[On March 20, 1852,
Harriet Beecher Stowe’s titanic novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published
in book form for the first time. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful
of Stowe contexts, leading up to a special post on the wonderful Stowe Center
in Hartford!]
On whether we
can in any way blame an uber-popular cultural work for its misappropriations.
I’ve written
before in this space, such as in this
June 2016 post, about my first
published article, in which I argued (among other things) that we can and
should blame Margaret Mitchell’s stunningly popular novel Gone
with the Wind (1936) for its destructive effects on American society
and culture. After all, I would say (as I did at length in that article) that
both of those elements of Mitchell’s novel were entirely intentional: of course
she intended it to be popular (as do virtually all writers and artists, if of
course precious few achieve that goal anywhere near as fully as did Mitchell); and
it’s my contention that she likewise entirely intended it to affect American
narratives of region, race, and Reconstruction (she did after all write
to Thomas W. Dixon, one of the most overtly white
supremacist novelists in American history, “I was practically raised on
your books, and love them very much”). Mitchell in no way originated the mythic
and racist narrative of Reconstruction in particular that the second half of
her book features (even Dixon didn’t originate it, although he was much closer to
its origin points), but she both built upon and amplified it in ways that
frustratingly continue to echo down to our own 21st century moment.
If Gone with the Wind was the 20th
century’s most
popular American novel (and I’m pretty sure it was, statistically at least),
Uncle Tom’s Cabin was the
19th century’s. And while Gone
spawned one equally popular and influential film adaptation, UTC has almost certainly produced (as I
highlighted in yesterday’s post and as my
Dad’s website examines at great length) more adaptations and aftermaths than
any other American cultural work. Moreover, a great many of those UTC aftermaths have been implicitly or
(as in the use of the phrase
“Uncle Tom” itself) explicitly racist in their meanings and effects. Yet of
course there’s an important distinction between the two novels when it comes to
these prominent and enduring effects (among many differences we could identify
between the two books): not only did Stowe not intend to amplify racist
narratives, but indeed I would argue that her book is (at least in its purposes
and goals, and certainly for its 1850s moment of publication) one of the most overtly
anti-racist works in American literary or cultural history. Which is to say, even
if you don’t think as highly of Stowe’s novel as I do, the frustratingly longstanding
racist aftermaths of Uncle Tom’s Cabin
have to be called misappropriations.
Of course an
author can’t entirely control what happens to her work after it is published, nor
necessarily even influence broader societal forces in her own era (much less
those that extend into subsequent centuries). Yet just as I wasn’t completely willing
to let
my fav Bruce Springsteen off the hook for the frustrating misunderstandings
and misappropriations of his song “Born in the U.S.A.,” so too would I say that
there are ways to critique Stowe’s novel in relationship to these subsequent misappropriations.
After all, while her novel is as I argued strikingly anti-racist in its overall
purposes and goals, Stowe also relies in her creation of particular African
American characters (especially Tom and Topsy)
on racial stereotypes that were all-too-easily turned into fodder for minstrel
shows and other racist depictions. I don’t believe for a second that that
invalidates the most progressive and activist sides to Stowe’s book—but it’s
part of the complex story and legacy of this hugely important American novel as
well.
Special post
this weekend,
Ben
PS. What do you
think?
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