Techno-Orientalism: The Othering of Body and Space in Neuromancer and Ex Machina

Techno-Orientalism: The Othering of Body and Space in Neuromancer and Ex Machina

In the 1970s, the American economy suffered a setback, temporarily lagging in the global economy. At the same time, Japan’s economy boomed, leading economists to theorize that Japan would soon replace America as the leader of the global economy, bringing new fears to the forefront of the American imagination. These fears continued to rise as economists suggested America adopt Japanese economic policies, and Japan completed a series of investments in “high-profile companies and real estate” in America (Yu 53). As a result, America experienced a rise in racism against Asians, grounded acutely in America’s fear of losing its identity to a new form of global capitalism (Yu 53). It was in this cultural milieu that William Gibson published Neuromancer, a novel many consider to be foundational to the posthumanist genre, was published (Yu 48). Its influence on the nascent genre of posthumanism was immense, and many ideas present in it would continue to influence the genre to this day. As a genre, posthumanism tends to focus on anxieties about technology, its effect on humanity, and our fears about the future, often setting its worlds in harsh, hyper-capitalist societies. Notably, works in the posthumanist genre draw not only from similar thematic motifs but also from similar sensorial and visual ones, often taking place in an exoticized version of Asia, particularly Japan (Thierbach-McLean 105). It is within these exoticized portrayals of Asian cities that the other trademarks of the genre blossom. Advanced, futuristic technology and hyper-capitalist companies make the Asian-inspired cityscapes seem even more brutal and foreign in their construction, utterly unfamiliar and "other" to the primarily American audience consuming stories like Gibson’s. This falls in line with Edward Said’s theory of Orientalism, which highlights how the Orient—or the East—is constructed by the West only so that the West can define itself in opposition to it. As such, the Orient is always designated as an “other,” thereby guaranteeing the “...identity of the Western subject” (Schirato 45). Thus, the legacy of Orientalism is inseparable from the development of the posthumanist genre. In Neuromancer, 1) the Japanese setting is built upon Orientalist images and 2) the protagonist, Case, is constructed in opposition to Orientalized images of the body. Meanwhile, Ex Machina, representing a newer entry to the genre, succeeds in taking steps to distance itself from the legacy of Orientalism within posthumanism, but ultimately fails to fully separate itself from Orientalist stereotypes.

​

William Gibson perceived Japan as the place of the future, a country where "tomorrow is happening today" (qtd. in Thierbach-McLean 107). His view of Japan as hyper-futuristic and advanced bleeds into his representation of the Japanese city of Chiba within Neuromancer. As Gibson describes it, Chiba “...wasn’t there for its inhabitants, but as a deliberately unsupervised playground for technology itself” (Gibson 11). In Neuromancer, Japan is brutally capitalistic, a place of unending commerce and greed, fueled by futuristic technology, a “deranged experiment in social Darwinism” (Gibson 7). Citizens have to constantly hustle to keep up with the crushingly fast-paced society, and the cityscape is more dominated by the imagery of technology than any other aspect of human life. In fact, the very first lines of the novel describe Chiba as such: “The sky above the port was the color of a television, tuned to a dead channel” (Gibson 3). The unsettling atmosphere of Chiba is made even more stark and unnatural in comparison to Case’s American home—the Sprawl—where hints of the old world can still be seen in the use of cash-based currency and old-fashioned trains (Gibson 6, 74). The juxtaposition between the Sprawl and Chiba portrays Japan as strange and foreign, building it into the image of the Orient through its othering from the West. 

​

Even though the beginning of Neuromancer takes place in Japan, Asian people are notably absent from the cityscape. Case ends up surrounded by foreigners living in Japan, and over the course of the novel, he interacts little with Japanese people. For example, the Chatsubo, a bar where Case often spends his time, is described as being “ …for professional expatriates; you could drink there for a week and never hear two words in Japanese” (Gibson 3). In his article, “ Oriental Cities, Postmodern Futures,” Timothy Yu explains that, “...the Orient is the necessary space within which imagining alternatives to Western modernity becomes possible” (47). Through this, we can understand why Neuromancer (and the posthumanist genre more broadly), which seeks to build narratives set in unfamiliar and futuristic societies, would turn to Asia as the source of its inspiration. By casting Asia in opposition to the West, it is exoticized and removed from the realm of Western understanding and sympathy. Japan is rendered as a backdrop onto which Western characters can project their fears and desires, making it an ideal place for Neuromancer to explore its anxieties about the future in relation to technology. 

