Power, Gender And Sexuality:

A Perspective On 'Funny Boy'

Shamara Ransirini

Abstract

Shyam Selvadurai's novel Funny Boy is an exponent of the many tensions of formulating identity in a violent socio-political mechanism. The novel explores the young narrator's growing-up in a society ridden by communal violence. Arjie's growing awareness of his sexuality tempers his awareness of the arbitrariness of power. This paper attempts to retrieve the themes of gender and sexuality from the shadow of the more vibrant theme of racism. The paper examines how the power structures negotiate with gender and sexuality; and how the politics of power in the world of the fiction attempt to condition individual autonomy. I will also argue that the young narrator's realisation of power as constituting two polarities defies the work of power within the novel. Finally, I will explore how the narrator's realisation of power unconsciously limits the portrayal of several otherwise vibrant characters.

Introduction

Toril Moi has expounded that no criticism is value free - that critical perspective is shaped by social, sexual, political, cultural and personal facts, and the only democratic procedure is to supply the reader with the necessary information about the limitations of one's own perspective at the outset. (1985) The critical stance of this paper on Shyam Selvadurai's novel Funny Boy deliberately excludes the potently vibrant issue of racism in the novel, however impossible it may seem. Impossible, since the issues thrown into the limelight, the relationships explored, all are forged into a violent closure by the undisputedly domineering atmosphere of racial hostility. Is the racial conflict the only operative obstacle the young narrator Arjie and his world encounter? This paper asserts that the author does not restrict his novel's fabric to the political dimension of the ethnic riots of 1983, but it would also be inadequate to state that the novel is merely a celebration of homosexuality. The narrator's realisation and gradual acceptance of his sexuality is not without its complexities. He is torn between his attraction for his lover and self-disgust at violating his parents' trust. While coming to terms with this inner conflict, he grows sensitive to Shehan's predicament and that of those whom he had earlier associated with. This marks Arjie's maturation. In the first chapter the narrator foresees his future as one comparable to the rough sea: 	"Like a ship that leaves a port for the vast expanse of sea, those much looked forward to days took me away from the safe harbour of childhood towards the precarious waters of adult life." (5)

In his rebellion against the militant authority of his school principal Arjie's initiation into the world of struggle, which he identifies with the adult world, is cemented. This paper critically perceives the mechanism of this process. It explores how individual human agency ultimately succumbs to the various networks of power, while questioning the narrator's realisation of this network.

Power: Is It Two Polarities?

In the penultimate chapter the narrator's realisation of power empowers him. He realises that fair and unfair are not abstract terms but cultural codes exhausted by socio-political hegemonies that define his social networks. It is the narrator's own vulnerability and his concern for his lover that engenders this realisation of power. It induces Arjie to place others' and his experiences in the context of the larger forces constricting individual experience. His nebulous understanding of Radha's, Jegan's and Shehan's experiences gains coherence. Both Radha and Jegan struggle against the onerous political, social and cultural conditions thwarting their aspirations. Yet both ultimately abandon their struggles for autonomy.
How was it that some people got to decide what was correct or not, just or unjust? It had to do with who was in charge; everything had to do with who held power and who didn't. If you were powerful like Black Tie or my father you got to decide what was right or wrong. (274)
In the narrative voice Ammachi, Appa, Black Tie and (with the exception of the first chapter) the State largely figure as individuals and institutions of authority. Hence in Arjie's eyes these are the perennially powerful whose exhaustion of power precludes the powerless from pursuing their autonomy.

Arjie's realisation asserts power as extremely juridical. This is further strengthened by his sense that all forms of power are an extension of the State (the narrator tends to assimilate his father's power with Black Tie's and later with the political power of the head of State). His final comprehension of the figures of power predicates a rather severe binary: the powerful vs. the powerless. This understanding undeniably forecloses the subtle nuances and complementary and interpenetrative nature residual to power relations. As Foucault demonstrates 	"Power is constructed and functions on the basis of particular powers, myriad issues, myriad effects of power. It is this complex domain that must be studied." (188)

It is evident that the novel in its exploration of the networks and construction of power unconsciously contests Arjie's realisation of power as binary.

Networks Of Power

Arjie's realisation that power is mutually inclusive forges his final act of defiance against the tyranny of Black Tie: 'Black Tie needed me, and because he needed me power had moved into my hands.' (276) Yet Arjie admits this power is temporary. He exhausts it to defy, but is aware of the persecution that he is destined to endure: 'A feeling of numbness, of inevitability seemed to come over me, as if my destiny had now passed out of my hands.' (278) So even though Arjie's defiance asserts its significance, the sense that the powerless individual is perennially at the mercy of the larger dynamics of power is purported nevertheless.

The narrator's analysis of power forbids him a comprehensive understanding. Instead of the coherent, binary system that Arjie defines, the world of the fiction demonstrates a plethora of power networks. His growth is traced in terms of his gradual realisation and acceptance of his sexuality, which is inevitably tempered by his acute awareness that he would be perennially regarded as 'different'. He is initiated to this awareness at a very early age: 'Yet those Sundays, when I was seven, marked the beginning of my exile from the world I loved.' (5) It is this inchoate forbidding, triggered off as awareness as a result of his choice of play, that develops into an adolescent realisation.

