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If you are looking for a great source on the National Park Service's history with Native American groups, then I highly recommend Dispossessing the Wilderness.
In this volume Mark David Spence works from the conviction that, "wilderness is both a historical and cultural construct" (5), and expands on how these ideas have been used to disenfranchise the indigenous people who actively shaped the land and made it as we see it today. Rather than embracing Native American perspectives of the land, sadly, false notions of pristine, untouched land is a visage so prevalent, it is thoroughly integrated into the country's sense of national identity.
Along with an overview of America's westward expansion, this history also outlines the changing perspectives of people and nature over time as seen with prominent figures like George Catlin, John Muir, artists of the Hudson River School like Thomas Cole, and early American authors like Henry David Thoreau. Each of these thinkers and cultural icons helped to shape American perspectives and expectations of what the 'wilderness' entailed.
After exploring how early iterations of U.S. policy and the National Park Service interacted with Native American people living within the boundaries of different parks (as they had for centuries beforehand), it also explores three case studies at Yellowstone, Glacier, and Yosemite National Parks. Each situation did not end great for N.A. stakeholders, and they highlight an unsettling historical pattern, which entails that parks 'protect' natural resources by removing the people who culturally engage with them.
It's hard not to agree with Spence's final musing, "Rather than idolize the wilderness as a nonhuman landscape, where a person can be nothing more than 'a visitor who does not remain,' national parks might provide important new lessons about the degrees to which cultural values and actions have always shaped the 'natural world'" (139).
The history is hard to take in, but I am nonetheless optimistic that parks can work together with Native American groups to oversee the stewardship of America's heritage. Sitka National Historical Park just compacted with the federally recognized Sitka Tribe of Alaska to manage the interpretation of the park. I would hope that this is a sign of better things to come.
Overall, I really liked this book. If you know of similar sources, please leave any recommendations you may have in a comment!
In this volume Mark David Spence works from the conviction that, "wilderness is both a historical and cultural construct" (5), and expands on how these ideas have been used to disenfranchise the indigenous people who actively shaped the land and made it as we see it today. Rather than embracing Native American perspectives of the land, sadly, false notions of pristine, untouched land is a visage so prevalent, it is thoroughly integrated into the country's sense of national identity.
Along with an overview of America's westward expansion, this history also outlines the changing perspectives of people and nature over time as seen with prominent figures like George Catlin, John Muir, artists of the Hudson River School like Thomas Cole, and early American authors like Henry David Thoreau. Each of these thinkers and cultural icons helped to shape American perspectives and expectations of what the 'wilderness' entailed.
After exploring how early iterations of U.S. policy and the National Park Service interacted with Native American people living within the boundaries of different parks (as they had for centuries beforehand), it also explores three case studies at Yellowstone, Glacier, and Yosemite National Parks. Each situation did not end great for N.A. stakeholders, and they highlight an unsettling historical pattern, which entails that parks 'protect' natural resources by removing the people who culturally engage with them.
It's hard not to agree with Spence's final musing, "Rather than idolize the wilderness as a nonhuman landscape, where a person can be nothing more than 'a visitor who does not remain,' national parks might provide important new lessons about the degrees to which cultural values and actions have always shaped the 'natural world'" (139).
The history is hard to take in, but I am nonetheless optimistic that parks can work together with Native American groups to oversee the stewardship of America's heritage. Sitka National Historical Park just compacted with the federally recognized Sitka Tribe of Alaska to manage the interpretation of the park. I would hope that this is a sign of better things to come.
Overall, I really liked this book. If you know of similar sources, please leave any recommendations you may have in a comment!
"'Fish,' he said, 'I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends'" (54). The first Heminway book I've ever read, The Old Man and the Sea did not disappoint.
While pondering past events of his life, the task at hand, and the Yankees, the titular 'Old Man' sets out to sea to catch a fish. Not having had any luck for three months, he is singularly determined to catch one. Both his livelihood and sense of self worth seem to be at stake. As luck would have it, he does eventually hook a fish.
