Postcolonialism (Literary Theory)

Theory: The How's and Why's of Literature

Postcolonialism

Postcolonialism or postcolonial theory is one of the most recent theoretical approaches to literary studies, and has become one of, if not the most, important. Like cultural studies, of which it is a very near relative, postcolonial studies (or post-colonial studies, or post colonial studies) is not limited to the examination of literature, but rather takes as its target all cultural productions relevant to its sphere of investigation. As a result, in order to understand how Postcolonialism functions in literary studies, it is important to understand it in a much broader sense.

Looking at the term postcolonial, we can see that its prefix (post) is shared with many recent coinages in the realm of cultural studies, like Postmodernism, Poststructuralism, Postfeminism, and so on. It is no coincidence that all of these coinages have their genesis in the description of theoretical interrogations of systems of thought which were seen as being important but too simply presented and full of assumptions that needed questioning. The verb "problematize" (which my spell checker still doesn't like) arises from the "postists" desire to take the established principles of a given dominant discourse and expose its false oppositions and oversimplifying inaccuracies. Each of the posts, as a result, is necessarily the descendent of the non-post precursor it follows, concerning itself with the same basic subject matter and ways of thinking. However, each post also positions itself in opposition to its ancestral non-prefixed namesake, striving to identify and counteract its limitations and problems.

Any corrective or revisionist project must have a system of values in place which guides it, and by which it is able to judge the older system it targets as being false. In many cases, this system features a strong ethical component, and the case of Postcolonialism is no exception. It is undoubtedly useful to make a distinction between ethics and aesthetics in evaluating artistic productions, but this does not mean that art, especially its production, reception, and function, must only be evaluated on aesthetic grounds. Indeed, it can be argued that any system of aesthetic evaluation must rest on an ethical bedrock which is often ignored or simply assumed to be correct. Postcolonialism arises from an evaluation of the ethical implications inherent in the position taken by colonists and colonial powers to the peoples and lands they colonize.

Turning more specifically to Postcolonialism, we can see that it suggests a time after the colonial period, after the times of the European concern, perhaps obsession, with claiming distant lands and distant peoples as their own possessions. Britain, France, and Spain are the primary nations associated with colonial ambitions, though in fact few European nations were uninvolved in the exploration and conquest of lands as far away as China and South America, and as nearby as northern Africa and the middle-east. The history of colonialism is almost as old as the very idea of the nation, and it continues to the present day, so it is far beyond the scope of this series to provide a historical account of it. This has led some scholars to dispute the term Postcolonialism, since it does imply a simple during-and-after chronology that cannot be true, since colonial projects have never actually ceased. Postcolonial scholars, and all those who wish to engage in postcolonial discourse, need to be aware that the prefix "post" does not indicate a uniform temporal progression, a clear start and end to colonial ambitions. Rather, it indicates the progressively increasing awareness of individuals to the problems of colonization, and the shift from one-way imposition to two-way communication.

One of the central tenets of Postcolonialism is the idea that ethnocentrism is the default position of colonizing powers. Ethnocentrism, most simply defined, is the belief that one's own culture, beliefs, opinions, and practices, are superior, possibly even the best that can be. One could argue that ethnocentrism is at the root of (potentially) positive concepts like national pride and patriotism, but as the parenthetical qualification indicates, patriotism and national pride are by no means assumed to be positive by all. It is not a problem to love the place where you have been raised, and where you live, but this love is seldom based on an unbiased evaluation of one's culture. As a result, patriotism can result in an individual's blindness to his or her nation's problems, and an unfair evaluation of others.

Ethnocentrism is less serious when considering nations that are very similar, like the United States and Canada, since so much of their culture and history is shared; one's belief that America or Canada is better is obviously based on a very limited set of highly specific criteria. Further, both nations are wealthy, democratic, largely Christian, and largely English speaking, meaning that questions of racism and bigotry between nations are irrelevant. Add to this the fact that neither nation has a political or military hold over the other, and that neither was colonized by the other, and we can see that there is very little harm in judging your own nation superior to the other of this pair.

