Auster y postmodernidad

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Emma Hegarty

The practice of solitude: agency and the postmodernnovelist in Paul Austers Leviathan

In an essay on the poet Charles Reznikoff, published in The Art of Hunger,the novelist Paul Auster depicts the development of self-awareness as anintense, almost transcendental, practice or endeavour. He claims:

we do not find ourselves in the midst of an already established world,we do not, as if by preordained birthright, automatically take posses-sion of our surroundings. Each moment, each thing, must be earned,wrested away from the confusion of inert matter by a steadiness ofgaze, a purity of perception so intense that the effort, in itself,takes on the value of a religious act.1

Such an emphasis on the struggle of narrative composition informsmuch of Austers work and often indicates the extent to which acceptanceof solitude and the development of agency are bound up together in thewriting process. However, his recognition that a degree of agency isrequired for the development of subjectivity has implications beyond thescope of narrative construction, particularly in discussing the relationshipbetween art and politics and, more specifically, the role of the postmodernnovelist.

Austers stance challenges the generally post-structuralist tendency toportray the human agent as only capable of largely ineffectual resistance tonormalised structuring systems, whose defining power can never beescaped to the extent required for the subject to understand his or herown compromised position. For example, drawing upon Saussures the-ories of linguistics, Jacques Lacan attributes the illusion of a unifiedagent to the grammatical structure of language whereby the Ideal-I situ-ates the agency of the ego, before its social determination, in a fictionaldirection, which will always remain irreducible for the individual

alone.2

While Lacans appropriation of the assertion that the subjectsidentity is constructed through language, and that a contained, unified

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self is ultimately unattainable, may be accepted by postmodernist theorists,the compromised position to which his theories relegate agency is moreproblematic.

Yet amid these reductive interpretations of subjectivity, various post-

modern theories have emerged that suggest the possibility of re-thinkingthe individuals relationship with socio-political frameworks in which sub-jectivities are constructed. One such theorist is Judith Butler. Butlersuggests that if controlling forces interpellate, to use Louis Althussersterm, through mundane, everyday acts, then there is an opportunity toalter them: If the conditions of power are to persist, they must be reiter-ated; the subject is precisely the site for such reiteration, a repetition thatis never merely mechanical.3 Such an approach to possible changeshares the optimism of Charles Altieris interpretation of subjective

agency, which expresses the importance of the individuals intention.According to Altieris definitions of ethics and expressivist theory, thepost-structuralist approach to subjectivity, whereby the subject is aproduct of oppressive systems of organisation or discourse who, at theheight of his or her resistance, can only problematise the linguistic gridthrough a process of deconstruction, fails to take into account thecomplex processes involved in intention whereby an agent constructsand reveals subjectivity through expression. Intentions and expressions,for Altieri, do not reveal an interiority that can be represented by a

binary construction emphasising difference between an inner life and exter-nal manifestations (language), rather it is the activity itself that carriesmeaning and significance. In other words, the subjective agent is involvedin processes of intention and expression that simultaneously construct andreveal determinability without relying on a unified and coherent innerbeing.4 Both Butler and Altieri, therefore, prioritise the creativity of a con-structive process that invokes change through questioning our reactions tovarious incidents, whether mundane, unforeseen or dramatic events.

Paul AustersLeviathan5 provides an excellent forum within which to

consider such notions of subjectivity and agency, especially under circum-stances where the individual is at odds with cultural and political hege-mony, inviting us to question what modes of agency are available formarginalised figures and what the consequences might be for his or herongoing process of identity construction. The novel provokes consider-ation of the relationship between art and politics from various subjectivepositions: the imagined perspective of a disenchanted and marginalizedwriter, Benjamin Sachs, the narrative of the implicated friend and writer,Peter Aaron, whose relationship with legitimate social practises becomesincreasingly blurred and, finally, Paul Austers position as a postmodernnovelist questioning his own agency and the potentially political influenceof his work. These aspects are all the more pertinent when considered in

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juxtaposition with two actualhistorical events: the terrorist campaign ofthe Unabomber, between 1978 and 1995, which provided the inspirationfor the character of Benjamin Sachs although the identity of the actual ter-rorist was still unknown on the date of the novels publication, and, more

recently, Paul Austers highly publicised involvement in political ralliesduring the Presidential Election Campaign of 2004. In this paper, I willsuggest that, for Paul Auster, the relationship between art and politics,the consciousness of the writer and the wider political arena, dependsupon the interconnecting practices of solitude and agency development.However, even where confluence of these two cultural spheres seems inevi-table, Auster appears to suggest that any political resistance or statementproposed through the writing of fiction will be a qualified critique fromwithin that recognises its own subjective limitations.

Solitude: the writers room; the belly of the whale

Auster explores the significance of solitude in The Book of Memory, theopening section of his introspective account of writing entitled The Inven-tion of Solitude, through the double meaning of the room as a stage for thescene of writing and a metaphorical representation of the individualsretreat to the inner consciousness where engagement with the outside

becomes possible through defamiliarisation and renewed understanding.6

Writing is a window onto the world, a metaphorical place both insideand outside the room, from which the novelist can engage with others toenhance understanding. Austers character, A, draws upon numerousliterary, artistic and historical figures in order to explicate the symbolscontradictory significance of freedom and captivity. These includePascal, Descartes, Holderlin, Anne Frank, Emily Dickinson, Van Goghand Vermeer, through whose experiences and representations the room isportrayed as a prison, an impossible space, an image, not so much of a

place to live, but of the mind that has been forced to live there (121), aminiature cosmology (73), a restorative space (83) and the site of rebirth(118). As A draws upon these associations, the process of writing isportrayed as the creation of a montage of images filtered through theconsciousness of the individual. Rather than being simply a pre-existingcomponent of existence, solitude may thus be understood more clearlyas apracticeof contemplation or perhaps even meditation that is used byan agent to unsettle systems of organising knowledge by defamiliarisingeveryday occurrences through juxtaposition, a technique that is attributedto Benjamin Sachss early writing inLeviathan.

