Brianna Smale and Laura Waldrep

Dr. Morillo

ENG 563: Team Literature Review

3 February 2010

Annotated Bibliography

Dias de Avila-Pires, Fernando. “Robinson Crusoe’s Illness: Literature and Medicine.” The

European Legacy 13.6 (2008): 715-724. Print.

In this article, Dias de Avila-Pires attempts to determine from what disease Crusoe suffers during his eighth month shipwrecked on the island. Originally, Dias de Avila-Pires compares Crusoe’s fictional disease with the real diseases Charles Darwin suffered in the Galapagos; however, Dias de Avila-Pires quickly abandons the comparison and leaves it unfinished. While it is an interesting premise for an exploration of Robinson Crusoe, Dias de Avila-Pires fails to bring true depth or support to his arguments. The bulk of the article is comprised of excerpts from the novel itself (including the entire description of Crusoe’s maladies in his journal), a summary of the novel’s plot, and medical descriptions of diseases that are never linked, implicitly or explicitly, to Crusoe’s symptoms – none of which are properly cited. Dias de Avila-Pires presents five possible sources of infection ranging from food poisoning to a sexually transmitted disease from an animal. Only the latter option is addressed in terms directly related to the novel with a brief quote from the novel followed by a much longer discussion of a recent news item regarding a relationship between a man and his goat. Dias de Avila-Pires’s very brief conclusion is the only portion of the article that begins to adequately address his proposed thesis of the connection between the literature and epidemiology. He concludes that the disease, like Crusoe, is entirely fictional and merely a plot device “imagined to justify Crusoe’s religious conversion” (724), a possibility that is not addressed until the concluding line of the article. This article could provide a jumping off point for a future scholar to make a more in-depth exploration of the causes or purposes of Crusoe’s illness on the island.

Jooma, Minaz. “Robinson Crusoe Inc(corporates): Domestic Economy, Incest and the Trope of

Cannibalism.” Literature, Interpretation, Theory 8 (1997): 61-81. Print.

Situating her argument within the context of previous explorations of cannibalism, incest, and anthropology by scholars such as Sanday and Douglas, Jooma clearly articulates her argument that Robinson Crusoe delineates issues of consumption and family throughout Crusoe’s entire narrative. Before she begins to explore the text, Jooma defines the ways in which she uses terms such as cannibalism/anthropophagy, power, and incest throughout her argument, allowing the reader to follow a dense, multi-layered argument with ease. Cannibalism, as described by Jooma, has less to do with the literal consumption of human beings and more to do with the figurative power struggles created by economic and familiar disparities. Jooma clearly defines all of the narrative’s issues of power within the framework of Crusoe’s troubled relationship with his father; she follows this thread throughout her argument and offers strong pieces of textual evidence to support each of her claims. Jooma’s attention to detail and ability to interweave her personal arguments with those of previous scholars lends itself to a strong article. The ideas of sexual consumption are thoughtfully explained for the reader in depth, breaking the narrative into scenes of various domestic economies. Jooma writes, for instance, that “Crusoe’s is a mastery that is first learned through the politics of consumption in the father’s house in his ostensibly civilized country” (77); this idea is made evident throughout the article. Jooma furthermore illustrates the sexual nature of various moments throughout the narrative, providing cultural and historical context to illuminate arguments of homoeroticism and sexuality in general. Again, according to Jooma, Crusoe’s troubled relationship with his father informs each layer of the narrative’s depiction of power, consumption, sexuality, and values. Each aspect of Jooma’s argument presents a thoughtful and interesting exploration of Defoe’s novel.

Loar, Christopher F. “How to Say Things with Guns: Military Technology and the Politics of

Robinson Crusoe.” Eighteenth Century Fiction 19.1-2 (2006): 1-20. Print.

