action and moral decision worked out, not in a deceptively 'gracious' society, but in a post-lapsarian world often unaware that it is in constant need of grace.





SIR WALTER SCOTT


Retropost (2006): El Nuevo Régimen de la escritura pública



El Nuevo Régimen de la escritura pública

Publicado en Netiqueta. com. José Ángel García Landa

Interesante artículo en el New York Times sobre los rectores y directores de centro que abren un blog. A veces hasta con comentarios; qué atrevidos. Claro que van con bastantes pies de plomo en lo que escriben, faltaría más. 

Un blog puede ser cualquier cosa, o sea que "abrir un blog" en sí no quiere decir nada. Puede ser desde una sonrisa profidén que muestre la cara oficial (y perfecta por tanto) de la Universidad, hasta una cosa obscena, impresentable en público, y que metería a un personaje con cargo de gobierno académico en una serie de problemas que harían parecer chiquitos a los que ya tienen de entrada.

Yo no tengo ningún cargo, y sin embargo sé que llegará el momento en el que el blog me cree algún tipo de problemas profesionales, no sé si serios o no. Para saberlo no hay que ver sino la hiperprudencia con la que un medio de comunicación tan fascinante como éste (me refiero ahora a los blogs en general, no sólo al mío) ha sido recibido en la pacata universidad. Los académicos, con muy contadas excepciones, no se abren blogs. Y de hacerlo, optan naturalmente por el blog especializado en un tema (en los blogs, por ejemplo, o en los libros), no por el blog blog, esa cosa que va de todo y de nada. Supongo que mucho es cuestión de carácter, o de unos rituales de vigilancia mutua que ya se internalizan desde los tiempos del aula. Vigilancia mutua, digo, y a la vez miedo a la vigilancia mutua, que las dos cosas van juntas. Tampoco creo que sean cosas exclusivas de los académicos, claro. En cualquier pequeña sociedad laboral puede resultar la convivencia alterada cuando no se observan de la manera acostumbrada las pequeñas hipocresías que hacen tolerable la vida en sociedad y van engrasando los mecanismos del trato comunicativo.
Mortadelo blog
No digo que los blogs escapen a este régimen de vigilancia, secretismo, y de verdades oficiales. Lo observan a su manera, por supuesto. Yo, por ejemplo, no me pongo aquí a pregonar todo lo que se me pasa por la cabeza ni a decir lo que pienso de todo el mundo con nombres y apellidos, faltaría más. Se siguen protocolos. A lo que voy es que la existencia de los blogs hace que los protocolos se desplacen, siquiera ligeramente (ligeramente de momento, al ser pocos los blogs; más a medida que vaya cogiendo fuerza este nuevo régimen de la escritura pública).

Como sucedió con el correo electrónico, los blogs alteran el orden existente entre la oralidad y la escritura. Hay dos dimensiones importantes: cuestiones de tono, informalidad e intimidad, y cuestiones de accesibilidad y publicidad. En el caso del e-mail, se ha comentado mucho la manera en que se incorpora de una nueva manera el lenguaje hablado a la escritura; los protocolos escritos tradicionales de las cartas quedan trastocados, y a veces los intercambios se aproximan mucho más a una conversación informal. Lo cual puede acarrear problemas de protocolo comunicativo, cortesía... También en los blogs la informalidad espontánea con que se redactan puede resultar ofensiva o descortés para muchos, aunque no sea más que por la superposición de temas y de perspectivas que se dan en el blog blog, y no digamos por la posibilidad de comentarios anónimos públicos... Los trolls, desde luego, explotan todas las posibilidades de descortesía que tiene el medio, dándole al bloguero, digamos, taza y media de su propio caldo.