If subjectivity is shaped through the complex system of connections thatis constructed when examining inner life, as Auster suggests, it is a process

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that involves being alone and engaging with the world through memory.The room, therefore, as associated with self-awareness, writing and contem-plation, is a place of birth, death and rebirth, as indicated in As juxtaposi-tion of the words [r]oom and tomb, tomb and womb, womb and room

(IS, 136). A insists that there is no real connection between themexcept that they rhyme, suggesting that it is the play of words that takesplace in the room/mind of the writer that is significant rather thanmeaning since how can the absolute and unshakeable truth change fromlanguage to language? (IS, 137). This reasoning indicates a subjective, asopposed to universal, application of meaning since the power of languageis undermined when the objective is a search for truth that cannot be realised.

While these examples illustrate the contradictory significations associ-ated with the room, As examination of the Book of Jonah provides the

key to unlocking the significance of Leviathan. The fish that swallowsJonah in the biblical story is often, according to Auster (A), misinterpretedas an agent of destruction (IS, 105) but actually saves him from drowningand provides the solitude wherein the tongue is finally loosened, and at themoment it begins to speak, there is an answer. And even if there is no answer,the man has begun to speak (IS, 106). If Jonah had remained silent andrefused to engage with the world, as Sachs consciously behaved in hospitalfollowing his fall, he would not have been reborn. The room, therefore,as a site of solitude, allows the development of agency through articulation

of remembered events and subjective associations that enables identity con-struction. Peter Aarons depiction of Benjamin Sachs, constructed in Sachssabandoned writing room, charts the consequences of a loss of safety andagency provided by solitude and therefore by the process of examiningself-consciousness. In view of the detrimental consequences for Sachs,Auster appears to indicate that subjectivity can only be understood to alimited extent through the individual objectifying himself or herself.

While Auster explores the effects of failing to objectify oneself, heillustrates subjectivity, the relationship of the individual to his or her sur-

roundings, as being more complex than simply recognising the humancondition of solitude. Rather, subjectivity depends upon developing alimited understanding of the relationship between the individual and thestructuring devices within which existence is necessarily defined. Beingin the belly of the whale, therefore, represents being in the social structureof, in this case, America of the late twentieth century. The identity of thisleviathan is defined by a complex network of historical narrative, mythand conflicting definitions of truth. In the postmodern climate of anti-foundationalism, such structures, or systems of organising knowledgeand attributing value, are often exposed as human constructions thathave been naturalised, so as to enforce ideologies that determine socialbehaviour. In other words, certain mythologies will take precedence

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over others according to dominant power structures, and these will defineidentity-shaping structures such as America and therefore national iden-tity. Auster illustrates the consequences for Benjamin Sachs, a postmodernnovelist, of losing the ability to question naturalising discourse fromwithin

the structureitself, as his increasingly radical means of expressing anger atpolitical hypocrisy and decline in values, as he defines them, result in aloss of agency, a fractured identity and ultimately self-destruction.Leviathan, therefore, is an existential reading of the postmodern, whichquestions the freedom of the individual, the limitations of political idealsand the responsibility of each subject to maintain relations with thesocial framework and other agents. The novel records the potentialdanger of losing the balance between seeing oneself as a product of definingconditions and having a degree of self-determination that accommodates

limited resistance to normalised practices.Francois Gavillon suggests that it is important to distinguish between

the isolating solitude represented through the figure of Austers father inThe Invention of Solitudeand solitude as a practice of philosophy, as thatof Thoreau. Gavillons statement might be translated as follows:

Auster refers to the inaccessible part of being as solitude. His fatherssolitude is not the solitude of Thoreau, which was an intentionalreturn to the self and nature. Here solitude is a retreat, a fear of

self-observation and the observation of others. Solitude is, accordingto Auster, one of the conditions of human existence, which preventseach individual from establishing real contact with others.7

Although I would argue that Gavillons depiction of solitude tends to over-emphasise the negative aspects, it is useful in contrasting the constructivesolitude that Sachs enjoys in Vermont (He made progress every day,and he felt happy with his monks life, as happy as he had been in yearsLev147) with the isolation in hospital that follows his fall. However, the

ideals that determine Sachss practice of solitude (as that of Thoreau) arenot sustainable in the postmodern climate of social fragmentation.

