Ela Nutu | The University of Sheffield (original) (raw)
Papers by Ela Nutu
The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful,... more The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful, wise, devout, loyal, generous and courageous widow who saves the Israelites from, at best colonialization, at worst death at the hands of the Assyrian armies led by Holofernes. The Christian Church developed the character of Judith by associating it metaphorically with, amongst others, Mary the mother of Jesus. In the Middle Ages, visually Judith became the personification of Virtue, Chastity and Humility.
By mid-sixteenth century a connection between Judith and female leading political figures was also established, since Reformation politics was largely dominated by women – specifically royals such as Catherine of Aragon; Catherine de’ Medici; Jeanne de Bourbon Queen of Navarre; Queen Christina of Sweden; the English Queen Mary Tudor, and Queen Elizabeth I, all of whom were visually connected to Judith at one point or another. Culturally, between the mid-1560s and mid-1580s the name ‘Judith’ was the second most popular name in Europe, topped only by ‘Mary’ (after the Virgin herself).
Thus Judith can be said to emerge as the prototype of female empowerment, the femme forte, and women painters have shown a certain taste for depicting the biblical heroine.
At the same time, however, the misogynist tradition of the ‘Power of Women’ / Weibermacht which illustrated the perceived dangerous power of women over men) was very popular mid-sixteenth century, particularly in Northern Europe, and Judith herself was a victim of it.
This paper examines Italian Renaissance and Baroque interpretations of Judith as representative of the work of contemporary male and female painters, and it explores the role of gender in identity formation as present in and around the Judith narrative and its reception. What happens when women are both the object and the owner of the gaze? Are there special insights into the complexities of the biblical character? Are their representations any different to those of men? Are they perhaps manifestations of an écriture féminine (a propos Cixous and Irigaray). Or do women painters just copy their male contemporaries; their voices shut inside the Language of the Father, the spurious Phallocentric Performing Theatre of a male dominated industry? By investigating whether there are marked differences between the two gender perspectives, this paper reveals some of the signification tensions at play within the process of interpreting Judith visually.
The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful,... more The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful, wise, devout, loyal, generous and courageous widow who saves the Israelites from, at best colonialization, at worst death at the hands of the Assyrian armies led by Holofernes. The Christian Church developed the character of Judith by associating it metaphorically with, amongst others, Mary the mother of Jesus. In the Middle Ages, visually Judith became the personification of Virtue, Chastity and Humility.
By mid-sixteenth century a connection between Judith and female leading political figures was also established, since Reformation politics was largely dominated by women – specifically royals such as Catherine of Aragon; Catherine de’ Medici; Jeanne de Bourbon Queen of Navarre; Queen Christina of Sweden; the English Queen Mary Tudor, and Queen Elizabeth I, all of whom were visually connected to Judith at one point or another. Culturally, between the mid-1560s and mid-1580s the name ‘Judith’ was the second most popular name in Europe, topped only by ‘Mary’ (after the Virgin herself).
Thus Judith can be said to emerge as the prototype of female empowerment, the femme forte, and women painters have shown a certain taste for depicting the biblical heroine.
At the same time, however, the misogynist tradition of the ‘Power of Women’ / Weibermacht which illustrated the perceived dangerous power of women over men) was very popular mid-sixteenth century, particularly in Northern Europe, and Judith herself was a victim of it.
This paper examines Italian Renaissance and Baroque interpretations of Judith as representative of the work of contemporary male and female painters, and it explores the role of gender in identity formation as present in and around the Judith narrative and its reception. What happens when women are both the object and the owner of the gaze? Are there special insights into the complexities of the biblical character? Are their representations any different to those of men? Are they perhaps manifestations of an écriture féminine (a propos Cixous and Irigaray). Or do women painters just copy their male contemporaries; their voices shut inside the Language of the Father, the spurious Phallocentric Performing Theatre of a male dominated industry? By investigating whether there are marked differences between the two gender perspectives, this paper reveals some of the signification tensions at play within the process of interpreting Judith visually.
