Ask me about my top five favorite Beatles albums in ascending order of excellence or make me repeat my “Top 10 Albums of 2013” list: I could tell you both off the top of my head (No. 1 being Abbey Road and Modern Vampires of the City, respectively). I’m a Lists Guy. I like ranking, organizing, judging, and sorting my music. I like comparing lists with music geek friends, and I like comparing lists with actual publications.
Even for me, though, Pitchfork’s recent “Decade So Far” series was too much. In three down-to-a-science lists, the staff ranked the 200 Best Tracks, the 50 Best Music Videos, and the 100 Best Albums of 2010 through 2014. That’s all fine and good; Rolling Stone already pretends it can rank the 500 Best Albums and Songs of All Time (unsurprisingly, 23 of those songs belong to the Beatles, and 40 percent come from the 1960s).
Like Rolling Stone, Pitchfork has its obvious biases. While Rolling Stone will always herald “dad rock” as the pinnacle of music, Pitchfork will continue to hold Kanye West in its highest esteem. The key to understanding rankings are understanding those biases and measuring for your self. (My lists always come up short on hip-hop and rap and lean toward singer-songwriters and indie rock.)
What confused me about Pitchfork’s newest lists was their timing: all three dropped on subsequent days in mid-August. Only halfway through 2014, I can hardly discuss with much authority the best albums of this year, let alone tell if they adequately represent the decade. I don’t know what awaits us in the next few months, when the fall contains multitudes of new music. In fact, I can’t even tell what in 2013 would make the cut.
The reason is this: when you evaluate the best albums of the year, and when you’re evaluating the best albums of the decade, you’re asking completely different questions. For the former, you want to see how the individual songs contribute to the singular product of the album. Nothing should be wasted. A No. 1 album, you predict, will become influential. For the latter, an album must have already proven its influence. Even if it’s flawed (I’m looking at you, White Album), a top album of a decade influences the music and world around it. You’re defining a decade when you rank the music in it.
But the year-to-year album-ranking game is an imperfect one. What stands out one year, or seems like it will be influential, might not stand the test of time. And just as a listener, your opinions of an album might change; even if you still listen to it from time to time, it might be your No. 5 or No. 7 album or an album that didn’t even make the final cut that ends up being your favorite from that year.
Just look at my own 2013 list. I spent a long time figuring out my rankings, taking notes throughout the year on what caught my ear, and writing down everything that might feel, by December, to be an important album. (“Important” is not the only qualifier you can use when ranking albums, but for places like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, it tends to be the ultimate decider.) As much as I love Modern Vampires of the City—and still do consider it to be, objectively, the best release from last year—in truth I’ve actually listened to more Laura Marling (No. 5) and Haim (honorable mention) than CHVRCHES (No. 3) or Neko Case (No. 10) in the time since. That’s not even counting the holes where Yeezus or Acid Rap should be.
I’m skeptical, then, that Kanye can claim one-fifth of the top 10 spots on Pitchfork’s list (although I can’t disagree with My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy taking the No. 1 position). I’m skeptical that a Sun Kil Moon LP makes it so far, too, and would point out how few 2014 albums reach the Top 20. Not that there aren’t bright spots: Fiona Apple, Vampire Weekend, and Frank Ocean are all around where I myself would place them. But right now, a full four months before 2014 ends and the decade reaches its midway point, is not the time to make those judgments.
I can tell you which album is leading the pack for my upcoming 2014 list. I can tell you what song I can’t currently get out of my head (“I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers). But I can’t tell you definitively, because the year is not over. And I can’t tell you what will stand out in a year, or five, or 10.
I will when we get there, but not quite yet. It’s just not that time.
The summer blockbuster is a long-standing art form of its own. In 2014, summer hits come in so many different shapes and forms: the small-time liberal indie, the explosives-ridden superhero megalith, the 12-year-long art film. The Argus Arts staff got together to talk about our favorites:
c/o images.fandango.com
“Sharknado 2: The Second One”
By Gabe Rosenberg
I watched “Sharknado” and “Sharknado 2: The Second One” one after the other. On a personal level, I couldn’t wait longer than a minute to experience again the thrill of watching “Beverly Hills, 90210” star Ian Ziering slice through a shark (from the inside-out) with a chainsaw. The rest of the world had to wait a full year between the surprise hit of the 2013 SyFy original movie—a title bestowed upon only the best of cinema, such as “Big Ass Spider!” and “Chupacabra Vs. The Alamo”—and its almost immediately announced follow-up. In that year, the world changed. The Sharknado threat moved from Los Angeles, shot with 50 percent stock footage, to New York City, shot in brilliant, high-as-a-kite definition. You really feel like you’re immersed in a tornado surrounded by hammerheads.
Like any NYC-focused disaster movie, the Statue of Liberty takes a hit, but the finely tuned, perfectly self-aware schlock of the first film does not. “The Second One” is a tour-de-farce of so-bad-it’s-good acting, not even slightly realistic visual graphics, and is-that-how-they-think-humans-speak dialogue. The “Sharknado” series knows exactly what it is (a deliciously campy B-movie) and why we watch it (to judge, to laugh, to make fun of). Are you not entertained?
“Maleficent”
By Ali Jamali
Last year, when Disney wooed the world with “Frozen,” the eyes were on “Maleficent” as Disney’s next fairytale motion picture. “Maleficent” focuses on the origin story of the “Sleeping Beauty” villain and offers an alternate ending to a classic fairytale.
“Maleficent” is visually pleasing, beautifully designed, and has an immaculate soundtrack. Angelina Jolie delivers one of her best performances yet, which breathes new life into a character that I have been craving to know more about ever since I saw the Disney original “Sleeping Beauty” on VHS. However, the movie suffers from a few flaws. First, its focus is almost entirely on Jolie. The script was written specifically for Jolie the actress and therefore showcases her best talents, but not enough time is given to supporting characters. It should also be noted that the scenes feel disconnected at times, and I feel that there could have been room for more plot.
Even considering its shortcomings, however, “Maleficent” is my favorite movie of the summer. It gave closure to one of my childhood wishes, and I owe that to everyone involved in its production.
“Guardians of the Galaxy”
By Dan Fuchs
There were probably better movies this summer than “Guardians of the Galaxy.” In the history of cinema, something like “Boyhood” will end up being remembered more fondly than this. But I dare you to find a blockbuster (and, perhaps, a film) more fun than “Guardians.” Yes, it’s technically a superhero movie, making it the twenty-first superhero movie in the past four years. And it’s based on a property that, before the movie was announced, roughly 10 people (myself included) enjoyed. Everything about “Guardians” screamed failure. Yet somehow, director James Gunn extracted a movie that was simultaneously accessible to new viewers and that stayed true to the original comics’ glorious, massive scope.
First and foremost, “Guardians” works so well because it has a sense of humor and joy about itself. Rather than becoming mired in detached sarcasm or gritty darkness, “Guardians” understands the inherent ridiculousness in its premise and goes wild with it. Talking raccoon? Check. Giant floating god-skulls? Check. Humanoid tree with the voice of Vin Diesel? Check. The film is so sincere and bombastic that all its elements must simply be accepted. Nobody stares into the camera shrugging their shoulders. It’s pure, unadulterated fun, thanks in part to the strength of the leads. Chris Pratt’s goofy charms and Zoe Saldana’s steely intensity are on full display here. Bradley Cooper makes a talking raccoon come to life in a way that only Bradley Cooper can. Hell, Vin Diesel repeats three words throughout the entire movie and breathes life into a talking tree. I’m not saying that “Guardians of the Galaxy” will reinvigorate the superhero movie. But it’s a hell of a lot of fun, full of weirdness and energy. So it’s a good start.
