the journal of
Applied Animal Behaviour
Science
entitled “Animal Pleasure and its Moral Significance,” Jonathan
Balcombe argues for the serious ethological study of pleasure, as it is currently
“under-represented” (209). Pleasure is “beneficial,” a “product of evolution”
which rewards the “individual for performing behaviours that promote survival
and procreation” (209-10). More importantly, perhaps, pleasure also indicates
that a life has “intrinsic value,” that it is “worth living” (214). The ethical
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implications of pleasure are profound and thus, I suggest, its representation in
zoocentric fiction is crucial. The wild animal stories, and realistic and
speculative texts that constitute the focus of this thesis all include various
depictions of nonhuman pleasure. A clear omission, however, is representations
of sex as a pleasurable act. Indeed, it is difficult to find any depictions of non-
reproductive sex in
any
zoocentric literature. Balcombe explains:
Many animals routinely copulate or engage in other sexual activities
outside of the breeding season, including during pregnancy,
menstruation (in mammals), and egg incubation. Such non-procreative
activity may even constitute a large proportion of the animals’ sexual
behaviour [...] Variations on non-copulatory mounting, include: mounts
without erection, mounts with erection (but with no penetration), reverse
mounting in which a female mounts a male, mounting from the side or in
positions from which penetration is impossible […] Animals also engage
in various forms of oral sex, stimulation of partner’s genitals using the
hands, paws, or flippers, and various forms of anal stimulation. (212)
Crucially, he also makes it clear
that most biologists “recognize same-sex
sexual interactions as being part of the normal, routine behavioural repertoire of
the animals
who engage in it” (212). So I propose that if zoocentric literature is
committed t
o producing the imaginative acts that come “closest to the animal
experience itself” (Simons 7), its authors must be willing to follow the animal’s
lead. If, as Marion Copeland asserted, they are to “interpret the stories of other
living beings for human r
eaders” (277), they must be willing to shrug off
anthropocentric sensibilities in order to ponder the difficult questions of
scientists:
“What, then, might be said of the role of pleasure in animals’ sex
lives
” (Balcombe 212)?
In closing, it is worth noting that the current structure of practical
zoocriticism does not leave much room for the inclusion of other contexts. For
instance, most of the twentieth-century realistic and speculative texts
acknowledged (to differing extents) the relationship between North American
colonization and species loss. The historical perspective of
Last of the Curlews
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make this abundantly clear, whereas others, like
Return to the River
or
White as
the Waves
, juxtaposed small-scale, Aboriginal subsistence techniques with
large-scale, commercial hunting and fishing. The investigation of such
(post)colonial contexts would be of benefit to the practical zoocriticism
framework, particularly when discussing Canadian literature. Yet this comes
with the danger of inadvertently prioritizing human concerns. For instance, it is
not the work of practical zoocriticism to produce allegorical interpretations of the
kind in Brian Johnson’s chapter for
Other Selves
.
In “Ecology, Allegory, and
Indigeneity in the Wolf Stories of Roberts, S
eton, and Mowat,” Johnson asserts
that “when read in their national-postcolonial context, the representation of
animal victims in these stories may in some cases evoke the indigenizing
proleptic allegories of ‘doomed races’” (339). To reintroduce such
anthropocentric readings might undermine the purpose of practical zoocriticism,
but perhaps there is no need to do so. The prominence of such analysis makes
it less imperative for practical zoocriticism to contribute. Given the scarcity of
scientifically informed analysis in literary animal studies, on the other hand, this
must be where our priorities lie.
There may be no greater proof of the erroneous judgements of Burroughs,
Roosevelt, and Polk than the wild animal story’s genuine potential for scientific
engagement. As more researchers and writers begin to understand the
possibilities of this reciprocal, cross-disciplinary communication, it will become
increasingly difficult to dismiss the genre as “outdated” and “scarcely
respectable” (51). Perhaps, over a century after their publication, Roberts’
words might finally begin to guide our way forward:
We have suddenly attained a new and clearer vision. We have come
face to face with personality, where we were blindly wont to predicate
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mere instinct and automatism. It is as if one should step carelessly out of
one’s back door, and marvel to see unrolling before his new-awakened
eyes the peaks and seas and misty valleys of an unknown world. Our
chief writers of animal stories at the present day may be regarded as
explorers of this unknown world, absorbed in charting its topography.
(
Kindred
24)
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