Narrative as “legal tender”: the semiotic meanings of “exchange” in Malcolm Bradbury’s Rates of Exchange

1 Introduction

Malcolm Bradbury’s 1983 novel Rates of Exchange, set in the fictional Eastern European city of Slaka, employs the economic concept of “rates of exchange” as a central metaphor to depict the interaction, transaction, and communication among various entities. The narrative unfolds predominantly during the protagonist Angus Petworth’s visit to Slaka for cultural exchange, spanning from September 13 to September 26, 1981, as indicated in the embedded “Customer’s Travel Plan” (Bradbury 1983: 11). However, the novel skillfully interweaves social, cultural, and ideological shifts from the late 1970s to the 1980s through interspersed narratives. These include the implementation of “monetarism”^[1] policy under Prime Minister Mrs. Thatcher’s administration, which fosters an economically dominant pluralistic society, and the rising influence of structuralism and post-structuralism in academia, advocating a pluralistic perspective. Through satire, the novel critiques post-structuralists’ denial of authorship, character, and meaning, highlighting the fluidity and uncertainty of language and personal identity in various exchanges. It accentuates a belief in the power of language, emphasizing human connection and the inherent value of individuals amidst societal transformations.

Bradbury has said that Rates of Exchange reflects the “Economic Eighties” (Bradbury 1987: 15). The initial segments of the novel aptly capture the economic and societal landscape of the United Kingdom, encompassing the inflationary trends of the 1960s, the tumultuous years of the 1970s characterized by social malaise and perceived national decline (Roberts and Roberts 1985: 812), and the implementation of Margaret Thatcher’s monetarist policies during the 1980s. This period witnessed widespread discontent with the Thatcher administration, epitomized by the infamous “Winter of Discontent” in 1978–79 (Sánchez 1998: 223). The narrative delves into political and religious strife, evolving social norms, and immigration challenges, reflecting the broader societal shifts of the era.

Central to the novel’s thematic framework is the ascendancy and influence of structuralism and post-structuralism within Western academia. Beginning in the 1960s, Ferdinand de Saussure’s linguistic theories catalyzed the “linguistic turn,” popularizing concepts such as “signifier,” “signified,” and “signification.” Claude Lévi-Strauss extended these ideas to anthropological inquiry, laying the groundwork for the structuralist analysis of language, culture, and literary works. Roland Barthes famously asserted in The Rustle of Language that “Culture, in every aspect, is a language” (Barthes 1989: 13), a maxim that reverberated within structuralist circles and influenced diverse disciplines grappling with cultural phenomena.

Structuralists applied linguistic methodologies as a template for inquiry across various domains, seeking to unveil the underlying “grammar,” “deep structure,” and “meaning” inherent in phenomena through deconstruction and reconstruction. By the 1970s, seminal figures like Barthes and Jonathan Culler transitioned from structuralism to post-structuralism. The emergence of deconstruction as a prominent post-structuralist paradigm instigated a wave of subversive discourse aimed at dismantling entrenched hierarchies and challenging logocentric modes of thought. Post-structuralists and deconstructionists contested the notion of fixed meaning, emphasizing the inherent uncertainty and multiplicity of interpretation. Bressler elucidates how the advent of deconstructionism eroded faith not only in the textual objectivity but also in the very concept of objective reality (Bressler 1999: 117).

Rates of Exchange not only satirizes key tenets of structuralism and post-structuralism, frequently invoking the names of luminaries such as Saussure, Lacan, Barthes, and Derrida, but also explores the theme of uncertainty inherent in post-structuralist thought, amplifying the portrayal of the challenges engendered by this uncertainty. The novel exaggerates the expression of these difficulties, as exemplified by Petworth’s lecture in Slaka, wherein he says, “… A new form of language is emerging in the world, divorced from its original cultural associations, dislocated and displaced …. Behind this language was a world culture, itself divesting itself of its traditional rooted signs; a new world of the plurilingual and the distorted, of the sign floating free of the signified, was upon us.” (Bradbury 1983: 193)

After the release of Rates of Exchange, it garnered significant attention from both authors and critics alike. Martin Amis, for instance, contributed a book review to The Observer, highlighting the self-awareness evident in Bradbury’s prose (Amis 1983: 29). Lewis in his review praised the gentle sincerity embodied by Petworth, a quality that stood in stark contrast to the ever-shifting landscape of the city of Slaka (Lewis 1983: 24). Billington, in his critique, delved into the novel’s linguistic nuances and Bradbury’s adept use of comedy (Billington 1983: 36–37).

Turning to more scholarly examinations, Burton’s analysis offers valuable insights, observing that while Bradbury acknowledged certain post-structuralist practices, he firmly rejected the wholesale negation of meaning attributed to both objects and his own literary works (Burton 1987: 101–106). Meanwhile, Morace’s study focuses on the novel’s penchant for parody and satire directed at contemporary theorists and their ideologies, emphasizing the dialogic interplay within its pages. He points out that the second epigraph of the novel, drawn from Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Purloined Letter,” serves as a critique of the deconstructionist approach to authors, texts, and particularly language itself (Morace 1989: 86).

These analyses suggest that Bradbury, despite his liberal inclinations, maintains a belief in the author’s authority and the instrumental role of language as a medium. Through language, Bradbury constructs the city of Slaka and crafts the narrative of Rates of Exchange.

Among the preliminary investigations, Burton’s and Morace’s inquiries hold substantial heuristic value for the current research endeavor. Nevertheless, while both scholars have acknowledged Bradbury’s engagement with post-structuralist thought and touched upon the “debate” involving Rates of Exchange, Barthes, and Derrida, their analyses have remained somewhat cursory, leaving ample room for further exploration. Drawing on a meticulous examination of the text, this paper primarily adopts Barthes’s structuralist semiotic theory as a lens to unearth the novel’s underlying “myth” or “deep structure” beneath its surface narrative. Barthes’s seminal work, Elements of Semiology (Fr. 1964, En. 1968), along with his elucidations in companion texts such as Writing Degree Zero (Fr. 1953, En. 1968), Mythologies (Fr. 1957; En. 1972), and S/Z (Fr. 1970; En. 1974), provides the theoretical underpinning for this approach.

In Elements of Semiology, Barthes delineates Semiology’s ambition to comprehend diverse systems of signs constituting “systems of signification” (Barthes 1968: 9). He expounds on key concepts such as the “signifier,” “signified,” “denotation,” and “connotation.” In Mythologies, he elucidates the notion of “myth” as “a language” or “a mode of signification,” emphasizing the role of a “signifying consciousness” underlying all mythic materials (Barthes 1972: 10, 107–108). Subsequent researchers have distilled Barthes’s semiotic theory into a triadic model encompassing denotation, connotation, and myth (Al Omari and Bani-khair 2023; Antonia 2023; Hanifah and Ningsih 2023; Mazeree et al. 2023; Siregar 2022; Wahyuningsih 2024). Building upon this framework, augmented by insights gleaned from Barthes’s oeuvre and contributions by his contemporaries, this paper endeavors to unveil the semiotic significance of “exchange” embedded within Rates of Exchange.

