Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Archive
Volume 16 Number 2, August 2015
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Umberto Eco’s The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana
by
Blinn College
Umberto Eco’s The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana is a semi-autobiographical novel that follows the protagonist, Giambattista Bodoni (nicknamed Yambo), a sixty year old book dealer who has suffered a stroke. This has left him with the loss of much of his memory. While he can remember every book he has read, he can no longer recall even his own name, much less the events of his life, including his wife and children. Hoping to recover those memories, he returns to his family’s property in rural Italy to rummage through boxes of old books, records, newspaper clippings, childhood diaries, and other such things. In the process, he encounters his own history: favorite childhood comics, the era of Mussolini, his education in the Catholic schools, becoming singularly focused on discovering his first true love. Eco presents the narrative in a unique fashion by transcending the written word to include specific images from the items that Yambo perused. These different forms of images, both written and visual, allow the reader to journey with the character as he rediscovers himself, attempting to figure out who he truly is. At the core of the novel is the very idea of what consciousness is. What makes Yambo a conscious being? How do memory and experiences play a role? How can memory and experience be defined in this context? Ultimately, Yambo emerges as a conscious being, but one that is not the same conscious being that existed before the stroke.
While Yambo always maintained a form of consciousness, the very concept is intricately tied to self-identity. As such, the Yambo that existed before his debilitating health issues ceases to exist and is replaced. Upon awakening from his coma, his identity is very loosely defined, composed primarily of his own recollection of stories. He refers to himself as Moby Dick’s Ishmael. His conception of time is unreliable, only being defined by events that he knows must have passed, such as the discovery of America or the end of World War II (7). So he can no longer be identified as the same person who knew these things before, as fiction and history are intertwined in his mind. By the end of the book, he has gone through many of his old memories, seeing flashes of past events, reading his own thoughts in his old diaries. He comes to recognize himself, but he is still quite different than the original Yambo.
Susan Blackmore’s theories on consciousness would argue that Yambo’s delusions of consciousness are just that – not real. They only exist because he dares to question who he is and what his awareness of the moment happens to be. “In that moment of questioning, an answer is concocted: a now; a stream of experiences, and a self who observes it all appear together…Next time [he asks these same questions] a new self and a new world are concocted, backwards from memory” (131). Since Yambo’s memories change and his ability to recall his experiences is damaged, he simply creates a new consciousness each time.
Antonio Damasio would agree that memories are important for self-identification and consciousness. He argues that “substantial sets of defining biographical memories must be grouped together… [and are] allowed to modify the protoself and produce its pulse of core self” (225). Since Yambo is unable to group together his memories, his core self is significantly altered. This leads to his confusion regarding his identity. Since he can only recall the plots of novels, rather than his own memories, his mind conflates them, leading him to misidentify himself and time period.
Both of these theorists agree with Maurice Merleau-Ponty, who argued that consciousness is dependent upon one’s place in time and space. He points out that “we can no longer draw an absolute distinction between space and the things which occupy it, nor indeed between the pure idea of space and the concrete spectacle it presents to our senses” (51). By this, he means that a simple observation of an object, or person, cannot truly define that object. The actual space that is inhabited is part of that object. Since Yambo was no longer cognizant of his past connections to times, events, and places, his consciousness was no longer the same. It was changed by this loss of connection. To blend these three theorists, because Yambo could no longer self-identify using his memories and prior understanding of the self, he was no longer the same person. His place in space was changed, hindering his ability to base his own consciousness off of his memories.
Here is where Eco masterfully incorporates these concepts in his character’s attempt to reengage those lost memories. Damasio argues that the core self “unfolds in a sequence of images that describe” how the mind interacts with other objects (24). This goes beyond simple linguistic thoughts, but transcends the written word. The idea of images is at the heart of this endeavor, and one that Eco gives prominence in the novel. In fact, images, pictures, and diagrams are prevalent on the book’s pages. While such things are often present in books, Eco does not use them as illustrations or examples, but as actual parts of the narrative. They fit inside the written components, as vital to the plot as the traditional narrative.
