Corso di Laurea Magistrale

in Lingue e Letterature Europee,

Americane e Postcoloniali

Tesi di Laurea

The Ambiguous British Self

in Zadie Smith’s White Teeth

Relatore
Prof. Flavio Gregori

Correlatore
Prof. Shaul Bassi

Laureando
Chiara Maruzzo
820709

Anno Accademico
2012 / 2013
Index

Introduction .............................................................................. 1

1. Individual and National Identity: an Overview ................ 5

1.1 Selfhood and Individual Identity ........................................... 5

1.2 The Construction of National Identities: the Case of

Englishness ................................................................................ 14

1.3 Zadie Smith’s White Teeth: an “audaciously contribution to

[the] process of staring into the mirror”1 ................................... 18

2. Britishness’ Various Selves in Zadie Smith’s White

Teeth: an Analysis of the Novel’s Characters ................ 25

2.1 Introduction ......................................................................... 25

2.2 Ancestry and Historical Roots ............................................. 27

2.2.1 Samad’s relationship to his ancestry and past history ............... 27
2.2.2 Irie’s relationship to her genealogical roots ............................... 33
2.2.3 Comparing and Contrasting Samad’s and Irie’s attitudes ......... 39

1
Caryl Philips, quoted in Head, 107
 2.3 Racial Heritage .................................................................... 40
2.3.1 Irie’s Relationship to her Racial Heritage.................................. 40

2.4 Cultural Heritage ................................................................. 43

2.4.1 Clara’s Rebellion to Hortense’s Religious Heritage .................. 44
2.4.2 Magid’s and Millat’s Response to their Father’s Islamic Faith. 49
2.4.3 Joshua’s Rebellion to Chalfenism.............................................. 57

2.5 Socially and Genetically Constructed Heritage ................... 62

2.5.1 Joyce’s Experiment of a Socially Constructed Heritage ........... 63
2.5.2 Marcus Chalfen’s FutureMouse Project: a Genetically
Constructed Heritage........................................................................... 68

2.6 Archibald, the FutureMouse and Irie’s Child: the

Predominance of Chance and Ambivalence over Certainty and
Determinism .............................................................................. 74

2.7 Conclusion ........................................................................... 79

3.The Ambiguity and Fragmentation of White Teeth’s Form 81

3.1 Introduction ......................................................................... 81

3.2 The Realist Mode................................................................. 82

3.2.1 An Attempt to Define Realism .............................................. 82
3.2.2 Realist Effects within White Teeth......................................... 88
 3.3 The Modernist Mode ........................................................... 99
3.3.1 Free Indirect Speech ............................................................ 100
3.3.2 Ending .................................................................................. 103
3.3.3 The Rejection of Linearity ................................................... 105

3.4 White Teeth: a Spatialized Novel ....................................... 111

3.4.1 The Disruption of Chronological Sequence Explained through
Joseph Frank’s Theory of Spatial Form........................................ 111
3.4.2 Spatialized Elements within White Teeth ............................ 116
3.4.3 The Removal of Temporal Elements as a Response to 20th-
Century Cultural Context .............................................................. 132
3.4.4 The Removal of Temporality in White Teeth: the Perception
of Time as a Continuum ................................................................ 137

3.5 Conclusion ......................................................................... 139

Conclusion............................................................................ 144

Bibliography ......................................................................... 150

Introduction

This thesis analyses Zadie Smith’s successful debut novel, White Teeth,
published in 2000 and immediately acclaimed as an editorial success (Jakubiak,
201). The novel is set in London and narrates the story of three families, the
Iqbals, the Joneses and the Chalfens, going through the happenings which have
occurred in the life of their components throughout the 20th century. By focusing
especially on the second half of the century, the novel points out the main
transformations England, and London in particular, have undergone both
socially and culturally from the 1950s onwards. Many of the changes England
has gone through appear to be a consequence of the End of the Empire. Thus, it
is not a coincidence that the components of two of the three families portrayed
by Smith come from England’s former colonies or are mixed-race. Furthermore,
the components of the third family depicted by Smith, the Chalfens, are not as
English as they seem either: in fact, despite being born and brought up in
England, they descend from German and Polish immigrants; consequently, they
reveal to be hybrid too (Smith, 328). Hence, Smith’s characters mirror
England’s changing social environment, which, especially after decolonization,
has become increasingly multiethnic and multicultural (see Marzola, 199).
The members of the families portrayed by Zadie Smith inevitably interact
with individuals who do not belong to their family unit, thereby being exposed
to several different values, ideals and beliefs at a time. Smith’s characters,
however, being unable to negotiate between past and present, are haunted by the
simultaneous presence of the values they have inherited from their family and
values they have acquired in the country of arrival. Therefore, as a consequence

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of their condition of postcolonial subjects, they find it difficult to negotiate
between past and present beliefs.
Not only are Smith’s characters simultaneously exposed to opposing
values as a consequence of their condition of ‘postcolonial selves’; they are
subjected to different ideals as a result of postmodernity too (see Bauman 2012a,
13). However, instead of embracing the new acquired values and attempting to
negotiate them along with their previous ideals, Smith’s characters tend to reject
either the old or the new values, and strive to determine coherent identities and
unambiguous lives (see Paproth, 9). Therefore, despite living in a postmodern
world, which is increasingly unpredictable and ambivalent, Smith’s characters
behave as if the condition of postmodernity had not fully substituted that of
modernity (see Bauman 1991, 173). In fact, they still try to determine for
themselves an unambiguous identity and life (Childs, 211), even though
coherency is no longer possible in a postmodern, postcolonial world (see
Bauman 1991, 173).
On the basis of the issues White Teeth deals with, Smith’s novel can be
said to have contributed to representing the British self living in a postmodern
and postcolonial world. In addition, by depicting the changes England, and
London in particular, have gone though, the novel has also helped the UK to
“[stare] into the mirror” (Philips, quoted in Head, 107): perhaps unsurprisingly,
in fact, the image of London which emerges from Smith’s novel is extremely
multicultural (Head, 106). Consequently, it is not only the British self which has
changed; the current environment of London implies that England and its
national identity have been modified too. The effects of the Empire can thus not
be underestimated; as a consequence of decolonization, in fact, many people
belonging to the Empire’s former colonies decided to move to England, thereby
determining, throughout the second half of the 20th century, its present
multicultural shape (Marzola, 199). Therefore, “Englishness” itself is in need of

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a revision in light of the transformations English society has undergone (see
Bentley, 497).
The aim of this thesis is thus to consider how Smith’s novel has
contributed to revising the representation of the British self and, consequently,
of Englishness. The first chapter considers individual and national identity in the
light of postmodernity and post-colonialism. Postmodernity and post-
colonialism appear in fact to have relevant implications for the construction of
both subjective and national identity: on the one hand, identity lacks the stability
and coherence it used to possess (see Bauman 1991, 173); on the other hand,
identities are becoming increasingly hybrid. Therefore, the first chapter
highlights the transformations both subjective and national identity have gone
through as a consequence of postmodernity and post-colonialism. When
analysing Smith’s novel these two factors need thus to be taken into account. In
addition, this first chapter also suggests that identity issues not only are dealt
with through the novel’s topics, but through the novel’s form too. Thus, identity
issues emerge through both the novel’s subject matter and form. This aspect is
only hinted at in the first chapter, and further developed in the second and third
chapter, which focus, respectively, on the novel’s thematic contents and form.
As previously mentioned, the second chapter focuses on White Teeth’s
main themes, and points out the characters’ difficulty in accepting incoherent
identities and existences. Depending on their personal story, they strive to
achieve a coherency and stability which postmodernity and post-colonialism do
not seem to guarantee (see Bauman, 1991, 173). Therefore, they constantly try
to determine a stable identity and life, eliminating any aspect which may create
ambivalence (Childs, 211). Their efforts, however, are continuously frustrated.
Perhaps not surprisingly, the characters who do not attempt to shape their
existence eventually become more successful than those who constantly strive to
stabilize it (see Bentley, 498, 500). Towards the end of the chapter, on the
evidence of the novel’s themes, it is also suggested that, if the British self has

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become increasingly ambiguous, Englishness itself cannot be defined coherently
either (Mirze, 200). Therefore, such an ambiguous British self appears to have
implications for a traditional representation of Englishness, which requires thus
to be revised, negotiating between established and emergent forms of identity
(Bentley, 498).
The third and last chapter focuses on form. Even though it may be
detected less easily, form itself may be said to contribute to redefining identity,
both subjective and national (see Bentley, 488). To begin with, White Teeth is
based on the simultaneous use of realism and modernism, which determines the
novel’s formal ambivalence (see Bentley, 497). Therefore, as happens with
individual and national identity, the form of White Teeth is not homogeneous;
conversely, clashing aspects such as realism and modernism coexist within the
same literary work (see Bentley, 497). Furthermore, as a consequence of the
disruption of the novel’s linearity, which is a typically modernist feature, White
Teeth’s form is not only ambivalent but fragmented too (see Stevenson, 92).
Therefore, as happens with the British self and Englishness, the novel is
composed of several fragments. These fragments, however, despite their
discontinuity, constitutes Smith’s novel as an entity, just as they do when
constituting identity.
On the evidence of the novel’s form and thematic contents, Zadie Smith
seems to imply that in a postmodern and post-colonial world ambivalence and
fragmentation inevitably characterize both individual and national identity,
which consequently need a revision and negotiation, since homogeneity and
uniformity can be no longer achieved (Mirze, 200). Therefore, this thesis points
out the contribution White Teeth provides, in both its subject matter and form, to
the representation of the ambiguous British self and multicultural England,
thereby concretely helping the UK to “[stare] into the mirror” (Philips, quoted in
Head, 106).

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1. Individual and National Identity: an Overview

1.1 Selfhood and Individual Identity

Nowadays selfhood is frequently sensed as a private issue; considering

selfhood in a critical way, however, involves evaluating the outside world too
(Elliott, 4). The self is in fact always influenced by external factors: despite the
fact that individuals, as pointed out by some sociologists, may actively shape
their own experience, in doing so they still make use of social and cultural
elements (Elliott, 5). As a result, one’s feelings and beliefs upon himself are
conditioned by cultural and social components (Elliott, 5). The individual may
simultaneously influence and structure social life through self-experience and
understandings (Elliott, 9). Thus, by drawing upon its personal experience, the
self continuously provides self-interpretations concerning not only itself but the
rest of society too (Elliott, 9). On the basis of its relation with the external world,
it seems that the self needs to be studied in relation to society rather than in
isolation from it (Elliott, 9). The relationship between the self and the outside
world is thus central to the understanding of selfhood (Elliott, 7). The self is thus
internally constituted by both self-experience and those historical, political,
cultural and social contexts in which the self itself is inserted (Elliott, 10).
Therefore, individual identity is a construction of both “private and public,
personal and political, individual and historical”: external factors and internal
resources should thus be weighed equally when analyzing the self and identity
(Elliott, 11).
In order to understand today’s notion of selfhood, it would thus be useful
to consider first the transformations the self has undergone throughout the last

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half-century. The decade of peacefulness and security, which followed the
Second World War, was soon replaced by the age of the Vietnam War,
decolonization, feminism, civil rights movements and sexual revolution (Elliott,
16). The notions of selfhood and individual identity were consequently
challenged: the self was no longer associated with “images of sameness,
continuity, regularity and repetition” as it used to (Elliott, 15-16) and an age of
‘identity crisis’2 opened (Elliott, 16).
The crisis the notion of identity went through, however, does not seem a
coincidence, since the second half of the 20th century is characterized by the rise
of postmodernity (Bauman 1991b, 173). In order to understand nowadays notion
of selfhood, it seems thus indispensable to take into account factors such as
globalization, migration and multiculturalism, which appear to have reshaped
the relationship between the self and the social world in the last half century
(Elliott, 19, 22).
In particular, globalization seems to have led the path to postmodernity,
consequently reshaping nowadays societies and the self significantly (Bauman
1998, 299; Elliott, 19): being globalization the factor responsible for the passage
from modernity to postmodernity, it thus appears to have deeply influenced the
self and the construction of identity (Bauman 1998, 299). It would thus be useful
to carefully consider the changes globalization has determined, in order to
highlight the differences between a modern and postmodern condition, and to
consequently understand the transformations the self has undergone.
Modernity emerged throughout the eighteenth century and fully
manifested itself in the nineteenth century (Bauman 1991b, 173). It used to be
characterized by the desire to maintain order, whose pursuit began to trouble
human beings when they discovered that order is neither stable nor fixed, but is
susceptible to change (Bauman 1993, 165; Bauman 1992, 192). As a
consequence, modern men strived “to make order solid, obligatory and reliably
2
The term was coined by Erik Erikson

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founded” (Bauman, 1992, 192). Chance and spontaneity were thus eliminated to
prevent them from challenging the vulnerable order (Bauman 1992, 192).
Ambivalence and incongruity were eradicated too, since they both eluded a strict
definition (Bauman 1991a, 287). Modernity thus tended to rationalize all aspects
of both private and public life and any irrational element was consequently
suppressed (Bauman 1993, 167-168). On the evidence of this, it appears that the
discovery of the vulnerability of order coincided with the recognition of the
mutability of existence (Bauman 1992, 192-193). It may thus be claimed that the
most distinctive feature of modernity consists in the belief that order is a human
construction, consequently destined to remain an unnatural and vulnerable
creation, requiring a continuous monitoring (Bauman 1992, 196). Since order is
artificial and consequently unstable, it follows that the pursuit of order is a
constant struggle for “determination against ambiguity” (Bauman 1991a, 286).
Order is difficult to achieve since there are elements which always appear
out of place: wherever they are, they do not seem to occupy a suitable place
(Bauman 2007a, 5). These aspects seem in fact to ignore boundaries, and
consequently subvert the fragile man-made order, which cannot be maintained
unless men supervise it (Bauman 1992, 196; Bauman 2007a, 5-6). As a
consequence, the modern man tends to get rid of these disturbing elements to
maintain order (Bauman 2007a, 5). Therefore, even though there are elements
which constantly appear disordered, during the modern age human beings have
constantly attempted to maintain order, which involves regularity and
predictability: in fact, if the world is ordered, events do not occur casually, and
human beings can consequently understand the reality occurring around them
(Bauman 2007a, 6).
Just as the order they want to shape in the external world, modern men
feel the need to construct a stable subjective identity (Bauman 2007a, 24). The
external order, pursued during modernity, appears thus indispensable to allow
the modern self to construct a coherent identity: in fact, order guarantees a stable

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and reliable backdrop to human beings’ actions and life and to the self’s efforts
to determine its identity (Bauman 2007a, 24). Therefore, the modern self is
obsessed with the desire to control and frame its identity; consequently, it is
tormented by stability and reliability (Bauman, quoted in Elliott, 153-154).
The social condition of postmodernity, on the other hand, which emerged
throughout the twentieth century and took a definite shape in the second half of
the century, does not provide the individual with stable certainties (Bauman
1991, 173; Bauman 2007a, 25). Postmodernity is actually characterized by
“pluralism, variety, contingency and ambivalence” (Bauman 1991, 173), the
very same values modernity strived to eliminate (Bauman 1991, 174).
As previously mentioned, such a changed condition seems to be
determined by globalization, which has disrupted the order that modernity
difficultly attempted to achieve and maintain (Bauman 1998, 299). If during the
modern age order and stability used to be constructed and maintained by the
state, globalization has turned nation-states ineffective and each country’s affairs
have become disorderly and undefined (Bauman 1998, 299-300). As a
consequence of globalization, each society is now increasingly open, both
economically and culturally (Bauman 2007b, 6). If once ‘openness’3 only
alluded to the societies’ awareness of their lack of completeness, now the term
also implies the impotence societies experience when attempting to determine
their trajectory, and the difficulties they have in maintaining the path chosen
(Bauman 2007b, 6-7). An open society is today exposed to chance, therefore
‘openness’ is today considered a drawback of globalization (Bauman 2007b, 7).
In a globalized world as our own, decisions can be taken neither by
relying on a country’s forces alone, nor by ignoring what is occurring in the
world: being each predicament global, it cannot be resolved locally (Bauman
2007b, 7, 25). It follows that nation-states are more and more disconnected from
their power, since the effects of globalization cannot be controlled politically
3
The term ‘openness’ was coined by Karl Popper

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(Bauman 2007b, 13, 25). Nations’ decreased power inevitably implies the
reshaping of the role of politicians too: even though they have not disappeared
from the scene, they have lost the centrality they used to have (Khosrokhavar,
22). Institutions and politicians’ diminished power seems thus to be provoked
precisely by globalization (Khosrokhavar, 22).
Having states and politicians lost their power, individuals have been left
alone to try to find answers to a disordered world (Bauman 2007b, 14). Since the
institutions are no longer able to guarantee protection to their citizens (Bauman
2007b, 25), the postmodern self cannot rely any longer on them and
consequently lacks the certainties the modern self used to have (Khosrokhavar,
18). The void which has originated is thus faced by the individual as a subject
rather than as a social actor (Khosrokhavar, 23). Human beings may
consequently feel abandoned to themselves, since they are exposed to global
forces they can neither influence nor regulate (Khosrokhavar, 18-19; Bauman
2007b, 25). If once the only obstacles the self may have fought against in order
to construct its identity were of social derivation, today the incapability of the
institutions to deal with the current situation actually leaves the self facing
global forces it can actually not control (Khosrokhavar, 18-19). Identity itself is
consequently at risk and individuals constantly experience internal conflicts as a
consequence of the lack of secure points of reference (Khosrokhavar, 19). Thus,
individuals’ incapability to reach stability and order inevitably foments fears
concerning both their present and their future (Bauman 2007b, 26). Despite
feeling vulnerable and insecure, however, the individual is never entirely lost; in
fact, it appears that, even though external certainties such as institutions, norms
and religion weaken, internal principles strengthen (Touraine, 96).
Nonetheless, on the basis of the condition of postmodernity, it may be
claimed that the construction of identity cannot rely on a secure environment
after globalization (Bauman 2007a, 25). The instability of a disordered,
ambivalent and unpredictable world prevents in fact the individual from shaping

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a coherent identity (Bauman 2007a, 26). The world in which the self lives is in
fact “full of opportunities” (Bauman 2012b, 62); however, even though the
possibility to choose and shape the future personally may be attractive, it also
provokes anxieties, due to the lack of determination, completeness and stability
(Bauman 2012b, 62). Therefore, the life of postmodern men is destined to
remain “a mixed blessing”: on the one hand, there are endless possibilities; on
the other hand, infinite choices determine uncertainty and fears (Bauman 2012b,
87). In addition, this dichotomy can be referred to identity: on the one hand, the
self is in the position to shape his own identity; on the other hand, it may
experience anxieties (Bauman 2012b, 83).
The postmodern self is thus characterized by a lack of stability and
solidity (Elliott, 154). Hence, life in postmodernity is increasingly uncertain and
the individual finds himself to face ambivalent questions which he did not have
to handle before (Bauman, quoted in Elliott, 156). On the basis of a postmodern
society dominated by uncertainty, today’s self would be expected to be more
tolerant towards ambivalence (Elliott, 158). However, the world sometimes
changes so rapidly that the self is overwhelmed by the technological and social
transformations and its capability to tolerate ambiguity weakens (Elliott, 158).
Hence, despite the changed situation, human beings may sometimes still feel the
need to control the construction of their own identity; thus, despite the external
world’s unpredictability, the attempt to determine and control one’s identity
does not appear to be unusual in a postmodern world (Bauman 2007a, 32). This
attitude can explain why the postmodern self is usually anxious about the
construction of its identity and tends to fear unstable components of life
(Bauman 2007a, 32). Such an individual consequently appears the opposite of
the postmodern self, since he does not seem to endure instability or ambiguity
and his relationship with other selves is characterized by attempts of
manipulation and control (Elliott, 158-159).

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 The postmodern self is however required to accept ambivalence and
coexist with it (Bauman 2007a, 38). Identity, in fact, cannot be fixed, otherwise
it would prevent the self from adapting to the changes a mutable world like the
postmodern one is characterized by (Bauman 2007a, 32). Postmodern selves
seem thus to progressively understand that uncertainties cannot be reduced but
rather need to be accepted (Bauman 2007a, 26). It follows that in postmodernity
order slowly begins not to be considered a priority (Bauman 2007a, 13).
Therefore, if on the one hand nation-states cannot guarantee order any longer,
since decisions cannot be taken locally but need to take into account the
globalized world, on the other hand the quest for a stable order, which has
characterized modernity, appears to decrease (Bauman 2007a, 14). Uncertainty
and ambiguity, which are characteristic of both public and private life, begin not
to be considered disturbing elements in postmodernity, but rather “unavoidable
and ineradicable” components of human life, which cannot be eliminated
through rationality (Bauman 1993, 171).
Alongside with globalization, another factor which appears to have
affected the postmodern self, and the construction of its identity, is the
progressive abandonment of transcendental beliefs (Touraine, 101). Even though
individuals have long been guided by religion, reason and history, after the
Second World War transcendence has been abandoned since it can no longer
deal with the material world (Touraine, 101). The failure of transcendental
beliefs has consequently permitted the individual to discover the existence of an
unstable reality: in fact, once transcendence is abandoned, there is no order left
(Touraine, 101, 110); actually, some components are inevitably destined to
remain conflicting (Touraine, 93). According to Touraine, however, the subject
can be created precisely when the individual distances itself from transcendental
beliefs: therefore, even though the disappearance of the norms which used to
guarantee stability appears to be partly responsible for the self’s frailty,
instability appears necessary in order to allow the individual to become a subject

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(Touraine, 93, 96). Nowadays every subject seems to be characterized by
instability: due to its relationship with itself, the subject is constantly living in a
state of uncertainty and anxiety (Touraine, 117). If it once believed in
transcendental aspects such as history, God or the spirit, it now seems to be
disoriented (Touraine, 117). However, a disoriented subject can ultimately
diminish his anxieties by thinking that crisis and instability are necessary in
order to achieve individuality and singularity (Touraine, 96, 118).
On the evidence of both globalization and the abandonment of
transcendence, nowadays selfhood does not seem to be invariable but rather
appears to be constantly modified (Bauman 2012a, 11). This is not a coincidence
since in postmodernity identity is continuously exposed to change: each human
being is in fact simultaneously subjected to different principles, which may also
be in contradiction with one another (Bauman 2012a, 13). As a consequence,
individuals have difficulties in describing the development of their identity,
since it does not appear to progress coherently, but rather seems to lack
“consistency and continuity” (Bauman 2012a, 13). Being identity continuously
exposed to change, the individual consequently feels the need to protect his
identity from the risks transformations involve; nevertheless, the result of the
confrontation within and between individuals is inevitably destined to be a
negotiation (Bauman 2012a, 13). If the postmodern self familiarizes with and
learns to accept the ambivalence which is characteristic of his condition, the
encounter with different ideals may perhaps be less disturbing (Bauman 2012a,
13-14). It may thus be claimed that human beings are not provided with a fixed,
permanent identity, but rather need to construct their identity through never-
ending struggles (Bauman 2012a, 15-16). The struggle faced by human beings is
never-ending since claiming that a definite identity can be reached would
involve denying identity’s unstable and temporary status, which cannot be
hidden as it used to (Bauman 2012a, 16).

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 When identity used to be anchored socially, it appeared “predetermined
and non-negotiable” (Bauman 2012a, 24). However, the precariousness of its
status cannot be concealed any longer (Bauman 2012a, 16). In a world in which
identity is constantly challenged and new alternatives are continuously offered,
individuals’ efforts to establish definite identities would simply not work
(Bauman 2012a, 27). In a postmodern world like our own, individuals need to
construct their identity by negotiating the alternatives their identity is exposed to
and by balancing the different components their identity is ultimately composed
of (Bauman 2012a, 26-27). If on the one hand uncertainty may provoke
anxieties; on the other hand attempting to maintain a fixed identity does not
appear to be desirable either in a postmodern world (Bauman 2012a, 29). It
follows that ambivalence cannot be entirely removed, despite human beings’
efforts, and identity can thus not be fixed: therefore, “being on the move”
appears to be indispensable in postmodernity (Bauman 2012a, 31). Identity
cannot be maintained permanently but needs to be continuously modified while
moving forwards (Bauman 2012a, 26).
In conclusion, it is possible to claim that selfhood is a construction
resulting from the interconnection between the self’s inner world and the social,
cultural and political contexts in which the self is inserted (Elliott, 166). Further,
as a response to external upheavals, selfhood changes accordingly, as proved by
today’s self, which is continuously transformed by the increasingly challenging
social conditions and historical and cultural processes which make individuals’
life increasingly fragmented and uncertain (Elliott, 166, 172).
Globalization, in particular, is one of the factors which have significantly
transformed the self and its identity: it is in fact considered to have provoked the
passage from modernity to postmodernity (Bauman 1998, 299; Elliott, 19). If
during modernity the order of the outside world, which was maintained by
nation-states, allowed the self to construct its identity coherently (Bauman 1993,
165; Bauman 1998, 299; Bauman 2007a, 24), the condition of postmodernity

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does not provide the self with certainties, since politicians and institutions have
become ineffective (Bauman 2007a, 25; Bauman 1998, 299-300). The individual
is thus left alone (Bauman 2007b, 14): if on the one hand the infinite
possibilities he is exposed to may be inviting, on the other hand they tend to
arouse fears (Bauman 2012b, 87). Since fears tend to prevail, the postmodern
self’s efforts to control its own identity are still common (Bauman2007a, 32).
These attempts, however, are rather pointless, since the distinctive features of
postmodernity are ambivalence and instability (Bauman 2012a, 27; Bauman
1993, 171). In addition to globalization, a further factor which appears to have
made the postmodern man realise that the world is disordered, is represented by
the abandonment of transcendental beliefs: the self is consequently exposed to
further instability (Touraine, 101, 110).
Therefore, if the condition of the postmodern self is characterized by
uncertainty and instability, the self cannot be defined coherently as it used to
(Bauman 2012a, 16). Thus, identity needs to be constructed by negotiating the
alternatives it is exposed to and by balancing the different components it is
composed of (Bauman 2012a, 13). Consequently, identity is not invariable but is
continuously modified and negotiated while moving forwards (Bauman 2012a,
26).

1.2 The Construction of National Identities: the Case of

Englishness

A transformation to be taken into account when analyzing the self is that

nowadays identity is mentioned more and more often when referring to political
issues (Gilroy, 224). The change in its use can be noticed by observing the term
‘cultural identity’ which has been coined recently and which refers to the

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influence of culture in shaping identity and to its relationship to power (Gilroy,
224).
Let us begin by considering the concept of cultural identity. Cultural
identity can be defined according to two different models which have been
conveyed by Hall (2003, 234). The first model describes cultural identity as one
single culture shared by people who have a same history or ancestry (Hall 2003,
234). Hence, despite the many superficial dissimilarities amongst each one’s
history and culture, such a way of thinking cultural identity highlights
communal roots (Hall 2003, 234). However, there is a second way of thinking
cultural identity, which, despite recognizing the existence of common
experiences, argues that, due to the intervention of history, there are also aspects
which differ radically from one another and which constitutes “ruptures and
discontinuities” within a common experience (Hall 2003, 236). Hence, such a
model considers cultural identity constituted by both similarity and difference,
continuity and rupture (Hall 2003, 237). Thus, it acknowledges that cultural
identities not only consist in a process of being, but also of becoming: therefore,
this second model seems to suggest that cultural identity is not fixed but is
continuously altered and transformed (Hall 2003, 236).
Having examined the two different ways of thinking cultural identity, let
us now move on to consider the connection between culture and power: cultural
and political issues can thus be connected by using the concept of identity
(Gilroy, 224- 225). Throughout the 20th century, especially in relation to colonial
history, cultural identities have been exploited politically in order to depict a
nation as a uniform cultural entity inhabited by almost identical beings: this
process aimed to determine a country’s boundaries and to shape its national
identity (Gilroy, 225). Further, in order to legitimize one country’s colonial
interests and actions, cultural identity has also been deployed to shape the
identity of colonized as different from its own (Marzola, 60). In fact, it is
through its relation to what is other that one country can assert and consolidate

‐ 15 ‐
its own identity (Marzola, 33). In order to do so, the identity of the colonized
tended to be unified without considering the cultural and racial differences
existing amongst the various populations (Marzola, 61). Therefore, it is possible
to claim that national identities have usually been shaped according to Hall’s
first model, by highlighting the common historical and cultural roots rather than
the existing differences within the subjugated populations (see Marzola, 61).
However, it is only Hall’s second model which would account for the traumatic
experience of colonialism: according to this second model, the identity of the
colonized would not be considered as an immutable entity which transcends
time and place; but rather as an entity which is constantly transformed (Hall
2003, 236-237). Therefore, it cannot represent a stable or undifferentiated origin
or experience to which migrants can return or can be said to belong (Hall 2003,
236-237).
English national identity, which is referred to by using the term
Englishness4, is no exception; it was in fact constructed according to Hall’s first
model of cultural identity (see Marzola, 61). Throughout the first two decades of
the 20th century, England’s political and economic loss of power and supremacy
made it necessary to rethink and reshape Englishness (Marzola, 55-56). In order
to do so and reassert its own identity and supremacy, England highlighted the
otherness of other populations, especially of the colonized (Marzola, 56).
Colonialism played in fact a fundamental role in the definition of Englishness:
being the colonized racially and culturally different, they seemed to represent
the ideal subject in relation and opposition to which Englishness could be
defined (Marzola, 60). The representation of cultural identity, and consequently
of national identity, is thus based on the construction of a representation of the
other (Marzola, 60).

4
The term Englishness indicates all those discourses which define what means to be English and which
are English ideals and ideologies (Marzola, 32)

‐ 16 ‐
 After World War II England was even more forced to reshape its national
identity as a consequence of post-war economic crisis and the increasingly
insistent claim for independence from part of the colonies (Marzola, 197). As a
consequence of decolonization, which led the path to post-colonialism, the
relationship of the former colonies with England gradually changed, developing
in the colonized ambivalent feelings: on the one hand they wanted to claim the
autonomy of their own cultural identity, on the other hand they felt a strong
bond to their former motherland (Marzola, 199). Due to this sense of
ambivalence and to the economic and political instability of the emerging
independent nations, from the 1950s onwards waves of migrations developed to
the UK, shaping an increasingly multicultural and multiethnic environment
(Marzola, 199). However, precisely as a consequence of the increased presence
of migrants in England, racist manifestations spread and several Immigration
Acts had to be introduced in order to deal with the issue of racial integration
(Marzola, 199-200).
Further, throughout the 1980s, in order to revive national identity,
Margaret Thatcher attempted to reestablish England as an unalterable national
and cultural centre, ignoring the cultural changes which had taken place within
the nation (Marzola, 250). In order to provide a nostalgic and mythicized vision
of England’s past and to reshape Englishness, Margaret Thatcher recouped
many of the stereotypes used to define English national identity by
distinguishing it from the former colonized populations (Marzola, 253).
To sum up, it is evident that cultural identity was exploited politically by
England in order to shape its national identity, especially by distinguishing it
from the colonies (Marzola, 56). After World War II, however, the notion of
Englishness was challenged because of decolonization and independence, which
were followed by waves of migration to the heart of the former Empire
(Marzola, 199). Nevertheless, immigrants, despite being born British citizens for
their belonging to the Empire, were still marked as other (Amine, 74; McMann,

‐ 17 ‐
623). Thus, it is not surprising to discover that throughout Thatcher’s
administration there was still the attempt to define Englishness by marking its
difference from the identity of former colonies (Marzola, 253).
On the basis of this, it appears that the end of the Empire pushed Britain
to cope with the issue of redefining its national identity (Head, 107).
Transformations such as decolonization and migration led in fact the path to
post-colonialism. However, it appears that postcolonial Britain still has
difficulties in accepting its past history, especially as far as its colonial past and
heritage are concerned: therefore, the remarkable colonial history which has
characterized the country still affects Britain today (Beukema, 1). As a
consequence, since Britain finds it difficult to bear the actions which were
enacted in its name and their consequences, it tends to repress or reshape its
colonial past (Bentley, 487). However, the current multicultural and multiethnic
society, which is a consequence of decolonization and migration, keeps
reminding Britain of its postcolonial condition (Bentley, 488) As a result,
Britain appears to be “still fighting to find a way to stare into the mirror”
(Philips quoted in Head, 107). It is perhaps not surprising that many books, both
fictional and non-fictional, have recently dealt with English national identity
while trying to investigate, define or delineate it, all agreeing on the
transformation that the concept of Englishness has undergone (Bentley, 483).

