I S S N  0 3 51 - 11 8 9
PK
n (Ljubljana) 46.2 (3023)
PK
n 
(L
ju
bl
ja
na
) 
46
.3
 (
20
23
)
PRIMERJALNA KNJIŽEVNOST ISSN (tiskana izdaja/printed edition): 0351-1189
Comparative literature, Ljubljana ISSN (spletna izdaja/online edition): 2591-1805
PKn (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Izdaja Slovensko društvo za primerjalno književnost
Published by the Slovenian Comparative Literature Association
https://ojs.zrc-sazu.si/primerjalna_knjizevnost/index 
Glavni in odgovorni urednik      Editor: Marijan Dović 
Področni in tehnični urednik      Associate and Technical Editor: Blaž Zabel 
Uredniški odbor     Editorial Board:  
Jernej Habjan, Marko Juvan, Alenka Koron, Dejan Kos, Vanesa Matajc, Darja Pavlič, Vid 
Snoj, Alen Širca
Uredniški svet     Advisory Board:
Ziva Ben-Porat (Tel Aviv), Vladimir Biti (Dunaj/Wien), Lucia Boldrini, Zoran Milutinović, 
Katia Pizzi, Galin Tihanov (London), Janko Kos, Aleksander Skaza, Jola Škulj, Neva 
Šlibar, Tomo Virk (Ljubljana), César Domínguez (Santiago de Compostela), Péter Hajdu 
(Budimpešta/Budapest), Jón Karl Helgason (Reykjavík), Bart Keunen (Gent), Sowon 
Park (Santa Barbara), Ivan Verč (Trst/Trieste), Peter V. Zima (Celovec/Klagenfurt)
© avtorji     © Authors
PKn izhaja trikrat na leto.     PKn is published three times a year.
Prispevke in naročila pošiljajte na naslov     Send manuscripts and orders to: 
Revija Primerjalna književnost, Novi trg 2, 1000 Ljubljana, Slovenia.
Letna naročnina: 20,00 €, za študente in dijake 10,00 €.
TR 02010-0016827526, z oznako »za revijo«.
Cena posamezne številke: 10,00 €.
Annual subscription (outside Slovenia): € 40,00.
Naklada     Copies: 350.
PKn je vključena v     PKn is indexed/ abstracted in:
Arts & Humanities Citation Index, Bibliographie d’histoire littéraire française, 
CNKI, Current Contents / A&H, Digitalna knjižnica Slovenije (dLib), DOAJ,  
ERIH, IBZ and IBR, EBSCO, MLA Directory of Periodicals,  
MLA International Bibliography, ProQuest, Scopus.
Oblikovanje     Design: Narvika Bovcon
Stavek in prelom     Typesetting: Alenka Maček
Tisk     Printed by: VB&S d. o. o., Flandrova 19, Ljubljana
Izid številke je podprla      This issue is supported by: 
Agencija za raziskovalno dejavnost RS.
Oddano v tisk  14. novembra 2023.     Sent to print on 14 November 2023.
RAZPRAVE / ARTICLES
Vid Snoj: Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg: Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v 
avantgardnih in intermedijskih umetniških praksah
Aleksandra Tobiasz: Vladimir Bartol’s Self-Identification between Central 
European Ljubljana and Mediterranean Trieste (1946–1956)
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić: The Paraleptic Effect
Jonathan Locke Hart: The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry
Alina Bako: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel 
Joshua Bence Kun: The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s 
Micrology
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina: Ontology of the Art 
Phenomenon in Iris Murdoch’s Fiction
Neus Rotger: Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
Jānis Oga: Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of 
Germany and Its Impact on Societal Change in the 1980s
RECENZIJI / REVIEWS
RAZPRAVE / ARTICLES
1	 	Vid	Snoj:	Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
21	 	Kristina	Pranjić,	Peter	Purg:	Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v 
avantgardnih in intermedijskih umetniških praksah
41	 	Aleksandra	Tobiasz:	“Between the East and the West”: Vladimir Bartol’s Self-
Identification between Central European Ljubljana and Mediterranean 
Trieste (1946–1956)
61	 	Vladimir	Vujošević,	Dragiša	Vukotić:	The Paraleptic Effect
81	 	Jonathan	Locke	Hart:	The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and 
Periphery
101	 	Alina	Bako:	Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of 
Romanian Novel
121	 	Joshua	Bence	Kun:	The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s 
Micrology
141	 	Aliona	Matiychak,	Natalia	Nikoriak,	Alyona	Tychinina:	Ontology of the Art 
Phenomenon in Iris Murdoch’s Fiction
157	 	Neus	Rotger:	Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature: 
Exile, Memory, Reparation
177	 	Jānis	Oga:	Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of 
Germany and Its Impact on Societal Change in the 1980s
RECENZIJI / REVIEWS
199	 	Ana	Jarc:	Stereotipi in miti srednje Evrope skozi intertekstualnost in 
imagološko refleksijo (Tibor	Žilka	et	al,	ur.:	Stereotypes	and	Myths)
203	 	Martin	Justin:	Pristopiti tako, kot je treba	(Pavel	Nikolajevič	Medvedev:	Formalna	
metoda	v	literarni	vedi)
Primerjalna književnost, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
Razprave / Articlesz r ve
Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v 
sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
Vid Snoj
Filozofska fakulteta, Oddelek za primerjalno književnost in literarno teorijo, Aškerčeva 2, SI-1000 
Ljubljana
https://orcid.org/0000-0001-9128-9919
vid.snoj@ff.uni-lj.s
Pindarja so na prvo mesto v kanonu grških lirskih pesnikov postavili 
aleksandrijski knjižničarji. Postal je prvak med liriki, čeprav se v spevih v čast 
zmagovalcem na športnih igrah, tistem delu svojega pesništva, ki se je edini 
ohranil skoraj v celoti, ne kaže kot zgled metrične regularnosti. Poleg tega je 
Pindarjeva pesniška govorica že njegovim rojakom kljub njihovi ljubezni do 
mere, umerjenosti in jasnosti veljala za temno. O tem, da je Pindarjevo pesništvo 
oziroma tisto, na kar se nanaša, potrebno razlage, je govoril tudi sam. Po drugi 
strani se je že pri Grkih pojavila razlaga pesnikovega dela z njegovim življenjem. 
Povezovanje dela z življenjem se je začelo v vitah, ki so bile, kar zadeva pesnike 
iz arhajskega obdobja, zapisane šele več stoletij po njihovi smrti in so postale 
svojevrstna literarna zvrst. Ob pičlosti kakršnegakoli drugega gradiva se pri 
lirskih pesnikih opirajo zlasti na njihove prvoosebne izjave. Poglavitna poteza vit 
je zato izvleka življenja iz dela, portret človeka, na katerega daje sklepati njegovo 
delo samo. V Pindarjevih vitah tako izstopa njegova pobožnost. Na biografiziranje 
z neizogibnimi fikcijskimi potezami pa naletimo tudi v sholiastičnem pisanju 
o Pindarjevem pesništvu, ki prav tako izhaja iz Aleksandrije. Vendar se (iz)
najdeni življenjepisni podatek, ki v vitah učinkovito pomaga graditi anekdotično-
legendne zgodbe, v sholijah obrne in postane ključ za odklepanje teksta.
Ključne besede: starogrško pesništvo / Pindar / razumevanje pesništva / pesniške vite / 
sholije
1
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Pindarja so na prvo mesto med svojimi lirskimi pesniki postavili Grki 
sami.1 Tako kot druge kanone so tudi kanon lirikov verjetno v 3. sto-
letju pr. Kr. izoblikovali aleksandrijski učenjaki, ki so Pindarja dali na 
čelo deveterice izbranih, pred Alkmana, Sapfo, Alkaja, Anakreonta, 
Stezihorja, Ibika, Simonida in Bakhilida. Na aleksandrijskem popisu se 
je znašlo sedemnajst Pindarjevih knjig, ki so zajemale hvalnice, pajane, 
1 Razprava je nastala v okviru raziskovalnega programa P6-0239, ki ga je iz državnega 
proračuna sofinancirala Javna agencija za raziskovalno dejavnost Republike Slovenije. 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
2
ditirambe in druge njegove pesniške zvrsti. Od njih so do nas prišle le 
štiri knjige epinikijev. Te obsegajo speve v čast zmagovalcem na olim-
pijskih, pitijskih, nemejskih in istmijskih igrah, čeprav je zadnja izmed 
njih očitno nekoliko okrnjena; z neokrnjenimi istmijskimi slavospevi je 
še imel opravka bizantinski učenjak Evstatij v 12. stoletju (prim. Currie 
in Rutherford 31). Za drugimi kanoničnimi liriki ni, nasprotno, ostala 
niti ena sama knjiga v celoti.
Pindar je postal prvak med grškimi liriki kljub kričeče očitni iregular-
nosti. Poznejšo pesniško in preučevalsko recepcijo Pindarja na Zahodu 
je močno zaznamoval véliki rimski pesnik Horacij, ki v odi, posvečeni 
Pindarju, pravi:
monte decurrens velut amnis,
imbresquem super notas aluere ripas,
fervet immensusque ruit profundo
Pindarus ore,
laurea donandus Apollinari,
seu per audaces nova dithyrambos
verba devolvit numerisque fertur
lege solutis
seu deos regesque canit …2
Kot reka, ki z gore dol teče,
od déžja narasla čez znane bregove,
Pindar besni in iz globokih ust strmoglavlja
neizmeren,
venec Apolonov si zasluži,
naj v drznih ditirambih nove
besede vali in je od mer nošen,
osvobojenih zakona,
naj bogove in kralje opeva ...
(Od. 4,2,5–13)
Pindarjevi epinikiji imajo značilen triadni kitični ustroj, strofe in anti-
strofe, ki jih sklepajo epode, vendar nimajo stalnih stopic. Vsaka strofa 
pozna svoje stopične kombinacije, ki jim simetrično ustrezajo tiste v 
parni antistrofi, in vsaka epoda spet svoje, s katerimi respondirajo sto-
pične kombinacije v drugih epodah istega slavospeva. Te kombinacije 
niso ustaljene oziroma »zakonite«, ampak se menjavajo iz slavospeva v 
slavospev. Poleg tega je neenakomeren, iregularen tudi Pindarjev pesni-
ški stavek. Dolgi, iz več povedi zloženi stavki se izmenjavajo s čisto 
2 Horace 220–222. Moj prevod.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
3
kratkimi in pri tem prestopajo ne samo vrstice, ampak tudi kitice. Na 
podlagi opažanj, ki jih je o austeré harmonía, »rezkem skladanju«, že v 
antiki zapisal Dionizij iz Halikarnasa, je Franz Dornseiff Pindarjevo 
skladnjo posrečeno opisal kot harte Fügung, »trdo skladje«, v katerem 
besede pogosto stojijo brez veznikov in členkov kakor stebri (prim. 
Dornseiff 85–96). Navsezadnje pa je Pindarjeva pesniška govorica, v 
kateri vrh tega mrgoli sestavljenk in novotvorb, kljub siceršnji grški 
ljubezni do mere, umerjenosti in jasnosti že njegovim rojakom v antiki 
veljala za temno. Pindar sam pravi:
πολλά μοι ὑπ᾿
ἀγκῶνος ὠκέα βέλη
ἔνδον ἐντὶ φαρέτρας
φωνάεντα συνετοῖσιν· ἐς δὲ τὸ πὰν ἑρμανέων
χατίζει.3
Mnogo pod
roko v tulcu
imam urnih puščic,
ki govorijo razumnim; a za celoto je razlagalcev
treba.
(Ol. 2,83–86)
Pindar je dobro vedel, da njegove besedne puščice, izstreljene proti 
tistemu, o čemer se navadno, ker se ne da, tudi ne govori, ne govorijo 
vsem, ampak samo tistim, ki so razumni, se pravi zmožni razumevanja 
(synetoí), a da je za vse, za celoto (es tò pàn) tega, na kar meri,4 ali nje-
govega pesniškega rekanja sploh, hkrati potrebna razlaga. Ali pa razlago 
terja, kot tu prav tako lahko razumemo tò pán, celota tega, kar je (čemur 
3 Snell–Maehler 11–12, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 31. Pindarjeve verze po Snellovi in 
Maehlerjevi izdaji prevajam sam, v opombah pa napotujem tudi na slovenski prevod, 
delo Braneta Senegačnika. Senegačnikov prevod Pindarjevih epinikijev in izbranih 
frag mentov, opremljen z uvodi v epinikije, opombami in obširno študijo, je za Slo-
vence referenčno delo, kar zadeva Pindarja.
4 Na to, da tò pán v »Drugem olimpijskem slavospevu« nikakor ni hoî polloí, 
»večina ljudi«, »množica«, »ljudstvo« ali kaj podobnega, kot prevaja kopica prevajalcev 
Pindarja v angleščino, ampak je kvečjemu lahko celota njegovega pesniškega »pred-
meta«, prepričljivo opozarja William H. Race (prim. Race 252 isl.). Takšno prevajanje 
se opira na izdajo Pindarjevega pesništva iz leta 1599, ki jo je pripravil Paulus Stepha-
nus (ali Paul Estienne) in grški izvirnik opremil z latinskim prevodom v prozi. V njem 
za es tò pàn stoji apud vulgus, namreč da so razlagalci potrebni »pri ljudstvu« oziroma 
zanj. Ta prevajalska odločitev je imela »velikanske posledice za recepcijo Pindarja na 
Zahodu« (Hamilton 229).
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
4
je zavezano pesništvo). Kakorkoli že, naj ta beseda meri na prvo, drugo 
ali tretje: razlaga je za celoto potrebna večini, in kar zadeva Pindarjevo 
pesništvo, so Grki sami, njegovi sodobniki in poznejši rodovi, zvečine 
vsekakor potrebovali razlago, da bi razumeli. Pindarjevo pesniško reka-
nje je že med Grki terjalo hermenejo, prevod znotraj jezika, iz grščine v 
grščino. In že pri Grkih se je pojavila razlaga pesnikovega dela z njego-
vim življenjem, tudi in seveda še zlasti Pindarjevega.
Vite
Pindarjev aión, »življenjski vek«, je kakor zvezda v morju zvezd na noč-
nem nebu, ki so ugasnile, a k nam še zmeraj mečejo svojo svetlobo.
O Pindarjevem življenju vemo zelo malo. Niti letnica njegovega 
rojstva ni zanesljivo izpričana. Kot pravi izročilo, se je rodil leta 518 ali 
že 522 pr. Kr. v Kinoskefalah pri Tebah, največjem mestu celinskogr-
ške dežele Bojotije. Morda je bil plemiškega rodu. Vendar edina priča 
za to ni nihče drug kot on sam. V »Petem pitijskem slavospevu« namreč 
Ajgide, sloviti rod iz Šparte in Teb, imenuje »moji očetje« (75),5 čeprav 
ni jasno, ali je govorec, ki to izreka v prvi osebi, on ali zbor, saj je prvo-
osebna izjava v grški zborski liriki, ki ji pripada epinikij, včasih lahko 
izjava zbora. A tudi če je govorec Pindar sam, ni nujno, da z »mojimi 
očeti« meri na očete po krvi, ampak lahko da po »izbirni sorodnosti«.
Vsekakor je že tu očitno, da o Pindarjevem življenju govori predvsem 
njegovo pesništvo. Na njegovo življenje je nastalo več vit, več življenj.
Zelo verjetno je, da so življenja pesnikov v antiki začela nastajati 
kmalu po njihovi smrti ali pa, če so zgodaj zasloveli, že v času njiho-
vega življenja. Iz časov od Homerja do klasičnega obdobja grštva v 5. 
stoletju pr. Kr. je malo zapisanega. Pesmi se tedaj (in še dolgo potem) 
zvečine niso brale, ampak poslušale, kdaj in kje so bile zapisane, je do 
vzpostavitve tekstne kritike v helenistični Aleksandriji le redko ugotov-
ljivo, in prav pičlost kakršnegakoli pisnega gradiva iz arhajskih časov je 
verjetni razlog za zgodnji nastanek ustnih izročil o življenjih pesnikov, 
kot so Homer in Heziod, Sapfo in Stezihor, Simonid in Pindar: vez 
med njimi in njihovimi pesmimi bi se sicer pretrgala in pesmi bi postale 
anonimno blago (prim. Kivilo 207).
Življenjepiscem, ki so o arhajskih pesnikih začeli pisati stoletja 
pozneje, je bilo torej na razpolago malo pisnih virov. Pri roki niso imeli 
nobenih zapisov sodobnikov o življenjih teh pesnikov, nobenih podatkov 
5 Snell–Maehler 95, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 170.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
5
iz prve roke, drugače kot moderni biografi, ki lahko prebirajo dnevnike 
in pisma avtorjev, o katerih pišejo, pričevanja drugih o njih, časopise 
iz časa, v katerem so živeli, in zgodovinopisna dela o njem, skratka, 
razpolagajo z obilico rokopisnih in natisnjenih dokumentov, ki izvirajo 
od avtorjev samih ali pa iz drugih virov govorijo o njih in njihovem 
času. Ob raznih ustnih izročilih, tistem hearsay, ki gre zmeraj iz ušes v 
usta in med katerim to in ono dodaja mnogotero razumevanje, ter ob 
skromnih pisnih virih, kot so krajevne kronike ali, kar je pomembno v 
Pindarjevem primeru, seznami zmagovalcev na športnih igrah, katerim 
so se sčasoma začele pridruževati zapisane vite, je bilo za antične življe-
njepisce pesnikov daleč najpomembnejši vir pesništvo samo. V lirskem 
pesništvu, kakršno je Pindarjevo, so bile zanje še zlasti vabljive izjave v 
prvi osebi. Življenja pesnikov so »najzgodnejši primerki težnje, ki se je 
obdržala v zahodni misli« (Lefkowitz, The Lives 2), namreč povezovanja 
pesnikovega dela z njegovim življenjem.
Povrhu je pesniška vita postala literarna zvrst. V njej se pojavljajo 
bolj ali manj stalne prvine: pesnikov izvor, se pravi starši, člani družine 
in dežela ali ožja domovina, v kateri se je rodil, pesniško poklicanje 
kot opredeljujoči dogodek v njegovem življenju, njegovi učitelji, pesni-
ška tekmovanja in iznajdbe, vezi z drugimi pesniki in sploh slavnimi 
ljudmi, razmerja do bogov in do mogočnežev, potovanja ter kraj in 
narava smrti, posmrtna slava in včasih kult. Med pesniškimi vitami je 
mogoče prepoznati številne vzporednice, v katerih se izpolnjujejo zako-
nitosti literarne zvrsti. Lahko pa je v njih pri delu tudi mitski vzorec. 
Pesnika, recimo, lahko spor z oblastnikom požene v izgnanstvo, da do 
smrti potuje naokrog kot izgnanec, in kadar potem kakor mitski heroj, 
ki ga je smrt zaradi spora s kraljem kljub velikim delom, katera je opra-
vil, pogosto doletela v izgnanstvu, doseže posmrtno slavo in morda celo 
čaščenje, navsezadnje sam postane novi heroj (prim. npr. Lefkowitz, 
»The Poet« 459–469; Currie 129–130).
Najstarejša pesniška vita, ki jo je o Homerjevem življenju ob koncu 
6. stoletja pr. Kr. spisal Teagen iz Regija, je izgubljena; najzgodnejša 
ohranjena življenja pesnikov so šele iz helenističnega obdobja. O 
Pindarjevem življenju je sicer pisal že Hamaeleon v 4. ali 3. stoletju pr. 
Kr., vendar so iz antike prišle do nas tri poznejša Pindarjeva življenja, 
tako imenovane »Vita Vaticana«, »Vita Ambrosiana« in »Vita metrica«.6 
»Vita Vaticana« se je ob štirih knjigah Pindarjevih epinikijev, ki v isti 
6 Za grški izvirnik vseh treh vit glej prvi zvezek Drachmannove izdaje antičnih 
sholij k Pindarjevemu pesništvu, str. 1–3 (»Vita Ambrosiana«), 4–8 (»Vita Vaticana«) 
in 8–10 (»Vita metrica«). Nekaj drobcev o Pindarjevem življenju je preživelo tudi na 
papirusu iz Oksirinha, datiranem okrog leta 200; izdal jih je Italo Gallo leta 1968. 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
6
ureditvi obstajajo v več rokopisih, ohranila v Vatikanski knjižnici in 
se po zadnjem urejevalcu, bizantinskem učenjaku Teodulu Menihu iz 
13. oziroma 14. stoletja, na Zahodu imenovanem Thomas Magister, 
imenuje tudi »Vita Thomana«. Nasprotno se je »Vita Ambrosiana« 
ohranila v rokopisu iz milanske Ambrozijeve knjižnice skupaj s prvimi 
dvanajstimi olimpijskimi slavospevi v ureditvi, ki je drugačna od vati-
kanske in jo pozna samo ta rokopis. Od nekod je bila prepisana in 
postavljena pred besedilo slavospevov, glede na rabo unciale verjetno 
zapisano v 4. ali 5. stoletju (prim. Irigoin 246), a so se za njo izgu-
bile vse zgodnejše besedilne sledi. »Vita metrica«, ki jo v Uvodu v svoj 
zdaj izgubljeni komentar k Pindarju navaja Evstatij, pa je sestavljena iz 
enaintridesetih heksametrov. Nekoč je veljalo, da izhaja iz helenistične 
Aleksandrije, vendar po sodobnih domnevah ni mogla nastati prej kot 
šele v 3. stoletju (prim. Negri 217).
Med Pindarjevimi življenji, ki so torej po nastanku vsa močno odda-
ljena od časa njegovega življenja, se moderno pindaroslovje največkrat 
sklicuje na »Vito Ambrosiano«.
Na začetku »Vite Ambrosiane« piše, da se je Pindar rodil v vasi 
Kinoskefale (Pasje glave) na tebanskem ozemlju. Pindarjev oče se 
je imenoval Daifant ali Pagondas ali Skopelin in mati Kleodike ali 
Kledike, čeprav je bil Skopelin – kot izrecno poroča ta vita, da pravijo 
nekateri – morda njegov stric, ki ga je naučil igrati na piščal. Malo 
naprej vita dodaja, da je Pindar imel sina Daifanta ter hčeri Protomaho 
in Evmetido.
Imena staršev, razen imena Daifant, bi bila lahko povzeta iz nezna-
nih Pindarjevih pesmi, lahko pa tudi iz pesmi njegovih manj slavnih 
bojotijskih rojakinj Mirte in Korine, ki so prav tako izgubljene. Poleg 
tega se je Pindarjeva žena po »Viti Ambrosiani« imenovala Megakleja, 
podobno kakor mati. Ime Megakleja pomeni nekaj takega kot »na veliko 
sloveča« in ime Kleodike ali Kledike toliko kot »upravičeno slavna«; obe, 
mati in žena, bi imeni lahko dobili po njem, slavnem pesniku, pesniku 
slavospevov, ki je na Homerjevi sledi opeval kléa andrôn, »slavo mož«. 
Ker so bili sinovi pri Grkih pogosto imenovani po starih očetih, je po 
drugi strani mogoče, da so jezična usta izročila poimenovala vnuka po 
starem očetu ali, narobe, starega očeta po vnuku. Sapfo v eni izmed 
svojih pesmi na primer označuje Kleido za páis, »sužnjo« ali »otroka«,7 
in Kleida je v Sapfina življenja stopila kot njena hči. V Sudi, bizantin-
ski enciklopediji iz 10. stoletja, lahko preberemo, da je bilo tako ime 
7 Fr. 133; za slovenski prevod primerjaj Sapfo 160.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
7
tudi Sapfini materi (prim. Lefkowitz, The Lives 65).8 Da je Pindar imel 
hčeri, pa je morda izpeljano iz »Tretjega pitijskega slavospeva«, v kate-
rem govori o koûrai, »dekletih« ali »hčerah«, ki vzvišeni boginji Materi 
»skupaj s Panom pogosto pojejo pri mojih vratih« (78).9 In da jima je 
bilo ime Protomaha in Evmetida, bržkone prihaja od tod, da se ti imeni 
pojavita v Pindarjevi pesmi, od katere je ostal samo drobec, ob imenu 
njegovega očeta ali sina ali obeh – Daifant.10
Glede pesniškega poklicanja se »Vita Ambrosiana« sklicuje na Hamae-
leona, po katerem je to Pindarja doletelo blizu Helikona. Podobno 
poklicanje, sploh prvo, za katero vemo, se je zgodilo že Heziodu. Kot 
sam pravi v proemiju Teogonije, so ga ob vznožju te bojotijske gore, ko 
je pasel ovce, nagovorile Muze in mu vdahnile »glas, da bi pel o prihod-
njih in pel o preteklih dogodkih« (32; Heziod 8). Nasprotno se Pindar 
ob svojem poklicanju za pesnika ni srečal z Muzami. »Vita Ambrosiana« 
pripoveduje, da je nekje pri Helikonu šel na lov, in ko je utrujen zaspal, 
so mu med spanjem čebele v ustih zgradile satje. V Heziodovi viti, ki 
jo je ob koncu antike napisal novoplatonski filozof Proklos in potem, v 
12. stoletju, v daljši različici povzel najplodovitejši bizantinski učenjak 
Janez Tzetzes, je rečeno, da je Heziod svoje srečanje z Muzami upesnil 
alegorično ali pa se mu ni zgodilo v budnosti, ampak v sanjah (prim. 
Lefkowitz, The Lives 62). Enako so ravnali poznejši pisci o Pindarjevem 
življenju: o čebeljem satju v ustih, ki se je kmalu znašlo tudi v življenjih 
drugih antičnih pesnikov, Menandrovem, Vergilijevem in Lukanovem, 
se je Pindarju samo sanjalo. Toda namig, ki ga v zgodbo razvije pripoved 
»Vite Ambrosiane«, izhaja iz Pindarjevega pesništva. Pindar sam pravi, 
da »cvet slavilnih hvalnic / od besede k besedi kot čebela pohiteva« (Pit. 
10,53–54).11 Pindarjev spev (mélos) je kakor čebela (mélissa), ki iz besed 
nabira med (méli) – med besed je tisto najizbornejše, cvet speva –, in 
njegovo petje se razcveta v »medenoglasnih spevih« (Nem. 11,18).12 V 
Pindarjevi viti je zgraditev satja v ustih kot dogodek vpeljave v pesni-
štvo napesnjena na čebelji spev iz njegovega pesništva.
S pripovedjo o Pindarjevem pesniškem daru »Vita Ambrosiana« 
zavije v Atene. Tu spet najprej pusti različno govoriti svojim virom, 
češ, Pindarjev učitelj v Atenah se je, kot pravijo nekateri, imenoval 
8 Po komentarju k »Viti Ambrosiani« iz knjige Mary R. Lefkowitz The Lives of the 
Greek Poets (61–69) povzemam večino kritičnih pripomb o njenih virih in vzporedni-
cah z življenji drugih pesnikov.
9 Snell–Maehler 74, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 137.
10 Prim. fr. 94c, v Snell–Maehler 92, zv. 2.
11 Snell–Maehler 114, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 202.
12 Snell–Maehler 161, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 280.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
8
Agatokles ali, kot trdijo drugi, Apolodor, nadaljuje pa s poročilom, da 
je Pindarju za čas svoje odsotnosti zaupal urjenje ditirambskih zborov 
in da je ta, čeprav še deček, nalogo izpolnil tako uspešno, da je zaslo-
vel. Ta anekdotična zgodba je podobna zgodbi v enem od Homerjevih 
življenj; po njej je dar dečka, ki se takrat še ni imenoval Homer, ampak 
Melezigen, prepoznal njegov učitelj Femij in mu pred smrtjo zaupal 
vodenje svoje šole (prim. Lefkowitz, First-Person 91).
Na to se navezuje spet druga zgodba v »Viti Ambrosiani«, ki prav 
tako govori o priznanju oziroma potrditvi Pindarjevega daru: ko je 
Pindar napisal ditiramb, v katerem je Atene slavilno označil za »oporo 
Grčije«,13 so ga njegovi rojaki Tebanci oglobili, vendar so globo zanj 
plačali Atenci. Vsekakor drži, da se je rivalstvo med aristokratskimi 
Tebami in demokratizirajočimi se Atenami zaostrilo na začetku 5. 
stoletja pr. Kr., v času grško-perzijskih vojn, ko so Atene stopile na 
čelo koalicije grških mestnih držav in Tebe, nasprotno, na drugo stran 
v zavezništvo s Perzijo. Anekdota pa nakazuje, da je bil Pindar v poli-
tičnem boju med velikima mestnima državama v precepu, a tudi da je 
bilo njegovo pesništvo zgodaj cenjeno med Grki ali da je morda celo že 
imelo panhelenski pomen.
Še več, Pindar je prav tako dosegel božje priznanje. To je prišlo od 
Pana, boga divjine, pastirjev in čred, ki je bil sicer zavetnik Arkadije, 
vendar so ga množično častili tudi v Bojotiji, Pindarjevi rodni deželi, 
kjer je njegov kult prevladoval na podeželju. »Vita Ambrosiana« pripo-
veduje, da so Pana nekoč nekje med Helikonom in Kitajronom slišali 
peti Pindarjev pajan, hvalnico v čast Apolonu. Pindar je potem v 
zahvalo napisal hvalnico v Panovo čast, ki se, kot navaja vita, začne z 
besedami: »O Pan, varuh Arkadije in častitljivih svetih krajev čuvar.«14
Legendni zgodbi o Pindarju in Panu neposredno sledi še druga, 
zgodba o Pindarju in Demetri. Kot je rečeno v tej drugi zgodbi, se je 
Demetra Pindarju prikazala v sanjah in mu poočitala, da edino njej 
izmed bogov ni posvetil nobene hvalnice. Zato je napisal hvalnico, v 
kateri se je nanjo obrnil z »Gospa, ki prinašaš pravico«,15 ter za name-
ček njej in Panu postavil oltar »nasproti lastne hiše« (Drachmann 2, 
zv. 1). Pri tem je očitno, da je pisec »Vite Ambrosiane« (ali njegov 
vir) v boginji Materi iz »Tretjega pitijskega slavospeva«, o kateri Pindar 
pravi, da ji dekleta (ali hčere) »skupaj s Panom pogosto pojejo pri mojih 
vratih«, a je posebej ne imenuje, prepoznal Demetro. Thesmophóre, »ta, 
13 Fr. 76, Snell–Maehler 83, zv. 2.
14 Fr. 95, Snell–Maehler 93, zv. 2.
15 Fr. 37, Snell–Maehler 11, zv. 2.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
9
ki prinaša pravico«, je bil namreč eden od Demetrinih častilskih nazi-
vov, čeprav ne samo njenih, ampak tudi eden takšnih nazivov Matere 
bogov ali Velike Matere, boginje Kibele, ter prav tako boginj Perzefone 
in Dindimene. Boginja, ta ali ona, katerakoli že, ki jo je Pindar slavil v 
svojem pesništvu, je torej v njegovi viti dobila ime in, skupaj s Panom, 
oltar. Ta oltar je, tako vita, postavil on sam – in »pri mojih vratih« je 
postal krajevno določnejši nasproti, namreč »nasproti lastne hiše«.
»Vita Ambrosiana« sicer sinhronizira Pindarjevo življenje z življenji 
drugih slavnih mož. Pindar, trdi, je bil mlajši sodobnik Simonida in 
oba sta obiskala dvor tirana Hierona v Sirakuzah. O Pindarjevi smrti 
pa spet pove zgodbo, namreč kako so se v Amonovo svetišče napo-
tili romarji, da bi v Pindarjevem imenu vprašali, kaj je najboljše za 
ljudi, in Pindar je še tisto leto umrl. Suda ima različico, po kateri je to 
vprašal pesnik sam in potem nenadoma umrl. Toda obe sta različici 
Herodotove zgodbe o mladih Argejcih Kleobisu in Bitonu, ki jima je 
bog naklonil najboljše, namreč da sta umrla takoj potem, ko sta opra-
vila junaško dejanje (prim. Herodotus 60–61).
O Pindarjevi posmrtni slavi »Vita Ambrosiana« dodaja, da je špar-
tanski kralj Pavzanija nekoč po pesnikovi smrti opustošil Tebe, a je 
prizanesel njegovi hiši, na katero je nekdo napisal: »Ne zažgite hiše 
pesnika Pindarja.« Veliko pozneje, v 2. stoletju, je po Bojotiji potoval 
kraljev soimenjak, sloviti antični geograf Pavzanija, ki poroča, da so 
mu pokazali Pindarjev grob, ruševine njegove hiše in svetišče matere 
Dindimene (9,25,3) (Demetro, ki ji Pindar v »Viti Ambrosiani« postavi 
oltar, pri tem zamenja z Dindimeno in oltar s svetiščem ter Demetro 
iz sanj, ki Pindarju v tej viti oponese, da ji ni namenil hvalnice, za 
nameček z njeno hčerjo Perzefono); v Amonovem svetišču pravi, da 
je videl kip, ki ga je poklonil Pindar, in ploščo z besedilom njegove 
hvalnice v čast temu bogu (9,16,1); in v Delfih železni stol, na kate-
rem je Pindar, kadar je prišel tja, pesnil hvalnice Apolonu (10,24,5) 
(prim. Pausanias 1413, 1400 in 1494). Kljub temu pa slavni pesnik 
po smrti ni bil deležen božanskega čaščenja kakor, recimo, Arhiloh na 
rodnem Parosu.
»Vita Ambrosiana« se konča z epigramom, ki govori, da sta Pindarjev 
pepel, zbran s tuje grmade, iz Argosa v predirnem joku prinesli domov 
njegovi hčeri. Življenjepisec ne pojasni, čemu se je Pindar mudil v 
mestu na Peloponezu, niti tega ne poveže z zgodbo o njegovi smrti, ki 
jo je maloprej na kratko povedal sam. Za leto Pindarjeve smrti, ki ga ne 
navede, sicer velja 438 pr. Kr., seveda z vprašajem.
Kot lepo prihaja na spregled ob »Viti Ambrosiani«, so Pindarjeva 
življenja zbir različnih virov, od najzgodnejših ustnih do pestrih pisnih, 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
10
med katerimi prevladujejo življenja drugih pesnikov. Toda Pindarjevo 
življenje je v temelju potegnjeno iz njegovega dela. Tako kot druge 
pesniške vite so tudi Pindarjeve izvleček avtorja iz dela, portret človeka, 
na katerega daje sklepati njegovo delo samo. Pripoved, ki se pogosto 
opre na prvoosebno izjavo iz Pindarjevega pesništva, dobi anekdotično-
-legendno zgodbeno razvitje, zgodbe pa se potem bogatijo z zmeraj 
novimi nadrobnostmi. To in ono, kar je v Pindarjevih verzih nedo-
ločno, ima nenadoma ime in kraj. Včasih sicer naletimo na raciona-
lizacijo neverjetnega ali overjetenje čudežnega, na primer v Proklovi 
razlagi, da se je satje v ustih Pindarju zgodilo v sanjah. Vendar je 
Pindarjeva osrednja poteza, ki se izrisuje v njegovih življenjih, še zlasti v 
»Viti Ambrosiani«, pobožnost. V tem Pindarjeva vita ne greši; natanč-
nejša je in zadeva bolj od marsikatere moderne biografije, ki se razsipa v 
iluziji, da lahko iz obilice dostopnih podatkov izkoplje in v njih zgrabi 
življenje samo.
Sholije
Na biografiziranje naletimo tudi v sholijah. To so na splošno najraz-
ličnejše pojasnjevalne opombe, ki so se med preučevanjem pesništva 
nabrale v antiki in se na grško govorečem vzhodu Evrope, v bizantin-
skem cesarstvu, kopičile še visoko v srednji vek.
Njihovi viri se zvečine stekajo v aleksandrijsko knjižnico. V njej so 
od 3. stoletja pr. Kr. delovali rodovi učenjakov, katerih hypomnémata, 
samostojni tekoči komentarji k Pindarju in drugim pesnikom, so se 
izgubili. Iz dveh najbolj znanih takšnih komentarjev, Aristarhovega 
in Didimovega, je delala izvlečke in hkrati svoje kamenčke v mozaik 
aleksandrijskega pindaroslovja iz roda v rod dodajala množica brez-
imnih sholiastov (prim. npr. Dickey 504–505). O koristnosti sholij, ki 
so se, nasprotno, ohranile v rokopisih ob straneh pesniških besedil in 
bile včasih, v Pindarjevem primeru recimo v pozni antiki, združene v 
zbirko, sicer ni dvoma. Pogosto lahko odpognejo kontekst mita, ki ga 
Pindar v poglavitnih potezah samo nakaže, razprostrejo zgodovinsko 
ozadje oziroma prostor kakega dogodka ali kraja, razgrnejo krajevni 
verski običaj, napotijo na podobno pesniško rabo in še marsikaj. Vendar 
v njih ni pri delu samo izvleka življenja iz dela kakor v vitah, ampak 
tudi razlaga dela z življenjem.
V sholijah se pojavlja ista Pindarjeva poteza kakor v njegovih življe-
njih: pobožnost. Pindar v »Tretjem pitijskem slavospevu«, tik preden 
spregovori o petju deklet v čast Materi in Panu »pri mojih vratih«, pravi: 
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
11
»A jaz k Materi hočem moliti.« (77)16 Sholija k temu verzu je ohranila 
zgodbo, ki izhaja od Aristarhovega učenca Aristodema. Sholiast po njem 
povzema, da je Pindar učil Olimpiha igrati na piščal, ko sta na gori, kjer 
sta vadila, nenadoma planila hrup in plamen. Tedaj je Pindar »pomislil, 
da vidi, kako hodeč prihaja kamnit kip Matere bogov, zato je zraven 
hiše postavil kip Matere bogov in Pana«.17 O tem, kaj se je zgodilo, so 
potem Tebanci dali povprašati delfsko preročišče, ki je odgovorilo, da 
je Materi bogov treba postaviti oltar. Osupli so menili, da je Pindar 
predvidel orakelj, in med obredi v čast boginji poslej izkazovali čast 
tudi njemu. Orakelj je torej potrdil, da se je zgodil čudež, ki ga je v svoji 
pobožni jasnovidnosti uzrl Pindar.
Toda ob pobožnosti se v sholijah izobličujeta tudi Pindarjeva 
tekmovalnost in pohlep. Tekmovalnost se lušči iz njegovega primer-
janja sebe z drugimi pesniki. V »Drugem olimpijskem slavospevu« 
Pindar pravi, da kdor je moder, »mnogo ve po naravi, naučeni pohle-
pneži pa / proti božanski Zevsovi ptici / z mnogo jeziki kakor krokarji 
krakajo praznosti« (86–88).18 Ti pohlepneži glede na to, da je glagol 
garýein, »krakati«, v nekaterih rokopisih v dvojini in da krokarji 
na vadno lovijo v parih, ne samo da postanejo krokarja, ampak sholi-
ast v krokarskem paru tudi prepozna Pindarjeva sodobnika, Bakhilida 
in Simonida.19 In v kavkah, ki se medtem, ko se orel z višine blisko-
vito spusti in zgrabi plen, »pasejo po nižavah« (Nem. 3,83),20 bodisi ta 
bodisi kateri drug sholiast spet prepozna Bakhilida: »Zdi se, da se to 
nanaša na Bakhilida.«21
Tekmovalnost med krokarji in kavkami na eni strani ter Zevsovo 
ptico, orlom Pindarjem, na drugi se v sholijah stopnjuje v osebno 
sovraž nost. V »Četrtem nemejskem slavospevu« Pindar imenuje 
epi boulíai, »spletke«: »A čeprav pas ti globoka slanica / objema, se 
zoper spletke napni.« (36–37)22 Očitno je, da govori v prispodobi. S 
prispodobo morske vode, segajoče do pasu, bržkone meri na pesniško 
snov in z morjem snovi, ki se ponuja v upesnitev, na nevarnosti, v 
katere bi se pri pesnjenju zapletel, če bi se pregloboko pogreznil v snov, 
šel preveč v širino in predaleč v zastranitve ter se razveznil. V sholiji 
pa spletke, ki jih snuje morje snovi, postanejo naklepi »spletkarjev«. 
16 Snell–Maehler 74, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 136.
17 Shol. Pit. 3,137b, Drachmann 80–81, zv. 2.
18 Snell–Maehler 12, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 31–32.
19 Prim. shol. Ol. 2,157a, Drachmann 99, zv. 1.
20 Snell–Maehler 131, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 233.
21 Shol. Nem. 3,143, Drachmann 62, zv. 3.
22 Snell–Maehler 133, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 236.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
12
Pindar, trdi sholiast, to govori o sebi, in sicer tako, da samega sebe 
bodri proti njim: »Upri se njihovi spletki.«23 A še več od tega: spletkarji 
niso samo »sovražniki«, za katere se bo pokazalo, da jih »daleč preka-
šamo, ko v luči krenemo v boj« (38). So namreč en sam sovražnik, saj 
sholiast tokrat med sovraž niki pokaže na Simonida. Čeprav Pindar ne 
imenuje nikogar, spletke sholiast poosebi v spletkarje in sovražnike v 
Simonida: »Zdi se, da se to nanaša na Simonida, saj je on imel navado 
rabiti zastranitve.«24
Zastranitve v sholiastovi razlagi niso posledica spletk, se pravi pasti, ki 
jih pesnjenju nastavlja njegova lastna snov. »Spletke« in »sovražniki« so 
navsezadnje allegoroúmenon, »drugorečenica« za Simonida. Nevarnosti 
pri pesnjenju se na koncu hipostazirajo v sovražno razmerje med pesni-
koma. Tako kot krokarji v »Drugem olimpijskem slavospevu« zdaj tudi 
spletkarji oziroma sovražniki postanejo v pesnikovi osebni zgodovini 
hipostazirano razlagalo.
Po drugi strani v sholijah izstopa pohlep. To je najprej pohlep 
drugih. V pritožbi zaradi želje pesnikov po dobičku, kot jo Pindar 
izreka v »Drugem istmijskem slavospevu«, sholiast razbere namig na 
Simonidov pohlep: Muza, ki nekoč ni bila dobičkaželjna, a zdaj dela 
za denar, je Simonid.25 Čeprav Pindar spet ne imenuje nikogar, naj bi 
to, da si Muza za svoje delo daje plačevati, tudi Kalimah, eden izmed 
načelnikov aleksandrijske knjižnice in sam pesnik, razumel tako, kot da 
zadeva Simonida.26
Med Grki se je razširila domneva, da je ta Pindarjev starejši sodob-
nik prvi pesnil po naročilu oziroma za denar. To, da je bil pohlepen, se 
ga je morda prijelo že v času njegovega življenja; že tedaj naj bi ga pred-
sokratski mislec Ksenofan imenoval »stiskač«.27 Vendar v fragmentih 
Simonidovega pesništva, ki so prišli do nas, o denarju ni ničesar. Lahko 
da se je zgodba o njegovem pohlepu spletla na podlagi visokoletečih 
besed, s katerimi je slavil zmago vprege z mulami, ki jih je hiperbolično 
imenoval »hčere viharnonogih konj«.28 Aristotel v Retoriki pripoveduje, 
da sprva ni hotel spesniti slavospeva, ker mu je zmagovalec ponudil 
preskromno plačilo, ko pa mu je zanj dal spodoben znesek, je s hvalo 
pretiral. Kajti mule, pripominja Aristotel, so »tudi hčere oslov« (1405b; 
Aristotel 380).
23 Shol. Nem. 4,60b, Drachmann 74, zv. 3.
24 Shol. Nem. 4,60b, Drachmann 75, zv. 3.
25 Prim. shol. Ist. 2,9a, 2,9b in 2,15a, Drachmann 214, 215, zv. 3.
26 Prim. shol. Ist 2,9b, Drachmann 214, zv. 3.
27 Fr. 21 B 21, Diels–Kranz 332, zv. 1.
28 Fr. 515, Greek Lyric 382.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
13
Pri pesniškem pohlepu imamo v sholijah spet opravka s stopnje-
vanjem. Kljub Pindarjevemu pritoževanju zoper pohlep drugih tega 
namreč sholiasti kot izstopajočo značajsko potezo najdevajo tudi pri 
njem samem. V »Petem nemejskem slavospevu« Pindar ob kip, ki se 
ne more premakniti z mesta, postavi svojo pesem, krilato besedo, ki ne 
samo da poleti, ampak lahko tudi potujoč doseže razne kraje. Sholiast 
ve povedati, da je za ta slavospev zahteval tri tisoč drahem. Odgovor 
zmagovalčeve družine, ki ga je naročila, se je glasil, da bi za ta denar 
lahko dobili kip. Nazadnje je Pindar zahtevani znesek vendarle iztržil 
in napisal slavospev, a se je za premajhno spoštovanje svojega pesništva 
oddolžil tako, da je slavospev naročnikom v očitek začel s kipom,29 ki 
ne vzdrži primerjave s pesmijo.
Drugje, recimo, Pindar pravi, da modrim, se pravi pesnikom, »ne 
škodi dobiček« (Nem. 7,18),30 in v ozadju teh besed sholiast najde in izreče 
neizgovorjeno pesnikovo prepričanje, češ, zmagovalci morajo plačati, da 
bi v slavospevu dosegli nesmrtno slavo.31 Še določnejši in ostrejši pa je 
komentar k verzu o človeškem cenjenju zlata z začetka »Petega istmij-
skega speva«: »Vemo, da je bil Pindar scela ljubitelj zlata.«32 V sholiastov 
množinski »vemo« se je očitno odtisnila domneva, ki je dobila mlade. 
Preja domnev se je skepila v skupinsko vednost: popolnoma jasno je, 
kaj je za Pindarja zlato. Od tod se jasni težki začetek speva. In jasni se iz 
pesnikove značajske poteze: Pindar je bil »ljubitelj zlata«.
Zlato torej v sholiastični hermenevtiki kaže na Pindarjev pohlep, in 
da to vemo, je navsezadnje dovolj, da razumemo vse, kar Pindar izreka 
o zlatu. Vendar zlato pri Pindarju stoji za najvišje. To obširno razlaga 
Martin Heidegger v predavanjih, ki jih je sicer v poglavitnem namenil 
najstarejšemu ohranjenemu fragmentu zahodne misli, izreku predso-
kratika Anaksimandra.33 Pindar, pravi Heidegger, sicer dobro ve, kaj 
pri ljudeh zmore denar: naredi človeka. Tako na primer trdi oziroma 
s poudarkom zatrjuje: »Denar, denar je človek.« (Ist. 2,11)34 A o zlatu 
pesni drugače. Prvi trije verzi »Petega istmijskega speva« se glasijo:
29 Prim. shol. Nem. 5,1a, Drachmann 89, zv. 3.
30 Snell–Maehler 145, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 252.
31 Prim. shol. Nem. 7,25a, Drachmann 120, zv. 3.
32 Shol. Ist. 5,2a, Drachmann 242, zv. 3.
33 Ta predavanja je Heidegger verjetno napisal poleti ali jeseni leta 1942, a jih ni 
nikdar odpredaval. Pindarjevo pesnjenje zlata obravnava tudi v različici teh predavanj, 
ki jo je opustil, še preden je prišel do Anaksimandrovega izreka. Ob izpisanih pre-
davanjih je objavljena v dodatku istega, oseminsedemdesetega zvezka Heideggerjevih 
zbranih del.
34 Snell–Maehler 145, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 292.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
14
Μᾶτερ Ἀελίου πολυώνυμε Θεία,
σέο ἕκατι καὶ μεγασθενῆ νόμισαν
χρυσὸν ἄνθρωποι περιώσιον ἄλλων·35
Mati Sonca, Teja mnogoimena,
zaradi tebe tudi ljudje štejejo za silno močno
zlato, od drugega bolj pričujoče vsenaokrog.
Te verze je skladno s sholiastično hermenevtiko treba razumeti izhaja-
joč iz Pindarjevega pohlepa v povezavi z njegovo pobožnostjo: cenjenje 
zlata ljudem narekuje božanstvo. Toda kaj tu govori Pindar?
O zlatu pravi, da je za ljudi periósios, »bolj pričujoče« od vsega dru gega. 
Heidegger opozarja, da to besedo v njeni jonski obliki, perioúsios, pozna 
že Homer in da spada v isto pomensko polje kot parousía in ousía, ki je, 
preden je v govorici filozofov postala izraz za bitnost, pomenila »premo-
ženje« ali »imetje«. To, kar je periósios, pa ni nekaj vsenaokrog pričujo-
čega, kar se ponuja v imetje človeku. Je več od česarkoli pričujočega – 
pri Pindarju je to torej zlato –, in prav razgrnitve tega, kar v besedi 
periósios, ne da bi bilo izrečeno, sogovori o zlatu, se loti Heidegger.
Zlato, kot ga pesni Pindar, sije oziroma sveti tako, da osvetljuje vse 
okrog sebe. Osvetljujoč vse drugo, ostaja perí, »okrog« njega, ne da 
bi se kdaj odmaknilo in ga zapustilo. Vse je obsijano in hkrati nadsi-
jano od zlata, vse se kaže v njegovem soju, zunaj katerega se nič ne 
bi moglo prikazati. Zato je zlato prav v svojem sijanju ali svetenju, s 
katerim je presežno sopričujujoče pri pričujočem in mu daje kazati se, 
bolj pričujoče oziroma bolj bivajoče od vsega bivajočega. Pindarjevo 
zlato ni kovina. To zlato je, s Heideggerjevo, ne s Pindarjevo besedo, 
»bit« – »na neki način bit bivajočega« (Heidegger 74). »'Bit'«, ugotavlja 
Heidegger, »je grško mišljeno vzsvetlevajoče sijanje [das erglänzende 
Scheinen] …« (96)
Kaj pa ima z zlatom opraviti boginja? Pindar v priklicevanju bogi-
nje na začetku speva pravi, češ, »zaradi tebe« imajo ljudje zlato za 
nekaj silno močnega. Vendar to ne pomeni, razlaga Heidegger, da je 
boginja vzrok človeškega mnenja o zlatu. Ne zapeljuje boginja ljudi k 
mnenju, da ima zlato silno moč in da je zato, ker tistemu, ki ga ima v 
posesti, prinaša cenjenje drugih, tudi bolj bivajoče od vsega drugega. 
Nasprotno: ljudi prek theâsthai, božjega sebedajanja v gledanje, vodi h 
gledanju tega, kar je in kakor je. O tem govori ime, ki ji ga da Pindar, 
čeprav jo v isti sapi s pridevkom dodatno poimenuje za »mnogoimeno«: 
Theía, »tista, ki gleda«. V tej boginji, ki jo Pindar priklicujoč imenuje 
35 Snell–Maehler 175, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 306.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
15
dvakrat – najprej mati svetečega in svetlečega boga Sonca in nato nad 
vsemi theoí, »bogovi«, presežno Boginja –, Heidegger vidi celo boštvo, 
po katerem bogovi so, kar so: Gottheit der Götter, »boštvo bogov«, ki je 
njihovo bistvo. To pa je v gledanju oziroma pogledovanju. Božje gleda-
nje, ki sámo stoji v izvornem sijanju ali svetenju, pogleduje k človeku. 
Boginja z mnogimi imeni ali pač ta ali oni bog je, kar se daje člove-
škemu pogledu oziroma kar ta pogled ujame. V božjem pogledovanju 
se ponuja ugledanje.
Zato prvotno ne gleda človek. Pobuda pri gledanju ni na njegovi 
strani in gledanje ni dejavnost »subjekta«, naravnana na predmet. 
Gledanje ne izhaja od človeka, ampak od tistega, kar mu prihaja 
naproti. Bogovi pogledujejo v bivajoče, v stvari, ki nimajo pogleda, in 
iz njih gledajo človeka. Ko človek gleda, je že vzgledan, in ko ugleda, 
je ves oko. In zato to, da ima zlato silno moč, tudi ni človeško mnenje, 
noben proizvod predstavljanja.
Nomízein pri ljudeh ni »imeti«, ni »šteti za« v pomenu golega menje-
nja. »Šteti za« je tu treba razumeti iz nómosa, »zakona«, ki izhaja od biti 
bivajočega, in sicer kot spoštovanje tega zakona, kot erachten: pozorno 
gledati in pri ugledanem, bodisi pri bogu ali pri bivajočem, iz katerega 
bog pogleduje k človeku, upoštevati, kar je njegovega, vsakemu »pustiti, 
da mu pripade, kar mu pripada [ihm sein Gehöriges gehören lassen]« 
(Heidegger 75). V ta »šteti za« se v temelju prišteva spoštljivo upošteva-
nje vsega tistega, kar je in kakor je dano z zakonom biti, ter navsezadnje 
spoštovanje Boginje same, Teje, ki jo Pindar v Heideggerjevih očeh 
pesni v najtesnejši zvezi z zlatom in zlato samo kakor bit. Ni zlato bolj 
bivajoče od bivajočega, ker ima silno moč za ljudi, ampak se zato, ker 
je bolj bivajoče, šteje, da ima takšno moč. Zato je »Peti istmijski slavo-
spev« »najbližji 'biti' in hkrati najsorodnejši pesnjenju mišljenja« (64) 
ter »najveličastnejši izmed Pindarjevih spevov« (76), prvi trije verzi tega 
speva pa »presijavajo ves uvod v spev, presijavajo ves spev, presijavajo 
vse Pindarjevo pesništvo« (97).
Heideggerjevo razumevanje Pindarjevega pesništva je vsekakor 
značilno uravnano glede na temeljni fascinosum in vodilo njegovega 
lastnega mišljenja: božje gledanje je kot pogledovanje k ljudem sámo 
mogoče samo v sijanju zlata, se pravi biti, bogovi so po svojem bistvu 
posredniki in ljudje prejemniki biti itn. Vendar to razumevanje daje 
neizmerno globlji uvid v Pindarjevo pesnjenje zlata kakor sholije, ki ga 
pojasnjujejo iz Pindarjeve značajske poteze.
Sholiastično pojasnjevanje dela iz življenja pa se ni ustavilo pri 
takšnem karakteriziranju, ki vzvratno meče luč zlasti na temna mesta 
v Pindarjevem pesništvu, ampak je šlo še naprej. Sholiasti so povode 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
16
za Pindarjevo pesniško rekanje iskali v okoliščinah, v katerih je pesnil, 
oziroma v aktualijah iz njegovega življenja. V njem so (iz)najdevali 
konkretne detajle z jasnilno močjo, ne da bi zarisali pot, po kateri 
so skozi odmikajoča se stoletja prihajali do njih. Takšne detajle je 
Hermann Fränkel, eden najprodornejših pindaroslovcev sploh, imeno-
val »marnje« (Fränkel 391).
Sholiastična inventio se je razpasla v 19. stoletju, ko je bil na pohodu 
historicizem. Pindarjevo pesništvo je pod egido Augusta Boeckha, izda-
jatelja in vplivnega komentatorja njegovih epinikijev, postalo »histo-
rična alegorija« (Young 584). Historicisti so ga v celoti razumeli kot 
retorično bogato obložen drugorek za to in ono iz Pindarjevega življe-
nja, v čemer se osebna zgodovina križa s skupno politično zgodovino. 
Historicizem se ni ustavljal pred temnostjo Pindarjevega pesništva in je, 
»kadar zgodovina ni bila znana, opogumljal preučevalce, da so jo izna-
šli« (Lloyd-Jones 127). Tako so bile v poglavitni interpretamen tega 
pesništva povzdignjene marnje sholiastičnega porekla.
Od Pindarjevega življenja ostaja sledljiv njegov epinikijski itinera-
rij. V Grčiji so speve v čast zmagovalcem na športnih igrah navadno 
izvajali v mestih, kjer so se ti rodili ali prebivali, ali včasih tudi na kraju 
samem, kjer so dosegli zmago. V Pindarjevih obračanjih na zmagovalce 
in mesta, iz katerih so ti prihajali, se vsekakor riše sled njegovih epini-
kijskih potovanj po grškem svetu. Tako se Pindar na primer obrača 
na Sirakuze, mesto na Siciliji, češ, »k vam iz sijajnih Teb prihajam in 
prinašam / ta spev« (Pit. 2,3–4).36 Lahko da je svoje epinikije na slav-
jih kdaj izvajal sam in kdaj morda kot voditelj zbora, ki ga je izuril za 
uprizoritev pesmi s plesom. Vendar ne vemo, kdaj je potoval skupaj s 
svojimi spevi, kdaj pa so potovali le spevi.
Kronologija Pindarjevih slavospevov je po naročilih, ki jih je dobi-
val, vsaj delno znana. Pindarjev prvi po času nastanka določljivi epinikij 
je »Deseti pitijski slavospev« iz leta 498 pr. Kr. Poleg tega vemo, da je 
potem dobil naročili dveh pitijskih zmagovalcev iz Akraganta na Siciliji 
in da je v osemdesetih letih spesnil več slavospevov za olimpijske in 
pitijske zmagovalce iz osrednjegrških mest, iz Orhomena, Aten in Teb, 
da je, nadalje, v tem desetletju vzpostavil stik z zmagovalci z Ajgine, za 
katere je v teku svoje dolge pesniške poti spesnil sploh največ, nato da 
je leta 476 prišlo prvo naročilo od Hierona, tirana iz Sirakuz, in da je 
ta »sicilska zveza« (Stoneman 23) trajala več let ter da je bilo leto 474 
zanj annus mirabilis, saj je tedaj napisal kar šest slavospevov, med njimi 
prvič tudi spev v čast zmagovalca iz Kirene v dandanašnji Libiji, in 
36 Snell–Maehler 66, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 123.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
17
sicer »Devetega pitijskega«, čez leta pa še četrtega in petega. Naročila so 
prihajala iz osrednje Grčije in iz zahodnega grškega sveta, s Sicilije in iz 
Afrike, vendar ne tudi iz grške dežele na vzhodu, iz Homerjeve Jonije. 
Njegov zadnji časovni določljivi epinikij je »Osmi pitijski slavospev« iz 
leta 446, ki proti koncu kot labodji spev prinaša temni izrek: »Sence 
sen / je človek.« (95–96)37
Sklep
Skratka, če se čisto na kratko vrnem k Pindarjevi viti: ta za razlago 
njegovega pesništva ni uporabna, ker niti ni namenjena takšni razlagi. 
Kot rečeno, so poglavitni vir za življenja pesnikov, tudi za Pindarjeva 
življenja, predvsem prvoosebne izjave iz njihovega pesništva, dojete kot 
namigi, ki so potem razviti v zgodbe. Toda te izjave (in karkoli povezlji-
vega v pesnikovem delu z njegovim življenjem) v biografizirajoči sholiji 
postanejo razlagalski ključ. Ta je skovan zunaj – se pravi: iz pesništva 
zunaj njega samega. V tej obliki se vse, kar je iz dela mogoče »spraviti v 
življenje«, vrača v delo. Življenjepisni podatek, ki v viti pomaga graditi 
učinkovitost zgodbe, se obrne in postane ključ za odklepanje teksta.
V epinikijih Pindar o sebi govori tedaj, ko govori o svojem pesnje-
nju. Prvoosebne izjave, ki jih izreka v svojem imenu, zadevajo predvsem 
njegovo pesništvo. V vseh drugih prvoosebnih izjavah lahko prihaja do 
besede ta ali oni tis, ta ali oni »kdo«, Pindar sam, zbor, oba skupaj ali 
povsem nedoločni nekdo. Pindarjevo lastno življenje se nam v nadrob-
nostih nepovrnljivo skriva za njegovim pesnjenjem.
V sholijah pa je pogosto pri delu plássein, »zgnetanje« pesnikovega 
značaja, ki potem deluje kot interpretamen za njegovo pesništvo. Pridelek 
tega zgnetanja je plazma, ki na svoji protoplazmi, pesniški besedi, opra-
vlja plastične operacije. Na to, da je mimo neznanega izvirnika zgne-
teni lik pesnika v resnici malik, zgovorno kaže fikcija o pohlepu, ki je 
postala razlagalo, ključ, ki izključuje globokomiselnost Pindarjevega 
pesnjenja in ga motivira z nizko strastjo. Še več: razlagalska fikcija, ki 
v sholijah narašča, Pindarjevo pesnjenje pojasnjuje glede na situacije ali 
konstelacije v njegovem življenju. Vendar je vsako odkritje, ki je hkrati 
izobličenje takšne konstelacije, fiktivna tvorba, zvarina, zgnetenina. Z 
razlagalsko plastiko lahko nastane le malik, neresnična podoba, ki ji k 
resničnosti ne more pomagati niti to, da ne stoji sama zase kakor kip, 
ampak je postavljena v naokrog doslikano krajino življenja.
37 Snell–Maehler 105, zv. 1; prim. Senegačnik 187.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
18
Temnost Pindarjeve pesniške besede se ne jasni z več podatki. 
Razumni, ki jim govorijo Pindarjeve puščice, so tisti, ki razumejo, 
da to, v kar te puščice merijo, ni jasno samo po sebi. To v Pindarjevi 
besedi ni le zašifrirano, tako da bi bilo lahko potem dekodirano v 
razlagi, spuščeno skoz filter, ki bi odsnel temnost in jo odstranil. 
Tisto, na kar meri Pindar, je sámo temno in po tem se temni tudi 
Pindarjeva beseda.
LITERATURA
Aristotel. Retorika. Prevod Matej Hriberšek. Ljubljana: Šola retorike Zupančič& 
Zupančič, 2011.
Currie, Bruno. Pindar and the Cult of Heroes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.
Currie, Bruno, in Ian Rutherford. »The Reception of Greek Lyric Poetry in the Ancient 
World: Transmission, Canonization, and Paratext«. The Reception of Greek Lyric 
Poetry in the Ancient World: Transmission, Canonization, and Paratext. Ur. Bruno 
Currie in Ian Rutherford. Leiden; Boston, MA: Brill, 2019. 1–36.
Dickey, Eleanor. »The Sources of Our Knowledge of Ancient Scholarship«. Brill’s 
Companion to Ancient Greek Scholarship. Zv. 2. Ur. Franco Montanari, Stephanos 
Matthaios in Antonios Rengakos. Leiden; Boston, MA: Brill, 2015. 459–514.
Diels, Hermann, in Walther Kranz, izd. Fragmenti predsokratikov 1–3. Prevod Dašo 
Benko idr. Ljubljana: Študentska založba, 2012.
Dornseiff, Franz. Pindars Stil. Berlin: Wiedmannsche Buchhandlung, 1921.
Drachmann, Aage B. Scholia vetera in Pindari carmina. Zv. 1: Scholia in Olympionicas. 
Leipzig: Teubner, 1903. Zv. 2: Scholia in Pythionicas. Leipzig: Teubner, 1910. Zv. 
3: Scholia in Nemeonicas et Isthmionicas. Leipzig: Teubner, 1927.
Fränkel, Hermann. »Schrullen in den Scholien zu Pindars Nemeen 7 und Olympien 
3«. Hermes 4 (1961): 385–397.
Gallo, Italo, izd. Una nuova biografia di Pindaro (POxy. 2438). Salerno: Di Giacomo, 
1968.
Greek Lyric. Stesichorus, Ibycus, Simonides, and Others III. Loeb 476. Grški izvirnik z 
angleškim prevodom. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991.
Hamilton, John T. Soliciting Darkness. Pindar, Obscurity, and the Classical Tradition. 
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003.
Heidegger, Martin. Der Spruch des Anaximander. Gesamtausgabe. Zv. 78. Izd. Ingeborg 
Schüßler. Frankfurt na Majni: Vittorio Klostermann, 2010.
Herodotus. Zgodbe. 2. izd. Prevod Anton Sovrè. Ljubljana: Slovenska matica, 2003.
Heziod. Teogonija / Dela in dnevi. Prevod Kajetan Gantar. Ljubljana: Modrijan, 2009.
Horace. Odes and Epodes. Loeb 33. Latinski izvirnik z angleškim prevodom. Cam-
bridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004 .
Irigoin, Jean. Histoire du texte de Pindar. Pariz: Klincksieck, 1952.
Kivilo, Maarit. Early Greek Poets’ Lives. The Shaping of the Tradition. Leiden; Boston, 
MA: Brill, 2010.
Lefkowitz, Mary R. »The Poet as Hero: Fifth-Century Autobiography and Subsequent 
Biographical Fiction«. The Classical Quarterly 2 (1978): 459–469.
Lefkowitz, Mary R. First-Person Fictions. Pindar’s Poetic »I«. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 
1991.
Vid Snoj:     Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
19
Lefkowitz, Mary R. The Lives of the Greek Poets. 2. izd. Baltimore, MD: The Johns 
Hopkins University Press, 2012.
Lloyd-Jones, Hugh. »Modern Interpretation of Pindar: The Second Pythian and 
Seventh Nemean Odes«. The Journal of Hellenic Studies 93 (1973): 109–137.
Negri, Monica. »Commento«. Eustazio di Tessalonica. Introduzione al commentario a 
Pindaro. Izd. Monica Negri. Brescia: Paideia Editrice, 2000. 67–275.
Pausanias. Helládos periégesis. Complete Works. Dvojezična elektronska izdaja. Hastings: 
Delphi, 2014. 815–1527.
Pindar. Slavospevi in izbrani fragmenti. Prevod Brane Senegačnik. Ljubljana: Družina, 
2013.
Race, William H. »The End of 'Olympia' 2: Pindar and the 'Vulgus'«. California 
Studies in Classical Antiquity 12 (1979): 251–267.
Sapfo. Pesmi. Dvojezična izdaja. Prevod Marko Marinčič. Ljubljana: KUD Logos, 
2008.
Snell, Bruno, in Herwig Maehler, izd. Pindari carmina cum fragmentis. Zv. 1: Epinicia. 
Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1980. Zv. 2: Fragmenta. Indices. Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 
1975.
Young, David C. »Pindaric Criticism«. The Minnesota Review 4 (1963–1964): 584–
641.
Pindar’s Life in vitae and in Scholia to His Poetry
Keywords: ancient Greek poetry / Pindar / understanding of poetry / vitae of the 
poets / scholia
In the canon of Greek lyric poets, Pindar was placed first by the librarians of 
Alexandria. He became the master lyricist, although he does not seem to be a 
model of metrical regularity in his songs in honor of the victors of the athletic 
games, the only part of his poetry that has survived almost intact. Moreover, 
even Pindar’s compatriots, despite their love of measure, calibration, and clar-
ity, considered his poetic language obscure. He himself spoke of the need to 
interpret his poetry, or what it referred to. The interpretation of a poet’s work 
through his life, on the other hand, had already appeared among the Greeks. 
The linking of work and life began in the vitae, which, as far as the poets 
of the archaic period were concerned, were not written down until several 
centuries after their deaths and developed into a literary genre of their own. 