More problems arise, however, when ethnocentrism takes a more powerful form, and features in one's evaluation of a significantly different culture. While it is difficult to distinguish most Americans from most Canadians (unless one is highly attuned to regional dialects), it is far less difficult to distinguish Americans from Europeans (based on language), and even less difficult to distinguish Americans and Europeans from Asians. When the differences between two cultures become audible and visible, and exist on other important levels like religion, technology, political organization, and so on, ethnocentrism can lead to far more troubling outcomes, including racism, bigotry, discrimination, and dehumanization.

Looking back to the greatest colonizer the world has ever known, the British Empire, upon which it was said the sun never set, we have the most straightforward example of ethnocentric thinking possible. The British believed in their superiority to other cultures based on all of the factors discussed above, and the more different the culture they encountered was to them, the more they believed they were superior to it. Although this seems like a harsh and simple statement to make, it is a difficult one to argue against. The British engaged in various wars with nations which, while different from them (France and Spain, for instance), were similar in many important respects. One can only really wage a war against an enemy which is more-or-less equal to you in technological prowess, military might, and so on. In fact, declaring war on a nation implies a certain admission of similarity and equality; unless you believed that the other nation is capable of understanding your declaration and fighting back, why would you make the declaration at all? You likely wouldn't (thought there have been notable and laughable exceptions), and would instead merely do what you liked with that land and the people who inhabit it. This is precisely what happens in colonial conquest.

As much as England disliked the French, for example, they would never have accused them of being ignorant and primitive, in general terms. An Englishman might have considered the French immoral or licentious, and a Frenchman might have considered the English unrefined and puritanical, but neither would have doubted that his opponent was capable of both understanding and returning his insult. When it came to European powers and the inhabitants of nations like Africa and India, however, the case was a very different one indeed. When Europeans came upon the inhabitants of these nations (which, although it is convenient to refer to them as such, were not nations as we know them today, the idea of nationhood actually being one of the consequences of colonial involvement) they did not see people who were very much like them. Rather, they saw people of different colors, with different facial features, societies, ways of dress, and so on, who were not technologically advanced, and who followed very different methods of political and religious organization. They were labeled primitive, savage, barbaric, and with the application of such labels, the label "human" was either largely obscured or covered up completely.

Looking at the etymologies of these denigrating labels, it is easy to see the criteria the Europeans used for evaluation. Savage is similar to the French word sauvage which is used to refer to something or someone of the forest, or which is associated with the woods. Both come from the same Latin root silvaticus, meaning woodland or forest. The word gradually began to take on connotations of opposition to the city, or domestic, as human habitation moved continually farther from the forest. Those who lived in the city gradually came to use the word to describe those who lived in the country (and hence nearer the forest), and since the countryside was populated with farmers and fieldworkers, while the city was home to artisans, tradesmen, and the centers of politics and education, this term began to designate people who were uneducated, simple, poor, and uncultured. Because of the word's association with the forest and the things that dwell in it, it also took on the characteristics of the beasts which are closely associated with woodlands, and as people gradually became more removed from the forest, the animals, and the word used to describe them (savage) took on a more ferocious meaning. Thus, savages are unintelligent, simple, poor people who live in the forest, and are ferocious like the animals who live there.

The word barbaric has similarly negative connotations, and its history casts light on another aspect of ethnocentrism's insidious influence. Its roots stretch back into the Latin balbus, which meant "stammering," and it developed to indicate first those outside Greece and Rome (who spoke languages the Greeks and Romans found to be harsh and guttural), and later (by association) rude, uncivilized, and even fierce. So, savage indicates a group of people who live outside of civilized areas, and barbaric refers to outsiders who speak foreign tongues. In both cases, we can see that the terms are contingent on the central and superior position of the person using them. In order to call someone a barbaric savage, I have to see myself as being in the center, and in the right. I live in the right place, speak the right language, and know the right things, so I am superior to the people I am labeling.

