I just finished reading the 1963 essay "My Negro Problem—And Ours" by Norman Podhoretz and it was the most touching piece I've read in a while. I found this in a Glenn Greenwald tweet in the midst of the Shirley Sherrod fiasco. Discussing publicly and honestly one's own racial prejudices may be one of the bravest actions any of us can take.
To find out after reading the essay that Podhoretz holds political views I can not possibly reconcile has been challenging to say the least. But perhaps there's another lesson in all of this.
I'm reminded of my 8th grade social studies teacher. I do not remember the context of the class discussion but he was telling a story about taking his children to the Maryland Science Center. As he was walking them though the various exhibits he noticed a black man teaching his own child some further detail about the exhibit before them. This sight gave my teacher pause to find a black man not only caught in a moment of tenderness with his child, but educating her on his free time, with nothing but the knowledge in his head and the display before them. My teacher identified his surprise as prejudice and felt immediately ashamed. But then he chose to share this story with a classroom of 13-year-olds. It was, and probably still is, a predominately white, private school. But I distinctly remember a tall black boy named Sean was sitting at the table beside me. That class also held at least two black girls. I was immediately astonished and later quite proud that he made this confession. And, like Sherrod, and I guess even like Podhoretz, his story illustrates a great point. We cannot pretend to be a colorblind society. We all have prejudices. Recognizing them might actually help us facilitate an adult conversation about race. Although you wouldn't know it looking at the majority of our mainstream media.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The Heptameron
I just learned for the first time about the existence of The Heptameron (1558). Based on The Decameron (1350ish) by Giovanni Boccaccio and written by Marguerite of Navarre, this is a collection of tales similar in structure to both Boccaccio's text and to The Canterbury Tales. The collection was supposed to be 100 stories but was not complete when the author died (in 1542). She left behind only 72 stories, hence its name.
Some notable deviations from Chaucer's book include the gender equality of the cast of storytellers, the characters' decision to avoid flowery, artful language and allow the stories to speak for themselves, and the fact that these tales are supposedly all true. Some have actually been tracked down by historians.
I found this text because it is the 20th lecture in The Teaching Company's course, "History of World Literature." At first glance, this lesson appeared to be some rightfully obscure manuscript that I'd have to suffer before getting to Shakespeare, Dickinson, and Chekhov. How very wrong I was. I hope to learn more about The Heptameron soon, and maybe figure out which version (apparently there are many) is the one I'd like to acquire.
What makes this collection of stories especially unique is that it is authored by a woman. Professor Grant L. Voth explains that this was considered a marginal text until it was recently brought to light by the feminist movement, which is credited for raising awareness of this great work. And indeed it sounds quite great. He claims that one of the major themes of the stories can either be described as love or, more accurately, as rape. To have such a bold theme debated so completely by a diverse, opinionated and vocal group – especially at that time – is fascinating.
I hope to share more eventually. In the meantime, I'm still enjoying The Glass Bead Game, which has taken its turn and is captivating my attention. I plan to finish within the week and then pick out my beach reading. The Heptameron will have to wait for now. (And no, that is not what I'll be reading on the beach!)
Hooray for learning new things!
Some notable deviations from Chaucer's book include the gender equality of the cast of storytellers, the characters' decision to avoid flowery, artful language and allow the stories to speak for themselves, and the fact that these tales are supposedly all true. Some have actually been tracked down by historians.
I found this text because it is the 20th lecture in The Teaching Company's course, "History of World Literature." At first glance, this lesson appeared to be some rightfully obscure manuscript that I'd have to suffer before getting to Shakespeare, Dickinson, and Chekhov. How very wrong I was. I hope to learn more about The Heptameron soon, and maybe figure out which version (apparently there are many) is the one I'd like to acquire.
What makes this collection of stories especially unique is that it is authored by a woman. Professor Grant L. Voth explains that this was considered a marginal text until it was recently brought to light by the feminist movement, which is credited for raising awareness of this great work. And indeed it sounds quite great. He claims that one of the major themes of the stories can either be described as love or, more accurately, as rape. To have such a bold theme debated so completely by a diverse, opinionated and vocal group – especially at that time – is fascinating.
I hope to share more eventually. In the meantime, I'm still enjoying The Glass Bead Game, which has taken its turn and is captivating my attention. I plan to finish within the week and then pick out my beach reading. The Heptameron will have to wait for now. (And no, that is not what I'll be reading on the beach!)
