What Robert Penn Warren Might Say about Go Set a Watchman Reply


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Earlier this month, I joined several other posters at the Faculty Lounge providing thoughts on Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman.  I commend the whole series to you but in case you are interested in what RPW might have said, I have reposted that entry here.  Enjoy!

I’ve always thought Harper Lee’s themes and styles in To Kill a Mockingbirdclosely resembled some of Robert Penn Warren’s themes relating to the South. Namely, as I have written in other places, in early to mid-20th century Southern Literature, black people are often passive persons where things happen to them (notably horribly bad things), and that the response to those things is what makes us believe the characters to be either progressive or non-progressive.   Likewise, in both Warren and Lee’s narratives, the place becomes a character itself.  Both the South and the specific places in the South are alive in both writers’ prose.

That place-centric identity can be characterized as what I have called in other places a form of Southern Exceptionalism. If the American experience is explained by exceptional qualities, then the Southern Experience may be described by a different reference to the past: “defeat, humiliation, and impotence in the face of intractable social problems.”  The south eagerly adopted the idea of American exceptionalism for itself, believing the society to be set apart, unique, and validated by moral superiority.  But as eminent southern historian C. Vann  Woodward’s The Search for Southern Identity argues, time proved that the real southern experience was characterized by “grinding poverty, political impotency, military defeat, racial conflict, and social guilt.”  Sheldon Hackney has argued that Southerners have had to define themselves in opposition to a presumed American norm.  Similarly, Orville Burton contends that the Southerner remains an “other” or “stranger” in the American narrative. For our purposes, Robert Penn Warren embraced the idea that Southerners found themselves looking backward more than forward so to speak – consistently defining themselves, their environment, and their identity against the backdrop of how the exceptional failed in its promise, and the fact that the war was not won.  This is revealed in Warren’s life experience and works. We see similar themes in Lee’s Mockingbird and now Watchman.  

In To Kill a Mockingbird, we tend to resonate towards Atticus because he appears progressive against the backdrop of a non-progressive place and non-progressive people.   The questioning of Bob and Mayella Ewell along with the epic scene where Atticus stands guard over Tom Robinson as a gang of citizens seek to take justice out of the hands of the law gives Atticus the distinctive impression as one of the forward thinking citizens of Maycomb. The reality is that Atticus only appears heroic because the setting and people in it seem to be the opposite. Like Atticus in Mockingbird, Robert Penn Warren’s views of Southern racial politics might appear progressive when compared to other Southern writers at the time.

Warren’s earliest work on the race problem in the South was an essay titled the Briar Patch, which appeared in a collection of essays by 12 Southern Writers titled I’ll Take My Stand: The South and the Agrarian Tradition.  Amongst the essays, Warren appears to be more progressive along side his contemporaries because he can envision a world where segregation does not exist, but rather where Black and White persons might exist in a mutually beneficial society.  He describes the race problem as one stemming from unnatural animosity between black persons and poor whites and engages various thoughts whether the problem was one of market access or political equivalency.   Notably, many of the other writers specifically chided Warren’s views in their essays, believing Warren’s approach to be contrary to the aim of the book’s overall purpose.

Still early Warren may have only appeared progressive.  His views in Briar Patch may be quaintly described as hopefully dismissive – suggesting that the race problem in the South was primarily one of common respect, which would not be resolved by a plan of forced desegregation.   This view seems very similar to Atticus’s views in To Set a Watchman where the natural course of events will take care of themselves.  Like Warren, it seems easy to call Atticus comparatively progressive, especially when set against the backdrop of Maycomb.   And yet, To Set a Watchman leaves us unsatisfied because the former hero of Mockingbirdturns out to be not nearly as progressive as we previously thought him to be.

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I think that Warren would greatly relate to both Atticus Finches — the one that appears heroic in Mockingbird and the one that appears less-than-heroic in Watchman.  Warren observed that his view of race was primarily informed by his image of south.  He said “The image of the south I carried in my head was one of massive immobility in all ways, in both its virtues and vices – it was an image of the unchangeable human condition, beautiful, sad, tragic.” Despite changing his views on segregation, one aspect of Warren’s perception of the race problem did not change – its source.  Warren still believed that much of the angst against African Americans stemmed from poor whites that were afraid that Black Mobility meant diminished economic opportunity for white folks.  Warren saw this challenge as one that led to increased violence by poorer white persons who felt isolated by their wealthy white counterparts and black workers looking to obtain a foothold.  Thus Warren wrote in the Briar Patch, “What the white workman must learn… is that he may respect himself as a white man, but if he fails to concede the negro equal protection, he does not properly respect himself as a man.” 

     These views of respect as a foundation for the race problem in the South did not change.   In his book titled Segregation: The Inner Conflict in the South, Warren interviews black and white people around the South in the wake of Brown v. Board of Education, Warren describes this mutual respect not as a market problem (as he did in Briar Patch), but as a moral problem. In a other work titled Who Speaks for the Negro, Warren most directly states his regret for his earlier work Briar Patch, stating he did not realize its racist and seperationist overtones.

If we are comparing the nature of Watchman, we have to point out that Warren’s hypothesis seems a bit myopic.  One of the most interesting tensions in the book is Calpurnia’s supposed transition from loyal worker to disaffiliated and individualized person.  If the Finch’s were the non-white trash as Hank explains to Jean Louise, then labor and race relations were equally at their doorstep even though they may have been caught unawares.  Still, the narrative told through the eyes of Southern Whiteness tells of Calpurnia’s leaving as response rather than individual choice.

