I don't watch tv. Don't even own a tv. Well, that's not precisely true; I own one, but it lives in the storage unit. The point being: commercials. Even without tv, there are still commercials.
I've taken to watching recently an old tv show on Hulu. I used to watch The Daily Show on Hulu but now that's not on Hulu anymore. Hulu is thick with commercials. Not as bad as tv, but hell, we could go on about that for hours.
In my lifetime I've seen some pretty bad commercials. Awful ones. Those Doxidan commercials linger far longer than they should have. Imitation country music singer: "Doxidan, gentle Doxidan/When nature needs a helping hand..." Oldies are no match for the entire series of amazingly insipid Axe Spray/Shampoo/Stink-fume commericals. It leads me to believe that in addition to strange rather lurid chemicals, it also features a high content of brain repellent. My favorite awfulness—you know, the sort of trainwreck aspect of any given subject, horrifying in the extreme but also alluring in its grotesqueries?—is a wonderously STOOPID movie within an already moronic tableau of brief scenes for the Verizon Network G231/2 or whatever: a man is riding a roan horse cross the surf of a deserted beach with his hot babe straddled behind him. And what is he doing...? Texting or twittering or what-have-you.
Her: "This horse ride on the beach is so romantic, so sexy. I want you."
Him: "Hey, look. With the new Verison Network, I can GPS our exact location right here."
Her: "You use Axe Body Spray, don't you?"
Him: "And I wear Dockers."
Her: "Tell me just one thing..."
Him: "Anything."
Her: "Are you a Pepper, too—?"
Him: "—Hold on, I just got a text."
Brain repellent. Must be the brain repellent.
Hc Sunt Dragones.
· • ·
Showing posts with label YAWP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YAWP. Show all posts
Monday, March 15, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Forbidden Boolean String
According to this article in the LA Times, the internet makes it easier to become a terrorist. Easier than what? I ask, but deduce from the open-ended question they mean easier than without. The logic in that is shoddy, but we'll ignore such a discrepancy in order to have the discussion move past the poor rhetoric it displays.
Another objective flaw in the article is its attention solely to Islamic radicals.
Okay, to rationally discuss this topic, instead of pointing fingers at just one religious sect of wingnuts, how about point our fingers at all spectrum of wingnuts.
Hmmmm, that really doesn't work either, sing who defines who the wingnuts are?
"Decent society" I guess. Although I've seen damn little proof such a place exists.
And so I tried something. I used Google to help my terrorist indoctrination. But alas! Google failed me. I shan't be able to join my hoped for radical group since, apparently, they don't exist:
· • ·
Another objective flaw in the article is its attention solely to Islamic radicals.
From charismatic clerics who spout hate online, to thousands of extremist websites, chat rooms and social networking pages that raise money and spread radical propaganda, the Internet has become a crucial front in the ever-shifting war on terrorism.to
[F]iery Internet imans who use English to preach jihad and, in some cases, to help funnel recruits to Al Qaeda and other radical causes.I've encountered plenty of radical hate-mongering from far more than Islamic voices. I think the easy way to rationally discuss this sort of thing is by just killing everyone who's viewpoint is different than . . . hmmm, that doesn't work because then . . . we'd all have to . . . end up shooting . . . each other.
Okay, to rationally discuss this topic, instead of pointing fingers at just one religious sect of wingnuts, how about point our fingers at all spectrum of wingnuts.
Hmmmm, that really doesn't work either, sing who defines who the wingnuts are?
"Decent society" I guess. Although I've seen damn little proof such a place exists.
And so I tried something. I used Google to help my terrorist indoctrination. But alas! Google failed me. I shan't be able to join my hoped for radical group since, apparently, they don't exist:
· • ·
Sunday, March 7, 2010
"You can't keep lettin' it get you down."
~•~
This may not be the greatest musical/art project in the history of this universe—and, quite possibly, any other—but it is certainly on the shortlist for the position.
· • ·
This may not be the greatest musical/art project in the history of this universe—and, quite possibly, any other—but it is certainly on the shortlist for the position.
· • ·
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Saturday Night at the Speedway
The final paper for Reading Popular Culture is something of a magna opus for me. I wrote this, and the following two final papers for my other English course over the span of about nine hours (fairly continuous span with breaks for a bit of food, more coffee, and less-than-healthy amount of breaks for stretches and peeing; such is the life I signed up for in doing this— I've been in the real world, this stuff is easy).
I'm still waiting to do my paper on musical hijacking of popular culture circa 1990-92, but like that one, the idea for this one has long been germinating.
The date it was due was precisely the fortieth anniversary of the concert.
~•~
ENG 384
December 6, 2009
Final Essay
"New Speedway Boogie" was written and recorded by the Grateful Dead two months after the Altamont Free Concert, and appeared in June 1970 on the album Workingman's Dead. Robert Hunter, lyricist and non-performing member of the band, penned the song in in direct response to a series of articles that had been written over the course of the previous summer by the music critic Ralph J. Gleason in the San Francisco Chronicle. It was in the column "On the Town" where Gleason first challenged the Rolling Stones to perform a free concert in the Bay Area of California and months later, after they did so, condemned most everyone involved with the event (never acknowledging his own role in antagonizing the Rolling Stones to stage the concert). In this context, "New Speedway Boogie" offers unflinching yet cryptic views of Altamont and—more importantly—the blameful aftermath of it.
In the opening lines, Robert Hunter directly addresses us as listeners, using a proper name in a generic sense, calling us "Jack" just as if we might be called "son" or "friend." But with this use of Jack, Hunter cites Ralph J. Gleason by name, even if it is not his commonly used moniker, and suggests he not continue to use his words to fuel any more fires, unless he has something more useful to impart.
The mountain, in this case, can be equated with the source of wisdom and understanding, a mythic place of retreat where one can rest a while to accumulate balance and objectivity. But just as quickly as we have ascended that mountain, we are sitting on a hillside, showing that our narrative guide isn't claiming superiority for having been to that mountain where wisdom may be found. In the lore of rock lyric analysis, the Marxist and/or Freudian baseline of measurement can be equated to the Beatles and Bob Dylan, it is difficult to make references to a hill and not come around to Lennon and McCartney's "Fool on the Hill." In this case, Altamont was a hill seated with 300,000 fools.
Once more—in a recurring theme not only to this song, but in much of Robert Hunter's repertoire—our story-teller assures us that they are not the authoritative voice on the subject, but they might know a thing or two nonetheless. The narrator has never done so, but has heard that being burdened with gold (ill-gotten or freely acquired) makes it difficult to move very quickly. However, a burden carried is still a burden no matter what the substance may be.
With Altamont, there was plenty of blame to go around and yet no one seemed to step forward and pick up any share of it. While it may be true that no one involved toted away sacks of money from Altamont, what weighed on the conscience of anyone who had been there was, in some respects, far heavier than lead.
These lines offer a pair of rhetorical questions and express uncertainty about purpose and distance to reach what is needed or intended. Both of these factors—viewed with the benefit of hindsight—are easily placed upon the era in which Altamont took place. Following the success of the Woodstock Festival, the counter-culture of the late sixties felt they had achieved what few other cultures had in history, that of staging a libertarian ideal society—albeit, for only a few days in a relatively small location. Altamont would prove to be the undoing of any naïve considerations that such a congregation could be staged at will.
During the summer of 1969, Gleason used his column in the San Francisco Chronicle to harangue the Rolling Stones about exorbitant ticket prices and accused them of having contempt for their audience. Since they had given a free concert in London's Hyde Park in early July, Gleason antagonistically baited the band into offering a free concert in San Francisco. The band responded with plans to perform in Golden Gate Park at the end of their tour.
Logistics and city ordinances prevented Golden Gate Park from being the site of their planned show, and, after a location at the Sears Point Raceway fell through, a last-minute—literally two days before the event was scheduled—the Altamont Speedway was offered as a suitable site for the concert. Even amidst the planning of the concert, Gleason kept his antagonistic attitude in print, "Are the Rolling Stones seriously going to appear next weekend? Your guess is as good as mine" (Gleason, "A Few Guesses").
At some point in the process, the Hells Angels were hired to act as security at the concert. The decision to use the Hells Angels remains a source of contention among all parties involved. The Angels had often been present at Grateful Dead concerts around the Bay Area, and having been involved with Ken Kesey's Acid Tests, were considered to be the "noble savages" of the counter-culture movement in California. But Altamont was no Grateful Dead concert, and Ken Kesey's workingman's charisma was far closer to the Angels disposition than the androgyne prancing and preening of Mick Jagger. In the Maysles' film Gimme Shelter, Angel Sonny Barger can be seen glaring at Jagger with an unstoned look that would make contempt and disgust seem serenely pleasant.
In a diatribe heard the day after Altamont on KSAN radio station, Barger claimed that the Angels were asked to sit on the edge of the stage and keep people away from equipment and performers. But Barger also claimed that at one point in the evening he held a gun to Keith Richards' head and told him to keep playing or he'd be killed—a claim that has no corroborating witnesses. Various other stories hold that the Angels were given $500 in beer to police the event, or, as Gleason reported afterwards, a "truckload." Whatever specific arrangements were made between organizers and the Hells Angels, as the day progressed, and beer and other substances were consumed, the Angels seemed less like a security force and more like domineering vigilantes; like outlaw bikers. The pool cues they wielded—as ubiquitously seen in the film Gimme Shelter—were pre-loaded with lead weights, brought along with obvious intention on using them.
In a brief essay written for the Criterion Films release of Gimme Shelter, Stanley Booth shares a first hand opinion of the day. "The violence at Altamont, being completely unexpected, came afterward to seem inevitable." That sentiment is shared by many, regardless of their proximity to the event itself. Forty years later Robert Hughes quotes, "'It was a day that was oppressive and dark,' recalls Chris Hillman, whose Flying Burrito Brothers shared the bill, 'and the ending was the worst scenario you could imagine.'"
Even before mid-afternoon, there was something menacing in the air. "The Stones arrived by helicopter and walked, flanked by their mysterious New York musicians guards, through the crowd, when a long-haired youth ran at Jagger screaming, 'I'm gonna kill you! I hate you!' He slugged Jagger in the face. Jagger wasn't hurt, only bruised; but it was an ill omen for the day" (Gleason, "Aquarius Wept").
During the Jefferson Airplane's performance, singer Marty Balin jumped off the stage into a melee of Angels and audience members in an attempt to break up the fight. As Gleason recounts, "One of the Angels decked Balin and when Thompson [the Airplane's manager] asked, 'What did you do that for?' replied, 'He spoke disrespectful to a brother Angel.' Paul Kantner, still onstage, asked, 'What's going on? They're beating up on my lead singer!'" (Gleason, "Aquarius Wept"). Upon their arrival, Jerry Garcia and Phil Lesh of the Grateful Dead were told about the Hells Angels beating up Marty Balin and that the scene was rapidly deteriorating—had gone from terrible to horrid. The Grateful Dead elected not to perform and quickly departed. But they would not remain silent about the event for long.
Once again citing an unauthoritative stance, our narrative guide offers up another paradox, this time in almost strictly folklore terms, of someone freezing to death as they feel the warmth of sunshine. It calls to mind a line in "Oh Susannah"—"the sun's so hot I froze to death, Susannah don't you cry."
We are also given another question, and even if it is rhetorical, it is asked with a sense of urgency as to what might happen if the question isn't at least addressed, if not answered outright.
Altamont is often cited as being the death of the sixties—the expiration of the ideal that seemed to have reached its epoch with the Woodstock Festival a few months earlier. In this light, the question asked by our nameless story-teller in "New Speedway Boogie" could be just that. Was Altamont the end of an era? Or was it just as likely that it exposed an era for what it really was—stripping away the Day-Glo paint and psychedelic visions for something cold and festering that lurks in the shadows the places sometimes better left unseen? Ethan A. Russell wrote, "Mick Taylor [of the Rolling Stones] responded when asked if he thought Altamont was the end of the '60s, 'Well, it was the end of the sixties, wasn't it? It was December 1969.'"
