Author Archives: caseykins

Mildred Pierce

Posted on April 25, 2012 by caseykins

Mildred Pierce is a movie about a middle class mother who decides to leave her husband with tragic results.  Although she makes a fortune in the restaurant business, Mildred loses both of her children, one to pneumonia and the other to snobbery.  In addition to the troubles with her children, she renounces her middle class husband for an upper class husband who ends up betraying her in the end.  This film noir portrayal of a middle class woman’s life came out in 1945.  The way race, class, and gender are portrayed in the film clearly show the attitudes prevalent about women throughout the 1940s.

Race in Mildred Pierce is mostly conspicuous by its absence.  The only non-white in the movie is Mildred’s African-American housekeeper.  This housekeeper has a high, childish voice and is always bumbling around in silly ways and making mistakes.  An example of this is when she tries to announce Mildred’s husband Bert, but forgets that she needs to announce people until the last minute, and then performs the announcement too loud.  When Mildred corrects her, she acts confused.  The fact that the only non-white person in the movie is portrayed as childish and silly is indicative of white ideas about African-American women during the 1940’s.  Just like in the movie, African American women were largely left out of women’s issues during the war.  As more men went overseas to fight in World War II, women were encouraged to take their jobs, “for the duration.”  Although white women were able to take advantage of these new opportunities, African American women were the last to be hired and the first to be fired.  African American women were not even allowed in women’s military groups such as the WAC until the war was nearly over.  Aside from Mildred’s housekeeper, everyone else in the movie is white, from the customers at Mildred’s restaurant to the police officers at the station.

Class is another issue that is explored in the film.  In stark contrast to earlier ages, where the upper classes were revered completely, the upper class people in Mildred Pierce are unenviable.  Monty Beregon, Mildred’s second husband, is an upper class playboy who loafs around on Mildred’s dime, steals her company out from under her, and finally cheats on her with her own daughter.  Mildred’s daughter Veda wants desperately to belong to the upper classes, berating her mother, blackmailing, and stealing money to afford the things her middle class life will not allow her to.  When Veda secretly gets married, her mother in law comes to Mildred’s house and insults the whole family.  These portrayals of upper class people are terrible.  In stark contrast to that is Mildred’s friend Ida, a smart and snappy woman who runs Mildred’s restaurant business admirably, and also Mildred’s first husband Bert.  Both of these people are middle class, and are there for Mildred throughout the film.  Even Wally, a friend of Bert’s who is constantly making passes at Mildred, won’t take no for an answer, and is often a jerk, helps Mildred to start her business, and offers her much financial support along the way.  In the 1940’s, as the number of middle class people grew along with their purchasing power, middle class became the way to be.  We can clearly see this in the way the middle class is portrayed throughout the film.

The issue of gender in the film is very complex.  In many ways, Mildred breaks the established female norms by divorcing her husband, and leaving the kitchen to become a business woman.  Although Mildred achieves success financially, her home life is completely destroyed.  The moment Mildred leaves her tract house kitchen the family starts to have problems.  In fact, the loss of Mildred’s youngest daughter and the betrayal of her oldest daughter can both be attributed to the fact that Mildred is not at home supervising her children.  Kay, Mildred’s youngest child, dies of pneumonia after Mildred has failed to notice that her cough is not getting better.  Mildred is not even informed of Kay’s sickness because she is out gallivanting around with her boyfriend Monte, and she arrives only in time to watch her daughter succumb to the disease.  Veda’s affair with Mildred’s husband Monte can also be seen as a consequence of Mildred’s working ways.  If Mildred had stayed at home and supervised things like a proper 1940’s housewife should, Veda and Monte would not have had the opportunity to behave so horribly, the film seems to imply.  In the 1940’s, literature was everywhere telling women how important it was for the welfare of their children for them to stay home.  The prevailing attitude of this time is reflected completely in the fate of Mildred once she chooses to leave the home.

Mildred Pierce is an interesting film about a mother who becomes a successful business woman.  The things it tells us about class, race, and gender give a clear picture of the attitudes and opinions of the time in which the movie came out.  The 1940’s were a time in the history of America where women were moving back to the home and middle class values became the measuring point for society.  We can see this measuring through the film, and see how it has shaped our values and opinions today.

