Final Thoughts

My research methods for this class were rather sporadic.  I didn’t exactly have a specific publication that I was interested in throughout the semester, so my approach was to simply plug in the most bizarre key words I could think of and see what I could find.  Looking back at all of the articles I’ve gathered over the semester, I do wish that my approach had had been a bit more coherent. Like some of you have done, I believe my research findings (and now my final paper) would have benefited from a more strategic research approach. Needless to say, and as many of you may remember from throughout the semester, my findings are all over the place. When deciding which research to share with class, I usually just picked the most bizarre instance that I could find.

Fittingly, the magazine that has appeared most in my research, and the one that I will most likely be writing my final paper on, is the American Magazine of Wonders. AMW usually appeared somewhere in my research queue, especially considering I searched terms like “turk and beard” and “imaginary angel.” Perhaps my most bizarre finding is from the second volume of AMW in an article titled “A Remarkable Anecdote of Ali Mustapha, the Outrageous Turk.” What first strikes me about this piece, and really all pieces from this publication, is the title. How could you not keep reading? Everything you really need to know is right there in the title, as the rest of the article goes on to verify that this Turk certainly is “outrageous.” As you may remember from class, this is the story of the Turk traveler who fell asleep only to wake up with his beard on fire and then subsequently murdered every person on his boat. The ending, again, is hilarious, as it reads like an obituary for the turk: “He died three days after this at Sen, in consequence of the wounds he received from the pistol, September 6, 1787.” Great stuff.

And the other article from AMW was “The Prodigious Force of Imagination,” which tells the story of the depressed Portuguese man who was visited by a fake angel that told him to forget about his depression and to be happy. Again, this article ends on a note that feels abrupt and comedic: “Soon after he found an appetite to his meat, eat heartily, slept quietly, and enjoyed himself as formerly, without ever relapsing into his late indisposition” The rhetoric of these two pieces, and from others that I’ve read from AMW, strikes me as mildly sarcastic and humorous. Through further research, I hope to discover what this publication’s intent was, and if readers would have taken its articles seriously. As a modern reader, these bizarre stories come off as silly depictions of foreign stereotypes, but I’m curious how American readers would have read them.

On a separate note, I was able to trace a few connections in my research on “heathens” and “ghosts.” Back when “heathens” was our area of research, I found an article from the Free Enquirer titled “Eternal Punishment for the Heathen” in which the author ridiculed the notion that many Christians believe that those “heathens” who have never heard of Christ will be damned to hell. If we cannot, the writer says, be more progressive in our thoughts, then “we must look to the next [generation] for clearer heads and better hearts.” Then, an article from the Christian Register titled “Mischievous Effects of Belief in Ghosts”, the author points to the problems with the “heathen” belief in ghosts and spirits. To close the article, the author writes, “This tremendous catalogue of crimes and miseries would be swept away, were men contended to go to Jesus Christ for the knowledge of a Future State, and to ground their hope upon the doctrine of the Resurrection of mankind at the last day. “Essentially, this author argues that it’s okay to believe in ghosts, but you just have to believe in the right kind of ghosts (Jesus and the resurrected body).  Again, I found the rhetoric in both of these articles interesting. While one—a non-Christian publication—calls for a more progressive and humane treatment of “heathens,” the other—a Christian publication—looks at yet another reason why the “heathens” are doomed to hell.

Above all, the research from this semester displayed an intriguing writing style during this time period. When we shared our findings in class, it seemed as if we often laughed at the things we were reading. When read aloud, the rhetoric had a tendency to come across as comedic, or at least non-serious. Of course, it wasn’t the case that these writers weren’t writing about serious topics, but for some reasons their tone and rhetorical style often comes off as silly and unserious. I’m not sure why this is, or if any of you also feel this way, but I found this to be fairly consistent.

An Extensive Republic: Novels

Because this is my last reading response, I figure I might as well provide some final thoughts on my experience in this course...

As I've mentioned in a previous blog, I truly feel like I've learned a lot on this class. The readings have enriched my understanding of print culture in the early republic, and I've got a solid foundational understanding of how the novel functioned during this period.

The reason I know this is because the first 2 to 3 pages of Barnes's chapter felt like a condensed version of everything I had learned this semester. As I read, I simply wrote check marks next to each passage because it was only confirming something that I had previoulsy read. This is a good sign, too, as I begin work on my final research project. In order to write something substantial on a historical period, it's best to have as good a background understanding as possible--this course has done just that.

And as for this week's reading, there was one passage that brought up a completely new idea and made me think about the "voice" of American writers in a completely different way. We've heard all of the arguments and details on how Americans struggled to create a distinct national voice, but we really haven't gotten to the bottom of this issue. Barnes does just that…or at least she gives some reasons why.