He spends days following after this massive fish on his hook, drifting further and further from shore. All the while, his reverence for the creature, his intended prey, is surprisingly tender. In so many 'man v. nature' narratives, nature is often painted as cruel and chaotic. Here the old man respects the fish, even referring to him as 'brother,' and takes the time to understand the fish's responses to his actions.
The true moral core may be more ambiguous, but my overall takeaway from this novel is the importance of not allowing stubbornness or desire to cloud your judgement. The old man's uncompromising goal is to catch this fish and his inability to let go, physically and metaphorically, leads to far more loss than fulfillment. I think it is really easy to develop tunnel vision when a goal you really want to reach is so near in sight, to the point you become blind to inconvenient realities of your current situation.
Overall, I really enjoyed this book. It's not often I get to emotionally identify with an old fisherman; I would definitely recommend it.
While pondering past events of his life, the task at hand, and the Yankees, the titular 'Old Man' sets out to sea to catch a fish. Not having had any luck for three months, he is singularly determined to catch one. Both his livelihood and sense of self worth seem to be at stake. As luck would have it, he does eventually hook a fish.
He spends days following after this massive fish on his hook, drifting further and further from shore. All the while, his reverence for the creature, his intended prey, is surprisingly tender. In so many 'man v. nature' narratives, nature is often painted as cruel and chaotic. Here the old man respects the fish, even referring to him as 'brother,' and takes the time to understand the fish's responses to his actions.
The true moral core may be more ambiguous, but my overall takeaway from this novel is the importance of not allowing stubbornness or desire to cloud your judgement. The old man's uncompromising goal is to catch this fish and his inability to let go, physically and metaphorically, leads to far more loss than fulfillment. I think it is really easy to develop tunnel vision when a goal you really want to reach is so near in sight, to the point you become blind to inconvenient realities of your current situation.
Overall, I really enjoyed this book. It's not often I get to emotionally identify with an old fisherman; I would definitely recommend it.
If you have an interest in American immigration history, JFK's personal impressions that later shaped much of the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act (passed after his assassination), or just want to remember that American presidents once wrote with clear diction, then I recommend JFK's A Nation of Immigrants.
Originally written in 1958 (before he was elected president) for the Anti-Defamation League, JFK used this book to clearly express his thoughts on U.S. immigration policy. Specifically, he states that America's openness to accept refugees and immigrants are at the core of what makes America, America. He also writes about the importance of expanding immigration policy so that families can be reunited and have the opportunity of social mobility that he believed only America could provide (at that time).
"Immigration policy should be generous; it should be fair; it should be flexible. With such a policy we can turn to the world, and to our own past, with clean hands and a clear conscience. Such a policy should be but a reaffirmation of old principles. It would be an expression of our agreement with George Washington that 'The bosom of America is open to receive not only the opulent and respectable stranger, but the oppressed and persecuted of all nations and religions.'" (65)
In addition to demonstrating how immigrants are innately a part of America's history and identity as a nation, JFK also lambastes America's history of poor treatment of immigrants. His criticisms are aimed at hate groups built of nativism and xenophobia such as the KKK and the Know Nothing Party, as well as specific U.S. policy like the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.
This is by no means a comprehensive overview of American immigration history and policy, but as JFK writes this in reverence of his own family's Irish immigrant heritage, the book is written with an emotional honesty that makes this a poignant introduction to these topics.
The edition I read was the 2018 re-release by the Anti Defamation League, with the Foreword written by national director Jonathan Greenblatt in which present-day context is provided. Appendixes are also added to in this edition to extend the timeline beyond 1963 (JFK's assassination). I would definitely recommend this one.
Originally written in 1958 (before he was elected president) for the Anti-Defamation League, JFK used this book to clearly express his thoughts on U.S. immigration policy. Specifically, he states that America's openness to accept refugees and immigrants are at the core of what makes America, America. He also writes about the importance of expanding immigration policy so that families can be reunited and have the opportunity of social mobility that he believed only America could provide (at that time).