1.3 Zadie Smith’s White Teeth: an “audaciously contribution

to [the] process of staring into the mirror”5

One of the many fictional works, which have contributed to revisiting

both the British contemporary self and English national identity by portraying

5
Caryl Philips, quoted in Head, 107

‐ 18 ‐
Britain’s 20th-century society, is Zadie Smith’s novel White Teeth (Head, 106-
107). By contemplating the dynamics of 20th-century multicultural London and
the many changes which have occurred within a postmodern world, Smith’s
work of fiction appears to be committed to reconsider and reassess a traditional
construction of both individual and national identity (see Bentley, 501).
Perhaps unsurprisingly, when portraying the British contemporary self
and the present shape of Englishness, England’s unresolved problems with its
colonial history cannot be ignored (see Beukema, 1). However, White Teeth’s
subject matter does not focus primarily on England’s colonial history, but on the
individual and his interaction with the past (Bentley, 499). In doing so, Smith
stresses the impact the legacies of colonialism have on the construction of
identity (Bentley, 499). Thus, Smith portrays the way in which the implications
of England’s colonial past are felt in the construction of identity by immigrants,
their descendants and Englishmen (Bentley, 499; Head, 116).
Not only does the legacy of colonialism affect the life of Smith’s
characters, also postmodernity has an impact on the construction of their
identity. As a consequence of these external factors, in fact, Smith’s characters
are simultaneously exposed to several different values (see Bauman 2012a, 26-
27). However, Smith’s characters do not manage to bear ambivalent identities
and lives (Paproth, 9). Consequently, they find it intolerable to live in a fractured
postmodern and postcolonial world because of their inability to handle the
unpredictability and ambiguity of life (Paproth, 9-10). Thus, when experiencing
conflicts both within and between themselves, Smith’s characters try to control
their own and others’ life in order to determine coherent identities based on one
aspect or concept, without accepting ambivalence (Childs, 211; Thompson,
123). However, despite their attempts to control identity and their pursuit of
stable and certain truths, they find themselves stuck between essentialisms
(Paproth, 9-10).

‐ 19 ‐
 In addition, the conflicts they experience are left unresolved: Smith
appears thus unwilling to provide a solution to the conflicting process which is
thought to lead to the constitution of identity; conversely, she seems precisely to
highlight the obstacles her characters find and need to cope with in a
postcolonial and postmodern world (Beukema, 1). The author’s position seems
thus to stress the uselessness of a quest for a unique origin and stable identity
(Thompson, 133): in fact, the British contemporary self, just as any postmodern
and postcolonial self, is increasingly fragmented (see Bauman 2007a, 26). Even
though Smith’s characters have difficulties in negotiating the different
components of their lives, as a consequence of their inability to accept
ambivalence, negotiation seems to be of fundamental importance within the
world in which they live: the contact between roots and routes necessarily
requires a negotiation in order to shape identity and to interact with others
(Beukema, 1). Therefore, a negotiation appears to be essential when dealing
with the issue of identity formation and consequently also with one’s
relationship with others (Thompson, 133, 135).
Despite focusing primarily on the ambivalent British contemporary self,
by narrating the story of cultural, familial and intergenerational conflicts both
within and between its characters, Smith’s novel has implications for England’s
national identity too, which should be rethought taking into account the
transformations English society has gone through in the 20th century
(Thompson, 123; Bentley, 501). The idea that a hybrid Britishness has always
existed is suggested precisely through the novel’s subject matter, by uncovering
the continuous exchanges and proximity between the motherland and the
colonized populations (Amine, 77). The idea of postcolonial hybridity is also
conveyed through Alsana Iqbal (Groß, 40). By claiming that “[i]t’s still easier to
find the correct Hoover bag than to find one pure person, one pure faith, on the
globe” she asks her husband Samad: “Do you think anybody is English? Really
English? It’s a fairy-tale!” (Smith, 236). On the evidence of Alsana’s speech, the

‐ 20 ‐
hybridity of English national identity is proved by demonstrating that the British
self is a hybrid postcolonial both biologically and culturally (Head, 114). In fact,
when leaving his homeland, in the past as well as today, an immigrant brings
with him a part of the culture which is characteristic of his own country (Eliot,
quoted in Bhabha 1996, 54). This partial culture constitutes the “contaminated
yet connective” tie between cultures, which allows immigrants to construct their
own culture, historic memory and sense of community within dynamics of
political hostility: therefore, that originary partial culture should permit the
coexistence of both origins and new forms of living (Bhabha 1996, 58).
Therefore, since “we are all hybrid post-colonials”, a quest for pure, cohesive
roots is rather useless (Head, 114). It follows that the search for a coherent
identity is pointless not only for individuals but for national identity too (see
Head, 114).
The ambivalent condition of the British contemporary self and of English
national identity is suggested not only through White Teeth’s subject matter. The
heterogeneity and fragmentation of both individual and national identity is
implied through the form of Smith’s novel too, which combines realist and
modernist features (Bentley, 498, 501).
White Teeth may be said to be “partly nineteenth century in the inspiration
for its form” (Lowe quoted in Tew, 61). The novel focuses in fact on everyday
life activities and on ordinary people, which tend to be described realistically
(see Bertoni, 315). Smith’s fiction is made even more realistic by the insertion
of historical episodes, which contribute to making the narrative more reliable
(see Bertoni, 315). A further element which can be linked to realism consists in
the use of a third person omniscient narrator, from whose perspective the story is
usually narrated (Bentley, 498). Further, the narrative voice tends to be
concealed: impersonality is thus widely deployed by Smith, thereby making her
novel more realistic (see Bertoni, 331). In addition, White Teeth can be
classified as a realist novel since its characters can be recognized socially and

‐ 21 ‐
live in an identifiable suburb located in north-west London, which is called
Willesden (Bentley, 497; Tew, 51). Further, not only is space described
concretely, but time is clearly delimited too: every chapter focuses in fact on two
specific years (Paproth, 10). Hence, it appears that, while the subject matter
rejects any effort to determine and control identity without accepting
ambivalence, the form relies precisely on those traditional structures Smith is
criticizing by claiming their impracticality within a postmodernist and
postcolonial world in which both meaning and boundaries are constantly
transformed and made unstable (Paproth, 11).
However, the traditionally realist structure is challenged through
modernist devices. The realist form is defied by focusing, as modernists do, on
the characters’ inner world rather than on the outside world (see Stevenson, 64).
Hence, this appears to be the reason why Smith gives voice to her characters’
thoughts and inner conflicts, by deploying, for instance, free indirect speech (see
Stevenson, 14). In addition, the realist literary tradition appears to be challenged
also through Smith’s open ending: like many modernist novels, White Teeth
does not offer its readers a definite ending as 19th-century novels used to (see
Stevenson, 158). Further, just as modernists, Smith tends to fragment the
narrative of White Teeth, in order not to narrate her characters’ story according
to a chronological order (see Stevenson, 91).
It is possible to suggest that the deployment of a form which oscillates
between realism and modernism might be connected to Smith’s effort to
constitute a new model of national identity (Bentley, 497-498). In fact, if
Bhabha’s reflections on the relationship between literary form and national
identity are considered, not only is realism challenged, but also a traditional
construction of Englishness: narrative forms play in fact a relevant role in the
construction of a nation and its identity (Bhabha 1990, 308). Therefore, if an
established representation of Englishness may be obtained through a realist
form, the use of modernist and postmodernist devices is likely to defy a

‐ 22 ‐
conventional depiction of Englishness (Bentley, 488). This factor should
therefore be considered when examining Smith’s use of formal techniques
(Bentley, 488-489). Therefore, it is not surprising that Smith combines realist
techniques with modernist devices: by doing so, Smith appears to influence the
revision of Englishness (Bentley, 501).
It may thus be claimed that Smith does not only direct the minorities or
mixed-race characters her novel incorporates, through the use of realism she also
addresses the white readership (Bentley, 497-498). The concomitant deployment
of modernist techniques, however, inevitably disrupts the traditional idea of
Englishness, which used to be constructed through realism (Bentley, 488).
Therefore, Smith’s decision to narrate tales which can be defined postcolonial,
by using a mode which combines realist and modernist elements, can be related
to the necessity of a negotiation (Bentley, 497-498). Not only does the British
contemporary self need to negotiate between old and new acquired values; also
an increasingly multicultural society, like the one described by Smith, requires a
negotiation rather than a rejection between the minorities’ originary
genealogical, cultural and ethnic roots and England’s traditional construction of
its identity (Bentley, 498). Therefore, as suggested by Bhabha, literary form is
likely to play an important role in the construction of national identity (Bhabha
1990, 292).
Through the simultaneous use of realism and modernism, Smith does not
only seem to reshape Englishness but the British postmodern self too. If realism
and modernism can coexist, the British self can manage to accept the
concomitant presence of past and present values and beliefs. The British self is
thus required to accept ambivalence as an integrant part of its life, since
existence is no longer coherent in postmodernity (see Bauman 2007a, 26).
Consequently, as for a new emergent model of Englishness, a negotiation
appears indispensable for the formation of individual identity too (see Bentley,
498).

‐ 23 ‐
 The revision of Englishness and of the British self is prompted not only
through the concomitant deployment of realist and modernist techniques, but
also through narrative fragmentation, which is a distinctive modernist technique
(see Stevenson, 91). As a result, the novel, just as the British self and
Englishness, is not only ambivalent, but even fragmented. The novel’s several
different fragments, nonetheless, still form one entity, just as many different
components of identity constitute both the self and national identity.
To conclude, the novel, through both its thematic issues and literary form,
seems to consider the British self and Englishness in light of the changes which
have occurred throughout the 20th century. White Teeth seems in fact to
acknowledge the complications which emerge when dealing with the formation
of identity in a postcolonial and postmodern world (see Paproth, 9-10).
Therefore, White Teeth contributes, through both its subject matter and form, to
defining the present shape of the British self and Englishness in light of the
social and cultural changes which have affected 20th-century England. (see
Head, 106-107; see Bentley, 501).

‐ 24 ‐
2. Britishness’ Various Selves in Zadie Smith’s White
Teeth: an Analysis of the Novel’s Characters

2.1 Introduction

White Teeth opens by quoting “What is past is prologue” from the

Inscription in Washington museum (Silverblatt, 11:53). This quotation seems to
suggest that on the one hand, past cannot be forgotten, but on the other hand,
human beings should also go on with their lives (Silverblatt, 12:00-12:47). The
problem with Smith’s characters is that they fear that what occurred in the past
will occur again and are thus haunted by their genealogical, historical and
cultural heritage and roots (Silverblatt, 12:48-13:35). As a consequence of these
anxieties, when the past and the influence of roots appear or reappear in the
characters’ life, the characters are driven to face their identity and pushed to
shape identities which are coherent and stable.
The self living in a postmodern world, however, as pointed out by
Bauman, lacks stability and solidity and its subjective identity can consequently
not be fixed (Bauman, quoted in Elliott, 154). Nevertheless, as happens in
Smith’s novel, the postmodern self may still attempt to frame and control its
identity (see Elliott, 158). The kind of individual which emerges seems thus to
contrast with the postmodern self, since he does not manage to tolerate the
ambiguity of the world in which he lives (Elliott, 158-159). He is thus
characterized by efforts to control, manipulate and shape both his own and
others’ identity and life (Elliott, 158-159). Further, his difficulty to accept
ambiguity may be increased by the legacies of colonialism: in fact, those

‐ 25 ‐
characters who belong to mixed-race families or descend from immigrants are
likely to find it even more difficult to negotiate amongst ambivalent aspects.
In the attempt to determine a fixed identity, some of Smith’s characters
tend to desperately cling to those genealogical, historical and cultural roots they
have inherited and which are thought to predetermine their present (Sell, 29);
some others try to escape the influence of inherited roots by rejecting and
substituting them. Characters such as Samad attempt to control and determine
identity by clinging to their ancestry and historical roots, some others, such as
Irie, by rejecting their genealogical and racial heritage, yet others, such as
Samad, Millat, Magid, by either embracing or refusing their cultural heritage
and, finally, still others, such as Marcus and Joyce Chalfen, by trying to
scientifically or socially determine life.
However, it is unthinkable to assume that identity should choose one
aspect over another: identity is actually based on a series of unending
reinventions and negotiations (Sell, 34-35). As pointed out by Stuart Hall,
identity is continuously transformed and does not represent any longer the
secure essence of selfhood (Hall 1996, 3). By representing characters who are
constantly preoccupied with controlling their own and others’ identity and by
stressing their failure in coming to terms with the transformations an identity is
required to face, Smith seems to suggest the futility of a search for a coherent
and stable identity and the necessity of a negotiation amongst ambivalent
components (Thompson, 135). The pointlessness of the pursuit of a unified and
coherent identity and selfhood can be explained by recalling Paul Gilroy, who
argues that difference does exist within individuals: hence, the self does not lack
internal fragmentation, and seems thus required to negotiate amongst the
ambivalent, even conflicting, aspects within itself (Gilroy, 228).
The futility of the pursuit of a fixed identity seems to be pointed out also
by contrasting the characters who attempt to determine their own and others’
lives with characters who are not willing to or cannot control their identity or

‐ 26 ‐
future existence (Childs, 211). These characters, who represent the instability
and changeability of life, appear thus to express the triumph of chance over
determinism.
To recapitulate, Smith represents characters who tend to be caught
between binaries and who are likely to choose one component of identity
amongst the many they are constituted by in order to shape a coherent identity
(Paproth, 9-10). However, they inevitably fail in their attempts to control
identity without a negotiation, which reveals to be actually indispensable in the
world in which they live (Paproth, 10; Thompson, 135).

2.2 Ancestry and Historical Roots

As mentioned above, there are characters in White Teeth who have

difficulties in dealing with their past, here understood as the influence ancestry
and historical roots have on one’s present. When genealogical and historical
roots appear or reappear in the characters’ life, characters tend either to cling to
them or to reject them. Let us now consider the different specific situations and
the characters’ personal reaction to their ancestry and historical roots.

2.2.1 Samad’s relationship to his ancestry and past history

Samad is a Bengali who has fought for the UK during the Second World
War. In 1973, like many other Asians belonging to former British colonies, he
decides to move to England to seek a fresh start with his young wife, Alsana
(Smith, 12; Hall 2006, 292). Samad’s life in the UK, however, is characterized
by a constant fear of disappearance (Amine, 78). This concern can be noticed,
for instance, in his need to engrave his name on a London bench as if to prevent

‐ 27 ‐
the risks of invisibility (Amine, 78). Nonetheless, not only is Samad looking for
personal recognition but also for historical acknowledgement (Amine, 78). In
fact, Samad believes that one’s present is shaped by his own past history; as a
consequence, Samad conveys his genealogical and historical roots a great
importance (Sell, 30; Paproth, 15).
In order to obtain a public historical recognition, Samad asks Abdul-
Mickey, the owner of O’Connell’s, the pub where he daily encounters his friend
Archibald, to display the portrait of his great-grandfather Mangal Pande, the first
mutineer of 1857 (Smith, quoted in Amine, 78). Despite Abdul-Mickey’s
permission, however, the portrait hanging on the wall does not seem to fully
satisfy Samad: in fact, he even attempts to reinterpret his ancestor’s rebellion
and resistance to the Empire, frequently lacking objectivity (Amine, 78; Erll,
164). Believing that the past determines one’s present, Samad thus tries to
control and reshape his interaction and relationship with history (Sell, 30;
Paproth, 15). He even becomes increasingly convinced that by changing
Britons’ perception and opinion of his ancestor, he himself can ultimately
beneficiate of such a change (Paproth, 15). On the basis of this, it is evident that
he is constantly engaged with the attempt to deal with the influence and effects
his genealogy and historical roots have on his present life (Paproth, 15).
Therefore, it is possible to state that Samad’s attitude towards ancestry and
history is the result of his belief that the past determines the present (Sell, 30):
he is thus convinced that by understanding his own history, he can also
understand his present life (Paproth, 15). It is perhaps not surprising that he
keeps asking Archibald what he is going to tell his own children when they ask
him who he is (Smith, 121). Samad, in fact, believes that one “must live life
with the full knowledge that [his] actions will remain” and that “we are
creatures of consequence”, therefore “children will be born of our actions”
which “will become their destinies” (Smith, 102; emphasis in original). Hence,

‐ 28 ‐
Samad strongly believes that one’s present and future are shaped and
predetermined by the past (Paproth, 15).
The historical event Samad constantly refers to is the Indian Mutiny,
which has been converted into a crucial episode within British history and has
been described and recounted from both the imperial and the postcolonial
perspective (Erll, 164). Not surprisingly, the novel has become the main site of
creation and alteration of the mutiny memory (Erll, 164). From the imperial
viewpoint, Indians, by rebelling to their rulers, have betrayed Britons’ trust (Erll,
164). Thus, up to 1947, and even after India’s independence, the mutiny was
mythicized by the British Empire in order to legitimize British violent response
to rebellion and its presence in the colony, often forgetting that some of the
atrocities perpetrated by British rulers had been far more brutal (Erll, 164). Not
only did the Empire refigure the mutiny memory. The mutiny memory was also
refigured from a postcolonial perspective, which challenges and criticizes the
British version of the Indian Mutiny (Erll, 165).
Samad’s revision of the Indian Mutiny represents a clear example of
postcolonial memory (Erll, 177). Samad claims that Mangal Pande, the first one
to rebel against British rulers in 1857 Indian Mutiny, was his great-grandfather
(Smith, quoted in Erll, 177). Even though British historiography depicts Mangal
Pande as a man intoxicated with religious fanaticism and drugs, who even failed
as a mutineer since he was unable to shoot his lieutenant first and eventually
himself, Samad cannot accept such a description (Smith, quoted in Erll, 177). In
fact, “when a man has nothing but his blood to commend him, each drop of it
matters, matters terribly” (Smith, 255). This seems thus to be the reason why he
is unwilling to accept the definition of the word ‘Pandy’ provided by the Oxford
English Dictionary, which, alongside with the meaning ‘mutineer’, supplies
other meanings such as ‘traitor’, ‘fool’, ‘coward’ (Smith, 251). As a
consequence, Samad is keen on providing the “full story” of the Indian Mutiny,
claiming that full stories are “as rear as honesty” (Smith, 252; emphasis in

‐ 29 ‐
original). When listening to Samad’s story, however, Archibald suggests that it
is simply his friend’s version and by claiming that “the truth is the truth, no
matter how nasty it may taste” he suggests that Samad’s problem is his
incapability to “listen to the evidence” (Smith, 252-253). Thus, like the
colonizers, Samad himself tends to refigure the Indian Mutiny and attempts to
mythicize his forefather and his actions in order to turn him into a hero to be
proud of (Erll, 177). Samad claims that Mangal “sacrificed his life in the name
of justice for India” and even though he knew that he would be hanged, at the
trial he did not list the names of the other rebels (Smith, 256). Even though
English historiography tries to discredit Pande “because [it] cannot bear to give
an Indian his due”, according to Samad he was actually a hero (Smith, 99).
Therefore, Samad’s reconstruction of his ancestor’s involvement in the Indian
Mutiny implies the value he lies in his genealogical and historical roots,
believing them to shape his own present (Sell, 30).
However, by “clinging to a past hero who himself clung to the past”
Samad is ultimately unable to move forward and to relate himself with the
present (Erll, 177). By recalling the Indian Mutiny and Samad’s revision of it,
Smith seems to disapprove of a certain kind of memory which tends to
mythicize the past without evaluating it objectively or confronting it with other
versions of the same story (Erll, 178). Samad’s attitude towards the Indian
Mutiny does not appear to be effective in multicultural London (Erll, 178).
Conversely, what appears to be of fundamental importance in White Teeth is
“the art of remembering to forget”: hence, alongside with being conscious of the
past, one should also be able to forget when needed (Erll, 178). This does not
mean that the past has to be forgotten completely: actually, since one’s identity
is shaped by the intervention of history, one has to be aware of it in order to
understand who he is and be conscious of the fluidity and changes of identity
(Beukema, 4). However, Samad tends to cling to a past he believes has

‐ 30 ‐
determined his present and which he himself has recreated without negotiating it
with other versions of the same story (Erll, 178).
An alternative type of memory is the one shared by Samad with
Archibald when retelling episodes which happened to them during the Second
World War in which they both fought and met each other for the first time (Erll,
178). They usually meet at O’Connell’s, where, recalling their military
experience, Samad and Archie know themselves by recognizing each one’s and
the other’s story (Erll, 178; Beukema, 7). O’Connell’s thus represents the place
where they can constitute their identity in relation and opposition to each other
(Beukema, 7). On the basis of the episodes they tend to recall, which are
connected to the war, it appears that history’s role in the configuration and
construction of identity is actually important and thus cannot be entirely
neglected when attempting to understand the self (Beukema, 7). However, a
confrontation with others seems to be essential: as suggested by Hall, it is only
when confronted with others, as part of the process of identification, that an
identity can assert itself (1996, 4). Therefore, unlike Samad’s memory of the
Indian Mutiny, the remembering of the Second World War seems to be a more
positive form of memory precisely because it is negotiated between two subjects
(Erll, 178).
Nevertheless, since O’Connell’s represents “Archie’s and Samad’s home
from home” (Smith, 184), it functions as a sort of shelter from the external
world and its history (Paproth, 16). Thus, despite being filled with a common
history, O’Connell’s still embodies a place where Samad and Archie can create
their own version of history disjointedly from the outside world (Paproth, 16).
For instance, when their families are watching together the Fall of the Berlin
Wall on television, both Samad and Archibald are unable to recognize the
prominence of such a happening and tend to relate it and explain their
uneasiness about the occurrence through their past experience during the war
(Smith, 239). Archibald claims that the two of them were there and that

‐ 31 ‐
Germany was divided for a reason (Smith, 239). In addition, Samad utters that
“younger people forget why certain things were done”, stating that history
“cannot be found in books” but it is only by experiencing it that one can learn
about it (Smith, 239-240). However, Irie, Archibald’s daughter, criticizes them
both and, especially by condemning Samad’s viewpoint, she asserts that “[h]e
goes on like he knows everything. Everything’s always about him – and [she’s]
trying to talk about now, today, Germany” (Smith, 240; emphasis in original).
Irie appears unable to bear the fact that they are stuck in the past, being
consequently unable to acknowledge “the enormity of what’s going on” (Smith,
241). After Irie has left the room, followed by Millat, Clara, Irie’s mother, tries
to suggest that they should not discourage their children from developing their
own personal, even different, opinion (Smith, 241). However, Archibald claims
that women should care about the emotional field and Samad adds that Clara
and Alsana are still young women and lack the experience and knowledge they
can provide the children (Smith, 242). At this insult Clara stands up and leaves,
followed by Alsana, who, before going away, accuses them of talking “a great
deal of the youknowwhat” (Smith, 242). Deserted by both their children and
wives there is nowhere to go but O’Connell’s, where they can be history experts
without family bothering them (Smith, 243, 245). Smith ridicules them by
suggesting that there are “no better historians, no better experts in the world
when it [comes] to The Post-war Reconstruction” (Smith, 245; emphasis in
original). Therefore, O’Connell’s represents the place where they can recreate
their own version of history, distancing themselves from both their own families
and the outside world.
In conclusion, by referring to many past episodes and tales, Smith seems
to suggest that “no place can be void of history” (Beukema, 7). Moreover, due to
its intervention, history constitutes an essential element in the process of
construction and constant reshaping of identity: hence, in order to understand
one’s identity, it may be useful to consider the impact of history (Hall 1996, 4;

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Beukema, 7). However, not all forms of remembering of the past seem to be
equally positive (Erll, 178). A confrontation and subsequent negotiation with the
other is in fact fundamental in the revision of history, and this is precisely what
Samad lacks when remembering the Indian Mutiny (Beukema, 4; Erll, 178).
Similarly, also Samad and Archie’s version of the Second World War is
constructed in isolation from the outside world (see Paproth, 16). Hence, on the
evidence of this, it appears that Samad’s relationship with his ancestry and
historical roots is based on the lack of an actual negotiation between his version
of the story and others’ version of the same story. Further, it is possible to claim
that Samad’s perspective on and obsessive relationship to genealogy and history
seem to stress his belief that one’s present is determined by past actions:
however, he does not seem to be content with relying on the past, he even strives
to shape his connection with his ancestry and historical roots (Paproth, 15).
Thus, he desperately tries to define the man he is in the present by attempting to
control and fix his identity (Paproth, 15). However, conversely to what he
thinks, one should be able to relinquish history when necessary, otherwise its
excessive weight risks haunting one’s present and preventing him from living it
(Paproth, 15).

2.2.2 Irie’s relationship to her genealogical roots

Irie, unlike Samad, can neither rely on nor cling to her genealogical or
historical roots. Conversely, due to the secrets of her family history, she tends to
prune and escape those roots which seem to be clenching her (Paproth, 16).
Thus, when she meets the Chalfens for the first time, she is fascinated by a type
of communication which flows without restrictions from adults to children,
“untrammeled, unblocked by history, free” (Smith, 319; emphasis in original).
Further, Irie is positively surprised by Marcus Chalfen, who “deal[s] in the
present” without constantly referring to past history: thus, unlike her own father,

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Archibald, and his friend Samad, he does not seem to be stuck in the past
(Smith, 326). Moreover, it seems to her that the Chalfens do not hide their
emotions nor do they nostalgically look at photographs: it appears that there are
no secret family histories amongst them (Smith, 328-329). As a consequence,
Irie craves to blend with and become one of them (Smith, 328). When entering
their house Irie feels as if she is “crossing borders, sneaking into England”
(Smith, 328): hence, merging with the Chalfens means reaching their
Englishness and its purity, which is what Irie lacks for having inherited double
racial features (Smith, 328; Thompson, 126).
Her parents and family history, conversely, appear to Irie much more
complicated: to begin with, her father Archibald, an Englishman, spends much
of his time with his friend Samad, recalling and recounting episodes happened
during the Second World War (Smith, 245). Having experienced the war
directly, they in fact believe to be the only one to have the authority to discuss it
(Smith, 245). This attitude obviously prevents conversations to flow freely from
adults to children and vice versa (Smith, 240). Further, as far as Irie’s family
history is concerned, Archibald only manages to go as far back as his father’s
birth which can be approximately dated back to 1895 (Smith, 337). As far as her
mother Clara, a Jamaican woman, is concerned, she can only claim with
absolute certainty that her own mother, Hortense, was born in a Catholic Church
during the 1907 Kingston earthquake, but disbelieves any other story, reducing
it to “rumour, folk-tale and myth” (Smith, 337-338). Consequently, when
comparing her lacking and incomplete family tree with the Chalfens’ tree, Irie’s
admiration for the Chalfens increases even more (Smith, 338).
The constant comparison between her family and the Chalfens does not
push her to seek her own roots. Conversely, she increasingly desires to immerse
herself in Chalfens’ way of living and thinking (Smith, 351). One night,
however, while trying to convince her mother to let her take a gap year before
enrolling at university, Irie finds out about her mother’s false teeth, which have

‐ 34 ‐
replaced the top teeth lost during a motorbike accident (Smith, 378). “To her,
this [is] yet another item in a long list of parental hypocrisies and untruths, this
[is] another example of the Jones/Bowden gift for secret histories, stories you
never got told, history you never entirely uncovered, rumour you never
unravelled” (Smith, 379). Irie’s irritation seems thus to be increased by the
endless list of clues constantly suggesting that her own family is hiding
something from her (Smith, 379). Archibald tries to calm her down uttering that
“[i]t’s not the end of the world” (Smith, 379). Actually, it is for Irie, since “[s]he
[is] sick of never getting the whole truth” (Smith, 379). As a consequence of
this, Irie returns to her bedroom, packs her school work and some clothes and
decides to leave. She first thinks to go and stay by the Chalfens, but she soon
realises that “there [are] no answers there, only more places to escape”; Irie, on
the contrary, needs to go “deep into the heart of it” (Smith, 379). By
acknowledging for the first time the meaning and importance of one’s
genealogical and historical roots, she resolves to go to her grandmother’s, to find
out her own history (Smith, 380; Thompson, 132).
By staying at Hortense’s, Irie discovers other family secrets. Clara’s
former boyfriend, Ryan Topps, lives by Hortense; thus, when introducing Irie to
Mr Topps, Hortense whispers “[s]he might have been yours” (Smith, 390;
emphasis in original). Irie, who does not know who he is or, better said, what he
used to be for her mother, cannot entirely understand the meaning of such a
whisper. She thus simply adds this sentence to that list of incomprehensible
clues she has been collecting: “Ambrosia Bowden gave birth in an earthquake . .
. Captain Charlie Durham was a no-good djam fool boy . . . false teeth in a glass
. . . she might have been yours . . .” (Smith, 390; emphasis in original). Not only
does she overhear and grasp half-sentences, but, hidden “in cupboards and
neglected drawers”, she also finds out about some of the secrets which had been
concealed to her (Smith, 399). She finds photographs of Ambrosia, Hortense’s
mother, a picture portraying Charlie Durham, a bible lacking a line and pictures

‐ 35 ‐
of Clara while grinning and consequently revealing the lack of the top teeth
(Smith, 399). Further, she even reads books about Jamaica, found in her
grandmother’s library (Smith, 400). She collects everything she finds which tells
her where she comes from and stores it under the sofa where she sleeps, “as if
by osmosis the richness of them would pass through the fabric while she [is]
sleeping and seep right into her” (Smith, 400). Through all these photographs
and written accounts of her family history, Irie begins to fantasize about her
homeland and imagines it as an uncomplicated place, “where things simply
were” (Smith, 402; emphasis in original). Jamaica looks like a “beginning” to
her, a perfect “blank page” where to take shelter; she even starts to associate it
with “paradise” and “freedom” (Smith, 402, 408).
However, the closer she feels to her homeland, the more something or
somebody belonging to the present interferes with it: hence, despite her attempts
to cling to the “blankness of the past”, there is always something bringing her
back to the present (Smith, 402). Even her grandmother Hortense, when asked
about past family history, tells Irie that “[d]e past is done wid. Nobody learn
nuttin’ from it” (Smith, 410). Nevertheless, when Hortense discovers that the
End of the World, according to the evaluation of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, is
predicted to happen in 2000, she states that she is “gwan to be in Jamaica to see
it” and suggests that Irie can go with her (Smith, 411; emphasis in original).
Hence, despite her previous claim, the past still seems to matter. Hortense
herself, whose personal story is intimately linked to English colonialism, would
not be born if it was not England’s colonial past (Beukema, 7).
Irie’s attitude towards her genealogical and historical roots appears to be
ambivalent too: at first she distances herself from her family past history, but
progressively understands its importance and, deciding to stay at her
grandmother’s, desires to find her own history and roots (Thompson, 132).
Nevertheless, despite the new acquired certainties, there are still unrevealed
mysteries about her family history and, consequently, about her family tree,

‐ 36 ‐
which cannot be uncovered: the roots of her family tree can thus not be unburied
(Smith, 338; Thompson, 132). Therefore, despite her efforts, Irie does not
manage to return to her originary roots, which would represent her historical
certainty, and should thus accept the obvious limits and pointlessness of such a
quest (Thompson, 133). It is thus necessary to discard memory sometimes (Erll,
178). In the final part of the novel Irie is again inclined towards a rejection of
the past. Irritated by Samad’s and her own family behaviour, Irie flies into a
rage. By comparing the Iqbals and the Joneses to other families she considers
more ‘normal’, she utters that the latter’s existence is “not this endless maze of
present rooms and past rooms and the things said in them years ago and
everybody’s old historical shit all over the place”, because “[t]hey’re not always
hearing the same old shit” (Smith, 514). Irie goes on claiming that “every single
fucking day is not this huge battle between who they are and who they should
be, what they were and what they will be”: “as far as they’re concerned, it’s the
past” (Smith, 515; emphasis in original).
To recapitulate, it seems that Irie’s initial desire to blend with the
Chalfens stems from her attempt to reach a stable and fixed identity which
would allow Irie to distance herself “from the chaotic, random flesh of her own
family” (Smith, 342). However, she soon realises that she cannot spend her
entire life escaping from her roots, but has to come to terms with them: one’s
roots and family history cannot be entirely rejected, since, willing or not, they
determine one’s identity (Groß, 42). Her mother’s false teeth precisely act as a
reminder of the risks one comes across when attempting to prune his own roots
(Groß, 43). Thus, Irie herself realises that finding her own familial and historical
roots is important to understand who she is (Thompson, 132). However, despite
the new acquired certainties, there are still uncovered mysteries about her past
history which cannot be revealed nor unburied (Thompson, 132). As a result,
Irie is not able to go back to her originary family history or roots. However, the
search itself for stable, coherent and definite origins and roots does not seem to

‐ 37 ‐
be fruitful in a “society where nothing seems to be dependable or definable”
(Thompson, 133). By first attempting to blend with the Chalfens and by later
trying to cling to “the perfect blankness of the past”, Irie strives to determine a
stable identity, escaping randomness (Smith, 342, 402; Thompson, 133).
However, she herself seems to realise that there are still issues which cannot be
entirely controlled or recouped. This realization consequently leads her to a
further attempt to reject the past, looking forward to “a time not far from now,
when roots won’t matter any more because they can’t because they mustn’t
because they’re too long and they’re too tortuous and they’re just buried too
damn deep” (Smith, 527).
Therefore, to conclude, Irie’s attitude towards her ancestry and family
past history is rather ambivalent: on the one hand, she would like to escape from
her originary roots; on the other hand, she also tries to cling to those same
genealogical and historical roots. In both cases, she is attempting to reach a
definite identity, untroubled by uncertainties and chance (Thompson, 133, 135).
Throughout the novel, however, Irie has to face the impossibility of such a quest
(Thompson, 133). Moreover, when pregnant, Irie seems required to accept her
offspring’s rootlessness and lack of an exact family history and historical past
(Smith, 515; Thompson, 134). Having had an intercourse with both Millat and
Magid Iqbal, she is uncertain of who the father of her child is and thus needs to
tolerate a certain ambiguity (Smith, 515). If at first she is saddened by such
circumstances, she later has to accept the fact that she cannot discover “her
body’s decision” (Smith, 515). Attempting to do so would mean to go back to
the moment in which sperm met the egg, which actually “cannot be traced”
(Smith, 527). Therefore, the attempt to control identity and the search for an
origin which is stable and cohesive ultimately reveal futile (Thompson, 133).