If, as Wavy Gravy stated numerous times about Woodstock, for a few days a cow pasture became a little piece of heaven (and Jimi Hendrix became the Celestial Gypsy at the summit of the psychedelic era), then for a few hours one dark evening, Altamont became a smoldering pit of hell (with Mick Jagger cast as Lucifer in brimstone).
Regardless of medium—film, essay, radio rant, song—Altamont seemed doomed from the moment it was pressured into conception. It would be easy to formulate the situation as being one of a rape victim giving birth. Ralph Gleason, in this scenario, would be the rapist, the Rolling Stones a willing, if slightly reluctant, accomplice, and Altamont the unwanted child born. The victim would be not only Meredith Hunter, but also everyone who participated, even with the best of intentions. But, since we are discuss myth and folklore, it is fitting to cite the proverb about those intentions—that this road with no signs nor lines to guide, is smoothly paved en route to some infernal place up ahead in the unknown darkness, The experience at Altamont scarred the psyche of people who were there, the era which spawned it, and the history and mythology of rock and roll itself. What "went down we don't understand" and even forty years later, we struggle with the questions it has left us.
"Perhaps Ralph J. Gleason was responsible for Altamont," Norma Coates wrote in an lengthy essay about the event. She doesn't shy away from indicting numerous participants: "Or Mick Jagger? Sonny Barger? Woodstock? All or none of the above? After all, one could, based on the evidence, argue that it was the venerable San Francisco Chronicle music critic [...] who goaded the Rolling Stones into performing a free concert at the Altamont Speedway..." From these cutting remarks, Coates lapses into the dialogue of folklore, and strays from the evidence she so recently cited. "As the story goes, the Stones danced a little too close to the devil, in the form of the Hells Angels, that fateful day. The Angels beat up a lot of people and then killed a young black man, while Mick Jagger callously sang and danced along to 'Sympathy for the Devil'. Thus, the 1960s ended, along with the utopian promise of that decade and the youth counterculture."
Coates condemns Gleason, Jagger, and the Angels, but misses the tiny fact that Meredith Hunter came to the foot of the stage armed with a pistol, which he fired shortly before his grotesque demise. Perhaps that day was fated to be the taint of an era? As was previous quoted, "The violence ... seem[ed] inevitable" (Stanley Booth); "A day ... oppressive and dark" (Chris Hillman); and from Gleason himself: "Jagger wasn't hurt, only bruised; but it was an ill omen for the day."
If a pack animal—or, in modern terms, a motorized vehicle—ceases to haul what it should, the only immediate option is to pick up what is needed and move forward as best as is able. Concerning Altamont, the load to be shouldered is that of responsibility. But as Russell considers, "No one ever really took responsibility for what happened at Altamont. Not the Angels, not the people in the crowd, not the Rolling Stones. Each person involved seemed to conclude, each with their own reason, that somehow what happened had nothing [...] to do with them."
But even as no one wants the responsibility for the collision of cultural history with musical folklore at the foot of the stage in the Altamont Speedway the night of December 6, 1969, more than a few would like to offer their opinions on how it all went wrong and who should take the blame.
In a July 1972 Newsday article, Robert Christgau famously wrote, "Writers focus on Altamont not because it brought on the end of an era but because it provided such a complex metaphor for the way an era ended." But a paragraph later, Christgau gives us more than an apt summation of our interest in the complex metaphor of Altamont, instead of genuine facts in the transpiring of events, he lays a powerful cornerstone in musical folklore—that apocryphal rock and roll history that perhaps should have been but wasn't. "Denouement:" Christgau tells us, "An Afro-American bohemian is murdered by a lower-class white Hells Angel while the Englishmen do a song called 'Sympathy for the Devil.'"
Not that actuality survives long in the midst of rock and roll mythology, but fact of the matter was, when Meredith Hunter was murdered, the Rolling Stones were playing "Under My Thumb." But doesn't the story sounds better—more gruesome and grim; more dire and bleak—if the song being performed was "Sympathy for the Devil"?
When Stanley Booth commented that the violence at Altamont later seemed inevitable, we can place in the confluence of events up to Altamont—and the lingering bitterness of its blameful aftermath—something else that seems more metaphoric than real. In February 1969 the Rolling Stones recorded the song "Gimme Shelter" in which Jagger sings—
Which brings us back to Ralph Gleason's quote of Ken Kesey. "Some things aren't true even if they did happen."
Even a cursory glance at the matter shows that Altamont was just that.
It happened. But it can't possibly be true.
Altamont Free Concert. By Mick Jagger, Keith Richards,
6 Dec. 1969. Performance.
"Altamont Free Concert."
I'm still waiting to do my paper on musical hijacking of popular culture circa 1990-92, but like that one, the idea for this one has long been germinating.
The date it was due was precisely the fortieth anniversary of the concert.
~•~
ENG 384
December 6, 2009
Final Essay
Saturday Night at the Speedway
Exposing Altamont in a Textural Analysis of
the Grateful Dead's "New Speedway Boogie"
Exposing Altamont in a Textural Analysis of
the Grateful Dead's "New Speedway Boogie"
"Some things aren't true even if they did happen,"
Ken Kesey once said.
Altamont is like that.
―Ralph J. Gleason
"New Speedway Boogie" was written and recorded by the Grateful Dead two months after the Altamont Free Concert, and appeared in June 1970 on the album Workingman's Dead. Robert Hunter, lyricist and non-performing member of the band, penned the song in in direct response to a series of articles that had been written over the course of the previous summer by the music critic Ralph J. Gleason in the San Francisco Chronicle. It was in the column "On the Town" where Gleason first challenged the Rolling Stones to perform a free concert in the Bay Area of California and months later, after they did so, condemned most everyone involved with the event (never acknowledging his own role in antagonizing the Rolling Stones to stage the concert). In this context, "New Speedway Boogie" offers unflinching yet cryptic views of Altamont and—more importantly—the blameful aftermath of it.
Please don't dominate the rap Jack,
if you've got nothing new to say
If you please don't back up the track
this train has got to run today.
In the opening lines, Robert Hunter directly addresses us as listeners, using a proper name in a generic sense, calling us "Jack" just as if we might be called "son" or "friend." But with this use of Jack, Hunter cites Ralph J. Gleason by name, even if it is not his commonly used moniker, and suggests he not continue to use his words to fuel any more fires, unless he has something more useful to impart.
I spent a little time on the mountain,
I spent a little time on the hill
Like some say you better run away,
others say you better stand still.
The mountain, in this case, can be equated with the source of wisdom and understanding, a mythic place of retreat where one can rest a while to accumulate balance and objectivity. But just as quickly as we have ascended that mountain, we are sitting on a hillside, showing that our narrative guide isn't claiming superiority for having been to that mountain where wisdom may be found. In the lore of rock lyric analysis, the Marxist and/or Freudian baseline of measurement can be equated to the Beatles and Bob Dylan, it is difficult to make references to a hill and not come around to Lennon and McCartney's "Fool on the Hill." In this case, Altamont was a hill seated with 300,000 fools.
Now I don't know, but I been told
it's hard to run with the weight of gold
On the other hand I heard it said
it's just as hard with the weight of lead.
Once more—in a recurring theme not only to this song, but in much of Robert Hunter's repertoire—our story-teller assures us that they are not the authoritative voice on the subject, but they might know a thing or two nonetheless. The narrator has never done so, but has heard that being burdened with gold (ill-gotten or freely acquired) makes it difficult to move very quickly. However, a burden carried is still a burden no matter what the substance may be.
With Altamont, there was plenty of blame to go around and yet no one seemed to step forward and pick up any share of it. While it may be true that no one involved toted away sacks of money from Altamont, what weighed on the conscience of anyone who had been there was, in some respects, far heavier than lead.
Who can deny, who can deny,
it's not just a change in style?
One step gone and another's begun
and I wonder how many miles?
These lines offer a pair of rhetorical questions and express uncertainty about purpose and distance to reach what is needed or intended. Both of these factors—viewed with the benefit of hindsight—are easily placed upon the era in which Altamont took place. Following the success of the Woodstock Festival, the counter-culture of the late sixties felt they had achieved what few other cultures had in history, that of staging a libertarian ideal society—albeit, for only a few days in a relatively small location. Altamont would prove to be the undoing of any naïve considerations that such a congregation could be staged at will.
During the summer of 1969, Gleason used his column in the San Francisco Chronicle to harangue the Rolling Stones about exorbitant ticket prices and accused them of having contempt for their audience. Since they had given a free concert in London's Hyde Park in early July, Gleason antagonistically baited the band into offering a free concert in San Francisco. The band responded with plans to perform in Golden Gate Park at the end of their tour.
Logistics and city ordinances prevented Golden Gate Park from being the site of their planned show, and, after a location at the Sears Point Raceway fell through, a last-minute—literally two days before the event was scheduled—the Altamont Speedway was offered as a suitable site for the concert. Even amidst the planning of the concert, Gleason kept his antagonistic attitude in print, "Are the Rolling Stones seriously going to appear next weekend? Your guess is as good as mine" (Gleason, "A Few Guesses").
I spent a little time on the mountain,
I spent a little time on the hill
I saw things getting out of hand,
I guess they always will.
At some point in the process, the Hells Angels were hired to act as security at the concert. The decision to use the Hells Angels remains a source of contention among all parties involved. The Angels had often been present at Grateful Dead concerts around the Bay Area, and having been involved with Ken Kesey's Acid Tests, were considered to be the "noble savages" of the counter-culture movement in California. But Altamont was no Grateful Dead concert, and Ken Kesey's workingman's charisma was far closer to the Angels disposition than the androgyne prancing and preening of Mick Jagger. In the Maysles' film Gimme Shelter, Angel Sonny Barger can be seen glaring at Jagger with an unstoned look that would make contempt and disgust seem serenely pleasant.
In a diatribe heard the day after Altamont on KSAN radio station, Barger claimed that the Angels were asked to sit on the edge of the stage and keep people away from equipment and performers. But Barger also claimed that at one point in the evening he held a gun to Keith Richards' head and told him to keep playing or he'd be killed—a claim that has no corroborating witnesses. Various other stories hold that the Angels were given $500 in beer to police the event, or, as Gleason reported afterwards, a "truckload." Whatever specific arrangements were made between organizers and the Hells Angels, as the day progressed, and beer and other substances were consumed, the Angels seemed less like a security force and more like domineering vigilantes; like outlaw bikers. The pool cues they wielded—as ubiquitously seen in the film Gimme Shelter—were pre-loaded with lead weights, brought along with obvious intention on using them.
In a brief essay written for the Criterion Films release of Gimme Shelter, Stanley Booth shares a first hand opinion of the day. "The violence at Altamont, being completely unexpected, came afterward to seem inevitable." That sentiment is shared by many, regardless of their proximity to the event itself. Forty years later Robert Hughes quotes, "'It was a day that was oppressive and dark,' recalls Chris Hillman, whose Flying Burrito Brothers shared the bill, 'and the ending was the worst scenario you could imagine.'"
Even before mid-afternoon, there was something menacing in the air. "The Stones arrived by helicopter and walked, flanked by their mysterious New York musicians guards, through the crowd, when a long-haired youth ran at Jagger screaming, 'I'm gonna kill you! I hate you!' He slugged Jagger in the face. Jagger wasn't hurt, only bruised; but it was an ill omen for the day" (Gleason, "Aquarius Wept").
During the Jefferson Airplane's performance, singer Marty Balin jumped off the stage into a melee of Angels and audience members in an attempt to break up the fight. As Gleason recounts, "One of the Angels decked Balin and when Thompson [the Airplane's manager] asked, 'What did you do that for?' replied, 'He spoke disrespectful to a brother Angel.' Paul Kantner, still onstage, asked, 'What's going on? They're beating up on my lead singer!'" (Gleason, "Aquarius Wept"). Upon their arrival, Jerry Garcia and Phil Lesh of the Grateful Dead were told about the Hells Angels beating up Marty Balin and that the scene was rapidly deteriorating—had gone from terrible to horrid. The Grateful Dead elected not to perform and quickly departed. But they would not remain silent about the event for long.
