Transubstantiations of the Reader

My initial reaction to the reading for this week was somewhat similar to what Klay said in his blog entry (at least it started out that way). I struggled to turn my reading experience into some sort of topic to write about in this blog. I find that as I do the reading for this class, I tend to pay attention more to myself than to the text; in other words, I give precedence to my stray thoughts and the manner in which I read instead of thinking critically about the text. Part of this stems from my rush to finish reading every week (an incessant battle I always lose every semester for some reason) and part from my weird tendency to make everything I do as efficient a process as possible. When I realize this as I read, I tend to try and refocus more on the text. Then, I tend to take for granted the scholarship I am reading. Not that I don't understand the argument that Cathy N. Davidson is making, but the actual act of making the scholarship tends to fade into the background.

The study of literature is truly one of humanity's greatest endeavors. In order to begin to understand the place of novels in the early Republic, Davidson must transcend the divisions of discipline and become an economist, a scholar of law, a sociologist, a historian, an archaeologist, a literary theorist, a translator, and a reader. Short of a Unified Field Theory, there are few disciplines that require knowledge of seemingly disparate fields of study. Every day we do this to varying degrees of severity; often we incorporate different disciplines into our areas of interest, but we all do it. The nature of our discipline is naturally interdisciplinary. We offer more than esoteric theories and interpretations of texts too hard for most to read. We offer a better understanding of who are as humans by looking at who we have been in order to help us become better. I'm preaching to the choir, I know. We can keep telling people this until we are blue in the face. Art is important, art is valuable, art is insert adjective, etc. We can all keep going and listing off what we think art is and why it should never assume a subordinate role in society, but we are better served if we show everyone why art is valuable. However, the methods by which the humanities operates (and has operated) should change along with the humans we propose to study. We must imbed ourselves in society and makes ourselves truly indispensable instead of simply saying that we are. The cultural capital we are trying to cash in is no longer accepted. We must adapt or die (figuratively speaking, of course).

Since We're Talking About It...

I have the canary-bird-in-the-coal-mine theory of the arts .... But I continue to think that artists—all artists—should be treasured as alarm systems.

                                                                                                                         Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Insert Cheesy American Patriotic Title Here

While reading Cathy N. Davidson's introduction to the expanded edition of Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America, I am reminded about the benefits of my advanced education (I know I don't seemed advanced but I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night). I am reminded about how wonderful it is to have the opportunity to access the complex and rich history of the United States. I had no idea that "at least one hundred novels were produced in America between 1789 and 1820 (Davidson 3). This further complicates an increasingly complicated view of American history that I relish. I shudder when adults believe the jingoistic stories from elementary school, but not because I am "un-American;" rather, I relish the complicated and often abominable history of the United States. The very fact that I am allowed to access and create some sort of truth that the government doesn't officially endorse is amazing.

At times like this, I think back to my first semester of teaching at TCU; specifically, I think about one student. He was from China and seemed to enjoy talking about the drastic differences between Chinese and American universities. Although he never once disparaged his native country, it always appeared that he enjoyed the pleasures of living in America. During a discussion about paper topics, another student brought up the events surrounding the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989. After the class discussed that example, the student from China raised his hand and asked, "What are you talking about?" Some of my students quickly filled him in and he was stunned. You could see his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what he heard. He said something to the effect of, "I have never heard of such a thing, perhaps you are wrong." At this moment, one of the other students showed him pictures and the Wikipedia page for the event on an iPad. I felt bad for a number of reasons. First, the fact that such an integral part of his nation's history was kept secret from him. Second, the way he found out was unfortunate. It was like being the butt of a joke and finding out about it after everyone had their laugh. How such a revelation must decimate his view of China. I'm sure that if he brought it up upon returning home that either no one would know about it and he would be quickly silenced. Coming to such a realization about your nation can be liberating, but damaging at the same time.

That moment in my classroom helped me to appreciate how fortunate I am to be able to access those unfavorable moments in American history alongside those mythic stories of the Founding Fathers. I enjoy the ability to view multiple perspectives and take comfort that George Washington probably told lies and things weren't all peaches and cream at first (and still aren't). In my understanding of the word, what it means to be American isn't a rigid set of beliefs that transcend time; rather, it's the ability to be flexible and adapt with time and to view your nation's history with a critical gaze so that we might all learn from the good, the bad, and the ugly (I had to say that phrase because I saw Hang 'Em High last week).

Would this Post Fall Under Article I, Section 8, Clause 8? Probably Not, but I'm Writing It Anyway

Here is the above-mentioned clause: "The Congress shall have Power ... To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries" (National Constitution Center). Useful arts? Hmm. I know I have trouble defining art, let alone what constitutes useful art. As I read Starr's discussion of the formation of copyright law in the early republic, I was initially troubled by the phrase useful arts. I'm not exactly sure how this phrase was defined in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century America, but it seems to be the root of evil that causes parents to respond to their children's decision to become English (or any other liberal art) majors: "English? What are you going to do with a degree in that?" Although the answer is obvious to us, I feel that we must justify ourselves to the public with alarming regularity.


