READING THE ATROCITY EXHIBITION

Theseus. The catacombs were labyrinthine, like twisted entrails. In its descent the decryptionist lost its bearings, all reference to an exterior reality. And yet this was more than a free-fall down the rabbit hole. The eerie maze into which the creature delved obliterated distinctions between aboveground and below. The red string that would guide it through the corridors led not to an exit but to the heart-chamber of the complex: an ambiguous center at best. A library, an archive, its walls carved with niches, each bearing a scroll. The decryptionist felt a vague sense of transgression, a voyeur in the minotaur’s den. It unrolled each vellum text, caressed the ciphered words. Its task could begin.

Biomechanoid. Newel stirred cream and honey into his coffee and brought up the discordant array of windows on the dusty LCD screen of the aging computer. The Atrocity Exhbition attempts to vivisect its cultural moment by dissecting the past or memory of a surreal and quasi-speculative future,’ Newell wrote. ‘Its structure resembles both a disjointed cityscape or unfathomable machine and a fragmented human body, a fleshscape, as confused and dismembered as a mutilated anatomical textbook whose spine has decayed and whose pages have been shuffled like a pack of sallow and near-pornographic tarot cards – the Pudenda, the Abdomen, the Ulcerous Lip, the Radiation-Seared Thorax. And yet, as it collapses real and imaginary into the single undifferentiated phantasmagoria that is the Baudrillardian hyperreal, the text fuses these two parallel metaphors into a machine-flesh hybrid, an erotic cyborg, as fetishized and grotesquely appealing as a Giger Biomechanoid – thus the prevalence of the billboard-labyrinth, the malformed sculpture gardens, and above all the car-crash. The world of The Atrocity Exhibition is not a straightforward escape as in a dream narrative but a psychosis in which real and unreal/imaginative are rendered miscible and indeed indistinguishable. To quote, Andrzej Gasiorek’s Deviant Logics, “…this fragmentation of the prosaic world, which blurs the boundary between fantasy and reality, creates a liminal space in which memories begin to stir” (63). The breakdown of distinctions between organic and inorganic mirrors the more fundamental deconstruction of the Real at the heart of the text.’

The Nectar of Exegesis. Clippings from the text hung from clothes-pegs like developing photographs in some proto-cyberpunk pornographer’s darkroom. Others were plastered against the walls of the tomb-like subterrane, overlapping with pages culled from medical dictionaries and coffee table books of surrealist painters, with esoteric critical texts. The decryptionist flitted about the secular sepulcher, hovering at some particular constellation of words and images, a quizzical clockwork hummingbird. Early on it had decided that the cipher, the ambrosial nectar of deconstruction, would never be extracted through a linear reading. It inhaled the heady perfume of its efforts with detached pleasure.

Moulting. ‘By depicting its atrocities as endlessly repeated, the text transmutes their raw horror or shock value – their affective capabilities – into a kind of numbed and detached nausea.’ Newell flickered between screens, a morass of information. He sipped at his third cup of coffee. ‘This is intrinsically connected to the breakdown between real and imagined. The Atrocity Exhibition is commenting on the capacity for the media to not only desensitize its consumers to depictions of violence but to transform our entire relationship to representation itself, to “mimetization.” Authenticity becomes not so much disputable as unimportant through the lens of the text, just as the difference between dream-world and real-world collapses for the reader as the protagonist’s psychosis (“simulation”) develops. As we explore the catacombs of the text we gradually come to inhabit this disaffected space, becoming ourselves mechanistic, shedding layers of shock and perturbation and metamorphosing into something both more and less than human.’

 

Troglodytic Knot-Tying. The Atrocity Exhibition’s peculiar algebra could only be understood through a more complete subsumption into its baroquely chaotic quasi-narrative; yet even complete immersion inevitably failed to distill the book into a wholly comprehensible form. Variables in its intricate formulae remained unsolved and numinous. The decryptionist gnawed at fraying strands of meaning in the muted barrow-light, tying together knots of texture and imagery and then watching its configurations unravel.

