[Each year for
the last couple, I’ve followed
up my Valentine’s series with a week AmericanStudying
some things of which I’m not as big a fan. This crowd-sourced grudge match
is drawn from the response of fellow AmericanStudies—add your thoughts and
non-favorites in comments, please!]
Responding to
Monday’s To Kill a Mockingbird post, Tim
McCaffrey writes, “Excellent take. I like the
novel quite a bit but agree that it tends to be overblown with regard to race.
I always felt that it speaks more to integrity than race. When I first read it,
I was reminded of John
Adams' legal defense of the British soldiers.”
Responding to Wednesday’s Mad Men post, Nancy
Caronia writes, “A-freaking-men, and why i could
never watch more than a few episodes. It might do interesting things with that
narrow view of America in the '60s and the acting might be okay, but I just
felt such a patina of forced falseness, I could not engage. And I tried,
numerous times with numerous seasons.”
On the same post, Harrison Chute comments, “I agree -- and for the record, the
issue of race is decidedly not rectified in S6 and S7. I have no memory of the
black secretary, Dawn, though her not having a dramatically satisfying closure
is consistent with all supporting characters. Mad Men always seemed trapped between its literary ambition and the
traditions of the television medium, as showrunner Matthew
Weiner is very old guard, having contributed significantly to The Sopranos. And so the prevailing
question for the show, even for me who loves it, is... why seven seasons? The
middle seasons offer very little in development for Draper, measured directly
against Peggy's advancement, so instead we get this granularity of character in
'character-driven' moments, which too have little bearing on the long game. At
that point it becomes television entertainment only, and that works for some
(like easily impressed TV critics), and doesn't for others.”
Whereas Emily responds, “While I agree
with you about most of this, when you finish, I'd love to have a conversation
about how the show offers and explores different models of successful (white)
womanhood in this particular milieu. I also think that while offered too little
screen time, the acting and writing for the black tertiary characters (all
women) was really good. Dawn and Shirley do get more development, though they
stay minor.”
Responding to
Thursday’s Africa and pop music post, Summer Lopez writes, “Okay, a push-back: while ‘We are the World’ may have
helped raise awareness, it also added to the overriding image of Africa as a
desperate place in need of saving by the West. (Don't even get me started on ‘Do They Know it's
Christmas?’ - even if Bono did participate.) Graceland, however, also raised
awareness, but of African music and artists. It was the first time I ever really
heard African music, and probably for a long time Ladysmith Black Mambazo was
the only African musician or musical group I could have named. Paul Simon gave
South African artists who were silenced by the apartheid regime a global
platform and helped expose westerners to a side of Africa rarely depicted
elsewhere - its culture, talent, and beauty. I think in the long run that's a
far more valuable contribution.” She follows up, “Also just to add I think
‘WATW’ also contributed to the view of 'Africa' as a place that could be
subject to a single description or stereotype. With Graceland at least you knew they were *South African* musicians.”
Responding to the same post, Andrea
Grenadier also disagrees, writing, “I think your
comments about Graceland were a bit
too dismissive. Sure, one could cavil with Paul Simon's ‘appropriation,’ if you
want to call it that. But there's a difference in working in idioms that honor
a country's music, and shamelessly ripping it off. Paul Simon gave much-needed
attention to the African music scene, to the point where he helped to make some
careers flourish even more, including Ladysmith Black Mambazo. When Graceland came out in 1986, it also
spurred other musicians to incorporate Affrican singers into their fold,
including Youssou
N'Dour on Peter Gabriel's So, also in 1986. Paul Simon is singular in other ways, and
way ahead of the pack; way back in 1973, he headed down to Muscle Shoals,
Alabama, to record parts of There Goes Rhymin' Simon there, adding the Dixie
Hummingbirds to the soundtrack. So I think of
his work as more stretching idioms, and featuring the heart, soul, and idea of
a place to make the music more present than it could have been otherwise.”
Responding to Friday’s historical figure list, Andrew
DaSilva nominates “Some more to add to your list: Dr. Taliaferro Clark &
Dr. Raymond A. Vonderlehr (for their part in the
Tuskegee experiment); Ronald (union
busting of the air traffic controllers) and
Nancy Reagan (in particular her Just Say No campaign); and UN ambassador John Bolton.”
On the same post, Nancy Caronia writes, “You are not going
to like this one [BEN: She’s right, but I appreciate it just the same!], and I
don't either. Bruce Springsteen. You know I love him. You know I do. BUT when
he wrote The River, it was a direct
response to the encroaching neoliberal economic and political policies that
were decimating (and, I might add, continue to decimate) public services for
the poor, working, and middle classes. Now, one might think The River tour on which he and the E
Street Band is embarked works in direct correlation to that timeframe with what
is happening during this election cycle. BUT from where I'm sitting, he's
playing music meant for a downtrodden people and the only ones who can afford a
freaking ticket are those who have somehow gained economically through
neoliberal economic policies (and now global service provider policies). He's
playing to the audience that most needs to learn about this kind of poverty and
destitution, but will be the ones least likely to listen too closely. I just
want to smack him upside his head.”
Some other non-favs responses:
Amy Johnson writes, “I really did not enjoy A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man when I was assigned to read it.”
Rob
Velella highlights, “Henry James. I just don't
get it. I remember being told that, even if I thought I didn't like Henry
James, I'd still appreciate The Turn of the Screw. Finally read
it, still didn't care for it/him. Also, Ralph
Waldo Emerson. I find him pretentious, wordy,
and opaque.” Andrea Grenadier agrees with Rob on both counts, but disagrees
with Amy on James Joyce!
Next series
starts Monday,
Ben
PS. Other
non-favorites you’d share?
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