Speaking through the mask of culture

Barbara Adair

“Professor Steven Watson accuses the poet Antjie Krog of plagiarism … Watson discredits the literary and creative integrity of Krog by stating that she has committed plagiarism ….” (Kwela responds: Nčlleke de Jager, Publisher Kwela Books).

”The Watson/Krog clash has made it vital for poets to acknowledge their sources when reworking material … Hopefully we will turn once again to our writers for what used to be known as divine inspiration.” (Maureen Isaacson, Sunday Independent, March 5, 2006)

This is the level of debate surrounding the Watson/Krog spat. Did she or didn’t she? A thief or not a thief? An honest writer of integrity or a dishonest plagiarist? Wearily I wonder why there is no scholarly debate on what writing is. There are myriad theories of this subject, the modern, the postmodern, the romantic, the classical, to name but a few. Only Shaun de Waal (Mail & Guardian, 3 March 2006) touches on the postmodern deliberations: “For a diehard postmodernist, every cultural artefact is already a version of another cultural artefact, and individuality is a charade.” And yet he appears to be writing this with gritted teeth. “Do I have to put this in?” you imagine him asking his editor. “I am a romantic, I believe in the inspirational powers of the imagination of a genius.”

So – maybe a few ideas …

The creation of a particular style, the idea of a transcendent poet or writer, is premised upon the concept of individuality, originality and uniqueness. The question that needs to be asked, then, is where does this idea emerge from, why is it indeed there? Modernism, the root of its ideology being Western capitalism, creates a case for the individual: we need to think of ourselves as individual, we need the security that we alone occupy a special space in the world. But there are only a limited number of so-called unique combinations, if there ever were any at all, and they have all been taken. Stylistic or even word innovation is not possible. So what is left? The imitation of the styles and words of others. Writers necessarily speak through a mask, the mask of culture.

And so we have texts as a mosaic of quotations. Intertextuality, an unconscious imitation; the citations that go to make up the text are anonymous, untraceable and yet already read, they are quotations without inverted commas, a tissue of quotations drawn from innumerable centres of culture.

Or can we take the debate further, more than this? A text is a conscious imitation, pastiche, nothing is hidden, the reader is never under an illusion that the words that are used are those of the author.

The question that needs to be raised in the debate is not, “Did she steal?” but rather, “Can a writer ever do anything that is unique and original?” Is intertextuality, or pastiche, less than unique? Or does it call into question our time-worn insecurities about the divine inspiration of art? Are we so fearful of not being an individual, particularly an individual artist?

Maybe Watson and Krog should try reading William Shakespeare, and then they can move on to John Banville and Kathy Acker, for these are really unique and original artists who would never dream of plagiarism.



LitNet: 13 March 2006

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