This is why Yambo retreats to his old home and spends so much time digging through the boxes of materials, which represent the lost portion of his memory. He is hoping to discover his lost self in those same images and events that had led to the development of the original Yambo’s consciousness. He concocted this plan after viewing an old Mickey Mouse comic and recalling a past memory. When others are surprised that he could suddenly remember something that had been lost, he is told, “that isn’t semantic memory, that’s autobiographical memory. You are remembering something that made an impression on you as a child!” (71). Here, the connection between object, memory, and self are clearly demonstrated.
As seen, at the root of his problem of consciousness is his lack of memories. As Damasio explains, “constructing the autobiographical self demands a neural apparatus capable of obtaining multiple core self pulses…for a substantial number of components and holding the results together transiently” (225). Yambo’s brain has been damaged and can no longer do this, forcing him to attempt to rewire his mind in a way to access those lost images. His coordinating mechanisms were not working properly. Blackmore notes that the identification of self is bound up with consciousness, since there cannot be experiences without someone to actually experience them (67). While Yambo had experiences, he could no longer access them to define himself. As such, his core self was drastically changed.
Because of this lack, Yambo’s mind was no longer able to use earlier mind maps, which exist as images or patterns, allowing him to make sense of the world and his place in it (Damasio 19). Since these images could be sounds, feelings, or any other sensory input, Eco’s choice to have Yambo revisit his past allows the reader to follow the development of Yambo’s new self-identification. Thomas Rice posits that there is a “complex symbiotic relationship between humanity and the earth’s resources,” which is akin to Merleau-Ponty’s connection between consciousness and space (349). Rice goes on to argue that a writer may “encode meaning, map[ping] cognitively a conceptual space” (350). While he is primarily discussing the relationship between author and reader, the same principle can apply to the mental process of the character. Understanding is determined when one engages the encoded meaning, leading to an interpretation between the person and object. Whether the one doing the interpretation is a character or the reader, the same concepts are at work in the development of consciousness.
These facts are all relevant to Yambo’s situation. His place in space has been changed. The encoded messages that he had interpreted to define his own existence were no longer available. His mind maps were either destroyed when his brain was damaged, or had become inaccessible. Since he could no longer interact with these memories, his autobiographical self was permanently changed. While he was able to investigate old images and memories, from an outside perspective, his neural networks were altered to the point that he would never be able to return to his former state.
The novel provides for numerous opportunities to explore this phenomenon, but one clear example can be found on pages 237-8, where Yambo diligently reads through old comics. The next to last paragraph on page 237 is primarily composed of nonsensical words which are easily recognizable as being related to comics, such as “blam” or “vroom.” He speaks to his own endeavor of self-discovery, stating that the sounds, specifically the alphabetical transcription “had the power to suggest the presence of a trail that was still eluding me.” This points directly to Damasio’s description of mind maps and how they are composed of any sensory feedback. Yambo explicitly states in those words that he is questioning whether he is truly conscious or not.
Eco uses a curious description of seeing the sounds, with Yambo remembering that he had grown up with “flatus voci,” or words that have no objective reality. This progress in ferreting out a memory had physical effects on the character: sweating and trembling hands. Again, the combination of concepts from Blackmore and Damasio provide an explanation. Since sensory input is important for the formulation of mental images, and those are the things that register as memories, leading to consciousness, when Yambo briefly encounters a hidden memory, it registers physically. There is an intimate relationship between body and mind.
At the same time, while Yambo is making this connection with his past, he is also experiencing an altogether new activity. This is not his first time to read the comic, as it had been when he was a child. Now, he was encountering this comic in an attempt to find his lost self. That became an entirely new memory to be filed away, used to create a new mind map, and leading to a new self-identification, a new consciousness.