 

This is my critical response – a pastiche/homage of the book, hopefully with some critical engagement.  Matthew, if this isn’t what you’d envisioned, let me know and I’ll write up something else, and this can just be an example of my pretentious pseudo-creative writing.

 

Works Cited

 

Ballard, J.G. The Atrocity Exhibition. Great Britain: Flamingo, 1993.

 

Gasiorek, Andrzej. “Deviant Logics.” Contemporary British Novelists: J.G. Ballard, 58-80. http://books.google.com/books?id=wAsri-PTseQC&printsec=frontcover&dq=Andrzej+Gasiorek,+JG+Ballard&ei=TL2DSeDyOIPIlQST4vXuBQ#PPP1,M1, Feb. 7.

Hyperreality Television

Alright y’all, if I promise to forthcome with a post of well cited academic thoroughness, will you accept this youtube video in lieu in the present? Besides the ROFL factor, it does do an excellent job of presenting every aspect of the debate, and frankly, despite the hyperbolic satire, I feel this is only inches away from our current media environment. Has anyone watched CNN lately? Yikes! DISCLAIMER: NSFW

Prefatory theory: “There is no real and no imaginary except at a certain distance. What happens when this distance, even the one separating the real from the imaginary, begins to disappear and to be absorbed by the model alone? Currently, from one order of simulacra to the next, we are witnessing the reduction and absorption of this distance, of this separation which permits a space for ideal or critical projection.” (Baudrillard)

I believe what we have here is these ideal and critical spaces collapsing into one. And they said irony was dead.

***ADDENDUM: Sorry to smut up the front page like this, Youtube had to select the raunchiest frame from an otherwise visually tame piece.

YouTube Preview Image

Planes intersect:

“On one level, the world of public events, Cape Kennedy and Viet Nam mimetized on billboards. On another level, the immediate personal environment, the volumes of space enclosed by my opposed hands, the geometry of my own postures, the time-values contained in this room, the motion-space of highways, staircases, the angle between these walls. On a third level, the inner world of the psyche. Where these planes intersect, images are born. With these co-ordinates some kind of valid reality begins to clarify itself” – J.G. Ballard

I brought this passage up today as indicative of a prominent and overarching theme in The Atrocity Exhibition, and although it had no particular questions attached, It might be useful in grounding monday’s discussion on the book’s negotiation of interiority / exteriority, as well as issues of hyperreality raised today.

(re-)read Baudrillard’s “Science Fiction and Simulacra” for Monday – in addition to its ties with The Atrocity Exhibition, we’ll be revisiting ideas of simulation and hyperreality later on; Baudrillard’s article will be working as our common point of reference.

Map-territory relations: the formal title for the concepts introduced at the beginning of class, encompassing both Baudrillard’s and Borges’ notions of what might be called the irreducibility of space: read “On Exactitude in Science
and to see the same ideas drawn another way, take a minute to navigate a map is not the map

also, CNN’s “the Moment” – in terms of layered images, media, consolodated by a single event

I thought I’d post the question on trauma/temporality as well, derived from a class I had earlier on terrorism and writing:

In a critical analysis entitled “Trauma’s Time”, Aimee L. Pozorski (drawing on the fiction of R. Clifton Spargo) describes the time of trauma as “a time that is paradoxically not the moment itself, but ‘what comes after,’ what will always come after, the ‘afterwardsness or belatedness of trauma itself.”

With this relationship of time/trauma in mind, what elements of futurity (post-trauma?) resonate within Ballard’s text – where is it situating itself temporally in relation to the trauma of its historical moment, and to what effect?  

And on a less related note, I’ll be in Irving K on the third floor Thursday between 1 and 4pm, working on a proposal for the film project – if you’re around and are interested, drop by!

Our discussion of the artificial city of Diaspar that is maintained through by the central computer’s memory banks, got me thinking about memory and how we have experimented with memory in the present. I was astounded to discover the extent to which artificial memory experimentation has been occurring in recent medical research. If you had told anyone 50 years ago that before the end of their lives there would be machines that could be implanted in our brains to help restore and improve memory and control physical action, they would have sent you to the looney bin. The concept of a brain chip is something which even I find hard to believe, but there is no hiding the fact that the technology is here and in use as we speak.

