if the present is present to him as present, the simple recognition suffices to annul the gift” (13, emphasis in the original). To Derrida, a gift can only be a gift if neither the giver nor the receiver are aware of the fact that one person is giving the other a gift. In the case of the shirt, the giver as well as the receiver have cognizance of the act of gifting. Regifting the shirt, however, interrupts the cycle of gifting between the German and the attendant. As Mark Graham points out:
Exchanging gifts proceeds according to the rules and produces the system of gift giving on which it seems to draw, but, like gender, it might fail to produce the correct effects. […] There are no guarantees what will happen or that the results will be as intended. To some extent, this may even explain the pleasures of gift giving, which lie not in the meticulous calculation or even in the expectation of return, but in the openness and uncertainty of the exchange. (47)
The attendant had not expected his shirt to be regifted to someone else, but it fills him with joy to know that his shirt now resides in Mexico (“‘I’ve always wanted a shirt in Mexico’”, 52). By regifting the shirt, the German disengages himself from any obligations to the attendant; he no longer feels indebted to him and, subsequently, the attendant can no longer lay any claim to the German. Now their connection is no longer based on material objects, but on a mutual history triggered by sensory pleasures.
Wachman argues that “[r]eading ‘My Shirt is in Mexico’ requires a familiarity with codes – the moral code of life in the closet and the codes of writing within it. The verbal and literary codes are necessitated by social and legal oppression; […]” (“Lesbian Political History” 314). Rather than depending on an entirely queer readership, the story depends on a readership that pays close attention to what is being said and to what is not being said. The attendant is not communicating his non-heterosexual desires in a completely incomprehensible way. Notably, none of the characters is uncomfortable with their desires. This highlights the fact that the story does not aim at undermining straight speech and does not seek to define an identity different from the so-called norm. If anything, the story treats non-heterosexual desires in a casual, unconcerned way. Since they know themselves to be in a safe space, the characters are able to converse naturally and freely, without fear of oppression. Their conversation is fuelled by the pleasure of each other’s company and the intimacy they share in the empty buffet car. Like the eponymous heroine of Lolly Willowes, they succeed in creating a queer place in which they can forget the “useful props of civilisation”, including the law.
2.2 The “Curious Quality” of “Bruno”
Warner’s aim to distance herself from the characters in her stories is most evident in the short story “Bruno” which was first published in 1971 in the collection of short stories The Innocent and the Guilty after having been rejected by The New Yorker. In a letter to Maxwell Warner explains her reason for her detachment:
As you may have noticed, I tend to make pets of my characters. This can be engaging, because readers feel a creative petfulness too. But it was becoming a habit, so in this last story [‘Bruno’] I have been at the utmost pains to pet nobody. Impartiality requires space to move in. So this is quite a long one too. (Steinman 177)
The detachment Warner aims for is reflected in the way the narrator relates events; more often than not, the narrator refrains from giving the reader a full account of what is happening (this is precisely what Sturch, one of Warner’s earlier critics, finds fault with). “Bruno” tells the story of Gilbert, “Gibbie”, Brodie, a wealthy Scotsman in his sixties, and his nineteen-year old lover, Bruno Bonsella. The story is set in a remote Scottish estate Gibbie inherited from his mother, and which he is currently visiting with his young lover. During their visit to his estate, Gibbie’s cousin, Lilah, descends upon him with her 11-year-old grandson, Hector. Lilah has hopes of endearing Hector to Gibbie and making him a benefactor of Gibbie’s will. Hector’s visit, however, triggers off unforeseen consequences for Gibbie and Bruno resulting in a triangular relationship between Gibbie, Bruno, and Hector.
At first sight, “Bruno” seems to be a straightforward story. As mentioned in the introduction, however, Warner’s stories often contain elements that at first elude and then surprise the reader. “Bruno” is a perfect example of this. While certain elements of the story are very clear, others remain vague. It is clear, for example, that “Bruno” revolves around non-heteronormative acts and desires and is unquestionably queer in a non-heterosexual sense. It further revolves around a deviant, uncontained body, suggesting a critique of bourgeois body ideals. In this, it is queer in a more political, anti-capitalist sense. The story, however, also contains elements that remain ambiguous; for example, a walled kitchen garden that is presented as a site of secrecy and knowledge. Readers never fully learn what actually takes place behind its walls and are left to guess whether Bruno and Hector became intimate with one another in the garden. By analysing these different aspects of “Bruno”, I intend to show that the story goes beyond what is considered to be nonnormative. That is, besides devising characters and situations that deviate from what is commonly considered “normal”, or rather, the norm, Warner creates circumstances in which established rules and explanations become meaningless. In this, the so-called norm is neither defied nor confirmed.
Politics, Deviant Desires, and Uncontained Bodies
“Bruno” was published four years after “The Sexual Offences Act of 1967” which “decriminalised male homosexuality between consenting adults above the age of twenty-one” (“Wolfenden Report”). Up until then, homosexual acts were considered a criminal offence and punishable by law. The law was changed on account of the Wolfenden Report (“Report of the Departmental Committee on Homosexual Offences and Prostitution”) of 1957 which recommended that “homosexual behaviour between consenting adults in private be no longer a criminal offence” and that “questions relating to ‘consent’ and ‘in private’ be decided by the same criteria as apply in the case of heterosexual acts between adults” (“Wolfenden Report on Male Homosexuality”). As Eustace Chesser recalls, the Wolfenden Report caused much controversy:
The hysterical attacks of the opponents of the [Wolfenden] Report undoubtedly echoed the indignation of a substantial part of the community. The dissidents did not merely disagree, they were infuriated. In the shrillest tones they declared that family life was in danger, and that a great barrier against depravity was being swept away. The Report was held up to scorn as the ‘Pansies’ Charter’. (14)
Despite the foreseeable backlash, the law regarding homosexuality was eventually changed and homosexual acts between “consenting adults above the age of twenty-one” were decriminalised (“Wolfenden Report”). In “Bruno” mention of the Wolfenden Report is made when Gibbie and Bruno are driving home together in the car. Warner’s treatment of this contentious report is notable in as far as she makes no attempt to polarise it. Unlike Chesser, who wrote Live and Let Live: The Moral of the Wolfenden Report (1958), from which the above quote was taken, “[…] in the hope that it will help perplexed and uncommitted members of the public to keep their heads in the storm and reach a balanced decision”, Warner shows little interest in taking a stance on the question of male homosexuality or in joining in on any cultural politics (9). Although “Bruno” deals with homoeroticism and lovers of different age groups, these two aspects do not dominate the plot. Set against this background, Warner’s story shows that the law fails to grasp the intricacies of desire, intricacies that cannot be put into straightforward language.
Bruno, who is bored and fed up with the relationship, is looking for an excuse to leave Gibbie. For this reason, he tells Gibbie that one of the domestic servants is spying on them and that their relationship is in danger of becoming exposed. To Bruno’s surprise, Gibbie remains completely unperturbed by this revelation and tells him, “‘You’re out of date. If you ever troubled to read a paper or listen to the news you’d know that all that is over and done with – small thanks to layabouts like you’” (76). Gibbie refers to the Wolfenden Report and the Sexual Offences Act of 1967 to silence Bruno and give legitimacy to their relationship. He succeeds in doing so even though in fact the 1967 Sexual Offences Act was only applicable