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List of Illustrations Preface: The Charisma of Waste Acknowledgments Xiii Permissions
List of Illustrations Preface: The Charisma of Waste Acknowledgments Xiii Permissions
List of Illustrations Preface: The Charisma of Waste Acknowledgments Xiii Permissions
Contents
Notes 167
Bibliography 197
Index 217
CHAPTER 1
T
o understand the many conflicts circulating in and around Gertrude
Steins waste management poetics, it may be useful to consider the
testimony of an outside reporter. In 1927 William Carlos Williams
visited Steins salon at 27 rue de Fleurus. Although his visit merits little
more than a mention by Stein in The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas (1933),
Williamss own account helps us see more clearly the affiliations and disaf-
filiations that would characterize modernism and its critical reception. It
also makes legible the importance of waste for Steins writing economy and
its defining role in schisms between Stein and other modernist writers. In
The Autobiography of William Carlos Williams (1951), the writer recalls:
We looked at the paintings. Who could not have done so? It was one of
the sights of Paris. Tea was served, after or during which Miss Stein went
to the small cabinet, opened it and began to take out her manuscripts,
one at a time, telling us the titles and saying that she hoped some day
to see them printed. I cant remember the exact sequence of what fol-
lowed, but one way or another she asked me what I would do were the
unpublished books mine and I were faced with the difficulty she was
experiencing.
It must have been that I was in one of my more candid moods or that
the cynical opinion of Pound and other of my friends about Miss Steins
work was uppermost in my mind, for my reply was, If they were mine,
having so many, I should probably select what I thought were the best
and throw the rest into the fire.
The result of my remark was instantaneous. There was a shocked
silence out of which I heard Miss Stein say, No doubt. But then writing
is not, of course, your mtier.
That closed the subject and we left soon after. (254)
You are so full of a cow factory. You manufacture cows by vows. The
cows produce reduce reduce they reduce the produce. Cows are necessary
after feeding. We are needing what we have after feeding. After feeding
we find cows out. How are cows multiplied. By proper treatment. Thank
you so much for being so explicit. (307)
literary corpus, as a synonym for orgasm. The word often appears contigu-
ous to celebrations of the female body and is at times incanted in a frenzy
of clotted repetitionscow come out cow come outwhich poststruc-
turalist critics like Marianne DeKoven have likened to a kind of textual,
antipatriarchal jouissance.6 Dolores Klaich advances a more precise repre-
sentational interpretation of the cow, suggesting that it and Caesar, which
frequently appears in tandem with the cow, clearly . . . make the most sense
as symbols of parts of the particular parts of the body involved in the act of
cunnilingus before claiming that in A Sonatina Followed by Another the
cow would also seem to mean orgasm (206). Similar readings have been
advanced by Linda Simon, one of Stein and Toklass earliest critical biogra-
phers, and Ulla Dydo, Steins most scrupulous textual critic. Simon argues,
The cow makes sense best as the end product of their lovemaking (316).
Dydo writes, Always it is Stein, the husband, who makes love to Toklas,
the wife, which culminates in her having a cow, or orgasm (the verb to cow)
also appears (Language 28). McCabe likens the repetitive invocations of
cow come out in Emp Lace to a spasm of hyper-femininity, one that
mimics both childbirth and orgasm (92).
While Steins invocations of the cow express an erotic exuberance that
makes orgasm a plausible reading in many pieces of writing, a closer look
at the passage above reveals that many other contexts beyond the sexual
are involved in this production of cows. A striking digestive motif (After
feeding we find cows out) is intermingled with logics of production and
efficiency (You are so full of a cow factory). The passage describes a literal
incorporation of the scientific management system of Frederick Winslow
Taylor that sought to increase . . . productivity and reduce wastefulness
not just in the factory but, as Martha Banta argues, in every phase of diur-
nal experience, including domestic management (ix, 9). Steins Taylorist
interest in productivity and, in this instance, waste reduction is evident in
her suggestion that cows produce reduce reduce they reduce the produce,
a line that employs formal excess (reduce reduce they reduce) even as it
evinces, on the semantic level, a conflict between production and reduction
(reduce the produce). In this scenario, the cow is both a valued product
to be manufactured and perhaps as well a waste product to be reduced.
