Incongruity and Comicality in Woody Allen's prose
Incongruity and Comicality in Woody Allen's prose
Incongruity and Comicality in Woody Allen's prose
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<strong>Incongruity</strong> <strong>and</strong> <strong>Comicality</strong> <strong>in</strong> <strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s <strong>prose</strong><br />
Adir de Oliveira Fonseca Junior<br />
Universidade Federal de São Paulo<br />
Escola de Filosofia, Letras e Ciências Humanas<br />
Departamento de Letras<br />
Guarulhos, SP, Brasil<br />
adirofjunior@hotmail.com<br />
http://lattes.cnpq.br/8815001253173312<br />
ABSTRACT: This paper aims at present<strong>in</strong>g a brief analysis on two <strong>prose</strong><br />
compositions by <strong>Woody</strong> Allen. My ma<strong>in</strong> purpose is to focus on the elements of<br />
<strong>in</strong>congruity <strong>and</strong> nonsense observed throughout the texts, regard<strong>in</strong>g them as typical<br />
procedures of the comic genre, <strong>and</strong> particularly of <strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s <strong>prose</strong>. For this<br />
<strong>in</strong>tent, I selected the pieces “The Whore of Mensa” <strong>and</strong> “The Early Essays”, both<br />
taken from Allen’s collection Without Feathers (1975).<br />
KEY-WORDS: <strong>Woody</strong> Allen; “The Whore of Mensa”; “The Early Essays”;<br />
<strong>in</strong>congruity; comicality<br />
RESUMO: Este trabalho tem por objetivo apresentar uma breve análise de duas<br />
composições em prosa de <strong>Woody</strong> Allen. Meu pr<strong>in</strong>cipal propósito é focar nos<br />
elementos de <strong>in</strong>congruência e nonsense observados nos textos, consider<strong>and</strong>oos<br />
como procedimentos típicos do gênero cômico, e particularmente da prosa de<br />
<strong>Woody</strong> Allen. Para tal fim, eu selecionei os títulos “The Whore of Mensa” [A Puta<br />
com Ph.D] e “The Early Essays” [Os Primeiros Ensaios], ambos extraídos da coleção<br />
Without Feathers [Sem Plumas] (1975), de Allen.<br />
PALAVRAS-CHAVE: <strong>Woody</strong> Allen; “The Whore of Mensa”; “The Early Essays”;<br />
<strong>in</strong>congruência; comicidade<br />
Before be<strong>in</strong>g widely recognized for his versatile work on the movie screens,<br />
<strong>Woody</strong> Allen (born Allen Stewart Königsberg, Brooklyn, New York, 1935) started<br />
his career as a comedy writer <strong>in</strong> the 1950s, penn<strong>in</strong>g jokes <strong>and</strong> scripts for the radio<br />
<strong>and</strong> television, <strong>and</strong> also publish<strong>in</strong>g several books of short humor pieces. Then, <strong>in</strong><br />
the early 1960’s, persuaded by his agents, Allen began to perform monologues of<br />
his own authorship as a st<strong>and</strong>-up comedian, which, after a few years, ga<strong>in</strong>ed him<br />
an <strong>in</strong>vitation to write the script for “What’s New Pussycat?”, a feature film <strong>in</strong> which<br />
he would also act. In effect, the comic persona that <strong>Woody</strong> Allen has developed<br />
dur<strong>in</strong>g his activity on stage – an <strong>in</strong>secure, <strong>in</strong>tellectual <strong>and</strong> neurotic character –<br />
would be present <strong>in</strong> many of his films <strong>and</strong> texts. As a writer, Allen’s short pieces<br />
were published <strong>in</strong> some of the most prom<strong>in</strong>ent organs of the North American press<br />
– particularly <strong>in</strong> The New Yorker Magaz<strong>in</strong>e –, <strong>and</strong> then they were collected <strong>and</strong><br />
edited, together with some of his plays, <strong>in</strong> books such as Gett<strong>in</strong>g Even (1971),<br />
Without Feathers (1975), Side Effects (1980) <strong>and</strong> Mere Anarchy (2007). Although<br />
he went to the University of New York, Allen has never f<strong>in</strong>ished college.