The term primitive, as both adjective and noun, is perhaps the one word that contains the connotations of all the other derogatory labels we have been examining here, because it denotes precisely the specific kind of denigration and classification the Europeans employed. The Latin primus is at the heart of the word, and is involved in many positive English terms like prime, indicating the first position, or the best position (primer is the substance you apply first, before the paint; prime-time is the time TV advertisers value most; a prime fishing area is an excellent one). It is the chronological position, however, which is central to the word primitive, which is echoed most closely in English by the word primal. Both words indicate something which has come first, that occupies a place at the roots or genesis of given developing entities.

Taken from a different perspective, this can be seen as a highly positive thing. After all, the person who is the first to do something considered important and valuable is lauded as a hero. However, when applied to humanity, primacy is synonymous with a lack of development. If we imagine, as many colonial Europeans did, that humanity developed by moving from simplicity to complexity (or even from animal to human, as Darwin contended, although his findings were not immediately widely accepted), that means that primitive peoples were those who were in a less advanced state, not far removed from the animals. If I am living in a city with highly complex and ordered social systems, surrounded by (comparatively) high technology, literacy, and a knowledge of (most of) the world's geography, and I encounter a being to whom none of this applies, what am I to think? To the European colonizers, the answer was obvious; this being is, apparently, human, but one at an earlier stage of development than myself and my people. They imagined that they were looking at a state of humanity the Europeans passed by centuries, even millennia, beforehand, and therefore took them to be less advanced in every way imaginable. Rather than treating them as potential partners, or striving to understand them, the dominant approach was to either (or most often, both) exploit or (as far as they considered this was possible) educate. Because the native inhabitants of newly "discovered" (can you discover a land where people are already living?) lands were less technologically advanced, the Europeans assumed all the differences they observed were inferiorities, and that the natives were inherently incapable of achieving the same levels of civilization, and even humanity.

Thus the designation of a group as primitive is a step toward (or perhaps into) seeing them as inhuman, or as proto-humans in much the same way as apes and chimps can be seen in this way. Further, the label serves clearly to separate the labeler from the labeled, the conquerors from the conquered, the anthropologist from the natives being studied. The natives then become, in the language of Postcolonialism, the Other. The Other is a central term, indicating the complete difference and even opposition maintained (or more properly, constructed) by the colonizing power. The Other is defined through the use of the kinds of binary oppositions we discussed in the series on Structuralism. Common pairs which the colonizer uses to other (the word can be employed as a verb in this context) the colonized are primitive/ advanced, intelligent/ stupid, civilized/ savage, holy/ godless, rational/ irrational, reasoned/ emotional, contemplative/ appetitive, ordered/ disordered, sensitive/ insensitive, human/ animal, beautiful/ ugly, white/ black, light/ dark, cold/ hot (think of emotion as well as climate) and many more. The colonizer applies the first of all these pairs to himself, and the second to the colonized, making the first uniformly positive, and the second uniformly negative.

Once the Other has been sufficiently well branded, they (or, more properly, it) no longer occupy the same conceptual space as Us, the people who are civilized and who are doing the evaluating. Since our sense of ethical obligation arises, generally, in a series of concentric relationship circles, the Other is largely removed from ethical consideration. By concentric relationship circles, I mean that each of us, considered as the center of our own circles of relationships, feels a closeness, generally to certain individuals, and less, or none, to others. Obviously, my concern for myself and my own well being is very high. Next, we have the people who are constantly in my life, like my parents, my own children, and often my siblings and closest, longest friends. These groups could also be ranked, with my own children coming in the first circle, my spouse next (or even in the same one as my children), then my parents and siblings, and then my closest friends. This will vary from individual to individual based on specific life circumstances and the relationship history they have with all of these individuals, but generally, the people named here are the prime candidates for being in your closest circles of relationship.

Those in your closest circles enjoy privileged positions in your life, and it is generally accepted that you feel obligations to them that you do no feel for strangers. For instance, if your child needs an organ which you can provide, you provide it. If your friend needs help moving his or her furniture, you (perhaps grudgingly) offer a hand. However, we are far less likely to offer these privileges to more distant relations (like cousins we seldom see, or aunts and uncles we don't know well), and even less likely to offer them to casual acquaintances, coworkers, and so on. Finally, we come to total strangers, who are the least likely of all to receive such considerations from us.