Categories: Women's History | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Men, Women, & Manners in Colonial Times, Volume I

Posted on April 25, 2012 by caseykins

Sydney George Fisher’s Men, Women, & Manners in Colonial Times, written in 1898, depicts the general history and customs of Colonial America through a heavily biased lens.  The book is divided up regionally, clearly showing all of the many reasons people immigrated to the Americas, and how that affected their dispositions and customs by region.  While this book is very entertaining, the history that was correct is relayed through a partial viewpoint, and some of its assertions are hard to take seriously.  This book is very worth the read, but more for the insight on how people in the nineteenth century viewed our colonial history than for the actual history relayed in the book itself.

Although much of the history relayed in the book is technically correct, Fisher’s biased portrayal of historical figures and regions is comical.  Modern historical accounts tend to be fairer to these people, presenting facts and letting readers form their own opinions.  Fisher, on the other hand, forms his opinion for the reader.  For example, Fisher calls John Smith “a lying braggart, an adventurer, a Gascon, and a beggar” (Fisher 24), claims that the puritans “pried into people’s history and business in a way that was very offensive to strangers and travelers – a habit which has since been known as Yankee inquisitiveness” (Fisher 205), and brands Rhode Island the “Isle of Errors” (Fisher 303).  Prejudicial language appears on nearly every page.  These descriptions of the peoples of Colonial America, although amusing, do not paint an unbiased picture of what it was really like to live in these times.  The narrative is more indicative of the attitudes and ideas of the time the book was written than of the times it is talking about.

Many of the customs set out in the book are hard to accept as true. Most notable of these customs is the purported South Carolinian custom of gouging out other people’s eyes for fun.  Fisher assures us that it was a common practice, essentially similar to young children roughhousing and yelling “uncle” when they have had enough.  Supposedly, these gentlemen would press on their friend’s eye until the friend said the code word of “King’s Cruse”, but it was a mark of terrible weakness to use the code word, no one would say it, and many lost an eye this way.   It seems completely ludicrous that this practice would be widespread enough to warrant inclusion in a book on colonial customs, and there seems to be no supporting evidence that this practice was as widespread as Fisher claims.

Men, Women, & Manners in Colonial Times is an entertaining read.  Although there are several problems with the book as a historical account of Colonial Times, the book is an entertaining picture of the 1898 view of our history.  The wildly off the mark depiction of our history in Men, Women, & Manners in Colonial Times makes one wonder how modern books on history will be received a hundred years from today.  If they are as entertaining as this book, at least they will have stood the test of time.

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The Swamp Fox of the American Revolution

Posted on April 11, 2012 by caseykins

            Many of the men and women who participated in the American Revolution have become veritable saints in the annals of American History, their stories passed down as fairy tales throughout the ages.  Although less known today than figures such as George Washington or Benjamin Franklin, Frances Marion, also known as the Swamp Fox, is undoubtedly one of these figures.  That the myth of the Swamp Fox has been passed down for so many hundreds of years is clearly a testament to his important contributions during the Revolutionary War.  A clearer understanding of Marion as a human being and not as a myth will certainly prove how essential Marion’s roll was in winning the war in the south.   By gaining a clear picture of Marion’s life story, one can see how his humane treatment of Tories and British, his talents in leading unconventional troops, and his clever understanding of tactics, were instrumental in allowing the south to successfully break away from their “Mother Country”.

It has been hard to separate the man from the myth when reconstructing the real story of what happened during the revolution those hundreds of years ago.  The first biography that was ever written about Marion was written by the same man who started the cherry tree myth about George Washington, and was certainly outright false in some places.  Modern depictions have been rather bipolar in their treatment of his life story. The 1960s Disney Afternoon show paints an idyllic picture of a scrappy band of merry men riding, Robin Hood style, through the south.  The 2000 movie, The Patriot, depicts a deeply troubled man trying to live down the unspeakable horrors he perpetuated during the French and Indian war.  Both of these depictions of Marion and his outlook on life are exaggerated portraits of who he really was.  A staunch patriot who asked to go to war, Marion bore hard times with an immense optimism that served his followers well.

