<%BANNER%>

Foreclosing Others in Cultural Representation

xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8
REPORT xmlns http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitssReport.xsd
INGEST IEID E20110403_AAAAIC INGEST_TIME 2011-04-04T02:39:37Z PACKAGE UFE0013601_00001
AGREEMENT_INFO ACCOUNT UF PROJECT UFDC
FILES
FILE SIZE 8475 DFID F20110403_AACNES ORIGIN DEPOSITOR PATH wang_h_Page_189thm.jpg GLOBAL false PRESERVATION BIT MESSAGE_DIGEST ALGORITHM MD5
caad04996e97f58a1861386c56135e99
SHA-1
9651830743e48f34e06a2bbba2e49d1d9a0ec72f
1051923 F20110403_AACMZM wang_h_Page_202.jp2
bd8b2b06d1239ffb7753b79cd02c8d31
2f0a9a458d31cad5491bb35342e115d326af6f1a
113306 F20110403_AACMYY wang_h_Page_156.jpg
a1c8bf41f04b743eea2d692c04f0e246
72c0f74f861278778bf88f4f8d19d00df5c5bc42
100578 F20110403_AACMCE wang_h_Page_076.jpg
2bb5e5421d0d80fb7ff8f701fbff2d6c
eb25377176c3f3e98932534489743b40dfa6b158
8423998 F20110403_AACNFG wang_h_Page_008.tif
13607e033d6d320519585ed354d71a59
948bbac7e46919f8c2f6e7783341bc7c30174bf9
2018 F20110403_AACNET wang_h_Page_138.txt
6cfc8bd8ab365ecdcc3cfd10a01f8594
ba017d7077033b2acebba1d3ecc0ad6095275271
F20110403_AACMZN wang_h_Page_159.tif
657cff81caf2ba3a636e3593a849e160
d564abec9bc71cdd7f4f2772ddee14f7b541e10f
51619 F20110403_AACMYZ wang_h_Page_092.pro
b3a8e353421484d64a351305bc171649
505b5c1a359d20b155d7fb7edab2a8a46176c2b0
2053 F20110403_AACMCF wang_h_Page_033.txt
a14107d217fd96350efd3bfbbd97f1c5
3a90645ce6e6faceff9c7ce4ad0c1d6b41c145e5
F20110403_AACNFH wang_h_Page_005.tif
a79e7901a7f5c920d5ed169f4b7b6e07
39f89d21ee7b7104dff490a2261920de3c00604a
8477 F20110403_AACNEU wang_h_Page_181thm.jpg
4419736ceff2aff0c1ce2b4cc814c45c
69d1797af5bc53770fc205c4bd5dd7eaf66505b3
116804 F20110403_AACMZO wang_h_Page_205.jpg
10e1514a587f19b45052c30b11693d42
07903e3e24793ac4646b9aec0cf6b53a692a12b4
F20110403_AACMCG wang_h_Page_145.tif
1ae82b32abf909149eb68f152fdd2d9f
59018d71e4147ef48dc273b7ceee1ef9ce55a5f3
1051970 F20110403_AACNFI wang_h_Page_115.jp2
6a8e3105255726b50f10eaee93ee1ef4
ed8a2791b969e0e78c18e720ca83fc03e36267f7
1051927 F20110403_AACNEV wang_h_Page_048.jp2
536b28fe9e982d5987a000f440f6c403
f32931fe63198bfa0f49aba7c1a64cb5154e40b7
8684 F20110403_AACMZP wang_h_Page_103thm.jpg
3311f85ccaa9a5056b3ff1d99527f5ec
212eeb6db64fa284bb9ff4315522ee566921955a
1051894 F20110403_AACMCH wang_h_Page_026.jp2
eee91f6f4d6cdb95e96750b1b7d338d4
9bf41e72762451bce78a1713af8f394bc170420a
F20110403_AACNFJ wang_h_Page_034.tif
f2affac1489c21baae00e7afc2efb61f
d1d31bd1a48ba068ead8e221a950e9895a64c06a
2025 F20110403_AACNEW wang_h_Page_001thm.jpg
76fa04ee55c8f6dcb1a7fe263d0fa8fe
4998e1a1730031f6c55f65af101d3801eee9e1bd
51478 F20110403_AACMZQ wang_h_Page_139.pro
2df36760a74913435642fe4d387233dd
3f2b8ef9627307aa79ca323dd0c70044f31e8e6b
8467 F20110403_AACMCI wang_h_Page_205thm.jpg
ff9730fe3f018a678063e71e3174ee4f
a8502576a10627f9858cabdf103413093b1d51e1
2020 F20110403_AACNFK wang_h_Page_114.txt
ae09587e62e727f467f52dbb31814341
2e76bcdfd3066db0046ebc2f238c97d5e1739368
1051969 F20110403_AACNEX wang_h_Page_107.jp2
1309b78bf31e7bf7318daa2df50119e0
ddf3252e5db0c52be96184c3c0aa0cf20298db3a
2056 F20110403_AACMZR wang_h_Page_153.txt
fb1f6f3630e5f84422d344ad292df047
2ab7429889a3cca4eeb27c50d047120d285a0492
1960 F20110403_AACNGA wang_h_Page_132.txt
8a2ef2ea7e7eff8e80141019f49193bb
e9192636e8ce95f173f6d05724b0c3a3e296a73c
52118 F20110403_AACMCJ wang_h_Page_048.pro
db15ccbf3a58bc71f8ffb0a26c9b5bfa
fb5175c661783402f0055cbe1874b6e5a0517c42
34372 F20110403_AACNFL wang_h_Page_120.QC.jpg
d4fdccd46b886df0e0513b891284f5d6
76ad999f6c02bed5303cc256b99403be68686fc6
43459 F20110403_AACMBW wang_h_Page_203.pro
2b5b752f687353748d6c9d7cce802e97
f18ca64e11bb62ea4e9de95788002b4992b9f865
296441 F20110403_AACNEY wang_h_Page_212.jp2
387574a6c6ca390991e5d7a19761be3e
633fb48e0e22a371055c382b1cef177b382155f7
103257 F20110403_AACMZS wang_h_Page_089.jpg
4ee167242dbddda3676fe20913d878f4
9de49d8a49fe1e67573376d44245891e3f26df2b
1907 F20110403_AACNGB wang_h_Page_123.txt
9e7deec1138434fd0e3c0d885cd96a53
8cba13311ce2b5c63fdf039d009f6cd190f8791a
2101 F20110403_AACMCK wang_h_Page_134.txt
b34b4bcf866ad3ae022b16106328bc9d
ad0bf8402c933b523e4f1d3e449000ccb5e768fa
2098 F20110403_AACNFM wang_h_Page_196.txt
d1718ed2f9992f7c7d57a93ffe3309d1
f493d86b878160269b8c3a21966b70b7b4d7cfdb
108638 F20110403_AACNGC wang_h_Page_207.jpg
9e2e5c9881d27c61ccde55a18c36941b
3b341558ae31423349b119d33fe3053ac45b7b10
8472 F20110403_AACMBX wang_h_Page_126thm.jpg
91a5228eb98d48996a6a4ab80da13363
ca144cfad4663c157c1de4251ebcdef0ab5aa6ca
52397 F20110403_AACNEZ wang_h_Page_137.pro
0dfd44518ba5b6e34e5ac90d696a7ff6
afed697d3ef04fd71787c1237079d47d4d9d6a20
F20110403_AACMZT wang_h_Page_154.tif
d4ab983cf83c84dc4b1ca21a6f31d633
bbd1b9baeb36142cfb3be34d4e152bd7e8dc0b75
F20110403_AACMDA wang_h_Page_174.tif
a07fa82a004961c16e747ffa4680c85a
5c30ecb3ff7900aeb5be6e1f4adc2c3ac5e45fd6
8452 F20110403_AACMCL wang_h_Page_010thm.jpg
392b6e0ac096ff88f2796fb2e9521541
76689187588e699c897da9e2c5b74d895c2fadd6
1051977 F20110403_AACNFN wang_h_Page_152.jp2
b874a2fbf802dc9d430d74ae94e00496
1ec59b1044aa60faae9224ee1af2ecc6ac7fde78
30399 F20110403_AACNGD wang_h_Page_009.QC.jpg
a09e431db9acf8cd37a397850dc7dde1
623e15493a192820ff82c955d577d66e8eff1e8d
8668 F20110403_AACMBY wang_h_Page_196thm.jpg
1690b85162ba508885dcf237ded19ac1
4ffd291092a471ac920f33b28e8d9d8b281f8932
33986 F20110403_AACMZU wang_h_Page_126.QC.jpg
56eb54f814f2f0f17ef2c95c0ae5ee44
dfe98d1e5486594d7bfb6aee5245afe57157268f
8652 F20110403_AACMDB wang_h_Page_070thm.jpg
eaa06634ea89cf87a3a31d365e8fc172
05186aee6a77ba592876ac8d2de18fd0d085ceb2
32454 F20110403_AACMCM wang_h_Page_068.QC.jpg
6282e8fe93294a63fce29cae49e9eb89
abfc8e7a6da824b28441cc9118ffde3c636af6c4
102945 F20110403_AACNFO wang_h_Page_117.jpg
b284176c7582fb89373001a95079e579
cc1189b7311e139b25e0cde77f6c3e02093eca2c
34434 F20110403_AACNGE wang_h_Page_128.QC.jpg
1c60eefadd9c88ee958ab165f2262d8e
1134cb1b5aa47047b597c4632fdf426e1150e1f8
2255 F20110403_AACMBZ wang_h_Page_005.txt
e2d698405e207b2e7cc60796202cf3cb
e7704b2bd4067c246189fea6227931ba5520e90c
1051909 F20110403_AACMZV wang_h_Page_092.jp2
7d4218d005705f70297948503d5c1071
7a6e54dd5f062268d137b067f873ad326213dd1d
8578 F20110403_AACMDC wang_h_Page_088thm.jpg
88a9d7de41003303fd6ede7e4abccd7e
b91ab59354dfa8d038d05eb377545f49f7aaac29
8305 F20110403_AACMCN wang_h_Page_060thm.jpg
39df66fec089d53ec03d7a06b0621845
178307fc2cc539ad5ccbfe514f5dd99dac1a2edb
2089 F20110403_AACNFP wang_h_Page_113.txt
6bd700185e9845787ff0ffceb569efd3
d467622627487d4df6a9f5e6e4f5cba768e352fd
F20110403_AACNGF wang_h_Page_140.tif
f7b148ef6f11f4c2f78356c66e306838
f2dc0ab26c677ec83d92c33c7280066164b7e3bb
1051971 F20110403_AACMZW wang_h_Page_032.jp2
23a74530c8f3ba180024b921abda4448
757854d093b3c996a3a32be9a75c7fadca25f5e7
34744 F20110403_AACMDD wang_h_Page_147.QC.jpg
a56c424ada28805bfbc2a40c5bc06901
f6d3b215652bb7d7c7c8be7708c51d644f354e24
105239 F20110403_AACMCO wang_h_Page_114.jpg
4a751302aa5afd3388b61871fc765607
c5d0795a286cfd08cdcfc32b5b3da02b56243969
108230 F20110403_AACNFQ wang_h_Page_075.jpg
5a781a148fe2c63b2de03a07cd90e5a3
5a721ba4b9de08e87f67049696df3888cf356393
F20110403_AACNGG wang_h_Page_101.tif
7f053aa0e665841c0e8bff438562f46f
3d0a4ce371007c512962619bc66030fedd91d555
8749 F20110403_AACMZX wang_h_Page_102thm.jpg
7d4ddd851e66867d930079854decb5e8
d73a2d582bf8a628c88c24ad91a6082238211894
F20110403_AACMDE wang_h_Page_163.tif
41c0df3cf93597c05f4f7bbf9e8c77d7
4f3c4efb1c72e4262972c6206c86957dbfa1b42a
1051981 F20110403_AACMCP wang_h_Page_095.jp2
d798af80f0df57fc84db2e0b67b0d42e
80095f8d810f2b698aea042581e9b4aec64f812c
1051947 F20110403_AACNFR wang_h_Page_150.jp2
2347a1381daebeaeea109757211500e2
4716b20001cd0485b00af30d7b1762315bcfc4e3
34180 F20110403_AACMZY wang_h_Page_151.QC.jpg
e7fff30ad7f0a2b35bbc1bc59ac97567
db05746e01b4e49837f363c6e9155586485f2571
2035 F20110403_AACMCQ wang_h_Page_143.txt
204a0c192b8d93045ca617f92ef23116
e099cfe9acdf3325858aafd332864593ec0bb41d
110737 F20110403_AACNFS wang_h_Page_037.jpg
b72febe4e4f9800ec58635e7b77d25d0
34e4f0cc7bb04deb897e3a0a43ef9402c8b8dc95
29186 F20110403_AACNGH wang_h_Page_204.QC.jpg
bc582b21ca2ebecb0202dd4293d14ef0
5d52bc87b3ca7459763bd145ad7d5e7de81847e0
52597 F20110403_AACMZZ wang_h_Page_049.pro
78c825d0af340e0b31a4b8eb0848c4f2
fd6600c32d26972f1882b94a4e5956b1bba7713f
8412 F20110403_AACMDF wang_h_Page_032thm.jpg
8f95eab5026d171d47dccce30428616f
fae84391603b36dd5bf60ef4d6259df737ef73d4
105437 F20110403_AACMCR wang_h_Page_014.jpg
e09083df1b6e60ddeebb16f04c7098db
d04abf93295fa99f53cbd63efc58352ea3fb19d6
35642 F20110403_AACNFT wang_h_Page_020.QC.jpg
bb0920f600960154d2a59570ea7390fa
bbfc2ff0e225a88288510aae4e990c1c43c6d1af
8736 F20110403_AACNGI wang_h_Page_118thm.jpg
d8bede723ef78bf24d7921477481e0d1
ebc35906d90647b7d23bcb80c7a7a376bbcd478e
8131 F20110403_AACMDG wang_h_Page_178thm.jpg
8e204f1095235c57b15c61ebfb9115ab
9a6e1bbe42144227d5a551b81c04044e750a1f7f
2052 F20110403_AACMCS wang_h_Page_173.txt
a5805a1aabd04b9da7749258c9b13fb5
b96572ed36b30d2a5286f964508e406a887203f1
84609 F20110403_AACNFU wang_h_Page_007.jpg
c42568b6476b60489521a43e07fdee1b
8b026644023d802fc4e65dbca3c39574d582b004
8482 F20110403_AACNGJ wang_h_Page_155thm.jpg
c9354a325d44f33cba001f961c49e35b
c407671f9f3bebb5b952a359883bca2c8efa5338
34402 F20110403_AACMDH wang_h_Page_193.QC.jpg
449b2ed6e082d7b682bf7c93d98a4931
34d752f38bc8e9141f5da8915b926dfd6be46a1b
1051968 F20110403_AACMCT wang_h_Page_153.jp2
4340d49af0e100770c4171c850458d51
07ddac31dd7b1438e0ecbda1ec6f3c37751f0ff5
1051867 F20110403_AACNFV wang_h_Page_099.jp2
36d005352000570fd4eece12ae47e7b4
7f856acdd6e878ad91b188d6cfa6610c92dabcaa
100091 F20110403_AACNGK wang_h_Page_194.jpg
b71bb607cdd2fc7a938cd4245f27a7fa
025ac316a8b831ef47f801d1e60154706ebeb570
52787 F20110403_AACMDI wang_h_Page_059.pro
a78477de00619ea676e2688db1808ddc
64d7b3905ae0f240a3be25f39e171ed235848ddf
32361 F20110403_AACMCU wang_h_Page_209.QC.jpg
5b2692d91d5a59dc07fff79bb89a67d5
3e460af1eb1e6dbb8d03d9029efa7018bb0de267
57420 F20110403_AACNFW wang_h_Page_119.pro
4b43315454f859c6fc9adfc86dc8d4bf
b0cf9c1f3348031ec321d6c5b6e2a6eef65291ec
105642 F20110403_AACNHA wang_h_Page_198.jpg
ff02de9902054eb27e1183b4234cd574
812a30493288d87ec756c0ce34a87618e6984446
F20110403_AACNGL wang_h_Page_099.tif
56d90423456f421e0a51583a5572f26f
397853bc943a470d560dbe9e8f4a2e6742cf3a87
52709 F20110403_AACMDJ wang_h_Page_130.pro
632ba0d368294c24fb2ceb2a68a7f569
cfe27d7519c3f436125c18c2c45731ba76fb09ae
53330 F20110403_AACMCV wang_h_Page_182.pro
95b85a1d51466b4f8be4368604c864e5
e5341c50961698e45143564e68d45e9ed90b8ab8
F20110403_AACNFX wang_h_Page_149.tif
a4e05575fddf2f183221ed3680e471b7
bfbf0795b93d4342bec69bb4c7187cd6407d174e
103587 F20110403_AACNHB wang_h_Page_145.jpg
22ebf39623abbd89f4a06fd71edb70cb
61eced9cdcf8d1ba2c924c728be03a0afd0ac96c
53011 F20110403_AACNGM wang_h_Page_094.pro
1fd6dee4dc2b5148179a995b84c952e4
d4346e102d6bd5cb8a6428587bd68ec330009f21
34595 F20110403_AACMDK wang_h_Page_159.QC.jpg
9d4c33d63530c6e522b157a60121fc39
ee77e9bc6eece7786b3cc2e14add5481bbc14d62
8378 F20110403_AACMCW wang_h_Page_052thm.jpg
19d276a35c2bf0ba382f316e5531c159
9951f36956a67394f3b7da311c1f9cc34b1b7d2d
2199 F20110403_AACNFY wang_h_Page_107.txt
e3a66eb57d5e6a023bce2e5b5f806a51
c7ba168d14f74faa456ade74bab856f43cb863b7
106048 F20110403_AACNHC wang_h_Page_151.jpg
c6f034e4135c60a5c9cb9c4db58c70cd
a5a0dbea86dfcb26f93f13a8bc443ef5eb755697
1051973 F20110403_AACNGN wang_h_Page_160.jp2
eabe3fb1aacf89555d9eef360ff073b9
cd5c722932c819874e42aab89c8dd0e8a48631e7
105336 F20110403_AACMEA wang_h_Page_153.jpg
4877e8a77eb5074f4fd5975c80eeb8c4
335c901bec43e81205f74492841710fd6e70fbfe
52898 F20110403_AACMDL wang_h_Page_131.pro
d77ec1c65bc27840c3cde1361398006b
8efde6f552d7cf50ba2e8a06317f64f46cc7fcc5
98079 F20110403_AACMCX wang_h_Page_158.jpg
3702a209165f325f5de79b37b3ec0585
845f2443b9a308c19094f2c0e0bf76763d1896d0
F20110403_AACNFZ wang_h_Page_210.tif
af6e3f13bfd5693519a405599d2cfbd1
2bf2d2510525ea9b8c3fcecfcdac5771fddb666e
8413 F20110403_AACNHD wang_h_Page_048thm.jpg
3114b020bf16f9ac835b4a064f9cc1e4
bc4be0f6c7256bb509bb6b948d3934c5cac6f59e
33391 F20110403_AACNGO wang_h_Page_061.QC.jpg
8946118535436828bc40d87214d0442c
c78da81bd420658a0ac62f2554a9dbb5c828519a
39598 F20110403_AACMEB wang_h_Page_008.jpg
380c524379678e15e17cb612102b89a0
00b4bd3c27dfcbe48c42250f97abcc6f15f23f02
8498 F20110403_AACMDM wang_h_Page_174thm.jpg
89ded785ac8bd2e080d32af5d5396d15
1253184556db83b1e24f888eeb91c506d0e9e71f
8457 F20110403_AACMCY wang_h_Page_094thm.jpg
212c91e5b4f462985ff7fc8cc8e667a9
395e4a42c9bee12d3501b259d9e1270641a67c15
2070 F20110403_AACNHE wang_h_Page_059.txt
cd90cc2cf39f28fb1b2059ab1a903d19
4a18a1ce9c192738c0915d197b0cc5ac4c0613bc
1958 F20110403_AACNGP wang_h_Page_110.txt
fe42fdade87524af37e3f48c76a8165b
1e4b7fe8f6c4613dd355d88fc40f3aa112fb24ad
2133 F20110403_AACMEC wang_h_Page_177.txt
f4a11c9b6570c7197b6d4e14eaf98bd8
e59043a56efbf4eca6791c1f5d15c7ed5a52ea28
F20110403_AACMDN wang_h_Page_019.tif
99cf4ce7a5ccec2bce511c864c1aaec0
f1ca3565d82e7cf8d8738ba3a53c7d5583b0aafd
34699 F20110403_AACMCZ wang_h_Page_059.QC.jpg
12da68ddc7faec1b27839293d0f79b40
2e1a4545742aeb2eb0442684f58ec707ebea2e6f
F20110403_AACNHF wang_h_Page_209.tif
c5f0c090f940d88317614c07a393a7ec
9580c2a2c512c5765bfa4f37537da0c877115680
51658 F20110403_AACNGQ wang_h_Page_098.pro
37c4da5195664acaf88749645042c3dc
ddcf93567cea5533285616cee1f88f19b7c17871
1051975 F20110403_AACMED wang_h_Page_147.jp2
94257df3aff77ca0aa754045b3e1f766
1ad9eb77259e6b7fa9d6199768ffa4f395e79797
6667 F20110403_AACMDO wang_h_Page_007thm.jpg
43c03a3ab9a8c1dbbeaf7b47da5d8988
28c50c866e86e126106bd8dee76b015ef6ce4fd3
2109 F20110403_AACNHG wang_h_Page_147.txt
e3b71781655e27f137c31bbfd844caa4
ae5b11f800fb1e75a6b4e9f45148b9131055c267
2075 F20110403_AACNGR wang_h_Page_201.txt
acb116605276b030ad36a41c88fd9af3
03801a4ba1a66de12e3399fc79b60f0103f8cc40
31268 F20110403_AACMEE wang_h_Page_083.QC.jpg
1f2462d519a23951684e02f1b74b1d5c
a7b665bc123130b7f0d2fd2bd1e37875c981b13b
51586 F20110403_AACMDP wang_h_Page_043.pro
2ec34d381f99ee65327aa8370e0c3928
6bc5208756b5a484c4c8395120157aede413983b
F20110403_AACNHH wang_h_Page_132.tif
463d3b7f821b9394b2f8925f2b6e6d15
24090e40a18297856f230949deadd9d44453897a
1729 F20110403_AACNGS wang_h_Page_203.txt
9d7f53862c0f24e712a4847169a50e02
2f87fec047e7735cca313446407669fb9eb727bf
884121 F20110403_AACMEF wang_h_Page_082.jp2
88419f785f6d7271a8641d1f537dbe1a
f1178e1c07e00cb5cdf5ac715f68d923760fbc62
95235 F20110403_AACMDQ wang_h_Page_009.jpg
b46f6673a9aac593baa7db1dc3e92086
c4695abd1996105fc09dc36120daebdec661373a
53826 F20110403_AACNGT wang_h_Page_147.pro
bb83c3e32376cff3a93b8a7dada03961
1c6502ee206377bc2e7bb257302d182afe2ee8ef
106222 F20110403_AACMDR wang_h_Page_131.jpg
c48ec25d03e1f63e57c04848d1c2693a
3366632676a3fd8720417bf55aa29f178071c9ee
33451 F20110403_AACNHI wang_h_Page_181.QC.jpg
e1a55980a7a863297ae395c877d483e5
7ad9c46d70a3704250e1bc777075dea69412c510
34608 F20110403_AACNGU wang_h_Page_108.QC.jpg
60de1fbe319269df678fe1b4410bc88d
9a134811486ca4fa9f9bdccc3ee85f990ef39782
8526 F20110403_AACMEG wang_h_Page_146thm.jpg
95793923c873c2d48a5777b7fc971f95
ba094f4db632310640db61a535f736724437595d
1051858 F20110403_AACMDS wang_h_Page_159.jp2
db51b0f4aee317345804bacac52b35e5
376024b483c0e490450787ef1c58a46b9a6916af
120916 F20110403_AACNHJ wang_h_Page_019.jpg
9dd118cd78e9f5f3da3126852078c92d
8853f8326289e31ad2cc9cee9356261796ba1323
8322 F20110403_AACNGV wang_h_Page_011thm.jpg
3dcc9289fc715fd78d292f4eb1af535f
8fc2f3d9505c0975f2d11cbecf447715ec3b1c64
F20110403_AACMEH wang_h_Page_087.tif
e70c078e5d45bedb652eda4668ef777b
d4f51d21b80d138acec9fade7ee98af591120317
97294 F20110403_AACMDT wang_h_Page_204.jpg
04d76be7b313dd0e3a6ca1be259d16a1
d4ea3398513b55b83b1d9ee9533142a47c71a16d
F20110403_AACNHK wang_h_Page_183.tif
18e64e83e2b8c6b0dd700f1e6713bedb
b0050ca72b794afb17c8fd054b71cc605076fa51
F20110403_AACNGW wang_h_Page_023.tif
ed063c265da7e77c056fdf46b25b9727
48aca2d7c917091bb970a3ce51171060fd7d62ac
2037 F20110403_AACMEI wang_h_Page_012.txt
989169b8ef5c56a2c51541725d0e4d33
2ecb569ff4ade16ddb591af128fde19706e72683
50700 F20110403_AACMDU wang_h_Page_172.pro
f96a8f101d89e702958e49c8ff909fd6
e9d2fc679636a99ae31776e63b3ba0d8a9d3e6ae
F20110403_AACNIA wang_h_Page_104.tif
898afb685f49e448844782c230b5b68c
5d6b5abbd4855062a1b92e1185df323bf2179719
F20110403_AACNHL wang_h_Page_187.tif
8463187650fabd17e4115ea035d9aa47
3e888a76e0f7f625c9af521a6611b04b720b7723
35389 F20110403_AACNGX wang_h_Page_013.QC.jpg
4c0f413f585f2827e84b9c9f23d37910
6d46a3ea1ee522c3e939c945a06ea56f177958dd
1990 F20110403_AACMEJ wang_h_Page_076.txt
d6ff8c7fe8877df23a527cd81842b13b
9ae2dfd82ac34cc46c38d3943cf9838763295c46
33862 F20110403_AACMDV wang_h_Page_155.QC.jpg
2d6ca6c68f813d69a0ebece92bee0c13
a050854d4e1a8f079cf9bca80a3d0a4d570326e5
34140 F20110403_AACNIB wang_h_Page_018.QC.jpg
1d8e69c8a0e4058c6fa6fdca5cea592c
ed2d3a7841abb4dafdddc350d6d4ad5b1c108a3d
7829 F20110403_AACNHM wang_h_Page_123thm.jpg
d991e64b62c7d6971ce87bf35ff70e5f
796b92f8727985745751806e83046ee01c345bdb
2088 F20110403_AACNGY wang_h_Page_195.txt
dd56c430d3ff298049f913225dae2739
c068bab9c1e62a2ba1c09e42c407c472763a96c7
104484 F20110403_AACMEK wang_h_Page_028.jpg
f5cbab0e9ad61d52ae5b4dedbf3fa827
26ae489c7e422ab07281e7ce85ade6d8b8053650
102144 F20110403_AACMDW wang_h_Page_039.jpg
e87f3724858ed9e3b602d1a4a59039cd
dcbfb230b7670c6a4c5e6afdffdeefedfdca6ef1
113293 F20110403_AACNIC wang_h_Page_119.jpg
1b9874e2a7d94ea8daf4be1144dcbae7
27601f941a6693072e69e99a873e0eb4d586f9bd
721 F20110403_AACNHN wang_h_Page_045.txt
94d2b617e6a2397c667af86f86d1acdd
224658c4236c465b332961764a281fb6168af979
103261 F20110403_AACNGZ wang_h_Page_150.jpg
62390c513f5fda4908e3335bf8e1ff93
78c4292d050d2444f80e9db93d3c1a71497eb26c
52083 F20110403_AACMEL wang_h_Page_079.pro
f6642d0d56879c46ddc5fdc83031f2c1
5203219e721a20499c497513ed9f1cffcc3e381d
8481 F20110403_AACMDX wang_h_Page_089thm.jpg
d13af0568e963f3ec69e2034d8db30e0
d5d63a7e990cb6af2975f3f2584d66932f86e5b9
2012 F20110403_AACMFA wang_h_Page_023.txt
1f0601788f7d3e9cac3149da4e65e61a
e5163e8c07701465da19b1ec45381b439df60185
2022 F20110403_AACNID wang_h_Page_074.txt
fe388a43d38ef2907c857c48e023aaaf
b264ff2249169ca7b5c4bc4dc4db4a00ef551dc9
2048 F20110403_AACNHO wang_h_Page_018.txt
c463a12e140ca06b10b5045308aacb73
a166e42f81a1cdde5e01a6c26923bc72a63bf501
1051980 F20110403_AACMEM wang_h_Page_087.jp2
b0ef94fa7f02c1a864acafd102c5b1ec
6171127a3a8e8f5ea41e0e2c11e33537237da8a9
104292 F20110403_AACMDY wang_h_Page_029.jpg
b2c353e1d2447262c29530799a795d99
3253aa9b334e6cc6189921dc40d051a45c75175c
51752 F20110403_AACMFB wang_h_Page_096.pro
f025bd45ec6c0757928dcf11147cfcc2
a2bf511e5bb930b05769cc5dd8296ea0b3b5d748
F20110403_AACNIE wang_h_Page_067.tif
e3b55852f84ddd4a6b90511b8d8b74d6
90317c7e7c33e7384b6a4c4565ac7647a55fd598
52755 F20110403_AACNHP wang_h_Page_118.pro
7bdf3965649fd3dfe61e7fff3faa26af
e5a52d556fee1bdf66bc2e1f4b8de8c96c65f4d8
F20110403_AACMEN wang_h_Page_213.tif
5f418dfab6e1b30f8f8f5b76ca3f62bd
af9774bebaa06eb7c55999f525c341e848d1474a
F20110403_AACMDZ wang_h_Page_196.tif
47151011ee8aeeb8974358409161055a
8ba7fd060eea14f2332275959f3216d42777df23
34377 F20110403_AACMFC wang_h_Page_086.QC.jpg
7daffccc0c00dbdaba41f1fff808a8d5
e5de8f9c554766148da87defad08dca5df06c781
8433 F20110403_AACNIF wang_h_Page_143thm.jpg
a026aee556125089701e2eff182f15ed
58d3705a72807abd2824cb7bb522e267796d34aa
1051958 F20110403_AACNHQ wang_h_Page_070.jp2
666114ed2aa6167b078d49ffd8356e81
1d109ac8b0e11f21c011c95a8fb5d6836013b3bf
8579 F20110403_AACMEO wang_h_Page_187thm.jpg
114eddff4a32d4a26f8e1c98afba5300
70ea6ba9c35efc90a6d6b786546f9e6f15662155
107948 F20110403_AACMFD wang_h_Page_071.jpg
ccb4d19fa43c486e401a5f15f083870f
c7c3274cbf068a36de3acff1a5efc91e77cf0f07
1051934 F20110403_AACNIG wang_h_Page_174.jp2
9861cfd1373dba6e751a32eb1fd38225
1be2cc8e873a38a09e7d8aee6f8e6a8a5e6a701e
F20110403_AACNHR wang_h_Page_197.txt
0de0fc31f81b016e8472d3c18556c6d4
8cfd0b76d6febe1cb0e23b2741cbb3fea52f5eb7
104260 F20110403_AACMEP wang_h_Page_137.jpg
57e9fccb413b1d82e3b2856c42704313
49adb17324c73d46b29f449e8dc96c0f5d8e2672
51366 F20110403_AACMFE wang_h_Page_051.pro
2b1cdfdf979c05604b6201fa5b915513
0410b06b499d1601bc2c791701405278a29de549
F20110403_AACNIH wang_h_Page_205.tif
7dc124d17e5c0a3ac0fbd06cfb4763b5
54c7ede65cbfe455b4c413201c4df16bf1edac10
1051955 F20110403_AACNHS wang_h_Page_185.jp2
0d1005714047382cd396feeb2e44904f
fda70ed5dd4d357bb336bd05a81f758cbeca40d3
1051961 F20110403_AACMEQ wang_h_Page_211.jp2
1e2def43908dd14bf3cf4500460e5587
18935c908bbce6c4fd29a0cd7a7b795dbaf54f28
36048 F20110403_AACMFF wang_h_Page_144.QC.jpg
b8fe053f9cb81495e2545e167a8201d1
473533ba905f09e913785bd4b8ddd469a613642d
F20110403_AACNII wang_h_Page_027.tif
e42f3f7f7a31c6c1d05a70671f474316
1a9eacb592e0bd0a70f395c92311fdb68c4496cc
34097 F20110403_AACNHT wang_h_Page_081.QC.jpg
2834fc4b7147cbebb4a99aa0e2e82ab0
17e2d776d57177b536845e6e2ce35a6193018024
8646 F20110403_AACMER wang_h_Page_167thm.jpg
9826df9a99234e786edf32d0e9cc834e
c5edf593d737d0b58bcfc379e4777d3f3a3ab9be
8028 F20110403_AACMFG wang_h_Page_149thm.jpg
327e0f9031bdb7b339daa3b7eaf61655
635665f246fbfe0f0640339f29167c77a6611156
1051949 F20110403_AACNHU wang_h_Page_132.jp2
0cad75ae738995c75bd87483244bb3ea
ae0ae8753a1b1869d02cb2046a410db7ab81ee06
34512 F20110403_AACMES wang_h_Page_118.QC.jpg
eb744e75bbf062015d461abb351e4910
b3d07b9a65285a49a3e834eace9bcf3413da7205
50932 F20110403_AACNIJ wang_h_Page_125.pro
ddefedf9afd649ac7681dc582c116ca6
1f2c958825e82d37655b4bea2e88292884ce31ac
2030 F20110403_AACNHV wang_h_Page_111.txt
6670479104b495a2b2087b0b58d16a24
fd38d68679360b44dc1bfe2cbcb337c49875428c
52211 F20110403_AACMFH wang_h_Page_010.pro
85a661744474eed1cbfcdcb3a615a6f5
f15386bbb360be92bb5d861bab225a10e51167ab
34755 F20110403_AACMET wang_h_Page_060.QC.jpg
840a79b23b49a99ce8551af99388d723
f11067b7cc63c69aac503afb7fa28b3406e50e03
8449 F20110403_AACNIK wang_h_Page_152thm.jpg
a689a33e43367bd6dbc52d50f161b060
5c6518a85a647aaf38b0a8a936ed25c1a0c7de1f
8514 F20110403_AACNHW wang_h_Page_025thm.jpg
1d06237f7f82f1ae52c89b4442c4be08
2c3e8f928f1619aa58abd28f88f70a53db922836
1978 F20110403_AACMFI wang_h_Page_061.txt
def0637e931869e513535b498e7febcb
83de9dae111aa7ba8cee9795c39bf4c683245528
1946 F20110403_AACMEU wang_h_Page_158.txt
cefb86c2368689d1ce23f2ab2f011962
c0808a1f37f88818edd0b81b737deace19b5de27
F20110403_AACNJA wang_h_Page_207.tif
601a4a690632ce84cd67d51c1e3b6075
e24b9923b6e423789b1ebdc5d0a3d3cadf74e72b
52489 F20110403_AACNIL wang_h_Page_073.pro
b6eb8a6ec2e2db7b205066cf801cd484
89d61090e2020b4c21b88ae9dafb68e4a26b11ff
8408 F20110403_AACNHX wang_h_Page_050thm.jpg
c395f140ad3ffb33c6b2cd4cdada6d7b
f2fb343b683bf15c7c313f2f4851fc6c5d3fd6c2
31357 F20110403_AACMFJ wang_h_Page_123.QC.jpg
48c4f3701723995b82ce8ded718cdc7f
b694f93c70fb3065802eeac3114bd92a25cdfe96
106221 F20110403_AACMEV wang_h_Page_073.jpg
c06442d471d6d71e1a173ae3a8323327
39169dcac20b218c4b439a7587861d7954f8a140
F20110403_AACNJB wang_h_Page_115.tif
90ad7f8ce23af12ac08fb7d46c3b299d
ec71de0688a1892fd7a2423cd44f1c8c0773405f
102967 F20110403_AACNIM wang_h_Page_010.jpg
19e5cc785cab0b5a77f8b13c60f91974
38c84183a23a90d4d9dd452b8f8766c26547e165
102382 F20110403_AACNHY wang_h_Page_066.jpg
b1c16316ddcf183697fc846c674b756f
5538c9299fa5a8864a660930aba94ec655b00354
8518 F20110403_AACMFK wang_h_Page_154thm.jpg
a87c2b4e52ee9440d9aba8367ce82d7a
38d7e95cfe3bf45a9c67bc3871e8c7b028ddaf12
2060 F20110403_AACMEW wang_h_Page_088.txt
2d1c162fe63ad73a632967c1a49c56de
40f10aee385f95bbbcf47efa68a2f17638021b08
F20110403_AACNJC wang_h_Page_062.tif
dcd6ef4436d60ed3e97950086e86378d
a58dc478cf68011656badc5fc93d7a747db119f8
8546 F20110403_AACNIN wang_h_Page_041thm.jpg
cb77368e1c61d6ce9a4fbf03f446e2a3
9ea856e307ec50d8db7d77f7093121dbfd2507df
106612 F20110403_AACNHZ wang_h_Page_099.jpg
0ebaf80c5b1be161ac1127b9d6acafbf
6a99b19d6c4904820f10cf0066f605a955e6ba73
104711 F20110403_AACMGA wang_h_Page_197.jpg
0d71b0b1f7ba1f8d06a166a38a149a38
b2047fd5216596582140296f2161b258501a6c04
53126 F20110403_AACMFL wang_h_Page_102.pro
79a2e45aef7649e18ce5a0b0f45991ff
aadf9bc9bb46044357619d95f6992dd4be37bf5a
1051903 F20110403_AACMEX wang_h_Page_071.jp2
f71a4f68c7e87b64007cebc0f3e5c9c5
30e1a482329408fa1ebfd324e4097e5a524bdcea
8429 F20110403_AACNJD wang_h_Page_121thm.jpg
e41fe063c450fb9e902a329d752331e9
9ab9b9542f6c747f3a1efaf3d53158ab707b712a
106852 F20110403_AACNIO wang_h_Page_120.jpg
c15ebe7ac1fa323c40adc8d499cc3f78
11d86ed2c3402f2fd99debf7344b7b249fa618f2
F20110403_AACMGB wang_h_Page_150.txt
f27304b205ba74010513806d85f8619a
f04a1b887607ebcdcd567b27991f1869c22173c5
34232 F20110403_AACMFM wang_h_Page_175.QC.jpg
191f18b47b2d0776589cc04a2dd9e696
ef6245b1f5fc44c6221cdf35f0bdd6e3171a7762
715 F20110403_AACMEY wang_h_Page_008.txt
1b9262d584998f49083123388c6cbdce
366b1758a07a5ba87f33a3053d78f5d173ab0de9
106913 F20110403_AACNJE wang_h_Page_115.jpg
e8a54fb0617db0451a940742609b31e3
0c3ff91174378b89870ab361e32fb41104b45692
103501 F20110403_AACNIP wang_h_Page_052.jpg
fb60795d15e0df054507188f1d10849f
7cd8b4d29527b985923cce2bd9eda6f4bcb3e59e
2046 F20110403_AACMGC wang_h_Page_086.txt
c435d07ae5bd90bdbe1d85348101d563
9f5cd4e4ba1609f045228776d78ac26f0670af1e
F20110403_AACMFN wang_h_Page_016.txt
e5676f70602be4355d2eb95ee273bde4
ec8ba011905b0109d01e1a73a2a48e249945cdc3
1972 F20110403_AACMEZ wang_h_Page_011.txt
bd7527fe8acee17f01fd8eef1ff6dd2d
ec88b56aa704bb560d3d7113c52f5d470841da4b
51575 F20110403_AACNJF wang_h_Page_176.pro
79a484398f8a21a4fc21629d4199282a
78760b1eddcb24e42498e2619d74d9477722b168
34890 F20110403_AACNIQ wang_h_Page_105.QC.jpg
9a3e1638be4ecfb1180c410a9fe8bc04
8e0a21aa3f9afe57e36f57374dfe4c8cc0d715de
F20110403_AACMGD wang_h_Page_135.txt
9acb42ea8f379165a61c07876fa785c0
a3a5f563d1692992b21e2dc6eab0d66138158dfd
1051948 F20110403_AACMFO wang_h_Page_155.jp2
089ac76a9c00b49538bb29b0673988a1
53f73e0b299e8fe11f63f9bcbd383aec60df01ab
F20110403_AACNJG wang_h_Page_201.tif
16267b0540317319e05bed4b0a97831e
5d109c92d90b6104d02ac495967afeb7abd2fc60
F20110403_AACNIR wang_h_Page_204.tif
2786dc449c656a62c3634eb2a1b6b23f
5b4511c1a4708401d51947a35b457387d29f60ed
F20110403_AACMGE wang_h_Page_023.jp2
f3ecbdee7b3f38d6dcfbabd544befa87
03f548c08aac6ce0aabd7bc7624b520c195b182e
32387 F20110403_AACMFP wang_h_Page_011.QC.jpg
df8ff9790af071ed2a90a606b57c0953
8da8d1b35167b030d90c1cf4b8e2379184439948
2150 F20110403_AACNJH wang_h_Page_031.txt
1f55ad7890e482692664da4362fff956
76f571549c21e6083146641801e9641a9004b457
51553 F20110403_AACNIS wang_h_Page_080.pro
32659be51612eef2a63e30b8e66a6711
7a14858b6d4036ce5af50695eb7a5ce9565ba28c
1051904 F20110403_AACMGF wang_h_Page_129.jp2
b9b8e9e6468d8cee6b92017866975a0d
5e86198e71c6882582f87d69f97115ed3a8eb320
F20110403_AACMFQ wang_h_Page_188.tif
886c9e9dc62d203e0c86eccafb601a45
7cee51944b2adc716dbf72fa97a1110b78e6087c
F20110403_AACNJI wang_h_Page_024.tif
986ec19ab3a4ceedbf050ab1e33cbf41
d4b169a9fdb681d6e56d745a7cd89295f59598fd
8640 F20110403_AACNIT wang_h_Page_147thm.jpg
1c46f160737a25c8f1b07affd7cdd3f6
e02981be6c63b4743a2061daf36f62f0ad1c1182
8695 F20110403_AACMGG wang_h_Page_030thm.jpg
3751eb0a3c04a2c192dcb7adaceab090
cf2535c9295bc21471b6a9c88239b1012ff4c979
F20110403_AACMFR wang_h_Page_162.tif
9e46809770fa14514e7ba240939dd794
6513c772fb851299679d5fed174a54993be17ee8
1051976 F20110403_AACNJJ wang_h_Page_187.jp2
5ef8bc90838adfb93946deb8573b7c78
1c6ad8311301c616ebe0c03b6d7c7c18eb4d931d
112921 F20110403_AACNIU wang_h_Page_090.jpg
97851c5058028f5baaa5b89a2d035848
1e24c70614e5ab5c9d5ba045a427257355c24abd
106558 F20110403_AACMGH wang_h_Page_038.jpg
eae790abeffb937e93103fce0352ac82
48b77a463e4facd6b362ace396b479c24245d2c0
F20110403_AACMFS wang_h_Page_020.tif
c8e31b289dfe8f48733d6fa7fd8ae175
a884fd2dc8a713c79f906d1c2a375f934477cf65
1890 F20110403_AACNIV wang_h_Page_009.txt
507ec6afcee5bee798944985138b19f5
99d585e82bfdd06d48815529cbacd9c2c5dad44f
F20110403_AACMFT wang_h_Page_177.jp2
bd808083525820d4b15edfb7700e26f9
ba4b8e3cac63abcfe574b66f8b8fa94ce5169943
51948 F20110403_AACNJK wang_h_Page_152.pro
7c78063940585463c1fcbd24b6fc924b
ea880c28d7477593bf4ea912fa2eafb580be281e
2097 F20110403_AACNIW wang_h_Page_112.txt
9c7370449219ffd101a088843a3fa81f
8c5c7bb4651d1b75d5f6bd5bd9f3e2006de5b898
F20110403_AACMGI wang_h_Page_112.tif
9b9f97a0b76132c17a2b7af989435c5e
ee34e773a2e7dfa3707ac7ffd5f4047a1727d038
8656 F20110403_AACMFU wang_h_Page_115thm.jpg
fec26747a11edceccb93acf6a069f746
432513a9a5a0d1c5b03acfcee9f9540c8a16ab7f
34928 F20110403_AACNKA wang_h_Page_192.QC.jpg
c78d184a862cd3c6a7580ecfe4bd1d9a
ca33befa4ae053e163965a3e9e42f93fa918e5a5
8511 F20110403_AACNJL wang_h_Page_104thm.jpg
852bde03d26c9c2ea75be6e3067725a8
2fe3848347fafa308164e4672e2f4f6cf4d0a59f
34121 F20110403_AACNIX wang_h_Page_034.QC.jpg
ff1ec1363fd780dfb8b8818b83650e37
d07f23467ae06c615a045ec14b1f3bc15ae14a85
8574 F20110403_AACMGJ wang_h_Page_062thm.jpg
4ae81ca66e7ed905768694ee8f535f71
cd978a7bfd270686ebecebbbd8a4e7e089617a38
7187 F20110403_AACMFV wang_h_Page_203thm.jpg
e1ebe8d5d7ca11b3eebedc0de55f4846
7eea63a97b574ad40880f1d396badfadb86ef961
F20110403_AACNKB wang_h_Page_107.tif
f845fc4a9921ef6329f1736249ed8097
4923f5fad16313bccfd278b6238e07c69247c83c
2080 F20110403_AACNJM wang_h_Page_175.txt
1523c0276a5fe78e8ec1a2d5a039ad12
78e472435a02f7c0e21491a6bcb2bd68ebd09a3b
51927 F20110403_AACNIY wang_h_Page_057.pro
7a4638c527633aa10818e8e984ba2069
24fa75e394f854ca5952bc16b7e62610d521e077
F20110403_AACMGK wang_h_Page_151.txt
6045e7ecdde99230b287e1cd5ba424bb
5b4d275ff7066ac7721747436f01d45eb8296a49
106495 F20110403_AACMFW wang_h_Page_054.jpg
02612f4bd81b41024669f6635ec8c31a
cafdbe6302dbf4162afca0d20d47a8a01ef9e48b
34029 F20110403_AACNKC wang_h_Page_056.QC.jpg
6915015f95e6db449214de5100ae8140
5834b272020f94e12f62082bab23e9d98556cf68
F20110403_AACNJN wang_h_Page_072.tif
902fc27bd911a01a8bc64873a006a8e2
ec0e41d7d752351637b89bd320c9d3072f407db3
8293 F20110403_AACNIZ wang_h_Page_158thm.jpg
9617cc5bd86b2d2fc5af548230fbf784
de2b21f14f9b5601e63d9509596ac43d5de1537c
1051984 F20110403_AACMGL wang_h_Page_077.jp2
1c2acc6e21b5e2059bdc0aa1e01dd2f6
b275db9f4e3041e1d3b41a908b233b7d99662dca
33302 F20110403_AACMFX wang_h_Page_183.QC.jpg
1e69e2b2f7a91b8992738e8fa6cbf99d
f00012c517f07981832b3954e11df7743fd7e980
8384 F20110403_AACMHA wang_h_Page_145thm.jpg
271a9a9903983da5d526b0eac6f47bc3
9fdc8f5fc4842079814a83bf51521e5a03e7f02a
34006 F20110403_AACNKD wang_h_Page_184.QC.jpg
199d094320630f9c0b8e849a9e39febe
4efd5e546758b45e390d6008ea4d9f03f0f17088
110363 F20110403_AACNJO wang_h_Page_107.jpg
f5543149cddaca28eab62057c71fb76a
9d80c36134172f7b8cb1b7c66bf5ad84a6589dd0
56583 F20110403_AACMGM wang_h_Page_063.pro
7638a89ec43bfcaf37125d647d58abea
478c9ea951885a01b3c4b38bec0e6de2b1f02ed1
1051979 F20110403_AACMFY wang_h_Page_042.jp2
cdac5d6bdf6abda03b85bc1ed570de46
8e804fc4a3e07d90f3963552d6c59fcff8e8413b
1051942 F20110403_AACMHB wang_h_Page_073.jp2
b5cfbfa85c1a28d4beb4f5582c05775a
4be3fb8f4a22013315c29face18586b35c87edc7
52195 F20110403_AACNKE wang_h_Page_087.pro
5e545e388aab514515aa2efc99e1cee1
fdfaa1e93f0f2f7ad8ebd6e51edc61182da7b357
51544 F20110403_AACNJP wang_h_Page_074.pro
7c339e64d1c2c1b273dd5f5ec6328e29
4ab80f887d9a686675a385acf7a99f5dcd5d742d
F20110403_AACMGN wang_h_Page_030.txt
230d1f79ba29cb6fa8ca07bacc2fadc9
c3f0208d59de45e8739486e95d58a2a9e24e8b14
104768 F20110403_AACMFZ wang_h_Page_199.jpg
24e87c5ee1ff22bb29ba769d26d032ec
9ac0d9e6e9a7e14fa9fe35aa7349d3018176eb17
33261 F20110403_AACMHC wang_h_Page_076.QC.jpg
0dcb9c6fc8c939cbd50eeb16c1a03686
b8e4f26c046b3ae07bed90d3832c6d5193579037
33411 F20110403_AACNKF wang_h_Page_154.QC.jpg
9810ee3ceee076bfb27264cecb26d332
927c93d745487246e00d720fc0257fad557692b0
8564 F20110403_AACNJQ wang_h_Page_018thm.jpg
03421306246239b5904ccfedc56c3b70
9967abd8f2fd53f489d8354eb4bf867072c6c1ca
34860 F20110403_AACMGO wang_h_Page_040.QC.jpg
b8576208912395683594838295470127
0931442d7e0dbce1734af4534ceceae64f749753
F20110403_AACMHD wang_h_Page_090.tif
330794b8b7aef6fd26d905045f6f5612
f9934eadd35a8e78596e0607d450edb8e5d143dc
107258 F20110403_AACNKG wang_h_Page_196.jpg
918a51b9410cff009b4332e28ca641d7
36b42024ea3843c44859c51f7225ceb8c07c96ce
50907 F20110403_AACNJR wang_h_Page_117.pro
9692c4ba57fdf23213efbf81542205cf
f7e925451bce6cbc205cae4d607a6c9885f68b0f
8505 F20110403_AACMGP wang_h_Page_106thm.jpg
476449b3eef5335cf4171b80832a7a8d
69f7cdd61467f98399aa58bf9ada7d892f9e742b
54004 F20110403_AACMHE wang_h_Page_065.pro
9594e79b9fa0353cc740abaf4de45481
caf62841647e49ed052cfb620ef788bd5bd39a52
51646 F20110403_AACNKH wang_h_Page_105.pro
3e68e235bb34134f0fe48930020e5bf3
9174560663786d40a306d17e54c6836b4d951af9
F20110403_AACNJS wang_h_Page_037.tif
b35150975aee3ac4ed05d2d1bf1f32e1
81996be5bcfdcf0970f821fa941d15e2d813877a
106037 F20110403_AACMGQ wang_h_Page_030.jpg
edff181d83667cb68826dc9078e82408
c3045045665f75b2f84e1544329aa1991a8c4687
F20110403_AACMHF wang_h_Page_155.tif
c30d0422f7090746af783c5cbeaafbf6
0352706d17a1ac176a24912ab0bc9aa8b4d96443
8497 F20110403_AACNKI wang_h_Page_108thm.jpg
59b94ad69314890bf22ca93d8eb2e30b
329f28f09ebef129f0b26c0cc8830684b37b1707
405444 F20110403_AACNJT wang_h_Page_045.jp2
8d243dd412b22c00a142cd4f05a27587
8f2380a36350d0c144ddf86c299853e82e2dc3eb
1051906 F20110403_AACMGR wang_h_Page_196.jp2
b167283371850ef179fb40079b61a292
0d0c7b1c96a83519eacc39b9b780d52d66797e98
2107 F20110403_AACMHG wang_h_Page_127.txt
075eaeaa8c7c7e0b379abbc87ff1baaf
67a65206f894365f6567dd59feaedaa6dcdce16b
F20110403_AACNKJ wang_h_Page_206.tif
d239874fc93ca440f61930bef0e68835
5e4c734df8ff5c83d7a3df4024122cfe97183116
F20110403_AACNJU wang_h_Page_168.tif
9863aedb458811ed3eb6b472f251b42e
edfeb58a28ed5e6c029fa12342a7d4eedd6efb2e
F20110403_AACMGS wang_h_Page_161.tif
996dea42f8429e6ed6bb4b2a035d3afc
1847de986738d31cc57b37284f3b8cfee43efb63
8594 F20110403_AACMHH wang_h_Page_111thm.jpg
86a4567fc1e81cf1e4a7641f644f7337
11b0963718dfb50ae0f581fc2469bea3e9a82f01
1051926 F20110403_AACNKK wang_h_Page_130.jp2
b324e6666607ce10a932e3275971e1a9
636082ac65e1d78d12ae500b7916bb2ac8980eb2
103949 F20110403_AACNJV wang_h_Page_092.jpg
dd4275d8954f7b1d8d7f01f4b2ab83e2
d6383ee39fcfd08916d4695b09d2646e0beddcba
33483 F20110403_AACMGT wang_h_Page_206.QC.jpg
02ea7e6b76474e36ca163bf2b7f156f2
fd93441d7642b4aa4010751eb7cff8a26ade9228
F20110403_AACMHI wang_h_Page_060.tif
eff8b26d9b07c2d3d7fd8b848843858a
9eaa7970c65b20b395669aa7c50e085924c50348
2042 F20110403_AACNJW wang_h_Page_103.txt
99deadd3c26a20a827c75ad60cbcd694
9a03ff0f851f214bfff46da417951a2d60569df5
6506 F20110403_AACMGU wang_h_Page_082thm.jpg
6ece865cc9d1f908568c16eef2e97ba9
2d5ebac09db2fdf1220dd9fe91c2c4cc4d004496
1051938 F20110403_AACNLA wang_h_Page_105.jp2
31fd7cfc0eac48946e775fd9b6a65290
1d9f75650b26f6ade7d65bf8e0965e8ef570a032
8877 F20110403_AACNKL wang_h_Page_162thm.jpg
6924255e6b18643cf67ff0af92bf8dfc
0de9a8f0a9384f5d1ac2f38d7702465138737aaf
8552 F20110403_AACNJX wang_h_Page_209thm.jpg
95d17650bfb6d43302373d7b7e0e2fc0
aa38d25fbdb9d70b3e16a202e7532d682230d4d8
31638 F20110403_AACMGV wang_h_Page_017.QC.jpg
280bf5553fc205ce1eba110b211297be
f91f26fc1d53fd749635588fbbae5da97f5476a5
2257 F20110403_AACMHJ wang_h_Page_090.txt
aafbc351572be43d28d0081a62f69b5e
8a6afe0e806687bfb3cd523959c03efdd5302951
F20110403_AACNLB wang_h_Page_190.tif
f0239fcac3ece5f1742132bb4505330f
5750c7a9ce737c1d8db74459e919523ab11d8d54
19545 F20110403_AACNKM wang_h_Page_213.jpg
5f46516a3843ff3d76d6f4d2ca9ad9b0
6c6480e534de2b8db779bfd2aa5f21b86b0b56e1
F20110403_AACNJY wang_h_Page_091.tif
dc6514397ef8541b4f809d0218a154ec
f7236df7eb988fd6ced81c8958e540dfe0bbc2e9
2047 F20110403_AACMGW wang_h_Page_087.txt
421046291faa29bf79e9a4e23ed095be
040f7f93f27039b07bc7ad92e1eafac72a27dce3
50696 F20110403_AACMHK wang_h_Page_183.pro
67d18d6194855133c2b912af9ef172cc
caa6f8695142e8e0757de5252244d5ee113c5077
F20110403_AACNLC wang_h_Page_161.jp2
437aba2dedb4c1737d56a78f497a4638
e25c25873213663f00c683fc51bdbff5bc86b9c5
34421 F20110403_AACNKN wang_h_Page_026.QC.jpg
768348a62a59b13d20ac5ff306c9ca92
5d575fac1f27a4ce66ae1f23f9a87b3dd4b69703
F20110403_AACNJZ wang_h_Page_025.jp2
b5487c88834a2edd8b60734626169510
260d7ab4d48cddd197d364023264dcdae09c3405
F20110403_AACMGX wang_h_Page_003.tif
1868572c924cb41a864c49b425e770f3
40146c5dfeab225b24454fee943f3bc8964693f9
51636 F20110403_AACMIA wang_h_Page_186.pro
6ec2cf5911ae14c536a1923a52fd1ba0
a014da23ce3c60f34cb487385069fb21c986da67
F20110403_AACMHL wang_h_Page_203.tif
cac1feec11e93550b2fca8e7492882f7
6679184b529ec0e6ce73117b81a87bb51c2c8fae
35837 F20110403_AACNLD wang_h_Page_022.QC.jpg
c1de8bb8cf958d66a867275a64ea6469
73901ab067ea70350b9a0d62809b9e0c5f59fa7f
2063 F20110403_AACNKO wang_h_Page_025.txt
af7def93a8bed97f125d2102ad2ca251
557c649d7af2e391b95089143bce2f1ef594ccaf
8701 F20110403_AACMGY wang_h_Page_109thm.jpg
5087e285a5785489ba90227b04ae988f
29e7cbe438efef78ea91b6dde0b2cd0b6cc034bf
F20110403_AACMIB wang_h_Page_131.tif
0e83baa567cc5eb99e2a9df658c0b45e
22f0d9c52d4579cf8dc26c180fa7c505122a6f78
104961 F20110403_AACMHM wang_h_Page_105.jpg
dd2850824bae92143034e4a2b437b033
95a6f8a8559202113ad072a702051ce53f0d7494
106962 F20110403_AACNLE wang_h_Page_094.jpg
2e5e5472d0f3a7169bc242babee47486
ab1e4edee4dbb90802e85b5d4de637ff156e6b76
52007 F20110403_AACNKP wang_h_Page_041.pro
5b0ac5e97ffae2b22c253d13ae405dcb
a023113bee6eee286d67e39230726010dc0863ca
2040 F20110403_AACMGZ wang_h_Page_041.txt
e066b04450e67fb5098de002e71d7fd4
24e51e04c0e6daa0349f0b9fd22b6d406015157d
F20110403_AACMIC wang_h_Page_121.jp2
4b7666d64f218b2d46384a326034f73d
62a22dfac0e6255837f38645798677d157d127e8
101670 F20110403_AACMHN wang_h_Page_116.jpg
084f653105c8afb6d695c2264ab3b930
02a2e8e87692b5138e9f86758a4cec8e84365f05
33868 F20110403_AACNLF wang_h_Page_164.QC.jpg
58fd06010801bf1d28526d30e61fe207
7b956824a8d8aba9afbe290f41c61d279ceed669
102712 F20110403_AACNKQ wang_h_Page_154.jpg
d4b26a146da3c57cb75c90c9c389fdbc
a479d656de6c346ce4e2bc479a4ad7e1645e71ed
48434 F20110403_AACMID wang_h_Page_068.pro
19aa9dc8424076f982a92ac2b2f8bdb0
1e744d6352135ea8c3c6704f1828a29785bb7700
1985 F20110403_AACMHO wang_h_Page_095.txt
33c1057d57070894f06361e2d545d880
3b21dcdb3b209fdd52772be0adf11d9d755efa1b
51669 F20110403_AACNLG wang_h_Page_111.pro
365828f77dd0ace6c2e3bef85275fd30
4cd32bf4188dedd738c7791e2a3ef6b9663b215b
53834 F20110403_AACNKR wang_h_Page_144.pro
e76cee106e2bf4315de8e3422b36e470
1b695fcda7490eb0a13bb4276c631f1da95c8f03
19589 F20110403_AACMIE wang_h_Page_122.QC.jpg
36ae2a5567e14f8107a2d9ba454410f3
c860914e1c7e66749f4cd9289633a635ba6b7f2c
211295 F20110403_AACMHP wang_h_Page_001.jp2
39fab3b13b2e839999b498b9bd47363f
2492a49571891862a0c0aec4694ab959cba54daa
34696 F20110403_AACNLH wang_h_Page_136.QC.jpg
7415ec05f942e5f9a162581a1ddbf9ca
9ffdc75d4ebbb1b9f485e27522affbf59653906a
1051959 F20110403_AACNKS wang_h_Page_069.jp2
3aff9a888c577ffc0d050cf2f09daef1
88a5a6706bd974897b568b823c385de95640d882
35873 F20110403_AACMIF wang_h_Page_190.QC.jpg
02996dc052a3f0411baf8b19523e885c
27ec8a846d559d3df04d236048946c68b8e221de
33607 F20110403_AACMHQ wang_h_Page_145.QC.jpg
8862e0f91362602dbd4698894fb25a12
2d62dd190bf135c7aad843b4ce0383c36a29d6ae
1051887 F20110403_AACNLI wang_h_Page_012.jp2
da16ddfae9f5c7b3e0945267a84f636e
baa3e518d909fbdf9521f5f416f71ed594be8a7d
54897 F20110403_AACNKT wang_h_Page_211.pro
52e5471dcc5cb8b60a975d3cb22942f3
bd0434ad3b2f6331b0e99c6edb39b91983435e75
8603 F20110403_AACMIG wang_h_Page_087thm.jpg
c4b4f44ac677713ae3b35860910fcc13
060e82db5b37bfc4e4e802325f461c64304daccd
F20110403_AACMHR wang_h_Page_061.tif
7c73c51b86ed103fc10bf8b1f5fb744e
afc81dbd6eb474df4bc19469278d97b8d2ba6ec7
7568 F20110403_AACNLJ wang_h_Page_204thm.jpg
463fd1d1f94cdd5b1be6dd92124c15cd
11426252c32507cf6033e33e292fe5e4912d18f9
F20110403_AACNKU wang_h_Page_138.tif
050d6b58da296dfc2037f626471fa5d9
42a866caa88f6501563ab6e0dbf3d2ca3f2a17fe
35143 F20110403_AACMIH wang_h_Page_053.QC.jpg
66e087750246f951665754f68861896b
d287f9fe00fcf52aec9c919499aa5aa8eee157f8
2064 F20110403_AACMHS wang_h_Page_133.txt
1df39b1a344dcaab82b216d01a806c03
945fcbab8ca7eeb7edc756cc6e0ee691c5025a1b
2267 F20110403_AACNLK wang_h_Page_205.txt
9f87f93b75c60a6356565532ab07c175
ffc2bba0bd17a028d37b00ae716ae47285768813
51633 F20110403_AACNKV wang_h_Page_124.pro
399943bc59f56998f6165eee98125a24
330afdcaf9a32c2dde9570d7272a41aec3d68747
104465 F20110403_AACMII wang_h_Page_093.jpg
7b71edd0a0d6b5d7c3348b6d69a35332
7171b8394c4eee30c410b77d0633ef1d20b4a169
F20110403_AACMHT wang_h_Page_015.tif
32365b982b10e43aa4812cb5faacf113
d8a071bfd65f533e1404a4d8bae25488c444e957
F20110403_AACNLL wang_h_Page_010.tif
5325be4b57e175aa1bbcb40014d23654
5cf68d9545a3767ccd9efc170089663340975afa
819756 F20110403_AACNKW wang_h_Page_005.jp2
fab399fc93983480a553b0e552a41001
81b1b0144fa18e5e0cd09cdf65cf1d44dedf5896
F20110403_AACMIJ wang_h_Page_192.txt
82d083a9d1d63d933bbffb68f9fb399a
302f93481845358f5787237afd19e631e98b1790
8678 F20110403_AACMHU wang_h_Page_074thm.jpg
8b78e5042a654ada6e56410f130e08f5
fc6c4457066cc7cba387c066a203739e40e35a4a
35102 F20110403_AACNMA wang_h_Page_127.QC.jpg
18ffcec7c0a455f8aac7448c3f5d58d5
f4979cbe80efa12acd7f2874f08dbac3fd4d6e46
8425 F20110403_AACNKX wang_h_Page_092thm.jpg
f21fc2d40f40fc787507faf898715697
20785c77723860e36a5ed7f9df14887a0772e324
1884 F20110403_AACMHV wang_h_Page_046.txt
993308d1e37dd81f07af0e5fa9232f16
3b524ef74a8126676e9410e5fed36bc75ecca7e5
105700 F20110403_AACNMB wang_h_Page_057.jpg
a661972827ff3556a9e5f97a44da2835
54435b910fef33b3ddb043ec5713357fca71156b
102527 F20110403_AACNLM wang_h_Page_168.jpg
8d7eccd6828f350b7a2d1043decc177b
978a46bb0f08f73a1f447953695585f30e9b6c32
31997 F20110403_AACNKY wang_h_Page_180.QC.jpg
8bc4c34c848084d41fc399478434ef1b
7fc5d613b14394d04f8e10bcde196d29fdc31287
F20110403_AACMIK wang_h_Page_135.tif
8bdab271925ea58e340eca6b400de72c
7bf49704b01540db437143e2795054c2c2753223
1051957 F20110403_AACMHW wang_h_Page_120.jp2
e01f922c7f09c02cb1a605997c124135
3dabbd8716736438b0de19991eea336d07ead2d6
33699 F20110403_AACNMC wang_h_Page_051.QC.jpg
b89f135e191662033bf0d2aeb48c0455
a9e7256c462112966bf2ba51928b534347d37451
113845 F20110403_AACNLN wang_h_Page_211.jpg
9bff8426972bd597f2a297734fcbc30d
760648466e05076fc169acec0016a1d6f5b8edc2
33753 F20110403_AACNKZ wang_h_Page_153.QC.jpg
1afae3f9d7e1d50d494dc4a0c148cd9c
3a0a0b47360183e6a04a5ea575caca99f90dddda
F20110403_AACMJA wang_h_Page_122.tif
48aa92365c7d466ceda7c22658a38e2c
498d74f5f2ed7e2d73785120afef3c84bbe607a2
105727 F20110403_AACMIL wang_h_Page_148.jpg
e39dbe6c03b3934aef41ea3fa1cfeb51
9a3c98348dc219cd172a94d5d72e9d03d4ad3397
34551 F20110403_AACMHX wang_h_Page_167.QC.jpg
6b7bb4487708b71db18a82bf42830b51
52c1ba8f193cb823d0fbddf906d48e7368192b4f
F20110403_AACNMD wang_h_Page_037.jp2
4431b1b0ef3dc8eed6926755733086b0
c7df4884d0bccba72bd47a4511e731f04602e42f
8628 F20110403_AACNLO wang_h_Page_211thm.jpg
9b53f24f5caa9314763da0f78846ce44
e858f6bbe89bda1cb69e96eb202316abb83d49e9
98934 F20110403_AACMJB wang_h_Page_011.jpg
5483079635543c65ed4bec4c06728d2c
880d7d136e1ca1be646b998144f971f316e5571c
1051916 F20110403_AACMIM wang_h_Page_050.jp2
0f521a537b381eef73172a42b52239d6
4412a7127982d571ae1d3a46de9f139e5cd0cec4
51758 F20110403_AACMHY wang_h_Page_064.pro
4ae24cee8bafb4d78374164b04d9a7a7
e9a886a5acef49a75f16a6aa17777cf34ea41c33
51039 F20110403_AACNME wang_h_Page_168.pro
50b325fac5c938a4430577d56b889ee2
b1ee33f45974a655699116847ac7926e54a1e331
1051983 F20110403_AACNLP wang_h_Page_068.jp2
51b2df01b763c4b29aa7fca6624389bd
26b810abc98e2972d191c07479d81d810437072e
26013 F20110403_AACMJC wang_h_Page_002.jp2
26d44ed33831b34a881267abcedcd7b4
dd031397a405822b5c1402b224bd6a4e9f2ea606
52081 F20110403_AACMIN wang_h_Page_038.pro
4ccd3e6fb106a3221f32f77f2ed3161f
19394d45d11576c6084a9ac532d36dadaf9decc1
8492 F20110403_AACMHZ wang_h_Page_077thm.jpg
5a7c6d5ebb35749f6a3f58db1b9ef305
0bf30485a2505a9523ad664bf4e9371f0542830c
52174 F20110403_AACNMF wang_h_Page_016.pro
52c356fb613266ed7b41230b1b5a624b
65c7dc069b1162f8f709d8334d006e649b3601f2
1120 F20110403_AACNLQ wang_h_Page_122.txt
c74712a40db1fff2cdda06f9da3186a2
7ec33988bc05d9a74e7b5bb12f96e10c88a93c08
F20110403_AACMJD wang_h_Page_191.txt
4feeb6979b357ff0e568bceab9a94e83
2b18587cd44270c6517755534477a3ae05169c51
F20110403_AACMIO wang_h_Page_075.tif
7e1a09d68a0e36ddb2930551c0791c32
417858b48732fbead75cd4254594fb8ace1eb785
628406 F20110403_AACNMG wang_h_Page_122.jp2
6194a135641983d9936a10042965c43c
2d84b983b0c5bf764977457fc5c05576044aff69
F20110403_AACNLR wang_h_Page_056.tif
8b6bc8d2651e271420e89f1565709ff1
ce4eeed2d2d2d1932c2ed1c6dfbd5c5eed506c09
34378 F20110403_AACMJE wang_h_Page_109.QC.jpg
830ed61ccb13aed8d284dfc6cab6c389
65d9d8d2cb6ded9cbbff002c0fed78e16acad0d6
7245 F20110403_AACMIP wang_h_Page_213.pro
6e05455a116e454e06f11b1cfd8b8831
c1af07cf2f2f7c1c050e01cc2c3645b3e39e4dd3
2234 F20110403_AACNMH wang_h_Page_003.pro
4c40aaf1d71a614ea085b03083ce3127
dd59aea300dcb749f7336ece91a54d445068023d
107784 F20110403_AACNLS wang_h_Page_134.jpg
50f48c9019964ba9386701ff54ccb855
11cfcc254aec7cbda27feee0915960cb1627b670
F20110403_AACMJF wang_h_Page_109.tif
e3b783dc4d0d8f4f1e9235fc3b65a2fa
afbe74d8a68a5d25bb2fe28e8677e36bac80403b
108020 F20110403_AACMIQ wang_h_Page_113.jpg
f9af9a918a5df6cdb1c683f1284c3367
21cb73b1e2beecc44223b60b2270153b02f502db
F20110403_AACNMI wang_h_Page_058.tif
a06d9b524744d70fa3f6ec8790df7ebd
737849348554f850eead1e9d94e17abec2a2597f
35034 F20110403_AACNLT wang_h_Page_102.QC.jpg
d20c19c7b7b08b5886e96980a7585e5e
6bdf6bf8f91d5a01ce089a68700df8340cc8f1c9
106702 F20110403_AACMJG wang_h_Page_201.jpg
08223068bdbdaba827283715e3b1a1a3
339062fed1359ebd5e908fb03e8983bf16ad99ec
2028 F20110403_AACMIR wang_h_Page_077.txt
128b8b07e4fda22b013772dc320df167
d0339644f456b7e81acf598d87d2ec7a0e67725a
F20110403_AACNMJ wang_h_Page_030.tif
ac885635cac508cd20ac451f73b6a181
1ba94f7ed8e916a7bc74ff9c5501ad65e97c784c
1980 F20110403_AACNLU wang_h_Page_066.txt
67d3d19a9d480bad020e37ede7eb983b
a5bd309e1489818d95d904855a6af8ca85e08bff
8068 F20110403_AACMJH wang_h_Page_097thm.jpg
606831a22c63ff4578a8ce2301cebeb4
8c0d62c1603171e7e7ad14305c2a46e7db245858
F20110403_AACMIS wang_h_Page_177.tif
6bc700107d9d570934b1c0e40df32408
ffd4f2a7e8d26ef0d00ef2524ab35929e0c50551
2002 F20110403_AACNMK wang_h_Page_168.txt
ecf81614b3e5160cf8f5c6e6d9194576
b2da4205e4a2886f929b059e6d93d9874b4f468e
F20110403_AACNLV wang_h_Page_093.txt
27699a8fab5c2f0bfb041fdf2bf08e14
07ed371b32ee02092195e520c84ddc65228ec71b
103169 F20110403_AACMJI wang_h_Page_146.jpg
2e150cd4e21feeb5454fec97b1488b1d
0664e8a45731a71a50006f163fe17638cc33cddf
8605 F20110403_AACMIT wang_h_Page_199thm.jpg
ae9e13d0ddab5c2b9a5980a6ea957a68
96af38313f07428f026345a4d1590d1a560d30d0
2038 F20110403_AACNML wang_h_Page_181.txt
ea531e596685ccdb8653fa18938ff8f7
343d6167170f9e3e88f6d0eb3a4f07eac80ecb33
2238 F20110403_AACNLW wang_h_Page_063.txt
fe3b394e2b7092cb7f4327f92ed65cdf
546c1143ccb57ec322d7455d4c69f5bc04e1f40a
F20110403_AACMJJ wang_h_Page_085.txt
18bda1f9c55ee98eab078e185770a3cb
c362846d27e01a63f4b9bc6c5abb76a3a1ee45fe
2036 F20110403_AACMIU wang_h_Page_057.txt
f9d110c261e21690fda2c8f8a58cb885
ca60ad0c49d55f012f6d9e269f80264224e82f6f
1934 F20110403_AACNNA wang_h_Page_161.txt
0b105638b72a21a0c67ec0177817feff
8497398b6ace3a077f70f6e1c6f34758dd866f11
47031 F20110403_AACNMM wang_h_Page_083.pro
3a6be02b7dd3676cb8536a84f495c243
751246c90143a789e9b4014843309a3f2422bb32
2074 F20110403_AACNLX wang_h_Page_131.txt
a15da10f86748f49f62c4c3f085b03ab
8d9e90bb1f2d4e17de697c2dc22fce84c57e8b06
F20110403_AACMJK wang_h_Page_130.tif
c428082bcdacd5b6f80507cdc14f6a20
669c653ab8ec344afe1998eb115b3c6ff0826280
F20110403_AACMIV wang_h_Page_171.tif
6c4a51f3ae662ba1d1980af5887d35c4
8927700f4c6d52bea37c302751ce4b681a2f6356
34423 F20110403_AACNNB wang_h_Page_099.QC.jpg
0642fd37fd758489ec1a0f348f0ac69d
388ade15056a8ff0cbca3694e794b3dd8ddc55d7
F20110403_AACNLY wang_h_Page_191.jp2
e8c16d31cbb9f3f06528eeaeb72d3b8c
3bd60d1099294c39763b43a4ce5e8aa164b419fe
2260 F20110403_AACMIW wang_h_Page_020.txt
5aa7003f12a1306c7c46f07e60f3c25d
4a873970dc4a9febf7c684fd49bf087910d9f22d
2291 F20110403_AACNNC wang_h_Page_027.txt
82976ec09ac1769bc7e29297e6c8d7b7
bc5c54ee8a898be13e9a46536b8157362e6c0b17
F20110403_AACNMN wang_h_Page_070.tif
b1ace17ea4c477341c07944fb056e22e
ff99953b2110f95bf04d59373d6a2bc8812c13d9
8597 F20110403_AACNLZ wang_h_Page_042thm.jpg
7e51204ed8b66a56174c0b03f93d521a
4b44001a3d67f4a8273f8d3f5deba5c23dc9d64f
F20110403_AACMJL wang_h_Page_150.tif
bdcfafc3179648707330d69d405e926a
472ac3293812be3b15e1c5a8a25aa4812888ae46
8631 F20110403_AACMIX wang_h_Page_019thm.jpg
9176e469a52f05801bfe5e9af6a44231
d603da5d4abfcb0a3134863650db282fb7871d6b
51216 F20110403_AACMKA wang_h_Page_154.pro
1f59f2c671a7540e10da524386f9a700
b35600379fa91376ccbeeca5a0b9070538929eca
F20110403_AACNND wang_h_Page_119.tif
e3edf1fa23a1c69749dd083750c95b7f
e5d2295a1bdcd1f8758e7737f1887a9d89846e33
7982 F20110403_AACNMO wang_h_Page_068thm.jpg
0d0d80c28d706ee0c64082591fe33c21
c9b1f09b5a508b2febfcdfc6fa7686a0270fd4a8
104632 F20110403_AACMJM wang_h_Page_081.jpg
823f98fb12c9ca73ee17c93375e5186b
16957b18a2df0e599ae003d834da7b62979f5b58
105137 F20110403_AACMIY wang_h_Page_023.jpg
4144f36b047bfc12ad75868652012aaf
99ca3b105fc6113a33d5b978b36651434c739fe9
30653 F20110403_AACMKB wang_h_Page_169.jpg
edfa961f8799893aa74c0b5cf1a61eba
2cb4feebbbc37a1b2c39aab7eabb2873cdbe1f48
2021 F20110403_AACNNE wang_h_Page_081.txt
f68edb7cd4dd37aef77d1ae5fe3006cd
dcec7ba795ab2c5bdbf447d57e64d29d73e506ec
33499 F20110403_AACNMP wang_h_Page_168.QC.jpg
952a42cc999302d1348aa162f717fdef
dae61cd408eeca751ba54516792a7ed0ef34c617
109862 F20110403_AACMJN wang_h_Page_031.jpg
cb51dee92e2d021d39fc1434e6d04f78
814bc68b2caedf5d9bf48101f4e8e9f28c63442f
52380 F20110403_AACMIZ wang_h_Page_014.pro
f2676147e4fa540a0cf7791f580d883d
ae76c7912a7d8a767e50b959fb628647c364d47e
1051915 F20110403_AACMKC wang_h_Page_135.jp2
9aaa644f2275324ad76b131b02c0420b
1234df0e249f1d90d6f7dc5e28daad637d1a3504
8836 F20110403_AACNNF wang_h_Page_195thm.jpg
5fee0c6f26b8ac960580891d61106254
a212b2f192103716619ba4279ecbc1d977c56e76
102918 F20110403_AACNMQ wang_h_Page_095.jpg
a3e645fa0e4015618dc711a057f5e1f6
827e910a034187de440107185f1f563c8477eca2
99384 F20110403_AACMJO wang_h_Page_047.jpg
79fab296bcb17d7b8827ffa32d63b8be
cbd8cc749e6b2b6df0b775441933863acdf4d380
F20110403_AACMKD wang_h_Page_156.tif
0762acf46f154716193e261c75ec37e2
0a23852be8ba4183d1430c3e4a950ca5f1b4811f
F20110403_AACNNG wang_h_Page_152.txt
c56dcf12e0ec347d2313f5fd77e5e3ff
79d3fbafb750cfe7c8b6b3f9105613171014b328
F20110403_AACNMR wang_h_Page_148.jp2
add988e31b7a1b155cf55f1a4ee09bfd
07f431b6a185c9348672bc28471b0df5d3ee3a6c
99429 F20110403_AACMKE wang_h_Page_178.jpg
ecc9d69e40d07cc78831d1068322f061
8a6868d38fbfeb50d0eefc9c04e2fcde3e35b863
1875 F20110403_AACMJP wang_h_Page_003.QC.jpg
c7920b225d55999fbacae81f31b3b9a8
bf8ac4e6beedd7a323cb00022577b3e4fe35ee5d
48761 F20110403_AACNNH wang_h_Page_047.pro
736c39259efc40289c28e10a839ba1c5
77771d498991335421397fc4478722dc3894f243
3282 F20110403_AACNMS wang_h_Page_045thm.jpg
37d953f430240688297bb33090d4a368
e5ef35404f52e3d19b07cdae3718242731c695fa
1051881 F20110403_AACMKF wang_h_Page_210.jp2
a27a309905d9c5744f0152019735fbdd
27c662453d21b7d677f5449328d14602ee8dd89f
1051967 F20110403_AACMJQ wang_h_Page_142.jp2
d6784892a603bf682171ce1e00107cf7
24a3003caa4171ab9850702a5abc4784225b015e
33472 F20110403_AACNNI wang_h_Page_039.QC.jpg
0c14811db9882850501b98885e8b71e6
7a5b6d95028aec5d8502fbcce5e56652f4b7f297
1051924 F20110403_AACNMT wang_h_Page_054.jp2
1ab6c7d4ba80e7c5df1051e05d45dd1c
5e56737c77554b530674357b2106895bdcc3d36c
8692 F20110403_AACMKG wang_h_Page_020thm.jpg
d61ac85cbb22ca9452d109ecba75ea00
9a235875957bc173f095ce3e84c8b5418b4d54ca
174842 F20110403_AACMJR wang_h_Page_213.jp2
ffa50278b40a3071d769d67afe82e287
e7bb3cc5ad492069c118145f4698ad6bf14f3e5c
F20110403_AACNNJ wang_h_Page_028.tif
cd26619d45b983e82fcdec99bd6c1a57
5498209c664362587a8134209463983f74314619
1051888 F20110403_AACNMU wang_h_Page_173.jp2
c79406386303ce332709968c9d95d57a
36a22b410568fcfe87ce421f36ea8305e39da5d5
F20110403_AACMKH wang_h_Page_002.tif
aa5dd0faebe17681eaaaa53444662ae1
6734827f74d78793a116dc140bde01a8a7b12777
F20110403_AACMJS wang_h_Page_040.tif
a6afd1c750407e86a3485e6d0b24839b
ef6006c4e2a4583b5e54114183739cdc005eb8ce
F20110403_AACNNK wang_h_Page_139.tif
66a7a1fa5055079085c0842b1ab1249f
98edcb6c6777293cdd698b6486d0f3aa6053fe10
105788 F20110403_AACNMV wang_h_Page_100.jpg
1a11f6d87df6d6755cca0850c36f5db1
e5b8271059b145699d02c0ce85c21974dbc2be92
32436 F20110403_AACMKI wang_h_Page_110.QC.jpg
653530205a07b29ea9d298a572c431c9
32cb2eba697fc256bb855f8c890665df5ccbbcbb
8580 F20110403_AACMJT wang_h_Page_194thm.jpg
d98a8c32d41870ac73f5d16a79f630d1
12b8937dd0466d6f427e95e719bcaa89e1bec6a6
F20110403_AACNNL wang_h_Page_098.jp2
672111991c6976fd798887e5cb3a3c14
124c2ec3fa9b290f1d75e2d72b3b2ea3703b0cdd
35144 F20110403_AACNMW wang_h_Page_107.QC.jpg
132b7e6dd2a83a3730cc4bd7859aecb4
7b2a9591811ef9f7ca2387b0d1ebb6897f298aef
33215 F20110403_AACMKJ wang_h_Page_089.QC.jpg
6b1f0dfc7eb4b6acf467202f10520701
1f11400db6dcc2b94a41ba4d547c575875be8633
F20110403_AACMJU wang_h_Page_206.jp2
0a11180f55e0e5a923d378c95b7ef672
04873093da6d441b9950929af4ca4931e51f44f9
F20110403_AACNOA wang_h_Page_096.jp2
140af827a5c52b7b8272889276bed5cd
54641975bd2c054ca45c3f3e0988706258ba1526
F20110403_AACNNM wang_h_Page_164.tif
155fa34e9adb21075d1c585581579e3b
49826e961097b29a90b9562651c34374a2b96d3f
53600 F20110403_AACNMX wang_h_Page_192.pro
344a8fd8e33c83cb0278f05b92c8819b
d89c8c9dd5279c39317af0b528f2785ede1d8cb3
49858 F20110403_AACMKK wang_h_Page_076.pro
a938372ddbc47211404a30ed19bb2f60
0fdc5c295bbdb7e6df3b5b28a86e01928eceab68
8788 F20110403_AACMJV wang_h_Page_075thm.jpg
9bc3a4a7b34f76c5194b5186e9bef287
23410b5d5d5de8339e5ef4b51f01a0bb832078ee
F20110403_AACNOB wang_h_Page_086.tif
0deae877efb671e435d5155f5432efcb
9357ba47cd5d8e0c4ca16c8db0dd4e927a22a5ec
906754 F20110403_AACNNN wang_h_Page_007.jp2
bf63ba8542fa6f1d3e13b710704bb971
6376978342a16af26fc8347f000d7fbf3aef978c
F20110403_AACNMY wang_h_Page_151.tif
9287bb24d72695284985cddc1749d338
4e9cc92a1deff56f0dae1f9a788eb9619fc863ed
34871 F20110403_AACMKL wang_h_Page_134.QC.jpg
16cfb443bdf58e59dd474b7c6b7a3358
8064913cc9130d0169f404dee625dc57ac4243ae
111746 F20110403_AACMJW wang_h_Page_208.jpg
173dc470c80d47abd3fae4f82a415045
30d6b6bf90c32d6c899fc092a67947ef9daad3f8
F20110403_AACNOC wang_h_Page_096.txt
e63d5b9865dee2d0d9ff0fab402b7d86
e7e8a96ff99400e51b00ab0121a149cf10f827c8
52930 F20110403_AACNMZ wang_h_Page_151.pro
2f2fdf0379d29f89a8cb829657d50ca3
e9e396aa66b9f21b8dec7fe568cc8785e412757c
F20110403_AACMLA wang_h_Page_123.tif
4762354181960fa11e0d6dd5bc75919a
82605ca69d2fa5f7ef35e8392482adb087dd1556
53224 F20110403_AACMJX wang_h_Page_120.pro
6ea4a2154089d8686d7979c27df95989
33d6dd17617b7a59f61f45b848b8a9a5c6cebb44
35727 F20110403_AACNOD wang_h_Page_031.QC.jpg
3d626c7b4ed151b963fcddd952abb8a4
d0388fb7d361598b0bf4fd964ec2c7a84006c284
4443 F20110403_AACNNO wang_h_Page_004thm.jpg
5f61ee1887c1ce57780ba1feb2666484
8911334486d0c61f566c7ec0c0eed81c190b80fb
8540 F20110403_AACMLB wang_h_Page_021thm.jpg
8171c41041f6e7052aad24d7b8aa7aa8
445eef05e085b87b5c447a1efc99a3e9b5e851a7
33407 F20110403_AACMKM wang_h_Page_028.QC.jpg
a0edfa2ac30e94d1f690a2fc3cf2e463
5077b0cdd75f47729ea9aa178801a9e4f5e86b37
F20110403_AACMJY wang_h_Page_059.tif
8b0989d8464f11040ebee44d638f225e
7d8ffabbbc6a16f47cabc980f43826e05d13184a
58264 F20110403_AACNOE wang_h_Page_156.pro
13dcf356e74099cf1ae27ee3f657d54f
43f189199d3b824cf7b06ca2e352f70e49276dec
F20110403_AACNNP wang_h_Page_100.tif
7272ea6f16bc6213180b064c0eddba0a
70102c95945e30ebf2ae025a2ae9a9f48c3137e5
8598 F20110403_AACMLC wang_h_Page_113thm.jpg
464e168e638b7b4c008e5a4e4f094801
af0c5a12061cac2841269f2b4b8b31bce7ba22f8
102952 F20110403_AACMKN wang_h_Page_069.jpg
388d84028b28544610edc2596124e0a6
7444162ec0cf378ee5ab0777615064eebccc9416
33959 F20110403_AACMJZ wang_h_Page_014.QC.jpg
a6656a835b9e69520d913961949f751d
0c98afcdfdf02fce22fd47a70369e4a3cd474ac0
F20110403_AACNOF wang_h_Page_032.tif
e81fce39422239938b215d26d1a3b52d
6550981d3e21dfa466896e18502943374c52fa84
53266 F20110403_AACNNQ wang_h_Page_030.pro
270c4f4f3f47999bf69b5beddc8c23f6
51cd0b7f182708b87c219dc2c1bb8943d6bed9bc
54962 F20110403_AACMLD wang_h_Page_205.pro
cc06ec4c92127fcd7f39ccb53ce0c0ce
c9412f99f5dccc84bdbf06e549b63f9424ad0abd
F20110403_AACMKO wang_h_Page_097.jp2
40357dd6c9471b25dc39571eed4ada4e
a6c6c55fda9ad2b1c7c4d488fba060c301b99f66
52218 F20110403_AACNOG wang_h_Page_164.pro
9efc4b61955a8fa6f49bd0949c17c004
f285bc4087a4f423744324c6ad7eab6229137ded
106076 F20110403_AACNNR wang_h_Page_182.jpg
1fdfc58f0bf9bb2a946d905f41308bbb
8222cd7170108e07cbc6b728089e36f548a747f7
52491 F20110403_AACMLE wang_h_Page_034.pro
3d0a40b4102a9bf55d925f4c9248e51e
2c75e2662f4d0d7f6650e779ba8fb57be88fc8d5
34906 F20110403_AACMKP wang_h_Page_140.QC.jpg
9b12cb473d3085127496b5ba80bb7478
2a5901786c45ae2afd0c456a1fe35b9420effd47
1979 F20110403_AACNOH wang_h_Page_024.txt
f394b726e354f4874b31f0a675255f82
e7cc02f259953fb20c8499292b07f22c377f9907
F20110403_AACNNS wang_h_Page_142.tif
c4aa65bb351b112a923784ed9dfac52d
e6b705ed9c14291532719afde001dc49391f4dd3
34189 F20110403_AACMLF wang_h_Page_093.QC.jpg
39661073cfca863062dfc5093ab9964b
e4b4424ef29fa386231f238727d3724fe56c8fa4
F20110403_AACMKQ wang_h_Page_179.jp2
e6480587aa46c0f5644910fd10996801
99ffb66f399c27e8c2745b8171dec1a84c46fbba
33431 F20110403_AACNOI wang_h_Page_043.QC.jpg
6f027e823f16304f0dbee4c5dc424934
a604b1e34fa3a75bd5da1065405ae65bd8b98b30
F20110403_AACNNT wang_h_Page_128.tif
5988fbf2e6ffab0fa3c8052eaa70c37b
2e99dd0a60dce5b933a5790e27c7c3508f8f8db7
52765 F20110403_AACMLG wang_h_Page_206.pro
251372283732f32bd8d93bf8d088baa0
b446dbd239f8300fc5354323049be6a74ab0cd44
103958 F20110403_AACMKR wang_h_Page_183.jpg
eacfa78f3a902e28f340356fdf6ed1f0
b93a89abab36de112408d0ac7c24ec87cfabb6ea
F20110403_AACNOJ wang_h_Page_126.tif
e7f3e67726bdc9f6d89e5dc75065c265
5ad56359b09c2a1286df508b4405e7a5966a4393
F20110403_AACNNU wang_h_Page_066.tif
4be521f611052fb3d6e510c6c9d094b2
98d3290089a576712e962cd565e0081d87c1a1d1
F20110403_AACMLH wang_h_Page_077.tif
2cb97fd41248162c4dc2cda6dc58f146
5c164696b129ebe57da96853361a710212da9b57
F20110403_AACMKS wang_h_Page_197.tif
e61ea1c9edc2f6cd169767a2dbb02bef
00976275ecae71e6cad506dbefcb985f76744726
8204 F20110403_AACNOK wang_h_Page_180thm.jpg
aa45ce92027ad9fa7d66e37dbc3bd131
a016c929f866d766226bdb6fa801c48a513ac1d0
8584 F20110403_AACNNV wang_h_Page_031thm.jpg
9c7569f4e972dd0a803d317e66439d16
3a0315d9f5b7015b01153ae51b8556a442a7a7e3
1577 F20110403_AACMLI wang_h_Page_082.txt
da1ca0ebe0687f2041d40cc9e6fb0099
5119e37146837b4454a00959ad66498790552384
2034 F20110403_AACMKT wang_h_Page_029.txt
37cf3ab2aac322555a922ddc414a4fea
555acdbb9010befb3f27c40421cf90193201e415
106508 F20110403_AACNOL wang_h_Page_062.jpg
5f3b52086bf9abace878222cbf32d705
8a9ff8bedabe0a15451b4a7626b0fe54d41d601e
33881 F20110403_AACNNW wang_h_Page_187.QC.jpg
8072af175554f051af02cf25c92237f1
57ad687adb3739a0fe798da0ffb5d4ce6d7dec5f
49225 F20110403_AACMLJ wang_h_Page_158.pro
f37b3b99761dd808e1d05c61d82361f0
3fcf24cf92a283b531499d7b07b4ff19004ef01e
F20110403_AACMKU wang_h_Page_212.tif
f01d9bb8b642f763b556b70addc62d9d
293f22dea797d1fa262bfe973fa4ed62c0c8282e
107410 F20110403_AACNPA wang_h_Page_059.jpg
f4d7cf8b0bb0dcd90936311926d4c604
6c46ae7501fcda1238700179bb6be953758a3546
1984 F20110403_AACNOM wang_h_Page_052.txt
9bd1dd4e364f97e31b350f5d12090cb6
626df7d6815e1a19e945d06b20fc383957399eb1
F20110403_AACNNX wang_h_Page_071.txt
4bf189c3a80277602227994a0a02a23d
8e98a5eda743ac1113f7c1ff33d7d3050db58947
55729 F20110403_AACMLK wang_h_Page_005.pro
acbfeedaddd737c9f1784248d9be6025
bb5d7c16219d83dc7e3c0663d0dacc6e8444fb1c
1051974 F20110403_AACMKV wang_h_Page_085.jp2
3cc50c66a7660e90d2119a8bd73ad711
3aa37b3010bebcab6bbc51b77bf75d983183f117
F20110403_AACNPB wang_h_Page_155.txt
afa18fe33a18a5a4e6d85e65b05d0a36
7ad1f91271f7dd32625484391cb92414eec532d7
108996 F20110403_AACNON wang_h_Page_144.jpg
703d27dfced1c31df4474ffa2ba121f3
30d4d2d2b4c8d5ffc6247cb5045d65819ebc5049
F20110403_AACNNY wang_h_Page_111.tif
599482390dd1a27ed4a70e4564978a83
819dc1cabaa58c1d62474dd7d97d60a592ed029a
52632 F20110403_AACMLL wang_h_Page_133.pro
3fa9bf4c0b1f6b34d47ec8f9b7dd183b
d5f676926a56ffca81c734da93ba428421e19b45
34169 F20110403_AACMKW wang_h_Page_111.QC.jpg
7f69410dc7c66aa2fa08796cfa551f46
18a327bec5b0d617a3d448514e18505b5ffa0ae1
104662 F20110403_AACNPC wang_h_Page_034.jpg
fa4720604688fd87d55f6879f34ed039
971a4b77d8688081453b583ed4dc2459ccb419a8
50477 F20110403_AACNOO wang_h_Page_116.pro
91cb517793ca30fa934010fddeca348f
44f5c5a249817fb4fd6d1dc61cb6a55ae0c04c14
52245 F20110403_AACNNZ wang_h_Page_187.pro
f893e2706b28c42534140b1f58c36950
9ecf9bc673abdfdf80145e0b39729481e287bc5b
8606 F20110403_AACMLM wang_h_Page_063thm.jpg
7183aba2f20e261d633da10f9c3043ca
dee080e5db02f13169b909ba005b024b0dd6a95c
8682 F20110403_AACMKX wang_h_Page_131thm.jpg
a59e512db20bc59f2ceec9caec9349cf
2d95b7ccd6546a5587220a57495f118c4ddc4dca
108327 F20110403_AACMMA wang_h_Page_200.jpg
5dbee32a4152e1c80fab0af8bcc78423
11f4428e232c19d6d667ffb6653192a0f531c27c
1051954 F20110403_AACNPD wang_h_Page_108.jp2
77424124cdf22121f161a8f5bb61ec34
a1bc24a0084588a9f47d5f0bd2cadd76648ea101
35179 F20110403_AACMKY wang_h_Page_200.QC.jpg
8ae8504cfdad786e009ad81bac124cbf
62b13b0cdbb3228875628bc432a93b45c37e13f9
108304 F20110403_AACMMB wang_h_Page_195.jpg
f6919d52e26d44f6449c68d3b2966aa9
03c46e939e5ed4b1be425c8e70ef6ac8fe6d4c5c
53867 F20110403_AACNPE wang_h_Page_142.pro
89784916546875b818cb0cf22f659311
cb791bc4a1a5746bcef3adc9ff48b01b3f78eb8e
103343 F20110403_AACNOP wang_h_Page_106.jpg
fec179582d52c5678aa5b7191f1c5517
55cc03446a70bb8357e8853bdcac83b419e34a12
F20110403_AACMLN wang_h_Page_030.jp2
57199887ba46bd22c6011fd60eea5a7d
53cd07f4546eb3cce57c95c889c4a439b4d9878d
33835 F20110403_AACMKZ wang_h_Page_050.QC.jpg
55bd1fa71b0c60fa89edf3227cd77076
1397aa283ada7ff000a5b6abe11b63e44e0df8c5
F20110403_AACMMC wang_h_Page_192.tif
51baf8920ece66184abd9c716e0df70c
4138ce6d84223cb62d45a0cdeb8563cdb3b4cfcf
107028 F20110403_AACNPF wang_h_Page_060.jpg
079c4e9d5e06c1d112a0f07565aea346
d5f7dee10e7b6daf516cd1b2beb28ad50f590638
34617 F20110403_AACNOQ wang_h_Page_072.QC.jpg
47886d754ab56379b54ad8203030f057
c829b2b04edea5421d6f7a4746df3915da121c97
8416 F20110403_AACMLO wang_h_Page_207thm.jpg
27f8a3023722a5f2ffa90678a0f3f8de
c9a2e629fc644cc937cf0034a430a0e00591f99f
49783 F20110403_AACMMD wang_h_Page_132.pro
1279020fb65eceb86ba411a66ccac963
8590110aa42f153a5cf1c3022b57a6d42c876244
F20110403_AACNPG wang_h_Page_052.tif
c97e19b13ac23ee57b4792e72d9aab16
294e80f4666c3e00b5722b28a5d830f0a90d786e
34389 F20110403_AACNOR wang_h_Page_084.QC.jpg
cbdd8cd325328b1a6d274bec8fb95c2e
ff822226c40762f0d0e6622a690eef8799180ed8
8590 F20110403_AACMLP wang_h_Page_049thm.jpg
23d98f7c06779b4af3603aa8730f968a
a72742894a1316141118d770ba3c358c5c62be4a
1051985 F20110403_AACMME wang_h_Page_139.jp2
ba07d1225524959dfaff1f88051dd697
60ecb4fd759f92645a7b90788eb361f9d976c317
53227 F20110403_AACNPH wang_h_Page_040.pro
62467890133acd658f87349498f5c0c8
afeb39fee6252cce0691cf8508382ed66b4cb482
8290 F20110403_AACNOS wang_h_Page_035thm.jpg
2b6b877c7697148f3b5168c23405cd57
ceb248c8bdedb76111efa45b7b73796405e3af80
1994 F20110403_AACMLQ wang_h_Page_172.txt
90eaebf39e468c9941bcb498e3a9e74e
f49ed04496a7c10a0463cc036c23a5fdeed5178c
8667 F20110403_AACMMF wang_h_Page_177thm.jpg
ed66d70c37a4c7f70fec70d3da134582
61accafa7530b42d0301ffdcedd767d782bd400f
F20110403_AACNPI wang_h_Page_170.tif
4d2cdc8b43054fe0829b68c8f682ce72
ec9a00385501c03cb0b5ce3cb9ed1602f1984983
13362 F20110403_AACNOT wang_h_Page_045.QC.jpg
7176473081a94e7eca9492aba67e420b
474af6903c907df8cbd4c04ffe813418b7d8e8cf
F20110403_AACMLR wang_h_Page_144.tif
c3c90564f49536c05cae8d96fcba94aa
a180a343e00d3b81d80eb1b810d7d2a46fb14130
F20110403_AACMMG wang_h_Page_012.tif
946a2cf8424476431c89f61a79291f3a
f93a1f19845ad4af508fe4fa473922ffa1ba0062
1051946 F20110403_AACNPJ wang_h_Page_067.jp2
ab02553924af32e5227f2bbdd0e5eb64
5dbf6f6a523de33a83162d33cb4feed1ccc9abaf
48556 F20110403_AACNOU wang_h_Page_178.pro
43c6ee304936bfddfa2a171fcec8750b
e54f558ed6845862ce1f658411e4aa9ab6c991ea
F20110403_AACMLS wang_h_Page_076.jp2
eff41dc4457fa9d26b9dd336c8d90756
22706f80f598f864ad34da8761458a756bce2aa4
F20110403_AACMMH wang_h_Page_117.tif
93e21477fc7b4c917935de2ddbf8f3d5
41a0092704897cc4afe704e50cf1276fd3f7a317
8600 F20110403_AACNPK wang_h_Page_093thm.jpg
1376ffe08cf42bf659a9c7364dc9bc90
f80395e432ebe023402928770e077f8fa764ca09
8714 F20110403_AACNOV wang_h_Page_206thm.jpg
d291c12f7c78d6829273a66b4707383c
4f42c08a2a8c65a41c1ef5d59b573ffc6fc33c00
111018 F20110403_AACMLT wang_h_Page_157.jpg
6153aa8fdd009c24be0040f30db21805
0cbbf0ac08feac262155bc894b63a5ec2a06d6fe
52868 F20110403_AACMMI wang_h_Page_128.pro
96c795c9cc8e6c61343f958d9364122a
30020123e28870c29912c9d6a8602804bfbb580d
F20110403_AACNPL wang_h_Page_147.tif
1cdc0e2e5f53ad2206b0f087533318ad
c4b95e88081438afd1822298774fbf4430dc3295
F20110403_AACNOW wang_h_Page_054.tif
a6bb8373ea5bf898cf741931bfb55b0c
ed02c2c06477a5203aab17c08df76f4cb03d6772
105658 F20110403_AACMLU wang_h_Page_127.jpg
fe0b324353f7a80f8b28d79e603fd50f
31aed8d89a001a9d2eb48f0dbb985b96285f5320
1947 F20110403_AACMMJ wang_h_Page_188.txt
fd1c806dc1826582c1d1cfc07eea615a
51f3b1444ae6b489a51caa88201d08f768fecf27
33452 F20110403_AACNQA wang_h_Page_163.QC.jpg
348136354b79f5e21a009955c2a55475
f847a33df0e54596341bce76d34b81541344f093
124166 F20110403_AACNPM wang_h_Page_162.jpg
eaefc82bdb698aaaf5b4dba67b41c7c7
a8fd09d2913b8d7c1af4fb24b42f2fb95834cc4a
1051952 F20110403_AACNOX wang_h_Page_010.jp2
b8887a2e4586aa92de6cbf74d15046af
12f5b7d904532f63668e54460f1a675c6acd6bb2
1051932 F20110403_AACMLV wang_h_Page_136.jp2
08e4ec6836c49b035158324e426e01cb
03952e9eb0c0d3bf7eb16eca565cfd931442e3c3
F20110403_AACMMK wang_h_Page_124.txt
68a8761c1f3c632bc7682ee5cd455563
28ebe31e94976598513899371a8079f2c3bccded
2094 F20110403_AACNQB wang_h_Page_167.txt
c61c0c012a432236a62d5bf9bdd67364
a6c1d96619b92cb27d24dbe6ce9478ec676d75d7
2019 F20110403_AACNPN wang_h_Page_174.txt
55f43528f3a6290bcb92803f45c8a8fe
ff95ad635525c7ad772b815656388c0e025d2e40
F20110403_AACNOY wang_h_Page_166.tif
e197581adbc0442b70d0bddc1cb9906a
cfbb49ac786d1532ea5fd6c4feaa60dcb7a2b151
35602 F20110403_AACMLW wang_h_Page_119.QC.jpg
0fbde96bd0baa7664cb670306f0b71cc
d65fb2067d490c484bc80e249d245110df060805
34395 F20110403_AACMML wang_h_Page_037.QC.jpg
ced94b938f7022da7f12ad1a5f38dafa
da7ecb06e2d738f9e2256bc78f1ae1ff3a912c65
8620 F20110403_AACNQC wang_h_Page_120thm.jpg
7a332273822a8f1c7a6f8e5498017272
258e7741752f4ce50559f55bbc85449c92ac2ccb
8555 F20110403_AACNPO wang_h_Page_197thm.jpg
293ec053bba8b4d55de88867503dc7cc
7570839c444b157d3a95badf00743968805f98a1
51547 F20110403_AACNOZ wang_h_Page_093.pro
69cf0c6af103674a2d2ed6ce770bb177
4fba8d0e69dfc328af7cb0702968c576c340ee61
F20110403_AACMLX wang_h_Page_114.tif
834b77d5d5547079ac7e79011ad9bd2a
b4967d57785a622fdf3d9c42dd3e53b3005932d7
F20110403_AACMNA wang_h_Page_181.jp2
9534369f1830a5a11c1181daf2dc3563
2e80fe65c922c73b65e2c25797ea2b5b54259acf
103292 F20110403_AACMMM wang_h_Page_125.jpg
842fb0344e03981e94bd6d2916959972
598166bca8017b80caeb75ed8cab7b2b038e9552
113748 F20110403_AACNQD wang_h_Page_022.jpg
a16520713289785d513d4331d1fa0888
231ace7ce712cae5425d88b8c15b9f8ba51f1978
99941 F20110403_AACNPP wang_h_Page_185.jpg
6c9c53e36b3dddc93477748ac7ef8b4b
91ef9d92d1d7cdd01dfd3e8a68a34a0a56a113f7
107300 F20110403_AACMLY wang_h_Page_129.jpg
40a243ac0dd68a7fa46ffe28f291c576
2e5bf5eeebc6d43584c9f9c9089dbf662f6d7e3d
F20110403_AACMNB wang_h_Page_198.tif
6f0d6a0f0026519377f91337ccc432da
473dd5577f9c6fecc95c54227711636a1792b9cb
33332 F20110403_AACMMN wang_h_Page_146.QC.jpg
480f5c779266988fd29b9452e486b859
576bd0806a3a99631d19a6ae5388c72d753a4ef4
2110 F20110403_AACNQE wang_h_Page_065.txt
8fd6807a4f8f899266e3d3b8ab2c37ba
bc0814d094825bbae1979c4c79ebe062be0a777e
108446 F20110403_AACMLZ wang_h_Page_112.jpg
4ca78e7dbb82f7c36ff98fa3c102796a
abe8a9af8a96e704737181b79282780b5ae61069
46923 F20110403_AACMNC wang_h_Page_123.pro
14dd744ae09031d3497c6e86e57e2c50
bd6bea883a5b598ea37c91af42d450724e929bc7
51292 F20110403_AACNQF wang_h_Page_150.pro
351d24e7021c2f7edfc27f7d443ccba1
1ef278a4c5b5cfa7f156c1f81189e892794f3583
105048 F20110403_AACNPQ wang_h_Page_173.jpg
f2882cbc96d5f7f78ce5737bf9308765
8fcd0385364d5b07f69855e6d82570ece3a98b14
33355 F20110403_AACMND wang_h_Page_139.QC.jpg
aecdfd5b08434c01b21527ce8c99d599
f287a1d35868afe3b2eadb142436bd1c71a40228
2112 F20110403_AACMMO wang_h_Page_207.txt
8d2fdd2a9f5dbf70f93051d9a784d196
8c02b307208b479c36f6eb3c8ef1f19b809cd13a
52326 F20110403_AACNQG wang_h_Page_191.pro
48f4ed85dac3c26db1adb01db400495e
5f080521c31e77e568bc53e973b09780c650379d
F20110403_AACNPR wang_h_Page_009.tif
8f129b98a8e0382610418032c4043107
b4c459c89ff3f2b6fbf2251e56ad7dc6f45a92a5
F20110403_AACMNE wang_h_Page_207.jp2
8d4896038c5d68fefd0288d243469e6b
eff48f7e8282112b22c7fea37cd0bae04db25662
104398 F20110403_AACMMP wang_h_Page_051.jpg
4eb1dc915af13196faca82005fa2a065
44321e752dad951ed18dca8da9391e076730a259
107217 F20110403_AACNQH wang_h_Page_140.jpg
76936f34888ff6f0706863ff93b1a1d1
05301862ba9295ac0e944686c239ecf957a085d3
106949 F20110403_AACNPS wang_h_Page_108.jpg
0e6ff8a0ed4b317b29d4216a39087a02
754a85d3f49b4458949fb2ad0f95b6592d9e59e0
F20110403_AACMNF wang_h_Page_112.jp2
f95c9816dd40403c1bda2374ee91a7e0
0b5411d3de438438df8755efe24f32ba2c5b3347
7500 F20110403_AACMMQ wang_h_Page_006.QC.jpg
db1af36a5bb6889a3b19b37975ed3742
cc6334ac135848da4093669e10ce3de4f773b374
32901 F20110403_AACNQI wang_h_Page_208.QC.jpg
0b5d539f3cecfa578b05accd6fb2bbbe
da03e86d4a86b1967e6f964cb586baad69383f6d
106165 F20110403_AACNPT wang_h_Page_070.jpg
e198a58e8819376f5101153a4155620a
4afb95250ae207b6d3cba8baa835a77c8ce27353
51490 F20110403_AACMNG wang_h_Page_146.pro
96f3fd24ae7acc8a92d1736db3bb2350
b222f5e182bf83319ed374d3291ac4713f0bfbb9
1993 F20110403_AACMMR wang_h_Page_183.txt
b64744555c6c3e1e27b5c637850a16f9
5c275616ae91f0881746eb80fec2d3de65d138f4
46249 F20110403_AACNQJ wang_h_Page_009.pro
e7d0ae4e17c313b9250202e13face4b7
8132eaa936af6f2e9238dbd12c2be604527dab35
34398 F20110403_AACNPU wang_h_Page_191.QC.jpg
4c90c6385c8f69b4e0ae1824d07bf4d2
ed3bace3f188fdf5d4ea3b8802582681679b71a9
501593 F20110403_AACMNH wang_h.pdf
42924a05ca4254855630e40f3a745545
7195f2c809bcb7d1c057d21dfd9d5d482547dfa7
F20110403_AACMMS wang_h_Page_126.jp2
e722749607d4617bfe5edcff1e7f9c8d
90a925860812c453d3d8926e9e9d409086678af3
51535 F20110403_AACNQK wang_h_Page_077.pro
6f018683e0192271253dfb0b56d31adf
e9af5dcd9335e5af91397ed6c3e29280a8961a25
35153 F20110403_AACNPV wang_h_Page_195.QC.jpg
98f0e1c914f51f113fe7cd45345d3729
75825174093a6d9a9963fe6e1a1d5e7630909a00
8612 F20110403_AACMNI wang_h_Page_166thm.jpg
949a76c32861f08cf7d770fa8babce6d
71586b23275eabcaf0082a65c75f0492813396b8
17991 F20110403_AACMMT wang_h_Page_008.pro
ef8001770010b47332822fb241251b65
e4d41e79ea592227b09e42d4d1986c4205a79128
1912 F20110403_AACNQL wang_h_Page_083.txt
3f19acecaceef928d65289b3bab695e5
c3549c4f00d0320aa3b4c4a6a69016831d165e00
2044 F20110403_AACNPW wang_h_Page_070.txt
851349e77ad84fa55c7df86ae17e76ca
95de60288e60e0d84c59523facac5fbded70207e
F20110403_AACMNJ wang_h_Page_200.tif
a658aaa137edc1e27e3868023d675076
50cf7506fbdcb5a574792291727765f00ec12a65
F20110403_AACMMU wang_h_Page_049.txt
1a233cb48e587a4779ff32b00aa83422
4111cb98ae74b644c84ea1df459073bcd42f3f55
51379 F20110403_AACNRA wang_h_Page_171.pro
2d377f20c24b7bc6b479dc545fd73737
d41629fc3183d52bd0e84d5a2fd4c2d12748b9e7
32676 F20110403_AACNQM wang_h_Page_149.QC.jpg
11afc3571aae3222fd6adf0d02552853
12d1b74b5585c1c96c0310ce9a5adaf0e26a6d5a
2298 F20110403_AACNPX wang_h_Page_156.txt
496b076dd5de68450bf287e71c6d6edb
8157c433464901035e7c5ef8cc14a74531842294
34141 F20110403_AACMNK wang_h_Page_077.QC.jpg
ce46ed69de565a0c8c6f9eaa1dc513a4
17663140bef78000695c21827e75047ccccad8ca
7870 F20110403_AACMMV wang_h_Page_083thm.jpg
acae28534d1c3c915372fac01e91e167
938d2f153cb5eb3eb47babbdf099a462790b4620
2195 F20110403_AACNRB wang_h_Page_210.txt
916ec5e457edf333fd1e27a2600843e6
d48d73d7a0caa1939b66152efa1fcfece61cb89d
34311 F20110403_AACNQN wang_h_Page_199.QC.jpg
fcd8151385612d870ccf081d7d65eb58
e534d20d0ebb24ed2c94a8227858f7a1dca0c464
F20110403_AACNPY wang_h_Page_035.jp2
b22527f848929431315a7f532b046cff
4aa6440a186fdc80c7ec2235b7fdf08dd17e87d1
12392 F20110403_AACMNL wang_h_Page_212.pro
4fb9bb42c1c39b5e02acfaff09637b1f
68088548137fa29a589ee9493856bb9564ccf116
52531 F20110403_AACMMW wang_h_Page_004.jpg
b83fb7634fa3336b3f820acaec004f29
eec6e61e6ee939a649b1dd65014d1aa850657133
105550 F20110403_AACNRC wang_h_Page_187.jpg
e0e30edcda1f2836742794657d9e7c74
beddb8932ff1cbc1bd4dc302ae3f707ca385abb1
51064 F20110403_AACNQO wang_h_Page_189.pro
5162888f70839c0bb1cec27d20f53ce9
06ec025fe2af8fe1e2d26790b6e10af3cce5e652
34792 F20110403_AACNPZ wang_h_Page_067.QC.jpg
dade3f25557c2a609a3d0491037168c3
01f5f4632b633ebd11286de520ea3595edb24f22
14069 F20110403_AACMOA wang_h_Page_006.pro
3ce0bbfb9e8c2c681b638c33b5e221a8
ea2bae32d51298de1a0a086ef573a56d877a86b9
F20110403_AACMNM wang_h_Page_028.txt
41fd4be9a0566dd2fbcae740c40ee096
6b75474c9971d10db61f912840083e6c8bdf6a27
111608 F20110403_AACMMX wang_h_Page_020.jpg
461a597314da006a0fb0916cbee1946e
18bb7aee9da05262e1b1850a94875f4833c60fd2
2015 F20110403_AACNRD wang_h_Page_106.txt
545215158c0553954ecc081f4f26a14e
65708ad9f4d0f3852303d08b726cb3b24cfff1a1
105968 F20110403_AACNQP wang_h_Page_067.jpg
63634387aaea8497f2f08ead96bf74b3
09255623357f7e72b243299554cfc4828e4afe38
312849 F20110403_AACMOB wang_h_Page_169.jp2
fa84dc51f4d8f0bf7d4df35e18d1fc96
94c3b3c8f356a72a95b7f04bbf35e10c32ad9f3e
1051931 F20110403_AACMNN wang_h_Page_029.jp2
ef983fe82cb8397255a77b9bc82d53e9
916014581c879173061277bec73eb120d6d088cd
100413 F20110403_AACMMY wang_h_Page_188.jpg
d66f269882565f55f0dbf17a4be86409
82e852ea9ed09214a86cda91cbf2d59b90b0e199
33814 F20110403_AACNRE wang_h_Page_207.QC.jpg
68be01011eea890a6e3ee05610be315b
7995eabb18eb60b9b66a76e075bf83b70a36834d
8300 F20110403_AACNQQ wang_h_Page_110thm.jpg
be4445af99923c5ab81c398033d40713
db88bcd92b2dbe57df06e0480264184f3071dd20
34455 F20110403_AACMOC wang_h_Page_033.QC.jpg
76f45af73312f0d579f3a97e05264433
09eb0ab104d2c7df134acb6dfc6436581fe0e828
107151 F20110403_AACMNO wang_h_Page_147.jpg
d0234759ce7cc5afae15bf56219b17b9
a47c030b4f80525a388e38ea73f0c05ae54d6015
8262 F20110403_AACMMZ wang_h_Page_017thm.jpg
115387933f3f5ca58fecb1776404fe12
05e51bcaaa05195146b589d8d93273141b2fa7d0
1051950 F20110403_AACNRF wang_h_Page_178.jp2
faa5fb52d7a41ba9aa80fba680f30fe6
57fcfa846025440b581bf0a51a125af9904170dd
F20110403_AACMOD wang_h_Page_180.tif
ae792706aa6fe67112b572acb5b9652f
541cd33e61ea4b1779bfcb3f55f4b874c789f940
33342 F20110403_AACNRG wang_h_Page_189.QC.jpg
36391f3bdb53e2fc38f46eaccb27013d
35d6dcd0247c50a769c31f2b42afc2af70bc0fb5
F20110403_AACNQR wang_h_Page_043.jp2
df7805d2a58bbff071c2872fba611ca8
b392185a8f39dcd89da952a1091371d232a0f29d
34446 F20110403_AACMOE wang_h_Page_012.QC.jpg
c1a943dd337169df8e5f41d02a547420
b0588a3ac32792a2d15eeccf8a6e18cc374f37c1
1051953 F20110403_AACMNP wang_h_Page_089.jp2
e92847808c5ec70a511910bf86113821
78378238e2e5f01893287356948baec5e3b91298
34738 F20110403_AACNRH wang_h_Page_112.QC.jpg
429b4c743fa2f4ef00b115cf17aec538
5228eb6c46d4b02bd65b54db63904e4e4fea60b7
33761 F20110403_AACNQS wang_h_Page_098.QC.jpg
dedd34dfca061e052660d5878bc2b2fc
732aa865b04ef0b059242c73d7f78abdadaa82b8
104741 F20110403_AACMOF wang_h_Page_050.jpg
f191b68a7c3c69b70e1d2ff454b7afcd
909c04d32797ccbad6f869cb38f92cf361d306c7
2043 F20110403_AACMNQ wang_h_Page_079.txt
47c313ae6ad0e9de165f3b7357b67028
2e60c93b394be9acc139942c788cf3f4b5faf601
34177 F20110403_AACNRI wang_h_Page_021.QC.jpg
e862373a3c6268eba959b682c5ec50d6
98fd1ee5dd251243fab5eeee237cd1a1583460fb
51852 F20110403_AACNQT wang_h_Page_029.pro
f908a356730de78f378940e4bd997121
176653eb942f6c393d0213bdfb508bbc4fbeb072
F20110403_AACMOG wang_h_Page_038.tif
20a6c859ddc75039752930b54a80cbdf
8ecd7cc6c84eded2a9a9d4f72097eb5cf95a0f4d
34438 F20110403_AACMNR wang_h_Page_027.QC.jpg
afaaf156e4e62d1c2e27020c0e25f383
162b9a0048bd6332c7b3f6641a0de645cf475521
34453 F20110403_AACNRJ wang_h_Page_070.QC.jpg
43a8d06a79f6bbcd36b24d2a814289c2
3a10bf6c4889a3a4350b6b69673219b1a68b27ae
8358 F20110403_AACNQU wang_h_Page_186thm.jpg
d6c0a6e129fdfbee05118ea6fa22dc18
79704396bb25839d84c636f0dca4572072f507c5
33412 F20110403_AACMOH wang_h_Page_138.QC.jpg
a4791c75361cc6f7c5a07652e44ead55
60c34df3840ed07bc146db2c49a60e5584203fdc
1913 F20110403_AACMNS wang_h_Page_178.txt
1b658243890d249c7c68ef9dee56529a
f85560c45a81b645b63b751a6ee1e261465358a0
8619 F20110403_AACNRK wang_h_Page_015thm.jpg
15b7b870502d50a64be91467e7f17a44
395ee50157c6a6aea46e6aea8246b3d6e4d18a04
F20110403_AACNQV wang_h_Page_056.txt
cf96936f97a7360050bcb4fde1ed2aef
e5da2a9da4983d780c8bced256d2e3f7488522eb
F20110403_AACMOI wang_h_Page_146.tif
bc0dc6ccc5c147ad6a93e2b022ee0525
530a2484b32596147b22d1d40326896f7d5f209e
2100 F20110403_AACMNT wang_h_Page_094.txt
739d18d3b01fc3dce154e6a8116d4cec
098fd8fa75dbdc2cef61f22528cf46e217f06a20
34980 F20110403_AACNRL wang_h_Page_075.QC.jpg
a569a72d693500157a6a1872274a9ba9
53813db73c4a4cf5fe539ffc0ac49964a37af0a6
1748 F20110403_AACNQW wang_h_Page_007.txt
9570f602420b0eac15850c2fc14f1b8f
76a886b6e243a5853185ca666b2ee82ef9120f02
33015 F20110403_AACMOJ wang_h_Page_052.QC.jpg
293e58fb2cba50358cb4c92fd0c76ab6
964a45eb258e97f3245c2697a920cf8e47c37035
F20110403_AACMNU wang_h_Page_013.txt
5bf13c4f425b8220a53376e2b0d4efa1
0730aa98cc597386e339e18ff2d55dfc81f0d63f
8607 F20110403_AACNSA wang_h_Page_098thm.jpg
2afca3ee7fc23bc98202ab433845abf7
a992fe9cab142fff05d71c67f0207ed89a0e4d7d
34268 F20110403_AACNRM wang_h_Page_064.QC.jpg
51e3a28fc4033fdcfa1fc9b782ed2cbf
0187a4d4e6cc2e160550a6e9e768b926516f3050
394 F20110403_AACNQX wang_h_Page_001.txt
7b81abb0771b73f0a873a31cdac9c7e4
e77cfac26ccf283a56c10697bf17373e47d99095
8625 F20110403_AACMOK wang_h_Page_151thm.jpg
d87906585ebf6084f375a26a73390ae1
b9311182f8a60b6d48b7265cfeb35db9b486eaa6
8551 F20110403_AACMNV wang_h_Page_135thm.jpg
34a0f7291c3a53a44091e5344bcc797d
5080f1756cebf1943ca62cc7f1f81ffcb1436c97
F20110403_AACNSB wang_h_Page_076.tif
3411df54cd2475a886c4f1332260cb6d
5f913319efe50ba81937bc95dddfaffbd79214d5
8559 F20110403_AACNRN wang_h_Page_184thm.jpg
91f49ca106fc1a57a394bc9e9d763358
7d84794a2cefd8383b9654b95a4e2ba4fc81ae9b
8008 F20110403_AACNQY wang_h_Page_161thm.jpg
068a939505af7c6f50f526a65450c33e
0d7753f656407c6b54f4978baf407b5743ab1416
F20110403_AACMOL wang_h_Page_097.tif
67161d6b6a99ae5dba6db94de6709c3b
19ae00db0004e2c37e64b90ccd59117f3354ca8c
F20110403_AACMNW wang_h_Page_085.tif
64bfa17d8669324947d0b799741cde6f
b67411993f5babe6636293a8eb9bbbd676b1a02c
39555 F20110403_AACNSC wang_h_Page_082.pro
d16bdbf42a67709b363dd6ebd380646b
0518b8c960ee49d292519387089e20ed37f42abb
107940 F20110403_AACNRO wang_h_Page_013.jpg
eeace9c79bd651f66b768dae0628d770
07ec099587821f5b95b7bcc6ca6258d578fe6f23
8825 F20110403_AACNQZ wang_h_Page_091thm.jpg
d0287af5d019f04441ff7ba6c9873427
2e0d1b67dacdf8fea9318a2117dbc007ede0fdbd
52606 F20110403_AACMOM wang_h_Page_060.pro
05c447bd489d1549b694ac1a69e2aa9a
72539b1d124f36556a6a95750622c81787c77180
52178 F20110403_AACMNX wang_h_Page_086.pro
b0ff8be5206adca7a6fc6fdc336f3ba6
4c57829daf2c3379f5cc65fcf4055b4569f15285
2016 F20110403_AACMPA wang_h_Page_171.txt
5b4272bedff1613bca630f11ac64036f
fd4b45046cd0f49813670d58bfd6d0c33e2786f3
104996 F20110403_AACNSD wang_h_Page_104.jpg
207e39b382679c84c00fd046df2bcccb
c1a5560b0c437b1fcb4f5d02e19e09142091521b
8863 F20110403_AACNRP wang_h_Page_065thm.jpg
4053d23ec8306dda8d06327b37379252
58f93f50bdef9304c82e833836647c862d482e7b
8427 F20110403_AACMNY wang_h_Page_016thm.jpg
435790ad38f336d56992907fb0f6d170
3d25a8c4ac217717b089bf800ae210219a1fd64e
52941 F20110403_AACMPB wang_h_Page_129.pro
24d4c570f7ebde1955ed3afc41b6473f
d6d06047dd2c2b55c24d6c4dfdb27cf6d23f5697
F20110403_AACMON wang_h_Page_041.jp2
260be5594e96b1fb6ddaac1277733ef3
9d7e9237488b8097ce47dfd42d9bbc07813a2820
105086 F20110403_AACNSE wang_h_Page_048.jpg
9d6a80aae33545bc6590956b883b62f2
0ae73485cb3d287f2dff030d79cb5e2be56a545a
57653 F20110403_AACNRQ wang_h_Page_042.pro
24d66000975a8927a5092afd5eb6b6d3
1e344072ef74af2faac7ed4db750d542b2c6606b
F20110403_AACMNZ wang_h_Page_128.jp2
d52e39fa5af320baf4e3c4d605bafe7d
4f2b1eb0f99edf345522e841b781daa71131fb64
34375 F20110403_AACMPC wang_h_Page_054.QC.jpg
c3d12aadb3f7f3cded8ad18cdf93c757
ccb423cae32bff1054f8ad4cec821dfdf1f36768
2058 F20110403_AACMOO wang_h_Page_034.txt
ba685992d35d636cdb1bd61aa5df4471
cbc66e6b24428f3da889689b6323600a0a7a2532
F20110403_AACNSF wang_h_Page_036.tif
73e40685ac8b573cdbfece5cffd99533
1de5ddade5a58904e6c2c54449c7a5703b436bed
F20110403_AACNRR wang_h_Page_052.jp2
ce60335632e17dbebad2adadbed01263
54a48587790efcf31c55c63dc3d9805f6b89b2df
96468 F20110403_AACMPD wang_h_Page_046.jpg
10aceefa97425e4dac00ae2092509e75
e346252d08c369b57a2b0ff0d8fcf8d9fe06002c
2280 F20110403_AACMOP wang_h_Page_022.txt
a372142690831b354bda7f7179a6372b
3fb315c9b039bbab5a08fb110b47d4eb17d519bf
8380 F20110403_AACNSG wang_h_Page_137thm.jpg
4be020999f24e39e2301c0eb4cb519da
ddbb85ddf1195e79838373abc21bbcea6b68190c
F20110403_AACMPE wang_h_Page_208thm.jpg
e8cd1cc6ba59530cf2cd36080f5a0433
de16bb29cac6beb050b38cb6e938b185f73f5c70
F20110403_AACNSH wang_h_Page_062.jp2
21f13bab02e4396d21c3062cabe378de
8ce37df294e41401f0e9d91e59673403da50f7a2
61169 F20110403_AACNRS wang_h_Page_019.pro
baef00836315cb324ec53a16397ded80
0b94777321229c9830bef0c9444955d228e7eeac
33942 F20110403_AACMPF wang_h_Page_023.QC.jpg
7bb61e8ea6710615da53a7d38114137d
90e9454725f6d8321f70763ad4c95bd6e8a4ae82
51261 F20110403_AACMOQ wang_h_Page_023.pro
b609155e8b5ba67f6782e2cc67f0e9d5
d8fb056bca93197e991852d33b6f90cd72c1ba78
F20110403_AACNSI wang_h_Page_193.tif
0093b604f29915aed3f6df5f1fc95f59
ef4f74cdb2c25ef27290592ecfb7d836e68ae053
107037 F20110403_AACNRT wang_h_Page_167.jpg
f7b9ab9e4e4c89fe98e467b975c87db4
0cc7740873e22a2cd1c7c1d49ba1ebd104484e35
32983 F20110403_AACMPG wang_h_Page_116.QC.jpg
3b7c59e6ea8134ee2a46819dc886e92d
ed15fc716258e156d472d2543d678dc720d8c8b9
34454 F20110403_AACMOR wang_h_Page_073.QC.jpg
6f0c8fae2d3cc89586fae99699376e46
41ba5a41753582e3f39b4448b748337c2679cafa
8521 F20110403_AACNSJ wang_h_Page_153thm.jpg
a41e2747c5c8ad9b1dcbe4a58a8ef333
c9e733ad8da1e4e221ef038ed49b7a7a170f77e4
F20110403_AACNRU wang_h_Page_137.jp2
837ca47818bf484359d7314208d9cb33
75f562a10fecee5d7fe1e6673ede63f59561de44
1952 F20110403_AACMPH wang_h_Page_036.txt
e8855d2341d297ba90c284969a044634
cb8b1fa851c0814586424436d2666fc57c90243c
53411 F20110403_AACMOS wang_h_Page_167.pro
cc051b71531816e6f4bdf1abe588f1b4
376838ed2bfed31d9868e273f1a3ce642b90443c
F20110403_AACNSK wang_h_Page_013.tif
6a26513ecf8178235eef7d3d55dca079
b47768ca68d12aa20683f6cb64dbb19bc3a1c50d
6120 F20110403_AACNRV wang_h_Page_213.QC.jpg
5166dcaf3aa223d086ebd89ce9101e09
7630931379f25ae77753c41eddc4d1e7142632e0
1051890 F20110403_AACMPI wang_h_Page_113.jp2
a4660117f29afda8778877f5c5cc936c
fb0887ce3d75d1f526134616ccd86e5a57055f33
112362 F20110403_AACMOT wang_h_Page_160.jpg
928ba2e3063fd361854317f9e7a25069
862c4091e74395f4631d960409269b549cf041e2
106682 F20110403_AACNSL wang_h_Page_087.jpg
15578cf52e806c8282d713e027b981ff
9cfa24c445010854585436ebefab3c90ecd9dc59
48928 F20110403_AACNRW wang_h_Page_017.pro
ece0050b7560602b13d28052505ba7d6
e9c26946c1b9613713e10fefe5667fc4e8654d02
F20110403_AACMPJ wang_h_Page_129.tif
dbbcf707291234de1d5bac75b2137e3b
c0136cf7b58748c957cb699be4add6fd6dd23aff
8240 F20110403_AACMOU wang_h_Page_037thm.jpg
544266b6189c469c6fde7541ea084eb7
e0353a502db7fa5ad562d7efbaace3d3e811525d
14082 F20110403_AACNTA wang_h_Page_169.pro
9b9d05364e395aed0a340dc652242734
ad87c4a74fa752a5a1f58da6b03dcfbee569b250
110088 F20110403_AACNSM wang_h_Page_091.jpg
76c87a3d0c39bcd074a9fd4092e5a72f
4cad7a2e0723eb79558bda08220214ae5a43ed7a
F20110403_AACNRX wang_h_Page_105.txt
0b06b47a16e2defb2d9c95fc537a355b
83d41a1695fd7bf0ab6f8ab471ab14e8f1e5538e
F20110403_AACMPK wang_h_Page_081thm.jpg
169b58253704c112b152ebbbe2be7295
48598b15b0425c748391f6b6f0a5a46852359301
F20110403_AACMOV wang_h_Page_175.jp2
f068783016fabcbac44b6eb7163d0096
04100aa02a733524629e635a204d1cf077b05222
F20110403_AACNTB wang_h_Page_151.jp2
2d95e515089b36fff6411353b8943be7
3849c7672e592a95c58b51a5725068c9a5fc251b
F20110403_AACNSN wang_h_Page_139thm.jpg
6bbc3dc06383506560a9f2cddba4e43a
67a32ed79a8dbc709be33e262396a5b54107bdf4
F20110403_AACNRY wang_h_Page_141.jp2
3e9c34c51896bc52317b74026df576b3
038487c2199ab7712bd3f27eb62c43c3d433d72b
F20110403_AACMPL wang_h_Page_042.tif
54b06ecade970a5f5a51b43af3d44f36
a893603d1acf713e0f373b24e8b34e766dfa78da
F20110403_AACMOW wang_h_Page_096.tif
e2755e790f2baa05d6d14be93781e59d
ef233ef324076bc1172bb0c2cfda4dfc9641ba0c
52425 F20110403_AACNTC wang_h_Page_153.pro
6ce57b6b471e5470e2988c3e4e1fd158
31c1baef2b8dd72edc04c5d3efc4ad0cbb14fdb2
7385 F20110403_AACNSO wang_h_Page_003.jpg
809821f0ba83b38ada1529b00bfe0e16
84430c746afc21528c1c3fbf7be90cd40d5551cb
F20110403_AACNRZ wang_h_Page_125.tif
0eba050ef1a87768e3cc07fdd4dc98b7
933757321cdb387e703923b4588e019cd7931613
1951 F20110403_AACMQA wang_h_Page_204.txt
201b17558f994fce7f9f60c0e63dbb83
8d0096af488fd9f467e90c6861bf860f30246053
F20110403_AACMPM wang_h_Page_055.tif
89fb1829a85affa931815ef357cd28a1
63926737de2159f90a8172e91e4403473831a597
F20110403_AACMOX wang_h_Page_072.jp2
a0006c6fecc85fb9e602293c65260555
7c0ef0b1682c780343c7a83ba7685507571adfee
51858 F20110403_AACNTD wang_h_Page_044.pro
cc1f20f613ca0c196c308d161a905df3
2d9ca7e70f182ae47b3163dfb074c79dbe2f01fc
99452 F20110403_AACNSP wang_h_Page_068.jpg
d65aa842ecef9ee6a8de5f151d43c6cf
d561d0581d1801b0d6c42e8a84e98d79ae4ef846
F20110403_AACMQB wang_h_Page_192.jp2
bea7791435c52cb7d8865b38c035b4e4
381e329c147952087b32870c8df6482d23e0e1f8
2078 F20110403_AACMPN wang_h_Page_200.txt
3d6d62ad9833e4a35a6ec92e1e2016bd
3512a757b08adc8b18f722d48822344bc64922da
2024 F20110403_AACMOY wang_h_Page_092.txt
f0b2788a686734a54a649cf6e3ae4a3b
96310354e1b3dfad42f3c9b07ae42b51a503f147
52100 F20110403_AACNTE wang_h_Page_012.pro
5e418241282def1a4b16205b42969520
1ddf8eb5d3fa7a64b7a64fc27e3a8784f1d28b05
8317 F20110403_AACNSQ wang_h_Page_163thm.jpg
d0a0f0ddb6aa27090efa6aedfedd5e70
ae687b198a0c3f94fbc011a874222f80386f0522
51357 F20110403_AACMQC wang_h_Page_053.pro
a68b9e0e97568b701fefda4ffbff3cc8
88a7c3700d9639a955d8dc0adc8087ffe7ca5f9e
2068 F20110403_AACMPO wang_h_Page_099.txt
96c55919c8533d4fa21272e13325a501
8ce0f920f1516f3a4f725bbbdd6da5f901fa4cde
20073 F20110403_AACMOZ wang_h_Page_005.QC.jpg
9bc53fb409cca9a2f0d14585fa0770c3
4aaa52fb7cc4385b801d0edad9fd7a318e0d9d9e
F20110403_AACNTF wang_h_Page_064thm.jpg
fc9c1b6c8cbbb5f824dd0982ec422734
fe2c7c2e86c61859d3b5a20d6639c3d688ab4f09
18147 F20110403_AACNSR wang_h_Page_045.pro
7d46e6d73440882b6a8bfdf8f41f860c
cd02fb502202b712175ee8082f46fe39a8e31c2d
F20110403_AACMQD wang_h_Page_018.jp2
c0da9ad2fe646e06d74b48696fff7085
12f3fe29214299fbfda0c5cb4b6e8baa6b21f722
1014673 F20110403_AACMPP wang_h_Page_170.jp2
a34c8f3aaf7d1377667def5f676ff41e
1d225f396cfc5d93b8833f1d108f33ed3ba378e0
8534 F20110403_AACNTG wang_h_Page_054thm.jpg
21f3f88e77a44dc5c800fb958a994358
1901c6934a02c11663070be6c6d8dcb1f1956427
33102 F20110403_AACNSS wang_h_Page_125.QC.jpg
f83fe2986747d8a7f2493ad09181a74f
c44ea4debed74a2c6ac774a9c12cec94ee2ec19b
52767 F20110403_AACMQE wang_h_Page_099.pro
11e202d39c57498eea2e4601907d816f
cdc5d2f5f9c940af3057bdf282256167928760f1
8626 F20110403_AACMPQ wang_h_Page_190thm.jpg
89c2da7daeeedc90fafd56e5c0929d10
765795e5f1431cec3fc8ec23f74eda12850ecdb5
1948 F20110403_AACNTH wang_h_Page_149.txt
8585adcbbe3d110317c623615af19927