These tensions between excess and reduction animate Steins writing, as
does a thoroughgoing interest in feeding and digestion. But a related ques-
tion emerges about the passage above, one that demands a more immediate
response. In what context does it makes sense to equate a beloved queer body
with the logic and operations of the factory system? Despite the old-world
excesses of her own body, Stein in her writing eroticizes the lean produc-
tive body of Toklas, who was not only Steins lover, but also the domestic
transposes industrial models onto the digestive system, turning the alimen-
tary canal into a scientifically monitored assembly line:
All of the functions of the body are operated by something very much
akin to electricitymental energyso that aside from the fermentation
which gluttony makes possible, the mere drag of handling of dead mate-
rial in the body, that the body cannot use, for two or three days, is a
wasteful draught on the available mental capacity.
Using an electric power-plant as analogous to the Mind Power-Plant
of the brain, and a trolley railroad as analogous to the machinery of the
bodyanalogies which are very close by consistent similaritythe load-
ing of the stomach with unprepared food, as in gluttony, is like loading
flat cars with pig iron and running them around the line of the road in
place of passenger cars, thereby using up valuable energy and wearing
out the equipment without any profit resulting from the expenditure.
(13233)
Gertrude Stein wrote a great many little war poems (828). As Steins com-
ment suggests, the eras technological innovations did not always deliver the
efficiency they promised. Yet the interval between imagining the body (in
this instance, the ford) and its realization can be a productive one for writ-
ing. As we shall see, delay between the imagined body and its delivery will
typify Stein and Toklass own complicated circuit of writing, typing, and
bodily production, which is riven between productivity and constipation
within the Stein household.
After the Fords body has been built and delivered to Stein, she encoun-
ters a number of mechanical problems requiring the help of passersby, whose
interventions expose the implicit class significations of Steins old-world
body in comparison to the leanness of the new efficient body:
It is precisely because Stein does not possess the efficient body of the con-
tracted worker or other volunteers that she can convincingly assume the role
of a manager, conscripting others to perform labor for her. No doubt Steins
attitude and manner (good humoured and democratic) contributed to
her success in her eliciting the help of others. However, as she herself admits,
the main difference lies in the contrast between others efficient thin bod-
ies and her own not efficient body. (Ironically, the built machinic body
of the Ford, with its breakdowns and need for cranking and ministrations,
more resembles Steins not efficient corpoautomobile than the efficient
bodies surrounding her.) The tension between the voluptuous excesses of
Steins body and the radical modernity of her vision and writing makes her a
pivotal figure in this period, both as a popular icon and as a writer in whose
work these tensions between efficiency and inefficiency were being played
out.
Steins own sense of her bodys inefficiency reflects cultural attitudes
toward the excesses attributed to her as a corpulent Jewish lesbian.
Catharine Stimpson has ably shown how Steins somagramsfigurations
of the female body, both in depictions of Stein by journalists, and in Steins
writings about the bodyhave been used as explanatory metaphors for her
work, particularly by detractors [who] conflate her mind and body in an
attempt to neutralize the threat to a dominant ideology of a corpulent
female Jewish lesbian and her literary excesses (643). (Such phobias are
expressed by Wyndham Lewis; when reviewing Three Lives, Lewis complains
that it is all fat, without nerve, and that the weight . . . that is characteristic
of the work of Miss Steinlike the sluggish weight of her characters . . . is, to
me, of a dead order of things [61, 64]). Stimpson also suggests that critical
attacks on Steins girth functioned as a screen for critics disgust at Steins
lesbianism, which could not be named fully and publically at the time
(643). Such cautions are important to note when taking up discussions of
Stein and the body. And yet, as Stimpson later argues, Stein herself incor-
porated these representations in her own work, at first reinforcing phobic
disgust at the corpulent body and then, over the course of her writing career,
becoming freer and more flexible in these representations as she became
less monstrous to herself (646). The writing of Tender Buttons (1914) was
a pivotal moment in this resignification of the abject into the erotic; so too
was the earlier A Long Gay Book (completed in 1912), in which one literally
sees Steins style and attitudes toward the figured female body transform
midway through the composition of the book.
Class signification also informed this rewriting of gender body codes,
although not in an entirely coherent manner. Certainly broad economic and
social changes in the modern period resulted in the stigmatization of bodily
excess as inefficiency or waste. In the passage above, Stein herself gestures
toward these changes in technological development, in its impact on both
the economy and the politics of war, and finally, in the pressure that tech-
nology places on the body to become more efficient, more productive,
and more skilled so as to operate and mimic the machinery surrounding it.
