England England Questions and Answers


England England Questions and Answers By Julian Barnes



1. Theme

[Q. Discuss the major themes in the novel England, England of Julian Barnes.]

England, England is a satire written by Julian Barnes at the end of the 20th century (1998) in a postmodernist environment in which the USA has become the first world power putting England aside. Inside the novel we can see how Barnes analyzes the defects and shortcomings of his own country; it is about a harsh criticism of the ‘Englishness’. England, England broaches the idea of replicating England in a theme park on the Isle of Wight. It calls into question ideas of national identity, invented traditions, the creations of myths and the authenticity of history and memory.

Beyond the basic twin plots surrounding Pitman and Cochrane, England, England is a novel of ideas – mainly ideas that correspond to the criticism of society voiced by French philosophers of the second half of the 20th century. The seminal work in this respect is Jean Baudrillard’s L’échange symbolique et la mort, in which Baudrillard claims that in the course of the 20th century reality has been superseded by “simulacra”, by representations of the original which – in a world where technology has developed the means to replicate each and everything, including works of art and humans (by means of cloning) – acquire an independent and increasingly higher status than the original: because they are safer, easier to handle, more cost-effective, ubiquitous and thus more easily accessible, renewable, and predictable. This is exactly the purpose of Pitman’s final project: he wants his island to epitomise everything that is truly English. As a fervent patriot, he wants to put England in a nutshell for all the world to see and to cash in on England at the same time: he does not mind that the real thing takes a turn for the worse and eventually deteriorates.

The two strands of action – Martha Cochrane’s rise to fame and her subsequent downfall on the one hand and the launching of the project and its continuing success on the other – are intertwined when Martha applies for a job as Special Consultant in Pitman’s personal staff, which she gets. Martha has acquired all the professional skills necessary to succeed in our post-industrialist society, yet she has retained from her childhood at least some of her emotional and sentimental inclinations. Although she has become scheming, calculating and ruthless in her professional life, she is still able, at times, to listen to her heart – especially in her relationship with Paul Harrison, the “Ideas Catcher”. This ability of hers also helps her cope with old age back in rural Anglia.

By having his characters uninhibitedly subvert all of England’s long-standing customs and traditions, Barnes inadvertently also collects, registers and critically assesses these myths. For the sake of simplification, however, in the novel old English folklore, customs and legends, but also historical facts, are altered to fit the overall purpose of the Project. As the whole island is supposed to be fit for family consumption, history has to be rewritten and bowdlerised (to pay lip service to political correctness and avoid sexual harassment actions). As they are paying high prices, mainly in advance, the visitors to the island are supposed never to be faced with anything incomprehensible or illogical because that would spoil the fun for them and could even give rise to complaints.

The majority of attractions of England, England enjoy great popularity. For example, tourists are fascinated by the artificially recreated London “pea soup” fog or by a reenactment of the Battle of Britain. Visitors also like watching the King, nicknamed “Kingy-Thingy” by his wife, who is still a Windsor; but after the death of Elizabeth II the strict line of succession has been abandoned. Both the King and his Queen enjoy having affairs with other people, and their escapades are regularly exposed by the tabloid papers. Pitman persuades the King to move permanently to the Isle of Wight, where his only duty is to appear regularly on the balcony of a half-size replica (but

with double glazing) of Buckingham Palace for the paying visitors to see. Special script-writers have been hired for him and Queen Denise for the rare instances where they are allowed to say something.

However, because the actors sooner or later over-identify with their roles, some of the other attractions go terribly wrong. Robin Hood and his band actually start hunting their own food in the Island’s heritage parks and old-English farmyards; the smugglers really start smuggling; and the “Samuel Johnson Dining Experience” turns out to be a flop because Doctor Johnson is regularly rude to the guests who dine at his table.