Without Feathers (1975) is notably one of <strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s best-known literary<br />
work. The collection is composed of eighteen texts, <strong>in</strong>clud<strong>in</strong>g the plays “Death” <strong>and</strong><br />
“God”, <strong>and</strong> pieces written <strong>in</strong> varied formats (some of them, for <strong>in</strong>stance, parody<br />
<strong>and</strong> transgress the established conventions of the essay, of the documental <strong>and</strong> of<br />
the epistolary genres). The mentioned title is seem<strong>in</strong>gly a cunn<strong>in</strong>g <strong>and</strong> controversial<br />
comment on Emily Dick<strong>in</strong>son’s famous quote “‘Hope’ is the th<strong>in</strong>g with feathers”,<br />
which Allen uses as epigraph for the book. As a matter of fact, Without Feathers<br />
extensively delivers Allen’s hopeless <strong>and</strong> neurotic sense typical of his comic<br />
persona. Among the most commented <strong>and</strong> appreciated stories of the book, we may<br />
first cite “The Whore of Mensa”.<br />
“The Whore of Mensa” (orig<strong>in</strong>ally published <strong>in</strong> The New Yorker, <strong>in</strong> 1974) is<br />
a humorous short story about young, beautiful <strong>and</strong> <strong>in</strong>tellectual ‘prostitutes’ who,<br />
<strong>in</strong>stead of engag<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> sexual <strong>in</strong>tercourse, are rather called up to have <strong>in</strong>tellectual<br />
discussions with their clients. The story opens with Word Babcock – “a quiver<strong>in</strong>g<br />
pat of butter” (ALLEN, 1991, p. 51) – enter<strong>in</strong>g the office of private detective<br />
Kaiser Lupowitz – the narrator of the story – <strong>and</strong> ask<strong>in</strong>g him for help for a peculiar<br />
situation. Mr. Babcock says that he, as an <strong>in</strong>tellectual man, sometimes feels<br />
lonely, <strong>and</strong> all he wants is to have a smart conversation with a learned woman,<br />
which Flossie – “a madam, with a master's <strong>in</strong> comparative lit.” (Ibid., p. 52) –<br />
can easily arrange for him. The problem is that Word is married, <strong>and</strong> now Flossie<br />
is blackmail<strong>in</strong>g him: if he does not pay her ten thous<strong>and</strong> dollars, she will report<br />
to Carla, Word’s wife, everyth<strong>in</strong>g he has been do<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> the past six months, i.e.,<br />
hav<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>tellectual <strong>in</strong>tercourse with other women. F<strong>in</strong>ally, Kaiser accepts the case.<br />
He gives a call to Flossie <strong>and</strong> asks her to set him up with a girl who could talk about<br />
Melville:<br />
"I'd like to discuss Melville."<br />
"Moby Dick or the shorter novels?"<br />
"What's the difference?"<br />
"The price. That's all. Symbolism's extra."<br />
"What'll it run me?"<br />
"Fifty, maybe a hundred for Moby Dick. You want a comparative discussion –<br />
Melville <strong>and</strong> Hawthorne? That could be arranged for a hundred."<br />
"The dough's f<strong>in</strong>e," I told her <strong>and</strong> gave her the number of a room at the<br />
Plaza.<br />
"You want a blonde or a brunette?"<br />
"Surprise me," I said, <strong>and</strong> hung up. (ALLEN, 1991, p. 53)<br />
One hour later, Sherry, the girl sent by Flossie to Kaiser, arrives at the hotel. When<br />
Sherry is about to leave <strong>and</strong> after their hav<strong>in</strong>g discussed literature, the detective<br />
pretends that he wants to have a ‘party’ with two girls expla<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g Noam Chomsky to
him. Sherry falls <strong>in</strong>to his trap, <strong>and</strong> Kaiser f<strong>in</strong>ally reveals that he is a cop: “I´m fuzz,<br />
sugar, <strong>and</strong> discuss<strong>in</strong>g Melville for money is an 802. You can do time.” (Ibid., p. 55)<br />
Then, the girl, desperately cry<strong>in</strong>g, is forced to conduct Kaiser to Flossie.<br />
Accord<strong>in</strong>g to Sherry, Flossie manages her illegal bus<strong>in</strong>ess <strong>in</strong> the back of the<br />
Hunter College Book Store. Kaiser goes there, <strong>and</strong> beh<strong>in</strong>d a secret wall of books, he<br />
f<strong>in</strong>ds many young <strong>and</strong> beautiful women read<strong>in</strong>g. Suddenly, someone surprises the<br />
detective with a gun. It is Flossie (who is actually a man with a woman’s voice, due<br />
to an unsuccessful plastic surgery). Rapidly, the detective makes a move <strong>and</strong> grabs<br />
the gun from Flossie. The police arrive <strong>and</strong> arrest the ‘madam’. Later that night<br />
Kaiser looks up Gloria, an old account of his who had graduated cum laude – “The<br />
difference was she majored <strong>in</strong> physical education.” (Ibid., p. 57)<br />
As many of the short stories <strong>in</strong>cluded <strong>in</strong> Without Feathers, the plot <strong>and</strong><br />
the language of “The Whore of Mensa” are notably structured on <strong>in</strong>congruent<br />
<strong>and</strong> nonsensical elements. The very fact that the ‘prostitutes’ alluded <strong>in</strong> the text<br />
are not exactly ‘common prostitutes’, but are rather women paid for engag<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong><br />
philosophic <strong>and</strong> literary discussions with ‘<strong>in</strong>tellectually unsatisfied’ men, already<br />
puts the reader <strong>in</strong> confront with a ‘strange’ <strong>and</strong> ‘unusual’ reality. Besides, not only<br />
the plot but also the dialogues, the atypical associations, l<strong>in</strong>guistic choices <strong>and</strong><br />
especially the images evoked throughout the whole piece result <strong>in</strong> this <strong>in</strong>ventive,<br />
uncommon <strong>and</strong> extremely comic narration. In fact, as Isabel Ermida (2011, p.<br />