 In Warren’s South – there is always a conflict that is prevalent in how choices are made.  This conflict is prevalent in a number of similarities that unfold in the writing of both Lee and Warren.  In both writers’ works, the South and specific places in the South are characters with views that influence how individuals respond.  What Warren might say about Watchman is that Watchman’s Atticus represents one whose views were shaped only by that unique place Maycomb.  I believe Warren would accept the Atticus of Watchman as most believable while wondering how the Atticus of Mockingbird comes about

 

When King’s Die Reply


Legal fictions abound with contradictions that we all too often overlook.  As law is engaged in a project of narrative-making. Fictions fill gaps between otherwise irreconcilable doctrine and reality.  The best of those fictions will operate subconsciously, as if the law gives effect to the falsehood and animates its life.  But when the fiction is vulnerable to reality — when the law fails to prop up the fictional undertone — then the law becomes vulnerable to attack.  Justice Stevens wrote in a 2014 Law Review that historical myths play a greater role in Supreme Court adjudication than we sometimes recognize, and that sometimes, the court itself is responsible for those myths. (See his excellent essay Glittering Generalities and Historical Myths in the Louisville Law Review).

In Retelling English Sovereignty, I venture to consider how the fiction of Sovereign Immunity  came to the United States — its underlying narratives that animate its life.  From bad kings to incompetent kings, Retelling English Soveregnty traces the doctrine through the concept of the KIng’s two bodies, a mystical understanding of the monarchy’s dualism.  This legal fiction was propped up by other fictions, such as the Corporation Sole, where a collective enterprise was represented by one person as representative of other persons across ages.  See e.g., The Monarchy, Parsons, and the Chamberlain of London.  The article traces legal, political and theological thought across early british writers, including Lord Coke, William Shakespeare, F.W. Maitland, John Locke, Blackstone, Sir Robert Filmer, Thomas Hobbes, Adrian Fortescue, and many more.  It also contextualizes the theology of kingship and the political harmony of revolt, particularly in the narratives of the seventeenth century that gave rise to the regicide of Charles I and the Glorious Revolution.

In this space, I would point to some of the literary moments of the article.  Two I think are of relevance — the contrast of how Shakespeare sees the myth of king-making in good kings, such as Henry V and the irony of the double king, with that of bad kinds, such as Richard II.  Shakespeare’s work on Henry the V provides not only the prose recognition of the duality of the kingship, but the literal physical duality as the king walks about his men in disguise.  During dialogue with his men about whether the king will ransom himself or not, while in disguise, the king suggests that he would challenge the men to a duel to show that the king will be faithful to his word to not be ransomed should he be captured.   In this scene, we see that the king has the luxury of living outside of time that his men don’t have.   While his men may certainly die, and never know the outcome of whether the king indeed ransomed himself, the king himself has the luxury of being twin burned to greatness — subject to the vulnerabilities of an imbecile, while subject to it across time.

Likewise, Shakespeares discussion of Richard II poses a monarch that is not only subject to the imbecility, but who finds himself at odds with the character of a king.   Yet, as Shakespeare’s prose suggests, the blemish’d crown may be redeemed from pawn.  Its time that serves the redemption for the monarchy.   And time that distinguishes the monarchy from other men — its ability to live on without consequence of the actions of one man who holds the crown, while preserving the dignity of the ages.

What Role Law and Literature Should Play in a Law School Reply


The following is cross-posted at Concurring Opinions.

Some may ask what role should liberal arts style courses play in law school where we are increasingly focused on bar exams and practice ready skills. But it may take me a while to unravel that answer with the gusto and the framing it deserves. I think anyone that regularly teaches Law and Literature has been asked some variant of this question. The course doesn’t have the safe luxury of “well its on the bar exam,” or even the more sardonic return of “well, but of course it underlies much of legal thought and practice.” See, e.g., Law and Econ, Law and Social Theory, and Legal History.

Let me make a bold proclamation. The law and literature course, perhaps more than any other, asks students to wrestle with their subjective views of the law. It’s interesting, in a course that deals with Constitutional Law, for example, there is the finality of how the court approached the problem (whether we agree with the outcome or not). In Law and Literature on the other hand, the course encompasses the views of the professor, the authors, and their fellow students as they encounter these views. Sometimes worlds are created in which those concrete legal frameworks are disembodied (See, e.g., Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale). Sometimes, the fictional worlds embrace the world as we know it, and offer stunning critique to its foundation (See, e.g., Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin). That’s not to say that other courses, (take a UCC course), is not rife with highly charged emotional queries (notwithstanding my critique, my explanation for whether the disposition of collateral equates to proceeds is a highly charged event!). It is saying that in a time where the ABA is prompting law schools to create standards that push the law school experience towards so-called objective standards of evaluation (see revision of section 302 in the ABA standards), the role of encountering, critiquing, explaining, and understanding different subjective understandings of the law is critical. We should not be afraid to encounter nor express our subjective views in the context of critical dialogue.

