Doctor Science Knows

Monday, August 16, 2010

Libertopia and The Long Winter

John Quiggin at Crooked Timber continues looking at libertarian utopias, and whether 19th Century America qualifies. I commented:


I find that Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter casts a particularly clear light on the libertarian vision of the American frontier.

There's no doubt that Laura' father thought of himself in libertarian terms. "Free and independent" is his mantra and that of the other settlers: they came west, they say, to be free and self-reliant, proud and independent, owing no man anything.

But if you pay attention to what they actually do and how they actually live, they are completely dependent on the government and the industrial society they claim to be fleeing. Laura's family stakes a claim -- on land expropriated from the Indians not in the misty past but within the past few years.

To hold the claim they have to live on the land, but they can't actually support themselves there -- the ground isn't ready for serious agriculture, even if the climate was suitable. They don't even have a place to live without materials that have to be brought in -- nothing available to them can be used to make a shelter they're willing to live in.

The women and children live on the claim to secure the legal title, but the family's income mostly comes from work on the railroad. Laura's parents talk about self-sufficiency, but at no point in her life do they actually survive on food they produce themselves -- purchased flour, meal, and meat are *always* the backbone of their diet. This food comes on the railroad from the East.

Their dependence is made clear during The Long Winter when the railroad is blocked. The frontier townspeople talk about being free and independent, but they are in fact still completely tied into the industrial economy. Without it, they begin to starve.

They only survive the winter because of collective action. Laura's future husband Almanzo and his brother are fronted money by the general store owner to make a perilous journey to buy wheat for everybody in town. They bring it back at great risk, and the storeman wants to sell it at a monopoly price -- giving the Wilder boys a fee for their efforts, of course. The Wilders, though, say *they didn't do it for money*, and they won't take money from the mouths of the starving. Laura's father tells the storeman that *of course* he's a free man who can do whatever he wants with his property -- but the townspeople will also be perfectly free to ignore him socially and economically after winter is over. It's libertarian rhetoric as a veneer over communitarian actions.

Furthermore, the more I've thought about their situation (while I read and re-read the book to my children), the more I've realized that their libertarian ideals are part of what brings the town to the edge of total disaster. Everyone in town *should* be living together, sharing warmth, food, and company -- not wasting precious fuel trying to heat individual houses. With communal living and eating arrangements, they wouldn't have nearly as much trouble getting through the winter.


lemuel pitkin @55:

I read that New Yorker article, too, and Rose's libertarianism is one factor pushing me to think Laura really did write most of the books. The difficulty with reading the Little House books IMHO is that young!Laura, from whose POV we see the story, is an unreliable narrator. She doesn't lie to us about what she sees -- but she doesn't see everything or understand it on an adult level. Writer!Laura IMHO makes a lot of her points indirectly -- like the fact that Pa Ingalls loves the wilderness, but spends his life destroying it. Young!Laura loves and admires him, but that doesn't mean Writer!Laura shows everything he does as loveable or admirable.

mw @69:

My point is that the cooperation in The Long Winter is not truly private nor voluntary. The wealthy storeman doesn't cooperate voluntarily, but because he is threatened by the public acting together. They *are* the government of the isolated town, and Mr. Wilder later was an elected official.

It's true that this is not state-level government, but it's community-level socialism (or something): Mr. Ingalls is a leader of the community against the wealthiest individual in it.


Gareth Rees @94:

arrgh, yes! the shame, the shame! The problem was that I was mentally translating from "Pa".

mw @95:

I wasn't clear in my retelling of the scene in The Long Winter. The citizens weren't originally "threatening to take their business elsewhere", they were getting ready to use (well-armed) mob violence. Pa Ingalls talked them down to threatening a boycott, and got the storekeeper to agree he didn't want it to come to that -- but the real alternative, not discussed explicitly, was violent robbery and/or lynching. They may not have had *state-level* coercion, but guns there were a-plenty -- courts and prisons would have been much nicer and less bluntly coercive.

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Thursday, August 12, 2010

More on the Book of Jonah

Mark Kleinman, subbing for Ta-Nehesis Coates, posted a rather serious analysis of the Book of Jonah, but noted that some people read it as comedy or satire. I commented:


I'm glad that I'm not the only one who reads Jonah as comedy -- I think it's *hilarious*, as funny as a well-done megillah. [I then explained my take on the book]


I always assumed that the Hebrew Bible was basically humorless

Are you joking?!? Not only is there Jonah, but also:

- the Golden Hemorrhoids of I Samuel chapters 5 & 6.

- Rachel steals her father's household gods, then when he comes to look for them she sits on them and says she's having her period and doesn't want to get up, so he goes away. Genesis 31:34-35.

- Balaam and his talking ass, Numbers 22:21-38.

That's just off the top of my head. And I don't even know Hebrew, so I can't cite the puns that I'm sure are all through the texts.

