Defying the Edifice of linear History in Academic Research

This posts reflects on two research seminars held at University College Cork in November 2022. The first of the two took place November 2nd, delivered by Dr. Heather Laird and titled “Commemoration and Decolonisation – Reflections on the Centenary of 1922.” Dr. Michael G. Cronin presented the second, titled “Hopeful and Homoerotic Spaces in Irish Writing,” on November 16th.

For something that is ingrained into most human’s education and understanding of the world, the idea of history goes often unchallenged. In secondary education we will likely experience history in the format of neatly packed facts and narratives. These narratives will moreover emphasise agents and events of the political arena as the driving factor of a continually onwards movement. Educational curricula select which events were ostensibly the most important in shaping our present. History becomes about a selective cause and effect. My German secondary school’s curriculum of 20th century history drew a relatively direct narrative from Bismarck’s 19th century politics through the two World Wars to the present as the outcome of the influences and allegiances of the Cold War. As soon as any political agent’s role is concluded (e.g. German fascist or socialist movements), their name disappears from the history book.

Now, it is not my intention to deny that events of the past shape the present society in which we live. I also do not intent to imply that only the minority engage with history more complicatedly than their foundational education. I myself refigured my attitudes about history immensely after interacting with the subject at Third Level, being especially drawn to the way in which historiography is uncertain, biased, and subjective. I want to instead establish an example of the ways in which history is naturalised across society; as confined to certain agents and spheres, and to selected events of impact.  

Dr. Laird’s and Dr. Cronin’s Talks in University College Cork’s autumn research seminar series showed a fascinating commonality in suggesting different imaginings of historical temporality and influence. Heather Laird reflected upon ways of Decolonisation in which we can reflect on the future by looking towards events within the past that offered an alternative outcome. She discussed Agrarian Land Unrest as an example of Anti-Colonial and Socialist Action that ran contrary to the form of Irish Nationalism that succeeded in informing our current society. Land Unrest in this argument became a vision of an event that could have resulted in a different, less property-focused Irish society. It is an example of a glimpse into different possibilities, disrupting a narrative that frames our contemporary society as the inevitable outcome of the historical events that preceded it and society generally likes to commemorate.

This is a thought-provoking argument. It disrupts this edifice of cause and effect discussed above, the linear construction of history commonly taught.

In comparison, Dr. Cronin’s talk was of a literary nature. He detailed his research into novels of the Irish Queer Movement emerging in the 1990s. In his case studies, homoeroticism served as a spectre of hope and possibility. Through style and narrative, texts provided ambiguous spaces of imagination; spaces in which the future can be rife with possibilities, as we disconnect from the neoliberal hegemonic values that have permeated our being.

Both talks then shared a fascinating and relevant commonality. The speakers through different approaches suggested a disruption from historical fixed narrative. Furthermore, this break from linear narrative serves as the instrumental tool in re-imagining and re-shaping our future. Such a thought feels extremely relevant. Being fed a linear narrative of progress within history for instance, in which oppressed minorities fought for their rights, gained them, and thus gained equality, falsely suggests progress as linear. Current events in countries such as the United States or Poland, as well as continued discrimination and systemic oppression, violently shatter this illusion. What is left is a need to re constitute an understanding of history that better accommodates struggle.

While discussing Orwell’s Keep the Aspidistras Flying in a previous blog post, I contemplated the concept of Capitalist Realism. This concept strikes me again as relevant. A fixed temporal imagining of history can make it easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism. One of the most common counterpoints to critiques of neoliberal capitalism is that it is the system which has survived and been favoured by historical events. In contrast, most alternative ways of organising society, be they communist, socialist, or anarchist, have failed. The hegemonic fixed historical knowledge can constrict and limit the mind’s imagination for alternatives, and what remains is despair. Applying the insights from the research seminars could pose an entirely different approach. A failed Socialist state could instead become a historical possibility that, instead of failing did not succeed, an insight into a different possible present. And queer or subcultural spaces could become ambiguous spaces, disruptions to temporality that allow for imagining alternative futures, bursting mental constriction.

I would not dare pretend that this is a moral call to action or easy task. Rather, it is a theoretical reflection. Nonetheless, I regard it as relevant and not coincidental that such a shared interested in disrupting and re configuring history would crop up in contemporary academic research. One could suggest that we live in a cultural moment in which we are ever more focused on our intellectual biases and limitations. Even when applied to specific topics, such concerns reflect a drive of awareness that can illuminate any topic, an awareness of the narratives in which humans are embedded in society.

Orwell’s Keep the Aspidistras Flying: An Exercise in Self-Flagellation and Doubt 

Can we extricate ourselves from the society we live in? How can someone create art in a commercial society?

Gordon Comstock lives in rebellion. He seeks to defy “the money-god”(48). Yet money torments and poisons his every thought. He wishes to write creatively, free from moneyed ideas of success. Yet his squalid poverty embitters him, choking his work in its crib. He accuses everyone around him of being obsessed with money. Yet he is the most obsessive and resentful in his environment. Gordon Comstock has not escaped money.

George Orwell’s 1936 novel Keep the Aspidistras Flying presents us in many ways with a bleak reality. There are repeated themes of staleness, deadness and decay surrounding the protagonist’s life. 