Not even named in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the symb... more Not even named in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the symbolic incarnation of undying Lust, the Goddess of immortal Hysteria, the accursed Beauty exalted above all other beauties … the monstrous Beast, indifferent, irresponsible, insensible, poisoning’. As part of an analysis not of the biblical text but rather of Gustave Moreau’s first painting on Salome (1876), these comments reflect a popular understanding of the biblical woman seen as responsible for the death of John the Baptist. Salomé has become for many the quintessential femme fatale. Her many and varied journeys from paper to canvas and stage betray a fascination with the biblical character of whom the Bible tells us so little.
The connection between Oscar Wilde’s play Salomé and Richard Strauss’s opera Salome is well-documented. Both Wilde and Strauss have been criticized for having a ‘nauseating’ effect on their audiences, and the most striking shared element is Salome’s sexual interest in Jochanaan/Jokanaan, which culminates in her kissing the decapitated head of the prophet on the mouth. This element is completely absent from the biblical text, so how did it emerge? Is Oscar Wilde responsible for it? Is it typical of his time? This paper looks at the complex relationships between the biblical text and its literary and artistic hybrid existences, its metamorphoses.
There has always been a relationship between the Bible and Art, a two-way vista for exchange; int... more There has always been a relationship between the Bible and Art, a two-way vista for exchange; interpretative co-dependency. Most twentyfirst-century audiences will have inherited the concept of Salome as the young woman whose ‘dance of many veils’ leads to one man’s infatuation and another man’s decapitation. Yet, this image has less to do with the brief note on the dance that one finds in the Bible and more to do with the Salome’s artistic afterlives, especially those emerging from fin-de-siècle and Decadent European traditions. By looking afresh at depictions of Salome that do not openly represent her as a femme fatale, readers of the Bible can be challenged into re-assessing their own understanding of the story of the Baptist’s death and the role that the young woman plays in it. This paper examines Luini Bernardino’s visual interpretations of Herod’s stepdaughter in light of the biblical text. How did the painter imagine the woman? Was this in step with other 16th century Italian artists?
Salome the daughter of Herodias who asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter has played... more Salome the daughter of Herodias who asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter has played the muse to many artists through the centuries. Amongst them is Pablo Picasso, who, intriguingly, chose to depict Salome in the midst of itinerant acrobats, musicians and clowns; or saltimbanques. Between the autumn of 1904 and the spring of 1905, Picasso found inspiration for his work in the world of travelling circus performers. His Suite de Saltimbanques was first shown in 1905 as a collection of prints, though Picasso created these works in etching and drypoint. The two Picasso works that are the focus of this paper are Salomé and The Barbaric Dance (Before Salomé and Herod). The first etching depicts Salomé dancing in front of Herod; her complete nakedness is exposed to him, her left leg kicking the air, while behind her the decapitated head of John the Baptist rests in the arms of a seated female servant, on a platter. The second etching focuses on a dance performed by saltimbanques for the entertainment of the ruling family, the performers naked and facing Herod and Salome and also the viewer. This act is a group dance, with three central figures participating, two men either side of a woman, the one of the left running a violin bow over the naked buttocks of a child resting on his shoulder. The gestures of these saltimbanques seem disconnected, their dance far from a collective performance. While Picasso depicts Salome’s body somewhat reverentially (in as much as she is beautiful in a conventional sense), the bodies of the saltimbanques are portrayed as grotesque. They are caricatures, lacking any grace or elegance. Their identity markers are those of excess, and their nudity repels rather than attracts. Picasso’s choice to depict Salomé amongst the saltimbanques is an intriguing one, for it appears somewhat out-of-synch with the Salomé tradition contemporary to Picasso. Associations between Salome’s dance and acrobatic performances akin to those belonging at the circus were present in medieval traditions. However, by the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century – and thus the immediate context of Picasso’s Saltimbanques series – the emerging Salomé is very different. Many fin de siècle European artists were enthralled with Salomé, and she emerged at that time as the femme fatale par excellence. This paper explores some of the influences on the artist and his subject.