2 “Rates of exchange” as a signifier: the omnipresence of exchange

In Rates of Exchange, a recurring image is that of “exchange” and the “rate” or “value” of exchange. Bradbury himself envisioned the novel as an exploration of economic themes. However, upon closer examination, readers discover that the term “rates of exchange” transcends its narrow economic connotation, evolving into a “floating signifier” that extends beyond mere currency exchange rates. Instead, it conveys multiple layers of meaning, encapsulating various interpretations of “exchange” and “rates”: from the economic dimension to the political, cultural, and even narrative realms. As the character Katya Princip astutely observes in the novel, “Don’t you think everywhere all life is an exchange?” (Bradbury 1983: 212). Thus, the novel’s most immediate interpretation, or its denotation, revolves around the omnipresence of exchange.

Before dissecting the various interpretations of the signifier “rates of exchange,” it’s imperative to grasp the narrative woven within the novel. Penned during the postmodern and post-structuralist era, characterized by academia’s interrogation of traditional narrative constructs, this novel eschews a meticulous focus on plot development. In essence, it unfolds the tale of Petworth, a linguistics professor hailing from Bradford, dispatched by the British Council on a cultural expedition to the Eastern European locale of Slaka. Throughout his sojourn, Petworth encounters a myriad of cultural upheavals, including incessant societal flux, a mutable linguistic landscape, pervasive surveillance, and clandestine machinations. Compounded by the curious circumstance of his Slakan guide, Marisja Lubijova, holding the wrong photo, the protagonist finds himself stranded for 3 h at the airport. Upon finally arriving in Slaka, Petworth dutifully adheres to the itinerary orchestrated by his hosts, partaking in banquets, engaging in conversations, and attending lectures. However, he unwittingly becomes ensnared in the labyrinthine conspiracy orchestrated by two enigmatic figures: Plitplov and the magical realist novelist, Katya Princip.

As seen in the story, “rates of exchange” is first and foremost an economic term referring to the ratio at which different currencies are exchanged, mainly referring to the exchange rate between the British pound and the Slakan currency, the Vloska. Petworth is constantly unaware of the currency exchange rate between pound and Vloska, with no one explaining it to him. When Mr. Steadiman, the deputy secretary of the British embassy in Slaka, finally explains it to him, Petworth becomes even more confused. This is because Steadiman says that Slaka’s economic system is lunatic, with five different exchange rates: a diplomatic rate, a business rate, a congress rate, a tourist rate and the unofficial rate (Bradbury 1983: 148). This also means that the exchange rate between currencies is not actually the focus of the novel; instead, other forms of “exchange” take the dominant position, especially the exchange between narrative discourse and the reader, which is parodied within and with the novel itself.

Before the novel was completed, Bradbury had a discussion with Bigsby about the initial intention behind writing the novel. He said,

l think it is true that l do tend to think of books as objects for particular cultural periods, … As far as this book is concerned, what l am trying to do in it is to preoccupy myself – amongst other things – with money which l think is the important focal symbol of post-oil crisis, recession-obsessed Europe, and America too, and in the course of that book l am also trying, to some extent, to globalize the subject by making it a story of Eastern Europe and Western Europe. (Ziegler and Bigsby 1982: 78)

Indeed, the concepts of currency, monetarism, and Thatcher’s economic policies permeate the very fabric of Rates of Exchange, but as the narrative unfolds, “rates of exchange” transcends its literal meaning of currency exchange and expands into other dimensions. In an interview following the publication of the novel, Haffenden asked Bradbury, “During the writing of Rates of Exchange, and indeed after its publication, you often spoke of it as your ‘monetarist’ book, as if it were your comment on the Thatcherite epoch. Do you think it failed to become that ‘monetarist’ novel in any strict sense because your anger about economics was controlled by the concept of a ‘disinterested’ imagination, which I think you very much respect?.” (Haffenden 1985: 46) Bradbury responded that this might indeed be the case. It was the opposite situation with The History Man. He never intended to write The History Man as a political novel, yet many people perceived it as such; whereas with Rates of Exchange, he did start from the economic concept of “rates of exchange,” but it eventually encompassed various aspects of “exchange,” trade, and communication. Ultimately, the dominant imagery of “exchange” and “communication” became more significant than the theme of monetarism (Haffenden 1985: 46–47).

Upon closer examination, readers may discern that this book does transcend mere economic discourse, delving into various forms of exchange beyond monetary transactions. One notable exchange unfolds between the narrative itself and its readership. The first epigraph of the novel states, “Narrative: Legal tender.” (Barthes 2002 [1974]: 89) Roland Barthes’ such a definition of narrative informs the entire text, with the concept of “narrative being legal tender” becoming one of the most crucial connotations of “exchange.” Specifically, narrative is used as a form of currency to obtain various things. For instance, stories are told to foster the audience’s understanding of Slaka and its culture; fairytales and fictions are created to disseminate writers’ ideas; and the novel Rates of Exchange itself is considered legal tender in exchange for readers’ attention.

Within the text, the narrator tells stories to exchange for readers’ understanding of Slaka and its culture. At the beginning of the novel, the narrator points out the profound implications of the term “rates of exchange” by employing a form of “meta-narration.” Before the story of Petworth’s cultural exchange begins, the narrator imitates the style of a travel guide and writes a short article titled “Vising Slaka: A Few Brief Hints.” These “hints” introduce the geographical location, historical sites, and scenic spots of Slaka, with a special recommendation for the “Cathedral of Saint Valdopin.” Regarding this cathedral, the narrator remarks: “To Valdopin a great many stories attach; who is to know whether they are true or false?” (Bradbury 1983: 5) Nevertheless, the narrator recounts one version of the story in a fairy-tale manner: In the tenth century, perhaps the ninth, Valdopin came from somewhere to this place with the intention of converting the religious beliefs of a tribal prince or khan. He successfully converted the prince and subsequently the local populace. Then, he attempted to convert the neighboring tribes, who remained very barbaric and refused to convert. As a result, Valdopin was beheaded, and his body was chopped into pieces. The followers of Valdopin in Slaka were determined to reclaim the body of their martyr to give him a Christian burial. They sent envoys and made a pact with the pagans, intending to buy back Valdopin’s remains with gold coins. Thus, “a set of scales was placed on the border between the nations: the mincemeat saint was to be placed on one pan, to be traded for an equal weight of gold from the prince’s coffers in the other.” (Bradbury 1983: 6) However, the scales could not be balanced, even when the prince’s treasury was nearly depleted. Finally, an old, short widow emerged from the crowd, ridiculed by the prince and his guards, and placed a small gold coin on one side of the scale. As a result, “Down went the coin, up went the scales, mad went the crowd, red went the prince … the prince kissed the old woman, who did not turn into anything.” (Bradbury 1983: 6) The corpse of the saint was borne home, a marble tomb was raised, the tomb became a shrine, pilgrims came from distant destinations to worship Valdopin and witnessed many miracles: “the sick threw off their crutches, the mad grew wise, the dumb began to speak.” (Bradbury 1983: 6)

