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Musings

Seeing Double: African American Literature

by Margie Clayman

Please find below the syllabus for my class entitled Seeing Double: African American Literature. All classes will be live on Facebook in a private group created for this class on Mondays from 7:30-8:30.

Monday, March 15: The Signifying Monkey

Monday, March 22: Jupiter Hammon and Phillis Wheatley

Monday, March 29: Double Talk in Phillis Wheatley — The Amazing Performing Pet

Monday, April 5: The Slave Narratives of Frederick Douglass and Harriet Jacobs

Monday, April 12: Of Race and Gender: Sojourner Truth

Monday, April 19: Two Sides of the Same Coin: Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. DuBois

Monday, April 26: Living in Two Worlds: Passing, a novel by Nella Larsen

Monday, May 3: Paul Lawrence Dunbar: “We Wear the Mask”

Monday, May 10: The Double Talk of Langston Hughes

Monday, May 17: Striving Creates a Hole: The Street, by Ann Petry

Monday, May 24: Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man

Monday, May 31: Redefining [Black] Womanhood: Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison

Monday, June 7: Gender and Race Revisited: Audre Lord

Monday, June 14: Liquid Time: The Works of Octavia Butler

Monday, June 21: Modern Voices Double Up: Dr. Ibram Kendi, Ta-Nahesi Coates, Amanda Gorman

Monday, June 28: Does the Double Still Exist Today?

If you are interested pleased comment here or contact me at facebook.com/mjclayman. I will then add you to the Facebook group.

Filed Under: Musings, Uncategorized

Book Review: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow

by Margie Clayman

I still remember the first time a friend alerted me to the existence of Hamilton the musical. “You should check out this soundtrack. It’s right up your alley.” “What, is it a podcast?” I asked. Friends are always recommending podcasts to me. This is how my friendship with Alexander Hamilton started.

When this pandemic hit Ohio starting in March, I had realized that I was grossly undedicated as a history scholar for not having seen Hamilton. Not only is it a musical based on history (HELLO!), but it was history-making, too. George Washington played by a Black man? Hamilton played by a man from Puerto Rico? What? I was hoping that there might be a version released on YouTube, much like Benedict Cumberbatch’s Frankenstein and the special showing of Phantom. I did find a bootlegged version and I watched the whole thing. Even with no clear facial features, I fell in love. Hard. But, alas, no way to watch.

Then the announcement came out that Disney+ would be releasing “Hamilfilm.” My chance had come at last. Now…how to prepare? It being a quarantine-style pandemic, I did what any naturally crazy person would do. I decided to read the book that inspired Lin-Manuel Miranda to create the musical, Ron Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton.

Confessions

OK, so, I didn’t READ the book, per se. I listened to the book via one of my other great loves, Audible. All 35 hours of it. There are a LOT of details in this book, my friends. If you want to know every single product that Hamilton may have seen in his clerk days in the West Indies, this IS the book for you. Still, I think I absorbed it as well as if I had done the reading myself.

My other confession is that I pretty much bawled through the last two chapters. Spoiler: the hero of the story dies.

Conclusions and Musings

Somehow, I had never learned about all of the amazing things Alexander Hamilton did. My only real knowledge of him was from the HBO John Adams series, where he is portrayed as rather sniveling compared to Adams and the broody Jefferson. The series presents Hamilton as a man who pretty much only cares about pretty uniforms and writing mean things about Adams in various newspapers. Now, Hamilton did like himself a pretty uniform, but that’s not the point. From defending the Constitution to creating the first National Bank, Alexander Hamilton may actually have done more to make this country what it is today then Washington. I know, it seems like heresy, but Chernow makes a good case for it.

So why don’t we learn more about Hamilton? Why is it always Washington/Franklin/Madison/Jefferson/Adams? Well, here is another good case Chernow makes. Hamilton even during his own times was often dismissed because he was born in the West Indies. Even though he came to the US as a young man. Even though from almost the time he touched feet to earth he fought for American independence. Even though he did all of the things I mentioned above. Even though all of that, he still was not “one of us.” Add to that his illegitimate birth and you have a bifurcated rationale for dismissal that he was never able to overcome. Even after everything he did, when he was close to 50 years old, he had to deal with people coming up to him and saying, “Oh…President Adams is always calling you the bastard.”

