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Special Section: Blue Short Stories

“Every water has its own rules and offering”: An Amphibious Interpretation of Anne Carson’s Blue-Green Short Story “1 = 1”

Monika Class
p. 83-102

Résumés

D’abord publiée dans le magazine The New Yorker en janvier 2016, “1 = 1” de Anne Carson aborde de profondes questions relatives à l’acte de nager dans un vaste étendu d’eau, en tant qu’animal terrestre humain, ou non-humain. La nouvelle présente l’eau comme étant à la fois une base matérielle, une mythologie et un trope du combat que mène le personnage féminin principal afin de se connecter à son environnement. L’eau est aussi le medium de ses lamentations au sujet des vies perdues des réfugiés de la Méditerranée et contribue au rôle ekphrastique qu’emprunte la commentatrice au sujet des représentations visuelles des développements écologiques et géopolitiques que propose la nouvelle. Pour mesurer la poétique bleue de la nouvelle de Carson, cet article soumet l’idée qu’en nageant dans le grand lac, le personnage principal parvient à se reconnecter à la pièce d’eau et par extension à sa trans-corporalité, ce qui en retour affecte son commentaire ekphrastique. En cinq mouvements fluides, d’une éco-ekphrasis à l’autre – la carte fictionnelle dans “The Swimmer”, de John Cheever ; deux photographies de réfugiés ; et deux dessins à la craie sur le trottoir d’un quartier résidentiel, en plein jour et dans l’obscurité – la nouvelle invite les lecteurs et lectrices à s’interroger sur les pièges de l’anthropocentrisme et à chérir l’interdépendance des vies aquatiques et terrestres.

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  • 1 Wrong Norma contains the short stories “Flaubert Again” and “We’ve only just begun,” which appeared (...)

1The Canadian poet, professor of Classics and performer Anne Carson (b. 1950) is acclaimed for dissolving the genre boundaries between poetry, play, and prose, between fiction and non-fiction, and between print and performance (Coles; Treisman). While Carson’s verse novels, such as Autobiography in Red (1998) and Red Doc> (2013), have received due scholarly attention, her short stories have not been the subject of many critical studies so far.1 “1 = 1” stands out as her most watery short story. First published in The New Yorker magazine in January 2016 and reprinted in Carson’s latest collection, Wrong Norma, in February 2024, “1 = 1” addresses profound questions about what it means to swim in a large lake as a human and a non-human, terrestrial animal. The elliptic short story captures the central female character’s struggle with the rough waves of the lake during her morning swim and her subsequent observations on two photos of refugees and two chalk drawings on the pavement in front of her apartment. Gauging the significance of water in Anne Carson’s short story requires, this article contends, an amphibious interpretation which is partly grounded in semiotics and partly immersed in ecofeminism. This amphibious reading opens up the ways in which Carson’s composition of narrator and character, intertextuality, and intermediality reflect on trans-corporeality, meaning the inseparability from one’s watery environment. The article examines the porous contours of the main character, the pitfalls of language and identity, the implicit references to the Great Lakes in North America, and the depiction of swimming alone and in cold water. Furthermore, it explores how Homer’s, John Cheever’s, and Roger Deakin’s swim intertexts shine through “1 = 1” and how the four ekphrases evoke affects ranging from horror to hope. The story invites readers to recognize the main character’s insights in her ineptitudes as a swimmer and her idealized vision of the fox’s splashless swim in the lake.

  • 2 The present inquiry into the reading experience of Carson’s short story is located in the area of l (...)

2In line with recent literary and cultural studies calling attention to water (Jue, Mentz, Oppermann), my contention is that Anne Carson’s short story “1 = 1” requires an amphibious interpretation—part dry semiotics, grounded in narratology, intertextuality, and intermediality, and part wet neo-materialism, submerged in the flow of ecofeminism. Regarding the dry part, I first draw on cognitive narratology as theorized by Marco Caracciolo and others (Fludernik, Cohn). Caracciolo’s conceptualization of text-reader interactions presupposes that our reading experiences, different as they can be, depend (at least in part) on readers’ embodied memories (4; see repertoire in Ricoeur Time 64, Iser 69).2 Accordingly, the reading experience of any short story can be said to activate what Caracciolo calls readers’ “experiential background, that is a repertoire of past experiences and values that guides people’s interaction with their environment” (4). “1 = 1,” as I propose, taps into people’s natant background and imagination; that is, their ordinary and imagined experiences of swimming, body memory, and fantasy. Carson’s textual design cues readers in to imagine how the main character moves actively along the surface of the water, stroke by stroke and breath by breath, according to the specific demands of the body of water in which one is submerged: “Every water has its own rules and offering” (Carson, Norma 4). The readers’ identification with the swimming character is, however, constantly interrupted by the narrator, since Carson’s third-person narrative is peppered with free indirect discourse. As a result, the textual design invites readers to let their vantage point oscillate between that of the omniscient narrator and the nameless, female protagonist.

