Blockchain Papers

Bradford Boyd

In his 1932 Norton lectures, reflecting on Johnson as poet-critic, that other poet-critic T. S. Eliot argued that “it is surely by unconscious irony that we speak of an ‘age of Johnson’ as we do of an ‘age of Dryden’ or an ‘age of Addison.’ Lonely in his life, Johnson seems to me still more lonely in his intellectual and moral existence.” A great mountain towering above foothills such as Gray and Collins, Johnson was “their superior as a poet, not in sensibility, not in metrical dexterity or aptness of phrase, but in a moral elevation just short of sublimity.” Yet, a third of the way into the twentieth century, the Harvard audience still had to be convinced that Johnson was superior to these “meditative-Miltonizing” poets of sensibility, as Eliot's admirer F. R. Leavis would call them in his influential Revaluation: Tradition and Development in English Poetry (1936). Johnson, Eliot told his audience, “could not even very much like the poetry of his age with which admirers of the eighteenth century now ‘think it necessary to be pleased.’ ”1Leavis in Revaluation acted even more decisively to move Gray, Collins, and company to the margins of the post-Pope, pre-Romantic canon. This age (still “Augustan” for Leavis) “had not favoured any very interesting use of minor talents. . . . And since unconvinced and undistinguished verse in Augustan modes . . . is pretty obviously uninteresting, minor talents took largely to the meditative-Miltonizing poetical modes.” Johnson, however, not only towered above the minor talents, but also achieved meaningful innovation, renewing Augustan idiom and style, Leavis argued. As “a professional writer and a scholar,” Johnson, unlike Pope, “transmitted no pressure of Good Form, no polite social code, through his pen,” which was driven instead by a moral elevation just short of sublimity. Thus, “both the professional and the moralist are felt in the characteristic weight that makes his verse so unmistakable for Pope's.”2These moves by Eliot and Leavis to revalue Johnson's poetry and critical prose, especially The Lives of the Poets, were timely. They were made when the scholarly labors of R. W. Chapman, L. F. Powell, David Nichol Smith, and others to edit and publish the Johnsonian and Boswellian corpus, building on George Birkbeck Hill's foundation, had gotten under way. This revaluation of Johnson's imaginative writing and criticism, undertaken in tandem by editors and professional critics, was to bear much fruit, notably, in the Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson (1955–2019) and the Yale Boswell Editions, officially launched in 1949. The impressive body of scholarship that has grown from this modernist and mid-twentieth-century critical and editorial flowering is already well known to many readers of this journal. Suffice it to say the good work goes on. Celia Barnes and Jack Lynch's new edition of Johnson's Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland and Boswell's Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides in the Oxford World's Classics series, for instance, was released in January 2020, keeping these perennial texts accessible for the undergraduate student and (one hopes) common readers.Criticism and literary history still proceed in tandem with editing, of course, as in Eliot and Leavis's time, and so, three volumes of new essays on Johnson and writers connected with him, both admiring and less admiring, have appeared in the last two years. (As The Age of Johnson has been publishing scholarship on Johnson, his circle, and their time annually for more than thirty years now, it seems safe to overrule Eliot on this point and use the titular term. It usefully describes even—perhaps especially—the writers and thinkers in that age who disliked or disputed Johnson.) These three volumes, each edited by Anthony Lee, are Samuel Johnson among the Modernists (2019), and on Johnson's (2019), and on Samuel Revaluation In a of for the The Johnson, and the an Age of this and to have a third of the in the three This is not to the the of is of to this with two essays in Samuel Johnson among the T. S. and the and Jack Lynch's to Eliot's critical prose, great of any and any when in by be in well like Boswell to Johnson and to each other to the a Johnson's of on and Eliot's of the is not as The but The of is that and have an the by two the as the of their for the of their This the of has a Eliot the through the it also the of the as much of his by to the poets of especially and Johnson, the through the of and in a and Eliot in with Johnson a of the of that seems of for both their . . . this in their it was already their The of their Johnson and and in in Johnson's it on as for that and such that their . . . be as a of to this is a of or of as to or as to as in each of these and the was a in and social through and the of the or Johnson in and Eliot in not had already the of these and so of of the of the Johnson and Eliot have no but to the new of and but the and of is no to it through the who of is is just as as in the to in as and not that Johnson and of the which in Yet, as . . . is no irony in would Johnson have Eliot and poet, as David has of and of of the but Eliot to that the was as well have this into his the seems to a to the it the the to This from his and Eliot's that is a and from is the of so that to an in the to be a as a social and of the this from by and his with a of in to and in their edition of Eliot's this with of in that a of such that of Johnson's even this by three of the last . . . and and are by a to the modernist are we to in the as is to in as in the or of which be by of this is not to as Johnson's of and social it is to that these of move and by and and are no of or their is years of Johnson's the of in the or in Eliot's the and of Johnson and Eliot is their their to the of their . . . we are and . . . The is only of Thus, Johnson Eliot in the the their were “a of and the modernist of in is no other