The striking similarity between the girls' and boys' worlds of play is that both are realms of hierarchy, mostly based on age. In the boys' play the older boys exert an uncontested power over the younger boys, and Arjie's authority over the younger girl cousins is unchallenged. Both are sites of power struggles. Meena and Diggy vie for the best position, 'Two factions struggled for power, one led by Meena, and the other by my brother Varuna' (3), while Tanuja's entrance poses a threat to Arjie's monopoly in the girls' play, which engenders a bitter power struggle (even though Arjie views himself as a victim, it is his stubborn unwillingness to share his authority that predicates the struggle).

Arjie's gradual awakening is tempered by his growing sensitivity to the conflict and confusion within and without. To Arjie Black Tie and his father embody the male universe. But the internalisation of patriarchal values is not solely a male prerogative. For the man/woman relationship to be maintained with the male hierarchy there should be a traditional internalisation of the male as the dominant sex by the female. The complexity in a power relation is partly due to the fluid motion of power from the lower hierarchy. For a power relation to be sustained, this invisible fluidity is a premium. Arjie's world demonstrates this nature in its exploration of relationships. It is interesting to note that it is Tanuja, in the traditional patriarchal configuration the 'lower', who first names him, 'You are a pansy' (11), and then it is Diggy who incessantly threatens him, 'I can't wait for Appa to meet Soyza. Then he will definitely know that you are______'. (255)

The internalization of hegemonic values is also an oblique demonstration of alignment with the centres of power. At the same time this unquestioning acquiescence, while strengthening the hegemonic value of socio-political networks, empowers its subjects.

The narrator's father, who is regarded with wariness, seems to have grasped this mechanism. Arjie's mild resentment against his father is cemented by what he sees as the unjust treatment of Appa's childhood friend's son, Jegan. What fuels Jegan's conflict with the narrator's father and his establishment is his refusal to adhere to the networks of power within the mechanism. A Tamil youth torn between his desire to join the militant group and the awareness that it would only engender his vulnerability, Jegan's understanding of power is implicated in the juridical. His famous line of protest is 'But that is illegal.' (169, 171) As a flourishing entrepreneur from the minority community, Arjie's father senses the impossibility of Jegan's idealism in practical terms. As a Tamil businessman who operates with a staff of both Tamils and Sinhalese, he has to rely on the lower hierarchies for survival, even though he may wield the financial power. His cliché, 'One must be careful not to antagonize the wrong people', (169) is expository of this realisation.

Gender as a Social Construct

Through the young narrator's consciousness, the text splits open the binary closure in gender, which is produced by various social and cultural expectations. To be born male or female is one's biological sex yet the process of socialisation imposes a variety of cultural and social codes, which naturalizes 'masculine' and 'feminine' as binary. Toril Moi, in her discussion on the cultural and literary representation of gender asserts:

"Femininity is a cultural construct. One isn't born a woman, one becomes one, as Simone de Beauvoir puts it. Seen in this perspective patriarchal oppression consists of imposing certain standards of femininity on all biological women, in order to precisely make us believe that the chosen standards of femininity are natural; It is in the patriarchal interest that the two terns (femaleness and femininity) stay thoroughly confused." (65)

The girls' and boys' worlds of play are distinctively situated in separate realms, marked by the differences in physical and geographical space. Their choice of games too bears striking differences. While the boys opt for a physically vigorous game of cricket, the girls play a game of fantasy. Arjie affiliates himself with this world, since it gives full vent to his imagination: 'For me, the primary attraction of the girls' territory was the potential for free play of fantasy. Because of the force of my imagination I was selected as leader.' (3) Disgusted by the physical struggles, he voluntarily excludes himself from the boys' play but discovers that the girls' struggles are no less fierce. Naomi Wolf, in a series of case studies, demonstrates how young girls exert and contest power:

"Looking at girl societies through this lens suggests that it is a fallacy to believe that girls are less aggressive or status-conscious than boys. Rather, boys express aggression through dominance and often express intimacy through competition; whereas girls express intimacy through inclusion and aggression through exclusion." (294)

Through the stereotypes impressed in the narrator's mind, Selvadurai exposes the social construction of gender. Arjie's imagination of Radha Aunty is primarily evoked by his incessant reading of Janaki's love comics:

"Since my idea of romance and marriage was inseparable from Sinhala films and Janaki's love comics, the picture l formed of Radha Aunty bore a strong resemblance to that Goddess of the Sinhala screen Malini Fonseka." (43)

