10/4 Response

Throughout my reading of Chapters Three and Four this week, I found myself constantly making connections between the past and the present readers.  Perhaps I am under the constant influence of my current theory professor – thanks, Neil! – but I am now more than ever acutely aware of the ideological forces behind what readers read and how certain books are perceived in culture.  Why was the novel a disputed literary form during the early republic?  Could it, perhaps, have some correlation to an overwhelming ideological force (or forces) present during this era?

Using Habermas’ theory that “ideology is always implicitly or explicitly reactionary, a counterstance to some other force within a culture,” Davidson brings up the point that “the pervasive censure of fiction eloquently attests to the force that fiction itself was perceived to have as an ideology (or agent of ideology).  Had the novel not been deemed a potent proponent of certain threatening changes, there would have been little reason to attack it” (103).  Ah ha!  The answer to my question.  But, was it that simple?  For modern readers, it might be easy to quickly bypass or over simplify the ideological forces that threatened the rise of the novel.  Yes, it would be fairly simple to blame this on the institution of religion (I have most certainly heard this before); however, this attack was not solely founded on religious principles to keep the people under the authority of the local clergyman.  While I will admit that it was a certainly a factor, I think there is a vital point to be made that it is not the only factor, though an easy scapegoat to many whom disregard the larger social context.

Davidson makes the claim that novels were contested on many grounds:
• The equation with “novel reading today, licentious riot and senseless revolution tomorrow” (104)
• “Denouncing the novel […] was ancillary to or coextensive with or even integral to the civic, religious, or educational duties of right-minded men” (104).
• “The novel threaded not just to coexist with elite literature but to replace it, and its critics knew full well that changes in the primary reading of an increasingly greater number of people presaged far more than a faddish redeployment of leisure time” (105).
• “Might not the American novel by addressing those unprivileged in the emerging society persuade them that they had a voice in that society and thus serve as the literary equivalent of a Daniel Shays by leading its followers to riot and ruin?” (105)

I could keep quoting, as Davidson thoroughly makes and supports her claims that the novel was attacked by civic and religious leaders in an attempt to maintain hegemony over the common man, but I think the point is clear.  In essence, “theirs [the elite minority in Davidson’s terms] was a fight for survival” (105).  Novels might prompt licentious behavior, or even worse, subvert the accepted duties of “right-minded” – controlled, in other words – men.  This was a challenging time for the novel, and those in power resisted this medium that would potentially reach the average, the common, and the every day man and create “a concomitant questioning of political, ministerial, legal, and even medical authorities” (109).  Ideologically, the novel had the potential to challenge almost every part of accepted society, a troubling thought for those in power.

As I began to study on this, I realized that whether we want to admit it or not, we – I am speaking broadly here, friends – have a very similar situation with our views of current literature.  This past week was the Banned Books Week, drawing attention to the fact that books are currently being contested and that there is a fight to make this censorship public.  How is this any different from the contest against Davidson’s explanation of the early contest against the novel?  Could it be that there are also ideological forces now in a constant struggle to “protect children” from the pages of certain books?  It is fairly easy to look back at the past and to take lightly the early attack on the novel; it is a bit more difficult to realize and conceptualize our current similarities to the past.

I will leave you with background information taken directly from the American Library Association website:

Background Information from 2001 to 2010
Over the past ten years, American libraries were faced with 4,660 challenges.

• 1,536 challenges due to “sexually explicit” material;
• 1,231 challenges due to “offensive language”;
• 977 challenges due to material deemed “unsuited to age group”;
• 553 challenges due to “violence”
• 370 challenges due to “homosexuality”; and

Further, 121 materials were challenged because they were “anti-family,” and an additional 304 were challenged because of their “religious viewpoints.”

1,720 of these challenges (approximately 37%) were in classrooms; 30% (or1, 432) were in school libraries; 24% (or 1,119) took place in public libraries.  There were 32 challenges to college classes; and 106 to academic libraries.  There are isolated cases of challenges to materials made available in or by prisons, special libraries, community groups, and student groups.  The majority of challenges were initiated by parents (almost exactly 48%), while patrons and administrators followed behind (10% each).

