Benjamin A. Railton's Blog, page 335

December 8, 2014: Cold Culture: Frozen

[To complement last week’s series on winter histories, I wanted to focus this week on cultural representations of the cold, wintry and otherwise. Add your cultural connections for the cold, in all media and genres and with all meanings, for a frrrrrrrigid weekend post, please!]On challenges to our expectations, less and more successful. [SPOILERS for Frozen follow!]If one animated film I’ve analyzed in this space, The Princess and the Frog , significantly revised the existing canon of Disney Princesses, the newest and now most financially successful Disney animated film, Frozen (2013), goes further still. The film overtly seeks to revise a number of the tropes and myths at the heart of virtually every prior Disney film, including romantic narratives and their reliance on the concepts of love at first sight and true love, heroines/princesses and their arcs and goals, and even the relative importance of familial vs. romantic relationships in our storytelling. We’re not talking Who Framed Roger Rabbit? level meta-textuality here, exactly—but for a  Disney animated film, I was struck by just how much Frozen comments on and challenges those traditional tropes.All of those challenges are interesting and meaningful, but it’s also instructive to note which ones work and which, to this viewer, don’t. In the latter category I would locate the film’s challenge to romantic narratives, which it achieves by first linking its princess heroine Anna with the dashing Prince Hans and then eventually revealing him to be a heartless villain instead. It’s true that Frozen foreshadows that character shift through multiple characters’ reactions to Anna’s instant love and connection; she is repeatedly, incredulously asked, “You’re engaged to a man you just met?!” But it’s also true that much of the early section of Frozen makes happy use of the romantic tropes, including the extended song and dance number “Love is an Open Door.” So if Hans’ sudden shift feels somewhat unbelievable (and to this viewer it did), the film’s own heavy earlier reliance on those romantic tropes would have to be seen as contributing to that effect.On the other hand, I found Frozen’s challenges to the traditional heroine arcs and emphases very successful and quite moving. That’s true for the two individual characters, as both Anna and (especially) her sister Elsa have journeys that are far more about their perspectives, experiences, and identities than about finding a romantic partner. But it’s even more true for them as sisters, as their stories are deeply intertwined and come to a powerful conclusion that remains more about them, individually and as a pair, than it is about the love interest character or indeed anyone outside of this complex duo. To see a pair of complex women whose relationship is rich and evolving and multi-layered, and whose most powerful emotional notes depend on that familial history and bond—well, I don’t know that I was ready for a Disney film that could pass the Bechdel Test. But I’m very glad that this one does.Next cold cultural connection tomorrow,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other cold connections you’d highlight?

December 6-7, 2014: Remembering Pearl Harbor

[In honor of National Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day, a repeat post on how we remember that attack and days like it. Add your thoughts, please!]On the complex, challenging, and crucial question of how we remember our infamous days.Few presidential statements have been proven as accurate by the subsequent decades as Franklin Roosevelt’s description of December 7th, 1941 as “a date which will live in infamy.”  We have a fair number of national memory days of one kind or another, of course, but I can’t think of another that remembers anything that’s anywhere near as explicitly negative and destructive as does National Pear Harbor Remembrance Day (although of course Columbus Day would qualify from the counter-argument side). The only potential equivalent would be September 11th, which doesn’t currently have an official remembrance day but likely will get there—and for that reason, along with many others, it’s worth considering how we remember an event like Pearl Harbor, and what the stakes are.In the Atlantic essay that I hyperlinked under “likely will get there,” historian and educator Kevin Levin argues that, as the essay’s synopsis puts it, “Over time, our memory of national catastrophes becomes less personal and more nuanced.” But Levin’s comparison for September 11th is to our national memories of the Civil War, and I would argue that there’s an overt and key difference between that horrific event and either 9/11 or Pearl Harbor: everyone involved in the Civil War was an American (whether they wanted to admit it at the time or not), and so after the event it became and has continued for the next 150 years to be important (for better and for worse reasons) for us to find ways to produce more nuanced and less divisive memories of it. Obviously there are American communities of which we could say the same when it comes to Pearl Harbor (ie, the Japanese Internment) and 9/11 (the anti-Muslim backlash), but the fact remains that those infamous events were caused by nations and entities outside of America, and so it’s entirely possible for us to continue to define them through a more explicitly divided, us vs. them frame.Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily, or at least not absolutely—Pearl Harbor and 9/11 were both, in their definitely distinct ways, attacks on the United States by such external forces, and there’s no way we can or should try to remember them outside of such a frame. While I would certainly emphasize remembering those who were lost in the attacks, rather than focusing our attention on the attackers, that shift wouldn’t change the fundamental frame so much as (potentially) produce different emotional responses to it (mourning rather than anger, for example). The White House statement hyperlinked at “National Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day” in the intro section above illustrates this kind of emphasis and emotion nicely, I’d say. But to come back to Levin’s argument, I would agree with him that more nuance—more understanding of the multiple perspectives and histories contained in an event, and the various and often competing causes and elements that lead up to it, and the equally varied and in many cases still unfolding results—should always be part of our goal for such remembrance as well. That it’s far more difficult to reach for such nuance when it comes to these external attacks (compared to the Civil War) only makes the effort that much more valuable.Next series starts Monday,Ben

