Allegories of the Anthropocene Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey Allegories of the Anthropocene Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey Allegories of the Anthropocene Duke University Press Durham and London 2019 © 2019 Duke University Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper ∞ Designed by Courtney Leigh Baker Typeset in Garamond Premier Pro and Helvetica Neue by Westchester Publishing Services Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: DeLoughrey, Elizabeth M., [date] author. Title: Allegories of the Anthropocene / Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey. Description: Durham : Duke University Press, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: lccn 2018050151 (print) lccn 2019006483 (ebook) isbn 9781478005582 (ebook) isbn 9781478004103 (hardcover : alk. paper) isbn 9781478004714 (pbk. : alk. paper) Subjects: lcsh: Climatic changes—Effect of human beings on. | Climatic changes in literature. | Human ecology in art. | Caribbean literature—21st century—Themes, motives. | Pacific Island literature—21st century—Themes, motives. | Art, Caribbean— 21st century—Themes, motives. | Art, Pacific Island—21st century—Themes, motives. | Postcolonialism in literature. | Postcolonialism and the arts. | Climatic changes—Social aspects—Caribbean Area. | Climatic changes—Social aspects—Islands of the Pacific. Classification: lcc pn849.c3 (ebook) | lcc pn849.c3 d44 2019 (print) | ddc 809/.93355609729—dc23 lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018050151 Cover art: Tony Capellán, Mar Caribe (detail), 1995. Photo courtesy of Dennis Helmar. Author royalties from the sale of this book will be donated to the Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services (raices). This title is freely available in an open access edition thanks to the TOME initiative and the generous support of Arcadia, a charitable fund of Lisbet Rausing and Peter Baldwin, and of the UCLA Library. contents vii 1 Acknowledgments Introduction: Allegories of the Anthropocene 33 one. Gendering Earth: Excavating Plantation Soil 63 two. Planetarity: Militarized Radiations 98 three. Accelerations: Globalization and States of Waste 133 four. Oceanic Futures: Interspecies Worldings 165 five. An Island Is a World 197 Notes 257 Index Acknowl edgments In June 2010, I discovered that ten years’ worth of my research and notes for a book project on the cultural ecologies of transplantation were lost in a move and likely ended up in a Los Angeles landfill. The project had been partially drafted; it was to be an examination of the various ontological claims to soil as created by exchange across the tropics of foods and commodities: breadfruit, coconut, sugarcane, and yam. The damage of that loss is probably significant to an overall claim in this book about an Anthropocene epoch that figures allegorical narratives of decline, fragmentation, and waste and the possibilities of adaptation and growth. While that book was lost, a fragment, one root, remains in the opening chapter of Allegories of the Anthropocene. I have been fortunate to have a broad network of support in rebuilding a new book project out of the ruins. This includes my colleagues at ucla who have read and commented on these chapters and to whom I give my most heartfelt thanks: Victor Bascara, Judith Bettelheim, Keith Camacho, Chris Chism, Robin Derby, Helen Deutsch, Lowell Gallagher, Lauren Hirshberg, Gil Hochberg, Rachel Lee, Françoise Lionnet, Jorge Marturano, Kathleen McHugh, Shu-mei Shih, and Jenny Sharpe. I have also learned much from the intellectual engagement with my colleagues Andy Apter, Ali Behdad, Judy Carney, Allison Carruth, Jessica Cattelino, Jon Christensen, Michelle Erai, Mishuana Goeman, Akhil Gupta, Sandra Harding, Susanna Hecht, and Ursula Heise. My students have all contributed in many ways to my thinking through ecological approaches to literature, arts, empire, and history. I wish to note in particular Nasia Anam, Kristen Cardon, Lauren Dembowitz, Deb Donig, Yu-ting Huang, Dana Linda, Marilu Medrano, Alexei Nowak, Courtney Ryan, Joyce (Pua) Warren, and my research assistant Sophia Lykke for our invigorating conversations about these texts and contexts in and out of the classroom, and on many dog walks. My sincere thanks to the following people for inviting me to share my work—I benefited greatly from the encouragement to prepare new work and from some excellent feedback from my hosts and from the people gathered for each event: Godfrey Baldacchino and Eric Clark, coordinators of the International Geographical Union conference in Sven, Sweden; Byron Caminero-Santangelo, University of Kansas; Dipesh Chakrabarty, University of Chicago; Paulla Ebron, Stanford University; Sarah Fekadu, LudwigMaximilians-Universität, Munich; Paul Giles, Lisa Samuels, and Brenden O’Connor, coordinators of the Australia–New Zealand American Studies Association gathering at the University of Sydney; George Handley, Brigham Young University; Otto Heim, University of Hong Kong; Hsinya Huang, National Sun Yat-sen University and the Ocean and Island Ecology Research Network; Peter Hulme, University of Essex; Rosanne Kennedy, Australian National University; Yolanda Martínez-San Miguel and Michelle A. Stephens, Archipelagos Seminar, Rutgers University; Anne-Marie McManus, Nancy Reynolds and Vasiliki Touhouliotis, Washington University, St. Louis; Sean Metzger, Francisco-J. Hernández Adrian, and Michaeline Crichlow, Duke University; Martin Munro, Florida State University; Mike Niblett, University of Warwick; Viet Nguyen and Janet Hoskins, University of Southern California; Ineke Phaf, Humboldt University, Berlin; Hannah Boast and the Postcolonial Studies Association, University of York, UK; Ato Quayson, University of Toronto; Sangeeta Ray, University of Maryland, College Park; Johnny Riquet and Ana Sobral, University of Zurich; Modhumita Roy, Tufts University; and Nicole Waligora-Davis and Cary Wolfe, Rice University. The thinking about and writing of this book has also been made possible by the generous support of fellowships and research grants. Special thanks to Christof Mauch at the Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society (rcc) for his support of our workshop “Imperialism, Narrative and the Environment” and to all of the workshop participants. It remains to me one of the most important gatherings for my thinking through the relationship between postcolonial studies and the environmental humanities. I was fortunate to have received an acls Frederick Burkhardt Residential Fellowship at the Huntington Library, which provided an invaluable break from my teaching and ser vice commitments at ucla. The University viii Acknowl edgments of California Humanities Research Initiative Grant funded our “Global Ecologies: Nature/Narrative/Neoliberalism” conference, and I extend my thanks to all of the presenters and participants at that event, which continued and expanded an invaluable discussion begun at the rcc. The University of California Pacific-Rim Grant, ucla International Institute Faculty Research Award, and Burkle Center Faculty Research Grant supported my colleagues Victor Bascara and Keith Camacho and me in organizing workshops on militarization at home and at the University of the South Pacific, Fiji, which were integral to my research on radiation ecologies and to my learning about comparative militarism in this book and beyond. In addition to the names already mentioned I have been buoyed by the friendship, support, and intellectual engagements of Joni Adamson, Blake Allmendinger, LeGrace Benson, Catherine Burwell, Ralph Crane, Gaurav Desai, Jill Didur, Germán Esparza, Esther Figueroa, Arianne Gaetano, Amy Griffiths, Graham Huggan, Peter Hulme, Anne Keala Kelly, Ilan Kelman, Jorge Marcone, Sarah Mattaliano, Dan Taulapapa McMillan, Radhika Mohanram, Susan Najita, Rob Nixon, Lisa Paravisini-Gebert, Crystal Parikh, Jon Pugh, Jenny Price, Karen Salt, Elaine Savory, Geoffrey Schramm, Malcolm Sen, Flavia Sparacino, Phil Steinberg, Nina Sylvanus, Thom Van Dooren, Nicole Waligora-Davis, Linda Williams, Briar Wood, and Yetunde Zaid. As with my first book, Sangeeta Ray worked through many ideas with me and I am thankful for those years of unwavering mentorship. I also want to acknowledge Anitra Grisales for her editing support during the early drafts, and to the wonderful staff at Duke University Press for ushering this book through—particularly Courtney Berger, Sandra Korn, and Christopher Catanese. Most of all, I am indebted to my father, who came out to Los Angeles in August 2015 at a moment of crisis and saved my life. Recovering from that apocalyptic event was possible only due to the love from my family and friends, especially those who live in the heart of my home: Gregg, Pōtiki, Ray, and Luna. I dedicate this book to the living memory of four people who have profoundly influenced my thinking and who all passed away during the years in which this book was written: the wonderful artist and dear friend Tony Capellán, whose work graces the cover; my dear collaborator and friend Anthony Carrigan; the visionary writer and my patient interlocutor, Wilson Harris; and finally, a vital demilitarism collaborator, Teresia Acknowl edgments ix Teaiwa. Their work continues to sustain and inspire in the wake of loss and ruin. Portions of the book have been published in the journals Modern Fiction Studies, Small Axe, Real: Research in English and American Literature, and in the volume Global Ecologies and the Environmental Humanities (2015). x Acknowl edgments Introduction Allegories of the Anthropocene tell them about the water—how we have seen it rising flooding across our cemeteries gushing over the sea walls and crashing against our homes Tell them what it’s like to see the entire ocean __level__ with the land —Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner, “Tell Them” Our increasing awareness of climate change is catalyzing new imaginaries and, by extension, new allegorical forms to address the dynamism of our planet. I open this book with the words of Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner, a performance poet from the Marshall Islands, who is probably the best-known figure to use poetry in the ser vice of climate justice. She received a standing ovation at the United Nations Climate Summit in 2014 for her passionate testimony about the impact of sea-level rise on the Pacific Islands and for a galvanizing poem about the global climate future that she imagines for her infant daughter.1 “Tell Them” poses a challenge to how we understand and represent the active relationship between people and place. More specifically, the poem employs allegory to figure the island as a world in ecological crisis, depicts an active, nonhuman ocean agent, and articulates the imperative to both witness and testify to a dynamic, changing Earth. All three of these allegorical tropes are vital to this book’s exploration of the relationship between the Anthropocene and empire in an era of accelerating environmental catastrophe. The rapid increase in atmospheric carbon; extreme weather events such as drought, flooding, fire, and hurricanes; cataclysmic species extinctions; sea-level rise; ocean acidification; and a warming planet all testify to a crisis of global climate change known as the Anthropocene. This is a twenty-firstcentury term that some scholars use to signal that human activity has attained the scale of a geological force akin to a volcanic eruption or a meteorite, changing the Earth as a system.2 While there has been a virtual cottage industry of new journals and publications exploring the Anthropocene in recent years, the conversation has been dominated by the geophysical and social sciences, which tend to privilege positivist methods and have little to say about the vitality of the arts and humanities. Scholarship that does turn to the role of the Anthropocene cultural imaginary is focused almost exclusively on the viewpoints of the global north. This body of work has tended to favor literary forms such as the novel and white (settler) cultural production from the United States, Australia, and Europe. The lack of engagement with postcolonial and Indigenous perspectives has shaped Anthropocene discourse to claim the novelty of crisis rather than being attentive to the historical continuity of dispossession and disaster caused by empire. In this sense Anthropocene scholarship produces a globalization discourse that misses the globe. Thus its cultural geographies and methods are still insufficient to address a complex crisis of planetary scale. This book argues that in an era of a truly global environmental crisis, Anthropocene scholarship cannot afford to overlook narratives from the global south, particularly from those island regions that have been and continue to be at the forefront of ecologically devastating climate change. Due to their enormous scales and their discursive histories, the figures of nonhuman nature, the human, Earth, and now the Anthropocene share a universalizing geologic. Allegories of the Anthropocene stages an interdisciplinary dialogue between the (social) sciences and the humanities, with particular attention to how the universalizing figure of the Anthropocene might be grounded by engaging specific places such as postcolonial islands. This demands a multiscalar method of telescoping between space (planet) and place (island) in a dialectic or “tidalectic” way to see how they mutually inform each other.3 Bringing together the work of postcolonial, Indigenous, and Anthropocene discourses, I argue that we must “provincialize” the Anthropocene, much as postcolonial studies “provincialized” the universalizing discourse of Europe, to borrow from Dipesh Chakrabarty.4 This is not a casual analogue: the “universal and secular vision of the human” that 2 introduction Chakrabarty sought to decenter in European discourse has been regenerated in much Anthropocene scholarship of the “Age of Man,” resurrecting a figure who reigns as a singular (masculine) “species.”5 Both of these discourses are inextricably tied to histories and discourses of empire—particularly, as I argue here, through the use of narratives of disjunction and rupture. Turning to literature, film, and the arts, this book asks: what kinds of narratives help us navigate an ecological crisis that is understood as local and planetary, as historical and anticipatory? Questions about narrative and representation are vital to understanding the Anthropocene because, as an epoch that reflects a radical break from the past, it poses specific epistemological and ontological challenges, which Chakrabarty has been the first to articulate.6 Of course, the Anthropocene is material in that it concerns what can be measured and experienced, and it is representational in that it raises vital questions as to how the planet as a system can be signified. While a cacophony of voices are theorizing the Anthropocene, most argue that it reflects a moment of disjunction and rupture in geological history and perhaps in knowledge-making itself.7 Of course, this discourse of rupture is deeply familiar to postcolonial and Indigenous studies in its theorization of the “irruption into modernity” that characterizes the ongoing experience of empire.8 The primary rupture in knowledge constitutive to the Anthropocene is that our experience of local weather is not commensurate with understandings of global climate. In other words, due to the difficulty of Earth systems modeling, Hurricane Maria—which pummeled the Caribbean in 2017—cannot, on its own, provide evidence of global climate change.9 This break between the local experience of extreme weather and its abstraction at a global scale is evident in the concluding lines of Jetñil-Kijiner’s poem: tell them we are afraid tell them we don’t know of the politics or the science but tell them we see what is in our own backyard . . . . . . . . . . But most importantly you tell them we don’t want to leave we’ve never wanted to leave Allegories of the Anthropocene 3 and that we are nothing without our islands.10 This claim that “we don’t know”—in a poem that declares the audience must “tell them”—is an interesting choice by the author, signaling a rift in knowledge production and circulation. Marshallese diplomats have been some of the most influential figures at every climate change summit and have galvanized a critical bloc of postcolonial island states to help to lower the targeted two-degree limit of global temperature increase. Some have even likened the major carbon emitters to contributing to cultural genocide.11 Yet here the