efa3f4c543b8cdb4b865cf6cdac127a9246f4607
52610 F20110403_AACMQF wang_h_Page_025.pro
9151d87cb2602a07f7e64b27f11fd04d
e4cdc82ff1c667920f40c148d352fa9c8907cb9c
51608 F20110403_AACNTI wang_h_Page_199.pro
ef1272d1b154bf95472e011c06a18b63
921703af06066d2015ea95a726652fe57a738cc8
8593 F20110403_AACNST wang_h_Page_069thm.jpg
5932b7fce0263e34c217149fabc41b16
2f3e12050a6bdd183c08c1d1782aff093d02a6f7
F20110403_AACMQG wang_h_Page_057.tif
81e3f473fa9379cf4a1b7abb6c9af0ea
7cd820a084f980ffcced8b9266e7b0c610951e54
52893 F20110403_AACMPR wang_h_Page_113.pro
80f14298c65b743bb2c326c3fc3651d4
426adac5721bfb75bb4067415efce0f4c5ca5534
F20110403_AACNTJ wang_h_Page_191.tif
e8020ad91f7a8fee368964be344feb59
ed39ada012143a3d2f8865e351c86817b25363de
51488 F20110403_AACNSU wang_h_Page_081.pro
722bdf624f9bbbcf36a56e0cb12e2dcd
cc2368525850d7c122c1eb157852a1f08bf794f4
F20110403_AACMQH wang_h_Page_014.txt
39434b12b8083af08af731516a3cbbea
e42ef7a3d4d351135b7b25bb6e53864c7a10167e
106155 F20110403_AACMPS wang_h_Page_033.jpg
30eb2ac23bb2e365a24e114684f5bd66
19b03f262871f7513cc9d517c60e39e3161da1a0
105022 F20110403_AACNTK wang_h_Page_164.jpg
88931b9ce92e5904867ad921cb3939c7
4974662f96ac4a51316c280576e63dee88b4f9ea
105634 F20110403_AACNSV wang_h_Page_058.jpg
0387c3a1b8eef039b04bba6d207e1d6c
98d0b17600eb1a51dfa64ca001c36ac3d34149f8
F20110403_AACMQI wang_h_Page_092.tif
89bed9f078a4b9e2ff8aa80111afbbcc
e003a006cabc22be61c310cb743343fe4fb22a24
31433 F20110403_AACMPT wang_h_Page_158.QC.jpg
a069b0107061d7adcebe6045312460e5
3252bb130bcacc36862c6e95b98491964cdc1526
32182 F20110403_AACNTL wang_h_Page_178.QC.jpg
a38a9668d67f7057e2b82a3f4fdbe7e3
79c955330f1debccef075f6834218dab5b690649
8403 F20110403_AACNSW wang_h_Page_124thm.jpg
fc0751240ea2d826621a9aba2d01c273
834ee1a9ea0848f50a2872b2040e2198fd148101
F20110403_AACMQJ wang_h_Page_142.txt
05a65d697082bffe0954718b7dd7275a
5f9131d8a8351bef6ef85657a17086965324ff07
52415 F20110403_AACMPU wang_h_Page_126.pro
17427b24fdd647ffaa8bd43857b2bd44
72f1cd6a42ab7e101fd3cc000d65dc6b7f7df1b3
F20110403_AACNUA wang_h_Page_134.jp2
71ddff2e3f7bb9f49de3ffef3d165695
062c385ec140811077b6778fab61c008f25a6f8e
113938 F20110403_AACNTM wang_h_Page_042.jpg
e1e88ae6f56076cbb058b2fc11e8f35e
8eb5042c77f35de461a3ad4c5c76a91c9976e434
F20110403_AACNSX wang_h_Page_134.tif
214e1a47cb48f3220253db8606f2a8f6
240c0a1191a82d655aca2a8c24c6f95d363dd7ba
F20110403_AACMQK wang_h_Page_210.pro
af3d3cccdd235443423f1f32e4a673df
211e4eba0499a6d6e0f63add40d79706bc4b616e
34587 F20110403_AACMPV wang_h_Page_100.QC.jpg
e14f5bac3a96cfb3a4715145e8854f48
d97ac97278e935a4b372e94b82261a959e0dc1de
F20110403_AACNUB wang_h_Page_118.tif
390972cedf7e26621b3c5cc4f33d8ab2
c45d329ca77fed2d969d92bd5b2ac59ad6b17428
8649 F20110403_AACNTN wang_h_Page_058thm.jpg
8e63c3e28a4862b1b8401d8f287bb40e
a25295115784d6fb34011e2eaade60ea4735f5e6
F20110403_AACNSY wang_h_Page_198.jp2
2925f95e94a9e84290ee8b0396b4af15
85b636fe86e4880a289919e007b828b2f268ca8c
2029 F20110403_AACMQL wang_h_Page_015.txt
25dfd62e40fca92448871740583ead9a
8a7e3de6106c4d880b4394dece5a15ff8b6876de
1051914 F20110403_AACMPW wang_h_Page_197.jp2
7db6a8f13c0ad53ccbf0ed6b01f15d9f
9ee0207e231b747aedd359067b43d8e8cd54dd73
34539 F20110403_AACNUC wang_h_Page_030.QC.jpg
47bbc2064475a66d4ca3e620dd762634
e9abb96c0c2a7d460cd3bf91929c82b5ff46de58
105447 F20110403_AACNTO wang_h_Page_209.jpg
96133ec0e9a0931f663ef0f86dfa3ae4
e74ce8f1c722a7ac4d95f7a8d90eb5324f88bf43
F20110403_AACNSZ wang_h_Page_197.QC.jpg
d6faf3f723ef0516c0896d71040d61bd
af19f217ca0d81e10bf4618f0cb94f9d11de9088
53811 F20110403_AACMQM wang_h_Page_190.pro
1b0295ee8d676080732c8cde69f0551b
774198f8087f599294f2f9a246bf1ec19d09e548
F20110403_AACMPX wang_h_Page_182.tif
3f7350fe3414a2a947c9dc49942eab8d
b99ef6c1214bbf7f9d856866f0ebf5bfa06201fc
49510 F20110403_AACMRA wang_h_Page_149.pro
c6d3098f4776dc850c01da89cba2c101
8779e8acf2e34d89cf9b174b33c7faec79c528ff
F20110403_AACNUD wang_h_Page_013.pro
eb04b8ffe3a69faf4878d05306ff1d62
0d1de860a1726815e8c569ca711a5bb9eef57aa5
1906 F20110403_AACNTP wang_h_Page_068.txt
58e1fafd387f088ec3cd7a731b9f5dd9
f07448b58495b67a2fc5fff900b2cf0975ebfe4b
F20110403_AACMQN wang_h_Page_073.tif
7a9ec7c4eacc36efa81a3ce99e2f2f7b
1708540f34e79b1f98de4fa39c0b206699ad86eb
38149 F20110403_AACMPY wang_h_Page_162.QC.jpg
e101a9f3d197bdf256aa4ff6e125ebef
6c6f5a93c6a013a2910b76f7ea8390a9b9ba5258
F20110403_AACMRB wang_h_Page_178.tif
fe828d03b7bcdd2cfa15d0578b852b4c
a93808c2e78fa36fb45a508eb404771f26729377
51069 F20110403_AACNUE wang_h_Page_165.pro
a99ee332f8cd45066ced2228d75c0956
9d5bdaedd417b4655ac7d145ae68f205386cd713
1051965 F20110403_AACNTQ wang_h_Page_091.jp2
bfd7f97be6ce8ec43144d9b3093a0e27
34a8d40997a78ebd37f5a94636df74ede2bacffc
F20110403_AACMQO wang_h_Page_126.txt
0b0ba798f8bbc9795443dddc86f41431
b8c2d6ff74c2466403134db642318bc8f3eb0adf
34486 F20110403_AACMPZ wang_h_Page_049.QC.jpg
28cc232e895d83a9f550442a9ffb4134
fc906917c79703b7fb29548fb9d72b0fd6874a1b
106368 F20110403_AACMRC wang_h_Page_088.jpg
6badd7512cfd564a1b623a3560f8ee7a
6b15e7209bf585cb08237ffaa7cc89de146c9180
F20110403_AACNUF wang_h_Page_164.txt
239a8254c2000b2914133f15b03c2785
8b5fb1044bbd0e90755b96abcfe21ea79eda6d95
8284 F20110403_AACNTR wang_h_Page_066thm.jpg
a9117c84fb29c9200b67bdb24cb28e5e
efbafd19d4b6ff4b87eab2507e4bbde1ad1000ab
F20110403_AACMQP wang_h_Page_108.txt
38bbe42d3e018f2a9f74132a6c347acb
b35b8b9f9de898e1cd55bd577150656daf9a614a
F20110403_AACMRD wang_h_Page_111.jp2
6d7d80e7bd1c212e636b655d6be378f1
07a002b5df1696920f1893ef2cccb739387256f6
49567 F20110403_AACOAA wang_h_Page_036.pro
fae057597ad08f5069c11260d93b9fe4
65fa8b3cff648872ca7106282e996d052a8bddb0
52518 F20110403_AACNUG wang_h_Page_108.pro
237686210d913c94d5f1217173e01ef4
07e4aeaa6025291d7be49dc808bce10d4e23ac99
8768 F20110403_AACNTS wang_h_Page_200thm.jpg
3fcadb0e6b849a66777241d2a51a4b95
8d261fb9a23622b3f80cc04845e15447c16008d7
8460 F20110403_AACMQQ wang_h_Page_138thm.jpg
e5db33cbc422d8b38945994122f57150
ff9112738aad766a84e49b7d20d80e968ff5abfb
8759 F20110403_AACMRE wang_h_Page_040thm.jpg
5f4afeacc6656d2cccffad138d601aaa
2055f547256ddbaf97011bd7ccbcd5dd05c4112b
8588 F20110403_AACOAB wang_h_Page_038thm.jpg
e0012f4871ae73737b7c8768e31311bf
58c408df2823f6d757bb99a5cb7a260b2ad663f3
F20110403_AACNUH wang_h_Page_188.jp2
cef95ace8a9e51552a2cd79fa512813e
eac43221d82998764e7c916babac3bc41183e6b0
105905 F20110403_AACNTT wang_h_Page_084.jpg
9c5238ac81e56b745f7a71cd2dcf6f3d
d0ff860ac2afd103777c6db305b4bbdf89be9adf
2054 F20110403_AACMQR wang_h_Page_137.txt
d9b96e2d49ca47814bf69b822c43ccdf
f344faa3490a97d27dc5d393b7d338b7e2b592fe
8548 F20110403_AACMRF wang_h_Page_125thm.jpg
830f0e4c05f03733597c216ddd5163ba
f5e263669de379c4163fd42985204caa69a842ac
101710 F20110403_AACOAC wang_h_Page_174.jpg
3b06c970152e3216f0806260855270ed
4c9412010a406f044bf5bf0c70c9f7233cfcc8d9
602 F20110403_AACNUI wang_h_Page_169.txt
3f049794e315d8545594de8d88a959a5
0e6fb76f9d4ba240f63b5ab411ad9b8c2a05c81c
102312 F20110403_AACMRG wang_h_Page_061.jpg
305c2c812f2b6f24824ea38e195c25ef
7370b34297c310da917f97c438606761967bd744
F20110403_AACOAD wang_h_Page_195.tif
910621b59b953285b37627c2530926cd
4c34cc545a163f08a50a412d04b820f90208f61f
52509 F20110403_AACNUJ wang_h_Page_207.pro
cf45f295b93a4474fedd6f5efcc34e67
922b7eba55b058167d283d1765437f7c441d9cff
52121 F20110403_AACNTU wang_h_Page_021.pro
d6a8d9e716923e24a9244a7ffaea0afc
e8690e5c26dd9c560ebea520e1191282de4c751a
F20110403_AACMQS wang_h_Page_064.tif
fab030c91206a7d6821dcfc4acc3c44f
3085dbb4c41f7342fb9681384be8a346bcb2e7eb
F20110403_AACMRH wang_h_Page_101thm.jpg
bf848ee3f861bc59ced98342845aff16
59a5d8b1fe07a116844103049c5f1d3ad8b229e6
1051928 F20110403_AACOAE wang_h_Page_109.jp2
56f16c70f765aaa6a454c9192075a8bd
62a4a773d8ef2b7c2a55ccfc45e27cbc69dfcea0
F20110403_AACNUK wang_h_Page_124.tif
4a71c0b864d2576e57e80d12b6ddf7e7
290b820526f6c50ac55cba044e29480702846039
8563 F20110403_AACNTV wang_h_Page_067thm.jpg
816e10bed4a02ebcff9df57788936473
7e3659d79eb20236b273d3b12d41edce92e19e8c
108222 F20110403_AACMQT wang_h_Page_193.jpg
4ddf8e8017a91009676871a9ca67bd7b
30807a48051bb40e3f6a4a30ca12bb156c6941f9
1051917 F20110403_AACMRI wang_h_Page_106.jp2
2c552ba528fce49779bfc2598d0c26c5
214d8c65980dff2dae00fbc8d76b3256427bf30a
958469 F20110403_AACOAF wang_h_Page_203.jp2
871c266b4e4fe835899f4321d32d66b2
9e069e40e61508d0136548cd80a67b8fc8eec376
1051956 F20110403_AACNUL wang_h_Page_144.jp2
2f4ef87d11c345908bd0d5668899b3f2
06f302c46429dedc4a5bb5af4c918ba75fb36e7c
2148 F20110403_AACNTW wang_h_Page_157.txt
15e671ec7dabccc5e31c82ad2a43b2be
897a4e6d7bc00045bf6ccef645ed1e6e7cc2fd47
F20110403_AACMQU wang_h_Page_026thm.jpg
e8926a780281dba58355acd5053dbd4c
c77484c86137c846cf4dc7892dd8c250a774a4d1
51845 F20110403_AACMRJ wang_h_Page_163.pro
3d807aa536d3c9e1894391fa28fb5ad6
feff39b8e32aa8a15882fa7575a9d8023efc5727
52332 F20110403_AACOAG wang_h_Page_135.pro
eeeb84b19da5a24f85d2791ed6548d43
343221cd555c2f4d620c51eb724f8048df0d4238
104866 F20110403_AACNVA wang_h_Page_016.jpg
398de1fdedd0181066ab15866d32d5f8
030984ac1ed623cc9c2d33cb0d2a7ba026510d5c
105730 F20110403_AACNUM wang_h_Page_072.jpg
15350ceef75808a7acd6356fb36dbfca
fd9290695d9fc625a76215af4650a71fa0638629
F20110403_AACNTX wang_h_Page_167.tif
4d02608522cf57ddaf545c9e7ea66453
176029b3e63b4d3c089df92fa60fbbaded70ba78
33433 F20110403_AACMQV wang_h_Page_137.QC.jpg
5c06b0ca69e6b193286a9e6dd4a36db6
3d3c46938212ffdac028e0bdef012fed6edaa140
F20110403_AACMRK wang_h_Page_014thm.jpg
966fd1085d45466f8b3fdc61d6d07b0b
0ec36f44eafafd1991b3857593c8d619003fafc5
F20110403_AACOAH wang_h_Page_028thm.jpg
8a335aab0ee51cd202aa683d75447804
e65b741d728c437c5ff09b378fc36389b973fd7b
104054 F20110403_AACNVB wang_h_Page_074.jpg
10d10ffca95c5ca3d7bd1fe57fea9570
8e6c060a8171cf871fca8075063ee4666224ed5f
35436 F20110403_AACNUN wang_h_Page_042.QC.jpg
90adcc806950ba9e0f1c8f9452316224
625c1d3e14fea00bfce30ba127d788678ed3d1b5
103071 F20110403_AACNTY wang_h_Page_055.jpg
dfcca26dabfcf3575c7dd1b4b97a6652
acee00c82fb5aafd99e608afc4189938c1116dd5
108695 F20110403_AACMQW wang_h_Page_065.jpg
179944b08ec0996054ef1b677768df19
7e07b42c26e3bedc368ae92910c2991aa172f173
F20110403_AACMRL wang_h_Page_102.tif
103c661c7ede2257200d937cc0b833cc
3a9f2d6e7ef0cf669497c2d6dfb0130e070e5e31
F20110403_AACOAI wang_h_Page_021.jp2
9a8ebb0ac6450c0d3ad83ef7de551349
877973c1c46fbdccd37f4da80d6d641b4c8b22e1
105825 F20110403_AACNVC wang_h_Page_210.jpg
dde85f381d3d6c3479c90c77095907ba
4cf0e9d4eea52fc16d200068af4e241ba0135503
33856 F20110403_AACNUO wang_h_Page_078.QC.jpg
67d3714c9b86f54ee4bc3353eadb80e3
ee7c06722d726db0cb6bb621186d18205dd3b33f
F20110403_AACNTZ wang_h_Page_121.tif
4635191c1d749c09799faca8ae3a6135
2bb1cdf65506ef6490166a66021f15572c350da1
1964 F20110403_AACMQX wang_h_Page_032.txt
26488fba9e9add5e782af20a6a59911d
b18aa84ca893b521b6e5e42ee638e8f899a2e01f
F20110403_AACMSA wang_h_Page_006.tif
6343b686621270c341a82b6c175241d0
e8b96aec8fa87928490a5bfcfa91f8abb1f3e6c6
F20110403_AACMRM wang_h_Page_110.tif
7c6c77d58ae7dcec517fc8ed8cd15f2a
4aab2374126faca9027bc358448f913cfced0706
8417 F20110403_AACOAJ wang_h_Page_141thm.jpg
b09dfc0847701f65bc0f37c4d1561cd7
306727d488534f84d14b878a84e474442c181a28
F20110403_AACNVD wang_h_Page_083.tif
360d40c309a665158362220f10dd52b0
0b6b3bd52856095ec35c3ce2096e1383f14d9011
104170 F20110403_AACNUP wang_h_Page_015.jpg
9796fed92455987b9f758fb75256fbb3
67916d6592fc02603a092983d3208d5636d2928d
2031 F20110403_AACMQY wang_h_Page_062.txt
7c37da0e953f3d87339f0d75231fdc71
61bd6eade596c88c36fde56fa28e26a3edf97bef
50846 F20110403_AACMSB wang_h_Page_069.pro
41589ba8329c34743f77aa747940bcbc
6e8973b00d26f4444ae7fc45ae664c02e8be641b
33851 F20110403_AACMRN wang_h_Page_048.QC.jpg
673c4f3d8aa65e94ca0338505952ce45
94d1e02fa8959c98d232b584a02bb99de419f38c
105190 F20110403_AACOAK wang_h_Page_025.jpg
4a3c1c7357c38edc3ac02fd6f864a816
5899633deb420b8e0fa37eb34ffff78454cdab0a
8641 F20110403_AACNVE wang_h_Page_201thm.jpg
de700f1a48bd7e5be0289162d082c262
601c355b482aef13b936238d7226de57e5ed1b97
F20110403_AACNUQ wang_h_Page_205.jp2
8ae63a9670d5622cf93601f287cb35c0
a446d1509d3d9be0c3c83a4dd76eead4f7f8a86e
34478 F20110403_AACMQZ wang_h_Page_166.QC.jpg
f54c0d41e5195e1face21e6b53514833
0fb3c4fb9ee28d25b44e62b00e771e0bce307706
F20110403_AACMSC wang_h_Page_039.jp2
161399436f32979e430817aa91cab917
ac45673917c7a72cc1bc67e9b5e9463857fbfb71
F20110403_AACMRO wang_h_Page_171.QC.jpg
135c5b70b90bd7fa32efe47da6df5bf9
f68046a5b2fbb584730c326a832eae397e9407d6
F20110403_AACOBA wang_h_Page_035.tif
e2d06842b7e00fc3c4223aa68d767dbb
3c300b6dfe9bb139e84f512c8639f2007f2fbe85
F20110403_AACOAL wang_h_Page_050.txt
75af589a87089b361fa95be0e336afbc
e32bbc8ff34e0f06a129f0f8e61aab28cfdc7431
52580 F20110403_AACNVF wang_h_Page_054.pro
4b8c67a9c7e31004d66b81cfe384f22f
8fe0b61ea9872b605dcdcf1fc3549386c7fd82ae
8402 F20110403_AACNUR wang_h_Page_027thm.jpg
2db9894b33ab01317d092cf0018f2ff0
0dca09c0193045d7a303302bc77a1b241bf536ed
F20110403_AACMSD wang_h_Page_186.tif
c8f261ad75d720719486ace2b0c7a468
870bf0d199733802c4ab325c1d3eeb572fb66e95
2077 F20110403_AACMRP wang_h_Page_102.txt
8962a651136e50980c9b0772b5717769
098ff3c5a0cbfe52ba4078b7048c498c0431c79c
8520 F20110403_AACOAM wang_h_Page_072thm.jpg
26104ee9285ffd2c0dda9d80896b8c2e
07cec5bfe6caad65b6fa6b57950b0172d5b9f298
33600 F20110403_AACNVG wang_h_Page_069.QC.jpg
3e9978f5fc23aae926bf0fe458ce4014
6e86843604febc229372b9d9a03e8a30675e6a23
F20110403_AACNUS wang_h_Page_033.tif
d79e24fac899bd61e859df45c1a69425
c55b0a57d9614a180b12cbdf9153cb447296064e
F20110403_AACMSE wang_h_Page_103.tif
950bbb65c7816b1b66204c1ae4737669
cf3ee3a4012078842f50ff1c42fcdee67d64c317
2168 F20110403_AACMRQ wang_h_Page_037.txt
e587653c653f3756a78b595ea3aba0fa
7041efd73980ee8881b95b35cf22cf64e81dd1db
F20110403_AACOBB wang_h_Page_041.tif
5323e73ef46c504fe06acd08dc60fe87
94bf8f53f296b35c5c946d202624c75a1341db45
33779 F20110403_AACOAN wang_h_Page_044.QC.jpg
d9ad1cdf5994e1ac22100a4c6b8172a0
4eb215be06b758ecf2592849bcab420f08af5af0
52335 F20110403_AACNVH wang_h_Page_033.pro
c04472fcb988490183c6494ff23be5d3
0a930ed765e5f41307362c74c3de9e936e69da6e
F20110403_AACNUT wang_h_Page_156.jp2
f101b1641313b9a94a1e8c439a497da4
9a68704f69a6425c6cf1ab9a91b8a4bc2900d193
51799 F20110403_AACMSF wang_h_Page_202.pro
2b6ec933e8bc0c442fe0393490376c7e
17ea9d01787a0fbdb65ac47d86cfa1c7a9508050
8354 F20110403_AACMRR wang_h_Page_116thm.jpg
ad0f65e121bad70034492354553ffcdb
839368fdf9b6057a1f63ddead66cab9d56e315de
F20110403_AACOBC wang_h_Page_044.tif
27d30d6c7cc00839ab38a23a6f76fc20
16ef33edb7e421d2239b55f20c0c9d814d8d8a61
97583 F20110403_AACOAO wang_h_Page_083.jpg
4ce4eb0da2f7e3db4d5428056cea8017
b9c14f1c4bb283d302211a02d30670357e6e7f92
2087 F20110403_AACNVI wang_h_Page_040.txt
614da2cbbdafcae458cf4c5818ed2895
ac925f38d7266afb84fd5db3ce3d69ec24c0ae03
F20110403_AACNUU wang_h_Page_136.txt
486e4c7a567b084bc49afa8b0dd1bdd5
3f1efab6932a71188fc5b29fa269c81ae6c04d09
F20110403_AACMSG wang_h_Page_142.jpg
1466a39b9d957b9aac938b8da64fa84b
83190fc86e8c25382eb569d8d8537cf51baf6c5a
107311 F20110403_AACMRS wang_h_Page_049.jpg
f7fa2e2a613497844914b41cd16619ed
14e28ceb3ed0e8a4fe61f7dd430ffa1ad2aa0f0c
F20110403_AACOBD wang_h_Page_048.tif
311e7bada48a371933cc20e1b5202bb2
d8b0f6adc55a3542ec8ad3b5cc6d510d67467726
F20110403_AACOAP wang_h_Page_071.tif
27bf2784e5eec126de11fe5181976e34
fde897a8cd428e7cf4bef328fe377fca7976ae43
F20110403_AACNVJ wang_h_Page_127.tif
a499044dcd4684250ac989b513e99f25
9c5263768f64bf001593257f46362f031a8fc448
2041 F20110403_AACMSH wang_h_Page_084.txt
203936f0963db4898fc9c072bd99492e
32491518d13e21d97806d825dde6ca29e9227b61
F20110403_AACOBE wang_h_Page_049.tif
86a4b95430d57226f3d8a826bf2be0b0
4042ae3acae98d88f7d29fe69de383f06e9a7180
52045 F20110403_AACOAQ wang_h_Page_084.pro
8565a0708cf09a817885288b4942bfe2
32fbdb920a43fbe73ebece0a34d1c83ee489c788
51486 F20110403_AACNVK wang_h_Page_197.pro
56e149634541c447df3d57fa4622e4f6
c87e89cba3a5dbac9f38e0309c21720ce81ed9ae
F20110403_AACNUV wang_h_Page_079.jp2
729d2c57d303c1baac9427f682b61c97
c432c63aed0e9dbc71ff2872fad52c381d92b7d6
103851 F20110403_AACMSI wang_h_Page_077.jpg
eb0f3b8d5f0fcd4247bf1907ae792057
eb1fd184e34b207c558117121e58c223da3e41dd
49562 F20110403_AACMRT wang_h_Page_188.pro
92520391ff508942df1bd5cdf6343455
2ce72ad43e0ae2f01210c347c013d96bd1a965be
F20110403_AACOBF wang_h_Page_051.tif
df7ff7012f50e32214b75701b3a1453a
db89f5f932948ad9f4fb40b948f1b276f17285a0
2200 F20110403_AACOAR wang_h_Page_211.txt
0b6c8cbf2aa47d9d78d68c92a01a6bae
2c9c835e9fb844bdc07bafa6dc8b5d545df7761c
1051905 F20110403_AACNVL wang_h_Page_088.jp2
da2f421bd377591dc5629bdd3b08da23
19328dbd6d19f8485dc3cf640131045903c67da7
8242 F20110403_AACNUW wang_h_Page_095thm.jpg
b01f5a7af1bec670753dec90887d19c7
b23ff0763ed05ecf02bfcf80e0c2381665e2e945
2010 F20110403_AACMSJ wang_h_Page_189.txt
5812c07939b196204250f8059f09cd97
f0e39725a11e570643b3e07ea3b465232d9bf436
F20110403_AACMRU wang_h_Page_184.jp2
56473cdab11ba8738087e0bdde515f21
863ae8cc614ec8bd5f62122b8ea857a5e86fd8d6
F20110403_AACOBG wang_h_Page_069.tif
bd9f25632b2f131cf573008b226c45c0
7f31f45e5f350bb99f7af0db047f7de386e6765a
247235 F20110403_AACOAS UFE0013601_00001.mets FULL
7026640a732b27da7ce58b329be89766
335fb707db4893e764e3de72dd7255381e8f312d
34713 F20110403_AACNWA wang_h_Page_085.QC.jpg
f1b32ae88ca5b82348116ed27c51aca7
eaeb43a963b6b8abe5a1bc09f57772a83d09ebf0
34058 F20110403_AACNVM wang_h_Page_148.QC.jpg
d715dc7d2f177557785e6bd44d42beb6
222eaa5b0a39905d2d2e7712b074531f8c5e105f
53257 F20110403_AACNUX wang_h_Page_003.jp2
bbd6e2d963f303101864af348c42a9b2
3633e65b7beebd02399db317b522e0962c6749da
106316 F20110403_AACMSK wang_h_Page_179.jpg
e96a23d4a90e298875cf60244f3ad482
d4af0c900c45f8294ae7a93a41c3dc4460dfbce8
8392 F20110403_AACMRV wang_h_Page_117thm.jpg
c408c1f14f1dfc9eb01caa56fbd2480e
13f619c1ae115062afbba4a836d87bbd3987f7aa
F20110403_AACOBH wang_h_Page_079.tif
7a65ceccfa7f2e4e4972d1962fd00b46
41d5085dc243b17187a5b49c51973e59ad0c28f2
F20110403_AACNWB wang_h_Page_078.tif
f59abe87bc0d1393355ca64b3110255d
fe7049b7b83223bdd2a5a16e4b60abd2c85c2f64
52060 F20110403_AACNVN wang_h_Page_058.pro
55eeb6946cd776defb8e6c333c650e6d
6b13ebd762f3a62d5e66302516e785f260c16730
35327 F20110403_AACNUY wang_h_Page_091.QC.jpg
3099f0bd2a53bf827091325e7cc56db1
01bd7810fbb722fb36eb4a5667c4b8af79068337
F20110403_AACMSL wang_h_Page_193.jp2
b647c2e98dc7449db9240f5968f06d9d
60829721e864e0bb1c4941e71601fb2187b997ef
8633 F20110403_AACMRW wang_h_Page_127thm.jpg
301795e9dd5a55408402db15a0fcce9e
2c3f2d85a35466b5d496031f65bd72c20fd1f6fd
F20110403_AACOBI wang_h_Page_081.tif
7c033cf26a951fa2d4a660efb7a67cfe
0f39d2431fa086353ce0530bbaa796509c2ff1ce
2079 F20110403_AACNWC wang_h_Page_100.txt
f474310e3c2eeadfe628e22d39899a4f
f14a646aa6aaa6b336b1c10752f07a00eb25616f
8529 F20110403_AACNVO wang_h_Page_061thm.jpg
cd4e616051f4dd32544dced929751db5
4d97e64ecbe9e679c37daca9dc2e0d59535a4555
F20110403_AACNUZ wang_h_Page_194.jp2
50e43a1124abb28a210f59e50d93f66c
30729c06fe0c04e3046e8ee55babc1534cc80382
49159 F20110403_AACMTA wang_h_Page_161.pro
b5b02372ab7f840a2e593fe815c27e3e
d99096059c584ab673e7b99c35fe7524ebd0e037
33456 F20110403_AACMSM wang_h_Page_024.QC.jpg
d963e86aa1bcb6ce9d6229ea704615a8
9c607417712019b6b9b9e3539337ece14aa7a296
105328 F20110403_AACMRX wang_h_Page_202.jpg
3e5f6aa4d076bad89a37ced859117941
77a730ab83029f8e149eda231aef54bbc2a69089
F20110403_AACOBJ wang_h_Page_120.tif
9d9d117940b15335584ccf3b706cc09d
ede19988760aca30092af6fe42bd82d61c608fbb
F20110403_AACOAV wang_h_Page_007.tif
893db8225c69c8c225724441210a5f31
5f64f96aa27d5cc1b390a71eb066c63b93983a8e
F20110403_AACNWD wang_h_Page_061.jp2
b43ae298eb5ed0aae08e3dbef4ced2b6
8a15b7572b004369157f483044a2cce4d66a2c95
105885 F20110403_AACNVP wang_h_Page_175.jpg
56e4844ec7a85c829b7b7e1789a24d23
160f0d3abfdf1076cdb77fd89cdd076883f9ca04
F20110403_AACMTB wang_h_Page_189.tif
8b46f5cdf95c8b811c1e8d099177dd8c
1b4a40aaee226e9111f2a1b97384c69383908848
34615 F20110403_AACMSN wang_h_Page_103.QC.jpg
eb0073d2bf1e705f1faa58454caf757e
6758fcfa23f09271e6d9aef79facb1c3d65b4509
F20110403_AACMRY wang_h_Page_121.txt
d428f3518656e71fbd77428bd2667bbd
e70f01f69c3910c2f4f0b752f1ee308164f07120
F20110403_AACOBK wang_h_Page_169.tif
dc7c8e200e60863c063e2900fab208cb
2a968f31d65b68ae8a4744d9f93d80133d12457b
F20110403_AACOAW wang_h_Page_014.tif
c0d9df52c0c6b45a3713c72d9ce649c8
cdad886cba28290d267c519e46cb0d2b6cca1401
32314 F20110403_AACNWE wang_h_Page_032.QC.jpg
3a609903d586397b410270a52d328f1f
a165be77535c3f0fb3c122e027746799fc9dcaf8
2279 F20110403_AACNVQ wang_h_Page_042.txt
f8fd45f04f8b9735264a3106c027b7c7
5bb0c68d16b3ab8e7710063cbe9c3f851ee29a9a
56297 F20110403_AACMTC wang_h_Page_091.pro
569f9c5c46d14bb0636d2e78188e618c
36778bcbd3856991d46a6cae8af5e29e8cc8a1e6
F20110403_AACMSO wang_h_Page_094.jp2
7db5b43fc5ebe5fb8a173a0995a6f485
afbc704244cfb72f63a57a110104530ac49cba77
F20110403_AACMRZ wang_h_Page_021.tif
1cf19c41656520f3faf310d1f5808b0e
907e70b7713cf80de0a645ef8a3372f1066fe8ed
1997 F20110403_AACOCA wang_h_Page_117.txt
939fbaa2051a67b9f55bda7d0eca0e14
7975444ac67f127d96bb71aaa2d7ae590a956c4a
F20110403_AACOBL wang_h_Page_176.tif
f8c66e25e2d3b5988a002c5533ca0d1a
4493aeb46a7c5da56a69dccfd4742be89cc2b7bd
F20110403_AACOAX wang_h_Page_025.tif
e81da377dc22d3fbe2359824be41cab0
3aaa8f30ec2138fa0e835cf24f817d8eb75692f7
F20110403_AACNWF wang_h_Page_043.tif
85a62bd151b39719bc18d1895e1ef02b
ffb399e0a4dc54e71dd614a923186aeb3e51458d
F20110403_AACNVR wang_h_Page_078.txt
593029104c1805376443aab070d8a0ec
7d15130af7c335cffd038c8c528d1c74101bcc41
F20110403_AACMTD wang_h_Page_153.tif
95104270bc9df71660df68edcc2b0056
c066dfd6206566dcfecff24033bc7f34785213fb
53620 F20110403_AACMSP wang_h_Page_134.pro
085813a44bcfe9d949e596f06c675b13
e37085df52bff0c47d4eba31519e26fbc199df13
2283 F20110403_AACOCB wang_h_Page_119.txt
c468d95d0ee1e9b0e8aef71fb76b39ea
83dcafea783386deb39e3694223aa7fdec8c97c5
F20110403_AACOBM wang_h_Page_179.tif
ba900f307602a7f3169ca1c8b92862fc
ceccfb2379418dec198596c40387473b9473c068
F20110403_AACOAY wang_h_Page_029.tif
827f494eee3bda834630b6d5dbbf1c0c
d1c49a6597424574142e6744d8c006e9c367f94b
2065 F20110403_AACNWG wang_h_Page_179.txt
a571b8c8de07707c3c6e31b7e4b64b87
83ae9c56420b2b93df00fc222a683a4fbed6cf62
8663 F20110403_AACNVS wang_h_Page_099thm.jpg
20557b34cd48695d861b759f386650e8
be012b91305be01132c98653f62e5afcc2479de8
104438 F20110403_AACMTE wang_h_Page_176.jpg
a426d47004abec9931f2645a2359ae87
1fed909b01bc5ada5baed2bea0e13947988246ab
228492 F20110403_AACMSQ wang_h_Page_006.jp2
94709a3582ae1138053423473849c05b
1e102c50a115ddf31494b3be6933d0d4796b1958
F20110403_AACOBN wang_h_Page_185.tif
e44f0711d1e582d31939964a603c4a2d
77bd9dc562455bf77659e0acf22b11e8b9a2a904
F20110403_AACOAZ wang_h_Page_031.tif
91af418baaf7bc915473e1615dada050
b57e6637bf323aee70f569e39bbcaa5f25006138
105207 F20110403_AACNWH wang_h_Page_053.jpg
8a959ec3df541d1c38ed7c4d5e941e5b
681f521d682845e82767d1f4e287b91296a610ac
34487 F20110403_AACNVT wang_h_Page_202.QC.jpg
49b10659bfeba7963018222a47be2f39
fe656a9da38ed683943852f254524a52d4e16ba4
8510 F20110403_AACMTF wang_h_Page_044thm.jpg
c805154cb8073a43a41f15f94cf24309
41fda4a1d26c8057dcc2659b923eb91ed3f93f8f
105000 F20110403_AACMSR wang_h_Page_184.jpg
52970613a4a85726fed6353882e77cfa
6d2d9d6e4e0a6de280db8bdfd9fb73e1cdc2368f
F20110403_AACOCC wang_h_Page_128.txt
05dba81b7edf2e7860799d9184587356
413c7a6b6952c4ffbf04fddeddc6290f1e9b9074
993 F20110403_AACOBO wang_h_Page_004.txt
bc89f2a970be9a32c333ec7ff488ccbd
0259063073779cfcbb312d2c28beec071a7d809f
F20110403_AACNWI wang_h_Page_157.tif
41e3dc629258c87f3d18bdb475a66f1e
32d3fb5f859632bdc68f20775ad3d31735c990bd
F20110403_AACNVU wang_h_Page_166.txt
ad0bc1e162fc690c1265906195a9a2c0
4a0673bf3294733c91a06f3440ffee8d858657cf
1051944 F20110403_AACMTG wang_h_Page_022.jp2
6892f8424e601f492079ce69b09c0919
1f042813dc28346a8c8e941f8d43d9ee74905c4c
F20110403_AACMSS wang_h_Page_119.jp2
0c7ff51f51c421ffc70a45896245b1a8
5e0730a91fe340e3011e1b9c519b56d285255755
F20110403_AACOCD wang_h_Page_139.txt
e7ff89008bdc39ef522b8022e4e260d9
223d6fd3dde652c170b467bc545f09c1e443cfc3
1925 F20110403_AACOBP wang_h_Page_017.txt
e490a2161b6fef65a9a0a0a395b5f362
1c314c220b4c18b42477620ba4ef936f828391ce
51686 F20110403_AACNWJ wang_h_Page_155.pro
130b4c56a7d1236a33dc9879cdd3b0da
bc5eb38b8042e988ea24fefb7be603a5afb3022a
F20110403_AACNVV wang_h_Page_034thm.jpg
b76c0416f5183721082f3889cd8e8900
767cfbd8f13fd1e7681ca0080163c16519eb62b5
50426 F20110403_AACMTH wang_h_Page_024.pro
ecec76e620b6ed602220a9262ca1b0ab
c79ad1e87f1ce637b7d4e54285464a8eb2d6da51
34997 F20110403_AACMST wang_h_Page_160.QC.jpg
46625de2f21befaa6fee55f33866718f
d469f6c522821f536c3291b2255ce33d693226dc
2000 F20110403_AACOCE wang_h_Page_141.txt
4c55e0f8e51dfa23e6ef109d009bffde
cf333619d5adc746b980f917df0868ff6baa5e31
F20110403_AACOBQ wang_h_Page_021.txt
8a912309ca84d364fdac5d241fbdb92a
51d0192f52bcf81c5eb2c0f943375a5ccf6f3c55
F20110403_AACNWK wang_h_Page_011.tif
8824895aa85297a222f7efc93427c5a1
f5c015519ced3fdb1b7e16cd536aa5bc74b7ccf5
F20110403_AACMTI wang_h_Page_116.tif
aaa42679e94dfdae02de4012f6a870db
dc6e79ce6094713c6573aa706faabd402c1cb47a
F20110403_AACOCF wang_h_Page_154.txt
d1d21d766aaa45e9e437a397ef034982
d5dff83687d25af192f5f2753d3344d948de0939
F20110403_AACOBR wang_h_Page_026.txt
4b1a5a18f7fc15856bc28d785028fd90
9ac7955e861f1e4f8b39e95ff363aac9c4e7a4a0
33241 F20110403_AACNWL wang_h_Page_010.QC.jpg
d3445d0671c521f0eb22981a004d28fa
585958dec1d54083b9b87e13d9605f24adc02990
F20110403_AACNVW wang_h_Page_165.tif
5778d05dd15ce5b309408fc332c7fd31
9e4345f3ae4260d897bbf98d242723a7355d5204
F20110403_AACMTJ wang_h_Page_049.jp2
6b0588296cab8f1380c7705c67cb98c3
8ca778073510251276716700a6ad21d4f674324c
F20110403_AACMSU wang_h_Page_148.tif
05a1ea70d53cd5dfb380344eba26dd04
67bcd8cb6f383602d1358b576fbff16c36d94c21
2033 F20110403_AACOCG wang_h_Page_163.txt
f50135af436d8c8a25ed79232e0baf6c
9e8e70e24745a68d039dea23a203d970211e4dbf
1921 F20110403_AACOBS wang_h_Page_047.txt
265f38ed046f3d13969abbf97ec3d7a8
1a1552bd4b5edd0f33ac20648d8a4900d2f680e5
1051929 F20110403_AACNXA wang_h_Page_208.jp2
d9927615b83f50602af7501b3b280e32
00fc817649b82e4986ddd9bbd67d3dfefcfe7fd3
102513 F20110403_AACNWM wang_h_Page_043.jpg
e13fe3f4dca08fef68428664c0dc74c7
2dc4abe198b157e42ff436ef811914aac0f32181
F20110403_AACNVX wang_h_Page_187.txt
5c2a21462773e3e77225ab437c9b0460
d5fffe01659bbfb184abad5536a4de51da7e3423
F20110403_AACMSV wang_h_Page_050.tif
beb9e20f1bb8dee71f803656065642e5
c349735bfa4e5690c87310eb3eb715e95b12a330
103184 F20110403_AACMTK wang_h_Page_138.jpg
db5dde0029da44a30fb04816ee8b9f02
c958eaa87523442df71e1767c80968948af57aef
1810 F20110403_AACOCH wang_h_Page_170.txt
3588d41228e4e0621bc8401094821f3e
957f4aee98ab77fd367a1404d316d097a9f87460
F20110403_AACOBT wang_h_Page_053.txt
9de94f0759c2c601581af056aa289437
d9f28b9ad4e4683894796c837d44f55a59b2f640
55153 F20110403_AACNXB wang_h_Page_107.pro
b5283a40865e205e3e7a724a7d6c1d1f
39667d88c14d83df6cb2ea615138ef0058172ca5
1982 F20110403_AACNWN wang_h_Page_116.txt
6959a50a6b65fe36660eee8696532b37
53980864a41bd6d6956364954878e46371f9aa44
F20110403_AACNVY wang_h_Page_024.jp2
41141efedfc48a1fa73286b0c8c568b0
1670d2debf1bac944b6f568d32afb8e48b58383f
8556 F20110403_AACMSW wang_h_Page_175thm.jpg
767d62cb9dd75fe6251437850fc651b4
60f2e2abe26ba442de58cd38574656bd9efd7f15
2249 F20110403_AACMTL wang_h_Page_160.txt
dcd644df874d63d938f9c3b434a82f3d
dacafc1fb8e2995140cd1c0848da24c0d5d91397
2023 F20110403_AACOCI wang_h_Page_176.txt
2a066d00740961b856bec50e17038ec5
bdd06e612fa30d3a09a9cdb25860ad80e6220095
2062 F20110403_AACOBU wang_h_Page_054.txt
6d509306a60a956bf1ba648642b1ea3a
4073cd6cfc6d7fc8fab1921cc6cea85e328516a2
34494 F20110403_AACNXC wang_h_Page_131.QC.jpg
35827fa50af366be97b735fb9ac5afb9
4592bdf789eab6231f3e3923ad7c82d3a231d89f
8496 F20110403_AACNWO wang_h_Page_029thm.jpg
e85776d61af06c09f860a5ffc5d30990
5e221b4b4dd73d5d33b54d4c9b7debebfc07c6ec
54207 F20110403_AACNVZ wang_h_Page_037.pro
dcdb58b0fb8b447b17f0c0ca0ba7372c
bfd6a16052554b7f6af27e0b00f8db7260cb3376
7623 F20110403_AACMSX wang_h_Page_170thm.jpg
c7f7df847f638eb8ab3272c873d6977f
0ecb2336328191fe6d74cbc8203d769ca0ed0eee
104104 F20110403_AACMUA wang_h_Page_186.jpg
1a4603ee5c5bcf2a9925e3d267e8e715
dbaa5ac543769dfab1f092782e421694adfacd57
33859 F20110403_AACMTM wang_h_Page_124.QC.jpg
7b5a23f697d07c8b644ffc54ad438b70
b861ba418f9ee4c79b31b2aced2deeb63b649dd4
2137 F20110403_AACOCJ wang_h_Page_193.txt
10496607fbeb858cf9b72e98e3da6682
197eb4098b1da97e1220b66105a5683496c9f487
F20110403_AACOBV wang_h_Page_075.txt
8006384a81294580df39fc179f75e80a
b042ba4f502d24bacc8ef3e9aafba3edd9c34a45
32597 F20110403_AACNXD wang_h_Page_210.QC.jpg
312e3273f3e153411ead1db80f539d1d
c9c9d71f1a41974a0774f5bc988158c30a35910c
F20110403_AACNWP wang_h_Page_108.tif
5e32db7a49de14e2817b0b04a6861507
41dbf02731c86e261a0cc33c28199d59da494ddb
1051951 F20110403_AACMSY wang_h_Page_154.jp2
975af88276cdc3476c8c451e9ffc34db
517609f3b19a5eca091d28d66ca5df090374ee10
1051982 F20110403_AACMUB wang_h_Page_033.jp2
aaa7eef3e27b0f47f8b4aac297941983
10987449761549b15b2def107cd25ec935d176e4
F20110403_AACMTN wang_h_Page_016.tif
79f74acd464dad0b450f16ebc13a1693
0dfb9aa47de51dd225dd1111804efdb66204d222
F20110403_AACOCK wang_h_Page_194.txt
2a863b7cec3f622f7c8fa971ec32d8dc
4b0daee57b18ecc2ee7675b6116d6cc43fd31148
2196 F20110403_AACOBW wang_h_Page_091.txt
fa6745f6588ff4a0957e4058edc3a4c9
8b18a3ab4a5129022d6f56bc56a2557221b84743
F20110403_AACNXE wang_h_Page_075.jp2
8ac320ce448e7b127f9b5f9be4897787
1e14e7bbfa92029b5f47273c3f2436155b0df24b
F20110403_AACNWQ wang_h_Page_137.tif
0f4ff41780aa5505dd702ffced121610
63c71a4c1e0554af3fac787a30d5c7edb2d77ade
101239 F20110403_AACMSZ wang_h_Page_032.jpg
67b2c7d14b2e2a444fca06a34d087437
f8a5e3e90ada42402b3b9818486bdbf51cfeebaf
2032 F20110403_AACMUC wang_h_Page_202.txt
0570e95da9fcc0b2e0e99a15ea587252
5ce64b5a4bacb78e5674571262a85b4d47e0500e
1051972 F20110403_AACMTO wang_h_Page_157.jp2
abe3b9ac105ce5e7f7bd52b43cce7d4d
81dd08846e1847923c6a47bc39b359e8c4c66d2f
51890 F20110403_AACODA wang_h_Page_143.pro
580ebd9393ef73585a492d3fe607f9b3
1c3ee354450ab3cecd8d3d5f27289736ee6e11ab
2263 F20110403_AACOCL wang_h_Page_208.txt
e2cea12dd84c926e859a218cdd9589f4
7de4836560cbe90294b4afa3d6a6fedd590d3238
F20110403_AACOBX wang_h_Page_098.txt
65bffcc8685bc01f55fc3f77ae3d3a05
0d8beb98d2e8b31eab1ed5dcbe92a2cd3df4086e
1922 F20110403_AACNXF wang_h_Page_185.txt
a826c4bf3a9c20d7c2de5dd895f82e04
7b012ca3933ce69a93217d5e829082f439fee968
F20110403_AACNWR wang_h_Page_080.txt
a9a6f80e5a5e48aa0c85d333dac4e46a
cff25bfd662e40d671628126610ba6426b3245d2
8587 F20110403_AACMUD wang_h_Page_056thm.jpg
a3e70d4e4b9670ce76fd2daa114e8d28
8d698eaae84b2030ca89473f5ab2399eed200ae7
F20110403_AACMTP wang_h_Page_165.txt
c1362c7d205c4ffd28d345650cb5363c
3a9794512b4c888ebdedfd8ef2ae194725495ba2
54544 F20110403_AACODB wang_h_Page_157.pro
48361a9f9743732bad1c3d94b42d98a1
2864412977b4d2dce9cf4855b6e8099078251776
51749 F20110403_AACOCM wang_h_Page_015.pro
9dab5355db86b396d9341c2c9f1b4fc1
ff48ff1f9684004196f69520268760d649513106
2071 F20110403_AACOBY wang_h_Page_109.txt
ca9241349294fa6295a822d761761789
87012db1f32d9dcc878f215ec38beaaef8c421fc
F20110403_AACNXG wang_h_Page_172.tif
818b8fd5f7ea3cffadb11a30874b35d6
4a9aaec34ce48d32547e0c25cc444388ff7cdea6
F20110403_AACNWS wang_h_Page_043.txt
86f9594cf482e88f56f693b6be2ad11e
046f5ebf5ec796781da2fc85532d9adbc0a329c0
54293 F20110403_AACMUE wang_h_Page_177.pro
7f33dddd35d29decd048fe2b0c408013
73b75408a396c64d096b4f2b884bd591f1b28f40
8737 F20110403_AACMTQ wang_h_Page_142thm.jpg
f5d481f47426fecb37457e75a02cbdc9
487d01fdf6dbd3b5d56d6611567ef108deea99fa
56407 F20110403_AACODC wang_h_Page_160.pro
21797179c73adcd51a2d8767973e0b39
ab61f713253bdeb2eca3196f5773b2111a2fe71a
53003 F20110403_AACOCN wang_h_Page_026.pro
8cfd9317b2b5a5cb0eb0b37e60487179
609e2ca3f315ef02f89e17fd4f37decd91709c46
2057 F20110403_AACOBZ wang_h_Page_115.txt
bcb68762fc5f6e7e27b81c3ee9b1513e
07977a72154aa1c3ac328fb144308ed958cb792f
F20110403_AACNXH wang_h_Page_084.jp2
275660129739bd1eae97c6357c460857
91ce75b88cb82d565b834349b245062d7e086665
F20110403_AACNWT wang_h_Page_160.tif
fabfb5b05568ebe8115f15b2d8468ecb
366306a4380c20a94d8382bea16f59967419d9b6
36678 F20110403_AACNAA wang_h_Page_019.QC.jpg
1322ea0ebd399911a0541f61ff872b17
ee31f481a7f0ed7e0b9debc213632abcce261922
F20110403_AACMUF wang_h_Page_069.txt
241bd11274daeeb95912be9c5535bcf4
8fae21220c19fec237ce7c2bb5398561c46ed379
35103 F20110403_AACMTR wang_h_Page_087.QC.jpg
44d8444d88eda792b44225372b34c1cb
18f6dc3abb3c7626fca6d62adc1be6b04a570f3a
56946 F20110403_AACOCO wang_h_Page_027.pro
b20b892ecb09163b161932855577202b
00aba12558b8ec4b0672e380bf06e2094a8c3598
58076 F20110403_AACNXI wang_h_Page_020.pro
c62e1877063b27ad90f64d71a82558b9
b85444f7d53bf287d90bbfb5a1a2974787c73462
2139 F20110403_AACNWU wang_h_Page_159.txt
e527f1edb272ea4aae0a6cfa20ed0017
fc5c05c28d244be40c1716459e82a08f635f2e5b
8645 F20110403_AACMUG wang_h_Page_210thm.jpg
c09fdd6d51afeeb5c014dc1838fa4490
03d7ca3f701d2c68a9f13174fab5b1d7c803e8ba
52137 F20110403_AACMTS wang_h_Page_085.pro
29d16a091d24f77ac7159af4823486f3
de2fb7bcb60bd360d28fd96e65397be3deff4f2e
63339 F20110403_AACODD wang_h_Page_162.pro
9fd5669c099b97066efaa6e3043184f1
fb45b15dc35745167ebec1ad425a73c21adfa0e4
50031 F20110403_AACOCP wang_h_Page_032.pro
c12a65144044c160cf056b37ecaa9d06
d2a78f23483d853508ee3ae5c5b7eae17d2bda23
51375 F20110403_AACNXJ wang_h_Page_067.pro
1e30f42fc423586868fdc191b0994a6e
73088eaebad7dfef66bc00fff8a092559dc88d36
51447 F20110403_AACNWV wang_h_Page_138.pro
98567da648feb06932244688e50e5299
6b30f8aee25bce6b50db5e05b1da48691edbe079
52817 F20110403_AACNAB wang_h_Page_109.pro
a59bfce2c466b5770e82465b8969c5ef
89216a2cb1ae929f23e409e383f86504618e9ded
F20110403_AACMUH wang_h_Page_074.tif
e5f542f60afdfb90a3d2961b622c0d44
38aa8f7e23cfb01ed11b2ba2d76816672cdd509f
52926 F20110403_AACMTT wang_h_Page_201.pro
a8fb581fed695ae622c613faf3f161c4
1fd2052b458262ddbd0cbbc7f22ab7201d6f923b
52539 F20110403_AACODE wang_h_Page_166.pro
ee0a9e5da3b61ec8e2f2c96adbd90e13
4b178e7e0f4c703342c039bbc77736c9e02568cf
51207 F20110403_AACOCQ wang_h_Page_039.pro
c3d598644eeaf8db2886e1159a7348b7
35d5a04aabee345825dc3519b1548906688b1764
F20110403_AACNXK wang_h_Page_146.txt
0ca07e0f4211b5fefd555cc9163c572f
90c8a3dcaf14bad1a88910324dc848bd3e2d2249
111673 F20110403_AACNWW wang_h_Page_063.jpg
e96c1105bf3e10d44aeeb44b317c46c6
1cc0d54bef6e1c5c43c5adcfb7e23495d7edf459
33701 F20110403_AACNAC wang_h_Page_186.QC.jpg
fda151cc79e1ad69ed2123cf6df5ccc6
cef37f57c4c8de072f0ae1245b14217cff929d29
408152 F20110403_AACMUI wang_h_Page_008.jp2
16fb6e7656786daedd7b07877f45f2ca
b9de05204160198afa546e7ca9121ef0adc7cb36
104797 F20110403_AACMTU wang_h_Page_096.jpg
d15a281cd15eeffe1278df6043a597a1
7c36b79dcff71abd0d7a1e1db23c2ed8c705286f
44351 F20110403_AACODF wang_h_Page_170.pro
8dccbc0281175aa042b1f37ee865c653
dcf2ee5c54abdcf2d2c5b1b3bfa3f4f401b2db98
51904 F20110403_AACOCR wang_h_Page_062.pro
da87b5559a224229e7853a5e6d0cc051
e733ae89e16d41a1226e380dbcdf20fd68dee005
100097 F20110403_AACNXL wang_h_Page_161.jpg
41112899545b3b44a64a87f2cb323224
d8de02f456b92ca50559f3caaba613fe5e045983
104805 F20110403_AACNAD wang_h_Page_181.jpg
acc13b3349cf30686f80efdca8a07819
b5ad9cec38a1a1077e96d8e789db677a7488cb1e
23772 F20110403_AACMUJ wang_h_Page_004.pro
1a33fdb9f81089ab0c59f2385269cf34
fc35035ab85ce1c3bc76a084f3691340e6d120b5
53844 F20110403_AACODG wang_h_Page_193.pro
92bbbfa99c14ecb663edc879a052814d
92b88446d66e16894d54900be694899cb2644838
52546 F20110403_AACOCS wang_h_Page_088.pro
4b107f5ce12f7d1d03925efacfb2b606
11c07f181042bc915857f0ddaf15a74222cf0676
F20110403_AACNYA wang_h_Page_201.jp2
7d88153541900de0394b1312c2cbbc20
f69c940aeb20dcaebd939b498d818f077dd61b30
F20110403_AACNXM wang_h_Page_120.txt
ff554038492980ce37b709e2febd438b
af0356432d3e93ec460e0295e63ed327a66dff13
53053 F20110403_AACNWX wang_h_Page_100.pro
2fe182e4d3e110e64e49e67f2391b09f
96e20ac67b4e5b2c5612305f0da51f23724eb0c6
F20110403_AACNAE wang_h_Page_065.tif
546a7b444f471b05a686f56ef89fe482
8eeaa212dde6cff2a73be59ee2a71063d2a0e7f9
108771 F20110403_AACMUK wang_h_Page_159.jpg
13f0672f62146ea1964450ccf001601b
9aa7be4bd5bec79e2127a4a04a2410629d5af9e7
F20110403_AACMTV wang_h_Page_020.jp2
3a834bde4b8a253117e5f1b4f9f2cb2b
3f003dbb3bbb105ac88146905dcc4211817b510b
53684 F20110403_AACODH wang_h_Page_196.pro
b4080de0581e0754d99f3ed66fa46881
02e829b0de581ddd6156704b2a4dd3519434ba5c
50563 F20110403_AACOCT wang_h_Page_095.pro
d121c82c6c1929cd660dc85b68bc2209
0df940a5e6d0d27d4ba776c1edd2260eb6b3508b
8627 F20110403_AACNYB wang_h_Page_150thm.jpg
d2494f11c2cd5a1759759b733231c628
8ed888c1bcdc93462ec31df15754badcce653f35
F20110403_AACNXN wang_h_Page_208.tif
4c8e4a65ea911a16fdf46b0f4abcc65d
cc55c6c3c3e99e4345c3dc496cba6c851b14dcef
8490 F20110403_AACNWY wang_h_Page_164thm.jpg
db03e42b24ee0f76a77d166b33461c33
551e84f3f6c532bdc34188a8e01bc58406d1c10b
F20110403_AACNAF wang_h_Page_017.tif
c71419c70d5f48d484dcf96e8106c086
e8f2bea9550e7b0e84eb8032c49c386ce3fb9b54
106574 F20110403_AACMUL wang_h_Page_166.jpg
169c54a7c0ee6133b6676cc42fb1c073
82bdde3d6fc27ffca0351031f78f37c7e990f803
106879 F20110403_AACMTW wang_h_Page_136.jpg
27a5f61887b490c4e413c9582260558f
56802d65d1394fb0ed4d492b971996a4421e101c
52126 F20110403_AACODI wang_h_Page_198.pro
425ea8c717dffa29f4cd1abc4c4a7632
5a013c669422f21f62fc841d32fcedfa4ec0cba8
53675 F20110403_AACOCU wang_h_Page_101.pro
8b205e3ee5c11e8eb8ce3a038b57d658
474f52f812ccca3ca3157fc1d90ff26004ab1a78
F20110403_AACNYC wang_h_Page_066.jp2
4440358288e5633cce08476d6577314c
443dac847097f3ed2c0ab713ecada7eae0674da4
F20110403_AACNXO wang_h_Page_010.txt
4957e070de2b3509f1423c2bbc5716d9
ac191055523ea67de1bf3d6d3861a90235a03130
33902 F20110403_AACNWZ wang_h_Page_173.QC.jpg
dc03549deea2e7bca852992335e2ae67
35e7508358264f1c862e48bcae6588e2cda2f32c
1051978 F20110403_AACNAG wang_h_Page_031.jp2
b8ffb98d9c4d6fc3e222e21843c492b2
d76887f09b8d5cd9bf55d34c95fd12de1f5aa6ab
52325 F20110403_AACMVA wang_h_Page_179.pro
e6b1b4e57371873307370ae2d43648c4
afa73b73a58b3591ff08c1078432b84275603442
34548 F20110403_AACMUM wang_h_Page_201.QC.jpg
50afdae5a285610eb671fbead1e86097
ff545638a8a358761679dfe3c05872c2760e00b5
106148 F20110403_AACMTX wang_h_Page_128.jpg
595274cd26f296ccabadfa205977fc2a
4385fe8d128d0213a2d62452024036091f5d7fce
55903 F20110403_AACODJ wang_h_Page_208.pro
c40a6e6c3a18ac34c0b609f85c3fa901
a49fe264a57a7fb0f5dd5ab445069d719d58a5e9
51346 F20110403_AACOCV wang_h_Page_106.pro
9de89356f9732ae7ca0d796cae307904
96bb3dd62da016edc037465880c0e5045ba7f19d
F20110403_AACNYD wang_h_Page_157thm.jpg
af01e545f8ac3cf2c042abc73f7573e9
af7af049b7247815f229b33eedf3e7d05547d872
F20110403_AACNXP wang_h_Page_184.tif
3c024a95667495c2fb07eb708f3379cc
bed84c507b71e3386448e0b920af7738a1beb17d
33581 F20110403_AACMVB wang_h_Page_143.QC.jpg
4f5642e5ba15c1217efbd98b6b35c501
0ce8bb08a00fa81ff9b83f9aba15ea8062e0fe67
F20110403_AACMUN wang_h_Page_089.tif
224f4c08681fb870ecd080ce0594a4f8
b92f8c860b49dd1b9a853d8ef126cc87dbbaf427
1051910 F20110403_AACMTY wang_h_Page_200.jp2
a5813c782407e2979c3198a021786dc1
3fdbc301bd9b879f6b2e5ef21e69fd428c783d30
31894 F20110403_AACNAH wang_h_Page_161.QC.jpg
8246976b00e6c395c8f97f1c572a5914
3577a889a0f219d462c6d8346b9c79d6cf18c3bc
106387 F20110403_AACODK wang_h_Page_012.jpg
d1a401684eeadfaae4869d41d23a99f3
6da60d8c4938f576f87625256fe7fc6d5007dfd4
49726 F20110403_AACOCW wang_h_Page_110.pro
b59ea6374c4d0d80d06d3558bc64e0b0
cff1dd1d36247d92b08fa5b9c450e168469fdd8b
F20110403_AACNYE wang_h_Page_094.tif
771d0d2e4d40c01e8ac0f7859d4e61ff
69107b1e9c303a17071c9519c81c3b84368b2d2a
51516 F20110403_AACNXQ wang_h_Page_104.pro
da70e18b872381775708af173b3681dc
39802ecf423341ade3ededdd8e2c6f8b0027b0e6
34916 F20110403_AACMVC wang_h_Page_157.QC.jpg
9ede549d4f71a8a3c0fe127f94b74a58
71337bd8612e342cae5ac0c096c15977b3b71859
F20110403_AACMUO wang_h_Page_064.jp2
a1a3e75d0dfc6f72e2044d5fad35a84e
a8fb69671be2541bea02b6c468ea5ffc4a73f13f
101530 F20110403_AACMTZ wang_h_Page_149.jpg
2ba4306f3206544ca80689fc702c3e78
129452e51917a51275a434abdb79cb1e5fd0e071
1517 F20110403_AACNAI wang_h_Page_002.QC.jpg
23b989ec41efc05c245286663e48f87c
e13a8f5784c3dc0e0e6f0f863ce6514c72af0dd1
101436 F20110403_AACOEA wang_h_Page_132.jpg
bab4bfc48b27d8c12b4b14791f3c25e0
c0354628f313bff5d04cc8968b1a3e6f783012d6
105655 F20110403_AACODL wang_h_Page_018.jpg
63ec8cbb02e552455365fa62e58c66f6
dcbedbf741708b10b052c3ca0219dfaf02c3c406
52447 F20110403_AACOCX wang_h_Page_115.pro
8ea5fa4178712959278b91477076f893
1c39866aead012a44ff702481d7279454c82791a
F20110403_AACNYF wang_h_Page_203.QC.jpg
e82b8119d3b1e1f530710705dad0bbc7
590740ea15a0677cce78bbdc8d23feff6427855b
F20110403_AACNXR wang_h_Page_090.jp2
0dfdb731aedb783f429f6d1cdbc06001
a5b6ceaf0ab044f65ef596077eb7f3bf1aebda98
F20110403_AACMVD wang_h_Page_038.txt
7a70e2a2700c067c2e72a3eb1f02ac91
edba31cd8e23a80feb40e9cc8bc0becb4f632863
107 F20110403_AACMUP wang_h_Page_002.txt
e2c14fbf073f97eacce8120633a4aa4e
45a390e0e4008dbba902706c889d7899f85ccf3b
1051966 F20110403_AACNAJ wang_h_Page_163.jp2
6f88295d7555b80a8ee7c18707f8cbeb
5621fa0b084eedee42f7f6d5c7d4d3ea678579ad
104016 F20110403_AACOEB wang_h_Page_143.jpg
c8d4a6530239656cfd05c72016801ce5
383060df32289e94f7dc3ab49c6c92425401c994
112226 F20110403_AACODM wang_h_Page_027.jpg
e32e5ae312d9c4d2c181af173703a962
54bd6ccdc9e9af53d804e4fad84631b44ac1c769
53682 F20110403_AACOCY wang_h_Page_136.pro
8f53e57510214ffb18ecc20d82f0dafe
94d1b1338b358e62ac3e4d103c8ce3ee4169ff37
336 F20110403_AACNYG wang_h_Page_213.txt
29228b9f7684c9e6b0dd1589c0baa048
f0befe00431eb09eb0887ad9ce244c4ca94520bf
51498 F20110403_AACNXS wang_h_Page_114.pro
cb37ad2c0348eb845766e2fc50cdbaa8
9bf590b9af991d3966a458b5dc4d59be94a3941e
F20110403_AACMVE wang_h_Page_158.jp2
68749201fffb1e14a08288df1bdd734d
d84d64e74071f5fbd6d0f3ffc9a9ad01efb79b0c
88922 F20110403_AACMUQ wang_h_Page_203.jpg
c9933a80906b6946737a59a9259b1684
25d7b53c936f6511c4e519ac0c5c14de203d146e
32275 F20110403_AACNAK wang_h_Page_132.QC.jpg
ffb492ff739860ab031e3418db624ecc
a398f6e5185fd8c48b969652fec44ed2970651ad
102284 F20110403_AACOEC wang_h_Page_165.jpg
da90e7329d59c5073f39d20a958c8b07
2f4abc969d70961be01d0a1acbec74504aaa4f0c
106933 F20110403_AACODN wang_h_Page_040.jpg
4af7bc984d13385cad7392abeb0f0d48
e86ce81087bfb0eb6e4b274a10adec0cd6c51fa7
52847 F20110403_AACOCZ wang_h_Page_140.pro
1ba99b5b8f4d078a8746a2ea00341315
468f5716fc0bb81a9291ecb9470b731f7e003a3a
102046 F20110403_AACNYH wang_h_Page_172.jpg
35a224e4be851755c600609c21b947af
a87372b91154e765a4f2f9c98a2920ecd329b63a
F20110403_AACNXT wang_h_Page_156thm.jpg
90eb7888c9fad2f75ef74eeaafefb285
48d4cf1bd16bb5a033115240ffed904e79052e76
1051897 F20110403_AACMVF wang_h_Page_100.jp2
6a1b17d1e666f6a614e5fbbb81001dff
991fb25b09c2077fc40fecbfe23f2282c2a42666
49474 F20110403_AACMUR wang_h_Page_194.pro
803aac75ece412ba451349c085dd7265
483405fc4bf1623e3a5c44b6d4c8d367c32c38dc
33923 F20110403_AACNBA wang_h_Page_035.QC.jpg
3f5712216fe7da20df241f45d0069c1f
4d80100a3b404336e203422f01261dc0d80e49ef
F20110403_AACNAL wang_h_Page_141.tif
35d2e4744c9f63d1bd79e821e5609ab9
b1050e4aee6fb80da169b097a6e18f5e7406ff44
101799 F20110403_AACOED wang_h_Page_189.jpg
f5d7f429755698f1a42330cf0d2bfae1
e755c1fa91378ea765501891d296ce70698609e0
104881 F20110403_AACODO wang_h_Page_041.jpg
1e91ae7e581250215241630e9fe6531f
fcfd72e3fbe77efff765172e08f5517a57c5d024
F20110403_AACNYI wang_h_Page_093.tif
33aef1de01d1eeb6b3e765118197f0b3
c5d8ebc5276932c96c80a8232e1db0dd9bbd97ac
34580 F20110403_AACNXU wang_h_Page_182.QC.jpg
974e3c1f88ed0f55b8c18c0460ed6b0c
233b28cdcc5c682dff27436533b5c5a56d8dacd9
8675 F20110403_AACMVG wang_h_Page_128thm.jpg
037f9d113204178cbedf592eeb599965
d40e935b26e3d913f9fc8d444d2190faaa52d891
53105 F20110403_AACMUS wang_h_Page_127.pro
08a5f00cbc3473e3a0557586cf84d5b3
56abcac5fbc6686467b74874b8ec7ef4eba58b72
59362 F20110403_AACNBB wang_h_Page_122.jpg
a72ec8270bcac761049985bf1de18cdf
2481e38e06e4bf439bf9d407759a13843a471ed9
8241 F20110403_AACNAM wang_h_Page_172thm.jpg
941a4d29f945d79812e729ff2cc63d51
b91e5bdd28396e925e3fb9344cfac7a171be7d19
39167 F20110403_AACODP wang_h_Page_045.jpg
6b389dea3fea09f823191b414b4fcf8d
20b6c2a2876a06422c289d5648cb0d72f3f3daf2
F20110403_AACNYJ wang_h_Page_138.jp2
f3faf5e493d35bdb83e9cebb67672ac4
4d82a20144c12e850becee57f05fff5c774e2f8b
52512 F20110403_AACNXV wang_h_Page_072.pro
7354c18161a181a66305bff45c4afe38
a53ebca5e87819bf4592c1eb4ff6addc5970b3be
2121 F20110403_AACMVH wang_h_Page_190.txt
12e7ed17c3a7ead067bedeef9323bfaf
7cda7683c5b6d164406519a192e839e265929b68
F20110403_AACMUT wang_h_Page_195.jp2
a4994fbe21663355e8da083986f5de18
b819cd26c833fd0e6560b3d5496ba3344a1d7ab7
105707 F20110403_AACNAN wang_h_Page_026.jpg
a7e74e5008456c03ef221f22b0094953
83b0af4687f5dca8551a7720bb8c462cf8f97e39
553009 F20110403_AACOEE wang_h_Page_004.jp2
3c6060848c189a9377b0bbd21ddee63c
86e83d232583e68ab7c169098d7e92571d1c745f
104667 F20110403_AACODQ wang_h_Page_056.jpg
712692d413ef1bbd4d170a24a3045f4f
aed046bea4ecbf571d7df001b8bcacdba394d919
F20110403_AACNYK wang_h_Page_112thm.jpg
fed4f2f32e31f86c98584c2cc1886225
65565445dec712979882dbc0280be43db691c8c5
50799 F20110403_AACNXW wang_h_Page_078.pro
20440ae4f86f466df679648478f589cc
5ede779a35ab577b6cd752ed69043437f0ca3b68
F20110403_AACMVI wang_h_Page_063.tif
96ef0ed1cf78b962927927abfaa4c293
94ced955eb19f321bd4c14e4914a14006062b853
F20110403_AACMUU wang_h_Page_158.tif
9541dc3cb8b6836531d90b0237044b63
e1cc0a25ae32dff3376eca02c05fa8c5240a94f3
734 F20110403_AACNBC wang_h_Page_003thm.jpg
383c772b3fa84cfd933d35906ceb010b
302bc6f5df5a4268a2c0e94edfffdffaf6c76c7f
F20110403_AACNAO wang_h_Page_133.tif
34349291a30d1e018e1804b2940e8d5b
1e7761d9bb0eeb0875aeddc538fb8af807a3fba0
1034447 F20110403_AACOEF wang_h_Page_009.jp2
d0bd03ddeaa163deeb1ff5e5ea0762dc
9cff37286810a1df329970a95bdba629e09a4bc2
105196 F20110403_AACODR wang_h_Page_064.jpg
43fffba94e1fdf1f83b947b40b7133ab
66fe018c3d126a59ef890b3b58a232f34108aa46
1051986 F20110403_AACNYL wang_h_Page_145.jp2
103780d668af7dfb004556ef5bf09f90
4b489fee523d70e49dc897cb80a9df59cc878d8d
33335 F20110403_AACNXX wang_h_Page_176.QC.jpg
1fcdcccefe7196b9effca7c19d4e084a
bd0896cb1bdd88f422124f3c34c66face8902e4b
47335 F20110403_AACMVJ wang_h_Page_204.pro
604a291f840c5e7f001974290f9107fc
81a5ae83cf38de85678d5d2178de97a6374250f4
2090 F20110403_AACMUV wang_h_Page_140.txt
81dbc0e4eb84d71b8d93f9f02055be4a
77d63f6df17c082281a64d125a47a1fea6d4fa1e
F20110403_AACNBD wang_h_Page_159thm.jpg
b6a6375518571283c5c4684f941ea263
971420fecfb0e106b6babd56fea4254e0afef804
F20110403_AACNAP wang_h_Page_082.tif
2ca7a5ba3b99400c8794e8bcf48c5d41
339c41a8df399fa38e18c9cb73e5b083c1f384ed
1051960 F20110403_AACOEG wang_h_Page_013.jp2
d13c0406f9aa6142b2f46a801676d2b7
27bbf46f10e0fe461e47add41cf474ae47088025
103813 F20110403_AACODS wang_h_Page_078.jpg
43fc1840f38f717c467a6277dc64b6ba
4812291f34cff73b89eedf66a3488d8784e008dd
33436 F20110403_AACNZA wang_h_Page_029.QC.jpg
5e35e8c4c265e6417f38009607bd9465
7e5505872b4f036feae2bc9da2a097ac97dedba3
2050 F20110403_AACNYM wang_h_Page_184.txt
388de683b4824a547f2246aa91c7c79d
5136a1cac21f9ff783795350177ceba0f91969e8
F20110403_AACMVK wang_h_Page_083.jp2
8e922b6f07c8799580cc87d97c903fc2
141cd46428e607cf7768a393c25c332838570d73
104918 F20110403_AACNBE wang_h_Page_111.jpg
90f603e5ef450879884d892307a7401b
7f5cb2a967fd5903c3e2a7df84d919e29f083739
8615 F20110403_AACNAQ wang_h_Page_073thm.jpg
2c17ab217c2125c37890eb5428152c65
0e1ad8932ab9ecf48c3c6228bb92e39ea1b05c81
F20110403_AACOEH wang_h_Page_015.jp2
c36c3fb73cba21f6287aba8a199f6faa
b14f9bda34ea7354a69208bdc9a1c8f01d0a9e2e
105521 F20110403_AACODT wang_h_Page_079.jpg
396584c244579cbb637959408df07575
36b172e34d61d5799edb7623322e5d58e3298f56
F20110403_AACNZB wang_h_Page_068.tif
4b1a1828f625f4fad59563266e033a82
439a0c66a9360df4df3d4a0cb3ad20bc37c2e11b
1786 F20110403_AACNYN wang_h_Page_006thm.jpg
17f96403098e08faa2935b52ab2895eb
b3250e809af92f5ed2bf52d340d933c35e6adb32
50409 F20110403_AACNXY wang_h_Page_121.pro
06fbc00a40d599de66ab919822dde68e
b03f6455c0e37d1a341240c2a8680ba1710e9b47
13171 F20110403_AACMVL wang_h_Page_008.QC.jpg
ea5511f927d505efed019cecc4923072
526faee4fb33294e09098b264a2bb28c7d8481aa
110375 F20110403_AACMUW wang_h_Page_177.jpg
56b72964b77458c1ad1cd7f5af8e000f
af95dc68d0b8ea01255324c2c13fb1a3195f046c
8307 F20110403_AACNBF wang_h_Page_183thm.jpg
319f3f84cf9bad752b09a193fcaa6b93
bfe22769569d616b84c034d619099d8ce1318f29
32823 F20110403_AACNAR wang_h_Page_097.QC.jpg
4a1848c2aba27850a8a9efef34df3bfc
f8f2bdebaa8ced274b14dc6c4e902d2912e38db4
F20110403_AACOEI wang_h_Page_027.jp2
80dc13d94157ec9ad06497b0cb9dcb1b
6fc4566b6b7af0b57799010043ea7b573fc3f338
107133 F20110403_AACODU wang_h_Page_085.jpg
42ec3a0ca6908ec5a2806889defe4e0e
280a86f814c9a0dfa7db6e6324e131b4b2182ea0
F20110403_AACNZC wang_h_Page_073.txt
7914f8cc8f9497ca689ce3f94e092420
67c9fba3e3a6173e39c90eff30ed506aaef8383a
103350 F20110403_AACNYO wang_h_Page_141.jpg
04f3d843cbd4aeb6c21104a11a6a4ae9
f87fe2136828203e7e90de88ed9a335430ac52f4
104573 F20110403_AACNXZ wang_h_Page_080.jpg
b1a825bb976d574ada6c59f5cc40a4f9
c0b015bc848044e3c816ba59685192ea7884a1b6
F20110403_AACMVM wang_h_Page_198thm.jpg
2e36d447f273ae8f0e9814dff92b763a
36176a3ed6d7b30d61b2aeb569d45c2454c1d66f
1999 F20110403_AACMUX wang_h_Page_035.txt
d4cdd52f4121d00d4200c860d11d560c
6977227b840ec3e0fb072ebac87c9460c89011b5
102195 F20110403_AACNBG wang_h_Page_180.jpg
6a0a6e0315894f2f1b5043ae67e66694
231029a7ce12f3dec27073d0235b6da09f1c0390
34802 F20110403_AACMWA wang_h_Page_142.QC.jpg
0f0a28ab1ad017ae15cc7d2ed9db3a2d
a4e088b9c03f2bf8af6e62a6898c4dea1023ee11
50000 F20110403_AACNAS wang_h_Page_011.pro
9febb7dfb140155306300edfc4e48ab0
6ef5ec50e0d2c66cf59802565086659afb4d8045
F20110403_AACOEJ wang_h_Page_028.jp2
d604e1b8fc6c2b73da59d68bbfc23676
ba3e3de2d344733ad5e17b8b63f556598c329098
105679 F20110403_AACODV wang_h_Page_086.jpg
bd2f2a46aeb7785f6579c4be9b447e53
574ebdb351364d6070a9d6185b6ef33340cfe562
F20110403_AACNZD wang_h_Page_148thm.jpg
8c6dde8cccde0b9301a806fbdac6d4aa
8587793a52b707843a31afcc4550768e3136ba8f
561 F20110403_AACNYP wang_h_Page_006.txt
35618ad8e2cd26eeb2dae2e9c4f541d4
776d9e4a551c9827e8b0b2faa9bd349bf2f17b17
104082 F20110403_AACMVN wang_h_Page_155.jpg
c5220a18720fd53475f24e0e9269f77f
29a8764c59258d7f02e259a6d20119b2420570d1
F20110403_AACMUY wang_h_Page_209.txt
549429a6bd1a24deb330fd738809b6c6
fc8ac39a7b62df88d21b712e32bb54b30a6abe49
33240 F20110403_AACNBH wang_h_Page_150.QC.jpg
9ec2306e1c9d8b5d09b57e504468c959
dd1aedda82c03d0adc571fcbf4598846d945c2e8
F20110403_AACMWB wang_h_Page_133.jp2
51814a9f130983d980fb7f78a5987376
bda51707a8aed618554d1ddf8106e9fd4723ff76
52186 F20110403_AACNAT wang_h_Page_018.pro
008461de080bab1b9b609b39fb0b8a69
804c76fca7410b752b02dd709dc5b150e57a377d
F20110403_AACOEK wang_h_Page_034.jp2
596dfa405732262292b57e21868c7507
39e1a4dbea8951571384a2dd2c6609b33de7c089
106413 F20110403_AACODW wang_h_Page_103.jpg
c8c0ebc632aa6fff29f517f3dc2ac8db
62b240f8b774cbafa74d6832e3717d9adca79e29
4773 F20110403_AACNZE wang_h_Page_122thm.jpg
f5722ba9253ff15c700e1074767086b4
d3bcc084d11dccf7abc8dcc188aa91663d81828b
2575 F20110403_AACNYQ wang_h_Page_169thm.jpg
001a6907c3d8e501070a1c76ff6440ea
6317426bb8c0443a576870149bb3ebd22d5d6aed
50553 F20110403_AACMVO wang_h_Page_052.pro
c08e219ea4fa0be019168af6810b6991
77d59b475840618fe5d82462543948bb84e84f3b
33548 F20110403_AACMUZ wang_h_Page_015.QC.jpg
831d2e84a495cd49572d3a0d253db747
cc0f4a96738b882d182ca9bc3f24fdcd7f2b833f
F20110403_AACNBI wang_h_Page_060.txt
24f2b60e5d65a12a86e437a59643bf81
1c87e21a16505d3b69409ee86e209cf92ec51860
35228 F20110403_AACMWC wang_h_Page_101.QC.jpg
09cb97b4215f6988b107f8d3f711fd3e
14a1c5b3cf77ac383221ea5eb368d6ab932dc03b
54620 F20110403_AACNAU wang_h_Page_031.pro
1b84934a87e8bc6a4647faeae961defa
b534b59e6376459101ec0f6fd1769790644cc9d8
F20110403_AACOFA wang_h_Page_149.jp2
878ca95a8584fbddf6a7a83506c8c01e
3dcaf849abd1e931496f0bd0fe07584ff2ba2b73
F20110403_AACOEL wang_h_Page_040.jp2
b72238ace5224e4e6984e54d45b1968e
84f876c9a23ca60ac5d361a49ddf4ea5a94f642d
101093 F20110403_AACODX wang_h_Page_121.jpg
7534c5a1ace635aefe574321ddc5aa12
1bb0cbec75ae452035e25d4c8719de7a92624e3c
35792 F20110403_AACNZF wang_h_Page_063.QC.jpg
a8c0c71a4dcdedf6d279a3b74710b13a
e46c63cd8af92bb1cd401988a373cab27ebe1061
51225 F20110403_AACNYR wang_h_Page_145.pro
bd03adfd7a86365926679fbaa12440d2
37972d215f6817b07312e20ee824cbf1b40bd6c7
106650 F20110403_AACMVP wang_h_Page_118.jpg
9e4fdf8ae10fe87f52842f69f34c6835
5a332a16f5f8f97fa5fe7786e3470f1651f5ce1f
F20110403_AACNBJ wang_h_Page_102.jp2
7fc2f22db53d825ebbc97c1cbe424a37
055022f4f94c56813be7c487b78167025ef200b7
F20110403_AACMWD wang_h_Page_117.jp2
0fc270ba5e11252396ac6f89194180d7
d38a5abad5cd142df9603290fc4be70fee94112c
F20110403_AACNAV wang_h_Page_058.txt
4124e73d1ae50655e1522d563c9a2198
8a88aabf1123593c0de0df088481e3175bc729e9
F20110403_AACOFB wang_h_Page_165.jp2
4ece53cc1806f54c288ef8bce8671b4d
e282a8ed4f080176e58edab28e126338af57149a
F20110403_AACOEM wang_h_Page_047.jp2
284d38dba8f997c3591e5e799ca14be8
6567fbcbc8e420728e32545d51d85901d962cf8d
96694 F20110403_AACODY wang_h_Page_123.jpg
b7704aeca8e6c16a2bdaf2d2919ec310
f0e1e2c140e9b1239397d2d3dfb91e2031a3e745
F20110403_AACNZG wang_h_Page_084thm.jpg
0f692f05432ba565eb0fa75cb86f74cd
320f4231b35336abb7d27bef440142dd806797ac
138 F20110403_AACNYS wang_h_Page_003.txt
150e9ff7cd3049db7b93e239f29a628f
337288f6f286ca4e1232f8778beb98278dad58a0
F20110403_AACMVQ wang_h_Page_017.jp2
ecd2782bed9f8a7b287d64e60f3eb8f0
cc8b0d2fefb1f70554e55f47de2548c905ab4b3a
F20110403_AACNBK wang_h_Page_078.jp2
278df9e55207dd8d7b8f57ad14154322
98d63f0a4b7c8068d218f52d197ad1167b44ce19
102921 F20110403_AACMWE wang_h_Page_163.jpg
a404e0a2f97c2dfc126f97029592fa7b
84681a496b749eb31b12945e848ea4ab7d3ad75a
26220 F20110403_AACNAW wang_h_Page_082.QC.jpg
7e514c202d746ff384fbaad8fefb3da9
79e4c37d755bd4d9915a95ac6d41307f9e3726b6
F20110403_AACOFC wang_h_Page_168.jp2
35c063bfd1a5487cc5a6c5e7fc51c3ba
b87cffc9938d6a8fb4c089b28d64b1b4cbb6d4c3
1051925 F20110403_AACOEN wang_h_Page_053.jp2
0503dbbf8af363a7a6381c8421d46f9f
11bfce91dffe16865db046f38f9f25e4961c3295
105656 F20110403_AACODZ wang_h_Page_130.jpg
8de042644910c814f9435b4195c622f7
5ce6ec603f67041e21d8e809aedc06a29963856f
F20110403_AACNZH wang_h_Page_175.tif
63de762f184d58e64695bdac0344cbfc
93d40128b31251bb085ca14d6bf9b23b8c4fb648
8561 F20110403_AACNYT wang_h_Page_133thm.jpg
6a6edd89264e15f44389f4e283ce9a32
5d95d06cb6401ab51a392011c5c2578aeacf9f38
8391 F20110403_AACMVR wang_h_Page_047thm.jpg
5ccf0cb626e73e362b0cfc741f9153e7
0758746e3421cf4cc3595438447a6d72aa7a5fae
F20110403_AACNCA wang_h_Page_171.jp2
e39c0b6e96fbaca7be5d8170abe5cbee
c61332a755c0d20fc21dfb8affa988f5820ef776
F20110403_AACNBL wang_h_Page_059.jp2
2161d3ef6c7bb2a5d3f57153b0ab191e
701cd408a9b3c3f01cc1636cf2bbf6be1c896c4f
F20110403_AACMWF wang_h_Page_081.jp2
0adf8821bec321b462e47e1f52641833
b8db4548e9331d6ed01c4735621cafe0fbc76258
1853 F20110403_AACNAX wang_h_Page_213thm.jpg
2c41511063f575f0fb1db650ed79755b
6448ded5ae2b4b4d244f254ff4a8722c15cefdbe
F20110403_AACOFD wang_h_Page_172.jp2
8279914f0a6cf0cc5c928c82cf8318e0
59bfe635bb89d96ce8ac132664942401b3561f84
F20110403_AACOEO wang_h_Page_055.jp2
dd5d8131053319a3a4b59c30b5eea0e1
d5ebb8b545decdb13ef3efe3b2f1beec43d14c19
100189 F20110403_AACNZI wang_h_Page_036.jpg
de295f867d42873f98871c94ba731795
a78991fc650dc157fc0fcc2815682dc7599fe295
81288 F20110403_AACNYU wang_h_Page_082.jpg
3810b92d9a89bba4ce7fb9f1c68c7b0b
28a301784fb4879898f73349bcc2fe8b150ef6ec
32625 F20110403_AACMVS wang_h_Page_188.QC.jpg
e9091de58933c4c9129b904460ba4a90
cbb9351f75d4afb26c7809553ea59c12b8c643e4
92597 F20110403_AACNCB wang_h_Page_170.jpg
bbfa5cb2be465f5e5689de80b8c8296a
d9c108cecee3dfdb3d5f6f8d9f204cf7512f0a2d
46283 F20110403_AACNBM wang_h_Page_046.pro
961e22d6b0a6c13c7599245c43f39182
00e346e648a58c8bed5922d35a8ae74fb3d7f185
546 F20110403_AACMWG wang_h_Page_212.txt
000b383bbace9bc091868ec6f93d2ada
68402d02aa78bffadd2ab97ba5f3832923bc331d
56805 F20110403_AACNAY wang_h_Page_090.pro
f9a2885f3645b07b7af3eff94c15af20
dc5295327348511707bdcb16055b67b138f379de
F20110403_AACOFE wang_h_Page_176.jp2
2951a4d8692228dcfbbc1824d08ac050
81f9495b8a654b25b27a320eab07707ccbd49986
F20110403_AACOEP wang_h_Page_057.jp2
cd3389da95973d96efd60d43ee6db7ee
9b8c81ed1398dd071bed6ed91ffc302b4589326b
F20110403_AACNZJ wang_h_Page_194.tif
75ef5b4681767f2b45fe08bfceacaddd
52e0acac0196a9749b90b28c3fe4d36555c11902
8665 F20110403_AACNYV wang_h_Page_202thm.jpg
23bf33e4f3e113c8ce367e5857304404
552908ee1faab3becd81411d3a18525ad3ff4b76
102739 F20110403_AACMVT wang_h_Page_124.jpg
3cf5eaf79fc2ee16f736fb2f76fecb62
8ffe9efc86a7eca96b388fb61184417a687aafba
F20110403_AACNCC wang_h_Page_173thm.jpg
c398c66ddc2aa51fd349fb1a083d9f4d
fddcf471d32fc4ebf66aef6ffef77ed988246e0d
F20110403_AACNBN wang_h_Page_022.tif
3cb57e62c77e8e402ef2c09edc164c7e
7207a94fcef7b88090568080918a5c39a35081ef
32540 F20110403_AACMWH wang_h_Page_036.QC.jpg
2a58fd3c283a2329012f061a93d89407
2ec019ddb4c094fd311de2485e80d75b2fb5247b
2067 F20110403_AACNAZ wang_h_Page_130.txt
f5010b264127c168cd0f0eeaebc2f7ed
7aa4582aaad8b55df59f96b0e95c086569b1dedb
F20110403_AACOEQ wang_h_Page_060.jp2
fdd2fc64346d3d9c7dbb923216772328
745d4f6b36d8541bf72e1297ebf473a445ad70b1
F20110403_AACNZK wang_h_Page_072.txt
a27c820306aa4e12559dcc472eefba19
b5a319d4792e3daf235d09b93a68a04cb86ae459
49512 F20110403_AACNYW wang_h_Page_097.pro
68052c2f045facba053dd81187d39706
5c3aef2d39c61484d9d5887001795d1a76b4a2c0
F20110403_AACMVU wang_h_Page_001.tif
ece673548909f1cbf2cf40168fbb70a3
f9124edcdd6aefdff92845f36b396e6011a21cc4
51483 F20110403_AACNBO wang_h_Page_174.pro
dab1ae12712c91af308fb16a095a14f6
3649c9ccc994bb45b5f4213f6ff2cbd4b5e848ef
8601 F20110403_AACMWI wang_h_Page_132thm.jpg
9adc26b40177642c1b93945505e59796
4b36fe0cb90711bd9520ee30f73adb111087947d
F20110403_AACOFF wang_h_Page_186.jp2
ad0ac699dd0bc3bd16d8b403e5f74c81
359cd0197c20e34b3d24fc9f8de502609a39b4cc
F20110403_AACOER wang_h_Page_065.jp2
2462f1b3dba2266519731ea0b88993d5
21cdb80cd89ea94513d97171ac2c6af63583172b
2045 F20110403_AACNZL wang_h_Page_198.txt
704d214e4dcd3550c270ecec4f24316a
f1b2bd5a7e21cd6d7b27b0ba517a6ae3c4f01c70
52698 F20110403_AACNYX wang_h_Page_028.pro
c4ff11202f6952ee38c4166622930f0f
1388f14302504ee2f8efd6d80bf9bfee1c8714f8
33070 F20110403_AACMVV wang_h_Page_095.QC.jpg
9d332b22cc1ccc247f75380b7a17479d
f048930c80dd3192e068568397f1e152fedc2656
33678 F20110403_AACNCD wang_h_Page_141.QC.jpg
00f731e7c9e6580bb240d8e89f3a1a81
ce2badeb8a9de0daba9b6704ff3410ec392ac2f4
108694 F20110403_AACNBP wang_h_Page_102.jpg
247381aa0fd7a62640b5302472ff51fb
5fdebdcb33e35a014665e111c3edc7b1a54331de
F20110403_AACMWJ wang_h_Page_098.tif
77f286d262d943f9499d4bc7b14894a2
f6066e06fc8f653b5dbbfb0cb6982703ae62e281
F20110403_AACOFG wang_h_Page_199.jp2
87046fa27c5db8c6144ad28ae0877195
6a0b65158966e9e549436f83e8560cd2857001b0
F20110403_AACOES wang_h_Page_080.jp2
36922361361ce947a12b056d055769ed
e7a752d4a32ea6ba38291dfd86ee1374c776ec94
1051940 F20110403_AACNZM wang_h_Page_011.jp2
8278e953bb9fc0b45e0672798d2195af
efdc45e7fba2a79892055704eb1ce2fde9aa2848
F20110403_AACNYY wang_h_Page_088.tif
744d86c6af300a573d3c27eafd1072ec
a4925b448dd7f3603b4363f2e9212c090ef8d0f4
33993 F20110403_AACMVW wang_h_Page_135.QC.jpg
3dff9031410777266dde7a86c8b94c49
5607657fed50ec3572addb207aa69727ac5af11e
1949 F20110403_AACNCE wang_h_Page_097.txt
f02ba1233f7f3c4c48de58cbf18b8dd4
992245d877a85a36454d6631ca1308860d2583ee
57417 F20110403_AACNBQ wang_h_Page_022.pro
d3757354a78890a90809d62d17728967
c8aa542909890883d088ea1c4f1a9e4687c846ec
24687 F20110403_AACMWK wang_h_Page_006.jpg
bfc949db7565ff9c219e69040c2e51e7
09c03c4d038c3b36ab391124dd26b53784178029
F20110403_AACOFH wang_h_Page_204.jp2
812d799c2570e13ca96b1e75c9129958
6a5b0014856f83c6aa4ed43fece76cbf7d9bd157
F20110403_AACOET wang_h_Page_093.jp2
4aa37a41c9d72e04a8b1e5ee47c9d87a
2dbbea9a52cda1fc2c10df616280db3f407badc5
8105 F20110403_AACNZN wang_h_Page_188thm.jpg
7aa65ca4ab452e5eb6a7724c30044ba7
4358682c12b8425ba9e65236dbfcffe7fe5e9df8
2039 F20110403_AACNCF wang_h_Page_064.txt
543b9555269a9331c43b139b5152658d
9bdce5831636473412c6533c07e4365f5696c31b
104875 F20110403_AACNBR wang_h_Page_044.jpg
aeec46c725765c6ddf4bd893ae5bb8b0
ed5695779fcbda518640c1ebaed0ba097962a555
8670 F20110403_AACMWL wang_h_Page_013thm.jpg
86dada9ab5188a35cfbc18fb16bc4d89
9b8d9628ebce611f072a8997d09da1fd6c825472
1051962 F20110403_AACOFI wang_h_Page_209.jp2
ff518b5b7b411f086c827691c848d2e7
822dbd1be9eae11e76c4e4859d7f2c93c3e2ad10
1051945 F20110403_AACOEU wang_h_Page_104.jp2
b59a889dfc397f885e92229bb152d959
9f768793961040085a6c60c2b66c70e412d8f647
104273 F20110403_AACNZO wang_h_Page_171.jpg
5f5df66e61843d0453cc0f6c9c246b01
fb7a8e86234be407416c4b81735a0b6981bc0fac
F20110403_AACNYZ wang_h_Page_104.QC.jpg
5d642ae1d35786c47ca49c11b3885749
3657ddbdd775455a5ab2a6b6aeaae4511e4c1730
F20110403_AACMVX wang_h_Page_048.txt
847ac0280a3ef611c99ba745eeca1b9a
c9b6fb6460fbda5d2a5e6bca3b7c368deef44539
F20110403_AACNCG wang_h_Page_019.jp2
09580dfc1346be12556d6cf1b7a1720d
d365c1cf87682e94a5372dc82cbd14885f7eb47e
104533 F20110403_AACMXA wang_h_Page_126.jpg
f539712c29875c7b1d9dbd417bd70d8d
b89d61b9b19b06320b721f440a3e33b06468bbb9
F20110403_AACNBS wang_h_Page_136.tif
15426a5797f47550e858009a11eac12c
537df884e0b21f96e3a208559f3c39d62327dc5f
105640 F20110403_AACMWM wang_h_Page_133.jpg
b7c4d63dbd80a48cba14a09fc0b6cbce
9e20fe29e914e11acebf7c39da2ab1e172e61ce5
F20110403_AACOFJ wang_h_Page_105thm.jpg
06369edfb391e5bb014234bfabbb8285
fad29775431652213d9c014a71a23528885fedd8
F20110403_AACOEV wang_h_Page_110.jp2
34c671648c67c08dfd976cfacc6a19b3
d1755b3ae724dfc6692191c6f6b83877bc81be2a
52323 F20110403_AACNZP wang_h_Page_173.pro
3c55a866f7220866cdb7bc52108c4cdd
af16db4ce4a51318518ad00446e1ead0f52acf1b
1996 F20110403_AACMVY wang_h_Page_180.txt
14ff641b566c9ae306a50fa7a8acca76
c0a3d48e2d1c96dfa3f1995193ec8373a0562e4f
F20110403_AACNCH wang_h_Page_113.tif
09e9f64ebf371461500dba5e34e25f8a
e875512bf9dab892f4f3fd92aed18cd80304c691
F20110403_AACMXB wang_h_Page_118.txt
5edebd4a1274119f3476b8ee0b4911cf
476f32d18a85226541c7d88f36dde555ceab6ec4
80736 F20110403_AACNBT wang_h_Page_005.jpg
a4209231654b11bc561dcdedd8e39d68
94ed50b12696afed820ee7e6a6eacf01e7fbcc32
1051937 F20110403_AACMWN wang_h_Page_101.jp2
b73b6f119065ec79591ddc27ada64005
e9a69c15c769b018f930388749b3e7a76aad41d3
8488 F20110403_AACOFK wang_h_Page_119thm.jpg
d559119031dffe88de0180707fe42802
20022f91a4695bac7f5ad9e0a38090a7613184b2
1051964 F20110403_AACOEW wang_h_Page_118.jp2
7e093b3528e2953b392fb47d3217e9d2
136b4efa91109b3d821059cd310068d523f1d035
101860 F20110403_AACNZQ wang_h_Page_097.jpg
a4b5278b4557a65daaa11e04f608cad7
871a514c70eae8a4cf5ace24e4e246c0c3e4cdfd
50939 F20110403_AACMVZ wang_h_Page_035.pro
1f22c4ce438a4e48b4de46e7a8b671d4
0208ddcf77b931e6d7a10a9b5970e44b1e7c60b1
1051918 F20110403_AACNCI wang_h_Page_123.jp2
60ee64f4100588ab3593b96144141197
9dffeab2e7d0387c665b14f477d253b640f6587a
8689 F20110403_AACMXC wang_h_Page_129thm.jpg
9465d7b22816ab354bf8ed85e50dc0a6
9aaf4619adca1242d60c9d0393e167cb97245c72
105800 F20110403_AACNBU wang_h_Page_021.jpg
0ac9fd9f39109472b60e2be304cd3610
ed0c963e8e2ddca2c1ebe2e6addcdac5dec6fe9f
98665 F20110403_AACMWO wang_h_Page_110.jpg
262562ad9a092bcbb5f4b92e2ec7a7c7
78f56af22fb62b7b7a5a36f547609524e39585e2
4908 F20110403_AACOGA wang_h_Page_005thm.jpg
115c2ddbf5a3f975967cffd96806eaef
9dd09f8e24d3eb894c05d003f714ca285d7bdfa9
8502 F20110403_AACOFL wang_h_Page_024thm.jpg
cab479bf33af7e51543fdb2bd8d69638
77137ac5ad5abc367235cea0e23a2636475cd5b1
F20110403_AACOEX wang_h_Page_125.jp2
176b31342e67429673a8c8fde9e89540
7d9b7f0bbb212137703aecc31de0336a372c9701
8116 F20110403_AACNZR wang_h_Page_036thm.jpg
6567d92dd5565e3cc759623b9f331cf9
d767de8639a1b8efa54b1730feef4150aaff7afe
1046287 F20110403_AACNCJ wang_h_Page_046.jp2
a5ddb2ebbf4ab6ef5a06d1daa7661efa
2d2f92d045a4fa8327226a81ae53783254487155
F20110403_AACMXD wang_h_Page_051.txt
491fbac960581c49b6697ebb0c342892
37d534f552abf91301d21a2f075f8167a926d021
F20110403_AACNBV wang_h_Page_074.jp2
9a1008f08148e69172dc9697757afeb6
c0d90bb4aa957014754d887610854af01627a162
F20110403_AACMWP wang_h_Page_056.jp2
1067ad62045eea40ab43b88c95f5f013
ee5d89bfac10b1f393964e0706aede214354d95b
34314 F20110403_AACOGB wang_h_Page_058.QC.jpg
81bc06f2f27ee9ed1f55f955c6a98eae
a3ff8caab4c4ea3f0a130e89fd575219a7e2cbf4
31195 F20110403_AACOFM wang_h_Page_046.QC.jpg
f59672f126bca2ed337c658f3f6c4d5e
b0d2e61869f1afb03e2654c313ed47c777887b2c
F20110403_AACOEY wang_h_Page_143.jp2
aedc124cdf37272afb88a5e63ce25faa
7ab09b62c10eb1c413ab8d03128d0b406fa29f92
105101 F20110403_AACNZS wang_h_Page_135.jpg
72c3b1a6d93dd199a6b6314d615de0bc
6f35c76a3487e600d57c28d42043af41917981af
8820 F20110403_AACNCK wang_h_Page_134thm.jpg
6396612ea385a05ea7e70433f9ab78a3
69b315aab565fe427388170a46f41e2417865d2c
33946 F20110403_AACMXE wang_h_Page_152.QC.jpg
c84aeded9dd9aaf620dfcd1f6eee0ac7
748db0051597147e36b9d531ff3de104a98a3831
F20110403_AACNBW wang_h_Page_047.tif
1b1135ce137bc3b396fa3637cfbbff91
4cdfc826d2d23893155791a087922bf4f611a254
34142 F20110403_AACMWQ wang_h_Page_079.QC.jpg
06247785fcf8eafe5f2bb1cbe186aaf3
a3367267fc68bbe257ac4b5b2e293a86e7850fdf
33624 F20110403_AACOGC wang_h_Page_092.QC.jpg
401153a69e6fb198c627a87f19968703
1c546c479b3440a2b1db599e2f233cae028f2ea4
8595 F20110403_AACOFN wang_h_Page_107thm.jpg
93c37b56ab87bf4f0b801cd4fabaf78d
61feb15cc4ee18eaf7897b95abd2799855e45845
F20110403_AACOEZ wang_h_Page_146.jp2
406f485a4b48775ea088db113cfaeafe
8d842d343f0fec78bb0a7a586e7cdb0a7a0b1b4e
101977 F20110403_AACNZT wang_h_Page_024.jpg
ec13c0187dc2ce6e77b82c23aef4c2e0
2755fb353f576fcb4ff8d7798e2dbb2249412b5e
107778 F20110403_AACNCL wang_h_Page_192.jpg
44b9c81aa4430267a06ead07ebd7aaf0
8ec3f5eec7cc289888bff268e04188d1eb764e99
F20110403_AACMXF wang_h_Page_143.tif
0be5e4960f0b36524ca3265dde21c252
5637e63c2380c3734bada0b06433194c52dad164
F20110403_AACNBX wang_h_Page_063.jp2
05c56e9a17d08024010c92fa15d0e703
a8eef9fd03d8ed1a6868ed91a2fa869a42b89a1e
52090 F20110403_AACMWR wang_h_Page_070.pro
5c57b7906e5e569f529624c47b19d3c6
d70e7fc198007fbcb29240701a4846f6dc669470
F20110403_AACNDA wang_h_Page_084.tif
f276e01aedc2a8137b8666520ff1ef6a
240e6f3abbfac67d7d727d54ba47e06f64f577b2
35735 F20110403_AACOGD wang_h_Page_156.QC.jpg
19c0f3f24c71a7a5f21e21cd0c766d24
8bb61500b558edf2de94050eb65d3e04e4a462ca
8664 F20110403_AACOFO wang_h_Page_079thm.jpg
90cf001b65713ff987c70874671dd1fd
11805bf5197a74b00564c6b3ec52f2004849c1a2
105319 F20110403_AACNZU wang_h_Page_191.jpg
db9d7fa6aa93b77cf3590f3a05454ef4
20cd0deb3d1fac2017df34afd0b7a90a5b59b8df
34285 F20110403_AACNCM wang_h_Page_057.QC.jpg
8a7aa8e84ac2985440c1a73c921491bd
6596ba5583c94d67c711046f80d8ded149f851cf
104910 F20110403_AACMXG wang_h_Page_098.jpg
64305048bee33ae8b75c78a9744ec66d
af625dcfbb6787d0b5e21cabc0d287c9124c0fec
8454 F20110403_AACNBY wang_h_Page_033thm.jpg
cbb14348bd584af6031b207260578644
3a7d666f59a20cb3e9aded7268e897785eaccc2c
2091 F20110403_AACMWS wang_h_Page_182.txt
261c804a8b5e64f2120dbef9399fc024
965e320363fcfef539a006d14648d021eb9935c4
1051922 F20110403_AACNDB wang_h_Page_162.jp2
9eeb1b1136b04a6ef57e3ab29973a293
dbaa30ba6cde12f8be4dcc9acc30a7c83b50f816
34201 F20110403_AACOGE wang_h_Page_133.QC.jpg
33cf75d6a3fc4b4c224c9c41f8e99e97
94ab10766d2cfd7ce8ec3cfde950394fa3ad1274
35232 F20110403_AACOFP wang_h_Page_094.QC.jpg
dcde9d97fb0c340be7f9845265223a64
3f19a31c9239e33452778ca27123ec53a7bff936
53072 F20110403_AACNZV wang_h_Page_175.pro
0179994113cb2455fd6abfce111467a1
b71470f82afad3f6cf89257d5205dc9516cd84a0
2008 F20110403_AACNCN wang_h_Page_145.txt
da541a81cf396d64ca317c56217aece3
c59aa82f4df39c883db76e9f6c7079e7bfa3ddb6
1094 F20110403_AACMXH wang_h_Page_002.pro
a7d879204e9ffa58ef9c5fef227da8e5
309a41c9e845b770d7c486e8195e23ba6e990923
106605 F20110403_AACNBZ wang_h_Page_101.jpg
8a4fbba806d656e0ffdbeec19641d328
5a3194334bb723e7ac6d67a02240a85d57f58109
F20110403_AACMWT wang_h_Page_018.tif
b8579c8ca184193cd2c148513bb85a4f
73928fc050be9ad9a8255a38cd98e700143eedfb
33700 F20110403_AACNDC wang_h_Page_205.QC.jpg
3bfa26f5ff945114f162ae367f41bff8
93eb0e7f8a464e3c6fb818b9d4ec2a5283fa781e
34233 F20110403_AACOGF wang_h_Page_041.QC.jpg
c901fdf659638d2e6608f9d7af82c0cf
57705e0d14ac1d5771c145fa183d7c5a2ccd9b32
8735 F20110403_AACOFQ wang_h_Page_130thm.jpg
7bf0e845a5b506048790213bd2578c70
737a4c69077e33ae5b98c5056a94989c8dff1638
51087 F20110403_AACNZW wang_h_Page_089.pro
d781f32dcc2844ca2f409a63b77d5fd7
5bae0e63f394d6d499406affaa88d659a0d8b273
F20110403_AACNCO wang_h_Page_051.jp2
bbde3a88ef5248130aa71a2d28e5e751
3a37d77dea2ea8187e0a44d330dd2f1a80cccaff
51494 F20110403_AACMXI wang_h_Page_050.pro
a0bd9a4147bfe1464a8409d8e1feca78
6a93360a9f7725c2fd417e2c3185c19442fe15d1
1051868 F20110403_AACMWU wang_h_Page_014.jp2
05d22bdec58748234567df86e98c9ea5
035695935849626288924d837a8a943453c9ced3
32569 F20110403_AACNDD wang_h_Page_174.QC.jpg
710eb258dee3207fce62601454420650
ee968d12edd727d39ae74a9ccd3a13abd98ae1a5
8565 F20110403_AACOFR wang_h_Page_176thm.jpg
4606ef1b0f46a5351c1ce801dd6cf03a
64ff5e662ddab01c7cad13e74f507e3a7fd814ee
F20110403_AACNZX wang_h_Page_189.jp2
2c37539a726591b9d7356e0bca3eb41d
be03a8b6a7a24bf84833b861d247b44df762e1ff
2192 F20110403_AACNCP wang_h_Page_212thm.jpg
538f4f839e0f4ead0d2b4c6dfd3d796f
96c665bea2bd1a3b0125a1a617f111493e2f269a
52803 F20110403_AACMXJ wang_h_Page_071.pro
a47c076ac1feafa39959304e9edbf8e7
6eb5b608f2cb3389c908f9b8acbdcb437e1108b0
F20110403_AACMWV wang_h_Page_152.tif
9003009ee2029f9635673eec2003c6a8
5890c82b36e07d80ff05561c246859f8f372fa29
34396 F20110403_AACOGG wang_h_Page_038.QC.jpg
47cc0181493dce9a58ff221526e6d62c
bf304866fb32126f922508d36455706ebe649c8a
34302 F20110403_AACOFS wang_h_Page_016.QC.jpg
e738a2a9c049a7de1b076d031dc4a0c7
9bb7e8aeefbb5d96a90a5ec903d5bbe8b4db19b2
50395 F20110403_AACNZY wang_h_Page_055.pro
5bb5012828d1c4fd4b53562674515290
0fdcd19d0e64b199ee3a5368b085fc7e6c464ffa
52982 F20110403_AACNCQ wang_h_Page_200.pro
51e42ab77e338c225430633e10eaec7b
22c6edd12a82110485bcfe00ed3eb0abde720609
2122 F20110403_AACMXK wang_h_Page_144.txt
bba2f4db3361f57c569b312615714be5
02aab81d451ea9962b889ca5472bad6702c0b7b2
34745 F20110403_AACMWW wang_h_Page_196.QC.jpg
79ba266ce7cf774172f1a4a95c18384a
80be336957846ec432c9495225433bf0c3826cf0
F20110403_AACNDE wang_h_Page_045.tif
3702192a119407aa31f22503aa6448bf
1e07c582a08400d67b5cd34155d7b8e578f9854f
8621 F20110403_AACOGH wang_h_Page_023thm.jpg
d4b8a1f3a31d1f8789e24f4aadd6eafb
7fe3c4c0481dfa9153778ee717c52e59e7d9ecd6
7280 F20110403_AACOFT wang_h_Page_001.QC.jpg
713bf3a546a57cb3be636cc6cccbf0ea
0fddd770be18170574bd4bfb321003c8cc94ebc1
F20110403_AACNZZ wang_h_Page_044.txt
22e5b598e3b9c68bc3dc3f7734a982b2
73a968b219b361e6dabf6139806573f71b2a003a
50188 F20110403_AACNCR wang_h_Page_209.pro
b6d0ba8edbbad921f6db5bcdd8880e81
b2bf4d47bfb4f85e7cbc87b441bfe3519cfeb173
F20110403_AACMXL wang_h_Page_148.txt
fa7aa0a11cec7c08bba37f13216c9d5a
e859633d6510b802bd2e44211ad9b7fd99171325
1051941 F20110403_AACMWX wang_h_Page_114.jp2
ccd38db5469cc9c1892a5b6912d0d6e2
e70a2a584a87a7a5373af9d0ec0deb01fa482ae1
F20110403_AACNDF wang_h_Page_039.txt
61797f534fa4cd859580fb374c32486f
967f05f0b8f35bb8ddd29f3f3b5d669d1851c30b
8653 F20110403_AACOGI wang_h_Page_191thm.jpg
2539691815a905728ba8eb73e3988b19
3a6ae831c5c0e81c6f6eab959498b93fddb16a1b
35349 F20110403_AACOFU wang_h_Page_090.QC.jpg
475485d6c62d156a5d34258af9042b27
22918c648d3a1d0b6c4addc77fa60805f70f46f3
F20110403_AACMYA wang_h_Page_124.jp2
90d8e50464b6d8710b1a5c182d45c265
5b7d032db6d196473585a9e23fd67fddce970289
53240 F20110403_AACNCS wang_h_Page_075.pro
9e415709fb9e891df17fc75f791db47e
c1b6b83655f6852e49aa119bc9bc74fba7bc7123
F20110403_AACMXM wang_h_Page_016.jp2
300ac363b9610a5feb1cb78649b89f27
f487cb7fabe05c8e197c5b59668157dd787133d5
F20110403_AACNDG wang_h_Page_103.jp2
95c54170da829d061c291a8cd3540f57
67a3235d79002b814811e43a06e73209a0027a89
17244 F20110403_AACOGJ wang_h_Page_004.QC.jpg
7e1fcef0e036afaced92b70f10c4f96c
9b2b36a93428255ba17698fad6ce8422a1a1290b
8801 F20110403_AACOFV wang_h_Page_192thm.jpg
a98cec72e785c38fc2353d0f45ea3692
7f636b4fc68dd92cf66dc51f6b5320b5210b5c87
F20110403_AACMYB wang_h_Page_166.jp2
2a191278c6cab6acbf91b7c9ded39f7f
343569c8ccb50596951a36d3112540d0c93384c8
35260 F20110403_AACNCT wang_h_Page_065.QC.jpg
a9c549bd392218d9cb9c725ea60bcaa7
08b22885ef7da0175976c6da872fc645b1029bf1
F20110403_AACMXN wang_h_Page_182.jp2
6119f3c9c4c1ac46e2f3c395b3d62c00
9162e21930eec598aa43d481ff0f485698b8bdeb
8709 F20110403_AACMWY wang_h_Page_100thm.jpg
fce9483e50918af481b9b69147e588a9
a0996043a5cd9419f3f84f82af5a598a2d5f05d3
F20110403_AACNDH wang_h_Page_190.jp2
edf2fe2238943490947513a77b130783
b3004281c1f59fa2eeb0cf7f21008d43ad6556b6
8404 F20110403_AACOGK wang_h_Page_039thm.jpg
e9d8a5584ab61055218a6fe4651583e0
a362024f53dd49e857cf2a1470c09757c8452b1c
33236 F20110403_AACOFW wang_h_Page_185.QC.jpg
ff37044b5bb9af6d843369d2dee5ab8e
1007778f2f56f6718abc013058935b822445fa54
8263 F20110403_AACMYC wang_h_Page_165thm.jpg
194681ae1caf4a6de58fbf7c15395e6a
cc782e65b6ac369613fb3d273b114eff62edc93e
8614 F20110403_AACNCU wang_h_Page_144thm.jpg
27e8d86f60fdf78c23d70dd21fdc492e
9d04be9e5611ce0ed0fbaa41af91829d9b0f2b8f
F20110403_AACMXO wang_h_Page_053.tif
994e99c954d6fc5befbdd869b78ce37e
99055c6610f8abf961f0b6ee267010048559860d
51365 F20110403_AACMWZ wang_h_Page_148.pro
3f455783bfe500d4c439dc803d34ca0d
3b04158977893dc559d5b484a080c87e4641847f
35899 F20110403_AACNDI wang_h_Page_177.QC.jpg
f6ca9673a7aec3617842e42621b9cd8a
7803875bb76d9056ba08d4bb602a20e4e771fdc0
7747 F20110403_AACOHA wang_h_Page_046thm.jpg
72f3e5fd0fc7ef5b0d871fb9d7cf1a5c
705f720b9dc178c7639f26df7c12c74f1721c3c3
34688 F20110403_AACOGL wang_h_Page_211.QC.jpg
fd5cf5893672daa0ec892e6c00738948
3725e1ab86c7bdfdaba2cb47160df549cdd977dc
33977 F20110403_AACOFX wang_h_Page_096.QC.jpg
fc5c695ca73580b82e2c761e8c75c0aa
768bafa89d029c71862cb573b45b57bfad929806
F20110403_AACMYD wang_h_Page_095.tif
e7e44ea1ff721be84501c0946a1c74c7
5daff082e96c06b2d8df1c3b87bcf9100a4bf662
F20110403_AACNCV wang_h_Page_038.jp2
bb784fb68e171f89de7602afe3fbcc3c
d89263bd6b6483b4a8e4c9d6dbbee1cf0bd50f14
51405 F20110403_AACMXP wang_h_Page_056.pro
d836183f79dbe0913e320b4772a69667
8aefa4d4b92fb786883748f3b1d9a7a2a9fd272b
F20110403_AACNDJ wang_h_Page_140.jp2
1e602c6e04fd1dab25a0cbf1535aa3db
aba697b9c9b46ee9f7ff3bc55f6ad6f9765dadca
8373 F20110403_AACOHB wang_h_Page_171thm.jpg
2263fa76016cf15ffc990970c2159c4e
10fc1498e277d1a4527419de601907ea7f4b7a64
8757 F20110403_AACOGM wang_h_Page_059thm.jpg
97580cf319708962ddb881d51f8dc3b9
5f8cf6297080e3f426b82f098649e75f8779c485
8761 F20110403_AACOFY wang_h_Page_193thm.jpg
6dac5b29b9cad444154bb965843edb0a
4af22caeddf3cf984b55dd47efd463e0e26ed0e2
8568 F20110403_AACMYE wang_h_Page_140thm.jpg
25e2bc524753ea731c42f0db23ee49ae
0a98944a12198ba99280a05c6fcb42ab20bc4df2
2447 F20110403_AACNCW wang_h_Page_019.txt
2e29811f72a1798f816e83a6567779d3
344b05575796e671c5694a452dab0ccc7c64eb81
8570 F20110403_AACMXQ wang_h_Page_080thm.jpg
96f5c00fd2708cbcfd09527ff016c202
ccb578dd45606ab41d0c44fac147a7767f4af974
33947 F20110403_AACNDK wang_h_Page_074.QC.jpg
900ec7a60a54f14cb88aabfcbd8acea6
15ca048106bde2851cc7efe286ae884548194a1d
8528 F20110403_AACOHC wang_h_Page_114thm.jpg
e366bd160d9b7b1cfdee68cf03aa3712
fa6598012dbee37c92d14dfe5c95bc7e109b2b73
26728 F20110403_AACOGN wang_h_Page_007.QC.jpg
53f3111f757c1488216ba5a94c225f27
4dc8b681a9c8642e53516b445b9728e923bb8b45
29899 F20110403_AACOFZ wang_h_Page_170.QC.jpg
f017d57dd4c4163379640da506c445b6
332e53fbe1d0ea1b90f0f8a225b83a9ebdefe76b
F20110403_AACMYF wang_h_Page_167.jp2
e5c164ddd37ae378b2de97531ea69d4c
b6a7e00bf77f05a8221b4af92c1fa27e1eb32ff5
F20110403_AACNCX wang_h_Page_080.tif
84a2c37d67135989b2321cdabda2112d
317f123201831ae8b73bdaa9b16306204f99c64a
28207 F20110403_AACMXR wang_h_Page_122.pro
fd9f1f91589f27e99dad79c1f105db83
ddb88542e42dcb25ff5ade4c650d7ef3b2090cf3
F20110403_AACNEA wang_h_Page_036.jp2
54e0f309e658a8db512a7adc8c60d7f9
ff96c6c770a7bf2abbf13ee51589d622950f0865
8583 F20110403_AACNDL wang_h_Page_182thm.jpg
035860afb3a4565b117a8904b254da88
1ec18498e4376366748de0fc80de66c0da1b590c
F20110403_AACOHD wang_h_Page_078thm.jpg
92ef49de41f5dc27f64599c562755202
c471b58f0b355576be5942f08a1edd147185fd9e
8739 F20110403_AACOGO wang_h_Page_022thm.jpg
8085a7ba91a4ae46e0938b26813c87d4
0ae3bf2827aed0b59fd3b0fa5b0f8abd155b3772
2513 F20110403_AACMYG wang_h_Page_162.txt
bd7d8773d056a9d500acdef121f7b4ce
f52ca98e99f27bef89c09cde1c4c10156410b100
7180 F20110403_AACNCY wang_h_Page_001.pro
a8cfcc58a8ff47c6da3ccfabd4d2dfd6
dc21e06f6a6383dc9206f024822552e07d9e035b
F20110403_AACMXS wang_h_Page_173.tif
b44d0e317649888b53764189d204e539
ff3a9e36dd5b0d9fe6d4902a96fb8898e925e610
F20110403_AACNEB wang_h_Page_026.tif
57d6482568244f96645f9255e10457f8
d6ec950d8ab096f172b791048f4890d3fdcd5aa6
F20110403_AACNDM wang_h_Page_186.txt
650330563ca2f21c3773e50bc1abf5af
0ba7bef298c99aeeb1b109642d2321d99fb5146a
F20110403_AACOHE wang_h_Page_160thm.jpg
0536fb34657642c757352e4d6b8f48e9
ce98f05bb29b1e6e738a038ca930f713a473d75c
F20110403_AACOGP wang_h_Page_117.QC.jpg
ce8c4f16d86acacfb98a23fa94e608f5
dc22a042b289175ea48764fca4b6f857070384c9
F20110403_AACNCZ wang_h_Page_211.tif
236d0078f94109d033e2b4a27e982f9d
aa55619fd9b523fa488dcfb84c2258b995854cf3
50391 F20110403_AACMXT wang_h_Page_061.pro
a8f9bb6950cd4806a3a8dfaea90eed2b
d36271bd4c87180947add8fe068835f79e1036e2
33092 F20110403_AACNEC wang_h_Page_194.QC.jpg
52d4f61f20db1bd797f2148d7cc67a8a
02558d3175bee2d52aca978a7ba05a8192f5cc61
53271 F20110403_AACNDN wang_h_Page_195.pro
8e1d0b6f419d944beac0141e41ce66c8
3f7abe22ac337fed5f63a126762308ed60e6a681
28542 F20110403_AACMYH wang_h_Page_212.jpg
f25a16fa48449f20496c9bff1c179770
36485f18847600509df879dd91c3d034b366ccd4
3334 F20110403_AACOHF wang_h_Page_008thm.jpg
1a4cd51c52ae173efcb324490cc0b8d2
446e46e9550c88b665c42af6eea32af1122e730a
8451 F20110403_AACOGQ wang_h_Page_051thm.jpg
08dc90c0cfe1423dde412812198dabe0
255cc6fe3984e7da3ee46c2e9ea1964205f9a7e3
108921 F20110403_AACMXU wang_h_Page_206.jpg
4b4460d6ae34304b96efe28decd0d0ad
d186983db67005278ce703c70c05e6e7b72ea0f3
34051 F20110403_AACNED wang_h_Page_080.QC.jpg
9f6070d5e080ef8d976cff5eb74e24f3
4da84d57c7ed4db52ed16340d215f28551129726
F20110403_AACNDO wang_h_Page_202.tif
48fd50fa1f02ef8b83ecd797ed593dab
5ebff68708f975b9e027f2a07e5f3249ec6a21b5
51809 F20110403_AACMYI wang_h_Page_181.pro
95401edf9028f84dc3cf31dd2efb6ffa
7e204aba90d555eb00f4af0dc1452f07a19f0e6a
10440 F20110403_AACOHG wang_h_Page_169.QC.jpg
29032c0ca1f4cac3a2622d3eb34a367c
44ec67a8881f8b47662ecd800363f8187a2da39b
32806 F20110403_AACOGR wang_h_Page_165.QC.jpg
cdf846a512bec19d7f24f9278eef0559
fad607e2f561e70a1a74eeafe1e16a3daaeec922
8479 F20110403_AACMXV wang_h_Page_179thm.jpg
ff6548922ff21ec5b03006920f023ca7
8e9a0a5f3544070487dcbe6b65bae919da16bc36
50305 F20110403_AACNEE wang_h_Page_066.pro
f0cf8ba119848cfb8eb21f7ac2fe0c2d
7e66ec1e19336ee4b95b1f5a510ab1cb8814dc50
F20110403_AACNDP wang_h_Page_136thm.jpg
42aa0648dc5932cd0790ec22526212bf
444611db6bb9d261c99cb2f52afa7c9875e8621c
34129 F20110403_AACMYJ wang_h_Page_114.QC.jpg
32cbbc0c890cf741c3460b972d206eee
047f438b22b00389afc931fad3167a53b5c879ca
8364 F20110403_AACOGS wang_h_Page_055thm.jpg
5266f8d78765deb1a0be442a55d1c7ca
10cbdede5c221f7476b2ea58b9d92e9cd773e82f
33763 F20110403_AACMXW wang_h_Page_106.QC.jpg
02bace476ec41482adf801f5dd1c75d6
66091fd70b6602f0d4fa091d66a8fd1af54e54a9
34579 F20110403_AACNDQ wang_h_Page_179.QC.jpg
5e056cb8c3e034e9b31dc02fe09caa13
2b0dcf62eea8d146ac020c1e653d02b314e8b9e7
F20110403_AACMYK wang_h_Page_104.txt
b5f9e01585692993b8b8d0f70ff221fc
e76819ca59109750b9f2de2f3e5480d9e9682ca0
339780 F20110403_AACOHH UFE0013601_00001.xml
5fe8167d4bd65f9315c3ed487dc3ca4d
6d79bee6fc1b5a25f4a5c52b397e742502f96aba
8291 F20110403_AACOGT wang_h_Page_168thm.jpg
b30a1e25f3bda26b467e177c3fa40369
bf06051e50dda0451370e771bc9a2cd7dad054d7
34778 F20110403_AACMXX wang_h_Page_115.QC.jpg
56d8f9ecd31e3571470477c64867d651
c71c86c73e695ee39c63755f60988ccce3d838a9
F20110403_AACNEF wang_h_Page_086thm.jpg
8a09577b2fe9e5ba9a7446d5e8c8c826
b4422625af8daf85a176d85fa49494f19608cc22
F20110403_AACNDR wang_h_Page_199.tif
02a5bfa97454d72cdfc3e9a3869f410e
b01fcc888c3506b294492053a8dae677e9b8f6c3
F20110403_AACMYL wang_h_Page_046.tif
7d1b22e24e51186703ff8b4d9659b25f
1d3c330142838868cf154a9f8dffeaa639877db7
34335 F20110403_AACOHI wang_h_Page_062.QC.jpg
04ecb51f02a102f5375f85a404fb9b03
975ee96ea8daf48045e4a51b505829896e38ca2d
33275 F20110403_AACOGU wang_h_Page_121.QC.jpg
6c527ff717a00a35736c7a3e88f31193
dfae779ae2e687f8f6b7c839085a927ea3a0b4f9
1998 F20110403_AACMXY wang_h_Page_125.txt
6c79c660419c2ffa016b28985ef7d75b
24fe038fca28a2b2060945466e2d54529cc36742
54116 F20110403_AACNEG wang_h_Page_159.pro
94cb221e4f97017ec650b3bd2a213917
a5169ac2f96273916e1ceb97456affa170af97c5
F20110403_AACMZA wang_h_Page_039.tif
a0667d822386871e387bef30203353e4
8935c7b1ad6b1a59e32e454084edfaba6ac77176
F20110403_AACNDS wang_h_Page_055.txt
79cf2d7e4a624514aacd452a02bc1639
df26de09bc5517328ff31aa72e5db810636d78eb
F20110403_AACMYM wang_h_Page_071thm.jpg
ec4948356a122cb8bb7703881f3419e9
9c27d455bf355e2f2900da26c0351ca0011696e4
32995 F20110403_AACOHJ wang_h_Page_172.QC.jpg
6f1af1e46e8190673cae2d4400c22f2e
62c9d97ecea5dd1dcd235228993afd8ba237191e
8764 F20110403_AACOGV wang_h_Page_085thm.jpg
fdc9e688d0758531cb04fe1f4ec94c98
f268ec663434794d01bdee3fbb71c51927e179f4
F20110403_AACNEH wang_h_Page_127.jp2
7cef9bebe3dd7159045dde6b48a70419
fcd2076a991fe73365ccff4f2a1805212ad14327
23965 F20110403_AACMZB wang_h_Page_001.jpg
05a61be08349631c7ac1e93b4cd740dc
d95f2b1ba737f1dde537b532654abe907b1b3eee
48774 F20110403_AACNDT wang_h_Page_185.pro
1d974240a1150d84c79ff2c309276eec
1ab060167c6f6e805a4338735d154d9f7fbc9ecd
2004 F20110403_AACMYN wang_h_Page_089.txt
9907952221a0be9fcd06cc5ddfb9c437
2f2b9ee8bf71de85a3983672fa77928a05e2fb76
33333 F20110403_AACOGW wang_h_Page_055.QC.jpg
14a689f555a8e16ac4687363e3eee24b
5c0d1ca6bf8ab54ded01b8a70aefe4f84c54744c
40059 F20110403_AACMXZ wang_h_Page_007.pro
be02096cfa8ad496c822cf1493cd3953
8fa0a4ab96d974dd8849df637b955e0a99b7208c
F20110403_AACNEI wang_h_Page_105.tif
4fe034bb729c03fc93d83c7f906e596e
ffc8a52449c6423fb27642fdfc46bde6e8a6d44c
F20110403_AACMZC wang_h_Page_012thm.jpg
9994b56adb7cb8fc7bf82bfb8c566648
fa71c64277f2fe9f4d02f94617225ebfdfbcdcbd
8550 F20110403_AACNDU wang_h_Page_053thm.jpg
4c8f968317e71b5813a24c84ddc809e4
91dce3a2b90cf73bdb11a13f60f42a75fcb12072
2119 F20110403_AACMYO wang_h_Page_101.txt
3a9c35f462368d90a72476621fe2b01f
d80ed14f5b911b4cad2adc01ee4771699e923939
F20110403_AACOGX wang_h_Page_212.QC.jpg
02502ca5ecccd5fc6ae8d7bf7c49cbdc
36a5a6609487de464456a84ddce0cf3614fa50fd
2076 F20110403_AACNEJ wang_h_Page_129.txt
9989ba62e04538c82f1b9b96437881b0
de89546a55f0cdf24fbb3f57b77d0f12e6be1635
35454 F20110403_AACMZD wang_h_Page_113.QC.jpg
b68be772ef6b1ba63507010c99ecf6d5
b1a1bfe12e51bb85c4b60b58813b43787117f93f
33095 F20110403_AACNDV wang_h_Page_066.QC.jpg
00d74a9240f5c682250fe5fdbc70ef48
6728647e525f4c503fe55af0f49a35854cb6c76b
103704 F20110403_AACMYP wang_h_Page_139.jpg
1d65b105c523d7779ec04335f92a978d
985bfa7874f644e21b7f99758478c477885e5ad6
8676 F20110403_AACOGY wang_h_Page_096thm.jpg
59a05917c62a92d348e35bbc050f2bd4
745d89cfa7a01117e1698a505dc0403ee3fcf152
105467 F20110403_AACNEK wang_h_Page_109.jpg
13713a7fd5e281924b4dcc0f0a9d0827
5cdfd224ffb7a125e1f943a1cb7eaf46a98b15fe
F20110403_AACMZE wang_h_Page_090thm.jpg
4c4318efa6773f00c95b2d2e003c4f83
362b735360b6b9d180710a6a65f4380ac11e1190
F20110403_AACNDW wang_h_Page_086.jp2
c3d29944cfdb5d72e7e26e95cfdccd2d
300372ed316b7f9b1af15cc3b96694d209732021
F20110403_AACMYQ wang_h_Page_180.jp2
a9341b962184414cb7dcb8db2a8f2d33
a8405993f43fda8053be350d777aa34a3063fb76
7660 F20110403_AACOGZ wang_h_Page_009thm.jpg
4b973e1d18b3d3b6e074bd7c621d5f51
9d745824739dee4d7c33a56899209da44ef62d78
33850 F20110403_AACNFA wang_h_Page_025.QC.jpg
822eec7deb6602ba9278f6d313e7795b
e7b3a711aa158e726c3970517385de6cfb3e6194
F20110403_AACNEL wang_h_Page_067.txt
6d0cbdb09646baee7a3334d242961c59
b2ecee4b89902d3e25c93b6c7121a98694654fd4
F20110403_AACMZF wang_h_Page_057thm.jpg
d288c0dcead5977d4f3610aae061c3f6
260042b56d44fb8d432cc1fbd4b81f50910f92eb
F20110403_AACNDX wang_h_Page_131.jp2
5e75d6d5a0561c982154c771eade13aa
e1140349fa6372cd83262f8924af9f1362b64f8a
588 F20110403_AACMYR wang_h_Page_002thm.jpg
d9ccafbe34b61d451b2de2768c9a0a0f
4cdc52fbccfcd239c2551d8c4a8418c169777a36
50311 F20110403_AACNFB wang_h_Page_180.pro
9e16e8df9f0cae338b2e56c6add46543
bfca3e00d27ee6316144d63c6f181c7f95a7c574
F20110403_AACNEM wang_h_Page_058.jp2
5770a9b28854e461f10b52e5153fb2fe
a536c2a4dc887472f38ff3cdc4badc3708920e0b
8214 F20110403_AACMZG wang_h_Page_185thm.jpg
10bc6f0264ee30bb4a634aa31265aa66
35a24e9bb98520930651e1b8a264f4dea497c397
103309 F20110403_AACNDY wang_h_Page_035.jpg
8f38a82060e89c6bc6eae522e9f7609a
42440793491691425902c82b503ac0ab90dab017
F20110403_AACMYS wang_h_Page_130.QC.jpg
ac76ce5ef2a2aca77136ce61bf922950
01edd4eb3032b785b2b2200809417e62bf4a8211
F20110403_AACNFC wang_h_Page_044.jp2
86b80897ac7392f4645ed380dd996ffa
4fd8c86ce45ddff4b3fc638b8a1e04b8cf50f8fc
52290 F20110403_AACNEN wang_h_Page_184.pro
59013b1a8e49cc4d57c6c09d3024794c
c9982c02c146a4a2f211e922c6c2dfcb29575dcd
34186 F20110403_AACMZH wang_h_Page_088.QC.jpg
5a4492ecf5c013f5869daba9671d6668
7f4bae9ab8ce2895a3f337ef432c9fcc0f69344a
109036 F20110403_AACNDZ wang_h_Page_190.jpg
70f17061e3107b1c5360103f13186757
a0060691e52a8738e606a684e1affeaeb8634735
4530 F20110403_AACMYT wang_h_Page_002.jpg
a30a0154f53d46c7100ecd2be161f84c
b2083066dedf678e607e31f63f0e7d475650c2db
50956 F20110403_AACMCA wang_h_Page_141.pro
156c47c5c9a9057a566c20e004d811c1
1a9db5bae5459287c272c85c36d4315a753b69af
F20110403_AACNFD wang_h_Page_181.tif
d834a609a6e87228fe78161c09f9bd32
eaff4d3c5c87b7163ae9e8531f678647541eaa02
F20110403_AACNEO wang_h_Page_199.txt
6f73a16ffc89ce6bfa33eac5c478039d
b5c9e17d3d47e197ca4f5aa8bba94c01083f726a
8464 F20110403_AACMZI wang_h_Page_043thm.jpg
ba95fa06fc23fd60084c92fa94ac8b04
d44657cc36843b11cd1f6939b2063b9eabf13798
34772 F20110403_AACMYU wang_h_Page_129.QC.jpg
0ab5d122ad683a9394088d6b5c1d6326
399ac1d6385228fe8dfc942878a1095be0269698
32620 F20110403_AACMCB wang_h_Page_047.QC.jpg
932a2918f9b70d210ab266826b35af7d
0d978380052bc0a547eb6ed6e1bc8fc7bc2e014d
99309 F20110403_AACNFE wang_h_Page_017.jpg
970c1414adf13e6042c5e3a60828766e
2fd6d0972aa9780c018a7badf1121d6c77c7c87e
F20110403_AACNEP wang_h_Page_164.jp2
1df8aebdd97478247de6a0749a8e147d
3d04a3154236e23520df52bfaaebea1d291a6460
F20110403_AACMZJ wang_h_Page_106.tif
8fd0dd0d1617b56e00fe3d7cce1922f5
82ef50051b925d5e2e290424f7c1c0fab5962dbd
53497 F20110403_AACMYV wang_h_Page_112.pro
41745c31a6c9e033320fc6b1fd842059
623cb0814a299b80dc8611a831453f3fc0622bce
34225 F20110403_AACMCC wang_h_Page_198.QC.jpg
b85295812fe3d76fa81e0c59f64deb39
f7bf549a7026e2797bae6c1c21851c4737584077
F20110403_AACNEQ wang_h_Page_116.jp2
307823417c5685263bfd5716fd1b007d
87a88997f7f23d8b13e616bd361ad7a2e4c74bdd
104894 F20110403_AACMZK wang_h_Page_152.jpg
759e3762b95f2b725496a4de1ab7581b
6df79f5ff83514b2f38234cad89385bf780d4aaf
52057 F20110403_AACMYW wang_h_Page_103.pro
854606a5025badb8ff7d4c20ce51adc0
c29c2363eae1c13609d15cee2ef382f3427af779
F20110403_AACMCD wang_h_Page_183.jp2
9ff362e78eb7983cf79ccad3bb062e66
1ae12fc554657d11342898c083aacd3f72c1c673
33931 F20110403_AACNFF wang_h_Page_071.QC.jpg
4dee0c50e7c80a01c0aa3949fca45873
1c26816f6d6027156a4b17ebe9556a512f06f1d0
2167 F20110403_AACNER wang_h_Page_206.txt
9a4e100ea443d98c2ea20ef377311c68
d3c68e298c40308eec60742b2dd85486f648ca3a
8118 F20110403_AACMZL wang_h_Page_076thm.jpg
d413849ff5b3d84593b2418a437f7b0c
b84ce6a05c88d5a8b4fa698c3046768dee52257f
F20110403_AACMYX wang_h_Page_004.tif
f496754e46365b75a9380119a2f85464
23702bc984b066f0761a9bddcb8b1c0f5dae9a66



