1. Introduction Ever since the dawn of Hollywood, the global movie industry continues to transform. Many criticize Hollywood for its lack of originality—how the industry focuses on creating a profit rather than producing original films. Harvard University Professor Anita Elberse refers to this phenomenon as the “Blockbuster Trap” (Elberse). In her recent book Blockbusters: Hit-making, Risk-taking, and the Big Business of Entertainment, she explains that the basic blockbuster structure and strategy works; movies based off of other films, novels, or ideas fair almost two times better in the box offices than movies with an original script and plot. In other words, films have become increasingly homogeneous, using the same plot formulas, character construction, settings, themes, and filmmaking techniques as their Hollywood predecessors. Asian cinema, although criticized for its generic attempts to create Hollywood-style films, has an altogether different focus. This industry merges preexisting genres, creating an altogether new genre of film. While on the surface, Asian Cinema reflects many characteristic Hollywood norms, upon closer analysis, it subverts almost every aspect of genre construction. Professors of Film Richard Barsam and Dave Monahan identify the components of genre through five main genre conventions: “plot, setting, theme, character types, and presentation, [combine to establish movie genres].” (87). Barsam and Monahan argue that, within each genre, blockbusters all contain similar elements that can be easily categorized using these five conventions. They also note, however, that “A genre’s so-called rules can provide a foundation upon which the filmmaker can both honor tradition and innovate change” (Barsam and Monahan 86). Here, Barsam and Monahan show that the purpose of genre establishment is for innovation. Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa also supports this idea. In his essay titled “What is Horror Cinema,” he argues that the purpose of creating genres is not only to simplify a film’s scope for classification purposes, but also to generate originality. Films should not only fit the constraints of one genre. Rather, it should strive to challenge previous conventions. (Kurosawa). For instance, the “horror” genre, at its most basic conceptualization, focuses on the fourth wall of viewing and the development of “the other”; the idea that films were made to affect the emotion and mood of the audience, typically by scaring or frightening the viewer through the presence of something out of the ordinary. Films like The Host, The Tale of Two Sisters, and Cure all exhibit qualities of a horror film but contain components or conventions used in other genres. This technique is otherwise known as “hybridization.” The term hybridization comes from Pieterse’s piece “Globalization and Culture: Three Paradigms” (Pieterse). Here, Pieterse examines three different paradigms that represent globalization. Hybridization, in this context, reflects the exchange of cultural language and grammar. In the first sense—that is, cultural language—language is the superficial elements in a culture, such as customs, foods, dress, entertainment, etc. In the second sense—that is, cultural grammar--grammar is the deeper, more substantial elements that create the makeup of culture: attitudes, values, etc. Films function in the same ways; that is, through language and grammar. When films represent this concept of hybridization, they are not only morphing the superficial elements—the presentation, character, and setting—but also transforming the overall makeup of the films—the plot and theme. 2. Claim But, as David Bordwell, American film theorist and historian, puts it, “… experimentation is usually not anarchic messing about but self-conscious craftsmanship” (Bordwell 262). Hybridization has a purpose; it is a conscious effort to combine previous conventions and formulas to create something new. This idea defines Asian cinema. With the influx of unoriginal, money-making blockbuster films, the Asian film industry has found it increasingly difficult to compete with Hollywood. Thus, the purpose of Asian cinema has had to become arguably different than most entertainment industries. In fact, with such low average budgets, it is almost impossible for these films to generate multi-million dollar profits. With these limitations, the Asian film industry strives to differentiate itself from its competitors; it is less worried about the big dollars and audiences than it is on the idea and meaning of its film. By separating itself from the big giants of film, the Asian industry is able to achieve agency, creating something that is authentically theirs. Although it uses many of the same genre conventions, through hybridization, Asian cinema reflects a new genre of film that focuses not only on a transformation of language, but more so on a genuine crafting of film grammar in order to authenticate its productions. This paper