Along with privileges and favors, we also feel that those who are closest to us deserve being treated by higher ethical standards than strangers. Lying to your boss to get off work early is not considered ethical, but it considered more ethical than lying to your spouse or child. Similarly, murder is deplorable whenever it occurs, but there is a special revulsion that accompanies hearing tales of those who have killed those who were closest to them. As objective as some argue we should try to be, people feel a stronger sense of dedication, duty, and care for those who are closer to them, and less for those who are further out, which makes us feel ethically more accountable to people the nearer we hold them to ourselves.

Once question here is how far we are willing to extend these circles of relationship. We mentioned strangers as a distant category, but this is doubtless divided according to geographical location (I am more likely to help someone who comes from the place I come from than someone from another place), and other factors. However, do these circles extend to the non-human? This has become an interesting challenge for ethics, but lived experience tells us that the closest animals (like family pets), can occupy relationship circles even closer than those of some humans. Some people see circles of relationship extending into the animal kingdom, all the way through into living things in general - this kind of extension of human ethics into the natural world is at the root of many environmental movements.

Despite the possibility of being able to extend our range of ethical concern very broadly into the world as a whole, traditionally and historically, there has been a qualitative difference between how we treat human beings, and how we treat all other things. Even today, the majority of people do not see it as a problem that we use animals for food, or force them into doing difficult labor. Animals, after all, cannot think the same way we do, and are incapable of understanding, so we do not owe them the same regard that we owe other human beings. Further, they have no voice, so they are unable to tell us, for better or worse, how they feel about being treated the way they are.

In Postcolonial terms, what we have done, and continue to do with animals, is to Other them; we define ourselves positively according to specific criteria that we find important, assign positive values to the traits we possess, and then assign the opposite and negative characteristics to the group we want to distinguish from ourselves. This same process is precisely what the colonizer does to the colonized, and the results are much the same. If I am able to see the differences between myself and those I have discriminated myself from as being great, I can then consider them qualitatively different, like I do the animals. As a result, this group goes from being on one of my distant relationship circles, to which I attach at least basic ethical considerations (I won't harm them, for instance), to being ranked, along with all other non-human things, as outside the circles of relationship all together, and therefore not suitable targets of ethical consideration.

So, the relationship between colonizer and colonized is not merely one where there are unequal power relationships between the groups - it is not a relationship at all, since one group has all the power and value, whereas the other is merely instrumental - it is considered a non-human tool, which can be useful as a means to achieving the colonizer's other goals (like obtaining wealth), but which is not itself considered a subject, with agency, or with inherent value. The use of human beings as means, rather than ends, is not morally justified; however, since the colonizers consider the colonized non-human, or at least not significantly human, there is no ethical violation.

Obviously, this idea of Othering, while it was coined in Postcolonial discourse, is the same move that leads to all kinds of discrimination and atrocity. In Feminist discourse, men have been seen as historically Othering women, and therefore repressing them. Slavery in America relied on a similar process of dehumanizing Othering to justify the keeping of Africans and their descendents for forced labor. Perhaps the strongest, most horrific example that is widely known is the Nazi Othering of the Jews before and during the Second World War - in this case, the Othering was made even more explicit than usual by its alarming speed, and its outward signs. Jews were branded with an identification number, like cattle, rendering them mere possessions, though without even the instrumental use possessions are afforded. None of these extensions of Othering features explicit colonization, but this is where Postcolonial theory begins to expand beyond its original borders. Just as one can colonize a nation, so too can one colonize a group of people, or even an individual. We can see that the term "colonize" is broadened to include not only physical colonization and occupation of geographical areas, but also personal physical and mental spaces.