This story is clearly constructed through narrative, filled with parodies of biblical stories, fairy tales, and folklore, and imbued with the narrator’s self-conscious awareness of the inherent uncertainty in narrative texts. As Barthes notes, “Narrative: legal tender, subject to contract, economic stakes, in short, merchandise, barter which, … can turn into haggling, no longer restricted to the publisher’s office but represented, en abyme, in the narrative” (Barthes 2002 [1974]: 89). From this perspective, in this story, one party to the contract is the narrator’s account of the origin of the “Cathedral of Saint Valdopin,” and the other party is the readers. The narrator offers this story in exchange, seeking to gain the readers’ understanding of the famous site’s origin in Slaka. Thus, narrative becomes a commodity that can be exchanged.

However, the narrator is not content with the act of storytelling alone. After recounting the tale, he also takes on the role of a “critic,” interpreting and commenting on the story, much like a merchant who showcases and packages their product when selling it to customers:

Of the story, you may make what you like. Like all good stories, it can be read in many fashions. For the romantic nationalist historian, it is of course a tale about the emergence of a people. For Christian theologians, it is a miraculous fable of divine intercession. For the Marxist aestheticians, it is a classic socialist realist allegory displaying the power lies not with princes and other capital but with the combined power of the common people. For the folklorists it is – with its contract, delay, magical intervention and happy outcome – a perfect example of the morphology of folktale. And for more fashionable thinkers of the Structuralist persuasion, … is it not a perfect example of the pensée sauvage, of Levi-Strauss’s the raw and the cooked? And if you were to ask me, as well you might, since it is, just for the moment, my story, then I would probably pause for a moment, lighting my pipe to give an appearance of critical sagacity, think a little, and then suggest, very tentatively, that its deep structure is fairly apparent: mightn’t we say, shouldn’t we say, that it is a typical Slakan fable about rates of exchange? (Bradbury 1983: 7)

Here, the narrator bears a distinct resemblance to Bradbury himself. In public media, as well as in his and his friend David Lodge’s novels, he often appears with an image of holding a pipe. This “interpretation” also reflects Bradbury’s special status as an academic writer, integrating critical elements into his creation, and demonstrating his familiarity with various theoretical schools, including the then-popular structuralist theory. His interpretation adorns a simple story with a complex and dazzling cloak, giving it an academic significance and depth. Or, to put it in terms of commodity exchange, he has successfully packaged this small story and sold it to the readers, enabling them not only to understand the origin of the Cathedral of Saint Valdopin, but also to appreciate the pleasures of scholarly research. In Barthes’s words, he has endowed the narrative with exchange value, providing readers with the “pleasure of the text.” (Barthes 1975)

At the same time, this short story serves to illustrate the theme of the novel. As the narrator says, he regards this story as “a typical Slakan fable about rates of exchange” because, in Slaka, there is an obsession with trade and transactions of the Valdopin variety – exchanging goods, values, and determining rates. “Yes, there are times in Slaka when it seems life is nothing else but making a trade, finding an equivalent, striking a bargain, forging a value, putting so much person into one pan and seeing how it matches up with so many goods in the other.” (Bradbury 1983: 8) Moreover, this applies not only to Slaka, but to the world. “The world is full of money-talk; economists are our new wise men. The linguists … explain that every transaction in our culture … is a language … And languages, too, are simply invented systems of exchange, attempts to turn the word into the world, sign into value, script into currency, code into reality.” (Bradbury 1983: 8) This sets the tone for the entire novel. In Slaka, the protagonist Petworth encounters a series of “transactions” and exchanges, becoming entangled in a world fabricated by words, a labyrinth of narratives, a so-called reality woven from codes.

Borrowing the image of the “scales” from the short story within the text, there are multiple “exchange” items on both ends of the scales, forming a complex network of “exchange,” “transaction,” and “communication.” To be specific, “rates of exchange” serve as a floating signifier to encompass, among others, the economic sense (the exchange rates between currencies), the political and cultural sense (the exchange between the value systems of Britain and Slaka), the physical and spiritual sense (the exchange of friendship, emotion, sex, and interests between characters), and the narrative sense (the exchange of languages between the two countries, the exchange of stories for attention or understanding, the communication between the narrative text and the reader).

At the same time, another key term in “Rates of Exchange” is “rates,” which, in addition to indicating ratios, also signifies cost and value. Therefore, “Rates of Exchange” implies the value of all things involved in the exchange within the novel, including the exchange value of the novel to the reader. In this sense, the protagonist’s name, Petworth, also carries the connotation of “rates of exchange” and has economic implications. The “pet” in his name can refer to a pet or a “beloved person.” In a sense, Petworth is the person specifically chosen by Plitplov and Princip as their “pet,” subject to their arrangements, and used by them to smuggle a book abroad. Etymologically, “pet” is related to “petty”, suggesting that Petworth has little value and is merely a medium of exchange, a pawn in someone else’s scheme. He finds himself in a maze of exchanges between various things in a place like Slaka that venerates “exchange” and commercial trade, where the items of “exchange” are vague and shifting, which connotes the second layer of meaning of “rates of exchange,” that is, the rates of exchange between various items might be uncertain and changeable.

3 The “sliding signification”: the uncertain rates of exchange

If the denotation of Rates of Exchange is the omnipresence of exchange in all kinds of fields in the postmodern, consumerist era, then the connotation of it is the uncertainty or lunacy of the rates of exchange. Talking about this, Mosley says, “Rates of Exchange can thus be said to be about sliding signification, which is one of the key ideas of poststructuralist thought. The relation between word and thing is, if not random, at least unpredictable; any counter will do for an exchange if both parties will agree to it, but this agreement is difficult to achieve.” (Moseley 1999: 60) In the novel, Bradbury exaggerates the uncertainty of exchange by describing the fluid geography, language, characters, and culture of Slaka to satirize the poststructuralist idea of indetermination.

