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CfP: Form and its Discontents





Copyright © 2024 Editorial Board, Qui Parle
Qui Parle, Volume 2, Number 2, Fall 1988

Vol. 2 | No. 2 | Fall 1988


    Silence and Intervention

Preface
Katharine Streip and Brian Holmes

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

For graduate students, the allure of the topic "silence and intervention" perhaps goes without saying. Confronted by this coupling, we might ruefully identify ourselves with the first as we exercise voices that assume their sound, weight and force from the position of "graduate student." Simultaneously, we might eagerly anticipate a future when our meliorative efforts attain the distinction of faculty "interventions."

But to characterize silence and intervention in these ways simplifies the logic of both. An alternative view might show silence as a positive expression of resistance, a powerful force within history. When does silence become an act of intervention, or intervention, on the contrary, an instance of numbing silence? How do silence and intervention work to define both the ethical and the unspeakable?

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On the Nullity of Abstractions
Sonia Van Ballaert

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

The object is oval. It would be a perfect geometrical figure, an ellipse, if the rim of the object weren't slightly uneven. The hand which delineated the thing––for it is man made––may have wavered momentarily as it was tracing the shape, or it may have trembled as it was cutting the figure out of its material. In spite of these human hesitations on the rim of the object, the global shape, the overall impression, is elliptic. Elliptic ... this word brings to mind the idea of something left out, of an omission or an incompletion. Yet, what could be elided in an object which is a work of art, finished enough to be fixed onto a museum wall?

The object is oval and it is flat. The flatness of the object brings to mind the two dimensions of a painter's canvas. The thing in question is indeed a piece of canvas, hardly anything more, maybe something less. It is an elliptic cloth covered with yellow paste, yet not crossed by lines, or filled in with color like a painting. The canvas is not a support for line or for color; the cloth does not serve as an underground for a painting, be it representational or abstract. The terms 'design' and 'color,' 'representation' and 'abstraction' do not even hold here; they seem to slide off the uneven surface of the cloth cluttered with paint. To say that the object is a painting, either of something or of the art of painting itself, is to miss the point, for one may ask, is this object a painting?

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Chaucer’s Maiden's Head: The Physician’s Tale and the Poetics of Virginity
R. Howard Bloch

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

It is hard not to be struck in reading Chaucer's Physician's Tale by the insufficient motivation of this narrative account of how a virgin named Virginia is espied by a judge named Appius, who, through the churl Claudius, brings an indictment against her father Virginius, who, in turn puts his daughter to death rather than suffer the shame of her sequestration in Appius's house. Chaucer, or the narrator, seems not very motivated to begin, for the stultified moralizing prologue, in which he discusses Nature's creation of Virginia and the importance of parents' surveillance of their children, occupies 118 lines, or over one third of the whole. Once the poet does begin, that beginning itself participates to such an extent in the quality of the accidental––the "Once upon a time, it happened"––that one wonders what the relation between the prologue and the almost generic narrative start really is: "This mayde upon a day wente in the toun/ Toward a temple, with hire mooder deere,/ As is of yonge maydens the manere" (118). Chaucer is, moreover, so anxious to end The Physician's Tale that the compressed resuming action is more postulated than shown: a crowd appears out of nowhere, Appius is thrown into prison, Claudius is exiled, and everybody else is hanged––all in ten lines! (267-276).

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Frontiers of Figure: Don Quixote and the Comedia
Brian Holmes

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Coquín, the jester of Calderón's The Physician of His Honor, is in a tight spot: within a month he must trick the King into laughing, or have his teeth ripped out of his mouth. The play ends without resolving this sadistic subplot, but things don't look particularly good for Coquín; his last joke, a punning request for clemency, is coldly brushed aside. "This is no time for laughter," states the King. "When was it ever?" asks the jester in reply. Left unanswered, his question poses an allusive challenge to the repressive authority structuring the Spanish comedia.

The comedia, a tragicomic form of theater usually performed in conjunction with music, dance and farcical interludes, enjoyed an immense popularity in the early decades of the seventeenth century. Its success was due, in part, to an emphasis on national themes: tapping Spain's rich ballad tradition, the comedia transformed the country's legendary past into a widely appealing dramatic present...

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Quiet
Ann Smock

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

This is a reading of Bartleby, Herman Melville's novella, to which Blanchot sometimes refers. Bartleby is a biography, the biography of a law-copyist, or scrivener. At least, so the narrator, a lawyer and Bartleby's one-time employer, says: not a complete biography––in Bartleby's case "nothing of the sort is possible"––but just "a few passages," he says, "from the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener, the strangest I ever saw, or heard of."

Whatever happened to make him so strange? Whatever caused him to be so inexplicable? There really must be some explanation. Let us begin thus, interrupting perhaps a little rudely––manifesting some anxious impatience and sounding, perhaps, a bit like Nippers (one of Bartleby's fellow copyists) in the mornings, before dinner time, when the irritability which regrettably characterizes him tends to flare up...

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Le Pain de Ponge: Mangé enfin! Dans l’abîme.
Elizabeth Bloomfield

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Le Pain de Ponge appartient au recueil Le Parti-Pris des choses. Ce recueil, publié en 1942, au début de la carrière de Ponge, installe fermement et définitivement la voix de son auteur dans les marges d'une certaine poésie traditionnelle, une certaine "poésie poétique". Choisir comme objet d'écriture les choses ordinaires et nues, les choses dans leur neutralité prépoétique et prédiscursive, c'est déjà en soi un geste de rebellion à l'égard d'une tradition qui a tendance à assimiler non seulement poésie et subjectivité, mais aussi à transformer le réel en réel poétique voire en surréel ou en "présence." 

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A Number of Yes
Jacques Derrida
with Avital Ronell and Brian Holmes

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Yes, in a foreign land. We must have come across each other most often in a foreign land. These encounters retain an emblematic value for me. Perhaps because they took place elsewhere, far away, but more surely because we never separated without a promise; I have not forgotten. Nor have I forgotten what Michel de Certeau writes of writing in the mystical text: through and through, it is also a promise.

To me, it is as if these encounters in the other's country (by which I also mean the interruption immediately marking them, the separation which tears apart their very event) described in their own way the paths taken by thought as it intermingles with the word given in writing: at the heart of the same time, of a single time, the opening and the cut...

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Volume 2.2 is available at JSTOR. Qui Parle is edited by an independent group of graduate students at the University of California, Berkeley and published by Duke University Press.