The fall of the author

The turning point in Aarons representation of Sachss story takes place on4 July 1986 when Sachs falls from a fourth floor fire escape while watchingfireworks that mark the one hundredth anniversary of the Statue ofLiberty (Lev, 107). While Aaron emphasises that the accident merelymarked the culmination of various contributory factors, the symbolismof the fall is significant and reappears throughout Austers work, such as



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Sol Barbers fall in Moon Palace8 or Peter Stillmans obsession with thebiblical representation of the fall of mankind in City of Glass.9 Sachs inter-prets his fall as carrying symbolic meaning that demands a drastic upheavalof his life and work. Aaron recognises the origins of this theme in a defining

moment in childhood that taught Sachs both the danger of freedom andthe importance of democracy. As in The New Colossus (Sachss firstnovel), the images of a childhood event, the party and his political con-science are juxtaposed around the unifying symbol of the Statue ofLiberty, a national icon that takes meaning from the associationsimposed upon it by Sachss biography, as narrated by Aaron. Therefore,the story of Sachs and his mother going to visit the Statue of Liberty is sig-nificant as an illustration of the origins of his political conscience and self-determinism, which is interpreted by Aaron as the announcement of a

theme, the initial statement of a musical phrase that would go on hauntinghim until his last moments on earth (31). Having recognised the irony ofgoing to see a symbol of personal freedom in clothes he did not want towear (There we were, about to pay homage to the concept of freedom,and I myself was in chains 33), the young Sachs challenges his motherand wins the right to control his own wardrobe. His wifes retort may bea joke: You discovered the principle of self-determination, and at thatpoint you determined to be a bad dresser for the rest of your life (33),yet it indicates the desire to assert his own opinion and convictions,

however unfashionable they may be, and confirms how trivial choicesbecome imbued with political significance for Sachs from an early age. Fur-thermore, the manner in which the story is narrated differently by the twocharacters illustrates the influence of subjective perspective as each remem-bers the occasion for a particular reason: while Sachs remembers the per-sonal and political victory described above, his mother remembers herfear of climbing into the arm of the statue without a safety barrier. Thisdiscrepancy illustrates the danger that Sachs fails to recognise as a resultof too much freedom, or lack of structure, and emphasises the different

meanings that icons or symbols can represent according to personalinterpretations. Although Sachs admits freedom can be dangerous. Ifyou dont watch out, it can kill you (35), the warning diminishes besidethe importance of his internalised political convictions.

Benjamin Sachss fall from the fire escape is, according to Aaron, themoral equivalent of death (117) as the disillusioned historical novelistrejects his previous existence claiming: I want to stand up from my deskand do something. The days of being a shadow are over. Ive got to stepinto the real world now and do something (122). Ironically, Sachs doesexactly the opposite by sacrificing his writing career, and therefore the prac-tice of solitude through which he engages with others. He destroys his ownidentity and chooses to act under the anonymous caricature Phantom of

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Liberty, and the short-lived, invented identities that enable him tofunction, albeit temporarily, in the social structure. These temporaryidentities prohibit the construction of necessary relational ties with othersand therefore he is isolated by acting outside the confines of public defi-

nitions of justice. Towards the end of the novel, Aaron portrays him asa solitary speck in the American night, hurtling towards his destructionin a stolen car (237). Eventually, Sachss isolation, including his temporarypersonae, leads to his identity being uncovered as Aaron unintentionallyprovides the clue to the FBI agents, unaware that Sachs is pretending tobe him. However, by this stage Sachs is already metaphorically and literallyin fragments that cannot be reassembled.

Perhaps one of the most significant aspects of Sachss rejection of hisformer life is the manner in which he interprets the reason for his fall.

Rather than viewing his survival as a fortunate outcome of an unpredictableaccident, Sachs concentrates upon the part he played in the turn of events.This corroborates the argument presented above, namely that Sachs wasdetermined to act from an early age in accordance with a rigorousself-discipline and a political conscience.

Auster portrays Sachss retreat into silence following the accident as anattempt to understand the circumstances that led up to the fall, which heeventually blames upon his own hypocrisy. While Aaron is prepared todismiss the flirtation with Maria at the party as insignificant, Sachs inter-

prets the two events as being directly related. The accident thereforebecomes a punishment that he himself has caused. Sachs declares:

the fact was that my accident wasnt caused by bad luck. I wasnt justa victim, I was an accomplice, an active partner in everything thathappened to me, and I cant ignore that, I have to take some respon-sibility for the role I played.

(120)

Rather than focusing exclusively on chance, a theme which is often over-emphasised in studies of the author, Auster is interested in the degree ofself-determination that lies behind the surface of accidents. In accordancewith Aarons account of how Sachs is incapable of separating his work andlife, and therefore how he perceives his subjectivity, the disenchanted writeris applying the same methodology of interpreting juxtaposed circumstancesto his personality as he uses to explode myths of American history andnational identity. In other words, he internalises the uncompromising,angry judgement of America that he articulates in his first novel with devas-tating consequences. Unable to accept anything less than the fulfilment ofideals, he is unable to function in a complacent and disinterested societythat he cannot change.