To this point on pages 237-238, Eco relied on the written alphabet to convey this experience. Yambo narrates his own thoughts on the sounds, words, feelings, and desires. However, when the reader turns to page 238, those very things are presented in visual form. The “slams” and “awrks” and other flatus voci are transcribed into comic book images, including readily recognizable characters: Popeye and Bluto, Olive Oil, Mickey Mouse, and more. Yambo goes on to explain that he found comfort in such things, and the reader senses that while he is making some minimal progress toward finding some aspects of his lost self, he is also still engaging in the same mental activities that had plagued him when he first awakened from his coma, conflating reality and fiction.
He often fails to discriminate between the activities from the comics and his own life, with those elements blending together. He comes to viscerally appreciate the comic characters’ actions. It seems that he can almost feel them himself, acknowledging that “rare kisses were enchanted moments” (239). This is another example of how Eco allows his character to redefine himself. No longer are those comics (and other stimuli) mere catalysts for his behavior, but they become a part of him. Merleau-Ponty would agree; space and object are connected.
However, since Damasio points out that the autobiographical self is determined from the memories that are experienced from a sensory perspective, is it possible to argue that Yambo is truly experiencing these things? He feels them. He hears them. Are they not becoming his own memories? While it might be argued that he is not physically inside the cartoon, it could also be posited that the cartoon has entered into his world, in a sense. It has become part of his space, partially defining him.
All the while, Yambo is trying to recreate his prior self. While he is not trying to redefine his persona, that is what happens. Just as Rice argues that the “ontological distinction between the ‘real’ and the fictitious within the fiction itself simply breaks down,” so Yambo’s main focus is unachievable (355). If one were to consider his pre-stroke consciousness to be real and the one that comes after to be fictitious, there is no way to separate them. It simply breaks down. When does he stop being Yambo? He is always Yambo. He is simply changed.
One of Eco’s main concerns is alienation. This would refer to “a sense of disconnectedness and discontinuity, a feeling of senselessness and disorientation” (Tate 129). He places Yambo in a situation where he is not only physically alone, but mentally, as well. He cannot even truly talk to himself, since he does not know who he truly is. Just as a reader must form a fabula, or method of interpreting the text, so Yambo must do the same. In this sense, he is a reader, as well as a character. While the reader must make sense of a text to determine meaning, so Yambo must organize and interpret his material, in search of his own identity. Eco shows this process symbolically with Yambo’s seclusion and systematic inquiry into his boxes of resources. Whereas the reader is trying to determine a book’s purpose, Yambo is trying to determine his own purpose – his own existence.
Furthermore, Eco addresses the compelling idea of transposing fiction and life (Six Walks in the Fictional Woods 118). He makes a distinction between natural and artificial narrative. The first is the true representation of what actually happened. The second refers to fiction that only pretends to tell the truth. Yambo is caught between these two ideas. He reads his own diaries, an account of what actually happened in his mind at some time in the past, but to him it is more akin to fiction. He finds himself in a state of “no longer [knowing] exactly where he…stands” (125). This connects well with the idea of consciousness, as the work by Merleau-Ponty clearly articulates. If Yambo can no longer determine exactly where he stands, he has lost his connection with space. He no longer has access to his prior mental framework, which would allow him to “render the sensory datum meaningful” (Eco, Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language 33). This forces Yambo to “invent and purpose for the first time a new interpretive connection” with all of this data (2).