That England has become a theme-park nation is a chattering-class cliche. It is also what condescending Irishmen say. It is the common currency of newly-supercilious Scottish Nationalists and dismissive Gauls. Also, it is at least partly true. There is no English crisis, but there is a problem. In England, everything becomes a tradition, and that includes the confection of tradition. But the quantity of contemporary repackaging is remarkable. It wraps itself around us all, like gaudy, omnipresent plastic knightly tournaments, Robin Hood rambles, Battle of Britain days, Shakespeare’s Globe. This, of course, is hardly unique to England. But here the pastiche is also political. We have monarchs arriving to open Parliament in gilded coaches, and bold barons who are not Terry-Thomas actors but real people who vote in a functioning political chamber. Other countries have theme parks. I as any visitor to London will confirm, England itself can feel like one. Yet the English passion for dressing up is matched by growing unease about nationhood. Julian Barnes has taken this spirit of the time and further distilled it into one of the oddest novels you are likely to read this year. It’s what they call a romp but it is written in anger. There is a short first section, exquisitely done, about a girl’s damaged childhood. There is a longer central satire in which a tycoon takes over the Isle of Wight and turns it into a giant theme park of English history.

Then there is a brief fantasy about England in retreat, a place of organic farms and the occasional steam locomotive. The tone alters, disturbingly, from one section to the next. The central part is more cartoon-like, more Tom Sharpeish, than anything Barnes has done before. The colours are primary, the outlines crude, the jokes obvious. For people who like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing they like: the Isle of Wight’s buildings are mostly demolished, then it gets a fake parliament, peasants, fake London fog, Di’s grave, Stonehenge, and so on. A new royal couple, including the improbably-named Queen Denise, move there. So do Manchester United. It declares independence and becomes a world tourist attraction, known as The Island or as England, England. It is ‘everything you imagined England to be, but more convenient, cleaner, friendlier, and more efficient’. It is also much more popular.

The heritage industry is an easy target. Barnes doesn’t miss, though it was mildly amusing to read the breathless promise on the back of my proof copy: ‘Huge full colour advertising… Splendid mobiles of the island… 18-copy dump-bin and header… Author tour.’ Next stop, the Julian Barnes Experience? By the final section, the tone

has shifted again. Old England suffers economic collapse. The Scots buy the northern counties and the Welsh, Shropshire and Herefordshire. Scheming Europeans isolate England from the continent. By which time, I felt, Barnes’s satire had curdled into an exhibition of self-pity reminiscent of a meeting of the UK Independence Party. Then the English turn ruralist, and the mood changes again.

Julian Barnes’s 1998 novel is centred on the creation of a theme park based on a collection of all things that are traditionally associated with the concept of Englishness. It traces the planning and development of the park, eponymously called ‘England, England’, and its eventual construction, which involves the taking over, wholesale, of the Isle of Wight. The novel’s theme is clearly related to the way in which the nation is constructed and exists in the collective imagination of not only its inhabitants, but also the rest of the world. In preparation for the theme park, market research is carried out to identify what constitutes Englishness for the (mainly foreign) consumer. The results of this research is presented in the novel in the form of ‘Fifty Quintessences of Englishness’, and includes such signifiers of national identity as the Royal Family, Big Ben, Manchester United and Robin Hood. The project is the brainchild of Sir Jack Pitman (Pitco Industries), who represents a parody of a Thatcherite entrepreneur whose success has been established by the time of the main events of the novel, and for whom the theme park is his final project.

The novel is divided into three sections: ‘England’, ‘England, England’ and ‘Albion’, each of which has a distinctive narrative style that to some extent tries to mirror its subject matter. Barnes’s text interweaves an analysis of the nation with an exploration into the way in which individual identities are constructed. This is focused through the main character in the novel, Martha Cochrane. Martha is eventually employed as Sir Jack Pitman’s adviser, given the provocative title of ‘Appointed Cynic’. The first section of the novel is concerned with her childhood, and provides an indication to the cause of her later cynicism. Her earliest memory is of doing a jigsaw puzzle made up of the counties of England.

The process of constructing and re-constructing the nation is central to this image, but this is also overlaid with the development of Martha’s individual identity in that she recounts how each time she did the jigsaw, her father would playfully hide one piece (usually a piece from the heart of England) and then supply it at the end. The image of the father providing the final piece is thus presented in terms of both completing the nation, but also of completing and fulfilling Martha’s identity. Crucially, when he leaves her mother, she imagines he has taken the last piece of the jigsaw with him. This defining metaphor for the incompleteness of Martha’s character is projected throughout the rest of the book and profoundly marks her adulthood as unsatisfied, unfulfilled and incomplete. This situation provides a link between a personal and national psychology and the jigsaw becomes a symbolic expression of the psyche of both Martha and the collective consciousness of the nation.

