Voyeurism In Cortazar's Continuidad De Los Parques

Verbs, Voyeurism3 and the Stalker Narrative in Corta.zar's

"Continuidad de los parques" Julia E. Palmer

Abstract. Julio Cortizar's "Continuidad de los parques" can be described as a stalker narrative in two different senses. Not only is it a story about a stalker -withmurderous intentions, it is also a story in which the reader is turned into a stalker. Modalization in verbs, or the use of the subjunctive and qualifiers, has been discussed by critics such as Tzvetan Todorov as a characteristic of the fantastic in literature. What has not been studied is the alternating use of aspect in the past, here between the verb tenses the preterite and the imperfect, as a technique that aids in the subtle creation of the reader as a stalker. CortAizar uses these two verb tenses to form and shape the narrative, moving it in the desired direction and, in the process, aiding in his creation of the image of the stalker. Both the careful manipulation of the preterite and the imperfect and the careful interplay between the two are the vehicle of invasion, an invasion perpetrated by the stalker, in which the reader is made complicit. Keywords: Julio Cort6.zar, Latin American narrative, linguistic analysis of literature, metafiction, twentieth-century fiction ulio Cortrizar's "Continuidad de los parques" can be described as a stalker narrative in two different senses. Not only is it a story about a stalker with murderous intentions, it is also a story in which the reader is turned into a stalker, first innocently and then later more complicitly. The reader's innocent, even voluntary voyeurism of the opening paragraph (we are fascinated by the protagonist's attraction to the novel he is reading; we see his sensual, solitary pleasure in the text manifest itself physically as he strokes the green velvet arm of the chair) leads to a much more sinister involvement of the reader in the imminent homicide described in the final paragraph. Copyright © 2009 Heldref Publications 207

Modalization in verbs, or the use of the subjunctive and qualifiers, has already been discussed as a characteristic of the fantastic in literature by critics such as Tzvetan Todorov. What has not been studied is the alternating use of aspect in the past, here between the preterite and the imperfect, as a technique that aids in the subtle creation of the reader as a stalker. These two verb tenses are the basic grammatical skeleton on which the narrative is built. CortAzar employs these tenses to form and shape the narrative, moving it in the desired direction and in the process using the tenses to aid in his creation of the image of the stalker. Both the careful manipulation of the preterite and the imperfect and the careful interplay between the two tenses are the vehicle of invasion, an invasion perpetrated by the stalker in which the reader is made complicit. PLOT SUMMARY Using only 543 words, CorrAzar skillfully inserts a story within a story. In the first-story (story one), a man takes up a novel he had begun a few days earlier and had to leave because of urgent business. Sitting in his study in an armchair of green velvet, with his head resting comfortably against the back of the chair, he is quickly and with deliberate enjoyment drawn into the action of the novel. In this second story (story two),' two lovers meet in a remote mountain cabin to plan the murder of someone described only as "la figura de otro cuerpo que era necesario destruir" 'the figure of the other body it was necessary to destroy' (200).2 Their plans are meticulous, showing careful arrangements for alibis, unforeseen events, and possible errors, and the two are enveloped and infused with their passion and desire for each other. The lovers bid farewell to each other before elamante 'the lover' descends the mountain to the south, finding his way through trees and hedges, until he arrives at dusk at a house. Everything goes according to plan, and he is able to enter the house, knife in hand, and find his way up the stairs, down a hall, and into a room where a man in a green velvet chair, with its back to the door, is reading a book. THE PRETERITE AND IMPERFECT TENSES Although preteriteand imperfect are the names of two different verb tenses marking past time in Spanish, the difference between them is one of aspect, not of time. Lunn has described the role of aspect in "Continuidad de los parques" as a speaker or writer's encoding of perspective on a situation (Lunn and Albrecht 228). The preterite encodes a situation, typically an action, as having been completed, whereas the imperfect encodes a situation, typically (but not always) a condition or ongoing action, as unbound, with no information given to indicate the terminus point. The imperfect does not indicate when the situation or action came to an end because its 3 purpose is not to set a limit or show completion. That is conveyed by the preterite. THE NARRATIVE STRUCTURE OF, "CONTINUIDAD DE LOS PARQUES" One of the many remarkable features of this story is the way in which Cortizar uses the preterite and the imperfect to form and shape the two basic stories.

