Thank You, Kate Chopin, for your Courage

The textbook/reader I am using this semester, and have often used before, contains two stories by Kate Chopin. As I was teaching the stories this semester, I was reminded once again of what a wonderful, brave, groundbreaking, and inspiring writer Chopin (1850-1904) was. She published two novels and about 100 short stories, mostly about women’s lives. Her 1899 novel, “The Awakening,” portrayed (very discreetly) a woman’s sexuality, and was widely condemned as “morbid, vulgar, and disagreeable” (katechopin.org). We forget how hard it was to speak out honestly about women's lives, and how devastatingly negative the response could be. The reception of this novel was a real blow to Chopin, and she almost stopped writing. After she died, her work was largely forgotten for some years, but was gradually rediscovered, especially after it received attention from feminist critics in the 1960s and 1970s and onward. Her 1969 biographer, Per Seyersted, stated that Chopin “broke new ground in American literature…She was the first woman writer in her country to accept passion as a legitimate subject for serious, outspoken fiction. Revolting against tradition and authority; with a daring which we can hardy fathom today; with an uncompromising honesty and no trace of sensationalism, she undertook to give the unsparing truth about woman’s submerged life" (katechopin.org). One of her most famous stories, “The Story of an Hour,” always provokes lively discussion in my classes. Within three pages, taking place inside a house, and describing the events of just an hour, in its compact way it says everything about the lives of married women in the United States during the late 19th century. It is beautifully written, powerful, and has a surprise ending. It was writers such as Chopin who made a difference in how readers thought about women’s lives, marriage, sexuality, and need for independence; I applaud and thank her for her insight, strength, and courage.

"This Beautiful Life," by Helen Schulman

Helen Schulman’s “This Beautiful Life” (Harper, 2011) is a novel about family, a longstanding theme in novels, but in this case one with a very contemporary twist: It illustrates the unpredictability and the power of the Internet, the power to change people’s lives. Jake, the 15-year-old son of Richard and Liz Bergamot, is a nice young man who gets caught up with a privileged, partying private school crowd in New York City. A younger girl, Daisy, who wants Jake’s attention, sends him a sexually explicit video of herself, which in his shock and confusion, he forwards to a friend. Of course that friend forwards it on as well, and within hours, the video has gone viral and been seen by millions all over the world. The consequences for Jake – suspension from school, shame, and a blot on his future – and for the whole family – lawyers, shame, defensiveness, anger on their son’s behalf, fear, the father’s job and reputation impacted, and more – shake the foundations of the Bergamots’ marriage and of the lives of the family, including that of little Coco, Jake’s much younger sister. As many of the adults in this story reflect, Daisy’s and then Jake’s adolescent missteps could not have occurred in the same way, and are multiplied to a whole different level and quality, than they would have been before the current ubiquity of the Internet; it is frightening to see how one young person’s decision (to make and send the video) and another’s (to forward it) can change all their lives instantaneously and forever. Although there are some clichéd presentations of New York and of its most privileged young people, the main characters in this novel are well drawn and believable. This is truly a cautionary tale for the 21st century, one that will send a chill through parents who read it.

Mona Simpson and Steve Jobs: Brilliant Siblings

I find it fascinating that the well-known novelist Mona Simpson (whose most recent novel, “My Hollywood,” I wrote about here on 1/10/11), is the biological sister of the late Steve Jobs. Their unmarried parents -- graduate student Joanne Schieble (later Simpson) and fellow graduate student and Syrian immigrant Abdulfattah “John” Jandali -- were not married at the time Jobs was born, and he was adopted by Paul and Clara Jobs. A short time later, Schieble and Jandali married, and Simpson was born to them. The marriage didn’t last, and some of Simpson’s fiction deals with her search for and feelings about her “lost father.” Jobs and Simpson did not meet until they were young adults (Jobs was 27) and they became quite close. Simpson’s first novel, “Anywhere but Here,” is dedicated to her mother and to “my brother Steve,” and some say her novel “A Regular Guy” is partially based on Jobs’ life and career. Jobs refused to meet his biological father, who was first a professor of politics and is now an executive of a casino in Reno. I have read conflicting reports about whether Simpson has ever been in touch with him. What impresses me is that two such brilliant people, each in her or his own field, who grew up separately and didn’t know each other until adulthood, were siblings.

And the Nobel Prize for Literature Goes To...

I always get a little excited in the days before the Nobel Prize for Literature is announced. I am not quite sure what I wish for each year: that one of my favorite authors will win? that a woman author will win? that I will learn about a new author? (I definitely do wish that more women had won the prize over the years.) Every year when the news comes, there is a range of reactions among journalists, critics, and readers, from "Finally! Hurray!" to "Oh no, not him!" to "Who???" I, like many readers, often have not heard of, or have only barely heard of, some of the winners. In a way, this is good, as it stretches my knowledge. But it is also humbling; as much as I read, there are so many great authors around the world that I still don't know. This year's winner, Tomas Transtromer, is a Swedish poet I have heard of but have never read. Because there have been so many European winners, and because the prize is awarded by the Swedish Academy, the Nobel Prize committee is a bit sensitive about having chosen a Swede. But there seems to be a general agreement that the prize is well deserved, and that at 80 years old, Transtromer's turn had come. His poetry is described as accessible and international. According to The New York Times, John Freeman, editor of Granta, said that Transtromer "is to Sweden what Robert Frost was to America." Much of his work has been translated into English by his friend and fellow poet, Robert Bly; his work has also been edited and translated by American poet Robert Hass. I think it is time to find and read some of Transtromer's poetry.