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2.2.3 Comparing and Contrasting Samad’s and Irie’s attitudes

Despite their different starting points and distinct perspectives regarding

the influence and weight of history upon the present, both Samad and Irie appear
to be in need of a negotiation between the contrasting binaries they are caught
between (Paproth, 17). Both of them, by either clinging to or escaping from their
ancestry and historical roots, are attempting to determine and maintain identities
and origins which are as certain and definite as possible (Paproth, 15;
Thompson, 135). Yet paradoxically, they appear to find stability only by
reshaping history, as happens to Samad, and by clinging to a past which is
blank, as happens to Irie (Paproth, 15; Smith, 252-253).
However, as pointed out by Hall, identity, precisely because of the
intervention of discourses such as history, culture and language, is constantly
reshaped and transformed (1996, 4). Further, as suggested by Bauman, identity
in a postmodern world is characterized by an increasing lack of stability; thus, it
cannot be fixed (Bauman, quoted in Elliott, 154).
Samad and Irie, however, seem unable to deal with the ruptures and
fractures identity undergoes as the result of its continuous changes; thus, by
either going back to or cutting ties with their origin, they try to shape their
identity as a cohesive and permanent entity (Thompson, 135). Eventually, it
appears that both too much remembering and forgetting reveal to be risky: as
stressed by Erll, by criticizing a certain kind of memory Smith does not advise
an indiscriminate forgetfulness of the past but rather the need for a negotiation
when remembering (178). If history cannot be entirely escaped since ancestry
and its heritage allows one to root somewhere, it is still true that one’s identity
and life do not remain fixed and stable: thus, both Samad and Irie should learn to
accept uncertainty and ambivalence, without trying to constantly control their
origin and identity by clinging to alleged stable positions (Childs, 214).

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2.3 Racial Heritage

Not only does one’s past appear under the form of ancestry or historical
roots. It also reveals itself through racial heritage. Race is a construction which
has been socially and politically shaped and is considered to be based on
inherited genetic and biological features (Hall 2006, 299). However, since
genetic and biological characteristics are not immediately evident, they are made
visible through factors such as skin colour, hair texture, body shape, and other
distinctive features (Hall 2006, 299). Within Smith’s novel White Teeth, Irie is
the character who mostly suffers the implications of her racial heritage.

2.3.1 Irie’s Relationship to her Racial Heritage

During adolescence, like many other youngsters her age, Irie becomes
obsessed with her physical appearance (Smith, 266, 273). Unlike other
adolescents, however, Irie’s anxieties are not simply related to her age, but
actually stem from her double racial heritage (McMann, 629). Being born from a
Jamaican mother and an English father, Irie has thus received double racial
features (Thompson, 126). As a consequence, she attempts to reach a balance
between her mother’s Jamaican features and her father’s English characteristics
(McMann, 629). Nonetheless, by living in England, a country where the
European silhouette represents the canonical form of beauty, Irie is led to
consider her Jamaican heritage the source of her difficulties to accept herself
(Thompson, 128). Consequently, having decided that the genes inherited from
her father are the one to be maintained, Irie becomes increasingly concerned
about those characteristics which can be associated with her Jamaican side of the
family, such as her body shape and hair (Thompson, 127).

‐ 40 ‐
 Being such a “big brown goddess” (Smith, 329), as Irie is addressed by
the researcher and scientist Marcus Chalfen, makes her think that “[t]he
European proportions of Clara’s figure [have] skipped a generation, and she [is]
landed instead with Hortense’s substantial Jamaican frame” (Smith, 265). She
thus becomes increasingly convinced that the features inherited from her
mother’s side of the family need to be modified in order to fit in and feel less “a
stranger in a strange land” (Smith, 266; Thompson, 127). As a consequence, she
tries anything in her power to conceal those “big tits, big butt, big hips, big
thighs, big teeth” (Smith, 265). She attempts to hide her enormous bottom by
strategically tying clothes around it and conceals her breast and belly by wearing
reducing bras and panties (Smith, 265). Despite her mother’s efforts to make her
realise she is totally fine as she is, Irie does not manage to understand it; on the
one hand “[t]here [is] England, a gigantic mirror” and on the other hand “there
[is] Irie, without reflection” (Smith, 266). The lack of a ‘mirror’ where to see a
reflection of her own image pushes her to believe “in her ugliness, in her
wrongness”, convincing her that “[s]he [is] all wrong” (Smith, 268; emphasis in
original).
Such a quest for a reflection brings her to attempt to identify herself with
the Dark Lady of Shakespeare’s sonnets. While her teacher is explaining sonnet
127 to the class, Irie is struck by the description of the Dark Lady and inquires
whether she was black (Smith, 271). The teacher replies that “she’s not black in
the modern sense” but “dark” (Smith, 271). The sonnet is actually debating the
clash between a natural complexion and the fashionable tendency of the time to
put make-up on (Smith, 272). Hence, the teacher, by providing what is a
poetically correct clarification, prevents Irie even from recognizing herself in the
Dark Lady (Groß, 42). As a consequence, “the reflection that Irie had glimpsed
[slinks] back into the familiar darkness”, losing another chance to find a model
on which to rely and which may possibly diminish her low-esteem (Smith, 272;
Groß, 42).

‐ 41 ‐
 Not only does she strive to fight her “mountainous curves”, she also
struggles against her “impossible Afro hair” (Smith, 268). Hence, alongside with
her body, her hair constitutes another feature which highlights her Jamaican
heritage and which prevents her from conforming to the European ideal of
beauty (McMann, 630). Irie thus decides to transform her hairstyle and goes to a
hairdresser in order to make her hair straight and red dyed (Smith, 274). The
hairdressers working at ‘P.K.’s Afro Hair: Design and Management’ daily strive
to turn each curly African hair into straightness (Smith, 275). Despite knowing
that the hair soon resumes its initial shape, the hairdressers support and
encourage their clients claiming that the hair is “as straight as it ever going to
be” (Smith, 276). Irie herself hopes that the treatment will work and, despite
being told that the hair needs to be dirty first, she resolves to have her hair
straight that same day (Smith, 277-278). However, the treatment is a complete
failure: not only is it unsuccessful, but the chemical products used also make
Irie’s hair fall off (Smith, 278). As a result, Irie is sent to a shop nearby to
purchase fake hair to replace her own (Smith, 279). Thus, she eventually
achieves what she craved and leaves the hairdresser wearing straight red hair;
ironically, however, she leaves with somebody else’s hair, not her own (Smith,
282).
Hence, the desire “to be the same as everybody else” pushes Irie to
conceal her body shape and to undergo the hair straightening treatment, both
resulting in bodily pain: her reducing bras and panties barely allow her to
breathe, whereas the straightening process has irreversibly damaged her hair
(Smith, 284; Thompson, 127-128). As already mentioned, Irie’s anxieties
originate from living within a body which is rooted both in England and in
Jamaica (Thompson, 127). As pointed out by Ngcobo, mixed race people
encounter much more difficulties when trying to self-define themselves and they
are consequently pushed to cling to either one side or the other, or to reject both
(Ngcobo, quoted in Thompson, 127-128). Irie’s attempt to reject a part of her

‐ 42 ‐
racial heritage, i.e. her Jamaican roots, in order to make the other part of her
heritage, i.e. her English roots, prevail, exemplifies the tendency, from part of
mixed race people, to favour dominant racial characteristics over those features
which would belong to a minority group within England (Thompson, 128).
However, Irie’s endeavour to cope with her identity by refusing one part of it
and clinging to the other one proves damaging: her attempt to purposely control
her identity thus fails (Thompson, 128). Nevertheless, when pregnant,
whichever the actual father of her child is, either Millat or Magid, she seems
required to endure a further racial mixing: not only will her offspring inherit her
dual racial heritage, but also the Iqbals’ (Dalleo, 101). However, perhaps
unsurprisingly, Irie may not choose England as the place where to raise her
child, but the Caribbean (Smith, 541). Thus, racial mixing and her own difficulty
in fitting in can be resolved, whether this can be an actual and concrete solution,
by leaving England: therefore, it seems that escaping England may become the
prerequisite in order to face the challenge of a mixed race heritage (McMann,
631).

2.4 Cultural Heritage

The past can disclose even under the form of cultural roots, which tend to
reveal themselves mainly through religious faith and family tradition within
White Teeth. Before beginning to analyse the characters’ specific situations, it
would be useful to recall Stuart Hall’s second way of thinking cultural identity
(Beukema, 3). Hall’s second model, alongside with recognizing the presence of
common experiences within a same group, argues that there are also components
which diverge radically from one another and which represent “ruptures and
discontinuities” within a common experience (Hall 2003, 236). Thus, such a
model considers cultural identity constituted by both continuity and rupture
(Hall 2003, 236-237).

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 Many characters within Smith’s novel seem to embody such a position
and, despite being unconscious of it, their cultural identity is constantly
transformed and altered (Beukema, 3). However, despite the inevitability of
difference, rupture and discontinuity within a common experience, many of
Smith’s characters seek to be in control of their lives and, ultimately, of their
identity, and eventually cling to extreme positions, either rejecting new
emerging values seen as elements of rupture or embracing them in an attempt to
prevent any kind of continuity (Beukema, 3).
Having recalled Hall’s second definition of cultural identity, let us now
consider the characters who find themselves dealing with their cultural heritage
and their different reactions to it.

2.4.1 Clara’s Rebellion to Hortense’s Religious Heritage

Hortense, Clara’s mother, was born during the 1907 Kingston earthquake
(Smith, 34). Her mother, Ambrosia, gives birth to her in Santa Antonia, an old
Spanish Church where she is brought by the colonist Glenard, longing to share
with her “the opportunity of a little education” (Smith, 360). Glenard is not the
first one who, with the pretext of educating her, at the same time tries to take
something away from her too (Smith, 356). Another colonist before him,
Captain Charlie Durham, after impregnating Ambrosia while drunk, had decided
that she required an education (Smith, 356). The narrator suggests that Hortense,
who is still inside Ambrosia’s womb, “[is] silent witness to what happens when
all of a sudden an Englishman decides you need an education” (Smith, 356).
However, even though both these men attempt and manage to take advantage of
Ambrosia, they are not able to shape her religious faith as they wish (Smith,
359). Captain Durham desires to introduce Ambrosia to the Anglican Church,
whereas Glenard recommends the Methodist Church (Smith, 359). However, a
third person, a Scottish woman, intervenes in Ambrosia’s education and chooses

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to bring her to the Jehovah’s Witnesses (Smith, 359). Thus, this woman
introduces the Bowden family to the word of Jehovah (Smith, 359). Hortense
believes that when her own mother became familiar with Jehovah, she herself,
despite not being born yet, became aware of the word of Jehovah too (Smith,
359).
On the evidence of this, it appears that Hortense fervently believes in the
faith she has been transmitted by her mother Ambrosia. Consequently, she
spends almost her entire life waiting for the End of the World predicted by
religious intellectuals studying the bible, and hoping to be one of the saved
(Smith, 32, 409). Hence, when predictions prove wrong in 1914 and 1925,
Hortense is rather disappointed (Smith, 32). However, when 1 January 1975 is
forecast as the new date for the apocalypse, Hortense thinks this is her last
occasion to experience the end of the world (Smith, 33). Being born in 1907, she
is getting older and may not have much time left (Smith, 33). Since the end of
the world is approaching, there is no time to lose and her daughter Clara is asked
to help her mother making banners, writing articles, ringing bells (Smith, 33).
Being a firm believer, Hortense has raised up Clara according to Jehovah faith
(Smith, 30). However, as an adolescent, Clara, like any other teenager her age,
fancies a youngster who studies at her school, Ryan Topps, and is thus distracted
from what Hortense considers her duties (Smith, 30). Consequently, her mother
does not miss any occasion to remind her that “only 144,000 of the Witnesses of
Jehovah would sit in the court of the Lord on Judgment Day”, therefore “there
[is] no space for nasty-looking so-and-sos on motorcycles” (Smith, 30). Not
only does Hortense think that Clara does not have time for boyfriends, she also
believes Clara is not like other adolescents, since “she [is] the Lord’s child,
Hortense’s miracle baby” (Smith, 33). Like Hortense herself, who came to the
world when the earth was shaking and cracking, Clara’s birth can be considered
miraculous too, since Hortense became pregnant at forty-eight (Smith, 34). After
hearing the voice of the Lord, she “conceive[s] the child He had asked for”

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(Smith, 34). Hortense relies on His will and, considering her age, she becomes
convinced He wanted to show her another miracle (Smith, 34).
Nonetheless, it is precisely by accomplishing her mother and the Lord’s
will that Clara meets Ryan and has the chance to speak with him (Smith, 34).
Without knowing he lives in there, she rings his bell and, when he appears at the
front door, she nervously begins to talk about the Jehovah’s (Smith, 35). Using
Hortense’s metaphor, Clara compares life to a staircase, which one can either
descend or ascend and claims that she feels he is descending it (Smith, 34). After
lingering on her figure, Ryan invites Clara to enter the house: that same
afternoon “the devil [wins] another easy hand in God’s poker game” (Smith,
36). From that day onwards, they begin to go out together (Smith, 36). It appears
that Clara’s interest in Ryan transcends Ryan’s ugliness, tiresome nature and
unappealing behavior: thus, she transcends Ryan himself (Smith, 37). Thus,
despite Hortense’s claims, Clara is like any adolescent her age and Ryan only
represents the pretext for a passion which has been suppressed too long and now
needs to assert itself (Smith, 37). As a result of this acquaintance, “Clara’s mind
change[s], Clara’s clothes change[s], Clara’s walk change[s], Clara’s soul
change[s]” (Smith, 37). Clara is experiencing so many new things in her life that
“the more blessed she [feels] on earth, the more rarely she turn[s] her thoughts
towards heaven”: hence, by “[forgetting] the staircase and [beginning] taking the
lift” she feels as if she is one of the saved this very moment (Smith, 38-39).
One day, however, being late for her usual meeting with Ryan, Clara finds
him at home, talking with her mother (Smith, 39-40). From that moment
onwards, she always finds Ryan at home, conversing with her mother (Smith,
40). If their conversations sound vivacious when entering the house, they
suddenly turn silent when Clara approaches Hortense and Ryan: further, as soon
as Clara is at home, Ryan leaves thus (Smith, 40-41). He also avoids her at
school and even buys a tie (Smith, 41). Yet one day Clara discovers “a tiny
silver cross” underneath his pullover and has to acknowledge “what she didn’t

‐ 46 ‐
want to see” (Smith, 41; emphasis in original). Therefore, when giving her that
“look of sympathy, of condescension”, and when commenting negatively on her
clothes, both Hortense and Ryan are now determined “to save her” (Smith, 41;
emphasis in original). Clara’s fears become concrete when Ryan asks her to get
on his motorbike to tell Clara that her mother and he himself are concerned
about her (Smith, 42). Since there is only one month left before 1 January 1975,
Ryan attempts to save Clara and, by quoting Matthew, he claims “[he’s] just
separating the sheep from the goats” and believes that Clara herself is a sheep
(Smith, 43). Yet Clara replies that “[she would] rather be sizzling in de rains of
sulphur wid [her] friends than sittin’ in heaven, bored to tears, wid Darcus6,
[her] mudder and [him]!” (Smith, 43). Distracted by Clara’s words, Ryan
crashes against an oak while driving his motorbike; Ryan is thrown one way,
Clara another (Smith, 43-44). Clara, falling down, breaks her top teeth, whereas
Ryan stands up unarmed (Smith, 44). This episode makes him believe even
more firmly that he is destined to be saved whereas Clara is not: thus, Ryan
interprets this episode as a sign of the Lord (Smith, 44).
Clara, nonetheless, reconciles neither with Ryan nor with her mother and
the night before the alleged end of the world she throws a party at some friends’
house (Smith, 44). However, there is still “a residue, left over from the
evaporation of Clara’s faith” (Smith, 45). Despite running away from her
mother’s religious roots, in fact, Clara ironically still waits for a man who can
save her (Smith, 45). By quoting Revelation 4:3, the narrator suggests that Clara
is waiting for a man who, by choosing her, may allow Clara to “Walk in white
with Him: for [she] was worthy” (Smith, 45; emphasis in original). Therefore,
when Archibald Jones materializes at Clara’s friends’ the morning subsequent to
the party, Clara sees much more in him than what he actually is (Smith, 45).
Having lost her faith and the world she had been living by until that moment,
she consequently looks at Archibald “through the grey-green eyes of loss”
6
Clara’s dead father

‐ 47 ‐
(Smith, 45). Finding the saviour she was looking for in Archibald, Clara wholly
deserts her mother’s church and religion; nonetheless, as pointed out by her
previous quest for a saviour, “she [is] not yet the kind of carefree atheist”
(Smith, 46). As a consequence of the remaining left over by her faith, she
wonders whether to get married or not (Smith, 46). The narrator suggests that
“more worrying than God [is] her mother” (Smith, 46): not only is Hortense
opposed to this mixed race relationship, yet, if this is Clara’s choice, she “would
prefer her to marry an unsuitable man rather than to live with him in sin” (Smith,
46). Aware of Hortense’s thought, Clara purposely inquires Archibald to fetch
her away without getting married (Smith, 46). Nevertheless, they eventually get
married and, despite Clara’s intentional attempts to distance herself from her
mother’s faith, she is destined to always bring within herself a remainder of her
mother’s faith and, consequently, of her roots. It should thus not be surprising
that, when her daughter Irie stays by Hortense’s seeking her roots, Clara almost
threats her mother and orders her not to fill Irie’s head “with a whole load of
nonsense” (Smith, 394). Being so touchy and becoming easily irritated when the
issue is faced, Clara’s conduct permits Hortense to sense her own daughter’s
dread (Smith, 395). The narrator himself, commenting on Clara’s attitude,
suggests the fragility of Clara’s atheism (Smith, 395).
In conclusion, despite Clara’s efforts to distance herself from Hortense’s
faith after she has lost her own, it appears that Clara’s quest for a fresh start is
rather pointless. After deserting the church, not only does she attempt to run
away from Hortense, she even seems to intentionally behave in opposition to
her. Nonetheless, despite her desire to cling to atheism, residues belonging to
her past religious faith and upbringing keep materializing in her life, forcing her
to face them, willing or not. Thus, it does not seem possible to entirely escape
one’s roots. Despite the many changes one undergoes throughout his life,
Clara’s character and the continuous remnants which keep emerging from her
past seem to prove the pointlessness of a quest for coherency and the

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inescapability from one’s biological roots. Hence, a negotiation between what
one used to be and what one has become appears essential in order not to
struggle against those aspects which initially have forged the individual and
which are inevitably carried into the present.

2.4.2 Magid’s and Millat’s Response to their Father’s Islamic Faith

As children, Magid and Millat manage to relate themselves to others and

seem to seek a negotiation between their biological roots and English values
(Beukema, 8). Millat, for instance, alongside with living within a Bengali
family, listens to Bruce Springsteen and Michael Jackson as a result of being
born in the West (Smith, 156). Magid, in addition to being raised according to
Muslim principles, also desires to participate in the Harvest Festival, like any
other pupil in his school, despite Samad’s opposition (Smith, 150). However, as
children they already seem to reveal contrasting inclinations, which will bring
them to opposing values, beliefs and choices as adults. As a child Millat is rather
lively and his father tends to define him “a good-for-nothing” (Smith, 135): his
strong personality and predisposition for troubles may perhaps forecast his
future as a leader of a group of Raggastani first and of a fundamentalist Islamic
group, KEVIN, later on (Smith, 135, 231, 334). Unlike his brother Millat,
Magid, as a nine-year-old child, not only is impressively intelligent and talented
for scientific subjects; he also desperately desires to be English, consequently
turning his name into Mark Smith (Smith, 134, 151). Magid’s juvenile
predispositions and desires seem to come true when he later joins Marcus’s
scientific project and even turns “more English than the English” (Smith, 406).
On the basis of this, it seems that when growing up they are increasingly
distanced from one another and from the hybridized identity of their childhood
(Beukema, 8). The fluidity of their childhood identity seems to be altered under
the influence of the outside world and both Magid and Millat are led to seek a

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stable identity constituted mainly of one primarily aspect (Beukema, 8). Unlike
Irie, whose predicament arises from her double racial heritage, Magid and
Millat’s crisis stems from a double national and cultural heritage (Thompson,
129). If England, from which they have inherited their Western principles and
beliefs, is their homeland, their parents were born in Bangladesh; therefore, by
moving to England, their parents have brought within themselves their cultural
and national roots (Thompson, 129). Magid and Millat would need to negotiate
between their Bengali and Western heritage, however as adolescents they seem
to become increasingly incapable of managing this mediation (Thompson, 129).
Magid and Millat would perhaps experience fewer difficulties if their
father Samad did not interfere with their lives (Thompson, 129). However
Samad cannot help intervening in his sons’ lives since it is “[e]asy for children
to go off the rails in this day and age” (Smith, 190, 191). Further, Samad himself
feels corrupted by England and states that what others would call “assimilation”
is rather “corruption” (Smith, 190). Samad desires in fact an English woman,
Poppy, his sons’ music teacher and wants her “more than any other woman he
had met in the past ten years” (Smith, 133). Thus, Samad becomes increasingly
“distracted by the attractions of the flesh” and is much more tempted by sex,
which has always troubled him (Smith, 137). In the past, he even had to make a
deal with Allah, proposing to avoid masturbation if allowed to drink (Smith,
139). Nonetheless, when the thought of Poppy begins to haunt him, Samad
resolves to masturbate instead of eating (Smith, 140). Samad feels he is “a
masturbator, a bad husband, an indifferent father, with all the morals of an
Anglican” (Smith, 141). It seems that when his attraction for Poppy raises
religion as a further factor of diversity, Samad loses his balance (Mirze, 192).
Previously he had to negotiate merely between two factors: his Bengali identity
on the one hand and his national belonging to Britain on the other one (Mirze,
189). When Samad moves to London after having fought for the British Army
during the Second World War, he supports his identity as a Bengali along with

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identifying nationally with the Empire, which has provided him with an
education and for which he has fought (Mirze, 189). However, such a
negotiation is achieved by never allowing the two contrasting aspects to
dialogue and merge with one another, but only to coexist (Mirze, 191). As a
consequence, when religion emerges as a further aspect of difference, Samad
becomes increasingly split and cannot manage to mediate amongst the multiple
and opposing aspects of his identity (Mirze, 192). Unable to cope with the
intensifying variations surrounding him, he resolves to cling to religion as a
defense against change (Mirze, 192).
Nonetheless, Samad feels he is already corrupted and wonders what he
can teach his sons and how he can “show them the straight road when [he] ha[s]
lost [his] own bearings” (Smith, 188-189). As a consequence, the more attracted
he feels to Poppy, the more resolute he becomes to assure his sons “roots on
shore, deep roots that no storm or gale could displace” (Smith, 193). According
to Samad roots represent the good and what can saved (Smith, 193). Hence,
believing that it is too late to change his own life, Samad resolves to save at least
his own children (Smith, 189). By taking Archibald’s advice, which was actually
Mickey-Abdul’s suggestion, Samad decides to send one of his boys back to
Bangladesh - he can only afford to send back one because of shortage of money
(Smith, 193). At first Samad appears rather undecided and does not know which
son to send back (Smith, 194-195). Desperately enough, he even permits
Archibald to toss his coin in order to see which one of his children should be
taken away (Smith, 196). However, Samad eventually resolves it is Magid to be
taken back to Bangladesh (Smith, 196). On the basis of this decision it seems
that Samad, despite attempting to negotiate his place within Britain, fears his
sons can ultimately be corrupted as he is by negotiating their identities with
Western values and thus forces them to adhere to traditional Islamic identities
(Beukema, 3). Hence, he does not seem to accept those discontinuities and
ruptures within a communal experience, as suggested by Hall’s second model,

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and, preventing his wife Alsana to talk about a second generation, he claims
there is “[o]ne generation! Invisible! Eternal!” (Smith, 289; Hall 2003, 236).
However, despite Samad’s efforts to meticulously control and arrange his twins’
existence under the influence of his belief in determinism, his sons’ lives reveal
to be the exact opposite of what he would expect (Sell, 30). His failure seems to
prove his wife Alsana right when warning him not to continuously attempt to
control their children’s lives since “[one] can’t plan everything” (Smith, 289).
Millat, the son who remains in Britain, while growing up feels
increasingly excluded from British society and becomes the leader of a “cultural
mongrel” called Raggastani (Beukema, 9; Smith, 231). In 1989, together with
his fellow companions, he decides to go to Bradford to join a protest against
what they call the ‘dirty book’ (Smith, 233). Even though the book’s title and its
author are never openly uttered, many hints within the novel suggest they are
referring to Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses (Squires, 32). Millat, despite not
having read the book nor knowing anything about its author, resolves to join the
demonstration, since “he [knows] other things” (Smith, 233). Everywhere he
goes Millat is considered “a Paki no matter where he [comes] from” (Smith,
234): thus, British society, according to Hall’s first model, tends to make Millat
coincide with the Pakistani experience without distinguishing between the
several ruptures and differences within a common history (see Hall 2003, 234).
Further, by thinking that “he should go back to his own country” the Britons
also deprive him of his identity as an English citizen, inherited by being born in
England (Smith, 234). Hence, Millat knows “he [has] no face in this country, no
voice” (Smith, 234). However, when he sees all those other angry young men
like him suddenly appearing on every TV channel, newspaper and radio station,
demonstrating against a book and its meaning, he recognizes their rage as his
own, and, despite not having read the book, decides to join their cause and goes
to Bradford to demonstrate (Smith, 234). It is his rage which urges him to grasp
his diversity more firmly (Mirze, 196). Like his own father, Millat clings to

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religion and in this way strives to reduce his increasing alienation within
England (Mirze, 196). Millat’s confusion seems to arise because of Magid’s
departure: in fact, after Magid’s leaving, Millat has been living a sort of
schizophrenic life, “one foot in Bengal and one in Willesden” (Smith, 219). This
condition of disorientation and anger worsens with the passage of time and
Millat develops “the feeling of belonging nowhere” (Smith, 269).
In the meantime, Millat is offered to become the head of a fundamentalist
Islamic group, KEVIN, which stays for “Keepers of the Eternal and Victorious
Islamic Nation” (Smith, 295). This group treats religion and politics as “two
sides of the same coin” and, as many other extremist factions, it frequently
resorts to violence (Smith, 470). Despite the dangers KEVIN may represent,
Millat decides to join this group and, as a result, he resolves to embrace his
diversity rather than attempting to negotiate between his Bengali identity and
English identity (Mirze, 197). Joyce Chalfen herself, who later in the story is
asked to look after Millat during an after-school programme, when
contemplating Millat’s difficult character, considers his “inability to reconcile
two opposing cultures” as one of the causes (Smith, 375). Thus, the void Millat
is trying to fill by joining KEVIN does not seem to be religious: it is rather a
void which needs love (Mirze, 198; Smith, 324). Nevertheless, despite the lack
of a complete intellectual adherence to KEVIN’s principles, frequently
questioned by the other members, Millat for the first time feels he belongs to
somewhere (Mirze, 197). Thus, despite being “neither one thing nor the other,
this or that, Muslim or Christian, Englishman or Bengali”, Millat, by choosing
KEVIN and, consequently, the Islamic faith, decides to choose one single
component of his identity to prevail over the others (Smith, 351; Mirze, 199).
Therefore, it appears that the son who is kept in Britain actually turns into an
Islamic extremist.
Magid, conversely, returns from Bangladesh “[m]ore English than the
English” (Smith, 406). A few months after Magid’s arrival, a cyclone breaks out

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in Bangladesh and Magid’s parents cannot talk with him for six long days
(Smith, 212-213). Magid eventually manages to inform them he is fine and that
he has only broken his nose because of a vase fallen down from a shelf in a
mosque (Smith, 213). Not only is Samad relieved that he has not hurt himself
during the cyclone, he even triumphs when hearing that Magid was in a mosque:
he thus suggests “[h]e is learning the old ways” (Smith, 213). Further, he
becomes even more exultant when, by reading Magid’s letters, Samad discovers
his son’s ambition to become “a wise man” (Smith, 215).
Nevertheless, Magid later encounters an Indian writer, R.V. Saraswati,
who becomes his mentor and teaches him to be “more like the English” (Smith,
288; Mirze, 195). Saraswati claims that the Indians, Bengali and Pakistani too
often tend to leave themselves to the mercy of fate, whereas the English tend to
struggle against it and do not listen to it “unless it is telling them what they wish
to hear” (Smith, 288). Samad is disconcerted by Magid’s acquaintance with such
a “Rule-Britannia-worshipping Hindu old Queen” (Smith, 289) and tries to
contrast his word by claiming that ‘Islam’ means “I surrender”, which thus
proves human beings’ weakness and dependence upon God (Smith, 288).
However Alsana criticizes Samad who now “say[s] we have no control, yet [he]
always tr[ies] to control everything!” (Smith, 289). Under Saraswati’s
suggestion, Magid decides to study law in order to become an educated man
(Smith, 288). Further, he later even maintains a correspondence with the
scientist Marcus Chalfen and praises his work on the FutureMouse, as Marcus
calls it, which may “eliminate the random” (Smith, 366). Therefore, despite
being distanced from the corruption of the West, Magid does not become the
religious man his father would expect; conversely, he embraces Englishness as
the constitutive component of his identity, renouncing the possibility of a
negotiation between the identity Samad hopes for him and the one Magid finds
by himself (Beukema, 10).

