Читать книгу Finance, Terror, and Science on Stage - Группа авторов - Страница 12

With its approach of dystopian distancing and absurdist abstraction and irrationality, 13 definitely manages to push a critical attitude to political power and social inequality past the smokescreen of rhetoric and also beyond the widespread focus on concrete case studies. Like other absurdist dystopias, the play poses fundamental questions about the validity of power and the values that it should be based on. In the course of the first three acts Ruth, who has been Prime Minister for two years at this point (107), and John, who has gradually turned into the leader of the popular protest movement after first appearing more like a social outcast (7f., 22), increasingly come to embody two diametrically opposed positions in this respect. After the interval, the fourth act then leads to a personal confrontation between these two central characters in what is by far the longest scene of the play (IV.9). On the face of it, this exchange is about John trying to persuade Ruth not to take part in the American attack on Iran, but it is clear throughout that the real confrontation is about concepts of political power and their moral implications. For part of the discussion, the binary opposition is complemented by Stephen, whom Ruth has asked to join them “for a while”, because – in keeping with the uncanny interlocking of different plot strands in the play – not only Ruth and Stephen but “all [of them] know each other” (106). As transpires in the course of the scene, this does not simply refer back to endless political debates in the past, before John suddenly vanished, but the reason for his disappearance actually seems to have been his presence at and potential involvement in the death of Ruth’s son. At the same time, the spectators already know from an earlier scene where Stephen chances upon one of John’s speeches in the park that the two of them used to be lecturer and student (65) and (as is highlighted when a speech by John is intercut with Stephen’s Oxford Union polemic against the Iranian government, 88–90) that their opinions are diametrically opposed to each other.

In the climactic exchange between the three characters, John clearly stands for the movement that has crystallised around him, with his supporters waiting both in front of 10 Downing Street and in Trafalgar Square. While the protests originally started out from concrete grievances like student fees, John rarely addresses actual issues. His topics are much more abstract (cf. Megson 52), urging the importance of dreams, feelings and – most importantly – belief (“through believing in the impossible you might just make it happen”), and move on from empty everyday routines to reaching idealistic and seemingly unrealistic goals (63, also 91f.). This character’s success with the people of London is clearly connected with the fact that everyone is left free to fill in his or her own concrete desire for change here – as John says explicitly in the end: “[I]t’s not the object of belief that’s important but belief itself.” (128) Moreover, it is also the caring sympathy that he seems to radiate which successively turns very different kinds of characters (and finally even the seemingly blasé Mark, 100f.) into his devoted followers. John apparently pays genuine attention to people’s individual problems, intuiting with dazzling accuracy what is wrong with them and what they need most at the moment. As Rachel (who at first responded rather critically to John’s return, 20) tells Amir, whom John has just seemingly miraculously freed from detention: “I mean actually of all people he was the one we needed but – […].” (32) In this respect, the focus increasingly shifts from factual problems to people’s emotional situation both in John’s speeches and in his personal contact with other characters, highlighted by the question: “[H]ow do you feel?” (89) The hope that he spreads is also closely connected with the community spirit that he preaches to counter the prevalent sense of loneliness (e.g. 90), condensed in the almost liturgical slogan “In our name!” (92), which the protesters come to chant.

In terms of the play’s experiential approach, the growing interweaving of the characters’ stories may well mirror this sense of community – though (as was discussed above) these seemingly uncontrollable interconnections also transport rather uncanny associations in the play. Indeed, despite (or perhaps because of) John’s sway over the great majority of the people on stage, the play finally does not encourage the audience to see him as an unambiguously positive force. His progress until act four clearly has messianic overtones (cf. Sierz), with the gathering of disciples from all social groups and the healing effect he seems to have on his followers. This group at first sight seems to be equivalent to “The Twelve” in the cast list (3), with obvious apostolic associations – but one has to note that this list includes Ruth and Stephen, who pointedly do not fall under John’s influence. Factually, the number ‘twelve’ here singles out those susceptible to the nightmares, which possibly undercuts John’s role as a new messiah in the subtext. Nevertheless, the term ‘disciples’ is promoted by the press in the play (101), and the first of this group, Holly, is fittingly a woman who – in the leader’s own words – “has sex for money” (65). Moreover, John apparently knows the future and is able to see through surface appearances, correctly predicting rain (64–6) and pointing out Stephen’s as yet not completely diagnosed cancer (106). His constant patience and willingness to turn the other cheek may almost seem too good to be true, and the coincidences associated with him also elicit critical comments in the play (32, 115), thereby potentially bringing in the uncanny connotations of the growing interconnectedness of all the individual stories. Indeed, the title of 13 pointedly foregrounds that the addition of the leader figure to the biblical number of disciples results in negative connotations which are spread still further by the related leitmotif. Like the coincidences, the link between John and ‘thirteen’ is also explicitly commented on in the play when Zia explains to Shannon that counting the letters in John’s speeches “in the right way” results in that number “again and again” (77). The unease pervading the responses to the play may thus also relate to this charismatic leader and his power, the source of which finally remains obscure.

