Consecuencias literarias del 11-S: la representación de la violencia en la novela angloamericana

In my eight years as a professional journalist, I have been a front line observer of the extreme level of violence which occurs everyday in our society. As victims, consumers or perpetrators of violence, this phenomenon is now a part of our existence. As a reporter for the Spanish national newspaper El País I have been witness to the most terrible acts of violence. In Venezuela, with one of the highest rates of criminality in the world, I saw piles of bodies stacked up in mortuaries. In Argentina, I reported on the most brutal crimes including the rape of children by policemen. I believe that my interest in the manifestations and causes of violence was aroused during my time as a journalist. On a personal level, I was deeply affected by the twin poles of attraction/repulsion which the violent images produced in me. The first time I visited New York in 2003, I talked to various people who were selling photos of the victims of the Twin Tower attacks. They had laid out their wares along the wire fence that separated Ground Zero from the main public areas. One particular photograph made an indelible impression on my mind: a ghost like corpse covered in white dust which was streaked with blood. It is an image I will never forget. If I remember well, a complete album of these gruesome images cost about ten dollars. At the same time, I also became interested in islamic terrorism: its complexity and the great impact it has made on Western society. One only has to look at the front page of the press around the world to read about war, terrorism or the constant violation of human rights. The words Al-Qaeda, Daesh, Boko Haram and Islamic State have sadly become parts of our everyday language. The nihilistic philosophy which promisess eternal life in exchange for self-inmolation is a new, highly worrying reality, especially painful when it involves young people who become indoctrinated through the social media. They have become the most loyal supporters of a fanatical and uncompromising version of Islam. The stark reality is that these young recruits to Jihad (holy war) were born in places like London, Paris, Rome or Madrid...

The Ultimate Secrecy: Feminist Readings of Masculine Trauma in Vietnam War Literature

It is a widely acknowledged and often unquestioned fact that patriarchy and its modes of behaviour and social organization favour the appearance of trauma on the weakest (and defenceless) members of society: women. In the last decades, trauma seems to have taken the baton of typically female maladies such as 19th c. hysteria or 20th c. madness. Feminists in the 20th c. have long worked to prove the connection between the latter affections (and their reflection in literary texts) and patriarchal oppression or expectations of feminine behaviour and accordance to roles and rules. With Trauma Studies on the rise, the approach to the idea of the untold as related to femininity is manifold: on the one hand, is not trauma, which precludes telling about one’s own experience and keeps it locked not only from the others, but also from ourselves, the ultimate secrecy? On the other hand, when analyzing works that reflect trauma, one is astounded by the high number of them with a female protagonist and an almost all-female cast: in this sense, a ‘feminist’ reading is almost compulsory, in the sense that it is usually the author’s assumption that patriarchal systems of exploitation and expectations favour traumatic events and their outcome (silence and secrets) on the powerless, usually women. Often, traumatic texts combine feminism with other analytical discourses (one of the topics proposed for this panel): Toni Morrison’s study of traumatic responses in The Bluest Eye and Beloved cannot be untangled from her critique of slavery; just as much of Chicana feminism and its representations of rape and abuse (two main agents of trauma) analyze the nexus of patriarchy, new forms of post-colonialism, and the dynamics of power and powerlessness in ethnic contexts. Within this tradition that establishes the secrecies of trauma as an almost exclusively feminine characteristic, one is however faced with texts which have traumatized males as protagonists: curiously enough, most of these characters have suffered trauma through a typically masculine experience: that of war and its aftermath. By analyzing novels dealing with war veterans from Vietnam or the Second World War, the astounding findings are the frequent mixture of masculine or even ‘macho’ values and the denial of any kind of ‘feminine’ characteristics, combined with a very strict set of rules of power and hierarchy that clearly establish who is empowered and who is powerless. It is our argument that this replication of patriarchal modes of domination, which place the lowest ranks of the army in a ‘feminine’ situation, blended with the compulsory ‘macho’ stance soldiers are forced to adopt as army men (as seen, for example, in Philip Caputo’s Indian Country, Larry Heinemann’s Paco’s Story or Ed Dodge’s DAU: A Novel of Vietnam) furthers the onset and seriousness of ulterior trauma. In this sense, we can also analyze this kind of writing from a ‘feminist’ point of view, since the dynamics of über-patriarchal power established at the front at war-time deny any display of elements traditionally viewed as ‘feminine’ (such as grief, guilt or emotions) in soldiers. If trauma is the result of a game of patriarchal empowerment, how can feminist works, not only theoretical, but also fictional, overthrow it? Are ‘feminine’ characteristics necessary to escape trauma, even in male victims? How can feminist readings of trauma enhance our understanding of its dynamics and help produce new modes of interaction that transcend power and gender division as the basis for the organization of society?