Given the scarcity of other material, the vitae in the case of the lyric poets rely 
mainly on their first-person statements. Their main feature, therefore, is the 
extraction of the life from the work, the portrait of the man suggested by the 
work itself. Pindar’s vitae thus foreground his piety. Biographisation, however, 
with its inevitable fictional gesture, is also found in scholiastic writing on 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
20
Pindar’s poetry, which likewise originated in Alexandria. But the (in)found 
biographical information that effectively contributes to the construction 
of the anecdotal-legendary stories in the vitae is reversed in the scholia and 
becomes the key to unlocking the text.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 821.14’02.09-1Pindar
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.01
Spreminjanje imaginarija 
napredka in rasti v avantgardnih in 
intermedijskih umetniških praksah
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg
Univerza v Novi Gorici, Vipavska 13, 5000 Nova Gorica
https://orcid.org/0000-0002-2259-7931, https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5192-2177
kristina.pranjic@ung.si, peter.purg@ung.si
Članek povezuje umetnostno avantgardo z začetka dvajsetega stoletja ter 
današnjo intermedijsko in družbeno angažirano umetniško prakso. Osrednja 
teza je, da lahko v predstavljenih primerih umetniških del najdemo koncepte 
ter modele za razmišljanje in življenje onkraj imperativa rasti in nenehnega 
napredka. Tovrstne umetniške strategije so predstavljene v petih sklopih, ki 
obravnavajo teme, kot so lenoba in izginotje, kozmopolitizem in univerzalni 
jezik, alternativne predstave prostora/časa, transhumanizem, posthumanizem 
in sistemski pogled na svet. Tako kot so nekoč avantgarde opravljale kritiko 
industrijske oz. moderne družbe, tako danes intermedijska umetnost prispeva k 
prestrukturiranju imaginarija rasti ter kapitalistične proizvodnje in potrošnje. 
Članek doprinaša k premišljevanju konceptov postrasti in odrasti na področju 
umetnosti in humanistike ter prikaže, kako je prav umetnost tista, preko katere 
je možno pozitivno razumevanje nemoči in opuščanja oz. nasprotja rasti, kar 
navadno razumemo kot izključno negativno — kot pomanjkanje in izgubo.
Ključne besede: umetnost in družba / avantgarda / intermedijska umetnost / ekokritika / 
ideologija rasti / postkapitalizem
21
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Uvod
Po prvi svetovni vojni je nemška avantgardna šola za oblikovanje, arhi-
tekturo in uporabno umetnost Bauhaus v Weimarju v središče svoje 
vizije postavila Gesamtkunstwerk – mitsko katedralo prihodnosti.1 Ta 
naj bi poudarjala pomen konstrukcije in gradbene prakse (nem. bauen) 
kot takrat sodobna arhitekturna umetnost, ki naj bi bila, tako kot člo-
veška narava, vseobsegajoča. Bauhaus je zastavil ambiciozno družbeno 
1 Članek je rezultat dela na raziskovalnem programu »Historične interpretacije 20. 
stoletja« (P6-0347), ki ga financira Javna agencija za znanstvenoraziskovalno in inova-
cijsko dejavnost Republike Slovenije.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
22
in umetniško agendo, tesno povezano z zamislijo o izgradnji nove indu-
strijske družbe in nove kulture, ki naj bi nastala po vojni. Današnja 
realnost, sicer znova zaznamovana z vojnami, pa prinaša nove izzive 
za sodobnega človeka. Najbolj pereče dolgoročne težave našega časa 
so zagotovo podnebne spremembe in zmanjševanje biotske razno-
vrstnosti. Z vidika omenjenih kriz bi bila naloga sodobne avantgardne 
umetniške šole in z njo povezanega gibanja v umetnosti popolnoma 
drugačna, kot je bila Bauhausova. Lahko predpostavimo, da bi namesto 
konstruktivistične izgradnje v središče postavili ravno nasprotno – mejo 
oz. zamejitev izkoriščanja naravnih in človeških resursov.
Zahteva po nenehni rasti in izpopolnjevanju je človeka privedla do 
neetičnih ravnanj, za katera smo spoznali, da so popolnoma nevzdrž na. 
Živimo v svetu, v katerem je človeku in nečloveškemu drugemu 
odvzeta prihodnost (Fry). Zato se v različnih sferah človekovega delo-
vanja kot vse bolj pomembna kaže zamisel omejevanja oziroma limite 
in drugačne logike življenja ter inoviranja (Heikkurinen, »Degrowth: 
A Metamorphosis in Being«; »Degrowth by Means of Technology?«; 
Vinsel in Russell). Na področju politike in gospodarstva se vse bolj 
uveljavljajo raziskovalni projekti in aktivistične mreže pod novimi 
postkapitalističnimi načeli, ki nasprotujejo akumulaciji in premočr-
tnemu napredku, kot sta postrast in odrast (fr. décroissance), usmerjeni 
v krčenje proizvodnje in potrošnje ter popolno preureditev pojmo-
vanja ekonomije (Schmelzer, Vetter in Vansintjan; D'Alisa, Demaria 
in Kallis; Latouch). Tudi na področju literarnih ved in umetnostne 
zgodovine se vse bolj izpostavlja ekološki vidik umetniških del, ki se jih 
preučuje z ekokritiškimi pristopi (Steger; Patrizio; Dragona). V ekokri-
tični humanistiki gre predvsem za različne oblike kritike antropocen-
trizma, kapitalistične modernosti in napredka razvitega dela sveta ter 
kazanje na medsebojno prepletenost človeka in nečloveškega. Literarna 
in umetnostna zgodovina prevzemata nalogo, da ponovno premislita 
delo tako zgodovinskih kot današnjih avtoric in avtorjev v luči sodobne 
teorije in hkrati raziščeta, kakšen vpliv ima umetnost na našo percep-
cijo in formiranje ekološke epistemologije.
Ker je logika protinapredka praviloma spoznana kot a priori slaba, je 
pomembno raziskovati in opisovati drugačne imaginarije,2 ki bi lahko 
2 Pri razumevanju koncepta imaginarija izhajamo iz dela Corneliusa Castoriadisa, 
ki je ločil družbeni (kolektivni, anonimni) in radikalni imaginarij ter pokazal, da 
ravno zaradi slednjega – radikalne imaginacije singularne človeške psihe, ki je pred-
met nenehnih premen reprezentacij, afekta in namena – svet ni determinističen. Po 
Castoriadisu naša imaginacija namreč ni podoba ali kopija nečesa, ampak kreacija, kar 
pomeni, da svet ni določen enkrat za vselej, ampak se nenehno na novo artikulira. O 
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
23
razširili možnosti našega izkustvenega polja za tovrstne alternative. 
Umetnost je namreč skupaj s humanistiko pomembno področje ne 
samo za reflektiranje družbe, ampak tudi za ideološko neobremenjeno 
izumljanje novih resničnosti in potencialnih družbenih usmeritev. 
Podobno kot je bila avantgardna umetnost ukoreninjena v takratno 
sodobnost in je iz te napovedovala ter izumljala boljšo verzijo prihodno-
sti (t. i. »optimalna projekcija« Aleksandra Flakerja; glej Flaker 71–78), 
tako tudi današnje intermedijske umetniške prakse, ki uporabljajo 
najsodobnejše tehnološke dosežke na presečišču znanosti in umetno-
sti ter se s svojimi nehomogenimi praksami in procesualnostjo izmi-
kajo umetniškemu trgu in mainstreamu sodobne umetnosti (Quaranta 
77–111),3 praviloma prevprašujejo usmeritve razvoja, redkeje pa tudi 
predstavljajo boljše alternative.
V nadaljevanju bomo analizo primerov zgodovinske avantgarde 
20. stoletja in sodobne intermedijske umetnosti 21. stoletja predsta-
vili v petih sklopih oz. temah, ki neposredno odgovarjajo na kritiko 
rasti ali pa izzivajo hierarhične strukture, ki služijo kot opora logiki 
rasti: 1. lenoba, izginotje, neprisotnost; 2. kozmopolitizem, univerzalni 
jezik; 3. drugačne predstave o prostoru/času; 4. razširitev čutov, trans-
humanizem; 5. sistemski pogled na svet, posthumanizem. V zaključku 
je članek teoretsko nadgrajen z nekaterimi argumentacijami sodob-
nih teoretikov, ki z avantgardnimi in intermedijskimi umetniškimi 
praksami prikazujejo pozitivni vidik navadno negativno razumljenih 
konceptov, kot so omejitev, zaustavitev in nemoč oz. sprostitev moči 
ali nadzora. S tem dodatno podkrepimo pomembnost avantgarde in 
intermedijske umetnosti za raziskovanje teženj k demokratizaciji, avto-
nomiji, solidarnosti in okoljsko vzdržnemu načinu življenja v skladu z 
načeli posthumanistične etike (Braidotti; Tsing).
Lenoba, izginotje, neprisotnost
Čeprav bi lahko tako avantgardo kot novomedijsko umetnost hitro eno-
značno povezali z estetiko slavljenja stroja in tehnološkega napredka, 
je treba omeniti, da je uporaba tehnologije pri obeh izrazito kritična. 
imaginariju ter zmožnosti ustvarjanja in preoblikovanja sveta (world-making in world-
-remaking) v kontekstu »planetarne teorije« glej Moraru 67–76.
3 Avantgardo in intermedijsko umetnost so nekateri vidnejši teoretiki neposredno 
povezali prek njihovih vizualnih in besedilnih eksperimentiranj ter formalnih postopkov 
(Manovich), pa tudi prek uresničevanja avantgardnih ciljev s pomočjo inovativne rabe 
tehnologij (Benjamin 38) ali retroavantgardnega in postutopičnega principa (Arns).
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
24
Fascinancija nad estetiko stroja v avantgardi je pomenila predvsem 
način prekinitve s psihologizacijo in simboliko dotedanje umetno-
sti. Poveličevanje stroja in mesta, ki sta utelešala modernost, je sicer 
najbolj vidno v italijanskem futurizmu F. T. Marinettija, a tudi pri 
njem je odnos do stroja izredno kompleksen, futuristična tehnološka 
domišljija pa pogosto skriva tudi protislovne značilnosti (Berghaus), 
vidne na primer pri t. i. nekoristnih strojih Bruna Munarija. Pri drugih 
avantgardnih gibanjih je kritika industrializacije prek uporabe stroja 
bolj izrazita – npr. »umetniški stroj« dadaistov pomeni intervencijo v 
determinizem stroja; Tatlin pri konstruiranju novega stroja sledi prin-
cipom narave; nadrealististične tehnološke »proteze« in podobe kibor-
gov prevprašujejo avtomatizem človeka; ruski futuristi (t. i. bodočniki) 
vzpostavitve nove kulture ne vidijo v napredku in mehanizaciji, ampak 
v pacifistični in kozmistični miselnosti, ki jo določajo elementi primi-
tivizma, arhaike in anarhizma (Gurianova). Podobno je bila tudi vizija 
prihodnosti v jugoslovanski avantgardi in zenitizmu Ljubomirja Micića 
osnovana na značilnostih mitskega in arhetipskega.
Še več, za enega najbolj vidnih avantgardistov Kazimirja Maleviča 
lahko »avtentično« oziroma »realno« nastane le, če izkoreninimo težnjo 
po popolnosti in napredku (Pranjić, »Bespredmetnost' Maleviča«). Za 
Maleviča je ravno ukinitev prihodnosti nekaj, kar lahko odpre možnost 
za umetniško ustvarjalnost (avtonomno delovanje). Biti brez projekta 
za Maleviča pomeni biti brez pritiska zunanjih struktur, pomeni, da se 
lahko zgodi skoraj vse – mogoče in tudi nemogoče. Zgovorno je dejstvo, 
da je februarja 1927 v svojo knjigo Bog ni zvržen: umetnost, cerkev, 
tovarna, ki jo je podaril absurdistu Daniilu Harmsu, zapisal posvetilo 
»Pojdite in ustavite napredek«. S svojim teoretskim in vizualnim delom 
je Malevič raziskoval brezpredmetni svet; ta svet z drugo logiko bo 
poganjalo nekaj drugega kot prihodnost in razsvetljenska racionalnost 
(»Suprematizem«). V eseju Lenoba – prava resnica človeštva iz leta 1922 
je predlagal estetiko nedela ali lenobe. Lenobo razumemo kot ključno 
za vsako umetniško in ustvarjalno delo, poleg tega pa gre za taktiko 
izogibanja nesmiselnemu, kapitalističnemu in odtujenemu delu.4 V 
svojem slikarskem in kiparskem delu, t. i. suprematizmu, je eksperi-
mentiral z gibanjem in mirovanjem slikarskih in materialnih mas, da bi 
postopoma prišel do zatemnitve vizualnih objektov in njihovega izgi-
njanja v belino – od alogičnih, dadaističnih slik, na katerih najdemo 
4 Malevičevo delo je prevzel umetnik Mladen Stilinović v svojem besedilu Hval-
nica lenobi leta 1992. Z lenobo kot protikapitalistično taktiko v umetnosti in ustvar-
jalnosti se je ukvarjal tudi v svojem umetniškem projektu Umetnik na delu.
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
25
zgolj besedo »zatemnitev« oz. »delna zatemnitev« (Kompozicija z Mona 
Lizo, 1914), do popolne zatemnitve na sliki Črni kvadrat (1915) in 
izginotja v belini na sliki Belo na belem (1918).
Ideje o zaviranju aktivnosti, izginotju in neprisotnosti v vsakdanjem 
življenju so prisotne tudi v delu nadrealistov in dadaistov, kot so Walter 
Serner, Dragan Aleksić, Marcel Duchamp in Arhur Cravan. Izredno 
zanimiv je Sernerjev dadaistični »manifest« v aforizmih Letzte Lockerung 
(1920) o dadaistični filozofiji življenja, ki predvideva »raz rahljan« 
odnos do sveta, nomadstvo in nenehno metamorfozo, ki sledi le volji 
umetnika, ter popolno zavračanje idealizma in lastne identitete kot 
nečesa statičnega in opredeljenega. Med manj znanimi besedili je treba 
omeniti tudi Aleksićev dadaistični manifest iz leta 1921, v katerem 
uvaja »kakortedragost«, ki jo je mogoče razumeti kot dadaistični »nič« 
in »vseenost«, ter pomembnost naključja pri Tristanu Tzari (Pranjić, 
»Change Must Come« 302, 307). Tako dadaistično kot supremati-
stično delo nista podrejena določeni vsebini ali cilju, ravno nasprotno – 
odpravljata horizont, kar v obeh primerih omogoči, da postavita pod 
vprašaj celotno resničnost ter pokažeta nedoslednost metodologij in 
vladajočih ideologij (300). Na ta način izpostavita skrite norme družbe, 
ki se posledično odpravijo ali predrugačijo.
Na področju intermedijske umetnosti lahko podobna izhodišča 
najdemo v delu profesorja in intermedijskega umetnika Saša Sedlačka, 
ki se v projektu Oblomo (2019–2021) konceptualno močno približa 
Malevičevemu premišljevanju o estetiki lenobe oz. nedela kot do skraj-
nosti prignanem pojmu dela v dobi avtomatizacije. Triletni projekt, 
ki preči formate interaktivne instalacije, spletne oziroma mobilne apli-
kacije in celo tržne storitve, kritično obravnava sodobne biometrične 
tehnologije in kriptotehnologije. Te nas, še posebej ko so povezane z 
družbenimi omrežji in trgovinskimi storitvami na spletu, v nasprotju z 
njihovimi površinskimi obljubami v resnici napeljujejo na neprestano 
delo ali vsaj nezavedno predajanje zasebnih podatkov. S tem dodajamo 
vrednost platformam in pogosto nehote sodelujemo v novi paradigmi 
izkoriščevalskega kapitalizma, ki izčrpava naravne in človeške (v tem 
primeru podatkovne) vire. V različnih galerijskih postavitvah in tudi v 
spletni različici projekta Oblomo Sedlaček skuša prikazati izmenljivost 
med delom in nedelom, pri čemer slednjega postavi v luč kot-da pozi-
tivne konotacije pridobivanja ekonomske vrednosti v obliki dejanske 
kupne moči. To predstavlja kriptokovanec Oblomo, ki mu avtor doda 
tudi posebno ironično etično konotacijo: kovance je mogoče pridobi-
vati oziroma kriptorudariti z lastnim (uporabnikovim) nedelom – tako 
v galerijskem (javnem) kot tudi (zasebnem) kiberprostoru.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
26
V kontekstu tehnik upora proti platformnemu kapitalizmu, ki 
promovirajo lenobo in naključne procese, je treba omeniti tudi aktualno 
delo Bena Grosserja Minus (2021). To predstavlja tehnično preprost, 
a za pričujoči kontekst kritike sodobnega izkoriščevalskega kapitalizma 
zelo pomemben obrat, saj poskuša spletno kolektivno komunikacijo 
utemeljiti na predpostavki, da svoj čas in pozornost obravnavamo kot 
omejena in dragocena vira. Ob vstopu v spletišče Minus uporabnik 
kmalu ugotovi, da gre za nenavadno omejeno družbeno omrežje, kjer 
ima vsak »do konca življenja« na razpolago natanko sto objav. Namesto 
algoritemsko generiranih objav, vidnega števila všečkov, vsiljivih obve-
stil in napeljevanja k neskončnemu zaslonskemu drsanju delo Minus 
razkriva, kako so tovrstni »kapitalistični programski stroji« zasnovani 
na način, da spodbujajo globalno porazdeljen in rastoč cikel proizvod-
nje in potrošnje za namene rasti in dobička (Grosser, »Minus«). Te 
programsko napredne platforme nam po avtorjevih besedah vsilju-
jejo misel, da naj lastno družabnost najbolje ocenimo in razumemo 
skozi kvantiteto. Tovrstna kakovostna umetniška dela kritično ali vsaj 
ironično izpostavljajo paradokse ter manipulativne in ekstrakcijske 
mehanizme platformnega kapitalizma, občasno pa pokažejo tudi na 
njihove rešitve oziroma preseganja.
Kozmopolitizem, univerzalni jezik
Naslednja značilnost avantgarde je kozmopolitizem, ki označuje presega-
nje meja obstoječih normativov skozi povezovanje umetnikov v čezmejna 
sodelovanja, navadno pri skupnih manifestacijah in periodiki. Hkrati 
pa je težnja k internacionalizaciji prisotna kot strategija za transgresijo 
identitet in pluralnost v avantgardističnih manifestih in deklaracijah. To 
je vidno tako pri avantgardistih v kulturnih središčih Evrope kot tudi 
v neurbanih krajih, na primer v jugoslovanski avantgardi, ki nasprotuje 
zahodnoevropski politični in kulturni nadvladi ter izpostavlja nacionalne 
karakteristike (Pranjić, »Zenitistični koncept«). Pri sovjetskih avantgar-
distih lahko govorimo o preseganju nacionalnega in planetarnega z vse-
obsegajočim kozmičnim: primere najdemo tako pri futuristih Velimirju 
Hlebnikovu kot pri Alekseju Kručonihu in v že omenjenem Malevičevem 
suprematizmu ter tudi v delu Ela Lisickega. Poetizacijo dvigovanja nad 
lokalnim toposom in povezovanja mikro- in makrosveta lahko spre-
mljamo tudi pri zenitistih, na primer v delu Ljubomirja Micića, pa tudi 
v poeziji Srečka Kosovela. Avantgardisti so svoje umetniško delo videli 
kot dejanje ljudi prihodnosti, ki bodo presegli nacionalno in postali 
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
27
državljani sveta. Dadaizem je tudi sicer v svojem bistvu nasproten kakr-
šnemukoli nacionalizmu in patriotizmu; njegov nastanek je vezan na 
multikulturno okolje nevtralnega Züricha, kamor so se med vojno zate-
kli migranti (Tzara, Serner, Arp, Hugo Ball, Christian Schad, Marcel 
in Jules Janco).
Avantgardističnemu programu preseganja mej med posamezniki 
lahko sledimo tudi pri ideji univerzalnega jezika, ki bo nov, svoboden 
jezik pesniškega ustvarjanja: leta 1912 se pojavi v teoriji in poeziji futu-
ristov, kot sta Hlebnikov in Kručonih, najprej z alogično poezijo, nato 
pa kot »zvezdni jezik« (Hlebnikov) in »transracionalni« oz. »zaumni 
jezik« (Kručonih) (Pranjić, »The Logic of Zaum«). Italijanski futurist 
Filippo T. Marinetti je leta 1912 po postulatih svojega futurističnega 
manifesta razvil koncept parole in libertà oz. »osvobojene besede«. To 
je bila radikalna oblika pisanja s kolažiranjem in destabilizacijo jezika 
na način poudarjanja materialne plati jezika – zvoka in narisane črke, s 
katerima so futuristi ustvarjali dela, ki jih je bilo mogoče interpretirati 
tako vizualno kot verbalno. Tovrstni pesniški poskusi delujejo proti 
razsvetljenskemu racionalizmu in semantiki. Treba je poudariti, da pri 
teh idejah ne gre za enovit, totalitaren jezik, ampak ravno nasprotno – 
za pesniške eksperimente s tehnologijo in medijem, ki bi privedli do 
novega načina komunikacije in odnosov, kar ponovno priča o tem, da 
je avantgardne tehnike moč razumeti kot strategije za izumljanje alter-
nativnih izkušenj resničnosti.
Podobno kot njihovi predniki v zgodovinskih avantgardah se 
tudi informacijsko-tehnološki strokovnjaki in medijski umetniki 
vedejo kot kozmopoliti – tako v življenjskem slogu kot tudi v preče-
nju oziroma hkratnem obvladovanju komunikacijskih in estetskih 
kodov. Prve tehnološko-umetniške analogije z univerzalnim člove-
škim jezikom najdemo v eksperimentih z računalniško kodo ASCII, 
ki predstavlja standardni nabor 95 znakov za medračunalniško izme-
njavo informacij. Tovrstne slike na meji med naravnim (slikovnim) in 
formalnim (strojnim) jezikom so vzniknile že kmalu po pojavu sodob-
nih računalnikov v šestdesetih letih. V delu DEEP ASCII (1998) eden 
od pionirjev spletne umetnosti Vuk Ćosić s posebno tehniko animi-
rane slike ASCII na vizualno močno reduciran način ponudi enega od 
prizorov v kultnem filmu Deep Throat. Gre nemara za najslovitejše od 
sedmih del v zbirki ASCII History of Moving Images, pri čemer vsako 
obeležuje določen filmski mejnik razvoja (avdio-)vizualnega jezika v 
medijski kulturi (spektakla) 20. stoletja. V zbirki Ćosić izvede eno od 
prvih radikalnih apropriacij vizualnega (filmskega) jezika s strani raču-
nalniškega koda, ki ga uporabi kot univerzalnega, in prikaže njegov 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
28
potencial zaobjeti in prisvojiti si karkoli, celo (analogno) sliko film-
skih klasikov.
Leta 1993 je avstralska umetnica in pesnica Mez Breeze začela razvi-
jati poseben spletni jezik mezangelle, namenjen delu na presečišču raču-
nalniške kode in poezije. Njena literarna dela so se od takrat pod to 
oznako na internetu pojavljala pod različnimi imeni. Avtorico povezu-
jejo z več avatarji kot alternativnimi avtorskimi osebnostmi, pri tem pa 
so bolj ali manj sledljivo sodelovali tudi druge avtorice in avtorji, kar 
nakazuje na fluidno ali pluralno, globalno razpršeno koncepcijo avtor-
stva, značilno tudi za sodobna omrežna okolja. Mezangelle uporablja 
kombinacijo programskega jezika in neformalnega naravnega govora, 
pa tudi zaznamovanega poetičnega jezika za analizo in hkrati razvoj 
predlogov sprememb v razvoju standardne angleščine. Pri tem prihaja 
do ustvarjanja novih in nepričakovanih pomenov ter izzivanja estetskih 
(pa tudi pravopisnih) jezikovnih konvencij, kar lahko vodi v bolj ali 
manj posrečene jezikovne, pa tudi programerske inovacije. Strojni in 
človeški jeziki se vse tesneje medsebojno prepletajo v tako (pol)javnih 
kot tudi v zasebnih spletnih klepetih (že nekaj časa tudi z nečloveškimi 
agenti, t. i. klepetalnimi roboti, v zadnjem času nadgrajenimi z umetno 
inteligenco oziroma velikimi jezikovnimi modeli), v sodobnem družbe-
nokritičnem bloganju ipd.
Drugačne predstave o prostoru/času
Avantgardisti so skozi svoje umetniške eksperimente, pesniška in vizu-
alna dela ter diskurzivno refleksijo raziskovali tudi drugačne, alternativne 
predstave prostora in časa. Interesi te vrste so bili na začetku 20. sto-
letja izredno popularni tudi v širši družbi; gre namreč za obdobje velikih 
odkritij v znanosti, predvsem v fiziki, ki so pretresla do tedaj uveljavljene 
poglede na prostor in čas. Dela konstruktivista Nauma Gaba na primer 
kažejo na njegovo zanimanje za sodobno fiziko. Pri njem lahko zasledimo 
vpliv neevklidske geometrije in Einsteinove teorije relativnosti. Podobno 
je tudi suprematistična umetnost Maleviča in Lisickega razumljena kot 
umetniško raziskovanje neevklidskega prostora. Lisicki se je na primer 
skliceval na Hermanna Minkowskega in Einsteinovo relativnostno teo-
rijo: v svojem delu K. und Pangeometrie je raziskoval štiri dimenzije pro-
stora. Svoje znamenite projekcije – PROUN-e – je tako umestil v t. i. 
iracionalni prostor, povezan s konceptom četrte dimenzije.
Prek raziskovanja novih dimenzij prostora in časa so avantgardisti 
prišli tudi do novih načinov dojemanja napredka, ki ni razumljen zgolj 
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
29
kot neskončna linearna progresivnost v času in prostoru. Uveljavljeno 
premočrtno logiko nadomestijo z novo dinamiko: namesto dualizma 
najdemo primere polifonije (ki na eni strani lahko vodi v absurd in 
nesmisel, na drugi pa v vseobsegajočo praznino in belino), srečamo se 
z abstrakcijo in nemimetično umetnostjo (novo matrico vizualnega), 
predmeti se dematerializirajo, sploščijo ali razpršijo, celo razletijo v 
fragmente. Čas zaznamuje Nietzschejevo večno vračanje, spiralno giba-
nje oz. izmenjavanje mirovanja in gibanja (dinamizem Malevičevega 
brezpredmetnega sveta, ki na svojih platnih odpravi celo zakon gravi-
tacije). Vse to nas sili v razmišljanje in urjenje pogleda za nove pogoje, 
v katerem se lahko razvijajo novi gibi in rutine, osnovane na principih 
odrasti, nedelovanja in antihorizonta, ne da bi to nujno videli kot naza-
dovanje ali uničenje.
Kot enega od pomembnih elementov zgodovinskih avantgard, ki 
doprinašajo k preizpraševanju vrednosti virov in osnovnih dimen-
zij bivanja, lahko opredelimo tudi spremenjeno percepcijo ter rela-
tivizacijo časa in prostora. Nove tehnologije že vse od Wagnerjevega 
koncepta Gesamtkunstwerk in njegovih operno-produkcijskih praks 
ponujajo objektivno, tehnizirano reprezentacijo alternativnih (audio)
vizualnih oziroma večzaznavnih resničnosti, ki so lahko tudi sočasne. 
Videti oziroma izkusiti nekaj, kar ni del naše vsakodnevne izkušnje, 
je sicer v zgodovini že pri šamanih ali pri srednjeveških mistikih pred-
stavljalo osrednje orodje dostopa do alternativnih resničnosti (Packer). 
V eni od izjemno priljubljenih tretjeosebnih akcijskih avantur znotraj 
naglo rastoče industrije računalniških igric Control (2019) podjetja 505 
Games je prav odprta zasnova prostora dogajanja tista, na kateri igra 
gradi napetost in pričakovanje pri uporabniku. Prostori, v katerih se 
odvija razmeroma nepremočrtna pripoved, se generirajo sproti glede 
na poprejšnje odločitve igralca, pa tudi povsem naključno, kar je oprto 
na kompleksne algoritme in deloma tudi na strojno učenje. Ob igranju 
igre izkusimo nekakšno relativizacijo časa, ki (vsaj navidezno) izpodbija 
smiselnost oziroma sosledje dogajanja ter fizikalnih pravil in logičnih 
zakonitosti, ki ga usmerjajo. Ta pravila in zakonitosti se lahko sredi 
igričarske izkušnje tudi močno sprevržejo ali postanejo povsem neupo-
rabna. Objekti in bitja se gibljejo skozi čas in prostor na načine, ki bi jih 
človek v svoji siceršnji izkušnji okolja in sebe samega stežka prepoznal 
za mogoče, kaj šele verjetne.
Mirror-Space (2005) Brigitte Zics predstavlja interaktivno in inter-
netno povezano umetniško instalacijo, ki uporabniku predoči lastno 
zrcalno podobo, obogateno z mnogimi internetnimi podatki, pridob-
ljenimi v realnem času obiska instalacije. Ti podatki v odvisnosti od 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
30
gibanja obiskovalca krmilijo velikost, položaj in izgled zrcalne podobe, 
ki se po zapustitvi instalacije preseli v navidezni prostor, kjer zaživi 
nekakšno avtonomno življenje skupaj z drugimi reprezentacijami 
poprejšnjih obiskovalcev. A tudi te modificirane zrcalne slike nimajo 
neomejenega roka trajanja, postopoma jih namreč izpodrivajo nove 
podobe naslednjih obiskovalcev. Vse to privede do stapljanja (sledi) 
različnih porekel medijskih oblik in s tem do izkušnje neskončnega 
toka medosebnih vtisov, generiranih v realnem, a kibernetsko modifi-
ciranem prostoru in času.
Razširjeni čuti, transhumanizem
»Novi človek«, človek prihodnosti je predstavljal eno od glavnih 
tem avantgarde. Navdih za nove sposobnosti človeka so avantgardi-
sti črpali tako iz novih tehnoloških zmožnosti in estetike stroja kot 
tudi iz že omenjenih novih odkritij v naravoslovju. Velja omeniti tudi 
velik vpliv, ki so ga na avantgardistične ideje o transformaciji človeka 
in družbe imeli filozofsko-mistični nauki ezoteričnih učiteljev, kot so 
P. D. Uspenski, Georgij Gurdžijev in začetnik kozmistične miselnosti 
Nikolaj F. Fedorov (Rosenthal). Podobno kot je bil jezik za futuriste 
»okamenel«, so bili tudi človeški čuti in telo zastareli; nekaj, kar je 
bilo treba preseči. Večdimenzionalnost in koncept četrte dimenzije 
sta avantgardistom ponudila priložnost, da o človeku razmišljajo na 
nov način tudi skozi možnost oživitve percepcije. Poleg kubističnih 
in futurističnih del, ki kažejo novo vizualno perspektivo, je v tem 
kontekstu zanimiv umetniški projekt slikarja in skladatelja Mihaila 
Matjušina, ki se je ukvarjal s človeškim gledanjem in percepcijo. 
Matjušin je v dvajsetih letih 20. stoletja razvil obsežno teorijo, imeno-
vano Zorved (»zrenje« in »védenje«), ki združuje čut za vid z védenjem 
oz. znanjem. Svoje ideje je raziskoval v znanstvenih in umetniških eks-
perimentih razširjenega gledanja. Matjušin je verjel v možnost videnja 
drugih dimenzij, zato je bila četrta dimenzija zanj izjemno pomemben 
teoretski koncept. Novi človek v avantgardi je nadgrajen z novo teh-
nologijo, hkrati pa je za novo videnje mikro- in makrosveta predvsem 
zaslužna nova epistemologija, ki vodi v novo (kozmistično) ontolo-
gijo človeka. Ta postaja eno z vsem, kar obstaja. S tem se ponovno 
vrši kritika logike pozitivizma in realizma, saj namesto racionalnega 
in vzročno-posledičnega postane pomemben vidik človekova intuicija 
in že omenjeni princip naključja, kar je posebej prisotno v dadaizmu 
in nadrealizmu.
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
31
Celih osem let pred že omenjenim delom Mirror Space je leta 1997 
umetniški svet pretresla tehnološko kompleksna in izjemno napredna 
potopitvena instalcija Osmose Char Davies. V njej uporabnik na podlagi 
zajema dihanja (skozi senzorje, nameščene na telesu) navigira skozi 
navidezen prostor slike in zvoka ter se ob meditativni pripovedi poveže 
s (takrat še nizkoločljivostnimi) virtualnimi objekti in bitji. V veliko 
višji ločljivosti in neposredni odzivnosti je leta 2018 hkratno dihanje 
več različnih uporabnikov algoritemsko usklajevalo in vizualno repre-
zentiralo delo We Live in an Ocean of Air kolektiva Marshmallow Laser 
Feast, ki je ob možnosti hkratne izkušnje za več obiskovalcev ponudilo 
tudi bolj jasne tematske reference na okoljsko krizo ter možnosti njene 
refleksije na presečišču znanosti in umetnosti.
Delo Stahla Stenslieja, enega od pionirskih raziskovalcev in avtorjev 
kibernetske umetnosti cyberSM, iz leta 1993 predstavlja deloma speku-
lativno, deloma pa povsem funkcionalno napravo za telematičen spolni 
stik s prostorsko oddaljenim telesom partnerja, ki je posebej prirejeno za 
sadomazohistične spolne prakse. Omogočalo naj bi vizualno, zvočno in 
taktilno povezovanje z oddaljenim drugim v realnem času, pri čemer je 
takratna tehnologija (v prvem letu javne dostopnosti svetovnega spleta) 
dovoljevala zgolj vnose na ravni besedila. Ob inovativnih s(t)imula-
cijskih podatkovnih oblekah je projekt omogočal tudi anonimnost na 
podlagi uporabnikovega izbora avatarskih transspolnih identitet, enti-
tet in podob iz ponujene podatkovne zbirke. V kontekstu umetnosti 
in transhumanizma ne moremo mimo legendarnega performerja in 
medijskega umetnika Stelarca, ki umetniško raziskuje telo in njegove 
čute onkraj biološko-fizičnih omejitev. Njegovo delo Ear on Arm je le 
eno od znamenitejših iz bogatega opusa štirih desetletij eksperimentov 
s področja robotike, internetne umetnosti, biotehnologije, kirurškega 
spreminjanja telesa ipd. Po Stelarcovih performansih in telesnih razširi-
tvah Third Arm (dodatna roka, ki so jo krmilili elektromagnetni signali) 
ter Virtual Arm (ki so jo krmilili senzorji v podatkovni rokavici) si je 
avtor zamislil še dodatno uho kot nov, zmogljivejši vmesnik za komu-
niciranje z (oddaljenim) okoljem po spletu.
Sistemski pogled na svet, posthumanizem
Nov pogled na človeka in njegove zmožnosti je hkrati porajal nove 
smeri razmišljanja o svetu in njegovi ureditvi. V zgodnjih avantgardnih 
praksah je tak pogled največkrat povezan s principi že omenjenega koz-
mizma in organicizma, ki govorita o medsebojni povezanosti, odprtosti 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
32
in dialogu med živim in neživim. Tovrstna naravnanost je tudi izhodi-
šče dela avantgardnega umetnika in arhitekta Vladimirja Tatlina, ki je 
eksperimentiral z novimi materiali in poskušal preoblikovati vsakdanje 
predmete tako, da bi vplivali na celotno družbo. Znan je predvsem 
po svojih nefunkcionalnih oblikovalskih zasnovah letala Letatlin in po 
Spomeniku tretji internacionali ter po preoblikovanju vsakdanjih pred-
metov, kot so čajniki, delovna oblačila in drugi objekti, ki nikoli niso 
prišli v množično proizvodnjo. Za njegovo delo so značilni koncepti 
»organskega konstruktivizma« (Srebnik 484–489), obrtniškega dela in 
»humanizirane tehnologije« (Zhadova). Tatlin je uporabljal novo teh-
nologijo in se osredotočal na novo družbo, ki bo šele nastala, hkrati 
pa je ostal vedno povezan z naravo in preteklostjo. Predmete je skušal 
postaviti v dialog z okolico, želel jih je vključiti v živ in povezan sistem 
ter jim dati dialoški značaj v živem ekosistemu, ki se izmika atomizaciji 
in optimizaciji.
Podobno motiviran je bil Delovni krog (madž. Munka-kör) madžar-
ske avantgardne skupine, ki se je zbirala okrog Lajosa Kassáka. Sestavljali 
so jo umetniki, študenti in mladi delavci in je imela pomemben vpliv 
na delavsko gibanje poznih 20. in 30. let. Še danes je takšna formacija 
posameznikov ključna pri opredeljevanju vzdržnega delovanja ali odra-
sti, solidarnosti in medsebojne podpore ob problematiziranju koncep-
tov koristnosti in neuporabnosti ter nadalje pri problematiziranju izko-
riščanja in prekarnega dela. Še več, avantgardni Delovni krogi kažejo, 
kako pomembne so prakse kartiranja in mreženja virov, orodij in mate-
rialov, ki so lahko uporabni v času ekoloških kriz, vendar so praviloma 
razumljeni kot neuporabni v današnji informacijski družbi.
Hibridno animirano infografično delo Vladana Jolerja z naslovom 
New Extractivism (2022) prikaže položaj posameznika kot uporabnika 
sodobnih informacijskih tehnologij, ki je podvržen sistematični korpo-
rativni ekstrakciji. Prikazuje in kritično razpravlja o nekaterih najbolj 
perečih vprašanjih sodobnega platformnega kapitalizma. Skozi vizuali-
zacije in tiskovine, ki jih avtor razume kot znanstveno-umetniški asem-
blaž, spremlja pa jih spletno razširjana animacija, nadgrajena z avtor-
jevo lastno pripovedjo, naj bi se občinstvo opolnomočilo na podlagi 
zamenjave zornega kota. Z združevanjem elementov zemljevida (kot 
avtorjev »poskus predstavitve nadgradnje ali celotnega pogleda«) in 
vodnika (ki »se ukvarja s posameznimi koncepti in alegorijami«) delo 
bogatijo še izdatne opombe, s čimer avtor skuša ponuditi holističen 
»načrt nadgradnje, podobne stroju ali super alegoriji […] skoraj frak-
talno alegorično strukturo« (Joler). Podobno je delo interdisciplinarne 
skupine Disnovation.org, ki ne le da nazorno prikazuje paradokse 
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
33
sodobne potrošniške in hiperinformatizirane družbe, temveč poskuša 
tudi prispevati predloge in orodja za njihovo razreševanje. V kompletu 
tako imenovanih kritičnih iger Post-Growth Toolkit (2020) ponudijo 
preplet znanstvenih in spekulativnih literarno-pripovednih orodij, ki 
igralcem (oz. uporabnikom orodjarne) ponudijo nabor bolj trajno-
stnih rešitev za vsakdanje življenje. Delo Post-Growth Prototypes (2021) 
dopolni omenjeno orodjarno s kritičnimi (animiranimi in video) eseji, 
ki vsebujejo kritične študije primerov naprednih konceptov, kot so 
solarni dohodek, radikalni energetski prehod oziroma odrastniški izhod 
iz antropocena z novo odgovornostjo človeka do biosfere.
Kot zadnji zares vseobsegajoč primer intermedijske umetniške 
prakse, ki spekulativno posega na mnoga področja človeškega bivanja 
znotraj različnih ekosistemov, velja izpostaviti sklop projektov Terra 0, 
katerega avtorji od leta 2018 razvijajo prototipna okolja, zgrajena na 
omrežju Ethereum, da bi zagotovili avtomatizirane okvire odpornosti 
določenega ekosistema. Z vzpostavitvijo t. i. »decentralizirane avtono-
mne organizacije« na vrhnjih plasteh zemlje želijo ustvariti tehnološko 
razširjene ekosisteme, ki bi bili odpornejši in bolj sposobni delovati 
znotraj vnaprej določenega niza pravil v ekonomski sferi, in sicer kot 
samostojni agenti: gozd tako samostojno rudari kriptovaluto in odloča 
o tem, kako bo spreminjal svojo materialno podstat. Skupina avtorjev 
verjame, da nam sodobne tehnologije, kot sta npr. daljinsko zaznavanje 
in strojno učenje, dajejo priložnost ali celo obvezo, da ponovno razmi-
slimo o obstoječih, pogosto neučinkovitih strukturah za upravljanje 
in regulacijo, ter o tem, kako bi te ob odgovornih izboljšavah lahko 
odigrale ključno vlogo pri ustvarjanju trajnostne, odporne in biotsko 
raznolike prihodnosti (Seidler, Hampshire in Kolling).
Sklep
Analiza primerov avantgardne in intermedijske umetnosti v predhodno 
izpostavljenih tematskih sklopih, ki spodkopavajo dualistično mišljenje 
in vnašajo nove perspektive v obstoječ vrednostni sistem, je pokazala 
raznolikost in relevantnost strategij ter umetniških postopkov za vpliva-
nje na človeško percepcijo in razumevanje človeka, pa tudi resničnosti. 
Moč nove in stare avantgarde za namen opisovanja in ustvarjanja boljše 
prihodnosti je treba iskati v njuni zmožnosti prestrukturiranja imagi-
narija in s tem vsakdanjih odnosov ter vzpostavljanja »revolucionarne 
rutine« (Pedwell). Podobne teze lahko zasledimo tudi v delih teoreti-
kov avantgarde in novih medijev, ki obe umetniški praksi povežejo z 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
34
razmišljanjem o transformativnem značaju umetnosti in njenem 
odnosu do moči, kar bomo predstavili v sklepnem delu članka.5
Literarni komparativist Krzysztof Ziarek v knjigi The Force of Art 
predstavi temo transformacije in moči v umetnosti prav z umetniškimi 
tokovi 20. in 21. stoletja: v zgodnjih avantgardnih gibanjih – futurizmu, 
kubofuturizmu in dadaizmu, ter pri sodobnih intermedijskih umetni-
kih, ki delujejo na presečišču znanosti in umetnosti, kot sta Bill Viola 
in Eduardo Kac. Ziarek vidi moč tovrstnih umetniških del v »sprošču-
jočih silah«, ki so odprte za oblikovanje in postajanje (9). Umetniško 
silo (forcework) razume kot »okrepitev« (enhancement), da bi jo ločil 
od tehniškega načina proizvajanja razmerja sil, katerega cilj je poveča-
nje ali rast (»maksimizacija«) sile, »ki jo lahko izmerimo in objektivno 
dojamemo kot obliko znanja« (45). Umetniške prakse ne potrjujejo 
ali reproducirajo tega, kar je (normativno), ampak »okrepijo«, kar je 
»singularno drugo«: »Medtem ko okrepitev proizvaja drugačen način 
odnosnosti, ki drugemu (sili) omogoča, da je bolj v biti, to je, da je bolj 
'drug', tehniški način postavlja sile v vzorce odnosov, ki silijo v prila-
gajanje normam in strukturam moči, v na učinkovitost vezano odnos-
nost tehnomoči.« (45) Kot omenjeno, gre v primeru umetniške sile 
po Ziareku za sproščanje, svobodno prepuščanje, kar v Heideggerjevi 
terminologiji označi kot aphesis, ki zaznamuje izginotje ali izgubo (49). 
Umetnost nam tako kaže pozitivno razumevanje nemoči in opuščanja 
oz. nasprotja rasti, povezane s kapitalistično akumulacijo in potrošnjo, 
ki jo navadno vidimo kot izključno negativno – kot pomanjkanje in 
izgubo –, na kar nas po Adornu opozarja tudi Ziarek:
Če umetnost razkriva alternativo paradigmam produkcije, mobilizacije in 
tehnične manipulacije v jedru sodobnih operacij moči, umetniško delo ni 
nikoli izključno negativno, ampak konstituira tudi »pozitivno«, čeprav para-
doksalno, artikulacijo možnosti svobode. »Ne-« v pridevniku »nemočen«, ko 
je pripisan umetnosti, ne pomeni nujno pomanjkanja moči, temveč kaže na 
alternativno ekonomijo sil, ki spremeni sestavo moči. V tem smislu nemoč 
umetnosti ni negativna sodba o umetniških delih, temveč provokativen poka-
zatelj, da umet nost deluje drugače kot prek dominantnih artikulacij moči. 
Čeprav je umetnost, tako kot vse ostalo, proizvedena in regulirana v ekono-
miji sodobne biti, ki jo poganja moč, se umetnost lahko razbremeni vladajoče 
konfiguracije moči in odpre alternativno modalnost odnosov. Ta zmožnost 
opuščanja moči, preoblikovanja odnosa in omogočanja njihovih alternativnih 
konfiguracij tvori paradoksalno silo sodobne umetnosti. (3–4)
5 O razmerju estetike avantgardnih gibanj in revolucionarnih politik glej Erjavec. 
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
35
Podobno transformativno nalogo nove in stare avantgarde, katerih 
bistvo ne zajame zgolj kazanje vizije boljše prihodnosti in gradnja uto-
pije, vidi tudi kuratorka in teoretičarka medijske umetnosti in kulture 
Olga Goriunova, ki zapiše:
Avantgarda zagrize v jedro razpoložljivih sredstev, skozi katera stvari postanejo, 
da ustvari načine, na katere lahko takšni procesi konstitucije postanejo novi. 
[…] Avantgarda se vključi v postajanje, preden se razsloji, in poskuša doseči ne 
le drugačno aktualizacijo, ampak drugačen način postajanja. Ne ukvarja se le s 
končnim izdelkom, raztrga proces njegove izdelave, da bi pomnožila, spreme-
nila ali vplivala na proces in proizvedla materialistično ontološko revolucijo. 
Tu je estetika avantgarde neposredno udeležena v življenju. (262–263)
Nove načine za aktualizacijo avantgarde v sodobnem času išče tudi 
profesor in teoretik umetnosti in estetike John Roberts, ki meni, da 
avantgarda ni historična kategorija (čeprav poudari, da ne gre zane-
mariti zgodovinskih okoliščin in pomembnosti revolucije za nasta-
nek avantgarde) in da je pravzaprav »nedokončan projekt« (Roberts, 
»Revolutionary« 138) oz. »odprt raziskovalni program« (141). Poseben 
intelektualni in kulturni doprinos avantgarde se kaže v tem, da je 
»postavila parametre za številne raziskovalne prakse in vprašanja o 
umetnosti, delu, vrednosti in javni sferi, ki so preživeli kontrarevo-
lucijo« (138, 139). Njena vrednost v umetnosti in družbenopolitični 
realnosti pa presega posplošeno trditev, da gre za »nadomestni znak za 
revolucionarni ali postkapitalistični kulturni program« (138). V knjigi 
Revolutionary Time and the Avant-Garde Roberts piše o pomenu t. i. 
»avantgardne hipoteze« ter relevantnosti participativnih, angažiranih in 
relacijskih umetniških praks sodobne avantgarde enaindvajsetega stole-
tja. Avantgarda se za Robertsa nadaljuje kot »sodobna neoavantgarda« 
tudi v digitalni umetnosti, ki jo zaznamujejo »družbene intervencije, 
eksperimentalne forme in transformativne akcije ter dogodki s partici-
pativnostjo, interdisciplinarnostjo in neumetniškimi kolaboracijami«, 
pa tudi »nedoločenost, nomadstvo in medsebojna povezanost« ter novi 
»aktivistični modusi umetnosti in oblike komunalne interakcije« na 
multiplih družbenih in kulturnih krajih, ki obstajajo zaradi novomedij-
skih tehnologij (Roberts, »Revolutionary« 139).
Za razliko od aktivista ali tehnika so za Robertsa delovni procesi 
umetnika vedno kritični in neutilitarni; ključna je torej umetnikova 
»sposobnost proizvajanja neinstrumentalnih 'miselnih eksperimentov' 
brez neposredne uporabne vrednosti, ki kot taki vračajo estetski razum 
v univerzalno emancipatorno vsebino: svobodno, neodtujeno delo« 
(Roberts, »Revolutionary« 140). Kot osrednji kategoriji avantgardne 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
36
umetnosti se izpostavljata distanca in negacija (140, 141). To je tudi 
razlog, da je avantgardna umetnost še danes razumljena kot sestavni del 
emancipatornih politik znotraj neoliberalne kapitalistične hegemonije, 
kar je izrazil kritični teoretik Marc James Léger: »Za razliko od takšne 
metafizike predstavlja avantgarda negativno silo proti organski enotno-
sti in skupnosti in je na ta način praksiološko dopolnilo emancipator-
nim politikam.« (Léger, »The Idea« 9) Pri avantgardi torej ne gre za 
gradnjo vizije enotnosti; pot, ki jo opravi avantgarda, gre vedno v smeri 
razveljavitve, izničenja, pa tudi odnehanja in prekinitve.
V svoji zadnji monografiji 3E. Estetika, epistemologija, etika špeku-
lativnih i de re medija umetnostni teoretik Miško Šuvaković poveže 
zgodovinsko avantgardo s sodobno medijsko umetnostjo ter opozarja 
na pomembnost razumevanja kreativne prakse tudi na način umika oz. 
opuščanja in ne zgolj na običajen način uresničevanja potenciala. Pri 
tem se sklicuje na Agambenovo delo Creation and Anarchy: The Work 
of Art and the Religion of Capitalism, ki razvije Deleuzovo zamisel o 
ustvarjalnem oz. poetičnem aktu kot aktu upora (»poetika nedelova-
nja«), kjer pa ne gre preprosto za upor neki zunanji sili, ampak za osvo-
boditev potenciala, ki je razumljen kot zmožnost zaustavitve ali odlo-
žitve dejanja oz. kot privacija. Uveljavljeno gibanje od potencialnosti 
k njeni realizaciji Agamben obrne v potencialnost nebiti in nedelova-
nja oz. »potencialnosti za temò« (»On potentiality«). Upočasnjevanje 
in umik iz prevladujočega toka nam po Šuvakoviću nudita možnost 
videti načine nasprotovanja kapitalistični agendi, ki spreminja vsakršno 
ustvarjalnost v dobiček in način pospeševanja rasti:
H kreativnosti se moramo vrniti, natančneje, zgraditi jo moramo na nov način 
in jo izvesti kot osvoboditev potencialnosti – kot brutalno odpiranje potenci-
alnosti, ki omogoča sprožitev akcije in, zame najpomembnejše, njegove/njene 
refleksije. Ustvarjalnost ni neusahljiv vir energije za zagon novih ciklov kapi-
talizma, tako kot ni neusahljiv vir energije za izvajanje in vzdrževanje perma-
nentne revolucije v ideologijah realnega socializma. […] Ustvarjalnost je lahko 
tudi odnehanje! (Šuvaković 60)
Šuvaković pri tem aludira na še eno pomembno avantgardno strate-
gijo situacionistov – dérive Guya Deborda, ki gre proti pasivizaciji in 
monotonosti družbe spektakla; dérive pomeni prepuščanje nadzora in 
upočasnjevanje gibanja, ki privede do povečanja pozornosti, naključja, 
tudi dezorientiranosti. Prav tako gre za afirmacijo negacije, za način 
potrjevanja razlike in uveljavljanja prakse kot alternative prekomerni 
produkciji in akumulaciji; uperjena je proti dominantnim tokovom, ki 
pripenjajo človeško pozornost in urejajo telesa v »arhitekturi družbene 
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
37
kontrole« (Léger, »Psychogeography« 121). Subverzija avtoritete in 
dominantnega pozitivističnega konstrukta ter spodkopavanje hegemon-
skih vrednot v tovrstnih umetniških praksah prestrukturirata imagina-
rij. Odpirata nas za spremembe osnovnih matric delovanja in mišlje-
nja, kar omogoči modeliranje novih družbeno-kulturnih odnosov in 
formacij. To pa je tudi glavna naloga današnje avantgarde, za katero je 
(podobno kot pri »stari« avantgardi) osrednjega pomena kritična vklju-
čenost v sedanjo družbeno resničnost, na drugi strani pa deklarativno 
in izkušenjsko ustvarjanje novih pogojev za revolucionarne imaginarije.
LITERATURA
Agamben, Giorgio. »On potentiality«. Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy. Stan-
ford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999. 177–184.
Agamben, Giorgio. »What is the Act of Creation?« Creation and Anarchy: The Work 
of Art and the Religion of Capitalism. Prev. Adam Kotsko. Stanford, CA: Stanford 
University Press, 2019. 14–28.
Arns, Inke. Avantgarda v vzvratnem ogledalu. Ljubljana: Maska, 2006.
Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, and Other 
Writings on Media. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008.
Berghaus, Günter, ur. Futurism and the Technological Imagination. Avant-Garde Criti-
cal Studies. Leiden: Brill, 2009.
Braidotti, Rosi. The Posthuman. New York, NY; London: Polity, 2013.
Castoriadis, Cornelius. L’institution imaginaire de la société. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 
1975.
D’Alisa, Giacomo, Federico Demaria in Giorgios Kallis. Odrast. Besednjak za novo 
dobo. Prev. Tadej Turnšek. Ljubljana: Studia humanitiatis, 2019.
Dragona, Daphne. »Degrowth and the Arts«. Springerin 3 (2022). Splet. Dostop 25. 
3. 2023.
Erjavec, Aleš, ur. Aesthetic Revolutions and Twentieth-Century Avant-Garde Movements. 
Durham, NC; London: Duke University Press, 2015.
Flaker, Aleksander. Živopisnaja literatura i literaturnaja živopis'. Moskva: Tri kvadrata, 
2008.
Fry, Tony. Defuturing: A New Design Philosophy. 2. izd. New York, NY; London: 
Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020.
Goriunova, Olga. »Material Imagination: On the Avant-gardes, Time and Computa-
tion«. Fun and Software Exploring Pleasure, Paradox and Pain in Computing. Ur. 
Olga Goriunova. New York, NY; London: Bloomsbury, 2014. 253–273.
Grosser, Ben. »Minus«. Splet. Dostop 25. 3. 2023. <https://bengrosser.com/projects/
minus/>
Gurianova, Nina. The Aesthetics of Anarchy: Art and Ideology in the Early Russian Avant-
Garde. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2012.
Heikkurinen, Pasi. »Degrowth by Means of Technology? A Treatise for an Ethos of 
Releasement«. Journal of Cleaner Production 197 (2018): 1654–1665.
Heikkurinen, Pasi. »Degrowth: A Metamorphosis in Being«. Environment and Plan-
ning E: Nature and Space 2.3 (2019): 528–547.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
38
Joler, Vladan. »New Extractivism«. Splet. Dostop 22. 3. 2023. <https://extractivism.
online>
Latouche, Serge. Petit traité de la décroissance sereine. Paris: Librairie Arthème Fayard, 
2007.
Léger, Marc James. »Psychogeography«. Vanguardia: Soacially Engaged Art and Theory. 
Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2019. 119–124.
Léger, Marc James. »The Idea of the Avant Garde«. The Idea of the Avant Garde and 
What it Means Today 2. Ur. M. J. Léger. Bristol: Intellect, 2019. 7–19.
Malevič, Kazimir. »Lenoba – prava resnica človeštva«. Boj proti delu 28. Ljubljana: 
Krt, 1985. 81.
Malevič, Kazimir. »Suprematizem. 34 risb«. Slavica Tergestina 22.1 (2019): 294–298.
Manovich, Lev. »Avant-garde as Software«. Artnodes 2 (2003). Splet. Dostop 25. 3. 2023.
Moraru, Christian. Reading for the Planet: Toward a Geomethodology. Ann Arbor, MI: 
University of Michigan Press, 2015.
Packer, Randall, ur. Multimedia: From Wagner to Virtual Reality. New York, NY; Lon-
don: Norton, 2001.
Patrizio, Andrew. The Ecological Eye: Assembling an Ecocritical Art History. Manchester: 
Manchester University Press, 2019.
Pedwell, Carolyn. Revolutionary Routines: The Habits of Social Transformation. Mon-
treal: Mc’Gill-Queens University Press, 2021.
Pranjić, Kristina. »Bespredmetnost’ Maleviča kak otkaz ot utopii«. Utopičeskij upadok: 
Iskusstvo sovetskogo vremeni. Ur. Kornelija Ičin. Beograd: Filološka fakulteta Uni-
verze v Beogradu, 2018. 139–153.
Pranjić, Kristina. »Change Must Come: Yugoslav Avant-Gardes and Metropolitan 
Dada«. Crisis: The Avant-Garde and Modernism in Critical Modes. Ur. S. Bru et al. 
Berlin; Boston, MA: De Gruyter, 2022. 297–312.
Pranjić, Kristina. »The logic of zaum«. Avangarda i komentari: Međunarodni naučni 
zbornik radova u čast prof. Gojka Tešića. Ur. Igor Perišić. Beograd: Institut za 
književnost i umetnost, 2021. 249–262.
Pranjić, Kristina. »Zenitistični koncept barbarogenija kot kritika zahodnoevropske 
kulture«. Primerjalna književnost 43.3 (2020): 139–157.
Quaranta, Domenico. Onkraj novomedijske umetnosti. Prev. Polona Petek. Ljubljana: 
Aksioma – Zavod za sodobne umetnosti, 2014.
Roberts, John. »Revolutionary Pathos, Negation & the Suspensive Avant Garde«. The 
Idea of the Avant Garde and What it Means Today 1. Ur. M. J. Léger. Manchester: 
Manchester University Press, 2014. 138–145.
Roberts, John. Revolutionary Time and the Avant-Garde. New York, NY; London: 
Verso, 2015.
Rosenthal, Bernice G. »Political Implications of the Occult Revival«. The Occult in 
Russian and Soviet Culture. Ed. Bernice G. Rosenthal. Ithaca, NY: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1997.
Schmelzer, Matthias, Andrea Vetter in Aaron Vansintjan. The Future is Degrowth: A 
Guide to a World beyond Capitalism. New York, NY; London: Verso, 2022.
Seidler, Paul, Max Hampshire in Paul Kolling. »Terra 0«. Splet. Dostop 25. 3. 2023. 
<https://terra0.org>
Srebnik, Anita. »Kosovel’s Tradegy on the Ocean. The Modern Subject, Ecological 
Crisis and Constructivists Ethics«. Crisis: The Avant-Garde and Modernism in 
Critical Modes. Ur. S. Bru et al. Berlin; Boston, MA: De Gruyter, 2022. 481–496.
Steger, Jožica Čeh. »Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika«. Slavistična revija 60.2 
(2012): 199–212.
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg:     Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v umetniških praksah … 
39
Šuvaković, Miško. 3E. Estetika, epistemologija, etika spekulativnih i de re medija. Beo-
grad: Fakultet za medije i komunikacije, 2020.
Tsing, Anna L. The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capi-
talist Ruins. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015.
Vinsel, Lee, in Andrew L. Russell, ur. The Innovation Delusion: How Our Obsession 
with the New Has Disrupted the Work That Matters Most. New York, NY: Currency, 
2020.
Zhadova, Larissa Alekseevna. »Tatlin, the Organizer of Material into Objects«. Tatlin. 
Ed. Larissa Alekseevna Zhadova. New York, NY: Rizzoli, 1988. 134–154.
Ziarek, Krzysztof. The Force of Art. Berkeley, CA: Stanford University Press, 2004.
Changing Imaginaries of Progress and Growth in 
Avant-Garde and Intermedia Art Practices
Keywords: art and society / avant-garde / intermedia art / ecocriticism / ideology of 
growth / post-capitalism
This article connects the artistic avant-garde from the beginning of the twen-
tieth century on the one hand and today’s intermedia and socially engaged 
artistic practice on the other. The central thesis is that the presented examples 
of works of art manifest concepts and models for thinking and living beyond 
the imperative of growth and continuous progress. Such artistic strategies are 
presented through five topical sets including laziness and disappearance, cos-
mopolitanism and universal language, alternative representations of space/
time, transhumanism, posthumanism, and systemic worldview. Just as avant-
gardes used to criticize industrial or modern society, so today intermedia art 
contributes to the restructuring of the imaginary of growth, capitalist produc-
tion and consumption. The article thus advances the conceptual understand-
ing of post-growth and degrowth in the field of art and humanities, showing 
how precisely art may enable a positive understanding of powerlessness and 
release or the opposite of growth which is usually understood as exclusively 
negative—as lack and loss.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK  7.01”19/20”:316.7 
82.02”19/20”:316.7
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.02

“Between the East and the West”: 
Vladimir Bartol’s Self-Identification 
between Central European 
Ljubljana and Mediterranean 
Trieste (1946–1956)
Aleksandra Tobiasz
Institute of Civilisation and Culture, Erjavčeva 4, 1000 Ljubljana, Slovenia
https://orcid.org/0000-0001-7216-5099
Aleksandra.Tobiasz@EUI.eu
The article addresses Vladimir Bartol’s fluid self-identification in relation to 
changeable places of his stay in the first decade after the Second World War. The 
writer’s constant oscillation between Trieste and Ljubljana was accompanied by 
the shift in perspectives (minority/majority) and cultural/linguistic dualities 
which render the Slovenian literature in Italy with existentialist overtone. Bartol’s 
return to Trieste problematized his self-understanding not only in spatial terms 
but also with respect to overlapping temporalities (Habsburg multicultural free 
port of the past versus the present Cold-War image of the city). Consequently, 
his stay in Trieste gave way to the extensive personal writing which is also the 
paper’s main source (autobiography and unpublished fragments of diary). 
Drawing inspiration from the spatial turn and applying the phenomenological 
prism of experience of certain places, the author attempts to present Bartol’s self-
identification reconfigured in alignment with his post-war existential topography 
stretched between Central European Ljubljana and Mediterranean Trieste.
Keywords: Slovenian literature in Italy / Bartol, Vladimir / cultural identity / Trieste / 
Mediterraneaness / Central Europe
41
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
42
Introduction: Triestine dualities
Where is Trieste? Where does it belong to? To the East, to the West or 
to a “a no-man's land”? (Campanile 147).1 Geographical frontiers in this 
intermediate area between eastern and western Europe as well as meta-
phorical boundaries between reality and imagination have proved to be 
debatable and porous throughout history. In “that most slippery of spac-
es […] caught on the edge of three worlds” (Waley 245), the Romance, 
Slavic and German heritages coexist in a Central European spiritual triad. 
This multiculturalism was embodied in the fate of Triestine writer Scipio 
Slataper, who described himself as “Slavic-German-Italian” (Biagio 59) 
and defined Trieste as “a place of transition” where everything “[…] is 
double and triple, beginning with its flora and ending with its ethnic-
ity” (Slataper qtd. in Cary 46). This multiplicity leaves the imprint on 
personality as well. Dragan Velikić characterized the Triestine milieu as 
a source of dualities with a direct impact on self-identification. “Trieste 
has been from time immemorial radiating duality and this also marked 
its writers” (Velikić 70), for instance Italo Svevo. The commercialist 
Ettore Schmitz chose the pseudonym Svevo “to stress his double sense of 
belonging” (Campanile 150) or even triple considering besides German 
and Italian components of his identity also the Jewish one. This simul-
taneous presence of many personalities made Schmitz/Svevo write his 
life-story in the first person plural instead of singular.
Triestine dualities in form of double perspective (ethnic minority/
majority) and the oscillation between cosmopolitan openness and cen-
tripetal nationalism also marked one of the representatives of Slovenian 
literature in Italy, Vladimir Bartol, born in 1903 in the village close 
to Trieste, Saint Ivan (now the city’s quarter). In the aftermath of the 
Great War and the demise of the Habsburg Empire, when Italy annexed 
the Julian March (former Austrian Littoral), he left his homeland 
together with his family. In 1919 they moved to Ljubljana. Aware of 
embodying the dual perspective himself, Bartol, at some point explicitly 
expressed his kinship with Svevo. Both writers had much in common: 
inspiration with psychoanalysis, cultural and linguistic duality under-
pinned by isolation, and consequently late recognition of their works 
(Bartol, “Demonija”).2 Bartol was schizophrenically viewing himself as 
1 Campanile defined Trieste in reference to Hermann Bahr’s definition of this city 
in terms of “a no-man’s land” and “a border between states” equivalent to a sense of 
not-belonging. 
2 Manuscript Collection of Vladimir Bartol, Institute of Slovenian Literature and 
Literary Studies at the Research Centre of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts 
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
43
oscillating between Trieste and Ljubljana, the perspective of minority 
and majority. Even after his return to the homeland, he felt a stranger 
(Bartol, Mladost 175). Bartol as a “Triestine apparition” (Poljaz 1–2; 
Košuta, Scritture 105)?3 Remaining beyond national literary canons and 
established national formulas of identity, for a long time he was over-
looked on both sides of the border.
Convinced about a strong influence of space on his literary work, 
Bartol noticed that this relationship could once in future become of 
great interest as an “instructive problem” to some psychologist or a 
literary historian (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX”). Following this intuition, 
the article addresses the impact of place on Bartol’s self-identification 
in the first, post-war decade when his existential topography was delin-
eated by the two cities: Ljubljana and Trieste. I will focus on his move-
ment between them in the period from 1946, when he came back to 
Trieste to reconstruct and supervise the cultural life of Slovenians and 
Croats, until 1956 when due to the lack of Italian consent to pro-
long his sojourn, he had to return to Yugoslavia (Virk, “Vladimir” 140; 
Jevnikar 356).
How did Bartol define his self between the East and the West, 
between Ljubljana and Trieste? This general question will guide further 
interpretations of his autobiographical writing and fragments of diary 
(among others, a part titled “Between the East and the West” written just 
after the war). While his autobiography is published in three volumes, 
the diaristic notes still await further studies.4 As Tomo Virk noted, “due 
(hereafter MC, ZRC SAZU). Bartol’s awareness of “some strange affinity” to Svevo 
became especially strong when he realized that the writer’s wife was living in the flat 
once inhabited by his family, just before their translocation to Ljubljana. Bartol was 
asking himself: “How is it possible that among so many houses the lady lives right 
here, or better expressed, how could it happen that 40 years ago we received the flat 
right here?” As he noticed: “Similarly to I. Svevo the same was happening also to me. 
His first novel was published in 1892 and passed unnoticed. Newspapers did not men-
tion him at all, they pounced on Svevo’s poor language and poor command of Italian.”
3 Vlasta Polojaz gives an affirmative answer to this question in her essay on Bartol’s 
psychoanalysis and the influence of his experiences of childhood spent in Trieste on 
his literature. She referred here to Miran Košuta’s designation of Slovenian literature 
in Trieste in terms of “apparition.” According to Košuta, the Italian literary history has 
not recognized the role of Slovenian writers born, living and writing in Trieste in their 
contribution to the multicultural image of the city. Overlooked they became invisible 
and ephemeral specters (see Polojaz).
