Book #16 of 2020: Teaching What REALLY Happened by James W. Loewen

I remember when Lies My Teacher Told Me came out and I thought--"I just finished reading a bunch of Zinn I probably don't need to read this," and then I was gifted a copy of Lies Across America and I thought "I should read this I'll put it in the stack" and it stayed in the stack for most of a decade and then I moved to Panama and the Dept. Head of the Middle School Social Studies Department handed me a copy of Teaching What Really Happened and I finally read James Loewen.

It's a great book, not only because it pokes holes in common myths and misperceptions about over-mythologized assholes like Columbus and about propagandized whipping boy victims of revisionist Lost Cause Southern historians like John Brown. Loewen focuses here on what's important, what's left out, and gives really great ideas for teaching students how to be critical thinkers by letting them examine crappy text books and "historical" monuments and ridiculous art work and questionable justifications of terrible, brutal, genocidal behavior, and giving them the tools and skills needed to find out for themselves how accurate these things are and how to support their contentions with facts as much as possible.

It's also a brave book for calling out a lot of curricular bullshit and publishing industry bullshit and a lot of cultural bullshit. It's the role of Social Studies teachers to make students and their families uncomfortable with tough and troubling questions and topics. Loewen says you gotta disregard the fear that your community will be upset by what you teach or what your kids learn how to find out. He also has wise tips for white educators who are scared to teach kids of color (or vice-versa).

I recommend the book for teachers in the Humanities of all ages, and pledge again to get around to his others (someday--they are both currently in boxes with the rest of my beloved library in a storage unit in downtown Baltimore).

Recent Media

Terrance Malick's gorgeous and painful epic opens with several sequences from Triumph of the Will. It's an uncomfortable opening because it's obviously a nod to Leni Riefenstahl's mastery of cinematic technique and dazzling technical innovations, and at the same time a hint about what's to come thematically.

I won't go into the plot at all here, or the characters. But I'm pretty sure Malick chose this material at this time for a reason. There is a scene in the film where an artist working in a church discusses how Christians look at art featuring scenes from Christ's life. They imagine themselves living at that time and being on the right side of history. Of course we all do that when we think of the past. Were I alive then I would have made the ethical choice despite the consequences, right?

The film shows us one man's decision to do the right thing during a terrible epoch despite enormous costs for himself and his family. There are terrible things happening right now, awful things bubbling up in the zeitgest. What decisions will we all have to make? Malick wants you to think about it. Along the way, every frame is a carefully thought-out work of art. Seriously, the guy has chops. Stunning Sven Nykvist level cinematography.




Zhang Yimou and Gong Li--one of the greatest director lead/actor teams ever, perhaps the greatest since Bergman/Ullmann? Great to see her back in a role reminiscent of her powerhouse turn in The Story of Qui Ju. This time she doesn't need the makeup.

Yimou obviously has tremendous weight to get away with making films which criticize or expose realities of the Chinese Communist system that others would never be allowed to film or release. Has the typical tear-jerking ending.




I thought the novel was horrifying and too real when it came out during the W. reign in the USA. Now under Trump it's much more horrifying. Good to see Baltimore stalwarts Simon and Burns back together again and making TV for HBO. I had some problems with the pacing, but after the finale it all made sense: slow, steady simmering build, then crashing awful finish. You can watch the series as similar events unfurl in the new concurrently. What fun!

Book #15 of 2020: The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

Following on the heels of Alice James: A Biography, I decided to read Wharton's The House of Mirth for the first time.

Lily Bart is a confounding mess of a human being. I vacillated wildly from admiring her pluck and courage to really despising her materialism and privilege. I think she's the most frustrating heroine in any novel I've read, excepting perhaps Jane Austen's Emma.

It's amusing how Wharton's prose changes when Lily and Selden are together. Birds flit, dew glistens, the weather is always charming and distant vistas reveal mountains dappled with sun. And when Lily is around the wealthy suitors off whom she sponges Wharton's details are sweat drops on lips and cheeks, messed up hair ineffectually slicked back, annoying creaky sounds from carriages. I mean come on, Lily--don't you get it? "Why do birds, suddenly appear..."

But of course that is the point of the novel. Lily is a creature of her environment. She has adapted to what is expected of her and her class. And it was truly awful for young women of astonishing wealth and privilege to be trapped in those situations. There's the guy you should marry, and the guys you are expected to marry.

There is a lot of foreshadowing along the way about the ending. I noted each occurrence and convinced myself that that ending wouldn't happen. And when it did I was done in for the evening. How much really changed for young women between Austen and Wharton? Not much. How much has changed since Wharton to the era of Weinstein, Trump, and, yes, Joe Biden? Not nearly enough.

