Tim's Light Reading (9-15-2011)

1. Rocky Balboa and America's Mid-1970s Identity Crisis

Ted McAllister reflects on Rocky as a film having more meaning than we might otherwise attribute to it. Here's a part of McAllister's conclusion:

Audiences could identify with the film as it at once gave expression to the frustrations and the ideals of many Americans—it pointed to what had gone wrong with the nation even as it pointed toward the ideals Americans invested in their nation. In 1976 many people yearned for a renewed sense of pride in the United States even as they had come to distrust their government and the many elites who, they believed, had brought it to ruin. In the coming years many Americans looked for leaders who understood their point of view, who could take America out of the hands of various elites, and who could project an image of a strong and prosperous America. This new populism made possible a political realignment that sundered the New Deal coalition that had dominated American politics since 1936.

As you can see from the last line, a large part of McAllister's essay deals with the 1970s conservative populism. He also relates the film to the American Bicentennial celebration.

2. The Meaning of Wal-Mart

An old colleague from my days at Loyola Chicago, Mark Long (now a history instructor at the University of Central Florida), reminded me of this excellent piece, appearing in 2004 in The New York Review of Books, on Wal-Mart's place in the history of labor and business. After reading the review, authored by Simon Head, I was struck by how it captured---nay captures---a large slice of the meaning of Wal-Mart to our society. Sure, the article is mostly negative, ignoring the company's ability to bring us "goods" at low prices. But that's my experience and memory of the company.

3. A History of Historians in the Public Sphere

This might deserve a post unto itself, but here is an essay by Thomas Bender on historians' past presence, and role, in the public sphere.

4. Long-form Reading, Students, and Teaching

I've been pondering, in a low-level way over the past few weeks, Alan Jacobs' take on the decline of "long-form reading" among students. While thinking about Jacobs I ran across this reply. Lee Konstantinou fairly characterizes, I think, Jacobs argument, and offers a reasoned appeal for action rather than the fatalistic sense of inaction---of abandonment---at which Jacobs arrives. I think Jacobs is trying as much to understand his own loss and renewed enthusiasm for long-form reading (from "deep attention" to "hyper-attention" and back again, through a Kindle of all things!) as his students' issues, but Konstantinou still generally gets Jacobs right. Here's a provocative slice from Jacobs' piece (bolds mine):

Over the past 150 years, it has become increasingly difficult to extricate reading from academic expectations; but I believe that such extrication is necessary. Education is and should be primarily about intellectual navigation, about—I scruple not to say it—skimming well, and reading carefully for information in order to upload content. Slow and patient reading, by contrast, properly belongs to our leisure hours.

Yes, I know that the word "school" derives from scholia, meaning leisure. I have tried that one on my students, with no more success than anyone else who has ever tried that one on students. When we say that education is a leisure activity, we simply mean that you can only pursue education if you are temporarily freed from the responsibility of providing yourself with food and shelter. Maybe this freedom comes from your parents; maybe it comes from loans that you're going to devote a good many years to repaying. But somebody is buying you time to read, think, and study. This is not just a legitimate but a vital point, one that every student really should remember. But it can only be misleading and frustrating—trust me, I've learned from experience—to call this leisure, because leisure for us has come to mean "what we do in our spare time simply because we want to." From this kind of leisurely encounter, education, however wonderful, must be distinguished.

5. Herbert Butterfield

Some professional historians may know Butterfield's name because of the term "Whig history"---the fallacious tendency of nineteenth-century historians (and some today) to see all history, and political history in particular, as progressing to some particular present point (i.e. as having a teleology). However, this review of Michael Bentley's The Life and Thought of Herbert Butterfield (Cambridge University Press, 2011) reveals the latter as a much more intriguing character than one might suspect. Butterfield did publish other works (not as much as he wanted), but also caused a scandal due to a love affair. - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School: A Follow-Up

Although I wrote that I agreed with many points in Larry Cebula's "How to Read a Book in One Hour" post, I must admit that I did so with some regret. I truly do enjoy good history writing when I find it. And graduate school would be a waste if one only took books apart rather than relishing, at times, in an author's prose. Indeed, maybe graduate programs are turning out substandard writers, in part, because seminar reading programs are too heavy with 15-books-in-15-weeks type syllabi? Perhaps it is less that programs are not teaching historians how to write, and more that programs are not letting students learn to appreciate good prose?

I am in this reflective mood about slow reading courtesy of Christopher Shea at the Boston Globe's Brainiac blog. There I ran across the reflections of Columbia University literature professor Jenny Davidson. Davidson recently won Columbia University's Mark Van Doren Award for undergraduate teaching excellence, and she posted the remarks she planned to give at the award ceremony. Here's a passage that struck me (bolds mine):

It is tempting to rush to broad thematic generalizations about a work or an author, but how can you answer a big question about what something means if you can’t parse the meanings of the words in one enigmatic sentence? It takes a willingness to puzzle over small things – and often to admit that one doesn’t understand some particular turn of phrase or twist of argument – to earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions.

I repeat: To earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions. Well said. I wonder how many historians bother to earn that right? And why bother if we're not consistently trained to admire good prose?

One of the reasons I enjoy intellectual history is precisely because it forces a slower reading. The prose isn't always great, but the topics are complex enough that one has to read more deliberately. I think that, by and large, intellectual historians do earn the right to ask bigger questions because, in part, they are forced to read slower. The nature of intellectual history demands it.