4 Only a small part of them was published in fragments in the literary journal 
Dialogi in the 1980s. Some excerpts from 1930–1933 were published in 1982 (no. 4, 
5, 6–7, 8–9, 10) and some other notes from 1958–1961 appeared in the same journal 
in 1983 (no. 1). 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
44
to this extensiveness, which is not possible to control totally—for the 
detailed examination of the entire legacy decades would be needed, it is 
always possible to expect, that potential future discoveries will comple-
ment current findings” (Virk, “Netipični” 78). Considering Bartol’s 
immense diaristic legacy, the article’s main aim is to suggest one of the 
possible interpretative paths which, if continued, would require more 
research and close reading of the author’s manuscripts.
Bartol in Triestine Mediterranean in-betweenness
According to Paul Waley, Trieste is “a powerful vehicle for geographi-
cal reflection. It forces us to think geographically, to think about the 
meanings of place and of affection for place and the expression of this 
affection in poetry and prose, as in the works of writers such as Italo 
Svevo and Umberto Saba,” (Waley 246) or Vladimir Bartol and other 
Slovenian writers. Following Michael Biggins’s remark on the predomi-
nant one-dimensional, solely Italian image of Trieste in the western lan-
guages, this study will try “to right that imbalance” by putting an em-
phasis on the Slovenian contribution to the multicultural city (Biggins 
100–101). Concerning the methodological framework, the following 
interpretations revolve around the category of experience, recently 
widely explored in social sciences and humanities (Wolska 6–9). The 
article draws on the phenomenological approach applied both to history 
(David Carr, Frank Ankersmit) and space (Tim Ingold) which allows to 
conceptualize history in terms of individual experience and view space 
as a place of dwelling. The paper also refers to the spatial turn which, 
offering a particular terminology and understanding of place, helps to 
reconstruct self-identifications shaped in relation to space.
When life ceases to be an evident, given phenomenon but always 
questioned in an encounter with cultural otherness, as it happens in 
the borderland areas such as Trieste, it becomes “grounded in idea and 
literature.” In this “paper city,” where life is lived “under protection of 
literature,” it is the latter that allows to “convert uncertainty of one’s 
identity into a travel in search for it, that means a more authentic 
identity” (Magris 308–309). This existential understanding of writing 
marked the Slovenian literature in Italy and thus also Bartol’s oeuvre. 
As Marija Pirjevec and Miran Košuta claim, the particular historical 
and cultural experiences of Slovenians in Italy gave way to a certain 
typology of Slovenian borderland literature, distinguishing it from 
both the Italian literature and the one of the Slovenian hinterland 
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
45
(M. Pirjevec, Tržaški 13, 24; Na pretoku 10, 14; “Zgodovinski oris” 
19; Košuta, E-mejli 28).
Trieste’s cultural status of a mediator between Italy and Mitteleuropa 
entailed a search for identity within local literature (Pizzi, A City 38–43). 
Moreover, the Triestine intersection of changeable and complex identi-
ties nurtured the existentialist understanding of literature which mani-
fests in “a robust autobiographism,” (Pizzi, “Triestine” 147) “an incli-
nation towards exaggerated introspection, hostility towards rhetoric, 
and a moral impulse” (Campanile 152). This dominant existentialist 
tone gave way to Bartol’s extensive autobiography written in the 1950s 
during his stay in Trieste. It was published in fragments in the local 
Slovenian journal Primorski Dnevnik (Virk, “Vladimir” 141, 144).
In the autobiography there is an image of a young boy following 
his father’s indications on a big map presenting changeable battlefronts 
during the Great War. This image served Bartol as an exemplary man-
ifestation of his two instincts in relation to time (“historical sense”) 
and space (“geographical instinct”) (Bartol, Romantika 155–158). The 
writer viewed space as an important factor having an impact on one’s 
perception and literary production. Given that he spent more than 
one-third of his life in Trieste (26 years), it goes without saying that the 
city’s milieu essentially influenced his literature and self-understanding. 
As Košuta argues, Bartol’s strong bond with Trieste manifested in more 
or less explicit “geospiritual influence” on his writing (“palimpsest 
multiculturalism, cosmopolitanism and borderland character of the 
birthplace”). Košuta discerns in the writer’s oeuvre a strong influence of 
tržaškost (multicultural identity of Trieste) (Toroš 19–30) expressed in 
“topos, themes, motives, ambiences, feelings, problems and even lin-
guistic peculiarities of ‘the city in the bay’” (Košuta, “Tržaški” 73–87).
Bartol’s literary articulation of Trieste was nourished by “imagi-
nary-historical space” marked with “at least two, unknown to central 
Slovenia typological peculiarities: Mediterraneaness and multicultural-
ism” (Košuta, E-mejli 40–43; Košuta, Scritture 137). In the diaristic 
notes taken after the Second World War when the political status of 
Trieste was still uncertain, Bartol argued that due to the city’s mediatory 
character as a sphere between the East and the West, it could become a 
center of a new, Mediterranean, cultural entity. He expressed his wish 
to convert Trieste into a place where diverse elements would inter-
mingle and create a new cultural world. Already before his sojourn in 
the city by the hill of Saint Just in the aftermath of the war, Bartol was 
reflecting on “how to activate a symbiosis of the eastern and western 
cultures, Slavic and Romance elements, a new, specific culture upwards 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
46
of this place. Out of this symbiosis, some new, fresh Mediterranean 
culture would emerge which would absorb dynamics and storminess of 
the East and Apollinianness and sense for measurement of the West” 
(Bartol, “Balkanijada X Trst, 20.III. [47]”). The two elements in a 
complementary and reciprocal combination could coexist and contrib-
ute to some new cultural universe. One of its important features would 
be “a ‘Mediterranean clarity’: perhaps just in Trieste it will be possible 
to formulate definite problems of the ‘East’ much more clearly and eas-
ily” (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX Trst. Trst, VI. zvezek, Dvoživkarstvo, [13.
II.47]”). According to Bartol, the Mediterranean character of Trieste 
could enable to look at the challenges (social, political?) posed by the 
East in another light depriving them of their burdensome complexities 
which in the end would strip the eastern communism of dogmatism 
with the help of realism.5
When historically contextualized, Bartol’s vision of Mediterranean 
Trieste becomes a response to the post-war more and more polarized 
political situation in Europe. In the city where the Iron Curtain (no 
matter how porous) would soon descend, the writer perceived himself 
as placed by fate on “Al Araf,” the line which in “Koran” divides heaven 
from hell and thus the two worlds of redemption and damnation. Trieste 
and its Mediterranean character could present to Bartol a certain rem-
edy to this widening Cold War rift. The decade-long oscillation between 
the two different worlds enabled him to broaden the perspective by the 
possibility of a simultaneous look at the two opposite directions (Bartol, 
“Med Vzhodom in Zapadom”). Additionally, his image of the Triestine 
Mediterranean culture seems to be a project not devoid of political over-
tone. Bartol viewed his official position in Trieste as the one forming 
part of “‘the first line,’ head of the spear directed against the West so that 
it tears the old, falling world” (Bartol, “Balkanijada X Trst”).
Bartol’s references to Trieste as a place of the necessary eastern ideo-
logical infiltration of the West should be placed in a broader, historical 
context of Slovenian political endeavors since 1848, namely Slovenian 
5 Bartol was against the dogmatic identification with the official aesthetic doctrine 
of Socialist  realism. As he remarked: “In opposition to social realism I put: univer-
sal realism. Realism in everything; in all phenomena: in psychological, sociological, 
material, moral. In observation, in ideology, in dialectics.” Consequently, instead of 
an outright identification with a specific political or artistic doctrine, Bartol was only 
approaching it in some aspects. As he underlined in one of the diaristic notes from 
1945: “I need for myself to be always a bit ‘below,’ ‘in the background,’ that I have 
always still a top in front of me. Full recognition, I am afraid, could mean my stand-
still, standstill of my creative force.” (Bartol, “Vzhod in Zapad IV”)
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
47
fight for access to the Adriatic Sea (J. Pirjevec, Trst 11–13). The writer 
shared the view already established in the Slovenian scholarship which 
claims that city belongs to the hinterland. Following this logic, Trieste, 
regarded as the Italian island surrounded by the Slovenian country-
side, also naturally pertains to the Karstic hinterland and politically, 
economically to Yugoslavia. Considering that at the beginning of the 
twentieth century Trieste was the biggest Slovenian city surpassing 
Ljubljana, it acquired an important role during the Slovenian struggle 
for national recognition. With the access to the sea, the city promised 
to Slovenians the end of isolation (Ara and Magris 66–67, 144). Trieste 
was thus of vital importance and the Adriatic question, resurfacing 
more vividly in the moments of territorial rearrangements, remained 
open till its official solution in the 1950s and also engaged Bartol.
After the Second World War, there were three possible solutions to 
the “Trieste question ” envisaged during the Paris Peace Conference: 
the city’s return to Italy, its annexation to Yugoslavia or a buffer state 
of Free Territory of Trieste. The latter option prevailed although in 
fact remaining unrealized (Sluga, “Trieste” 295–296). Slovenians 
were divided in their perceptions of the city’s desirable fate. Besides 
supporters of Josip Broz Tito who fostered the idea of Trieste as a 
basis for the eastern ideological infiltration of the West, there were 
right-oriented Slovenians (Christian-liberal) who fought for the Free 
Territory of Trieste having in mind the western infiltration of the East. 
Furthermore, there were also Slovenians who after Tito’s withdrawal 
from the Cominform in 1948 were closer to the Stalinist political line 
and Vittorio Vidali. The final demarcation of the western border in 
1954 only entrenched the divisions between Slovenians in Trieste (J. 
Pirjevec, Trst 419, 483). Shortly after his return to the city by the hill 
of Saint Just, Bartol became a member of the Slovenian-Italian antifas-
cist union for the Free Territory of Trieste, the movement supporting 
Tito’s Yugoslavia. Additionally, he tried to become a member of the 
communist party (Košuta, “Komentar” 326).6
Until 1954 Trieste continued to be an international issue provok-
ing many tensions. The ideologically and nationally polarized inner 
situation was marked with manifestations organized either in sup-
6 Even though the communist party was doubtful regarding his application, the 
writer declared that while waiting for the decision he would behave “as if he were 
accepted.” For more information concerning Bartol’s opinion about the situation in 
Slovenia during the Second World War and attitude towards communist ideology 
which in the end also resulted in his unsuccessful attempts to become a member of 
the party see the writer’s interview with Ljenko Urbančič as well as Virk, “Komentar.”
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
48
port of Yugoslavia or Italy (Košuta, “Komentar” 323). The city’s fate 
was dependent on the relations between the great political powers. 
Suspended between the West and the East, the inhabitants breathed 
the air imbued with feelings of loss and disorientation. In fact, state-
less, “with no control over their destiny, at the mercy of the vagaries of 
international geopolitics,” they found themselves in a specific “political 
and cultural limbo” (Bialasiewicz and Minca 1097; Minca 268). The 
post-war indeterminate international status of Trieste had to be experi-
enced by its inhabitants as extremely peculiar if Bartol chose this place 
as the setting of one of his short stories in which the main hero, a noble 
Englishman, sir Oliver Burke suffering from a strange indisposition 
of “nihil admirari” desperately searches for a source of astonishment. 
Having visited almost all the most distant corners of the world and 
experienced the most exotic phenomena, which, however, did not sur-
prise him, the main protagonist finally succeeded in finding the desired 
sense of bewilderment in post-war Trieste (Bartol, “Zgodba” 40–74).
Trieste as a microcosm of European modernity and phenomena 
which shaped the twentieth century (psychoanalysis, fascism, antisemi-
tism), was certainly a place that easily provided many different sources 
of bemusement. Bartol, upon his return in 1946 and having in mind 
Trieste in which he had come of age, namely the city under the Austro-
Hungarian rule, was assuredly also bewildered by many contradictory 
aspects of new, post-war Trieste under Anglo-American administra-
tion. Referring to the image of the city delineated in one of his novellas, 
Bartol could find himself in an uneasy situation of in-betweenness
between black marketeers and allies, between fascists and communists, between 
black people, Italians, and Slovenians, between refugees of all shades, between 
Ustashas and chetniks, between experienced Anglo-American colonizers, between 
partisans and war orphans, between Jews, exiles and Annamites, between prosti-
tutes and long-skirt Christian democrats, between an armada of unemployed;—
in short in our old magnificent Trieste by the Adriatic, […] between the West 
and the East. (Bartol, “Tržaška” 17)
Bartol’s amphibiousness and “wayfaring” between Trieste 
and Ljubljana
Spatial frames of self-identification become especially susceptible to 
problematization while travelling and if cultural contexts are often 
changed. After the Second World War, the main reference points 
on Bartol’s existential topography were the two cities: Trieste and 
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
49
Ljubljana. While he was fulfilling his professional duties in Trieste, in 
Ljubljana he had his family and acquaintances from literary circles who 
made him revisit this city frequently, sometimes almost every week for 
a couple of days (Bartol, “Balkanijada X. Trst. Vrhovni princip”). The 
city attracted Bartol not only because of the present familial ties but 
also due to the past experiences. In Ljubljana he was studying, made 
first attempts in a literary world and experienced many youthful adven-
tures, love (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX”). His often travels from one city to 
another made him compare himself to a creature that needs simultane-
ously two environments to survive. He perceived this amphibiousness 
as “a very well-chosen combination” necessary for his literary creation 
and ascent as a writer.7
Change of place shapes the way of writing. In one of his diaris-
tic notes Bartol remarked: “Besides, it is interesting to observe, how 
strongly a milieu also influences the psychological constitution itself, 
thoughts, triggering of ideas.” Consequently, a context where a story is 
written inevitably leaves its imprint which does not necessarily accord 
with the story’s imagined background. As Bartol recalled his work in 
Ljubljana, even though he aimed to overcome the city’s general atmo-
sphere of provinciality by placing his literary imagined universe within 
a “great world” of western metropolis, the outcome was “the Parisian 
stories” with an Alpine spirit of mountain pastures reminding more of 
Slovenia than of the western world (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX”).
Interestingly, a particular remedy for this Slovenian provincialism 
emerged with a more open, vigorous Serbian context and Belgrade 
which in the interwar period with tripled number of population “was 
on a steady, though not necessarily linear, trajectory of moderniza-
tion, urbanization, and Europeanization” and outpaced in its growth 
other Yugoslav cities such as Zagreb, Sarajevo and Ljubljana (Babović 
5–6). In Belgrade in 1933 Bartol experienced “a dynamic pace of 
society developing into capitalism” which made on him “the mighty 
although not entirely delightful impression” and also influenced his 
writings (Bartol, “H kritikam” 212). The atmosphere of the Yugoslav 
capital enabled the writer to gain and then also apply in his literary 
work a wider perspective. Furthermore, the social structure in both cit-
ies, Ljubljana and Belgrade, was different as “the Yugoslav capital did 
7 For Bartol’s attitude to Ljubljana see Dolgan who emphasizes that for Bartol it 
was more convenient to live in Trieste than in Ljubljana just after the war. “Trieste due 
to the Allied ‘capitalist’ orientation soon in terms of living standards, cultural pulse 
and openness surpassed Ljubljana which was engulfed by collectivism, nationalization, 
staged trials, socialist realism and restrictions on creative freedom.” (Dolgan 345)
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
50
not have a historic aristocracy or an established bourgeoisie before the 
Great War” (Babović 6). Therefore, less conservative Belgrade aspir-
ing to become a modern European metropolis was more receptive to 
the present challenges such as for instance artistic inspirations coming 
from abroad. The Yugoslav main city diffused a spirit which to Bartol 
seemed more realistic. Even in Ljubljana, he tried to project some of 
this realism on his artistic production (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX”).
Bartol’s belief in the decisive role of spatial frames in shaping his lit-
erary work also reveals in his hypothetical considerations about a form 
which his most internationally famous novel “Alamut” would have 
taken if he had written it not in Slovenia but Serbia, Belgrade. In the 
same vein, the writer noticed an interesting divergence between the 
notes taken in Trieste and before his arrival there, as well as the differ-
ence between plans for writing and the outcome which emerged due 
to the change of place. What Bartol intended to write, when already 
written in a different spatial context, would very often assume another 
shape from the one planned: “It seems to me, that what differs (at least 
a bit) is also writing, which I brought in head from Ljubljana and here 
I put on paper and vice versa.” (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX”) The outcome 
did not meet expectations, and it was a change of place which intro-
duced this discrepancy.
Each city possesses a unique genius loci made of different geographi-
cal locations, histories and cultural heritages. For Bartol, “an amphibi-
ous,” Ljubljana and Trieste represented divergent environments and 
thus every revisit had to entail a certain emotional response to a new 
context. Diverse ways of framing thoughts incited by the two cities were 
underlain with different moods and feelings. As the writer emphasized, 
“intellectual amphibiousness also corresponds to emotional amphibi-
ousness” (Bartol, “Balkanijada IX”). Therefore, the emotional layer also 
underwent important changes following the switchable urban refer-
ences of self-identification. While oscillating between the two cities, the 
writer experienced a specific change of “rhythm of organism, rhythm of 
thinking and feeling.” After each arrival in Trieste from Ljubljana he 
needed some days for his organism to calm down (Bartol, “Balkanijada 
VI”). While every visit to Ljubljana for Bartol was accompanied by “a 
stage fright,” in familiar Trieste, all anxiety and uneasiness dispersed 
(Bartol, Mladost 11). As if a human organism were a sensitive instru-
ment which, in order to be harmonious, requires some special tuning 
in alignment with a particular melody of a place. Bartol’s description 
of his experience of arrivals and departures with regard to the two cities 
is worth quoting, (notwithstanding the length of citation), as it reflects 
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
51
well the writer’s sensitivity to change of places and his resultant dual 
self-identification in relation to space.
Coming from Trieste to Ljubljana I often feel somehow cramped, I feel as 
if there appeared some ring around my brain. […] And when I arrive from 
Ljubljana to Trieste, just at the first sight of the sea from Opčine or Nabrežina 
the horizon somehow widens, I take a wider breath, anxious bonds go off 
from me. Also before the war I felt a similar confinement in Ljubljana com-
ing from Paris or Belgrade, my passion was not in vain, every so often to 
look at the world and widen one’s horizons. Ljubljana is strong, root-like, 
profound—and also narrow, narrow-minded, it cannot be hidden. Ljubljana 
is an outstandingly cultural city, while Trieste and also Belgrade are not, at 
least not in the same degree. Strange, in this view Ljubljana is rather similar 
to Paris. […] Ljubljana forces a man to contemplation, to determined deal-
ing with some (narrow) problem, to depth, to intensive, deep experience, to 
thoroughness. Whereas Trieste in opposition to this, widens horizons, forces 
to big perspectives, goes “widely and highly.” In Trieste you are more a realist 
than in Ljubljana. You think more clearly, you feel more clearly. You are open. 
Ljubljana forces a great man to “greatness in depth,” Trieste to “greatness in 
width and height.”
Trieste as a city under the sign of Mercury, because having at its ori-
gins trade and economy, could resemble a place where life is strongly 
marked with realism and pragmatism. In this regard, the former com-
mercial harbor of the Habsburg Monarchy was opposed by Bartol with 
more metaphysical Ljubljana, which as a city dominated by cultural life 
seemed to him closer to Paris and western Europe in general. While 
Ljubljana privileged a contemplative look into depths of oneself or a 
scrutinizing search for roots of some problem, Trieste blurred this focal-
ized and narrow perspective by opening a view at the seemingly endless 
sea widening the horizon and making a person more open. Suddenly 
the burden of intricate perception searching for rootedness in the Alpine 
hinterland could be shed or dissolved by the sea. Moreover, the atmo-
sphere of realism encountered in the Triestine emporium would clarify 
self-perception, liberating it from a threat of restraining essentialism.
The seaside city relieved Bartol of the confinement he could feel in 
the Slovenian hinterland surrounded by the Alps where the cultural 
circles seemed to him devoid of a necessary “valve” (possibly present in 
Trieste because of the sea?). In Ljubljana, as the writer remarked, “all are 
somehow irritated, hysterical as if they cannot or must not out of them-
selves” (Bartol, “Vzhod in Zapad”). Trieste, in this context, presents a 
relieving counterweight because one glance at the sea may provide with 
some distance towards oneself opening a valve of escape from one’s 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
52
confinement within a monad of the inner world (one dominant ideol-
ogy or identity imposed by the majority). As if the constantly changing 
surface of the sea reminded its observer of the inevitable passage of 
time, fluidity and a fleeting nature of all historical phenomena, percep-
tions, identities. Therefore, the roots taken in “profound” Ljubljana 
could be undermined with a look at the sea and the metaphysical jus-
tification of bonds established between the Alps would evaporate in a 
more realistic atmosphere of the seaside city. “Anxious bonds go off” 
together with any seemingly fixed identity—in the Slovenian interior 
still taken for granted but in Trieste, when faced with different mani-
festations of otherness, it becomes relative and indeterminate.
Certain spaces, identified with specific “orders of time,” are experi-
enced differently also in terms of perception of time. In this regard, in 
contrast to the hectic spirit of the port city of Trieste, Ljubljana could 
make an impression of a place defined by a considerably slower pace of 
life. In 1947 while roaming along the streets of Slovenian capital, Bartol 
immersed himself in a sullen mood provoked by an atmosphere of the 
city similar to the one he had encountered there ten years before as if 
time were brought to a halt. Was the rhythm of changes in Ljubljana 
so slow that the only images which could come to mind of its frequent 
visitor were those from the past? In opposition to Trieste which, as 
an urban experiment, a fruit of a future-oriented vision of Habsburgs, 
privileged a continuous focus on the present moment, Ljubljana would 
acquire a more traditional, conservative character rooted in the past. 
Furthermore, Bartol defined the temporal orientation of both cities also 
in ideological terms. While in the Slovenian Littoral he could experi-
ence the forward-looking partisan spirit more directly, Ljubljana with 
its rather conservative trait seemed only reluctantly subjugating itself to 
the subversive, partisan ideas. Bartol formulated his impressions from 
one of his stays in the Slovenian main city as follows: “So slow, calm, 
philister, bureaucratic it seemed to me. Is it because the wide, joyful 
partisan spirit vanished? Yes, Ljubljana is a heavy, strong city. Heavy is 
its ambient and it slowly absorbed the entire partisan spirit.” (Bartol, 
“V. i Z.”)
The decade-long oscillation between Central European Ljubljana 
and Mediterranean Trieste enabled Bartol on the one hand to assume 
a privileged position due to a wider and more complete perspective. 
On the other hand, his amphibiousness implied a certain schizophre-
nia provoking problematic identity dilemmas. The mediating position 
between the East and the West makes possible reciprocal enrichments 
but also poses a threat of double isolation as a result of marginalization 
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
53
from two sides of the border and from two societies distortedly repre-
sented by national identities as homogenous. Bartol experienced both 
positive and negative aspects of his existential situation marked with 
in-betweenness.
As “the Littoral Slovenian among continental Slovenians, a fish on 
dry land” (Košuta, “Tržaški” 86), the writer viewed himself as more 
open and liberal than his compatriots living in other parts of the coun-
try. Bartol explained this clash of worldviews and experiences, referring 
to his particular origins immersed in the open and multicultural atmo-
sphere of Trieste, foreign to other Slovenians:
A man, who as a child could each day watch ships coming from all the conti-
nents of the world and who saw in his birthplace day by day representatives of 
the most divergent nations, people and races walking along his streets, listened 
to unknown languages and unknown melodies, necessarily accumulated in 
his memory different impressions, as a child necessarily indulged in different 
wishes and fantasies than someone who was born and grew up in the midst of 
patriarchal peace […] in a separated from the world Slovenian village and its 
more or less poetic idyll. (Bartol, Pot 293–294)
Bartol found himself in an uneasy situation of double alienation which 
he described as follows: “In Ljubljana I was a foreigner, they thought it 
because I am Triestine […]. Here I was a foreigner for them because they 
thought that I am from Ljubljana. […] I am a guest among Slovenians, 
they accepted me as an annoying intruder.” (Bartol, “Zapiski”)
In Ljubljana, Bartol experienced isolation predominantly on the 
artistic plane. As Taja Kramberger noted, the writer’s provenience and 
thus different “social habitus,” “topoi” and “places of collective mem-
ory” (sea, urbs, intellectuality, humour) which compose his “literary 
topography” made him foreign and unaccepted within the “Slovenian 
literary field” characterised by provincialism, sentimental rusticism 
and “scholastic antiintellectuality” (Kramberger 889–892). Bartol was 
a nonconformist escaping the predominant in Slovenia aesthetic classi-
fications. Distant from abiding any clearly defined genre, he wished to 
elaborate his own formal way of expression. This “multi-genre author” 
transcended the commonly adopted and expected artistic, mental pat-
terns with his particular attitude to art and approach to the world 
which combined irony, cynicism, nihilism and Machiavellianism 
(Belšak 124–135). As an outsider, referencing the dominant aesthetic 
currents, the writer remarked: “In my notes on numerous places I 
complain about my loneliness and misunderstanding …” (Bartol, 
Romantika 269, 275)
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
54
Reflecting on his own fate and alternative, untaken paths of life, 
Bartol concluded that if he had remained in Trieste, he would have 
become an entirely different person. While in the seaside city he could 
sense a certain unity with its inhabitants and life in general (“here I am 
with people and life one”), in Ljubljana he felt more foreign. Many 
years spent in the Slovenian capital could not mitigate his experience 
of alienation. Bartol compared himself to a “foreign bird” which as a 
victim of the locals’ hostility was lost and unaccepted on the Slovenian 
territory. “The native birds pecked and banished the foreign bird seek-
ing shelter. And where shall it fly away if it cannot go home? In the 
heights?” He could not go home because with the passage of time it 
became recognizable only in memory (Bartol, “Balkanijada VI. Trst, 
2. VII. 46”). Bartol managed to go beyond this double estrangement 
founded on excluding national identities and the binary perspective of 
majority-minority by placing himself within some wider frames of a 
universal spirit. As he noted: “In reality I was only the messenger of the 
universal spirit, der Herold des Weltgeistes. Erratic bloc, meteor which 
fell on the earth and by accident on the Slovenian ground.” (Bartol, 
“Zapiski”) Convinced that life itself forced him to follow the “steep 
way up,” Bartol perceived his fate as similar to France Prešeren, whose 
literary work was recognized only posthumously. Misunderstood by his 
contemporaries, Bartol believed that his original contribution to the 
Slovenian and world literature would receive a proper recognition in 
future (Bartol, “Balkanijada VI. Trst, 2. VII. 46”).
Conclusion
Trieste with its flourishing harbor, for centuries attracting a flux of 
newcomers, became the city of immigrants (Cattaruzza 193)8 where 
arrivals and departures made up discontinuous life-stories tinged by on 
the one hand uprootedness and on the other hand a search for some 
bonds. Intermingled nationalism and cosmopolitanism informed in-
habitants’ positions depending on their social background, economic 
and political interests as well as historical circumstances. Given that 
both cosmopolitanism and irredentism in Trieste were, in Pamela 
Ballinger’s words, “interrelated ideologies upon which individuals may 
8 For the study of the role of immigration (“driving factor”) and demographic 
development in the transformation of the city’s social structure and its fast economic 
growth see Kalc 12.
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
55
draw in different realms or moments,” Triestines’ self-identifications 
acquired a changeable character. This coexistence of only seemingly 
contradictory ideologies was embodied by many Triestine writers who 
“simultaneously embraced ‘nationalist’ and ‘cosmopolitan’ positions in 
different aspects of their life” (Ballinger 92–93). This duality was also 
mirrored in Bartol’s oeuvre which thus could be characterized as both 
supranational and local, Slovenian. Following this line of interpreta-
tion, the writer was described by Košuta as “glocal,” on the crossroads 
of globality and locality (Košuta, “Tržaški” 73–88). Bartol’s global 
openness, trespassing national boundaries, radiates from his past ex-
perience of cosmopolitan and to great extent mythologized Habsburg 
Trieste. Later in the Cold War period the city marked with a tense 
atmosphere of increasing national divisions shaped the writer’s locality.
Multicultural Trieste, where omnipresent otherness led to contin-
gent self-delineations per negationem (Ara and Magris 13–16), is also 
a place reverberating with absence, not only of the past, origins but 
also of unfulfilled (geopolitical) visions of future. Claudio Minca, who 
presents Trieste’s history through the prism of “ideal geographies of 
absence” which in 1848 shifted from “cosmopolitan/Mediterranean” 
to “‘national’/territorial,” underlines that “dominant imaginations 
of the city have always been (and continue to be) structured around 
such ‘geographies of absence’—both in ideal terms (absence as a value 
in itself), as well as in clear opposition to the ‘geographies of essence’ 
that sustained the other grand project of European bourgeois moder-
nity: the territorial nation-state.” These manifold instances of absence 
refer to the absence of Italy (Trieste as an orphan), Vienna (Trieste as 
“Austria’s widow”), Istrian Peninsula, Slavic nation-state with Trieste 
as capital (advocated among Slovenians) as well as a new future-ori-
ented cultural horizon and a political project which could restore to 
post-war Trieste its bygone cosmopolitan spirit (Minca 269–272). 
Bartol’s experiences of the Triestine reality after the Second World 
War combined both cosmopolitan (nostalgic) and territorial (future-
oriented) “geographies of absence.” At one end, faced with the renewed 
Italian-Slovenian confrontation, the writer sensed a certain absence of 
the multicultural, cosmopolitan city of his youth. At the other, con-
vinced about Trieste’s adherence to the Slovenian hinterland, his expe-
rience of absence also related to the unfulfilled but desirable annexation 
of Trieste to Yugoslavia.
Bartol’s self-identification in relation to space in terms of amphib-
ian reveals his topographical imagination and indicates his sensitivity 
to changeability of places. The writer’s amphibiousness shaped by his 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
56
decade-long oscillation between Mediterranean Trieste and Central 
European Ljubljana enriched his self and his literary work but also pro-
voked double isolation. He managed to transcend the sense of alien-
ation by identifying himself with a world spirit (Weltgeist) and by the 
intensified work of memory which could to a certain extent mitigate 
the temporal discordance between bygone Habsburg Trieste and Free 
Territory of Trieste, between a mythicized cosmopolitan openness and 
the Cold War confinement.
WORKS CITED
Ankersmit, Frank R. Meaning, Truth, and Reference in Historical Representation. Ithaca, 
NY: Cornell University Press, 2012.
Ara, Angelo, and Claudio Magris. Trst, obmejna identiteta. Ljubljana: Študentska 
založba 2001.
Babović, Jovana. Metropolitan Belgrade: Culture and Class in Interwar Yugoslavia. 
Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2018.
Ballinger, Pamela. “Imperial Nostalgia: Mythologizing Habsburg Trieste.” Journal of 
Modern Italian Studies 8.1 (2003): 84–101.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada VI. Trst, 2. VII. 46.” Manuscript Collection of Vladimir 
Bartol, Institute of Slovenian Literature and Literary Studies at the Research 
Centre of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts (MC, ZRC SAZU).
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada VI. Trst, 20. VII. [46.].” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada IX. Trst. Trst, VI. Zvezek. Dvoživkarstvo.” MC, ZRC 
SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada IX. Trst. Trst, VI. zvezek, Dvoživkarstvo [13.II.47].” 
MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada X Trst.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada X Trst, 20.III. [47].” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Balkanijada X. Trst. Vrhovni princip: Vsi ljudje – vse vedo (V. i. Z.), 
27. VI. 47.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Demonija in Zapiski: Ljublj. 6. I. 1956 (nadaljev.) Trst 10. I. 56. – 
29. IV. 56.” 27 January 1956, MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “H ‘kritikam’ Josipa Vidmarja.” Zakrinkani trubadur. Izbrani članki 
in eseji. Ed. Drago Bajt. Ljubljana: Slovenska matica, 1993. 207–247.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Med Vzhodom in Zapadom 48/1, 28.VII.47.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. Mladost pri Svetem Ivanu. Vol. 1. Trieste: ZTT EST, 2001.
Bartol, Vladimir. Pot do učenosti. Mladost pri Svetem Ivanu. Vol. 2. Ljubljana: Sanje, 
2006.
Bartol, Vladimir. Romantika in platonika sredi vojne. Mladost pri Svetem Ivanu. Vol. 3. 
Ljubljana: Sanje, 2006.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Tržaška novela 1948.” Zbrano delo. Krajša proza po letu 1945. Vol. 
4. Ed. Miran Košuta. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, 2020. 9–39.
Bartol, Vladimir. “V. i Z. VI, 6. VII. 1947.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Vzhod in Zapad IV c, 14.VI.45.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Vzhod in Zapad. Razne beležke, Trst, 25.IV.47.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Bartol, Vladimir. “Zapiski 1954, Trst, 28.III.54.” MC, ZRC SAZU.
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
57
Bartol, Vladimir. “Zgodba o gentelmenu, ki je iskal začudenje.” Zbrano delo. Krajša 
proza po letu 1945. Vol. 4. Ed. Miran Košuta. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, 2020. 40–74
Belšak, Aleksandra. “Vladimir Bartol – večžanrski pisatelj (ob zbirkah kratke proze v 
primerjavi z romanoma Alamut in Čudež na vasi).” Slovenska kratka pripovedna 
proza. Ed. Irena Novak Popov. Ljubljana: Filozofska fakulteta, 2006. 123–136.
Biagio, Marin. I delfini di Scipio Slataper. Milan: All’Insegna del Pesce d’Oro, 1965.
Bialasiewicz, Luiza, and Claudio Minca. “The ‘Border Within’: Inhabiting the Border in 
Trieste.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 28.6 (2010): 1084–1105.
Biggins, Michael. “Raising Adria: Vladimir Bartol’s Evocation of the Last Years of 
Habsburg Trieste.” Slovene Studies 41.2 (2019): 85–92.
Campanile, Anna. “The Torn Soul of a City: Trieste as a Center of Polyphonic Culture 
and Literature.” History of the Literary Cultures of East-Central Europe: Junctures 
and disjunctures in the 19th and 20th centuries. Eds. Marcel Cornis-Pope and John 
Neubauer. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2006. 145–61.
Carr, David. Experience and History: Phenomenological Perspectives on the Historical 
World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014.
Cary, Joseph. A Ghost in Trieste. Chicago, ILs: University of Chicago Press, 1993.
Cattaruzza, Marina. “Slovenes and Italians in Trieste, 1850–1914.” Ethnic Identity in 
Urban Europe. Ed. Max Engman. Dartmouth: New York University Press, 1992. 
189–219.
Dolgan, Marjan. “Ljubljana kot socialni in literarni prostor slovenskih književnikov.” 
Primerjalna književnost 35.3 (2012): 335–358.
Ingold, Tim. Being Alive. Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. New York, 
NYs: Routledge, 2001.
Jevnikar, Martin. “Neznani in problematični Vladimir Bartol.” Primorska Srečanja: 
revija za družboslovje in kulturo 17.134/135 (1992): 352–356.
Kalc, Aleksej. Tržaško prebivalstvo v 18. stoletju. Priseljevanje kot gibalo demografske rasti 
in družbenih sprememb. Koper: Založba Annales, 2008.
Košuta, Miran. E-mejli: eseji o mejni literaturi. Maribor: Litera, 2008.
Košuta Miran. “Komentar.” Vladimir Bartol. Zbrano delo. Krajša proza po letu 1945. 
Vol. 4. Ed. Miran Košuta. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, 2020. 317–510.
Košuta, Miran. Scritture parallele. Dialoghi di frontiera tra letteratura slovena e italiana. 
Trieste: Lint, 1997.
Košuta, Miran. “‘Tržaški’ Bartol: pisatelj, ki je gledal ladje z vseh kontinentov sveta 
/ Bartol ‘of Trieste’: the writer who saw ships from all continents of the world.” 
Slovenska tržaška literarna šola. Ed. Zdravko Duša. Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba, 
2015. 69–89.
Kramberger, Taja. Memorija in spomin: zgodovinska antropologija kanonizirane recepcije. 
Doctoral dissertation. Koper: Univerza na Primorskem, 2009.
Magris, Claudio. Itaka i dalej. Sejny: Pogranicze, 2009.
Minca, Claudio. “‘Trieste Nazione’ and its Geographies of Absence.” Social & Cultural 
Geography 10.3 (2009): 257–277.
Pirjevec, Jože. “Trst je naš!”: Boj Slovencev za morje (1848–1954). Ljubljana: Nova revija, 
2008.
Pirjevec, Marija. Na pretoku dveh literatur. Študije in eseji. Trieste: Založništvo tržaškega 
tiska; Narodna in študijska knjižnica, 1992.
Pirjevec, Marija. Tržaški zapisi. Trieste: Mladika, 1997.
Pirjevec, Marija. “Zgodovinski oris slovenskega tržaškega literarnega ustvarjanja / 
Historical outline of Slovenian literary creativity in Trieste.” Slovenska tržaška 
literarna šola. Ed. Zdravko Duša. Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba, 2015. 11–23.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
58
Pizzi, Katia. A City in Search of an Author: The Literary Identity of Trieste. London; New 
York, NY: Sheffield academic press, 2001.
Pizzi, Katia. “Triestine Literature between Slovenia and Italy: A Case of Missed 
Transculturalism?” Primerjalna književnost 36.1 (2013): 145–155.
Polojaz, Vlasta. “Vladimir Bartol. Tržaška prikazen.” Web. Stran slovenskih 
psihoanalitikov (IPA). 1–29. Accessed 31. 10. 2023. < https://web.archive.org/
web/20230525162958/http://psihoanalitiki-ipa.si/files/Polojaz-Bartol.pdf >.
Slataper, Scipio. Scritti politici [includes Lettere triestine]. Ed. Giani Stuparich. Milan: 
Mondadori, 1954.
Sluga, Glenda. “Trieste: Ethnicity and the Cold War, 1945–54.” Journal of 
Contemporary History 29.2 (1994): 285–303.
Toroš, Ana. Potovanje po neznanih poteh tržaškosti in Gradnikove poezije. Izbrani spisi. 
Trieste: Mladika; Slovenski raziskovalni inštitut, 2019.
Urbančič, Ljenko. “Pri Vladimirju Bartolu.” Jutro 24.73 (30 March 1944): 2.
Velikić, Dragan. O pisateljih in mestih. Ljubljana: Literarno-umetniško društvo 
Literatura, 2019.
Virk, Tomo. “Komentar.” Vladimir Bartol. Zbrano delo. Krajša proza 1935–1945. Vol. 
3. Ed. Tomo Virk. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, 2016. 363–445.
Virk, Tomo. “Netipični slovenski pisatelj. Ob Zbranem delu Vladimirja Bartola.” 
Zbrana dela slovenskih pesnikov in pisateljev: 1946–2016: 70 let izhajanja. Ed. 
Matija Ogrin. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, 2016. 75–79.
Virk, Tomo. “Vladimir Bartol.” Novi Slovenski biografski leksikon. Ed. Barbara Šterbenc 
Svetina. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, 2017. 140–146.
Waley, Paul. “Introducing Trieste: A Cosmopolitan City?” Social & Cultural Geography 
10.3 (2009): 243–256.
Wolska, Dorota. Odzyskać doświadczenie. Sporny temat humanistyki współczesnej. 
Kraków: Universitas, 2012.
»Med Vzhodom in Zahodom«: Samorazumevanje 
Vladimirja Bartola med srednjeevropsko Ljubljano 
in sredozemskim Trstom (1946–1956)
Ključne besede: slovenska književnost v Italiji / Bartol, Vladimir / kulturna identiteta / 
Trst / mediteranskost / Srednja Evropa
Članek obravnava fluidno samorazumevanje Vladimirja Bartola v povezavi s 
spremenljivimi kraji njegovega bivanja v prvem desetletju po drugi svetovni 
vojni. Stalno nihanje pisatelja med Trstom in Ljubljano so spremljale spre-
membe perspektiv (manjšina/večina) in kulturno-jezikovne dvojnosti, ki so 
slovensko književnost v Italiji zaznamovale z eksistencialističnim predznakom. 
Bartolova vrnitev v Trst je postavila pod vprašaj tako njegov odnos do prostora 
Aleksandra Tobiasz:     “Between the East and the West”
59
kot do časa oz. sobivanja preteklega habsburškega multikulturnega pristani-
šča v spominu z doživeto hladnovojno podobo mesta. Bivanje v Trstu je tako 
botrovalo obsežnim zapisom, ki predstavljajo glavni vir članka (gre za avtobio-
grafijo in neobjavljene fragmente dnevnika). Pri predstavitvi Bartolove samoi-
dentifikacije se avtorica navdihuje pri prostorskem obratu ter fenomenologiji. 
Na ta način skuša prikazati pisateljevo samorazumevanje, rekonfigurirano v 
skladu z njegovo povojno eksistencialno topografijo, razpeto med srednjee-
vropsko Ljubljano in sredozemskim Trstom.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 821.163.6.09Bartol V.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.03

The Paraleptic Effect
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić
University of Donja Gorica, Faculty of Philology, Oktoih 1, ME-81000 Podgorica, Montenegro
https://orcid.org/0000-0003-0078-5103; https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8072-7223 
vladimir.vujosevic@udg.edu.me, dragisa.vukotic@udg.edu.me
This article examines the alleged narratological paradox of paralepsis. It is argued 
that the first-person narrators of Moby-Dick, À la recherche du temps perdu and 
The Great Gatsby (to name but three prominent examples) occasionally display 
an inexplicable awareness of facts that would be naturally inaccessible to them 
(knowledge of other people’s thoughts, minute familiarity with unwitnessed events, 
etc.). Paralepsis, as Genette calls it, can be defined as the class of situations in 
which a first-person narrator seems to exercise the impossible epistemic privilege. 
This paper argues against the existence of genuine paraleptic events on two levels. 
First, it is argued that this kind of narration is rarely epistemically paradoxical. 
Even some of the strongest candidates for paralepsis could be naturalized (the 
reader can detect possible natural ways in which the narrator might have obtained 
the seemingly impossible information). Second, even in cases where they cannot 
be convincingly naturalized, ‘paralepses’ need not be mysterious. It is often 
possible to read them (as P. Dawson has done) as “authorial performances.” 
They can be explained as instances of a specific rhetorical procedure that we 
have termed raconteural narration: a mode of narration in which, for the sake of 
more convincing exposition, mere conjectures are offered without the usual modal 
phrases that indicate the speculative quality of such assertions and thus create the 
erroneous impression of uncanny narrative knowledge.
Keywords: narratology / paralepsis / narrative epistemology / Moby-Dick / À la recherche 
du temps perdu / The Great Gatsby
61
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
“Inexplicable” narratorial knowledge
Chapter 37 of Melville’s Moby-Dick contains Ahab’s famous madness 
maddened soliloquy. Alone in his chamber, restlessly pacing to and fro, 
the captain of the Pequod is given to the charged rhetorical ostenta-
tions and theatrical hand gestures, affronting his own “grim, phan-
tom futures” (Melville 164), solemnly vowing to take revenge on the 
white whale that bit off his leg: “I now prophesy that I will dismem-
ber my dismemberer. Now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one. 
That’s more than ye, ye great gods, ever were.” (161–162) The vitriolic 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
62
soliloquy goes on through much of the chapter. However, we get the 
impression that something is substantially wrong with the scene the 
moment we are reminded that the novel itself and, consequently, 
this episode portraying Ahab’s unattended gestures and musings ut-
tered in the private “sacred retreat of his cabin” (118), are narrated in 
the first-person, by “one Ishmael” (5). Ishmael, “a simple sailor” (3) 
devoid of “preternatural power[s]” (119), is somehow made privy to 
“all the subtle demonisms of [Ahab’s] life and thought” (177). Vividly 
and in much detail, he describes the behavior he apparently couldn’t 
have witnessed. Here and in a few other places in the novel, Ishmael 
seems to authoritatively offer information he “could not […] possess if 
[he] functioned exactly like [an ordinary] human being” (Alber, Skov 
Nielsen and Richardson 363).
Moby-Dick is far from being an isolated example of this “impossible 
kind of telling” (Petterson 76). For instance, the crucial scene in the 
eight chapter of The Great Gatsby, the private late-night conversation 
between Michaelis and Wilson, is narrated by Nick Carraway. Without 
witnessing the actual event, Nick, as James Phelan has noted, conveys 
not just the general outline of this private conversation he could have 
been easily familiarized with (by hearing of it directly from Michaelis) 
but describes various details that are far too nuanced to be part of any 
subsequently obtained summary of the event.1 It appears that Nick, a 
first-person witness narrator, has somehow usurped the unattainable 
epistemic privilege of the ubiquitous third-person surveyor. Such a 
procedure is bound to strike us as an “outrageous ‘transgression’ of the 
norms of realistic storytelling” (Pennacchio 24).
However, what is perhaps the most radical example of a narrator 
exhibiting the unaccountable “excess of knowledge” (Dawson 196) can 
be traced back to the famous scene of Bergotte’s death in Proust’s À la 
recherche du temps perdu. It was Gérard Genette who drew the general 
attention to what he saw as the straightforward impossibility of the 
episode. Marcel, the narrator of the novel, while describing the death 
1 Nick’s description of the scene contains the “verbatim reports” (Phelan 107) 
of various unsubstantial conversational turns: “How long have you been married, 
George? Come on there, try and sit still a minute, and answer my question. […] Come 
on, George, sit still—I asked you a question.” (Fitzgerald 100) Nick’s acute awareness 
of the surroundings is strangely evocative, not of a person reporting subsequently 
obtained pieces of information, but of the third-person narrator attentively surveying 
the scene: “The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light, and whenever 
Michaelis heard a car […] it sounded to him like the car that hadn’t stopped a few 
hours before.” (100)
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
63
of a writer he admires, suddenly offers a strange record of his final 
thoughts. The narrator appears to demonstrate the impossible “psycho-
logical penetration” (Edmiston 729) as he recovers in a puzzling pro-
tocol the unrecoverable content of a dying man’s mind, thus exercising 
the knowledge that remains “irreducible by any hypothesis to the nar-
rator’s information, one we must indeed attribute to the ‘omniscient’ 
novelist” (Genette 208). Genette uses the term paralepsis2 to describe 
this class of narratorial situations in which information provided by the 
first-person narrator “exceeds his [cognitive] capacities” (Genette 205). 
These “paraleptic infractions” (Dawson 201) are troubling since they 
seem to point out the fact that some of the most influential novels (like 
Moby-Dick, The Great Gatsby, or À la recherche du temps perdu) are built 
upon paradoxical narratorial inconsistencies.
Nonetheless, someone could reasonably argue that there is no need 
to overelaborate these fictional occurrences. The most suitable reaction 
to a first-person narrator conveying pieces of information he cannot 
possess would be to assume that he is simply lying. The fact that people 
(be they real or fictional) are capable of asserting outrageous claims 
hardly seems to constitute a riveting theoretical enigma. To describe 
such instances as epistemically puzzling appears to be unnecessar-
ily extravagant. However, one could answer to this commonsensical 
objection that even a lie has to have some epistemic foundation. For 
example, when a witness commits perjury by claiming that the accused 
didn’t pull the trigger, such an assertion (though untruthful) is still 
based on some epistemic foundation (e.g., the assumption that the per-
son testifying was a witness or is somehow familiar with the crime). But 
what happens when someone authoritatively describes the minutiae of 
a crime without providing any basis for his claims? Paralepses are trou-
bling because they do not quite follow the logic of lying. We would 
be bewildered by someone “authoritatively” and “sincerely” claiming 
something that is neither epistemically justified nor styled as a mere 
conjecture. What does such a person want to achieve with such strange 
assertions? Something more than the supposition of narratorial dishon-
esty is needed to explain the paraleptic breach.
It seems that three necessary conditions must be met for any nar-
ratorial information to be deemed truly paraleptic. Paralepses are 
the class of narrative situations in which (1) a first-person narrator 
2 “[W]e will christen [this type of alteration] paralepsis, since here we are […] deal-
ing […] with taking up (-lepsis, from lambano) and giving information that should be 
left aside.” (Genette 195)
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
64
exercises (2) impossible (3) epistemic privilege. When confronted with 
a paradoxical situation, the reader will usually try to neutralize it. As 
Dawson puts it, “the theory of paralepsis functions as an interpretive 
vacuum, in which critics feel compelled to furnish an explanation for a 
character narrator’s impossible […] knowledge” (Dawson 199). Thus, 
when faced with narratorial information that seems paraleptic, we can 
attempt to dissolve the paraleptic effect (the sense of the straightfor-
ward impossibility of the narrator’s knowledge of the event) by argu-
ing that one of the conditions from the abovementioned definition is 
not actually satisfied. In other words, one could try to claim that (1) 
a conveyer of “paraleptic” information is not, in fact, a first-person 
narrator, or that (2) the narrator’s possession of seemingly paraleptic 
information is possible under some previously unconsidered scenarios 
that an honest reading of the text allows for, or that (3) the narra-
tor’s “paraleptic” renditions are not genuine pieces of information (i.e., 
they are devoid of epistemic ambition and value), but merely represent 
(for example) rhetorical exercises. In the following, we’ll try to evaluate 
how each of these strategies works in the cases of the three canonical 
instances of paralepsis (from Moby-Dick, The Great Gatsby, and À la 
recherche du temps perdu).
The “another voice” hypothesis
It is possible to speak of paralepsis only “if we still think of the first 
person as a narrator responsible for all words in the narrative” (Alber, 
Skov Nielsen and Richardson 363). We are generally untroubled by 
the extent of knowledge of third-person narrators since we assume 
that epistemic justification (“How do they know the information they 
convey?”) is already “inscribed” in the act of such narration. Third-
person narrators seem to know things by the very convention of sto-
rytelling. The paraleptic effect would dissipate, the argument goes, if 
“we […] posit a [third-person] voice of the narrative” (Skov Nielsen 
132) whenever “substantial and extensive information is relayed which 
the I-narrator cannot possibly know” (Heinze 288). In such a sce-
nario, the first-person narrators would occasionally share the narrato-
rial authority with some covert third-person presence. For example, 
there is no reason to insist that Ishmael is the one describing Ahab’s 
private behavior in chapter 37 of Moby-Dick if we can attribute this 
rendition to some clandestine third-person narrator that occasional-
ly intrudes on Ishmael’s witness accounts and seizes control over the 
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
65
narrative. Pennacchio has argued that such unannounced shifts to the 
third-person narratorial perspective are not uncommon in various cin-
ematic narratives. There is a plethora of examples of the character’s 
narration existing simultaneously with segments that are “inconsistent 
with [the I-narrator’s] knowledge” (Pennacchio 35). For instance, in 
Sam Esmail’s Mr. Robot, the protagonist is also the witness-narrator, 
leading us through his experiences (he begins his account by address-
ing an imaginary, ideal listener with “Hello friend”). However, there 
are still numerous scenes in the series that can hardly be part of the 
main character’s witness narration since he could not have the di-
rect experience of these events (for example, the murder of his child-
hood friend, Angela, is minutely portrayed although he was not at the 
scene). Pennacchio offers a similar example from Nic Pizzolatto’s True 
Detective (35). We are generally untroubled by the presence of this 
additional narratorial perspective. It seems that one could easily argue 
that “for narratives like Moby Dick and The Great Gatsby, this [explana-
tion] works beautifully” (Heinze 288).
However, it is necessary to point out one specific problem: the 
“another voice” hypothesis works much more beautifully in (what 
can be termed) the mediated first-person narratives than in the non-
mediated ones. For example, Benjy’s chapter in The Sound and the 
Fury is obviously mediated. He is the narrator, but he is not the one 
recording the narration. Benjy’s thoughts and words seem to be “mys-
teriously caught and transcribed” (Genette 230) by some “spirit of 
storytelling” (Skov Nielsen 138). Since the narrators like Benjy (or 
Quentin and Jason Compson) are not writers, the possibility of their 
narration depends on the existence of another “semi-omniscient,” 
third-person agency that is covertly present in such narratives. Since 
the mediated renditions are not characterized by the strict unity of 
narration, the potential intrusion of “another voice” would not be 
particularly troubling.3
Unlike Benjy, the narrators of Moby-Dick, The Great Gatsby, and 
À la recherche du temps perdu are authorial, writerly personae aiming 
at total control over their stories. Ishamel explicitly refers to himself 
as “the writer hereof” (Melville 200) and describes his narration as 
“an ever gathering volume” (173). Nick Carraway self-identifies as 
the writer of “this book” (Fitzgerald 3), continuously rereading “over 
what [he has] written so far” (37). Similarly, Proust’s Marcel refers to 
3 This seems to be the case in the fourth chapter of The Sound and the Fury, where 
the hitherto latent semi-omniscient teller completely takes hold of the narration.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
66
himself on numerous occasions as the author of “this book” (Proust 
1878, 2132, 2408, 2661). They are not merely minds conveying 
thoughts, voices among other voices, but writers producing and orga-
nizing authorial texts.4
There is explicit self-centredness to such written, controlled auto-
biographical narratives that would make a potential interference of 
another disembodied narratorial voice in such texts a striking incon-
gruity. To postulate, nevertheless, some such phantom agency that 
occasionally wrestles authority away from these writer-narrators 
would strike us as a suspiciously ad hoc procedure of unwarrantedly 
“multiply[ing] possible agents” (Dawson 196) and thus violating the 
principle of parsimony. Two solutions still remain: either there is some 
implicit explanation in the texts for the “overreaching” claims of these 
narrators, or they are, for some reason, merely acting out the third-
person (semi-omniscient) perspective.
“(Un)natural” explanations of uncanny narratorial 
knowledge
One way to subdue the paraleptic effect would be to argue that al-
though the first-person narrator’s seemingly impossible “range of in-
sight” (Skov Nielsen 139) is left unjustified, it could nevertheless be 
implicitly “justifiable” (Edmiston 740). That is, there may still be some 
unstated but possible scenario that would explain the narrator’s “in-
explicable” knowledge. These implicit explanations of the seemingly 
paraleptic narratorial information could be divided into two main 
types: they can be either (a) “unnatural”5 or (b) “natural.”
4 Reflecting on Proust’s Marcel (and the same holds for Ishmael and Nick Car-
raway), Genette observes that he functions “as source, guarantor, and organizer of the 
narrative, as analyst and commentator, as stylist (as ‘writer’)” (167).
5 This term has recently gained new currency due to the emergence of the so-called 
“unnatural narratology,” a relatively new field exclusively dealing with non-realistic/
anti-mimetic fiction. “Unnatural” (a somewhat controversial term with a moralistic 
cadence) is now broadly used to describe any storyworld whose “laws and encyclo-
pedias […] differ significantly from those operating in the real world” (Von Contzen 
14). In this respect, narrators who are non-human or have non-human faculties (such 
as cognitive or sensory superpowers) are described (for better or worse) as “unnatural.” 
We will use the term in this general sense.
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
67
(A) “Unnatural” Scenarios
One way to avoid the paradox would be to argue that paraleptic claims 
are the products of some “unnatural mind” (Dawson 200). If the 
narrator is a ghost or a deity, the paraleptic effect will not occur since it 
seems that the knowledge of such narrators is already justified by their 
“unnaturally” privileged position. If we assume, the argument runs, 
that Ishmael or Marcel are unnaturally gifted (for example) with telepa-
thy (that is, that they are not ordinary human narrators), the paraleptic 
effect will disappear. “The more the narrator appears non-human, the 
fewer the logical inconsistencies in combining paralepsis and experien-
tiality.” (Heinze 283)
However, to brush aside the paraleptic effect by attributing “unnat-
ural” qualities to the narrator’s mind seems to be unsatisfying since, as 
Heinze notes, “nothing suggests” (281) that narrators like Ishmael (or 
Nick and Marcel, for that matter) have extraordinary, super-human 
abilities. On the contrary, there are various textual clues suggesting the 
opposite. For example, Ishmael often exhibits natural human doubts 
and uncertainties “touching Ahab’s deeper parts” (Melville 453). He 
regularly engages in speculation: “It were perhaps vain to surmise exactly 
why it was that […] Ahab thus acted. It may have been [this] or [that].” 
(464) Regarding other people’s actions, he frequently “opine[s]” and 
“surmise[s]” (399). He’s fully aware of his natural cognitive restric-
tions: “[A]ll this to explain, would be to dive deeper than Ishmael can 
go.” (180) This also seems to be the case with Marcel and Nick.6
The main problem with this strategy is that the sense of incon-
sistency cannot be eliminated by any general supposition about the 
unnaturalness of the storyworld or the narrator’s mind. Even if we were 
to suppose that Ishamel has the gift of clairvoyance or something of 
the sort, the inconsistency would still remain. In that case, Ishmael’s 
natural human limitations and uncertainties concerning other people’s 
minds would suddenly become inexplicable. We would be merely shift-
ing focus. Paralepsis seems to be an essentially insular phenomenon. 
6 For example, Marcel seems unaware of various realities a mind-reading narrator 
would be conscious of. Thus, he is initially uncertain whether Albertine knew Léa (see 
Proust 1944). Also, he cannot easily read the enigmatic “gaze” (Proust 684) of Baron 
de Charlus as denoting his homosexuality. He eventually becomes aware of these facts, 
but only through the natural process of behavioristic inferences, gossip, etc. Nick Car-
raway also displays natural cognitive limitations: the precise way some events have 
happened “eludes [him]” (Fitzgerald 80), his understanding of other people’s inten-
tions is gradual, etc.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
68
It is always “local.” Heinze’s distinction between global and local para-
lepses7 thus appears unnecessary. For instance, the narrator of Sebold’s 
Lovely Bones, to offer Heinze’s example for “global” paralepsis, is a 
dead girl who knows more than an ordinary human being can. But 
this would not be an example of paralepsis since there is a manifest 
“unnatural” explanation for the narrator’s extensive knowledge. She 
is speaking from a vantage point of heaven where she is provided 
with special insights (her very narratorial position is “supernatural”). 
Paralepses are not simply phenomena that are inconsistent with the 
way things are in the actual world. It is not merely an “unnatural” way 
of telling but the seemingly inexplicable way of knowing that generates 
the paraleptic effect.
(B) “Natural” Scenarios
Another way to deal with the paraleptic effect would be to argue that, 
on closer inspection, the text allows for “natural, realistic sources of the 
character narrator’s unusual knowledge” (Heinze 285). Though unstat-
ed, there still may be some “natural” explanation for extraordinary nar-
ratorial information. This strategy seems promising in substantially dis-
sipating the paraleptic effect in the cases of the three notable examples 
from Moby-Dick, The Great Gatsby, and À la recherche du temps perdu.
Let us start with Moby-Dick. The most puzzling, paraleptic feature 
of Ishmael’s narration, Alber et al. claim, is that his narrative occa-
sionally “provides extended access to the thoughts of other characters” 
(Melville 361). However, this is sensu stricto inaccurate. Nowhere in the 
novel does Ishmael report the unverbalized, intrinsically private mental 
states of others. There are some cases where Ishmael seems to penetrate 
the “impenetrable Japans” (471) of other minds. For instance, in chap-
ter 41, Ishmael observes that “in his heart, Ahab had some glimpse of 
this, namely: all my means are sane, my motive and my object mad” 
(179). But this is far from being an example of some mystifying para-
leptic knowledge. He is merely reconstructing Ahab’s inner life from 
various behavioral hints: from his “glaring eyes” (194) and from the 
general familiarity with his goals and obsessions. Ishmael here acts as 
a “Champollion [deciphering] the Egypt of [Ahab’s] face” (339). If 
7 Heinze uses the phrase “global paralepsis” for the situations in which “the entire 
narration is non-natural” (e.g., the narrator himself is a non-human entity), while 
“local paralepsis” refers to cases where an ordinary human narrator within a “natural” 
storyworld offers information he cannot naturally possess (Heinze 286).
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
69
someone were to say to us, “I know that he secretly loves her, even 
though he doesn’t show it,” we wouldn’t normally suppose that such 
a person is thereby declaring some inexplicable familiarity with exclu-
sively private thoughts of an unapproachable Cartesian mind hidden 
behind the poker face façade. Various subtle behavioral indiscretions 
can betray us to a perceptive observer. We make behavioristic infer-
ences and more or less grounded guesses about the minds of others all 
the time.8
Furthermore, the striking feature of Moby-Dick seems to be the 
unusual cognitive extroversion of the characters. The novel is almost 
suspiciously scarce in entirely private events. Like actors soliloquizing 
on stage, the characters almost always verbalize their thoughts, feel-
ings, and even streams of consciousness in audible utterances.9 This is 
also the case with Ahab’s soliloquy in chapter 37. When something is 
spoken and not merely thought about in the solitude of one’s room, we 
cannot speak of absolute, “bulletproof” privacy. Everything uttered on 
a ship full of people can be known by others, in one way or another: 
“In thy most solitary hours, then, dost thou not fear eavesdroppers?” 
(Melville 460)
So, how could Ishmael be aware of Ahab’s private soliloquy (and even 
his accompanying hand gestures) in chapter 37? We know that the door 
of Ahab’s cabin is “a thin one” (Melville 503); so thin in fact that, on 
one occasion, Starbucks could hear him from the outside “muttering 
8 Heinze seems to regard the narration in Madox Ford’s The Good Soldier as yet 
another example of the paraleptic telling, for the narrator “claims to ‘suddenly . . . 
know’ what he has no access to” (Heinze 280). But on closer inspection, it seems that 
nothing uncanny is taking place in the passage Heinze is referring to. The seemingly 
paraleptic scene could be easily “naturalized” as an inference from the knowledge of 
one’s routine and behavior. Here is the “controversial” excerpt: “What did he even talk 
to them about—when they were under four eyes?—Ah, well, suddenly, as if by a flash 
of inspiration, I know. For all good soldiers are sentimentalists—all good soldiers of 
that type.” (Ford 54) The narrator does not actually claim the possession of some inex-
plicable insight about the contents of private conversations between Captain Edward 
Ashburnham and his wife but merely offers an inferential reconstruction based on two 
“natural” sources: his intimate familiarity with Ashburnhams over many years and his 
general knowledge about the people of Ashburnham’s type.
9 In chapter 29, to offer just one example, after the late-night confrontation with 
Ahab, Stubb is heading back to his room engaged with the following thoughts: “I was 
never served so before without giving a hard blow for it, muttered Stubb. […] I don’t 
well know whether to go back and strike him, or […] down here on my knees and pray 
for him?” (Melville 123) His thoughts are not invested with absolute mental privacy 
since he is “muttering” them, and thus they can be overheard. This propensity to speak 
one’s stream of consciousness seems to be a common occurrence in the novel.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
70
in his sleep” (503). Furthermore, his door had “blinds inserted, in place 
of upper panels” (503), enabling thus some indelicate observer to peek 
inside. And Ishmael himself seems to be inclined toward voyeuristic 
behavior. In chapter 34, he observes Ahab presiding “over his own 
private dinner table” (144) by peeping “through the cabin sky-light” 
(145). For every seemingly paraleptic information offered by Ishmael, 
we can uncover a “natural” explanation rendering it possible. There 
seem to be no real paralepses in Moby-Dick (if they are the cases of fully 
inexplicable narratorial knowledge). The possibility of some “natural” 
explanation of the narratorial information (however far-fetched) is 
always left open in Ishmael’s narration.
The same seems to be true in the case of The Great Gatsby. Not a sin-
gle piece of information Nick Carraway reports is sensu stricto unavail-
able to him. When he describes the unwitnessed dialogue between 
Michaelis and Wilson in a strangely intricate manner, he could be 
merely reproducing Michaelis’ over-elaborated testimony after Gatsby’s 
murder and Wilson’s suicide. Anything witnessed by someone, no mat-
ter how insignificant or trivial, could circulate as information. Phelan 
is right when he suggests that, in the case of The Great Gatsby, there is 
no violation of “the conventions of mimesis” (Phelan 110). There is 
a “natural” explanation for Nick’s narratorial information. Thus, it is 
not, properly speaking, paraleptic.
But how to account for what is perhaps the strongest exemplar 
of paraleptic narration: namely, Marcel’s report of Bergotte’s final 
thoughts in À la recherche du temps perdu? Genette argues that the scene 
“present[s] a physical impossibility,” the narratorial information that 
(unlike Carraway’s rendition of the Wilson-Michaelis exchange) could 
not “in point of fact have been reported to Marcel since no one—
for a very good reason—could have knowledge of [it]” (Genette 208). 
Marcel’s familiarity with Bergotte’s “deathbed” thoughts seems utterly 
inexplicable. To use Genette’s phrasing, this is “one paralepsis to end 
all paralepses” (208).
But even here, in this “impossible” rendition, there seems to be 
some mimetic, “natural” way out, however narrow it may appear. 
Bergotte dies not in the private enclosure of his chamber but in a public 
venue, surrounded by people, while attending an exhibition of Dutch 
painting. Before being struck with apoplexy, he attentively observes 
Vermeer’s View of Delft. “‘That is how I ought to have written,’ he said 
[disait-il]” (Proust 1974). A verb denoting utterance, not merely inner 
thoughts (dire; to say, to tell), is employed here to describe Bergotte’s 
final cognitive engagement. “‘All the same,’ he said to himself [se disait-
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
71
il]. […] While doing so, he sank down upon a circular divan […] 
and […] told himself [se dit]: ‘It is just an ordinary indigestion.’ […] 
Visitors and attendants came hurrying to his assistance. He was dead.” 
(Proust 1975) Thus, the sense of utter privacy is dissolved. Whatever is 
whispered, grimaced, murmured, said (as to oneself) in a room full of 
“visitors and attendants” can become an object of gossipy dissemina-
tions, of “so many indiscretions” that are typical for “Proustian uni-
verse” (Genette 207).
Almost any seemingly paraleptic occurrence can be “naturalized” 
in one way or another. To conceive an utterly private event that can-
not be possibly known to others seems harder than one would initially 
suppose since “the boundary between perceptual possibility and impos-
sibility is often nebulous” (Edmiston 740). If we describe paralepsis in 
strong terms of epistemic impossibility and inexplicability (and this 
was the common way to define it10), then all these well-known exam-
ples of paralepsis would not be, strictly speaking, paraleptic. If there is 
(even a weak) explanation or justification for the narrator’s puzzling 
knowledge, there is no reason to speak of epistemic paradox. The weak 
justification would only constitute a case for narratorial unreliability 
(which is not paradoxical).11
Raconteural narration
Even when paralepsis (as the epistemic paradox) is dissolved, its effect 
may still linger. These narratorial situations seem (still) to be some-
what troubling, not so much for epistemic reasons (“How could these 
narrators possibly know the impossible information they convey?”) but 
primarily for rhetorical ones (“Why do they convey the information in 
such a strange manner?”). It was never an exclusively epistemic issue 
10 Edmiston, for example, describes paralepsis as the “type of infraction in which 
the narrating self says more than he could possibly know” (Edmiston 741). Similarly, 
Nünlist and de Jong define it in terms of epistemic impossibility, as the situation in 
which the narrator “know[s] more than he properly can” (Nünlist and de Jong 170). 