The first section of Barnes’s novel, then, emphasizes the overlapping themes of personal memory, national history and geographic space. Although Martha recounts the story of this memory, it is stressed that firstly, memories are always unreliable, and secondly, that articulating a memory as an ordered narrative is bound up with the construction of identity. Martha produces her memory as a narrative to give it form and meaning, which allows her to articulate it not only to others, but also to herself.

English history is similarly turned into a narrative by the teacher Martha remembers at school who would encourage her pupils to recite mantras of English history, with rhyme and hand claps:

55bc (clap clap) Roman Invasion 1066 (clap clap) Battle of Hastings 1215 (clap clap) Magna Carta 1512 (clap clap) Henry the Eighth (clap clap) Defender of Faith (clap clap).

This educational strategy succeeds in implanting within the pupils a logical order (or grand narrative) of English history, one that is poeticized through rhythm and rhyme. This fixes itself in Martha’s memory and thereby becomes one of the ways in which she ‘knows herself as throughout the book Martha repeatedly questions self-understanding by comparing personal to national identity. I

Towards the end of the second section of the novel (also called ‘England, England’), Martha ponders the question: ‘An individual’s loss of faith and a nation’s loss of faith, aren’t they much the same?’ The combination of part-fictionalized and constructed narratives of the self and of the nation are seen as inseparable indices in the formation of identity. That these narratives are based on memories is also crucial to the novel’s exploration of the way in which the nation is produced. As Sarah Henstra has argued, in England, England, ‘memory is a sign that only ever points back to another sign’.15 The text stresses that memories are, in fact, essentially unreliable, and that they are constructed and reconstructed: If a memory wasn’t a thing but a memory of a memory of a memory, mirrors set in parallel, then what the brain told you now about what it claimed had happened then would be coloured by what had happened in between. It was like a country remembering its history: the past was never just the past, it was what made the present able to live with itself. The same went for individuals [. . .] an element of propaganda, of sales and marketing, always intervened between the inner and the outer person. Here, the combination of the unreliability of memory (and the necessary element of fictional reconstruction involved) with the language of consumerism and commodities, parallels the way in which England is re-constructed in the second part of the book, in the theme park.

Part II is concerned with the ideas of replicas, simulations and simulacra that form the theoretical basis for the project of ‘England, England’. It is also concerned with the way in which the nation is commodified and re-presented as a marketable, reified object. This again involves a process of turning the nation into a narrative, which can then be told (and sold) to consumers, who buy both the story and the commodities associated with it. When developing the project, Sir Jack relies on the marketing consultant Jerry Batson, whose narrative articulates this sense of the nation as commodity: ‘You – we – England – my client – is – are – a nation of great age, great history, great accumulated wisdom. Social and cultural history – stacks of it, reams of it – eminently marketable, never more so than in the current climate. Shakespeare, Queen Victoria, Industrial Revolution, gardening, that sort of thing. If I may coin, no copyright a phrase, We are already what others may hope to become. This isn’t selfpity, this is the strength of our position, our glory, our product placement. We are the new pioneers. We must sell our past to other nations as their future!’

The cultural, economic and fantasy space that is created as ‘England, England’ is also perceived as a paradigm of pure capitalist environment: a place where the mixed economy of post-war England has finally been replaced by the triumph of the market. A financial analyst in the book comments: ‘It’s [the theme park] a pure market state. There’s no interference from the government because there is no government. So there’s no foreign or domestic policy, only economic policy. It’s a pure interface between buyers and sellers without the market being skewed by the central government.’