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Out of 543 words, CortAizar uses 53 finite verb forms (forms that show person, number, and tense). Of these, 33 are in the imperfect; 13 are in the preterite; and 7 may be labeled "other" and include the conditional (1), imperfect subjunctive (2), and pluperfect (4). Both Lagmanovich (182) and Lunn and Albrecht (228) have observed the way in which Cortizar structures the narrative in the first story by using both the preterite and imperfect tenses. Habfa empezado a leer la novela unos dias antes. La abandon6 [preterite] por 6 negocios urgentes, volvi [preterite] a abrirla cuando regresaba [imperfect] en tren a la finca. f... v]olvi6 [preterite] al libro en la tranquilidad del estudio que mim,ba [imperfect] hacia el parque de los robles. (199) He had begun to read the novel a few days earlier. He abandoned [preterite] it for urgent business, he opened [preterite] it again when he was returnin [imperfect] by train to the firm. I... h]e returned [preterite] to the book in the peacefulness of the study that faced a park of oak trees. Once he begins to narrate the interior story, the story of the novel, Cortizar uses only the imperfect, with the exception of one pluperfect form (habia venido). Primero entraba la mujer, recelosa; ahora lkah el amante, lastimada la cara por cl chicotazo de una rama. Admirablemente retafiaba ella la sangre son sus besos, pero dl rech-,mib las caricias. ... ] El pufial se Cntibilba contra su pecho y debajo ld. libertad agazapada. (199) First the woman was entering, distrustful; now the lover was arriving, his fice wounded by the slash of a tree branch. Admirably, she was stanching the blood with her kisses, but he ms rejecting her caresses. [...] The dagger was cooling against his chest and below, freedom, crouched and hidden, was beating. Although Lagmanovich and Lunn have observed that the preterite and imperfect forms are carefully distributed and distinctly used to identify the narrative structure of each story, they have not identified the way in which CortAzar anticipates the change in story with an increased use of the upcoming structure. Cort6ar begins to rely more heavily on imperfects than on preterites toward the end of the first story, that of the man reading a novel, in which CortAzar has been using both the preterite and imperfect tenses. Because the narrative in story two is characterized by the almost exclusive use of the imperfect, the increased use of the imperfect toward the end of story one has the effect of blurring the narrative lines and allowing Cortizar to seamlessly weave the two stories together. Many of the imperfect forms that Cort6zar placed at the seam between the two 4 stories are actions, and they connect the protagonist reader's point of entry into the text of the second story ("retenfa sin esfuerzo los nombres" 'he was retaining without effort the names'; "g.aba del placer casi perverso" 'he was enjoying the almost perverse pleasure'; "su cabeza descansaba com6damente" 'his head was resting comfortably,' 199) to the action of the text of this story ("entraba la mujer" 'the woman was entering'; "Ilegaba el amante" 'the lover was arriving': "rechazaba las caricias" 'he was rejecting her caresses,' 199).

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As the second story progresses and the lovers separate so that el amante can carry out their sinister plan, Cortizar again blurs the line between stories by returning to his use of both the preterite and the imperfect, this time at the latter part of the second story.5 Note the use of both tenses in the following selection of the text: Sin mirarse ya, atados rigidamente a la tarea que los speraiba [imperfect], se separaron [preterite] en ]a puerta de ]a cabafia. Ella dtbla [imperfect) seguir por la senda que iba [imperfect] al norte. Desde la senda opuesta 61 se volvi6 [preterite] un instante para verla correr con el pelo suelto. Corri6 [preterite] a su vez I...] hasta distinguir en la bruma malva del creptisculo ]a alameda que 1kmaa [imperfect] a ]a casa. (200) Without looking at each other now, bound rigidly to the work that was waiting [imperfect] for them, they went [preterite] their separate ways at the door of the cabin. She was [imperfect] to follow the path that Led [imperfect] to the north. From the opposite path he turned [preterite] for an instant to watch her run, her hair loose. He in turn ran [preterite] [... ] until distinguishing in the purple hue of twilight the walk that led[imperfect] to the house. This use of both the preterite and the imperfect continues to define the structure of the narration in the second story until el amante enters the house: Los perros no Achfan [imperfect] ladrar y no ladraron [preterite]. El mayordomo no estarfa a esa hora, y no msiah [imperfect]. Subi6 [preterite] los peldafios del porche y entr6 [preterite]. Desde ]a sangre galopando en sus ofdos le gban [imperfect] las palabras de la mujer. (200) The dogs were not supposed [imperfect] to bark and they did not bark [preterite]. The manager of the estate would not be there at that time and he was not there [imperfect]. He went up [preterite] the steps of the porch and entered [preterite] the house. From the blood pounding in his ears the words of the woman were coming [imperfect] back to him. At this very point when el amante enters the house, Cortizar does something that from a grammatical or even traditional narrative point of view is quite unexpected. The final part of the story is narrated in a series of short phrases in which there are no verbs. [...] primero una sala azul, despu6s una galerfa, una escalera alfombrada. En lo alto dos puertas. Nadie en la primera habitaci6n, nadie en ]a segunda. La puerra del sal6n, y entonces el pufial en ]a mano, la luz de los ventanales, el alto respaldo de un sill6n de terciopelo verde, la cabeza de un hombre en el sill6n leycndo una novela. (200) [...] first a large blue room, then a gallery, a carpeted staircase. At the top two doors. Nobody in the first room, nobody in the second. The door to the study, and then dagger in his hand, the light from the picture windows, the high back of a green velvet armchair, the head of a man in the armchair reading a novel. The effect of deleting all verb forms from the final part of the narration increas-