Now I don't know, but I been told
in the heat of the sun a man died of cold
Do we keep on coming or just stand and wait
with the sun so dark and the hour so late?
Once again citing an unauthoritative stance, our narrative guide offers up another paradox, this time in almost strictly folklore terms, of someone freezing to death as they feel the warmth of sunshine. It calls to mind a line in "Oh Susannah"—"the sun's so hot I froze to death, Susannah don't you cry."
We are also given another question, and even if it is rhetorical, it is asked with a sense of urgency as to what might happen if the question isn't at least addressed, if not answered outright.
Altamont is often cited as being the death of the sixties—the expiration of the ideal that seemed to have reached its epoch with the Woodstock Festival a few months earlier. In this light, the question asked by our nameless story-teller in "New Speedway Boogie" could be just that. Was Altamont the end of an era? Or was it just as likely that it exposed an era for what it really was—stripping away the Day-Glo paint and psychedelic visions for something cold and festering that lurks in the shadows the places sometimes better left unseen? Ethan A. Russell wrote, "Mick Taylor [of the Rolling Stones] responded when asked if he thought Altamont was the end of the '60s, 'Well, it was the end of the sixties, wasn't it? It was December 1969.'"
If, as Wavy Gravy stated numerous times about Woodstock, for a few days a cow pasture became a little piece of heaven (and Jimi Hendrix became the Celestial Gypsy at the summit of the psychedelic era), then for a few hours one dark evening, Altamont became a smoldering pit of hell (with Mick Jagger cast as Lucifer in brimstone).
You can't overlook the lack Jack,
of any other highway you ride
It's got no signs, no dividing lines,
and there's very few rules to guide.
I spent a little time on the mountain,
I spent a little time on the hill
Things went down we don't understand
but I think in time we will.
Regardless of medium—film, essay, radio rant, song—Altamont seemed doomed from the moment it was pressured into conception. It would be easy to formulate the situation as being one of a rape victim giving birth. Ralph Gleason, in this scenario, would be the rapist, the Rolling Stones a willing, if slightly reluctant, accomplice, and Altamont the unwanted child born. The victim would be not only Meredith Hunter, but also everyone who participated, even with the best of intentions. But, since we are discuss myth and folklore, it is fitting to cite the proverb about those intentions—that this road with no signs nor lines to guide, is smoothly paved en route to some infernal place up ahead in the unknown darkness, The experience at Altamont scarred the psyche of people who were there, the era which spawned it, and the history and mythology of rock and roll itself. What "went down we don't understand" and even forty years later, we struggle with the questions it has left us.
"Perhaps Ralph J. Gleason was responsible for Altamont," Norma Coates wrote in an lengthy essay about the event. She doesn't shy away from indicting numerous participants: "Or Mick Jagger? Sonny Barger? Woodstock? All or none of the above? After all, one could, based on the evidence, argue that it was the venerable San Francisco Chronicle music critic [...] who goaded the Rolling Stones into performing a free concert at the Altamont Speedway..." From these cutting remarks, Coates lapses into the dialogue of folklore, and strays from the evidence she so recently cited. "As the story goes, the Stones danced a little too close to the devil, in the form of the Hells Angels, that fateful day. The Angels beat up a lot of people and then killed a young black man, while Mick Jagger callously sang and danced along to 'Sympathy for the Devil'. Thus, the 1960s ended, along with the utopian promise of that decade and the youth counterculture."
Coates condemns Gleason, Jagger, and the Angels, but misses the tiny fact that Meredith Hunter came to the foot of the stage armed with a pistol, which he fired shortly before his grotesque demise. Perhaps that day was fated to be the taint of an era? As was previous quoted, "The violence ... seem[ed] inevitable" (Stanley Booth); "A day ... oppressive and dark" (Chris Hillman); and from Gleason himself: "Jagger wasn't hurt, only bruised; but it was an ill omen for the day."
Now I don't know, but I been told
if the horse don't pull you got to carry that load
I don't know whose back's that strong
but we'll maybe find out before too long...
If a pack animal—or, in modern terms, a motorized vehicle—ceases to haul what it should, the only immediate option is to pick up what is needed and move forward as best as is able. Concerning Altamont, the load to be shouldered is that of responsibility. But as Russell considers, "No one ever really took responsibility for what happened at Altamont. Not the Angels, not the people in the crowd, not the Rolling Stones. Each person involved seemed to conclude, each with their own reason, that somehow what happened had nothing [...] to do with them."
But even as no one wants the responsibility for the collision of cultural history with musical folklore at the foot of the stage in the Altamont Speedway the night of December 6, 1969, more than a few would like to offer their opinions on how it all went wrong and who should take the blame.
In a July 1972 Newsday article, Robert Christgau famously wrote, "Writers focus on Altamont not because it brought on the end of an era but because it provided such a complex metaphor for the way an era ended." But a paragraph later, Christgau gives us more than an apt summation of our interest in the complex metaphor of Altamont, instead of genuine facts in the transpiring of events, he lays a powerful cornerstone in musical folklore—that apocryphal rock and roll history that perhaps should have been but wasn't. "Denouement:" Christgau tells us, "An Afro-American bohemian is murdered by a lower-class white Hells Angel while the Englishmen do a song called 'Sympathy for the Devil.'"
Not that actuality survives long in the midst of rock and roll mythology, but fact of the matter was, when Meredith Hunter was murdered, the Rolling Stones were playing "Under My Thumb." But doesn't the story sounds better—more gruesome and grim; more dire and bleak—if the song being performed was "Sympathy for the Devil"?
When Stanley Booth commented that the violence at Altamont later seemed inevitable, we can place in the confluence of events up to Altamont—and the lingering bitterness of its blameful aftermath—something else that seems more metaphoric than real. In February 1969 the Rolling Stones recorded the song "Gimme Shelter" in which Jagger sings—
Rape, murder, it's just a shot away‚ it's just a shot away . . .—it's seems only appropriately poetic a year later to hear the Grateful Dead reply in the last lines of "New Speedway Boogie":
One way or another
One way or another
One way or another, this darkness has got to give.
Which brings us back to Ralph Gleason's quote of Ken Kesey. "Some things aren't true even if they did happen."
Even a cursory glance at the matter shows that Altamont was just that.
It happened. But it can't possibly be true.
Bibliography
Altamont Free Concert. By Mick Jagger, Keith Richards,
The Hells Angels Motorcycle Club,
Ralph J. Gleason, Meredith Hunter.
Altamont Speedway, California.Ralph J. Gleason, Meredith Hunter.
6 Dec. 1969. Performance.
Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.
1 Dec 2009, 17:51 UTC. 2 Dec 2009.
Bangs, Lester, and etc. al."The Rolling Stones Disaster at Altamont: Let It Bleed."
Rolling Stone 21 Jan. 1970. Print.
Booth, Stanley. "The True Adventures of Altamont."Rolling Stone 21 Jan. 1970. Print.
Gimme Shelter
Criterion Collection 99 (2000). Print.
Burks, John. "Rock & Rolls' Worst Day:The Aftermath of Altamont."
Rolling Stone 7 Feb. 1970. Print.
Christgau, Robert. "The Rolling Stones:Can't Get No Satisfaction."
Robert Christgau: Dean of American Rock Critics.
Robert Christgau. Web.
Coates, Norma. "Chapter 6: If anything,Robert Christgau. Web.
blame Woodstock - The Rolling Stones:
Altamont, December 6, 1969."
Performance And Popular Music:
History, Place And Time.
Ashgate, 2006. Print.
Dodd, David. "The Annotated "New Speedway Boogie"Altamont, December 6, 1969."
Performance And Popular Music:
History, Place And Time.
Ashgate, 2006. Print.
The Annotated Grateful Dead Lyrics.
Univ. of Calif. at Santa Cruz,
Univ. of Calif. at Santa Cruz,
6 Oct. 2003. Web. 1 Dec. 2009.
Gimme Shelter. Dir. Albert Maysles, David Maysles,and Charlotte Zwerin.
Perf. The Rolling Stones.
Maysles Films, Cinema 5,
20th Century Fox, 1970. DVD.
"Gimme Shelter (documentary)."Perf. The Rolling Stones.
Maysles Films, Cinema 5,
20th Century Fox, 1970. DVD.
Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.
5 Nov 2009, 04:40 UTC. 2 Dec 2009.
Gleason, Ralph J. "Aquarius Wept."Esquire Aug. 1970. Print.
—. "Bad Vibes for the Rolling Stones."San Francisco Chronicle 5 Dec. 1969. Print.
—. "A Few Guesses on Rolling Stones."San Francisco Chronicle 28 Nov. 1969. Print.
—. "More Questions for the Rolling Stones."San Francisco Chronicle 12 Dec. 1969. Print.
—. "The Rolling Stones Are Right On."San Francisco Chronicle 5 Dec. 1969. Print.
—. "Stones’ Plans for Free S.F. Concert."San Francisco Chronicle 24 Nov. 1969. Print.
—. "Who's Responsible for the Murder."
Hughes, Robert. "Gimme Shelter and The Rolling Stones'San Francisco Chronicle 19 Dec. 1969. Print.
nightmare at Altamont."
The Times Online. The Times,
13 Sept. 2009. Web. 6 Dec. 2009.
Hunter, Robert, and Jerry Garcia.The Times Online. The Times,
13 Sept. 2009. Web. 6 Dec. 2009.
"New Speedway Boogie." Rec. Feb. 1970.
Workingman's Dead. The Grateful Dead.
The Grateful Dead, Betty Cantor,
Bob Matthews, 1970. Vinyl recording.
Jagger, Mick, and Keith Richards.Workingman's Dead. The Grateful Dead.
The Grateful Dead, Betty Cantor,
Bob Matthews, 1970. Vinyl recording.
"Gimme Shelter." Rec. Feb. and Nov. 1970.
Let It Bleed. The Rolling Stones.
Jimmy Miller, 1969. Vinyl recording.
Lydon, Michael. "The Decade That Spawned Altamont."Let It Bleed. The Rolling Stones.
Jimmy Miller, 1969. Vinyl recording.
Gimme Shelter
Criterion Collection 99 (2000). Print.
Russell, Ethan Adam. Let It Bleed:The Rolling Stones, Altamont,
and the End of the Sixties.
Springboard, 2009. Print.
Taubin, Amy. "Rock and Roll Zapruder."Springboard, 2009. Print.
Gimme Shelter
Criterion Collection 99 (2000). Print.
Wood, John "Hell's Angels and the IllusionCriterion Collection 99 (2000). Print.
of the Counterculture."
Journal of Popular Culture 37.2 (2003):
336-351. Academic Search Premier.
EBSCO. Web. 1 Dec. 2009.
· • ·
336-351. Academic Search Premier.
EBSCO. Web. 1 Dec. 2009.
· • ·
Friday, March 5, 2010
"Bad writers borrow from other writers; Good writers steal."
Here's a paper I wrote for Books & Publishing class about plagiarism. I framed it around the controversary of Dr. Brad Vice's Flannery O'Connor Award, but included a few other public cases.
In a comment on a semi-public forum, Vice commented about the passing of the author and his mentor, Barry Hannah.
I have no reason to believe he's actually referring to Robert Clark Young being a prissy pansy and disrespectable no-account lying jealous sack of excrement or anything of that nature. No reason at all to associate that person with those traits.
If I ever rewrite this—or write again on the subject—I think I shall bring into the conversation the legal criminology term of "larceny," that is, theft by stealth, and equate it to the Twain attribution. Steal it quietly, make it your own, and wear your influences as evidence of the literary stream which has washed down from those who came before you. Or something poetic like that.
~•~
CRW 321 - 001
February 24, 2009
Wild Card Essay
"Bad writers borrow from other writers; Good writers steal."
This quote is often attributed to Mark Twain, T. S. Eliot, or Oscar Wilde. It's witty and deeper than it seems at first, and completely apropos to our discussion. Without absolute veracity of such an attribution, for the sake of this argument, we'll leave the source of that quote with Mr. Twain.
