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truepennyKaplan, Louise J. The Family Romance of the Impostor-Poet Thomas Chatterton. New York: Atheneum, 1988.
But, Mole, you say--and rightly so--the only thing you hate more than biographical criticism is Freudian biographical criticism. What are you doing reading this book?
Well, you see, it was on the five-dollar table . . .
Okay, so I disagree with Kaplan's psychoconceptual model--and that on several levels, because (1) I can't read--much less say--with a straight face passages like, "By proving that something which is not real is real, the imposter allays his mutilation anxiety. That peculiar logic derives from an image of something he has seen and found so frightening that he must prove it isn't real. The terrifying image that must be denied and reversed is that of the woman's penisless genitals, a sight that arouses anxiety in most little boys, but absolute terror in fatherless boys who have no masculine ally around to defend them from the all-powerful, swallowing-up mother" (217). And (2) even if I could, I am deeply deeply dubious about applying straight-up Freudianism to the psychosexuality of any subject born before about 1850. Freud's theory is based on a very particular definition of sex and the difference--and relationship--between the sexes. (Also a very particular definition of childhood, and of the gendered basis of parenting, and so on and so forth.) I don't think it applies very well to people who weren't brought up with those definitions.
(There are things Freud articulates that I do think are useful--the nature of the unheimlich is one--but almost none of them has anything to do with sex. My personal opinion about Freud's theories of sexuality is that we've spent a century being brainwashed by one man's rationalization of his own sexual hang-ups. But I digress.)
The fact that I don't agree with her theory doesn't mean I can't find interest and value in her book, and in fact much of Kaplan's book, the parts that are either straightforward biographical investigation or engagement with Chatterton's other biographers, are fascinating. And my principal objection to biographical criticism doesn't so much apply to Chatterton. The nature of his enterprise (amateurish forging of fifteenth century poetry--which nevertheless managed to fool a great many men who should have known better), and the fact that he was only 17 when he committed suicide, means that the connections between his life and his writing are transparent. I'm even convinced that in Chatterton's case, the obsession with the absent father explains a good deal.
What interested me most was the relationship between Chatterton and his biographers--the gaps and discrepancies and outright fabrications in the stories they tell about him vs. the (really sufficiently odd all on their own) things we know about his life and psyche from his own writing. To me that's the most fascinating thing about biography: the attempt or the refusal to make a narrative, and what agendas those narratives may serve.
But, Mole, you say--and rightly so--the only thing you hate more than biographical criticism is Freudian biographical criticism. What are you doing reading this book?
Well, you see, it was on the five-dollar table . . .
Okay, so I disagree with Kaplan's psychoconceptual model--and that on several levels, because (1) I can't read--much less say--with a straight face passages like, "By proving that something which is not real is real, the imposter allays his mutilation anxiety. That peculiar logic derives from an image of something he has seen and found so frightening that he must prove it isn't real. The terrifying image that must be denied and reversed is that of the woman's penisless genitals, a sight that arouses anxiety in most little boys, but absolute terror in fatherless boys who have no masculine ally around to defend them from the all-powerful, swallowing-up mother" (217). And (2) even if I could, I am deeply deeply dubious about applying straight-up Freudianism to the psychosexuality of any subject born before about 1850. Freud's theory is based on a very particular definition of sex and the difference--and relationship--between the sexes. (Also a very particular definition of childhood, and of the gendered basis of parenting, and so on and so forth.) I don't think it applies very well to people who weren't brought up with those definitions.
(There are things Freud articulates that I do think are useful--the nature of the unheimlich is one--but almost none of them has anything to do with sex. My personal opinion about Freud's theories of sexuality is that we've spent a century being brainwashed by one man's rationalization of his own sexual hang-ups. But I digress.)
The fact that I don't agree with her theory doesn't mean I can't find interest and value in her book, and in fact much of Kaplan's book, the parts that are either straightforward biographical investigation or engagement with Chatterton's other biographers, are fascinating. And my principal objection to biographical criticism doesn't so much apply to Chatterton. The nature of his enterprise (amateurish forging of fifteenth century poetry--which nevertheless managed to fool a great many men who should have known better), and the fact that he was only 17 when he committed suicide, means that the connections between his life and his writing are transparent. I'm even convinced that in Chatterton's case, the obsession with the absent father explains a good deal.
What interested me most was the relationship between Chatterton and his biographers--the gaps and discrepancies and outright fabrications in the stories they tell about him vs. the (really sufficiently odd all on their own) things we know about his life and psyche from his own writing. To me that's the most fascinating thing about biography: the attempt or the refusal to make a narrative, and what agendas those narratives may serve.