Truly, Yambo is alienated from his prior life, just as he is removed from society. Eco uses this platform to utilize a first-person narrator. Yambo himself tells of his experiences. The conundrum is obvious: Yambo does not know himself, yet his thoughts are the only avenue the reader has to determine what is taking place. This provides for a very unreliable narrator. If Yambo conflates himself with Ishmael, for example, how can the reader trust his interpretations of verifiable fact? Where does Eco’s natural and artificial narratives begin or end? There is no way to really know. Whereas normally “a first-person narrator's relationship to his past self parallels a narrator's relationship to his protagonist in a third-person novel,” the reader is afforded no such luxury in this story (Cohn 143). There is no relationship between the narrator and his past self. While a first person narrator can usually share direct thoughts from his own mind, in this case, that ability is severely diminished. The reader can see what the current Yambo is thinking, but there is no way to really know, beyond a few quoted passages from his prior accounts, what the original Yambo thought. In this way, there is a very strong element of third person narration, since Yambo is looking at his prior self from the outside, just as the reader must do. This fits well with Cohn’s assertion that “the relationship of the narrating to the experiencing self in these self-narrated monologues corresponds exactly to the relationship of a narrator to his character in a figural third person novel” (167). It is as David Lodge has pointed out, a fusion of the two narrative techniques (38).
Eco is convinced that memory is vital to establish identity. He argues that memory is vital to formulate thoughts and beliefs (“Meet the Neighbours” 131). In that vein, he gives the reader a narrator that has no memory, hence no standing thought or belief. Yambo’s task is to find, or better yet to recreate, those things. He engages tokens of his memory in order to do that, but in the process fails to find his old self. Rather, he builds new connections and creates a new identity. No longer is he the boy that grew up in Mussolini’s Italy, attending Catholic school, and became a book seller. The new Yambo has become a new man, one who fights to overcome a damaged brain, digs through musty old boxes, and becomes singularly focused on discovering his first love. No longer is his mind sharp and focused, but rather the “browned pages of [a] paper memory” (The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana 448).
The love he once had for his wife and children is relegated to a forgotten past. His old job describes someone else. Yambo inhabits the same physical body, albeit one that has been crippled, but he is no longer the same person. His old memories are gone, and their absence sweeps away any semblance of his original self. He has created new memories, interspersed with large amounts of fictional narrative, and become a new Yambo. He has lost his original autobiographical self, as the necessary components for that vital aspect of consciousness was “impoverished, either because it cannot be brought out of past records or because whatever is brought out cannot be properly coordinated” (Damasio 253).
While his former state of consciousness is beyond retrieval, Yambo does not lose the ability to have consciousness. Instead, it is simply changed into a new formation. He is still able to ask Blackmore’s question: “am I conscious?” (131). The difference, and the reason why the final Yambo is not the same as the original Yambo, is that his perspective has changed. Consciousness is subjective, and Yambo’s point of reference has been forever changed (Cf. Blackmore 6).
Eco has shared a wonderful example of how an artificial narrative can explore a natural issue. Yambo is a work of fiction, but speaks to a deeper truth. Inside the world of the novel, he has lost his ability to access memories, and therefore the opportunity to know his own identity. His mind maps no longer exist. Yet he is able to struggle through physical manifestations of his old memories, and thereby create new memories, and mind maps, to redefine himself. While his narration is not reliable, as it comes from a damaged and often incoherent mind, it sheds light on the process that all people must go through in order to be conscious.
Works Cited
Blackmore, Susan. Consciousness: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005. Print.
Cohn, Dorrit. Transparent Minds. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1977. PDF file.
Eco, Umberto. Six Walks in the Fictional Woods. Cambridge:Harvard UP, 1994. Print.
---. "Meet The Neighbours." Index On Censorship 33.3 (2004): 128-134. Academic Search Complete. Web. 30 July 2015.
---. The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana. Orlando:Harcourt, 2004. Print.
---. Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1984. Print.
Damasio, Antonio. Self Comes to Mind. New York: Vintage, 2010. Print.
Lodge, David. Consciousness and the Novel. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2002. PDF file.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Excerpts from The World of Perception, trans. Oliver Davis. London: Routledge, 1948. PDF file.
Rice, Thomas J. "Mapping Complexity In The Fiction Of Umberto Eco." Critique 44.4 (2003): 349-368. Academic Search Complete. Web. 30 July 2015.
Tate, W. Randolph. "Eco-Ing Mark." Essays In Literature 20.1 (1993): 129-144. Academic Search Complete. Web. 30 July 2015.