es the tension. 6 The image is much like a film in which the physical progression 210

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of the killer through the house is told in a series of jump cuts, with each phrase of the text signaling the killer's irreversible advance toward the victim. A corresponding effect of these verbal jump cuts is to take control away from the reader, who is no longer given time or even textual space to process the idea that the killer is making his way through the house. The rapidity of the movement, enhanced by the deletion of all verbs and abrupt advancing creates the effect not only of the confusion of vertigo but of the forced nature of the narration as well. One can argue that the missing verbs are imperfects: "[there was] ýiblue room. [...] At the top [there were] two doors. [There was] nobody in the first room." But one may also argue just as convincingly that the missing verbs are preterites: "[He passed] a blue room. At the top [he saw] two doors. [He saw] nobody in the first room." This ambiguity of aspect is possible because of the outside reader's expectations created by the earlier use of the preterite and imperfect (story one) or just imperfect (story two) to create the narrative structure. The disappearance of all verb forms at the end of story two essentially creates a third story or narration, one in which the distance between story one and story two has disappeared because both are now part of the same story. Lagmanovich has identified the fusion of the two stories as the continuity or "continuidad" created by the author (181). Cort•izar signals the move to this third part in which the two stories become the same text by switching from the imperfect (narrative structure of story two) to the preterite and imperfect (narrative structure of story one). Lunn argues that the narrative is divided into three parts, each signaled by a change in use of the preterite and imperfect. She identifies the preterite and imperfect as markers of story one, the imperfect as a marker of the story of the novel, and the resumption of the preterite's use to signal that the lovers have entered the husband's world as a marker of the third part of the text (Lunn and Albrecht 230). 1would like to suggest that the narrative has four parts, the three identified above and a fourth part that is created at the end of the "Continuidad de los parques" in which the outside reader continues to bring the story to a conclusion. In this fourth part a conclusion (or lack thereof) is created by the way in which the short story ends and is ultimately narrated individually by each outside reader. This handing over of the narrative to other authors is marked by the complete absence of text by Cort-izar, and the signaling of the impending absence of text takes place in the last part of"Continuidad de los parques" where no finite verb forms are used. TME READER AS VOYEUR Santiago Juan-Navarro offers a metaphorical reading of "Continuidad de los parques" in which readers who read only to consume are punished (242).7 In his analysis, Juan-Navarro draws attention to CortAzar's desire to make the reader an accomplice, a co-participant and ultimately a coauthor of the text (243). It is possible, however, to take Juan-Navarro's analysis to a deeper level and identify the ways in which the reader of "Continuidad de los parques" is at first seduced and then later coerced into becoming a voyeur or co-participant in the text. On one SUMMER 2009, VOL. 56, NO. 3