Books by Ela Nutu
One of the contentions of post-Lacanian, continental feminists is that woman does not exist; that... more One of the contentions of post-Lacanian, continental feminists is that woman does not exist; that woman is excluded from language and metaphysics, forever dismissed with 'matter'. By proposing an écriture féminine, Hélène Cixous and Luce Irigaray put forward possible means of creating a 'language house' for women, of speaking/writing women into being. The fact that God appropriates a male body in John affects the ways women read the Bible in general and the Gospel narratives in particular. This chapter explores the nuances of écriture féminine and the links between reading John's Prologue and the formation of feminine identity.
Judith, Femme Fatale or Femme Forte? In the text, Judith and Holofernes play hybrid gender role... more Judith, Femme Fatale or Femme Forte?
In the text, Judith and Holofernes play hybrid gender roles, in which the woman, despite using her beauty as bait, is powerful and calculated, while the man, despite holding the cultural and political power as the coloniser general, acts out his emotions and loses his head. While some women painters wish to interpret, indeed identify with, Judith as the femme forte, Judith as phallic woman is inevitably a challenge. As such, she seems to be interpreted by male painters as either Virtue or Vice. As a virtuous, asexual heroine Judith is grouped with Mary the mother of Jesus in Christian tradition. Jerome declares her to be ‘chastity behead[ing] lust’. As a vicious, experienced woman Judith is hated, rejected as abject, for, by acquiring and using the phallic sword against a man, she disrupts and destabilises the Law of the Father. (Judith already lives on the margins, as an apocryphal character, despite her loftier associations with Mary). The metaphorical emasculation of Holofernes is anticipated in the narrative, for Bagoas, Holoferenes’s representative and mouth-piece (or Holofernes’ ‘pimp’, as Stocker muses), is a eunuch. The concept is further moralised by Achior’s conversion to Judaism, which brings about his circumcision and thus his subjugation to a greater, more virile male, Yahweh. The characters take on nationalistic hues, and in the end we are dealing with Israelites, as God’s people, and their enemies, who become impotent when pitched against the power of Yahweh. Judith might be seen as the ultimate phallic woman (for she subverts even the authority of the male leaders of Bethulia by accusing them of hubris), but she is only an instrument in God’s hands. The fact that she remains a widow despite many marriage proposals (Jdt. 16.22) emphasises the trade-off imposed on her: she can escape her gender limitation for a little while as long as she renounces her sexuate identity henceforth. Judith becomes the personification of Bethulia, indeed the Jewish nation. As such she can only be committed, or married to, Yahweh, who is a notoriously jealous husband. Ironically, Judith accepts ownership of Holofernes’ bed after the Assyrian camp is plundered by the Israelites (Jdt. 15.11), a memento of her deed and a further symbol of what is denied her. She signs the contract offered by God with the blood of the man who dares to desire what is God’s.
We may want to read Judith as the femme forte, for there are so few examples of biblical women who offer feminist subject positions, or models for identification for female readers. Yet Judith cannot escape the role of the femme fatale, for it is precisely the part that God himself designs for her. He gives her special beauty, he gives her special strength, and he uses both to his gains. God uses Judith to humiliate his challenger. By freeing her maidservant (Jdt. 16.23), Judith gives her slave the freedom that she herself may desire but cannot have. Judith’s perceived power is illusory, and her image of ‘a woman with a borrowed sword’ serves only to shame the Israelites’ enemies even further. God holds the ultimate authority, the ultimate phallic power in the narrative. The book of Judith was perhaps written with the purpose of reminding its readers of this uncircumventable fact.
Engaging with visual interpretations of Judith is a complex business. Not least because one is torn between the mixed and colourful re-workings of the narrative, the works of art as individual texts, and the painters and their cultural and socio-historical contexts. Without the knowledge of the text, these paintings could produce, what Mary Garrard calls, ‘naïve readings’. Rather than witnessing the salvation of an entire nation through the killing of one general, some viewers might think they were witnessing, in Germaine Greer’s words, ‘two female cut-throats, a prostitute and her maid slaughtering her client’, proof perhaps that paintings do create their own visual rhetoric and legislate their own semiotics. Of course, it would be naïve to suppose that there is only one way of reading Judith, even if the text had provided more details about her. Readers themselves—be they artists, scholars, or other—are works in progress, sujets en procès. It is precisely this fact that makes reading worth re-reading.