"Infinite City" at the University of San Francisco

“Infinite City: A San Francisco Atlas,” by Rebecca Solnit, was chosen by my university to be the book that this year’s incoming freshmen all read and then discussed upon arrival on campus. This book, which I wrote about here on 3/18/11, was the subject of a wonderful campus event I attended yesterday, where Solnit herself, along with contributor and University of San Francisco Professor Aaron Shurin, spoke about the book and its implications. In addition, Solnit and her colleagues had created a brand new map, in the style of the maps in the book, of the USF campus and its surroundings. We who attended were each given a large, beautifully colored and produced copy of this map; I will display mine in my office. It notes the various cultural sites, both past and present, in the area. (USF is located in the geographical center of the city, near Golden Gate Park, and at the crossroads of several neighborhoods: the Haight, the Western Addition, the Richmond, and Presidio Heights.) For one example of historical/cultural sites, our university is located where there were many cemeteries, but many years ago the city banned cemeteries within city limits and moved all the graves out of the city; these cemeteries are marked on the map. Such nearby cultural sites as the Grateful Dead house, the house where Janis Joplin lived, and the house where Patty Hearst was held hostage are all marked. There is a list of all the African American churches in the area, with their long traditions, especially in the nearby Western Addition neighborhood. Solnit gave a mesmerizing talk about the importance of maps, and about how almost anything can be expressed through maps. She spoke of how we all are a collection of maps, in that we carry in our heads maps of all the places we have been. She pointed out that maps we use online or on smart phones are so partial, so drained of meaning except for the strictly functional, and said that one of her goals was to “make paper maps sexy and desirable.” She told us that after living 30 years in the Haight area near USF, she has recently moved to the Potrero area, and feels she is discovering a whole new aspect of San Francisco (“infinite San Francisco"). She reminded the audience that maps can be beautiful and surprising, and can capture the past and the present. She urged us to add our own stories to her maps and our own maps. Professor Aaron Shurin then gave a beautiful, poetic talk (he is a well published and well regarded poet) about the experience of writing his contribution to “Infinite City.” This event was a thought-provoking one, combining cartography, culture, literature, history, the environment, and more. I was happy to see many freshman students in the audience, and I hope and believe that they were inspired by these thoughtful, beautifully crafted talks as well as by the maps and the book itself.

"Use Me," by Elissa Schappell

It's all about the fathers in Elissa Schappell's book, "Use Me" (William Morrow, 2000). The two main characters are two teenaged (at the beginning of the book) girls, but almost all their actions and decisions seem to be in reaction to their fathers. Evie is in rebellion against her father, who she thinks is dorky and fake, but when she gets older and he gets ill, her whole world is threatened. Mary Beth is a sophisticated young lady who lives in Manhattan and seems to have few limits on her behavior; for example, she has several slightly kinky affairs with older men. Her father left the family and she rarely sees him, acts as if she doesn't really care, but often thinks about him and yearns for his love and approval. Although this is a novel, the two girls' stories are told in different chapters, each chapter almost a mini-story of its own. It seems that Evie gets more space in the book, and is more clearly drawn; the reader suspects that Evie is the author's alter ego. Mary Beth's life and character are a bit more mysterious throughout the book. The two girls' stories converge when they become college roommates and best friends. They stay in touch as they get older, meet their mates, and live their lives. Their fathers continue to be huge influences on their lives, in their presence as well as in their absence, and especially during Evie's father's illness. Their relationships with their fathers are so fraught that they even influence Evie's and Mary Beth's relationship with each other. I don't want to say more for fear of giving away plot points. I will say that these two young women are bright, daring, transgressive, sometimes unafraid of anything and other times vulnerable and dependent; mainly they are just as confused as we all are when faced with the complications of "real life." The novel is fresh, immediate, a bit edgy, but mostly acutely observant of and understanding of the lives of young women.

The Thrill of Monsters in Children's Books

In a fortuitous confluence of events, I recently saw an art exhibit about illustrations of “monsters” in children’s books, and then read a New York Times Book Review about the great subversive children’s book authors Maurice Sendak, Shel Silverstein, and Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss). The art exhibit, titled “Monsters in the Bookshelf” is at the Thacher Gallery at the University of San Francisco, where I teach. A few days ago, I attended a talk about the show in the gallery, by the director of the gallery, Tom Lucas, SJ. As he pointed out some of the highlights of the exhibit, he told the audience about some of the great illustrators of children’s books, whose works include a wide variety of monsters, something that children both get deliciously scared of and at the same time relate to. Some parents and teachers fear that children will have trouble handling monsters in literature, but other experts on children, most notably the late Dr. Bruno Bettelheim, felt that scary literature helps children cope with frightening aspects of their real lives. In any case, the illustrations in this exhibit are vivid, fanciful, diverse, intriguing, entertaining, and beautifully executed. The New York Times Book Review essay (9/18/11) points out that the purpose of children’s literature for a long time was “to model good behavior…to edify and encourage young readers to be what parents wanted them to be…Children’s literature was not supposed to shine a light on the way children actually were, or delight in the slovenly, self-interested and disobedient side of their natures.” Seuss, Sendak and Silverstein “ignored these rules. They brought a shock of subversion to the genre -- defying the notion that children’s books shouldn’t be scary, silly or sophisticated.” And – surprise! -- children loved, and love, their books! Books such as Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are,” Seuss’ “The Cat in the Hat,” and Silverstein’s collection of verse for children, “Where the Sidewalk Ends,” became and continue to be huge bestsellers, and after initial resistance by many teachers, librarians, and parents, are now on any list of children’s classics that you can find. I remember reading all of these to my daughter. So hurray for the “real” and the slightly transgressive in children’s literature, and hurray for authors and editors (such as Silverstein’s and Sendak’s longtime editor, Ursula Nordstrom of Harper & Row) whose imaginations produced and facilitated such delightfully, thrillingly scary books.