3Secondly, I understand intertextuality as a relational model of literary meaning making, based on the work of Julia Kristeva among other poststructuralist thinkers such as Mikhail Bakhtin or Anabel Ternès. Kristeva’s argument is that Bakhtin was one of the first philosophers of language to argue that the meaning of literary texts is relational to the core. Literary meaning, Kristeva argues, does not emerge from a fixed point or single word or text but from textual overlaps of writing styles (Kristeva “Bachtin” 346; see Alfaro 268, Ternès 13). On this account of dynamic intertextuality, the present article identifies textual relations in “1 = 1” with various texts including Deakin’s Waterlog and the recent rewrites thereof in fiction and non-fiction about woman swimmers.

  • 3 The notion of flow is not explicit in the short story, but it can be described in Amy Beer’s words. (...)

4Thirdly, I draw on the conceptualization of eco-ekphrasis. Ekphrasis can be defined as “verbal representation[s] of . . . visual representations” (Heffernan 35). Accordingly, eco-ekphrases are a special kind of intermediality dedicated “to ecological issues and take on important cultural-critical, ethical and socio-political functions” (Rippl 225). In contemporary anglophone literature, “ekphrases come in many shapes and are sometimes accompanied by pictures” (225). Known as a cue to invite readers’ visual imagination, eco-ekphrasis “has been closely linked to questions of elegy and death”; it has come to be associated with “writing which reflects on questions of (re-)representation” and “epistemological frameworks and cultural hierarchies” (226). The affective charge of Carson’s ekphrases in her short story vary, evoking melancholy and grief as well as wonder and enchantment with non-human grace. Considering narrative, intertextual and intermedial relations, this article explores how Carson’s literary strategies challenge readers throughout the ambiguous short story, encompassing mental swimming exercise and intellectual riddle. What helps readers to make sense of this short story nonetheless is the central character’s perceived ineptitude for swimming splashlessly. Indeed, “1 = 1” emphasizes the female character’s need for constant training as she struggles through rough waves and momentarily manages to reach a flow, gliding smoothly, and pausing her restless intellectualism for a while (Carson, Norma 5).3 Considering the main character’s ineptitudes as a swimmer, the short story privileges water’s agency, especially the rough waters of the huge lake. Such foregrounding of water’s agency calls for wet new materialist theory to analyse the aqueous priority in “1 = 1.”

5Ecofeminist theory has paved the way for the material turn (e.g. Barad; Coole and Frost; Haraway) “which seeks to explain . . . the ‘agency’ of matter and what this might entail” (Hotz et al. 4). Regarding the affordances of water, ecofeminist Stacy Alaimo’s notion of trans-corporeality has been influential for thinking about people’s wet constitution and inseparability from their environment. This concept goes some way to disentangle how the first half of Carson’s short story lays out the environmentalist aspirations that the main character projects onto her lived experience of recreational swimming in a big lake. Alaimo posits that humans are “substantially and perpetually interconnected with the flows of substances and the agencies of environments” (Alaimo, “Suspension” 476). From the trans-corporeal feminist perspective, embodiment is porous and interconnected with the rest of planetary life. In other words, trans-corporeality reveals “the interchanges and interconnections between human corporeality and the more-than-human” (Alaimo, “Trans-Corporeal” 238). Read through the lens of trans-corporeality, it becomes clear that “1 = 1” deals with the material demands that water makes on swimming terrestrial bodies. This theoretical perspective accentuates the lake’s offerings, the light that marine and some terrestrial bodies emit, and the threat of drowning in the story.

6In brief, through the present combination of dry and wet lenses, this article offers an amphibious interpretation of “1 = 1,” encompassing figurations of land and lake, of human and non-human life, and of green and blue. This essay is thus meant as a contribution to “amphibious scholarship that remains attentive to the milieu specificities of ocean environments . . . and the critic’s own norms”—the term introduced by Melody Jue (5; see Frank 13). The traces of the ecological specificities of the Great Lakes in North America are integral to the textual composition of the unnamed huge lake in “1 = 1.” But these traces do not mean that the short story is realist fiction. Rather Carson’s short story straddles between the mimetic representation of a specific aquatic milieu and the abstraction of liquidity. These oscillations between the local milieu and the abstract help to eschew the fetishization of flow “as a theory machine” in this short story (Steinberg and Peters 257). And yet, flow does seem to correspond to the ideal that the main character aspires to.

7“1 = 1” examines what it means, literally, ontologically and ethically speaking, to swim and also what it means to fail at swimming. Narrated in the present tense and in the third person, Carson’s story begins and ends with non-human swimmers, a dog and a fox. The narration contains thoughts, descriptions, direct and indirect speech. The story invites readers to see through the eyes of the central character, a nameless, female swimmer. Her mind is preoccupied with what “the failure to swim” might mean (Carson, Norma 7). The epiphanic but inconclusive insight that the fox does not fail at swimming concludes the story (8). Placed at the beginning of Wrong Norma, the verbal text of “1 = 1” is framed by key words, ordered in four columns, and typed on green-blue interwoven paper squares. This coloured layout anticipates the verbal description of “the blue-green” chalk drawing at the end of the story (7).

