December 7, 2006
Research Portfolio (Take Two): Review # 3
Barban, Judith. “The Making of the Man: Woman as Consummator in the Lais of
Marie de France.” South Carolina Modern Language Review, 1:1 (2002
Winter). 18-28
In her Lais, Marie de France presents a wide cast of women, all of whom differ in character and circumstance. At first consideration, the reader finds it difficult to imagine the parallels in this diverse collection of female characters. In her article, published in the inaugural volume of the South Carolina Modern Language Review, Judith Barban explores this dilemma, attempting to identify a unifying factor linking the female personas of the Lais. The awkward solution she uncovers lies in Marie’s construction of the female role in courtly love. In the male-female relationships depicted in the Lais, Barban argues, women serve as “consummators” who fulfill incomplete men, thus initiating them into manhood.
Barban proceeds to apply her theory to several of Marie’s individual lays, beginning with Guigemar. The knight Guigemar, she argues, stands as a flawed man because “he is indifferent to love” (19), as symbolized by the curse of the white hind. Because Guigemar is an incomplete man, woman must complete him. His fulfillment is set in motion when his boat carries him to the tower of his imprisoned lover. The sufferings of Guigemar’s lady, Barban argues, transform him into a complete man and allows him to overcome the curse of the white hind.
The next lay Barban analyzes is La Fresne. La Fresne’s sacrificial act of spreading her brocade on her lover’s marriage bed, Barban argues, initiates the events that will ensure the happiness of all of the characters.
Barban continues enumerating examples of the “consummating” acts of Marie’s female characters. In Lanval, the lady’s act of “dropping her cloak of purity” (23) saves her lover from death, and in Yonec, the mother’s act of bestowing her husband’s sword on her son transforms him into an honorable knight. Similarly, in Eliduc, the self-sacrifice Eliduc’s wife, Guideluec, allows Eliduc to share true, pure love with Guilliadun.
Judith Barban engages in an ambitious attempt to link the Lais of Marie de France through an exploration of the role of women. While her claim is credible, it presents a few shortcomings.
Barban utilizes ample textual evidence in order to back her assertion that women serve as “consummators” of manhood in the Lais of Marie de France. However, her lay-by-lay analysis seems awkward at points; as if she is forcing the text to stretch in directions that it does not naturally bend. The structure of her textual support seems self-conscious of this shortcoming. She first presents her strongest evidence, a thorough close reading of Guigemar that expertly supports her thesis. However, the remainder of her textual examples becomes more and more problematic in descending order. For example, in her reading of La Fresne she claims that La Fresne’s selfless act of spreading her brocade over her lover’s marriage bed initiates a “reversal of fortune for all concerned” (21). While it is true that La Fresne initiates action, it is unclear how this action “fulfills” her husband. Indeed, this flaw is true for the whole of Barban’s argument. She is successful in proving that women are the major initiators of action in the lays, but fails to prove that they “complete” their men.
In her title, Barban asserts that she will discuss women as “consummators.” Her choice of the word “consummator” implies that the women in Marie’s Lais initiate actions through sex. However, Barban often deviates from the sexual role of women. For example, she asserts that in the lay of Yonec, the mother serves as “woman-consummator of her son (23). Barban’s reading does not seem to indicate that the mother’s act of initiating her son into manhood is in anyway sexual. Perhaps we can find the sexual nature of her “consummation” in the fact that the action of the lay begins with her sexual act of adultery. Perhaps we can even read the sword she gives to her son as a phallic representation. Barban never clarifies, but her reading indicates that she views the mother’s actions as purely asexual.
In addition, Barban glaringly omits certain of Marie’s other lays. Could her argument, for instance, be successfully applied to Bisclavret, in which the woman initiates her husband’s animal state?
Judith Barban’s article provides a valuable theory for linking the many female characters in the Lais of Marie de France. I believe that her argument would be stronger if she narrowed it and engaged in a more in-depth reading of the role of “woman-consummator” in Guigemar alone, rather than applying her theory to the entire body of Marie’s lays.
Rebecca Harpine
University of Mary Washington
Research Portfolio (Take Two): Review # 4
Pugh, Tison. “Queer Pandarus? Silence and Sexual Ambiguity in Chaucer’s Troilus
and Criseyde.” Philological Quarterly, 80:1 (2001 Winter), pp. 17-35.