My view is that Law and Literature is a course that offers students not only the opportunity to understand themselves better but to learn to dialogue about the subjective views of law. A few years ago, Yale Law School offered a course titled “The Book of Job and Suffering.” Unfortunately, at many law schools such a class would never be taught for fear that the subject strayed too far from what law schools are suppose to do — at least not under that title. However such a course is precisely the kind of law and literature course we should be teaching. Isolating the critical component that suffering may play in the narrative for law students, I imagine, was a powerful experience for those students and the professor. Powerful because they all have suffered something, I’m sure, though undoubtedly it was uneven. Students learn to dialogue about themselves and the text in a group where each other’s respective experiences help frame and isolate the way the text moved within the group. At one and the same time, students in a law and literature class learn about themselves, as members of a group, a class and as an individual. This is the idea of Law and Literature that James Boyd White framed so well — the engagement of the reader with the text forcing the reader to accept or not accept the writer’s framed world. [Perhaps Boyd’s best framing of this encounter is his book This Book of Starres: Learning to Read George Herbert, in which Boyd wrestles with the text as reader primarily].

This role of teaching students about themselves is critical if not necessary to shaping who they are as counselors and advocates for their clients. Of course they are things we should care about as shaping lawyers. But should we have to isolate them into an ABA objective or standard. In a way, it cheapens the process to do so.

I fear that courses like Law and Literature, in which students engage in thoughtful discourse, may find themselves replaced with others that fail to live up to the promise of helping students understand themselves in a legal environment and instead only focus on the particulars of interacting in the legal environment. There is nothing wrong with a movement in legal education that attempts to focus institutional resources to critically examine whether the law school is best preparing students for the modern legal environment. But, that doesn’t mean that our students [or our faculty] are better off without having the dialogues and communities that law and literature help promote and shape in the law school environment.

Why We Should Still Read Ender’s Game in Spite of Orson Scott Card — Part II 1


Special Appearance by Zach Powers


SEER SUCKER PERFORMANCE

This is the second post the Literary Table presents by Zach Powers from SeerSucker Live discussing Orson Scott Card and his work Ender’s Game as a reflection of and distinctive from his identity. You can find his first post here  Like their Facebook page to stay up to date on performances here in Savannah and abroad.  (Because everything outside of Savannah is just abroad!). 

Zach is a writer that lives in Savannah, and his work has appeared in South Magazine, the Savannah Morning News, and other publications.   Welcome back Zach!

’m not so naïve to believe that a creative work is completely separate from its creator, but the disheartening fact is that even a jerk can create something full of humanity and compassion. The problem becomes more tangible when an author is still living, when it seems that to purchase a book is to put money directly into the pocket of a person with whom you strongly disagree.

But here’s the thing with Ender’s Game. There is absolutely none of Card’s hate within it. In fact, one of the main themes is empathy.

“I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the same way they love themselves.”

So speaks our hero, Ender. I’ve carried that sentence with me for twenty years. It might be the very sentence that allows me now to stand in opposition to the opinions Card espouses.

The novel’s other themes include isolation, ostracization, and innocence, and all are handled with admirable compassion. Ender must learn, at once, to make friends and also fend for himself. He must face down personal demons while learning to accept them. He must battle against those who seek to define his existence. He must, above all else, prevail.

Ender is a creature of almost pure empathy, of crystalline understanding. Through this character, Ender’s Game explores and teaches a philosophy directly opposed to the arguments Card makes against LGBT rights. The young author argues against his older, commentator self.

My argument is this: The potential benefits from reading this book, especially for a teenaged audience, greatly outweigh the negative effects of indirectly supporting Card in his reactionary mission. For a young adult dealing with an emerging LGBT identity or any similar struggle, this would be one of the first novels I’d recommend. It shows how to face hatred, not just from the outside, but self-hatred as well. It teaches that being different is a source of strength.

What’s the broader benefit of depriving Card of a few more dollars? His rants reach only the choir, and nobody outside of that choir is giving his arguments weight. Buying a copy of the novel will not increase his stature. Renting the movie of the book will not elevate Card to the level of Ender’s would-be emperor brother, Peter. I picture Card shouting down one of the long, curving corridors of the Battle School, his voice echoing back only to his own ears. Eventually, he’ll shout himself out.

The book, however, will endure for people like me. Twenty years, thirty readings later. How many times have I invoked that one phrase, “love them the same way they love themselves,” instead of rushing to judge someone? So I won’t judge Card now. There are enough people doing that already, rightfully so.

I refuse to boycott a book that can mean something real to someone in need of that reality. Card’s book is better than he is, and it would be a shame to silence a great work in a futile attempt to shut him up as well. There is more good to be found in the book than any evil Card can actually enact, even if he pleads for such evil with all his strength.

If my approach still doesn’t sit well with you, let me offer a final compromise. After I saw the Ender’s Game movie, I donated twice the ticket price to the It Gets Better Project. That will provide significantly more for a good cause than any pennies Card might receive to indirectly fund his fringe ramblings. I prefer positive action to acts of negation.

The movie opens with a quote from the novel, a line that Ender speaks just before the one I quoted above:

“In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that moment I also love him.”

When it comes to the issue of love, Orson Scott Card is my enemy. I have a hard time understanding him, though. I suspect that’s OK. He probably wouldn’t react well to a profession of love coming from another man, anyway.

If you want to hit Card where it hurts, share his book, and let it teach a new generation to accept and love all people in a way that Card himself can’t.

 

Zach can be contacted via his website http://www.zachpowers.com.  For the latest news and writings, follow his twitter feed @z_powers. 

 

 

Warren’s Exceptionalism in Flood1 Reply


Part IV of Robert Penn Warren and Southern Exceptionalism

Over the next few days I am posting a paper I delivered at the Conference on the Novel in Salt Lake City last week.   Today, I will wrap up these posts by considering exceptionalism in Warren’s novel Flood: A Romance of our time. 