Fletcherisms corresponding emphasis on productivity and the reduction of
waste shows the impress of these Taylorist principles on the health rhetoric
of the period. Like many of her peers, Stein responded to this rhetoric, and
her concern about Toklass health shows the imprint of broader ideological
process in which anxieties about the changing body politic body are discur-
sively written on the human body, particularly the bodies of women. Just as
sexual identity underwent sweeping redefinition in the wake of juridical and
medical pathologization during this period, so too were bodies shapes and
sizes subject to regimes of reform.
What new economic and historical circumstances prompted this discur-
sive rewriting of the body? Historians of the modernist period have noted
the shift in America (in particular) from an economy governed by scar-
city, in which problems of production dominated economic thought, to one
to efficient sleekness, Stein would certainly have been aware of these diets,
even as she disdained them. An early patron and publicist of Steins, Mabel
Dodge, notes that the writer loved beef and I used to like to see her sit down
in front of five pounds of rare meat three inches thick and with strong wrists
wielding knife and fork, finish it with gusto (Malcolm 45).9 If Steins appe-
tite went largely unmodulated, she was not however unmindful of the effects
of certain comestibles on her stomach. In Everybodys Autobiography (1937),
Stein reports, I do not like to drink, I have no feeling about it but my stom-
ach does not like it and I never do like to do what my stomach does not like
to do (67). Although I have found no evidence that Stein herself practiced
Fletcherism as a solution to dietary distress (as both Leo Stein and Henry
James did), Stein was susceptible to digestive maladies, notably a debilitat-
ing attack of colitis during her trip to Spain in 1912 with Toklas, as Simon
notes (103). This was also the fateful trip during which Stein experienced
an erotic breakthrough with Toklas and, consequently, innovated a radical
new style that would carry her away from the fictional realism and flattening
repetitions of The Making of Americans (completed in 1911) toward the more
disjunctive modernist breakthroughs that would follow in Tender Buttons.
For Stein, alimentary distress thus seems proximate to erotic pleasure and
poetic innovationa constellation of concerns that bears significantly on the
meaning of the cow appearing throughout Steins corpus.
Hitherto she had been concerned with seriousness and the inside of things, in
these studies she began to describe the inside as seen from the outside (814).
This mixing of inside and outside would propel Stein into her most probing
accounts of the consuming body, in explicitly erotic works like Pink Melon
Joy (1915) and Lifting Belly (1917), which use consumption as a metaphor
for tracking this mixing, but also in Tender Buttons, which borrows from
Alice Toklass sphere of influence, the domestic in order to establish a les-
bian semiotics that queers the categories of consumption (Fifer 480).10 The
opening of the Food section of Tender Buttons, ROASTBEEF, establishes
its erotics through surprising conversions of the inside and outside of the
body and according confusions between meaning and feeling:
There was no confusion, as I say the trouble had come from the outside
and had been absorbed in the inside and in the process of absorption as
there is in any healthy digestion there was no confusion but inevitably in
concluding digestion there was separation. (204, emphasis added)
This one always had something being coming out of this one. This one
was working. This one always had been working. This one was always
having something that was coming out of this one that was a solid thing,
a charming thing, a lovely thing, a perplexing thing, a disconcerting
thing, a simple thing, a clear thing, a complicated thing, an interesting
thing, a disturbing thing, a repellant thing, a very pretty thing. (Writings
19031932 28283)
At the same time that this something seems a bodily expulse, it is very
clearly some form of creative activity, as Wendy Steiner notes (76). As such,
the variety of aesthetic productions that Stein describes abovea reflec-
tion on her own stylistic diversity as welldisturbs typical evaluations; in a
mode of production modeled on excretory output, a repellent thing is not
necessarily valued below a pretty thing; the important criterion is merely
that the product comes out, in a regular output resistant to blockage, proper
to Fletcherist tenets of regularity. Formally, Steins stylistic position in the
portrait aboveextreme repetition with minor substitutionqualifies as
what Lisa Ruddick describes as Steins anal voice, a compulsive collection
and redigestion of patterned phrases (Reading 81).