9/27 Response

As I read Chapters One and Two of Revolution and the Word this week, I found myself continually reflecting on the role of the reader in the progression of the novel into an everyday, fairly affordable commodity.  I have boxes and boxes of books, and my Amazon wish list is quite extensive; however, my opportunities as a reader are vastly different from readers in the new Republic.  This difference between past and present readership is so interesting to me, as the first readers of the novel paid dearly for items that I, admittedly, take for granted on a daily basis.  As one who finds the ordinary interesting, I am quite taken with these early readers, their habits, and the struggle and sacrifice that they had in order to have books.

Davidson makes the claim early on in Chapter One that we must look at readers clues for information about the early readers of the novel: “prefatory material or any other such reading clues also serve as reader clues and indicate something of the gender, age, class, and level of literacy of the first audience to whom the book was addressed” (62).  As Davidson explores the habits of the readers – markings in the page, practiced penmanship, folded down pages – we get a glimpse of the people that read these early works.  We get a sense of the humanity of the readers and the everydayness of their pursuits.  Moreover, by looking at the way that readers valued, appreciated, and used the books, we find a connection to our personal readerships.  In Davidson’s terminology, “we search for roots not out of dispassionate curiosity about the past but because we know that the family tree ultimately produced ‘me’” (69).  I am a product of the readership of the past; I have the opportunity to read and appreciate books (novels in reference here) because of this heritage.  Call it ordinary, but to me, it is fascinating.

Moreover, I have the ability to own my books – a seemingly common occurrence now but not in the early years of novel production.  If an ordinary laborer earned $1 per day and a novel could cost between $.75 and $1.50, novel ownership would have been a sacrifice for families, especially, when food and necessities for large families take presence in terms of the necessity for daily living.  Moreover, if Davidson’s calculations are correct in terms of inflation, “ a typical late eighteenth-century novel would have cost approximately three to four times more than an equivalent hardcover volume today” (85).  Wow!  To own a book during this time period was a painful sacrifice for families, especially rural families, and “buying novels in quantity […] was well beyond the means of common people at the end of the eighteenth century.  Yet there is evidence that those of modest to low income increasingly read books” (87).  Introduce lending libraries, borrowing from friends and family, reading before returning a mistress’s novel to the library, and communal reading.  All of these factors increased access to novels, which in turn, increased demand, prompted new technology, and ultimately began the path to making books more accessible.  This past is the reason why novels are accessible in the present.

So why do I find this fascinating?  Because my readership is completely shaped by this historical precedence.  I think about how I read – yes, I mark up my books – but I am only able to do this because my books do not over my daily wage, and I can afford to buy personal copies.  Moreover, I have the ability to buy in quantity, and I am by no means “wealthy.”  With electronic books for $.99 now, almost everyone can afford to read, and even those of us who prefer paper copies can usually afford the ones we really want.  But, we take it for granted.  We only have this ability because it was at one time a sacrifice.  My freedom as a reader is not even comparable to the readers in the new Republic, and even into the nineteenth century.  These readers paved the way for modern readership, and from their struggle, sacrifice, and pursuit of novel reading, novel are accessible and affordable now.

However, are novels too accessible?  I have just spent four paragraphs exploring the link between past and present readers; however, there is a key difference that deserves attention.  I am aligning myself with the past readers because I have a love for literature and I seek out and value novels (and most all books in general).  However, with the rise in new media, the closing of libraries, and the constant allurement of the Internet, is the same desire for reading novels in the current generations as it was in the past?  I will admit that I am probably an exception to the current trend away from readership, or at least novel reading as a leisurely activity, highly valued and pursued.  We have the complete reversal from our “roots” now.  Early novel readers – I admit to mass generalization here – had the overwhelming desire for novel reading but limited resources.  Because of their pursuit to be active readers and the role of the publisher/literary agents/writers/etc., printing became more advanced, technology continually improved, and book production became more affordable.  Problem solved.  But was it?  We – as twenty-first century readers – have the resources now but is the desire gone because the novel is too accessible?  Have we, in fact, had a complete reversal from the new Republic readers?  Do we, in fact, have a new problem now? I know that I am posing quite a few questions here, but I see a very interesting relationship with our past and present.  We are exploring the progression of the novel, but I suggest that we may be discovering questions about ourselves – or at least our generations – that pose an equally interesting discussion in relation to the evolving role of the novel.