poet deliberately minimizes their historical participation in the arena of politics and science to bring forward an allegorical disjuncture between the experience of place (“we see/what is in our own backyard”) and the abstract realm that “we don’t know” (the politics and science). While theorists have called attention to the challenges posed by this break between experience and knowledge, Jetñil-Kijiner’s poem allegorizes Marshallese experience to make a claim for a cultural geologic that is not reducible to a universalized climate science of the Anthropocene. As such, culture, climate, experience, knowledge, and the Anthropocene are all placed in disjunctive relation. Yet these ruptures and disjunctions in narrative and in knowledge do not collapse neatly into one another. Moreover, the repeated imperative to “tell them” enlists allegory’s pedagogical incentives and its incitement to action.12 This book claims that allegory has been revitalized and reinvented to represent this perceived disjunction between humans and the planet, between our “species” and a dynamic external “nature.” This is a spatial as well as temporal rupture. Engaging with the Anthropocene means that we must simultaneously consider the deep geological time of the planet—in comparison with previous epochs—as well as the futurity of the human as a species.13 Futurity is marked not just by concerns about human survival, or ameliorating species extinctions, but also by the fact that one cannot locate a stratigraphic marker for this epoch until a geologically significant period of time—such as tens of thousands of years—has passed.14 Thus, the Anthropocene is both forward-looking and a future retrospective, characterized by “anticipatory logics” and anticipatory mourning.15 The Anthropocene epoch is constituted by a deep geological sense of the longue durée, as well as dis4 introduction junctive spatial relations between the enormity of the planet and the experience of local place. Due to its ability to represent both historical and scalar relations, allegory has arisen as a notable form for this moment of planetary climate crisis. Perhaps this is not surprising because allegory is known for its embeddedness in history (time), its construction of a world system (space), and its signification practices in which the particular figures for the general and the local for the global. In fact, environmental discourse is rife with allegorical modes. For example, the popular rallying cry “Save the Planet” employs a metonymic or substitutive component of allegory in which “Planet” stands in for a particular species— most notably, the human. The synecdochical, or part-for-whole, function of allegory is evident in claims that we are in an era of “anthropogenic” climate change when the crisis actually derives from the activities of a powerful minority of human beings.16 Following Sylvia Wynter’s postcolonial critique, we know that a particular bourgeois “ethnoclass” that calls itself Man “overrepresents itself as if it were human.”17 Yet, as Joni Adamson and other have argued from Indigenous, postcolonial, and feminist perspectives, “we have never been Anthropos.”18 Allegory is more than the use of rhetorical tropes. It is the animation of universalizing figures such as planet, species, nature, and the human into narrative—and thereby into space and time. Concurrent with the recent Anthropocene turn, there has been a rise in allegorical representation in literature, film, and visual arts. Allegory stages other worlds to draw parallels and disjunctions between the present and an often dystopic future. This is particularly evident in the spike in climate apocalypse films that employ allegory, such as The Day after Tomorrow and 2012 (Roland Emmerich), Noah (Darren Aronofsky), and Snowpiercer (Bong Joon-ho), to name only a few. This uptick is attributable to the fact that allegory appears in moments of acute historical crisis, as Walter Benjamin has demonstrated. In his reading, modern allegory triggered a new relationship with nonhuman nature that recognized it as a historical rather than an abstract ideal. When modern allegory engages nature as history (what Benjamin termed “nature-history”), then history becomes subject to nature and therefore to decline.19 Western philosophy assumes a split between nonhuman nature and history that other epistemologies do not accept. Benjamin’s dialectical engagement with nature, history, and allegory demarcated a radical shift from a universalized nature to its parochialization. Thus the split noted by many Anthropocene scholars who are working in the context of western philosophical traditions had already been theorized Allegories of the Anthropocene 5 by Benjamin. Analysis of narrative is one of the important labors of the environmental humanities. Thus engaging the work of allegory—particularly the allegoresis of nature-history—opens the possibility of reading the many stories of climate change and the Anthropocene.20 We can see how Benjamin has laid the groundwork for theorizing Anthropocene discourse in that the latter also remarks on a disjuncture between humans (history) and the planet (nature) while suggesting both are anticipated to decline. Decline is represented in Benjaminian allegory and Anthropocene scholarship as ruins. In the Anthropocene context this is quite literal, as our reading of geological epochs is dependent on the legibility of fossils and radiocarbon decay. As such, both produce allegorical speculations on the future as ruins. The recognition of this seemingly new disjunctive relationship between the human and the planetary environment represents a crisis of ecological modernity in which allegory appears as one of its primary narrative records. This is the central argument of Allegories of the Anthropocene. In an age of thinking about the totality of the planet, it is significant that of all modes, allegory is best known for constructing a model of the world or cosmos. As Bruce Clarke has argued, “Allegory typically models a concept of world-space through an articulation of nested structures, universal systems with a montage of ontological levels.”21 These worlds are always separate from the reader/viewer, figured as necessarily disjunctive due to their utopian, dystopian, or perhaps subaltern difference from the audience. This is why the trope of the isolated island has been such a powerful constellation for thinking allegorically. From an early Arabic novel, Hayy ibn Yaqdhan, to English literature classics such as Utopia, Robinson Crusoe, and Lord of the Flies, allegory has long relied on the figure of the island to engage the scalar telescoping between local and global, island and Earth. The island’s simultaneous boundedness and its permeability to travelers—and therefore its susceptibility to radical change—have made it a useful analogue for the globe as a whole.22 Of course, the island also represents finitude, a cautionary concept for the Anthropocene epoch of planetary boundaries that include threats to biodiversity and mass extinctions.23 This part-for-whole analogy is discernible in island extinction stories, such as the history of the dodo of Mauritius, the ecological cautionary tales of Rapa Nui (Easter Island), and, more recently, the example of the Marshall Islands. The island has long been a figure for radical “climate change,” a term I use here as it is more generally understood as an upheaval of an ecologi6 introduction cal system. In keeping with work in feminist, postcolonial, and Indigenous studies that does not bifurcate nature and culture, the concept of ecology as it is used here always includes the human. Thus, I turn to contemporary postcolonial island texts and contexts as a means of allegorizing the Anthropocene, arguing that it is vital to bring the theoretical discourse of the global north into dialogue with communities that both are at the forefront of present climate change and its historical survivors. In grounding the abstract discourse of the Anthropocene by tying it to specific histories and places we can learn much about the contextual nuances of narrativizing the relationship between human and more-than-human nature. Moreover, we might historicize a long history of rupture in small-scale climate systems such as islands. Of course, the galvanizing tendency of allegory to elicit action may also help to produce more effective modes of bringing about ecological and political change. Some may rightly question whether the claim of Anthropocene discourse that we have an entirely new ecological crisis is, in fact, belated. Turning to Indigenous and postcolonial island writers and artists, we can see that catastrophic ruptures to social and ecological systems have already been experienced through the violent processes of empire. In other words, the apocalypse has already happened; it continues because empire is a process.24 For writers and artists engaging the history of plantation slavery or nuclearization, the apocalyptic or declensionist narrative of the Anthropocene is not only a future anticipation of the “end of nature” but also a remembrance of a violent historical past with ongoing repercussions for the present.25 As Heather Davis and Zoe Todd observe, “the Anthropocene—or at least all of the anxiety produced around these realities for those in Euro-western contexts—is really the arrival of the reverberations of that seismic shockwave into the nations who introduced colonial, capitalist processes across the globe in the last half-millennium in the first place.”26 Thus, my definition of “climate change” throughout this book refers to a world-changing rupture in a social and ecological system that might be read as colonization in one context or sea-level rise in another. While many of the texts examined here could be categorized under the popular neologism “cli-fi” (climate fiction, or climate film), they engage climate in ways that deepen our geographic and historical understandings of adaptation and resistance to world-shattering change. These works often revitalize and reformulate allegorical modes that are integral to mitigating our ecological futures. In an Allegories of the Anthropocene 7 era of crisis about our “Earth Island,” island writers and artists provide a prescient perspective about the part’s relationship to the whole. A humanities-based approach to the concept of the Anthropocene calls attention to the ways in which stories are told and to how crises are narrated or visualized. Allegory is a form that is particularly noted for how it stages the present’s relationship to the past; this is often articulated in terms of an engagement with tradition and a search for origins. A flurry of debates has arisen in the past few years alone about to how to pinpoint the stratigraphic (sedimentary) origin of the Anthropocene, generally understood as a moment when (some) humans exceeded their “natural” limits and boundaries—what Anna Tsing terms “inflection points”—and impacted the planet’s geology in ways that will leave isotopic traces for millennia.27 These are narratives of a rupture in the human relationship to the planet, a way of reckoning ecological modernity. Kathryn Yusoff has called attention to a heightening of “anthropogenesis” narratives of the Anthropocene, stories that are as much about beginnings as they are about an “imagined ending” for the human.28 To date, many anthropogenesis narratives are being proposed, without any consensus or attempt to link them in a chronology. Possible markers include the global rise of agriculture thousands of years ago; transatlantic European colonization, genocide, and ecological imperialism; the rise of capitalism, industrial modernity, and its legacies of fossil fuel; the radioactive isotopes from Cold War nuclear testing; and the “Great Acceleration,” a term for the advent of globalization, in which expansion of agribusiness, urbanization, manufacturing, technology, and waste are now part of the planetary fossil record.29 I organize this book around these moments of rupture, of perceived turning points in the human relationship to the planet, following Benjamin’s work on the “flash” of understanding in which “thought comes to a standstill in a constellation saturated with tensions.”30 These constellations of the Anthropocene are thought to signal planetary turning points and shape the structure of this book. Allegories of the Anthropocene engages literary and visual cultures of the Caribbean and Pacific Islands through five constellations that are thought to either originate or encapsulate global climate change: the plantation (agriculture); radiation (militarism); waste (globalization); ocean (sea-level rise); and island (world). While I engage with anthropogenesis narratives, I am not interested in fixing an origin for the Anthropocene or in posing a chronology. Postcolonial studies has long criticized the unilinear narratives of progress that are constitutive to em8 introduction pire, and substituting one homogenizing telos with a narrative of decline still takes a model of “single, homogenous, and secular historical time for granted.”31 Instead, I adopt an allegorical frame of engaging constellations in which “paradox has the last word,” to paraphrase Benjamin. Drawing from the work of Benjamin and Indigenous and postcolonial studies, I use a more dialectical method that foregrounds rupture as an analytic to explore a constellation of different allegorical forms that comment on this perceived human disjunction from our earthly place. Thus, the structure of the book itself uses allegorical techniques of disjunction within and between chapters. Each chapter is written for different types of audiences, with a particular resistance to telos or narrative development. A humanities approach to the Anthropocene demands an engagement with multiple types of allegories, figured as cultural and historical codes, commentaries, genres, thematics, and contingent systems of meaning. Consequently, this book, following Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, pursues “allegoric tendency” in literary and visual representations of the Anthropocene rather than a singular rigid form that is applied across contexts.32 Interpretation, of course, has been described as an “allegorical act,” so in that sense this book figures allegory and allegoresis as method, form, and thematic.33 Moreover, my approach to allegory, like the Anthropocene, is decidedly ambivalent. As a mode, allegory can be utilized to comment effectively on the ways in which colonialism has ruptured cultural and ecological relations to the past, yet its anachronistic tendencies can also be employed to naturalize colonial discourses that depict non-European cultures as outside modern time.34 I concur with Spivak’s claim that “allegory should be one of the global terms in the rhetoric of fiction” and the arts,35 yet I consider it a mode that is adaptive and fluid depending on time, space, narrative, and context. Thus one must parochialize allegory as much as the Anthropocene. Accordingly, I employ different critical frames of allegoresis while engaging with the novel, short stories, poetry, visual arts, and documentary film to trace out the constellations that structure Allegories of the Anthropocene. This book intervenes in debates in the humanities that argue that we need to think in localized, “small is beautiful” terms to best mitigate ecological disaster versus another equally prominent body of work that claims that we must think at the grand scale of planetarity and hyperobjects.36 This is why the island is such an important figure for this simultaneous relationship between the part and whole, the local and global. If we have learned anything from globalization studies, it is that a planetary scale needs Allegories of the Anthropocene 9 to be placed in a dialectical relation with the local to render their narratives meaningful. This does not mean that these dialectics are transparent or even translatable, just as global climate, a planetary phenomenon, is not reducible to local weather. This scalar telescoping follows a long tradition in postcolonial studies in which universalizing narratives are troubled, contested, and provincialized. Following postcolonial models, the dialectic between part and whole is also diachronic. This is to say that it is necessarily entangled with the longue durée of empire and ecological imperialism, what Rob Nixon terms “slow violence,” as well as catastrophic ruptures and accelerations. Island writers and artists have long engaged such questions of modernity, rupture, and ecological violence that result from empire. Now at the forefront of climate