in the Beowulf Manuscript

An Excess of the Repressed: Medieval Monsters as Expressions of Excess Human Sensation in the Beowulf Manuscript

Trisha D. Gupta, New York University

The description and conceptualization of monstrous bodies in European medieval texts was, and continues to be, a field of intense developing scholarship holding significant—and perhaps unexpected—implications for how we define what makes us human. The Beowulf Manuscript is rich with intricate descriptions of medieval monsters, and the tradition of monstrous categorization further manifests itself in the Etymologies of Isidore of Seville and the Liber Monstrorum. 1 Scholars such as Susan Kim, in her “Man-Eating Monsters and Ants as Big as Dogs,” theorize that these bestiaries and catalogs of monsters, such as those in The Wonders of the East, stem from a deep-rooted need not only to define monsters but also to define ourselves through articulating differences between what is monstrous and what is human. Kim states that “It is about what identifies the monsters and other wonders of the East: as such it is also about what identifies the humans in England, from whom these monsters are ostensibly to be distinguished” (39). She explores the purpose of this distinction by asserting that “monster catalogues can reassure their readers” through reminding readers of their numerous differences from monsters and adherence to human normalcy—a recapitulation that we are not what monsters are (40). Here, Kim hints at a language of conceptualizing monstrosity through what it is and comprehending humanity through what it is not. She refines this claim, however, by articulating a complexity: “monsters have meaning outside their described physical manifestations” (43). She suggests that the bodily differences between humans and monsters, though documented physically in catalogs and bestiaries, hold deeper implications that are quite literally “outside” of mere physicality and the superficiality of disparate limbs and body parts. Kim recognizes this subcutaneous connection between understanding the self through defining the monster and prompts the budding question of how classifying monsters externally allows us to classify ourselves internally. Peter Dendle, in his “Cryptozoology in the Medieval and Modern Worlds,” begins to offer a

potential answer to this query in his complication of Kim’s conceptualization of difference: he proposes that hybridization prompts an understanding of monsters and humans. In his exploration of the purpose for the creation, existence, widespread popularity, and arguable necessity of bestiaries, Dendle states that “by hybridising the monstrous and the human, they [bestiaries] continually raised questions about the essence of ‘humanity’ by contrasting it with ‘animality’ or ‘deformity’” (194). Here, similar to Kim, he summarizes the general, widely stated scholarly belief that humanity is questioned, defined, and redefined through contrasting it with monstrosity. However, Dendle’s incorporation of the term “hybridising” suggests a subtler implication that challenges Kim’s seemingly straightforward notion of difference. Difference, for Kim, appears to imply a simple separation or a certain establishing of boundaries between what is distinctly human and what is distinctly monstrous. Dendle, however, seems to be hinting at a mixing of some sort—a physical connection, even—that ironically precedes the differentiation between humans and monsters. A consideration of the analyses of Kim and Dendle prompts the recognition that there is something more nuanced or multifaceted lurking underneath the already murky relationship between humans and monsters—something more convoluted than just definition through differentiation. Kim’s movement beyond the exterior physicality of the monster and Dendle’s “hybridisation” suggests a warping, transformation, or physical connection between what is human and monstrous that turns into something more internal to the human condition. However, what precisely is this hybridization of humans and monsters? Before conceptualizing the intersection of the two beings, it is first necessary to consider the external monstrous form itself as an individual entity: what physically makes a monster a monster? Lara Farina, in her “Wondrous Skins and Tactile Affection: The Blemmye’s Touch,” explores this through the sensation of touch. Initially, she seems to agree with Kim’s notion of definition through difference in her statement that “the startling and sometimes grotesque variety of human and animal bodies contributes to Anglo-Saxon identity formation via the spectacle of difference” (13). The diction of “spectacle,” implying something visual or a display of sorts, appears to parallel Kim’s notion of detectable differences between monsters and humans, but underlying Farina’s term is a hidden intricacy. Farina highlights monstrous sensation not necessarily through difference, but rather through accumulation, and states that “its description [monsters in The Wonders of the East] is generally accu-