PAGE 1

FORECLOSING OTHERS IN CULTURAL REPRESENTATION By HUEI-JU WANG A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLOR IDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA 2006

PAGE 2

Copyright 2006 by Huei-ju Wang

PAGE 3

This document is dedicated to my si sters, Huei-Fen Wang and Huei-Rung Wang.

PAGE 4

iv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to thank my committee members for guiding me through the dissertation process. I am esp ecially grateful for the hours Pr ofessor John P. Leavey spent with me patiently guiding me through some of the questions and problems I had encountered researching my project, as well as the thought ful written comments he provided for my earlier drafts. The dissertation also benefited from the verbal and written comments given by Professor Philip Wegner a nd Professor Malini Johar Schueller. Those comments provided me with ways to extend my working theoretic framework and further expand my intellectual horizon. I am also grat eful to have Professor Robert Hatch as my reader. My gratitude also goes to teachers whose writings and pedagogy helped pave the foundation for my dissertation. Lastly, the love and sacrifices my sist ers made to further my education are indispensable.

PAGE 5

v TABLE OF CONTENTS page ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.................................................................................................iv ABSTRACT......................................................................................................................v ii CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION: THEORIZING SPI VAK’S RECONFIGURATION OF THE NATIVE INFORMANT...............................................................................................1 Foreclosed Native Informant in About Schmidt ............................................................5 Spivka’s Critique of the Native Informant and its Reconfiguration...........................11 Native Informant and Accumulation by Dispossession..............................................23 2 PASSING IN COOPER’S THE PIONEERS : NATIVE INFORMANTS, PATRONYM AND PRIVATE PROPERTY.............................................................38 Native Informants and Dispossession.........................................................................45 Passing, Patronym and Patrimony..............................................................................52 Mourning of the Passing.............................................................................................68 3 MELVILLE’S CONSCRIPTION AND SUBVERSION OF THE ORIENT AS “NATIVE INFORMANT” IN MOBY DICK .............................................................75 Conformist, Subversive or Both?...............................................................................86 The Levant as the Foreclosed Native Informant.........................................................93 Comic and Subversive Orientalism............................................................................97 Egyptian Revival and Critique of Egyptology..........................................................105 4 SPECTRALITY IN CONRAD’S NOSTROMO : THE SAN TOME MINE, FOREIGN CAPITAL AND THE NATIVE OTHER..............................................115 Haunting and Hauntology.........................................................................................119 Foreign Capital and the Sulaco Railroad..................................................................132 Foreclosure of Indigenous History and Perspectives................................................136

PAGE 6

vi 5 CONCLUSION: ZHANG YIMOU AS NATIVE INFORMANT/CULTURAL TRANSLATOR IN THE AGE OF GLOBALIZATION.........................................162 Native Informant-cum-Cultural Tran slator for the World Cinema..........................169 Transnational Chinese Cinemas and Native Informant............................................182 LIST OF REFERENCES.................................................................................................196 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH...........................................................................................205

PAGE 7

vii Abstract of Dissertation Pres ented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy FORECLOSING OTHERS IN CULTURAL REPRESENTATION By Huei-ju Wang May 2006 Chair: John P. Leavey Jr. Major Department: English This dissertation investigates the representation of racial Others in James Fenimore Cooper’s The Pioneers Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo The project appropriates Gayatr i G. Spivak’s critique in A Critique of Postcolonial Reason of the invocation and foreclosure of the “native informant” in Western epistemology and David Harvey’s argument in The New Imperialism that “accumulation by dispossession” has long been the lynchpin of the capitalist mode of production in its geographic history. First examining Ameri can director Alexander Payne’s film, About Schmidt in which a retired American man wrote letters to his adopt ed son, an African boy in Tanzania, it argues that the political unconscious of invoking and foreclosing the non-Western Other is still being practiced in the Western cultural production. It then proceeds to examine the three novels produced during the 19th and early 20th century capitalist society when the history of accu mulation of Western capital based on the expropriation of the natives had been ideologi cally justified as regrettable but inevitable, as part of capitalist devel opment and progress. It thus examines the dialectical link

PAGE 8

viii between accumulation of capital and the dispossession of the native Other in The Pioneers and Nostromo It also explores the conscrip tion of the Islamic Orient in Moby Dick and Melville’s subversion of conventional Orientalism by his refusal to explain the Oriental Other. It finally e xplores the possibility of self representation of non-Western Others in the age of globalization by looking at Chinese director Zhang Yimou’s role as native informant/cultural translator. It argues that even in his film, Not One Less that deals with the problem of rural poverty and migration in contemporary China, the figure of (young) migrant worker is still being invoked and foreclosed.