Again, using the imagery of the “scale” from the little story told at the beginning of the novel, the “scale” used to measure the exchange between parties in Rates of Exchange is always tilted and shaky. Although Petworth is backed by the profound cultural heritage of Great Britain and his liberal ideas, he still feels overwhelmed when he ventures alone into the unfamiliar land of Slaka to participate in the exchange. Moreover, in Slaka, where exchanges take place, hardly anything is certain. The exchange rate between the British pound and Slakan Vloska is uncertain, and the geographical location, historical status, local characteristics, and language of Slaka are also unstable or indeterminate. The signifier is floating, and the signified is also fluid. As a result, the protagonist Petworth, who is already doubtful of his identity, falls into a maze of “exchange,” communication, and trade, not knowing where it will lead. He occupies one end of the scale, while on the other end are the politics, culture, language of Slaka, and the traps set by the Slakan people. Naturally, it is difficult for the two ends of the scale to be equivalent and balanced. Through such an exaggerated description, Bradbury parodies post-structuralist discourse by making extensive use of some of the terminology from structuralist and post-structuralist theories in the novel, attempting to show that if, as post-structuralists claim, the “grammar” within things, or the “langue” that guides the “parole,” is uncertain, and if the signifier is floating and the signified is constantly deferred, then all things will fall into chaos, and narratives will not be able to fulfil its task of exchanging for attention as legal tender.

At the beginning of the novel, in the piece titled “Visiting Slaka: A Few Brief Hints,” (Bradbury 1983: 1) the narrator remarks that the geographical location and cultural characteristics of Slaka are ambiguous. It is “located by an at once kind and cruel geography at the confluence of many trade routes, going north and east, south and west”; it is a land “that has frequently flourished, prospered, been a centre of trade and barter, art and culture, but has yet more frequently been pummelled, fought over, raped, pillaged, conquered and oppressed by the endless invaders,” who left behind their imprint and heritage (Bradbury 1983: 1). Also, “this is a country that has been now big, now small, now virtually non-existent. Its inhabitants have seen its borders expand, contract and on occasion disappear from sight, and so confused is its past that the country could now be in a place quite different from which it started. And so its culture is a melting pot, its language a pot-pourri, its people a salad … ” (Bradbury 1983: 2) As a result, “in Slaka history is a mystery, and it is not surprising that the nation’s past has been very variously recorded and the facts much disputed, for everyone has a story to tell. Perplexities abound, accounts contradict, and accurate details are wanting.” (Bradbury 1983: 2) Linda Hutcheon once stated in A Poetics of Postmodernism: “the postmodern partakes of a logic of ‘both/and,’ not one of ‘either/or.’ (Hutcheon 1988: 49) In this sense, Slaka is a postmodern city with a geographical location that is both advantageous and disadvantageous, an economy that has experienced both prosperity and decline, and a history of invasions that has left it with a multi-ethnic mix. In the narrator’s humorous and satirical tone, there is an underlying message: if we consider Slaka as a “signifier,” then the corresponding “signified” and referent are uncertain, variable, and may even be non-existent. In fact, it does indeed not exist; Slaka is merely a fictional place in Bradbury’s novel, a construct of language. The author’s mockery and parody of post-structuralist viewpoints are evident.

In such a variable and diverse country, the common language is also mixed and variable. As the narrator says, “The language can be difficult, for its grammar is much disputed and no two native speakers seem to speak it alike …” (Bradbury 1983: 9) According to the guide Lubijova, “We have one spoken language and one book language. Really there are only three cases, but sometimes seven. Mostly it is inflected, but also sometimes not. It is different from country to town, also from region to region, because of our confused history. Vocabulary is a little bit Latin, a little bit German, a little bit Finn.” (Bradbury 1983: 93) Not only that, but the language of Slaka also undergoes significant changes due to social changes. When Petworth first arrived in Slaka, the guide Lubijova told him that the nouns end in “i,” (Bradbury 1983: 93). However, the next morning when he went to have breakfast, he found that the nouns in the Slakan language had all changed from “i” to “u” overnight (Bradbury 1983: 108); A few days later, when Petworth began to prepare for a lecture, he found that the students were pasting posters again, demanding more language changes, so the endings of its vocabulary changed back from “u” to “i” (Bradbury 1983: 187). For this, Mr. Steadiman’s explanation is that the change of language is entirely political in nature. In his stuttering utterance, Mr. Steadiman says, “It is a bunch of lib lib liberals and diss diss dissidents putting pressure on the regime. So they’ve given ground on the easiest thing, the lan lan language.” (Bradbury 1983: 146–147) The third epigraph of the novel – a passage from Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels – also implies the linguistic revolution of Slaka: “The language of this country being always upon the flux, the Struldbruggs of one age do not understand those of another, neither are they able after two hundred years to hold any conversation (farther than a few general words) with their neighbors the mortals, and thus they lied under the disadvantage of living like foreigners in their own country.” (Qtd. in Bradbury 1983: epigraph) This epigraph, on the one hand, shows the novel’s theme of both recognizing and mocking post-structuralist ideas to a certain extent, and on the other hand, it also pays tribute to the British literary tradition represented by Gulliver’s Travels.

The unfamiliar culture and uncertain language caused a fluctuation in Petworth’s own identity. From the beginning of his journey, he became increasingly bewildered, unsure of who he was, drifting like a floating duckweed. Or, in the words of a post-structuralist, like a floating and changing signifier, unable to find its signified, unsure if it ever had an “identity.” This is exemplified through the changes in his name. In the novel, Petworth’s name undergoes several transformations, indicating both the floating and shifting nature of the signifier, as well as carrying different meanings. Lubijova calls him Petwurt; the waitress at the Slaka Hotel calls him Pervert (Bradbury 1983: 83), implying abnormality, perversion, decadence; Princip calls him Petwit, suggesting limited intelligence (wit) like that of a pet. Furthermore, for the Ambassador’s wife Budgie Steadiman, who suffers inner loneliness, disappointment, and disillusionment in a foreign country, Petworth becomes the love god Angus.^[2] (Bradbury 1983: 160)

With such an uncertain identity, Petworth, upon arriving in Slaka, had no objections to their arrangements and completely surrendered himself to Slakan people’s control, tipping the balance of cultural exchange to a dangerous level. In fact, the linguistic revolution in Slaka to some extent foreshadowed Petworth’s loss of identity and its partial return. When he first arrived in Slaka, he was completely lost and at the mercy of Slakan people’s arrangements and manipulations. Correspondingly, the Slakan vocabulary endings changed from “i” (I) to “u” (You); as he gradually adapted to Slaka’s language and way of life, preparing to give lectures, and spread his familiar knowledge and culture, he became more confident, and so the endings of the Slakan language changed from “u” (You) back to “i” (I). This change illustrates Petworth’s change in self-awareness and self-perception. The power of language and the charm of narrative are thus evident.