mulative, with recognizable, even familiar, bodily elements piling up into hybrid forms” (15). Farina modifies Dendle’s proposition of hybridization by viewing it through the lens of accumulation and subsequently offers a more visually striking image of monstrous body parts piling up onto each other, somewhat resembling the human body itself. Unlike Kim, who bases her argument on the idea of exclusive difference, Farina proposes a rather intimate connection between a “recognizable, even familiar” monstrous body and the human form. In fact, it appears here that if difference is present at all, it is a differentiation of what is monstrous and what is human based on monsters presenting extreme versions of humans. Farina’s notion of accumulation evokes an image of Pinocchio’s nose, but in holding with Farina’s theory, if Pinocchio were a medieval monster, instead of his nose lengthening, he would have two, or three, or perhaps four noses piling on each other. This, however, is neither the case with Pinocchio nor with typical medieval monsters portrayed in The Wonders of the East. There is then an ambiguity in Farina’s argument as monsters appear to be described not necessarily through accumulation in this manner, but rather through enlargement, and in this particular example, the traditional visual of Pinocchio’s nose is indeed one of lengthening rather than of multiplying. Consequently, although Farina postulates that medieval monsters are characterized by accumulation, it seems that they are rather defined by an excess of the senses, feelings, and urges that we negate, moderate, and bind within ourselves. The significance of this approach to monstrous characterization through excess, rather than through Farina’s accumulation, is that although the difference between humans and monsters may superficially seem to be a dissimilarity in nature or quantity, it may on a subtler note, in actuality, be a difference based on degree. Specifically focusing on touch and hearing, exploring the underpinnings of excess underlying these senses, and viewing medieval monsters through a lens of excess evokes unique insight into how and why monsters and humans are characterized how they are. The Wonders of the East offers a collection of descriptions of such monsters and can be described perhaps as a sort of travel guide or collection of zoological classifications that may have been based partially on the Latin Liber Monstrorum. The text offers numerous descriptive accounts of differing monsters, and one such characterization specifically highlighting touch is: “beyond the river Brixontis, east of there, big and tall people are native who have feet and legs twelve feet long, flanks with chests seven feet long. They are of a dark color, and they are called Enemies. Evidently, whatever person they

get hold of, they eat him” (23). This description begins with distinctly qualitative language such as “big and tall,” which is then juxtaposed with the more quantitative language of “twelve feet long” and “seven feet long.” The Oxford English Dictionary defines accumulation as “the process of gradually increasing or getting more and more of something over a period of time” while it defines excess as “more than is necessary, reasonable, or acceptable.” Placing these definitions in conversation with the description of the aforementioned monster in The Wonders of the East, the excerpt presents a sense of elongation that is more precisely termed excess rather than accumulation. This excess is evocative of the nature of the differences between humans and monsters in the Etymologies of Isidore of Seville: “portents, then, or unnatural beings, exist in some cases in the form of a size of the whole body that surpasses common human nature” (244). The monsters in The Wonders of the East passage seem to exemplify this surpassing that is mentioned in the Etymologies of Isidore of Seville through their enlarged bodies, and demonstrate that it is perhaps when monsters surpass what is humanely normative that they become monsters. The elongation in The Wonders of the East is specifically related to skin, however—the very skin that humans have. In fact, the monsters are first called “people,” before being labeled “Enemies,” and the syntactical progression of the thought mirrors the rhetorical pathway of characterizing monsters as simply “big and tall people” to then describing them as something entirely different and placing them more definitively in the category of “monster.” This transition from being “people” to being “Enemies” closely follows the transition from discussing qualitative characteristics of the monsters to quantitatively considering the degree of excess that they symbolize. The text maintains a close attentive focus to the skin as the colorization of the skin is evidently emphasized, but the very act of touching or “hold[ing]” is also isolated—introducing the concept of not only the state of presenting excess but also the ability to act excessively. Are monsters defined by excess both in being and acting, then? A comparison of these monstrous characterizations across other medieval texts may begin to elucidate this question. In the Old English Letter of Alexander the Great to Aristotle, an account of a similar monster appears: “When it was daylight on the next day, we traveled to another province of India… They were nine feet tall, and the people were naked, and they did not bother with clothing” (67). Here, there is a similar lengthening of the body and a comparable excess of the sense of touch; however, the inclusion of the detail that the “people were naked” offers a deeper understanding of the conceptualization of mon-