Book #14 of 2020: The Mask of Apollo by Mary Renault

Nikeratos grows up back stage, working as a hand in Greek theater as his father plays dramatic roles onstage. Years later, his bravery during a performance when a crane fails and he nearly dies catches the attention of a Syracusan noble named Dion. Dion and his teacher Plato ask him to put on a performance of a play written by the tyrant of Syracuse, and Nikeratos accepts the challenge.

This launches not only his acting career, but his involvement in political scheming and conflict as Syracuse goes through fluctuations from tyranny to democracy and back. Plato senses an opportunity to mold the new tyrant of Syracuse to his ideals of what a republic should be. Part of this is substantially limiting poets and tragedians and their productions. Will Nikeratos come to regret his role in bringing Socrates to Syracuse?

Meanwhile, an old gilt mask of Apollo comes to manifest Nikeratos' conscience. He carries it everywhere and calls on it when making decisions. The voice of the God steers him through cataclysms and successes.

Another rousing historical novel of Ancient Greece--I will definitely continue reading these, and soon hope to take on Renault's Alexandrian Trilogy. Alexander appears briefly at the end of The Mask of Apollo to set the scene--Nikeratos had always regarded Macedon as a barbaric realm where kings are always getting killed. His encounter with teenaged Alexander hints at what's to come!

Book #13 of 2020: Alice James A Biography by Jean Strouse

My first encounter with the James family was William. As a teen I'd discovered Joe Campbell and Carl Jung and I'd just finished Campbell's The Masks of God: Complete Four Volume Set when I stumbled upon The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature . A few years later I was in a seminar on American Realistic Fiction finishing my senior year in college, and had discovered Henry James via The Ambassadors. That novel tumbled me down a decade dominated by Henry and his serpentine sentences. The most intense and delightful year was my first year at Temple U in grad school, and another seminar focused entirely on James. We read I believe 7 or 8 of the novels and a couple dozen short stories in that class.

Strouse's biography of Alice is a loving and critical examination of the James family and its social milieu with Alice its central focus. The portrait of Henry Sr. is sensitive and illuminates how a pseudo-mystical Swedenborgian with somewhat retrograde ideas about the place of women in society managed to raise up a cluster of young intellectuals who would play no small part in challenging those views. Alice grew up in a house where her dad had long regular conversations with Emerson and Thoreau and other Boston Brahmins, where the Howes and Adams family were neighbors and friends, Edith Wharton and William Dean Howells were guests, a house filled with art and literature and Transcendentalism and philosophy, a home where Abolitionism and the beginnings of Women's Suffrage were a few of the real-world topics of discussion. Henry Sr. was restless and curious and afflicted by sufficient fortune to drag his family back and forth to Europe several times on whims. He hoped to expose his young brood to as much of Western culture and ideas as he could, and to give them a strong grounding in languages.

William and Henry of course benefited substantially from this life and went on to careers in science and literature respectfully, Both are regarded as among the top tier of American writers and thinkers. And both had "obscure hurts" and regular bouts of depression and unexplained physical ailments. Alice also suffered these, and to a much more debilitating degree. But Strouse brings full attention to Alice's rich social and intellectual life despite her physical and emotional suffering, and analyzes her treatments and relationships with different physicians, and situates her in a phenomenon of upper-crusty women undergoing similar long-term and unexplained prostrations and complaints. But Alice is never merely a symbol of women born too smart and too soon into an age where their gifts had no place--women at the cusp of a new age where their options were about to flourish. Her own individual experience is brought forth brilliantly. Her relationships with her brothers--a flirty, pseudo romantic one with William, and a deep, sisterly bond with Henry Jr.-- are attentively rendered, and there is ample attention to the affects of Alice and her reality on William's psychological theories and Henry's female characters, in particular Millie Theale.

The Diary Of Alice James was preserved by her long-time friend and nurse Katherine Loring, who had copies printed for her surviving brothers and for herself, and who then had the Diary published (much to Henry's chagrin--"OMG," he WhatsApped to William. "What if Ms. Loring includes all the shit I said to Alice in confidence about folks in our circles!?"). Immediately it was a smash, and was accounted as important a document as any other James family production. Alice was revealed as much more than a sad invalid whose misery inspired her brother's medical and artistic success--she was a daring independent spirit who had a ferocity for experience and making sense of it with a voice all her own.

Kudos to Strouse, who did the research necessary for biographies of multiple James family members in order to distill down this moving portrait of Alice.

Drawing of Alice James by Henry James, Jr.

It's a matter of choice

I remember the first time I went to the Wegman's grocery in Hunt Valley, MD. I was on the way to a party at a friend's house up near the PA border and they'd asked that I pick up some cheese and crackers as I came up from Baltimore.