seeks to explore the construction of Asian cinema—what qualities distinguish this type of cinema from others—through a comparative analysis of Hollywood and Asian films. It will utilize Barsam and Monahan’s five genre conventions and examine the authentication of Asian Cinema in each aspect. First, it will demonstrate how Asian cinema transforms film language by an in-depth analysis of the character, the setting, and the presentation. Second, it will investigate film grammar and show how Asian cinema transcends these mass-market productions by creating films with a greater focus on meaning. Last, it will address McDonaldization, a counterargument to hybridization, and conclude that these films indeed establish agency and authenticity in global cinema, marking itself as independent and original. 3. Film Language: Setting To further explore the concept of Asian cinema, film language, defined as the aforementioned superficial elements, is crucial in understanding Asian film. The setting of the film or the time period and geographic location, is often shaped by preexisting formulas. As Barsam and Monahan explain, horror films are often set in isolated, dark places, sci-fi films in futuristic, space, or post-apocalyptic locations when technology greatly affected the population, and Westerns in the American outback. While each genre has its own conventional setting, Asian Cinema defies these norms. Kim Jee-Woon’s The Good, the Bad, the Weird (2008) best exemplifies this transfiguration of setting. This film, complete with Western-style music and a desert-like setting, is, in fact, not located in the American outback. Instead, the film is set in Manchuria, a place not typically associated with the Western genre. It is neither a Western nor an “Asian” film—“Asian,” in this case, defined as a film with a clear connection to Asian culture. This contemporary film, based off of Sergio Leone’s classic film, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966), has its own distinctive flavor. This American production features many characteristic Western settings such as trains, wooden huts, and Western towns. Jee-Woon’s film, however, approaches the same settings in an Asian location. Although its action scenes are set in Manchurian huts and Chinese trains, viewers never doubt the validity and probability of the setting. The audience believes that the Asian characters in the film can function within this location, showcasing their distinct fighting-style within a Westernized context. One of the first scenes of the film, for example, follows a man through a distinctly multi-cultural train. At first, the train seems to be filled with the typical qualities and characteristics of an Asian train: Asian-style cricket holders, Chinese peasant hats, and Asian delicacies in an overcrowded and uncomfortable environment. Upon closer inspection, however, viewers see people in “Western” dress: cowboy hats, ties, and suits. Although this setting is historically Western, Jee-woon adopts and transforms the Western setting, creating an altogether unique convention. In other words, this film highlights the hybridization of two unique settings; because of this, the film seems authentic and new. The Host (2006), directed by Bong Joon-ho, also illustrates a defiance of conventional settings. As Barsam and Monahan write, horror films are typically located in dark, isolated places, serving to create a sense of helplessness and fear. Much of Joon-ho’s monster film takes place in crowded urban environments and in complete daylight. In fact, isolated locations in the film are almost nonexistent; the only scene with a setting more typical of horror films takes place in a sewer. Even in this location, however, Joon-ho plays with light and shadows. The sewer is still clearly lit; there is no sense of the inability to overcome darkness. Other Asian horror films also support such an interpretation. Although set in an isolated country home, Joon-ho’s A Tale of Two Sisters (2003) contains vibrantly lit colors. Reflections of green, blue, and red light redefine the setting and, although the effect creates an altogether scary and unexpected atmosphere, the scenes are still well-lit, many times even shot in direct sunlight. In one scene, the main character, outlined with hues of blue from her brightly colored bed, wakes up and scans the room. The camera pans towards a crouched figure. Unlike many horror films, however, light flows in from the windows and the girl is well-defined. Again, this scene embodies hybridization in Asian film. Even a horror scene is shot differently, defying previously set conventions. 