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MarjorieWorthington
had rejected the Cartesian definition of ego so central to traditional novelistic design. A hero could no longer speak with confidence and coherence and so define himself, since under
contemporary philosophical pressure the old cogito,ergosum had
become a farcically painful lie.
(408)
Although Barth's heroes are unable to define themselves through their
narratives,they experience an almost desperate need to continue the attempt.The result is that most of the stories in the series depict narrators
as authors so aware of themselves and so concerned with the effect of
this awareness on their waning creative powers that they cannot avoid
continually inserting their presence into the stories they narrate.Their
overt authorial presence threatens to derail the narratives,making them
unable to come to a fruitful end. Instead, they twist and turn on themselves, leaving the reader with the difficult and perhaps impossible task
of sorting out product from process, story from narration.
Because of the intricacy of these stories, much of the critical discussion surrounding Lost in the Funhousehas focused on the increased burden of interpretation that metafiction forces on the reader.The argument
has often been made that the intricacy of the text, coupled with the
apparent failure of the narrator to control and shape the story, forces the
reader to construct a meaning for the text and thereby to participate in
the construction of the work itself. In the face of postmodern indeterminacy, interpretive authority no longer resides with authors, and singularity of meaning no longer exists.As Deborah A.Woolley puts it, criticism
about metafiction
substitutes a heroics of text and language for the older heroics of
creative genius and imagination. The text . . accepts the existentialist challenge to confront the lack of a center at the heart of
(460)
language and to dwell in that void.
Many critics have pointed out that Lost in the Funhouseinvites such an
interpretation by repeatedly suggesting that traditional narrative forms
and the authors who construct them have lost their power to find or
depict a coherent meaning.
However, what is often overlooked is metafiction's inherent and inevitable preoccupation with the creative power of the author.At the same
time that they lament the diminished capacity of the narrator to con-
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Barth'sLost in theFunhouse
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118
to construct a story in which his own presence does not overwhelm the
action, a plight that, according to Heide Ziegler, illustrates that the "Romantic author who consciously begins to intrude into his own fiction
must eventually become the postmodern author who is no longer able
to withdraw from it" (91). Simultaneously, the protagonist that this toopresent narratordescribes is struggling with the different but related problem of an overdeveloped self-consciousness which keeps him from directly
experiencing his own life.
This pairing of the stultifying self-consciousness of the main character and the crippling self-reflexivity of the narrative is evident, for example, in "Life Story,"which is about an author struggling to write an
entertaining and meaningful story at the exact midpoint of his life, which
is exactly two-thirds of the way through the twentieth century. It seems
to him that the literary vehicle available to him at this time (Monday,
June 20, 1966) is too "self-conscious, vertiginously arch, fashionably solipsistic,unoriginal-in fact a convention of twentieth-century literature"
(114). Thus the narrator recognizes that the problems he is facing are
problems facing literature in general at this point in the century. He describes his literary efforts this way:
Another story about a writer writing a story! Another regressus
in infinitum! Who doesn't prefer art that at least overtly imitates
something other than its own processes?That doesn't continually
proclaim "Don't forget I'm an artifice!"?That takes for granted
its mimetic nature instead of asserting it in order (not so slyly
after all) to deny it, or vice-versa?
(114)
However, the apparent response to this claim that contemporary literature is too self-involved is Lost in the Funhouse-a series of stories that
repeatedly depict that very self-consciousness. Similarly, the narrator in
the story called "Title" laments,"Oh God comma I abhor self-consciousness. I despise what we have come to" (110), but then embarks on that
very self-consciousness as a "temporary expedient" in order "to turn ultimacy, exhaustion, paralyzing self-consciousness and the adjective weight
of accumulated history . . . against itself to make something new and
valid, the essence whereof would be the impossibility of making something new.What a nauseating notion" (106).This is one of the basic contradictions or paradoxes of this text: although the narrators deplore the
seeming ubiquity of contemporary narrative self-consciousness, no oth-
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You.
I?
Aye.
Then let me see me!
See?
A lass!Alas.
