Too often in graduate classes, we students take classes exclusively on theory, or we are blindly given theoretical readings that correspond to our texts. As a new masters student, this approach can be rather overwhelming. When theory is treated as a subject independent of literature, it is difficult to see the connections that exist between disciplines, and it can seem impossible to apply it appropriately when asked. This class has so clearly bridged the gap between critical theory and literature/cinema, and I look forward to applying transnational theory to my personal research on French theater in the future. French identity was troubled after WWII and continues to be troubled today in the era of postcolonialism, due to surges in immigration and emigration, as well as Europe becoming more “global” as a whole. Transnational theory is increasingly relevant in my studies—while Europe may see itself as borderless, France’s anti-immigrant stance has created a myriad of issues both nationally and internationally. I see theater as a hybrid genre—reading the text and experiencing the presentation become two vastly different practices. When performing a play, the audience becomes part of the experience, and true interaction occurs between the actor and the viewer. To me, transnationalism becomes evident when plays address post-WWII issues, especially when reflecting on recovering, remembering, and reconstructing Jewish identity. This course gives a name to a concept and will allow me to address my research in a more holistic manner.

In the beginning, I was mostly unfamiliar with our readings. I must admit, Teju Cole’s Open City has been in my Amazon shopping cart for months, and I was very excited to read it, especially in an academic setting, but what honestly moved me most was Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis. I feel strange, having written so much about it, yet not producing a long research paper on the novel. Perhaps I was predisposed to like this work since it was originally written in French, but mostly I enjoyed reading it so much because it was completely different from anything I had ever read before. The concept of the graphic novel was foreign to me, and I appreciate the clear voice Satrapi gives to her problematic. This novel reminded me that non-traditional works (referencing the graphic novel as opposed to classical literature) merit study in an academic context and can offer interdisciplinary approaches that expand our viewpoint towards “what is literature”.

I feel that this idea of interdisciplinarity corresponds with the articles we read concerning how to apply theory in the classroom, or even more generally, the structure of academic departments themselves. Gayatri Spivak’s Death of a Discipline comes readily to mind. I had not read this article, yet the argument sounded vaguely familiar. With the 1990s overhaul in academia, many programs were reorganized. French departments are behind in this regard, tending to lump everything into “centuries”, with Francophone texts on the side in their own category. Spivak’s article comments on transnationalism at play in creating these academic departments—comparative literature, area studies, ethnic studies…the names seem to modify indefinitely. “Whatever our view of what we do,” she writes, “we are made by the forces of people moving about the world” (Crossing Borders, 3).  This movement, however, creates issues when attempting to neatly categorize we humans and our literary contributions. “What I am proposing is not a politicization of the discipline,” she continues. “We are in politics. I am proposing an attempt to depoliticize in order to move away from a politics of hostility, fear, and half solutions” (Crossing Borders, 4). Spivak’s theory is directly applicable to our lives as academics and impacts how we study and categorize our fields.

Spivak’s text brings literature to life, as does Satrapi’s Persepolis. We can easily quote the modernist Ezra Pound when he wrote, “literature does not exist in a vacuum”, but more often than not, the quote is taken out of context, much like most other famous literary citations (ex. Sartre’s “Hell is other people”). In reading Pound’s quote to refer to the societal obligation of authors, it is fascinating to work though transnational readings of texts in order to conceptualize their impact on readers. This entire class has expanded my knowledge of literary impact and social movements. My two interdisciplinary courses (the other being Cinema of Empire) at UMD have strengthened my French research by helping me include a larger scope and a more universal approach to my studies. Transnational activities are all around us—as emerging scholars, it is up to us to continue exploring and developing this movement as civilization evolves throughout the world.

With reference to Grewal and Kaplan, discuss how politics are implicated in the formation of sexual subjectivities. Consider national and transnational dimensions/examples of the production and regulation of sexuality.