Warren’s Irony of Loneliness 

Flood’s deeper meaning towards the South has been described in a number of ways: “representative of an obliteration of a relatively homogeneous way of life;” “the microcosmic death of Southern Rural culture;” as a narrative in contrast to the “rootless urbanites continuing desire for a tangible history.”[1]  But Flood represents best a tale of people coming to a “new awareness of the past while accepting a personal responsibility for the present.”  Two physical places mark where this activity happens in the Town of Fiddlersburg – the graveyard, where residents go about disinterring their loved ones (or not) before the flood waters rise; and the penitentiary, which remains outside the flood’s reach.  In both of these places, the vision of Fiddlersburg becomes clearer by understanding certain aspects of southern exceptionalism.

      The graveyard scenes in the novel are primarily premised on Brad Toliver looking for Izzie Goldburg’s grave, so he can eventually disinter his old friend’s remains.  Izzie Goldburg, was remembered fondly by Toliver as

The little tailor – the only Jew in Fiddlersburg, live one I mean, when I was a boy.  He taught me to play chess and never let me win He would look at a sunset or at a man  or a dog in the same way, a way that made the thing seem real.  He was not Fiddlersburg, but he made Fiddlersburg real.

Izzie, like Toliver, was an outsider to Fiddlersburg.  But also like Brad, saw Fiddlersburg as the only place he could be.

      Similarly, the Penitentiary is described by the common Warren referent as being lonesome.  The Warden of the penitentiary says that the reason people end up in the Pen is lonesomeness – “some folks are born lonesome and they can’t stand the lonesomeness out there. It is lonesome in here maybe, but it ain’t as lonesome when you are with folks that knows they are as lonesome as you are.”   Then the Warden describes the punishment of solitary confinement:

“Ever see a man come out of Solitary?  Sometimes, it is like they wanted to lay their head in your lap and cry.  They are so grateful to see you.  Solitary – you can’t run a prison without it. It is the last lonesomeness. It is the kind of lonesomeness man can’t stand, for he can’t stand just being himself.   (Flood 156)

Warren then brings both the graveyard and the penitentiary  (and Izzie and Fiddlersburg) more together more directly in a later scene where Brad Toliver returns to look for Izzie again.   Again ruminating on Izzie, Toliver remarks that Izzie was “alone but not lonesome,” he was “Fiddlersburg and at the same time he was not Fiddlersburg.  He was non-Fiddlersburg and he was anti-Fiddlersburg.”  Then Brad contemplates:

Hell your Philosopher friend [the Warden] was right.  It is the lonesomeness.  The only reason everybody in Fiddlersburg does not get himself in the Pen out of lonesomeness is because Fiddlersburg is kind of a Pen already, and everybody knows already he is with folks who are as lonesome as he is.”

It is here that Brad Toliver / Warren begin to explain the connection of Loneliness to the South and Southern Exceptionalism.

      Hell, the whole south is lonesome.  It is lonesome as coon hunting, which has always been a favorite sport, and it is lonesomer than anything except frog-giging on a dark night in a deep pond and your skiff leaking and some folks prefer it that way.

      Hell the south is the country where a man gets drunk just so he can feel lonsesomer, and then comes to town and picks a fight for companionship.  The confederate states were founded on lonesomeness.  They were all so lonesome, they built a pen around themselves so they could be lonesome together.  The only reason the confederate army held together as long as it did against overwhelming odds was that everybody felt it would just be too damned lonesome to go home and be lonesome by yourself.

      “The South…. Folks say ‘the South’ but the word doesn’t mean a damned thing.  It is a term without a referent.  No – It means something, but it does not mean what people think it means.  It means a profound experience, communally shared – yeah.  But you know what that shared experience is that makes the word South?

      “It is lonesomeness,” Brad said.  “ It is angry lonesomeness.  Angry lonesomeness  makes southerners say the word South like an idiot Tibetan monk turning a broke down prayer wheel on which he has forgotten to hang any prayers.

      “Hell no southerner believes there is any South.  He just believes that if he keeps on saying the word he will lose some of the angry lonesomeness.  The only folks in the South who are not lonesome are the colored folks.  They may be angry but they are not lonesome.

      “That is the heart of the race problem.  It is not guilt.  That is crap.  It is simply that your southerner is deeply and ambiguously disturbed to have folks around him who are not as lonesome as he is….Especially if they are black folks.  Fiddlersburg is a praying town, just like the South is a praying country.  But it is not that they believe in God.  They do not believe in God.  What they believe in is the black hole in the sky God left when he went away. (Flood P. 165)

In Warren’s writings, the concept of lonesomeness is a symptom of a greater problem – the inability to not be lonesome – or to be comfortable with one’s own lonesomeness.  This ability to hold two contradictory moments together – to be both something and not-that-something – reflects Warren’s views on history, self and responsibility.  As in All the King’s Men, where Willie Stark conflates concepts of good and bad into indiscernible motivations – You only have the bad to make the good from and how Jack Burden contemplates the meaning of being alone with oneself and all the many selves that one had – it’d be quite the party he notes — Brad conflates the meaning of belonging and not belonging to an individual’s ability to be lonesome. These three characters find themselves out of place due to a striking self-awareness.  Like Izzie Goldburg, they realize that they walk in tangles of contradiction – which both allows them to feel at home and at the same time out of place with those that don’t share the same sense of irony around them.  The South might know its lonesome, but understanding what its lonesomeness creates is a different story.