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Benjamin Sachs self-destructs as a result of applying his political idealsto his personal identity construction. He cannot function within a societythat claims to be democratic and yet proves to be increasingly individualisticand hypocritical, since he sees this as a reflection of himself. His attempt to

embody an ideal of goodness that would put him in an altogether differentrelation with himself (198) necessarily leads to a loss of agency because herefuses to participate within the structures of society. Rather than suggestingthat public and private realms should be dealt with through separatevocabularies, as Richard Rortys theories propose,10 Auster indicates thatideals must be accepted as unattainable. The process of identity constructionis conveyed as being politically influenced; work and life, or public andprivate cannot be considered in isolation. A reading of social forces alongthese lines enables Aaron to function within organised frameworks of

society as he acknowledges and accepts that situations and outcomes arisethat are beyond his control. As Peter Brooker suggests:

Peter Aaron and Sachs are, one might say, options explored by Austeras he reflects on the possible social and political role of the artist. Thisself-questioning . . . puts the individual inside and outside fiction,inside and outside the whale and the state, Leviathan, and betweenlanguage and the social world.11

The postmodern novelist, therefore, must present a critique of the state orstructurefrom withinwhile admitting his or her implicated position. Theepigraph to Austers Leviathan, as opposed to Peter Aarons manuscript,taken from Ralph Waldo Emersons Politics, a leading figure of Transcen-dentalism, Every actual State is corrupt,12 suggests that the novelist sharesSachss opinion that America does not live up to the standards preached innational ideals, as symbolised by the Statue of Liberty. However, throughAarons narrative, we also get the impression that such corruption andhypocrisy is inevitable and change will only be possible through enacting

resistance from within the structures of society so as to challenge its prac-tices. Rather than symbolising a lost world that may be regained throughanarchistic measures, icons such as the Statue of Liberty represent:

hope rather than reality, faith rather than facts, and one would behard-pressed to find a single person willing to denounce the thingsit stands for: democracy, freedom, equality under the law. It is thebest of what America has to offer the world, and however painedone might be by Americas failure to live up to those ideals, theideals themselves are not in question . . . They have instilled thehope in all of us that we might one day live in a better world.

(Lev, 216)

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While Aaron is writing his manuscript to offer his friends perspective, he isalso attempting to justify his own silence, and it is important to bear inmind that his intended readers are the FBI agents, representatives ofstate authority and justice who have the power to accept or reject his

defence. Nevertheless, regardless of Aarons motivations, his narrativeoffers a different perspective than Sachs apparently held, which is relevantin examining why he has maintained a sense of agency and a voice.

The two novelists presented in Leviathancould be said to representtwo contrasting interpretations of the relationship between art and politics,or the artist and social ideologies. Whereas Sachs is determined to changedramatically public, political practices, Aaron is prepared to accept thelimited control that a writer may have over his or her work and tells theFBI agent:

A book is a mysterious object . . . and once it floats out into theworld, anything can happen. All kinds of mischief can be caused,and theres not a damned thing you can do about it. For better orworse, its completely out of your control.

(4)

However, Aaron admits that he is deceiving Harris and Worthy by actingout the role that his allegiance to Sachs demands: I had become someone

else, I suddenly had the right to deceive them, to lie without the slightesttwinge of conscience (5). Moreover, the manuscript that Aaron is writingis designed to have a specific effect in vindicating his friend and to somedegree himself. Aaron is illustrated as doing precisely that which hedisowns in the beginning, writing to influence public affairs and attempt-ing to project his own notions of justice. This inconsistency suggests thathe maintains a belief in the limited possibility for agency being locatedin writing as subjective, but influential, representations of truth.

Sachss predicament embodies an on-going discussion of the role of

literature and its relationship to the conditioning forces that shape subjec-tivity and agency. In contrast to Aaron, Sachs loses faith in an ability tochange things through his literary work and, dissatisfied with the necessarilylimited degree of self-determination and influence that it offers, adoptsmore violent and immediate means of voicing his opinion. Since Sachs isunable to accept the loss of authority, which is associated with the crisisof the novel in the postmodern era, Auster illustrates how his search foran alternative medium that grabs the attention of an apathetic audienceleads him to become a real practical joker (Harris, 244) instead of anartist. Sachs has become disillusioned with the limited audience attractedto his work as an historical novelist, and believes he has found the meansthrough his identity as the Phantom of Liberty to construct a meaningful,



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fulfilled existence: to take a stand for what I believed in, to make the kind ofdifference I had never been able to make before (228). Through the char-acter of Sachs, as a political and historical novelist, Auster explores theeffects of a postmodern lack of authority and the crisis of the novel. In an

essay on the role of literature, published in May 2000, entitled InDefence of the Novel, Yet Again, Salman Rushdie wrote:

The novelist Paul Auster recently told me that all American writers hadto accept that they were involved in an activity which was, in theUnited States, no more than a minority interest; like, say, soccer.13

Applied toLeviathan, Austers resigned comparison is an idea that Aaronand Sachs would accept with different consequences. While Aaron is satis-

fied with the limited role fiction may play in relation to social forces, Sachsrejects the compromised effects of literature and adopts a more radicalmeans of ensuring an audience. He manipulates multi-media to capturea more immediate, wide-ranging response. Art, therefore, is reduced toshort prescriptive statements that suit the dominant trends of individual-ism and materialism during the 1980s in America. However, beforeAaron realises that he has personal ties with the Phantom of Liberty, hefinds the messages unconvincing: There were more important things hap-pening in the world just then, and whenever the Phantom of Liberty

caught my attention, I shrugged him off as a crank, as one more transientfigure in the annals of American madness (217). Indeed, according toAaron, Sachss second manuscript, had he completed it, would havebeen a great and memorable book (142), thus creating a more durableimpression. Aaron continues to act as a self-determining agent, capableof bending the rules of legislation in order to voice a limited degree ofresistance to hegemonic norms. The difference between the writers inLeviathanmay be characterised as an ability, and an inability, to acceptalternative definitions of truth and interpretations of ethical value. While

Sachs delivers short, prescriptive threats, Aaron is capable of allowingother agents to act according to individual subjectivity. Aaron is satisfiedto play his role and can live with the inevitable dishonesty or hypocrisythis approach involves (this sense of unreality . . . allowed me to thinkof myself as an actor as well 5).