For the most part, experimentation with brain chip technology has been centred around medical research, more specifically, in aiding severely paralysed or brain damaged individuals in regaining motor and cognitive function. In March 2005 Matthew Nagel was the first paralysed individual to successfully receive a brain chip implant and with the help of this handy addition:

He can think his TV on and off, change channels and alter the volume all thanks to the technology and software linked to devices in his home (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/4396387.stm)

This is all very new and exciting but I can’t help to feel slightly nervous about a programmed technology that directly interferes with brain function. In 2003 Popular Science released an article about the technology:

Medicine aside, Biomedical engineer Theodore Berger sees potential commercial and military applications for the brain chip, which is partially funded by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Learning how to build sophisticated electronics and integrate them into human brains could one day lead to cyborg soldiers and robotic servants, he says.

(http://www.infowars.net/articles/april2008/140408Chip.htm)

Now doesn’t that just sound like something out of a sci-fi horror flick or what? It would be more than enough if experimentation stopped at the medical and military applications but further research has been done in the hopes that this brain chip could be used for ‘cosmetic’ reasons. Would you agree to getting a brain chip if it promised to insure you never again forgot a name or a face? Some researchers are saying that implants could potentially increase memory recall over 10 times normal functioning. Imagine the educational repercussions if brain chip implants provided instant photographic memory recall to students with the financial freedom to have one installed. Such technology makes the future seem uncertain. 50 years from now will we be relying on computers to think for us? It is a scary thought, but one which is becoming ever closer to being realized. 

reminders

We’ll be discussing Ballard’s Atrocity Exhibition on Monday, along with Gasiorek’s introduction to the book – “Deviant Logics” (read pp.58-80). Also, take a look through the Ballardian sometime this weekend, and develop some questions / thoughts to bring to the discussion. 

And as a way to bring some kind of closure to (or more more likely further agitate) our jumbled look at The City and the Stars, I’ll be showing Logan’s Run at my place this Sunday, around 4pm – feel free to drop in.

“reconvening, courtroom seventy-four”

I’m sitting on the sixth floor balcony of the downtown law courts, looking out on the waists and necks of Howe street high-rises. A woman’s disembodied voice calls out for court room reconvenings, dissolving inside the empty glass atrium, with the occasional clatter of footsteps and the quiet blur of conversation drifting up from the floors below.

Yesterday’s seminar was loopier than usual – a morass of starting points, links and ideas that we’ll hopefully be able to follow through and make sense of as we move on to Ballard. For next class I’ll try to set a more coherent path for the discussion.  Below are some divergent, digressive things somehow related to yesterday’s seminar – worth looking through:

23 skidoo – short film we opened with, on the post-apocalyptic metropolis; Montreal after the neutron-bomb. Vacant infrastructure, the ‘city without us’, encrypted with memory of its inhabitants.

the lotus eaters – re: vancouver, diaspar

Russia’s Russia in the Black sea…with its very own Black sea.

Dubai’s world

Synechdoche New York is playing next week at the Norm. Also, a lucky Kaufman interview bylife without buildings)

wandering sickness and the gas of peace – visual essay by derek horton. thinking specifically about the title of the piece. The magazine itself is worth looking through as well: a choice essay

Questions of memory and materiality in the City of Diaspar – how much of it is fabricated, re-membered from its own archives?

Is Clark imagining a proto-digital environment? How do elements of spirituality and mysticism relate with the realities of mediated (online) communication?

“Lonely? In Diaspar?”