Pero aún más que las cuestiones de tono, el régimen de las comunicaciones queda alterado por el nuevo acceso a la comunicación múltiple y masiva por parte de los individuos. Aún recuerdo la ira de un anterior director de departamento nuestro al descubrir que no tenía manera de controlar las comunicaciones por correo electrónico, y que de la misma manera que él podía enviar a todos los colegas una circular, podía hacerlo yo mismo con un mensaje que quisiese comunicarles, y sin solicitar su autorización. Casi temor reverencial despiertan las posibilidades de esta nueva situación: de ahí que sean contadísimos los casos, por ejemplo, en los que alguien envía una comunicación de carácter dudoso o problemático a una lista de distribución. (Un problema de esa índole dio lugar a la creación del Rincón de Opinión de la Universidad de Zaragoza, donde casi nadie menos yo mismo opina). Otro ejemplo de este temor reverencial al nuevo régimen comunicativo podría ser que a pesar de ventilarse en mi blog cuestiones polémicas a veces sobre cuestiones de trabajo, y ser bastante bien conocido (y el único medio público en el que se habla de estas cuestiones) jamás ningún colega pone comentarios ni a favor ni en contra de mi opinion (ni siquiera anónimamente, creo). Podría interpretarse como un caso de "a palabras necias, oídos sordos", claro, pero creo que no cabe la cuestión en esos términos únicamente. Existe miedo, miedo por una parte a la opinión libre en la Universidad, y miedo por otra al nuevo régimen de comunicaciones, por lo que tiene de desconocido, de protocolos fluidos, de identidades problemáticas, de consecuencias imprevisibles.

Hasta hace poco, que algo apareciese por escrito y en público requería que el interesado dispusiese de imprenta y servicio de distribución propio, o que fuese el director de un periódico—o que el escrito fuese filtrado previamente por los protocolos editoriales y censura preventiva de los periodistas y editores. Por ejemplo, a mí hace unos años, durante una huelga, un grupo de matones sindicales bloqueó la entrada a la Facultad y me impidió entrar. Yo dirigí una carta de protesta al Rector, que fue ignorada, y al director del Heraldo de Aragón; también fue ignorada, a pesar de que al director del Heraldo, que era profesor de la Facultad, le podía haber preocupado que grupos de matones bloqueasen la entrada a su Facultad. O el Rector podía haber protestado ante los sindicatos en cuestión, como yo le sugería. El caso es que se consideró irrelevante (—matones, pschá); y ahí quedó la cosa, y yo con mi enfado. Hoy por lo menos lo ventilaría en mi blog, y con eso que me quedaría probablemente, pero al menos mi narración de los hechos no habría sufrido la censura previa a su publicación. 

Claro que aunque en los blogs la expresión sea más libre, no es que carezcan por completo de mediación. Y también antes uno podía fotocopiarse octavillas, o escribirlas a mano, y repartirlas en la vía pública para dar a conocer sus opiniones, con lo cual se convertía en un personaje mentalmente desharrapado y de dudosa reputación. Los blogueros que despotricamos demasiado nos vemos relegados un tanto a ese papel, sobre todo si nuestras quejas se vuelven personales. Una nueva tecnología no supone de por sí una alteración súbita del sistema de jerarquización del valor de las enunciaciones. Y sin embargo el nuevo régimen de la escritura y de las comunicaciones existe, y no puede sino influir en ese orden público de la comunicación. Los blogs no van a desaparecer: en todo caso se van enriqueciendo, volviéndose multimedia, incorporando sonido, imágenes, con sistemas de tratamiento también cada vez más personalizados (como ha sido personalizado el sistema de publicación). Así que me temo que la estrategia de hacer como que no existen... tiene un recorrido limitado. Predigo, en su lugar, que pasaremos a una mayor regulación de los protocolos, como ha hecho la BBC (Pink Blogging Allowed). Los profesionales viviremos en China, con obligación de identificarnos in propria persona en los blogs. Y se establecerá de modo detallado qué tipo de expresiones, contenidos, alusiones, imágenes y temáticas son aceptables. 

Los pies de plomo con los que la academia (y la empresa, pronto lo mismo) han recibido las nuevas tecnologías (ni hablar, ni ver, ni oír), son ya una anticipación de ese Nuevo Orden, que será, en muchas cosas básicas, parecido al viejo. El Gran Hermano de Orwell no es una cosa del pasado, de 1984. Es, como bien sabía Orwell, una cosa del presente, y del futuro que nos espera siendo el presente el que es. 

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—oOo—

Comunicación, periodismo y género

viernes, 25 de noviembre de 2016

Comunicación, periodismo y género

Un volumen de estudios sobre la representación del género y de la violencia de género en los medios:

Oller Alonso, Martín, and Mª Cruz Tornay Márquez, eds. Comunicación, periodismo y género: Una mirada desde Iberoamérica. Prologue by Mª del Mar Ramírez Alvarado. Ediciones Egregius, 2016. Online at IdUS: Depósito de Investigación Universidad de Sevilla.*
         https://idus.us.es/xmlui/handle/11441/48548
         http://hdl.handle.net/11441/48548
         https://idus.us.es/xmlui/bitstream/handle/11441/48548/periodismoygenero.pdf
         2016
Me citan, por cierto, a cuenta de Acción, Relato, Discurso.
Gender, I-deology
 