Implications for the postmodern author

According to Jonathan Arac, since it first consciously began to define itself,postmodern criticism has chosen to be worldy.14 Indeed by remainingaware of the problems of representation and recognising an inability to

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achieve the objectivity or distance that tended to be characteristic of theModernist era, in very general terms, postmodern fiction tends to engagewith political issues by defamiliarizing subjectivity through exposing natur-alised systems of organising knowledge. As Linda Hutcheon suggests:

Postmodern art cannot but be political, at least in the sense that itsrepresentations its images and stories are anything butneutral, however aestheticized they may appear to be in theirparodic self-reflexivity. While the postmodern has no effectivetheory of agency that enables a move into political action, it doeswork to turn its inevitable ideological grounding into a site ofde-naturalizing critique.15

Since Hutcheons, by now familiar, analysis was published at the end of the1980s, various theorists, such as Charles Altieri, have explored the notionof agency, although more work remains to be done in this area. Hutcheonspoint seems to be that there is some evidence for resistance to hegemonicnorms, although the possibility of this critique developing into organisedpolitical action is less likely. Austers Leviathancorroborates this limited,yet existing, possibility for agency and the necessity of recognising howthe political and the cultural cannot be completely separated.

Auster represents his interpretation of reality as constructed from

numerous connections that transcend distinctions between the personaland public, present and past, documented evidence and fiction, throughthe term leviathan. While leviathan implies known and unknownconnections or relational ties that create bonds between people and thefragments of self-identity, the term also has political, philosophical, biblicaland literary implications, its own destabilised history of significance that theauthor draws upon in order to suggest meanings without imposing his ownsubjective interpretation. As the narrator ofCity of Glassdescribes DanielQuinn: What interested him about the stories he wrote was not their

relation to the world but their relation to other stories.

16

Auster does notattempt to represent the world, in the sense of universal, objectivetruth. Instead, he provides a fictional account of representation by indicat-ing some of the connections that are made between the stories that we aretold, whether these narratives are personal, subjective interpretations ofreal events, such as Aarons manuscript (or Austers consideration of theUnabomber), or historical narratives that are presented as documented,verifiable fact. Such narratives shape how we gauge our relationship tothe political sphere, which is in turn narrated to others, as an unstableconcept of identity, so as to forge more connections. Clearly such stories,as Auster illustrates through his exploration of the symbol of the leviathan,cannot be divided into separate categories, as their influences are not always



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conscious and recognised. By organising his text around symbols or iconsthat have both personal and political relevance, such as the Statue ofLiberty, Auster represents his ideas while maintaining a certain distanceand allowing readers to apply their own interpretations of cultural signifi-

cance. He recognises his own implicated position under the influence ofconditioning social forces that he includes in this critique.

Aarons motivations for writing indicate the desire to explain hisfriends demise and justify his own silence and implicated position.However, the manuscript also suggests that he is attempting to explain cir-cumstances to himself. In other words, Aaron is provoked by the samedesire for knowledge that motivated Sachs. In an interview with Gerardde Cortanze, Auster admits to being driven by that which he does notknow.17 He implies that writers must recognise an inability to access or

represent universal truth and, in being provoked by mysteries or theunknown, their representations must now include an acceptance of thesubjective, personal resolutions or conclusions that will only be partiallyobtained. This situation illustrates a significant difference between Sachsand Aaron. While Sachs refuses to admit that ideals cannot be achieved,whether personal or political, Aaron distances himself from objectivegoals and finds satisfaction in representing the subjective process of ques-tioning and proposing a possible interpretation in return. Therefore,although he states his intention in the beginning of Leviathan is to

explain who [Sachs] was and give the true story of how he happened tobe on that road in northern Wisconsin (2), he recognises that his particu-lar, contingent construction of gathered fragments is only one possiblecombination. He admits: the whole time Im here in Vermont writingthis story, [the FBI agents will] be busy writing their own story. It willbe my story, and once theyve finished it, theyll know as much aboutme as I do myself (7). Therefore, through the creative process, Aaronachieves a degree of insight through distancing himself and comes closerto understanding the development of his subjectivity and agency by recog-

nising some of the social, political and personal influences that impactupon his identity development and render it possible.Leviathanstarts with a number of fragments, the pieces of a mans

identity, and it is the job of the writer to assemble them, building connec-tions that construct a portrait where the gaps of knowledge are highlightedso as to allow alternative versions to co-exist. Like a detective, therefore, thewriter asks questions in the hope of discovering what exists behind appear-ances. As Auster suggests: The writer, like the detective, must look beyondappearances. That is why detective novels are so interesting: the need touncover truth resembles the occupation of the writer (my translation).18

Very often, however, the connections only uncover more connectionsand the writer must content him/herself with the knowledge that questions

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cannot always be answered. With reference to The New York Trilogy,Auster describes how the detective/writer is:

the seeker after truth, the problem-solver, the one who tries to figure

things out. But what if, in the course of trying to figure it out, youjust unveil more mysteries? . . . These are things that we all feel that confusion, that lack of knowing what it is that surrounds us.19

