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Abstract: This article studies space-time as revealed in narrative, especially narrative intended
to validate truth claims. Narrative plot is uniquely suited to capturing truths about time, causal
complexity, and space. Bakhtins chronotope (space-time), which bridges plot, narrated events,
and the real world, is critical to understanding this capacity, whether in fiction, in histories, or in
didactic stories, myths, and parables. The chronotope is underutilized in the social sciences, but
disputes over indigenous land in Canada exemplify its potential applications. To fully capture
these heteroglot (many-voiced) conflicts, factual verification should not be the only test of a
narratives truthfulness.
Introduction
This article explores narrative as a distinct way of knowing, across a
broad range of narrative genres. This is an area of exploration with
implications for many scholarly literatures. But the present article
emphasizes narratives implications for historical and geographical
analyses of encounter, power, and conflict, particularly in relation to
disputes over land and resources.1 For this reason, Mikhail Bakhtins
chronotope is at the articles centre.
Bakhtin first presents the chronotope as Einsteins time-space
(Clark and Holquist 1984:279; Vice 1997:200). Where habit and
tradition encourage us to discuss time and space separately, chronotopes
are space-time configurations, single units of analysis from the start
(Folch-Serra 1990:261). But in Bakhtins studies of Dostoevsky and of
historical poetics, the chronotope became a more noteworthy concept,
independent of the new physics. As time-space envelopes (Richland
2008:10), chronotopes mark the outer spatio-temporal horizons of
particular activities, developments, or processes. They also capture inner
spatio-temporal patterns: the textures of space wedded to the rhythms
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doi: 10.1111/j.1467-8330.2010.00853.x
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of time. And their nature was worked out specifically in the study of
fictional narrative.
This article treats chronotopesparticularly chronotopes of crisis,
catastrophe, and transitionas the starting point for studying real
encounters and conflicts through narrative (Bakhtin 1984:eg 149; Vice
1997:207). For these purposes, Bakhtins vision seems remarkably fresh,
in ways critical geographers should note. At a more abstract level, the
chronotope prefigures more recent calls for a historical-geographical
materialism (Soja 1989) or for a spatio-temporal turn in the social
sciences (Harvey 2003; Jessop 2006). At a more concrete level, linking
chronotopes to multi-voiced narrative (as Bakhtin does) is a powerful
way to study disputes over environmental policy and social justice. In
rural Canada, for instance, many kinds of story inform conflicts over
space and place. A single conflict of this kind may be recounted as a
problem of natural resource extraction, of environmental degradation, of
threatened recreational activities, and of the dispossession and resistance
of indigenous peoples (eg Harris 1997; Hodgins and Benidickson 1989;
Sandberg 1992). The parties to these conflicts (and to others like them)
often encounter each others stories in an atmosphere of disagreement,
but also of mutual incomprehension. Conflicts about the land and its
rhythms (or landscapes and timescapes) (Folch-Serra 1990; Adam
1998) become conflicts over narrative truth claims. Yet narratives do
not necessarily diverge from one another because one is right and the
rest are wrong. They may diverge because of differences in the parties
everyday experiences of shaping the land and of being shaped by it in
return.
Bakhtins work tells us to focus on narratives space-time settings;
or, in other words, on their chronotopes. In the first place, chronotopes
frame the contours of a plot, and are therefore a way of understanding
narrative. But according to Bakhtin, the chronotopes of a narrative are
also bridges that engage with parallel space-time frames in the real
world. (Indeed, he pointedly calls the latter chronotopes as well.) In
some cases, as with histories or realist novels, this relationship is one
of strict correspondence. But that need not be the case. Either way, the
relationship is the means by which narrative sheds a unique light on the
real world. Just as a narratives chronotopes shape the narrated processes,
developments, and activities, real-world chronotopes shape real
processes, developments, and activities. And the interplay of multiple
real-world chronotopes is a critical determinant of how encounters and
conflicts unfold in the real world, as mediated by the agents involved
both in the encounters or conflicts and in story-telling.
These relationships are complex and subtle. The present article makes
them its central concern. It seeks to improve the principles that underlie
truth-telling through rigorous narrative studies, especially when the
central themes are spatio-temporal. It should thus be of interest to human
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their presence is noted. The root character of narrative is linear, for while
multiple activities, processes, or developments may exist all at once as
causal forces, they can never be narrated all at once. Author and reader
must therefore walk together along a narrative path, if narrative is
to evoke a geography. The particular path is necessarily a construction,
the product of a creative act. But wherever it takes us and however much
it wanders or pauses, it remains a pathand thus, basically linear.
Above, plot/syuzhet was placed in creative tension with
story/fabula with regard to temporal sequencing. But now we see
this narrative path is also part of plot/syuzhet. This places the latter in
an equally important creative tension with a map or list of coordinates
with regard to spatial distribution: narrative form plots a map as much
as it plots a chronicle. Indeed, the productivity of this creative tension
suggests why maps (or chronologies) so often accompany narratives
(cf. Thacker 2005/6).10 This plotting must be done in a way that the
author can imagine and the audience finds plausible; for a history or
realist fiction, the yardstick for that judgment is real-world space-time.