Frances Marion was born in 1732, at Winyah, South Carolina.  He was the youngest of six children, five boys and a girl.  Although Marion’s parents had lived in the colonies for their entire lives, Marion’s grandparents on both sides originally emigrated from France.  We know that Marion felt deeply patriotic to the American colonies, but his family’s origin arguably made him not as tied to remaining a British citizen as some colonists.  Marion received a general primary education at the English school in Charleston, but nothing higher.  He could certainly read and write, but compare Marion’s writings to men such as Jefferson, Dickinson, and Paine, and you can clearly see the deficiencies in his schooling. Marion’s writing is very abrupt, and never contains anything that isn’t strictly necessary to convey information.  He is also extremely light with the punctuation.  When compared to Paine’s compelling narrative in Common Sense, or the rally to arms of the Declaration of Independence, Marion’s writing seems brusque and matter of fact.

Once he had completed school, Marion felt that he would like to become a sailor.  Unfortunately, his first trip as a deckhand ended in tragedy when a whale attacked the ship, ripping a plank from the bottom of the vessel and sinking it.  Of the six man crew, only four survived the five days before they were rescued, and only because they were able to eat a dog that swam to their lifeboat after the main ship sank.  Marion never went to sea again, but contented himself by becoming a very successful farmer.

Marion lived with his mother, renting farmland in the area until her death in 1758, when he moved to St. Johns, South Carolina, and bought Pond Bluff Plantation.  As many of our forefathers did, Marion owned slaves that ran his plantation.  He continued to be a successful farmer until the French and Indian War broke out.  The Cherokee Indians in the area were particularly violent, burning farmland and crops and kidnapping women and children from colonial families.  Frances Marion and his brother Job felt compelled to protect their land, and both signed up for military service under General William Moultrie. Marion especially distinguished himself when he led a troop of thirty men to take the entrance to a fort that was held by the Cherokees.  Twenty one of the men were cut down, but Marion was able to rally his force together enough to take the entrance and allow the rest of the colonial army to sweep through, winning the battle.  When the Cherokee war ended, Marion and his brother both returned to their sedate life of farming.

Marion was very well respected in his community, as evidenced by his election to the South Carolina Congress in 1776 as the delegate from St Johns. Later that year when military leaders were being elected by the South Carolina Congress, Marion was asked to serve again as a Colonel in the new South Carolina army, under William Moultrie as he had been during the Cherokee war. Marion and his troop of men were involved in several small skirmishes in the area.  Soon afterward, word of the Declaration of Independence came to South Carolina and Marion was offered a commission in the Continental army by General Washington, again as a Colonel under William Moultrie, who was under General Gates, which he gladly accepted.

Marion quickly asserted himself as a strong and loyal leader. For example, as the British army largely concentrated their efforts on the northern colonies, the South Carolinians were often left without much to do.  As a result, many of the officers fell to fighting amongst themselves, some refusing to report to others, and one man even resigning his commission as a result of hard feelings.  Marion was able to stay well out of the barrack politics and was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel when he took over the command of the troops that the deserting officer had left behind.  Marion also trained the men under his command relentlessly. As Peter Horry later stated: “Indeed, I am not afraid to say that Marion was the ARCHITECT of the Second Regiment, and laid the foundation of that excellent discipline and confidence in themselves, which gained them such reputation whenever they were brought to face their enemies.” (Simms, 901)  Marion had the least problems of all the South Carolina officers with his men, and gained a lot of respect for his leadership abilities.

In 1779, Marion, along with the rest of the South Carolina contingent, flocked to Charleston.  The continental army had word that the British had changed their tactics and had ceased trying to cut off the northern section of the colonies from the southern section.  Cornwallis received orders to take Charlestown.  The Continental army immediately flocked to Charleston to try and make the town as ready for defense as possible.  Many of the officers were thrilled to be home again in Charleston, and a few weeks before the battle, one of Marion’s superior officers decided to have a raucous party. Marion attended, but when the commanding officer decided to lock the door and not let anyone out until they were thoroughly intoxicated, the teetotaler Marion decided to jump out of a second story window rather than upset his superior officer by refusing to get drunk.  Marion broke his ankle and, much against his wishes, was forced to evacuate the city with the other wounded before the battle started.