Caroline Rody characterizes paralepsis as “impossible” and “logically infeasible” infor-
mation (qtd. in Dawson 215).
11 Some narrative situations could be described as ersatz paralepses. Such seem-
ingly overreaching claims are not really paraleptic (although they appear to be) because 
they are explicitly devoid of epistemic value. They are not information but imagina-
tion. For example, the narrator of Moody’s The Ice Storm seems to be familiar with 
other people’s thoughts, only to admit later on, as Dawson notes, that he’s only “the 
imaginer of all these consciousnesses” (Dawson 206).
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
72
to begin with. We are not perplexed so much by the possibility of, 
e.g., Nick Carraway’s indirect knowledge of various subtle (even mi-
nuscule) details of the conversation between Wilson and Michaelis (for 
there are conceivable “natural” ways for Nick to know them). What 
troubles us in his narration is the surprising “reduction of speech to 
event” (Genette 170). Namely, the sense of anomaly is raised not by 
information per se, but by its strange rendition that suggests direct, 
“point-blank” observation (when the possibility of such observation is 
often explicitly excluded). The problem is that “paraleptic” narrators 
offer descriptions that are frequently styled neither as mere speculations 
nor as accounts based on the (elaborated) testimonies of others but 
function as direct, confident, momentary eye-witness experiences. Paul 
Dawson has offered an influential explanation for this procedure: what 
was termed paralepsis is “best understood not as a quality of […] nar-
ratorial knowledge, but as a specific rhetorical performance of narrative 
authority” (Dawson 212).
What does this mean? Narrators such as Ishmael, Nick, or Marcel 
are not “fictional autobiographers” (Pennacchio 24): they are, as 
Pennacchio observes drawing upon Dawson, “authors” using “the 
novel [not the autobiography] as the model genre for the act of telling” 
(32). Simply put, they are not so much reporting events as “creating a 
story” (32).12 So, the question of knowledge is otiose here. Ultimately, 
paralepsis is “the artifice of fiction” (Dawson 210), the name for the 
class of situations in which the narrator, caught up in the act of telling, 
assumes a certain novelistic persona that allows him to move beyond his 
actual experiences. The narrator’s conjectures, dim guesses, and vague 
hints of events are designed as direct, confident telling for the sake of 
narrative dynamics, vividness, and persuasiveness.
It seems that this “novelistic” perspective enables the narrator to 
offer stability to his often-fragmented experiences, to endow them 
with a stable “genre identity.” To make a coherent (auto)biography 
(in which events are interconnected) often means to produce a story 
about oneself, to fictionalize one’s experiences to some degree in order 
12 This explanation works especially well in the cases of Moby-Dick and À la recher-
che du temps perdu. In Proust’s novel, as Morton P. Levitt notes, “Marcel’s presumed 
autobiography turns inevitably—for Marcel is above all an artist—into a fiction” (qtd. 
in Dawson 197). Similarly in Moby-Dick, Ishmael compares himself to Cervantes and 
his narratorial technique to that of a novelist: “If, then, to meanest mariners, and 
renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave 
round them tragic graces; […] bear me out in it, thou great democratic God! […] 
Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and 
paupered arm of old Cervantes.” (Melville 113)
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
73
to make human life “more readable (lisible)” (Ricoeur 73). This is the 
point famously made by Ricoeur: to present one’s life as a tight-knit 
sequence of events (as a meaningful narrative) is to construct “the sort 
of dynamic identity proper to the plot” (77). The events of “my life” 
thus become the story I tell to myself or others, a story that borrows 
from the stable genre of the classic novel in which every event contrib-
utes to some final denouement. This “interconnectedness of life” (77) is 
rarely the case outside the fiction for, as Käte Hamburger notes, “[r]eal-
ity itself merely is. It does not mean. Only the non-real has the power 
to convert the real into sense, into meaning” (Hamburger 231). Thus, 
in the case of Moby-Dick, it comes as no surprise that Ishmael, the 
narrator, borrows from various genres of fiction in order to create “the 
durable character of an individual” (Ricoeur 77), particularly of Ahab. 
What is, for example, Ahab’s melancholic address to the decapitated 
head of a whale in chapter 70 but an evocation of Hamlet’s “Alas, poor 
Yorick” speech, a peculiar Shakespearian pastiche, a narratorial strategy 
of endowing Ahab’s actions with the identity of revenge tragedy? To 
ask whether this address is an authentic, mimetic report of an actual 
event witnessed by Ishmael thus seems to be meritless.
Furthermore, what is termed “paralepsis” is nothing but a rhetorical 
procedure often employed not only in novelistic storytelling but also 
in various conversational situations. While retelling an event, a partic-
ularly dynamic and charged interlocutor (a speaker usually described 
as a raconteur) will sometimes add various details to the story for the 
narrative effect. For example, he will render non-dialogic bits of infor-
mation in the form of imagined, artificial dialogue (this often happens 
when one is recounting events in an anecdotal manner) in order to 
achieve dramatic or comic impact or even suspense.13 This procedure, 
which we can (for the present purposes) term raconteural narration, 
13 This is something that Ishamel does, e.g., in chapter 90, when he recounts an 
incident, presumably known to him from the newspapers or some such instance, of 
some mariners of Dover who, having caught a whale, were forced to surrender it to the 
Lord Warden. Ishmael anecdotally renders the episode through imaginary, made-up 
dialogue between the sailors and the Lord Warden’s representative: “‘Hands off! This 
fish, my masters, is a Fast-Fish. I seize it as the Lord Warden’s.’ Upon this the poor 
mariners […] knowing not what to say, fall to vigorously scratching their heads all 
round. […] At length one of them […] made bold to speak, ‘Please, sir, who is the 
Lord Warden?’ ‘The Duke.’ ‘But the duke had nothing to do with taking this fish?’ ‘It 
is his’.” (Melville 389) This is merely a specimen of Ishmael’s raconteurship that no 
reader or listener is troubled with. Nothing is puzzling here. He is simply translating 
general information into the dynamic form of imaginary dialogue in order to achieve 
a more captivating effect on his listeners.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
74
is often used, as a rhetorical strategy, in vivid and engaging forms of 
telling, not only in novels but also in sermons,14 historiographical ren-
ditions, comedies, etc. Such a procedure (of enhancing the rendition 
of events with imagined dialogues and soliloquies) is never, in the 
strict sense, troubling to the readers. We recognize it for what it is.15 
Engaging and compelling storytellers (and such are Ishmael, Marcel, 
and Nick) will often resort to this rhetorical strategy. In such cases, 
we usually accept the focal part of the narration as authentic, without 
subscribing to the literal veracity of all the dialogic details. We usu-
ally read Ahab’s soliloquies in Moby-Dick as conveying something true 
about his “monomaniacal” personality without simultaneously assum-
ing that they are perplexing verbatim renditions of Ahab’s utterances 
preserved in Ishmael’s hyperthymestic memory. That is, these are 
raconteural reconstructions roughly based on the data Ishmael could 
have gathered in some “natural” way. To treat them as literal reports 
that are to be taken at face value would amount to misunderstanding 
an easily identifiable rhetorical procedure that is an integral part of 
almost all captivating narrations (in fiction or otherwise).16
14 In Moby-Dick, Fr. Mapple retells the biblical story of Jonah by “inventing dia-
logue” in which, “in anachronistically everyday terms” (Gallagher 14), mariners from 
ancient Joppa whisper to one another: “‘Jack, he’s robbed a widow;’ or ‘Joe, do you 
mark him; he’s a bigamist;’ or, ‘Harry lad, I guess he’s the adulterer that broke jail in 
old Gomorrah, or belike, one of the missing murderers from Sodom’.” (Melville 42) 
We are not troubled by the extent of Fr. Mapple’s rendition of an unwitnessed event, 
for we are aware that his sermon offers just a rhetorical simulation of dialogue for the 
sake of more engaging storytelling.
15 Phelan is right when he claims that “most readers do not even register” para-
lepses as “anomalous” (Phelan 109). We almost intuitively identify it as the rhetorical 
exercise of raconteural narration. Nick, e.g., is offering the information (he could eas-
ily possess) cloaked in the form of artificial dialogue and presumed ambiance for the 
sake of narrative effect.
16 Ishmael occasionally asserts that some of his accounts are to be taken as literally 
true. However, there is often a certain ludicrous quality to such claims. In chapter 
54, to offer just one example, while telling the Town-Ho story to his comrades in 
Lima, Ishmael melodramatically asks for the “largest sized” Gospel to be procured 
with a “venerable priest” (Melville 252) so that he can solemnly make a sworn oath. 
The reader can easily recognize fictional devices Ishmael employs in constructing his 
renditions of events (like the Shakespearian pastiche, dramatic dialogic exchanges, 
revenge tragedy topoi, etc.), but at the same time, Ishmael resorts to the affirmations 
of literal, “documentary” truth in his narration. However, this procedure is not genu-
inely puzzling since it could be claimed that, in fictional discourse, such affirmations 
of the story’s veracity are frequently just another “signpost” of fictionalization, “that 
is, the narrative device that [ironically] suggests the fictionality of the text” (Bell and 
Ryan 16). One can recall (for example) Irving’s Rip Van Winkle, in which the fictional 
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
75
Conclusion
What Genette termed “paralepsis” was usually defined as the narra-
tological paradox of the first person narrator “disclosing knowledge 
[he] could not possess” (Alber, Skov Nielsen and Richardson 363). If 
we take “N” to denote the “narrator” and “C” any “character” of the 
novel,17 the paradox can be expressed in the following form:
(N>C) ∧ (N=C).
The conjuctional proposition asserts something contradictory: the nar-
rator (N) knows more than any character of the novel (C) could know18 
and, simultaneously, the narrator is one of the characters. The narra-
tor of Moby-Dick (and this is, mutatis mutandis, also true of The Great 
Gatsby, and À la recherche du temps perdu) occasionally seems to know 
more than is strictly possible for any of the characters to know (e.g., 
various unwitnessed private events, thoughts of others, discreet solilo-
quies, etc.) and, at the same time, we know that the narrator is Ishmael, 
“one of the crew” (Melville, 172). The problem is that if the propo-
sitions “N>C” and “N=C” are both true, the contradictory conclu-
sion will necessarily ensue: “N>N.” The standard way of dismantling 
this contradiction would be to argue that, in the case of any particular 
“paraleptic” situation, either “N>C” or “N=C” is not actually realized.
(1) What we have termed another voice hypothesis is a strategy of 
attacking “N=C.” If we somehow assume that “N≠C” is true, the paradox 
will evaporate. Perhaps, Ishamel is not the sole narrator, and there could 
very well be another (semi)omniscient third-person narratorial presence 
(which cannot be identified with any of the characters) narrating some 
sections of the novel. However, this is, as we have argued, a weak solution 
to the paradox in the cases of the three novels we are dealing with, since 
the narrators like Ishmael, Marcel, and Nick Carraway are not merely 
conveyors of events, but authors exercising writerly authority. To suppose 
that there is some clandestine narratorial voice intruding on these con-
trolled, authorial written testimonies would strike us as a clear-cut nar-
rative incongruity and unwarranted multiplication of narratorial agents.
(2) On the other hand, there seem to be two ways of arguing against 
the proposition “N>C” in these three particular “paraleptic” scenarios.
author-historian Diedrich Knickerbocker, while presenting the readers with an incred-
ible story about supernatural events, provides the alleged sworn court testimonies and 
pledges of authenticity.
17 A somewhat similar notation was employed in Edmiston 741.
18 This is usually the case with the third-person narrators.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
76
(2.1) One would be to claim that “N>C” does not stand if the 
character-narrator is somehow “unnaturally” gifted. For example, if we 
assume that Marcel is clairvoyant, his knowledge of Bergotte’s final 
thoughts would not be epistemically paradoxical. This strategy could 
be termed the “unnatural” explanation. However, the text itself does 
not provide sufficient grounds for such an extravagant supposition, and 
this kind of explanation would merely be the evasion of the problem. 
If Marcel is a telepathic narrator, then his “natural” human doubts 
regarding other people’s intentions would suddenly become puzzling 
and in need of explanation.
(2.2) A more promising way of refuting the clause “N>C” would 
be to argue that, on closer inspection, N claims nothing that C cannot 
“naturally” know. That is, there is a possible implicit “natural” expla-
nation for any “paraleptic” piece of information the narrator offers. If 
there is some (however unlikely, but still possible) way for C to know 
something, we can no longer speak of epistemic impossibility. We have 
argued that the line dividing private mental contents and observable 
behavior is not as clear and well-charted as it may initially appear. 
Even without telepathic abilities, what is possible to know about others 
(through eavesdropping, unintentional behavioral disclosures, through 
other people’s elaborated witness accounts, etc.) is highly “elastic” 
(Phelan 110). This strategy seems to work in the cases of the three 
paraleptic examples that we have reviewed.
(3) There is also a third way of dismantling the paradox. Following 
Dawson, this procedure can be described as a rhetorical explanation. 
One could simply argue that the operator “>” in “N>C” does not 
designate epistemic inequality (“N knows more than C”) but merely a 
locutory fact (“N says more than C could know”). In such a case, both 
propositions (“N>C” and “N=C”) could be simultaneously true. To 
say more than one could know is hardly troubling per se since it con-
stitutes an ordinary feature of human behavior (for example, when we 
say to someone who is in distress: “Everything is going to be all right”). 
There are numerous rhetorical circumstances in which even the propo-
sition “N>N” (if “>” is understood as a rhetorical operator) does not 
raise the sense of paradox. For instance, when recounting an episode 
in the raconteural mode, some particularly engaged narrators tend to 
“translate” an indirectly obtained information into a more engaging 
form of dialogue, or to simply “imaginatively reconstruct”19 someone’s 
unwitnessed behavior. Strictly speaking, they are saying more than they 
19 Cf. Dawson 209.
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
77
know, but we understand that they are not offering literal, mimetic 
reports. This seems to be the case, e.g., in Plato’s Symposium,20 a text 
in which speeches and dialogic exchanges between the participants of 
the banquet are reported by Apollodorus, a man who was absent from 
the event. We are not troubled by Apollodorus’ rendition of various 
minute details (just as we are not troubled by Nick’s report in the eight 
chapter of The Great Gatsby), for we understand that such a delivery 
is merely a rhetorical enhancement of some secondhand information. 
There’s no need to understand Nick’s (or Ishmael’s or Marcel’s) elabo-
rated renditions as expressions of their direct knowledge of events. In 
some cases, we tend to offer our conjectures as descriptions for the 
sake of rhetorical persuasiveness or effect. The modal expressions point-
ing out the speculative quality of such renditions (like “perhaps,” “it 
could/may be,” “possibly,” etc.) are not explicitly stated but are, nev-
ertheless, latent. What is omitted but could be implicitly read in, e.g., 
Nick’s rendition of the conversation between Michaelis and Wilson is: 
“It probably went something like this…” There’s nothing particularly 
paradoxical here, for the very art of storytelling seems to be generally 
related to this rhetorical strategy.
There seems to be no conceivable “paraleptic” situation that can-
not be “naturalized” in one of these three ways. For any specific case 
of the first-person narrator’s “impossible” knowledge, either there are 
valid reasons (1) to presume an additional narratorial presence or (2) to 
claim the existence of some implicit epistemic justification for the nar-
rator’s seemingly “impossible” cognizance or (3) to read the narrator’s 
account not as literal, mimetic report of actual events, but as some type 
of covert fictionalization. The paradox of paraleptic narration seems to 
be a pseudo-problem, both epistemically and narratologically.
WORKS CITED
Alber, Jan, Henrik Skov Nielsen, and Brian Richardson. “Unnatural Voices, Minds, 
and Narration.” The Routledge Companion to Experimental Literature. Eds. Joe 
Bray, Alison Gibbons and Brian McHale. London; New York, NY: Routledge, 
2012. 352–368.
Bell, Alice, Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Introduction: Possible Worlds Theory Revisited.” 
Possible Worlds Theory and Contemporary Narratology. Eds. M. Ryan and A. Bell. 
Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press. 2019. 1–43.
Dawson, Paul. The Return of the Omniscient Narrator: Authorship and Authority in Twenty-
First Century Fiction. Columbus, OH: Ohio State University, 2013.
20 The same is true for Theaetetus. See Genette 236.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
78
Edmiston, William F. “Focalization and the First-Person Narrator: A Revision of the 
Theory.” Poetics Today 10.4 (1989): 729–744.
Fitzgerald, Francis Scott. The Great Gatsby. Ware: Wordsworth Classics, 2001.
Ford, Ford Madox. The Good Soldier. Eds. K. Womack and W. Baker. Peterborough: 
Broadview Literary Texts, 2003.
Genette, Gérard. Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Transl. Jane E. Lewin. 
Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983.
Hamburger, Käte. The Logic of Literature. Transl. Marilynn J. Rose. Bloomington, IN: 
Indiana University Press, 1973.
Heinze, Ruediger. “Violations of Mimetic Epistemology in First-Person Narrative Fic-
tion.” Narrative 16.3 (2008): 279–297.
Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick. San Diego, CA: Word Cloud Classics, 2014.
Nünlist, René, and Jong, Irene de. “Homeric Poetics in Keywords (P).” Prolegomena. 
Eds. Joachim Latacz, Anton Bierl and Stuart Douglas Olson. Berlin; München; 
Boston, MA: De Gruyter, 2015. 164–176.
Pennacchio, Filippo. “Enhanced ‘I’s: Omniscience and Third-Person Features in Con-
temporary First-Person Narrative Fiction.” Narrative 28.1 (2020): 21–42.
Petterson, Bo. “Beyond Anti-Mimetic Models: A Critique of Unnatural Narratology.” 
Rethinking Mimesis: Concepts and Practices of Literary Representation. Eds. Saija Iso-
maa, Sari Kivistö, Pirjo Lyytikäinen, Sanna Nyquist, Merja Polvinen, and Riika 
Rossi. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012. 73–92.
Phelan, James. Narratve as Rhetoric: Technique, Audiences, Ethics, Ideology. Columbus, 
OH: Ohio State University, 1996.
Proust, Marcel. In Search of Lost Time. Transl. C. K. Scott Moncrieff. N.a.: Centaur 
Editions, 2016.
Ricoeur, Paul. “Narrative Identity.” Philosophy Today 35.1 (1991): 73–81.
Skov Nielsen, Henrik. “The Impersonal Voice in First-Person Narrative Fiction.” Nar-
rative 12.2 (2004): 133–150.
Von Contzen, Eva. “Unnatural narratology and premodern narratives: Historicizing a 
form.” Journal of Literary Semantics 46.1 (2017): 1–23.
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić:     The Paraleptic Effect
79
Učinek paralepse
Ključne besede: naratologija / paralepsa / pripovedna epistemologija / Moby-Dick / À 
la recherche du temps perdu / The Great Gatsby
V članku preučujeva domnevni naratološki paradoks paralepse. Mogoče je 
trditi, da (prvoosebni) pripovedovalci Moby-Dicka, À la recherche du temps 
perdu in Velikega Gatsbyja (če navedemo zgolj tri vidne primere) občasno izka-
žejo nepojasnjeno zavedanje dejstev, ki bi morala biti po naravni poti nedo-
stopna (prepoznavanje misli drugih ljudi, podrobna seznanjenost z dogodki, 
ki jim niso bili priča itd.). Paralepso, kot jo je poimenoval Genette, lahko 
opredelimo kot situacijo, v kateri se zdi, da ima prvoosebni pripovedovalec 
poseben epistemični privilegij. Članek argumentira stališče proti obstoju 
paraleptičnih dogodkov na dveh ravneh. Prvič, trdi, da je tovrstna naracija le 
redko epistemično paradoksalna, saj bi bilo mogoče naturalizirati celo neka-
tere najbolj izrazite kandidate za paralepso (bralec ali bralka lahko zaznata 
možne naravne načine, po katerih bi pripovedovalec ali pripovedovalka uteg-
nila pridobiti na videz nemogoče informacije). Drugič, tudi ko paraleptičnih 
primerov ni mogoče prepričljivo naturalizirati, ti niso nujno begajoči. Pogosto 
jih lahko beremo kot avtorske »uprizoritve« (po vzoru P. Dawsona) in poja-
snimo kot primere posebnega retoričnega postopka, ki smo ga poimenovali 
»raconteurska« pripoved: pripovedovanje s podajanjem domnev, zaradi večje 
prepričljivosti brez običajnih modalnih besednih zvez, ki bi opozarjale na špe-
kulativnost takšnih trditev – s čimer nastaja napačen vtis o nenavadnem pri-
povedovalskem znanju.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 82.0
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.04

The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: 
Between Centre and Periphery
Jonathan Locke Hart
Shandong University, Weihai, School of Translation Studies, 180 Wenhua Xilu, Weihai, P. R. China
264209 (also University of Toronto/Harvard)
https://orcid.org/0000-0002-2518-5123
jonathan_hart@harvard.edu
This article explores the literary space of Canadian literature in world literature 
and the liminal space of Métis poetry, which is distinctive in being situated 
between the European and Indigenous aspects of Canadian literature. The 
paradox is that Métis poetry and literature in Canada, long marginalized, can 
now create another space for Canadian literature, or for poets born or living in 
Canada, in world literature and comparative literature, a small literature among 
large literatures. By examining Métis poetry in Canada and analyzing the poems 
by Louis Riel (1844–1885), Pauline Johnson (also known as Tekahionwake or 
Double Wampum, 1861–1913) and Naomi McIllwraith (contemporary), the 
article can provide a sense of distinctiveness and uniqueness, even if some of these 
qualities are also present in “Métis” poetry outside Canada. Riel and McIlwraith 
occupy a literary and cultural in-between space—Riel writing in French and 
McIlwraith in English and Cree—mixing major and minor centers and part of this 
“nation within a nation” this threshold space where self, identity and other are all 
called into question.
Keywords: Canadian literature / literary space / liminality / cultural identity / Métis poetry / 
Riel, Louis / Johnson, Pauline / McIllwraith, Naomi
81
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
The literary space of Canadian literature in world literature
Goethe was important in framing Weltliteratur or world literature, for 
example, what he told Eckermann in 1827: “National literature is now 
rather an unmeaning term; the epoch of World literature is at hand, 
and everyone must strive to hasten its approach.” (351) This interest 
in world literature, which continues to this day, begins in Europe even 
if Goethe also refers to other literatures: “It is pleasant to see that in-
tercourse is now so close between the French, English, and Germans, 
that we shall be able to correct one another. This is the greatest use of 
a world-literature, which will show itself more and more.” (432) The 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
82
space of world literature will unfold and Goethe emphasizes beauty 
in literature, which he sees among the ancient Greeks, and is not in-
terested in the production and reception of literature in a space based 
on nationalism and patriotism. Canadian literature and small litera-
tures did not and do not find a significant place in world literature 
and comparative literature. One aspect of Canadian culture and the 
study of literature I tried to raise in a volume edited by Eugene Eoyang, 
Gang Zhou and Jonathan Hart was the state of comparative literature 
in Canada, and in this article I am trying to show that there is another 
way to make space for Canada in world and comparative literatures, 
using the particular case of Métis poetry, which occupies a liminal 
or threshold space between the European and Indigenous aspects of 
Canadian literature and does so in French and English in a distinctive 
way (Eoyang, Zhou and Hart). Here, I explore the context and space of 
Canadian literature and culture before discussing Métis poetry. Canada 
shares English and French with other countries like Britain, the United 
States and France so is part of anglophone and francophone literatures 
and its indigenous languages are shared with the United States, except 
in instances I examine here. Thus, Canadian literature blends English, 
French and Indigenous languages in a distinctive way and that is the 
literary space I am analyzing after exploring the persistent debate over 
Canadian identity and space in its literature and culture. Given this 
context, the poetry I discuss here is from small and not small, minor 
and not minor literatures. The literary crosses borders, having connec-
tions within and beyond the nation. Marshall McLuhan, who coined 
among many phrases, the global village, saw Canada as a borderline 
case (McLuhan 226).
The article moves from the general debate over Canadian culture, 
literature and poetry and places that within the context of theories of 
literary space before examining the three poets of mixed Indigenous and 
European backgrounds (now most often referred to as Métis). Early in 
this debate, there is little or no mention of Indigenous or Métis con-
tributions. My article tries to help explore that space within Canadian 
poetry and literature as a contribution to comparative literature and 
world literature.
In On Canadian Poetry (1943), E. K. Brown, trained at Toronto 
and at the Sorbonne, who would teach at Toronto, Manitoba, Cornell 
and Chicago, writes: “There is a Canadian literature, often rising to 
effects of great beauty, but it has stirred little interest outside Canada.” 
(Brown 3) Brown explores that space, noting changes in literary taste 
and literary geography: “Saul, a huge poetic drama by a Montreal poet, 
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
83
Charles Heavysege, had a passing vogue in Britain and in the United 
States, impressing Emerson and Hawthorne and inducing Coventry 
Patmore to describe it as ‘indubitably one of the most remarkable 
English poems ever written out of Great Britain.’ […] Today, along 
with Heavysege’s other works, his Count Filippo and his Jephthah’s 
Daughter, it is unknown within Canada and without.” (Brown 3–4)
There was still little space in the world for Canadian literature when 
Brown was writing, almost six decades after Riel was hanged in 1885 
after his part in the Northwest Rebellion that he had led (he was also a 
leader of the Red River Rebellion, the first being in 1869) even if liter-
ary tastes changed within Canada and without. In the 1940s, Brown 
says: “Every Canadian reviewer devotes a large part of his sadly lim-
ited space to comment on British or American books. Every Canadian 
reader devotes a large part of the time and money that he can allow 
for books to those which come from Britain and the United States.” 
(8) There is little room for any Canadian literature let along Canadian 
poetry. Brown does not mince words in describing the struggle for 
making a literary space in Canada: “What I have been attempting to 
suggest with as little heat or bitterness as possible is that in this country 
the plight of literature is a painful one.” (24) This is one reason per-
haps that cultures without literary space suffer a kind of suffocation or 
seek literature or poetry from other cultures. Brown sees one important 
aspect of late-nineteenth century and early twentieth-century English-
Canadian poetry: “One of the chief powers in the poetry of Lampman 
and his associates is their power in the handling of nature.” (39) There 
is, according to Brown, a national and international space for the best-
known Canadian poets: “In the United States and in England the most 
widely known and admired of our poets has been Bliss Carman. In 
Canada Lampman is the nearest approach to a national classic in verse, 
and the passing of decades has confirmed his status if it has not very 
much widened the circle of his readers.” (80) Carman and Lampman, 
both strong poets, are not much known in world literature today. 
Brown also discusses at length two other accomplished poets—Duncan 
Campbell Scott and E. J. Pratt—so that while Brown is trying to make 
space for Canadian poetry, he also shows how hard it is for Canadian 
poets to find space in Canada let alone internationally (108–152). If 
this lack of space was true for Anglo-Canadian poetry of poets of British 
descent, it was more so for those of Indigenous and Métis backgrounds 
to have a space for others to hear their voices over time.
Given globalization and shifting interests that include a relatively 
recent awareness of Indigenous cultures and literatures in Canada and 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
84
elsewhere (for instance, the United States, Australia and New Zealand), 
it may be that the literature of the mixed, Métis, mestizo in the New 
World (and worldwide) from those of mixed Native (Indigenous) and 
European (English, Spanish, French and the like) backgrounds can 
cross national boundaries and take up a prominent role not simply 
in the space of national literatures, like Canadian literature, but in 
Comparative and World literatures. Paradoxically, Métis poetry and 
literature in Canada, long marginalized, may now create another space 
for Canadian literature or poets born in or living in Canada in world 
and comparative literature, a small literature among large literatures. 
This liminal or threshold space between the European/settler and the 
Indigenous, the local and the global, bypasses what Goethe hoped for, 
the national in terms of literature.
The local, regional, national and global all interact in the debates 
about the center and periphery, major and minor (small) literatures. 
Here, I attempt to open a space for Métis poetry within Canadian liter-
ature in the framework of the internationalism, globalization of world 
literature, and Comparative literature studies (on métissage, see Glissant, 
“Métissage”; Benoist; Bonniol and Benoist). Native or Indigenous cul-
tures and settler cultures, often of European origin, meant that, in the 
New World or Americas, from the earliest times, go-betweens, media-
tors, interpreters and translators could be caught between both sides 
(see Hart, “Images”; “Mediation”).
 Here, I find a space for poetry and for Métis poetry in the space 
of Canadian literature and culture, between Native and European 
Canadian poetry. This is related to, but distinct from, Franco Moretti’s 
focus on an atlas of nineteenth-century European novels and mapping 
European literary history, Pascale Casanova’s examination of the literary 
space of world literature and national literature and Rob Shields’ con-
centration on North and South and on spatial and literary history per-
spectives work in terms of Wallerstein’s theory differentiating between 
center and periphery and also his discussions of center and margin and 
the “geography of difference” (Moretti 54; Casanova; Shields, Places 
3–11; Shields, “Spatialisations” 15–40). My space is more the space for 
writing and reading poetry that is between cultures within Canadian 
culture, a hybrid culture as part of New World literature or the lit-
eratures of the Americas. In other words, my article is about space for 
Canadian poets and writers and especially Métis poets being afforded 
space to write and to be read within Canada and abroad, being given 
some notice, their words being read, written about in practical criticism 
and literary theory. I am grounding this sense of Canadian and Métis 
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
85
poetry in close reading of their work to make way for their words in 
Canadian poetry with the hope that such work will find an increas-
ing place or space in Canadian, comparative and world literatures as 
well as literatures in English and French. These are sometimes distinc-
tive spaces and sometimes overlapping spaces. These authors are also 
related to Indigenous literatures in Canadian, United States and world-
wide in European and Indigenous languages. Other bigger literatures 
receive more attention than Canadian, Métis and Indigenous poetry 
or literatures. For instance, Valdés and Kadir map Latin American lit-
erature and Robert Tally explores the spaces of American literature in 
his geocriticism and, in his most recent work, makes further distinc-
tions between spatial literary studies and literary geography (see Valdés 
and Kadir; Tally, Spatiality ch.3; Tally, “Spatial Literary” 317–331). 
Canadian literature, which is much smaller or apparently more mar-
ginal than the literature of the United States, Spanish America and 
Brazil, finds a space, as Caribbean literature does, as a small literature 
amongst the large literatures in the United States, Brazil and Spanish 
America as well as in the Atlantic world, Pacific rim and the North 
or Arctic (circumpolar). But Canadian literature, including Canadian 
poetry and Métis poetry, is more than small or minor. This poetry 
crosses boundaries and definitions in a geography of otherness, a liter-
ary space that moves inward within Canada and outward beyond its 
boundaries, partly owing to the use of English and French.
 The Métis and Indigenous find a space in Canadian literature 
beyond Northrop Frye’s view of it as a bush garden with its garrison 
mentality, Margaret Atwood’s idea that survival is the central theme 
or a more multicultural or postmodern view of Canadian literature—
as discussed by Hutcheon and Hart—and straddles English, French, 
immigrant languages from Europe, China, India and elsewhere and 
Indigenous languages such as Cree (see Frye; Atwood; Hart “Canadian 
Literature”; Hutcheon). Otherness and the in-between, for me, means 
that the literary or poetic expands for settler and Native not simply in 
terms of alterity but through the liminal or threshold space between, 
that is the space of the Métis. The literary or poetic space of Canada 
expands its scope through these relations of settler, Native and Métis 
through centripetal and centrifugal fields in which they engage. 
Moreover, there are porous borders between Canada with United States 
in mixed, Indigenous cultures. The use of Indigenous languages that 
are from the same languages and language families in North America as 
well as the shared languages of English and French with Britain, France 
and other countries worldwide means that to make Canadian poetry 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
86
or Métis poetry Deleuze’s and Guattari’s minor literature, Casanova’s 
small literature or Ragon’s secondary zone literature is not to tell the 
whole story and take into account their intricacies (see Deleuze and 
Guattari; Casanova; Ragon). Otherness and in-betweenness, as I argue 
here, allow for other aspects and contours of the topic I am discuss-
ing. Reading the poetry closely shows that the texture and individual-
ity of these poets and the poems are other to the generalities and find 
themselves as being between theories and testing abstraction with the 
specificity of the concrete nature of a poem. This is a key point to my 
argument. Close reading is a literary space that tests, qualifies, resists 
and grounds abstract theories.
My own emphasis is on the between space of Métis poetry that 
reaches promising spaces within Canadian literature but also beyond 
and internationally. The poems have their own texture and the text 
opens up to readers beyond the Métis communities and Canada itself. 
The text is a map or space with a unique texture and so its particularity 
makes creative trouble for theory itself. The space between writer and 
reader, here the poet making and the reader reading, is a space where 
the poem is performed and where it means. Those are the contours 
and relief of poetry and literature, what I might call the geography of 
the text. Sheila Hones explores literary geography, including a reader 
and writer sharing a moment of a “text-based spatial interaction, a 
geographical event” (Hones, “Text” 1302), and discusses the ways in 
which literary spaces are real spaces, being both actual and fictional. 
Here, I argue that poetic spaces are as actual as they are fictional and 
that Canadian poetry and, more particularly, Métis poetry in Canada, 
are real spaces (Hones, Literary Geographies ch.3; cf. Hones, “Literary”; 
“Spatial”). They are a poetics of otherness (Hart, The Poetics). Like Yanli 
He, I see limitations of the minor literature of Gilles Deleuze and Felix 
Guattari and the small literature of Pascale Casanova and the second-
ary zone literature of Michael Ragon despite their important contribu-
tions (He; Deleuze and Guattari; Ragon; Conley). Like He, as well 
as David Damrosch, Marko Juvan, and Theo D’haen, I see globaliza-
tion and world literature as something that complicates and leads away 
from minor or small literatures (small being closer to Kafka’s German, 
klein, than mineur or minor are) (He; Damrosch, What is; Damrosch 
“Major”; Juvan “Peripherocentrisms”; “World”; D’haen, Routledge; 
“Major”; “Worlding”). Minor is more of a value judgement than is 
small literature, which is why I prefer the term “small” even if that term 
is not adequate. Métis poetry may have an even smaller space or audi-
ence than Canadian poetry, but it has potential, partly in its otherness, 
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
87
in-betweenness and concrete particularity, for us to explore possibili-
ties in what Leibniz called possible worlds and Thomas Pavel deemed 
fictional worlds (see Hart, “A Comparative”; Fictional). Each poem is a 
world that opens up to the world, to world literature. The poems I shall 
read of the three poets give a slice of that world, a small but individual 
texture of the poet’s interpretation and the reader interpreting it.
 Until recent decades, the literary space of Métis and First Nations’ 
poetry in Canadian literature had not received the attention it 
deserved. The poetry of Canadian poets, particularly Métis poets (of 
mixed European and Indigenous or First Nations background) from 
the Prairies, that of Louis Riel, who writes in French and English, and 
of Naomi McIlwraith, who is bilingual and writes in English and Cree, 
contributes to the mapping of Canada as a literary region. These are 
layers of literary space within the Canadian cultural space. Métis poetry 
challenges the binary opposition between European/settler literature in 
English and French and Native Canadian literature or poetry.
The liminal space of Métis poetry: Riel and McIlwraith 
between center and periphery
The Métis, who have lived between European and Canadian First 
Nations culture and literature, help to map what I call “a literature 
between” in Canada—Canadian literature is its own space and not 
simply a small literature in the Americas and in the world. These poets 
map Canada (various Canadas) and beyond through their poetry. The 
context for this space within a space is part of the multi-ethnic, multi-
linguistic, multi-spatial and multicultural nature of North America in 
general, and Canada in particular.
Métissage is a longstanding debate in the French-speaking world. 
More specifically, in France during the 1930s, this term was explored in 
anthropology (Neuville; Gossard). There was a debate on this in French 
Canada and then in English Canada and there is an ongoing discussion 
(see Crépeau; Karahasan; Beaulieu and Chaffray; Ens and Sawchuk; 
Morris; Bouchard). Indigenous writers and scholars also explore thus 
world of the in-between (Gunn; LaRocque, “The Metis”; “Native”; 
King, “Godzilla”; A Coyote; The Truth; Armstrong; Owens; Lukens; 
Scheick; Silko; Vizenor). In the past half century, writers and theo-
rists have come to use métissage as a term for the recovery of occluded 
spaces, stories, histories cultures and regions, especially owing to colo-
nialism, sometimes, as in the work of Edouard Glissant, recovering 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
88
oral traditions and questioning Western concepts, something that has 
led to the recuperation of occulted histories (see Glissant, Le Discours 
462–463; Lionnet). By examining Métis poetry in Canada and analyz-
ing poetry by Riel and McIllwraith as well that by Johnson, I can give 
a sense of distinctiveness and singularity even as some of those qualities 
might occur in “Métis” poetry outside Canada.
Métis and First Nations poetry are part of a multicultural and multi-
ethnic mosaic. As we saw and as Hones and Anderson also observe, ter-
ritories are actual and metaphorical (see Hones, Literary Geographies; 
Anderson). The idea of otherness in a Canadian context includes 
native-born, bilingual and bi-cultural, Métis, First Nations authors 
from Canada, and the idea of people coming from other shores to 
settle in North America, whether by choice or by force. The otherness 
stressed here is in the liminal or threshold space between Indigenous 
and settler cultures in a Métis or hybrid space that overlaps with but 
also challenges any notion of purity. This liminal or threshold space of 
Métis poetry in Canada is a representation of reality as part of Canadian 
poetry and poetry in the literature of the Americas and world literature.
Poetry matters just as McIlwraith’s use of Cree matters in her 
poetry. In a mass and commercial society, we tend to measure matters 
by market size and sometimes by profit, which would mean that poets 
are from the small genre of poetry and do not matter. I am looking at 
the space between, a threshold space, for those who were sometimes 
crushed between cultures or literatures, who sought to find space to 
express themselves. Riel was both Native and French and McIlwraith 
is Cree and Scottish. Riel and McIlwraith are poets and may also be 
writing to express themselves, irrespective of their place in literature in 
Canada or the world. Reception and categorization are more a matter 
for scholars than for writers and even for readers. Indigenous literatures 
and hybrid literatures, written in English, French, Spanish, Portuguese 
or Indigenous languages such as Cree and Maori deserve more atten-
tion, and that is even truer for poetry, which apparently has little use in 
a utilitarian society or profit in cultures given to money.
I introduce Riel and McIllwraith with another poet, of mixed 
background who identified herself with the Indigenous peoples and 
who wrote between the time of these two poets. Pauline Johnson 
(Tekahionwake) explains the title of her collected poems: “so both flint 
and feather bear the hall-mark of my Mohawk blood” (Johnson xvii) 
and the biography in the collection describes her: “E. Pauline Johnson 
(TEKAHIONWAKE) is the youngest child of a family of four born 
to the late G. H. M. Johnson (Onwanonsyshon), Head Chief of the 
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
89
Six Nations Indians, and his wife, Emily S. Howells,” born in Bristol, 
England, who emigrated to Canada (xiii). Pauline Johnson is proud 
of her Native family as well as someone who performed her poetry in 
England as well as in Canada and the United States.
Johnson also writes about history in her poetry, including the 
Northwest Rebellion of which Riel was a leader and for which he was 
hanged, facing some of the Protestant-Catholic politics that Thomas 
D’Arcy McGee had faced. Johnson ends her poem, “A Cry from an 
Indian Wife,” which alludes to rebellion in the Northwest, thus:
Go forth, nor bend to greed of white man’s hands,
My right, by birth we Indians own these lands,
Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation
low …
Perhaps the white man’s God has willed it so. (Johnson 19)
There seems to be a call to arms against white greed and, through 
rhyme, the implied image that white hands have taken “Indian” 
lands. Moreover, Johnson uses verbs to express this unfair situation—
“starved, crushed, plundered” (Johnson 319). The last line appears to 
be ironic as if this situation resulted from the will of the God of the 
white man. Johnson, part Mohawk and part English, born in Canada, 
is someone who might now identify as Native or as Métis (an intri-
cate matter in terms of official and personal identity) (see Lawrence). 
This space between European/settler and Native culture is fluid and has 
changed over time. Johnson’s poetry is often concerned with represent-
ing Natives, their lands and their points of view.
Louis Riel, a Métis leader and poet and perhaps the best-known 
Métis in Canadian history, spent time in Montreal 1858–1866, the Red 
River 1868–1873, Quebec and New England 1874–1878, Minnesota 
and Dakota 1878–1879, Montana 1879–1884, Saskatchewan 1884–
1885 (see Campbell), the movement of a life on both sides of the bor-
der (see Durnin). Although Riel did not always date his poems, which 
he wrote in French and English and in these various places, I am fol-
lowing the numbers, dates and places that Glen Campbell, the editor, 
assigns to the poems without certainty and I maintain the spelling and 
grammar of the original. It seems that in the Red River (Rivière Rouge) 
(70/05-08), Riel wrote a lyric poem/song “La Métisse,” which begins: 
“Je suis métisse et je suis orgueilleuse / D’appartenir à cette nation (I 
am Métisse and I am proud / To belong to this nation)” then con-
tinues: “Je sais que Dieu de sa main généreuse / Fait chacque peuple 
avec attention (I know that God with his generous hand / Treats each 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
90
people with care),” proceeds to “Les métis sont un petit people encore / 
Mais vous pouvez voir déjà leurs destins / Etre haïs comme ils sont 
les honore (The Métis are still a small people / But you can already 
see their destinies / To be hated as they are honour them)” and ends 
with “Ils ont déjà rempli de grands desseins (They have already ful-
filled great designs)” (Riel 88, lines 1–8). Although the syntax is a little 
thorny, even as the destinies of the Métis are to be hated, they should 
be honored (expressed in an imperative). In a time of racial theories 
and racism not friendly to the Métis, Riel represents the situation, the 
lack of space with the expansion of the settlers, and attempts to seek to 
create a larger space in poetry and discourse—an imaginative space—
for this small people or nation under threat, to give this Métis woman 
pride in her nation whom God has made with care as he has with each 
people or nation. The stanza has the rhyme scheme ababcdcd and the 
rhyme emphasizes, in this poem in the first person, the speaker’s self-
representation of herself as proud to belong to this nation and her voice 
representing God’s generous hand, making with care or attention each 
people and the “petit peuple” (small people) of the Métis full of grand 
or large designs. The smallness of the Métis can be enlarged through 
design and, by implication, by Riel’s poem and song.
Probably writing from Beauport or New England between 1874 
and 1878, Riel begins one of the poems (4-074): “Le Sang Sauvage 
en moy rayonne: / Et je louange mes aïeux (The Wild Blood shines 
in me: / And I praise my ancestors)” (my translations here, above and 
below, Riel 178, lines 1–2). “Sauvage” in French, as it does in six-
teenth and early seventeenth-century English (“salvage”), means wild, 
and “savage” in English came to be pejorative, so I prefer the “Wild” 
here. Campbell says that Riel was one eighth Native from his pater-
nal grandmother (“bisaïeule paternelle”), a “Montagnaise-Chippewan” 
(Campbell 180, note 2). Riel is proud of this Indigenous ancestry. 
In the same poem, he raises the issue of cruelty: “Les espagnols ont 
du courage. / Mais leurs exploits sont effrayants. / Tant d’autres sont 
durs au sauvage, / Tout en paraissant vrais croyants (The Spaniards 
have courage. / But their exploits are frightening. / So many others 
are tough on the wild, / While appearing to be true believers).” (Riel 
179, lines 29–32). Riel begins with representing the Spanish as hav-
ing courage, but then says that their exploits cause fear and many are 
hard on the Indigenous peoples while also representing the Spaniards 
as people who seem to be believers or Christians. For Riel, the Natives 
have harsh Spaniards in their space. In another poem (4-106), Riel 
writes in English in Helena, Montana (82/06-09), and opens thus: “I 
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
91
can sing in my poetry / Right and wealth.” (Riel 279, lines 1–2) In 
another language, Riel is creating another space. The power of poetry 
is different here: “My poems can show the big trains / Run by the 
Northern Pacific / Over Hills and through rowling plains: / I can cel-
ebrate their traffic.” (Riel 279, lines 5–8) Like Whitman, Riel can sing 
a song of America and its changes, here the railroad across the plains in 
which the bison roamed. At St. Peter’s Mission (83/08), Riel writes an 
ode, “Le people Métis-Canadien-français (The Metis-Canadian-French 
People),” a poem that represents Métis, Natives Canadians, French, 
Canada and the United States (4–114; Riel 319). The opening of the 
poem gives a sense of Riel’s hope: “J’aime sans mesure et j’admire / Les 
Métis-canadiens- français: / Ce people nouveau qui se mire / Déjà dans 
se brilliants succès (I love without measure and I admire / The Metis-
Canadians-French: / This new people who is reflected / Already in bril-
liant successes).” (Riel 319, lines 3–6) The first-person speaker cannot 
measure the love and admiration he expresses for this new people—
Native and French, French-speaking—in what is now Canada and the 
United States. Riel’s celebratory poetry pays homage to the Métis and 
the new culture and space they have forged and his poetry continues 
to forge for them, a space that is part of Native, settler and mixed or 
hybrid poetry in Canada and the United States. Riel creates new spaces 
within Canadian and world poetry and literature.
The Canadian prairies can provide a good example of the bilin-
gual and how that affects geography, otherness, mapping, center and 
periphery in terms of language, poetry, culture, the personal and the 
public. Cree, English, French and other languages co-existed on the 
Canadian prairies, which came to have an artificial border between the 
United States and Canada in a region (the Great Plains), which had 
no natural boundary and certainly not in terms of these two polities. 
Naomi McIlwraith is writing in Edmonton on land under Treaty 6, 
between the Crown and Cree, Assiniboine and Ojibwa on 23 August 
1876 and on 9 September 1876, its boundaries extending to what now 
constitutes parts of central Alberta and Saskatchewan. McIlwraith has 
a mixed background of Cree and Scottish—what is now often called 
Métis culture to include people who are partly British as well as the 
original meaning of those who are partly French as “half-breed” has 
come to be much less used. She explores, in kiyâm, boundaries and 
spaces, personal, familial, social, historical, cultural and political, 
between cultures. This is a hybrid and contested space in language, 
memory, identity, representation and much else. This is a territory 
about lost territory, the lands of the Cree being wrenched from them, 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
92
their language lost and reclaimed slowly by the speaker and the author. 
Their own center has become their periphery, and the periphery of 
Europe has come and claimed as the Europeans’ own the very center of 
the Cree lands. The British authorities and then the Canadian govern-
ments after independence have made the Cree other to themselves; the 
Cree have had their language taken away. McIlwraith finds herself on 
both sides of this divide, trying to understand her family, cultures and 
herself, reclaiming Cree culture, language, remembrance. She is trying 
to undo misrepresentation, to remap center and periphery, to offer a 
new geography of otherness.
The reader follows McIlwraith’s journey. Her book begins with the 
section, “Family Poems,” with the poem, “The Road to Writer’s Block 
(A Poem to Myself),” which opens as follows:
Turn left at desire. Take this burden
and never let go. Cling
as a burr latches onto fleece.
Be sure that your load includes
the self-imposed responsibility to learn
a threatened language: namely nêhiyawêwin.
Go home: kîwê.
Head north: kîwêtinohk itohtê.
Take a route unknown to you.
Do not plan too far
into the future. Do step forth with mute
naïveté. Invent a folktale so fantastic it can’t
be disbelieved. Do this in the same way
you would mould green truth from fact, tender
as the first prairie crocus—wâpikwanîs. (McIlwraith 5)
The striking half-line is the opening of a set of directions the poet writes 
to herself. Why she should turn left and not right, she does not say, but 
it arrests the reader and the poet mid-line. The alliteration of “Turn” and 
“Take” are part of the order of direction, an imperative to the self over-
heard by the listener or looked on by the reader. Ear and eye absorb this 
imperative of directions or directives to self and other. “Take this burden / 
and never let go” involves enjambment so it takes a turn to the other line 
to discover the second imperative, a surprising exhortation as well as an 
order “never” to “let go.” Here is an imperative of determination and te-
nacity. The next word “Cling” also awaits, through enjambment,” comple-
tion, “as a burr latches onto fleece,” this simile showing how the “Cling” is 
like “a burr,” nature’s inspiration for velcro, latching to this “fleece.” These 
imperatives “Turn” and “Take” and “never let go,” combine with the 
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
93
imagery to show that the burden is taken on with a stubborn defiance and 
not as a weight leading to defeat. McIlwraith turns to more imperatives of 
solidity and steadfastness: “Be sure” and “Go home.” She speaks to herself 
as other by referring to herself in terms of “your” and “you.” The speaker 
insists that “your load” also comprises of “the self-imposed responsibility” 
that McIlwraith defines as learning “a threatened language,” which the 
poem and her glossary define for the unilingual reader. As a supplement to 
the poem, McIlwraith explains as she translates and the reader learns from 
“Cree-English Correspondences”:
nêhiyawêwin the Cree language, speaking Cree
kîwê go home
kîwêtinohk itohtê go north, northwards
 (towards the north wind)
wâpikwanîs flower (McIlwraith 125)
Her translations are sometimes a little different here or a little more 
expansive than what she provides in the poem. The commands in this 
poem are a mixture of positives and negatives. For instance, she says: 
“Do not,” “Do” and “Do.” She commands herself not to plan too dis-
tant in the future, to step forward mute and naïve, to invent such a fan-
tastic folktale it cannot be disbelieved, as if to “mould green truth from 
fact,” which McIllwraith elaborates on with a striking image, “tender / 
as the first prairie crocus,” much more specific and memorable than the 
“flower” in the translation from the Cree in “Correspondences.” These 
self-imperatives define the speaker in language and culture.
In “Reclamation Poems” McIlwraith begins with “Cree Lessons,” 
a poem that explores linguistic boundaries in English and Cree about 
other differences and opens thus:
We are keen, though some of us have better ears than others.
The teacher’s voice inflects the pulse of nêhiyawêwin as he teaches us.
He says a prayer in the first class.
Nouns, we learn, have a gender.
In French, nouns are male or female,
but in Cree, nouns are living or non-living, animate or inanimate.
A chair, têhtapiwin, is inanimate. tohtôsâpoy, or milk, is also inanimate.
But the breast it comes from is animate. (McIlwraith 43)
The speaker once more represents how keen she is (and the group is too 
here) to learn Cree. She makes a voice the teacher has to inflect the pulse 
of the language and distinguishes French from Cree in the context of 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
94
an English-Cree poem. French is given to gender, Cree to living or not. 
The speaker finds part of herself in language, in a lesson her ancestors 
knew and she thinks she must learn. For her and in her ears and on her 
tongue, nêhiyawêwin is gaining a place and its cadence and rhythm and 
sounds are becoming part of McIlwraith’s poetry. This is the space of 
her music, the heuristics of her linguistic geography.
McIlwraith begins the section, “A FEW IDEAS FROM amiskwacî-
wâskahikanihk,” with “The Young Linguist,” a poem that begins as 
follows:
A girl, perhaps five,
whose father will later tell me she speaks
English, French, and Armenian,
approaches me at Fort Edmonton Park.
“How do you say ‘Hi’ in the teepee way?”
she asks. (McIlwraith 73)
Language is part of the encounter at work, or the space between peo-
ple and cultures. Armenian now comes into the conversation along 
with English, French and Cree. The young and not so young exchange 
through linguistics. The poem ends with a bilingual explanation:
“Around here,” I reply, “the Cree say,
‘tânisi,’ or if you want to say,
‘Hello, how are you?’
we say, ‘tânisi kiya?’” (McIlwraith 73)
Often the speaker is the student, but here she is the teacher. The poem 
also represents the eagerness of the child to learn language, which im-
plicitly is the opposite of the impulse that repressed Indigenous lan-
guages such as Cree. There is space for Cree and Armenian in this ge-
ography of otherness, in a map without center and periphery.
The final grouping of the poetry is “History Poems.” The last in this 
section is the title poem, “kiyâm—Let It Be.” McIlwraith begins the 
poem thus:
The dictionary tells me
it means “think nothing of it,” and
“let’s go then,”
“so much for this,”
“let there be no further delay,”
and a few other things like that. (McIlwraith 119)
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
95
Here is another language lesson. The speaker learns about the Cree of 
some of her ancestors, and shows in this opening but throughout the 
poem, the richness and multiplicity of the word, kiyâm, which begins 
as “let it be” but resonates in so many ways. This one word, which is 
also the title of the collection, shows, as in a grain of sand, the extent 
of the multiple meanings and nuances of Cree. McIlwraith, in ending 
this section and her book of poetry, makes space for Cree in English, 
in her bilingual and multi-polar, multivalent geography of otherness. 
McIlwraith has helped to open up the mapping in Canada in relation 
to itself and to other spaces and cultures.
Conclusion
The poetry of Native and Métis poets has mapped the region of the prai-
ries, and a wider Canada, in ways that differ from “traditional” Western, 
perhaps English, French and European notions of Canada and North 
America—the New World. This essay contributes to studies of center 
and periphery in geography, history, and culture, including literature 
while discussing European settler, Métis and Native poetry to map and 
remap this multicultural Canada, North America and the Americas. This 
discussion has explored the ways in which the poetry of Canadian au-
thors, particularly Métis, who identify as of mixed Native and European 
backgrounds who are acutely aware of language or are bilingual or mul-
tilingual, have contributed to the mapping of Canada as a literary space. 
I have discussed theory, criticism, fiction and especially poetry to show 
that poetry and other literary forms play a role in mapping regions and 
that, having provided a context, Métis and First Nations poems, not to 
mention their theoretical, critical and fictional writing, are a good ve-
hicle for exploring this practice. The focus on Métis and Native poetry, 
in the contexts of European poetry in Germany, Canada and the United 
States, is an original route to explore the idea of literary mapping of ter-
ritory. The individual poems I have read closely qualify, through their 
very particularity, the tendency of many theories, including those of 
space and its geometry of center and periphery, to abstraction. Theories 
are ways in, hypotheses, but the poems themselves explore similar mat-
ters in distinctive and concrete ways. The making of the poet and the 
reading of the reader are where the meaning ultimately lies and this very 
specificity relates to and qualifies, with poems, the generalizations and 
abstractions of theory. In the poems, between the poet and reader, a 
distinct texture occurs and bears a relation to theories that try to define 
that space and its connection with context.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
96
The Métis poets, such as Riel and McIlwraith, forge a private 
and public space for themselves that allows space for this hybrid or 
mixed group. In fact, other poets, such as Pauline Johnson, might 
well be considered a Métis poet, now that we often use the term to 
include British-Native poets, once called half-breeds. Mourning Dove 
or Christine Quintasket is sometimes said to be a Native writer and 
sometimes Métis, so that European, Metis and Native poetry crosses 
borders and overlaps and creates its own poetics of space (Center for 
the Study of the Pacific Northwest; Srivastava; Lukens). Although 
McIlwraith includes Cree with her English and Riel writes French and 
English poems, much of the Métis and Native poetry is in English 
or French in Canada. A “small” literature like Canadian literature 
had and has a hard time getting space in Canada and elsewhere in 
the world, a place in world literature. Moreover, poetry gets even less 
space, so that Métis and Native poetry in Canada, even while crossing 
borders, has an even harder task getting notice over time and find-
ing space in Canadian and world literature. Métis poetry is a liminal 
space between center and periphery and has implications for hybrid 
and mixed as well as Indigenous poetry, literature and culture world-
wide. These mixed and hybrid aspects of local, regional and national 
literatures have implications for world literature, the poetics of space 
and the poetics of otherness.
WORKS CITED
Anderson, Jon. Page and Place: Ongoing Compositions of Plot. Amsterdam; New York, 
NY: Rodopi, 2014.
Armstrong, Jeannette, ed. Looking at the Words of Our People: A First Nations Analysis 
of Literature. Penticton: Theytus, 1993.
Atwood, Margaret. Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature. Toronto: Anansi, 
1972.
Beaulieu, Alain, and Stéphanie Chaffray, ed. Représentation, métissage et pouvoir: la 
dynamique coloniale des échanges entre Autochtones, Européens et Canadiens (XVIe–
XXe siècle). Québec: Presses de l’Université Laval, 2012.
Benoist, Jean. “Le métissage.” L’Homme, son évolution, sa diversité. Manuel d’anthropologie 
physique. Ed. Denise Ferembach. Paris: CNRS, 1986. 539–551.
Bonniol, Jean-Luc, and Jean Benoist. “Heredites plurielles. Representations populai-
res et conceptions savantes du metissage.” Ethnologie française 24 (1994): 58–69.
Bouchard, Michel et al., ed. Eastern Métis: Chronicling and Reclaiming a Denied Past. 
Lanham, MA: Lexington Books, 2021.
Brown, E. K. On Canadian Poetry. Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1943.
Campbell, Glen. “Introduction.” Louis Riel. The Collected Writings of Louis Riel / Les 
écrits complets de Louis Riel. Vol. 4. Ed. Glen Campbell. Edmonton: The University 
of Alberta Press, 1985. xxxiii–xlviii.
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
97
Casanova, Pascale. La République mondiale des lettres. Paris: Seuil, 1999.
Center for the Study of the Pacific Northwest. Texts by and about Natives: Commentary 
9. Christine Quintasket (Mourning Dove or Humishuma). University of Washington. 
Web. Accessed 30. 10. 2023. <https://www.washington.edu/uwired/outreach/
cspn/Website/Classroom%20Materials/Reading%20the%20Region/Texts%20
by%20and%20about%20Natives/Commentary/9.html>
Conley, Tom. “Inventions of Space: Deleuze between Concept and Event.” The 
Routledge Handbook of Literature and Space. Ed. Robert T. Tally Jr. London; New 
York, NY: Routledge, 2017. 50–59.
Crépeau, Pierre. Classifications raciales populaires et métissage: essai d’anthropologie cog-
nitive. Centre de recherches caraïbes. Montréal: Université de Montréal, 1973.
Damrosch, David. What Is World Literature? Princeton, NJ: Princeton University 
Press, 2003.
Damrosch, David. “Major Cultures and Minor Literatures.” Teaching World 
Literatures. Ed. David Damrosch. New York, NY: MLA, 2009. 193–204.
Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. Kafka: Pour une littérature mineure. Paris: Les 
Éditions de Minuit, 1975.
D’haen, Theo. The Routledge Concise History of World Literature. London: Routledge, 
2011.
D’haen, Theo. “Major Histories, Minor Literatures, and World Authors.” CLCWeb: 
Comparative Literature and Culture 15.5 (2013): <https://doi.org/10.7771/1481-
4374.2342>
D’haen, Theo. “Worlding Comparative Literature: Beyond Postcolonialism.” 
Canadian Review of Comparative Literature / Revue Canadienne de Littérature 
Comparée 44.3 (2017): 436–448.
Durnin, Katherine. Mixed Messages: The Métis in Canadian Literature, 1816–2007. 
Doctoral dissertation. University of Alberta, 2008.
Ens, Gerhard J., and Joe Sawchuk. From New Peoples to New Nations: Aspects of Métis 
History and Identity from the Eighteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries. Toronto: 
University of Toronto Press, 2016.
Eoyang, Eugene, Gang Zhou and Jonathan Hart ed. Comparative Literature Around 
the World: Global Practice. Paris: Honoré Champion Éditeur, 2021.
Frye, Northrop.  The Bush Garden: Essays on the Canadian Imagination. Toronto: 
Anansi, 1971.
Glissant, Edouard. Le Discours antillais. Paris: Seuil, 1981.
Glissant, Édouard. “Métissage et créolisation: Discours sur le métissage.” Identités 
métisses: En quête d’Ariel. Ed. Sylvie Kandé. Paris: Harmattan, 1999. 47–53.
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. Conversations of Goethe with Eckermann and Soret. 
Transl. John Oxenford. London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1850.
Gossard, Philippe. Études sur le métissage principalement en A.O.F. Doctoral disserta-
tion. Université de Paris, Faculté de droit. Paris: Les Presses Modernes, 1934.
Gunn, Paula Allen. Woman Who Owned the Shadows. San Francisco, CA: Spinsters, 
Ink, 1983.
Hart, Jonathan. “A Comparative Pluralism: The Heterogeneity of Methods and the 
Case of Possible Worlds.” Canadian Review of Comparative Literature / Revue 
Canadienne de Littérature Comparée 15 (1988): 320–345.
Hart, Jonathan. “Canadian Literature: in the Mouth of the Canon.” Journal of 
Canadian Studies 23 (1988–1989): 145–158.
Hart, Jonathan. “Images of the Native in Renaissance Encounter Narratives.” ARIEL 
25.4 (1994): 55–76.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
98
Hart, Jonathan. “Mediation in the Exchange Between Europeans and Native Americans 
in the Early Modern Period.” Canadian Review of Comparative Literature / Revue 
Canadienne de Littérature Comparée 22.2 (1995): 319–343.
Hart, Jonathan. Fictional and Historical Worlds. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan 
2012.
Hart, Jonathan. The Poetics of Otherness: War, Trauma, and Literature. New York, NY: 
Palgrave Macmillan, 2015.
He, Yanli. “Rethinking Minor Literature and Small Literature as Secondary Zone 
Literature.” Territories: A Trans-Cultural Journal of Regional Studies 2.1 (2020): 
<https://doi.org/10.5070/T22144835>.
Hones, Sheila. “Text as It Happens: Literary Geography.” Geography Compass 2.5 
(2008): 1301–1317.
Hones, Sheila. Literary Geographies: Narrative Space in ‘Let the Great World Spin’. New 
York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.
Hones, Sheila. “Literary Geography, Past and Future.” Literary Geographies 1.2 (2015): 
1–5.
Hones, Sheila. “Spatial Literary Studies and Literary Geography.” Literary Geographies 
4.2 (2018): 146–149.
Hutcheon, Linda. The Canadian Postmodern: A Study in Contemporary English-
Canadian Fiction. Oxford; Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1988.
Johnson, E. Pauline (Tekahionwake). Flint and Feather: The Complete Poems. Eighth 
Edition. Toronto: The Musson Book Company Limited, 1922 (1912).
Juvan, Marko. “‘Peripherocentrisms’: Geopolitics of Comparative Literatures between 
Ethnocentrism and Cosmopolitanism.” Histoire de la littérature et jeux d’échange 
entre centres et peripheries. Les identités relatives des littératures. Ed. Jean Bessière 
and Judith Maar. Paris: Harmattan, 2010. 53–66.
Juvan, Marko. “World Literature(s) and Peripheries.” Marko Juvan. Literary Studies 
in Reconstruction: An Introduction to Literature. Bern: Peter Lang, 2011. 73–86.
Karahasan, Devrim. Métissage in New France and Canada 1508 to 1886. Frankfurt am 
Main; New York, NY: Peter Lang, 2009.
King, Thomas. “Godzilla vs. Post-Colonial.” World Literature Written in English 30.2 
(1990): 10–16.
King, Thomas. A Coyote Columbus Story. Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1992.
King, Thomas. The Truth about Stories: A Native Narrative. Toronto: Anansi, 2003.
LaRocque, Emma. “The Metis in English Canadian Literature.” Canadian Journal of 
Native Studies 3.1 (1983): 85–94.
LaRocque, Emma. Native Writers Resisting Colonizing Practices in Canadian 
Historiography and Literature. Doctoral dissertation. University of Manitoba, 1999.
Lawrence, Bonita. “Real” Indians and Others: Mixed-Blood Urban Native Peoples and 
Indigenous Nationhood. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2004.
Lionnet, Françoise. “Introduction: The Politics and Aesthetics of Métis sage.”   
Autobiographical Voices: Race, Gender, Self-Portraiture. Ithaca, NY: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1989. 1–30.
Lukens, Margaret A. “Mourning Dove and Mixed Blood: Cultural and Historical 
Pressures on Aesthetic Choice and Authorial Identity.” American Indian Quarterly 
21.3 (1997): 409–422.
McIlwraith, Naomi. Kiyâm. Edmonton: AU Press, 2012.
McLuhan, Marshall. “Canada: The Borderline Case.” The Canadian Imagination: Dimen-
sions of a Literary Culture. Ed. David Staines. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University 
Press, 1977. 226–248.
Jonathan Locke Hart:     The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry: Between Centre and Periphery
99
Moretti, Franco. “Conjectures on World Literature.” New Left Review 1.1 (2000): 
54–68.
Morris, Paul D., ed. Le Canada, une culture du métissage / Transcultural Canada. 
Québec: Presses de l’Université Laval, 2019.
Neuville, Henry. L’espèce, la race et le métissage en anthropologie. Paris: Masson, 1933.
Owens, Louis. Other Destinies: Understanding the American Indian Novel. Norman: 
University of Oklahoma Press, 1992.
Ragon, Michel. Histoire de la littérature prolétarienne en France. Paris: Albin Michel, 
1974.
Riel, Louis. The Collected Writings of Louis Riel / Les écrits complets de Louis Riel. Vol. 4. 
Ed. Glen Campbell. Edmonton: The University of Alberta Press, 1985.
Scheick, William J. The Half-Blood: A Cultural Symbol in Nineteenth-Century American 
Fiction. Lexington, KY: University of Kentucky Press, 1979.
Shields, Rob. Places on the Margin: Alternative Geographies of Modernity. London; New 
York, NY: Routledge, 1991.
Shields, Rob. “Spatialisations.” Rob Shields. Spatial Questions: Cultural Topologies and 
Social Spatialisations. London: SAGE, 2013. 15–40.
Silko, Leslie. Ceremony. New York, NY: Viking Press, 1977.
Tally, Robert T. Jr, Spatiality. London: Routledge, 2013.
Tally, Robert T. Jr. “Spatial Literary Studies Versus Literary Geography?” Boundaries 
and Borders Amidst Interdisciplinary Approaches to Space and Literature. New York, 
NY; London: Routledge, 2021. 317–331.
Valdés, Mario J. and Djelal Kadir, ed. Literary Cultures of Latin America: A Comparative 
History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004.
Vizenor, Gerald. Earthdivers: Tribal Narratives on Mixed Descent. Minneapolis, MN: 
University of Minnesota Press, 1981.