I'm kind of boggled to see that you're Orthodox -- I thought not seeing the humor in the Bible was a province of literalist Christians, frankly. Reconstructionist/Renewal rabbis, at least, always are aware of the funny bits, the ha-ha-only-serious. I first became consciously aware of Jonah's humor during a bibliodrama one Yom Kippur afternoon, because it's impossible to act out Jonah's lines without realizing that he's hilariously absurd.


My 4th grade rebbe (who was hands down the greatest teacher I ever had) approached the material in a way that was, in retrospect, reminiscent of the Bible routines of comics like Bill Cosby or David Steinberg, but it felt like his own interpolations, not something inherent in the text itself.

I think I probably looked at it this way until I ran into the Golden Hemorrhoids. I contend that it is impossible for human beings, regardless of cultural background, not to see that story as humor. It *must* have always been intended as funny -- and if there is one instance of deliberate humor in the TaNaKh, there's bound to be others. Once I let myself see them, there they were -- especially when I realized that the Bible was not meant to be read, but to be read *aloud*, with inflection and "doing the voices" and all the other things you do when you're reading for an audience.

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Tuesday, August 10, 2010

On the Book of Jonah

Repost of a comment I made after the High Holy Days *last* year, for reference *this* year.

slacktivist posted on the Book of Jonah and its interpretation, especially in Christianity. In the ensuing long discussion, I wrote:


IMHO Michael Cule's rendition of the Book of Jonah isn't a parody, it's a faithful re-telling: Jonah itself is, originally, a parody or satire, in fact *humor*, one of the longest pieces of humor in the Bible. And it is humor of a very, very Jewish sort: try reading it aloud with a strong Yiddish accent and the cadence of a standup comic in the Catskills.

Look at the beginning. The other (older, more conventional) prophetic books always start with the prophet being called by G-d, and the prophet goes, "who, me? I am not worthy!" The prophet is always reluctant.

Jonah isn't just reluctant, he *runs away*. Jonah doesn't just disagree with G-d a little bit, he sulks and pouts. He predicts the future, all right, and it pisses him off -- he wants to be a fearful Jeremiah, calling destruction down on his enemies, but he knows G-d is too merciful for that. What a bummer!

And then there's the bit with the gourd, and Jonah's self-centered dramatics -- "The gourd died! Kill me now, I've had enough!" And the very ending, which trails off most peculiarly -- IMHO this was a knee-slapper of a joke 2500 years ago, but the reference has been lost so all we have is an inexplicable punch line, ba-dump ching! tip your waitress, I'll be here all week.

The thing about Jewish humor is that it's ha-ha-only-serious. Jacob gets the name Israel because he fights G-d to a draw: why do you think chutzpah is a Yiddish word? And then there's this classic story from the Talmud, which has been summarized as:
----
Rabbi Eliezar was arguing with three other Rabbis. He said, "if I'm right, the heavens will open up and a voice proclaim it is so!" And the heavens opened up, and a voice intoned, "Rabbi Eliezar is right."

*beat*

"So," said the other Rabbis, "that makes it two to three."
----

Now, this is both a joke, *and* an important principle of Talmudic interpretation. The simplistic, literalist readings a lot of you grew up on are incredibly thin gruel, by comparison. *This* is how you can read the Bible for a lifetime, for generations, without getting bored or coming to the end: by arguing with each other and with G-d, by not taking any reading as the final word, by not expecting it to be simple.

A couple pages of comments ago, someone pointed out that for Jews all of Jonah is very familiar, because the book is read in its entirety during day of Yom Kippur when everyone is in services. You might think this undercuts my theory that Jonah is humor, because Yom Kippur is the most solemn of Holy Days. But IMHO it is also characteristically Jewish to not focus on one emotion to the exclusion of all others: over the 27 hours of Yom Kippur the services are fearful and solemn and inward, but there are also stretches of anger, and grief, and some of the most beautiful music in the Jewish liturgy. The humor of Jonah is a slight relief, a lightening for an hour before we head into the final hours of the long fast, which includes the Yitzkor Service memorializing the dead.

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Thursday, July 29, 2010

Blogcomment record: "Julian Comstock" UPDATED

Paul Kinkaid reviewed Robert Charles Wilson's Julian Comstock.
Patrick Nielsen Hayden wondered if they read the same book. My comments:


I seem to have read the book pretty much the way DaveL@70 did, and the idea that Julian's homosexuality was "unnecessary" is boggling to me.

However, speaking of marked and unmarked states:

I am surprised that no-one has mentioned the unmarked elephant in this state room.
Am I the only reader who noticed [SPOILER! PROCEED WITH CAUTION! YOU MAY WANT TO FIGURE THIS OUT FOR YOURSELF DURING YOUR FIRST READING!]













that the narrator, his wife, and Julian's lover are all what we would call "black", but that it's apparently without "ethnic" significance? It is, IMHO, a very marked unmarkness, a joke Wilson is pulling on the readers, to put a lot of black characters (not just one, as in Left Hand of Darkness, but a *lot*) into a story and see if anyone notices.