The second part also parodies the postmodern effects of a total victory of the market economy articulated through an ‘end of history’ image, in particular, the end of the history of England (There was no history except Pitco history’). The accumulation of paradigmatic images of England’s past – the Royal Family, Dr Johnson, Nell Gwynn, the Battle of Britain pilots, et cetera – results in the removal of any sense of a future England, and the cultural space of the theme park reduces history to the immediate present and to the ephemeral transience of the now. This critique of postmodernism is dramatized most clearly in the figure of the French intellectual who Sir Jack invites to speak to the project team. This intellectual theorizes the contemporary preference for the replica over the real, the simulacrum over the original, and is a clear parody of theorists such as Jean Baudrillard.

In fact, the French philosopher in the novel presents us with an argument that is an adaptation of Baudrillard’s theories on simulacra. Baudrillard identifies what he calls the ‘third order of simulacra’ as that being most closely related to postmodernism, which is the stage when: ‘It is no longer a question of imitation, nor of reduplication, nor even of parody. It is rather a question of substituting signs of the real for the real itself. There is a clear comparison here with what the French theorist says in Barnes’s novel: ‘It is well established – and indeed it has been incontrovertibly proved by many of those I have earlier cited – that nowadays we prefer the replica to the original. We prefer the reproduction to the work of art itself, the perfect sound and solitude of the compact disc to the symphony concert in the company of a thousand victims of throat complaints, the book on tape to the book in the lap [. . .] the world of the third millennium is inevitably, is ineradicably modern, and that it is our intellectual duty to submit to that modernity, and to dismiss as sentimental and inherently fraudulent all yearnings for what is dubiously called the “original”.”

The irony, of course, is that the theories of Baudrillard, the post-68 enfant terrible of the Left, are here being invoked for the support of Sir Jack Pitman’s capitalist project. Baudrillard’s critique of postmodern culture is recycled as a celebration of the market economy.

What remains ambiguous, however, is how far the novel dismisses the French critic’s ideas. The end of the chapter in which he appears details how the great philosopher is flown in, gives his speech, stops off in London to buy fishing waders, flies and a quantity of aged Caerphilly with his conference fee, and then flies off to his next international conference. But despite satirizing this contemporary high-flying intellectual, the ideas expressed in the first part of the novel concerning the unreliability of memory and the impossibility of recovering any sense of an original or authentic representation of the past fit well with the postmodern theorizing of the French intellectual. What is being satirized is not the ideas or theories themselves, but the way in which they have been incorporated into a commodity culture – where intellectualism has become a commodity in the pay of corporate projects such as Pitman’s theme park.

In fact, Dr Max, the English historian in the novel, who in many ways represents an English academic tradition in opposition to poststructuralist continental theory, ultimately agrees with much of what the French theorist says: ‘[…] is it not the case that when we consider such lauded and fetishized concepts as, oh, I throw a few out at random, Athenian democracy, Palladian architecture, desert-sect worship of the kind that still holds many in thrall, there is no authentic moment of beginning, of purity, however hard their devotees pretend. We may choose to freeze a moment and say it all “began” then, but as an historian I have to tell you that such labelling is intellectually indefensible. What we are looking at is almost always a replica, if that is the locally fashionable term, of something earlier.’

It is Dr Max and Martha’s discussion of a particularly natural looking English landscape that precipitates this moment, and the focus on the artificiality of ‘nature’ emphasizes the sense in which England as both a geographical and historical concept is dependent on the artificial manipulation of time and place, rather than essential and permanent. The artificial construction of England, England, therefore, is presented as an extreme case of the processes involved in any construction of what appears to be the natural world.

The idea of the nation and of national identity is always artificial, with no authentic moment of beginning. This is reminiscent of the Marxist critic Benedict Anderson’s description of modern nations as ‘imagined communities’. According to Anderson, the nation is ‘imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds

of each lives the image of their communion [. . .] it is imagined as a community, because, regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship’ (italics in original).18 Although Anderson is not a postmodernist, his ideas about the imagined nature of the nation concur with postmodernism’s sense of the artificiality of constructed grand narratives such as that represented by the cultural discourse of Englishness.

Although Barnes’s novel does not celebrate this sense of England as merely an artificial construct, it is more accurate to see the novel not as a critique of postmodernity, but as a lament that the theories underpinning postmodernism are likely to be the most accurate for the contemporary world.

