The End of the Winterson
September 14, 2007
I am largely concerned with the death of the subject. In a previous class we discussed how to interpret the subject and yesterday we mapped it out gramatically. Usually I like the diagramming, but I can’t fit this one to the story. Ihe sentence “I love you” ‘I’ is the subject- if it dies then we have “love you”. What the hell does that mean? The object is the only thing left with power in relation to nothingness.
I see the subject as the something that is being studied and thats where I pull in some Foucaudian Theory. Cancer, and in this case Louise’s cancer, is studied by Elgin and Sam. It is studied and discussed so much that the two of them lose track of what the real subject is; ‘Louise’ . We, as a class almost pulled the same move. What did we want to solve or fix right from the start? What were we so obsessed about that could of deterred us from our path? Gender. We wanted to solve the problem of Sam’s gender. We scoured the text, wrote down clues and made assumptions because we needed to fix it. We found evidence in dialogue, mannerisms, character description that pulled us away from the main point of the novel. The death of the subject in this case would be coexistence, or maybe just existence- I haven’t really decided yet, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t to figure out if our narrator was a boy or a girl.
How do I feel about the ending? It makes sense that its not an inward ending to things. Thats the best way I can describe it. Sharing Louise with the rest of the world is almost there– but I think that its the relationship that one has with someone and how it interacts with the rest of the universe is what the novel was going for. When Sam yells from his/her doorstep the sound waves of his/her voice interacts with the natural movements of the world. He/she is thinking about how Louise will recieve it as she interacts with the world. Poorly worded- but the thoughts make sense to me I think.
I think you’re right here, Michael. Nicely put.
Foucault would certainly fight for Louise to be seen for more than her labeled parts. Once the cancer cat is out of the bag, Louise becomes a medical phenomenon, objectified within the sterility of the clinical mindset. Prior to being diseased, she was adulterous according to Elgin, beloved according to our narrator, and to the reader, she was nothing but those labels and we looked for more. Is she a lesbian as well? Along with this issue, Winterson crafted the perfect opportunity for us to question our motives with the narrator’s game of gender bender. Why must we know? Is it because we cannot think in terms beyond the dichotomy language offers? That assumption appears to be so. Even if we examine and come to understand the limitation, we continue to have a difficult time talking about the existence of a single human being possessing qualities of both genders. The only thing I question is whether the gender mystery is a distraction from the real issue as much as it’s a problematic part of the same complex system of subject/object. We seem to want to classify the narrator with a label as much as the narrator wants to classify Louise. Combine these troubling aspects of defining a person and language, in its inability to capture the illusive gray areas of human existence, falls short every time.
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