Reading Response for 9/20

When we learned about the U.S. Constitution in grade school, most of us probably remember hearing about the forward thinking men who sat in a room and made the plans for a rising democratic nation.  You may have had the impression that these men had the best interest of all people in mind (we can argue about this point later) and that their job was to think and work collectively and to produce documents that would emphasize democratic ideals and principles.  In this light, the Constitution is often seen as a product, or, as Davidson puts it, “a monument” of the nation-building work done by the founding fathers (5).  While the Constitution is a very important document for the United States, and while I do not want to undermine the significance of what this document – or other key documents for that matter – represents, it is the view that the Constitution is a product or monument that I find so interesting, especially as I think about this as a writing teacher.

In our composition courses, we stress the importance of recognizing the role of the process in writing the final product.  For example, we carefully create assignments that lead students through invention activities, daily work, drafting, workshopping, revising – the list can go on and on.  Our – or at least my – goal is to get students to see value in the work that goes into each stage of the writing process.  Their final copy of a paper should be directly influenced by every step of the process work, and in turn, they should have a much stronger grasp on the final product and more of an investment in the journey that got them to that point.

I immediately saw the connection between process and product in my writing classes and in Davidson’s view of the Constitution as a monument, or final product if you will.  She writes: “Popular history […] has made the Constitution a monument, not the result of a process, representing only a fraction of those living in what would become the United States, that was sometimes divisive, contentious, and even cynical” (5).  When people see the Constitution as a product – especially as a final product – they are missing a huge portion of the nation-building process, just as students who only see their papers as final products overlook the many, many steps that got them to that point.  And, I am not talking about breaking down the steps of the drafting process when writing the Constitution but in the process of nation-building as a whole.  How can we see the process of nation-building in order to have a better understanding of the final product – a democratic nation?

Davidson makes the claim that “the novel operated (to speak metaphorically) among the populace milling outside those locked doors, a populace whose very existence challenged and thus influenced what happened within” (5).  The novel gives us insight into the “range of problems that were both included and overlooked in the nation’s founding documents” (5); they “remind us that ‘nationalism’ was a process, even a contest, about what shape thirteen colonies would assume in the wake of their successful revolt against England” (13).  Thus, novels allow us – as readers – to see the process of forming a democratic nation from a variety of perspective that are not evident in the founding documents themselves, or to turn that statement around, are evident by their omission.  If we read specifically looking for insight into the process of nation-building, as opposed to viewing the Constitution as the final product, then we gain insight into what was an evolving and painful process in order to attempt to have a well-rounded view of nation-building during this time period.  We get an opportunity to observe class, race and gender divisions just to name a few aspects that are key to consider in thinking about the process of creating national identity.  Davidson claims, “Revolution and the Word returns us to the exact moment when process, not product, was the topic at hand” (19).  This sounds like an interesting read, especially in reverting the traditional, popular history view of the Constitution as the final product and thinking about the process that it took for America to become – at least in theory – a democratic nation.

Also, on a side note, I must mention Davidson’s 1993 American Studies Association presidential address, which called for a more transnational approach.  What a nice segway back to our American exceptionalism discussions from The Creation of the Media!

9/13 Periodical Search

To: All female readers, especially single women of the early nineteenth century.
From: A helpful friend
Date: June 17, 1820
Subject: Hints for the Ladies

If you want to get married, then you must not fall into the patterns of the coquette.  What are these patterns you might ask?  Do not be in love with yourself.  Do not like the chase of courtship.  Do not have the idea of conquest in your head.  Do not want more than you already have.  Do not be hard to please.

So, now that you know what not to do, rest easy, because this author has your best interest in heart.  You should not be "doomed to eternal celibacy." Rather, pay close attention for there is another reason why you are not married.  You are just too expensive!  Remember, the children will take a considerable amount of the income, so your extravagant wants - especially in the way you dress - must take a backseat to "the expenses of our children."  I hope you know that children - yes, "half a dozen brats at our fire sides" - are expected.

But, do not fear!  Now that you know what not to do, here are some helpful hints that should make it much easier to find a husband.