Of course, the language of Slaka is fabricated by the author. As mentioned above, inventing a language is not unique to Bradbury; Swift also fabricated languages for the fictional countries in Gulliver’s Travels. Anthony Burgess created a slang called “Nadsat” for the young delinquent characters in his dystopian novel A Clockwork Orange (1962). However, Bradbury, building upon this foundation, caters to the postmodern and post-structuralist fascination with “uncertainty,” endowing the Slakan language with exaggerated distortions, highlighting his self-awareness and mockery of relevant theories.

If Slaka’s language transformations left Petworth feeling lost in a haze, then the incomplete “narrative” told by Princip at the dinner table plunged Petworth into a complete maze. At the welcoming banquet organized by the Slakan Ministry of Culture, Petworth encountered the magical realist novelist Katya Princip. To explain to him what a dish on the table was, Princip told a story: Once upon a time, there was a king who had three sons, the youngest of whom was called “Stupid.” One day, the king told Stupid that he must go to another country to make peace with its king. In that country, Stupid fell in love at first sight with a beautiful princess. The princess’s father said she was already betrothed to someone else. Heartbroken, Stupid wandered into the jungle and encountered a witch. The witch led him to see the beautiful princess trapped in a castle tower, informed him of the princess’s perilous situation, and then led him to a large fruit. Through Princip’s description of the fruit and his persuasive storytelling, Petworth guessed that the fruit was a large pumpkin. Princip’s story ended there, as Petworth had already figured out that the dish was made of pumpkin. Petworth pressed on, asking about the fate of the prince Stupid, to which Princip replied, “Oh, now it is no matter. Don’t you find out what is your dessert?” (Bradbury 1983: 132).

This little story once again draws the reader’s attention to the first epigraph of the novel – “Narrative: Legal Tender.” In S/Z, Roland Barthes points out, “At the origin of Narrative, desire. To produce narrative, however, desire must vary, must enter into a system of equivalents and metonymies; or: in order to be produced, narrative must be susceptible of change, must subject itself to an economic system.” (Barthes 2002 [1974]: 88) And later, Barthes also says, “Narrative does not engender itself by metonymic extension (subject to its passage through the stages of desire), by paradigmatic alternation: Narrative is determined not by a desire to narrate but by a desire to exchange: it is a medium of exchange, an agent, a currency, a gold standard.” (Barthes 2002 [1974]: 90) Princip’s narration possesses strong characteristics of desire and exchangeability. Later in the novel, it is revealed that Petworth’s journey to Slaka was largely orchestrated by Princip and Plitplov, with the purpose of using Petworth to smuggle Princip’s novels out of the country for translation into French to facilitate their dissemination. Therefore, Princip approaches Petworth under various pretexts, seducing him into a relationship and telling him a story. All of this is done in exchange for the benefits she desires.

From the perspective of the novel, this unfinished story serves a structurally significant role: it piques the reader’s curiosity and sets up expectations, compelling them to anticipate the story’s conclusion or to engage in completing the narrative alongside the narrator. Additionally, it intersects with Petworth’s story, functioning as a metaphor for it. The end of the novel indicates that Petworth is the Stupid in Princip’s story, and Princip is the witch. At the end of the novel, Petworth goes through numerous adventures and returns to Heathrow Airport, where he sees his dark-skinned wife. This implies that the conclusion of Princip’s story is that the prince Stupid ultimately has a safe and happy reunion with the princess. This also means that Bradbury once again parodies the ending of fairy tales here.

Due to Petworth’s lack of understanding of the value of Slakan currency, the Vloska, and the exchange rate between pounds and Vloskas, he is unable to complete the currency exchange; because his own identity becomes uncertain, he does not understand his exchange value, making it difficult to complete cultural exchange and communication; because he blindly accepts others’ arrangements, falls into the trap set by Plitplov and Princip, and does not understand his role in the entire “exchange” process, even becoming Princip’s “stupid” prince, thus getting lost in confusion. Interestingly, Bradbury portrays Petworth as a “fool” figure, being passive, dull, and lacking in personal style, which is a subtle flattery to the reader, making the reader feel “wise,” inviting them to watch the various jokes Petworth gets into and even participate in the storytelling process. In this sense, although Bradbury does not fully endorse Roland Barthes’ notion of the “death of the author,” he still, in his novel writing, demonstrates an understanding of and some acknowledgment of Barthes’ related views by inviting reader’s participation in the narrative. Or rather, he does not endorse the “death of the author” view but is willing to embrace the “birth of the reader” (Barthes 1977: 148) with open arms.

In the novel, Bradbury employs the concept of “sliding signification” to address the volatile exchange rate of currency, the mutable Slakan language, and Petworth’s confused identity. This suggests that if the relationship between the signifier and the signified is entirely arbitrary, changeable, and indeterminate, the “rates of exchange” between entities will never be stable or fixed, rendering the word/world incomprehensible. From the perspective of narrative as legal tender, Bradbury uses these narratives of uncertain exchange in Rates of Exchange to underscore the risks associated with unstable rates of exchange between entities.

4 The myth of “exchange”: the “returning home” motif

Throughout Petworth’s cultural visit to Slaka, the balance has been constantly shifting, leaving Petworth in a state of bewilderment, akin to being in a fog. Similar to the “typical Slaka parable about rates of exchange” introduced at the beginning of the novel, a mysterious woman – Petworth’s dark wife Lottie – plays a crucial role in restoring balance. She magically returns him to his familiar environment and relatively certain identity. This embodies the “myth” embedded in Rates of Exchange, echoing the “returning home” motif prevalent in Western and British literature, both in the narrative content and the writing techniques employed.

When explaining the concept of “myth” or “mythology”, Barthes says, “under the name of style a self-sufficient language is evolved which has its roots only in the depths of the author’s personal and secret mythology, that subnature of expression where the first coition of words and things takes place, where once and for all the great verbal themes of his existence come to be installed.” (Barthes 1968: 10) In the introduction to Wrting Degree Zero, Susan Sontag provides her understanding of “myth” in this way: “‘Myth doesn’t mean that a concept (or argument or narrative) is false. Myths are not descriptions but rather models for description (or thinking)- according to the formula of Levi-Strauss logical techniques for resolving basic antinomies in thought and social existence. And the converse is also true: all explanatory models for fundamental states of affairs, whether sophisticated or primitive, are myths.” (Barthes 1970: xxiv) In Rates of Exchange, Bradbury, following his “subnature of expression”, provides a model of understanding the novel, implicitly alluding to the “retuning home” motif that has been prominent in such works like Homer’s Odyssey and James Joyce’s Ulysses.