“X-Men: Days of Future Past”
By William Donnelly
“X-Men: Days of Future Past” begins in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, where humans and mutants alike have been hunted to the brink of extinction by robotic sentinels. It is in this post-apocalypse that the X-Men decide to band together one final time to send Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) back in time with Kitty Pryde’s (Ellen Page) time travel powers to prevent Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence) from murdering mutant-hating bigot, Bolivar Trask (Peter Dinklage) and stop the sentinels from ever being created. While the convolution of the plot is undeniable, “X-Men: Days of Future Past” is a suitably epic and satisfying seventh entry in the X-Men film series. In spite of Kitty’s time travel abilities, it is made clear that Wolverine’s trip into the past is a one-time deal, as well as their only shot at stopping the sentinels.
As such, the fate of the world rests on Mystique’s decision. Though I enjoy the focus on Mystique, who—like most women in superhero movies—was largely relegated to the sidelines before “X-Men: First Class,” I also cannot deny how problematic it is that the film essentially boils her options down to choosing between Xavier’s belief in peaceful coexistence and Magneto’s desire for a violent mutant uprising. In the end, though, the decision is hers, and the stage is set for Mystique to have her own adventures apart from both men. Hopefully, Fox will follow up on this with an equally satisfying Mystique solo film, as X-Men producer Lauren Shuler Donner has suggested they will.
“Obvious Child”
By Sarah Corey
Society’s gotten over the whole “women aren’t funny” thing, right? If there are any holdouts out there, they need not look any further than the Gillian Robespierre-directed, Jenny Slate-starring romantic comedy “Obvious Child.” The film is also a perfect display of women being smart, sensitive, and thoughtful as well. Basically, this film, like other young female-driven projects such as “Girls” and “Frances Ha,” reminds us that women make for some of the quirkiest and most nuanced characters. “Child” follows Slate’s Donna, a struggling comedian whose one-night stand leaves her with an unwanted pregnancy to terminate and a sweet guy who possibly wants more from the relationship.
One of the most refreshing things about “Child,” in addition to the subtle feminism of its interesting female main character, is the fact it still maintains a sweet rom-com heart underneath its crude jokes and overtly liberal ideals. Ultimately, Donna and the other characters are simply looking to find themselves and to be loved—tried-and-true rom-com themes. The combination of an earnest search for love with the sometimes dirty and unpleasant truths of twenty-something life make for a refreshingly honest film. “Child” is playing at the Film Series this semester, and I highly recommend everyone take the time to experience life from Robespierre’s funny and sincere perspective.
“Boyhood”
By Noah Mertz
One of the most anticipated films of the summer was Richard Linklater’s “Boyhood,” a nearly-three-hour tale of a young boy, Mason (Ellar Coltrane) finding his way through the tribulations of youth and young-adulthood in Texas, as well as the turbulent relationship of his parents (Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke). For those who have enjoyed other Linklater films, such as Wesleyan-favorite “Dazed and Confused,” “Boyhood”’s rambling pace, amorphous plot, and sweetly nostalgic sense of “good old days” dreaming are at once familiar. He accomplishes this by aiming his lens away from plot twists and major life milestones, such as protagonist Mason’s loss of virginity or high school graduation, and instead favoring the “ordinary” moments of life, such as a morning before work or a conversation with dad. This lends the film a “homier” feel and creates a subtler tension that carries the plot forward in an accessible and resonating way.
What sets this film apart is Linklater’s unorthodox filming method of shooting a few days a year for twelve years with the same cast. This not only augments his conveying of the transitory nature of time, but it also avoids the traditional pit-fall of unfortunately mismatched younger and older versions of characters that create choppy transitions through the years. There was also a noticeable improvement in the acting as the film progresses. The soundtrack pulls together the most iconic songs of each era, from Coldplay to Britney Spears to Arcade Fire, to serve as guideposts in orienting the audience to the time. The result of these temporal considerations is a leisurely paced, dreamy film weighed down by its thoughtful adherence to the ordinary that offer plenty of room for self-reflection.
This semester, Assistant Professor of Government Logan Dancey is teaching two courses, GOVT 238: American Political Parties and GOVT 373: Congressional Reform. Even though he has made his students promise not to make any more “political party” jokes, his classes still take a spirited approach to complex issues. Dancey sat down with The Argus to discuss the process of teaching politics, the role of public opinion in society, and bobblehead dolls.
The Argus: What’s on your bookshelf?
Logan Dancey: Political science books are on my bookshelf! Right now, what I’ve been reading has mostly been for classes. One [class] is [American] Political Parties, and that was a literature I only knew the outskirts of. I knew “parties and Congress” and “parties and public opinion,” but I didn’t know so much of the literature about, “what is a party?” and about how parties change and adapt. I spent a lot of the summer reading up on that to prepare for the course and have been reading some of the stuff for the first time. I always enjoy that. Then, the other course I’m teaching is a congressional reform class, and so I’ve been reading a mix of academic books on congressional reform (which are typically pretty dense, historical accounts of how Congress has changed over time) and some more popular books. Lawrence Lessig at Harvard has a book, “Republic, Lost,” on campaign finance and corruption, so we just recently read that in that class. That class is fun because it’s a mix of academic and more popular readings.
A: I’m looking at your bookshelf now. Could you tell me the story of the bobblehead collection?
LD: I think sometime in college my sister got me a bobblehead doll of Richard Nixon and then kept giving me bobblehead dolls of different presidents for Christmas. My first set was Nixon and Kennedy, and now over time I have started to fill it out, so I have Roosevelt, Eisenhower, Truman, Nixon, Kennedy, Carter, Reagan, and Clinton. And the Republican mascot. I’ve found that Wild Bill’s Nostalgia Store is actually a great place to get presidential bobbleheads.
A: What is your first political memory?
LD: I have this memory—and I don’t know if it’s true or not—from when I was in first grade in 1988. They paired kindergarteners and first graders with the fifth and sixth graders. And I remember that I had just been sitting watching the news the other night with my parents and there was something about how Kitty Dukakis, the wife of Michael Dukakis, the governor of Massachusetts who ran for president in 1988, was running the anti-drug campaign. And for some reason, I remember saying to my sixth-grade buddy when I was in first grade that “Kitty Dukakis is running an anti-drug campaign.” And I remember him looking at the teacher, not knowing what to say. But honestly, I don’t know if this is a story I’ve invented in my head to convince myself that I was destined to be a political scientist or if it’s something that actually happened.
A: Do you think this story destined you to be a political scientist?
LD: I think it’s a sign, perhaps. At least, that I was interested in politics. But no, I don’t necessarily think so. It wasn’t really until college that I decided political science was what I wanted to do.
A: What made you decide it was something you wanted to do?
LD: I really liked the classes and I really liked the readings. Going to my government classes as an undergrad was fun. And I thought, well, if it’s fun and I like it, maybe this suggests that this is something I want to do. And I had some really good professors, and I really thought they were cool. And I thought, wow, they seem like they have a great job. And, maybe it looks a little better from the outside than when you’re actually in it, but I’m happy that it’s what I’m doing.
A: I know a lot of your work focuses on Congress. What pulled you that direction?
LD: My work now is on both Congress and public opinion, which isn’t where I started when I went into graduate school. I just really liked American politics and political science in general. And then I started working with a professor at the University of Minnesota, and his main focus was Congress, so I got pulled in that direction. I would like to say that it was this love of Congress, but I really just got pulled in that direction, and then I really started to enjoy the work there.