In marked contrast to John, Ruth as his key counterpart is shown to stand alone at the point when they confront each other directly. Visually, she is the only one of ‘The Twelve’ left standing – and “centre stage”, too – at the end of the previous act, when the other characters bend down in the face of an overwhelming finding or realisation in their lives (90). At this moment, John, who is giving a speech, has just asked his audience whether they feel “[a]lone” (ibid.), while two scenes earlier Dennis, the US President’s special envoy, had already told Ruth: “[Y]ou’re on your own […].” (84) In the first scenes of Act Four the spectators then see her team (with the exception of one small gesture of support) refusing to back her decision to talk to John (97, 101f.), leaving her to conclude: “I understand, I’m on my own.” (102) For about half of the exchange with John, Stephen is still present at Ruth’s side, but the audience will be aware long before he is taken to hospital that his health is too bad to allow him to be a real help to Ruth. After all, he, too, was seen to collapse in the final scene of the third act, but in contrast to the other characters very obviously for physical reasons, tellingly not allowing him to finish his Oxford Union speech (88–90).

Nevertheless, for the first half of the pivotal conversation, Ruth hangs back a little and leaves much of the grappling with John to Stephen, which gives the former a lot of scope for expounding his views on the basis of political power and the ways in which it should be used. John again stresses the importance of “dreams” in politics instead of “compromise” (108, 110) and urges Ruth to take radical decisions (like raising taxes or refusing to join in the strike against Iran) based on “Purpose. Conviction, Belief” (114), the last of which is reiterated as John’s fundamental value (115). According to him, “the people” (whom Stephen denounces as too unreliable to be trusted with power, 116f.) would back such a course (114, 108–10), because his “generation isn’t apathetic, we’re voting every second of the day”, as “millions of views, opinions, solutions” are constantly available on the internet (114). Thus, John argues for relying on an empowering sense of community both in Britain and with the Iranian people, whom he wants to trust to bring down their government themselves (114f.). At one point, it even seems as if he might be able to reach Ruth with these arguments (116), but that moment passes again very quickly.

As Ruth only really enters the discussion once Stephen has left, John’s views are already well-known to the audience as a contrastive foil then. While earlier on she admitted to believing in God again privately (37), she explicitly juxtaposes the underlying basis of her politics to John’s here: “compassion and feeling and emotion” are necessary (123, emphases in original), but the “solution to a nasty world” is “[h]ard work, opportunity, and in the end, yes, self-interest” (ibid.). Accordingly, “compromise”, “discussion and thought” (126, emphasis in original) should take precedence over “ideologies” (ibid.) as well as John’s dreams: “We dream of things that don’t exist all the time.” (127) With her rational approach, the ideal leader of the country is the “manager” (126) explicitly rejected by John earlier on (110). Ruth even goes a step further and denies her interlocutor what he considers the most important justification of his own and any political power, as she asserts that in contrast to him, her son, who died from drunkenly jumping off a bridge in John’s presence, “had real belief in the people” (118). With regard to her, the principal value on which power and political decisions are based can be described as responsibility, as recognised by Stephen (108). While Ruth does not use the term itself, she repeatedly accuses John of lacking this quality, in relation to both her son’s death and the conversation that he had with Sarah, Ruby’s mother, before she killed her daughter: “I think you make people do stupid things. I think you encourage them to take the brakes off […].” (125) Indeed, just like belief (cf. Megson 42, 55), the importance of personal responsibility runs through the play like a leitmotif (cf. Sierz; Bowman), with the characters (including John’s followers) regularly blaming each other for shirking responsibility (31, 95). From this perspective, John clearly falls short, as his disappearance is understood as irresponsibility from the first scenes of the play onwards (16) and he apparently has no arguments against this charge (106f.).