Concluding Thoughts

In Warren’s world, law stands as the impartial arbiter of society.   Segregation, he wrote early in his career was not the problem – it was the tendency of white southerners to treat African Americans poorly in Segregation.  Eventually coming around to the view that Segregation too had to end, Warren’s solution for the South remained consistent — treat all men fairly.  Warren’s work presents some rich ironies when considering places.  The Prison remains the only standing structure in Fiddlersburg – the place where law and responsibility meet most directly.  The Graveyard finds itself buried with the town – taking on a second death as it were for the residents that remain interred.  The Schoolhouse built with dirty money (and legally) in All the King’s Men tumbles under faulty workmanship, killing three children and launching Willie Stark’s political career. Willie does legal and not-legal things and is not immune to backroom deals and public projects that favor politically powerful people.  But Warren doesn’t want to confuse good and bad, right and wrong, “legal and illegal.”  Perhaps its best to simply be aware of the irony.


[1] John T. Hiers, Burried Graveyards: Warren’s Flood and Jone’s A Burried Land, 75 Essays in Literature 97 (2007).

 

Minutes from the last faculty meeting at Hogwarts — Online Classes edition Reply


 

 

Headmaster McGonagall called the meeting to order

Old Business:
Appointments

Headmaster McGonagall noted that Despite the report from prior headmaster Snape that forced buyouts were on the horizon, the recent events as a result of the battle of Hogwarts means that we will be able to retain all remaining faculty. Faculty expressed satisfaction at this news.  She also reported that there is a possibility that we gained a few faculty lines though that is still to be determined. Despite great efforts to identify the fifty other unidentified deaths we have been unable to uncover news of professor deaths.

Professor Trelawney, chair of the appointments committee reported that it appears that school may be able to hire a tenure line for the Dark Arts position rather than using podium visitors since the death of Voldemort.

There was discussion whether Hogwarts should consider Harry Potter as a professor.  Despite favorable reviews from remaining professors and his acclaim for having saved the school and the world, it was suggested that the discussion be tabled until he at least completed his seventh year.

Capital Campaign.

Headmaster McGonagall indicated that the school may need to undertake a capital campaign due to massive damage done to the school. Professor Slughorn asked whether we really needed to raise money for building repairs and pointed out that he has not received a salary increase in the two years since he has returned to Hogwarts. Professor Sprout suggested that perhaps their wizarding prowess could be used to rebuild the school instead of raising funds. Professor Flitwick indicated that maintenance and building projects were not apart of his faculty contract and that he already sacrificed much to be a faculty member at Hogwarts.

New Business
Professor Pomfrey asked about a recent report appearing in Slate and CNet that Hogwarts would begin to offer courses online. Much discussion was had. Professor McGonagall indicated that the capital campaign from the last meeting had not gone as efficiently as planned due to the prevailing question why they could not rebuild with magic. She also said lots of great universities had begun offering online courses, particularly in America  and that this was just the way education was moving.At this point there was much angst at the American way.

Professor Slughorn said that Hogwarts would be a laughing stock for the counterparts at Durmstrang Institute — which already looks down on Hogwarts as accepting what they call inferior students.

Professor Slughorn asked about faculty stipends for the summer. Headmaster McGonagall pointed out that Slughorn hasn’t produced any real scholarship for the last fifteen years and that if he would like a research grant he should begin showing an interest in scholarship. Professor McGonagall did indicate that professors may be able to earn extra money through teaching an online class. Faculty agreed to consider this measure at the next faculty meeting.

The meeting was adjoined.

Why We Should Still Read Ender’s Game in Spite of Orson Scott Card — Part I Reply


Special Appearance by Zach Powers


SEER SUCKER PERFORMANCE

The Literary Table is proud to present Zach Powers from SeerSucker Live discussing Orson Scott Card and his work Ender’s Game as a reflection of and distinctive from his identity.  Like their Facebook page and twitter feed to stay up to date on performances here in Savannah and abroad.  (Because everything outside of Savannah is just abroad!). 

Zach is a writer that lives in Savannah, and his work has appeared in South Magazine, the Savannah Morning News, and other publications.  Welcome Zach! 

In the original version of Orson Scott Card’s award-winning novel Ender’s Game, the insect-like alien enemy was called the Buggers. I remember being a little offended with the release of the “author’s definitive edition,” in which this term was replaced by the supposedly-scientific Formics. What I perceived to be Card’s oversensitivity—his PG-ifying and PC-ifying of the text—annoyed me. So what if the word was connected to the British term buggery? Isn’t Bugger exactly what the collective we would call an enemy who looked like an anthropomorphic ant? I never once thought the term was representative of Card’s actual stance on sexuality. Sometimes art contains ugliness. The contents of his book remained unconnected with the values of the man.

It turns out that the contents of the book are disconnected from the man, but in the other direction. Card’s opposition to LGBT rights in recent years has been well-documented. Even more, I sense a simmering hate underneath any of Card’s writing on the subject, but this tone is so completely absent in his early fictions that I have a hard time believing they were produced by the same hand.

I need to disclaim my personal biases. Ender’s Game is one of my favorite books, and probably the most important book I ever read in terms of shaping who I am. I purchased my first copy—sitting beside me right now—at a 7th grade book fair. It was the first book I ever bought with money out of my own pocket. It was the first book I ever stayed up all night to finish. I read it about thirty times between 7th grade and the end of college. I used to play an online computer game set in the book’s Battle School space station. I still daydream of one day writing the Ender’s Game prequel that has been simmering in the back of my brain for years. Because of my love for the book, Orson Scott Card was, for a long time, someone I admired.