But I think one thing that interested me, and still does, is people’s disdain for Congress. When I was getting my Ph.D. in political science, people would always say to me, “Oh, are you going to go clean up Washington?” And I always said, “No, that’s not what I’m going to do.” But it intrigued me that this was everyone’s view. So, the literature I initially got drawn to was public opinion about Congress and people’s opinions about the institution. I felt there wasn’t a lot of work on how Congress tries to reform itself in response to public opinion. The general assumption I was seeing in the literature was that Congress did not really respond to these attitudes and the level of satisfaction, though they might nod to it during elections. I wanted to see if candidates who ran as outsiders actually behaved any differently when they got to Congress, and that’s how I started. So my interest in Congress has largely formed from outsiders’ views of it, and I wanted to see how that played into how members behaved, and then that started my broader interest in what motivates Congressional behavior.
That’s why I like this class I’m teaching on Congressional reform, because it allows me talk with smart students about how Congress should function, why people dislike Congress, what reforms should be instituted, and what the consequences would be of these reforms. It’s a fun class.
A: What do you think is your greatest challenge teaching government?
LD: It’s different at Wesleyan than at the other places I have taught, to be honest. The challenges I don’t face at Wesleyan are getting students motivated and interested, and that’s really nice. It would be so much worse to walk into the room and not have the students be as interested—that can be challenging. For the most part, at the other places I have taught, the students were interested, but at Wesleyan, the students are really motivated to learn about the topics and really enjoy debating and discussing things.
One difficulty can be getting students to think about politics in a different way. Because politics is something people often already have preset views about, to try to challenge those assumptions and push people on them can be challenging. The other difficulty is, on a campus where there are a lot of liberal students, pushing them to think through commonly held beliefs and sparking debate. One of the things I worry about is that there will be a presumed consensus within the class on how we should think about politics and how we should think about the national debates that are going on. I would like to push students so they think that there is not just a consensus view out there on how things should be. I try to foster a debate where people can recognize different sides and respect differences in opinion and still hold their views. When I’m teaching my intro class, if anything keeps me up at night, that would probably be it: trying to figure out a way to teach a class that’s conducive to honest but productive conversation about contemporary issues.
A: If students learn nothing else, what’s one thing you want them to take away from your classes?
LD: If they learn nothing else? From a government perspective, what I want them to take away is a recognition of the diversity of politics and the extent to which notions of how to solve problems in our society are highly contested. Also, that though it plays out in the democratic process in a way that might seem messy at times, it is also productive.
From an academic perspective, I want my students to be able to read and comprehend but at the same time challenge what they’re reading and think about alternative explanations and ideas, and use the readings not just as information gathering but also as sparking new ideas that students can pursue and research. If someone came out of my classes and felt that this is what they gained, that would be pretty rewarding.
A: What topics do students seem to have the most fun with in your classes?
LD: Students always seem interested in campaign finance because there are so many rules. Because things have really changed over time, it’s a topic that students have some sense of but don’t understand completely. Whenever I talk about it, students seem to have a lot of interest in the system—why it evolved the way it did.
I also really think students at Wesleyan really like delving into theoretical arguments. They don’t just want me to come in and talk about the politics of the day—or maybe they do, but that’s not what they’re getting!—but they’re really interested in broader theoretical explanations for the politics. This is what most political scientists are interested in, so it’s good that I feel like I can come into class and students want to talk about it.
A: What are you working on now?
LD: I’m working on a few main things right now. I’m still working on this longer-term project that I alluded to, about congressional behavior and the extent to which outsider candidates, if they run on a platform of changing Congress, the extent to which they engage in behaviors aimed at reforming Congress in some way; and I’m looking how Congress responds to variations in public attitudes towards it. Though in the general public, attitudes tend to be negative, there is some variation over time. That’s part of a broader interest in Congressional change and Congressional responsiveness to dissatisfaction with the institution.
I’ve also been doing some work on constituent knowledge of the positions that their elected officials take, in particular senators, and looking at how polarization affects the levels of knowledge in the constituency. I’m particularly looking at when candidates stake out more extreme positions, whether constituents are better able to pick up where their politicians stand and what that means for accountability. On the one hand, we want constituents to know their elected officials’ positions in order to be able to hold them accountable; but on the other hand, there’s a lot of dissatisfaction with candidates moving to the ideological extremes. So, it can provide this good of clarifying positions for constituents, but at the same time making it so there is less common ground.
The last thing I’m working on…is about judicial confirmation hearings in the Senate. A couple of coworkers and I have collected transcripts of a bunch of these hearings and looked at questions that nominees get asked during these hearings, and what predicts the questions that nominees get asked, and whether the types of questions they get asked predict their eventual confirmation. For the most part, we’ve found very little evidence that the hearings are really about information gathering by senators. Instead, the predictors about what nominees get asked tend to be big factors. For example, is it divided government, is it a presidential election year? If so, they get harder questions, or rather, more ideologically charged questions. And then we found pretty minimal evidence that the intensiveness of the hearing, once you account for other factors, is all that important for whether the nominee actually gets confirmed or not. So it’s questioning, what is the purpose of the hearings? What role do they serve? What information if any are senators taking from these hearings?
Studying is a surefire way to induce late-night munchies. But if you’re going to ditch the books in favor of a midnight snack, food found in the Woodhead Lounge can make the experience a little more enlightening than what you’ll find most nights in Usdan.
As part of efforts to share different traditions and histories with the larger student body, late night food events are some of Wesleyan’s student groups’ most popular means of raising money and serving up culture.
Pangea, a student organization comprised of Asian international students and led by Kah Wei Yoong ’14 and Xian Hui Ang ’15, recently held a joint event in Usdan with the Wesleyan men’s football team. Students of all nationalities learned the fundamentals of American football and how to make East Asian foods, such as sushi hand rolls and Vietnamese spring rolls.
Hosting such large-scale events and cooking for crowds require a lot of effort on the part of the group members. Monica Iwasaki ’15, who is from Japan and took on the role of teaching students how to make sushi rolls, explained that the late nights take a lot of money and coordination.
“We also had international food two weeks ago in Exley, and [there were] seven cultural groups selling different foods,” Iwasaki said. “We got a lot of money from the international students office, so we were able to have lots of food.”
Yoong said that gathering the ingredients to make East Asian cuisine required special consideration.
“We got a lot of ingredients from A Dong supermarket in West Hartford,” she said. “We had a lot of students bring back souvenirs and ingredients over breaks from their countries.”
PINOY, the Filipino Students Association, held its Ang Sarap late night on April 27 in Exley’s Woodhead Lobby.
“Ang Sarap means something like, ‘Damn, this is good,’’’ said Marianna Ilagan ’15, who cooked rice and adobo, a Filipino meat stew, for the event. “We always have adobo because that’s what everyone seems to know in our culture in terms of cuisine. We did that the first time, and ever since the first time we kind of repeat the menu with some changes.”
Like Pangea, PINOY purchases many of its supplies from A Dong supermarket in Hartford.
“It’s this magical little Asian supermarket that every Asian cultural group goes to,” Ilagan said. “That’s all you need. It’s one of the only ones in Connecticut, and it has really good prices.”
Because of the size of the event, which can draw over one hundred students to Exley’s Woodhead Lounge each semester, Ilagan said that planning and preparation presents many challenges.
“We always underestimate the adobo even though this is the third time, and we overestimate dessert and noodles and stuff,” Ilagan said. “In all the late nights I’ve participated in or helped out with, not just Filipino late night, we always aim for around one hundred-ish of a dish. That seems to be the standard.”
As the late night proceeded, however, the adobo quickly ran out.
“Too many people are ordering it!” Ilagan exclaimed as she uncovered another tray of chicken and rice.
The group also makes efforts to accommodate students with dietary restrictions.
“It’s always tricky, because you never know [how] the Wesleyan community will react to your ethnic cuisine,” Ilagan said. “We tried to stick with safer options. This time we tried making vegetarian adobo, which we’ve never tried before. Filipino food wasn’t meant to be vegetarian, so as a vegetarian in the Philippines, it’s a struggle. So we tried to alter it without betraying the heart of the cuisine.”