Talk about a lack of support. I think it may have been this underdog sensibility that most inspired Miranda. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for us but um, if it’s cool we’re going to kind of write you out of history because you’re a foreign bastard. Bye!”

Now here is where I disagree with Chernow. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Chernow repeatedly disavows the idea that Hamilton went to his duel with Burr as a suicidal mission. Even though we have Hamilton’s written word that he was going to throw away his shot, Chernow insists that Hamilton was too ebullient in his last days to contemplate suicide. I am not convinced, and it’s for the reason I mentioned above. Many people who should attain greatness but who are denied because of some meaningless facet of their lives cannot handle the injustice. Hamilton’s life was a steady (and I mean steady) trial of defending his honor, either on account of his lineage or on account of his foreign standing, or sometimes both. I think he got exhausted. At 49 I think it was becoming clear to him that he was never going to be given the nod that was given to his rivals. His finances were a mess, ironically.

I hypothesize that Hamilton thought, “Look, very few people like me, but if Burr kills me, even fewer people will like him, and his political days will be over. I can take him down with me. My family will get sympathy from far and wide, which will give them economical support too. And I will finally get some peace.”

I rewatched the HBO Adams series as I was finishing up this book, and while Chernow is most certainly biased in favor of his subject, it is quite interesting to see how so much in the series sweeps over what REALLY happened with Hamilton. Now, of course, I understand that the series is historical fiction (no, really, I do). However…it seems to lend credibility to the idea that Hamilton is still an outsider. Posthumously, he continues to fight for his place in American history.

Excitement

So, now, I am a day away from being able to finally watch Hamilfilm, and I have a historical context to boot. If you are a fan of the musical and if you even kind of like history, I think you should at least check out Chernow’s work. It is long and at times laborious, but you also get to see a fully realized tale of Alexander Hamilton, complete with music in your head.

Let em know what you think of it if you read it, or if you have read it.

Filed Under: Musings, Uncategorized

Book Review: Land of Lincoln, by Andrew Ferguson

by Margie Clayman

I’ve been pondering how exactly to review this book because, honestly, I am still pondering whether I enjoyed it or not. Part of the problem is that this book was written to be current, but it was published in 2007. That doesn’t seem like an eternity ago, per se, but a lot has changed in 13 years, obviously! Given the time that has passed, it’s hard to know if all of the experiences narrated in the book are really meaningful at this point, or if things have gotten better or worse.

But let’s back up a little. What is this book meant to convey? The story is really a trip for the author to see if he can get back his love for Lincoln, or to figure out why he lost it. He was a total Lincoln nut when he was a kid, and his family went to Springfield and Kentucky and all of the key Lincoln landmarks. But then around college the author encountered people who told him that Lincoln wasn’t really worth liking that much. Meanwhile, the southern view of Lincoln started to get more attention. “Hey, this guy okayed the destruction of our property and our way of life. What gives?”

So, Ferguson starts traveling to different Lincolnesque places and sites to see if he can unravel the man behind the legend, and along the way get his Lincoln nuttiness back.

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

I have mentioned that this book was written close to two decades ago, but the first chapter, which is about a big fight that erupted over putting a Lincoln statue at the site of the Tredegar Iron Works, turned out to be quite timely indeed. As I read the history of how Monument Avenue was put together, some of those very statues were being pulled down by BLM protestors. The author attended a pro-Lincoln convention and an anti-Lincoln convention in Richmond and found that both groups had their talking points, but no one seemed entirely, authentically enthused.

A Sprinkle of Hypocrisy

Ferguson travels all over the place in this book. He goes to a business workshop in Pennsylvania to see how these two gurus use Lincoln’s 19th century sensibilities to help 21st century business pros. He goes to Santa Claus, Indiana, where there is a mixture of Lincolns and Santa Clauses. He goes to the Lincoln museum in Chicago that he used to love as a kid and he talks about how Disney has been doing a lot of behind the scenes work to help kids get interested in history.