strous bodies. This seemingly minute and perhaps initially insignificant detail places a crucial emphasis on the rooting of monstrous characterization in excessive skin. The “shaggy women and men” don’t seem to be acting in excess, then; in fact, they appear to be living quite minimally with no clothing. Monstrous excess is then defined more so by an excess in the state of being, or the excess of skin, than by the performance of excessive acts. The lack of clothing may serve to mirror the simultaneously physical and metaphysical unbarred, unfettered, and unrestricted sense of touch that monsters possess—a characteristic that society does not afford humans. Humans cover their skin with clothing: a tangible, visual representation of the restriction and moderation of the human sense of touch. This connection among the excess of skin, human restriction, and societal boundaries appears earlier in the passage through the visualization of hair: “they were shaggy women and men; they were as shaggy and hairy as wild animals” (67). Here, the hair may originally appear to suggest a parallel to modern human clothing, but this, too, subtly speaks to the notion of excess in a rather unexpected way. The hair is essentially an extension of the skin as it grows naturally from the very pores of the skin; unlike clothing, this body hair is biological and functions as just another form of excess of skin. These men and women are considered to be “as shaggy and hairy as wild animals” perhaps because human society has taught and emphasized the covering (or more contemporary removal) of body hair, which is suggestive of a rejection of what is deemed by society to be an “excess.” It appears then that excess of hair—acting as a unique elongation of skin—prompts the shifting in definition from being “women and men” to being compared to “wild animals” and perhaps, by extension, to monsters. In the Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, there is another account of such a monster: “in India, there are said to be a race…who are twelve feet tall” (245). Additionally, the Liber Monstrorum, a late

seventh/early eight century2 Latin catalog or book of monsters, contains characterizations of a monster similar to that described in The Wonders of the East: “Also certain people from near the Nile and the Brixontis rivers are described as having bodies of amazing whiteness, twelve feet tall, with a split face, long nose, and skinny body” (271). In these selections, there are essentially parallel descriptions of the monsters as people, but with excessive human features—specifically, “twelve feet tall” bodies. In the Liber Monstrorum excerpt, however, there is a moment of literary transitioning: in considering the “long nose,” the nose essentially turns into an excess of skin space and an excess of the sense of touch. It is

not necessarily a quantifiable excess in the number of noses, but rather an excess simply in tactile space. Through these discussions and meditations on the conceptualization of the monstrous excess of the sense of touch, it seems that monstrous and human natures aren’t inherently different—their degrees of sensory experiences and sensory restrictions are. If the elongation of the nose is conceptualized as not necessarily an excess of the sense of smell, but rather as an excess of skin and touch itself, this same notion can be applied to the sense of hearing: not necessarily an excess of the sense of hearing, but rather an excess of skin. This is demonstrated in The Wonders of the East:

Then it is to the east where people are native who are fifteen feet tall in stature and ten wide. They have a large head and ears like a fan. One ear they spread under them at night, and with the other they cover themselves. The ears are very light, and in their body they are white as milk. If they spot or notice any person in that region, they take their ears in their hands and flee like mad, so quickly that it is supposed they fly. (25). Here, there is the typical bodily extension quantified by “fifteen feet tall” and “ten wide.” However, focusing on the ears that are “like a fan” and so large that the monsters take them “in their hands” while fleeing, it seems that the sense of hearing itself is not in excess, but it is rather the skin itself that is extended. The description of the monsters wrapping themselves with the ears demonstrates a quite literal shrouding of monsters in this excess of skin; the ears almost act like a double layer on top of the monsters’ first layer of skin, establishing not only an excess in skin space but also an excess of layering. In the Etymologies of Isidore, “The Panotians of Scythia…have such huge ears that they cover all the body,” further reinforcing this excess not of quantity, but rather of size of what is already characteristic of human physiology (245). The Liber Monstrorum offers a description of a similar monster: “people are born in the regions of the East, who as the fables imagine, reach fifteen feet in height and have bodies of marble whiteness, and ears like fans, with which they cover and conceal themselves at night, and when they see a human, they flee through the vastest deserts [or’ most deserted wastes’] with ears outstretched” (281).

Fig. 1. f. 104r: A panotii, a man with ears projecting on stems, holding an object that looks like a bow. Cotton MS Vitellius A XV, f. 104r.