To be specific, at the end of the novel, Petworth returns to Heathrow Airport, following the airport’s signs, words, and arrows, until he reaches Heathrow Concourse, “where, at the barrier, he sees, waving at him, his dark wife.” (Bradbury 1983: 309) At this moment, readers suddenly realize that Petworth’s repeatedly mentioned dark wife in the novel signifies a “myth” or “mystery.” Considering Bradbury’s writing style, Petworth’s “magical moment” of “coming home” carries a deeper meaning: Bradbury, like Angus Petworth, “is able to read the signs clearly and ultimately find his way back to a home rooted in a stable domestic and literary tradition, from which standpoint he writes conventionally moral fictions mixed with stylistic ingenuity.” (Burton 1987: 105) In other words, behind all of Bradbury’s formal innovations lies the deeply entrenched British literary tradition, his conviction in the vitality of traditional moral novels. Combining with the novel’s first epigraph, the “exchange” value and significance of such a novel as “legal tender” also lies in this: Rates of Exchange has a “deep structure” underlying all its unstable narratives, within all its exchange parties and binary opposition structures, that is Bradbury’s belief in language, his conviction in liberal humanistic values, and his concern for “humanity.”

Bradbury himself has explicitly stated this point – although Barthes declared the death of the author, Bradbury, as an author, while acknowledging the “birth” of the reader, has never relinquished his authority as an author. Regarding Rates of Exchange, he mentioned in an interview with Bigsby that the novel’s true social background began in 1977. That year marked the 25th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign, and Britain was in a state of national celebration. Internationally, alongside a series of talks between the Soviet Union and the United States in the Finnish capital, Helsinki – known as the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT) – in May of that year, Czechoslovakia’s dissidents submitted the “Charter 77” to the Prague government, a petition advocating for civil and human rights and opposing Soviet occupation. Therefore, human rights issues, or rather the question of “what is human,” became a central issue in Rates of Exchange and it is presented as an image of “exchange” or dialogue. Western values and language are two main objects of “exchange” or “communication.” (Ziegler and Bigsby 1982: 78) From this perspective, amidst the tumult of Thatcher’s monetarist economic policies and the atmosphere of post-structuralist skepticism, Bradbury attempts in Rates of Exchange to return to the most fundamental questions since the birth of humanism – questions about humanity, the existence and value of humanity, the value and significance of “exchange” between people – demonstrating his steadfast position as a liberal humanist amidst the turbulent social currents and the shifting sands of post-structuralist thought, and offering a rational critique of post-structuralist thought.

For such a “deep structure,” Bradbury gave a hint from the beginning. In the “Author’s Note” at the beginning of the novel, he admonishes and advises the reader in the voice of the author:

This is a book, and what it says is not true. You will not find Slaka, Glit, or Nogod on any map, and so you will probably never make the trip there …. there is no Petworth, no dark Lottie, no Marisja Lubijova and no brilliant Katya Princip. Rum, Plitplov and the Steadimans have never existed, and probably never will: except insofar as you and I conspire to bring them into existence, with, as usual, me doing most of the work. Or, as the literary critics say, I’ll be your implied author, if you’ll be my implied reader; and, as they also say, it is our duty to lie together, in the cause, of course, of truth.

So, like money, this book is a paper fiction, offered for exchange. (Bradbury 1983: Author’s Note)

This passage implies multiple layers of meaning. Firstly, Bradbury acknowledges the fictitious nature of the novel, indicating his partial acceptance of postmodernist writing methods. Secondly, he believes that the novel is the result of the joint efforts of the author and the reader, indicating his understanding and partial acceptance of the idea reflected in critical theory schools that readers play an important role in both novel writing and reading. However, he believes that the author, rather than the reader, still plays a crucial role in the formation of the novel. Thirdly, the notion of the “implied reader” comes from the American literary theorist Wayne C. Booth’s The Rhetoric of Fiction, and the German proponent of Reception Aesthetics Wolfgang Iser also wrote a book titled The Implied Reader (1972), indicating Bradbury’s familiarity with relevant theories. Therefore, the novel is a fictional creation completed jointly by the author and the reader, a lie told by both parties. Of course, Bradbury believes that although the novel is a “lie” and fiction, its purpose is to pursue “truth,” making it a “white lie.”

This point is addressed in the narrator’s “Vising Slaka: A Few Brief Hints.” Here, the narrator mentions that linguists in Slaka believe that all transactions in culture are merely language, and when language is nothing more than a system for exchange, Slaka’s politicians and priests, ayatollahs and economists, “will try to explain that reality is what they say it is. Never trust them; trust only the novelists, those deeper bankers who spend their time trying to turn pieces of printed paper into value, but never pretend that the result is anything more than a useful fiction.” (Bradbury 1983: 8)

Bradbury’s confidence in his identity as an author, as a novelist, and in the value of the novel, is evident. For him, Rates of Exchange as a “paper fiction” is fictional, but it is also useful and has exchange value. This echoes the word “rates” in the novel’s title, particularly its connotation of “value.” Additionally, the novel’s first epigraph, “Narrative: Legal Tender,” reinforces this theme. As “legal tender,” what is the value of a narrative novel like Rates of Exchange and how much value does it hold?

Setting aside the physical value of Rates of Exchange as a novel – its market price – it holds its value in deeper senses. Firstly, it inherits the tradition of humor and satire of British novels, providing readers with a great deal of “pleasure of the text”. Secondly, it acknowledges some innovative forms of postmodernism while not abandoning traditional writing forms, blending various writing techniques. Thirdly, it does not fully embrace the negations of language, reality, and meaning by postmodernists and post-structuralists but offers its own rational critique, still believing in the function of language to convey meaning and in the reality and significance of things and people. These three aspects of value complement each other and deepen progressively.

Humor and satire pervade Rates of Exchange. For instance, when describing Petworth’s profession, the narrator remarks that although he is a linguist, he is not the kind who knows many languages.

