Introduction

It is by now commonplace to point out that unlike such tightly organized schools as structuralism or Marxism, reader-oriented criticism, taking its major forms up until around 1990, is neither united by a common methodology nor directed toward a common goal. As Susan Suleiman notes, it ‘is not one field but many, not a single widely trodden path but a multiplicity of crisscrossing, often divergent tracks’ (‘Varieties of audience-oriented criticism’, p. 6).

Jane Tompkins, it is true, argues, in the introduction to her influential anthology, that there has been a ‘coherent progression’ from formalism to the belief that ‘reading and writing … [are] two names for the same activity’ (‘Introduction’, p. ix). But while this description accurately charts the trajectory of Stanley Fish, reader-oriented criticism as a whole exhibits little historical progression and offers little sense of ultimate arrival. Indeed, there does not even seem to be a common point of origin for the divergent tracks. Even Steven Mailloux's general claim that reader-response critics ‘all share the phenomenological assumption that it is impossible to separate perceiver from perceived, subject from object’ would seem to exclude such important figures as Wayne Booth (Interpretive Conventions, p. 20).

Reader-oriented critics seem at one in their opposition to certain traditional formalist practices – especially, in the United States, to the decontextualization demanded by New Criticism. This hostility to New Criticism, however, is common to most other contemporary theorists as well. Moreover, even if there seems to be a single subject of inquiry ('the reader'), the term, as we shall see, takes on so many different meanings in current discourse that it serves less as a unifying banner than as a trophy to be wrested from the opposition.

Introduction

The Greek God Hermes, credited with the invention of both language and writing, lies somewhere at the origin of the word ‘hermeneutics’. As messenger of the gods, it was his task to communicate the divine word to mortals, thus mediating between Olympus and the sphere of human activity. The Greek verb hermeneuein, which means ‘to say’, ‘to explain’, or ‘to translate’, and the noun hermeneia, ‘explanation’ or ‘interpretation’, already map out the field of meaning hermeneutics would later assume. Of central importance for the Greek and for the modern sense of the term is the bringing to understanding of something obscure or foreign, the translation of the unfamiliar into a comprehensible form. In its most basic form hermeneutics has to do with mediation of understanding, and for this reason the ‘art of interpretation’ has been most often discussed and developed when meanings have been or become unclear. Although it has traditionally involved the method for dealing with textual artefacts of the past, in the twentieth century hermeneutics has been associated with more general philosophical considerations, especially in the realm of ontology. Rather than developing rules for the exegesis of written material, hermeneutically oriented theories for the past century have emphasized understanding as a basic orientation for our being-in-the-world.

Prior to the romantic era the tasks of hermeneutics were rather well defined and confined to three central areas. Perhaps the longest continuous hermeneutic tradition involves Biblical exegesis. It can be traced back to Old Testament times, when rules were developed for the correct interpretation of the Torah.

The basic concepts of speech act theory

Speech act theory originated during the 1950s in the ordinary language philosophy of J. L. Austin and continued most notably in the work of John Searle. The following discussion surveys its impact on literary studies up until 1990. This impact was powerful and quickly achieved. Indeed, by 1975, Quentin Skinner was able to assert the centrality of speech act theory, pointing to the vital influence of Austin and Searle on the two new ‘orthodoxies’ that challenged formalism by stressing that both intention and context were necessary for understanding (‘Hermeneutics’, passim). Yet barely a decade later, Vincent Leitch could write a history of American literary criticism from the 1930s to the 1980s without reference to Austin, and with only two tangential mentions of Searle. Granted, Skinner and Leitch present extreme views on the value of speech act theory; but their respective claims reflect a real shift in critical perspective. Once a major theoretical position, speech act theory is remembered today primarily as what, following Richard Rorty, might be called the ‘straight person’ (‘Deconstruction and circumvention’, p. 2) for one of Jacques Derrida's more famous deconstructive performances. What caused the initial enthusiasm, and why did the promise not materialize?