Liminalni prostor poezije Métis: med središčem in 
obrobjem
Ključne besede: kanadska književnost / literarni prostor / liminalnost / kulturna 
identiteta / poezija Métis / Riel, Louis / Johnson, Pauline / McIllwraith, Naomi
Članek preučuje literarni prostor kanadske književnosti v svetovni književno-
sti in mejni prostor poezije Métis, ki se na prav poseben način umešča med 
evropski in avtohtoni vidik kanadske književnosti. Paradoks je ta, da lahko 
poezija in literatura Métis v Kanadi, ki sta bili dolgo marginalizirani, zdaj v 
svetovni in primerjalni književnosti ustvarita nov prostor za kanadsko litera-
turo, za to majhno med velikimi literaturami, in pesnike, rojene ali živeče v 
Kanadi. S tem ko preučujemo poezijo Métis v Kanadi ter analiziramo pesni-
štvo Louisa Riela (1844–1885), Pauline Johnson (znane tudi kot Tekahion-
wake ali Dvojni Wampum, 1861–1913) in Naomi McIllwraith (sodobnica), 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
100
kreiramo občutek posebnosti in enkratnosti, čeprav se nekatere od teh lastnosti 
lahko pojavijo tudi v poeziji »Métis« zunaj Kanade. Riel in McIlwraith zase-
data literarni in kulturni vmesni prostor – Riel piše v francoščini, McIlwraith 
pa v angleščini in algonkinskem creeju – ter prepletata malo in veliko središče, 
kot del tega pa tudi »narod v narodu«, ta mejni prostor, kjer se prevprašujejo 
sebstvo, identiteta in drugi.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK  821.111(71).09 
821.133.1(71).09
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.05
Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: 
A Systematic Model of Romanian 
Novel
Alina Bako
Lucian Blaga University of Sibiu, Faculty of Letters and Arts, 5-7 Victoriei Blvd., 550024, Sibiu, 
Romania
https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1450-9188
alina.bako@ulbsibiu.ro
This article sets out to observe the manner in which using the city as a narrative 
scenario can determine the creation of a systemic model of knowledge. Based on 
Morillo’s theory that urban spaces can be analyzed by observing the interaction 
between the networks they belong to and the hierarchies they form, eventually 
becoming “hubs of knowledge,” we try to prove that the Romanian novels of the 
late nineteenth century and the interwar period are valuable points of reference 
for sketching a systemic model of the South-East European space. The specificity of 
Romanian literature, reflecting historical conditions and relations with empires 
such as the Austro-Hungarian or Ottoman empires, as well as the constitution of 
labor relations through the transition from rural to accelerated urbanization 
produces a viable matrix. These aspects can be encountered in the novels of 
Romanian writers such as Ioan Slavici and Liviu Rebreanu, who reflect the 
reality of the Transylvanian space and the relations between the communities of 
Romanians, Germans, Saxons or Swabians, Hungarians and Jews, to Hortensia 
Papadat-Bengescu, the writer who creates the image of Bucharest as part of the 
European urban network, even if it is hierarchically subordinate to Paris.
Keywords: Romanian literature / Romanian novel / imagology / city / networks / 
hierarchies /  systemic model
101
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
The present study sets out from the observation that the manner in 
which cities are reflected in literature may determine the construction 
of a model of knowledge made up of networks and hierarchies. Starting 
out from this observation, we shall discuss the networks made up of 
interconnected urban nodes, by way of the literary texts advanced be-
longing to Romanian literature. We shall then analyze social and po-
litical hierarchies, as they appear in the same reflections of the urban 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
102
space, and in the last part we shall analyze the manner in which the 
two have interacted forming a systemic model. What is paramount for 
our discussion is Morillo’s statement according to which “the cities 
were the hubs of knowledge formation and exchange because of the 
location of both markets and political centers in urban areas” (Morillo 
15), a thing that implicitly generates the recognition of the importance 
of studying the city as a defining element for the sketching of social 
networks and hierarchies. The argument resorted to by Quayson “that 
the city tends to be the favored scalar unit for multiple world-making 
projects both below and above the nation-state scale. Cities are thus 
simultaneously sites where ‘global designs’ touch down, and matrices 
of possibility, where connectivity, reinvention, and self-translation also 
occur” (Quayson and Watson 7) leads us to the idea that the analysis of 
urban space generates an alternative model of knowledge. Applying this 
literature deconstructs a static landscape, determining the inclusion of 
literary works in a corpus essential for global knowledge.
The hypostases of cities presented as narrative frameworks, studied 
in the Romanian literature of the end of the nineteenth and the begin-
ning of the twentieth century are reflections of urban networks created 
in Europe, as we shall see from the analysis of the travels undertaken by 
the characters and from the exchange of political, economic, social and 
cultural ideas between the nodes of this network, but also of the hier-
archies created vertically, from urban centers such as Paris or Vienna, 
towards secondary cities, belonging, to use the term employed by World 
Literature, to the peripheries, such as is the case for the Romanian 
space. The city as a prop for the narrative scenario played a crucial 
role in the construction of fiction, advancing various visions character-
izing the multitude of cultural landmarks in central and South-East 
Europe and the relations with cultural urban spaces. The core thesis 
we wish to start out from in the construction of the present paper’s 
endeavor thus advances the creation of a model by which to prove that 
the evolution of knowledge took place in direct relation with the devel-
opment of urbanism, aspects which are reflected in literature. Central 
and South-East Europe developed an entire network of communica-
tion through the nodes of which an accelerated growth took place in 
various domains of activity. In such a model, applied to Medieval Asia, 
Stephen Murillo showed that cities are placed at the intersection of 
two grand structures: networks and hierarchies, and the position they 
are in is a result of belonging to one of the two. Thus, networks can 
be defined as “the horizontal, extensive, cooperative, and economical-
cultural links between cities large and small (and through those cities to 
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
103
their economic hinterlands) […] network flows also inevitably included 
people, ideas, and thus culture generally” and hierarchies as “vertical, 
coercitive and political structures, encompassing what are commonly 
called states, chiefdoms, and other sorts of polities into which specific 
societies tended to be organized. Complex, state-level hierarchies were 
almost always built on a base of rural agricultural production” (Morillo 
2). These networks and hierarchies imply alpha type cities and second-
ary cities, which have developed around such large urban structures. 
One of the questions the present study attempts to answer is how is the 
connection between the urban space in East European literatures and 
lighthouse cities, which swallow them up, constructed? Are we dealing 
with peripheral or secondary urban spaces here?
Secondary literature has discussed peripheral and central cities, 
principal and secondary ones, which have changed their status accord-
ing to industrial and technological development, as well as the rela-
tionship between the city and world literature (Quayson and Watson; 
Agathocleous; Eade; Lehan; McNamara; Soja). The criteria employed 
to categorize urban settlements are quite diverse, however, we hold that 
the central and East-European space brings up important arguments as 
part of this new classification, also in what the functions these spaces 
fulfil as part of this global urban network are concerned. An ample dis-
cussion was devoted to so-called alpha cities, which have shaped knowl-
edge. Thus, Jason Finch, Lieven Ameel and Markku Salmela observed: 
“On a global scale, one can find a distinctive group of cities that could 
be called ‘alpha’ world cities: New York, London, Paris and Tokyo in 
economic terms.” (Finch, Ameel and Salmela 12) Such a relationship 
can be envisaged between Paris and the Romanian space, to be more 
precise the capital Bucharest, but also between the Transylvanian space 
of the twentieth century and the imperial capitals Budapest and Vienna. 
Pascale Casanova considered Paris a center of “world literary space,” 
a Greenwich meridian (Casanova 34) for World Literature, alongside 
London and New York. The question thus arises whether the literary 
reflection of cities belonging to semi-peripheral or peripheral geographic 
spaces can bring elements of novelty to global knowledge: “Compared 
to peripherality, secondariness is perhaps at once more ordinary and 
more visible, a condition that is hidden in the open. Most urban dwell-
ers experience their cities as somehow secondary to other, bigger, or 
more famous, cities.” (Finch, Ameel and Salmela 96) We can thus 
observe that “secondary cities” fulfil certain functions, whether we refer 
to being political, cultural, or economic centers or important nodes of 
a network. Jacques Derrida in his essay “Plato’s Pharmacy,” discussed 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
104
as early as 1972 the oppressive component implied by a relationship 
between a dominant and a dominated. Cities can be subordinate to 
such centers, while simultaneously being part of a hierarchical pyramid, 
but also nodes of a cultural, economic, political or religious network.
The case studies we employed as part of the present discussion focus 
on three authors who are representative for the chosen time frame 
and for Romanian literature. Their selection was also determined by 
the accessibility of prose and translations. The first of these authors, 
chronologically speaking, Ioan Slavici, is the one who contextualized 
the discussion regarding the power relations between Transylvania and 
the capital of the Austro-Hungarian empire, identifying both networks 
and hierarchies existing at the level of urban spaces. Another Romanian 
writer, Liviu Rebreanu, brought up the multicultural component of 
Transylvania, but, at the same time, advanced images of the second-
ary city, as perceived through the lens of the multiethnic. The third 
example is Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu, an author who focused on 
the description of the capital city, Bucharest, analyzing French influ-
ences, but also aspects connected to the construction of a network by 
mains of the characters’ travels, as well as the establishment of hier-
archies between Paris and Bucharest, aspects which define Romanian 
culture integrated into the European space. We can thus notice a break 
with traditional spatial patterns, an aspect which will be noticeable in 
the differences between the urban representations of Slavici, a writer 
rather connected to the nineteenth century and Rebreanu and Papadat-
Bengescu, modern writers, with whom space fulfils different functions. 
As noted by Eric Bulson, part of what made realist novels so powerful 
was their capacity to make readers believe that fictional cities had “a 
counterpart in the cities of the earth” (Bulson 34). This is precisely 
what happens also in Slavici’s writings, whose texts belong to nine-
teenth century realism.
Networks featuring urban nodal points
The construction of a network of urban nodal points is obvious in 
Slavici’s prose (1848–1925), as the cities he mentions in Transylvania 
are secondary type ones such as Arad, Radna and Lipova, narrative 
stages for the characters, but at the same time starting points for the 
construction of a commercial, economic, political and religious net-
work. Slavici’s novel Mara (published in a magazine in 1894, and 
as a volume in 1906) contains references to the construction of such 
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
105
relationships. Beyond the story of the main female protagonist, Mara, 
additional details surface regarding wealthy families, localized action, 
based on historical information offered, between the years 1850–1860 
(Slavici 844). Thus, when the circumstances are revealed that led to 
their reaching the provincial town, Slavici resorts to the identification 
of geographical landmarks. The multi-ethnical component shapes the 
narrative discourse, the novel being characterized by the permanent 
tension between the German, Hungarian and Romanian communities. 
Thus, the family of Națl Hubăr, who becomes the husband of Persida, 
Mara’s daughter, belongs to the Swabian community of Banat and, 
implicitly, to a different social class, due to Hubăr’s job as a butcher. 
The origins of Hubăroaie, Natl’s mother, are localized in the Austrian 
Empire, in Buda, while Hubăr, the father, comes from Vienna, the 
capital. We can thus notice that the urban networks become forms of 
analysis of social relations, status and the roles played by the characters:
A Swabian from Buda, she had married Hubăr while still very young, an 
industrious and merry Viennese, but with a short temper, and they had come 
here not so long ago, where they did not know anyone. With the help of her 
dowry, Hubăr had managed to gather within a few years, especially during the 
1848 revolution, quite a fortune. They were even luckier after the revolution, 
when Hubăr became, due to his being a German from Vienna, very respected, 
and their household became one of the most prominent ones. (43)
Special emphasis is placed on the presentation of ethnic origins, be-
cause not only did Hubăr hail from Vienna, but he was also German, 
being thus a double exile. Characters are thus moving between Arad 
and Vienna, with the latter being perceived as a space where they can 
sometimes seek refuge and find a solution to their personal or economic 
problems. The network created also advances a transfer of knowledge, 
as the characters bring with them to the region they settle in new men-
talities, customs and cultural constructs.
Slavici imagines the character of the Jewish merchant Griner who 
gives them a loan, playing the role of a creditor,1 an ever-present per-
sonage in any era. The leather merchant lends him three hundred flo-
rins, in order to be able to leave in the aftermath of the conflict with 
his father, at other times it is mentioned that he wants to borrow a 
couple of hundred florins in order to leave “far away from this world,” 
and during another episode of emotional turmoil he acts repetitively: 
1 Interest for economic elements in Slavici’s novels appears as early as 1943, e.g. 
Iorgulescu.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
106
“Tuesday evening, when Persida was with Bandi on the bridge, Naţl 
was sitting with his face in his hands, tormented by intense emotions 
before Oancea. He had taken five hundred florins from Griner and he 
had decided that he would depart for Arad and then for Vienna as soon 
as the sun would set.” (103) The florin was the currency the protago-
nists used in order to travel to imperial territories. Thus, for Persida, 
Vienna is simultaneously a point of attraction but also of repulsion, 
being seen as “the big noisy city,” and socializing as well as adapting 
to its rhythm changes Persida’s perception of it: “They spent the eve-
ning with Burdea, and around ten, when they returned home, Persida 
no longer felt that life in Vienna was insufferable. Time had passed 
without her noticing it; she had never spent more agreeable hours than 
those.” (178) The places of origin of the two characters are brought 
up, whether under the form of references to Națl’s visit to Buda, to 
see Hansler, his mother’s cousin, whether it is the discussion of cities 
where he had relatives: “Especially Hubăroaie was happy. They had 
friends in Arad, Timişoara and Lugoj; they had relatives—she in Buda 
and Pojon, and her husband in Vienna: wherever he would have gone, 
her son would have been well received, he would have even found a 
bride fit for his social status.” (43) The power centers brought up are 
Buda, Bratislava (Pojon) and Vienna, perceived as friendly cities for the 
inhabitants of Transylvania, which was part of the Empire.
What is also interesting is the characters’ relation to linguistic 
aspects, that creates a network generated by the urban spaces they hail 
from. Thus, the narrator points to the extent of the linguistic contami-
nation process and to the imposition of a dominant of power which 
constructs a hierarchy: “Persida and Naţl always spoke German. […] 
You will hate me terribly one day, he told her in Romanian.” (156) 
We can thus observe that during the moments of crisis, the couple 
renounces the official language, in order to use the language closer to 
their hearts as a linguistic vehicle, considering that Persida was the 
daughter of the Romanian Mara. About Națl we get to know that hav-
ing been “raised among Romanians, he spoke Romanian just as well as 
German” (37). Similarly, changing discourse according to the situation 
is done in order to highlight the manner in which the two communi-
ties relate to one another. During an argument with his father, the 
character tells him: “The drunkard Germans, he said in Romanian, are 
fighting like animals. Yes! He continued in German, they are right to 
mock us!” (143) We encounter here a reference to the prejudices sur-
rounding ethnic Germans, but also to the objective of appealing to the 
consciousness of the merciless father. Mara’s observations regarding the 
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
107
community churches brings up the topic of “colonizing,” as well as of 
the construction of a network made up of the clash between civiliza-
tions: “if one crosses the Murăş one gets to Lipova with its sparkly and 
ornate tower of the Romanian church, and downstream there is the 
endless plain of Hungary” (33; see also Bako). The tensions between 
communities are also fed by the fact that the times were ripe with ideas 
of independence, and the dissolution of the empire was at hand. Slavici 
introduces also a short analysis of foreign politics: “The young men 
enrolled in Mantua, Verona and Venice were writing that a certain 
Garibaldi had appeared, a great general, who seeks to unite Italians 
and raise them above the emperor; while Hungarians were whisper-
ing and bragging that their Kossuth had connections to Garibaldi and 
that he would return in spring in order to drive away the emperor’s 
guards.” (236) Indeed, the year 1859 is representative for the funda-
mental changes of political regimes, Garibaldi, who starting with the 
year 1860 coagulates a revolutionary movement in Italy, and the rela-
tionships between various conservative and liberal groups with immi-
grants gathering around Kossuth being destabilizing elements of the 
Austrian Empire. Important power centers now shift towards Italy and 
the Hungarian resistance, both becoming models for the fight for inde-
pendence. The example suggested by Slavici is presented with honesty, 
with the reader finding out that the Italians are fighting the foreign 
administration, throwing them into the sea, into the Garda Lake, into 
the Adige River and suggesting that Hungarians might do the same in 
order to gain independence. We are thus dealing with a European con-
textualization of Transylvania’s situation, where the administration was 
the body representing Austrian power. Not accidentally, I. Negoițescu 
notices the fact that on the one hand “cosmopolitism brings the author 
of Mara closer to the values of the old continent […] a typical repre-
sentative of the spirit of Central Europe,” and on the other hand we 
notice that “provincialism” one can find also in “the Italian novels of 
the second half of the 19th century” (Negoițescu 116). The idea of an 
obvious belonging to European literature is expressed, but which is 
nonetheless original by bringing to the forefront the particular situa-
tion of the Romanian space.
On the other hand, in the novel Cel din urmă armaș / The Last 
Governor (published in 1923 and apparently written in the Văcărești 
prison), the characters travel one step further from a geographical 
point of view. The time span of events is 1875–1880. In this time 
frame, the protagonist Iorgu and his wife go beyond alpha cities, those 
power centers, and reach the west, equating the journey to a process of 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
108
refining and climbing the social ladder and constructing a network. 
They use Vienna only as a stop on their way to Paris or as a medical 
center. Slavici associates Vienna with a space where characters can heal: 
“[W]e decided to stop in Vienna. There is a Romanian doctor there, 
Sterie Ciurcu, who opened a sanatorium and has connections to all 
medical celebrities. We will stay with him for a while and we will see 
what the Viennese celebrities will tell us.” (Slavici 269)
We find the same association also with Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu, 
Vienna becoming an alpha city in this network, a space of healing by 
offering solutions to bodily problems. The nineteenth century writer 
however observes that the best manner to have access to Viennese med-
ical services is by means of acquaintances, in this case the character of 
Stere Ciurcu. We can sense a certain degree of insecurity in handling 
the problem here, with the supporting character being characterized as 
a “Romanian doctor.” Dishevelled Maidens presents the protagonists 
on their journey to Vienna, the alpha city is analyzed also in her other 
novels, seen from a double vantage point: a place of education, but also 
perceived from the perspective of medical institutions, meant to bring 
about healing: “Lenora had gone to Vienna lately, where Coca-Aimee 
was studying and for a medical check-up. A hypochondria typical of 
spoiled women […]! It was caprice that had brought her to Vienna 
instead of Bucharest.” (Papadat-Bengescu 40) The urban space of 
Warsaw is associated with “a big export business” run by Drăgănescu. 
The journey then proceeds “with a stop in Vienna, in order to provide 
the doctors taking care of Lenora the latest medical letter” (53). What 
is also brought to the forefront are protagonists’ visits to Vienna, such 
as the one where in the course of ten days “Lenora walked around 
with Coca-Aimee, bargained, and made graceful conversation with the 
doctors” (54). However, the small landowner Drăgănescu becomes 
impoverished, the reason being “the trips to Vienna, the exaggerated 
unforeseeable spending, brought about by Lenora’s disease, his being 
kept from keeping an eye on the estate, that he had previously never 
abandoned.” (57)
The travels feature Vienna as a mandatory stop, seen as a city that 
simultaneously attracts and repels. If in the novel Mara, previously dis-
cussed, the protagonists had relatives in the Austrian Empire, and could 
thus identify with the space granting them power, even from a distance, 
in The Last Governor, alpha European cities are perceived by the pro-
tagonist as a power that attracts and fascinates, while at the same time 
remaining foreign. Whether they spend their honeymoon in “Vienna, 
where the newlyweds planned to stop for a few days and ended up staying 
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
109
for a few weeks” (Slavici 441) or make a short stop before heading further 
to Paris: “They were after all not the only Romanians who stopped in 
Vienna on their way to Paris” (442). We can notice the construction of 
a network corresponding to tourist destinations. From euro-peripheral 
spaces such as Bucharest or from rural spaces characters travel to European 
capitals, either in order to be fashionable, or out of snobbery, or because 
large urban settlements mean a loss of identity and an intense experience 
of life, involving gambling, parties, psychedelics or Bacchic orgies. For 
example, Mrs. Margot confesses to Iorgu her affairs with Zonas and the 
African Ali Buduc and the hallucinatory hashish experiences: “We were 
both taking hashish in our coffee.” (445) Thus, the characters advance 
practices typical for urban spaces. The urban network transfigures the 
characters who moving from one city to another come to experience new 
things. The characters’ journeys establish a true European itinerary, lead-
ing through Zurich, Geneve where Zonas buys pearls, through Nice and 
up to Paris where Iorgu becomes a cultural attaché. Travels are recorded 
with stops of several hundred kilometers, such as the following: “It seems 
like I caught a cold on the way, so I was very worried and had to stop in 
Vienna and then in Munich. I did not find Zoe in Zurich, but I was told 
she had departed to Geneva—and not alone, but accompanied by a rich 
Brazilian.” (447) Cities sometimes become a place of refuge, at other 
times the protagonist perceives the distance to his home country as an 
obligation, a duty by means of which he gained access to the new social 
class he was part of: “So, they all went to Paris, where it was even better 
and more beautiful than in Zurich. Iorgu felt like a stuffed doll being 
dragged around, that a madman had scorningly tied to the tail of a horse 
that had been whipped.” (470) Simultaneously, another hypostasis is 
the one of escaping personal issues by entering “the midst of people who 
are unaware of them, whether in Paris, in Switzerland, or in Munich” 
(474). Slavici’s characters are small landowners who have to constantly 
choose between taking care of their estate, or selling it and moving to 
the Capital, in order to experience the ongoing process of urbanization. 
Iorgu, torn between the two different attitudes understands “what the 
landowner loses if he gives up his estate,” an opportunity for the writer 
pleading for human rights to bring up the issue of property. If landown-
ers had “been allowed to create the necessary agricultural installations” 
(478), then, the character notes, the country would have also profited 
from it. The small Romanian landowner is attracted to foreign cities, 
traveling to such alpha cities becoming an obligation in order to main-
tain social status: “Most of them take loans in order to be able to spend 
the winter in Paris, Nizza or even Monaco” (478) says Talpă, one of the 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
110
novel’s characters. The influence of the cultural spaces visited is obvi-
ous, even in the interior design of homes: “The room was ready: ceiling 
and walls painted in the same color, the color of oily milk. The others, 
Pompeii style. The nobleman, a stylish man returning from Paris, had 
chosen everything to be simple but very beautiful, especially the ceiling, 
and the plasterer was working alongside two journeymen on the decora-
tions on the edges.” (478) The association with central spaces such as 
Paris becomes a form by means of which everything becomes contami-
nated with its image. Whether they are going to Nice or stop in Zurich 
to find “letters from home” (453), the characters travel through Europe 
sometimes out of sheer snobbery, at other times in order to maintain 
their status, but at all times relating to their acquaintances back home, 
in the Romanian space, whom they never break with. It is a journey that 
always bears a double sense: attraction towards the alpha city, contami-
nation with its force, transformation and the return to one’s own coun-
try, where social status is being reinforced. In fact, this is the role of the 
alpha city in the novels discussed: to offer the protagonist reaching them 
some of its attributes of force, to use them in the subordinate space. The 
global cultural network is described, based on the circulation of goods. 
Social status is measured by the desire to accumulate goods from far-
away places. The centers of wealth, seen as the only instrument for social 
climbers, are the European cultural spaces, to which objects from farther 
and farther places are added, like in an interconnected network: “Today 
furniture from Paris or at least Vienna, tomorrow Russian horses and 
expensive carriages, the day after that Persian rugs, gobelins, paintings, 
vases and various frills, and on top of that servants and more servants 
dressed like in Paris and offered a good life.” (287)
For the modernist novelist, Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu, giving up 
the estate and along with it life in the countryside brings about an 
emotional metamorphosis detailed by the narrator by means of allu-
sive observations: “Mrs. Eliza whispered something in approximate 
French,” “for the first time in city attire,” “an overcoat that seemed to 
hinder him” (Papadat-Bengescu 128). The description of another one 
of the characters, Mika-Le, is done by means of mentioning brands that 
marked the evolution of fashion in the beginning of the century, such 
as, precum Maison Lys or Couturier Premet: “[A] mannequin from 
Maison Lys, with very narrow hips, without life-giving thighs, created 
not for bearing children, but for wearing the latest creations of Premet, 
some silk scarf covering a non-existing body.” (128) At other times, 
reflector characters such as Mini and Nory bring up gossip topics, for 
example the remark concerning doctor Rim:
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
111
You, a feminist, the adept of great mentalities, harbor this sarcastic and vulgar 
tone! Still, she too said to herself inside her head, even if not out loud: “That 
ugly German!” It seemed like there was some method in the Romanian’s bad 
habit: elegance and cordiality towards strangers are always dependent on the 
latter’s attitude. Today, it was all Rim’s fault. He acted too aggressively and too 
much like a foreigner. (44)
In other novels such as Drumul ascuns / The Hidden Road, references 
to such spaces as Mont-Cenis appear, “where the guide teaches you 
to lean over and gaze into the abyss …” (Papadat-Bengescu 1087), 
or Geneva and Zurich: “Elena had been startled to find out that he 
had sold his apartment in Geneva, when he had departed for Zurich” 
(1087), centers of power especially from the perspective of Marcian’s 
profession of a musician. What seems interesting to us is the tableau-
like insert that brings up Darwinism, by means of a portrait hanging 
in doctor Walter’s salon: “The en pied portrait of Darwin was sur-
veying them.” (1103) Papadat-Bengescu multiplies perspectives out 
of a desire not to contour a dominant idea of the text, “the ances-
tral grimace” being useful for the human being in order to justify any 
action from a Nietzschean perspective. Corporeality is an animalic ele-
ment, by means of everything that prompts us to identify humans as 
“beasts,” as bereft of any moral principle. It is a remark reminiscent of 
Dostoevsky that the narrator makes here, because bringing up bestial-
ity, lack of self-control, representing a hypostasis of the “body” associ-
ated with a diseased consciousness. The constructed network becomes 
an evolutionary chain where the travelling characters exchange ideas, 
adopt attitudes or take over clothing preferences, all contributing to an 
interconnectedness of the Romanian and the European space.
Hierarchies: The city between subnational and supranational
Beyond the shadow of a doubt the history of literature is traced by 
means of the history of cities and the relationships existing between 
them, relationships that have shaped society since the earliest times. 
Whether we are speaking about antique spaces where manuscripts 
have encountered a space to expand, or whether we move closer to 
more recent times, the urban spaces have always shaped the itinerary 
of cultural ideas. The second idea supporting the model we initially 
advanced is the one of hierarchies. Thus, we can notice between the 
cities depicted in the novels analyzed not only a horizontal relation-
ship which constructed the networks, but also a vertical one, which 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
112
determined hierarchies: “Cities are simultaneously subnational, oper-
ating below nation at regional level, and supranational, transcending 
nation via city-to-city global circuits.” (Rooney 280) We notice that 
such a statement is applicable also to the cities depicted in Romanian 
novels. The Romanian space has a special status, because in its case 
we are dealing with a double hypostasis: firstly, the territorial frag-
mentation before the unification of 1918 and the different cultural 
adherences which have shaped the Romanian provinces in radically 
different ways. While Transylvania established hierarchical relations 
with the Austrian, and then the Austro-Hungarian Empire, of which 
it was a part for a period of time, the Romanian Principalities main-
tained a constant relationship with the Ottoman Empire and Oriental 
culture (even after the War for Independence in 1877). Some writ-
ers, among them also Slavici, whom we have mentioned above, in-
sert ideas related to foreign politics into their novels, containing this 
above-mentioned hierarchy.
If war were to break out between the Turks and the Russians, the battles could 
only have taken place at Romania’s borders with Russia, Romania being a 
vassal country of the Ottoman empire. […] Others thought that it would be 
best for the country to declare its independence, to cut ties with the Ottoman 
kingdom, which would have stopped the Russians from claiming right to cross 
the Prut River. (Slavici 235)
This is a sort of negotiation of power relations between global spaces, 
a realignment of hierarchies by means of force. Studying the manner 
in which hierarchical relations with “global” cities are reflected in lit-
erature proves a transnational interaction with other cultural spaces. 
This hierarchical pyramid generated by the relations between cities and 
implicitly between countries/empires can be traced also from the per-
spective of the peculiar situation of the Romanian spaces. Thus, in the 
case of Rebreanu’s prose hierarchies are established at a primary level 
by means of a certain “colonization” that is brought up by means of the 
linguistic criterion. In the novel Ion (1920), the Transylvanian writer, 
even though he brings to the narrative foreground an individuality, by 
means of the portrait of the Romanian peasant from Transylvania, cre-
ates a backdrop against which social, economic, political and cultural 
realities of the region are painted. Close to the moment of disintegra-
tion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Rebreanu’s characters experi-
ence intense personal and national tragedies. These are introduced into 
the narration in order to prove the existence of a latent state of ten-
sion. Thus, the deputy of the “constituency” in Armadia, Ion Ciocan, 
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
113
even though he was the principal of the Romanian school, “had flirted 
with the Hungarians, making compromises for their sake, introduc-
ing, mainly through the back door, the Hungarian language into the 
study programs” (Rebreanu, Opere 148, vol. 4) and being consequently 
rewarded with the position of a deputy. The same attitude of compro-
mise can be observed in the following fragment, “independence then 
gained him the professorship of Romanian literature at the University 
of Budapest and maintained the representation of Armadia in parlia-
ment until his death” (149). The lingering conflict between communi-
ties is captured by presenting the two candidates for the available posi-
tion of deputy, after Ciocan’s demise. The two candidates represent two 
communities: “Victor Grofşoru, a prominent lawyer from Armadia, 
supported by the entire Romanian community, and the banker Bela 
Beck, a Hungarian Swab from Budapest, who it was rumored was will-
ing to spend even a hundred thousand crowns and being a member of 
the government had at his disposal, with a most efficient discreetness, 
the support of bigger and smaller authorities” (149), two hypostases 
corresponding to two attitudes regarding the role of the Romanian 
community in the Budapest Parliament. Secondly, the hierarchy is es-
tablished by means of belonging to a social or professional category, 
as exemplified by Morillo’s pyramid, who placed local elites on the 
bottom, followed by elites and on top a “unitary political leader.” A 
character from Rebreanu’s prose, Ion Pintea, from Cernăuți, caught 
up in a debate with Titu, explains the role of politics and hierarchies, 
as experienced by a middle-class governmental clerk, by resorting to 
words such as “political turmoil,” “fights, harassment, scandal, filth,” 
“their small ambitions,” “disgust.” The conclusion that astonishes Titu 
and grants a new meaning to the ideas he had previously stood for is a 
sort of demolishment of patriotic discourse:
I believe freedom is the greatest misfortune for the nation not prepared for 
it. This is why you people here are happier, in spite of all your whining and 
revolt … This is the truth, my dear Sir! Here the Hungarians, foolishly, harass 
you, persecute you, subdue you—that is all true. This is your only luck, 
because this is what makes you strong, united and determined. The moment 
you would be granted liberty, you would do the same as us … The Hungar-
ians are dumb and make you stronger instead of weakening you. They would 
however destroy you the moment they would unchain you! (181)
The bitter conclusion reached by the character who had experienced such 
liberty in Cernăuți is internalized by Titu, a defender of Romanianism 
in all its forms. The discussion thus advances a hypostasis by means of 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
114
which solidarity is generated by a common enemy, a goal for which 
members of the community come together, a principle according to 
which even social movements function. Power, represented here by the 
dominating empire, plays the role of a “necessary evil,” which the oth-
ers, the weaker ones, gather to fight.
Another hypostasis of the hierarchies represented by the creation 
of an elite shaped in imperial cities such as Budapest, due to the 
characters’ studies at Hungarian universities. In Forest of the Hanged, 
Apostol Bologa receives a scholarship in order to study there: “The 
answer arrived three weeks later: he was granted a place in a ‘student 
college’ in Budapest, full board and even with a few crowns monthly 
as pocket money.” During the two years he spends studying in the 
capital-city he grows as an individual, however Rebreanu attributes 
a hypostasis to him by means of which the nostalgia for his native 
Parva and the nature which granted him freedom are seen in opposi-
tion to “life in the capital” which “he found insufferable. The noisy 
streets, people’s egoism, the mechanization of life bothered him” and 
“in nature he felt free and closer to the world’s heartbeat. Any time 
he could, he escaped the city. He knew the hills around Buda as well 
as the surroundings of Parva …” (Rebreanu, Opere 88, vol. 3). Thus, 
a hierarchy of cities is produced, according to the manner in which 
Apostol Bologa relates to these spaces: the urban development of 
Budapest and to what this power-space could offer him, he realizes 
that his manner of feeling is different, unable of granting him the 
individual protection he is craving. We can observe that certain ten-
sion between modernity, meaning evolution, including by bringing 
up university education, a source of changing mentalities, and the tra-
ditional represented by the attachment to his native, rural space. The 
incapacity to adapt is justified by his emotional makeup insufficiently 
adaptable to urbanization. In the novel other characters with different 
journeys appear, which are briefly described, in the manner of a bio-
graphical note: “He told him that he was a Saxon, the son of a peas-
ant, from a village next to Braşov, half of which were Romanians and 
the other half Saxons. […] He liked the book and he graduated from 
the Commercial Academy in Vienna. He had secured a position as 
accountant in a bank in Sibiu …” (88) In another one of Rebreanu’s 
novels, Răscoala / The Uprise (1932) Grigore Iuga studies abroad, but 
only in order to return to his country and “import” the knowledge he 
gathered there. The hierarchy is quite clear, advancing the solution of 
learning the “know-how”:
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
115
He had gone to Germany to specialize in agronomy, after he had received his 
BA in Law in Bucharest, not in order to practice, but merely to have a title. 
He left for three years, his mother died during the first year and the old man 
asked him to stay home, to abandon all this useless science. He barely agreed 
to allow him to continue studying for one more year. He returned from abroad 
with a head full of grand plans and with certain solutions for all hardships. 
(Rebreanu, Opere 88, vol. 8)
The 24-year-old young men had left to Germany to specialize in agron-
omy, an idea concordant with his country’s obvious ruralism, during 
those times. The influence of the German culture and education is ob-
vious, as the character’s studies were meant to modernize the tradi-
tional system. The father, “the old man” as he calls him in the novel, is 
the one who does not trust science, taking up a retrograde attitude, not 
at all open to novelty, and the son who could have changed something 
falls prey to the Nadina’s allure and renounces the power conferred to 
him by his studies abroad. In The Uprise comparisons to other alpha 
cities appear: the two capitals, Bucharest and Budapest. In a comment 
referring to the state of Father Belciug, a character in the novel Ion, it 
is noted that “Belciug should return to the country, as he had prom-
ised when the new church in Pripas was built; being a rich widower, 
he can easily come here and he won’t regret the money spent, because 
Bucharest is a more likeable city than Budapest, apart from being the 
heart of Romanians” (229). Paris, the French capital, is mentioned 
in connection with shopping for clothes, necessary for taking part in 
events such as the ones mentioned by Nadina:
There was, only in November, the opening of the Parliamentary Session, the 
Eleonora Duse and Feraudy performances, apart from the Paderewski concert. 
She had brought some things with her from Paris, when she returned home, 
but she soon realized with dread that with the multitude of events which 
claimed her presence, she could just well have been naked. (325)
As part of the same discussion, the relationship with the power center 
is analyzed by reminiscing about lost fortunes or big sums of money 
squandered, the city being seen as “a place of doom.” Reminiscent of 
“creolization” a space is thus described, keeping important elements 
imported from the hierarchic pyramid:
A small night-time restaurant, in a back street. A modest exterior. Inside 
blinding lights, sought-after luxury, warm atmosphere, real French waiters 
and some sensational attractions. The owner, from a noble family, with a dis-
tinguished name, who spent a huge fortune in Paris and build the restaurant 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
116
from whatever money he had left, in order to have an occupation, receives his 
customers personally and ceremoniously like a senior would receive his guests 
to a stylish reception. Raul Brumaru, of course, a friend of the owner’s, makes 
the introductions skilfully. And Nadina smiles delightedly and repeats over 
and over again: — Ah, oui, c’est vraiment très chic, très parisien! (323).
This mixture is created by bringing French elements to a Parisian loca-
tion, as part of an overtly expressed influence. Such references appear 
even during moments of happiness as “Raul Brumaru, more of an early 
bird than all of us, came down fully groomed, happy, joyfully humming 
a new tune that was incredibly popular in Paris” (467). Nadina’s hus-
band, Grigore Iuga, realizes that his wife’s life abroad implied “spend-
ing enormous amounts of money,” and what Platamonu had sent him, 
representing “his fall earnings paid out a few months in advance, even 
though only he knew how he had actually been able to conjure up 
such a huge sum” (479) had been squandered. The narrator’s attitude 
evinces his sympathy towards the downtrodden, and condemns the at-
titude of estate owners and landholders.
A systemic model: The Romanian novel
If in Ion, Rebreanu’s novel, the discussion gravitated primarily around 
the Hungarian language, in The Uprise we realize that the hypostases 
of language are different, as “Nobody on the editorial board spoke 
any other foreign language except French, so that nobody could read 
to them,” and because Titu Herdelea was “from abroad,” the secretary 
asked him to select from the German and Hungarian press the news 
about Romania and enslaved Romanians. He immediately offered him 
an impressive pile of virgin newspapers” (136). If in the novel published 
in 1920, the world described had relationships above all with the Austro-
Hungarian Empire, in The Uprise the vision is transformed, evincing a 
world “speckled like an oriental mixture” where we simultaneously see:
[W]orkers and clerks, then peasants walking in groups like scared sheep, ser-
vants in Hungarian peasant clothes, tiny soldiers, young ladies wearing exces-
sive makeup, eyeing all men, apprentices and high school students teasing 
each other and bumping into people and walls, juice sellers, Bulgarians wear-
ing brass bells, Turks carrying candy … (23)
The mixture noticed also by Rebreanu proves the existence of a new 
systemic model, where networks, by means of horizontally shaped 
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
117
relations between Romanian urban centers and foreign ones over-
lap with hierarchies, constructed vertically, as the oriental hypostasis 
evinces a taking over which brings chaos, as opposed to order. Nadina 
notices the “lack of civilization” that she attributes to the Orient, 
while Bucharest’s road to becoming a “civilized” city is attributed to 
the French influence. “Inside the carriage, wrapped in furs, Nadina 
said joyfully:—How good that Bucharest started to be more civilized, 
not only a place for grilled meat, loud music and bad behavior! … 
Don’t you agree, Grig?—Yes, of course!—And the musician was quite 
interesting! She added after a pause. Did you notice that he only sang 
for me?” (153).
As Morillo pointed, “the general cultural difference between the 
two types of structures, and indeed the different purposes for which 
each type of structure existed, made the intersection of networks and 
hierarchies potentially tense and conflicted, requiring a variety of cul-
tural and administrative mechanisms to mediate and regulate the ten-
sion” (Morillo 5). We can thus conclude that there exists, as part of 
the process of transferring knowledge, two essential phases that con-
struct a viable literary model generated by the Romanian space: the 
first is the one by means of which urban spaces become nodal points 
for the characters’ travels, whether we are referring to journeys through 
Transylvania towards Vienna or Budapest, or from Bucharest to Paris 
or other alpha cities. In the prose texts of the three writers who have 
served as case studies one can notice this openness towards the integra-
tion of Romanian cities, by means of the characters, into a European 
network. The second phase is the one where hierarchies are established, 
as the urban node network also means a hierarchization of city spaces. 
Starting out from the linguistic vehicle used by the characters and the 
power relations we can encounter in this context, until the analysis of 
foreign policies and the manner of election of political leaders, accord-
ing to the relation with a certain alpha city, a political center. The clash 
between cultural spaces is obvious in the texts analyzed, as inevitably 
between dominant and dominated an oppressive relationship is estab-
lished, which also constructs the pyramid of power relations. The urban 
center becomes the reflection of this systemic model, produced by the 
intersection of knowledge acquired in central and western Europe and 
the Oriental heritage.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
118
WORKS CITED
Agathocleous, Tanya. Urban Realism and the Cosmopolitan Imagination in the 
Twentieth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.
Bako, Alina. “Geocritical Readings of Romanian Literature: Maps and Cartography 
in Rebreanu’s Canonical Fiction.” The Slavonic and East European Review 99.2 
(2021): 230–255.
Bulson, Eric. Novels, Maps, Modernity: The Spatial Imagination, 1850–2000. New 
York, NY: Routledge, 2006.
Casanova, Pascale. The World Republic of Letters. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University 
Press, 2004.
Derrida, Jacques. “Plato’s Pharmacy.” Dissemination. London: Athlone Press, 1981. 
61–172.
Eade, John. Living the Global City: Globalisation as Local Process. London: Routledge, 
1997.
Finch, Jason, Lieven Ameel and Markku Salmela, eds. Literary Second Cities. Cham: 
Palgrave Macmillan, 2017.
Iorgulescu, Mihail. “The Economic Element in Slavici’s Work.” Marginalia. Bucharest: 
Casa Şcoalelor, 1943.
Lehan, Richard. The City in Literature. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 
1998.
McNamara, Kevin. The Cambridge Companion to the City in Literature. Cambridge: 
Cambridge University Press, 2014.
Morillo, Stephen.  Frameworks of World History. Networks, Hierarchies. Culture. 
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013.
Negoițescu, Ion. History of Romanian Literature. volume I (1800–1945). Bucharest: 
Minerva, 1991.
Papadat-Bengescu, Hortensia. Opere (Works). Bucharest: Romanian Academy, 2012.
Quayson, Ato, and Jini Kim Watson. Colonial Modernity, and World Literature in 
The Cambridge companion to the city in world literature. Cambridge: Cambridge 
University Press, 2023.
Rebreanu, Liviu. Opere (Works). 22 volumes. Bucharest: Minerva, 1970–2003.
Rooney, Brigid. “Haunted Vitality Sydney.” Colonial Modernity, and World Literature 
in The Cambridge companion to the city in world literature Eds. Ato Quayson and 
Jini Kim Watson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2023. 279–295.
Slavici, Ioan. Opere (Works) 1–2. Bucharest: Minerva, 2003.
Soja, Edward W. Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-Imagined 
Places. Oxford: Blackwell, 1996.
Alina Bako:     Cities, Networks, and Hierarchies: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel
119
Mesta, omrežja in hierarhije: sistematični model 
romunskega romana
Ključne besede: romunska književnost / romunski roman / imagologija / mesto / 
omrežja / hierarhije / sistemski model
V članku opazujemo, kako je mogoče uporabiti mesto kot narativni scenarij in 
s tem vplivati na ustvarjanje sistemskega modela znanja. Izhajajoč iz Morillove 
teorije, ki urbane prostore analizira z opazovanjem interakcije med omrežji, 
ki jim pripadajo, in hierarhijami, ki jih vzpostavljajo, ter nazadnje postanejo 
»vozlišča znanja«, bomo skušali dokazati, da predstavljajo romunski romani s 
konca 19. stoletja in iz obdobja med vojnama dragocene mejnike za zarisova-
nje sistemskega modela Jugovzhodne Evrope. Specifičnost romunske književ-
nosti, ki odraža zgodovinske razmere in odnose z imperiji, kot sta avstro-ogr-
ski ali otomanski, ter vzpostavitev delovnih razmerij ob prehodu s podeželske 
na pospešeno urbanizacijo ustvarja ustrezno matrico. Te vidike lahko srečamo 
v romanih pisateljic in pisateljev romunske književnosti, kot sta Ioan Slavici 
in Liviu Rebreanu, ki odsevajo realnost transilvanskega prostora ter odnosov 
med skupnostmi Romunov, Nemcev, Sasov in Švabov, Madžarov, Judov, vse 
do Hortensie Papadat-Bengescu, pisateljice, ki je orisala podobo Bukarešte kot 
dela evropske urbane mreže, četudi hierarhično podrejene Parizu.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 821.135.1.09
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.06

The Particular as a Locus of 
Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
Joshua Bence Kun
Kodolányi János University, Department of International Relations and History
Frangepán u. 50-56., Budapest 1139, Hungary
https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8587-8960
bence.kun@warwickgrad.net
In this article I examine the micrological method developed by Ernst Jünger in The 
Adventurous Heart and later writings. I understand micrology as a philosophical-
literary approach to describing individual objects that shed light on the broader 
context in which they are situated, especially insofar as this context resists 
conventional discursive practices. First, I argue that, contrary to popular belief, 
Jünger’s metaphysical presuppositions are not at odds with the social insights he 
arrives at in his micrological works. In doing so, I will show that some of Jünger’s 
illustrations have considerable socio-historical significance. I then propose 
that there is substantial correspondence between Jünger’s entomological and 
micrological perspectives, in part because they both rely on locating unlikely traces 
of difference in a seemingly ordinary or uniform setting. Given the relative lack 
of scholarship on the structure of micrological enquiry, particularly in relation to 
Jünger’s fragments, addressing these problems requires a more detailed account of 
the formal qualities of a micrological model.
Keywords: philosophy / Jünger, Ernst / social critique / Platonism / insect / micrology
121
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Despite his prolific work on cultural history, epistemology, ecology, psy-
chedelics, and an array of refreshingly idiosyncratic subjects such as the 
imaginary geographies of a post-apocalyptic future, Ernst Jünger has an 
uneasy place in the Western literary and philosophical canon. This is in 
no small part due to his nationalist leanings and controversial political 
commitments after the First World War. While the tide seems to be 
slowly turning with the recent publication of Jünger’s writings on altered 
states (Jünger, Approaches), Peter Hohendahl’s contention that Jünger’s 
achievements are overshadowed by his ambiguous relation to authoritar-
ianism remains pertinent even today, particularly in Anglo-American ac-
ademia (Hohendahl 248–249). It should be possible to discuss Jünger’s 
theory beyond an interpretive framework centered entirely on his reac-
tionary sentiments without denying these intellectual influences.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
122
My article explores Jünger’s philosophical rhetoric, specifically the 
way in which he reconstructs a situation by reflecting on individual 
objects usually ignored in systematic inquiry. On this conception, 
the thinker selects a seemingly inconsequential event or entity which 
serves as a master key to understanding the state-of-affairs at large. It is 
hoped that a non-linear account of an oft-overlooked detail, presented 
in an experimental context, helps us apprehend some substantial fact 
about the world we navigate in our daily experience. Following Davide 
Giuriato, I call this method micrology (Giuriato 102).
My use of the term micrology therefore differs from its application 
in the physical sciences, where it refers to the microscopic examina-
tion of particles imperceptible to the naked eye (Guyer). What is at 
stake here, instead, is a philosophico-literary approach to describing 
small, commonplace objects so that they reveal multi-stranded layers of 
meaning. Indeed, the underlying assumption of micrology is that trivial 
matters like a clast of rock or a broken ornament, captured in a vivid, 
gradually expanding and unfamiliar textual setting, can be traced to 
hidden complexities relevant to our being human. To borrow Jünger’s 
metaphor from a diary entry on poetic recognition, micrology in this 
sense is akin to “gathering a bundle of seaweed from the ocean” which, 
“when dragged up into the light, reveals an extensive system of fila-
ments” (Neaman ix). Rather than discarding these “weeds” as contin-
gent and, by implication, unimportant, the micrologist pursues them 
to a network of interrelated ideas and processes concealed beneath the 
surface. This is achieved through the close scrutiny of the marks and 
blemishes unique to a given thing, which are then read as a script to a 
set of culturally significant circumstances the object, or our perception 
of the object, has been informed by. The study of micrology thus con-
ceived could contribute to hermeneutics, and improve our understand-
ing of how a text facilitates intellectual discovery through an interplay 
of factual content and nonpropositional means.
After a cursory review of secondary sources, I elaborate on the 
characteristic features of micrology by looking into Jünger’s book The 
Adventurous Heart, as well as critical theories with a shared focus on 
minutiae, most notably that of Walter Benjamin.1 Though certain 
parallels between Jünger’s micrological strategies and those of the 
Frankfurt School have already been observed, this comparison is con-
tested on the grounds that Jünger’s philosophical assumptions, unlike 
1 Besides Benjamin’s One-Way Street and Arcades Project, other philosophical works 
with a decidedly micrological perspective include Bloch’s Traces and Adorno’s Minima 
Moralia.
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
123
those of Critical Theory, supposedly hinder social analysis (Bullock, 
“Walter”). I show that this objection is mistaken by probing into 
Jünger’s metaphysics. I continue by interrogating Jünger’s literary 
snapshots against the backdrop of his philosophically informed study 
of insects in Subtile Jagden, an untranslated notebook from the late 
1960s. In this connection, I argue that the realm of insects serves as a 
particularly compelling entry point to the kind of insight the micro-
logical thinker seeks to attain.
Before I begin, a number of qualifications seem to be in order. 
What is the connection between micrology and the thought-image 
(Denkbild), which is a certain mode of expression with its begin-
nings in early twentieth century continental philosophy? Based on 
Gerhard Richter, I interpret thought-images as an aesthetic engage-
ment with ideas, attempts at a “condensed, epigrammatic writing in 
textual snapshots” (Richter 2). As Richter explains, thought-images 
are self-contained, theoretically charged pieces of prose with no narra-
tive bias. Indeed, he suggests that any visually striking textual descrip-
tion of a particular thing can be considered a thought-image, espe-
cially insofar as it is meant to destabilize the conventional boundaries 
between philosophy, literature, journalistic vignettes, and cultural cri-
tique (Richter 7). A thought-image may or may not be deployed with 
the intention of highlighting an intractable quality or relation in our 
broader social environment. As such, it is not, strictly speaking, neces-
sary for a Denkbild to be embedded in a micrological framework. At 
the same time, micrological writing relies heavily on thought-images to 
illustrate the distinctive aspects of an entity; in fact, thought-images are 
central to micrological portraits. With this in mind, I may use the two 
terms interchangeably when, and insofar as, a thought-image provides 
insight into important contextual clues by zeroing in on an object.
Furthermore, philosophical micrologies draw extensively on the 
modernist poetic experiments of Louis Aragon, Gottfried Benn, and 
Carl Einstein, among others (Bures and Neaman 11; Marcus xiv). As 
Michael Jennings notes, they are also comparable to the surrealist gloss 
and the Dadaist photomontage (Jennings 2–3). While these affinities 
bear further examination, I have to restrict the inquiry to thought-
images with a clear theoretical import, ignoring artistic efforts focused 
on representation alone.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
124
Critical views on Jünger’s works
Though Jünger’s textual snapshots have not received a great deal of 
attention outside Germany, some studies do touch on his rhetoric 
(Bullock, Violent Eye; Strathausen; Ohana; Huyssen; Peters). These 
commentaries have two shared features. First, they parse Jünger’s mi-
crology through his early writings on war. Strathausen opines that 
Jünger’s fragments are fundamentally informed by the way physical 
battle contorts the human body and warps perception (Strathausen 
141), as Jünger describes it in his wartime memoir Storms of Steel. This 
tracks with Bullock’s observation that the miniatures “extol the virtues 
of heroic conflict,” which Bullock traces to Jünger’s memories of com-
bat (Bullock, “Walter” 563).
Second, they suggest that Jünger’s philosophical project, his microl-
ogy included, conceals social contradictions with a metaphysical 
veneer. Strathausen takes Jünger to task for his “radical superimposi-
tion of metaphysical concepts over material reality,” which is ostensi-
bly meant to obscure “rather than investigate the traumatic fragmenta-
tion of modern life” (Strathausen 126, 128). He further contends that 
Jünger “reduce[s] history to the metaphysical realm of eternal being” 
(Strathausen 143). Bullock concurs, and remarks that Jünger explains 
away societal conflicts as a matter of “cosmic necessity”; Ohana adds 
that such a standpoint makes Jünger oblivious to human suffering at 
large (Bullock, “Walter” 573; Ohana 754). Huyssen goes so far as to 
claim that Jünger’s “metaphysical mush” serves as a “distraction” from 
real social problems (Huyssen 4).
Entering Jünger’s thought-images through his phenomenology of 
war is reasonable enough. After all, Jünger’s micrological works make 
frequent reference to the experience of war and warfare in general 
(Peters 146). Taking two of many possible examples, The Adventurous 
Heart compares microscopes and telescopes to cannons to the extent 
that they are all “weapons used by life.” Likewise, “the silent gnawing 
of caterpillars” in the forest reminds Jünger of the Battle of Freiburg, 
specifically the commander’s quip on how much destruction daily life 
involves (Jünger, Abenteuerliche Herz 184; Jünger, Adventurous 30).2 
Indeed, there does appear to be a substantial connection between 
Jünger’s idea of combat and the everydayness of ephemeral objects 
2 The first quotation is found in the original edition of The Adventurous Heart and 
was left out of the English translation. The text is translated and quoted in Strathausen 
(133).
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
125
he contemplates in his miniatures. With that said, the critic would 
be hard-pressed to capture the philosophical purchase of a Jüngerian 
thought-image through this lens alone.
The second assertion, however, strikes me as tenuous. I will attempt 
to show that Jünger’s metaphysics is not at odds with an accurate por-
trayal of sociohistorical processes; that a number of his miniatures dem-
onstrate an acute awareness of the anguish caused by the instrumental-
ization of modern life; and that his approach can be pressed into service 
for critical social inquiry.
The structure of a micrological model
Since micrological descriptions are rich in imagery, it is best to start 
with an illustration before I move on to a more detailed account of 
their constitutive features. What follows is a rough sketch of the sixty-
eighth fragment in Jünger’s The Adventurous Heart.
The scene opens in Torvet, a small Norwegian harbor. A familiar 
sight: the shipping vessels have returned from the sea and are anchored 
at the docks. The stands are brimming with fresh fish while merchants 
and customers haggle over the price. The observer notices a pollock, 
“a slick, glossy cod sometimes caught in huge numbers and also called 
coalfish for its black skin” (Jünger, Adventurous 161). The pollock, a 
black mark on the canvas of Torvet, struggles for its life as it is grabbed 
by a market boy. Without looking at the prey, the boy slits its throat 
while flirting with a servant girl.
The scene is suddenly suspended. The market is revealed to be full 
of black dots, with thousands of cod spread over as if on a tapestry, 
quivering as they are dispatched. The image is framed by the color-
ful kiosks of florists providing entertainment to tourists and visitors, 
as if to conceal the encounter inside. The gruesomeness of the opera-
tion is accentuated by, and inextricable from, the lively spectacle of the 
market. Indeed, there is a “distressing contrast” between the mechani-
cal inattentiveness with which the fish are processed and the pain this 
causes, the withering of life and the casual romantic advances of the 
young merchant. Like the pollock, the merchant is consumed by his 
immediate surroundings, and like the pollock, he is unaware of the 
complex web of relations he is caught up in. The perpetrator is shown 
to be the casualty of the same ruthlessness he unknowingly exhibits.
It may be hoped that history books in two-hundred years will help 
us understand this system with all its tensions and entanglements. 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
126
However, this is unlikely. Concerned with world-historical events and 
taxonomies, historiography tends to dismiss such vital details as contin-
gent. The “dot on the I,” the pain in the victim’s eyes, will be forgotten 
(Jünger, Adventurous 161).
This portrait is indicative of how thought-images in general are 
structured. Instead of describing a problem or situation in a linear-
expository fashion, the micrological thinker presents an image as the 
starting point for further analysis (Benjamin, Arcades 460; Kirst 515). 
The idea is to frustrate the reader’s expectations by denying immedi-
ate explanation or a set of clearly defined premises. It is hoped that 
lingering on a scene, letting it speak for itself, as it were, may prompt 
an interpretive attitude less constrained by the traditional modalities 
of philosophical reasoning (Benjamin, Arcades 857). In addition to 
establishing a tone, the opening provides a visual component to the 
written material, a panoramic setting the reader is immersed in. The 
central object is situated against this backdrop, like a cast iron figure 
amid the hustle and bustle of a busy street in nineteenth century Paris, 
as portrayed in Benjamin’s Arcades Project (151). The same scene can 
serve as a background for different objects throughout a series of liter-
ary miniatures.
At first blush, the object of the micrologist’s interest appears uncom-
plicated. It may be something innocuous like an advertisement for salt, 
a rock crystal at the Mineralogical Institute, or an unopened letter 
(Benjamin, Arcades 173–174; Jünger, Adventurous 53–54; Benjamin, 
One-Way Street 80). It could also be something curious or mildly unset-
tling, though not obviously out of the ordinary, such as an automated 
doll or an indecipherable note (Benjamin, Arcades 693; Bloch 84–87).
The micrological writer begins to investigate the thing in question, 
exploring it for any signs or blemishes suggestive of its history. He lists 
a number of seemingly arbitrary details which he elaborates in light of 
the object as a totality, moving back and forth between these individual 
characteristics and the whole picture. For instance, the signboard adver-
tising salt is shown to contain a desert landscape and a horse-drawn 
wagon loaded with sacks. The letters of the promotional text, the most 
conspicuous element of the poster, are formed from the salt trickling 
out of a sack on the carriage. The trail of salt leads into the unknown 
distance, disappearing from view at the edge of the frame (Benjamin, 
Arcades 173–174). Through careful scrutiny, the object is revealed to 
be more perplexing and unusual, more complex or problematic than 
expected. In addition to the content of a thought-image or any loosely 
defined narrative elements, much depends on the writer’s language in 
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
127
effectively conveying the object’s unfamiliarity. Indeed, such a shift 
in perspective trades on unconventional turns of phrase, strategically 
placed punctuation marks, omissions, and interjections typical of a 
literary riddle (Kirst 516). Following Adorno, the micrological phi-
losopher inspects a thing under the “Gorgon glance of strangeness,” 
and attempts to elicit a similar cognitive response through his prose 
(Adorno, Prisms 224).
The estranged object is then brought to the fore. The dynamic pro-
cesses an entity is affected by are frozen in time, providing a snapshot 
of certain conflicts or conundrums which might otherwise be glossed 
over as transient. By suspending the image in a “standstill” (Helmling 
5), the object is presented as a repository of previously unrecognized 
tensions that point beyond it. Simply put, the micrologist contends 
that a number of theoretically relevant situations have left their mark 
on the object, and that the thing at hand serves as a clue to retracing 
and better understanding them.3 On the micrologist’s view, the object 
attests to tensions such as differences in interest, conflicts in ownership, 
historical contingencies, or clashes between natural and social forces, 
among others.
In order to highlight these tensions, the micrologist tends to distin-
guish between a thing as a member of a species or an element in a given 
category, and a thing as irreproducible. It is owing to this contrast that 
a particular is taken to be indicative of a more comprehensive problem 
or situation (Weissberg, 28). In other words, an object helps us obtain 
important insights about the state-of-affairs insofar as it is not only a 
type, but also its own thing, a sui generis entity different from oth-
ers of its kind. What is usually at focus is a crack on a wooden toy, a 
discolored flower petal, a dent on a cushion, or “the ruffle on a dress” 
(Benjamin, Arcades 69). How, under what conditions, has this object 
come to be what it is? How are the processes which determine its spe-
cific qualities reproduced in the world? That is to say, in what other 
circumstances do these processes appear? Are there any necessary con-
nections between the manifold contexts a thing or entity is ensconced 
in, and if so, what new ideas can we discover from them? These are 
some of the questions a philosophical miniature deals with.
Having examined the object, the micrological gaze gradually expands 
the view, moving to broader layers of context. In Strahlungen, Jünger 
3 These marks are not necessarily physical. Napoleon’s pocket watch could well be 
like any other in appearance, but we may still recognize it as distinctive, as having been 
marked by its unqiue historical situation, from contextual clues.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
128
depicts a recreational park, where he observes a Sumatra chicken. He 
describes its tail feathers, and then compares the bird to the other ani-
mals on display. He goes on to discuss how small differences in the 
animal kingdom help us distinguish between similar breeds, before 
turning his attention to a nearby pond. A falling chestnut creates undu-
lations on the water’s surface, revealing a delicate tapestry of aquatic 
life. Jünger contemplates how this minor incident exemplifies the 
emergence of novelty, the way a newly introduced element transforms 
closed systems. He notes how the rippling waves change one’s impres-
sion of the shoreline and the surrounding trees, as well as occupied 
Paris where the scene takes place. The world outside encroaches on 
the opening image and lends it a more ominous expression (Jünger, 
Strahlungen 144–146; Gorenstein 204–207).
Through these expanding layers, the writer assembles a horizon-
tal network of things and ideas from the bottom up, as it were. Each 
object is a tile on the map of an era, a puzzle piece to apprehending the 
state-of-affairs. The resulting constellation discloses a range of mean-
ings not usually accessible via a broad-brush reconstruction of events. 
As a case in point, the Passage Véro-Dodat from Benjamin’s Arcades 
Project is typically described as an ornate Parisian thoroughfare built 
in 1826, connecting the Rue de Bouloy and the Rue Grenelle-Saint-
Honoré. It is widely recognized as part of an architectural project to 
shelter pedestrians and incentivize the growing French middle class to 
purchase luxury goods. Benjamin, however, is more interested in the 
visual effect of the gaslight globes scattered throughout the passage, a 
shop inscription formed from characters resembling spines, pheasants 
and hares, or the fact that “the actress Rachel lived [t]here for a while” 
(Benjamin, Arcades 33); he weaves these elements together to present 
an intimate, high-resolution portrait of Véro-Dodat. Using Jünger’s 
expression, he probes into the “shadow[s] of contingency” that haunt 
the places we inhabit (Jünger, Strahlungen 165–166; Gorenstein 206).4 
Indeed, the persistent thrust of the micrologist’s effort is to offer multi-
ple perspectives on the same phenomenon, to show it as richly textured 
and inexhaustible by bringing these shadows into light.
Finally, the micrological model generates new concepts and associa-
tions. Locating apparently unrelated minutiae and establishing intel-
lectually convincing connections or contrasts between them is akin to 
4 “A soft dissent, a shadow of contingency” is Gorenstein’s translation of a passage 
in Jünger, which describes how novelty emerges in the world: “das Neue wirkt immer 
so, daß es zunächst ans Gültige sich anfügt, als zarter Widerspruch, als Schatten der 
Möglichkeit.”
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
129
a game of incomplete information, where the previously unexplored 
linkages provoke further reflection and lead to more intricate philo-
sophical terms (Jünger, Adventurous 95). As an example, Bloch arrives 
at the idea of a “trace,” defined as an entity’s utopian potential, through 
his inquiry into particulars such as a straw hat at a protest or a kit-
ten who leaps at a guard dog (Bloch 11–12, 30–31). Likewise, Jünger 
elaborates the notion of “désinvolture,” which he understands as the 
nonchalance of a grand gesture, through the image of a child grabbing 
a golden apple from a banquet table (Jünger, Adventurous 114).
Jünger’s metaphysics and micrology
With this framework in place, I can return to the critics’ objections to 
Jünger. As a reminder, Jünger is charged with superimposing “meta-
physical concepts over material reality,” which supposedly obfuscates 
social problems and the “fragmentation of modern life.”
There are two possible ways of interpreting this remark in the context 
of my study. First, the critic could mean that the ideas Jünger expounds 
in his aphorisms, though sometimes superficially related to sociohis-
torical processes, are unconvincing or unsound because Jünger explains 
social phenomena by recourse to a simplistic metaphysical model.
This suggestion does not stand up to scrutiny. Take the twentieth 
miniature from The Adventurous Heart, where Jünger explores the cul-
tural significance of gift-wrapping. Jünger notes how gift-wrapping as 
performed by individual vendors is an act of ceremonial affirmation 
which was once crucial to all acts of exchange but has largely been 
abandoned due to the proliferation of self-service shops. He traces the 
practice to the merchant’s intention of giving a conclusive touch to 
the finished work in celebration of his craft. He further depicts the 
wrapped gift as a shared secret, a sort of pact between buyer and seller 
against an industry “which seeks to demote [the shopkeeper] to the 
level of a mere distributor” (Jünger, Adventurous 65). He then contrasts 
this with the kiosk, where the merchant has already adopted the stan-
dards of the industry, and the goods are encased in “always-identical, 
weighed, measured and taxed little packet[s]” (66). For Jünger, these 
mass-produced items have something substantial in common with the 
customers of a large retail store, waiting to be serviced in the same uni-
form, indifferent, and excruciatingly mundane manner.
While such illustrations certainly reference characterology and 
myth, Jünger does not attempt to account for his observations on 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
130
society through this framework. His investigation of social issues is 
grounded in a sustained reflection on particular objects and material 
conditions. Its cogency or lack thereof does not depend on Jünger’s 
beliefs about the cosmos or man’s nature, whatever they might be. 
More precisely put, even when a miniature brings together metaphysi-
cal and sociohistorical claims, it is exceedingly rare for the former to 
serve as the primary scaffolding of the latter. No “superimposition” 
takes place, and the fragmentation of modern life is, pace Strathausen, 
clearly articulated.
Perhaps a more charitable reading of the critics’ objection could 
lead us further. Maybe the critics are implying that Jünger’s metaphysi-
cal assumptions are in tension with the insights he derives from his 
micrological snapshots, especially when they concern sociohistorical 
matters. In order to determine whether this contention is justified, I 
will briefly look at Jünger’s metaphysics.
As Blok notes, Heidegger argues that Jünger’s metaphysical theory 
is Platonic (Blok 59–60).5 On this reading, Jünger postulates a tran-
scendental realm of Beings which prevails over the phenomenal world. 
Otherwise put, he asserts that particular objects acquire their distinctive 
features by virtue of their correspondence to simple and incomposite 
Forms. This would mean that Jünger accords ontological primacy to an 
ideal domain of things removed from everyday experience, and consid-
ers individual differences derivative of these universals. The objects we 
generally encounter would be deemed more or less imperfect depend-
ing on their resemblance to a Platonic Idea, meaning that the latter 
would carry out a regulatory function. Accordingly, superior forms of 
knowledge would be obtained by speculation about, or an intuitive 
access to, Ideas.
It is easy to find passages in Jünger which seem to corroborate this 
interpretation. For example, he regularly alludes to primal images or 
archetypes appearing and reappearing in diverse historical configura-
tions (Strathausen 127). He compares these to flowers and fruits that 
emerge with dissimilar characteristics in varying climates, but neverthe-
less belong to the same taxon (Jünger, Adventurous 167). Likewise, he 
contends that certain values as well as patterns of experience reoccur 
consistently and independently in different individuals living under 
very different conditions (Jünger, “Sizilischer” 174), and that these 
similitudes cannot be justified on biological grounds alone. Finally, 
5 As Blok warns, Heidegger is aware of Jünger’s attempt to transcend Platonism 
by introducing the notion of a vital force, but argues that Jünger’s attempt fails. In 
Heidegger’s view, Jünger ultimately reverts to a Platonic perspective.
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
131
Jünger’s travelogues often gesture towards a unity discernible in natural 
phenomena which nevertheless exceeds the objects themselves (Jünger, 
Subtile 101). For Jünger, this indicates a “total design” in the world 
(Steiner 72–73).
If this reconstruction of Jünger is correct, it may indeed be a tall 
order to square his metaphysics with the micrologist’s enthusiasm for 
the irreproducible. Assuming this is all there is to the issue, we may 
be led to believe that Jünger’s metaphysics compels him to treat the 
idiosyncrasies central to a philosophical thought-image as secondary or 
inessential compared to the Form they supervene on. As such, whatever 
conclusions we were to draw from closely observing the particular, we 
would be better off contemplating the realm of Ideas instead.
