Pub Date : 2023-06-01DOI: 10.1353/jnt.2023.a901895
Liwen Zhang
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Pub Date : 2023-06-01DOI: 10.1353/jnt.2023.a901898
S. Saxena, Diksha Sharma
In their articulation of their experiences as the children of immigrants in Germany in Wir Neuen Deutschen [We New Germans], Alice Bota, Khuê Pham, and Özlem Topçu clearly express the central concern of this essay: the emotional valence of home and belonging for so-called “second-generation immigrants” who grow up in what Vijay Mishra describes as a “vacuum culture” (184), with ambiguous relationships to their parents’ country of origin as well as to that in which they are citizens. The emotional ambivalence illustrated here finds expression in Ravinder Randhawa’s Beauty and the Beast, originally published in 1992 with the title Hari-Jan. Set in the 1990s, the novel traces the complex experiences of three Asian British teens—Harjinder (Hari-jan), Ghazala, Suresh—who find themselves straddling two cultures, identities, and lands. Randhawa’s narrative poses difficult questions about home and belonging in the diasporic context where immigrant families are trapped within a liminal space, striving for recognition and a place in society. To date, Randhawa has published three novels: A Wicked Old Woman, The Coral Strand, and Beauty and the Beast. All of them focus, to differ-
{"title":"Emotional Geographies of Belonging in Ravinder Randhawa's Beauty and the Beast","authors":"S. Saxena, Diksha Sharma","doi":"10.1353/jnt.2023.a901898","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/jnt.2023.a901898","url":null,"abstract":"In their articulation of their experiences as the children of immigrants in Germany in Wir Neuen Deutschen [We New Germans], Alice Bota, Khuê Pham, and Özlem Topçu clearly express the central concern of this essay: the emotional valence of home and belonging for so-called “second-generation immigrants” who grow up in what Vijay Mishra describes as a “vacuum culture” (184), with ambiguous relationships to their parents’ country of origin as well as to that in which they are citizens. The emotional ambivalence illustrated here finds expression in Ravinder Randhawa’s Beauty and the Beast, originally published in 1992 with the title Hari-Jan. Set in the 1990s, the novel traces the complex experiences of three Asian British teens—Harjinder (Hari-jan), Ghazala, Suresh—who find themselves straddling two cultures, identities, and lands. Randhawa’s narrative poses difficult questions about home and belonging in the diasporic context where immigrant families are trapped within a liminal space, striving for recognition and a place in society. To date, Randhawa has published three novels: A Wicked Old Woman, The Coral Strand, and Beauty and the Beast. All of them focus, to differ-","PeriodicalId":42787,"journal":{"name":"JNT-JOURNAL OF NARRATIVE THEORY","volume":"28 1","pages":"248 - 263"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"89561761","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-06-01DOI: 10.1353/jnt.2023.a901899
Sohomjit Ray
In the preface to Imperial Intimacies, a multigenerational memoir of her family, Hazel Carby cautions readers that they should not expect a seamless narrative in the story about to unfold, that “[o]rphan threads have been left broken because I do not know how they should connect” (4). It is advice easy to forget or dismiss as routine authorial modesty while we follow Carby’s journey into public and private archives as she illuminates the lives of familial figures one by one, the details adding up until we are faced with a grand collage of seemingly small moments that stand revealed as the intimate consequences of immense structural forces like slavery and colonialism. But in a short chapter named “Lost,” her prefatory remark proves true. The narrative thread unspools, going nowhere and everywhere as she struggles to cast her glance back to the brutal rape she endured as a nine-year-old girl. The chapter opens with a statement of fact that seems unremarkable: “In the late 1950s, in Mitcham, a girl was lost” (56). That is until we recall how the first chapter of the memoir had begun: “During the first bitterly cold month of 1948 in Britain, a girl was born” (7). This rhetorical doubling, along with the strange use of third person, transforms an otherwise ordinary sentence, striking a note of dread the reason for which is not immediately clear. In an interview, Carby explains the decision to use the third person to refer to her younger self: “The character of ‘the girl’ [young Hazel] was a mechanism that enabled me to create a critical distance and make sense of what the child does not necessarily understand at the time and what it is the adult who’s writing knows—the adult who is