This ended up being a fortunate accident.  After a six week siege, Charleston fell to the British, and every superior officer who had stayed was now a prisoner of war.  Although his ankle had not yet healed, Marion rounded up as many men as he could gather and went to join what was left of the Continental Army.  A description of Marion’s men from this point in time was given by Colonel Otho Wiliams: “Their number did not exceed twenty men and boys, some white, some black, and all mounted, but most of them miserably equipped; Their appearance was in fact so burlesque, that it was with much difficulty the diversion of the regular soldiery was restrained by the officers.” (Bass, 40) 

Marion was hardly better off himself. As William Dobien James asserted, Marion’s knees and ankles were badly formed and he still limped considerably.  He wore a rather coarse crimson jacket, and the leather cap of the second regiment.  A silver crescent was inscribed on his hat, with the words “Liberty or Death” beneath.

Through a series of flukes, Marion escaped capture again and again as the British army eviscerated the South Carolinians.  By early 1780, Marion was the senior officer in all of South Carolina.

Although things looked bleak for their cause, and the British army considered South Carolina subdued enough to move into Georgia, Marion and his men were just getting started.  They laid in a strategy of British antagonism that would be debilitating enough that Cornwallis specifically order Banastre “Bloody Ban” Tarleton to find and capture Marion.  After months of trying desperately to get his hands on an ever slippery Marion, Tarleton wrote back to Cornwallis “as for this damned ‘Swamp Fox’, the devil himself could not catch him.” Thus Marion earned his nickname.  His men continued to fight the British forces, supplying their own ammunition, clothing, and supplies and hearing not a word from the main Continental Army.

In 1780, when the British eviscerated the rebel forces in South Carolina, it looked very bleak for the rebel forces.  Marion went from being at the middle of the commanding totem pole, to being at the utmost top in a matter of about a month as his superior officers all became prisoners of war.  Still, Marion insisted that his men continue fighting, and it was this unrelenting pursuit of the British forces that allowed South Carolinian support for the rebels and their cause to hold on and survive through this difficult time when it looked as if the British would almost certainly win.  In addition to Marion’s continued perseverance through difficult times militarily, he also pushed through despite personal injury.  Marion’s fall from that second story window before the Siege of Charleston permanently injured his ankle to the point that he could not always dismount his horse without assistance.  He continued to limp throughout his lifetime.  Still, Marion returned to the war as soon after his injury as humanely possible, and continued to fight fiercely until the British surrendered in 1781.  This determined pursuit of the British helped the Continental army eventually oust them for good.  Without victories such as their triumph at Black Mingo and the victory at Tearcoat Swamp, and without the psychological damage Marion’s troops did to standing British armies who were just waiting for their own midnight attack, it is doubtful that public support for the rebel cause would have persisted.  It is Marion we have to thank for his refusal to quit, even when things looked as if they would never improve.

Late in 1780, the tide of war turned sharply for Marion.  General Washington realized just how ineffective Gates had been as commander over the southern forces, and appointed General Nathaniel Greene instead.  Greene was an extremely able commander, and gave Marion the first support he had seen in months. Greene realized just how effective Marion had been in South Carolina, and sent much praise, writing “To fight the enemy bravely with the prospect of victory, is nothing; but to fight with intrepidity under the constant impression of defeat, and inspire irregular troops to do it, is a talent peculiar to yourself.” (Simms, 3092) Green also sent supplies and more men, and promoted Marion to the rank of Brigadier General. With this additional support, Marion was in a position to do more than just harass the British army.  Attacking a British garrisoned fort at Black Mingo, Marion and his men took the fort in only fifteen minutes, although admittedly with much bloodshed.  A few days afterward Marion staged a midnight attack against a full British regiment at Tearcoat Swamp, easily winning a decisive victory as the men were caught completely unawares.  With Greene winning decisive battles in the northern part of the south, and Marion winning them in the middle, the two were finally able to consolidate their forces and drive the British out of South Carolina for good.  In 1781, the Governor of South Carolina considered the British so little of a threat that they called the Continental Congress back to order and reinstituted a non-military government.  This was before the war had officially ended, and Marion was in a difficult position as he tried to serve in the legislature as well as serving as a Brigadier General.  Somehow, he managed it, although he spent less time than he would like with his troops.  As a letter to his second in command Peter Horry exhibits, “I fear your patience must be something longer tried with the militia, as I cannot be spared without stopping the whole proceedings of the House.  We have but 13 Senators, which is the least number than can do business… As soon as they can spare me, I will return.”  (Bass, 227)