Does this comment mean that Twain encouraged and condoned plagiarism? Although it may not be immediately apparent in this statement, we can be fairly certain that, indeed, Twain (nor Eliot, nor Wilde) was not encouraging anyone to plagiarize another's work. But let us take a closer look at what defines plagiarism before picking apart what Twain might, or might not, have meant by that.
In examining this subject of borrowing and stealing other people's work—focussing exclusively on the written word and not on intellectual theft in the other arts—we will discuss ideas and intellectual property rights, touch briefly on copyright law, and take a look at three cases involving the accusation of plagiarism, and find evidence that in the world of literature, stealing is not as readily evident from borrowing as one might expect. Following that, we will return to Mark Twain's (attributed) quote and have another look at what it might really mean.
Before we get into our three specific cases, let us take a moment to define some things. Intellectual Property, to put it simply for our use in this discussion, is considered to be—as stated by the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO)—"Intellectual property refers to creations of the mind: inventions, literary and artistic works, and symbols, names, images, and designs used in commerce." The term is used to denote the legal rights of a work and not the work itself. Under intellectual property laws, the creator, or rightful owner of a work, are granted certain exclusive rights to their work in any medium. Copyright, trademarks, trade secrets, and patents are just a few examples of intellectual property rights. For the purposes of this discussion, however, we will limit our commentary to copyrights, and not touch upon any of the other defined forms of intellectual property.
So what is involved with copyright law?
A comprehensive answer to that would involve a firm of lawyers and more pages of explanation than a small room could hold—this is why there are specialized attorneys to deal with the complexities of copyright law—but we will try to offer a very brief description of what it covers in relation to our purpose.
The intent of copyright in the United States is based on Article I, Section 8, Clause 8 in the U.S. Constitution, which states: "To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries." This is intended to give the creator of a substantive and discrete idea—that is, an idea that is seen to fruition in an extended written work, and not merely the idea itself, nor titles, situations, or characters without their placement in a substantive, discrete work—certain exclusive rights (as we said about intellectual property) to publish, distribute, or adapt their work for a reasonable amount of time. That reasonable amount of time is currently given to be 50-100 years following the death of the creator of the work. This complexity is further muddled by "fair use."
The fair use doctrine does not specifically define "fair use" but rather gives a four point rubric to discern if use of copyrighted material is able to be used fairly by another party. The factors given to consider this are: the purpose and character of the use; the nature of the copyrighted work; the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole; and the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work. Thus there is a legitimate right to use excerpts or quotes from a copyrighted work "for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching […], scholarship, or research," (U.S. Code) which means book reviews can use portions of a work for purposes of illustrating an opinion; schools can use copyrighted work so long as they are not charging a fee for its use in an educational manner; and very brief quotes can be used as epigrams by others in their own work.
Confused by that? You begin to see how quickly complicated this matter can become; especially when copyright/intellectual property right laws differ from country to country. The entire matter is about as clear as a lecture on theological nuclear physics recited by Carl Sagan, backwards, in Pig Latin.
My sarcastic analogy is silly, but is meant to illustrate the complexity of this point. We are three pages into a discussion of plagiarism and we have only now reached the examples.
Our first look will be at the case involving the accusation that in The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown plagiarized the work of Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln (although Lincoln's name did not appear on court records in this accusation) in their non-fiction work, Holy Blood, Holy Grail. This is a case of fiction appropriating material from non-fiction, which is not as common as fiction appropriating from other fiction, as well as the fact that the accusation hinged upon the direct use of ideas and framework of the earlier material. As author Richard Leigh stated, Dan Brown "lifted the whole architecture—the whole jigsaw puzzle—and hung it on to the peg of a fictional thriller." (Day)
So the accusation of Brown's plagiarism did not involve direct use of phrases and word choice, but on the framework, background, and general idea of Baigent's and Leigh's intellectual property.
To many in the literary world, the case Baigent and Leigh brought against Brown looked to be a clear case of copyright infringement; plagiarism. Myriad ideas put forth in Holy Blood, Holy Grail (HBHG) were present in nearly identical form in The Da Vinci Code, including a character who physically resembled the third author of HBHG, Henry Lincoln, and whose name, Leigh Teabing, is lifted directly from authors Leigh and Baigent (anagram of Teabing). The Justice who heard the case in UK Court disagreed with the accusers, and the verdict dictated that the ideas depicted in non-fiction work could not be plagiarized.
As a work of historical research, HBHG was often criticized as being faulty and venturing into the realms of fiction. So, ironically, if Baigent's and Leigh's work had been fiction, they would have likely won their plagiarism case against Brown. As it was, copyright precedent had been set for works of fiction to be able to use non-fiction ideas without infringement.
Our next example involves a case of fiction borrowing from other fiction, coming from a first time author and young student at Harvard University named Kaavya Viswanathan. At the age of 19, she had her first novel published to notable acclaim. How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got A Life garnered Viswanathan a large advance along with a two-book deal, praise from the Los Angeles Times, USA Today, The Boston Globe, and many others. An film deal with Steven Spielberg's company DreamWorks SKG had been signed. Her academic and literary future seemed bright (Bailey; McGonigle; Memmott).
Then The Harvard Crimson ran an article claiming Viswanathan had plagiarized 12 passages in her book from two novels by Megan McCafferty. The passages were more than merely similar, they were virtually identical (Zhou). Both the author and her publisher denied the accusations, but things got worse quickly. By mid-May of that year, the New York Times had covered the story with several articles, and the evidence of plagiarism expanded. From 12 passages to 29 passages to more than 40 passages of almost identical phrases had been used by Viswanathan, taken from the two novels by McCafferty, as well as novels by Sophie Kinsella, Meg Cabot, and Salman Rushdie. As it turned out, more passages from Viswanathan's debut novel were copied from previous works than were not (Zeller; Smith and Moto).
Soon the publishers, Little, Brown and Company pulled the book from stores—at first to republish it with the offending passages removed—but as the scandal grew, they cancelled republication and Viswanathan's book deal (Crimson).
When the initial accusations were reported, Viswanathan appeared on The Today Show with Katie Couric, were that she commented that she must have "internalized" the details of McCafferty's books without realizing it. Following the expansion of the accusations, neither Viswanathan, nor her publisher, offered further comment directly concerning the issue. Viswanathan has since left Harvard and is currently attending Georgetown University (Atwan).
Our third example is perhaps the most difficult to deduce facts from accusation since it involves the overlap of academia, professional publication, and the sometimes uncomfortable meeting between fiction and non-fiction narratives.
In 2005, Brad Vice was an assistant professor at Mississippi State University when he was awarded the 2004 Flannery O'Connor Award for his short story collection, The Bear Bryant Funeral Train. Not long after this announcement, a library advisor at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa (where Vice received his B.A. and where the story of contention is set) contacted the publisher of the award alleging plagiarism in one of the collected stories. Based on this single allegation, and without questioning the author, the University of Georgia Press rescinded the award to Vice, and ordered copies of his book to be pulled from distribution and pulped (Media Bistro).
Following this, Robert Clark Young published an article in the New York Press attacking not only Vice's short story collection, but extending the plagiarism claims to other short stories and articles Vice had written, but also calling into question Vice's Ph.D dissertation at the University of Cincinnati. Young's allegations went beyond Vice's work, but to his academic career, both as a teacher and a student, and made inflammatory comments about a number of another writers—all of whom were graduates of the Sewanee Writers' Conference—including Barry Hannah (Young; Sanford).
"Tuscaloosa Knights" was the story at the center of these allegations. It contained two sentences that were very similar to those appearing in a non-fiction book by Carl Carmer called Stars Fell On Alabama (It would be another year before a British court would offer an opinion as to the validity of fictional work using non-fiction source material, so a case of fiction "plagiarizes" non-fiction had not yet had a ruling in court). Carmer's work is quite famous around Tuscaloosa, as the author had been a professor at the university for a number of years in the 1930s, during which time he wrote his book (York). Vice stated that his use of Carmer's words and setting was an example of intertextual postmodernism, and an homage to Carmer's work. Indeed, previous version of the manuscript, including that of his Ph.D dissertation, contain epigrams to Carmer (Vice).
Critics, particularly Young, argued that it was deliberate plagiarism. Vice's supporters—who included other authors, editors of magazines where Vice's work had previously appeared, and Vice's former professors and advisors—leveled their own claims against Young, stating the latter man was bitter at Vice, Hannah, and the Sewanee Writers' Conference because Young's work was widely panned at the conference, and in his article accusing Vice of plagiarism, there are numerous factual errors concerning the Sewanee Conference and unfounded allegations against its sponsors and organizers.
The context in which Vice used a few sentences of Carl Carmer's work places the appropriated phrases in a very similar setting—that of a nighttime Ku Klux Klan rally in Tuscaloosa—but with different characters and a different outcome. Carmer's "Flaming Cross" chapter of Stars Fell On Alabama, was a description of an actual event (Carmer; Cobb). Vice's story is fictional, although keeps the setting of several people discussing, and then attempting to attend out of curiosity, the Klan rally (Vice).
The result of these allegations against Brad Vice resulted in his loss of the Flannery O'Connor Award (although another publisher picked up the book and made a few minor editorial changes) and eventually his dismissal from his position at Mississippi State University. He now teaches at the University of West Bohemia in the Czech Republic (ZČU).
These tales of caution bring us back to the quote we've attributed to Mark Twain, "Bad writers borrow from other writers; good writers steal," and our question at the beginning as to what such a volatile statement as that could possibly mean.
Twain is almost certainly not condoning nor encouraging plagiarism. What this quote is taken to mean is that if an idea or phrase or concept appeals to a writer, they shouldn't borrow it, as in merely using the words of another to make their own piece seem stronger or more literary or more legitimate, instead stealing an idea, concept, or phrase, means to take it and use it in a manner unique to the voice of the "thieving" writer; to re-engineer, deconstruct, improve, fold, spindle, and alter it into a manner fitting the voice and setting and framework of a new piece.
If all literary theft was plagiarism, Byron could sue Poe, Petrarch could sue Shakespeare, and Shakespeare could sue almost everyone else. T. S. Eliot called such appropriations "verbal kleptomania," and practiced such himself.
In other words, if you are going to liberate material from another writer—from another source—don't just rent it and make a copy; turn it into something of your own.
The moral of this story may well be: Be aware of where the words and ideas you use have been before they showed up on your page, but when they do—and here I steal a comment from Martin Luther—"sin bravely."
Atwan, Greg. "Kaavya Emptor."
The Crimson Staff.
"'Opal Mehta' Gone for Good; Contract Cancelled."
The Harvard Crimson [Cambridge]
2 May 2006.
Day, Elizabeth. "Two Academic Writers
Assert 'Da Vinci Code' Is Plagiarism."
Sunday Telegraph [London] 3 Oct. 2004.
"Department of English."
Západočeská Univerzita v Plzni,
ZČU. Apr. 2008. Web.
McGonigle, Thomas.
"The Saturday Read;
Oh c'mon, getting into Harvard isn't that easy:
How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild,
and Got a Life: A Novel."
Los Angeles Times 8 Apr. 2006.
Memmott, Carol.
"Charming 'Opal' shows smart can be funny."
USA Today 29 Mar. 2006.
Sanford, Jason.
"The literary lynching of Brad Vice."
StorySouth. 18 Dec. 2005. 22 Feb. 2009 .
Smith, Dinitia, and Moto Rich.
"A Second Ripple in Plagiarism Scandal."
New York Times 2 May 2006.
The Today Show. NBC. New York, NY. 26 Apr. 2006.
"U. of GA Press Recalls Stories, Revokes Prize."
Media Bistro. 27 Oct. 2005. 22 Feb. 2009 .
17 U.S.C. § 1-107 (2007).
U.S. Constitution. Art. I, § 8, cl. 8
Vice, Brad. The Bear Bryant Funeral Train.
1st ed. Flannery O'Connor Award for Short Fiction.
Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2005.
Vice, William Bradley.
The Bear Bryant Funeral Train.
Dissertation. University of Cincinnati, 2001.
York, Jake Adam.
"Fell In Alabama: Brad Vice's Tuscaloosa Night."
StorySouth. 13 Nov. 2005. 22 Feb. 2009 .