PAGE 9

1 CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION: THEORIZING SPIVAK’ S RECONFIGURATION OF THE NATIVE INFORMANT The age of capital is also the age of Othe r. After all, the primitive accumulation of Western capital is based on the coloni zation of non-Western Others, and the accumulation of modern capital relies on its ir reducible Other, wage labor, whose surplus labor is the source of profit. The expansion of capitalism as the dominant world system after the fall of Soviet Union in 1991 makes the world more interconnected and dependent of each other while under the tighter control of transnational capital. It also makes the structure of what David Harvey calls in The New Imperialism “accumulation by dispossession” more essential to the system ’s survival and rejuvenation. As unfettered capital intensifies its search for its Other, cheap labor, both at home and abroad, it is called on to deal with the que stion of Other. While globaliz ation of capital and migration of labor create tensions among workers of di fferent races, ethnicities and nationalities competing for the limited jobs available, ma ss consumption of Other in the form of commodities, both in the North and the South, results in huge profit for capital. How to theorize and represent various Others that have been systematically marginalized in or excluded from the Western mode of represen tation regulated by gender and sexual norms and sustained by racial and class hierarchies thus becomes one of the urgent and difficult tasks facing progressive knowledge workers and activists both inside and outside of the universities. It is especially so in th e age of the Internet when the “imagined communities” of Others claim their own space both on-line and off-line to challenge the

PAGE 10

2 dominant norms of gender, sexuality and race as well as the hegem ony of capital and to demand social justice for all. A significant number of literar y and cultural critics have sought over the years to intervene in Western discourse that in the process of representi ng Self by way of its racial/ethnic Others had produ ced a hierarchy between the ma ster (Self) and the native (Other). Among them, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak has recently put the spotlight on the figure of the native informant, a margin al figure she re-examined in her book A Critique of Postcolonial Reason in her efforts to deconstruct su ch a hierarchy and to advance a theory of radical alterity. Th e targets of her critique included the three influential European Enlightenment thinkers Kant, Hegel and Marx, and other hist orical and cultural narratives. In doing so, she said she hoped to enable a new politics of reading that confronted head-on what she called “sanctione d ignorance,” an allusion to indifference in the West to the history of the Western coloni zation of the globe, in cluding Asia, Africa and America. Her call for the re-examination of the figure of the native informant was largely prompted by a developing trend in pos tcolonial discourse th at has increasingly relied on two prominent figures, the hybrid mi grant and the postcolonial, to examine the social and cultural logic of globalization of fi nance capital. The shift, in her view, runs the risk of displacing the figure of the nativ e informant. More troubling for her is that these two figures were also found to have masqueraded as the foreclosed native informant (6; 17-8). Finally, Spivak’s call fo r the re-examination of the figure of the native informant serves to highlight the repr esentational problems associated with this figure that had been enlisted early on to serve the interest of the mast er discourse. That is, the figure of the native informant is fraught with paradoxes that bring into relief the

PAGE 11

3 problems of representation, the unequal power relations between the represented and their narrator, and, more important, the larger historical, economic and cultural contexts that enabled the representation of th e natives by the West that approaches them as the objects of study. Under the scrutiny of Spivak’s deconstr uctive reading, the figure of the native informant, a concept she borrowed from et hnography, proves to be a bit of a misnomer. As she demonstrates, the nativ e is often invoked in the mast er’s narrative but only to be foreclosed. Thus, what the native paradoxically discloses is the hi dden structure of the invocation and foreclosure of the native w ho functions to consolidate the Western narrator’s perspective and ve rsion of the trajectories of world history. Being a deconstructive theorist who insists on dismantling the hierarchy between the master and the native without reproducing a reversed hierarchy, Spivak then rearticulates this marginal, ethnic figure as the ethical Other or radical alterity that constantly brushes against the boundary of the We stern self without being esse ntialized or ossified. Her attention to the radical alter ity, and therefore her deconstructive politic s of ethics, also leads her to propose that not even the so-c alled “authentic nativ e” can occupy the position of the native informant in order to preserve the space of ethnic and ethical Other or subalternity. “When a line of communicati on is established between a member of subaltern groups and the circuits of citizenship or instituti onality, the subaltern has been inserted into the long road to hegemony,” she cautioned (310). Although Spivak tracks the figure of the invoked and foreclosed native informant in the philosophical and economic texts of the three Enlightenment thinkers, the deployment of the native informant can al so be seen in a number of literary

PAGE 12

4 representations that were produced in the 19th and 20th centuries when Western powers dominated the world and controlled its na tural resources through colonization and imperialism. They include James Fenimore Cooper’s The Pioneers Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo which will be the focus of my dissertation that seeks to examine the hi dden structure of the invoked and foreclosed figure, the ethnic/racial Other, in West ern representation, as well as the historical and material conditions that help produce it. Even in today’s Western cultu ral representations disseminated through the vectors of economic and cultural globaliz ation, we can still detect the double operation of the invoked and foreclosed native informant, thanks to Spivak’s critique. One such recent example is the Hollywood movie About Schmidt first released in December 2002 in the United Stat es. Directed and co-written by Alexander Payne, who gained wider name recognition for Sideways (2004), the movie is ostensibly concerned with its title character, played by Jack Nicholson, from mid-West America. In Warren Schmidt, the New York Times movie critic A.O. Scott sees an archtype for the average (white) American male whose “loneliness, defeat and occasional glory” have been dramatized in literature for much of the 20th century, including Arthur Miller’s Willy Loman, Sinclair Lewis’s George Ba bbitt and John Updike’s Rabbit Angstrom ( New York Times Dec. 8, 2002). However, much of the film’s narra tive about this ordinary (white) Omaha family man is esse ntially hinged on an African boy living far away in a remote Tanzanian village whom Sch midt adopts as a foster child. As the movie progresses, it becomes clear that the invo cation of the boy by Schmidt as his audience, and through him the viewers, allows for th e unfolding of Schmidt’s narrative on his life that, the film suggests through the recurrent motif of cows Schmidt keeps running into,

PAGE 13

5 mirrors the life cycle of the cow, in that both the character and the animal are “used up, consumed and discarded” in a hyper-consumer so ciety (Scott), as well as on the road trip on his Winnebago he undertakes to reclaim his paternal au thority over his only daughter who is about to marry an unkempt sa lesman despite his reservation. Foreclosed Native Informant in About Schmidt What makes About Schmidt relevant to my discussion of the invocation and foreclosure of the native informant in Wester n representation is the film’s mode of narration. Despite or because of its title, the film relies on a mode of narration, which I, following Spivak, will call the foreclosed perspective of the native informant, the marginal figure she highlighted in A Critique of Postcolonial Reason In tracking the figure of the native informant in Kant’s The Critique of Judgment Spivak points out the paradox or the problem that occurred when Ka nt contemplated the final cause of human existence in nature. That is, in Kant’s philosophical system driven by teleological reasoning that climaxes in th e invocation of the (Christian) God as the final cause of being both in nature and huma ns, thus turning what is supposed to be a critical philosophy into theology, the na tive is enlisted to affirm Kant’s order of things. The natives briefly summoned up by Kant during hi s contemplation—the inhabitants of New Hollander (Australia) and Tier ra del Fuego—turned out to be a convenient rhetorical device on Kant’s part and were eventually ex cluded from the world constructed by Kant. Thus, in thinking about the final cause of hu man existence in nature, Kant excludes the indigenes of New Hollander and Tierra del Fuego from obtaining the status of being human subjects, though invoking them in his th ought process (284). This representational invocation and exclusion, Spivak notes, are sy mptomatic of the workings of discursive imperialism that produced the figure of the native informant due to the fact that non-

PAGE 14

6 Western subjects “cannot be theorized as functionally completely frozen in a world where teleology is schematized into geo-graphy (writing the world) ” (30; italics original). About Schmidt enlists the help of the foreclosed native informant for the better part of the filmic narration. Warren Schmidt, a rece ntly retired insuran ce executive in Omaha, Nebraska, narrates his life largely by writing to an African boy named Ndugu Umbo, whom he adopts as his foster child after responding to a TV ad by Childreach a nonprofit charity organization that helps childre n in poor countries. The agency also urges the child sponsor to include “personal information” while sending the monthly check of $22. Those letters, which start with “Dear Ndugu,” help narrate Schmidt’s life while revealing his inner thoughts a nd releasing his pent-up emotions, which are on the verge of outburst after his reluctant retirement a nd brought to the forefront after the sudden death of his wife, Helen. The film’s examin ation of Schmidt’s life thus relies on the letters he wrote to Ndugu, who is six years old and, according to his aid worker, does not read or speak English. A Newsweek movie critic, David Ansen, took note of the significance of the “voice-over le tters” in the film’s narrativ e structure, which he said allowed the viewers to “overhear Schmidt wr estling with his dawni ng awareness of the emptiness inside him” (64). The “brilliant stroke,” as Ansen described the voice-over letters, turned out to be the film’s Achill es’ heel as well, as they exposed the hidden structure of the invocation and forecl osure of the Tanzanian boy Ndugu. Worth mentioning and commenting on here is that the rambling letters Schmidt wrote to Ndugu were actually an addition to Louis Begley’s 1996 novel of the same name from which the movie was adapted (“Via Ho llywood”). Yet this addition, which forms the backbone of Schmidt’s narration, relies heavily on the simulta neous invocation and

PAGE 15

7 foreclosure of Ndugu, whose only appearance in the film is a photograph of him sent to Schmidt by Childreach after the sponsorship begins. Th roughout the entire film, Ndugu remains a mute and shadowy figure, hovering or haunting over Schmidt’s narrative voice, until at the end of the film when his “presence” is once again being felt through a letter written on his behalf by an aid worker. The letter, which informs Schmidt that Ndugu has recently recovered from an eye infection, al so includes a drawing by Ndugu of an adult and a child linked by a rope to thank Schmid t’s generosity and kindness. As the invoked and foreclosed figure residing at the margin of the film, Ndugu makes it possible for Schmidt, his American sponsor and narrator of the film, to reflect on his own life and the journey he has taken and to release his pe nt-up emotions. Ndugu, which means “brother” in Swahili (“Via Hollywood”), thus has a haunting effect on the film, haunting the viewer’s consciousness despite his muteness, as Schmidt reads out the letters to him. Thus, paradoxically, the additional letters by the film’s writers, Payne and his screenwriting partner, Jim Taylor, turn out to be a “dangerous supplement,” to use Derrida’s concept-metaphor, that both anchor s the film’s narration and points to the film’s hidden narrative structure. Through the simultaneous invocation and foreclosure of Ndugu, we learn that Schmidt was once an ambitious young man seek ing to emulate the success stories of Henry Ford and Walter Disney until his respon sibility for his young family forced him to take safer career choices, which eventually la nded him the job of the vice president of the Woodmen of the World, an insurance company in Omaha, from which he just recently retired or was forced to retire In the first letter written to Ndugu, Schmidt also reveals his dissatisfaction about his wife of 42 years, including her supp osed obsession for trying out

PAGE 16

8 new restaurants. Although he takes pride in hi s only daughter, Jeannie, he is disappointed at her choice for her husband, a waterbed salesm an, who in his view is “not up to snuff” nor “in her league.” In the second letter, Sc hmidt informs Ndugu that his wife, Helen, has died suddenly from a blood clot in the brain. He also confesses that he missed his Helen, advising Ndugu to “appreciate what you have wh ile you still have it,” and regrets for the unkind remarks he made about his wife in the first letter. The act of writing letters to Ndugu functions for Schmidt as a kind of therap y, more so after the death of his wife. In addressing Ndugu, he is reassert ing his patriarchal authorit y that has been undermined due to his recent (possibly fo rced) retirement and his daughter’s marriage choice. The sponsorship of Ndugu, an act to fill the void following his retirement while doing charity work, could also be seen as a symbolic act by Schmidt to replace th e daughter he is losing to an “unpromising” salesman who is obsesse d with his investment plans or “pyramid schemes.” In ethnography, Spivak points out, the native informant “ is a blank” deprived of autobiography, but enable s the inscription of th e Other by the West (6; italics original). Sourayan Mookerjea also notes that in that di scipline the figure of the native informant as an “imaginary other” is needed to construct a fictional dialogue between the Western Self and its racial/ethnic Other, thus making the ethnographic text intelligible and constructing the West’s humanity (“Native Informant” 143-44). Schmidt’s relationship to Ndugu in About Schmidt is, to a certain extent, comparable to the fictional relationship an ethnographer has with his or her native informant, but with a twist. In About Schmidt the object of study is reversed: the focus is on the American child sponsor to highlight his humanity and compassion instead of Ndugu, th e African Other. But through the invoked

PAGE 17

9 and foreclosed Other, we get a glimpse of Schmidt’s life. Schmidt’ s monologue with the invoked and foreclosed Ndugu in the letters is not intended to seek an understanding of his foster child living in a remote African vi llage. Rather, it attempts to examine his own life and helps Schmidt, who has been repla ced at his job by someone who is younger and more attuned to the needs of the fast-chang ing and high-tech capital ism, to reckon with his own mortality, a thought re ndered all the more poignant af ter the sudden death of his wife. As About Schmidt testifies, Ndugu the native informan t is needed as the foreclosed dialogical Other so that Schmidt can reach deep into his past and inner self to come to terms with his current existence as a re tired widower facing his own predictable mortality. On the other hand, Schmidt’s relation with Ndugu parallels the one that Kant had with the New Hollanders and Fuegans. As narrator, both Schmidt and Kant invoke the native but only to enact a violent act of foreclosure: Schmidt (or the film’s writers) forecloses Ndugu’s voice and perspective unti l the very end of the movie while Kant excludes the natives from obtai ning the status presumably re served for civilized/cultured European subjects capable of the faculty of reason, freedom of desire and morality. What About Schmidt finally demonstrates, wit hout being self-conscious of it, is that a film that connects the West with Africa in the er a of intensified cultural and economic globalization through an act of generosity and kindness nonetheless hinges on the hidden structure of the invocation and foreclosure of the native informant, who reveals less about himself than about this very hidden narrativ e foreclosure. The Schmidt-Ndugu plot, the addition to the original story, thus exposes the “political unconscious” of the movie.

PAGE 18

10 Schmidt’s relationship with Ndugu also echoes and reverses the one formed between Robinson Crusoe and Friday in Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe The semireenactment of the colonial relationship is evidenced in Schmidt’s third letter, which relays his road trip across Nebraska and Kans as before visiting his daughter in Denver to persuade her to call off her wedding. Schmidt decides to take the road trip after his daughter declines his help with her upcoming wedding except in the form of checks. In a compact economy, the third letter takes us to Schmidt’s childhood home in Nebraska, now a tire shop; to his alma mater, Universi ty of Kansas, in Lawrence, Kansas; and to tourist sites in Nebraska, including a historical muse um commemorating American pioneers (where, he told Ndugu, he met a “real Indian,” a sales clerk who informed him that the Native Americans got “a raw deal”) and Buffalo Bill’s house. The third letter on the road trip thus allows the film to pres ent a slice of Schmidt’ s history and American history through those personal, institutional and tourist si tes. The letter with its “educational” content is supposed to lighten up the foster child, but the film undermines that and Schmidt’s paternal authority with Ndugu’s drawing of an adult and a child connected by a rope. The reversal of the quasi -colonial relationship occurs in the last scene of the movie when Schmidt, who has tried to enlighten N dugu with the letters, bursts into tears afte r being moved by the drawing, which simultaneously reminds him of his loneliness and connection with others. Desp ite the movie’s gesture to reconstruct the relationship between the West and its Ot her through Schmidt and Ndugu, the film’s narrative on Schmidt’s life is nevertheless bu ilt upon the invocation and foreclosure of the African Other. Moreover, the film rema ins within the ideo logical horizon of capitalism that addresses the problem of poverty in Africa and elsewhere through

PAGE 19

11 individual charity rather th an critically examining the social, economic and global structures that produce and perp etuate it in the first place. Spivka’s Critique of th e Native Informant and its Reconfiguration Spivak has been studying the operation of the native informant as the Other consolidating the Western Self in Wester n epistemology since the late 1980s. She explains the stakes involved in invoking the native informant in the West in a passage that I quote at length because it lays out her concern with th e use of the Other as both a means and an end to reaffirm the knowing Western subject. She writes: If one looks at the history of post-Enli ghtenment theory, the major problem has been the problem of autobiography: how s ubjective structures can, in fact, give objective truth. During these same centuri es, the Native Informant, who was found in these other places, his stuff was unques tioningly treated as objective evidence for the founding of so-called sciences like ethnography, ethnolinguist ics, comparative religion, and so on. So that, once again, the theoretical problems only relate to the person who knows. The person who knows has all of the problems of selfhood. The person who is known somehow, seems not to have a problematic self. These days, it is the same kind of agenda that is at work. (qtd. in Mookerjea 141-42) In this passage, she makes two important observations about the state of the postEnlightenment history. First, the major probl em with the history of post-Enlightenment theory lies in its own autobi ography: it has used the figure of the native informant to mask “subjective structures” as “objective trut h.” Second, in doing so, it has uncritically assumed as unproblematic the subjectivity of the Other who consolidates the knowing Western subject and provides him or he r with indigenous information. Spivak’s observations also show that be hind the figure of the native in formant lie the questions of knowledge, power and representation, the que stions that still dominate current discussions on how to theorize and empower th e Other without falling into the pitfalls of essentialism and binary opposition. From her deconstructive perspective, the Other, despite being subordinated in the discourse of imperialism, is no less problematic than the

PAGE 20

12 Western self that inscribes it to validate its subordination. Thus, she calls for a rethinking of the Other as a “tr ace-structure” or “efface ment in disclosure” ( A Critique 310) to preserve the critical edge of radical alterity, a crucial point which I will take up later. As part of her efforts to demonstrate “how deconstruction can serve reading,” Spivak zeroes in on the figure of the native informant in A Critique of Postcolonial Reason This marginal figure, which has been invoked and foreclosed in the Western production of knowledge, notably in German Enlightenment philosophy, she notes, is both needed and foreclosed in the writings of three major Enlightenment thinkers: Kant, Hegel and Marx. In Kant, the New Hollanders (the Australian Aboriginal) and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fue go are needed and foreclosed in the thought process of the philosopher of reason contemplati ng the “final cause” of men’s existence. In Hegel, India and other Oriental countries are invoked a nd excluded to facilitate the teleological movement of the Spirit from the East to the West where it ultimately gains “selfknowledge” in World History. In Marx, the co ncept of Asiatic Mode of Production is needed and foreclosed as Marx wrestled with the question of difference against the “normative” concept of capital ist mode of production. From Spivak’s standpoint, that the figure of the native informant briefly appears in different forms and then is bypassed in the three German philosophers’ texts points to the teleological thought in their texts and thus exposes the Eurocentrism in their reason s and their “complicity ” in perpetuating the culture of Western imperialis m and its exclusionary logic.1 Furthermore, the critique of the foreclosure of the Aboriginal as Dina al-Kassim notes, also offers an account of “our 1 Even though Marx can be faulted for his Eurocentrism and foreclosing of the women from the working class in the earlier development of capitalism, as some have argued, his sustained critique of the capitalist mode of production with in-inbuilt internal contradictions and crises remains a valuable source for understanding the globalizing system.

PAGE 21

13 complicity with the exclusionary logic that s ubtends it,” resulting from the fact that we are “inescapably situated with in” the domain of reason and th e institutions that legitimize it (172). Kassim’s comment only highlights the difficulties or dilemmas of critiquing some of the assumptions of the Enlightenment by using the same conceptual tools that enabled them in the first place. Neverthe less, acknowledging one’s own complicity with the logic of exclusion makes one more vigilant to the foreclosure a nd marginalization of the Others in both discourse and society. In her reading of Kant’s The Critique of Judgment Spivak demonstrates how the figure of the native informant operates in Ka nt’s philosophical system by reading two critical “anthropological moments” in the text One deals with the Kantian notion of the sublime, the feeling that the forces of natu re excite from cultured European man, and the other with his teleological reas oning of man’s existence. In “Analytic of the Sublime,” Kant describes the feeling of the sublime as “a feeling of pain, aris ing from the want of the accordance between the aesthetical es timation of magnitude formed by the Imagination and the estimation of the same formed by Reason” (119). He goes on to say that the feeling of the sublim e at the same time includes an excited pleasure, “arising from the correspondence with rational Ideals of this very judgment of the inadequacy of our greatest faculty of Sense.” A few pages la ter, Kant points out th at for “the uneducated man” who has not developed moral ideas a nd has not been prepared by culture, the sublime is being (mis)interpreted as “the terrible” (130). From Kant’s remarks on the sublime and the terrible, Spivak uncovers the figure of the “uneducated man” who reads the sublime as the terrible as a result of ha ving not been initiated into culture (12-13). Although the uneducated in Kant often refer to the child, the poor and the woman, Spivak

PAGE 22

14 proposes to read the “uneducated man” as “man in the raw” [ dem rohen Menschen ], thus suggestive of “the savage and the primitive” (13). The raw man unequipped by the culture (of the higher classes), Spivak points out, is finally named in “Analytic of the Teleological Judgment” when Kant makes a casual allusion to the Australian aboriginal and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego in his discussion of the final cause of men’s existence (26). As Kant remarks in an after-thought manner: For example, grass is needful for the ox, which again is needful for man as a means of existence, but then we do not see why it is necessary that men should exist (a question this, which we shall not find so easy to answer if we sometimes cast our thoughts on the New Hollanders or the inha bitants of Tierra del Fuego). So conceived, the thing is not even a natura l purpose, for neither it (nor its whole genus) is to be regarded as a natural product. (284) In this critical “anthropological moment” in Kant, where he is on the way to sublate physical teleology as theology, meaning finally attributing God as the final cause of being, Spivak uncovers the figure of the nati ve informant in both the New Hollanders and the Fuegans. Furthermore, this uncovering e xposes the “lack” in the Kantian subject of teleological reason, whose formulation is base d on the exclusion of the Aboriginal. Crucial to Spivak’s critique of the figure of the native informant in Kant’s text is the paradoxical role it is assi gned to play. Both the New Holla nders and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego inserted in the parentheses are “both needed and foreclosed.” Despite being “only a casual object of thought,” in Spivak ’s words, they are needed to supplement Kant’s contemplation of the final cause of men’s existence, which Kant later attributes to be the work of God. But at th e same time they are foreclosed to becoming the Kantian subject of reason. Equally important, as they operate in Kant’s frame of intelligibility, which as I have pointed out hinges on teleological reasoning and sublates God as the final purposes of beings, the A boriginal of the New Hollander and Tierra de

PAGE 23

15 Fuego cannot hope to become the subjects endowed with speech. Within the “axiomatics of imperialism,” Spivak notes, it is imperative that the natives “ cannot be the subject of speech or judgment in the world of the Critique ” (26). She adds that “the subject as such in Kant is geopolitically differentiated” ( 26-27), thus excluding those who live outside the West. On the other hand, their exclusion by Kant based on geographical consideration is strategic because it works to solidify Kant ’s view of the difference between cultured European bourgeois society and other non-Wester n societies that have yet to follow in the steps of Europe (31-32). This geographical and cultural difference thus constitutes his Eurocentrism, which legitimizes the view that “Europe is the global legislator” (33). As the “dangerous supplement,” to use Jac ques Derrida’s concept-metaphor, the New Hollanders and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego show how the non-Western subjects are often excluded in the We stern mode of representati on, though being invoked as the racial/ethnic Other at the margin of the text Spivak’s uncovering of the figure of the native informant in Kant thus makes visible “t he foreclosure of the subject whose lack of access to the position of narrator is the conditi on of possibility of the consolidation of Kant’s position” (9). By demonstrating the foreclosure of the Aboriginal as human subjects in Kant Spivak also highlights the “lack” at the “o rigin” of Enlightenment philosophy (Kassim 172). The lack marked by the rejection ( Verwerfung ) of the Aboriginal allows for the construction of the cultured European subj ect endowed with free dom of desire and morality in Kant’s philosophy (Spivak 2627; 32n). The notion of foreclosure ( Verwerfung ), Spivak notes, is taken from Lacanian psychoanalysis (4). In The Language of Psycho-Analysis J. Laplanche and J.-B. Pontalis tr ack the use of foreclosure in Lacan,

PAGE 24

16 developed through Freud’s Wolf Man case and “Negation,” to include the senses of refusal, reputation, disavowal, withdrawal and expulsion. Using Freud’s “Negation” as a basis, Lacan defines foreclosure as “a primary process . embodying two complementary operations: the Einbeziehung ins Ich introduction into the subject, and the Ausstossung aus dem Ich expulsion from the subject” (L aplanche and Pontalis 168). To simplify Lacan’s more complex understa nding of foreclosure, the notion of foreclosure describes a defense mechanism us ed by a psychotic subj ect to expel that which is repressed from the Symbolic, and it thus marks the subse quent return of the repressed in the Real (166-68) Foreclosure, for Lacan, thus marks the symbolization that fails to materialize and subsequently reappe ars in the Real. According to Spivak, the foreclosure of the Aboriginal from the subject in Kant follows a similar path in the Lacanian analysis: “ Einbeziehung ins Ich introduction into the reflective judgment; and Ausstossung aus dem Ich expulsion from the subject, in to the noumenon” (28-9). Even when Kant considers man as noumenon, the raw man still falls outside of Kant’s conceptual frame because for the philosopher, as Spivak notes, “the uncultivated reason of the raw man cannot conceptualize man as noumenon either” (32). She further notes that the complicity between Kant’s philosophy and the needs of cultural imperialism is “a permanent necessity.” For Spivak, Lacanian psychoanalysis also pr ovides a useful technique for “reading the pre-emergence (Raymond Williams’s term) of narrative as ethical instantiation” (4). By way of a literary transference, this Lacan ian notion of foreclosure enables Spivak to read the New Hollanders and the inhabitant s of Tierra del Fuego as simultaneously needed and foreclosed in Kant’s text. They are introduced into the reflective judgment of

PAGE 25

17 Kant, but are precluded from becoming the Kantian subject of reason and morality (2829). As the para-subjects not yet initiated in to (European) culture of higher classes, the natives of Australia and Tierra del Fuego cannot become full human subjects. For Kant, culture, along with civil legisla tion and faith, is a key element that initiates subjects into humanity capable of reason, morality, desire and other faculties. However, this determining element excludes non-Western cu ltures. Assessing the effect of the foreclosure of the native informant, Spivak notes that the aporia between the raw man and the Kantian subject should have made Kant ’s text unreadable but its readability is enabled by “ignoring the aporia, passing th rough it by way of the axiomatics of imperialism” (34). Spivak’s counter-narrative that exposes the foreclosure of the native informant thus is her intervention into the discourse of the Enlight enment philosophy that has conspired, wittingly or unwittingly, with the needs of imperialism. In addition to Lacan’s notion of foreclosure, Spivak also credits the works of Paul de Man and Jacques Derrida for enabling he r to detect the structure of the native informant in the discourse of the enlightenme nt philosophers and to “read it otherwise.” Of de Man’s version of deconstruction, Sp ivak notes that de Man has shown in his reading of Rousseau and others that what claims to be true is merely a trope. Moreover, the insight of de Man, says Spivak, is that following the tropological critique, he does not attempt to reinstate a “corrected” version of the truth. Instead, the second performative critique for de Man only seeks to “discl ose how the corrective impulse within the tropological analysis is obliged to act out a lie in attempting to establish it as the corrected version of truth” (18-9). Of Derrida ’s body of work, Spivak says that Derrida’s notion of the parergon an addition to the ergon or the work, is instrumental in her

PAGE 26

18 detection of the figure of the foreclosed na tive informant in Kant and others (34). In The Truth in Painting, Derrida explains the operation of the parergon as “something which comes as an extra, exterior to the proper field . of pure reason . but whose transcendent exteriority comes to play . against the limit itself and intervene in the inside only to the extent that the inside is lacking. It is lacking in something and it is lacking from itself . . It needs the supplementary wo rk” (56). This passage articulates deconstruction’s strategy of reading from the margin through the figure of the parergon which helps destabilize the hier archical relation between the inside and the outside. More important, this exterior/supplemental figure not only exposes the lack in the inside but also the lack within and thus its need for a supplemen t. Although Derrida is known to be interested in calling into question self-presence, thus his attention to the lack within, the notion of the relationship between the inside (Self) and the outside (Other) is indispensable for investigating and displacing binary oppositions. Worth noting here is that De rrida uncovers the figure of parerga (translated as ornaments) in his attentive reading of Kant’s “Analytic of the Beautiful” in The Critique of Judgment Kant explains parerga /ornaments as “those things which do not belong to the complete representation of the object inte rnally as elements but only externally as complements, and which augment the satisfac tion of taste” (76). He goes on to say that they appear in the form of “the frames of pictures, or the draperies of statues or the colonnades of palaces” (ibid.). This Kantian passage significantly informs Derrida’s own formulation of parergon It also shows how Derrida enga ged with Kant’s remarks on the aesthetic judgment on taste: by foregrounding the marginalized parentheses both in the main text and the footnote supplemented by Kant to bolster his argument in the main text

PAGE 27

19 regarding the judgment of taste (45). Learni ng from Derrida’s readi ng strategy that calls attention to the margin, Spivak notes that th e raw man influencing the inside from outside the work in Kant is the gain yielded by the parergon (34). That is, the New Hollanders and the Fuegans operate like one of the parerga in Kant’s third Critique. Of her deconstructive reading strategy, Spivak writes: The challenge of deconstruction is not to excuse, but to suspend accusation to examine with painstaking care if the protocols of the text contains [sic] a moment that can produce something that will generate a new and useful reading . a lever of intervention Such a lever . can be perceived as a moment of transgression in the text—or a moment of bafflement that discloses not only limits and but also possibilities to a new pol itics of reading. (98) Her detection of the figure of the native info rmant operative in the texts of Kant, Hegel (the teleological movement of the Spirit from the East to the West) and Marx (Asiatic mode of production) thus is her intervention into the “master discourse” by seizing those moments of transgress ion or bafflement that simultane ously invoke and foreclose the non-Western Others in di fferent incarnations. In the end, Spivak’s reading of the text s of the “three wise men” of European Enlightenment is as much about showcasing deconstruction’s ethical concern about the Other residing at the margin of the text as about tracking the figure of the native informant. Of the margin, she writes: [it] is the impossible boundary marking o ff the wholly other, and the encounter with the wholly other, as it may be figur ed, has an unpredictabl e relationship to our ethical rules. The named marginal is as mu ch a concealment as a disclosure of the margin; and where s/he discloses, s/he is singular. (173) This double gesture informs her deconstructive cr itical vigilance that the Other be effaced while being disclosed simultaneously. Thus, Spivak’s critique of the invocation and foreclosure of the native informant in Western epistemology is followed up by a sec ond procedure to “read otherwise” this

PAGE 28

20 ethnic/racial figure. She propos es to resignify it as the na me marking the effect of difference that the West, as Derrida has noted, has tried unsuccessfully to contain (17). In “The Ends of Man,” Derrida points out that th e West has tried to c ontain its racial Other not only by mastering it but also by “affecting itself with it ” (113). In the same essay, Derrida also notes that the hist ory of the concept of man has not been critically examined and is treated as if it “had no origin, no historical, cultural or linguistic limit” (116). In her view, Derrida’s comment on man can be said of the native and woman. Spivak’s rethinking of the figure of the native inform ant as the absolute Other, or alterity, continues Derrida’s critique of the humanist notion of the “authentic man” with selfpresence. She makes it clear that she now resi gnifies “the ‘native informant’ as a name for that mark of expulsion from the name of Man—a mark crossing out the impossibility of the ethical relation” (6). The ethical re lationship with the ethnic/racial Other is impossible, because, true to the paradoxical nature of deconstruction, ethics here is understood as a concept-metaphor, as “the ex perience of the impo ssible” (427). Spivak explains this paradox thus: along with justice and law, gift and responsibility, ethics and politics are “structureless struct ures” with the first item of each pair “neither available nor unavailable” (427). Ethics thus is being disc losed while being effaced, or marked but put under erasure. Spivak’s rethinking of the native informant as radical alterity or differance thus is her answer to Derrida’s call to disc lose and efface the Other at the same time, reinforcing his politics of ethics. Spivak further re-envisions the figure of the native informant as a deconstructive reading strategy, as “the imagined and (im) possible perspective,” hence her formulation of “the native informant” as (im)possible perspective (9; 49). Although she demonstrates

PAGE 29

21 the invocation and foreclosure of the natives in Kant, Spivak does not call for restoring their foreclosed perspectives. On the contrary, she critiques the notion of the “authentic ethnic” who claims to speak for the hitherto foreclosed ethnic/racial Other of the West, a (mis)representation that she thinks tarnishes some writings on Third Worldism (60). The elite of the global South, in her view, often hides behind such unexamined “nativism” to oppress their people. Moreover, she seeks to preserve the space of the absolute Other (figured as the subaltern, as the woman, as the native informant) by insisting on the (im)possible perspective of the native informant. The value of insisti ng on the (im) of the (im)possibility of the native perspective, says Spivak, is that it pre-empts the emergence of a totalizing one, a pivotal deconstruction lesson ( In Other Worlds 308; 81n). For Spivak, the reconfigured native informant is, in effect, a tropological figure that turns to become the “imagined and (im)possible persp ective” that resides at the margins of her reading. One of Spivak’s goals in reading othe rwise is to make determined concepts turn, or to suspend the determination ( Bestimmung ) in them, in order to produce what she calls a new, useful reading. Spivak reinforces this notion of the nativ e informant as an (i m)possible perspective in her deconstructive readi ng of Hegel’s reading of Gita an addition to the Hindu scripture, Mahabharata While one can imagine oneself as occupying the position of “the implied reader contemporary with the G ita” in reading Hegel’s comments on Gita, Spivak argues that this kind of reading strategy fails to addr ess the problem of unexamined culturalism or nativism. She insist s that neither the col onial subject nor the postcolonial subject can inhabi t the (im)possible perspective of the native informant or the implied contemporary reader or receiver (62). Similarly, in reading South African

PAGE 30

22 writer J.M. Coetzee’s Foe a short novel that reworks Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe Spivak suggests that the native, Friday, who is incapable of speech because of the mutilation of his tongue, is the “unemphatic ag ent of withholding in the text” and should not be interpreted as an informant (190). The withholding of information as to the conditions that led to the cruelty visited upon Friday can be read as a secret that cannot be unlocked, she argues. In other words, the (im) possible perspective of the native informant is Spivak’s deconstructive reading strategy that disclose the figure of the native informant but refuses to restore this foreclosed perspectiv e in order to preserve that critical space of the absolute Other. The (im)possible perspectiv e of the native informant, as Spivak puts it, is “a desire for permanent parabasi s” (362), by which she means “sustained interruption from a source relating ‘otherwise’ ( allegorien = speaking otherwise) to the continuous unfolding of the main system of m eaning” (430). The term parabasis, as Mark Sanders points out, has its origin in Greek drama: literally meaning stepping aside, it refers to the intervention of the chorus and th at of the author in theater (par. 7). Sanders also notes that the permanent parabasis, as embedded in the Spivakian figure of the native informant that makes visible “shadowy count erscene” in master discourse (37), stems from Paul de Man’s Allegories of Reading where parabasis emerges as a figure of interruption in de Man’s recas ting of allegory in terms of parabasis and irony. As “permanent parabasis,” the (im)possible perspec tive of the native informant in Spivak is the figure that haunts and disr upts the text with the problem of the irreducible Other. To sum up Spivak’s re-examination of the figure of the native informant, the figure taken from ethnography: the native is both needed to provide information for the ethnographer and at the same time is forecl osed to obtaining the subject-position or

PAGE 31

23 becoming a narrator. Under her deconstruction readi ng strategy, the figure of the native informant as a determined concept is being tu rned; it is being transformed into a reader’s perspective, among others. But it is a perspec tive that does not seek to restore the lost perspective of the native informant, and as such, it is called as the (im)possible perspective of the native informant. The (im) possible perspective of the native informant is one that is yet “to co me” or “on the way” (Spiva k, “Response” 211), all the while exposing the double structure of invocation and foreclosure of the native in master discourse, dismantling the hierarchy betw een master and native and showing the complicity between native hegemony and th e axiomatics of imperialism (37). Native Informant and Accumulation by Dispossession My dissertation takes the figure of the na tive informant as a starting point, using this marginal figure to examine the representation of the ethnic/racial Other in three novels by James Fenimore Cooper, Herman Melville and Joseph Conrad. In doing so, I also examine three historical specific phenomena in American continent the figure of the native/Other discloses and forecloses: pr imitive accumulation of capital through the dispossession and privatization of Indian land (The Pioneers ), U.S. literary Orientalism and Western territorial imperialism ( Moby Dick ), and primitive and modern accumulation of capital through the exploitation of indigenous labor and Western capitalist imperialism ( Nostromo ). While Spivak’s subaltern deconstruc tion politics of reading emphasizes the native informant as an (im)possible perspec tive, my dissertation project focuses on the dialectic and dynamic relations between literary representation and hist orical and material conditions. I am interested in interrogating the Western mode of narration that invokes and forecloses the Other that consolidates th e West as the guaranto r of truth, power and representation, and in the conscr iption and foreclosure of the Others to either justify the

PAGE 32

24 primitive accumulation of capital and bourgeois ri ght to private proper ty or to critique modern accumulation of capital and Western im perialism. Melville’s appropriation of the Islamic Other, however, does not fit neatly wi th the above description as his contains both reactionary and subversive threads. Thus, in my reading of the three novels I supplement Spivak’s critique of the foreclos ure of the native informant with Marx’s notion of primitive accumulation and Davi d Harvey’s recent articulation of “accumulation by dispossession.” The two major frames that run through my dissertation chapters help ground my project in the tradition of post-coloni al criticism that examines the Western cultural hegemony and Marxist cl ass politics that fore grounds the issue of labor. In Capital, Vol. One Marx points out that the colonization of America through state-sponsored violence constitutes one of “the chief moments of primitive accumulation” (915). Building on Marx’s in sights, Harvey in his recent work, The New Imperialism argues that the primitive accumulation th at Marx saw as the pre-history of modern capital has not ceased to exist in the capitalist m ode of production. Moreover, following Hannah Arendt in The Origins of Totalitarianism Harvey maintains that “accumulation by dispossession” is “an important and continuing force in the historical geography of capital accumulation through impe rialism” (143). For Harvey, the concept of accumulation by dispossession encompa ss many predatory capitalist practices including commodification of “cultural forms, histories and intellectual creativity” (148). Its most powerful mechanism, however, is pr ivatization of public sectors, a global neoliberal economic policy that is represente d as “economic reforms” in post-Communist Russia and China and other countries. Harvey also cites the Asian financial crisis of

PAGE 33

25 1997-98 as one of the many examples in whic h accumulation by dispossession was in use to help resolve the crisis of capital overaccu mulation, idle capital not employed in either productive or speculative use. Harvey cl early uses the concept of accumulation by dispossession to articulate the modern mechanisms, including national debts and international credit system, through which contemporary global capitalism attempts to solve its crises of overaccumulation. However, in reading The Pioneers and Nostromo I appropriate his concept to underscore the historical processes in which the West expropriated the indigenous of their lands and natural resources and created material conditions in which appropriation of surplus labor could be extrac ted. Although I did not pursue the direct link between accumulation of capital through the expropriation of the non-Western Others in Moby Dick it should be pointed out th at the Oriental fever in America and Europe in the 19th century followed Napoleon’s conquest of Egypt in 1798. Thus, Harvey’s concept of accumulation by dispossession connotes for me in the following chapters both the expropriation of indigenous land and (surplus) labor for the accumulation of capital, in addition to the ne o-liberal dispossessions mentioned above. To illustrate the invocation and foreclosur e of the native/Other as a predominant, though sometimes hidden, narrative pattern in We stern literary repr esentation, I propose to read three Western classi cs, James Fenimore Cooper’s The Pioneers (1823), Herman Melville’s Moby Dick (1851) and Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo (1904). Although there are many literary works that deal with the representation of the Others and globalization of capital, the three texts are particularly useful for my geographic mapping of “accumulation by dispossession” and for my anal ysis of the dialectical relationships between the literary representa tion and the historical and ma terial conditions that gave

PAGE 34

26 rise to the representation. Mo re importantly, the three novels allow me to demonstrate the ways in which the literary figure of the na tive/Other both discloses and forecloses the dispossession of the indigenous people and/ or the appropriation of their voices and culture by Western writers. The fact that each of the three works concerns itself with a non-Western Other shows that how each novelist was haunted by the Other of his time. It also illustrates how Western imagination, more often than not, relies on an Other in the literary production, somewhat mirroring the pr imitive accumulation of Western capital by way of expropriating various ethnic/racial Others. Writing in 1820s, Cooper was still preoccupi ed by the problem of dispossessed Indians and the related questions of law and justice. In The Pioneers he attempted to solve the Indian problem and r acial conflicts by giving voices to the expropriated natives. The “Indian” voices, which both disclose and foreclose the primitive accumulation of capital as I will show, end up justifying the dispossession of the Indians and asserting bourgeois right to property on the American fr ontier, which is further maintained by the bourgeois heterosexual family. The forecl osure of the Indian perspective and naturalization of accumulation by dispossession t hus work hand in hand to perpetuate the “myth of the frontier” that misrepresent s America as “a wide-open land of unlimited opportunity for the strong, ambitious, self-reliant individual to thrust his way to the top” (Slotkin 5). This colonialist ideo logy, Richard Slotkin suggests in Regeneration Through Violence becomes the “structuring metaphor of the American experience” that nevertheless resorts to violence against the Indians to seize thei r land and regenerate wealth for the white colonialists (ibid.). More than a quarter century later, Melville took bourgeois right to property as a given, as the law of both the land and the sea. And he was

PAGE 35

27 preoccupied with another historical phenome non of his time: Oriental revival that swept both America and Europe in the 19th century following Napoleon’s conquest of Egypt in 1798. Influenced by Oriental feve r, Melville appropriated Orie ntal images and customs to supplement his tale on the American whaling a nd the hunt for the elusive white whale. In doing so, he also questioned the efforts to ex plain the Oriental Other to the West by the act of subversive foreclosur e. At the dawn of the 20th century, Conrad was critical of imperialism as capital extended its reach around the globe through th e export of finance capital. He thus explored this issue in his pol itical fiction set in South America, depicting how American and European capital is flowi ng into Costaguana to exploit that nation’s rich silver mine worked by the indigenous work ers and to build railway to facilitate its transportation to the overseas markets. His critique of imperialist capitalism, however, forecloses the perspectives of the indigenous miners whose labor produces wealth for capital. The act of invoking and foreclosing the Other, be it Native Americans in The Pioneers the Islamic Orient in Moby Dick or the Amerindians in Nostromo thus reproduces the West’s cultural hegemony, though in Moby Dick Melville also enacts a subversive foreclosure to resist antebellum American cultural imperialism. The three texts, on the other hand, provide a window into the economic, social and cultural needs of Euro-American capitalism and imperialism. They are useful texts, among the many Western literary and cultur al productions, in mapping th e production of wealth and literature and culture by the United States a nd Europe through the various appropriations of their racial Others. Those appropriations include those of indigenous land and voice after the American Revolution ( The Pioneers ), those of Islamic culture and customs

PAGE 36

28 during the territorial expansi on of the United States into the West and the South as a young empire ( Moby Dick ) and those of indigenous natu ral resources and forced and wage labor during Spanish coloni alism and after independence ( Nostromo ). Second, those texts, despite their diffe rences, rely on non-Western Others to construct a (white/European ) national identity or nati onhood. As novelist and literary critic Toni Morrison suggests in Playing in the Dark slavery and racial alterity are essential to the construction of American na tional identity. “Africanism is the vehicle by which the American self knows itself as not enslaved, but free; ... not damned, but innocent; not a blind accident of evolution, but a progressive fulfillment of destiny,” she notes (52). Malini Johar Schuelle r in her study of U.S. Orientalisms advances Morrison’s insights to suggest that U.S. literary Orientalis m in its subversive vein was “the site of a triadic encounter in which the Africanist and Native American presences returned to haunt and question the cultural and politic al hegemony of the New World” (9-10). Indeed, in those texts we can see the conve rgence of nation and empire building through the conscription of the various racial and ethnic Others. The resolution of the Indian problem in The Pioneers paves the way for the construction of white American identity and nationhood (Scheckel 3-14). The invoc ation of the Islamic Orient in Moby Dick helps foster an American identity formed around the whaling industry, which until the early 19th century was regarded as a national indus try contributing to the wealth of the nation. The surplus labor of the indigenous miners in Nostromo helps finance the separatist movement led by Europeans and Creoles in Su laco and the birth of a new nation, Sulaco, with the aid of the United States m ilitary and finance capital.

PAGE 37

29 The history of Western capitalism is inco mplete without taking into account the question of the land and the natives indigenous to it. As Marx and Engels described the embryonic moments of cap italist globalization, The discovery of America, the roundi ng of the Cape, opened up fresh ground for the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian a nd Chinese markets, the colonization of America, trade with the colonies, the incr ease in the means of exchange and in commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an impulse never before known, and thereby, to the re volutionary element in the tottering feudal society, a rapid development. (Tucker, “Manifesto” 474) This remarkable passage, remarkable fr om the vantage point of contemporary globalization or what Harvey in Spaces of Hope calls “uneven geographical developments” (chapters 4-5), shows how globalization of industrial capitalism in its earlier phase depended as much on the a ppropriation and privatization of land and colonization of the indigenous population as on the production of commodities and the production of means of communicat ions and transportation. In Facing West, the Metaphysics of Indian-hating and Empire-building Richard Drinnon concurs the Marxist view of primitive accumulation or accumulation by dispossession in his study of the genocide of the natives in the Pequot War of 1636 and his critique of European imperialism (46). The appropriation of land as an alienable commodity to be sold on the market and the dispossession of the natives made possible the production of capitalist space secured by the bourgeois right to privat e property. The reproduc tion of capitalist social relations in turn depended on the regul ation of gender and sexuality secured by the bourgeois heterosexual family, an important bourgeois institution to secure the transfer of private property. In Chapter 2 on Cooper’s The Pioneers I use the figure of the native informant to examine how Cooper wrestled with the questi on of the dispossession of the Indians and

PAGE 38

30 the means through which he naturalized accumulation by dispossession. I argue that Cooper’s “Indian” voices embodied by the old Indian chief Chingachgook and appropriated by Edward Oliver Effingham, a white man who passes as the native named Oliver Edwards to reclaim his family’s prope rty, actually work to justify white ownership of the Indian land and defend bourgeois propert y right. So is Leatherstocking’s. Their “Indian” voices also work to justify the ideology of the “vanishing American,” a prevailing ideology of Cooper’s time that justified the dis possession of the Indians as inevitable. Above all, the concealment and di sclosure of Effingham’s white identity and patronym allows Cooper to fundamentally sh ift the land dispute be tween the Mohegans and Judge Temple to one between two white old friends—Effingham’ s birth father and the Judge. The leitmotif of the veil, whic h conceals the friendship and business relationship between Effingham’s father a nd the Judge and hides Effingham’s white lineage, thus functions to c over up the provenance of Judge Temple’s landed property. The land dispute also foregrounds the stake i nvolved in taking on a name, a patronym. As Judith Butler points out, “the name is a token of a symbolic order, an order of social law . . The name as patronym does not only b ear the law, but institutes the law” ( Bodies 152-54). The appropriation of the Indian name and lineage and their abandonment coupled with the resumption of the real whit e patronym as a solution to the land dispute in Cooper thus show how the name of the father in an emerging capitalist community, Templeton, is both tied up with and secure d by the law of privat e property, which is further cemented by the “institu tion of sexual difference and compulsory heterosexuality” (152), that is, the bourgeois heterosexual fa mily. So, it comes no surprise that Cooper ends The Pioneers in a happy note, with the ma rriage between Young Effingham and

PAGE 39

31 Judge Temple’s daughter, Elizabeth, since their union helps perpetuate the bourgeois model of family founded on heterosexuality and private property. Also in the union between the young couple, Cooper assert s patriarchal rule of law. I thus argue that The Pioneers with its conscription and foreclosure of native voice is an excellent text in which we can see the privatization of Indian land on the one hand, and accumulation of landed property in th e hands of the white settlers and the reproduction of patriarchal capitalist social relations through the hegemony of heterosexuality and private property on th e other. The devices of “Indian” voice, “concealment and unveiling” and marriage used by Cooper in The Pioneers are similar to what Fredric Jameson calls “a strategy of ideological containment”—a procedure in representation that works to prevent a deeper understanding of the soci al relations in its totality from emerging, and thus helps preserve the status quo (53). In this chapter, I also look at the native informant as an (im)possi ble perspective by examining the historical and material conditions that led to the disappear ing of the Indian trib es. I argue that what makes it impossible to maintain the perspectives of the native informants is the effect of the political, territorial and ec onomic changes that contribute to the deterritorialization and dispossession of the Indians. Cooper’s representation of Chingachgook and his dying tribe seems to suggest this view. Global capitalism, despite its colonization of the indigenous peoples in Americas and elsewhere with violence, had contributed to globalization of co mmodities, as well as culture and religion, and conti nues to do so. Capitalist globali zation, as Marx and Engels wrote in “Manifesto,” creates the material c onditions in which “we have intercourse in every direction ... The intellectual creati ons of individual nations become common

PAGE 40

32 property” (476-77). On the lite rary and cultural front, it creat es a material condition from which rises “a world literatur e” from among “the numerous national and local literatures” (477). It is in such a historical context th at we should theorize the rise of modern Orientalism and that of the U.S. literary Orientalism. The West’s interest in the Islamic Orient in the 18th and 19th centuries reflected the flow of knowledge through commerce and navigation on the one hand and construc tion of the West through the Other on the other. The rise of modern Orienta lism, as Edward Said has argued in Orientalism cannot be separated from Western imperialism a nd colonialism. For example, Napoleon’s conquest of Egypt in 1798 helped fuel the E gyptian revival in both Europe and America. The opening of trade in the Indian Ocean and China Sea helped give rise to the genre of Oriental tale in American fi ction in the 1780s (Luedtke 63). The Arabian Nights’ Entertainment published in 1794, became a best seller in America, selling more than 40,000 copies in its first decade to become a fa vorite for children and adults alike (64). Melville, Hawthorne and Poe are among the wr iters touched by “its magic” (ibid.). The popularity of another Oriental tale, The Arabian Nights helped intensify the rage for the Orient in the United States duri ng the first two decades of the 19th century; the tales in The Arabian Nights were to have “a direct impact” on Melville’s early writing (ibid.). While the Islamic Orient would not become Melville’s subject matter until his later work, Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land (1876), the appropriation of Oriental images and Oriental allusions a bound in his earlier works, especially in Moby Dick which on the surface is an American tale about a capta in haunted by an elusive white whale, and allegorically a tale about the future of the United States, as symbolized by the whale ship, divided by the issue of sl avery. The many allusions to the Islamic

PAGE 41

33 Orient in Moby Dick such as Ramadan, the Ottoman Empire, the harem and Egyptian hieroglyphics and pyramids, ar e indicative of the currency of Orientalism in the 19th American literary scenes. By the middle of the 19th century, the Orient had become a fertile ground for Wester n literary imagination ( Orientalism 192). In Chapter 3 on Melville’s Moby Dick I focus on his use of the Islamic Orient, which I argue operates in some instances as the “native informant” that is both invoked and foreclosed in Ishmael’s na rrative. Moreover, I scrutinize the tensions in Melville’s conscription of the Orient by examining the two contending forces in his Orientalism. That is, I contend that the Orientalism in Moby Dick has two opposing pulls, encompassing both conformist and subversive Orientalism. What marks those two forms of Orientalism is the nature of foreclosur e. In his traditional mode of Orientalism, Melville invoked the Orient, as other writers of his time did, as a literary fashion to accommodate the reading public’s curiosity abou t the Orient. Thus, we find Ishmael often invokes the Orient to exalt the American whaling industry and assert its supremacy or to spice up his tale about the leviathan that travels around the globe. The Orient thus invoked is also simultaneously foreclosed a nd functions as the Other supplementing or complementing the West. On the other hand, Melville subverted the dominant form of Western Orientalism by foreclosing what the Orient is suppose d to signify. This form of critical foreclosure thus calls into question the efforts by th e West, as in Egyptology, to explain and unveil the Orient to the West, undermining its authority as the holder of knowledge and truth on the Orient. Th is double use of foreclosure in Moby Dick however, poses challenges to the reading of th e mystic Oriental figure, Fedallah. Melville scholars have divided on how to read Fedalla h’s foreclosed perspective. One camp reads

PAGE 42

34 the foreclosure of his perspective as signs of Western cultural imperialism, while the opposite camp regards it as Melv ille’s attempt to resist the imperialist impulse to speak for or through the Other. Either way, the debate on the foreclosure foregrounds the dilemmas of reading and representing the Other in post-colonial and anti-colonial discourse in the West. While historicizing the genesis of industri al capital, Marx notes that the conquest and plunder of native America, India and Africa by European nations contributed to the primitive accumulation of capital. With regard to the subjugation of the American indigenous peoples, he points to the major cause: that contin ent’s rich mineral resources. As he writes, the “discovery of gold and silv er in America, the extirpation, enslavement and entombment in mines of the indigenous population of that c ontinent,” were among the atrocities that characterized “the da wn of the era of capitalist production” ( Capital Vol. One 915). Marx thus exposes some chief moments of primitive accumulation of capital in history that relied on the forces of the state as an economic and military power to colonize the indigenous in the American continent and to exploit their labor. In the early 20th century, Conrad launched his own critiq ue of capitalism of his time and its relentless pursuit of material interests. In “Autocracy and War” (1905), Conrad writes, Industrialism and commercialism—w earing high-sounding names in many languages . —stand ready, almost eager, to appeal to the sword as soon as the globe of the earth has shrunk beneath our growing numbers by another ell or so. And democracy, which has elected to pin its faith to the supremacy of material interests, will have to fight their battles to the bitter end . unless . . (107) In Nostromo Conrad fictionalizes his critique of capitalism, using the fictional San Tome silver mine to show the devastating effects of relentless pursuit of material interests by the representative of industrial capital, Ch arles Gould, who pins hi s “faith on material interests” (100), and his ally, finance capit al. Moreover, he dramatizes the so-called

PAGE 43

35 “resource curse” haunting Sulaco, a port town in a fictional South American country by showing how those haunted by the silver mine or its ingots become alienated from their fellow human beings. Nostromo a dramatization of what Ha rvey calls accumulation by dispossession, thus provides us a glimpse into the exploitation of the American continent and its natural resources as well as the seemingly endless revolutions and counterrevolutions fought over its na tural resources in the early 20th century, with finance capital originating from the United States a nd Europe pulling the st rings behind different warring factions. In Chapter 4 on Conrad’s Nostromo again I deploy the figure of the native informant to open up the text for a read ing that foregrounds the invocation and foreclosure of the Indian mine rs of the San Tome mine. Desp ite being rendered mute, the Indian miners constitute the ma terial base of the silver mine that is the central figure of Conrad’s analysis of capitalist imperialism and its relentless pursuit of material interests. Residing at the margin of the novel, the indi genous miners have been neglected by most Conrad scholars but they, as I will show, haunt the novel’ s narrative and intrude upon the consciousness of other European characters, so me of whom narrate th e history of the San Tome mine and its miners. Significantly, th e haunting both discloses and forecloses accumulation by dispossession in its primitive an d modern forms. The foreclosure of the indigenous perspective, I also ar gue, is the effect of Conrad’s mode of representation: the native miners are being represented by the Europeans who own or govern the mine. The exclusion of their voice thus is symptomatic of the unequal class and race structures in the imaginary country of Costaguana. Furtherm ore, their foreclosure is the condition of possibility for the novel’s title character Nostromo, the Ital ian sailor, to emerge as a

PAGE 44

36 representative of the People. In this chapter, I also attempt to develop a Marxist reading of spectrality by examining the haunting elem ents in the novel, including Mrs. Gould’s watercolor painting of the San Tome gorge that is a stand-in for capital. I therefore argue that what is really haunting the mine, the G oulds, the town of Sulaco and Costaguana, is the specter of global capitalism, especially fi nance capital that flows from North America and Europe to develop and colonize this silver-rich country. Th e primitive accumulation of capital during the Spanish colonialism and later the accumulation of the Goulds’ wealth that finances Sulaco’s latest counter-revolution, as Conrad’s narrative shows, are impossible without the exploita tion of labor: the labor of th e Sulaco Indian miners. Perhaps, it is (un)befitting that I end the introduction with a brief turn to Hegel, the master of Other, and his Phenomenology of Spirit There, through the rhetorical language on the dialectic between lordship (the lord ) and bondage (the bondsman), Hegel shows that in order to become self-conscious, the Sp irit has to rely on an other by recognizing its existence, thereby its own. Recognition of the other, thus, becomes the enabling condition for the Spirit to eventually re gain self-knowledge and obtain absolute knowledge. Despite Hegel’s idealism and teleolog ical reason, his theory of the alienation of the Spirit puts his fingers on an important facet of human rela tionship, recognition of the self through the other. To a certain extent, the cons truction of the Other by the Western Self follows this seemingly ines capable path, but often at the cost of marginalizing the non-Western Other. In deploying the figure of the native inform ant to read the three Western classics, I have attempted to show how the marginal or marginalized figures—the dispossessed native Americans, the Islamic Orient and th e exploited Amerindians—are what Derrida

PAGE 45

37 calls the “dangerous supplement” that ha unts the so-called center (American nationhood, American identity and finan ce capital) from the margin. This figure of the non-Western Other also helps expose accumulation of cap ital by dispossessing its various Others directly or indirectly. Rousing the native in formant from the Western mode of narration that relies on the invocation and foreclosure of the Other is only the first step toward a more rigorous investigation of the construction of the Other in Western literature, but it is a beginning, one that could yiel d more insights by critically examining the historical and material conditions that gave ri se to such a representation.

PAGE 46

38 CHAPTER 2 PASSING IN COOPER’S THE PIONEERS : NATIVE INFORMANTS, PATRONYM AND PRIVATE PROPERTY Among its many concerns, Cooper’s third novel The Pioneers (1823), as Susan Scheckel points out, is particularly concer ned with origins and history, both individual and national. Described by Cooper as a “descr iptive tale,” the novel depicts American frontier scenes, including a Christmas Turk ey shoot, maple sugar harvesting, pigeon shooting and bass fishing, an influence that could be traced to Cooper’s contemporary writer James Kirke Paulding for its American materials (Philbrick 581; 584). But Cooper was also interested in how to account for ear ly American history, both before and after the American Revolution, through the “charm of fiction,” that is, th rough a fiction about the founding of Templeton, a fictional frontier town in New York that resembles in some ways Cooperstown, the New York town that bears the name of Cooper’s father, Judge William Cooper. To account for this history of revolution and conquest and the forming of national identity, Scheckel also notes, Cooper was compelled to confront one of the political problems of his day: how to jus tify the removal of the Indians from their ancestral lands. The Indian problem is a problem of historical import in early 19thcentury America because it had a huge impact on the expansion of the white settlements on the lands the Revolution had won from the British crown. Janet E. Dean calls The Pioneers a historical novel for confronting th e crisis of Cooper’s day. The novel, in her view, fits Marxist critic Geor g Lukacs’s model of the historical novel, a genre that he defined in The Historical Novel as expressing “artistically a great crisis in society by

PAGE 47

39 bringing extreme, opposing forces . into a human relationship with one another” (qtd. in Dean 8). The Indian problem also paradoxically he lped establish Coop er as the first American writer who portrayed the Indian s as having both “noble” and “savage” qualities (House 47). Lydia Maria Child’s Hobomok published in 1824, is another early American literary text that features an Indian character and made a connection between male dominance and white supremacy (Karcher, “Introduction” xx). However, some critics have also pointed out that Cooper reductively classified his fictiona l Indians as either “good” or “bad” depending on their alliance w ith the British or the French. Moreover, according to Roy Harvey Pearce, the author of The Savages of American: A Study of the Indian and the Idea of Civilization after Cooper “imaginative re alization of the idea of savagism became a prime means to the understanding of American progress in its glories, tragedies and risks” (197). Despite Cooper’s nuanced and binary portrayal of the Indian, he relies on the ideology of “vanishing American,” a prevaili ng ideology of his day that justified the dispossession of the Indians as inevitable (House 61). As Kay Seymour House puts it, the notion of “vanishing Ameri can” “hangs like a nimbus over most of his [Cooper’s] warriors and is personified in the ch iefs who are his most admirable Indians” (61). On the other hand, the publication of The Pioneers in 1823 coincided with the legal case of Johnson and Graham’s Lessee v. McIntosh, in which the Supreme Court was asked to examine the basis of American rights to Indian lands. St udying both the fiction and the legal case and their impact on the fo rmation of American national identity, Susan Scheckel notes that both Cooper and Chief Ju stice John Marshall in their own way were

PAGE 48

40 struggling to articulate one central questio n: “Who has the right to own and govern the land originally possessed by Indians and inherited through the Revolution” (17). Furthermore, both sought unsuccessfully to r econcile the contradictions arising from asserting the American right s to the Indian lands. Fo llowing Benedict Anderson’s argument in Imagined Communities that “[i]f nation-states are widely conceded to be ‘new’ and ‘historical,’ the nations to which they give political e xpression always loom out of an immemorial past, and, still, more important, gl ide into a limitless future” (1112), Scheckel suggests that both Cooper and Ch ief Justice Marshall framed the issue of legitimacy in a past each constructed to just ify the legal ownership of the Indian lands. She explains that Cooper and Marshall did no t see that the rights of the new nation originated with the Revolution because such a view would have suggested patricide. Instead, both sought to legitimate the Am erican claims to th e Indian land through “principles of inheritance,” a nd in doing so, they needed to construct a past that would justify the American sovereignty over the In dian lands. The thorny Indian problem that led Cooper and Marshall to wrest with the legality and morality of dispossessing the Indians would re-emerge a few years later in th e legal and political de bate over the forced removal by the Andrew Jackson government of the Cherokee Indians from Georgia. The U.S. government policy, however, would generate a public interest in the dispossessed Indians, perceived as the vict ims of civilization (House 60-61). Cooper scholars have commented quite extensively on Cooper’s Indians and well documented his sources of Indian lore. This chapter joins that endeavor by offering an alternative reading of the firs t of his Leatherstocking tales: by way of Gayatri Spivak’s critique of native informant both in Kant and ethnography, Philip J. Deloria’s discussion

PAGE 49

41 of Indian play by white male colonialists be fore the American Revolution and thereafter and Marxist notion of accumulation by dispo ssession as I outlined in the introduction. Specifically, I explore the ways in which Cooper as narrator uses the figure of the native informant, including passing the whites as na tive informants, to justify the dispossession of the Indians and to legitimate bourgeois rule of law based on private property, despite showing sympathy toward the natives’ expropri ation and being critical of the new socioeconomic order at times. I also examine the effects of passing or “playing Indian” on race, class and property right; I contend th at through Indian play Cooper eventually naturalizes accumulation by dispossession. In Kant’s framework, the native inhabitants are briefly invoked not to inform their indigenous knowledge but to reinforce his thoughts on the question of being. In doing so, he forecloses the pe rspectives of the invoked New Hollanders and Fegans while cons olidating his own authority. Unlike Kant, Cooper in The Pioneers puts the last chief of the Mohegan tribe at the center of the novel, giving voices to the Mohegans and their indige nous right to tribal lands before finally asserting the legal ownership of the Indian land by the white settlers. But those “Indian” voices, I argue, actually reinforce the prevaili ng ideology of the “vanishing American” of Cooper’s time and thus pave the way for jus tifying the white owners hip of the Indian tribal land. In this sense, Cooper ends up extinguishing Chingachgook’s voice disputing Judge Temple’s ownership of the Indian ancestral land. This chapter consists of three major part s that trace three major “Indian” voices: those of Chingachgook, the Mohegan chief; young Effingham who poses as a half-Indian seeking to reclaim his Anglo-American pa trimony; and Natty Bumpoo, who has taken on Mohegan ways of life and ostensibly advocates the Indian rights. It will also examine

PAGE 50

42 their role as a native informant or passing as one. Cooper’s relation with Chingachgook, his primary native informant, and the other two who pass as native by either assuming an Indian identity or adopting th e Indian way of life, parall els the relation between an ethnographer and her native informant: as th e narrator of the novel he determines the frames of intelligibility. That is, what is bei ng written and made availa ble to the reader is slanted through Cooper’s own ideology that eventually works to naturalize accumulation by dispossession: the ideology of the “vanishi ng American” and of the rule of law based on private ownership. I thus argue that behind those voices advocating the Indian right to land lie Cooper’s attempts to justify the wh ite ownership of the Indian land by upholding the rule of law based on the bourgeois noti on of private property. That is, Cooper is passing the voice of the white property owner off as that of Indian, a passing that is hidden from view but governs other passi ngs in the novel. He dose this also by surreptitiously diffusing the voice of bourgeoi s law as embodied by Judge Temple in the three informants, who all end up endorsing wh ite ownership of the disputed land, thus becoming Temple’s allies, willingly or unwillin gly, in his defense of the legality of his own ownership. The overri ding perspective of The Pioneers I argue, is the bourgeois perspective that protects property right and ensures the transfer of white patrimony of Indian origin among whites, despite showi ng sympathy to the dispossessed Mohegans. Chingachgook’s death, young Effingham’s revela tion of his true white identity, and Leatherstocking’s exit from Templeton under in tensified development at the end of the novel all indicate that the path Cooper chose to resolve the tensions arising from the land dispute is by fading out those who clash with Judge Temple’s rule of law that protects private property.

PAGE 51

43 The first part traces Chingachgook’s role as Cooper’s primary native informant and shows how Cooper uses him, especially his na me change, to narrate the dispossession of the Mohegans. It also examines the silenc e of the Iroquois, who are foreclosed from voicing their perspectives challenging Chi ngachgook’s narrative on the rivalry between the two tribes. Like Chingachgook, who is a native informant on the dispossession of the Mohegans and their tribal wa rs with the Iroquois, also known as the Six Nations, the much reviled Iroquois are nativ e informants, but they belong to the ones who are both invoked and excluded. And unlike Chingachgook who informs the reader of those histories, the Iroquois are conspicuously missing in The Pioneers ; their physical absence thus marks the hidden structure in Ching achgook’s utterance that both includes and excludes his ethnic Others. The lack of voice representing the Iroquois’ perspective highlights Spivak’s insistence on the (im)possibl e perspective of the native informant, her contribution to the critique of the native informant in ethnography and enlightenment philosophy and an insight of hers that precl udes possibilities of misrepresentation in the name of the “authentic” native informant. In the second part, I examine how Coope r attempts to resolve the Indian land problem largely through the mechanism of “concealment and disclosure” or that of passing or racially crossing by Oliver Edwards/Edward O. Effingham. The first act of concealment allows Cooper to pursue the Indi an rights argument, appearing to wrestle with the legality and morality of the dispossession of the I ndians, while the second act of disclosure enables him to quietly perform th e Indian removal, thus returning what once was the Mohegan tribal land to two white pr opertied families whose right to property is both affected by the American Revolution and sanctioned by the ensuing Constitution.

PAGE 52

44 The passing or Indian play enacted by Effingham thus allows Cooper to express sympathy to the dispossessed Mohegans while asserting the bourgeoi s right to property, the overriding perspective finally revealed by Effingham’s assuming his true identity and reclaiming his family fortune. Effingham’s “I ndian” voice thus eventually proves to be one that seeks to reinstate his family propert y and his inheritance right. As I will show, Cooper enacts a triple veiling of voice through Chingachgook, Effingham and Leatherstocking that ends up validating bourge ois property rights and the ideology of the “vanishing American,” or naturalizing accumu lation by dispossession. Since the core of the land dispute involves both Indians’ “natural right” and bourgeois property right and inheritance, I will also explore the significance of the father’s name in Cooper’s plot to legitimate white land ownership. With Effingha m’s passing as a Mohegan heir and the revelation of his white identity as the heir to Major Effi ngham, the patronym emerges as a site that determines his property ri ght sanctioned by the law. Which patronym Effingham assumes thus affects the terms of his argument for reclaiming Judge Temple’s estate. The third part examines how the quasi-n ative Natty Bumpoo/Leatherstocking is coping with the privatizati on of land under the ascending cap italist order presided by Judge Temple, an order marked by the transf ormation of space in the judge’s massive estate. The clash between the tw o men over the uses of natura l resources on the privatized lands in Templeton marks two distinctive m odes of existence: use value (needs) vs. exchange value (market economy). The exit of Leatherstocking from Templeton to seek another frontier not touched by the forces of capitalist development signals the triumph of property right and of the ideology of the “v anishing American.” It also signals the

PAGE 53

45 passing of an era when Leatherstocking can adopt the Indian way of life and the coming of a new one where the voices asserting the I ndian right to land are made to disappear from Templeton. Native Informants and Dispossession In narrating the history of European dispossession of Native Americans and depicting his fictional Indians, Cooper appear s to establish himsel f as someone who was knowledgeable about that part of history and the language and customs of his favorite tribe, the Delaware also known as the M ohegan. For example, Cooper points out that language difference and internecine wars ar e the two major factor s that led to the “original” internal split in the natives, “the original owners of th e soil,” before their dispossession by the Europeans/Christians (78). But Eric Cheyfitz challenges this perception of Cooper as “an authority on European/Indian political history, on northeastern Native American ethnohistory, and as an expe rt translator of Indian languages” (“Savage Law” 119). Instead, he ar gues that in a fiction that triumphs property, Cooper relied on “a Western idea of ge nealogy” to write “a Western fiction of Native American history,” thus rewriting the French and Indian War in which the “good” Indians, the Delaware, fight on the side of the “good guys,” the British (120-21). Cooper scholars have also pointed out that Cooper’s knowledge of the Delaware and the Iroquois, the rival tribes in The Pioneers largely derived from his reading of John Heckewelder’s Account of the History, M anners and Customs of the Indi an Nations Who Once Inhabited Pennsylvania and the Neighbouring States which was published in 1819. They also noted that as a Moravian missionary to the Delaware, the Rev. Heckewelder was a partisan to the tribe’s culture And as a result of that, Cooper, who did not know Indian languages, had absorbed uncritically Heckewelde r’s favored view of the Delaware at the

PAGE 54

46 expense of the Iroquois. Cooper’s depiction of the Delaware-Iroquois relations was more or less skewed by the white man’s patria rchal prejudice and confusion (House 63). Despite the criticism made of Cooper for coming short of history and accuracy, Cooper’s narrative on his fictional Indians offers us a glimpse of his sense of history and his ideology that helps shape the characterizat ion of his Indians. More important for my study of The Pioneers partly through Spivak’s critique of native informant both in ethnography and Kant’s philosophical system, the representation of the Indians in the novel allows us to trace how Cooper as the narr ator enlists them as informants to both justify the Indian removal as a regrettabl e but inevitable occurrence and assert white settlers’ right to landed property. The figure of the Indian Other, I suggest, operates to both disclose and foreclose Marx’s notion of primitive accumulation or Harvey’s more general description in The New Imperialism of the historical and ongoing capitalist process of accumulation by dispossession (137 -82). Under Cooper’s representation, there are three types of native informants in the novel. The Mohegans represented by Chingachgook belong to the first type and are gi ven what appears to be an Indian voice, speaking of their people’s dispossession a nd Indian right. As the second type, the Iroquois are both invoked to show their vices and excluded from voicing their counter perspective. Much has been written on Chingachgook and his being the “vanishing American,” among other things, but critics have said little, if at al l, about the Iroquois’ silence. The silence itself is symptomatic of the simultaneous invocation and exclusion of the Iroquois that constitutes the pattern of Chingachgook’s utterances. Representing the third form of native informants through wh om Cooper appropriates “Indian” voices to attempt to resolve the land dispute be tween the Indians a nd the whites are young

PAGE 55

47 Effingham who passes as a Delaware in order to reclaim his Anglo-Saxon patrimony and Leatherstocking who, despite being a white, adopts an Indian way of life based on meeting one’s needs by appropriating nature. Both passing as Indian in their own way speak for the Indian rights, specifically for th e rights of the Mohegans to their ancestral land, but Cooper’s endorsement of bourgeoi s property right, or naturalization of accumulation by dispossession, undermines thei r “Indian” voices, turning them into Temple’s allies. Chingachgook, the last chief of the Mohe gan tribe, is clearly Cooper’s primary native informant in The Pioneers George Dekker described the Indian chief as “a repository of the skills and wisdom of the primitive society which Judge Temple’s settlers have displaced” (50) It is through Chingachgook an d other so-called “Indian” voices that Cooper attempts to resolve the historical land dispute between the Native Americans and the white coloni alists in his novel. In one of the earlier scenes, Cooper carefully establishes Chingachgook as the s ource of indigenous knowle dge, especially of a native bark medicine. In the scene in which the Mohe gan, well-known for his “great skill” in treating bodily ailments, cuts and bruises, is ca lled in by Judge Temple to help treat Oliver Edwards’s gunshot wound, Coope r goes out of his way to describe the native’s bark medicine, a “pounded bark, moiste ned with a fluid that he had expressed from some of the simples of the woods” (8384). Cooper’s narrative further reveals that while the Indian is attentively dressing the patient’s wound, another white doctor, Dr. Elnathan Todd who has extracted a bullet fr om Edwards’s shoulder, not only pays attention to the contents of Mohegan’s medicine basket but also quietly takes possession of the “sundry fragments of wood and bark ” without anyone’s knowledge (84). Dr. Todd,

PAGE 56

48 Cooper tells us, is later able to discover fr om which type of trees Mohegan has extracted the bark after analyzing the component part s of the bark. The bark medicine with a distinct flavor, Cooper further re lates, is used years later to save the live of one settler who is among the many agents of “civilization,” as well as the lives of more American soldiers fighting the British in another war between the two countries. This episode not only establishes Chingachgook as Cooper’s pr imary native informant with indigenous knowledge but also shows how Cooper uses hi s native informant to subvert the notion of “western” medicine, which as practiced by Dr Todd afterwards is paradoxically at its “origins” already contaminated by indigenous knowledge and medicine. Another way through which Cooper uses Chingachgook as a native informant to narrate the dispossession of the Mohegans is through the changes in the chief’s name. Richard Slotkin rightly argues that with the play on Chingachgook’s name Cooper showcases the conflicts between the I ndian and white world and perception ( Regeneration 488). Moreover, I think that throu gh the name change we can see the expropriation of the Indians on the one hand, and the accumulation of capital on the other. In narrating Chingachgook’s life st ory, Cooper uses the territoriality and deterritorialization of Chingachgook’s name, the name changes effected by the loss of his tribal land, to indicate the pr ocess of his becomings as well as to mark the effects the political and social changes associated with it have on him and his tribe (here the notion of territoriality and becoming is ta ken from Deleuze and Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus ). Chingachgook, or “Great Snake” in English, is the native name the Indian acquires in his youth for “his skill and prow ess in war” (81). As Chingachgook, he was the proud Indian warrior and chief and th e nominal owner of the land his people

PAGE 57

49 inhabited. But he acquires another “mournful ” appellation, Mohegan, at old age when he becomes “the last of his family and his partic ular tribe” (ibid.) and uses alcohol to drown his sorrows. As Mohegan, he thus becomes the symbol of the sole survivor of his tribe. Chingachgook, who corroborated with the white s, also assumes a Christian name, John, after being baptized by the Moravians who have become friends with the Delawares. He is known among the white settlers as Indian John, or John Mo hegan, a combination of his baptismal name and his tribal name. As Indian John or John Mohegan, described by Cooper as in “a mixture of the civilized and savage states” (ibid.) he becomes another symbol of the (incomplete) assimilation of the natives by the Christian missionaries. The name changes correspond more or less to the shrinking and eventually the loss of Chingachgook’s tribal land, to the passing of his Indian heritage, as well as to his assumption of Christian faith and his addi ction to the white men’s rum. His name changes thus signify his diminished stat us as a Native American in the changing environment of the American frontier where the forces of commerce and profit are making a beachhead, commercializing land as private property and thus trampling the rights of the Indians. Moreover, they signal the expansion of bourgeois property right in the American frontier. To put it another way, Chingachgook’s name change allows us to discern the accumulated effect of accumulation by dispossession in The Pioneers While Cooper enlists Chingachgook to he lp narrate the di spossession of the Mohegan tribe, Cooper’s invocat ion of the native informant is not free of the typical problem of representation: id eology. Cheyfitz, who took issue with Cooper’s authority in representing the Indians, also raised another important question concerning the representation of the Other. In “L iterally White,” his other essay on The Pioneers he

PAGE 58

50 asked: “what does it mean to give voice to th ose whom one is depriving of a voice in this act of representation?” (56). In Cheyfitz’s view, the act of representing the Other and/or translating the Other’s language in Cooper and others could pot entially amount to that of “colonization” or “dis appearing the other” (“Literally White” 71; “Savage Law” 121). He also noted that the authority that Cooper projected through his narrator who apparently knew of the Delaware language, in effect masks Cooper’s own political agenda in portraying the Indians (“Sava ge Law” 119-20). The notion of the “vanishing American” that runs through Cooper’s repr esentation of the Indians exem plifies the act of making the Other disappear while naturalizing accumulation by dispossession.. So does his unfavorable treatment of Ch ingachgook’s ethnic rivals, who are often reviled by Chingachgook and Leatherstocking for what th ey perceived as their crimes against the Mohegans. In The Pioneers as in other Leatherstocking tales, the Mingoes are known for their “blood lust,” “stealth” attacks and “treachery” while the Mohegans are courageous and virtuous (Wallace, “Cooper’s Indians” 424). In light of Cheyfitz’s critique, it is worthwhile to take up his thought-provoking ques tion again and consider the implications of representation of the Other and by the West. Cheyfitz’s question: “what does it mean to give voice to those whom one is depriving of a voice in this ac t of representation” applies both to Cooper’s representation of the Mohegans and the Mingoes, previous ly referred to as the Iroquois. In fact, Cooper’s representation of the two rival tribes, whos e voice is either quietly erased or outright foreclosed, showcases the problems of representing the natives and using them as informants. For Spivak, the problem with the native informant in ethnography is that the figure “ is a blank” enlisted by the Western ethnogr apher to inscribe the native culture

PAGE 59

51 and identity (6; italics original). She thus insists on the (im)possible perspective of the native informant to preclude the usurpation of the native voice to produce knowledge for the West. For Cooper, Chingachgook functions much like the native informant for the Western ethnographer: the Mohegan, who ha s deep knowledge of his tribe’s history including its long-running feud with the Mingoes, is designated as the major spokesperson for his dying tribe. As Cooper’s primary native informant, he not only speaks against his tribe’s dispossession and for its Indian rights, but also rails against his tribe’s sworn enemy. A major pa rt of his narrative, which is uttered sometimes in his native language, the Delaware, and translated by his loyal friend, L eatherstocking, for the reader’s benefit, is however filled with othering and gendering th at invoke the Mingoes but exclude the perspectives of his ethnic rivals. Chingachgo ok’s self-representation thus points to the limits of the perspective of th e native informant. That is, his “native” perspective, while giving voice to his tribe’s history—its ri valry with the Mingoes before its dispossession by the whites—forecloses that of his ethnic rival tribe. Chingachgook’s inclusion and exclusi on of his ethnic other thus rais es questions about Cooper’s own politics of representation, which fa vors the Mohegans over the Mingoes. Chingachgook’s invocation and foreclosure of the Mingoes takes place especially when he is (re)gendering his ethnic rivals. For example, when the old Indian chief boasts of his shooting skill, he says: “When John [his Christian, baptismal name] was young, eyesight was not straighter than his bullet. The Mingo squaws cried out at the sound of his rifle. The Mingo warriors were made squaws When did he ever shoot twice!” (176; italics mine). Here Chingachgook is re-gende ring the male Mingoes, who claimed the role of men for having militarily defeated the Mohegans, as women by invoking them but

PAGE 60

52 without giving them a voice. His reverse ge ndering not only reflect s Cooper’s patriarchal notion of gender but also natu ralizes the ideology of femi nizing one’s enemy with whom he was locked in a territorial struggle. Cooper as narrator also takes part in gendering that invokes the Mingoes but excludes th eir perspective. Earlier in furnishing the history of the white dispossession of the Indians, C ooper notes that Chingachgook’s people have allowed themselves to be “called women by their old enemies, the Mingoes or Iroquois” (79; italics original). The feminization of Chingachgook’s tribe is the result of losing battles to the Iroquois, who subse quently assume the role of “ men ” entrusted with the defense while the Delawares are assigned the labor of cultivating “the arts of peace” (80; italics original). Despite a ll the talks on gendering on Ch ingachgook’s and Cooper’s part, the women of both tribes are conspicuously missing in Cooper’s representation of the natives. Their lack of representation in a novel concerning the owne rship of the Indian tribal land may say something about bourgeoi s patriarchy, the rule of the propertied father, which Cooper is defending. Cooper’s re presentation of the Mingoes thus shows that how he can invoke them in name without giving them a perspective countering that of Chingachgook. So is his representation of the dispossessed Mohegans, whose voice is being exploited to defend the right of young Effingham, passing as an Indian heir, to reclaim his family property, before being quie tly erased with the resumption of his true identity. Passing, Patronym and Patrimony In Playing Indian his study of the construction of American national identity through the Indian Other, Ph ilip Deloria writes that 18th century colonialists initially appropriated “so-called savage Indians” to define the boundary and character of their civilization, but they later enlist ed this exterior Other to furt her their “revolutionary ends”

PAGE 61

53 in their fight against the rule of the British crown. “Colonial propaganda brought symbolic Indians inside the boundaries of col onial identity, adapting the figures in order to convey revolutionary messages” (30), he notes. For the male colonialists, he also writes, the ritual of playing Indian—smear ing one’s face, speaking pidgin English and donning Indian dresses—helps foster psychol ogically the sense of resistance and rebellion against the British. Among the rebe llious groups, the Boston Tea Party resorted to “Indian play” to fight for their trampled freedom. By pl aying Indian, the Mast Tree rioters in New England “evoked and invent ed local understandi ngs about freedom, naturalness and individualism of native cu stom,” suggesting “these qualities lay embedded in the American continent itself” despite conflating Indi ans and land (25-26). Deloria also points out that in The Redskins: Indian and Injin (1846), Cooper dramatizes the antirent riots by the poor white tenants against their rich landlord with the rioters donning Indian disguises to protes t the establishment (38-39). In The Pioneer the act of “playing Indian” by Effingham, as I will show, on the surface appears to critique the violence of colonial conquest but in fact works to even tually justify accumulation by dispossession. Young Effingham’s passing or playing Indian also discloses the significance of one’s patrony m in patriarchal society founded on bourgeoisie property right. Cooper uses the name change in Chingac hgook to signal the epoc hal change in the land ownership of his tribal land, informing th e extinction of his tribe and its territorial dispossession. With Edward Oliver Effingha m, Cooper again resorts to name change, having him adopt an Indian identity in order to pursue his scheme to reclaim his AngloAmerican patrimony. The name change in E ffingham’s case, however, operates first to

PAGE 62

54 disclose accumulation by dispossession until the resumption of his white identity that simultaneously works to obscure and justify it. Edward, who is the grandson of Oliver Effingham, a former major in the British army and the legal owner of the estate now under the possession of Judge Marmaduke Temple, is now passing or racially crossing as a half-Indian, assuming the id entity of Oliver Edwards, also known as “Young Eagle,” and claiming to have the blood of the Delawares. With the Indian cover, young Effingham is also masquerading as a native info rmant with a veiled motive. His role as a pseudo native informant, as I will show, is part of Cooper’s de sign to enlist “Indian” voice to justify the removal of the Indians and legitimate the white ownership of the Indian land. In her discus sion of Willa Cather’s My Antonia Judith Butler points out the significance or “burden” of pa tronym and its effect on “gende red and sexual meanings,” noting the “appropriation and displacement of th e patronym in Cather displaces the social basis of its identity -conferring function” ( Bodies That Matter 154). The “burden” of the patronym in The Pioneers I would argue, is evidenced in Effingham’s passing as an Indian and its effect on his e fforts to reclaim his family i nheritance. In such a context when the patronym and property right are intertwined, which family name Effingham/Edwards assumes greatly affects how his legal claim to Judge Temple’s massive real estates will play out. The effect of assuming which patronym also significantly shifts the terms of debate concer ning the disputed Indi an tribal land under Temple’s possession. The importance of be ing Effingham or Edwards, as Charles Hansford Adams points out, has the two following major consequences (74). As Edwards, Effingham is assumed to have no future in the fast-changing Templeton, whose development will soon destroy the aboriginal way of life, thus putting him “out of time.”

PAGE 63

55 But when he becomes Effingham again by “removing a veil” ( The Pioneers 404), he discovers himself “in time” again, uniting the pa st, the present and the future as the new owner of Templeton. Since Adams, like some cr itics, writes off the Indians’ future in Templeton, the stakes of being Edwards or Effingham are high. Effingham using the alias of Oliver Edward s has recently appeared as a hunter at Judge Temple’s forested estate and harbors strong hostility toward the judge. It is generally understood that behind his impassi oned resentment toward Judge Temple, now increased after the latter accidentally shots and injures the young hunter, lies his Indian lineage. And he is believed to have “some of the blood of the Delaware tribe” (135), which makes him (and the reader) think that he is entitled to the la nd that now is owned by Judge Temple. Mr. Grant, the parson preachin g at Templeton, tries to explain the law and the current situation to both Mohegan and Ed wards, but to no avail. His effort fails to appease the expropriated old I ndian chief and provokes a rebuttal from him. As Mohegan tells the parson: Go to the highest hill, and look around you. All that you see from the rising to the setting sun ... is his. He [Edwards] has Delaware blood, and his right is strong. But the brother of Miquon [William Penn] is just: he will cut the country in two parts ... and will say to the ‘Young Eagle,’ Child of the Delawares! Take it—keep it—and be a chief in the land of your fathers. (135) Mohegan’s statement shows his belief that as heir of his tribe, Edwards/Young Eagle is entitled to the tribal land, even though only to half of it. Here Cooper uses Mohegan’s role as a native informant to construct a speech that appears to advo cate the Indian rights to the tribal land but ends up justifying the status quo. Mohe gan’s “Indian” voice is coopted by British colonialism, accepting its ru le and justice and thus forgetting the violence the Europeans have used to seize the native land under th e euphemism of what critics of American colonial history call “doctrine of disc overy.” Further, when Cooper

PAGE 64

56 finally discloses Edwards/Young Eagle’s true identity, it will become clear that Mohegan’s endorsement of his “strong right” to the expropriated tribal land is, in effect, a veiled endorsement of the dispossession of the Mohegans and capital accumulation. Edwards’s reaction to the parson’s remark is more hostile; he denounces Judge Temple’s ownership of his ancestral land as no better than the deeds committed by “the wolf of the forest” (135). He also dismisses the parson’s explanation and justification for the change in the land ownership as “the effect of political changes” that has “lowered the pride of kings, and swept mighty nations fr om the face of the earth” (135-36). Edwards goes even further to defend his right to the tr ibal land by reaffirming his Indian lineage. As he remarks, “I am proud of my descent fr om a Delaware chief, who was a warrior that ennobled human nature. Old Mohegan was hi s friend and will vouch for his virtues” (136). Edwards again reaffirms his lineage by reassuring Mohegan that “I am of your family” (177). Here again, Cooper is constructing Edwards/Young Eagle as a native informant, giving him an “Indian” voice while establishing his Indian credentials to pave the way for his claim to the tribal land and thereby obscuring accumulation by dispossession. But Edwards’s, like Mohegan’s voice, will turn out to be supporting the whites’ right to private property, regardle ss of its Indian origin, when his BritishAmerican identity is finally revealed. U nder Cooper’s design, the passing by Effingham as an Indian heir is aimed to secure the ru le of law: the law of private property as personified in Judge Temple. His passing, in effect, is the means through which Cooper legitimates Temple’s property right, thus the Effinghams’. The lineage Edwards is claiming here can be traced back to Fire-eater, who saved the life of young Chingachgook who then persua ded his tribe to give away its land to

PAGE 65

57 Fire-eater in a fire council in exchange for protection a nd material goods. By claiming a kinship to Fire-eater but withholding his true iden tity as Major Effingham, young Effingham is able to pass as a legitimate heir to the Mohegan tribal land. By playing upon Edwards’s “blood ties” to the Delawares, Coope r “conflates the question of Indian rights with questions of inheritance, thus simplifyi ng the path toward stru ctural and narrative resolution” (Scheckel 21). The conflation meanwhile allows young Effingham to hide behind his Indian identity to challenge Judge Temple’s legal right to his landed property, a challenge sanctioned by Mohegan. Also th rough the name of Fire-eater, Cooper as narrator is able to both masquerade Effi ngham as an Indian and his (also Cooper’s) perspective of the white propert ied class as that of Indian. In a dialogue with Elizabeth, Judge Temple’s daughter and heiress to his es tate, the old Indian ch ief recounts that all the land that ranges “from where the blue m ountain stands above the water to where the Susquehanna is hid by the trees” once belonged to Fire-eater. As he notes, “All this, and all that grew in it, and all that walked over it, and all that fed there. They gave to the Fireeater... for it was his” (382) Here Mohegan reaffirms Fire-eater’s ownership of the Mohegan land. The withholding of Fire-eater’s true identity allows Cooper to legitimate the right of the Indians to alie nate their tribal land and thus Judge Temple’s right to the disputed land. But the land, the Indian point s out, has passed away from the hands of Fire-eater and his descendants and to the hands of Judge Te mple (385). This recount of the past event, which asserts Fire-eater’s a nd hence Edwards’s right to the disputed land, then prompts Elizabeth to defend her father’s right to his landed estate, which from her standpoint is acquired legally according to th e law of commerce and “the custom of the whites.” As she rationalizes, “Do not the Dela wares fight, and exchange their lands for

PAGE 66

58 powder, and blankets, and merchandise?” ( 382). Mohegan refutes this claim that legitimates the transactions of the tribal land s, and instead insists on the robbery nature of the transactions. Elizabeth, eager to defend he r father’s name and right to property, again retorts. As she explains to the Indian, “If you knew our laws and customs better, you would judge differently our acts. Do not believe evil of my father, old Mohegan, for he is just and good” (383). Marmaduke Temple can only be “just and good” in so far as one accepts bourgeois property right, as does his daughter. Between writing The Spy (1821) and The Pioneers (1823), Charles Hansford Adams points out, Cooper was concerned with th e problem of “the split between the legal and private selves” and the conflicts that ca me with it (64). Judge Temple who embodies this split is embroiled in such conflicts afte r asserting his legal authority over the affairs of Templeton. The split, Adams argues, allo ws Cooper to raise the possibility that the private self can hide behind the public law to advance one’s personal interest. Moreover, Cooper’s interest in the split between the lega l and private selves, Adams suggests, lies in his keen political and social awareness th at early American la w was in a period of significant transition that created an envir onment for tyrannical personality to emerge (65). He concludes that the legal persona that Temple assumes as the administer of law and justice is the “mask” that Temple wears to indirectly protect a nd secure his personal property. Exemplifying this is the clas h Judge Temple has with Edwards over Leatherstocking’s transgression of the game laws by killing a deer out of season. Effingham’s passing as an Indian heir, as I will show, not only does not fundamentally challenge Temple’s property right, but upholds the same law that protects the judge’s property right.

PAGE 67

59 Judge Temple comes to the defense of hi s property and asserts his legal authority over Templeton after Edwards raises ques tions about his land ownership, while challenging his authority, in the course of pleading for Leatherstocking’s case. The confrontation between the j udge and Edwards, however, exposes Temple’s private interest in upholding the law. When the judge refuses to bend the law in favor of the old hunter, who has recently saved his daughter from a panther, Edwards in a “burst of passion” questions his very land ownership. As he notes, “Ask your own conscience, Judge Temple. ... Whence came these riches, this vale, those hills, and why am I their owner? ... the appearance of Mohegan a nd the Leatherstocking, stalking through the country, impoverished and fo rlorn, would wither your sight ” (329). Here Cooper again passes Edwards off as an advocate for the Indi an right, ostensibly to prod Judge Temple’s conscience to make concessions over Leat herstocking’s offense, but Edwards’s invocation of Mohegan only works secretly toward his real goal of reclaiming the Effingham property. Edwards’s confrontation with Judge Temple only highlights how Cooper is actually eliding th e voice of the dispossessed Mo hegans while appearing to give them a voice through Edwards. The pa ssing enacted by Effingham, in effect, works to suppress the perspective of the dispossesse d Indians and justify th e status quo. In this sense, Effingham is very much in agreement with Temple’s argument that the law recognizes “the validity of the claims that have transferred th e title to the whites” (329). To put in another way, Effingham’s passing a nd his invocation of the Indian chief and Temple’s invocation of the law all work to legitimate accumulation by dispossession. If law helps form Temple’s selfhood as a property owner, then patronym helps define who Edwards/Effingham is. Cooper implicitly makes this point when Temple,

PAGE 68

60 who earlier had trouble placing Edwards’s “fam iliar” face with a name (35), asks for Edwards’s name after having the latter’s gunsho t wound treated and gets the reply: “I am called Edwards, Oliver Edwards” (87) Cooper continues to develop this patronym/identity subplot when the dispute ov er Leatherstocking’s illegal hunting leads Temple to fire Edwards as his domestic s ecretary. Edwards, who accepted the position offered by the judge as a compensation for havi ng injured him so as to pursue his scheme to reclaim his inheritance right later regrets the dismissal, however, with an ambiguous statement. Confiding to Elizabeth, he says : “Miss Temple, I have forgotten myself— forgotten you” (330). Here the connection be tween patronym and identity is obliquely suggested. One can, of course, read the veiled statement “I have forgotten myself” as Edwards’s admission for having spoken out of line as a domestic servant to Judge Temple, but he could be committing a Fre udian slip, unconsciously alluding to his lineage and identity. But at this point, it is not clear from which lineage and family name Edwards is speaking. Is he speaking as the offs pring of Fire-eater or as the grandson of Major Effingham? The meanings of this ambiguous statement will not be settled until when Edwards finally reveals his true ident ity and Fire-eater’s, a double revelation that significantly shifts the terms of the land disput e that so far have been cast as white-Indian dispute. Effingham’s passing allows Cooper to cast the land dispute as involving the Mohegans and Judge Temple, but its unveiling will enable Cooper to recast the dispute as involving two white propertied families, thus removing “the native owners of the soil” from the dispute and justifying the primitiv e accumulation of capital by expropriating the indigenous.