351) shows, “the semantic organisation of [<strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s] texts, based on a<br />
comb<strong>in</strong>ation of script oppositeness <strong>and</strong> overlap, is blended with a proficient use of<br />
stylistic devices which signal, <strong>and</strong> enhance, comic <strong>in</strong>congruity.” Although Ermida is<br />
specifically consider<strong>in</strong>g Allen’s Mere Anarchy (2007), this general assumption can<br />
be also applied to many of the pieces <strong>in</strong>cluded <strong>in</strong> Without Feathers.<br />
Accord<strong>in</strong>g to Ermida (2011, p. 340), most theories of l<strong>in</strong>guistic humour<br />
acknowledge that <strong>in</strong>congruity is the key to comic effect. By <strong>in</strong>congruity, Ermida<br />
refers to “a discrepancy between two mean<strong>in</strong>gs which overlap, <strong>and</strong> correspond<strong>in</strong>g<br />
surprise” that “establishes the humorous nature of an utterance.” Yet, <strong>in</strong> rhetorical<br />
terms, we could even establish an association between the comic <strong>in</strong>congruity<br />
<strong>and</strong> the conception of trope, traditionally understood “as the figure created by<br />
dislodg<strong>in</strong>g of a term from its old sense <strong>and</strong> its previous usage <strong>and</strong> by transferr<strong>in</strong>g<br />
a new, improper, or ‘strange’ sense <strong>and</strong> usage.” (CONTE, 1986, p. 23) Hence,<br />
when I suggest that Allen makes use of <strong>in</strong>congruity as a mechanism to produce<br />
comicality, I am try<strong>in</strong>g to argue that the comic effects obta<strong>in</strong>ed through his texts<br />
are fundamentally related to the overlap, or rather to the dislodg<strong>in</strong>g of a known <strong>and</strong><br />
conventional situation, sign or image <strong>in</strong>to an unusual frame, as it may be attested<br />
<strong>in</strong> the follow<strong>in</strong>g example:
“Well, I heard of this young girl. Eighteen years old. A Yassar student.<br />
For a price, she´ll come over <strong>and</strong> discuss any subject – Proust, Yeats,<br />
anthropology. Exchange of ideas. You see what I´m driv<strong>in</strong>g at?”<br />
“Not exactly.”<br />
“I mean, my wife is great, don´t get me wrong. But she won´t discuss<br />
Pound with me. Or Eliot. I didn´t know that when I married her. See, I need<br />
a woman who´s mentally stimulat<strong>in</strong>g, Kaiser. And I´m will<strong>in</strong>g to pay for it.<br />
I don´t want an <strong>in</strong>volvement – I want a quick <strong>in</strong>tellectual experience, then I<br />
want the girl to leave. Christ, Kaiser, I´m a happily married man.” (ALLEN,<br />
1991, p. 52)<br />
In the excerpt above, taken from the first pages of “The Whore of Mensa”,<br />
Word is confess<strong>in</strong>g to the detective, <strong>in</strong> a very dramatic way, the reason why he has<br />
been engag<strong>in</strong>g with one of Flossie’s girls. Consider<strong>in</strong>g that the customary argument<br />
culturally expected from a married man for call<strong>in</strong>g up a prostitute would be related<br />
to affective <strong>and</strong> sexual problems concern<strong>in</strong>g his relationship with his wife, the<br />
unusual arguments used by Word to justify his ‘<strong>in</strong>fidelity’ – his need of “a woman<br />
who´s mentally stimulat<strong>in</strong>g” <strong>and</strong> of “a quick <strong>in</strong>tellectual experience” – immediately<br />
establishes a conflict between expectation <strong>and</strong> surprise. From this conflict, then,<br />
emerge <strong>in</strong>congruence, nonsense, <strong>and</strong> ultimately comicality. This same conflict may<br />
be clearly seen <strong>in</strong> other significant passages, such as when Kaiser mentions that<br />
the police were already suspect<strong>in</strong>g someth<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>volv<strong>in</strong>g a group of ‘<strong>in</strong>tellectual<br />
prostitutes’, or when the detective visits their ‘brothel’:<br />
Red flocked wallpaper <strong>and</strong> a Victorian décor set the tone. Pale, nervous<br />
girls with black-rimmed glasses <strong>and</strong> blunt-cut hair lolled around on sofas,<br />
riffl<strong>in</strong>g Pengu<strong>in</strong> Classics provocatively. A blonde with a big smile w<strong>in</strong>ked at<br />
me, nodded toward a room upstairs, <strong>and</strong> said, “Wallace Stevens, eh?” But<br />
it wasn't just <strong>in</strong>tellectual experiences. They were peddl<strong>in</strong>g emotional ones,<br />
too. For fifty bucks, I learned, you could “relate without gett<strong>in</strong>g close.” For<br />
a hundred, a girl would lend you her Bartók records, have d<strong>in</strong>ner, <strong>and</strong> then<br />
let you watch while she had an anxiety attack. For one-fifty, you could listen<br />
to FM radio with tw<strong>in</strong>s. For three bills, you got the works: A th<strong>in</strong> Jewish<br />
brunette would pretend to pick you up at the Museum of Modern Art, let you<br />
read her master's, get you <strong>in</strong>volved <strong>in</strong> a scream<strong>in</strong>g quarrel at Ela<strong>in</strong>e's over<br />
Freud's conception of women, <strong>and</strong> then fake a suicide of your choos<strong>in</strong>g - the<br />
perfect even<strong>in</strong>g, for some guys. Nice racket. Great town, New York. (ALLEN,<br />
1991, p. 56-57)<br />
Here, too, the cultural expectation is frustrated by an exceptional picture;<br />
after all, <strong>in</strong> a regular context, the conception of what a brothel is would certa<strong>in</strong>ly<br />
not <strong>in</strong>volve girls read<strong>in</strong>g Pengu<strong>in</strong> Classics, nor a situation <strong>in</strong> which a Jewish<br />
brunette starts a date pick<strong>in</strong>g up someone at the Museum <strong>and</strong> ends with a fake<br />
suicide would be considered a probable erotic fantasy.
