Authors: Knut Hamsun
Hunger (3 page)
It is a staple of Hamsun criticism that the social perspective is non-existent in
Hunger
, by contrast to the overt socio-critical tendencies in the naturalistic literature of the period. This view overlooks the fundamentally ironic mode of the book's narrative discourse. The hero is as much out of tune with bourgeois society as he is with the order of creation, allegedly guaranteed by an all-powerful, all-knowing God. Indeed, Hamsun seems to conflate official Christianity with the middle-class social order. Here it stands him in good stead that the name of the city is Kristiania (or Christiania, which highlights the Christ connection); but beyond that, there are references to “Christ's Cemetery,” “the clock of Our Savior's,” and a businessman named Christie who refuses to give him a job because he cannot handle numbers. The clock, symbol of regulated, conventional bourgeois life, is associated with major social institutions: the university, the church, and the jail. The hero, having pawned his own watch, is dependent on these official indicators of public time, but he clearly has difficulty attuning his own private life to their mechanical rhythms. Thus, he is constantly either too early or too late for his appointments. Ironically, even the promise of salvation is dependent on observing regular office hours: when he arrives at the pastor's, “the hour of grace was past” (Part Two). Policemen seem to be the favorite targets of the hero's nonconformist rage; they become the lightning rod for his metaphysical as well as his social defiance.
24
Implicitly, if not explicitly,
Hunger
abounds in criticism of the established order, from a seemingly anar chistic perspective.
Hunger
, by contrast to the overt socio-critical tendencies in the naturalistic literature of the period. This view overlooks the fundamentally ironic mode of the book's narrative discourse. The hero is as much out of tune with bourgeois society as he is with the order of creation, allegedly guaranteed by an all-powerful, all-knowing God. Indeed, Hamsun seems to conflate official Christianity with the middle-class social order. Here it stands him in good stead that the name of the city is Kristiania (or Christiania, which highlights the Christ connection); but beyond that, there are references to “Christ's Cemetery,” “the clock of Our Savior's,” and a businessman named Christie who refuses to give him a job because he cannot handle numbers. The clock, symbol of regulated, conventional bourgeois life, is associated with major social institutions: the university, the church, and the jail. The hero, having pawned his own watch, is dependent on these official indicators of public time, but he clearly has difficulty attuning his own private life to their mechanical rhythms. Thus, he is constantly either too early or too late for his appointments. Ironically, even the promise of salvation is dependent on observing regular office hours: when he arrives at the pastor's, “the hour of grace was past” (Part Two). Policemen seem to be the favorite targets of the hero's nonconformist rage; they become the lightning rod for his metaphysical as well as his social defiance.
24
Implicitly, if not explicitly,
Hunger
abounds in criticism of the established order, from a seemingly anar chistic perspective.
But this is only one side of the coin. Due to his inability to follow the clock, the hero is relegated to the role of a clown. Yes, Hamsun anticipates Picasso, Thomas Mann, and many other modernists in portraying the artist as clownâa superfluous man who knows the depths of human suffering but makes light of it, turning it into entertainment both for himself and others. The hero of
Hunger
approximates such a figure. Most often he plays a clown to himself, but at times he also plays to the public, accepting his hopelessly irrelevant position in a society that judges everything by monetary values.
Hunger
approximates such a figure. Most often he plays a clown to himself, but at times he also plays to the public, accepting his hopelessly irrelevant position in a society that judges everything by monetary values.
Some critics contend that the hero's excessive generosity is evidence of a compulsive desire to starve, to be a hunger artist much like Kafka's famous character, arguing that his state of hunger is a necessary condition of his creative affla tus.
