I swear that I will not make a habit of breaking my topic rotation (I set up a rotation of six different topics, largely to prevent me from going on extended political rants). And I will never post two unrelated political posts in a row. I think of this post as more of an addendum to what I wrote yesterday. After I wrote yesterday's post, professor Rachel Fulton Brown wrote three more. One that inexplicably made a lengthy metaphorical connection between Milo Yiannopoulos and Jesus Christ (seriously), one where she played ignorant about why so many people were upset with her views, and one, titled "Bully Culture," which is the main focus of what I need to address today. At the end of yesterday's post, I noted that I was not angry, but rather disappointed that a scholar of Fulton Brown's stature bought Yiannopoulos's scam so completely. After reading Fulton Brown's "Bully Culture" post, I went very quickly from disappointed to angry. The cause of this shift was that Fulton Brown, in that post, went very quickly from ignorant to dangerous.
I'm going to take an unusual step here, and speak directly to professor Fulton Brown.
Professor, you open "Bully Culture" with the following line:
"Everybody hates a bully, or so we say. Yesterday, the national media bullied into silence a young man who had risen to fame speaking to audiences of young women and men about the lies that the grown-ups had told them for decades."
You essentially open a blog post about lies with a lie. The "national media" bullied Yiannopoulos into "silence"? How? By reporting on the words that he said? By seeing a video that clearly depicted a man supporting sex between adolescent children and adult men, and somehow NOT seeing that this sort of egregious view supposedly meant the exact opposite in "English humor" language? And how did they silence him, exactly? Did they do it when they turned out en masse to cover his press conference? Did they silence him when they provided a massive platform for him to announce the planned creation of his new media company? Nobody silenced him. He said a horrendous thing for shock value. When it didn't get the kind of shock he wanted, he lied about it, getting MORE attention. This narrative that he is the victim is, like most narratives from Breitbart and its ilk, pure bullshit.
But that isn't what took me from "disappointed" to "angry," professor Fulton Brown. I became angry when I started reading your lists of "lies that grown ups" tell to children. And before getting into those in detail, I want to thank you, professor. You did more to expose the kind of person you and your Breitbart ilk are in those few paragraphs than any expose could have done. You start by spinning the hell out of liberal positions by suggesting that the furthest extreme--an extreme held by a scant few--represented the entirety of liberal thought. I've translated your "lies" below. The extreme version (the one you used) is on the left. The real liberal position is on the right.
You claim that "everyone knows these are lies" and then go into several ridiculous "for example" statements, like a young woman who loses her virginity to a man who doesn't want to marry her and a young man who is "tempted into exciting and transgressive sex with an older man and finds himself trapped by his desire in a lifestyle he cannot leave." Professor, this is just ridiculous. Did it ever occur to you that the young woman in your example might not want to marry that man either? And incidentally, very subtle work here, trying to bring back fraudulent and hyperbolic claims that the LGBT population "recruits." This entire concept is absurd. You may have tried to be more sneaky about it but professor, like Anita Bryant, you have pie on your face.
After these offensive remarks that attempt to bring society back into the 1950s, you spin a fantastical narrative, professor. You spin a world so magical and unrealistic that it would likely sit somewhere between Narnia and Hogwarts. In your ridiculous fantasy world, young people are flocking to Milo Yiannopoulos because:
" All their lives they had been wanting to push back against the grown-ups for taking away their sense of self as boys or girls. For telling the girls that they should want to play with trucks as much as dolls. For telling the boys they were evil for wanting to play with swords. But the grown-ups had bullied them into silence.
Some bullies were worse than others. Some were their parents, forcing them to pretend to like their step-parents and step-siblings. Some were their teachers, forcing them to pretend that they liked talking crudely about sex while learning English or math. Some were actors and actresses, forcing them to pretend that they enjoyed watching ever more violent sex. Some were their peers, forcing them to pretend to like not being boys or girls. Some were adults who called themselves friends and promised to take care of them if they let the older person have sex with them."
Where is this world, professor? Where is this world where straight children are pressured by the adults in their lives to be gay and transgender? Hell, where is the world where adults even tell children that it's okay to be that way? Where is this world where girls and boys are encouraged to play with the toys they enjoy rather than the toys that society has dictated belong to children of their gender? Where is this world where children pressure their peers to be gay and transgender? The world I grew up in, an exotic place called "reality," looks quite different. In "reality," children are often thrown out of the only homes they've ever known by the adults in their lives for being gay and transgender, leading to absurd rates of suicide and homelessness among LGBT youth. In "reality," conservatives are so concerned that clothing and toys are gender conforming that they boycott stores just for removing the gendered advertising. I once sent a class of freshmen composition students to the Strong Museum of Play. The only order I gave them was to observe the children at play and look for gendered trends. Almost every student, on separate visits, noticed that the children wanted to play at every exhibit, but their parents, sometimes forcefully, herded their children to the "gender appropriate" exhibits. In "reality," professor, children are not pressured by their peers to be gay and transgender; they are tortured by those peers for being gay or transgender. You have created a false world where up is down in order to sustain your persecution complex. Your concept of the world is not only false; it's ridiculous and dangerous.
Why dangerous? Why did I go from disappointed to angry? It comes down to two lines in particular:
" He joked about wishing that he might be cured, perhaps through prayer or electric shock. And he described how he had learned to be gay."
"He hated the bullies for telling young women that it was okay to be fat, despite the health risks and guarantee that it would be harder for them to find boyfriends if they were morbidly obese."
In these two lines, you further so many dangerous and false beliefs. Beliefs that, when uttered by someone who should know better, influence people who don't know better. First, you reference (with reverence), Yiannopoulos's support for electro-shock conversion therapy. You repeat the absurd notion that people choose to be gay. These "therapies" have been shown to be abusive, dangerous, and completely ineffective. They scar children for life. Seek out people who have been through these "therapies," professor. Do your research. Your words encourage people to inflict this kind of suffering on children.
Your second passage is just as bad. This may come as a shock to you, but insulting someone doesn't encourage them to lose weight. Even more dangerous is your absurd concept that the motivation for women to lose weight is to make it easier for them to "find boyfriends." That comment made me throw up in my mouth a little. I am likely not alone in that, as that comment reflects the exact mindset created by the "beauty industry" that encourages eating disorders.
And so, professor, I am no longer disappointed. I am now angry. I am angry because you have been conned by this obvious con-man (Milo Yiannopoulos). I am angry because your "Bully Culture" post clearly shows why you were so easily conned. He told you what you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear that gay people were dangerous to children. You wanted to hear that gay people have a privileged life. You wanted to hear that women should feel an obligation to be wives and mothers. You wanted to hear that overweight women were faulty. You are a person filled with thoughts and views that demonstrate both a disconnect from reality and a disdain for your fellow human beings (at least the ones that don't look and think like you). When you research, your work shows skill and careful attention to fact. When you blather--and professor, that's exactly what you've done over the last couple of days--you ignore any fact that doesn't fit your world view.
In your most recent blog post, professor, you state that you are "quite honestly struggling to understand" why people are upset with you. I will explain it to you. It's not just because you have a long-standing and frankly odd obsession with Milo Yiannopoulos. It's because the clear source of your support, the clear reason he resonates with you, is because of the fact that you both hate. You hate a great number of things and people. And Milo Yiannopoulos arrived and told you what you wanted to hear. He told you that that hate was good and Godly. He told you that the clear facts about the dangers of your views weren't real. He told you that you were the one being persecuted. And you bought it. And you had the temerity to compare him to Christ. So I'm angry, professor. I'm angry as a scholar and a Christian. I'm angry that you have the gall to wrap Republican far right bigotry, misogyny, and homophobia in the trappings of religion and then judge us from your self-made cross. I'm angry because you have lost sight of actual Christianity in the process. I'm angry because, in your insistence to play the victim, you write things that perpetuate behavior that leads to the creation of actual victims.
I ask that you apply the same drive and effort to research your social positions as you do your academic texts. And when you do so, and you find the hate within you that is so clear to the rest of us, I recommend seeking help from Christ. The real one. Not your three-named false idol.