Without even a name in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the... more Without even a name in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the symbolic incarnation of undying Lust, the Goddess of immortal Hysteria, the accursed Beauty exalted above all other beauties … the monstrous Beast, indifferent, irresponsible, insensible, poisoning’. As part of an analysis not of the biblical text but rather of Gustave Moreau’s first Salome painting (1876), these comments reflect a popular understanding of the biblical woman seen as responsible for the death of John the Baptist. Salome has become for many the quintessential femme fatale, whose ‘dance of many veils’ leads to one man’s infatuation and another man’s decapitation. This reading of Salome, however, has less to do with the brief note on the dance that one finds in the Bible and more to do with the Salome’s artistic afterlives. By looking afresh at depictions of Salome that do not represent her within an erotic context, readers of the Bible can be challenged into re-assessing their own understanding of the story of the Baptist’s death and the role that the girl plays in it.
The scope of this book is to explore the contours of ‘identity’ as a decentred, fragmented work o... more The scope of this book is to explore the contours of ‘identity’ as a decentred, fragmented work of the subject through ‘identification’ with elements of visual, legible texts. Since it is the ‘subject-of-language’ that interests this author, it investigates the theory that identities are constructs of the reiterative power of discourse to create that which it also names and ‘orders’; that identities are determined in and through ‘difference’ and thus inherently ‘dislocated’—dependent upon an ‘outside’ that both denies them and provides the premise of their prospect; and that subjects are ‘interpellated’ by, or ‘sutured’ to, the subject positions made available in discourse through the function of the unconscious. As the Bible continues its influence on society and the formation of subject positions, biblical texts are re-interpreted, recycled within many discourses. Nutu follows the fragmented afterlives of John’s Prologue and their different discursive effects on subject formation (with a particular focus on feminine ‘I’s) through postmodern film, aided by contemporary theoretical currents.
The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful,... more The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful, wise, devout, loyal, generous and courageous widow who saves the Israelites from, at best colonialization, at worst death at the hands of the Assyrian armies led by Holofernes. The Christian Church developed the character of Judith by associating it metaphorically with, amongst others, Mary the mother of Jesus. In the Middle Ages, visually Judith became the personification of Virtue, Chastity and Humility.
By mid-sixteenth century a connection between Judith and female leading political figures was also established, since Reformation politics was largely dominated by women – specifically royals such as Catherine of Aragon; Catherine de’ Medici; Jeanne de Bourbon Queen of Navarre; Queen Christina of Sweden; the English Queen Mary Tudor, and Queen Elizabeth I, all of whom were visually connected to Judith at one point or another. Culturally, between the mid-1560s and mid-1580s the name ‘Judith’ was the second most popular name in Europe, topped only by ‘Mary’ (after the Virgin herself).
Thus Judith can be said to emerge as the prototype of female empowerment, the femme forte, and women painters have shown a certain taste for depicting the biblical heroine.
At the same time, however, the misogynist tradition of the ‘Power of Women’ / Weibermacht which illustrated the perceived dangerous power of women over men) was very popular mid-sixteenth century, particularly in Northern Europe, and Judith herself was a victim of it.
This paper examines Italian Renaissance and Baroque interpretations of Judith as representative of the work of contemporary male and female painters, and it explores the role of gender in identity formation as present in and around the Judith narrative and its reception. What happens when women are both the object and the owner of the gaze? Are there special insights into the complexities of the biblical character? Are their representations any different to those of men? Are they perhaps manifestations of an écriture féminine (a propos Cixous and Irigaray). Or do women painters just copy their male contemporaries; their voices shut inside the Language of the Father, the spurious Phallocentric Performing Theatre of a male dominated industry? By investigating whether there are marked differences between the two gender perspectives, this paper reveals some of the signification tensions at play within the process of interpreting Judith visually.