Hooray for learning new things!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Glass Bead Game, 2
Nearing the halfway mark. Joseph Knecht has advanced to become the Ludi Magister, which is of course no surprise as it was mentioned in the introduction by our narrator, who relays Joseph's story from the distant future. And in that sense, much of the first half of this book has been somewhat predictable. Joseph is a lovely, patient, highly intelligent and likable man, who we know straight away will reach this high appointment in the Castalia order.
When we first learned that some school children could be chosen for an elite school, it was obvious that young Joseph would be chosen. When our narrator revealed that one secondary school (Waldzell) was valued above the others, it was clear that held Joseph's path as well.
Prior to each step Joseph Knecht has taken so far into an advanced setting is met with mockery by those who are not worthy of that step. This happened prior to being deemed an elite, upon his admission into Waldzell, and then again just before being accepted into the group of Glass Bead Game connoisseurs. In each instant our narrator describes how other pupils mock and belittle those who have advanced. Except of course for Knecht who never does, and then is humbled and surprised each time by his own acceptance. I suppose this behavior is natural among school children, though I would have thought the elites themselves would know better than to ridicule their advanced peers. Perhaps this repetition is intentionally revealing. Perhaps these jealousies exist at all intellectual levels and must be constantly observed and avoided. Perhaps it is a trend in life that the high-ups are mocked when the outsiders remain outside, regardless of how far up the order the latter have advanced.
My favorite parts of the novel so far have been Joseph's time with the hermit (Elder Brother) and his time in the monastery. I enjoy his conversations with Father Jacobus especially. I did find myself routing for Joseph in his (personal and official) mission to convince Father Jacobus of Castalia's worth. But I also found myself smile at Jacobus's criticisms, which I think are valid. Namely, Castalians may have an utmost and ever expanding hold on or respect for human knowledge, but they do miss out on much of the human condition. True poverty, politics, romantic or even familial love – they have no knowledge of these things. And without this knowledge how can they possibly understand the world? But maybe that's not the point. Maybe that's okay.
It was revealed to me that a major shift takes place in the novel. I imagine I'm about to turn that corner seeing as though he's reached the pinnacle of achievement within Castalia. And he is so young. And it's only halfway through the novel. Perhaps he will go out into the world, join Plinio Designori. Although I'd worry about his spending time with a powerful man. Perhaps instead he will witness war, a political conflict among citizens of foreign countries about whose problems he's never before studied. Or maybe his fate is more along the lines of the hermit. That would not surprise me, though I imagine more will happen before that. There has been much talk lately about then need to preserve the Castalian way of life. So perhaps that will come under attack by outside forces.
I have a question I cannot forget. Sometime during his early years at Waldzell, I think about the time he was engaging in debates with Plinio, something was mentioned about his writing short poems, which was not permitted. I do not understand this aspect of Castalia. The Music Master mentioned that some critics claim The Glass Bead Game is a substitute for art. So it's not? Is it studying the histories and arts of others without creating new? Why? I'm not clear on this and I did not mark this specific instance because I thought more would follow. But now I cannot locate the passage in question, nor am I sure what to make of it.
When we first learned that some school children could be chosen for an elite school, it was obvious that young Joseph would be chosen. When our narrator revealed that one secondary school (Waldzell) was valued above the others, it was clear that held Joseph's path as well.
Prior to each step Joseph Knecht has taken so far into an advanced setting is met with mockery by those who are not worthy of that step. This happened prior to being deemed an elite, upon his admission into Waldzell, and then again just before being accepted into the group of Glass Bead Game connoisseurs. In each instant our narrator describes how other pupils mock and belittle those who have advanced. Except of course for Knecht who never does, and then is humbled and surprised each time by his own acceptance. I suppose this behavior is natural among school children, though I would have thought the elites themselves would know better than to ridicule their advanced peers. Perhaps this repetition is intentionally revealing. Perhaps these jealousies exist at all intellectual levels and must be constantly observed and avoided. Perhaps it is a trend in life that the high-ups are mocked when the outsiders remain outside, regardless of how far up the order the latter have advanced.
My favorite parts of the novel so far have been Joseph's time with the hermit (Elder Brother) and his time in the monastery. I enjoy his conversations with Father Jacobus especially. I did find myself routing for Joseph in his (personal and official) mission to convince Father Jacobus of Castalia's worth. But I also found myself smile at Jacobus's criticisms, which I think are valid. Namely, Castalians may have an utmost and ever expanding hold on or respect for human knowledge, but they do miss out on much of the human condition. True poverty, politics, romantic or even familial love – they have no knowledge of these things. And without this knowledge how can they possibly understand the world? But maybe that's not the point. Maybe that's okay.
