"Extraneity of one's language is extraneity of one's own conscious,
extraneity of the unconscious. “Tell me the language you speak and I will tell
you what your unconscious is”: the Freudian postulate recalls that the conscious
and the unconscious speak the same language that the subject speaks. Vološinov
develops this position in Freudianism,
1927 (see Chapter IX on language, unconscious and ideology).
But the situation in which signification
manifests itself glaringly as a heterogeneous process, as nomadism and
extraneity, is that of the subject that does not speak its own language, but
another language, or better, that speaks a language which, though one's own,
resounds all the same as foreign, while the language of origin lives in the
nocturnal memory of the body, as a language of other times which, even if it
withdraws from possession by the subject, never abandons that subject. Kristeva analyzes this situation in a
section of Étrangers à nous-mêmes
entitled, “Le silence du polyglotte”.
The subject that
speaks a new language can perfect itself as to how to manage a new instrument,
but his or her word remains the word of others. In this situation as a speaking
subject placed between two languages, in “cette anesthésie de la personne
happée par une langue étrangère”, in this “mutisme polyforme” of the polyglot,
hetereogeneity of the process of significance itself evidences the doubling of
the “unitary” subject, hidden in the normal use of language.
In literary
writing the “silence of the polyglot” is transformed into “silence” of the
writer, as a listening position, a position that characterizes the writer, that
becomes the possibility of distancing, typical of the writer: as Bakhtin says
in his 1970-71 notes (in Bakhtin 1986), the writer dresses in silence and uses
a language while standing outside it. The writer gives up mastery over the word
which is delusory, goes into the listening mode and resorts, through writing,
to the “different forms of silence”: irony, allegory, parody, metaphor,
parable… Between two languages, as Kristeva observes, the foreigner knows what
the loquacious and arrogant native speaker does not know, that it, that nobody
is master of one's “own” language (nor is it possible to statalize, to
nationalize language, in spite of the “reality” of national languages, on the
basis of which identities are established, exclusions are justified and
conflicts triggered).
The foreigner
knows that with respect to the language he speaks, the language that speaks
him, that silence is not only imposed upon him, but is part of him, in him.
Here then comes the refusal to say, nothing to say, no reply, no answer to
interrogation, to wanting to hear. Not to say anything, there's nothing to say,
nothing can be said, the unspeakable (cf. Kristeva
1988: 28–29). With respect to this
situation, the way out is writing. "
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