{"title":"Estrangement as Method in Trauma Narratives","authors":"Sohomjit Ray","doi":"10.1353/jnt.2023.a901899","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/jnt.2023.a901899","url":null,"abstract":"In the preface to Imperial Intimacies, a multigenerational memoir of her family, Hazel Carby cautions readers that they should not expect a seamless narrative in the story about to unfold, that “[o]rphan threads have been left broken because I do not know how they should connect” (4). It is advice easy to forget or dismiss as routine authorial modesty while we follow Carby’s journey into public and private archives as she illuminates the lives of familial figures one by one, the details adding up until we are faced with a grand collage of seemingly small moments that stand revealed as the intimate consequences of immense structural forces like slavery and colonialism. But in a short chapter named “Lost,” her prefatory remark proves true. The narrative thread unspools, going nowhere and everywhere as she struggles to cast her glance back to the brutal rape she endured as a nine-year-old girl. The chapter opens with a statement of fact that seems unremarkable: “In the late 1950s, in Mitcham, a girl was lost” (56). That is until we recall how the first chapter of the memoir had begun: “During the first bitterly cold month of 1948 in Britain, a girl was born” (7). This rhetorical doubling, along with the strange use of third person, transforms an otherwise ordinary sentence, striking a note of dread the reason for which is not immediately clear. In an interview, Carby explains the decision to use the third person to refer to her younger self: “The character of ‘the girl’ [young Hazel] was a mechanism that enabled me to create a critical distance and make sense of what the child does not necessarily understand at the time and what it is the adult who’s writing knows—the adult who is","PeriodicalId":42787,"journal":{"name":"JNT-JOURNAL OF NARRATIVE THEORY","volume":"2 1","pages":"264 - 293"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"87079810","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-06-01DOI: 10.1353/jnt.2023.a901896
Meng Kang, Jan Alber
Paul Auster’s novella Timbuktu (1998) tells a tear-jerking story through the eyes of a dog, Mr. Bones, who struggles with the fact that his human master Willy G. Christmas is dying. The work, like many literary endeavors in the field of animal consciousness, does not attract much critical attention (Ittner 181). One reviewer criticizes Auster’s proclivity for “the utterly bewildering nature of human experience” and calls the work too dark for a children’s book and too whimsical and slim for an adult narrative (Taylor 22). Stefania Ciocia argues that the novella has been neglected by critics due to its “heavy-handed sentimentality and fable-like moralism” (647). The reception of Timbuktu reflects the disdain of literary critics for adult fiction about animals and the tendency to dismiss it as trivial (Ittner 181– 2). However, a closer reading of Timbuktu reveals that the narrative does not follow the conventions of animal stories, and it should not at all be dismissed as a trivial enterprise. Reading the narrative through the lens of unnatural narratology enables us to examine textual phenomena that violate the constraints of mimetic probability and also to determine how they interact with contextual factors to bring about certain effects on readers. The term ‘unnatural’ was first used by Brian Richardson (Unnatural Voices) and popularized through his collaborations with other narratologists such as Jan Alber, Stefan Iversen, and Henrik Skov Nielsen (see, for example,
保罗·奥斯特(Paul Auster)的中篇小说《廷巴克图》(Timbuktu, 1998)通过一只名叫骨头先生(Mr. Bones)的狗的眼睛讲述了一个催人泪下的故事，骨头先生与他的人类主人威利·g·克里斯莫斯(Willy G. Christmas)即将死去的事实作斗争。这项工作，像许多在动物意识领域的文学努力一样，没有引起太多的批评注意(Ittner 181)。一位评论家批评奥斯特倾向于“人类经历的完全令人困惑的本质”，认为这部作品对于儿童读物来说太黑暗了，对于成人读物来说又太异想天开、太单薄了(Taylor 22)。斯蒂凡妮娅·乔西娅认为，这部中篇小说因其“沉重的感伤和寓言般的道德主义”而被评论家所忽视(647)。对《廷巴克图》的接受反映了文学评论家对成人动物小说的蔑视，并倾向于将其视为琐碎的(Ittner 181 - 2)。然而，对《廷巴克图》的仔细阅读会发现，它的叙述并不遵循动物故事的惯例，它根本不应该被视为琐碎的事业。通过非自然叙事学的视角来解读叙事，我们可以审视那些违反模仿概率约束的文本现象，并确定它们如何与语境因素相互作用，从而对读者产生一定的影响。“非自然”一词最早由Brian Richardson(《非自然的声音》)使用，并通过他与其他叙述者(如Jan Alber, Stefan Iversen和Henrik Skov Nielsen)的合作而普及。
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Pub Date : 2023-06-01DOI: 10.1353/jnt.2023.a901897
Francesca Arnavas
“New forms of belief—and new literary forms—can be hewn out of contraries. Even when no longer regarded as pre-existent and authoritative, old constructs can survive if modified, re-spliced, readapted.” (Knoepflmacher, “Introduction: Hybrid Forms and Cultural Anxiety” 2). “The world of birds, of monsters, of Or’s beauty was the same as the one where I had always lived, which none of us had understood wholly.