ZACH’S POST CONTINUES ON TUESDAY APRIL 22!

Zach can be contacted via his website http://www.zachpowers.com.  For the latest news and writings, follow his twitter feed @z_powers.

Robert Penn Warren’s Exceptionalism in All the King’s Men Reply


Part III of Robert Penn Warren and Southern Exceptionalism

Over the next few days I am posting a paper I delivered at the Conference on the Novel in Salt Lake City last week.   Today, I will delve into Warren’s Exceptionalism in his most well known work, All the King’s Men.  

Warren’s Exceptionalism in All the King’s Men

In All the King’s Men, the question of progress and means to progress lie as the animating narrative to reveal the personal characters of Jack Burden and Willie Stark.[1]  The role of progress has been explored in other contexts of the novel, such as Automobiles[2] and gender relationships.[3]  I want to consider how place illustrates the tension of progress against southern exceptionalism in Warren’s Novel.  Specifically I want to focus on two markers on progress on the landscape – namely roads and public schools.[4]

Robert Penn Warren begins his novel in the very first scene with an illustration of progress and social relations.

To get there you follow Highway 58, going northeast out of the city, and it is a good highway and new. Or was new, that day we went up it. You look up the highway and it is straight for miles, coming at you, with the black line down the center coming at and at you, black and slick and tarry-shining against the white of the slab, and the heat dazzles up from the white slab so that only the black line is clear, coming at you with the whine of the tires, and if you don’t quit staring at that line and don’t take a few deep breaths and slap yourself hard on the back of the neck you’ll hypnotize yourself and you’ll   come to just at the moment when the right front wheel hooks over into the black dirt shoulder off the slab, and you’ll try to jerk her back on but you can’t because the slab is high like a curb, and maybe you’ll try to reach to turn off the ignition just as she starts the dive. But you won’t make it, of course. Then a [black worker] [he used a different term] chopping cotton a mile away, he’ll look up and see the little column of black smoke standing up above the vitriolic, arsenical green of the cotton rows, and up against the violent, metallic, throbbing blue of the sky, and he’ll say, “Lawd God, hit’s a-nudder one done done hit!” And the next [black worker] down the next row, he’ll say, “Lawd God,” and the first [black worker] will giggle, and the hoe will lift again and the blade will flash in the sun like a heliograph.[5]

Warren’s first image in the book is a freshly tarred road (an image of technological progress) with black workers in the field (an image of past racial servitude).  In the early twentieth century, Roads were visible markers of economic prosperity and technological advancement.[6] Yet, the South’s lack of paved roads in the early 20th century posed a concern that appeared numerous times in National Geographic magazine. David Janson, in his articleAmerican National Identity and the Progress of the New South in “National Geographic Magazine” writes: “For the First half of the twentieth Century, the South’s roads were a concern for National Geographic writers. “Although the wealthiest counties of the state have their own excellent paved highways, there is no dodging Georgia’s deficiency with respect to many of her roads.” Janson continues that “Roads were clearly important to Economic development which is why a National Geographic writer observed with approval when “rough old roads of sand or clay [had] widened into smooth paved highways.”[7]

Just as Warren’s description of the smooth black top leading to Mason City is highlighted as a triumph of Willie Stark – a candidate whose political messages were populist in their promise to deliver government services to more than just the wealthy – the presence of African Americans in the fields suggests that progress remains illusive for some in the South.   As Stark and his crew travel down the good new blacktop, off to the side Warren’s African American field workers are in the distance – close enough to see the march of progress before them, to chuckle at the irony of tragedy in the face of progress, yet clearly not be in the path of progress.

That exclusion of African Americans from economic progress in the south also impacts Willie Stark.   In chapter two, Jack Burden retells being assigned to cover a School Bond issue in Mason City where Stark served as the elected County treasurer.   The reader is immediately tuned in that things are not on the road to progress in Mason City as Jack Burden drives “with his jaws clamped tight when driving over the road described as a “washboard” leaving dust in his trail.  Jack discovers, talking to people on the street, that the schoolhouse bond has stalled because Stark wants the county to “take the low bid” for the building of the new schoolhouse. It becomes clear very soon that “taking the low bid” means two things in Mason: giving jobs to African Americans and conversely taking jobs away from white folk. Burden reflects on this saying “Yeah, I said to myself, so that is the tale, for Mason County is red-neck country and they don’t like black people, not strange black people anyway, and they haven’t got many of their own.”   The last word from folks on the street, however is that giving jobs to African Americans meant taking jobs from white folk. Dolph Pilsbury, the chairman of the Mason City Commissioners, sees the problem the same way,  saying to Burden when asked if the Winning Bid was low says:

“Now look a-here—” and the shadow passed from Mr. Pills-bury’s face and he sat up in his chair as suddenly as though he had been stuck by a pin—“ you talk like that, and ain’t nuthen done but legal. Ain’t nobody can tell the Board what bid to take. Anybody can come along and put in a little piss-ant bid, but the Board doan have to take it. Naw-sir-ee. The Board takes somebody kin do the work right.”

Later, they refer to Stark as a “lover of [black people]” before telling Burden to “Git out.” Burden walks away from the meeting with Pilsbury and the Sheriff contemplating whether they are “real.”  Their archetype of rural politics seemed too fake and in a strange place.  But then, Burden is able to hold the contradictions together – of course they were real and grew up wading in creeks, and watching sunsets, and having babies and wives and having reasons for why they do what they do.