  —oOo—

Me citan en Australasia

miércoles, 23 de noviembre de 2016

Me citan en Australasia

 

Me citan en Australasia, en concreto en este artículo:
Walker, Amelia. "Écriture Matière Matters: A Queer Review of Quinn Eades's all the beginnings." JASAL: Journal of the Association for the Study of Australasian Literature 16.1 (2016).*
    https://www.questia.com/library/journal/1P3-4138479441/all-the-beginnings-a-queer-autobiography-of-the-body
         Online PDF:
         http://openjournals.library.usyd.edu.au/index.php/JASAL/article/download/10921/10586
         2016
Es una reseña de:
Eades, Quinn. All the Beginnings: A Queer Autobiography of the Body. Melbourne: Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2015.

 

Y el artículo que citan es éste:
_____. "Understanding Misreading: A Hermeneutic / Deconstructive Approach." In The Pragmatics of Understanding and Misunderstanding. Ed. Beatriz Penas. Zaragoza: Universidad de Zaragoza, 1998. 57-72.*
Que también está aquí:
 
_____. "Understanding Misreading: A Hermeneutic-Deconstructive Approach." Online PDF at Social Science Research Network 5 April 2010.*
         http://ssrn.com/abstract=1581444
         2010

Hemingway, Ernest [Miller]

domingo, 20 de noviembre de 2016

HEMINGWAY, Ernest [Miller]

(from The Oxford Companion to American Literature, by Hart and Leininger)



HEMINGWAY, ERNEST [MILLER] (1899-1961), born in Illinois, while attending school made frequent hunting and fishing expeditions in Northern Michigan, which helped condition his later primitivistic attitude. After working as a Kansas City reporter, he joined a volunteer ambulance unit in France, then transferred to the Italian infantry until the close of World War I, after which he reported battles in the Near East for the Toronto Star, and settled in Paris as a member of the expatriate group.

Influenced by Ezra Pound and particularly by Gertrude Stein, wholse style strongly affected him, he published Three Stories & Ten Poems (Paris, 1923) and *In Our Time (U.S. 1925). Thse early stories already exhibited the attitude of mind and technique for which he later became famous. As the leading spokesman for the "lost generation" he expressed the feelings of a war-wounded people disillusioned by the loss of faith and hope, and so thoroughly defeated by the collapse of former values that, their atrophied nerves not permitting them to attack their betrayers, they could turn only to a stoic acceptance of primal emotions. The stories are mainly concerned with "tough" people, either intelligent men and women who have dropped into an exhausted cynicism, or such primitives as frontiersmen, Indians, and professional athletes, whose essential courage and honesty are implicitly contrasted with the brutality of civilized society. Emotion is held at arm's length; only the bare happenings are recorded, and emphasis is obtained by understatement and spare dialogue.

After Hemingway returned to New York and wrote the lesser satirical novel The Torrents of Spring (1926), he carried the style and attitude of his short stories into the novel *The Sun Also Rises (1926), which tells of the moral collapse of a group of expatriated Americans and Englishmen, broken by the war, who turn toward escape through all possible violent diversions. Success in fictional craftsmanship and in portraying the mind of an era was again achieved in *A Farewell to Arms (1929), the poignant love story of an English nurse and an American ambulance lieutenant during the war. Besides further distinguished collections of short stories, *Men Without Women (1927) and *Winner Take Nothing (1933), he wrote only two lesser books during the next few years, although his work continued to exercise a great influence on the literature of the period. *Death in the Afternoon (1932), a book on bullfighting, and Green Hills of Africa (1935), an account of big-game hunting with digressions on literary matters, show a further cultivation of the primitive and brutal levels, contrasted with the hollow culture that had cheated his generation.

In *To Have and Have Not (1937). Hemingway for the first time showed an interest in a possible solution of social problems though collective action. This attitude continued in newspaper articles from Spain about its civil war, whose espionage was the subject of his realistic play, The Fifth Column, adapted fro the stage (1940) by Benjamin Glazer, and printed in The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories (1938), in which appeared two of his finest stories, *"The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber" and *"The Snows of Kilimanjaro". *For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940), his longest novel, on an incident in the Spanish Civil War, has universality in its thesis that the loss of liberty in one place means a loss everywhere. He edited an anthology, Men at War (1942), but issued no new novel until Across the River and into the Trees (1950), which was considered to show that Hemingway had become bitter and defeatist like his tale's protagonist, and aging colonel. With *The Old Man and the Sea (1952), a parable of man against nature in a poignant novelette, he recaptured his xritical acclaim, recognized in a Nobel Prize (1954).