For Stein, the excretory and the creative would become so thoroughly
linked that she would coin a portmanteau word combining the two in her
next major publication, Tender Buttons. In this poem Stein inaugurates
a new, more disjunctive style that she describes within the poem itself in
the imperative, only excreate, only excreate a no since (496). As Richard
Bridgman suggests, this neologism puns on the similarity of creation and
excretion (131). The poetic implication here is that a writing practice mod-
eled on excre(a)tion would successfully resist sense, the logical positivist
order that was the telos of a masculinist Enlightenment reason that positions
the intellectual above the material. Stein instead embraces what Ruddick
calls anus sense (Reading 145). Just as Stein deconstructs the tradition
boundaries between good and repellent art above, so would she decon-
struct boundaries that applied to consumption and thus, by proxy, to her
Patriarchal poetry and not meat on Monday patriarchal poetry and meat
on Tuesday. Patriarchal poetry and fish on Friday Patriarchal poetry and
birds on Sunday Patriarchal poetry and chickens on Tuesday patriarchal
poetry and beef on Thursday. (259)
Steins style here is not the playful syntactic disruption of Tender Buttons
but the consciously boring repetition that Stein developed in The Making of
Americans a position to which she would return throughout her writing
career. As Peter Quartermain notes in a reading of Patriarchal Poetry, the
effect of such numbing repetition is that the hierarchies are ironed out, and
we read the language paratactically, nonpatriarchally (Quartermain 36).
Steins style parodically undermines the ostensible message of her writing;
the traditional binarism in which form is subordinated to content is here
reversed. Indeed Cary Nelson describes Patriarchal Poetry as possibly the
only fully realized and rigorous deconstructive poem in American modern-
ism (84).
While the subject of Patriarchal Poetry is literary (a patriarchal poet
might be Eliot or that village explainer, Pound), Steins deconstructive
thrust is most clearly directed against the restrictions placed on food,
restrictions levied by religious stricture and other patriarchal systems of
domination. In this prose poem, Stein parodies such rules through repeti-
tion, showing her distance from them and her awareness that such rules
are enforced for the same arbitrary reasons of purification and control as
those of ritual cleansing and hygiene. Matter is considered base by patriar-
chal culture; rituals and rules of cleanliness exist in order to keep distant the
cerebral, idealist activities of culture from the more domesticand usu-
ally femininizedactivities of translating raw matter into a more palatable
cultural product. Such activities include cooking and waste management,
subjects of Tender Buttons and many of Steins later experimental works.12
As Ruddick points out in an earlier article subsumed into her book
Reading Gertrude Stein (1991), the entire structure of Tender Buttons is pred-
icated on a movement between dirtiness and cleanliness, in which an object
imputed as dirty is fondled into its dialectical opposite.13 (This trans-
formation was in turn connected to a resignification of Stein and Toklass
dirty sexuality. Coo coo come dirty me, coo coo. I am for thee, Stein
writes in A Sonatina Followed by Another [291].) Cleaning appears with
some frequency in Tender Buttons, but it is never isolated as part of a ratio-
nalist design; rather, it is connected to the messier activities of the domestic
sphere in which base matter is sorted and arranged. Stein does not clean
language in the sense that Derrida influentially elaborates in his discussion
of Paul Celan.14 While Stein shares with her modernist peers an interest
in refreshing language dulled through overuse, unlike Pound or Williams,
Stein does so through multiplicity and semiotic excess, resisting positiv-
ist classification and purification. Program and totality are deprecated in
Steins work in favor of breakage and repair.15 For Stein, fragmentation is an
opportunity for reparation, not a crisis.