In order to answer these questions, it is necessary to move back from literature to examine the philosophical premises of speech act theory. In a way, this is easier with speech act theory than with most philosophical movements, since it has its origins in a single, specific text: Austin's How to do Things with Words, originally delivered as the William James Lectures at Harvard in 1955, and posthumously published in 1962.

Narratology is a theory of narrative. Rather than being concerned with the history, meaning, or function of particular (sets of) narratives, it examines what all and only possible narratives have in common as well as what enables them to differ from one another qua narratives and it aims to characterize the narrative-pertinent system of rules presiding over narrative production and processing. The term ‘narratology’, which prevailed over such (near-)synonyms as ‘narrativics’, ‘narrative semiotics’, and ‘structural analysis of narrative’, is a translation of the French term ‘narratologie’, introduced in 1969 by Tzvetan Todorov who wrote in Grammaire du Décaméron: ‘this work pertains to a science which does not yet exist – let us say narratology, the science of narrative’. As for the theory, it falls historically into the tradition of French structuralism. Narratology exemplifies the structuralist tendency to consider texts (in the broad sense of signifying matter) as rule-governed ways in which human beings (re)fashion their universe. It also exemplifies the structuralist ambition to isolate the necessary and the optional components of textual types and to describe the modes of their articulation. As such, it constitutes a subset of semiotics (see above, chapter 4), the study of the factors operative in signifying systems and practices. If structuralism generally focuses on the langue or code underlying a given system or practice as opposed to focusing on a parole or instantiation of that system or practice, narratology concentrates specifically on narrative langue as opposed to narrative parole.

Barthes and theory

Ancient rhetoric, which Barthes revived and which has played a major part in recent literary theory, described strategies to propitiate the reader. They are urgently needed when one proposes to write on Barthes. One first needs to explain why a chapter, alone among those which describe whole movements, is devoted to a single individual. One must then point out difficulties arising from the fact that we are dealing here with a very problematic figure. Barthes’ desire to preserve his freedom of direction, especially in mid-career when the theoretical picture became very confused for ideological and political reasons, sometimes generates a textual indeterminacy which calls for interpretive commitment on the part of the critic. Further, Barthes made his name as a critic and theorist of not only literature but society; and although these two activities were soon subsumed by him under the common label of semiology, the general science of signs postulated by the Swiss linguist Saussure at the turn of the century, they remain distinct to some extent. Should Barthes’ work as a ‘sociologist of the qualitative’ be described in a history of criticism? Space forbids it, but reference will be made to overlapping concepts and themes. Furthermore, although one expects that an individual thus singled out has some wider social significance, should this be a chapter on Barthes, or only on Barthesianism? The term arose because the doctrines which have influenced two generations of literary theorists were clearly articulated by him, and propagated with the utmost polemical resourcefulness even when, in the latter part of his career, he yearned to see desire replace domination, putting an end to the ‘war of languages’.

Defining the field

The term ‘semiotics’, derived from the Greek word for ‘sign’, represents not one particular school or tendency within the recent development of criticism, but a loosely connected group of schools and tendencies. Moreover these associated practices contribute to the development of a critical method that is far from being confined to the literary text as its primary subject matter. In the preface to a recent anthology sub-titled ‘Semiotics around the world’, the editors begin by quoting Eisenstein: ‘The forward movement of our epoch in art […] must be to blow up the Chinese Wall that stands between the primary antithesis of the “language of logic” and the “language of images".’ In their view, the distinctive feature of semiotics is that it considers ‘the process by which things and events come to be recognized as signs by a sentient organism’ (Bailey, Matejka and Steiner, The Sign, p. vii). As we shall see, this very broad definition inevitably implies that semiotic investigation takes place over a wide spectrum of cultural practices, involving visual as well as verbal signs and extending from the specialized analysis of the literary text to the consideration of a great diversity of signifying phenomena.