8Carson’s experimental short story could be read as a modernist exploration of the main character. Readers are invited to follow her fragmented perceptions of her suburban existence. The woman starts her day with a swim in a large lake while on a visit to the countryside. Then she returns to her urban apartment on one of the upper floors of a building located along a busy road and heated by the scorching sun (7). By chance, she meets a male acquaintance, Chandler, on the sidewalk in front of her apartment and converses with him about the two chalk drawings he has made on the sidewalk. Along these descriptive, uneventful lines, readers can try to fill in the unwritten parts of the text by imagining how her mental states might come to life. Such a reading would follow the modernist expectations for psychological short stories in the tradition of Virginia Woolf’s “An Unwritten Novel” or Katherine Mansfield’s “The Garden Party.” The central character in “1 = 1” would appear as someone burdened by the pressures of modern life (like Woolf’s aged woman on a crowded commuter train or Mansfield’s privileged girl shocked by working-class precarity). Yet such a reading would fail to consider the aesthetic strategies that reinforce the agency of water in the story, “its rules and offering” (Carson, Norma 4).

9The narration gives readers only the bare outlines of the main character. The narrator’s voice converges with the central character for the largest part of the story. We see this convergence, for instance, at the moment when the nameless woman expresses her environmentalist conviction: “There is a mental pressure to swim well and to use water correctly” (4). The central character’s mental struggle and her apparent failure to live up to this aqueous imperative are part of her trans-corporeality. She is alienated from her environment. Free indirect speech conveys how she considers herself to be a solitary, selfish individual: “She is one of the most selfish people she has ever known, she . . . seem(s) to swipe through the lives of others like a random bear paw, often making matters worse” (5). The simile, “like a random bear paw,” indicates the female character’s awareness of having hurt others unintentionally. She takes a predominantly negative view of the marks that she leaves on her surroundings. The simile evokes both the unwitting infliction of pain on others and the main character’s own scars and vulnerabilities. Part of her attraction to water seems to be its fluidity; it is impossible to scratch water with bear paws—they only splash water. Swimming “splashlessly” is the character’s apparent wish (8); she seems to aspire to glide as smoothly as possible through the water, as other animals do, and—metaphorically speaking—to flow through life as Chandler does. This character embodies what the narrator calls a “small tide of a person” (6). In contrast to the nameless main character, the story invites readers to imagine Chandler as a recognizably fluid being with a name (Kunin 25). All they learn about the female protagonist is that she is a highly intellectual, athletic, and self-conscious type of person. As such, the main character mainly works as a proxy for the reader that adores wild swimming.

10Elsewhere in “1 = 1,” the focalizing character notes that “[c]onversation is precarious” (Carson, Norma 6). This concern runs through the story like a red thread. The short story’s mathematical title anticipates the central character’s distrust in the power of language, which she expresses repeatedly in the story. The focalizer feels that the act of swimming finally relieves her from the burden of formulating “well-crafted similes” (6). She is troubled by the insufficiency of words and syntax: “Sentences are strategic. They let you off” (6). The short story suggests that despite her effort to connect with water through swimming, the female figure is to some extent trapped in her “singularity” (6). What is meant by “singularity” remains open.

11Readers of “1 = 1” learn that swimming affords the main character the opportunity to pause her obsession with syntax and verbs, enter the flow of the lake and receive its offerings. One could say that she only feels her trans-corporeality when she manages to swim well in this body of water. Sentimentally or not, the woman cries before she enters the water, which accentuates the wet constitution of her eyes (Neimanis 2). Her weeping seems predominantly cathartic: cued by Bach’s clavichord exercise, the character envisions her own (distant) funeral, where she “plans to have” the piece played (Carson, Norma 4)—“Thinking of it [her funeral] she weeps slightly” (4). Nothing else is said to explain the tears, but the image of the weeping woman on the shoreline indicates human transience and echoes the weeping Odysseus in Book Five of The Odyssey, where, captured on Calypso’s Island and homesick, he stares into the sea (Homerus 73). The female figure in Carson’s short story is about to enter is the “big lake,” whipped “by wind and tides” (4). Seeing her reflection in the smooth surface of the pool, as Narcissus does, is out of the question. Instead, she is conscious of her inadequacy for the task ahead: she does not know how to get into the rough water even though she appears to have swum in this nameless lake many times before.

12No cues are given that the woman reconnects with any ancestral ties as Indigenous Hawai‘ian surfers do (Ingersoll 1). Instead, the female persona in Carson’s short story observes the lake from the shoreline, watching how a dog tirelessly retrieves sticks the owner has thrown into the water. The story leaves open what specific “big lake” it is, though the description of the “(h)igh waves” (4) and their special demands on swimmers point to the five Great Lakes of North America. There, the high tides can pose a risk for swimmers since the interval between waves is shorter than it is between oceanic waves (“Play”). Another reason for supposing the Great Lakes inform the specific representation of this big lake is that this region boasts one of the author’s places of residence. Having moved to Ann Arbor in 2009, Carson reports in an interview that she composed parts of Wrong Norma near the shores of Lake Eerie (“Wrong Norma”).