If successful, the effects are not arbitrary. Rather, they infuse meaning
into map and chronicle alike, including meanings that relate to causal
explanation.
This in turn suggests directions for a more robust deployment of
narrative form for explanatory purposes. For instance, at the level of
grand structure, a polyphonic narrative form could be deployed explicitly
and vividly to explain complex causation. Several voices or narrative
lines could be sustained and interwoven, each corresponding to one
causal chain (Jessop 1990) at work in a more complex overall course
of events (cf. Hodgins and Benidickson 1989). Each narrative line would
be marked by its own chronotope, its own distinctive bundle of time and
space practices and concepts (Harvey quoted in Folch-Serra 1990:264)
that engages the narrative with the real world.
On a smaller scale, how can a particular plot unfold meaningfully
in an imaginable space-time? How, for instance, can protagonists be
moved plausibly from place to place, as they pass through time, without
emptying the story of interest? Many basic devices achieve this: flash-
backs, flash-forwards, varying the pace, rhythm, and direction of spatial
displacements. An author may attend to the position of a hair for the
duration of a single breath over several pages of text, and breeze past
a decade or a continent on the very next page. Space may also be
played against time in a variety of ways: firstly, changelessness (as
in a heros personal qualities or a couples love) may be highlighted
precisely by rapid geographic relocations (Bakhtin 1981:89102, 106
107). Secondly, temporal depth or transformation can be emphasized,
precisely by restricting location (as in Bakhtins (1981:2456) castle
chronotope, Phil Jenkins (1996) history of a single acre of Canadas
capital city, or Ernest Rutherfords (eg 1987) novels). Thirdly, the
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Chronotope, Story, and Historical Geography 395
Read on their own terms or even against the grain, a more diverse
array of narrative genres and their truth claims may be exactly what
the quest for truth needs. First, this openness is simply a better fit with
a multi-voiced reality in which many voices do not speak in historical
narratives. More specifically, the idea of a radical divide between history
and fiction, with little else between, is culturally rather specific. This
sharp Enlightenment divide has been difficult to maintain, but it has
produced powerful effects, especially in European and European-settler
societies. Myths and parables, for example, are commonly dismissed
as little more than fiction (Widdowson and Howard 2008), or at most
as distorted, misremembered history (Vico quoted in Collingwood
1956:6371).12
This blind spot toward stories that are neither history nor fiction
is important. First, precisely because the divide between history and
fiction is so powerful, insufficient collective attention is given to the
surreptitious proliferation of hybrids (cf. Latour 1993 [1991]). For
example, the truth claims of national epic myths can be shielded from
overall criticism, precisely because they take the form of histories, the
individual facts of which are thoroughly documented. Under the sway
of this divide, story-tellers may also claim that their myths or parables
are not only true, but factually true. In this example, the question is
what needs to be challenged. To object to the truthfulness of such
stories on the weakness of the current tellers claims is normally to
miss the point (cf. Borg 2001). Second, the historyfiction divide is
not well-suited to the many situations of cross-cultural land conflicts
where multiple narrative genres assign contending meanings to the
same places and events. One could think of armed confrontations in
Jerusalem, or in Oka/Kanesetake in Quebec (Boileau 1991; York and
Pindera 1991). Often in such situations, some voices make key truth
claims in narrative genres that are not history. In such cases, a narrow
view about which narrative genres actually engage with reality can lead
directly to an epic representation of the conflict (that is, a single-
voiced narrative). That is, one is compelled towards monoglossia and
away from polyphony. But single-voicedness is inherently a betrayal of
the most basic feature of conflicts, the existence of multiple voices.
And this will occur precisely in the name of being faithful to the
truth.
The role of the new interpreters itself deserves thoughtful scrutiny (eg
Dyck and Waldram 1993).
Some determined dissenters have offered sharper comprehensive
critiques. For them, the narratives of indigenous oral tradition are largely
fiction, and the network of scholars, jurists, and activists that mediates its
emerging dialogue with the dominant Canadian society is an aboriginal
industry consigning most indigenous people to arrested development
(Flanagan 2000; Widdowson and Howard 2008). These dissenters
present their critique as a break in a counter-productive, monoglot
consensus in Canadian scholarship. In their view, this consensus
patronizingly affirms indigenous oral traditions that are ultimately
useless for the tasks at hand.
With chapters entitled Whatever happened to civilization?