Actually, <strong>in</strong> mak<strong>in</strong>g use of deviations from what is normatively expected by<br />
the reader <strong>in</strong> terms of social, cultural <strong>and</strong> l<strong>in</strong>guistic conventions, Allen is employ<strong>in</strong>g<br />
a comic formula already remarked by the Ancient Greek <strong>and</strong> Lat<strong>in</strong> theorists.<br />
Aristotle, for <strong>in</strong>stance, states <strong>in</strong> his Rhetoric (3.11) that:<br />
“Novelties of expression” arise when there is an element of surprise, <strong>and</strong><br />
(...) the th<strong>in</strong>g turns out contrary to what we were expect<strong>in</strong>g, like the jokes<br />
found <strong>in</strong> comic writers, produced by deceptive alterations <strong>in</strong> words, <strong>and</strong> by<br />
unexpected words <strong>in</strong> verse, where the listener anticipates one th<strong>in</strong>g <strong>and</strong><br />
hears another. (ARISTOTLE apud ERMIDA, 2011, p. 340)<br />
And also Cicero <strong>in</strong> his De Oratore (II, LXIII.255) claims that “when we are<br />
expect<strong>in</strong>g to hear a particular phrase, <strong>and</strong> someth<strong>in</strong>g different is uttered (...) our<br />
own mistake even makes us laugh ourselves.” (Apud ibid.)<br />
As we could see from a few examples, there is a great profusion of<br />
<strong>in</strong>congruent dialogues <strong>and</strong> situations which make up the basis of Allen’s “The Whore<br />
of Mensa”. Moreover, this procedure is not only manifested <strong>in</strong> the content, but also<br />
<strong>in</strong> the structure of the narrative. Consider<strong>in</strong>g that the plot of “The Whore of Mensa”<br />
is centered on detective Kaiser <strong>and</strong> on his attempt to solve a particular case, we<br />
could f<strong>in</strong>ally state that Allen’s story ma<strong>in</strong>ta<strong>in</strong>s a close bond with the detective fiction<br />
genre, characteristic of authors such as Edgar Allan Poe or Arthur Conan Doyle.<br />
Once aga<strong>in</strong>, however, Allen employs the conventional elements of that fictional<br />
genre – the figure of the detective, the ‘victim’, a difficult problem to solve, a ‘risky<br />
<strong>in</strong>vestigation’, the solution of the case – only for the sake of parody<strong>in</strong>g them, for<br />
the circumstances related to Kaiser’s case are motivated by a peculiar <strong>and</strong> pathetic<br />
reason, which <strong>in</strong> the end, <strong>in</strong>stead of <strong>in</strong>spir<strong>in</strong>g tension <strong>and</strong> creat<strong>in</strong>g suspense, as it<br />
could be expected <strong>in</strong> a detective story, turns out comic. In order to better exam<strong>in</strong>e<br />
how the parody of genre functions as a literary procedure <strong>in</strong> Allen’s <strong>prose</strong>, we<br />
could also make an account of another literary piece <strong>in</strong>cluded <strong>in</strong> the book Without<br />
Feathers, the one which is entitled “The Early Essays”.<br />
As its title already suggests, “The Early Essays” (first published <strong>in</strong> The New<br />
Yorker, <strong>in</strong> 1973 – one year before the publication of “The Whore of Mensa”) is a<br />
piece which consists of the supposed early essays written by <strong>Woody</strong> Allen. Thus,<br />
s<strong>in</strong>ce it is composed of concise texts written <strong>in</strong> the format of essays, this particular<br />
piece, unlike “The Whore of Mensa”, is not regulated by a plot or by a narrative<br />
unity, but <strong>in</strong>stead it depicts a number of pseudo-reflections concern<strong>in</strong>g a variety of<br />
themes, as may be attested <strong>in</strong> the <strong>in</strong>dication forged at the open<strong>in</strong>g of the text:
Follow<strong>in</strong>g are a few of the early essays of <strong>Woody</strong> Allen. There are no late<br />
essays, because he ran out of observations. Perhaps as Allen grows older<br />
he will underst<strong>and</strong> more of life <strong>and</strong> will set it down, <strong>and</strong> then retire to his<br />
bedroom <strong>and</strong> rema<strong>in</strong> there <strong>in</strong>def<strong>in</strong>itely. Like the essays of Bacon, Allen’s<br />
are brief <strong>and</strong> full of practical wisdom, although space does not permit the<br />
<strong>in</strong>clusion of his most profound statement, “Look<strong>in</strong>g at the Bright Side.”<br />
(ALLEN, 1991, p. 61, author’s emphasis)<br />
In the <strong>in</strong>troductory note quoted above, Allen presents the reader with<br />
the genre of his piece, <strong>and</strong> he establishes a connection between his follow<strong>in</strong>g<br />
compositions <strong>and</strong> the famous essays by Francis Bacon (1561 - 1626). Indeed, the<br />
excerpt above, which is apparently written <strong>in</strong> a formal <strong>and</strong> <strong>in</strong>formative language,<br />
one which could be used, for example, by the fictional editor of these essays, is<br />
pervaded by irony – another procedure characteristic of Allen’s style. This element,<br />
which could be probably noticed even by one who might not be very familiar<br />
with <strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s works, already alerts the reader to the fact that these alleged<br />
essays cannot be taken ‘seriously’, or as authentic pieces which convey a personal<br />
op<strong>in</strong>ion or reflection of the author himself. Nonetheless, if <strong>in</strong> this short <strong>in</strong>troduction,<br />