to in the modernist also a the in in which . . . with the and the this with of to to in the of the among and with to the and that Johnson . . . has this in when the the in the of these also be as a of the of that And of course, is the of the modernist in the poet, and his an as that of on or the to who of only to be with the of and of the are not but that “it is . . . to that and . . . their for and in for his as not a of on is in with literary and no . . . into a with that English who so the of from the . . . to the through Johnson was a modernist as as and the of readers the of of Jack this in to a of his and the by that Johnson to to Boswell's a and in his from his by the of a great a of the English in and an of the also in we in his with “it is only . . . that in to on so from to and “a of of and the of Johnsonian scholarship was on David Nichol edition of Johnson's for was and not L. Johnson were also The Johnson of in the in had by “a . . . on the of the and and the for were of the the . . . were with was his by George in the on Johnson and of the literary of the were also to as These who the and in was in in George The of the with that Johnson from a and in a the eighteenth in literary and common readers to of as “a of and but in the of and the that were to it to of and a into for a from the and of the twentieth in which were in and by and was this of Johnson's to the and a of . . . to have been with in of Boswell's were the such was and of The Johnson was the R. W. Chapman, who the for the and on the the were a . . . a in a and . . . the three of the Tour to the or A Journey to the Western Islands in the of a of the readers of Johnson however, with his him, of and the in of and As this of Johnson's The Oxford for in The Johnson Samuel Johnson for in the to This Johnson on the to that for on the of had not it and was not to the in and for to were many under the In a the Johnson S. Johnson on in which that Johnson on which the of the Johnson, it had been an for the and only and the had the time, as his be of to a also be as an These of the that it was from and the even more of on and in on the this have been in the or These and were to use by such as of and and even and the . . . and of an in of through that Johnson into an of social were convinced that to in when the had been of in and that of Johnson was in short the of Johnson to their the who through the and the were more to speak through than to to the . . . . . . the had even to the the . . . had any of have been less by less than years And to would be by this but not The that so many to to . . . in which Johnson was as both and to Johnson in with Eliot and and to the and by of him, the to on Samuel Revaluation Leavis's of Johnson and his critical and imaginative writing the of English and on Johnson, however, in are not in or by the with Johnson as and which is for Johnson's in the by Eliot and Leavis) as an be in a or even his is well to Johnson's and his and not only by In has in which and a of in the audience by in and it is it than the Johnson would have as with the common in great which a in and with to which an the writer Samuel Johnson is the very of in his and in for of as a Johnson in the and As his for Johnson was a of and in that was a and Johnson's and were in his and poetry were in more poetical as it was more from common Gray was . . . to and in the century than was as now, the was that in “a and common readers such as Johnson such or this was that were or with the common in Lives of the also to for poetry that and as moral and in the of in for and and for to Johnson's for the under which with of and which is a of for him, and that is is of interesting work on Johnson and the which for Johnson in a unlike the and of the this critical a moral and in his his meditative-Miltonizing in the Johnson them the of the in intellectual and moral are not with an moral and intellectual but of and the of a in This was not just a social but an intellectual and moral Johnson, as has that it was on to use their instead of it to is a with the to Johnson's poetry the with such in his and in his both and In the of two with Johnson so by in than . . . and of of life, . . . to under in and of Johnson's are also and as Leavis on Johnson's and in by the and of the . . . is much more of in is in that it many and who . . . and are and by the of the The and are in a the meditative-Miltonizing poets The to And the of for instance, is and . . . in of the of the body . . . that it is of and are and Thus, the is much a . . . as a of . . . the of is with or for these as to of and as the of and English of the that . . . a good of this Johnson's as a in his writing to his critical of moral and and In Johnson's the of for the of and and is the of the of like in the of of the is also that both the and the of the the to Johnson's intellectual and As Leavis's as literary and was his . . . not only his but his his for the and and his also . . . his for in is well to with that as a student and not only of Johnson's and Boswell's essays and but also of S. and his makes to Johnson and the of especially Johnson in interesting each was a Oxford Johnson's by in by with a by in were in or for the also Johnson's by or A this was not but a . . . which Johnson was his and with his the in the Yale and In are the of his as a that of Johnson's or have and his These like Boswell's an of the had to a and Boswell's is to with which with a in Johnson, by we even call a of and . . . his of . . . as the that was in the of Johnson made these on thirty or more thirty them by in and of each The three are to or to or on a and to be and of course, was a or in to it in The and of and would to this of A to a and as an and an of The only that are in the of to Johnson . . . which were to be a and especially and the who were well on Johnson's This not as a for a of it surely of these are in a or of of like which the . . . it for to to his . . . a of a of is of from Johnson's do the of an are also the of a to . . . Johnson to have the from the or even and it his characteristic of of as and The and other and was but the was the since it was on to the of Johnson's than the in Johnson's as a of we it as a of of as on the we it as a in the As the the way to a is to to for the or of the Johnson the of his and to the only of that was largely his to his As on in with do to is necessary and is in of the of Johnson in the and with Johnson's of and of the from with the that Johnson's was not only it but also an felt for the of his have and for by such as and the but in his reflecting as in the of are to in the of or of it was for that and with in not on or however, but on as a of in which with that these a . . . . . . in the of . . . . . . and and and and It is that Johnson this with in is no that made to that with the George of Johnson's to the a also of the that to the such as Johnson's not only for but to the more for their as in and as and others have and other texts for were the of the for the in the age of as of literary as that in the poetry and and not with these in is with and of in Johnson's other and also a since to the century, of or were to their in and of the in more the eighteenth century, such that the and makes use of still the of for it is of the and a of an to would that Johnson a verse from of as the to The to to the with to the told the that was more a than a many of Johnson's are in from the of and so, especially in his a by his use of the it and to an and to more and his modes more with on that are with this with of and by A Age be by more work by and on and other of which the of as and Johnson also the of and to so that and the and in the of this in The of that is to be a more than much a more than much and the of the of more than the that Johnson's writing with . . . in the and not . . . a of writing in his such as the to of This is not only but also since the . . . the in the in his The of the a of a an of and an to and is and with as it to of and it or of and of that like is in of . . . and it for to and both a to and an of in the of the to and on Johnson's to Johnson in and with literary and even The with Johnson's to and is a not only for and prose, but Johnson's to was by the writer of this his an also on Johnson's and Boswell's to to in of the of by Johnson's to Boswell with the well as and to when Johnson to the and of and to of an had been in three years and Oxford The to Johnson had in from for and to of in of for of the The to Johnson had also in much less than to were much more in the Johnson that an of which so to and Johnson for not as had to do with was a to as a The to also than to to such as of now of the time Johnson on these the two had in in to however, from any had and that but like Johnson to Johnson was to this the of in which their in it was It is no that the that Johnson on than two to Boswell's from it was but a for as much to as to his on and that not this good . . . from that in the of Johnson writing and only years would Boswell as had and especially from the and more and to of the three in or and in in each of the three each two to a and that had a and was more of As in years had to would Johnson like both a and a and with was or not to have now of and an to Johnson's literary the that had to that point to these in Johnson's and however, the and of Johnson's that was had as and Boswell as and not with a on but In was still Boswell of in which more and this has a In however, Johnson the time felt no not as Boswell two “had Johnson's that a to not a of with more than and more and with this in Boswell to Johnson's the Hebrides Johnson Boswell a more than any had had from the In it Boswell's of the on to and a of his as a of the and more not for more not Boswell would to for a which Boswell to for his Good . . . to . . . his to the and . . . to the Hebrides Johnson of with Boswell that and would their which his of to in the for years a The that had been and for a that had been a of had the since The of Johnson has appeared of the and were not to such as the but his with such as the have less with Johnson, and the of is a to scholarship on writers in Johnson's by and It much to Johnson and with into the when these were was that January of literary of the Johnson was in the of writing Lives of the and not only the but decisively literary and as Johnson's in to of the and of the literary had been to by to Johnson to that was the was and the of was to . . . is no . . . with when to . . . . . . Johnson the with by Johnson's . . . to in literary or . . . to from and and to was as literary of was from the in the and the time professional was more more and writers more and Johnson is a in The Lives of the appeared in it Johnson as the literary for the as The had made moral and the his had and achieved but only years of and by to and the of that so . . . . . . a for by the had in and was for in the also and with but to was . . . and is a of and and which the has had to unlike was more more in his than of Lives of the was that of an was of to not a for for . . . of with a this not to say that professional that was not among to it not to as Johnson's In had been January as Johnson when in in or a in in as this was that so that was writing and not as the of and achieved Johnson's . . . . . . his towering on other a towering was by Johnson's publishing his of in which this of and The it be known that were by Johnson's of their as of their Johnson him, and that the so . . . that of the in literary was to be This only Johnson, and not the of Johnson had on as a of in the of Pope, also in as not the with and like Pope, not a or . . . an to even when it was in his not for this but more as was in the of that or to that not other so much as it on and the a from the when Johnson was still of the it the a . . . of or literary . . . It is not that his not the of Johnson's literary on for his his on his to or In the new to the of and than who a was a . . . the of literary unlike Johnson, who and that not