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Two of the most interesting features of the VVM are its reflection of the viewer and its attention to place. It does, of course, also partake in the discussions of representation in memorial theory that have been around for 40 years or so, especially with respect to Holocaust Memorials (the point being, it seems, that one cannot represent the magnitude of the loss, so statues resembling people are not only inadequate for the memorial, they also serve to reduce full effect of the memory (see the debates, for example, around Nathan Rapaport's memorial for the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising: how do you have a non-fascist statuary? how do you convey to the viewer a sense of absence when representative memorials operate by the presence of the statuary, etc?).
1) Reflection of the viewer - You are absolutely correct that the VVM includes the spectator in the memorial. This is not merely a sight effect, or a clever twist on the nature of memory and reflection. It is, rather, a profound political point: as a democracy (republic) we are never "outside" the decisions of the State; we are included in all State decisions, including the most horrible, the decision to go to war. One cannot stand outside a memory or view it from above in a detached and objective manner. Their is no transcendent power, any more than there is a transcendent memory. All power and all memory is immanent. The problem of the statuary is that a) you get to feel like you are outside the representation, detached from the action being depicted, and b) you get to feel like the action is OVER - a thing of the past. Statuary and representation are not an aid to memory, but a blockage of involved memory. Lin's VVM does a fantastic job of freeing up this blockage, making the memory something that has to be actualized, and including the viewer in both the political culpability for war, and in the act of making meaning of memory itself. Your meaning isn't packaged for you (here's what happened!); it must be created, and created, and created.
2) Place - There are, of course, no end of treatments about the symbolic geography of the VVM - the way it points to the various mall features, the way you discover it in surprise, the way it is invisible from the White House. And, of course, its "submerged" nature speaks of scars and mourning. True. But another interesting feature of its place is its thorough involvement of all the organs of government, and its grounding of the viewer in a location where memory must be produced. The viewer's body is at stake in the VVM in a way that the body simply isn't at stake in the, say, Lincoln Memorial (the only real effects their being verisimilitude and the sublimity of the giant Lincoln). You have to walk the VVM; you get disoriented at the VVM; you track back and forth in time at the VVM; you are restricted to a specific distance by the chains at the VVM, not how close you can get to it, as other memorials, but how far away!
I disagree that the VVM is modernist funerary, although it clearly draws on that tradition. The Menin Gate in Ypres is modernist funerary, as are the small town "lists" accompanied, in most cases, with the statue of the heroes.
Now, have the architectural tropes of the VVM been overused? Perhaps. The Memory Park for the Victims of Political Violence in Buenes Aires considered similar themes, for instance. Rather than deplore this, we might see it as a new grammar of memory, a grammar of memory that was needed when the old way of remembering (the grand statue, for instance) had finally gone bankrupt.
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