In the realm of literary studies, Postcolonial theory has risen to an impressive status, and its discourse has been applied to literature in almost every conceivable way, from its history and production, to its evolution and spread, and even to considerations of texts and authors which predate the colonial period by millennia. Starting near the start, we can see Postcolonial discourse arising in the writings of authors like Edward Said, whose foundational text, Orientalism, laid the groundwork for the critique of historical and contemporary political and educational institutions. Gayatri Spivak is another important early voice in Postcolonial discourse, who combined the kinds of work Said was doing with insights from Postmodernism and Deconstruction.

One of the earliest applications of Postcolonial theory to literary studies has to do with the Western canon. As we have discussed previously, the canon is the unofficial "list" of great works that are said to be the best and most representative of their time in history. Traditionally, literature courses and even departments were dedicated to the canon because the works were considered the best, and therefore the most worth teaching. The problem here, of course, is that the evaluation of the works that make it onto the privileged list has been done, in the West, almost exclusively by white males, who have traditionally chosen works by other white males as preferable. As a result, entire traditions had not been considered literary, and found no place either on the canon, or in the classroom.

Postcolonialists sought to change this state of affairs, and began to argue for the value of works from a far wider array of cultures, including all those that the Europeans colonized. Here in North America, for instance, the writing and stories of Native Americans was completely ignored by the academy. The influence of Postcolonialism has been such that now it is difficult to find a university English or Comparative Literature department that does not offer courses which feature Native American writing. As a result, our understanding of English has been significantly broadened, since the language of English colonizers has been adopted and transformed in many colonized areas. One excellent example is India, where the colonized have learned the language of the colonizers, and often used it to write back against the history and practices of colonization.

One of the primary concerns of Postcolonialism has been to give a voice to those who have traditionally been voiceless, as a means of giving power back to people who have had it taken from them. Postcolonialism has been quite successful in this regard, but it has not happened unproblematically. Those with a voice inside the arenas of academic power, like the universities, had to be the ones to make the first moves, in order to raise awareness to the academic community as a whole that their practices had been exclusionary and based on false assumptions and generalizations. This allowed the discourse to grow, to the point where no academic in the humanities can afford to be ignorant of Postcolonial issues. A problem arises, however, when you consider who is doing the speaking here. In the attempt to give a voice to the voiceless, the academy has actually taken the discourse and made it their own, so that they have once again colonized a metaphorical region and displaced the native inhabitants. As a result, there has been a strong push to involve the formerly colonized, so that they can tell their own stories, and speak for themselves. This means not only reading works from formerly colonized people, but also employing them at the university, attending their conferences, and generally being open to redefining Postcolonial discourse that pays attention to those whom it was designed to empower.

In order to get a feel for Postcolonial theory at work in the literary realm, it will be most useful to apply it to at least two literary texts. To begin, let us use an example that lends itself very well to a basic and obvious Postcolonial reading, Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, which many of you have likely either read in high school or university, or will in the future. If you have not read this book, and do not want the plot details spoiled, stop reading here, since a brief summary is in order to refresh memories, or to introduce the work to those who have not read it.

Most basically, the story is narrated by an old sea-dog named Marlow, who recounts his earliest nautical adventure. He is able to arrange to captain a trading boat down through Africa, on what we assume to be the Congo River, on a mission to transport ivory. As a side project, which eventually becomes his central concern, he is to find and retrieve Kurtz, another ivory trader, who has made a great reputation for himself, but who has gone missing and silent. Marlow's journey is filled with small problems (like needing to wait for rivets to repair his ship) with highly bureaucratic and political overtones, caused by the colonial "government's" lack of will, knowledge, and ability. He is attacked by natives, and uses others to transport goods and do work aboard his steamer. When he eventually comes upon Kurtz, Marlow finds him at a remote village: the local tribe has taken him as a kind of god-leader figure, and they do his bidding. Kurtz has completely fallen into this life, and enjoys the position of power he occupies. However, he is not well, and Marlow is able to convince him to accompany him back to his steamer - Kurtz dies onboard, and his last words are ominous "The Horror! The Horror!"