"Immigration policy should be generous; it should be fair; it should be flexible. With such a policy we can turn to the world, and to our own past, with clean hands and a clear conscience. Such a policy should be but a reaffirmation of old principles. It would be an expression of our agreement with George Washington that 'The bosom of America is open to receive not only the opulent and respectable stranger, but the oppressed and persecuted of all nations and religions.'" (65)
In addition to demonstrating how immigrants are innately a part of America's history and identity as a nation, JFK also lambastes America's history of poor treatment of immigrants. His criticisms are aimed at hate groups built of nativism and xenophobia such as the KKK and the Know Nothing Party, as well as specific U.S. policy like the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.
This is by no means a comprehensive overview of American immigration history and policy, but as JFK writes this in reverence of his own family's Irish immigrant heritage, the book is written with an emotional honesty that makes this a poignant introduction to these topics.
The edition I read was the 2018 re-release by the Anti Defamation League, with the Foreword written by national director Jonathan Greenblatt in which present-day context is provided. Appendixes are also added to in this edition to extend the timeline beyond 1963 (JFK's assassination). I would definitely recommend this one.
Growing up in the Hudson River Valley, it was impossible for Washington Irving to not play a role in my formative years. As a kid, I went on a 3rd grade field trip to Philipsburg Manor, the alleged site of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Needless to say, Halloween was pretty fun growing up; I felt special knowing I was so close to what I considered quintessential Hallows' Eve lore.
As an adult, I spent a summer season working as part of the curatorial staff for both the picturesque Washington Irving's Sunnyside (the author's estate) and the 18th century Dutch plantation Philipsburg Manor. Cleaning and carefully placing the historic objects of these old homes to craft visual narratives was a privilege; every workday felt like a journey into vibrant pasts I had romanticized as a child.
While I have read passages of Washington Irving's The Sketchbook throughout my life, this was my first time reading the entire book front to back. The short story collection includes iconic standouts like Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, both of which take place in the Hudson region. Being that Irving was one of the first American authors to gain international prominence, it (still) makes me happy that it was this part of New York that acted as such a prominent setting for his work.
Irving is also an objectively good author. His prose is thoughtful, and even tender at times. The man knows how to craft intricate imagery that breathes life into vivid scenes. Irving was also pretty funny, which puts his work apart from other American authors of the Romantic era. For instance, in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow after Ichabod Crane goes missing, Irving writes of his protagonist, "As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head anymore about him" (317). Irving could be cute when he wanted.
The collection overall though, iconic stories aside, is more or less a thematic hodgepodge that largely exemplifies style over substance. This is especially true of his stories that take place in England, and most do. There is a reason they are not as popular as his New York ghost stories. The majority of these stories read like little slices of life or fictionalized historical snippets. Irving tries to ground these narratives in universal human sentiment(s), but I largely found them to be dull and lacking resonance.
This is mostly a mater of personal preference; I have all the nostalgia for the Hudson River Valley, but not much for Irving's version of Victorian England. That said, there is a lot that is great in the collection overall, and I would still recommend it. This book aside, I would wholeheartedly recommend visiting Sunnyside or Philisburg if you have the chance (though do note by bias); the staff is very passionate and would probably have good arguments to refute my criticisms.
Rating: 3.5 Stars
As an adult, I spent a summer season working as part of the curatorial staff for both the picturesque Washington Irving's Sunnyside (the author's estate) and the 18th century Dutch plantation Philipsburg Manor. Cleaning and carefully placing the historic objects of these old homes to craft visual narratives was a privilege; every workday felt like a journey into vibrant pasts I had romanticized as a child.
While I have read passages of Washington Irving's The Sketchbook throughout my life, this was my first time reading the entire book front to back. The short story collection includes iconic standouts like Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, both of which take place in the Hudson region. Being that Irving was one of the first American authors to gain international prominence, it (still) makes me happy that it was this part of New York that acted as such a prominent setting for his work.
