On Friday, I presented the poem "Family Affairs" by Maya Angelou (it's on page of the anthology). I think we had a very good discussion of the black and white feminist movements and their relationship as explored in this poem.
There are some very different themes in the two movements, I think. The poem points out that white feminists complain about being put on a pedestal and locked in a very high tower. While these are legitimate complaints, they don't really compare with the history of hardship that African American feminists have to deal with. Like, flowing golden hair kinda sucks if everybody's pulling on it and that's your defining feature, but would you rather be dragged by dusty braids to a foreign country and enslaved?
Anyway, we pretty much covered all that in class, and I agree with it, but I think there's another aspect to this poem that I really wanted to get to and we didn't go into a whole lot of depth on. To me, it seems like Angelou isn't just pointing out the differences in the movements, she is actually explaining why they should be kept separate. She rejects the white character's aspirations to sisterhood. She does say she needs more time, implying that maybe one day she could accept this gesture, and that's what people in class focused on. This might be what Angelou intended, but when I first read it, the tone in my head was a little more critical, as if trying to act as though they could be sisters was offensive because they were in such different positions.
Stepping down from one's pedestal seems noble, but the poem credits it to fear of vertigo rather than genuine concern for the black character.
In my mind the message was closer to "Back off please, you don't get it," than "maybe one day our causes will be similar enough to work together".
Like Iulianna said in class, it's similar to the critique of Mary in Native Son. It also reminded me of the naively liberal teacher in White Boy Shuffle with the "human" shirt, advocating for colorblindness. The ridicule with which Gunnar treated that lesson surprised me some, as did Bigger's hatred of Mary. It's been a less intuitive idea to me than some of the others in this class: that privileged people striving for equality could be insulting. Like, what position would Gunnar rather see his teacher take? One supporting diversity, perhaps, but there's a fine line between maintaining diversity and the separation of races, which seems... problematic. What do you guys think? Can the white woman in the poem be criticized for her actions if it was never her, but her ancestors who resided happily in that tower for so many years(/is that what Angelou is saying)? Is she leaving her tower for her own sake?
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Thoughts on Beloved
This will be a very jumbled post.
Mr. Mitchell keeps mentioning that naming has significance to Beloved, and to slave culture. The names in the story are certainly interesting. Sethe and Denver are both unusual names devoted to other people (Sethe's father and the helpful white girl), there are a bunch of Pauls, the grandma is named Baby (named by her husband), and the baby wasn't named till her death. The dog's name (like Baby Suggs') seems to have simply evolved from the phrase used to call him. In the story, naming seems to be a lot more spontaneous and less constrained than is typical nowadays. There isn't a list of baby names that is carefully adhered to. There seems to be a related flexibility of language in the book as well- words are often stuck together or warped to mean something slightly different. This idea also came up a lot in our discussion of Their Eyes Were Watching God. There seems to be something creative and free that comes from language that isn't burdened with being "correct". We learn that Baby Suggs was sold as "Jenny", a fairly ordinary name, even though she had never been called this. When she leaves Sweet Home, Mr. Garden advises her to stick with Jenny, saying "Mrs. Baby Suggs ain't no name for a freed Negro". This implies that being free requires a more proper sort of name, which is an interesting idea. Could it have something to do with gaining person-hood (within society: obviously slaves are people, but they may not be considered people) and by extension respectability or lack-there-of?
I'm not even gonna try to transition.
Time is also definitely something to think about while reading Beloved.
I agree with what Pauline said in class about how things lasting in the novel could relate to the idea that the impact of slavery lives on in society in a very real way even after abolition.
At first, I thought that she meant that events lived on in people's memories, and perhaps that's the actual message she's trying to get across, but in the book the past has a much more tangible footprint; Ghosts for one thing. When Beloved says that she won't ever leave 124 because "this is where she is", I see some of that timelessness coming through. She's a permanent facet of the house as a ghost for sure (if not as a living person). Her memory will live on there forever, timeless, like everyone's lives inside 124. It's as if the key event in the book has trapped them, keeping them from moving forward, forcing them to live in the past, as painful as it is, or perhaps to just abandon the concepts of change and time if that's possible. Like, when Paul D. (who sort of represents Sethe's future) is chased away by Beloved and the story of her death (the past), the whole household just settles into this stable (perhaps to the point of being inescapable), introverted and timeless state. And Sethe just wants to forget and live in the now--living with her dead daughter as if past events had never taken place.
I suspect this isn't going to last though. Memories of Sethe's past will haunt her forever, and perhaps the town will interfere with their family, or Beloved will fall apart at some point, maybe Paul D. will even return. They will have to face the past the present and the future.