only had the but the to And this literary and not with his in in as and . . . with their . . . into literary and a that has for a in the even an admirer of Johnson, not his still less other writers in his or just as in Johnson and and for instance, Johnson and both his and and his to and the which This was that both from Johnson and that both as well as on their such as “their of and their of in their to which both their and the their of Johnson, as has a and to it not as an of in but as a by and with and as well as to as a of for be for these on A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland a of and on Johnson's of and and social into the or for it was a by the and the modes of that which the of and and in Johnson, however, these in the of a that was in and and in the of the to and by and to the by the and other by the the of his on the and that have made Johnson his and as their and that and a with them be as or in the who and on the of from a be into a Johnson the only in the of the when to on the him, and or on the and of is . . . Johnson is to to his but is his for a the his of that in such as Johnson, great of is and “a with was . . . it on or as when the of to in and his readers the of that Johnson or to for to me in of mountain was was by or more like many of . . . was for a short In as was the Johnson also through Scotland by and Boswell's but or of the in Boswell's Journal is Johnson's in when Boswell in the two just as and their for the was to and was by Johnson's of for Leavis's of Gray and his as a “meditative-Miltonizing” by Johnson, as the of the for to with of Johnson, of course, was by the for the his to any have many many and many for the and in and their and social not to the we of the not the with In on with Johnson, the of as a and of of sensibility, and of Johnson to the of in his as Eliot him, when not his in of and no to and to is Johnson's of of the that in a for the The Johnson, and the an Age and age of The is well and Yale for of by and a of the It is also with and by and especially are well of Boswell a with is by the of the The is also as an by for who to their and Johnsonian for and The is and not only the of Johnson and Boswell from to but a on Smith, and is much to but has a for the and the like Boswell and by the for the it and in the of the in such as makes The a in for the of disputed or are more than in of and with a The for of Johnson's and as of that more than This Johnsonian the to with a of is minor and not to the A of into The are told that Johnson's is an of on In it on the of the They are also told that Johnson's with the through and were only time was of This readers who the three Johnson in and his of them in A Journey to the Western Islands of The on Johnson, in his is from readers who to Johnson's that not have his this would have for the and the to They are however, on his by Boswell in the that of the of and are by three a which is Johnson's from George Boswell this with is is but Johnson were a by which no to a great who in with Johnson for was . . . a or any of his was to on the is now to the not from of but of course, like these be on both of the and have been many in and the last thirty years. The this and the scholarship on it in just two or three A

Shelton Waldrep

In Oscar Wilde's Portrait of WH we have an essay on the exigencies of interpretation presented to us as though it were a melodramatic murder mystery. As Scott Wilson describes it: After an opening discussion about Art as the realization of personality beyond and its ethical demands, Lord Erskine tells the story of his dead friend Cyril Graham, who devised a theory about the young man of Shakespeare's sonnets. Graham, an effeminate boy player of Shakespeare's roles at Trinity, decided that the Mr. WH of the sonnets must have been, like him, a boy player on Shakespeare's stage called Willy [sic] Hughes. Graham assembles what he believes is convincing textual evidence for his theory and attempts to persuade Erskine who, while accepting the internal evidence, will not be converted until he has seen external proof of the boy's existence. Graham provides a miniature painting. It is exposed as a fake, a simulacrum, and he shoots himself, substituting the reality of his own life and death for that of Willy Hughes. (231-232) Wilde's endlessly interpretable tale points to, among other things, the impossibility of ever really knowing the difference between the fake and the real--even in a situation in which the end result is a death caused by the illusion of evidence. In addition to raising questions about what we might now call post-structuralist hermeneutics, Wilde also warns that the mistaking of the fake for the (and vice versa) can have a material effect. The essays for this special issue investigate just what is at stake in the idea of the real as defined by the artists and thinkers of the Victorian era. Rather than approaching the dichotomy of realism vs. artificiality as it is usually defined for the period--that is, realism vs. any number of complementary binary terms such as neo-mediaevalism, Hellenism, etc.