Indeed, if one believes Holly’s report in act five, he ends up doing exactly the same thing again after his movement has collapsed: after checking all possible directions, John could have taken on that night and drawing a blank each time, the loyal follower is only left with “looking” and “wait[ing]” (131). However, Ruth’s position, too, is to some extent discredited in the end: she wins the struggle with John through the unfair gambit of releasing a video where Sarah links her murder of her daughter to John’s messages (124f., 128), so that he is no longer in a position to call for the planned general strike. It seems to fit in well with this course of action that in contrast to John’s idealism, Ruth’s concept of responsibility is closely connected with a pragmatic approach to politics. She stresses that “[t]o any difficult problem, there is never a right solution, there is only ever the best solution” (122, emphases in original), and openly rejects moral absolutes like good and evil: “You know what I believe [note the choice of this word] in John? The grey area. The bit between […] impure reality […].” (122, 124, emphasis in original)

Interestingly, the characters in the play who do endorse concepts like ‘good’ or ‘evil’ tend to be highly problematic. Most prominently, this discourse features with Sarah and her husband (Dennis, the US President’s envoy) when they talk about their daughter, who is herself preoccupied with the amount of “evil in the world” (47). While Sarah insists throughout that Ruby is “not good” (70, emphasis in original, 104), Dennis sees her as “a good kid” (76) but does not realise how deep and absolute Sarah’s judgement is. When John – again bringing in his key theme – tells her that “[s]ometimes you have to do what you believe to be right” (62, my emphasis), she takes this as a confirmation of her murderous plan, as she considers him to be “good” (ibid.). Similarly, on a less dramatic scale, moral absolutes are put into question through their use by Ruth’s advisor Martin. He evaluates John in exactly the same terms as Sarah (103) but seems to have given up in the end: “I want a small life. Don’t think there’s anything much anyone can do, except get through it.” (131f.) Against the background of these plot strands, Ruth’s focus on ‘the grey area’ in-between the absolutes seems more sensible and almost sympathetic again. Nevertheless, one also needs to recall that in contrast to her constant insistence on rationality and realism, 13 – as an absurdist dystopia – achieves its most intense effects by exactly the opposite means.

In keeping with the prominence of ambiguity in this form (and in marked contrast to traditional British political drama), the play thus does not represent either John’s or Ruth’s position on political power as the right one. This observation is also supported by the ways in which 13 refers back to the developments in British political rhetoric explained above. Speeches are of great importance in this work – stressing that despite its scale, it cannot fully be subsumed under the category of ‘Monsterism’, which prominently demands a primacy of showing over telling (cf. Eldridge). Even more obviously than the final exchange between Ruth and John, the rhetoric used in their speeches to the public reproduces many of the keywords that have become so characteristic of British political discourse. Thus, Ruth’s speech in the first act (tellingly appearing in scene 13) includes recognisably Blairite terms like ‘modernise’, ‘work’, and ‘this country’. Moreover, she compares the new development of the Conservative party associated with her to Labour’s move away “from outdated socialism” (29), thus establishing a connection with Blair without naming him directly.1 Bartlett indeed also draws attention to the predominance of rhetoric in the contemporary world more generally, which may induce audiences to respond rather critically to Ruth in this respect: already in act one, Holly, who is looking for actual religious experiences, disrupts an Alpha course by objecting to the pat phrases used there (25), while Alice points out that her key qualification for becoming a lawyer’s assistant is that she is “good with words” (14).

However, it is typical of the play that the ironic criticism potentially implied here concerns John just as much as Ruth. While his first public appearances still seem relatively authentic (63), the well-known discursive web establishes itself securely once he has fully moved into the political sphere. In his speeches just before and at the meeting in Trafalgar Square,2 the keywords are even more densely interwoven than with Ruth, covering the whole spectrum established by Blair and often also introducing synonyms to emphasise the desired associations still further: ‘together’ (90), ‘today’ (90, 92), ‘future’ (92), ‘change’ (90, 92), ‘country’ (91, 92), ‘nation’ (91), and ‘strength’ (91). In addition, John also adopts rhetorical strategies that recall Blair’s specific mode of delivering speeches, for instance by emphasising the communicative situation through phrases like ‘I say to …’ (92, Blair). John also operates directly on the level of rhetoric when emphatically setting out to reclaim the term “society” (91, emphasis in original) from its denigration by Thatcherist discourse. Thus, from the perspective of being caught up in the contemporary rhetorical web (and potentially using it to veil real issues), too, the play refuses to take a decision between Ruth and John, leaving their diametrically opposed positions on political power standing for the spectators to make their own choices.