4. Film Language: Character The setting, then, shapes the environment in which characters can function. As the second convention, characters further refine the meaning of place and time. The convention of character divides into two parts: internal personality traits and physical characteristics. Jee-Woon’s The Good, the Bad, the Weird (2008) again exemplifies the attempt of Asian cinema to construct authenticity, especially through character construction. The antagonist of the film dresses in modern suits, wears an earring on his left ear, and has a Korean pop-star hair style. He looks misplaced, almost like a 90s mob gangster, in comparison to the other characters in the film. Besides just his physical attire, this character also has a persona distinct from the typical villain in Western films. Most conventional villains are outright evil and simplistic; they live to rob, kill, and rape. His character, however, has a conflicted and complicated nature; Jee-Woon attempts to give him an added dimension. In one scene, he shows frustration by throwing what looks like a temper tantrum. He drinks to overcome his frustration and is easily angered: “Get up if you don’t want your head blown off…” (69:15). He is sinister, sick to the point he acts like a possessed demon; he won’t stop his search until he finds Chan-yi and kills him. At first glimpse, The Good, the Bad, the Weird (2008) seems like an attempt to copy Western style films—that is, as Pieterse puts it, McDonaldization, or the copy of genres and style from American industries. Upon deeper analysis, however, the director takes genre conventions such as character, as in the case of the antagonist, and transforms them to build completely innovative, even unusual, genres. Other Asian films do the same. Park Chan-wook’s film Oldboy (2003) tells the story of a jailed man who goes on a killing spree to find his jailer. This man, however, is unlike the commonplace action protagonist. He is neither well-kempt like Matt Damon nor bulging with muscle like Arnold Schwarzenegger. He lacks superhuman qualities and is rather lame throughout the film, constantly crying out in pain and misery. The Host (2006), Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000), and In the Mood for Love (2000) all have similar peculiar characters and heroines who do not quite fit their role in the film; the protagonists are insane, extremely emotional, and awkward, respectively. 5. Film Language: Presentation In order to fully grasp the setting and characters, the presentation, or the overall look of the film, is crucial. The presentation refers to the language of cinematography and includes such concepts like lighting, color, lens, angle, editing, and camera movement. In Hollywood, the presentation is rather predictable; the same camera techniques and styles are used. Specifically, the action films all present a single filming style. According to Barsam and Monahan, “Movies in the action genre often shoot combat from many different angles to allow for a fast-paced editing style that presents the action from a constantly shifting perspective” (89). Films such as The Dark Knight (2008) and The Bourne Identity (2002) all embody this style of filmmaking. Characters are quickly thrown from side to side and combat is fast-paced, which is then matched by the constant shifting of the camera. Chan-Wook’s Oldboy (2003), however, defies these conventions. In this action-packed film, the camera serves as a tool for character accentuation rather than a tool for emphasizing the fighting itself. Through the static nature of the camera in action sequences, the audience reflects on the character’s emotions and feelings. The fighting is then viewed as a part of the character’s journey rather than an individual experience or circumstance. In one particular scene of Oldboy (2003), the camera tracks the main character from afar as he fights in a corridor; viewers see his whole body and the scene has the quality of a videogame as waves upon waves of enemies attack the protagonist. This videogame-like style pushes the audience to participate in the action, to take control and think about the action’s purpose. Because of the wide and encompassing camera perspective, the audience becomes aware of his internal dilemma. The man is enshrouded by his physical surroundings, and one can see the enormity of violence and conflict surrounding him. Similarly, he faces this conflict internally throughout the film. He is trapped in a cage even though he is supposedly free. Even outside his cage, he cannot fully experience freedom. He is a monster, yet a vulnerable and trapped monster; one moment during the fight scene he even stops to take a breath. This perspective of viewing that emphasizes vulnerability over crude fighting is much different than that of the oftentimes brainless, fast-paced action sequences offered by Hollywood blockbusters. In the conventional presentation of action films, action is for action’s sake. In Asian cinema, however, the presentation plays a deeper role in not only the construction of characters and settings, but also the refinement of ideas in the film. 6. Film Grammar: Plot In turn, this focus on ideas over other conventions allows for a more ambiguous, yet still more original plot. In this case, Asian film directors focus on the development of