It was revealed to me that a major shift takes place in the novel. I imagine I'm about to turn that corner seeing as though he's reached the pinnacle of achievement within Castalia. And he is so young. And it's only halfway through the novel. Perhaps he will go out into the world, join Plinio Designori. Although I'd worry about his spending time with a powerful man. Perhaps instead he will witness war, a political conflict among citizens of foreign countries about whose problems he's never before studied. Or maybe his fate is more along the lines of the hermit. That would not surprise me, though I imagine more will happen before that. There has been much talk lately about then need to preserve the Castalian way of life. So perhaps that will come under attack by outside forces.
I have a question I cannot forget. Sometime during his early years at Waldzell, I think about the time he was engaging in debates with Plinio, something was mentioned about his writing short poems, which was not permitted. I do not understand this aspect of Castalia. The Music Master mentioned that some critics claim The Glass Bead Game is a substitute for art. So it's not? Is it studying the histories and arts of others without creating new? Why? I'm not clear on this and I did not mark this specific instance because I thought more would follow. But now I cannot locate the passage in question, nor am I sure what to make of it.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Glass Bead Game
I am over 120 pages into Hermann Hesse's The Glass Bead Game and I'm starting to wonder if he ever includes female characters. To be fair, the only other Hesse novel I've read is The Journey to the East, which was a brief but enjoyable metaphor for life. Perhaps it's also fair to acknowledge that this was published and 1943. And it's always helpful to remember that feminist readings of classics will do little to ease the anger and hopelessness that most feminist lenses render, and simultaneously ruin quality literature. Still, it's hard for me to push aside these criticisms. It is with these thoughts that I read the following passage:
"They came from the town itself, this sample of the profane world with its business and commerce, its dogs and children, its smell of stores and handicrafts, it bearded citizens and fat wives behind the shop doors, the children playing and clamoring, the girls throwing mocking looks." (88)
He does not write "bearded men and fat wives" but bearded citizens. The children play and clamor, but only the girls throw mocking looks. This obvious casting of women as other may be deliberate, but I doubt it. The very few times women have been mentioned at all they are deemed negative, a distraction from the good, noble, intellectual. At this point, I almost hope there will not be a female character. If so, I fear she will only be a love interest. And now it's not surprising how to observe what a malicious and unnecessary endeavor that would be:
"The danger of wasting himself on women or on losing himself in sports is also minimal. As far as women are concerned, the Castalian student is not subject to the temptations and dangers of marriage, nor is he oppressed by the prudery of a good many past eras which imposed continence on students or else made them turn to more or less venal and sluttish women. Since there is no marriage for the Castalians, love is not governed by a morality directed toward marriage. Since the Castalian has no money and virtually no property, he also cannot purchase love." (112)
Perhaps it is unnecessary to note that women do not appear to be permitted to into the elite schools, let alone become members of the Order. Hesse's narrator has not said this, but made it quite obvious that this is a path open only to worthy boys. I should accept that and read on, grasping only the insight that Hesse intends. But I find it difficult now that I've made these observations. More difficult still when women are not simply absent, but antagonistic.
But of course I will read on, and do my best to push these observations to the side. I'd like very much to get out of this novel everything that it's many readers admire, enjoy, and continue to ponder.
"They came from the town itself, this sample of the profane world with its business and commerce, its dogs and children, its smell of stores and handicrafts, it bearded citizens and fat wives behind the shop doors, the children playing and clamoring, the girls throwing mocking looks." (88)
He does not write "bearded men and fat wives" but bearded citizens. The children play and clamor, but only the girls throw mocking looks. This obvious casting of women as other may be deliberate, but I doubt it. The very few times women have been mentioned at all they are deemed negative, a distraction from the good, noble, intellectual. At this point, I almost hope there will not be a female character. If so, I fear she will only be a love interest. And now it's not surprising how to observe what a malicious and unnecessary endeavor that would be:
"The danger of wasting himself on women or on losing himself in sports is also minimal. As far as women are concerned, the Castalian student is not subject to the temptations and dangers of marriage, nor is he oppressed by the prudery of a good many past eras which imposed continence on students or else made them turn to more or less venal and sluttish women. Since there is no marriage for the Castalians, love is not governed by a morality directed toward marriage. Since the Castalian has no money and virtually no property, he also cannot purchase love." (112)
Perhaps it is unnecessary to note that women do not appear to be permitted to into the elite schools, let alone become members of the Order. Hesse's narrator has not said this, but made it quite obvious that this is a path open only to worthy boys. I should accept that and read on, grasping only the insight that Hesse intends. But I find it difficult now that I've made these observations. More difficult still when women are not simply absent, but antagonistic.