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 On the evidence of Millat’s and Magid’s lives it appears that the
geographical area in which one grows up does not necessarily determine his
identity. Ironically, Samad’s determinism is discarded by Smith’s narration,
which turns Millat, the son who remains in England, into an extremist Muslim,
whereas Magid, who was supposed to be converted into a pious Muslim, returns
from Bangladesh as a secular Englishman (Sell, 30). Samad thus has to
recognise his failure, and when asked by Irie what is wrong with him he replies,
“[w]hat’s right?” (Smith, 405). He acknowledges that both his sons have “lost
their way. Strayed so far from the life [he] had intended for them” (Smith, 406).
He attempts to justify himself by uttering he only desired two devout Muslim
sons (Smith, 406). However, he needs to acknowledge that despite one’s efforts
“to plan everything” later “nothing happens in the way that [one] expected”
(Smith, 407). Samad feels as if he has made “a devil’s pact” when entering
England, “a place where you are never welcomed, only tolerated”, and now he is
“unsuitable to return, [his] children are unrecognizable, [he] belong[s] nowhere”
(Smith, 407). Totally disoriented, Samad utters that he “begin[s] to believe that
birthplaces are accidents, that everything is an accident” (Beukema, 4; Smith,
407, emphasis in original). However, he immediately realises that claiming such
a thing involves implying that nothing other matters and one would ultimately
be lost (Smith, 407). By questioning his own roots, and their importance in
establishing identity, Samad reaches the acme of his crisis (Smith, 4). Samad’s
breakdown appears to stress the significant role played by both roots and routes
(Beukema, 4). Feeling completely lost, Samad even questions his roots;
however, the awareness of the past is fundamental to understand one’s identity
(Beukema, 4). Further, it is also essential to negotiate past roots with present
routes in order to manage to live in a postcolonial society (Beukema, 1).
Due to Samad’s intervention, Magid and Millat grow apart: after they
have been separated, their lives have followed completely different routes.
However, Irie and Joyce Chalfen feel that they miss one another and that seeing

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each other would perhaps help them to better understand who they are (Smith,
406, 434). After Magid’s return to England, an empty room is thus arranged for
their first encounter after eight years of separation (Smith, 463). Despite the
neutrality of this room, however, Magid and Millat fill it with “past, present and
future history” (Smith, 464). Even though immigrants are frequently said to be
“on the move, footloose, able to change course at any moment”, such a thing
cannot be said of Magid and Millat (Smith, 465). They leave that room as they
had arrived, “weighed down, burdened, unable to waver from their course or in
any way change their separate, dangerous trajectories” (Smith, 465). Magid and
Millat do not seem to make any advancement (Smith, 465). Further, the more
they move forward, the more they realise they embody and utter their own past
(Smith, 466). The narrator suggests that the other reality about migration is that
immigrants “cannot escape their history any more than you yourself can lose
your shadow” (Smith, 466). Such an encounter thus appears to suggest the
unavoidability of history (Beukema, 11). Further, it is precisely history which
prevents them from advancing: if Magid and Millat once shared common roots,
after their parting they have proceeded along opposing routes (Beukema, 11).
Consequently, when appealing to their contrasting routes now, they are no
longer able to reunify on a same path nor can obviously convince one another to
adhere to the other’s side (Beukema, 11). Therefore, by failing to understand the
necessity of their reliance on a common history and roots, they ultimately leave
the room without having made any advancement (Beukema, 11).
In conclusion, if as children Magid and Millat seem capable of relating to
one another and to others despite their double national and cultural heritage,
while growing up, especially after being separated by their father Samad, they
grow apart and begin to follow opposing pathways (Beukema, 8; Thompson,
129). Both of them, like other characters within the novel, when experiencing a
conflict between two contrasting components of their identity, renounce the
possibility of finding a negotiation and embrace one single component, mainly

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an extreme belief, as the main constitutive of their identity (Beukema, 8). When
they meet after eight years of separation, despite their efforts to move forward
on distinct trajectories, they are unable to progress as a consequence of history,
which frequently makes advancement more difficult (Beukema, 11). Magid and
Millat’s encounter is thus a failure due to their incapability to acknowledge the
importance of a shared past: not only are their separate routes fundamental to
define their identity, their common roots are as vital too (Beukema, 11). Hence,
failing to recognize the necessity of relying on a common history, each one
leaves the room stuck in his own position (Beukema, 11). Therefore, not only do
they not manage to negotiate the different components within their own identity,
they even fail to negotiate their identities between one another. The mistake
Samad’s sons, and Samad himself, make, is that they believe they can survive by
embracing merely one aspect of their identity, when human beings do not
necessarily need to choose one single coherent component over the many other
aspects of identity (Waldron, quoted in Hall 2006, 314).

2.4.3 Joshua’s Rebellion to Chalfenism

Joshua is a school boy the same age as Irie, Magid and Millat, attending
their same school, Glenard Oak. He is a very intelligent kid; consequently, other
pupils, especially Millat, derides Joshua considering him “a nerd” (Smith, 271).
For instance, when the teacher reads sonnet 127 to the class, before explaining
it, she first would like them put forward some hypothesis (Smith, 270). Joshua
Chalfen, “the only kid in class who volunteer[s] opinions”, suggests that the
sonnet refers to make-up, used by the Dark Lady even though the Elizabethans
privileged a pale complexion (Smith, 270-271). Millat exploits Joshua’s
clarification to mock him: being Joshua very pallid, Millat utters that the
Elizabethans would have adored him (Smith, 271).

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 Despite Millat’s antipathy towards Joshua, however, their paths are
destined to intersect. One day a raid is organized at school to find out who
smokes illicitly (Smith, 293). Since Millat usually smokes joints, Irie, being
desperately in love with him, wants to warn Millat of the raid committee (Smith,
293). While talking with Hifan, the one who introduces Millat to KEVIN, Millat
gives his joint to Irie and later forgets to take it off her (Smith, 298). In the
meanwhile Irie, leaving Millat and Hifan alone, approaches Joshua, who now
asks her some smoke (Smith, 298). While handing the joint to Joshua, the two
are reached by Millat, soon followed by the raid committee (Smith, 298). Thus,
the three of them are caught “in the very act of marijuana consumption” (Smith,
298). The headmaster of Glenard Oak, in order to teach them a lesson, inquires
them to submit to a programme which is “more than punishment. It’s
constructive” (Smith, 303). Twice a week Irie and Millat are required to go to
Joshua’s to do after-school homework, focusing mainly on biology and
mathematic, which are Joshua’s stronger subjects and Irie and Millat’s weaker
(Smith, 303).
If at first Joshua feels attracted to both Irie and Millat and enjoys being
associated with them, being consequently removed from his usual anonymity,
with the passage of time he finds the situation unbearable (Smith, 302, 331). Irie
is still interested in Millat and even his own mother, Joyce, is now focusing on
Millat as if he was the only aim in her life (Smith, 331). Further, it appears that
as a consequence of his acquaintance with Millat and Irie, who come from
backgrounds different from his own, Joshua starts noticing “the holes in his
family’s ‘perfect’ image” (Jakubiak, 204). Hence, he begins to avoid his own
parents and distances himself from their convictions and ideas (Smith, 399).
Not only does Joshua attempt not to spend much time with his family, he
even comes into contact with an animalist group, FATE, whose acronym stays
for ‘Fighting Animal Torture and Exploitation’ (Smith, 403). FATE is described
as an extremist group whose fanatical members struggle against any form of

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exploitation of animals even resorting to violence (Smith, 479). After meeting
his founder members, Joely and Crispin, and having had a conversation with
Joely, Joshua becomes convinced that “his parents [are] assholes, that he himself
[is] an asshole, and that the largest community of earth, the animal kingdom,
[are] oppressed, imprisoned and murdered on a daily basis with the full
knowledge and support of every government in the world” (Smith, 481). Hence,
Joshua resolves to join this group. Not even trying to negotiate between his past
values and the beliefs he has been initiated to, Joshua decides to reject his
parents’ teachings and to embrace FATE’s principles (Smith, 481-482).
If at first Joshua maintains his identity secret and does not reveal that his
father is the scientist Marcus Chalfen who is exploiting mice for his research, he
subsequently feels the need to disclose the members of FATE his identity
(Smith, 482). Despite the initial diffidence and suspicion, he is inquired which
side he is on and Joshua, without hesitation, replies FATE’s (Smith, 482).
Hence, if initially Joshua simply does not talk to his father and tries to avoid any
kind of contact, he later resolves to act in direct opposition to Marcus Chalfen
(Smith, 419, 421, 482). Joshua thus begins to openly criticize his parents who
“go on about rights and freedoms, and then they eat fifty chickens every fucking
week”, which is actually a crime according to FATE (Smith, 403). Further,
Joshua becomes convinced that it is only through “extreme behaviour that you
can get through to somebody like Marcus” (Smith, 405). Therefore, if as a child
Joshua shares his father’s ideas, while growing up not only does he distance
himself from his father, he even appears to embrace everything which is the
exact opposite of what Marcus Chalfen stands for and believes in (Beukema,
11).
By joining this animalist group Joshua seems to feel as if he has “found
[his] niche” (Smith, 403). Consequently, despite being Marcus Chalfen’s son,
Joshua helps FATE to plot against his father’s project (Smith, 482). Joshua
discloses FATE precious information: for instance, he reveals that despite using

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many other mice for his research, the mouse his father is going to display on 31st
December, as part of his FutureMouse project, is a unique being (Smith, 485).
On the basis of this information, the members of FATE decide to concentrate
their attention on the mouse and its release rather than on Marcus: since there
are no other mice like that one, once the mouse on display has been rescued,
Marcus consequently becomes inoffensive (Smith, 484).
However, the more 31st December approaches, the more Joshua becomes
conscious FATE is planning his father’s downfall and begins to question himself
about the consequences of his actions (Smiths, 482-483). He begins to realise
that throughout the last three months he has stopped analyzing and evaluating
happenings according to his parents’ way of thinking and this appears the reason
why he has not considered the outcome of his actions (Smith, 491). Further, he
has never thought he may have betrayed his father; however, when he hears
Crispin ridiculing Chalfenism in front of him, he acknowledges he has: as a
result, he suddenly regrets having revealed Crispin their tendency to refer to
themselves and define their thoughts and actions “as verbs, nouns and
adjectives” (Smith, 494). As a consequence, on 31st December he would prefer
to be celebrating New Year’s Eve, together with the “conflict-free people”,
rather than heading towards the Perret Institute where his father’s project is
going to be presented and displayed (Smith, 495).
Further, when Joely compliments herself with Joshua for his
determination and calmness, despite his own father’s involvement, Joshua
becomes convinced that it is more inertia rather than calm (Smith, 495-496). He
consequently wonders whether he is right in letting “events take their course” or
ought to be “[m]ore proactive in the face of the future” (Smith, 496). He realises
that he has never been good at taking extreme decisions, neither when he was
younger, since “choices need time, the fullness of time”, and being time “the
horizontal axis of morality”, when one makes up his mind he then has to wait in
order to see the outcome of his choice (Smith, 496; emphasis in original). Thus,

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Joshua has always been much more cerebral; however, when joining FATE he
seems to demonstrate the exact opposite attitude (Smith, 497). Nevertheless, as
he used to dread the consequences of his decisions before, he fears them now
(Smith, 497). He begins to realise that the outcome of his recent choices is
unthinkable and “he [cannot] imagine a moment occurring after that act. Only
blankness. Nothingness” (Smith, 497). He ultimately acknowledges that “you
don’t happen to the world” but rather “the world happens to you” (Smith, 497).
Therefore, for the first time he becomes entirely convinced that one cannot
control the world and its developments through his own decisions and actions
(Smith, 497). Such a conclusion seems to represent the very opposite of his
father’s beliefs (Smith, 497).
In conclusion, if as a child Joshua seems able to construct his identity in
relation rather than in opposition to the other characters his age, negotiating
between his family’s ideals and others’ behaviour and beliefs, while growing up
he becomes increasingly incapable of a negotiation (Beukema, 8). Growing
apart from his own father, who personifies Chalfenism, and feeling an
increasing pressure from part of his beliefs, Joshua is led to embrace the direct
opposite of what Marcus Chalfen believes in, without even attempting to “[take]
things apart to see how they [fit] together” (Beukema, 11; Smith, 481-482).
However, he soon finds himself caught “[b]etween rocks and hard places”, i.e.
between his previous beliefs, mainly shaped by Chalfenism, and FATE (Smith,
497). Hence, despite his initial unawareness of the consequences of his recent
choices, he suddenly realises that both Chalfenism and FATE, which equally
embody extreme positions, require proactivity. Joshua, conversely, appears to
have always allowed the world to follow its course, preferring inertia to
proactivity (Smith, 496). As a result, he ultimately becomes fully conscious of
his belief that “the world happens to you” and not the opposite (Smith, 497).
Therefore, as a consequence of his inability to successfully negotiate between
his childhood identity and the new ideals he has been initiated to, he appears to

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be caught in a binary: on the one hand, together with the members of FATE, he
is attempting to control and determine the failure of his father’s project; on the
other hand, he seems to acknowledge the pointlessness of any effort, both
Marcus’s and FATE’s, to control and shape the developments of the world.

2.5 Socially and Genetically Constructed Heritages

Within White Teeth, the past does not only present itself under the form of
a historical, racial or cultural heritage, it also reappears through socially and
genetically constructed heritages. British colonial past and Nazi eugenics
rematerialize respectively through Joyce Chalfen’s experiment of a socially
constructed heritage and Marcus Chalfen’s genetically engineered project (Groß,
46; McMann, 619).
Thus, it should not be surprising to notice that the headmaster of Glenard
Oak’s resolution to subject Irie and Millat to an after-school programme at the
Chalfens’ is separated from Joyce’s actual presentation by a digression narrating
the colonial past and social experiment of the founder of Glenard Oak, Sir
Edmund Flecker Glenard (Dalleo, 98-99). Glenard was a colonist who, after
enriching in Jamaica, decided to return to England bringing with him a group of
Jamaicans as part of a social and cultural experiment of mutual exchange
between Englishmen and Jamaicans (Smith, 304-305). Therefore, the
headmaster of the school, sharing Glenard’s ideals, embarks on a social project
(Dalleo, 99). Joyce herself, in accepting the headmaster’s task, seems to reveal a
similar enthusiasm for the possibilities offered by cultural and social mixing
(Smith, 309).
As far as Joyce’s husband, the scientist Marcus Chalfen, is concerned, it
does not seem to be surprising if his mentor is a Nazi eugenicist, Dr Marc-Pierre
Perret, who is said to be wanting “to control, to dictate the future”, since “men

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like him believe that living organs should answer to design” (Smith, 119).
Unlike Nazi eugenics, however, Marcus does not appear to be interested in using
his experiment to recombine human beings’ DNA, but rather to improve life
expectancy and to find a cure against cancer (Smith, 419). Nevertheless, by
taking a mouse and removing any casual development, Marcus intentionally
determine the mouse’s life trajectory, as Nazis wanted to do with human beings
(Beukema, 8). Therefore, despite Perret’s and Marcus’s different objectives, the
novel still appears to voluntarily shape a relationship between Dr Perret’s
eugenic experiments and Marcus’s genetically engineered FutureMouse
(McMann, 619).

2.5.1 Joyce’s Experiment of a Socially Constructed Heritage

As mentioned above, Joyce’s mission to help Irie and Millat during their
afternoon study seems to recall their school founder’s colonial experiment to
favour a social and cultural exchange between Englishmen and Jamaicans
(Smith, 305; Groß, 46). While living in Jamaica, Sir Edmund Glenard has
always been surprised by the Jamaicans’ religious enthusiasm, which, according
to him, Englishmen lack (Smith, 305). Conversely, he has frequently been
disappointed by the Jamaicans’ indolence and lacking education, which are not
characteristic of Englishmen, whose education and work ethic Glenard has
always admired (Smith, 305). Hence, when arranging his journey back home,
Glenard suddenly realises “he [is] in a position to influence the situation”
(Smith, 305). He thus decides to ship hundreds of Jamaicans to London, aiming
to a mutual exchange between Jamaicans and Englishmen: the English are
expected to teach Jamaicans how to work, whereas Jamaicans are supposed to
teach the English how to prey and worship the Lord (Smith, 305-306). However,
despite the initial partial success, the experiment ultimately fails (Smith, 306).

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Glenard’s funds soon end and the business rapidly worsens: as a consequence,
the English resolve to leave and go to work elsewhere, whereas the Jamaicans
are left by their own (Smith, 307). As a consequence, some Jamaicans die of
hunger, some others are convicted for crimes they commit in order to survive,
yet others move to working class districts (Smith, 307). The dramatic failure of
this experiment seems to suggest that “[a] legacy is not something you can give
or take by choice”, as Glenard would like to (Smith, 307).
The headmaster of Glenard Oak’s decision to punish Irie, Millat and
Joshua for smoking marijuana by arranging an after-school programme of study
at the Chalfens’ may remind the reader of Sir Edmund Glenard’s project
(Dalleo, 99): the headmaster aims in fact to a mutual help amongst the
schoolchildren (Smith, 303). He appears excited at the idea of “[b]ringing
children of disadvantaged or minority backgrounds into contact with kids who
might have something to offer them” (Smith, 308). When accepting the task she
is given, Joyce herself appears to share the headmaster’s belief that social and
cultural mixing can have positive effects (Smith, 309). Her thought upon this
subject is revealed through her works on gardening: “[i]n the garden, as in the
social and political arena, change should be the only constant”, since “more
varied offspring […] are better able to cope with a changed environment”
(Smith, 309). Not only does Joyce seem to favour mixing, she even appears to
suggest the “need to create gardens of diversity and interest”: hence, such a
claim is likely to imply her will to shape and control beings’ development,
despite the risky consequences it may involve (Smith, 310).
Nevertheless, despite Joyce’s enthusiasm for “more varied offspring”, she
still seems to highlight Millat and Irie’s diversity (Smith, 309; Dalleo, 100). For
instance, when they enter her house for the first time, noting how exotic they
look, Joyce inquires where they come from (Smith, 319). Being both of them
born in Willesden, they do not even imagine she may refer to their parents’
homeland (Smith, 319). However, Joyce does not seem satisfied with their

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answer and explicitly asks them “but where originally?”, as if their exotic
appearance could make them less English than she is, despite being born in the
UK like Joyce herself (Smith, 319). Further, when observing Millat, she
immediately believes his parents must have already arranged a marriage for him,
according to Muslim traditions; additionally, she seems surprised to notice
Millat is not as meek and silent as Muslims usually are (Smith, 320). Thus,
Joyce tends to judge him on the basis of a stereotyped view of Islamism, without
considering that, being Millat himself born in the UK, he may not differ much
from any other child his age. Further, by stressing Millat’s “very difficult
background”, Joyce seems to highlight his need for a proper upbringing and
education which appear to have been neglected so far (Smith, 330). In addition
to highlighting Millat and Irie’s diversity, Joyce also seems to stress her family’s
superiority. For instance, she continuously emphasizes her husband’s
intelligence, comparing him to “a strong sunbeam” which shines on his children
both during the day and at night (Smith, 324). Thus, the Chalfens’ four children
seem to be as brilliant as their parents: Joshua has a talent for mathematics,
Benjamin would like to become a geneticist like Marcus, Jack has a passion for
psychiatry and the youngest, Oscar, is said to be easily able to beat his father in
chess (Smith, 313). Therefore, on the one hand, Joyce tends to stress Millat and
Irie’s diversity (Dalleo, 100); on the other hand, she appears to highlight the
Chalfens’ good genes and intelligence (Smith, 354).
Joyce’s attitude is likely to recall colonialism: Britain used to affirm its
identity and, consequently, superiority, by stressing the colonies’ otherness, as
Joyce does (see Marzola, 56). Further, on the basis of its alleged supremacy,
Britain used to spread the features and values representing its culture amongst its
colonies (Dolce, 173). Hence, Joyce’s attitude of superiority over Millat and Irie
can be compared to the colonists’ position of predominance over the colonized.
Hence, it should not be surprising to notice that, in addition to narrating Sir
Glenard’s colonial experiment, White Teeth also refers to another colonist,

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Charlie Durham, who is convinced “natives require instruction, Christian faith
and moral guidance” (Smith, 358).
On the basis of Joyce’s description, it appears that in addition to favouring
social and cultural mixing, she is also likely to have “retained a (post-) colonial
missionary zeal” (Groß, 46). As a result, when Irie and Millat enter her house
Joyce feels attracted to them. At their arrival, Joyce is looking after her plants,
one of which is affected by insects (Smith, 316). As a consequence of her
gardening activity, after observing the two schoolchildren for a while, she
realises that “there [is] damage here” and appears to associate Irie and Millat to
her ill plant (Smith, 324). According to Joyce, Irie lacks self-esteem, has an
uncultivated brain and suffers the absence of a paternal figure; Millat, on the
other hand, is characterized by sorrow, loss and wounds which seem in need of
love (Smith, 324). Since their very first encounter Joyce has a predilection for
Millat: hence, she does not seem to be much interested in Irie’s improvements,
she is rather more concerned with Millat’s behavioural problems (Smith, 334-
335). Therefore, Millat is likely to become her primary mission.
However, despite the Chalfens’ ability “to bring the right things out in
people” (Smith, 325), as suggested by their eldest son Joshua, Joyce’s efforts to
help Millat do not appear to be effective. Even though he is spending some of
his time with the Chalfens, Millat still smokes marijuana, on Sunday nights calls
on to the Chalfens’ despite not being invited, brings there girls, drinks the
Chalfens’ champagne, arranges KEVIN’s meetings at their house, insults and
threats any member of the family (Smith, 334-335). Thus, Millat seems to
progress little (Jakubiak, 204): contrarily to the headmaster’s expectations, not
even his grades have improved (Smith, 344); conversely, Millat seems to have
become even more bewildered and reinforces his relationship with KEVIN
(Jakubiak, 204).
Joyce becomes increasingly convinced Millat needs to meet and face his
twin in order to resolve his predicaments (Smith, 434). The twins have been

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separated for eight long years, but Magid is now back from Bangladesh thanks
to Marcus Chalfen’s intervention; thus, Joyce feels it is time Magid and Millat
confront one another, because she cannot “just sit back and watch them tear
themselves apart” (Smith, 434, 436). Joyce thus goes to the Iqbals’ to talk to the
twins’ mother, Alsana, in order to express her belief Magid and Millat should
face one another (Smith, 442). Alsana, who has never tolerated the Chalfens,
accuses Joyce of having split her sons apart (Smith, 442). Joyce, however, thinks
that the Iqbals’ predicaments started before her family was involved; further, she
adds that her own family has been divided by Millat’s problematic situation,
which appears to have led Joshua to distance himself from his father and his
beliefs (Smith, 443). Therefore, she seems to suggest that if she is at the Iqbals’
talking to Alsana, it is for the benefit of both their families and she states that the
first step forward can be made by making the twins meet each other (Smith,
443). Despite their initial hostility to this encounter, Magid and Millat eventually
meet; however, as already seen in a previous paragraph, they do not make any
advancement (Smith, 465). Joyce seems to have underestimated that “[w]orst of
all [is] the anger inside [Millat]”: whatever the issue is, either God or the West,
Marcus Chalfen’s project or his brother’s new beliefs, he is “determined to
prove himself, determined to run the clan, determined to beat the rest” (Smith,
447). Therefore it is not surprising that, irritated by Marcus’s debateable ethics
and scientific beliefs, Millat even attempts to assassinate Dr Perret, Marcus’s
mentor, during the presentation of Marcus Chalfen’s genetically constructed
mouse (Jakubiak, 204).
In conclusion, it appears that even though Joyce strives to improve and
consequently shape Millat’s behaviour and, ultimately, identity, eventually she
does not manage to achieve her objective. Like Sir Edmund Glenard who has
purposely tried to determine a different attitude in both Englishmen and
Jamaicans, Joyce herself has attempted to direct and shape Millat’s identity.
Nonetheless, Joyce’s efforts result pointless, since one’s identity and life cannot

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be shaped on purpose, as both Joyce’s and Sir Glenard’s experience prove: thus,
it is not a coincidence that both Joyce’s programme and Glenard’s project fail,
because of the impossibility to give or receive a heritage at will. Therefore, on
the evidence of this, it is possible to claim that the attempt to determine and
control the construction of a social and cultural heritage is futile. Even though
the unavoidability and potentially positive impact of mixing cannot be denied, it
is equally true that efforts to purposely influence and direct a mixed heritage can
prove not only fruitless, but even tragic, as demonstrated by both Glenard’s and
Joyce’s social projects (Dalleo, 101; Jakubiak, 204).

2.5.2 Marcus Chalfen’s FutureMouse Project: a Genetically Constructed

Heritage

As already suggested, Marcus Chalfen’s FutureMouse project appears to

recall the Nazi eugenicist Marc-Pierre Perret’s experiments: despite the many
differences between genetic engineering and eugenics, Smith’s novel still seems
to establish a connection between these two fields (McMann, 619-620). Dr.
Marc-Pierre Perret used to work for the Nazis since before the Second World
War: he is described as a talented French prodigy who has mainly focused on
“the sterilization programme, and later the euthanasia policy. Internal German
matters” (Smith, 106). Once Nazism begins to approach its downfall, however,
the eugenicist attempts to hide in order not to be found. It is while concealing
himself that his path intersects Archibald and Samad’s (Smith, 115). Samad,
who hopes the war can be his chance “to [go] home covered in glory”, with
something “he could one day tell his children about, as his great-grandfather’s
exploits had been told to him”, when realizing that the war is over and he has
missed his opportunity, he is extremely disappointed (Smith, 105, 109).
However, when they ultimately discover where the French doctor is hiding,
Samad becomes convinced this is his last chance to cover himself with glory

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(Smith, 118). In order to convince Archibald “[they] need blood on [their]
hands”, Samad reveals Archibald what the Russian soldiers seeking Perret have
told him (Smith, 118). Perret is said to aim at controlling and determining
human beings’ lives, pursuing “a race of men, a race of indestructible men, that
will survive the last days of this earth” (Smith, 119). Therefore, on the basis of
such a description, it appears that Perret believes in the possibility of
manipulating and supervising human beings’ lives, which can thus be
predetermined.
Dr. Marc-Pierre Perret’s works can be easily compared and associated
with Marcus Chalfen’s experiments (McMann, 619): Marcus himself, by
manipulating ova and genes, “create[s] beings” which respond to his own
designs (Smith, 311, 312; emphasis in original). Thus, it should not be surprising
to discover that Marcus’s mentor is precisely the eugenicist Dr. Marc-Pierre
Perret: when conversing with Irie about his FutureMouse project, Marcus
reveals to have a mentor, a “grand old Frenchman, a gentleman and a scholar”
who is in his seventies and has taught Marcus what he knows (Smith, 337). The
reader may perhaps already suppose that Marcus is referring to Dr. Marc-Pierre
Perret, however, it is only towards the end of the novel that Marcus officially
presents Perret as his mentor (Smith, 532).
Therefore, on the basis of the relationship between Marcus and Perret, it
seems possible to find similarities between genetic engineering and human
eugenics, despite Marcus’s hostility to such a connection (Smith, 418-419).
Even though Marcus aims to favour the advancements of medicine to improve
human life, and is thus not interested in social or political control as Nazis used
to, the possibility to manipulate genetics is still source of controversies
(McMann, 620). In fact, people commenting on Marcus’s project usually focus
on the risks the control of a mouse’s life and future may lead to, rather than on
the developments of medicine (Smith, 419). For instance, when waiting for
Magid Iqbal’s return from Bangladesh at Heathrow Airport, Marcus encounters

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an Asian young woman reading a copy of a book he has collaborated to by
writing an article on genetic engineering (Smith, 415-416). Marcus thus asks her
whether she likes her reading, and the young woman replies that “it’s scary, isn’t
it, all this genetic engineering” (Smith, 417). Marcus is rather puzzled and wants
her to clarify her point. Thus, the Asian young woman continues saying that
once scientists know which enzyme can constitute a specific segment of DNA,
they are consequently capable of controlling human beings’ genetic constitution
(Smith, 417). She then claims that one has to be quite ingenuous not to consider
that the West may be interested in using genetic engineering in the East, in order
to reduce problems such as fundamentalist Islamism (Smith, 417). The Asian
girl suggests that she does not doubt governments would exploit these new
advancements in order to “eliminate ‘undesirable’ qualities in people” and states
that “there’s just something a little fascist about the whole deal” (Smith, 418).
Being Indian, the young woman is preoccupied that in the future scientists may
desire to create “[m]illions of blonds with blue eyes” (Smith, 418). After having
expressed her anxieties concerning genetic engineering, she also directs her
attention to the FutureMouse project itself, aiming to criticize it: despite not
being religious, the young woman claims to believe in the sanctity of living
beings’ life and consequently thinks that programming the whole life of a mouse
is unnatural (Smith, 418).
Marcus, however, has never referred to the recombination of DNA within
his article; therefore, he is surprised that the Asian young woman may have read
the book by entirely associating it to the field of human genetics (Smith, 419).
Thus, people’s attention is usually grasped by the mouse’s predetermined future
and its risky consequences rather than by the possibility to determine and control
the ageing of cells and the development of a cancer, which are actually Marcus’s
primary concerns (Smith, 419). Marcus Chalfen’s experiment, in fact, focuses
mainly on the analysis of the progression of carcinomas (Smith, 339): his project
consists in reengineering genomes, in order to make a tumour develop in certain

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tissues according to Marcus’s plans and calculations (Smith, 340). By
“eliminating the random actions of a mutagen”, Marcus aims to be in control of
the advance of a tumour (Smith, 340-341). Consequently, the FutureMouse is
fully programmed. Marcus’s mouse is thus expected to develop a pancreatic
carcinomas at the end of its first year of life (Smith, 432). Then, after another
year, an oncogene contained in the mouse’s skin cells is projected to appear
under the form of benign papillomas (Smith, 432). After four other years, the
mouse is supposed to lose its capacity to create melanin and turns thus white
(Smith, 432). The FutureMouse is ultimately expected to die seven years after
the beginning of the experiment (Smith, 432). Hence, Marcus is convinced his
project can possibly “slow the process of disease, control the process of ageing
and eliminate genetic defect” (Smith, 433). According to Marcus, the possibility
of eliminating random and of controlling human life’s developments may
perhaps open “a new phase in human history” (Smith, 433). However, Marcus
himself seems to betray his beliefs and ideals when revealing Irie, who works
for him as a secretary, that once the random has been eliminated, a person can
“rule the world” and can thus “program every step in the development of an
organism: reproduction, food habits, life expectancy” (Smith, 341). Therefore,
despite aspiring to support the improvement of medicine, Marcus himself
acknowledges the implied consequences of genetic engineering and appears to
be fascinated by the possibilities genetic control provides science with
(McMann, 621).
Nonetheless, Marcus’s public purpose remains the improvement of human
life and the search for a therapy against cancer (McMann, 622). Nevertheless,
many of the people commenting on his project tend to stress their attention on
the mouse itself, failing to consider it as an opportunity to study and analyse
genetic inheritance, the advancement of illnesses and the probabilities of
mortality (Smith, 419). Thus, unsurprisingly, many of the people gathered at
Perret Institute on 31st December aim to criticize and oppose Chalfen’s project.

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The members of KEVIN, for instance, believe that Marcus’s project has nothing
to do with medicine, but rather consists in modifying and adjusting Allah’s
creatures (Smith, 475). Further, KEVIN fear that once Marcus has terminated
his experiments on mice, he will devote to the creation of human beings (Smith,
475). Even Irie’s grandmother, Hortense, makes her appearance at Perret
Institute accompanied by other Jehovah’s Witnesses (Smith, 528): having based
her entire life on faith and religion, she is likely to associate Marcus to “dem
who rejeck [de Lord] at de peril of dem souls” and consequently condemns his
project (Smith, 530). FATE too is taking position against Marcus’s project: the
animalist group severely condemns the exploitation of animals and is thus
contrary to Marcus’s experimentations on mice (Smith, 476). Even the Joneses
and the Iqbals participate to the presentation of Marcus Chalfen’s project:
despite their initial aversion to the idea of going to Perret Institute, Alsana
ultimately decides they are all going, “whether they liked it or not. And they
didn’t” (Smith, 512).
While Marcus presents his project, each one of the characters gathered at
Perret Institute meditates on the trajectory of their life and on the reasons which
have brought them there. Joshua, for instance, dreads FATE may have
underestimated Chalfenism and its devotion to reason (Smith, 524). Millat, in
the meanwhile, thinks about the gun he is carrying inside his pocket (Smith,
525). This is supposed to be his occasion to revenge his family past history: if
Mangal Pande was considered a traitor by the English, whereas his executioner
was believed to be a hero, Millat now wants “[t]o turn that history around”
(Smith, 506). Consequently, “[i]f Marcus Chalfen was going to write his name
all over the world, Millat was going to write it BIGGER” (Smith, 506; emphasis
in original). Meantime Irie, while listening to Marcus’s presentation and his
belief in the possibilities offered by science, is led to reflect on the paternity of
her child and ultimately concludes that “there are things the human eye cannot
detect” (Smith, 527). When Marcus introduces his mentor, Dr. Marc-Pierre

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Perret, Archibald’s and Samad’s eyes turn to the doctor whom Archibald was
supposed to execute during the war (Smith, 532-533). “[W]ith no more reason or
rhyme than the first time”, Archibald places himself between the trajectory of
Millat’s gun and his objective and rescues the doctor again, taking the bullet
right in his tight (Smith, 533, 540). Falling down, Archibald hits the box where
the FutureMouse is contained; consequently, the mouse is thus released and
escapes from the room (Smith, 540-542).
In conclusion, even though Marcus Chalfen, unlike Nazi eugenics, is not
interested in exploiting his research to recombine human beings’ DNA, the
novel still establishes a connection between his genetically modified mouse and
the Nazi eugenicist Dr. Marc-Pierre Perret’s experiments (McMann, 619). By
taking a mouse and eliminating any arbitrary future development, Marcus
purposely shape and determine the mouse’s life trajectory (Beukema, 8). Despite
Marcus’s commitment to medicine and to the search for a therapy against
cancer, he himself has to acknowledge the consequences the elimination of
chance may lead to, such as the possibility to rule and control humankind
(Smith, 341). However, Marcus’s endeavours to predetermine and supervise the
FutureMouse’s ageing and cancer development stages are nullified by the escape
of the mouse itself (Beukema, 8). Even though the mouse’s existence has
already been predetermined, by breaking free and disappearing the mouse
submits to chance and random: thus, its future becomes uncertain and
unpredictable (Thompson, 135). Therefore, Marcus’s belief in the possibility to
construct and determine definite and predictable past roots and future routes is
challenged by the mouse’s liberation and subsequent escape (Thompson, 134-
135). Hence, Marcus’s certainty concerning the mouse’s future developments is
ultimately casted into doubt, implying that even the character that possesses “a
completely reliable ontology and teleology”, Marcus’s genetically engineered
mouse, can be subject to chance and random (Thompson, 134, 135).