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{"title":"Grappling with the Unnarratable: Introduction to Special Issue on Narratologies of Science","authors":"D. Newman","doi":"10.1353/jnt.2023.0005","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/jnt.2023.0005","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42787,"journal":{"name":"JNT-JOURNAL OF NARRATIVE THEORY","volume":"95 1","pages":"1 - 11"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"73421569","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Artificial intelligence (AI), machine learning (ML), neural networks— from smart technologies like Google Home or iPhone’s Siri, to predictions of batting performance in the MLB, to algorithmic bias prevention in hiring—are everywhere, threatening to displace the human.1 But what about these technologies is it that seems to so irreverently intrude upon our humanity? Kate Crawford claims that narratives about artificial intelligence, circulating widely for several centuries, have created and fortified the “myth [...] that nonhuman systems (be it computers or horses) are analogues for human minds” (4). Popular cultural artifacts, from Ridley Scott’s film Blade Runner to Nobel Prize-winning author Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel Klara and the Sun, continue Crawford’s historical narratives into the present day. The myth of the analogy of human brain and computer drives technical terminology as well: as computer scientist and information philosopher Brian Cantwell Smith explains, the architecture of the most recent wave of artificial forms of intelligence, embodied in machine learning techniques,2 is typically designated by the term “neural networks” “because of [its] topological similarity to the way the brain is organized at the neural level” (47). Thus, technical (or technical-seeming) definitions and mythologizing narratives converge in producing our dominant understanding of artificial intelligence, specifically of its machine learning components. Excitement about the promise of artificial intelligent systems as
{"title":"Theorizing Mathematical Narrative through Machine Learning","authors":"D. Gati","doi":"10.1353/jnt.2023.0003","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/jnt.2023.0003","url":null,"abstract":"Artificial intelligence (AI), machine learning (ML), neural networks— from smart technologies like Google Home or iPhone’s Siri, to predictions of batting performance in the MLB, to algorithmic bias prevention in hiring—are everywhere, threatening to displace the human.1 But what about these technologies is it that seems to so irreverently intrude upon our humanity? Kate Crawford claims that narratives about artificial intelligence, circulating widely for several centuries, have created and fortified the “myth [...] that nonhuman systems (be it computers or horses) are analogues for human minds” (4). Popular cultural artifacts, from Ridley Scott’s film Blade Runner to Nobel Prize-winning author Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel Klara and the Sun, continue Crawford’s historical narratives into the present day. The myth of the analogy of human brain and computer drives technical terminology as well: as computer scientist and information philosopher Brian Cantwell Smith explains, the architecture of the most recent wave of artificial forms of intelligence, embodied in machine learning techniques,2 is typically designated by the term “neural networks” “because of [its] topological similarity to the way the brain is organized at the neural level” (47). Thus, technical (or technical-seeming) definitions and mythologizing narratives converge in producing our dominant understanding of artificial intelligence, specifically of its machine learning components. Excitement about the promise of artificial intelligent systems as","PeriodicalId":42787,"journal":{"name":"JNT-JOURNAL OF NARRATIVE THEORY","volume":"22 1","pages":"139 - 165"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"84524109","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Probability is a central concept in scientific models of causation. When I say, for instance, that ‘smoking causes lung cancer,’ I am not implying that smoking will necessarily result in lung cancer; I am only suggesting a strong (causal) relationship between smoking habits and the incidence of lung cancer. That relationship is probabilistic and based on statistical models which help scientists distinguish merely accidental outcomes from causal linkage. In this article, I focus on how this kind of probabilistic relation brought into view by scientific models puts pressure on the ‘folk’ understanding of causation that underlies storytelling. Probability also plays an important role in narrative: when readers or viewers parse a se-quence of narrated actions, their interpretation will build on assumptions about both causation (action 1 led to action 2) and probability (how likely action 2 is as an outcome of action 1). Crucially, however, narrative probability reflects cultural expectations surrounding human behavior, not statistical regularities. By contrast, narrative engagements with complex phenomena (particularly, in this article, climate change) call for new ways of thinking about narrative causation—ways that approximate the probabilistic understanding of statistical models. We