the comic element is not particularly evident for a less attentive reader, <strong>in</strong> the<br />
subsequent paragraphs the comicality will be manifest <strong>in</strong> a more perceptible<br />
manner, as we will see.<br />
As already remarked above, “The Early Essays” is a piece which<br />
encompasses short texts <strong>in</strong> the format of essays. These so-called essays are<br />
respectively entitled “On See<strong>in</strong>g a Tree <strong>in</strong> Summer”, “On Youth <strong>and</strong> Age”, “On<br />
Frugality”, “On Love” <strong>and</strong> “On Tripp<strong>in</strong>g Through a Copse <strong>and</strong> Pick<strong>in</strong>g Violets”. In<br />
fact, these titles, at least <strong>in</strong> appearance, follow the typical nam<strong>in</strong>g of a traditional<br />
essay, which is usually made up of an allusion to a generic topic <strong>and</strong> is <strong>in</strong>troduced,<br />
<strong>in</strong> English, by the preposition on or of, like those of Bacon, for <strong>in</strong>stance: “Of Truth”,<br />
“Of Death”, “Of Revenge”, or even “Of Love” <strong>and</strong> “Of Youth <strong>and</strong> Age” . At a first<br />
glance, this detail, <strong>in</strong> addition to the <strong>in</strong>troductory note quoted above, corroborates<br />
the <strong>in</strong>tended affiliation between Allen’s <strong>and</strong> Bacon’s essays. From those mentioned<br />
titles, however, the first <strong>and</strong> especially the last one may call our attention to<br />
the ‘unusualness’ of the topic alluded, <strong>in</strong>asmuch as the other three titles apparently<br />
recall philosophic or moral issues more suitable for the conventional essays.<br />
Due to their complex <strong>and</strong> abundant associations based on nonsense, it is<br />
worthless to try to summarize each of <strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s essays; actually, even the<br />
titles give only a fair impression of the content dealt <strong>in</strong> the texts, serv<strong>in</strong>g more as a<br />
pretense to build up <strong>in</strong>congruent pieces than as trustworthy descriptions of them.<br />
Nevertheless, <strong>in</strong> spite of its lack of a plot or of a l<strong>in</strong>ear argument, each one of the
essays has peculiar characteristics that could be po<strong>in</strong>ted out here.<br />
In “On See<strong>in</strong>g a Tree <strong>in</strong> Summer”, Allen starts mak<strong>in</strong>g a praise to the aspect<br />
of a tree <strong>in</strong> summer, which he considers one of the most remarkable wonders of<br />
nature – “with the possible exception of a moose s<strong>in</strong>g<strong>in</strong>g ‘Embraceable You’ <strong>in</strong><br />
spats.” (ALLEN, 1991, p. 61) What follows is a sequence of <strong>in</strong>congruent associations<br />
<strong>and</strong> digressions which rise from that <strong>in</strong>itial topic; furthermore, as if <strong>in</strong> a sort of a<br />
stream of consciousness, the essayist presents a series of thoughts which have<br />
little or noth<strong>in</strong>g to do with trees <strong>in</strong> summer, <strong>in</strong> such a manner that, at the end of<br />
the essay, Allen is dissert<strong>in</strong>g about a lumberjack, a dwarf <strong>and</strong> Roman numerals:<br />
Once a lumberjack was about to chop down a tree, when he noticed a heart<br />
carved on it, with two names <strong>in</strong>side. Putt<strong>in</strong>g away his axe, he sawed down<br />
the tree <strong>in</strong>stead. The po<strong>in</strong>t of that story escapes me, although six months<br />
later the lumberjack was f<strong>in</strong>ed for teach<strong>in</strong>g a dwarf Roman numerals.<br />
(ALLEN, 1991, p. 62)<br />
Thoroughly contradict<strong>in</strong>g the reader’s expectations concern<strong>in</strong>g the<br />
conventional purposes of an essay – <strong>and</strong> particularly those characteristic of<br />
a ‘humanistic essay’, which frequently renders a moral example or an admonition<br />
towards the reader, as attested <strong>in</strong> Bacon’s or <strong>in</strong> Montaigne’s compositions on the<br />
genre –, Allen’s essay “On See<strong>in</strong>g a Tree <strong>in</strong> Summer” completely neglects the need<br />
of any ‘moral of the story’ <strong>and</strong> it lacks a systematic discussion about a specific<br />
subject. In fact, as a parody, Allen’s first essay has no focus at all – a peculiarity<br />
that <strong>in</strong> normal circumstances would put <strong>in</strong>to question its very classification as an<br />
essay, traditionally understood as a “<strong>prose</strong> composition with a focused subject of<br />
discussion.” (Gale’s Glossary of Terms)<br />
“On Youth <strong>and</strong> Age”, by its turn, is by no means alike Bacon’s “Of Youth<br />
<strong>and</strong> Age”, as it could be imag<strong>in</strong>ed at a first moment. While <strong>in</strong> the latter the author<br />
expounds the most prom<strong>in</strong>ent characteristics of the young <strong>and</strong> of the aged men,<br />
at the same time that he provides historical examples of notable figures <strong>and</strong><br />
consequently elaborates an admonition towards virtue, Allen, on the contrary,<br />
mocks the traditional topics or clichés commonly alluded <strong>in</strong> a reflection about<br />
maturity, age <strong>and</strong> life. Moreover, <strong>in</strong> “On Youth <strong>and</strong> Age”, it is noteworthy that Allen<br />
first <strong>in</strong>troduces a stereotyped formula, such as “the true test of maturity is not how<br />
old a person is but…”, “each time of life has its appropriate rewards, whereas…”<br />