“Everything is politics.” –Thomas Mann

Before searching this quote, I must admit I was unaware of its context. I still am, as a brief Wikipedia skim only gets you so far. But interestingly enough, I do not remember a time when I did not know this phrase. “Everything is politics.” This quote seems especially accurate today, November 4, Election Day. As I write this, my phone illuminates constantly with the newest projection or final score. Who will be in government at the start of 2015? How will United States politics change and who will be privileged? Who will be oppressed? Who will be ignored completely?

Sexuality as a discipline, as a subject, is political as well, of course. In “Global Identities: Theorizing Transnational Studies of Sexuality”, Inderpal Grewal and Caren Kaplan explore sexuality as a transnational movement and the implications of transnationalism across modern disciplines. According to the authors, transnationalism is able to address the inequalities, or the “asymmetries” of globalization. In turn, a transnational approach allows a more “adequate” study of sexuality in the age of globalization. By dividing the study of sexuality in a transnational context into multiple spheres, Grewal and Kaplan outline precisely the role of sexual subjectivities today, specifically the current frameworks that hinder their advancement.

In all aspects, the traditional binary system of categorization and analysis is incredibly limiting. Everything is either this or that, the one or the other. How has it taken such a long time to destabilize this concept?

Traditionally, sexual subjectivities have been exclusively represented in the binary. The family model is seen solely as a means to reproduction, eliminating any sexual tendencies that deviate from this model. Recent movements have aimed to destroy this notion, particularly the second and third waves of feminism and the development of queer studies departments in academia. While the United States has seen a rise in acceptance of “non-traditional” families and means of sexual expression (I am thinking of laws enabling gay marriage and trans* rights, among other movements), many other Western nations are still woefully reactionary. Though individuality is developed as an inherent trait, the politics of society empower or prohibit self-expression. Depending on “politics”, sexuality may be repressed or celebrated, punished or liberated. Grewal and Kaplan write about the “tradition-modernity split”, referencing the “global feminist” and the “nexus of modernity” that is marked by the freedom of choice in coming out.

Transnationalism as applied to the study of sexual subjectivities, offers us (and by “us” I include anyone interested in sexuality, scholar or no) the means to address the role of sexuality in a multitude of areas. As Grewal and Kaplan write, “Since ignoring transnational formations has left studies of sexualities without the tools to address questions of globalization, race, political economy, immigration, migration, and geopolitics, it is important to bring questions of transnationalism into conversation with the feminist study of sexuality” (666).

Grewal and Kaplan’s article piqued my interest from the start—how can studies of sexuality be conceived when sexuality is so varied throughout the world? How is feminism viewed throughout the world? These questions, and many more, are why I find their argument (albeit rather wordy and technical) so interesting. Through further reflection, I found myself asking how anyone could not perceive sexuality through a transnational approach.

The authors focus much of their article defining the term “transnationalism” and its uses in the modern academic conversation. First, they write, the term is used to explain or depict migration. Additionally, it indicates “the demise or irrelevance of the nation-state”, as individuals identity less and less with the nation, and more with specific cultures (664). In terms of sexuality, this idea struck a chord with me, as I began to ponder the alienation of those who identify outside of the heteronormative binary. If the nation refuses to provide support, who acts as the unifier? “The binary gender model is so pervasive and universalized that it has become naturalized,” Grewal and Kaplan write (667).

The political movements that have traditionally boxed in sexual subjectivities are losing steam. Earlier this semester we discussed the Internet as being a major factor in the spread of transnational ideas and in sharing information throughout the world. Though the political tradition has previously focused exclusively on those who are white and middle-class, I sincerely hope that this will not always be the case. Politics may play an important role in the obstruction of personal freedom and self-expression, but it cannot prohibit the development of sexuality, despite all efforts.

PS: As an election update, I have just been notified that the Republicans have gained control of the US Senate.

Inderpal Grewal and Caren Kaplan. “Global Identities: Theorizing Transnational Studies of Sexuality.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies. Vol. 7, No. 4, 2001, pp. 663-697.

Consider how the form of the graphic novel contributes to the way Persepolis figures transnationalism.