change, they have a complex history of staging paradoxical relations between the local and global, posing allegorical antinomies or paradoxes for figuring the island as a world. Allegory: Antinomies of (Postcolonial) Modernity Allegory, literally “other speaking,” is polysemous and may emerge as a mode of colonial, political, and systemic critique through the use of irony, subversion, and parody. Like the declensionist narrative of the Anthropocene, modern allegory often directs our attention to narratives of progress, authority, and development as myth. In foregrounding a postcolonial approach to allegory and the Anthropocene, I argue that the antinomies or paradoxes of modernity are constitutive to both. Ever since Benjamin published his work on the Baroque Trauerspiel (mourning play), allegory has been understood as a paradoxical form that renders often irreconcilable narratives about the human relation to the past and to nonhuman nature. As John McCole explains, Benjamin’s dialectical “ ʻantinomies of the allegorical’ . . . involve a radical despairing alternation between unbridgeable antipodes; the comforting prospect of a harmonious synthesis is denied.”37 Later, the work of Hans Robert Jauss and Paul de Man called attention to an aporia or discontinuity between the subject and the external world that allegory creates at its representational core, exposing the radical disjunction between present and past, local and global.38 After Benjamin, it is generally agreed that allegory signals an era of calamity and a way of responding, inadequately but necessarily, to crisis. As Fredric Jameson has written, “If the allegorical is attractive for the present day and age it is because it models a relationship of breaks, gaps, discontinuities, 10 introduction and inner distances and incommensurabilities of all kinds. It can therefore better serve as a figure for the incommensurabilities of the world today.”39 This is why allegory is so relevant for reckoning with the Anthropocene, an understanding of the human as a geological agent that, as Chakrabarty has argued, cannot be understood phenomenologically. He writes, “We humans never experience ourselves as a species. We can only intellectually comprehend or infer the existence of the human species but never experience it as such.”40 It is precisely at this disjuncture between our awareness of the planet as a totality and our experience of embedded place that allegory plays a vital role. When faced with the rupture between the space of the planet and local place, allegory appears as a mode that best engages these antinomies. As we see in Jetñil-Kijiner’s opening poem, the island is a world but one characterized by opacity—this reflects an aporia in the representational capacity of the human ability to reckon the totality of the planet.41 Like allegory, the Anthropocene in this book is also a figure of ambivalence. Geologists are now positioned in an interesting and vexed role as historians of the Anthropos, a radical disciplinary shift that has created a new genre of geological allegories of the human as a “species.” There is an unprecedented production of climate change books written by geologists, in which an undifferentiated “man” has a starring role in the history of the planet, causing speculation about the behavior of the species in the past and dire warnings about its actions in the future.42 These environmental morality tales are, of course, allegories of a universal masculine subject who is not subject to cultural, historical, or sexual difference. When Anthropocene journalists insist that the term “man” is gender neutral, it seems as if the decades of work about context and difference in the humanities never existed.43 As Chakrabarty warns, “A crisis that concerns humanity as a whole cannot ever be adequately addressed if the issues of justice, power, and inequality that divide and fragment the same humanity are overlooked in the narratives we tell ourselves.”44 The unmarked gendering of the new subject of “the Age of Man” has been so relentless that it has spurred a parodic debate about the “Manthropocene.”45 Stacy Alaimo reminds us that “feminist theory, long critical of “man,” the disembodied, rational subject; and material feminisms, which stress inter- or intra-actions between humans and the wider physical world, provide alternatives to accounts that reiterate man as a bounded being endowed with unilateral agency.”46 This tension demonstrates the challenges posed to a kind of interdisciplinary work in which positivist, universalist modes of thinking about the human as species come Allegories of the Anthropocene 11 up against humanities approaches that are attuned to cultural and historical context, and especially human difference. This Anthropocene discursive flattening of the figure of the human into an unmarked masculine species deriving from the global north (homo industrialis, or homo economicus) means that a humanities approach that engages feminist, postcolonial, and Indigenous methods is essential. While I agree that the Anthropocene focalizes the necessity of new modes of figuring the relation between humans and the planet, I cannot fully concur with Chakrabarty’s provocative claim that “what scientists have said about climate change challenges not only the ideas about the human that usually sustain the discipline of history but also the analytic strategies that postcolonial and postimperial historians have deployed in the last two decades in response to the postwar scenario of decolonization and globalization.”47 Postcolonial methods, incredibly diverse in their own right, have much to say about the human relation to the planet in ways that cannot be reduced to an analytic of global capital or a concern with climate justice, as vitally important as these are.48 In fact, an enormous body of work in the field of postcolonial ecologies has been actively engaging these vexed questions about the disjunctive relationship between humans and between humans and nonhuman nature, politicizing ecological thought in relation to totalizing regimes of empire, from the colonial past to the neoliberal present.49 So this is to say that postcolonial studies has long been engaged with theorizing the Earth as well as the human—two of the essential figures of the Anthropocene. Yet postcolonial critiques of the world-making claims of ecology and empire have been overlooked in the scramble for originary claims about the Anthropocene. This suggests a lack of dialogue not just across the humanities but between definitions of the human. Postcolonial methods figure centrally here and in the chapters to come, particularly in terms of theories of disjunctive time and place and in relation to allegorical representations of the human subject. Modernity and Totality Postcolonial approaches are essential because they have long been reckoning with the concepts of modernity and totality, two figures that underwrite the relationship between allegory and the Anthropocene. Scholarship on allegory engages modernity but overlooks how it is constituted by the history of European empire and capitalism. After Benjamin, critics argued that the 12 introduction mode is “a response to the sense of perpetual crisis instilled by modernity; the awareness of an unbridgeable chasm separating an incomprehensible past from an always confusing present moment.”50 Building on the work of Jean-François Lyotard, Deborah Madsen suggests that allegory and modernity function on the premise of an “awareness of an absolute distinction between the temporal or human realm and the timeless or divine.”51 This observation has provocative implications for the Anthropocene in that if we recognize the “Age of Man” as a gendered discourse of secular nature, the scientific reckoning of what was perceived as “the divine” is now all too human.52 But these assumptions about modernity beg for a postcolonial intervention. In her reading of Jauss and de Man, Madsen observes that their theories of allegory point to a break in the Romantic era in the harmony expected between the human and more-than-human nature. This is why the Romantics eschewed allegory for the harmonizing symbol.53 In this reading of European thought, the allegorical mode captures the lack of continuity between self and world signaled in the Romantic era. A postcolonialist might ask: in what ways has transatlantic empire contributed to the European realization that there is a break between the subject and “his” inhabited world? A postcolonial approach drawing on the work of C. L. R. James, Sidney Mintz, Michel-Rolph Trouillot and others might suggest that the modernity associated with eighteenth-century Europe was belated when compared with the experiences of those in the colonies who were displaced by diaspora and genocide, or who experienced the violence of modernity in their own home territories due to the reach of empire and its universal practices of land alienation.54 The recognition of a break in continuity between the subject and the outside world—between sign and referent that is constitutive to allegory, according to de Man’s reading of Romantic literature—would have been very familiar to the dispossessed subjects of empire well before the Romantic (and even Baroque) era. It is hardly news that the Romantic writers and philosophers were deeply engaged and informed by contemporaneous events of empire—for instance, the influence of the Haitian Revolution on Hegel’s theory of universal history—but this has not been connected to the representational rupture that has been associated with allegory.55 The reading of modernity and allegory—where the subject experiences an epistemological break with language and the experience of place and history becomes ruins—can be traced back to Benjamin’s observations on the German Baroque. Writing from the ruins of World War II, he interpreted Allegories of the Anthropocene 13 the Trauerspiel as it encapsulated the violence and fragmentation of the Thirty Years War (1618–48). Benjamin found the war-torn ruins of the present in his interpretation of the past, rendering a break from Platonic modes of truth and transcendent theological thought.56 Through the lens of a fragmented modernity, allegory stages what Benjamin referred to as a “natural history” (Naturgeschichte) signified by ruins rather than through symbols of progress. To Benjamin, the shape of the present is a critical hermeneutic for reading the past, even as these historical constellations are never deemed continuous. While many have noted the parallels between the wartime violence of modern Europe and the ruins Benjamin located in seventeenthcentury drama, most have overlooked the thematic contents of the esoteric works that informed his study. Jenny Sharpe points out that his theories of allegory derive from Orientalist plays that “describe the decadent and tyrannical rule of the Eastern empires.”57 Thus, the first stitching together of the relation between allegory and modernity is in part inspired by a Baroque staging of the violence of empire, a concern with a rupture between material, economic, and cultural systems that so encapsulates postcolonial engagements with modernity. Overall, this book connects allegory’s propensity to figure rupture, ruins, and the destabilization of the signifying potential of language with the history of empire, building on postcolonial work that has long identified the colonies as originary spaces of the violence of modernity. While I engage many registers and contexts of allegory in this book, they share a representational and historical relationship to what Édouard Glissant describes as the “irruption into modernity, the violent departure from tradition, [and] from literary ʻcontinuity.’ ”58 The postcolonial critique of modernity is integral to understanding both allegory as a form that signifies rupture and attempts by scholars of the Anthropocene to periodize a break in the human relation to the planet, a perceived rupture between people and place. The figure of totality also underlines the relationship between allegory and the Anthropocene. A totality, like modernity, has myriad definitions and contexts, but in this book I use the term to signal that which represents enormous temporal and spatial scale and can be only partially understood. Scale is one keyword of the Anthropocene, although scholars are using other terms for totality, such as planetarity, enormities, and hyperobjects.59 The monumental scale of the planet poses a challenge to both climate modeling, which is necessary yet always inadequate, and our ability in 14 introduction the humanities and social sciences to theorize the relationship between the human and a rapidly changing Earth. This is the major challenge to previously anthropocentric models of history. Building on Chakrabarty, Bruno Latour has written, “Physically insignificant Homo sapiens have emerged (through harmful activity towards the environment) as an ecologically destructive force with the capacity of a ʻmass meteorite,’ but the disconnect between humanity’s own day-to-day mortal existence and apocalyptic ramifications of its activity makes it all the more difficult for the species—despite extensive rational analysis—to effectively realize its behavior.”60 Expanding from Latour, we might add that, in addition to the concept of planet, force has become a figure of totality, a universalizing that Ato Quayson has critiqued from a postcolonial perspective.61 As we know, these totalities necessarily obscure the differences across Anthropos, and many have countered Latour’s position with concepts such as the “hybrid” human (Wynter) or the multispecies human assemblage (Haraway).62 Clearly the Anthropocene dictates that we need multiscalar theorizing of the human; allegory provides its disjunctive narrative. Jameson has demonstrated that allegory is constitutive to the cartographic drive and to “cognitive mapping” as a whole. “The world system is a being of such enormous complexity that it can only be mapped and modelled indirectly, by way of a simpler object that stands as its allegorical interpretant.”63 Of course, his theory of “Third World allegory” was famously debated, but his work has demonstrated that once we begin theorizing the whole, we cannot step outside the concept of totality, which is best explicated by allegory. His later scholarship turns to the “geopolitical unconscious,” a way to theorize postmodern capital that relies on allegory as a “conceptual instrument for grasping our new being-in-the-world.”64 His “geopolitical unconscious” represents an engagement with geopolitics, not the Earth as such. Consequently, he is not engaging the “geo-” in ways we have seen proliferate in Anthropocene thinking, such as Bruno Latour’s turn to our “common geostory,” Kathryn Yusoff ’s theory of “geologic life,” and Elizabeth A. Povinelli’s “geontologies.”65 However, Jameson’s theory of the “geopolitical aesthetic” of 1992 is prescient for Anthropocene thinking. He asks “how the local items of the present and the here-and-now can be made to express and to designate the absent, unrepresentable totality; how individuals can add up to more than their sum; what a global or world system might look like after the end of cosmology.”66 These are precisely the questions raised by scholars Allegories of the Anthropocene 15 of the Anthropocene—how can we understand our ecological present in relation to the epochal periodization of the geological past and its anticipated future? How can the individual human be “scaled up” to the species? How might we understand a totality like the Anthropocene as signifying the “end of cosmology”? In most Anthropocene discourse, figures of the divine such as god and nonhuman nature have become anthropomorphized because geological force and the planet are now understood to be anthropogenic. This has led to grandiose claims of humans as “the god species.”67 By engaging the relation between modernity and totality, we can more readily see Anthropocene discourse (not the epoch) as a secular and in some cases positivist allegory of the planet, a substitution of the alterity of the nonhuman divine with anthropogenic force.68 Jameson’s coupling of allegory with totality was not well received in many postcolonial circles, but Imre Szeman’s reflections on this vigorous debate of the 1980s helps us better see the ways in which postcolonial studies was already engaged with different modes of totality.69 He points out that postcolonialists, committed to the critique of Enlightenment universalisms and narratives of progress and development, were rightly suspicious of any connections to this form of “ ʻbad’ totality.”70 Interestingly, the debates of the 1980s spurred by Jameson’s argument about “Third World” allegory and its resistance to the totalizing mechanisms of postmodern capital are being reconfigured around the concept of the human as species in the Anthropocene. For instance, Chakrabarty’s claim that postcolonial studies must move beyond the logic of the human as a figure of difference in order to theorize the human as a species is a conceptual leap that authorizes what some find to be a “bad totality.”71 (This parallels a related debate over whether this is a “bad Anthropocene” or a “good Anthropocene.”72) While these debates about scale and agency will continue, I want to draw from Szeman’s engagement with what he calls Jameson’s “political allegory,” one that brings us to a systemic, global critique beyond the frame of the nation-state. He argues that as critics we are always entangled with totalities; they reflect “the possibility of metacommentary—not as a secondary step in interpretation, but as a condition of interpretation per se.”73 Allegory shapes these conditions of analysis. This critical posture toward narratives of “history in its totality” is vital to allegory, as Benjamin demonstrated.74 Thus, totality functions as both the possibility of critique and a momentary flash of history in a (discontinuous) series of constellations.75 Thus, allegoresis is necessarily caught up with totalities as the very conditions of possibility for analysis, figuring 16 introduction disjunctive relations between local and global, island and Earth. These are the antinomies of allegory in the Anthropocene. Postcolonial Histories, Island Spaces Jameson famously claimed that the “Third World” is a politically viable space for allegory because the part-for-whole relationship between the individual and the community was not shattered by bourgeois individualism. Despite the well-known critiques, many postcolonial scholars have found allegory to be integral to figuring the power of colonial relations.76 For example, Abdul JanMohamed identified what he called “Manichaean allegory” as constitutive to understanding the racial and cultural hierarchies of colonial texts such as Heart of Darkness, in which allegory allows a series of exchanges “of denigrating images which can be used to maintain a sense of moral difference; they also allow the writer to transform social and historical dissimilarities into universal, metaphysical differences.”77 Sharpe demonstrated in her Allegories of Empire that “the Christian allegory of human salvation provided a powerful iconography for the social mission of the British rule in India” and beyond.78 This is why allegory is both powerful and a figure of ambivalence. Because while its tendency to refigure and thus authorize authority enabled it to serve the rhetoric of an expanding British empire, its flexible modes also produced what Sharpe has called “counterallegories,” evident in how the violence of rape could be reconfigured as an allegory of colonial exploitation.79 In sum, allegory and allegoresis has been engaged in a wide variety of colonial contexts to examine the (gendering) of the worlding process and its representations.80 Postcolonial and Indigenous writers continue to engage allegorical devices as mutable and vital responses to empire, dictatorship, globalization, settler colonialism, and ecological crisis, and a large body of critics have argued, persuasively, that the questioning of history and authority that is constitutive to allegory has been integral to the critique of empire and systems of totality and dominance.81 While there are many intersections between the history of colonial representations and allegory, I focus specifically on the postcolonial island because it so clearly engages with allegory’s figuring of both multiscalar space and time. In turning to the postcolonial islands of the Caribbean and Pacific, I engage with so-called peripheral geographic spaces. We know that “mapping the social totality is structurally available to the dominated rather than dominating classes.”82 But as M. NourbeSe Philip reminds us, the Allegories of the Anthropocene 17 margins are also a frontier—historically in terms of empire, as well as how postcolonial subjects have creatively imagined ways to survive amid a long history of ecological violence.83 So while island nations have contributed negligible amounts to our current carbon crisis, they have been at the forefront if its devastating ecological impact, as the survivors of Hurricane Maria in 2017 know all too well. Caribbean novelist Wilson Harris has argued that “the truly creative alchemical response to crisis and conflict and deprivation . . . may well come from the other side of a . . . dominant civilization, from extremities, from apparently irrelevant imaginations and resources.”84 In revitalizing allegorical forms, island writers and artists provide prescient perspectives about the part’s relationship to the whole, as well as about visions that are integral to mitigating our varied ecological futures. This book argues that allegory is the fundamental rhetorical mode for figuring the planet as well as the historical rift between part and whole that is symbolized by the Anthropocene. The island is a foundational figure for the micro- and macrocosmos; given its long association with ecological imperialism, extinction, plantation slavery, and sea-level rise, it has been vital to tracking a historical and spatialized narrative of the Anthropocene. The subsequent chapters engage with tropes of the Anthropocene that encapsulate Benjamin’s dictum that “allegories are, in the realm of thoughts, what ruins are in the realm of things.”85 Challenging the colonial model of history as a narrative of progress, each of these chapters engages the ruins of empire.86 This is figured through the aftermath of the slave plantation and the challenges of forging a new relationship to earth/Earth in the Caribbean novel; the fallout of Cold War nuclear radiation as carried in the bodies of Indigenous Pacific peoples and the challenges of representing these wars of light; and the impact of the waste of globalization and its construction of “wasted lives” in Caribbean visual arts and in novels about poverty in Jamaican urbanization.87 The final two chapters turn to the figure of the ocean in an era of sea-level rise and its transmorphic effects on the human and its multispecies companions, as well as to how current documentaries about climate change figure the sinking tropical island as an “ecological morality tale.”88 This is countered by performance poetry that positions the island-in-the-world as an allegory of women’s cultural labor, intergenerational care, and climate change justice. While all of the allegories examined here emphasize not “eternal life so 18 introduction much as that of irresistible decay,”89 they are not dystopic because they make no teleological claims and because their allegoresis demands something of the audience—at the least, active interpretation and, possibly, the ordinary labor of ecological and political engagement. Constellations of the Anthropocene The Anthropocene refers to a totality due to its imbrication with deep geological time and enormous planetary space. Accordingly, there are heated debates about its origins and even its relevance. Here I will sketch a brief genealogy of constellations of the Anthropocene. Before the coining of the term “Anthropocene,” there were flashpoints where “man’s role in changing the face of the Earth,” to quote the title of an important interdisciplinary symposium of 1955, was being scrutinized.90 Cold War geopolitics created a sense of planetary fragility of our “Earth Island,” leading to other collaborative efforts across political and disciplinary divides such as the International Geophysical Year (1957–58). There are precedents for recognizing the impact of humans on the planet as a system, although they have not been tied specifically to the various colonial contexts in which they have arisen. In terms of originary moments cited by geologists and geographers, many date the concept back to the late 1700s, when Comte de Buffon imagined the Earth’s final epoch to be a human one.91 George Perkins Marsh’s Man and Nature; or Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action (1864) has been cited as an originary text examining the disjunctive relationship between the human and nonhuman world. Marsh, in turn, was in conversation with the work of the Italian geologist Antonio Stoppani, credited with coining the phrase “Anthropozoic era.”92 Yet the dates for the “origin” of the Anthropocene concept are continually pushed back into the past; at the time of writing, scholars attribute it to the Welsh geologist Thomas Jenkyn’s writing on “the human epoch” and the “Anthropozoic.”93 Our current epoch, the Holocene (“recent” era), already includes the impact of the human, suggesting to some that the neologism “Anthropocene” is not necessary and raising questions as to why scholars suddenly contend that our Earth has radically changed in ways that can never be fully comprehended.94 Certainly the rise of the term’s concurrence with the second millennium and its associated post-9/11 narratives of apocalypse and extinction are not coincidental, as I explore in chapter 5. Some Anthropocene discourse seems to be an elegy Allegories of the Anthropocene 19 for a loss of the fantasy of “western civilization” and the (overrepresented) figure of “man.” The Anthropocene is a story of both novelty (a human rupture into a “natural” system) and decay (anthropogenic sedimentary fossils). The past decade of work on the Anthropocene has been updating the dismal ecological reports of the present while uncovering antecedents of the concept in the past. This both authorizes the concept and reiterates the western break between nature (read, the planet) and the human (read, pollutant). In turn, popular Anthropocene discourse reproduces the “fall from nature” narrative, but this time it is a secular one. In this secular fall, history is “subject to nature,” an allegory of “irresistible decay.”95 In the words of Benjamin, “It is fallen nature which bears the imprint of the progression of history.”96 Articulating a beginning, Edward Said once noted, “is the first step in the intentional production of meaning.”97 These Anthropocene claims to origins are significant in their obvious authorizing function, which prioritizes a particular kind of European scientific knowledge production. More interesting is their implicit claim to make meaning out of moments in which the human is theorized in disjunctive relation to the planet, an attempt to provide a history of the human’s alienation from “his” home and a break between “man” and “nature.” This historicizing process itself is, paradoxically, a way to render the consciousness of alienation visible. The construction of beginnings is, Said reminds us, an “activity whose circumstances include a sense of loss.”98 In this case, the Anthropocene story is about the loss of nonhuman nature at the same time that it is a self-authorizing narrative for the Anthropocene as a concept. Seeking a history of the split between “man” and “nature” and making a claim to find its narrative origin in the global north (Comte de Buffon, Marsh, Jenkyn, Stoppani, Vernadsky, and so on) provides an intellectual origin story for contemporary theorists of the Anthropocene, who are also located in Euro-American academies. Perhaps more interesting is the way in which contemporary Anthropocene theorists discover their antecedents who in turn were authorizing a natureculture rupture that could be sutured only by theorization. Therefore, part of the academic work in defining the Anthropocene is not just the stratigraphic claims, but the use of a scientific geologic as a way to authorize specific and select cultural histories. While claiming the scale of the planet, they continue to be exceedingly provincial, not to say masculinist and ethnocentric. This is one of the many reasons the Anthropocene must be provincialized. 20 introduction Paul Crutzen and Eugene Stoermer famously historicized the Anthropocene by tying it to the creation of the steam engine (1784), rooting anthropogenesis in a fossil fuel-based industrialism.99 Their argument was based on a possible stratigraphic marker of the rise of CO2, which appeared in the fossil record many years later, along with other industrial isotopes such as lead, nitrogen, sulfur, and militarized radiation.100 I would argue that the steam engine is less of a data point than a geologic for transatlantic modernity, an age in which (European, male) humans thought themselves to have been separated from nature. Therefore, the steam engine is not just a technology; its appearance in this Anthropocene origin story is an allegory for Enlightenment tropes such as rationality, secularism, urbanization, individualism, property, freedom, rights, masculinity, and wage labor. The steam engine anthropogenesis story was hardly contested for nearly a decade, precisely because it already spoke to a popular allegory of man’s break with nature as simultaneous with the rise of modernity and technology. This is how the European Enlightenment became re-universalized, authenticated by its appearance in the strata of the Earth. Yet decades of work in the humanities and social sciences had already provincialized the Enlightenment and European industrialism, tying it specifically to a long history of empire. Outside the fields of geology, scholars have established that transoceanic empire and the violent exchange of flora, fauna, and humans made both capitalism and industrialism possible. This anthropogenesis narrative was largely ahistorical until the geographers Simon Lewis and Mark Maslin engaged the work of historians of empire to argue: Industrialization and extensive fossil fuel use were only made possible by the annexing of the Americas. Thus, the agricultural commodities from the vast new lands of the Americas allowed Europe to transcend its ecological limits and sustain economic growth. In turn, this freed labour, allowing Europe to industrialize. That is, the Americas made industrialization possible owing to the unprecedented inflow of new cheap resources (and profitable new markets for manufactured goods). This “Great Divergence” of Europe from the rest of the world required access to and exploitation of new lands plus a rich source of easily exploitable energy: coal.101 Accordingly, they backdate the Anthropocene to 1610 to recognize the historical process that made the invention of the steam engine—and European industrialism—possible. In a similar vein, Andreas Malm (who coined the Allegories of the Anthropocene 21 term “Capitalocene”) and Alf Hornborg argue that the rise of the steam engine was “predicated on highly inequitable global processes” and that “uneven distribution is a condition for the very existence of modern, fossilfuel technology.”102 The geologist Jan Zalasiewicz and his colleagues have concurred, remarking that “it is not so much the technology as much as its reflection of a long process of global inequities, and to argue that those who benefitted from those technologies represent the Anthropos causes a further violence in its erasure of the majority of humans on the planet.”103 Thus, a decade after the coining of the term “Anthropocene” we begin to see the start of a robust dialogue about the origins of our environmental crisis—variously attributed to the dominance of capitalism (Capitalocene, Econocene, Necrocene), transatlantic empire (Plantationocene), patriarchy (Manthropocene), European/white settler colonialism (Eurocene), twentieth-century globalization and its regimes of disposability (Plasticene), or all of the above and their engagements with a frightening alterity (Chthulucene).104 In reading the human in the science of the planet, most geologists have tended to favor narrow histories of the global north that are not engaged with human complexity. As the historian Libby Robin observes, “Anthropocene origin stories follow the deep wheel ruts of northern hemisphere history.”105 I frame my chapter summaries with this debate because I want to foreground the ways in which allegory is at work in even the most geological approaches to the Anthropocene and to demonstrate that empire is essential to thinking about ecological change to the planet. This debate about “anthropogenesis” is loosely adopted to structure the argument of this book.106 It is with this sense of figuring the past as a parable for the future that I turn to these origin stories and draw them out as constellations, as allegories for the Anthropocene. The first three chapters focus on constellations of anthropogenesis, figures of what Benjamin would call “petrified unrest”—agriculture (the plantation), radiation (militarism), and waste (globalization)—that haunt the Anthropocene. The final two chapters examine a newly anthropomorphized “geos”—oceans and islands, two spaces in which the Anthropocene is rendered most visible—to engage transmorphic relations to nonhuman others, sea ontologies, as well as a body of climate change literature and film that has been termed “cli-fi.” Overall these chapters inquire how the perceived rift in the human relationship to the planet is articulated in visual and written narratives from the islands of the global south, and how this grand narrative of a rift is parochialized through postcolonial and Indigenous allegories and ontologies. 