13Carson’s short story has the potential to resonate specifically with imagined communities in Canada (Anderson). As limnologist and oceanographer Warwick Vincent observes, people in Canada “like to think that [they] have the largest number of lakes of any nation, including the North American Great Lakes that [Canadians] share with the USA and that hold 20 percent of the world’s surface freshwater” (4). However, Russia is also a “lake-rich country”: Lake Baikal is “the deepest in the world” and holds another “20 percent of the surface freshwater on Earth” (4). In one of the earliest travelogues about Western Canada, William Francis Butler’s The Great Lone Land (1872), the Great Lakes are described as “immense inland seas” (18). Indeed, the Great Lakes challenge the distinction between ocean and lake, between a boundless waterbody and one surrounded by land (Connery). Despite its strong associations with characteristics of the Great Lakes, the precise name of the big lake in Carson’s short story remains unclear. It seems to be part of Carson’s narrative strategy to invite her audience to think mimetically about any “big” inland waterbody with high waves. These possible references include Walden Pond, one of the most famous literary lakes in North America. In doing so, this short story dissolves national boundaries between Canada and the United States in much the same way as it liquefies distinctions between ocean and lake, except for the material difference between salt- and freshwater.

14Despite the lake’s vastness, the swimmer swims by herself, the dog and his owner having left the shore: “Now she is alone” (4). Loneliness here can mean an escape from social constraints, but for the character herself, being alone in this situation signifies risk above all else. The narration draws attention to the character’s willingness to hand herself over to the power of the rough waters: “You have no personhood there and water is uninterested in itself. . . . There is no renunciation (cf. meditation), no striving to detach, all these things, all the things you can name, being simply gone. Meaning, gone” (5). Inasmuch as the story withholds the details of the woman’s name and life, it conveys that the central character thinks that water is “pure, impure, compassionless” (5). “1 = 1” strongly suggests that the high demands of the rough lake afford the woman the opportunity to experience her trans-corporeality.

15The woman’s act of submerging herself into these rough waters is tersely expressed in four words: “cold but not shocking” (4). The phrase resonates with any reader who has tried wild swimming in the Global North, where water temperatures are generally thought of as “cold,” even if those of the Great Lakes, for instance, have risen in tandem with spring and summer temperatures (EPA). The “shocking” coldness makes the female swimmer feel “the bolt of pure aliveness” (5). The narration omits how the swimmer crosses the beach zone into the deep water. Instead, the narrator uses a simile: “like entering the water on a still morning with the world empty in every direction to the sky” (5). The comparison extends the vision of the lake to the horizon of new possibilities.

16“1 = 1” is interwoven with subtle hints that the human body requires protheses and constant training to swim well in natural waterbodies. And so it is that the character wears flippers and googles. She depends on these protheses to abide by the “rules and offerings” (4) of these rough waters: “Now she can stream into the water and stay there” (5). Her energetic swim points to trans-corporeality in the story, alludes to the human subtext of gendered perseverance and resonates with the hydrological conditions of big lakes.

17The story suggests that felicitous (as opposed to failed) swimming means that one needs to connect with the unique stream of specific waterbodies and with their geological histories. This connection can take the shape, among others, of catching one of the waterbody’s currents. For the focalizing character, good swimming consists in finding “your way into its [water’s] structures, its ancientness, its history as an entity without response to you” (5). The use of the second-person singular either taps into readers’ extant knowledge about or experience of navigating lakes or invites them to seek more information about lakes’ milieu specificities. As a body of water, lakes are “constantly in motion, energized by the sun and the wind. Depending on the season, the lake may be composed of layers that differ, sometimes surprisingly, in temperature, oxygen, color, salt content, and many other properties, with periods of mixing each year that break down its layered structure” (Vincent 2). Furthermore, lakes are intricately connected with the surrounding slow-moving conduits of water, forming an orderly flow on the one hand and flowing disorderly on the other hand due to disruptive “wind-induced swirls, gyres, and counter currents, while waves form and break, even out of view beneath the surface” (Vincent 2). In “1 = 1,” water’s “complicit[y] in the [swimmer’s] intrusion” (Carson, Norma 5) alludes the fact that lakes are never undisturbed in the first place. Disturbances are part of their nature. In addition, the focalizing character’s meditation on the lake’s “structures, its ancientness, its history” suggests that Charles Darwin “speculated about how life might have first arisen ‘in some warm little pond with all sorts of ammonia and phosphoric salts’” (qtd. in Vincent 2).