Semiotics is therefore an imperialistic critical practice. Even though it may be based securely within the traditional areas of literary study, it has a tendency to outstep previously established boundaries in its quest for meaning. Jonathan Culler was no doubt justified in claiming in 1981 that: ‘Literature is the most interesting case of semiosis for a variety of reasons’ (Culler, Pursuit of Signs, p. 35).

A broad spectrum of divinities received worship in the temples of Southern India between the fourteenth and eighteenth centuries, reflecting the sustained popularity of the major cult deities in all of their manifold aspects. They include several newly fashionable gods associated with particular temple centres: for example, Venkateshvara of Tirumala and Narasimha of Ahobilam in the Telugu zone, and Varadaraja of Kanchipuram and Ranganatha of Srirangam in the Tamil zone. The cults of some deities, such as Vitthala, were even imported from outside the region, in this case from the Maratha zone to the north. The importance accorded such divinities extends also to the realm of saints, as is demonstrated by the popularity of legendary personalities such as Kannappa, Chandesha and Sambandar.

Virtually all of these gods and saints find their expression in the art of the period. Three-dimensional stone or metal images are enshrined within temple sanctuaries or inserted in niches; relief compositions cover basements, walls and columns. Nor is this figural art limited to mythological and legendary personalities; a host of guardians, maidens, dancers and musicians plays a significant part in temple sculpture. Human depictions include rulers and their retinues, generally in the role of devotees. Their visualisation in granite and bronze may be considered an outstanding artistic achievement.

The purpose of this essay, which follows the layout of the sequence of chapters, is to list the most important bibliographical references for each topic. Publications are cited by author(s), or by city in the case of certain exhibition catalogues, and date of publication. More complete informations is given in the Bibiography (pp. 283-94). Only works in European languages appear.

The best bibliographical starting point for Southern India under Vijayanagara is Rajasekhara (1985), who has compiled the largest number of publications dealing with the era, including pertinent archaeological and epigraphical sources; unfortunately, there are no subdivisions according to subject. A better organised, though somewhat select bibliography is the essay included in Stein (1989:147-51). Here, however, there are only occasional references to studies on architecture and art.

introduction

No comprehensive works are yet available that satisfactorily encompass the history of building, sculpture and painting in Southern India during the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods. Publications that may appear at first to offer extensive treatments, such as Saletore (1982) and Rajasekhara (1983), are in fact mostly concerned with monuments at the Vijayanagara capital. Articles and chapters in general surveys provide only the barest introduction to the subject: Sarma Rao (1946-7), Goetz (1959:188-93), Bussagli and Sivaramamurti (1971:264-9), Huntington (1985:chs. 23-5) and Harle (1986:chs. 23-4). The somewhat summary coverage in these publications does not mean that Southern Indian buildings and art works from this era have always been unappreciated. Pioneering studies are by Fergusson (1876), Chisholm (1876, 1883) and Gopinatha Rao (1914-16).

Religious foundations in the growing cities and popular pilgrimage sites of the Tamil country were repeatedly renovated and extended throughout the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods. Temples were transformed into vast complexes, with multiple sanctuaries, subshrines, mandapas, corridors, courtyards, tanks and gopuras. These architectural components survive in a diversity of styles that encompass all of the centuries under investigation here. Disentangling the successive building phases is no easy task since there is rarely any simple coordination of chronology and overall layout. While it is true that religious monuments generally expanded outwards during this era, with the latest additions being located at the peripheries, much activity was directed towards replacing earlier structures at the core and filling in the open spaces in between.