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level, the man reading the novel may be described as a voyeur. As he is pleasurably drawn into the story or sdrdida disyuntiva he is reading, CorrAzar describes him thus: "fue testigo del dltimo encuentro en ]a cabafia del monte" (199, "he was a witness to the last meeting in the cabin in the wild"). It is also made abundandy clear that the protagonist takes a sensual enjoyment in the whole process of reading-in both escaping his own reality and, through the act of reading, watching two people plot to commit a horrible crime. Gozaba del placer casi perverso de irse desgajando lfnea a lfnea de lo que Jo rodeaba, y sentir a la vez que su cabeza descansaba c6modamente en el terciopelo del alto respaldo, que los cigarrillos segufan al alcance de la mano, que mSs adli de los ventanales danzaba el aire del arardecer bajo los robles. (199) He was enjoying the almost perverse pleasure of breaking away line by line from what surrounded him, and feeling at the same time that his head was resting comfortably on the velvet of the chair's high back, that his cigarettes were still there at hand's reach, that just beyond the large windows danced the twilight air underneath the oak trees. It is a process in which reading provides the means of escape. Part of his enjoyment comes from the delightful sensation that he is anchored in his world (as he reads he can feel his head resting on the back of his chair; he knows his cigarettes are just out of reach) while partially dangling himself in the other world, where he is not in control. He is experiencing a sensation of feeling helpless and suspended from reality, but not so much that he feels he cannot get back to his world if he needs to. Another part of his enjoyment comes from participating voyeuristically in the illicit affair and plans of the two lovers. As testigo, the protagonist reader watches a very private scene unfold between two people plotting a murder. I, the outside reader, also become a voyeur as I read this story, at first innocently, but then in a much more sinister, coerced way. As the protagonist reader in the story becomes engrossed in the novel, I (the outside reader) become engrossed in watching him read the novel. Cort6zar describes in careful detail how the protagonist is settled in his study, in an armchair facing a window that looks toward a grove of oak trees. The setting is one of complete privacy and safety from intrusion. Cortmzar makes a point of noting that the protagonist is sitting with his back to the door, considering any interruption a bother. Yet I, as reader, am allowed to watch this other reader in a private, very personal act. The protagonist is clearly enjoying reading in his carefully prepared and protected time of solitude as he allows his left hand to caressingly stroke the chair's green velvet. If he were reading in the presence of other people, would the reader in the story be as relaxed, or would he caress the chair's arm? I, as reader, gain a sense of enjoyment from watching him in private. The sense of enjoyment is innocent enough; 1, too, understand the powerful draw of fiction that tempts me to leave my world and enter it. I also enjoy watching someone else in a personal moment. The innocent, harmless voyeurism that brings me pleasure at the beginning of the story becomes much more coerced and uncomfortable by the end of the 212

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story. When I realize that the descriptions of the house el amante is in are disturbingly similar to the house the protagonist reader is in, I become even more uneasy. I identify with the man reading the book, not the lover, and I start to suspect that I have been tricked. Contrary to my expectation, I am no longer in the room with the reader. I am now accompanying the stalker, and what makes the discomfort even more acute is that I am aware of the change but the protagonist reader is not. After all, I can see the back of his head on the chair. He has nor turned around to catch the assassin in the act of sneaking up on him. This last voyeurism has been forced on me. As the outside reader I have been made complicit in an act that I do not want to be a part of. Cor•izar's careful manipulation of the two tenses becomes the means of invasion in which the outside reader is made complicit. He uses the preterite and imperfect to aid in the creation of the reader as a stalker by creating the perception that the outside reader is at a safe distance from the text, reading about someone who is reading. At this safe distance the outside reader willingly enjoys being a voyeur or stalker, watching the protagonist reader in a private act of enjoying himself Part of what makes it feel innocent and safe to*be a voyeur is the traditional use of the preterite and imperfect to create the narrative structure of story one. Having established the first story by using the preterite and the imperfect, the exclusive use of the imperfect associated with the second story increases the perception of distance. Lunn observes this as well when she writes that "the use of the imperfect relegates events of the novel to the background of the story' This aspectual marking invites readers of the story to assume that the conventions of reading are being observed. Fiction is unreal, but the readers of it are real" (229). I propose that it is in story two where the outside reader feels doubly removed and at an even safer distance because of the sole use of the imperfect to narrate the story of the novel. But a subtle shift has occurred in narrative perspective that is hidden within Cortizar's move to imperfect verb forms only. As the imperfect forms take over and mark the narration of the novel, the perceived distance from el amante is rapidly decreased as the outside reader no longer filters everything through the protagonist reader in the first story. The outside reader begins to process the action directly. The outside reader starts out in the quiet, private study of a man reading a novel; as the second story unfolds, the outside reader accompanies a lover down the mountain. The outside reader watches him turn to look at his girlfriend run along her path. His watching her is critical, not only because it reinforces the theme of one person watching another without her knowing it, but it joins the outside reader to the watching. I watch him looking at her. My new point of view has been thrust on me, but the change has been so subtle that I am not yet aware of it. It is a point of view over which I have no control and which functions to deceive me. I think I am doubly removed from the action because the lovers' story is within another story. But as I watch el amante make his way down the mountain, approach a house, and then enter the house with a knife in his band, the voyeurism starts to become a little more uncomfortable. SUMMER 2009, VOL. 56, NO. 3