(Flanagan 2000) and Education: honouring the ignorance of our
ancestors (Widdowson and Howard 2008), it must be said that two
of the most noted dissenting works stray toward a patronizing tone
themselves. But matters of tone are less important than underlying
themes. In its right and left variants, this dissenting literature reasserts
a very old developmental epic of improvement that is still powerful
today (compare Weaver 2003:46, 8187). It is epic in Bakhtins specific
sense for two reasons. First, this story was more or less unchallenged up
to the late twentieth century in Canadian society at large. Second, while
claiming to break a deadly silence and to provoke debate, the critics
own position rests on a resolutely monoglot narrative: only one good
life is truly good, and only one story can produce it. While Widdowson
and Howard seek an ultimate transition to a post-capitalist world and
Flanagan is a prominent Canadian free-market conservative, they are
agreed that industrial society is incontestably better than any prior or
existing alternatives. Because all peoples need the fruits of this society,
they must acquire its institutional norms, its scientific and technological
methods, and many of its other assumptions. These goods have depended
(so far) on the end of primitive communism and chieftancies; and (one
must add) on the class divisions, uneven productivity gains, and uneven
consumption growth of capitalism.
Myths, parables, and didactic stories are central vehicles of the
indigenous traditional knowledge that the dissenters seek to expose
as false. While gaining limited respect in scientific circles, these stories
are increasingly part of an emerging dialogical approach to land and
resource policy in Canada. They involve purposive story-telling, but
they are clearly neither history nor fiction. At least two kinds of truth
claim accompany such stories. In the first case, a story is recounted (and
accepted) as a foundational experience in a mythic past. To cite but two
examples, this occurs among the Anishinabek (Ojibwa or Chippewa)
First Nations, whose combined territories stretch through much of the
Hudsons Bay watershed and parts of neighboring watersheds (Johnston
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Acknowledgements
Thanks are owed to Robert Sweeny, Noel Castree, members of the Society for Socialist
Studies, and the anonymous reviewers of this journal for suggesting or inspiring various
improvements to this article. The same thanks, and much more, is owed to Feng Xu,
with whom I gladly co-narrate a still-unfolding story. While I have gained from their
input, these colleagues may not share my approach or conclusions. Remaining errors of
fact or of interpretation are mine alone.
Endnotes
1
This includes environmental history and historical geography (Cronon 1992; Hughes
2006; Simmons 1989).
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2
Syntagmatic dispersion refers to one event relating to another directly, and to
this relationship being given primacy in a narrative. Paradigmatic dispersion would
suppose this relationship depends on a set of higher ordering principles.
3
Some emphasize temporality in discussing Bakhtins chronotope, even viewing this as
innovative (Bender and Wellberry 1991). In his practical applications, Bakhtin (1981:81)
himself leans this way. But Bakhtins theorization is clear: the chronotope is spatio-
temporal, space and time intertwined (Folch-Serra 1990:261).
4
I am conscious of myself and become myself only while revealing myself for another,
through another, and with the help of another. The most important acts constituting self-
consciousness are determined by a relationship toward another consciousness (toward
a thou) (emphasis added; Bakhtin quoted in Holloway and Kneale 2000:73, see also
7377).
5
Kaska territory is located on Canadas British Columbia/Yukon border. In Canada,
the terms nation and first nation are now commonly used in preference to band
or tribe. This revives usage from the early contact period in eastern and central
Canada. It is not applied to the Arctic-dwelling Inuit (formerly and elsewhere known as
Eskimos).
6
There are striking parallels with Barbara Adams timescapes (1998) and temporality.
7
A classic alternative statement in the Marxist tradition is Thompson (1978).
8
Whites literary account of history also attends to ideological thrust, the mode of
conceiving reality and making claims about it (eg mechanistically or organically),
and its dominant tropes (eg metaphor or metonymy) (White 1973, 2001). I am also
indebted to Vicki Rea of Lehigh University for her introductory notes on Whites work
(http://www.lehigh.edu/ineng/syll/syll-metahistory.html, last accessed 3 July 2009).
9
For White (2001:2223, 225), explanation involves discovery and familiarization.
10
Thacker (2005/6:60, 645) has emphasized the creative energy a map brings to a
narrative. I extend this relationship to narrative from maps to chronologies. But based
on the distinction between plot/syuzhet and story/fabula, I think of the texts narrative
form as the more active side in these relationships.
11
The political context matters. Persecution led Bakhtin to conceal authorship, and
to emphasize agreement with official (Marxist-Leninist) thought (Clark and Holquist
1984:passim).
12
Vico argues that such stories, read against the grain, may yield truths. But he refuses
to accept parables and mythic narratives on their own terms.
13
This term is increasingly used in Canada in preference to aboriginal land claims.
It denotes the same legal and political contestations between indigenous peoples and
the Crown over their respective legal and jurisdictional rights, but avoids the prejudicial
implications of the word claim.
14
A formula associated with Thomas Campbell and the Churches of Christ regarding
the Christian Bible. The target here is trust in the scientific method, as if it were holy
writ. No particular criticism of the Churches of Christ or Campbells stance is implied
or should be inferred.
15
History is not exempt: conference papers are still commonly read.
References
Adam B (1998) Timescapes of Modernity: The Environment and Invisible Hazards. New
York: Routledge
Albritton R (2007) Economics Transformed: Discovering the Brilliance of Marx.
London: Pluto Press
Alfred G R (1995) Heeding the Voices of our Ancestors. Toronto, ON: Oxford University
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