Late night food events aren’t limited to international groups, however. Often, late nights are organized for domestic causes. ServeUP, a campus volunteer group, held its first New Orleans-themed late night in February to raise money for a service trip to the city over spring break.
Stacy Uchendu ’17, who was in charge of cooking jambalaya for the event, described ServeUP as an InterVarsity Christian fellowship program. Students from different schools travel to places hit by natural disasters, such as New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, to do community service work.
“It was really stressful,” Uchendu said. “Making jambalaya for maybe five people is fine, but making it for about 150-plus is a lot.”
Despite being the group’s first venture into late night, and with a team of only three people, Uchendu felt the event went smoothly.
Chukwuemeka Uwakaneme ’16, who cooked jambalaya and helped sell food at the NOLA late night, said it was a cooperative effort. It was a financial success, too; the group ultimately raised enough to send 18 Wesleyan students on the trip.
“I feel like because it was such a success this year, we can get the word out more,” Uchendu said.
Now finishing his second year as a Wesleyan faculty member, Assistant Professor of Religion Elisha Russ-Fishbane currently teaches two classes: RELI372: Jewish Politics, Jewish Power, and RELI286: The Examined Life. He received a Ph.D. from Harvard University in Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations in 2009; before joining the Wesleyan faculty, he was the Tikvah Postdoctoral Fellow at Princeton University.
Russ-Fishbane’s current work focuses on the interaction and intersection and of Jewish and Islamic cultures, and he recently finished writing his book, “Judaism, Sufism, and the Pietists of Medieval Egypt: A Study of Abraham Maimonides and His Circle,” to be published next year. In a conversation with The Argus, Russ-Fishbane shared the intricate and intimate romance he has with books.
The Argus: What’s on your bookshelf?
Elisha Russ-Fishbane: At first, the thought occurred to me that “What’s on my bookshelf” is maybe the wrong question to ask, because the books that are on my bookshelf are not the books that I’m reading right now. If you want to know what I’m reading, what’s bothering me, [and] what’s on my mind at the moment, the question, I guess, would be “What’s on your desk?” or “What books are on your night table or wherever else you keep your books?” But then the truth is, as I thought about it, the books on anyone’s bookshelf are a collection of stories about the many lives that we each have as a part of our life story.
One of my greatest pleasures is to wander the stacks of libraries. To surprise myself, sometimes I’ll pick something random [as a] a starting point and then figure out what my eye turns to nearby in that section—what I’m interested in exploring at that moment. But [there is] something amazing about the American tradition of libraries that is very different, at least from the European one, which typically has a closed stack tradition, where you have to know what you are looking for. In the American system, most of the time, there is this open stack philosophy, where you can browse, and you can be surprised. When I was in college, I used to like to stay in the library after hours even after it closed and spend the night with whatever books came to my attention. There is something magical and almost majestic about the surprise of the books that can come your way when you are in a library of that size.
But the library of an individual is nothing really other than a whole series of stories about that person’s life. There is a wonderful story, or maybe a private reverie that was published as a story, written by Walter Benjamin, a German Jewish intellectual who wrote an essay called “Unpacking My Library.” Really, the essay is [about] what happens when you move and you have to pack up your books. Each time you pack up your books, you have to look through them and over them, especially the ones you haven’t looked over in a long time. And it happens when you unpack your books, even more, because then you really have to think about where to place them again.
But what happens when you look over old books is you are reminded of the story behind each book. I know that we are now living an increasingly digital age. My oldest son, who is an avid reader, is already really excited about the idea of getting a Kindle, or a Nook, or something like that. And I’m a really big supporter of literacy in all forms—audio books, e-readers, whatever. But there is a very different experience that you have with a physical book. First is the feeling of a book that has been loved—the smell, the touch. There is a kind of romance that you have with the book. When you open a book and you want to get to know what’s inside it, and you keep coming back to it. [One] of the great joys of the classics is that you don’t want to leave [the book] alone, you want to keep coming back to it.
In fact, there is a wonderful tradition, or ritual, in Judaism, which has all really has become, at least in the rabbinic manifestations over the centuries, a great deal about culture of learning. One of the great rituals I really enjoy [happens] after you complete a tractate of Talmud….You say, “Will return to you, so-and-so tractate. And we hope that you return to us.” And, in fact, [this] is repeated in this almost magical way three times. And something about a book that you fall in love with, whether [the book] is something you spent a long time reading or you something that you didn’t but are completely absorbed by in the moment, keeps drawing you back.
A: It sounds like you view a book as almost a person.
ER: A book is very much that kind of a friendship. In a way, our relationship with books is very much [like] our relationship with people. Some books, we read because we are obligated to read them, while we have so many different people we have to forge relationships with that are not part of our initial calculus. And then there are those surprising and wonderful moments where we encounter someone or a book that doesn’t let go of you and that reminds you of something primordial about this relationship that was meant to be. Like a good friend, you don’t let it go very far, or [it is not] very long until you come back to it.
Lately, a lot of the books that I like to read for just pure enjoyment are actually not adult books, [but] children’s stories. I have kids just at that age where they love a good story. And we like to go for a walk, and, “Aba,” [“father” in Hebrew], they call me, “tell us a story.” And I’ll kind of tease them and say, “When we go for our next walk.” It kind of gives me time to prepare for a story. But I have bookshelves at home where I collect books of stories for children, not picture book stories, just to give me ideas. Through these stories, I like to give them a window into classic Jewish stories. They go to a Jewish school, and a lot of what you learn in any kind of school, you don’t learn always the colorful stories that excite you.
And then there are whole worlds of books that are not here—my Jewish books that are mostly at home.
A: Are those for studies or personal enjoyment?
ER: It’s a little bit of both. Because the work that I do as a scholar utilizes those kinds of books.
A: Could you tell me a little bit about your work?
ER: Yes. My scholarship combines the libraries of Judaism and Islam. [On the leftmost set of bookshelves in my office] I have books on Jewish subjects and [the next set] on Islamic subjects. And these [books of the rightmost shelves] are, funnily enough, from the library. Keeping them in one place to make sure I remember to return them at one point. And [the fourth set] are books from different periods of time.
Before I got into Judeo-Islamic studies [after college], I spent a year in Rome. When I was in Rome, I lived a significant period of time in couple of different monasteries. These are books that take me back to those days. It was also in that year when I was in Rome that we as Americans experienced 9/11. And it shook me very deeply. I knew that my trajectory would ultimately land me in a classroom [because] I wanted to be a teacher. But I was very much interested in so many different things. And it was that moment I realized I wanted to dedicate my scholarship to a project of Jewish-Islamic reconciliation.
So I ended up going to a graduate school, working in that area [of] intersections of Jewish-Islamic cultures. My book that I just finished and that is going to be published by Oxford University Press next year is a book on [the] Jewish-Sufi movement in Medieval Egypt. It captures my interest in the ways Jewish and Islamic communities and cultures overlap. That is an ongoing interest of mine. A lot of books on my bookshelf are Sufi books; there are a lot of stories about how I found these books. That’s the kind of literature I work with [on] a regular basis. [Most books are in] Arabic, and some [are in] Persian. On the Jewish side, you might expect a lot of Hebrew, [but] a lot of what I work with is Judeo-Arabic, which is an Arabic language in Hebrew letters [with] a bunch of Hebrew and Aramaic expressions peppered throughout the language.