He is competent in some tongues, but mostly dead ones: Old and Middle English, Middle High German, and, if pressed, a little Old Norse, a passable Old Icelandic. But otherwise he possesses no more than that conventional, minimal polyglotism that has, for centuries, taken the English, stammering and nodding, baffled and curious, speaking their own tongue very loudly and slowly in the belief that if spoken like this it will be everywhere understood, into every corner of the world. (Bradbury 1983: 32–33)

In addition to the satire of linguists, Britons’ confidence or arrogance in their own language leaps vividly from the page at the end of this passage, receiving a thorough representation. In Rates of Exchange, such examples abound. As Conarroe put it, Bradbury’s targets of satire are diverse, but one joke that runs throughout the text is about language. Every person Petworth encounters in the novel dissects language, making it obscure, difficult to understand, and ever-changing. (Conarroe 1983: 3)

While inheriting the typical humor and satire of the British literary tradition, Rates of Exchange also integrates many innovative forms and experimental writing techniques, including the aforementioned parodies and incorporations of fairy tales, folk stories, legends, guidebooks, literary criticism, etc., as well as the practices of revealing the novel’s progress through subtexts, meta-narratives, nested stories, and so on. Furthermore, influenced by Muriel Spark, Bradbury also employs techniques such as flashforward and modernist techniques like defamiliarization and stream of consciousness, giving the reader a dazzling sense of virtuosity. For example, in the first chapter of the novel titled “ARR.,” when the protagonist Petworth is first mentioned, the narrator says: “Indeed, as brilliant, batik-clad, magical realist novelist Katya Princip will remark, somewhat later in this narrative, he is just not a character in the world historical sense.” (Bradbury 1983: 19) Petworth encounters Princip only in the fourth chapter (Bradbury 1983: 122). It is not until the banquet organized by the Ministry of Culture in the fourth chapter that Princip’s evaluation of Petworth appears: “I’m afraid you are not a character in the world historical sense …. For you there’s no story at all.” (Bradbury 1983: 129) This evaluation reappears repeatedly in subsequent text, forming an intertextual relationship with Bradbury’s previous novel, The History Man.^[3] Petworth is neither a historical figure in the Hegelian sense like Howard Kirk nor a socialist hero revered by the Slakan people like Marx or Lenin; hence, he is “not a character in the world historical sense.”

Moreover, Bradbury skillfully employs “defamiliarization” to illustrate Petworth’s lack of understanding of the Slakan language and culture. This technique also highlights his concerns about the potential for a situation characterized by incomprehension in the absence of a common, effective language. In the novel, there are three particularly notable instances. One of them is on the airplane, where Petworth sees two short and chubby flight attendants performing a series of exaggerated and comical movements in response to commands broadcast over the speaker. Since he does not understand the language of the broadcast, these actions appear exaggerated and absurd. For example, upon hearing one of the commands, “Magically, the ladies summon up from nowhere bright plastic tunics of yellow, and draw them over their heads, tying them carefully at the waist. ‘Imper flattin tuggu taggii,’^[4] announces the voice. The two ladies suddenly turn their backs to the cabin, prod out their dumpy behinds, and give mock-tugs to the rear of their plastic tunics.” (Bradbury 1983: 27) Anyone who has ever flown knows that this is a demonstration of cabin equipment usage by the flight crew after takeoff. Frequent flyers often pay little attention to this, but Bradbury’s clever description here is so vivid and entertaining that it serves to capture the reader’s attention once again in a “foregrounding” manner.

Another scene occurs at a Slakan restaurant, where he is waiting for a meal and observes a woman who looks like a folk singer preparing to perform. Bradbury’s description of the singer’s hairstyle, attire, and movements in this instance also has a defamiliarizing effect. For example, “Taking the microphone, her lips in a sulky pout, she begins to sing, some dark and ancient ballad. She half-weeps, half-chants, dipping her knees, tossing her hair; her breasts enlarge with breathed-in air, and then subside.” (Bradbury 1983: 99)

There was another occasion when he went to see an opera with Lubijova. Unable to understand the lyrics, Petworth only saw the characters on stage performing. Without Lubijova’s translation, he saw characters constantly changing costumes, genders, and roles, expressing love, hatred, and passion, but to him, these were just “shards and fragments, chaos and Babel.” Sitting in the vast theater, the confusion of the opera combined with his travel fatigue. “Yet the mind, even when worn, still seeks order; lost in the garden of forking paths, where the narratives divide and multiply, he struggles to find a law of series, a system of signification, discover a story.” However, watching this opera, he felt that “identities have no proper barriers; people seem facets of each other …. only impersonation seems true, the charade itself, the falsehood that is being created, the codes that proliferate and turn into counter-cede” (Bradbury 1983: 238).

In portraying these scenes, Bradbury not only demonstrates his skill in defamiliarization, but also implies his judgment on post-structuralist thought: if narrative fragmentation, proliferation, and spreading are allowed to continue without a system, without a fixed system of signification, then the effects of diversification are indeed achieved, but along with it come extreme confusion, mental fatigue, and the meaninglessness of things.

Apart from flashforwards and defamiliarization, Bradbury also extensively employs modernist stream-of-consciousness techniques. For example, after the arduous customs clearance and long wait at the airport, Petworth finally checks into the Slakan hotel. Lying in the darkness, he wants to sleep for a while, “but his mind lies awake, swimming in tumultuous exhaustion.” Throughout the day, he hears a multitude of words, introductions to Slakan, other people’s greetings, Plitplov’s remarks about his wife, etc., pouring in: “Noise and redundancy, redundancy and noise, pass through it, a singsong of words and images that will not fix: slibob and tinkii, passipotti and crak’akii,^[5] the steelwork is famous for the high grade of its product, we wish you pleasant tour and hope it will bring friendship between our peoples, her name is Lottie I think, you must be very tired.” (Bradbury 1983: 106) However, whether through satire or humor, or through technical prowess, Bradbury expresses one of the most important themes in Rates of Exchange, which is the necessity to maintain the communicative function of language and the dignity and value of human beings amid the tumult of postmodernist and post-structuralist thought. Regarding the former, a statement by Steadiman can also be seen as the author’s manifesto: “Anyway, un un understand and be un un un understood, that’s always been my motto.” (Bradbury 1983: 147) From a comprehensive perspective of the two, Burton’s assessment reveals this theme. He says that Bradbury does not want his novel to be purely a novel; nor does he wish to lock some overly hasty critical interpretations of his novel into some unambiguous meaning. He has a two-tiered attitude towards the protagonist Petworth.

On one level, he represents Bradbury’s acknowledgment of post-structuralist theory, functioning as a verbal construction consciously manipulated by the author, clearly not a real-life character but a playful tool of fiction. On another level, Petworth is a realistic character who seems to share many of Bradbury’s own liberal views, doubts, and uncertainties. He is the author’s mouthpiece – a real person whose ideas and beliefs are meant to be taken seriously and sympathetically. On this level, Bradbury identifies with his protagonist’s ability to open-mindedly absorb the plurality of voices and events that circulates around him (Burton 1987: 103–105)

If Rates of Exchange implicitly contains multiple binary oppositions, such as truth versus fiction; characters versus symbols; magical realism versus realism; meaningfulness versus meaninglessness; agency versus passivity; planning versus contingency; unity versus multiplicity; diachrony versus synchrony; theory versus imagination, and so on, then ultimately, the “deep structure” of all these binary oppositions will point to the first word of the novel’s title, “rates,” which signifies the “value” and “meaning” of things, including the value of writing, the value of reading and thinking, and the value of communication between readers, texts, and authors. Bradbury suggests in the novel that if the ultimate result of our writing is “zero degree writing,” if the ultimate result of reading is “meaninglessness,” then how can writing and reading continue? Therefore, writing remains meaningful, and reading and thinking remain meaningful. As Bradbury says: “I believe in our great need for fiction; …. In an age when the big ideologies grow tired, we need the abrasive vision of the writer, and in some of our great contemporaries of the novel, from Saul Bellow to Milan Kundera, I think we find that. So the novel is what gives me hope, and lasting pleasure.” (Lesniak 1991: 60) In other words, in Bradbury’s view, the novel still has its immense humanistic and reading value.

