New York Diary

Ray Craib, The English Patient, maps, Herodotus, & history

At the moment I'm reading a paper-in-progress by Ray Craib, a friend and professor of mine at Cornell. The paper is about nature, space, and national identity in Mexico. Ray has a particular knack for the geographical, having introduced me to, among other things, Thongchai Winichakul's excellent Siam Mapped, historical exercises in the mapping of Connecticut (if memory serves), and some of the numerous possibilities of spatial representation and the historical significance of landscape.

Ray's paper makes me think about traversed paths and the problems of rediscovery. As Ray rightly points out, Cortes doesn't seem to have noticed the Mexican landscape much (at least, not if his journals are anything to go by). But later travelers evoking Cortes--like Calderon de la Barca--are hyperaware of their surroundings, and the fact that these are the surroundings through which the "first" discoverer passed. Perhaps they know they are in the presence of greatness--whether that be a reference to Cortes (a dubious reference, I admit, but here we are concerned with the perceptions of the travelers themselves), or to their awesome destination. The journey is not about discovery of a new thing, which could be anywhere, but of an established greatness, which is along this path. And so the journey becomes not just a means of finding a thing--Mexico City, Borobodur, the Notre Dame, anything--but is itself a thing to be noticed and appreciated.

I am reminded of The English Patient (the book--I've not yet seen the movie), in which Herodotus figures prominently. Ondaatje's book is very much about space and place: the English patient knows the Middle Eastern desert intimately, and is constantly evoking a hill here, an oasis there, or an ill-omened cave in his ravings. He does not get lost in this place that looks the same in every direction. He knows the space, and its variations, and he marks it. He comes to view the landscape itself as a natural unit, too, and says that it can't be properly divided between nations which exist outside of it. For the English patient, the space is significant; indeed, the desert may be the one thing that holds importance for him.

But The English Patient is not merely about space. Among other things, it is also a book about words, about story and history. The patient brings with him Herodotus, always; but it is an amended Herodotus, a corrected text. The patient writes over its words and pastes in new ones. The English patient knows Herodotus, and likely learned the desert first through Herodotus's eyes--but he sees it differently now, and he amends the story. Having read Herodotus, he can hardly have experienced the desert like Herodotus did.

Perhaps this is the same idea. Following the footsteps of Cortes, or even going on a Da Vinci Code tour of Europe (people are so weird), gives significance to places we may never have noticed before. Their representation--on maps, in books, in art--tells us what to expect, and makes them weighty in their own right. I'd argue that this makes our everyday experiences richer, and that it invests them with greater meaning, greater significance--but I don't want to be dependent upon Herodotus to show me that a place is awe-inspiring. The man believed in giant gold-digging ants, for goodness's sake.

posted by Skay @ 12:43 PM