The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful,... more The apocryphal book of Judith presents us with an idealized female character. She is a beautiful, wise, devout, loyal, generous and courageous widow who saves the Israelites from, at best colonialization, at worst death at the hands of the Assyrian armies led by Holofernes. The Christian Church developed the character of Judith by associating it metaphorically with, amongst others, Mary the mother of Jesus. In the Middle Ages, visually Judith became the personification of Virtue, Chastity and Humility.
By mid-sixteenth century a connection between Judith and female leading political figures was also established, since Reformation politics was largely dominated by women – specifically royals such as Catherine of Aragon; Catherine de’ Medici; Jeanne de Bourbon Queen of Navarre; Queen Christina of Sweden; the English Queen Mary Tudor, and Queen Elizabeth I, all of whom were visually connected to Judith at one point or another. Culturally, between the mid-1560s and mid-1580s the name ‘Judith’ was the second most popular name in Europe, topped only by ‘Mary’ (after the Virgin herself).
Thus Judith can be said to emerge as the prototype of female empowerment, the femme forte, and women painters have shown a certain taste for depicting the biblical heroine.
At the same time, however, the misogynist tradition of the ‘Power of Women’ / Weibermacht which illustrated the perceived dangerous power of women over men) was very popular mid-sixteenth century, particularly in Northern Europe, and Judith herself was a victim of it.
This paper examines Italian Renaissance and Baroque interpretations of Judith as representative of the work of contemporary male and female painters, and it explores the role of gender in identity formation as present in and around the Judith narrative and its reception. What happens when women are both the object and the owner of the gaze? Are there special insights into the complexities of the biblical character? Are their representations any different to those of men? Are they perhaps manifestations of an écriture féminine (a propos Cixous and Irigaray). Or do women painters just copy their male contemporaries; their voices shut inside the Language of the Father, the spurious Phallocentric Performing Theatre of a male dominated industry? By investigating whether there are marked differences between the two gender perspectives, this paper reveals some of the signification tensions at play within the process of interpreting Judith visually.
Not even named in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the symb... more Not even named in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the symbolic incarnation of undying Lust, the Goddess of immortal Hysteria, the accursed Beauty exalted above all other beauties … the monstrous Beast, indifferent, irresponsible, insensible, poisoning’. As part of an analysis not of the biblical text but rather of Gustave Moreau’s first painting on Salome (1876), these comments reflect a popular understanding of the biblical woman seen as responsible for the death of John the Baptist. Salomé has become for many the quintessential femme fatale. Her many and varied journeys from paper to canvas and stage betray a fascination with the biblical character of whom the Bible tells us so little.
The connection between Oscar Wilde’s play Salomé and Richard Strauss’s opera Salome is well-documented. Both Wilde and Strauss have been criticized for having a ‘nauseating’ effect on their audiences, and the most striking shared element is Salome’s sexual interest in Jochanaan/Jokanaan, which culminates in her kissing the decapitated head of the prophet on the mouth. This element is completely absent from the biblical text, so how did it emerge? Is Oscar Wilde responsible for it? Is it typical of his time? This paper looks at the complex relationships between the biblical text and its literary and artistic hybrid existences, its metamorphoses.
There has always been a relationship between the Bible and Art, a two-way vista for exchange; int... more There has always been a relationship between the Bible and Art, a two-way vista for exchange; interpretative co-dependency. Most twentyfirst-century audiences will have inherited the concept of Salome as the young woman whose ‘dance of many veils’ leads to one man’s infatuation and another man’s decapitation. Yet, this image has less to do with the brief note on the dance that one finds in the Bible and more to do with the Salome’s artistic afterlives, especially those emerging from fin-de-siècle and Decadent European traditions. By looking afresh at depictions of Salome that do not openly represent her as a femme fatale, readers of the Bible can be challenged into re-assessing their own understanding of the story of the Baptist’s death and the role that the young woman plays in it. This paper examines Luini Bernardino’s visual interpretations of Herod’s stepdaughter in light of the biblical text. How did the painter imagine the woman? Was this in step with other 16th century Italian artists?
