Essay: Post war novels

The form of Beckett’s second novel, within his trilogy, investigates the loss of time as the elderly protagonist Malone lies naked in a bed, unaware of his own location, he acknowledges his fragile state the moment the narrative begins stating that his death is imminent ‘at last’ (Beckett 1994: 179). Interestingly, Malone appears nonchalant towards his impending end and begins to spend his fading moments with the few possessions he has writing stories involving a character named Macmann, formerly Sapo, who ‘could grovel and wallow’ (1994: 242). The verbs ‘grovel’ and ‘wallow’ are passionate expressions of grief, it becomes apparent that the lack of sorrow Malone expresses is allocated to his fictional character, which is ironic considering the character is incapable of losing time.
In the unidentified setting an exercise book, as well as a pencil, are the few items that Malone possesses; the utensils Malone uses to write are just as significant as the fabricated tale. Malone recollects over his younger years when he could fall asleep with an item in his hand and awake ‘still holding it’ (1994: 249), whilst now he struggles to maintain a grip on the pencil needed to compose his story, the only solace he has in such a bleak environment. Henri Bergson argued that the ‘attitudes, gestures and movements of the human body are laughable in exact proportion as that body reminds us of a mere machine’ (cited in Hulle 2015: 172). Malone’s body is a machine that no longer functions, the more he ages the further he becomes cognitively impaired; the mind deteriorating before the body ultimately follows.
Like most postwar writers, Spark’s disregards the fictional conventions of the traditional novel, resulting in the rise of forms such as metafiction, scrutinising the relation between fiction and reality. Returning from a retreat the newly Catholic protagonist Caroline Rose is occupying her flat in Kensington when she is interrupted by the tapping of a typewriter and an unknown voice, leaving her ‘trembling, frightened out of her wits’ (Spark 1963: 45). Simultaneously, Caroline and the reader are abruptly introduced to the novelist. The unorthodox style may briefly perplex the reader, in comparison, the adjectives ‘trembling’ and ‘frightened’ highlights the terror that physically and emotionally consumes Caroline as she becomes enlightened to her existence or more appropriately non-existence.
Additionally, any critics have imposed religious interpretations due to Spark’s own conversion to Catholicism in 1954 (Gardiner and Maley 2010: 27), a mere three years before the novels initial release. Despite her devotion, Spark has no qualms mocking her faith, as Eleanor argues that Roman Catholics can ‘get away with anything’ (1963: 92) by participating in confessional. The detached third person narrative interrogates the relationship between author and character, perfectly imitating the relationship between God and individual. Both featuring an omnipotent figure and their creation. The presence of the powerful novelist results in the loss of Caroline’s ‘comforter’, free will. This results in an internal struggle that not only isolates her but threatens to psychologically impair her.
In the post-apocalyptic novel, Kavan examines the anxieties of postmodern madness due to the collapse of faith, postwar. The opening sequences introduce the male protagonist and narrator who is in pursuit of a woman who he asserts is a victim of a domineering husband, known only as the warden. The narrator initially appears a traditional romantic figure, the knight in shining armour rescuing a damsel in distress. When the woman he is so enamoured with remains nameless, fear strikes the reader as the fairytale becomes a sinister thriller. His attachment to the woman is superficial as he obsesses over her ‘pale, almost transparent skin’ (Kavan 2006: 12). The adjectives ‘pale’ and ‘transparent’ emphasises the whiteness of her tone, correlating to the ice that engulfs the bleak and unspecified landscape the characters dwell as a result of nuclear war. Barbara Tepa Lupack suggests, ‘postwar experimental fiction searches for ways to deal with the violence, brevity and rigidity of life’ (Baker 2010: 2). Kavan uses her setting to express the torment of the average civilian post world war 2, when tensions grew between the Soviets and the United States as they both sought nuclear advantage resulting in the Cold War, leaving their citizens in constant fear of a devastating nuclear warfare.
Additionally, Baker argues that drug ‘misuse forms one of the themes interlinking madness and postmodernity in many post-war texts’ (2010: 160). The environments ‘unearthly whiteness’ (2006: 7) conveying the interior of a mental hospital. Anonymity is a prominent theme in the text that makes the narrator unreliable, and the distinction between memories and hallucinations is ‘rapidly fading’ (2006: 6). His desperate pursuit of the woman mimics the authors own struggles with drugs.
Baker, C., (2010). Madness in post-1945 British and American fiction. Hampshire; New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Available from: Palgrave Connect.
John Fowles, The French Lieutenants Woman (1969)
Fowles applies the idea of the present and relation to the past to critique the conventions of the Victorian novel. Written and set in two different centuries, the tale explores the blossoming romance between Sarah Woodruff and Charles Smithson, who initially appear the typical Victorian characterisation of the ruined female and the proper gentlemen. Claire Colebrook notes that post-structuralism Literature is ‘neither a reflection nor a distortion of reality but a crucial component in the recreation of conditions of consciousness’ (cited in Plain and Sellers 2007: 214). Fowles explores fundamental Victorian principles to recreate a modern narrative. The omniscient narrator explores the parallels between fiction and history, mocking ‘those painted screens erected by man to shut out reality’ (Fowles 2004: 207). Infatuated with Sarah, Charles disregards the conventions that his own gender ‘erected’, abandoning his virtuous fiancé to pursue Sarah, who by Victorian standards is considered a fallen woman, therefore a worthless member of society.