In his last years he published nothing, and he had been seriously ill for some time before his death as a suicide by gunshot. However, several posthumous works followed, most notably *A Moveable Feast (1964), sketches of his life and acquaintances in Paris, 1921-1926, and Islands in the Stream, (1970), a novel in three parts about a painter's unhappy marriage, his affection for his sons, their deaths, his bravery in war, his pleasure in deep-sea fishing, and his loneliness. Another novel, wirrten in the 1940s, edited and published in 1986, The Garden of Eden, begins with the honeymoon of an enticing young couple, David and Catherine Bourne, he a good wirter, she an heiress, who break up over serious sexual differences. Later compliations include The Wild Years (1962), his journalism for the Toronto Star; By-Lines (1967), selected journalism of four decades; The Nick Adams Stories (1972), eight of them previously unpublished; and three collections of verse, the last and most inclusive being 88 Poems (1979). Selected Letters was issued in 1981.



In Our Time, 15 short stories by *Hemingway withe vignettes serving as interchapters, published in the U.S. in 1925. In Our Time (Paris, 1924) contains only the vignettes. Most stories treat life in the Middle West, but the interpolated sketches describe war in Europe and bullfights.

"Indian Camp." "The Doctor and the Doctor's Wife," "The Three Day Blow," and others tell of the boyhood experiences of Nick, the author's counterpart, who grew up in the Great Lakes region, learning the bitter as well as the beautiful facts of existence through the work of his father, a physician, and through his association with Indian guides and their families. Such stories as "Mr. and Mrs. Elliot," "Out of Season," and "Cross Country Snow" are brief, poignant tales of American expatriates in Europe and their complex loves and friendships. "My Old Man" is the story of a boy's loyalty to his father, an American jockey forced to work in Europe because of unsportsmanlike conduct at home, and of the boy's disillusion following his father's death. The author's enthusiasm for sport and the American wilderness is shown in "Bit Two-Hearted River," an account of a trout-fishing expedition.


The Sun Also Rises, novel by *Hemingway, published in 1926. The title is derived from a pessimistic passage in Ecclesiastes, expressing a cynical disillusion in keeping with the postwar attitude. The English title of the work is Fiesta.

Lady Brett Ashley, "as charming when she is drunk as when she is sober," is traveling on the continent, waiting for a divorce in order to marry Michael Campbell. Among her other satellites are Jake Barnes, an American newspaper correspondent; his friend Bill Gorton; Robert Cohn, an American Jewish novelist; and an eccentric Greek count. Cohn is weary of his mistress, Frances Clyne, and falls in love with Brett, although neither she nor his other acquaintances feel any real affection for him. The group leave Paris for an excursion in Spain, where they visit the fiesta at Pamplona. They are enthusiastic fans of the bullfights, finding in the ritualistic spectacle a mysterious beauty of precision. Brett and Jake are in love, but unahppily, because a wartime injury has emasculated him. She falls in love with a young bullfighter, Pedro Romero, with whom she elopes; and Cohn departs, expressing his anger by beating Jake, Michael, and Romero. When Romero wants to marry her, Brett decides to return to Michael, who is one of her own kind. She tells Jake, "We could have had such a damned good time together," and he concludes, "Yes. Isn't it pretty to think so?"




A Farewell to Arms, novel by Hemingway, published in 1929, and dramatized by Laurence Stallings (1930).

Frederic Henry, an American lieutenant in the Italian ambulance service during World War I, falls in love with an English nurse, Catherine Barkley. She returns his feeling, and when Herny, wounded during a bombardment, is sent to a hospital at Milan, Catherine comes to nurse him. They spend a happy summer together while he recuperates, and in the autumn Catherine confesses that she is pregnant, but will not marry him, fearing to be sent back to England. Henry returns to his post, finds his comrade Rinaldi depressed by the monotonous horros of the war, and shares the suffering during the disastrous retreat from Caporetto. He deserts, learns that Catherine has been transderred to Stresa, and joins her there. Although he is in civilian clothes, he is suspected, and forced to flee with Catherine to Switzerland. They go to Lausanne for the birth of their child, but both mother and baby die, leaving Henry desolate and alone in a strange land.