When official word of Cornwallis’ surrender at Yorktown reached South Carolina, Marion again returned to his plantation.  Unfortunately, it was completely ruined without a stick of furniture or a piece of silverware left inside, and needing extensive repairs.  With his entire fortune gone, and everything he owned stolen, Marion had to start over almost completely.  He was fifty years old.  Marion was eventually able to build his fortune back up enough so that he could live a comfortable life, but was never able to achieve the prosperity of his younger years.  In 1786, five years after the close of the war, Marion married his childhood friend, also his first cousin, Mary Esther Videau.  The two of them lived a modest life on Marion’s plantation and never had any children, although they adopted a son of a relative.

After the war, Marion’s military career did not end.  He retained command of a brigade until 1794 when South Carolina reorganized their military and Marion decided to retire.  Marion also continued to serve in the state legislature for many years.  He died in 1795 at Pond Bluff in his sleep.  It is traditionally quoted that his last words were: “I can lay my hand on my heart and say that, since I came to man’s estate, I have never intentionally done wrong to any.” (Simms, 4371)  A large tombstone was erected in Marion’s memory, and the epitaph states:

“Sacred to the memory of Brigadier-General Francis Marion, who departed this life on the 29th of Feb., 1795, in the sixty-third year of his age, deeply regretted by all his fellow citizens. History will record his worth, and rising generations embalm his memory, as one of the most distinguished patriots and heroes of the American Revolution; which elevated his native country to honor and Independence, and secured to her the blessings of liberty and peace. This tribute of veneration and gratitude is erected in commemoration of the noble and disinterested virtues of the citizen, and the gallant exploits of the soldier, who lived without fear, and died without reproach.” (Simms, 2011-03-30).

A greater understanding of Marion’s life casts a spotlight on the reasons for his successful military career.  Without Marion’s staunch refusal to give up hope, his knack for managing people, and his thorough knowledge of military tactics, the south would have been lost to the Continentals both physically and psychologically when the British took Charleston in 1780.  We can see the importance of his role as he moved up the ranks from Colonel to Brigadier General in only two years’ time, as well as in the continuation of the Marion Mythos throughout the ages.

Marion and his entire brigade were particularly known for being humane during times of war.  Even during the French and Indian war, Marion hated the task of destroying the livelihood of others, even though he did if he was ordered.  A letter from Marion to his brother during the French and Indian war states,

“The next morning we proceeded, by order of Colonel Grant, to burn down the Indian cabins. Some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames as they mounted, loud-crackling, over the tops of the huts. But to me it appeared a shocking sight. “Poor creatures!” thought I, “we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.” But when we came, ACCORDING TO ORDERS, to cut down the fields of corn, I could scarcely refrain from tears. For who could see the stalks that stood so stately, with broad green leaves and gaily-tasselled shocks, filled with sweet milky fluid, and flour, the staff of life—who, I say, without grief, could see these sacred plants sinking under our swords, with all their precious load, to wither and rot untasted, in their mourning fields!” (Simms, 664)

Marion refused to let his men burn houses, raze crops, or loot during the Revolutionary War, and if he caught men doing it anyway, they were immediately discharged from his service, as evidenced by an account of Peter Horry, who served with Marion.

“At the hospitable table of Mrs. Motte, it was whispered in Marion’s ears, that Col. Lee’s men were even then engaged in hanging certain of the Tory prisoners. Marion instantly hurried from the table, seized his sword, and running with all haste, reached the place of execution in time to rescue one poor wretch from the gallows. Two were already beyond rescue or recovery. With drawn sword and a degree of indignation in his countenance that spoke more than words, Marion threatened to kill the first man that made any further attempt in such diabolical proceedings.” (Simms, 3031)

In contrast, when the British Military swept through the south in 1780, crushing everything in their path, many South Carolinians suffered extremely poor treatment at their hands.  General Cornwallis, for example, advocated a policy of no forgiveness to anyone fighting for the rebel cause, giving orders that anyone taking part in rebel activities be “Punished with the greatest rigor” (Simms 1621) and that deserters could have their property destroyed.  Deserters who joined the rebels could be hanged on sight. 