The novel, then, laments the fact that it is impossible to identify an authentic place of origin for the nation or for personal memory, whilst it simultaneously critiques those who celebrate this position. It presents the preference for the replica alongside the psychological desire for the original, and, in fact, these are presented as the same thing. What Martha discovers in the last section of the book is that the desire to recover a lost past – a garden show, our image of rural England, Cornish smugglers, Robin Hood – is in fact a desire not for the original or the authentic (because there is no original), but for the artificial construction of these objects and signs that are products of the imagination. Paradoxically, it is these artificial copies that appear authentic to our memories of the past.

To use Baudrillard’s phrase, it is the hyperreal that is recovered, because to talk of the reality of a memory becomes nonsensical. If the past is a series of memories of constructed images, then recovering those reconstructed images operates as a kind of recovery of what masquerades as the authentic. The novel, therefore, is a lament not for lost Englishness, but for the fact that the ‘real’ past can never be recouped, as it is always artificial. As James J. Miracky argues, ‘Just when one suspects that Barnes is validating postmodern theory, he incorporates elements that reach for an authentic human experience of the real, ultimately leaving the novel positioned somewhere between homage and parody of the dominance of the “hyperreal”.

The novel, then, addresses issues of national identity by undermining the basis on which they have rested in the past. If there ever was a grand narrative of Englishness, then the novel is keen to undermine the philosophical basis on which such a story was produced. It does not celebrate, however, what Jean-François Lyotard describes as ‘incredulity towards grand narratives’. Rather, it wistfully reflects on what appears to be a simpler, if naïve version of Englishness, without the complexities of postmodern experience.

Barnes’s deep theme is the search for authenticity. What is real? Is it what we think we know of our history, what we think we remember? A Baudrillardian world of mimicry and theme-park falsity threatens life itself, Barnes argues, because it cuts away at our capacity for seriousness. In a key passage, Martha explodes: ‘An individual’s loss of faith and a nation’s loss of faith, aren’t they much the same? Look what’s happened to Old England. It stopped believing in things. Oh, it still muddled along. It did OK. But it lost its seriousness.’ That’s the proposition behind this book. The search for authenticity, in an increasingly unreal world, is worth it. It’s the search for life itself. I said this was odd. Nothing could be odder than such a cartoonish romp whose real concern is seriousness. But this is both ambitious and serious, if you like. Dive at those dump-bins.

2. The Significance of the Title

[Q. Justify the appropriateness of the title ‘England, England’ of the novel of Julian Barnes.]

Imagine an England where all the pubs are quaint, where the Windsors behave themselves (mostly), where the cliffs of Dover are actually white, and where Robin Hood and his merry men really are merry. This is precisely what visionary tycoon, Sir Jack Pitman, seeks to accomplish on the Isle of Wight, a “destination” where tourists can find replicas of Big Ben (half size), Princess Di’s grave, and even Harrod’s (conveniently located inside the tower of London).

Martha Cochrane, hired as one of Sir Jack’s resident “no-people,” ably assists him in realizing his dream. But when this land of make-believe gradually gets horribly and hilariously out of hand, Martha develops her own vision of the perfect England. Julian Barnes delights us with a novel that is at once a philosophical inquiry, a burst of mischief, and a moving elegy about authenticity and nationality.

The title of this novel is a contraction (of the famous phrase from W.E. Henley’s ‘Pro Rege Nostro’, ‘What have I done for you,/England, my England’). The dust-jacket design is a steal (‘after the Our Counties Jig-Saw Puzzle, Tower Press’). The blurb is a cliché (‘As every schoolboy knows …’: Macaulay out of Auden). The central plot device is borrowed (from Clough Williams-Ellis’s terrible vision in On Trust for the Nation). The central character is a composite caricature (part Robert Maxwell, part Mohamed al-Fayed). The story is as old as the hills (love, betrayal, the search for happiness). The plot structure is both obvious and predictable (a three-parter, with the requisite climaxes and crises), the themes comforting and familiar (the meaning of memory, of nationhood and selfhood), the idiom entirely typical and self-regarding. England, England, in other words, is a book which not only poses questions about integrity and authenticity, but is itself something of a poser.