Men without Women, 14 short stories by *Hemingway, published in 1927.

"The Undefeated" tells of the futile heroism of Manuel Garcia, a Spanish bullfighter just released from a hospital, who stubbornly refuses to retire, secures an ill-paid "nocturnal" engagement, and gives an adequate performance before an appreciative audience, but is seriously injured and returned to the hospital. "The Killers" describes the tense atmosphere in a small-town lunchroom, when two Chicago gangsters enter to await Ole Andreson, whom they have been paid to murder. He fails to arrive, and they finally leave. Nick, the waiter, goes to Andreson's room, and finds the victim aware of his impending doom but paralyzed by fear and unwilling to attempt escape. "Fifty Grand" is the story of a champion prizefighter, Jack Brennan, and his bout with the condender Walcott. The midde-aged champion, worried by his responsibilities, cannot train properly, decides that he is bound to lose, and bets $50,000 on his own defeat. He fights well for several rounds, until brutally fouled by his opponent. Insisting that this was an accident, he continues with difficulty, then suddenly ends the matter by an obvious foul on Walcott. "'It's funny how fast you can think when it means that much money'", he says.


Winner Take Nothing, 14 sotires by *Hemingway, published in 1933.

"The Light of the World," set in a small town in the Middle West, has for its chief character a fat, blonde prostitute, who recalls nostalgically the prizefighter who furnished the one rudimentary romantic episode of her life. *"A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" portrays the desolate lives of a writer and a customer of a Spanish café. 

At a sidewalk table of a Spanish café an old, deaf man sits drinking brandy late at night as the two waiters discuss him, the older one with sympathy because he too is lonely, fearful, confident of nothing, and also in need of the security of a clean, well-lighted place.


"The Sea-Change" tells of the tragic separation of a young couple, when the girl drifts into a homosexual relation with another woman. "A Way You'll Never Be" describes the hysterical reaction of a young American officer in the Italian army, when he is relieved from active duty and thus has time to become aware of the significance of the war. "Homage to Switzerland" contains three vignettes of fatuous middle-class American tourists in Europe. "A Natural History of the Dead" is a bitter satire on the results of modern warfare. "The Gmbler, the Nun, and the Radio" is concerned with two hospital patients, a Mexican gambler and an author, and the way in which the writer cynically plays upon the phrase "the opium of the people."


Death in the Afternoon, discursive work by *Hemingway, published in 1932. In it he describes the rearing and fighting of bulls in Spain, and depicts the bullfight as a kind of microcosmic tragedy, in which the death of the bull is inevitable but must be achieved by the observance of ritual, which gives the animal a maximum chance to destroy the matador. The discussion includes lengthy digressions, in the form of conversations between the author and an old lady, presenting his philsophy through the discussion of various aspects of life and death.


To Have and Have Not, novel by *Hemingway, published in 1937.

Harry Morgan, a tough "conch," as natives of Key West, Fla., call themselves, has devoted his life to the single-minded effort of keeping himself, his wife, and his children on the upper fringe of the "have-nots." He hires out his powerboat to wealthy men for fishing trips, but, when the Depression destroys this source of income and a rich tourist welshes on payment for lost fishing tackle, he is obliged to turn to illegal activities. He contracts to smuggle Chinese from Cuba into the U.S., but, taking their money, murders their leader and abandons the others. While smuggling illegal liquor, he is captured in a gun battle by federal officers, loses an arm, and has his boat confiscated. In a last desperate attempt to obtain money, he aids in the escape of four bank robbers, although realizing that unless he kills them they will kill him. This he does, but they wound him fatally. Picked up by the Coast Guard and accused of being a member of the gang, he stammers, "'A man . . . ain't got no hasn't got any can't really isn't any way out . . . One man alone ain't got . . . no chance.' He shut his eyes. It had taken him a long time to get it out and it had taken him all his life to learn it."

The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, short story by Ernest *Hemingway, published in Cosmopolitan (Sept. 1936) and collected in The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories (1938).