In fact, the second epigraph of the novel hints at this theme. The epigraph is taken from the famous short story “The Purloined Letter” by Edgar Allan Poe. In it, the “I” character, while discussing the case of the stolen letter with Dupin,^[6] says, “You have a quarrel on hand, I see … with some of the algebraists of Paris.” The selection of this epigraph is significant. Regardless of the focus of Dupin’s “discussion” with those algebraists in Paris, this sentence suggests Bradbury’s “quarrel” with the post-structuralists in Rates of Exchange.

As Morace pointed out, in the 1970s–1980s, Barthes and Derrida were practically regarded as “algebraists” of contemporary France, symbolizing the algebraization of language. Bradbury’s “quarrel” with them implies that he does not wholly accept the post-structuralist and deconstructionist ideas represented by them. He does not believe that writing can reach the “zero degree writing,” nor does he believe that the floating and sliding signifier cannot reach the “transcendental signified.” He does not believe that language cannot express thoughts and meanings, nor does he believe that human identity is fragmented and uncertain.

Furthermore, “The Purloined Letter” gained renewed fame in the 1950s due to Lacan’s structural psychoanalytic analysis. In this analysis, Lacan emphasized the triangular pattern formed by the displacement of the subject and the repetition of actions in Poe’s short story (Lacan 1972: 39-72). Later critics argued that such analysis highlighted the allegorical significance of the “letter” itself as the “transcendental signified”: throughout the process of displacement and repetition, the content of the letter remains concealed and unknown, much like Lacan’s notion of the “real order,” inaccessible and beyond reach.

In Rates of Exchange, Bradbury parodies this point. Katya Princip’s new work, Nodu Hug (meaning “Don’t Be Afraid”), is akin to the letter in Poe’s story, as it fails to reveal any specific information despite multiple transfers. Interestingly, Princip conveys the message of “Don’t Be Afraid” to Petworth through the title of her work, but when Petworth finds himself “caught in the grammar of airports, already less a subject and more an object,” (Bradbury 1983: 303) and when he prepares to fly back to London with Princip’s book hidden in his suitcase and has to undergo inspection, what he feels is precisely “terror.” This detail intertexts with Conrad’s masterpiece Heart of Darkness: Kurtz’s final words “The horror” reflect the colonizers’ sense of brutality during the colonial process; Petworth’s “terror” stems from his concern about his uncertain fate, fearing arrest for smuggling books and being unable to return home. “Terror” or “horror,” both are natural human emotions, traits of being human.

Therefore, Rates of Exchange, while accepting and critiquing popular theories like post-structuralism, continues the “basic themes” of Bradbury’s previous novels, namely, “the conflict between liberal humanism and the harsh systems and behaviorisms of the modern world.” (Contemporary Authors Vol. 33: 60) Petworth is a typical representative of liberal humanists, passive and lacking in vigor, but adhering to basic principles and ethics; Plitplov and Princip are representatives of behaviorists, adept at planning and driving things forward, resorting to any means necessary to achieve their goals. In a broader sense, figures like Barthes and Derrida, representatives of post-structuralism, are also behaviorists, albeit in the linguistic sense, turning language into symbols, dissecting, and subverting their meanings.

5 Conclusions

This paper has drawn on Barthes’s structuralist semiotic theory to analyze the denotation, connotation, and myth in Malcolm Bradbury’s novel Rates of Exchange. The analysis aims to reveal the multiple meanings of “exchange” in the novel, including the novel’s thematic assertion that “everywhere all life is an exchange,” its playful critique of poststructuralist skepticism towards humanistic thought, and Bradbury’s homage to traditional writing techniques and the “returning home” motif. This study aspires to contribute to the scholarly understanding of Malcolm Bradbury and his works, while also offering insights into the dynamic interplay of theory and the evolution of ideas in Britain and globally during the 1970s and 1980s.

Rates of Exchange emerge as a product of the late 1970s to early 1980s, capturing the multifaceted essence of that era. It intricately weaves together the societal ramifications of Thatcher’s “monetarist” policies, the tumultuous landscape of political and religious discord, and the intellectual turbulence sparked by structuralist and post-structuralist ideologies. At its core, the narrative orbits around the motif of “rates of exchange,” elucidating the myriad exchanges and interactions permeating various facets of existence. These encompass not only currency exchange rates but also the nuanced exchanges of interests between individuals, the fluid or impeded channels of communication between languages, and the intricate dynamics among people at large.

At the same time, the novel demonstrates the author’s familiarity with relevant theoretical discourse by employing diverse methods to parody the viewpoints of structuralists and post-structuralists while also questioning and criticizing them from various angles. It continues Bradbury’s basic themes of “the conflict between liberal humanism and the harsh systems and behaviorisms of the modern world,” showing his belief in language amidst the clamor of post-structuralists questioning everything and his steadfastness to liberal humanistic ideas.

More specifically, Bradbury portrays yet another anti-hero scholar figure Petworth in Rates of Exchange. He is sent by the British Council on a cultural visit to Slaka, during which he becomes perplexed by Slaka’s uncertain geographical location, language, etc., and falls into the maze of exchange, ensnared in the traps set by behaviorists Plitplov and Princip, becoming a pawn manipulated by them. This reflects the passivity of liberal humanists on the one hand and suggests, in contrast to the unscrupulous behaviorists, Bradbury’s greater sympathy for the passive, weak, and ineffectual Petworth, as he, like the liberal humanists in his previous novels, is their spokesperson.

In the “exchange” of language, culture, and even sex, Petworth has always been the weaker party, with the balance heavily skewed in favor of the other side. However, upon returning to his familiar environment and seeing his familiar wife, Petworth rediscovers himself. This implies that Bradbury buried a “deep structure” in Rates of Exchange, or a “myth” in Barthes’ words, namely the relative stability and expressive power of language beneath the sliding signifiers as posited by post-structuralists, the importance of one’s cultural background, of national and ethnic characteristics, of relatively stable relationships between people, and the value and meaning of human existence. Therefore, Rates of Exchange ultimately transcends mere economic “rates of exchange” to delve into the “value” and “meaning” of “exchange” between individuals and nations – this is the deeper “rates of exchange” on a more profound level.