The process of writing, therefore, involves posing questions about theindividuals relations to the world. In other words, coming to terms witha limited, self-constructed awareness of subjectivity comprises a project ofsituatedness, an understanding of identity. For Auster, such awarenessand interaction with the world is realised as opposed to being represented,

through narrative construction. The writers in Leviathan embody thequestions that Auster poses: Benjamin Sachs and Peter Aaron onlyreflect, in their individual ways, my own interrogations (my translation).20

Such questioning will not uncover universal or objective truth, but portraythe means of establishing connections that allow a partial understanding ofsubjectivity. This reasoning does not suggest that the subject will haveabsolute self control, but that by recognising the significance of socialconditioning and an ability to resist hegemonic norms, the agent is forcedto take responsibility for actions in a way that some poststructuralist

interpretations reject. For example, Paul Smith criticises Derridas decon-struction for establish[ing] subjectivity as a mere passivity, a simple conduc-tor of the hierarchy of semantic forces,21 which Smith regards as a patenteschewing of responsibility in terms of the actions of the individual and theauthorial construction or portrayal of meaning in texts.

Such constant questioning is often interpreted in poststructuralisttheory as an endless descent into play since nothing outside the differen-tial network, the general text, can guarantee meaning or arrest the chain ofreferrals.22 As Chantal Mouffe has argued with reference to radical

democracy:

the absence of foundation leaves everything as it is, as Wittgensteinwould say, and obliges us to ask the same questions in a new way.Hence the error of a certain kind of apocalyptical postmodernismwhich would like us to believe that we are at the threshold of a radi-cally new epoch, characterized by drift, dissemination, and by theuncontrollable play of significations.23

Derridas concept of the apocalyptic structure of language24 contributes topostmodernist theorists understanding of the limitations of discourse inother words, that discourse is possible but will not lead to ontological



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certainty or teleological resolution. However, the apocalyptic view oflanguage and writing in general does not comply with Austers consider-ation of the role of the writer in Leviathan, where Sachs and Aaron havea certain level of agency and ability to take responsibility for measures

that are taken. The novels writers are consumed by questions that do notappear to be answerable in any final sense, but they are part of a processthat, however indeterminable it may be, enables them to function as longas they utilize their agency in an appropriate way. Without laws of universalreason and truth, appropriate can only mean in a manner that allows otheragents to function as their own legitimate intentions and constructiveprocesses require.

In searching for a way to write following 9/11, Salman Rushdie high-lights the importance of recognising the links between private thoughts, or

identity construction, and public responsibility for actions and ideas. Hisapproach is comparable to Austers in Leviathan, in terms of the mannerin which he indicates an element of agency that would not be acceptedby many poststructuralist theorists. Rushdie concludes:

In dreams begin responsibilities.The way we see the world affects theworld we see. . .Daily life in the real world is also an imagined life.The creatures of our imagination crawl out from our heads, cross thefrontier between dream and reality, between shadow and act, and

become actual. (Rushdies emphasis)25

What, then, can we assume Austers view of the role of the writer to beand what does this tell us about subjectivity and agency? In response to aninterviewers question as to the position of a writer, and whether or not it ispossible to enact social change by leaving ones writing desk, as Sachsattempts in Leviathan, Auster cites various writers who have successfullybeen involved in political or social affairs, most notably Jean-Paul Sartre.Speaking of his own experiences, he then claims:

From time to time, I leave my room to take some action: likeanyone else, I have a conscience and convictions. . .But I only par-ticipate as a member of the public, not as a writer. (my translation)26

The manner in which Auster plays down his participation is interesting andrelevant to this discussion in two ways: firstly, it suggests a belief in opposi-tional tactics, in the importance of speaking out against something aboutwhich one feels strongly, and secondly, it illustrates a desire to minimisethe difference between writers and ordinary members of a functioningsociety. Such a desire is probably indicative of a wish to avoid an elitist con-ception of the role of the writer, who, in the postmodern era, does not have a

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privileged position from which to observe society. However, Austers partici-pation in political and cultural issues receives considerable media coverage,which is undoubtedly on account of his celebrated position as a writer.For example, in response to the fatwa against Salman Rushdie, Auster

wrote an article forThe New York Times(18 June 1993), which was laterpublished in the French newspaper Liberation, and a number of suchpieces have been published in his Collected Prose, under the titleOccasions.27 While these short articles are mainly personal thoughts inreaction to public events, such as 9/11, or meditations on on-goingdebates, such as homelessness, they illustrate a desire, which is acted upon,by Paul Auster the writer, as opposed to the citizen, and shows how thepublic and the private are intricately linked. By publishing work such asthis, he is contributing to public, ethical debates. More recently, Austers

participation in an anti-Bush rally, received considerable media attention,as he read from an unpublished manuscript of his next novel, BrooklynFollies. InTimes Online(17 April 2004), James Bone wrote of Auster:

he confides that this years US election has whipped him up into alather. I am burning with passion about this whole campaign, hegrowls. For me, it feels almost like a matter of life and death forAmericans that we get Bush out of office. This is Auster, the poet,translator, novelist, essayist, editor, screenwriter, radio personalityand film director, in a new incarnation: intellectual engage.28