{"title":"Rabbit Holes and Butterfly Effects: Narrative Probabilities and Climate Science","authors":"Marco Malvezzi Caracciolo","doi":"10.1353/jnt.2023.0007","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/jnt.2023.0007","url":null,"abstract":"Probability is a central concept in scientific models of causation. When I say, for instance, that ‘smoking causes lung cancer,’ I am not implying that smoking will necessarily result in lung cancer; I am only suggesting a strong (causal) relationship between smoking habits and the incidence of lung cancer. That relationship is probabilistic and based on statistical models which help scientists distinguish merely accidental outcomes from causal linkage. In this article, I focus on how this kind of probabilistic relation brought into view by scientific models puts pressure on the ‘folk’ understanding of causation that underlies storytelling. Probability also plays an important role in narrative: when readers or viewers parse a se-quence of narrated actions, their interpretation will build on assumptions about both causation (action 1 led to action 2) and probability (how likely action 2 is as an outcome of action 1). Crucially, however, narrative probability reflects cultural expectations surrounding human behavior, not statistical regularities. By contrast, narrative engagements with complex phenomena (particularly, in this article, climate change) call for new ways of thinking about narrative causation—ways that approximate the probabilistic understanding of statistical models. We","PeriodicalId":42787,"journal":{"name":"JNT-JOURNAL OF NARRATIVE THEORY","volume":"43 1","pages":"38 - 58"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"84519560","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Rhona Trauvitch, Toon Staes, P. Manning, D. Gati, Daniel A. Newman, Eric Morel, Marco Malvezzi Caracciolo
In Surfaces and Essences (2013), Douglas R. Hofstadter and Emmanuel Sander contend that thought is a function of analogy.1 They explain that we automatically categorize every concept we come across—indeed must do so to interact with the world—and analogy is the mechanism that carries out this categorization. “In order to survive,” Hofstadter and Sander write, “humans rely upon comparing what’s happening to them now with what happened to them in the past. They exploit the similarity of past experiences to new situations” (28, original emphasis). The cognitive approach to analogy2 was pioneered in 1980 by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, whose overarching claim is that “[o]ur ordinary conceptual system [...] is fundamentally metaphorical in nature” (3). As Karen Sullivan puts it, “metaphor is a cognitive process that allows one domain of experience, the target domain, to be reasoned about in terms of another, the source domain” (1). But how do we reason about objects that do not seem to fit into any category, objects that defy comparison to anything familiar? The interface
在《表面与本质》(2013)中，Douglas R. Hofstadter和Emmanuel Sander认为思维是类比的功能他们解释说，我们会自动对遇到的每一个概念进行分类——实际上，为了与世界互动，我们必须这样做——类比是实现这种分类的机制。“为了生存，”霍夫施塔特和桑德写道，“人类依赖于将现在发生的事情与过去发生的事情进行比较。他们利用过去经验与新情况的相似性”(28，原重点)。1980年，乔治·拉科夫和马克·约翰逊率先提出了用认知方法进行类比的方法，他们的主要主张是:“我们通常的概念系统……(3)。正如Karen Sullivan所说，“隐喻是一种认知过程，它允许一个经验领域，即目标领域，根据另一个经验领域，即源领域进行推理”(1)。但是，我们如何推理那些似乎不属于任何类别的对象，那些无法与任何熟悉的事物进行比较的对象呢?的接口
{"title":"Mapping with Fi-Sci: Why and How Fictionality Illuminates Science","authors":"Rhona Trauvitch, Toon Staes, P. Manning, D. Gati, Daniel A. Newman, Eric Morel, Marco Malvezzi Caracciolo","doi":"10.1353/jnt.2023.0000","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/jnt.2023.0000","url":null,"abstract":"In Surfaces and Essences (2013), Douglas R. Hofstadter and Emmanuel Sander contend that thought is a function of analogy.1 They explain that we automatically categorize every concept we come across—indeed must do so to interact with the world—and analogy is the mechanism that carries out this categorization. “In order to survive,” Hofstadter and Sander write, “humans rely upon comparing what’s happening to them now with what happened to them in the past. They exploit the similarity of past experiences to new situations” (28, original emphasis). The cognitive approach to analogy2 was pioneered in 1980 by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, whose overarching claim is that “[o]ur ordinary conceptual system [...] is fundamentally metaphorical in nature” (3). As Karen Sullivan puts it, “metaphor is a cognitive process that allows one domain of experience, the target domain, to be reasoned about in terms of another, the source domain” (1). But how do we reason about objects that do not seem to fit into any category, objects that defy comparison to anything familiar? The interface","PeriodicalId":42787,"journal":{"name":"JNT-JOURNAL OF NARRATIVE THEORY","volume":"253 1","pages":"1 - 108 - 109 - 11 - 12 - 138 - 139 - 165 - 166 - 167 - 37 - 38 - 58 - 59 - 86 - 87"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"78982263","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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