film grammar. In other words, Asian cinema allows for personal interpretation while the typical blockbuster does not. For instance, superhero films such as The Dark Knight (2008) and The Amazing Spiderman (2012) have a structured plot formula with a single heroine who overcomes a villain or a conflict. Romantic comedies have happy endings; the protagonists fight through their difficulties to find love. These types of films are unambiguous about their stories; the ending is straightforward and the director ties all loose ends. Asian films, on the other hand, often include open endings and unexplained events within the plot. Hur Jin-ho’s Christmas in August (1998) exemplifies this Asian film characteristic. This film follows the journey of a photography shop owner as he realizes he will soon die from an unspecified disease. During this time, he falls in love with a young traffic cop. In one of the last scenes, the protagonist writes a letter to the young woman but places it into a box, implying he did not send it. In the end, the viewers see the young woman smiling at a newly-placed photograph of her in the window of his shop. This scene epitomizes the open-ended nature of many Asian films; the disease the man had and whether or not the letter was sent to the woman remain unclear, leaving unanswered questions. Just as Christmas in August (1998) leaves the viewer with questions, The Cure (1997) also presents purposeful ambiguity in specific plot events. The storyline is consistently jumbled and puzzling. The audience is unsure about the true source and nature of the disease infecting the people in the film. Although an explanation of the disease is eventually given to the audience—the people are supposedly hypnotized to commit murder—this reasoning seems implausible. As Bordwell highlights, however, even this sometimes unclear plot is a “self-conscious effort” by the director to experiment (262). In the end, the protagonist succumbs to the spreading disease. Here, the audience confronts the possibility of two conclusions. First, the interpretation could be simplistic; the protagonist was hypnotized. The second reading, however, implies that there exists an innate disease in all human beings; the protagonist is not an exception—the viewers are not an exception. This type of deeper analysis of plot and story is exactly the goal of these Asian film directors. In fact, through the plot, not only do these films require close viewings, but they also form unique themes that may or may not fit in the context of that specific genre. 7. Film Grammar: Theme The focus of Asian directors on ambiguity in plot translates to an increased focus on theme development, the last and perhaps most important convention in film grammar. In other words, Asian directors are vested in forming a stronger theme, highlighting the emphasis of the Asian film industry on developing film grammar. Most blockbusters have traditional and unoriginal themes; romantic comedies are about youthful love and action films are about good conquering evil. These themes, however, have become watered-down and overused. The industry’s generic overproduction of similar-themed films has resulted in a market of shallow films with often little meaning. Asian films, however, strive to accentuate meaning and guide the viewers, not with fanciful computer graphics, but with content-based film grammar. Christmas in August (1998), at its most basic reading, merely follows a story of a man finding love. The plot is rather unoriginal and boring. Upon closer inspection, however, the film is rich in literary value. Themes are introduced, developed, and refined. The ticking of a clock follows the man every time he enters his shop. The protagonist constantly looks through reflections, lens, glasses, and window panes; he can only observe the world through an indirect lens but is unable to experience it in a real way. This is emblematic of time passing and love fading—a much deeper conclusion than most romantic comedies, all due to the director’s desire to be authentic. In much the same way, In the Mood for Love (2000) by Wong Kar-wai develops the idea of romance to a greater degree. Kar-wai uses slow-motion captures to highlight the odd nature of this storys’ romance. In each scene, this technique seems to embody the mundane quality of the two protagonists’ lives and their need for lust and desire. In addition, the film also contains an ambiguous plot; the audience never knows whether or not a sexual relationship develops between the two characters or even if they ever begin an actual, mutually-recognized relationship. Again, Kar-wai uses this ambiguity to generate meaning; love is more than just the youthful experience presented in many blockbusters. It is a careful, hidden, and secret endeavor that is altogether incomprehensible to the naked eye. This theme is only one of many peculiar themes in Asian cinema. Other films develop themes related to fantasy and the imagination. Infernal