And yet the books I have at home are traditional Hebrew books—a rabbinic library, for lack of a better term, [including the] Talmud that I referred to before and a bunch of commentaries, because I like to have them at my fingertips at home. One of my reading practices, which is maybe not so typical as others we talked about, is a practice of reading that is common in Jewish communities: [reading] some of that formative Jewish literature on a daily basis. My grandmother used to always tell me which prophet she was reading that week. But in the things that I read slowly each day, this is a different kind of reading. The medieval Catholic tradition used to call [this kind of reading] Lectio Divina, or “Divine Reading,” which is interpreted to mean a reading that is meditated—a slow reading.
A: So, in that specific case, would reading be more of a spiritual practice than an intellectual process?
ER: Yes, very much so. And that goes to what I also love to do: to read and recite classical Hebrew poetry. This is often not a matter of reading but recollecting. I like to memorize these poems and then recollect them and often put music to them. So a different type of relationship to the books. I always make sure that my poetry books are not too far away. And then, I guess you can say that the meditative reading that I was talking about before is a lot like reading poetry. You read it for its nuances, for a slow, careful absorbing.
A: It seems like you have various relationships with many different books. How many bookshelves do you have?
ER: I don’t know; my kids like to count the books, but I leave that up to them. [One of my sons] came to [my] office last week, and he [was counting] the books. I remember distinctly as a child I did the same thing to my father’s books. My father was a scholar of Judaic studies [as well], and I used to lie on the floors of his study and count his books. And there is something magical about those moments. Not just about the books but about the fact that my father was home in his office at the same time. I sort of associated scholarship as combination of both a life absorbed by reading [and] the flexibility that a teacher’s job gives to read sometimes in the office and sometimes at home. One of my greatest pleasures now is when my children hang out in my office and check out the books—whether they are counting them or telling me which books they want me to read next. There are all sorts of pleasures that repeat themselves around books.
This article was edited for length.
that is common in Jewish communities: [reading] some of that formative Jewish literature on a daily basis. My grandmother used to always tell me which prophet she was reading that week. But in the things that I read slowly each day, this is a different kind of reading. The medieval Catholic tradition used to call [this kind of reading] Lectio Divina, or “Divine Reading,” which is interpreted to mean a reading that is meditated—a slow reading.
A: So, in that specific case, would reading be more of a spiritual practice than an intellectual process?
ER: Yes, very much so. And that goes to what I also love to do: to read and recite classical Hebrew poetry. This is often not a matter of reading but recollecting. I like to memorize these poems and then recollect them and often put music to them. So a different type of relationship to the books. I always make sure that my poetry books are not too far away. And then, I guess you can say that the meditative reading that I was talking about before is a lot like reading poetry. You read it for its nuances, for a slow, careful absorbing.
A: It seems like you have various relationships with many different books. How many bookshelves do you have?
ER: I don’t know; my kids like to count the books, but I leave that up to them. [One of my sons] came to [my] office last week, and he [was counting] the books. I remember distinctly as a child I did the same thing to my father’s books. My father was a scholar of Judaic studies [as well], and I used to lie on the floors of his study and count his books. And there is something magical about those moments. Not just about the books but about the fact that my father was home in his office at the same time. I sort of associated scholarship as combination of both a life absorbed by reading [and] the flexibility that a teacher’s job gives to read sometimes in the office and sometimes at home. One of my greatest pleasures now is when my children hang out in my office and check out the books—whether they are counting them or telling me which books they want me to read next. There are all sorts of pleasures that repeat themselves around books.
“Legendary Locals of Middletown,” a new book by Robert Hubbard, Kathleen Hubbard, and The Middlesex County Historical Society, goes forward with the belief that the best way to understand a town’s history is by examining its citizens. Here, Middletown’s history is documented from its inception through today; by highlighting military heroes, athletes, scholars, and beloved townspeople, the authors present a thorough representation of Middletown and the people who influenced and perpetuated its progress through the generations.
In 1650, a faction of residents from Hartford decided to settle at a new location along the Connecticut River. They chose the largest bend in the river and christened their new home Middletown. Due to the production and industrial trade around the river, the town grew steadily over the next few hundred years and was established as a United States customs port in 1795.
Middletown’s first settlers farmed the fertile soil of the Connecticut River. The river, in turn, attracted shipbuilders and created expansive marine commerce; as the Industrial Revolution progressed, changing the landscape with the introduction of mills and factories, Middletown became one of the most economically successful cities in Connecticut.
The Hubbards wrote a previous book, “Images of America: Middletown,” in 2009, but they were restricted to using photographs from 1970 and forward. For this new project, part of Arcadia Publishing’s “Legendary Locals” series, the husband-wife team collaborated with Debby Shapiro, executive director of the town’s historical society, who gave them access to photos from the past few centuries.
“She not only came up with many great candidates, but she personally knows (or has known) most of Middletown’s sports, business and government leaders of the past 40 years,” Robert Hubbard wrote in an email to The Argus.
“Legendary Locals of Middletown” took a considerable amount of time to write and assemble because it featured more figures than the previous book people from many different walks of life.
“Some highlights for us were a three-hour interview with 80-year-old Willard McRae, the legendary African-American community leader, [and] meetings with business legend Richard Wrubel in which he told us stories of his uncle, a Wesleyan University graduate who wrote the Disney song “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah,” as well as many more hits from the golden age of Hollywood,” Hubbard wrote.
Each chapter of the book is devoted to people within a certain field of work. From hardworking businesspeople to athletes and from artists of all genres to military heroes, it provides a detailed cross-section of the diversity of life in Middletown. Exploring prominent government leaders and teachers, the book also shows how individuals can start off in humble local jobs and move on to become legislators, professionals, and decision-makers at the national level.
As someone who loves learning of people’s origins and how history affects the present, I found that the book really hit home for me. Even though the gender ratio of those featured is skewed male, I loved learning about individuals who affected all aspects of the town’s social sphere.
Overall, “Legendary Locals of Middletown” is an excellent pastiche of local history.
“We might add that the history of Middletown is but the biography of men and women, both great and small,” the book says.
From “Legendary Locals,” the Features section hand-picked its Top 10 Most Notable Middletown Residents You’ve Never Heard Of (in no particular order):
1.Benjamin Douglas: This local shop owner was a member of the Middletown Anti-Slavery Society and refused to abide by the tenets of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850. Douglas was believed to have helped slaves escape via the Underground Railroad.
2.Helen “Babe” Carson: This spunky athlete was a star member of the Speed Girls of Middletown, a semi-professional women’s basketball team that emerged during the Great Depression. Carson went on to pitch for men’s hardball teams in New Hampshire and Florida.
3.Allie Wrubel: This Wesleyan alumnus moved to Hollywood to pursue music shortly after graduating. Wrubel was under contract with Warner Brothers, and in 1948 his song “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” won the Best Song Oscar at the Academy Awards. In 1970, he was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.
4.Dean Acheson: Born in Middletown in 1893, Ascheson was appointed by Franklin D. Roosevelt to Undersecretary of the Treasury in 1933, jumpstarting his 20-year career. Acheson became Assistant Secretary of State for economic affairs, through which he helped create NATO in 1949. He served as Secretary of State throughout the Korean War and advised President Kennedy on the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.
5.Maria Madsen Holzberg: Middletown’s first female mayor, who was elected in 1995. Madsen legislated the renovation of local schools and the creation of a new police station.
6. Max Corvo: A decorated war veteran, Corvo moved from Sicily to Middletown when he was nine years old. In World War II, he directed intelligence operations in Italy for the United States Office of Strategic Services (the CIA’s predecessor) and was able to land hundreds of agents behind enemy lines. Back at home, he co-founded and published The Middletown Bulletin, a local newspaper.
7.Vivian McRae Wesley: Wesley was the first African-American woman hired by the city. The schoolteacher helped dozens of students improve their reading comprehension and instilled in them a passion for learning. Vivian McRae Wesley Elementary School was built in 1972 in her honor.