As Ruddick has suggested, the writing of The Making of Americans is
an extended grappling with and eventual rejection of deforming taxono-
mies, not least the binarism of clean/unclean, which would underwrite the
pathologization of the bodys basest processes as smelly, and sexuality, par-
ticularly queer sexuality, as dirty. All the digesting and dirtying combine
to render The Making of Americans a spectacularly anal text according to
Ruddick, who argues that Stein experiences her telling as a form of rhyth-
mic accumulation and release . . . Steins paragraphs, which fill with and then
evacuate words as if they were faeces, also play with language in a man-
ner reminiscent of the play of children during what classic psychoanalysis
refers to as the anal phase (Reading 77, 7980). This stylistic anality is in
turn thematized within the novel, as Stein wanders from her plot to obses-
sively uncover the bottom natures of her characters (81). Commenting
on her own bottom nature in the novel (such postmodern, self-reflexive, or
constructivist facets add interest to the family narrative), Stein links her
repetitive style with her anal-eroticism: Always at the bottom was loving
repeating being, that was not then there to my conscious being (302).16
One of Steins discoveries in The Making of Americans is in line with the
later structuralist recognition that while the categories of cleanliness and
uncleanliness are universal, the objects categorized as dirty or clean vary
by time and culture; and that furthermore, the purpose of the cleansing
is not necessarily for health reasons, but rather to burnish the social status
of the washer. As Stein writes, Washing is very common, almost every one
does some washing, with some it is only for cleansing, with some it is a
refreshing, with some a ceremonial thing that makes them important to
every one who knows them. Washing is not natural like eating or sleep-
ing (Making 111). Rather, cleansing is a ritual performance undertaken for
reasons of social distinction (including those of race and class). The pas-
sage makes clear Steins proto-structuralist understanding of the differential
impulse of signs, which are rarely tied to any natural essence but rather
depend on binaristic oppositions in which one term is subjugated below
another. Behind Steins sociological observation about cleaning lies a whole
matrix of associations around the unclean that adhere to Steins own sub-
ject position: female, Jewish, lesbian. Formally, the repetition-with-variation
technique that she employs in The Making of Americans (evident in the pas-
sage above) shows Stein working to combat these inherited cultural associa-
tions by flattening out hierarchies through anal repetition.
into sexual relations with Toklas, as Stein discovered the concrete, sensual
world in sexual fulfillment (Stein Reader 152). In the process, the cow is
fetishized and remagnetized. No longer is cow a derogatory signifier of the
abject but becomes a slippery reference to textual if not real-life erotic play, as
Stein employs it in Tender Buttons and subsequent writings. Although cow
does not make as many appearances in Tender Buttons as in A Long Gay
Book, they are nevertheless charged ones, which seem to refer both to sexual
and anal contexts, flickering between pleasure and pain. Constipation is
a stated concern in Tender Buttons looking into that place and seeing
a chair did that mean relief, it did, it certainly did not cause constipation
and yet there is a melody (351)and the poems erotic summa is a scene
of bodily traffic that, if not sadomasochistic, certainly combines pain and a
relief that includes access to a meadow (the habitat of cows) and a toilet:
cow, which seems to flicker between references to sex, excretion, and tex-
tual completion, reveals that the three activities are imbricated in Steins
imagination. Teasing apart those layers is crucial in understanding the drives
that produced Steins writing, and the dynamics at play in our reading of it.
The love notes that Stein wrote to Toklas throughout their cohabitation rat-
ify the notion that a toilet could be a place of somatic relief and even bodily
pleasure. Over the course of several decades, Stein wrote short love notes to
Toklas in her carnets, the preliminary notebooks in which Stein developed
her first drafts, and interleaved love poems as separate notes in the pages of
the cahiers that contained more developed drafts she intended for Toklas to
type (Dydo, Language 2427). A rosetta stone for the literature, these notes
allow us to construe more clearly the digestive and erotic contexts to some of
Steins most oblique writings, especially those containing the incanted cow,
a word repeated in the notes with remarkable frequency.
While the notes are in many ways less erotically charged than published
texts like Lifting Belly and Tender Buttons, suppression and secrecy dog
their historyperhaps because of their referential clarity. Toklas seems to
have been particularly protective of sharing the notes with others, perhaps
because of a suspicion that they would be judged, as Dydo indeed deems
them, as embarrassingly bad (Language 27). A selection of the notes, the
entirety of which are maintained in the Stein archives at Yale Universitys
Beinecke Library, was partially published in a posthumous volume edited by
Kay Turner, entitled Baby Precious Always Shines (2000). Yet even this pub-
lication was controversial, as the notes were not written with any intention
of publication, and were almost not preserved in the archive where Steins
writings are maintained. They arrived to the archive in 1947 in a file mys-
teriously labeled autrespondence (a portmanteau word meaning perhaps
other correspondence.) The inclusion of this particular file was accidental,
as Turner reports: When [Curator Donald] Gallup apprised Toklas of her
unintended gift, she at first insisted that the stray notes be destroyed, then
relented with a demand that they not be made publicly available (7). The
notes were inaccessible to scholars until 1981, when the Beinecke made them
available for readingalthough it would not be until 1995 that they were
officially catalogued for inclusion in the Stein-Toklas archives.