But these are not the only contradictions relating to the schoolhouse.  The exchange suggests to Burden that the sole reason why the Commissioners preferred the higher bid was because of the racial dimension.  But as we delve deeper into the story we learn that the problem is far more complicated. As Stark tells the story the problem of race was merely bait to turn the locals’ interest away from the fact that two other bids were presented that were also lower than the winning bid.  Dolph Pilsbury had a financial stake in seeing that the bid was awarded to the contractor that prevailed. The fact that African Americans stood to be paid more money (as more skilled laborers) than white workers from Mason City, threw oil on the fire.  As Warren would later argue in The Legacy of the Civil War, once race was implicated, everything in the south became about race, even if it wasn’t.[8]  This tension reflects the complicated relationship that race held with the South and with Warren.

Warren himself early in his career approached the problem of race with the idea that segregation was intractable. In his early essay the Briar Patch, Warren perceived the race problem as one of common respect, but which was not easily resolved by forced desegregation.[9]   Later coming off of that opinion, Warren observed that his view of race was primarily informed by his image of south.  He said “The image of the south I carried in my head was one of massive immobility in all ways, in both its virtues and vices – it was an image of the unchangeable human condition, beautiful, sad, tragic.”[10]  Despite changing his views on segregation, one aspect of Warren’s perception of the race problem did not change – its source.  Much of the angst against African Americans stemmed from poor whites who were afraid that Black Mobility meant diminished economic opportunity for white folks.  Warren saw this challenge as one that led to increased violence by poorer white persons who felt isolated by their wealthy white counterparts and black workers looking to obtain a foothold.  Thus Warren wrote in the Briar Patch, “What the white workman must learn… is that he may respect himself as a white man, but if he fails to concede the negro equal protection, he does not properly respect himself as a man.”[11] In Warren’s South – there is always the them versus us that is prevalent in how choices are made.

When Willie chooses sides (or at least chooses to be different from the southerners of Mason City’s government) it’s merely a confirmation that Willie was never an us, even if he wasn’t a them. Willie’s pseudo color-blind approach reflects Warren’s early views on race and relationships.   The school project was never about the black people for Willie, it was about the fairness of the government process. The black workers are merely on the side of the road, watching the progress pass along the side.  Like the early Warren, the violence against a particular people is largely irrelevant as long as there is fairness in how the violence is doled out.


[1] Progress and the question of Progress – namely industrialization – was a primary focus of the Southern Agrarians in their Work I’ll take my Stand.  Seeking to preserve rural identity of the south as a positive value, only Warren takes up the question of race directly.  See Ealy,supra note 15.

[2] Brian Abel Ragen, ‘We’ve Always Gone West:’ Automobiles, Innocence, and All the King’s Men in Weeks, supra note 7.

[3] Lana K. Payton, Out of the Strong shall come forth Sweetness: Women in All the King’s Men, in Weeks, supra note 7.

[4] An ample discussion could also be had of Willie’s hospital.

[5] Robert Penn Warren, All the King’s Men 1.

[6] David Janson, American National Identity and the Progress of the New South in “National Geographic Magazine National Geographic Review 93 Geographical Review 359 (2003).

[7] Id.

[8] Robert Penn Warren, The Legacy of the Civil War .

[9] See Simpson, supra note 5

[10] Id.

[11] See Robert Penn Warren, The Briar Patch, in Donaldson, supra note 15.

 

 

 

American Exceptionalism and Southern Exceptionalism Reply


I'll take my stand

Part II of Robert Penn Warren and Southern Exceptionalism

Over the next few days I am posting a paper I delivered at the Conference on the Novel in Salt Lake City last week.   Today, I will delve into the meaning of exceptionalisms and southern exceptionalism.

Exceptionalisms and Southern Exceptionalism 

Exceptionalism is a common term reflecting the uncritical narratives that set one people apart from another.  For example, the idea of American Exceptionalism as framed by Martin Lipset is what he labels the American Creed: “Liberty, egalitarianism, individualism, populism and laissez faire, or what he calls a set of dogmas for a good society.”[1] American narratives often draw on these dogmas as sources of validation, suggesting that the society is good, right-directed, or pursuing valid-goals.  Exceptionalisms often, though highlighting the narratives at work by the majority, leave some with counter narratives for why those dogmas didn’t work for them.[2]  The Southern African American is hard pressed to find that narratives of egalitarianism validate his access to education, politics, or liberty in a society constrained by segregation.[3]   Nevertheless, exceptionalisms help explain why society believes itself different from others.  They also serve to explain the past as a triumph of the social system, rather than a mar on the past.  Thus, a narrative invoking exceptionalisms might choose to appreciate the progressive move out of slavery, Jim Crow, and segregation rather than focus on the enduring effects any of those institutions may continue to have.[4]

      If the American experience is explained by exceptional qualities, then the Southern Experience may be described by a different reference to the past: “defeat, humiliation, and impotence in the face of intractable social problems.”[5]  The south eagerly adopted the idea of American exceptionalism for itself, believing the society to be set apart, unique, and validated by moral superiority.  This is best characterized by the collection of essays I’ll Take My Stand, in which Warren, Allen Tate, Donald Davidson, argued that the Southern rural life should be preserved in what they apprehended was Northern industrialization.  [6]

But as eminent southern historian C. Vann  Woodward’s The Search for Southern Identity argues, time proved that the real southern experience was characterized by “grinding poverty, political impotency, military defeat, racial conflict, and social guilt.”[7]  Sheldon Hackney has argued that Southerners have had to define themselves in opposition to a presumed American norm.[8]  Similarly, Orville Burton contends that the Southerner remains an “other” or “stranger” in the American narrative.[9] For our purposes, Robert Penn Warren embraced the idea that Southerners found themselves looking backward more than forward so to speak – consistently defining themselves, their environment, and their identity against the backdrop of how the exceptional failed in its promise, and the fact that the war was not won.  This is revealed in Warren’s life experience and works.

