Is the US Still a Cultural Reference Point?

Europe has spent decades looking into the mirror of America, and vice versa. Does globalization consolidate or deteriorate hegemony?

The European Mirror

The Europe of Pavese, Benet, Robbe-Grillet or Grass admires Faulkner, but Faulkner admired Joyce. Europe has been looking into the mirror of America for decades, from Beat generation jazz, to new journalism, and its cinema. America has been looking into the opposing mirror of Europe since Hemingway and Fitzgerald frequented that certain, inimitable Paris vanguard, to auteur theory cinema: our May ’68, their Woodstock; their Chandler, our Simenon; their Hollywood, our mode; their fa(s)t food, our design. Communicating vessels. And, indeed, it seems that the prevalence of American values is undeniable, with its synthetic, chameleon-like language, or its omnipotent media. Its creation machine runs 24 hours a day: now Chick Lit, later the mash-up, and next, who knows. Its culture can be entirely provincial, but it has an abundance of resources to become global without asking anyone’s permission. Its editorial industry has always been autarkic — it sells tirelessly and buys through clenched teeth. It was they who created show business, and we are barely extras in their Truman show. England is a Trojan Horse because they understand eclecticism; we like dogmatism because its so difficult to get rid of the bill of having freed ourselves from Omaha beach. I advocate never repeating the mistake revealed by Berlands in “Welcome Mr. Marshall.” And, at the same time, if something is really good, what difference does it make if its American? They see us as the old Europe, and the old Europe lets itself be taken. That much is true, Europe could be an evaluating agency; at the end of the day, American culture triumphs because it triumphs in Europe: it is our concave mirror that makes America great. Perhaps, this indie America does not want to be European?

Now, Nothing Seems Exotic

Since the arrival of the Internet, there has been little hegemony. We accept, with the same astonishing normalcy, a Korean riding an invisible steed to a catchy chorus and a fiery Latin singer confessing to the world they are loca, loca, loca. The literary world is not removed from this great bazaar, and the most far-flung fruits no longer seem exotic to us. Before, with the Pléiade, we had done our homework, but now, there is no indisputable grandeur. We have gotten used to requesting books with authors whose names we cannot pronounce, like what happened with kiwis, that to begin with, only decorated posh cakes and are now a dessert on the menu. The effects of globalization: Our cultural reference point isn’t even made in the United States. Although an imbalance persists in translations — the English language industry buys very little by foreign authors and sells a lot of its own — the most experimental lines come from well beyond Manhattan. I think of open creative proposals in Asia, with names such as the Japanese Hiromi Kawakami, who in his latest translated novel allows his characters to live with those imagined by the protagonist. I think of the Near East, with the Lebanese dramatist based in Quebec, Wajdi Mouawad, and his unheard of, animal-like points of view. I even think that decadent Europe, with the new French Nobel prize winner, Patrick Modiano, or with Michel Houellebecq, to whom they will never give the Nobel prize, although I one day hope to take back these words. Authors with no genuinely American style, such as Jennifer Egan or Junot Díaz, although they put United States of America on their passport. They all form part of this new liquid reality where even cultural references have been turned into a kiwi milkshake, with cream and a touch of cardamom.