Link to essay on Miguel Street

 

Link to Barthes' Codes

 

 

Code analysis of V.S. Naipaul’s “The Thing Without a Name” [Miguel Street].

 

 “The Thing Without a Name” (1957), a coming-of-age short story with a Caribbean location, by the well-known Trinidadian writer V.S. Naipaul, is a noteworthy example of the workings of Barthesian codes, which is not only limited to specific genres, but transcends space and time.  Barthes has identified five codes which are in a sense based on individual taste (and interpretation) in the reading of any works of fiction.  However, what is apparent is that these codes do appear in varying degrees in almost all works of fiction; it is the combination and juxtaposition of codes[1] which provides the reader full-enjoyment and pleasure[2]; as they would have featured in the crafting of the tale’s very “show not tell” method used by the author.[3] 

Naipaul’s tale, written from the point of view of an adult looking back at an earlier time in his life where things just seem to happen, appears deceptively simple as there is little “direct on screen” plot-driven physical action (proairetic code).  Indeed, this narrative hinges on a series of character-driven sequence of events bringing into force multiple aspects of the hermeneutic code (puzzles) as it relates to the value-system (cultural code) which aptly explores character behavior and motivation in the native post-colonial Caribbean setting.  The connotative code (semic) functions in this tale, par excellence, in that it captivates the adult reader as it brings expression, scenery and location in very visual descriptive language, necessary for the creation of an evolving atmosphere in any good tale, with live natural and spontaneous dialogue, in the exploration of themes and motifs.  In addition, the symbolic code (oppositions) works very well in this narrative where a central creative hands-on character becomes frustrated with his inability to self-identify with his imagined works of creation, yet by exploring alternatives, manages to find purpose and meaning in the end.  All in all these elements of Barthesian codes complement and enhance the mood, style and tone of this tale, and works wonderfully well together in creating a coherent, unified and yet instructive narrative.

At the start of the reading process one’s initial focus is on the detection of the story line as it unravels[4], which Barthes identifies as the proairetic code (action), considered by most to be the backbone of any good story, and one which is important in the creation of suspense: what is going to happen next[5].  However, in this tale little happens in the immediacy (there is no moving of mountains) so to speak, but actions lead to character development: an inquisitive street-savvy youngster meets a woodworker (creative artist) who whittles in wood (medium of creativity) all day but makes nothing (stifled/unidentified creativity); his wife leaves (abandonment) him for a gardener (a cultivator); the woodworker is admired by everybody (sympathy); he goes out and beats her lover (revenge); he is arrested tried and pays a fine (punishment); again he is admired by everybody and doubly so (respect); returns, and under the cloak of darkness (fear of discovery) remodels stolen furniture (renewed attempt at creativity); he is jailed again (more punishment); he finally returns, reunites with his wife (acceptance and respect); and begins to make practical and useful things with names (newly-found creativity).  Yet, the passage from making “the thing with no name” (174) to “making morris chairs and tables and wardrobes” (178) is not without movement, development and peril. 

Also, and at the secondary level, the proairetic code intertwines the actions of the secondary characters with and within the main story line.  The boy-narrator in the story is captivated with the creative woodworker as he toils, and makes a request to fashion an object in wood, the name and function he is not sure of, but is told instead “You thinking about making the thing without a name” (174).  Against tradition then, the youngster makes an egg-stand, presents it to his mother, and watches as the thing after being used for a week or so, is completely ignored.  Making “nothing” then has value as opposed to making “something” which would never be used “no value.”  In full agreement then the boy-narrator erects a sign announcing the availability of the woodworker to make things (not named), thus giving legitimacy to the creative efforts of the woodworker, knowing fully well that nothing would ever be made.  Symbolically then, and directly connected in plot-movement is the woodworker’s inability to relate to his wife who seems to admire the creative gardener employed by her employer, whom she runs off with.  At this point the woodcutter is greatly admired by everyone for all the wrong reasons, but true to the sequence of events (he makes nothing) and does nothing, and someone (his wife) who does something to affect this “nothing state” is seen as “anti-nothing.”  On some strange impulse, the woodworker finds the gardener and what appears to be true to his “nothing” philosophy, beats him; had be been the maker of something, he might have tried to woo his wife back, which would lead him back to the “anti-nothing” stage. The woodworker is immortalized in calypso for his act of revenge.  At this point the young narrator is proud to be associated with such a popular man and tells his school friends of the association. However, the woodworker begins to secretly remodel stolen furniture upon his return, and by this act in his own internal mind “is one step closer towards making something with a name”; in his own misguided way he repaints his house and stocks it with stolen furniture.  Again he is jailed for the theft and alteration, but upon his release, brings his wife back, and begins making real furniture.  Elements of repetition appear: creates nothing, wife leaves, gets jailed, and release again.  However, although the plot initially centers on the loss of purpose and accomplishment which might be the typical scenery of any rural post-colonial developing country, it quickly moves through a series of trial-and-error towards the fruitfulness of fashioning one’s creativity towards sound accomplishments.  