or “the best th<strong>in</strong>g to do is behave <strong>in</strong> a manner befitt<strong>in</strong>g one’s age”, <strong>and</strong> then<br />
he completely deviates from its orig<strong>in</strong>al connotation <strong>and</strong> <strong>in</strong>stalls an unexpected<br />
conclusion, as if he were <strong>in</strong>vert<strong>in</strong>g the primary functions related to the employment
of these well-known maxims.<br />
The true test of maturity is not how old a person is but how he reacts to<br />
awaken<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> the midtown area <strong>in</strong> his shorts. (…) The th<strong>in</strong>g to remember is<br />
that each time of life has its appropriate rewards, whereas when you’re dead<br />
it’s hard to f<strong>in</strong>d the light switch. The chief problem about death, <strong>in</strong>cidentally,<br />
is the fear that there may be no afterlife – a depress<strong>in</strong>g thought, particularly<br />
for those who have bothered to shave. (…)<br />
In short, the best th<strong>in</strong>g to do is behave <strong>in</strong> a manner befitt<strong>in</strong>g one’s age. If<br />
you are sixteen or under, try not to go bald. On the other h<strong>and</strong>, if you are<br />
over eighty, it is extremely good form to shuffle down the street clutch<strong>in</strong>g a<br />
brown paper bag <strong>and</strong> mutter<strong>in</strong>g, “The Kaiser will steal my str<strong>in</strong>g.” (ALLEN,<br />
1991, p. 62)<br />
This same procedure may be seen <strong>in</strong> the subsequent essays as well.<br />
In “On Frugality” the essayist beg<strong>in</strong>s talk<strong>in</strong>g about the importance of sav<strong>in</strong>g money<br />
– “As one goes through life, it is extremely important to conserve founds, <strong>and</strong> one<br />
should never spend money on anyth<strong>in</strong>g foolish …” –, a type of statement that is<br />
thoroughly dissem<strong>in</strong>ated <strong>in</strong> popular wisdom; but then the examples Allen uses to<br />
illustrate this op<strong>in</strong>ion are unpredictable, for it is likely to assume that people who<br />
would generally utter this k<strong>in</strong>d of thought would not immediately call up these<br />
examples: “… like pear nectar or a solid-gold hat.” (Ibid., p. 63) After that, Allen<br />
makes a more strik<strong>in</strong>g deviation when, through his comic persona’s voice, he starts<br />
say<strong>in</strong>g that “Money is not everyth<strong>in</strong>g” – another commonplace largely professed <strong>in</strong><br />
Western popular culture – but, hav<strong>in</strong>g said that, he <strong>in</strong>stalls a paradigm by affirm<strong>in</strong>g<br />
“but it is better than hav<strong>in</strong>g one’s health,” (Ibid.) <strong>in</strong>sofar as, at least <strong>in</strong> accordance<br />
with the moral st<strong>and</strong>ards propagated <strong>in</strong> Western society, health is considered to be<br />
a greater or a preferable value <strong>in</strong> comparison with money. Further, the argument<br />
Allen uses to corroborate this op<strong>in</strong>ion is highly unexpected <strong>and</strong> it seems totally<br />
r<strong>and</strong>om, which aga<strong>in</strong> produces the effect of <strong>in</strong>congruence <strong>and</strong> of comicality <strong>in</strong> the<br />
reader: “After all, one cannot go <strong>in</strong>to a butcher shop <strong>and</strong> tell the butcher: ‘Look at<br />
my suntan, <strong>and</strong> besides I never catch colds,’ <strong>and</strong> expect him to h<strong>and</strong> over any<br />
merch<strong>and</strong>ise.” (Ibid.) Then, however, the fictitious essayist accepts that money<br />
cannot “buy happ<strong>in</strong>ess,” <strong>and</strong> he illustrates this by allud<strong>in</strong>g to Aesop’s fable on the<br />
ant <strong>and</strong> the grasshopper, which is largely acknowledged to be a story that provides<br />
a moral lesson about the virtues of hard work, but he naturally makes an odd<br />
<strong>in</strong>tervention <strong>in</strong> its orig<strong>in</strong>al end<strong>in</strong>g:<br />
Money is better than poverty, if only for f<strong>in</strong>ancial reasons. Not that it<br />
can buy happ<strong>in</strong>ess. Take the case of the ant <strong>and</strong> the grasshopper: The<br />
grasshopper played all summer, while the ant worked <strong>and</strong> saved. When<br />
w<strong>in</strong>ter came, the grasshopper had noth<strong>in</strong>g, but the ant compla<strong>in</strong>ed of chest
pa<strong>in</strong>s. Life is hard for <strong>in</strong>sects. And don’t th<strong>in</strong>k mice are hav<strong>in</strong>g any fun,<br />
either. The po<strong>in</strong>t is, we all need a nest egg to fall back on, but not while<br />
wear<strong>in</strong>g a good suit. (ALLEN, 1991, p. 63)<br />
Tak<strong>in</strong>g this same procedure ahead, <strong>in</strong> the follow<strong>in</strong>g essay “On Love”<br />
Allen also makes use of the major premises which form the basis of some<br />
commonplaces, now related to love, <strong>and</strong> aga<strong>in</strong> he subverts their expected<br />
conclusions, as may be attested right <strong>in</strong> the beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g of the text: “Is it better to<br />
be the lover or the loved one? Neither, if your cholesterol is over six hundred;”<br />
(Ibid.) or <strong>in</strong> the third paragraph: “Beauty is <strong>in</strong> the eye of the beholder. Should the<br />
beholder have poor eyesight, he can ask the nearest person which girls look good.”<br />
(Ibid., p. 64) In a sense, perhaps, it is possible to say that Allen’s comic persona<br />
