“Watergate” has become a pejorative; political scandals which followed Watergate, regardless of their severity, are commonly suffixed with “-gate” to demonstrate their perversity.  We’ve had “travel-gate” “billy-gate” “bridge-gate” “Contra-gate” and, of course, “Russia-gate”; and these are just a selection, the list is long.  But Watergate is the standard by which all subsequent “-gates” are measured.  It represented the epitome of political evil and political efforts to undermine the American democratic system.  Richard Nixon and his supporters (and “plumbers”) threatened not only the Constitution and Rule of Law, but the political foundations of the nation.  Resignation from the Presidency was small price to him to pay for forcing the nation to endure our “long national nightmare.”

Thomas Mallon’s Watergate: A Novel reveals the full collection of scoundrels and others (and some imagined extras) who were involved or connected to the scandal.  However, what was most revealing to me was the utter normality (dare I say, banality) of most of their lives.   Yes, there was a president, several cabinet members, judges, congressmen, advisors, protectors, wives, and lovers; however, they were each in their own way leading “lives of quiet desperation.”  They were not planning the destruction of the United States, (although yes, they did commit crimes) but their actions were primarily chosen as the lesser of two evils – what can I do to get through today; tomorrow will be better.   I say this is not to excuse or condone.  However, Mallon’s telling, I think, reminds us that as many statesmen/women have noted in the past, our Republic is less likely to be destroyed from those outside our borders; we will destroy it ourselves.

Before Native Son, Richard Wright published a collection of short stories under the title Uncle Tom’s Children.  It may not be too difficult to envision Bigger Thomas to be one of those children or, for that matter, to envision Bigger himself as a reincarnation of Uncle Tom.  Bigger clearly is not the sympathetic and appealing protagonist-hero who Uncle Tom was, and Bigger’s self-loathing contrasted sharply with Uncle Tom’s comfort (or at least acceptance) of his life and condition.

Nevertheless, both Tom and Bigger endured cruel lives and brutal journeys (the former perhaps more physically painful, the latter more psychologically painful) and died at the hands of and surrounded by uncaring or unresponsive institutions – Southern slavery and Chicago justice.  Both represented the (Christ-like?) agony of bearing the sins of others for the potential salvation of many.  In the end, as well, both stories suggested the possibility of hope – for Tom the hope that slavery’s end was possible or even in sight, and for Bigger the hope promised by his ability to finally recognize the humanity in at least one white man, Jan, and to see that recognition returned, however fleetingly.

Undeniably it is not easy to see hope in Wright’s Native Son (and it is hard to believe that Wright intended it); however, despite the ugliness of Bigger Thomas’ character and actions, I could not help feeling as emotionally moved by the tragedy of his life and death as I felt about Uncle Tom.

Denis Brennan

Like other texts we have read this term, Edward Bellamy’s Looking Backward offers some insight into the social milieu of his era – in this case, the late 19^th century.  Extraordinary change had taken place since the Civil War; this change can be perceived as progress for it certainly was that.  However, along with the progress of the “Gilded Age” (as it was known) came consequences, which were rarely beneficial for all.  Industrialization and economic growth had made the United States one of the wealthiest nations in the world; however, that wealth was hardly equally (or equitably) distributed.  The urbanization which accompanied industrialization exacerbated already existing urban social problems (overcrowding, crime, violence, alcoholism, and etc.) which in turn were aggravated by exploding immigrant populations, who were welcomed by industry to some extent; but, often viewed as threatening and, consequently, abused and debased by natives. The kind of progress endured by Americans in the late 19^th century often fostered inequality, dependence, and unnecessary waste.

Bellamy was among those who viewed these changes with suspicion; it was not progress, which should be orderly and equitable, but a kind of chaos, which was ultimately destabilizing and destructive. With proper planning, however, chaos could be conquered; order could be restored.  The world of Dr. Leete promised such a restoration; a world in which common sense triumphed and the promised right to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” was realized.  In considering the world created for Julian West, I am reminded of the constant conflict between Natty Bumppo and Judge Temple; the former a rugged individual for whom order was restrictive to personal achievement, and the latter a communitarian for whom order was necessary for social harmony.  As well, I am reminded of life in the United States today where the desire for easy solutions to complicated issues loses sight of the reality of a complex social and political order begotten to us by our founding generation.