One of the things we talked about last class regarding The City and the Stars was the playing off of one another between Diaspar and Lys and the dichotomies that the two represented: “the City” vs. “the Country”, “Nature” vs. “Machine”, “immortality” vs. “death”, “boundedness” vs. “space”… In particular we were talking about the difference in the social structure between the two cities. What it brought to mind for me, and what I couldn’t quite express in class but now with the aid of a computer I can (ta-dah!), were the twin terms of gemeinschaft and gesellschaft, Ferdinand Tönnies‘ sociological categories delineating two types of societies. Gemeinschaft (“community”) is a type of organization in which its members are oriented as much, if not more, towards the larger group rather than their own individual interests, and are regulated by common mores. Gemeinschafts are characterized by

a moderate division of labour, strong personal relationships, strong families, and relatively simple social institutions. In such societies there is seldom a need to enforce social control externally, due to a collective sense of loyalty individuals feel for society.

Gesellschaft (“society”/”civil society”/”association”), on the other hand, is an organizations in which the individual orients themself towards the larger grouping in terms of their own self-interest. Unlike gemeinschaften,

Gesellschaften emphasize secondary relationships rather than familial or community ties, and there is generally less individual loyalty to society. Social cohesion in Gesellschafts typically derives from a more elaborate division of labor.

 Tönnies’ classifications are similar in some ways to Émile Durkheim‘s theories on mechanical vs. organic solidarity. Mechanical solidarity, similar to gemeinschaft, emphasizes similarity and collective authority; organic solidarity, similar to gesellschaft, emphasizes difference and individual initiative (The similarities, however, stop there).

Men had built cities before, but never a city such as this. Some had lasted for centuries, some for milleniums, before Time had swept away even their names. Diaspar alone had challenged Eternity, defending itself and all it sheltered against the slow attrition of the ages, the ravages of decay, and the corruption of rust.

Diaspar could be the conventional “City” trope, an ephemeral society whose foundations, both literal and ideological, are based on intangibilities. Matter can be conjured out of thin air, familial ties are affectionate at best, and even the city’s founding legends are (spoiler alert) merely that, legends created to stunt its citizens’ sense of curiosity, exploration and adventure. Like a gesellschaft society, the citizens of Diaspar feel a lessened connection with each other. Hilvar’s musings on the city reflect his general feelings of loneliness among a sea of people:

Within a few days of arriving in Diaspar, Hilvar had met more people than in his entire life. Met them – and had grown to know none. Because they were so crowded together, the inhabitants of the city maintained a reserve that was hard to penetrate.

Lys, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different. As opposed to the millions of Diaspar, the small village of Airlee is composed of less than a thousand. They have shunned the possibility of immortality and retain the cycles of birth and death as well as the range of ages in between, exposing Alvin to states of the human condition (childhood, old age) that he had previously been unfamiliar with. The also rely less on technology and as a consequence, retain a skill that the citizens of Diaspar now only have when dealing with machines: the ability to communicate telepathically. The citizens of Lys, like people in a gemeinschaft society, are thus more collectively integrated.

The “Country” trope that Lys seems to suggest brings up something that Hung-Te touched on in class: though Tönnies doesn’t seem to be making a value judgement between the two types of organization, Clarke seems to be. As a brief end note: did anyone else get the Rousseaunian noble savage vibe? Rousseau’s theory of Natural Man suggests that we were better off before society made us “civilized”: we were stronger, faster, could see without the aid of glasses, etc. The juxtaposition between Diaspar and Lys can’t help but make the reader think that the latter comes out on top: they’re more intelligent, more self-reliant, and let’s not forget: they can read minds. Any ideas on what Clarke’s vision of the future could suggest in that respect?

Domed Utopias

When our discussion about Diaspar from The City and the Stars brought up the idea of utopian domed structures, I was reminded of something that might have been too tangential for class. . . but perfect for the Interweb! Let me introduce you to Auroville, an experimental township in southern India.

From their official website (http://www.auroville.org): “The purpose of Auroville is to realise human unity– in diversity. Today Auroville is recognised as the first and only internationally endorsed ongoing experiment in human unity and transformation of consciousness, also concerned with – and practically researching into – sustainable living and the future cultural, environmental, social and spiritual needs of mankind.”