PAGE 69

61 By way of Effingham’s passing, Cooper weav es the material connection between patronym and inheritance right. The effect of posing as Oliver Edwards/Young Eagle is that the inheritance right Effingham seeks to recl aim is the “natural right” to the land that once belonged to the Delawares and then to Fire-eater. In other words, his passing as half-Indian has the effect of making the la nd dispute as one between the Mohegans and Judge Temple—a dispute that, from the pers pective of Judge Temple and his daughter, has no merit, as the acquisition of the land and his estate is sanc tioned by bourgeois law and property right. Defending the ownership of his estate, Temple says: “the Indian title was extinguished so far back as the close of the old war, ... I hold under the patents of the Royal Governors, confirmed by an act of our own State Legislature, and no court in the country can affect my title” (226). Here Temp le traces the legal ownership of his estate and its legitimacy to both the old British crown and the new U.S. Constitution. His look into the past and the presen t orders to validate his owne rship is Cooper’s attempt to legitimate the white ownership of the I ndian land, thus paving the way for young Effingham to reclaim his inheritance. Through Te mple and the law of private property he upholds, Cooper reinforces bourgeois right to landed property and thus accumulation by dispossession. The reappearance of Major Effingham near the end of the novel helps Cooper to resolve the white-Indian land dispute by quiet ly justifying the dispossession of the Indians and thus the white pr operty right. The reappearance of Major Effingham, Scott Bradfield suggests, represents “both the re turn of the king and the return of the disenfranchised Indian” (46). Th is double return is symbolically suggested in the attire and foot-ware the fragile old man wears in his surprise return after years of

PAGE 70

62 disappearance. The major is described as having on a dress that was worn by “the wealthiest classes” despite being “threadba re and patched” and “a pair of moccasins, ornamented in the best manner of Indian i ngenuity” (416). The major’s return helps to cement his grandson’s inheritance right, but not the Indians’ “natural right.” The return, as Bradfield argues, helps to “institute a permanent system of proprietorship” over the now developed Templeton while resolving the conflicts between bourgeois and aristocrat, Loyalist and Tory, and nature and government (48). But rather than “heal” the original violence of both the American revolution and British imperialism as Bradfield argues, young Effingham’s inheritance of Templeton, I w ould argue, helps to mask or even erase the violence of dispossessing the Indians. The concealment of Fire-eater’s white identity as Major Effingham and his r eappearance are part of Coope r’s design to justify the dispossession of the “original owners of the so il,” thus legitimating the white ownership. The disclosure of Fire-eater’s true iden tity as the “lost Major Effingham,” thus the true identity and lineage of Edwards, allo ws Cooper to perform ideological containment and justifications for th e new capitalist order emer ging in Templeton. The double disclosure shifts the land dispute from one between the Mohegan tribe and Judge Temple to one between two old friends—Judge Temple and his college friend, Edward Effingham, young Effingham’s fa ther who was believed to have drowned in a sea accident. Ashamed of going to business, th e aristocratic Edward Effingham secretly entrusted Temple to manage his finances, wh ich he had inherited from his father Major Effingham. That is, Judge Temple does not fu lly own the property that appears to be under his possession, but only manages it as Edward Effingham’s trustee—a secret agreement between the two friends. The “veil” that conceals the business arrangement

PAGE 71

63 (32) thus makes what is to become Temp leton a paradoxical “neu tral ground” between Temple and the Effinghams. Geor ge Dekker points out that th e term “neutral ground” has a special meaning for Cooper who borrowed it from Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley novels and refashioned it to mean the “most lawless and morally equivocal place of all” (33). The reappearance of Major Effingham, which prom pts Temple to reveal his own will that details the veiled business arrangement, thus serves to convert the land dispute between the Mohegans and Judge Temple as one be tween Judge Temple and the Effinghams. The moment Judge Temple acknowledges in the pers on of an “old” and “decrepit stranger” as the “lost Major Effingham” (417), the conversio n of the nature of the land dispute is quietly accomplished. Before this, the reader ha s been led to see the land dispute as one between the Mohegans and Judge Temple. The deception is being helped by Cooper’s artful manipulation of his native informants, wh o appear to voice the Indian right to land, but only to ensure the property right of the Effinghams in th e end. It thus can be argued that Cooper has deployed his native informants in Mohegan, Edwards and Leatherstocking and their “Indian” voices to naturalize accumula tion by dispossession. Moreover, in unveiling his grandfather’s identity, young Effingham also reveals his real motive, thus Cooper’s, for advocating th e Indian right to land. As Oliver Edwards presents to the judge his grandfather— who has been secretly ensconced in Leatherstocking’s hut and later in a cave—he tells the man whom he regards as having usurped his inheritance: This man, whom you see helpless and feeble, was once a warrior so brave and fearless that even the intrepid natives ga ve him the name of the Fire-eater. This man .... was once the owner of great riches; and Judge Temple, he was the rightful proprietor of this very soil on which we st and. This man was the father of [Edward Effingham]—. (417)

PAGE 72

64 Here Edwards finally reveals that he di d not see the land dispute as between the Delawares and Judge Temple, the current owner of the Indian land, as he has led us to believe, but one between his grandfather, Ma jor Effingham, and the judge. The revelation also shows that his resentment toward Temple has been that of a white property owner and his “structures of feeli ng,” to use Raymond Williams’s term, are thus produced by a social relation based on privat e property. Furthermore, the withholding of Fire-eater’s true identity from the reader until near the end of the novel is a clever ruse by Cooper to mislead the reader into believing that Cooper wa s interested in wresti ng with the legality and morality of dispossessing the Indians. The apparent concern with the Indian land rights, voiced by Edwards, Chingachgook and L eatherstocking, actually is a disguise for resolving the dispute between two white propertied families that firmly believe in the inheritance right. In the end, what lies behi nd Edwards’s “proper name” is the patronym, the name of the father, the white father who is a property owner. As I have shown, Cooper uses the devices of “concealment and disclosure” and “Indian” voices of the native informants in The Pioneers to justify white land ownership and bourgeois property right. Thos e devices are similar to wh at Fredric Jameson calls “a strategy of ideological containment”—a pro cedure in representation that is aimed at preventing a deeper understanding of the soci al relations in its totality from emerging, and thus helps preserve the status quo (53). They work to obscure the dispossession of the Indians and capital accumulati on through the seizure of the native lands and the genocide of the natives. Susan Scheckel also poin ts out that Cooper enacted a series of displacements in The Pioneers through which he then defused the more radical implications of the questions that he had rais ed regarding the dispo ssession of the Indians

PAGE 73

65 (22). So under the clever ruse of “conceal ment and disclosure,” Cooper quietly has Edwards/Effingham replace Chingachgook as th e “wronged party,” thus erasing the Indian’s “natural right” to his ancestr al land while legitimating bourgeois law and property right. More significantly, the voi ce Cooper gives to M ohegan expressing his Indian right to land, especially his repeat ed demand that Fireeater’s heir, Oliver Edwards, be entitled to his ancestral land, is ac tually a voice that s eeks to return the land under Judge Temple’s possession to its “rightfu l” owner, Major Effi ngham. Seen in this light, Mohegan’s “Indian” voice is being hijacked to express the voice of the white propertied class. As Cheyfitz has warned a bout colonizing and disa ppearing the Other in the culture of western imperialism, Cooper’s representation of the Indian chief does just that. In having Mohegan endorse Fire-eater’s and his descenda nts’ right to what is now Judge Temple’s Templeton, Cooper seems to support the view that the Indians had the right to alienate the tribal land but only to justify the white ownership. The disclosure of young Effingham’s passing as an Indian heir apparent at the same time forces another passing of different degree to come to light. Until Judge Temple reveals his written document to return some of his accumulated wealth to the Effingham family, he has been passing as the rightful owner of his massive es tate centered around Templeton. Temple’s passing as the legitimate ow ner of the Indian tr ibal land through his silence about the secret ag reement with young Effingham’s father thus gives him the incentive to be the guardian of the law that protects priv ate property. During his passing, he has invoked the law in his capacity as the judge of the frontier to wn to maintain law and order while protecting his own propert y, as in his interv ention to stop an unauthorized mining and his pe nalizing Leatherstocking for hunting a deer out of season

PAGE 74

66 on his property. The disclosure of his written will to compensate the Effingham heir only works to secure his own wealth, and is acco mpanied by another ruse: the marriage of his only child to young Effingham that will further displace the voice of the Indian right to land and consolidate white property. Indeed, Cooper further reinforces bourge ois right to privat e property through the marriage of young Effingham to Elizabeth. In a conciliatory gesture, Temple announces his intention to the now unveiled Effingham that he is ready to return at least one half of his estate to the rightful owner. As he te lls Effingham: “we have both erred; thou hast been too hasty, and I have been too slow. One ha lf of my estates shall be thine as soon as they can be conveyed to thee, and if what my suspicions tell me be true, I suppose the other must follow speedily” (423). The marriage plot in The Pioneers as Janet E. Dean suggests, serves to ensure the white possession of woman and land while allowing Cooper to perform the Indian removal (17). Cooper’s marriage plot is a revision of antebellum frontier romance that usually i nvolves an Indian male and a white male competing for the love of the same woman, who can be white or Indian (Dean 5-8). Through the concealment of Edwards’s white identity and his passing as half-Indian, Cooper thus has Edwards playing the double ro le of the white man and the red man in one person. The unveiling of Edwards’s white id entity later not only quietly performs the Indian removal but also ensures the white man’s possession of woman and land. In the marriage plot, Dean also points out, Cooper bl ends the myth of th e “vanishing American” that was a cultural and ideological response to the dispossession of the Indians as a result of government Indian removal policy. And E lizabeth, as a “circulating woman” in the frontier romance, helps Cooper to make di sappear the Indians who pose threats to

PAGE 75

67 Temple’s estate. Behind the romance between Elizabeth and Edwards actually is the logic of displacement through which Cooper defu ses the white-Indian land dispute. The union of Effingham and Elizabeth that helps end the property dispute at a happy note is, in effect, a veiled ruse by th e white property-owning father. The marriage, though consented to by the young couple, is an effective means through which at least half of the disputed property is transferre d and returned to another white father, Major Effingham, and his heir, thus ensuring patriarc hal rule based on private property. Fathers are important figures in Cooper’s novels because, as Mark R. Patterson suggests, fathers in Cooper’s imagination are “ tied quiet specifically to history” and invested with history’s authority (86). Patters on names such (white) fathers as “historical fathers” who are often “associated with the disruptive forces of historical and revolutionary settlement” and whose authorities are founde d “in institutions, laws and land” (95); and they include Judge Temple, Colonel Munro ( The Last of Mohicans ) and General Washington ( The Spy ). Cooper’s fascination with fathers, Patter son notes, stems partly from his own father William Cooper, a judge who founded the Coop erstown of New York in late 1780s, the echo of which can be found in the fictional Te mpleton, and partly from his own sense of historical change and concern with the son’s ability to carry on the father’s virtues and authority. With the unveiling of young Effingha m’s true identity, Cooper adds a new member to the club of the white propertied fathers who would pass on their patrimony to their heirs. Through his marriage to Elizab eth, young Effingham also waits in line to succeed Judge Temple as the autobiographical and legal father of Templeton. Passing in The Pioneers thus takes on another significant m eaning, the passing of Templeton to another future propertied father, thus furthering the process of erasing the traces of Indian

PAGE 76

68 ownership of the land from a manufactured whit e history that protects its male citizens’ right to private property. Mourning of the Passing As Susan Scheckel points out, pervading The Pioneers is also “the attitude of mourning,” which serves both to assuage a national guilt for the dispossession of the Indians and to assure a sense of continu ity in the face of ch ange (37). In Natty Bumpoo/Leatherstocking, Cooper finds the me dium to mark and mourn the changes sweeping Templeton. As a figure of mourning for the unfenced forest not yet disturbed by the settlements, Leatherstocking is also acting as a native informant, as is Chingachgook, for Cooper, despite having no In dian blood. To the extent that he is a native informant for Cooper who narrates the pa ssing of an era and the rise of a new one, Leatherstocking is given an “I ndian” voice that still tries to preserve aboriginal ways of life in the midst of social a nd economic changes. Furthermor e, Leatherstocking, who gets this nickname from the settlers for hunting th e creatures of the woods to feed and clothe himself and to meet his other needs, is to a certain degree passing as an Indian for having adopted the aboriginal ways of life with Mohegan. And like the old Indian chief, he is facing the fate of being driven off from the land, which origina lly belonged to the Mohegans. But his “Indian” voice, as I will show, is compromised by his defense of Major Effingham’s property right. The same historical, politic al, territorial and economic changes that combine to make Chingachgook the last of the M ohegans also make it impossible for Leatherstocking to continue to “go native” at Templeton. As Judge Temple asserts his property right by bringing in white settlers to develop and improve hi s forested estate, the natural and unbounded environment in whic h the veteran hunter has moved more or

PAGE 77

69 less freely shrinks further. Moreover, Leathe rstocking’s mode of existence based on use value—hunting and fishing to meet his basic hum an needs—is also threatened. To a large extent, Leatherstocking’s clash with Judge Temple and what Te mpleton represents is that of use value (needs) and exchange value (m arket economy). The vete ran hunter tells the judge that those who are res ponsible for the scarcity of the game are the farmers at Templeton and not a hunter like him who only ki lls the creatures of the woods to satiate his hunger and meet his other needs. The fa rmers are already producing for a common market at Albany, producing wealth and prospe rity for Judge Temple (206). By contrast, Leatherstocking still leads largely a life of self-sufficiency by appropriating nature to meet his immediate needs. Not only is his way of life molded by use value incompatible with the judge’s settlements, he is also bothered by the conducts of the settlers. On several occasions, he chides other settlers in Templeton for the ways in which they squander nature’s bounty. On the occasion when the villagers use nets to harvest the bass from the lake and report a bounty harvest, Leatherstocking denounces their wasteful ways. He explains to the judge: “I eat of no man’s wasty ways, I strike my spear into the eels or the trout, when I crave th e creaters [creatures]; but I wouldn’t be helping to such a sinful kind of fishing for the best rifle that was ever brought out from the old countries” (253-54). In his view, there is no justification for harvesti ng the bass from the lake “by the thousands” with nets unless they have fur, like a beaver, or hides, like a buck, that can be made use of. He thus calls it “sinful and wa sty” to catch more than can be eaten at one time (254). Cooper’s depiction of Leatherstocking, John P. McWilliams Jr. notes, closely matches what John Locke described as “the just man in a state of nature” in Second

PAGE 78

70 Treatise on Civil Government (102). And Judge Temple, by c ontrast, is Cooper’s idea of the just man in a state of civilization. McWilliams also suggests that as farming increasingly replaces hunti ng as the major occupation at Templeton, civil justice upheld by the judge is replacing natural justice obs erved by Leatherstocking. The ending of the novel—with the exit of Leatherstocking, the last standing quasi-native following Chingachgook’s death and Edwa rds’s revealing of his Anglo-American lineage, from Templeton to seek another frontier—sugge sts that despite Cooper’s sympathy for Leatherstocking and his values, civil justice prevails over natura l justice in the new “composite order” of Templeton. Many writers have used landscape to convey a sense of historical or social change, so has Cooper. H. Daniel Peck has astutely observed that space has played an important role in Cooper’s imaginative world and it has been used to create meaning (91-2). Peck suggests that in The Pioneers the geographical and moral ce nter is the community of Templeton and its surrounding landscape. Ind eed, Cooper opens the nove l with a detailed description of the landscape surrounding what is to become Templeton, whose construction is also described in details suggesting lying behind its grand facade is a flawed plan executed awkwardly by two local architects. The development of Templeton not only causes a dramatic change in the land scape but also sows the seeds of conflict between Leatherstocking and Judge Temple. Th e clash between the two men is, in some sense, over the use of space, including Mt Vision at the Otsego. Leatherstocking intuitively senses his hunting lifestyle is under threats when he, hosting Marmaduke Temple in his cabin, first learns of Temple’s plans to develop the land around the lake of Otsego in their first encounter. The hunter subsequently withdraws his hospitality toward

PAGE 79

71 Temple. In hindsight, Temple thinks that Leatherstocking may have considered “the introduction of the settlers as an innovation [invasion] on his rights” (226). He also notes that before the rise of Templeton, “Mount Vi sion”—the idyllic name Temple gives to the place where he first laid his eyes upon the lake—still laid “in the sleep of nature,” supplying “the wants of man” (221). Judge Temp le also describes Mt. Vision as he first saw it: “the sight that there met my eyes seemed to me the descriptions of a dream” with the “unbounded forest” untouched and the lake “like a mirror of glass” (224). Here Cooper imagines a pristine landscape, laying ou t a vision of nature still in its untamed state before the intrusion of Templeton and its civilization. The Mt. Vision episode not only allows Cooper to mourn the loss of nature to settlement s but also to subtly suggest that it is the course of bourgeois history. Finally, the exit of Leathers tocking from Templeton signals not only the defeat of a mode of existence based on use value but al so the triumph of bourgeois private property based on exchange value. His departure thus signals the passing of an era and the coming of a new order. The departure has other sign ificance as well: some critics have pointed out that Leatherstocking’s departure, like Chingachgook’s death and Edwards’s resumption of his true identit y, allows Cooper to quietly re move a voice critical of the white dispossession of the Indi an land. His departure ostens ibly to seek another woods that have not yet been “improved,” they have argued, allows for the forgetting of the land dispute between the Mohegans and Judge Temple. Indeed, Leatherstocking has been known for his criticism of the whites’ dealings with the I ndians over the land. As he once tells the Mohegan chief, “I must say I’m mi strustful of such smooth speakers; for I’ve known the whites talk fair when they wanted the Indian lands most. This I will say,

PAGE 80

72 though I’m white myself” (197). But Cooper’s “concealment and unveiling” plot undercuts the interpretati on of Leatherstocking as an Indi an rights advocate. As I have shown earlier, lying behind what appears to be Indian voice of Chingachgook and Edwards is actually that of the white propert ied class. Similarly, Leatherstocking’s voice advocating the Indian right to land is underm ined by the unveiling of Fire-eater’s true identity. Like Chingachgook, Leatherstocking al so argues that Fire-eat er is the owner of the Indian land. Reminding the old Indian of the ownership of the Indian land, Leatherstocking says: “were they [the hun ting grounds] not given in solemn council to the Fire-eater?” (158). In the end, despite his talks about the Indian right, what Leatherstocking has been defending is actual ly the property right of Major Effingham, who has adopted him as a young child (421). Cooper’s “concealment and unveiling” device may be a “brilliant” plot to legitimi ze the white ownership of the Indian land, but it undermines Leatherstocking’s cr edibility as an advocate for Indian right and use value. Leatherstocking thus joins Chingachgook and Edwards/Effingham as Cooper’s native informants who work in unison to justify young Effingham’s right to his family property, thus bracketing the memory of the dispo ssession of the Indians and obscuring the primitive accumulation of capital through violence. The hidden perspective of The Pioneers thus is the bourgeois perspective that protects property right and en sures the transfer of white pa trimony to the rightful owner, while erasing the voice of the “original ow ners of the soil.” Cooper as narrator has disguised this overriding perspective through the use of native informants whose voices are molded to defend the Indian right to land, disputing Judge Temple’s ownership. But as my analysis has shown, the so-called “India n” voices turn out to be either representing

PAGE 81

73 the views of the white propertied class, or endorsing them. Passing the bourgeois perspective off as that of the Indians perh aps is the most hidden passing in many of the passings I have discussed. As a strategy of ideological containment, it also raises questions about the credibility of the perspec tive of the native informant. To prevent the abuse of the native informant by those who ar e in the position to speak for others or represent them, Spivak has ar gued for turning the native in formant as the (im)possible perspective. The indeterminacy between the po ssibility and the impo ssibility of such a perspective is to foreclose the emergence of a determined voice that is aimed to usurp the native voice as Cooper did to project his own interest ed perspective. While showing sympathy toward the dispossession of the Mohegans, Cooper has vested interests in the preservation of the bourgeois order of things. The sketchy autobiography in the “Autho r’s Introduction” to the novel, where Cooper briefly mentioned his own father having “an interest in extensive tracts of land in [the] wilderness” in Otsego (vii), discloses Coope r’s personal ties to pa triarchy and private property. This biographical “dangerous supplem ent” also shows the material connection between patronym and private property for th e propertied class. Cooper’s biographers have also pointed out that as a young man, Cooper himself had spent great efforts in recovering his father’s inhe ritance (Patterson 90). Stephe n Railton in his study of Cooper’s life and imagination observes that in lengthy legal proceedings Cooper had “consistently defended his father’s title to Cooperstown” (105), a land purchased by William Cooper after the American Re volution. The Otsego land, however, was contested by the Prevosts, th e descendants of a George Cr oghan, who had purchased the land from the Indians before the Revolution, which led to its confiscation. Through the

PAGE 82

74 devices of “Indian voices” of the native informant and passing—concealment and unveiling—Cooper artfully tu rns the land dispute between the Mohegans and Judge Temple into one between two white propertied families. In The Pioneers, Cooper has shown us how the native informants can be exploited to show sympathy to the dispossession of the Indians while endorsi ng the status quo or naturalizing accumulation by dispossession. Otsego, an Indian word consisting of Ot, a place of meeting, and Sego, a salutation used by the Indians of that region (vi), is indeed a place of meeting in Cooper’s tale where the outcome of the meeting of white settl ers and the “original owners of the soil” is shown: the primitive accumulation of capital th rough the dispossession of the Indians. It is also a place where the Indian perspectiv e is being hijacked by that of the white propertied class who engaged in a politics of collective amnesia that allows for the forgetting of the violence stemming from th e dispossession of the Indians and capital accumulation. Nevertheless, the tale takes pl ace at a time when the “origins” of the commodified land are still visible. Alt hough “amnesia,” as Richard Godden notes, characterizes the resolution of The Pioneers (134), Cooper still felt obliged to include the Indians’ voice advocating their rights to their ancestral la nds, though it turns out to be that of the white propertied class, to jus tify bourgeois right to private property and accumulation by dispossession.

PAGE 83

75 CHAPTER 3 MELVILLE’S CONSCRIPTION AND SUBVER SION OF THE ORIENT AS “NATIVE INFORMANT” IN MOBY DICK In the aftermath of 9/11, the American pub lic’s interests in the Muslim world have phenomenally increased, as reflected in the reported increased sales of books and other publications on this particular subject. It was in this envir onment of heightened awareness of the Muslim world in the United Stat es that I began to change my reading of Melville’s Moby Dick from mapping the traces of 19thcentury globalization in the novel and to peruse the novel with an eye on all things Oriental, wi th the help of a handful of scholarly works devoted to Melville’s Oriental ism. This change of focus has allowed me to see what it is not: the novel that helped give the world, increasingly connected and, in Thomas L. Friedman’s view, “flattened” vi a the use of advanced technology and means of communications, the most recognized coffee brand on the planet is, after all, not all that American as had been thought. Rather, Ishmael’s narrative on the American whaling industry and on Ahab’s excess fixation on killing the elusive white whale is also a literary occasion for Melville to show off his extensive readings on the Orient before his travel to the region in 1856-57, which was recorded in his Journals and later transformed into a lengthy poetic meditation in Clarel: A Poem and Pilgri mage in the Holy Land (1876). The Islamic Orient, invoked very so often by Ishmael to exalt the American whalemen, to critique and satirize religion and hierarchical society and to subvert Western Orientalism itself, is frequently foreclosed by most readings that saw Moby Dick as anything but Oriental. The exception is the few works devot ed to Melville’s Orientalism, notably

PAGE 84

76 Dorothee Metlitsky Finkelstein’s Melville’s Orienda Bruce H. Franklin’s The Wake of the Gods: Melville’s Mythology and John T. Irwin’s American Hieroglyphics: The Symbol of the Egyptian Hieroglyphi cs in the American Renaissance The major readings of Moby Dick had long been dominate d by the interpretations of the two major characters, Ahab and Is hmael. Over the years, the readings had expanded to include discussions of race a nd slavery, of American union and American empire, of race and sexuality and of class rela tions with the contextu alization of both past and contemporary American politics. Those re adings with their respective insights, however, had overlooked the double and conflicting operation of the Islamic Orient in the novel’s narration. On the one hand, Ishmael the narrator invokes the Or ient to exalt the American whaling industry and its whalemen; the Orient so invoked is emptied of its inhabitants, making the invocation at the same time a foreclosure. In this regard, this form of invocation accompanied by a simultaneous foreclosure amounts to the 19thcentury Western Orientalism that conscripted th e Orient to illustrate or complement the West. In the United States, this form of Or ientalism as a literary vogue found its way into the imagination of Melville, his friend Nathaniel Hawthorne, to whom the novel was dedicated, Edgar Allan Poe and other writers (Luedtke 63-67). On the other, Melville subverts this dominant form of Western Orientalism by foreclosing what the Orient is supposed to signify, as in Ishmael’s acknowle dgement of the impossibility to decipher the Egyptianized Leviathan. This form of cr itical foreclosure, unlike the one in the traditional Orientalism, calls into question th e efforts by the West to explain its racial Others and the search for (absolute) trut h and knowledge. This chapter will trace how these two contending versions of traditional a nd subversive Orientalism play out and play

PAGE 85

77 off against each other as both the invoked and foreclosed native informant, and as an (im)possible perspective. In addition, it wi ll examine how Melville appropriates the Islamic Orient to critique and satirize re ligions and hierarchic al societies. The Orient, which like the whale ship is Ishmael’s Yale and Harvard, looms large in Moby Dick It begins to loom in the opening ch apter, “Loomings,” set in the watery city of Manhattoes (Manhattan) that was enjoying bustling commerce with China. Just a few pages into the novel, an Oriental imag e begins to surface (“Unsealing the Sphinx” 283). It makes its debut when Ishmael, demonstr ating his comic sense, says: “It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the Old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roaste d river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in th eir huge bake-houses the pyramids” (6). Oriental imagery and references, which are part of Ishmael’s figures of speech, will continue to suffuse Ishmael’s na rrative of his whaling tale. Ju st quickly glance at some of Melville’s figures of speech, we will see how deeply Melville has appropriated the Orient to Orientalize his characters and dramati ze their actions. The American whalemen who stuck together through vigilance, courage and hard work are compared to “an old Mesopotamian family” (159). Ahab, who “seemed a pyramid” in Stubb’s “queer” dream, is described as having an “Egyptian chest” a nd a forehead showing “the Delta” of veins (142-43; 200; 526). Ahab’s struggle with M oby Dick is cast in Oriental terms: “No turbaned Turk” could have stricken Ahab with “more seeming malice” than Moby Dick when the whale bit off Ahab’s leg (199); “A hab’s harpoon had shed older blood than the Pharaohs’” (498). Ishmael compares the difficulty of spotting Moby Dick among the “boundless ocean” to trying to single out “a white-bearded Mufti in the thronged thoroughfares of Constantinople” (218). He de scribes the martial bones of the three non-

PAGE 86

78 white harpooners as “Moorish scimetars in scabbards” that frighten off the steward Dough-boy (165). The Indian Tashtego is char acterized as a “Turkish Muezzin calling the good people to prayers from the top of a tower” when he cries out for help after dropping through the air and la nding on the summit of a captured whale (373). Ishmael also describes an unborn whale lying in a be nt position as “a Tartar’s bow” (424). He even dubs the lamp lighted by sperm oil as “Aladdin’s lamp” (466). It should come as no surprise that Ishmael, whose name is also suggestive of Arab descent in addition to its Biblical affin ity (Parker and Hayford 18), often invokes the Orient to help with his narrative. The Orie nt thus invoked is the “native informant,” a figure of racial/ethnic Other that Spivak cri tiques as both being invoke d and foreclosed in the Western mode of representation. Its simultaneous invocation and foreclosure conforms to a form of 19th-century literary Orientalism that conscripts the exotic Other to complement the Western Self. Due to their subject matter that deals with Americans travel in the Near East, Clarel and Journals have been considered by Melville scholars to be most representative of Melville’s Orientalisms. Malini Johar Schueller, for instance, has suggested that in both works Melvill e subverts the conventional USAmerican Orientalism that posits a New World he ro mastering the Oriental Other ( U.S. Orientalisms 128-39). But I suggest in this chapter that in Moby Dick Melville has shown his attempt to subvert the imperial Orientalis m that would be further explored after his journey to the Near Ea stern Orient and in Clarel and Journals The haunting presence of the Orient in Moby Dick often arises from Ishmael’s persis tent endeavor to dive into the archives of the whales, making his narrativ e digress from the ongoing journey and labor activities of the Pequod. The c onscription and subversion of the Orient as the native

PAGE 87

79 informant in Moby Dick will be further examined below. But before proceeding, I will first review and contextualize some key historical developmen ts that led to Melville’s preoccupation with the Orient, espe cially the Near Eastern Orient. Prior to the composition and publication of Moby Dick (1851), Herman Melville, the author of “ Typee Omoo Redburn Mardi and White Jacket ,” had shown sustained interests in the Orient in these works, drawing on Oriental imagery and customs and Orientalist figures as a source for his literary imagin ation and creativity. Melville’s fascination with the Orient and what it signified for 19th-century America and Europe— both of which experienced an Oriental Renaissance ( Melville’s Orienda ; American Hieroglyphics )—are best captured in Mardi when the allegorical novel’s characters pay their tributes to the venerable Orienda. “R everence we render thee, Old Orienda! Original of all empires and emperors!” exclaims King Media representing “common sense.” “Mardi’s father-land! grandsire of the natio ns,” conjoins Mohi, the old historian. “Oh Orienda! thou wert our East, where first dawn ed song and science, with Mardi’s primal mornings! But now, how changed! the dawn of light becomes a darkness,” adds Yoomy, the young poet (551-52). Here the Orient, though revered as the cradle of civilization, has reached its sunset and is in decline, remini scent of Hegel’s notion of the linear movement of the Spirit/Reason/World Histor y that starts from the East and culminates in the West, hence his version of Orientalism. Significantly, this Orientalized view of the Orient is a “consensus” held by the Oriental representa tives of “common sens e,” history and poetry, that is, King Media, Mo hi and Yoomy repsectively. Despite this narrower view of the Orient circulating in both the official and popular Oriental literature he had access to, Melville also showed another side of his Orientalism in Mardi that embraces both the

PAGE 88

80 East and the West in a harmonious unity. “It’ s the old law:--the Ea st peoples the West, the West the East; flux and reflux” (512). Melville continued to use the Or ient as his literary muse in Moby Dick and in his later works such as Pierre and Clarel Melville’s awareness of a nd interest in the ancient Orient, which encompasses Arabia, Egypt, Turkey, Persia, Palestine and the fallen empires of the Assyrians and Babylonians, pa rtly derived from his Calvinist religious upbringing, being instructed on Biblical texts ( Melville’s Religious Thought 3-18). But more importantly, it is also a sign of his age, which experienced its own version of globalization of cultures, religions and comme rce enabled by the technologies of sailing. Melville’s age, as Dorothee Metl itsky Finkelstein points out in Melville’s Orienda her seminal work on Melville’s Orientalism, was fascinated by the archaeological discoveries of ancient Oriental artifacts. Giovanni Batt ista Belzoni’s explorations in Egypt, Jean Francois Champollion’s deciphe rment of the hieroglyphs and Sir Austen Henry Layard’s sensational excavations in Mesopotamia a ll happened in the first half of the 19th century, Melville’s formative and intellectual developm ent years (Finkelstein 7), when two of the major Western empires of the time, Britai n and France, sought domination in both the Islamic Orient and India (Said, Orientalism 221). In Melville’s im agery, Finkelstein also notes, his contemporary Orientalists like Be lzoni, Champollion, Layard, and Sir William Jones who died a generation before, are “as inte gral a part of the Near Eastern historical landscape as the pyramids, th e hieroglyphs, Nineveh, Zoroas ter, and the Persian poets” (10). Melville’s preoccupation with the Orie nt and its customs and with empires thus formed part of his historical consciousness, finding its way into his litera ry creation, as did the domestic political debate of his da y on the issue of slavery, union and American

PAGE 89

81 territorial expansion ( Shadows over the Promised Land ; Subversive Genealogy ; Empire of Liberty ). Melville’s Orientalism, Finkelstein no tes, was “nurtured in New York among a group of metropolitan literati ” (16). His Orientalism was influenced by European romantic Orientalism, esp ecially by Robert Southey’s Thalaba Thomas Morre’s Lalla Rookh and Byron’s Turkish tales. Melville’s Or ientalism, however, was different from Emerson’s Transcendentalist Orientalism, which uses the Orient “functionally” to confirm its own view of the Un iverse that there was “a kindre d principle at the bottom of all affinities” (14-15). After examining the American literary scene and its literary magazines from 1810 to 1850, including the Knickerbocker Magazine and its rival the Democratic Review and Literary World edited by Melville’s p ublisher, Evert Duyckinck, Finkelstein observes that “the Near East was a literary for ce in New York when it became Melville’s Yale and Harvard” (24) Edward Said also points out in Orientalism that by the middle 19th century, the Orient was a fert ile ground for Western literary imagination or exploitation, increasing th e public awareness of the Orie nt (192). Among the grids and codes of Western Orientalism, he also notes, the Orient as a distin ct terrain outside of Europe is being re-presented for and in the West with the representation often stripping it of its humanity. The re-presentation that of ten excludes its contem porary inhabitants who help make Oriental cultures and customs t hus signals the unequal power between those who re-present and those who are be ing re-presented. The Orient in Moby Dick as I will show, is not the Orient in wh ich the Orientals or the Western pilgrims actually live, but one conjured up from Melville’s reading of tr avel writing, Oriental lore, Shakespeare, the Bible and other whaling sources. For some Me lville scholars, this may be seen as a

PAGE 90

82 complex question of one’s belatedness to hi story, but I argue that it does display the deployment of the Orient as a trope in Melvi lle’s time. As a major source of his literary descriptions, transmutation and imagination, the Orient at many moments in the novel is a form of “native informant” that is st ructurally invoked and excluded in Ishmael’s narrative. The foreclosure of the Orient as a living organism that develops and changes points to an uncritical part of Melville’s Orientalism that still presumes the Orient is frozen in time and is made of “insulated, immemorial, unalterable countries” that “still preserve much of the ghostly aboriginalness of earth’s primal generations” (252). The degree to which Melville’s exposure to the Oriental literature available to him through his use of New York libraries and ot her sources had affect ed his intellectual development can be seen in his metaphorical us e of an Egyptian seed to describe his own intellectual development. In a June 1851 lett er to Nathaniel Hawthorne with whom he formed a friendship during the composition of Moby Dick Melville wrote: My development has been all within a few years past. I am like one of those seeds taken out of the Egyptian Pyramids, which, after being three thousand years a seed and nothing but a seed, being planted in Eng lish soil, it develope d itself, grew to greenness, and then fell to mould. So I. Until I was twenty-five, I had no development at all. From my twenty-fifth year I date my life. ( Correspondence 193) Significantly, Melville’s apprecia tion of the enigmatic Pyramids helped him to form his philosophy that things are not as transparent as they seem to be and to create his signature symbols and characters that are polysemous in nature and thus resist a totalizing scrutiny and one single interpretati on. This thinking paves the way for his subversion of the traditional Orientalism that seeks to explain the Orient and codify it as a “scientific” knowledge by foreclosing what it signifies. At his most defiant moment, Ishmael, paraphrasing Macbeth, declares that the elusive Leviathan is merely full of sounds, but

PAGE 91

83 “signifying nothing” (157). Melv ille’s fascination with the Pyramids is also linked to his Calvinist upbringing, which taugh t that God is the creator of the universe. When visiting the Pyramids in Cairo in January 1857, he r ecorded the sensations that overwhelmed him upon seeing the Pyramids. “I shudder at idea of ancient Egyptians. It was in these pyramids that was conceived the idea of Jehovah” ( Journals 75). In Moby Dick which in F.O. Matthiessen’s view helped establish his canonical stature in the American Renaissance literature ( American Renaissance vii), Melville once again turned to the Orient as a literary and narrative device to help with the unfolding and digression of the narrative. To “see what wh aling is” and to “see the world” are the official reasons Ishmael gave for signi ng up for the Nantucket whaling vessel, the Pequod, named after an almost extinct Indi an tribe, Pequots, of Massachusetts.2 But as the ship leaves the “slavery shore,” wher e the young America as a “westering empire” built upon capitalist industry and commerce relying on both white wage labor and uncompensated black labor was divided over th e issue of union and slavery, his narrative begins to digress from the ongoing journey to the Pacific. That is, as he dives further into the “matter of whaling” he takes us into the Oriental world rich with its Oriental imagery and geography. The mosaic Orient that emerges from Ishmael’s narrative is primarily drawn from the Biblical texts, Shakespeare, Or iental tales, travel literature on the Orient, contemporary archeological discoveries and othe r whaling sources. As such, the Orient is filtered through the lens of other Orientalists and along with it some of their conventional Orientalism, one that is diffe rent from what he would see when Melville later embarked on his journey through the region. As Schueller notes, the journa ls that recorded his Near 2 For an in-depth analysis of the massacre of the Pequod tribe by the white Puritant settlers in the 17th century see Richard Drinnon’s Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire-Building

PAGE 92

84 Eastern travels were fraught with “images of confusion, be wilderment, and terror that question the very agency” of the New Wo rld observer assumed to be capable of mastering and controlling the exotic, Oriental Other (129). Indeed, as Melville wrote of his experience of the labyrinthine Great Bazaa r in Constantinople, “You lose self & are bewildered & confounded with the labyrinth, the din, the ba rbaric confusion of the whole” ( Journals 60). Nevertheless, the Orient conjured up from his extensive reading of the region is also the secondary and imaginative stage in Moby Dick supplementing the primary and physical one, the ivory Pequod whose quarter-d eck provides the tableau for Ahab to render his Shakespearean speeches and for ot her members of the multi-national crew to perform their whaling duties. And into this imaginative and supplemental stage, Ishmael dives in order to exalt the American whaling in dustry and assert its supremacy; to satirize religions and hierarchical so cial relations aboard the ship by Orientalizing his major characters, including the whales, to create comi c effect on a whaling tale that ends in catastrophe; to decipher the undeci pherable Leviathan; to illu strate the existence of the sperm whales in time and space/place, hence their immortality and ubiquity; to map the genealogy of whalemen; and to dramatize th e whaling voyage and the “fiery hunt” for Moby Dick. To the extent that Ishmael appropri ates the Orient to narrate his whaling tale, he is a literary Orientalist just as Melville is. In this rega rd, Ishmael/Melville is following a literary convention in vogue th at invokes the exotic Other to complement his text, thus foreclosing the Oriental Othe r. The foreclosure underscores the imbalance of power in representation between the West and its racial Others. This is the first form of their Orientalism that conscripts the Other to help perform a service for the West. For example,

PAGE 93

85 the ancient Egyptians are invoked to help re store the “glory and honor of whaling” and praise the unsung heroes of Nantucket whalem en who had spent their hard labor and/or risked their lives hunting the whales ar ound the world and producing the sperm oil—a valuable global commodity of the time. This supplemental Oriental stage will be closely dissected to illustrate how Melville/Ishmael conscripts the Orient as the Other/the native informant to achieve those multiple goals whil e at the same time turning this form of Orientalism on its head to critique Western epistemology, religions a nd social relations, thus opening a space for “subversive Orientalism,” the second and critical form of Melville/Ishmael’s Orientalism. As can and will be seen, my study of the Orient as the Other of the West in Moby Dick is indebted to Dorothee Metlitsky Finkelste in’s comprehensive study of Melville’s “Oriental Polysensua,” Edward Said’s critique of Western Orientalism, Gayatri Spivak’s critique of the “native informant,” Malin i Johar Schueller’s notion of “subversive Orientalisms,” Timothy Marr ’s notion of “conscription” and many others. Melville’s conscription of the Orient, or his Orientalis m, is polysemous. That is, while he invokes the figure of the Orient to affirm the supremacy of the American whaling industry, he also appropriates it to critique the West ern subject of knowledge as embodied in the Egyptologist and phrenologist and satirize We stern and Eastern civi lizations, including their hierarchical social rela tions and religions. In the an alysis that follows, I often characterize Melville’s appropr iation of the Orient as “cons cription,” because I want to foreground the hidden hierarchical power rela tions between the Orient and the West, which is Said’s central critique of modern Western Orientalism. As an intellectual force in the 19th century, it produced enormous amounts of knowledge about the Orient not as

PAGE 94

86 it is but as Orientalized so that the West ern powers/empires can ex ercise authority and control over it, even claim ownership over it. Conformist, Subversive or Both? The best-known Oriental character in Moby Dick is the white-turbaned Persian Fedallah, attracting some critic s’ attention for his extremely quiet mannerism. Charles Child Walcutt notes that Fedallah has “no re vealed consciousness or point of view,” implying his frustration that little is reveal ed about the mystic Persian (310). But Timothy Marr takes an opposite view, arguing that Feda llah’s silence marks Me lville’s attempt to break away from antebellum American cultural imperialism and to end his own complicity in aiding it by speaking through th e ethnic (8). Still, some question the foreclosure of Fedallah’s perspe ctive as a hidden structure pr evalent in the Western mode of representation. By contrast, Fedallah’s Phi lippine aboriginal crew is often overlooked by Melville critics probably because they are nameless and speechless until the last few moments of their lives; the critics have yet to examine their role as what Spivak has called the invoked and foreclosed native informants. The forecl osure of both Fedallah’s and the aboriginals’ perspectives, I would argue, exemplifies the contending forces in Melville’s Orientalism: the subversive and the conformist. These Orientals are secretly recruited by Ahab to help kill the elusive Moby Dick, but Melville does not explain why they agree to take on the task that woul d endanger their lives nor give them a perspective. So the question to be asked is: In foreclosing their perspectives, is Melville simply a conformist Orientalist or su bversive enough to undermine the traditional Orientalism or both? The answer to this que stion shall help us to assess Melville’s Orientalism and his contribution to opening a space for subverting the institutionalized Orientalism, or his failure to do so, before (post)modern critiques of Western Orientalism

PAGE 95

87 shed light on how the West has produ ced knowledge through the invocation and exclusion of its racial Others. The Orient, as I have suggested, is ha rnessed as a supplementary tableau to accommodate the various needs of the narra tion. Other than the ample allusions to various Oriental figures draw n from Melville’s reading, Moby Dick also has some Orientals voyaging with the ivory Pequod a nd its multi-ethnic crew But Melville’s representation of these Orientals, specifically Fedallah and his Philippi ne aboriginal crew, radically departs from his representation of the three major non-white harpooners—the Polynesian Queequeg, the African Daggoo a nd the Gay Head Indian Tashtego. Those non-white harpooners are given noble attribut es to counter or subvert the racial stereotypes prevalent in the 19th-century American culture and society. For Fedallah and his crew, Elizabeth Schultz note s, Melville attributes to them “the degraded racial characteristics which the dominant culture of the nineteenth century assigned to nonwhite cultures and races” (32). That, in he r view, reflects Melville’s “contemporaries’ fear and ignorance of the cultures of the Near and Far East” (57). Th at popular “fear and ignorance” can be seen in Ishmael’s descripti on of the aboriginal cr ew as belonging to “a race notorious for a certain diabolism of subtilty,” and in his emphasizing Fedallah’s “one white tooth evilly protruding from its steel-like lips ” (236; italic added). Melville’s representation of Fedallah and his boatmen thus constitutes one of his Orientalist moments in which the Orient becomes s ynonymous with the diabolic and the evil. Furthermore, both Fedallah and his boatmen function as native informants in Moby Dick who are simultaneously discourse d and foreclosed. In what fo llows I will discuss their role as the invoked and foreclos ed racial Others in the pl ot that leads to the final

PAGE 96

88 encounter with Moby Dick, as well as the na ture of their respec tive foreclosure as mirroring the Western constructi on of the racial and ethnic Others in Melville and the opposing forces in Melville’s Orientalism. As a ship that has among its crew “nearly all Islanders,” “feder ated along one keel” (131-32), the Pequod presents Ishmael and hi s other white shipmates opportunities to meet with and to discourse about their ra cial and ethnic others The latter social interaction, however, is not exte nded to Fedallah and the ab originals, who are secretly recruited by Ahab to kill his sworn enemy Moby Dick, s upplementing the regular crew on the official payroll to hunt wh ales for their lucrative oil. Ishmael’s description of their first public appearance sets the stage for thei r “native informants” ro le in the narrative. They appear on the deck alongside Captain Ahab as “five dusky phantoms that seemed fresh formed out of air” (235), Ishmael sa ys. Even before their public appearance, Fedallah and the “tiger-yellow” crew have become the subject of speculation among the Pequod’s other crew members who have long suspected their sha dowy presence in the ship’s hold. But Melville does not explain w hy Fedallah and the Filipino aborigines have joined in Ahab’s monomanic crusade and what their motives were. More important, Melville seems intent on withholding language from them. Hardly can they be said to be subjects of speech except for few fleeting moments. The natives finally utter few words, protesting in a co llective voice against Ahab’s order to continue the chase of Moby Dick, before they die; Fedallah speaks briefly only to reveal an elabor ate prophecy foretelling Ahab’s final encounter with Moby Dick, otherwise he remains a mysterious and mute figure. Melville’s representati on of the Oriental crew, “a dangerous supplement” to the regular crew hired by the Pequod’ s owners, thus signals a cha nge from his previous mode

PAGE 97

89 of representation in which he speaks, more or less, through his ethnic characters to disguise his textual appropria tions (Marr13; 16). The forecl osure of their perspectives, while making their motives undecipherable as Marr says of Fedallah’s silence (22), also allows the racial stereotype s attached to their character ization to go unquestioned. The foreclosure of Fedallah’s and the Filipinos’ pe rspectives and the wit hholding of language from them amount to a subtle form of Orie ntalism, even though Ishmael does not seek to speak for them or explain them or their motives, precisely becau se Melville does not disclose their motives or allow them to speak their minds. The foreclosure of their perspe ctives is reinforced by Melville’s sustained efforts to portray Fedallah and the Filipinos as phant oms and shadowy figures with supposed evil intents. The first sound they ever make aboard the ship while still hiding in the hold is a disembodied laugh, suggesting phantom laugh. A “low laugh from the hold” is heard after Ahab thinks that he has secured the first mate Starbuck’s tacit acquiescence to go along with his pursuit of Moby Dick and afte r Starbuck says “God keep me! —keep us all!” (179). The sighting of Ahab’s secret Oriental crew reminds Ishmael of the “mysterious shadows” he has seen sneaking aboard the ship (239). Even after this spectacular event, Ishmael continues to desc ribe them as “subordi nate phantoms” (251), and suggests that the devil (Beelzebub) could ea sily find his way into the whalers as they circumnavigate around the world, picking up cas taways to help man their ships. Stubb, the second mate, even goes so far as to suggest that Fedallah is “t he devil in disguise” (355). Starbuck later also perceives Fedallah as “t he evil shadow” that has commandeered Ahab’s soul. What underlies th ose white men’s perceptions of Fedallah

PAGE 98

90 and of the aboriginal thus is the Western metaphysics that cons tructs its racial Others as shadows out of its Self as substance. The metaphysics of shadow and substance that constructs the Filipino aboriginals as the Others of the American Self comes to a climax when Ahab denies them of their humanity, treating them as if they were his arms and legs. In his desperate and futile attempt to kill Moby Dick in the last and third day of the chase, Ahab forbids his supplemental crew to jump the boat and thre atens to “harpoon” those who do. Strikingly, the order ends with this de humanizing warning: “Ye are not other men, but my arms and my legs; and so obey me” (618). Ahab’s reductio n of the Filipino natives to his arms and legs is all the more acute on account of his or dering of the white mates to return to the ship to repair the broken boats with the opti on not to return to him. He says to them: “Ahab is enough to die” (618). Here Ahab’s Orie ntal crew is given a “special mission” to die with or for Ahab and only as his “arms a nd legs.” Moreover, Ahab reinforces the rigid division of labor between brains and muscles, with him being the brain of course. In the end, the conscription of the Filipino crew is only meant to serve as Ahab’s arms and legs! By contrast, the white-turbaned Fedallah, whose whole person is enveloped in black, suggesting him to be a dark figure like Faust’s Mephistopheles (236), is reduced to Ahab’s shadow. Ishmael first reports witne ssing the blending together of Ahab’s and Fedallah’s shadow when Fedallah is scrutini zing the head of a right whale, which has recently been killed, and glancing between the creature’s deep wrinkles and the lines in his own hand. At this critical moment, Ishmael says, Ahab chances to stand in such a position that “the Parsee [Fedallah] occupi ed his [Ahab’s] shadow” and Fedallah’s shadow seems to “blend with, and lengthen Ahab’s” (358). Subsequently, Ishmael and

PAGE 99

91 the crew begin to cast doubts on the whole being of Fedallah; they entertain the thought that “whether he were a mortal substan ce” with his “added, gliding strangeness” and “ceaseless shudderings” that shake his being. Th ey even speculate th at Fedallah’s being is “a tremulous shadow cast upon the deck by some unseen being’s body. And that shadow was always hovering there” (583). The speculation surrounding Fedallah, as I have argued earlier, is based on the metaphysic s of substance and shadow that reduces the racial Others to shadowy figures. The me taphysics reaches its climax when Ishmael reports seeing during the wh ale watch by Ahab and Fedallah that “in the Parsee Ahab saw his forethrown shadow, in Ahab the Parsee his abandoned substance” (584). So far, I have only discussed the foreclosur e of the supplemental Oriental crew as a form of Orientalism that closes off the perspectives of the Others of the West, conforming to an unspoken Western norm in re presenting its racial and ethnic Others. This form of foreclosing the ethnic pers pectives, as Dana D. Nelson has argued, is symptomatic of Melville’s conformity to “the same structural exclusivity of white male subjectivity in its own necessa rily limited portray of [the racial Other’s] motives and goals, and ultimate humanity” (130; italics orig inal). The foreclosure of the Philippine indigenous without doubt belongs to the type Nelson described above, but her critique is not adequate to explain that of Fedallah, whose foreclosure could be more than just conformist. So I will now consider the possibi lity that the foreclosure of the mystifying Fedallah as a subversive one that aims at disrupting the bounda ry of the institutionalized Orientalism that seeks to explain the Other to the West. At stake is how one is to do with the native informant and its potential critical forces of “permanent parabasis” (constant interruption) in the Western (Eurocentric) na rrative, when it has been revealed that the

PAGE 100

92 figure has been invoked, appropriated, conscrip ted, or co-opted to do the bidding of those who are in the position to represent the Other. Marr regards Ishmael’s view that Fedallah shall remain “a muffled mystery to the last” ( Moby Dick 252) as a sign that Melville was breaking away from “the imperial act of ethni c ventriloquism and his desire to preserve instead the powerful dignity of [his] inexpres sible silence” (22), therefore his effort to refuse to draft the ethnic as he had done previously. Marr’s argument is compelling to the extent that his view on Fedallah is consistent with Melville’s view on other Orientalized symbols: the Orientalized leviathan (indeci pherable hieroglyphics), the Persian fire (“incommunicable riddle”) and the Polynesian Queequeg’s enigmatic tattoos. Clearly, in those enigmatic cases Melville is using the Orient as a subversive force to call into question the search for (absol ute) knowledge, truth and certa inty. But Marr, I think, fails to consider another pole in Melville’s Orientalism: behind Melville’s subversive move to foreclose Fedallah’s perspective is the conformist Orientalis m that still seethes under the subversive one. So immediately after declari ng Fedallah shall remain an enigmatic figure, Ishmael slides back to a perception of the Orient as frozen in time. Fedallah, he tells us, is a creature from the “unchanging Asiatic co mmunities ... those insulated, immemorial, unalterable countries ....” (252). Here we have two opposite views on the foreclosure in Melville, with Nelson arguing the foreclosure in Melville is “structura l” and deprives the ra cial Others of their perspectives and Marr seeing it as a resistance on Melville’s pa rt to conscript the ethnic. The foreclosure of the Philippine aboriginals, as I have argued, is unequivocal: one that shows Melville’s conformist side of Orientalism. But in the foreclosure of Fedallah, we can see the subversive and the conformist forces in Melvi lle’s Orientalism playing out

PAGE 101

93 and playing off against each other. Anticip ating the polarizing views on the voice and silence of the racial and ethnic Others and th e dilemmas they pose for students of cultural studies and literary critics, Spivak reinscribes the native in formant that has been invoked and foreclosed in the Western epistemology as an (im)possible perspective. That is, she foregrounds the inclusion and foreclosur e of the native informant in Western representation but does not seek to restore that foreclosed pe rspective, which she insists shall remain lost forever. He r critical use of foreclosure as a precaution against the abuse of the native informant seems to align her with Marr’s position, and also dovetails with Melville’s another refusal to signify what th e Leviathan is, which wi ll be discussed later in Melville’s critique of E gyptology. Whether or not Spivak’s formulation of the “native informant” as an (im)possible perspective wi ll help settle the deba te on the possibilities and limitations of the foreclosure of the na tive informant or provoke more debates still remains to be seen. Meanwhile, I will focus on how Melville conscripts the Orient as the “native informant” while subverting the inst itutionalized Or ientalism in the remaining parts of the chapter. The Levant as the Foreclosed Native Informant The Levant, which was “a favorite place for ma ny Americans to travel in and write about” in the 19th century (Obeidat 99), figures prominently in Moby Dick as the site for the appearance of the Leviathan in both ancien t and modern times. As with the ethnic in his earlier works, the Levant is conscripted by Melville to “disguise his textual appropriations” and to generate “a creative color for his own text ual productions” (Marr 16; 13). The Levantine conscrip tion also taps into the 19th-American reading public’s interest in the region arising fr om the nation’s “quest for trade and empire, the rise of the missionary movement, and curiosity for the ex otic and the outlandish” (Obeidat 97). The

PAGE 102

94 geography of the Holy Land, as James A. Field Jr. points out in America and the Mediterranean World 1776-1882 was familiar to the Bible-reading Americans, some of whom “had visited Egypt where Pharaoh ha d oppressed the Jews, ... had visited Jaffa, where Noah had built his Ark of gopher w ood and where Jonah had been spewed up out of the whale’s belly” (102-03). Melville hi mself had planned to visit it in 1849 from London where he had expected the sale of White Jacket would help finance the trip. But “this glorious Eastern jaunt” planned with much enthus iasm was, however, canceled for financial reasons ( Melville Log 321). It was not made until several years later in 1856-57, the by-product of which was Clarel and Journals Nevertheless, the Levant with its Biblical lands remains an exotic and my sterious place for Melville inciting his imagination all the more for not seeing it in person, until his 1856-57 trip there shattered much of that perception. The 1856-57 visit to the Bible land also marks a transitional point in Melville’s Orientalism. Before that the sources of his Or iental allusions and imagery largely derive from the Biblical te xts, contemporary archeological discoveries and travel accounts by Hakluyt, Purchas and ot hers. As a result of that, his Oriental landscape is filled with Biblical and historic al figures like Jonah, kings of Babylon, Dey of Algiers, Cleopatra, Saladi n, Tamerlane, Vishnoo (Maste Avatar), Xerxes, and the like. That in turn makes his Orientalism lack the ki nd of vitality and real ism that the inclusion of the real contemporary Orient als would have helped create. Of this much-anticipated and delayed trip, Melville recorded having that “genuine, old Jonah feeling” while visiting the land that Jonah is said to have traveled ( Journals 80-81). With the experience of having immersed himself in the narrowed streets of Constan tinople and other holy sites crowded with its inhabitants, portrayals of the re al Near Eastern people found their

PAGE 103

95 way into his journal entries and Clarel In Clarel Melville transformed a guide, or dragoman, he met in Jerusalem into the charact er of Djalea, who is described as “a Druze of Lebanon,” and “rumored for an Emir’s son,” and who is the tour guide for Clarel and his American and European travel companions (Potter 155; Clarel 163). The Levant as a setting is first cited in Father Mapple’s sermon on Jonah’s failed attempt to escape from God and the duty God confers on him as a Hebrew prophet. Jonah’s failed escape, while a Biblical story used by Father Mapple to goad his congregation to obey God, is also a st ory of journey in space and time. Moby Dick as Charles Olson notes, is an experience of bot h time and space. If Jonah had succeeded, his planned escape from Joppa/Jaffa in Syria through a ship destined for Tarshish/Cadiz in Spain would have taken him on a journe y crossing the Mediterranean. Jonah’s entombment in the whale for three days in the whirlpool of the Mediterranean sea has “hitherto unheeded meaning” lurking behind it (48). But it is not the Biblical one of “swift punishment, repentance, pr ayers, and finally the delive rance and joy of Jonah” as Father Mapple wants his congregation to discer n (47). Melville uses th is Biblical story to set the stage for Ishmael’s dive into the Le vantine and Biblical land to account for the genealogy of the Leviathan and the whalemen. Furthermore, the account of Jonah’s journey in the whale paves the way for Is hmael’s comparative accounts of the whale stories drawn from the mosaic Oriental worl d of religions and mythologies. For example, later Ishmael will mention “the incarnation of the Vishnu in the form of leviathan” (286) and count the Hindu god as belonging to the club of whale men ( 397). The telling of Jonah’s entombment in the whale, shortly before the sail of the Pequod heading toward the Pacific Asia, also helps frame the spatial and temporal dimensions of Moby Dick that

PAGE 104

96 encompass the whole watery world and cove rs both Islamic and Christian lands. So through Jonah’s entombment in the whale, a prefiguration for circumnavigation by sea, Melville skillfully conscripts the Levant as one of the Orie ntal tableaus for the novel and foreclosing it at the same time, as the Pequod sails toward the Pacifi c, the real center of whale hunting grounds for the 19th-century whalers and the scene where the final battle between Captain Ahab and Moby Dick unfolds. Edward Gibbon wrote in The Decline and Fall of The Roman Empire that “As in his daily prayers the Moslem of Fez or Delh i still turns his face towards the temple of Mecca, the historian’s eye shall be always fi xed on the city of Constantinople.... From an humble origin, the Ottomans arose, the scourge and terror of Christendom” (857; 859). Melville who may either have owned a copy of Gibbon’s book or borrowed it ( Melville’s Reading 61) seems to have taken note of the hi storian’s advice, maintaining a sustained interest in the fate of the w eakening Ottoman Empire besides picking up the life story of Mohammed and Islamic customs from it ( Melville’s Orienda 6; 180-88). In White Jacket Melville fictionalizes the 1827 Battle of Na varino in which the British, French and Russian joined forces to defeat an Ottoman fleet in the Levant. In Moby Dick the city of Constantinople and the customs and social relations of the Ottoman Empire are conscripted to foreground the ubiquitousness of the Leviathan, satirize the rigid social relations between Ahab and his three mate s and parody the sperm whale’s social and sexual arrangement. In “The Affidavit,” Me lville again enlists Constantinople and the Levant, where the sperm whale was recorded to have been spotted both in ancient and modern times, to give authority to Ishmael ’s testimony on the Leviathan. According to Howard P. Vincent who documented Melv ille’s whale and whaling sources for Moby

PAGE 105

97 Dick the source of the two whale-sp otting citations in “The Affida vit” is an entry entitled “whale” by C. Hamilton Smith collected in John Kitto’s A Cyclopedia of Biblical Literature (271-74). But given Melville’s familia rity with Gibbon’s work on the Roman Empire, the sighting of the sperm whale in the Mediterranean controlled once by the Roman Empire and by the Ottoman Empire and its European rivals during the 19th century may have been intended to foreground the longevity of the Leviathan that outlives some fallen empires. Here the sperm whale as elsewhere, as Ishmael’s narrative indicates, is a spatial and temporal figure. In “The Affidavit,” the Levant has been conscripted to trace the presence and activity of the sperm whale in time and space, thus haunting and disrupting the novel’s narrative on the Pequod’ s voyage. Like squid, the “white ghost” that foreshadow s the presence of the sperm wh ale (301), the Orient has a haunting presence in the Pequod’s whaling voyage The Orient as “the native informant” that is both invoked and forecl osed thus has become the Ot her of the American whaling voyage, haunting and disrupting the ongoi ng whaling voyage. Metaphorically, the Orient’s relationship to the Pequod is simila r to the one that a ship forms with the barnacles that stick to its bottom, whose pres ence is hidden most of the time, but comes to view from time to time. Comic and Subversive Orientalism In 1890, a year before his death, Harper’s Magazine considered Melville a “minor humorist” (Rosenberry 1). Of Melville’s co mic methods and achievement, Edward H. Rosenberry writes in Melville and the Comic Spirit that Moby Dick stands at the apex of “a pyramidal pattern” that de veloped and matured during his more prolific years. The “pyramidal pattern” has four major phases: the jocular-hedonic with fun as the main goal; the imaginative-critical containing literary original ity, sophisticated tone and

PAGE 106

98 ulterior motives; the philosophical-psychological striving for balancing the ambiguities of life and the dramatic-structural that combines the three earl ier phases to create a more balanced work of art (5-6). Rosenberry’s study of Melville’s comic spirit, however, downplays his appropriation of Oriental custom s and society to create comic effects and mount social criticisms. The maturity of Melville’s comic vision, though influenced by Shakespeare and Rabelais, both of whom are a lluded to for their distinct forehead and jolly spirit respectively in the text (379; 465), is definitely helped by his appropriation of the Oriental material. Melville’s Orientalism, as Finkelstein has noted, is multifaceted. It is more so in his experiments with comic Orientalism, a genre he explored to mount social commentaries with humor and satire with out directly offending authorities. In this endeavor, he succeeded in opening up a cri tical space that subverts the traditional Orientalism by appropriating the Islamic Orient as a protective shield from censors of liberal ideas. By way of the Islamic Orient, which functions as the native informant both invoked and foreclosed in Moby Dick Melville launches his thinly veiled attacks on religions and hierarchy socie ties while poking fun at the sociology of the Ottomanized sperm whales. But it came with a price: in making his social critiques he needed to reenact the uncritical Orient alism by simultaneously invoking and foreclosing the Islamic Orient. In Moby Dick his comic and subversive Orientalism is manifested in three Oriental or Orientalized chapters, wh ich I will examine below. In these chapters, Melville conscripts Islamic religion, cu stoms and social structures to satirize religions, the hierarchical social relations among the Pequod’ s white officers, and the social and sexual mores among the amorous whales while creating comic relief along the way. In “The

PAGE 107

99 Ramadan,” on the surface Melvil le uses the occasion of “Queequeg’s Ramadan” to have Ishmael, a supposedly “good Presbyterian Christ ian,” reflect on religi ons. But in reality he uses the Ramadan as a pretext and a cover to satirize the forms of religious practice and the overzealous observant. Queequeg’s turn to Islam or something like that is intriguing in itself, given that he has learned from the Christia ns that “it’s a wicked world in all meridians; I’ll die a pagan” (62). Also, the ways in which Queequeg observes his Ramadan are foreign, if not offensive, to devout Muslims for he not only shortens the month-long fast to a protracted single day but also invites his black idol Yojo to join him. Initially, Ishmael assures us that Queequeg knows what he is doing. But when the fast seems to go on forever, extending well beyond its daily duration, Ishmael cannot help but to intervene to save Queequeg from po ssible harms. The melodrama caused by Queequeg’s “modification” or distortion of th e ritual leads Ishmael to contemplate on religions. Ishmael’s contemplation shows him to be tolerant of relig ions as long as the believers do not make “this earth of ours an unc omfortable inn to lodge in” (94). It also reveals his view on religious pract ice and doctrine when he says: all these Lents, Ramadans, and prolonged ham-squattings in cold, cheerless rooms were stark nonsense; bad for the health, us eless for the soul; opposed, in short, to the obvious laws of Hygiene and common se nse ... all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be half-starved ... hell is an idea first bor n on an undigested appledumpling; and since then perpetuated th rough the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans. (ibid.) These words, Ishmael reports, fail to regist er with Queequeg who seems to know what a “true religion” is. So through Queequeg’s “unaccountable Ra madan” Melville parodies Lent and Ramadan while subtly questioning the ill eff ects of such religious practices on one’s health and soul as well as a dvancing his own theory of fast and hell. The conscription of a

PAGE 108

100 modified or distorted Ramadan serves Melvil le’s purpose to criticize some aspects of religions but with humor and wit that enrich his comic spirit, though at the expense of Ramadan. Queequeg’s “unaccountable Ramadan” thus can be seen as the “native informant” that is both invoked and foreclos ed in Melville’s sa tire. The superficial appropriation of Islam also helps give Moby Dick an aura of globalization, reflecting Melville’s cosmopolitan view that “No cust om is strange; no creed is absurd” ( Mardi 13). It is also Melville’s strategy to avoid unnece ssary editorial censorship on the matter of religion. Earlier, Melville had received edito rial objections for his comments in his first novel Typee (1846), denouncing the devastati ng effects brought about by Western civilization through proselytiz ing Christianity and trade on the Polynesian natives ( Ruthless Democracy 160). Queequeg, on the other hand, emerges in this Ramadan episode ironically as a non-c onformist. He not only brushe s aside Ishmael’s “lecture” on “that important subject,” namely religion, but also demonstrates how he could take on a religion and subvert it with his own idea of what that religion s hould be practiced. Oriental despotism has long been a staple in Western Orientalism, but Melville reenacts it to critique the dict atorship of Ahab, who is referred to as “Grand Turk,” “Old Mogul” and “Khan of the plan” aboard the Pequod. As Malini Johar Schueller points out in U.S. Orientalisms American literary Orientalisms are not monolithic, a handful of writers re-enact the Orientalist discourse to cr itique gender and racial inequalities at home and question the imperial-hermeneutic power of the New World subject (“Missionary Colonialism” 75-108; “Subversive Orientalis ms” 109-40). Melville’s appropriation of Muslim social ranks to critique and satirize the hierarchical social relations aboard the Pequod is evidently on display in “The CabinTable.” This transmutation is achieved

PAGE 109

101 through the use of a double-narra tive; the officers themselves still live under the American social relations characterized by its rigid formality while Melville/Ishmael’s narrative treats them rather hilariously as if they lived under a hierarch ical Muslim society. Instead of addressing Ahab and hi s three subordinates as captain and mates on an American whaler, Melville transforms th at social relationship into one between a sultan and his three emirs. Dubbed as “Grand Tu rk,” Captain Ahab here is treated as a sultan lording over his emirs. Wh ile the rather pompous language is intended to “elevate” the social status of Ahab and his three mates, it only draws more attention to the social distance between each rank and their place in such a rigid social hierarchy. After Dough-Boy, the ship’s st eward, paradoxically, sets the chain of command in motion by initiating the call to dinner to his “l ord and master,” the cab in-table chapter is narrated alternately between two sets of voices, representing tw o sets of social norms but equally hierarchical. Upon hearing D ough-Boy’s dinner call, the “moody Ahab” commands his first mate to dinner, saying “D inner, Mr. Starbuck” before disappearing into the cabin. The narrative then shifts to the Muslim gear with its comic tone, describing Starbuck as “the first Emir” who, af ter feeling assured that “the last echo of his sultan’s step has died away” and thus in ferring Ahab is presumably seated, gives his own order to his next subaltern, saying “D inner, Mr. Stubb.” U pon hearing the order, “the second Emir” Stubb steps into his place to participate in the ritual, calling out “Dinner, Mr. Flask” before stepping into the cabin. The “third Emir” Flask, after being called up to appear on the dec k, makes his antic entrance to King Ahab’s presence “in the character of the Abjectus, or the Slave” (162). The uttera nces by Ahab and his three mates highlight the formality they perform over the dinner calls while the Orientalized

PAGE 110

102 commentary narrative helps to drive home Melv ille’s critique of the “social czarship” perpetuated by the Pequod’s captain and officers. Its foremost victim is Flask who, since his promotion to the “dignity of an offi cer,” has “never known what it was to be otherwise than hungry” because “what he ate di d not so much relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him” and because he is the “t he last person down at the dinner” and “the first man up” (163). More significantly, Melville’s Orientaliza tion of the official relations between Ahab and the mates who form the “first tabl e” in the Pequod’s cabin serves to contrast with the “frantic democracy” practiced by th eir three subaltern ha rpooners who eat after the officers but dine “like lords” among them selves. Here as elsewhere, the target of Melville’s critique is not the Islamic social structure per se; he uses it to insinuate the unequal American social relations manifested in the “first ta ble”; and in the process, the reader is also made aware of the social hi erarchy in Islamic soci ety. The conscription of the Muslim social titles and the non-white harpooners in th is cabin table scene allows Melville to mount a social critique of the Pequod’s ranke d society. Both the Islamic Orient and the ethnic are strategically conscrip ted to achieve that effect, and with a comic overtone. The Orient also provides Melville with a fertile ground to cull and invent his Melvillian puns and conceits, which in turn lighten up his Orientalism. For instance, the chapter titled “The Nut” is a clever pun on Nut, the mother of Isis and Osiris of the Egyptian myth (Franklin 71), and a witty c onceit for the brain of the sperm whale. Melville’s fascination with puns, Rosenberry writes, lies in his profound understanding of the principles of semantics (77). In Mardi Melville writes that “w ords are but algebraic

PAGE 111

103 signs, conveying no meaning except what you please” (269). The use of puns and conceits, or what Melville called “linked analogies” in Moby Dick allows Melville to inject low comedy into a whaling expedition that will soon turn into a catastrophe. The combined use of pun and conceit is again seen in the “Schools and Schoolmasters” chapter devoted to the social and sexual behavi or of the sperm whales, and its rendition is couched in Oriental terms. As Ishmael explai ns, the title of this chapter refers to the female sperm whales and their male counter parts. It is a witty punning on the whaling terminology, school, as in schools of whales, a nd an equally witty c onceit for designating the schools of female whales as “harem” a nd the solitary gray male sperm whale as “a schoolmaster” teaching the folly of his youthful /lustful days. In this chapter, the male sperm whale is personified as an Ottoman lor d, and his “gallantry” is demonstrated by the schools of female whales, or the harem he keeps. The gallantry of this “luxurious Ottoman,” also known as “Bashaw,” is further de monstrated in his effo rts to fight off the invasion of his “domestic bliss” by a young and amorous male whale named Lothario. But “our Ottoman,” who leaves behind babies all over the world, eventually enters a new phase, the supposed “impotent, repentant, ad monitory” stage of hi s life, disbanding his harem and becoming a solitary “schoolmaster” warning young male whales of the folly of his youthful/lustful days. On some leve ls, the Ottoman/male sperm whale comes across as the sultan of The Lustful Turk (1828), a popular book bordering on literature and pornography (Marcus, The Other Victorians 197-216). This witty chapter on the sociology of the sperm whales demonstrates Melville’s sense of humor and his “imaginative power” to transform the whaling sources he had read into his own “literary chowder.” Comp aring “The Grand Armada” and “Schools and

PAGE 112

104 Schoolmasters” with the whaling sources fr om which Melville had borrowed, Howard Vincent notes that Melville’s powerful literary imagination often transformed scientific factual writings of Beale ( Natural History ), Bennett ( A Whaling Voyage ), Olmsted and Scoresby into a piece of great literary work rich with metaphors and images ( Trying-Out 299-310). Vincent also praises Melville for achieving in Moby Dick William Wordsworth’s dictum that “the true use for th e imaginative faculty of modern times is to give ultimate vivification to f acts, to science, and to comm on life, endowing them with glories and final illustriousness” (310). Melville’s appropriation of the Islamic Orient helps him to create an ingeni ous pair of pun and conceit that vividly portrays the social and domestic mores of the sperm whales and their seasonal migrati on around the globe. The Ottomanization of the sperm whales also al lows Melville to skillfully disguise his sources of the whale sociology, just as his cons criptions of the ethnic enable him to “hide the transgression of his own literary borrowings ” (“Melville’s Ethnic Conscriptions” 12). But Melville’s Ottomanization of the sperm whales also reveals the deep influence of European Orientalist thought s on his literary creation and the constraints it imposed on him. This in turn helped foster in the West ern mind the association of “the Orient with the freedom of licentious sex” ( Orientalism 190). The effect was such that, Edward Said writes, “In time ‘Oriental sex’ was as standard a commodity as any ot her available in the mass culture with the result that readers and wr iters could have it if they wished without necessarily going to the Orient” (190). Said also suggests that the West’s fascination with the Oriental harem and polygamy was that th ey offered an alternative to monogamous sexual relationship demanded by the bourgeois social and cultural norms, obsessed with private possessions and private property. The Oriental harem thus constitutes an exotic

PAGE 113

105 place where sexual fantasies restricted by bour geois sexual morality and propriety can find a temporary outlet. In the end, this episode of Melville’s comic Orientalism indirectly serves to perpetuate a generaliza tion of the Oriental sexual practice by simply confirming what has been passed on and has been circulating in the Oriental archive created and compiled by the West and for the West. Egyptian Revival and Cr itique of Egyptology Part of Melville’s preoccupa tion with the Orient and its antiquities, as I have discussed earlier, reflects the sign of his age, which had e xperienced its own version of globalization of cultures, religions and comme rce enabled by the technologies of oceanic navigation. Roughly between 1800 and 1850, Ameri ca and Europe were swept by a great interest in the antiquities of Egypt. This Egyptian revival, John T. Irwin points out in American Hieroglyphics helped contribute to the pr oduction of what was to become known as the American Renaissance literatur e, whose better known writers include Emerson, Poe, Thoreau, Whitman, Hawthorne an d Melville (3-14). More importantly, it marked their works with the “mystic hier oglyphics.” Like hi s contemporary fellow writers, Melville’s interest in ancient Egypt was fueled by the archaeological discoveries initiated by Napoleon’s inva sion of Egypt in 1798. In Moby Dick he conscripts ancient Egypt to help revive the “glory and honor” of the American wha ling industry. Allusions to Egyptian images, mythologies, deities a nd historical figures abound in Ishmael’s narrative seeking to articulate the genealogy of whaling and debunk what he sees as a widespread misconception about this profession. H. Bruce Franklin, for example, reads Ahab’s struggle with Moby Dick as “an Egyp tian myth incarnate,” showing the to-thedeath struggle is inspired by the myth of “Isi s and Osiris,” which is included in Plutarch’s Morals cited in the “Extracts,” and the Osir is-Typhon myth (71-83) Melville also

PAGE 114

106 Orientalizes his major charac ters, Ahab, Starbuck, Queeque g, the whales and Moby Dick, endowing them with Egyptian attributes. In “The Advocate,” Ishmael regards wha ling as “that Egyptian mother, who bore offspring themselves pregnant from her womb” (119-20). The “Egyptian mother” mentioned here is Nut, the mother of Isis Osiris and Typhon; Osiris impregnates Isis while still in Nut’s womb and becomes an arch rival to his half-brother Typhon (Franklin 71). That “The Nut,” the chapter devoted to th e brain of the sperm whale, begins with an Egyptianization of the sperm whale describe d as having the physiognomy of “a Sphinx” is an esoteric reference to “that Egyptian mother” (381). Here the Egyptian mother is invoked by Ishmael to honor the “anonymous” but “our heroic Nantucketers” who got no due recognition for their role in “civilizing” the “virgin wonde rs and terrors” of the South Sea as did Cooks and Krusensterns (120). But the invocation is quietly dropped as Ishmael goes on to praise the American whaler s for breaking the hold of Spanish colonial rule in South America and bringing “eternal de mocracy” to this part of the world. What the invocation also performs effectively here is the foreclosure of ancient Egypt as Ishmael’s real aim is to pay tributes to American whalemen for their liberty-building contribution. Ishmael’s narrative here, how ever, rehearses the dominant ideology of Melville’s day, the so-called “Manifest De stiny,” an ideology popularized by John L. O’Sullivan that sees America as a virtuous re public that seeks to bring liberty to the world. O’Sullivan advocated that America had a “manifest destiny” to spread its free institutions across the continen t and coined that phrase in 1845 to promote the annexation of Texas (Rogin 72-73). Ishmael’s democratic rhetoric, as Timothy B. Powell points out, belies the nature of the 19th–century American capitalism th at had just recently annexed

PAGE 115

107 Mexico and California, expanding its territorial possessions. Until the Civil War, the “ruthless democracy” that “pick[ed] up Andrew Jackson from the pe bbles” still relies on African slave labor. The slave ships crow ded with human commodities crossing the Atlantic in “The Gam,” though at the margin of the narrative, only contradicts Ishmael’s democratic rhetoric. His is further undercut by the odes to empires (“Nantucket”) and to colonialism legalized as a form of private property (“Fast Fish and Lose Fish”). In “The Advocate” chapter, we see a patte rn emerging with regard to Melville’s conscription of the Orient. Ancient Egypt is used as a springboard to launch discourse concerning the real topic of Melville’s: th e American whaling industry, which Senator Daniel Webster in 1828 praised for contribu ting to “national interest” and “national wealth” (“Extracts” xlix). This pattern of building up the Nantucket whaling on the back of the ancient Egypt is again seen in “The Mast-Head.” In explaining one of the most important jobs aboard a whaler—standing the ma st-heads to serve as the eye of the ship for spotting the oil-rich whales—Ishmael credits the “old Egyptians” for being the “earliest standers of mast-heads” (167). Be ing the builders of the first pyramids for astronomical purposes, the Egyptians are “a nation of mast-head standers,” Ishmael asserts. He then goes on to ridicule the lifele ss modern mast-head standers in the form of stone, iron and bronze statues for not being able to withstand “a single hail from below.” These lifeless sets include Napoleon’s in Vendome, Washington’s in Baltimore and Nelson’s in Trafalgar Square. The reference to Napoleon after the invocation of the old Egyptian mast-head standers is significant for two reasons: it not only continues the theme of empire and empero rs/kings that permeates Moby Dick to show whaling is “imperial,” but also marks, though implicitly, the French invasion of Egypt in 1798 under

PAGE 116

108 Napoleon that helped fuel the Egyptian reviva l in Europe and America. Nevertheless, the narrative of “The Mast-Head” th at starts with the acknowledg ment of the “old Egyptians” for their contribution to whaling returns to the Nantucket whaler itself as Ishmael warns the ship owners not to hire young dreamers like him who are more interested in meditating in “thought-engendering altitude” than in watching out for the presence of the whales. The pattern of conscripting an cient Egypt as a launch pa d to build up the American whaling or to dissect the Leviat han thus constitutes part of Melville’s Orientalism. This pattern is repeated again in “The Fossil Whal e,” in which Ishmael traces the existence of the whales to “Egyptian tablets” so as to suggests their “antiquity” and “fossiliferous character” (499). He also takes us on a vi rtual tour of the Egyp tian temple, Denderah, where upon its granite ceiling a discovery wa s made of “a sculptured and painted planisphere abounding in centaurs, griffins and dolphins .... among them Old Leviathan swam as of yore ... centuries before Solom on was cradled” (499). Melville’s knowledge of the Denderah temple is taken from Vi vant Denon who participated in Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt and later wrote Travels in Upper and Lower Egypt, in Company with Several Divisions of the French Army, during the Campaigns of General Bonaparte ( Melville’s Orienda 129). Melville’s transliterati on of Denon’s work, the “first authoritative account of the antiquities of Egypt ” with “original illust rations” to reach the West (ibid.), thus reveals the historic al circumstances that enabled Melville’s appropriation of the Oriental archive: the French Empire and the Egyptian revival to which it facilitated. The antiquity of the Levi athan is further fortified by a citation from the famed Barbary traveler John Leo, a 16th-century Moor whose North African

PAGE 117

109 travelogue recorded an African temple made of whale bones. Through the “Egyptian tablets” and John Leo’s travelogu e, Melville traces the footpr int of the Leviathan to the Oriental world and North African shore, c onscripting them as a tableau to unfold the narrative. Nevertheless, the allusion to anci ent Egypt and North Africa eventually gives way to the Nantucket whale hunters, thus repe ating a Melvillian mode of conscripting the Orient, which is both invoked and foreclosed at the same time, so as to complement the American Self. On the other hand, Melville’s conscription of ancient Egypt ha s its critical and subversive side, challenging the “imperia l-hermeneutic power” of the Orientalist (Schueller 109). It is evidenced in his appr opriation of its mystic monuments and artifacts to contemplate the puzzles of the univers e, especially the ones embodied by the Leviathan. His dive into this part of the Orie ntal world allows him to find the means to express his philosophical view of the universe as indefini te, inscrutable and incommunicable that any attempt to unlock its supposed secrets is doomed to failure. Egypt’s pyramids and hieroglyphic s are the prefect metaphor to symbolize this view, and the sperm whale is the tenor for this metaphor. The Egyptianized Leviathan, under Melville’s imagination, thus becomes a text that cannot be deciphe red, however hard one may try like Ishmael to dissect it inside a nd out. So earlier on in “Cetology” Ishmael forewarns his reader: “I promise nothing comp lete; because any human thing supposed to be complete, must for that very reason infallibly be faulty” (147). His refusal to say the definitive word on the classification of the wh ales would later morph into a subversion of explanatory Orientalism, namely Egypto logy, by refusing to divulge the knowledge locked inside the silent sperm whale. This refusal thus constitutes Melville’s critical and

PAGE 118

110 subversive use of foreclosure, unlike the one in his earlier invocation of the “Egyptian mother, ”the “old Egyptians” and the Islamic Or ient to exalt the American whaling or to complement the American self. To the extent that the Orient and the Leviathan represent the unrepresentable and unknowable, they are tropes for Melville to problematize the notions of absolute trut h and full representation. Ishmael, a self-professed whale author, es pouses this view when examining the anatomy of the whale. In “The Blanket,” the chapter devoted to the blubber or the skin of the whale, where the oil is extracted, Ishmael tells us that the marks on the whales are “hieroglyphical,” comparable to “those myster ious cyphers on the walls of the pyramids hieroglyphics” (333). He therefore comes to see that “the mystic-marked whale remains undecipherable” (ibid.). Similarl y, Ishmael later comes to see Queequeg’s tattooing in the same light, declaring that these “hierogl yphic marks,” while containing “a mystical treatise on the art of attaini ng truth,” shall remain “unsol ved to the last” (524). The “hieroglyphic doubling,” as John T. Irwin points out, is a recurrent a nd dominant motif in Moby Dick (289). In “The Sphynx,” Ahab also come s to terms with the impossibility of wresting away the “secret thing” that is in a “hoary” whale. In a lengthy, Shakespearean soliloquy that Ahab addresses to a sperm whal e head, which was just separated from its body and hung on the Pequod’s deck and which s eemed to him like “the Sphynx’s in the dessert,” he asks the king of divers to divulge the horrible th ings it has seen at the bottom of the sea; but he gets no answer back. “O f all divers, thou hast dived the deepest. ... O head! thou hast seen enough to split the planet s and make an infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine!” (339-40) Ahab further resigns to the silence of the whale head when he mutters to himself: “O Nature, a nd O soul of man, how far beyond all utterance

PAGE 119

111 are your linked analogies! (340). He thus eventually reconciles to the futile attempt to put into words “linked analogies” in both man and nature. In “The Prairie,” the chapter on the sublim e aspect of the sperm whale, the brow, Ishmael again reiterates the impossibility of deciphering the whale and its “god-like dignity inherent in the brow.” But his frus tration leads him to appreciate the whale’s “pyramidical silence.” Although the sperm wh ale has never written a book or given a speech, Ishmael narrates, “his great genius is declared in his doing nothing particular to prove it. It is moreover declared in his pyramid ical silence” (380). He re Melville suggests that the paradoxical power of silence to inc ite imagination and specu lation is more than that of speech. However, Melville’s insight into the power of s ilence is immediately followed by his uncritical Orientalism; Ishmael tells us that “had the great Sperm Whale been known to the young Orient World, he would have been deified by their childmagian thoughts,” a not untypi cal view held by traditi onal Orientalists (380). Nevertheless, Melville also shows an ability to go beyond the confines of 19th–century Orientalism. Wrapping up the chapter, Melville writes: Champollion deciphered the wrinkled granite hieroglyphics. But there is no Champollion to decipher the Egypt of every man’s and every being’s face. Physiognomy, like every other human science, is but a passing fa ble. If then, Sir William Jones, who read in thirty language s, could not read the simplest peasant’s face in its profounder and more subtle m eanings, how may unlettered Ishmael hope to read the awful Chaldee of the Sperm Wh ale’s brow? I but put that brow before you. Read it if you can. (380) In this remarkable passage invoking two of the well-known Orientalists, Melville deconstructs a form of Orientalism based on “citation” and/or “quotation” of an Orientalist authority or text. On the su rface, Melville alludes to Jean Francoise Champollion, the French Egyptologist who deciphered the Rosetta Stone in 1820s, thus allowing him to read the hieroglyphics, and the famed British Orientalist Sir William

PAGE 120

112 Jones, whose work published in the latter half of 18th century helped to develop Oriental studies at the height of British empire. The allusion itself constitutes a form of Orientalism that relies on “citation” and/or “quotation” from an Orientalist authority. The Orientalized Orient, as Said writes, is “less a place than a topos, a set of references, a congeries of characteristics, that seems to have its origin in a quotation, or a fragment of a text, or a citation from someone’s work on the Orient, or some bit of previous imagining, or an amalgam of all these” (177). But Melville’s allusion to the two Or ientalists is at the same time a masked critique of the 19th-century Egyptology and ot her Orientalist efforts to explain the Orient for the benef it of the West as he later did in Clarel (Schueller 126). His subversive Orientalism thus points up the limits of Orient alist knowledge and representation: if with Champollion’s and Sir William Jones’s scholarship, one cannot hope to decipher the physiognomy of the common man and woman, then the “unlettered Ishmael” cannot hope to deciphe r the undecipherable whale’s br ow, here Orientalized as the ancient Babylonian language. In contrast to the traditiona l Orientalists who sought to read the Orient for the Westerners, the Or ient embodied here as the whale’s brow becomes a text for Melville that cannot be read. Melville’s crit ical and subversive foreclosure here seems to dovetail with Spivak ’s reformulation of the native informant as an (im)possible perspective. As with Melville ’s representation of the enigmatic Fedallah, his conscription of ancient Egypt highli ghts the pendulum swinging between the two contending forces in his Orientalism: the conformist and the subversive. The post 9/11 world with its heightened in terest in and awareness of the Muslim world and its diverse cultures helped change my approach to Moby Dick but that does not upset my original approach to read it through the lens of 19th–century globalization,

PAGE 121

113 whose aggressive form is capitalist imperia lism and colonialism. Rather, the newly focused attention on the permea tion of the Islamic Orient in Ishmael’s narrative allows me to see more clearly the interconnection a nd interaction between the rise of modern Orientalism, including American literar y Orientalism, and Western territorial colonialism/imperialism. Scholars critical of Western Orientalism have long pointed to the linkage between them. In Orientalism Said has tried to s how the linkage between modern Orientalism and imperialism a nd colonialism by documenting the literary representation of the Orient and Western pow ers’ economic and geopol itical interests in that region (123). In U.S. Orientalisms Schueller points out that U.S. Literary Orientalisms are an “indigenous discourse” th at arose from its immediate historical conditions, and can be traced back to Colum bus’s quest for the Orient (20). The U.S. Orientalism was being revived again in the popular discourse in conjunction with patriotism after the 9/11 catastrophe. As Le ti Volpp notes in “The Citizen and the Terrorist,” the “redeployment of old Orient alist tropes” that he lps subject people who appear to be “Middle Easter n, Arab or Muslim” to racial profiling underscores the U.S. history that constructs its national identity in opposition to “foreigners, aliens and others” ( September 11 152-53). Melville’s conscription of the Orient as the nativ e informant by invoking and foreclosing it, as I have argue d, is a sign of his age that wa s fascinated by its cultural heritage and difference. The Oriental fever was both enable d by and reflected the long and on-going processes of globalization. But hi s was also an age that saw the world as divided between the colonizer, “fast fish,” or the colonized, “loose fi sh.” The Orient in the 19th century was among the many “loos e fish” “harpooned” by the West both

PAGE 122

114 territorially and culturally. But as Melville follows the literary trend of his time and “harpoons” the Orient as the “native informan t” to color the Pequod’s whaling voyage, to exalt the American whaling industry and to map the genealogy of the Leviathan and whalemen, he also uses it to question the ab solute knowledge and re presentation as well as to satirize religions and hierarchical social relations wh ile avoiding editorial censorship. The quest for knowledge, truth and ce rtainty, for Melville, is a futile attempt like Ishmael’s doomed attempt to decipher the Egyptianized Leviathan that shall remain undecipherable. For those seekers of truth, Melv ille offers the cautionary tale of “the weakling youth lifting the dread goddess’s [Isis’s] veil at Sais [in Egypt]” (370). Melville’s subversive use of the foreclosure may be his mo st significant contribution to the critique of explanatory Or ientalism, though he was also a part of that literary vogue that invoked and foreclosed the Orient to complement the West and to disguise his textual appropriations.

PAGE 123

115 CHAPTER 4 SPECTRALITY IN CONRAD’S NOSTROMO : THE SAN TOME MINE, FOREIGN CAPITAL AND THE NATIVE OTHER In the opening chapter of Nostromo three major things happen that ground the geographic location of Sulaco, a fictional port town. It is haunted by Spanish colonialism, during which time it nonetheless remains “an i nviolable sanctuary from the temptations of a trading world.” It is haunted by the shadows that are floating in the sky, the shadows that are cast upon the windless gulf and the shadows that are cast by the snow-capped mountains until the rising sun drives them away. It is also haunted by a local legend involving two foreign gringos whom the locals believe to be still “spectral and alive” guarding the forbidden gold treasure they ha d discovered and died for on the secluded peninsula of Azuera. All this seems to suggest that a poetic of haunting is in the making. Although Conrad dismissed this story of “the en chanted treasure on Azue ra” in a letter to a Swedish professor, Ernst Bendz, saying it “has nothing to do with th e rest of the novel” (Watt 18), I suggest that we take a serious look at the haunting effects emitted by the ghosts and other specters in Nostromo because what drives the narrative and builds up its tensions has a lot to do with spectrality. One can even say that spectropoetic is a crucial aesthetic element of Nostromo “A masterpiece,” as J acques Derrida says of Shakespeare’s Hamlet “always moves, by definition, in the manner of a ghost,” which haunts, causes, inhabits without residing ( Specters 18). This, to a large extent, can be said of Conrad’s Nostromo which has a handful of dead people haunting Costaguana with violent political history. In th is chapter, I explore the representation of Sulaco’s

PAGE 124

116 tumultuous history and its people and of the colonization of the s ilver-rich province by foreign capital by way of ghosts and haunting, a mode of inquiry and critique articulated by Derrida in Specters of Marx Crucial to my reading of Nostromo also include Lenin’s critique of export of capital as a form of capitalist imperialism in Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism David Harvey’s notion of accumulation by dispossession, Mary Louise Pratt’s critique of S outh American travel writings in Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation and Gayatri Spivak’s criti que of the unexamined use of native informant. How does the San Tome mine and its silver haunt the major characters in their pursuit of “material interests” ? And how does the specter of the mine and the silver, or what Marx calls the fetishism of commodity, he lp obscure, if not dist ort, the social and labor relations that enable th e production of wealth for its current owner, the Goulds, and the corrupt government they finance with th e consent of foreign capital? In order to answer these questions, I will focus on the haunting effects emitted by the watercolor sketch on the San Tome gorge by Mrs. G ould on the Goulds, as well as by the shadow and substance of the mine and the silver on some of the characters. The haunting of the painting and that of the mine and the silver, I argue, cannot be separated from the specter of global capitalism making its inroads in Su laco. The analysis will then focus on the construction of a new Sulaco railway to serve the mine, a significant event in Nostromo that not only highlights capitalist imperialism through the export of capital but also the foreclosure of the indigenous perspectives in a matter that would significantly change their way of life and culture. Then, the analysis will scrutinize the haunting of the indigenous miners in the narra tive and the foreclosure of th eir indigenous history and of

PAGE 125

117 them as subjects of speech and narrators in the narration of the history of the mine and the new state it helps finance. “Haunting,” as Derrida writes, “belongs to the structure of every hegemony” (37), which in turn is also “haunted by what it attempted to foreclose” (39). The foreclosure thus underscores the marg inalization of the indigenous people in a society ruled by the European colonizers w ho now call Costaguana home. Moreover, the uncovering of the indigenous foreclosure help s magnify the source of the primitive and modern accumulati on of capital—the Others of capital: the forced labor in Spanish colonial periods as well as the “paid la bor” of the native miners employed by Gould Concession. The expropriation and exploi tation of the Indian miners in Nostromo thus dovetails Harvey’s notion of accumulation by dispossession, a mechanism endemic to capital accumulation. In Specters of Marx Derrida renames his critique of the desire for ontology and presence in Western epistemology as hauntolog y. In insisting on the promise to come, or the temporal and spatial deferral of pr esence and ontology, Derrida unleashes the subversive forces of hauntology to critiq ue the teleological and eschatological understandings of history in Hegelian thought (whose recent articulations include Francis Fukuyama’s The End of History and the Last Man ), as well as to shake up what he perceived as the ossification of concepts in orthodox Marxism. In unleashing the subversive forces of hauntology, Derrida seems to share a kindred spirit with Conrad who also understood the forces of hauntology but in quite a different way. That is, Conrad is interested in the psychologi cal effects of haunting on dist orting the human and social relations on the one hand, and on destroying one ’s interaction with the real world on the other. As the narrator comments on Charles Gould’s excess obsession with the mine, “A

PAGE 126

118 man haunted by a fixed idea is insane. He is da ngerous even if that idea is an idea of justice” (322). Haunting thus is a principal m ode of inquiry and critique by Conrad in Nostromo driving the narrative and building up its tensions. He also explores the haunting power of the shadow, in addition to the thing itself, on one’s psyche. Thus, through haunting and hauntology, the promise to come, he tackles and critiques the consequences of relentless pursuits of “mat erial interests.” Conrad’s exploration of hauntology with his characters al so shows the opposing pull e licited by it. That is, while haunting can prompt some of us into action, it can also lead others into personal paralysis or political inaction. Enchanted by the mine’s history and defying the wish of his dead father, Charles pursues reopening the eventful mine, believing that only “in the conduct of our action can we find the sense of master y over the Fates” (86) But in the case of Charles’s father and Nostromo, we see the effects of haunting can produce detrimental ones: it can lead to personal pa ralysis and/or political inaction. The nonlinear unfolding of Nostromo often disorients and confuses the first-time reader not expecting the time-shift method of the narrative. Cedric Watts, who is among those who have untangled and rechronicled C onrad’s analeptic narra tive, notes that as Conrad’s time-shift method throws us about from one time to another by grafting one incident onto the ongoing scene, what remain s constant is the scenic background that helps reorient the reader in the course of the narrative’s “convolutions and abruptness” (156-57). To the natural scenic fixtures, th e Mt. Higuerota and th e Golfo Placido, that Watts has identified, we can add the waterc olor work rendered by Mrs. Gould on the mountain gorge before its development for the silver mine and hung upon the white wall of the Goulds’ residence. Mo reover, emanating from those natural and domestic scenes

PAGE 127

119 are the specters of haunting as well as the spec ter of global capitalism. That is, they have haunting effects on Sulaco, the major characters as well as the reader, as do the ghosts of the native miners who had perished in the Sp anish colonial days and the current miners, whose marginalization and forecl osed perspectives in the narr ative will be explored more fully in the last part of the chapter. The process of haunting, I would argue, allows the narrative to gradually unfold the history of Sulaco and its lifeblood and curse, the San Tome silver mine, as well as its colonization by European and American capital. As silent witnesses to the actions of th e characters who are currently involved in th e plotting of Sulaco’s history, they also help impart the history of Sulaco and its social and racial relations no less effectively than other hum an narrators. Those non-human onlookers also provide a glimpse of the appearance in Sul aco of imperialist capital that, Lenin has theorized in Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism increasingly depends on the export of capital to generate pr ofit. In the narrative, their haunting effects, thus, cannot be separated from the specter of global capitalis m, represented by the alliance between the mine, the American financier Holroyd, the Br itish railway and steamships that serve the mine and are actively involved in transf orming the town’s political, social and environmental landscape. Haunting and Hauntology John D. Barbour, writing on the indifference of nature in Nostromo comments that “the snowy dome of Higuerota” surfaces ma ny times in the narrative, “always silently dominating the petty conflicts of humankind” (1 22). I would like to extend his comment to suggest that nature in Nostromo is more than indifferent an d that the domination of the snow-capped Higuerota is more than silent. In effect, the snowcapped mountain exerts haunting effects on its viewers, commanding their gaze and attention, because of the

PAGE 128

120 silver mine it houses. It is constantly in the background of the novel, observed from afar by the main European characters or describe d laboriously by the narrator, haunting their consciousness as well as that of the reader. In the opening chap ter of “The Silver of the Mine,” the anonymous narrator describes “the shadows” passing through the snows of the mountain. Giorgio Viola, the Italian inn keeper at Sulaco, looks up at the “snowy dome of Higuerota” on the day of the riot by the rebels (55), the aim of which is to seize the control of the mine and the Custom House. When Sir John, the chairman of the British railway company, first arrives at Sulaco to survey the new local railroad project, the mountain becomes his object of gaze, haunti ng him as he ponders ove r the difficulty of conquering it to facilitate the construction of a new railway that will tunnel under it to serve the Gould mine (67). The “white, misty sheen of Higuerota” is within the view of Nostromo intruding upon his consciousness shor tly after he comes to see he has been betrayed by the Sulaco European elite, inte nsifying his sense of be trayal and alienation (351). The attention to and the gaze on the “s nowy dome of Higuerota” slowly build up the tension that culminates in a showdown between Charles Gould and the rebel leader Pedrito Montero over the very existence of the mine. After the Sulaco independence aided by American capital and American military intervention, the mountain that houses the silver treasure, the na rrator says, casts its “gig antic shadow” upon Sulaco’s marketplace, symbolically still haunting th e town and its people (395). Higuerota’s “gigantic shadow” with its haunting effects thus both fo reshadows and embodies the specter of global capitalism that is haunting the Goulds, the mine and Sulaco. At the same time, the snowy San Tome gor ge assumes a symbolic role to function as a sort of “white wall” that figuratively c overs up the black hole that is the silver mine.

