Revolution and the Word: Chapters 3 & 4

My favorite bit of this week's reading came toward the end of Chapter Four when Davidson is pointing out the emotional attachment that many early American readers had for the novels that they were reading, "In short, people then as now read themselves into their fictions and their fictions into their lives" (142).

Because I study fan culture, this was particularly interesting to me as it related to the ways that fans are perceived today, and some of the similarities between early novel readers and avid film and television audiences. Too often, I worry that academics underestimate the emotional power of fiction, and I was pleased to see Davidson make mention of what sound very much like novel fanatics on pg. 142:

"What do we make, for example, of the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of young men who leapt off bridges or put a pistol to their foreheads with a copy of Werther in their breast pockets? Surely theirs was an intensive reading. Or of the young women who made a grave in New York City for poor Charlotte Temple; who, for two generations, left wreaths, locks of hair, and mementos of lost loves upon that grave; and who, when they discovered that Charlotte was not a 'real' person but merely a fictional creation, felt utterly betrayed and enraged, for they had--they said--lost a friend."

What's even more interesting about this example is that it comes as a defense against the accusation that reading more books indicated "an increasingly passive form of consumption or comprehension" (141). I was glad to see Davidson defend the novel in this regard, because one of my biggest issues with intellectual big wigs is their inability to acknowledge a value in "low" literature, and the immediate need to disregard works of fiction that do not live up to some imagined literary standard. In Chapter Three, Davidson notes that "social authorities would not have feared the effects of merely escapist literature"-- a comment that I appreciate as someone who feels that the word 'escapist' may be a bit overused by academics.

After all, how do we determine what is "escapist"? How do we determine how a story really spoke to a person? Davidson recognizes that although the availability of books increased in this time period, and people became more "extensive" readers, "even the 'extensive' reading of this fiction could be emotionally intense, psychically fulfilling, imaginatively active, socially liberalizing, and educationally progressive-- quite the opposite of the merely consumptive, passive, repetitive act posited by the Leserevolution model" (142)

Revolution and the Word: Chapters 1 & 2

"Of approximately sixty-five American novelists who published before 1820, less than a third were named on the title pages of their books; slightly over a third appeared either anonymously or pseudonymously but are known today (often because the veil of anonymity was only tenuously employed, with the author's actual name revealed in the advertisements for the specific book or in a subsequent publication by the same individual-- as was the case for Brockden Brown, Susanna Rowson, and Royall Tyler). The remaining authors (and the largest single group) were and remain anonymous." (92)

Okay, so I get that at the time, novel writing was considered especially racy and improper, but I still have such a hard time with this aspect of early American literature. I just don't get it. It's one thing to accept that the novel is subversive and racy, but it seems completely ridiculous that someone would write & publish a novel, which was unlikely to produce any amount of money, without attaching some kind of ownership to the work. I mean, it is work, and I can't imagine that novel writing was an incredibly leisurely activity-- I mean physically as well as emotionally --especially when it's considered to be so absolutely deviant.

And here's the other thing-- so say you have written a novel in 1790, and you're worried that your reputation will forever be marred by this atrocious activity. My question to YOU, Mr. 1790, is what exactly did everyone think you were up to when you were holed up writing this novel? I mean, seriously? How conspicuous could you possibly be? Wouldn't the people in your life, your immediate family and close friends-- wouldn't they notice that you were spending an awful lot of time with, I dunno, your quill?

What's even more baffling about this very different conception of authorship is the bizarre way that it devalues the time and effort of the writer/author. Davidson describes the role of the printer in the publication process, noting that "sometimes advertisements for books even emphasized the printer's art more than the writer's", explaining how the aesthetic appeal of the physical book was noted in advertisements (79). It seems strange that this work would be acknowledged and somewhat glorified, where the author of the text, without whom there was no novel, was more often than not never even acknowledged for their contribution to the product as it appeared in book form.

Revolution and the Word: Introduction

Perhaps unsurprisingly, my favorite bit of Davidson's introduction was her concern with those things that tend to get brushed under the rug in historical accounts, and I loved the example of David McCullough's John Adams.