While Auster is aware of the limitation of agency, and the postmodernwriters lack of authority, he clearly believes in a politics of opposition,where the writer has a role to play, which demands some degree of self-determination and responsibility for action. However, Austers readiness tomanipulate his public standing as a writer does not mean that art itselfmay be able to change politics. If his work is used to raise certain ethicalor political issues, it could be supposed that his aim is to encourage readersor the public to reconsider issues, to embark upon the questioning that he

sees as being necessary to existence, rather than indicating a belief in hisability to change things. Understood in this light, his assertion that heenacts resistance as a citizen rather than writer shows that he believeswriters have no greater influence than other agents. This is evident in histreatment of Sachs and Aaron in Leviathan. While Aaron has some effectin political matters, whether intentionally, as in providing a biographicalaccount of Sachs that may help to explain his motivations, or unintentionally,by providing clues in the investigation into Sachss identity, he can only haveinfluence once he has recognised and accepted that any resistance and inter-action with legislative matters will be limited. In contrast, Sachs believes thathe can maintain a radically oppositional, active relationship with the politicalsphere that can have direct influence and will lead to a sense of fulfilment.



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The end ofLeviathanseems to exemplify this interpretation. Sachs hasbeen reduced to a real practical joker (244), and the only hope of restoringhis reputation lies in the FBI accepting Aarons manuscript and attempt atreconstruction and self-explanation. This limited defence against the inevita-

ble demonization of Sachs in the media was Aarons motivation for writing,along with the personal need to understand more: Once the secret is out, allsorts of lies are going to be told, ugly distortions will circulate in the news-papers and magazines, and within a matter of days a mans reputation will bedestroyed (2). By giving Aaron the opportunity to provide his version ofevents, in accepting the manuscript at the close of Leviathan, Harris isshowing respect for another human agent, which underlines once againthe similar tasks of the writer and the investigator in uncovering versionsof truth. Aaron writes: Harris was in good spirits, more jovial than the

last time, and he greeted me as though we were old familiars, colleaguesin the quest to solve lifes mysteries (244). The key to the mystery wasrevealed by Harris recognising the alternative position of the other andasking questions to uncover the relevant connections: Harris was the onewho cracked it. He was the older of the two agents, the talkative one whohad asked me questions about my books (243). The negotiations thattake place between the two agents indicate that Harris is willing to letAaron admit his implicated position through his own chosen medium,literature: Then I pointed to the studio . . .We walked up the stairs together,

and once we were inside, I handed him the pages of this book (245). Austerthus portrays a sense of resolution in suggesting that a degree of self-determination is possible in choosing the means by which an individualmay question his/her subjectivity, but that such agency depends upon awilling co-existence through relational ties with others, with other humanagents who operate with conflict and against incommensurability.

It could be concluded, therefore, that Auster conceives the role of lit-erature to be in providing alternative perspectives that encourage the self-questioning that he deems necessary for an understanding of subjectivity

and identity construction. Art itself cannot have direct influence on politi-cal matters in a corrective or remedial sense; it cannot critique ideologiesexcept from an implicated position within the same system. However,the intricate connections that are uncovered by asking questions of theself and the position of the other indicate that art and politics are inevitablyand unavoidably linked. Therefore, it would appear that, for Auster, whilethey may be considered together, any influence can only be indirect anduncontrolled since room must be left around literary representations thatallow for the interpretations of others. On 28 July 1995, Auster deliveredan Appeal to the Governor of Pennsylvania at a press conference at thePEN American Center, New York, concerning the journalist and politicalactivist, Mumia Abu-Jamal, who was convicted for the murder of police

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officer Daniel Faulkner (who died on 9 December 1981) and sentenced todeath. In the appeal, Auster stated: the law knows it isnt perfect. The lawunderstands that it makes mistakes, that the men and women who carryout the law are imperfect creatures, and therefore the power to nullify

the decision of the law must be written into the law itself.29 Perhapsthen, the role of literature with relation to politics is to draw attentionto the inevitable problems of both absolutist and post-structuralist incom-mensurability, the ways in which a civil and civic legislature fails to carryout what is required of it. But if this is the case, it can only be presentedfrom the limited perspective of the implicated author who is shaped bythe very forces he or she attempts to question.

Epilogue: Austers post-9/11 fiction

In his post-9/11 fiction, Auster allows preoccupations with politics and thelimited position of the author to rise more clearly to the surface.BrooklynFolliesestablishes a contrast between authorial preoccupations before andafter the attack on the World Trade Center, indicating an irreversiblechange in how the author may construct a sense of subjectivity throughthe practice of solitude. If subjectivity is created through an act of intentionand expression, as demonstrated above, then Auster represents this change

in circumstances through personal events that lead up to a very publicevent. Fiction certainly has its place in post-9/11 America for Auster,indeed it may be indispensible, and he indicates that the effects of politicalevents on the writer within the novel will be considerable. Yet by endingthe novel forty-six minutes before the first plane hits the North Tower,he also indicates that such political circumstances may only be dealt withindirectly in order to avoid imposing a singular representation on apublic event. The closing passage of the novel, with its haunting descrip-tion of a beautiful sky, represents this:

It was eight oclock when I stepped out onto the street, eight oclock onthe morning of September 11, 2001 just forty-six minutes before thefirst plane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.Just two hours after that, the smoke of three thousand incineratedbodies would drift over toward Brooklyn and come pouring down onus in a white cloud of ashes and death. But for now it was still eightoclock, and as I walked along the avenue under that brilliant bluesky, I was happy, my friends, as happy as any man who had ever lived.30