Those who embraced Bellamy’s ideas – and there were many – found comfort in the concept of an already-existing well-ordered society, as imaged in Looking Backward; nevertheless, they did not fully consider the  ideological cost to achieve that kind of society – or even if it was achievable or, for that matter, desirable.

Denis Brennan

Stephen Crane’s Red Badge of Courage appears, at least in part, to be a story about boyhood ambition and what might be considered a naïve personal search for courage – a search for recognition as a “hero” in other people’s eyes.  We have read about several heroes so far during this term – Mary Rowlandson, Natty Bumppo, Eliza Harris, and Uncle Tom, just to name a few.  Henry Fleming, however, is a different kind of hero; he is struggling, it seems to me, to find the hero in himself who matches his perception or understanding of what a hero is supposed to be.  Others we have read about were less self-conscious and were not striving to become heroes or even contemplating what it means to be a hero – rather they were simply trying to live an honest life (fulfill the Puritan dilemma: trying to be moral/good person in an immoral/evil world) and heroism came their way.

Strangely, for a novel that was widely praised by Civil War veterans as an extraordinarily realistic representation of what life was like (i.e., boredom, fear, terror, and gore) for the ordinary Civil War soldier, perhaps the novel also suggests something about the US thirty years after Appomattox.  It was world of commerce, industrialization, bureaucracy, with but a smidgen of heroes to compare to the warriors, North and South, of the Civil War.  Henry Fleming’s heroism was an ideal rather than a reality – perhaps something else for the Leatherstocking to find unacceptable about progress.

Denis Brennan

Reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin, it is difficult to mis-understand the central and direct theme of Stowe’s book:  slavery is evil.  Slavery is not only a curse to the unfortunate souls fettered to the system, but is a curse of all who come in contact with it and who do not make some effort to relieve the system’s misery.  This is certainly true for the slaves themselves (George, Eliza, Harry, Tom, and Chloe), for the most vicious slaveholders (Haley, Loker, Marks, Marie, and Simone Legree), but is no less true for those who might be considered more humanitarian (Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, Augustine St. Claire, Miss Ophelia, and Senator Bird).

No one, of course, suffers on account of slavery’s malevolence more than little Eva, who is too pure to live in a world defiled by the South’s “peculiar institution.”  It is perhaps unfortunate that a little white girl’s suffering is envisioned as greater than the millions who are actually “under the whip” but Stowe may have believed that in order to pull the emotional strings of Northern (and Southern) white women, Eva was a necessary character.

Stowe’s intention in this regard is easy to appreciate; however, we cannot overlook the themes which speak to other elements of the history of the era, such as, the power of religion, the force of emotion, the influence of women, the reality of black humanity, and the burgeoning sense of Northern complicity.  In the end, however, it seems to me that in many ways, Stowe’s book, while not only exposing the evils of slavery (an institution that she had actually never seen first-hand), provides an excellent illustration of the power of the “Cult of Domesticity,” which permeated the lives of many women at the time.  There are many examples of strong women in the novel; none directly seek to usurp male authority – but certainly recognize their ability to influence change.  It was that power to change which may have provoked Abraham Lincoln’s apocryphal comment when they met at the White House in 1862: “So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.”

Denis Brennan

The frontier in Cooper’s The Pioneers is not the alien, foreboding prison that Mary Rowlandson experienced, but is rather an attractive, captivating opportunity for a diverse collection of self-made American characters.  The frontier invites and offers potential to those willing to embrace its possibilities, including organizers and planners like Judge Marmaduke Temple.  That is not to suggest that there are not dangers; travel can be difficult; fires, Indians, panthers, and other natural obstacles demand care, but they do not prohibit co-existence between man and nature.

Modern (19^th century) man, however, brings dangers of his/her own – perhaps especially in the concept of progress. Nature has a pattern and plan structured by the ordinary demands of the environment; man-made institutions, arrangements, hierarchy, and laws are an intrusion which upset the balance.  They create a chaos as destructive as any found beyond the frontier’s border.

Cooper’s novel presents an imagined (mythical?) vision of a young United States.  Struggling to survive, embracing diversity and progress without fully appreciating its implications, searching for balance between individual and community rights, and probing for the meaning of tradition in a quickly changing world.  It also introduces an extraordinary cast of characters – none more “American” that Natty Bumppo.  He departs Templeton at the end of the story as “the foremost in that band of Pioneers who are opening the way for the march of the nation across the continent”(462).  But I am left wondering: Who are the pioneers of the title?  Natty and his elk? Chingachgook and other Indians? Judge Temple and the people of Templeton? Perhaps, in the final analysis, The Pioneers is the answer to Hector St. Jean de Crevecoeur’s famous question from 1781, “What is An American?”  It is who we had become at the turn of the 19^th century, and it is the frontier which defines who we will be.