Because this novel is set in the late 1800s, near the end of the British colonial project, it lends itself very well to Postcolonial criticism. One direct and (somewhat oversimplified) Postcolonial reading sees Conrad as a racist and the novel as a blatant example of the worst parts of colonial discourse. The white European characters in the novel are presented with interesting personalities, and individual identities, while the native inhabitants are only seen through white eyes, and as a result have no depth of character or personality. They are more like the landscape, background to the real, important events of the story. Through such means, they have been dehumanized, which as we have discussed is a classic colonial move in the attempt to overtake the Other.

Further continuing our Postcolonial reading, the story of Kurtz is essentially a colonial fantasy come true. The powerful white man, with advanced technology and a commanding presence, impresses the black natives so much that they bow down to him and treat him like a god. He is welcomed to do as he wishes with their resources, and he can command them to do whatever he likes. The natives are portrayed as being simple-minded, voiceless, and completely dependent on the white colonizer for rule and guidance. Even the title, Heart of Darkness, adds to the racist colonial discourse of the novel. Africa is portrayed as a dark, chaotic place of evil, without culture or civilization, where the color of the inhabitants matches the metaphorical darkness of the continent. Dark stands in opposition to light, which is a key binary in the text. The colonizers are light skinned, enlightened, bright, and so on, while the native inhabitants are dark skinned, dim-witted (not very bright), in the dark about matters outside their own borders, and so on. In short, Heart of Darkness, in this view, illustrates the objections of Postcolonial theory perfectly.

As with most of the other politically or morally guided literary theories we have been discussing, Postcolonial theory can be applied bluntly, resulting in a similar reading for almost any text to which you would like to apply it. The reading I have just outlined is an example of this kind of blunt application, which has considered only the aspects of the novel it sees as problematic, and then condemned both novel and author (which is especially risky, ethically speaking, because it means you have equated authors with their narrators, meaning authors cannot adopt a position that is not their own) as being tools of and evidence for colonial oppression. However, Postcolonial criticism is not defined merely by this kind of deck-stacking approach. By focusing on the parts of the text that do not seem to fit the simplistic "the author is a racist colonialist" approach, it is possible to see the interesting and complex depth of the novel's approach to colonization.

Looking at Marlow's journey, we can see that it is impeded more by problems he has with white colonial representatives than with the black natives. Marlow's motivation for wanting to captain his steamer are simple, and somewhat naïve: he is motivated to adventure as a child, looking at the globe and seeing the darkest reaches of unmapped Africa. However, what he finds on his journey is that the wonder he imagines accompanying discovery is completely destroyed by the imperial, utilitarian attitude the colonial powers have taken. Their goal is to use Africa, to extract its riches, through whatever means necessary. As a result, the natives are treated as largely non-human, and the land is abused. Further, the bureaucratic morass that Marlow despises about life in London has been exported to the Congo; nothing works as you want it to, nothing arrives on time, and everyone is concerned more about keeping their positions secure than with the actual jobs they have been assigned.

In one of the most memorable and telling colonial images of the novel, we are presented with a French vessel that is firing cannon into the jungle. The vessel is attempting to "attack" the natives or to retaliate against them, but the absurdity of the attempt is both sad and laughable. This is an obvious symbol of the failure of the Europeans to understand Africa and its inhabitants. In Europe, there would be an army to attack, and a base to bomb. Here, there is no army, and the "base," as far as they can see, is the entire green expanse of the jungle. What further makes the bombing ridiculous and ineffective is the fact that, as the French boat makes its way down the river, it is not merely harming or punishing a single group: the goal of the bombing is apparently to show one native group that their behavior will not be tolerated. Instead, the vessel is covering miles and miles of territory that is inhabited by numerous different tribes, often with competing interests. The European colonial tendency to lump all of the natives together, and to employ traditional practices in a context which renders them silly, is being pointed out here. In this case, the natives, rather than the Europeans, are shown to be the more rational, adaptable group. They have worked to adjust their way of life in the face of the reality of European colonization, and even their resistance is suited to the task. The Europeans, on the other hand, refuse to take the reality of their new surroundings into account.