PS. What do you think? How should we remember days and events like this?

December 5, 2014: AmericanWinters: The Killing of John Lennon

[As we get closer to what some are predicting will be another rough winter, a series AmericanStudying significant winter events from our history. Leading up to a special weekend post on Pearl Harbor!]On assassinations, celebrity, and how to AmericanStudy senselessness.As any investigation into historical assassinations reveals, there’s a wide spectrum of motivations behind such political murders: some, like John Wilkes Booth’s assassination of President Lincoln, are motivated by genuine (if of course extreme) political and social perspectives and purposes; while others, like John Hinckley’s attempt on President Reagan, are driven by the most delusional fantasies and psychoses. Mark David Chapman’s December 1980 killing of John Lennon, which took place only a few months before Hinckley’s attempt on Reagan, certainly seems to fit the latter category: like Hinckley, Chapman was an obsessive fan of a celebrity; whereas Hinckley tried to impress that celebrity (the young movie star Jodie Foster) by killing the president, Chapman expressed his obsession more directly, killing the artist himself.Moreover, I would argue that the concept of celebrity can help explain not only these particular killings, but also virtually all American assassinations, even the more ostensibly political. It’s not at all coincidental, that is, that John Wilkes Booth came from a family of actors and was a onetime prominent performer himself, nor that Booth chose a theater for his assassination attempt (and famously jumped onto the stage and into the audience’s awareness after the killing)—every such action seems driven at least as much by the ego and needs of the assassin as by any historical or political purposes, a trend that has only been amplified in our media-driven age (leading, for example, to the debates over whether the name and identity of mass shooters should be released in the media, a practice that might have the effect of feeding and perhaps even amplifying this need for attention). In any case, all the aforementioned assassins likely number among the most well-known historical figures, and have thus become celebrities of a particular, macabre sort.Yet that paragraph and those such analyses notwithstanding, I think it’s important to take a step back and recognize that there’s a certain level of senselessness inherent in these kinds of killings, and doubly so in one as driven by delusion by Chapman’s shooting of Lennon. Obviously I’m always interested in finding contexts and meanings, of any and every event and moment; and contexts (for example) are indeed always present and can at the very least help us understand both the historical situation in which an event took place and the broader national narratives to which it might connect.  But there’s something—something important, again—to be said for an ability to recognize that sometimes history, like all aspects of life, defies explanation, seems devoid of analytical meaning. In his song “Nebraska,” a bleak work inspired by the mass murder spree of killers Charles Starkweather and Carol Ann Fugate, Bruce Springsteen has his speaker (the male killer) offer only this explanation for his crimes: “I guess there’s just a meanness in this world.” Sometimes, it’s as simple and as painful as that.Special post this weekend,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other winter events you’d highlight?

