With Julian Barnes’ historical-fiction, “Arthur and George”, I find myself wondering how fictional historical-fiction can be. Throughout the novel George Edalji is often shown being passive and quieter than his titular counterpart Arthur Conan Doyle, who’s depicted as a loud man of honor, and a proud proprietor of “Chivalrous Acts Inc”. In the novel readers are often made aware of George’s loyalty and passion towards his Englishness, said loyalty coming from a man who is half Parsi thanks to his father. George’s father was instructional in George’s idea of Englishness, having him chant of the centrality of the British empire on occasion. Ol’ Shapurji Edalji didn’t mention much about his Parsi heritage though, only later in George’s adolescence does he even begin to make it plain that George is indeed “different”. The concept of different in this context is only relative to the imperial power of the time. In “Arthur and George” that imperial power is British and firmly English, but what does it mean to be English? Also, what does it mean to be black? While meeting to inquire on the backstory of George Edalji, Sergeant Parsons mentions that there were “people saying they didn’t want a black man (Shapurji) in the pulpit telling them what sinners they were” (George, 98, Kindle), and to quote Kendrick Lamar, “that word is only a color, it ain’t facts no more” (“Yah.”, 2017). An Indian man being referred to as black is interesting to me because it suggests that the term black is simply a label that is viewed as inferior to its fellow label, white. It also shows that the meaning of the term black, like many words over time, has changed. To this day we still refer to African-Americans as black and European-Americans as white. I still say that I’m black and that other people are white, the verbiage has become ingrained within our culture, which is surely not a revelation. I just think that it is worth mentioning because the two terms create a binary that then makes it easier for people to categorize others. In our efforts to understand the world and the people in it we often craft the easiest route to that understanding. So, back to my question, what does it mean to be English, an Englishman rather? As Barnes weaves within the narrative Arthur is not the entirely English fellow that he wishes for his sister to find herself, and yet he is hardly questioned about this. In his verbal duel with Anson, Arthur is the one who mentions his Scottish ancestry, not Anson. Meanwhile, George couldn’t walk home from school without someone questioning where he’s really from. I have no intention of answering what it means to be an Englishman because I don’t know, after all the rules don’t make sense. George was born in Britain, which should meet the criteria enough, not to mention that he’s proud of the laws of England too, the same laws that don’t abide by him. George, and his father for that matter, had even revoked his own Parsi-ness for the sake of living a quiet life as a solicitor. I don’t blame George for that last part, or for anything that happened to him. I blame Shapurji a little though. I can read Shapurji in a more sympathetic light and say that he was holding back on his ancestral knowledge for his son’s betterment. Maybe he thought that this would keep George focused on living the best life he could live. However, it would have been helpful, especially with Shapurji being born and raised(?) in India, if George would have been able to learn more about his background. This goes back to my wondering about how fictional historical-fiction could be. I don’t know if the real Shapurji Edalji ever talked to his son about his heritage, I don’t know if George Edalji ever declared that he wasn’t Parsi. Honestly, I will never know for sure. I feel like this post has been a long, swaying ramble, but in an attempt to tie this up sort of neatly, I will concede that some questions cannot be answered by yours truly. I am okay with that.. I guess? Works Cited Lamar, K. Damn. Top Dawg Entertainment, 2017. Barnes, J. Arthur and George. Alfred A. Knopf, 2006.
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The discussion about whether or not Mary Whitney is real in Alias Grace reminded me of a character, from Yu Yu Hakusho by Yoshihiro Togashi, named Sensui Shinobu, a traumatized former detective. To keep this post from diverging too far all I will say about Sensui is that he was a detective who had a very black and white way of viewing the world and his job within that world. This view of his was shattered after he witnessed something that went against what he previously believed to be true. The trauma was so much to bear that it caused him to have a mental breakdown after which he turned towards rectifying his past actions (also turning him into a shonen anime villain). In that turn to villainy, he also developed seven alternative personalities to cope with the knowledge of his discovery. It would be an understatement to simply say that Grace Marks experienced a lot of trauma throughout her life. Before she reached the age of seventeen she had lost her mother while aboard a congested ship, was ostracized from her family, and neglected and abused physically and emotionally by her drunken father. If these traumas weren’t enough she also lost her best friend Mary Whitney, at least that’s what we are expected to believe based on what she tells Dr. Jordan. Grace also notes that madness is something that one views from the inside of themselves as they are possessed by someone else. I have been contemplating whether or not Mary Whitney is real in Alias Grace, and her relevance to Grace’s story of innocence. Why is it beneficial for Grace to mention Mary Whitney to Dr. Jordan? While my go to answer is plot, I think that there is significance in that Mary Whitney was someone who had a positive (?) influence on Grace and her involvement in the mystery acted as a way of making Grace seem more empathetic to Dr. Jordan. I can imagine that losing someone of that status would be beyond traumatic, especially under the circumstances of Whitney’s passing. I’ve read about Alias Grace as a prison narrative (see in the resource guide) and Atwood does a great job of showing how confined Grace is at all times throughout the novel. Whether it be as a servant to richer families, as a woman in a patriarchal society, as a literal prisoner, and even as a criminal she is locked within the confines of infamy, with a 2017 Netflix adaptation as proof of her relevance still. What if Grace was also confined within herself? The title Alias Grace is definitely a clever one by Atwood. She doesn’t want us to feel like we know too much, because in reality we don’t, but hypothesizing that Mary Whitney and Grace Marks became one in the same is still interesting to me. I can’t help but feel like both of these characters, one fictional while the other real, are reflections of what the stress of societal expectations and gender norms can make one feel. Grace expresses that she often feels trapped while being the good and quiet girl, while Sensui was often shown to be very quiet until after he learned he’d been deceived. When Grace considers her darker thoughts she often remembers Mary Whitney, as if Whitney’s persona became Grace’s shield of sorts. Grace could never commit murder because she was too young, and too feminine, too formal and meek. This is why Dr. Jordan (does he even deserve that credential) believed. Mary Whitney on the other hand was no longer alive to testify for her own existence, not that Grace wouldn’t try to keep her memory alive by telling him how coarse she could be. I lean toward the theory that Grace painted a picture of her alternative self, her true self, and the self she couldn’t disclose for too long. Does this change how I view Grace as a character in Alias Grace? Maybe a little, but at the end of the day she’s trying to earn her freedom, by whatever means necessary. |
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