Please look below for the continuing conversions in two thrilling posts, Mary Kate on Beowulf and love and Eileen on the impasse of gender and sex, with special attention to another favorite, Guthlac.
When in medieval intellectual befunkitude, I try to open myself to the unknown in the hopes that I'll be surprised. German works might be the best for this, since, if you're anything like me, you know more about Latin than you do French literatures, and more about French than you do Italian or Spanish literatures: but you know next to nothing about anything else. German, in translation or not (and it's very much in translation for me!), tends to be a backwater unless we're tracking Eric, Percival, Tristan, and other favorite romance heroes. Too bad! I can highly recommend Duke Ernst, Ortnit, Wolfdietrich, the Munich Oswald, and, now, perhaps less enthusiastically, the sacred histories of Ava.
Translator James A. Rushing, jr. identifies Ava as both the first named woman writer of the vernacular in the Western Middle Ages (as she probably died 1127, she predates Marie de France by several decades) and the first writer of German epic. Ava's history of the life of John the Baptist and Jesus for the most part closely follows the pericopes of Christmas and Easter. Because so much is so familiar, my reading slid along while waiting to be snagged by 12th-century hazards. This made for a quick but not particularly interesting read.
A sampling of snags: when the three wise men (bearing "gold from Arabia") remove their armor before honoring Christ; when Mary comports herself like an anchoress by sitting alone in her room praying for the salvation of the world; when the apostles worship Christ and Mary after Christ's resurrection; when Ava characterizes Jesus's triumph as a victory over "one who had robbed him of his land"; when we get a glimpse of the investiture controversy, as Jesus, we hear, "never used his divine origin to evade human law" (see also the sustained attention to the powers with which Christ invested Peter and to the socially disruptive force of excommunications, which, immediately prior to the appearance of Antichrist, drive all "the good to flee to caves in the forest"); when we encounter the Hell Mouth, which is, here, perhaps also a Purgatorial mouth (as those who enter it can be freed via confession and repentance), and also very much the mouth of a "helle hunde" (is the species of the mouth of hell elsewhere so specifically identified?); when--presumably à la mode--French appears ("chastellen" ("Life" 56.9); cf. "burge" ("Judgment" 12.3): I wish Rushing had marked the distinction in such places, as my (wholly uninformed!) sense is that the vocab of the translation is much smaller than the original); when the pileus cornutus (e.g., here) crowds the illustrations (even Joseph wears one), which leads me to wonder when this appeared East of the Rhine; and, above all, the astonishing moment of affective piety, of writing and desiring across time, when Ava laments being unable to enter her own history:
Alas, Joseph the good,
there you lifted my Lord down from the cross.
Had I lived then,
I would have clung fast to you,
at the glorious funeral
of my very dear Lord. ("Life," 157.1-6)
I'm inclined to wonder whether Ava is a pseudonym. With Anne Middleton's reading of Langland's autobiography in mind (“Acts of Vagrancy: The C Version ‘Autobiography’ and the Statute of 1388"), I wonder if Ava has, through her (claimed?) name, inserted herself into salvation history by taking on something like the Marian name that reversed Eve ("Ave," hail, revises Eve in an exegetical commonplace). The autobiographical ending claims "This book was written / by the mother of two children," one of whom is dead and the other alive, "toil[ing] in earthly woes," and calls upon the reader to wish mercy on the soul of the dead son, and grace for the other and "the mother, who is Ava." It'd probably be too cute by half to call the dead son Abel and the live one Cain, as this whole paragraph is probably too cute.
I can, however, defend my interest in Ava's version of the 15 Signs of the Last Judgment (for more on this tradition, see W. W. Heist, The Fifteen Signs before Doomsday (Michigan State College P, 1952, which is making its interlibrary way to me as of now):
On the fourth day,I hope you find Ava's concern for animals, and her presumption of animals' concern for us--and perhaps for their own coming destruction--as astonishing as I do. I think I've just found my Kzoo 2009 paper. Without too much effort, I can sense of number of practical approaches to putting this concern in motion:
then the lamentation arises,
then the fish and all the monsters of the sea
rise up from the abyss.
They fight above the sea
making a loud noise.
Then things do not go very well
for those that have fins and fish bones.
On the fifth day,
then comes a greater lamentation.
Then all the fowl
that ever flew under heaven
rise up in the fields,
be they tame or wild.
They woof and weep (I presume this word, "weinent," is the same Ava uses for Peter's weeping at his betrayal of Christ, "do ilt er weinende danne gan" (then he hurried away, crying))
with great screaming.
They bite and scratch,
they strike one another.
The day goes very badly
for those that have wings and talons....
On the twelfth day
the beasts of the field help us lament.
When the animals go out of the forest
against the beasts of the field,
full loudly they roar
as they clash together
with loud cries,
just before the Judgment.
- a 'becoming-human' of the world, and 'becoming-world' of the human, in a rereading of the 'affective fallacy' as the world all feeling together;
- feeling with and for animals, and vice versa, as a discovery of friendship at the ultimate point of vulnerability (here I think of various ethics of the flesh based in phenomenology and on Derrida's proposed ethics of a 'not being able');
- mourning that which should be unmournable, i.e., animal lives (and one thinks here of the applications of Butler's-as-yet-unread-for-me Precarious Life
You who are still here, what can you give me?
[picture from flickr user locket479, here, through Creative Commons]