PS: Please stop referring to "Chivalry." You clearly only understand the concept in terms of the way the Victorians re-imagined it. Call Richard Kaeuper. He can teach you something about the concept.
Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, in a recent tweet, highlighted the rather disturbing views of one Rachel Fulton Brown. To be completely clear from the outset--I have never met Rachel Fulton Brown. She is a noted medieval historian at the University of Chicago whose work has a stellar reputation. That is, in large part, why I was so alarmed by what she wrote recently. Brown is, in addition to being a scholar of medieval religion, a staunch conservative in the Trumpian mold, contributing to Breitbart "news," and serving as academia's prime cheerleader for one Milo Yiannopoulos. She recently published a short piece in Sightings, a newsletter released by the divinity school at the University of Chicago. In this piece, and in several posts on her personal blog, professor Brown proceeded to characterize Milo Yiannopoulos as some form of comedic genius and social satirist, out to expose the left for perceived slights. Professor Brown's reactions and interpretations of this man are downright terrifying, and any scholar, particularly one of her work and reputation, should know better.
I want to address three key points made in the recent posts by Brown: her notion that Milo Hanrahan is some sort of transcendent genius, her claim that universities were founded on debating theology to the borderline exclusion of everything else, and her clear perception that Christians are a targeted and persecuted class on college campuses. First up, Milo Hanrahan and his perceived brilliance. These are two direct quotations from professor Brown's recent posts:
"Milo is an imp--and he relishes it. He is an imp, a clown, a fool. Or, as I prefer to call him, a holy fool. He is dangerous not because he incites violence (again, he never does, except against Dylann Roof), but because in being willing to make himself a fool, he forces others to recognize their own foolishness. Who really came off better in the exchange between Milo and Wilmore? Wilmore, who lost his cool and started cursing Milo? Or Milo, who thereafter happily egged all the other panelists on?"
"Milo, as I do, believes we are in a fight for the very existence of our culture. This is not a fight we, women, gays, minorities, all those who depend on America and the West for its ideals, can afford to lose. If on occasion he cracks a joke that makes some people uncomfortable, so be it. Jokes sting only our pride. If the joke hurts your feelings, it was something you were already anxious about yourself."
Floored yet? I sure was. Brown sees Milo Hanrahan as a "holy fool"--a person who champions his Catholic faith by pointedly mocking those who--in her view--transgress that faith. He, despite also claiming to be many things that ALSO transgress that faith, is a crusader in Brown's eyes, fighting the good fight and making people uncomfortable with his "truth." There is, of course, a problem here. That problem is that Brown judges Milo Hanrahan by what she chooses to see in him (like defining himself as a Catholic because he wears a "pair of gold crosses around his neck") and by taking his comments at face value. The issue is that Milo Hanrahan has said a lot of things, and many of them conflict with each other. At various points, he has claimed to be Catholic. He has also claimed to be Jewish. He has also claimed to not be a racist because of his long-standing relationship to a black man. He has also claimed to have been in a long-standing relationship with a Muslim man. He has also claimed to be an active prostitute who supplements his income via "sugar daddies." This may, of course, all be true. He might be a Jewish Catholic dating a black Muslim man who pays him for the privilege. It's hard to verify, since Hanrahan doesn't seem to ever be seen with such a man, nor has one been specifically mentioned in any of the articles and bios I've looked through today. But it's okay. I'm sure we can take what he says at face value. He seems like such a straightforward guy.
Speaking of, you may have wondered by this point why I've been referring to Milo Yiannopoulos as Milo "Hanrahan." If it makes you feel any better, I can also call him "Milo Andreas Wagner." He's gone by all three names--born with Hanrahan, and used the other two professionally. He used the "Milo Andreas Wagner" handle in England, where he founded a failed tech site--the Kernel--and ran it into financial chaos. Near the end of that debacle, his employees had to sue him for their wages. It seemed that when they wanted to be paid for work completed, Milo-the-Many-Named-One called them "prostitutes" (Lewis). This same Milo was expelled from his grammar school and dropped out of two different colleges. When his act didn't work in England, he brought his show across the Atlantic. So what we have here is a man with three different names, a checkered academic history, and a track record of running his endeavors into the ground and screwing people over. This same man is a self-professed Catholic when speaking about Christian issues, but a self-professed Jewish man when he is accused of being anti-Semitic. He has also, apparently, been dating a black man or a Muslim man or a sugar daddy for the better part of a decade, and boy does that man (men?) hate cameras, because there doesn't seem to be any indication that he exists. This is professor Brown's "holy fool" crusading to share "truth" with the corrupt liberal bastion of academia.
The reality is that Milo Hanrahan is cut from the same cloth as Ann Coulter and Sarah Palin. All of them subscribe to the "Jerry Springer/sex tape/reality television" theory of fame and fortune. All three tried (and failed) to grab fame and success in a more legitimate manner. All three play clear characters (Coulter plays the bitch, Palin plays the soccer mom with a shotgun, and Hanrahan plays the sassy gay conservative). They are all also tokens. A token can be a powerful political tool. We saw it several years back when the Republicans trotted out "Joe the Plumber" to make it seem like they gave half a damn about blue-collar workers. We saw it in the minstrel show tradition that tried to use narrative and caricature to convince people that African Americans were awful people who were happier enslaved (and many social stereotypes from the minstrelsy tradition are still rampant today). Palin, Coulter, and Hanrahan are all caricatures of traditionally liberal voting blocs--soccer moms, women, and the LGBT community. By trotting them out on the national stage, the Republicans use them and their routine. It's their opportunity to point to people like this and say "see, women agree with us! Gays are MORE conservative than us!" This kind of schtick isn't a marathon crusade for 1st amendment rights as professor Brown seems to believe. It's a sprint to grab as much as they can for themselves before their act gets tired. Because there comes a point, as the Revenge Tragedy genre has shown us, where shocking statements and actions no longer become shocking. People start to tune them out and look for the next thing. Why do you think all three of them go on paid speaking tours and try to publish books at a breakneck pace?
The bottom line is this--Hanrahan isn't a Christian soldier marching on. He's the shill who panders to you in increasingly discordant notes until even you start to tune him out. Professor Brown defined him as a man who "holds out the possibility of conversion, of changing hearts and minds." He holds no such possibility, nor is that his goal. His job is to rile up the base by telling them what they want to hear. His job is to create an enemy by picking various targets (minorities, generally) and intentionally making statements that marginalize them. His ultimate job is to pit those two sides against each other and then light the fuse. What professor Brown fails to note is that words matter. People like Milo Hanrahan and Ann Coulter know this. They bank on it. They march that fine line between inciting violence and firing up a crowd. That's why Hanrahan does things like raising $100k for a "white male" scholarship fund only to not actually use the money for such a fund. Both actions fuel his identity as a cartoony villain (Resnick).
But enough about Hanrahan. He doesn't matter. As I tell my students, it's important to pick an audience that doesn't agree with you but might be persuaded. That's why arguing with a con like Hanrahan is a waste of time. He will always move the goalposts in order to keep the fight going. He seeks discord, not debate, which is why he has no place on a college campus (more on this below). Let's move on to professor Brown's claims that universities were founded on debating theology. She claimed that "the medieval university on which American colleges were modeled was founded as a place to wrestle with theology; all the other arts and sciences were intended to stand in the service of this task. Moreover, the freedom of speech enshrined in our national culture was established first and foremost as a freedom to wrestle with religion." The problem here is that this is just not completely accurate. Medieval universities were initially founded on community, rather than space. And those communities, while they did have a heavy focus on religion, were hardly solely devoted to that topic. If anything, they were designed to shut down dissenting approaches to theological thought. Peter Abelard is a prime example of this, as he was expelled from several teaching posts and brought up on heresy charges more than once in order to silence him. This is also true of the 15th century scholar Lorenzo Valla, who was vilified by the Catholic Church for exposing the forgery of the Donation of Constantine. Further, American universities were based more on the Humanist tradition of Renaissance universities--which looked back to antiquity. Professor Brown claims that "culture's wellspring is religion" and uses that presupposition to lament the lack of focus on said religion in modern universities. This is just incorrect. Culture existed long before the Christian religion, and the humanist tradition (which was the model for our modern universities) looked not to religion but to antiquity. If anything, I would argue that early American universities were inspired by a combination of English humanism and American Puritanism.