Irving is also an objectively good author. His prose is thoughtful, and even tender at times. The man knows how to craft intricate imagery that breathes life into vivid scenes. Irving was also pretty funny, which puts his work apart from other American authors of the Romantic era. For instance, in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow after Ichabod Crane goes missing, Irving writes of his protagonist, "As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head anymore about him" (317). Irving could be cute when he wanted.
The collection overall though, iconic stories aside, is more or less a thematic hodgepodge that largely exemplifies style over substance. This is especially true of his stories that take place in England, and most do. There is a reason they are not as popular as his New York ghost stories. The majority of these stories read like little slices of life or fictionalized historical snippets. Irving tries to ground these narratives in universal human sentiment(s), but I largely found them to be dull and lacking resonance.
This is mostly a mater of personal preference; I have all the nostalgia for the Hudson River Valley, but not much for Irving's version of Victorian England. That said, there is a lot that is great in the collection overall, and I would still recommend it. This book aside, I would wholeheartedly recommend visiting Sunnyside or Philisburg if you have the chance (though do note by bias); the staff is very passionate and would probably have good arguments to refute my criticisms.
Rating: 3.5 Stars
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Winnie-the-Pooh was my favorite television program as a kid, though this was my first read of the actual source material. That said, I absolutely loved it. Reading this book actually made me feel like a kid again, which is probably the highest praise I could give any type of story.
This series appealed (and appeals) to me largely because it is about a group of imperfect friends who have absolutely no idea what they are doing, but try anyways. Eeyore is sad, Piglet is anxious, Pooh is mostly confused, but when they use their personal strengths and bonds of friendship to resolve unexpected conflicts, there is little they cannot accomplish.
A. A. Milne's prose immerses the reader into the world of a child, a world that is not remotely condescending, and a world that embraces a large spectrum of personality types. At its core Winnie-the-Pooh is as pure and fun as its main bear. By embracing curiosity and silliness, the stories minimize fear by encouraging exploration and experience.
The holidays have lead me down a nostalgia-filled rabbit hole; should I get stuck I hope a ragtag group of friends help yank me out. I absolutely recommend this one, it's good for all ages in my book.
Rating: 5 stars
This series appealed (and appeals) to me largely because it is about a group of imperfect friends who have absolutely no idea what they are doing, but try anyways. Eeyore is sad, Piglet is anxious, Pooh is mostly confused, but when they use their personal strengths and bonds of friendship to resolve unexpected conflicts, there is little they cannot accomplish.
A. A. Milne's prose immerses the reader into the world of a child, a world that is not remotely condescending, and a world that embraces a large spectrum of personality types. At its core Winnie-the-Pooh is as pure and fun as its main bear. By embracing curiosity and silliness, the stories minimize fear by encouraging exploration and experience.
The holidays have lead me down a nostalgia-filled rabbit hole; should I get stuck I hope a ragtag group of friends help yank me out. I absolutely recommend this one, it's good for all ages in my book.
Rating: 5 stars
"Stink bugs are temporary, love is forever"
It's not every day you get to buy a children's book that donates all of its proceeds to charity (Trevor Project and AIDS America) while simultaneously trolling a notorious homophobe, but that is the beauty of A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo.
That aside, this is legitimately a great children's book. It teaches the importance of love, acceptance of differences, and how voting can effect positive (less stinky) change. This book is honestly something I would have loved as a kid and I am so happy it now exists.
If you would prefer the feedback of a more esteemed critic, Bubbles the Goldfish reviewed, "A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo is a masterpiece. A real tour de force of great litera...oh, a castle!"
It's not every day you get to buy a children's book that donates all of its proceeds to charity (Trevor Project and AIDS America) while simultaneously trolling a notorious homophobe, but that is the beauty of A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo.
That aside, this is legitimately a great children's book. It teaches the importance of love, acceptance of differences, and how voting can effect positive (less stinky) change. This book is honestly something I would have loved as a kid and I am so happy it now exists.