18For the main character, it matters most that humans are not born swimmers. Swimming, especially wild swimming, needs to be learnt. Time and training are required for the terrestrial body to gain the somatic memory of the “ten thousand adjustments of vivid action” that are necessary to navigate wild waters well (Carson, Norma 5). Furthermore, land dwellers cannot breathe in the water. It follows that “[s]wimming has a stoniness, water being as different from air as stones” (5). The female swimmer accepts that the human body is no longer in touch with an “aquatic ancestor” (Alaimo, “Suspension” 480). Instead of lamenting the loss of her fishy origin—this “animal that breathed water, had a swim bladder, a great swimming tail, an imperfect skull and undoubtedly was a hermaphrodite” (Darwin qtd. in Alaimo “Suspension” 481)—the focalizing character emphasizes “the instruction of balancing along the water” (Carson, Norma 5). The character’s recreational morning swim in the rough big lake underscores that swimming, in its literal sense, requires instruction and practice. She worries whether she trains enough. These ordinary thoughts tap in readers’ embodied memories and fantasies of wild swimming and, in doing so, resonate with a recent trend in non-fiction publishing.

19The 2016 publication of “1 = 1” coincides roughly with the emergence of swimming memoirs such as Victoria Whitworth’s Swimming with Seals (2017), Diana Nyad’s Find a Way (2016), and Chris Dombrowski’s Body of Water (2016). These life narratives about swimming preceded the explosion of open-water, cold or wild swimming during the COVID-19 pandemic (2020-2023) when people sought fitness alternatives on account of gym and pool closures. The co-authored collection of memoirs At the Pond: Swimming at the Hampstead Ladies’ Pond (2019), Bonnie Tsui’s Why We Swim (2021), Freya Bromley’s The Tidal Year (2023), as well as Amy-Jane Beer’s The Flow (2023) illustrate the works that appeared during and after the pandemic. “1 = 1” can be read as Carson’s unique literary contribution to contemporary women’s counternarratives about female swimming. After all, three influential literary works on wild swimming tend to masculinize swimming: Homer’s Odyssey, Cheever’s “The Swimmer” and, inspired by Cheever, Deakin’s Waterlog.

20The Odyssey seems an obvious intertext for “1 = 1,” written—not insignificantly—by a professor of Classics. It is known that Odysseus is an ambivalent hero in the mythologization of water. Hartmut Böhme pairs him up with Columbus in his Kulturgeschichte des Wassers [Cultural History of Water]. According to Böhme, both myths are driven by a new kind of masculinity and new modes of battle, conquest, otherness and territorialisation (26). Taking a different view, the blue humanist Steve Mentz considers Odysseus not as part of the problem of the history of Western colonization and extraction but rather as a possible solution. Mentz contrasts Odysseus with Achilles, the godlike warrior of The Iliad, doomed to die at Troy. Achilles spills his wrath into Scamander’s flood in ways that mirror human destruction in the course of industrialization and warfare (Ocean 25). Mentz presents Odysseus as the “true” sea-hero, who has proven his worth as a raft-builder, meteorologist, trickster, storyteller, sailor and swimmer (Blue 85). In any case, Carson’s elliptic story feminizes Homer’s content and simultaneously retains the latter’s orality and affinity for similes.

21Two further masculine intertexts in Carson’s amphibious story are Cheever’s well-known short story “The Swimmer” and Deakin’s Waterlog (1999). “The Swimmer” first appeared in The New Yorker on 18 July 1964 and recounts a twisted “domestication of swimming” (28):

Imagine how many pools, ponds, lakes, bays, streams, stretches of swimmable shore there are in the world right now, probably half of them empty of swimmers by reasons of night or negligence. Empty, still, perfect. The waste, the extravagance—why not make oneself accountable to that? Why not swim in all of them? One by one or all at once, geographically and conceptually, putting aside gleaming Burt Lancaster, someone should be using all that water. (Carson, Norma 7)

  • 4 Cheever’s private pools in what appears to be a white neighbourhood are prefigured in the United St (...)

The passage refers to the Lucinda River in Cheever’s story and its adaptation as a film starring Burt Lancaster. Known as a writer of short fiction in the “American tradition of Mark Twain, Ring Lardner, and Damon Runyon,” Cheever drew on myths and described beaches and seaside cottages (Schiff 74, 81). In two of his short stories, for instance, “Brimmer” and “Goodbye, My Brother,” Cheever configures the sea as an entity with “curative, erotic, and even redemptive power” (Gidmark 77). Wild swimming in the sea in “Goodbye, My Brother” has “an effect like baptism, cleansing human spirits of negativity” (Gidmark 78; Mathews). By contrast, “The Swimmer” squeezed—to subtly unsettling effect—Odysseus’s amphibious journey across the wine-dark sea into the interconnected backyard pools of white upper-middle-classes in the USA (Price). In doing so, “The Swimmer” extends the trope of the intrusion of the family’s private home to the private pool (Solan).4 Told in the third-person through the deluded eyes of the main character, Ned Merrill (nicknamed “Neddy”), the short story is about a father who decides to swim home via a network of pools: “In his mind he saw, with a cartographer’s eye, a string of swimming pools, a quasi-subterranean stream that curved across the country . . . he said he was going to swim home” (Cheever 28). Neddy calls these interconnected pools the Lucinda River. The cartographer’s gaze in Cheever’s story maps how Neddy gatecrashes from one garden party on Long Island to the next, swimming approximately eight miles through pools, drinking cocktails, losing strength and suffering near-hypothermia until he reaches his residence, only to find that it is locked, and that his family is gone (19).