​

Furthermore, Chiba is often compared to cyberspace. Upon jacking into cyberspace, the narrator describes what Case sees as such: “A gray disk, the color of the Chiba sky…fluid neon origami trick, the unfolding of his distanceless homeland, his country…” (Gibson 52). The imagery of Chiba and Japanese origami is tied to cyberspace, but the scenery eventually transitions into that of Case’s American homeland. For Case, Chiba and cyberspace are fundamentally similar, a superimposition that serves to further the othering of Japan, moving it further from reality, rooting it in the immaterial and opaque. But, even though they may be similar, it is through returning to cyberspace that Case is allowed a metaphorical return home—to America, and to the West. In this way, Japan becomes unimportant to the more interesting world of cyberspace and is ultimately completely divorced from it in favor of the West.

Importantly, Case is only in Chiba in hopes of healing his body, which was permanently disabled by his past employers, leaving him unable to enter cyberspace. “In Japan, he’d known with a clenched and absolute certainty, he’d find his cure” (Gibson 6). In Neuromancer, Japan is “Synonymous with implants, nerve-splicing, and microbiotics…” (Gibson 6). This positions Japan as the epicenter of technological body modifications, a place where the borders between human and non-human are regularly blurred. But what Case wants is not to be modified with technology, but to have his body "healed," returned to the state it was in before he was disabled, and made more natural. The essential human-ness of Case’s body stands in stark contrast to the epitome of the Japanese body modifications—Hideo, a vat-grown ninja, who is completely synthetic and artificial. Hideo is also one of the few Japanese characters in the novel, and his inhuman body serves as the ultimate foil to Case’s. As a vat-grown ninja, Hideo was created to serve the interests of the Tessier-Ashpool corporation. The mere fact of his body’s existence is thanks to their corporate power, and he is only allowed out of cytostatic storage when the corporation needs him for one reason or another (Gibson 74). The control exerted over his body highlights how identities in Neuromancer are often shaped by corporate interests or their relationship to technology. The overreliance on this technology disconnects people from their humanity and their human body, as seen with Hideo, who is treated as a cog in the larger machine that is Tessier-Ashpool, unlike Case, who retains his individuality. 

​

Thus, the futuristic and hypercapitalist society of Neuromancer’s Japan (which is distinct from Case’s less capitalistically dominated American homeland) becomes associated with body modifications, or with “unnatural” and “inhuman” bodies. Through this, the Orient becomes linked to the unnatural states of bodies. It is through the juxtaposition of the unnatural Oriental bodies with Case that Case is constructed as an authentic human subject, defined against the blurred border between human and machine that characterizes the "other" bodies of the Orient. It is worth noting that Case himself doesn’t seem to be opposed to these body modifications. For example, he works closely and is affectionate with Molly, who has several body mods (Gibson 26). Rather, it is an effect of narrative juxtaposition that builds the natural/non-natural dichotomy.  

​

If we understand Neuromancer as the progenitor of the posthumanist genre, then Alex Garland’s 2014 film Ex Machina serves as a new entry to it, and thus reflects how the genre’s reliance on Orientalist images in constructing space and characters has evolved across time. In Ex Machina, Nathan creates a robot named Ava, and invites Caleb, his employee, to his house to Turing test her. The film is set in Nathan's house for almost all of the run time, a location that is conspicuously free of Asian-influenced imagery. Instead, the setting of the film incorporates sleekly modern architecture, seen in the shiny metal and glass that composes much of Nathan’s house (Ex Machina 5:41). This is blended with shots of the lush natural world, which creates a look that is distinctly Western, yet impossible to pinpoint to one country. Because of this, the film escapes the more obvious effects that Orientalism has played in dictating what locations these stories are often set in.

​

Additionally, Ex Machina seems to directly address the legacy of mistreatment towards Asian characters in posthumanist works through the character of Kyoko. Near the start of the film, Nathan tells Caleb that he hired Kyoko to help around his house, choosing her specifically because she doesn’t speak English, and thus can’t overhear him. As he says to Caleb, “You’re wasting your time trying to talk to her. She doesn’t understand English” (Ex Machina 32:20). Through this interaction, he implies to Caleb that Kyoko is human and his worker. Because of this, the audience understands that she is in a vulnerable position. Like the main character Caleb, she is employed by Nathan, living in his house, which is completely isolated in the wilderness. The fears that Caleb has about Nathan—that he is untrustworthy, that he is taking advantage of Caleb, that he is potentially dangerous, and that Caleb won’t be able to fight back because of his fragile position as an employee—should apply to Kyoko as well, doubly so when it is revealed that Nathan is sleeping with her (Ex Machina 56:21). However, the audience is never given an opportunity to understand how Kyoko feels about her situation, partly because she is not allowed to speak, and partly because of how she conducts herself throughout the film, often seeming very demure and subservient. In this way, the audience is kept emotionally distant from her and her struggles. Additionally, her portrayal in the film falls in line with many Orientalist stereotypes of Asian women, particularly that they are either “...meek and submissive, or…hypersexual…” (Rajgopal 154). Kyoko fulfills both of these stereotypes, as she expresses no negative opinions about her situation, and is often having sex or naked when she is on screen. Because of the reliance on stereotypes in defining her character and the fact that the audience is kept at a distance from her, Kyoko is othered throughout the film. 