If you would prefer the feedback of a more esteemed critic, Bubbles the Goldfish reviewed, "A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo is a masterpiece. A real tour de force of great litera...oh, a castle!"
Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett, when combined, are like the chocolate and peanut butter of literature. Good Omens is a ridiculous, fun book. Only a couple of kooks (I say with the utmost respect) bouncing off each other's energy could write this.
This back-and-forth definitely seeps into the narrative itself. The story is introduced by the the demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale. They come from opposite sides of the cosmic coin, but find themselves 'friends' after thousands of years on earth, a home base both come to enjoy more than Hell or Heaven, respectively. Their easy lives are threatened with the coming of the Anti-Christ, whose arrival will signal a war to end earth and determine if Heaven or Hell will emerge victorious.
The outcome depends on which side the Anti-Christ chooses when he comes of age at eleven. As Crowley considers the conundrum, he explains the Anti-Christ is, "potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentially, waiting to be shaped" (58). There are many more players in this game, but potential is the main character.
To preserve their beloved status quo, the odd couple join forces to keep the Anti-Christ true neutral and incapable of choosing either side. All hell breaks loose, so-to-speak. If you have read any of Prachett's books you will know once his characters set off into motion they raise ruckus and rarely end up where they had planned. Gaiman's style is similar, though his stories are more grounded in the flow of his fully fleshed-out worlds, whereas Prachett's stories are more driven by the whims of his characters. Yet both authors derive extreme delight from absurdity, and that's what unifies this zigzagging narrative.
Overall, this book is a fun read, filled with a bunch of unexpected turns. If you enjoy well-written nonsense, then you'll definitely like this one.
Rating: 4 stars
This back-and-forth definitely seeps into the narrative itself. The story is introduced by the the demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale. They come from opposite sides of the cosmic coin, but find themselves 'friends' after thousands of years on earth, a home base both come to enjoy more than Hell or Heaven, respectively. Their easy lives are threatened with the coming of the Anti-Christ, whose arrival will signal a war to end earth and determine if Heaven or Hell will emerge victorious.
The outcome depends on which side the Anti-Christ chooses when he comes of age at eleven. As Crowley considers the conundrum, he explains the Anti-Christ is, "potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentially, waiting to be shaped" (58). There are many more players in this game, but potential is the main character.
To preserve their beloved status quo, the odd couple join forces to keep the Anti-Christ true neutral and incapable of choosing either side. All hell breaks loose, so-to-speak. If you have read any of Prachett's books you will know once his characters set off into motion they raise ruckus and rarely end up where they had planned. Gaiman's style is similar, though his stories are more grounded in the flow of his fully fleshed-out worlds, whereas Prachett's stories are more driven by the whims of his characters. Yet both authors derive extreme delight from absurdity, and that's what unifies this zigzagging narrative.
Overall, this book is a fun read, filled with a bunch of unexpected turns. If you enjoy well-written nonsense, then you'll definitely like this one.
Rating: 4 stars
Octavia Butler is one of the greatest storytellers to ever grace this planet. Period. That bold statement out of the way, Wild Seed is an amazing read that seamlessly blends numerous genres. If you enjoy thrillers, sci-fi, fantasy, historical fiction, classic folklore, or just well-written literature, then this book will have something worthwhile for you to enjoy.
Beginning in 1690 colonial era Africa, we are introduced to Anyanwu. She is a healer and shapeshifter who does not age. Her lifespan has stretched over generations and she has birthed a number of tribes, caring deeply for each of her families. She meets Doro, an immortal ancient spirit that jumps between bodies of the living (the hosts do not survive). Born thousands of years previously during the Pharaohs’ reign of Egypt, Doro has existed long enough to breed entire lineages in the hopes that he may one day create a being like himself.
Eugenics is a recurring theme, and source of tension throughout the novel. The benevolent Anyanwu wants to be a part of a family, she wants to heal the sick, and she cares deeply for people regardless of any utilitarian need they could possibly fulfill. Doro, also not wanting to be alone, has implemented some super questionable practices of human breeding to achieve his singular goal of creating an immortal life. Numb to death after having experienced thousands of years of it, Doro kills with ease and habit. Their differences are largely derived from their unique biological abilities, which results in contrary outlooks on humanity.