Having the freedom to love is another thing that keeps coming up. Paul D. says that they can't afford to love, presumably because it could destroy them when whatever they love is taken away (like children sold off to other plantation owners). So, one not-so-obvious freedom stolen by slavery is the freedom to love. We see this in Sethe's hardy (almost to the point of being cold) constitution and in Paul D. moving from home to home before planning to settle with Sethe. Sethe tells Paul D. that she was allowed to love her children more when she escaped slavery. I think she opened up some during that month of freedom before the incident. Unfortunately, even in the North she wasn't safe from the horrors of the slavery system and several of those she loved were still taken away (in pretty much the most traumatic way possible).
I'm now very confused about Beloved's feelings towards Sethe. At first I thought she just really loved her because she was her mother and she's still basically a two year old. Now I'm thinking maybe she wants to kill her for what she did (which makes her fascination really creepy). Or maybe she wants to kill her to be with her?
Also, Hereboy was a puppy when Sethe first arrived at 124. He's a very old dog.
Mr. Mitchell keeps mentioning that naming has significance to Beloved, and to slave culture. The names in the story are certainly interesting. Sethe and Denver are both unusual names devoted to other people (Sethe's father and the helpful white girl), there are a bunch of Pauls, the grandma is named Baby (named by her husband), and the baby wasn't named till her death. The dog's name (like Baby Suggs') seems to have simply evolved from the phrase used to call him. In the story, naming seems to be a lot more spontaneous and less constrained than is typical nowadays. There isn't a list of baby names that is carefully adhered to. There seems to be a related flexibility of language in the book as well- words are often stuck together or warped to mean something slightly different. This idea also came up a lot in our discussion of Their Eyes Were Watching God. There seems to be something creative and free that comes from language that isn't burdened with being "correct". We learn that Baby Suggs was sold as "Jenny", a fairly ordinary name, even though she had never been called this. When she leaves Sweet Home, Mr. Garden advises her to stick with Jenny, saying "Mrs. Baby Suggs ain't no name for a freed Negro". This implies that being free requires a more proper sort of name, which is an interesting idea. Could it have something to do with gaining person-hood (within society: obviously slaves are people, but they may not be considered people) and by extension respectability or lack-there-of?
I'm not even gonna try to transition.
Time is also definitely something to think about while reading Beloved.
I agree with what Pauline said in class about how things lasting in the novel could relate to the idea that the impact of slavery lives on in society in a very real way even after abolition.
At first, I thought that she meant that events lived on in people's memories, and perhaps that's the actual message she's trying to get across, but in the book the past has a much more tangible footprint; Ghosts for one thing. When Beloved says that she won't ever leave 124 because "this is where she is", I see some of that timelessness coming through. She's a permanent facet of the house as a ghost for sure (if not as a living person). Her memory will live on there forever, timeless, like everyone's lives inside 124. It's as if the key event in the book has trapped them, keeping them from moving forward, forcing them to live in the past, as painful as it is, or perhaps to just abandon the concepts of change and time if that's possible. Like, when Paul D. (who sort of represents Sethe's future) is chased away by Beloved and the story of her death (the past), the whole household just settles into this stable (perhaps to the point of being inescapable), introverted and timeless state. And Sethe just wants to forget and live in the now--living with her dead daughter as if past events had never taken place.
I suspect this isn't going to last though. Memories of Sethe's past will haunt her forever, and perhaps the town will interfere with their family, or Beloved will fall apart at some point, maybe Paul D. will even return. They will have to face the past the present and the future.
Having the freedom to love is another thing that keeps coming up. Paul D. says that they can't afford to love, presumably because it could destroy them when whatever they love is taken away (like children sold off to other plantation owners). So, one not-so-obvious freedom stolen by slavery is the freedom to love. We see this in Sethe's hardy (almost to the point of being cold) constitution and in Paul D. moving from home to home before planning to settle with Sethe. Sethe tells Paul D. that she was allowed to love her children more when she escaped slavery. I think she opened up some during that month of freedom before the incident. Unfortunately, even in the North she wasn't safe from the horrors of the slavery system and several of those she loved were still taken away (in pretty much the most traumatic way possible).
I'm now very confused about Beloved's feelings towards Sethe. At first I thought she just really loved her because she was her mother and she's still basically a two year old. Now I'm thinking maybe she wants to kill her for what she did (which makes her fascination really creepy). Or maybe she wants to kill her to be with her?