England, England is a big boiled conceit, in a number of senses: in an age witnessing the proliferation of mini-states, Barnes has written a novel about the creation of a microstate; in an era when critics’ heads are crammed full of vague ideas about ‘constructions of Englishness’, Barnes has written a book about the literal construction of England; in an age which values the preservation of the English

countryside, Barnes exposes the forces which continue to shape it. England, England is a brilliant book about the future by being about the past; it is a book riddled with millennial anxieties which hardly mentions the millennium; the whole thing is a fantasy, but an apocalyptic fancy, a revelation of things to come.

England, England is a novel about England, its culture, history, and some other aspects. The novel is not a destructive criticism of the present England but a constructive criticism due to the fact that it advises us of what could happen if a man like Sir Jack acquires all the power. It is a business-sector macro-organization which is more powerful than the State itself.

The novel is a patriotic one, and it is also an exacerbated criticism about the nationalisms, mainly those used with one’s own purposes. Sir Jack doesn’t conceive a more appropriate monument for his own person, for the expression of his nationalist feeling that the theme park that is going to be built in the Isle of Wight. The book is also a criticism of those that due to their nationalism convert England into a joking object.

As we have said before, in the novel it is given a list of Fifty Quintessences which everybody considers to be appropriately English. With this list, Englishness is reduced to a ridiculous list of topics. It is a book about England’s relationship with the past and especially with the process of creative and selective remembering that has been dubbed” the invention of tradition”.

. In the book we find many references to this subject, and also about patriotism, politics, history but all the elements come to a common figure: England. We also find references to the relationship between England, Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland. Afterwards, we can see a character that expresses his patriotism saying that they are a nation of great age, great history, and of course, great accumulated wisdom; what it can be reduced to a phrase:” We are already what others may hope to become”

Later we find that Sir Jack Pitman declares himself to be a pure patriot also in his private moments. Due to that idea, when Sir Jack tries to confuse her by saying just the contrary idea, she doesn’t hesitate in contradicting him. We can observe his strong patriotism when he analyses the list of topics given. ” Who the fuck did they think they were, going around saying things like that about England? What did they know? Bloody tourists, thought Sir Jack”.

They also make some references to the relationship between the sex and England or the British: Child prostitution in the Victorian era, sex murders, English Casanova, they invented the condom.

They also talk about what are the authentically English experiences such as “going into a pub for a quiet pint and find some foul-smelling old skittle-player spilling his beer over you and chatting up your wife”, “You think being touched is invasive because you are English”,” keeping reality and illusion separate is also very English”.

The ‘England, England’ of the title refers not to the England on the map, but to a half-size replica of everything England is famous for in the popular mind-Buckingham Palace, Robin Hood, the Houses of Parliament, the White Cliffs of Dover, cricket, and the like-on the Isle of Wight, a small island off the southern coast of England. England, England quickly becomes more popular as a tourist haven than England proper.

In this mini-England, tourists get “England” delivered in convenient doses that neither challenge their received view of English institutions and history nor involve them in a lot of time-consuming travel. They can see it all on an island of only 155 square miles.

England, England is the brainchild of Sir Jack Pitman, a man whose mind, at least in his own opinion, is of gargantuan proportions, a man whose energy, power, and drive to get things accomplished dwarf those of lesser men. Sir Jack has an intolerably high opinion of himself and expresses it in laughably grandiose terms. In his lair at Pitman House, chiseled in Cornish slate, he has placed a tribute to himself, loosely based on a London Times article that has been subjected to the attentions of one of Sir Jack’s well-paid rewrite men. Prominently displayed for visitors to see, it reads in part, “… Entrepreneur, innovator, ideas man, arts patron, inner-city revitalizer. Less a captain of industry than a very admiral, Sir Jack is a man who walks with presidents yet is never afraid to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty.” He suffers neither fools nor busybodies. Yet his compassion runs deep.

We also find some references to the native wit of the English. So, looking at this, we can say that it is, in a way, a kind of patriotic novel because it defends the English, and what is more, the characters declare openly their beliefs about their nation. Hence, it proves that the title is aptly significant and justified.


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