(98)11
In thus speaking to Echo, Narcissus believes he is speaking to himself, or
at least a strange and oddly reflected version of himself, and he cannot
resist that reflection: "No use, no use: Narcissus grows fond; she speaks
his language" (99-100). What Narcissus really loves is not himself but
the narrativized version of himself that he gets from Echo and from his
reflection in the pool: "it was never himself Narcissus craved, but his reflection, the Echo of his fancy" (99). Echo fools Narcissus into loving
her story when he thinks he loves only himself, illustrating that she is
still able to construct a convincing narrativedespite the fact that the words
she must use are not original and not even her own.
Furthermore, Echo's attempts at narrativeconstruction are more successful than Narcissus's;while Narcissus "perishes by denying all except
himself," Echo "persists by effacing herself absolutely" (99).While Ziegler refers to Echo's love for Narcissus as "the story [being] in love with
its author" (93), my argument establishes Echo as the author in love with
the figure she attempts to narrativize:Narcissus. As author, Echo effaces
herself absolutely in order to reflect and depict the story of Narcissus,
and is thus able to persist by creating a more traditional, un-self-reflexive narrative.However, although she has withdrawn as much as possible
from the narrative she constructs, she cannot withdraw completely; her
authorial authority remains present and intact. In this way, Echo represents the successful author as a realist, constructing mimetic narratives
by repeating what she has witnessed, yet exerting constant creative influence over those narrativesas she "edits, heightens, mutes, turns others'
words to her end." It is Echo who is ultimately able to survive long after
the demise of poor self-reflexive Narcissus. The implication in "Echo"
then, is that traditional mimetic fiction will outlast current metafictional
narrativetrends and that the individual creative genius of the author necessarily lurks behind every successful narrative construction no matter
how mimetic that narrative may seem.
It is somewhat surprising perhaps to encounter this notion of the
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He has come to the seashore with his family for the holiday, the
occasionof theirvisit is Independence
Day, the most importantsecular
the
United
States
holidayof
ofAmerica.A single straight underline is
the manuscript mark for italic type, whichin turnis the printed
equivalent to oral emphasis of words and phrases as well as the
customary type for titles of complete works, not to mention. (69)
This digression from the story to a discussion of the use and meaning of
italics calls attention simultaneously to the fact that the book is a piece
of printed material and to the fact that the narrative itself is also a construction where certain words are emphasized, certain parts considered
more noteworthy than others.
Interestingly,however, this construction-this narrative-is apparently
moving increasingly beyond the constructor's control. Several pages into
this rambling, digressive story, we are informed that
We should be much farther along than we are;something has
gone wrong; not much of this preliminary rambling seems relevant.Yet everyone begins in the same place; how is it that most
go along without difficulty but a few lose their way?
(75)
The narrative is stalled somehow, snagged on its self-conscious deviations, and we are left to wonder why it is that, while "most go along
without difficulty,"this narrative seems to have lost its way. Not only is
it not progressing fast enough, but the narrator worries at regular intervals that "we will never get out of the funhouse" and "At this rate our
hero, at this rate our protagonist will remain in the funhouse forever"
(74, 75). The failure of the narrative to progress in a timely fashion will
trap little Ambrose forever in the funhouse, making him similarly unable
to progress.Just as Ambrose is lost in the funhouse, then, so are the narrator and reader lost in the funhouse of this narrative construction.
In fact, the connections are many between Ambrose's plight and the
plight of this narrative.Just as the narrative is focused more on its own
processes than the telling of a realistic story, the character of Ambrose is
consistently too conscious of himself to engage directly with his surroundings.Ambrose narrateshis existence to himself, and instead of simply
having an experience, he feels the constant need to distance himself from
that experience through a veil of mental description. For example, during a sexual encounter he had once had with Magda:
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126
Furthermore, Ambrose's experiences in the funhouse can be directly correlated to the trajectory of the narrative entire. In the same way
that his self-awareness prevents Ambrose from forgetting himself long
enough to have an experience unalloyed by self-narration, the self-conscious preciousness of the narrative prohibits it from progressing with
the story.While Ambrose worries that he will never become a "regular
person," the narrator evinces a certain amount of anxiety over whether
this story will follow the traditional narrative structure described (and
illustrated) as a variant of Freitag'sTriangle (93, 91)-in other words,
whether this will become a "regular narrative."