Wherever the author goes though, he seems to have a deprecating thing to say about the Lincoln lovers he encounters. People who love Lincoln seem childish and worth deriding. That’s all well and good. Making money off of a 19th-century icon can garner differing opinions. But there’s one little problem with the constant mockery. The author has written and published a book all about Lincoln. To me at least, the constant poking at everyone he encounters gets old fast. You’re making money off of those folks and what they do, soooo…maybe tone it down a little.

Lincoln’s Footsteps

The last two chapters were my favorites because the author takes his family on a Lincoln pilgrimage, following Lincoln backwards through his life story. They start in Springfield, head over to New Salem, go through the wilds of Indiana (now near Decatur), then they make their way into Kentucky, where they visit the temple housing the alleged Lincoln cabin along with Sinking Spring Farm.

Even here though, the book is darned depressing. Every single site gets criticized. The Lincoln home in Springfield is no longer interactive. There is a mat that marks the path you have to take. The neighborhood that once surrounded the home is gone, and to the author, Springfield seemed like another dying Midwest town. In Decatur the place that marks where the Lincolns lived is barely visible. Etc etc.

Lincoln’s house in Springfield, as I saw it.

My mom and I had the great fortune of visiting Springfield a few years after this book was published. Now, you have to understand that Lincoln is a man I admire greatly despite his many imperfections, and you also have to understand that when I see amazing historical things, I cry. Ergo, I cried through most of my time in Springfield and my mom tried to distance herself from me as much as was seemly. It’s embarrassing traveling with a bawling 30-something, apparently. But I did not see all that much to complain about. Sure, the ranger didn’t know that Lincoln was born on February 12, but nobody is perfect.

It’s true that history is not being preserved here in the US. Mary Lincoln’s childhood home was a car garage for awhile before it was rescued. The Paul Revere home in Boston has a few slabs of original wall left. But you still know you’re standing where these people stood, and with a little imagination, you can transport yourself if you really want to. That’s a big if, I guess.

In short, there were some interesting and funny little snippets in this book, but overall, I think the mission got a little lost, so the reading experience was not entirely enjoyable.

If you’ve read it, let me know what you think!

Filed Under: Musings, Uncategorized

The portrayal of the infertile woman in entertainment

by Margie Clayman

Have you seen or heard a description of a woman or a girl that used the word “hysterical”? Perhaps you’ve used the word yourself when speaking to a toddler or…someone else. “God, this is no reason to get hysterical.”

We have the Greeks to thank for the word “hysteria.” Back then, it was thought that when a woman got too emotional it was because her uterus was wandering around, discontented. These Democratic deacons would put nicely scented spices around the woman’s private area to lure the uterus back to its place. And you wonder why women may have been discontented.

The female psyche continues to be an absolute mystery to men, and maybe even amongst women themselves. This is nowhere more apparent than in the portrayal of infertile women in television shows and movies.

The Root of All Evil

The pain and grief a woman experiences when she has a miscarriage or when she is diagnosed as unable to have a child is a red hot grief that most people strive to keep away from as much as possible. Part of this apparent taboo is the LONG history of barrenness, as it was once called, being treated as a sign that God was displeased with you. Professor of Religion Cynthia Chapman writes up a great summary here). While people often like to think that we have evolved over the last 3,000 odd years, our treatment of women who experience infertility in one way or another has hardly manifested in any better way.

Infertility Makes You Crazy

The history of infertile women being cast as absolute psychos in films and shows is surprisingly long. Check out this Refinery29 post for proof of that.

What got me thinking about this is a more recent viewing experience — Dead To Me. I don’t want to give away any spoilers as the show is still pretty new (I only just got to it through all of my pandemic TV binging). Let’s just say that a woman who has suffered several miscarriages is cast as being a character of sympathy KIND OF because she had that experience. It is an excuse for psychotic behavior. At the same time, the show seems to be trying to acknowledge that infertile women do not get the support they need. In an oddly placed dialogue, the character discusses her loss and says, “Oh, it’s nothing,” and it is the other character who corrects her and says, “No, I mean, I think you lost something real.”