The figure above, from The Wonders of the East, portrays such a monster with ears “outstretched.” This outstretching of the ears, like the monsters’ lack of clothing, demonstrates the absence of restrictions in a novel way: the ears are literally unrestricted, mirroring both an outstretching in the length of the skin and an outstretching of the ears in space. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, in “Thesis VII: The Monster Stands at the Threshold of Becoming,” in his “Monster Culture (Seven Theses),” explores the ramifications of the monster’s lack of restriction: “the monster is too transgressive, too sexual, perversely erotic,

a law breaker, and so the monster and all that it embodies must be exiled or destroyed” (16). Cohen, though not discussing skin in particular, employs a language of excess or a language of “too” much, in describing monsters as “too transgressive” and “too sexual.” The numerous commas syntactically break up the sentence, which reads like a lengthy list that stylistically reiterates the excess of monsters. Cohen rationalizes that it is precisely due to this excess that monsters are subsequently “exiled or destroyed” in literature. Monsters are often portrayed as adopting a form of self-exile, just as the faneared monsters in The Wonders of the East and the Liber Monstrorum flee upon sight of a human. It is only in comparison to humans that the monsters demonstrate excess, however—for example, consider if they were to be compared to elephants, would their ears still be considered excessive? Consequently, when the monsters are in the vicinity of humans, their state of essentially normal being becomes labeled excessive by comparison to a predetermined human norm. Once this excess becomes apparent—in this case, when humans are near—the monsters flee or self-exile. If the monsters do not flee in this manner, they may instead, as Cohen notes, be exiled, which is precisely the case in The Wonders of the East, in which Alexander the Great kills the women monsters that he encounters: There are other women who have the tusks of a boar and hair down to the heel, and an oxtail on their hindquarters. Those women are thirteen feet tall, and their body has the appearance of marble, and they have the feet of a camel and the teeth of an ass. For their filthiness they were slaughtered by the Macedonian Alexander the Great. He killed them when he could not capture them alive, because they are obscene and disgraceful of body. (27-29) The excess is rooted in the “thirteen feet fall” description, but the medley of animal body parts is reminiscent of Dendle’s notion of hybridization. Here, it appears not to be a hybridization of humans and monsters, but animals and monsters. In essence, however, the excess of skin eventually leads to the death of the monsters. It is almost as if humanity imposes restrictions on monsters through exiling and killing because monsters in and of themselves do not appear to have any such restrictions. Monsters are then described in relation to humans—while humans are described by a language of moderation, monsters are characterized by a language of excess. Monsters become monsters when

they exceed what is considered normative for human existence, so if humans surpass these norms, does this indicate the potential to cross into the realm of monsters? Dendle states that “these [bestiaries] were not purely catalogues of knowledge for its own sake, but that the genre served a notable role in the projection of sublimated anxieties” (194). There indeed appears to be intrinsic lurking anxiety then, underlying how humans define what is normal, what surpasses that line, and what is then deemed monstrous. Dendle goes on to articulate that there is a “psychological need for folkloric monsters running from the ancient to the modern world” (196). What is the root of this “psychological need” however? What defines these “sublimated anxieties?” Kim explains that “the monsters catalogued in the ‘Wonders of the East’ thus define their human readers, not only because of the difference from them but also because they are representations of the difference of alienation recognized within human identity” (40). The anxieties appear to take form then, as Kim defines them as stemming from a sort of “alienation” within “human identity.” Is this alienation perhaps due to the dichotomy of the public self that must live in moderation and the inner self that desires to live in excess similar to monsters? Dendle states: probably, we will always project primordial fears onto creatures lurking just beyond reach and just out of sight…the construction of ‘monsters’ in art, literature, and mythology seems to provide a mechanism for articulating human qualities (especially libidinal ones) that must be publicly repudiated, perhaps even exorcised, through very act of externalizing and naming them. (196) Through writing and reading about monstrous excess in “art, literature, and mythology”—an excess that humans are not necessarily afforded the luxury of expressing in society—the self-alienation and disconnect in human identity are somewhat alleviated. Living without boundaries, whether physical or mental, is perhaps a source of “primordial fear” for humanity that is “project[ed]” and later woven into the very identity of the monster. Thus, the monster acts as either a being through which to live unrestrained lives vicariously or a being to shun, exile, or even kill, as a symbol of abiding by society’s regulations. Farina notes that “to ‘read’ the Blemmye is to touch it, and touching here instigates both a sense of our bodies in space and a feel for an enfolding of surfaces that may not be perceived by the eye alone” (24). Through reading about monsters, humans experience their own sense of touch in excess through imag-