It took me a while to get cheese and crackers because there were FOUR AISLES OF CRACKERS. It was hard even to "see" the individual varieties as the mind shut down at the overwhelming array of colors and box-front images of crackers spilled out with cheese cubes, spreads, confections, olives. I was as flummoxed as the narrator of Borges' "The Library of Babel" at the immensity and infinitude of packages. Paralyzed by choices, unable to process the information available to make decisions, I eventually just grabbed a couple varieties at random and hit the cheese counter blindly as well. I likely brought some weird ass thyme, dried tomato, and truffle resin biscuits made from prehistoric grains.

Quarantine in the digital age has a similar effect. Even on days when I'm working from home, I still have more time to entertain myself than typically is the case during the school year. No outdoor exercise, no trips to the beach or the shops (or extremely limited trips to the shops), no commute, no restaurants, bars, etc. And though I've managed to get a few time-fillers to consistency--push-ups and barbell exercises, tai chi, Rosetta Stone lessons in Spanish and Tagalog...a bit of blogging again, guitar playing--I am having some trouble with the amount of choice the digital age offers when I'm filling the rest of my time.

I'm about, for example, to finish the two books I'm currently reading. I have more reading time lately than typical, and I'm thinking "What should I read next?" There are a couple Henry James novels I've not yet read, and I have the Complete Henry James on Kindle for .99 cents. But look--they also have the Complete William Dean Howells--I loved Silas Lapham! Oh, look the Complete Edith Wharton. Jesus, I only read a couple novellas by her and always meant to take the plunge. What the hell should I read? I never read Anna Karenina, and wow they have all the Tolstoy. It's hard to pick when there is SO MUCH TO PICK.  And oh yeah there are those 300 free Met art books I downloaded last year...

Same with film. I can rent or stream pretty much any art house or foreign film I missed in the past and always wanted to see. I can get any schlocky horror film or any documentary about any topic. Because I have access to pretty much everything, I end up watching nothing because I can't choose. There are a few Zhang Yimou films I've not wept over yet...but there are also gaps in classic Italian and French film I'd like to close. But maybe I should re-watch Tarkovsky? Or Kurosawa? Arrgh.

Adding to the curse are the online course offerings: Harvard's free Buddhism course, and UPenn's free Greek and Roman Mythology course both sound grand. They don't offer credits toward MD State Teacher re-Certification, alas. But they sound cool. And there are SO MANY I can't just pick one.

I think of my Dad saying "Shit or get off the pot" when I get like this.

All the while I'm trying to decide what to pick to read, to watch, or the learn about, I'm listening to music streaming my entire iTunes library which consists of all the CDs I ever bought uploaded over the years and which runs the gamut from Perotin to Kendrick Lamar.

Of course, when you can't decide about something to do then you fill time with somewhat less intellectual pursuits, the most easily available of which is porn. But oh my goodness what porn do you pick? There are so many genres and sub-genres and sub-categories of kink and scenario and race and size and age and...

And yes, this post comes from a place of substantial privilege. Many don't have access to any of these things, and are stuck at home, in situations not dissimilar to those who experienced the last great global pandemic. Having too many options to learn and entertain oneself surely beats having few or none. Or, having to work with the likelihood of exposure.

Dreaming Demons

My dreams have drifted away from school and students the past few nights, perhaps because we are on 'spring break' now. But 'spring break' will be spent inside the same apartment where we sit for quarantine lock down, and from where we teach our students.

The other night I was sound asleep when I was awakened by a profound dark buzzing energy welling up from deep within. The sensation was pre-lingual and beyond rational coping or description. I can only equate this feeling to what a dog must experience when it jumps up, hackles raised, and stares at the corner or out the window at something we can't see.

I jumped up, immediately fully awake and aware in the darkness, but the buzzing feeling was still pulsing throughout my body. I became convinced there was something moving in the room, something heavy and powerful but incorporeal. There were several LED lights from devices plugged in so I had plenty of light to scan the room. Nothing. Nothing visible.

It's not the first time I've had this experience. Once when I was 10 years old I was awakened similarly and felt a heavy force sitting on my chest pressing down to the point I couldn't breathe. Then, the force vanished and I started doing violent and uncontrollable sit-ups over and over, seizing and screaming all the while until my Dad made his way to my basement bedroom. Similar things have happened from time to time--I think the most recent was in Ireland the night before our boat to Skellig Michael? That was in 1999.

Deep energies are awakening in in the Earth.

Free Art Books to While Away the Lockdown

Screenshotted from From Van Eyck to Bruegel, which I downloaded last year when the Met made it and hundreds of other art books available digitally.

My library--some 1,800 books after the sales and donations two years ago--is in a storage unit in Baltimore. I miss all my books, but most painfully I miss having art books to take down and peruse.

But this Met Resource is astonishing, and helps ease the pain.

BTW: that angel be like "thank you SOOOOO much for social distancing and staying on lockdown!"