I should probably start by saying that I haven't actually read John Adams, or seen the HBO miniseries, but I was excited to see a connection between current media representations of early American history, and the texts that claim to provide exhaustive accounts. There is a missing piece of every story, and I think that an important point that Davidson is making here is that it isn't only media representations that twist the facts. Ever mindful of my very limited knowledge of American history, I did start to notice as we read Starr that some of these great American "characters" (Adams, Jefferson, Washington, etc), seemed to have more controversial and conflicting ideas about the way the fledgling country should be managed, and Davidson makes this point all the more clear. Although I didn't watch John Adams myself, I know many people who did, and who lauded it for its authenticity (and c'mon, Paul Giamatti was in it, it's gotta be good) -- which is sort of scary, no? It reminds me of The Patriot or the story of Pocahontas, which we as academics find eye-rollingly inaccurate, but while we cringe we have got to remember that our own history books are altering facts in similar ways, and we should be mindful that we're rarely seeing all sides of anything.

Davidson immediately moves from her John Adams example to describe another problem close to my heart, and one that had me highlighting basically all of page 18:

"Nationalist history casts disagreement as 'anti-American'--as dissent from an assumed, if unarticulated, consensus rather than as an invaluable contribution to a process that is innately and definitionally 'democratic'" (18).

Yep, this bit struck a chord.

And, in fact, I'm having a hard time clearly explaining what that chord is. To simplify the matter probably entirely too much, I could say that reading a text that acknowledges the troubled position of someone who expresses a dissatisfaction with this country is reassuring, because it indicates that the counter-opinion will be investigated along with the popular historical myth of America. I've tried to keep my List of Things I Loathe to only the bare essentials, and calling someone "anti-American" if they voice any opinion contrary to the "American way" is close to the top of that list.

And isn't it a bummer that this passage rings so very true?:

"In considering the rich body of theory and history on nation building, it becomes clear that one of the defining features of Americans is the ease with which we pronounce other citizens "un-American" or "anti-American" for relatively mild protests against the status quo" (18).

So yeah. Not cool, guys.

Honestly, I could go on and on about this for ages and ages and I couldn't do it nearly as effectively as Davidson on pg. 18. The fact that other countries don't seem to share this problem ("The most vituperative British member of Parliament, railing against the prime minister, is still British, maybe even definitively so because of the railing. He or she would rarely be called "un-British" or "anti-British'.") only really makes it more interesting. That Davidson points this out and points it out well, only makes me more anxious to read what else she has to say. I mean, the lady clearly has a point.

creation of the media: pgs. 113-150

This week's reading was of particular interest to me, as copyright laws and sensationalism tend to pop up in just about every research interest I have. Currently, I'm in the middle of work on my thesis, which deals with intellectual property and copyright as it relates to derivative texts (ie: fanfiction)-- so seeing where some of these conversations began was helpful in my thinking. I was particularly interested in the comment on pg. 121 about derivative works and abridgments:

"In Wheaton and other cases, the courts were skeptical of claims of copyright infringement by derivative works, such as abridgments. According to an 1853 decision, a translation of a work did not infringe on the copyright of the original and an author had no property right in a book's fictional characters." (121)

My, how things have changed! This passage stuck out to me because it serves as a nod to the shift in the general perception of intellectual property that has occurred over time. In many of the texts I've been reading on fan culture, it is pointed out that the ownership of a text or its characters is a relatively recent development, and prior to copyright laws such as these, people would add to existing stories and borrow characters without a second thought as to who "owned" them. It was interesting to see the regulations clarified and the steps it took to get to our current idea of ownership today.

I also found the development of the gossipy, sensationalist press to be fascinating. It was no surprise, really, that Americans were into murder and scandalous details, but it was interesting to see how the penny press adapted in format to suit its readership, and how the English and French press compared to the developments in American techniques.

I was also interested in the beginnings of advertising "plugs", as referenced on pg. 146: "In response to demands from advertisers, many nineteenth-century papers inserted paid 'reading notices' into their regular news columns and published 'puffs' for products (including laudatory book reviews for publishers)".