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2.6 Archibald, the FutureMouse and Irie’s Child: the
Predominance of Chance and Ambivalence over
Certainty and Determinism

The characters analysed so far are caught between binaries as a

consequence of their efforts to purposely determine their own and others’
identity and life trajectories (Paproth, 9; Childs, 211). Their desire to shape
stable and uncomplicated individual identities, interpersonal relationships and
life developments makes them unable to negotiate between conflicting
components. As a result, they tend to cling to one single coherent aspect of
identity and life, rejecting other elements which are likely to be subjected to
chance (Paproth, 9-10). Samad, for instance, fights ambiguity by clinging to
historical and religious determinism (Erll, 177-178; Sell, 30), whereas Irie tries
to escape the randomness of her family history by firstly blending with
Chalfenism and later sticking to the “blankness of the past” (Smith, 402). Irie
also has difficulties in negotiating between her English and Jamaican racial
heritage, thus strives to control her biological roots by clinging to the former
(Thompson, 127). Irie’s mother, Clara, attempts to escape Hortense’s religious
fanaticism by rejecting her faith and adhering to atheism, whereas Samad’s sons
react to their father’s religiosity by either strictly adhering to Islamism (Millat)
or entirely rejecting it (Magid). Furthermore, the Chalfens attempt to eliminate
randomness by determining either a socially constructed heritage (Joyce) or
genetically engineered roots (Marcus). However, their own son, Joshua, entirely
rejects Chalfenism and its beliefs and ultimately clings to an animalist group.
Hence, Smith’s characters appear incapable to live in a fractured world where
life and identity are increasingly unpredictable and unstable (Paproth, 9). As a
consequence of their inability to cope with the ambivalence and randomness of

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life, they struggle to define and fix their own and others’ lives and identity
(Paproth, 9-10; Childs, 211).
Nevertheless, the characters’ efforts to control and shape their own and
others’ individual identity and future life are contrasted with the unpredictability
of life (Childs, 211). Additionally, there are also characters within Smith’s novel
who seem to oppose coherency and determinism. Archibald Jones is one of
these (Bentley, 498). Despite being born in England, Archibald appears to
contrast with the prototype of English masculinity promoted by the Empire,
which tends to be permeated by imperialistic values (Beukema, 3-4). Thus,
instead of relying on established ideologies, Archibald is characterized by an
“impotent indecision” (Smith, 11) and is thus “never able to make a decision,
never able to state a position”, unless by flipping a coin (Smith, 53). Samad
himself criticizes Archibald’s incapability to stand “for a faith”, “for a politics”,
“even for your country” (Smith, 120-121). Paradoxically, Samad is the one who
fights more tenaciously during the war, defending “a country that [isn’t] his”
own, whereas Archibald, who is English by birth, “[can] feel nothing
comparable to it” (Smith, 95). As a consequence of Archibald’s hesitant attitude
towards life, not only does he seem to embody indecision, but rootlessness too:
he thus appears to exemplify, more than other characters, the characteristic
features of “the not-quite-not-white Englishman” (Beukema, 4). Furthermore,
Archibald’s reliance on randomness and sudden choices, rather than a belief in
secure and stable ideologies, challenges the several forms of determinism
Smith’s novel is inhabited by (Bentley, 498). The novel’s fundamentalisms are
thus defied through Archibald’s act of tossing a coin (Bentley, 498): “he always
[wants] advice, he [is] a huge fan of second opinions. That’s why he never
[goes] anywhere without a ten pence coin” (Smith, 25).
Hence, it should not be astonishingly that Archibald’s decision to commit
suicide, which opens the novel, is determined precisely by flipping a coin
(Smith, 3). “[S]uicide takes guts. It’s for heroes and martyrs, truly vainglorious

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men. Archie [is] none of these” (Smith, 11). Archibald seems thus to trust
chance more than intentional choices. However, he does not manage to commit
suicide as a consequence of the intervention of Mo Hussein, a butcher in front of
whose shop Archie has parked his car to end his life (Smith, 6). As a result of
Mo Hussein’s casual interference, Archibald is given a second chance: hence,
“[s]omewhere, somehow, by somebody, it had been decided that he would live”
(Smith, 4). Not only does Archibald toss a coin to decide upon his life, he flips it
also to help his friend Samad to decide which son to send back to Bangladesh
(Smith, 196). Further, when eight years later Magid, who had been sent to
Bangladesh, returns to England, Archibald tosses his coin again to suggest
whether Magid should encounter his twin (Smith, 457). Archibald exploits his
coin also to decide whether to execute the Nazi eugenicist Dr. Perret (Smith,
539): in fact, even though the doctor shoots Archibald in the tight, taking
advantage of Archibald’s distraction while observing the arc of the coin,
Archibald ultimately resolves not to kill the doctor as a result of the flipping of
his coin (Smith, 540). Moreover, when the doctor reappears towards the end of
the novel during the presentation of Marcus Chalfen’s genetically engineered
mouse, Archibald saves him for the second time, but “with no more reason or
rhyme than the first time” (Smith, 540): thus, Archibald’s decision is instinctive
and accidental, as any other choice he has made in his life (Beukema, 6).
Hence, on the basis of the previous examples, it is possible to claim that
Archibald does not take any decision by intentionally determining it; rather, he
prefers to trust randomness and usually makes choices by tossing a coin
(Bentley, 498). Archibald’s reliance on chance thus appears to suggest his
disbelief in the possibility of purposely shaping and determining subjective
identity and life trajectories. Nevertheless, despite Archibald’s inability to side
with, he is yet “the unlikely hero of the book”: Archibald’s failure in taking
decisions is used by Smith to challenge the other characters’ belief in
determinism and fixed ideologies (Bentley, 498). Furthermore, Smith’s choice to

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designate an Englishman by birth as the major believer in chance should not be
underestimated: such a decision seems to suggest the necessity of a negotiation
between traditional and new emerging forms of English masculinity and national
identity (Bentley, 498). Archibald, despite being frequently undecided and
appearing even rootless, still contains a remainder of English identity (Bentley,
498). Through his character Smith thus seems to imply that emerging forms of
individual and national identity should be the result of a negotiation with, rather
than a rejection of, traditional forms of identity (Bentley, 498).
Archibald is not the only one who seems to oppose the other characters’
attempts to influence and shape identity and life. Even Marcus Chalfen’s
FutureMouse ultimately appears to offer an escape from determinism (Bentley,
500). Even though the life of the mouse is entirely planned and predetermined,
when Archibald rescues Dr. Perret from being shot during the presentation of
Chalfen’s project, Archibald accidentally liberates the mouse, thus allowing it a
possibly different life (Smith, 540-541; Sell, 31). Moreover, once Archibald
realises that the mouse is running away, he thinks, “Go on my son!” (Smith,
542), demonstrating once again his devotion to chance (Sell, 30, 31). Hence, by
supporting the mouse’s escape Archibald appears to express his wish for much
more spontaneous and unplanned life forms (Beukema, 6). Therefore, despite
the impossibility of avoiding its genetically constructed heritage, which makes
its life predestined, by escaping the mouse still has the chance to submit to a
random existence (Bentley, 500; Thompson, 135). By breaking free, the mouse
eventually challenges the scientists who have first constructed it and
subsequently want to maintain it behind bars, in order to supervise its changes
(Bentley, 500). In brief, even though the mouse possesses manufactured roots
and predetermined routes, which make its existence much more certain and
reliable than other characters’ origin and life trajectories, its disappearance
makes its future unpredictable (Thompson, 135).

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 Another character who appears to constitute an escape from determinism
is Irie’s not yet born child (Bentley, 500). Having slept with both Millat and
Magid, Irie cannot know who the father of her baby is (Bentley, 500). As a
consequence, “Irie’s child can never be mapped exactly, nor spoken of with any
certainty” (Smith, 527). Irie and her own child should thus learn to accept the
impossibility of determining a fixed and stable origin since Irie cannot go back
to the moment in which the spermatozoon has impregnated the ovum (Smith,
527). Consequently, Irie can neither control nor uncover “her body’s decision”,
which has actually been determined by chance (Smith, 515). Therefore, being
her child’s origin untraceable, her baby may perhaps embody an evasion from
both the characters many attempts to control their historical, racial or religious
roots and the Chalfens’ efforts to determine either a socially or genetically
constructed heritage (McMann, 633). Thus, Irie’s not yet born child challenges
both biology and science (McMann, 633).
In conclusion, the characters’ attempts to escape ambivalence and
randomness by shaping their own or others’ existence are challenged by
characters who either trust or represent the unpredictability of life (see Childs,
211). One of the main male protagonists, Archibald Jones, is unable to
intentionally decide what to do and thus tends to resolve his predicaments by
tossing a coin, thereby trusting randomness (Bentley, 498). If Archibald shapes
his life trajectories by trusting chance, both the FutureMouse and Irie’s child
seem to represent the unpredictability of life. Being accidentally liberated by
Archibald himself, Marcus’s mouse can escape, thus opening its existence to
unplanned and unpredictable twists (Bentley, 500). As far as Irie’s unborn child
is concerned, the baby is destined to embody chance, as a consequence of the
impossibility of retracing his origin (Bentley, 500). Therefore, Archibald, the
FutureMouse and Irie’s child may be connected because of the predominance of
casualness over determinism in their lives (Bentley, 500-501).

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2.7 Conclusion

On the evidence of their respective stories, Smith’s characters appear to

constantly strive to control and determine their own, and sometimes even
others’, identity and life (see Childs, 211). When dealing with the different
simultaneous components or possibilities identity is exposed to, they inevitably
try to define an unambiguous self, ignoring the fact that such an attitude does
not work any longer in a postmodern world (see Bauman 2012a, 27). Thus, their
mistake consists in the attempt to define their own or others’ identity univocally,
without accepting the concomitant presence of ambivalent values and beliefs
(see Paproth, 9-10). However, the truth is that identity is simultaneously exposed
to several components, which need to be negotiated by the self (Bauman 2012a,
13).
Ambivalent components of identity become even more difficult to be
handled by characters who are mixed-race or whose parents are immigrants: not
only are they required to accept the condition of postmodernity, they also need
to come to terms with the legacies of the British colonial experience. However,
nowadays “we are all hybrid post-colonials”; therefore, the pursuit of
unambiguous identities is futile (Head, 114). On the evidence of White Teeth’s
thematic issues, in fact, such a quest is condemned (see Thompson, 135), and
characters whose existence is subject to chance and characterized by
ambivalence ultimately reveal more successful than those who constantly
attempt to fix their own, or others’, life and identity (see Bentley, 498, 500).
On the basis of Smith’s characters, a further consideration can be made: if
the British self is increasingly ambivalent and incoherent, as the characters’
unsuccessful struggles prove, the quest for homogeneity would be pointless not
only for individuals but for nations too (Mirze, 200). Thus, the ambiguous
British self inevitably challenges a traditional representation of Englishness too.
In fact, as a consequence of the impossibility “to find one pure person […] on

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the globe” (Smith, 236), Englishness itself cannot be represented coherently, and
consequently needs to be rethought (see Bentley, 501). Therefore, the condition
of ambivalence and fragmentation, which characterizes the British self, may be
distinctive of 20th-century multicultural England too. Hence, Smith can be said
to imply that the search for a uniform identity is useless not only for the self but
for national identity too (Mirze, 200); a negotiation would thus be desirable not
only for the British self, but also for Englishness (see Thompson, 135; see
Bentley, 498).
Therefore, on the basis of White Teeth’s main themes, it may be claimed
that external factors such as the condition of postmodernity and the legacies of
the colonial experience prevent the British self from shaping a coherent and pure
identity as it used to. The lack of uniform, homogeneous identities which
characterizes a postmodern, postcolonial self, inevitably affects the construction
of other kinds of identity, such as national identity: as previously suggested, in
fact, it follows that, just as the British self, Englishness cannot be constructed
coherently either (Mirze, 200).

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3. The Ambiguity and Fragmentation of White Teeth’s
Form

3.1 Introduction

Smith’s characters tragic pursuit of a stable and fixed identity in a

postmodern and postcolonial world seems to point out the author’s disagreement
with a binary understanding of the world (Paproth, 10). Smith appears to be in
favour of a postmodernist viewpoint: she thus tends to sweep away established
ways of understanding life, generally used by human beings to define their
identity and make sense of their existence (Paproth, 10). As a consequence, the
characters’ different forms of determinism and fundamentalist approach to life
prove unsuccessful (Paproth, 10).
Contrary to expectations, however, the devices and techniques deployed
by Smith are not always as contemporary as the novel’s subject matter: apart
from few devices such as tables, diagrams and lists, which can be classified as
postmodern, the dominant mode within White Teeth does not appear to be
postmodernism (Bentley, 497). Smith’s novel cannot be easily labelled either:
even though there are formal aspects which are recognizably realist, there are
also elements which are more experimental and reflect the influence of
modernism (Bentley, 497). White Teeth thus appears to oscillate between
tradition and innovation from a stylistic perspective.
Consequently, it may be useful to analyse the novel from a formal
perspective. In order to do so, realism should first be considered in order to list
its characteristic features and understand which aspects within Smith’s novel

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may be labelled as realist. Once realism has been analysed, it can be worthwhile
to consider modernism in order to detect those elements within the novel which
detach from tradition and may be consequently described as modernist.
Subsequently, it would be interesting to focus on the effect modernist devices
produce on the novel’s structure. Finally, it would be noticed that the style itself
appears very helpful in the analysis of the construction of both personal and
national identity. Just as the story of Smith’s characters, in fact, the novel’s form
can be said to deal with identity issues.

3.2 The Realist Mode

3.2.1 An Attempt to Define Realism

The term realism was firstly used within an artistic context approximately
around the end of the 18th century to indicate realist writers and poetry (Bertoni,
19). It is towards the mid-19th century, however, that the term slowly
consolidates and begins to indicate a precise historical period and poetics
(Bertoni, 19-20). As soon as the term becomes stable, however, its meaning
starts to ramify, determining the ambivalent nature of the concept (Bertoni, 20).
Due to its relativity and ambiguity, no one has ever succeeded in defining
realism univocally (Bertoni, 30). Perhaps such a difficulty in conveying a
univocal meaning may be ascribed to the ambition of the realist mode to connect
two entirely different worlds, i.e. art and reality (Bertoni, 30).
In order to face the ambivalence connected to the term, it may be perhaps
helpful to distinguish first two possible ways of understanding realism (Bertoni,
30). Realism can be understood as a specific literary tendency (Bertoni, 30).
Consequently, literary history has the task to: focus on its most representative

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genre (the novel), determine its chronological development (between 1830 and
1890), outline realist authors (Balzac, Flaubert, Zola, G. Eliot, Verga, Manzoni,
etc), define its distinctive features (Bertoni, 31-32). Nevertheless, art has always
been prompted to imitate reality, thereby transcending time, space and genre
(Bertoni, 30-31). Consequently, it may be claimed that any literary work is
partly realist, independently from the literary period in which it has been
produced (Lukács, quoted in Bertoni, 35-36).
On the evidence of this, before analysing the realist literary movement
which developed in the 19th century, it may first be useful to consider the role of
imitation throughout the centuries. Therefore, the development of a realist
movement can perhaps be better understood if the concept of mimesis developed
firstly by Plato and later by Aristotle is firstly explained (Bertoni, 39). Plato’s
and Aristotle’s idea of mimesis, however, is rather different (Bertoni, 53). Plato
perceives mimesis negatively: since he associates it with the strategy through
which the poet gives voice to his characters, Plato believes mimesis is pure
illusion (Bertoni, 39-40). The poet thus speaks through his characters’ voice,
thereby making the reader think it is the character, and not the poet, who is
talking (Bertoni, 40-41). Unlike Plato, Aristotle does not judge mimesis
negatively, but considers it a human faculty which may both entertain and
educate (Bertoni, 49). Perhaps more importantly, Aristotle rejects the idea of
mimesis as a banal reproduction of what exists but rather prefers to consider it as
a depiction of what may be and may happen (Bertoni, 50).
Reflecting upon Aristotle’s idea of mimesis, Paul Ricœur suggests that
mimesis involves poiesis: imitation is thus inseparable from the creative process
(Bertoni, 51). Hence, it appears that Aristotle understood, far before realist
literary tradition, that there is a gap between artistic reproduction and reality
itself (Bertoni, 52). As a consequence, as pointed out by Paul Ricœur, a literary
work is never an ordinary replica of reality but rather a fictional reproduction
(Bertoni, 55).

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 When Aristotle’s Poetics is rediscovered, especially in the 16th century,
the concept of mimesis returns to be at the heart of the artistic reflection
(Bertoni, 57). However, Aristotle’s work is frequently misinterpreted:
throughout the 16th and 17th century artists are in fact required to reproduce the
world accurately, without allowing art to adjust or improve the reality
represented (Bertoni, 57, 61). The artist is consequently divided between the
desire to produce an art which pursues perfection and the need to reproduce
nature faithfully (Bertoni, 61). Such a predicament could be easily resolved by
allowing art not only to reproduce reality, but even to improve it: art’s
distinctive feature is indeed represented by the faculty to represent nature
according to an ideal model of beauty (Bertoni, 61). These two apparently
contradicting tendencies appear to be at the basis of the ambiguity of imitation:
on the one hand imitation constitutes a faithful reproduction of the world; on the
other hand it represents the possibility to mould ideal beauty, producing a work
of art (Bertoni, 63).
Such a fracture appears to be at the basis of literary reproductions too
(Bertoni, 63). When a literary work aspires to represent reality, it cannot ignore
the difference between the medium it uses, i.e. language, and the nature of the
objects it represents (Bertoni, 83). Consequently, a literary work cannot
represent reality directly, but can only provide a reproduction of the world
through signs (Bertoni, 86). It follows that any literary work, even the most
realist, is likely to experience the gap between its desire to reproduce reality as it
is and the poetic necessity to subvert it from inside, as a consequence of the
medium it uses (Bertoni, 112). The dilemmas literary realism is required to cope
with can be resolved by considering a literary work as a further world shaped by
the artist and not as a strict copy of reality (Abrams, quoted in Bertoni, 101).
When realism begins to develop as a literary movement in the 18th
century, however, it does not manage to conciliate the fracture between art and
reality. The main theoretical principle of literary realism consists in fact in

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representing objects as they appear in life (Kaminsky, quoted in Lee, 5).
However, despite representing reality as objectively as possible, reality
inevitably turns into an artefact when portrayed (Lee, 5). Therefore, it appears
that art cannot represent reality directly (Lee, 5). The existing reality needs in
fact to be modified and adapted to the artistic medium deployed to represent it
(Lee, 5). At the close of the 18th century, Mme de Staël herself believes that
realism should free itself from any naïve submission to reality in order to reach
maturity and legitimate fiction as a vehicle to represent reality (Bertoni, 143,
148). Hence, it appears that literature is divided between the longing to represent
reality as it is and the possibility to adjust and improve it while reproducing it
(Bertoni, 148).
Fielding’s works may be considered an important contribution in this
sense and a turning point within the literary developments of the time (Bertoni,
148). Fielding manages to conciliate the writer’s desire to represent reality
accurately and the inevitable tension literary imitation involves (Bertoni, 148-
149). A further crucial turning point in the European literary tradition is
represented by the publication of Flaubert’s novel Madame Bovary (Bertoni,
218). Flaubert’s novel is destined to change irreversibly the relationship between
literature and reality: Flaubert manages to make any fictional aspect resemble
reality itself (Bertoni, 218). Furthermore, not only does Flaubert depict the
world realistically but even cynically (Bertoni, 218). Perhaps paradoxically,
Flaubert’s realist observations are determined by a repugnance to reality and
everyday life (Bertoni, 221).
It is in the mid-19th century France, in which Flaubert’s novel is published,
that the term realism is used for the first time with reference to a poetics, even
though the French authors who deploy it do not consider themselves a proper
movement (Bertoni, 201). Soon after, realism also develops a scientific basis
and starts to be called ‘naturalism’ (Bertoni, 224). Émile Zola, considered to be
the founder of naturalism, focuses on writers who have described nature

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rigorously in order to find precursors who can legitimate his aesthetic project
(Bertoni, 226). On the basis of his reasoning, Zola even suggests that the
relationship between literature and reality is founded on continuity: Zola thus
believes language can represent reality accurately, in full, without leaving out
any aspect (Bertoni, 232-233).
Despite Zola’s attempts, the French writer is criticized even by his own
disciples since he is striving to impose a method which is looked with suspicion
by many of his contemporaries (Bertoni, 233). The crisis of his method can be
ascribed to Zola’s belief that literature can reproduce reality on the basis of a
relation of continuity between representation and the object represented
(Bertoni, 237). Such a belief is characteristic of a movement inclined to
approach the relationship between art and reality naïvely, denying the difference
between the examination of the outside world and its reproduction in a literary
work (Bertoni, 237).
The fracture between art and reality is actually evident in Flaubert’s novel
Madame Bovary, which stresses the rupture between language and the external
world (Bertoni, 240). Unlike other realist authors writing in the first half of the
19th century, Flaubert and other novelists writing in the second half of the
century prioritize form over contents (Bertoni, 241). From this moment
onwards, writers become increasingly aware of the impossibility to represent
reality directly, since its representation is mediated by language (Bertoni, 244).
Hence, writers do not seem to believe any longer in the existence of continuity
between literary works and reality (Bertoni, 245). Literature can thus only
provide a surrogate of reality, since reality is inaccessible (Bertoni, 246). Hence,
it appears that a literary work can resemble the world only through a writer’s
efforts to conceal the fracture between art and reality (Bertoni, 244). In order to
conceal this fracture novelists are likely to deploy artistic techniques (Bertoni,
244).

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 Therefore, it appears that artistic imitation has always been divided
between the need to produce an accurate copy of reality and the possibility to
manipulate reality through art. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the 19th-century realist
tradition is based on the same conflicting desires: on the one hand realism would
like to produce a faithful copy of reality, on the other hand realist novelists
become increasingly aware of the aesthetic devices a writer may use to improve
his work (Ricœur, quoted in Bertoni, 260). An accurate reproduction of reality
seems thus to be prevented by the artistic devices deployed by a writer to shape
a literary work: consequently, art does not seem to be able to resemble reality
directly (Bertoni, 261).
Despite Bertoni’s accurate analysis, however, it still does not seem to be
clear what realism consists of. It appears that the literary movement of realism
cannot be easily defined since its development has been influenced by novelists’
different awareness of the distance between language and reality (Bertoni, 311):
even though the literary movement of realism at first aspires to represent reality
as it is (Kaminsky, quoted in Lee, 5), such a premise determined several
controversies (Lee, 5). Consequently, realism does not appear to be a univocal
movement and scholars may thus encounter difficulties in describing it (Bertoni,
311). Furthermore, even though there are novels which undoubtedly belong to
the realist literary tradition, a certain realism cannot be denied to other novels
either (Bertoni, 311). Realism should thus be thought as an intermediate space
between the two different worlds of language and reality (Bertoni, 313). In order
to determine whether a literary work is realist, critics can thus base their analysis
on a method which aims to outline the main representative features of this
intermediate space rather than attempting to define it exhaustively (Bertoni,
313).
In order to provide a different perspective from which to look at realism
and define it, Bertoni recalls Nelson Goodman, from whom the Italian scholar
has learnt how to deal with a concept which cannot be defined univocally

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(Bertoni, 314). When coping with the concept of art, instead of wondering what
art is, Goodman decided to determine when something can be classified as art,
thereby listing a work of art’s main features (Goodman, quoted in Bertoni, 314).
It is on the basis of Goodman’s teaching that Bertoni attempts to define which
aspects may be considered typically realist, rather than striving to define realism
univocally (Bertoni, 314). Thus, in suggesting such a procedure, Bertoni
indicates four levels according to which a text can be analysed (315). Since
Bertoni’s levels can be useful to determine which aspects within White Teeth
may be labelled as realist, they will be listed and explained in detail in the
successive paragraph.

3.2.2 Realist Effects within White Teeth

As mentioned above, the levels listed by Bertoni may be helpful in order

to detect which elements within White Teeth create a realist effect. Therefore, it
appears indispensable to enumerate Bertoni’s levels. The first level is
determined by a text’s content: a literary work can be said to be realist whether
its contents can be compared with empiric experience (Bertoni, 315). The
second level is determined by a text’s form: a novel can be defined realist
whether it deploys specific techniques through which the author conceals the
fracture between art and reality (Bertoni, 315). A further level connects realism
to semiotics: reality is represented through signs which constitute a semiotic
version of reality. The signs deployed can be decoded in order to see whether
they conform to the specific cultural and historical context within which a text is
produced (Bertoni, 316, 342). Finally, the fourth level consists in the
relationship between the world which has been described in the text and the
reader’s perception of the text itself (Bertoni, 316).
Needless to say that the four different levels do not necessarily coexist
within a realist work; a text may in fact conform only to one of the levels

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previously listed and lacks the others (Bertoni, 316). Being the first two levels
more relevant to determine which aspects within White Teeth may be considered
realist, our analysis will consequently focus primarily on Bertoni’s first two
levels. Let us now consider the two levels in detail, by firstly analysing which
contents within White Teeth produce a realist effect and secondly which formal
devices can be labelled as realist.
According to Bertoni’s first level, in a realist work contents are subjected
to natural laws (Bertoni, 315). Smith’s story appears to be realistic and the world
which emerges from the novel seems to be influenced by the same laws human
beings can experience personally (see Bertoni, 320). Therefore, the events
narrated by Smith can be explained empirically and do not seem to be provoked
by transcendental laws or surreal elements (see Bertoni, 320). Nevertheless,
there are episodes within the narrative which appear to detach from realism: plot
coincidences and repetitions appear to be improbable happenings rather than
realistic ones (Squires, 66). For instance, as soon as Magid breaks his nose
during a cyclone back in Bangladesh, his twin, Millat, who still lives in Britain,
breaks his nose too (Smith, 213, 216). In addition, it may appear improbable that
Clara’s grandmother, Ambrosia, is taken advantage sexually twice, by two
different men, firstly by Charlie Durham and later by Sir Edmund Glenard.
Furthermore, the eugenicist Dr Marc-Pierre Perret reappears hundreds of pages
after his first appearance, in a completely different context: if at the beginning of
the novel his character is connected to Nazism, towards the end of the story he
reappears as Marcus Chalfen’s mentor (Smith, 119, 532). Moreover, Archie is
shot twice, both times in Perret’s presence: once Archibald is shot by Perret
himself, who thereby attempts not to be killed by Archibald; a second time he is
accidentally shot by Millat, who aims to shoot Perret during Marcus’s
presentation of his FutureMouse project. However Archibald, in order to prevent
Millat from wounding Perret, interposes himself between Millat and the target of
his shot (Smith, 533). Consequently, not only is Archibald shot twice, he even

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saves the same man for a second time. On the basis of these episodes it appears
that realistic elements are combined and alternated with less credible
happenings; plot coincidences and repetitions, however, are made believable
precisely thanks to their insertion within a predominant realist narration
(Squires, 66).
A further characteristic outlined by Bertoni in his first level, which can be
used to determine the realist effect within a novel, consists in the representation
of everyday life (315, 320). White Teeth seems to conform to this element since
Smith narrates the story of three families, the Joneses, the Iqbals and the
Chalfens, and describes their members while performing everyday activities and
facing ordinary problems. Smith’s characters are thus described while being at
work or at school, while meeting in a pub or taking a walk, while arguing with
their partner or their offspring, while defending their beliefs or criticizing others’
ideals. Smith’s characters are thus set in their daily environment and their lives
seem to flow as they usually do. Therefore, White Teeth’s characters are
ordinary people whose lives are rather normal.
In representing her characters’ daily life, Smith also stresses the class or
social condition they embody (Bentley, 497), which, according to Bertoni, is
another characteristic of realist narratives (Bertoni, 315). To begin with, the
Joneses represent a mixed race family, whose members are Archibald, an
Englishman, Clara, his Jamaican wife, and Irie, their mixed race daughter. They
are likely to embody a working class family. Since at seventeen Archibald
“look[s] just old enough […] to fool the men from the medical board”, he is sent
abroad to fight against the Nazis in the Second World War (Smith, 83).
Consequently, he does not complete his studies and when returns to England he
can offer nothing but his war experience, which however “isn’t really relevant”
(Smith, 14; emphasis in original). Having difficulties in finding a job, he
eventually “end[s] up […] designing the way all kinds of things should be
folded” (Smith, 15; emphasis in original). Archibald’s occupation is thus

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described as “a dead-end job” (Smith, 14). Like Archibald, Clara does not seem
to be well educated either: she moves to England when she is seventeen and
soon after, when she is only nineteen, she marries Archibald (Smith, 26, 31).
Clara seems to resume her studies only after Irie’s birth (Smith, 458). In the
meanwhile, she appears to have a part-time job “as a supervisor for a Kilburn
youth group” (Smith, 73).
As far as the Iqbals are concerned, they represent a Muslim family living
in contemporary London. Their family is composed of Samad, Alsana and their
twin sons, Magid and Millat. Unlike Archibald, Samad is an educated man: he
has in fact studied at Dehli University (Smith, 57). However, when he moves to
England and has to earn a living to support his family, he eventually accepts a
job as a waiter, albeit frustrating it may be. Samad thus accepts an unpretentious,
low-paid job, repressing his ambition. Perhaps paradoxically, despite being
Samad an educated person, his family may be said to represent another example
of working class unit. As far as Alsana is concerned, like Clara, she has got
married very young, and soon after her husband, looking for a fresh start, has
brought her to England (Smith, 12). Just as Clara, she does not seem to have a
proper occupation, and despite coming “from a respected old Bengali family”
(Smith, 62), no reference is made to the level of her education.
Marcus and Joyce Chalfen, on the contrary, are highly educated and are
said to be “intellectuals” (Smith, 132; emphasis in original): Marcus is a
scientist and his wife Joyce is involved with gardening, even though her books
seem “more about relationships than flowers” (Smith, 310). Furthermore, they
appear to embody a typical middle class English family. Their belief in therapy
seems to point out the importance they place on mental health and emotional
stability (Smith, 313); unsurprisingly, therefore, they seem to have a logical
solution to any problem. However, their attitude towards life is frequently
ironized within the novel and Millat himself, when offered a cup of tea to calm
him down, rudely replies: “[f]or fuckssake! I don’t want any fucking tea. All you

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ever do is drink tea! You lot must piss pure bloody tea” (Smith, 333; emphasis
in original).
Additionally, the characters Smith represents live in contemporary
London. London can be recognized geographically, as will be highlighted in a
later paragraph, for the references to Willesden Green, a neighbourhood situated
in north-west London, and Whitechapel, situated in east London (Smith, 46, 55,
59). London can be recognized not only geographically, for the areas Smith
refers to, but also socially, for the issues an increasingly multicultural city is
characterized by and required to deal with. Whitechapel, for instance, is
described as a dangerous area, “where one couldn’t bring up children” because
of “its NF gangs” (Smith, 59). Furthermore, after Enoch Powell gave his
notorious speech, the Iqbals, who used to live in Whitechapel, were forced to
stay in their “basement while kids broke the windows with their steel-capped
boots” (Smith, 62). Problems such as intolerance, racism and violent acts appear
thus to mirror the changes which have taken place in London throughout the
1970s, 80s and 90s, which are the decades Smith’s novel focuses on (Head,
106). A writer’s interest in contemporary life is pointed out by Bertoni as a
further feature of a realist literary work (Bertoni, 315). Therefore, Smith’s
concern with 20th-century London seems to be a further realist effect within
White Teeth.
Bertoni also believes that a realist novel requires the insertion of history
within its plot (Bertoni, 315): the importance of history has also been
highlighted by the American writer DeLillo, who suggests that the narration of
episodes belonging to everyday life acquires meaning only if connected to
history (DeLillo, quoted in Bertoni, 323). It is as if ordinary people’s life
becomes tangible only if looked from a historical perspective (Bertoni, 323).
Smith’s novel appears to conform to this element since her characters’
respective stories continuously interweave history. Not surprisingly, therefore,
each section, apart from the last one, contains an entire chapter devoted to the

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connection of a character to history: each chapter thus refers to the “root canals”
of a precise character. The chapter entitled “The Root Canals of Alfred
Archibald Jones and Samad Miah Iqbal” refers to the Second World War, during
which Archibald and Samad have encountered for the first time (Smith, 83).
Their friendship is thus rooted in the war. In chapter ten, “The Root Canals of
Mangal Pande”, the 1857 Indian Mutiny is recalled from the perspective of
Samad, who, unlike Britain, considers Mangal Pande, his great-grandfather and
first mutineer, a hero (Smith, 244). The chapter entitled “The Root Canals of
Hortense Bowden” refers to the connection between colonial history and the
Bowden family: Hortense’s mother, Ambrosia, is impregnated by Charlie
Durham, an English colonist living and working in Jamaica, which at the time
belonged to the British Empire (Smith, 356). In addition to these chapters which
are entirely devoted to historical happenings, Smith inserts many other historical
references throughout her novel: for instance, she recalls the 1907 Kingston
earthquake (361), Enoch Powell’s speech (72), the hurricane which hit England
in 1987 (220), the assassination of Mrs Indira Gandhi (197), the Fall of the
Berlin Wall (237), the burn of a “dirty book”, which, despite not being explicitly
mentioned, is likely to be Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses (230, 233;
Squires, 32). All the historical events referred to within the novel are obviously
fictionalized; nevertheless, they contribute to rendering the narrative more
realistic (see Bertoni, 323).
Having analysed Smith’s novel according to Bertoni’s first level, which
focuses on the contents of a literary work, it is now possible to move on to
consider White Teeth according to Bertoni’s second level, which prioritizes
form. To begin with, as suggested by Bertoni, a realist novel is likely to be
characterized by impersonality (Bertoni, 331): realist novelists believed the
novel had to be “an unmanipulated, natural chain of events” (Lee, 11).
Impersonality seems to be present in Smith’s novel, which is narrated from a
third person omniscient narrator who usually tends to conceal his voice

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(Paproth, 14). The concealment of the narrative voice can be achieved in many
different ways, one of which is free indirect speech (Childs, quoted in Tew, 49),
whose extensive use amongst modernists has turned it into a typically modernist
feature, as will be stressed in a subsequent paragraph (Stevenson, 37). Smith’s
use of free indirect speech highlights how realist elements, such as omniscient
narration and impersonality, are combined with a distinctive modernist practice.
Such a combination is not surprising: as pointed out by Genette, techniques such
as the free indirect discourse and interior monologue can increase the reader’s
involvement with a literary work, thereby reducing the reader’s perception of the
narrative voice’s intrusion (Genette quoted in Bertoni, 336). In Smith’s novel
the narrator’s intrusion is thus concealed by making the reader believe that he is
reading the characters’ own interior thoughts rather than the narrator’s
commentary (Squires, 61).
A further formal characteristic, which tends to conceal the narrative voice
and is considered distinctively realist, consists in the use of dialogues, which
tend to show rather than tell the developments within a novel (Bertoni, 332). It
appears that the frequent use of direct speech within White Teeth “tends to show
us, rather than tell us events” (Bentley, 497).
Additionally, the concealment of the narrative voice seems to be achieved
also by reproducing characters’ specific way of speaking. Smith’s narrative
reproduces the manner of speaking of Hortense and Clara and of minor
characters such as Donzel and Clarence: coming all from Jamaica, they are
likely to express themselves by using patois, which is transcribed directly on the
page. Smith also appears to transcribe on the page the sectorial language
deployed by the Chalfens when approaching reality: being Joyce a gardener and
Marcus a scientist, their way of speaking tends to reflect their scientific
formation. White Teeth thus seems to conform to linguistic mimesis, which is
another formal element stressed by Bertoni (315).