22The description invites readers to imagine the fictive map of the pool network, which Neddy believes he has discovered. This imaginary map inspired Deakin. The latter influentially combined nature writing, travelogue, memoir, and cultural history in Waterlog to document how he swam through the British Isles (19). Carson’s “why not make oneself accountable to that?” echoes Deakin’s decision in 1996 to put Neddy’s amphibious journey into practice (19). Deakin swam through “the sea, from rock pools, from rivers and streams, tarns, lakes, lochs, ponds, lidos, swimming pools and spas, from fens, dykes, moats, aqueducts, waterfalls, flooded quarries, even canals,” facing many challenges such as being mistaken for attempting suicide or being detained by water bailiffs in Winchester (Waterstones). Carson’s swimmer feminizes Deakin’s adventures and rewilds Cheever’s domestication of swimming.

23Moreover, the female swimmer’s narrated monologue, “someone should be using all that water,” turns Neddy’s local swim map into a global one. The woman swimmer’s aspiration to swim through all “stretches of swimmable shore there are in the world” (Carson, Norma 7) possibly refers to the swimming marathon called “Ocean’s Seven,” a list of seven channel swims equivalent to the “Seven Summits” mountaineering challenge (Wiersig and Eggers). In an ironic twist, the female swimmer in Carson’s story appears to top Neddy’s self-pride, a feat suggested through her rhetorical question, “Why not swim in all of [the swimmable zones on earth]?” The narrative asks readers to imagine a globalized outdoor swimming map of hitherto uncharted pools, lakes, and littoral zones, as if the latter were at the disposal of swimmers from the Global North irrespective of local socio-ecological conditions. Either the character mocks the hubris of other swimmers, or the narrator mocks the female character’s overconfidence. In either case, the female swimmer’s thinking fetishizes wild swimming. Consequently, Carson’s rewriting of male swimming narratives invites readers to reflect critically on the tourist industry, including eco-tourism, and consider how the tourist-swimming industry is complicit in histories of colonialism and militarism, for instance, in Hawai‘i, where capital interests converge with power, “resulting in the violent marginalization and erasure of a people” (Ingersoll 13).

24The narrative situation opens further interpretations for the imaginary map of unused waterbodies. Provided that it is the disembodied narrator in “1 = 1” who is speaking at this juncture, the meaning of “someone should be using all this water” widens (7). The narrator’s disembodied, omniscient perspective extends the significance of the lexeme “someone” to non-human swimmers. Such a change foreshadows the short story’s final eco-ekphrasis, which revolves around a swimming fox. Considering that the story emphasizes that humans need to learn how to swim, it matters that the first and last swimmers in the story are a dog and a fox. Many quadrupedal mammals are born swimmers, whereas bipedal humans are not: “a dog does not need to learn to swim; it swims without problems from the first time it jumps into the water. Even cats are good swimmers” (Perissi and Bardi 5). Quadrupeds paddle their four legs in the water as if walking, while their head is held up along the relatively straight line of their spine and neck so that they can breathe above the water’s surface (5). Animals might be using all this water better than humans do.

25If the narrative voice at this point is not disembodied but has rather taken the female swimmer’s perspective, the above-quoted passage also suggests that the female has replaced the male figure, Odysseus / Neddy / Burt / Deakin, as the entitled swimmer in global waters. This view resonates with current figurations of swimming where the female figure symbolizes endurance in all stages of life, courage, or stubborn single-mindedness, the will of survival or ambition. One can find this figuration in multiple recent cinema and streaming films, such as the 2023 “Nyad” (Vasarheyli and Chin), a biopic based on the sport memoir written by Diana Nyad; the 2024 “The Swedish Torpedo” (Kempff) about Sally Bauer, who swam across the English Channel in fifteen hours in 1939; and the 2022 “The Swimmers” (El-Hosaini) about two Syrian sisters. The siblings fled their home country across the Mediterranean Sea and reached Lesbos, having had to swim part of the way. Somewhat relatedly, the focalizing character of “1 = 1” is troubled by the plight of refugees when she reads about them in the newspaper—a point to which I will return.

26Part of this feminist gist is the apophasis, “[p]utting aside gleaming Burt Lancaster” (Carson, Norma 7). Apophasis points out something by mentioning its renunciation. The rhetorical dismissal of the actor’s name refers to the 1968 film adaptation, also called “The Swimmer” (Perry). Eleanor and Frank Perry’s movie subverted the hegemonic masculinity so dominant in that decade by drawing attention to the fragility behind the mask of strength. 1990s popular culture nonetheless capitalized on Burt Lancaster’s virile body image, broad shoulders and narrow waist, remediating it as an object of same-sex and different-sex desires, for instance, in the 1992 Levi’s jeans commercial, “Swimmer.” In this commercial, a well-toned male protagonist echoes Neddy’s “odyssey”: Wearing tight jeans, he jumps “in and out of a series of swimming pools . . . his body ogled by” all bystanders (Brown). The negated reference to Burt Lancaster’s body thus puts the diverging cultural valorisation of the swimming body image on the table. It invites readers to visualize the swimming body on a spectrum, where one end marks the fetishization of swimmers by consumer culture as icons of fitness and the other indicates their abjection as migrant swimmers.