Furthermore, the notion that Jünger’s transcendental realm consists 
entirely of universal types implies, at least on the face of it, a kind of 
stasis or permanence. If all objects at all times participate in the singular 
Idea of the perfect object, and these Ideas constitute the “real” nature 
of things, we have good reason to presume that the “real” is immutable. 
On this view, whatever transformations we experience in the world 
“below,” we would be consoled by the certainty that, on the deepest 
ontological level, nothing really ever changes, that there is ultimately 
nothing new under the Sun. While it may not be impossible to recon-
cile this framework with Jünger’s study of contingent social processes, 
the critic could arguably insist that, at the very least, these two aspects 
of Jünger’s thought do not sit well together.
With that said, Jünger is not a Platonist in any conventional sense. 
On the one hand, his metaphysics certainly has Platonic elements, 
including his commitment to a unity or totality behind the material 
world, as well as the existence of a priori types or Ideas manifested in 
recurring patterns. On the other hand, however, his metaphysical sys-
tem heavily relies on Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. Accordingly, Jünger 
depicts the totality he refers to as a dynamic force, a constant becoming, 
a vital energy which inhabits the object-world and generates change 
(Bures and Neaman 39; Jünger, “Siebzig” 209). Like Schopenhauer, he 
posits that this primal flux is responsible for the principle of individua-
tion in the phenomenal realm, without itself being subject to the same 
principle. In addition, and following Nietzsche, he portrays it as a self-
determining impulse towards creation and destruction, a cacophony 
of drives and desires (Bures and Neaman 30). He asserts that there 
are “powerful, immediate reserves” of this force in particular things 
and gestures which cannot easily be located in any universal sym-
bol (Jünger, Subtile 252–253; Adventurous 112). Recurring patterns 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
132
notwithstanding, this allays our concerns about the immutability of the 
metaphysical substrate Jünger conjectures.
Regarding the types or Ideas which Jünger nevertheless commits to, 
their status as transcendental entities does not accord them epistemic 
primacy in any obvious manner. Since Jünger complicates the rela-
tion between essence and appearance (Jünger, Adventurous 47–48), and 
does not accept the Platonic notion that things which are more perma-
nent are at the same time necessarily more “real,” even their ontological 
preponderance requires further qualification. Simply stated, these Ideas 
have ontological priority only to the extent that the essential charac-
teristics of certain entities are predicated on their existence, not in the 
sense that they encompass what one might call “the true nature of real-
ity” (Jünger, Worker 19).6 In Jünger’s perspective, fleeting phenomena 
are not any less real, or any more lacking in substance, than an ideal 
type. While he admits that it is possible to gain intuitive access to the 
transcendental domain he postulates in exceptional spiritual encoun-
ters (Jünger, “Sizilischer” 170), he deems it impossible to fully account 
for the diversity of the phenomenal world through such moments of 
insight (Jünger, Subtile 27).7 Since Jünger’s totality is dynamic, it can-
not be apprehended in a way that would lay bare all the contingencies 
of the physical realm at any particular instance. Even epiphanies of a 
metaphysical kind grant no shortcut to discovering life in its richness.
Admittedly, this leaves us with a number of questions. How can 
Jünger justify the existence of fixed archetypes if he professes that the 
object-world rests on a constant becoming? How could these types 
possibly emerge? How does Jünger situate the realm of Ideas within 
his Schopenhauerian-Nietzschean model? Does he conceive of these 
as separate metaphysical strata, or does he follow Schopenhauer in 
considering Ideas different “grades of objectification” of the creative-
destructive force (Schopenhauer 155)?
Jünger offers no readily apparent answer to these questions. Indeed, 
he may well be charged with failing to explain how the Platonic and 
6 Even in his more detailed discussion of “forms” in The Worker, Jünger maintains 
that the “singular” (das Einzelne) is as integral to the structure of reality as the “type” 
or the “Gestalt,” and that the former cannot necessarily be derived from the latter. “No 
dividing up of the form leads back to the individual.”
7 This is made particularly clear in Jünger’s philosophical entomology. To take one 
example, Jünger contends that we could not exhaust substantial differences between 
the individuals of a species even if we “lived to be a hundred years old (Selbst zu 
seiner Erfassung würde unser Leben, auch wenn wir hundert Jahr alt würden, nicht 
ausreichen).”
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
133
Schopenhauerian-Nietzschean aspects of his theory map onto each 
other. Had this been the critic’s complaint, he would stand validated. 
The argument, however, that Jünger’s metaphysical project undercuts 
the idea that heterogeneous or idiosyncratic phenomena can arise, be 
discerned, and have considerable epistemic significance in our making 
judgements about the social environment, is misplaced.
The insect as the locus of a thought-image
This concludes my response to Jünger’s critics. There is, however, an-
other promising angle to exploring Jünger’s micrological framework. I 
am referring to his philosophically inspired study of insects in Subtile 
Jagden which, albeit largely ignored in scholarship, shows strong af-
finity with his snapshots in The Adventurous Heart.8 To be specific, I 
believe that probing into Jünger’s entomology brings us closer to un-
derstanding the micrological perspective, in part because the world of 
insects offers a particularly rewarding, if underappreciated, basis for 
micrological inquiry (Jünger, Subtile 24).9 Though I cannot provide a 
comprehensive analysis of Jünger’s dealings with insects at this point, 
it is possible to draw up some preliminary ideas on how one would go 
about justifying these claims.
Even on a cursory reading, it is clear that Jünger’s forays into natu-
ral history are interspersed with illustrations resembling a thought-
image. Indeed, Subtile Jagden combines the scientific recording of 
facts with the author’s attempt to observe a specimen and formulate 
relevant conclusions about a more comprehensive set of circumstances 
based on its behavior or physical features. In certain cases, Jünger’s 
account of an insect is practically indistinguishable from the minia-
tures discussed earlier. Describing an encounter with Meloe proscara-
beus, Jünger meditates on the discrepancy between the beetle’s bulky 
exoskeleton and melodic name (Jünger, Subtile 57–58). He remarks 
that the reference to “mel,” meaning “honey,” likely comes from the 
larvae’s habit of climbing into a flower and riding a bee back to the 
hive, where they feed on nectar. This leads Jünger to contemplate the 
arduous journey the members of the species undertake to reach the 
nest. Thousands make the climb, while only a select few manage to 
8 Gorenstein’s study is a notable exception in that it addresses Jünger’s entomology 
in some detail.
9 In fact, Jünger quips that the entomologist “takes a tiny piece from the philoso-
pher’s stone (nimmt eine winzige Facette am Stein der Weisen wahr).”
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
134
latch onto a solitary bee. Is it possible to determine the value of a 
single organism by these sobering statistics? Can this fact of nature be 
reconciled with our anthropocentric notion of individual happiness? 
“Where is fate [Schicksal] when five thousand individuals are born and 
hatch at the same time in the same place?,” asks Jünger (58).10 Perhaps, 
so he ponders, there are moments in history when the happiness of a 
collective rests on the luck of a solitary specimen.
Next, he recounts the example of a minotaur beetle which, at first 
blush, seems to be armed with weapons such as a protruding spear 
(Jünger, Subtile 62–65). This impression turns out to be wrong, since 
the minotaur uses its appendages to clear away manure and purify the 
soil. What looks like a means of aggression serves, as Jünger contends, 
to protect and provide for the insect’s offsprings. Do moral judgements 
apply to the animal kingdom, is it reasonable to attribute positive value 
to an insect taking care of its brood, or negative value to it “waging 
war”? At any rate, so Jünger, the observer is naturally inclined to antro-
pomorphize in this way, and tends to be favorably disposed towards 
companionable animals. For instance, bystanders witnessing a pair of 
dung beetles working in unison are invariably touched by “something 
familiar, something of their own,” which is to say something human 
(65).11
Jünger then goes on to explain the changing significance of mytho-
logical allusions in scientific taxonomy by reference to the minotaur.12 
In a manner reminiscent of Goethe and Humboldt, his study of natural 
phenomena incorporates digressions to classical literature, anecdotes, 
comments on the history of ideas, and homages to the great entomolo-
gists of the past.
Besides these particular examples, what sort of insights can selecting 
an insect as the nucleus of a thought-image help us obtain? To mention 
only a few, the instinctual responses of an insect may highlight cer-
tain aspects of our animal constitution. A fragment may prompt us to 
consider potential analogies between these reactions and our own con-
duct, and reveal something about the kind of circumstances in which 
self-preservation overrides learned behavior. Capturing how a mantis 
decapitates its mate invites us to deliberate on limit-situations where 
10 “Wo bleibt das Schicksal, wenn fünftausend Individuen zu gleicher Zeit am 
gleichen Ort geboren werden und ausschlüpfen?”
11 “Etwas Bekanntes, Eigenes rührte sie dabei an.”
12 In the German text, Jünger explores the mythological origins of the minotaur 
beetle’s Latin name, Typhaeus typhoeus. Typhoeus or Typhon was, according to Hesiod, 
the son of Gaia and Tartarus. 
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
135
survival is at stake, when the primal impulses we share with less com-
plex organisms come into the foreground.
Similarly, a miniature may frame an insect as a cultural symbol, like 
the scarab revered in ancient Egypt. It could interrogate the sociohis-
torical context in which these representations arose, as well as the traces 
in which they survive. In a series of snapshots, the micrologist might 
address how the symbols in question change, how our attitude towards 
insects has shifted from worship to measured contemplation, and how 
this reflects on the perceiving subject. The insect, then, could be posi-
tioned at the intersection of nature and civilization. For instance, a 
thought-image could home in on the pitch-black wings of a pepper 
moth, which is forced to adopt a melanic hue in order to camouflage 
itself on the soot-stained trees of industrial England (see Cook and 
Saccheri). That is to say, the evolutionary adaptations of an insect could 
shed new light on the transformations of the historical landscape.
Nevertheless, this account alone does not yet justify my initial 
claims. While it shows how the micrological thinker is able to draw rel-
evant inferences from a snapshot centering on an insect, it falls short of 
explaining what makes an insect an especially compelling focus point. 
In what sense can such a miniature be more interesting or revealing 
than the portrait of some other animal, the pistil of a rare flower or, say, 
a Parisian street lamp?
Surprisingly, the answer lies in the fact that locating individual 
differences in the realm of insects is unusually challenging. For the 
untrained eye, the members of a species are, for all intents and pur-
poses, interchangeable. This is not simply because ants or beetles are 
small in scale and therefore look alike from a distance. Rather, the crea-
tures often strike us as mechanical, as if they were tiny automatons or 
identical copies executing the same program. A casual onlooker would 
be hard-pressed to distinguish between two ants marching towards the 
colony or two honeybees circling their hive.
The differences, however, are there, waiting to be extricated. 
Indeed, the difficulty in discerning unique variations in insects argu-
ably provokes a more attentive gaze from an observer focused on 
the particular instead of the taxon. To grasp what makes a single 
specimen stand out, the naturalist dispenses with the modern sci-
entist’s detached analysis of empirical data in favor of what Goethe 
calls “exact” sensory perception, an attempt at immersion in the pat-
terns and relationships responsible for the irreducible determina-
tions of the object (Goethe 73). As Jünger puts it, no two insects are 
actually the same, but the entomologist can only “fully appreciate 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
136
[their] diversity” if he is “attuned to” the microcosm they exist in 
through close scrutiny (Jünger, Subtile 71).13
This brings me back to the micrological writer describing an insect. 
Not only can his portrayal of some idiosyncratic feature produce an 
affect or facilitate reasoning as with thought-images in general, he is 
also able to make a crucial point on identity and difference specifically.
Picking out an individual insect in a machine-like collective, setting 
it apart as exceptional in some respect, can gesture towards how iden-
tity conceals difference and, conversely, on how the unique takes refuge 
in repetition. Adequately framed, such a miniature is particularly well-
suited to expressing that heterogeneity emerges in the unlikeliest of 
places, including apparently uniform environments. Following Jünger, 
there is a difference even in the way the tubular muscles of two weevils 
contract, or in the footsteps of a foraging ant securing new grounds 
for the queen. The micrologist can draw on this to enter a closed sys-
tem through its interstices, to interpret a standardized process with an 
emphasis on its inherent irregularities rather than the general pattern. 
These examples are effective in highlighting the inexhaustibility of dif-
ference exactly because the order of the hive seems impenetrable; any 
trace of otherness or, to borrow a term from Adorno, any sign of non-
identity catches us off guard. Since, as I noted earlier, a thought-image 
always embarks from irreproducible qualities, zeroing in on an insect to 
problematize the relation between sameness and alterity could improve 
our conceptual tools for micrological inquiry as such.
Beyond the fact that the lover of insects deals with objects remark-
ably fitting for a philosophical approach centered on minutiae, a future 
work can leverage a further affinity in elaborating why Jünger’s ento-
mology is useful in making sense of thought-images. The insectologist 
and the micrological philosopher are both driven by a preoccupation 
with collecting, or more emphatically, they both think and act like a 
collector in some substantial manner.
Since there is no clear consensus on the sociocultural function of the 
collector, this demands a brief explanation. As Jünger asserts, the insec-
tologist as collector is inspired less by possession than by preservation, 
a desire to protect a specimen from the destruction of time, especially 
if the species is endangered or extinct. That is to say, his preference for 
acquiring an expensive sample tends to come second to keeping prized 
insects from decay. While this, along with his searching for and cata-
loguing animals, seems like a solitary occupation, the insectologist is 
13 “Eine Voraussetzung zum Genuß der Mannigfaltigkeit liegt darin, daß man sich 
auf die Dimension einspielt.”
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
137
also passionate about the social aspects of collecting, eager to compare 
and discuss his findings with other specialists (Jünger, Subtile 9–23). 
He regards this as a continuous process, an end in itself rather than a 
means to obtain a comprehensive selection of known types. Indeed, a 
central motif in Subtile Jagden is the entomologist’s recognition that 
his collection can never be completed (27). At the same time, he intui-
tively understands that, in a very classical sense, surrounding himself 
with beautiful, sublime or terrifying creatures, a majestic “Euphoria 
sepulcralis” or a “Tenebrio molitor,” makes his life richer and more 
well-rounded.
Much the same can be said about the micrological writer. A collec-
tor of secrets, the micrologist pursues unusual signs and traces which 
would otherwise fade into obscurity. He then shares these secrets by 
telling stories, the most ancient form of philosophy, to his peers or 
students; and, as is the case with collectors in general, he often does 
so with the enthousiasmós or divine madness Plato believes to be the 
source of higher insight. Like the hobbyist, he delights in creating novel 
configurations from the objects he has amassed, without expecting his 
models to ever take final shape. In fact, he prefers the ongoing quest 
for curiosities, being on the move from one wonder to another, over 
committing to a supposedly finished, self-contained framework. In 
contrast with Novalis’s claim that an insatiable “homesickness” is the 
implicit foundation for all philosophy (Novalis 155), the micrologist as 
collector relishes being a vagabond, finding a new abode in each addi-
tional fact or detail he discovers. The lost or ignored items he thereby 
commits to memory serve as reminders that things have been, and still 
could be, entirely different.
Conclusion
In this article, I have tried to establish that Jünger’s metaphysical as-
sumptions are not inconsistent with his observations of social phenom-
ena in The Adventurous Heart. I have also argued that the study of in-
sects as Jünger conceives it problematizes the relation between identity 
and difference in a way that is conducive to a micrological perspective 
on everyday objects.
Early exponents of Critical Theory relied heavily on exploring the 
idiosyncrasies particular to a given entity or practice. Indeed, Adorno’s 
notes on cars and refrigerators in Minima Moralia (40), Benjamin’s 
reflections on railroads or fashion accessories in The Arcades Project 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
138
(62–81), Bloch’s snippets on olives and fairgrounds in Traces (132–
133, 48–50), or Kracauer’s musings on hotel lobbies and newspaper 
stands in The Mass Ornament (173–185) indicate a sustained interest 
in the sociohistorical significance of small things.
This emphasis on the seemingly mundane has again gained trac-
tion in contemporary scholarship. Among others, recent efforts aim 
to formulate a politics of common materials (Bennett), reconsider the 
ontological import of ordinary objects (Harman 774), as well as return 
cultural analysis to reconstructing concrete, if inconspicuous, historical 
gestures (Freyenhagen 4). Literary theory, in turn, has been increasingly 
preoccupied with the semantic reducibility, or irreducibility, of com-
monsensical things (Brown 3). Under this framework, the description 
of a doorknob or a simple twig serves as an occasion to pose complex 
questions about language and representation. Opening a discussion on 
Jünger’s micrological method by challenging the received view about 
his philosophy serves to contribute to these endeavors.
WORKS CITED
Adorno, Theodor W. Prisms. Transl. Samuel and Shierry Weber. Cambridge, MA: 
The MIT Press, 1983.
Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. Transl. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin. 
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002.
Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility, 
and Other Writings on Media. Transl. Edmund Jephcott et al. Ed. Michael W. 
Jennings, Brigid Doherty, and Thomas Y. Levin. Cambridge, MA: Harvard 
University Press, 2008.
Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, NC: Duke 
University Press, 2010.
Bloch, Ernst. Traces. Transl. Anthony A. Nassar. Stanford, CA: Stanford University 
Press, 2006.
Blok, Vincent. Ernst Jünger’s Philosophy of Technology. New York, NY: Routledge, 
2017.
Brown, Bill. “Thing Theory.” Critical Inquiry 28.1 (2001): 1–22.
Bullock, Marcus. “Walter Benjamin and Ernst Jünger: Destructive Affinities.” German 
Studies Review 21.3 (1998): 563–581.
Bullock, Marcus. The Violent Eye: Ernst Jünger’s Visions and Revisions on the European 
Right. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1992.
Bures, Eliah and Elliot Neaman. “Introduction.” Ernst Jünger. The Adventurous Heart: 
Figures and Capriccios. Transl. Russell A. Berman. Candor, NY: Telos Press, 2012. 
7–44.
Cook, Laurence, and Ilik Saccheri. “The peppered moth and industrial melanism: 
evolution of a natural selection case study.” Heredity 110.3 (2013): 207–212.
Eiland, Howard. “Translator’s Foreword.” Walter Benjamin. The Arcades Project. 
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002. Ix–xiv.
Joshua Bence Kun:     The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s Micrology
139
Freyenhagen, Fabian. “What is Orthodox Critical Theory?” World Picture 12 (2017): 
1–11.
Giuriato, Davide. Mikrographien. Zu einer Poetologie des Schreibens in Walter Benjamins 
Kindheitserinnerungen (1932–1939). Paderborn: Fink, 2006.
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. “Excerpt from ‘Studies for a Physiology of Plants’.” 
Scientific Studies. Ed. and transl. Douglas A. Miller. New York, NY: Suhrkamp, 
1988. 73–75.
Gorenstein, Dan. “Ants and Battlefields, Beetles and Landscapes: Rudiments for a 
Naturalistic Reading of Ernst Jünger’s Interwar Essays through the Lens of His 
Later Entomological Hermeneutics.” Texts, Animals, Environments: Zoopoetics and 
Ecopoetics. Eds. Frederike Middelhoff et al. Freiburg: Rombach, 2019. 201–215.
Gruyer, Michael F. Animal Micrology: Practical Exercises in Microscopical Methods. 
Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 1906.
Harman, Graham. “I am also of the opinion that materialism must be destroyed.” 
Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 28.5 (2010): 772–790.
Helmling, Steven. “Constellation and Critique: Adorno’s Constellation, Benjamin’s 
Dialectical Image.” Postmodern Culture 14.1 (2003): 1–27.
Hohendahl, Peter. “The Future as Past: Ernst Jünger’s Postwar Narrative Prose.” The 
Germanic Review 88.3 (2013): 248–259.
Huyssen, Andreas. “Fortifying the Heart—Totally. Ernst Jünger’s Armored Texts.” 
New German Critique 59 (1993): 3–23.
Jennings, Michael W. “Introduction.” Walter Benjamin. One-Way Street. Cambridge, 
MA: Harvard University Press, 2016. 1–20.
Jünger, Ernst. “Siebzig verweht V.” Sämtliche Werke. Vol. 7. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 
2003.
Jünger, Ernst. Approaches. Drugs and Altered States. Transl. Thomas Friese. Candor, 
NY: Telos Press, 2022.
Jünger, Ernst. Das Abenteuerliche Herz. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2015.
Jünger, Ernst. “Sizilischer Brief an den Mann im Mond”. Sämtliche Werke. Vol. 9. 
Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981. 9–27.
Jünger, Ernst. Strahlungen. Tübingen: Heliopolis Verlag, 1949.
Jünger, Ernst. Subtile Jagden. Stuttgart: Ernst Klett, 1967.
Jünger, Ernst. The Adventurous Heart: Figures and Capriccios. Transl. Russell A. 
Berman. Candor, NY: Telos Press, 2012.
Jünger, Ernst. The Worker.  Ed. Laurence Paul Hemming. Transl. Bogdan Costea. 
Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2017.
Kirst, Karoline. “Walter Benjamin’s ‘Denkbild’: Emblematic Historiography of the 
Recent Past.” Monatshefte 86.4 (1994): 514–524.
Kracauer, Siegfried. The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays. Cambridge, MA: Harvard 
University Press, 1995.
Marcus, Greil. “Preface.” Walter Benjamin, One-Way Street. Cambridge, MA: 
Harvard University Press, 2016. ix–xxv.
Neaman, Elliot. “Foreword.” Ernst Jünger. A German Officer in Occupied Paris. The 
War Journals, 1941–1945. New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 2019.
Novalis. Notes for a Romantic Encyclopaedia: Das Allgemeine Brouillon. Transl. David 
W. Wood. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2007.
Ohana, David. “Nietzsche and Ernst Jünger: From Nihilism to Totalitarianism.” 
History of European Ideas 11.1–6 (1989): 751–758.
Peters, H. F. “Ernst Jünger’s Concern with E. A. Poe.” Comparative Literature 10.2 
(1958): 144–149.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
140
Richter, Gerhard. Thought-Images: Frankfurt School Writers’ Reflections from Damaged 
Life. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2007.
Schopenhauer, Arthur. The World as Will and Representation, Vol. I. Transl. E. F. J. 
Payne. New York, NY: Dover, 1969.
Schumacher, Ernst Fritz. Small Is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered. London: 
Blond & Briggs, 1973.
Steiner, George. “The Zero at the Bone.” Encounter 35 (1970): 72–76.
Strathausen, Carsten. “The Return of the Gaze: Stereoscopic Vision in Jünger and 
Benjamin.” New German Critique 80 (2000): 125–148.
Weissberg, Liliane. “Philosophy and the Fairy Tale: Ernst Bloch as Narrator.” New 
German Critique 55 (1992): 21–44.
Partikularno kot mesto kritike v mikrologiji Ernsta 
Jüngerja
Ključne besede: filozofija / Jünger, Ernst / družbena kritika / platonizem / insekt / 
mikrologija
V članku preučujemo mikrološko metodo, ki jo je razvil Ernst Jünger v The 
Adventurous Heart in kasnejših spisih. Mikrologijo razumem kot filozofsko-
-literarni pristop k opisovanju posameznih objektov, ki osvetljujejo širši kon-
tekst, v katerega so umeščeni, še posebej, kolikor se ta upira konvencionalnim 
diskurzivnim praksam. Najprej trdim, da v nasprotju s splošnim prepričanjem 
Jüngerjeve metafizične predpostavke niso v nasprotju z družbenimi vpogledi, 
do katerih prihaja v svojih mikroloških delih. Pri tem bom pokazal, da imajo 
nekateri Jüngerjevi prikazi precejšen družbenozgodovinski pomen. Pokažem 
tudi, da obstaja pomembno ujemanje med Jüngerjevo entomološko in mikro-
loško perspektivo, delno zato, ker obe temeljita na iskanju malo verjetnih 
sledi razlik v navidezno običajnem ali enotnem prostoru. Glede na relativno 
pomanjkanje védenja o strukturi mikrološkega raziskovanja, zlasti v zvezi z 
Jüngerjevimi fragmenti, zahteva obravnavanje teh problemov podrobnejši pri-
kaz formalnih lastnosti mikrološkega modela.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 14Jünger E.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.07
Ontology of the Art Phenomenon 
in Iris Murdoch’s Fiction
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina
Yuriy Fedkovych Chernivtsi National University, Kotsiubynskiy Street, 2, Chernivtsi, 58012, Ukraine
https://orcid.org/0000-0002-8190-0427, https://orcid.org/0000-0001-6658-0114, http://orcid.
org/0000-0001-6316-2005
a.matiychak@chnu.edu.ua, n.nikoriak@chnu.edu.ua, a.tychinina@chnu.edu.ua
This article explores the intermedial dialogue of the arts in the oeuvre of British 
writer and philosopher Iris Murdoch. The ontology of the phenomenon of art 
and its functional meaning in Murdoch’s fiction, the specifics of the relationship 
between the arts in her philosophical essays and dialogues are considered from 
the perspective of intermediality. Based on the intermedial study methodology, 
Murdoch’s theoretical and philosophical views on the multifunctional nature of 
art, the interaction of the artist and the artwork are revealed. Key techniques of 
interartistic discourse, including anthroponymic allusions, are considered as 
intermedial markers of Murdoch’s texts, identified and explored at the level of 
imagological transformations. People of art: artists, artistic discourse partakers, 
as well as recipients of art constitute a particular kind of characters in Murdoch’s 
novels. Accordingly, the importance of the recipient, who acts as an essential link 
in the receptive matrix of “author-text-recipient-artwork,” is emphasized in the 
ontology of an artwork. The particular meeting point of Murdoch’s characters is 
the artistic topos: a museum, an exhibition, an art gallery or an artist’s house. In 
addition, the reader of her fiction repeatedly encounters various ekphrastic codes: 
the ekphrases of paintings are not only present in Murdoch’s texts, but function 
as anthropomorphised characters, dramatis personae, have their own space 
(physical and mental places) and play a crucial role in the protagonists’ lives. 
Consequently, we find that the use of intermedial components is one of the markers 
of Iris Murdoch’s idiostyle, which topicalizes important aspects of the philosophy of 
art and brings it into the realm of ontological questions.
Keywords: English literature / Murdoch, Iris / philosophy of art / ontology / 
intermediality / narrative technique / ekphrasis
141
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
142
Introduction: Art as a syncretic phenomenon
Throughout its development, literature has been characterized by pro-
ductive contacts with other arts. These relationships showed up as 
bilateral or reversible. Not only painters, sculptors, musicians, and, 
ultimately, filmmakers drew plots for their masterpieces from litera-
ture, but literature also created artworks in the process of reception, 
reinterpretation, experience of what was heard (music) or seen (paint-
ing, sculpture, architecture). In particular, the natural attraction to 
visualization brought literature into close contact first with painting 
and music, and furthermore in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries 
with new types of arts: photography, cinema, digital art. In this way, 
literature detached from the original syncretic synthesis of arts gradu-
ally acquires new syncretic parameters within the limits of post-, meta-
modernist aesthetics.
Since ancient times prominent philosophers, artists and sci-
entists tried to reveal the mystery of fine art objects (Pythagoras, 
Plato, Aristotle, John Damascene, Augustine the Blessed, Pico della 
Mirandola, Botticelli, Shakespeare, Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux). The 
well-known texts Controversy of the Painter with the Poet, Musician and 
Sculptor by Leonardo da Vinci and The Laocoon by Gotthold Ephraim 
Lessing present the idea of the synthesis of arts, which has become 
productive for modern intermedia studies. Speaking about the rapport 
between literature and painting, in agreement with European think-
ers, Ivan Franko noted the “immovable nature” of painting (Franko 
102). In his fair opinion, the common feature of these arts is their aes-
thetic goal to “reproduce in the soul of the reader or listener” individual 
moments of life in various ways (103). As a poet and a literary theorist, 
Franko emphasized the superiority of poetry in terms of time and space 
(104), and emphasized that “the poet depicts dead nature—enlivening 
it, draws lines with the help of moving images” (109).
Studying the canvases of Rubens, Rembrandt, Titian or Caravaggio, 
researchers always at least briefly mention the literary basis of the plot 
in their works, while comparing one or another of their artistic images 
with its prototype. In addition to ancient plots, paintings could also be 
based on contemporary dramatic stories: Hogarth’s canvas “A Scene 
from Shakespeare’s The Tempest” or the “scene” based on the plot of 
John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera. Consequently, Kira Shakhova empha-
sizes the importance of the narrative moment, which is not typical for 
painting: “[T]he content of the scene can be read by the movements 
of the figures, the expression of the faces.” (Shakhova 99) In this case, 
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
143
the artist Hogarth acts as a storyteller, a genre painter who not only 
mastered the brush brilliantly and masterfully, creating composition-
ally and colorfully wonderful paintings, but also wanted the viewer to 
read each of them like an exciting book. He invented “large-scale visual 
plots,” which gave rise to a series of paintings, the so-called pictorial 
“novels” (100). Actually, the tradition of graphic images with short 
explanatory texts, peculiar to so called comics of the eighteenth and 
nineteenth centuries, quite popular in England, originates from him 
(101). In this case, in terms of its narrative essence, the pictorial was 
almost adequate to the verbal. The picture-illustration became a visual 
representation of the plot, encouraged the viewer’s imagination, turn-
ing him into the reader.
Since then, researchers have repeatedly emphasized the relation-
ship between the word and fine arts, performing arts, photography 
and cinema. It is especially interesting to trace such interaction on the 
example of multi-artists’ oeuvres, those who equally worked in their 
time or are nowadays working in the plane of several arts (Leonardo da 
Vinci, Taras Shevchenko, Bruno Schultz, Mykhailo Zhuk, Sviatoslav 
Gordynsky, Marcel Duchamp, Emma Andijewska).
The conversion of arts in the aspect of intermediality
In the literary discourse the issue of interaction between literature and 
arts has occupied one of the key niches. Thus, the formalists, whose 
works became a thorough basis for such methodological studies as in-
tertextuality and intermediality, recorded a fruitful inter-art dialogue, 
which was expressed in the interpenetration of various imagological 
narratives. In particular, Eikhenbaum noted that “the evolution of art, 
taken as a single thing, is expressed in constant fluctuations between 
personification (differentiation) and fusion” (Eikhenbaum 16). The in-
dicated phenomenon is primarily explained by the syncretic genetic 
instruction of the arts in general: “In different epochs, this or that art 
seeks to become mass and is inspired by the pathos of syncretism, try-
ing to absorb elements of other arts.” (16) Today, this is an axiomatic 
position in the theory, arising from the basic nature of arts.
Such a tendency towards multimedia conversion of arts is explained 
by the fact that “literary formulas of human behavior and passions 
expressed over the ages” (Shakhova 11) constantly aroused the inter-
est of artists in various spheres. The organic nature of this multimedia 
through the prism of symbolism is explained by Lotman: “Verbal arts, 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
144
poetry, and later artistic prose seek to build a verbal image from the 
material of conventional signs,” at the same time, the opposite process 
occurs: “a picture, which by its symbolic nature is not created in order 
to serve as a means of narration, but a person constantly tries to tell.” 
(Lotman 15)
Regarding the reception of artistic syncretism by modern research-
ers, we should remember the words by Shakhova, who claimed that 
“the unity of the arts was not interrupted, although they separated 
from the syncretism of the consciousness of the cave age, they devel-
oped generic signs, their own specific language” (Shakhova 5). In his 
turn, Nalyvayko assured that literature stands out among all types of 
art precisely because it “combines the entire complex of its functions in 
a potentially complete expression” (Nalyvayko 8).
By analogy with intertextuality, intermedia allusion, ekphrasis, 
hypotyposis and literary phonography are distinguished in the system 
of modern inter-artistic relationships. In this way, the literary original 
source can be reproduced by means of painting with a great degree 
of approximation to the content and details of a verbal work of art 
or, on the contrary, radically reinterpreted. The poetics of ekphrasis 
deserves special mention as “any reproduction of one art by means of 
another” (Geller 8), which, according to Freidenberg, was “reproduc-
tion of a reproduction,” namely, “imaging of an image” (Freidenberg 
320). Calling ekphrastic inclusions as the so-called “phantoms of the 
text,” Chervinska speaks of specific “codes of meaning and their sys-
tematic receptive recoding in the system of the whole” (Chervinska 
149), which appears to be a rather productive cognitive and receptive 
phenomenon, since finding of an “ekphrastic key” appears as an origi-
nal “way to visualize events at the expense of other specifics of the nar-
rative” (161).
Accordingly, modern literary theory actively appeals to the practice 
of text research in the aspect of intermedia studies. As Clüver states: 
“Once ‘medium’ instead of ‘art’ has become accepted as the basic cat-
egory for the interdisciplinary discourse, the interrelationship of the 
various media is conceived of as ‘intermediality’.” (Clüver 30) In this 
aspect, from the point of receptive poetics, a number of interesting 
connotations arise related to the specificity of decoding intermedia 
inclusions and the dependence of this process on reading competence. 
The concept of intermediality, accompanied by the hybridization of 
media, gives rise to new specific forms in all arts.
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
145
The intermedia dialogue of arts in Iris Murdoch’s fiction
The subject of arts has always appealed to the British moral philosopher 
and distinguished novelist, renowned author of essays, reviews and pa-
pers in ethics, aesthetics and history of thought Iris Murdoch (1919–
1999); it appears throughout her oeuvre. Each of the arts, and litera-
ture in particular, she considered as a “moral medium”: “The highest 
pleasures of literature, and one might say, of art generally, are in this 
sense moral pleasures.” (Murdoch, Existentialists 257) Her theory that 
art and morals are connected with sense and form she applied to “all 
the arts not just the literary arts.” (218) She tried to find answers to the 
questions of the relationship and interaction of various art forms, re-
flecting on them in her essays: “Conceptions of Unity. Art,” “Literature 
and Philosophy,” “The Sublime and the Good,” “Art is the Imitation of 
Nature” (Murdoch, Existentialists); and in her philosophical dialogues: 
“The Fire and the Sun: Why Plato Banished the Artists,” “Art and Eros: 
A Dialogue about Art” (Murdoch, Metaphysics). In addition, she ac-
tively raised the issue of the artist and art in her novels. The writer 
proves that a work of art opens a space for reflection, it also allows 
viewers to be artists thanks to their reception as a form of “experienced 
mental synthesis” (Murdoch, Metaphysics 3).
Hence, the aim of the study is to analyze the works by Iris Murdoch 
in terms of intermediality and art reception. Respectively, not only the 
artistic reception of fine arts in the writer’s novels is taken into consid-
eration, but also the author’s theoretical and philosophical views on the 
problem of true art are surveyed.
Murdoch’s reflections on arts are indicative from the standpoint of 
receptive aesthetics and her philosophical approach to the problem is 
also clearly uttered:
A work of art is of course not a material object, though some works of art are 
bodied forth by material objects. In the case of a statue the relation between 
the material object and the art object seems close, in the case of a picture less 
so. Poems and symphonies are clearly not material objects […]. All art objects 
are ‘performed’ or imagined first by the artist and then by his clients, and 
these imaginative and intellectual activities or experiences may be said to be the 
point or essence of art […]. Art, however, essentially (traditionally) involves the 
idea of a sustained experienced mental synthesis. (Murdoch, Metaphysics 2–3)
The writer carries on the idea of the communicative function of art: 
“Art makes places and opens spaces for reflection, it is a defense against 
materialism and against pseudo-scientific attitudes to life. It calms and 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
146
invigorates, it gives us energy by unifying, possibly by purifying, our 
feelings.” (8) Emphasizing the multi-functionality of art, the author 
focuses on the importance of catharsis, thanks to which art succeeds in 
realizing its key goal, emotional impact on the recipient.
The increased interest in the interaction of arts is due primarily to 
the wide manifestation of intermedia markers at the level of imago-
logical transformations. Murdoch often expresses the reception of the 
work of outstanding artists with the “voices” of her characters. Many 
of Murdoch’s protagonists belong to or are competent in the field of 
art—they are actually artists, also those who study art, or simply are 
adept admirers of it. In particular, in her final novel Jackson’s Dilemma 
(1995), the attention of readers is drawn to an eccentric character—the 
painter Owen Silbery. The image of the artist is described in detail in 
the text:
Owen was a painter, in fact a distinguished and well-known painter. He 
announced himself sometimes as ‘in the style of Goya’, and moreover, it was 
said, painted horrific pornographic pictures which he sold secretly. He was in 
fact well known as a portrait painter, and one who could satisfy his clients. 
(18)
In this way, the writer tries to intrigue her reader, while at the same 
time shaping the horizons of his expectations. After all, later the recipi-
ent really learns that in these rumors, although they are far from the 
true things, there is a grain of the truth.
In this Murdoch’s novel, the reader’s consciousness repeatedly 
encounters various ekphrastic codes. Thus, Owen classifies his canvases 
into three groups: “ordinary” paintings, paintings of “Frightfulnessism” 
and so-called “special” paintings. Each group of paintings is anthropo-
morphized—“lives its own life” in a separate room and even on another 
floor of the eccentric Owen’s house-studio. In the former bedroom 
on the third floor, “showing only their colourless sides, were other 
innumerable undisposed of ordinary pictures” (Murdoch, Jackson’s 
Dilemma 50). On the fourth floor was Owen’s favorite “dark room,” 
or “chamber of horrors,” as Mildred called it. In addition to paint-
ings, on the walls of this room there were “mild” scary photographs. 
Owen, who sometimes thought about suicide, was attracted by these 
“distorted creatures,” according to his words, he “lived by their dark 
passions” (176). As for the special paintings, they were located on the 
basement floor of the house, which “now contained correctly slotted 
special pictures” (50). Most of them were portraits of old friends. The 
artist considered them to be “real.”
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
147
The clear demarcation between the artist’s works is, at first glance, 
quite transparent to the recipient. At the same time, the reader observes 
that the boundary between these artistic fictional worlds is often blurred 
and obscure. Especially when Owen reflects on art:
Owen himself had often contemplated suicide and possessed the requirements 
thereof. And did he not, he reflected, as a painter, imagine, create, and gaze 
upon what was degraded and vile? Of course, such things too became his 
art and thereby transformed, ha ha! He must remember to drink a toast to 
Otto Dix. He was real. Owen was sitting in his quiet studio looking at a half-
painted abstract. He hated the picture. (Murdoch, Jackson’s Dilemma 49–50)
The internal monologue of the character, his “stream of consciousness,” 
testifies to the blurring of the line between reality and the world of art 
in the narrative. The novel Jackson’s Dilemma is full of anthroponymic 
intermedia allusions. In particular, the mention of Otto Dix, a German 
painter, graphic artist and the author of paintings on military themes, 
even more blurs the line between the frightening and the real, the real 
and the ordinary.
The contradictory nature of the painter’s understanding of art in the 
novel is indicated by certain oneiric moments emphasized by Owen’s 
phantasmagoric dreams. Thus, before going to sleep Owen reflects on 
his craft admitting that he must invent, create, “must try to be worthy 
of being a painter”:
He dreamt that he was a slug crawling slowly along the ground, and Piero and 
Titian and Velazquez and Carpaccio and Turner were standing round him and 
looking down at him with faintly puzzled frowns, and he was shouting up 
at them, but his voice was so miserably tiny, he was sure they could not hear 
him, and when he tried to wave his horns at them, he suddenly realized that 
slugs do not have horns. Not even that, he thought in his dream. (Murdoch, 
Jackson’s Dilemma 241)
Consciously and subconsciously comparing his paintings with the 
works of outstanding artists Owen thereby admits that his paintings 
are still far from great art whatever he calls them. At the same time, he 
appears to be a good portraitist, understands art well, but how a picture 
becomes great art remains a mystery to him.
Owen tries to find the answer to this difficult dilemma in the plots 
of his dreams. So, for instance, he dreams that he is sitting at a table 
in a room lit by candles. Opposite him is Caravaggio. There are only 
two of them. It is not by chance that Murdoch introduces the character 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
148
of such famous artists as Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1573–
1610) into his dreams. This choice of the author allows perceptive read-
ers to understand the image of her character much better. Let’s recall 
that Caravaggio’s painting style consisted in creating emotional ten-
sion, acute affectation of feelings. The best works of the Italian painter 
are based on contrasts: realistic details are combined with the theatrical 
pose; homoerotic image is combined with an intimate and psychologi-
cal improvisation of a mythological theme as in his picture “Bacchus” 
(Cumming 38–39). These details, as well as Caravaggio’s character 
traits (impulsive, unbalanced), make it possible to draw a parallel with 
the painter Owen Silbery, whose homosexuality and drunkenness only 
increase the outrageousness of the image created by Murdoch.
Owen, as a creative person, believes that artists are characterized 
by similar feelings: pain, dissatisfaction, remorse: “How Titian must 
have felt it, when he was very old, ‘The Flaying of Marsyas’—the pain, 
the pain, the old man must have felt it deeply at the end” (Murdoch, 
Jackson’s Dilemma 64). It should be noted that “Apollo and Marsyas” is 
a fairly popular leitmotif in European art. The initial stage of the strug-
gle between the antagonistic deities Apollo and Dionysus was marked 
in the myth of the contest between Apollo and Marsyas. According to 
the myth, the Phrygian satyr Marsyas picked up the flute (aulos) left by 
Athena. In playing the flute he acquired extraordinary skill and, proud 
of himself, challenged Apollo on the terms that the winner could treat 
the defeated party any way he wanted. The audacity of the satyr led to 
the effect that Apollo playing the lyre not only defeated Marsyas but 
also flayed him (Kun 29–31).
Perhaps the writer was struck so much not by the mythologem 
which terrifies with its cruelty, but by the spiritual meaning put into his 
canvas by the painter of the late Italian Renaissance Titian Vecellio da 
Cadore (1489–1576). Titian depicted Marsyas hanging upside down 
from a tree as Apollo cuts the skin on his chest. Marsyas is barely alive 
from pain, but his blissful smile indicates that he sacrificed his life for 
the sake of art.
Furthermore, this painting by Titian is mentioned by Murdoch in 
her other novels as well. However, the writer deliberately avoids its 
unambiguous interpretation, as if inviting the reader to join the discus-
sion, as a kind of artistic game. Thus, in the novel A Fairly Honorable 
Defeat (1970), the theme of this painting discussed by a homosexual 
couple is interpreted from a different perspective. Axel and Simon are 
people of different backgrounds: in terms of age, character, habits and 
type of activity. However, there is something that unites them; love, so 
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
149
ruthless and incomprehensible to people around them, and so vulner-
able at the same time:
“You’re Apollo and I’m Marsyas. You’ll end by flaying me.” “That’s an image 
of love, actually, Apollo and Marsyas.” “How do you mean?” “The agony of 
Marsyas is the inevitable agony of human soul in its desire to achieve God.” 
“The things you know.” “The things you failed to learn at the Courtauld.” “I 
don’t believe it though. Someone is flayed really.” (Murdoch, Fairly Honorable 
Defeat 33)
Although Simon had read history of art at the Courtauld Institute 
of Art (London’s Courtauld Gallery is famous for works by French 
Impressionists and Post-Impressionists, as well as having a school of 
painting at the Gallery), when it came to art, Axel, who had stud-
ied philosophy at Oxford, often aptly contradicted Simon and was 
often right (27). Like the time when in the Accademia he let Simon 
hold forth for some time about Titian’s “Pietà” (Mary Magdalene’s 
Lamentation on Christ) and then “pointed out that it had been fin-
ished by Palma Giovane, a fact which Simon ought to have known” 
(68). Thus, Murdoch seems to declare that it is not necessary to be a 
professional art critic in order to know and feel real art, to be able to 
read and perceive it. As she writes in her philosophical essay:
In enjoying great art, we experience a clarification and concentration and per-
fection of our own consciousness. Emotion and intellect are unified into a 
limited whole. In this sense art also creates its client; it inspires intuition of 
ideal formal and symbolic unity which enable us to co-operate with the artist 
and to be, as we enjoy the work, artists ourselves. (Murdoch, Metaphysics 8)
The writer’s emphasis on the importance of the client’s figure as the “con-
sumer of art” in the essence of an artwork looks extremely symptomatic. 
Paradoxically, art was not only a topic that caused disputes between Axel 
and Simon, it really became a connecting link for them in the form of 
Greek kouros. It is about the statue of Apollo of the fifth century B.C. 
from the National Museum in Athens, “the tutelary deity of their love” 
(Murdoch, Fairly Honorable Defeat 78). They had known each other for a 
long time, but only there, in Greece, next to a “sacred kouros,” they sud-
denly realized that they were destined to be together. Their love passed 
some ordeals and, despite the intrigues of Julius King (the personification 
of evil in its sophisticated form), it turned out to be much more reliable 
than the marital relationship of Hilda and Rupert, the scrappy love of 
Morgan to Julius, the innocent love of Morgan and Peter.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
150
However, Axel and Simon are not the only art connoisseurs in the 
novel. Murdoch’s characters usually choose an artistic topos for their 
rendezvous, appointing them to museums, exhibitions, art and sculp-
ture galleries. In particular, Julius and Morgan meet in the Tate Gallery 
at an exhibition of modern sculpture, but the crowd of visitors inter-
feres with the conversation and they move to the next hall with great 
art, which, surprisingly, is almost completely unpeopled.
In an exchange of impressions about Turner’s canvases, the writer 
juxtaposes the classical understanding of the paintings of this master of 
marines and landscapes bold in their color effects (Morgan’s percep-
tion) with deliberately provocative, daring statements (Julius):
“How calm great pictures make one feel”, said Morgan. “I love these late Turn-
ers. Passionate turmoil held in perfect immobility. Elemental energy mysteri-
ously constructed into space and light … Um.” “Don’t you care for Turner?” 
“Not much. A hopelessly derivative painter. Always copycatting somebody: 
Poussin, Rembrandt, Claude. Never finished a picture without ruining it. And 
he had far too high opinion of himself. He should have remained a minor 
genre painter, that’s about his level. I’m afraid his painting resembles his 
poetry” (Murdoch, Fairly Honorable Defeat 220).
Such a critical opinion by Julius certainly cannot go unnoticed, it can 
even cause the indignation of “knowledgeable readers.” Especially it 
concerns Julius King’s criticism about Turner’s “derivativeness” that 
is very subjective and unfair. Having passed the school of French and 
Dutch masters, in his mature years Turner acquires his own, uniquely 
original wet-on-wet Turnerian technique. It is well-known that such 
French artists as Claude Monet and Henri Matisse in their youth stud-
ied Turner’s unusual technique of light and colors (Cumming 66). We 
are once again convinced that in relation to individual painters the 
words of Julius King (who, with an ingenuity worthy of Machiavelli, 
mercilessly experiments on his friends, playing with their destinies) 
help to reveal his own human nature.
Moreover, in her fiction Murdoch quite often reproduces the effect 
of suggestion on the consciousness of her characters at the moment of 
the reception act. Thus, the theater playwright and director Charles 
Arrowby from the novelThe Sea, the Sea (1978) in his conversation with 
a hypothetical reader admits that he is “not very much knowledgeable 
about pictures,” but they give him a certain “calm pleasure,” he likes 
the atmosphere of galleries; Arrowby even confesses that he derives “a 
lot of sheer erotic satisfaction from pictures of women” (Murdoch, Sea 
169).
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
151
Looking at the pictures in the Wallace Collection, Arrowby associ-
ates the women depicted there with the women having left a trace in 
his life:
Then it began to seem that so many of my women were there; only not Hart-
ley … Lizzie by Terborch, Jeanne by Nicolaes Maes, Rita by Domenichino, 
Rosina by Rubens, a perfectly delightful study by Greuze of Clement as she 
was when I first met her … There was even a picture of my mother by Reyn-
olds, a bit flattering but a likeness. Yes, I looked for Hartley. Some could have 
rendered her, Campin perhaps, Memling or Van Eyck. But she was not there. 
(Murdoch, Sea 170).
Only knowing the artistic manner of these painters, the reader can 
imagine what each of the women was like according to the author’s 
idea. However, the protagonist does not find exactly the one who 
captured his thoughts, his first love, the beloved of his adolescence, 
Hartley.
The desire to get his love back turns into an obsessive idea. Many 
years have passed and now Hartley is an elderly married woman, Mary 
Hartley Fitch. Nevertheless, Charles Arrowby wants to turn back 
his lost love; he does not realize that he loves only a fictional image 
inspired by the pictures and his reminiscence of events forty years 
ago. To enhance the created effect, the writer brings her protagonist 
to the gallery, where his father had taken him once as a boy. Arrowby 
finds himself facing Titian’s picture “Perseus and Andromeda” and, 
“admiring the graceful naked figure of the girl,” suddenly, although he 
has seen this picture many times, he notices “the terrible fanged open 
mouth of the sea dragon” (Murdoch, Sea 171). Charles is terrified; he 
realizes the similarity of the see dragon seen in the picture with the 
see monster from his hallucination. Just as in the Titian’s picture sen-
sual passion acquires an almost pantheistic character, merging with the 
elemental forces of nature, so the element of Charles’s passion evokes 
“terrible demons” capable of destroying reality and inspiring love for 
his adolescence. Only the loss of the dearest people (the tragic deaths 
of cousin James and young Titus) and related events will help Charles 
Arrowby look at his life differently and finally understand that his love 
for Hartley was not a part of the real life, it belongs to the world of 
artistic reflection.
It is obvious that according to the author’s idea, works of art play 
a decisive role in the life of her characters. Mainly they are the paint-
ings by well-known Italian artists, like the picture by Titian’s appren-
tice Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti Tintoretto, 1518–1594) in the novel 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
152
An Unofficial Rose (1962). For Hugh Peronette, as the owner of the 
picture, it was just a “golden dream” of different life, but for his son 
Randle, it became a means to get his dream come true.
Most of all the Tintoretto glowed upon her with a jeweled beneficence. It 
lighted the room now, like a small sun. It was not a very large picture: it repre-
sented a naked woman and was almost certainly an earlier version of the figure 
of Susannah in the great Susannah Bathing in Vienna. Only it was no sketch, 
but a great picture in its own right and justly of some fame: a notable segment 
in the vast seemingly endless honeycomb of the master’s genius. (82)
Hugh Peronette, who never dared to break up his marriage and join his 
life with the woman of his dreams, Emma Sands, only after the death of 
his wife Fanny, decides to sell his most valuable thing, his treasure and 
consolation, a “priceless picture” to help his son start a new life. Hugh 
does not want a repetition of his own life and love story. Randle and 
his wife Ann are unhappy in marriage, and as the father he couldn’t but 
support his son’s love for the woman Randle loved with all his heart. 
He realized that “Randall’s thing is very serious. He’s really in love, the 
way it only happens once or twice in a lifetime. And with someone like 
him the mature love is the one to trust” (157). Hugh auctioned his 
favorite picture. It was sent promptly to Sotheby’s, and was purchased 
by the National Gallery. When Randle received a check from his father 
for a hefty sum, he was filled with confused feelings, among which the 
feeling of liberation prevailed.
In the novel An Unofficial Rose, the writer embodied the theory of 
two forms of beauty: physical and spiritual, which are usually mani-
fested through the double essence of love (Platonic eros). According 
to Murdoch, love in its physical manifestation testifies to the lack of 
freedom associated with the destructive feature of human personality. 
And, on the contrary, the higher power of love is capable of awakening 
the best feelings in people, revealing high moral traits and qualities. 
Consequently, love is both physical and spiritual mystery that cannot 
be separated, so Murdoch sympathizes and understands the attempts of 
her characters to find out what ordinary love and sacred love mean not 
only in An Unofficial Rose, but in her other novels (Under the Net, The 
Sea, the Sea, The Black Prince, etc.). Moreover, in the novel The Sacred 
and Profane Love Machine (1974) this theme appears in the title, which 
echoes the title of Titian’s painting “The Sacred and Profane Love” 
(1514). Regarding the plot of this picture, as well as Murdoch’s novels, 
some attempts were made to interpret it in terms of the Plato’s idea of 
love (Byatt; Conradi; Dipple; Islamova; Mizinina; Tracy), but, without 
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
153
a doubt, both the novel and the picture are imbued with hedonism, the 
authoritative assertion of beauty and harmony in search of the truth.
According to Murdoch, the human soul seeks to know the truth, 
but only love and art can help in it. The writer deploys this thesis in her 
novel The Black Prince (1973): “Art tells the only truth that ultimately 
matters. It is the light by which human things can be mended. And 
after art there is, let me assure you all, nothing.” (416) Reflecting on 
the outlined issue, in the best traditions of Plato’s Socratic dialogues, 
Murdoch even dramatizes the idea in her own dialogue about art, in 
which Socrates, Plato and his disciples act as protagonists. By the mouth 
of Socrates, she assures that “good art tells us more truth about our 
lives and our world than any other kind of thinking or speculation—it 
certainly speaks to more people. And perhaps the language of art is 
the most universal and enduring kind of human thought” (Murdoch, 
Existentialists 493). Art, according to Murdoch, brings the recipients 
closer to knowing the truth. The Good appears as the highest meaning 
of art for her, because art is a powerful influence on a person, which 
helps to discover the true human nature. In this way, Iris Murdoch 
actualizes important aspects of the philosophy of art and brings them 
into the realm of ontology.
Conclusion
The issue of intermedia dialogue of arts, actualized by modern literary 
studies, was one of the key problems in Iris Murdoch’s oeuvre. The 
British writer tried to find out the ontology of the art phenomenon, 
its multifunctional sense in the life of a person alongside with the spe-
cifics of the relationships between arts. Reflecting on art in her own 
philosophical essays and dialogues (“Conceptions of Unity. Art”; “Art 
and Eros: A Dialogue about Art”), Murdoch argued that a work of 
art opens up a space for reflection, it enables the recipients to be co-
creators while experiencing art in its cognitive and aesthetic aspects.
The theoretical and philosophical views of the author on the prob-
lem of polyfunctionality of art, its communicative role, the problem of 
the artist and his work of art are also actively articulated by Murdoch in 
her novels. In the texts of her fiction, the writer accumulates the experi-
ence of various arts, which she implements through a number of liter-
ary techniques. In particular, in Jackson’s Dilemma, The Black Prince, 
The Sea, the Sea and some others we identified and explored the inter-
media markers at the level of imagological transformations (by means 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
154
of anthroponymic and anthropomorphic allusions). The protagonists 
of her novels are painters, novelists, theater directors, art connoisseurs 
or in vast majority people somehow related to arts. Thus, the author 
emphasizes that it is not necessary to be a professional artist or an art 
critic in order to read and experience “true art.”
Another intermedia code of Murdoch’s novels is the perception of 
artworks created by great artists. In her literary texts such receptive 
versions are often uttered by the “voices” of her characters, both pro-
fessionals and amateurs. Hence, the writer’s emphasis on the impor-
tance of the recipient (“client,” “consumer” of the art), who acts as an 
essential link of the receptive matrix “author-text-recipient-artwork.” 
In addition, quite often Murdoch reproduces the effect of suggestion 
on the consciousness of her characters at the moment of the reception 
act (The Sea, the Sea). The internal narratives of her characters, their 
“stream of consciousness,” at the same time testify to the blurring of 
the boundaries between the reality and the world of art.
The usual meeting place of Murdoch’s characters is an artistic topos, 
which appears as another intermedia marker. Museums, theaters, exhi-
bitions, galleries of paintings and sculptures (A Fairly Honorable Defeat) 
appear as such demonstrative topos. Sometimes a function of the artistic 
topos is performed by a painter’s house, certain rooms of which appear 
in the reader’s reception as thematic collections in his private gallery 
(Jackson’s Dilemma).
Consequently, the reader’s consciousness repeatedly encounters 
various ekphrastic codes (the ekphrasis of paintings). In particular, 
the great paintings are not only described and discussed in Murdoch’s 
texts (ekphrastic writing), but function as separate characters—they 
anthropomorphize, “live their own life,” have their own space (Jackson’s 
Dilemma, A Fairly Honorable Defeat). In addition, according to the 
writer’s idea, works of art sometimes play a decisive role in the lives of 
her characters (An Unofficial Rose, Under the Net, The Sea, the Sea, The 
Black Prince). So, we can state that the use of intermedia components is 
one of the markers of Iris Murdoch’s idiostyle, which actualizes impor-
tant aspects of the philosophy of art and brings them into the realm of 
ontological issues.
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina:     Ontology of the Art Phenomenon …
155
WORKS CITED
Byatt, A. S. Iris Murdoch. London: Longman Group, 1976.
Conradi, Peter. Iris Murdoch: The Saint and the Artist. London: Macmillan Press, 
1987.
Clüver, Claus. “Intermediality and Interarts Studies.” Changing Borders: Contemporary 
Positions in Intermediality. Eds. Jens Arvidson, Mikael Askander, Jørgen Bruhn, 
and Heidrun Führer. Lund: Intermedia Studies Press, 2007. 19–37.
Cumming, Robert. Velikiye khudozhniki. Transl. N. Skorobogatov. Kharkov; Belgo-
rod: Book Club LLC, 2008.
Dipple, Elizabeth. Iris Murdoch: Work for the Spirit. London; Methuem, 1982.
Eikhenbaum, B. “Problemy kinostilistiki.” Poetika kino: perechityvaya 'Poetiku kino’. 
Sankt-Peterburg: RIAH, 2001.13–38.
Franko, Ivan. Literaturno-krytychni pratsi. Zibrannya tvoriv. Vol. 31. Kyiv: Naukova 
dumka, 1981.
Freidenberg, O. M. Mif i literatura drevnosti. Yekaterinburg: U-faktoriya, 2008.
Geller, L. “Voskresheniye ponyatiya ili slovo ob yekfrasise.” Ekfrasis v russkoy literature: 
tr. Lozannskogo simpoziuma. Moscow: MIK, 2002. 5–22.
Islamova, A. K. “Stanovleniye i razvitiye esteticheskoy sistemy I. Murdoch.” Nauchn. 
dokl. vyssh. shk. Filologicheskiye nauki 6 (1990): 30–41.
Kun, N. Legendy i Mify Drevnei Gretsii. Sankt-Peterburg: Azbuka-classica, 2008.
Lotman, Juri U. Semiotika kino i problemy kinoestetiki. Tallinn: Eesti Raamat Publishing 
House, 1973.
Mizinina, I. N. “Romany I. Murdoch kontsa 60-kh—nachala 70-kh godov (Idei filo-
sofii Platona v zerkale khudozhestvennoy struktury).” Moscow: Avtoreferat dys. 
kand. filol. nauk, 1991.
Murdoch, Iris. A Fairly Honourable Defeat. New York, NY: Vintage Books, 2019.
Murdoch, Iris. An Unofficial Rose. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1964.
Murdoch, Iris. Existentialists and Mystics: Writings on philosophy and literature. New 
York, NY: Penguin Books, 1999.
Murdoch, Iris. Jackson’s Dilemma. New York, NY: Penguin Books, 1995.
Murdoch, Iris. Metaphysics as a Guide to Morals. New York, NY: Penguin Books, 1993.
Murdoch, Iris. The Black Prince. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books Books, 1977.
Murdoch, Iris. The Sacred and Profane Love Machine. New York, NY: Penguins Books, 
1986.
Murdoch, Iris. The Sea, the Sea. London: Chatto & Windus, 1978.
Nalyvayko, D. “Literatura v systemi mystetstv yak haluz’ porivnyal’noho literaturo-
znavstva.” Slovo i Chas 6. (2003): 7–19.
Shakhova K. Obrazotvorche mystetstvo i literatura (Literaturno-krytychnyy narys). Kyiv: 
Dnipro, 1987.
Chervinska, O. “Ekphrastic Text in the Margins and in the Space of Pushkin’s Writing 
(The Stationmaster).” Theory and the history of ekphrasis: the results and perspectives of 
the study. Ed. T. Avtukhovich. Siedlce: Wydawnictwo Naukowe IKR[i]BL, 2018. 
149–167.
Tracy D. “Iris Murdoch and Many Faces of Platonism.” Iris Murdoch and the Search for 
Human Goodness. Eds. M. Antonaccio and W. Schweiker. Chicago, IL; London: 
The University of Chicago Press, 1996. 54–75.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
156
Ontologija umetniškega fenomena v delih Iris 
Murdoch
Ključne besede: angleška književnost / Murdoch, Iris / filozofija umetnosti / 
ontologija / intermedialnost / pripovedna tehnika / ekfraza
Članek obravnava intermedialni umetniški dialog v opusu britanske pisate-
ljice in filozofinje Iris Murdoch. Ontologija umetniškega fenomena in njegov 
funkcionalni pomen v avtoričinih proznih besedilih, specifike medumetno-
stnega razmerja v njenih filozofskih esejih in dialogih so obravnavani z vidika 
intermedialnosti. Prispevek na osnovi intermedialne raziskovalne metodolo-
gije razkriva avtoričine teoretske in filozofske poglede na multifunkcionalnost 
umetnosti, interakcijo umetnika in umetniškega dela. Ključne tehnike medu-
metnostnega diskurza, skupaj z antroponimičnimi aluzijami, so obravnavane 
kot intermedialni označevalci besedil, identificirani in raziskani na ravni ima-
goloških transformacij. Ljudje umetnosti: umetniki, udeleženci umetniškega 
diskurza, pa tudi prejemniki umetnosti predstavljajo poseben tip likov v roma-
nih Iris Murdoch. Skladno s tem je v ontologiji umetniškega dela poudarjen 
pomen prejemnika, ki deluje kot bistveni člen receptivne matrice »avtor-bese-
dilo-prejemnik-umetniško delo«. Posebno stičišče likov v avtoričinih delih 
so umetniški toposi: muzej, razstava, umetniška galerija ali umetnikova hiša. 
Poleg tega se bralec ali bralka njene proze vedno znova srečuje z različnimi 
ekfrastičnimi kodi: ekfraze slik niso le prisotne v avtoričinih besedilih, ampak 
delujejo kot atropomorfizirani liki, dramatis personae, imajo svoj prostor 
(fizična in mentalna mesta) in igrajo odločilno vlogo v življenju protagonistov 
in protagonistk. Posledično ugotavljamo, da je uporaba intermedialnih kom-
ponent eden od označevalcev idiostila Iris Murdoch, ki aktualizira pomembne 
vidike filozofije umetnosti in jih postavlja v sfero ontološke problematike.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK  821.11.09Murdoch I. 
111.852
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.08
Postwar Intellectuals and the 
Concept of European Literature: 
Exile, Memory, Reparation
Neus Rotger
Universitat Oberta de Catalunya (UOC), Rambla del Poblenou, 156, 08018 Barcelona, Spain
https://orcid.org/0000-0002-5298-2267
nrotgerc@uoc.edu
This article focuses on the concept of European literature—its invention in Western 
cultural hi and Magdi story, as well as the meaning and value attributed to it 
as a form of a warring Europe. It addresses the contributions of key European 
intellectuals of the interwar period and the postwar years, such as Victor 
Klemperer, Paul Valéry, Thomas Mann, Edmund Husserl, Ernst Robert Curtius, 
Jean Guéhenno, Karl Jaspers, and Erich Auerbach. The article discusses the 
important and often obscured similarities between the two periods and holds 
up the cultural assumptions and representations of these intellectuals’ collective 
discourse alongside their later critical reception by scholars like Edward Said, 
Armando Gnisci, Franca Sinopoli, and Magdi Yousef. Through this critical review 
of postwar intellectual thought, the article analyzes the ideological and affective 
charge of the idea of European literature as it is perpetuated through schooling 
and the paradigm of literary history. It demonstrates how, even though it was used 
as a defense against barbarism after the two world wars, the notion of “European 
literature,” like that of “tradition,” became a highly vulnerable construct after the 
advent of post-structuralism.
Keywords: European literature / comparative literature / literary history / supranational 
identity / exile philology
157
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
In August 1935, the Romance-language philologist of Jewish origin 
Victor Klemperer received two letters whose different ways of invoking 
the word “Europe” gave rise to an intriguing but painful reflection.1 
The first letter, sent from the other side of the Atlantic, carried tidings 
1 An earlier version of this article was published in Spanish (see Rotger). Research 
for this article has been funded by the Spanish Research Agency as part of the research 
project “The Novel as Global Form. Poetic Challenges and Cross-border Literary Cir-
culation” (PID2020-118610GA-I00).
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
158
from his friend, the physicist Harry Dember, and the joy with which he 
told him the news of his appointment as a professor at the University of 
Istanbul: “I can still see his contented smile, the first after weeks of bit-
terness following his dismissal, or rather, to be more precise, his being 
hounded out. Today I can still remember how this smile and the happy 
ring to his voice highlighted the word ‘Europe’” (Klemperer, Language 
148). The second letter came from Klemperer’s nephew Walter, and 
it described the atmosphere of the Café Europa in Jerusalem, where, 
compared to the Jewish community in Tel Aviv, things felt “altogeth-
er more European” (149). In Klemperer’s view, the two letters con-
tained two opposite conceptions of the idea of Europe. The first letter, 
which bore good news but was nevertheless pregnant with nostalgia for 
the continent that Dember had been forced to leave behind, reduced 
Europe to a geographical space, while the second, which Klemperer 
saw as more important and accurate, came closer to grasping Europe’s 
meaning in the open and cosmopolitan air of the Palestinian café.2
It may seem paradoxical that Klemperer locates the meaning of 
Europe in Jerusalem, but his gesture is imbued with intention. The 
Europe that the philologist observes and laments from his home city 
of Dresden is a continent threatened by Nazism, whose meaning had 
been simplified to the extreme in the language of the Third Reich. For 
the purposes of Party propaganda, Europe was conceived in a purely 
spatial and material sense, and in press articles and official speeches it 
was invoked as a land mass, therefore susceptible to greed, annexation, 
and conquest. Emptied of its cultural content and detached from all 
ethical and moral responsibility, Europe became a meaningless space, 
and its dominance could therefore be solely a matter of brute force. This 
discovery—which is just one example among the many that Klemperer 
presents in The Language of the Third Reich—precludes the possibility 
of longing for the space of Europe, because it has become unlivable. 
How to be nostalgic for a Europe that has ceased to exist, seems to be 
asking the philologist, bristling at the useless nostalgia of Dember’s let-
ter sent from exile. In his view, the best place to imagine Europe is now 
far from the continent (and far, therefore, from the threat and horror 
of Nazism). It is not by chance, then, that some of the most fruitful 
2 See “Café Europa” (Klemperer, Language 148–154), one of the short essays col-
lected in the form of a chapter in The Language of the Third Reich: LTI–Lingua Ter-
tii Imperii: Notes of a Philologist. Published in 1947, this book offers a meticulous 
chronicle of the perversions of totalitarian language based on the diary Klemperer 
started writing after Hitler’s ascent to power. On Klemperer’s conception of European 
literature and its relation to Weltliteratur, see D’haen. 
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
159
studies of European tradition and literature have been produced by 
exiled philologists.3
The safeguarding of an idea of Europe that has been restored to 
its full meaning against the abuses of totalitarianism is a task that 
Klemperer assumes as a moral imperative during these crucial years. 