8.Chief Sowheag: This Native American leader was in charge of the Mattabesett and Wangunk tribes, based on land that is now part of Middletown. When the Hartford and European settlers came, Sowheag was forced to sell most of his tribes’ land. By the end of the 17th century, the tribes only controlled 300 acres of land.
9. Bernie O’Rourke: O’Rourke was the city’s parks and recreation director for many years. He also edited the sports section of The Middletown Press. With his help, Little League Baseball was brought to Connecticut. He is also the namesake of O’Rourke’s Diner, a campus favorite and local hotspot.
10.Jessie Fisher: One of the premier female pathologists, Fisher practiced at the Connecticut Hospital for the Insane in the early 1900s.
Additional reporting by Assistant Features Editor Rebecca Brill and Features Editor Gabe Rosenberg.
Most of my friends in the College of Letters (COL) who took Spanish went abroad to Madrid, but I wanted something different (not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with Madrid). All those clichés people spout about the “comfort zone,” how leaving it is scary but “fulfilling” or whatever, really convinced me. So I wanted to get as far away from what I knew as possible.
Buenos Aires wasn’t the most logical choice for this purpose. Yes, it is very far in terms of distance, but it is still a developed city. It has shops, tourists, cars, public transportation, et cetera. I’m not lacking in any of the comforts of capitalism here in Argentina. The education offered is very, very good. Maybe I chose to go so far away because I was misled by the spatial metaphor of “comfort zone.”
All I know is that during the last few years, especially toward the end of 2013, a powerful, creeping feeling began to come over me. It made me ask myself: “Who are you? Do you even know?” I could hardly fathom my own identity. I just couldn’t picture it, if that makes any sense. So I decided to challenge myself as much as possible, go somewhere entirely new where I didn’t know anybody, and essentially lose my entire support system so that I could be left alone to “find myself.” Then my four-and-a-half-year-long romantic relationship ended, which definitely was not part of the plan, and I was truly left feeling completely, utterly, unfathomably alone, living in an apartment in South America with a 64-year-old woman who really likes to yell at me.
The fallout of my breakup is still unfolding like a slow-motion train wreck, and it has compounded my experience considerably. To use another unfortunate cliché, studying abroad is like a roller coaster: full of ups and downs. My ups are pretty good, while my downs are often unbearable, more than I imagine they are for most foreign students. I was so obsessed with trying to “find myself” that I forgot some of the things that were most important to me. (I am equally disgusted as you are, reader, at how obvious this hackneyed conclusion should have been.)
I’m having a lot of experiences that, on paper, should make me feel good about myself. I’m reading Derrida in Spanish (I don’t recommend it) and discussing it with classmates; I’m starting a Spanish poetry circle with Argentines and other foreign students; I’m writing a lot of music; and my Spanish is approaching acceptable, or perhaps even good.
Yet as much as all of this is true, every day is still a challenge. Bus drivers yell at me and I don’t know how to react; creepy dudes creep up and creepily hit on my friends; I struggle to understand anything and everything in my philosophy seminar at the University of Buenos Aires (I’m the only foreigner in the class); and on top of all of it, I’ve lost my best friend. Now I need to learn to be alone and deal with all of this. It isn’t easy.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m also enjoying myself a lot. This might actually be some sort of transformative experience. But growing can really hurt (I’m 6’4’’, so I should know). Study abroad is way too hard to be therapy, but it is an opportunity to question my beliefs.
The point is, I could have planned this whole thing better. I could have tried not to distance myself because of some misguided idea about my “identity,” and could have realized that an “identity,” or whatever I mean by that word, is something that is acted, that forms through behaviors and habits that conform to your ideals.
My experience is far from over, and because of some of these things I’ve come to understand, I have hopes for the future. I’ve formed a relationship with an amazing guy with whom I expect to be lifelong friends (and who has already started making plans to come visit me in Seattle). I’m being challenged intellectually. I’m recording music. Sometimes it’s enough, and sometimes it isn’t, but I feel okay. And even if I feel unhappy sometimes, it’s more than worth the experience for the high moments and the personal growth. I had to find that out after doing some personal shrinking, but I found it out nonetheless.
When studying abroad, you can’t put so much pressure on yourself to find your identity. You just have to try to act according to your beliefs and ideals. Then, at the end of the day, you can sit down, alone, and ask yourself who’s there. If the person who responds isn’t someone you like, don’t get depressed and drown it in unhealthy ways. Just think about who you would have wanted to respond, and go act like that person.
When it comes down to it, it’s really that simple. Or it’s the hardest thing imaginable.
Visiting Assistant Professor of Art Terttu Uibopuu has an MFA in Photography from Yale University School of Art and numerous awards, shows, and fellowships under her belt. This is her first semester teaching at Wesleyan University, and she commutes from New York City every Tuesday and Thursday to teach Digital Photography I. She will be returning next spring to teach two classes and advise thesis students. The Argus sat down with Uibopuu to chat about photography, moving from Estonia, and her current projects.
The Argus: What’s on your bookshelf?
Terttu Uibopuu: I tend to read a lot of things at the same time, so I’ve been reading “Anna Karenina” by Tolstoy because I never read it in school, and I wanted to go back to the classics. I’ve also been reading a lot of Freud. It’s texts that I wouldn’t imagine myself reading because I don’t agree with all of it, but I just think it’s fascinating when it discusses the ego and what’s hidden, because in my work actually I deal with a lot of what’s hidden. I’ve also been reading about photography: essays about photography, introductions to books, interviews with photographers, and the photography blog American Suburb X.
A: What inspired you to become a photographer?
TU: In high school I would do a lot of painting and sculpture, and I would sort of explore different mediums, but once I took an after-school photography class I was fascinated with how real it looked. I felt like photography was the medium that was the most surprising. When I made a sculpture, it always turned out how I wanted it to turn out, but pictures would turn out different.
I started when I was 16 in Estonia, and I got a photography award from Philip Morris, the cigarette company, and then I bought my plane ticket to Chicago. I think it was also a way of putting myself in a situation that I thought wasn’t socially acceptable, but because I had a camera it was okay. I could go up to and talk to people because I would want to take their picture, but I would also be genuinely curious about them. Cameras sort of gave me permission, and I thought that was amazing. Making paintings or sculpture won’t allow you to interact with the world the same way photography can.
It took me a long time to find my own voice, but I have figured out that I do like photographing people. I am interested in people’s lives, but I don’t want to take on the responsibility of showing the truth of them, so it’s not so much about telling their story but making something together—making the picture as a collaboration. It takes the pressure away [from] going to meet someone and showing their essence.
A: How was it growing up in Estonia and then coming here?
TU: I wouldn’t make the move now, but I think when you’re young you are kind of reckless and more inclined to taking risks because you have no concept of what the consequences are. You just take the plunge. It was a big shock because I grew up in a medieval city and I landed in the northwest suburbs of Chicago where it was a flat, boring, and a monotonous environment everywhere, so I definitely felt like an alien. But I think America is the best place to integrate because you will be accepted at some point. I think if I went to France I would never be French. I would never be British if I went to England. But I think there is a way to fit yourself into the U.S. It’s kind of a unique place to be.
I was very lucky I got a GED. I didn’t finish high school, and I went to community college and was part of this really supportive photography community where I took classes with 80-year-olds. It was all people who were hobbyists. They weren’t trying to make a career out of photography, but it was a very exciting place to be, because even though people were taking photos of their babies or farms or cornfields there was this passion and energy. There was this sense of community, and ever since then, I’ve always really valued community, like of artists or creative minds together. Even in my classroom, I really love when we gather around things and look at things together and critique. I think that’s a very invaluable thing.