Affairs (2002) uses reflections off glass windows to create a fantastical, almost unbelievable environment for the protagonist. Oftentimes, the director shoots from a high angle, highlighting the protagonist’s helplessness and state of entrapment. Furthermore, the character is often framed by surrounding building structures, fences, and walls; he is seldom seen comfortable in his role. From this, the audience can conclude that fantasy and the unreal control the life of the protagonist. The world is so corrupt and so evil that the only way to cope with such realities is to find peace in the imaginary. While these themes reflect the purpose of the directors, it emphasizes the deeper nature of Asian themes—how they focus on themes with more substance, thus creating new, deep, and authentic genres. 8. McDonaldization These five conventions relating to film language and grammar illustrate the complexity of Asian film. Many may argue, however, that the conclusions drawn in this paper incorrectly define Asian cinema. According to Miriam Hansen, “… all the world’s mass market cinemas are based on the standard continuity style pioneered by classical Hollywood…” (295). Hansen points to what Pieterse identifies as “McDonaldization,” an attempt of many world cinema industries to copy Hollywood films. Some feel that Asian films are only an adaptation, a generic reconstruction, of American films. This reading, however, is rather simplistic. As Chris Berry, film theorist and writer, notes in his essay titled “What’s Big about the Big Film,” “borrowing and translation are only the first step on the road towards agency and creativity” (218). He goes on to argue that the blockbuster is no longer uniquely American but rather global and plural. In other words, although the borrowing of ideas is commonplace among the Asian film industry, the authentic expression of these ideas creates genres unique from Hollywood. In fact, they are so different that Hansen concludes that Asian films are not “simply variants of a dominant style” (295). Although it is clear that the Asian film industry is influenced greatly by Hollywood, it cannot be concluded that this industry is a mere copy, however reconstructed, of the American original. 9. Conclusion In every convention, whether it is film language or grammar, Asian cinema defies expectations. The industry is thus defined by its role in the marketplace. Hansen writes, “A significant impulse in the modernist break with tradition, the quest for the genuinely new and different – in poetry, music, and the visual arts – has been to oppose, negate, or at the very least undermine, the consumerist logic of capitalist mass-market culture” (Hansen 301-302). Asian films attempt to break away from any preset logical method of filming. The industry strives to find its own agency in a market dominated by Hollywood. Through the reconstruction of language and more importantly, grammar, Asian films have generated new genres, new conventions, and new films. They are not mere copies of the original, but rather a hybridization of genre conventions and genres with a focus on meaning and agency in order to establish Asian film authenticity. Works Cited The Amazing Spiderman. Dir. Marc Webb. Universal, 2012. DVD. Barsam, R., and D. Monahan. Looking at Movies: An Introduction to Film. 2009. Print. Berry, C. Movie Blockbusters. Routledge. 2003. Print. Bordwell, D. Planet Hong Kong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertainment. May 2000. Print. The Bourne Identity. Dir. Doug Liman. Universal Pictures, 2003. DVD. Christmas in August. Dir. Hur Jin-ho. 1998. DVD. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon = Wo Hu Cang Long. Dir. Li Ang. Sony Picture Classics, 2000. DVD. The Cure. Dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa. 1997. DVD. The Dark Knight. By Christopher Nolan. Perf. Michael Caine, Aaron Eckhart, and Christian Bale. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2008. DVD. Elberse, A. Why Hollywood Is Caught in the Blockbuster Trap—and Won’t Break Free Anytime Soon. Vulture Magazine. October 2013. 13 January 2014. Web. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Dir. Sergio Leone. Perf. Clint Eastwood. 1966. The Good, the Bad, the Weird. Dir. Kim Jee-Woon. Perf. Kang-ho Song and Byung-hun Lee. 2008. DVD. Hansen, M. Vernacular Modernism: Tracking Cinema on a Global Scale. Classical Cinema as Vernacular Modernism. 1999. Print. The Host. Dir. Bong Joon-ho. 2006. DVD. In the Mood for Love. Dir. Kar-wai Wong. Block 2 Pictures, Inc., 2000. DVD. Infernal Affairs. Dir. Andrew Lau and Alan Mak. Perf. Andy Lau and Tony Chiu Wai Leung. Miramax Films, 2002. DVD. Pieterse, J.N. Globalization and Culture: Global Melange. 2003. Print. Old Boy. Dir. Park Chan-wook. 2003. DVD. A Tale of Two Sisters. Dir. Bong Joon-ho. 2003. DVD.