However, the ways in which she is othered go deeper than that. Past the halfway point of the film, Kyoko reveals to Caleb that she is a robot. After learning this, Caleb begins to doubt his own humanity, going so far as to cut open his arm to search for any trace of the technology (Ex Machina 1:12:04 - 1:15:25). His reaction to her robotic body is one of revulsion, and he hurts himself in his desire to make sure that his body is not like hers. In this way, we can see that Caleb constructs himself in opposition to her. This is different from Neuromancer, where Case is not afraid of or morally opposed to non-human bodies or body modification. In Neuromancer, it is the narrative that constructs Case in opposition to them. Meanwhile, in Ex Machina, Caleb’s actions expose his subconscious bias against non-human bodies. In fact, the narrative of Ex Machina is sympathetic to the androids, and it is clear from the framing of characters like Ava—who is often seen in a glass room, like a cage—that they are prisoners in Nathan’s home (Ex Machina 12:18). However, while the narrative is sympathetic to the androids, it ultimately fails to fully step away from the use of Orientalism within the story, particularly in regard to Kyoko, who is kept emotionally distant from the audience due to the Orientalist stereotypes that define her character. Because of this, the audience has a more difficult time identifying with her compared to Ava, a white android who the audience learns more about emotionally. Thus, Kyoko is confined to the role of “the other.” 

​

As Rajgopal explains in her essay, “‘The Daughter of Fu Manchu’: The Pedagogy of Deconstructing the Representation of Asian Women in Film and Fiction,” “Central to Edward Said's concept of Orientalism is its role in helping the West define itself by constructing an ‘Other’ whose characteristics were understood as being in opposition to the West” (145). The construction of the West and its citizens in opposition to the Orient is especially prevalent in the genre of posthumanism. In Neuromancer, Japan acts as a canvas onto which Western characters can project their fears and desires. The landscape is brutal, dominated by technology, and rarely are Asian characters actually seen within it. Additionally, within the story, certain bodies (particularly, non-human bodies) are othered, and characters are created in opposition to these non-human bodies, mirroring the process by which the West constructs itself in opposition to the Orient. It is especially worth noting that the bodies that happen to be defined as “other” in these works often belong to Asian characters, making it especially representative of the effects of Orientalism on the genre. Because Neuromancer helped to define this genre, many of these Orientalist stereotypes were passed onto future works. While Ex Machina tries to address some of these stereotypes, it ultimately falls flat in its portrayal of Kyoko, who is kept emotionally distant from the audience by the narrative and thus is reduced to the role of “the other.” 

Works Cited

Garland, Alex, director. Ex Machina. A24, 2014.

Gibson, William. Neuromancer. Ace Books, 2000.

Rajgopal, Shoba S. "’The Daughter of Fu Manchu’: The Pedagogy of Deconstructing the Representation of Asian Women in Film and Fiction: Feminism, Race, Transnationalism." Meridians, vol. 10, no. 2, 2010, pp. 141-162. ProQuest, https://du.idm.oclc.org/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/daughter-fu-manchu-pedagogy-deconstructing/docview/863457191/se-2. 

Schirato, Tony. “The Narrative of Orientalism.” Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science, vol. 22, 1994, pp. 44–52. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24491918.  

Thierbach-McLean, Olga. “A Familiar Otherness: The Trope of Asia in Cyberpunk Movies since the 1980s.” SPELL: Swiss Papers in English Language & Literature, vol. 38, no. 2, 2019, pp. 105–24. EBSCOhost, research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=c941d391-c519-33b2-ba8c-f8d1e50eb35a.

Yu, Timothy. “Oriental Cities, Postmodern Futures: ‘Naked Lunch, Blade Runner’, and ‘Neuromancer.’” MELUS, vol. 33, no. 4, 2008, pp. 45–71. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20343507.