Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Intelitestud 18 2 0222
Intelitestud 18 2 0222
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide
range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and
facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at
https://about.jstor.org/terms
Penn State University Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to
Interdisciplinary Literary Studies
abstract
Critical engagement with Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities (1972) is widespread.
However, much of the scholarship focuses on the text’s unstable position
between modern and postmodern forms. This article suggests that a politi-
cal reading is an equally productive—indeed, necessary—intervention in the
present scholarship. Treating the text as a schematic of empire and knowledge
production yields a deeper understanding of the specific articulations of power
constantly issued by the logic of sovereignty. By excavating the impulses of
domination implicit in empire building, this article suggests that Marco Polo’s
dialogues with the sovereign emperor Kublai Khan provide possibilities for
resistance to the structural domination that constitutes our most recent polit-
ical realities.
If I tell you that the city toward which my journey tends is discontinu-
ous in space and time, now scattered, now more condensed, you must
not believe the search for it can stop
—italo calvino, invisible cities
these analyses offers productive and useful entry points for the novel, but
each underdetermines in its own way the absolute political potential of
Calvino’s work.
Ricciardi ultimately lauds Mason & Dixon as a fiercely political tract
recording the mapping of early America, while altogether dismissing
Calvino’s engagement with politics as “a literary diversion” (1066). Breiner
acknowledges politics only once in his essay, and relegates its functioning
within Invisible Cities to a footnote. While James’s analysis lends itself to
political questions, it betrays commitments to more ontological concerns.
But by ignoring, dismissing, or downplaying the political register under-
girding Invisible Cities, these critics ignore the specific and radical iterations
of resistance within the book’s pages. Indeed, the political cannot be denied
to the reader; in the various exchanges between Kahn and Polo, Calvino’s
novel imagines the disjointed and disconnected character of a supposedly
coherent and totalized political order, an order that seeks to control, and
thus render complete, a necessarily expansive and discontinuous terri-
tory. In order provoke disclosure of the devastating consequences of such
blind adherence to a closed authoritative system and its malignant deploy-
ment of power and knowledge, such a system must be rendered in its full
contingency.
The novel begins with what might be termed an “event”: an empire,
“which had seemed . . . the sum of all wonders,” reveals itself to be “an
endless, formless ruin” (Calvino, Invisible Cities 3). Emperor Kublai Khan
identifies in this event “a sense of emptiness . . . a dizziness” (12); he recog-
nizes his sovereign position as precarious, for he rules not over a cohesive
territory with clearly marked borders, but rather, an empire decentered,
“crushed by its own weight” (80). In this, the invisible cities that populate
Khan’s empire do not defer to his sovereignty. Instead, they are out-of-joint,
floating singularities in a structure that can no longer claim totality. With
his territory overextended, Khan’s sovereignty becomes, in the language of
Jacques Derrida, “not a fixed locus but a function” (353). Derrida too begins
with an “event,” where—similar to the Khan— thinking about structure and
signification in terms of balance, orientation, and order could not help but
move into the realm of contingency; where “the center is at the center of the
totality, and yet, since the center does not belong to the totality (is not part
of the totality), the totality [now] has its center elsewhere” (352). Calvino
and Derrida both engage this evental moment toward the possibilities for
thought once formerly unified systems of meaning have been rendered
inoperative.
rather by the relationships and distinctions between and within them. And
Polo’s rendering of Zaira makes this indissolubly clear:
I could tell you how many steps make up the streets rising like stair-
ways, and the degree of the arcades’ curves, and what kind of zinc
scales cover the roofs . . . but I already know this would be the same
as telling you nothing. The city does not consist of this, but of rela-
tionships between the measurements of its space and the events of its
past. (Calvino 10)
the height of a lamppost and the distance from the ground of a hanged
usurper’s swaying feet; the line strung from the lamppost to the railing
opposite and the festoons that decorate the course of the queen’s nup-
tial procession; the height of that railing and the leap of the adulterer
who climbed over it at dawn. (10; emphasis mine)
For Polo, the measurable elements of the city—the lamppost, the railing,
the festoons—only begin to take on meaning in the midst of movement—
the swaying feet of a hanged man, the queen’s nuptial procession, the leap
of the adulterer. This privilege of movement haunts the sovereign, for Khan
is attempting to possess his territories as a fixed unity, a static whole he can
comprehend.