But professor Brown went even further, citing a Milo Hanrahan speech wherein he noted that:
"122 of the first 123 colleges in America were Christian universities. Think about Harvard University, one of the epicenters of liberalism today. This is the founding statement of Harvard: ‘Let every student be plainly instructed, and earnestly pressed to consider well, the maine end of his life and studies is, to know God and Jesus Christ which is eternal life, John 17:3.’”
This quotation, and the way professor Brown uses it to bolster her perceived case demonstrates the problem. Hanrahan tells her what she wants to hear, and her deft analytical mind (meant completely in earnest) missed the con. A historian should know better. Hanrahan's stats lack context. Yes, most early schools were established as Christian institutions. Yes, the founding statement of Harvard was a Biblical passage. But when historical context comes into the picture, it muddies the narrative of "wondrous Harvard, jewel of Christian academia" (quotes added to convey sarcasm). Harvard, the school praised by Hanrahan and Brown, was founded in 1636. It did not admit black students until the late 19th century (250 years later). It did not admit women until World War II (300 years later). In 1920, Harvard held a "Secret Court" where they interrogated several young men accused of being homosexual. Most of those men were expelled, including some who were cast out not for being gay, but for having too much compassion for people who were. As a result of the actions and decisions of that secret court, several young men died via suicide. Harvard kept this chapter of its history quiet for 82 years. So forgive me if I see the words of Milo Hanrahan and professor Brown, wistfully recalling the whitewashed institutions of yesteryear and their superior Christian foundation, in a more negative light. That foundation was not used to engender faith and spirituality. It was used to exclude women, African Americans and to root out and persecute homosexuals. I much prefer today's Harvard to the one Hanrahan and Brown envision.
Which brings me to professor Brown's third, implicit claim--her clear notion that Christians are a targeted and persecuted class on college campuses. She clearly feels victimized for her Christianity, arguing that "judging from my own experience of over 30 years in the academy, it is considered a terrible breach of etiquette, horribly rude even, to mention your religious faith if you are a Christian, never mind suggest that it in any way affects your work as a scholar." In fact, she doubles down on this claim in her response to her colleagues that were upset with her post about Milo Hanrahan, stating her belief that her colleagues have "decided that I need to be shamed for expressing my position as a Christian." I apologize in advance for being so blunt regarding a senior scholar, but this appears to be a bit of a persecution complex. She shares none of the messages critiquing her, only sharing the one message from a friend of hers that defended her (in its entirety). All due respect, but "Christian" is not a "bad word" in academia. Anyone who feels otherwise, I ask you--have you ever had to ask a professor for permission to miss class for a major religious holiday? No, of course not. The university is closed on every major Christian holiday. My Jewish and Muslim students are placed in a position where they actually need to seek permission to exercise their faith. Have you ever been encouraged to let people call you "Muhammed" or ""Fathima" because it would be easier for your instructor to remember/say your name? No, of course you haven't. But my Chinese students are actually taught to offer up anglicized--almost universally Biblical--"English names" to make it easier for their instructors and peers to call them by "name." The entire academy is built around privileging Christianity, and non-Christians have rarely (in my experience) had an issue with it. But this goes back to professor Brown's and Milo Hanrahan's earlier point--the idea that early American universities were so much better than the ones we have now. Those universities where Christianity was not just privileged, but actively enforced. The good old days before women, African Americans, international students, and LGBT students were "allowed" (or, in the parlance of Milo Hanrahan and professor Brown, before "multiculturalism" and "feminism" were mean to poor, persecuted Christianity). And I want to be clear before moving on--I have no problem at all with Christianity. I have a problem with politicized Christianity, where the only parts of the Bible valued are the ones that back up the alt-right conservative party line. I have a problem with the kind of politicized Christianity that sees a man like Donald Trump praising the religious views of himself and Hanrahan while dismissing those of Pope Francis. That kind of Christianity, to use professor Brown's own terminology, seems more like a "cult" than a religion to me.
Ultimately, this is the point of this blog post: I'm disappointed. Not angry. Disappointed. As a young scholar, I look to the big names in the field to approach situations analytically. But professor Brown has, in post after post after post, missed the point. The case of Milo Hanrahan is not about free speech. His goal isn't to "speak." It's to "incite." His livelihood is to troll for reactions and create fires in his wake and, like a professional athlete, he only has a limited time to do it before people tune him out (like Palin and Coulter). He's playing a role that only works if he incites one side and enrages the other. It's the sociological equivalent of shouting fire in a crowded theater. I love the First Amendment. I think it is crucial and the bedrock of our country. But that's not what this is about. College campuses are places designed to engender debate and discussion. For that to happen, both sides need to approach that space with ideas based on experience and research and with the idea that they are seeking knowledge as much as dispensing it. Milo Hanrahan does neither. He doesn't drop "truth bombs"--just bombs, designed to cause the chaos that follows, which he, as professor Brown showed, clearly enjoys.
Professor Brown's "holy fool" is in reality a token shill. His joke at his own expense on Bill Maher's show, praised by Brown as his ability to laugh at himself, only serves as one more shot at a favored target of the Right. They are using him, and he is gleefully allowing himself to be used. I don't hate Milo Hanrahan. He, like Palin and Coulter before him, is going to be a rich man when his run has fizzled. We may never find out who he really is or if he actually holds any of these beliefs. We have enough names and biographies for him at this point that he could be three people. But hey, he's getting his. I've ignored him almost completely because it seemed obvious to me what he is--an attention seeking internet troll who, in our current political climate, can turn said trolling into a fortune if he plays his cards right. If anything, I pity him. No, I'm disappointed by the fact that a respected scholar at an illustrious institution bought Milo Hanrahan's schtick hook, line, and sinker. You were played, professor. Nowhere is that more obvious than in this passage that you recently wrote:
"This is not how Milo, by his own account, expected things to turn out when he came to America. As he told Tucker Carlson on Fox News the night after the riot, Milo, who comes from the U.K., saw America as 'the land of the free, the home of the brave.' 'In America,' he said, 'I always imagined that this was a country where you could be, do and say anything.' Much to his dismay, he found America even more oppressive to freedom of speech than Europe. He has been particularly surprised by the atmosphere on college campuses, where he has encountered 'restrictions on the freedom of speech, groupthink and penalties, social and institutional and financial penalties for free expression like nothing I ever experienced before'" (Brown).
He found no such thing, professor Brown. Again, you are taking him at his word. The word of a man with a history of academic failure. The word of a man with three names. The word of a man who was an abject failure before he realized that he could come to a country that wouldn't see right through him. A country with plenty of free speech and a large audience ready and willing to buy his bullshit--including, unfortunately, an eminent scholar at an esteemed academic institution.
Passages about Hanrahan and Brown were pulled from the following sites/articles:
Apologies for the delay between posts. The inauguration and world events have weighed heavily on me, and I fear that any post that would have come from me over the last couple of weeks would have been inherently political in nature (and while I'm not opposed to writing political posts, I don't want ALL of my posts to turn into political soap-boxing).
For my first pedagogy post, I wanted to discuss something that I've been working on extensively for the last few years--performance based approaches to composition. In many ways, this interest began back in the summer of 2008. Back then, I was a high school teacher at North Harford High School, and I had recently been selected to participate in an NEH sponsored professional development opportunity called the Teaching Shakespeare Institute. Basically, it was a four-week residential program hosted and run by the Folger Shakespeare Library that was built around three pillars: Pedagogy, Scholarship, and Performance. Every day of the Institute, we heard lectures from top scholars, worked in the Folger reading room, engaged in acting games, and worked together to figure out ways to turn all of that into applicable classroom pedagogy. That summer was the single most transformative event of my professional life, and I still use, adapt, and turn to the skills I learned that summer on a regular basis.