Young, Robert Clark. "A Charming Plagiarist."
New York Press 7 Dec. 2005.
Zeller, Jr., Tom.
"In Internet Age, Writers Face Frontier Justice."
New York Times 1 May 2006.
Zhou, David.
"Student's Novel Faces Plagiarism Controversy."
The Harvard Crimson [Cambridge] 23 Apr. 2006.
· • ·
In a comment on a semi-public forum, Vice commented about the passing of the author and his mentor, Barry Hannah.
I'm proud to say that you can find my name and a little blurb on the paperback copies of Yonder Stands Your Orphan. Later it was used to make me look like some sort of criminal when my book controversy hit. It really made me depressed. I can't even find the review on-line now as there are more so ... many articles about the review that the review is lost. You could find it on the SFC page if you were interested. I even told my editor when he gave me the book--Look, I've read everything by BH, and I love it all --so if you give me this book, I'm likely to write a good review. He said, "You sound like your qualified for the job." Anyway, it made me so angry that they tried to smear Barry through me. I still can't get over the Lucifarian villain who looks like Conway Twitty--too concerned about his hair to play high school football.
I have no reason to believe he's actually referring to Robert Clark Young being a prissy pansy and disrespectable no-account lying jealous sack of excrement or anything of that nature. No reason at all to associate that person with those traits.
If I ever rewrite this—or write again on the subject—I think I shall bring into the conversation the legal criminology term of "larceny," that is, theft by stealth, and equate it to the Twain attribution. Steal it quietly, make it your own, and wear your influences as evidence of the literary stream which has washed down from those who came before you. Or something poetic like that.
~•~
CRW 321 - 001
February 24, 2009
Wild Card Essay
"Bad writers borrow from other writers; Good writers steal."
This quote is often attributed to Mark Twain, T. S. Eliot, or Oscar Wilde. It's witty and deeper than it seems at first, and completely apropos to our discussion. Without absolute veracity of such an attribution, for the sake of this argument, we'll leave the source of that quote with Mr. Twain.
Does this comment mean that Twain encouraged and condoned plagiarism? Although it may not be immediately apparent in this statement, we can be fairly certain that, indeed, Twain (nor Eliot, nor Wilde) was not encouraging anyone to plagiarize another's work. But let us take a closer look at what defines plagiarism before picking apart what Twain might, or might not, have meant by that.
In examining this subject of borrowing and stealing other people's work—focussing exclusively on the written word and not on intellectual theft in the other arts—we will discuss ideas and intellectual property rights, touch briefly on copyright law, and take a look at three cases involving the accusation of plagiarism, and find evidence that in the world of literature, stealing is not as readily evident from borrowing as one might expect. Following that, we will return to Mark Twain's (attributed) quote and have another look at what it might really mean.
Before we get into our three specific cases, let us take a moment to define some things. Intellectual Property, to put it simply for our use in this discussion, is considered to be—as stated by the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO)—"Intellectual property refers to creations of the mind: inventions, literary and artistic works, and symbols, names, images, and designs used in commerce." The term is used to denote the legal rights of a work and not the work itself. Under intellectual property laws, the creator, or rightful owner of a work, are granted certain exclusive rights to their work in any medium. Copyright, trademarks, trade secrets, and patents are just a few examples of intellectual property rights. For the purposes of this discussion, however, we will limit our commentary to copyrights, and not touch upon any of the other defined forms of intellectual property.
So what is involved with copyright law?
A comprehensive answer to that would involve a firm of lawyers and more pages of explanation than a small room could hold—this is why there are specialized attorneys to deal with the complexities of copyright law—but we will try to offer a very brief description of what it covers in relation to our purpose.
The intent of copyright in the United States is based on Article I, Section 8, Clause 8 in the U.S. Constitution, which states: "To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries." This is intended to give the creator of a substantive and discrete idea—that is, an idea that is seen to fruition in an extended written work, and not merely the idea itself, nor titles, situations, or characters without their placement in a substantive, discrete work—certain exclusive rights (as we said about intellectual property) to publish, distribute, or adapt their work for a reasonable amount of time. That reasonable amount of time is currently given to be 50-100 years following the death of the creator of the work. This complexity is further muddled by "fair use."
The fair use doctrine does not specifically define "fair use" but rather gives a four point rubric to discern if use of copyrighted material is able to be used fairly by another party. The factors given to consider this are: the purpose and character of the use; the nature of the copyrighted work; the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole; and the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work. Thus there is a legitimate right to use excerpts or quotes from a copyrighted work "for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching […], scholarship, or research," (U.S. Code) which means book reviews can use portions of a work for purposes of illustrating an opinion; schools can use copyrighted work so long as they are not charging a fee for its use in an educational manner; and very brief quotes can be used as epigrams by others in their own work.
Confused by that? You begin to see how quickly complicated this matter can become; especially when copyright/intellectual property right laws differ from country to country. The entire matter is about as clear as a lecture on theological nuclear physics recited by Carl Sagan, backwards, in Pig Latin.
My sarcastic analogy is silly, but is meant to illustrate the complexity of this point. We are three pages into a discussion of plagiarism and we have only now reached the examples.
Our first look will be at the case involving the accusation that in The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown plagiarized the work of Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln (although Lincoln's name did not appear on court records in this accusation) in their non-fiction work, Holy Blood, Holy Grail. This is a case of fiction appropriating material from non-fiction, which is not as common as fiction appropriating from other fiction, as well as the fact that the accusation hinged upon the direct use of ideas and framework of the earlier material. As author Richard Leigh stated, Dan Brown "lifted the whole architecture—the whole jigsaw puzzle—and hung it on to the peg of a fictional thriller." (Day)
So the accusation of Brown's plagiarism did not involve direct use of phrases and word choice, but on the framework, background, and general idea of Baigent's and Leigh's intellectual property.
To many in the literary world, the case Baigent and Leigh brought against Brown looked to be a clear case of copyright infringement; plagiarism. Myriad ideas put forth in Holy Blood, Holy Grail (HBHG) were present in nearly identical form in The Da Vinci Code, including a character who physically resembled the third author of HBHG, Henry Lincoln, and whose name, Leigh Teabing, is lifted directly from authors Leigh and Baigent (anagram of Teabing). The Justice who heard the case in UK Court disagreed with the accusers, and the verdict dictated that the ideas depicted in non-fiction work could not be plagiarized.
As a work of historical research, HBHG was often criticized as being faulty and venturing into the realms of fiction. So, ironically, if Baigent's and Leigh's work had been fiction, they would have likely won their plagiarism case against Brown. As it was, copyright precedent had been set for works of fiction to be able to use non-fiction ideas without infringement.
Our next example involves a case of fiction borrowing from other fiction, coming from a first time author and young student at Harvard University named Kaavya Viswanathan. At the age of 19, she had her first novel published to notable acclaim. How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got A Life garnered Viswanathan a large advance along with a two-book deal, praise from the Los Angeles Times, USA Today, The Boston Globe, and many others. An film deal with Steven Spielberg's company DreamWorks SKG had been signed. Her academic and literary future seemed bright (Bailey; McGonigle; Memmott).
Then The Harvard Crimson ran an article claiming Viswanathan had plagiarized 12 passages in her book from two novels by Megan McCafferty. The passages were more than merely similar, they were virtually identical (Zhou). Both the author and her publisher denied the accusations, but things got worse quickly. By mid-May of that year, the New York Times had covered the story with several articles, and the evidence of plagiarism expanded. From 12 passages to 29 passages to more than 40 passages of almost identical phrases had been used by Viswanathan, taken from the two novels by McCafferty, as well as novels by Sophie Kinsella, Meg Cabot, and Salman Rushdie. As it turned out, more passages from Viswanathan's debut novel were copied from previous works than were not (Zeller; Smith and Moto).
Soon the publishers, Little, Brown and Company pulled the book from stores—at first to republish it with the offending passages removed—but as the scandal grew, they cancelled republication and Viswanathan's book deal (Crimson).
When the initial accusations were reported, Viswanathan appeared on The Today Show with Katie Couric, were that she commented that she must have "internalized" the details of McCafferty's books without realizing it. Following the expansion of the accusations, neither Viswanathan, nor her publisher, offered further comment directly concerning the issue. Viswanathan has since left Harvard and is currently attending Georgetown University (Atwan).
Our third example is perhaps the most difficult to deduce facts from accusation since it involves the overlap of academia, professional publication, and the sometimes uncomfortable meeting between fiction and non-fiction narratives.
In 2005, Brad Vice was an assistant professor at Mississippi State University when he was awarded the 2004 Flannery O'Connor Award for his short story collection, The Bear Bryant Funeral Train. Not long after this announcement, a library advisor at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa (where Vice received his B.A. and where the story of contention is set) contacted the publisher of the award alleging plagiarism in one of the collected stories. Based on this single allegation, and without questioning the author, the University of Georgia Press rescinded the award to Vice, and ordered copies of his book to be pulled from distribution and pulped (Media Bistro).
Following this, Robert Clark Young published an article in the New York Press attacking not only Vice's short story collection, but extending the plagiarism claims to other short stories and articles Vice had written, but also calling into question Vice's Ph.D dissertation at the University of Cincinnati. Young's allegations went beyond Vice's work, but to his academic career, both as a teacher and a student, and made inflammatory comments about a number of another writers—all of whom were graduates of the Sewanee Writers' Conference—including Barry Hannah (Young; Sanford).
"Tuscaloosa Knights" was the story at the center of these allegations. It contained two sentences that were very similar to those appearing in a non-fiction book by Carl Carmer called Stars Fell On Alabama (It would be another year before a British court would offer an opinion as to the validity of fictional work using non-fiction source material, so a case of fiction "plagiarizes" non-fiction had not yet had a ruling in court). Carmer's work is quite famous around Tuscaloosa, as the author had been a professor at the university for a number of years in the 1930s, during which time he wrote his book (York). Vice stated that his use of Carmer's words and setting was an example of intertextual postmodernism, and an homage to Carmer's work. Indeed, previous version of the manuscript, including that of his Ph.D dissertation, contain epigrams to Carmer (Vice).
Critics, particularly Young, argued that it was deliberate plagiarism. Vice's supporters—who included other authors, editors of magazines where Vice's work had previously appeared, and Vice's former professors and advisors—leveled their own claims against Young, stating the latter man was bitter at Vice, Hannah, and the Sewanee Writers' Conference because Young's work was widely panned at the conference, and in his article accusing Vice of plagiarism, there are numerous factual errors concerning the Sewanee Conference and unfounded allegations against its sponsors and organizers.
The context in which Vice used a few sentences of Carl Carmer's work places the appropriated phrases in a very similar setting—that of a nighttime Ku Klux Klan rally in Tuscaloosa—but with different characters and a different outcome. Carmer's "Flaming Cross" chapter of Stars Fell On Alabama, was a description of an actual event (Carmer; Cobb). Vice's story is fictional, although keeps the setting of several people discussing, and then attempting to attend out of curiosity, the Klan rally (Vice).
The result of these allegations against Brad Vice resulted in his loss of the Flannery O'Connor Award (although another publisher picked up the book and made a few minor editorial changes) and eventually his dismissal from his position at Mississippi State University. He now teaches at the University of West Bohemia in the Czech Republic (ZČU).
These tales of caution bring us back to the quote we've attributed to Mark Twain, "Bad writers borrow from other writers; good writers steal," and our question at the beginning as to what such a volatile statement as that could possibly mean.
Twain is almost certainly not condoning nor encouraging plagiarism. What this quote is taken to mean is that if an idea or phrase or concept appeals to a writer, they shouldn't borrow it, as in merely using the words of another to make their own piece seem stronger or more literary or more legitimate, instead stealing an idea, concept, or phrase, means to take it and use it in a manner unique to the voice of the "thieving" writer; to re-engineer, deconstruct, improve, fold, spindle, and alter it into a manner fitting the voice and setting and framework of a new piece.
If all literary theft was plagiarism, Byron could sue Poe, Petrarch could sue Shakespeare, and Shakespeare could sue almost everyone else. T. S. Eliot called such appropriations "verbal kleptomania," and practiced such himself.