25
This, it seems to me, casts him in a more abnormal role than the text justifies. True, he does say he was once “good at starving,” as though going hungry were a kind of art, and he is incapable of holding on to his cash. But his generosity seems little more than a temperamental tic, indicative of his visceral contempt for material values. The narrative absence of the carefree periods in his life conforms to one of the most banal facts of human experience: happiness is aesthetically uninteresting, as Tolstoy was well aware judging by the first sentence of
Anna Karenina
(1875-77): “Happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” It is also worth noting that, while Hamsun's urban wanderer experiences an abundance of extravagant moods and fantasies during his periods of want, the story is written in retrospect: his creative efforts while going hungry amount to very little. But he can play the clown, which he does to the hilt.
25
This, it seems to me, casts him in a more abnormal role than the text justifies. True, he does say he was once “good at starving,” as though going hungry were a kind of art, and he is incapable of holding on to his cash. But his generosity seems little more than a temperamental tic, indicative of his visceral contempt for material values. The narrative absence of the carefree periods in his life conforms to one of the most banal facts of human experience: happiness is aesthetically uninteresting, as Tolstoy was well aware judging by the first sentence of
Anna Karenina
(1875-77): “Happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” It is also worth noting that, while Hamsun's urban wanderer experiences an abundance of extravagant moods and fantasies during his periods of want, the story is written in retrospect: his creative efforts while going hungry amount to very little. But he can play the clown, which he does to the hilt.
Â
The psychology of
Hunger
has given rise to many studies, including a book-length psychoanalytic critique in German.
26
Too much may have been made of Hamsun as a depth psychologist on a par with Freud and other delvers into the subconscious. What Hamsun describes is the phenomenology of consciousnessâif not “the shower of innumerable atoms . . . as they fall,” in Virginia Woolf 's parlance,
27
then something very close to it:
Hunger
offers a minute, moment-by-moment evocation of the hero's stream of thought, at times with near-hallucinatory effect. But the narrator does not analyze unconscious motives, at least not to any depth; he simply records the vagaries of conscious and semiconscious lifeâthe flux of thought, feeling, and fantasy in a person whose sensibilities have been brought to a supernormal pitch by virtual physical collapse. It is perfectly legitimate, of course, to go behind and beyond the explicit narrative, to apply explanatory models that reach beneath the text to get at the dynamics of its genesis, as has been done by Atle Kittang in his pioneering study of Hamsun's so-called “novels of disillusionment.”
28
And it can be tempting to link the book's sexual symbols, such as the wounded finger and damaged foot, with the hero's seeming sexual ineptness, the presence of a primal scene and so forth, and in consequence diagnose Hamsun as the victim of a castration or inferiority complex.
29
My final comments, however, will touch on some surface phenomena.
Hunger
has given rise to many studies, including a book-length psychoanalytic critique in German.
26
Too much may have been made of Hamsun as a depth psychologist on a par with Freud and other delvers into the subconscious. What Hamsun describes is the phenomenology of consciousnessâif not “the shower of innumerable atoms . . . as they fall,” in Virginia Woolf 's parlance,
27
then something very close to it:
Hunger
offers a minute, moment-by-moment evocation of the hero's stream of thought, at times with near-hallucinatory effect. But the narrator does not analyze unconscious motives, at least not to any depth; he simply records the vagaries of conscious and semiconscious lifeâthe flux of thought, feeling, and fantasy in a person whose sensibilities have been brought to a supernormal pitch by virtual physical collapse. It is perfectly legitimate, of course, to go behind and beyond the explicit narrative, to apply explanatory models that reach beneath the text to get at the dynamics of its genesis, as has been done by Atle Kittang in his pioneering study of Hamsun's so-called “novels of disillusionment.”
28
And it can be tempting to link the book's sexual symbols, such as the wounded finger and damaged foot, with the hero's seeming sexual ineptness, the presence of a primal scene and so forth, and in consequence diagnose Hamsun as the victim of a castration or inferiority complex.
29
My final comments, however, will touch on some surface phenomena.