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 However, Smith’s narrator does not seem to be always willing to conceal
his voice. In fact, he sometimes intrusively intervenes in the story, by addressing
or involving the reader openly (Squires, 61). There are many episodes within the
novel in which the narrator uses pronouns such as ‘we’ and ‘you’ (Squires, 61).
When observing Glenard Oak’s playground, for instance, the narrator comments
on what he sees by saying:

This has been the century of strangers, brown, yellow and white. This has been
the century of the great immigrant experience. It is only this late in the day that
you can walk into the playground and find Isaac Leung by the fish pond, Danny
Rahman in the football cage, Quang O’Rourke bouncing a basketball, and Irie
Jones humming a tune. […] It is only this late in the day, and possibly only in
Willesden, that you can find best friends Sita and Sharon […]. Yet, despite all the
mixing up, despite the fact that we have finally slipped into each other’s lives with
reasonable comfort […] it is still hard to admit that there is no one more English
than the Indian, no one more Indian than the English (Smith, 326-327; my
emphasis).

When later commenting on Irie’s sufferings and delusions for unrequited love,
the narrator repeatedly uses the pronouns ‘we’, ‘us’, ‘ourselves’ and the
adjective ‘our’:

What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking,
malfunctioning in some way? And particularly, if they replace us with a god or a
weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll – then we call them
crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves,
and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be
something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship (Smith, 462; my
emphasis).

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Few pages after, when considering the unsuccessful encounter between Magid
and Millat, the narrative voice intervenes once more involving the reader:

Because we often imagine that immigrants are constantly on the move, footloose,
able to change course at any moment, able to employ their legendary
resourcefulness at every turn. We have been told of the resourcefulness of Mr
Schmutters, or the footloosity of Mr Banajii, who sail into Ellis Island or Dover or
Calais and step into their foreign lands […] free of any kind of baggage […]
(Smith, 465; my emphasis).

The narrator intervenes including the reader within the narrative also when
judging Millat’s state when reaching the Perret Institute: “Yes, Millat was
stoned. And it may be absurd to us that one Iqbal can believe that breadcrumbs
laid down by another Iqbal, generations before him, hat not yet blown away in
the breeze. But it really doesn’t matter what we believe” (Smith, 506; my
emphasis).
In addition to these episodes in which the narrative voice intentionally
uses pronouns such as ‘we’ and ‘you’ to include the reader, there are other parts
in which the narrator reveals his presence to the reader, without concealing it.
For instance, when Archibald meets Clara for the first time, before presenting
the reader with the conversation they have, the narrator intervenes saying: “But
first a description” (Smith, 23). Therefore, the narrator appears to interrupt the
natural course of the narration, thereby revealing his presence, in order to
provide first a description of Clara. Similarly, when introducing Clara’s past,
since she “was from somewhere. She had roots”, the narrator makes his voice
perceptible by suggesting that “it’s about time people told the truth about
beautiful women” (Smith, 27; emphasis in original).
Therefore, on the evidence of all the episodes in which Smith’s narrator
intervenes within the narrative, it appears that an unobtrusive omniscient
narrator is combined and alternated with an obtrusive omniscient narrator.

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Despite not being extremely obtrusive, this property of White Teeth’s narrative
voice seems to suggest that the principle of impersonality indicated by Bertoni
as a characteristic feature of realism is not always respected within Smith’s
novel (see Bertoni, 332).
It is likely that a narrator who sometimes intervenes addressing or
involving the reader within a text may also provide his point of view. In Smith’s
novel, the point of view from which episodes are usually narrated tends to be
internal and variable: hence, focalization is not restricted to one single character;
on the contrary, Smith’s narrator appears to adopt several different points of
view throughout the novel, depending on whose experiences the narrative voice
is describing (Squires, 61). Nonetheless, there are episodes which are narrated
from a non-focalized perspective. The episodes previously cited, in which the
narrator openly addresses or includes the reader, are parts in which happenings
tend to be observed from the narrator’s perspective. Therefore, a variable
internal focalization seems to be combined and alternated with a zero
focalization. Consequently, Bertoni’s principle, according to which a realist
work is narrated from a subjective perspective, does not always appear to be
respected within White Teeth (Bertoni, 315).
According to Bertoni, other two aspects, which can determine whether a
literary work is realist, are space and time: by quoting Watt, Bertoni suggests
that realism introduced a changed representation of space and time (336). In
realist works, both space and time tend to be described concretely, thereby
locating characters in a precise spatial and temporal dimension (Watt, quoted in
Bertoni, 336). As far as White Teeth is concerned, Smith’s characters are
situated in a geographically recognizable space (Bentley, 497; Tew, 51). London
can be recognized geographically for the references to Willesden Green, a
neighbourhood situated in north-west London, where Smith’s characters live
(Smith, 46, 55). Willesden is described as “a nice area”, especially if compared
with Whitechapel, a neighbourhood in east London, from which Samad’s family

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has moved out (Smith, 59, 62). Time too appears significant within the novel:
each chapter, in fact, in addition to being named after a character, includes two
years upon which the narrative is focused. Hence, the temporal dimension is
marked precisely and the reader knows exactly when the happenings take place.
Nevertheless, time does not follow its linear flow; paradoxically, the
present precedes rather than follow the past, thereby depriving the latter of a
cause-effect logic (Sell, 29). Moreover, as pointed out in a further paragraph, the
narrative of White Teeth is extremely fragmented, thus requiring the reader to
move back and forth in order to reconstruct the novel’s chronological order. It
may be useless to say that, when writing a novel, a novelist tends to manipulate
time; consequently, being a novel a work of art, story and plot hardly ever
coincide (Frank 1978, 283). Nonetheless, even though story and plot cannot
entirely correspond, realist literary works tend to favour a temporality which
progresses linearly from past to present (Frank 1978, 284). Since Smith’s novel
prefers a non-linear, fragmented narration, it appears to distance itself from
realism. As will be highlighted in detail in a further paragraph, Smith’s choice
can be ascribed to modernism (see Stevenson, 92).
In conclusion, on the basis of this analysis, it may be claimed that White
Teeth can only be partly labelled as a realist work. Even though Smith’s novel
conforms to some of the realist elements listed by Bertoni in his first two levels
(see Bertoni, 315), it does not appear to adapt to all of them. Actually, there are
aspects within White Teeth which seem to mirror the use of 20th-century devices,
thereby challenging distinctive realist techniques. Consequently, it may be
worthwhile to consider 20th-century techniques in detail.

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3.3 The Modernist Mode

As noticed in the previous paragraph, it appears that Smith’s novel does

not only contain realist elements. On the contrary, it appears that realist devices
have been combined with more innovative devices, which may be labelled as
modernist. It may thus be claimed that distinctively realist features seem to be
destabilized by the concomitant deployment of typically modernist features
(Tew, 49; Paproth, 10).
When analysing White Teeth, it is necessary not to forget that Smith’s
novel was written in 2000 and consequently mirrors the postmodern world in
which it takes place. Smith’s characters unsuccessful pursuit of a stable and
fixed identity thus reflects a postmodern world which is increasingly uncertain
and unpredictable (Paproth, 9). Consequently, in order to reproduce such a
volatile world, the “structurally sound and clearly marked” narrative is
subverted from inside (Paproth, 20). Although the reader may attempt to
understand the novel’s meaning by relying on its well-defined external structure,
he needs to face an extremely fragmented narrative, constructed on “a web of
parallels and correspondences”, which mirrors the chaotic relationships between
characters, temporal dimensions and thematic issues (Paproth, 20, 27). As a
result, the ‘certainties’ the reader is provided with through traditional stylistic
devices are soon obliterated through the use of more innovative devices.
Therefore, it appears that not only does Smith criticize human beings’ rejection
of ambivalence and tendency towards certain and defined identities through her
subject matter, but through her form and stylistic devices too.
It may thus be worthwhile to consider which modernist devices deployed
by Smith seem to challenge traditional stylistic features. On the basis of such an
analysis it appears that free indirect speech, the openness of the novel’s ending
and the rejection of linearity are the main modernist devices used by the author

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in writing White Teeth (see Stevenson, 34, 158, 91). These three modernist
features will thus be analysed in detail in the following paragraphs.

3.3.1 Free Indirect Speech

One of the distinctive features of modernism, which has been used by

Smith, consists in the deployment of free indirect style, deployed “to represent
inner thought and deeper movements of the psyche” (Stevenson, 34). Unlike
free indirect discourse, which is used to describe thoughts which have been
expressed verbally, free indirect style reflects characters’ inner thoughts which
are never pronounced aloud (Stevenson, 35). To be precise, the deployment of
free indirect style is not entirely new; actually, it seems that it has always
constituted a characteristic element of fiction (Stevenson, 36). However, what
distinguishes modernist authors from previous novelists is an extensive and
frequent use of such a technique (Stevenson, 37). It would thus be interesting to
know which transformations brought to an increased and intensive deployment
of free indirect style, since Smith herself appears to reproduce her characters’
inner thoughts by deploying this technique.
It appears that the deployment of free indirect style, which later brought to
the development of techniques such as stream of consciousness and interior
monologue, can be ascribed to the modernists’ concern with unspoken inner
thoughts (Stevenson, 16). By paraphrasing Virginia Woolf, it appears that
modernist novelists are more interested in representing the world within
characters rather than observing the one outside them (Stevenson, 16). Hence,
modernist writing can be said to be characterized by a movement from an
objective to a subjective description of reality: modernists seem more interested
in describing how the world is perceived rather than how it is (Stevenson, 64).
Like modernists, Smith herself appears to be concerned with her characters’

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unspoken thoughts, despite simultaneously accounting for the external world too
(see Stevenson, 64).
Such an apprehension with the inner world can be explained by referring
to the yielding of previous certainties (Stevenson, 71). If modernity was
characterized by a pursuit of order and tendency to rationality (Bauman, 1993,
168; Bauman 1991a, 283), the social condition of postmodernity, introduced in
the 20th century, conversely consists in the consciousness of an ambivalent and
structureless world (Bauman 1992, 198). The early 20th century thus lacks the
“stability and certainty” the Victorian world was based upon and is thus “riddled
with disbelief” (Carruthers, quoted in Stevenson, 72). Hence, lacking the beliefs
and certainties previous novelists had benefited from, 20th-century novelists
cannot rely any longer on an orderly and stable perception of the world
(Stevenson, 72, 74). Consequently, since the world has been deprived of its
stable meaning and reassuring order, modernist authors believe that human
beings’ inner world may be the only space from which to look at the external
world (Stevenson, 76). Therefore, the effort to portray characters’ inner world
has become a distinctive feature of modernism (Stevenson, 16).
Like modernist authors, Smith appears to be interested in mirroring her
characters’ inner world (see Stevenson, 64). Hence, in order to do so, Smith
deploys free indirect style to express her characters’ unspoken thoughts and
feelings (Tew, 49). The narrator’s voice thus merges with the characters’ voice,
rendering the two almost undistinguishable (see Stevenson, 35). For instance,
when revealing Clara’s reflections on Archibald, the narrative voice firstly
suggests that “Clara understood that Archibald Jones was no romantic hero” and
recalls her thoughts through a third person narration (Smith, 48). Soon after,
however, reflections which are recognizably Clara’s are transcribed without
being mediated through the narrative voice: “[n]o white knight, then, this
Archibald Jones. No aims, no hopes, no ambitions. A man whose greatest
pleasures were English breakfast and DIY. A dull man. An old man. And yet. .

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.good. He was a good man. And good might not amount to much, good might
not light up a life, but it is something” (Smith, 48; emphasis in original).
Another example of free indirect style may be noticed in Hortense’s
apprehension for the imminent end of the world. The narrative voice firstly
suggests that “Hortense was convinced these were the sign of signs. These were
the final days” and later seems to leave Hortense’s voice speaks for its own:

There were eight months to the end of the world. Hardly enough time! There were
banners to be made, articles to be written (‘Will the Lord Forgive the Onanist?’),
doorsteps to be trod, bells to be rung. There was Darcus to think about – who
could not walk to the fridge without assistance - how was he to make it to the
kingdom of the Lord? And in all Clara must lend a hand; there was no time for
boys, for Ryan Topps, for skulking around, for adolescent angst (Smith, 33).

A further example of free indirect style can be noticed in Irie’s first encounter
with the Chalfens. Irie is positively surprised by Marcus Chalfen, consequently
the narrative voice reveals to the reader “[s]he felt her cheeks flush with the
warm heat of Chalfenist revelation” (Smith, 326). Immediately after, her
thoughts are transcribed directly, without being mediated through the voice of
the narrator: “so there existed fathers who dealt in the present, who didn’t drag
ancient history around like a chain and ball. So there were men who were not
neck-high and sinking in the quagmire of the past” (Smith, 326).
Perhaps Smith does not use free indirect style as extensively as modernist
authors do. Nevertheless, even when not deploying a free indirect style, Smith’s
novel tends to give prominence to the characters’ inner conflicts. Hence, despite
not transcribing their unspoken thoughts and desires directly, the narrative voice
still tends to focus on the characters’ interiority. As already pointed out in the
second chapter, in fact, many of Smith’s characters tend to struggle within
themselves when confronted with opposing values and beliefs. Samad’s interior
struggle to make his Islamic faith prevail over the corruption of the West is as

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evident as Irie’s efforts to cancel her Jamaican features in order to allow her
English traits to triumph. A further yet opposite interior conflict afflicts Samad
and Irie: the former, believing the past determines the present, spends his life
coming to terms with his past, thereby incapable to live in the present; the latter
hopelessly tries to delete the past by clinging to the present, eventually realizing
that the past cannot be escaped. Just as Clara is divided between her previous
faith and her present atheism, Millat finds it difficult to renounce his Western
tastes once he has embraced Islamism. Similarly, once Joshua becomes truly
conscious of his choice, he appears to be split between his decision to reject
Chalfenism and the fear of its consequences. Therefore, whether deploying free
indirect style or allowing the characters’ thoughts to be mediated through and
narrated by a third person narrator, Smith’s novel tends to share the modernist
tendency to “illumine the mind within rather than the world without” (Woolf,
quoted in Stevenson, 16).

3.3.2 Ending

The historical, political and cultural context in which modernism develops

does not only prompt artists to focus on the inner world rather than on the
external world; it also pushes them to challenge a further element which is
typical of 19th-century novels, i.e. a definitive, clear ending (Stevenson, 146,
158). In fact, despite portraying dilemmas which may affect either private or
public life, 19th-century novels appear to guarantee that these predicaments are
destined to be overcome and eventually resolved – if not happily, at least
coherently (Stevenson, 146). Thus, Victorian novels tend to end “too simply and
too neatly”, usually “in marriage or in death” (Matz, 215).
Unlike Victorian novels, many of the novels written in the 20th century
“[end] in openness and uncertainty” (Stevenson, 158). If 19th-century novels
seek a stable ending which “brings the story firmly to a close”, the 20th century

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opens a new phase of uncertainty and novelists can no longer rely on definite
conclusions (Stevenson, 158). The openness of novels’ endings appears thus to
reflect a changed approach to “the process and goals of experience in life”
(Friedman, 15): if in 19th-century novels “experience is closed”, thereby not
permitting further developments, in 20th-century novels, conversely, experience
is continuously expanded (Friedman, 17, 29). As a consequence, if once the
happenings which had been developed within a novel used to be brought to a
close in the novel’s ending (Friedman, 180), in the 20th century experience is
perceived as open, consequently requiring an unclosed ending (Friedman,
15,180). It appears that novels which are destined to remain unclosed are
characterized by “an endlessly expanding process”; therefore, even though
characters strive to resolve their own problems, the issues they deal with
ultimately reveal to be unsolvable (Friedman, 182).
Smith herself appears to be unwilling to supply her reader with a
definitive ending. Actually, her novel’s conclusion, like many modernists’
ending, can be said to be open since her characters’ dilemmas are left unresolved
(see Stevenson, 158). In the very last pages of White Teeth the narrator seems
even to mock the reader’s expectation for a happy ending. “Young professional
women aged eighteen to thirty-two” (Smith, 541) are perhaps likely to expect

a snapshot seven years hence of Irie, Joshua and Hortense sitting by a Caribbean
sea (for Irie and Joshua become lovers in the end; you can only avoid your fate for
so long), while Irie’s fatherless little girl writes affectionate postcards to Bad
Uncle Millat and Good Uncle Magid and feels free as Pinocchio, a puppet clipped
of paternal strings (Smith, 541).

Perhaps the reader would also be delighted to know that O’Connell’s has
“finally opened [its] doors to women” and Clara and Alsana are in there playing
a game with Archibald and Samad (Smith, 541). However, providing the reader
with this kind of stories would mean “[spreading] the myth, the wicked lie, that

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the past is always tense and the future, perfect” (Smith, 541). Archibald yet
“knows, it’s not like that. It’s never been like that” (Smith, 541). As a
consequence, the novel ends by focusing on present happenings, leaving her
characters’ future trajectories undisclosed. The closing snapshot the reader is
provided with is that of a bleeding man watching a mouse and wishing it a free
existence (Smith, 541-542).
In conclusion, it appears that, if the existence of Smith’s characters is
unstable, the ending of the novel itself cannot guarantee a stability a postmodern
world does not seem to possess (see Bauman 1991b, 173). Despite the
characters’ efforts to overcome their internal conflicts, existence proves to be
inconsistent and the dilemmas they are affected by reveal to be unsolvable, as in
many modernist novels (see Friedman, 182). The openness of modernists’ and
Smith’s ending can thus be connected to the increasingly lack of certainties the
postmodern condition is characterized by (see Stevenson, 158).

3.3.3 The Rejection of Linearity

Alongside with fostering interest in characters’ inner world and depriving

novels of a clear conclusion, 20th-century increasing uncertainties also influence
the structure of novels, as a consequence of a changed attitude towards time
(Stevenson, 86). The climate in which modernists live determines in fact their
increasing concern with time (Stevenson, 88). Such a concern brings to the
development of a new perception upon time, which is particularly evident in
modernist writings’ structure (Stevenson, 90). Hence, it is not a coincidence that
modernist novels share a common rejection of a conventional chronological
sequence (Stevenson, 91). Novels thus abandon the realist convention of
narrating life “as a series of events and consequences” (Stevenson, 91). It may
perhaps appear obvious, but it is worth remembering that a novelist always tends
to manipulate time; consequently, since story and plot hardly ever coincide, a

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chronological sequence is rarely respected (Frank 1978, 283). On the basis of
this, it may be claimed that the lack of linear narrative order is not entirely new
(Stevenson, 92). Nevertheless, as for modernists’ extensive use of free indirect
style, the lack of a chronological sequence can be said to be innovative for the
extent of its use (Stevenson, 92).
Smith’s novel seems to fully distance itself from realism as far as its
structure is concerned, in fact, as previously mentioned, events are not narrated
as they occur, following a conventional chronological sequence. In White Teeth,
however, the rejection of a linear chronological order does not appear to be the
result of characters’ preoccupation with the passage of time, as it is in
modernists’ novels (see Stevenson, 90). It seems rather to stem from their
problematic relationship between past and present. The two temporal
dimensions are experienced differently by the various characters, who either try
to cling to past values, beliefs, happenings or reject them to embrace present
convictions. However, neither past nor present can be entirely rejected (see
Paproth, 17); consequently, they tend to reappear in characters’ lives. Smith’s
characters’ anxieties towards the relationship between past and present are likely
to be responsible for the novel’s lack of linearity.
The linearity of a novel can be disrupted by narrating the events not as
they happened, but according to the succession in which they are recollected
(Stevenson, 92). Memory is thus one of the main elements used to subvert the
chronological order of events: memory in fact permits the concomitance of past
and present within the mind of characters (Stevenson, 96). Therefore, since
modernists tend to focus on characters’ inner thoughts, memory appears to be
the ideal vehicle to disrupt a linear chronological order by uniting past and
present within the mind (Stevenson, 96). Therefore, memory, thanks to the
casualness of recollection, turns into a crucial device, capable of distancing itself
from conventional temporality (Stevenson, 96). Past happenings can be recalled
either through the narrative voice or through characters: hence, both the narrator

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and the character can depart from the present (Stevenson, 101). Further, when it
is a character who departs from the present, he can either recall past events by
voluntarily recounting them or by relying, intentionally or unintentionally, on
his inner thoughts (Stevenson, 101).
Modernist authors tend to favour characters’ free associations between
past and present experience thanks to techniques such as stream of
consciousness and interior monologue: therefore, their characters tend to recall
events inwardly, without the mediation of a narrator (Stevenson, 101, 105).
Zadie Smith, conversely, deploys neither stream of consciousness nor interior
monologue in her novel, but limits herself to the use of free indirect style which
is alternated to a third person narration (Childs, quoted in Tew, 49).
Nevertheless, even though third person narrators are usually supposed to recount
happenings in a conventional chronological order (Stevenson, 92), Smith’s
novel is hardly ever organized as events actually occurred. Further, being White
Teeth’s narrator omniscient, it is evident that he is in the position to supply
further details whenever he wants, thereby interrupting the narrative flow and
moving back and forth. Therefore, alongside with characters, White Teeth‘s
narrator tends to distance itself from the present, thereby disrupting the
chronological sequence of the narrative.
When at the beginning of Smith’s novel Archibald Jones attempts suicide,
for instance, the narrator explains to the reader that “Archie Jones attempted
suicide because of his wife Ophelia, a violet-eyed Italian with a faint moustache,
had recently divorced him” (Smith, 8). Thus, the narrator departs from the
present in order to provide the reader with information concerning Archibald’s
past and to explain his decision to commit suicide. After recounting Archibald’s
unlucky marriage, the narrator provides the reader with other very useful details:
Archibald’s “impotent indecision” and tendency to make choices by flipping a
coin (Smith, 11), his friendship with Samad Miah and their shared experience
during the war (Smith, 12), O’Connell’s as the place where they usually

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encounter each other (Smith, 12). It is only after a few pages that the narrator
resumes narrating events in the present. Soon after, however, it is Archibald
himself who shifts from present to past, experiencing “the obligatory flashback
of his life to date” (Smith, 13). He thus recalls “[a] dull childhood, a bad
marriage, a dead-end job”, his involvement in the war, his brief career as a
“track cyclist” and his friendship with a Swedish cyclist (Smith, 14-15).
This initial episode may be significant in order to understand Smith’s
subversion of chronological sequence: in White Teeth, the departure from the
present may either be the result of the narrator’s decisions or of characters’ inner
thoughts and memories. It is however true that Smith is more conventional than
authors such as Virginia Woolf or James Joyce, whose extensive use,
respectively of interior monologue and stream of consciousness, allows their
characters to associate past and present events freely (Stevenson, 103-105). In
Smith’s novel, on the contrary, the majority of temporal shifts appear to be
mediated through the narrator rather than being determined directly by
characters’ associations. Just as the narrator interrupts the ordinary passage of
time in order to explain to the reader Archibald’s reasons for committing
suicide, it is again the narrator who disrupts the chronological sequence when
explaining the headmaster of Glenard Oak’s decision to punish Millat and Irie
by sending them to the Chalfens (Smith, 303). The narrator thus recalls the story
of the founder of the school, Sir Edmund Flecker Glenard, and the philosophy at
the base of his project, which appears to be shared by the headmaster of the
school, whose choice “is very much in the history, the spirit, the whole ethos of
Glenard Oak, ever since Sir Glenard himself” (Smith, 303). Similarly, when Dr.
Marc-Pierre Perret unexpectedly reappears at the end of the novel, it is the
narrator who recounts what happened between Archibald and the geneticist,
thereby explaining why the latter is still alive (Smith, 533-540). Furthermore,
even when characters recall past happenings, they do not necessarily associate
events according to mental processes, but sometimes also tend to narrate them.

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If Archibald recalls his past life through flashbacks and reconstructs it mentally
when attempting suicide, other past episodes, such as the Indian Mutiny, are
recalled because of characters talking about it rather than due to mental
connections. Moreover, soon after, it is the narrator who undertakes the task to
recall Samad’s memory of the mutiny. Therefore, it appears that White Teeth’s
narrative voice is responsible for several of the temporal shifts within the novel.
Whether past memories are recalled through the voice of the narrator or
through a character, and whether a character recalls the past through mental
processes or by recounting it, elements such as present happenings,
conversations and situations act as stimuli for temporal shifts, as pointed out by
Bergson (Bergson, quoted in Stevenson, 108). These stimuli thus permit to move
back and forth temporally, thereby disclosing past and present events
simultaneously. As already mentioned, unlike modernist writings such as
Virginia Woolf’s and James Joyce’s, the recollection of memories in White
Teeth depends on a third person narration, therefore past events and mental
connections are likely to be filtered through a third person narrator (see
Stevenson, 101, 105). As a consequence, associations do not seem to flow as
freely as they tend to do in modernists’ novels (see Stevenson, 101, 105).
Modernists’ changed perception upon time, which brought to a different
structure of their narratives, may be understood by recalling Bergson’s
conception of time (Lewis, quoted in Stevenson, 106). Wyndham Lewis has the
merit to have pointed out the correspondences between modernists’ and
Bergson’s perception of time: both perceptions appear to be characterized by the
rejection of a chronological development of events (Stevenson, 107). Bergson’s
conviction can be ascribed to his belief in the fluidity of time: time is thus
perceived as a flow (Stevenson, 132). However, Bergson fears that erudition
may prevent human beings from experiencing the continuity of time (Bergson,
quoted in Stevenson, 132), since it tends to organize time according to
“conveniently graspable units” (Stevenson, 132).

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 Zadie Smith herself tends to divide her novel into clear units which appear
to diminish the perception of time as a flow (see Stevenson, 132). It may be
sufficient to consider the novel’s external structure, which is organized into four
sections, each of which contains two significant years, one more recent and one
more remote. However, alongside with being marked and divided very clearly,
past and present are even juxtaposed to one another. The juxtaposition between
the two temporal dimensions, along with reducing the chronological sequence
within a novel, provokes the fragmentation of the narrative (Frank 1945b, 653).
Perhaps paradoxically, it is precisely the narrative’s fragmentation which
appears to constitute time as a stream: time is thus considered “a continuum in
which distinctions between past and present are obliterated” (Frank 1945b, 653).
Therefore, even though the clearly marked external structure may seem to
diminish the perception of time as a flow, the fragmentation of the narrative,
resulting from the juxtaposition of past to present, is precisely what subverts the
novel’s division into units from inside (see Frank, 1945b, 653). Despite the
apparent strict division between characters’ stories, past and present happenings
and thematic issues, these elements continuously interweave, thereby creating a
temporal continuum (Paproth, 27).
Even though the simultaneity of division and continuity may seem
contradictory, it appears that many modernist writings are characterized by
fragmentation on the one hand and fluidity on the other hand (Stevenson, 141).
It thus appears that from the beginning of the 20th century onwards, narrative
has only two possibilities left: it can either portray an unordered world and
contemporary life’s fragmentation, or attempt to diminish temporal discontinuity
through a stream-like narrative (Stevenson, 157). Smith appears to reproduce the
uncertainties of the 20th century by fragmenting her narrative; however, perhaps
unexpectedly, such fragmentation appears simultaneously to create a temporal
continuum.

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3.4 White Teeth: a Spatialized Novel

3.4.1 The Disruption of Chronological Sequence Explained through

Joseph Frank’s Theory of Spatial Form7

The subversion of chronological sequence analysed in the previous

paragraph appears to be one of the most interesting modernist elements
deployed by Zadie Smith, since it ultimately affects the novel’s overall structure.
It would thus be worthwhile to focus on this aspect more in detail. The novel’s
lack of chronological order and successive fragmented narrative may be ascribed
to a process of spatialization which seems to have affected 20th-century literature
and which may be explained by referring to Joseph Frank’s theory of spatial
form. In order to understand such a process, it is firstly necessary to notice that
throughout the 20th century the difference between visual and verbal arts has
blurred (Stevanato, 10). Consequently, despite its inherent temporal dimension,
literature has become increasingly spatialized (Frank 1945a, 235). Since it is by
disrupting the linearity of events that a novel can amplify its spatial dimension,
the subversion of chronological sequence may thus not surprise (Frank 1945a,
232). Therefore, the lack of linearity within a novel can be considered a
consequence of this process of spatialization: modernists’ changed perception
upon time not only brings them to disrupt time, they are even prompted, despite
unconsciously, towards a spatialized dimension (Stevenson, 90; Frank 1945a,
235). White Teeth, lacking linearity and being fragmented, can thus be suggested
to be part of those novels which have undergone a process of spatialization.
In order to understand Frank’s theory and apply it to Smith’s novel, it may
be essential first to consider the relationship between verbal and visual arts.

