The Cloth of Form
Olakunle George
(continued)
A related issue that Ato raises might be called the force of historical particularity (as against spurious universalisms) in literature and criticism. From, say, Kant in the 18th century, to Adorno in the mid-20th century, to Jameson in our time, the passion has been to figure out what artistic objects have to do with society. Ato will agree that the theories that emerged from these related-but-distinct passions are not free of the historical conditions that occasioned and (thereby) circumscribed them. For this reason, these literary theories are not free-floating, supra-historical tools that we in African or postcolonial studies may simply “apply” without some systematic dialectical engagement – a kind of ground-clearing. Ato gets at this point when he talks about how he was able to learn from and, in a sense, re-constellate Edward Said for his own purposes, and he presents it as part of a personal narrative. To my mind, the issue has important epistemic implications, which is to say that it invites, and might repay, sustained exploration. In working with extant theories to formulate creative ways of thinking about African literatures, it is always helpful to thematize whatever pretensions to universal relevance every theory risks bringing as baggage. For a moment, let us imagine an eccentric fellow, who finds it worthwhile to turn every new shirt inside out, as a reasonable pre-condition for wearing it. This procedure allows our eccentric to exhibit the seams – the measure and limits, so to speak – that hold every piece of clothing together. At the least, the eccentric’s perverse attitude to new clothes makes visible an insight that tends not to be kept in view by cloth-wearing society. The insight – basic, yet refreshing – is that every piece of clothing is kept in place by an underlay of sutures. As Ato makes clear, African studies will profit from more, not less, theory. But we also need to put pressure on questions of historical specificity, precisely to push back against transcendental abstractions. It is useful to think further about how we can continue to enrich African, postcolonial, or diasporic studies by guarding against transcendental abstractions on two fronts: conceptually, through theoretical engagement, and practically, through close attention to language in its many forms.
The foregoing is also pertinent to the issue of interdisciplinarity. Ato rightly notes that the impulse behind interdisciplinary work at the present time is the need to avoid traditional privileging of high culture and the “aesthetic” as a category of thought and practice. In principle, interdisciplinary work allows us to overcome the blind spots and weaknesses of traditional disciplinary protocols. We are therefore able to attend to aspects of everyday life (popular culture, urban landscapes, etc.) for what these may tell us about peoples’ creativity in the midst of global transformations and realignments. However, my sense is that this commitment does not have to be posed as an either-or proposition: either “literary studies” or “interdisciplinary studies,” either “Africa” or “Diaspora.” As we know, binary oppositions have a tendency to simplify both sides in order to idealize one and denigrate the other. I am intrigued by my intuition that the literary-critical and the interdisciplinary are not moments that neatly supersede each other in a hackneyed, linear, development. This is a claim I cannot flesh out here, but it seems a useful one to consider. As various groups and communities struggle to live their lives in comfort and dignity, they remind us of the claims that literary texts make, implicitly or otherwise, as acts of language placed at the disposal of the reading world.
I said a while ago that African literary criticism needs more, not less, theory. I now want to add that the best of the literature and the criticism have been theoretical all along. This is, in part, because writers and critics have always been anxious – and therefore self-conscious – about the paradoxes of their object of knowledge. It is altogether an inspiring event, then, that Pius and Ato have in this forum exemplified the productive passion and self-consciousness that was foundational to the adventure of mind we call African letters. I thank them for inviting me to contribute.