But it won't. At the same time that Ambrose gets lost by going "off
the track, in some new or old part of the [funhouse] that's not supposed
to be used," the narrative has similar problems: "the plot doesn't rise by
meaningful steps but winds upon itself, digresses, retreats,hesitates, sighs,
collapses, expires" (92). Clearly, the narrative itself has taken on the attributes of a funhouse-a funhouse in which we and it have become
trapped and lost, with little hope of getting to the proper end. The narrator knows what that end should be, but is unable for some reason to
bring it about: "The climax of the story must be its protagonist's discovery of a way to get through the funhouse. But he has found none, may
have ceased to search" (92). This story, then, is performative in that it
simultaneously depicts the failure of the protagonist and the narrative
itself to reach the expected resolution. Just as Ambrose's self-reflections
caused him to get lost and now he cannot find his way out of the funhouse, the story is too focused on its own construction to make sufficient progress toward a conclusion and cannot, therefore, find its proper
ending.
However, his self-consciousness serves an important purpose for
Ambrose, who is often upset by the suspicion that he is not a real human being but rather a character in the story of his or someone else's
life and that this story is a kind of"portrait of the artist as a fiction"
(Marta 210). Ambrose realizes that if he is a fictional character, he is a
character doomed to a heightened self-awareness that others do not possess-doomed therefore to the recognition that he is merely a fictional
character.This realization saddens him, as he thinks
how readily he deceived himself into supposing he was a person.
He even foresaw,wincing at his dreadful self-knowledge, that he
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termines simultaneously to become an author.The failure of this narrative seemingly necessitates the emergence of a writer, of a creator-someone to witness and document that failure. In fact,"Lost in the Funhouse"
is the story of the creator of this particular story as well as the story of
its own creation. I would argue that Ambrose himself actually is the narrator (and therefore the ostensible constructor) of the story.
As noted earlier,Ambrose told to himself the events of his life from
the third-person point of view; this story is also narrated in the thirdperson point of view, so it is not unreasonable to suspect that the narrator actually is Ambrose. Furthermore, earlier in the story that third-person
point of view is interrupted by one of the instances where the narrator
bemoans the slow progress of the story-the only instance, however, that
is in the first person: "I'll never be an author" (83). It is instructive to
examine the entire paragraphin which that statement occurs:
"Let's ride the old flying horses!" Magda cried. I'll never be an
author. It's been forever already,everybody's gone home, Ocean
City's deserted, the ghost-crabs are tickling across the beach and
down the littered cold streets.And the empty halls of clapboard
hotels and abandoned funhouses.A tidal wave; an enemy air raid;
a monster-crab swelling like an island from the sea. The inhabitantsfled in terror.Magda clung to his trouser leg; he alone knew
the maze's secret. "He gave his life that we might live," said Uncle Karl with a scowl of pain, as he. The fellow's hands had been
tattooed; the woman's legs, the woman's fat white legs had. An
He yearned to tell Peter. He wanted to
astonishingcoincidence.
throw up for excitement. They hadn't even chased him. He
wished he were dead.
(83)
The paragraph begins in the present of the story, with Magda's suggestion. Then the narrator'sshow of discouragement leads into a description of the deserted Ocean City boardwalk.From that description emerge
several ofAmbrose's frequent fantasies about becoming a hero as the narrative once again resumes the third person, and the paragraph ends with
an internal description of Ambrose's thoughts. The brief emergence of
first-person narration is quickly glossed over and compensated for, but
the connection is nonetheless made between the self-conscious narrator
and the similarly self-conscious Ambrose; asAmbrose the child loses him-
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MarjorieWorthington
self in the reflection of the finhouse mirrors,Ambrose the narrator reveals himself through his constant self-conscious reflections.
Thus, at the heart of this failed or failing narrative,there is the consciously constructing figure of the narrator,who, while he may not always be able to control the progress of the narrative,nevertheless acts as
guide through and constant commentator on the action. Furthermore,
this constructing presence is simultaneously narrator and author of the
story he is narrating. The figure of Ambrose as author is constructed
through and by the telling of this story, an argument that becomes more
convincing in light of the myriad connections between the narrativeand
the character. In addition to its being a story about an author telling a
story about the creation of an author, the story, through its telling, performatively transforms the main characterAmbrose into an author ultimately able to narrate the story of his own creation as author. Here we
have the connection between the self and the ostensible author made
overt. The author,Ambrose, needs the narrative in order to narrate himself a "self."In turn, this need causes him to become an author. He determines to create funhouses for others because the curse of his
self-consciousness denies him the ability simply to enjoy them. Ambrose
needs the narrative-he needs to narrate-in order to be a person, in
order to have a self.