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1. Introduction “The creative texts, be they visual, literary, or musical, stress the migration of one character, who stands in as representative of the mass… they create a sort of epic narrative on the scale of Exodus”[1] writes Farah Jasmine Griffin, Professor of African-American Studies at Columbia University, in Who Set You Flowin’?, a non-fiction work on migration. Griffin asserts that the oftentimes individualized experiences of migration narratives embody the overall nature of the African American Great Migration. Numerous literary texts, then, strive to have societal and political influence. While Griffin argues that migration literature is representative of a historical movement, Toni Morrison shows how these narratives serve an ulterior motive: “All of that art-for-art’s-sake is BS… all good art is political.”[2] That is, political in the sense that art—these narratives—encompasses a political response otherwise known as protest. While Griffin focuses on the historical context of migration narratives and Morrison on a political response to art, these objective analyses parallel movement and response on an internal level. As Lawrence Rodgers writes in his non-fiction work Canaan Bound, “Because who one is relies on possessing a sense of one’s place in the world… the process of migration is indelibly tied into the broader quest for identity.”[3] Rodgers argues that migration is not an altogether physical experience but rather an internal and individual pursuit for acceptance and recognition. In order for one to migrate, one has to both physically and internally move. Rodgers identifies African American migration as a search for the Promised Land. 2. Claim Much of African American literature, however, differs from this Biblical migration in that the migrants are often unprepared to journey into the so-called Promised Land and are thus easily misled and corrupted. In other words, the people fail to internally migrate before physically migrating. This results in a discrepancy between fantasy and reality. In their dreams, these migrants envision a bountiful land full of wealth, equality, and peace. Upon arrival, however, these migrants face a foreign world; unable to cope with this new environment, they are swallowed up by the city. The central argument of this paper, then, is that a transformation of the physical does not guarantee a transformation of the internal. Further, in order to fully manifest one’s physical condition, internal migration—a recognition of belonging, sense of identity, and agency—must take place. This paper, through Dunbar’s The Sport of the Gods, Attaway’s Blood on the Forge, and Wright’s Black Boy, will articulate a case for the aforementioned claim in order to shed light on whether these narratives depict a failed, half, or successful migration. It will utilize two perspectives of analysis: 1) the basic plot construction of each novel, and 2) the written text. Through this analysis, it will demonstrate two distinct components of migration: first, the physical, and second, the internal. Finally, it will argue that both Griffin and Morrison’s perspectives on migration literature can be applied to this re-analysis of migration. 3. A Failed Migration Paul Laurence Dunbar’s The Sport of the Gods represents a unique portrayal regarding the physical migration of African Americans. As Martin, Primeau, and Jarrett write in their introduction of The Collected Novels of Paul Laurence Dunbar, Paramount in his accomplishments completed over a short career was his propensity to experiment, [Dunbar’s] degree of success with little experience, and the way he managed to walk a very fine line between what might be accepted or even liked and the full range of his penetrating analysis and satiric wit.[4] Here, Martin, Primeau, and Jarrett note the experimental nature of Dunbar’s writing. In his novel, Dunbar consciously chooses to subvert previous conventions in order to satirically comment on racial injustices. He starkly presents his analysis through the plot; his altogether unique storyline supports the controversial quality of his novels. More specifically, the overall storyline is dark and bitter. The novel begins with the Hamilton family, a family content with the South and satisfied with, even proud of, their status in society as servants of the wealthy Oakley household. Dunbar writes, “The girl did have the prettiest clothes of any of her race in the town…”[5] This complacency and even contentedness with their lives is quickly destroyed after the Oakleys wrongly accuse Berry Hamilton, the father, of stealing money. The police arrest Berry and the Hamiltons flee to New York to escape persecution from both the black community, who is jealous of them, and the white community, who believes Berry to be a thief. The latter parts of this novel show the influence migration had on the family. Once the Hamiltons arrive in the city, the city corrupts them: the son murders a woman, the daughter becomes an abused singer, and the wife remarries. The ending is most tragic; Berry, who is freed after the Oakleys admit that he was falsely accused, migrates northward to find his son in jail, his daughter lost, and his wife married to another man. He takes his wife and returns to the South. Here, Dunbar concludes: It was not a happy life, but it was all that was left to them, and they took it up without complaint, for they knew they were powerless against some will infinitely stronger than their own.