Though it probably irks them to hear it, my experience at the Folger solidified my desire to go to graduate school. I wanted to live in that reading room and be one of those eminent scholars giving a morning lecture. I wanted to embody that balance between research, performance, and pedagogy. So the following year, off I went to the wilds of western New York, to pursue my M.A. at St. Bonaventure University. At Bonas, I took a composition theory class with Daniel Ellis. That class served as the beginning of my work trying to meld performance and composition instruction. The more research I did on the topic, the more I began to realize that most people seemed to think of reading aloud as "performance" pedagogy, which isn't the case at all. I did come across several scholars whose work incorporated elements of performance into their composition instruction: Debra Hawhee (gesture), W. Keith Duffy (sound and digital recording), Meredith Love (discoursal selves and writing personae), and Jenn Fishman and Andrea Lunsford (embodied writing).
What I found lacking in this critical conversation, and indeed what Fishman and Lunsford actively called for someone to provide, was a functional and reproducible compositional performance pedagogy. This is the one glaring item missing from the otherwise exciting work of all of these scholars. Fishman and Lunsford seem aware of this, and close their article by asking, “How then, can we incorporate performance into our classrooms and our pedagogies?” (Fishman 246). A devoted Folger acolyte, I of course asked, "WWFD--What would the Folger do?" The Folger had, thirty years prior, already developed a functional and reproducible performance pedagogy. The key question was whether or not that pedagogical approach to reading Shakespeare could be adapted for use in a composition classroom.
The potential snag, of course, was the fact that the Folger activities were largely designed for interpretive use--to derive potential meanings from an existing text. What I needed were activities that could be used in a generative context, so that students could utilize performance methods to craft their own written work. So my first step was to sort through the various Folger activities to determine which ones could be adapted for use in a composition classroom. Those that were mostly interpretive in nature, I adapted for editing and peer review activities, and those that could be converted to generative contexts, I adapted for pre-writing activities. I've been working with these approaches for the better part of 7 years now, and I've shared some of the more effective activities below.
CUTTING A SCENE
One of the Folger's most effective performance-based strategies involves having students create a "director's cut" of a scene. Basically, the idea is to give students a Shakespearean scene and have them cut it in half. At first, the cuts come easy, but as they progress, they start to argue with each other and fight for their favorite lines. Without even realizing it, they end up doing an extremely close reading of the scene in order to figure out which details are absolutely essential and which ones they can afford to cut.
This activity was my first foray into Folger-based composition. I had long been irked by my students' fondness for "mega-paragraphs" that spanned a full page (or more) in length. All too often, students would cram three or four ideas into one paragraph, never developing any of them, and usually giving the shortest shrift to the most intriguing idea. Bringing in the Folger "cutting a scene" activity just made good sense, and I made it part of my peer review process. I first introduce the idea that cutting can improve a text (I like to use the Hugh Laurie/Rowan Atkinson sketch, "A Small Re-Write," where Shakespeare argues with his editor. See below). We then transition to a group activity, where students cut a passage--usually one selected to match the course theme--in half. Then, in peer review, each student self-selects two paragraphs from their own paper that seem a bit long. They count up the words and, as a group, they cut half of those words out. The paper writer always holds the pen, so the last word belongs to them, but the constraint is the same--half of the words must go. By the end of the process, they have paragraphs that are much leaner and more focused. They can build them up a bit from that new foundation, and the material that was cut frequently ends up as seed-material for new paragraphs in their papers.
Another Folger activity that I adapted early on in a peer review context is their lesson on blocking for performance. In the Folger activity, students look over a passage from Shakespeare and think about the different ways they can perform each line. They use, as an example, a short sentence that can take many subtextual meanings, like "I didn't say he wet his bed." If you say that sentence, emphasizing each word in turn, it takes on several different (and potentially disgusting) meanings. "I DIDN'T say he wet his bed" (defensive) is far different from "I didn't say he wet HIS bed" (gross). The Folger approach has students take short passages from Shakespeare and mark them up in this way, "blocking" the scene with performance notes regarding which words will be emphasized, how and when the actor will move, where the actor will pause or speed up, and so on (see below for one example). By engaging in this activity, students can see how one scene can be played in so many different ways, opening up a text to interpretive analysis rather than definitive analysis.
In my composition classroom, the task is a little bit different. Here, the concern is that student writing might be TOO open to interpretation. The goal is to make sure that they do as much as they can to make sure that their audience reads a line exactly the way they intended it to be read. We again start with the "I didn't say he wet his bed" example, but this time, we don't stop at the awareness that it can be read in many different ways. I split the class into seven groups (one group for each emphasized word), and each group is tasked with re-writing the sentence to make its meaning more concrete. With this idea established, we can use it in peer review. I have students bracket off the most important parts of their paper (up to three paragraphs)--the parts of the paper that need to come across perfectly in order to convince their audience of the validity of their thesis. I then have them block those paragraphs with performance notes, encouraging them to treat it like a script and to actually perform those paragraphs with those notes as a guide. Then, in their peer review groups, they work together to revise these paragraphs to make them more concrete, with the rest of the group playing the defined audience for the paper writer. The end result is that the blocked passages go through a sort of "rehearsal" process during peer review in order to "audience test" the key portions of their papers/arguments and then re-write them to more effectively target that audience.
I had been using the above strategies during the peer review process for a couple of years, but was still on the hunt for ways that I could use performance techniques to help students generate writing rather than simply edit and revise it. I was teaching my third or fourth section of writing at Rochester when I realized that I could use one of my favorite Folger activities (two-line scenes) to combat one of my biggest compositional pet peeves (floating quotations).
The basic idea of the Folger's two-line scenes activity is to have participants quickly create a fully realized scene out of just two lines. They use this activity regularly during workshops (see below), and it works beautifully every time. Each participant is issued a card with a Shakespearean passage on it, and the two partners must collaborate to make some quick performative decisions: Where are they? What is the relationship between the two speakers? Who is speaking first? How does the second speaker react to what the first speaker said? How does the scene open and close? And so on. It's a brilliant activity, where you can create a whole world in five minutes with two 3x5 cards. And on top of that, the passages are usually pretty fun as well (see below).
I had tried (and failed) for a few semesters to incorporate the two-line scenes activity into my composition classroom. Initially, I used it as part of my discussion on subtext. I had students do the activity just like the Folger did it, complete with Shakespearean passages, and then talk about how they made subtextual decisions to create their scenes. Students had fun, but the activity didn't really have a noticeable impact on the quality of the writing they were doing. A couple of years ago it hit me--I could use this activity to tackle one of my biggest pet peeves in student writing: floating quotations. No matter how many times I tried to convey the idea to them, students seemed to be invested in using floating quotations in their papers (quotations with no introduction, no attribution, and no reaction on the part of the writer--they were simply dropped into the paper, seemingly at random, to fulfill the requirement to "use sources").
It occurred to me that the two-line scenes activity was perfect for effective quotation use. The activity was all about the interactive aspect of the lines, and it was ideal for conveying to students the difficult concept that they are (or at least should be) interacting with their sources. I now introduce the process in much the same way. We still use the Folger cards and the Shakespeare lines to have a bit of fun creating our scenes. From there, we discuss how those scenes came to be, including all of the decisions that needed to be made to create each performance. Finally, we bring it back to the idea of quotation use, highlighting the notion that quotations should be used not to take the place of our ideas, but rather because we had a strong reaction of some sort to the point the author was making. Any time we use a quotation in a paper, it should "make a scene." I now have students complete "quotation cards" as they work on their papers. When they react strongly to something said in one of their sources, they write the quotation on one side of the card, and their reaction on the other side of the card. When it comes time to write a draft of the paper, I emphasize the idea that both sides of the quotation card need to end up in the paper--the source and the student's reaction. During peer review, we revisit the idea of the two line scenes, and students work with a partner to make sure that they are conveying their response in the way that they intended. I wish I had figured this approach out so much earlier, because it has drastically reduced the frequency of "floating quotations" in my students' papers.