Auroville was created in 1968, and is the brainchild of Mirra Alfassa (1873-1978), a French woman mostly known as “The Mother”. She designed the town as a spiral, or “galaxy”, and guess what’s in the center of the spiral?          (http://www.auroville.org/thecity/buildingthecity.htm)

This photo was taken in May 2007, before construction was finished.

Auroville spirals out from a domed ashram called the Matrimandir. The Matrimandir is made from flattened spheres of real gold leaf, and inside “the spacious Inner Chamber in the upper hemisphere of the structure is completely white, with white marble walls and white carpeting. In the centre a pure crystal-glass globe suffuses a ray of electronically guided sunlight which falls on it through an opening at the apex of the sphere”.

Since it’s an ashram (meditation center), you have to be completely silent in the dome and surrounding gardens. Walking up in pure silence to the giant orb, which glows golden in the sunshine, is one of the most beautiful and surreal things I have ever experienced. 

Auroville is very cool, but it is also a little creepy. Visitors are not allowed full access to the town, but my Gr.11 French teacher used to live there and took our class on a rare 3-day field trip. We visited a free cafeteria run entirely on solar power (cool), and a water bottling facility that makes “energy water” by playing classical music to it (creepy). We met international folk who gave up their careers to live a more meaningful life (cool), and we met a family whose house was full of pictures of The Mother (creepy). That’s all subjective, but I’m pessimistic about whether a utopia can actually be achieved. Is Auroville really “a universal town where men and women of all countries are able to live in peace and progressive harmony, above all creeds, all politics and all nationalities”, or is it just wishful thinking? In any event, Auroville’s Matrimandir is further evidence that domes are the ultimate utopian structures.

01/21: The Aesthetics of Sound – guest lecture by Michael Filimowicz


 

Michael Filimowicz’s guest lecture last week presented a sprawling and evocative introduction to the employment of sound in science fiction film. Citing strong ties between the genre of SF and the musical avant-garde, Michael took us through a historical trajectory of weird sound. What follows is the gist:

We started by briefly looking at a layout of sound, as it functions between the poles of noise/pitch and contrast/similarity.

Arnold Schoenburg, along with other early 20th century composers, noted a gradual depature in musical composition from its previously stable and harmonic quality towards more dissonant and chaotic elements. He called this shift the emancipation of dissonance. We watch a few star-trek clips which illustrated the direct use of dissonant tones to connote forces of malevolence and the alien – with the protagonists portrayed in an evidently harmonic contrast.  

Later musicians came to profit from Schoenburg’s narrative, which worked to justify atonality, bringing this departure from convention to their own productions. 

Luigi Russolo’s Futurist Noise Manifesto (1913) extends this idea of dissonance into what he deems as the environment of its inception: the industrialized urban landscape produced concurrent soundscapes of mechanized hum and pandemonium, by which many musicians were influenced.

George Antheil’s Ballet Mechanique displays an embodiment of the technological within the musical, incorporating an on-stage choreography of instruments and devices (electric bells, pianos, airplane propellers etc.) – a visual / sonic expression of the machine aesthetic. 

Further along this path of mechanical sound, albeit in a more abstracted sense, is musique concrète – a form of primarily electronic music (began in the 1940’s), and consequently entwined in a narrative of technological progression. It is produced acousmatically – where the originating cause of the sound is unseen. Here, generating music becomes more an abstraction than a definite, observable act, implicating a sense of uncertainty within its performance.  The work of John Cage, continued this notion of uncertainty, where his “chance” pieces and various experimental compositions pushed music towards further indeterminacy.

From its conception, electronic music became a dominant element in achieving alien effects and the characteristic sense of strangeness and unfamiliarity in SF film. Heavily influenced by the ideas above, pioneers in sound design such as Louis and Bebe Barron forged “electronic tonalities” derived from passing currents through custom circuitries, recording the effects:

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The process itself exposed the ephemerality of the medium, as the circuits would often be destroyed through overheating. More to the point though, these sounds marked an aesthetic of sound distinct to (classic) SF, and one arrived at through the employment of its contemporary technology alongside a sensibility based in the avant-garde.