[6] Dunbar, here, presents a failed migration in two respects. The Hamiltons unsuccessfully migrated in the physical sense. That is, they were forced to return to the home of their ancestors and the origins of their persecution—and they were not happy. Therefore, they could neither find agency nor establish self-identity wherever they physically migrated, whether it be the South or the North. The author never highlights any redemptive moments throughout his work. Instead, Dunbar’s work points to the dangers of movement without purpose. The Hamiltons were played by “the Gods,” a power so “infinitely stronger than [the Hamiltons] own” that dictated their every move.[7] Their lack of control over their circumstances inhibited them from ever attaining any sense of a real migration. This conclusion points towards the consequences of an unsuccessful migration both in the physical and in the internal sense. 4. A Partial Migration While Dunbar’s work portrays a completely failed migration, both in the physical and internal components, William Attaway’s Blood on the Forge says something quite different. In this novel, three brothers, Big Mat, Melody, and Chinatown, migrate to a Pennsylvania steel mill after Big Mat murders a white man. Each character has distinct characteristics that define different themes in the novel. Melody is representative of the degradation of folk culture. Throughout the novel, he “slicks” away on his guitar whenever he feels the need to express himself or alleviate his sadness.[8] As Melody migrates, he loses his touch with music. “Right now all of Melody’s world was a little dull pain. He had left his guitar behind.”[9] Chinatown represents the loss of joy that accompanies a failed migration. A character that laughs and enjoys life freely, he is the most cheerful and vain character in the novel. Chinatown constantly stares at his golden tooth through a mirror and carries it with pride. Chinatown’s migration to Pennsylvania causes him to lose his sight, rendering him unable to see his golden tooth, but also rendering him unable to see joy in his life. He then changes into a quiet and subdued character, a result of a failed internal migration. Lastly, Big Mat shows how strength is lost without a proper internal migration. Through his strength, he keeps the family together and alive in the South, representing the pillar of the household. The anger and fury enlivened in him by his migration north lead to his tragic death: “Sometimes they broke through, and he filled with red madness – like a boar at mating – hog wild.”[10] Together, these three brothers constitute some of the qualities of many African American migrants. Attaway argues that physical migration strips these people of their culture, joy, and strength. In other words, the brothers were forced to search for these qualities in a foreign environment to attempt a complete migration. This migration, however, was not fulfilled: “‘Mill never be my home.’”[11] Here, the physical movement did not satisfy the brothers. Attaway implies that this migration was incomplete because of a lack in internal migration. Big Mat dies because he is unable to recognize human joy and culture; he can only survive through his relationships with his brothers—through joy and culture. Each brother was unable to fully accomplish migration because he was short-sighted; each one lacked the agency, sense of belonging, and pursuit of identity—three aspects crucial for the fulfillment of true migration. 5. A True Migration While Attaway depicts a tale of unaccomplished migration, Richard Wright writes an uplifting novel, Black Boy, that shows that true migration, in its physical and internal senses, is possible. Griffin identifies that African Americans, even in the South, could indeed find agency in the midst of oppressive forces.[12] In fact, Wright’s semi-autobiographical work recounts his personal search for identity and agency. He goes through various transitions throughout his lifetime. Early in the novel, he objects to the cultural barrenness[13] that exists in the black community: In shaking hands I was doing something that I was to do countless times in the years to come: acting in conformity with what others expected of me even though, by the very nature and form of my life, I did not and could not share their spirit.