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Skin is the parchment upon which identity is written; class, race, ethnicity, and gender are all legible upon the human surface. Removing skin tears away identity, and leaves a blank slate upon whichlaw, punishment, sanctity, or monstrosity can be inscribed; whether as an act of penal brutality, as a comic device, or as a sign of spiritual sacrifice, it leaves a lasting impression about the qualities and nature of humanity. Flaying often functioned as an imaginative resource for medieval and early modern artists and writers, even though it seems to have been rarely practiced in reality. From images of Saint Bartholomew holding his skin in his arms, to scenes of execution in Havelok the Dane, to laws that prescribed it as a punishment for treason, this volume explores the ideaand the reality of skin removal - flaying - in the Middle Ages. It interrogates the connection between reality and imagination in depictions of literal skin removal, rather than figurative or theoretical interpretations of flaying, and offers a multilayered view of medieval and early modern perceptions of flaying and its representations in European culture. Its two parts consider practice and representation, capturing the evolution of flaying as both an idea and a practice in the premodern world.
Larissa Tracy is Associate Professor, Longwood University.
Contributors: Frederika Bain, Peter Dent, Kelly DeVries, Valerie Gramling, Perry Neil Harrison, Jack Hartnell, Emily Leverett, Michael Livingston, Sherry C.M. Lindquist, Asa Mittman, Mary Rambaran-Olm, William Sayers, Christina Sciacca, Susan Small, Larissa Tracy, Renée Ward
[T]he skin is the sign of our transformability, our […] ability to become other.
IN the Florentine Codex (c. 1588), Spanish chronicler Bernardino de Sahagún describes the Aztec festival of Tlacaxipehualiztli. In this celebration honouring the skin-garbed god Xipe Totec, elite captives of war were flayed and their removed skins worn for twenty days by priests, a practice called neteotquiliztli, ‘impersonating a god’. Jill Furst observes, ‘The prisoner became Xipe and died, but his skin retained the god's life force’, and the two were taken on together by the second wearers. Though dramatic, neteotquiliztli is only one example among many in which skinwearing is assumed to facilitate passage to an alternative state of being. Practices and representations of wearing skin – recognizably animal as well as human – cover a wide generic, geographic and temporal range but follow a similar logic. In the Middle High German verse narrative Salman und Morolf, historical accounts of punitive and prophylactic skin-wearing in Germany and Italy, early modern Icelandic folk traditions and the sixteenth-century English Merry Ieste of a Shrewde and Curst Wyfe Lapped in Morrelles Skin for Her Good Behauyour, the removed and re-donned skin, detached from that which originally gave it meaning, initiates a mode of border-crossing, becoming a floating threshold between one form of the self and another.
Much of the burgeoning scholarship on the skin recognizes its literal and metaphorical function as limen, a space that Victor Turner describes as ‘represent[ing] the midpoint of transition’. The skin, says Steven Connor in his wide-ranging Book of Skin, is a ‘milieu’ that he explains as a ‘midplace […] where inside and outside meet and meld’. In her discussion of practices of bodily inscription that take place on and through the skin, such as branding and tattooing, the anthropologist Enid Schildkrout also emphasizes the ‘liminal quality of skin’, arguing that the integument constitutes an ‘ambiguous terrain at the boundary between self and society’. The skin as limen may be read as threshold or barrier: as the former, it allows controlled entry; as the latter, it separates and individuates, distinguishing self from what is outside itself.