In other words, if you are going to liberate material from another writer—from another source—don't just rent it and make a copy; turn it into something of your own.
The moral of this story may well be: Be aware of where the words and ideas you use have been before they showed up on your page, but when they do—and here I steal a comment from Martin Luther—"sin bravely."
•
Works Cited
Works Cited
Atwan, Greg. "Kaavya Emptor."
02138 Dec. & Jan. 2008-2009, Vol. 3, No. 1.
Bailey, Marilyn. "HOWMTF:How 'Opal' will make teen famous."
The Boston Globe 17 Apr. 2006.
Cobb, Mark Hughes."Book's passages raise questions of plagiarism."
TuscaloosaNews.com.
21 Oct. 2005. 22 Feb. 2009.
21 Oct. 2005. 22 Feb. 2009
2 May 2006.
Sunday Telegraph [London] 3 Oct. 2004.
ZČU.
Oh c'mon, getting into
and Got a Life: A Novel."
Los Angeles Times 8 Apr. 2006.
New York Times 2 May 2006.
"U. of GA Press Recalls Stories, Revokes Prize."
U.S. Constitution. Art. I, § 8, cl. 8
Vice, Brad. The Bear Bryant Funeral Train.
Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2005.
Dissertation.
· • ·
The Tourist
Mosaic of leftovers.
~•~
(4th draft)
CRW 315 - Lyric Essay
January 21, 2009
The Mythic Tourist
Holiday Inn, Sarajevo, June 1993
—Sarajevo is a city in the mythic land of Jugoslavia.
—No one thinks much about Sarajevo
—Sarajevo is culturally and religiously progressive:
—Sarajevo is in the unfortunate younger child,
—Karl Marx wrote that Sarajevo is littered with ethnic trash.
—In Sarajevo, the question,
—Neighbors ask it from the other side of a fence.
—A century after Marx, General Mladić hopes to cleanse that trash.
—In Sarajevo, there is a game called Bosnian Roulette.
—Winners receive a drink of water.
—Everyone who plays Bosnian Roulette is undefeated.
—The only flight service to Sarajevo is Maybe Airlines;
—Sarajevo produces more history than it can consume. [Winston Churchill]
—History not being very nutritious,
—Sarajevan is damn silly; just ask Otto and the Hapsburgs.
—Sarajevo is protected by UNPROFOR—
—The UNPROFOR guards look like Smurfs,
—The little Smurfs eat lunches of potted shrimp and foie gras,
—Facing Mecca,
—Thank you for choosing Maybe Airlines.
—His desk out of range, Papa Smurf has little interest in Sarajevo.
—Advertisement Slogans for Sarajevean Tourism:
—Rose bouquets explode across concrete sidewalks.
—In the empty bread market,
· • ·
~•~
(4th draft)
CRW 315 - Lyric Essay
January 21, 2009
The Mythic Tourist
Holiday Inn, Sarajevo, June 1993
—Sarajevo is a city in the mythic land of Jugoslavia.
—No one thinks much about Sarajevo
until some damn fool steps out from a café and shoots an archduke.
—Sarajevo is culturally and religiously progressive:
Muslim men drink in the same pub as women.
—Sarajevo is in the unfortunate younger child,
stuck between two bickering siblings.
—Karl Marx wrote that Sarajevo is littered with ethnic trash.
—In Sarajevo, the question,
where are you from?
holds dire consequence.
—Neighbors ask it from the other side of a fence.
—A century after Marx, General Mladić hopes to cleanse that trash.
—In Sarajevo, there is a game called Bosnian Roulette.
It involves dodging sniper bullets to reach a water spigot.
Some days, the spigot even works.
—Winners receive a drink of water.
—Everyone who plays Bosnian Roulette is undefeated.
—The only flight service to Sarajevo is Maybe Airlines;
maybe it will fly in today;
maybe it will be on time;
maybe it will be shot down.
maybe it will be on time;
maybe it will be shot down.
Maybe you'll get back out again.
—Sarajevo produces more history than it can consume. [Winston Churchill]
—History not being very nutritious,
Sarajevans grow hungry for for bread and water.
—Sarajevan is damn silly; just ask Otto and the Hapsburgs.
—Sarajevo is protected by UNPROFOR—
—a magical alliance of disinterested warriors.
—The UNPROFOR guards look like Smurfs,
wearing powder blue helmets and driving shiny white trucks.
—The little Smurfs eat lunches of potted shrimp and foie gras,
with a desert of fresh-baked sweetbreads.
Hungry Sarajevans decline invitations to eat the leftovers;
it is summertime, and they need to watch their figures
in case they have a chance to go to the beach.
—Facing Mecca,
Muslim men and women raise their glasses together
while the snipers in the hills
while the snipers in the hills
prepare another round.
—Thank you for choosing Maybe Airlines.
—His desk out of range, Papa Smurf has little interest in Sarajevo.
—Advertisement Slogans for Sarajevean Tourism:
Come to Sunny Sarajevo! See our Public Gallows Museum!
Visit Our No-Vacancy Graveyards & 24-hour Atrocity Exhibit!
—Rose bouquets explode across concrete sidewalks.
Thorny bodies get bunched by the dozen.
—In the empty bread market,
Sarajevans smile at the UNPROFOR and think,
How lucky we are to be guarded by Smurfs.
· • ·
Between Oracle and History
First semester at UNCW was just short of being a nightmare. I couldn't take any fictions courses (having transferred into their program ready to take 400-level courses, but of course, Junior level courses were filled by the time I came in), I misliked my Nonfiction class immensely, and had a history course taught by one of the most willfully ignorant people I've ever known in an educator's position. Ever. This guy taught the same course repeatedly, yet couldn't (or, in a way, worse: wouldn't) answer questions put to him about the subject at hand. Although he could, with great eagerness, talk at length about the Tar Heels basketball team...
With this paper, a biograph of an Egyptian pharaoh, he said he didn't want to just see the same old boring history paper, he wanted something different. I turned in my thesis statement paper and my version of an outline of the crucial information I'd include. Then I told him I intended to take him up on that "something different" kind of paper; would it be all right to play with some conventions in writing it? Yes, so long as the information necessary to fulfill the requirements are met.
I turned in the following and was waylaid to have it returned to be with a D grade on it.
Going to discuss it with him he stated that although I fulfilled the requirements of information and references, a "history paper isn't the place to make up your own rules for writing." He didn't like the creative aspect. Turns out, he did want just a bunch of plain ol' ordinary boring history papers.
I dropped the class 10 minutes after leaving his office.
Dr. —, you're an asshole.
My opinion and I'm entitled to it, you shit-for-brains.
~•~
(2nd Draft)
HST 305 The Ancient Near East
September 22, 2008
HATCHEPSUT:
Between Oracle and History
This is the fifty-third year of my reign as Pharaoh of Egypt and I stand in my Hall of Annals reading the record of my deeds: the construction of dozens of great temples like this one here at Karnak; my many battles and campaigns--none equalling my first, where the Canaanites of Kadesh said my fury in the shadow of Mt. Carmel was like the end of the world; and, of course, my own ornate tomb in the valley where the kings before me lay awaiting the judgment of Anubis's scales. For fifty-three years I have reigned, but not all of those was I the sole ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt. For the first twenty-two years, I shared regency with my aunt and step-mother. She is now known as a pretender to the throne, a usurper of power. And I, of course, have done nothing to discourage such tales. It is only in my own interest to allow such disparagement, for what is written and told about a person, or even a god, matters more than what actually was. And it is my accomplishments and victories which should now be remembered, for it would be vain for me to believe that I will not soon take residence in my own tomb.
Hatchepsut built this temple where my Annals now stand, I have only modified it by adding fresh sandstone walls on which my deeds are inscribed. It shall be my name remembered at Karnak, not hers. I know there are some even in my own house and court who have whispered that it is out of spite, or bitterness that I have scratched out and hidden the name of my aunt from the walls of these temples. If I had been bitter I would have torn down her statues, stelae, and obelisks when she first died!
No, it is economical this way, that is all. More political. Why spend the time and effort building a whole new palace when you can just rearrange one so recently built? Just because my Hall of Annals covers my aunt's sanctuary where she had depicted the Oracle of Amon, proclaiming herself to be not only of full royal blood--having constantly reminded me that my mother was not a noble and thus I was not born to be king and pharaoh--but of divine blood, and decreed to rule the Two Lands of Egypt.
Behind the walls I have erected where my deeds are carved into, are the original walls of this temple, on which the Oracle reveals, "Uttered by Amon-Ra, Lord of the Thrones of Two Lands, 'Welcome, my beloved daughter Hatchepsut, I am thy beloved father. I establish for thee thy rank in the kingship of the Two Lands. I have fixed thy titularly.'"
Since it was written, it was so. Such is the way of words, and of names. Amon had declared her to be his daughter, divinely born, and she was Pharaoh. Shrewd and ambitious, upon the unforeseen early death of my father--her husband and half-brother--Hatchepsut donned the garb and appearance of a man and claimed the title of both King and Queen of Egypt. I, being too young to assert my appointment as heir, was relegated to be a co-regent of my inherited lands.
She was not a war-faring ruler--leaving such things as directing the armies of Egypt to me--and instead of expanding the empire our forebearers had established, she set about to rededicate old temples, construct vast new ones, and to allow the arts to flourish. It could be said that there was something of a renaissance in the lands of Upper and Lower Egypt under my aunt's rule. She said this was further proof of the divine proclamation that she was the rightful ruler of the dynastic lands. But, of course, that is the way she would have it be remembered, regardless of how true it actually was.
But once a story is etched in stone, it is difficult to dispute. Words are magic. We are sentenced by their spelling.
My aunt, Hatchepsut, understood this and had many monuments adorned with her likeness and name. Sometimes the truth of something doesn't matter as much as how it appears. It was not long after my aunt's death that some took to defacing her monuments and dedicated sites.
Her name was thus erased and my name was carved and spoken. Menkheperra; Thutmosis III.
No, it is not out of spite, nor bitterness, that I now set about eradicating her legacy. It is to create my own. Some of my advisors would have everything she did reduced to the sand like the red deserts to the east; and still others warn me against incurring the wrath of the gods for erasing the name of one who now lays in the valley where our kings await their afterlife.
I attempt to appease both, if only to avoid the anger of old gods and of current diplomats.
It is not that I want her forgotten--my aunt and step-mother; my co-regent; my hindrance to a sole rule. No, I do not want Hatchepsut forgotten, for she had a rightful claim to the throne--her mother was of noble lineage and her father, although not Amon-Ra, was my own grandfather, the Pharaoh Thutmosis I. But I shall not have her remembered as a divine ruler who left more monuments of stone than I.
It will be the name of Thutmosis III that shall be remembered and invoked at the Temple of Karnak, and in Semna, and at Saqqara. Hatchepsut may have been a beneficent queen to the land and people of Egypt, but she altered the history of our gods to proclaim herself the divine Pharaoh.
Bibliography
Books
Tyldesley, Joyce. Hatchepsut: The Female Pharaoh.
Articles
Dorman, Peter F.
· • ·
With this paper, a biograph of an Egyptian pharaoh, he said he didn't want to just see the same old boring history paper, he wanted something different. I turned in my thesis statement paper and my version of an outline of the crucial information I'd include. Then I told him I intended to take him up on that "something different" kind of paper; would it be all right to play with some conventions in writing it? Yes, so long as the information necessary to fulfill the requirements are met.
I turned in the following and was waylaid to have it returned to be with a D grade on it.
Going to discuss it with him he stated that although I fulfilled the requirements of information and references, a "history paper isn't the place to make up your own rules for writing." He didn't like the creative aspect. Turns out, he did want just a bunch of plain ol' ordinary boring history papers.
I dropped the class 10 minutes after leaving his office.
Dr. —, you're an asshole.
My opinion and I'm entitled to it, you shit-for-brains.