Europe is the focus of his concerns, and the silent possibility of its 
regeneration lies in denouncing the violence exerted against language, 
and, above all, in understanding European literature as a unit and as an 
identity-building project. In the following pages, Klemperer’s example 
enables us to examine the position of the humanities in the face of 
the wounds of history during the first and second European post-war 
periods, and to consider the extent to which their response to disaster 
points toward a certain idea of literature: a literature conceived as a 
solution to the problems of the present, but not exempt from respon-
sibilities or guilt.
The Europe of letters
When Klemperer imagines the possibility of a free and deterritorial-
ized Europe, he is thinking of the old French idea of  a spiritual com-
munity of letters. The chapter on “Europe” in his book Modern French 
Prose (Die modern französische Prosa, 1923) was devoted entirely to 
this possibility, and six years later he returned to this idea in a short 
essay written to commemorate the centenary of the Goethian con-
cept of Weltliteratur. As a onetime professor of French literature at 
the University of Dresden—a post from which he was removed at the 
3 Consider, for instance, George Steiner’s 2005 lecture at the Nexus Institute, 
which is connected to Klemperer’s nephew’s idea of Europe’s meaning as being dis-
closed in a café full of people and words, and with Zygmund Bauman’s poetic excur-
sus about a Europe that is the scene of great adventures and travel. It is also worth 
highlighting other less essayistic works within the field of philosophy, such as the 
lessons by Hans-Georg Gadamer (see Misgeld and Nicholson) and Antoine Compa-
gnon (see Compagnon et al.) and the writings of Edgar Morin (Penser, Culture, Notre 
Europe), which provided a starting point for the astute pages that Claudio Guillén 
wrote about the topic. Equally essential are the long-term historical analyses put for-
ward by Federico Chabod, Rémi Brague, Lucien Febvre, and Josep Fontana, as well 
as Eric Hobsbawm’s essay on “The Curious History of Europe.” From a sociological 
perspective, we must consider Jorge Semprún’s writings about Europe, together with 
the works of Gerard Delanty (Inventing Europe, Rethinking Europe; Formations). For a 
contested, transnational perspective on the idea of Europe, see Balibar; Domínguez; 
Domínguez and D’haen; Foley and Korkut; Weller. 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
160
beginning of 1935 due to his Jewish background—Klemperer ap-
proaches the study of the early modern Republic of Letters as a form of 
recovering a certain meaning of the idea of Europe.4
In Enlightenment France, the cultural ideal of the Res Publica 
Litterarum reflected the secular and civilized Europa that authors such 
as Voltaire were actively helping to define (especially in The Age of 
Louis XIV). Inspired by free and equal dialogue, Voltaire imagined the 
utopian possibility of an independent and peaceful “grand société des 
esprits,” but the real referent of this ideal was none other than con-
temporary Europe, a continent devastated by ignorance and supersti-
tion and divided by war and religious differences. Supported by a firm 
conviction in the perfectibility of knowledge, the project of creating an 
open and cosmopolitan community of scholars and literary figures that 
stretched across national boundaries attributed a power far superior to 
the limited scope of politics to these extensive long-distance networks 
of correspondence and travel: “This correspondence still continues,” 
Voltaire writes in 1751, “it is one of the consolations for the ills that 
ambition and politics have spread in the world (Cette correspondance 
dure encore, elle est une des consolations des maux que l’ambition et la 
politique répandent sur la terre).” (Voltaire 1027)
The same confidence in the soothing power of European letters can 
be found, just a few decades later, in the cosmopolitanism of Madame de 
Staël, whose De l’Allemagne imagines the literary Europe as the product 
of cultural exchange amongst intellectuals across the continent. It can 
also be traced in the Christianizing sentiments of Chateaubriand’s The 
Genius of Christianity (Le génie du christianisme, 1802) and Novalis’s 
essay “Christendom or Europe” (“Die Christenheit oder Europa,” 
1799), which are both heartfelt lamentations for a Europe orphaned by 
God and divided by the Napoleonic wars. This faith in the unlimited 
and salvific power of European culture refers, it is worth saying, only 
to the classics that traveled well beyond national borders. Famous in 
this regard are the words that Voltaire dedicates to Shakespeare and 
Lope de Vega in his Appeal to All the Nations of Europe (Appel à toutes 
les nations de l’Europe, 1761), reprimanding the national poets for their 
4 A disciple of Karl Vossler, Klemperer devoted most of his publications to the 
study of eighteenth-century French literature. In 1914, he finished a thesis on Mon-
tesquieu’s poetic thought, and later he published the aforementioned Modern French 
Prose: French Literature from Napoleon to the Present (1925, 4 vols.), Modern French Lyr-
ics (1929), and Pierre Corneille (1933). During the worst years of Nazism, Klemperer 
worked clandestinely on an ambitious project on eighteenth-century French literature, 
the full result of which came to light after his death in 1960.
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
161
willingness to satisfy the tastes of their own countries rather than the 
demand for a unitary European taste. Even though this unitary taste 
would prove to be essentially French in the end, it is nevertheless clear 
to Klemperer that the only possible thing to yearn for now is that idea 
of a cultured Europe with a transnational vocation based on a sense 
of shared knowledge, rather than on its fragile and disputed political 
borders.5
From this retrospective viewpoint, the oscillation between a mate-
rial Europe defeated by the course of history and the Janus-like dream 
of its regeneration in the realm of letters accompanies the very idea 
of European literature from its first conceptualizations. Klemperer 
observes this kind of agonizing movement in the “naive happiness” of 
the eighteenth century, in the cosmopolitan exaltation of Madame de 
Staël, and even in Goethe’s complacent Europeanism. The perspectives 
and desires of the authors who interest him are very different: the uni-
versalist vocation of Voltaire’s literary Europe, for example, is far from 
the Christian Europe of Novalis and the Franco-German centrality of 
the Weltliteratur (which Klemperer endorses to some extent). And yet, 
if there is anything that makes it possible to think of these works as 
part of a single series, it is a kind of shared exhaustion with history, fol-
lowed by a common call for literature to start speaking for history and, 
to a certain degree, against it. Conceived as a response and alternative 
to a present in crisis, or as a form of resistance against fanaticism and 
barbarism, European literature begins to present itself as the blissful 
inverse of the political Europe against which it defines itself: “The sin-
gular nature of European literature,” writes Marc Fumaroli, “is propor-
tional to the paradoxical singularity of European history: the former 
is a reflection and reparation of what the latter strives to undo (La 
singularité de la littérature européenne est à la mesure de la singularité 
paradoxale de l’histoire européenne: l’une est méditation et réparation 
de ce que l’autre s’acharne à défaire).” (Fumaroli et al., Identité 15)
The crisis of the European spirit
The drive that seeks in literature a way to repair history beats with spe-
cial urgency in the dramatic conditions that besiege Klemperer’s writ-
ing. His European notes, conceived and written clandestinely during 
5 For an approach to the Enlightenment idea of the Republic of Letters, see 
Goodman.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
162
his confinement in a “Jewish house,” updates the old tragic tone that 
he perceives as background music in his works on the idea of European 
literature. During the interwar period, it is the very idea of Europe as 
a literary and cultural project that needs to be rescued, both from the 
abuses of totalitarian language and from an older and even more pain-
ful legacy. After all, one of the lessons of the fallout from the Great 
War had been that even the highest and most beautiful ideas were de-
structible, but that, at the same time, such horror would not have been 
possible without them. As Paul Valéry writes in 1919:
So many horrors could not have been possible without so many virtues. 
Doubtless much science was needed to kill so many, to waste so much prop-
erty, annihilate so many cities in so short a time; but moral qualities in like 
number were also needed. Are Knowledge and Duty then suspect? (Valéry 24; 
italics in the original)
In the immediate aftermath of the war, when not only scientific and 
technical progress but also humanistic and moral knowledge felt under 
suspicion, Valéry imagines in “La crise de l’esprit” (“The Crisis of the 
Mind,” 1919) the incarnation of the European spirit as a new Hamlet, 
immersed in the contemplation of millions of specters. From an im-
mense terrace in Elsinore overlooking a ghostly Europe, this Hamlet 
wavers before the dilemma of choosing between truth’s life or death, and 
the world’s order or disorder. In Valéry’s telling, the ghosts haunting 
Hamlet are the objects of Europe’s past achievements, and he is sick with 
remorse for the barbarism of recent history in part due to them. While 
he hesitates, the skulls of Leonardo, Leibniz, Kant, Hegel, and Marx 
pass through his hands, and he wonders what to do with their illustri-
ous legacy. The burden is heavy, but if he leaves them behind, what will 
become of him? Let’s listen for a moment to his despairing soliloquy:
“What about Me,” he says, “what is to become of Me, the European intel-
lect? … And what is peace? Peace is perhaps that state of things in which the 
natural hostility between men is manifested in creation, rather than destruction as 
in war. Peace is a time of creative rivalry and the battle of production; but am 
I not tired of producing?” […] “Farewell, ghosts! The world no longer needs 
youor me. By giving the name of progress to its own tendency to a fatal 
precision, the world is seeking to add to the benefits of life the advantages of 
death. A certain confusion still reigns; but in a little while all will be made 
clear, and we shall witness at last the miracle of an animal society, the perfect 
and ultimate anthill.” (Valéry 29–30)
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
163
The response of this weary and faltering Hamlet, overcome by discour-
agement, reflects, among other things, the hopelessness of European 
intellectuals during the interwar period. The same fatalistic tone and 
sense of an ending arguably dominates the vast body of literature 
on Europe written during the decades following the end of the First 
World War, which is full of dire forecasts about the decline, failure, 
and crisis of the European spirit. In this regard, Thomas Mann’s lec-
ture “Achtung, Europa!” (“Europe Beware”) is especially relevant.6 This 
talk, given in Nice in April of 1935, more than fifteen years after the 
disaster of the war, sounded the alarm once more about the dramatic 
erosion of the values of European culture and the rise of irrationalism 
and anti-intellectualism. According to the German novelist, this pro-
cess of degradation made itself evident among younger generations, 
and its powerful advance threatened a return to barbarism. For the 
future author of Doctor Faustus, who was sixty at the time, the Great 
War and the world that came after it were to blame for the emergence 
of a Europe that had renounced culture and promoted moral laziness 
and intellectual exhaustion instead. Like the late Goethe when he him-
self was past sixty, Mann complains about the ease with which young 
people allowed themselves to be pressured by external circumstances 
and emphasizes the danger of diluting individual responsibility into 
the passivity of the collective subject. Taking refuge in the comfort of 
the masses, Europe had opted for liberation from the subject and its 
burden; that is, liberation from thought, ethics, and reason.
Towards a new humanism
A month later, in May 1935, Edmund Husserl expressed a similar con-
cern in a lecture in Vienna. On this occasion the philosopher was also, 
on balance, pessimistic. His disappointment was not only with the di-
sastrous state of contemporary Europe, but also with the demonstrated 
incapacity of the so-called “spiritual” sciences to shed light on a possi-
ble way out. In his lecture, Husserl laments the overabundance of naive 
reform proposals from the humanities that fail in their well-intentioned 
efforts to repair a sick Europe and end up voicing a melancholic com-
plaint about its death. Rather than this fatalism—which Husserl sees 
6 Mann’s lecture makes no reference to Hitler or German National Socialism, and 
yet it was received as a critique of Nazi Germany, the first that Mann made in public 
after a long and uncomfortable silence.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
164
as typical of the literary world—he proposes a positive solution to the 
dilemma of Valéry’s European Hamlet:
The crisis of European existence can end in only one of two ways: in the ruin 
of a Europe alienated from its rational sense of life, fallen into a barbarian 
hatred of spirit; or in the rebirth of Europe from the spirit of philosophy, 
through a heroism of reason that will definitely overcome naturalism. Europe’s 
greatest danger is weariness. (Husserl 192)
Instead of giving in to or lamenting the irrevocable destiny of a conti-
nent in crisis, Husserl defends the idea that the degraded state in which 
Europe finds itself can be reversed. To achieve this, the father of tran-
scendental phenomenology points to a necessary reworking of the very 
concept of Europe, inspired by philosophy and the critical spirit. Like 
his contemporary Klemperer, Husserl finds hope for Europe in mod-
ern reason. In his view, however, it is not a matter of rehabilitating 
the Enlightenment project, whose great error had been to lock itself 
into guilty complacency, but rather of conceiving of the world around 
us—or “world of life” (Lebenswelt)—as something that has validity ex-
clusively in the realm of the spirit. Starting from this new theoretical 
intuition, which is purely phenomenological in its roots, Husserl as-
pires to subsume the differences between nations into the unity of a 
single “spiritual figure.”
Grounded in critical reason and sustained by an intimate spiritual 
kinship among peoples, the results of this supranational Europe that 
Husserl projects into the future are undoubtedly controversial. For 
some, such as the British critic Terry Eagleton, the European unity 
evoked by Husserl ends up being an abstract utopia, almost purely rhe-
torical and difficult to apply in reality: “Phenomenology sought to solve 
the nightmare of modern history by withdrawing into a speculative 
sphere where eternal certainty lay in wait; as such, it became a symptom, 
in its solitary, alienated brooding, of the very crisis it offered to over-
come.” (Eagleton 53) On the other hand, for convinced Europeanists 
like Jorge Semprún, the future into which the Husserlian spiritual figure 
was projected is the real present of today’s democratic Europe.
During the same interwar period, Ernst Robert Curtius published a 
series of polemical articles under the title The German Spirit in Danger 
(Deutscher Geist in Gefahr, 1932). In tune with the tone of other essays 
written between the wars, Curtius warns of the “spiritual chaos” that 
dominates Germany, denouncing the capitulation of the German 
intelligentsia and its abandonment of a certain sense of culture. Faced 
with that situation, Curtius finds in the Husserlian theses an open way 
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
165
to overcome the dangerous separation between academic knowledge, 
which is increasingly closed in on itself, and what Husserl defined 
with his aforementioned term Lebenswelt. For Curtius, it is possible to 
conceive of a rational idea of  culture that would integrate the subject 
into the forms of tradition and be capable of projecting itself through 
unity rather than through the affirmation of national identities. Such 
is the conviction from which Curtius begins his most important book, 
European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, a project that he finished 
in 1947 and which in its second edition is presented as a “phenomenol-
ogy of literature” rather than as a work on literary history, comparative 
literature, or literary science.
Through a meticulous study of the recurring or constant phenom-
ena of the rhetorical tradition in schools, Curtius aims to demonstrate 
the common Latin-medieval background that sustains the unity of 
European culture. Emphasizing the role of the Latin Middle Ages as 
a transmitter of the classics through teaching, Curtius traces power-
ful lines of continuity through more than 2,700 years of history that 
allow us to think about European literature as a “timeless present” with 
a Latin axis, from Homer to Goethe. Rather than being an isolated 
autonomous entity, Curtius asserts that this united Europe with cul-
tural roots in Latinity must participate in a real way in the world of 
life. Curtius points, thus, to the reconstruction of the very spirit of 
the European tradition, and to the renewal of the studia humanitatis 
as an indispensable means of understanding that tradition. In the pro-
logue to the first version of European Literature, published in 1945 in 
the Heidelberg-based magazine Die Wandlung, Curtius explains the 
personal reasons that guide his research, from his first visit to Rome 
and his fascination with the Palatine, which made him abandon his 
interest in French literature to seek “the road to Rome” (Curtius, Essays 
498), to the feared and foreseen advent of the world war. These motiva-
tions also justify his monumental monograph as a response from the 
integrity of culture to a dismembered and ruined Europe: “The remedy 
which, in 1932, I believed I could prescribe was a new Humanism, 
albeit one which should have little in common with that of the nine-
teenth century.” (500) In the same text, he explains that back then he 
proclaimed an attitude of restoration—a new humanism founded in 
the Latin Middle Ages.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
166
The problem of guilt
If Curtius’s tone in 1945 was melancholy, it was because confidence 
in a reparation of Europe through letters had obviously been dimin-
ished by the impact of the Second World War. At that time, Europe 
was, in Edgar Morin’s phrase, “a word that lied” (Morin, Penser 11). 
That same year, André Malraux would say that he had never believed 
in the existence of a European culture, and that Europe itself could 
only be defined by negation as “that which isn’t Asia” (“ce qui n’est 
pas l’Asie,” qtd. in Sinopoli 9). In this context, the 1946 Rencontres 
Internationales de Genève began with an extensive series of conferences 
and discussions on a topic that had once again become urgent: “the 
European spirit.” In the introduction to the Spanish edition of the con-
ferences, which appeared ten years later, the Spanish philosopher and 
essayist Julián Marías noted that the underlying issue highlighted in 
Geneva was the dissociation between European history, which had lost 
its meaning and direction, and European thought, which operated in 
a vacuum, and whose most serious problem was—and continued to be 
a decade later—the integration of the historical world. The difficulty, 
then, lay in how to forge, from assumptions that could no longer be 
considered innocent, “[a] Europe in action and not a Europe in repre-
sentation,” in a phrase of Merleau-Ponty’s that Marías makes his own.
For those attending the Rencontre, including intellectuals such 
as Jean Guéhenno, Denis de Rougemont, Georg Lukács, Georges 
Bernanos, and Karl Jaspers, the disaster of the war had put an end to 
any possibility of thinking about Europe using the conceptual tools of 
the past. Europe was responsible for—and even guilty of causing—the 
world’s catastrophe, and any attempt to build a European identity had 
to start from a way of thinking that would allow it to take charge of so 
much suffering. In the opinion of Jean Guéhenno, who was the director 
of the magazine Europe during the years before the outbreak of the war, 
the European spirit had been seriously wounded by history and now 
had to bear the shame of what he called “l’esprit concentrationnaire” 
(Guéhenno in Benda et al. 132). Nevertheless, the challenge posed by 
reconstruction did not produce a paralyzing guilt, but rather a produc-
tive one that promoted a militant humanism: “The salvation of the 
European spirit? It can only lie in a militant humanism (Le salut de l’es-
prit européen? Il ne peut être que dans un humanisme militant).” (140) 
There was no longer room for a solipsistic intelligentsia that lamented its 
incapacity for action, and Guéhenno did not hesitate to evoke Valéry’s 
essay as an example of what Europe could no longer afford: “Europe 
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
167
does not need to be Hamlet, but Prometheus (Ce n’est pas un Hamlet 
qu’il convient à l’Européen d’être, c’est un Prométhée).” (140)
For Jaspers, who had taught a course that year on Germany’s respon-
sibility in the war, the problem of guilt was also inescapable: “We must 
consider all pain,” he asserted in his lecture, “even that which has not 
reached us, as something that should have reached us and from which 
we have been saved without deserving it (Nous devons considérer toute 
douleur, même celle qui ne nous a pas atteints nous-mêmes, comme 
quelque chose qui devait nous atteindre et dont nous avons été seule-
ment sauvés sans l’avoir mérité).” (Jaspers in Benda et al. 401) In the 
Europe of the immediate postwar period, which Bernanos described as 
a spectral Europe haunted by images of death and afraid of itself, every-
thing had been destroyed. That also included European humanism, 
old and new, which even Jasper viewed as on the way to becoming a 
humanism with reactionary overtones whose effectiveness was directed 
only towards the past.
The common origin of European letters
From the Rencontres Internationales in Geneva it emerged an aware-
ness of the reactionary character that dominates most of the works on 
European literature published during the postwar period. Tellingly, 
many monographs of this period propose a kind of trip backwards 
through European letters with the purpose of founding, in the past, 
a sense of Europe as a unit and as a project. Curtius’s European 
Literature outlines a long journey that ends with Goethe but refers con-
stantly to ancient Romania, while Nicolas Ségur’s History of European 
Literature (Historie de la littérature européenne, 1948) locates the unity 
of European cultural heritage in Greece; a year later, in The Classical 
Tradition, Gilbert Highet concerns himself with demonstrating con-
temporary Western literature’s debt to the classical tradition. A similar 
approach can also be recognized in the pages of Mimesis (1946), the 
comprehensive study that Erich Auerbach produced during his years in 
exile in Istanbul, which covered the history of realism in the Western 
tradition.7 Drawing on numerous relevant historical cases that go up 
7 It is worth mentioning that the chair that Auerbach occupied in Istanbul was the 
same one that Leo Spitzer had left vacant when he left to the United States, and the 
one that Victor Klemperer had desperately requested, without success, in 1935. After 
the publication of Mimesis, Klemperer wrote a glowing review of Auerbach’s book in 
which he highlighted the value of philology in exile (Klemperer, “Philologie”).
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
168
to Virginia Woolf and Marcel Proust, Auerbach evokes, in an openly 
nostalgic tone, a characteristically European way of representing real-
ity, whose origin can be found in the contrasting models of the Old 
Testament and the Odyssey, and whose turning point is Dante’s Comedy.
The idea of a single original source or a common remote kinship 
for the different national literatures of Europe also resonates in those 
years in the writings and lectures of T. S. Eliot. In his October 1944 
investiture speech as president of the Society of Virgilian Studies in 
London, Eliot affirmed the unity and organicity of the European cul-
tural tradition, and went on to draw before the English academy a line 
of continuity that ran through all European literature from the present 
day to Virgil, that symbol of Rome and, consequently, of Europe:
We need to remind ourselves that, as Europe is a whole (and still, in its pro-
gressive mutilation and disfigurement, the organism out of which any greater 
world harmony must develop), so European literature is a whole, the several 
members of which cannot flourish, if the same blood-stream does not circu-
late throughout the whole body. The blood-stream of European literature is 
Latin and Greeknot as two systems of circulation, but one, for it is through 
Rome that our parentage in Greece must be traced. What common measure 
of excellence have we in literature, among our several languages, which is not 
the classical measure? (Eliot 72)
The biological metaphor Eliot uses, which was also very much to 
Curtius’s taste, could not be more explicit regarding the unitary (and ab-
stract) sense that he gives to the European literary tradition. According 
to Eliot, the great poets of all ages, connected by an inalienable origin 
and related to one another through a complex network of borrowings 
and influences, form a “simultaneous order” outside of historical time 
that successive generations of poets will also join. From a contemporary 
perspective, this idealistic and supposedly depoliticized conception of 
European culture, which appears to interpret the common Greco-Latin 
origin as a means of alleviating the wear and tear of history, becomes a 
highly problematic abstraction. Almost half a century after Eliot gave 
his lecture, J. M. Coetzee responded in an essay with the same title 
(“What is a Classic?”) to each of the contradictions and traps in Eliot’s 
theses. Coetzee notes the almost complete absence of references to war 
in Eliot’s speech, given while Allied forces were fighting in Europe and 
German shells were still raining down on London. More interesting 
for our purposes, however, is his meticulous unmasking of the interests 
that lead Eliot to disconnect the question of the classics from mate-
rial history, and which according to Coetzee flowed from a radically 
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
169
conservative political program for Europe based on the Catholic 
Church as the main supranational body.
European literature as myth
Even apart from Coetzee’s critique, it seems clear that the idea of a 
European literary identity based on a common origin is difficult to 
sustain within the new framework of post-World War II literary rela-
tions. One well-known resistance against this idea was the critique on 
the centrality and unity of Europe that led to the 1978 publication 
of Edward Said’s Orientalism. Seen through a decentralized, “out of 
place” perspective, Said’s Europe called out the near-total absence of 
Islam in existing studies about the European tradition, revealing the 
mechanisms by which European intellectuals had constructed a cultur-
al identity whose superiority was based on an exaggerated and distorted 
opposition between Europe and the rest of the world.8 Equally contro-
versial at the time was Martin Bernal’s book Black Athena (1987), a de-
tailed study that undermined positive belief in Greco-Roman culture as 
the common source of the European tradition, bringing elements from 
the oldest Egyptian and Mesopotamian civilizations into the light. 
These studies and others like them tried to demonstrate that European 
literary identity, far from being natural and stable, was a construction, 
and in fact an invention, in the sense of the felicitous expression coined 
during those same years by Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Rangers in 
The Invention of Tradition (1983). In any of these cases, it is worth rec-
ognizing and studying the strong ideological and affective charge of the 
idea of  European literature as it is perpetuated through schooling and 
the paradigm of literary history, as well as the European critical-literary 
8 A turning point in Said’s criticism is his commentary on Mimesis, one of the 
clearest examples of how European culture defines itself with its back to the Orient 
and Islam: “[T]he book owed its existence to the very fact of Oriental, non-Occi-
dental exile and homelessness. And if this is so, then Mimesis itself is not, as it has 
so frequently been taken to be, only a massive reaffirmation of the Western cultural 
tradition, but also a work built upon a critically important alienation from it, a work 
whose conditions and circumstances of existence are not immediately derived from 
the culture it describes with such extraordinary insight and brilliance but built rather 
on an agonizing distance from it.” (Said 8) Despite these observations, there also some 
limitations to Said’s criticism of a philological tradition he himself was a part of, and 
to which he was linked from the beginning of his career by his translation (with Maire 
Said) of Auerbach’s essay “Philology of the Weltliteratur” (1952). For a critique of 
Said’s philological approach, see Youssef 30–32.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
170
discourse grounded in what Armando Gnisci proposed to call a poetics 
of European decolonization.9
The mythical idea of European literary identity is not unrelated to 
the conviction that sustains the argument about literature as a superior 
raison d’être. We must not lose sight of the fact that suspicion of his-
tory—or “flight from history,” in Eagleton’s expression—is a dominant 
tendency in modern literary theory, that is, in the theory that was born 
in the context of the First World War and precedes the advent of post-
isms. From the first formalisms to neorhetoric, as well as in Czech and 
French structuralism, stylistics, new criticism, and phenomenology, we 
can observe a tendency to define the nature and value of literary works 
based on the features that pit them against history. This tendency insists 
upon literature’s universality, originality, and exemplary nature in the 
face of particularism and attachment to the realities of history; places 
the monumental character of the former above the documentary value 
attributed to the other; and appeals to the organic and timeless uni-
verse of every literary work as proof and refutation of the contingency 
of history. According to this schema, literary classics are understood as 
the victorious heroes or survivors of the historical moment they arise 
from. What, then, can be learned from this suspicion of history? What 
meaning and what function do these postulates demand from litera-
ture? It is true that, built outside of history, or against it, literature can 
be called upon to repair, redeem and even heal the wounds of barba-
rism. Nevertheless, it is also important to be aware of the dangers that 
this conception of literature entails, and of the damage it has produced.
European literatures in history
Once the myth of European literature has been superseded, the idea 
of a unified and stable identity and project that was once presented 
as necessary soon becomes untenable: literary Europe abandons its 
ideal, abstract, immaterial nature and superimposes itself onto a his-
torical space that is also in the process of being defined. This open pro-
cess makes it possible to think of European literature in its pluralism 
9 See Gnisci, We, The Europeans; Creolizzare. The works of Franca Sinopoli (Il 
mito, La letteratura), in which the author reconstructs the history of the gestation and 
subsequent degradation of the “myth” of European literature, are also fundamental 
in this effort. See also Marino; Moretti, “Modern”; Youssef, as well as the recently 
published Palgrave Handbook of European Migration in Literature and Culture, edited 
by Stan and Sussman.
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
171
and complementarity, and to fully integrate it into material history. 
Literary Europe becomes polycentric and polygenetic, and in the new 
paradigms of literary historiography we can begin to trace a movement 
that replaces the old parameters of organicity, continuity, and analogy 
with those of diversity, discontinuity, and difference.10 Broadly speak-
ing, this transformation in the ways we historicize European literature 
can be described as a change that is substantiated above all in the type 
of metaphors used to express the development of European literature in 
its historical context. Metaphors that reinforce the temporal criterion, 
which belong above all from the semantic field of biology and the natu-
ral sciences, are being replaced by metaphors that propose a spatializa-
tion of European literature and are based on geographical images such 
as the field, the atlas, or the map.11
The Comparative History of Literatures in European Languages 
(CHLEL) series, launched by the International Comparative Literature 
Association (ICLA), is a clear example of this orientation towards a plu-
ral idea of European literature. The various volumes of the series aim to 
convey the problems of writing literary history through Itamar Even-
Zohar’s notion of the polysystem, making it possible to attend not 
only to the study of European literature as a unit, but to all European 
literatures and the relationships and tensions within the larger liter-
ary system. It follows that the connections between European and 
extra-European literary processes must be taken into account by this 
approach, as well as the presence of Arabic and Jewish literatures in 
European letters.12 In the field of Italian historiography, some propos-
als have also led to a necessary integration of European literature with 
history and geographical space, such as Franco Moretti’s Atlas of the 
European Novel (Atlante del romanzo europeo, 1800–1900, 1997), in 
10 See Chevrel on the problems inherent to writing European literary history.
11 I do not agree with Murcia Conesa’s assertion that Curtius’s monograph can 
be considered an example of the spatialization of historical time. Although it is true 
that Curtius uses the image of aerial photography and the military map to describe a 
historiographical approach that aspires to offer a vision that rises above the reduced 
perspective posed by the national literary histories of the early twentieth century, it 
seems clear that his greatest endeavor is to examine the constants of a “literary biol-
ogy” that enables us to think of Europe “not in a spatial sense, but in a historical one” 
(Curtius, European 26).
12 For a discussion of the methodological problems with the project, see Weis-
gerber, the acting president of the “Coordination Committee,” as well as the various 
monographs dedicated to this issue in Neohelicon. Launched in 1973—the year of the 
publication of the project’s first volume—this magazine was created with the explicit 
intention of covering it from a theoretical perspective.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
172
which literary Europe is defined as a complex ecosystem. Composed of 
different and diverse national and regional entities, this Atlas proposes 
to make “the connection between geography and literature explicit” 
(3) by mapping the history of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century 
European novel. (Moretti proposes to do the same, although with 
different purposes, in his 2005 book Graphs, Maps, Trees.) Another 
noteworthy example can be found in the three volumes of Gian Mario 
Anselmi’s Mappe della letteratura europea e mediterranea (2000–2001), 
where, in light of Massimo Cacciari’s metaphor of the “archipelago,” 
he designs a map of European and Mediterranean literature until the 
end of the twentieth century.
This methodological openness should also have consequences for 
education.13 We must not forget that schools have been, as Curtius 
emphasized so well, the guarantor of European literature’s unity by 
perpetuating the study of the continuity between texts, nor that the 
pedagogical uses of the concept of European literature have tended to 
reinforce the idea of its organicity rather than plurality and difference. 
The perspective of European literary studies has been no stranger to the 
romantic (or mythical) vision detailed above, from the European lit-
erature courses that Vladimir Nabokov taught at Cornell and Harvard 
in the early 1950s to Claudio Guillén’s lectures at the Fundación 
Juan March in Madrid in 2002. Any European literature course that 
wants to articulate itself today must take into account this history that 
belongs to it—as a legacy, but also as a conflict. The interpretation and 
preservation of tradition and European literature continue to be among 
education’s central tasks, but it is difficult to sustain a discourse that 
preserves literature in the illusion of its autonomy, without considering 
and teaching texts in the context of their true complex, diverse, and 
ever-changing integration in history.
13 On the prospect of a critical pedagogy of European literature, see the contribu-
tions of Franca Sinopoli; Marcel Cornis-Pope; Lieven D’hulst; and Yasemin Soysal in 
Domínguez.
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
173
WORKS CITED
Anselmi, Gian Mario, ed. Mappe della letteratura europea e mediterranea. 3 vols. Milan: 
Mondadori, 2000–2001.
Balibar, Étienne. We, the People of Europe? Reflections on Transnational Citizenship. 
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004.
Bauman, Zygmunt. Europe: An Unfinished Adventure. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2004.
Benda, Julien, Georges Bernanos, Karl Jaspers, Stephen Spender, Jean Guéhenno, 
Francesco Flora, Denis de Rougemont, Jean-R. De Salis, and Georg Lukács. 
L’esprit européen. Tome I (1946). Neuchâtel: Les Éditions de la Baconnière, 1947.
Brague, Rémi. Eccentric Culture: A Theory of Western Civilization. Trans. Samuel Lester. 
South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press. 2002.
Chabod, Federico. Storia dell’idea d’Europa. Rome: Laterza, 2010.
Chevrel, Yves. “Peut-on écrire une histoire de la littérature européenne?” Précis de litté-
rature européenne. Ed. Béatrice Didier. Paris: PUF, 1998. 19–36.
Coetzee, J. M. Stranger Shores: Essays, 1986–1999. New York, NY: Viking, 2001.
Compagnon, Antoine, Jacques Seebacher, and Antoine de Baecque, eds. L’esprit de 
l’Europe. Paris: Flammarion, 1993.
Curtius, Ernst Robert. Essays on European Literature. Trans. Michael Kowal. Princeton, 
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973.
Curtius, Ernst Robert. European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages. Trans. Willard 
R. Trask. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2013.
Delanty, Gerard. Formations of European Modernity: A Historical and Political Sociology 
of Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013.
Delanty, Gerard. Inventing Europe: Idea, Identity, Reality. Basingstoke: Palgrave Mac-
millan, 1995.
Delanty, Gerard, and Chris Rumford. Rethinking Europe: Social Theory and the Impli-
cations of Europeanization. Abingdon: Routledge, 2005.
D’haen, Theo. “Saving Europe through Weltliteratur: The Case of Victor Klemperer.” 
The Cambridge History of World Literature. Ed. Debjani Ganguly. Cambridge: 
Cambridge University Press, 2021. 246–260.
Domínguez, César, ed. Literatura europea comparada. Madrid: Arco Libros, 2013.
Domínguez, César, and Theo D’haen, eds. Cosmopolitanism and the Postnational: Lit-
erature and the New Europe. Leiden: Brill, 2015.
Eagleton, Terry. Literary Theory: An Introduction. Minneapolis, MN: University of 
Minnesota Press, 2008.
Eliot, T. S. On Poetry and Poets. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2009.
Febvre, Lucien. L’Europe. Genèse d’une civilisation. Paris: Librairie Académique Perrin, 
1999.
Foley, James, and Umut Korkut. Contesting Cosmopolitan Europe: Euroscepticism, Crisis 
and Borders. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2022.
Fontana, Josep. Europa ante el espejo. Barcelona: Crítica, 1994.
Fumaroli, Marc, Yves Bonnefoy, Harald Weinrich, and Michel Zink, eds. Identité lit-
téraire de l’Europe. Paris: PUF, 2000.
Gnisci, Antonio. Creolizzare l’Europa. Letteratura e migrazione. Rome: Meltemi Edi-
tore, 2003.
Gnisci, Antonio. We, The Europeans: Italian Essays on Postcolonialism. Trans. Matthew 
E. Rusnak. Aurora, CO:  The Davies Group, 2014.
Goodman, Dena. The Republic of Letters: A Cultural History of the French Enlighten-
ment. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
174
Guillén, Claudio. “Europa: ciencia e inocencia.” Múltiples moradas. Ensayo de literatura 
comparada. Barcelona: Tusquets, 1998. 368–426.
Hobsbawm, Eric. “The Curious History of Europe.” On History. London: Abacus, 
1998. 217–227.
Husserl, Edmund. Phenomenology and the Crisis of Philosophy. Trans. Quentin Lauer. 
New York, NY: Harper & Row, 1965.
Klemperer, Victor. “Philologie im Exil.” Vor 33, Nach 45: Gesammelte Aufsätze. Berlin: 
Akademie-Verlag, 1956. 224–229.
Klemperer, Victor. The Language of the Third Reich: LTI, Lingua Tertii Imperii: A Phi-
lologist’s Notebook. Trans. Martin Brady. London; New York, NY: The Athlone 
Press. 2000.
Mann, Thomas. “Europe Beware.” Order of the Day: Political Essays and Speeches of Two 
Decades. Trans. H. T. Lowe-Porter, Agnes E. Meyer, and Eric Sutton. New York, 
NY: Knopf, 1942. 69–82.
Marías, Julián. “Sobre Europa.” El oficio del pensamiento: ensayos. Madrid: Biblioteca 
Nueva, 1958. 59–72.
Marino, Adrian. “Histoire de l’idée de ‘littérature européenne’ et des études euro-
péennes.” Précis de littérature européenne. Ed. Béatrice Didier. Paris: PUF, 1998. 
13–17.
Misgeld, Dieter, and Graeme Nicholson, eds. Hans-Georg Gadamer on Education, 
Poetry, and History: Applied Hermeneutics. Trans. Lawrence Schmidt and Monica 
Reuss. Albany, NY: State University of New York, 1992.
Moretti, Franco. Atlas of the European Novel, 1800–1900. London; New York, NY: 
Verso, 1998.
Moretti, Franco. Graphs, Maps, Trees: Abstract Models for Literary History. London; 
New York, NY: Verso, 2005.
Moretti, Franco. “Modern European Literature: A Geographical Sketch.” Distant 
Reading. London; New York, NY: Verso, 2013. 1–42.
Morin, Edgar. Culture et barbarie européennes. Paris: Bayard, 2005.
Morin, Edgar. Notre Europe: décomposition ou métamorphose. Paris: Fayard, 2014.
Morin, Edgar. Penser l’Europe. Paris: Gallimard, 1987.
Murcia Conesa, Antonio de. “Espacio político y morfología de la literatura europea. 
Aproximación a la tópica histórica de Ernst Robert Curtius.” Revista de Filosofía 
31 (2004): 43–69.
Rotger, Neus. “A vueltas con la historia: sobre la idea de literatura europea.” La inves-
tigación en el área de las Humanidades. Ed. Carme de-la-Mota and Gemma Puig-
vert. Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva, 2009. 183–198.
Said, Edward W. The World, the Text, and the Critic. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 1983.
Semprún, Jorge. Pensar en Europa. Barcelona: Tusquets, 2006.
Stan, Corina, and Charlotte Sussman, eds. The Palgrave Handbook of European Migra-
tion in Literature and Culture. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2023.
Steiner, George. The Idea of Europe: An Essay. New York, NY; London: Overlook 
Duckworth, 2015.
Sinopoli, Franca. Il mito della letteratura europea. Rome: Meltemi, 1999.
Sinopoli, Franca, ed. La letteratura europea vista dagli altri. Rome: Meltemi, 2003.
Voltaire. “Le siècle de Louis XIV.” Œuvres historiques. Ed. René Pomeau. Paris: Gal-
limard, 2000. 603–1295.
Valéry, Paul. History and Politics: The Collected Works of Paul Valéry. Vol. 10. Trans. Denise 
Folliot and Jackson Mathews. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971.
Neus Rotger:     Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
175
Weisgerber, Jean. “Écrire l’histoire: l’exemple de l’Histoire comparée les littératures 
de langues européennes. Principes et organisation.” Théorie littéraire. Problèmes et 
perspectives. Eds. Marc Angenot et al. Paris: PUF, 1989. 353–358.
Weller, Shane. The Idea of Europe. A Critical History. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2021.
Youssef, Magdi. The Myth of European Literature. Rotterdam; Aachen: Symposium 
Press, 1998.
Povojni intelektualci in koncept evropske 
književnosti: izgnanstvo, spomin, odškodnina
Ključne besede: evropska književnost / primerjalna književnost / literarna zgodovina / 
nadnacionalna identiteta / filologija izgnanstva
Razprava se osredotoča na koncept evropske literature, njegovo iznajdbo v 
zahodni kulturni zgodovini ter pomen in vrednost, ki sta mu bila v vojsku-
joči se Evropi pripisana kot obliki nadnacionalne identitete. Obravnava pri-
spevke ključnih evropskih intelektualcev medvojnega in povojnega obdobja, 
kot so Victor Klemperer, Paul Valéry, Thomas Mann, Edmund Husserl, Ernst 
Robert Curtius, Jean Guéhenno, Karl Jaspers in Erich Auerbach. Opozarja 
na pomembne in pogosto zamolčane podobnosti med obema obdobjema 
ter obravnava kulturne predpostavke in predstave kolektivnega diskurza teh 
intelektualcev ob njihovi poznejši kritični recepciji s strani znanstvenikov, kot 
so Edward Said, Armando Gnisci, Franca Sinopoli in Magdi Yousef. S tem 
kritičnim pregledom povojne intelektualne misli članek analizira ideološki in 
afektivni naboj ideje o evropski književnosti, kot se ohranja skozi šolstvo in 
paradigmo literarne zgodovine. Pokaže, kako je pojem »evropske literature«, 
čeprav je bil po obeh svetovnih vojnah uporabljen kot obramba pred barbar-
stvom, tako kot pojem »tradicije« po nastopu poststrukturalizma postal zelo 
ranljiv konstrukt.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 82.091 (4)
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.09

Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about 
the Federal Republic of Germany 
and Its Impact on Societal Change 
in the 1980s
Jānis Oga
Institute of Literature, Folklore and Art of the University of Latvia (ILFA), Mūkusalas iela 3, Rīga, 
LV-1423, Latvia
https://orcid.org/0000-0003-0398-0756
janis.oga@lulfmi.lv
This article examines travels outside the Soviet Union by Latvian writers who 
were recognized by the occupation regime and acclaimed by the public during 
the Brezhnev Era, as one of the privileges enjoyed by the so-called creative 
intelligentsia, and how those travels were reflected in their literary and 
journalistic writings. Journeys abroad elicited conflicting emotions, and writers 
had to be relatively affluent to travel. Still, they often experienced humiliation 
when confronted with the reality of their meager financial means outside the 
U.S.S.R. and the fact that they remained in imprisonment even in the free West. 
The surge in popularity of literary periodicals in the 1980s played a crucial role in 
shaping a new culture of the press and journalism, as they provided large masses 
of readers with essential information about living abroad. Notes on the travels 
include observations on the socio-economic situation, environment, and political 
events and documents that have facilitated trips to the West. The case study explores 
the travelogue by Andrejs Dripe from the 1980s. Dripe’s journalism records the 
rapid transition from the Brezhnev Era to Gorbachev’s perestroika. It becomes 
the first official source of information about the West only a few people among his 
readers have visited.
Keywords: Latvian literature / journalism / travel writing / Soviet tourism / image of the 
West / the Brezhnev Era / perestroika
177
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Kathleen Parthé suggests that a thorough examination of the literary 
process in post-Stalinist Russia, and potentially throughout the entire 
Soviet era, reveals that, in numerous aspects, the significance of the 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
178
text surpasses that of the individual writer (Parthé 295).1 However, 
during the period of Stagnation, also called the Breznev Era, the role 
and choices of a singular writer became more visible and identifiable. A 
viewpoint regarding the contribution of an individual in the events of 
a particular era can be corroborated by research done by Dina Fainberg 
and Artemy M. Kalinovsky, who have stated that “the political, public, 
and scholarly debate throughout Stagnation in Soviet history is often 
wedged over the lines of ‘pre-crisis’ or ‘pre-renewal’.” It also has been 
emphasized that “when the Soviet Union collapsed despite Gorbachev’s 
reform and attempts to modernize the country, ‘stagnation’ became 
the primary explanation of the failure of the Soviet socialist project” 
(Fainberg and Kalinovsky xiv). It is essential to shift the usual, more 
comfortable research focus from dissidents to writers recognized by of-
ficial critics and readers. Latvian historian Daina Bleiere has written 
that historians and other researchers should continue to uncover “un-
comfortable topics, such as changes in the value system of society under 
the influence of the Soviet regime, the relationship of certain groups 
with the Soviet government, how and whether society was able to in-
fluence the Soviet regime” (Bleiere 33).2 Bleiere admits that reducing 
the question to collaboration “moves the problem to a simplified level 
(co-operation with the occupation regime is by definition evil), and 
this approach ignores the fact that the Soviet regime also had a certain 
ideological appeal, at least in its early days” (33).
The methodological basis for this paper is threefold: it derives from 
the work of Alexei Yurchak, who provides a unique understanding of 
the concept of “the abroad” in the Soviet Union as demarcating not 
actual borders or territory but an imagined space; the insights of the 
Canadian historian Anne E. Gorsuch about Soviet tourism abroad; and 
the Epp Annus’s concept of the Baltic States as the Western border-
lands within postcolonial studies.
The theoretical and historical framework
Latvian writer Zigmunds Skujiņš, after being denied permission 
for his and his daughter’s trip to Great Britain to visit Latvian exile 
writer Gunars Janovskis in 1976, writes in a letter to Janovskis on 
1 This article was funded by ERDF through the postdoctoral research project 
“Latvian Prose Writers under the Soviet Occupation: Collaboration and Non-Violent 
Resistance (1968–1991)” (Nr. 1.1.1.2/VIAA/3/19/482).
2 All quotations from the Latvian are translated by the author of the article.
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
179
29 September: “Let me tell you a joke. Jānis says: I want to go to 
England again. Peter: Have you been to England before? Jānis: No, 
but once I already wanted to go… […] We have unpacked the suit-
cases.” (Skujiņš, Letter 1)
In this letter, Skujiņš retells a popular anecdote of the Soviet era, 
the core version of which includes Paris instead of England. Alexei 
Yurchak discusses this joke as a staple of the era, linking it to another 
Soviet commonplace, namely, to see Paris and die, the author of which 
is Russian writer Ilya Erenburg. Incidentally, the Khrushchev era got its 
popular name from the title of one of Erenburg’s novels as well, namely 
The Thaw (Оттепель). The title “To See Paris and Die” is given to the 
extensive studies by Eleonory Gilburd about the Soviet and Western 
cultural communication in the Khrushchev’s era, when peaceful coex-
istence with the West became the new faith, along with the idea of the 
universality of human culture and the shared value of world civilization.
With the example of the mentioned anecdote, Yurchak describes 
the paradox that is included in the unique understanding of the con-
cept of “the abroad” (заграница) in the territory of Soviet Union:
Zagranitsa lay at the intersection of these two attitudes toward the wider world, 
signifying an imaginary place that was simultaneously knowable and unatta-
inable, tangible and abstract, mundane and exotic. This concept was discon-
nected from any “real” abroad and located in some unspecified place-over 
there (tam), with them (u nikh), as opposed to with us (u nas)—and although 
references to it were ubiquitous, its real existence became dubious. […] These 
narratives and jokes, of which there were many in late Soviet times, depict 
zagranitsa as a Soviet imaginary “elsewhere” that was not necessarily about 
any real place. The “West” (zapad) was its archetypal manifestation. It was 
produced locally and existed only at the time when the real West could not be 
encountered. (Yurchak 159)
Yurchak calls this version of the abroad “the Imaginary West” (159). 
This concept reflects the paradoxical combination of internationality 
and isolation regarding Soviet culture’s relation to the rest of the world. 
On the one hand, the Soviet people realized that the communist idea 
they had represented to the world was based on an internationalist 
idea that implied belonging to all humankind. On the other hand, the 
Soviet people were also aware that they had virtually no opportunity to 
come into direct contact with people beyond Soviet borders or at least 
beyond Eastern European socialist countries.
Anne E. Gorsuch stresses that Soviet tourism was political, but 
politics were not its only manifestation. Soviet tourism shows not only 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
180
how Soviet citizens internalized Soviet norms and supported Soviet 
goals but also how Soviet tourists avoided official efforts to regulate 
their experience and implemented individual travel agendas. Namely, 
many tourists accepted and even actively promoted the narratives of 
the superiority of the Soviet state and citizens. Thus, crossing the bor-
der, whether the Soviet internal border or the Iron Curtain, challenged 
the traveler’s understanding of things outside the Soviet Union and 
formed and transformed political and personal identities. “If tour-
ism was olive branch and propaganda tool, it was also an opportu-
nity for personal encounter, private life, and pleasure,” Gorsuch writes 
(Gorsuch 190). The scholar argues that “the tourist experience, no 
matter how carefully supervised, was unpredictable, however” (190) 
but this knowledge enables us to look at the writers’ touring experience 
and how it reflects in their work. Latvian scholars Eva Eglāja-Kristsone 
and Zita Kārkla have studied the travel notes of Latvian writers, the 
symbolization of the border revealed in them (Eglāja-Kristsone) and 
analyzing autobiographical and literary works as a case study of the 
practice of integrating biographical cartography into fiction (see 
Kārkla and Eglāja-Kristsone, “Liriskās”; Kārkla and Eglāja-Kristsone, 
“Her Story”) while the aspects of orientalism and otherness have been 
examined by Maija Burima, who emphasizes the close connection of 
travel notes with the paradigm of colonialism, stating that writing 
travel notes was an essential part of the construction of the identity 
narrative in the colonial empires (see Burima).
Estonian and Latvian scholars have also explored travelogues pro-
duced in the Soviet and post-Soviet period and covering travels dur-
ing the occupation time, stating that “biographical narratives reveal a 
multi-layered criticism of the Soviet system and society, yet generally, 
travels were recalled in a positive way” (Rattus and Järs 964), or, “ver-
sions of […] writings published in the post-Soviet period and later 
commentaries bear witness to episodes that could not be described in 
the Brezhnev Era as well as self-censorship” (Oga 120).
What does it mean for a writer (and, more broadly, a Soviet citizen) 
to travel abroad (namely, outside the territory of the USSR) in the 
1970s and 1980s? Opportunities to leave behind the Iron Curtain arose 
after the death of Joseph Stalin, during the rule of Khrushchev—first 
to the nearby socialist countries at the turn of the 1950s and 1960s—
and also to the so-called capitalist countries. As Bleiere admits, during 
Khrushchev’s time, the regime’s policies were contradictory, and the 
control over the citizens also included limiting contact with the outside 
world as much as possible:
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
181
Like many other things in the Soviet Union, information about the outside 
world was in short supply. Access to it was a privilege and a highly valued one 
at that. A certain number of scientists, intellectuals, and artists could visit for-
eign countries relatively often. Such an opportunity was given to those who 
had climbed high enough on the career ladder and whose culture of behav-
ior and communication skills made it possible to think that they would not 
bring dishonor to the USSR. On the other hand, regular visits abroad helped 
them maintain their status and gain knowledge that others did not have. 
(Bleiere 144)
Eleonor Gilburd claims in an interview: “These are artists and writers 
who traveled abroad and then depicted foreign places in writing, pencil 
or watercolors. Cultural mediators held positions of eminence that gave 
them access to mass media. And it was the state’s monopoly on radio, 
print, and cinema that assured them a country-wide audience. The gen-
eral Soviet condition of restricted information and closed borders cre-
ated opportunities for a few commanding voices to have a profound 
impact. They pursued a self-delegated mission and cared deeply about 
the reception of their efforts.” (Chernyakhovskaya) This is confirmed 
by the notes written by Latvian poet Imants Ziedonis to the Soviet 
literary magazine Druzhba narodov in 1972:
But definitely there is one task—whether on a walk or at work—to record our 
environment truly, to be true for the sake of future generations, because they 
will no longer have these opportunities—to live in this time that we live in. 
(qtd. in Rožkalne 456)
The year 1964 marks the end of Khrushchev’s thaw. The Brezhnev Era 
began with Détente of the Cold War and stagnation (1968–1979) and 
with the so-called second Cold War (1979–1985), when “the space for 
personal freedom expanded more and more. Especially since the end of 
the 1960s, the efforts to get into the head of every citizen, to ‘zombify’ 
have greatly decreased. External behavior was more important—don’t 
jump out, do not say anything you should not, at least outwardly be a 
normal Soviet person.” (Bleiere 153; see also Noack)
Tourism outside the USSR required not only status but also financial 
means. Although wages for a Soviet citizen rose in the 1960s, with daily 
costs remaining the same, ordinary workers still did not have enough 
money to travel. For instance, farmers in the 1950s and the 1960s faced 
this problem. In the 1970s–1980s, as collective farms became richer, 
the situation changed. The intelligentsia, on the other hand, although 
not paid more than industrial workers, had opportunities to earn more, 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
182
for example, by giving private lessons or renting out additional living 
space available only to the creative intelligentsia (Gorsuch 84).
Latvian writers’ opportunities to travel were provided by various 
organizations, such as the Union of Latvian Soviet Writers, the Latvian 
Committee for Cultural Relations with Compatriots Abroad, the Soviet 
Committee for the Defence of Peace, the Latvian SSR of Sciences and 
the USSR Academy of Sciences, on behalf of various transnational 
friendship organizations, in cultural delegations, such as choirs and 
dance groups, as well as tourists, using the routes offered by the official 
company “Inturist” (Eversone and Oga). In exceptional cases, it was 
also possible to visit foreign countries by personal invitation. However, 
with the preconditions for the trip to occur, there was still a high prob-
ability that it could be canceled at the last minute. Extensive ques-
tionnaires, unpleasant questions, especially when traveling to the West, 
suspicion, and insecurity; the whole process became very stressful for 
tourist candidates, and often the travel intentions were not revealed to 
even the closest people until the day of departure (Gorsuch 111).
In the period of the Détente of the Cold War, tensions between the 
Soviet Union and the United States eased, which had a positive effect 
on tourism and cultural exchanges. Scientific-technical and cultural 
cooperation between West Germany and the Soviet Union started in 
the late 1950s. It flourished in the Brezhnev’s Era when the Treaty 
between Germany and the Soviet Union, was signed in Moscow in 
August 1970. It launched German policy vis-à-vis Eastern Europe 
(Ostpolitik), paving the way for the normalization of diplomatic rela-
tions and confirming the peaceful territorial status quo between the 
Soviet Union and the Federal Republic of Germany. The development 
of Soviet tourism with the West was facilitated by the Helsinki Final 
Act in 1975.
Researcher Madara Eversone has counted, in the documents at the 
archives of the Latvian Soviet Writers’ Union, that in the 1970s, a total 
of 606 trips were made abroad, including within the USSR, while in 
the 1980s, 575. These documents do not contain information on all 
trips abroad during the period, as writers also traveled within other 
institutions. In the archive documents, information on trips abroad is 
relatively systematic until 1985. In later documents, the information 
is incomplete due to the political and economic changes in the coun-
try when opportunities to travel outside the Soviet Union gradually 
became more available. There are fewer tourist trips to the West among 
the members of the Latvian Writers’ Union, in comparison with trips 
to the Socialist Bloc countries. The analysis of the documents shows 
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
183
that trips to the West took place within delegations of various organiza-
tions, to Sweden (at least 31 trips), the Federal Republic of Germany 
(28), Finland (22), Canada (14), Great Britain (12), USA (11), Italy 
(10), Greece (10), France (10), Denmark (7), and other countries (see 
Eversone and Oga).
In his memoirs, Andrejs Dripe, writing about traveling as one of his 
hobbies, similarly compared it to a special kind of disease, addiction:
The dullness of writing helped my dullness of travel a lot. And not just in the 
form of author’s fees. Members of the Writers’ Union, however, had advan-
tages and greater choices. […] I didn’t travel like an ordinary tourist, but I was 
assigned, I was part of a small special group. These privileges were given by the 
status of a member of the Writers’ Union […]. It cannot be denied that we had 
our advantages. (Dripe, Bez 248, 241)
However, writers also had to show their initiative, especially in the 
competition between the Soviet republics: “A lot came from Central 
Asia, but very few came from the Baltic republics. If you didn’t ask 
for it yourself, then you were rarely sent anywhere.” (Ziedonis 83) 
Scholar Madara Eversone rightly links the privileges enjoyed by mem-
bers of the intelligentsia and creative unions to the political goals of 
the Soviet government:
It was in the interests of the Communist Party to ensure the loyalty of the 
creative intelligentsia, so the status of a member of the Writers’ Union granted 
several household and material privileges. The material benefit from the Liter-
ary Fund gave the members of the Writers’ Union the opportunity to go on 
creative business trips, including to foreign countries, to receive travel tickets 
to sanatoriums, resorts, etc. (Eversone 19)
Writers’ travels abroad, on the one hand, can be seen as a different, 
unique manifestation, because writers enjoyed a special status as repre-
sentatives of the intelligentsia. On the other hand, as Mārtiņš Kaprāns 
admits, “trips to capitalist countries also serve as a context for nor-
malization, as they shed light on the positive experience of the Soviet 
era and quite often show that despite the limitations and difficulties, 
people had opportunities to see the world” (Kaprāns 178–179).
In Latvian literature, this period is particularly notable for writers’ 
attempts to talk about nationally important, even decisive, topics in 
journalism (more directly) and fiction (in figurative language). In jour-
nalism, including travel notes, it is increasingly possible to tell, both 
by directly criticizing (Burima 73) and by comparing—one kolkhoz 
or Soviet farm with another, aesthetic phenomena or cultural develop-
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
184
ments in other republics of the USSR, socialist or capitalist countries 
with what is happening in the Latvian SSR.
In some cases, the information provided in travelogues created the 
effect directly or indirectly intended by their authors—to encourage a 
closer look at what is happening in the country itself, to highlight, con-
tinue and nurture national values, traditions, and identity. Analyzing 
the Tajikistan travelogue Perpendikulārā karote (Perpendicular Spoon, 
1972), the acclaimed collaborative work of Latvian poet Imants 
Ziedonis, Ukrainian writer Vitalij Korotič and Latvian photographer 
Gunārs Janaitis, Burima has admitted that “against the Soviet ideal 
of forming a sense of togetherness, Latvian travelogues strengthened 
Latvian identity in relation to exotic cultures at the other side of the 
Soviet empire […]; the travelogues fostered Latvian national identifica-
tion as opposed to its exotic others” (Burima 71, 73).
Writers of the Stagnation period valued travel notes and journal-
ism in general, its main task when viewing it alongside fiction. In 
1972, Ziedonis wrote that “documentary genres are equal, organically 
co-growing with other prose genres” (qtd. in Rožkalne 456), while 
Miervaldis Birze stated: “I also consider pure journalism to be seriously 
evaluated [along with prose].” (Birze 5)
To a large extent, this is related to the rapid rise in popularity of lit-
erary periodicals, which reached its apogee during the National Revival 
(Atmoda in Latvian, Atgimimo in Lithuanian), when, as the Lithuanian 
literary scholar Viktorija Jonkutė wrote, “a new culture of the press and 
publicistic writing was forming. The literary press and the overall public 
communication sphere of the time also included manifestations of the 
changes in historical discourse, sociodynamics, and a new wave of intense 
(self-)expression. The cultural press was a particularly lively, dynamic 
sociocultural phenomenon. Literary and cultural periodical publications 
in Lithuania and Latvia had undoubtedly become an intense, influential 
and unifying cultural, social and political force […]” (Jonkutė 9).
Trips can be divided into two main groups: professional (experi-
ence exchange) and tourist (leisure) trips. However, travel notes also 
provide evidence of certain goals. For example, for both Zenta Ērgle 
and Zigmunds Skujiņš, trips to Africa are closely related to childhood 
memories, that is, realities or what they read, and the fulfillment of 
childhood dreams. Skujiņš’s writing about Africa in 1966 is like proof 
of Yurchak’s thesis about foreign countries as an imaginary space:
As a child, I lived mainly in Africa. […]. This spring I went to Africa again. 
Years go by. Not only hair turns gray, but so do dreams. I will not say that 
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
185
everything remained completely intact in my memory, and yet—I did not 
come to Africa but returned as if to a childhood yard that I had long known 
and walked many times. With a trembling heart and curious eyes. What are 
you really like, Africa? […] Interesting and a little scary. You want to believe, 
but doubts also torment you. As if I were not just a tourist, but an auditor. 
(Skujiņš, Jūtu 16)
Zenta Ērgle defined the purpose of the trip similarly:
“In my childhood, a quilt hung next to my bed. It featured a jungle. […] 
Falling asleep in the evenings, I wondered: when I grow up, I will go to 
Africa and walk through a real jungle. […] Children’s adventure literature 
was replaced by serious books—stories about Africa by Grzymek, Hunter, and 
other authors. Longing for southern exoticism could not be quenched even by 
a double workload and family cares.” (Ērgle 6–7)
The list of goals for foreign trips should also include a specific creative 
intention—to write notes of a smaller or larger volume, a book, such as 
Andrejs Dripe, Zenta Ērgle, Miervaldis Birze, or a broader plan, using 
the foreign trip in a sense only as a background—like Ziedonis’s trip to 
Japan and the Philippines together with the choir Ave sol in 1978 and 
1979 to write a book about the choir and its conductor Imants Kokars. 
Memoirs of Andrejs Dripe testify another purpose of the trip:
In the spring of 1989, Ziga [writer’s wife] and I were both in Finland. I wanted 
to see this clean, harsh land and its high level of culture (Finnish libraries are 
unique), so that I could roughly imagine what Latvia would be like if the 
occupation of 1940 did not take place. (Dripe, Bez 248)
This is in line with the opinion of the Estonian scientist Epp Annus 
about the Baltic States as the Western borderlands and the close con-
nection of the Baltic States with neighboring countries:
Here, the Western borderlands enjoyed the advantage of a still-active pre-
Soviet cultural memory, in comparison with those lands where Sovietization 
processes started immediately in the post-revolutionary years: in the Western 
borderlands, a living memory kept alive continuities with pre-Soviet times. 
(Annus 240)
Visits to the neighboring Western countries in a sense, helped to give 
colors to this continuity, which through the works published in the 
1980s, promoted non-violent resistance and a return to the value sys-
tem of pre-war Latvia, namely, “though cultural events and artefacts 
such as national festivals, films, songs, and novels did not in themselves 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
186
lead to massive resistance against Soviet rule, these, too, together with 
oral memory, sustained a national layer in cultural imaginaries and pre-
served the potential for a future decolonial politics” (240–241).
A condition or emotion that seems to be experienced by all travel-
ers, regardless of status or hand, is the lack of money due to the Soviet 
Union’s restrictions on currency exchange (see Oga). Many authors 
also testify to this in their notes, speaking as if it were a matter of 
course, thus identifying with those staying at home. These feelings are 
often accompanied by shame and even humiliation. Zenta Ērgle does 
not avoid mentioning the limited funds in the notes as a phenomenon 
related to travel: “Gorgeous silver products in the showcases—trays, 
cups, medallions, bracelets. No matter how great our bargaining skills 
are, they will not be bought for us. But you can have fun, it doesn’t cost 
anything.” (Ērgle 39) Imants Ziedonis shares his feelings of shame only 
in his notes about his trip to India, published in the post-Soviet period: 
“We didn’t have any money, and we were already told in Moscow that 
our money means nothing to them in India and the currency exchange 
is so small that we won’t be able to do anything, that there will be many 
poor people and we can settle with pencils […]. But I was ashamed to 
give him pencils for that shell.” (Ziedonis 106)
When traveling abroad, the free time that travelers manage to spend 
outside the official excursion program and when they can get away 
from the ever-present “supervisors” is critical—both by walking alone 
or in small groups and by meeting Latvians in exile in private parties, 
gaining the above-mentioned unpredictable experience. Testimonies 
about time outside the official travel program as extraordinary unau-
thorized activities are recorded (with infrequent exceptions) only in 
notes published in the post-Soviet period. Usually, it is related to a 
private experience, breaking out of limitations.
Unauthorized adventures are often also related to intimate life, 
which was still taboo in the USSR in the 1980s. Dripe recalled in 1994: 
“I got to know the famous pleasure and entertainment districts, I usu-
ally walked alone in Soho in London, Clichy Boulevard, and Pigalle 
Square in Paris. […] I was neither condemned nor excited, I just had 
to see it and realize that this is how life is.” (Dripe, Bez 244)
Writers also tried to get acquainted with the limited sex experience 
in the Soviet Union, and tried to buy and bring home, for example, 
porn magazines. In the letters and diaries of other prose writers and 
poets, not considered this time, there is evidence of visits to video 
salons, and temporary intimate relationships, for example, a Latvian 
poet with a lady from among the exiled Latvians.
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
187
Case study: Andrejs Dripe and his travelogue 
The rapid transition from the Brezhnev Era to Gorbachev’s perestroika 
has been recorded in Andrejs Dripe’s 1986 book Līdzatvestais: Pasauli 
neapturēt (What I Have Brought Along: Not to Stop the World), which 
contains travelogues and notes from his visits to the Federal Republic 
of Germany as well as a chapter on his travel to Syria, Yemen, and 
Morocco.
Andrejs Dripe (1929–2013), Latvian writer, publicist, and peda-
gogue, gained wide attention with his novel Pēdējā barjera (The Last 
Barrier, 1971) and a book of non-fiction Kolonijas audzinātāja piezīmes 
(Notes of a Colony Educator, 1975) in which he used his experience 
as a teacher in a juvenile offender colony. Dripe was one of the first 
in Latvian Soviet literature to address issues related to re-education, 
the effectiveness of punishment, and the conditions of imprisonment. 
In the 1980s, Dripe’s popularity was strengthened by other non-fic-
tion books and Līdzatvestais. The writer, journalist, and editor Aivars 
Kļavis has admitted, in 2021, that “thanks to such peaks of this genre as 
Ziedonis’s Courland [Kurzemīte] or Dripe’s Notes of a Colony Educator, 
at that time [in the 1980s in Latvia] [literary] journalism was extremely 
in demand and popular” (Kļavis 37).
The success of a famous and regime-friendly professional writer 
allowed Dripe to travel privileges. Dripe also held both paid and pub-
lic office in the Writers’ Union and its primary organization of the 
Communist Party (a member since 1975) where he was elected, in 
1981 and 1983, as the Deputy Secretary and responsible for organiza-
tional work (LNA1 99; LNA2 96). In his memoirs, Dripe has repeat-
edly mentioned the “dullness of travel” and his interest in youth, which 
made him go on regular trips to the Soviet Union, socialist countries, 
and the West. It must be admitted that Dripe’s travels and travelogues 
became more intense in the mid-1980s after, in March 1982, he joined 
the KGB’s agents, as shown by his card in the LSSR KGB’s document 
archive (KGBAC).
In his memoirs, in 1994, Dripe remembers that “many people, suf-
fering from the madness of travel like me, have never been to the bor-
ders. Either the pedigrees were wrong, or they had ‘sinned’ against the 
government of the ‘beloved’ workers themselves, but they were consis-
tently denied foreign passports” (Dripe, Bez 248). Dripe claims that 
he has not received permission on several occasions and that his trip 
to Cuba in the late 1960s may not have taken place because his chil-
dren built a bunker while playing in the forest in the summer, which 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
188
has aroused the interest of the authorities (239). Dripe’s trips include 
both business and leisure trips to socialist satellite countries, Western 
countries, and the so-called exotic countries, both as part of delegations 
of organizations and by private invitation. Until the mid-1980s, Dripe 
had traveled a lot: to the German Democratic Republic and Poland in 
1972, Somalia and Yemen in 1975, the United Kingdom (London) in 
1975, Morocco and Spain in 1978, France in 1979, East Germany, 
again, in 1979, Hungary in 1981, Near East in 1982, Romania in 
1982, Syria in 1982, West Germany in 1984, Sweden in 1984.
