Abstract
To be mad is, according to common idiom, to be out-of-place. One has lost the plot, gone out of one’s mind, taken leave of one’s senses; you are out to lunch, round the bend, away with the fairies, round the twist, in a dark place. A person descends into madness or is driven there. Two things are apparent here. Firstly, there is the recurrent sense of journeying that attends on madness. Secondly, the dominant notion of place renders ‘mad’ experience an inherently geographical encounter. Madness, then, is figured as a location, as site. Or, perhaps more accurately, as simultaneously site and non-site. To be mad is to be both somewhere and yet nowhere, or at least not here, that is to say ‘reality’. It is, then, to be displaced, dislocated, gone. Indeed, as Peter Barham and Robert Hayward have noted, this language of absence and disappearance ‘is recapitulated in the traditional psychiatric account of schizophrenia as a narrative of loss in which the pre-illness person goes missing, seemingly abandoned by the force of the disorder’.1 Moreover, if, following Erving Goffman, institutional spaces encode socio-behav- ioural scripts that are ineluctably performed, then one wonders what this collision between institutional places of madness and cultural notions of madness as space might mean for our understanding of the complex relations between experience and environment.
Access this chapter
Tax calculation will be finalised at checkout
Purchases are for personal use only
Preview
Unable to display preview. Download preview PDF.
Notes
Peter Barham and Robert Hayward, From the Mental Patient to the Person (London: Routledge, 1991), p. 2.
Joe Penhall, Blue/Orange (London: Methuen, 2001).
Lucy Prebble, The Effect (London: Methuen, 2012). This is to not to discount the contribution of Penhall and Prebble; rather it is to simply observe that they sustain a tradi tion of looking at, as opposed to looking with, mental distress. Indeed, their object of exploration is precisely the external analysis of behaviours and not experiences themselves.
The use of the term ‘mad’ and ‘madness’ is deployed deliberately in the course of this chapter. While the term has historically had pejorative associations (and for some still does) I would suggest that there has been a reclamation of the term in the past thirty years as a part of the mental health survivor movement. I wish, in this way, in particular to trouble the dominance of the biomedical language of psychiatry, but also to question the neat division of health and illness more broadly. Moreover, I wish to draw attention to a particular literary notion of the term. There is a familiar canon of mad characters and writers and this chapter suggests that madness is itself in some ways a literary concept with its own set of tropes. In these ways then, I use the term ‘madness’ to signal both the literariness of the con cept and moreover, how this may be interestingly conjoined with an idea of the reclaiming of the term in activist spheres. I here echo Gail Hornstein’s suggestion that such works may be understood as a form of protest literature. See Gail Hornstein, Agnes’s Jacket: A Psychologist’s Search for the Meanings of Madness (New York: Rodale, 2009).
6, 2, 2004, pp. 59–75, p. 64. See also, Susan Sontag, AIDS and its Metaphors (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1989) and Illness and Metaphor (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1978).
Sarah Kane, 4.48 Psychosis, in Complete Plays (London: Methuen, 2001), pp. 205, 205, 213, 213, 225, 227, 239.
Kane, 4.48, p. 239. The typographical layout of Kane’s text bears interesting resemblance to Janice Galloway’s novel about a mind in profound distress The Trick is to Keep Breathing (London: Minerva, 1989). The comparison is beyond the scope of this chapter but raises some pertinent questions about text and the expression of pain.
Notably, in the Folio these lines are assigned to Gertrude and in the Second Quarto to a ‘Gent’. The ‘nothing’ in Shakespeare’s text, as Elaine Showalter has argued, also explicitly bonds Ophelia’s madness to her femininity (and femininity to madness) in its reference to female genitalia. See Elaine Showalter, ‘Representing Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibility of Feminist Criticism’, in Shakespeare and The Question of Theory, ed. by Geoffrey H. Hartman and Patricia Parker, 2nd edn (London: Routledge, 2005), pp. 77–94.
Anthony Neilson, ‘Foreword’, The Wonderful World of Dissocia (London: Methuen, 2007).
Michael Billington, Guardian, 2 April 2007.
Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilisation, trans. by Richard Howard (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 178.
Caryl Churchill, The Skriker (London: Nick Hern Books, 1994), pp. 34–5.
Katharine Briggs, The Fairies in Tradition and Literature, 2nd edn (London: Routledge, 2002).
Programme for the National Theatre production of The Skriker, 1994, held at the National Theatre Studio Archive. See also, James Bowker, Goblin Tales of Lancashire (London: W. Swan Sonnenschein, 1878).
It is, of course, notable that all of the protagonists under discussion are female. Questions regarding the over-representation of women in both the psychiatric services and in ‘mad’ literature demand further attention. However, that is beyond the limited scope of this chapter. Key excellent examples of feminist enquiry in this area include Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady (London: Virago, 1987).
Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination, 2nd edn (London: Yale University Press, 2000).
Phyllis Chesler, Women and Madness, rev. edn (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2005).
Candice Amich, ‘Bringing the Global Home: The Commitment of Caryl Churchill’s The Skriker’, Modern Drama, 50, 3, Fall 2007, pp. 394–413, p. 394.
Martin McDonagh, The Beauty Queen of Leenane (London: Methuen, 1996), 4, p. 31.
Elin Diamond, ‘Caryl Churchill: Feeling Global’, in A Companion to Modern British and Irish Drama: 1880–2005, ed. by Mary Luckhurst (London: Blackwell, 2006), pp. 476–87.
See Barbara Norden, ‘When the Kelpie Rides Again and the Spriggan Stalks’, TLS, 4 February 1994.
Claudia Barnett, ‘“Reveangance is gold mine, sweet”: Alchemy and Archetypes in Caryl Churchill’s The Skriker’, Essays in Theatre/Études Théâtrales, 19, 1, November 2000, pp. 45–57, p. 48, emphasis mine.
David B. Morris, The Culture of Pain (Oxford: University of California Press, 1991), p. 3.
Alan Read, Theatre, Intimacy, and Engagement: The Last Human Venue (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2009), p. 5.
Darian Leader, Strictly Bipolar (London: Penguin, 2013), p. 10.
Derek Attridge, ‘From Finnegan’s Wake to The Skriker: Morphing Language in James Joyce and Caryl Churchill’, Papers on Joyce, 7–8, 2001–02, pp. 45–53, p. 49.
Jurgen Ruesch and Gregory Bateson, Communication: The Social Matrix of Psychiatry (New York: W.W. Norton, 1968), p. 79–80.
Allen Thiher, Revels in Madness: Insanity in Medicine and Literature (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), p. 283.
For a discussion of Barthes’s influence on the writing of Cleansed see Graham Saunders’s Love Me or Kill Me: Sarah Kane and the Theatre of Extremes (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002), p. 93 and p. 126.
Editor information
Editors and Affiliations
Copyright information
© 2014 Anna Harpin
About this chapter
Cite this chapter
Harpin, A. (2014). Dislocated: Metaphors of Madness in British Theatre. In: Harpin, A., Foster, J. (eds) Performance, Madness and Psychiatry. Palgrave Macmillan, London. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137337252_9
Download citation
DOI: https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137337252_9
Published:
Publisher Name: Palgrave Macmillan, London
Print ISBN: 978-1-349-46374-9
Online ISBN: 978-1-137-33725-2
eBook Packages: Palgrave Theatre & Performance CollectionLiterature, Cultural and Media Studies (R0)