In fact, women who miscarry are most often haunted by a sense of guilt and/or shame. The only person who might suffer more is the husband, because of course men are not allowed to express any feelings, especially sad ones. There still is a sentiment in this country that if you are not getting pregnant, you are doing something wrong. A woman on The Biggest Loser awhile back wanted to lose weight because her doctor told her she was too overweight to get pregnant. Women are told that they are too stressed. “As soon as you stop worrying about it it will happen.” Very seldom is there an acknowledgement from other women that this pain exists. By the way, women who do have children may feel guilty talking to a woman who has miscarried. “Does having my kids with me make it seem like I’m rubbing it in her face? Best to stay away.” This leaves the grieving woman alone and feeling isolated.

What can we do about it?

So how can we change up this whole conversation? Well, first, we need to stop looking at infertility as just a female problem. First of all, men can also be infertile, a condition derisively referred to at times as “shooting blanks.” We have to stop discounting male dreams about parenthood. They are just as valid.

Second, we have to stop shaming women and making them feel that if they can’t have children, they should go hide in a grief-stricken corner, away from all of the “regular” people. Yes, women who have miscarried or who have been diagnosed with infertility or who otherwise have experienced loss will grieve. Grief can take all forms, and it’s never comfortable. If grief was comfortable we wouldn’t dread it so much. We need instead to extend support to women. This needs to happen from the doctor offering the diagnosis to support groups to pharmacists to everyone else.

Finally, we have to stop ostracizing women who are suffering in our modes of entertainment. Is it easier to hate a female villain if she has infertility as her rationale? Is she less wholesome? What exactly is the message women are supposed to garner from this trend?

These kinds of messages are the subliminal messaging we are bombarded with every day. It is time to buck the trend and start over.

Image Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/185967312@N04/49203622652/in/ via Creative Commons

Filed Under: Musings, Uncategorized

Chapter 3: A Weird Thing Happened Today

by Margie Clayman

Today I went out to recess and I was looking for my friend Mark. He lives down the street from me. He gave me a few shiny rocks from his collection. He is two years older than me and has bright red hair. When I was looking for him I heard a big kid yell, “Midget, midget.” I thought that it was a special kind of bird so I looked up. My mom loves birds but I had never heard of a midget before. I didn’t see anything weird in the sky so I looked around and I saw two guys on the swing set. They were big kids and they were even older than Mark. They were laughing and looking at me, and I realized that they were calling me a midget. Maybe that was my super power kicking in. I am not sure. I had the idea that they were not being nice.

I told my mom about it after school and she said they were just mean guys and I shouldn’t worry about them. I am not really worried about them. But I want to know what a midget is and why I am called that by people who are making fun of me. I think before I can fix things I need to understand what the whole problem is. So I need to understand what these guys were saying. And I need to understand why it was funny. I don’t like the idea of big kids laughing at me on the playground. It makes me feel kind of bad. But then I remember I am a super hero, and I know that I will figure it out. I do think sometimes that I am better at fixing problems for other people. I seem to go slow when I am bad.

Filed Under: Molly Maggie McGuire, Musings, Uncategorized

Chapter 2: The First Fixings

by Margie Clayman

I thought maybe you don’t understand what I mean that I can fix anything, and maybe I should tell you more about that. A lot of times when I tell grown-ups that I have a super power they think that I am playing around. That’s why I want to get all of this stuff into writing, so that later in life when people laugh I can show them I have always been like this and didn’t just make it up. But since I’m a kid people always think I’m making things up.

The first time I ever fixed anything was because of my friend Anna. Anna was friends with another friend of mine and her name was Becky. I liked Anna and Becky equal. My best friend at that time was Liz, and she is still my best friend. One day at recess I saw Anna sitting on a bench and her face was red, really red. It looked weird so I thought I should check on her, and when I got close I saw that she was crying but was trying not to let people see she was crying. I sat down next to her and asked her what was wrong and why was she crying, and then she started to cry really hard. I felt bad and it was gross too because a big glob of snot bubbled out of her nose and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. I didn’t have any kleenex to give her like my mom always has. I think maybe moms just know to always have kleenex.