--I would like to call into question just how stable such a binary really was. That is, Victorians were always extremely invested in the fake--even in the authenticity of fakery, such as Eugene Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc's Gothic designs for Notre Dame de Paris or A. C. Swinburne's invented rural dialects in which he would write the epics of a region and recite them to the people living there who were convinced that he had indeed uncovered a real poem. If so much of Victorian culture was based upon the elaborate creation of simulacra--whether Pre-Raphaelitism or the legends of Tannhauser and Arthur--then why do we persist in seeing the Victorian period as the height of realism, and how might we explain how that period managed to derive so much pleasure from the inability to tell the fake from the real? If the origins of modernism are in the Victorian period, then it behooves us to understand also how postmodernism can trace some of its own origins to the dyadic quality of the Victorian pleasure in simulacra. As clearly obsessed with finding origins as the Victorians were, they seemed always to re-create the past in a form that expressed more about their anxieties about the future (or the present) than it did a clear understanding of even the immediate past. In a similar attempt to turn away from modernism and back toward history, the postmodern artist is often not interested in the past as material reality but as the quotation of a style--a temporal fragment that metonymically stands in for an entire era but may go no deeper than the glossy surface of a label. The extent to which Victorian writers manipulated the surfaces of commodification--and were likewise taken over by them in their own interest in the question of origins and authenticity--is what this volume attempts to explore. The Victorians knew they had the opportunity to be mythmakers, and they took this role on with all the earnestness they could muster; that more was going on than (sometimes) met the eye is proof that the Victorians themselves could be lost in the dizzying simulacra that their culture produced. …

Robin Blyn

By way of concluding the section of Lolita dedicated to her supposed “precursor” (9), narrator Humbert Humbert informs his reader, “I broke her spell by incarnating her in another” (15). In his own account of his primal scene of arrested sexual development, Humbert thus makes available yet another layer of the novel's thoroughgoing critique of Freudian psycho-sexuality. For by offering a childhood “precursor” and the consequent need to replace the object of thwarted desire, Nabokov's novel so perfectly conforms to a Freudian explanation for Humbert's adult perversion as to render the reductiveness of that model inescapable.1 Yet, the incarnation of a substitute object of desire suggests both the utopian possibility of the cinematic adaptation of a novel and its greatest danger. For the cinematic incarnation may substitute for the original object of desire but only at the cost of “breaking the spell” of that which it replaces. The controversy surrounding the recent film version of Lolita directed by Adrian Lyne reveals the anxiety attendant to cinematic adaptation as the danger, to use Humbert's terms, of “eclipsing” a fictional “prototype” (40). Moreover, as it mirrors the language of erotic attachment dramatized in Nabokov's novel, the popular discourse addressing Lyne's film offers an alternative model of cinematic adaptation premised on perversion, here understood as the conflation of the aesthetic with the erotic in the articulation of desire. In this way, popular discourse returns to the scholarly conversation about cinematic “fidelity” to a literary “precursor” which it has routinely repressed: the implicit eroticism of its model. What is being described in ekphrasis is both a miracle and a mirage: a miracle because a sequence of actions filled with befores and afters such as language alone can trace seems frozen into an instant's vision, but a mirage because only the illusion of such an impossible picture can be suggested by the poem's words, (xvi-xvii) Miracle and mirage, ekphrasis is an “instant's vision,” an ideal wherein words create a verbal equivalent of the visual image. In the adaptation of novel into film, on the other hand, the word has temporal and conceptual priority, as the word “adaptation” itself confirms. Yet if the adaptation of a novel into film requires precisely the opposite movement of ekphrasis, it is, too, a “miracle and a mirage.” For to follow Krieger, in the cinematic adaptation, images aspire precisely to the “time-ridden and paradox-ridden character of texts” that ekphrasis struggles against (xv), and the miracle of re-incarnating the fictional precursor “in another” is the celluloid mirage promulgated under the aegis of “fidelity.” Perhaps because of the ways it thus reverses traditions of image-word translation, scholarship on the cinematic adaptation of literature tends to concentrate more on the distinctiveness of the two genres than on the relationship between them.2 Writers hone in on the problems of point of view and description as the key sites of conflict in film adaptations of novels. Similarly, they pinpoint the problem that emerges when the novel is itself about language, as is clearly the case with Nabokov's Lolita. The popular appraisals of the cinematic adaptations of Nabokov's novel reflect these sentiments, affirming that what is “lost” in the translation to screen is specific to verbal artistry. More pointedly, however, the popular discourse echoes the language of fidelity used by scholarship to characterize the relationship between a literary “precursor” and its cinematic incarnation. Fidelity criticism depends on a notion of the text as having and rendering up to the (intelligent) reader a simple, correct ‘meaning’ which the filmmaker has either adhered to or in some cases violated or tampered with…. That is, the critic who quibbles at failures of fidelity is really saying no more than: ‘This reading of the original does not tally with mine and in these and these ways.