However, this story is purposefully character-driven, and the sole driving force hinges on what is known as the hermeneutic code (puzzles) and in this tale it deals with motivation, lack of motivation, and self-fulfillment against seemingly impossible odds; why things happen or don’t happen, or happen in a particular way, is the crux of this tale, and it is through the young narrator’s point of view that we follow these series of events.  As pointed out previously in the plot-driven sequences, this tale is one of self-discovery.  The young narrator identifies with the central character – the woodworker – and is reassured by actual example (industriousness) that it is best to make nothing, yet one must be engaged in the act of making the nothing.  This leads to admiration by the narrator for the woodworker for having accomplished nothing; juxtaposed is the ability of the young narrator to see the actualities of the woodworker’s foolishness (the narrator’s egg holder is rejected by his mother), which is compounded by the friendship of the other men offered to the woodworker; in a sense, the woodworker would not have had friends had he been successful. The young narrator moves in and out of the scene, effortlessly provides important reported information at crucial moments, and develops a scene-within-a-scene when he introduces off-scene information: “It came out in the papers” (176), “At school I used to say” (176) “It was a fantastic story” (177): in order to move the narrative forward.  Both the proairetic code and hermeneutic code are at times inseparable in this narrative.

Closely interleaved is the cultural code (referential) which aptly explores the value-system of the characters in the local post-colonial Caribbean setting.  Accomplishing nothing yet seeming to work hard in order to accomplish this nothing, is portrayed as the only requirement for success, to which the young narrator initially adheres[6] to but later relinquishes.  Various other characters (the men in the district) in the story support this action, they themselves not having accomplished anything or wanting to accomplish anything, for they admire the woodworker for his failures; despondency is a far worse option that creating nothing, it seems.  Then, there is the absence of sincere and ambitious role models.  The young narrator is given a second set of values when poor (ill) accomplishments get one noticed in the media (newspapers and street calypsos and popularity among school children).  When the woodworker is caught and jailed, one of the characters remarks, “Why he had to sell what he thief?” (177) - meaning that stealing for one’s own purpose is acceptable, yet for resale it is unacceptable as it would lead to discovery.  In the end the woodworker returns to his wife and her industriousness, and begins to make worthwhile things to sell.  This devastates the young narrator, but the lesson is well learnt, for, at the end of the tale, as he questions the woodworker about again going back to making the thing with no name, he is told, “You too troublesome,” he said.  “Go away, quick, before I lay my hand on you.” (178)

The connotative code (semic) functions in this tale on the narrative telling of the tale and its use of conversational dialect as it captivates the adult reader and explores the inner workings of the minds of the everyday characters, and is a direct complement to the cultural code.  The narrative employs the spontaneous free-style “know-all” narrator through whose eyes we see the development of the story, which is true to the “show not tell” technique.  One quickly gets a good sense of the location of place and time in the narrative.  However, it is the telling in Standard English interleaved with local dialect that makes this tale come-alive for the reader.  The tale reads almost as a fable, of a lesson learnt, through a series of misguided actions and beliefs, and an ultimate resolution.  One gets the impression that the adult looking back towards the telling of the tale gets an education in being successful.[7]  The title “The Thing Without a Name” is symbolic; it identifies with unrecognized creativity, where fortunately real creativity surfaces in the end.  The image of industriousness is vivid (“I like the way the sawdust powdered Popo’s kinky hair” 174) and equally visible is the image of reflection (“He took the little red stump of a pencil he had stuck over his ears and puzzled over the words” 175);  A number of characters portray this theme, yet only two, it seems, surface in the end; the boy narrator feels the hurt, the woodworker feels the punishment; the boy narrator in the end would have walked off realizing that creativity has found a home.