1) Have a good humor.
2) Have a pleasing face.
3) Practice good economy.
4) Practice simplicity in heart and mind.
5) Study housekeeping.
6) Minimal your study on attire.
7) Read the Spectator.

This advice guarantees better luck in finding a mate; however, after you do all of this work, I will leave you with an encouraging note: "I must confess, that for most of them [men], I have very little mercy."  Good luck!

"Hints for the Ladies." The Ladies' Literary Cabinet, Being a Repository of Miscellaneous Literary Productions, Both in Original and Selected Prose and Verse (1819-1922) 2.6 (17 June 1820): 45. Web. 12 Sept. 2011.

Reading Response for 9/13

After our class discussion last week, I found myself contemplating Starr's account of - or obsession with, depending on your personal view - American exceptionalism.  In the previous three chapters, he goes to great lengths to state the case for American exceptionalism, and as Melissa stated in her blog last week, "Early in chapter two, after citing some American accomplishments in media, he [Star] notes that, during the same period, British North America (henceforth Canada), had made little communications progress. Why was America successful when Canada was not? The answer might shock you (sarcasm intended): because of 'the political transformation of American society in the previous half-century' (49)."  Well summarized, Melissa!  Starr most certainly makes the claim that this unique political structure sets America apart from any other country, especially the "mother country" and her affiliates.  Moreover, he strives to prove this claim by directly linking American political policies with the rise in communication, ending Chapter Three with the claim that "the United States had started down a distinctive path in communications that would influence its institutions long after its early head start in the half century after the Revolution" (111).  Well, with a claim like this, one can only assume that Starr's subsequent chapters will aim to prove America's influential power long after the days of the early Republic.

With that in mind, I was a bit surprised to read the opening of Chapter Four: "Even Europeans in the early 1800's who admired America's self-government, prosperity, and common schools were unimpressed with American literature and culture" (113).  On the one hand, Starr stays true to his view of the exceptional political system in America; however, this exceptionalist view does not translate to exceptional culture.  In all honesty, I found this a bit refreshing, as there is a clear point to make here.  What was the cultural impact of literature in America during this time?  Whereas the political revolution was, in fact, revolutionary, what place did American literature have in America and in Europe?  Apparently, American literature was actually not that exceptional in regards to "accepted" traditions and norms.  In the early nineteenth century, British reprints were primarily in the public domain, and according to Starr, "reflected the continual appeal of older classics as well as the persistent sense of American cultural inferiority" (122).  In the early years, it seems as though Americans rejected British political order but had a reliance on European classics.  Was this, perhaps, one area where America had yet to insert a certain identity, unique and set apart from England?  Well, is would seem that America cannot be exceptional at everything all at once (did I just speak too soon?).

Yes, I did!  It does not take Starr too terribly long to make the case that America is in fact exceptional when it comes to print, literature included.  Starr borrows a quote from Noah Webster to emphasize this: "'America must as independent in literature as she is in Politics, as famous for arts as for arms'" (120).  Of course "she" must!  So, how might America do this?  How can this new country - with an exceptional political system (take this however you may) - also have exceptional literature?  The answer lies not in the great works that could be immediately produced but in price for literature: "the rise of cheap books and other forms of cheap print [...] reflect distinctive patterns of nineteenth-century American consumer markets" (126).  According to Starr, it was crucial to appeal to the mass population - that was the model in this country - and "Americans readily accepted products which had been deliberately designed for low cost, mass production methods" (126).  It was not about leather bound books that attracted an elite readership; rather, Starr makes the claim that it was about mass readership - that if America was going to be exceptional, it was in the broad appeal to the literate population, both in urban and rural settings.  And, literature did in fact flourish.  The new outlets, like dime novels, "broke down the traditional hierarchy of taste that had been expressed in the physical form of the book," and people began to read more and more and more because they could afford the literature (138).