The part I find most intriguing is when Barnes discusses how Americans felt "enslaved" by their shared language with England. Barnes writes that we can attribute "the deplorable state of American literature to his countrymen's subservience to English culture. A common heritage and, more ominously, a common language threatened to 'enslave' American authors to the 'influences' of the first and more powerful nation from which the United States derived" (445). I had never thought of this before: American writers were hesitant to create their own voice because they had no means of linguistically differentiated themselves from the mother land. This is a somewhat silly question, but it made me wonder if Americans ever considered adopting a new language, or even creating a new one.

Naturally, this chapter got me thinking about what defines our literature as "American" today. Is there a literary theme (like sentimentality in the early republic) that can be categorized as truly American? Or has technology and globalism done away with the ideas of a national literature? Can something like literature have the same impact today as to be able to create a national identity? Nothing really comes to mind for me in lit, film, music, or any art form, that defines our nationality, but maybe I'm just not thinking hard enough about the question…but what do you all think? I'm interested in your responses.

An Extensive Republic: Ch 8

One particular part of Dobson and Zagarell's chapter that struck me is when they note that women were discouraged from participating in "almost every manner of pubic discussion." The key word here, in my mind, is "discussion." Discussion, in those times, literally meant public, verbal discourse, and as Dobson and Zagarell not, women were simply unable to participate. When I think of that term "discussion" today, I typically associate it with writing. For example, the texts we've read in this class take part in an ongoing "discussion" on the role of print in the early American republic.

Women couldn't participate in those literal discussions, but through writing they were able to find a contributing voice. Dobson and Zagarell write that because women were beginning to appear in print, they acquired a "public presence" and "gave them a voice in public life."

This is exactly what Davidson is referring to in her book. Again, we're seeing how print culture was an empowering tool that had immense social implications. Through the power of the written word, women were finally able to contribute on a political and social level.

But aside from all this talk about the power of the written word, I'm fascinated by this idea that writing was a means by which women participated in public life. Writing, by its very nature, is often a private process where the writer spends time wrapped up in his or her own thoughts and ideas. In no way is the writing process a public activity. Ironically though, it is through the private activity of writing that many, not just women, have found a voice in public life.

This irony is especially illuminated in our current society. I think that we live a culture where writing doesn't necessarily carry the same weight that it did during the early American republic. Sure, anyone has the ability to write and put there writing in the public, but that doesn't necessarily mean that anyone is going to pay attention. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that you, my classmates, are the only ones that will ever come across this blog.

For women during this time period, getting read meant you had a presence in public life. Maybe it means the same thing today. If you aren't blogging, chatting, or giving your two cents on various social networks, you may not be contributing in public discussions.

I don't really know where I'm going with any of this, but my reactions to this week's reading was all over the place, and I'm pretty sure this blog reflects that.

An Extensive Republic: Ch 7

"We are a plain people, that have nothing to do with the mere pleasures and luxuries of life: and hence there has sprung up within us a quick-sightedness to the failings of literary men, and an aversion to everything that is not practical, operative, and thorough-going"--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Leverenz's chapter focuses on an interesting subject: American "manliness" and the idea that masculine tensions were crucial in understanding American print culture. But I don't want to focus on that because the quote above got me thinking about something else.

I took a philosophy course once where the professor asked on the first day of class "Why are all of you here? You should be taking business classes, or construction management classes, or doing SOMETHING practical. Why are you here?" He was serious, and he truly wanted to know why we were all sitting in a classroom at 8 am wanting to learn about epistemology.

In giving this example, I guess I'm grouping philosophy with literature--as a member of the "humanities" or "liberal arts." And it's a truly interesting question, and I think Longfellow is getting at the same idea in the quote above. To a certain extent, there is a belief amongst people that studies in these fields aren't practical in any way. How is studying poetry going to earn you any money or benefit society? It's a misguided question, because of course there are practical ways in which literature studies and the like benefit ourselves and the societies we belong to.

But I won't get into that, because I'm guessing that most of you are on the same page as me. But what I am interested in, and what I think Leverenz is interested in, is the origins of this type of question. Why has there always been, it seems, that the arts and humanities are viewed as non-practical? As Leverenz notes, if you were a writer, you were probably an anonymous one because of the negative connotations related to authorship.

I've never thought about this question in the way Leverenz does. Writing, and the profession of writing was "unmanly", and who in their right mind what ever want to be unmanly. Leverenz points out that American manlihood has always been associated with "the gentlemen, the artisan, and the entrepenuer," and the writer, I guess, just doesn't fall into those categories?

As definitions of "success" began to change in the 19th century, so did the connotations of being a writer. But I'm not so sure that those same definitions apply today. "Success" is often measured in terms of monetary gain or societal impact, and I believe that those things are hard to measure in our field.