The last Folger-based composition approach I want to discuss is also the newest--I've only been beta testing this idea for the last year or so, and I'm still working out the details to an extent. I've been experimenting with the idea that the first draft, rather than being a written product, could actually be a performance or a presentation of some sort. Of all of the activities discussed in this blog post, this is the first one that is not a direct adaptation of a specific Folger activity. Rather this one is more about extending the spirit of the Folger philosophy to the composition classroom. I had experimented with the idea of digital first drafts earlier in my career. I used to have students upload their paper drafts via a website called Voxopop.com, a digital voice-thread site. Basically, it was a way to force students into reading their papers out loud so that they could "hear" errors that their eyes skipped over. I had long since abandoned this approach, however, mainly due to the fact that Voxopop was Java-based, and the glitches that resulted from that meant that I was doing as much tech support as I was composition instruction.
Then, about two years ago at the NYCEA conference at Hilbert College in Buffalo, I ended up in a conversation where we were discussing the idea of students engaging in a sort of digital double-translation--presenting a concept version of a paper and then "translating" that presentation into a formal paper. I was immediately drawn to the concept, as all too often, I felt that students focused on mechanics to the detriment of content revision. By making the first draft a presentation--a performance of sorts--they could focus on the idea-side of the paper before even worrying about the writing side of it. I piloted this idea last summer in my WRT 105a class, and implemented it more fully this year. While the sample size is still a bit small, the results have been quite promising. One of my students from last semester railed against the idea in her self-reflection for paper one, and completely changed her view of it by the final paper. By presenting the ideas of the paper and working out the issues on the content side before ever drafting a single paragraph--a sort of rehearsal process if you will--students seemed to find that the writing part of it became much easier.
I think this connection between Folger performance techniques and the college composition classroom works as well as it has because college students, whether they know it or not, are already phenomenal actors. In 2009, my first year working with college composition students, I met a freshman named Alex who insisted on beginning every peer workshop session with a disclaimer about how he is a horrible writer. He would routinely apologize to his peers for the perceived low quality of his writing, and this was before they had even looked at his paper. His serious belief was that he was incapable of learning to write. Alex played the role of the sheepishly embarrassed poor student in that class. He knew to turn his eyes to the desk, and modulate his voice so that his peers would understand his fault, and maybe not laugh at his work. What he did not know, is that his apologetic performance for his peer editors is exactly what writing entails. He just never learned to view writing in that way--the Folger way.
It should be noted that when I refer to "the Folger," while I AM referring to the place in Washington D.C., I am also referring to the people who made that place feel like home back in 2008, and completely changed my life for the better in the process. Those people include: Bob Young, Mike LoMonico, Sue Biondo-Hench, Peggy O'Brien, Caleen Sinnette Jennings, Michael Tolaydo, Shade Gomez, Stephen Dickey, Jay Halio, Margaret Maurer, Deidra LaWan Starnes, and the entire 2008 TSI crew.
I mentioned a few sources in the early part of this entry. The bibliographical information for those sources can be found below:
Duffy, W. Keith. “A Pedagogy of Composing: The Rhetoric of Electronic Music in the Writing Class.” Inventio: Creative
Thinking about Learning and Teaching 2.7 (2005): 1-15. Web. 19 Feb. 2010.
Fishman, Jenn, Andrea Lunsford, Beth McGregor, and Mark Otuteye. “Performing Writing, Performing Literacy.” College
Composition and Communication 57.2 (2005): 224-52. Print.
Hawhee, Debra. Moving Bodies: Kenneth Burke at the Edges of Language. Columbia: The U of South Carolina P, 2009. Print.
---. “Performing Ancient Rhetorics: A Symposium.” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 36.1 (2006): 135-42. Print.
---. “Review Essay: Somatography.” Quarterly Journal of Speech 93.3 (2007): 365-74. Web. 15 Feb. 2010.
---. “Rhetorics, Bodies, and Everyday Life.” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 36.1 (2006): 155-64. Print.
Love, Meredith. “Composing Through the Performative Screen: Translating Performative Studies into Writing Pedagogy.”
Composition Studies 35.2 (2007): 11-30. Web. 15 Feb. 2010.
One of the great things about Facebook and social media is that it provides an informal record of what you did and when you did it. According to the Book of Faces, January 13th has, personally speaking, been a fairly eventful date for me. Two years ago, it marked my acquisition of the coolest wine-storage system in all of Henrietta, NY (see photo below). Six years ago, it marked the date of my application to the graduate program that I would eventually attend. Four years ago, it was the date that I returned from my first trip to London, which included (on January 12th) what was, to date, the best Shakespeare Production I had ever seen--Phyllida Lloyd's all-female cast production of Julius Caesar, set in a women's prison. On January 13th, 2017, after four years on the outside, I was thrilled to once again go back to prison--this time, in New York City.
Before I get into the details of the show I saw THIS weekend, I want to take a moment and set the stage. The first time I saw this cast/director was four years ago, at the Donmar Warehouse.
At that show, the set was the first thing that caught my attention. There was a sort of wire-like material on the railings in front of us. There were musical instruments, television screens and—the part I was most interested in—the performance space seemed to occupy three potential levels—the main acting space below us, some platforms and catwalks at eye level, and another set of catwalks above us. I thought it would be absolutely fascinating if they ended up using all three—I thought it would make the show feel like it was going on all around us. I couldn’t figure out how they would utilize the upper catwalk, however. When a random light from above caught my eye in the middle of the show, I looked up and realized that prison guards were patrolling the upper catwalk—and that we, the audience, were cast as inmates (the always important mob in Julius Caesar).
The prison setting helped to create a constant sense of real danger that I've never seen in a production of Caesar before. Scenes that I had previously only seen delivered as rhetorical moments were now loaded with tension and the potential for violence. One of these scenes is one often played for comedic effect, such as Caesar's wish in 1.2.190-195 to only have "men about me that are fat." Caesar mistrusts thin men like Cassius, who have "a lean and hungry look." Of course, this scene is a way for Caesar to both poke at Cassius and highlight Cassius' ambition. In this production, Caesar force-feeds Cassius a Krispy Kreme donut, while Cassius, aware of the hierarchical nature of the prison inmate power system, accepts the abuse with a look of utmost rage on her face. That sense of real danger also came through in the inspired decision to have Antony begin the “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” speech in a prone, passive position. The prison population is one of the few modern parallels we have to the violence of the Roman mob as depicted in the play, and setting the play among that population made the production feel more dangerous and less “history channel.” This prison violence was sudden and unexpected in a play that features perhaps the most predictable violence in all of Shakespeare. Shakespeare in prison settings is not exactly a new concept, but what Lloyd does so wonderfully here is to create a more serious take on the prison/Shakespeare concept. I've seen it done before. HBO's show Oz, in its final season, featured the inmates putting on a production of Macbeth. The pseudo-documentary Caesar Must Die offers a treatment of the same play, with interviews mixed in featuring Italian inmates (some real and some actors). But while Oz was going for comedic effect (every character to be cast as Macbeth died by the end of the episode) and Caesar Must Die was going for an artistic approach, Lloyd's play was authentic. This could have been a real prison populated by real inmates.
The prison motif—particularly the big reveal at the play’s end that the woman playing Caesar was one of the guards rather than one of the inmates—also served to address my biggest fault with Julius Caesar (the play). One of the reasons I’ve never been overly fond of the play was that the title character is dead and gone by Act Three, yet the play continues (largely in dragging conversations between an increasingly whiny Cassius and an ever more pitiful Brutus). It is mentioned in the play that the conspirators see Caesar’s ghost as they prepare to kill themselves, but I’ve never seen that idea expanded upon so thoroughly as is was in Phyllida Lloyd’s production. After Caesar’s appropriately grisly prison murder, she routinely begins popping up where we least expect her. When the cloaked standard bearer is shot dead and stays prone on stage, we don’t give it a second thought—long minutes later, in a quieter moment, however, the standard bearer stands and drops her cloak, revealing herself to be Caesar’s ghost. Caesar never quite vanishes after her death—moving around the background, glaring at the conspirators and, in one fantastic moment, Caesar mans the drums, providing the drum-beat sound effects for the gun shots that take the lives of the lesser conspirators. The ghost of Caesar is present in this production in a way that I’ve never seen before, and when we find out at the end of the play that Caesar was the only prison guard in this “play”, it adds a whole new dimension to how we understand the almost omniscient constant presence. The play is rehabilitative in part—the inmates are clearly dejected that their acting time is over, and despite this, they fall in line to be taken to another part of the prison—but guard/Caesar also perpetually re-establishes authority. It’s a warning that they are always being watched, and that insurrection (i.e.- prison riot) can only end in the deaths of those who lead such insurrection.