PAGE 129

121 In Chapter 6 of Part One, this larger “white wall” fades away, and in its place step in the white walls of the Casa Gould. This clos e-up on the Goulds’ white walls and then specifically on the watercolor sk etch by Mrs. Gould has three-fo ld significance. First, the painting helps narrate an essential part of th e history of the San Tome mine. That is, as the narrative moves from the snow-cappe d Higuerota to the painting, the spatial transformation of the mountai n by the operation of the Gould Concession is being told. Second, the focus on the sketch brings to the fore the San Tome mine that has become a black hole, plaguing its worker s and owners alike. Commentators have often observed that the psychological effects of the “impenetrable” and “inhospitable” of Golfo Placido on Martin Decoud and Nostromo contribute to their sense of alienation and to Decoud’s suicide, when they are stranded in the isolat ed island of Great Isabel in their aborted mission to smuggle the silver ingots out of Sulaco on the eve of the rebels’ attack. Through Mrs. Gould’s painting, I would like to suggest, Conrad also explores the psychological effects of the painting on the Goulds, revealing the growing gulf between the couple and the sense of alienation each f eels toward the other. Moreover, the painting with its uncanny power to haunt the psyches of the couple helps reveal the consequences of relentlessly pursuing a “fixed” idea as Ch arles does in his unwavering determination to run the Gould Concession at any cost. Third, the painting helps mark the footprints of foreign capital in Sulaco in the name of development, progress and prosperity. Mrs. Gould’s watercolor sketch of the Sa n Tome mountain is one of the silent onlookers in the novel, bearing witness to the changes in landscape brought about by the Gould Concession. Hung “alone” upon the “pla stered white walls” of the Gould House (195; 89), the sketch in its black wooden fram e helps preserve a scene of a waterfall that

PAGE 130

122 has ceased to exist (116). When she and her husband first gaze upon the “jungle-grown solitude of the gorge,” they observe “the thr ead of a slender waterfall flashed bright and glassy through the dark gr een of the heavy fronds of tree-ferns” (116). Yet this memorable scene no longer exists after th e mine under Charles’s ownership goes into production, producing in the proce ss “the refuse of excavations and tailings,” and after the waterfall is dammed up to produce hydro-pow er for the mine. Now, only the memory of the waterfall with its amazing fernery is preserved in the watercolor sketch. The waterfall in the sketch marks a time when the gorge is still “the very paradise of snakes” (116), as described by Don Pepe, its manager. It is a time before Charles Gould re-opens the mine by clearing the wilderness, paving the road and cutting the new paths up the cliff face of San Tome (116-17), steps that fundamentally change the landscape. The painting, on the other hand, haunts th e couple, commanding their attention and gaze. On the eve of Sulaco’s siege, it helps make them become conscious for the first time of how far apart they have grown rega rding each’s goal for the mine since they agreed to build their married life together around the enterp rise. They also begin to register the grave consequences of re-developing the mine after its years of neglect and mismanagement. When they discuss the fate of the mine, both are drawn to it, directing their gaze at it. For Mrs. Gould, it signifies her desire to have left the mine alone. “Gazing” at the watercolor sketch of the San Tome mine gorge in its black wooden frame, Emilia confesses to Charles that “Ah, if we had left it alone, Charley!” Charles, however, rebuffs her, replying that “No, it wa s impossible to leave it alone.” Moreover, he goes on to remind Emilia, while “wav[ing] his hand towards the small water-color,” that “it is not now as it was when you made that sketch” and that “It is no longer a

PAGE 131

123 Paradise of snakes. We have brought mankind into it, and we cannot turn our backs upon them to go and begin a new life elsewhere” (195). For Charles, the painting thus strengthens his resolve not to turn back af ter having disturbed the “many snakes.” Here Charles also economically summarizes the l ogic of capital: once set in motion, it cannot afford to stand still. Thus, the Goulds are haunted by the watercolor sketch, by the material interests of the capitalist drive fo r profits. Mrs. Gould is also haunted by the ghosts of the native miners who had perished in the mine during Spanish colonial rule, which I will turn to when I discuss the foreclosure of the indigenous perspectives. The painting, which reveals the divisions growing between the couple, continues to haunt Charles after the rebels seize Sulaco. He consciously directs a nd fixes his gaze at it while recounting to Dr. Monygham his meeting w ith the rebel leader Pedrito Montero in which he makes it known that his personal safety is tied to the mine. “I tried to make him [Montero] see that the existence of the mine was bound up with my personal safety”— as he says those words to Dr. Monygham, the narra tor tells us, Charles looks away from the doctor, “fixing his eyes upon the water-colour sketch upon the wall” (344). As Charles unusually breaks his trademark silence on th e politics of Sulaco, blasting “Liberty, democracy, patriotism, government,” which a ll have a “flavor of folly and murder” to him, he continues “gazing at the sketch of the San Tome gorge upon the wall,” the narrator reports. The sustained gaze at th e painting by Charles thus magnifies the passions the mine stirs up in him. The passi ons for the mine are such that they have replaced the love he once had for Emilia before taking on the task to re-develop the mine, thereby cutting himself off from a committe d husband-wife relationship. From Charles’s excess obsession with the mine, Martin D ecoud, a passionate lover himself seeking

PAGE 132

124 Antonia’s affection, sagaciously surmises this: “he lives for the mine rather than for her [Emilia],” “surrender[ing] her happiness and he r life” “to the seduction of an idea” (219). At this moment, it becomes clear that the painting is a stand-in for the mine that is the demon lover who controls Charles’s life, turning him into a rather mechanic and unresponsive human being. The painting, which captures a scenery moment before the Gould mine goes into production, is also a stand-in fo r capital that ruthlessly tears down anything standing in its way in the name of development, progress and prosperity. It bears w itness to the physical and environmental transformation of the m ountain. The gorge is being disfigured and polluted to develop the mine and to insta ll devices of “wooden shoots” that send down the silver ingots to stamp sheds where they are “stamped” before being transported to their market destinations. The disfigured and polluted scenes marked now by the “pale gold dust” also mark the colonization of Co staguana by the international brotherhood of capital—a money nexus between the mine the railway, the shipping company and finance capital. The painting that haunts the G oulds is in turn haunted by the specter of global capitalism. What propels the narrative of Nostromo Paul Sheehan rightly suggests, is “the mechanism of obsession,” specifically the obs ession with the mine and the silver, which is also “a self-perpetuating of enslavement” (79). I would like to extend Sheehan’s insight to suggest that underlying “the mechanis m of obsession” is what Derrida calls hauntology. That is, the logic of haunting is at the core of C onrad’s experiments with the play of substance and shadow in the narrativ e concerning the haunting effects of the mine and the silver, with the shadow of the mine and the silver exerting no less psychological

PAGE 133

125 effects than their substance on those charac ters who become enthralled by them. What drives some of those enslaved by the mine or the silver over the edge thus is the shadow or the deferred presence of the thing. I argue that haunting and th e logic of hauntology are the organic driving force of the narrative. Moreover, th e blinding obse ssion with the mine or the silver by Charles Gould, his father, Colonel Sotillo and Nostromo is symptomatic of a fetishism, peculiar to cap italist mode of produc tion, that not only naturalizes both the mine and the silver as a “thing,” but also obs cures labor and social relations behind them. As Marx notes in Capital One in bourgeois society where the form of commodities production has lost its historicity and becomes naturalized, the social relations between the producers “assume” in their eye “a fantastic form” as the social relations between objects (165). This inversion of social relations, which is endemic to capitalist society, al so obscures one of the opera ting laws of capitalist mode of production: the value of a commodity is determined by th e socially necessary labor time to produce a commodity or the abstract human labor (168). The haunting of the indigenous miners whose labor produces wealth for the mine’s past and current owners in Nostromo which I will discuss in th e last part of the chapter, only highlights the limits of fetishizing the mine and the silver as a thing/object to be possessed. Just as Derrida deploys the subversive pow er of hauntology to cr itique ontology in political and philosophical theo ries, here Conrad explores the dark psychological power of hauntology to show how it can drive hum ans into alienation, which makes them oblivious to the objective social relations. The first to fall victim to the shadow of the mine is Charles Gould’s father, one of the wealthiest merchants in Costaguana. He is forced by the then corrupt a nd dictatorial government to take over the mine, which was

PAGE 134

126 seized by one of its predecessors from a Br itish company as a “national property,” in a privatization plan. As a reluctant concessionholder, he is also or dered by the authorities to “pay at once to the Government five ye ars’ royalties on the es timated output of the mine” (76). The hand-picked elder Gould is so distressed by the “perpetual concession of the Sam Tome mine” that he suffers from not only physical pains but also “a worrying inability to think of anything else” (79). The “mine-ridden” Gould thus dies believing that the mine, as the embodiment of injustice and persecution, is a “poison” he is forced to swallow and a “burden” he is fo rced to shoulder (78-79). Most of all, he dies believing in the “apparently eternal character of that curs e” (79). He has died, his son believes, under the “mere shadow” of the mine, which “had been enough to crush the life out of his father” (149). The capacity of the mine to ha unt the elder Gould, thus contributing to his paralysis and death, shows the irony that it can destroy him with its “mere shadow.” The mine, the narrator says, has over tim e gotten hold of Charles Gould with “a grip as deadly as ever it had laid upon hi s father” (338). For the son, the mine in the beginning is a source of enchantm ent despite the father’s persistent warnings against it. Charles believes that his father has not “g rappled with it in a proper way” (83). The “redemption of the San Tome mine” (95), th e son believes, lies in seeking and building an alliance with Holroyd, a San Francisco fi nancier, the British Railway Company, the Oceanic Steam Navigation Co mpany, as well as with the current government of Costaguana. All serve the “material interests” of the mine. The “proper way” to manage the mine, Charles thinks, is to “keep unchecked the flow of treasure he had started singlehanded from the re-opened scar in the fla nk of the mountain” (149). Decoud, who plots a counter-revolution plan to save the mine, puts it bluntly: “This stream of silver must be

PAGE 135

127 kept flowing north to return in the form of financial backing from the great house of Holroyd” (203). Over time, though, the mine be gins to cast its shadow on Charles’s marriage, causing it to disinteg rate and transforming him into a mechanical, cold-blooded human being. On the eve of the rebels’ attac k, Emilia comes to realize with horror that the mine that begins simply as “an idea” in Charles’s mind has become “a fetish” and now “a monstrous and crushing weight” (204-05 ). Charles, in her painful moment of awakening, seems to “dwell alon e within a circumvallation of precious metal, leaving her outside with her school, her hospital” (205). Decoud, who also detects the influence of the mine on Charles, describes the hold the mine has on Charles as “some men hold to the idea of love or revenge” (218). The shadow of the mine thus causes strains in the couple’s marriage as both reside on either side of the wall of silver bricks that grows between them. Figuratively, the mine as a sort of a demon lover not only controls its current owner, preventing him from loving his wife, but also those who seek the possession of the silver ingots or come into possession of them. Just as the elder Gould falls victim to the shadow of the mine, Sotillo, the Indio colonel who temporarily seizes Sulaco after General Montero takes power in the shortlived coup, is played upon by the shadow of the silver ingots that Nostromo and Decoud tried but failed to smuggle out of Sulaco. Soti llo is led to believe that the silver ingots, which were shipped out of the mine following the military coup, were sunken at the bottom of the Sulaco harbor. The misled tr easure hunter falls victim to Dr. Monygham’s brilliant plot that is premised on the “shadow of the treasure” rather than on the real substance. As Dr. Monygham triumphantly says of his plot to trick Sotillo in order to distract him from taking further military acti on, “the shadow of the treasure may do just

PAGE 136

128 as well as the substance” (346). The plot is further supplemented by Nostromo’s suggestion that Sotillo be told of the hi ding place—a place where the treasure can be “buried without leaving a sign on the surface” (384). Nostromo also makes an ironic comment on the haunting effect of the silver, ir onic because it will happen to him as well. He tells Dr. Monygham, “There is somethi ng in a treasure that fastens upon a man’s mind. He will pray and blaspheme .... He will s ee it very time he closes his eyes. He will never forget it until he is dead ... There is no getting away from a treasure that once fastens upon your mind” (385). Consumed by the excess desire to possess the presumably lost silver ingots, Sotillo becomes derelict of his duty and finally loses his mind in his fruitless search. And he is heard saying: “And yet it is there! I see it! I feel it!” (403). The power of the silver treasure to haunt Sotillo highlights its spectralit y, though in an ironic way: the spectre of the silver lies as much in its shadow as in its substance. Yet the spectrality of the silver, the extreme form of reification or fe tishization, obscures the social and labor relations that lie behind the th ing. As Marx notes in his analysis of the metamorphosis of commodities in A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy the “magic effect” of gold and silver is “by no means confined to the infancy of bourgeois society, but is the in evitable consequence of the in verted way in which their own social labor appears to the representa tives of the world of commodities” (152). Earlier he also writes that “the body of the coin is now merely a shadow” (109), meaning what it embodies is the exchange value—the measurement of the labor-time expended in the production of a commodity. Sotillo’s excess obsession with the silver ingots, as Marx’s critique of the fetishism of commodity in both Capital and A Contribution shows, can be linked to the form of production, the production of commodities, which inverts the

PAGE 137

129 real social relations of production as the re lations between the products of labor rather than the relations between th e producers. Marx’s critique of fetishism of commodities also leads him to argue that under capitalis t commodity production, it is the commodities that control the people and not the other way around ( Capital One 167-68). Sotillo’s case is one of the most compelling representations of characters controll ed by the products of human labor. Of the characters who fall victim to the s ilver’s shadow and substance, Nostromo’s case is most fascinating because of the irony involved. First, his desire to possess the silver begins to form only after he becomes conscious of the class and power structure in Sulaco. His failed mission to transport the mine ’s silver ingots out of Sulaco, ironically, enables him to see that he has been used as “a dog” to fight and hunt for the benefits of the rich (349; 379; 383). He is then able to “see clearly” the “fact s of his situation”: despite his “fidelity” to the ruling classes by ideologically controlling the imported dock workers, he has been betrayed by Sulaco’s European elite (351). Still, Nostromo’s emerging class consciousness does not shelter h im from the “spell” of the silver. The man who before his political awakening has decora ted his outfit and his riding gear (headstall and saddle) with silver, taking the fetishization of the silver to an extreme, is to be haunted by its substance and its specter. Th erein lies the second irony. Nostromo has already identified himself with the sailors-turned foreign gringos haunting the Azuera treasure in the local legend before he is to be haunted by the Sulaco silver. On the eve of his most “desperate affair,” shipping the Goul d silver ingots out of Sulaco, he jokingly tells Viola’s dying wife, Teresa, that he “shall linger on eart h after I am dead, like those gringos that haunt the Azuera” ( 228). Nostromo, who has been immune from corruption

PAGE 138

130 and known as “the Incorruptible,” neverthele ss succumbs to their thrall and becomes their slave by unlawfully possessing the silver ingots. Now, instead of the Sulaco oligarchs, he pledges his allegiance to the silver ingot s put under his charge. The dock captain renounces his old name and renames himself as Captain Fidanza. “The Capataz is undone, destroyed. There is no Capataz,” he thus declares (365). He chooses to become a “hunted outcast” and secretly engages in smuggling the silver ingots to “grow rich gradually” (416). But the secret of keeping the treasure ha s not only made him feel subjected and enslaved, but also intensifies his fee ling that he is like “the legendary gringos neither dead nor alive, bound down to their conquest of unlawful wealth on Azuera” (435). His sense of paralysis further intensifies later when the innkeeper Viola offers his oldest daughter Linda to be his wife, forcing him to choose between his beloved, Giselle, Viola’s younger daughter, and the silver ingots. At this pi votal moment, “the shining spectre of the treasure rose before him, clai ming his allegiance in a silence that could not be gainsaid,” and the “legendary gringos neither dead nor alive” begin to haunt him again (438). His fear of losing the silver is so intense that he loses the ability to speak and says “nothing” to Viola’s proposal, which is then mistakenly thought of as a tacit acceptance and contributes to his untimely deat h later. His sense of paralysis brought by the haunting of the silver is again on display when on his deathbed he is unable to either agree to the anti-capitalist photographer’s reque st that he donates to the working-class cause so that “the rich must be fought w ith their own weapons [m oney]” or to condemn Dr. Monygham as “a dangerous enemy of the pe ople” (462). In the end, the silver has become a spectre that haunts and torments No stromo to his last hour. The last few words

PAGE 139

131 of the “master and slave of the San Tome treas ure” are “the silver has killed me. It has held me. It holds me yet” (456; 460). Like Charles Gould before him, both men have become more in love with the silver than with their wife and lover respectively. The silver treasure dubbed as “the Treasure House of the World” has become the specter that haunts its legal owner as well as illegal one. Sulaco’s silver mine, in fact, informs th e social, racial and economic relations and exercise of power in this Western province of Costaguana. The ha unting effects of the Sulaco mine, however, obscure the social, ra cial and economic rela tions it embodies and the power it exerts in shaping the politic al and economic landscape. As a marker of economic globalization, dominated by finance ca pital from the U.S, its development is what David Harvey in Spaces of Hope has called the “uneven geographical development,” in which foreign capital flows to a region or a location and returns home with profits. Although embodying the capitalist mode of production and relations of production, the mine at times is dislodged from its material base to resurface as a marker of plural signification. It is described as “the symbol of the supreme importance of material interests” and that of “abstract justice” (230; 340). To the extent that it has consumed the labor and lives of the Indian miners, it metaphorically becomes the “black hole.” The “incorruptible me tal,” meanwhile, is being turned into “a fetish” invested with “a protecting and invincib le virtue” (260; 336) even by the native miners whose “laboring hands” (417) help make it a global commodity. As I have shown, the fetishizing of the mine or the silver by Ch arles Gould, his father, Sotillo and Nostromo works to obscure the social a nd labor relations. As well, I wi ll show how it also works to obscure the operation of accumulation by dispossession in Nostromo by quietly eliding

PAGE 140

132 the issue of labor, which is brought to the fore, howeve r, by the haunting of the indigenous miners in the narra tive, a crucial point I will di scuss in the remaining of the chapter. But before I discuss the haunting of the Indian miners, which exposes the hidden structure of the narrative based on the forecl osure of the miners’ perspectives, I will briefly discuss the construction of a new ra ilway in Sulaco as it puts on display the penetration of foreign capital there th rough the operation of accumulation by dispossession—a mechanism that is also at work in the development of the San Tome mine. As Harvey argues in The New Imperialism accumulation by dispossession is intrinsic to the accumulation of capital in its geographic history. Foreign Capital and the Sulaco Railroad What sets Nostromo apart from Conrad’s other works such as Lord Jim and Heart of Darkness David Adams suggests in Colonial Odysseys is that it no longer occupies a space as “the periphery of empire” in C onrad’s imaginary map (161). By the time Nostromo arrives at Sulaco, Adams points out, it has ceased to be a “backwater” colonial odyssey destination that his romantic, advent ure-seeking counterparts Jim and Kurtz and Marlow have found in Patusan and the C ongo Inner Station respectively. Moreover, Sulaco, despite its remoteness and isolati on during Spanish colonialism, has been impacted by the arrival of modern technol ogies: the steamships of the Oceanic Steam Navigation Company, the telegraph-cable, the print press and the construction of a new railway connecting it with America and Eu rope. Thus transformed by modernity and modernization, Sulaco with its silver mine is emerging as a profit center for the foreign capital invested there. Adams’s comments, in effect, dovetail with Lenin’s analysis in Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism of capitalist imperialism in the form of finance capital in the early 20th century. By then, capital e xpands its octopus not only by

PAGE 141

133 military force alone, but also by the export of capital. As Lenin points out, the rapid development of railways by Western powers “in colonies and in the independent or semiindependent states in Asia and America” is an index of the expansion of Western colonialism and finance capital, whose features include export of capit al to the colonies (244). The construction of the Sulaco ra ilway, financed by Charles Gould and his American financial backer Holroyd and usi ng British technology, thus is a significant event in Sulaco’s history as it further deepens foreign capital’s grip on Sulaco through accumulation by dispossession. Its construction, Guy L. Moyer argues, is Conrad’s attempt to link “the unbridled capitalism of America’s robber ba rons [such as Jay Gould] w ith its then growing global imperialism as then witnessed by Conrad during the writing of the novel” (“‘Inner Secrets’” 241). The railway pr oject would also further enha nce what Luz Elena Ramirez calls “the technologies of empire—steamship s, the port, ammunition” (“Rhetoric” 112). More important, like Mrs. Gould’s painti ng, the new railway, which is to tunnel under Mt. Higuerota, is another example in which one can see how accumulation by dispossession plays out in Nostromo in addition to the changes in the use of public space brought about by capitalist privatization and gl obalization. The prospect of constructing the railway, a signpost of capitalist modernity and modernization, engenders in Sir John, the chairman of the British railway company, and its chief engineer a sense of “a subtle force that could set in motion mighty machin es, men’s muscles, and awaken also in human breasts an unbounded devotion to the task” (67). Their sense of acquiring “a power for the world’s service” thus projects the confidence of cap ital in conquering the world through its technologi cal advancement. Their capitalist sentiment, however,

PAGE 142

134 obscures the consequences of accumulati on by dispossession for the indigenous population who would be displaced along with their culture, whic h I will discuss shortly. The narrative concerning the construction of the new Sulaco railroad is at the same time the one that inscribes the rise of the di ctatorship/presidency of Vincente Ribiera and the colonization/regeneration of Sulaco by fo reign capital. The narr ative is abundantly infused with Conradian irony, obviously meant as a critique of government corruption and “material interests,” but is made difficult to fully appreciate due to the nonlinear narrative. As the narrator tells us, after Ho lroyd opens a credit at a bank adjacent to the eleven-story Holroyd Building in San Francisco, “the Ribierist party in Costaguana took a practical shape under the eye of the admini strator of the San To me mine” (145), with Ribiera being “voted” by Congress for a five-y ear presidency with “a specific mandate to establish the prosperity of th e people on the basis of firm pe ace at home, and to redeem the national credit by the satisfaction of a ll just claims abroad” (143). The euphemism such as congressional “vote,” “mandate” for the people, “redempti on” of national credit and “satisfaction of all just claims” used in the narrative thus ironically casts doubts on the legitimacy of the Ribiera government, give n the fact that the regime is bankrolled by Holroyd’s credit money. The irony concerning Ribi era’s installation is even more glaring when we also consider Holroyd’s sarcastic characterization of Costaguana as “the bottomless pit of ten-per-cent loans and other fool investments” (94). Holroyd’s assessment of Costaguana acknowledges with br utal honesty the corrupt state of the Latin American nation. While he legitimizes the brib es as “loans” and th e potential loss of his investment, he also discloses that sooner or later he will have to intervene in the politics of Costaguana, where “European capital has be en flung into it with both hands for years,”

PAGE 143

135 because of his capitalist convict ion that “We shall be giving the word for everything: industry, trade, law, journalism, art, politic s and religion” and that “We shall run the world’s business whether the world likes it or not” (94-95). Ho lroyd’s interest in Costaguana’s affairs, as Ramir ez observes, is Conrad’s thinly veiled reference to the U.S. Monroe Doctrine, which gained currency in th e U.S. foreign policy from 1880s until the turn of the century (104). As Holroyd’s assessment of Costaguana’s situations shows, Ribiera is not only indebted to American capital, he also takes “loans” from Eur ope as well. As the narrator sarcastically observes, after granting a new loan to the Ri biera government, “Europe had become interested in Costaguana” (140). T hus, under the new reign of the “PresidentDictator” Ribiera, a “Five-Y ear Mandate Law” is soon unveil ed to regenerate the nation that has since fallen into anarchy and chaos af ter the death of the former dictator Guzman Bento. Yet the narrative also says that the masses see the “Ribierist reforms” for what they are: the taking away of the land from the people and giving it away to foreigners who made the railway and to the Catholic C hurch (184). In other words, the masses of Sulaco are not blind to the effects of accumu lation by dispossession as they are the ones who suffer the most from it. Here through the effect of irony—the juxtaposition of two opposing descriptions of Ribiera and of tw o conflicting views on his new policy—we see the criticism of Ribiera’s asce ndance to power and his “refor ms.” But the biggest irony lies in the brutal honesty w ith which Sir John describes the railway project as a colonization plan by foreign capital through loan s, or accumulation by dispossession. As he muses over the project, Sir John says: “there was a loan to the State, and a project for systematic colonization of the Occidental Provi nce, involved in one vast scheme with the

PAGE 144

136 construction of the National Central Railway” (125). The disregard fo r the corruption of the Ribiera regime that serves the “materia l interests” of forei gn capital, is amply on display on Sir John’s part, and he is cavalier about describing the pr oject as an act of colonization and as “one vast scheme.” More over, he sarcastically suggests that “Good faith, order, honesty, peace, we re badly wanted for this great development of material interests” (ibid.). As it turns out, the capitalist project of s eeking “great development of material interests” is based on accumulation by dispossession: expropriating the land and natural resources from the indigenous in Sulaco. Foreclosure of Indigenous History and Perspectives On the other hand, the European sentiment regarding the construction of the Sulaco railway points up the foreclosure of the indige nous history prior to Spanish colonialism and that of the indigenous perspectives on a local event that will directly result in the natives’ dislocation and have impacts on th eir native culture a nd customs. During a conversation with Sir John, Mrs. Gould laments the impending loss of a religious building from the Spanish colonial era to ma ke way for the new railway. As she tells Sir John, “we are very proud of it. It used to be histori cally important. The highest ecclesiastical court, for two viceroyalties, sa t there in the olden time” (62-63). Here the expression “the olden time” gives away Mrs. Gould’s notion of Sulaco history. Hers subscribes to a European understanding of S outh American history as cut off from preColumbus indigenous history th at was made popular by the tr avel writings of Alexander von Humboldt (and those of his followers), w ho helped create a British investment boom and bust in Mexico in silver mining with his Political Essays and who was said to first introduce guano from Peru to Europe as a fertilizer (Pratt 131; 136). As Mary Louise Pratt observes in Imperial Eyes the reinvention of South America as “a primal world of

PAGE 145

137 nature” and “a new continent” not only naturali zes colonial rules and racial hierarchy but also deprives the indigenous peoples of thei r history, which in the European imagination only begins with the arrival of the Spanish conquerors (126; 130). In response to Mrs. Gould’s lament, Sir John murmurs: “We can ’t give you your ecclesiastical court back again; but you shall have more steamers, a railway, a telegraph-cable—a future in the great world which is worth infi nitely more than a ny amount of ecclesiastical past” (63). Here Sir John not only displays the European foreclosure of indige nous history but also uses what he “sees” as the “backwardness” of Sulaco as a justification for its development, thus capital’s colonization of it. And in stating the pos itive effect that the advent of technological inventions will have on the old ways of life, he deploys what Pratt calls an “anti-conquest” discourse, by which “European bourgeois subjects seek to secure their innocence in the sa me moment as they assert European hegemony” (7). She explains that the term “anti-conquest” was c hosen because in travel and exploration writings the “strategies of innocence are constitu ted in relation to older imperial rhetorics of conquest associated with the absolutist era” (ibid.). Sir John thus ca n be said to be the figure of the “seeing-man” in the “anti-conquest” representa tion whose “imperial eyes passively look out and possess” (ibid.). La ter at a ceremony on a steamboat, Mrs. Gould again expresses to him her sentiment about the dramatic change that is to come following the construction of the new railway. She repor ts seeing one day: “an Indian boy ride out of a wood with the red flag of a surveying party in his hand, I felt something of a shock. The future means change—an utter change” (1 27). Here the Indian boy is being invoked by Mrs. Gould to express her sentiment, her desire to preserve “simple and picturesque

PAGE 146

138 things,” but he remains a silent figure as do the natives of Sulaco who are not given a voice in this matter. Mrs. Gould’s misgivings about the coming change do not lead her to intervene to save the Indian land from being encro ached by the railway company, although she intervenes on Viola’s behalf to save his caf e from the same fate. The Sulaco indigenous, as Rebecca Carpenter points out, are not give n a voice to express their views on how the arrival of the railway will change their way of life (88; 90). On the contrary, Conrad not only has Mrs. Gould express her sentiment on be half of the natives, but also has Charles Gould speak for them. The construction of the new railway will also make a popular Indian gathering site disappear. Charles, who wants the railway for the mine, sits in his carriage and observes a scene that will soon di sappear just like the waterfall in the San Tome gorge: the scene of Indian women se lling their food and music on the open market. This episode, I would argue, both discloses and forecloses the structure of accumulation by dispossession. The land on which this scen e takes place belongs now to Sir John’s Railway company; it has been commodified as a private property, off limits to the indigenous inhabitants. And Charles, whom Conrad portrays as a man of few words, nevertheless comments that “there will be no more popular feasts held here” (130). Yet Charles’s sentimental comment, while di sclosing the structure of accumulation by dispossession, ends up foreclosing it by leaving it at that, accepti ng the expropriation of the indigenous land as the outcome of progr ess and development. So the narrative shows that the natives have no say on this significant local event and that the ones who benefit the most do the talking for them. The lack of indigenous voices a nd self-representation thus is the political unconscious of the nove l, an irony I maintain unintended by Conrad.

PAGE 147

139 In fact, the foreclosure of pre-Columbian indigenous history and of the indigenous either as subjects of speech or narrators, and therefore their political agency, is the predominant pattern of the narrative in Nostromo just as the specter of haunting is. The foreclosure reveals that even in a text that claims to speak for the people and mounts an indictment of Euro-American capitalist imperi alism in South America, the indigenous are still denied of full history and excluded fr om the speech and political communities that are reserved only for the Eur opeans who own and control the natural resources of Sulaco and for those who work for their material a nd political interests. The foreclosure of the indigenous population as subjects endowed with speech also highlights the hidden narrative structure in Western representation th at the Europeans speak on behalf of their racial Others, except in some rare cases when the foreclosure is deployed as a subversive gesture to resist the dominant imperialist culture. Just as Nigerian novelist Chinua Achebe characterized as long overdue his criticism some th irty years ago of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness for failing to confer la nguage to Africans, I sugge st that it is time to examine closely how the foreclosure of the history of the indigenous and their perspectives in Nostromo is being staged in the narrativ e narrated, and thus dominated, by the Europeans. The analysis is not meant to accuse or excuse, but to propose a new reading, as Spivak says of he r critique of the unexamined use of native informant (81). It thus aims to show that the na rrative of the history of Sulaco is based on the erasure of the Inca, Aztec or Maya civilizati on, just as that of San Tome mine is built on the hidden structure of the invocation and foreclosure of the indigenous, especia lly the native miners including those who perished during the Spanish colonial ru le, and those employed by the Gould Concession. Moreover, the foreclosure en tails the haunting of the native miners in

PAGE 148

140 the discourse of the European characters wi th some doubling as narrators and informants. The haunting in turn exposes both the primitive accumulation of capital and the modern accumulation by dispossession articulated by David Harvey. As a result of the narrative frame th at builds around “Latin and Anglo-Saxon” characters ( Nostromo “Author’s Note” 32), politi cal readings of Conrad’s Nostromo have often focused on its major Creole and Eu ropean characters and their involvement in the Sulaco politics fueled by the wealth of the reputed San Tome silver mine. When the indigenous are discussed the spotlight is of ten on their corrupt leaders who hijack the cause of their people to achieve personal gain (Hay; Howe; Fleishman). The novel’s nonlinear narrative with unexpected shifts in time and place has also led to analyses centering on its major European narrato rs as informants and the inido leaders whose rise and fall mark the tumultuous history of Costaguana s carred by a series of military coups (Lothe; Watts). The muteness of the indigenous pe ople even escapes those critics examining language in Nostromo For example, Cathy Brigham glossed over the silence of the indigenous even though she sought to analyze how the characters in Nostromo are being betrayed by both language a nd silence (157). The focuse d examinations of those European characters and narra tors have no doubt contributed to our understanding of the novel’s complexity and depth, as well as Conrad ’s political views. But they were done in ways that have marginalized at best the poorer leperos including Indians, “Negroes” and mestizos who combine to make th e bulk of the Sulaco population. The framing of Nostromo thus marginalizes the non-Europeans, above all those at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder. The marginalization of the people, on the other hand, is counterbalanced by the magnified role of Nostromo, meaning “our man,” as the

PAGE 149

141 representative of the people. Conrad described in a lett er to his literary friend Cunninghame Graham his design for Nostromo to be “a romantic mouthpiece of ‘the people’ which (I mean ‘the people’) frequently experience the very f eelings to which he gives utterance” (Watts, Joseph Conrad’s Letters 157). The irony here, one that is often little noticed and appreciated, is that in orde r to have Nostromo represent the people and speak for them, the represen ted are rendered silent. Despite comments made on the natives’ role in the labor unre st brewing in the newly independent Sulaco at the end of the novel, none has yet scrutinized how the miners operate in the novel’s unconventiona l narrative, which Jakob Lothe describes as analeptic for its jarring movement in time a nd place. Structurally speaking, the miners of an unnamed Indian tribe are framed out side what Christopher GoGwilt calls the “contending genealogies of an imaginary Eur opean political heritage projected onto the fictional Costaguana and moment arily united in the formation of the Occidental Republic [Sulaco]” (201). Consequently, GoGwilt notes, th ey are a “problematic collectivity” that never directly achieves political represen tation (206). The European political logic imposed on the fictional Costaguana, thus, forecl oses the possibility of granting agency to the Sulacan indigenous. Yet they intrude on the reader’s consciousness from time to time in the analeptic narrativ e when being invoked to play their part in the making of Sulaco history, only not to be given any perspectiv es. Despite the foreclosure of the people’s perspectives on Conrad’s part, Avrom Fleishman suggests that the focus of Nostromo is the people who “permeat[e] the novel, densely filling the interstices between characters, providing motive and meaning to their actio ns,” and their representative (173).

PAGE 150

142 The miners of the Gould Concession are what Spivak calls “native informants,” the marginal and marginalized figures who are simultaneously invoked and foreclosed in the discourse and narrative of the European characte rs and/or narrators. Moreover, she argues that the double operation of “native informant” helps consolidate the narrator’s point of view, thus establishing his or her authority over the representation. This is the case in Nostromo The Indian miners are included in th e narrative, discoursed by the European characters, but are precluded from becoming s ubjects of speech or narrating any part of Nostromo Of the novel’s multiple perspectives, including those of Captain Mitchell, Martin Decoud, Mrs. Gould and, of course, th e anonymous narrator, none is given to the miners who nevertheless are the foundation of th e mine and the source of the profits that have financed a number of revolutions a nd propped up corrupt comprador governments. The irony of having Nostromo represent the peop le, as I have pointed out, is that the miners are simultaneously invoked and excluded. In what follows, I will also use the term “native informant” to highlight Nostromo’s hidden narrative structure: the simultaneous inclusion and exclusion of racial Others, and thus to mark the political unconscious of the narrative. The representation of the native miners without turning them into subjects of speech or having them occupy the position of narrators has at least three immediate consequences. First, they cannot become the direct spokespersons for their struggle for indigenous freedom and rights. Second, the majo r European characters /narrators who rule them on behalf of capital will need to disc ourse about them and speak on their behalf without representing their real class intere st. The third consequence, and the most important one, is that it helps mark Conrad’s narrative frame as Eurocentric, as one that

PAGE 151

143 systematically denies subjectivity to non-We sterners and thus marks them as objects. Conrad’s representation of Costaguana, Re becca Carpenter notes, is similar to the representation of the Orient by the West (91). In the Orient alist mode of representation, the West, as Edward Said has shown us in his critique of Orientalism, is often the actor, studying, documenting and represen ting the native subjec ts: it is a representation without giving agency to the represented. Similarly, C onrad’s depiction of Costaguana, which is meant for a composite South American nation, relies on his European characters and narrators who inform by observing, studying and classifying the indigenous people, but without conferring on them language. Furtherm ore, those observing informants are often described as having “humanity”—an attribute th at is never ascribed to their objects of observation, the indigenous. The “observing” woman and men and their relations with the Sulaco natives in what Pratt calls “contact zone ,” a term she uses to describe “the space of colonial encounters, the space in whic h peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other” (6-7), will be further discussed below. Conrad does not withhold history from the Sulaco indigenous miners, but only offers them a truncated version that starts with Spanish colonialism with its colonial structures built by indigenous forced labor. Mo reover, the history of their exploitation and oppression during and after Spanish rule and their current history under Gould Concession are told by those w ho own or manage the mine, and those who have served the “material interests” of foreign capital in Sulaco, in addition to the narrator. It is through Mrs. Gould that the history of the mi ne is being told. Mrs. Gould, who “know[s] the history of the San Tome mine” through he r marriage to Charles, a third generation Costaguanan of British descent, relates that th e mine in its colonial days was worked by

PAGE 152

144 “means of lashes on the backs of slaves” (75) The old mine with a primitive method is shut down after failing to produ ce “a profitable return,” but not before “whole tribes of Indians” have perished (ibid.). According to her account, the mine’s revival comes after the War of Independence (from the Spanish rule) when a British company acquires the right to work its veins, turning the natives in to “paid miners.” The miners in her account are the “native informants,” who are invoked and excluded at the same time to display Mrs. Gould’s compassion and humanity. Her account, however, performs an ideological service for the Gould Concessi on by treating the issue of clas s exploitation as coming to an end when the miners become paid worker s, which is not the case from the Marxist perspective. In light of Sulaco’s socio-econom ic structure, which depends on the labor of the miners to create wealth for the Goulds, Mrs. Gould thus helps mask the exploitation of the “paid miners” despite he r acknowledgment that the unpaid miners have perished in the mine during the Spanish colonial times. Moreover, she assumes that the primitive accumulation of capital ends with Spanish co lonialism and that the Gould Concession starts with a “clean slate.” Bu t as David Harvey argues in The New Imperialism accumulation by dispossession in its various fo rms is the constant feature of capitalist mode of production. He also notes that stat e powers, finance capital and institutions of credit are the forces that bind together “the umbilical cord” between accumulation by dispossession and expand ed reproduction (152). Despite being a figure of compassion often associated with the statue of Madonna with a crowned child on her arm (Parry 101) Mrs. Gould’s compassion is Janus-faced. While she runs hospitals and schools for th e well-being of the poor, she also actively participates in Sulaco’s political and soci al scenes, working for the mine’s “material

PAGE 153

145 interests.” Moreover, her compassion is comp romised by the hospitality and kindness she extends as the “first lady of Sulaco” to both corrupt government leaders and foreign investors and engineers involve d in the development of the Sulaco mine and railway. Rebecca Carpenter, analyzing the gaps between imperial rhetoric and imperial practices in Nostromo argues that Mrs. Gould, despite her compassion and charity work for the miners and the poor, is complicit with Charle s and his business and political allies in exploiting the workers. Carpenter, in discus sing British women’s role in maintaining the British Empire in the 19th and 20th century, also describes women like Mrs. Gould who participated in the colonization of the nativ e population despite their moral convictions to help them as “‘kinder, gentle r’ imperialists” (84). Her analys is of Mrs. Gould as one of the “maternal imperialists,” a phrase coined by Barbara N. Ramusack, thus brings into focus the profitable use of ge nder by imperialism. Her charity work, as Carpenter argues, is the front to legitimate imperial exploita tion as the running of the hospitals, schools and other charities depends on the profits of the mine. Mrs. Gould’s account, at the same time, cont ains an official account of the miners’ struggle against their British management after the independence. She relays this information documented in an official publication, Diario Oficial saying the government formed after the miners’ revolt duly acknowledge s their cause as “jus tly incensed at the grinding oppression of foreigners.” But th e government also condemns them for acting out of gain rather than out of love of the country, thus creating the pretext for confiscating the mine as “national propert y.” Significantly, this official account appropriates the cause of the indigenous rebel lion to justify its own action to confiscate the mine. It also conducts an ideological ma neuver to misrepresent the struggle of the

PAGE 154

146 miners against the owner as one fighting agai nst “oppression of fore igners.” In doing so, it displaces class struggle onto struggles ag ainst foreigners and thus distorts class antagonism as antagonism against foreigners (racial difference) as if with their own kind the issue of class exploitation would not ex ist for the miners. And by repeating this official account, Mrs. Gould unwittingly helps co ntain the workers’ class struggle. To the extent that the history of the Indian wo rkers is being told by the ruling and owning classes, the issue of class expl oitation is conveniently bracket ed, as if it were nonexistent. The telling of the San Tome mine history by Mr s. Gould thus is less about revealing the brutal history against the Indians than about making a justification for the Gould Concession. In doing so, she appears to c ondemn the primitive accumulation of capital under Spanish colonialism but sanctions th e modern accumulation by dispossession by the Gould Concession. The narrative that describes Mrs. Gould’s compassion for the people in her encounter with the Sulacan Creole landowners and the poor natives also shows that the indigenous are rendered mute subjects, withheld from language. While touring Sulaco, the contact zone, with her husband in search of labor for the mine, Mrs. Gould shows her compassionate side despite using her “imper ial eyes” to search for the prospective laborers for the mine. She observes the toils of the Indians: “She saw the man under the silent, sad-eyed beast of burden. She saw them on the road carrying loads, lonely figures upon the plain, toiling under great straw hats” (103). Her “observing” eye thus shows her compassion for the indigenous. But notably th e Indians she observes are mute subjects who quietly and stoically e ndure their daily hardships, and there are no verbal communications between her and them. The muteness of the natives, however, becomes

PAGE 155

147 conspicuous, when considering Conrad’s depiction of the Spanish landowning families, whose “great houses” Mrs. Gould also visits during her two-month surveying tour. The narrative says that she listens sympathetical ly to their “stories of political outrage; friends, relatives, ruined, imprisoned, killed in the battles of sensel ess civil wars,” and that she finds “on all the lips” of the local Creoles, a collective desire for peace and a government that can bring about law, securi ty and justice (103). The stark contrast between the representati on of the two groups is hard to i gnore: the natives quietly endure their hardships whereas the landowners expr ess their grievances against government corruption. Since the Indian s are not given a voice, though invoked, they need a spokesperson. In one instance, Don Pepe, who accompanies Mrs. Gould on the tour, makes a populist pronouncement on behalf of th e people after she is struck by the legacy of Spanish colonial rule: the stone bridges and churches built by the forced labor of the conquered indigenous people. Don Pepe’s pr onouncement, which comes after Conrad’s indictment of the rule of the king and the chur ch, is in the form of an exclamation. “Poor Costaguana! Before, it was everything for th e padres, nothing for the people; and now it is everything for these great politicos in Sta Marta, for Negroe s and thieves” (104). In sum, the Amerindians are the figure of “nativ e informants,” who are observed, discoursed and denied of speech, in Mrs. Gould’s account of the history of the San Tome mine and in the narrative of her surveying tour. The narrative introducing Don Pepe as th e governor of the mi ne relies on the invocation and foreclosure of the native miners and their families as well. To accentuate the “vein of genuine humanity” in Don Pepe (111), the narrative focuses on his sharp observation of the mining population under hi s charge. Unlike Mrs. Gould who cannot

PAGE 156

148 tell one native from another as they all seem to her to carry “the same mould of suffering and patience,” Don Pepe is described as having an extraordinary ability to know the miners of over six hundred “i ndividually,” or “all the innumerable Joses, Manuels, Ignacios” (111-12). He does this by classifyi ng them according to their skin tones. The narrative says that he knows th em so well that he can “distinguish them not only by their flat, joyless faces ... but apparently also by the infinitely graduated shades of reddishbrown, of blackish-brown, of coppery-brown ba cks” (112). Don Pepe’s interest in the difference in the color shades of the miners may say some thing about his fascination about the differences among the racial others but, at the same time, it could be his attempt to classify the racial others according to the dominant color white, and to mitigate his racial anxiety. His an xiety can be seen in his need to “girt with a great sword” and to wear a uniform, though a “shabby” one “with tarnished bullion epaulettes of a senior major,” as he walks about “precipitous pa ths” up in the mountain (111). The act of classifying the racial other, thus, reveals the hidden anxiety of the na rrative to contain the other, as it represents Don Pepe as a thi nking subject who directs the white gaze at the objectified indigenous population. The act of classification thus is at once a form of domination and of containmen t of the racial Other. Don Pepe’s prolonged gaze directed at the mi ners taking a break from work also is an act of class management that continues even duri ng the break. As the narrative says of the miners of two shifts under his attentive watch: stripped to linen drawers a nd leather skull-caps, mingled together with a confusion of naked limbs, of shouldered picks, swingi ng lamps, in a great shuffle of sandalled feet on the open plateau before the entrance of the main tunnel. It was a time of pause. The Indian boys leaned idly agai nst the long line of little cradle wagons standing empty; the screeners and orebreakers squatted on their heels smoking long cigars.... The heads of gangs, distingui shed by brass medals hanging on their

PAGE 157

149 bare breasts, marshalled their squads; a nd at last the mountain would swallow one half of the silent crowd, while the other half would move off in long files down the zigzag paths leading to the bottom of the gorge. (112) This detailed descriptio n of the miners between shifts on their working day, as much as it demonstrates Don Pepe’s ability to observe humanity, also discloses the bodies of the workers including young boys disciplined by th e grueling demands of mining and the coercive power of capital that exploits and dominates them. As Michel Foucault writes in Discipline and Punishment workshops are among the instituti ons that utilize disciplinary power to produce “subjected and practiced bodi es, ‘docile’ bodies,” and the instrument used by the worker helps mold the working body into a docile and utilitarian one (138; 145; 153). Thus, Foucault maintains, “disciplin ary power” appears to be “a coercive link with the apparatus of production” (153). The Sam Tome mine thus not only produces silver for the Euro-American market and wea lth for its owner and investors, but also “disciplined and docile bodies” out of its native miners. And they are so disciplined and docile that they act like soldiers as they “m arch off in long files” after work. However, the description also captures a momentary attempt to escape from the disciplinary power as in the older workers’ taking their ci gar-smoking break and the young boys standing idly during their break, acts that are at odds with the power that seeks to regulate the working body. The act of class management by Don Pepe is not only limited to the miners, it is extended to the miners’ children and their families. As with the miners he knows so well, Don Pepe, the narrator says, seems “able with one attentive, thoughtful glance to classify each woman, girl, or gr owing youth of his domain” (113). His “imperial eyes” would also enable him to ascer tain the parentage of the “brown children,” and should it fail, by his “searching questions ” (113). Don Pepe’s enormous interest in

PAGE 158

150 the mining population under his charge thus foregrounds the importance of labor as the O ther of capital. Don Pepe’s “genuine humanity” is indeed well represented in his keen observations of those under his charge. But the narrative seek ing to paint him as a man with “a vein of genuine humanity” is hampered by the operatio n of the invocation a nd silencing of the natives, who are the “silent crowd.” Ironicall y, the one time the barefooted natives are shown to speak at all directly, is on the o ccasion when they greet him with a simple salutation—“Taita (father)” (111 ). It is greetings to anyone who wears shoes, one that acknowledges social and class distinction in Sulaco. Significantly, th is simple utterance allowed the miners suggests that they know th eir place in Sulaco, thus reaffirming their inferior social status. Another instance the miners are known to ha ve said anything pertaining to the mine is when Nostromo uses them as a source to back up his claim that he knows there are mountains of wealth in the mine. He inform s Decoud of his knowledge of the wealth the mine contains, while both are on a lighter a ttempting to ship the silver out of Sulaco harbor before the invasion of the Montero rebel forces. To further support his claim, Nostromo invokes the miners, noting that “the miners say that there is enough at the heart of the mountain to thunde r on for years and years to co me” (233). In this instance, the miners are clearly shown to be able to speak their mind, but sti ll it is Nostromo who does the speaking for them. After gaining cl ass consciousness, Nostromo continues to speak for the miners and the poor: ho w the rich have exploited the poor. While capital employs and disciplines the body of the miners and eyes their offspring as the source of the future labor for ce, it also seeks to control their minds with

PAGE 159

151 religion. Like Don Pepe, Father Roman, a nother Gould official who has intimate knowledge of the miners and their families and serv es as their “spiritual pastor,” is also in the habit of meditating and gazing at the chil dren of the miners (113). As the mine’s priest, Father Roman has been “marrying, baptizing, confessing, absolving, and burying the workers of the San Tome mine with di gnity and unction” (337) Despite entertaining “feelings of paternal scorn” toward his flock, the priest shares Mrs. Gould’s “earnest interest” in the well-being of the miners and their families. Moreover, he feels “his own humanity expand” when talking with her about the “innumerable Marias and Brigidas of the villages” (337-38). In Father Roman’s discourse, the natives are again simultaneously invoked and excluded to disp lay his own humanity. The narrative also shows earlier that the priest discourages hi s flock from asking questions concerning a European resurrec tion picture donated by Mrs. Gould to the mine’s chapel. When “an inquisitive spirit” de sires to know where Europe is (the native does speak), Father Roman shuts down the inquiry by saying: No doubt, it is extremely far away. But i gnorant sinners like you of the San Tome mine should think earnestly of everlasting punishment instead of inquiring into the magnitude of the earth, with its countr ies and populations altogether beyond your understanding. (114-15) The significance of this reply is two-fold. First, Europe, which Father Roman says is “a country of saints and miracles, and much gr eater than our Costaguana” is a forbidden topic that cannot be questione d, let alone by the natives. Seco nd, the form of the reply is more significant than its contemptuous, if not racist, content, because it shows the operation of the structure of “native inform ant.” That is, Father Roman’s pronouncement comes in the form of a direct quote; by comparison, the native’s question is being presented as part of the narrative. The nativ e who asks questions about the resurrection

PAGE 160

152 picture is being represented in a way that he or she does not speak directly to the reader, while Father Roman ends up speaking for hi m or her. This exchange between the inquiring native and Father Roman thus highl ights the hidden structure of the “native informant”: the inclusion and exclusion of the native voice and perspec tive. And it is part of class management and control to keep the native flock in their place. The structure of “native informant” is al so operating in Captain Mitchell’s narrative on the “historical events” that led to the form ation of the Occidental Republic, which is transforming itself in the image of foreign ca pital. Recounting how the Indian miners led by Don Pepe rescued Charles Gould before his execution ordered by the rebel Pedrito Montero, seven years later to a “privileged passenger,” a virtual captive audience on a tour of the newly independe nt Sulaco, he says: the miners of San Tome, all Indians from th e Sierra, rolling by like a torrent to the sound of pipes and cymbals, green flags flying, a wild mass of men in white ponchos and green hats, on foot, on mules, on donkeys. Such a sight, sir, will never be seen again. The miners, sir, had marched upon the town, Don Pepe leading on his black horse, and their very wives in the rear on burros screaming encouragement, sir, and b eating tambourines. (397) Captain Mitchell’s narrative, embellished by his pompous speech, nevertheless is built on the structure of simultaneously including a nd excluding the miners and their encouraging wives. The indigenous are the heroes in the rescue and, as the result of the narrative frame, they are not allowed to speak of the event from their perspective. Instead their story is being told by Mitchell who the na rrator says prides himself on “his profound knowledge of men and things in the country” (4 4). Moreover, Mitchell is given not only a narrating voice but also the freedom to color the event as he sees fit. The relation between the narrated and the na rrator, when examined closely, also reveals why Captain Mitchell has a personal in terest in Sulaco’s history and Gould’s

PAGE 161

153 rescue. Mitchell’s interest in the Sulaco mine goes be yond his employment with the Oceanic Steam Navigation Compan y, which delivers the silver to overseas market. It grows out of his holding of “seventeen of th e thousand-dollar shares in the Consolidated San Tome mine” (396). His (class) interest in the mine does not end when he retires from the shipping company and returns to Engl and. His relatively comfortable retirement outside London depends on the seventeen shar es of the San Tome mine he owns, the narrator reports (418). In other words, the surplus labor of the miners will help pay for Mitchell’s investment and thus his retirement His case as a small investor of the mine illustrates the hidden connection between labor and financial investment, made invisible by the ups and downs of the stock market. It also highlights how the newly independent Sulaco is more subjugated to foreign capital th an ever before. After all, it is the military power of the Unites States that intervenes on behalf of the Holroyd finance powerhouse to help install the governme nt of the new state. “The United States cruiser, Powhattan is the first to salute the Occide ntal flag” after staging “an in ternational naval demonstration, which put an end to the Costaguana-Sulaco war,” Mitchell narrates (405). Holroyd’s influence in the newly minted country goes be yond his financial inve stment in the mine. He also stages a “Protestant invasion of Sulaco” by seeking to proselytize with his Holroyd Missionary Fund, competing with Catho licism for the hearts and minds of the “wild Indians” (421). Lastly, the anonymous narrato r is another major source through whom the reader learns about the mine, its hi story and significance in both lo cal and national politics. As such, he embodies what Mary L ouise Pratt calls the figure of transculturator transporting

PAGE 162

154 information about Sulaco to his reader. He unexpectedly introduces himself in Chapter 8 of Part One, although revealing little about hi s identity. His self-introduction begins with: Those of us whom business or curiosity t ook to Sulaco in these years before the first advent of the railway can remember the steadying effect of the San Tome mine upon the life of that remote province. The outward appearances had not changed then as they have changed since, as I am told, with cable cars running along the streets of the Constitution, and carriage roads far into the country to Rincon and other villages, where the foreign merchants and the ricos [wealthy] generally have their modern villas, and a vast railway goods-yard by the harbor, which has a quayside, a long range of warehouses, and quite serious, organized la bour troubles of its own. Nobody had ever heard of labour troubles then. (108) This brief first-person introduction, while dem onstrating the narrator’s familiarity with Sulaco and its mine, also reveals the pr ofound changes brought about by the transport infrastructure serving the mine—the railway, the cable cars and the roads—and settlement of foreign merchant capital in Sul aco, as well as “organiz ed labour troubles.” Significantly, it also foreshadows the labor unrest that will come to a head after Sulaco’s independence at the end of the novel. The narrator as transculturator, however, is interested in the “subtle influence” the San Tome mine has on the locals (109). He thus takes us back to a time in Sulaco, the contact zone where transculturation occurs due to the contacts between different racial gr oups (Pratt 6), when “the stereotyped conveniences of modern life had not intruded yet” and his critical eyes noticed the cultural and sartorial impact the mine has had on its miners. So in the contact zone that is Sulaco, the narrator observes th at the mine “had altered, t oo, the outward characters of the crowd on feast days on the plaza before the open portal of the cathedral,” as shown by the mine’s signature color green the miners adopt in their holiday costume, including white ponchos with a green stripe and white hats with green cord and braid, which are sold by the Gould Concession for a small fee. As he notes, in those days a “peaceful cholo ” wearing “these colors” ran little risks of being beaten up by the town police “on a

PAGE 163

155 charge of disrespect” or of being “lassoed on the road” by the state’s military recruiters because the color green was the mine’s offici al color (109). He ends the account with Don Pepe’s comment on behalf of the people: “Poor people! . But the State must have its soldiers.” This account, seen through the critical eye of the na rrator, highlights the commodification of the color gr een while at the same time showing that the miners “adopt” the mine’s official color as a surviv al strategy to avoid police harassment and the military draft by the state. However, it also shows that like other narrators’ accounts on the mine and the miners, his is a one-dimens ional representation with the miners as his objects of observation. Moreover, in the transc ulturation, the miners are assimilated in ways that do not allow for the alternation of the mine’s culture. As Pratt notes, the problem with many of the travel accounts is that they are constructed from “bourgeois, author-centered ways of knowing,” in which heteroglossia provided by the natives is not able to occur (135-36). She t hus points at the problem of the foreclosure of the native perspectives. Shortly after the Monterists take over Sul aco with the goal to seize and control the mine, the eye of the narrative returns to the mine anxiously awaiting news about the safety of its owner. The focus, which covers the perspective of the mine’s officials, is mostly on Don Pepe who has Gould’s instruc tions to blow up the mine with dynamite should it fall into the rebels ’ hands. Although the narrator informs the reader of the miners’ attitude toward the mine, it is done through himself and a local magistrate who views the mine as “the gifts of well-being, security, and justice upon the toilers” (336). The magistrate’s view on the mine seems ironic, if not dubious, because the reader has been informed earlier by Mrs. Gould and the narrator that th e mine has been a scourge for

PAGE 164

156 its workers and owners alike. Of the miners, the narrator says that the “harassed half-wild Indians” have developed “a sense of bel onging to a powerful organization” over the years. He summarizes their sentiment as be ing “proud of” and “attached to” the mine because it has “secured their confidence and be lief.” He goes on to say: “They invested it with a protecting and invincib le virtues as though it were a fetish made by their own hands, for they are ignorant, and in other resp ects did not differ appreciably from the rest of mankind which puts infinite trust in its own creations” (336). Although the narrator seems to downplay the supposed “ignorance” of the miners by adding that “the rest of mankind” is just as ignorant when it comes to fetishizing the product of their own labor, he finally drives home the point that the loca l magistrate is just as “ignorant” as the miners because it “never entered the alcade ’s head that the mine can fail in its protection and force” (336). He adds that for the alcade politics is “good enough for the people of the town and the Campo” (ibid.), echoing Decoud’s view that the poor peons and indios “knew nothing either of reason or politics” (173). Nicholas Visser notes that in Nostromo the political crowd and their leaders are denied genuine political legitimacy and motivation (7-8). Visser’s comment can be ex tended to the treatment of the indigenous magistrate. The inclusion of the miners’ and magistrate’s views only highlight their “ignorance” and, by comparison, it highlights the narrator’s own intelligence. Ironically, the narrator, who seeks to ascertain how mate rial changes sweeping Sulaco have affected the hearts and minds of the workers (417-18), reveals more about his own attitude toward the mine and the miners than he may have in tended. His is a mindset that is similar to what Achebe has criticized Conrad for: “Trave lers with closed minds can tell us little except about themselves” (16).

PAGE 165

157 The analysis of the foreclosure of the indigenous as subjects of speech and narrators inevitably brings us back to this essential question of wh ether the subaltern can speak for themselves. Within the ideological horizon of Nostromo the answer is clearly that they cannot, not because they cannot speak for themselves but because the representation does not allow them the poli tical agency to dir ectly advocate their indigenous rights and freedoms and to criti que the political-economic system that exploits their surplus labor and destroys thei r indigenous space in th e name of prosperity, progress and development. Thus, they need to be represented by the others, specifically by the owning and political classes of Sulaco, those who serve their political and material interests, Nostromo, the representative of the people, and the narrator. As the analysis of the invocation and foreclosure of the indige nous by the Goulds and their officials has shown, the simultaneous invocation and foreclos ure is performed to maintain the class interests of the owning classes or the worl d system of accumulation by dispossession. The haunting of the indigenous miners and their families in the narrative thus is a sign that they are the irreducible Other of capital. While Sulaco would be nothing without the Gould Concession (397), as Captain Mitchell would have us believe, it is more accurate to say, from a Marxist perspect ive, that without the surplus labor of the miners, the mine is nothing. The reifica tion of the mine thus obscures th e social and labor relations in Sulaco. The foreclosure of the indigenous pers pectives, on the other hand, makes it imperative that Conrad’s analysis and critique of “material interests” be rendered through the comments made by the major European ch aracters. In his dying confession to Mrs. Gould, Nostromo again chides the rich for ta king from the poor. When discussing the fate

PAGE 166

158 of the newly independent Sulaco, Dr. Monygha m tells Mrs. Gould that: “There is no peace and no rest in the development of material interests. They have their law, and their justice. But it is founded on expediency, and is inhuman” ( 423). In doing so, Dr. Monygham sums up the essence of accumula tion by dispossession. He continues to predict that the time will come when “all th at the Gould Concession stands for shall weigh as heavily upon the people as the barbar ism, cruelty, and misrule of a few years back” (423). When Mrs. Gould questions his view, he even suggests that the miners are not likely to support her husband, as they have done in the Sulaco independence, in the upcoming unrest organized by secret soci eties of immigrants and natives. Dr. Monygham’s analysis of capitalism deeply upsets Mrs. Gould who thinks that her schools, hospitals and other charitable d eeds have brought the good to the people of Sulaco. Nevertheless, she concedes the futility of pinning one’s faith, as her husband does, in material interests to bring order and justice. She now sees the San Tome mine in a new light: “feared, hated, wea lthy” it is “more soulless than any tyrant, more pitiless and autocratic than the worst Government; ready to crush innume rable lives in the expansion of its greatness” (431). Here Mrs. Gould finally is able to acknowledge the effects of accumulation by dispossession on the people of Sulaco, a new perspective that was absent when she related the history of the San Tome mine and its colonial history under the Spanish and unwittingly brack eted the question of accumulation by dispossession. Father Corbelan, the aristocratic Catholic priest, also indicts the ills of material interests on behalf of the Sulaco peop le. “Let them [representatives of material interests] beware, then, lest the people, prevented from thei r aspirations, should rise and claim their share of the wealth and their shar e of the power” (422), says the priest. Thus

PAGE 167

159 through the major European characters, Conr ad wages his indictment of capitalist imperialism, which however simultaneously ex cludes the indigenous miners from voicing their opposition to the capitalist accumulation by dispossession. We are told at the end of the novel that Charles Gould is having troubles with the miners, indicating that they are asserting their agency in seeking a social ch ange, but their voice is presented indirectly (456). The specter of the indige nous labor unrest, which the na rrator briefly alludes to in his self-introduction in Chapter 8 of Part One, finally comes to a head at the end of Nostromo threatening the continuing operation of accumulation by dispossession. What haunts Sulaco politically and economica lly, in the final analysis, then is the specter of global capitali sm, whose mode of organization of social labor and mode of use of time and space are aimed at private approp riation and accumulation. The reification of the San Tome mine as a spectral being, as in the case of the elde r Gould, thus obscures the social relations of produc tion and class struggles that ar e manifested in the use of space as well as in lived space. So is the fetishism exhibited by Sotillo and Nostromo on the silver, a global commodity that is essentia lly the product of dead or congealed labor. The ghosts of the native miners who perish ed in the maw under forced labor during Spanish colonial rule in turn haunt the hist ory of the mine, as a spectral reminder of the source of primitive accumulation of capit al. As Harvey argues, the primitive accumulation of capital that Marx saw as the pre-history of capital does not cease to exist in modern and postmodern world. Rather, th e expanded capitalist mode of (re)production around the globe accelerates its modus operandi accumulation by dispossession: in its various forms it includes privatization of public lands, social services and public institutions and enterprises. The building of the Sulaco railroad, that results in the

PAGE 168

160 dislocation of the indigenous i nhabitants, and the exploitati on of the indigenous miners by both the Spanish colonial rulers and th e Gould mine are two prime examples of accumulation by dispossession in Nostromo The haunting of the indigenous in the narrative with multiple narrators points to both primitive accumulation of capital and modern capital accumulation by disposse ssion. The foreclosure of the indigenous perspectives thus works to elide the struct ure of accumulation by dispossession, which is nevertheless threatened, at least temporaril y, by the coming of the labor unrest by the native miners. Fredric Jameson writes in Brecht and Method that “every interpre tation of a text is always protoallegorical” (122). If Nostromo is a political allegory of anything, it can be read as an allegory of fetishism of commodity and accumulation by dispossession. Moreover, the novel can be read as an allego ry of contemporary Latin American plights and struggles in neo-liberal globalization. The specter of global capitalism produces its own specter, the specter of labor unrest wh erever it operates. Th e growing indigenous anti-globalization movements in Latin Amer ican and elsewhere, since global capital aggravates its assaults on the poor indige nous population by imposing neo-liberal, freemarket agendas in the post-Soviet era, cl early demonstrate that the exploited and oppressed indigenous peoples are in the vanguard of the working people in fighting back the ruthless profit-making machines that are making the divides between the rich and the poor even wider nationally and globally. For example, the indigenous in Bolivia, whose famed Potosi silver mine with forced labor for three centuries produc ed enormous wealth for the Spanish rulers and misery for its mine rs and their families (Galeano 17) and from which Conrad drew inspiration for his repres entation of the imaginary Costaguana and its

PAGE 169

161 intriguing political history, cu rrently are fighting this batt le. They have waged street demonstrations demanding its corrupt government to cut economic ties from the multinational companies that have profited from the privatization of the nation’s natural gas while leaving its people behind, and more destitute. The political actions taken by Bolivia’s men and women, including peasants miners, union workers and their allies, thus, are a resounding rejection of the vi ew that the indigenous cannot represent themselves.

PAGE 170

162 CHAPTER 5 CONCLUSION: ZHANG YIMOU AS NATIVE INFORMANT/CULTURAL TRANSLATOR IN THE AGE OF GLOBALIZATION Gayatri Spivak’s deconstructive critique of the invocation and foreclosure of the Native/Other in Western Enlightenment philoso phy has enabled an al ternative reading of the three novels I examined in the prev ious chapters. Deploying the figure of the foreclosed native informant that illuminates the problems of representing Others by the West, the chapters have foregrounded the c onscription of non-Western Others in the construction of Western national identities. These chapters, in some sense, answer Spivak’s call to acquire a “transnational literacy” among students of postcolonial and cultural studies as we engage with th e globalized world dominated by finance ( A Critique 399). Fredric Jameson had also articulated the need to spatially ma p the world in late capitalism through the concept of cognitive mapping ( Postmodernism 416). Thus, my dissertation is part of a larger Marxist a nd postcolonial project that seeks to map the globalized world from the sites of marginal ity. The working through of my dissertation also is, for the most part, a relearning pr ocess, a process of decolonization that deconstructs the hegemonic frame of West ern epistemology that marginalizes the nonWestern Others. As we saw in the three previous chapters the figure of the native informant was enlisted by Cooper, Melville and Conrad, author s writing at different stages of Western empires, to plot narratives of nation, both historical and imaginary. In those fictional narratives, the figure is invoked to legitimate America’s proprietorial ownership of the

PAGE 171

163 native land, or assert America’ s ambition as a new empire or seek national independence by expatriated Europeans in an imaginar y South American locale. Under Cooper’s design, the Mohegans are deployed as a Trojan horse to asse rt bourgeois right to landed property, a design furthered by the passing of a white bourgeois heir as the native. While the Mohegan tribe is given an “Indian” voice to express th e grievance of the dispossession of the ancestral land, that voice is conveniently withdrawn with the unveiling of Edwards’s true identity as the heir to the Effingham family and with the voluntary departure of Leathe rstocking from Templeton. Cooper’s conscription of the Native American thus is a strategy of ideolo gical containment that succeeds in stamping out the traces of the history of Indians as the original owner of the New World and in giving a legitimacy to the white colonial settlers as the lawf ul owners of the land. To put it another way, through the figure of the Indian Other Cooper both discloses and forecloses accumulation by dispossession. Melville’s appropriation of the Orient Other to construct American identity is more complex and nuanced. On the one hand, hi s appropriation consti tutes a form of unexamined Orientalism by simultaneously invo king and foreclosing the Other to elevate the American whaling industry. On the other, his Orientalism has cr itical and subversive strands. In the form of satire, the invocation of Islamic religion, social ranks and customs allows Melville to critique re ligion in general and American class hierarchy as embodied by Ahab and his three mates and other crew on board the whale ship. More important, while Melville invokes the Orient, he also insists on the impossibility to decipher the Other. Thus, for him, the Egyptianized Le viathan with mysterious marks and the mysterious Fedallah shall remain a cipher. His critical foreclosure of the Orient, in this

PAGE 172

164 case, thus departs from Cooper’s regressive foreclosure of the Mohegans, which is necessary to maintain the bourgeois claims to Indian land as the right to private property. Both The Pioneers and Moby Dick are narrated by a white male, Cooper himself and Ishmael, who constructs their narratives through the figure of the native informant. While Conrad multiplies the narrator in Nostromo he excludes the Indian miners from narrating any part of the novel, although they constitute the material base of the silver mine that is the source of Sulaco’s political instability and play an important role in the founding of the new Western Republic of Sul aco. Instead, the native miners are being represented by their owners, manager and others who serve the interests of capital or by the anonymous narrator who professe s an interest in the politics of Sulaco. In so far as the miners speak, they can only speak through their Western Others who may or may not speak for their class interests. The invocati on of the native miners, however, both exposes and forecloses primitive and modern accumula tion of capital. What these three novels demonstrate is that self-representation by the Other within the Western literary discourse is ideologically untenable dur ing “high colonialism,” the 19th and early 20th centuries when the colonization of the non-Wester n Others by the Western powers was done through brutal military forces and in plain view The perspectives of the Others, as I have shown, are foreclosed for various reasons to maintain a Western order of things. In Melville’s case, however, the foreclosure is also critical and subversive to disrupt American cultural imperialism that sought to speak for the Others. Furthermore, accompanying the foreclosure of the perspective the native is also denied of the gaze. In those novels, in one way or another, the West is the bearer of the gaze. Under such an

PAGE 173

165 imperial gaze the non-Western Others are bei ng turned into objects to be observed and studied by and for the West as it cons tructs modern narratives of Self. Spivak’s critique of the invocation and foreclosure of non-Western Others in Western epistemology has alerted us to the unequal power relations in the realm of representation and discourse. The figure of th e native informant, as she notes, has been enlisted by Western ethnographers to inscribe the cultures of non-Western Others for the West. The inscription of the non-Western Othe rs as the bearers of “primitivness” often serves to contrast with Western modern ity in hegemonic ethnography and anthropology. Their conscription in the Western epistemol ogy thus has helped sustain the World Order in which the West has dominated and led th e rest of the world economically, militarily, technologically, culturally a nd ideologically in modern history. In the so-called postcolonial and postmodern world, can the fo rmerly perspectivele ss native speak and represent herself? Spivak has argued that the perspective of the native informant is impossible to retain because once it makes itself available it runs the risk of being appropriated and exploited by the powers that be. Therefore, she reinscribes the native informant as an (im)possible perspective. As the conclusion to my study of the native informant in the Western representation, howev er, I would like to explore the possibilities that the native speaks and represents her nation and, more impor tantly, examine the conditions under which the speech and represen tation take place. The case I am exploring here is that of mainland Chinese director Zh ang Yimou. Here I am using the native in a rather broad sense, in the context of China representing itself to the rest of the world. I am aware that China with Han as its majo r ethnic group has its own internal, colonized Others such as the Tibetans and the M ongolians. Specifically, I am interested in

PAGE 174

166 exploring the role of the nativ e informant as cultural tran slator in the age of global capitalism. The choice of Zhang and the China he helped project onto the international screen also allows me to explore briefly the effects of accumulation by dispossession on the reform-era China. As David Harvey points out in The New Imperialism China’s turn toward state-coordinated capitalism has resulted in “wave after wave of primitive accumulation” (153-54). Its noticeable manifesta tions are in the land seizures that have provoked waves of local protests in recent years in rural China as well as in the privatization of state-enterp rises including the film industry. Official corruption at local and higher levels also makes the dispo ssession of the people to allow capital accumulation more hideous as China inserts itse lf further into the or bit of profit-driven global capitalism. In the context of postcolonial immigrat ion, Homi Bhabha notes: “Culture as a strategy of survival is both transnational and translational ” (“Freedom’s Basis” 48; italics original). For the hybrid migrant in the West, th e culture she produces is both transnational and translational because sh e has “double consciousness” that mixes her native culture with that of her adopted count ry. For the native filmmaker who stays put, her product of labor, financed by transnational capital and circulated in the global market, can also be said to be both transnational and translational but in a different sense. In the case of China, where foreign capital has pe netrated its film industry under China’s economic reforms, the “Chinese” cultural pr oduct is marked as transnational and translational because of forei gn capital’s involvement and th e product’s circulation in the global market. However, I limit my discussion of translation to cultural translation and in the restricted sense of translation from the “o riginal” source, or “r aw material,” to the

PAGE 175

167 medium of film. Although linguistic translati on as in English and other foreign-language subtitles is also an essential part of cultura l translation as Chinese cinema as a cultural commodity circulates around the globe, it falls ou tside the scope of this chapter. I am also aware of the consequences of using the native informant as our cultural guide and translator into Chinese culture. They include essentializing the “Chineseness” of China and assuming the informant as the holder of truth—two major pitfalls that were exposed in the indigenous Chinese critic s’ severe criticism of some of Zhang’s ethnic films. Strictly speaking, Zhang, as China’s best-known director in the West, cannot be described as a subaltern despite his “black class” family backgr ound and his experiences as a farm and textile worker during his young adulthood before being admitted to the Beijing Film Academy in 1978 ( Reinventing China 15-16; 29; 37-38). But as a filmmaker, he assumes the double role of native informant and cultural translator, representing China and its people to the world. Moreover, in the age of capitalist globalization, the cultural commodity he produces plays an increasingly important role in shaping the global multicu ltural subjectivities that are needed to ensure the longevity of transnational capitalism. Thus, I argue that in the age of unfette red globalization of capital and the (post)modern consumer so ciety it fosters, the figure of the native informant has not become obsolete in unders tanding formation of global multicultural subjectivity based in part on th e consumption of Others via mediated images. The native, as mentioned above, is understood in the c ontext of China’s self -representation to the outside world. Further, I maintain that the fi gure of the native informant is as important as the figure of New Immigrant in the West in transporting and tr anslating her native culture to the world. And with it, the native as both informant and cultural translator is

PAGE 176

168 faced with a difficult task of meeting the demands coming from both her native land and the West. This is especially so in the globali zed film industry in which a film, produced at local sites, is being circulated in the intern ational film market, and continues its afterlife in the form of DVDs, videotapes and VCDs (video recorded on compact disks, popular in Asia). To illustrate the complex relationship between native informant-cum-cultural translator and globalization of culture unde r transnational capitalism, I will use the trajectory of Zhang Yimou’s film career as the point of entry. Sheldon Hsiao-peng Lu’s essay, “National Cinema, Cultural Critique, Transnational Capital,” on Zhang’s film art and its reception both at home a nd abroad provides a useful entry into the debate in China over Zhang’s representation of China and over th e recognition of his artistic merits in the West and his relative margina lization in the 1990s at home. Zhang’s film career, built around his ability to visualize and signif y a tradition-bound “Chin a” that oppressed its women to the Western audiences, marks th e globalization of contemporary Chinese cinema (125). Yet Zhang’s warm reception in Western art-film houses has also invited harsh criticism by indigenous Chinese critics fo r participating in (re)producing images of (fabricated) Chinese ritual s for the consumption of Western viewers (128). More important, the critics says, the gl obalization of Zhang’ s films is an instance of “the global homogenization of local differences in the interest of Western cultural imperialism” (129). In what follows, I take up this debate over Zhang’s exhibiti onist Orientalism and argue that his is not simply to satisfy the We st’s “compulsory Orientalism” but to critique oppression of women in feudal China. In the second part of the chapter, I examine the ways in which state censorship in China a nd transnational capital that finances Zhang

PAGE 177

169 Yimou’s films have conspired to constrain his artistic and political vi sions. I argue that the frame of Zhang’s films is being filtered and restricted by these two major concerns. Specifically, in my reading of Zhang’s Not One Less (1999), I show that the film in allowing one village girl, Zhang’s primary native informant, to tell her story of searching her missing student in the city actually blocks a more disturbi ng one from being told by another young girl migrant worker. The readi ng of the film thus contends that even within an ethnic self-representation, the native informant as in the figure of the rural migrant child worker cannot be fully repres ented in a globalized economy that depends on her cheap labor to produ ce commodities for global consumption. The foreclosure of the migrant worker in the film thus, wittingl y or unwittingly, helps bracket the process of accumulation by dispossession. My critique, however, focuses on the censorship system and global film apparatuses that interfere with the “autonomy” of the filmmakers in materializing their artistic and political visions And I do not rule out the possibility that critical work can still be done within such an environment. Native Informant-cum-Cultural Translator for the World Cinema Those who study the works of China’s Fi fth-Generation directors have observed that Zhang Yimou’s Red Sorghum (1987), which bridged the gap between cinematic art and popular taste, both marked and accelerat ed the end of the filmmakers’ artistic experiment and cultural critique movement (Yau 100). In hindsight, many considered the early 1980s a significant period in Chinese filmmaking. During this period the so-called “innovative films” that were di stinctively different from “oss ified socialist realism” were being made by the first graduates of the Beijing Film Academy since the end of the Cultural Revolution (96). The political and cultural climate of the early 1980s was relative liberal following Deng Xiaoping’s economic reforms, which began to prioritize

PAGE 178

170 economic returns (profits) over the ideol ogies of the State/Party. Chen Kaige’s Yellow Earth (1984) was able to gain legitimacy by i nvoking “the compelling tropes of Chinese civilization in the Shaanbei plateau, the Yello w River, and the peasants” (97). However, the film, some critics note, seems to deconstruct the myth about the success of the Communist Party in improving th e lives of the peasants, as implied by the failure of the young Communist solider, Gu Qing, to timely sa ve the peasant girl, Cuiqiao, who drowns in the Yellow River while attempting to escape from her arranged marriage to an older man. Zhang Yimou’s Red Sorghum used the second half of the film, the anti-Japanese resistance of the peasants, to legitimate the first part of the film that focuses on the libidinal energy of the male protagonist. As transnational capital began to finan ce Zhang’s films beginning in the early 1990s, some questioned the deployment of the mi se-en-scene in his films as markers of Chinese ethnographic films. Raise the Red Lantern (1991) received the most of the criticism from both cultural conservatives a nd postcolonial critics, both at home and abroad. For example, Tonglin Lu recently argues that “The Zhang Yimou Model,” perfected in Raise the Red Lantern and imitated by other Chinese directors to break into the global market, has three major trademarks. It usually deploys a sexually attractive and oppressed young woman, fabricates elaborate Chinese rituals and invokes Chinese anticolonial writer Lu Xun’s famous metaphor of China as an “iron house” to allegorize the imprisonment of its people (166-67). The proliferation of the Zhang Yimou model, I think, only underscores the logic of global capitalism in commodifying an original critical work to make profit, a proc ess the filmmaker has no control over.

PAGE 179

171 Zhang Yimou established his auteur status at the international film festivals with his first three films, Red Sorghum (1987), Judou (1990), and Raise the Red Lantern (1991), inserting China into the world cinema. Bu t even before the “red films,” so called because of the dominant color in them—red wine ( Red Sorghum ), red strips of clothes ( Judou ) and red lanterns ( Raise the Red Lanterns )—film critics had noticed his cinematography for One and Eight (1984) and Yellow Earth (1984). Along with other members of the Fifth-Generation, a term de signating the 1982 class of Beijing Film Academy, which reopened in 1978 after being closed dur ing the Cultural Revolution (1966-76), Zhang helped introduce New Wave Chinese cinema to the world audience (Rayns 104-13). In these three films, Zhang re presents and critiques a pre-Revolutionary patriarchal China that oppressed women thr ough the practice of arranged marriages and other oppressive feudal traditions In his capacity as a filmmake r, Zhang thus functions as a native informant and cultural translator, re presenting the oppressi on of women in preRevolutionary China through his cinematic ar t. Zhang’s representation of feudal China was praxis in response to a cultural and hist orical introspection m ovement in the early 1980s among Chinese intellectuals after the wake of the Cultural Revolution. As Dai Jinhua, China’s film scholar, writes in Cinema and Desire the Fifth Generation are “the initiators and participants of the movement for reflecting on culture and History” (30). This cultural and historical introspection, wh ich in some ways continued the project of the May Fourth movement of 1919 that was aimed at modernizing China and its culture and language and was disrupted by the Chines e-Japanese War, had two prongs. As Dai writes, On the one hand, it conducts a ‘root-sear ching movement’ in order to revive national culture, national tradition, and nationa l spirit. On the other hand, it issues a

PAGE 180

172 call for enlightenment, a call to critique and negate natio nal culture and tradition, to excavate ‘the ills of national character,’ and to portray the silent spirit of the citizenry. (ibid.) The Fifth Generation thus initiated a new phase in contemporary Chinese cinema in which the “self-reflexive gaze of the nation” is the distinctive style of their filmmaking (Lu, “Historical Introduction” 8). Moreover, this self-reflexiv e Chinese ethnographic cinema proceeded at the same time through a detour: a search for the non-Han Others in order to reaffirm the Han center. Yingjin Zhang notes that in minority films such as Zhang Nuanxin’s Sacrificed Youth (1985), in which the Han heroine discovers her repressed sexuality after livi ng among a native, Dai, people, the ethnic Other is needed for a critique of the Self (168-69). In his three early ethnogra phic films, Zhang Yimou fo rcefully deals with the oppression of Chinese (peasant) women espe cially through the custom of arranged marriage, often arranged on the basis of moneta ry consideration. In the films, the women from families of poverty or dwindling fortune s are traded like an object by men relative rich in the patriarchal system. His critique of the feudal system is further reinforced by a representation of the male char acters with a physical illness ( Red Sorghum ), with a penchant for abusing his wife ( Judou ) and with an excessive sexua l appetite that calls for the company of one wife and four more concubines ( Raise the Red Lantern ). Although Zhang said that it was only coincidental th at all three films used women characters to critique Chinese feudal culture, he allowed that in his attempt to “express the Chinese people’s oppression and confinement, which has been going on for thousands of years, women express this more clearly on their bodies because they bear a heavier burden than men” (Yang, “Of Gender” 38).

PAGE 181

173 Zhang Yimou’s earlier films thus can be viewed as ethnographic films. Zhang’s representation of feudal China also turn s the representational model in Western ethnography upside down in that the native asserts her agency to write her own autobiography and critique her oppressive cu ltural practices. Yet Zhang’s success at the international film festivals was met with cau stic criticisms at home. His Chinese critics alleged that his films were made to satis fy the gaze of Western audiences. More important, the critics say, his Chinese aesthetics is a form of Orientalism that renders his women characters objects of g aze for Western viewers, and thus he is in complicit in reproducing hierarchical rela tions between the West and China. Zhang himself had denied these charges, saying he was puzzled by them and that even if he had wanted to cater to the tastes of foreigners, there were too many of them to satisfy their tastes (Li, “Paving Chinese” 82-83). But th e initial banning of his films by the Chinese authorities for showing the “inappropriate” sites/sights of China, the funding of his films by foreign capital including Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan an d France and their distributions overseas only seemed to give some validity to the charges. In an essay entitled “Raised Eyebrows for Raise the Red Lantern ,” Dai Qing, one of China’s well-known investig ative journalists, faulted Zh ang for not representing a more “authentic” China. Among her list of inauthenticity in the film include the ritual of raising the red lanterns at th e residence of the favored c oncubine of the night and the accompanying ritual of foot massage. Zhang Yimou said in an interview that the ritual of raising the red lanterns, which is not incl uded in the novel by Su Tong from which the film is based, was his invention to create vi sual effect and his in tervention to “give a concrete form to [the women’s] oppression” (Yang, “Of Gender” 40). Nevertheless, in

PAGE 182

174 Dai Qing’s view, the film with those elaborate rituals was shot for the “casual pleasures of foreigners” to “satisfy their oriental fe tishisms” (336). The first part of Dai Qing’s critique, however, is problematic because it, as Rey Chow points out, derives from a certain assumption about transla tion: that Zhang has made a poor translation of China, a translation that fails to give tr uth or authenticity to “China” ( Primitive Passions 184). Chow’s critique thus underscores the pitfalls in essentializing China as the “original,” and following Walter Benjamin she calls for an unde rstanding of transla tion as “a process of putting together” that also reth inks the original itself as the product of putting together (185). Chow also proposes to rethink Chines e ethnographic filmmaking as a process of translation, a process of putting together that does not privilege the original text. In “Postcolonialism and Chinese Cinema of the Nineties,” collected in her Cinema and Desire Dai Jinhua also took Zhang Yimou to task, arguing that the red lanterns “internalize the Western gaze” (58). But her cr itique takes into account the social and economic conditions of the nineties in reform-era China. As China continued its economic reform policies, it also encouraged it s state-owned film studios to seek foreign investment. To secure foreign investment for their film projects, Chinese filmmakers saw winning awards at international film festivals as a gateway to have their films made and seen by wider audiences. One significant conseq uence results from this change in the funding: the Chinese filmmakers became alert to the aesthetic preferences of the filmfestival judges and were i nduced to represent “an Orie nt that was palatable and intelligible for Western viewers” (50). Dai Jinhua thus argues that using his earned position in the Western film world as “a sign of the oriental/Chinese cultural subject” (52), Zhang has turned Chinese history and cu lture into “a dead butterfly: colorful and

PAGE 183

175 delicate but pinned down under the Western gaze” (59). Like Dai Qing, Dai Jinhua’s critique assumes that the Western gaze can only be male-gendered and heterosexual, exposing compulsory heterosexism in a culture that is at large unwilling to acknowledge non-heterosexual practices. But Dai Jinhua’s cri tique also problematizes the expectation that the native informant as cultural translator acts as a holder of truth for the West. Another Chinese cultural critic, Zhan g Yiwu, also argued that the political allegories that Western film critics saw in the works of Zhang Yimou and other FifthGeneration directors in the 1990s were not genuine investigati ons into Chinese history or contemporary Chinese society (Larson 183-84). The commodification of their films in the early 1990s, Zhang Yiwu contended, had cast a cloud over the Fifth Generation’s commitment to the cultural retrospection movement of the early1980s and had rendered the political allegories in their films suspici ous. Critics both in China and the West had interpreted the theme of feudal oppression in both Judou and Raise the Red Lantern both initially banned in China but shown in the West, as a national allegory for the Chinese government’s crackdown of democracy move ment on Tiananmen Square on June 4th, 1989. In contrast, Zhang Yiwu noted that the films’ national allego ries were pseudo and they resulted from a respons e to the demands of foreign capital to produce images of desire and to pander to “the e xoticism and eroticism that the Capitalist West would like to assign to a commodified East” (Larson 184). The Chinese cultu ral critic also wrote that to set themselves apart from the Fifth Generati on, the directors of th e Sixth Generation in the spirit of postmodernism have set out to produce anti-allegorical films, resisting any attempt to allegorize China. (The works of th e Sixth-Generation directors often deal with

PAGE 184

176 contemporary Chinese urban life, and ar e often under-funded, banned by the Chinese authorities and circulated in the black market.) Behind those passionate debates by indige nous Chinese critics over Zhang Yimou’s work and that of other Fifth-Generation dir ectors, Sheldon Lu points out, nevertheless was a turf battle over who had the authori ties in evaluating Chinese cultural products (“National Cinema” 128). As the judges at th e international film festivals have the authority to evaluate the films competing fo r prestigious prizes, the Chinese cultural critics, who had performed the task of tr anslating and introduci ng outstanding artistic works from China to the West, felt that they we re being left out in the process. That may explain some of the reasons for their veheme nt attack on Zhang and his colleagues. But some critics are genuinely concerned about the commodification of Chinese culture and films as a new form of Western cultural im perialism. The debates’ main focus on the question who constitutes the core audience of the Fifth-Generation films, I think, somehow fails to adequately address the gene ral conditions of filmmaking in reform-era China. For Zhang Yimou and many other Chin ese filmmakers, the conditions of work rely on foreign capital following the privatization of the state-controlled film industry in the late 1980s. Further, the argument that Zh ang Yimou’s films were made to satisfy the voyeuristic gaze of the West does not take into account that production in the age of capitalist globalization is not to meet the needs of local consumers but that of global ones. As a matter of fact, the funding of Zhang Yi mou’s films by multinati onal corporations is a form of outsourcing by the gl obalized film industry. Indust rywide, China still offers a relatively cheap labor force to be tapped by transna tional capital seeking both talents and profits. Zhang could make do with US$1 m illion for a low budget film, a fraction of a

PAGE 185

177 typical Hollywood budget (Lu, Confronting Modernity 171). These are the conditions of filmmaking in China as it further moves towa rd the market economy. Initially, Zhang and his Fifth-Generation colleagues may find that working for transnational capital, rather than for the state, allowed them to bypa ss the censorship imposed by China’s Film Bureau, which can ban their films domesticall y, but not their overseas distribution, not to mention better financial rewards. But embr acing transnational capit al also has its own sets of constraints, which I e xplore in my reading of Zhang’s Not One Less in the second part of the chapter. In the United States, the Chinese debate over Zhang Yimou’s voyeuristic Orientalism also invited discussions among sc holars working in film studies and Chinese cultural studies. Among them, E. Ann Kaplan ha s called for a cross-cultural analysis that posits the possibility of knowi ng about the Other while ackno wledging the limits of this approach (135-53). Chris Berry proposes to rethink Chinese cinema and national agency through Judith Butler’s notion of performativity (172). Esther C. M. Yau and Rey Chow also joined the debate in the 1990s but drew different conclusion. Chow emerged as the major voice defending Zhang Yimou’s exhibi tionist Orientalism. Yingjin Zhang, however, regards Chow’s defense as ultimately “participat[ing] in a new kind of Orientalism” (111). In her essay, “International Fantasy and the ‘New Chinese Cinema,’” Esther C.M. Yau argues that the phenomenon of “Chinese cinema of the 1980s” was the combined result of three “projections cast onto the screens of international film festivals” (95). Those projections, she notes, involved three image-making processes: the reexamining of China’s political and cultur al histories by the FifthGeneration filmmakers, the

PAGE 186

178 diplomatic exhibition of cinematic talents by the Chinese state implementing its opendoor policies and the search by the Western film critics for a new varieties of art cinema (ibid.). She believes that th e international recognition of the Fifth-Generation male directors as auteurs since the mid-1980s had ra mifications for filmmaking in China. One of them was the “internalization of Western interests” in China’s festival film entries, financed and selected by the State for film fes tival competition (98). In festival entries of the late 1980s, Yau notes, “the gaze of the We stern film critic/viewer is inscribed through the choice of subject matter, style, and visual imagery” (ibid.). Th e production of Chinese films with strategically pl aced mise-en-scene to signify a “China,” however, only accounts for part of their app eals to Western film critics an d viewers. Yau argues that since the Fifth-Generation dire ctors studied various foreign cinemas while at the Beijing Film Academy, in their films influenced by Western filmic language and techniques Western film critics found a “novel, ‘exotic’ ve rsion of a canonized fo rm” (95). Thus the favorable reception of the Fifth Generation at the international film festivals was a result of what Yau calls “an occidentalist project” meeting with “an orientalist reception” (96). Shuqin Cui recently describes the match betw een the production side of exhibitionist Orientalism and the perception side of it as “c ooperative Orientalism” in her analysis of transnational film spectatorship (xxi; 111). Since 1990, Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige, in Yau’s view, have proven to be able to supply “oriental fantasies” to the West through a “conscious and more sophisticated inscription of the Western gaze” (105). Yau’s critique echoes some of native Chinese critics’ asse ssment of Zhang Yimou’s work in the early 1990s, but it does not consider the films’ criti que of oppressive patriarchal order.

PAGE 187

179 In contrast to Yau and Zhang Yimou’s other critics, Rey Chow sees Zhang Yimou’s mode of Orientalism as a tactic a nd demonstration to critique China’s feudal practices. In Primitive Passions Chow comes to Zhang’s defense, arguing that some of his critics have misconstrued Zhang’s excessive mode of exhibitionism as simply conforming to a voyeuristic Western Orientalis m. Chow notes that it is essential to acknowledge that vision bears not only the origins of gender inequalities, as Laura Mulvey suggested in “Visual Pleasure and Na rrative Cinema,” but also the origins of ethnographic inequalities in postcolonial world (180). She goes on to argue that “the state of being looked at” is the “ active manner” in which the non-Western cultures represent and thus ethnographize themselves, even t hough it is also being built into the way nonWestern cultures are being viewed by the West (italics original). There is no doubt that the subjective origins of the Eurocentric et hnography are what makes it an instrument of Western cultural hegemony. But Chow argues that it is necessary to turn our attention to “ the subjective origins of et hnography as it is practiced by those who were previously ethnographized and who have, in the postcolon ial age, taken up the active task of ethnographizing their own cultures ” (italics original). Arguing for an alternative theory of ethnography that takes visuality into account and thus gives agency to the formerly ethnographized, Chow notes that it is “beinglooked-at-ness,” rather than the act of looking, which constitutes “the primary event in cross-cultural repr esentation.” She thus underscores the paradox of self-represen tation through the medium of film. Under Zhang’s hand, Chow argues, “the remn ants of orientalism” are being turned into “elements of a new ethnography,” an ethnog raphy that “accepts the historical fact of orientalism and performs a critique (i.e ., evaluation) of it by staging and parodying

PAGE 188

180 orientalism’s politics of visuality” ( Primitive Passions 171). She bolsters her defense of Zhang with a critical scene from Judou in which the title character makes a conscious decision to turn her bruised body around to face her voyeur, her abusive husband’s nephew. The act by Judou, Chow argues, is a defiant and courageous one in that Judou confronts the nephew with the marks of an oppressive and abusive feudal order (167). This return of the male gaze also changes the relationship between the voyeur and the fetishized woman: it denies the pleasure to the nephew, leaves him with a disturbed psyche and makes him sympathetic to Judou’s abuse. For Chow, Zhang’s Orientalism, or what she calls “the Oriental’s orientalism,” with “its self-subalter nizing, self-exoticizing visual gestures” thus is “fir st and foremost a demonstra tion—the display of a tactic” (171). The self-conscious display of Orientalis m as a form of subversion and critique can also be seen in Raise the Red Lantern At the end of the f ilm, Songlian, the movie’s heroine, stages and parodies the ritual of lantern-lighting after ma ster Chen orders her lanterns covered in black clot hes as a punishment for faking a pregnancy to maintain the “privilege” of having th e lanterns raised in front of her chambe r and the accompanying foot massage. In doing so, Songlian not onl y challenges master Chen’s patriarchal authority but also asserts her agency. Th e staging of the lant ern-ritual, putting Orientalism on display, thus is her way of subverting a perverse patriarchal practice, however temporary it is. Thus, I would argue that the stag ing of exhibitionist Orientalism in these two films is not simply to feed the Orientalist fantasies of the West as some of Zhang’s critics charge, but to critique Ch ina’s feudal system that oppresses not only women but also men without wealth and power.