The British were also allowed to loot, burn, raze and terrorize to their hearts content.  There are even reports that the British stole slaves from wealthy plantation owners and re-sold them at a huge profit to themselves, sometimes shipping them to the West Indies for the best price.  When faced with choosing sides between the reasonable Marion and the unforgiving British, even the most staunchly on the fence individuals began to support the cause of the Rebels, and Marion’s brigade swelled in numbers despite Cornwallis’ above edict.  Because of Marion’s moral outlook and sense of right, and also his acknowledgement that British supporters were also former friends and neighbors, Marion helped create a positive climate for the freedom the Continentals were trying to achieve.

Marion had a highly developed sense of right and wrong in all instances, and he understood the men who served under him well.  Eating only what his men ate, drinking only water, and even sharing in the miserableness of his troop’s equipment, Marion never set himself as above the men over whom he served.  He was a short man, with a pronounced, sarcastic sense of humor and a perpetually optimistic outlook which made him well liked wherever he went.  Combine these qualities with his understanding that idle brigades quickly succumb to drama and political intrigue, and you end up with the perfect commander of irregular troops.  When there were no British in the area to fight, Marion had the men under his command continually training for when the British would arrive.  Even after the situation looked bleak for the Continentals in South Carolina, Marion had his men attacking British brigades at midnight, disrupting enemy supply chains, setting traps for troops on the move, obtaining intelligence to help the Continental Army in the north, and continually moving their military camp from one site to another.  Marion’s men were never idle, and so escaped much of the drama that plagued the South Carolinian army in the early days of the war, and kept their spirits up during the latter part of the war.  Although Marion continually had problems in making his troops behave as professional soldiers, he was able to achieve much with so green a force.  The loyalties of many of his men lay, not with the newly forming United States, but with their farms and plantations in South Carolina.  Marion found early on that if he tried to go too far afield of his homeland, many of his men would simply desert and go back home.  On the flip side, Marion also found that if he brought his men too near their homes they would desert as well, spending a few precious days with their families at home before returning to service again.  Still, Marion was able to harness his men into brilliant victories, such as the battle of Black Mingo where Marion’s force took a fully occupied and garrisoned British fort in only fifteen minutes.  This is a true testament to Marion’s leadership abilities.

In addition to leadership, Marion also possessed a great mind for military tactics.  In fact, the Continental Army never lost a battle that was commanded by Marion.  Some of Marion’s favorite practices were hit and run attacks at midnight on British encampments.  In one instance, the attack was such a surprise that they killed a number of British officers who still had cards in their hands from the game that had been taking place when the men struck.  Marion’s men would invade the camp, fight for about an hour, and then retreat from the camp before the British could regroup and fight back.  These attacks were so successful that Marion hardly ever lost men, while wiping out a large faction of the British army.  Another favorite tactic of Marion’s was to divide his men into two groups.  The first group would hide in the forest, while the second group attacked.  As the first group started to lose, Marion would call a retreat, and his men would run through the waiting ambush.  Of course the British would follow afterwards, and then be cut down by the second force.  This tactic worked well for Marion several times against the supposedly superior British forces.  Due to the irregularities of his troops, Marion was often forced to think creatively when dealing with the well trained British forces, but as they never lost a battle, it is evident how successful these new ideas were.

Although not as well known today as he was in the past, Marion’s legend lives on today, and for very good reason.  Through understanding his life, we can clearly see how instrumental Marion’s humane treatment of others, his talents in leading unconventional troops of men, his understanding of military tactics, and his refusal to back down contributed substantially to the colonists winning the Revolutionary War.  Without Marion’s skill and knowledge, who knows what the outcome of the war would have been in the south.  It probably would not have been so favorable.

Categories: Early America | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

In The Wake of the Plague Book Review

Posted on April 11, 2012 by caseykins

            Billed as a history about what happened in Europe as a result of the Bubonic Plague of the early Middle Ages, this book dwells more on the various theories behind what caused the plague.  From modern theories such as gray rats, dust from comets, and rancid meat; to ancient theories such as the evils of Saturn, Jews poisoning the wells, and serpents and toads, Norman Cantor touches on them all.  As the name of the book suggests, Cantor also talks about desperate land shortages that were in many cases solved by the plague, and also about royal alliances that did not take place as a result of the death that swept through all of Europe, possibly causing wars between the countries later.  Cantor’s compilation of both ancient and modern theories, many of which are not often talked about, is the highlight of his book, although ridiculous modern theories are often given serious attention they do not merit.  I would certainly recommend this book to others, but only if read with a skeptical mind.