I called my "theater adventure" cousins (Brenna, Al, and Katie--we had forged our NYC theater adventuring back in 2013 with a trip to see Alan Cumming's one man Macbeth. See photo below of me with Cumming. Then be jealous, haha), and we started planning our next adventure. This trip would be split on my end, half with the biological family crew and half with my theater family. My friends Jilly and John Christensen moved to NYC a year or so ago, and graciously offered to host my weekend visit. Jilly was the director of my first ever show as an actor (I joke about how she took my "theaterginity") and she showed me around her new city with a grand tour, which included an amazing view of the city and multiple trips to the most mouth-watering pizza places. But, as fun as the touring was, I didn't come to NYC to eat pizza (well, not just to eat pizza). I came to NY to return to prison.
The venue at the St. Anne's Warehouse is just stunning. The view from their patio is worth the price of admission alone (and on that point, the price point on this show was absurdly low. I snagged primo seats and the tickets were under $60 each after fees). This theater is tucked right under the Brooklyn Bridge in the DUMBO neighborhood. As the start of the show arrived, I admit that I started to get a little nervous. The bar had been set so high by the Donmar production in 2013. What if this show seemed derivative? What if it not only didn't live up to the prior show, but also somehow tainted my feelings/memory about that earlier experience? I needn't have worried. The easiest way to sum it up is with the words I said to my cousin Katie immediately after the curtain call. "They did it again!"
I could literally write a blog post on each of the major actresses in this production. There was not a weak performance in the entire show. That said, this is already likely to be one of my longest blogs, so I will try to limit myself to just the performances that drew strong reactions from me personally.
Jade Anouka's Ariel was absolutely flawless. The character was simply alive on the stage, and Anouka's performance gave Ariel the sort of mercurial presence that is often gilded over with a more waifish/other-worldly aesthetic. The Ariel of this production was anything but otherworldly. She was rooted firmly in modern culture and this was reflected in the way Anouka deployed a variety of dance and musical genres. It is rare for a show to add to Shakespeare, because the modern additions often feel out of place. Anouka's Ariel shifted from a more R & B sound to an island beat, to an absolutely haunting "Full Fathom Five" with so much skill that anyone not already familiar with Shakespeare's play would likely have difficulty figuring out which music was from Shakespeare's Tempest and which was added by the inmates of St. Anne's/Donmar. Anouka's costume changes were frequent and effective, and she had a particular talent for moving about the venue unseen so that it appeared as if she could transport herself via magic (there were no secret passages in this venue, so movement happened in plain sight). Finally, she often moved to a sort of "crinkle" sound (I'm not entirely sure what to call it, to be honest), which indicated her magic at use. It was a nice touch, and allowed Anouka to continue to use her movement (a definite strength) to portray magic. Her character reminded me of Morgan Freeman's character in The Shawshank Redemption. The skills at her command seemed to be part magic and part "being a person who knows how to get things."
The three clowns of the show, as is usually the case with The Tempest, were favorites. Jackie Clune and Karen Dunbar had brilliant chemistry as Stefano and Trinculo (respectively). They even managed to add a bit of power-hierarchy to the show (via their underpants) as Clune's British Stefano took command over Caliban and Dunbar's Scottish Trinculo. There wasn't really any particular moment that these characters had on stage that stood out. It was more that these characters truly seemed to be having fun with each other in a way that could not be faked. Sophie Stanton's Caliban was another revelation. She played the role in a far more reserved tone than what I'm used to seeing. It worked wonders for this production though, as it kept the comedic spotlight on Clune and Dunbar, and helped to build to another moment that I'm going to discuss a bit below. On a total side note, Clune and another performer (Liv Spencer) came out to the lobby while we were still milling about. They were both extremely warm when I gushed a bit about this show (and the one I saw four years prior). Clune broke my heart a bit with her first question for me though (she asked if I had seen their 1 Henry IV. Still kicking myself over that one).
Leah Harvey's Miranda and Sheila Atim's Ferdinand, the young couple at the center of the romantic plot, were energetic and charming. Atim brought an awkward but roguish charm to Ferdinand coupled with a clear sense that this inmate had NO idea what he was doing, either in her interactions with Prospero or her flirtations with Miranda. The focus of Ferdinand's love, Miranda, was delightfully petulant, walking a line between being the dutiful daughter and being independent and in love, which was, of course, the transition being explored both in this production and in Shakespeare's play. The energy of this pair (combined with the similar energy of Ariel, Trinculo, Stefano and more) set off the sometimes dour, perpetually reflective aspect of Dame Harriet Walter's Prospero. It also made this two hour play fly by, with the well-deserved standing ovation seeming to come right on the heels of Walter's opening monologue.
The little bit of acting that I have done has mainly been on the "bit player" end of the dramatis personae (case in point, when I was in the Tempest, I played an amalgamation of three different characters. All three of those characters were cut from Lloyd's production). As such, I tend to really watch how the smaller roles are functioning in the play. As I was doing that during this production, I picked up on something astounding, and that I want to be sure to mention here. The sardonic guards, Liv Spencer in particular, were one of the highlights of the play for me. Not because of the dry humor and the insults. While funny, those additions would not have stood out if they just seemed like a way to move the plot forward or reinforce the prison theme. No, what hit me, initially as I watched the play and then with full force as I was processing it the following day, was the realization that Spencer and the other guards were the island. They led the inmates this way and that in a seemingly random pattern. They took these pampered nobles and removed the comfortable notion of control that they valued. This metaphor would have been so easy to "over-do," but Spencer presented it with such deft skill that I almost missed it at first. It must take extraordinary skill to be both comic relief and the metaphorical representation for the entire concept of the production. The more I work through what I saw, the more I feel that Spencer's performance was one of the highlights for me.
I want to culminate this absurdly long blog post by mentioning two key scenes. These are the two moments that really made the play for me. The first happened during the wedding celebration wherein Prospero "conjured" up spirits to entertain Miranda and Ferdinand at their wedding. The spirits, disguised prisoners wearing masks made out of cardboard toothpaste boxes, played music and followed it up with a lively and energetic dance. The masks matched the rest of the props, which were all constructed from garbage and the sorts of things that might be found in a prison. The "wedding feast" was a mishmash of food items that might be found in a prison commissary, including a cake, which appeared to be a massive stack of granola bars. As the dancing commenced, large white floating balloons were brought out and placed around the stage, each anchored to a water bottle. Suddenly, with a wave of Prospero's hand, every inmate stopped in awe as video images were projected onto the balloons. These were images of the outside world. Nature, cars, fast food (a McDonald's logo got a raucous cheer from the inmates), and more. In a play defined by prison-issue costumes and props made from leftover garbage, this singular moment was as beautiful as it was unexpected. In the midst of prison life and prison production values, the show dropped a little bit of magic for just the briefest of moments. A distraught Prospero, in perhaps Walter's finest scene, pops each one of the balloons. In this production, she doesn't stop the pageant because of a sudden remembrance of Caliban's forthcoming betrayal. Here she stops it because she is projecting for the gathered inmates that which she cannot have for herself--hope.
Prospero is not alone in her hopeless state, however. At the end of the play, in an incredibly powerful scene, Walter's Hannah character sits on her prison bed, reading. One by one, each of the other prisoners appears in civilian clothes, offering final words of thanks to the woman who got them through to their release dates. It is a moment that is as heartbreaking as it is uplifting. Hannah has done good work for these women and increased her own suffering as a result (getting close to people she knows she will lose). But there is an even more subtle moment of sadness and loss presented in this final scene. Caliban, revealed to be Prospero's cellmate, is also still in prison. She spends the final scene vacuuming Prospero's cell. Casting Caliban as another "lifer" brings new light to an old (and favorite) passage from this play. I've always loved Caliban's lines to the clowns about the sounds of the island:
"Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again."