The Rayas had a profound impact on temple building in the Tamil zone, but it is only with difficulty that their contribution can be estimated; this is because many Vijayanagara structures, especially those belonging to the Sangama period, are obscured by later and larger additions. Gopuras and free standing mandapas commissioned by the Nayakas are easier to distinguish, being larger and more conspicuous. Building construction seems to have reached a peak of activity towards the middle of the seventeenth century when temples attained their greatest extent and elaboration. Nowhere is this better seen than in the Minakshi-Sundareshvara complex, the greatest project of the Madurai Nayakas (Fig. 42). This overall trend towards increase in scale was frequently accompanied by a concern for planometric geometry: the most important religious complexes were laid out in regular sequences of enclosures, generally in concentric formation, to encompass vast areas.

The four hundred years or so under review in this volume delimit a remarkable sequence of events: the formation, climax and disintegration of the Vijayanagara empire, and the opportunity that this process gave for lesser kingdoms to achieve independence. The varied careers of the different states of Southern India in this period provide an overall historical framework for the buildings and art works to be discussed in the following chapters. The appropriateness of a dynastic approach is suggested by the many monuments and attendant sculptures and paintings that are directly linked with known reigning figures, their family members, commanders and governors. For this reason dynastic appellations are generally retained, especially for religious and royal monuments. But this should not be taken to mean that artistic developments at this time invariably coincided with dynastic history; considerable difficulties occur when assigning a precise chronology to certain phases of artistic activity, particularly painting and the minor arts.

The history of Southern India from the fourteenth to the eighteenth centuries is relatively well established and there is little need here to give more than the bare outlines of the major dynasties together with their prominent ruling personalities; even so, it is important to recognise the overall trends of the era. As the centuries progressed, larger states with some measure of political unity tended to collapse, thereby creating opportunities for smaller states to emerge. These smaller kingdoms were generally unable to bond together into larger political units, since they were mostly engaged in territorial conflicts with one another.

The overall aim of this volume is to provide an introduction to the architecture and art of Southern India under the Vijayanagara empire and the lesser kingdoms that succeeded it. The chronological span of the survey opens with the foundation of Vijayanagara in the middle of the fourteenth century and closes with the decline of the successor states in the middle of the eighteenth century. The most important of these successor states were founded by the Nayakas, originally governors under the Vijayanagara emperors; but other figures also emerged as independent rulers towards the end of this era.

As an attempt to encompass one aspect of Southern Indian culture in these centuries, this study contributes to what is now a well-established field of enquiry. Historians are among the first to have recognised the significance of the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods. They have reconsidered the political structure of the empire, investigated the peasant economy of large land holdings, and examined the accounts of the lucrative overseas trade. Historians of religion constitute another group of scholars that has turned to Southern India in these centuries. Their documentation of cult shrines and rites of worship, as well as of myths and legends, has gone far to reveal the rich diversity of religious traditions that flourished at this time, and indeed continues to do so today. The most recent wave of interest seems to be directed towards an anthropology of courtly culture, particularly under the Nayakas and their contemporaries. Translations of royal epics and poems provide new perspectives on the lives and ideals of Southern Indian rulers and courtiers.

No Southern Indian temple or palace in these centuries would have been complete without vividly coloured paintings. They were executed either directly on plastered walls and ceilings to become part of the permanent decor of mandapas, corridors and audience halls, or on large cotton cloths to be displayed temporarily on special occasions. Other paintings were created on a diminutive scale, as is evident from paper manuscripts and portable wooden shrines with miniature illustrations. Whether intended for temples or monasteries, palaces or houses, such paintings were truly popular in appeal, serving as visual accompaniments to written and narrated epic stories.

Only a fraction of the pictorial heritage of this era survives, owing mainly to the fragile nature of the plaster, cotton and paper on to which paintings were made, all of which were adversely affected by light, heat and humidity. Temple ceilings are generally incomplete and in poor condition; some are irrevocably lost. The paintings in the Sveta Vinayaka temple at Tiruvalanjuli, 5 kilometres west of Kumbakonam, were totally removed in the last twenty years. (Knowledge about the Tiruvalanjuli cycle depends entirely on photographs; see Figs. 171 and 172.) With the exception of the residence of the Setupatis at Ramanathapuram, all palace murals have disappeared. That they existed at various royal sites is confirmed by the accounts of foreign visitors. Happily, some paintings have benefited from recent conservation efforts. The ceilings in the Virabhadra temple at Lepakshi have now been restored to their former glory (see Figs. 164 and 165).