After that, I transferred to Columbia College, which is a four-year school, and got my BFA in photography. I admired all the people who went to Yale, but I never thought I would apply. It was never on my radar, [but] Paul D’Amato, a photography teacher of mine, was telling me I was stupid not to apply to Yale, at least to try. I got in, and it was kind of a no-brainer for me. Columbia undergrad was great because I learned how to make a photo project with a beginning, middle, and end and an artist statement and titles. It was a great education. It was very serious and technically really high level and it’s an amazing photo program, but I think Yale brought me back to the beginning, to why I first started photography, and it loosened things up for me. It wasn’t always about making your preconceived ideas into reality, but it was more about discovering something new through your work, and I think my work did a 180. It really changed drastically from Columbia to Yale. I feel like sometimes I’m more lost than ever with my work and I don’t know what direction I want to go, and sometimes I’ve sort of found the central drive; I know when I want to take a picture. I felt like, when I was at Columbia, I was thinking how can I make a project, how can I make something that makes sense? But now it’s more the opposite: how can I make something that really doesn’t make sense?
A: What projects are you currently working on?
TU: I’ve been working on a book for some time, something that I want to get published at some point. It’s a book of work from the past three years and then current work. It’s portraits and self-portraits, but I do feel like I need to make a little bit more work before it gets finished.
I am going to Estonia this summer, so I am going to be away for a month, and I want to make more work there continuing with a portrait series. But I do take pictures for fun. I will just photograph on the street even though I know it’s not work that will end up in my projects, but sometimes I will play around to keep my photo muscles toned, especially if I don’t have the perfect situation or the perfect spot where I want to photograph. I feel like you can get kind of rusty if you don’t physically keep doing it, so it’s just nice to push the button.
The project that I am working on is called “…and the fruit.” It’s from Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and it has to do with this idea of the fall of Eden. It’s all portraits of young people. I am interested in youth and the state of youth today. The characters or the people I cast always tend to be hybrids; they are neither here nor there, they are not gay or straight, they are not man or woman. For a while, I was photographing this 19-year-old who was coming out as a girl, and I really liked how she hadn’t quite made the transition yet. It wasn’t about documenting her or telling her story, but we would make pictures together, and it was really special. I got to photograph her on the street, and she said it was the first time she had ever been outside as a woman and having a camera there made her feel more comfortable doing that. It doesn’t come through in the pictures; those stories are not really important for the pictures, because at the end we are making something else. We are making a new reality.
I like people who tend to be kind of exhibitionists: they want to show themselves, they want to exhibit themselves somehow, but the result is always when the photo shoot goes wrong. They have a certain set of expectations, and I have certain expectations, but what happens is always something different and something better, and we sort of arrive somewhere together. It’s kind of like we both speak a foreign language to each other, and we pretend we understand but we actually don’t really understand. And I guess in the end it really is capturing small gestures, small moments that look significant in some way.
I met this guy in Kentucky, and he was like, “I want to be a porn star. Will you photograph me naked?” I was like, “Sure!” I was very clear that this was only for art purposes and this was all it was going to be. The pictures I could have chosen from that photo shoot could have been more racy or explicit, but I like those more quiet moments that happen when the subject is not aware or when I’ve already ended the photo shoot. I’ll say, “Okay, we are done shooting,” and then something happens: they sort of let loose or they let go. So actually my best photos happen after the photo shoot is over.
I do like what you can do with one person. I like that you don’t have to have fireworks and parades and everything; it can just be one person in a room, and what can you do with that? It is creating an experiment, and sometimes it doesn’t work. I have so many pictures that suck, that are terrible. Either I have seen those pictures before or the subject is so aware that I don’t show them. But you have to realize that not everything you make is gold.
People always ask why would I hang a picture of a stranger on my wall, but it’s like, why would you watch a movie about someone, why would you read a poem? Because at the end, when we read books, it’s not about that person; it’s about recognizing something new. You think, “Oh, wow, I know what that feels like,” or, “Oh wow, this is something I have never experienced,” and you wouldn’t have if you had never read it. It’s sort of the same idea. It’s playing around with those two extremes, the super familiar and the unfamiliar.
President Michael Roth’s sixth book, “Beyond the University: Why Liberal Education Matters,” will be released on Tuesday, May 6. The book, published by Yale University Press, concludes with the following: “Liberal education matters far beyond the university because it increases our capacity to understand the world, contribute to it, and reshape ourselves. When it works, it never ends.”
That statement broadly underscores the message of the preceding four chapters.
The first part of the book (“From Taking in the World to Transforming the Self”) focuses largely on the legacy of Thomas Jefferson and Ralph Waldo Emerson. In doing research for the book, Roth was surprised to find parallels between those men’s experiences and his own career, especially in terms of criticism from anti-intellectuals who oppose widespread access to liberal education.
“When I started reading Jefferson and Franklin and seeing some of the things they were dealing with [that were] so similar to…what I have to deal with as a president, I thought that was really interesting,” Roth said in an interview with The Argus. “[T]he critics of liberal education…seem to say, ‘Well, now it’s irrelevant.’ And, ‘Maybe it was useful before, but now this kind of education is irrelevant.’ And that’s what people said in the 1810s, and what they said in the 1850s, and what they said in 1900.”
The second part of the book, “Pragmatism: From Autonomy to Recognition,” continues to explore the relevance of liberal education, particularly to oppressed groups such as African Americans. Roth discusses Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. DuBois as he moves toward the modern construction of liberal education.
We begin with Washington, who helped found the Tuskegee Institute in 1881. Tuskegee focused on educating blacks in practical trades rather than intellectual pursuits in order to help elevate them to the same economic status as whites—the only way, in Washington’s mind, to bring about equality of any kind.
DuBois, another black scholar, held the opposite view. DuBois had been educated at Fisk University and Harvard, and he dismissed Washington’s skill-based plan in favor of a broad liberal education for blacks. DuBois advocated for scholarship according to ability, because only a “Talented Tenth” of blacks would end up with the opportunity to become intellectual leaders in the world; a classic education, he argued, should help them reach their full potential.
“The elite should participate in the ongoing transmission and creation of knowledge, enabling them to remind others that there is more in life than the almighty Dollar,” Roth writes of DuBois’s rationale.
As money became the object of DuBois’s scorn, new value was placed on the making of the person—the shaping and development of intellect and character that today define liberal learning.
“If we make money the object of man-training, we shall develop money-makers but not necessarily men; if we make technical skill the object of education, we may possess artisans but not, in nature, men,” Roth quotes DuBois as having said. “Men we shall have only as we make manhood the object of the work of the schools—intelligence, broad sympathy, knowledge of the world that was and is, and of the relation of men to it.”
The push away from vocational training and towards liberal education manifested itself in a new equation of success, one that Roth recognizes in modern terms as eschewing material prestige in favor of purer pursuits.
“DuBois didn’t want his Talented Tenth to pursue the equivalent of what today might be internships at Goldman Sachs or aspire to join the cool folks in the Hamptons or Malibu,” Roth writes.
Liberal education, most often apparent in the growth of its students, relies firmly on strong teachers, who lay the foundation for intellectual development. Roth focuses on William James, a late-19th-century philosopher and champion of liberal education, and his pursuit to free students from the blindness of their own subjective experience. Understanding others’ minds, according to James, would be the ultimate triumph of liberal education.
“Although James notes that there is no recipe for achieving this openness, teachers are in a privileged position to help us recognize the ways in which we all fail to see, pay attention to, and connect with the experiences of others,” Roth writes. “Teachers can help students become more aware of the different levels of meaning that might be found within the same situation when examined from different perspectives.”
Roth points to understanding others’ points of view as the hallmark of not only a liberal education, but also the American way of life.