            The ancient theories espoused in the book are the most interesting part of Cantor’s narrative.  We are taught in school about the rat theory of modern science, but are not often told about the prevailing attitudes of those at the mercy of the disease during the Middle Ages.  I found the historical records of Jews confessing to poisoning wells under torture as one of the most shocking things in this book.  In whole cities in Germany, Jews were rounded up, imprisoned in wood buildings, and torched for supposedly poisoning the general populace.  Persecution of Jews as causes of the plague was widespread throughout Europe of the times.  .  The book even includes a center panel of graphic drawings depicting mass burnings of Jews. It is surprising that this aspect of medieval history is not discussed more often.  Other theories, such as the theory that the evil planet Saturn was causing disease, or that serpents or other reptiles were responsible, are interesting as well.  Cantor lays out a complex picture of medieval Europe’s struggle to define what was happening to them.  The variety of theories that were espoused during that time show that ancient scientists often disagreed as widely as modern ones do.

In addition to his wide coverage of medieval theories about what caused the plague, Cantor also talks quite a bit about current theories that are in vogue.  Cantor surprisingly does not delve deeply into the theory that fleas on gray rats caused the Bubonic Plague, possibly inferring that we already know this theory well.  Instead, he lays out a compelling case for Anthrax Murrain, a disease caused by human consumption of rancid cow meat, as contributing to the “Biomedical Devastation” of the Plague.  Cantor argues that there are many reports from the Middle Ages of plague lasting as little as two or three days, yet we see in all modern examples, such as in India, that plague always lasts from five to eight days and is never shorter than this span of time. Because of the poor quality of medieval medicine, Cantor argues, it is highly probable that the three day plague and the eight day plague are two separate diseases that have the same general symptoms. We also know that Medieval Europeans raised cattle in close and unsanitary conditions, and had no knowledge of microbes and bacteria.  There were reports of diseased meat going to market all the time, and with no central body regulating its sale, or any widespread news system to make the populace aware of outbreaks; it is inevitable that human deaths should result.  Cantor also points out that the original symptoms of Anthrax, and also of Mad Cow disease, mimic the flu-like symptoms of someone coming down with the plague.

A modern theory espoused in the book that is not so compelling is the theory that passing comets caused the plague.  Cantor wisely gives all the credit for this one to Fred Hoyle and Chandra Wickramasinghe, publishers of the 1879 book Diseases from Space.  They claim that tails of comets collect microbes and other elements while zipping around the galaxy, and when comets such as Hailey’s Comet come close to the earth, they drop these microbes on our cities and towns causing disease.  The evidence for this theory is extremely sketchy, and Cantor admits that this theory is controversial.  His main argument for the theory seems to be the legitimate credentials of Hoyle and Wickramasinghe, who are both professors at prestigious universities.  Although it is admirable that Cantor included all sides of the story in his book, the counter evidence for this theory is substantial.  For example, Massimo Di Giulio, in his paper Biological evidence against the panspermia theory, clearly shows that it is evolutionary impossible for diseases from outer space to have survived and perpetuated themselves on earth.  Common sense also tells us that if this theory had been true, the last pass of Haley’s Comet in 1986 should have ignited a global pandemic.  The AIDS virus might have been a candidate for this pandemic had the first case not been diagnosed five years before the pass of the comet, in 1981.  If Cantor had been truly responsible in relating this theory, he would have spent more time discussing its problems, instead of giving them brief mention in this chapter.

Aside from these brief problems, Cantor’s overall coverage of the theories behind what caused the plague, both ancient and modern, are quite admirable.   These theories are undoubtedly the largest and most interesting part of the book, although Cantor does talk about potential alliances that never happened, and issues of land rights in England that arose because of the Bubonic Plague.  In The Wake of the Plague is certainly a book I would recommend to others, although care must be taken to analyze some of Cantor’s more wild theories carefully.  Over all, it was a very interesting read.