In a recent conversation with a French colleague, I learned that comic art (la bande dessinée) is considered to be the “ninth art” in the ranks of French art classification. Established recently in the latter portion of the 20^th century, the French system of art classification includes architecture, sculpture, visual arts, music, literature, scenic arts, cinema, photography, and lastly, la bande dessinée. That comic art is at the end of the list is unsurprising, considering the antiquity of the other forms, but it surprised me to find graphic work neatly in line with the others, standing all alone. Surely comic art could be placed with visual arts or literature, I thought. Having grown up on Archie Comics, I am no stranger to comic books or adolescent graphic novels, but I had never before read anything like Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis as an adult. From the beginning, I was enthralled in the story and hooked on this newfound (to me) genre of expression.

In the introduction, Satrapi* gives a brief history of Iran and the many conquests the country has suffered, both internally and externally. She mentions ancient invasions, as well as the twentieth century British embargo on oil exports. Though many devastating events in Iran were instigated by Western influence, the country is not subject to the typical colonial/postcolonial classification frequently associated with Western powers and their former dependencies. The transnational approach allows the story to unfold and overlap in complicated ways. As a medium, the graphic novel is a compilation of elements. In the case of Persepolis, Satrapi mixes studio art and literary storytelling to communicate the tale of her young self growing up during the Iranian Islamic Revolution.  The title evokes the ancient Persian city, but the plot is modern. Already, two binaries collide, pushing the reader to reflect upon how the past influences the future and is represented in it.

To read about Marjane’s development as an individual is to witness it from her perspective. As an author, Satrapi is able to manipulate each scene by representing space and distance by how she places her figures in the case and in drawing a variety of shots—close up, medium, long, high and low angle, etc. (I am forced to use film vocabulary here, as I do not possess a visual art lexicon). The exclusive use of black and white allows for no in-between, no gray space. Yet, Satrapi somehow manifests texture and change. Though the images are a flat binary of color, the subject matter itself relies on movement and displacement. The narration and dialogue carry the reader through protests, historical details, social upheaval, and cross border migrations. Through the images, the reader makes a visual and imaginary connection to what is written in the text. While each scene may be analyzed individually, each page makes a unit that continues and connects the story holistically. As an art form, Satrapi’s graphic novel allows for wider readership, or viewership, as one need not read all of the dialogue in order to understand content. Moreover, in choosing a Western language (French) in which to originally publish the work, Satrapi exposes a typically censured perspective to people all throughout the globe.

In the introduction to Flexible Citizenship: The cultural logics of transnationality, Aihwa Ong writes in detail on the split identities of multiple-passport holders, or the division between “state-imposed identity and personal identity caused by political upheavals, migration, and changing global markets” (2). The question of the passport recurs throughout Persepolis, not only to convey the difficulty in obtaining one in 1980s Iran, but also to express the very identity breach Ong refers to. Over halfway through the novel in the section labeled “The Vegetable”, Satrapi documents her attempts to “assimilate” and the fear of distancing herself from her Iranian culture after living in Austria for one year.  The dominating image is of Marjane herself, colored entirely black except her face and hands, physically stretched as though she needs to represent her body as a caricature in order to portray her feelings of conflicted identity (193).  Later in the section, Marjane denies her nationality and claims to be French. Unfortunately for her, her accent says otherwise.

Though Marjane is certainly not French, Marc’s questioning of her identity demonstrates a reluctance to accept the French culture as one comprised of multiple identities. Does having an accent automatically signify the incapacity to belong to a culture or to claim identity?  Later, Marjane overhears the other students gossiping about her false claim to French identity and explodes, finally owning her Iranian identity with furious pride. “For the first time in a year, I felt proud,” Satrapi writes (197).  To designate importance, the text grows in size and the font slightly modifies. This is the only time the dialogue or narration text changes in size, thus clearly outlining an important theme of the work: “I am Iranian and proud of it!” Marjane screams (197). Not only does the exclamation point mark the passion of the phrase, the size distinctly sets it apart from the rest of the novel. It becomes its own image, sharing the spotlight with Marjane’s acceptance of herself and her transnational identity.