Starr does, however, want to thoroughly make the point that "low price did not necessarily mean lowbrow" (124).  And, this is true to some extent, as he does use the example of Longfellow, who made his works accessible to the mass public.  Moreover, Starr point out the all-male cast - Hawthorne, Melville, Emerson, etc. - as examples of an "genuine indigenous literary tradition in America" (137).  He strives to claim that people were not just reading lowbrow fiction in an affordable format, but that great American writers were publishing during this time.  Yes, I am a fan of the early American writer, but I think that it is crucial to point out that if we are following Starr's pattern of American exceptionalism, it came from the accessibility to literature that was not as prevalent in Europe.  This set America apart, if we are still focusing on American versus Western European traditions.  With accessibility grew a literary culture, but it was only because people began to read, could afford to read, and read mass quantities due to the low prices.  Starr wants to transition to exceptional American literature by quoting from Larzer Ziff: "there were American books of the first rank, by prevailing provincial standards but by the standards of world literature" (138).  And, while the quality of writing in fact be a valid point - that is a topic for another day - it is not what makes America "exceptional" during this time.  If Starr wants to stay true to the exceptionalist claim, then we must focus on the accessibility of texts in nineteenth century America, as that was truly a new era in readership for the mass population and not overreach even more than we have already done.

Reading Response for 9/6

In my reading this week of The Creation of the Media, I was struck by the persuasive and manipulative communication tactics of the founding fathers, specifically in the example of the Stamp Act crisis in 1765.  As Starr explicitly states, “the Stamp Act politicized the press,” creating a catalyst for opposition against the British (65).  However, my focus is not on the Stamp Act itself but on the way in which key historical figures – John Adams, for example – used the press to further their agendas, specifically in the primary aim to stir revolutionary sentiments in the minds of the general populous.  Starr writes: “As printers during the Stamp Act crisis began to identify their interests with resistance to the British, so patriot leaders came to identify their cause with the printing press” (66-67).  And why might these leaders see a direct correlation between their cause and mass publication?  The answer clearly lies in the fact that patriot leaders could control what was being printed, and in turn, how the publications might influence the general public to support a revolutionary cause.

A key example is in the rhetoric that John Adams used to manipulate the readers’ beliefs about why early settlers came to the new country.  Starr paraphrases and quotes Adams to exemplify this point: "The early settlers, he [Adams] wrote, had come to America in search of liberty and believed that ‘knowledge diffused generally thro’ the whole body of the people’ could preserve their descendants from tyranny […] ‘But none of the means of information are more sacred, or have been cherished with more tenderness and care by the settlers of America, than the Press.  Care has been taken, that the art of printing should be encouraged, and that it should be easy and cheap and safe for any person to communicate his thoughts to the public'" (67).  While this is certainly a persuasive point, did the early settlers in fact come to the new country for liberty and did they always promote the freedom of expressing and encouraging all printing and all thoughts in the public sphere?  While this ideology would support the revolutionary cause, it does not in fact truly reflect the laws and customs in the early colonial settlements; thus, it is an inadequate representation of communication in the early seventeenth century.

So, what was the role of printing and communication during the early colonial years?  The Puritan settlement in Massachusetts promoted education – for white males, of course – and communication, only so long as it was in concordance with the Puritan belief system and in alignment with the ideology of the local ministers and magistrates.  For, “although not all differences of opinion were suppressed, dissenters were frequently banished from the colony” and “criticism of officials or the governments in New England (as in the southern colonies) frequently met with severe penalties, including ‘bodily correction’” (51).  Hmmm, this does not sound quite as pleasant as Adams’ interpretation – or elaboration, shall we say – of the actual role of the press and communication in the first half of the seventeenth century.  Moreover, the press was limited to an even more extreme degree in the Chesapeake colony, as the leaders sought to control the press in an attempt to maintain order and control over commerce, and “as a result of deliberate policy, Virginia continued without any press through the first three decades of the eighteenth century” (53).  And, while you may be thinking – hoping even – that there was freedom of the press in the Middle Colonies and that this was where Adams’ drew his information, you are sadly mistaken. Though on into the late seventeenth century “the Quakers initially suffocated printing” and though two presses later developed, they only printed safe information, which basically means bland and uncontroversial facts (54).  So, what “early settlers” did Adams reference when he strove to convince his readership that “none of the means of information are more sacred, or have been cherished with more tenderness and care by the settlers of America, than the Press” (67)?  It most certainly seems that this was not an accurate or reliable statement by Adams, given the historical accounts that Starr provides and that I have noted earlier in this paragraph.  Did Adams, perhaps, provide exaggeration and embellishment in order to manipulate his readership by using “historical precedence?”  All accounts lead to one answer – yes.

