At the Crossroads of Science, Advocacy, and Literature: the Origins of
Practical Zoocriticism
The analytical framework I have developed during the course of this
research which I call ‘practical zoocriticism,’ blends Glen A. Love’s scientific
‘practical ecocriticism’ with Graham Huggan and Helen Tiffin’s literary
‘zoocriticism’ to interpret what Marian Copeland terms, ‘zoocentric’ texts.
Although I have already provided an overview of some current issues facing
animal studies, and literary animal studies, in this section I will offer a more
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detailed case for the creation of such a framework, after which, I will outline my
methods and their suitability for re-contextualizing and re-evaluating the wild
animal story.
Despite the characteristic interdisciplinarity of animal studies, I have
observed that interactions between literary and scientific researchers have been
negligible. Even the emerging work studying the relationship between literature
and science has paid little attention to the literary animal. With such an obvious
point of contact, it seems surprising that there has not been more engagement
between animal sciences, animal studies, literary animal studies, and literature
and science studies. I suggest that that this deficiency exposes some of the
disciplinary biases, anxieties, and prejudices that have remained at work,
despite our common ground.
Without devoting too much space to unpicking these issues, I believe
that the marginalization of literature about animals is an obvious starting point.
In “Nonhuman Animals,” an essay for
Society & Animals
(1998), Marion
Copeland notes that, due to the literary studies’ “inherited humanistic tradition,”
the only “major works are those focused on human protagonists in human-
centred drama/plots,” whereas literature about animals is routinely “ignored,
seen as minor or skewed so that the nonhuman animal subject is interpreted as
metaphor or symbol meant to illuminate something human” (87). This
marginalization is further compounded by the stigmatization of concern for
animals, which John Simons recognizes as constructed in terms of
anthropomorphism and sentimentality as a sign of “childishness or effeminacy”
(37). We can perhaps assume that those who perpetuate this stigma imagine
that all literary animals are anthropomorphic
—essentially humans in silly animal
costumes
—and are unaware that any serious, committed attempts to represent
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animal experience exist at all. These assumptions and prejudices are informed
by the reciprocal interactions between anthropocentrism and
anthropomorphism. As Glen Love puts it in
Practical Ecocriticism (
2003), literary
studies has, thus far, been conducted so as to “serve as a textbook example of
anthropocentrism: divorced from nature and in denial of the biological
underpinnings of our humanity and our tenuous connection
to the planet” (23).
Like Copeland, he explains how this human-centred thinking extends to the
literary canon:
It is one of the great mistaken ideas of anthropocentric thinking (and thus
one of the cosmic ironies) that society is complex while nature is simple.
[…] That literature in which nature plays a significant role is, by definition,
irrelevant and inconsequential. That nature is dull and uninteresting,
while society is sophisticated and interesting. (23)
Thus, the self-perpetuating problem becomes clear; by marginalizing all texts
that prioritize the nonhuman, or by distorting them until they
seem
to be about
humans, literary studies creates and maintains the belief that all animal
literature is only ever anthropocentric and anthropomorphic. In other words, it
erases the possibility of zoocentric animal literature, our point of cross-
disciplinary contact.
I also suggest, however, that
—rather curiously—present trends in literary
animal studies may be perpetuating its own isolation. According to my own
observations, the field currently operates through a broadly animal-sceptical
perspective. As stated above, this stance is sceptical of culture’s ability to
construct and classify the animal in a way that makes it meaningful to humans
(Baker 9). Hence, m
y previous assertion that it is likely to prioritize the ‘failure of
knowing’ and ‘acceptance of not-knowing’ models of animal representation. In
such an analysis, the radical alterity of the nonhuman is used to interrogate,
challenge, or re-evaluate dominant forms of knowledge. This becomes
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problematic, however, when attempting cross-disciplinary engagement. From
the animal-sceptical perspective, scientific knowledge of animal life tends to be
associated with anthropocentrism, speciesism, and human arrogance. I
perceive two particular dangers in this strategy: fetishization and immobilization.
Despite literary animal studies’ collective declaration to take animals in literature
seriously
—to see each as an
animal
, not as symbol or allegory
—it is possible to
become too focused on the animal’s subversive, anti-anthropocentric presence
to the point that all connection to the fleshy realities of living animals is
forgotten. The animal becomes a fetishized symbol of alterity, and inadvertently
abstracted into a prop for human meaning once again, or as Steve Best put it,
“buried in dense theoretical webs” (Best). For those animal-sceptics engaging
with ‘animality studies’ this is perhaps not an issue. But literary scholars who
offer contributions to advocacy-oriented work in animal studies can become
immobilized by the animal’s ability to demonstrate the fallibility and insufficiency
of human knowledge. Furthermore, as Love observes, such thinking can lead to
a kind of anthropocentric, human solipsism
—a “subjectivism [which] intimates
no reality, no nature, beyond what we construct within our own minds” (25).
Thus, in becoming lost in this type of deconstruction, we can distance ourselves
from the engaged, innovative work of the broader, multidisciplinary animal
studies project.
In a review for the journal
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