It's a surprising moment of poetry from an otherwise bestial creature. I love this passage because it always drives home the idea that everyone has that place/thing that they love and can describe better than anyone else. No matter how bestial Caliban is, he is of the island, and he loves it as a result. But in this production, I can't help but think that this speech is now reflecting the institutionalization of inmates (i.e.: when inmates are in prison for so long that they are afraid of living anywhere else).
Which brings us back to the prison theme. They did it again. They used this concept to mine a VERY frequently performed work of Shakespeare for brand new angles and ways to get at the text. All of what they found and presented on that stage is in that play. We've just missed seeing it (or seeing the potential for it) for a few centuries. It's like the balloons: pure magic.
Next week's blog WILL be shorter. I'm going to write a bit about a pedagogical technique I've been playing with for the last few years. Until then, if you're able, go see this play (it runs through February 19th at St. Anne's Warehouse in Brooklyn). It is so worth it.
Ticket info Harriet Walter's new book about her performance in this trilogy
The trilogy of plays involved collaboration with the Clean Break Program.
I want to rewind a little bit this week, and talk about something from last month. On December 13th (the last day of the semester at the University of Rochester), the Rossell Hope Robbins Library (i.e.: the non-circulating medieval library on campus where I work a few hours each week) put on a dramatic reading of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was a risk. Even though food was promised in the poster, trying to pull off anything at the end of a semester is hit or miss. Our new-ish director at the Robbins Library, Marie Turner, cooked up the idea, and brought in a rock-star group of medievalists and hangers-on to perform sections. Russell Peck, Steve Rozenski, and Sara Higley all wowed the full audience with their lyrical delivery of Middle English passages. Thom Hahn, having been assigned a modernized section, tried to join the Middle English fun by bringing along his own copy of the text. Several grad students (including myself and first year Rose Zaloom) helped out as well, and the pieces were all stitched together via narration by the incomparable Alan Lupack.
My section was a narrative bit from the Third Fitt, mostly involving the hunt for Reynard the Fox. I played up the suggestive sexual humor in the scenes between Gawain and Lady Bertilak. After the show, Marie came up and said that she was pleased with how it all went, and that she was hoping that I would spice up my section with a bit of humor (to which Alan Lupack responded, "Oh, so you needed a ham and went to Scott? Good call." Oh Alan. He knows me so well). The section that I read featured a bit of the Romance and a bit of the Realistic. And I couldn't help but spend several days thinking about the incredibly odd structure of Gawain.
I've always been fascinated by Gawain and the Green Knight. It's such a perfect balance of the magical perfection of medieval Romance and the grim reality of more modern genres. I think that's why it's so hard to stage/film without venturing towards the ridiculous (Sean Connery, I'm looking at you and your sparkly green chest hair on this one). As a text, it's generically muddy, and that very muddiness has been one of the things I've loved about Gawain. W.R.J. Barron ("Arthurian Romance: Traces of an English Tradition," English Studies 61.1 (1980): 2-23) noted the ambiguous line between the real and the fantastic in Gawain as an indicative feature, arguing that "subtly controlled, realism can be an aid to perspective--as in Gawain's journey out of legendary Logres into the concrete geography of North Wales and back into the Never Never Land of Romance beyond the Wirral" (Barron 18). And it really is a journey from magic to reality and back again. Gawain is the Romance knight in Camelot, but his journey to Chapel Green is detailed, painful, and arduous. Gawain on several occasions comes close to death just getting to Chapel Green. He goes through things that one doesn't usually expect a Romance character to go through. In a way, Gawain almost engages in an inverted dream vision allegory, traveling from a fantastic world to a more visceral one and back again, learning a spiritual/moral lesson along the way.
After our performance at Robbins (which was aided by a full house and some absolutely delicious Lebanese food), I kept turning these ideas over in my head, and I couldn't help but think that this generic confusion, this conflation of both the positive and the negative, the real and the magical, is what makes Gawain so special. It seems as if, particularly today, our entertainments are either dark and gritty or artificial and whimsical. Just look at two recent and popular television programs depicting pseudo-medieval worlds: Galavant and Game of Thrones. The former is clean, funny, and full of people with nary a hair out of place. Racial and gender equality is portrayed with a smile and a song, regardless of how anachronistic it may be (a point they make light about). The latter is dark and gritty. It is teeming with death, disease, deformity, and betrayal. Characters who trust and love tend to be the characters that die the soonest and in the most grotesque fashion.
I know those two examples are a bit random and could easily be cherry picked. So lets pull something from my own wheelhouse: Shakespeare's Henry V. Textually speaking, this play is just as generically confused as Gawain. There are several tragicomic elements throughout, and the wooing scene at the end has been described by Donald Hedrick as "violence to genre." There are, however, two productions of this play that universally get mentioned: Olivier's and Branagh's. Olivier's production, filmed in the midst of a World War and striving to inspire a war-weary English population, showed a Romance Henry. He was clean, morally and wardrobally (that is officially now a word). After Agincourt, a spotless Olivier credits God, forgives an adoring Montjoy, and proceeds to an adoring populace. Branagh's production, responding to a century of morally complicated wars, was anything but clean. After Agincourt, Branagh, caked in blood and earth, carries the murdered boy (who would still somehow grow up to become Batman) from the field of battle amidst an array of corpses. Whatever Romance might be seen in Branagh is depicted as deviousness and manipulation. These two productions illustrate the thoughts I was having after our reading of Gawain. Too often, our texts are EITHER Romance or Gritty Realism.
This is what makes Gawain special to me. I've always been particularly moved by the ending. Gawain, through much trial, returns to Camelot and tells the honest tale of what happened to him against Bertilak. He is not telling a heroic story. He is confessing his own shame, and displaying the badge of that shame. This was the response of his fellow knights:
"Then the king comforted the knight, and the court laughed loudly at the tale,
and all made accord that the lords and the ladies who belonged to the Round
Table, each hero among them, should wear bound about him a baldric of
bright green for the sake of Sir Gawain. And to this was agreed all the
honour of the Round Table, and he who ware it was honoured the more
thereafter, as it is testified in the best book of romance."
They don't get it. Gawain's Round Table brethren don the green to mitigate Gawain's unique shame and announce their own honor. In my head, I always picture Gawain here in a similar situation to Isabella at the end of Measure for Measure--a character who seems stuck in a world with people who just don't get it. Trauma happened. Gawain has been changed at the core of his being. Having journeyed to the "real world" and seen his own imperfections, he can't go back to living normally in a Romance. Robert Margeson ("Structure and Meaning in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," Papers on Language & Literature 13.1 (1977): 16-24) described this change in the character, arguing that "perfection, once lost, can by definition never be regained. For him the circle is broken, and his quest has been a linear movement into an as yet unknown world of fallibility and remorse" (18-19).
This is why I like the idea of generically muddy texts. Trauma is real, and it changes people in ways that prevent them from simply returning to the world as they knew it before the traumatic event. By overemphasizing texts that drown in a world of trauma (Game of Thrones which, to be clear, I still love, although I get angry every time they kill a direwolf) or texts where trauma doesn't exist (Galavant, again, I still enjoyed it. Is it awful that I kind of want to see Galavant in Westeros and Ramsey Snow in Galavant's world?), we miss out on the opportunity to see characters heal.