Denis Brennan

Citizens of British North America, at least in 1762, were happy – even enthralled – by their new King, George III.  That seems to be the conclusion of Hopkinson’s “Dialogue and Ode.”  Perhaps it was not least because he was the first of the Hanoverian line of British kings actually born in England or perhaps is was simply because of their pride in being what they believed were the freest people in the freest nation in the world.  Nevertheless, as we know today, that sense of joy was short-lived.

Undoubtedly, the message in “A Dialogue Between an Englishman and an Indian” reflects a minority view of Indians at the time of the American Revolution.  Outside of an institution like Dartmouth (founded by Eleazar Wheelock, a Puritan minister, in 1769 as an expansion of his Charity School, which he used to educate Indians as ministers), most Americans would have considered Indians to simply be brutal and savage.  Nevertheless, it is interesting to see that in 1782, the antagonist in this short work was an “Englishman” – as if to suggest that they are responsible for not helping the Indian shed their “savage, cruel”(7) or “uncultivated and unpolished”(7) ways.

A Little Teatable Chitcat may be best summarized by the Latin epigraph at its beginning.

The Candidates or The Humours of a Virginia Election (“Humours” is best understood in this title as “Whims,” I think) combines a look into Southern society with a perspective about the late colonial/early national election process.  Deference to the supposed “natural aristocracy” was presumed to be the foundation of the democratic process but perhaps the play suggests that such a presumption was threatened by the democratic process itself – especially if Guzzle’s vote carried the same value as Mr. Worthy’s.  It is surprising how many issues, which remain important today, were addressed or implied in the brief play: the qualifications of candidates; whose interests are served; the power of political office; women’s role in the process; as well as campaigning, campaign promises, and getting voters to the polls.  The play is fiction (mythical?) but at least suggests that the democratic process was regarded with, arguably, a greater sense of respect and admiration than exists in our time.  Has 200+ years of democratic politics in the U.S. improved the process?

Denis Brennan

It is difficult not to feel some compassion for Mary Rowlandson’s tribulations; taken into captivity, she lost her home, her family, her comforts, and her freedom.  Surrounded by the unfamiliar – to be generous – hungry, tired, and desolate, she turned to the only security from which she believed she could not be separated: her faith.  Rowlandson’s story was arguably the first in a long line of epic “American” adventure stories in which a hero enters into a chaotic situation or dead-defying struggle only to emerge victorious (or redeemed).  For her, the foundation of her successful release from captivity appears to have been her Puritan faith.  But it is difficult to discern whether her faith was confirmed by her tribulations or was it reshaped?  Did her struggles and deprecations teach her compassion and empathy for the struggles and deprecations of her Indian captors?

It is not clear to what extent this story is history, myth, propaganda, and/or truth.  However, it does seem clear that Rowlandson understood her purpose in writing the narrative: to express the possibility of redemption with faith in God and his wisdom.  Nevertheless, perhaps this was more than an expression of Puritan religious teaching but a reflection of the realities of life in a foreign and hostile environment.  Survival in frontier America was no more guaranteed or knowable than salvation.

Denis Brennan

Together, I hope this blog will provide our class with a forum for shared communication about the broad scope of American history as experienced in some of the contemporary literature – principally novels – of various, distinctive eras in American history.  We cannot, of course, depend on novels (which are by definition fiction) to accurately reflect the unvarnished “truth” about history, but literature (as well as other forms of story-telling, such as plays and film) has a way of bringing  life, perspective, representation, and understanding to history that scholarly historical texts often lack.  Understanding of history is particularly important because understanding our past provides an opportunity, limited though it may be, to conceive and decide our future.

In addition, good literature often can describe history at dual levels; it can tell us something about both the history of the period the story purports to describe, as well as the era in which the text was written and published.

I look forward to sharing information, analysis, and substantive discussions on this blog and in class during the Winter Term.

Please leave a comment about your own perspective on the value of history and the role that fiction (novels, plays, movies, etc.) might play in discovering, appreciating, and understanding the history of the United States.

Denis Brennan