~•~
(2nd Draft)
HST 305 The Ancient Near East
September 22, 2008
HATCHEPSUT:
Between Oracle and History
This is the fifty-third year of my reign as Pharaoh of Egypt and I stand in my Hall of Annals reading the record of my deeds: the construction of dozens of great temples like this one here at Karnak; my many battles and campaigns--none equalling my first, where the Canaanites of Kadesh said my fury in the shadow of Mt. Carmel was like the end of the world; and, of course, my own ornate tomb in the valley where the kings before me lay awaiting the judgment of Anubis's scales. For fifty-three years I have reigned, but not all of those was I the sole ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt. For the first twenty-two years, I shared regency with my aunt and step-mother. She is now known as a pretender to the throne, a usurper of power. And I, of course, have done nothing to discourage such tales. It is only in my own interest to allow such disparagement, for what is written and told about a person, or even a god, matters more than what actually was. And it is my accomplishments and victories which should now be remembered, for it would be vain for me to believe that I will not soon take residence in my own tomb.
Hatchepsut built this temple where my Annals now stand, I have only modified it by adding fresh sandstone walls on which my deeds are inscribed. It shall be my name remembered at Karnak, not hers. I know there are some even in my own house and court who have whispered that it is out of spite, or bitterness that I have scratched out and hidden the name of my aunt from the walls of these temples. If I had been bitter I would have torn down her statues, stelae, and obelisks when she first died!
No, it is economical this way, that is all. More political. Why spend the time and effort building a whole new palace when you can just rearrange one so recently built? Just because my Hall of Annals covers my aunt's sanctuary where she had depicted the Oracle of Amon, proclaiming herself to be not only of full royal blood--having constantly reminded me that my mother was not a noble and thus I was not born to be king and pharaoh--but of divine blood, and decreed to rule the Two Lands of Egypt.
Behind the walls I have erected where my deeds are carved into, are the original walls of this temple, on which the Oracle reveals, "Uttered by Amon-Ra, Lord of the Thrones of Two Lands, 'Welcome, my beloved daughter Hatchepsut, I am thy beloved father. I establish for thee thy rank in the kingship of the Two Lands. I have fixed thy titularly.'"
Since it was written, it was so. Such is the way of words, and of names. Amon had declared her to be his daughter, divinely born, and she was Pharaoh. Shrewd and ambitious, upon the unforeseen early death of my father--her husband and half-brother--Hatchepsut donned the garb and appearance of a man and claimed the title of both King and Queen of Egypt. I, being too young to assert my appointment as heir, was relegated to be a co-regent of my inherited lands.
She was not a war-faring ruler--leaving such things as directing the armies of Egypt to me--and instead of expanding the empire our forebearers had established, she set about to rededicate old temples, construct vast new ones, and to allow the arts to flourish. It could be said that there was something of a renaissance in the lands of Upper and Lower Egypt under my aunt's rule. She said this was further proof of the divine proclamation that she was the rightful ruler of the dynastic lands. But, of course, that is the way she would have it be remembered, regardless of how true it actually was.
But once a story is etched in stone, it is difficult to dispute. Words are magic. We are sentenced by their spelling.
My aunt, Hatchepsut, understood this and had many monuments adorned with her likeness and name. Sometimes the truth of something doesn't matter as much as how it appears. It was not long after my aunt's death that some took to defacing her monuments and dedicated sites.
Her name was thus erased and my name was carved and spoken. Menkheperra; Thutmosis III.
No, it is not out of spite, nor bitterness, that I now set about eradicating her legacy. It is to create my own. Some of my advisors would have everything she did reduced to the sand like the red deserts to the east; and still others warn me against incurring the wrath of the gods for erasing the name of one who now lays in the valley where our kings await their afterlife.
I attempt to appease both, if only to avoid the anger of old gods and of current diplomats.
It is not that I want her forgotten--my aunt and step-mother; my co-regent; my hindrance to a sole rule. No, I do not want Hatchepsut forgotten, for she had a rightful claim to the throne--her mother was of noble lineage and her father, although not Amon-Ra, was my own grandfather, the Pharaoh Thutmosis I. But I shall not have her remembered as a divine ruler who left more monuments of stone than I.
It will be the name of Thutmosis III that shall be remembered and invoked at the Temple of Karnak, and in Semna, and at Saqqara. Hatchepsut may have been a beneficent queen to the land and people of Egypt, but she altered the history of our gods to proclaim herself the divine Pharaoh.
Bibliography
Books
Tyldesley, Joyce. Hatchepsut: The Female Pharaoh.
London: Penguin Books, 1996.
Articles
Dorman, Peter F.
"Hatshepsut: Wicked Stepmother of Joan of Arc?"
The Oriental Institute News and Notes,
No. 168 (Winter 2001): 1-6.
The Oriental Institute News and Notes,
No. 168 (Winter 2001): 1-6.
· • ·
Thursday, March 4, 2010
What is "Good" Writing?
This brief essay is particularly cringe-worthy. Perhaps not objectively, but certainly from this vantage point on the inside looking back in at a piece several years old. Whereas my fiction has involved significantly since 2007-8, it was already "good" and thus, improvement is a small percentile compared to the leap my academic writing has done in the past two years. I thank the challenges set forth by Dr. Boren [English Dept. UNCW] and the memoirist/guest teacher at UNCW last year, Peter Trachtenberg.
The second assignment from Fiction II (taught by the underestimated Jeff Jacobson), was to define what is that ephemeral and very subjective creature called "good writing."
Returning the paper Jeff told me it made him pull out The Big Sleep and read it again. Reference to Chandler tend to do that to some people. :)
~•~
(1st Draft)
FICTION II
2/18/08
Journal II: What is Good Writing?
Ehem, let me get up on my soapbox for a couple minutes about this:
What is Good Writing?
Good Writing is when you can smell the mold growing on the floorboards of the room in the story.
Good Writing is when you forget all sense of self and know nothing more than what is passing through your head and heart via the words printed on a page.
Good Writing asks questions, it doesn't give you answers. If a writer has the answer, they usually end up lecturing you. They should probably skip fiction and go right on to writing religious tracts (Crews).
Good Writing is something that might not be evident upon first read. If the writing calls attention to itself with deliberately pretty words, it's probably veered over into the Bad Writing side of things.
Good Writing doesn't need to call attention to itself--you-as-a-reader are too involved in the story of what the words are telling to notice how pretty they are or how well constructed the sentence is. Which, as course means, that the words used are fitting the story they tell and the sentence is structured well, without grammatical problems.
Sure, cite Shelby all you want in regards to why you shouldn't be constrained to using the commonly accepted rules about punctuation and quotations marks, but chances are great that you don't have as strong of a narrative voice, internal consistency, and as powerful subject matter as Shelby did. Sure, you probably do within the confines of your own genius head of yours, but queers, transsexuals, junkies, and whores was new in literature with Algren, Selby, and Burroughs, and Irving Welsh managed a go of it, but only two of those four ventured very far from the accepted rules of grammar. Unless you can lay down your pedigree as powerfully as they did, you might want to learn the rules before you break them. Find/Replace is a brilliant feature of word processors.
After the grammar-thing, one of the next flashing neon signs advertising a piece as Bad Writing would be the use of adjectives and adverbs. Bad Writing is often carelessly, needlessly, atrociously rife with myriad, horrid, eldritch, and often incomprehensible adverbs and adjectives. If you spot more than a handful per page, you've probably veered off the Good Writing highway into the purplish vistas of pedantic typing. Which doesn't mean don't ever use them, it means ration them. They're powerful things, like compost. A little bit helps make a garden become lush and beautiful. A lot of them together creates a pile of shit. The road to hell is paved with adverbs. [King gets credit for this, but I've seen it written previous to his On Writing. Aw, hell, he can have the credit if you're gonna argue about it.]
I can think of at least one example that violates a lot of guidelines I have for Good Writing, and which I still found it to be one of the most amazing bits of writing I've ever read: Nabokov's Lolita. I don't remember exactly (and don't have the book at hand to check) but there was a passage about the dandelions in the yard turning from suns to moons that just floored me and then continued to kick me with poetic words while I was left drooling in amazement.
That's Good Writing.
One of the most dangerous aspects of writing, and a particular razor's edge between Good|Bad Writing (and one rife with potential for cliché): Metaphors.
Ah, the foetid cliché. A bad cliché sticks out like a sore thumb. A red-headed stepchild in a black family. Clichés are horrible. Their use without precise care is a huge indicator of piss-poor writing. Not unlike showing up at a klan rally in a Boy George outfit (Hicks).
Which brings me back to metaphor. A poorly wrought metaphor usually doesn't travel alone and falls upon the reading psyche like a rapid ton of bricks; knocks the clipper ship of Good Writing right off its hinges. Some Bad Writing not only mixes metaphors, but cross-breeds those suckers. ("Damnit, Jim, I'm a wordsmith not an ontological geneticist!")
On the other side of that, Raymond Chandler spun some of the greatest metaphors in the English language:
One of my favorite things about a story is the opening line. Not every good story has a good opening line, but maybe the great ones do.
"It was Friday the thirteenth and yesterday's snowstorm lingered in the street like a leftover curse." William Hjortsberg, Falling Angel.
"Horselover Fat's nervous breakdown began the day he got the phone call from Gloria asking if he had any Nembutals." PKD, VALIS.
Perhaps one of the most quoted by the under30, 40, 60 crowd, "We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold." Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
One more: "What's the worst thing you've ever done? I won't tell you that, but I'll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me...the most dreadful thing..." Peter Straub, Ghost Story.
There have been a few books over the years that I read in one sitting because I couldn't pull away from it--in one case staying up all night before having to start a three-day road trip. The first time this happened, I was twelve or so. The culprit was Douglas Adams's The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Years later a book I've read more than a few times, including reading it aloud as a serial on two occasions. Falling Angel by William Hjortsberg. Then I picked up Lewis Shiner's Deserted Cities of the Heart. Shiner got me again a couple years later with his next book, Slam.
A book that can hold you in it despite what is going on outside of it is a fine example of Good Writing.
So I guess that's what Good Writing comes down for me.
Story. Storytelling.
Good Writing has nothing to do with good literature. In fact, good literature is sometimes completely at odds with Good Writing.
And Good Writing has everything to do with good storytelling. If your story's good enough, and told well enough, it can break any rule there is and be, not only Good Writing, but Great Writing.
Good Writing is when there's magic in them thar words. Words are magic. Why else d'ya think it's called spelling? (Barrett)
Of course, asking the question, "What is Good Writing?"(a question only slightly more interesting as being asked, "Where do you get your ideas?") has as many different answers as there are people with vantage points atop their proverbial soap boxes.
And it's time I hopped down from mine.
· • ·
The second assignment from Fiction II (taught by the underestimated Jeff Jacobson), was to define what is that ephemeral and very subjective creature called "good writing."
Returning the paper Jeff told me it made him pull out The Big Sleep and read it again. Reference to Chandler tend to do that to some people. :)
~•~
(1st Draft)
FICTION II
2/18/08
Journal II: What is Good Writing?
Ehem, let me get up on my soapbox for a couple minutes about this:
What is Good Writing?
Good Writing is when you can smell the mold growing on the floorboards of the room in the story.
Good Writing is when you forget all sense of self and know nothing more than what is passing through your head and heart via the words printed on a page.
Good Writing asks questions, it doesn't give you answers. If a writer has the answer, they usually end up lecturing you. They should probably skip fiction and go right on to writing religious tracts (Crews).
Good Writing is something that might not be evident upon first read. If the writing calls attention to itself with deliberately pretty words, it's probably veered over into the Bad Writing side of things.
Good Writing doesn't need to call attention to itself--you-as-a-reader are too involved in the story of what the words are telling to notice how pretty they are or how well constructed the sentence is. Which, as course means, that the words used are fitting the story they tell and the sentence is structured well, without grammatical problems.
Sure, cite Shelby all you want in regards to why you shouldn't be constrained to using the commonly accepted rules about punctuation and quotations marks, but chances are great that you don't have as strong of a narrative voice, internal consistency, and as powerful subject matter as Shelby did. Sure, you probably do within the confines of your own genius head of yours, but queers, transsexuals, junkies, and whores was new in literature with Algren, Selby, and Burroughs, and Irving Welsh managed a go of it, but only two of those four ventured very far from the accepted rules of grammar. Unless you can lay down your pedigree as powerfully as they did, you might want to learn the rules before you break them. Find/Replace is a brilliant feature of word processors.