The symbolic code (oppositions) works very well in this narrative where a central creative hands-on character becomes frustrated with his inability to self-identify with his imagined works of creation, to differentiate the real from the unreal[8], yet manages to find purpose in the end.  The code of opposites shows alternatives not apparent to the narrator: the busy woodworker makes nothing, his gainfully employed wife works hard at being a domestic (“’women and them like work.  Man not make for work.’” 175); the busy woodworker makes nothing, his rival the gardener is a successful creator (“He was a good-looking brown man and he loved his flowers.” 175); good deeds go unannounced; while transgressions are touted (“They made a calypso about Popo that was the rage that year.” 176). On another level, a man is respected for having misfortunes, but when he recovers and takes matters successfully under his control, he is deemed not one of the crowd.  

This is an excellent instructional fable which is developed under the guise of a lively and spontaneous “coming-of-age” narrative.  The concept itself and intricate development, is a well-crafted work of art employing the full troupe of Barthesian codes, where these elements of code are not glaring, or stand out, but work in and within the framework of text and language -- which leads to a very enjoyable and pleasurable  read.

      


Works Cited

 

Abbott, H. Porter. The Cambridge Introduction To Narrative. New York: Cambridge University

     Press, 2002.

Cornis-Pope, Marcel.  Hermeneutic Desire and Critical Rewriting.  New York: St. Martin’s

     Press, 1992.

Elliott, Katie. “Class Handout, ENGL630.” February 27, 2007.

Greene, Justin. “Class Handout, ENGL630.” February 27, 2007.

Hamner, Robert D.  V.S. Naipaul.  New York: Twayne Publishers, 2003.

Kelly, Richard.  V.S. Naipaul.  New York: Continuum, 1989

King, Bruce.  V.S. Naipaul.  New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993.

Mustafa, Fawzia.  V.S. Naipaul.  New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995.

Naipaul, V.S. "The Thing Without a Name." Reading Narrative Fiction. Ed.. Seymour

      Chatman. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1993.

Richter, David H. Narrative/Theory.  New York: Longman Publishers, 1996.

Toolan, Michael.  Narrative a critical linguistic introduction.  London: Routledge, 2001.

White, Landeg.  V.S. Naipaul.  New York: The Macmillan Press, 1975.

 

 

 



[1] “The transition between writer and reader that ‘literature’ involves can thus be said to be the opposite of innocence.  In fact, it emerges as a complex social, political, even economic affair….The codes act as agencies – whether we are conscious of them or not – which modify, determine, and most importantly, generate meaning in a manner far from innocence” .Hawkes (110), as quoted by Katie Elliott, p. 1.

[2] “…the reader’s jouissance will come from a contradictory engagement with the plural possibilities of reading and writing.  Barthes’s ‘writerely’ reader is ‘split twice over,’ divided between the ‘Oedipal pleasure…to denude, to know, to learn the origin and the end’; and a more perverse desire to dissolve in the ‘verbal intensities’ and figural web of a new textual production” Cornis-Pope, pp. 33-34.

[3] “Naipaul in various interviews…after he had left Oxford…regards Miguel Street as his first serious work, the book in which he discovered ‘the trick of writing’” White, 46.

[4] “Order: the arrangement of events expressed as a relationship between story and text, the chronology of the story as opposed to the way the discourse arranges this chronology and presents it to us” Justin R. Greene, class handout.

   “Narrative itself, simply by the way it distributes events in an orderly, consecutive fashion, very often gives the impression of a sequence of cause and effect” Abbott, p. 37.

[5] “The plot begins from an initially stable situation, then becomes unstable, undergoes further complications, and is finally resolved with the introduction of a new stability” Richter, p. 95.

[6]the Trinidadian camaraderie of the street is seen as hollow, something the boy outgrows as he learns it is a world of failure, of talk, rather than achievement” King, p. 25.

   …there comes a time when a sensitive, imaginative and intellectual young man must break away from his tight little island, its colorful dialect and cultural limitations or else remain forever a child” Kelley, 25-26.

[7] …the underlying structure might be Naipaul’s most consistent yet.  He again resorts to an ingenious speaker to shape the reader’s response.  In Miguel Street…he goes one step farther and provides a second character to serve as a foil to the naiveté of the primary commentator.  The result is a more evenly balanced perspective, and it effectively conceals the author’s controlling hand” Hamner, p. 46.

[8] By contextualizing the writing of Miguel Street through the same ploy of pitting what information was ‘real’ against what was not, Naipaul reifies the license of fiction’s artifice to dehistoricize its subjects” Mustafa, p.38.