Dripe’s memories mention his trips abroad in the 1970s and 1980s: 
Poland and the GDR (1972, coincides with what is mentioned in the 
archive documents); Yemeni TDR, Kuwait (1975, on file: Somalia, 
Yemen); “after some time” Morocco (in archive documents 1978); 
Syria (in archive documents September 1982); Algeria (not mentioned 
in documents); England, Spain, FRG, Sweden, France (all mentioned 
in documents); together with his wife: GDR, Hungary, Romania (all 
mentioned in the documents; the wife is mentioned only in the records 
of the Hungarian trip). Dripe writes that the trips to Syria and Algeria 
were “organized by the Foreign Affairs Commission of the Union of 
Writers of the USSR” (Dripe, Bez 244) (this is also mentioned in the 
Writers’ Union’s documents on Syria) and that there were only two or 
three people in these groups (244).
Summarizing and comparing the Writers’ Union’s documents and 
Dripe’s journalisms, it can be concluded that there is no evidence of 
the following Dripe’s trips in the archive documents: (1) Algeria (a trip 
organized by the Foreign Affairs Commission of the Writers’ Union 
of the USSR for a group of three people together with translator Olga 
Vlasova and Kazakh writer Anuar Alimzhanov; no date clarified); (2) 
a ship cruise along the Mediterranean Sea (Malta, Tunisia, Spain, 
France, Italy, date unknown), together with his wife; (3) VFR (1981, 
together with Latvian actress Dina Kuple, a trip organized by the 
Cultural Relations Committee); (4) Yugoslavia (date not established); 
(5) VFR (1984, individual trip “at the invitation of Dzidra Vilka to 
get to know the life of the local youth”; Dripe, Bez 247); (6) Canada 
(1988); (7) Finland (1989, together with his wife).
Dripe’s trip to West Germany took place in the spring of 1984 
and lasted about two months. The route of the journey, according to 
the travel notes, was the following: Rīga–Moscow–Hamburg–Essen–
[mainly staying in Hamburg and Essen, Dortmund, Münster, Freiburg 
were also visited]–Hamburg–Moscow–Rīga. During the trip, Dripe 
intended to get acquainted with the youth and the life of young people 
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
189
in West Germany. He visited schools, talked with students and teach-
ers, and followed young people in their work and free time and their 
life in farming communities. Dripe’s travelogues are complemented by 
photographs taken by himself, which have been published both in peri-
odicals and in books.
The manuscript of the book was completed and submitted to the 
publishing house at the end of 1984. It was first published as an arti-
cle Pasauli neapturēt (You Can’t Stop the World) with the subtitle Visit 
to the youth of VFR in the magazine Liesma (Flame) (run of 174,000 
copies) in 1984 (No. 8–11); separate section Ārākāpēji (Those Who are 
Stepping Out) was published in the daily newspaper Padomju Jaunatne 
(Soviet Youth) (circulation 216,000 copies) in February 1985.
An expanded version of the article is included as a separate chapter 
in Līdzatvestais, the manuscript of which was completed and handed 
over to the publishing house at the end of 1984. Two official review-
ers of the publishing house were appointed for the manuscript: for-
mer Soviet diplomat in Sweden Ivars Ķezbers and former instructor of 
the Central Committee of the Communist Party in Latvia, and head 
of the press sector, and Ēvalds Strods, the organizational secretary of 
the Writers’ Union. In an internal review of the book, Strods wrote: 
“Dripe’s ‘bags’ contain things that the Latvian reader has seen little 
by little because until now there are no large-scale works on the life of 
young people abroad.” The Writers’ Union’s archive documents show 
that despite the backlash of the reviewers, on September 23, 1987, at 
the closed meeting of the first organization of the Communist Party of 
the Writers’ Union about Dripe’s “personal contribution to the pro-
cesses of social renewal,” he reported on the “problems” of the book, as 
he had compared the West German youth in Germany with the youth 
in Soviet Latvia (LNA4 78).
Līdzatvestais was published in the summer of 1986, with a circula-
tion of 40,000 copies. It was recognized as the most popular journalistic 
book of 1986; this fact was also emphasized by the writer and publicist 
Māra Svīre in the above-mentioned closed meeting of the communists 
of the Writers’ Union in 1987 (LNA4 78). By the time the first reviews 
were published in the periodicals in February 1987, and in exile Latvian 
media abroad even at the end of 1988, the book was already outdated 
but still relevant. It is confirmed by the publication of the translation 
of the chapter You Can’t Stop the World in the very first issues of the 
monthly Rodnik, the Russian version of the popular magazine Avots (A 
Spring). The editor of Rodnik Oleg Mihalevich wrote: “I had already 
received Andrejs Dripe’s voluminous article Stop this World—I Want 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
190
to Get Out about the youth of the West, and everyone was undeniably 
interested in how they live there.” (qtd. in Kļavis 221)
The book starts with short impressions from various Western European 
cities (London, Paris, Marseille, Rome, Madrid, Stockholm, Hamburg), 
where the author has observed unusual behavior of young people since 
the 1970s, such as sleeping in parks, playing music in the tunnel, pros-
titution, etc., with such an account of travels and their routes, causing 
readers’ trust or, on the contrary, suspicions about Dripe’s special status 
compared to other writers and the author’s contemporaries. This section 
is followed by the paragraph that apparently proves the changes of the 
Soviet colonial traveler’s in the last period of the Stagnation:
One fine spring day, the wheels of TU-154 hit the concrete of the runway at 
Hamburg Airport. A very short moment in the air, and I’m already there—in 
a completely different world. It should be emphasized right away—it really is a 
different world. We often forget it, measure and compare it with our yardstick, 
with what fits here, at our home. (Dripe, Līdzatvestais 13)
As it is stated by Eglāja-Kristsone, “the Soviet tourist was like a camera 
pointing outwards to get pictures to show to armchair tourists and au-
thorities, but the descriptions (publications in the press, books) lacked 
an ‘inward’ look, a personal encounter with the other, so research. Of 
course, there is no reason to claim that the tourists did not do it, in the 
same way, not only the tourists themselves change over time but also 
the descriptions.” (Eglāja-Kristsone 12)
Dripe represents those travelers who have changed and, besides their 
notes to “armchair tourists”, provides his own research. He has used a 
wide range of literature, though his interests were not West German 
geography but statistical data and the latest periodicals. With quota-
tions from VFR newspaper and magazine publications, the author 
raised questions already at the beginning of the chapter, to which he 
seeks answers in the following subsections: how young people imagine 
the future, what their goals are, why young people are so pessimistic. 
Most of the answers point to fear of unemployment, war, lack of moti-
vation, and feeling alienated from adult society.
During his trip, Dripe was trying to get acquainted with the youth 
and life of young people in West Germany from different angles. He 
talked to students and his contemporaries.  Although the author moral-
izes on the “shadow sides of capitalism” and the “slavery for money,” 
the well thought advice and undertone of the book are clear: you must 
work hard and learn hard to succeed. Describing his communication 
difficulties with locals, Dripe gives good advice to young people in 
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
191
Latvia—to learn foreign languages: English, French, and German. It is 
not said, but is clear that people abroad, especially in the West, do not 
speak and do not understand Russian.
Of course, the lack of language skills also hindered me tremendously, and I 
always blamed myself for not having learned the same English that the major-
ity of people in the West are familiar with. (Dripe, Līdzatvestais 10)
Though it is mentioned directly only in a couple of places, it is also 
understandable that the author tries to compare the youth of West 
Germany and their prospects with the youth of Soviet Latvia. Friendly, 
though often exaggerated, intonation made the book easy to read and 
allowed it to become extremely popular:
When it comes to guys, the most eye-catching trend is hair toning, coloring, 
blow-drying and perming. So, strongly feminine orientations. Rarely, each 
other already paints their lips and wears earrings. If earlier it was only men 
for sale and homosexuals, now you are no longer sure who is standing in front 
of you—a person with pathological tendencies or simply a fashionable young 
man. A girl becomes more masculine in her appearance, a boy becomes more 
feminine. How long will it be? Come on, guess! […]
Many of the above have already been taken over by our boys and girls. It 
shows attentiveness and interest. I wish this attentiveness was just as vividly 
expressed in other, more serious areas of life! (Dripe, Līdzatvestais 189)
Most likely, this was the first book in Soviet Latvia in which it was pos-
sible to find out more about the realities of zagranitsa or “Imaginary 
West,” such as unemployment, drug addiction, strikes, TV series, 
horoscopes, publications on sex in youth magazines, high fuel prices, 
discrimination from an official source, etc.:
Living in a vain month after month, realizing that time is passing, but you 
are nothing there, others are working, but you are living at the expense of 
what they have earned, doesn’t that seem terrible to you? (Dripe, Līdzatvestais 
59); McDonald—cheap canteens that young people like to visit” (159); TV 
is showing the 129th (!!!) episode of the American series Dallas. Fashionably 
dressed millionaires and their offspring roam there, mirrors of villa swimming 
pools shining, super expensive sports cars gliding by. Even millionaires have 
their heartaches, love dramas, and family disagreements. (66)
As mentioned, one of the most unpleasant conditions that all travelers, 
regardless of status and convenience, seem to experience is the lack of 
money. Dripe claims that he was received by exiled Latvians during his 
VFR trip, and this also made it possible to compensate for the lack of 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
192
financial resources. Dripe formulated it as a peculiar exchange of ser-
vices, although in his notes, he did not mention by name either Dzidra 
Vilks, who privately officially invited the writer to the VFR or other 
West German Latvians:
Furthermore, and this is very important, my friends could help me there. 
Several of them have also visited us in Latvia. Their hospitality meant a lot 
because I couldn’t afford to pay the fabulous sums for hotel rooms. (Dripe, 
Līdzatvestais 12)
It is possible to define three conditional circles of topics that Andrejs 
Dripe is interested in: (1) Young people, continuing what was started 
in previous books. In a letter to a poet Velta Toma, living in Canada, 
in 1987, Dripe wrote: “I’m writing this and that, but nothing sane is 
coming. […] As usual, young people and their pain are interesting to 
me. I intend to have a non-fiction book ready, consisting mainly of 
young people’s letters. Many of them are writing to me, the letters 
are piling up. Don’t get me wrong, but young people with all their 
maximalism and stupidity seem much closer to me than their old and 
promising contemporaries.” (Dripe, Letter)
2) A man, a contemporary, or a friend of thoughts and arguments, 
in the free world. In the book, Dripe has various interlocutors from 
local Latvian and German circles: Mr. Mauer, Mr. Sauer, and Fritz 
from Hamburg. Admittedly, Dripe has few associates, but perhaps this 
is a false maneuver.
3) The common and the differences between the Federal Republic 
of Germany and Soviet Latvia.
Directly from Dripe’s book, most readers first learned about sev-
eral of the phenomena mentioned above, which already entered the 
Latvian post-communist space in the early 1990s. This was later, in 
1994, acknowledged by the author: “From today’s [the early 1990s] 
point of view, of course, this book has its shortcomings and due to 
the fees required by the regime (otherwise the work would not have 
been published at all), but this happened minimally, and in gen-
eral I am not ashamed of my work. It was the first semi-open book 
that introduced Latvian youth to the world of their Western peers.” 
(Dripe, Bez 247)
Also, in his travel notes, Dripe has repeatedly emphasized that the 
knowledge of the inhabitants of the VFR about the Soviet Union is 
little, superficial, and negative. Like in other authors’ travelogues, 
like Ērgle’s notes on Africa, Papua New Guinea, and Australia, Dripe 
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
193
repeatedly mentioned that the people he met in West Germany, like-
wise people from other continents, had never seen a single tourist from 
the Soviet Union before.
Conclusion
In the so-called Brezhnev Era, the writers were materially provided and 
took advantage of the system’s advantages and privileges, which, al-
though associated with inconvenience and insecurity, allowed them to 
go on exchange and tourism trips outside the USSR to the so-called 
“capitalist countries.” Traveling to the West allowed the writers to 
compare conditions inside and outside the Soviet Union and to draw 
conclusions about the possibilities of “free Soviet citizens” as tourists 
entering the free world. The different understanding of it, according to 
Alexey Yurchak, lay beneath the term zagranitsa or “Imaginary West.”
Notes on the travels include observations on the socio-economic 
situation, and environment and reports on the political events and doc-
uments that have facilitated trips to the West. Often experience comes 
as a surprise to the travelers themselves: for example, people of other 
nationalities, language barrier, the lack of money.
The travelogue by Andrejs Dripe records the rapid transition from 
Brezhnev’s Era to Gorbachev’s perestroika and becomes the first offi-
cial source that informs about the realities of the real West only a 
few people among readers have visited. Travel notes on a trip to the 
Federal Republic of Germany, which belongs to the end of the stagna-
tion period, the period of “perestroika” and the National Revival, is 
one of the texts that characterize these changes, when exactly this look 
“inward” comes to the fore and personal impressions outside the tourist 
group routes. It was a private experience that sometimes led to anti-
Soviet views or actions—thanks to trips abroad, travelers could return 
home apparently unchanged on the outside, but having experienced 
internal changes, both personal and political. Through Dripe’s travel-
ogues, a wide audience of Latvian and Russian readers, both in Latvia 
and in the territory of the former USSR, was informed about the life 
and views of Western youth in the mid-1980s. Though considering 
the still slow flow of information at the end of the stagnation period 
and the beginning of “perestroika,” Dripe’s writing was relevant and 
to some extent prepared the readers for upcoming changes in society.
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
194
WORKS CITED
Annus, Epp. Soviet Postcolonial Studies. A View from the Western Borderlands. London; 
New York, NY: Routledge; Taylor & Francis Group, 2018.
Birze, Miervaldis. Tāli gadi, tuvi laiki. Rīga: Avots, 1987.
Bleiere, Daina. Eiropa ārpus Eiropas… Dzīve Latvijas PSR. Rīga: LU Akadēmiskais 
apgāds, 2015.
Burima, Maija. “Orientalism, otherness, and the Soviet empire: travelogues by Latvian 
writers of the Soviet period.” Journal of Baltic Studies 47.1 (2016): 65–75.
Chernyakhovskaya, Anna. “To See Paris and Die: The Soviet Lives of Western Cul-
ture.” 4 April 2018. Web. Accessed 20  January 2023. <https://www.hse.ru/en/
news/research/217861228.html>
Dripe, Andrejs. Bez skaistas maskas. 3. grāmata. Skolotāja darba gadi. Atmiņu zīmējumi 
no manas dzīves. Rīga: a/s Preses nams, 1994.
Dripe, Andrejs. Letter to Velta Toma, 12 December 1987. The Academic Library of the 
University of Latvia, Misiņš library, Velta Toma’s collection 72, 17.
Dripe, Andrejs. Līdzatvestais. Rīga: Avots, 1986.
Eglāja-Kristsone, Eva. “Robežas simbolizācija latviešu rakstnieku ceļojuma aprakstos 
par tūrisma braucieniem ārpus PSRS.” Letonika 24 (2012): 9–21.
Eversone, Madara, and Jānis Oga. “Ceļojumu kartēšana un sociālpolitiskās tendences: 
Latvijas Padomju rakstnieku savienības biedru braucieni 20. gadsimta 70.–80. ga-
dos.” Letonica 47 (2022): 128–149.
Ērgle, Zenta. No Plutona līdz Neptūnam. Rīga: Liesma, 1975.
Fainberg, Dina, and Artemy M. Kalinovsky. “Introduction: Stagnation and Its Dis-
contents: The Creation of a Political and Historical Paradigm.” Reconsidering Stag-
nation in the Brezhnev Era: Ideology and Exchange. Eds. Dina Fainberg and Artemy 
M. Kalinovsky. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016. Vii–xxii.
Gorsuch, Anne E. All This is Your World: Soviet Tourism at Home and Abroad After 
Stalin. Oxford, New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2011.
Yurchak, Alexei. Everything Was Forever, Until It Was No More: The Last Soviet Genera-
tion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006.
Jonkutė, Viktorija. Collective Memory in the Lithuanian and Latvian Literary Press 
during the National Revival of Late 20th Period. Summary of doctoral dissertation. 
Vilnius: Vilnius University, The Institute of Lithuanian Literature and Folklore, 
2020. Kārkla, Zita, and Eva Eglāja-Kristsone. “Her Story is Like a Weed: Censor-
ing the Vulnerability in Women’s Writing.” Primerjalna Knjizevnost 46.1 (2023): 
41–60.
Kārkla, Zita, and Eva Eglāja-Kristsone. “Her Story Is Like a Weed: Censoring the 
Vulnerability in Women’s Writing”. Primerjalna Knjizevnost 46.1 (2023): 41–60. 
Kārkla, Zita, and Eva Eglāja-Kristsone. “Liriskās ģeogrāfijas: literārās telpas kartēšana 
latviešu rakstnieču romānos un īsprozā.” Letonica 47 (2022): 104–127.
LNA1. Minutes of meetings of the First Organization Office of the Communist Party 
of the Latvian Soviet Writers’ Union. National Archives of Latvia, State Archives 
of Latvia, LNA LVA, PA-7263. f., 1. apr., 36. l.
LNA2. Minutes of meetings of the First Organization Office of the Communist Party 
of the Latvian Soviet Writers’ Union. National Archives of Latvia, State Archives 
of Latvia, LNA LVA, PA-7263. f., 1. apr., 39. l.
LNA3. Minutes of meetings of the First Organization Office of the Communist Party 
of the Latvian Soviet Writers’ Union. National Archives of Latvia, State Archives 
of Latvia, LNA LVA, PA-7263. f., 1. apr., 19. l.
Jānis Oga:     Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of Germany …
195
LNA4. Minutes of meetings of the First Organization Office of the Communist Party 
of the Latvian Soviet Writers’ Union. National Archives of Latvia, State Archives 
of Latvia, LNA LVA, PA-7263. f., 1. apr., 45. l.
Noack, Christian. “Brezhnev’s ‘Little Freedoms.’ Tourism, Individuality, and Mobility 
in the Late Soviet Period.” Reconsidering Stagnation in the Brezhnev Era: Ideology 
and Exchange. Eds. Dina Fainberg and Artemy M. Kalinovsky. Lanham, MD: 
Lexington Books, 2016. 59–76.
Oga, Jānis. “Ārzemju ceļojumu iespaidi latviešu rakstnieku darbos t. s. ‘Brežņeva 
laikmetā’: liecības par atļauto un liegto.” Aktuālas problēmas literatūras un kultūras 
pētniecībā 26.1 (2021): 119–136.
Parthé, Kathleen. “What Was Soviet Literature?” The Slavic and East European Journal 
38.2 (1994): 290–301.
Rattus, Kristel, and Anu Järs. “Teel: Nõukogudeaegsed reisikogemused biograafilistes 
allikates.” Keel ja Kirjandus 64.11 (2021): 947–964
Rožkalne,  Anita. “Kopīgā meklējumi.” Author Imants Ziedonis. Raksti. 5.  sējums. 
Ceļojumi. Rīga: Nordik, 1996. 445–458.
Skujiņš, Zigmunds. Letter to Gunars Janovskis, 12 September 1976 (a copy). The Mu-
seum of Writing and Music (Latvia), inventory no. RMM 562650.
Skujiņš, Zigmunds. Jūtu ceļojumi. Dažādu dimensiju apsēstības. Rakstu 3. sējums. Rīga: 
Mansards, 2006.
Novinarstvo Andrejsa Dripeja o Zvezni republiki 
Nemčiji in njegov vpliv na družbene spremembe v 
osemdesetih letih 20. stoletja
Ključne besede: latvijska književnost / novinarstvo / potopisi / sovjetski turizem / podoba 
Zahoda / doba Brežnjeva / perestrojka
Članek obravnava potovanja latvijskih pisateljev zunaj Sovjetske zveze, ki 
jih je v dobi Brežnjeva dovoljeval okupacijski režim in jih je odobravala jav-
nost, kot enega od privilegijev, ki jih je uživala t. i. kreativna inteligenca, ter 
pokaže, kako so se ta potovanja odražala v njihovih literarnih in publicistič-
nih delih. Potovanja v tujino so vzbujala nasprotujoča si čustva, pisatelji pa 
so morali biti za potovanja razmeroma premožni. Kljub temu so pogosto 
doživljali ponižanje, ko so se soočali z realnostjo svojih skromnih finančnih 
sredstev zunaj ZSSR in dejstvom, da so tudi na svobodnem Zahodu dejan-
sko ostajali v zaporu. Porast priljubljenosti literarnih revij v osemdesetih letih 
je imel ključno vlogo pri oblikovanju nove kulture tiska in novinarstva, saj 
so velikim množicam bralcev zagotavljale pomembne informacije o življenju 
v tujini. Zapiski o potovanjih vključujejo opažanja o družbenoekonomskih 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
196
razmerah, okolju in političnih dogodkih ter dokumente, ki so olajšali poto-
vanja na Zahod. Študija primera obravnava potopisni dnevnik Andrejsa Dri-
peja iz osemdesetih let prejšnjega stoletja. Dripejeva publicistika beleži hiter 
prehod iz dobe Brežnjeva v čas Gorbačovove perestrojke. Tako Dripe postane 
prvi uradni vir informacij o Zahodu, ki so ga sicer obiskali le redki izmed 
njegovih bralcev.
1.01 Izvirni znanstveni članek / Original scientific article
UDK 821.174.09-992Dripe A.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.10
Razpraveecenziji / Reviews

Stereotipi in miti srednje Evrope skozi 
intertekstualnost in imagološko refleksijo
Tibor Žilka, Anna Zelenková in Krisztián Benyovszky: Stereotypes and 
Myths. Intertextuality in Central European Imagological Reflections. 
Berlin: Peter Lang, 2022. 166 str.
Ana Jarc
Pod Lazami 130, Vrtojba, 5290 Šempeter pri Gorici
https://orcid.org/0000-0003-4132-9104
jarcana96@gmail.com
199
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Tibor Žilka in njegova študenta, Anna Zelenková in Krisztián Benyovszky, 
s katerima je v soavtorstvu napisal pričujočo monografijo, veljajo za dediče 
teorije o metatekstu, kasneje preimenovane v mednarodni izraz interte-
kstualnost, ki jo je do svoje smrti leta 1984 na Slovaškem razvijal Anton 
Popovič, najbolj znan po svojih zaslugah v prevodoslovju. Žilka je sou-
stanovitelj literarnovednega oddelka na Univerzi Konstantina Filozofa v 
Nitri, napisal je veliko o postmodernizmu (Od moderny k postmoderne, 
1997), semiotiki (Postmoderná semiotika textu, 2000) ter intertekstualno-
sti in intermedialnosti (Od intertextuality k intermedialite, 2015), medtem 
ko sta se Zelenková (Slovanski inštitut Akademije znanosti Češke repu-
blike, Praga) in Benyovszky (Inštitut za madžarski jezik in literarne vede, 
Nitra) uveljavila na področju komparativistike, natančneje preko ima-
gološkega raziskovanja.1 Stereotypes and Myths. Intertextuality in Central 
European Imagological Reflections je produkt njihovega raziskovanja, ki 
pokriva področji intektestualnosti in imagologije, pri analizi umetniških 
del pa se ne omejuje npr. samo na literarno analizo, ampak je intermedi-
alen. Preko vrednotenja stereotipov in mitov – v literaturi, filmu, gleda-
lišču itd. – ki so nastali predvsem v času vzpenjajočega se nacionalizma 
v 19. stoletju, monografija opazuje nastalo identiteto srednjeevropskih 
narodov (predvsem Slovakov, a tudi Čehov in Madžarov), ki so jo soobli-
kovala tuja ljudstva.
Uvod je namenjen seznanitvi stroke z zgodovino raziskovanja 
omenjenih področij na Slovaškem, povezanih predvsem z delovanjem 
1 Anna Zelenková je objavljala tudi v slovenskih znanstvenih revijah, npr. v Pri-
merjalni književnosti (»Češko-slovaški literarni odnosi v 30. in 40. letih 19. stoletja: Tyl 
in češko-slovaška vzajemnost«), Slavia Centralis (»Slovanska filologija v dialogu med 
Matijem Murkom in Jiříjem Polívko«) in Ars & humanitas (»Slovanski miti o Evropi 
kot oblika dialoga z Zahodom«).
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
200
šole v Nitri. Ta je imela tesne stike z moskovsko-tartujsko semiotsko 
šolo, ki jo je vodil Jurij Lotman, k nadaljnjemu razvoju sta prispevala 
František Miko in Anton Popovič, mentoriranec Franka Wollmana iz 
Praškega lingvističnega krožka. Povzetek zgodovine slovaškega razisko-
vanja semiotike, kasneje intertekstualnosti, intermedialnosti in imago-
logije se zaključi z idejno zasnovo monografije – skozi stereotipe in mite, 
te predstave drugosti, ne izluščiti lastno identiteto (identiteto naroda), 
a pridobiti orodje za boljše razumevanje le-te, vzpostaviti dialog med 
»mano« in »drugim« preko analize, ki sega čez več kulturnih sistemov. 
Monografija se nato razdeli na sedem poglavij, posvečenih različnim 
intertekstualnim raziskavam – filmski adaptaciji literarnega dela, 
odnosu do drugega na primeru Slovakov in Madžarov ter Slovakov in 
Čehov preko toposa »drotarja«, slovanskim mitom v kontekstu vzho-
dno-zahodnih študij, Faustovemu mitu ter njegovi intertekstualnosti v 
19. stoletju slovaške in češke literature ter etničnim stereotipom srednje 
Evrope v popularni kulturi.
Prvo poglavje se ukvarja z intermedialnostjo, in sicer na primeru 
filmske adaptacije literarnega dela. V grobem nastanek novega dela 
delijo po principu produkcije in reprodukcije; je izdelek izviren, ima s 
tem večjo umetniško moč ali gre za estetsko manjvredno reprodukcijo? 
V odnosu do izvirnika oz. t. i. predteksta nato prepoznavajo v filmskih 
adaptacijah naslednje oblike produkcije: eliminacijo (npr. odstranitev 
določenih likov, ki nastopajo v predtekstu, a se režiser odloči, da niso 
potrebni), adicijo (dodatni dogodki, elementi, ki jih v predlogi ni), 
kontaminacijo (nov tekst je narejen iz več tekstov; npr. spojitev več 
likov v en lik) in substitucijo (spremenjena imena, lokacije itd.).
Imagološka analiza se prične z opazovanjem odnosa med našim in 
tujim na primeru Slovakov in Madžarov. Zaradi madžarskega zavo-
jevanja imajo Slovaki in Madžari veliko skupnega, celo avtorje, ki 
jih oboji smatrajo kot pomembne za svoj narod (npr. Matej Bel, Ján 
Sambucus). Diferenciacija se začne v 19. stoletju, ključen moment 
je kodifikacija slovaškega jezika, zasluga jezikoslovca in nacionalista 
Ľudovíta Štúra; predvsem percepcija madžarskega v slovaški literaturi 
postane negativna in ostane takšna vse do 2. svetovne vojne. Madžari 
so navadno satirični liki, okrašeni z brki (simbol divjosti in krutosti), 
ki s svojo aristokratsko držo predstavljajo protipol poštenemu slova-
škemu kmetu, pozitivnosti se lahko približajo z ženskimi liki. Zanimiv 
je tudi topografski moment – gore predstavljajo neokrnjeno slovaško 
naravo, nižine pa so označevalec za Madžare, pri čemer so gore izra-
zito pozitivne, nižine pa povezane z umazanim mestom in pokvarjeno 
civilizacijo. Madžari so v slovaški literaturi tuj element, obratno pa ni 
KRITIKA
201
vedno tako – Madžari Slovake včasih jemljejo kot prebivalce svojega 
ozemlja. Slovaški liki v madžarski literaturi so lahko komični (a ne 
satirični), nepokvarjeni, tragični pripadniki nesrečne rase; percepcija je 
včasih pokroviteljska, a ne negativna.
Sledi poglavje o odnosu do drugega med Slovaki in Čehi oz. pred-
vsem odnos do slovaškega drotarja. Topos drotarja prevladuje v čeških 
literarnih delih kot predstavnik slovaškega ljudstva z romantičnimi prvi-
nami – krošnjar nizko na socialni lestvici, obubožan in navadno odvi-
sen od alkohola, ki kljub vsemu še vedno ohranja narodno zavednost in 
s tem moralno zmago. Populariziran je bil s pomočjo prve češke ljudske 
opere Dráteník skladatelja Františka Škroupa, zaradi katere se je zasidral 
v češko zavest kot predstavnik zatiranega mlajšega brata, pomemben 
motiv za kasnejše napore, da bi sestavili skupno državo. Veliko vlogo 
je imel tudi Josef K. Tyl, urednik revije Květy, v kateri je pogosto obja-
vljal slovaške avtorje in s tem večal njihovo prisotnost v čeških krogih. 
Lik drotarja je kljub nekaterim negativnim lastnostim vedno pozitiven 
predstavnik plebejske nacije. Njegovo eksotično drugost so nato izko-
ristila tudi druga ljudstva, npr. Rilke s pesmijo Der kleine »Dráteník«.
Sledi pregled slovanskih mitov skozi perspektivno vzhodno-zaho-
dnih študij – pred 18. stoletjem se zahod ni preveč zanimal za vzhod, 
z evropeizacijo Rusije pa se prebudi novo razumevanje Evrope kot jezi-
kovno in etnično raznolike; to pomeni tudi začetek nacionalnih mitov. 
Karel Krejči je nastale mite razdelil na tri vrste percepcije slovanskih 
vrednot na zahodu: 1) občudovanje francoskih enciklopedistov, Voltaira 
in Katarine Velike ter ruskega demokratičnega ideala; 2) diametralno 
nasproten mit anti-monarhistov, ki občudujejo poljsko plemstvo zaradi 
zavračanja ruskega ideala; 3) najbolj razširjen mit je populariziral J. G. 
Herder, ki je izpostavil, da so Slovani kot golobice in imajo kot taki 
dobre preddispozicije za vodilni položaj. Omenjeno je tudi rojstvo poli-
tičnega mita, ki ga je začel že omenjeni Štúr; postavljal je ostro zarezo 
med Vzhodom in Zahodom. Medtem ko je prvi poduhovljen, naklo-
njen krščanstvu, je drugi materialističen, ponudil je celo vrsto podobnih 
binarizmov, s katerimi je ustvarjal nenaklonjenost zahodu.
Naslednji dve poglavji sta namenjeni mitu Fausta – medtem ko 
je prvo namenjeno teoretičnemu uvodu in pregledu faustovskih tem 
v različnih tekstih, se drugo osredotoča na teksta, ki ju interpretira. 
Avtorji ugotavljajo, kateri so osrednji motivi in teme iz mita o Faustu, 
ki jih je mogoče najti v slovaški literaturi; vedno znova se pojavlja motiv 
dogovora s hudičem, medtem ko so vsi drugi motivi (smrt Fausta ali 
Margarete, večna mladost, želja po znanju) arbitrarni. Sledi analiza 
dveh del, ki sta zaradi svoje intertekstualnosti posebej zanimivi za 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
202
analizo: Faustiáda (1864) Slovaka Jonáša Záborskýja, in Doktor Faust 
(1844) Čeha Šebestiána Hněvkovskýja. Obe pesnitvi sta ironični in 
izpostavljata socialne in politične probleme, ki jih vpenjata v mrežo 
intertekstualnih referenc domače in svetovne literature.
V zadnjem delu monografije so raziskani etnični stereotipi osrednje 
Evrope v popularni literaturi – gre za predstave, ki jih ima tuja nacija 
o drugi naciji, ki jo malo ali sploh ne pozna. Analizirani so češki liki iz 
romana Arthurja Conana Doyla Škandal na Češkem (1891), Slovaki v 
Drakuli (1897) Brama Stokerja in Madžari v Umoru na Orient Ekspresu 
(1934) Agathe Christie. Doyle naslika Čeha kot protipol uglajenemu in 
pozitivnemu liku Britanca; barvitost njegove obleke je povezana z ekso-
tičnim, barve kot nekaj nerafiniranega in neokusnega, ki podarjajo divjost 
in neciviliziranost. V Drakuli so Slovaki sluge zlobnega grofa Drakule. 
Opisani so kot barbarski pastirji – stereotip o Slovakih kot o ljudstvu 
pastirjev je bil samopromoviran v 19. stoletju kot narodnograditeljski 
simbol in je ostal znan po tem po svetu. Čeprav Transilvanija ni pove-
zana s Slovaško, so Slovaki močno povezani z gorami; ker so gore pove-
zane tudi z vampirji, je Stoker to nacijo povezal z vampirji. Slovake tudi 
obleče v napačne obleke, ironično – madžarske. Umor na Orient Expressu 
se dogaja v Jugoslaviji med Brodom in Vinkovci, na lokaciji, o kateri ima 
Christie stereotipne predstave o divjosti, barbarskosti in nevarnosti, lik 
Madžara pa je tipiziran aristokrat z brki in divjim temperamentom.
Stereotypes and Myths. Intertextuality in Central European Imagological 
Reflections predstavlja zanimivo branje raziskovanja predstav o nekem 
narodu, ki so nastale v specifičnem času in pomembno vplivale na 
percepcijo nacije – in ki vztrajajo še danes. Izvirna je v svojem pove-
zovanju intertekstualnosti, intermedialnosti in imagologije, s katerimi 
uspe vzpostaviti oddaljeno opazovanje stoletja starih stereotipov in 
mitov ter s temi orodji z njimi vzpostavi sodoben dialog.
1.19 Recenzija / Review
UDK 82.091
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.11
203
Primerjalna književnost (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Pristopiti tako, kot je treba
Pavel Nikolajevič Medvedev: Formalna metoda v literarni vedi: kritični 
uvod v sociološko poetiko. Prev. Marko Kržan. Ljubljana: Studia humanitatis, 
2022. 297 str.
Martin Justin
Iga Grudna 15, 1000 Ljubljana
https://orcid.org/0000-0002-2614-9423
martin1123581321@gmail.com
Verjetno je težko preceniti vpliv, ki so ga skupaj s Saussurjevim jeziko-
slovjem na razvoj literarne teorije v 20. stoletju imeli ruski formalisti. 
Pripadnike smeri, ki se je nekako med letoma 1910 in 1930 vzporedno 
razvijala v Petrogradu oziroma Leningradu (OPOJAZ) in v Moskvi 
(Moskovski jezikoslovni krožek), lahko razumemo kot začetnike ali 
vsaj predhodnike metodološke usmeritve, ki je nekako v sedemdesetih 
letih kulminirala v dekonstrukciji in je kmalu zatem za nekaj deset letij 
postala prevladujoči pristop k raziskovanju književnosti. Ta čas je sicer 
minil: danes so pristopi, ki zgodovinski in družbeni kontekst nastanka 
literarnega teksta podrejajo njegovim besedilnim potezam, na sla-
bem glasu. A t. i. formalna metoda niti ob svoji pojavitvi v dvajsetih 
letih prejšnjega stoletja ni žela vsesplošnega navdušenja. To je sicer 
razumljivo, kolikor idejni spopadi med nastajajočimi teorijami spre-
mljajo razvoj vsake znanosti, še posebej v humanistiki. Študija Pavla 
Nikolajeviča Medvedeva Formalna metoda v literarni vedi: kritični uvod 
v sociološko poetiko, ki je izšla leta 1928 in je v slovenščini odslej na 
voljo v prevodu Marka Kržana, pa ponuja tudi konkretnejšo predstavo 
o tem, kako je debata med formalisti in njihovimi nasprotniki dejan-
sko potekala. Formalna metoda namreč predstavlja poglobljeno kritiko 
ruskega formalizma, artikulirano s stališča t. i. Bahtinovega kroga, 
skupine teoretikov, ki ji je pripadal tudi Medvedev in je pod idejnim 
vodstvom Mihaila Bahtiva delovala med letoma 1919 in 1929, najprej 
v Nevelju in Vitebsku, nato pa v Leningradu.
Vpliv ruskega formalizma je v nekem smislu razumljiv. Kot v svojem 
Kritičnem uvodu ugotavlja tudi Medvedev, je njihova »formalna metoda« 
predstavljala »logičen in dosleden sistem razumevanja [književnosti] in 
metod njenega preučevanja« (Medvedev 109). Ta sistem je v veliki meri 
izhajal iz enega samega načela, namreč da je bistvo literature v njeni 
specifični rabi jezika. Medtem ko je vsakdanja govorica v določenem 
smislu samoumevna in transparentna, saj nas brez posebnih težav vodi 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
204
neposredno k t. i. stvari sami, je literarnost literarne govorice ravno v 
tem, da ta avtomatizem prenašanja smisla oteži in s tem opozori na 
svojo vlogo v njegovi produkciji. Viktor Šklovski, eden osrednjih pred-
stavnikov ruskega formalizma, literarno govorico posrečeno primerja s 
plesom: »Ples je hoja, ki jo občutimo; še bolje: je hoja, ki je narejena 
tako, da bi jo občutili.« (Šklovski 32) Podobno lahko literarno govo-
rico obravnavamo kot govorico, ki je narejena tako, da jo opazimo. Ta 
učinek literarne govorice, da predstavljeno stvar iztakne iz avtomatizma 
dojemanja, so formalisti od Šklovskega naprej imenovali potujitev.
Pomembna posledica takšnega razumevanja literature je, da v 
ospredje namesto vprašanja o vsebini literarnega dela postavi vpraša-
nje o načinu prikaza, s katerim je učinek potujitve dosežen. Kot pravi 
Šklovski: »Vsebina ali duša literarnega dela je enaka vsoti njegovih 
slogovnih postopkov.« (Šklovski 302) Ta premik poudarka – dobro je 
viden že v naslovih formalističnih študij, kakršni sta na primer razprava 
Šklovskega »Kako je narejen Don Kihot« in razprava Borisa Ejhenbauma 
»Kako je narejen Gogoljev Plašč« – je na področju teorije pripovedni-
štva svojo teoretsko artikulacijo dobil v razlikovanju med fabulo in siže-
jem. Fabulo so formalisti obravnavali kot gradivo literarnega teksta, 
sestavljeno iz likov, pripetljajev ter dogajalnega časa in prostora, v sižeju 
pa so videli način, na katerega je to gradivo razporejeno v celoti literar-
nega teksta. Kot ugotavlja Šklovski, to razporejanje oziroma razsipanje 
in zlaganje gradiva v tekstu sledi določenim vzorcem oziroma zakonom 
gradnje sižeja. Prav ti vzorci sižejske gradnje v pripovedih ustvarjajo 
občutek potujitve. Tako na primer stopnjevita zgradba pravljic, kjer se 
junakova domnevno enostavna naloga razplasti v zaporedje opravil brez 
konca in kraja, omogoča upočasnitev dogajanja, prekine njegov naravni 
tok in ga na ta način potuji.
Odkrivanje teh vzorcev sižejske gradnje je tako za ruske formali-
ste osrednja naloga v okviru raziskovanja pripovedništva. Fabula, če 
se vrnemo k primeru iz teorije pripovedništva, je zgolj motivacija za 
uporabo določenega pripovednega postopka: »Katastrofa ladje ali pirat-
ska ugrabitev itd. za siže romana nista bila izbrana zaradi stvarnih okoli-
ščin, temveč zaradi umetniško-tehničnih.« (Šklovski 75) Z drugimi 
besedami, v romanu se nista znašla zato, ker bi bila vsebinsko zanimiva, 
temveč ker sta predstavljala nekakšen izgovor za dodatno strukturno 
plastenje pustolovskega romana. S tega stališča – torej zgolj z ozirom na 
formalne lastnosti literarnih tekstov, ne pa na zunanje okoliščine – pa 
so formalisti razlagali tudi literarno zgodovino, zlasti nastanek in evolu-
cijo literarnih žanrov. Trdili so, da nove literarne forme nastajajo zato, 
ker stare sčasoma izgubijo svojo moč potujevanja. Literarna forma, ki 
KRITIKA
205
v nekem obdobju velja za dominantno, se iztroši in zamenja jo druga, 
ki se je dotlej razvijala na obrobju. Nove literarne forme nastajajo zato, 
»da bi zamenjale stare, ki so že izgubile umetniškost« (Šklovski 40).
To so osnovne poteze formalne metode, ki jo Medvedev podvrže 
kritiki. Dejansko lahko kljub njeni doslednosti in presenetljivim rezul-
tatom že v kratki predstavitvi, kakršno smo orisali zgoraj, zaslutimo 
določene šibke točke. Lahko fabulo dejansko zvedemo na popolnoma 
zamenljivo motivacijo pripovednih postopkov? Mar potujevanje res 
zajame literarnost kot takšno? Lahko pri raziskovanju evolucije umet-
niških form res zanemarimo zunanje, neliterarne dejavnike? Tovrstna 
vprašanja se pod drobnogledom Medvedeva izkažejo za usodna.
Čeprav Medvedev v svoji knjigi analizira in kritično ovrednoti številne 
razsežnosti sistema formalistov, se lahko osredotočimo na tri argumente, 
ki zadevajo različne vidike teorije potujevanja. Medvedev najprej izpo-
stavi, da je formalistična opredelitev literarnosti zgolj negativna; forma-
listi po njegovem mnenju literarni govorici ne zmorejo pripisati nobene 
pozitivne vloge: »če se poetski jezik od življenjsko-praktičnega razlikuje 
le po tem, da je njegova konstrukcija zaznavna […], potem je to absolu-
tno neproduktiven jezik« (Medvedev 130). Drugače rečeno, formalisti v 
literarni govorici vidijo zgolj odziv na vsakdanjo govorico, ki kot takšen 
ne more porajati novih pomenov. Po Medvedevu je »teorija formalistov 
poetski jezik obsodila na […] parazitski obstoj« (130).
Medvedev nadaljuje, da se, četudi sprejmemo tezo, da je potujevanje 
osnovna poteza literarnega teksta, postavlja vprašanje, kaj s potujeva-
njem sploh postane zaznavno. Na podlagi dikcije Šklovskega, ki pravi, 
da umetnost poskuša »rešiti stvari iz avtomata dojemanja« (Šklovski 
9), bi lahko sklepali, da književnost z najrazličnejšimi postopki sižejske 
zgradbe potujuje gradivo samo, se pravi, t. i. stvari, ki jih prikazuje. A 
to je, kot pravilno opozori Medvedev, v protislovju s teorijo motivacije. 
Gradivo naj bi imelo v tekstu zgolj funkcijo motiviranja pripovednih 
postopkov in naj bi bilo potemtakem popolnoma zamenljivo oziroma 
celo pogrešljivo: Šklovski dejansko Tristrama Shandyja Laurencea 
Sterna interpretira kot roman, v katerem je »umetniška oblika podana 
brez vsakršne motivacije, preprosto kot taka« (253). A to pomeni, da 
tisto, kar postane zaznavno po zaslugi potujevanja, ne more biti gradivo. 
Hkrati pa se zdi, da predmet potujevanja ne more biti niti siže oziroma 
zgradba literarnega dela, saj je vsebina tega ravno učinek potujitve. 
»Konec koncev je pred nami paradoksen sklep: zaznaven je postopek, 
katerega edina vsebina je – ustvariti zaznavnost!« (Medvedev 162)
Kot tretje pa Medvedev formalistom oporeka uporabo teorije 
potujevanja v literarni zgodovini. Opozori namreč, da formalisti »iz 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
206
procesa, ki lahko poteka v okvirih življenja individualnega organizma, 
naredijo shemo za razumevanje procesa, ki zajema vrsto individuov in 
generacij, ki si sledijo« (Medvedev 217). Potujitev je namreč moment 
recepcije posameznega bralca oziroma bralke. Če se želimo pri razlagi 
evolucije umetniških form sklicevati na njihovo izgubo umetniškosti, 
tj. zmožnosti potujevanja, moramo predpostaviti, da bo večina bralstva 
določen tekst v določenem obdobju brala na zelo podoben način. To 
pa se zdi malo verjetno: čeprav šolski sistem v precejšnji meri ustvarja 
dominantno bralno kulturo, je težko verjeti, da bo imelo določeno lite-
rarno besedilo na tako rekoč vse bralstvo isti učinek.
Medvedev na podoben način pretrese tudi druge elemente formalne 
metode. Rezultat, do katerega pride, je razmeroma poguben: formali-
zem označi za mrtev raziskovalni program, ki ni več zmožen produk-
tivno rešiti problemov in protislovji, s katerimi se spoprijema. Kljub 
temu pa se Medvedevu zdi splošna vloga formalizma v literarni vedi 
pozitivna: izpostavil naj bi »najbolj bistvene probleme literarne znano-
sti, in to s tako ostrino, da se jim zdaj ni več mogoče izogniti in jih 
prezreti« (Medvedev 251). Od tod druga razsežnost knjige Medveda, 
namreč poskus drugačnega odgovora na te »bistvene probleme literarne 
znanosti«, poskus, ki predstavlja sociološko poetiko Medvedeva.
Kot smo videli, je za formalistično metodo morda bolj kot karkoli 
drugega značilno, da je literaturo poskušala raziskovati neodvisno od 
družbenega in ideološkega konteksta njenega nastanka in recepcije. Ta 
težnja je na neki način razumljiva: z osredotočanjem na strukturne, 
inherentne značilnosti literarnega teksta naj bi dobili predmet, ki ga 
je mogoče raziskovati neodvisno od njegove umeščenosti v družbeni 
kontekst, vključno s kontekstom, v katerem ta predmet raziskujemo. A 
je takšen pristop za Medvedeva tudi radikalno zgrešen. 
Bistvena metodološka ugotovitev Medvedeva in celotnega Bahti-
novega kroga je namreč, da je tudi forma literarnega teksta, ki je forma-
listom služila kot pribežališče pred družbenostjo, družbeno določena. 
Pri tem Medvedev na eni strani izhaja iz koncepcije jezika, razvite v 
Bahtinovem krogu, na drugi strani pa iz marksistične teorije ideološke 
nadzidave. Prvo v spremni besedi natančno predstavi prevajalec Marko 
Kržan, zato naj na tem mestu zadošča opozorilo, da je za Medvedeva 
in druge bahtinovce ideologija – se pravi, vsa t. i. idejna dejavnost, 
vključno z uporabo jezika – materialna in družbena: »Tudi svetovni 
nazori, verovanja, celo negotova ideološka razpoloženja niso dani 
znotraj, ne v glavah ne v 'dušah' ljudi. Ideološka dejanskost postanejo 
le, koliko se realizirajo v besedah, v dejanjih, v obleki, v obnašanju, v 
organizaciji ljudi in stvari, z eno besedo, v nekem določnem znakovnem 
KRITIKA
207
gradivu.« (Medvedev 13) Zato ideološko gradivo svoj pomen dobi šele 
potem, ko se na ta način materializira in vstopi v občevanje med ljudmi. 
Kar pa zadeva teorijo ideološke nadzidave, Medvedev literaturo razume 
kot dvojno določeno dejavnost: po eni strani gre za specifično ideolo-
ško dejavnost z lastnimi zakonitostmi, ki jo razlikujemo od znanosti, 
filozofije, etike in podobnega, po drugi strani pa je literatura del enotne 
ideološke nadzidave, ki jo v končni instanci določajo ekonomska 
razmerja. A Medvedev tu opozarja pred poenostavljanjem. Literarno 
delo je po njegovem mnenju umeščeno v več kontekstov oziroma ideo-
loških okolij, ki ga obdajajo kot nekakšni koncentrični krogi: najprej 
v literarno okolje kot »celovitost vseh v dani dobi in v dani družbeni 
skupini družbeno učinkujočih literarnih del« (40); to literarno okolje je 
nato umeščeno v splošno ideološko okolje dane dobe in dane družbene 
skupine; nazadnje pa vse skupaj zajema družbenoekonomsko okolje 
produkcijskih razmerij.
Sociološka poetika Medvedeva tako ni nekakšen preprost proti-
pol formalistom, ki bi impliciral, da družba oblikuje literaturo. Med 
družbo in literaturo si Medvedev namreč predstavlja dialektično 
razmerje: »Postajanje občevanja pogojuje postajanje vseh plati literature 
in vsakega posameznega literarnega dela v procesu njegovega ustvarja-
nja in recepcije. Po drugi strani je tudi postajanje občevanja dialektično 
pogojeno s postajanjem literature kot enega od njegovih dejavnikov.« 
(Medvedev 221) Takšno stališče nam ponuja produktivno izhodi-
šče za analizo literature, in sicer zlasti v času, ko smo izjemno obču-
tljivi na njeno družbeno vlogo. A Formalni metodi Medvedeva morda 
umanjka konkreten primer analize, ki bi ilustriral to dinamiko. Avtor 
sicer vztraja, da ta »dialektika sploh ni tako zapletena« (44), a je bral-
stvu svoje Formalne metode z ničimer zares ne pomaga bolje razumeti. 
To zatekanje v abstrakcijo je opazno na več mestih v knjigi. Kot eno 
ključnih nalog sociološke poetike si Medvedev na primer zada oprede-
litev specifike literature v primerjavi z drugimi ideološkimi formami, 
a njegov odgovor na to vprašanje je vse prej kot konkreten; pravi, da 
je za umetnost značilno, da je »pomen docela nerazločljiv od vseh 
podrobnosti materialnega telesa, v katerem je utelešen«, medtem ko 
je pri drugih ideoloških formacijah sámo znakovno gradivo »načeloma 
konvencionalnega in nadomestljivega značaja« (20).
Kljub temu se zdi, da prevod Formalne metode v literarni vedi Pavla 
Medvedeva prinaša koristen prispevek k slovenski prevodni humani-
stiki. Kot v predgovoru izpostavi tudi prevajalec, imamo zdaj v sloven-
skem prevodu na voljo vse pomembnejše razprave Bahtinovega kroga, 
z izjemo Freudizma (1927) Valentina Vološinova. Čeprav so bile te 
PKn, letnik 46, št. 3, Ljubljana, november 2023
208
študije, predvsem spisi samega Bahtina, v zadnjih desetletjih najpogo-
steje obravnavane v kontekstu teorije romana, bržkone še vedno lahko 
predstavljajo živ vir za razvoj tudi drugih področij literarne teorije. To 
še posebej velja v času, ko v ospredje ponovno stopajo literarnovedni 
pristopi, ki se zanimajo za kontekst geneze in recepcije literature, in ko 
smo kot družba morda bolj kot kadarkoli prej dovzetni za družbene 
razsežnosti literature in njene recepcije. Pri teh razmislekih se lahko 
marsičesa naučimo od teoretikov, ki so na pomanjkljivosti formalizmov 
opozarjali tako rekoč pred stotimi leti.
LITERATURA
Medvedev, Pavel Nikolajevič. Formalna metoda v literarni vedi: kritični uvod v sociolo-
ško poetiko. Prev. Marko Kržan. Ljubljana: Studia humanitatis, 2022.
Šklovski, Viktor Borisovič. Teorija proze. Prev. Drago Bajt. Koper: Hyperion, 2010.
1.19 Recenzija / Review
UDK 82.0
DOI: https://doi.org/10.3986/pkn.v46.i3.12
NAVODILA ZA AVTORJE
Primerjalna književnost objavlja izvirne razprave s področij primerjalne književno-
sti, literarne teorije, metodologije literarne vede, literarne estetike in drugih strok, 
ki obravnavajo literaturo in njene kontekste. Zaželeni so tudi meddisciplinarni 
pristopi. Revija objavlja prispevke v slovenščini ali angleščini, izjemoma tudi v 
drugih jezikih. Vsi članki so recenzirani.
Prispevke pošiljajte na naslov: marijan.dovic@zrc-sazu.si.
Razprave, urejene v programu Word, naj ne presegajo 50.000 znakov (vključ no s 
presledki, povzetkom, ključnimi besedami, z opombami in bibliografijo). Besedilo 
naj bo v pisavi Times New Roman, 12 pik, enojni razmik. Drugi prispevki – poro-
čila, recenzije ipd. – lahko obsegajo največ 20.000 znakov (vključno s presledki).
Naslovu razprave naj sledijo ime in priimek, institucija, naslov, država, ORCID iD 
in e-naslov avtorja oziroma avtorice.
Razprave imajo slovenski povzetek (1.000–1.500 znakov) in ključne besede (5–
8), oboje naj bo v kurzivi tik pred besedilom razprave. Angleški prevod povzetka 
(preveden naj bo tudi naslov razprave) in ključnih besed je postavljen na konec 
besedila (za bibliografijo).
Glavni tekst je obojestransko poravnan; lahko je razčlenjen na poglavja s podna-
slovi (brez številčenja). Med odstavkoma ni prazne vrstice, prva beseda v novem 
odstavku pa je umaknjena v desno za 0,5 cm (razen na začetkih poglavij, za citati 
in za ilustracijami).
Sprotne opombe so oštevilčene tekoče (arabske številke so levostično za besedo 
ali ločilom). Količina in obseg posameznih opomb naj bosta smiselno omejena. 
Bibliografskih referenc ne navajamo v opombah, temveč v kazalkah v sobesedilu 
neposredno za citatom oziroma povzetkom bibliografske enote.
Kazalka, ki sledi citatu ali povzetku, v okroglih oklepajih prinaša avtorjev priimek 
in številko citirane ali povzete strani: (Juvan 42).  Kadar avtorja citata navedemo 
že v sobesedilu, v oklepaju na koncu citata zapišemo samo številko citirane ali 
povzete strani (42). Če v članku navajamo več enot istega avtorja, vsako enoto 
po citatu oziroma povzetku v kazalki označimo s skrajšanim naslovom: (Juvan, 
Literary 42).
Citati v besedilu so označeni z dvojnimi narekovaji (» in «), citati v citatih pa z enoj-
nimi (' in '); izpusti iz citatov in prilagoditve so označeni z oglatimi oklepaji. Daljši 
citati (štiri vrstice ali več) so izločeni v samostojne odstavke brez narekovajev; celo-
ten citat je zamaknjen desno za 0,5 cm, njegova velikost je 10 pik (namesto 12), nad 
in pod njim pa je prazna vrstica. Vir citata je označen v oklepaju na koncu citata.
Ilustracije (slike, zemljevidi, tabele) so priložene v ločenih datotekah z minimalno 
resolucijo 300 dpi. Objavljene so v črno-beli tehniki. Položaj ilustracije naj bo 
označen v glavnem tekstu (Slika 1: [Podnapis 1]). Avtorji morajo urediti tudi 
avtorske pravice, če je to potrebno.
V bibliografiji na koncu članka so podatki izpisani po standardih MLA:
– članki v periodičnih publikacijah:
Kos, Janko. »Novi pogledi na tipologijo pripovedovalca«. Primerjalna književnost 
21.1 (1998): 1–20.
– monografije:
Juvan, Marko. Literary Studies in Reconstruction. An Introduction to Literature. 
Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2011.
– zborniki:
Leerssen, Joep, in Ann Rigney, ur. Commemorating Writers in Nineteenth-Ce ntury 
Europe. Basingstoke in New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.
– poglavja v zbornikih:
Novak, Boris A. »Odmevi trubadurskega kulta ljubezni pri Prešernu«. France Pre-
šeren – kultura – Evropa. Ur. Jože Faganel in Darko Dolinar. Ljubljana: Založ-
ba ZRC, 2002. 15–47.
– članek v spletni reviji:
Terian, Andrei. »National Literature, World Literatures, and Universality in Ro-
manian Cultural Criticism 1867–1947«. CLCWeb: Comparative Literature and 
Culture 15.5 (2013). Splet. 21. 5. 2015.
– knjiga v podatkovni bazi:
García Landa, José Angel, in John Pier. Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: De Gruyter, 
2008. eBook Collection (EBSCOhost). Splet. 15. 2. 2016.
– drugi spletni viri (URL dodati v primeru zahtevnejše identifikacije):
McGann, Jerome. »The Rationale of HyperText«. Splet. 24. 9. 2015. <http://
jefferson.village.virginia.edu/~jjm2f/rationale.htm>. 
GUIDELINES FOR AUTHORS
Primerjalna književnost (Comparative Literature) publishes original articles in 
comparative literature, literary theory, literary methodology, literary aesthet-
ics, and other fields devoted to literature and its contexts. Multidisciplinary ap-
proaches are also welcome. The journal publishes articles in either Slovenian or 
(American) English, occasionally also in other languages. All published papers are 
peer-reviewed.
Articles should be submitted via e-mail: marijan.dovic@zrc-sazu.si.
Articles should be written in Word for Windows, Times New Roman 12, single-
spaced, and not longer than 50,000 characters (including spaces, abstract, key-
words, and bibliography).
The full title of the paper is followed by author’s name, institution, address, coun-
try, ORCID iD, and email address.
Articles must have an abstract (1,000–1,500 characters, in italics) and keywords 
(five to eight), both set directly before the main text.
The main text has justified alignment (straight right and left margin) and can be 
divided into chapters with unnumbered subheadings. There are no blank lines be-
tween paragraphs. Each paragraph begins with the first-line indent of 0.5 cm (ex-
cept at the beginning of a chapter, after a block quotation, or after a figure).
Footnotes are numbered (Arabic numerals follow a word or a punctuation di-
rectly, without spacing). They should be used to a limited extent. Footnotes do not 
contain bibliographical references, because all bibliographical references are given 
in the text directly after a citation or a mention of a given bibliographical unit.
Each bibliographical reference is composed of round brackets containing the au-
thor’s surname and the number of the quoted or mentioned page: (Juvan 42). If 
the author is already mentioned in the accompanying text, the bracketed reference 
contains only the page number (42). If the article refers to more than one text by a 
given author, each respective reference includes a shortened version of the quoted 
or mentioned text: (Juvan, Literary 42).
Quotations within the text are in double quotation marks (“and”); quotations 
within quotations are in single quotation marks (‘ and ’). Omissions are marked 
with square-bracketed ellipses ([…]), and adaptations are in square brackets ([ 
and ]). Block quotations (four lines or longer) have a right indent of 0.5 cm, 
are set in Times New Roman 10 (not 12), and are preceded and followed by a 
blank line.
Illustrations (images, maps, tables etc.) should be provided in separate files at 
minimal resolution of 300 dpi. They are published in black and white. The 
preferred positioning of illustrations is marked in the main text (Figure 1: 
[Caption 1]).
The bibliography at the end of the article follows the MLA styleguide:
– Journal articles:
Kos, Janko. “Novi pogledi na tipologijo pripovedovalca.” Primerjalna književnost 
21.1 (1998): 1–20.
– Books:
Juvan, Marko. Literary Studies in Reconstruction. An Introduction to Literature. 
Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2011.
– Edited volumes:
Leerssen, Joep, and Ann Rigney, eds. Commemorating Writers in Nineteenth-Cen-
tury Europe. Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.
– Chapters in edited volumes:
Novak, Boris A. “Odmevi trubadurskega kulta ljubezni pri Prešernu.” France 
Prešeren – kultura – Evropa. Eds. Jože Faganel and Darko Dolinar. Ljubljana: 
Založba ZRC, 2002. 15–47.
– Articles in e-journals:
Terian, Andrei. “National Literature, World Literatures, and Universality in Ro-
manian Cultural Criticism 1867–1947.” CLCWeb: Comparative Literature and 
Culture 15.5 (2013). Web. 21 May 2015.
– Books in databases:
García Landa, José Angel, and John Pier.  Theorizing Narrativity. Berlin: De 
Gruyter, 2008. eBook Collection (EBSCOhost). Web. 15 Feb. 2016.
– Other digital sources (if necessary, add URL to avoid ambiguity):
McGann, Jerome. “The Rationale of HyperText.” Web. 24 Sept. 2015. <http://
jefferson.village.virginia.edu/~jjm2f/rationale.htm>.
I S S N  0 3 51 - 11 8 9
PK
n (Ljubljana) 46.2 (3023)
PK
n 
(L
ju
bl
ja
na
) 
46
.3
 (
20
23
)
PRIMERJALNA KNJIŽEVNOST ISSN (tiskana izdaja/printed edition): 0351-1189
Comparative literature, Ljubljana ISSN (spletna izdaja/online edition): 2591-1805
PKn (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Izdaja Slovensko društvo za primerjalno književnost
Published by the Slovenian Comparative Literature Association
https://ojs.zrc-sazu.si/primerjalna_knjizevnost/index 
Glavni in odgovorni urednik      Editor: Marijan Dović 
Področni in tehnični urednik      Associate and Technical Editor: Blaž Zabel 
Uredniški odbor     Editorial Board:  
Jernej Habjan, Marko Juvan, Alenka Koron, Dejan Kos, Vanesa Matajc, Darja Pavlič, Vid 
Snoj, Alen Širca
Uredniški svet     Advisory Board:
Ziva Ben-Porat (Tel Aviv), Vladimir Biti (Dunaj/Wien), Lucia Boldrini, Zoran Milutinović, 
Katia Pizzi, Galin Tihanov (London), Janko Kos, Aleksander Skaza, Jola Škulj, Neva 
Šlibar, Tomo Virk (Ljubljana), César Domínguez (Santiago de Compostela), Péter Hajdu 
(Budimpešta/Budapest), Jón Karl Helgason (Reykjavík), Bart Keunen (Gent), Sowon 
Park (Santa Barbara), Ivan Verč (Trst/Trieste), Peter V. Zima (Celovec/Klagenfurt)
© avtorji     © Authors
PKn izhaja trikrat na leto.     PKn is published three times a year.
Prispevke in naročila pošiljajte na naslov     Send manuscripts and orders to: 
Revija Primerjalna književnost, Novi trg 2, 1000 Ljubljana, Slovenia.
Letna naročnina: 20,00 €, za študente in dijake 10,00 €.
TR 02010-0016827526, z oznako »za revijo«.
Cena posamezne številke: 10,00 €.
Annual subscription (outside Slovenia): € 40,00.
Naklada     Copies: 350.
PKn je vključena v     PKn is indexed/ abstracted in:
Arts & Humanities Citation Index, Bibliographie d’histoire littéraire française, 
CNKI, Current Contents / A&H, Digitalna knjižnica Slovenije (dLib), DOAJ,  
ERIH, IBZ and IBR, EBSCO, MLA Directory of Periodicals,  
MLA International Bibliography, ProQuest, Scopus.
Oblikovanje     Design: Narvika Bovcon
Stavek in prelom     Typesetting: Alenka Maček
Tisk     Printed by: VB&S d. o. o., Flandrova 19, Ljubljana
Izid številke je podprla      This issue is supported by: 
Agencija za raziskovalno dejavnost RS.
Oddano v tisk  14. novembra 2023.     Sent to print on 14 November 2023.
RAZPRAVE / ARTICLES
Vid Snoj: Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg: Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v 
avantgardnih in intermedijskih umetniških praksah
Aleksandra Tobiasz: Vladimir Bartol’s Self-Identification between Central 
European Ljubljana and Mediterranean Trieste (1946–1956)
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić: The Paraleptic Effect
Jonathan Locke Hart: The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry
Alina Bako: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel 
Joshua Bence Kun: The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s 
Micrology
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina: Ontology of the Art 
Phenomenon in Iris Murdoch’s Fiction
Neus Rotger: Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
Jānis Oga: Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of 
Germany and Its Impact on Societal Change in the 1980s
RECENZIJI / REVIEWS
I S S N  0 3 51 - 11 8 9
PK
n (Ljubljana) 46.2 (3023)
PK
n 
(L
ju
bl
ja
na
) 
46
.3
 (
20
23
)
PRIMERJALNA KNJIŽEVNOST ISSN (tiskana izdaja/printed edition): 0351-1189
Comparative literature, Ljubljana ISSN (spletna izdaja/online edition): 2591-1805
PKn (Ljubljana) 46.3 (2023)
Izdaja Slovensko društvo za primerjalno književnost
Published by the Slovenian Comparative Literature Association
https://ojs.zrc-sazu.si/primerjalna_knjizevnost/index 
Glavni in odgovorni urednik      Editor: Marijan Dović 
Področni in tehnični urednik      Associate and Technical Editor: Blaž Zabel 
Uredniški odbor     Editorial Board:  
Jernej Habjan, Marko Juvan, Alenka Koron, Dejan Kos, Vanesa Matajc, Darja Pavlič, Vid 
Snoj, Alen Širca
Uredniški svet     Advisory Board:
Ziva Ben-Porat (Tel Aviv), Vladimir Biti (Dunaj/Wien), Lucia Boldrini, Zoran Milutinović, 
Katia Pizzi, Galin Tihanov (London), Janko Kos, Aleksander Skaza, Jola Škulj, Neva 
Šlibar, Tomo Virk (Ljubljana), César Domínguez (Santiago de Compostela), Péter Hajdu 
(Budimpešta/Budapest), Jón Karl Helgason (Reykjavík), Bart Keunen (Gent), Sowon 
Park (Santa Barbara), Ivan Verč (Trst/Trieste), Peter V. Zima (Celovec/Klagenfurt)
© avtorji     © Authors
PKn izhaja trikrat na leto.     PKn is published three times a year.
Prispevke in naročila pošiljajte na naslov     Send manuscripts and orders to: 
Revija Primerjalna književnost, Novi trg 2, 1000 Ljubljana, Slovenia.
Letna naročnina: 20,00 €, za študente in dijake 10,00 €.
TR 02010-0016827526, z oznako »za revijo«.
Cena posamezne številke: 10,00 €.
Annual subscription (outside Slovenia): € 40,00.
Naklada     Copies: 350.
PKn je vključena v     PKn is indexed/ abstracted in:
Arts & Humanities Citation Index, Bibliographie d’histoire littéraire française, 
CNKI, Current Contents / A&H, Digitalna knjižnica Slovenije (dLib), DOAJ,  
ERIH, IBZ and IBR, EBSCO, MLA Directory of Periodicals,  
MLA International Bibliography, ProQuest, Scopus.
Oblikovanje     Design: Narvika Bovcon
Stavek in prelom     Typesetting: Alenka Maček
Tisk     Printed by: VB&S d. o. o., Flandrova 19, Ljubljana
Izid številke je podprla      This issue is supported by: 
Agencija za raziskovalno dejavnost RS.
Oddano v tisk  14. novembra 2023.     Sent to print on 14 November 2023.
RAZPRAVE / ARTICLES
Vid Snoj: Pindarjevo življenje v vitah in v sholijah k njegovemu pesništvu
Kristina Pranjić, Peter Purg: Spreminjanje imaginarija napredka in rasti v 
avantgardnih in intermedijskih umetniških praksah
Aleksandra Tobiasz: Vladimir Bartol’s Self-Identification between Central 
European Ljubljana and Mediterranean Trieste (1946–1956)
Vladimir Vujošević, Dragiša Vukotić: The Paraleptic Effect
Jonathan Locke Hart: The Liminal Space of Métis Poetry
Alina Bako: A Systematic Model of Romanian Novel 
Joshua Bence Kun: The Particular as a Locus of Critique in Ernst Jünger’s 
Micrology
Aliona Matiychak, Natalia Nikoriak, Alyona Tychinina: Ontology of the Art 
Phenomenon in Iris Murdoch’s Fiction
Neus Rotger: Postwar Intellectuals and the Concept of European Literature
Jānis Oga: Andrejs Dripe’s Journalism about the Federal Republic of 
Germany and Its Impact on Societal Change in the 1980s
RECENZIJI / REVIEWS