Anna said, “I don’t think Becky likes me anymore!” and then she started to cry again. More snot came out of her nose and I really wanted to give her a kleenex or maybe just a leaf because it was hard to look at her face like that without laughing because normally she was always really pretty. Laughing when someone is crying is not a good way to fix things.

I said, “What? You and Becky have always been friends. She likes you. Why do you think she doesn’t?”

“When we lined up for recess with our recess buddies she didn’t choose me, she chose Stacey. We are always recess buddies. Why didn’t she choose me this time?” She wiped her face with the back of her hand again.

“Well,” I said, “Sometimes we think someone is mad at us but maybe they are just feeling weird that day. Have you asked Becky if she is mad at you?”

“No,” Anna said. “She is ignoring me so I will ignore her.”

“OK,” I said. “But maybe she isn’t ignoring you, and now maybe she thinks you’re mad at her because you aren’t talking to her. Why don’t we go talk to Becky and I’ll come with you.”

So, Anna and I walked over to where Becky was sitting with Stacey. They were talking to each other and were paying close attention to each other. They didn’t notice that we were standing there for a little bit and Anna started to walk away, but I grabbed her arm to make her stay. That’s my super power. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fix things if she did that, but I don’t know how I knew that. I decided to be rude even though my mom and dad have told me that when two people are talking you shouldn’t bug them.

“Hi guys,” I said. “Anna and I were going to work on the dance moves we practiced last week (we were all in the same dance class) but we wanted to know if you wanted to do it with us.”

Becky and Stacey looked at each other. Becky looked at me and she looked happy, but then she looked at Stacey and Stacey looked like she was sad, but she didn’t want us to know she was sad. Becky said she wanted to talk to me for just a minute. Anna started to walk away again and I said, “Anna, why don’t you keep Stacey company for a minute?”

Becky walked aways away from where we had been and then stopped. She said, “Stacey is feeling really sad because her mommy just found out she has cancer and she knows my mom had cancer so she is talking to me to see what it’s like. She doesn’t want a lot of people to know but she is talking to me a lot. I feel like I need to be around for her to talk to.”

“Oh, I said.” Well, can you talk to Anna and tell her that? She was crying because she thought you didn’t like her anymore.”

“What?” Becky seemed mad almost and I almost started to say it wasn’t my fault. Then she said, “Why would she even say that?”

I told her how she and Anna were always recess buddies but today Becky had chosen Stacey. That seemed to make sense to Becky. She went over and talked to Anna, and it looked to me like Anna had been listening to Stacey too. We all decided to practice our dance moves together, and we even made sure Stacey did it because we thought it would help her take her mind off being sad. The next day Anna was Stacey’s recess buddy and Becky chose me, and we had a lot of fun. And that’s how I fixed things for Becky and Anna.

A few days ago also I helped a grown-up fix something. My mom was making biscuits because her friends were coming over for dinner. She was in the kitchen for a long time and then I heard a lot of slamming and swear words. I didn’t know why because I smelled something amazing. I went down into the kitchen and asked Mom what was wrong. She said, “I have been working on these biscuits and they just aren’t rising. I don’t understand what the problem is.” Well, she didn’t say it quite like that. There were words I’m not allowed to say.

My super power fed me the idea that yeast makes bread rise. I don’t even know what yeast is or how it works but I asked my mom if she had put the yeast in. She checked her ingredients and then opened the cabinet door and took down two little packets. “I think I forgot the yeast!” She said. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or happy so I decided to leave. She didn’t seem to notice that I had said anything and that happens to me sometimes. Sometimes I say something to fix things and people act like they thought of it themselves. But that’s ok. I know that super heroes aren’t supposed to blow their own horns. I know that I gave my mom that idea and her biscuits ended up really good.

These are just two things that have happened lately that show you how my super power works. Do you believe me?

Filed Under: Molly Maggie McGuire, Musings, Uncategorized

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