*Throughout this post, I use the author’s last name when referring to her authorial role. I use her first name, Marjane, when referring to the narrator/main character of the novel.

Why are the questions of area studies and national literatures such prominent topics in theories of transnationalism?

In brainstorming as a group on our first day of seminar, we collectively questioned the meaning of the term “transnational” and how it applied to our language and literature studies. We added the words “cross borders” and “non-state actors” to describe transnationalism, while the term “international” seemed to concern the relation between state actors. In area studies, these two concepts merge. Interdisciplinary in principle, area studies pertain to regions or areas as a whole, most of which differ significantly based on how scholars choose to define the “area.” This definitional fluidity fits snugly into the study of transnationalism, which “designates spaces and practices acted upon by border-crossing agents, be they dominant or marginal”, as expressed by Françoise Lionnet and Shu-Mei Shih (Minor Transnationalism, 5). That transnational theories focus on national literatures questions the simplest idea of what it is to be a nation. Paul Jay queries the origins of globalization and its historical evolution in the world, but I do not doubt the significance of the relatively recent upsurge in globalization scholarship in fueling a transnational focus in both area studies and national literatures.

In most areas of the world, one must only step into a crowd, look at a newspaper, or browse the internet to experience globalization in motion. In understanding that globalization is simply the international exchange of ideas, goods, or other entities, I am inclined to agree with Paul Jay who, in his 2010 book Global Matters, argues that globalization is not at all a recent movement. Properly historicizing globalization would require one to go back at least to the sixteenth century, if not earlier, and to not presuppose that the movement is strictly Western.  In delving deeper into the matter, Jay cites economist Amartya Sen who argues that globalization was in play as long ago as the “printing of the world’s first book” (39).

The study of globalization is essential to the involvement of transnational theories in area studies and national literatures because it calls to attention the question of what is global and what is local in our world and how to analyze relationships between the two (Jay 74), both in the twenty-first century and centuries earlier. In “Transnationalism: A Category of Analysis,” Briggs, McCormick and Way “argue against writing histories or analyses that take national boundaries as fixed, implicitly timeless, or even always meaningful” (627). This approach invokes Arjun Appadurai’s “scapes” theory, where ethnoscapes, technoscapes, finanscapes, mediascapes and ideoscapes reinforce the idea of fluidity and motion. This vision imagines transnationalism as an independent theoretical actor and allows it to exceed the static present.

Mirroring Appadurai’s changing scapes, transnational theories are so strongly linked to area studies and national literatures due to their ever changing and multiplying actors and components. Homi K. Bhabha expresses this idea by coining the use of the “beyond” in The Location of Culture (1991). This beyond reflects the questioning of identity, or as Bhabha writes, “an awareness of the subject positions—race, gender, generation, institutional location, geopolitical locale, sexual orientation…” (1). In his work, Bhabha often recalls the idea of an “in-between” in order to define a “third-space” that has not been previously recognized. It is in his beyond that transnationalism resides and can be used as a theoretical tool in studying fluidly inclusive areas.

As a theoretical device, it appears nearly effortless to apply transnationalism to area studies, as the field encompasses both the humanities and social studies. Since national literature departments tend to be rooted specifically in the humanities, however, one might question the use of such a polysemic term. To include transnational studies helps question the very foundation of what it means to be national or to study “national literature”. In Global Matters, Jay argues for the inclusion of transnational studies in literature by writing that “we make a choice to study literary texts and other cultural forms as national productions” and that the decision of where to house these texts is fundamentally arbitrary (73). Therefore, the addition of transnational theory to national literature expands the basic umbrella of the term “national” to include entire chains of events and generations of cultural otherness. To prove his argument, Jay cites Paul Gilroy, scholar of the function of nationalism in literary studies in Britain and the United States. By focusing on “the black Atlantic”, Gilroy questions and expands ideas of national borders and identity in order to propose a more complete analysis and “complicate our understanding of the construction of both ‘Englishness’ and ‘modernity’” (84).  Consequently, national literature is lifted from the confines of physical space and is able to incorporate hybrid multiplicities of analysis, thus becoming “transnationalized”.