The idea that a phrase such as useful arts exists is unnerving. Even though I don't hear this term thrown about today, the meaning I infer from the words is still very much alive today. I'm happy to say that copyright protection does not seem to rely on whether or not the art in question is useful (otherwise I don't think anyone would have read about a certain wizard); however, the stigma attached to those in literary studies during an age of technological wizardry is not justified. I'm not comparing English majors to a persecuted minority, but the fact that the two cultures are in constant competition is a blight on human civilization. Artistic creativity should not be perceived as standing in opposition to scientific creativity; likewise, the study of these two cultures should not stand at opposite ends of the spectrum. I do not claim that art should not have justification; on the contrary, I believe it should have a justification. Moreover, it should be justified in the same way that science is: it produces practical knowledge that directly benefits human civilization.

Forbidding the thought that liberal arts has both qualitative and quantitative value is what leads people the world over to question the value of literature. A novel is as practical as a prescription drug; a poem is as useful as vulcanized rubber. Although novels and poems don't cure illnesses or help drivers to safely travel, the literary works can be as practical for their intellectual stimulation or cathartic properties. The arts are useful but not universally, in the same way that a pill for erectile dysfunction won't be useful for everyone. Advancements in science are not always universally beneficial. Literature is the same way. One novel that I might cherish is a paperweight for someone else. It is my hope that one day I will no longer have to justify the basic study of literature, much in the same way that a chemist doesn't have to justify the basic study of chemistry.

If at First You Don't Succeed, Just Don't Talk about It

Starr discusses the importance that the development of communications played in the transformation of American society from colony to nation. Towards the end of chapter three, Starr praises the advancements made as a direct result of the "American Revolution in Communications" that include the establishment of free speech, the Constitution itself, government-subsidized newspapers, an elaborate postal network, protection of postal privacy, a census, and an extended education system. As I read through chapters two and three, I noticed that Starr failed to discuss something that I feel would be necessary when talking about the relationship between the media and the American Revolution: The Articles of Confederation.

Despite discussing events leading up to, during, and following the ratification of the Articles, Starr mentions the document only once in passing: "Under the Articles of Confederation in 1785, the postmaster general had insisted that the Post Office had no obligation to carry newspapers, and after adoption of the Constitution it was unclear what policy the new government would take" (89). It seems that this statement alone calls for a discussion all its own since it had an effect on the development of the media in the early republic. Additionally, Starr does not state whether the Articles explicitly denied the ability for the Post Office to carry newspapers, or if it was the desire of the postmaster general.

An intellectual of Paul Starr's status failing to discuss the original governing document in detail (especially in context with a discussion of the Constitution) is negligent. Perhaps negligent might seem like too harsh a word, but I think it fits in this instance. Starr implies that the conception of government the early leaders of the United States came up with was superior, because Americans were naturally superior beings (thanks Tom). I am the first to venerate to achievements of our nation's founders (and what remarkable achievements they were!); however, I feel that with all the good that Starr praises, perhaps some more missteps should be discussed. If we are naturally superior, then why didn't those founders find a system of government that worked on the first try?

It seems that the Articles would play a prominent role in the creation of media in the early republic, at the very least because of the dissemination of ideas as a result of its ratification. The fact that the postmaster general attempted to suppress the flow of ideas by not carrying newspapers could be important; furthermore, Starr's omission reflects the impossibility of disseminating unbiased views on historical events. With that said, I could be completely wrong in my interpretation of Starr's work, especially since I have only read the first three chapters of the book. I for one would find the discussion much more interesting, but I like to complicate things sometimes.

What was it that Ben Franklin said?

"We talk the language we have always heard you speak."

Sam Adams, brewer and patriot

PS: I drink the beer I have always heard you made.

No, here's to you Sam.

An American Original

I have a wonderful cat named Rolo, who may or may not be in the process of evolving thumbs. I noticed on all our vet paperwork that our vet seems to think that Rolo is a "Russian Blue." I decided to discuss this with my vet by declaring that, "Rolo's mother did not immigrate (and brave the dangerous trip) to the United States so that her children would be called 'Russian Blue.' I think you should change his patient information to reflect his national status as 'American Blue.'" Looking at the picture below, no one will have any doubts that Rolo has fully integrated into American society. He is an example for us all.

Rolo putting choke hold on Curious George: "Who said you could be curious?!"

