Body/Text/History: Violation of Borders in Assia Djebar's Fantasia

Assia Djebar's novel Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade (1985) can be read as a political novel which examines the permeability of borders, especially between Algeria and the female body. As the primary site of signification and meaning, the body becomes a text which attempts to circulate knowledge and encourage resistance outside a position of mastery, and the same body/text suffers as it is inscribed by the dominant power. The distinction between nature and culture is interrogated as the borders of the body/text overlap the borders of war, writing, history, and sexuality. Ultimately, given the position of the female body within the symbolic system, the border between war and peace is revealed as illusory. This article is available in Studies in 20th Century Literature: http://newprairiepress.org/sttcl/vol22/iss2/5 Body/Text/History: Violation of Borders in Assia Djebar's Fantasia David Waterman Institut Superieur d'Enseignement Universitaire Professionnel Horror never grows more profound; it only repeats itself -Mohammed Dib Assia Djebar's novel, Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade (1985; originally written in French as L 'amour, la fantasia), can be read as a political novel which examines, on many levels, the concept of borders, especially borders violated. Although Fantasia is largely set in the time of the French occupation and colonization of Algeria, Djebar provides the reader with a much more complex account of border violation and remapping than might be expected from a "war" novel. For centuries, authors have been describing war-torn countries as "conquered," "despoiled," and "raped." In Fantasia, Djebar anthropomorphizes Algeria with violent, erotic cliches too, but she goes beyond simile, creating a novel which centers on Algeria under occupation as inextricably linked to the female body, functioning as the site of signification and mediation. The body becomes the semiotic palimpsest upon which the symbolic is written. The female body and occupied Algeria become as one, and because both are determined not only by nature but by culture as well, both are related to history; the body/country becomes a text which carries the historical record. The body is not only a material form, but imaginary as well; Djebar makes a strong connection between the sexuality of the female body and the eroticism of war. The female body/Algeria becomes not just an image, but the central text of borders violated/ unveiled, firmly connected to war, writing, history, and sexuality. 1 Waterman: Body/Text/History: Violation of Borders in Assia Djebar's Fantasi Published by New Prairie Press 320 STCL, Volume 22, No. 2 (Summer, 1998) Ultimately, Djebar also destroys the boundary between war and peace, suggesting that the two are indistinguishable given the position of the female body within the symbolic system. A related question to consider within this framework is posed by Trinh T. Minh-ha: "Can knowledge circulate without a position of mastery?" (41). This context of body/text/history/sexuality leads us to question our assumptions about where knowledge is produced, how it is transmitted, and the consequences of resistance. In Fantasia, the female body must be seen not only as an individual, but as a collective body too, a body which Anne Donadey suggests "returns to a double past" (107). This double past refers not only to an historical space occupied by an individual/collective body, but a female body as it is positioned during wartime and peace both. History books are full of a double past which distinguishes between the border violations of war and the integrity of peacetime borders, but no such distinction is made for the female body. The veil is the symbol of the body's culturally-determined border, or to define culture more specifically, the veil is imposed by a patriarchal power structure. There is, after all, nothing natural about the veil. The oppressive situation of colonialism and war becomes gendered by its relation, even in times of peace, to the female body. This colonial violence, Julia Emberley argues, leads to "some understanding of the way women's bodies-both literally and figuratively-are often the central site on which and through which social violence is produced and reproduced" (50). The body, of course, has its natural borders, but the veil becomes important precisely because it is unnatural; its imposition by culture relates it to other largely unnatural structures, such as writing and history.' The relationship between body, writing, and history begins early in the young girl's life, and on the first page of Djebar's novel as well. The Arab girl is discovering her awakening sexuality in the form of a love letter written to her by a boy she does not know. It is at this point that the girl must be locked away, because love-letters, according to her father, are "tantamount to setting the stage for rape" (4). Her father's solution, approved by both men and women of the culture, is to "wrap the nubile girl in veils. Make her invisible . . . destroy in her every memory of the world without" (3). The jailer must keep a careful watch, and even so, the words will escape: "Her voice, albeit silenced, will circulate" (3). Words have an incredible double power regarding the border of the veil; words can protect and insulate, and they can penetrate. Regarding a lover's letter, the 2 Studies in 20th & 21st Century Literature, Vol. 22, Iss. 2 [1998], Art. 5 http://newprairiepress.org/sttcl/vol22/iss2/5 DOI: 10.4148/2334-4415.1445