22 introduction Gendering Earth: Excavating Plantation Soil While the prehistoric use of fire is probably the earliest claim for the Anthropocene, a more popular early origin story is the rise of agriculture, particularly its associated deforestation, crop irrigation, and production of anthropogenic soils.107 The paleoclimatologist William Ruddiman has argued that the Anthropocene began with the agricultural clearing of forests in Europe and Asia nearly eight thousand years ago, which led to an increase in CO2 and methane emissions and a global warming that may have prevented a new ice age. This “early Anthropocene” can be identified in the stratigraphic records.108 While some have argued that the emission of carbon and methane is within the range of natural variability for this era or can be attributed to other, nonanthropogenic sources,109 my interest is less in the stratigraphic debates than in what the larger disciplinary and narrative claims are for understanding the human relationship to the planet. This is a strange era in which paleoclimatologists, atmospheric chemists, and geologists are writing new histories of “man,” producing allegories in their scalar telescoping between current and deep time and making universalizing claims about human behavior. In an egregious example, Ruddiman traces out an eight-thousand-year history of deforestation but never contextualizes the histories of human violence. Consequently, in explaining those eras in which CO2 did not rise due to a significant drop in the production of agriculture caused by death, he likens the plague in Medieval Europe to the decimation of 90 percent of the Indigenous peoples of the Americas, referring to it simply as a “pandemic” rather than genocide.110 Accordingly, the unprecedented drop in CO2 levels from 1550 to 1800—due to a population collapse of more than fifty million people with causal links to colonization, slavery, war, displacement, containment, and outright ethnic cleansing—is attributed to smallpox.111 This reflects for me one of the disturbing disciplinary barriers for Anthropocene scholarship, which, in ignoring the historicist and contextual contributions of the humanities, makes wildly inaccurate truth claims for history under the positivist guise of science. More recent work in Anthropocene scholarship has started to engage a broader interdisciplinary rubric. Lewis and Maslin take what was a footnote to Ruddiman’s focus on prehistoric agriculture and link the science with scholarship in history and sociology to foreground the violent process of empire and integrate the beginnings of capitalism, which is constitutive to transatlantic slavery and colonization. They pinpoint the dip in Allegories of the Anthropocene 23 atmospheric carbon to 1610 and refer to their origin story of the Anthropocene as the “Orbis hypothesis,” which foregrounds empire, capitalism, the exchange of biota, and the process by which the two hemispheres of the world were violently connected.112 They recognize that a focus on 1610 would foreground the fact that “colonialism, global trade, and coal brought about the Anthropocene.”113 In concert with a large body of scholarship on ecological imperialism, they argue that “the transoceanic movement of species is an unambiguously permanent change to the Earth system.”114 This provides a leaping-off point for my first chapter, which turns to the history of the representation of the Caribbean plantation system and the violence of modernity created by monocrop agricultural systems and slavery. Recently, scholars have termed this the “Plantationocene” in an effort to foreground the planetary impact of transatlantic colonialism and to pinpoint its operative national and economic agents. 115 My first chapter takes as its backdrop the global dispersion of flora, fauna, and microorganisms due to the expansion of western European empires, a process of planetary change in which the diaspora, indenture, and enslavement of poor Europeans, Africans, Asians, and Indigenous people across the world was entirely unprecedented. This brought about what Mary Louise Pratt has called a new era of “planetary consciousness” that geologists are now able to locate in the stratigraphic record. This early phase of globalization led to radical changes in landscape, in which the transplantation of commodities (such as sugarcane) and food crops (maize, yam, potato) altered human diets, changing ecosystems and human bodies. As Alfred Crosby has demonstrated, food exports from the Americas contributed to the doubling of the size of populations in parts of Asia, Europe, and Africa, which, in turn, contributed to development and industrialization.116 European colonization facilitated the global exchange of plants, animals, and pathogens, creating “new hybrid species, and a global homogenization of Earth’s biota.”117 Thus, what began as the Columbian exchange led to a “radical reorganization of life on Earth without geological precedent.”118 Accordingly, the first chapter turns to plantation slavery as an early marker of the Anthropocene and a vital constellation of radical social and ecological climate change. This history frames my engagement with Erna Brodber’s allegorical “cli-fi” novel The Rainmaker’s Mistake (2007), which excavates the plantation history of the Caribbean islands and speculates on the ecological future of the human relation to soil. Published to commemorate the bicentennial of the British abolition of the slave trade, Brodber’s 24 introduction novel raises questions about the relationship between narratives of plantation slavery and the more hidden histories of slave provision grounds, “plots” of land that provide sustenance to the community and that figure in her novel as allegorical emplotments. Reading her novel as an allegory of plantation history, in which roots, soil, and rot become visible ruins of the past, I argue that her work helps us understand the complexities of the colonial rift created between humans and the earth/Earth that is signified by the agricultural stratigraphy of the Anthropocene. While she might agree with de Man that history is ultimately irretrievable via allegory, her work calls attention to the allegorical process of excavating the soil that uncovers the decaying corpses of a white slave master and subterranean African mothers. While they are not quite the Benjaminian grinning skull or death’s head,119 these are corpses that demand allegoresis, that must be deciphered to uncover maternal origin narratives, earthly ontologies, as well as an unexpected history of African contributions to flooding and climate change. Thus, the novel provides a feminist critique of the “Age of Man” as an allegory of history and foregrounds the ways in which Anthropocene discourse relies on the excavation of sediment, fossils, and earth to articulate an allegory of Earth. In excavating these corpses, figures of “petrified unrest,” the novel poses a challenge to the familiar historical frame of reading the Caribbean through the plantation model by uncovering other (feminized) “roots” and agents, a challenge we might well pose to the model of the Plantationocene. Planetarity: Militarized Radiations The violence of transatlantic empire is one recognized marker or constellation of the Anthropocene, but scholars have been slow to engage the unprecedented rise in nuclear militarism that marks another. It is not an accident that the atmospheric chemist best known for his promotion of the term “Anthropocene” was also the coauthor of an important Cold War text warning of the dangers of nuclear winter.120 Climate science and nuclear weapons testing have an intimate relationship. The rise of Cold War science contaminated the planet’s atmosphere with artificial radioisotopes while also supplying the means by which to measure their movement throughout the biosphere. Thus, the tracking of radioactive carbon-14 derived from nuclear tests enabled meteorologists to determine that carbon dioxide levels were uniform and consistent across the atmosphere, leading to a baseline for Allegories of the Anthropocene 25 monitoring the rise and fall of CO2.121 While there was a concerted effort on the part of the Atomic Energy Commission to frame radiation as a product that was as “natural” and life-giving as the sun, the transuranium elements, which are highly unstable, are all produced in laboratories; nearly thirty additional elements were manufactured by Cold War military science. Even though there is ample evidence of the planetary-wide radioactive legacy of atmospheric weapons testing, isotopes that we all carry in our bodies today, it was only in 2014 that militarized radiation was first recognized by scientists as a stratigraphic marker of the Anthropocene. This enables us to connect legacies of one era of (European) empire after 1492 to a more recent militarized one of the Cold War, even if most scientists continue to remark on it dispassionately and situate the connections outside of human agency, accountability, and ethics.122 This recognition by geologists is belated because the language of climate change has long been formulated in relation to narratives of nuclear annihilation, as Spencer R. Weart and many others have demonstrated.123 To list just a few examples—the nasa physicist James Hansen’s warnings since the 1980s of what was then called the “greenhouse effect” were published in terms of a “climatic bomb” and, later, a “time bomb,” drawing from the discourse of nuclear threat.124 Similarly, the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists’ “Doomsday Clock,” launched in 1947 to signal the worldwide threat of nuclear weapons, added climate change to its apocalyptic countdown in 2007.125 Zalasiewicz and his colleagues in the Anthropocene Working Group propose the day and time of the world’s first atomic test—Trinity, at Alamogordo, New Mexico, on July 16, 1945—to mark the Anthropocene. While more than two thousand nuclear tests have been conducted on Earth since that date, this team focuses on the legacy of their global distribution of cesium-137, strontium-90, plutonium-239, carbon-14, and other artificial isotopes.126 Since dating the Anthropocene entails both a stratigraphic marker for the present and one that will be detectable into the far future, carbon-14 is particularly well suited due to its 5,700 year half-life, which will demonstrate a chemostratigraphic “spike” for another fifty thousand years.127 Building on this work, Lewis and Maslin have added to the “Orbis spike” of 1610 the “bomb spike peak” of 1964.128 In pursuing this complex relationship between Cold War ecology and radiation, I examine what I call a “heliotrope,” or turning to the sun and radiation as an invisible yet permeable sign of the Anthropocene. This is an altogether different kind of universalism in which the figures of light 26 introduction and radiation become material and parochialized. Light and the sun have long been essential to allegory as a daemonic or intermediary figure between the local and the global, Earth and universe.129 Moreover the figure of radiation is one of the alterity of the planet—or, in Spivak’s terms, “planetarity”—which foregrounds the limits to both knowledge and representation. Engaging the figure of radiation has important consequences for the interpretation of figures of nonhuman nature, as well as implications for understanding how Indigenous writers of Aotearoa New Zealand (Hone Tuwhare, James George) and Tahiti (Chantal Spitz) have configured the imbrication between “nature” and militarism. Chapter 2 explores how they have inscribed an allegorical poetics of solar ecologies, representing the complex and often apocalyptic ways in which radiation permeates both the atmosphere and the human body. While I am tempted to term this the “Nuclearocene,” I believe we have produced enough awkward neologisms. The rise of global consciousness produced by the fallout of Cold War nuclearization is an important precursor for our global imaginations of a world of ruins, producing a dialectical “flash” of understanding of a militarized Anthropocene. Accelerations: Globalization and States of Waste The Cold War era of radioactive militarism marks one constellation of the Anthropocene, while the rise of globalization and economies of disposability mark another. The Great Acceleration, a term proposed by Will Steffen and his colleagues,130 has been proposed to encapsulate post-1950s developments in nation building, agribusiness, manufacturing, shipping, energy use, consumption, and disposability. In sum, they refer to the material “fallout” of globalization. In fact, their turn to the Great Acceleration helps us to see that the Anthropocene is a new constellation of globalization; it is a recognition of a “disembedding” of the human from place,131 in relation not just to the mobility of circuits of capital and culture, but also to the planet itself. Thus, the earlier concerns of globalization—scale, technology, politics, acceleration, urbanization, rupture, violence, and time/space compression—are finding new idioms, providing them with a new terrain in which the anthropocentric thrust of globalization is transformed by the recognition of an active, nonhuman nature and planet.132 Read in this genealogy, we might see the Anthropocene as the latest shift in the “spatial turn” that has characterized post–World War II discourse.133 Geographers Allegories of the Anthropocene 27 are claiming that “human activity is now global” in an altogether new and different way from the wave of globalization discourse of the 1990s.134 The Great Acceleration reflects an age of speed, causing “a geologicallypaced plasticity” that, Nixon has cogently argued, must be countered by a rethinking of speed itself, a recognition of slow violence.135 To turn to slow violence is to historicize the discourse of globalization and to recognize that the experience of disembedding from place, time/space compression, and modernity itself were first experienced in the colonies. Thus, as I explain, island artists and writers have a particularly historical viewpoint of how these new forms of globalization are constellated through allegories that condense histories of empire, the human, and the more-than-human environment. The Great Acceleration has been tied specifically to the creation of new materials—Cold War products—such as minerals, plastics, pollutants, and inorganic compounds.136 This inaugurates the era of the “technofossil,” a new stratigraphic signal of the Anthropocene produced by plastics and other materials that are globally distributed, such as cds, cell phones, and ballpoint pens.137 Some claim that this “emerging technosphere . . . may represent the most fundamental revolution on Earth since the origin of the biosphere.”138 This era of disposability and the outsourcing of risk to poor communities across the globe has created an epidemic in worldwide waste and waste imperialism. Since the allegorical mode is often communicated through powerful visual symbols, chapter 3 turns to the Dominican artist Tony Capellán, whose work placing recycled waste materials (flip-flops, plastic bottles) into a montage installation foregrounds Caribbean susceptibility to waste imperialism. Moreover, in connecting waste materials to state abuses of the Caribbean poor, particularly refugees, he allegorizes the economies of disposability that render objects and peoples as “matter out of place,” to borrow from Mary Douglas. To render waste visible is to destabilize the hierarchies of social order. While Benjamin emphasized allegory’s engagements with figures of entropy, Capellán displays plastic materials that are impermeable to decay: “hyperobjects,” as Timothy Morton would term them, that foreground the new modes of more-than-human