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My point of view has become detached from the original reader and attached to the stalker. I follow el amante down the mountain. I see what he sees. When he enters the house, I go with him and then realize that my textual sense of safety and distance has been pulled out from underneath me. I am going with him to watch firsthand his murder of the protagonist reader in story one. The disappearance of my safe distance is accompanied by the discomfort of knowing I am now narratively aligned with the point of view of the stalker as he walks into the study. The switch to the imperfect, which marks story two, is the grammatical pivot that hooks the outside reader and results in the reader turning into a stalker. In a subtle but effective inversion, the innocent voyeurism that I participate in at the story's beginning turns into a forced voyeurism that smacks of sordid betrayal. I am helpless to prevent what is about to happen, but I am complicit in the killer's plan. I know more than the reader in the green velvet armchair because he has not yet turned to see his attacker. The expectations with which I started the story (the presumption of a safe distance from the text, the innocent voyeurism) came with the use of traditional narrative techniques. Now both have been taken away, and my expectations have betrayed me. Having created the perception of removal from the text, CortAzar manipulates the tenses to remove the distance and drop the reader and the protagonist reader into the story. This forced penetration of the outside reader into the text is paralleled by the invasive reading by the protagonist reader, voyeuristically and sensually drawn inescapably into the novel he is reading. The penetration by the outside reader in the first story into the heart of the second story is subtly and carefully signaled by Cort6.ar by four increasingly narrow references to the text itself that take place in this order: novela 'novel' to capitulos 'chapters' to lnea a l1nea 'line by line' to palabraa palabra'word by word' (199): Line 1: Habla empezado a leer la novela unos dias antes. 'He had begun to read the novel a few days ago.' Line 12: y sepuso a leer los u•ltimos capitylas 'and he began to read the last chapters' Line 15: Gozaba delplacer casiperversode irse desgajando lUnea a linea de Io que lo rodeaba. 'He was enjoying the almost perverse pleasure of breaking away line by line from what surrounded him.' Line 20: Palabraa tPalabra,absorbidopor la sdrdida disyuntiva de los hbroes, dejdndose ir hacia las imdgenes. 'Word by word, absorbed in the sordid dilemma of the heroes, allowing himself to go toward the images.' The textual narrowing is important because the more closed the passage, the less room there is for turning around. The use of ever-more narrow terms to refer to the text of story two creates a diminishing distance between the protagonist reader in the first story and the narrative of the second story. The last two references, especially (l1nea and palabra), are accompanied by statements clearly describing the protagonist reader willingly losing himself in the second text. It is almost as if we watch him walk farther and farther away from us into the woods. 214

