discursive unity: for their readers, the worlds they describe are not necessarily fractured along a fictive/actual line,. 65 He means that fiction is only one particular form of the play of language, and a given text may seem fictional or actual
depending on the context in which we encounter it. The same is true for oral performances. Pavel takes the example of a theatrical
scene wherein an actor mimics the gestures of a priest and pretends to bless the audience. There is nothing effective about
this blessing in most contexts, but it can become effective in certain circumstance: imagine, for example, a dictatorship
in which religion is banned and in which a theater audience, having kept the old faith, experiences the actor’s gesture as
authentic, transforming this fictional scene into a scene of real life. 66
For partisans of integration of fictional characters, there’s no point in fortifying the borders between worlds, and denying
these characters their existence. On the contrary: in a society that is increasingly inclusive of formerly sidelined groups,
it seems preferable to also recognize fictional persons’ innate legitimacy, and to admit that they form part of our world,
which implies, as it does for all its inhabitants, a certain number of duties, but also of rights.
The difficulty in taking a stance on these debates, which can reach a high degree of philosophical or linguistic complexity,
stems from the fact that the various authors, resorting to ideas as vague as “reality” or “truth,” do not always sound as
if they’re talking about the same thing.
In my opinion, however, there are two major arguments in favor of the theory of the integrationists and their tolerance toward
fictional characters. The first is of a linguistic order. It comes down to noting that language does not allow us to make
a separation between real beings and imaginary characters, and so the integration of characters is inevitable, whether one
has an open mind or not.
Language is full of what are called “mixed sentences,” 67 statements that cross between worlds by combining fiction with reality. These statements allow imaginary entities to wander
through our world—as in a sentence like “Freud psychoanalyzed Gradiva”—or, conversely, grant beings and objects from the real
world the right to inhabit fiction, as in “Sherlock Holmes walks down Baker Street.”
In other words, even if some beings are native , and are born and live in one of the worlds without traveling, there exist many immigrants who pass from one world to the other, to stay there for a brief time or to settle there for a longer period. * Whatever the borders and their fortifications may be, it is hopeless to forbid these passages between worlds, which, as we
will see, occur in both directions.
It is more or less impossible, in fact, to avoid these mixed sentences; even the segregationists’ demonstrations are thick
with them (even if they are there to be dismissed). To say that “Sherlock Holmes does not belong to our world” is already
a mixed sentence in itself, since it juxtaposes the real world and a fictional character, uniting the two for a brief while.
By speaking in the same way about what exists and what does not exist—by conferring an identical degree of reality on the
two—language is an agent forever sneaking across the border between worlds. To be in a position to establish a clear distinction
between the worlds, as the segregationists dream of doing, we would have to imagine a being or a state of affairs about which
it would not be necessary to speak.
The second argument in favor of the integrationist theory is a psychological one. It amounts to noting that although fictional
characters might not possess a material reality, they certainly have a psychological reality, which leads undeniably to a
form of existence.
Our relationship to literary characters, at least to those that
depending on the context in which we encounter it. The same is true for oral performances. Pavel takes the example of a theatrical
scene wherein an actor mimics the gestures of a priest and pretends to bless the audience. There is nothing effective about
this blessing in most contexts, but it can become effective in certain circumstance: imagine, for example, a dictatorship
in which religion is banned and in which a theater audience, having kept the old faith, experiences the actor’s gesture as
authentic, transforming this fictional scene into a scene of real life. 66
For partisans of integration of fictional characters, there’s no point in fortifying the borders between worlds, and denying
these characters their existence. On the contrary: in a society that is increasingly inclusive of formerly sidelined groups,
it seems preferable to also recognize fictional persons’ innate legitimacy, and to admit that they form part of our world,
which implies, as it does for all its inhabitants, a certain number of duties, but also of rights.
The difficulty in taking a stance on these debates, which can reach a high degree of philosophical or linguistic complexity,
stems from the fact that the various authors, resorting to ideas as vague as “reality” or “truth,” do not always sound as
if they’re talking about the same thing.
In my opinion, however, there are two major arguments in favor of the theory of the integrationists and their tolerance toward
fictional characters. The first is of a linguistic order. It comes down to noting that language does not allow us to make
a separation between real beings and imaginary characters, and so the integration of characters is inevitable, whether one
has an open mind or not.
Language is full of what are called “mixed sentences,” 67 statements that cross between worlds by combining fiction with reality. These statements allow imaginary entities to wander
through our world—as in a sentence like “Freud psychoanalyzed Gradiva”—or, conversely, grant beings and objects from the real
world the right to inhabit fiction, as in “Sherlock Holmes walks down Baker Street.”
In other words, even if some beings are native , and are born and live in one of the worlds without traveling, there exist many immigrants who pass from one world to the other, to stay there for a brief time or to settle there for a longer period. * Whatever the borders and their fortifications may be, it is hopeless to forbid these passages between worlds, which, as we
will see, occur in both directions.
It is more or less impossible, in fact, to avoid these mixed sentences; even the segregationists’ demonstrations are thick
with them (even if they are there to be dismissed). To say that “Sherlock Holmes does not belong to our world” is already
a mixed sentence in itself, since it juxtaposes the real world and a fictional character, uniting the two for a brief while.
By speaking in the same way about what exists and what does not exist—by conferring an identical degree of reality on the
two—language is an agent forever sneaking across the border between worlds. To be in a position to establish a clear distinction
between the worlds, as the segregationists dream of doing, we would have to imagine a being or a state of affairs about which
it would not be necessary to speak.
The second argument in favor of the integrationist theory is a psychological one. It amounts to noting that although fictional
characters might not possess a material reality, they certainly have a psychological reality, which leads undeniably to a
form of existence.
Our relationship to literary characters, at least to those that
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