But of course I will read on, and do my best to push these observations to the side. I'd like very much to get out of this novel everything that it's many readers admire, enjoy, and continue to ponder.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Killing Me Roughly
It turns out I have poison ivy. Or poison something; it might not be ivy. I've haven't had poison anything before. (I've also never been stung by a bee, nor have I broken any bones. Somehow I do not feel deprived.) It appeared last Wednesday and got worse over a few days. This is strange to me because I did yard work the previous Saturday. A full 4 days before the rash appeared. It's on both of my forearms, more so on my right arm. The itching is positively maddening. Benadryl helps, but I didn't realize until my doctor's visit this afternoon that the Benadryl is making me sleepy. And here I thought I was still feeling effects of a lingering two-day hangover. So now I have Clairton, Benadryl for bedtime, something called Domeboro, and a topical cream. Ah me. Isn't nature grand? This experience may make me stronger, yet I fear for my future. The Poison, as it shall be known from now on, is somewhere in my backyard but I do not know where or what (or for God's sake why!).
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I'm Reminiscing This Right Now
I'm having one of those times when my name sounds really weird to me, Maggie. My name is Maggie. I borrow these line from my favorite movie Kicking and Screaming (Noah Baumbach, 1995) the bar scene with Jane and Grover. But those are names. Maggie— What is that? It's barely a word. It looks like a sound a bird would make, or something a cat's tail does. It's even stranger when I see someone else with my name, as I did just now. It reminds me that it is somewhat rare as names go, which makes it seem more interesting, but somehow inauthentic. Who am I to have this strange name? I would be a swell Emily (one of my favorites) or Julia. Classy, sweet. Not that I'm always classy, but I am often sweet enough. Maggie is a child's name. But when I was a child I was convinced it was a boy's name. Of course then I would have chosen something awful for myself, like Crystal, or Rose Petal. My dad wanted to name me Alice. I was about to be a Kate until my aunt gave that name to her daughter, 6 months my senior. While Kate is another of my very favorites, it is quite common. So I suppose it all worked out. I like my name very much. I wouldn't change it. I'm also quite proud that I'm not a Margaret. Just Maggie. But it's only getting stranger.
This all arose when I spotted a review of "My Animal Life" an autobiographical work by novelist Maggie Gee, a writer I do not know. I look at the picture of this woman on the cover of her book and think, "Maggie Gee? Is that you? Did you go through your whole life with that name? How is it going?" I'd honestly like to know.
This all arose when I spotted a review of "My Animal Life" an autobiographical work by novelist Maggie Gee, a writer I do not know. I look at the picture of this woman on the cover of her book and think, "Maggie Gee? Is that you? Did you go through your whole life with that name? How is it going?" I'd honestly like to know.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Morning and Borges
A strange dizziness plagues me this morning. I feel tired and off-kilter. I ate my breakfast earlier than usual, before 10:00, believing that this feeling is a result of last night's small dinner. But this cloud persists. I cannot blame legal or illicit substances, nor do I suffer from a lack of sleep. I listen to my body, although I don't always make the right choices, but today I am stumped. I'm sure it will pass as the hours pass and as my coffee does its job.
This morning I'm reading an essay on Borges (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/27/books/review/Galchen-t.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2&ref=books). This essay discusses his fondness of Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Wrecker," a 1892 novel displaying prose and plot much different from anything Borges produced. Perhaps that's why it appealed to him. I have not read "The Wrecker," nor have I read Borges's analysis. But I have read much of Borges's own stories (many on our honeymoon, lying in the Santorini sun). I wouldn't hesitate to call him one of my favorite writers. A short story I wrote was once called Borgesian— quite possibly the best complement I've ever received.
My office is cold. The weather today is mild, like yesterday. A pleasant break from an early summer heat, too oppressive for June. But in here I'm ashamed to admit a small heater is pointed at my sandaled feet.
This morning I'm reading an essay on Borges (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/27/books/review/Galchen-t.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2&ref=books). This essay discusses his fondness of Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Wrecker," a 1892 novel displaying prose and plot much different from anything Borges produced. Perhaps that's why it appealed to him. I have not read "The Wrecker," nor have I read Borges's analysis. But I have read much of Borges's own stories (many on our honeymoon, lying in the Santorini sun). I wouldn't hesitate to call him one of my favorite writers. A short story I wrote was once called Borgesian— quite possibly the best complement I've ever received.
My office is cold. The weather today is mild, like yesterday. A pleasant break from an early summer heat, too oppressive for June. But in here I'm ashamed to admit a small heater is pointed at my sandaled feet.
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