Salome the daughter of Herodias who asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter has played... more Salome the daughter of Herodias who asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter has played the muse to many artists through the centuries. Amongst them is Pablo Picasso, who, intriguingly, chose to depict Salome in the midst of itinerant acrobats, musicians and clowns; or saltimbanques. Between the autumn of 1904 and the spring of 1905, Picasso found inspiration for his work in the world of travelling circus performers. His Suite de Saltimbanques was first shown in 1905 as a collection of prints, though Picasso created these works in etching and drypoint. The two Picasso works that are the focus of this paper are Salomé and The Barbaric Dance (Before Salomé and Herod). The first etching depicts Salomé dancing in front of Herod; her complete nakedness is exposed to him, her left leg kicking the air, while behind her the decapitated head of John the Baptist rests in the arms of a seated female servant, on a platter. The second etching focuses on a dance performed by saltimbanques for the entertainment of the ruling family, the performers naked and facing Herod and Salome and also the viewer. This act is a group dance, with three central figures participating, two men either side of a woman, the one of the left running a violin bow over the naked buttocks of a child resting on his shoulder. The gestures of these saltimbanques seem disconnected, their dance far from a collective performance. While Picasso depicts Salome’s body somewhat reverentially (in as much as she is beautiful in a conventional sense), the bodies of the saltimbanques are portrayed as grotesque. They are caricatures, lacking any grace or elegance. Their identity markers are those of excess, and their nudity repels rather than attracts. Picasso’s choice to depict Salomé amongst the saltimbanques is an intriguing one, for it appears somewhat out-of-synch with the Salomé tradition contemporary to Picasso. Associations between Salome’s dance and acrobatic performances akin to those belonging at the circus were present in medieval traditions. However, by the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century – and thus the immediate context of Picasso’s Saltimbanques series – the emerging Salomé is very different. Many fin de siècle European artists were enthralled with Salomé, and she emerged at that time as the femme fatale par excellence. This paper explores some of the influences on the artist and his subject.
One of the contentions of post-Lacanian, continental feminists is that woman does not exist; that... more One of the contentions of post-Lacanian, continental feminists is that woman does not exist; that woman is excluded from language and metaphysics, forever dismissed with 'matter'. By proposing an écriture féminine, Hélène Cixous and Luce Irigaray put forward possible means of creating a 'language house' for women, of speaking/writing women into being. The fact that God appropriates a male body in John affects the ways women read the Bible in general and the Gospel narratives in particular. This chapter explores the nuances of écriture féminine and the links between reading John's Prologue and the formation of feminine identity.
Judith, Femme Fatale or Femme Forte? In the text, Judith and Holofernes play hybrid gender role... more Judith, Femme Fatale or Femme Forte?
In the text, Judith and Holofernes play hybrid gender roles, in which the woman, despite using her beauty as bait, is powerful and calculated, while the man, despite holding the cultural and political power as the coloniser general, acts out his emotions and loses his head. While some women painters wish to interpret, indeed identify with, Judith as the femme forte, Judith as phallic woman is inevitably a challenge. As such, she seems to be interpreted by male painters as either Virtue or Vice. As a virtuous, asexual heroine Judith is grouped with Mary the mother of Jesus in Christian tradition. Jerome declares her to be ‘chastity behead[ing] lust’. As a vicious, experienced woman Judith is hated, rejected as abject, for, by acquiring and using the phallic sword against a man, she disrupts and destabilises the Law of the Father. (Judith already lives on the margins, as an apocryphal character, despite her loftier associations with Mary). The metaphorical emasculation of Holofernes is anticipated in the narrative, for Bagoas, Holoferenes’s representative and mouth-piece (or Holofernes’ ‘pimp’, as Stocker muses), is a eunuch. The concept is further moralised by Achior’s conversion to Judaism, which brings about his circumcision and thus his subjugation to a greater, more virile male, Yahweh. The characters take on nationalistic hues, and in the end we are dealing with Israelites, as God’s people, and their enemies, who become impotent when pitched against the power of Yahweh. Judith might be seen as the ultimate phallic woman (for she subverts even the authority of the male leaders of Bethulia by accusing them of hubris), but she is only an instrument in God’s hands. The fact that she remains a widow despite many marriage proposals (Jdt. 16.22) emphasises the trade-off imposed on her: she can escape her gender limitation for a little while as long as she renounces her sexuate identity henceforth. Judith becomes the personification of Bethulia, indeed the Jewish nation. As such she can only be committed, or married to, Yahweh, who is a notoriously jealous husband. Ironically, Judith accepts ownership of Holofernes’ bed after the Assyrian camp is plundered by the Israelites (Jdt. 15.11), a memento of her deed and a further symbol of what is denied her. She signs the contract offered by God with the blood of the man who dares to desire what is God’s.