is act<strong>in</strong>g like a sophist here, s<strong>in</strong>ce he <strong>in</strong>itially makes use of valid or effective<br />
arguments, that is, arguments symbolically recognized as truths, or as accepted<br />
op<strong>in</strong>ions or beliefs shared by the members of a certa<strong>in</strong> circle of culture; then he<br />
concatenates them <strong>in</strong> a logical structure; <strong>and</strong>, f<strong>in</strong>ally, he ‘deceives’ the reader by<br />
<strong>in</strong>duc<strong>in</strong>g what we could call a ‘false’ demonstration or conclusion. This analogy is<br />
yet useful if we th<strong>in</strong>k of all the <strong>in</strong>congruent elements, not only <strong>in</strong> terms of language<br />
but also of images <strong>and</strong> situations which we have analyzed <strong>in</strong> both Allen’s “The<br />
Whore of Mensa” <strong>and</strong> “The Early Essays”. This technique seem<strong>in</strong>gly attends to<br />
comic purposes <strong>in</strong> Allen’s works, <strong>in</strong>sofar as the reader is presupposed to recognize<br />
these deviations as <strong>in</strong>congruent.<br />
The last piece which constitutes Allen’s “The Early Essays” may be<br />
considered the most curious one, both <strong>in</strong> terms of topic <strong>and</strong> literary treatment.<br />
More than the others, “On Tripp<strong>in</strong>g Through a Copse <strong>and</strong> Pick<strong>in</strong>g Violets” is<br />
considerably dissociated from the canonical essay genre, <strong>and</strong> the topic itself,<br />
already given <strong>in</strong> the title, rapidly <strong>in</strong>stitutes an estrangement, because, contrarily to<br />
the others – maybe with the exception of the first essay, “On See<strong>in</strong>g a Tree <strong>in</strong><br />
Summer” – it does not depict, <strong>in</strong> theory, an issue proper or expected to be dealt<br />
with <strong>in</strong> a traditional essay. Thus, the first questions we could formulate as readers<br />
are: What do violets <strong>and</strong> copses have to do with an essay? What k<strong>in</strong>d of reflection<br />
may be developed based on that unusual topic? By do<strong>in</strong>g this, the <strong>in</strong>tr<strong>in</strong>sic<br />
<strong>in</strong>congruent <strong>and</strong> nonsensical aspect of this particular essay is made evident right<br />
from the start. On the first l<strong>in</strong>e of the text, as if the essayist were reply<strong>in</strong>g to an<br />
objective question made by another person, <strong>and</strong> without mak<strong>in</strong>g any <strong>in</strong>troduction<br />
to the topic but go<strong>in</strong>g straight to his exposition, he remarks: “This is no fun at all,<br />
<strong>and</strong> I would recommend almost any other activity.” (Ibid., p. 64) Then, after giv<strong>in</strong>g<br />
some suggestions of better activities, such as visit<strong>in</strong>g a sick friend or read<strong>in</strong>g a
ook <strong>in</strong> a tub, Allen’s persona categorically affirms that “Anyth<strong>in</strong>g is better than<br />
turn<strong>in</strong>g up a copse with one of those vacuous smiles <strong>and</strong> accumulat<strong>in</strong>g flowers <strong>in</strong> a<br />
basket,” so he emphatically recommends to call the florist <strong>in</strong>stead – “That way, if<br />
an electrical storm comes up or a beehive is chanced upon, it will be the florist who<br />
is rushed to Mount S<strong>in</strong>ai.” (Ibid.) Yet, at the end of the text, the mordacious<br />
essayist makes it clear that he is not “<strong>in</strong>sensitive to the joys of nature,” although<br />
he has come to the conclusion “that for sheer fun it is hard to beat forty-eight<br />
hours at Foam Rubber City dur<strong>in</strong>g the high holidays. But that is another story.”<br />
(Ibid., p. 65)<br />
As we could see, <strong>in</strong> “The Early Essays” Allen basically recurs to the same<br />
strategies he uses <strong>in</strong> the composition of “The Whore of Mensa” <strong>in</strong> order to achieve<br />
comicality. In compar<strong>in</strong>g the two pieces, however, what seems to st<strong>and</strong> out is the<br />
fact that, because of the different genres <strong>in</strong>volved <strong>in</strong> their respective structures –<br />
one be<strong>in</strong>g a fictional narrative with a l<strong>in</strong>ear <strong>and</strong> central plot; the other, a collection<br />
of comic essays –, <strong>in</strong> the “Early Essays” the procedure of <strong>in</strong>congruity is <strong>in</strong> general<br />
better noticed <strong>in</strong> the l<strong>in</strong>guistic associations <strong>and</strong> <strong>in</strong> the semantic connections<br />
made up along the whole piece, while <strong>in</strong> “The Whore of Mensa” what seems to<br />
be more effective <strong>in</strong> terms of comicality is the association of divergent images,<br />
unconventional situations, dialogues, <strong>and</strong> the progression of the story itself.<br />
Anyhow, it is important to emphasize that if, on the one h<strong>and</strong>, Allen<br />
makes a prolific use of those deviations, establish<strong>in</strong>g an unusual <strong>and</strong> sometimes<br />
even an absurd sett<strong>in</strong>g, on the other h<strong>and</strong>, the author still provides a verisimilar<br />
<strong>and</strong> coherent framework. This ultimately means that even if the two pieces are full<br />
of <strong>in</strong>congruent <strong>and</strong> nonsensical elements – i.e., full of elements which somehow<br />