Loar contends that Defoe uses Crusoe to explore the role of violence in politics, especially regarding British imperialism, ultimately concluding that “Friday may understand Robinson Crusoe’s gun better than Crusoe does” (1). By presenting the different perspectives through which Friday and Crusoe regard Crusoe’s weapons and his use of them, Loar explores the “veneer of freedom laid over a foundation of overpowering force” under which society, British society in particular, functions (5). Loar’s argument is clear, cohesive, and well-supported as he walks the reader through the various scenes of the novel in which Crusoe uses his guns. Loar describes Crusoe’s simultaneous acts of salvation and potential violence toward his captives as benevolent violence. The most representative scene of this benevolent violence is when Crusoe rescues Friday from being eaten by the other savages. Crusoe interprets Friday’s submission to him as gratitude, when it is closer to the truth to say that Friday submitted out of fear of Crusoe’s mysterious weapon. Crusoe acknowledges a level of awareness of this circumstance by deliberately preventing Friday from seeing him reload the weapon so as to maintain the mystery of his power. Crusoe also displays this benevolent violence when he shoots the leopard from the ship as he escapes from slavery with Xury. Loar presents this as an example of Crusoe wielding violence as an initiative of commerce, thus changing the rules of exchange between Crusoe and the “savage” West Africans on the shore. Exploring the tropes of domination and colonization through technology and benevolent violence, Loar presents a new and interesting reading of Robinson Crusoe.

Marshall, David. “Autobiographical Acts in ‘Robinson Crusoe.’” ELH 71.4 (2004): 899-920.

Print.

In his overly repetitive, and at times overly simplistic, article, David Marshall argues that Robinson Crusoe is “preoccupied with autobiography itself as Robinson Crusoe engages in repeated and at times almost compulsive acts of autobiography” (899). Though Marshall generally relies on few outside sources or scholarly works, his argument is most clearly impacted by texts concerning St. Augustine. Marshall compares Crusoe’s acts of autobiography to the conversion of (and subsequent autobiography of) St. Augustine, thereby arguing Crusoe’s acts of reflection are spiritual in nature and act as continuous rebirths throughout his time on the island. Though Marshall’s argument at times approaches clarity, especially as he explores the relationship forged between self and other using the parables of the parrot, the goat, and the footprint (907-912), the majority of the article lacks novelty and depth. The middle section of the article presents the more cogent claims about Crusoe as Marshall demonstrates that the repeated, compulsive autobiographical acts each serve a particular purpose within the narrative, all of which coalesce to the point in which “the island has become his autobiography. He has inscribed himself and projected himself into the landscape, encountered images of himself in the creatures he found there, left himself in the echoes of his name called out across the landscape” (916). When working directly with the text, Marshall exhibits the strengths of his argument; when he tries to move beyond the text, however, his arguments become weaker and more difficult to follow. Overall, the article would be useful only for people interested in tracing the repetitive nature of autobiographical artifacts.

McInelly, Brett C. “Expanding Empires, Expanding Selves: Colonialism, the Novel, and

Robinson Crusoe.” Studies in the Novel 35.1 (2003): 1-21. Print.

McInelly’s essay is, in essence, a conversation with the critics that came before him. McInelly alternately supports and refutes the arguments of his critical predecessors as he addresses how Robinson Crusoe is a novel shaped by colonialism, and how it is a model for the emerging genre of the novel. McInelly relies upon the criticism of Ian Watt and Michael McKeon to frame his own assessment of the role of Robinson Crusoe in the early eighteenth century. While McInelly’s argument is not particularly novel, a point he concedes in his introduction, he successfully synthesizes Robinson Crusoe criticism to provide solid support that the novel is one of colonization. McInelly supplements his assessment of the literary text of Crusoe with information regarding Defoe’s political opinions, mostly gathered from Defoe’s non-fiction texts and the work of other Defoe critics. McInelly places Robinson Crusoe in the key role of presenting a fictional account of the fundamentals of colonialism and the rise of capitalism, referencing how they are connected and why each is important. Stranding Crusoe on an uninhabited Caribbean island, according to McInelly, places Crusoe in an ideal position to demonstrate how colonizing occurs. McInelly also explores Defoe’s emphasis on the individual during such a transformation. McInelly’s argument is based on his theory that “the trajectory of Crusoe’s colonial experience, then, is clear: master yourself and you master your destiny; master your destiny and you master others; master these and you master the economic contingencies of life” (6). Based on this trajectory, the role of the individual is integral to successful colonization. From there, McInelly forms his less developed position regarding the influence of Robinson Crusoe on the developing set of attributes for the British novel.

Novak, Maximillian E. “The Cave and the Grotto: Realist Form and Robinson Crusoe’s

Imagined Interiors.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction 20.3 (2008): 445-468. Print.