After the grammar-thing, one of the next flashing neon signs advertising a piece as Bad Writing would be the use of adjectives and adverbs. Bad Writing is often carelessly, needlessly, atrociously rife with myriad, horrid, eldritch, and often incomprehensible adverbs and adjectives. If you spot more than a handful per page, you've probably veered off the Good Writing highway into the purplish vistas of pedantic typing. Which doesn't mean don't ever use them, it means ration them. They're powerful things, like compost. A little bit helps make a garden become lush and beautiful. A lot of them together creates a pile of shit. The road to hell is paved with adverbs. [King gets credit for this, but I've seen it written previous to his On Writing. Aw, hell, he can have the credit if you're gonna argue about it.]
I can think of at least one example that violates a lot of guidelines I have for Good Writing, and which I still found it to be one of the most amazing bits of writing I've ever read: Nabokov's Lolita. I don't remember exactly (and don't have the book at hand to check) but there was a passage about the dandelions in the yard turning from suns to moons that just floored me and then continued to kick me with poetic words while I was left drooling in amazement.
That's Good Writing.
One of the most dangerous aspects of writing, and a particular razor's edge between Good|Bad Writing (and one rife with potential for cliché): Metaphors.
Ah, the foetid cliché. A bad cliché sticks out like a sore thumb. A red-headed stepchild in a black family. Clichés are horrible. Their use without precise care is a huge indicator of piss-poor writing. Not unlike showing up at a klan rally in a Boy George outfit (Hicks).
Which brings me back to metaphor. A poorly wrought metaphor usually doesn't travel alone and falls upon the reading psyche like a rapid ton of bricks; knocks the clipper ship of Good Writing right off its hinges. Some Bad Writing not only mixes metaphors, but cross-breeds those suckers. ("Damnit, Jim, I'm a wordsmith not an ontological geneticist!")
On the other side of that, Raymond Chandler spun some of the greatest metaphors in the English language:
"She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight."
"Her voice trailed off into a sort of sad whisper like a mortician asking for a down payment."
"A wedge of sunlight slipped over the edge of the desk and fell noiselessly on the carpet."
One of my favorite things about a story is the opening line. Not every good story has a good opening line, but maybe the great ones do.
"It was Friday the thirteenth and yesterday's snowstorm lingered in the street like a leftover curse." William Hjortsberg, Falling Angel.
"Horselover Fat's nervous breakdown began the day he got the phone call from Gloria asking if he had any Nembutals." PKD, VALIS.
Perhaps one of the most quoted by the under
One more: "What's the worst thing you've ever done? I won't tell you that, but I'll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me...the most dreadful thing..." Peter Straub, Ghost Story.
There have been a few books over the years that I read in one sitting because I couldn't pull away from it--in one case staying up all night before having to start a three-day road trip. The first time this happened, I was twelve or so. The culprit was Douglas Adams's The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Years later a book I've read more than a few times, including reading it aloud as a serial on two occasions. Falling Angel by William Hjortsberg. Then I picked up Lewis Shiner's Deserted Cities of the Heart. Shiner got me again a couple years later with his next book, Slam.
A book that can hold you in it despite what is going on outside of it is a fine example of Good Writing.
So I guess that's what Good Writing comes down for me.
Story. Storytelling.
Good Writing has nothing to do with good literature. In fact, good literature is sometimes completely at odds with Good Writing.
And Good Writing has everything to do with good storytelling. If your story's good enough, and told well enough, it can break any rule there is and be, not only Good Writing, but Great Writing.
Good Writing is when there's magic in them thar words. Words are magic. Why else d'ya think it's called spelling? (Barrett)
Of course, asking the question, "What is Good Writing?"(a question only slightly more interesting as being asked, "Where do you get your ideas?") has as many different answers as there are people with vantage points atop their proverbial soap boxes.
And it's time I hopped down from mine.
· • ·
"I Believe..."
This was an assignment to write a response for NPR's on-going series "I Believe..."
Extra-credit for submitting it, which, of course, I did. And it came as no surprise, as I stated within the framework of the response itself, NPR wouldn't touch it. I did, however, receive an email back from NPR that seemed to have been written by a person, stating that, although several of the editors found it more rational than most rants and more funny than most attempts at humor they receive, they would not use it for their program.
~•~
(3rd draft)
Writing & Rhetoric I
Reading Response #2: "I Believe..."
"I Believe..."
I believe that laughter is a holy, divine human trait.
I believe that it is not unpatriotic to say that I am sick and tired of hearing about September 11, 2001 as if it were the worse day in human history. There were worse days than that, even in American's short history, and there will probably be days which will be considered worse yet to come. I believe that a bunch of schmucks boarded airplanes that morning and flew them into buildings killing more than 3000 people they'd never met or spoken with. I believe that calling someone like Rudy Giuliani a "hero" is derogatory to people who actually do something heroic, like firefighters who, on thousands of other days not called "September 11, 2001", enter burning buildings in an attempt to save life and property of others they may have never met or spoken with. I believe that politicians who so casually use terms like "heroes" or "innocent victims" are likely the same people who continually turn a blind, arrogant eye to the rest of the world's (and their own country's) poverty and pain while they line their pockets with money not legitimately theirs and take profitable advantage of the misery and sorrow of those affected by tragedies such as September 11, Hurricane Katrina, and the continual daily hardships of not having enough food or adequate health care.
I believe that the worst terrorists in the world hold elected and appointed offices. I believe that exchanging liberty for the promised illusion of security is a large step on the path of a totalitarian society. I believe that Democrats are really no different from Republicans, but are probably more inept, although feel slightly more guilty about their incessant greed.
I believe that Bill Clinton is a liar, but he lied well, and with many witnesses.
I believe that George Bush is a poorly-spoken liar, but has enough witnesses to intimidate people from challenging his badly told lies.
I believe that anyone who compares Hitler, Nazis, and/or the Holocaust to anything other than the likes of Pol Pot, Stalin, China, Khmer Rouge, Rwanda, Bosnia, and Darfur displays ignorance, and, regardless of their skin color or religious trappings, comparing the Holocaust to something that is not a regimented genocide automatically disqualifies the speaker from rational, intelligent discussion. I believe that criticizing the nation of Israel does not even remotely make the critic anti-Semitic.
I believe that there are only two sources for almost any human action or thought: Love and Fear.
I believe that NPR isn't going to touch this essay with a ten foot pole.
I believe that yesterday can remind us all something about what we (hopefully) have already learned. I believe that today is wonderful, regardless of the weather or what I may or may not have to do before it has passed. I believe that tomorrow, like yesterday and today going to be another beautiful miracle.
I believe that whatever happens, I'm still going to laugh.
· • ·
Extra-credit for submitting it, which, of course, I did. And it came as no surprise, as I stated within the framework of the response itself, NPR wouldn't touch it. I did, however, receive an email back from NPR that seemed to have been written by a person, stating that, although several of the editors found it more rational than most rants and more funny than most attempts at humor they receive, they would not use it for their program.
~•~
(3rd draft)
Writing & Rhetoric I
Reading Response #2: "I Believe..."
"I Believe..."
I believe that laughter is a holy, divine human trait.
I believe that it is not unpatriotic to say that I am sick and tired of hearing about September 11, 2001 as if it were the worse day in human history. There were worse days than that, even in American's short history, and there will probably be days which will be considered worse yet to come. I believe that a bunch of schmucks boarded airplanes that morning and flew them into buildings killing more than 3000 people they'd never met or spoken with. I believe that calling someone like Rudy Giuliani a "hero" is derogatory to people who actually do something heroic, like firefighters who, on thousands of other days not called "September 11, 2001", enter burning buildings in an attempt to save life and property of others they may have never met or spoken with. I believe that politicians who so casually use terms like "heroes" or "innocent victims" are likely the same people who continually turn a blind, arrogant eye to the rest of the world's (and their own country's) poverty and pain while they line their pockets with money not legitimately theirs and take profitable advantage of the misery and sorrow of those affected by tragedies such as September 11, Hurricane Katrina, and the continual daily hardships of not having enough food or adequate health care.
I believe that the worst terrorists in the world hold elected and appointed offices. I believe that exchanging liberty for the promised illusion of security is a large step on the path of a totalitarian society. I believe that Democrats are really no different from Republicans, but are probably more inept, although feel slightly more guilty about their incessant greed.
I believe that Bill Clinton is a liar, but he lied well, and with many witnesses.
I believe that George Bush is a poorly-spoken liar, but has enough witnesses to intimidate people from challenging his badly told lies.
I believe that anyone who compares Hitler, Nazis, and/or the Holocaust to anything other than the likes of Pol Pot, Stalin, China, Khmer Rouge, Rwanda, Bosnia, and Darfur displays ignorance, and, regardless of their skin color or religious trappings, comparing the Holocaust to something that is not a regimented genocide automatically disqualifies the speaker from rational, intelligent discussion. I believe that criticizing the nation of Israel does not even remotely make the critic anti-Semitic.
I believe that there are only two sources for almost any human action or thought: Love and Fear.
I believe that NPR isn't going to touch this essay with a ten foot pole.
I believe that yesterday can remind us all something about what we (hopefully) have already learned. I believe that today is wonderful, regardless of the weather or what I may or may not have to do before it has passed. I believe that tomorrow, like yesterday and today going to be another beautiful miracle.
I believe that whatever happens, I'm still going to laugh.
· • ·
Authorial Intention
The purpose for this blog is two-fold:
1: to provide a space for the ideas I have that make it to the page is some sort of rational coherence.
2: to provide an archive of (some) my university papers, without any further editing than they received prior to being turned in.
This latter point is a cringe-inducing thought. As a writer, I wonder about putting forth work in any kind of public venue, let alone that with which I haven't edited for public consumption. But, being that these are the versions of papers that were graded and deemed to be worthy of the high marks which I received for them, they must be worth something. Of course, a reader could finish one and wonder how in the hell did he receive an A for this!? That teacher must be crazy. And to that I say, let's see your work and we'll analyze the rubric against which your instructors measured that work.
These university papers will be posted with information about what draft was handed in (I may be holding a blade to my own throat with that ideal); the grade for each was an A unless otherwise indicated.
As for the former idea, well, that's where the philippic of this comes it. Sometimes I write things that would best be heard as my barbaric YAWP atop a soap box (or milk crate) in a subway station of your choosing. That station then, quite likely, would be one that you were not personally in at the time of the YAWPing.
Schools; Departments:
Columbia College Chicago; Fiction Department (Fall 2007-Spring 2008)
University of North Carolina—Wilmington; Creative Writing (Fall 2008-Spring 2009), English (Fall 2009-current).
· • ·
1: to provide a space for the ideas I have that make it to the page is some sort of rational coherence.
2: to provide an archive of (some) my university papers, without any further editing than they received prior to being turned in.
This latter point is a cringe-inducing thought. As a writer, I wonder about putting forth work in any kind of public venue, let alone that with which I haven't edited for public consumption. But, being that these are the versions of papers that were graded and deemed to be worthy of the high marks which I received for them, they must be worth something. Of course, a reader could finish one and wonder how in the hell did he receive an A for this!? That teacher must be crazy. And to that I say, let's see your work and we'll analyze the rubric against which your instructors measured that work.
These university papers will be posted with information about what draft was handed in (I may be holding a blade to my own throat with that ideal); the grade for each was an A unless otherwise indicated.
As for the former idea, well, that's where the philippic of this comes it. Sometimes I write things that would best be heard as my barbaric YAWP atop a soap box (or milk crate) in a subway station of your choosing. That station then, quite likely, would be one that you were not personally in at the time of the YAWPing.
Schools; Departments:
Columbia College Chicago; Fiction Department (Fall 2007-Spring 2008)
University of North Carolina—Wilmington; Creative Writing (Fall 2008-Spring 2009), English (Fall 2009-current).
· • ·
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