The fact that Paul Kinkaid was reminded of the US Civil War but didn't see the black people strikes me as hilariously revealing, but in fact when I skimmed through a bunch of reviews *no-one* seems to have noticed -- even though this is set in a North America in which *slavery* has come back.

But then, I haven't come across anyone who's noticed that the ruling Church in Julian Comstock already exists, which is why Wilson put its headquarters in Colorado Springs. Or that the back-to-the-1880s political philosophy they use is actually taken directly from a certain trend in modern libertarians.


Chris Gerrib @ 77:

Actually, there are crumbs throughout the book indicating that the narrator and various other major characters are black. In particular, Wilson uses "tightly-curled" to describe what we'd call "black" hair. He's careful not to say "nappy", because he doesn't want the signal to be overt, he's *inclueing* the characters' race.

It's also not terribly relevant.

... um. You realize, don't you, that this parallels what Kincaid says about Julian's homosexuality. Indeed, I think one of the functions of homosexuality in the novel is to be the text while race is the subtext -- flipping the foreground/background in actual 19thC novels, where race could be text but sexuality had to be subtext.

No one else has spoken up, so I don't know if anyone here besides me perceived what Wilson does with race. I can't figure out which prospect boggles me more: that his clues were too subtle even for this group of very insightful readers, or that insightful readers noticed and thought it was trivial.


PNH @ 108:

Actually, it's more explicit than that: as Jeff Sharlet pointed out years ago, many important fundamentalist (and Dominionist) organizations have concentrated in Colorado Springs *precisely* in the hope that they can infiltrate/evangelize the Air Force. Focus on the Family is there, as is the New Life megachurch. In many ways, Colorado Springs already *is* the headquarters of Dominionism.

And yes, that's New Life Church as in "Ted Haggard", and that's why Julian Comstock's homosexuality is *crucial* to the story IMHO. Besides the Classic allusion, it's part of how Wilson shows that the tragedy of his future world is built from currently available ingredients.


OK, through the magic of Amazon.com, here are the descriptions:

Calyxa:
a pink and radiant face, and large eyes whose color I could not at this distance discern, although I imagined them (correctly, as it turned out) to be a handsome chestnut-brown; and a crown of hair that coiled list a vast collation of ebony springs, the light behind her making a spectacular Halo of it.
Now, I admit that "pink" is suggestive of what we'd call a white woman -- but it's not clear if he's talking about someone like Beyonce, either. The hair, IMHO, is the crucial element in Wilson's descriptions of "black" characters, and when I read this I thought, "she's got a 'fro!" Throughout the book, Calyxa's hair is described as "coiled" (if not "spring-loaded"), and in the Epilogue when their daughter Flaxie is described:
her hair is as glossy and dark and tightly coiled as her mother's was.
Now, for Magnus Stepney, Julian's lover, the description is unmistakable:
lustrously dark skin and wiry hair.
While searching for these citations, I also came across the first description of Lymon Pugh, who has an "unruly knot of black hair" under his cap, and I wonder whether he, too, is supposed to be black ... or not.

Like all good humorous novelists, I think the author spent some time laughing at *us*, the readers.


Jo Walton@179:

I'm very glad to hear that you noticed, because I remember looking up your review after I'd finally gotten around to reading the book, and was both boggled and distressed that you seemed to have missed the way Wilson marks (or rather un-marks) race. I'm relieved to know that I can still trust your powers of observation, but distressed that you didn't feel you could talk about what you observed in a way that wouldn't be misconstrued.

The fact that issues of gender, race, inclusion, and all that are under *constant* discussion on livejournal/dreamwidth made it easy for me to notice what Wilson does, but it also made it easy for me to think and talk about it.

I was hoping that someone in this discussion would know if Wilson has talked/written about the way he handles race in "Julian Comstock". I basically agree with Terry @242: I think the idea that slavery could come back to North America and *not* have anything to do with race is preposterous. But writers are allowed one preposterous assumption per book, and I'm willing to go along with this one.


Marilee @255:

I completely disagree. I think Wilson is describing this kind of hairstyle, not sausage curls.

Remember, Calyxa's hair is like a *halo* -- that certainly sounds like a 'fro. And black african hair definitely coils naturally -- each hair is like a little slinky.

In general, too, sausage curls are a highly artificial, high-maintenance hairstyle, and it seems clear to me that, throughout, the narrator is talking about Calyxa's natural hair, which her daughter inherits.

But I'm not sure if I would have come to the same conclusion about Calyxa's appearence based on this passage, except that I was looking for other unmarked black people once I noticed what Wilson did with the narrator.

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