Art reflects the human experience. Gawain, defined at the outset by his membership in a brotherhood, realizes that he can only heal from his trauma independently. There are some texts lately that have been doing this well. Dennis Hopeless and Kev Walker created a pair of comic book mini-series back in 2013/14 called Avengers Arena and Avengers Undercover. The former involved a group of teenage heroes forced to fight each other in a death match (I know, I know. I really expected to hate it, but it ended up being fantastic. Check it out). Many of them died. Of the ones that remained, they had to live with the realization that they weren't the heroes they thought they were. Some of them killed. Some allowed others to kill for them. And the follow up series was all about the survivors coming to terms with that trauma. Going back to Henry V, I saw an amazing local production here in Rochester last year. Kate Sherman played Henry V, and her performance was a tight rope walk of trauma and performed strength. Sherman's Henry saw the horrors of war after Agincort. She recoiled from a defeated Montjoy who had not adoration, but clear hate in his eyes for the English monarch who had destroyed France. She struggled with the reality of the trauma that she saw all around her while balancing the necessity of maintaining a show of strength out of duty. Imagine a king with an awareness of Branagh's world and the realization that her people needed to see Olivier's moral simplicity. That's the Henry that Sherman delivered, and it was one of the more powerful productions of the play that I've seen.
I could talk about these sorts of things all day and then some (Shakespeare, Gawain, comic books, Game of Thrones, and Galivant? I'm impressed I kept it as short as I did, haha). This is one of those posts where the point isn't overly clear even to me. I suppose that it came from a place where, due to current events, trauma is on my mind. Certain aspects of the world aren't quite like I had thought/hoped them to be. I keep waiting for some Galivant to pop into the picture, but Ramsey Snow keeps rearing his head. Trauma is real. Our art and drama does a fantastic job of depicting, producing and sensationalizing trauma. I guess my point with this post is just that I want to see more art/drama depicting characters recovering from trauma and re-adjusting. The world can never become what it was before. But it doesn't have to drown in the trauma. #BetheGawainYouWanttoSeeinThisWorld.
As a heads up, next week, I'm going to NYC to visit with some awesome cousins and some dear friends AND we're going to see the all-female cast production of the Tempest at St. Anne's Warehouse. I am beyond psyched. Be well.
When a person buys a house, something funny happens. Suddenly, that person becomes more obsessed with the tiniest things that he/she has literally never thought about before. This happened with me when I bought my condo several years ago (note to other grad students--It's actually just cheaper to buy in Rochester than it is to rent. Rest assured, I am still mightily poor and remain in povertarian solidarity). Seemingly overnight, bathroom faucets became the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen. I spent hours upon hours at Home Depot and Lowes comparing models and styles, for a remodeling project that would not happen for at least a couple of years (if at all). Weird.
Branding a website, I've learned, is similar. I never thought I would ever have a "professional website" and I certainly hadn't thought much about what I would name it. Much like the faucets, I spent hour after agonizing hour weighing the options, and decided that "Blue Collar Scholar" would be the perfect name, for reasons that I will explain below. One problem. Someone else had the idea first. So now my blog is called "Blue Collar Scholar" and the site is called "TheRenaivalist.com"--with the latter being a conflation of "Renaissance" and "Medievalist" as a result of the fact that I work across that particular line (in other words, I still heart Stephen Greenblatt, but I won't read The Swerve). TheRenaivalist won out over "Scottspeare," a short-lived nickname I picked up in my first year of the program at U of Rochester (one of the better nicknames I've been tagged with, joining the decidedly less fun "Shaq," "April," "BeamMeUp," and an unfortunate nickname from my undergraduate fraternity days that will never be spoken of again).
But why "Blue Collar Scholar"? Before the name was taken off the table due to the realization that it was already spoken for, one of my dearest friends actually cautioned me about it. She noted that, while people who knew me would get it, people who didn't know me might make assumptions. Assumptions about that farm country background, and whether it put a chip on my shoulder. Assumptions about whether or not I might be a hick and have a raunchy sense of humor (I don't. I do love horrible puns, however). She noted that she knew none of those things were true, but that she worried about what "someone who doesn't know you might think."
She was being a true friend and looking out for me, but I was still reluctant to part ways with this moniker. Not because it rhymed, but because I think it is important to hold on to where I come from. I was raised in farm country in NE Pennsylvania by a single mother who went to work immediately after graduating high school (who is also one of the smartest people I know). People from my hometown--people from my socio-economic background--didn't really think about going to an Ivy or striving for an academic career. I struggled to get where I am now, not only through economic and family concerns, but also mostly through my own misguided sense that people like me weren't "welcome" in prestigious academic settings. Melissa Scholes Young explains this feeling brilliantly in her May 6th 2016 article in The Atlantic:
"When the College of Arts & Sciences at American University organized a
first-generation faculty meet up, I hesitated to join. Who would be in the
room? Would I be outing myself and confirm their suspicions that I really
didn't belong? Instead, I found administrators, department chairs, and
accomplished scholars sitting around a conference table unpacking their
brown-bag lunches. We talked about the masks we often wear with our
colleagues and how even our achievements still feel unmerited."
Owning that "Blue Collar Scholar" moniker is about owning that anxiety. Even Facebook quizzes seem to recognize that anxiety--in a recent quiz that would reveal my Hogwarts house, wand, favorite class, club, etc, it notified me that I was a Hufflepuff who was also in the Slug Club. You can try (and fail) to hide it, or you can own it. Marcus Belby or Ginny Weasley. I choose the latter.
What that means is that I always try to write and speak in a way that reflects those roots. James Shapiro, in an interview included in the post-script of the paperback edition of 1599: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare, revealed that "The intellectual confusion I had often experienced--in high school, college, even graduate school--made me a lot more sensitive to students and readers who feel lost, and had a profound impact on what I write about and how I write. I don't have a lot of patience for those who condescend to readers (or students) or write in an impenetrable style." I don't want to speak for professor Shapiro, but I'm reasonably sure that his lack of patience for those scholars with impenetrable styles is not because HE finds those scholars difficult. He simply wants to be the kind of scholar who writes for the kind of student he was. That's what I want as well. I don't always succeed, and I get honestly terrified when I see myself slipping into that dense, field-specific jargon with a potential audience of a few dozen people. To me, that doesn't mean I'm succeeding. It means that I'm restricting. I'm restricting my work to a handful of people, and I think the work that we do is too important for that. If people from farm country Pennsylvania can't latch on to some part of what I'm writing and make sense out of it, I think I'm doing something wrong.
That attitude shows up in my writing (I once explained the humor in The Merry Wives of Windsor by comparing it to the comedic structure of the Schwarzenegger film Kindergarten Cop--you might also recognize the subtitle of this blog post as a gem from that cinematic masterpiece, haha). I utilize common sense metaphor in my writing classroom as well. That's how people operate where I grew up. In my hometown, if I stopped and asked someone for directions and that person gave me longitudinal coordinates, I'd look at them like they had horns coming out of their head. It doesn't matter that it's more accurate. In my neck of the woods, "directions" involve turning right by the Pump 'n Pantry and then hanging a left right after the big rock that sort of looks like fat Elvis if you squint.
The reason my blog is named "Blue Collar Scholar" is that, despite my dear friend's very well-intentioned and considerate advice, I can't present myself as something that I'm not. It does a disservice to me, my co-workers, and most especially my students. Melissa Scholes Young passionately lobbied for first-generation faculty to be open about the struggles we faced along the way, noting that it "doesn't hurt our credibility. It helps build it." She argues for this openness to show our first-generation students that there are people who have "navigated similar paths" and succeeded. She said that one of the benefits to her "not knowing the rules" was that "in college and my career, I didn't know not to knock so I learned to knock louder." That's where I'm at right now. I'm at the beginning of this blog. The beginning of my career. The beginning of the perilous academic job market. And I'm not going to try and pretend to be someone I'm not. I'm proud of those blue-collar struggles. I use them in the classroom, where I feel I'm at my best working with student populations who might also feel a little out of place: first generation college students, international students, military veterans, etc. I try to help my students thrive in this new and unfamiliar setting, and realize that the best person they can be in college is themselves. I own the fact that I'm an unlikely Shakespeare nerd from the depths of farm country because I need my students to see that I AM a Hufflepuff in the Slug Club. Despite my anxiety about that fact, I DO belong here. And I'm going to knock louder.
Welcome to the site and my blog.
Welcome to the "Blue Collar Scholar" blog at TheRenaivalist.com (i.e. Scott O'Neil's personal and professional blog).