Khan recognizes the condition of ambiguity that ceaselessly repeats—
Polo’s Bartlebian preference not to engage in the system given—and so
moves to assume a position of hierarchical privilege. In this, Khan restruc-
tures the dialogue, tethering it to a sphere of reference he can control: “‘From
now on I’ll describe the cities to you . . . in your journeys you will see if they
exist.’” Khan continues, “I have constructed in my mind a model city from
which all possible cities can be deduced . . . it contains everything accord-
ing to the norm” (69). The “norm” Khan puts forth constitutes a model
to which all possible cities will refer, a limiting and grounding function
that imposes a narcotic unity on the dynamic multiplicity of his crumbling
empire. We might here turn to Judith Butler to further make clear Khan’s
imperative. For Butler, norms are issued from within a “frame”—a delim-
iting context (a “taken-for-granted reality” [Frames of War 12]) that delin-
eates that which is recognizable as life and worthy as an object of political
thought and that which is excluded. Moreover, for frames to continually
function, and with the greatest efficiency, they must continually be brought
about and circulate throughout a population. Butler writes, “Subjects are
constituted through norms which, in their reiteration, produce and shift
the terms through which subjects are recognized” (3–4). Here, Khan’s
frame is circulated through Polo to address the entirety of the empire—a
disciplined frame circulated for “a society to come” (Foucault, Discipline
209). This disciplined frame severs Agamben’s formulation of form-of-life
from naked life, and allows for the domination and coercion of a subject’s
existential and political commitments. Iterating norms allows Khan to
repeatedly (provisionally) (re)inscribe frames through which “cities can be
deduced”—recognized—thought from within a frame of reference made
stable by a principle of normativity. Khan, then, “frames” his dialogues with
Polo in order to secure his empire as an intelligible whole. For—in Khan’s
logical schema—if Polo’s reports can allow for the sovereign to reappre-
hend and frame his empire in thought, then he can circulate that frame
throughout his empire, and thus perpetually reproduce his sovereignty. But
Polo pushes back, remains at the periphery, and through polyvalent sites of
discursive disconnectedness resists the panoptic gaze he is meant to enact.
In describing cities, Polo greets Khan’s rigid prompt with utter a-signifying
contingency: “There is little I can tell you about Aglaura beyond the things
its own inhabitants have always repeated” (67); in Baucis, “[the traveler]
cannot see the city and yet he has arrived” (77); “[the city of] Leonia refash-
ions itself everyday” (114). At every turn, communication thought explicit
is disrupted, and it is thus that the discourse between Khan and Polo itself
decenters.
The failure for Khan’s norm to recuperate Polo’s narrative causes the
emperor to again restructure—now, reframe—his dialogue in order to
better comprehend his empire. Rather than try to decipher Polo’s reports,
Khan reinitiates the dialogue with the aid of a chessboard—a constituted
structure made to guide thought along a predetermined path. Blindly reli-
ant on the structurality he has created, Khan comments, “If each city is like
a game of chess, the day when I have learned the rules, I shall finally possess
my empire” (121). This of course fails: such a confined structurality can-
not contain the entirety of knowledge regarding the empire. A chessboard
The system itself falls into question, and fails to signify to Khan’s purpose.
The rigid structure of a chessboard—each piece with its designated func-
tion, each movement measured along uniform squares with a clearly
marked binary opposition of positions—fails to account for the true
form of Khan’s empire. As such, “the empire’s multiform treasures [are]
only illusory envelopes,” and the empire is “reduced to a square of planed
wood: nothingness” (123). The frame breaks; and the “taken-for-granted
reality is called into question, exposing the orchestrating designs of the
authority who sought to control the frame” (Butler 12). Polo’s account
again refuses to signify in any reliable and stable fashion. The pieces of
the game only hold meaning within the structure of the board. At the
end of the game, they are revealed as nothingness; only in relation to
one another do they gather a predicable identity. It is further impor-
tant to note, nothingness here does not constitute a nihilistic void but
rather constitutes an unconfined celebration of difference, difference that
cannot be fixed to any one stable referent, difference that exists in all
its dissonance and contradiction, unable to be apprehended, and simply
existing as such.
the limits of a time, on the precipice of a void, spilling partially over into
that which is yet to be. Agamben thus characterizes the contemporary in
terms of “disconnection” and “anachronism”: fully present only in utter
dys-chrony, where any central presence is relegated to the periphery. Here,
Foucault’s analysis of the legacy of the Enlightenment, as brought forth
in his formulation of a “limit-attitude,” informs and develops Agamben’s
work. Foucault asserts that “we have to move beyond the outside-inside
alternative; we have to be at the frontiers. Criticism indeed consists of
analyzing and reflecting upon limits” (“What Is Enlightenment?” 45). We
must do this, according to Foucault, “to transform the critique conducted
in the form of necessary limitation into a practical critique that takes the
form of a possible transgression” (45). Put another way, rather than think-
ing within prescribed limits of thought, we must think with and beyond
these limits—“the frontier”—and thus bear witness to that for which
structurality cannot account. This requires a mode of thought that rejects
oppositional alternatives and thinks both inside and outside as existing
together in difference.
Agamben makes clear this dislocation of binary logic in his invoca-
tion of Osip Mandelstam’s rendering of the passage from one epoch or age
to the next as the broken backbone inside a “century-beast.” For Agamben,
the contemporary must lock eyes with this century-beast and “weld with
his own blood the shattered backbone of time” (“Contemporary” 42).