The historical context of religious architecture in Southern India during the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods is relatively well known, owing mainly to the records incised directly on to monuments or stone slabs set up for the purpose. Even so, the chronology of certain temples, including some with unusual forms and fine details, is still uncertain. Foundation inscriptions are lacking for quite a few major monuments, even when there is an abundance of information pertaining to later grants and bequests. While it is true that some sanctuaries date back to pre-Vijayanagara times, such as the Virupaksha shrine at Hampi and the Venkateshvara shrine at Tirumala, many religious buildings were, in fact, newly established during the centuries under consideration here. The patrons of such projects frequently advertised their pious bequests, but sometimes they appear to have been more interested in presenting themselves as protectors and repairers of already existing monuments than as sponsors of entirely new foundations, even when this was actually the case. This explains the many cases of unascribed temples belonging to the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods. Notable exceptions are the Jain temples in Kanara, almost all of which are provided with precise historical data.

stylistic development

Temple building under the first Rayas in the second half of the fourteenth century, especially in the region of their new capital on the Tungabhadra, was largely dependent on previous practice. Temple architecture in the Deccan in earlier centuries consisted of several closely related styles. Twelfth- and thirteenth-century monuments of the Hoysalas and Kakatiyas, for instance, were constructed mostly in schist and incorporated one or more small square sanctuaries known as vimanas.

It is no easy task to attempt an overview of the artistic character of Southern India under Vijayanagara and the successor states. As must be clear by now, architecture and art in the four hundred years or so considered in this volume manifest a broad range of formal attributes and iconic types that cannot be reduced to a single stylistic formula that would be indicative of the age. The strategy adopted in this chapter is to define several alternative, but simultaneous stylistic movements, or processes, while at the same time drawing attention to a set of unifying themes that helped achieve artistic coherence. The interaction between stylistic processes and unifying themes may be taken as crucial to the aesthetic personality of the era.

stylistic processes

The three stylistic processes detected in the architecture and art works of Southern India in these centuries are not conceived as mutually exclusive traditions, but rather as overlapping and interacting movements. The first process looks backwards in time to past forms which were imitated and then preserved through a conscious archaism. This revivalist tendency is best appreciated in temple vimanas, the most orthodox parts of religious complexes, both ritually and artistically. The second process looks forward in time to new forms and types. This innovative tendency is most obvious in the evolution of temple mandapas and gopuras. An unmistakable spirit of improvisation dictates the third process, resulting in a remarkable stylistic synthesis and integration. Significantly, this last trend is intimately connected with the world of the king since it dominates the architecture of the palace.

Compared with the abundance of temples surviving from the Vijayanagara and Nayaka periods, there is a marked scarcity of royal architecture. This reflects the perishable materials out of which courtly buildings tended to be constructed, as well as the repeated sieges, raids and destructive attacks to which they were subjected over the years. During the centuries under review, most royal monuments experienced a cycle of occupation, devastation and abandonment. This situation continued even into modern times, with the British themselves dismantling the residences of local rulers, as at Srirangapattana. The result is that the only courtly complexes preserved to any extent in Southern India today were either deserted before the Europeans arrived, or were sufficiently distant from cities and towns not to be adversely affected by urban development in subsequent centuries.

Palaces assigned to this era lack any precise historical context. Even when a royal monument is popularly associated with a particular monarch, such as the palace of Tirumala Nayaka at Madurai, there is usually a dearth of supporting documents. This does not negate the very real connection between monarchs and their residences; it merely obscures the actual chronology. Further confusion is caused by the fact that most military and courtly complexes were extended over considerable periods of time, resulting in long and complicated building histories.