The love notes are lineated like lyric poems, unlike the genre-defying
prose of Tender Buttons. Lacking the same level of sonic-textual delight as
the literature, the notes depend less on repetition and rhythmic play and
more on simple rhymes. This may be one reason that the notes have attracted
few critics besides Turner (who herself admits she approaches the notes as
a lesbian reader and folklorist [5]). Perhaps protecting Steins legacy,
Steins most careful editor and critic, Ulla Dydo, takes little notice of them,
not even to account for the way that cow may suggest different readings of
Baby precious
The pen seems to
be writing beautifully and not
blotting at all, I thought it was
This note reveals how closely related are love, writing, and the cow, which
provides relief and at times delivery from pain on a daily basis.
In the notes, cow carries fewer explicit erotic overtones, but rather
signifies as a production of Toklass body, one that causes distress rather
than pleasure, a distress that is nevertheless treated by Stein with humor
and cajoling. While the note above does not entirely obliterate an erotic
reading of the cow, elsewhere the cow seems quite plainly to refer to evacu-
ation and a related diminishment of pain. Stein describes Toklass smelly
relief (95, 94) from the pain of constipation that will emerge from Toklass
little behind (28) and will just plop nicely into the water (26). In this
privileging of digestive regularity, the notes reflect the imprint of Fletcherist
ideology, in which a production every day is crucial in avoiding the scourge
of constipation. And indeed, Stein suggests that a stiffy blockage is to be
avoided in favor of a softer flow:
If the notion of kisses meeting the landing place of bodily excretion seems
strange, it is not the most unusual transformation Stein uses to express her
love for Toklas in the notestransformations that involve the mixing of
inner and outer states, as Stein would describe her literary project. Stein
transforms herself into ink that fills up Toklas, but also into smoke that
will stimulate Toklas into moving her bowels: my baby will smoke / me
instead of cigarettes and that / will do baby precious just as much / good
(100). Stein wishes to be not only the remedy of Toklass constipation, but
the food that Toklas will ingest as well: I wish I was always good just as /
I am my babys daily food (91). In addition to cigarettes, another remedy
the cow is here equated with (magazine) publication and a general program
of efficient success, as Toklas was indeed crucial to the successful outing
of Steins often unruly writing into the world: typing it, arranging for its
publication, and generally tending to its promotion and circulation. What
Stein would dirty, Toklas would clean.
Considering the cow as the product of Stein and Toklass factory
helps us theorize the psychological dimensions of Stein and Toklass rela-
tionship, as well as Steins writing process. It also speaks more broadly to the
pressures exacted when Taylorist principles are imported into the domestic
space. In A Sonatina Followed by Another, Stein declares, We are won-
derfully productive, a privileging of Taylorist productivity, implicating both
Toklass household management and Steins writing practice (291). There is
perhaps as well a more psychologically complex side to this partnership to be
acknowledged and explored in Steins appropriation of Toklass body. Steins
attention to Toklass waste may have been a way of elevating Toklass own
productions to the level of Steins, thus granting her parity in the relation-
ship. The notes are a testament to the procreative power of Alices pen, not
only in fostering Steins literary career, but also in her responses to the notes.
(In addition to the ten folders of notes from Stein in the Beinecke archives
is a single folder of notes from Toklas, some of which Turner reproduces in
Baby Precious.) Or, on the other hand, was Toklass blockage an unconscious
resistance to the hierarchical circuits of labor, power, and efficiency to which
she was subjecta protest against Steins implicit injunction to produce her
writings with Taylorist efficiency? Constipation and writers block are often
linked, indicating a resistance to the pressures of the marketcertainly a
factor faced by Stein and Toklas in their search to attract publishers for
Steins experimental writing. Discussing the use of digestive tropes in avant-
garde writing, Michel Delville notes that the subjects vulnerability to con-
stipation also underlines the potential dangers of a dysfunctional exchange
between self and world (57). Whether a fantasmatic projection of Stein or
a real complaint of Toklas, the constipation imputed to Toklas in the notes
and the literature seems a sign of dysfunction in the smooth management
of the households consumption-production economy, and evidence of dys-
functional exchange written on the body.
and informed her fetishization of the cow. Before the arrival of Toklas
into Steins life, Gertrude and Leo lived together in 27 rue de Fleurus
and were remarkably close, to the degree that some, like the art collector
Isabella Stewart Gardner, suggested an incestuous bond (Wineapple 302).
