Reviews Kathleen Ashley, Leigh Gilmore, Gerald Peters, eds. Autobiography and Postmodernism. Amherst: U of Massachusetts P, 1994.318 pp. $50.00 he, ISBN 0-87023-899-X; $16.95 pb, ISBN 087023 -900-7. While the question of agency has progressively emerged as the Achilles heel of postmodernism's radical decentering of the subject, autobiographical theories and practices have, surprisingly, come up with creative strategies and remedies. If groups and constituencies previously marginalized by dint of race, gender, ethnicity, or sexuality stand as potential beneficiaries of a general dissolution of the ego's sovereignty, it is only on condition that they accede to new sources of identity. The key to agency in the postmodern world is the production of cultural identities, and this impressive collection of essays sets out to demonstrate how autobiography has latterly proved to be a powerhouse in that very area of production. For Leigh Gilmore, who introduces the volume, "the mark of autobiography . . . signifies agency in self-representation" (14). However, both in the introduction and in her own essay, "Policing Truth: Confession, Gender, and Autobiographical Authority," Gilmore argues emphatically that autobiography's potential as a source of agency is rooted not in its new-found generic respectability, but rather in its resistance to genre. Indeed, the point of fostering links between autobiography and postmodernism is to discourage the tendency to define and codify, on the grounds that such attempts misguidedly domesticate autobiography's "characteristic weirdness" (71). This is well said, but it points to some worrying ambiguities in Gilmore's argument. When she suggests that "the destablizations effected in the theory of genre" by several contributors "move us a long way toward reexamining autobiography as discourses of self and representation rather than as a genre defined in its post-Augustinian image" (10), and goes on to cite the discussion of Cindy Sherman's photographs, or the naming practices of Plains Indians, as instances of "something decidedly multiple and extra-textual," one may be disappointed to find that "characteristic weirdness" has been located not as a central feature of autobiography, but as a fringe benefit, something at its extremities. This critical move seems regrettable and unnecessary. It is one thing to lament a critical trend to smooth autobiography into coherence and canonicity. But it is another to imply that the texts of Augustine, Rousseau, Wordsworth, Newman, or Leiris do not in themselves manifest that "specific weirdness" Gilmore Reviews 473 rightly cherishes. Surely they do, and postmodernism, as well as deriving from autobiography "a text and a discourse from which to theorize human agency" (8), can provide it with an alternative critical framework, attuned to its own potential hybridity, rooted in its mixing of fact and fantasy, reference and fictionaHty, the pubUc and the private. Autobiography tends to destabilize all these oppositions. Yet, clearly, autobiography's deconstructive bent, its capacity to offer itself as a space for multiple subject positions and plurality rather than fixed identity, has often been too much for the autobiographer. Very often in the history of self-representation, a particular ideology of selfhood has been imposed on the autobiographical work, limiting the dangerous freedom it allows. In her essay, Gilmore deploys Foucault's notions of policing and authority to indicate how the confessional status of autobiography has been used in this way. The confessional model tethers the autobiographical subject to externally sanctioned criteria of truth vested in the addressee. These criteria may shift historically, notably from a religious to a psychoanalytical paradigm, but the discursive structure, resting on what Gilmore calls autobiography 's "authorization complex" remains the same (71). The structure constrains what can and what cannot be articulated within it. The experiences of female mystics, like JuHan of Norwich, cannot be named within the authority-structure of confession, while Mary McCarthy's autobiography shows the persistence of a framework which, in effect, denies agency by placing the autobiographer in thrall to Another who embodies Truth. For Gilmore, the tenacity of the confessional model is a sign of autobiography's flaw, the disposition to "an authorization complex" which finds its counterpart in the straightjacket of genre imposed by those other authorizers—the generic codifiers of autobiography. There are two problems with this diagnosis. First...
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