‘ (8-9) The dangers of fidelity criticism, McFarlane implies here, lie in its tendencies to naturalize an interpretation and to sacralize the novelistic text.3 And yet, while the “near fixation on the issue of fidelity” has certainly “inhibited and blurred” the study of adaptation (McFarlane 194), it has also remained an under-examined trope. For embedded in the conversation about faithfulness lies a more complex theory of adaptation belied in the terms of the fidelity argument itself. As foregrounded in the controversy surrounding the latest cinematic incarnation of Lolita, contemporary popular culture regards the relationship between the novel and its cinematic adaptation, between word and image, as an essentially erotic one, subject to the same scandals and ambiguous redemptions of movie-star romance. The pages of Louis Giannetti's popular Introduction to Film textbook make manifest the latent scandal of filmic adaptation as it is articulated in its full complexity in the popular press. Here, the film student comes across three types of relationships between novels and films: the loose, the faithful, and the literal (387). Although adaptations of plays come closest, Giannetti tells his students, the “literal” is largely impossible. “In each case,” he writes, “The cinematic form inevitably affects the content of the literary original” (389). Dismissing the “literal” as unceremoniously as does Giannetti, popular media locates its controversies in distinguishing the “loose” from the “faithful.” In those controversies, the words “loose” and “faithful” recover the cultural connotations that Giannetti's film text suppresses. Like the “loose woman,” the loose film is a scandal, a violation or exploitation of the object of desire. Provocatively, what the debate surrounding Lyne's adaptation of Nabokov's novel makes visible is the stark differentiation popular culture draws between the exploitations of the “loose” and the desires that define the “perverse.” In the popular discourse, perversion is the mark of the faithful adaptation, while the scandal of the loose is identified in its pretensions to literally incarnate the precursor. Effectively, the false literal claim signals that erotic desires have distinguished themselves from aesthetic ones, and that they have taken priority over them. Nabokov's Lolita is, of course, no stranger to scandal. As the account of pedophile Humbert Humbert, Lolita has been called pornographic and censured as morally corrupt. Yet, for each of the charges against Lolita, there are equally emphatic defenses, both for its artistic and moral integrity. Much of the academic debate swirls around whether Humbert suffers a “moral development” in his story or not, around the seductive language of the novel, and around the confusion of ethics and aesthetics the novel presents to its readers.4 On the other hand, the cover of the most recent paperback version of Lolita still carries Vanity Fair's comment that the novel is “the only convincing love story of our century.” On the other side of the text of the novel, it includes Nabokov's anti-apologia for the novel. In it he playfully toes the decadent line, asserting that his novel should not to be mistaken for the “Literature of Ideas” but valued strictly for its attempt to achieve “aesthetic bliss” (314-315). Before the first page and after the last, then, Random House wraps the novel in the dual defense of love and art. While scholars present their elaborate analyses of Lolita's subtle morality, the marketers choose instead to let eros and art supercede questions of morality and ethical imperative. In this way, the packaging of the novel reproduces the conflation between aesthetic and erotic pleasure celebrated by Lolita's pedophiliac anti-hero. For, as one critic so aptly reminds Lolita's readers, Humbert's theory of art merges with his theory of perversion precisely in his explication of the “nymphet” (Wood 122). To identify the nymphet, one must have a particular aesthetic sensitivity. As Humbert details to his reader, “You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholy, with a bubble of hot poison in your loins and a super-voluptuous flame permanently glowing in your subtle spine…, in order to discern at once, by ineffable signs—the slightly feline outline of a cheekbone, the slenderness of a downy limb, and other indices which despair and shame and tears of tenderness forbid me to tabulate—the little deadly demon among the wholesome children” (17). “Artist,” “madman,” and aesthetically discerning observer, the “nympholept” confirms his perversion in the complete identification of his aesthetic with his erotic desire. Moreover, as Humbert places himself in the tradition of Dante, Virgil, Petrarch, and Poe, he implies that his perversion is not just evidence of his aesthetic sophistication but proof-perfect of his art (19). Ironically, then, insofar as Random House's paperback advertises Lolita as the fusion of eros and art, it recommends the book as an object of desire that conforms precisely to the definition of perversion provided by the pedophile in the body of the text. Echoing the marketing tactics of Random House, the pages of such journals as Entertainment Weekly, Esquire, and Premiere offer a popular discourse that implicitly theorizes cinematic adaptation as the successful blurring of aesthetic and erotic desires, that is, as perversion.5 Just as Random House reproduces and naturalizes the relations within the novel as relations between director and text, these journals faithfully reproduce the scandal over the novel's content as a scandal over the adaptation of the text: Lyne is to Humbert as the novel Lolita is to the character of the same name. Just as Lolita is the object of desire in Nabokov's novel, subject to Humbert's misinterpretation, so too, the novel is the innocent, if precocious, object of desire, vulnerable to the bumbling, misinterpretation, and exploitation of the cinematic medium. Like Humbert, Lyne is portrayed as an artist seeking to achieve “aesthetic bliss,” to remain “faithful” to his object of desire, to vindicate himself through his aesthetic prowess, and all the while, to occupy the position of the renegade, the free thinker, the smasher of taboos.6 Thus, as these journals defend and/or celebrate Lyne, they do so through their insistence that he “loves” the novel he seeks to incarnate in another form, and that such love legitimates and gives license to dissident nonconformity. Adrian is not by nature a literary type, but his feeling for the novel is exquisite. Any lover of Nabokov would naturally tremble before the notion of entrusting this most splendid of novels to the man who made Flashdance, and I did, too, when I first heard about the project. But I have long