It was not only in terms of intimacy and intensity that Leos compan-
ionship prepared Gertrude for her partnership with Alice, but in making
alimentary complaint an aspect of that intimacy, for Leo made a career
of pursuing solutions to his stomach problems (alas, at the expense of his
writing career).25 Furthermore, if the imagined blockage in Steins writing
circuit was in complicated ways responding to anticipated resistance to her
output, Leo was the original and most stinging critic to voice that resis-
tance. While Leo initially mentored Gertrude in aesthetic temperament,
inviting her to Paris after she abandoned her medical studies and, more
importantly, introducing her to the radical artists whose work they would
collect before their split, he eventually grew critical of Steins writing and
many of the artists they had formerly admired. He complained, Both
[Picasso] and Gertrude are using their intellects, which they aint got, to
do what would need the finest critical tact, which they aint got neither,
and they are in my belief turning out the most Godalmighty rubbish that
is to be found (Mellow 2023). According to Ruddick, Stein in turn
overcame Leos overweening criticism through the writing of The Making
of Americans, a work of patricide, in which we see Stein murdering the
various fathers who seemed to stand in the way of all her sexual and
artistic powers, including Leo and the bourgeois patriarchs she had left
behind in America (5).
But it was not just in Steins fiction where Gertrude and Leos split was
enacted. It is also in criticism and through criticism that Gertrude performs
this patricide of Leo, which led to his departure from 27 rue du Fleurus
in 1914. When Gertrude was asked if she had ever thought of becoming a
critic, since she spoke so intelligently about writing. Stein replied, Its
funny that you should say that. As a matter of fact, I did, long ago, but I
found that analysis is not in my line. Ill leave that to Leohe loves to chew
the cud. I want to do something more vital than write about the writings of
others (Mellow 1617). Stein, while possessing a magnificent and domi-
nant gift for talk, was aware of the dangers of allowing speech to supersede
writing. In her lecture, What Are Master-Pieces and Why Are There So
Few of Them, Stein notes:
Talking essentially has nothing to with creation. I talk a lot I like to talk
and I talk even more than that I may say I talk most of the time and I
listen a fair amount too and as I have said the essence of being a genius is
to be able to talk and listen to listen while talking and talk while listening
but and this is very important very important indeed talking has nothing
to do with creation. (355)
While Stein may talk most of the time, this talk has nothing to do with
creation, a more vaunted realm than mere criticism, which, in Steins
view, amounts to little more than the cows twice-chewed cud. The animus
Gertrude musters against the recycled talk of criticism may be directed
as much toward Leos vocal criticism of her writing as toward the genre
itself. (Indeed, Steins own literary criticism would first emerge as publicly
performed lecturesi.e., as talk.) In characterizing Leos critical faculty as
chew[ing] the cud, Stein diminishes Leos criticism of her own work, while
simultaneously highlighting Leos inability to convert his talk into some-
thing more substantial and productive. Like cudthe cows domaintalk
begins and ends in the mouth and never meets the page. Not incidentally,
this linking of criticism and cow in the Stein intertext was not limited to
criticism from Leo. During the infamous Armory Show of 1913, in which
Duchamps Nude Descending a Staircase was first exhibited, Mabel Dodge
circulated a word portrait of Steins that prompted one journalist to mock
both the art and Stein in pointedly bovine terms:
ill [Wineapple 26]). Although digestive problems obsessed the adult Leo,
distracting him from his writing, for at least a two-year period during Leo
and Gertrudes cohabitation at 27 rue de Fleurus, Leo found some relief
in Fletcherism, as recounted in a letter to Mabel Weeks, dated July 1910:
Fletcherism, which I took up two and a half year ago, at once put an end to
all the acute bowel troubles that I used constantly to have and also it cured
me once and for all of the colds which used to be chronic. It also cured me
in the main of the broken sleep which had come to be chronic and also of
the tired feeling ( Journey 33). Leo was not alone in this adherence; various
members of Steinss milieu, witnessing Leos devotion, often attempted the
treatment.26 Mary Berenson, wife of art critic Bernard Berenson, notes in
her diary that Leo spared us no detail of the effect on stomach & intestines
of his Fletcherist adventures (Wineapple 282). Even if Stein did not person-