PAGE 189

181 Examining the New German Cinema of the 1970s, Thomas Elsaesser concludes that the German films, seen as “a privileged medium of self-representation,” were “the consequence of a vast transcription process” (207; 322). He further no tes that collectively the New German cinemas have attempted to “gather, record a nd report the images, sounds and stories ... which make up the memory of a generation, a nation and a culture, and to translate them” from perishable memories to cinema, the most permanent medium (322-23). In this way, the German films were able to preserve di verse cultural products such as literature, popular cult ure, architecture, fashion, memo rabilia and the like in their enlistment of them (323). Elsaesser’s unders tanding of film as a form of cultural translation, Rey Chow notes, is useful in developing a reformulation of ethnography as visuality and translation that is suited fo r the aspirations of n on-Western cultures to represent and record their cultures and histories ( Primitive Passions 182). Building on Elasesser’s insights, Chow further suggests that two important types of translation are at work in national cinemas. For her, ethnographi c films not only inscribe and thus translate a generation, a nation and a cu lture onto the medium of film, they also open up the possibilities to transform traditions and interv ene in the process of transporting the “raw material” to film. Chow’s reformulation of visual ethnogra phy as inscription and translation on the one hand and as transformation and permuta tion on the other, how ever, highlights the challenges faced by non-Western filmmakers as both native informants and cultural translators in a working environment that di ctates their cultural products as a global commodity competing for visibility, that is, competing to be looked at, if not to be appreciated. Can they meet th e challenges to prod uce innovative works especially when

PAGE 190

182 transnational capital funds and thus cont rols the major decision-making over their production ? The answer to this question w ill be explored through the examination of Zhang Yimou’s Not One Less and his other recent works, produced not just for Chinese audience both at home and abroad but for international viewers as well. Transnational Chinese Cinemas and Native Informant When Marx and Engels assessed the eff ects of capitalist globalization in the 19th century, they noted one positive literary phenomenon: from the production of “the numerous national and local literatures, th ere arises a world literature” (Tucker, MarxEngels Reader 477). And its salutary effect is th at “national one-sideness and narrowmindedness” would become more and more im possible to maintain. During their time, the national and local literatures that make up the world literature still remained nationbound. But the globalization of capital and cultu re has loosened the national boundaries, not just in literature but in films as we ll. That is, national cinema is increasingly becoming transnational cinema. Sheldon Lu ha s argued that increasingly it is impossible to talk about Chinese cinema in the singular and as purely national cinema because of the effects of globalization and th e split of China into three major geopolitical entities—the Mainland, Hong Kong and Taiwan. A new concept of “transnational Chinese cinemas,” Lu suggests, is more able to articulate th e realities of globalized production, marketing and consumption of Chinese-language films in the age of transnational capitalism. Despite the political and ideological differe nces between China, Hong Kong and Taiwan, the co-operation between their f ilm industries has been a constant feature since the early 1990s. Chen Kaige’s Farewell My Concubine (1993) was financed by Taiwanese capital via Hong Kong. Zhang Yimou’s Raise the Red Lantern was partially financed by the Taiwanese filmmaker, Hou Hsiao-Hsien, who served as its executive producer. Zhang’s

PAGE 191

183 recent martial arts films, Hero (2002) and The House of Flying Daggers (2004), which was shot in Ukraine, enlisted the help of Hong Kong martial arts specialist, Chen Hsiaotung, and Japanese costume designer Emi Wada The lead actors for both martial arts films are from China, Hong Kong and Taiwan. The intensified privatizati on of China’s film industry has major ramifications for Zhang Yimou’s recent works. That is, his film s are more than ever subjected to the gaze of Chinese censors and of transnational capita l. On the one hand, the Chinese authorities still hold the right to ban his films domestica lly; on the other, the fo reign investors have control over film production and overseas di stribution. Under such working conditions, many Zhang’s critics have noted that the shar p cultural critique in his early films have been much muted and that ideologically and politically he is less willing to antagonize the Chinese censors and endanger the investor s’ profit. These days, Zhang seems to be more concerned about the government censorshi p than about the control the investors has over his artistic creations. As he told a Chinese news outlet, World Journal in a 1999 interview, “when I receive a f ilm script, the first thing I th ink about is not whether there will be an investor for the film, but how I can make the kind of film that I want with the approval of the authorities” (qtd. in Lu, “C hinese Film Culture” 120) The withdrawal of his film, Not One Less, from the 1999 Cannes Film Festival accentuates the effect of the Chinese censorship on his artistic creation. A ccording to newspaper reports, the Cannes film festival committee had thought that the film was a vehicle for government propaganda, despite its artistic merits. In re sponse to the criticism, Zhang withdrew Not One Less and his another film, The Road Home from the film festival and issued a statement criticizing the Western film critics for reducing films from China to two

PAGE 192

184 categories: they are either government propa ganda or anti-establishment. And under this logic, it implies that films approved by the Chinese government must be bad and films it bans must be good and worth seeing (Lu, “Chinese Film Culture” 126). The controversy over th e interpretation of Not One Less involves the positive representation of the Chinese bureaucrats by the film, which te lls the story of a teenage substitute teacher from a poor village who goes to the city alone to find a student of hers. Wei Minzhi, a 13-year-old from a nearby villag e who just finished her primary education, agrees to take over a class of 28 students rang ing from the first to the fourth grade in Shuiquan Village, Hebei, northern China, for a month from Teacher Gao. Gao, who needs to take care of his ailing mother living in another village, pr omises to pay Wei 50 yuan and another 10 yuan as a bonus if she manages to keep all the students while he is away, hence the title of the film. After findi ng Zhang Huike, a third grader, is missing from class one day and that he has gone to the city to work to help pay off family debts, Wei decides to look for him in the city. Her journey to the city a nd the search effort finally land her at the gate of a TV station. After three days’ re lentless effort to try to find the head of the TV station, We i finally meets with him. The TV executive, after learning of her situation, arranges for he r to appear on a TV show to enlist the public’s help to find her student and to inform them of the state of education in rural China. Not only does her TV appearance result in the fi nding of the boy, who has been wandering in the city and begging for food, but also the outpouring of donations including stationary for the students and money for the school to repair its 40-year-old dilapidated classroom from the urbanites. Through Wei Minzhi’s unwaveri ng determination to find Zhang Huike, the film implicitly deals with th e consequences of accumulation by dispossession, especially

PAGE 193

185 the displacement of rural population who be nefits the least from China’s embrace of capitalism. That is, the film s ubtly raises the problem of rura l poverty in China and that of migration of rural population to the cities in search of jobs as China moves further toward capitalism and cuts back on social services But this critical message is, somehow, undermined by the film’s positive portrayal of the TV station head, who seeks to meet with Wei after learning that she had been trying to see him for three days, and who chastises the female receptioni st for not informing him of We i’s situation earlier, as well as its happy ending. They also suggest that Zhang the director may have bowed to the pressure of censorship, or may have imposed self-censorship on himself, if not ending up producing an outright government propaganda. But Zhang Xiaoling disagrees with that assessment. He argues that the film’s manifest text may give the appearance that the filmmaker is appeasing the government by a positive portrayal of the TV executive, but its latent text suggests otherwise. As Zhang the critic points out, in performing the song, “O ur Motherland is a Garden,” Wei Minzhi stumbles and improvises the lyrics that gi ve a new political and subversive meaning to the song (135-36). When asked to perform the song during her first meeting with Teacher Gao, Wei deviates from the offici al version, singing instead: Our motherland is a garden/Lark in the ga rden singing endlessl y/Singing about our motherland/Singing about Chairman Mao /the Communist Party who/Reveals the blue sky by driving away the clouds and/Guid es us to be our ow n masters. (135) Gao immediately corrects her, telling her that the lyrics should be “Our motherland is a garden/Flowers in the garden are so bright.” But what Gao does not tell Wei (and the audience), Zhang Xiaoling notes, is the whole version of the song: Our motherland is a garden/Flowers in th e garden are so bright/Warm sunshine shines upon us/Smiles appear on our faces. (ibid.)

PAGE 194

186 Zhang further explains that in Chinese o fficial propaganda, flowers always refer to children, as in the standard phrase “flowe rs of our motherland.” Furthermore, the sunshine symbolizes the Communist Party that brings light and warmth to the flowers/children. But Wei Minzhi keeps forgetting the original lyrics after the first line. Her inability to memorize the official vers ion, Zhang Xiaoling argue s, suggests that Wei cannot imagine herself and other rural childr en to receive “sunshine and warmth” from the government. Despite Teacher Gao’s correc tion, Wei continues to deviate from the official lyrics and improvise them as she sees fit. Thus, in giving a singing lesson to her young students after Gao departs, Wei creates another new version that drifts further away from the party doctrine and moves closer to the children’s heart. Now she sings to them as follows: Red Sun, white cloud/Mother washes clothe s and I join in/Ailou ailou ailou/Ailou ailou ailou ai. (136) The foregrounding of the song, Zhang Xiaoling argues, thus is the means through which Zhang Yimou encodes his veiled critique of the Chinese government that has neglected children in the countryside, as opposed to th eir counterparts in th e urban areas, as it directs its attention and national resources to develop (post)modern cities in Beijing, Shanghai, and the like (136). He further conten ds that by not using the title of the novel, “A Sun in the Sky,” from which the film is adapted, the filmmaker is able to avoid arousing suspicions of political diversion from or subversion of party doctrines from the censors. Zhang Xiaoling’s analysis of the revisions of the song offers an alternative and fresh way to read the film’s coded message. Bu t I think that the revisions also are signs that Zhang Yimou has been depoliticized as a re sult of having to compromise in order to

PAGE 195

187 survive in the censorship system in which the Chinese authorities have to read the script before issuing a permit for a film’s producti on, and to meet the requirements of making profits for the film’s investors. As Zhang Yimou’s primary native informant, Wei Minzhi repeatedly performs acts deviating from, if not subverting, the teaching of Communist Party, but she does so without being fully c onscious of their political meanings as intended by the director. Furthermore, while the film touches on the problem of rural poverty and rural migration to the city in search of jobs, it does not go far enough. The film’s focus on Wei Minzhi’s stubbornness a nd determination to find her missing student at the same time prevents another disturbing and potentially more political story from being told: the story of Sun Zhimei and many mo re rural children like her who are forced to drop out of school and go to the city to wo rk to support themselves and their families. In their analysis of the film, Rey Chow Wanning Sun and Sheldon Lu have mainly focused on Wei Minzhi and her unwavering de termination to find her student. (Zhang Xiaoling’s essay is the only reception that I am aware of.) So have the major newspaper reviews of the film. In doing so, they overl ook the untold number of school children like Sun who are working at some corner of China’ s big cities while they should be getting a compulsory education of nine years ma ndated for all school children in China. Sun Zhimei, about Wei Minzhi’s age, is th e girl with whom Zhang Huike had been traveling from their village to the city before they got separa ted at the city’s train station. When Wei first tries to find Zhang at a run-down dormitory for young rural migrant workers, the camera lingers for a while outside the dorm, allowing the audience to see the bustling activities of the young school-aged worker s in the morning before work. It is here that Wei meets Sun Zhimei for the first time and seeks her help to find Zhang Huike.

PAGE 196

188 But before Sun agrees to join the search e ffort, she demands that she be paid 2 yuan, an equivalent of her daily wage, as a comp ensation for missing a day’s work. She also demands that she be paid another half yuan if she is compensated at the end of the search. Sun Zhimei’s demands may make her an unsym pathetic figure with some viewers. But those demands, I would argue, show how povert y has toughened her to look for her selfinterest to survive in a so ciety that in practice has la rgely abandoned its historical commitment to reduce poverty in rural areas despite empty official rhetoric. As a marginal figure in the film, Sun is the ge nuine native informant, who is invoked but whose story cannot be fully told in a society that increasingl y relies on the cheap labor of the rural population to produce commodities fo r consumers both at home and abroad. Yet the foreclosure of Sun’s world of young migran t workers is felt when those words appear on the screen at the end of the film: “One million children drop out of school because of poverty in China every year. With the financ ial assistance from va rious sources, about fifteen percent of them are able to return to school.” With China’s insertion into global capitalism, providing a huge cheap labor fo rce for the global production machine, the adverse effects of accumulation by dispossessi on are more likely to be felt by the rural population than their urban counterparts as lands in the countryside are being seized by local governments with little or no compensati on to the villagers to build factories and other facilities to de velop its economy. Furthermore, driven off the land, the villagers are migrating in large number each year to cities looking for jobs to survive; their children also suffer as some of them have to drop out of school to help support the family. It does not help that global competition among capit al demands the use of cheap labor force wherever it can find to drive up profits. “T he ethnicization of labor” as a commodity

PAGE 197

189 itself, to borrow Rey Chow’s new formulation in The Protestant Ethnic and The Spirit of Capitalism (34), will only become more pronoun ced and the face of ethnic workers younger as the spirit of capitalism goes unch ecked and unregulated by stringent labor laws to protect workers in the developing countries. Zhang Yimou’s failure to engage more with Sun Zhimei’s untold story thus misses an opportunity to critically examine the figur e of internal migrant worker in China. Branded as “floating populat ion,” the migrant workers have become the dangerous “Others” in the minds of the relatively more well-off urba n residents. Since the early 1980s when China deepened its economic liber alization and reduced migration control, millions of peasants have reportedly moved to the cities seeking for jobs and for a better life (Ma and Biao 546). This massive migr ation has attracted much media reporting, which however tended to portray them in a negative light, associating them with such social problems as increased crimes rate s, overburdened public transport system, disorderly street scenes and ignoring family planning (547). As a newly formed underclass, the migrant workers are not only disc riminated against in the city but also are excluded from obtaining social services including education fo r their children available to their urban counterparts (Soli nger 241-75). The discrimination and exclusion they face, however, are sanctioned by the institutionali zed household registration system, which restricts the movement of the peasants. Desp ite household registration system, each year the countryside keeps loosing its able-bodied members to the cities where they compete for low-paying jobs. Sun Zhimei is the young f ace of this underclass, living in a crowded dorm, separated from her family, and earning a wage that will take more than a day’s labor to buy a can of Chinese packaged Coca-cola, which costs 3 yuan—a piece of

PAGE 198

190 consumer information Wei Minzhi and her stud ents learn at the village grocery store. There, they spend part of the money, intended for her bus fare to the city, they earned at a local brick factory on the soft drink they have never tasted before. China’s further integration into the global economy—its admi ssion into the World Trade Organization in 2002—will create more young child workers like Sun if its policy makers are only looking at maintaining China’s economic gr owth and prosperity (for some) while ignoring the welfare of the ru ral population and its children, the “flowers ” of the state. This is the untold story of capitalist globalization in Not One Less While Zhang Yimou avoids digging furthe r into Sun Zhimei’s world of young rural migrant workers in favor of pursuing Wei Minz hi’s more sensational story to bring her student home, he is not shy from directing th e school children who play Wei’s students to make a commercial for Coca-Cola, China version, in Not One Less To create the semblance of documenting the lives of rural sc hool children, Zhang has recruited village school children to play themselves in the film, including Wei Minzhi and Zhang Huike. In the scene I just mentioned, after a day’s hard labor at th e village brick factory, under Wei’s leadership, the school children st op by a store on their way home and reward themselves with two cans of Coca-Cola with Chinese packaging promoting the soft drink as “each drink is tasty.” The scene showing the school children eagerly and excitedly sharing the cans of foreign-bra nd soft drink they have never tasted before also has some of them say “it tastes real good.” While product placement is often used in Hollywood commercial films, its adoption by Zhang Yimo u in a film, which has taken efforts to signify it as an “ethnographic film” with s cenes foregrounding the writing of Chinese scripts, underscores the degree of the pene tration of transnat ional capital and its

PAGE 199

191 consumer culture in the film. The marking of Not One Less as an ethnographic film starts with the copy lessons Wei Minzhi gives to he r students. It is accentuated in the scene at the city’s train station when Wei writes the posters searching for Zhang Huike with calligraphy, and with much patience demanded by this form of writing. And at the end of the film, the school children co llectively perform the writi ng of Chinese scripts on the blackboard with the colorful and precious chalks donated by the urbanites. The intrusion or blending of the product placement in Zhang Yimou’s ethnographic film alerts us to the compromises Zhang has made in order to make th is film. It is also a telling sign that the practice of marketing consumer products to young children has spread from the United States to China, thanks to the globalization of ideas and c onsumer culture. Seen in this light, the school children are not simply play ing themselves, but acting out a script that interpellates them as the happy consumers. As Gang Gary Xu observes, the film’s viewers may not read the scene of the innocent children happily tasting their firs t Coca-Cola as a commercial promotion until they bother to read the final credits listing Coca-Cola, Ford and Sony as the film’s three major sponsors (333). Once the connection is be ing made, it is not hard to speculate why the thirsty village ch ildren have chosen among the various brands Coca-Cola as their favorite choice to quench their thirst. More over, the product placement incorporated by Zhang Yimou into the story line alerts us to examine closely and cri tically the scenes in which the logos of Sony and Ford appear in the film, and to dissect their ideological function in fostering a consumer cu lture based on brand recognition. In her appearance on the TV program, Rainbow Bridge to make a plea to the public to help search Zhang Huike, Wei Minz hi is asked by the TV hostess to talk about

PAGE 200

192 the current education conditions in rural China. However, disoriented by the new environment she is placed in, Wei is at a loss, unable to utter words to meet the hostess’s request. At this moment, she follows the gaze of the camera to the background of the live interview, and with a puzzled look on her f ace. The backdrop depicts a country scene in its vitality full of colors of green and gold, an imaginary landscape that is dramatically different from what Wei has witnessed first ha nd at the remote mountain village. The gap between the reality on the gr ound and the idyllic image conj ured up by the TV program clearly is Zhang Yimou’s veiled critique of the neglect of the countryside under China’s economic reform. Yet this veiled criticism is intermingled with the promotion of Sonybrand camera. As Wei is at a loss to express herself, the TV hostess gently coaches her to just look at the camera and to say a few words to Zhang Huike as if he were present. At this moment, an exchange of gazes between Wei and the camera bearing the Sony logo takes place. Thus, subliminally, the film’s viewers were force-fed a Sony commercial while they watched Wei make a direct and emotional plea to Zhang Huike to return home. At the same time, through the shot-r everse-shot technique, the spectacle of searching for Zhang Huike by Wei on live TV broadcast throughout the city and beyond, is quietly turned into a spect acle for promoting the Sony brand. Further, under the global distribution of the film, the Sony brand is gi ven a joy ride, traveling with the film’s screening and its DVD and VCD releases, re aching a wider audien ce around the globe. The promotion of multinational brands in Not One Less reaches a climax when Wei Minzhi and Zhang Huike, accompanied by the TV hostess and the camera men recording their journey home from the city, return in a TV station van, followed by a truck full of school supplies donated by the TV program’s vi ewers. The van and the truck with the

PAGE 201

193 blue oval Ford logo, strategically placed in the film’s narrativ e as it approaches its happy ending, thus help cultivate a positive image of Ford as a brand bringing happiness and hope to the impoverished villagers as Coca-C ola has done to relieve the thirsty school children. The ideology of consumption is furt her reinforced in the interview between Zhang Huike and the TV hostess shortly before the convoy reaches the impoverished village. Asked about his impression of the c ity, the boy says that it is the ongoing activity of “buying this and buying that” that im presses him the most, though his most unforgettable experience in the city was that he was forced to beg for food. And asked about how he is going to thank Wei for bringi ng him home, he answers that he will study hard and make a lot of money and “buy a lo t of stuff” including “flowers” for Teacher Wei. He also concludes that the city is much better than the village. Zhang Huike’s replies, as innocent as th ey sound, thus converge with the ideology of consumption fostered by global capitalism. The city is mo re attractive to him pr ecisely because there the act of buying and selling and the pleasure of consumption ar e in full view. But it also has its unpleasant site s/sights, such as the dorms shared by Sun Zhimei and other young rural migrant workers, and their work place th at the film, despite its quasi-documentary approach, is not interested in showing, oste nsibly to avoid offending the censors and to protect the interests of the multinational corporations that sponsor the film. As an artist, Zhang Yimou has outgrown the so-called Zhang Yimou Model, and his image of China has also expanded to in clude that of contem porary China both rural and urban. Along the way, critics have noticed that the critical elements found in his earlier films have been much muted in his la ter works. The slide or change, Evans Chan notes, starts with the Story of Qiuju (1992), set in contemporary rural China (5). In the

PAGE 202

194 film, the party bureaucrats are presented as th e friends of the ordinary people except the village chief who kicks and injures the groin of Qiuju’s husband, a serious matter in onechild policy China, and kicks off the peasant woman’s quest to seek an explanation and an apology from the village head thro ugh China’s bureaucratic hierarchy. In To Live (1995), Zhang’s take on the effects of Ch ina’s Civil War (1940s), the Great Leap Forward Movement (1950s) and the Cultural Re volution (1960s) on the life of a Chinese family, the desire to live a si mple life, not bothered by the poli tical turmoil of the time, is clearly expressed by the film’s non-politic al couple (Larson 192). So are the young couple in The Road Home (2001) who become the talk of the village for breaking the yoke of arranged marriage and for pursuing th eir love-at-first-sight courtship. The film reverses the male (heterose xual) gaze through which Zha ng has critiqued oppressive feudal China in his early “red films,” and desi gnates its female prot agonist as the bearer of the gaze, gazing at her l ove interest. The movie, how ever, downplays the political trouble of the male protagonist who is being la beled as “rightist” in the political purge movement of the 1950s. In addition to the depol iticization of his f ilms, commercialization has been creeping into Zhang’s artistic visions, the most noticeable case being Not One Less as I have discussed above. His recent turn to martial arts genre, Hero (2002) and The House of Flying Daggers (2004), further highlights his attempt to break into the mainstream from the art-film quarters, reaching wider global audiences. Moreover, the revival of the martial arts genre financed by transnational capital rode on the wave of Taiwanese-born Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), the most grossing foreign-language film in the United States. However, with Hero the story about China’s first emperor, Ying Zheng of

PAGE 203

195 the 3rd B.C., and the attempted assassinations on his life, Zhang again puts himself at the center of a heated debate both in Asia and abroad over the film’s seemingly endorsement of authoritarianism. But the film’s am biguous ending, a trademark of the early experimental Fifth-Generation, contests th at reading (Chiu, “Public Secrets” 15). Film production, as Rey Chow suggests, is an ethnographic production and a process of translating one’s cu lture and putting it on display to be looked at, and it thus has the potential for innovati ng and transforming the culture. But does Chow’s idealist conception still hold true when the frame of the ethnographic production, as in China’s case, is being controlled by the film censors and the multinational corporations that provide most of the capital for China’s film production in the age of transnational capitalism? The examination of Zhang Yimou’ s film career shows that to survive in China’s film industry heavily depending on fo reign investment and regulated by the Film Censor Bureau, the space for doing politica lly transforming work has been greatly reduced. As a native informant and cultural tr anslator for the worl d’s film audiences, Zhang Yimou has been tamed. The self-censore d voices, even those of ordinary people, in his latter films speak not to the problems of the day but to what can be represented in the dominant symbolic order. This is not to say the spirit of the cultural critique of the early Fifth-Generation has completely died, bu t it will take enormous courage to revive that spirit at a historical junc ture when the ultimate concern of film production is to make profits.

PAGE 204

196 LIST OF REFERENCES Achebe, Chinua. “An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness .” Hopes and Impediments: Selected Essays New York: Doubleday, 1988. 1-20. Adams, Charles Hansford. “ The Guardian of the Law ”: Authority and Identity in James Fenimore Cooper University Park: The Pennsylvania State UP, 1990. Adams, David. Colonial Odysseys: Empire and Epic in the Modernist Novel Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2003. Al-Kassim, Dina. “The Face of Foreclosure .” Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 4:2 (July 2002): 168-74. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism Revised Ed. New York: Verso, 1991. Ansen, David. “Review: And One for the Road.” Newsweek 16 Dec. 2002: 64. Barbour, John D. Tragedy as a Critique of Virtue : The Novel and Ethical Reflection Chico, California: Scholars Press, 1984. Berry, Chris. “If China Can Say No, Can Ch ina Make Movies? Or, Do Movies Make China? Rethinking National Ci nema and National Agency.” Modern Chinese Literary and Cultural Studies in the Age of Theory Ed. Rey Chow. Durham: Duke UP, 2000. 159-180. Bhabha, Homi. “Freedom’s Basis in the Indeterminate.” The Identity in Question Ed. John Rajchman. New York: Routledge, 1995. 47-61. Birk, John F. “Unsealing the Sphi nx: The Pequod’s Egyptian Pantheon.” American Transcendental Quarterly 5:4 (Dec. 1991): 283-99. Bradfield, Scott. Dreaming Revolution: Transgression in the Development of American Romance Iowa City: U of Iowa P, 1993. Brigham, Cathy. “Costaguana’s Other Coup: The Failed Insurrection of Private Lyric Speech against Official Doublespeak in Nostromo .” Conradiana 26.2 (1994): 15768. Butler, Judith. Bodies that Matter: on the Discursive Limits of “Sex.” New York: Routledge, 1993.

PAGE 205

197 Carpenter, Rebecca. “From Naivet to Knowledge: Emilia Gould and the ‘Kinder, Gentler’ Imperialism.” Conradiana 29.2 (1997): 83-100. Chan, Evans. “Zhang Yimou’s Hero —The Temptations of Fascism.” Film International #8 (2004:2). http://www.filmint.nu/netonly/eng/heroevanschan.htm Accessed August 14, 2005. Cheyfitz, Eric. “Savage Law: the Plot agains t American Indians in Johnson and Graham’s Lessee v. M’Intosh and The Pioneers.” Cultures of United States Imperialism Eds. Amy Kaplan and Donald E. Pease. Durham: Duke UP, 1993. 109-28. ---. “Literally White, Figuratively Red: The Frontier of Translation in The Pioneers .” James Fenimore Cooper: New Critical Essays Ed. Robert Clark. Totowa, New Jersey: Barnes and Noble, 1985. 55-95. Chiu, Tzu-hsiu. “Public S ecrets: Geopolitical Aest hetics in Zhang Yimou’s Hero .” http://mcel.pacificu.edu /easpac/2005/tzuchiu.php3 Accessed August 14, 2005. Chow, Rey. Primitive Passions: Visua lity, Sexuality, Ethnog raphy, and Contemporary Chinese Cinema New York: Colombia UP, 1995. ---. The Protestant Ethnic and The Spirit of Capitalism New York: Columbia UP, 2002. ---. “ Not One Less : The Fable of a Migration.” Chinese Films in Focus: 25 New Takes Ed. Chris Berry. London: BFI Publishing, 2003. 144-51. Clark, Paul. Reinventing China: A Generation and Its Films Hong Kong: The Chinese UP, 2005. Conrad, Joseph. Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard Ed. Martin Seymour-Smith. London: Penguin Books, 1990. ---. “Autocracy and War.” Notes on Life and Letters New York: Doubleday, Page & Company, 1924. Cooper, James Fenimore. The Pioneers; or The Sour ces of the Susquehanna: A Descriptive Tale New York: Signet Classic, 1964. Cui, Shuqin. Women Through the Lens: Gender and National in a Century of Chinese Cinema Honolulu: U Of Hawaii P, 2003. Dai, Jinhua. Cinema and Desire: Feminist Marxism and Cultural Politics in the Work of Dai Jinhua Eds. Jing Wang and Tani E. Ba rlow. London and New York: Verso, 2002. Dai, Qing. “Raised Eyebrows for Raise the Red Lantern .” Trans. Jeanne Tai. Public Culture 5 (1993): 333-37.

PAGE 206

198 Dean, Janet E. “The Marriage Plot and National Myth in The Pioneers .” Arizona Quarterly 52: 4 (1996). 1-29. Dekker, George. James Fenimore Cooper: The American Scott New York: Barnes and Nobel, Inc. 1967. Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Cap italism and Schizophrenia Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U. Of Minnesota P, 1987. Deloria Philip J. Playing Indian New Heaven: Yale UP, 1998. Derrida, Jacques. Specters of Marx: The State of th e Debt, The Work of Mourning, and the New International Trans. Peggy Kamuf. New York: Routledge, 1994. ---. The Truth in Painting Trans. Geoff Bennington and Ia n McLeod. Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 1987. ---. “The Ends of Man.” Margins of Philosophy Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1982. 109-36. Dimock, Wai-chee. Empire for Liberty: Melville a nd the Poetics of Individualism Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1989. Drinnon. Richard. Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire-Building New York: The New American Library, 1980. Elsaesser, Thomas. New German Cinema: A History New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers UP, 1989. Field, James A. Jr. America and the Mediterranean World 1776-1882 Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1969. Finkelstein, Dorothee Metlitsky. Melville’s Orienda New Heaven and London: Yale UP, 1961. Fleishman, Avrom. Conrad’s Politics: Community and A narchy in the Fiction of Joseph Conrad Baltimore, Maryland: The Johns Hopkins P, 1967. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punishment: the Birth of the Prison Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Pantheon Books, 1977. Franklin, H. Bruce. The Wake of the Gods: Melville’s Mythology Stanford, California: Stanford UP, 1963. Galeano, Eduardo. “The Splendors of Potosi.” I am Rich Potosi: The Mountain That Eats Man New York: The Monacelli Press Inc., 1999. 15-18. Gibbon, Edward. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Edited and Abridged by Hans-Friedrich Mueller. New Yo rk: The Modern Library, 2003.

PAGE 207

199 Godden, Richard. “Pioneer Propertie s, or ‘What’s in a Hut?’” James Fenimore Cooper: New Critical Essays Ed. Robert Clark. Totowa, Ne w Jersey: Barnes and Noble, 1985. 121-42. Gogwilt, Christopher. The Invention of the West: Joseph Conrad and the DoubleMapping of Europe and Empire Stanford, California: Stanford UP, 1995. Harvey, David. The New Imperialism New York: Oxford UP, 2003. ---. Spaces of Hope Berkeley, Los Angeles: U of California P, 2000. Hay, Eloise Knapp. The Political Novels of Joseph Conrad Chicago: The U. Of Chicago P, 1963. Hegel, G.W.F. Phenomenology of Spirit Trans. A. V. Miller. New York: Oxford UP, 1977. House, Kay Seymour. Cooper’s Americans Columbus, Ohio: Ohio State UP, 1965. Howe, Irving. Politics and the Novel New York: Horizon Press Book, 1957. Irwin, John T. American Hieroglyphics: The Symbol of the Egyptian Hieroglyphics in the American Renaissance New Heaven and London: Yale UP, 1980. Jameson, Fredric Brecht and Method New York: Verso, 2000. ---. Postmodernism, or, The Cultura l Logic of Late Capitalism Durham: Duke UP, 1991. ---. The Political Unconscious: Narrati ve as a Socially Symbolic Act Ithaca, New York: Cornell UP, 1981. Kant, Immanuel. The Critique of Judgment Trans. J. H. Bernard. Amherst, New York: Prometheus Books, 2000. Kaplan, E. Ann. Looking for the Other: Feminism, Film and the Imperial Gaze New York: Routledge, 1997. Karcher, Carolyn L. Shadow over the Promised Land: Slavery, Race, and Violence in Melville’s America. Baton Rouge and London: Louisiana State UP, 1980. Lacy, Marc. “Via Hollywood, a G limpse of African Poverty.” New York Times 21 Dec. 2002: A1+. Laplanche, J. and J.-B. Pontalis. The Language of Psycho-Analysis Trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith. New York: W.W. Norton, 1973. Larson, Wendy. “Displacing the Political: Zhang Yimou’s To Live and the Field of Film.” The Literary Field of Twentieth-Century China Ed. Michel Hockx. Honolulu: U of Hawaii P. 1999. 178-97.

PAGE 208

200 Lenin, V.I. Essential Works of Lenin New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1987. Leyda, Jay. The Melville Log: A Document Life of Herman Melville 1819-1891 Volume One. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1951. Li, Erwei. “Paving Chinese Film’s Road to the World.” Zhang Yimou Interviews Ed. Frances Gateward. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 2001. 74-98. Lothe, Jakob. Conrad’s Narrative Method New York: Oxford UP, 1989. Lu, Sheldon Hsiao-peng. “National Cinema, Cultural Critique, Transnational Capital: The Films of Zhang Yimou.” Transnational Chinese Cinemas: Identity, Nationhood, Gender Ed. Sheldon Hsiao-peng Lu. H onolulu: U of Hawaii P, 1997. 105-36. ---. “Historical Introduction: Chinese Ci nemas (1896-1996) and Transnational Film Studies.” Transnational Chinese Cinemas: Identity, Nationhood, Gender Ed. Sheldon Hsiao-peng Lu. Honolulu: U of Hawaii P, 1997. 1-34. ---. “Chinese Film Culture at the End of the Twentieth Century: The Case of Not One Less by Zhang Yimou. Chinese-Language Film: Historiography, Poetics, Politics Eds. Sheldon H. Lu and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh. Honolulu: U of Hawaii P, 2005. 120-37. Lu, Tonglin. Confronting Modernity in the Cinemas of Taiwan and Mainland China New York: Cambridge UP, 2002. Luedtke, Luther S. Nathaniel Hawthorne and the Romance of the Orient Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1989. Ma, Laurence J.C. and Biao Xiang. “Nativ e Place, Migration and the Emergence of Peasant Enclaves in Beijing.” The China Quarterly 155 (1998): 546-81. Marcus, Steven. The Other Victorians: A Study of Sexuality and Pornography in MidNineteenth-Century England New York: Basic Books, Inc.,1964. Marr, Timothy. “Melville’s Ethnic Conscriptions.” Leviathan: a Journal of Melville Studies 3:1 (Mar. 2001): 5-29. Marx, Karl. Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, Volume One Trans. Ben Fowkes. New York: Vintage Books, 1977. ---. A Contribution to the Criti que of Political Economy Ed. Maurice Dobb. New York: International Publishers, 1970. Matthiessen, F.O. American Renaissance: Art and Expre ssion in the Age of Emerson and Whitman New York: Oxford UP, 1964.

PAGE 209

201 McWilliams, John P. Jr. Political Justice in a Republic: James Fenimore Cooper’s America Berkeley: U Of California P, 1972. Melville, Herman. Moby Dick, or the White Whale Intro. Andrew Delbanco. New York: Penguin Books, 1992. ---. Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life Intro. Robert Sullivan. New York: The Modern Library, 2001. ---. Mardi and A Voyage Thither Evanston and Chicago: No rthwestern UP and The Newberry Library, 1970. ---. White Jacket or The World in a Man-of-War Ed. A. R. Humphreys. New York: Oxford UP, 1966. ---. Clarel: A Poem and Pilgri mage in the Holy Land Ed. Walter E. Bezanson. New York: Hendricks House, Inc., 1960. ---. Correspondence Evanston and Chicago: Northw estern UP and The Newberry Library, 1993. ---. Journals Evanston and Chicago: Northwestern UP and The Newberry Library, 1989. Mookerjea, Sourayan. “Native Informant as Impossible Perspec tive: Information, Subalternist Deconstruc tion and Ethnographies of Globalization.” Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 40:2 (May 2003). 125-51. Morrison, Toni. Playing in the Dark: Whiten ess and Literary Imagination Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard UP, 1992. Moyer, Guy L. “’Inner Secrets’ in Conrad’s Nostromo .” Conradiana 27:3 (1995): 23549. Nelson, Dana D. The Word in Black and White: Readi ng “Race” in American Literature, 1638-1867 New York: Oxford UP, 1992. Obeidat, Marwan M. American Literature and Orientalism Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Belag, 1998. Olson, Charles. Call Me Ishmael San Francisco: City Lights Books, 1947. Parker, Hershel and Harrison Hayford, ed. Moby Dick Second Edition. New York: Norton, 2002. Parry, Benita. Conrad and Imperialism. Ideological Boundaries and Visionary Frontiers London: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1983. Patterson, Mark R. Authority, Autonomy, and Represen tation in American Literature, 1776-1865 Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1988.

PAGE 210

202 Peck, H. Daniel. A World by Itself: The Pastoral Moment in Cooper’s Fiction New Heaven: Yale UP, 1977. Philbrick, Thomas. “Cooper’s The Pioneers: Origins and Structure.” PMLA 79 (1964): 579-93. Potter, William. Melville’s Clarel and the Intersympathy of Creeds Kent and London: The Kent State UP, 2004. Powell, Timothy B. Ruthless Democracy: A Multi-cultura l Interpretation of the American Renaissance Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton UP, 2000. Pratt, Mary Louise. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation New York: Routledge, 1992. Railton, Stephen. Fenimore Cooper: A Study of His Life and Imagination New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1978. Rayns, Tony. “Breakthroughs and Setbacks: Th e Origins of the New Chinese Cinema.” Perspectives on Chinese Cinema Ed. Chris Berry. London: BFI Publishing, 1991. 104-13. Ramirez, Luz Elena. “The Rhetoric of Development in Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo .” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 42:2 (Summer 2000): 93-117. Rogin, Michael Paul. Subversive Genealogy: The Polit ics and Art of Herman Melville New York: Alfred A, Knopf, 1983. Rosenberry, Edward H. Melville and the Comic Spirit Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1955. Said, W. Edward. Orientalism New York: Vintage Books, 1979. Sanders, Mark. “Postcolonial Reading.” Postmodern Culture 10 (1); on-line: http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/pms/v010/10.1.r_sanders.html Scheckel, Susan. The Insistence of the Indian: Ra ce and Nationalism in NineteenthCentury American Culture Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1998. Schueller, Malini Johar. U.S. Orientalisms: Race, Nation and Gender in Literature, 17901890 Ann Arbor: The U. Of Michigan P, 2001. Schultz, Elizabeth. “Visua lizing Race: Images of Moby Dick .” Leviathan: A Journal of Melville Studies 3.1 (Mar. 2001): 31-60. Sealts, Merton M. Jr. Melville’s Reading: A Check-li st of Books Owned and Borrowed Madison, Milwaukee: The U of Wisconsin P, 1966. Scott, A.O. “That Mythic Amer ican Hero: The Regular Guy.” New York Times 8 Dec. 2002.

PAGE 211

203 Sheehan, Paul. Modernism, Narrative and Humanism New York: Cambridge UP, 2002. Slotkin, Richard. Regeneration Through Violence: Th e Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 Middletown, Connecticut: Wesleyan UP, 1973. Solinger, Dorothy J. Contesting Citizenship in Urban Chi na: Peasant Migrants, the State, and the Logic of the Market Berkeley: U of California P, 1999. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. A Critique of Postcolonial Re ason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard UP, 1999. ---. “Response: Panel of Papers on Critique of Postcolonial Reason IAPL 2000, Stony Brook, NY.” Interventions: International J ournal of Postcolonial Studies 4:2 (July 2002): 205-211. ---. In Other Worlds: Essays in Cultural Politics New York: Routledge, 1988. Sun, Wanning. “Women in the City: Mobility, Television and the Choices of Becoming Modern.” Asian Journal of Communication 11:2 (2001): 18-38. Tucker, Robert C, ed. The Marx-Engels Reader 2nd Edition. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1978. Vincent, Howard P. The Trying-Out of Moby Dick Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois UP, 1949. Visser, Nicholas. “Crowds and Politics in Nostromo .” Mosaic 23:2 (1990): 1-15. Volpp, Leti. “The Citizen and the Terrorist.” September 11 in History: A Watershed Moment? Ed. Mary L. Dudziak. Durham: Duke UP, 2003. 147-62. Walcutt, Charles Child. “The Fire Symbol in Moby Dick .” Modern Language Notes 59: 5 (May 1944): 304-10. Wallace, Paul A.W. “C ooper’s Indians.” New York History 35 (1954). 423-46. Watt, Ian. Joseph Conrad: Nostromo New York, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1988. Watts, Cedric. A Preface to Conrad New York: Longman, 1982. ---. Joseph Conrad’s Letters to R.B. Cunninghame Graham Ed. Cedric Watts. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1969. Williams, Raymond. Marxism and Literature New York: Oxford UP, 1977. Yang, Mayfair Mei-Hui. “Of Gender, State, Censorship, and Overseas Capital: An Interview with Chinese Director Zhang Yimou.” Zhang Yimou Interviews Ed. Frances Gateward. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 2001. 35-49.

PAGE 212

204 Yau, Esther C. M. “International Fant asy and the ‘New Chinese Cinema.’” Quarterly Review of Film and Video 14:3 (1993): 95-107. Zhang, Xiaoling. “A Film Director’s Criticism of Reform China: A Close Reading of Zhang Yimou’s Not One Less.” China Information 15:2 (2001): 131-39. Zhang, Yingjin. Screening China: Critical Interven tions, Cinematic Reconfigurations, and the Transnational Imaginary in Contemporary Chinese Cinema Ann Arbor: U of Michigan, 2002.

PAGE 213

205 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Huei-ju Wang received her bachelor’s degr ee in English from Soochow University, Taipei, and her master’s degree in English fr om the State University of New York at Albany. She was awarded her doctorate at the University of Florida at Gainesville.


Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UFE0013601/00001

Material Information

Title: Foreclosing Others in Cultural Representation
Physical Description: Mixed Material
Copyright Date: 2008

Record Information

Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
System ID: UFE0013601:00001

Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UFE0013601/00001

Material Information

Title: Foreclosing Others in Cultural Representation
Physical Description: Mixed Material
Copyright Date: 2008

Record Information

Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
System ID: UFE0013601:00001


This item has the following downloads:


Full Text












FORECLOSING OTHERS IN CULTURAL REPRESENTATION


By

HUEI-JU WANG












A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT
OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA


2006

































Copyright 2006

by

Huei-ju Wang
































This document is dedicated to my sisters, Huei-Fen Wang and Huei-Rung Wang.















ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my committee members for guiding me through the

dissertation process. I am especially grateful for the hours Professor John P. Leavey spent

with me patiently guiding me through some of the questions and problems I had

encountered researching my project, as well as the thoughtful written comments he

provided for my earlier drafts. The dissertation also benefited from the verbal and written

comments given by Professor Philip Wegner and Professor Malini Johar Schueller. Those

comments provided me with ways to extend my working theoretic framework and further

expand my intellectual horizon. I am also grateful to have Professor Robert Hatch as my

reader. My gratitude also goes to teachers whose writings and pedagogy helped pave the

foundation for my dissertation. Lastly, the love and sacrifices my sisters made to further

my education are indispensable.
















TABLE OF CONTENTS



A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S ................................................................................................. iv

ABSTRACT ............... ....................... ......... .............. vii

CHAPTER

1 INTRODUCTION: THEORIZING SPIVAK'S RECONFIGURATION OF THE
NATIVE INFORM ANT........ ...... ............ ................................. .

Foreclosed Native Informant in About Schmidt................._ ...................5
Spivka's Critique of the Native Informant and its Reconfiguration.......................... 1
Native Informant and Accumulation by Dispossession................................23

2 PASSING IN COOPER'S THE PIONEERS: NATIVE INFORMANTS,
PATRONYM AND PRIVATE PROPERTY......................... .............38

Native Informants and Dispossession...................... .... .......................... 45
Passing, Patronym and Patrim ony ........................................ ......................... 52
M mourning of the Passing.......................................................................... 68

3 MELVILLE'S CONSCRIPTION AND SUBVERSION OF THE ORIENT AS
"NATIVE INFORMANT" IN MOBYDICK ....................................... ..........75

Conform ist, Subversive or B oth? ............................... .. ................. ............... 86
The Levant as the Foreclosed Native Informant.............................. ............... 93
Com ic and Subversive Orientalism ........................................ ........................ 97
Egyptian Revival and Critique of Egyptology ....................................................... 105

4 SPECTRALITY IN CONRAD'S NOSTROMO: THE SAN TOME MINE,
FOREIGN CAPITAL AND THE NATIVE OTHER ............ ........................115

H aunting and H auntology ................................................... ............... ............... 119
Foreign Capital and the Sulaco Railroad............... ........... ...... ............ 132
Foreclosure of Indigenous History and Perspectives .......................................... 136









5 CONCLUSION: ZHANG YIMOU AS NATIVE INFORMANT/CULTURAL
TRANSLATOR IN THE AGE OF GLOBALIZATION .............. .....................162

Native Informant-cum-Cultural Translator for the World Cinema .........................169
Transnational Chinese Cinemas and Native Informant........................................182

LIST O F R EFEREN CE S ... .... ............................................................. ............... 196

BIOGRAPH ICAL SKETCH ...................................................... 205















Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate School
of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

FORECLOSING OTHERS IN CULTURAL REPRESENTATION

By

Huei-ju Wang

May 2006

Chair: John P. Leavey Jr.
Major Department: English

This dissertation investigates the representation of racial Others in James Fenimore

Cooper's The Pioneers, Herman Melville's Moby Dick and Joseph Conrad's Nostromo.

The project appropriates Gayatri G. Spivak's critique in A Critique ofPostcolonial

Reason of the invocation and foreclosure of the "native informant" in Western

epistemology and David Harvey's argument in The New Imperialism that "accumulation

by dispossession" has long been the lynchpin of the capitalist mode of production in its

geographic history. First examining American director Alexander Payne's film, About

Schmidt, in which a retired American man wrote letters to his adopted son, an African

boy in Tanzania, it argues that the political unconscious of invoking and foreclosing the

non-Western Other is still being practiced in the Western cultural production. It then

proceeds to examine the three novels produced during the 19th and early 20th century

capitalist society when the history of accumulation of Western capital based on the

expropriation of the natives had been ideologically justified as regrettable but inevitable,

as part of capitalist development and progress. It thus examines the dialectical link









between accumulation of capital and the dispossession of the native Other in The

Pioneers and Nostromo. It also explores the conscription of the Islamic Orient in Moby

Dick and Melville's subversion of conventional Orientalism by his refusal to explain the

Oriental Other. It finally explores the possibility of self representation of non-Western

Others in the age of globalization by looking at Chinese director Zhang Yimou's role as

native informant/cultural translator. It argues that even in his film, Not One Less, that

deals with the problem of rural poverty and migration in contemporary China, the figure

of (young) migrant worker is still being invoked and foreclosed.














CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION: THEORIZING SPIVAK' S RECONFIGURATION OF THE
NATIVE INFORMANT

The age of capital is also the age of Other. After all, the primitive accumulation of

Western capital is based on the colonization of non-Western Others, and the

accumulation of modern capital relies on its irreducible Other, wage labor, whose surplus

labor is the source of profit. The expansion of capitalism as the dominant world system

after the fall of Soviet Union in 1991 makes the world more interconnected and

dependent of each other while under the tighter control of transnational capital. It also

makes the structure of what David Harvey calls in The New Imperialism "accumulation

by dispossession" more essential to the system's survival and rejuvenation. As unfettered

capital intensifies its search for its Other, cheap labor, both at home and abroad, it is

called on to deal with the question of Other. While globalization of capital and migration

of labor create tensions among workers of different races, ethnicities and nationalities

competing for the limited jobs available, mass consumption of Other in the form of

commodities, both in the North and the South, results in huge profit for capital. How to

theorize and represent various Others that have been systematically marginalized in or

excluded from the Western mode of representation regulated by gender and sexual norms

and sustained by racial and class hierarchies thus becomes one of the urgent and difficult

tasks facing progressive knowledge workers and activists both inside and outside of the

universities. It is especially so in the age of the Internet when the "imagined

communities" of Others claim their own space both on-line and off-line to challenge the









dominant norms of gender, sexuality and race as well as the hegemony of capital and to

demand social justice for all.

A significant number of literary and cultural critics have sought over the years to

intervene in Western discourse that in the process of representing Self by way of its

racial/ethnic Others had produced a hierarchy between the master (Self) and the native

(Other). Among them, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak has recently put the spotlight on the

figure of the native informant, a marginal figure she re-examined in her book A Critique

ofPostcolonial Reason, in her efforts to deconstruct such a hierarchy and to advance a

theory of radical alterity. The targets of her critique included the three influential

European Enlightenment thinkers Kant, Hegel and Marx, and other historical and cultural

narratives. In doing so, she said she hoped to enable a new politics of reading that

confronted head-on what she called "sanctioned ignorance," an allusion to indifference in

the West to the history of the Western colonization of the globe, including Asia, Africa

and America. Her call for the re-examination of the figure of the native informant was

largely prompted by a developing trend in postcolonial discourse that has increasingly

relied on two prominent figures, the hybrid migrant and the postcolonial, to examine the

social and cultural logic of globalization of finance capital. The shift, in her view, runs

the risk of displacing the figure of the native informant. More troubling for her is that

these two figures were also found to have masqueraded as the foreclosed native

informant (6; 17-8). Finally, Spivak's call for the re-examination of the figure of the

native informant serves to highlight the representational problems associated with this

figure that had been enlisted early on to serve the interest of the master discourse. That is,

the figure of the native informant is fraught with paradoxes that bring into relief the









problems of representation, the unequal power relations between the represented and their

narrator, and, more important, the larger historical, economic and cultural contexts that

enabled the representation of the natives by the West that approaches them as the objects

of study.

Under the scrutiny of Spivak's deconstructive reading, the figure of the native

informant, a concept she borrowed from ethnography, proves to be a bit of a misnomer.

As she demonstrates, the native is often invoked in the master's narrative but only to be

foreclosed. Thus, what the native paradoxically discloses is the hidden structure of the

invocation and foreclosure of the native who functions to consolidate the Western

narrator's perspective and version of the trajectories of world history. Being a

deconstructive theorist who insists on dismantling the hierarchy between the master and

the native without reproducing a reversed hierarchy, Spivak then rearticulates this

marginal, ethnic figure as the ethical Other or radical alterity that constantly brushes

against the boundary of the Western self without being essentialized or ossified. Her

attention to the radical alterity, and therefore her deconstructive politics of ethics, also

leads her to propose that not even the so-called "authentic native" can occupy the position

of the native informant in order to preserve the space of ethnic and ethical Other or

subaltemity. "When a line of communication is established between a member of

subaltern groups and the circuits of citizenship or institutionality, the subaltern has been

inserted into the long road to hegemony," she cautioned (310).

Although Spivak tracks the figure of the invoked and foreclosed native informant

in the philosophical and economic texts of the three Enlightenment thinkers, the

deployment of the native informant can also be seen in a number of literary









representations that were produced in the 19th and 20th centuries when Western powers

dominated the world and controlled its natural resources through colonization and

imperialism. They include James Fenimore Cooper's The Pioneers, Herman Melville's

Moby Dick and Joseph Conrad's Nostromo, which will be the focus of my dissertation

that seeks to examine the hidden structure of the invoked and foreclosed figure, the

ethnic/racial Other, in Western representation, as well as the historical and material

conditions that help produce it. Even in today's Western cultural representations

disseminated through the vectors of economic and cultural globalization, we can still

detect the double operation of the invoked and foreclosed native informant, thanks to

Spivak's critique. One such recent example is the Hollywood movie About Schmidt, first

released in December 2002 in the United States. Directed and co-written by Alexander

Payne, who gained wider name recognition for Sideways (2004), the movie is ostensibly

concerned with its title character, played by Jack Nicholson, from mid-West America. In

Warren Schmidt, the New York Times movie critic A.O. Scott sees an archtype for the

average (white) American male, whose "loneliness, defeat and occasional glory" have

been dramatized in literature for much of the 20th century, including Arthur Miller's

Willy Loman, Sinclair Lewis's George Babbitt and John Updike's Rabbit Angstrom

(New York Times Dec. 8, 2002). However, much of the film's narrative about this

ordinary (white) Omaha family man is essentially hinged on an African boy living far

away in a remote Tanzanian village whom Schmidt adopts as a foster child. As the movie

progresses, it becomes clear that the invocation of the boy by Schmidt as his audience,

and through him the viewers, allows for the unfolding of Schmidt's narrative on his life

that, the film suggests through the recurrent motif of cows Schmidt keeps running into,









mirrors the life cycle of the cow, in that both the character and the animal are "used up,

consumed and discarded" in a hyper-consumer society (Scott), as well as on the road trip

on his Winnebago he undertakes to reclaim his paternal authority over his only daughter

who is about to marry an unkempt salesman despite his reservation.

Foreclosed Native Informant in About Schmidt

What makes About Schmidt relevant to my discussion of the invocation and

foreclosure of the native informant in Western representation is the film's mode of

narration. Despite or because of its title, the film relies on a mode of narration, which I,

following Spivak, will call the foreclosed perspective of the native informant, the

marginal figure she highlighted in A Critique ofPostcolonial Reason. In tracking the

figure of the native informant in Kant's The Critique of Judgment, Spivak points out the

paradox or the problem that occurred when Kant contemplated the final cause of human

existence in nature. That is, in Kant's philosophical system driven by teleological

reasoning that climaxes in the invocation of the (Christian) God as the final cause of

being both in nature and humans, thus turning what is supposed to be a critical

philosophy into theology, the native is enlisted to affirm Kant's order of things. The

natives briefly summoned up by Kant during his contemplation-the inhabitants of New

Hollander (Australia) and Tierra del Fuego-turned out to be a convenient rhetorical

device on Kant's part and were eventually excluded from the world constructed by Kant.

Thus, in thinking about the final cause of human existence in nature, Kant excludes the

indigenes of New Hollander and Tierra del Fuego from obtaining the status of being

human subjects, though invoking them in his thought process (284). This representational

invocation and exclusion, Spivak notes, are symptomatic of the workings of discursive

imperialism that produced the figure of the native informant due to the fact that non-









Western subjects "cannot be theorized as functionally completely frozen in a world where

teleology is schematized into geo-graphy (writing the world)" (30; italics original).

About Schmidt enlists the help of the foreclosed native informant for the better part

of the filmic narration. Warren Schmidt, a recently retired insurance executive in Omaha,

Nebraska, narrates his life largely by writing to an African boy named Ndugu Umbo,

whom he adopts as his foster child after responding to a TV ad by Childreach, a non-

profit charity organization that helps children in poor countries. The agency also urges

the child sponsor to include "personal information" while sending the monthly check of

$22. Those letters, which start with "Dear Ndugu," help narrate Schmidt's life while

revealing his inner thoughts and releasing his pent-up emotions, which are on the verge

of outburst after his reluctant retirement and brought to the forefront after the sudden

death of his wife, Helen. The film's examination of Schmidt's life thus relies on the

letters he wrote to Ndugu, who is six years old and, according to his aid worker, does not

read or speak English. A Newsweek movie critic, David Ansen, took note of the

significance of the "voice-over letters" in the film's narrative structure, which he said

allowed the viewers to "overhear Schmidt wrestling with his dawning awareness of the

emptiness inside him" (64). The "brilliant stroke," as Ansen described the voice-over

letters, turned out to be the film's Achilles' heel as well, as they exposed the hidden

structure of the invocation and foreclosure of the Tanzanian boy Ndugu.

Worth mentioning and commenting on here is that the rambling letters Schmidt

wrote to Ndugu were actually an addition to Louis Begley's 1996 novel of the same name

from which the movie was adapted ("Via Hollywood"). Yet this addition, which forms

the backbone of Schmidt's narration, relies heavily on the simultaneous invocation and









foreclosure of Ndugu, whose only appearance in the film is a photograph of him sent to

Schmidt by Childreach after the sponsorship begins. Throughout the entire film, Ndugu

remains a mute and shadowy figure, hovering or haunting over Schmidt's narrative voice,

until at the end of the film when his "presence" is once again being felt through a letter

written on his behalf by an aid worker. The letter, which informs Schmidt that Ndugu has

recently recovered from an eye infection, also includes a drawing by Ndugu of an adult

and a child linked by a rope to thank Schmidt's generosity and kindness. As the invoked

and foreclosed figure residing at the margin of the film, Ndugu makes it possible for

Schmidt, his American sponsor and narrator of the film, to reflect on his own life and the

journey he has taken and to release his pent-up emotions. Ndugu, which means "brother"

in Swahili ("Via Hollywood"), thus has a haunting effect on the film, haunting the

viewer's consciousness despite his muteness, as Schmidt reads out the letters to him.

Thus, paradoxically, the additional letters by the film's writers, Payne and his

screenwriting partner, Jim Taylor, turn out to be a "dangerous supplement," to use

Derrida's concept-metaphor, that both anchors the film's narration and points to the

film's hidden narrative structure.

Through the simultaneous invocation and foreclosure of Ndugu, we learn that

Schmidt was once an ambitious young man seeking to emulate the success stories of

Henry Ford and Walter Disney until his responsibility for his young family forced him to

take safer career choices, which eventually landed him the job of the vice president of the

Woodmen of the World, an insurance company in Omaha, from which he just recently

retired or was forced to retire. In the first letter written to Ndugu, Schmidt also reveals his

dissatisfaction about his wife of 42 years, including her supposed obsession for trying out









new restaurants. Although he takes pride in his only daughter, Jeannie, he is disappointed

at her choice for her husband, a waterbed salesman, who in his view is "not up to snuff'

nor "in her league." In the second letter, Schmidt informs Ndugu that his wife, Helen, has

died suddenly from a blood clot in the brain. He also confesses that he missed his Helen,

advising Ndugu to "appreciate what you have while you still have it," and regrets for the

unkind remarks he made about his wife in the first letter. The act of writing letters to

Ndugu functions for Schmidt as a kind of therapy, more so after the death of his wife. In

addressing Ndugu, he is reasserting his patriarchal authority that has been undermined

due to his recent (possibly forced) retirement and his daughter's marriage choice. The

sponsorship of Ndugu, an act to fill the void following his retirement while doing charity

work, could also be seen as a symbolic act by Schmidt to replace the daughter he is losing

to an "unpromising" salesman who is obsessed with his investment plans or "pyramid

schemes."

In ethnography, Spivak points out, the native informant "is a blank" deprived of

autobiography, but enables the inscription of the Other by the West (6; italics original).

Sourayan Mookerjea also notes that in that discipline the figure of the native informant as

an "imaginary other" is needed to construct a fictional dialogue between the Western Self

and its racial/ethnic Other, thus making the ethnographic text intelligible and constructing

the West's humanity ("Native Informant" 143-44). Schmidt's relationship to Ndugu in

About Schmidt is, to a certain extent, comparable to the fictional relationship an

ethnographer has with his or her native informant, but with a twist. In About Schmidt, the

object of study is reversed: the focus is on the American child sponsor to highlight his

humanity and compassion instead of Ndugu, the African Other. But through the invoked









and foreclosed Other, we get a glimpse of Schmidt's life. Schmidt's monologue with the

invoked and foreclosed Ndugu in the letters is not intended to seek an understanding of

his foster child living in a remote African village. Rather, it attempts to examine his own

life and helps Schmidt, who has been replaced at his job by someone who is younger and

more attuned to the needs of the fast-changing and high-tech capitalism, to reckon with

his own mortality, a thought rendered all the more poignant after the sudden death of his

wife. As About Schmidt testifies, Ndugu the native informant is needed as the foreclosed

dialogical Other so that Schmidt can reach deep into his past and inner self to come to

terms with his current existence as a retired widower facing his own predictable

mortality.

On the other hand, Schmidt's relation with Ndugu parallels the one that Kant had

with the New Hollanders and Fuegans. As narrator, both Schmidt and Kant invoke the

native but only to enact a violent act of foreclosure: Schmidt (or the film's writers)

forecloses Ndugu's voice and perspective until the very end of the movie while Kant

excludes the natives from obtaining the status presumably reserved for civilized/cultured

European subjects capable of the faculty of reason, freedom of desire and morality. What

About Schmidt finally demonstrates, without being self-conscious of it, is that a film that

connects the West with Africa in the era of intensified cultural and economic

globalization through an act of generosity and kindness nonetheless hinges on the hidden

structure of the invocation and foreclosure of the native informant, who reveals less about

himself than about this very hidden narrative foreclosure. The Schmidt-Ndugu plot, the

addition to the original story, thus exposes the "political unconscious" of the movie.









Schmidt's relationship with Ndugu also echoes and reverses the one formed

between Robinson Crusoe and Friday in Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. The semi-

reenactment of the colonial relationship is evidenced in Schmidt's third letter, which

relays his road trip across Nebraska and Kansas before visiting his daughter in Denver to

persuade her to call off her wedding. Schmidt decides to take the road trip after his

daughter declines his help with her upcoming wedding except in the form of checks. In a

compact economy, the third letter takes us to Schmidt's childhood home in Nebraska,

now a tire shop; to his alma mater, University of Kansas, in Lawrence, Kansas; and to

tourist sites in Nebraska, including a historical museum commemorating American

pioneers (where, he told Ndugu, he met a "real Indian," a sales clerk who informed him

that the Native Americans got "a raw deal") and Buffalo Bill's house. The third letter on

the road trip thus allows the film to present a slice of Schmidt's history and American

history through those personal, institutional and tourist sites. The letter with its

"educational" content is supposed to lighten up the foster child, but the film undermines

that and Schmidt's paternal authority with Ndugu's drawing of an adult and a child

connected by a rope. The reversal of the quasi-colonial relationship occurs in the last

scene of the movie when Schmidt, who has tried to enlighten Ndugu with the letters,

bursts into tears after being moved by the drawing, which simultaneously reminds him of

his loneliness and connection with others. Despite the movie's gesture to reconstruct the

relationship between the West and its Other through Schmidt and Ndugu, the film's

narrative on Schmidt's life is nevertheless built upon the invocation and foreclosure of

the African Other. Moreover, the film remains within the ideological horizon of

capitalism that addresses the problem of poverty in Africa and elsewhere through









individual charity rather than critically examining the social, economic and global

structures that produce and perpetuate it in the first place.

Spivka's Critique of the Native Informant and its Reconfiguration

Spivak has been studying the operation of the native informant as the Other

consolidating the Western Self in Western epistemology since the late 1980s. She

explains the stakes involved in invoking the native informant in the West in a passage

that I quote at length because it lays out her concern with the use of the Other as both a

means and an end to reaffirm the knowing Western subject. She writes:

If one looks at the history of post-Enlightenment theory, the major problem has
been the problem of autobiography: how subjective structures can, in fact, give
objective truth. During these same centuries, the Native Informant, who was found
in these other places, his stuff was unquestioningly treated as objective evidence for
the founding of so-called sciences like ethnography, ethnolinguistics, comparative
religion, and so on. So that, once again, the theoretical problems only relate to the
person who knows. The person who knows has all of the problems of selfhood. The
person who is known, somehow, seems not to have a problematic self. These days,
it is the same kind of agenda that is at work. (qtd. in Mookerjea 141-42)

In this passage, she makes two important observations about the state of the post-

Enlightenment history. First, the major problem with the history of post-Enlightenment

theory lies in its own autobiography: it has used the figure of the native informant to

mask "subjective structures" as "objective truth." Second, in doing so, it has uncritically

assumed as unproblematic the subjectivity of the Other who consolidates the knowing

Western subject and provides him or her with indigenous information. Spivak's

observations also show that behind the figure of the native informant lie the questions of

knowledge, power and representation, the questions that still dominate current

discussions on how to theorize and empower the Other without falling into the pitfalls of

essentialism and binary opposition. From her deconstructive perspective, the Other,

despite being subordinated in the discourse of imperialism, is no less problematic than the









Western self that inscribes it to validate its subordination. Thus, she calls for a rethinking

of the Other as a "trace-structure" or "effacement in disclosure" (A Critique 310) to

preserve the critical edge of radical alterity, a crucial point which I will take up later.

As part of her efforts to demonstrate "how deconstruction can serve reading,"

Spivak zeroes in on the figure of the native informant in A Critique of Postcolonial

Reason. This marginal figure, which has been invoked and foreclosed in the Western

production of knowledge, notably in German Enlightenment philosophy, she notes, is

both needed and foreclosed in the writings of three major Enlightenment thinkers: Kant,

Hegel and Marx. In Kant, the New Hollanders (the Australian Aboriginal) and the

inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego are needed and foreclosed in the thought process of the

philosopher of reason contemplating the "final cause" of men's existence. In Hegel, India

and other Oriental countries are invoked and excluded to facilitate the teleological

movement of the Spirit from the East to the West where it ultimately gains "self-

knowledge" in World History. In Marx, the concept of Asiatic Mode of Production is

needed and foreclosed as Marx wrestled with the question of difference against the

"normative" concept of capitalist mode of production. From Spivak's standpoint, that the

figure of the native informant briefly appears in different forms and then is bypassed in

the three German philosophers' texts points to the teleological thought in their texts and

thus exposes the Eurocentrism in their reasons and their "complicity" in perpetuating the

culture of Western imperialism and its exclusionary logic.1 Furthermore, the critique of

the foreclosure of the Aboriginal, as Dina al-Kassim notes, also offers an account of "our


1 Even though Marx can be faulted for his Eurocentrism and foreclosing of the women from the working
class in the earlier development of capitalism, as some have argued, his sustained critique of the capitalist
mode of production with in-inbuilt internal contradictions and crises remains a valuable source for
understanding the globalizing system.









complicity with the exclusionary logic that subtends it," resulting from the fact that we

are "inescapably situated within" the domain of reason and the institutions that legitimize

it (172). Kassim's comment only highlights the difficulties or dilemmas of critiquing

some of the assumptions of the Enlightenment by using the same conceptual tools that

enabled them in the first place. Nevertheless, acknowledging one's own complicity with

the logic of exclusion makes one more vigilant to the foreclosure and marginalization of

the Others in both discourse and society.

In her reading of Kant's The Critique ofJudgment, Spivak demonstrates how the

figure of the native informant operates in Kant's philosophical system by reading two

critical "anthropological moments" in the text. One deals with the Kantian notion of the

sublime, the feeling that the forces of nature excite from cultured European man, and the

other with his teleological reasoning of man's existence. In "Analytic of the Sublime,"

Kant describes the feeling of the sublime as "a feeling of pain, arising from the want of

the accordance between the aesthetical estimation of magnitude formed by the

Imagination and the estimation of the same formed by Reason" (119). He goes on to say

that the feeling of the sublime at the same time includes an excited pleasure, "arising

from the correspondence with rational Ideals of this very judgment of the inadequacy of

our greatest faculty of Sense." A few pages later, Kant points out that for "the uneducated

man" who has not developed moral ideas and has not been prepared by culture, the

sublime is being misinterpretedd as "the terrible" (130). From Kant's remarks on the

sublime and the terrible, Spivak uncovers the figure of the "uneducated man" who reads

the sublime as the terrible as a result of having not been initiated into culture (12-13).

Although the uneducated in Kant often refer to the child, the poor and the woman, Spivak









proposes to read the "uneducated man" as "man in the raw" [dem rohen Menschen], thus

suggestive of "the savage and the primitive" (13). The raw man unequipped by the

culture (of the higher classes), Spivak points out, is finally named in "Analytic of the

Teleological Judgment" when Kant makes a casual allusion to the Australian aboriginal

and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego in his discussion of the final cause of men's

existence (26). As Kant remarks in an after-thought manner:

For example, grass is needful for the ox, which again is needful for man as a means
of existence, but then we do not see why it is necessary that men should exist (a
question this, which we shall not find so easy to answer if we sometimes cast our
thoughts on the New Hollanders or the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego). So
conceived, the thing is not even a natural purpose, for neither it (nor its whole
genus) is to be regarded as a natural product. (284)

In this critical "anthropological moment" in Kant, where he is on the way to sublate

physical teleology as theology, meaning finally attributing God as the final cause of

being, Spivak uncovers the figure of the native informant in both the New Hollanders and

the Fuegans. Furthermore, this uncovering exposes the "lack" in the Kantian subject of

teleological reason, whose formulation is based on the exclusion of the Aboriginal.

Crucial to Spivak's critique of the figure of the native informant in Kant's text is

the paradoxical role it is assigned to play. Both the New Hollanders and the inhabitants of

Tierra del Fuego inserted in the parentheses are "both needed and foreclosed." Despite

being "only a casual object of thought," in Spivak's words, they are needed to

supplement Kant's contemplation of the final cause of men's existence, which Kant later

attributes to be the work of God. But at the same time they are foreclosed to becoming

the Kantian subject of reason. Equally important, as they operate in Kant's frame of

intelligibility, which as I have pointed out hinges on teleological reasoning and sublates

God as the final purposes of beings, the Aboriginal of the New Hollander and Tierra de









Fuego cannot hope to become the subjects endowed with speech. Within the axiomaticss

of imperialism," Spivak notes, it is imperative that the natives "cannot be the subject of

speech or judgment in the world of the Critique" (26). She adds that "the subject as such

in Kant is geopolitically differentiated" (26-27), thus excluding those who live outside

the West. On the other hand, their exclusion by Kant based on geographical consideration

is strategic because it works to solidify Kant's view of the difference between cultured

European bourgeois society and other non-Western societies that have yet to follow in the

steps of Europe (31-32). This geographical and cultural difference thus constitutes his

Eurocentrism, which legitimizes the view that "Europe is the global legislator" (33). As

the "dangerous supplement," to use Jacques Derrida's concept-metaphor, the New

Hollanders and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego show how the non-Western subjects

are often excluded in the Western mode of representation, though being invoked as the

racial/ethnic Other at the margin of the text. Spivak's uncovering of the figure of the

native informant in Kant thus makes visible "the foreclosure of the subject whose lack of

access to the position of narrator is the condition of possibility of the consolidation of

Kant's position" (9).

By demonstrating the foreclosure of the Aboriginal as human subjects in Kant

Spivak also highlights the "lack" at the "origin" of Enlightenment philosophy (Kassim

172). The lack marked by the rejection (Verwerfung) of the Aboriginal allows for the

construction of the cultured European subject endowed with freedom of desire and

morality in Kant's philosophy (Spivak 26-27; 32n). The notion of foreclosure

(Verwerfung), Spivak notes, is taken from Lacanian psychoanalysis (4). In The Language

ofPsycho-Analysis, J. Laplanche and J.-B. Pontalis track the use of foreclosure in Lacan,









developed through Freud's Wolf Man case and "Negation," to include the senses of

refusal, reputation, disavowal, withdrawal and expulsion. Using Freud's "Negation" as a

basis, Lacan defines foreclosure as "a primary process ... embodying two

complementary operations: the Einbeziehung ins Ich, introduction into the subject, and

the Ausstossung aus dem Ich, expulsion from the subject" (Laplanche and Pontalis 168).

To simplify Lacan's more complex understanding of foreclosure, the notion of

foreclosure describes a defense mechanism used by a psychotic subject to expel that

which is repressed from the Symbolic, and it thus marks the subsequent return of the

repressed in the Real (166-68). Foreclosure, for Lacan, thus marks the symbolization that

fails to materialize and subsequently reappears in the Real. According to Spivak, the

foreclosure of the Aboriginal from the subject in Kant follows a similar path in the

Lacanian analysis: "Einbeziehung ins Ich, introduction into the reflective judgment; and

Ausstossung aus dem Ich, expulsion from the subject, into the noumenon" (28-9). Even

when Kant considers man as noumenon, the raw man still falls outside of Kant's

conceptual frame because for the philosopher, as Spivak notes, "the uncultivated reason

of the raw man cannot conceptualize man as noumenon either" (32). She further notes

that the complicity between Kant's philosophy and the needs of cultural imperialism is "a

permanent necessity."

For Spivak, Lacanian psychoanalysis also provides a useful technique for "reading

the pre-emergence (Raymond Williams's term) of narrative as ethical instantiation" (4).

By way of a literary transference, this Lacanian notion of foreclosure enables Spivak to

read the New Hollanders and the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego as simultaneously

needed and foreclosed in Kant's text. They are introduced into the reflective judgment of









Kant, but are precluded from becoming the Kantian subject of reason and morality (28-

29). As the para-subjects not yet initiated into (European) culture of higher classes, the

natives of Australia and Tierra del Fuego cannot become full human subjects. For Kant,

culture, along with civil legislation and faith, is a key element that initiates subjects into

humanity capable of reason, morality, desire and other faculties. However, this

determining element excludes non-Western cultures. Assessing the effect of the

foreclosure of the native informant, Spivak notes that the aporia between the raw man

and the Kantian subject should have made Kant's text unreadable but its readability is

enabled by "ignoring the aporia, passing through it by way of the axiomatics of

imperialism" (34). Spivak's counter-narrative that exposes the foreclosure of the native

informant thus is her intervention into the discourse of the Enlightenment philosophy that

has conspired, wittingly or unwittingly, with the needs of imperialism.

In addition to Lacan's notion of foreclosure, Spivak also credits the works of Paul

de Man and Jacques Derrida for enabling her to detect the structure of the native

informant in the discourse of the enlightenment philosophers and to "read it otherwise."

Of de Man's version of deconstruction, Spivak notes that de Man has shown in his

reading of Rousseau and others that what claims to be true is merely a trope. Moreover,

the insight of de Man, says Spivak, is that following the tropological critique, he does not

attempt to reinstate a "corrected" version of the truth. Instead, the second performative

critique for de Man only seeks to "disclose how the corrective impulse within the

tropological analysis is obliged to act out a lie in attempting to establish it as the

corrected version of truth" (18-9). Of Derrida's body of work, Spivak says that Derrida's

notion of the parergon, an addition to the ergon, or the work, is instrumental in her









detection of the figure of the foreclosed native informant in Kant and others (34). In The

Truth in Painting, Derrida explains the operation of the parergon as "something which

comes as an extra, exterior to the proper field ... of pure reason ... but whose

transcendent exteriority comes to play ... against the limit itself and intervene in the

inside only to the extent that the inside is lacking. It is lacking in something and it is

lacking fom itself. ... It needs the supplementary work" (56). This passage articulates

deconstruction's strategy of reading from the margin through the figure of the parergon,

which helps destabilize the hierarchical relation between the inside and the outside. More

important, this exterior/supplemental figure not only exposes the lack in the inside but

also the lack within and thus its need for a supplement. Although Derrida is known to be

interested in calling into question self-presence, thus his attention to the lack within, the

notion of the relationship between the inside (Self) and the outside (Other) is

indispensable for investigating and displacing binary opposition.

Worth noting here is that Derrida uncovers the figure ofparerga (translated as

ornaments) in his attentive reading of Kant's "Analytic of the Beautiful" in The Critique

ofJudgment. Kant explains parerga/ornaments as "those things which do not belong to

the complete representation of the object internally as elements but only externally as

complements, and which augment the satisfaction of taste" (76). He goes on to say that

they appear in the form of "the frames of pictures, or the draperies of statues or the

colonnades of palaces" (ibid.). This Kantian passage significantly informs Derrida's own

formulation of parergon. It also shows how Derrida engaged with Kant's remarks on the

aesthetic judgment on taste: by foregrounding the marginalized parentheses both in the

main text and the footnote supplemented by Kant to bolster his argument in the main text









regarding the judgment of taste (45). Learning from Derrida's reading strategy that calls

attention to the margin, Spivak notes that the raw man influencing the inside from outside

the work in Kant is the gain yielded by the parergon (34). That is, the New Hollanders

and the Fuegans operate like one of the parerga in Kant's third Critique. Of her

deconstructive reading strategy, Spivak writes:

The challenge of deconstruction is not to excuse, but to suspend accusation to
examine with painstaking care if the protocols of the text contains [sic] a moment
that can produce something that will generate a new and useful reading ... a lever
of intervention. Such a lever ... can be perceived as a moment of transgression in
the text-or a moment of bafflement that discloses not only limits and but also
possibilities to a new politics of reading. (98)

Her detection of the figure of the native informant operative in the texts of Kant, Hegel

(the teleological movement of the Spirit from the East to the West) and Marx (Asiatic

mode of production) thus is her intervention into the "master discourse" by seizing those

moments of transgression or bafflement that simultaneously invoke and foreclose the

non-Western Others in different incarnations.

In the end, Spivak's reading of the texts of the "three wise men" of European

Enlightenment is as much about showcasing deconstruction's ethical concern about the

Other residing at the margin of the text as about tracking the figure of the native

informant. Of the margin, she writes:

[it] is the impossible boundary marking off the wholly other, and the encounter
with the wholly other, as it may be figured, has an unpredictable relationship to our
ethical rules. The named marginal is as much a concealment as a disclosure of the
margin; and where s/he discloses, s/he is singular. (173)

This double gesture informs her deconstructive critical vigilance that the Other be effaced

while being disclosed simultaneously.

Thus, Spivak's critique of the invocation and foreclosure of the native informant in

Western epistemology is followed up by a second procedure to "read otherwise" this









ethnic/racial figure. She proposes to resignify it as the name marking the effect of

difference that the West, as Derrida has noted, has tried unsuccessfully to contain (17). In

"The Ends of Man," Derrida points out that the West has tried to contain its racial Other

not only by mastering it but also by "affecting itself with it" (113). In the same essay,

Derrida also notes that the history of the concept of man has not been critically examined

and is treated as if it "had no origin, no historical, cultural or linguistic limit" (116). In

her view, Derrida's comment on man can be said of the native and woman. Spivak's

rethinking of the figure of the native informant as the absolute Other, or alterity,

continues Derrida's critique of the humanist notion of the "authentic man" with self-

presence. She makes it clear that she now resignifies "the 'native informant' as a name

for that mark of expulsion from the name of Man-a mark crossing out the impossibility

of the ethical relation" (6). The ethical relationship with the ethnic/racial Other is

impossible, because, true to the paradoxical nature of deconstruction, ethics here is

understood as a concept-metaphor, as "the experience of the impossible" (427). Spivak

explains this paradox thus: along with justice and law, gift and responsibility, ethics and

politics are "structureless structures" with the first item of each pair "neither available nor

unavailable" (427). Ethics thus is being disclosed while being effaced, or marked but put

under erasure. Spivak's rethinking of the native informant as radical alterity or difference

thus is her answer to Derrida's call to disclose and efface the Other at the same time,

reinforcing his politics of ethics.

Spivak further re-envisions the figure of the native informant as a deconstructive

reading strategy, as "the imagined and impossiblee perspective," hence her formulation

of "the native informant" as impossiblee perspective (9; 49). Although she demonstrates









the invocation and foreclosure of the natives in Kant, Spivak does not call for restoring

their foreclosed perspectives. On the contrary, she critiques the notion of the "authentic

ethnic" who claims to speak for the hitherto foreclosed ethnic/racial Other of the West, a

misrepresentationn that she thinks tarnishes some writings on Third Worldism (60). The

elite of the global South, in her view, often hides behind such unexamined "nativism" to

oppress their people. Moreover, she seeks to preserve the space of the absolute Other

(figured as the subaltern, as the woman, as the native informant) by insisting on the

impossiblee perspective of the native informant. The value of insisting on the (im) of the

(im)possibility of the native perspective, says Spivak, is that it pre-empts the emergence

of a totalizing one, a pivotal deconstruction lesson (In Other Worlds 308; 81n). For

Spivak, the reconfigured native informant is, in effect, a tropological figure that turns to

become the "imagined and impossiblee perspective" that resides at the margins of her

reading. One of Spivak's goals in reading otherwise is to make determined concepts turn,

or to suspend the determination (Bestimmung) in them, in order to produce what she calls

a new, useful reading.

Spivak reinforces this notion of the native informant as an impossiblee perspective

in her deconstructive reading of Hegel's reading of Gita, an addition to the Hindu

scripture, Mahabharata. While one can imagine oneself as occupying the position of "the

implied reader contemporary with the Gita" in reading Hegel's comments on Gita,

Spivak argues that this kind of reading strategy fails to address the problem of

unexamined culturalism or nativism. She insists that neither the colonial subject nor the

postcolonial subject can inhabit the impossiblee perspective of the native informant or

the implied contemporary reader or receiver (62). Similarly, in reading South African









writer J.M. Coetzee's Foe, a short novel that reworks Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe,

Spivak suggests that the native, Friday, who is incapable of speech because of the

mutilation of his tongue, is the unemphaticc agent of withholding in the text" and should

not be interpreted as an informant (190). The withholding of information as to the

conditions that led to the cruelty visited upon Friday can be read as a secret that cannot be

unlocked, she argues. In other words, the impossiblee perspective of the native informant

is Spivak's deconstructive reading strategy that disclose the figure of the native informant

but refuses to restore this foreclosed perspective in order to preserve that critical space of

the absolute Other. The impossiblee perspective of the native informant, as Spivak puts

it, is "a desire for permanent parabasis" (362), by which she means "sustained

interruption from a source relating 'otherwise' (allegorien = speaking otherwise) to the

continuous unfolding of the main system of meaning" (430). The term parabasis, as Mark

Sanders points out, has its origin in Greek drama: literally meaning stepping aside, it

refers to the intervention of the chorus and that of the author in theater (par. 7). Sanders

also notes that the permanent parabasis, as embedded in the Spivakian figure of the native

informant that makes visible "shadowy counterscene" in master discourse (37), stems

from Paul de Man's Allegories ofReading where parabasis emerges as a figure of

interruption in de Man's recasting of allegory in terms of parabasis and irony. As

"permanent parabasis," the impossiblee perspective of the native informant in Spivak is

the figure that haunts and disrupts the text with the problem of the irreducible Other.

To sum up Spivak's re-examination of the figure of the native informant, the figure

taken from ethnography: the native is both needed to provide information for the

ethnographer and at the same time is foreclosed to obtaining the subject-position or









becoming a narrator. Under her deconstruction reading strategy, the figure of the native

informant as a determined concept is being turned; it is being transformed into a reader's

perspective, among others. But it is a perspective that does not seek to restore the lost

perspective of the native informant, and as such, it is called as the impossiblee

perspective of the native informant. The impossiblee perspective of the native informant

is one that is yet "to come" or "on the way" (Spivak, "Response" 211), all the while

exposing the double structure of invocation and foreclosure of the native in master

discourse, dismantling the hierarchy between master and native and showing the

complicity between native hegemony and the axiomatics of imperialism (37).

Native Informant and Accumulation by Dispossession

My dissertation takes the figure of the native informant as a starting point, using

this marginal figure to examine the representation of the ethnic/racial Other in three

novels by James Fenimore Cooper, Herman Melville and Joseph Conrad. In doing so, I

also examine three historical specific phenomena in American continent the figure of the

native/Other discloses and forecloses: primitive accumulation of capital through the

dispossession and privatization of Indian land (The Pioneers), U.S. literary Orientalism

and Western territorial imperialism (Moby Dick), and primitive and modem accumulation

of capital through the exploitation of indigenous labor and Western capitalist imperialism

(Nostromo). While Spivak's subaltern deconstruction politics of reading emphasizes the

native informant as an impossiblee perspective, my dissertation project focuses on the

dialectic and dynamic relations between literary representation and historical and material

conditions. I am interested in interrogating the Western mode of narration that invokes

and forecloses the Other that consolidates the West as the guarantor of truth, power and

representation, and in the conscription and foreclosure of the Others to either justify the









primitive accumulation of capital and bourgeois right to private property or to critique

modern accumulation of capital and Western imperialism. Melville's appropriation of the

Islamic Other, however, does not fit neatly with the above description as his contains

both reactionary and subversive threads. Thus, in my reading of the three novels I

supplement Spivak's critique of the foreclosure of the native informant with Marx's

notion of primitive accumulation and David Harvey's recent articulation of

"accumulation by dispossession." The two major frames that run through my dissertation

chapters help ground my project in the tradition of post-colonial criticism that examines

the Western cultural hegemony and Marxist class politics that foregrounds the issue of

labor.

In Capital, Vol. One, Marx points out that the colonization of America through

state-sponsored violence constitutes one of "the chief moments of primitive

accumulation" (915). Building on Marx's insights, Harvey in his recent work, The New

Imperialism, argues that the primitive accumulation that Marx saw as the pre-history of

modern capital has not ceased to exist in the capitalist mode of production. Moreover,

following Hannah Arendt in The Origins of Totalitarianism, Harvey maintains that

"accumulation by dispossession" is "an important and continuing force in the historical

geography of capital accumulation through imperialism" (143). For Harvey, the concept

of accumulation by dispossession encompass many predatory capitalist practices

including commodification of "cultural forms, histories and intellectual creativity" (148).

Its most powerful mechanism, however, is privatization of public sectors, a global neo-

liberal economic policy that is represented as "economic reforms" in post-Communist

Russia and China and other countries. Harvey also cites the Asian financial crisis of









1997-98 as one of the many examples in which accumulation by dispossession was in use

to help resolve the crisis of capital overaccumulation, idle capital not employed in either

productive or speculative use. Harvey clearly uses the concept of accumulation by

dispossession to articulate the modem mechanisms, including national debts and

international credit system, through which contemporary global capitalism attempts to

solve its crises of overaccumulation. However, in reading The Pioneers and Nostromo, I

appropriate his concept to underscore the historical processes in which the West

expropriated the indigenous of their lands and natural resources and created material

conditions in which appropriation of surplus labor could be extracted. Although I did not

pursue the direct link between accumulation of capital through the expropriation of the

non-Western Others in Moby Dick, it should be pointed out that the Oriental fever in

America and Europe in the 19th century followed Napoleon's conquest of Egypt in 1798.

Thus, Harvey's concept of accumulation by dispossession connotes for me in the

following chapters both the expropriation of indigenous land and (surplus) labor for the

accumulation of capital, in addition to the neo-liberal dispossessions mentioned above.

To illustrate the invocation and foreclosure of the native/Other as a predominant,

though sometimes hidden, narrative pattern in Western literary representation, I propose

to read three Western classics, James Fenimore Cooper's The Pioneers (1823), Herman

Melville's Moby Dick (1851) and Joseph Conrad's Nostromo (1904). Although there are

many literary works that deal with the representation of the Others and globalization of

capital, the three texts are particularly useful for my geographic mapping of

"accumulation by dispossession" and for my analysis of the dialectical relationships

between the literary representation and the historical and material conditions that gave









rise to the representation. More importantly, the three novels allow me to demonstrate the

ways in which the literary figure of the native/Other both discloses and forecloses the

dispossession of the indigenous people and/or the appropriation of their voices and

culture by Western writers. The fact that each of the three works concerns itself with a

non-Western Other shows that how each novelist was haunted by the Other of his time. It

also illustrates how Western imagination, more often than not, relies on an Other in the

literary production, somewhat mirroring the primitive accumulation of Western capital by

way of expropriating various ethnic/racial Others.

Writing in 1820s, Cooper was still preoccupied by the problem of dispossessed

Indians and the related questions of law and justice. In The Pioneers, he attempted to

solve the Indian problem and racial conflicts by giving voices to the expropriated natives.

The "Indian" voices, which both disclose and foreclose the primitive accumulation of

capital as I will show, end up justifying the dispossession of the Indians and asserting

bourgeois right to property on the American frontier, which is further maintained by the

bourgeois heterosexual family. The foreclosure of the Indian perspective and

naturalization of accumulation by dispossession thus work hand in hand to perpetuate the

"myth of the frontier" that misrepresents America as "a wide-open land of unlimited

opportunity for the strong, ambitious, self-reliant individual to thrust his way to the top"

(Slotkin 5). This colonialist ideology, Richard Slotkin suggests in Regeneration Through

Violence, becomes the "structuring metaphor of the American experience" that

nevertheless resorts to violence against the Indians to seize their land and regenerate

wealth for the white colonialists (ibid.). More than a quarter century later, Melville took

bourgeois right to property as a given, as the law of both the land and the sea. And he was









preoccupied with another historical phenomenon of his time: Oriental revival that swept

both America and Europe in the 19th century following Napoleon's conquest of Egypt in

1798. Influenced by Oriental fever, Melville appropriated Oriental images and customs to

supplement his tale on the American whaling and the hunt for the elusive white whale. In

doing so, he also questioned the efforts to explain the Oriental Other to the West by the

act of subversive foreclosure. At the dawn of the 20th century, Conrad was critical of

imperialism as capital extended its reach around the globe through the export of finance

capital. He thus explored this issue in his political fiction set in South America, depicting

how American and European capital is flowing into Costaguana to exploit that nation's

rich silver mine worked by the indigenous workers and to build railway to facilitate its

transportation to the overseas markets. His critique of imperialist capitalism, however,

forecloses the perspectives of the indigenous miners whose labor produces wealth for

capital.

The act of invoking and foreclosing the Other, be it Native Americans in The

Pioneers, the Islamic Orient in Moby Dick, or the Amerindians in Nostromo, thus

reproduces the West's cultural hegemony, though in Moby Dick Melville also enacts a

subversive foreclosure to resist antebellum American cultural imperialism. The three

texts, on the other hand, provide a window into the economic, social and cultural needs of

Euro-American capitalism and imperialism. They are useful texts, among the many

Western literary and cultural productions, in mapping the production of wealth and

literature and culture by the United States and Europe through the various appropriations

of their racial Others. Those appropriations include those of indigenous land and voice

after the American Revolution (The Pioneers), those of Islamic culture and customs









during the territorial expansion of the United States into the West and the South as a

young empire (Moby Dick) and those of indigenous natural resources and forced and

wage labor during Spanish colonialism and after independence (Nostromo).

Second, those texts, despite their differences, rely on non-Western Others to

construct a (white/European) national identity or nationhood. As novelist and literary

critic Toni Morrison suggests in Playing in the Dark, slavery and racial alterity are

essential to the construction of American national identity. "Africanism is the vehicle by

which the American self knows itself as not enslaved, but free; ... not damned, but

innocent; not a blind accident of evolution, but a progressive fulfillment of destiny," she

notes (52). Malini Johar Schueller in her study of U.S. Orientalisms advances Morrison's

insights to suggest that U.S. literary Orientalism in its subversive vein was "the site of a

triadic encounter in which the Africanist and Native American presence returned to

haunt and question the cultural and political hegemony of the New World" (9-10).

Indeed, in those texts we can see the convergence of nation and empire building through

the conscription of the various racial and ethnic Others. The resolution of the Indian

problem in The Pioneers paves the way for the construction of white American identity

and nationhood (Scheckel 3-14). The invocation of the Islamic Orient in Moby Dick helps

foster an American identity formed around the whaling industry, which until the early

19th century was regarded as a national industry contributing to the wealth of the nation.

The surplus labor of the indigenous miners in Nostromo helps finance the separatist

movement led by Europeans and Creoles in Sulaco and the birth of a new nation, Sulaco,

with the aid of the United States military and finance capital.









The history of Western capitalism is incomplete without taking into account the

question of the land and the natives indigenous to it. As Marx and Engels described the

embryonic moments of capitalist globalization,

The discovery of America, the rounding of the Cape, opened up fresh ground for
the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian and Chinese markets, the colonization of
America, trade with the colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in
commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an impulse
never before known, and thereby, to the revolutionary element in the tottering
feudal society, a rapid development. (Tucker, "Manifesto" 474)

This remarkable passage, remarkable from the vantage point of contemporary

globalization or what Harvey in Spaces of Hope calls "uneven geographical

developments" (chapters 4-5), shows how globalization of industrial capitalism in its

earlier phase depended as much on the appropriation and privatization of land and

colonization of the indigenous population as on the production of commodities and the

production of means of communications and transportation. In Facing West, the

Metaphysics of Indian-hating andEmpire-building, Richard Drinnon concurs the Marxist

view of primitive accumulation or accumulation by dispossession in his study of the

genocide of the natives in the Pequot War of 1636 and his critique of European

imperialism (46). The appropriation of land as an alienable commodity to be sold on the

market and the dispossession of the natives made possible the production of capitalist

space secured by the bourgeois right to private property. The reproduction of capitalist

social relations in turn depended on the regulation of gender and sexuality secured by the

bourgeois heterosexual family, an important bourgeois institution to secure the transfer of

private property.

In Chapter 2 on Cooper's The Pioneers, I use the figure of the native informant to

examine how Cooper wrestled with the question of the dispossession of the Indians and









the means through which he naturalized accumulation by dispossession. I argue that

Cooper's "Indian" voices embodied by the old Indian chief Chingachgook and

appropriated by Edward Oliver Effingham, a white man who passes as the native named

Oliver Edwards to reclaim his family's property, actually work to justify white ownership

of the Indian land and defend bourgeois property right. So is Leatherstocking's. Their

"Indian" voices also work to justify the ideology of the "vanishing American," a

prevailing ideology of Cooper's time that justified the dispossession of the Indians as

inevitable. Above all, the concealment and disclosure of Effingham's white identity and

patronym allows Cooper to fundamentally shift the land dispute between the Mohegans

and Judge Temple to one between two white old friends-Effingham's birth father and

the Judge. The leitmotif of the veil, which conceals the friendship and business

relationship between Effingham's father and the Judge and hides Effingham's white

lineage, thus functions to cover up the provenance of Judge Temple's landed property.

The land dispute also foregrounds the stake involved in taking on a name, a patronym. As

Judith Butler points out, "the name is a token of a symbolic order, an order of social law.

... The name as patronym does not only bear the law, but institutes the law" (Bodies

152-54). The appropriation of the Indian name and lineage and their abandonment

coupled with the resumption of the real white patronym as a solution to the land dispute

in Cooper thus show how the name of the father in an emerging capitalist community,

Templeton, is both tied up with and secured by the law of private property, which is

further cemented by the "institution of sexual difference and compulsory heterosexuality"

(152), that is, the bourgeois heterosexual family. So, it comes no surprise that Cooper

ends The Pioneers in a happy note, with the marriage between Young Effingham and









Judge Temple's daughter, Elizabeth, since their union helps perpetuate the bourgeois

model of family founded on heterosexuality and private property. Also in the union

between the young couple, Cooper asserts patriarchal rule of law.

I thus argue that The Pioneers with its conscription and foreclosure of native voice

is an excellent text in which we can see the privatization of Indian land on the one hand,

and accumulation of landed property in the hands of the white settlers and the

reproduction of patriarchal capitalist social relations through the hegemony of

heterosexuality and private property on the other. The devices of "Indian" voice,

"concealment and unveiling" and marriage used by Cooper in The Pioneers are similar to

what Fredric Jameson calls "a strategy of ideological containment"-a procedure in

representation that works to prevent a deeper understanding of the social relations in its

totality from emerging, and thus helps preserve the status quo (53). In this chapter, I also

look at the native informant as an impossiblee perspective by examining the historical

and material conditions that led to the disappearing of the Indian tribes. I argue that what

makes it impossible to maintain the perspectives of the native informants is the effect of

the political, territorial and economic changes that contribute to the deterritorialization

and dispossession of the Indians. Cooper's representation of Chingachgook and his dying

tribe seems to suggest this view.

Global capitalism, despite its colonization of the indigenous peoples in Americas

and elsewhere with violence, had contributed to globalization of commodities, as well as

culture and religion, and continues to do so. Capitalist globalization, as Marx and Engels

wrote in "Manifesto," creates the material conditions in which "we have intercourse in

every direction ... The intellectual creations of individual nations become common









property" (476-77). On the literary and cultural front, it creates a material condition from

which rises "a world literature" from among "the numerous national and local literatures"

(477). It is in such a historical context that we should theorize the rise of modern

Orientalism and that of the U.S. literary Orientalism. The West's interest in the Islamic

Orient in the 18th and 19th centuries reflected the flow of knowledge through commerce

and navigation on the one hand and construction of the West through the Other on the

other. The rise of modern Orientalism, as Edward Said has argued in Orientalism, cannot

be separated from Western imperialism and colonialism. For example, Napoleon's

conquest of Egypt in 1798 helped fuel the Egyptian revival in both Europe and America.

The opening of trade in the Indian Ocean and China Sea helped give rise to the genre of

Oriental tale in American fiction in the 1780s (Luedtke 63). The Arabian Nights'

Entertainment, published in 1794, became a best seller in America, selling more than

40,000 copies in its first decade to become a favorite for children and adults alike (64).