Any reader of
Hunger
is struck by a number of truly astounding psychological facts: first, the contingency of mental states, their sheer arbitrariness, whereby what happens in one moment is separated by vast lacunae from what precedes and follows. The life of the mind is depicted in Hamsun's first novel as discontinuous. Secondly, the book orchestrates several levels of perception, thought and feeling, some only half conscious, producing representations of a divided psyche: several selves may inhabit one and the same body simultaneously. In
Hunger
, this is shown through the many self-identifications of the hero, with the crippled old man, with the little boy spit in the head by the red-bearded man, even with the oleograph Christ, who seems to observe the scandalous scene of the landlady's adulterous coupling along with the hero. While the device recalls Dostoyevsky's treatment of the double, Hamsun's uses it in a novel manner. Often, the self-division becomes the occasion for humorous playacting as the hero launches into interior dialogues between one part of his psyche and another. Nevertheless, in the midst of the breaches in his mental landscape, he stubbornly insists he is of sound mind, at one with himself. And indeed, through an unrelenting stoic battle, he manages to maintain a modicum of psychic unity amid the chaos of impressions and impulses that make up his stream of thought.
Hunger
is struck by a number of truly astounding psychological facts: first, the contingency of mental states, their sheer arbitrariness, whereby what happens in one moment is separated by vast lacunae from what precedes and follows. The life of the mind is depicted in Hamsun's first novel as discontinuous. Secondly, the book orchestrates several levels of perception, thought and feeling, some only half conscious, producing representations of a divided psyche: several selves may inhabit one and the same body simultaneously. In
Hunger
, this is shown through the many self-identifications of the hero, with the crippled old man, with the little boy spit in the head by the red-bearded man, even with the oleograph Christ, who seems to observe the scandalous scene of the landlady's adulterous coupling along with the hero. While the device recalls Dostoyevsky's treatment of the double, Hamsun's uses it in a novel manner. Often, the self-division becomes the occasion for humorous playacting as the hero launches into interior dialogues between one part of his psyche and another. Nevertheless, in the midst of the breaches in his mental landscape, he stubbornly insists he is of sound mind, at one with himself. And indeed, through an unrelenting stoic battle, he manages to maintain a modicum of psychic unity amid the chaos of impressions and impulses that make up his stream of thought.
In the last analysis, however, what holds the hero together is nothing but his emaciated body, which to a large extent determines the behavior of his mind. The very imagery of the book, with its wealth of physiological metaphors for mental happenings, supports this view. From this perspective,
Hunger
is a vivid example of “the writing of the body.”
30
Hunger
is a vivid example of “the writing of the body.”
30
Eventually, any theory of how to read Hamsun's
Hunger
comes up against the work's subjective mode of presentation. The epigraph of Hamsun's book on America reads, “Truth is disinterested subjectivity.” The force of this quasi-Kierkegaardian slogan permeates Hamsun's early novels. Though
Hunger
is written retrospectively, the narrator tends to merge with the character he describes, a process that cannot but affect one's response to the book. The intensity of Hamsun's style, an impressionism that shades into the realm of the surreal and grotesque during states of reverie and psychic dissociation, exerts a virtually hypnotic effect. Only occasionally does the narrator step back to cast an ironic glance at the character whose experiences he is relating. But he rarely judges him. The book contains no self-evident standard of truth or value that might help the reader take the measure of the hero's behavior. The same action is viewed in different lights at different times, and narrative distance fluctuates with the constant tense shifts from past to present and back again. The reader must find his own way among the welter of impressions, passions, and fantasies that make up this strange work.
Hunger
comes up against the work's subjective mode of presentation. The epigraph of Hamsun's book on America reads, “Truth is disinterested subjectivity.” The force of this quasi-Kierkegaardian slogan permeates Hamsun's early novels. Though
Hunger
is written retrospectively, the narrator tends to merge with the character he describes, a process that cannot but affect one's response to the book. The intensity of Hamsun's style, an impressionism that shades into the realm of the surreal and grotesque during states of reverie and psychic dissociation, exerts a virtually hypnotic effect. Only occasionally does the narrator step back to cast an ironic glance at the character whose experiences he is relating. But he rarely judges him. The book contains no self-evident standard of truth or value that might help the reader take the measure of the hero's behavior. The same action is viewed in different lights at different times, and narrative distance fluctuates with the constant tense shifts from past to present and back again. The reader must find his own way among the welter of impressions, passions, and fantasies that make up this strange work.