December 4, 2014: AmericanWinters: Miracle on Ice

[As we get closer to what some are predicting will be another rough winter, a series AmericanStudying significant winter events from our history. Leading up to a special weekend post on Pearl Harbor!]On the symbolic role of sports in society, and the line between history and story.For a solid five-year period in the early 1980s, the sports world and the Cold War felt inextricably linked. Beginning with the February 1980 Olympic hockey semifinal between the U.S. and Soviet Union teams (on which a lot more momentarily), continuing through the two prominent Olympic boycotts (the US boycott of the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow, and the retaliatory Soviet boycott of the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles), and culminating, of course, with 1985’s Rocky IV and its climactic, Cold War-ending boxing matchbetween American underdog Rocky Balboa and Soviet machine (literally and figuratively) Ivan Drago, the stories and images of international sports in the period mirrored quite strikingly the political and cultural clashes between the two superpowers.One of those four sports events is not like the others, of course—the fight between Rocky and Drago, compelling as it undoubtedly was, took place only in the realms of film and fiction, unlike the actual historical events surrounding the 80 and 84 Olympics.Yet I don’t believe that the line between those categories of events is nearly as clear as it might seem. While the Olympic boycotts of course had very tangible and often desctructive effects, not only for the athletes and teams but for the respective host cities and countries, they were, first and foremost, about the manipulation of and contests over images and narratives. And while the 1980 hockey semifinal was not scripted by a team of Hollywood screenwriters, however much it might have felt that way (and the subsequent TV and Hollywood filmsnotwithstanding), the narrative of the “Miracle on Ice,” which was developed quite literally in the moment and has become the defining image of that game, represents image-making at its most potent and enduring.The question, though, is even more complicated than whether the phrase “Miracle on Ice” represents an image rather than the event itself (it certainly does). I would ask, instead, whether we collectively remember the event not only through but also because of the image; because, that is, of how the event was turned into a story that can have cultural and symbolic resonance far beyond even the most striking individual historical moment. Whether the image and story are accurate to the history is a separate (and important) question, and in this case I would say that they largely are (the US team was a huge underdog to the powerful Soviet squad, and the victory thus one of the more unexpected in sports history); but to my mind, the question of accuracy can blur the importance of the process of image-making, can make it seem as if “miracle” refers to the game rather than to the narrative that was and has been developed in response to it. A great deal of the Cold War was defined by such image- and myth-making, never more so than during the Reagan Administration; to recognize the way in which sports can be folded into such narratives is thus a historical analysis, as well as one with contemporary and ongoing implications.Last AmericanWinter tomorrow,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other winter events you’d highlight?

December 3, 2014: AmericanWinters: The Blizzard of 78

[As we get closer to what some are predicting will be another rough winter, a series AmericanStudying significant winter events from our history. Leading up to a special weekend post on Pearl Harbor!]On two interesting AmericanStudies contexts for a catastrophic storm.The record-breaking early February nor’easter that came to be known as the Blizzard of ’78 was at the time and remains to this day one of the most destructive storms in American history. Dropping record snowfalls over much of the northeast (from New England down to Atlantic City) over a nearly two-day period, the blizzard shut down virtually all movement in the affected areas for more than a week, left more than 50 people dead (including a young child who disappeared in the snow outside of his Massachusetts home and was not found for three weeks), and produced nearly $2 billion in damages (adjusted to 2014 levels). The phrase “storm of the century” gets thrown around carelessly at times, but the uniquely extreme and potent Blizzard of 78 certainly qualifies for that designation (as, I should make clear, does the March 1993 tropical storm discussed in that linked article).There are lots of specific details and elements to that history that are worth analyzing (such as its effects on Revere Beach), but I would also note two broader AmericanStudies contexts for the storm. For one thing, many more New England-area residents were affected than might have been because of a widespread dissatisfaction with weather forecasting in the period; metereologists had been far off on a number of storm forecasts, and so when the storm did not materialize by Monday morning many such residents went into work as usual—and were dangerously trapped, including many fatally so on the highways, when the storm hit with full force that afternoon. Such communal historical attitudes are far more difficult to trace, and thus perhaps to remember, than specific events and moments; but as the Blizzard of 78 illustrates, a general social or cultural attitude or perspective can have a drastic impact on the way those events play out, and so represents a challenging but important part of AmericanStudying any particular event.If an attitude that affected what took place during the blizzard comprises one important way to AmericanStudy this historical moment, something that did not take place in its aftermath comprises another. After the two most destructive storms of the last decade, Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy, we’ve seen prominent concerts and benefits, attempts to raise funds and other support for all those individuals, communities, and regions affected by the storms. To the best of my knowledge, there were no such public performances after the Blizzard of 78—and while it would be possible to argue that such benefits simply weren’t on the radar yet at that time, there would be numerous prominent concerts and benefitsover the subsequent decade, so I’m not sure if that historical contrast holds up. But if it doesn’t (and it’s certainly fair to suggest that 1984’s Band Aid was the starting point for such benefits), the question would be why there were no such benefits after the hugely destructive Blizzard of 78. In any case, it’s the kind of AmericanStudies question that can provocatively connect these different late 20th and early 21st century moments and storms.Next AmericanWinter tomorrow,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other winter events you’d highlight?