Melville, Hawthorne and Poe are among the writers touched by "its magic" (ibid.). The

popularity of another Oriental tale, The Arabian Nights, helped intensify the rage for the

Orient in the United States during the first two decades of the 19th century; the tales in

The Arabian Nights were to have "a direct impact" on Melville's early writing (ibid.).

While the Islamic Orient would not become Melville's subject matter until his later

work, Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land (1876), the appropriation of

Oriental images and Oriental allusions abound in his earlier works, especially in Moby

Dick, which on the surface is an American tale about a captain haunted by an elusive

white whale, and allegorically a tale about the future of the United States, as symbolized

by the whale ship, divided by the issue of slavery. The many allusions to the Islamic









Orient in Moby Dick, such as Ramadan, the Ottoman Empire, the harem and Egyptian

hieroglyphics and pyramids, are indicative of the currency of Orientalism in the 19th

American literary scenes. By the middle of the 19th century, the Orient had become a

fertile ground for Western literary imagination (Orientalism 192).

In Chapter 3 on Melville's Moby Dick, I focus on his use of the Islamic Orient,

which I argue operates in some instances as the "native informant" that is both invoked

and foreclosed in Ishmael's narrative. Moreover, I scrutinize the tensions in Melville's

conscription of the Orient by examining the two contending forces in his Orientalism.

That is, I contend that the Orientalism in Moby Dick has two opposing pulls,

encompassing both conformist and subversive Orientalism. What marks those two forms

of Orientalism is the nature of foreclosure. In his traditional mode of Orientalism,

Melville invoked the Orient, as other writers of his time did, as a literary fashion to

accommodate the reading public's curiosity about the Orient. Thus, we find Ishmael often

invokes the Orient to exalt the American whaling industry and assert its supremacy or to

spice up his tale about the leviathan that travels around the globe. The Orient thus

invoked is also simultaneously foreclosed and functions as the Other supplementing or

complementing the West. On the other hand, Melville subverted the dominant form of

Western Orientalism by foreclosing what the Orient is supposed to signify. This form of

critical foreclosure thus calls into question the efforts by the West, as in Egyptology, to

explain and unveil the Orient to the West, undermining its authority as the holder of

knowledge and truth on the Orient. This double use of foreclosure in Moby Dick,

however, poses challenges to the reading of the mystic Oriental figure, Fedallah. Melville

scholars have divided on how to read Fedallah's foreclosed perspective. One camp reads









the foreclosure of his perspective as signs of Western cultural imperialism, while the

opposite camp regards it as Melville's attempt to resist the imperialist impulse to speak

for or through the Other. Either way, the debate on the foreclosure foregrounds the

dilemmas of reading and representing the Other in post-colonial and anti-colonial

discourse in the West.

While historicizing the genesis of industrial capital, Marx notes that the conquest

and plunder of native America, India and Africa by European nations contributed to the

primitive accumulation of capital. With regard to the subjugation of the American

indigenous peoples, he points to the major cause: that continent's rich mineral resources.

As he writes, the "discovery of gold and silver in America, the extirpation, enslavement

and entombment in mines of the indigenous population of that continent," were among

the atrocities that characterized "the dawn of the era of capitalist production" (Capital

Vol. One 915). Marx thus exposes some chief moments of primitive accumulation of

capital in history that relied on the forces of the state as an economic and military power

to colonize the indigenous in the American continent and to exploit their labor. In the

early 20th century, Conrad launched his own critique of capitalism of his time and its

relentless pursuit of material interests. In "Autocracy and War" (1905), Conrad writes,

Industrialism and commercialism-wearing high-sounding names in many
languages -stand ready, almost eager, to appeal to the sword as soon as the
globe of the earth has shrunk beneath our growing numbers by another ell or so.
And democracy, which has elected to pin its faith to the supremacy of material
interests, will have to fight their battles to the bitter end ... unless .... (107)

In Nostromo, Conrad fictionalizes his critique of capitalism, using the fictional San Tome

silver mine to show the devastating effects of relentless pursuit of material interests by

the representative of industrial capital, Charles Gould, who pins his "faith on material

interests" (100), and his ally, finance capital. Moreover, he dramatizes the so-called









"resource curse" haunting Sulaco, a port town in a fictional South American country by

showing how those haunted by the silver mine or its ingots become alienated from their

fellow human beings. Nostromo, a dramatization of what Harvey calls accumulation by

dispossession, thus provides us a glimpse into the exploitation of the American continent

and its natural resources as well as the seemingly endless revolutions and

counterrevolutions fought over its natural resources in the early 20th century, with finance

capital originating from the United States and Europe pulling the strings behind different

warring factions.

In Chapter 4 on Conrad's Nostromo, again I deploy the figure of the native

informant to open up the text for a reading that foregrounds the invocation and

foreclosure of the Indian miners of the San Tome mine. Despite being rendered mute, the

Indian miners constitute the material base of the silver mine that is the central figure of

Conrad's analysis of capitalist imperialism and its relentless pursuit of material interests.

Residing at the margin of the novel, the indigenous miners have been neglected by most

Conrad scholars but they, as I will show, haunt the novel's narrative and intrude upon the

consciousness of other European characters, some of whom narrate the history of the San

Tome mine and its miners. Significantly, the haunting both discloses and forecloses

accumulation by dispossession in its primitive and modern forms. The foreclosure of the

indigenous perspective, I also argue, is the effect of Conrad's mode of representation: the

native miners are being represented by the Europeans who own or govern the mine. The

exclusion of their voice thus is symptomatic of the unequal class and race structures in

the imaginary country of Costaguana. Furthermore, their foreclosure is the condition of

possibility for the novel's title character Nostromo, the Italian sailor, to emerge as a









representative of the People. In this chapter, I also attempt to develop a Marxist reading

of spectrality by examining the haunting elements in the novel, including Mrs. Gould's

watercolor painting of the San Tome gorge that is a stand-in for capital. I therefore argue

that what is really haunting the mine, the Goulds, the town of Sulaco and Costaguana, is

the specter of global capitalism, especially finance capital that flows from North America

and Europe to develop and colonize this silver-rich country. The primitive accumulation

of capital during the Spanish colonialism and later the accumulation of the Goulds'

wealth that finances Sulaco's latest counter-revolution, as Conrad's narrative shows, are

impossible without the exploitation of labor: the labor of the Sulaco Indian miners.

Perhaps, it is (un)befitting that I end the introduction with a brief turn to Hegel, the

master of Other, and his Phenomenology of Spirit. There, through the rhetorical language

on the dialectic between lordship (the lord) and bondage (the bondsman), Hegel shows

that in order to become self-conscious, the Spirit has to rely on an other by recognizing

its existence, thereby its own. Recognition of the other, thus, becomes the enabling

condition for the Spirit to eventually regain self-knowledge and obtain absolute

knowledge. Despite Hegel's idealism and teleological reason, his theory of the alienation

of the Spirit puts his fingers on an important facet of human relationship, recognition of

the self through the other. To a certain extent, the construction of the Other by the

Western Self follows this seemingly inescapable path, but often at the cost of

marginalizing the non-Western Other.

In deploying the figure of the native informant to read the three Western classics, I

have attempted to show how the marginal or marginalized figures-the dispossessed

native Americans, the Islamic Orient and the exploited Amerindians-are what Derrida









calls the "dangerous supplement" that haunts the so-called center (American nationhood,

American identity and finance capital) from the margin. This figure of the non-Western

Other also helps expose accumulation of capital by dispossessing its various Others

directly or indirectly. Rousing the native informant from the Western mode of narration

that relies on the invocation and foreclosure of the Other is only the first step toward a

more rigorous investigation of the construction of the Other in Western literature, but it is

a beginning, one that could yield more insights by critically examining the historical and

material conditions that gave rise to such a representation.














CHAPTER 2
PASSING IN COOPER'S THE PIONEERS: NATIVE INFORMANTS, PATRONYM
AND PRIVATE PROPERTY

Among its many concerns, Cooper's third novel The Pioneers (1823), as Susan

Scheckel points out, is particularly concerned with origins and history, both individual

and national. Described by Cooper as a "descriptive tale," the novel depicts American

frontier scenes, including a Christmas Turkey shoot, maple sugar harvesting, pigeon

shooting and bass fishing, an influence that could be traced to Cooper's contemporary

writer James Kirke Paulding for its American materials (Philbrick 581; 584). But Cooper

was also interested in how to account for early American history, both before and after

the American Revolution, through the "charm of fiction," that is, through a fiction about

the founding of Templeton, a fictional frontier town in New York that resembles in some

ways Cooperstown, the New York town that bears the name of Cooper's father, Judge

William Cooper. To account for this history of revolution and conquest and the forming

of national identity, Scheckel also notes, Cooper was compelled to confront one of the

political problems of his day: how to justify the removal of the Indians from their

ancestral lands. The Indian problem is a problem of historical import in early 19th-

century America because it had a huge impact on the expansion of the white settlements

on the lands the Revolution had won from the British crown. Janet E. Dean calls The

Pioneers a historical novel for confronting the crisis of Cooper's day. The novel, in her

view, fits Marxist critic Georg Lukacs's model of the historical novel, a genre that he

defined in The Historical Novel as expressing "artistically a great crisis in society by









bringing extreme, opposing forces .. into a human relationship with one another" (qtd.

in Dean 8).

The Indian problem also paradoxically helped establish Cooper as the first

American writer who portrayed the Indians as having both "noble" and "savage" qualities

(House 47). Lydia Maria Child's Hobomok, published in 1824, is another early American

literary text that features an Indian character and made a connection between male

dominance and white supremacy (Karcher, "Introduction" xx). However, some critics

have also pointed out that Cooper reductively classified his fictional Indians as either

"good" or "bad" depending on their alliance with the British or the French. Moreover,

according to Roy Harvey Pearce, the author of The Savages ofAmerican: A Study of the

Indian and the Idea of Civilization, after Cooper "imaginative realization of the idea of

savagism became a prime means to the understanding of American progress in its glories,

tragedies and risks" (197). Despite Cooper's nuanced and binary portrayal of the Indian,

he relies on the ideology of "vanishing American," a prevailing ideology of his day that

justified the dispossession of the Indians as inevitable (House 61). As Kay Seymour

House puts it, the notion of "vanishing American" "hangs like a nimbus over most of his

[Cooper's] warriors and is personified in the chiefs who are his most admirable Indians"

(61).

On the other hand, the publication of The Pioneers in 1823 coincided with the legal

case of Johnson and Graham's Lessee v. McIntosh, in which the Supreme Court was

asked to examine the basis of American rights to Indian lands. Studying both the fiction

and the legal case and their impact on the formation of American national identity, Susan

Scheckel notes that both Cooper and Chief Justice John Marshall in their own way were









struggling to articulate one central question: "Who has the right to own and govern the

land originally possessed by Indians and inherited through the Revolution" (17).

Furthermore, both sought unsuccessfully to reconcile the contradictions arising from

asserting the American rights to the Indian lands. Following Benedict Anderson's

argument in Imagined Communities that "[i]f nation-states are widely conceded to be

'new' and 'historical,' the nations to which they give political expression always loom

out of an immemorial past, and, still, more important, glide into a limitless future" (11-

12), Scheckel suggests that both Cooper and Chief Justice Marshall framed the issue of

legitimacy in a past each constructed to justify the legal ownership of the Indian lands.

She explains that Cooper and Marshall did not see that the rights of the new nation

originated with the Revolution because such a view would have suggested patricide.

Instead, both sought to legitimate the American claims to the Indian land through

"principles of inheritance," and in doing so, they needed to construct a past that would

justify the American sovereignty over the Indian lands. The thorny Indian problem that

led Cooper and Marshall to wrest with the legality and morality of dispossessing the

Indians would re-emerge a few years later in the legal and political debate over the forced

removal by the Andrew Jackson government of the Cherokee Indians from Georgia. The

U.S. government policy, however, would generate a public interest in the dispossessed

Indians, perceived as the victims of civilization (House 60-61).

Cooper scholars have commented quite extensively on Cooper's Indians and well

documented his sources of Indian lore. This chapter joins that endeavor by offering an

alternative reading of the first of his Leatherstocking tales: by way of Gayatri Spivak's

critique of native informant both in Kant and ethnography, Philip J. Deloria's discussion









of Indian play by white male colonialists before the American Revolution and thereafter

and Marxist notion of accumulation by dispossession as I outlined in the introduction.

Specifically, I explore the ways in which Cooper as narrator uses the figure of the native

informant, including passing the whites as native informants, to justify the dispossession

of the Indians and to legitimate bourgeois rule of law based on private property, despite

showing sympathy toward the natives' expropriation and being critical of the new socio-

economic order at times. I also examine the effects of passing or "playing Indian" on

race, class and property right; I contend that through Indian play Cooper eventually

naturalizes accumulation by dispossession. In Kant's framework, the native inhabitants

are briefly invoked not to inform their indigenous knowledge but to reinforce his

thoughts on the question of being. In doing so, he forecloses the perspectives of the

invoked New Hollanders and Fegans while consolidating his own authority. Unlike Kant,

Cooper in The Pioneers puts the last chief of the Mohegan tribe at the center of the novel,

giving voices to the Mohegans and their indigenous right to tribal lands before finally

asserting the legal ownership of the Indian land by the white settlers. But those "Indian"

voices, I argue, actually reinforce the prevailing ideology of the "vanishing American" of

Cooper's time and thus pave the way for justifying the white ownership of the Indian

tribal land. In this sense, Cooper ends up extinguishing Chingachgook's voice disputing

Judge Temple's ownership of the Indian ancestral land.

This chapter consists of three major parts that trace three major "Indian" voices:

those of Chingachgook, the Mohegan chief; young Effingham who poses as a half-Indian

seeking to reclaim his Anglo-American patrimony; and Natty Bumpoo, who has taken on

Mohegan ways of life and ostensibly advocates the Indian rights. It will also examine









their role as a native informant or passing as one. Cooper's relation with Chingachgook,

his primary native informant, and the other two who pass as native by either assuming an

Indian identity or adopting the Indian way of life, parallels the relation between an

ethnographer and her native informant: as the narrator of the novel he determines the

frames of intelligibility. That is, what is being written and made available to the reader is

slanted through Cooper's own ideology that eventually works to naturalize accumulation

by dispossession: the ideology of the "vanishing American" and of the rule of law based

on private ownership. I thus argue that behind those voices advocating the Indian right to

land lie Cooper's attempts to justify the white ownership of the Indian land by upholding

the rule of law based on the bourgeois notion of private property. That is, Cooper is

passing the voice of the white property owner off as that of Indian, a passing that is

hidden from view but governs other passing in the novel. He dose this also by

surreptitiously diffusing the voice of bourgeois law as embodied by Judge Temple in the

three informants, who all end up endorsing white ownership of the disputed land, thus

becoming Temple's allies, willingly or unwillingly, in his defense of the legality of his

own ownership. The overriding perspective of The Pioneers, I argue, is the bourgeois

perspective that protects property right and ensures the transfer of white patrimony of

Indian origin among whites, despite showing sympathy to the dispossessed Mohegans.

Chingachgook's death, young Effingham's revelation of his true white identity, and

Leatherstocking's exit from Templeton under intensified development at the end of the

novel all indicate that the path Cooper chose to resolve the tensions arising from the land

dispute is by fading out those who clash with Judge Temple's rule of law that protects

private property.









The first part traces Chingachgook's role as Cooper's primary native informant and

shows how Cooper uses him, especially his name change, to narrate the dispossession of

the Mohegans. It also examines the silence of the Iroquois, who are foreclosed from

voicing their perspectives challenging Chingachgook's narrative on the rivalry between

the two tribes. Like Chingachgook, who is a native informant on the dispossession of the

Mohegans and their tribal wars with the Iroquois, also known as the Six Nations, the

much reviled Iroquois are native informants, but they belong to the ones who are both

invoked and excluded. And unlike Chingachgook who informs the reader of those

histories, the Iroquois are conspicuously missing in The Pioneers; their physical absence

thus marks the hidden structure in Chingachgook's utterance that both includes and

excludes his ethnic Others. The lack of voice representing the Iroquois' perspective

highlights Spivak's insistence on the impossiblee perspective of the native informant, her

contribution to the critique of the native informant in ethnography and enlightenment

philosophy and an insight of hers that precludes possibilities of misrepresentation in the

name of the "authentic" native informant.

In the second part, I examine how Cooper attempts to resolve the Indian land

problem largely through the mechanism of "concealment and disclosure" or that of

passing or racially crossing by Oliver Edwards/Edward O. Effingham. The first act of

concealment allows Cooper to pursue the Indian rights argument, appearing to wrestle

with the legality and morality of the dispossession of the Indians, while the second act of

disclosure enables him to quietly perform the Indian removal, thus returning what once

was the Mohegan tribal land to two white propertied families whose right to property is

both affected by the American Revolution and sanctioned by the ensuing Constitution.









The passing or Indian play enacted by Effingham thus allows Cooper to express

sympathy to the dispossessed Mohegans while asserting the bourgeois right to property,

the overriding perspective finally revealed by Effingham's assuming his true identity and

reclaiming his family fortune. Effingham's "Indian" voice thus eventually proves to be

one that seeks to reinstate his family property and his inheritance right. As I will show,

Cooper enacts a triple veiling of voice through Chingachgook, Effingham and

Leatherstocking that ends up validating bourgeois property rights and the ideology of the

"vanishing American," or naturalizing accumulation by dispossession. Since the core of

the land dispute involves both Indians' "natural right" and bourgeois property right and

inheritance, I will also explore the significance of the father's name in Cooper's plot to

legitimate white land ownership. With Effingham's passing as a Mohegan heir and the

revelation of his white identity as the heir to Major Effingham, the patronym emerges as

a site that determines his property right sanctioned by the law. Which patronym

Effingham assumes thus affects the terms of his argument for reclaiming Judge Temple's

estate.

The third part examines how the quasi-native Natty Bumpoo/Leatherstocking is

coping with the privatization of land under the ascending capitalist order presided by

Judge Temple, an order marked by the transformation of space in the judge's massive

estate. The clash between the two men over the uses of natural resources on the privatized

lands in Templeton marks two distinctive modes of existence: use value (needs) vs.

exchange value (market economy). The exit of Leatherstocking from Templeton to seek

another frontier not touched by the forces of capitalist development signals the triumph of

property right and of the ideology of the "vanishing American." It also signals the









passing of an era when Leatherstocking can adopt the Indian way of life and the coming

of a new one where the voices asserting the Indian right to land are made to disappear

from Templeton.

Native Informants and Dispossession

In narrating the history of European dispossession of Native Americans and

depicting his fictional Indians, Cooper appears to establish himself as someone who was

knowledgeable about that part of history and the language and customs of his favorite

tribe, the Delaware also known as the Mohegan. For example, Cooper points out that

language difference and internecine wars are the two major factors that led to the

"original" internal split in the natives, "the original owners of the soil," before their

dispossession by the Europeans/Christians (78). But Eric Cheyfitz challenges this

perception of Cooper as "an authority on European/Indian political history, on

northeastern Native American ethnohistory, and as an expert translator of Indian

languages" ("Savage Law" 119). Instead, he argues that in a fiction that triumphs

property, Cooper relied on "a Western idea of genealogy" to write "a Western fiction of

Native American history," thus rewriting the French and Indian War in which the "good"

Indians, the Delaware, fight on the side of the "good guys," the British (120-21). Cooper

scholars have also pointed out that Cooper's knowledge of the Delaware and the Iroquois,

the rival tribes in The Pioneers, largely derived from his reading of John Heckewelder's

Account of the History, Manners and Customs of the Indian Nations Who Once Inhabited

Pennsylvania and the Neighbouring States, which was published in 1819. They also

noted that as a Moravian missionary to the Delaware, the Rev. Heckewelder was a

partisan to the tribe's culture. And as a result of that, Cooper, who did not know Indian

languages, had absorbed uncritically Heckewelder's favored view of the Delaware at the









expense of the Iroquois. Cooper's depiction of the Delaware-Iroquois relations was more

or less skewed by the white man's patriarchal prejudice and confusion (House 63).

Despite the criticism made of Cooper for coming short of history and accuracy,

Cooper's narrative on his fictional Indians offers us a glimpse of his sense of history and

his ideology that helps shape the characterization of his Indians. More important for my

study of The Pioneers partly through Spivak's critique of native informant both in

ethnography and Kant's philosophical system, the representation of the Indians in the

novel allows us to trace how Cooper as the narrator enlists them as informants to both

justify the Indian removal as a regrettable but inevitable occurrence and assert white

settlers' right to landed property. The figure of the Indian Other, I suggest, operates to

both disclose and foreclose Marx's notion of primitive accumulation or Harvey's more

general description in The New Imperialism of the historical and ongoing capitalist

process of accumulation by dispossession (137-82). Under Cooper's representation, there

are three types of native informants in the novel. The Mohegans represented by

Chingachgook belong to the first type and are given what appears to be an Indian voice,

speaking of their people's dispossession and Indian right. As the second type, the

Iroquois are both invoked to show their vices and excluded from voicing their counter

perspective. Much has been written on Chingachgook and his being the "vanishing

American," among other things, but critics have said little, if at all, about the Iroquois'

silence. The silence itself is symptomatic of the simultaneous invocation and exclusion of

the Iroquois that constitutes the pattern of Chingachgook's utterances. Representing the

third form of native informants through whom Cooper appropriates "Indian" voices to

attempt to resolve the land dispute between the Indians and the whites are young









Effingham who passes as a Delaware in order to reclaim his Anglo-Saxon patrimony and

Leatherstocking who, despite being a white, adopts an Indian way of life based on

meeting one's needs by appropriating nature. Both passing as Indian in their own way

speak for the Indian rights, specifically for the rights of the Mohegans to their ancestral

land, but Cooper's endorsement of bourgeois property right, or naturalization of

accumulation by dispossession, undermines their "Indian" voices, turning them into

Temple's allies.

Chingachgook, the last chief of the Mohegan tribe, is clearly Cooper's primary

native informant in The Pioneers. George Dekker described the Indian chief as "a

repository of the skills and wisdom of the primitive society which Judge Temple's

settlers have displaced" (50). It is through Chingachgook and other so-called "Indian"

voices that Cooper attempts to resolve the historical land dispute between the Native

Americans and the white colonialists in his novel. In one of the earlier scenes, Cooper

carefully establishes Chingachgook as the source of indigenous knowledge, especially of

a native bark medicine. In the scene in which the Mohegan, well-known for his "great

skill" in treating bodily ailments, cuts and bruises, is called in by Judge Temple to help

treat Oliver Edwards's gunshot wound, Cooper goes out of his way to describe the

native's bark medicine, a "pounded bark, moistened with a fluid that he had expressed

from some of the simples of the woods" (83-84). Cooper's narrative further reveals that

while the Indian is attentively dressing the patient's wound, another white doctor, Dr.

Elnathan Todd who has extracted a bullet from Edwards's shoulder, not only pays

attention to the contents of Mohegan's medicine basket but also quietly takes possession

of the "sundry fragments of wood and bark" without anyone's knowledge (84). Dr. Todd,









Cooper tells us, is later able to discover from which type of trees Mohegan has extracted

the bark after analyzing the component parts of the bark. The bark medicine with a

distinct flavor, Cooper further relates, is used years later to save the live of one settler

who is among the many agents of "civilization," as well as the lives of more American

soldiers fighting the British in another war between the two countries. This episode not

only establishes Chingachgook as Cooper's primary native informant with indigenous

knowledge but also shows how Cooper uses his native informant to subvert the notion of

"western" medicine, which as practiced by Dr. Todd afterwards is paradoxically at its

"origins" already contaminated by indigenous knowledge and medicine.

Another way through which Cooper uses Chingachgook as a native informant to

narrate the dispossession of the Mohegans is through the changes in the chief s name.

Richard Slotkin rightly argues that with the play on Chingachgook's name Cooper

showcases the conflicts between the Indian and white world and perception

(Regeneration 488). Moreover, I think that through the name change we can see the

expropriation of the Indians on the one hand, and the accumulation of capital on the

other. In narrating Chingachgook's life story, Cooper uses the territoriality and

deterritorialization of Chingachgook's name, the name changes effected by the loss of his

tribal land, to indicate the process of his becoming as well as to mark the effects the

political and social changes associated with it have on him and his tribe (here the notion

of territoriality and becoming is taken from Deleuze and Guattari's A Thousand

Plateaus). Chingachgook, or "Great Snake" in English, is the native name the Indian

acquires in his youth for "his skill and prowess in war" (81). As Chingachgook, he was

the proud Indian warrior and chief and the nominal owner of the land his people









inhabited. But he acquires another "mournful" appellation, Mohegan, at old age when he

becomes "the last of his family and his particular tribe" ibidd.) and uses alcohol to drown

his sorrows. As Mohegan, he thus becomes the symbol of the sole survivor of his tribe.

Chingachgook, who corroborated with the whites, also assumes a Christian name, John,

after being baptized by the Moravians who have become friends with the Delawares. He

is known among the white settlers as Indian John, or John Mohegan, a combination of his

baptismal name and his tribal name. As Indian John or John Mohegan, described by

Cooper as in "a mixture of the civilized and savage states" ibidd.), he becomes another

symbol of the (incomplete) assimilation of the natives by the Christian missionaries. The

name changes correspond more or less to the shrinking and eventually the loss of

Chingachgook's tribal land, to the passing of his Indian heritage, as well as to his

assumption of Christian faith and his addiction to the white men's rum. His name

changes thus signify his diminished status as a Native American in the changing

environment of the American frontier where the forces of commerce and profit are

making a beachhead, commercializing land as private property and thus trampling the

rights of the Indians. Moreover, they signal the expansion of bourgeois property right in

the American frontier. To put it another way, Chingachgook's name change allows us to

discern the accumulated effect of accumulation by dispossession in The Pioneers.

While Cooper enlists Chingachgook to help narrate the dispossession of the

Mohegan tribe, Cooper's invocation of the native informant is not free of the typical

problem of representation: ideology. Cheyfitz, who took issue with Cooper's authority in

representing the Indians, also raised another important question concerning the

representation of the Other. In "Literally White," his other essay on The Pioneers, he









asked: "what does it mean to give voice to those whom one is depriving of a voice in this

act of representation?" (56). In Cheyfitz's view, the act of representing the Other and/or

translating the Other's language in Cooper and others could potentially amount to that of

"colonization" or "disappearing the other" ("Literally White" 71; "Savage Law" 121). He

also noted that the authority that Cooper projected through his narrator who apparently

knew of the Delaware language, in effect, masks Cooper's own political agenda in

portraying the Indians ("Savage Law" 119-20). The notion of the "vanishing American"

that runs through Cooper's representation of the Indians exemplifies the act of making

the Other disappear while naturalizing accumulation by dispossession.. So does his

unfavorable treatment of Chingachgook's ethnic rivals, who are often reviled by

Chingachgook and Leatherstocking for what they perceived as their crimes against the

Mohegans. In The Pioneers, as in other Leatherstocking tales, the Mingoes are known for

their "blood lust," "stealth" attacks and "treachery" while the Mohegans are courageous

and virtuous (Wallace, "Cooper's Indians" 424). In light of Cheyfitz's critique, it is

worthwhile to take up his thought-provoking question again and consider the implications

of representation of the Other and by the West.

Cheyfitz's question: "what does it mean to give voice to those whom one is

depriving of a voice in this act of representation" applies both to Cooper's representation

of the Mohegans and the Mingoes, previously referred to as the Iroquois. In fact,

Cooper's representation of the two rival tribes, whose voice is either quietly erased or

outright foreclosed, showcases the problems of representing the natives and using them

as informants. For Spivak, the problem with the native informant in ethnography is that

the figure "is a blank" enlisted by the Western ethnographer to inscribe the native culture









and identity (6; italics original). She thus insists on the impossiblee perspective of the

native informant to preclude the usurpation of the native voice to produce knowledge for

the West. For Cooper, Chingachgook functions much like the native informant for the

Western ethnographer: the Mohegan, who has deep knowledge of his tribe's history

including its long-running feud with the Mingoes, is designated as the major

spokesperson for his dying tribe. As Cooper's primary native informant, he not only

speaks against his tribe's dispossession and for its Indian rights, but also rails against his

tribe's sworn enemy. A major part of his narrative, which is uttered sometimes in his

native language, the Delaware, and translated by his loyal friend, Leatherstocking, for the

reader's benefit, is however filled with othering and gendering that invoke the Mingoes

but exclude the perspectives of his ethnic rivals. Chingachgook's self-representation thus

points to the limits of the perspective of the native informant. That is, his "native"

perspective, while giving voice to his tribe's history-its rivalry with the Mingoes before

its dispossession by the whites-forecloses that of his ethnic rival tribe. Chingachgook's

inclusion and exclusion of his ethnic other thus raises questions about Cooper's own

politics of representation, which favors the Mohegans over the Mingoes.

Chingachgook's invocation and foreclosure of the Mingoes takes place especially

when he is (re)gendering his ethnic rivals. For example, when the old Indian chief boasts

of his shooting skill, he says: "When John [his Christian, baptismal name] was young,

eyesight was not straighter than his bullet. The Mingo squaws cried out at the sound of

his rifle. The Mingo warriors were made squaws. When did he ever shoot twice!" (176;

italics mine). Here Chingachgook is re-gendering the male Mingoes, who claimed the

role of men for having militarily defeated the Mohegans, as women by invoking them but









without giving them a voice. His reverse gendering not only reflects Cooper's patriarchal

notion of gender but also naturalizes the ideology of feminizing one's enemy with whom

he was locked in a territorial struggle. Cooper as narrator also takes part in gendering that

invokes the Mingoes but excludes their perspective. Earlier in furnishing the history of

the white dispossession of the Indians, Cooper notes that Chingachgook's people have

allowed themselves to be "called women by their old enemies, the Mingoes or Iroquois"

(79; italics original). The feminization of Chingachgook's tribe is the result of losing

battles to the Iroquois, who subsequently assume the role of "men" entrusted with the

defense while the Delawares are assigned the labor of cultivating "the arts of peace" (80;

italics original). Despite all the talks on gendering on Chingachgook's and Cooper's part,

the women of both tribes are conspicuously missing in Cooper's representation of the

natives. Their lack of representation in a novel concerning the ownership of the Indian

tribal land may say something about bourgeois patriarchy, the rule of the propertied

father, which Cooper is defending. Cooper's representation of the Mingoes thus shows

that how he can invoke them in name without giving them a perspective countering that

of Chingachgook. So is his representation of the dispossessed Mohegans, whose voice is

being exploited to defend the right of young Effingham, passing as an Indian heir, to

reclaim his family property, before being quietly erased with the resumption of his true

identity.

Passing, Patronym and Patrimony

In Playing Indian, his study of the construction of American national identity

through the Indian Other, Philip Deloria writes that 18th century colonialists initially

appropriated "so-called savage Indians" to define the boundary and character of their

civilization, but they later enlisted this exterior Other to further their "revolutionary ends"









in their fight against the rule of the British crown. "Colonial propaganda brought

symbolic Indians inside the boundaries of colonial identity, adapting the figures in order

to convey revolutionary messages" (30), he notes. For the male colonialists, he also

writes, the ritual of playing Indian-smearing one's face, speaking pidgin English and

donning Indian dresses-helps foster psychologically the sense of resistance and

rebellion against the British. Among the rebellious groups, the Boston Tea Party resorted

to "Indian play" to fight for their trampled freedom. By playing Indian, the Mast Tree

rioters in New England "evoked and invented local understandings about freedom,

naturalness and individualism of native custom," suggesting "these qualities lay

embedded in the American continent itself' despite conflating Indians and land (25-26).

Deloria also points out that in The Redskins: Indian andlnjin (1846), Cooper dramatizes

the antirent riots by the poor white tenants against their rich landlord with the rioters

donning Indian disguises to protest the establishment (38-39). In The Pioneer, the act of

"playing Indian" by Effingham, as I will show, on the surface appears to critique the

violence of colonial conquest, but in fact works to eventually justify accumulation by

dispossession. Young Effingham's passing or playing Indian also discloses the

significance of one's patronym in patriarchal society founded on bourgeoisie property

right.

Cooper uses the name change in Chingachgook to signal the epochal change in the

land ownership of his tribal land, informing the extinction of his tribe and its territorial

dispossession. With Edward Oliver Effingham, Cooper again resorts to name change,

having him adopt an Indian identity in order to pursue his scheme to reclaim his Anglo-

American patrimony. The name change in Effingham's case, however, operates first to









disclose accumulation by dispossession until the resumption of his white identity that

simultaneously works to obscure and justify it. Edward, who is the grandson of Oliver

Effingham, a former major in the British army and the legal owner of the estate now

under the possession of Judge Marmaduke Temple, is nowpassing or racially crossing as

a half-Indian, assuming the identity of Oliver Edwards, also known as "Young Eagle,"

and claiming to have the blood of the Delawares. With the Indian cover, young

Effingham is also masquerading as a native informant with a veiled motive. His role as a

pseudo native informant, as I will show, is part of Cooper's design to enlist "Indian"

voice to justify the removal of the Indians and legitimate the white ownership of the

Indian land. In her discussion of Willa Cather's My Antonia, Judith Butler points out the

significance or "burden" of patronym and its effect on genderedd and sexual meanings,"

noting the "appropriation and displacement of the patronym in Cather displaces the social

basis of its identity-conferring function" (Bodies That Matter 154). The "burden" of the

patronym in The Pioneers, I would argue, is evidenced in Effingham's passing as an

Indian and its effect on his efforts to reclaim his family inheritance. In such a context

when the patronym and property right are intertwined, which family name

Effingham/Edwards assumes greatly affects how his legal claim to Judge Temple's

massive real estates will play out. The effect of assuming which patronym also

significantly shifts the terms of debate concerning the disputed Indian tribal land under

Temple's possession. The importance of being Effingham or Edwards, as Charles

Hansford Adams points out, has the two following major consequences (74). As

Edwards, Effingham is assumed to have no future in the fast-changing Templeton, whose

development will soon destroy the aboriginal way of life, thus putting him "out of time."









But when he becomes Effingham again by "removing a veil" (The Pioneers 404), he

discovers himself "in time" again, uniting the past, the present and the future as the new

owner of Templeton. Since Adams, like some critics, writes off the Indians' future in

Templeton, the stakes of being Edwards or Effingham are high.

Effingham using the alias of Oliver Edwards has recently appeared as a hunter at

Judge Temple's forested estate and harbors strong hostility toward the judge. It is

generally understood that behind his impassioned resentment toward Judge Temple, now

increased after the latter accidentally shots and injures the young hunter, lies his Indian

lineage. And he is believed to have "some of the blood of the Delaware tribe" (135),

which makes him (and the reader) think that he is entitled to the land that now is owned

by Judge Temple. Mr. Grant, the parson preaching at Templeton, tries to explain the law

and the current situation to both Mohegan and Edwards, but to no avail. His effort fails to

appease the expropriated old Indian chief and provokes a rebuttal from him. As Mohegan

tells the parson:

Go to the highest hill, and look around you. All that you see from the rising to the
setting sun ... is his. He [Edwards] has Delaware blood, and his right is strong. But
the brother of Miquon [William Penn] is just: he will cut the country in two parts ...
and will say to the 'Young Eagle,' Child of the Delawares! Take it-keep it-and
be a chief in the land of your fathers. (135)

Mohegan's statement shows his belief that as heir of his tribe, Edwards/Young Eagle is

entitled to the tribal land, even though only to half of it. Here Cooper uses Mohegan's

role as a native informant to construct a speech that appears to advocate the Indian rights

to the tribal land but ends up justifying the status quo. Mohegan's "Indian" voice is co-

opted by British colonialism, accepting its rule and justice and thus forgetting the

violence the Europeans have used to seize the native land under the euphemism of what

critics of American colonial history call "doctrine of discovery." Further, when Cooper









finally discloses Edwards/Young Eagle's true identity, it will become clear that

Mohegan's endorsement of his "strong right" to the expropriated tribal land is, in effect, a

veiled endorsement of the dispossession of the Mohegans and capital accumulation.

Edwards's reaction to the parson's remark is more hostile; he denounces Judge

Temple's ownership of his ancestral land as no better than the deeds committed by "the

wolf of the forest" (135). He also dismisses the parson's explanation and justification for

the change in the land ownership as "the effect of political changes" that has "lowered the

pride of kings, and swept mighty nations from the face of the earth" (135-36). Edwards

goes even further to defend his right to the tribal land by reaffirming his Indian lineage.

As he remarks, "I am proud of my descent from a Delaware chief, who was a warrior that

ennobled human nature. Old Mohegan was his friend and will vouch for his virtues"

(136). Edwards again reaffirms his lineage by reassuring Mohegan that "I am of your

family" (177). Here again, Cooper is constructing Edwards/Young Eagle as a native

informant, giving him an "Indian" voice while establishing his Indian credentials to pave

the way for his claim to the tribal land and thereby obscuring accumulation by

dispossession. But Edwards's, like Mohegan's voice, will turn out to be supporting the

whites' right to private property, regardless of its Indian origin, when his British-

American identity is finally revealed. Under Cooper's design, the passing by Effingham

as an Indian heir is aimed to secure the rule of law: the law of private property as

personified in Judge Temple. His passing, in effect, is the means through which Cooper

legitimates Temple's property right, thus the Effinghams'.

The lineage Edwards is claiming here can be traced back to Fire-eater, who saved

the life of young Chingachgook who then persuaded his tribe to give away its land to









Fire-eater in a fire council in exchange for protection and material goods. By claiming a

kinship to Fire-eater but withholding his true identity as Major Effingham, young

Effingham is able to pass as a legitimate heir to the Mohegan tribal land. By playing upon

Edwards's "blood ties" to the Delawares, Cooper conflatess the question of Indian rights

with questions of inheritance, thus simplifying the path toward structural and narrative

resolution" (Scheckel 21). The conflation meanwhile allows young Effingham to hide

behind his Indian identity to challenge Judge Temple's legal right to his landed property,

a challenge sanctioned by Mohegan. Also through the name of Fire-eater, Cooper as

narrator is able to both masquerade Effingham as an Indian and his (also Cooper's)

perspective of the white propertied class as that of Indian. In a dialogue with Elizabeth,

Judge Temple's daughter and heiress to his estate, the old Indian chief recounts that all

the land that ranges "from where the blue mountain stands above the water to where the

Susquehanna is hid by the trees" once belonged to Fire-eater. As he notes, "All this, and

all that grew in it, and all that walked over it, and all that fed there. They gave to the Fire-

eater... for it was his" (382). Here Mohegan reaffirms Fire-eater's ownership of the

Mohegan land. The withholding of Fire-eater's true identity allows Cooper to legitimate

the right of the Indians to alienate their tribal land and thus Judge Temple's right to the

disputed land. But the land, the Indian points out, has passed away from the hands of

Fire-eater and his descendants and to the hands of Judge Temple (385). This recount of

the past event, which asserts Fire-eater's and hence Edwards's right to the disputed land,

then prompts Elizabeth to defend her father's right to his landed estate, which from her

standpoint is acquired legally according to the law of commerce and "the custom of the

whites." As she rationalizes, "Do not the Delawares fight, and exchange their lands for









powder, and blankets, and merchandise?" (382). Mohegan refutes this claim that

legitimates the transactions of the tribal lands, and instead insists on the robbery nature of

the transactions. Elizabeth, eager to defend her father's name and right to property, again

retorts. As she explains to the Indian, "If you knew our laws and customs better, you

would judge differently our acts. Do not believe evil of my father, old Mohegan, for he is

just and good" (383). Marmaduke Temple can only be "just and good" in so far as one

accepts bourgeois property right, as does his daughter.

Between writing The Spy (1821) and The Pioneers (1823), Charles Hansford

Adams points out, Cooper was concerned with the problem of "the split between the legal

and private selves" and the conflicts that came with it (64). Judge Temple who embodies

this split is embroiled in such conflicts after asserting his legal authority over the affairs

of Templeton. The split, Adams argues, allows Cooper to raise the possibility that the

private self can hide behind the public law to advance one's personal interest. Moreover,

Cooper's interest in the split between the legal and private selves, Adams suggests, lies in

his keen political and social awareness that early American law was in a period of

significant transition that created an environment for tyrannical personality to emerge

(65). He concludes that the legal persona that Temple assumes as the administer of law

and justice is the "mask" that Temple wears to indirectly protect and secure his personal

property. Exemplifying this is the clash Judge Temple has with Edwards over

Leatherstocking's transgression of the game laws by killing a deer out of season.

Effingham's passing as an Indian heir, as I will show, not only does not fundamentally

challenge Temple's property right, but upholds the same law that protects the judge's

property right.









Judge Temple comes to the defense of his property and asserts his legal authority

over Templeton after Edwards raises questions about his land ownership, while

challenging his authority, in the course of pleading for Leatherstocking's case. The

confrontation between the judge and Edwards, however, exposes Temple's private

interest in upholding the law. When the judge refuses to bend the law in favor of the old

hunter, who has recently saved his daughter from a panther, Edwards in a "burst of

passion" questions his very land ownership. As he notes, "Ask your own conscience,

Judge Temple. ... Whence came these riches, this vale, those hills, and why am I their

owner? ... the appearance of Mohegan and the Leatherstocking, stalking through the

country, impoverished and forlorn, would wither your sight" (329). Here Cooper again

passes Edwards off as an advocate for the Indian right, ostensibly to prod Judge Temple's

conscience to make concessions over Leatherstocking's offense, but Edwards's

invocation of Mohegan only works secretly toward his real goal of reclaiming the

Effingham property. Edwards's confrontation with Judge Temple only highlights how

Cooper is actually eliding the voice of the dispossessed Mohegans while appearing to

give them a voice through Edwards. The passing enacted by Effingham, in effect, works

to suppress the perspective of the dispossessed Indians and justify the status quo. In this

sense, Effingham is very much in agreement with Temple's argument that the law

recognizes "the validity of the claims that have transferred the title to the whites" (329).

To put in another way, Effingham's passing and his invocation of the Indian chief and

Temple's invocation of the law all work to legitimate accumulation by dispossession.

If law helps form Temple's selfhood as a property owner, then patronym helps

define who Edwards/Effingham is. Cooper implicitly makes this point when Temple,









who earlier had trouble placing Edwards's "familiar" face with a name (35), asks for

Edwards's name after having the latter's gunshot wound treated and gets the reply: "I am

called Edwards, Oliver Edwards" (87). Cooper continues to develop this

patronym/identity subplot when the dispute over Leatherstocking's illegal hunting leads

Temple to fire Edwards as his domestic secretary. Edwards, who accepted the position

offered by the judge as a compensation for having injured him so as to pursue his scheme

to reclaim his inheritance right, later regrets the dismissal, however, with an ambiguous

statement. Confiding to Elizabeth, he says: "Miss Temple, I have forgotten myself-

forgotten you" (330). Here the connection between patronym and identity is obliquely

suggested. One can, of course, read the veiled statement "I have forgotten myself' as

Edwards's admission for having spoken out of line as a domestic servant to Judge

Temple, but he could be committing a Freudian slip, unconsciously alluding to his

lineage and identity. But at this point, it is not clear from which lineage and family name

Edwards is speaking. Is he speaking as the offspring of Fire-eater or as the grandson of

Major Effingham? The meanings of this ambiguous statement will not be settled until

when Edwards finally reveals his true identity and Fire-eater's, a double revelation that

significantly shifts the terms of the land dispute that so far have been cast as white-Indian

dispute. Effingham's passing allows Cooper to cast the land dispute as involving the

Mohegans and Judge Temple, but its unveiling will enable Cooper to recast the dispute as

involving two white propertied families, thus removing "the native owners of the soil"

from the dispute and justifying the primitive accumulation of capital by expropriating the

indigenous.









By way of Effingham's passing, Cooper weaves the material connection between

patronym and inheritance right. The effect of posing as Oliver Edwards/Young Eagle is

that the inheritance right Effingham seeks to reclaim is the "natural right" to the land that

once belonged to the Delawares and then to Fire-eater. In other words, his passing as

half-Indian has the effect of making the land dispute as one between the Mohegans and

Judge Temple-a dispute that, from the perspective of Judge Temple and his daughter,

has no merit, as the acquisition of the land and his estate is sanctioned by bourgeois law

and property right. Defending the ownership of his estate, Temple says: "the Indian title

was extinguished so far back as the close of the old war, ... I hold under the patents of the

Royal Governors, confirmed by an act of our own State Legislature, and no court in the

country can affect my title" (226). Here Temple traces the legal ownership of his estate

and its legitimacy to both the old British crown and the new U.S. Constitution. His look

into the past and the present orders to validate his ownership is Cooper's attempt to

legitimate the white ownership of the Indian land, thus paving the way for young

Effingham to reclaim his inheritance. Through Temple and the law of private property he

upholds, Cooper reinforces bourgeois right to landed property and thus accumulation by

dispossession.

The reappearance of Major Effingham near the end of the novel helps Cooper to

resolve the white-Indian land dispute by quietly justifying the dispossession of the

Indians and thus the white property right. The reappearance of Major Effingham, Scott

Bradfield suggests, represents "both the return of the king and the return of the

disenfranchised Indian" (46). This double return is symbolically suggested in the attire

and foot-ware the fragile old man wears in his surprise return after years of









disappearance. The major is described as having on a dress that was worn by "the

wealthiest classes" despite being "threadbare and patched" and "a pair of moccasins,

ornamented in the best manner of Indian ingenuity" (416). The major's return helps to

cement his grandson's inheritance right, but not the Indians' "natural right." The return,

as Bradfield argues, helps to "institute a permanent system of proprietorship" over the

now developed Templeton while resolving the conflicts between bourgeois and aristocrat,

Loyalist and Tory, and nature and government (48). But rather than "heal" the original

violence of both the American revolution and British imperialism as Bradfield argues,

young Effingham's inheritance of Templeton, I would argue, helps to mask or even erase

the violence of dispossessing the Indians. The concealment of Fire-eater's white identity

as Major Effingham and his reappearance are part of Cooper's design to justify the

dispossession of the "original owners of the soil," thus legitimating the white ownership.

The disclosure of Fire-eater's true identity as the "lost Major Effingham," thus the

true identity and lineage of Edwards, allows Cooper to perform ideological containment

and justifications for the new capitalist order emerging in Templeton. The double

disclosure shifts the land dispute from one between the Mohegan tribe and Judge Temple

to one between two old friends-Judge Temple and his college friend, Edward

Effingham, young Effingham's father who was believed to have drowned in a sea

accident. Ashamed of going to business, the aristocratic Edward Effingham secretly

entrusted Temple to manage his finances, which he had inherited from his father Major

Effingham. That is, Judge Temple does not fully own the property that appears to be

under his possession, but only manages it as Edward Effingham's trustee-a secret

agreement between the two friends. The "veil" that conceals the business arrangement









(32) thus makes what is to become Templeton a paradoxical "neutral ground" between

Temple and the Effinghams. George Dekker points out that the term "neutral ground" has

a special meaning for Cooper who borrowed it from Sir Walter Scott's Waverley novels

and refashioned it to mean the "most lawless and morally equivocal place of all" (33).

The reappearance of Major Effingham, which prompts Temple to reveal his own will that

details the veiled business arrangement, thus serves to convert the land dispute between

the Mohegans and Judge Temple as one between Judge Temple and the Effinghams. The

moment Judge Temple acknowledges in the person of an "old" and "decrepit stranger" as

the "lost Major Effingham" (417), the conversion of the nature of the land dispute is

quietly accomplished. Before this, the reader has been led to see the land dispute as one

between the Mohegans and Judge Temple. The deception is being helped by Cooper's

artful manipulation of his native informants, who appear to voice the Indian right to land,

but only to ensure the property right of the Effinghams in the end. It thus can be argued

that Cooper has deployed his native informants in Mohegan, Edwards and

Leatherstocking and their "Indian" voices to naturalize accumulation by dispossession.

Moreover, in unveiling his grandfather's identity, young Effingham also reveals his

real motive, thus Cooper's, for advocating the Indian right to land. As Oliver Edwards

presents to the judge his grandfather-who has been secretly ensconced in

Leatherstocking's hut and later in a cave-he tells the man whom he regards as having

usurped his inheritance:

This man, whom you see helpless and feeble, was once a warrior so brave and
fearless that even the intrepid natives gave him the name of the Fire-eater. This
man .... was once the owner of great riches; and Judge Temple, he was the rightful
proprietor of this very soil on which we stand. This man was the father of [Edward
Effingham]-. (417)









Here Edwards finally reveals that he did not see the land dispute as between the

Delawares and Judge Temple, the current owner of the Indian land, as he has led us to

believe, but one between his grandfather, Major Effingham, and the judge. The revelation

also shows that his resentment toward Temple has been that of a white property owner

and his "structures of feeling," to use Raymond Williams's term, are thus produced by a

social relation based on private property. Furthermore, the withholding of Fire-eater's

true identity from the reader until near the end of the novel is a clever ruse by Cooper to

mislead the reader into believing that Cooper was interested in wresting with the legality

and morality of dispossessing the Indians. The apparent concern with the Indian land

rights, voiced by Edwards, Chingachgook and Leatherstocking, actually is a disguise for

resolving the dispute between two white propertied families that firmly believe in the

inheritance right. In the end, what lies behind Edwards's "proper name" is the patronym,

the name of the father, the white father who is a property owner.

As I have shown, Cooper uses the devices of "concealment and disclosure" and

"Indian" voices of the native informants in The Pioneers to justify white land ownership

and bourgeois property right. Those devices are similar to what Fredric Jameson calls "a

strategy of ideological containment"-a procedure in representation that is aimed at

preventing a deeper understanding of the social relations in its totality from emerging,

and thus helps preserve the status quo (53). They work to obscure the dispossession of the

Indians and capital accumulation through the seizure of the native lands and the genocide

of the natives. Susan Scheckel also points out that Cooper enacted a series of

displacements in The Pioneers through which he then defused the more radical

implications of the questions that he had raised regarding the dispossession of the Indians









(22). So under the clever ruse of "concealment and disclosure," Cooper quietly has

Edwards/Effingham replace Chingachgook as the "wronged party," thus erasing the

Indian's "natural right" to his ancestral land while legitimating bourgeois law and

property right. More significantly, the voice Cooper gives to Mohegan expressing his

Indian right to land, especially his repeated demand that Fire-eater's heir, Oliver

Edwards, be entitled to his ancestral land, is actually a voice that seeks to return the land

under Judge Temple's possession to its "rightful" owner, Major Effingham. Seen in this

light, Mohegan's "Indian" voice is being hijacked to express the voice of the white

propertied class. As Cheyfitz has warned about colonizing and disappearing the Other in

the culture of western imperialism, Cooper's representation of the Indian chief does just

that. In having Mohegan endorse Fire-eater's and his descendants' right to what is now

Judge Temple's Templeton, Cooper seems to support the view that the Indians had the

right to alienate the tribal land but only to justify the white ownership.

The disclosure of young Effingham's passing as an Indian heir apparent at the same

time forces another passing of different degree to come to light. Until Judge Temple

reveals his written document to return some of his accumulated wealth to the Effingham

family, he has been passing as the rightful owner of his massive estate centered around

Templeton. Temple's passing as the legitimate owner of the Indian tribal land through his

silence about the secret agreement with young Effingham's father thus gives him the

incentive to be the guardian of the law that protects private property. During his passing,

he has invoked the law in his capacity as the judge of the frontier town to maintain law

and order while protecting his own property, as in his intervention to stop an

unauthorized mining and his penalizing Leatherstocking for hunting a deer out of season









on his property. The disclosure of his written will to compensate the Effingham heir only

works to secure his own wealth, and is accompanied by another ruse: the marriage of his

only child to young Effingham that will further displace the voice of the Indian right to

land and consolidate white property.

Indeed, Cooper further reinforces bourgeois right to private property through the

marriage of young Effingham to Elizabeth. In a conciliatory gesture, Temple announces

his intention to the now unveiled Effingham that he is ready to return at least one half of

his estate to the rightful owner. As he tells Effingham: "we have both erred; thou hast

been too hasty, and I have been too slow. One half of my estates shall be thine as soon as

they can be conveyed to thee, and if what my suspicions tell me be true, I suppose the

other must follow speedily" (423). The marriage plot in The Pioneers, as Janet E. Dean

suggests, serves to ensure the white possession of woman and land while allowing

Cooper to perform the Indian removal (17). Cooper's marriage plot is a revision of

antebellum frontier romance that usually involves an Indian male and a white male

competing for the love of the same woman, who can be white or Indian (Dean 5-8).

Through the concealment of Edwards's white identity and his passing as half-Indian,

Cooper thus has Edwards playing the double role of the white man and the red man in

one person. The unveiling of Edwards's white identity later not only quietly performs the

Indian removal but also ensures the white man's possession of woman and land. In the

marriage plot, Dean also points out, Cooper blends the myth of the "vanishing American"

that was a cultural and ideological response to the dispossession of the Indians as a result

of government Indian removal policy. And Elizabeth, as a "circulating woman" in the

frontier romance, helps Cooper to make disappear the Indians who pose threats to









Temple's estate. Behind the romance between Elizabeth and Edwards actually is the logic

of displacement through which Cooper defuses the white-Indian land dispute.

The union of Effingham and Elizabeth that helps end the property dispute at a

happy note is, in effect, a veiled ruse by the white property-owning father. The marriage,

though consented to by the young couple, is an effective means through which at least

half of the disputed property is transferred and returned to another white father, Major

Effingham, and his heir, thus ensuring patriarchal rule based on private property. Fathers

are important figures in Cooper's novels because, as Mark R. Patterson suggests, fathers

in Cooper's imagination are "tied quiet specifically to history" and invested with

history's authority (86). Patterson names such (white) fathers as "historical fathers" who

are often "associated with the disruptive forces of historical and revolutionary settlement"

and whose authorities are founded "in institutions, laws and land" (95); and they include

Judge Temple, Colonel Munro (The Last of Mohicans) and General Washington (The

Spy). Cooper's fascination with fathers, Patterson notes, stems partly from his own father

William Cooper, a judge who founded the Cooperstown of New York in late 1780s, the

echo of which can be found in the fictional Templeton, and partly from his own sense of

historical change and concern with the son's ability to carry on the father's virtues and

authority. With the unveiling of young Effingham's true identity, Cooper adds a new

member to the club of the white propertied fathers who would pass on their patrimony to

their heirs. Through his marriage to Elizabeth, young Effingham also waits in line to

succeed Judge Temple as the autobiographical and legal father of Templeton. Passing in

The Pioneers thus takes on another significant meaning, the passing of Templeton to

another future propertied father, thus furthering the process of erasing the traces of Indian









ownership of the land from a manufactured white history that protects its male citizens'

right to private property.

Mourning of the Passing

As Susan Scheckel points out, pervading The Pioneers is also "the attitude of

mourning," which serves both to assuage a national guilt for the dispossession of the

Indians and to assure a sense of continuity in the face of change (37). In Natty

Bumpoo/Leatherstocking, Cooper finds the medium to mark and mourn the changes

sweeping Templeton. As a figure of mourning for the unfenced forest not yet disturbed

by the settlements, Leatherstocking is also acting as a native informant, as is

Chingachgook, for Cooper, despite having no Indian blood. To the extent that he is a

native informant for Cooper who narrates the passing of an era and the rise of a new one,

Leatherstocking is given an "Indian" voice that still tries to preserve aboriginal ways of

life in the midst of social and economic changes. Furthermore, Leatherstocking, who gets

this nickname from the settlers for hunting the creatures of the woods to feed and clothe

himself and to meet his other needs, is to a certain degree passing as an Indian for having

adopted the aboriginal ways of life with Mohegan. And like the old Indian chief, he is

facing the fate of being driven off from the land, which originally belonged to the

Mohegans. But his "Indian" voice, as I will show, is compromised by his defense of

Major Effingham's property right.

The same historical, political, territorial and economic changes that combine to

make Chingachgook the last of the Mohegans also make it impossible for

Leatherstocking to continue to "go native" at Templeton. As Judge Temple asserts his

property right by bringing in white settlers to develop and improve his forested estate,

the natural and unbounded environment in which the veteran hunter has moved more or









less freely shrinks further. Moreover, Leatherstocking's mode of existence based on use

value-hunting and fishing to meet his basic human needs-is also threatened. To a large

extent, Leatherstocking's clash with Judge Temple and what Templeton represents is that

of use value (needs) and exchange value (market economy). The veteran hunter tells the

judge that those who are responsible for the scarcity of the game are the farmers at

Templeton and not a hunter like him who only kills the creatures of the woods to satiate

his hunger and meet his other needs. The farmers are already producing for a common

market at Albany, producing wealth and prosperity for Judge Temple (206). By contrast,

Leatherstocking still leads largely a life of self-sufficiency by appropriating nature to

meet his immediate needs. Not only is his way of life molded by use value incompatible

with the judge's settlements, he is also bothered by the conducts of the settlers. On

several occasions, he chides other settlers in Templeton for the ways in which they

squander nature's bounty. On the occasion when the villagers use nets to harvest the bass

from the lake and report a bounty harvest, Leatherstocking denounces their wasteful

ways. He explains to the judge: "I eat of no man's wasty ways, I strike my spear into the

eels or the trout, when I crave the creators [creatures]; but I wouldn't be helping to such a

sinful kind of fishing for the best rifle that was ever brought out from the old countries"

(253-54). In his view, there is no justification for harvesting the bass from the lake "by

the thousands" with nets unless they have fur, like a beaver, or hides, like a buck, that can

be made use of. He thus calls it "sinful and wasty" to catch more than can be eaten at one

time (254).

Cooper's depiction of Leatherstocking, John P. McWilliams Jr. notes, closely

matches what John Locke described as "the just man in a state of nature" in Second









Treatise on Civil Government (102). And Judge Temple, by contrast, is Cooper's idea of

the just man in a state of civilization. McWilliams also suggests that as farming

increasingly replaces hunting as the major occupation at Templeton, civil justice upheld

by the judge is replacing natural justice observed by Leatherstocking. The ending of the

novel-with the exit of Leatherstocking, the last standing quasi-native following

Chingachgook's death and Edwards's revealing of his Anglo-American lineage, from

Templeton to seek another frontier-suggests that despite Cooper's sympathy for

Leatherstocking and his values, civil justice prevails over natural justice in the new

"composite order" of Templeton.

Many writers have used landscape to convey a sense of historical or social change,

so has Cooper. H. Daniel Peck has astutely observed that space has played an important

role in Cooper's imaginative world and it has been used to create meaning (91-2). Peck

suggests that in The Pioneers, the geographical and moral center is the community of

Templeton and its surrounding landscape. Indeed, Cooper opens the novel with a detailed

description of the landscape surrounding what is to become Templeton, whose

construction is also described in details suggesting lying behind its grand facade is a

flawed plan executed awkwardly by two local architects. The development of Templeton

not only causes a dramatic change in the landscape but also sows the seeds of conflict

between Leatherstocking and Judge Temple. The clash between the two men is, in some

sense, over the use of space, including Mt. Vision at the Otsego. Leatherstocking

intuitively senses his hunting lifestyle is under threats when he, hosting Marmaduke

Temple in his cabin, first learns of Temple's plans to develop the land around the lake of

Otsego in their first encounter. The hunter subsequently withdraws his hospitality toward









Temple. In hindsight, Temple thinks that Leatherstocking may have considered "the

introduction of the settlers as an innovation [invasion] on his rights" (226). He also notes

that before the rise of Templeton, "Mount Vision"-the idyllic name Temple gives to the

place where he first laid his eyes upon the lake-still laid "in the sleep of nature,"

supplying "the wants of man" (221). Judge Temple also describes Mt. Vision as he first

saw it: "the sight that there met my eyes seemed to me the descriptions of a dream" with

the "unbounded forest" untouched and the lake "like a mirror of glass" (224). Here

Cooper imagines a pristine landscape, laying out a vision of nature still in its untamed

state before the intrusion of Templeton and its civilization. The Mt. Vision episode not

only allows Cooper to mourn the loss of nature to settlements but also to subtly suggest

that it is the course of bourgeois history.

Finally, the exit of Leatherstocking from Templeton signals not only the defeat of a

mode of existence based on use value but also the triumph of bourgeois private property

based on exchange value. His departure thus signals the passing of an era and the coming

of a new order. The departure has other significance as well: some critics have pointed

out that Leatherstocking's departure, like Chingachgook's death and Edwards's

resumption of his true identity, allows Cooper to quietly remove a voice critical of the

white dispossession of the Indian land. His departure ostensibly to seek another woods

that have not yet been "improved," they have argued, allows for the forgetting of the land

dispute between the Mohegans and Judge Temple. Indeed, Leatherstocking has been

known for his criticism of the whites' dealings with the Indians over the land. As he once

tells the Mohegan chief, "I must say I'm mistrustful of such smooth speakers; for I've

known the whites talk fair when they wanted the Indian lands most. This I will say,









though I'm white myself" (197). But Cooper's "concealment and unveiling" plot

undercuts the interpretation of Leatherstocking as an Indian rights advocate. As I have

shown earlier, lying behind what appears to be Indian voice of Chingachgook and

Edwards is actually that of the white propertied class. Similarly, Leatherstocking's voice

advocating the Indian right to land is undermined by the unveiling of Fire-eater's true

identity. Like Chingachgook, Leatherstocking also argues that Fire-eater is the owner of

the Indian land. Reminding the old Indian of the ownership of the Indian land,

Leatherstocking says: "were they [the hunting grounds] not given in solemn council to

the Fire-eater?" (158). In the end, despite his talks about the Indian right, what

Leatherstocking has been defending is actually the property right of Major Effingham,

who has adopted him as a young child (421). Cooper's "concealment and unveiling"

device may be a "brilliant" plot to legitimize the white ownership of the Indian land, but

it undermines Leatherstocking's credibility as an advocate for Indian right and use value.

Leatherstocking thus joins Chingachgook and Edwards/Effingham as Cooper's native

informants who work in unison to justify young Effingham's right to his family property,

thus bracketing the memory of the dispossession of the Indians and obscuring the

primitive accumulation of capital through violence.

The hidden perspective of The Pioneers thus is the bourgeois perspective that

protects property right and ensures the transfer of white patrimony to the rightful owner,

while erasing the voice of the "original owners of the soil." Cooper as narrator has

disguised this overriding perspective through the use of native informants whose voices

are molded to defend the Indian right to land, disputing Judge Temple's ownership. But

as my analysis has shown, the so-called "Indian" voices turn out to be either representing









the views of the white propertied class, or endorsing them. Passing the bourgeois

perspective off as that of the Indians perhaps is the most hidden passing in many of the

passing I have discussed. As a strategy of ideological containment, it also raises

questions about the credibility of the perspective of the native informant. To prevent the

abuse of the native informant by those who are in the position to speak for others or

represent them, Spivak has argued for turning the native informant as the impossiblee

perspective. The indeterminacy between the possibility and the impossibility of such a

perspective is to foreclose the emergence of a determined voice that is aimed to usurp the

native voice as Cooper did to project his own interested perspective.

While showing sympathy toward the dispossession of the Mohegans, Cooper has

vested interests in the preservation of the bourgeois order of things. The sketchy

autobiography in the "Author's Introduction" to the novel, where Cooper briefly

mentioned his own father having "an interest in extensive tracts of land in [the]

wilderness" in Otsego (vii), discloses Cooper's personal ties to patriarchy and private

property. This biographical "dangerous supplement" also shows the material connection

between patronym and private property for the propertied class. Cooper's biographers

have also pointed out that as a young man, Cooper himself had spent great efforts in

recovering his father's inheritance (Patterson 90). Stephen Railton in his study of

Cooper's life and imagination observes that in lengthy legal proceedings Cooper had

"consistently defended his father's title to Cooperstown" (105), a land purchased by

William Cooper after the American Revolution. The Otsego land, however, was

contested by the Prevosts, the descendants of a George Croghan, who had purchased the

land from the Indians before the Revolution, which led to its confiscation. Through the









devices of "Indian voices" of the native informant and passing-concealment and

unveiling-Cooper artfully turns the land dispute between the Mohegans and Judge

Temple into one between two white propertied families. In The Pioneers, Cooper has

shown us how the native informants can be exploited to show sympathy to the

dispossession of the Indians while endorsing the status quo or naturalizing accumulation

by dispossession.

Otsego, an Indian word consisting of Ot, a place of meeting, and Sego, a salutation

used by the Indians of that region (vi), is indeed a place of meeting in Cooper's tale

where the outcome of the meeting of white settlers and the "original owners of the soil" is

shown: the primitive accumulation of capital through the dispossession of the Indians. It

is also a place where the Indian perspective is being hijacked by that of the white

propertied class who engaged in a politics of collective amnesia that allows for the

forgetting of the violence stemming from the dispossession of the Indians and capital

accumulation. Nevertheless, the tale takes place at a time when the "origins" of the

commodified land are still visible. Although "amnesia," as Richard Godden notes,

characterizes the resolution of The Pioneers (134), Cooper still felt obliged to include the

Indians' voice advocating their rights to their ancestral lands, though it turns out to be

that of the white propertied class, to justify bourgeois right to private property and

accumulation by dispossession.














CHAPTER 3
MELVILLE' S CONSCRIPTION AND SUBVERSION OF THE ORIENT AS "NATIVE
INFORMANT" IN MOBYDICK

In the aftermath of 9/11, the American public's interests in the Muslim world have

phenomenally increased, as reflected in the reported increased sales of books and other

publications on this particular subject. It was in this environment of heightened

awareness of the Muslim world in the United States that I began to change my reading of

Melville's Moby Dick from mapping the traces of 19th-century globalization in the novel

and to peruse the novel with an eye on all things Oriental, with the help of a handful of

scholarly works devoted to Melville's Orientalism. This change of focus has allowed me

to see what it is not: the novel that helped give the world, increasingly connected and, in

Thomas L. Friedman's view, "flattened" via the use of advanced technology and means

of communications, the most recognized coffee brand on the planet is, after all, not all

that American as had been thought. Rather, Ishmael's narrative on the American whaling

industry and on Ahab's excess fixation on killing the elusive white whale is also a literary

occasion for Melville to show off his extensive readings on the Orient before his travel to

the region in 1856-57, which was recorded in his Journals and later transformed into a

lengthy poetic meditation in Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land (1876).

The Islamic Orient, invoked very so often by Ishmael to exalt the American whalemen, to

critique and satirize religion and hierarchical society and to subvert Western Orientalism

itself, is frequently foreclosed by most readings that saw Moby Dick as anything but

Oriental. The exception is the few works devoted to Melville's Orientalism, notably









Dorothee Metlitsky Finkelstein's Melville's Orienda, Bruce H. Franklin's The Wake of

the Gods: Melville's Mythology and John T. Irwin's American Hieroglyphics: The

Symbol of the Egyptian Hieroglyphics in the American Renaissance.

The major readings of Moby Dick had long been dominated by the interpretations

of the two major characters, Ahab and Ishmael. Over the years, the readings had

expanded to include discussions of race and slavery, of American union and American

empire, of race and sexuality and of class relations with the contextualization of both past

and contemporary American politics. Those readings with their respective insights,

however, had overlooked the double and conflicting operation of the Islamic Orient in the

novel's narration. On the one hand, Ishmael the narrator invokes the Orient to exalt the

American whaling industry and its whalemen; the Orient so invoked is emptied of its

inhabitants, making the invocation at the same time a foreclosure. In this regard, this

form of invocation accompanied by a simultaneous foreclosure amounts to the 19th-

century Western Orientalism that conscripted the Orient to illustrate or complement the

West. In the United States, this form of Orientalism as a literary vogue found its way into

the imagination of Melville, his friend Nathaniel Hawthorne, to whom the novel was

dedicated, Edgar Allan Poe and other writers (Luedtke 63-67). On the other, Melville

subverts this dominant form of Western Orientalism by foreclosing what the Orient is

supposed to signify, as in Ishmael's acknowledgement of the impossibility to decipher

the Egyptianized Leviathan. This form of critical foreclosure, unlike the one in the

traditional Orientalism, calls into question the efforts by the West to explain its racial

Others and the search for (absolute) truth and knowledge. This chapter will trace how

these two contending versions of traditional and subversive Orientalism play out and play









off against each other as both the invoked and foreclosed native informant, and as an

impossiblee perspective. In addition, it will examine how Melville appropriates the

Islamic Orient to critique and satirize religions and hierarchical societies.

The Orient, which like the whale ship is Ishmael's Yale and Harvard, looms large

in Moby Dick. It begins to loom in the opening chapter, "Loomings," set in the watery

city of Manhattoes (Manhattan) that was enjoying bustling commerce with China. Just a

few pages into the novel, an Oriental image begins to surface ("Unsealing the Sphinx"

283). It makes its debut when Ishmael, demonstrating his comic sense, says: "It is out of

the idolatrous dotings of the Old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that

you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids" (6).

Oriental imagery and references, which are part of Ishmael's figures of speech, will

continue to suffuse Ishmael's narrative of his whaling tale. Just quickly glance at some of

Melville's figures of speech, we will see how deeply Melville has appropriated the Orient

to Orientalize his characters and dramatize their actions. The American whalemen who

stuck together through vigilance, courage and hard work are compared to "an old

Mesopotamian family" (159). Ahab, who "seemed a pyramid" in Stubb's "queer" dream,

is described as having an "Egyptian chest" and a forehead showing "the Delta" of veins

(142-43; 200; 526). Ahab's struggle with Moby Dick is cast in Oriental terms: "No

turbaned Turk" could have stricken Ahab with "more seeming malice" than Moby Dick

when the whale bit off Ahab's leg (199); "Ahab's harpoon had shed older blood than the

Pharaohs'" (498). Ishmael compares the difficulty of spotting Moby Dick among the

"boundless ocean" to trying to single out "a white-bearded Mufti in the thronged

thoroughfares of Constantinople" (218). He describes the martial bones of the three non-









white harpooners as "Moorish scimetars in scabbards" that frighten off the steward

Dough-boy (165). The Indian Tashtego is characterized as a "Turkish Muezzin calling

the good people to prayers from the top of a tower" when he cries out for help after

dropping through the air and landing on the summit of a captured whale (373). Ishmael

also describes an unborn whale lying in a bent position as "a Tartar's bow" (424). He

even dubs the lamp lighted by sperm oil as "Aladdin's lamp" (466).

It should come as no surprise that Ishmael, whose name is also suggestive of Arab

descent in addition to its Biblical affinity (Parker and Hayford 18), often invokes the

Orient to help with his narrative. The Orient thus invoked is the "native informant," a

figure of racial/ethnic Other that Spivak critiques as both being invoked and foreclosed in

the Western mode of representation. Its simultaneous invocation and foreclosure

conforms to a form of 19th-century literary Orientalism that conscripts the exotic Other to

complement the Western Self. Due to their subject matter that deals with Americans

travel in the Near East, Clarel and Journals have been considered by Melville scholars to

be most representative of Melville's Orientalisms. Malini Johar Schueller, for instance,

has suggested that in both works Melville subverts the conventional USAmerican

Orientalism that posits a New World hero mastering the Oriental Other (U.S.

Orientalisms 128-39). But I suggest in this chapter that inMoby Dick Melville has shown

his attempt to subvert the imperial Orientalism that would be further explored after his

journey to the Near Eastern Orient and in Clarel and Journals. The haunting presence of

the Orient in Moby Dick often arises from Ishmael's persistent endeavor to dive into the

archives of the whales, making his narrative digress from the ongoing journey and labor

activities of the Pequod. The conscription and subversion of the Orient as the native









informant in Moby Dick will be further examined below. But before proceeding, I will

first review and contextualize some key historical developments that led to Melville's

preoccupation with the Orient, especially the Near Eastern Orient.

Prior to the composition and publication of Moby Dick (1851), Herman Melville,

the author of"Typee, Omoo, Redburn, Mardi and White Jacket," had shown sustained

interests in the Orient in these works, drawing on Oriental imagery and customs and

Orientalist figures as a source for his literary imagination and creativity. Melville's

fascination with the Orient and what it signified for 19th-century America and Europe-

both of which experienced an Oriental Renaissance (Melville's Orienda; American

Hieroglyphics)-are best captured in Mardi when the allegorical novel's characters pay

their tributes to the venerable Orienda. "Reverence we render thee, Old Orienda! Original

of all empires and emperors!" exclaims King Media representing "common sense."

"Mardi's father-land! grandsire of the nations," conjoins Mohi, the old historian. "Oh

Orienda! thou wert our East, where first dawned song and science, with Mardi's primal

mornings! But now, how changed! the dawn of light becomes a darkness," adds Yoomy,

the young poet (551-52). Here the Orient, though revered as the cradle of civilization, has

reached its sunset and is in decline, reminiscent of Hegel's notion of the linear movement

of the Spirit/Reason/World History that starts from the East and culminates in the West,

hence his version of Orientalism. Significantly, this Orientalized view of the Orient is a

"consensus" held by the Oriental representatives of "common sense," history and poetry,

that is, King Media, Mohi and Yoomy repsectively. Despite this narrower view of the

Orient circulating in both the official and popular Oriental literature he had access to,

Melville also showed another side of his Orientalism in Mardi that embraces both the









East and the West in a harmonious unity. "It's the old law:--the East peoples the West,

the West the East; flux and reflux" (512).

Melville continued to use the Orient as his literary muse in Moby Dick and in his

later works such as Pierre and Clarel. Melville's awareness of and interest in the ancient

Orient, which encompasses Arabia, Egypt, Turkey, Persia, Palestine and the fallen

empires of the Assyrians and Babylonians, partly derived from his Calvinist religious

upbringing, being instructed on Biblical texts (Melville's Religious Thought 3-18). But

more importantly, it is also a sign of his age, which experienced its own version of

globalization of cultures, religions and commerce enabled by the technologies of sailing.

Melville's age, as Dorothee Metlitsky Finkelstein points out in Melville 's Orienda, her

seminal work on Melville's Orientalism, was fascinated by the archaeological discoveries

of ancient Oriental artifacts. Giovanni Battista Belzoni's explorations in Egypt, Jean

Francois Champollion's decipherment of the hieroglyphs and Sir Austen Henry Layard's

sensational excavations in Mesopotamia all happened in the first half of the 19th century,

Melville's formative and intellectual development years (Finkelstein 7), when two of the

major Western empires of the time, Britain and France, sought domination in both the

Islamic Orient and India (Said, Orientalism 221). In Melville's imagery, Finkelstein also

notes, his contemporary Orientalists like Belzoni, Champollion, Layard, and Sir William

Jones who died a generation before, are "as integral a part of the Near Eastern historical

landscape as the pyramids, the hieroglyphs, Nineveh, Zoroaster, and the Persian poets"

(10). Melville's preoccupation with the Orient and its customs and with empires thus

formed part of his historical consciousness, finding its way into his literary creation, as

did the domestic political debate of his day on the issue of slavery, union and American









territorial expansion (.\/, i an \ over the Promised Land; Subversive Genealogy; Empire

ofLiberty).

Melville's Orientalism, Finkelstein notes, was "nurtured in New York among a

group of metropolitan literati" (16). His Orientalism was influenced by European

romantic Orientalism, especially by Robert Southey's Thalaba, Thomas Morre's Lalla

Rookh and Byron's Turkish tales. Melville's Orientalism, however, was different from

Emerson's Transcendentalist Orientalism, which uses the Orient "functionally" to

confirm its own view of the Universe that there was "a kindred principle at the bottom of

all affinities" (14-15). After examining the American literary scene and its literary

magazines from 1810 to 1850, including the Knickerbocker Magazine and its rival the

Democratic Review and Literary World edited by Melville's publisher, Evert Duyckinck,

Finkelstein observes that "the Near East was a literary force in New York when it became

Melville's Yale and Harvard" (24). Edward Said also points out in Orientalism that by

the middle 19th century, the Orient was a fertile ground for Western literary imagination

or exploitation, increasing the public awareness of the Orient (192). Among the grids and

codes of Western Orientalism, he also notes, the Orient as a distinct terrain outside of

Europe is being re-presented for and in the West with the representation often stripping it

of its humanity. The re-presentation that often excludes its contemporary inhabitants who

help make Oriental cultures and customs thus signals the unequal power between those

who re-present and those who are being re-presented. The Orient in Moby Dick, as I will

show, is not the Orient in which the Orientals or the Western pilgrims actually live, but

one conjured up from Melville's reading of travel writing, Oriental lore, Shakespeare, the

Bible and other whaling sources. For some Melville scholars, this may be seen as a









complex question of one's belatedness to history, but I argue that it does display the

deployment of the Orient as a trope in Melville's time. As a major source of his literary

descriptions, transmutation and imagination, the Orient at many moments in the novel is

a form of "native informant" that is structurally invoked and excluded in Ishmael's

narrative. The foreclosure of the Orient as a living organism that develops and changes

points to an uncritical part of Melville's Orientalism that still presumes the Orient is

frozen in time and is made of "insulated, immemorial, unalterable countries" that "still

preserve much of the ghostly aboriginalness of earth's primal generations" (252).

The degree to which Melville's exposure to the Oriental literature available to him

through his use of New York libraries and other sources had affected his intellectual

development can be seen in his metaphorical use of an Egyptian seed to describe his own

intellectual development. In a June 1851 letter to Nathaniel Hawthorne with whom he

formed a friendship during the composition of Moby Dick, Melville wrote:

My development has been all within a few years past. I am like one of those seeds
taken out of the Egyptian Pyramids, which, after being three thousand years a seed
and nothing but a seed, being planted in English soil, it developed itself, grew to
greenness, and then fell to mould. So I. Until I was twenty-five, I had no
development at all. From my twenty-fifth year I date my life. (Correspondence
193)

Significantly, Melville's appreciation of the enigmatic Pyramids helped him to form his

philosophy that things are not as transparent as they seem to be and to create his signature

symbols and characters that are polysemous in nature and thus resist a totalizing scrutiny

and one single interpretation. This thinking paves the way for his subversion of the

traditional Orientalism that seeks to explain the Orient and codify it as a "scientific"

knowledge by foreclosing what it signifies. At his most defiant moment, Ishmael,

paraphrasing Macbeth, declares that the elusive Leviathan is merely full of sounds, but









"signifying nothing" (157). Melville's fascination with the Pyramids is also linked to his

Calvinist upbringing, which taught that God is the creator of the universe. When visiting

the Pyramids in Cairo in January 1857, he recorded the sensations that overwhelmed him

upon seeing the Pyramids. "I shudder at idea of ancient Egyptians. It was in these

pyramids that was conceived the idea of Jehovah" (Journals 75).

In Moby Dick, which in F.O. Matthiessen's view helped establish his canonical

stature in the American Renaissance literature (American Renaissance vii), Melville once

again turned to the Orient as a literary and narrative device to help with the unfolding and

digression of the narrative. To "see what whaling is" and to "see the world" are the

official reasons Ishmael gave for signing up for the Nantucket whaling vessel, the

Pequod, named after an almost extinct Indian tribe, Pequots, of Massachusetts.2 But as

the ship leaves the "slavery shore," where the young America as a "westering empire"

built upon capitalist industry and commerce relying on both white wage labor and

uncompensated black labor was divided over the issue of union and slavery, his narrative

begins to digress from the ongoing journey to the Pacific. That is, as he dives further into

the "matter of whaling" he takes us into the Oriental world rich with its Oriental imagery

and geography. The mosaic Orient that emerges from Ishmael's narrative is primarily

drawn from the Biblical texts, Shakespeare, Oriental tales, travel literature on the Orient,

contemporary archeological discoveries and other whaling sources. As such, the Orient is

filtered through the lens of other Orientalists and along with it some of their conventional

Orientalism, one that is different from what he would see when Melville later embarked

on his journey through the region. As Schueller notes, the journals that recorded his Near

2 For an in-depth analysis of the massacre of the Pequod tribe by the white Puritant settlers in the 17t
century see Richard Drinnon's Facing West: The Metaphysics oflndian-Lhin,, and Empire-Building.









Eastern travels were fraught with "images of confusion, bewilderment, and terror that

question the very agency" of the New World observer assumed to be capable of

mastering and controlling the exotic, Oriental Other (129). Indeed, as Melville wrote of

his experience of the labyrinthine Great Bazaar in Constantinople, "You lose self & are

bewildered & confounded with the labyrinth, the din, the barbaric confusion of the

whole" (Journals 60).

Nevertheless, the Orient conjured up from his extensive reading of the region is

also the secondary and imaginative stage in Moby Dick supplementing the primary and

physical one, the ivory Pequod whose quarter-deck provides the tableau for Ahab to

render his Shakespearean speeches and for other members of the multi-national crew to

perform their whaling duties. And into this imaginative and supplemental stage, Ishmael

dives in order to exalt the American whaling industry and assert its supremacy; to satirize

religions and hierarchical social relations aboard the ship by Orientalizing his major

characters, including the whales, to create comic effect on a whaling tale that ends in

catastrophe; to decipher the undecipherable Leviathan; to illustrate the existence of the

sperm whales in time and space/place, hence their immortality and ubiquity; to map the

genealogy of whalemen; and to dramatize the whaling voyage and the "fiery hunt" for

Moby Dick. To the extent that Ishmael appropriates the Orient to narrate his whaling tale,

he is a literary Orientalist just as Melville is. In this regard, Ishmael/Melville is following

a literary convention in vogue that invokes the exotic Other to complement his text, thus

foreclosing the Oriental Other. The foreclosure underscores the imbalance of power in

representation between the West and its racial Others. This is the first form of their

Orientalism that conscripts the Other to help perform a service for the West. For example,









the ancient Egyptians are invoked to help restore the "glory and honor of whaling" and

praise the unsung heroes of Nantucket whalemen who had spent their hard labor and/or

risked their lives hunting the whales around the world and producing the sperm oil-a

valuable global commodity of the time. This supplemental Oriental stage will be closely

dissected to illustrate how Melville/Ishmael conscripts the Orient as the Other/the native

informant to achieve those multiple goals while at the same time turning this form of

Orientalism on its head to critique Western epistemology, religions and social relations,

thus opening a space for "subversive Orientalism," the second and critical form of

Melville/Ishmael's Orientalism.

As can and will be seen, my study of the Orient as the Other of the West in Moby

Dick is indebted to Dorothee Metlitsky Finkelstein's comprehensive study of Melville's

"Oriental Polysensua," Edward Said's critique of Western Orientalism, Gayatri Spivak's

critique of the "native informant," Malini Johar Schueller's notion of "subversive

Orientalisms," Timothy Marr's notion of "conscription" and many others. Melville's

conscription of the Orient, or his Orientalism, is polysemous. That is, while he invokes

the figure of the Orient to affirm the supremacy of the American whaling industry, he

also appropriates it to critique the Western subject of knowledge as embodied in the

Egyptologist and phrenologist and satirize Western and Eastern civilizations, including

their hierarchical social relations and religions. In the analysis that follows, I often

characterize Melville's appropriation of the Orient as "conscription," because I want to

foreground the hidden hierarchical power relations between the Orient and the West,

which is Said's central critique of modern Western Orientalism. As an intellectual force

in the 19th century, it produced enormous amounts of knowledge about the Orient not as









it is but as Orientalized so that the Western powers/empires can exercise authority and

control over it, even claim ownership over it.

Conformist, Subversive or Both?

The best-known Oriental character in Moby Dick is the white-turbaned Persian

Fedallah, attracting some critics' attention for his extremely quiet mannerism. Charles

Child Walcutt notes that Fedallah has "no revealed consciousness or point of view,"

implying his frustration that little is revealed about the mystic Persian (310). But Timothy

Marr takes an opposite view, arguing that Fedallah's silence marks Melville's attempt to

break away from antebellum American cultural imperialism and to end his own

complicity in aiding it by speaking through the ethnic (8). Still, some question the

foreclosure of Fedallah's perspective as a hidden structure prevalent in the Western mode

of representation. By contrast, Fedallah's Philippine aboriginal crew is often overlooked

by Melville critics probably because they are nameless and speechless until the last few

moments of their lives; the critics have yet to examine their role as what Spivak has

called the invoked and foreclosed native informants. The foreclosure of both Fedallah's

and the aboriginals' perspectives, I would argue, exemplifies the contending forces in

Melville's Orientalism: the subversive and the conformist. These Orientals are secretly

recruited by Ahab to help kill the elusive Moby Dick, but Melville does not explain why

they agree to take on the task that would endanger their lives, nor give them a

perspective. So the question to be asked is: In foreclosing their perspectives, is Melville

simply a conformist Orientalist or subversive enough to undermine the traditional

Orientalism or both? The answer to this question shall help us to assess Melville's

Orientalism and his contribution to opening a space for subverting the institutionalized

Orientalism, or his failure to do so, before (post)modern critiques of Western Orientalism









shed light on how the West has produced knowledge through the invocation and

exclusion of its racial Others.

The Orient, as I have suggested, is harnessed as a supplementary tableau to

accommodate the various needs of the narration. Other than the ample allusions to

various Oriental figures drawn from Melville's reading, Moby Dick also has some

Orientals voyaging with the ivory Pequod and its multi-ethnic crew. But Melville's

representation of these Orientals, specifically Fedallah and his Philippine aboriginal crew,

radically departs from his representation of the three major non-white harpooners-the

Polynesian Queequeg, the African Daggoo and the Gay Head Indian Tashtego. Those

non-white harpooners are given noble attributes to counter or subvert the racial

stereotypes prevalent in the 19th-century American culture and society. For Fedallah and

his crew, Elizabeth Schultz notes, Melville attributes to them "the degraded racial

characteristics which the dominant culture of the nineteenth century assigned to non-

white cultures and races" (32). That, in her view, reflects Melville's "contemporaries'

fear and ignorance of the cultures of the Near and Far East" (57). That popular "fear and

ignorance" can be seen in Ishmael's description of the aboriginal crew as belonging to "a

race notorious for a certain diabolism of subtilty," and in his emphasizing Fedallah's "one

white tooth evilly protruding from its steel-like lips" (236; italic added). Melville's

representation of Fedallah and his boatmen thus constitutes one of his Orientalist

moments in which the Orient becomes synonymous with the diabolic and the evil.

Furthermore, both Fedallah and his boatmen function as native informants in Moby Dick

who are simultaneously discoursed and foreclosed. In what follows I will discuss their

role as the invoked and foreclosed racial Others in the plot that leads to the final









encounter with Moby Dick, as well as the nature of their respective foreclosure as

mirroring the Western construction of the racial and ethnic Others in Melville and the

opposing forces in Melville's Orientalism.

As a ship that has among its crew "nearly all Islanders," "federated along one keel"

(131-32), the Pequod presents Ishmael and his other white shipmates opportunities to

meet with and to discourse about their racial and ethnic others. The latter social

interaction, however, is not extended to Fedallah and the aboriginals, who are secretly

recruited by Ahab to kill his sworn enemy Moby Dick, supplementing the regular crew

on the official payroll to hunt whales for their lucrative oil. Ishmael's description of their

first public appearance sets the stage for their "native informants" role in the narrative.

They appear on the deck alongside Captain Ahab as "five dusky phantoms that seemed

fresh formed out of air" (235), Ishmael says. Even before their public appearance,

Fedallah and the "tiger-yellow" crew have become the subject of speculation among the

Pequod's other crew members who have long suspected their shadowy presence in the

ship's hold. But Melville does not explain why Fedallah and the Filipino aborigines have

joined in Ahab's monomanic crusade and what their motives were. More important,

Melville seems intent on withholding language from them. Hardly can they be said to be

subjects of speech except for few fleeting moments. The natives finally utter few words,

protesting in a collective voice against Ahab's order to continue the chase of Moby Dick,

before they die; Fedallah speaks briefly only to reveal an elaborate prophecy foretelling

Ahab's final encounter with Moby Dick, otherwise he remains a mysterious and mute

figure. Melville's representation of the Oriental crew, "a dangerous supplement" to the

regular crew hired by the Pequod's owners, thus signals a change from his previous mode









of representation in which he speaks, more or less, through his ethnic characters to

disguise his textual appropriations (Marrl3; 16). The foreclosure of their perspectives,

while making their motives undecipherable as Marr says of Fedallah's silence (22), also

allows the racial stereotypes attached to their characterization to go unquestioned. The

foreclosure of Fedallah's and the Filipinos' perspectives and the withholding of language

from them amount to a subtle form of Orientalism, even though Ishmael does not seek to

speak for them or explain them or their motives, precisely because Melville does not

disclose their motives or allow them to speak their minds.

The foreclosure of their perspectives is reinforced by Melville's sustained efforts to

portray Fedallah and the Filipinos as phantoms and shadowy figures with supposed evil

intents. The first sound they ever make aboard the ship while still hiding in the hold is a

disembodied laugh, suggesting phantom laugh. A "low laugh from the hold" is heard

after Ahab thinks that he has secured the first mate Starbuck's tacit acquiescence to go

along with his pursuit of Moby Dick and after Starbuck says "God keep me! -keep us

all!" (179). The sighting of Ahab's secret Oriental crew reminds Ishmael of the

"mysterious shadows" he has seen sneaking aboard the ship (239). Even after this

spectacular event, Ishmael continues to describe them as "subordinate phantoms" (251),

and suggests that the devil (Beelzebub) could easily find his way into the whalers as they

circumnavigate around the world, picking up castaways to help man their ships. Stubb,

the second mate, even goes so far as to suggest that Fedallah is "the devil in disguise"

(355). Starbuck later also perceives Fedallah as "the evil shadow" that has

commandeered Ahab's soul. What underlies those white men's perceptions of Fedallah









and of the aboriginal thus is the Western metaphysics that constructs its racial Others as

shadows out of its Self as substance.

The metaphysics of shadow and substance that constructs the Filipino aboriginals

as the Others of the American Self comes to a climax when Ahab denies them of their

humanity, treating them as if they were his arms and legs. In his desperate and futile

attempt to kill Moby Dick in the last and third day of the chase, Ahab forbids his

supplemental crew to jump the boat and threatens to "harpoon" those who do. Strikingly,

the order ends with this dehumanizing warning: "Ye are not other men, but my arms and

my legs; and so obey me" (618). Ahab's reduction of the Filipino natives to his arms and

legs is all the more acute on account of his ordering of the white mates to return to the

ship to repair the broken boats with the option not to return to him. He says to them:

"Ahab is enough to die" (618). Here Ahab's Oriental crew is given a "special mission" to

die with or for Ahab and only as his "arms and legs." Moreover, Ahab reinforces the rigid

division of labor between brains and muscles, with him being the brain of course. In the

end, the conscription of the Filipino crew is only meant to serve as Ahab's arms and legs!

By contrast, the white-turbaned Fedallah, whose whole person is enveloped in

black, suggesting him to be a dark figure like Faust's Mephistopheles (236), is reduced to

Ahab's shadow. Ishmael first reports witnessing the blending together of Ahab's and

Fedallah's shadow when Fedallah is scrutinizing the head of a right whale, which has

recently been killed, and glancing between the creature's deep wrinkles and the lines in

his own hand. At this critical moment, Ishmael says, Ahab chances to stand in such a

position that "the Parsee [Fedallah] occupied his [Ahab's] shadow" and Fedallah's

shadow seems to "blend with, and lengthen Ahab's" (358). Subsequently, Ishmael and









the crew begin to cast doubts on the whole being of Fedallah; they entertain the thought

that "whether he were a mortal substance" with his "added, gliding strangeness" and

"ceaseless shudderings" that shake his being. They even speculate that Fedallah's being

is "a tremulous shadow cast upon the deck by some unseen being's body. And that

shadow was always hovering there" (583). The speculation surrounding Fedallah, as I

have argued earlier, is based on the metaphysics of substance and shadow that reduces

the racial Others to shadowy figures. The metaphysics reaches its climax when Ishmael

reports seeing during the whale watch by Ahab and Fedallah that "in the Parsee Ahab

saw his forethrown shadow, in Ahab the Parsee his abandoned substance" (584).

So far, I have only discussed the foreclosure of the supplemental Oriental crew as a

form of Orientalism that closes off the perspectives of the Others of the West,

conforming to an unspoken Western norm in representing its racial and ethnic Others.

This form of foreclosing the ethnic perspectives, as Dana D. Nelson has argued, is

symptomatic of Melville's conformity to "the same structural exclusivity of white male

subjectivity in its own necessarily limited portray of [the racial Other's] motives and

goals, and ultimate humanity" (130; italics original). The foreclosure of the Philippine

indigenous without doubt belongs to the type Nelson described above, but her critique is

not adequate to explain that of Fedallah, whose foreclosure could be more than just

conformist. So I will now consider the possibility that the foreclosure of the mystifying

Fedallah as a subversive one that aims at disrupting the boundary of the institutionalized

Orientalism that seeks to explain the Other to the West. At stake is how one is to do with

the native informant and its potential critical forces of "permanent parabasis" (constant

interruption) in the Western (Eurocentric) narrative, when it has been revealed that the









figure has been invoked, appropriated, conscripted, or co-opted to do the bidding of those

who are in the position to represent the Other. Marr regards Ishmael's view that Fedallah

shall remain "a muffled mystery to the last" (Moby Dick 252) as a sign that Melville was

breaking away from "the imperial act of ethnic ventriloquism and his desire to preserve

instead the powerful dignity of [his] inexpressible silence" (22), therefore his effort to

refuse to draft the ethnic as he had done previously. Marr's argument is compelling to the

extent that his view on Fedallah is consistent with Melville's view on other Orientalized

symbols: the Orientalized leviathan (indecipherable hieroglyphics), the Persian fire

("incommunicable riddle") and the Polynesian Queequeg's enigmatic tattoos. Clearly, in

those enigmatic cases Melville is using the Orient as a subversive force to call into

question the search for (absolute) knowledge, truth and certainty. But Marr, I think, fails

to consider another pole in Melville's Orientalism: behind Melville's subversive move to

foreclose Fedallah's perspective is the conformist Orientalism that still seethes under the

subversive one. So immediately after declaring Fedallah shall remain an enigmatic figure,

Ishmael slides back to a perception of the Orient as frozen in time. Fedallah, he tells us, is

a creature from the "unchanging Asiatic communities ... those insulated, immemorial,

unalterable countries ...." (252).

Here we have two opposite views on the foreclosure in Melville, with Nelson

arguing the foreclosure in Melville is "structural" and deprives the racial Others of their

perspectives and Marr seeing it as a resistance on Melville's part to conscript the ethnic.

The foreclosure of the Philippine aboriginals, as I have argued, is unequivocal: one that

shows Melville's conformist side of Orientalism. But in the foreclosure of Fedallah, we

can see the subversive and the conformist forces in Melville's Orientalism playing out