ining touching the monsters or sensing bodily movements that may not be ordinarily possible. Monsters represent humans if they experienced senses in excess or lived in excess, instead of living in moderation and repression. Cohen states that “the repressed, however, like Freud himself, always seems to return,” and the “linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constraint” (16-17). Perhaps it is not necessarily the repressed in this case, but rather the potential to overcome what is repressed that returns to haunt humanity. Despite the repression of the human desire for excess and to challenge societal boundaries, the monster as a symbol of overcoming repression returns time and time again—through literature, film, and perhaps even the occasional children’s fairytale. Farina notes a similar idea in her notion that “the self constituted by exclusion must keep the excluded constantly in view, effectively incorporating it within” (13). Placing this idea in conversation with Cohen’s theory, the human self is essentially defined by repression of excess, thereby formulating an exclusion of all that is termed excessive, including monsters, that are therefore exiled or killed. However, Farina brilliantly observes that if the self is defined by this exclusion of excess and all that is monstrous, then the monster must be kept “constantly in view” for reference—eventually merging or hybridizing with the human. While Dendle theorizes that this hybridization of what is monstrous and human must come prior to differentiation, it seems then, that regardless of human attempts to differentiate from monsters, this very exclusion results in an eventual return to eternal hybridization—monsters are excess versions of humans. Farina notes that through monsters, “we see ourselves made wondrous” (23). Monsters allow us to better see ourselves after removing the lens of cultural and social norms that society has imposed on humanity—a liberating, and perhaps terrifying thought. Cohen combines the notions of the excess of the monster and the repression of the human and notes that by capturing, killing, or categorizing monsters, humans repress something within themselves. The notion of defining humanity through difference from monsters then transitions into alleviating human anxieties and suppressed tensions through categorizing monsters and reassuring ourselves that we are successfully observing norms by living in moderation. Monsters represent the extreme and excess of the human sensorium—essentially being more authentically human than we are ourselves. Cohen states that “they [monsters] ask us to reevaluate our cultural assumptions about race, gender, sexuality, our

perception of difference, our tolerance of its expression. They ask us why we have created them” (20). Just as Cohen asserts that monsters call for a reassessment of humanity and how it defines itself, this conceptualization of monsters as excess dramatically alters how we view monsters and ourselves as the question of difference essentially dissipates. Monsters and humans are both on a spectrum of being— simply assuming different levels or degrees of sensation due to repression of human desires. Monsters are projections of unrepressed human selves that we can: 1. either fear and revile in an act of rejecting the notion of excess and living within societal norms, or 2. celebrate in a subtle, yet boldly significant act of accepting the potential of living beyond societal regulations through free, unfettered expression.

Notes

1. Since the Beowulf Manuscript has no explicit date specified, its age has been estimated through analyzing scribes’ handwriting, which suggests that it may have been written in the late tenth or early eleventh centuries (The British Library). Isidore of Seville is thought to have written his Etymologies well before this, c. 615-630s (Barney et. al). Isidore’s work may have had a significant influence on Anglo-Saxon scholarship in the late seventh/early eighth centuries, and some scholars claim that the similarities between the monstrous descriptions might suggest that it influenced the text of the Beowulf Manuscript in a similar manner.

“Beowulf.” The British Library, The British Library, 9 Dec. 2014, www.bl.uk/collection-items/beowulf. Isidore, and Stephen A. Barney. The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville. Cambridge University Press, 2010.

2. The Liber Monstrorum is estimated to have been written in the late seventh or early eighth centuries and scholars have noticed the similarities between the characterizations of monsters in the Liber and The Wonders of the East. Some theorists note that the text of the Liber, although not necessarily passing judgment on the monsters included within, does express a certain degree of skepticism or anxiety regarding these beings. It is, therefore, a possibility that it may have been written at a time of crisis.

McFadden, Brian. “Liber Monstrorum.” Wiley Online Library, American Cancer Society, 3 Aug. 2017, onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/9781118396957.wbemlb132.

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