temporality of the Anthropocene, but in this case they are inseparable from trajectories of human mobility. After a discussion of the “seametrics” of Kamau Brathwaite, the final part of the chapter shifts from the waste-making of the contemporary neoliberal state to the nascent nation-state of Jamaica in the 1960s and its segregation of the urban poor into the “Dungle,” a space of displaced agricultural 28 introduction migrants to the city treated by the pigmentocracy as “matter out of place.” It continues a dialogue initiated in the opening chapter of the book about the relationship between the Earth, soil, and ruins, examining how allegory emerges in moments of social crisis. I examine how Orlando Patterson’s first novel, Children of Sisyphus, positions the layering of human waste in the Dungle as a space of history. Through an allegory of ruins, Patterson depicts the ways in which urbanization transforms animated earth such as agricultural soil, clay, and cemetery dirt into the waste of the masses. In this way, Capellán, Brathwaite, and Patterson foreground the role of art and literature as allegories of collecting and memorializing the wasted human remains of capitalism and globalization. Oceanic Futures: Interspecies Worldings While the first section of Allegories of the Anthropocene engages constellations or “flashpoints” of understanding the histories of violence that constitute the Anthropocene, the second section of the book turns to the “anticipatory logics” of the planet’s futurity. The ocean and the island-as-world are two vital allegories for the planetary future. In fact, sea-level rise is perhaps our most visible sign of the Anthropocene, causing a radical remapping of our terraqueous Earth, and is of particular concern for coastal and island residents, particularly in the global south. The ocean is integral to our climate system and life on the planet; consequently, shifts in ocean acidification, warming, currents, and thermal expansion affect all life on Earth. Studies of the ocean were first catalyzed by the early naval empires and, more recently, by Cold War science and extractive industries, paradoxically creating both the knowledge for exploitation and environmental awareness and stewardship.139 Like the Cold War atmospheric sciences that mapped the militarized irradiation of the atmosphere, oceanography has been critical to understanding the Anthropocene. Chapter 4 engages with an interdisciplinary field that I have been calling “critical ocean studies,” which is focused specifically on the materiality of the ocean and its nonhuman others.140 With the increasing warming of the oceans and their acidification (due to their absorption of anthropogenic carbon) we see a tremendous impact on marine species. Excess anthropogenic carbon has created a crisis for the atmospheric and oceanic commons. While the ocean is often referred to as a “carbon sink,” an unfortunate term that invokes the way it has also been figured (in Latin) as the vastus, or Allegories of the Anthropocene 29 waste, it is not just the water that absorbs carbon but the ocean’s plankton. The CO2 that dissolves in the oceans alters the ph levels, thus lowering the level of available calcium carbonate that is integral to the shell forming of countless marine animals, including coral. Ocean acidity is the highest it has been for the past three hundred million years, and there has been an alarming expansion of marine dead zones due to sea floor anoxia, not to mention increasing oil spills.141 I focus here on the more-than-human aspect of sea-level rise because this chapter marks a transition from the “geo” of Anthropocene discourse to the “bio” of the field of multispecies studies. Anthropocene discourse, as much as it is concerned with historicizing the human in “nature,” tends to render these terms in a binary in which their encounter becomes apocalyptic. Thus, each moment that the human alters the Earth, each moment of anthropogenesis, is depicted in an allegorical fall from “nature.” Moreover, the figuring of the human as a species in geological discourse is contrary to the evidence that Homo sapiens incorporated other hominids in their evolution. In fact, we know from Donna Haraway and others that the human is inherently an interspecies figure when we consider the microbes and bacteria that maintain our bodies. This chapter turns to work in feminist and Indigenous studies that complicates the human-nature binary that the Anthropocene enacts by turning to relational ontologies, interspecies relations, and more-than-human biologies.,142 While Crutzen and the journalist Christian Schwägerl have recently discovered that “nature is us,” a whole body of interdisciplinary work has been deconstructing the nature-culture split that the term “Anthropocene” has thus far promoted rather than complicated.143 The humanities and social sciences have long been theorizing and complicating this binary between the human and the nonhuman world. Consequently, the fluidity of the ocean is a space in which authors have made these mergers increasingly apparent.144 While the multispecies and ontological turn is new to Anthropocene discourse, it has a long history in feminist and Indigenous studies. Therefore, this chapter 4 turns to Indigenous ontologies of the oceanic, or what Povinelli terms “geontologies” that do not recognize a human-nature disjuncture and provide a more nuanced allegory of the morphological impact of sea-level rise on the human. Indigenous writers of the Pacific have turned to the ways in which the history of transoceanic voyaging has contributed to a concept of the “sea in the blood,” a merger of biological and genealogical histories. I trace out this potential for a dynamic rendering of queer 30 introduction kinship with nonhuman others by turning to the Māori author Keri Hulme’s collection Stonefish (2004), which inscribes the ways in which rising sea levels generate adaptive mutations in plants, shellfish, and humans. Through experiments in allegorical form, Hulme’s collection makes a vital intervention into apocalyptic visions of an oceanic future for the planet. While Amitav Ghosh has called attention to the formal challenges of writing climate change fiction due to the new recognition of an “uncanny intimacy of our relationship with the nonhuman,” Indigenous authors, who have never accepted the western nature-culture binary, have long troubled the borders of both the human as subject and fiction as form.145 Thus, Hulme parodies heteronormative modes of apocalyptic fiction and aquadystopias, lending an important multispecies Indigenous framework of “sea ontologies” to complicate discourses of the Anthropocene that render a singular ontology of the human species. An Island Is a World All of the chapters in this book draw on the production of island writers and artists and their engagement with climate change brought about by the violence of empire. In different ways, they offer “counterallegories” to the way in which the tropical island has been figured in the western imagination as a space for allegorical forms such as utopia and dystopia, a tabula rasa for the making and unmaking of worlds. While this is not a new narrative given the history of (nuclear) colonialism, one could make a case for the appropriateness of dystopic allegories in the wake of sea-level rise, a challenge posed to the survival of millions of Caribbean and Pacific Islanders. The island is all the more urgent as a space for addressing climate change because of both sea-level rise and the fact that Anthropocene mass extinctions—“estimated to be 100 to 1,000 times more than what could be considered natural”146— are the most evident in island spaces. As such, the island becomes a figure of finitude—of spatial as well as temporal earthly limits. Most importantly, Caribbean and Pacific Islander writers, artists, and filmmakers have long engaged extinction, apocalypse, and “end of the world” histories and narratives that may be instructive for the reconfiguring the dominant discourses of the Anthropocene. Chapter 5 broadens the scope to examine the allegory of the island-asworld in an age of ruins from the perspectives of western filmmakers and Pacific Islanders who configure the island-in-the-world. It examines the recent outpouring of documentaries about the threat to low-lying atolls and Allegories of the Anthropocene 31 islands in the Pacific such as Tuvalu and their reinvocation of the islandextinction narrative. Their employment of what James Clifford, in another context, has referred to as “ethnographic allegory” to raise awareness about climate change results in a genre of mourning the loss of both island and nonhuman nature that I term “salvage environmentalism.” While a generation of salvage anthropologists focused on the remains and “ruins” of Indigenous culture, I read these contemporary films in light of their attempt to salvage “the environment” in an era reconfigured by anthropogenic climate change. As documentaries, they are necessarily engaged with the process of world-making, particularly through the well-known trope of the island-asa-world. I examine how, in mourning the loss of atoll culture to a rising sea, the films decouple the Pacific Islander from modernity and suppress the causal links between industrialized continents and sinking islands. While these films rely on anachronistic allegories of the Pacific, I conclude by turning to the poet who opens this book, Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner, examining the ways in which she employs an Indigenous allegory of a gifted basket to foreground an intimate—and gendered—relationship with her readers/ audience that insists on both labor and accountability. Her poetry allows us to engage with a more complex and historically rooted allegory of the island-as-a-world that ultimately demands allegoresis—interpretive reflection, culpability, and action. Bruno Latour argues that it “will be utterly impossible to tell our common geostory without all of us—novelists, generals, engineers, scientists, politicians, activists, and citizens—getting closer and closer within such a common trading zone.”147 In this gathering I would be inclined to reduce the presence of generals (who are already overrepresented in their historical contribution to the violence of the Anthropocene), and to welcome postcolonialists, feminists, Indigenous peoples, agriculturalists and gardeners, fisher folk and foragers, artists and those who cannot be defined by labor, as well as more-than-human creatures, who are all at the periphery of Anthropocene scholarship and have compelling “geostories” about the complex and disjunctive relationship to place. The Anthropocene suggests that we are entering an epoch of anthropogenic fossils, of the “refuse of history,” of ruins, and of the recognition of nonhuman nature as subject to history, which is to say, decay. Allegory allows us to tell that story—partially and disjunctively—while insisting on our edification and perhaps offering an invitation to enact positive change for our ecological futures. 32 introduction Notes introduction 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Epigraph: Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner, “Tell Them,” Iep Jāltok (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2017), 64–67. All relevant material is on Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner’s website at https://jkijiner .wordpress.com. The term was first published in Paul J. Crutzen and Eugene F. Stoermer, “The ʻAnthropocene,’ ” Global Change Newsletter, no. 41 (2000): 17–18. See also Jan A. Zalasiewicz, The Earth after Us (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). On tidalectics, Kamau Brathwaite’s use of island geography to break up the synthesizing European dialectic, see Nathaniel Mackay, “An Interview with Edward Kamau Brathwaite,” Hambone, no. 9 (Winter 1991): 42–59. He, in turn, borrowed the phrase from Hans-Georg Gadamer: see Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000). Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe, 4. Chakrabarty troubles the universalist narratives of the Anthropocene and makes a compelling claim for a different, species-based universalism that is not ontological: Dipesh Chakrabarty, “The Climate of History: Four Theses,” Critical Inquiry, no. 35 (2009): 197–222. I have benefited from many conversations with Dipesh about this particular point. For early postcolonial responses to his provocation, see Ian Baucom, “The Human Shore: Postcolonial Studies in an Age of Natural Science,” History of the Present 2, no. 1 (2012): 1–23, particularly his arguments about species-being. See also Dipesh Chakrabarty, “Foreword,” in Global Ecologies and the Environmental Humanities: Postcolonial Approaches, ed. Elizabeth DeLoughrey, Jill Didur, and Anthony Carrigan (New York: Routledge, 2015), xii–xv, and the discussion of the implications of his arguments for postcolonial ecologies in the introduction, 11–12. “The Anthropocene represents, according to those who initially put it forward, a dangerous shift, and a radical rupture in Earth history. This rupture means that the Holocene can be no guide to the Anthropocene geologically or intellectually”: 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 Clive Hamilton and Jacques Grinevald, “Was the Anthropocene Anticipated?,” Anthropocene Review 2, no. 1 (2015): 62. Édouard Glissant, Caribbean Discourse: Selected Essays, trans. J. Michael Dash (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1989), 144. Following postcolonial methods, I disagree with Bonneuil and Fressoz, who argue against the rupture model because it “depoliticizes the long history of the Anthropocene”: Christophe Bonneuil and Jean-Baptiste Fressoz, The Shock of the Anthropocene: The Earth, History, and Us (New York: Verso, 2016), xii. On the contrary, incorporating rupture as an analytic helps foreground the history of empire and violence. This is discussed in more detail in chapter 5. See Michel Serres, The Natural Contract, trans. Elizabeth MacArthur and William Paulson (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995); Chakrabarty, “The Climate of History”; Sheila Jasanoff, “A New Climate for Society,” Theory, Culture and Society 27 (2010): 233–50. “Tell Them” is transcribed on her website and published in Iep Jāltok (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2017), 64–67, but it is best seen in performance at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9D88ST9qbw. The poem is discussed in more detail in chapter 5. Former Foreign Minister of the Marshall Islands Tony deBrum has savvily reframed Marshallese climate threats as a “security issue” to the United States, explaining that the “displacement of populations and destruction of cultural language and tradition is equivalent in our minds to genocide”: “Marshalls Likens Climate Change Migration to Cultural Genocide,” rnz News, October 6, 2015, accessed October 24, 2018, https://www.radionz.co.nz/news/pacific /286139/marshalls-likens-climate-change-migration-to -cultural-genocide. DeBrum is discussed in more detail in chapter 5. For her commentary on the two degrees, see Jetñil-Kijiner’s poem, commissioned by cnn: “Two Degrees,” Iep Jāltok (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2017), 76–79. See Angus Fletcher, Allegory: The Theory of a Symbolic Mode (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). Zalasiewicz, The Earth after Us; Chakrabarty, “The Climate of History”; Nigel Clark, Inhuman Nature: Sociable Life on a Dynamic Planet (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. 2011); Kathryn Yusoff, “Geologic Life: Prehistory, Climate, Futures in the Anthropocene,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 31, no. 5 (2013): 779–95. The Stratigraphy Commission of the Geological Society of London initiated an inquiry into determining evidence for an Anthropocene epoch in 2008, and that was taken up by the Anthropocene Working Group, which is examining evidence of visible, chemical, biological, and radiogenic markers: Jan A. Zalasiewicz, Mark Williams, Will Steffen, and Paul J. Crutzen, “The New World of the Anthropocene,” Environmental Science and Technology Viewpoint 44, no. 7 (2010): 2228–31. On locating a “golden spike,” see Simon L. Lewis and Mark A. Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” Nature 519, no. 7542 (2015): 198 notes to introduction 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 171–80. On the future retrospection of the Anthropocene, see Jan A. Zalasiewicz, Paul J. Crutzen, and Will Steffen, “Anthropocene,” in A Geological Time Scale, ed. Felix M. Gradstein, James G. Ogg, Mark D. Schmitz, and Gabi M. Ogg (London: Elsevier, 2012), 1033–40; Zalasiewicz, The Earth after Us. Kathryn Yusoff and Jennifer Gabrys, “Climate Change and the Imagination,” WIREs Climate Change 2 (2011): 518; Zalasiewicz, The Earth after Us. Crutzen acknowledged this in his early work, arguing that these effects had largely been caused by only 25 percent of the world’s population: Paul J. Crutzen, “Geology of Mankind,” Nature 415 (2002): 23. Malm and Hornborg argue that it is “sociogenic” rather than anthropogenic: Andreas Malm and Alf Hornborg, “The Geology of Mankind? A Critique of the Anthropocene Narrative,” Anthropocene Review 1, no. 1 (2014): 62–69. Sylvia Wynter, “Unsettling the Coloniality of Being/Power/Truth/Freedom: Towards the Human, After Man, Its Overrepresentation—An Argument,” cr: The New Centennial Review 3, no. 3 (2003): 257–331, 260. Joni Adamson, “We Have Never Been Anthropos: From Environmental Justice to Cosmopolitics,” in Environmental Humanities: Voices from the Anthropocene, ed. Serpil Oppermann and Serenella Iovino (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2016), 155–73. See also Sylvia Wynter and Katherine McKittrick, “Unparalleled Catastrophe for Our Species? Or to Give Humanness a Different Future: Conversations,” in Sylvia Wynter: On Being Human as Praxis, ed. Katherine McKittrick (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015); Stacy Alaimo, Exposed: Environmental Politics and Pleasures in Posthuman Times (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2016); Heather Davis and Zoe Todd, “On the Importance of a Date, or, Decolonizing the Anthropocene,” acme: An International Journal for Critical Geographies 16, no. 4 (2017): 761–80; Kyle Powys Whyte, “Indigenous Science (Fiction) for the Anthropocene: Ancestral Dystopias and Fantasies of Climate Change Crises,” Environment and Planning E: Nature and Space 1, no. 1–2 (2018): 1–18. Walter Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, trans. John Osborne (New York: Verso, 1998), 166. Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, 166–67. Bruce Clarke, “Allegory and Science,” in Energy Forms: Allegory and Science in the Era of Classical Thermodynamics (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001), 28. See also Fletcher, Allegory. The foundation of this argument on islands is laid out in my introduction to Routes and Roots: Navigating Caribbean and Pacific Island Literatures (Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2007). See Ursula K. Heise, Imagining Extinction: The Cultural Meanings of Endangered Species (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016); Ashley Dawson, Extinction: A Radical History (New York: or Books, 2016). On empire as a process, not an event see Patrick Wolfe, “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native,” Journal of Genocide Research 8, no. 4 (2006): 387–409. On ongoing apocalypse see Joni Adamson, “Collected notes to introduction 199 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 Things with Names Like Mother Corn: Native North American Speculative Fiction and Film,” in The Routledge Companion to the Environmental Humanities, ed. Ursula K. Heise, Jon Christensen, and Michelle Niemann (New York: Routledge, 2017) and Kyle Powys Whyte, “Indigenous Climate Change Studies: Indigenizing Futures, Decolonizing the Anthropocene,” English Language Notes 55 (March 2017): 153–62. Bill McKibben, The End of Nature (New York: Random House, 1989). Davis and Todd, “On the Importance of a Date,” 774. See also Whyte, “Indigenous Science (Fiction) for the Anthropocene.” Tsing, quoted in Donna Haraway, “Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene: Making Kin,” Environmental Humanities 6 (2015): 160. See the dialogue in Elizabeth Johnson, Harlan Morehouse, Simon Dalby, Jessi Lehman, Sara Nelson, Rory Rowan, Stephanie Wakefield, and Kathryn Yusoff, “After the Anthropocene: Politics and Geographic Inquiry for a New Epoch,” Progress in Human Geography 38, no. 3 (2014): 439–55. See also Yusoff ’s critique of the Anthropocene’s “grandiose nature-culture divisions, the gendering of ʻman’ as the subject of this epoch, the imperial basis of western science, climate racism, uncritical social figures such as ʻhumanity’”: Kathryn Yusoff, “Anthropogenesis: Origins and Endings in the Anthropocene,” Theory, Culture, and Society 33, no. 2 (2016): 8. See William F. Ruddiman, “The Anthropogenic Greenhouse Era Began Thousands of Years Ago,” Climatic Change 61 (2003): 261–93; Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene”; Malm and Hornborg, “The Geology of Mankind?”; Jason W. Moore, “Anthropocene or Capitalocene?,” accessed October 18, 2018, http://jasonwmoore.wordpress.com/2013/05/13/anthropocene -or-capitalocene; Jan A. Zalasiewicz, Colin N. Waters, Mark Williams, and Anthony D. Barnosky et al., “When Did the Anthropocene Begin? A MidTwentieth Century Boundary Level Is Stratigraphically Optimal,” Quaternary International (2014): 1–8; Will Steffen, Paul J. Crutzen, and John R. McNeill, “The Anthropocene: Are Humans Now Overwhelming the Great Forces of Nature?,” Ambio 36, no. 8 (2007): 614–21; Will Steffen, Åsa Persson, Lisa Deutsch, and Jan Zalasiewicz et al., “The Anthropocene: From Global Change to Planetary Stewardship,” Ambio 40, no. 7 (2011): 739–61; John R. McNeill and Peter Engelke, The Great Acceleration: An Environmental History of the Anthropocene since 1945 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016). Walter Benjamin, in Susan Buck-Morss, The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project (Cambridge, MA: mit Press, 1997), 219. Compare this with Amitav Ghosh’s meditation on climate change, which draws on the concept of the flash as a one if many “instances of recognition” of the relationship to nonhuman energies and presences: Amitav Ghosh, The Great Derangement (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 5. Chakrabarty, quoted in Ian Baucom, “History 4: Postcolonial Method and Anthropocene Time,” Cambridge Journal of Postcolonial Literary Inquiry 1, no. 1 (2014): 138. 200 notes to introduction 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Thoughts on the Principle of Allegory,” Genre 5 (1972): 332. See Fredric Jameson, The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1981). See also Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press), 195. Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). Spivak, “Thoughts on the Principle of Allegory,” 335. As a postcolonialist and comparativist, work on the “planetary” scale has been especially influential to my scholarship and includes Denis Cosgrove, Apollo’s Eye: A Cartographic Genealogy of the Earth in the Western Imagination (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001) and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Death of a Discipline (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003). See John McCole, Walter Benjamin and the Antinomies of Tradition (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), 140. See Paul de Man’s introduction in Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982). See also Deborah L. Madsen, Rereading Allegory: A Narrative Approach to Genre (New York: St. Martin’s, 1994); Gordon Teskey, Allegory and Violence (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996). Fredric Jameson, “From Metaphor to Allegory,” in Anything, ed. Cynthia C. Davidson (Cambridge, MA: mit Press, 2001), 25. Chakrabarty, “The Climate of History,” 220. This is precisely the quandary addressed by Spivak’s theory of planetarity, which I discuss in chapter 2. Zalasiewicz, The Earth after Us; Tim Flannery, The Weather Makers (New York: Grove, 2007); Clive Hamilton, Earth Masters (Crows Nest, New South Wales: Allen and Unwin, 2013). See the series of comments under Paul Crutzen and Christian Schwägerl’s online article about the “Age of Man” and their shocking response that the term “man” is gender-neutral: Paul J. Crutzen and Christian Schwägerl, “Living in the Anthropocene: Towards a New Global Ethos,” Yale Environment 360, January 24, 2011, accessed October 18, 2018, http://e360.yale.edu/feature/living _in_the_anthropocene_toward_a_new_global_ethos/236. Chakrabarty, “Foreword,” xv. See Kate Raworth, “Must the Anthropocene Be a Manthropocene?,” The Guardian, October 20, 2014; Alaimo, Exposed; Giovanni Di Chiro, “Welcome to the White (M)Anthropocene? A Feminist-Environmentalist Critique,” in The Routledge Handbook of Gender and the Environment, ed. Sherilyn MacGregor (New York: Routledge, 2017), 497–505. For a wide range of feminist responses, see Richard Grusin, ed., Anthropocene Feminism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017). Alaimo, Exposed, 143. Chakrabarty, “The Climate of History,” 198. notes to introduction 201 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 I agree with Chakrabarty, who argues that “we need to think beyond the socalled ʻclimate justice’ position”: Dipesh Chakrabarty, “Brute Force,” Eurozone, October 7, 2010, accessed October 18, 2018, http://www.eurozine.com/articles /2010–10–07-chakrabarty-en.html. See also Chakrabarty’s forthcoming Tanner Lectures: The Human Condition in the Anthropocene, Tanner Lectures in Human Values, Yale University, February 18–19, 2015. There is a large body of work in history. For environmental humanities, see DeLoughrey et al., Global Ecologies and the Environmental Humanities. On postcolonial literary approaches to ecology, see Elizabeth DeLoughrey and George B. Handley, eds., Postcolonial Ecologies: Literatures of the Environment (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011); Rob Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011); Graham Huggan and Helen Tiffin, Postcolonial Ecocriticism: Literature, Animals, Environment (New York: Routledge, 2010); Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey, Renée K. Gosson, and George B. Handley, eds., Caribbean Literature and the Environment: Between Nature and Culture (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2005); Upamanyu Pablo Mukherjee, Postcolonial Environments: Nature, Culture and the Contemporary Indian Novel in English (Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010); Byron Caminero-Santangelo and Garth Myers, eds., Environment at the Margins: Literary and Environmental Studies in Africa (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2011). Madsen, Rereading Allegory, 109. Madsen, Rereading Allegory, 123. My colleague Chris Chrism informs me that this division between the human and the divine is politicized and that it is a fabrication designed to bifurcate the modern from the premodern. This is a point argued in Kathleen Davis, Periodization and Sovereignty: How Ideas of Feudalism and Secularization Govern the Politics of Time (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008). See, e.g., Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 2d rev. ed., trans. Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall (London: Continuum, 2004); Fletcher, Allegory; Madsen, Rereading Allegory. There is an enormous body of work on empire and modernity, more than can be cited here. My work has been particularly influenced by C. L. R. James, The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution (New York: Vintage, 1963); Sidney Mintz, Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History (New York: Viking, 1985); Glissant, Caribbean Discourse; Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double-Consciousness (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993); Michel-Rolph Trouillot, “The Perspective of the World: Globalization Then and Now,” in Beyond Dichotomies: Histories, Identities, Cultures, and the Challenge of Globalization, ed. Elizabeth Mudimbe-Boyi (New York: State University of New York, 2002); Michel-Rolph Trouillot, “The Other wise Modern: Caribbean Lessons from the Savage Slot,” in Critically Modern: Alternatives, Alterities, Anthropologies, ed. Bruce M. Knauft (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 220–37. 202 notes to introduction 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 Susan Buck-Morss, Hegel, Haiti and Universal History (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009). See Fletcher, Allegory, 409. Jenny Sharpe, Allegories of Empire: The Figure of Woman in Colonial Text (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 13. Glissant, Caribbean Discourse, 144. On scale, see Timothy Clark, “What on World Is the Earth? The Anthropocene and Fictions of the World,” Oxford Literary Review 35, no. 1 (2013): 5–24; Timothy Clark, “Scale,” in Telemorphosis Theory in the Era of Climate Change, vol. 1, ed. Tom Cohen (Ann Arbor: Open Humanities, 2012), 148–66. On planetarity, see Spivak, Death of a Discipline. On enormities and hyperobjects, see Timothy Morton, Hyperobjects: Philosophy and Ecology after the End of the World (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2013). Bruno Latour, “A Plea for Earthly Sciences,” keynote address at the Annual Meeting of the British Sociological Association, East London, April 22, 2007, http://www.bruno -latour.fr/node/158. See, e.g., the critique of force as a universalizing discourse in Ato Quayson, “The Sighs of History: Postcolonial Debris and the Question of (Literary) History,” New Literary History 43, no. 2 (2012): 359–70. Elizabeth Grosz’s work continues to be the most nuanced in terms of theorizing force: see especially Elizabeth Grosz, Time Travels: Feminism, Nature, Power (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005), chapter 12. Sylvia Wynter and Katherine McKittrick, “Unparalleled Catastrophe for Our Species? Or, to Give Humanness a Different Future: Conversations,” in Sylvia Wynter: On Being Human as Praxis, ed. Katherine McKittrick (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015): 9–89; Donna Haraway, When Species Meet (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008); and Donna Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene, (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016). Fredric Jameson, The Geopolitical Aesthetic: Cinema and Space in the World System (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992), 169. Jameson, The Geopolitical Aesthetic, 4. Bruno Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” New Literary History 45, no. 1 (2014): 1–18; Kathryn Yusoff, “Geologic Life: Prehistory, Climate, Futures in the Anthropocene,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 31, no. 5 (2013): 779–95; Elizabeth A. Povinelli, Geontologies: A Requiem to Late Liberalism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016). Jameson, The Geopolitical Aesthetic, 10. Mark Lynas, The God Species: Saving the Planet in the Age of Humans (Washington, DC: National Geographic, 2011). In a similar vein, Michael Shellenberger and Ted Nordhaus preach the gospel of “modernization theology” in “Evolve,” Orion, 2011, accessed October 18, 2018, https://orionmagazine.org/article/evolve. It is Anthropocene discourse that is secular, not the epoch, as there are many cosmological systems that are vital to “world-making,” not the least of which is notes to introduction 203 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 poetry: see George Handley, “Climate Change, Cosmology, and Poetry: The Case of Derek Walcott’s Omeros,” in DeLoughrey et al., Global Ecologies and the Environmental Humanities, 333–51. Fredric Jameson, “Third-World Literature in the Era of Multinational Capitalism,” Social Text, no. 15 (Autumn 1986): 65–88. See Sara Suleri, The Rhetoric of English India (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992); Rosemary George, Politics of Home: Postcolonial Relocations and Twentieth-Century Fiction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Geeta Kapur, “Globalisation and Culture,” Third Text 39 (1997): 21–38. Note that others use it: see Stephen Slemon, “Post-Colonial Allegory and the Transformation of History,” Journal of Commonwealth Literature 23 (1988): 157–68; Imre Szeman, Zones of Instability: Literature, Postcolonialism, and the Nation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003); Imre Szeman, “Who’s Afraid of National Allegory? Jameson, Literary Criticism, Globalization,” South Atlantic Quarterly 100, no. 3 (2001): 803–27. For Latin America, see Idelbar Avelar, The Untimely Present (Durham, NC: Duke University Press 1999); Katherine Sugg, Gender and Allegory in Transamerican Fiction and Performance (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008). Also notable is the critique of allegory in Coetzee by Derek Attridge, who argues