ABSTRACT
At last, my soul explodes, and wisely she shouts at me, ‘Anywhere! Anywhere! provided it is out of this world!’1
Illustration, By Way of a False Start
As I attempt to begin, I am haunted by an illustration in one of Richard Burton’s many books, Zanzibar; City, Island and Coast (1872), entitled ‘Zanzibar, from the terrace of H.B.M.’s Consulate’ (see Figure 1.1), in which we see a portion of the coastline of the island, buildings crowding the land, a ship sailing out, and in the distance, where the island curves around, palm trees and hills beyond. In the foreground, a considerable expanse of terrace
intrudes between ourselves and the view, protecting and containing us as a border. The Consulate, metonym of Britain and its corollaries-the Centre, the West, Home, Civilization, the Self-is, in fact, separated from the land by an intervening stretch of water, indicated by the masts rising above the wall, and it seems thereby as much associated with the ships as with the buildings in whose company it, at fi rst sight, belongs. But what interests me most in the picture is that seemingly supplementary and rather dapper Englishman (I presume) in the corner. Surveying the view from the terrace, or deck, he is our proxy as spectator, another border projected forth with that stretch of terrace, distancing us further from the avowed subject, ‘Zanzibar’, hurling us, in fact, unceremoniously outside the frame. We are invited, of course, to identify with this fi gure, to see with his eyes and to accept him as a protective image of ourselves. However, is there not also left open the possibility that we refuse this imposed identifi cation, see him as part of the spectacle and, in turn, turn our backs on him? Well, to give a tentative answer, ‘Yes, and no.’