7
Frank’s interest in the disruption and following reconstruction of literary works can be related to
Gestalt theory which developed in Germany in the 1920s and studies the way in which units are assembled to
form groups or single entities (Wong, 863).

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Owing to the immediacy of visual arts, it appears that the relationship between
the two arts has frequently been typified by mimetic rivalry (Stevanato, 1). In
the second half of the 18th century, however, the philosopher Lessing suggested
that such a rivalry is unwarranted, arguing that apart from their common aim to
imitate reality the two codes are utterly different (Stevanato, 2). Lessing states
that visual art is spatial, whereas verbal art is temporal since the former deploys
images, the latter deploys words (Lessing, quoted in Stevanato, 3). Hence, it
seems that the two artistic codes deploy completely different systems of
signification (Lessing, quoted in Stevanato, 3). As a consequence of the different
means of expression used, it is likely that visual arts convey meanings
simultaneously, whereas verbal arts only convey meanings consecutively
(Lessing, quoted in Stevanato, 3). On the basis of these differences, it may be
suggested that the otherness of each artistic code may perhaps be irreducible:
images can be said to be the “unspeakable other” of language, whereas language
can be defined as the “invisible other” of images (Gilman, quoted in Stevanato,
5-6).
Throughout the 19th century, Lessing’s and other scholars’ attempts to
define visual and verbal arts’ features did not raise much interest (Frank 1945a,
221). It is modernism, which pushes critics to revisit the relationship between
the two artistic codes (Stevanato, 9; Frank 1945a, 221). As a result of the crisis
which began to affect conventional belief systems, in fact, the modern age
transformed the two arts’ relationship, favouring a mutual interchange
(Stevanato, 9). Consequently, the differences between visual and verbal arts,
respectively defined as temporal and spatial, blur (Stevanato, 10). In brief, as a
consequence of modernism, the gap between visual and verbal arts progressively
diminishes and the arts begin to seek a mutual interchange, perhaps influencing
one another: hence, the otherness of each art is perhaps not as irreducible as
previously supposed (Stevanato, 11).

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 The relationship between visual and verbal arts was revised in 1945 by
Joseph Frank, who aimed to use the distinction between the two arts in order to
demonstrate and explain the spatialization of form in 20th-century literature
(Frank 1945a, 225). As previously mentioned, his study may be interesting for
the analysis of Smith’s novel White Teeth, which appears to have undergone a
similar process of spatialization.
Frank deploys Lessing’s definition of the visual and verbal arts’ features
as a starting point to analyse the transformations occurred in modern literature
(Frank 1945a, 225). By observing the two arts, Lessing suggested that their
relation to perception is determined by space and time (Frank 1945a, 225).
Lessing believed visual art needs to be spatial, since images can best convey
meaning if shown simultaneously; verbal art, conversely, is necessarily
temporal, since language is constituted of words which require time to be read
(Frank 1945a, 223). Being temporal, verbal art should also be organized
according to a linear narrative structure in order to best convey its message
(Lessing, quoted in Frank 1945a, 223).
Lessing’s stress on the temporal properties and linear sequence of verbal
art pushed Frank to consider and analyse modern literature’s transformations
which have actually defied Lessing’s rigid distinction between verbal and visual
arts (Frank 1978, 282-283). According to Frank’s observations, modern
literature does not adapt its contents to the limitations imposed by its medium,
i.e. language (1978, 282). Conversely, modern literature appears to be
challenging Lessing’s norms, moving towards a process of spatialization (Frank
1978, 282; Frank 1945a, 225).
Joseph Frank noticed that modern poetry tends to develop a form which
contradicts Lessing’s theory (1945a, 226-227). The newness of poems such as E.
Pound’s and T. S. Eliot’s lies in the necessity to perceive the words’ meaning
simultaneously: hence, even though words come in succession, their meaning
cannot be deduced on the basis of a temporal relation, but rather by considering

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word-groups as a unity in space (Frank 1945a, 229). Therefore, the complexity
of these works lies in the internal tension between the traditional temporal
dimension of verbal art and the innovative spatial dimension implied in modern
poetry (Frank 1945a, 229): thus it seems that the modern conception of poetry
increasingly depends upon a spatial dimension which was traditionally attributed
to visual art (Frank 1945a, 229).
The transformations which have affected modern poetry can be noticed
also in modern novels (Frank 1945a, 230). In order to prove this, Frank decided
to use Flaubert’s Madam Bovary as the starting point for his analysis and
focused on a scene within the novel in which action develops at the same time
on three different levels (1945a, 230). Flaubert’s comment on this scene was that
“everything should sound simultaneously” (Frank 1945a, 231). On the evidence
of this scene, it seems that in novels simultaneity can be achieved only by
fracturing temporal narrative sequences (Frank 1945a, 231). It follows that
modern novels move towards spatial form by breaking linear narrative structure
(Frank 1945a, 232). As a consequence of temporal fractures, it appears that
modern novels can be understood only if considered in their unity (Frank 1945a,
232).
Flaubert’s experimental narrative strategy was later recuperated by James
Joyce in the composition of his Ulysses (Frank 1945a, 232). Joyce’s novel is
structured on allusions and references which are connected without taking into
account the time flow of the narrative (Frank 1945a, 232). Therefore, in order to
grasp the meaning of Joyce’s Ulysses, the allusions and references the novel is
disseminated with need to be linked by the reader and considered in their unity
(Frank 1945a, 232). Further, like Flaubert before him, Joyce aims to depict
activities taking place simultaneously (Frank 1945a, 233). Therefore Joyce
himself tends to “[cut] back and forth between different actions occurring at the
same time” (Frank 1945a, 233). It follows that Joyce’s Ulysses asks the reader to
associate references and allusions spatially in order to reunite the fragments

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strewn throughout the novel with their respective complementary narrative parts
(Frank 1945a, 234). Hence, an awareness of the novel in its unity appears
indispensable to understand any section of the novel itself; however, such an
understanding can be achieved only when the novel has been finished and each
fragment has been connected to its complements, thereby reconstructing the
novel’s unity (Frank 1945a, 235).
Furthermore, it seems that also Marcel Proust deploys the same method
used by Flaubert and Joyce (Frank 1945a, 235). Proust’s characters are not fully
accompanied through the novel, but rather tend to emerge, vanish and reappear,
frequently several pages apart, throughout the narrative; consequently, the
reader can reconstruct the characters’ life only by comparing and contrasting
their life stages and the transformations they have undergone (Frank 1945a,
239). Such a fragmented depiction of characters thus pushes the reader to
connect the narrative of each character spatially (Frank 1945a, 239).
On the basis of Frank’s analysis, it appears that verbal arts have moved
towards spatialization (Frank 1945a, 235). However, if in poetry spatialization
brings to the vanishing of logical sequence, in novels, which are Frank’s main
concern, spatialization tends to break the sequential order of the narrative
sequence (Frank 1945a, 227, 232). In both cases it seems now necessary to
move spatially when reading, in order to reconstruct the meaning of a poem or
novel as a whole (Frank 1945a, 229, 232). Therefore, a poem’s meaning cannot
be understood by reading words in their succession, nor can a novel’s meaning
be perceived consecutively, by reading page after page; conversely, meaning is
rather reconstructed simultaneously, by considering the poem’s word-group or
the novel itself in their unity (Frank 1945a, 229, 232).

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3.4.2 Spatialized Elements within White Teeth

As previously mentioned, Smith’s novel appears to have undergone the

process of spatialization observed and described by Joseph Frank. White Teeth,
in fact, seems to challenge Lessing’s norms and to elude his strict definition
according to which verbal art is inherently temporal and provides meaning
consecutively (see Lessing, quoted in Frank 1945a, 223). Hence, Smith does not
adapt to the limitations imposed by language and tends to deprive her novel of a
sequential order, thereby conferring it a spatial dimension (see Frank 1978, 282;
see Frank, 1945a, 232). Smith seems in fact unwilling to provide meaning
consecutively; she rather prefers to provide it simultaneously, as visual arts
usually do (see Lessing, quoted in Stevanato, 3).
In order to achieve simultaneity, the chronological order in which events
occur needs to be disrupted; in fact, the fragmentation of the narrative is the only
way through which simultaneity can be reached (see Frank 1945a, 231). As
previously suggested, White Teeth is not narrated according to a chronological
order. Therefore, even though words come in succession, the reader cannot rely
on their succession when seeking meaning. On the contrary, he is required to
move back and forth in order to link each episode to its complementary parts:
the meaning of White Teeth can thus be reconstructed only by reuniting the
fragments strewn throughout the text and by ultimately perceiving Smith’s novel
as a whole (see Frank 1945a, 229, 232). Therefore, on the evidence of its
fragmented structure and need to be read simultaneously, White Teeth can be
said to have undergone a process of spatialization, as it has been described by
Frank.
Having explained the reasons why Smith’s literary work can be
considered a spatialized novel, let us now move on to analyse how White Teeth’s
chronological sequence has been subverted, thereby increasing the novel’s
spatial dimension. The linearity of Smith’s text is inevitably disrupted by

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continuously juxtaposing events which happen simultaneously in different
places. Therefore, each episode is not recounted in full. On the contrary, its
temporal progression continues being interrupted by the insertion of another
episode occurring simultaneously somewhere else (see Frank 1945a, 230). The
chronological order of White Teeth is also subverted by juxtaposing past to
present (see Frank 1945b, 653). Past happenings are usually recalled in order to
illuminate the present and tend to be recouped as a consequence of present
events which function as stimuli (see Bergson, quoted in Stevenson, 108). No
past happening is recounted in full, nor is any present event, whose course is
interrupted precisely by the recollection of a past occurrence. White Teeth is
therefore constructed on frequent temporal shifts from present to past and then
back to present again. Consequently, the reader is forced to move spatially in
order to reconstruct each episode, since the different fragments which compose
it need to be linked spatially (see Frank 1945a, 234). The chronological
sequence of White Teeth appears to be disrupted also through allusions and
references which connect elements spatially, thus requiring the reader to move
back and forth throughout the novel in order to understand their meaning (see
Frank 1945a, 234).
Having considered how linearity is disrupted within White Teeth, let us
now focus on the main episodes or elements which need to be connected
spatially to reconstruct their sequential order. The juxtaposition of simultaneous
events seems to be quite widespread throughout Smith’s novel; however, this
technique does not appear to be very relevant if White Teeth’s concern with the
past is considered. The juxtaposition between past and present and the allusions
White Teeth is constructed upon, on the contrary, appear far more relevant when
analysing the elements which have undergone a process of spatialization within
Smith’s novel. Both of them seem in fact to create a connection between past
and present.

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 If the chronotope of war is considered, for instance, it can be noticed that
it does not precede but follows more recent events. Even though Archibald and
Samad fought in 1945, the first four chapters of White Teeth‘s first section are
set in 1974. It is only the fifth and last chapter of the first section which is
devoted to the reminiscence of wartime memories. Hence the war does not
precede present happenings but rather follows them, thereby juxtaposing past to
present.
The war seems to be recalled as a consequence of a conversation Clara
and Alsana have with Neena, Alsana’s niece, who would like to know how
Archibald and Samad met each other (Smith, 81). Alsana reductively replies
“[o]ff killing some poor bastards who didn’t deserve it, no doubt. And what did
they got for their trouble? A broken hand for Samad Miah and for the other one
a funny leg” (Smith, 81). White Teeth’s omniscient narrator, however, who
knows any detail of his characters’ life, does not seem satisfied with Alsana’s
recommendation “to look at the thing close up” (Smith, 83). Rather than
focusing on the effects the war has had on Archibald and Samad, the narrator
prefers recalling the period they spent in the army together. The narrator thus
evokes how they met each other during the war and explains how they got
wounded. Most importantly, the narrator recalls their encounter with the French
geneticist Dr Marc-Pierre Perret, who at the time worked for the Nazis. Samad is
convinced that the doctor can be their opportunity to return to England as heroes
and believes it should be Archibald to shoot him (Smith, 118, 120). Archibald,
however, has “never killed a man” and even though he thinks the doctor would
deserve to be killed for his implication with Nazism, he is not willing to shoot
him (Smith, 120). However, after being accused of not believing in anything,
Archibald decides to do what Samad has asked him (Smith, 120-121). The
execution of the doctor, however, is not related. On the contrary, the narration is
resumed from the moment in which Samad hears a shot and later sees Archibald
reappearing (Smith, 121-122).

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 However, almost four hundred pages apart from the recollection of this
episode, Samad, and the reader himself, discover that Archibald never killed
Perret, even though throughout the novel Samad believes, and the reader himself
is encouraged to believe, that the geneticist is dead. For instance, Samad
attempts to justify his choice to send one of his sons back to Bangladesh
claiming it is “a choice of morality”, a decision Archibald can understand, since
Archibald himself “[has] made hard choices” once (Smith, 189; emphasis in
original). Even though “[he] hides it well”, “[he] has a bit of bullet in the leg to
prove it” (Smith, 189). The reader is thus prompted to believe Archibald has
killed the doctor. Unlike Samad, however, the reader later discovers that Marcus
Chalfen’s mentor is a “[g]rand old Frenchman, a gentleman and a scholar” who
“taught [him] practically everything [he] know[s]” and may consequently
suspect that Perret is alive. Despite this allusion to a French scientist, which may
prompt the reader to connect it to Perret, it is only at the end of the novel that the
geneticist actually reappears and Samad, and the reader himself, discover that he
is still alive.
Dr Marc-Pierre Perret reappears at the end of the novel precisely as
Marcus Chalfen’s mentor (Smith, 532): “…and so if any one person deserves
the lion’s share of recognition for the marvel you see before you, it is Dr Marc-
Pierre Perret. A remarkable man and a very great…” (Smith, 532). Even though
much time has passed since he last saw Perret, “Archie does recognize the name,
faintly, somewhere inside, but he is already twisting in his seat by then, trying to
see if Samad is returning. He can’t see Samad. Instead he spots Millat, who
looks funny” (Smith, 532). As soon as Archibald realises that Millat is on the
point of shooting Perret, Archibald suddenly moves and stops between “Millat
Iqbal’s decision and his target” (Smith, 533).
At this point of the narration there is a temporal shift and once again past
is juxtaposed to present. Archibald’s interposition between Millat and Perret is

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thus interrupted to recall the moment in which Archibald was supposed to kill
Perret:

At some point in the darkness, they stopped walking through the flatlands and
Archie pushed the Doctor forward, made him stand just in front, where he could
see him.
‘Stay there,’ he said, as the Doctor stepped inadvertently into a moonbeam. ‘Stay
right bloody there.’
Because he wanted to see evil, pure evil; the moment of the great recognition, he
needed to see it – and then he could proceed as previously arranged. But the
Doctor was stooping badly and he looked weak. His face was covered in pae red
blood as if the deed had already been done. Archie’d never seen a man so
crumpled, so completely vanquished. It kind of took the wind out of his sails. He
was tempted to say You look like I feel, for if there was an embodiment of his own
pounding headache, of the alcoholic nausea rising from his belly, it was standing
opposite him now. But neither man spoke; they just stood there for a while,
looking at each other across the loaded gun. Archie had the funny sensation that
he could fold this man instead of killing him. Fold him up and put him in his
pocket (Smith, 533, 534; emphasis in original).

After recalling the exact moment in which Archibald wanders away from Samad
to execute the doctor, the narrator also recalls the reasons why Archibald
eventually does not shoot him. The reader thus discovers that on the point of
being executed the geneticist understands that Archibald is “caught between
duties”: on the hand, he has promised Samad he will kill the doctor; on the other
hand, he seems unwilling to shoot him (Smith, 536). Being indecision
Archibald’s distinctive characteristic, he ultimately decides to flip a coin in
order to make a choice (Smith, 539). Archibald establishes that “if it’s head,
[he]’s going to kill [him]”, “and if it’s tails, [he] won’t” (Smith, 539). Perret,
however, does not seem to be willing to let his life depend on the flipping of a
coin. Therefore, while Archibald waits for the coin to fall down, Perret shoots

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him on his right leg (Smith, 540). “‘For fuckssake, why did you do that?’ said
Archie furious, grabbing the gun off the Doctor, easily and forcefully. ‘It’s tail.
See? It’s tail. Look. It was tail.’” (Smith, 540). Since it is tail, Archibald
consequently decides not to kill Perret in any case. Once the execution has been
recounted and the gap has been filled, there is another temporal shift, this time
from past to present:

So Archie is there, there in the trajectory of the bullet, about to do something

unusual, even for TV: save the same man twice and with no more reason or rhyme
than the first time. And it’s a messy business, this saving people lark. Everybody
in the room watches in horror as he takes it in the tight, right in the femur, spins
round with some melodrama and falls right through the mouse’s glass box (Smith,
540).

Therefore, not only is the recollection of wartime memories placed after

present happenings, its recounting is deliberately fragmented. The incomplete
narration of wartime memories is intentionally recovered and juxtaposed to the
present to illuminate it at the right moment. In order to know the whole story,
the reader has thus to wait until the novel is concluded. Consequently, the reader
seems to be required to link the complementary parts which constitute wartime
memories spatially in order to reconstruct the story in its unity out of fragmented
narrative segments.
War is not the only element within White Teeth which needs to be
reconstructed spatially. Also the relationship between the British colonial
experience and its effects on Smith’s characters has to be read in its unity in
order to be fully understood. British colonial past is recalled when the
headmaster of Glenard Oak decides to ask Irie and Millat to study at the
Chalfens’. As suggested in a previous paragraph, such a decision can be ascribed
to the sharing, from part of the headmaster, of Sir Edmund Glenard’s beliefs
(Smith, 303). In order to explain Glenard’s ideals, the narrator shifts from

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present to past, thereby juxtaposing once again past to present. As mentioned in
the second chapter, Glenard’s story is closely connected to colonialism since
Glenard is a colonist who has enriched in Jamaica. Once he is on the point of
returning to England, he decides to take three hundred Jamaicans to London as
part of a project of mutual help (Smith, 306). This is why Glenard invests part of
his money in the construction of a workhouse which successively turns into a
school, precisely Irie and Millat’s school (Smith, 303). Thus, the reader can now
know why Glenard Oak was once a workhouse, and can consequently connect
spatially the paragraph in which Glenard Oak is said to have once been a
workhouse (Smith, 290) to the paragraph in which the building’s past history is
narrated (Smith, 303). Despite Glenard’s initial interest in the undertaking, his
“influence turn[s] out to be personal” rather than “professional or educational”
(Smith, 307). The narrator also suggests that his influence “even ran through Irie
Jones of Jamaica’s Bowden clan, though she didn’t know it” (Smith, 307).
Despite alluding to a connection between Glenard and the Bowdens, the narrator
does not provide any further detail at this point of the narrative. The narrator’s
allusion thus needs to be connected spatially in order to be unveiled.
Glenard’s relation to the Bowdens is disclosed only fifty pages apart,
when Clara recalls her family history (Smith, 356-364). Clara mentally recalls
her family past after having had a conversation with Joyce Chalfen upon the side
from which her daughter Irie may have received her genes (Smith, 354). Clara
suggests that Irie may have been influenced by her side of the family: the
Kingston earthquake appears to have “knocked the Bowden brain cells into
place ‘cos [they] been doing pretty well since then!” (Smith, 354). However
Joyce does not seem to enjoy Clara’s irony, therefore Clara decides to provide a
further explanation: “But seriously, it was probably Captain Charlie Durham. He
taught my grandmother all she knew. A good English education. Lord knows, I
can’t think who else could it be” (Smith, 355). However, as soon as Clara leaves
Joyce’s house, she immediately regrets telling Joyce that Irie’s genes were

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influenced by her grandfather, Charlie Durham, a “no-good djam fool bwoy”
(Smith, 354).

Clara’s personal conviction that “[a] little English education can be a dangerous
thing” seems to stem from reasons that [are close] to home: a family memory; an
unforgotten trace of bad blood in the Bowdens. Her own mother, when inside her
mother […] was silent witness to what happens when all of a sudden an
Englishman decides you need an education. For it had not been enough for
Captain Charlie Durham – recently posted to Jamaica – to impregnate his
landlady’s adolescent daughter one drunken evening in the Bowden larder, May
1906. He was not satisfied with simply taking her maidenhood. He had to teach
her something as well. (Smith, 356; emphasis in original).

Clara consequently recalls her grandmother’s story, and the past is once again
juxtaposed to the present. As a consequence of Clara’s memories the reader
discovers further details which were only hinted at previously, such as the
conception of Hortense, Ambrosia’s daughter. In addition, on the basis of these
past memories, it appears that it is precisely the relationship between Ambrosia
and Charlie which ultimately determines Ambrosia’s acquaintance with
Glenard: since Charlie Durham has to leave Ambrosia’s village, he decides
Glenard will look after her during his absence (Smith, 358). Therefore,
Ambrosia’s and Glenard’s paths interweave one another. Glenard, like Charlie
Durham before him, attempts to take advantage of her in name of “the
opportunity of a little education” (Smith, 360; emphasis in original). However
the Kingston earthquake surprises them precisely while they are inside Santa
Antonia, a Spanish church Glenard desires to show Ambrosia, secretly aiming to
take advantage of her.

And then the world began to shake. Inside Ambrosia, waters broke. Outside
Ambrosia, the floor cracked. The far wall crumbled, the stained-glass exploded,

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 and the Madonna fell from a great height like a swooning angel. Ambrosia
stumbled from the scene, making it only as far as the confessionals before the
ground split once more – a mighty crack! – and she fell down, in sight of Glenard
himself, who lay crushed underneath his angel, his teeth scattered on the floor,
trousers round his ankles (Smith, 361).

Hence the reader finally discovers the strange circumstances in which Hortense
came to the world, which were only implied or alluded to previously in the
novel, and understands why, almost fifty pages before, Glenard is said to be
“crushed to death by a toppled marble Madonna while Irie’s grandmother
looked on” (Smith, 306). Thus the allusions disseminated throughout the book
can now be linked, thereby assuming a comprehensive meaning.
Furthermore, the involvement with Charlie Durham, at first, and the
acquaintance with Sir Edward Glenard, afterwards, are likely to have taught
Ambrosia that “[a] little education can be a dangerous thing” (Smith, 364). This
teaching seems to have been transmitted to future generations: in fact, “from that
day forth no Bowden woman took lessons from anyone but the Lord” (Smith,
363). It appears that it is only when the reader has known the whole story in full
that he can understand why Clara, like her grandmother before her, may be
preoccupied with the risks of an English education, which now appears under
the form of the Chalfens. Therefore, Alsana is not the only one to be
preoccupied because of the Chalfens’ involvement with her family, Clara herself
has her own reasons to fear the risks represented by an English education
(Smith, 356).
As for the wartime memories, the recollection of the relationship between
British colonial past and Smith’s characters is non-linear and fragmented.
Furthermore, once more the past is recovered and juxtaposed to the present in
order to illuminate it. In addition, it is only once that the whole story has been
recounted that previous allusions become clear. After being linked to the
specific episodes they refer to, the single narrative parts which complete one

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another can be reunited. Therefore, no section can be read in isolation but rather
needs to be connected spatially in order to recompose its meaning.
A further spatialized element within White Teeth is constituted by the
story of Clara’s mother, Hortense Bowden, and former boyfriend, Ryan Topps.
Hortense and Ryan are referred to in the first section of Smith’s novel, within
the chapter “Teething Trouble” (Smith, 27). If at first Clara appears to run into
Ryan’s arms in order to escape her mother religious fanaticism, soon after she
has to run away from Ryan. In fact, Ryan converts to the Witness church under
Hortense’s influence, consequently deciding to support Hortense in her attempts
to save Clara (Smith, 37, 41). Clara, however, is not willing to be saved;
therefore, as soon as she encounters Archibald Jones, she sees in him the saviour
she is seeking and marries him within four weeks from their first encounter
(Smith, 26, 43, 45).
From this moment onwards, the narrative does not refer to Hortense or
Ryan for a while. If the disappearance of Ryan can be due to his role as Clara’s
former boyfriend, the reasons for Hortense’s disappearance from her daughter’s
life are explained only hundreds of pages apart:

When Hortense Bowden, half white herself, got to hearing about Clara’s marriage,
she came round to the house, stood on the doorstep, said, ‘Understand: I and I
don’t speak from this moment forth,’ turned on her heel and was true to her word.
Hortense hadn’t pull all that effort into marrying black, into dragging her genes
back from the brink, just so her daughter could bring yet more high-coloured
children into the world (Smith, 327).

Hence Hortense’s disapproval of Archibald appears to stem from her aversion

towards mixed race marriages; consequently, after Clara’s decision to marry a
white man, Hortense promises not to speak to her any more (Smith, 327). Now
the reader can thus finally know why, previously in the text, Hortense may have
considered Archibald “an unsuitable man” for her daughter (Smith, 46).

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 Hortense’s role within White Teeth, however, is not limited to the first
section; on the contrary, her character is destined to reappear. When Irie
discovers her mother’s false teeth, which represent “another item in a long list of
parental hypocrisies and untruths”, Irie decides to leave her house and stay by
her grandmother’s (Smith, 379). Once Irie is at Hortense’s, the reader is
provided with further details concerning the relationship between the Joneses
and Hortense. Once again the past is evoked and juxtaposed to the present:
despite Hortense’s absence from the narrative, the reader discovers that
Hortense has actually been present in Irie’s life. Even though Hortense has
maintained her promise not to talk to Clara, and Clara is consequently unwilling
to be in contact with her mother, Irie “[has] been a fairly regular visitor at her
grandmother’s” (Smith, 381). However, after her grandfather’s death, Irie
reveals by mistake her secret visits to her mother, who thus decides to prohibit
them (Smith, 381). Therefore, since Irie is ten, she has only spoken with
Hortense on the phone (Smith, 381).
It is not only Hortense who reappears at this point of the narrative;
additionally, Ryan Topps reappears. The day after Irie has arrived at Hortense’s,
Irie sees

a bleached-out bandy-legged red-headed man with terrible posture and wellington

boots, stamping away in the frosty mulch, trying to shake the remnants of a
squashed tomato from his heel.
‘Dat is Mr Topps,’ said Hortense, hurrying across the kitchen in a dark maroon
dress, the eyes and hooks undone, and a hat in her hand with plastic flowers
askew. ‘He has been such a help to me since Darcus died. He soothes away my
vexation and calms my mind.’ (Smith, 386).

Perhaps unexpectedly, Ryan is thus reinserted within the narrative. In addition,

the reader discovers that Ryan has been living by Hortense’s for the last six
years (Smith, 387).

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 When Hortense introduces Irie to Ryan, he suddenly appears “to
recognize her” (Smith, 390). Ryan consequently explains to Irie that he used to
know Clara (Smith, 390). However, once he converted to the Witness church, all
his past memories vanished (Smith, 391). However, in order to understand
Ryan’s sudden change and conversion to Hortense’s church, the reader needs to
move spatially once more. It is only about a hundred pages apart that Ryan’s
choice is explained: “Ryan [thinks] in black and white”, therefore “[t]he
problem with his antecedent passions – scootering and pop music – [is] there
were always shades of grey” (Smith, 509). Thus, once he comes in contact with
the church of the witnesses, Ryan finally discovers something which suits his
way of thinking (Smith, 509). Due to his “mono-intelligence” and “ability to
hold on to a single idea with phenomenal tenacity”, Ryan clings to his new life,
rejecting any previous aspect, his love for Clara included (Smith, 509).
Therefore, Hortense’s and Ryan’s story is interrupted and resumed
hundreds of pages apart, stimulated by Irie’s arrival at Hortense’s. The reader is
thus required to connect and reunite the complementary fragments which
constitute their story spatially, in order to reconstruct the trajectory of their lives.
Another recurrent element which is repeatedly referred to within White
Teeth and which needs to be connected spatially is represented by teeth. To
begin with, Smith’s novel contains the term ‘teeth’ in its title, which may
perhaps be understood fully only once the many allusions to teeth which run
throughout the novel are linked spatially.
The first episode related to teeth concerns Clara. When Archibald
encounters her at the party she has thrown with her friends for the alleged end of
the world, he immediately notices “[a] complete lack of teeth in the top of her
mouth” (Smith, 24). However, in order to understand the reasons for such a lack,
the reader has to wait for the second chapter of the first section, which is entitled
“Teething Trouble” (Smith, 27), in which Clara’s lack of teeth is explained.
When Clara is nineteen, she has an accident and falls of her boyfriend Ryan’s

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motorbike, thereby breaking her front teeth (Smith, 44). Hence, the reader can
now link the two fragments spatially in order to reconstruct how Clara lost her
teeth.
Once Clara gets married, she decides to wear “a perfect set of false teeth”
(Smith, 49). Such a decision, however, needs to be connected to another
episode, which is recounted later in the novel, i.e. the discovery of Clara’s
prosthetic teeth from part of her daughter Irie:

In the darkness Irie kicked over a glass and sucked in a sharp breath as the cold
water seeped between her toes and into the carpet. Then, as the last of the water
ran away, Irie had the strange and horrid sensation that she was being bitten.
‘Ow!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Archie, reaching over to the side lamp and switching
it on. ‘What now?’
Irie looked down to where the pain was. In any war, this was too low a blow.
The front set of some false teeth, with no mouth attached to them, where bearing
down upon her right foot (Smith, 378).