An American couple on a safari in Kenya, the Macombers have long given the impression of a glamorous and comparatively happy marriage, although the basis for their union is that "Margot was too beautiful for Macomber to divorce her and Macomber had too much money for Margot ever to leave him." The marriage comes to a new straining point when in cowardice he runs from a wounded lion that he has shot badly, and she, in disgust, gives herself that night to the professional hunter and guide, the sturdy Englishman Robert Wilson. The next day, in a surge of excitement, Macomber discovers self-confidence and happiness as he shoots three wild buffalo, but Margot is suddenly made insecure as she sees him at last as a man who will dominate their marriage. Forced to go into the hiding place of one of the animals he has only wounded to administer the coup de grâce, Macomber seems about to be gored by the buffalo when from the car Mrs. Macomber shoots at the beast and kills her husband instead, after which Wilson says wryly, "Of course it's an accident. I know that."


The Snows of Kilimanjaro, story by *Hemingway, published in Esquire (Aug. 1936) and collected in The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories (1938).

Dying with "a great tiredness and anger" of blood poisoning from his gangrenous leg, the novelist Harry lies in camp on his African safari, accopmapnied by his wife and native attendants, waiting for a rescue plane that he knows will arrive too late, and remembers experiences that were to have served as subjects of stories when he knew enough to write them well. But he realizes too that he has destroyed his talent by sloth, by enjoyments such as the marriage with his rich wife could bring, and that he hates himself as he vents his cruelty on her. As he knows he will die that night, he tries to write, but vividly he feels and sees and smells death as he drops off, dreaming that the plane has come and taken him not to a hospital but to the very top of Kilimanjaro, said to be the highest mountain in Africa, where, according to the story's epigraph, close to the summit that is called teh House of God "there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude."

For Whom the Bell Tolls, novel by *Hemingway, published in 1940. The title is derived from a sermon by Donne: "No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent . . . And therefore never send to know for whom the bell toll; it tolls for thee." 

Robert Jordan, an American, has entered the Loyalist army during the Spanish Civil War of the 1930s, and has been sent to join a guerrilla band in the mountains near Segovia to blow up a strategic bridge at the exact minute that will help a Loyalist advance. During the three days and nights that he spends in the guerrilla's cave, he awaits with a romantic opposition to heroism what he suspects will be his own destruction and that of his companions. He falls in love with Maria, daughter of a Republican mayor, who has seen her parents killed and was herself raped by Falangists. Her close-cropped hair is a symbol of her tortures; Jordan helps her to regain her desire to live. Their passioinate love is abetted by the powerful woman Pilar, who dominates the group by her force of character, gusto, and love of the Republic. Her man Pablo is wily but lacks belief and hence courage. The others include foul-mouthed Agustín; pedantic, dignified Fernando; the gypsy Rafael; and the adoring Andrés. A sense of impending disaster develops, with smolering opposition within the group, a Falangist attack on the guerrilla leader El Sordo on a neighboring hill, acts of cowardice by Pablo, and a mission by Andrés to Loyalist headquarters to carry a note from Jordan saying the advance is likely to fail, with the messenger impeded by the Communists' bureaucracy and suspicion. The generals finally realize they should have cancelled the attack, but it is too late. Leaving the retreat, Jordan successfully blasts the bridge. In the attempt to flee he is wounded, and forces the others to leave hism. He lies on the hillside almost delirious, restraining himself from suicide so that he may shoot the leader of the Fascists, and thinks, "I have fought for what I believed in for a year now. If we win here we will win everywhere. . . ."


The Old Man and the Sea, novelette by *Hemingway, published in 1952.

This parable of man's struggle with the natural world, of his noble courage and endurance, tells of the Cuban fisherman Santiago, who for 84 luckless days has rowed his skiff into the Gulf Stream in quest of marlin. At first accompanied by the boy Manolin, with whom he talked of better days and about the great sport of baseball, he is now alone. Aged and solitary, he goes far out and hooks a great fish that tows his boat all afternoon and night and into the next day as he pits his skill and waning strength against it the way he once did as a wrestler called "El Campeón." As the second night turns to dawn he finally harpoons his catch, lashes it to his small boat, and makes his weary way home. As he sails down to port sharks attack his catch and he fights them as best he can with a knife lashed to the tiller gripped in raw hands. Whan he makes land his marlin is but a skeleton. Proud in defeat, Santiago furls his sail and staggers to his shack to be found by the boy and other fishermen, who marvel at his catch, while the spent man sleeps and dreams of past experience.


A Moveable Feast, memoir by *Hemingway of his life in Paris (1921-26), published in 1964. In brief sketches the work summons up the sense of what Paris meant to him as a writer beginning a career and to other expatriate Americans. It tells how Gertrude Stein came to employ the term "lost generation" and of his friendship and falling out with her, of Pound, Fitzgerald, and other associates.