Looking at Kurtz and his becoming a god-leader to the natives, we can see that he is not evaluated by Marlow as an exalted being - far from it. Instead, he is portrayed as a man who has lost touch with reality, a man who, while intelligent, ambitious, and charismatic, has simply gone down a dark mental path from which it is impossible to return. Kurtz's state of mind is paralleled by his physical state when Marlow finds him in the jungle. He is ill, hardly able to move without support, a mere shell of what we might imagine to have been his former self. The reality of Kurtz does not match the powerful legend that has sprung up around him. His "little kingdom" is in ruins.

Far from being a mere endorsement and manifestation of colonial powers on a concrete micro scale, Kurtz and his situation seem more likely to represent the failure of the colonial enterprise and its naïve assumptions about its own powers and about the natives. Certainly it is possible to enter the land of another people who are less technologically advanced and impress them with your strange appearance and apparently wonderful abilities. However, over time, these factors alone are not enough to achieve anything. The natives will not be "civilized," your rule will not be firmly established, and you will fall to pieces yourself, or simply desire nothing more than to give up and go home.

It is clear that aspects of both readings I have given for Heart of Darkness are reasonable, and are supported by the contents of the text. What is vital to remember when reading or performing such Postcolonial operations is that there is a multitude of ways each of the key points can be interpreted and connected to other key points in the novel. Through experience with Postcolonial criticism and theory, one can see the array of positions possible in every text, and one can critically evaluate each against the others, providing a more balanced and inclusive view of the text that aligns with one's own experience of the work.

A novel like Heart of Darkness is an excellent and obvious place to start when working out the terms and conditions of Postcolonial theory, because it is a work both set and written in colonial times. The colonization of Africa is everywhere present in the novel, and this is precisely what Postcolonial criticism was born to evaluate. The reach and power of Postcolonial studies is so impressive, however, that it is able to detach itself from its European colonial roots and take effective aim at very different temporal periods, both past and present. Even the over two millennia old Greek epic The Iliad is not beyond its reach. One might argue that Homer, its acknowledged author, could not possibly have had colonial issues on his mind when he wrote (or compiled) his poem - such matters don't rise to the level of general human concern for thousands of years. However, this is largely irrelevant in considering whether Postcolonial theory is applicable to a given work. The focus, in this case, is not on the colonial issues that are manifestly arrayed and dealt with (as in Heart of Darkness); as much can be learned from examining what is covert or latent in a given work. Issues that are not being explicitly explored because they are taken as a given by a particular culture can still be fruitfully examined, giving us a better understanding of the text, as well as the culture that produced it.

The Iliad is a story, told in the form of an epic poem, about a war that is being waged between the Trojans and Greeks. The story beings in the mists of time, before The Iliad proper begins, when a powerful Greek leader, Menelaus, is playing host to a Trojan delegation including Prince Paris and his brother Hector. Paris, gifted of all men for his sheer beauty, falls for Menelaus's wife, Helen, who is said to be the most beautiful mortal woman. They are obviously very well suited (imagine a classical Brad and Angelina pairing, without any of the strong sense of social duty), and Paris takes Helen with him as he flees to Troy, back under the protection of his father's great armies.

Menelaus, needless to say, is outraged. He decides that an armed response is needed, but realizes that he will need help if he is to have any chance against the combined might of the Trojan armies. Therefore, he calls together all the great leaders of the Greek states, and they set out for Troy armed to the teeth and looking for vengeance (not to mention Helen). They arrive and see that Troy's defenses are formidable, so they lay siege to the city. This lasts for about ten years, with either side scoring major and minor victories, and both sides (especially the Greek) enduring a lot of internal conflict. Achilles, the greatest Greek hero, becomes angry, at one point, that Agamemnon (the overall leader of the Greek forces) has taken the Trojan slave he had captured for himself, which causes Achilles to withdraw, pouting, to his ships, and leaves the Greek army very vulnerable. Eventually, with Achilles and Hector both dead, and the Greeks nearly defeated, clever Odysseus (known later by the Romans as Ulysses), comes up with the Trojan horse ploy: the Greeks build a huge wooden horse as a peace offering/gift to the Trojans in the hopes it will keep them from chasing them home for revenge. Then, the Greek ships set sail. The Trojans bring the horse inside the city as a great symbol of their victory, and get loaded drunk. That night, the Greeks who had hid themselves in the hollow belly of the wooden horse exit it, and run around the city killing everyone they can, eventually setting fire to the city and thoroughly looting it. Their ships, now returned, pick them up to transport the heroes, as well as the wealth of Troy, and of course Helen, back to Greece.