Though the character who is the bearer of this wildly subjective world may not be immediately attractiveâin fact, he is sometimes quite the contraryâhe does elicit our interest and occasionally tugs at our heartstrings. If, in addition, the reader should recognize, with a shudder of delight or horror, some of the hero's strange proclivities in his or her own soul, the labor of making this new translation of Hamsun's breakthrough novel will have been richly rewarded.
NOTES1
“Knut Hamsuns
Sult
,” in
Søkelys på Knut Hamsuns 90-årsdiktning
, ed. Ãystein Rottem (Oslo, 1979), p. 39.
“Knut Hamsuns
Sult
,” in
Søkelys på Knut Hamsuns 90-årsdiktning
, ed. Ãystein Rottem (Oslo, 1979), p. 39.
3
Letter to Svend Tveraas of Feb. 29, 1884, in
Knut Hamsuns brev 1879-1895
, ed. Harald S. Næss (Oslo, 1994), p. 42;
Selected Letters
, ed. Harald Næss & James McFarlane (Norwich, England, 1990), p. 42. Hereafter referred to as
Brev
and
Letters
. The translations are my own unless otherwise indicated.
Letter to Svend Tveraas of Feb. 29, 1884, in
Knut Hamsuns brev 1879-1895
, ed. Harald S. Næss (Oslo, 1994), p. 42;
Selected Letters
, ed. Harald Næss & James McFarlane (Norwich, England, 1990), p. 42. Hereafter referred to as
Brev
and
Letters
. The translations are my own unless otherwise indicated.
11
See letter to Erik Frydenlund of Sept. 20, 1886, in
Brev
, p. 73. In
Letters
(p. 61);
rådstue
is mistakenly rendered as “doss house” instead of “jail.”
See letter to Erik Frydenlund of Sept. 20, 1886, in
Brev
, p. 73. In
Letters
(p. 61);
rådstue
is mistakenly rendered as “doss house” instead of “jail.”
13
Brev
, p. 99;
Letters
, p. 82. For commentary, see Dolores But-try, “A Thirst for Intimacy: Knut Hamsun's Pyromania,”
Scandinavica
26 (1987): 129-39.
Brev
, p. 99;
Letters
, p. 82. For commentary, see Dolores But-try, “A Thirst for Intimacy: Knut Hamsun's Pyromania,”
Scandinavica
26 (1987): 129-39.
19
Marlow states: “The mind of man is capable of anythingâbecause everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.”
The Portable Conrad
, ed. Morton Dauwen Zabel (New York, 1952), p. 540. The following statement by Gide's Michel sounds like an echo of Conrad: “Everything is within Man” (
The Immoralist
, tr. Richard Howard [New York, 1970], p. 157).
Marlow states: “The mind of man is capable of anythingâbecause everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.”
The Portable Conrad
, ed. Morton Dauwen Zabel (New York, 1952), p. 540. The following statement by Gide's Michel sounds like an echo of Conrad: “Everything is within Man” (
The Immoralist
, tr. Richard Howard [New York, 1970], p. 157).
20
There are several references to the “broadness” of human nature in Dostoyevsky's last novel. See
The Brothers Karamazov
, tr. Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky (New York, 1991), pp. 108 & 733.
There are several references to the “broadness” of human nature in Dostoyevsky's last novel. See
The Brothers Karamazov
, tr. Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky (New York, 1991), pp. 108 & 733.
21
Gide wrote a highly appreciative preface to Georges Sautreau's translation of
Hunger
. See Knut Hamsun,
La Faim
(Paris, 1961), pp. v-vii.
Gide wrote a highly appreciative preface to Georges Sautreau's translation of
Hunger
. See Knut Hamsun,
La Faim
(Paris, 1961), pp. v-vii.