So having the practical skill of knowing "how to read a book in one hour" might get you through graduate school---perhaps even with flying colors---but it won't give you the appreciation needed to produce good prose for a profession that will hopefully last one's lifetime. And what is the use of making it through, or what is the use of a program credentialing people, if the apprenticeship does does not provide the master skills? - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School: A Follow-Up

Although I wrote that I agreed with many points in Larry Cebula's "How to Read a Book in One Hour" post, I must admit that I did so with some regret. I truly do enjoy good history writing when I find it. And graduate school would be a waste if one only took books apart rather than relishing, at times, in an author's prose. Indeed, maybe graduate programs are turning out substandard writers, in part, because seminar reading programs are too heavy with 15-books-in-15-weeks type syllabi? Perhaps it is less that programs are not teaching historians how to write, and more that programs are not letting students learn to appreciate good prose?

I am in this reflective mood about slow reading courtesy of Christopher Shea at the Boston Globe's Brainiac blog. There I ran across the reflections of Columbia University literature professor Jenny Davidson. Davidson recently won Columbia University's Mark Van Doren Award for undergraduate teaching excellence, and she posted the remarks she planned to give at the award ceremony. Here's a passage that struck me (bolds mine):

It is tempting to rush to broad thematic generalizations about a work or an author, but how can you answer a big question about what something means if you can’t parse the meanings of the words in one enigmatic sentence? It takes a willingness to puzzle over small things – and often to admit that one doesn’t understand some particular turn of phrase or twist of argument – to earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions.

I repeat: To earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions. Well said. I wonder how many historians bother to earn that right? And why bother if we're not consistently trained to admire good prose?

One of the reasons I enjoy intellectual history is precisely because it forces a slower reading. The prose isn't always great, but the topics are complex enough that one has to read more deliberately. I think that, by and large, intellectual historians do earn the right to ask bigger questions because, in part, they are forced to read slower. The nature of intellectual history demands it.

So having the practical skill of knowing "how to read a book in one hour" might get you through graduate school---perhaps even with flying colors---but it won't give you the appreciation needed to produce good prose for a profession that will hopefully last one's lifetime. And what is the use of making it through, or what is the use of a program credentialing people, if the apprenticeship does does not provide the master skills? - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School

Larry Cebula, of Eastern Washington University, breaks down the infamous---and useful---grad school skim at his Northwest History weblog.

I confess that I have used Larry's method on many occasions, and agree with most of his points. Allow me to add a few more tips.

If you own the book and believe you are likely to keep it, follow some advice I obtained years ago from Mortimer Adler: Do not fear writing in the book. It is as easy to enter short notes and page numbers in a book's endpages as it is to use notecards, or enter information into Zotero or some other (useful) program. But write your notes with a pencil. Don't highlight. When you highlight you're simply delaying both your note-taking and thinking. There's something about the writing utensil that touches your deepest habits as a student.

Reinforcing point #6 of Larry's method, one of my professors told me years ago that there's usually one chapter that makes a book. If you cannot ~not~ spend some time reading in the book, work on this chapter. This will cause your reading to exceed one hour, but at least it will both assuage your guilt and give you more confidence heading into your seminar.

Sadly, I think point #8 of Larry's list usually occurs ~after~ class. If your grad school experience was like mine, most of your friends are not in school with you. And if you happen to have a few who are, usually you are in different courses. Sometimes, however, grad students will gather for a drink or food after a class. That's where you might be lucky enough to actually talk about your reading---provided Lost, Glee, Treme, Madmen, or some other TV program does not dominate the conversation.

I would be remiss if I failed to draw your attention to the last three lines of Larry's post. When you see warnings like this, you know you've encountered one of the dirty, essential secrets of the profession.

Thanks to John Fea for the tip. - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School

Larry Cebula, of Eastern Washington University, breaks down the infamous---and useful---grad school skim at his Northwest History weblog.

I confess that I have used Larry's method on many occasions, and agree with most of his points. Allow me to add a few more tips.

If you own the book and believe you are likely to keep it, follow some advice I obtained years ago from Mortimer Adler: Do not fear writing in the book. It is as easy to enter short notes and page numbers in a book's endpages as it is to use notecards, or enter information into Zotero or some other (useful) program. But write your notes with a pencil. Don't highlight. When you highlight you're simply delaying both your note-taking and thinking. There's something about the writing utensil that touches your deepest habits as a student.

Reinforcing point #6 of Larry's method, one of my professors told me years ago that there's usually one chapter that makes a book. If you cannot ~not~ spend some time reading in the book, work on this chapter. This will cause your reading to exceed one hour, but at least it will both assuage your guilt and give you more confidence heading into your seminar.

Sadly, I think point #8 of Larry's list usually occurs ~after~ class. If your grad school experience was like mine, most of your friends are not in school with you. And if you happen to have a few who are, usually you are in different courses. Sometimes, however, grad students will gather for a drink or food after a class. That's where you might be lucky enough to actually talk about your reading---provided Lost, Glee, Treme, Madmen, or some other TV program does not dominate the conversation.

I would be remiss if I failed to draw your attention to the last three lines of Larry's post. When you see warnings like this, you know you've encountered one of the dirty, essential secrets of the profession.

Thanks to John Fea for the tip. - TL