In her the romantic heroine is a fascinating figure who emanates beauty and glamour, but who is nevertheless submissive and docile. Popular fiction and media help promote such stereotypical notions of gender which invariably accentuate gender differences as polarities. But the Radha whom he confronts in reality is neither traditionally pretty nor submissive. Yet despite his shock Arjie is spontaneously taken up by her vivacity, her joie de vivre, but above all by her audacity to ridicule Ammachi's vindictive punishment of himself. She is the only adult who dares to question Ammachi: ';yes, it was true that she (Radha) was a disappointment, but she had come to my rescue. If she had not said anything, I would surely have received a blow across the side of my head.' (48) The narrator, who identifies with Radha in her defiance against Ammachi, unites with her in her attempt for self-assertion. His sharing of this experience ultimately becomes a medium through which Arjie realises that Radha is beautiful 'Radha Aunty had become a very important part of my life; I looked at Radha Aunty again and for the first time I saw that she was beautiful.' (82) He realises that beauty is not merely a striking physical appearance but lies in her strength of character and self-confidence.

A failure to adhere to the ideologically-inscribed social roles calls for the voice from without to issue a warning. Rajiva Wijesinha characterises this as the 'collectivising streak' of Sri Lankan society, which manages to inscribe a sense of shame predating guilt. (83) 1 In his article 'Oddities And Excesses: Sri Lanka substantiated by the Funny Boy', Wijesinha analyses how Sri Lankan society collectivises to scorn untraditional behaviour. The individual is forcefully made aware of the social gaze that through which'shame' presides over guilt. Both Radha and Nalini (the narrator's mother) are warned of the social gaze upon their behaviour. (77, 111) It is a mechanism by which even a faceless stranger acquires a certain power to condemn. In Radha's case in particular one finds tradition masquerading as communal patriotism. Radha bears family resentment and hostility in pursuing her marriage with Anil, a Sinhalese boy. The advice she receives from her friend Doris, who has experienced an inter-communal marriage, 'Life is a funny thing; it goes on; whatever decision you make' (81) and her sister's advice: 'Ultimately you have to live in the real world' (78) are meant to warn her that, as a woman, in particular a Tamil woman, the stakes are too high. She would have to rebel against a social and political mechanism in which Tamil-Sinhala inter-community marriages, though not rare, are relatively a small percentage compared to the proximity in which these two communities interact in civilian life. In particular, a female decision to pursue a mixed marriage continues to evoke many complications. Ultimately, Radha is forced to abandon her relationship after being victimized by a mob of Sinhala extremists.
Her dazzling saree at the engagement to a man of her parents' choice does not blind Arjie to the reality. Initially, he incessantly fantasises Radha's wedding, but later realises that it is not a celebration but a crisis in her life. (99) The text, through Arjie's consciousness, demonstrates a woman's plight once the glittering fa&ccedilleade is over. The narrator's fascination with wedding ceremonies predates his experience with Radha. In play, the exhilaration of dressing up as a bride, the feeling of joy that is expressed in Arjie's awe-stricken tone, are not purely equivocations of a child's imagination. As he admits, these were an enactment of domestic scenes.
The other female character who is significantly located in relation to the protagonist is his mother: 'Amma was the final statement of female beauty for me.' (15) To the young narrator, Nalini embodies the very essence of femininity. Yet her world is limited to her domestic sphere of children and husband, and the glamorous social events she attends. Her conversation with her peers consists of society gossip since she lacks direct cultural experience. Nalini conforms to the masculine order. Yet the narrator detects the subtle nuances of a struggle within. While forbidding Arjie to enter the girls' world she admits him to hers and empathises with Arjie's lack of choice.

'Life is full of stupid things and sometimes we just have to do them'; I watched her gloating. I had broken her cheerful fa&ccedilleade, forced her to show how much it pained her to do what she was doing, how little she believed in the justness of her actions." (20)

Her desire to pursue a clandestine relationship with her former lover in her husband's absence arises from her unhappiness. Arjie notices the transformation in his mother even before Daryl enters. But Nalini knows that to defy her husband in his presence would demand too severe a cost on her part. There is little evidence to suppose that she would have pursued her relationship after her husband's return, had Daryl lived.

Patriarchy could not have become powerful if power concentrates on a single male figure. Arjie's siblings' reaction to Nalini's affair is an amalgam of confusion and resentment. Diggy's open hostility towards his mother engenders an uncomfortable domestic environment. Nalini's infuriated, but hysterical, demand of her young son, 'I've had enough. How much can I tolerate'(114)", tears her fa&ccedilleade of contentment and reveals her insecurity.

The narrator's sensitivity towards his mother, which obliquely enriches the narrative, fails in the case of Ammachi. He posits Ammachi as a figure that evokes nothing but fear. The adult narrator interrupts the narrative to note that even now the memory of Ammachi is synonymous with her ominous canes. (39) In the last chapter he resents Ammachi's mourning over the loss of her house. 'But all Ammachi has done since she came here is moan about the loss of her house, Finally I got up and went away;'(305)" The narrator, who sympathises with the plight of his mother, fails to see beyond Ammachi's militant fa&ccedilleade. Hardly the vicious omnipotent power he seems to inscribe her with, Ammachi bears the onus of preserving the bourgeoisie respectability of her family.