27We can see the abjection of swimming in “1 = 1” in one of four eco-ekphrasis: “Across the level of the ocean of her mind come floating certain refugees in a makeshift plastic boat so crowded with passengers they are stacked in layers and dropping over the sides. She had seen this picture” (7). The description of the precariously floating refugees in the story addresses the arrival of “the global refugee crisis” in Europe in 2015 when “an increasing number of people risked their lives to cross the Mediterranean Sea in search of safety and protection” (Agency 82). During this year, “some 3,770 people died or were reported missing in the Mediterranean Sea” (Agency 82). Carson’s ekphrasis captures a moment in the dangerous journey across the sea—it remains open in the story what will happen to the people on the boat. The focalizing character imagines what it is like to pass a plastic boat on one of the larger ships that “would stop to consider the woe and odds, then keep going” (7). The frozen moment—“the desolation of that moment”—presents readers with a lament for the precious lives lost and a regret about the inactions of the onlooker on the large boat: “What is the price of desolation and who pays. Some questions don’t warrant a question mark” (7). This eco-ekphrasis is part of the focalizing character’s reflection on what it means to fail swimming.

28This question is partly motivated by the photo on the frontpage of the woman’s newspaper. Upon the character’s return to her urban flat, the perusal of her newspaper makes her realize that her morning swim and the refugee crisis “exist side by side in the world we live in” (5). The paper bears on the front page “photos of a train car in Europe jammed floor to door with escaped victims of a war zone further south, people denied access” (5). On the one hand, the spectre of death seems to haunt the verbal representation of the picture: “uncountable arms and legs, torn-open eyes, locked all night in a train waiting for dawn” (5). The eco-ekphrasis mentions arms, legs, and eyes as if they were lifeless parts, severed from bodies or dismembered. The verbal description thus potentially alludes to the death of seventy people, who were found dead not in a train but in an abandoned truck in Austria on 28 August 2015 (Agency 12). On the other hand, the focalizing character emphasizes “the grip to survive” in the photograph. Irrespectively, this ekphrasis introduces the second part of the story, marking the turning point at which the focalizing female character thinks that her sentences are deceptive because “[t]hey let you off” (6).

29The narrative switches from the internal voice of the character to the omniscient narrator, who tells readers that the main character goes downstairs to the street level where she happens to see someone she calls “Comrade Chandler” (5). He is drawing a pear tree on the sidewalk using chalk. It is short: “She [the main character] can see the pears all over it [the tree], small perfect green chalk globes with yellow-cream-white highlights” (6). However, the focalizing character’s perception of the chalk drawing changes, “looking at the very round chalky pale pears, mushrooms come to mind” (6). She shares her thoughts with Chandler. As a response to her observation, he starts a new drawing: “Red chalk in hand, it will be a fox, he likes his fox at the end of the day” (7). This sentence leads to the fourth and last eco-ekphrasis that is covered in the present article. In a nocturnal atmosphere, Chandler calls on the main character to show her his mural on the sidewalk:

The finished fox drawing is under a streetlamp. It glows. He has used some sort of phosphorescent chalk and the fox, swimming in a blue-green jellylike lucidity of its own, is escaping all possible explanations. She stares at the blue-green. It has clearness, wetness, coolness, the deep-lit self-immersedness of water. You made a lake, she says, turning to him, but he is gone. (7)

This verbal representation of an imaginary chalk drawing might point to the fact that fungi are more closely related to animals than to plants (Money 1). It seems likely that the missing link between the mushroom and the fox is the word “fox-fire” (“what art, fox, bioluminescence”), which connotes the “phosphorescent light of emitted by decaying timber” (OED). After all, Chandler draws a fox glowing in green phosphorescent chalk as if this terrestrial mammal emitted bioluminescence, which means “luminescence [emitted] from living organisms” (Shimomura and Yampolsky xxiii). In any case, the eco-ekphrasis of the fox concludes the story, the narrator observing that “[t]o be alive is just this pouring in and out. Ethics minimal. Try to swim without thinking how it looks” (7). The commentary fetishizes “pouring” and the earnest addition “Beware mockery, mockery is too easy” (7) reinforces this didactic morale even further. And yet, ambivalence remains.