since stopped trembling. Adrian Lyne turns out to be a real artist. (Stringer-Hye 7) Here, while his “feeling for the novel is exquisite,” Adrian Lyne becomes a “real artist” not in spite of his Flashdance past but because of it; the artless erotica of Flashdance becomes art when combined with the “lover's” faithfulness to the object of desire. Premiere takes the identification of Lyne with Humbert to its logical conclusion. It is only because it renders the perversions of Humbert and Lyne as such perfect analogues for one another that the article is able to equate Humbert's desire for redemption at the end of the novel with Lyne's struggle to get a distributor for his adaptation. The close of the Premiere article has Lyne paraphrasing Humbert's words as he confronts his nemesis and alter-ego Quilty near the end the novel: “'You stole my redemption,' he says ruefully, 'my chance at redemption'” (6). Just as Humbert is thwarted by Quilty, his more pornographic rival, Lyne is cheated of his redemption by the more exploitative commercial interests of the film industry. Thus, in his portrayal in the popular press, Lyne becomes a faithful artist as he is equated with Humbert and his adaptation of the novel with the art of perversion. Lyne, it turns out, agrees with the critics' first take: “Nabokov's screenplay is as bad as his novel is magnificent,” he says. “He murdered his book.” To rectify the crime, Lyne treated the novel as a holy text, searching high and low for a writer who could capture the fragile elegance of Nabokov's original prose. (Harold Pinter and David Mamet each gave it whirl, but the job ultimately went to New Yorker scribe Stephen Schiff.) He looked far and wide for the perfect actor to play Humbert, talking with everyone from Anthony Hopkins (“Too old,” he says) to Warren Beatty (“He was intrigued for about five minutes”) to Hugh Grant, who wasn't intrigued even that long: “The trouble is, that's my favorite book of all time— I didn't want anyone to make a film of it,” Grant explains. In the end Lyne chose an actor with vast experience playing dirty old men (see Irons in 1992's Damage or this summer's Stealing Beauty). That left the ultimate challenge: finding a real-life nymphet to fill Lolita's saddle shoes. Nearly 2,000 girls auditioned, though Lyne says many were “30-year-olds trying to be Lolita.” For her audition, Swain, a freshman at Malibu High, sent a video of herself reading from the novel. “One moment she looked 9 years old,” rhapsodizes Lyne. “The next you could sense her sexuality.” (1-2) The beginning of the passage portrays Lyne in the now familiar role of the faithful lover, romantically attached to his aesthetic object and protective of its treatment. At the same time he is the renegade hero. Lyne's attack on Nabokov's screenplay and Kubrick's film allows him to pose as the man against two systems at once: the system that declares Kubrick's film a classic, and the censors that declare his film unacceptable.8 Portrayed as a man with a vision and aesthetic principles, Lyne totes his project from writer to writer, actor to actor, “high and low” and “far and wide.” Ironically— or perhaps appropriately— it is with the intrusion of Hugh Grant's parenthetical self-righteousness, that Lyne shifts from Humbert the aesthetic genius and accomplished practitioner of the perverse to scandalous exploiter. Suddenly, in comparison to Grant's more absolute veneration of the text, Lyne is the violator of his own sacred scriptures. Directly after Grant's moral assertion, Lyne and his film fall into a debauchery revealed in false claims to literalness. Now, Humbert is to be played by “an actor with vast experience playing dirty old men” and Lolita by “a real-life nymphet.” Eschewing the idea that the nymphet is itself Humbert's aesthetic construction and not a phenomenon in the objective world, Lyne now fully becomes the “dirty old man” himself, “rhapsodizing” over a 15-year old girl's simulation of a 9-year old's sexuality.9 The fall from artist to exploiter, from the faithfulness of perversion to the scandal of the loose adaptation, is a short one, here in Entertainment Weekly, the slip occurring exactly where the director moves from his claims for “faithfulness” to his specious claims to a “literal” adaptation. The false literal, best represented by the search for a “real-life” nymphet, is, inevitably, a degeneration into the “loose.” As she articulates her goals in Interpreting Film, Janet Staiger describes the project of reception studies more generally. She writes, “Through the hyperbole and contradictions surrounding discussion of this film, I hope to indicate something of what is at stake in the consideration of widely divergent reactions to a moving picture and how discourse surrounding film can indicate, symptomatically and inadvertently, ideological and hegemonic notions…” (124). My study here similarly seeks to reveal “ideological and hegemonic notions” through its study of the “hyperbole and contradictions” surrounding the discussion of a film. More pointedly, however, this essay attempts to distill a theory of cinematic adaptation from a popular discourse, a theory that challenges and supplements the dominant perspectives of scholarship on the same issue. For by linking perversion with fidelity, popular discourse alters the definition of faithfulness, insisting not only on the erotic attachments implicit in fidelity but also on the aesthetic transformations necessary for the faithful adaptation. Contrary to McFarlane's complaint, the strength of the fidelity argument here ends up to be its subjective and impressionistic character, insofar as it admits the aesthetic interventions involved in the maintenance of erotic attachment. The controversy surrounding Lolita's translations from page to screen suggests that the true scandal of cinematic adaptation is not the perversion of the text, but the denial of perversion, the pretense of literally incarnating the fictional precursor in another form.