However, in the case of the Lost in the Funhouseseries as a whole,
that need is reciprocated: as much as the author needs the narrative,the
narrative simultaneously needs the author. For example, the story "Lost
in the Funhouse" is in constant threat of breaking down, of not finding
the appropriate end, of not getting through, or even into, the funhouse.
Things are not progressing as they should: "we will never get out of the
funhouse" (74) at this rate,"I'l never be an author" (83).The story threatens permanently to detour into one of its narrative perversions when it
should merely suggest-but not pursue-the possibility of a perverse
ending.14 In fact, it has been argued that "Lost in the Funhouse" does
end without the proper resolution, in that it ends without Ambrose's
triumphant emergence from the funhouse.15And actually,Ambrose never
does find his way out of the funhouse; he does not gain the knowledge
we expect him to gain-knowledge of"the way out." So at first glance,
this story does not seem to have the proper ending, because it does not
end the way one would expect.
On closer examination, however, it becomes clear that Ambrose does
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Notes
1. In the author'snote, Barthwrites that the book is "neithera collection nor a
selection,but a series;though severalof its items haveappearedseparatelyin
periodicals,the serieswill be seen to havebeen meant to be received'all at
once' and as here arranged"(Lostix). Most critics,myselfincluded,takethis to
mean that the storiesin the book can and shouldbe takenas ableboth to
standindependentlyand to be readtogether.
2. My analysiscould productivelybe broadenedto include some of Barth's
other texts such as Chimeraor Letters,
which also focus on innovationsin nar-
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134
11.The fact that this exchangedimly echoes the ending of Beckett'sThe Unnameable
("I can'tgo on, I'll go on" [414]) is probablynot coincidental,as this
and many of the other storiesin Lostin theFunhousearepreoccupiedwith
reachinga satisfactorynarrativeending.
12.JanMartadiscussesthis partof the story in an effort to make more explicit
the connection between the issuesof this story and those of the seriesas a
whole, saying:"The inevitableimpositionof the realreflectingobject makes
pure reflectionimpossible,reinforcingthe union of self-reflectionand mimesis,
as we haveseen at the macro-textuallevel"(221).
13. See in particularboth Olson and Slaughter.
14. PeterBrookshas arguedthatnarrativemust tend toward"the correctend,"
and that this end is threatenedby "the dangerof short-circuit:the dangerof
reachingthe end too quickly"(103-04). Brooksarguesthat these possible
short circuitsor "perversions"
arepartof the pleasureof narrativein that we
threat
the
the
that
story mightgo awry only becausewe knowthat evenenjoy
it
will
not.
tually
15. See bothWesterveltand Schulz.
Workscited
Barth,John."The Literatureof Exhaustion."AtlanticMonthly220 (Aug.1967):
29-34. Rpt. in TheNovelToday:Contemporary
Writers
on ModernFiction.Ed.
MalcolmBradbury.Manchester:ManchesterUP, 1977.70-83.
."The Literatureof Replenishment."AtlanticMonthly245 (Jan.1980):
65-71.
. Lostin theFunhouse.
NewYork:Bantam,1969.
Roland.
"The
Death
of the Author."ImageMusicText.Ed. and trans.
Barthes,
Heath.
London:
Fontana,1984. 142-48.
Stephen
Samuel.
The
Unnameable.
ThreeNovelsbySamuelBeckett.
NewYork:
Beckett,
1991.
Grove,
Bell, StevenM. "Literature,
Self-Consciousness,andWriting:The Exampleof
Barth'sLostin theFunhouse."
International
FictionReview11.2 (Summer
84-89.
1984):
Bienstock,BeverlyGray."Lingeringon the AutognosticVerge:JohnBarth's
Lostin theFunhouse."
ModernFictionStudies19.1 (Spring1973):69-78.
Boehm, Beth A. "EducatingReaders:CreatingNew Expectationsin Lostin the
Funhouse"ReadingNarrative:
Ed.JamesPhelan.ColumForm,Ethics,Ideology.
bus:Ohio StateUP, 1989. 102-19.
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