Gordon submits himself to a gradual squalid decay through poverty; first in his clothes, then his relationships and surroundings. This fate is self-chosen. Gordon quits his ‘good’ job out of a defiance of the ways in which money structures his (our) society. He frames it as an act of satanic rebellion in Milton’s sense: “Better to reign in Hell than serve in heaven; better to serve in hell than to serve in heaven.”(48) Declaring war on money, he wishes to escape its hold on his life. Therefore he accepts a job in a bookshop for two pounds a week rather than continuing a job in advertising which commercialises his creative writing talent.

Many a creative can relate to Gordon’s instinct of romantic rebellion. Of course, it would be wonderful to thrive of one’s uncorrupted creative talent. In his rare optimistic moments, Gordon wants to believe that he will still be able to make a living with poetry. After all, he has already published a book of poems with ‘exceptional promise’ according to some reviews; a promise upon which his magnum opus “London Pleasures” would build if he could only write it. But his success never truly arrives. Like so many artists, be it writers, musicians, or painters, he has to compromise his talents, employ them in a job that corrupts his writing, turns it away from his true visions. Instead, he attempts to seek rebellion in defying success.

As sympathetic as we may be to his plight, his romantic rebellion is futile. Gordon does not really defy money. In choosing  ‘noble’ poverty, he instead narrows all his waking thoughts to money. He cannot write because of the squalidness of his life, and thus creativity leads back to wealth. There is no success in ever creating any lasting work or being in any way content with anything he writes, since his thoughts are driven solely by his material condition. He has a complicated relationship to his few friends because he has no money, but is also too proud to accept their help. He denounces women as unattainable to him because he is poor, despite the fact that there is a woman, Rosemary, who cares for him and stays patient throughout his spells of cruelness and lack of comfort in their relationship. But Gordon suspects she must in actuality despise him and refuse to sleep with him because he has little means. It seems to be obvious to him –“Of course it all comes back to money.”(124)

Even though readers may sympathise with his plight, the novel makes it increasingly easier to dislike Gordon. He is resentful, paranoid, prideful, and bitter, and he lashes out at everyone that wishes to help him. The true tragedy lies in the fact that Gordon is maybe not wholly at fault. He idealistically assumed that he could escape his money-driven society on an individual level solely by defying its ideas of success. However the idea of money poisons his life more through his rebellion than before, as he degrades and tortures his environment. His commitment to poverty may be initially romantically justified, but is ultimately useless. Rosemary’s pregnancy eventually forces him to return to the ‘good’ life and ‘good’ job, which inspires a feeling of relief as he admits that his attempt to live outside “the money-world” (266) brought nothing but misery.

What Gordon fails to recognise is that he never did leave the money-world. Nor does his rebellion break his creativity free from corporate fetters. His individual show of rebellion towards money and success demonstrates that one cannot escape one’s society. During the two years he spends in rebellion, he gains no positive gain or pleasure in any alternative world. He remains unable to write any meaningful work. Instead he just lets go of any effort or pleasures in life, turning rebellion into spite. Rosemary eventually proclaims to him that all he wishes is to “just sink”(218) into the mud. In truth he doesn’t want to live nor can he live outside the systems of profit and capital that characterise his environment. All he can do is spite its ideas of success and ‘good’ life, all to his own detriment. The novel does not present social reform as an option either. Ravelston, a rich publisher and “parlour socialist”(194) represents a cynical, surface deep socialism within the story. Ravelston’s position surrounds Socialism with an air of hypocrisy and ingenuity that the novel does not care to dispel.

What is left for the reader is a novel that provides no hope of escape or resolution. Gordon Comstock’s story wants to tell us that there is no way to extricate oneself from our society the way it is structured. Any defiance ultimately leads you deeper into its clutches or is disingenuous. All ways ultimately lead back to miming a performance of respectability and realignment with the goals of accepted society. Such a lack of Orwell’s typically ardent belief in socialism and reform within this particular text creates an interesting artefact in this cynical novel. It coheres with Capitalist Realism, the cultural malaise and feeling that there is no alternative to capitalism; and that it is easier to imagine the end of the world. In this manner, I found this novel to be strikingly resonant.

Almost 90 years later, feelings of entrapment in the structures of society that govern our lives have arguably increased. Compared to contemporary society with its complicated supply and distribution chains, Gordon Comstock probably would have had an easier time attempting his release. Meanwhile, how could I suggest or advocate escape while the very technological devices on which I write and you read this reflection are tied to the exploitation of natural resources and injustices in countries far removed. How can we still create meaningful, challenging, and uncompromised art when we cannot extricate ourselves from the unjust society we are able to recognise?  This text does not aim to suggest that the novel’s implications were right and should go unchallenged. However, even though it is not Orwell’s best and most subtle work, maybe Keep the Aspidistras Flying is a difficult and necessary read because it confronts us with an uncomfortable tragedy. It is a sort of tragedy that makes us stare in the face of our complicity and entanglement with systems even as we intellectually unpack them again and again.

Sources

Orwell, George. Keep The Aspidistras Flying. London, Penguin Books, 1936.

Image: Cover of Penguin Edition, photographed by author.