Time, and the passage from one era to the next, is seen not as a linear
telos, but as a confluence of knowledge, connecting and disconnecting
at constant, allowing for a sort of discordant harmony to define (or fail
to define) any given moment. The contemporary thus constitutes a tenu-
ous bridge between an ever-growing past and a necessarily unknown and
unknowable future; the fracture of time becomes a “meeting place,” “an
encounter” (52). Put simply, what Agamben’s thematic rejects in oppo-
sition (either/or), it affirms in dialogue—both shattering and welding:
adherence through disjuncture. If the contemporary is able to be simulta-
neously embedded in and radically outside of his time—living along the
fractured spine of a given epoch—then he is able to resist—at the least,
critique—the hegemony of the frame, the all pervasive inscription of dis-
cipline upon his body.
Taking up and working through the affirmation of dialogue as an
ambiguous and obscured site of signification, Agamben and Calvino both
map a discontinuous, always experimental mode of thought able to engage
with disjoint, decentering, and dislocation in a productive way. Agamben
writes, “the contemporary is he who firmly holds his gaze on his own time
so as to perceive not its light, but rather its darkness” (“Contemporary” 55).
Here, the contemporary must not attempt to collect his age in terms of a
unified epiphanic illumination that will pervade and drive out all darkness.
Rather, he must attempt to think both the light and the dark; the contem-
porary is he “who is able to write by dipping his pen in the obscurity of
the present” (47). The contemporary makes obscurity productive, and this
obscurity grants her a freedom of thought to pursue the limits of struc-
tured accounts of Being and all that may exist beyond, not to render them
complete, but to recover, perceive, and celebrate the errancies that escape.
In this sense, the contemporary affirms Foucault’s limit-attitude. In a limi-
nal temporal space—the “frontier” of an era—the contemporary is able to
identify, analyze, and critique the limits put forth. Returning to Calvino,
this sense of liberated ambiguity—by way of a ceaseless questioning of that
which grants meaning—becomes apparent. In a meeting with the emperor,
Polo reports on his recent journey:
in its place—Polo celebrates and thinks with the disconnect, laying bare
the unknown and ambiguous conditions of Being. While he is always in
danger of being recuperated into Khan’s sovereign empire, he simultane-
ously tests the sovereign’s systematic discourse so as to illustrate its limits.
In this discursive mode, Polo is connected to the sovereign in dialogue,
but only by way of his radically disconnected cartography of cities never
collected in full, never charted by way of a fixed and central presence. In
this, Polo becomes a contemporary.
Polo’s contemporariness, by virtue of its radical departure from
Khan’s structural empire, disrupts Khan’s mode of thought, and exposes
that which the structure can no longer contain. Futilely, Khan enacts
yet another structural rearrangement, a reframing of dialogue. We are
told that “the Great Khan owns an atlas where all the cities of the empire
and the neighboring realms are drawn, building by building, street by
street” (Calvino 145). Khan’s atlas schematizes his empire, inscribing the
character of each city within the totality onto a page as a fixed rep-
resentation. He attempts to deploy his atlas as he did his chessboard
in order to give form to Polo’s errant narrative. Still, Khan struggles to
maintain sovereignty, pulled simultaneously by his fixed atlas and Polo’s
ambiguous narrative. In this, Polo’s stories remain; they only elucidate
and amplify the discord:
“I speak and speak,” Marco says, “but the listener retains only the
words he is expecting. The description of the world to which you lend
a benevolent ear is one thing; the description that will go the rounds
of the groups of stevedores and gondoliers on the street outside my
house the day of my return is another. . . . It is not the voice that com-
mands the story: it is the ear.” (145)
The atlas depicts cities which neither Marco nor the geographers
know exist or where they are. . . . The catalogue of forms is endless:
until every shape has found its city, new cities will continue to be
born. . . . In the last pages of the atlas there is an outpouring of net-
works without beginning or end. (137–39)
At its end, the atlas reveals its inability to contain the empire as a whole.
For everything it encloses in a fixed representation, something escapes:
an “outpouring” of networks that cannot be recuperated into any framed
identitarian logic of belonging. Thus the archive of cities remains incom-
plete, and Khan’s sovereignty is pit against a surplus of reference that never
achieves stable form.
As the atlas pours out beyond the excess of tangible knowledge regard-
ing the cities, it extends to the space of dreams, and contains “maps of the
promised lands visited in thought but not yet discovered or founded” (164).
Here, even the geographic trace of the cities is eviscerated. Khan, in his
persistent desire for static reference, becomes frustrated with the ambiguity
that has contaminated his empire—the destabilizing contingency that asks
questions of inarticulate structurality—and turns to dismissal and fear: “It
is all useless, if the last landing place can only be the infernal city” (164).
Polo’s response, taking Foucault’s limit-attitude in concert with Agamben’s
contemporary, suggests something of an ontological imperative:
The inferno of the living is not something that will be: if there is one,
it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that
we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering
it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a
part of it that you can longer see it. The second is risky and demands
constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who
and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them
endure, give them space. (165)
works cited