Alyssa J. O’Brien

The Molly Blooms of “Penelope”: Reading Joyce Archivally Alyssa J. O’Brien (bio) Positioned at the end of the book, after the radical innovations with representation and form in the later chapters of Ulysses, “Penelope” appears to confirm Hugh Kenner’s consideration of it as manifesting, “for once, no style.” 1 Long viewed in terms of what Karen Lawrence describes as “the sound of one mind thinking,” “Penelope” has seemed a retreat from linguistic experimentation. 2 Such interpretations are clearly informed by the visual presentation of words on the page: the stylistic crafting of the text creates the illusion of a flowing monologue emanating from a single female consciousness. Consequently, the critical history of this episode, beginning with the assumption that Joyce offers us a single, woman’s voice at last, has not been able to avoid imposing upon it what Derek Attridge calls “unexamined gender stereotypes.” 3 But a reconsideration of Joyce’s writing process for the episode challenges this premise and provides a way to re-evaluate the significance of “Penelope.” If we consult Joyce’s manuscripts, typescripts, and proofs, we are compelled to question the common critical assumption that Molly Bloom signifies a knowable character with a transparent consciousness. Reading “Penelope” archivally, we find that it is not Molly who negotiates colonial and patriarchal discourses (as Brian Shaffer and others have argued), 4 but rather that [End Page 7] Joyce’s language continually ruptures the consolidation of a character who might signify a construction of such discourses. In other words, Joyce negotiates social scripts shaping Irish female identity not so much through one character’s subversive masquerade or mimicry, but rather through his refusal to capitulate to any cultural representation of gendered subjectivity. What is at stake in reading multiple Molly Blooms in “Penelope” is that we can see Joyce engaging with the sexual and imperial politics of early twentieth-century Dublin in a way that navigates the polarities between feminists and conservatives, cultural nationalists and colonialists. He offers an alternative vision of subjectivity, one fashioned through his experimentation with language. In a small scribbled hand, Joyce added a phrase to the typescript of “Penelope”: “she had too much old chat in her about politics and earthquakes and the end of the world let us have a bit of fun first God help the world if all the women were like her.” 5 Although the line is often read as the sentiment of Molly Bloom, we might see the inserted phrase as pointing to a multiplicity of femininities, a plurality of possible women. This, in turn, suggests that Joyce may be advancing his vision of ontological mutability in the final, often reductively read episode. Transformation, metamorphosis, and metempsychosis are clearly cardinal interests for Joyce throughout Ulysses. 6 Buck Mulligan’s parody of transubstantiation introduces the lietmotif of mutability; the theme is continued through Stephen Dedalus’s philosophical musings in “Proteus” (“God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle goose becomes featherbed mountain”), and through Bloom’s speculations in “Hades” (“If we were all suddenly somebody else”). 7 The later episodes actually embody in textual terms the ontological mutability pondered and presented narratively earlier in the book. In “Nausicaa,” Bloom becomes the hero of a popular sentimental romance, The Lamplighter, through Joyce’s use of the language of sentimental Victorian novels. In “Oxen of the Sun,” Joyce’s language causes characters to be repeatedly transported through centuries, into and out of different bodies and across various locations: Bloom transforms from a “wayfaring” man “[o]f Israel’s folk” to “sir Leopold” to “Master Bloom” to “Leop. Bloom” to “Mr Leopold” to “Mr Canvasser Bloom” to “young Leopold” to “Mr L. Bloom (Pubb. Canv.)” and, finally, to “old man Leo,” “Bloo,” and “Pold veg.” Joyce puts Bloom through what Joyce termed “five or six different [End Page 8] suits” in “Circe,” 8 yet the changes are more drastic than costume. Bloom transforms from mayor to sex slave; he grows a vulva and gives birth to eight yellow and white children. 9 In this fantastical Walpurgisnacht episode, all characters and objects mutate into different forms. Bloom’s and Stephen’s mothers are reincarnated to play a role, and even a bar...