Why would Adams manipulate the truth about the press and early mass communication?  The answer lies in the fact that he had an agenda to produce to the mass public through the press.  Whereas the early leaders were concerned with differing opinions on the press, Adams saw the press as an opportunity to promote his agenda.  And, if he could convince readers that the early settlers aligned liberty and freedom of communication through the press in the highest regards, then he would be more successful in convincing his readers of aligning themselves with the revolutionary mindset, just as he suggested their forefathers had done.  Adams realized that the press was crucial in getting the mass population on board with reacting against the Stamp Act and in turn, against the British.  If readers could associate the freedom of the press with the reasons that their forefathers left England in the first place, then it would provide a more solid foundation for reacting against the British in the mid-eighteenth century.  True historical evidence was not necessary in serving Adams’ point; rather, his purpose was served by invoking the early settlers to serve his revolutionary purpose.

If we remotely think that the press is without an agenda – in the past or present – then we are naïve and are no different to the readers that Adams sought to reach.  Surely Adams’ readers would have realized that this was, in fact, not an accurate account of their forefathers; yet, we must be mindful of how quickly our current generations forget the past, and we even have many avenues of mass communication available at a moments notice, a sharp difference from the seventeenth century settlers.  As seen in the example with Adams and in relation to current readers, people often read with a willingness to believe the author rather than crucially research and interpret the facts.  Adams’ message served a purpose and there is now true freedom of the press, but with that freedom comes a “freeness” to promote, to twist, to manipulate history into serving a purpose that aligns with a particular position.  This is not new territory, but at what point will readers learn from the blindness of the past?

8/30 Periodical Search

On my search of the periodicals today, I discovered one particular work that provides insight into the moral implications of novel reading in the early nineteenth century.  Beware, dear readers, for this is not a light-hearted account of the novel in the early 1800’s; rather, it explores the role of the novel in relation to criminal behavior and moral depravity.

In “Effects of Novel Reading: From the London,” published by the Boston Recorder on April 14, 1818, the writer explores the connection between novel reading, check fraud, and a execution.  To recount, “On the 11th of December, 1817, John Verile was executed before Newgate, London, for forging a check for 400l, with an intent to defraud Messrs. Brenchley and Co.”  The reader would assume that the executed, Mr. Verile, received due punishment for his crime of fraud.  In an imaginative sense, the reader might go on to hypothesize about the reasons for this man’s criminal behavior, but in fact, that hypothesis is not necessary, as the article clearly explains the cause of Mr. Verile’s downfall: “At 15 he engaged with an attorney; when he began the fatal course of Novel reading, and the perusal of infidel writings.”  Fatal course – no pun intended, right?  All joking aside, the writer forms the connection between Mr. Verile’s crime, punishment, and the cause – novel reading.  Though we, as modern readers, may not be able to draw this “obvious” connection, there was a clear relationship between the cause, effect, and punishment in 1817, as the writer reveals the cause, novel reading, just four sentences into the essay.

This connection must have been common, for even Mr. Verile offered analysis on his criminal behavior before his execution: “The seeds of infidelity which had been sown [from novel reading], began now to make their appearance […] From a course of novel-reading, which I pursued three or four years ago, I had contracted principles of infidelity, which I never rejected till within these past few weeks.”  Upon his conviction and during his time of reflection, the convicted man reached the moral high ground and rejected his wicked ways, which were a direct result, of course, from the novel reading of his youth.  This article serves to forewarn readers of the perils that may result if youth engage in this unsavory activity and directly connects novel reading with acts punishable by death.  Reading, specifically novel reading, is a cause for concern and serious study in this example, and though he had to pay the physical cost of his crime, Mr. Verile was only venerated – publically, at least – by his acknowledgment and rejection of this genre.

Let us end with a closing section from the article: “Let them [the rising generation] beware of those infidel writing which seduce the mind and destroy the principles of moral obligations.”  You, dear reader, have been forewarned of the perils that reading – yes, novel reading – can do to your innocent and susceptible mind!