Even though the reader knows that Clara wears false teeth, and may perhaps
think that every other character within her family knows about it, Irie actually
discovers her mother’s set of teeth by accident (Smith, 378). The reader can now
know why the image of “false teeth floating silently to the bottom of a glass” is
previously associated to Samad’s efforts to forget painful memories (Smith,
209). After discovering Clara’s secret, in fact, Irie, feeling betrayed, decides to
move out of her parents’ house, to stay by her grandmother’s, where she actually
comes into contact with many other family secrets. In addition, it is important to
highlight that, when visiting Mr Hamilton as a child as part of her participation
in the Harvest Festival, Irie is told that wisdom teeth may be painful: if they do
not have enough space, they may “grow crooked” or “not grow at all”, thereby
provoking aching infections (Smith, 173). The pain wisdom teeth may provoke

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when growing can be associated with the grief Irie feels when discovering her
mother’s secret false teeth. Even though the narrator suggests that family secrets
“come out like wisdom teeth when the time is right” (Smith, 306), it can still be
painful. Like wisdom teeth, secrets are in fact unpredictable: if “one is never
sure whether one’s mouth will be quite large enough to accommodate them”,
one cannot be sure to be able to tolerate the secret he is unveiled either (Smith,
173).
The second episode in order of appearance connected to teeth concerns
Archibald’s boss, Mr Hero, who has “a double row of pearly whites” (Smith,
70). The whiteness of Mr Hero’s teeth, however, is suggested to be determined
by “expensive dentistry” rather than by “regular brushing” (Smith, 70). A
hundred of pages apart, in an episode contained in a chapter entitled “Molars”
(Smith, 161), the whiteness of teeth is however referred by Mr Hamilton as a
means he used to distinguish natives when fighting in Congo (Smith, 171).
Therefore, despite advising Magid, Millat and Irie to brush their teeth since
mammals are only given “two chances, with teeth”, Mr Hamilton seems also to
suggest that white teeth may be dangerous, since they may be a “marker of
Blackness” (Smith, 171; Thompson, 124-125).
The three episodes cited may be connected to one another. According to
Hamilton’s speech, white teeth can become a means of discrimination; teeth, in
fact, have been turned into “an identifier of difference” (Thompson, 124).
However, the other two episodes seem to contradict Hamilton’s conviction that
blacks can be recognized thanks to their white teeth (Thompson, 125). In fact
Archibald’s boss, who is white, is said to have a perfect set of white teeth as a
result of dentistry (Smith, 70). Therefore, the whiteness of teeth does not appear
to be blacks’ distinctive attribute, as racist discourses believe, but “can be
bought, modified and reconstructed” (Thompson, 125). Furthermore, Clara, who
is black, possesses straight, white teeth which are actually false (Smith, 378):
therefore her teeth are not inherently white (Thompson, 125). Consequently,

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Clara does not seem to possess “the stereotypically expected perfect white teeth”
(Thompson, 125). Hence, the three episodes indicate the unreliability of a
concept used by racial discourses to distinguish between blacks and whites
(Thompson, 125). Therefore, the ‘white teeth’ of the title seem to stay for a
property which is not inherent but rather “artificially constructed” (Thompson,
126). The three episodes appear thus to subvert racist discourses (Thompson,
126).
Not only does Smith seem to use the image of teeth to destabilise racist
discourses; she appears to deploy it also because teeth are characterized by roots
(Thompson, 124). Since many of Smith’s characters are preoccupied with
controlling their historical, racial and cultural heritage or with determining
socially or genetically constructed roots, the imagery of teeth acquires a specific
meaning within the novel (Thompson, 124). Teeth can thus be thought to
symbolise identity, since, like the self, they possess roots, they first grow and
ultimately decay (Childs, 213). When Mr Hamilton explains to Irie, Magid and
Millat what wisdom teeth involve, he also suggests that “they are your father’s
teeth, you see, wisdom teeth are passed down by the father” (Smith, 173).
Therefore, Mr Hamilton appears to imply that the growth of wisdom teeth is
congenital, since it depends upon one’s ancestors. Teeth’s roots are referred to
also in an episode concerning Samad, according to whom roots are good since
they represent one’s culture and, consequently, tradition (Smith, 193). However,
his belief that roots are good for the only reason of being roots is discarded soon
after by the narrative voice: “You would get nowhere telling him that weeds too
have tubers, or that the first sign of loose teeth is something rotten, something
degenerate, deep within the gums” (Smith, 193). To Samad roots, which are
inherited from one’s family, are inherently good, even though the narrator seems
to suggest that roots can be damaging, just as teeth’s roots can rot. Furthermore,
the fact that Clara wears a false set of teeth in addition to having her own teeth
seems to suggest that she embodies “both the notion of rootedness and

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rootlessness” (Thompson, 126). On the one hand she possesses teeth which are
rooted in the gum, on the other hand teeth which, for being artificial, lack roots
(Thompson, 126). If teeth’s roots are considered as a metaphor for one’s
heritage, Clara’s situation implies that heritage is not as stable and secure as one
would perhaps expect: Clara’s teeth, which are both rooted and rootless, thus
suggest that one’s identity is not necessarily fixed, but may be uncertain too
(Thompson, 126).
There is a third and last chapter within White Teeth which contains the
word ‘teeth’ in its title: “Canines: The Ripping Teeth” (Smith, 309). If Mr
Hamilton in a previous chapter judges whiteness as a distinctive characteristic of
blacks’ teeth, sharpness is now considered by Alsana as a feature of Britons’
teeth (Smith, 344). Alsana turns the Chalfens’ surname into “Chaffinches”, since
chaffinches, which are a type of birds, tend to “[peck] at all the best seeds” as
the Chalfens do according to Alsana (Smith, 344). However, the Chalfens seem
to be even “worse” than chaffinches, since they also have “sharp little canines”
(Smith, 244). Therefore, not only do they “steal, they rip apart” (Smith, 344).
Hence, teeth are here connected to “the rapacity of English colonialism” (Childs,
213).
There are other references to teeth disseminated throughout the novel. It
seems as if whenever an allusion to teeth can be made when describing a
character, Smith intentionally inserts it within her novel. On the basis of this, it
appears that teeth are “a major preoccupation of the text” (Thompson, 124). The
episodes concerning teeth cited above, however, seem to be the most relevant in
order to understand Smith’s deployment of this imagery. Furthermore, despite
referring to different happenings, the several episodes and references to teeth
can be connected spatially in order to grasp the meaning of the imagery of teeth
in its unity.
To conclude, on the basis of the spatialized elements cited above it may
be claimed that both the juxtaposition between past and present and the allusions

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strewn throughout the novel continuously create a connection between past and
present episodes. The spatial connections thereby shaped seem to allow the past
to illuminate the present. However, the past illuminates present happenings in
hindsight and not from a perspective of temporal or historical progression.

3.4.3 The Removal of Temporal Elements as a Response to 20th-

Century Cultural Context

In addition to analysing the process of spatialization which has involved

both modern poetry and novels, Joseph Frank has also attempted to consider the
cultural transformations of the period, which are likely to have determined the
aesthetic changes in verbal form (Frank 1945a, 226). It is evident that artistic
codes are connected to the cultural context within which they are shaped: thus,
depending on the cultural climate within which they are produced, artistic codes
tend to modify their form (Frank 1945b, 643). It is only at the turn of the 19th
century, however, that the changes of artistic forms and the relationship between
form and cultural context begins to be studied systematically (Frank 1945b,
643).
It was visual art which first attempted to motivate the changes of its form
in relation to different cultural climates (Frank 1945b, 643). This does not seem
to be a coincidence, since visual art attempted to experiment new forms far
before verbal art; verbal art, on the other hand, began to explore new spatio-
temporal relations only after plastic arts’ investigations (Stevanato, 46). Thus it
may be useful first to consider the theories proposed by the team of German
critics who dealt with visual arts’ changing form and who soon began to be
guided by the English writer Hulme (Frank 1945b, 643-644). Hulme’s thought
and contribution to the research of the German scholars was deeply influenced
by a writer, Wilhelm Worringer, whose book Abstraktion und Einfühlung may

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be useful to explain art’s changing form and its relation to the cultural context in
which it is produced (Frank 1945b, 644).
Worringer’s analysis focuses on the transformations plastic arts have gone
through since their beginning: on the basis of his observations, Worringer
noticed that naturalism and non-naturalism have continuously alternated each
other in the process of creation of visual art (Frank 1945b, 644). Worringer
remarked that visual arts are inclined to stress three-dimensional shapes when
naturalism prevails, whereas tend to prefer plane forms when non-naturalism
predominates (Frank 1945b, 644-645). In order to understand the reasons of this
alternation, plastic art needs to be linked to the cultural context in which it is
produced (Frank 1945b, 646). Worringer suggested that naturalism prevails in
periods in which human beings live in harmony with the environment they
belong to; consequently, art tends to represent nature as it is, reproducing the
three-dimensional forms of objects (Frank 1945b, 646). Conversely, when
human beings do not live in harmony with the outside world, non-naturalism
prevails; as a consequence of the relationship of disequilibrium with the external
environment, art is pushed to diminish likeness between the objects represented
and reality itself. Thereby corporeality and mass are rejected and plane forms
predominate over three-dimensional ones (Worringer, quoted in Frank 1945b,
646, 648).
Worringer’s analysis of visual arts’ transformations and relationship with
the external world can be easily applied to the changes arts are going through in
the modern age (Frank 1945b, 648). According to Frank, however, Hulme did
not manage to follow into Worringer’s footsteps in order to account for the
modern transformation verbal arts, like visual arts, are undergoing (1945b, 649).
Hulme certainly had the merit to understand that the changes visual arts had
undergone would affect verbal arts; nevertheless, he was unable to outline with
any precision a description of modern literary developments (Frank 1945b, 649).

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 Hence, Joseph Frank decided to rework Hulme’s analysis in order to
expand his intuitions (Frank 1945b, 649). Hulme’s reference to Worringer’s
book may be very helpful to justify artistic codes’ general tendency towards a
spatialized form, which constitutes Frank’s main concern when considering
modern literature (Frank 1945b, 644). Therefore, it appears that Frank aims to
explain verbal arts’ tendency towards spatialization by both referring to
Worringer’s text and revising Hulme’s work.
Frank’s analysis starts by recalling Worringer’s explanation of non-
naturalistic styles and their loss of corporeality (see Frank 1945b, 649).
Worringer’s detailed description of this passage may be fundamental to
understand why modern literature is becoming increasingly spatialized (Frank
1945b, 650). As suggested by Worringer, when a disharmonious relationship
with the external world prevails, objects are deprived of their mass (Frank
1945b, 646). As a consequence temporality itself is diminished, since the
meaning of the objects represented can be grasped in space, without requiring
the eye to recompose the object (Frank 1945b, 650). Representing corporeality,
conversely, provides objects with temporality, since time is required in order to
allow the eye “to move backwards and forwards” to be able to recompose the
objects’ ultimate meaning (Frank 1945b, 650). Perhaps unexpectedly, it thus
appears that visual arts are entirely spatial when not reproducing the dimension
of space: hence they diminish temporality by representing plane forms which do
not require time to reconstruct the image (Frank 1945b, 650). Since in the
modern age visual arts tend to be non-naturalistic, it follows that they are
becoming increasingly spatialized: their intrinsic spatiality is thus emphasized
through the representation of plane forms which tend to eliminate any trace of
temporality (Frank 1945b, 650).
According to Frank, Worringer’s explanation of the loss of corporeality in
visual arts, which inevitably mirrors a disharmonious relationship with the
external world, may be significant to understand the movement of verbal arts

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towards a spatial form (1945b, 651). Just as visual arts have emphasized their
spatial dimension reducing temporality, modern verbal arts appear to be
rejecting the temporal dimension in favour of a spatial dimension (Frank 1945b,
650-651). As for visual arts, literature’s attempt to remove every trace of
temporality seems to mirror the artists’ disharmonious relationship with the
outside world (Frank 1945b, 651).
The cultural context within which novelists begin to write at the beginning
of the 20th century is certainly one of disequilibrium with the external world: it is
in fact characterized by “anxieties about clocks and clockwork” (Stevenson, 88).
From the beginning of the 20th century onwards, human existence starts to be
largely mastered by the clock (Stevenson, 120). Rural areas, where time is
usually marked by nature and everyday life activities, are deserted in favour of
industrialized cities, where time is marked by the clock (Stevenson, 117). The
work in the factory is systematically organized and also everyday life is
regulated by the clock: in fact, the diffusion of new means of transport and
communication requires the standardization of time-systems in order to
guarantee effectiveness (Stevenson, 117, 129-130). The necessity to regulate
public life by relying on the clock consequently divides time into defined units,
thereby depriving time of its natural continuity (Stevenson, 128). Such a strict
regulation of the temporal dimension, however, is perceived as a threat by many
modernist authors, who consequently begin to disrupt the chronological
progression of time within their literary works, attempting to deprive the clock
of the faculty to master human beings’ life (Stevenson, 90, 119). The use of
techniques such as stream of consciousness and interior monologue thus allows
novelists to make past and present flow freely within the mind of their
characters, thereby distancing their novels from a sequential chronology
(Stevenson, 128).
The novelists’ anxiety towards the clock and consequent disharmonious
relationship with the external world appears to be amplified by the First World

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War (Stevenson, 146). In fact, after the first worldwide conflict, time cannot be
perceived any longer as proceeding logically and history itself cannot be
perceived as progressing coherently. Destroying the progression of time as a
flow, the war can thus explain why novelists, from the 1920s onwards, do not
perceive time as proceeding coherently, and consequently feel the necessity to
fracture their narratives, thereby reducing the novels’ inherent temporal
dimension (Stevenson, 147). Despite the novelists’ desire to recreate the
continuity time had been deprived of, due to the clock’s strict regulation, the war
itself decreased the perception of time as a flow (Stevenson, 128, 147). As a
consequence, modernists inevitably reproduce the fragmentation and
discontinuity of modern life and history (Stevenson, 147). The novels’ temporal
dimension is ultimately reduced, thereby increasing their spatial dimension: the
reader is thus required to connect the narrative fragments spatially, moving back
and forth throughout the text (Frank 1945a, 235).
By depriving their literary works of their chronological sequence, in order
to deny the clock its power, and by fragmenting their narratives, in order to
mirror the discontinuity of modern life and history, modernist authors ultimately
reduce the temporal dimension within their literary works (see Stevenson, 88,
147). It thus appears that the changes which have occurred in literature coincide
with the transformations visual arts have undergone (Frank 1945b, 651).
According to Frank, such a correspondence between the development of the two
arts was what Hulme was seeking but ultimately unable to detect (651).
Therefore it appears that the development of form both in visual arts, which are
inherently spatial, and verbal arts, which are inherently temporal, seems to be
the same: throughout the twentieth century both arts have strived to diminish or
remove the temporal dimension from their works, thereby moving towards
spatialization (Frank 1945b, 651). Visual and verbal arts’ attitude towards
temporality can be explained through the cultural context in which both artistic
codes are produced: visual and verbal arts’ attempt to remove every trace of

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temporality seems to mirror the artists’ disharmonious relationship with the
cultural context they are surrounded by (Frank 1945b, 651). Being artists
inevitably affected by the external world, the form of their own works
consequently changes too (Frank 1945b, 651).

3.4.4 The Removal of Temporality in White Teeth: the Perception of

Time as a Continuum

Like the majority of modernist authors, Zadie Smith subverts the

chronological sequence within her novel, thereby reducing the novel’s temporal
dimension. As previously suggested, when reading Smith’s novel the reader
cannot rely on the meaning of words which are provided in a succession; on the
contrary, the reader needs to move spatially in order to reconstruct the meaning
of the novel as a whole (see Frank 1945a, 232).
However, unlike modernist novelists, Smith’s decision to disrupt the
chronological order of events, thereby diminishing the novel’s inherent temporal
dimension, seems to be determined by the conflicting relationship her characters
experience between past and present: in fact, many of Smith’s characters either
believe or fear that the past can determine the present (Sell, 29). Smith’s
characters, therefore, either look at their past as a shelter or are haunted by the
possibility it may reappear in their lives (Silverblatt, 13:30-13:35). As a
consequence, they constantly strive to keep the two temporal dimensions
separated.
Time, however, has been suggested to be arbitrarily shaped by human
beings (Bergson, Einstein, quoted in Stevenson, 112). Therefore, even though
Smith’s characters constantly try to separate and distinguish past from present,
and vice versa, past moments are destined to coexist with present moments, as a
consequence of mental connections such as memory (Bergson, quoted in
Stevenson, 107-108). Time is thus not considered as a chronological progression

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but rather as a flow which exists within the mind of each individual (Bergson,
quoted in Stevenson, 108). The idea that past and present cannot be strictly
separated is supported by Freud too: past happenings may be said to be
responsible for the formation of one’s present nature (Freud, quoted in
Stevenson, 113). Past episodes can in fact deeply influence one’s life; their
impact on one’s present is thus unavoidable (Freud, quoted in Stevenson, 113).
If for Bergson past is likely to come back through memory, dreams represent for
Freud the means through which past tends to reappear (Stevenson, 113).
Therefore, despite the continuous effort from part of Smith’s characters to
divide time into past and present units, by fragmenting her narrative Zadie Smith
ultimately deprives time of a sequential progression. In fact, by fragmenting
White Teeth’s narrative, past and present episodes are inevitably juxtaposed.
Perhaps unexpectedly, the juxtaposition between past and present ultimately
appears to determine the fusion of the two historical phases, thereby constituting
a temporal continuum (see Frank 1945b, 652). In order to support this
hypothesis it would be helpful to recall Allen Tate who, when commenting upon
Pound’s poem Cantos, stated that Pound’s juxtaposition between past and
present condenses them “to an unhistorical miscellany, timeless and without
origin" (Frank 1945b, 652). According to Joseph Frank, Tate’s analysis can be
also applied to Eliot’s and Joyce’s works, where, as a consequence of the
juxtaposing between past and present, both historical periods merge (Frank
1945b, 652).
Consequently, history is not perceived any longer as a “causal progression
in time”, but rather “as a continuum in which distinctions between past and
present are obliterated” (Frank 1945b, 653). Similarly to visual arts, which have
reduced temporality by eliminating depth, verbal arts diminish time-value by
depriving history of its depth (Frank 1945b, 653). Therefore, “past and present
are seen spatially, locked in a timeless unity which […] eliminates any feeling of
historical sequence by the very act of juxtaposition” (Frank 1945b, 653).

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 By juxtaposing past to present, Smith too seems to create a temporal
continuum: the very act of fragmentation, achieved through juxtaposition, seems
to destroy any sequential order, thereby denying history its depth (see Frank,
1945b, 653). As a consequence, the differences between past and present vanish
and Smith can thus eliminate the distinction between temporal units. In addition,
by subverting the conventional flow of time, Smith ultimately deprives the past
of its cause-effect logic: it is only by fragmenting the narration that the past can
be denied its prerogative to determine present happenings (Sell, 29). Therefore,
despite the characters’ belief or fear that the past may determine the present, the
novel’s structure seems to eradicate their apprehensions by eliminating the idea
of definite past and present units, which appear to merge thereby creating a
temporal continuum (see Frank, 1945b, 653).
To conclude, despite the different point of departure, both modernists and
Smith decide to subvert the chronological sequence within their narratives, in
order to prevent both the clock and determinism from shaping definite temporal
units. Thus, it should not be surprising that both modernists and Smith obtain a
similar narrative structure: only a non-linear narrative can in fact challenge the
modernists’ clock and the deterministic attitude of Smith’s characters.

3.5 Conclusion

When analysing the process of spatialization in modern literature, Joseph

Frank recalls Worringer’s claim according to which “formal value” has to show
“to be an accurate expression of the inner value, in such a way that duality of
form and content cease to exist” (Worringer, quoted in Frank 1945b, 651).
Despite referring to visual arts, Worringer’s principle can be applied to verbal
arts (see Frank, 1945b, 650). Hence, similarly to other modernist novels, White
Teeth‘s form and thematic contents seem to convey a similar meaning.

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Worringer’s belief can thus be used in order to point out the connections
between White Teeth’s contents and form and to explain the involvement of the
novel’s form with identity issues which are central to the novel’s contents.
Our analysis of White Teeth’s form started by considering the
simultaneous deployment, from part of Zadie Smith, of realist and modernist
devices, which interweave within the novelist’s work. Their interrelation may
not appear casual, but rather seems to reflect Smith’s thematic issues. Just as
Smith’s characters appear to be characterized by ambivalent and often
contradictory aspects of identity, the form of Smith’s novel, by combining
traditional and innovative techniques, does not appear uniform either. Therefore,
ambivalence and ambiguity are representative not only of White Teeth’s topics,
but of its form too.
Further, if Bhabha’s considerations on the relationship between form and
national identity are taken into account, it may be claimed that the concomitant
use of modernist devices together with realist techniques challenges a traditional
construction of Englishness (Bhabha 1990, 292; Bentley, 488). Therefore,
Smith’s decision to combine tradition and innovation can be ascribed to her
desire to speak to the English readership, along with the minorities she
represents through her topics (Bentley, 497-498). Realism is in fact part of
English literary tradition and is obviously well-known among English readership
(Bentley, 497). Therefore, in addition to portraying the predicaments and
dilemmas immigrants and their offspring experience when moving to or growing
up in the UK, Smith also appears to address the Englishmen to make them aware
of the UK’s changed environment (Bentley, 501). In order to do so, Smith
deploys a form they are accustomed with and combines it with modernist
techniques which ultimately alter a conventional depiction of national identity
(Bentley, 488, 497). Smith appears thus to suggest that Englishness itself should
be revised taking into account both tradition, constituted by “established

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constructions of Englishness”, and innovation, constituted by “an emergent
national identity” (Bentley, 498).
Through the ambivalence of her novel’s form, Smith appears also to
imply that the postmodern self itself should learn to accept ambivalence as part
of its existence, since identity cannot be as coherent and stable as Smith’s
characters wish (see Bauman 2007a, 26). Furthermore, if the coexistence of
realism and modernism is possible, the postmodern self can handle the
concomitance of traditional and new acquired values. Being identity incoherent
and unstable, the postmodern self appears to be required to negotiate between its
past beliefs and new assimilated values, just as the novel’s form makes a
negotiation between conventional features and innovative techniques. A
negotiation between tradition and innovation thus appears to be indispensable
not only in the construction of national identity, but also in the formation of
individual identity (see Bentley, 498).
After having considered the interrelation between realism and modernism,
our analysis has focused in detail on the disruption of the chronological
sequence within White Teeth. It has been noticed that the disruption of the
narrative’s linearity is achieved by juxtaposing past to present (see Frank 1945b,
653). Such a juxtaposition does not only seem to affect the novel’s form and
structure, but thematic contents too, since it provokes the continuous intrusion of
past happenings within characters’ present. If the past appears to be juxtaposed
to the present in order to deprive it of its cause-effect logic (Sell, 29), the novel’s
structure ultimately seems to remind Smith’s characters that history, both
personal and collective, cannot be entirely erased or escaped. Therefore, even
though it appears to be useless to shape one’s present by relying entirely on the
past, the opposite attitude would be pointless too. Just as White Teeth’s form
implies that the past tends to reappear, Smith’s characters also seem to face the
intrusion of the past within their lives. When constructing their identity, Smith’s
characters are in fact likely to experience conflicts connected to their heritage

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and roots. The construction of subjective identity is also inevitably linked to
history; personal roots therefore interweave historical happenings.
Consequently, Smith’s characters not only face their personal roots, but,
simultaneously, the British colonial past, whose effects need to be taken into
account when constructing both individual and national identity.
If the juxtaposition between past and present provokes the continuous
reappearance of the past, which implies that history, both personal and
collective, can neither be erased nor entirely escaped, it also seems to have a
further effect on White Teeth’s thematic issues. As suggested in the previous
paragraph, in fact, this juxtaposition appears to deprive contents of their
deterministic and cause-effect logic: even though the past cannot be entirely
escaped, the present is not “inevitably historically determined” (Sell, 29). If
through her novel’s form Smith creates a temporal continuum (see Frank 1945b,
653), in which past and present are equated, Smith’ characters, who either trust
or fear the past, should learn, as the novel’s form teaches, that past and present
actually constitutes a continuum, therefore the past should not be believed to
predetermine the present. The life of Smith’s characters in fact proves not to be
easily predictable, therefore past does not seem to necessarily predetermine their
existence, as characters either believe or fear. Despite characters’ attempts to
control and shape their identity and life by either relying on or refusing past
roots, Smith seems to reject determinism through both her form and subject
matter: from a formal perspective Smith deprives past of its prerogative to
determine the present (Sell, 29); from the point of view of thematic issues she
highlights her characters’ hopeless and failing efforts to shape their own or
others’ identity and life trajectories coherently (Head, 114).
In conclusion, Worringer’s belief in the unity between form and contents
seems to be respected in Smith’s novel White Teeth (see Worringer, quoted in
Frank 1945b, 650). Such a unity appears to be very important also to explain the
relevance formal aspects have within Smith’s novel, whose meaning coincides

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with that of White Teeth’s thematic issues. To begin with, the concomitance of
realism and modernism seems to mirror the ambivalence Smith’s characters
experience when dealing with their own identities and life. Further, if tradition
and innovation can coexist from a formal perspective, traditional and new-
acquired values may coexist within human beings’ identities and lives. In
addition, the form appears to suggest the impossibility to escape the past, which
continues reappearing in characters’ life, asking them to mediate between past
and present values and beliefs. The attempt, from part of some characters, to
constitute personal identity by not taking into account roots does not seem
successful. However, some other characters’ efforts to cling to the past is not
effective either: the novel’s form, by creating a temporal continuum, seems thus
to suggest that past happenings do not necessarily determine the present but are
rather equated to present happenings (Sell, 29).

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 Conclusion

This thesis has focused on Zadie Smith’s debut novel White Teeth, which
has contributed to depicting the changed nature of the British self and,
consequently, of Englishness too. The predicaments identity needs to face today
are considered by Smith in the context of 20th-century multicultural London,
taking thus into account the transformations contemporary England has gone
through. Therefore, the British self, and Englishness itself, are not considered in
isolation from external reality, but in relation to it (see Elliott, 9). The
understanding of selfhood, in fact, can be accomplished only by relating the self
to the external environment (Elliott, 7). Therefore, the implications that factors
such as postmodernity and post-colonialism have for identity cannot be ignored
when considering the changes the British self and Englishness have experienced
lately.
Thus, it is not a coincidence that Smith’s characters are constantly
confronted with predicaments determined by external factors. To begin with, the
existence of Smith’s characters appears characterized by instability and
ambivalence which are distinctive of postmodernity (see Bauman 1991b, 173).
Smith’s characters, in fact, live in a postmodern world, which, unlike the
modern world8, does not supply the self with secure certainties (see Bauman
2007a, 25). If during modernity order and stability were constructed and
preserved by the state, after globalization nation-states have turned ineffective
and State’s affairs have become indeterminate and unresolvable (Bauman 1998,
299, 300). Globalization has thus disrupted the order modernity had attempted to
achieve, leading the path to the condition of postmodernity (Bauman 1998, 299).

8
As it is understood by several scholars amongst which there is Bauman (see p. 6)

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As a consequence, the formation of identity is not based any longer on a stable
social environment; the precariousness of a disorderly, ambivalent and unstable
world denies in fact the self the possibility of constructing an unambiguous
identity (Bauman 2007a, 25-26). Furthermore, postmodernity is also
characterized by the abandonment of transcendental beliefs: factors such as
religion, history and reason have progressively been abandoned, thereby making
the self become even more conscious of the instability and disorder the world in
which it lives is characterized by (Touraine, 101).
Smith’s characters, however, tend to act without taking into account the
implications of living in a postmodern world. In fact, they are unlikely to
tolerate an ambivalent, incoherent existence (Paproth, 9), even though it is
distinctive of a postmodern condition (see Bauman reader, 173). They thus
behave as if they were ‘modern’, rather than postmodern, selves, and constantly
try to determine fixed identities and secure trajectories of life (Paproth, 9-10).
Smith’s characters seem therefore to desire a coherent identity and life, which
do not appear possible in postmodernity, which is actually characterized by
multiplicity, diversity and ambiguity, values against which both modernity and
Smith’s characters struggle (Bauman 1991b, 173-174). Their attitude, however,
appears ineffective in a postmodern world and their efforts to intentionally shape
their existence ultimately prove unsuccessful (Paproth, 9, 10). Thus, despite
their continuous efforts to shape an unambiguous selfhood, the identity of
Smith’s characters ultimately appears fragmented; each individual is in fact
exposed to many different, perhaps contrasting, aspects throughout his existence
and is thereby required to accept an ambivalent and incoherent identity (see
Bauman 2012a, 13).
The ambiguity Smith’s characters feel appears to be increased by the
legacy of the colonial experience. The British Empire came to an end towards
the mid-20th century, as a consequence of the colonies’ claim for independence,
which led the path to decolonization (Marzola, 197). After having obtained

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independence, however, the inhabitants of many former colonies began to
migrate to the UK, due to the lack of stability of their own nations. By doing so,
they inevitably contributed to determining England’s increasingly multiethnic
and multicultural environment (Marzola, 199). Therefore, it is not surprising that
the majority of the characters portrayed by Smith are mixed-race or descend
from immigrants.
As a consequence of this, their existence is even more conflicting: in
addition to facing the dilemmas any postmodern self deals with, these characters
are also influenced by the implications the British colonial experience has on the
formation of their own identities and lives. Not surprisingly, the legacies of the
British colonial past raise questions regarding roots and belonging, which
Smith’s characters try to answer when shaping their identity (Squires, 13). It
may thus be claimed that Smith’s characters, along with facing the predicaments
of a postmodern world, are confronted with a further external factor, represented
by colonialism and its legacies.
Just as Smith’s characters, which constitute the novel’s subject matter, are
likely to be typified by ambivalent components of identity, the literary form of
White Teeth, by combining conventional and innovative devices, is not
homogeneous either. Ambivalence is therefore representative not only of White
Teeth’s contents, but of its form too. Through the form of her novel Smith
appears thus to imply that the self cannot define its identity coherently, but
rather needs to accept ambivalence as one of its constitutive components. If
conventional and innovative forms can be combined, traditional and new
acquired values can also coexist within the self (see Bentley, 497-498).
In addition to portraying the ambiguities and contradictions the British
self experiences in a postcolonial and postmodern world, through her novel’s
form Smith also seems to imply that Englishness itself needs to be rethought as a
consequence of the UK’s changed environment (Bentley, 497-498). Hence,
Smith’s choice to unite realist and modernist devices may also be attributed to

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the author’s aspiration to address the English readership, in addition to the
minorities Smith portrays as her subject matter (Bentley, 497-498). In order to
do so, Smith exploits literary form, which, as pointed out by Bhabha, can
influence the representation of Englishness: if realism tends to portray a
traditional conception of Englishness, modernist techniques may challenge an
established sense of national identity (Bhabha 1990, 303; Bentley, 488).
Therefore, it may be claimed that Smith’s decision to unite a literary form
English readers are familiar with, i.e. realism, with modernist devices and a
postcolonial subject matter aims to challenge a conventional representation of
English national identity (Bentley, 497).
Therefore, not only does White Teeth focus on the predicaments of the
self; her novel can be also said to contribute to the reconfiguration of
Englishness. By portraying the multicultural environment of contemporary
London, in which her characters live, Smith appears in fact to prompt the UK to
reshape its national identity by taking into account the social and cultural
changes which have occurred throughout the 20th century (see Bentley, 501).
Smith appears thus to imply that English national identity should be
reconsidered taking into account both a traditional construction of Englishness
and its emergent, multiracial shapes (Bentley, 498). Ambivalence is thus
characteristic of both individual and national identity.
Furthermore, not only is the novel’s form heterogeneous, due to the
concomitant use of traditional and innovative techniques; it is fragmented too,
owing to the wide-ranging disruption of its chronological sequence. As a
consequence of Smith’s formal choices the narration of White Teeth is extremely
fractured and the novel is consequently composed of several different temporal
units. Therefore, as is the postmodern self and English society, the form of
Smith’s novel too is both ambivalent and fragmented.
Smith’s decision to deprive her narrative of a sequential progression stems
from her urge to prevent time from distinguishing between past and present

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units: Smith’s characters tend in fact to have a conflicting relationship with their
own past and, consequently, with their present. Thus, in order to deprive
temporal units of their influence on characters, past and present are juxtaposed,
thereby determining the novel’s non-linear narrative and consequent temporal
continuity (Frank 1945b, 653). By depriving the past of its prerogative to
determine the present, the novel’s form is likely to imply that identity itself is
not predetermined (Sell, 29). However, the past tends to reappear: as a
consequence of fragmentation, in fact, past episodes continuously reappear in
characters’ life. The effect of fragmentation seems thus to imply that identity,
despite not being shaped by the past, nonetheless requires to take it into account.
In the construction of identity, in fact, the past cannot be erased; conversely,
identity is the result of a negotiation between both past and present (see
Beukema, 1, 4).
However, despite the ambivalence and fragmentation the novel is
characterized by, the ambivalent and fragmented components, which are
distinctive of both its subject matter and form, combine, in order to constitute
White Teeth as a whole. Thus, it may be claimed that Smith is suggesting that
identity, just as her novel, can still form a unique entity, despite its ambiguities,
fragmentation and discontinuity. Hence, the novel can be understood as a
‘recomposed self’, which can stay for both the British ambiguous self and
England’s multicultural identity. Both of them, in fact, despite their internal
difference and division, can still constitute an entity as the novel does. Smith’s
novel proves in fact that unity is possible despite the ambivalence and the
fragmentation which constitute both its contents and form.
Smith, being the author of the novel, silently supervises and directs the
creation of White Teeth, and seems thus to imply that the British self can exist
despite the ambiguities and contradictions which may constitute it. By
combining characters who continuously experience internal conflicts amongst
the components of their identity and stylistic devices which may even appear in

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contradiction to one another, Smith seems to prove that old and new acquired
values, traditional and innovative techniques, can coexist. Ambivalence, being
the prevalent condition of postmodernity and of post-colonialism, needs thus to
be accepted, since existence is no longer as coherent and defined as it used to be
during modernity (Bauman 1991b, 173).
These reflections do not seem to relate to the self and individual identity
alone, but can be applied to English national identity too. In fact, the self is not
the only one to be asked to accept ambivalence and negotiate between old and
new acquired values, Englishness requires to be revised as a consequence of the
multicultural society which has emerged after the end of the Empire (see
Bentley, 497; see Marzola, 199). This is the reason why Smith’s novel can be
said to shape a revised version of both individual and national identity (see
Bentley, 497, 498). White Teeth, through both its thematic contents and form,
appears thus to point out the dilemmas the self is required to face when shaping
identity and the predicaments England face when defining national identity in a
postmodern, postcolonial world (Bentley, 501).
In conclusion, through her novel, which can be compared to an
ambivalent, fragmented self, Smith shows that different, fractured components
can still coexist and create a unique though multifaceted unit. Through White
Teeth Zadie Smith seems thus to imply that, if a negotiation is required and
appears possible within her novel, also the British self and English national
identity can manage to negotiate amongst the several multiple components or
voices they are composed of, thereby managing to constitute one though
multifaceted entity.

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