Novak, author of at least three works devoted to the writing of Defoe, situates himself among the top scholars in the field of research concerning Robinson Crusoe. From the beginning of the article, Novak represents himself as a credible source; his explicitly defined knowledge of the genre appears throughout his writing, which manages to be both intelligent and clear. Novak argues that the grotto and cave in Crusoe represent both the imagination and context of Defoe’s writing and the sense of realism. Though other scholars have denied Crusoe’s classification as a realist text, Novak rejects those arguments by defining what he looks for in a realist text and then by matching those attributes to the novel. Furthermore, Novak provides a wealth of background information about Defoe’s possible sources of inspiration, particularly focusing on the representations of caves, grottoes, and saints in Christian and other literature/art. Novak’s article also explores the role of change conveyed through Crusoe’s interactions with the cave and grotto, and how the two places each create new meanings for Crusoe’s understanding of himself and of the island, concluding that “the grotto and cave were indeed places of transformation, where art and nature combined, where the contemporary and the prehistoric merged, where art might be seen emerging out of chaos” (467). Ultimately, Novak suggests that Defoe depicts the scenes with the cave and grotto in ways which lead to more than one interpretation, relying on the very essence of the readers’ personal experiences to guide their reactions to the text. Rather than falling back on arguments of explicit sexuality or womb symbolism, as other critics seem eager to do, Novak presents a well-organized, thoughtful argument that allows his readers to better understand a particular aspect of Defoe’s text.

Van Sant, Ann. “Crusoe’s Hands.” Eighteenth-Century Life 32.2 (2008): 120-137. Print.

Within her introduction, Van Sant presents a multi-pronged argument that the representation of manual labor within Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe demonstrates a shift against the “hierarchy of head to hand” (121) and that it also represents a georgic style of writing which denotes scientific changes and progress in the eighteenth century. Van Sant begins her article with a clearly stated, concise thesis; then, before she turns to the novel itself for evidence supporting her claim, she provides her readers with the political and economic implications of manual labor during the eighteenth century. Van Sant’s research focuses on the Royal Society as representative of scientific advances concerning hands versus head, and also on the evolution of georgic poetry. Less than half of Van Sant’s argument, however, actually rests on textual evidence, and that textual evidence only speaks to small parts of the novel. Though her arguments seem strong in theory, she fails to follow through with detailed explanations that would prove her argument. Van Sant attempts to take on too much with one short article; she would have done better to make one strong claim than to divide the issues of Robinson Crusoe into those of science, genre, and political realities. Of the entire article, the penultimate paragraph is perhaps the most useful; in it, Van Sant claims, “In situating Defoe in the novel’s history, we should, perhaps, not emphasize the ways in which his fictions are less sophisticated than the later novel, but instead consider asking what the novel as a genre lost in turning away from the georgic processes of survival toward a pastoralized model of relations” (132). If Van Sant were to take her own advice, I believe the result would be a strong argument about the importance of Defoe’s work.

Wheeler, Roxann. “’My Savage’, ‘My Man’: Racial Multiplicity in Robinson Crusoe.” English

Literary History 62.4 (1995): 821-861. Print.

Wheeler presents a cohesive argument that a reading of Robinson Crusoe based on the color binary of black and white is inadequate given the status of race relations both at the time of the novel’s setting and of its publication. Instead, she suggests that Crusoe should be read with a racial multiplicity in mind that is informed by differentiations of Christian and non-Christian, European and non-European, civilized and savage. Wheeler contends that skin color is a secondary consideration for Crusoe and his contemporaries. The first section of the essay addresses a flawed comparison made by Toni Morrison between the relationships between Clarence Thomas and the Bush administration and Crusoe and Friday. Wheeler presents Morrison’s analogy as an example of a general misreading of Friday as black/African instead of “tawny”/Amerindian/Carib. By addressing issues with Morrison’s arguments, Wheeler provides a tangible example of the dangers of applying a twentieth century view of race relations to a British text from the eighteenth century. Wheeler supports her contention by discussing the various relationships between Crusoe and his captors, Xury, West Africans, the “savages”, Friday, the Spaniards, and the mutinous British crew. Wheeler successfully argues that Robinson Crusoe relies on a social hierarchy based on religion, nationality, and levels of savagery rather than skin color. The evolving roles of slave and servant also influence the racial multiplicity, as demonstrated by the portion of the narrative in which it is the European (Crusoe) who is enslaved and that the term “white” was initially used when referencing indentured servants in the British Empire. The conclusion of Wheeler’s argument is that “Robinson Crusoe helps demonstrate that colonialism was not simply staged between white and black men – nor even between Europeans and Amerindians – and brings to the foreground the way that the desire for clearer boundaries of difference has always informed both the writing and subsequent readings of Robinson Crusoe” (853).