that it turns otherness to sameness: Derek Attridge, “Against Allegory: Waiting for the Barbarians, Life and Times of Michael K, and the Question of Literary Reading,” in J. M. Coetzee and the Idea of the Public Intellectual, ed. Jane Poyner (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2006). Szeman, “Who’s Afraid of National Allegory?,” 805. Chakrabarty nuanced his position by posing three models of the human: as subject of rights, as subject of difference, and as nonontological force. This is discussed in chapter 4. See Dipesh Chakrabarty, “Postcolonial Studies and the Challenge of Climate Change,” New Literary History 43 (2012): 1–18. There have been some interesting theorizations of the human in this debate: see Baucom, “The Human Shore.” See discussion in Bronislaw Szerszynski, “The End of the End of Nature: The Anthropocene and the Fate of the Human,” Oxford Literary Review 34 (2012): 165–84. Szeman, “Who’s Afraid of National Allegory?,” 805. See also Martin Jay, Marxism and Totality (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984). Benjamin, quoted in Buck-Morss, The Dialectics of Seeing, 80. This is what Benjamin called an “unbroken chain of deduction”: Benjamin, quoted in McCole, Walter Benjamin and the Antimonies of Tradition, 153. I diverge from Jameson’s claims about allegory by resisting a totalizing narrative of a “Third World,” which in his reading sidesteps the legacies of European empires to collapse China with postcolonies such as Senegal. In that sense, Jameson’s claims about allegory, a historicizing mode, are oddly ahistorical. My work also differs from Jameson and other writers on allegory in that it rejects the often unstated claim that there is a universal narrative termed “allegory” (often thought to derive from medieval Christian Europe) that can be applied 204 notes to introduction 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 to every postcolonial island context, and that allegory’s only modern innovation is that it figures the individual in terms of the nation rather than a higher power such as the divine. Abdul R. JanMohamed, “The Economy of Manichean Allegory: The Function of Racial Difference in Colonialist Literature,” Critical Inquiry 12, no. 1 (1985): 68. Sharpe, Allegories of Empire, 13. Sharpe, Allegories of Empire, 23. See Sangeeta Ray, En-Gendering India: Woman and Nation in Colonial and Postcolonial Narratives (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000). Doris Sommer has examined interracial romance as constitutive to national allegory in Latin America, while others have demonstrated that postdictatorship fiction has employed allegorical codes of “other speaking” to tell the stories of state violence: Doris Sommer, Foundational Fictions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991). See also Avelar, The Untimely Present; Sugg, Gender and Allegory in Transamerican Fiction and Performance. In addition to Szeman, “Who’s Afraid of National Allegory?,” see Slemon, “Post-Colonial Allegory and the Transformation of History”; Bill Ashcroft, Post-Colonial Transformation (London: Routledge, 2001). Jameson, “Third-World Literature in the Era of Multinational Capitalism,” 88. Marlene Nourbese Philip, “A Piece of Land Surrounded,” Orion 14, no. 2 (1995): 41–47. Wilson Harris, Selected Essays of Wilson Harris: The Unfinished Genesis of the Imagination 1999, ed. Andrew Bundy (New York: Routledge, 1999), 85. Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, 179. Ann Laura Stoler, “Imperial Debris: Reflections on Ruins and Ruinations,” Cultural Anthropology 23, no. 2 (2008): 191–219. Zygmunt Bauman, Wasted Lives: Modernity and Its Outcasts (Oxford: Polity, 2004). Mick Smith, “Hermeneutics and the Culture of Birds: The Environmental Allegory of ʻEaster Island,’ ” Ethics, Place and Environment 8, no. 1 (2005): 22. Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, 178. William L. Thomas Jr., ed., Man’s Role in Changing the Face of the Earth (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1956). Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 172. See Will Steffen, Jacques Grinevald, Paul Crutzen, and John McNeill, “The Anthropocene: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A 369 (2011): 842–67; Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 171–80; Nigel Clark, “Geo-politics and the Disaster of the Anthropocene,” in Disasters and Politics: Materials, Experiments, Preparedness, ed. Manuel Tironi, Israel Rodriguez-Giralt, and Michael Guggenheim (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 19–37. See Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 172. They also include Reverend Haughton’s Manual of Geology from 1865 and the U.S. geologist James Dwight Dana’s manual from 1863. notes to introduction 205 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 Lewis and Maslin suggest that nineteenth-century reckonings of the Holocene had a theological bent in that the human was understood to be the apex of life forms on Earth: Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 173. These origin stories have been placed into an intellectual trajectory that includes the Russian geologist Vladimir Vernadsky’s work on the human relation to the geosphere, the biosphere, and the noosphere (a plane of human consciousness), with Pierre Teilhard de Chardin in particular: see Paul R. Samson and David Pitt, eds., The Biosphere and Noosphere Reader: Global Environment, Society, and Change (London: Routledge, 1999); Steffen et al., “The Anthropocene: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives.” Moving against this tide, Hamilton and Grinevald argue that because the epoch is entirely unprecedented, there are no intellectual forebears: Hamilton and Grinevald, “Was the Anthropocene Anticipated?” McCole, Walter Benjamin and the Antimonies of Tradition, 135. Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, 180. Edward Said, Beginnings: Intention and Method (London: Granta, 2012), 5. Said, Beginnings, 372. Crutzen and Stoermer, “The ʻAnthropocene.’ ” See also the discussion of the fossil fuel basis for this claim in Colin N. Waters, Jan A. Zalasiewicz, Mark Williams, Michael A. Elis, and Andrea M. Snelling, A Stratigraphical Basis for the Anthropocene?, Special Publication no. 395 (London: Geological Society, 2014), 1–21. Jonathan Dean, Melanie Leng, and Anson Mackay, “Is There an Isotopic Signature of the Anthropocene?,” Anthropocene Review 1, no. 13 (2014): 276–87. See also Malm and Hornborg, “The Geology of Mankind?” Malm and Hornborg, “The Geology of Mankind?,” 63–64. See also the work of Jason W. Moore, who has theorized the Capitalocene in great detail. Waters et al., A Stratigraphical Basis for the Anthropocene?, 4. In his argument for the “Necrocene,” McBrien argues that “the ʻAnthropocene’ displaces the origins of the contemporary crisis onto the human being as species rather than as capital. It reinforces what capital wants to believe of itself: that human “nature,” not capital, has precipitated today’s planetary instability”: Justin McBrien, “Accumulating Extinction: Planetary Catastrophism in the Necrocene,” in Anthropocene or Capitalocene? Nature, History, and the Crisis of Capitalism, ed. Jason W. Moore (Oakland, CA: pm Press, 2016), 119. On the Plasticene, see Christina Reed, “Dawn of the Plasticene Age,” New Scientist 225, no. 3006 ( January 2015): 28–32. On the cthulucene, see Haraway, Staying with the Trouble. Libby Robin, “Histories for Changing Times: Entering the Anthropocene?,” Australian Historical Studies 44, no. 3 (2013): 332. Johnson et al., “After the Anthropocene”; Yusoff, “Geologic Life,” 453. For discussion of the “Paleoanthropocene” and of the Early, Middle and Late Anthropocene, see Andrew Glikson, “Fire and Human Evolution: The DeepTime Blueprints of the Anthropocene,” Anthropocene 3 (2013): 89–92. 206 notes to introduction 108 On the “Early Anthropogenic Hypothesis,” see Ruddiman, “The Anthropogenic Greenhouse Era Began Thousands of Years Ago”; William F. Ruddiman, Plows, Plagues, and Petroleum (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005); Stephen F. Foley, Detlef Gronenborn, Meinrat O. Andreae, and Joachim W. Kadereit et al., “The Palaeoanthropocene—The Beginnings of Anthropogenic Environmental Change,” Anthropocene 3 (2013): 83–88. See also the discussion in Wolfgang Behringer, A Cultural History of Climate (Cambridge, MA: Polity, 2010), 210–15. 109 Steffen et al., “The Anthropocene: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives.” 110 William F. Ruddiman, “How Did Humans First Alter Global Climate?,” Scientific American 292, no. 3 (2005): 46–53. 111 On the genocide, see Charles C. Mann, 1493: How the Ecological Collision of Europe and the Americas Gave Rise to the Modern World (London: Granta, 2011). 112 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 175. 113 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 177. 114 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 177. 115 Donna Haraway traces the origins of the term to 2014: Haraway, “Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene.” 116 Alfred W. Crosby, The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492 (Westport CT: Praeger, 2003). See also Alfred W. Crosby, Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe 900–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 117 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 172. 118 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 174. As an early marker of the globalization of agriculture, Charles Mann has referred to this as the “homogenocene”: “The Dawn of the Homogenocene,” Orion 30, no. 3 (2011): 16–25. 119 Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, 166. 120 Crutzen, “Geology of Mankind”; Paul J. Crutzen and John W. Birks, “The Atmosphere after a Nuclear War: Twilight at Noon,” Ambio 11 (1982): 114–25. 121 Paul N. Edwards, “Entangled Histories: Climate Science and Nuclear Weapons Research,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 68, no. 4 (2012): 30–31. See also Joseph Masco, “Bad Weather: On Planetary Crisis,” Social Studies of Science 40, no. 1 (2010): 7–40; Ronald Doel, “Constituting the Postwar Earth Sciences: The Military’s Influence on the Environmental Sciences in the USA after 1945,” Social Studies of Science 33, no. 5 (2003): 635–66. 122 Waters et al., A Stratigraphical Basis for the Anthropocene? In the words of the ecologist Julio Figueroa-Colon, “Discussing the rationale (or lack thereof ) and effects of the tests without exploring the relationship between scientists and governments in matters of militarization and colonialism is like counting calories just to practice your multiplication tables” (personal communication, email, June 4, 2015). 123 Masco, “Bad Weather”; Joseph Masco, “The End of Ends,” Anthropological Quarterly 85, no. 4 (2012): 1107–24; Doel, “Constituting the Postwar Earth Sciences”; Edwards, “Entangled Histories.” notes to introduction 207 124 Eleanor Randolph, “Experts Find Possible Climatic ʻBomb,’ ” Los Angeles Times, August 9, 1981. James Hansen published the “time bomb” warning later, in 2003: James Hansen, “Can We Defuse the Global Warming Time Bomb?,” naturalScience, August 1, 2003, https://pubs.giss.nasa.gov/abs/ha07900q.html. 125 “The Doomsday Clock: A Timeline of Conflict, Culture, and Change.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (blog), accessed October 18, 2018, https:// thebulletin.org/timeline. 126 Zalasiewicz et al., “When Did the Anthropocene Begin?,” 177. See also Quan Hua, Mike Barbetti, and Andrzej Z. Rakowski, “Atmospheric Radiocarbon for the Period 1950–2010,” Radiocarbon 55, no. 4 (2013): 2059–72; Dean et al., “Is There an Isotopic Signature of the Anthropocene?” 127 Waters et. al, A Stratigraphical Basis for the Anthropocene? 128 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene.” 129 Fletcher, Allegory; Jacques Derrida and F. C. T. Moore, “White Mythology: Metaphor in the Text of Philosophy,” New Literary History 6, no. 1 (1974): 5–74. 130 Steffen et al., “The Anthropocene: Are Humans Now Overwhelming the Great Forces of Nature?”; Steffen et al., “The Anthropocene: From Global Change to Planetary Stewardship.” See also Zalasiewicz et al., “When Did the Anthropocene Begin?,” and, more recently, McNeill and Engelke, The Great Acceleration. 131 Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990). 132 Note also that the time/space compression of globalization has been critiqued as a shock only to the colonizing west, in the sense that the experience of the rupture of modernity would have taken place much earlier in the colonies themselves: see Doreen Massey, Space, Place, and Gender (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), 147. 133 See Massey, Space, Place, and Gender, 249. 134 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 171. 135 Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor, 12–13. 136 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 176. 137 Zalasiewicz et. al, “When Did the Anthropocene Begin?,” 5. 138 Jan A. Zalasiewicz, Mark Williams, Colin N. Waters, Anthony D. Barnosky, and Peter Haff, “The Technofossil Record of Humans,” Anthropocene Review 1 (2014): 34–43. 139 Jan A. Zalasiewicz and Mark Williams, “The Anthropocene Ocean in Its Deep Time Context,” in The World Ocean in Globalisation: Climate Change, Sustainable Fisheries, Biodiversity, Shipping, Regional Issues, ed. Davor Vidas and Peter Johan Schei (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff, 2011), 19–35; Jacob Darwin Hamblin, Oceanographers and the Cold War (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005). 140 Elizabeth DeLoughrey, “Submarine Futures of the Anthropocene,” Comparative Literature Journal 69, no. 1 (2017): 32–44. 141 Lewis and Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” 172. 142 Clark, Inhuman Nature; Lynn Margulis and Dorion Sagan, Dazzle Gradually: Reflections on the Nature of Nature (White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green, 208 notes to introduction 143 144 145 146 147 2007). See also Jamie Lorimer, “Multinatural Geographies for the Anthropocene,” Progress in Human Geography 36, no. 5 (2012): 593–611; Myra J. Hird, The Origins of Sociable Life: Evolution after Science Studies (Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009); Alaimo, Exposed; Whyte, “Indigenous Science (Fiction)”; Davis and Todd, “On the Importance of a Date”; and Haraway, Staying with the Trouble. Crutzen and Schwägerl, “Living in the Anthropocene.” Sarah Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies: Natures, Cultures, Spaces (London: Sage, 2002). Ghosh, The Great Derangement, 33. Johan Rockström, Will Steffen, Kevin Noone, and Åsa Persson et al., “A Safe Operating Space for Humanity,” Nature 461, no. 7263 (2009): 474. This rate is projected to increase tenfold: see Zalasiewicz et al., “The New World of the Anthropocene.” Latour, “Agency at the Time of the Anthropocene,” 13. 1. gendering earth 1 2 3 4 5 6 Epigraphs: David Montgomery, Dirt: The Erosion of Civilizations (Berkeley: University of California, 2007), 15; Michel Serres, The Natural Contract, trans. Elizabeth MacArthur and William Paulson (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1995), 28. Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey, Renée K. Gosson, and George B. Handley, eds., Caribbean Literature and the Environment: Between Nature and Culture (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2005). Simon L. Lewis and Mark A. Maslin, “Defining the Anthropocene,” Nature 519, no. 7542 (2015): 175. Walter Benjamin, quoted in Susan Buck-Morss, The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project (Cambridge, MA: mit Press, 1989), 24; Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, ed. Rolf Tiedemann, trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 471. Alfred W. Crosby, The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003); Alfred W. Crosby, Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe 900–1900, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). William McNeill, “American Food Crops in the Old World,” in Seeds of Change, ed. Herman J. Viola and Carolyn Margolis (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991), 52. There is an enormous body of work on transatlantic modernity and slavery. Books influential to my thinking include Sidney Mintz, Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History (New York: Viking, 1985); C. L. R. James, The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution (New York: Vintage, 1963); Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic and the notes to chapter one 209