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The penetration of the protagonist reader in the first story into the text of the second story corresponds to his gradual release of the reality of the study to enter the mysterious, unknown, and uncontrollable reality of the second text. This creates the sensation that precedes vertigo: the willing entry into a situation that could result in helplessness or confusion. Just as the narration has four distinct parts, the entry of the protagonist reader into the second story can be marked at four points. The invasion of the stalker into the protagonist reader's study parallels the same kind of slow but inevitable narrowing evident in his gaining entry to the house. El amante approaches the grounds of the house, enters the house by the front porch, walks upstairs and down the hallway, and then enters the study. But this is more than simple penetration into the house. There is a parallel penetration of the reader into the text in which voyeurism has been turned into stalking and the outside reader is now complicit in the invasion, the stalking of the prey. The theme of penetration marked by four points of ever-narrowing entry at the beginning of the story and paralleled in a much more aggressive way at its end also takes place on a meta-reading level for the outside reader. The four points are the four parts of the narrations. 1, the outside reader, go from the first story to the second one, assuming I am at a safe enough distance as reader to engage in a bit of innocent voyeurism. But I am quickly and uncomfortably ushered into the third story. In the final part of this third story, narrated without verbs, the abrupt jump cuts take away my sense of control and create a state of anxiety and then a complete suspension of safety (reader safety is an expectation) as the awareness grows that the reader in story one is now the victim. And it is I, the outside reader, who create part four, or the denouement, individually authored and narrated. Todorov has defined the fantastic as a hesitation, the duration of uncertainty, when an event that cannot be explained by the laws of our world appears to have been suspended (25). Todorov also states that the fantastic "implies an integration of the reader into the world of characters" (31) and that the reader must decide whether or not what she or he perceives derives from reality (41). With "Continuidad de los parques," Cort6iar has written the ultimate fantastic text. The traditional laws of fiction have been suspended because a character has come out of a novel to kill a reader and we, the outside readers of "Continuidad de los parques," are faced with a decision. Do we accept that "Continuidad" is just a piece of fiction and that, accordingly, the laws of fiction have not been suspended, or do we decide that these laws have indeed been suspended because a character is not supposed to cross stories and kill its reader? Although previous critics have discussed the use of the preterite and the imperfect to mark the narrative structure of CorrAzar's story, what they have not shown is how CortAzar uses the preterite and the imperfect to manipulate the outside reader, coercing her or him into the role of a stalker and partial author of the text. Todorov has written that the fantastic "leads a life full of dangers and may evaporate at any moment" (41). In this analysis, I show how CortAzar SUMMER 2009, VOL 56, NO. 3

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has successfully created a metafantastic text with "Continuidad de los parques" whereby the fantastic is a continuidador continuous text from which a reader may not emerge from the limbo of indecision and may indeed remain trapped in the fantastic, led there by her or his own willingness to be seduced. Hampden-Sydney College NOTES 1. Lagmanovich argues convincingly that the novel the man is reading is D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley'sLover (180). 2. The translations are mine unless otherwise noted. 3. It is not uncommon for Spanish instructors to tell students that the preterite moves the narrative forward (e.g., gives the play-by-play, to use sport-casting terminology), whereas the imperfect fills in the details (e.g., gives the color, to continue the sport-casting terminology). 4. In this article, I will refer to the reader in the text as the "protagonist reader" and the real-life reader as the "outside reader." 5. Lagmanovich observes that the reappearance of the preterite at this point in "Continuidad de los parques" is marked as significant by Cortrzar's use of a new paragraph, the only paragraph division in the story. Lagmanovich also observes that the resumption in use of the preterite signals that the narrative is no longer marked as fictitious and has returned to the original story (183). 6. Lunn and Albrecht provide an analysis that persuasively blends linguistic structure and literary imagery. They show how the three-part change in structure between preterite and imperfect, to only imperfect, and back to preterite and imperfect is also paralleled visually (reader's study to mountain and then back to study) and narratively (story to novel and back to story) (230). 7.Juan-Navarro connects Cortizar's fictional author Morelli in Rayuela to the type of reader Morelli wishes to destroy in "Continuidad de los parques." He argues that the death of the protagonist reader at the end of "Continuidad" symbolizes the death of the prefabricated text and that it is the author's duty to extend to the reader or co-participea disturbing invitation to aggression in order to create fiction (247). WORKS CITED Cortrzar, Julio. "Continuidad de los parques." Cuentos y Microcuentos. Ed. Guillermo Castillo-Felid. New York- Holt, 1978. 199-200. Juan-Navarro, Santiago. "79 0 99 / Modelos para desarmar: Claves para una lectura morelliana de 'Continuidad de los parques' de Julio CortAzar." HispanicJournal 13.2 (1992): 241-49. Lagmanovich, David. "Estrategias del cuento breve en Cornizar: Un paseo por 'Continuidad de los parques'." Explicacidn de textos literarios17.1-2 (1988): 177-85. Lunn, Patricia V., and Jane W. Albrecht. "The Grammar ofTechnique: Inside 'Continuidad de los parques'." Hispania80.2 (1977): 227-33. Todorov, Tzvetan. The Fantastic:A StmcturalApproach to a Literary Genre. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1975.

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