Post-Post Office or: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Appreciate the Post Office

In his book The Creation of the Media: Political Origins of Modern Communications Paul Starr discusses the importance of postal services as an element in the foundation of modern media and the dissemination of thought. Starr first mentions postal networks on page two, and for the rest of today's readings I couldn't shake the United States Post Office from my mind. As Starr discusses how the creation of the postal service enabled the growth and circulation of newspapers, I quickly began worrying about the decline of an institution that played an integral part in the formation of the United States. With every page, I became more and more concerned: "How could we let our postal service become unnecessary?" I began to wonder why the idea of the USPS wasn't emphasized more when I was growing up, and why the simple act of writing a letter and having it sent to whomever I wanted is not a simple act at all. It is amazing.

The telegraph networks live on in our wireless phone networks today; however, the postal service as it existed will one day be a thing of the past (barring any unforeseen collapse of contemporary society). I have to admit that I rarely send letters or even send packages through the postal service, so I am complicit in the degradation of the USPS. The use of email has become second nature and I wouldn’t dare forfeit the ability to correspond electronically; however, the spirit of that correspondence isn’t the same. It’s far easier to monitor electronic correspondence than it is to have someone sort through every letter and read its contents. I’m not disseminating anything that I need to be worried about, but the freedom inherent in sending a physical correspondence is irreplaceable.

As Starr moves beyond the introduction into his discussion of the beginnings of print and the first courier services in Europe (did anyone think of the muted post horn?), I was still drawn to the USPS and the affect it had on the development of the United States. I’m not trying to sound jingoistic, but government-sanctioned—yet free from censorship—postal service is genius. Not only was the flow of ideas facilitated that enabled the US to become a super power, but also the ramifications of such a service are widespread. Since the USPS helped the circulation of printed materials, it created a market for publications that wouldn’t have otherwise been created. I’m sure that there have been some awful publications that negatively affect the people’s perception of free speech; however, the positives that stem from easy access to printed materials far outweigh the negatives.
Even seemingly unrelated items are directly connected to the postal service. The privatization of printing and the freedom to disseminate publications set individuals on paths never conceived. Orville Wright was interested in printing and became fascinated with the mechanics of printing presses. He built his own printing press and began printing a variety of publications. It was this interest in printing presses and their complex mechanisms that eventually led to the development of heavier-than-air flying machines. This connection may seem like a stretch, but had the ability to freely print in the United States not existed, Orville Wright would not have had the initial experiences that helped him develop airplanes.

It is for this reason—among countless thousands—that I lament the decline of the USPS. It was instrumental in the growth of the United States and the diffusion of free thought. The postal service deserves a more elaborate sendoff than what it currently is receiving. I realize this now as I finish Starr’s first chapter, but I am not consoled by any ideas that might help the situation.

American Me

1. I am originally from Columbus, Ohio; however, as an Air Force brat I don't have a town to call my own. With that said, I'll describe two of my favorites. Columbus is at the same time a run-down factory town, architecturally interesting, historically fascinating (especially when it comes to my formative years), and ethnically diverse. It was where my parents were married and I was born (barely in that order). I learned to walk there and graced the city with my first words. Even the ugliest parts are beautiful to me and the prettiest areas transcend words. Edwards A.F.B., California is a hole in the wall in the middle of California's High Desert and serves as the inspiration for everything that interests me today (for the most part). If you didn't like the "new" release (there was only one screen) showing for the week at the local base theater, you drove for an hour to find another theater showing new releases. The isolation created a strong sense of community that disappeared when they tore down the tree-lined, lead-painted, and asbestos insulated atomic-age homes. The base is full of living history at every turn.

2. Like most of us, I am an avid reader who will read just about anything once. I tend to read far to quickly to remember what I read (which works for Michael Crichton books, but not for literary theory), but I am trying to work on that.

3. I am a terrible writer. I tend to be inspired in the eleventh hour which never lends itself to elaborate language or correct grammar. I think I might be concise.

4. I hope to learn more about periodicals, become a better reader and writer by being the opposite of numbers two and three above, nail my first presentation at my first conference, figure out exam topics, figure out life, and make myself a more enticing job candidate.

5. My worst class has to be M408D: Sequences, Series, and Multivariable Calculus only because it was run by the worst professor: Dr. ****. On seven (SEVEN!!!) separate occasions during the first ten weeks of the semester, Dr. **** spent one hour and twenty minutes proving theorems on the boards (that were not in the text, but crucial to understanding the course) only to discover that he made a mistake somewhere but didn't know where. Of the original 120 students who started the course, I was one of the brave 19 who stayed until the end with nothing to show but tears of calculus rage. Around this time, I began to dislike going to class.

6. The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason, Giles Goat-Boy by John Barth, and Runaway Ralph by Beverly Cleary

7. The Articles of Confederation was the first constitution, George Washington was not the first president, the first thirteen states were Delaware, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Georgia, Maryland, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virgina, and New York

8. Three things: It is difficult to offend me, I am a geek of epic proportions, and I like cats.