30The final ekphrasis points to the phenomenon of bioluminescence. The emission of light from animals and fungi has “inspired the curiosity and interest of mankind ever since ancient times of Aristotle (384-322 B.C.) and Pliny (23-79 A.D.)” (Shimomura and Yampolsky xxiii). For Serpil Oppermann, bioluminescence illustrates how the sea has its own “aquatic voices” (25). By extension, bioluminescence can be said to be capable of “hydro-material” storytelling (25). In Amitav Gosh’s Gun Island (2019), for instance, bioluminescence features as a sign of hope when, at the end of the novel, the migrants in the boat on the Mediterranean Sea have an epiphanic vision of “the graceful shadows of leviathans in the glowing green water below” (qtd. in Monaco 83). Carson’s bioluminescent ending promises continuity for humans and nonhumans at least in the central character’s mind: “She stands awhile watching the fox swim . . . stroking splashlessly forward. The fox does not fail” (7). This is the final sentence. The last eco-ekphrasis of the story suggests that the fox is a superior swimmer compared to a human. But due the ambivalence who speaks, narrator or character, there is also room for other interpretations; one of them being that the main character (in the ekphrastic role of art critic) might project a lake on what could be a green glowing forest in bluish darkness. Chandler, the artist, is no longer there to tell or correct the female spectator. This interpretative possibility points to a terrestrial realm alongside the lake. The attribute “blue-green” (Carson, Norma 7) accentuates the interdependence of water and land. Inconclusive as it is, the ending of Carson’s story invites readers to treasure the interdependence of terrestrial and aquatic life.

31To sum up, this article contends that, on account of the agency of water, “1 = 1” is best analysed through a lens that combines dry semiotics and wet ecofeminism through the concepts of narration, intertextuality, intermediality, and trans-corporeality. The resulting amphibious interpretation foregrounds the aesthetic strategies in “1 = 1,” which cue readers to think of the main character as their proxy and guide to consider the question what swimming means. I suggest that swimming in the story makes trans-corporeality experienceable. The elliptic description of the character’s consciousness taps into readers’ experiential background or fantasies of wild swimming, referring to risks, water temperatures, swimming gear, lake currents and weather conditions, and to the evolutionary and cultural history of lakes. Free indirect discourse does much to facilitate the oscillation between the traces of the mimetic representations of the Great Lakes, possibly Eerie Lake, and the philosophical abstractions of swimming. The analysis of the four eco-ekphrases in the story foregrounds the global implications of swimming, from colonialist tourism to the plight of migrants. The short story participates in the dynamic constitution of literary meaning by overlapping with the medium-specific archive of The Odyssey, “The Swimmer” and its film adaptation, Waterlog, and many other swimming memoirs. Embedded in this literary archive as well as in reality, the meaning of “1 = 1” privileges water’s agency. In this spirit, the short story ends with a non-human image of grace: the fox swimming splashlessly in the bioluminescent lake.

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Notes

1 Wrong Norma contains the short stories “Flaubert Again” and “We’ve only just begun,” which appeared previously in magazines and journals such as Harper’s Magazine and The Paris Review.

2 The present inquiry into the reading experience of Carson’s short story is located in the area of literary and cultural studies that engages with the debate on critique and postcritique, which is spearheaded by Rita Felski. The present analysis is a heuristic modelling of how reader and text cocreate a reading experience. This model is also indebted to Paul Ricoeur’s hermeneutical phenomenology that “discourse never exists for its own sake, for its own glory, but that in all of its uses it seeks to bring into language experience, a way of living in and of Being-in-the-world” (Ricoeur “Interpretation” 196, see Class). “Reading experience” in the article is used here as synonymous with “aesthetic experience,” as in making sense of how literature relates to the material world.

3 The notion of flow is not explicit in the short story, but it can be described in Amy Beer’s words. Drawing on the psychology of flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Beer notes that “in a flow state, body and mind are wholly absorbed, time appears to slow down, obstacles seem manageable, stress and anxiety are virtually non-existent” (177).

4 Cheever’s private pools in what appears to be a white neighbourhood are prefigured in the United States by racial segregation and later mid-twentieth-century attempts at desegregation. The latter entailed a “white flight from public pools, leading to a decline in usage and the rise of private swimming spaces” according to Bonnie Tsui (40).

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Monika Class, « “Every water has its own rules and offering”: An Amphibious Interpretation of Anne Carson’s Blue-Green Short Story “1 = 1” »Journal of the Short Story in English, 85 | 2025, 83-102.

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Monika Class, « “Every water has its own rules and offering”: An Amphibious Interpretation of Anne Carson’s Blue-Green Short Story “1 = 1” »Journal of the Short Story in English [En ligne], 85 | Automn 2025, mis en ligne le 12 décembre 2025, consulté le 16 janvier 2026. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/jsse/4797

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Auteur

Monika Class

Lund University

Monika Class is Associate Professor in English Literature at the Centre of Languages and Literature at Lund University and member of the Lund Environmental Humanities Hub, founded in 2024. She earned her doctoral degree in English Literature from the University of Oxford in 2009. Her publications include the monograph Coleridge and Kantian Ideas in England, 1796-1817: Coleridge’s Responses to German Philosophy (2012), the anthology Literature and Philosophy of the Romantic Period (2024), and numerous articles and essays on literature, embodiment, and landscape. One of her current projects examines the aquatic turn in contemporary British poetry from the perspective of the environmental humanities.

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