Towards the end of the novel, Charles enters the railway carriage, unknowingly sitting across from the narrator who contemplates the order they will present the endings. The first relaying Sarah’s revelation and the impression that they can become a family. The second, Charles never learns of his child fleeing from Sarah’s sight when his adoration is not returned. When Charles arrives in London he is surprised to see that Sarah has not been suffering like he has, in contrast ‘life has been kind’ (2004: 447) to her. This is an odd scenario in a Victorian dialogue, typically the fallen woman would be abandoned to a deadly fate but Hoban chooses to flip conventions. Furthermore, the narrator’s role is insignificant to Sarah as Hoban allows her the opportunity to live happily regardless.
Hoban contemplates the idea of the future, more specifically the recovering of history eradicated by war. The protagonist and narrator is a boy of twelve years old, living in Kent England. Belonging to a small settlement of hunters, armed with a spear Riddley chases ‘that boar thru that las little scrump of woodling’ (Hoban 2012: 1). Hoban presents a primitive landscape and the tale initially appears that of the prehistoric Ice age. It isn’t until later in the novel that it is revealed that the setting is actually 2500 years after a nuclear holocaust that left civilisation in ruin. Linda Hutcheon, ‘the postmodern age is dominated by certain unresolved contradictions between history and fiction’ (cited in Currie 2007: 25). The characters are aware of the advanced civilisation of the past but must endure the primitive present. ‘flashing to it time back way back when they had boats in the air’ (2012: 112), Walker refers to a plane unable to name it but still yearns to know the more splendid past. Nuclear war has caused the loss of identity, the reader explores Walker’s story of survival through the survival of the fragmented English Language. Unfortunately, Riddle must remain in the primal present, Leo Mellor states ‘throughout the war – and after it – London’s bombsites were colonised by plants and animals, becoming luxuriant spaces where ruins were shaded by leaves and flowers’ (cited in Manley 2011: 215). Dogs are the only remaining animals Riddley has numerous run in with the ‘Bernt Arse pack’ (2010: 1), humans have become ‘running meat to them’ (2012: 74) no longer man domesticated best friend.
The first of Sebald’s novels to be translated into English examines the effects of the second world war on the psyche of its victims. Appearing as a mixture of fiction and biography, the text discloses the tragic lives of four German emigrants. Judith Ryan argues ‘Illumination, in Sebald’s novel, stands under the sinister signs of the darkness in the human psyche that enlightenment only superficially represses: imperialism, genocide, and war’ (cited in Santer 2006: 61). Each character something or someone precious to them, who provided a distraction from the repressed memories of Nazi Germany.
The first is the narrator’s neighbour Dr. Henry Welwyn, an Anglo-Lithuanian Jew who fought during the first world war and isolated himself ‘in his hermitage’ (Sebald 2002: 11) during the second. Postwar he succumbs to his depression and commits suicide with a gun.The Second is the narrators partly Jewish childhood teacher, Paul Bereyter, who served for the German’s in the world war 2. ‘In early 1982, the condition of Paul’s eyes began to deteriorate’ (2002: 59). With the loss of sight, Paul can only observe his own memories, unable to acknowledge the atrocities he committed under Nazi Germany he commits suicide of the railway tracks. The third is the narrator’s great-uncle Ambros Adelwarth, who lived life to the fullest during his youth, travelling across Europe with his friend, and potential lover Cosmo, before his hospitalisation and eventual death. Leading to Ambros’s own depression, he commits himself to an institution where he undergoes electric shock therapy leaving nothing ‘left but a shell of decorum’ (2002: 99), willingly fracturing his memory in desperation to gain some peace, he lost with his companion.
The fourth is an acquaintance of the narrator’s, Max Ferber a German Jew who was shipped off to England for his own safety where he waited for his parent’s arrival, but ‘obtaining a visa had become increasingly difficult’ (2002: 192), and he loses them to the horrors of the holocaust.
In the novel, Don DeLillo manipulates time to provoke his characters, maintaining a linear structure but almost halting the pace. DeLillo structures the novel with two chapters that begins and ends the narrative, titled Anonymity and Anonymity 2. In both sections an unidentified man appreciates the slowed rendition of Hitchcock’s infamous 1960 film Psycho, making the film 24 hours long. In Anonymity the narrator observes the former defence intellectual Richard Elster and aspiring film director Jim Finley, who hopes to document Elster’s two years at the Pentagon. The interaction is brief as both Richard and Jim ‘left, just like that, they were moving toward the door’ (DeLillo 2012: 12). The narrator remains still in disbelief that they would leave moments before the climactic death of Janet Leigh’s character. In Anonymity 2, the same narrator appears in the exhibit where he meets Elster’s daughter Jessica. He nervously attempts to maintain a conversation with her, fearing the awkward silence he’s urgently ‘waiting for her to ask how many times he’d been here’ (2012: 136). Despite their placement at the beginning and end of the novel, the chapters are dated the 3rd and 4th of September respectively, highlighting how time has barely progressed throughout the novel, leaving the character stuck in the ‘merciless pacing’ (2012: 6). ‘It seems that physical and mental traumas, psychoses, and other forms of madness can indeed give characters in post-war novels insight into the reality of the insanity of the world around them’ (Baker 2010: 52). The protagonist Richard has retreated to the Californian desert at the end of his service, haunted by his participation in the Iraq war which he wishes he could ‘exchange all that for space and time’ (2012: 24). Ironically, the time that Hoban affords Richard, allows his consciousness to accumulate the horrors he wishes to escape.