December 2, 2014: AmericanWinters: The Trail of Tears

[As we get closer to what some are predicting will be another rough winter, a series AmericanStudying significant winter events from our history. Leading up to a special weekend post on Pearl Harbor!]On ways to remember, and ways to move beyond, a horrific winter tragedy.
Compared to their coverage of virtually any other source of national shame, I would say that educational textbooks and materials devote quite a bit of specific attention to the Trail of Tears. As usual, a claim like this is based on my dim and fading memories of history texts from (say) middle school, but then again that only adds to the point—in the late 1980s, at a relatively early point in the multicultural revisions of the teaching of American history and culture, my textbooks dwelt at length and in depth on the tragic and destructive effects of Jackson’s Indian Removal policies on the Cherokee. More than slavery(which in my recollection, at that level, was dealt with in general but relatively vague ways that didn’t do nearly enough to capture the realities of that multi-century American tragedy), and much more than shameful episodes like the lynching epidemic or the Japanese Internment (which I’m pretty sure weren’t included at all), the section on the Trail included specific numbers and evocative details, really driving home the brutality and horror of this 800-mile forced winter march from Georgia to Oklahoma, by the end of which nearly a quarter of the more than 16,000 Cherokee had died.
Anyone familiar with the rhythms of my posts can probably sense the “but” coming, and there is one, or actually two. But first let me stress that if indeed the majority of American schoolchildren have for at least a couple decades been reading about the Trail of Tears from a relatively early point in their educations, then that’s a positive and meaningful thing. I do think, though, that an emphasis on the Trail itself (while understandable given its extreme and tragic, and thus very compelling, nature) elides two complex and important contexts for the event, both of which would add even more to our individual and communal understandings of it and our history overall. For one thing, it would be crucial to stress just how fully the Cherokee had worked by the early 19th century to combine their traditional identities and practices with more modern and (in the dominant American narratives) “civilized” ones. This was a nation that, among many other things, had developed a written alphabet and was by the 1820s publishing its own newspaper and translation of the Bible; that had developed a multi-faceted representative form of government, including a two-tiered legislature that held regular meetings; that had since the Revolutionary era been practicing subsistence farming on individually operated plots of land; and that had sent a number of warriors to fight for Andrew Jackson (!) in his critical War of 1812 victory at New Orleans. Certainly many Cherokee leaders and activists (and tribal members generally) disagreed with some or all of these efforts, and that only adds to the complexity and significance of this context: this was a nation actively engaged with the questions of what their relationship to broader American identities entailed and what that would mean for their communal future.
While knowing those details would complicate any simplistic categorization of the Cherokee as either Vanishing Americans or noble savages (two of the less bigoted but still entirely mythic and elegiac images of Native Americans that were present in the era and have continued to an extent into our own), they might still lead to an emphasis on the nation as solely or centrally victims. But the second complex context, the Memorials that the Cherokee Council prepared for Congress in protest of the Removal policy, makes clear just how strong and impressive their voices and arguments were throughout these years. The Memorials were most certainly written with their specific audience in mind, and so they pay the necessary deference to the power of the US government and “the virtuous, intelligent, and Christian nation” that it represents. Yet they also make clear just how fully and successfully the Cherokee had come by this moment to an identity that was at one and the same time deeply tied to their traditions and history and profoundly modern and forward-thinking; both of those characteristics are highlighted by two sentences from the linked Memorial’s final paragraph: “To the land of which we are now in possession we are attached—it is our fathers’ gift—it contains their ashes—it is the land of our nativity, and the land of our intellectual birth. … We do moreover protest against the arbitrary measures of our neighbor, the state of Georgia, in her attempt to extend her laws over us, in surveying our lands without our consent and in direct opposition to treaties and the intercourse law of the United States, and interfering with our municipal regulations in such a manner as to derange the regular operations of our own laws.”
The Memorials did not prevent Jackson and his successor Van Buren from carrying out the policy of Removal, although they may well have contributed to the Supreme Court’s (under Chief Justice John Marshall) strong endorsement of the Cherokee’s position and rights. Nor did the Cherokee’s transformed and hybrid identity and community make the Trail of Tears any less horrific or tragic. We should thus most certainly continue to learn from an early age about Removal’s shameful and brutal effects. But if we learn at the same time about this very complex early 19th century American community, and about the inspiring documents through which they voiced their perspectives and identities, we’d have a much more rich and meaningful picture not only of the tragedy, but of the Americans to whom it happened and what we can learn from them. Next AmericanWinter tomorrow,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other winter events you’d highlight?