diverge from the expected norm culturally <strong>and</strong> socially <strong>in</strong>stituted, <strong>and</strong> because of<br />
that they cause an <strong>in</strong>itial estrangement –, the reader never questions the<br />
authenticity or, better say<strong>in</strong>g, the verisimilitude of Allen’s compositions. In fact, the<br />
realistic space set up right at the open<strong>in</strong>g of “The Whore of Mensa”, <strong>and</strong> which is<br />
carried out till the end of the story, permits the <strong>in</strong>troduction of <strong>in</strong>congruent<br />
<strong>and</strong> ‘strange’ elements without the overall configuration of the narrative be<strong>in</strong>g<br />
altered or corrupted by them. By do<strong>in</strong>g so, Allen sets up unusual events <strong>in</strong>side a<br />
consistent frame, <strong>in</strong> such a way that the reader, though at first surprised, is even<br />
<strong>in</strong>duced to consider those <strong>in</strong>congruities as probable <strong>and</strong> not totally impossible to<br />
happen <strong>in</strong> the ‘real world’. To the same extent, “The Early Essays”, <strong>in</strong> spite of their<br />
<strong>in</strong>numerous divergences from the norm <strong>and</strong> of the essayist’s mock<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>terventions<br />
spread along the pieces, still respect, though almost <strong>in</strong> a scarce way (as if the<br />
author were actually push<strong>in</strong>g the limits of the genre to the extreme), some capital<br />
rules <strong>and</strong> conventions <strong>in</strong> order to ma<strong>in</strong>ta<strong>in</strong> a necessary bond between these comic
pieces <strong>and</strong> the essay genre. Hence, we noticed the traditional pattern followed <strong>in</strong><br />
the nam<strong>in</strong>g of the essays (the same adopted by reputable essayists as Bacon or<br />
Montaigne), the use of the first person s<strong>in</strong>gular (a feature characteristic of the<br />
essay, due to the personal tone generally acknowledged to this type of<br />
composition), <strong>and</strong> the constant allusion to commonplaces related to morality, to<br />
say some of the most prom<strong>in</strong>ent elements observed <strong>in</strong> the surface of Allen’s forged<br />
essays. What is more strik<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> this is that, by respect<strong>in</strong>g those elementary<br />
precepts of the essay genre, Allen makes the contradiction between form <strong>and</strong><br />
content even more evident, which once aga<strong>in</strong> gives rise to the <strong>in</strong>congruent effect<br />
<strong>and</strong>, by consequence, to the comicality expected from Allen’s characteristic<br />
production.<br />
Conclud<strong>in</strong>g remarks<br />
In this paper, I have suggested that <strong>in</strong>congruence, as a literary procedure,<br />
plays an important function as a mechanism responsible to engender comicality <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>Woody</strong> Allen’s <strong>prose</strong>. In fact, as I have briefly po<strong>in</strong>ted out, this type of practice is<br />
regarded by l<strong>in</strong>guists of humour, <strong>and</strong> was already acknowledged by some authors<br />
from Antiquity, as a characteristic procedure of comedy. In “The Whore of Mensa”,<br />
for <strong>in</strong>stance, Allen’s use of <strong>in</strong>congruity could be attested <strong>in</strong> the uncommon events<br />
<strong>and</strong> descriptions recalled throughout the whole story – the ‘<strong>in</strong>tellectual prostitutes’,<br />
the nature of their illegal bus<strong>in</strong>ess, Word’s ‘<strong>in</strong>tellectual <strong>in</strong>fidelity’ to his wife: these<br />
are some of the unexpected elements with which the reader is confronted <strong>in</strong> the<br />
course of the short story, which are not supposed to have parallel <strong>in</strong> the external<br />
reality. In “The Early Essays”, <strong>in</strong> its turn, the <strong>in</strong>congruent effect could be obta<strong>in</strong>ed<br />
especially by the contrast between form <strong>and</strong> content <strong>in</strong>stituted <strong>in</strong> the pieces, s<strong>in</strong>ce<br />
Allen’s persona at first suggests reflections upon ‘philosophic’ topics, but then he<br />
completely frustrates this premise by giv<strong>in</strong>g r<strong>and</strong>om examples <strong>and</strong> subvert<strong>in</strong>g the<br />
expected ‘moral of the story’. Actually, here, <strong>in</strong>congruity emerges along with other<br />
comic strategies, such as parody, irony <strong>and</strong> acid humour.<br />
Nonetheless, based on my observations on “The Whore of Mensa” <strong>and</strong> on<br />
“The Early Essays”, I have argued that the <strong>in</strong>congruities or the unusual elements<br />
present <strong>in</strong> Allen’s compositions do not <strong>in</strong>terfere with their respective overall<br />
configurations, nor do they obliterate some necessary criteria to their compilation,<br />
both <strong>in</strong> terms of the genre <strong>and</strong> of verisimilitude – the latter be<strong>in</strong>g more relevant to<br />
the writ<strong>in</strong>g of a short story, as <strong>in</strong> the case of “The Whore of Mensa”. This, however,<br />
cannot be seen as a restrictive factor or a limitation, but rather as a literary choice<br />
through which the potential of the <strong>in</strong>congruities becomes even more effective <strong>in</strong><br />
terms of comicality, <strong>in</strong>sofar as the rupture with the norm turns out more significant
on the surface of the text.<br />
Notes