Warren himself takes up the mantle of exceptionalism in a number of contexts.  Jewishness and its meaning are pre-eminent constructs in a number of Warren’s novels including Flood and Wilderness.  In both novels, Jewish persons find themselves, like Warren’s southern characters as both out of place and in place.   Warren outside of his literary endeavors also pursued social justice on behalf of Soviet Jews by joining with the Conference on the Status of Soviet Jews to urge Soviet writers to take up the mantle of Tolstoy, Dostovsky, Checkov and others to find a place in Soviet society for Jewish persons.  Each of Warren’s suggestions in his letter to the Soviet Writers Conference urges support for physical space allocated to the preservation of Jewish Identity – schools, synagogues, cultural centers and the like.  Similarly, it was primarily because of American Exceptionalism that Warren declined a Chaired Professor at the University of California.  At the time, California law mandated that government employees sign a loyalty oath affirming their allegiance to the country and their disavowal of communist tendencies.

For Warren, the presence of the counter narrative – or the contradiction – and the ability to reconcile the counter narrative is a primary reason the South exists as lonely.  Those contradictions are depicted in the way physical space and the law’s relationship to that space is described in both works.


[1] Martin Lipset, American Exceptionalism: The Double Edged Sword (1996).

[2] See Nancy Leong, The Open Road and the Traffic Stop: Narratives and Counter-Narratives of the American Dream, 64 Fla. L. Rev. 305 (2001) (describing the tension between the fiction of American equality and race-based profiled stops); David Levering Lewis,Exceptionalisms Exceptions: The Changing American Narrative, 141 Daedelus 101 (2012).

[3] See W.E.B. Dubois, Black Reconstruction in America: Toward a History of the Part Which Black Folk Played in the Attempt to Reconstruct Democracy in America 1860-1880 (1935) (suggesting that the choice for an American narrative is one between “freedom, intelligence and power for all men; the other was industry for private profit directed by an autocracy determined at any price to amass wealth and power”).

[4] Invoking W.E.B. Dubose’s emphasis on choice, see supra note 12.

[5] David R. Jannson, American Hegemony and the Irony of C. Vann Woodward’s the Irony of Southern History, 44 Southeastern Geographer 90 (2004).

[6] See Donald Davidson et al, I’ll Take My Stand: The South and the Agrarian Tradition by Twelve Southerners (1930).  For an analysis of Warren’s contribution, which some of the writers believed was contradictory to the overall message, see Steven Ealy, ‘A Place for the Negro in the Agrarian Scheme’: Robert Penn Warren’s Contribution to I’ll Take My Stand,  30Political Science Reviewer 120 (2001).

[7] Jannson, supra note 14, at 90.

[8] Sheldon Hackney,  The South as Counterculture, 42 American Scholar 283 (1973).

[9] Orville Vernon Burton, The South as “Other,” the Southerner as “Stranger,” 79 J. Southern History 7 (2013).

 

 

 

 

Louisiana’s Bible Reply


Image

Louisiana legislators are attempting to revive the old times – back to 1611.  House Bill 503 proposed to declare that “Louisiana should have a state book,” and the state book shall be the “Holy Bible.” 

Such a curious choice!  Louisiana traces its roots back to French and Spanish settlers, particularly french missionaries that established mission posts along the Louisiana delta plains.  More likely to make the journey into the early Louisiana territory was the French Catholic Bible published at Leuven in 1550.  Certainly, at least early on, the various French translations of Catholic Bibles had more influence than the King James Bible.  

So what should the state book of Louisiana be.  I will offer my top five choices of books:

1.  The Louisiana Civil Code. This book has had the most influence on individuals, society, and the state in general.  It springs from the positivist tradition of a civil society, while blending spanish and french influences on the legal regime. It has been updated and revised as the years have passed. Indeed there is no more “Louisiana” book than the Louisiana Civil Code. 

2.  All the King’s Men.  This is an obvious choice given the influence of Louisiana politics and setting on Robert Penn Warren’s best known book.  It is, without a doubt, Louisiana’s book. 

3. Solomon Northup’s Twelve Years a Slave.  Solomon Northup spent twelve years enslaved in the Cane River area of Louisiana’s plantations.  His enduring memoir continues to shape historical dialogues on slavery, society, and memoir.  

4. Laussat’s Memoirs of My Life.  Pierre Clement de Laussat was a french bureaucrat assigned to the Louisiana post. He held posts in Martinet and Guiana, but was the last French provincial governor of the territory before the Louisiana Purchase.  HIs memoirs contain interesting reflections on the purchase from the french perspective.   Additionally, much of his memoir is concerned with life in the Louisiana Territory.  

5. A Confederacy of Dunces. John Kennedy Toole’s only published novel and winner of the Pulitzer Prize for fiction, the novel is set in Louisiana’s cultural capital New Orleans, and depicts life from the perspective of a modern Don Quixote of the French Quarter.  

What other books should be considered?  

Image from Albert Pike and the Louisiana Civil Code: An Unfinished Epic…