December 1, 2014: AmericanWinters: Valley Forge

[As we get closer to what some are predicting will be another rough winter, a series AmericanStudying significant winter events from our history. Leading up to a special weekend post on Pearl Harbor!]On how a desperate American winter can help us remember two crucial aspects of history.Between December 1777 and June 1778, George Washington and the Continental Army spent a long and destructive winter at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Having experienced a series of losses and retreats over the prior months, highlighted by the decisive October loss in the Battle of Germantown, the army was in rough shape when it arrived at Valley Forge, and the subsequent weather and less than ideal conditions didn’t help: almost 2500 soldiers would die by the end of the encampment, and another contingent led an aborted mutiny (known as the Conway Cabal) to overthrow Washington’s leadership. But the spring news of a newly signed alliance with France buoyed spirits, and newly energized—and well-trained by the Prussian Baron Friedrich von Steuben—the army retook Philadelphia within days of leaving the encampment in June.It’s a great American story for a variety of reasons, but I would especially emphasize two aspects of history that it can be difficult to remember and of which Valley Forge certainly reminds us. For one thing, there’s the striking and undeniable contingency of all historical events, no matter how inevitable they seem in retrospect. If a few more soldiers had joined the Cabal, or more had died, or von Steuben had not been able to travel from Prussia, or any number of other individual details had gone differently, the history not only of Valley Forge, but of the Revolution and of America itself, would likely have changed dramatically. Earlier this year Adam Gopnik wrote eloquently in The New Yorkerabout “what history generally ‘teaches,’” namely “how hard it is for anyone to control it, including the people who think they’re making it.” No American figures better fit that latter designation than the Founding Fathers, and perhaps none of them better “the Father of Our Country”—but Washington was as subject to contingency as any of us, as Valley Forge demonstrates.As I wrote in this post on 12 Years a Slave, there’s another element to history that it can be even harder to remember than its contingency, however: the humanity present in every moment. While it might be relatively easy to keep in mind the overall, shared humanity of all historical actors, I would argue that it’s often extremely difficult to recognize and engage with the specific humanity of individuals experiencing historical events (perhaps doubly so for famous such events). But the brutal details of that winter in Valley Forge—details that led Washington to express his concern to Congress that, “unless some great and capital change suddenly takes place, … the Army must inevitably starve, dissolve, or disperse”—are impossible to ignore, and force us to think about the men (and women) who experienced those brutal conditions day in and day out. Whether their survival and eventual triumph makes them heroes depends on your perspective on that complex concept; but it certainly represents an impressive and inspiring human and historical story.Next AmericanWinter tomorrow,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other winter events you’d highlight?

November 29-30, 2014: November 2014 Recap

[A recap of the month that was in AmericanStudying.]
November 3: Exemplary Elections: 1800: An election week series starts with the election that changed everything—and, fortunately, didn’t.
November 4: Exemplary Elections: 1864: The series continues with one very good and one very bad thing about the crucial wartime election.
November 5: Exemplary Elections: 1876: How an AmericanStudies approach can help us understand one of our most contested elections, as the series rolls on.
November 6: Exemplary Elections: 1948: A couple AmericanStudies contexts beyond the compelling “Dewey Defeats Truman” headline.
November 7: Exemplary Elections: 1994: The series concludes with three 21stcentury legacies of a defining midterm election. (For a lot more discussion, see this Lawyers, Guns and Money story in response to my post.)
November 8-9: Four Years!: Four heartfelt thanks on the occasion of the blog’s fourth anniversary!
November 10: Veterans Days: The Best Years of Our Lives: A Veterans’ Day series starts with the under-remembered film that offers an important perspective on this American community.    
November 11: Veterans Days: The Bonus Army: The series continues with the historical event and community that remind us of for how long veterans have also been activists.
November 12: Veterans Days: The Harrisburg Veterans Parade: One of the low points in our treatment of veterans, and then one of the highs, as the series rolls on.
November 13: Veterans Days: Veterans’ Organizations: The distinct and even contrasting reasons why and how veterans’ organizations are formed.
November 14: Veterans Days: Miyoko Hikiji: The series concludes with the inspiring veteran and book that importantly complicated and expand our narratives of this community.
November 15-16: Crowd-sourced Veterans Days: Responses and contributions to the week’s series from fellow AmericanStudiers.
November 17: American Drama: Provincetown and Trifles: A series AmericanStudying dramatic works starts with the community and play that changed the game.
November 18: American Drama: Hansberry’s Husband and Wife: The series continues with the flawed, frustrating, and crucial couple at the heart of a classic play.
November 19: American Drama: Wilson’s Ambition: Ambition, success and failure, and August Wilson’s Pittsburgh Cycle, as the series rolls on.
November 20: American Drama: Angels in America and Rent: Two 1990s theatrical works and how our cultural conversations about controversial issues and histories evolve.
November 21: American Drama: Depression Drama and Odets: The series concludes with contrasting and complementary activist dramas during a dark time.
November 22-23: American Drama: Five More: But wait—five more playwrights and plays that deserve their own posts (and hopefully will get them someday)!
November 24: 21st Century Thanks: Twitter: A Thanksgiving series on 21stcentury gratitudes starts with three things that the social media site does very well.
November 25: 21st Century Thanks: Facebook: The series continues with why I’m thankful for the social media giant despite its frustrations.
November 26: 21st Century Thanks: Email: Obsessing over, historically contextualizing, and expressing gratitude for this new form of communication, as the series rolls on.
November 27: 21st Century Thanks: FaceTime: On Thanksgiving, a quick post on why I’m so thankful for a way to keep in touch with my boys from afar—happy holiday!
November 28: 21st Century Thanks: E-Colleagues: The series concludes with five colleagues I haven’t gotten to meet in person yet—but to whom I still feel connected thanks to the 21st century!
Next series starts Monday,Ben