“Doro looked at people, healthy or ill, and wondered what kind of young they could produce. Anyanwu looked at the sick—especially those with problems she had not seen before—and wondered whether she could defeat their disease.”
Genetics is the mechanism for facilitating so much of the plot and drama, but the storytelling is still deeply rooted in folklore and religious tradition. Invoking the epic that is Genesis, the story is told in three parts: “Covenant,” “Lot’s Children,” and “Canaan.” Like biblical characters, Anyanwu and Doro quickly (in the grand span of things) find themselves at odds with each other. They each want a balance of independence and companionship, but their methods to achieve these goals are morally antithetic. Cue a generational struggle of survival.
Overall, one-part clash of titans, one-part chase of cat and mouse, this novel is an exciting read. For quite some time I have put off reading Patternmaster as this is the last ‘new’ series of Butler’s I had yet to read. So far I can say Wild Seed ranks up there with her Parable novels. I’ll be very sad when I run out of first reads of her books, but in the meantime I can only be thankful, and highly recommend this novel.
Beginning in 1690 colonial era Africa, we are introduced to Anyanwu. She is a healer and shapeshifter who does not age. Her lifespan has stretched over generations and she has birthed a number of tribes, caring deeply for each of her families. She meets Doro, an immortal ancient spirit that jumps between bodies of the living (the hosts do not survive). Born thousands of years previously during the Pharaohs’ reign of Egypt, Doro has existed long enough to breed entire lineages in the hopes that he may one day create a being like himself.
Eugenics is a recurring theme, and source of tension throughout the novel. The benevolent Anyanwu wants to be a part of a family, she wants to heal the sick, and she cares deeply for people regardless of any utilitarian need they could possibly fulfill. Doro, also not wanting to be alone, has implemented some super questionable practices of human breeding to achieve his singular goal of creating an immortal life. Numb to death after having experienced thousands of years of it, Doro kills with ease and habit. Their differences are largely derived from their unique biological abilities, which results in contrary outlooks on humanity.
“Doro looked at people, healthy or ill, and wondered what kind of young they could produce. Anyanwu looked at the sick—especially those with problems she had not seen before—and wondered whether she could defeat their disease.”
Genetics is the mechanism for facilitating so much of the plot and drama, but the storytelling is still deeply rooted in folklore and religious tradition. Invoking the epic that is Genesis, the story is told in three parts: “Covenant,” “Lot’s Children,” and “Canaan.” Like biblical characters, Anyanwu and Doro quickly (in the grand span of things) find themselves at odds with each other. They each want a balance of independence and companionship, but their methods to achieve these goals are morally antithetic. Cue a generational struggle of survival.
Overall, one-part clash of titans, one-part chase of cat and mouse, this novel is an exciting read. For quite some time I have put off reading Patternmaster as this is the last ‘new’ series of Butler’s I had yet to read. So far I can say Wild Seed ranks up there with her Parable novels. I’ll be very sad when I run out of first reads of her books, but in the meantime I can only be thankful, and highly recommend this novel.
Toni Morrison is not only a good storyteller, she excels at deconstructing the nexus of race, color, class, and identity. Moreover, in The Bluest Eye, Morrison thoroughly delves into how these elements can make us value (or devalue) ourselves and others, both at interpersonal and societal levels.
This introspection is most clearly exemplified with the character Pecola. She is the daughter of poor parents, and her whole family is considered ugly in the eyes of her community. Pecola is painfully aware of how everyone in town looks down on her. She wants to be valued the way white, blonde, blue-eyed little girls are, and she longs to have the bluest eyes. When the young girl endures horrific trauma, she further internalizes her shame. This is not unlike her mother before her, which demonstrates the generational nature of this tragedy.
“Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another—physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion. In equating physical beauty with virtue, she stripped her mind, bound it, and collected self-contempt by the heap” (121).
Much of this tale is told from the perspective of Claudia. In many ways Claudia is also an underdog being a young black girl growing up in post-Depression era Lorain, Ohio. She has to beware of bullies, including the popular and light skinned Maureen. Claudia does not consider herself especially exceptional, but she does have the support of a loving family and stable household.
All too often in life, especially in America where the construct of the rugged individual is so deeply ingrained in the national psyche, we tend to compare ourselves to those doing better than us. We are the underdogs of our own stories. And in the Bluest Eye I think the reader is supposed to identify with Claudia, I know I certainly did. She is what we would consider a typical underdog, protagonist to be. The kid has her struggles, but given her support system, she still has a sense of agency and self-assured identity, as shown with her rejection of the blue-eyed dolls.
Still, even those struggling to feel valued can themselves derive value (inwardly and outwardly) from those deemed valueless. Despite being one of the few in her community who sympathizes with Pecola and her plight, Claudia falls in line with society’s condemnation.
“We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness. Her simplicity decorated us, her guilt sanctified us, her pain made us glow with health, her awkwardness made us think we had a sense of humor… We honed our egos on her, padded our characters with her frailty, and yawned in the fantasy of our strength” (205).
The tragedy is that while Claudia struggles, she is able to be an underdog because Pecola is a pariah. Claudia compares herself upwards, but still benefits from the same superficially derived superiority that she resents when imposed on her in turn. This narrative is dark, but I think an important self-reflection when making sense of trauma, identity, and the human condition.
Overall, this is an amazing book and I definitely recommend it. If you are interested in reading about similar themes in a modern context, I would also recommend Push by Sapphire, the book adapted into the Oscar nominated film Precious.
This introspection is most clearly exemplified with the character Pecola. She is the daughter of poor parents, and her whole family is considered ugly in the eyes of her community. Pecola is painfully aware of how everyone in town looks down on her. She wants to be valued the way white, blonde, blue-eyed little girls are, and she longs to have the bluest eyes. When the young girl endures horrific trauma, she further internalizes her shame. This is not unlike her mother before her, which demonstrates the generational nature of this tragedy.
“Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another—physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion. In equating physical beauty with virtue, she stripped her mind, bound it, and collected self-contempt by the heap” (121).
Much of this tale is told from the perspective of Claudia. In many ways Claudia is also an underdog being a young black girl growing up in post-Depression era Lorain, Ohio. She has to beware of bullies, including the popular and light skinned Maureen. Claudia does not consider herself especially exceptional, but she does have the support of a loving family and stable household.
All too often in life, especially in America where the construct of the rugged individual is so deeply ingrained in the national psyche, we tend to compare ourselves to those doing better than us. We are the underdogs of our own stories. And in the Bluest Eye I think the reader is supposed to identify with Claudia, I know I certainly did. She is what we would consider a typical underdog, protagonist to be. The kid has her struggles, but given her support system, she still has a sense of agency and self-assured identity, as shown with her rejection of the blue-eyed dolls.
Still, even those struggling to feel valued can themselves derive value (inwardly and outwardly) from those deemed valueless. Despite being one of the few in her community who sympathizes with Pecola and her plight, Claudia falls in line with society’s condemnation.
“We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness. Her simplicity decorated us, her guilt sanctified us, her pain made us glow with health, her awkwardness made us think we had a sense of humor… We honed our egos on her, padded our characters with her frailty, and yawned in the fantasy of our strength” (205).
The tragedy is that while Claudia struggles, she is able to be an underdog because Pecola is a pariah. Claudia compares herself upwards, but still benefits from the same superficially derived superiority that she resents when imposed on her in turn. This narrative is dark, but I think an important self-reflection when making sense of trauma, identity, and the human condition.
Overall, this is an amazing book and I definitely recommend it. If you are interested in reading about similar themes in a modern context, I would also recommend Push by Sapphire, the book adapted into the Oscar nominated film Precious.