24
For a discussion of Hamsun's treatment of time in
Hunger
, see Martin Humpal, “Hamsuns merkverdige klokkeslett,” in
Norsk litterær årbok 1994
(Oslo): 125-28.
For a discussion of Hamsun's treatment of time in
Hunger
, see Martin Humpal, “Hamsuns merkverdige klokkeslett,” in
Norsk litterær årbok 1994
(Oslo): 125-28.
25
See, for example, Paul Auster, “The Art of Hunger,” in
The Art of Hunger
(Los Angeles, 1991), pp. 9-20.
See, for example, Paul Auster, “The Art of Hunger,” in
The Art of Hunger
(Los Angeles, 1991), pp. 9-20.
26
Thomas Fechner-Smarsly,
Die wiederkehrenden Zeichen. Eine psychoanalytische Studie zu Knut Hamsuns “Hunger.”
Texte und Untersuchungen zur Germanistik und Skandinavistik, vol. 25, ed. Heiko Uecker. Frankfurt am Main, 1991.
Thomas Fechner-Smarsly,
Die wiederkehrenden Zeichen. Eine psychoanalytische Studie zu Knut Hamsuns “Hunger.”
Texte und Untersuchungen zur Germanistik und Skandinavistik, vol. 25, ed. Heiko Uecker. Frankfurt am Main, 1991.
28
Luft, vind, ingenting. Hamsuns desillusjonsromanar frÃ¥r “Sult” til “Ringen sluttet
” (Oslo, 1984).
Luft, vind, ingenting. Hamsuns desillusjonsromanar frÃ¥r “Sult” til “Ringen sluttet
” (Oslo, 1984).
29
See Eduard Hitschmann, “Ein Gespenst aus der Kindheit Knut Hamsuns,”
Imago
(Vienna) 12 (1924): 336-60; rpt. in
Auf alten und neuen Pfaden: eine Dokumentation zur Humsun-Forschung
, ed. Heiko Uecker (Frankfurt am Main, 1983), pp. 1-29; Gregory Stragnell, “A Psychopathological Study of Knut Hamsun's
Hunger
,”
The Psychoanalytic Review
9 (1922): 198-217; and Trygve Braatøy,
Livets cirkel. Bidrag til analyse av Knut Hamsuns diktning
(Oslo, 1929).
See Eduard Hitschmann, “Ein Gespenst aus der Kindheit Knut Hamsuns,”
Imago
(Vienna) 12 (1924): 336-60; rpt. in
Auf alten und neuen Pfaden: eine Dokumentation zur Humsun-Forschung
, ed. Heiko Uecker (Frankfurt am Main, 1983), pp. 1-29; Gregory Stragnell, “A Psychopathological Study of Knut Hamsun's
Hunger
,”
The Psychoanalytic Review
9 (1922): 198-217; and Trygve Braatøy,
Livets cirkel. Bidrag til analyse av Knut Hamsuns diktning
(Oslo, 1929).
30
Per Mæling, “Fysiognomier. Kommentar til kroppen som skriftens scene. Lesning av Knut Hamsuns
Sult
,”
Edda
94 (1994): 120-33. Mæling suggests that the rhythms of the novel's discourse are determined by the phases of bulimia.
Per Mæling, “Fysiognomier. Kommentar til kroppen som skriftens scene. Lesning av Knut Hamsuns
Sult
,”
Edda
94 (1994): 120-33. Mæling suggests that the rhythms of the novel's discourse are determined by the phases of bulimia.
SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING
Bolckmans, Alex. “Henry Miller's
Tropic of Cancer
and Knut Hamsun's
Sult
,”
Scandinavica
14 (1975): 115-26.
Tropic of Cancer
and Knut Hamsun's
Sult
,”
Scandinavica
14 (1975): 115-26.
Cease, Julia K. “Semiotics, City,
Sult
: Hamsun's Text of âHun ger',”
Edda
92 (1992): 136-46.
Sult
: Hamsun's Text of âHun ger',”
Edda
92 (1992): 136-46.
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