Also, Hereboy was a puppy when Sethe first arrived at 124. He's a very old dog.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Style Wars
Thursday night I attended the "Style Wars" movie night. The movie is centered around a couple groups of kids (and I really mean kids, their ages ranged from 14 to early twenties at most) who are pioneers of the hip hop movement (brake dancing, some rapping, but mostly graffiti), and those in the government trying to stop them (the graffiti, not the dancing). So it switched from interviews with kids talking about why they "bomb" and how their styles have evolved and grumpy old (primarily white) people complaining about their tax dollars. I think that the makers of the documentary were probably legitimately trying to present a balanced view point on the movement by portraying both sides, but they really just made those complaining look even more ridiculous. There was one guy in particular--I think we was a police officer or some sort of government official-- that they spoke with several times who people couldn't help but laugh at.
I found what the kids were saying very interesting. It really came through how difficult it was for them to put the graffiti up (getting up in the middle of the night, stealing paint, practicing and outlining for hours). There was one kid who was interviewed alongside his disapproving mother. He would always say, "it's all about the bombing" and you knew it really was because they never got anything out of it: not recognition beyond their little groups (though they're writing their names, the names are cryptic and they keep low profile for obvious reasons), not money, just the pleasure of knowing that they had some impact on the scene of New York City.
About half way through the film, we're introduced to this one guy who calls himself "Cap", who's been painting his name in boring white print over other people's 10-hour-masterpieces. He represents another motivation, I think, besides art. For him it really seemed to be a game. The objective is to get your name up as much as possible, pretty or not. The others got really mad at him--which I think was justified-- because, though writing is a very informal, rebellious activity, rules evolved inside the graffiti writing communities that Cap was breaking (like don't write over other people's art). In a sense he has as much right to write anywhere that the others do, but it still seems to be an inconsiderate thing to do.
Then there's an art showing and some people are interested in buying art from the new movement, but most people are still complaining. And the grumpy police/government officer goes on incoherently about his plan to put up a double fence with barbed wire on top and a dog--no, a wolf-- in the middle. And, as ridiculous as it sounds to put all that effort into stopping kids from doing art, the fence was built (although the wolves were replaced with German shepherds). And the kids are talking about how they wont be able to stop the movement, but the trains in the footage from that point on are spotless, and the movie sort of seems to end the story there, as if the campaign against the writers had been successful. So my question is, 'what then?' Did the government actually manage to make a notable dent in graffiti writing? Did this sort of thing effect the entire movement or was this important to one neighborhood in particular?
It was a very cool movie. I really knew very little about graffiti before watching it. I feel like you don't usually learn about graffiti as a legitimate art form in school. I'm very glad that this is the education I'm getting.
I found what the kids were saying very interesting. It really came through how difficult it was for them to put the graffiti up (getting up in the middle of the night, stealing paint, practicing and outlining for hours). There was one kid who was interviewed alongside his disapproving mother. He would always say, "it's all about the bombing" and you knew it really was because they never got anything out of it: not recognition beyond their little groups (though they're writing their names, the names are cryptic and they keep low profile for obvious reasons), not money, just the pleasure of knowing that they had some impact on the scene of New York City.
About half way through the film, we're introduced to this one guy who calls himself "Cap", who's been painting his name in boring white print over other people's 10-hour-masterpieces. He represents another motivation, I think, besides art. For him it really seemed to be a game. The objective is to get your name up as much as possible, pretty or not. The others got really mad at him--which I think was justified-- because, though writing is a very informal, rebellious activity, rules evolved inside the graffiti writing communities that Cap was breaking (like don't write over other people's art). In a sense he has as much right to write anywhere that the others do, but it still seems to be an inconsiderate thing to do.
Then there's an art showing and some people are interested in buying art from the new movement, but most people are still complaining. And the grumpy police/government officer goes on incoherently about his plan to put up a double fence with barbed wire on top and a dog--no, a wolf-- in the middle. And, as ridiculous as it sounds to put all that effort into stopping kids from doing art, the fence was built (although the wolves were replaced with German shepherds). And the kids are talking about how they wont be able to stop the movement, but the trains in the footage from that point on are spotless, and the movie sort of seems to end the story there, as if the campaign against the writers had been successful. So my question is, 'what then?' Did the government actually manage to make a notable dent in graffiti writing? Did this sort of thing effect the entire movement or was this important to one neighborhood in particular?
It was a very cool movie. I really knew very little about graffiti before watching it. I feel like you don't usually learn about graffiti as a legitimate art form in school. I'm very glad that this is the education I'm getting.
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