“Learning to become citizens eager to understand those around us as we understand ourselves is…a cornerstone of American democracy,” he writes. “Although this is not the only kind of understanding that can be produced in the classroom, it is a crucial one in a culture that recognizes the value of engaged diversity—that recognizes that we all get a vote in the evolving constitution of our universe.”
In researching for his book, Roth said he was struck by the connections he found among early proponents of liberal education. Beyond Emerson and James, Roth found allies in people such as Frederick Douglass and Jane Addams, who he was surprised to find wrote on similar issues.
“It seemed to me it wasn’t the usual suspects of education theory or education history, but these were major figures in America thinking,” Roth said.
When he turns to a discussion of criticisms that liberal education faces—namely, its widespread acceptance as necessary for employment, its rising costs, and its contested utility—Roth remarks again on anti-intellectualism.
“I think that the critics of liberal education often, not always, but often are trying to limit access to opportunity, so as to defend their own advantages, and second, promote conformity and promote conventional behavior on the part of citizens because they don’t get to think for themselves,” Roth said.
The danger of relying too much on deconstruction and not enough on deep understanding, according to Roth, will resurface in the world after graduation.
“[Students] wind up contributing to a cultural climate that has little tolerance for finding or making meaning, whose intellectuals and cultural commentators delight in being able to show that somebody else is not to be believed,” he writes.
Despite his apprehension about overly critical thinking, Roth is adamant that liberal education is still crucial and will continue to be crucial for years to come. “Beyond the University” looks into the past to make a case for the future.
“I’m a historian, and it’s a book in some ways about intellectual history,” Roth said. “I get to grapple with these important thinkers, I hope in the service of a contemporary argument that people will find relevant.”
Months of deflecting extended family members’ inquiries and foraging for half-hearted small talk have whittled my justification for spending a semester in Prague down to “just tryna get me a piece of that democratic transition, ya know?” Which of course nobody does, considering the aforementioned statement doesn’t really mean anything. And if you’re looking for a typical bullshit excuse for study abroad that also indirectly smacks of American privilege, well, there you go.
But with traces of the past around every corner, it’s almost impossible to ignore the Czech Republic’s geopolitically fraught history. Taking into account my outsider’s bias toward interpreting the most innocuous cultural differences as exotic socialist relics, it’s obvious living here that Central and Eastern Europe (CEE) remains a region of mixed political allegiances quite unlike the unifying ethos of capitalist individualism we Americans put so much stock in. While young Czechs tend to be passionate about Western ideals of freedom, some older conservatives are nostalgic for a time when homelessness and unemployment were technically nonexistent in a country not yet governed by the ruthless laws of neoliberal self-interest. Certain foundational assumptions behind the functioning of our society, though influential in Eastern Europe, are not always taken as givens by its inhabitants.
Prague has become a popular travel destination because of its cobblestoned streets and baroque charm. Ride to the end of the Metro line, though, and you’ll see buildings get real Soviet real fast. The neighborhood of Háje, a functionalist sea of once-grey high-rises since painted garish pinks and sickly yellows in some feeble gesture toward architectural cheer, lies just beyond Prague’s storybook center, a fringe of historical reality surrounding touristic delusion. There are no bustling streets or beckoning storefronts in Háje; in fact, the area appears to host no commercial activity at all, as if capitalism as a geographical force has not yet extended its reach outside the inner city. It’s easy to forget how little time has passed since communism shaped every aspect of daily life here, and just how deep its effects go, even now.
That isn’t to say things haven’t changed for the better. Evidence of America’s Cold War victory and subsequent global hegemony is almost inescapable in Eastern Europe’s metropolitan centers, to the extent that I’m tempted to wonder whether the region hasn’t simply been conquered by another power. Where once everyone learned to speak Russian, now English is required to get by in an international capitalist hierarchy with America at the top. Whenever I speak English to native speakers of Czech or Polish or Romanian or any other equally beautiful and culturally rich tongue, my conversation partners will almost always apologize for their incompetence, however proficient they are in a language so distant from their own.
Sure, this display of humility is partly just politeness. But in each of these interactions, which should ideally serve as equalizing instances of mutually beneficial cultural exchange, I can’t help but detect certain rotten power dynamics at play. While my atrocious Czech pronunciation, butchered Polish consonants, and nonexistent Slovak are assumed and generally accounted for, imperfect English on their end is treated as some inexcusable transgression for which they should feel ashamed, as if I have somehow earned the right to feel my country’s influence in the farthest corners of another continent.
With common sense and a little historical consciousness, it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out who’s to blame for these strangely unequal relations. Take, for example, this illustrative yet unsettling conversation I had with some random American douchebag on a train from Kraków to Prague:
Me: I always feel like such an asshole when I can’t speak Czech in their own country. Like I literally can’t say words.
Random Douchebag: Yeah, I kind of just follow a policy of “you don’t speak my language; you don’t get my money.”
Me: What? That’s ridiculous! It’s gross and discriminatory enough when people talk like that in America, but that logic doesn’t even apply here, etc.
RD: Whatever, I mean, we give them all their business.
Me: !!!!!
This all-too-familiar example of entitlement is indicative of something many of us have come to associate with the American traveler, engaged as ze often is in a process of simultaneous (indeed, codependent) cultural appropriation and assertion of U.S. supremacy. To enumerate the ways I’ve seen American students in Prague disrespect and ridicule the country hosting their European adventures would be a long and unnecessary exercise. Yet I can’t help but draw connections between our brand of appropriation and Eastern Europeans’ seeming resignation to being appropriated: it’s as if everyone has mutually agreed to designate the entire world as America’s playground.
Cultural imperialism is far from America’s only mechanism of obtaining power: we establish dominance by attraction as much as exertion. I’ve seen young Eastern Europeans get starry-eyed at any mention of New York, listened to them talk about America as the holy grail of opportunity that jaded U.S. citizens have long since accepted does not exist. Though CEE countries are for the most part considered democratically consolidated, poverty is widespread, and governments are often disorganized or rife with corruption. America’s wealth, however disproportionately distributed, looks pretty good in comparison.
Still, anti-American sentiment is alive and well in Eastern Europe, however contradictory that may seem (it isn’t). There is an undeniable tension between the perception of America as a benevolent messiah of Western capitalism and as a paternalistic international aggressor, perhaps because we ourselves haven’t yet decided what kind of superpower we are. Even the greatest country in the world can’t figure itself out.
The current crisis in Ukraine has reminded us all that the seemingly antiquated East/West dichotomy is very much extant and making everyone nervous about its implications for the tenacity of liberal democratic values outside America and the EU. We speak again about a domino effect, speculating as to whether Russia’s continuing imperial ambitions will extend its influence way past anything anyone is comfortable with, and we’re right to worry. After a few years of democratic consolidation and explosions of repressed ethnic tension following the fall of the Iron Curtain, CEE countries were considered for the most part to be “taken care of,” their role on the global stage negligible, their boxes checked. Where Clinton focused his diplomatic eye on former Eastern bloc members, Bush turned the country’s attention toward the Middle East. Though the shift didn’t seem all that important at the time, relations with Eastern Europe suffered.
In 2009, CEE politicians and intellectuals issued a clairvoyant letter to the Obama administration urging America to understand that their nations continued to operate between two worlds—with Russia still uncomfortably influential both culturally and economically through its monopoly on energy, Eastern Europeans were at risk of becoming neutralized in their allegiance to the West. I came to Prague in part because I was curious about the globalization of modern capitalism, but I’m leaving wondering under whose jurisdiction it took hold in the first place. The so-called neoliberal consensus may or may not have actually happened, but if it did, who really consented? And will it last?
“X-Men: Days of Future Past”
“Boyhood”