Finally, I just have to say that I'm somewhat glad we're moving away from Starr. While I really enjoyed the reading, I admittedly know very little about American history, and Starr's American exceptionalism was unsettling because I remained so unsure of what to take seriously, and what to chalk up to his bias. However, this has been a very good reminder to read with skepticism. :)

creation of the media pg. 47-111 / "Moral & Useful"

Sometimes, when I'm reading for class I get a little into my note-taking. This began around the time that I realized that the running commentary in my head could be manipulated, and used for good, rather than for evil. Instead of trying to suppress my own silly questions and sarcastic remarks, I began to write them down along with more serious notes, and among quotations that I wanted to highlight.

In my notes for this week, I have a quote from pg.53 of Starr, "As a result of limited education for women and the denial of literacy to slaves, three out of four people in colonial Virginia were 'largely or entirely confined within the oral medium'." Just underneath this quote, I'd added "yikes, doesn't paint a very pretty picture of Virginia" and below that "sometimes I think it's amazing that we, as a human race, survived as long as we did without modern technology".

Reading back through my notes in preparation for this week's blog post, I rolled my eyes at my cheeky commentary, but also felt that it reflected much of what I'd highlighted as important (or at least interesting to me) in this week's readings. I suspect that some of my confusion may be related to the way Starr reflects on history, but I found myself highlighting passages where I felt a genuine sense of wonder at the sheer ingenuity of early Americans. I know, right? That's pretty sappy stuff. As amazed as I was by early decisions about freedom of press, I was wowed even more by the way education played out….it's a bit of a bizarre feeling, really.

So, apparently, one of the lessons I am learning quite poignantly, is that I don't know diddly squat about history. And I'm about to make a slightly awkward transition, because what I'm referring to currently is a lack of knowledge about general history….but next I want to talk about someone I was surprised I'd never heard of: Matthew Lyon!

Okay first of all, Starr's description of Lyon: "a member of Congress and former printer from Vermont, who had come to America as an indentured servant and risen to political success partly by means of the newspaper he published"(79). How have I never heard of this guy?! And then later on? "Lyon was reelected to Congress while he was still in jail" (80). This may be a silly thing to point out, but why hasn't Leonardo DiCaprio played this dude in a movie yet? (and don't even get me started on his Wikipedia page….) Leave it to me to pinpoint this very brief moment in Starr's reading to obsess over, but there you have it. A glimpse into my weird psyche.

Finally, I found Starr's mention of when the newspapers began to refer to the colonists as "Americans" very interesting. This brought up a range of questions about identity and nationality, but it also made me wonder about the evolution of American slang, and how important the media is in shaping and helping create and perpetuate these ideas.

As far as my archive search went, I found my article in The Boston Weekly Magazine, Devoted to Morality, Literature, Biography, History, the Fine Arts…..(I thought this specification was funny - okay! We get it! You're very classy, Boston Weekly)-- and the article appeared on June 30, 1804. This piece is a letter from a reader, supposedly, who is responding to the Boston Weekly's call for examples of exceptional women, and it is called "Moral and Useful: Miranda- A Character".

"I have been pleased to observe in your useful Miscellany, an endeavor to promote the intellectual improvement of the female sex, by setting before them examples of virtue, fortitude, piety, and every commendable pursuit: I wish to assist your laudable design, but sending the character of a lady with whom I have the happiness to be acquainted, which I hope you will permit to appear in your Magazine."

The letter goes on to describe Miranda, who is "endowed with all the graces that can excite admiration, all those virtues that can command respect". The letter-writer clarifies that Miranda is "pleasing, rather than beautiful" and spends an entire paragraph describing her musical skills, "which lead[s] one to prefer a simple air performed by her to the most brilliant execution of a finished amateur" (even though her voice is not strong). Most importantly, however, is the "high cultivation" of Miranda's mind. The writer highlights not only Miranda's "extensive reading and knowledge of the world", but also mentions that she is careful to "adapt her conversation to the taste and understanding of her companions". I found this to be the most interesting bit of this letter, because it acknowledges that along with great knowledge of the world, there also comes a great responsibility to not be a jerk about it to others. This seems somewhat surprising to note, particularly for a female intellectual.

However, although Miranda is very well read, she is also the perfect domestic partner, and performs her service to her family "without ever appearing hurried or in confusion". Hence, most likely, her usefulness. While I thought that this article was surprising in that it included education as a point of notability in female character, it did spent its majority depicting a more traditional female role.