We may want to read Judith as the femme forte, for there are so few examples of biblical women who offer feminist subject positions, or models for identification for female readers. Yet Judith cannot escape the role of the femme fatale, for it is precisely the part that God himself designs for her. He gives her special beauty, he gives her special strength, and he uses both to his gains. God uses Judith to humiliate his challenger. By freeing her maidservant (Jdt. 16.23), Judith gives her slave the freedom that she herself may desire but cannot have. Judith’s perceived power is illusory, and her image of ‘a woman with a borrowed sword’ serves only to shame the Israelites’ enemies even further. God holds the ultimate authority, the ultimate phallic power in the narrative. The book of Judith was perhaps written with the purpose of reminding its readers of this uncircumventable fact.
Engaging with visual interpretations of Judith is a complex business. Not least because one is torn between the mixed and colourful re-workings of the narrative, the works of art as individual texts, and the painters and their cultural and socio-historical contexts. Without the knowledge of the text, these paintings could produce, what Mary Garrard calls, ‘naïve readings’. Rather than witnessing the salvation of an entire nation through the killing of one general, some viewers might think they were witnessing, in Germaine Greer’s words, ‘two female cut-throats, a prostitute and her maid slaughtering her client’, proof perhaps that paintings do create their own visual rhetoric and legislate their own semiotics. Of course, it would be naïve to suppose that there is only one way of reading Judith, even if the text had provided more details about her. Readers themselves—be they artists, scholars, or other—are works in progress, sujets en procès. It is precisely this fact that makes reading worth re-reading.
Without even a name in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the... more Without even a name in the biblical accounts, the daughter of Herodias has been described as ‘the symbolic incarnation of undying Lust, the Goddess of immortal Hysteria, the accursed Beauty exalted above all other beauties … the monstrous Beast, indifferent, irresponsible, insensible, poisoning’. As part of an analysis not of the biblical text but rather of Gustave Moreau’s first Salome painting (1876), these comments reflect a popular understanding of the biblical woman seen as responsible for the death of John the Baptist. Salome has become for many the quintessential femme fatale, whose ‘dance of many veils’ leads to one man’s infatuation and another man’s decapitation. This reading of Salome, however, has less to do with the brief note on the dance that one finds in the Bible and more to do with the Salome’s artistic afterlives. By looking afresh at depictions of Salome that do not represent her within an erotic context, readers of the Bible can be challenged into re-assessing their own understanding of the story of the Baptist’s death and the role that the girl plays in it.
The scope of this book is to explore the contours of ‘identity’ as a decentred, fragmented work o... more The scope of this book is to explore the contours of ‘identity’ as a decentred, fragmented work of the subject through ‘identification’ with elements of visual, legible texts. Since it is the ‘subject-of-language’ that interests this author, it investigates the theory that identities are constructs of the reiterative power of discourse to create that which it also names and ‘orders’; that identities are determined in and through ‘difference’ and thus inherently ‘dislocated’—dependent upon an ‘outside’ that both denies them and provides the premise of their prospect; and that subjects are ‘interpellated’ by, or ‘sutured’ to, the subject positions made available in discourse through the function of the unconscious. As the Bible continues its influence on society and the formation of subject positions, biblical texts are re-interpreted, recycled within many discourses. Nutu follows the fragmented afterlives of John’s Prologue and their different discursive effects on subject formation (with a particular focus on feminine ‘I’s) through postmodern film, aided by contemporary theoretical currents.