"The literature [of Scotland] is the literature of a small country...in this shortness and cohesion the most favourable of conditions seem to be offered for a making of a general estimate. But on the other hand, we find at closer scanning that the cohesion at least in formal expression and in choice of material is only apparent, that the literature is remarkably varied, and that it becomes, under the stress of foreign influence, almost a zigzag of contradictions. The antithesis need not, however, disconcert us. Perhaps in the very combination of opposites--what either of the two Thomases, of Norwich and Cromarty, might have been willing to call '
the Caledonian antisyzygy'--we have a reflection of the contrasts which the Scot shows at every turn, in his political and ecclesiastical history, in his polemical restlessness, in his adaptability, which is another way of saying that he has made allowance for new conditions, in his practival judgement, which is the admission that two sides of the matter have been considered. If therefore, Scottish history and life are, as an old northern writer said of something else, "varied with a clean contrair spirit," we need not be surprised to find that in his literature the Scot presents two aspects which appear contradictory. Oxymoron was ever the bravest figure, and we must not forget that disorderly order is order after all."
-G. Gregory Smith, Scottish Literature: Character and Influence, 1919
This essay introduced into Scottish literary studies the idea of antisyzygy, which has never entirely left it since. Maureen Martin defined it as "the idea of dueling polarities within one entity," and I might define it as an internalized paradox necessary to the formation of an identity. In my seminar course on Middle Scots Poets with Michael Adams, this idea has come up frequently and been one of the guiding principles in evaluating how Scottish identity is constructed in literature.
"The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy" is my favorite piece of Scottish literature, and it typifies this antisyzygy neatly. I have never read anything that is simultaneously so artfully constructed and so bawdy. Here is an excerpt of the poem, just to give you an idea of its rollicking nature:
Iersche brybour baird, vyle beggar with thy brattis,
Cuntbittin crawdoun Kennedy, coward of kynd,
Evill-farit and dryit as Denseman on the rattis,
Lyk as the gleddis had on thy gulesnowt dynd,
Mismaid monstour, ilk mone owt of thy mynd,
Renunce, rebald, thy ryming, thow bot royis.
Thy trechour tung has tane ane Heland strynd,
Ane Lawland ers wald make a bettir noyis...
Mauch mutton, byt buttoun, peilit gluttoun, air to Hilhous,
Rank beggar, ostir dregar, flay fleggar in the flet.
Chittirlilling, ruch rilling, lik shilling in the milhous,
Baird rehator, theif of nator, fals tratour, feyindis gett,
Filling of tauch, rak sauch--cry crauch, thow art oursett!
Muttoun dryver, girnall ryver, yadswyver, fowll fell thee!
Heretyk, lunatyk, purspyk, carlingis pet,
Rottin crok, dirtin dok--cry cok, or I sall quell thee!
-from TEAMS edition, William Dunbar: The Complete Works, ed. John Conlee
The production we saw of Black Watch had a few qualities in common with this poem. One was clearly the free use of expletives and insults, but another, I think, was the enactment of antisyzygy. In the poem, the antisyzygy takes the form of Highland versus Lowland, each insulting the other but both together forming a cohesive whole. In the play, the antisyzygy involves a simultaneous desire to glorify the history of Scotland at war and to expose it as anything but glorious.
But these dueling polarities aren't as well integrated into the whole of Black Watch as they are in "The Flyting," and at the end, the play fell back into military-movie tropes of brotherhood and solidarity and marching on in the face of defeat. One of the most successful parts of the play was the letter-reading scene and its paired ten-seconds-of-fighting scene, both of which involved dance. Together they captured something about the mix of emotions that must be involved in being a soldier in Iraq. But the least successful scene in the play was when the officer tries to convince the main character to remain in the army. After starting out so strongly, the play reverted back to a stereotypical exchange that boils down to this: "Son, what the army needs is a few good men like you." "I'm sorry, sir, but my buddy's death has made me embittered and cynical." Black Watch can't sustain its portrayal of antisyzygy, possibly because it doesn't address the problem of specifically Scottish military problems directly enough.