ally subscribe to the remedy of Fletcherism, she would have been acutely
aware of Leos dedication to the diet, and the tenets if not the practice of
Fletcherism clearly informed her concern with Toklass regularity and,
accordingly, Steins productive economy of writing. But could it also have
influenced the poetics of the page as well?27
In addition to Leo, another important adherent to Fletcherism was Henry
James, the one writer contemporary with Stein whom she openly and con-
sistently admired.28 Fletcherism seemed to have provided James relief from
constipation, but it may also have influenced his writing. Tim Armstrong
argues that Jamess regurgitated style and in-depth revisions of his New
York Edition are influenced by Fletchers program of chewing and rechew-
ing each morsel before ingesting it, such that the revision process becomes
a chewing-over and purification of Jamess corpus (103). In its influence
on Jamess writing, Fletcherism thus allows us to see writing as rumina-
tion, Armstrong argues (106). In his letters, Henry confided the secrets of
his constipation and diet measures to his brother William James, who was
Steins teacher at Harvard Annex. Is it possible that Jamess adherence to
Fletcherism was known to Gertrude, perhaps via communication through
Henrys brother William, who visited Gertrude in Paris while she lived with
Leo? While Stein herself rarely revised, Steins sentences foreground repeti-
tion and regurgitation much more apparently than Jamess impacted sen-
tences do. In her most repetitive works, it is as if Stein were chewing over a
word or phrasea single chewed-over morseluntil it liquefies, as Fletcher
recommended. Consumption was for Stein not merely an erotic vehicle to
explore the bodys inner and outer realities, it was also on the practical level
an available model for understanding the rhythms and structure of her own
writing. In her Autobiography, Stein notes of her dog Basket that listen-
ing to the rhythm of his water drinking made her recognise the difference
between sentences and paragraphs, that paragraphs are emotional and that
sentences are not (Autobiography 907). The dogs rhythmic lappingnot
unlike the Fletcherists rhythmic chewingsparks Steins understanding
that her own sentences are automatic, machinic, much like the Fletcherists
rhythmic, repetitive intake of food or like the dogs lapping.
Indeed, what figure could function as a better emblem of writing as
rumination than the cow? Despite Steins rejection of Fletcherism, it
seems to have edged into her unconscious and to have influenced her habits,
her writing, and her relationships with Leo and Toklas. Yet the question
remains: If Stein was increasingly estranged from Leo and resistant to fol-
lowing Fletcherist principles herself, what psychological factors would com-
pel her to pull Toklas into following a Fletcherist cult of regularity associated
with her brother? In answering what is at once a biographical and a textual
riddle, I want to venture a hypothesis that Stein is not only projecting her
concern with poetic productivity onto Toklass cows, but that the cow,
as a product of Fletcherist concern for waste, is a remainder of Leos pres-
ence, haunting the circuits of alimentary concern and productivity within
the walls of 27 rue de Fleurus. According to biographers and accounts of
acquaintances, Gertrudes break with Leo was largely unacknowledged;
thus it is a reasonable speculation to suppose that Leos departure went in
a literal sense unmourned by Gertrude, developing into what Freud diag-
noses as melancholia, in which the unmourned object is incorporated into
the psyche and then subject to recrimination. In The Ego and the Id, Freud
writes that melancholia does not depend on death or a departure to become
arousedalthough that too was the case in the departure of Leobut can
even be caused by a sense of injustice:
In melancholia, the occasions which give rise to the illness extend for the
most part beyond the clear case of a loss by death, and include all those
situations of being slighted, neglected or disappointed, which can import
feelings of love and hate into the relationship or reinforce an already
existing ambivalence. (251)
If every refusal is, finally, a loyalty to some other bond in the present or
past, refusal is simultaneously preservation as well. The mask thus con-
ceals the loss, but preserves (and negates) this loss through its conceal-
ment. The mask is taken on through the process of incorporation which
is a way of inscribing and then wearing a melancholic identification in
and on the body; in effect, it is the signification of the body in the mold
of the Other who has [been] refused. Dominated through appropriation,
every refusal fails, and the refuser becomes part of the psychic refuse of
the refused. (4950)
Index
218 Index
Index 219
220 Index
Index 221
222 Index
Index 223
224 Index