Although the point of the mission was, putatively, the recovery of a stolen bride, Postcolonial criticism is highly applicable to numerous aspects of this story. First of all, the story begins with an event that underlines the metaphorical colonization of women in Greek society. Helen is the idealized, perfect manifestation of woman, prized for her beauty alone. Menelaus owns her, having earned the right to claim her as his own property, or territory, by virtue of his strong social standing and strong army. This is a reflection of Greek social values, which saw women as territories to be conquered by the most powerful men. When Paris arrives for his ill-fated visit, he sees this exotic beauty, and decides that he will have her for his own. He takes her away, and while we are never quite sure what Helen thinks of all this (and different Greek sources portray her differently), we know that Paris has made a successful conquest, and has "colonized" Helen. The overlap between Postcolonialism and Feminism is evident here, but this is fitting since the two fields do share significant concerns in literary and political scholarship.

Further connections between Feminism and Postcolonialism are evident in the core personal conflict at the heart of The Iliad: the feud between Agamemnon and Achilles, begun by a dispute over a captured slave woman. After a successful raid on a temple, Achilles chooses for himself a priestess by the name of Briseis. A standard practice in colonial conquest is to take the native women as "wives" or slaves, or simply to rape them. This, as I mentioned above, is the kind of dual colonization that women in the colonized region face. Not only do they have their homes taken, but their bodies as well. This is precisely the content of a poignant speech made by Hector's wife, Andromache, as Hector prepares to face off against Achilles. She is obviously worried about his life, and about her own, and her child's, but part of the subtle horror she evokes as she speaks is the thought of the Greek men overcoming the city's defenses and taking her as their slave-bride. Clearly, colonial practices have been present for a far greater expanse of time than the so-called colonial period.

Looking at the war as a whole, we can see that it maps well onto the standard colonial script. A nation comes from overseas with superior forces and attempts to overcome the native inhabitants, taking over their land and homes. The natives resist as best they can, and the two sides arrive at a kind of stalemate, where the superior force is unable to make further progress. Think about Afghanistan, to compare a recent conflict. Many armies have become colonial powers there, for a time, but in the end a stalemate was reached, and the colonial power eventually retreated. This essentially happens to the Greeks, who are almost driven completely back to their boats, and might well have been repelled, were it not for Odysseus's trickery.

The Trojan horse itself is an interesting symbol of the dangers which lurk beneath the promises of colonialism. Nations often come to a new territory with gifts and promises to improve the lives of the native inhabitants. Missionaries, often on the vanguard of colonial missions, bring new tools and comforts to the people, and offer them the chance at a life beyond this life that will be eternal. However, this shiny package is not all it appears to be. With the supplies and promise of salvation come more and more colonizers, who want the land and its resources for themselves. By the time the natives have realized what is happening, how they are being used, and how their culture is being destroyed, it is too late. The Trojan horse is already within the city's walls, and all of its consequences will be felt.

It is evident that there are some differences between this story and the usual colonial script - the imbalance of power is not nearly as marked between the Greeks and Trojans, and the two nations seem to be able to barter, fight, and communicate from positions of relative parity. That being said, Postcolonial theory is flexible enough to be used to describe an array of texts and situations, in a way that provides insights that would otherwise be unavailable, or overlooked. While Postcolonial theory will not produce enlightening or interesting readings of all texts, it has enough to say that, when reading any work, it should be something you take into consideration. You will surprise yourself with what you find.