PS. Topics you’d like to see covered in this space? Guest Posts you’d like to contribute? Lemme know!

November 28, 2014: 21st Century Thanks: E-Colleagues

[For my annual Thanksgiving series, I thought I’d express my gratitudefor some of the best of our 21st century digital age and what it has contributed to my work and life. I’d love to hear your thanks, for anything and everything, as well!]On five colleagues I haven’t yet had the chance to meet in person—but to whom I feel connected thanks to 21st century communities.1)      Kevin Levin: I’ve writtenbefore about Kevin’s Civil War Memory blog, and it remains one of my models for public scholarly blogging and work. But Kevin’s equally impressive for the way he balances teaching, speaking engagements, and publication with maintaining that wonderful blog.2)      William Kerrigan: William and I have Guest Posted on each other’s blogs, which is pretty much the pitch-perfect version of this post’s point. But even without that synchronicity, William’s culturaland historical AmericanStudying exemplifies this gig.3)      Robert Greene II: Rob contributed a Guest Post of his own earlier this fall, and it illustrated much of what makes his blossoming career in American Studies and history so exciting: his interconnected interests in sports, region, race, and intellectual history, and they way he develops them with nuance and power.4)      Anna Mae Duane: When I linked to this post of Anna Mae Duane’s on House of Cards, I neglected to include as much of a bio as I normally do for full Guest Posters. So I’m happy to have this chance to highlight her exciting edited collection, her consistently entertaining and thought-provoking blog, and her exemplary public scholarly Tweeting.5)      Rachel Collins: When I shared this Guest Post of Rachel’s on Undercover Boss, I highlighted her publications on My Antonia and Sister Carrie . Any young scholarwho can write equal complexity and significance about reality TV and Cather and Dreiser—well, that’s my kind of 21st century AmericanStudier!While I hope to meet all five of those great scholars, right now I have to thank the 21stcentury for my connections to all of them—and thank it I do!November Recap this weekend,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other AmericanThanks you’d share?

November 27, 2014: 21st Century Thanks: FaceTime

[For my annual Thanksgiving series, I thought I’d express my gratitudefor some of the best of our 21st century digital age and what it has contributed to my work and life. I’d love to hear your thanks, for anything and everything, as well!]I’m gonna keep this one short and sweet (something else for you to be thankful for!): On this Thanksgiving, as on each of the last two, I’m away from my boys; they’re with their Mom and her extended family. I’m happy to think about them spending the holiday with family, fun, and lots of good food, but I also miss them even more than I always do during the times when they’re not with me. And on such occasions, I’m infinitely thankful for a recent part of my 21stcentury life: FaceTime. (We tried Skype for a while, but it was just a lot less consistently effective.) The ability to see the boys when I’m in Massachusetts and they’re in Connecticut, to have them see me, to share that connection while having our nightly phone conversation? There’s nothing in my current life I’m more thankful for on a day like today.Last thanks tomorrow,Ben
PS. What do you think? Other AmericanThanks you’d share?