In his most recent novel,Man in the Dark, Auster takes his commen-tary on political circumstances further. He represents an image of civil war



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in America as states declare independence following the arrival of GeorgeW. Bush in the White House and depicts a world where 9/11 and the warin Iraq have not happened. However, once again Auster emphasises that hisrepresentation is only one possible construction. The story of Owen Brick,

the story within the story, is a fabrication of an elderly writer called AugustBrill, who constructs narratives in his head while he lies in bed at night.Owen Brick is told:

There are many realities. There is no single world. There are manyworlds, and they all run parallel to one another, worlds and anti-worlds, worlds and shadow-worlds, and each world is dreamed orimagined or written by someone in another world. Each world isthe creation of a mind.31

Meaning lies in the interpretation of an event and Auster is careful not touse his public stage to impose a singular perspective that would silencealternative experiences. Man in the Dark, Brooklyn Folliesand Leviathanall indicate a sense of necessity in considering the political landscape oftwentieth and twenty-first century America, yet they indicate a tone of res-ignation, perhaps recognising the personal rather than public implicationsof writing on such issues. As August Brill suggests in a refrain that returnsfrequently inMan in the Dark:

The weird world, the battered world, the weird world rolling on aswars flame all around us: the chopped-off arms in Africa, thechopped-off heads in Iraq, and in my own head this other war, animaginary war on home ground, America cracking apart, the nobleexperiment finally dead.32

Notes

1 Paul Auster, Reznikoff x 2 inCollected Prose: Autobiographical Writings, TrueStories, Critical Essays, Prefaces and Collaborations with Artists(London: Faber,2003), pp. 373 88, p. 373.

2 Jacques Lacan, Ecrits: A Selection, translated by Alan Sheridan (London:Routledge, 1977), p. 2.

3 Judith Butler,Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, 2nd ed.(London: Routledge, 1999), p. 16.

4 Charles Altieri, Subjective Agency: A Theory of First-Person Expressivity andits Social Implications (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994).

5 Paul Auster, Leviathan (London: Faber, 1992). (All references to Leviathanwill be cited parenthetically in the text, using the abbreviation Lev wherenecessary.)

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6 Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude in Collected Prose, pp. 1150. (Allreferences to The Invention of Solitude will be cited parenthetically in thetext, using the abbreviationISwhere necessary.)

7 Francois Gavillon, Paul Auster: Gravite et Lege`rete de lEcriture (Rennes

University Press, 2000), p. 25.8 Paul Auster,Moon Palace(London: Faber, 1989), p. 293.9 Paul Auster,City of Glass in The New York Trilogy(London: Faber, 1987),

pp. 3132.10 Richard Rorty,Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity(Cambridge University Press,

1989).11 Peter Brooker, New York Fictions: Modernity, Postmodernism and the New

Modern(London: Longman, 1996).12 Ralph Waldo Emerson,Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson(Edinburgh: Nimmo,

1906), p. 205.

13 Salman Rushdie, In Defence of the Novel, Yet Again inStep Across This Line:Collected Non-Fiction 19922002 (London: Vintage, 2002), pp. 54 63,p. 60.

14 Jonathan Arac, ed. Postmodernism and Politics(Manchester University Press,1986), p. ix.

15 Linda Hutcheon,The Politics of Postmodernism2nd ed. (London: Routledge,2002), p. 3.

16 Paul Auster, City of Glass in The New York Trilogy(London: Faber, 1987),pp. 3 132, p. 3.

17 Paul Auster and Gerard de Cortanze, La Solitude du Labyrinthe: Essai et

Entretiens(Arles: Actes Sud, 1997), p. 69.18 Paul Auster and Gerard de Cortanze, La Solitude du Labyrinthe, p. 69.19 Paul Auster, Interview with Joseph Mallia in The Art of Hunger(Middlesex:

Penguin, 1997), pp. 27486, p. 280.20 Paul Auster and Gerard de Cortanze, La Solitude du Labyrinthe, p. 67.21 Paul Smith,Discerning the Subject(Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press,

1988), p. 50.22 Jeffrey T Nealon,Double Reading: Postmodernism After Deconstruction(Ithaca:

Cornell UP, 1993), p. 82.23 Chantal Mouffe, Radical Democracy: Modern or Postmodern? trans. Paul

Holdengraber. Universal Abandon? The Politics of Postmodernism, ed.Andrew Ross (Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press, 1988), pp. 3145,p. 38.

24 Jacques Derrida, Of an Apocalyptic Tone Recently Adopted in Philosophytrans. John P. Leavy, Jr. Oxford Literary Review6(1984), pp. 337, p. 28.

25 Salman Rushdie, Step Across This Line: Collected Non-Fiction 1992 2002(London: Vintage, 2002), p. 436.

26 Paul Auster and Gerard de Cortanze, La Solitude du Labyrinthe, p. 68.27 Paul Auster, A Prayer for Salman Rushdie inCollected Prose, pp. 4934.28 James Bone, Dem Old Bush Blues.Times Online (17 April 2004. http://

www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.html.)

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.htmlhttp://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,592-1075597,00.html


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29 Paul Auster, Appeal to the Governor of Pennsylvania in Collected Prose,pp. 4956, p. 495.

30 Paul Auster,Brooklyn Follies(London: Faber, 2005), pp. 3034.31 Paul Auster,Man in the Dark(London: Faber, 2008), p. 69.

32 Paul Auster,Man in the Dark, p. 49

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