[14] Wright shows his indignation for this conformist culture—the idea that black people were lower than white people. He dedicates his life to finding a sense of belonging. Thus, he migrates to Chicago, searching for his identity. There, he develops and matures his perspective regarding humanity. He also encounters the Communist party, which he admires for their freedom of expression, however flawed: “But it seemed to me that here at last in the realm of revolutionary expression was where Negro experience could find a home, a functioning value and role.”[15] Here, Wright realized for the first time that black people could have agency in America. This agency came in the form of language, and thus embodies the one of the purposes of Wright’s Black Boy. Wright concludes, I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of the hunger for life that gnaws in us all, to keep alive in our hearts a sense of the inexpressibly human.[16] In the end, Wright’s character matures to realize that, regardless of his physical position, he should stand for what he believes. Wright’s work embodies the concept of achieving true migration. Not only is his physical position fully manifested, but he also gains agency, a sense of belonging, and self-identity. Wright will march and fight, hurl words, and keep his heart alive, for he recognizes his own voice—his own black identity. 6. The African American Identity Griffin pushes us to consider a larger scope—history—when reading African American literature. The failed migration, the half migration, and the true migration are all representative of components of the African American Great Migration and the problems that marred a moving population. Thomas Morgan, Associate Professor of African American Studies at the University of Dayton, considers the search for urban identity as the main crux of African American narratives. Morgan writes, The specific construction of an urban identity for African Americans at the turn of the century is an important development in the narrative history of African American literature.[17] The search for urban identity, otherwise defined by the identity of African Americans after migration, characterizes these narratives. Morgan asserts his claim, viewing the whole of the Great Migration as an establishment of identity in the Northern regions of the United States. Thus, Dunbar, Attaway, and Wright, are emblematic of historical truths, reflecting critical aspects of the African American migration. Dunbar, through his experimentation, satirically comments on the helplessness of the people in their struggles to find a better life. Attaway provides a reflection of qualities lost during migration—joy, culture, strength. These novels highlight the consequences of physically migrating without internal migration. Wright, however, gives hope that African Americans can find and produce their own agency in the face of adversity—that they can achieve true migration. These three novels, and the individual migration struggles they present, together encompass African Americans’ need during the Great Migration to gain agency, identity, and a sense of belonging, as well as the consequences of failing to adequately meet this need. 7. Conclusion The variety of African American narratives, however, serve a deeper purpose. Morrison identifies the function of such African American narratives as The Sport of the Gods, Blood on the Forge, and Black Boy. Indeed, art is not for art’s sake alone; these narratives seek to highlight the inequities present in the Great Migration and encourage political response. The failure and success of internal migration in these migration narratives represent different expressions of the African American people during that time period; it requires the readers to react—to respond. Dunbar is sarcastic. Attaway is straightforward. Wright is reflective. In whichever literary style or format, the many of the conclusion are the same: the African American people need and desire a home—only then can they find identity and agency, and only then can they experience true migration. [1] Griffin, F.J. Who Set You Flowin’?. Page 46 [2] Toni Morrison. [3] Rodgers, L.R. Canaan Bound. Page 4 [4] Martin, Primeau, and Jarrett. The Collected Novels of Paul Laurence Dunbar. Page 308 [5] Dunbar, P.L. The Sport of the Gods. Page 3 [6] Ibid. Page 118 [7] Ibid. [8] Attaway, W. Blood on the Forge. Page 4 [9] Ibid. Page 234 [10] Ibid. Page 12 [11] Ibid. Page 84 [12] Griffin, F.J. Who Set You Flowin’?. Page 32 [13] This barrenness is in direct reference to his other work 12 Million Black Voices. Wright is referring to the loss of culture and the concession and conformation of the black community to white expectations. He argues here that African Americans have lost their agency and have only two options: fight or flight. [14] Wright, Richard. Black Boy. Page 37 [15] Ibid. Page 318. [16] Ibid. Page 384 [17] Morgan, Thomas. The City as Refuge: Constructing Urban Blackness in Paul Laurence Dunbar's The Sport of the Gods and James Weldon Johnson's The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man. Page 215 |
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September 2014
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