Tison Pugh analyzes Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde from the perspective of queer criticism, opening his essay with a loaded question: “is Pandurus queer?”(17). He tempers this question with a disclaimer, admitting that he cannot prove that the homosocial relationship between Pandarus and Troilus is unequivocally homosexual. However, he argues that through ambiguities within the text, Chaucer leaves open possibilities for a queer reading of Pandarus’s character.
Pugh begins by examining medieval conceptions of sexuality. He identifies a parallel between the literary relationship of Pandarus and Troilus and the historical relationship of King Richard II and his councilor, Robert de Vere, who were widely assumed to be engaging in a homosexual relationship. Pugh argues that Chaucer would have been aware of this relationship, and is perhaps allegorically referencing it in his portrayal of the relationship between a nobleman and a “non-heteronormative” advisor (18). Pugh continues his exploration of medieval sexuality, noting that it is inappropriate to apply contemporary understandings of sexuality to a medieval text. In the Middle Ages, he reveals, sexuality was not as closely associated with identity as it is today; homosexuality and heterosexuality were behaviors and not labels. Therefore, medieval views towards sexuality make it possible for us to read homosexual meaning into male-male relationships that we might otherwise view as asexual.
Next, Pugh discusses the ways in which Pandarus’s dialogue and, more importantly the gaps in his dialogue, reinforce a queer reading of his character. For textual support, he turns to Pandarus’s account of his beloved in Book I. Pandarus’s dialogue, Pugh argues, provides very little information about Pandarus’s lover, leaving his identity a mystery. Through this textual hole, Chaucer allows readers to construct the identity of Pandarus’s love for ourselves. In other words, ambiguities in the text allow us, if we so desire, to imagine Pandarus’s lover as homosexual.
Pugh also explores the ways in which Pandarus’s gaze serves to construct him as queer. Pandarus’s gaze, Pugh argues, not only reveals Pandarus’s homosexual desire for Troilus, but is also the means by which he fulfills that desire; he sates his lust for Troilus through voyeurism, watching the love affair unfold between Troilus and Criseyde.
Pugh’s argument concludes with the assertion that Pandarus’s “polymorphous” sexuality serves to highlight the poem’s central meaning, the “ephemerality of human love” (24); Pandarus’s homosexual love fails Troilus just as Criseyde’s heterosexual love fails him.
Pugh ends his argument by “laying down a friendly challenge” to those who deny the possibilities of a queer reading; he asks them to “prove that Pandarus is heterosexual” (35). He is confident, however, that the textual ambiguities within the text make a conclusive reading of Pandarus’s sexuality impossible.
Tison Pugh’s queer analysis of Pandarus lacks decisiveness; he refuses to claim that either Pandarus or his behavior is homosexual. His analysis primarily proves one point; that the text of the poem is ambiguous enough to support either a heterosexual or a homosexual reading of Pandarus’s character. This being true, it would have been nice if Pugh had more assertively argued the case for a queer Pandarus, rather than simply awakening the possibility.
However, Pugh is to be credited for engaging with a queer reading of Pandarus; his discussion was needed. Very few of the scholarly articles I have read are willing to even consider the possibility that Pandarus harbors homosexual desire for Troilus. Many scholars summarily and irrationally dismiss the textual evidence that Pandarus is gay simply because they find the idea personally distasteful. For this reason, I wish that Pugh were more assertive in both his argument and his choice of language. It seems rather ludicrous to be temperate when the other side is so vocal.
Despite the overall mildness of Pugh’s argument, he is generally very adept at supporting it. I found his discussion of textual ambiguity to be particularly compelling, and to merit application beyond a queer reading of Pandarus. For example, in class lecture we discussed the possibility that Pandarus is a representation of Chaucer, and that Pandarus’s “pandering” serves as a textual reference to Chaucer’s alleged role in kidnapping. If Pandarus is a self-portrait, it is notable that the silence and ambiguity regarding his lover mirrors the silence and ambiguity surrounding this historical event in Chaucer’s life.
Pugh’s queer analysis of Troilus and Criseyde opens the possibility for a homosexual reading of Pandarus’s character. However, his argument is far too conciliatory, refusing to take a firm stand.
Rebecca Harpine
University of Mary Washington
Rebecca's Courtly Blog 