Categories: Medieval History | Tags: , , , , | 2 Comments

The Feminine Mystique Review

Posted on April 11, 2012 by caseykins

Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique chronicles a disturbing trend among women of the fifties and sixties, flocking to the home at the expense of everything else.  Friedan argues that every aspect of male-dominated American society is set up to brainwash women into believing that their only worth is in being a wife and mother; causing depression, listlessness, and sexual issues.  Women become victims of what she calls “the problem that has no name.” Friedan lays out a case for a complex web of oppression running throughout early 1960s’ society, involving publishers, Freud, Kinsey, Margaret Mead, college curriculums, and women themselves. Unfortunately, Friedan’s book is not without its faults.  Overly dramatic at times and relying heavily on statistics that are questionable at best, The Feminine Mystique has become an easy target for many who oppose the feminist movement. Nevertheless, the book has true value by relaying the firsthand accounts of women’s experiences before the second wave of feminism, for it is in these women’s stories that we can see through the pomp and circumstance of Friedan’s writing to the true reasons behind the feminist movement of the sixties and seventies.

When World War II ended, women flocked back from their wartime jobs and ensconced themselves in the home.  Although there are many reasons for this phenomenon, probably the most likely reasons stem from women’s economic inability to marry through the depression years, and from their long absence from marriage aged men because of the war.  Whatever the causes, birth rates boomed, the United States Gross Domestic Product rose to unprecedented heights, and people everywhere were celebrating their newfound prosperity.  Despite the affluence of Americans, not all women were as happy as they were purported to be.  The Mystique touched every area of women’s lives.  Advertisements extolled domesticity, and Dr. Spock’s baby book asserted that women who worked were harming their children.  Even when women did work outside of the home, they were relegated to “pink collar jobs” such as hairdressing and waitressing.  Wages for these jobs were far below the salaries of traditionally male jobs.  Although traditional gender roles often pigeonholed women into unsatisfying lives, the idea that a wholesale conspiracy existed to keep women down is a hard sell.

Friedan does her best to convince us of this conspiracy, often times reaching too far.  Although Friedan’s overly dramatic language can be seen in nearly every chapter, it is perhaps best seen in the chapter attacking women’s magazines.  Citing articles from such publications as McCalls, Redbook, Life, and Ladies Home Journal, Friedan claims a widespread conspiracy of male editors to include stories pertaining to domestic subjects only.  She compares articles from 1949 to articles from 1939 in order to show how drastically the role of women has changed in “just ten years.”  Many of the girls in the early articles devote themselves to their careers and are rewarded for it.  Individuality and resourcefulness are emphasized.  The later articles all show firsthand, and sometimes humorous accounts of women’s mistaken exploits in the home.  A good example of this is in the story of the Sandwich Maker.  A woman who feels that her weekly allowance is not enough is puzzled about what to do for money:  “At last the solution comes – she will take orders for sandwiches from other men at her husband’s plant.  She earns $52.50 a week, except that she forgets to count costs, and she doesn’t remember what a gross is so she has to hide 8,640 sandwich bags behind the furnace.” (Friedan 94)  In addition to this, quotes from male editors, women editors, and freelance journalists tell how the publishing industry has changed in the last ten years.  These eyewitnesses claim male editors have decreed that women are only interested in things pertaining directly to their home.  Calls for articles about foreign policy or issues bigger than the home-sphere are patronizingly put down by these male editors, as they have numbers to show that issues like these do not sell. One editor claims: “Our readers are housewives, full time.  They’re not interested in the broad public issues of the day.  They are not interested in national or international affairs.  They are only interested in family and the home.” (Friedan 84)

The conspiracy of male editors seeking to dumb down women created by Friedan is almost certainly overstated.   If we look at later chapters in the book, Friedan herself lays out a rebuttal to her conspiracy theory.  In her chapter about women who attend college, Friedan notes the complete disinterest of women in anything that doesn’t relate to the home.  She claims that they know they will be nothing but housewives in the future, and that by studying and enjoying the preparation for a career, they are only setting themselves up to be discontented later.  It therefore becomes a reasonable conclusion that these women do not want to read articles about foreign policy and that magazines with these articles will not sell.  Far from being a conspiracy set up by magazine publishers to keep women in the home, we can see this trend as a symptom of the Mystique rather than a cause. 

Another flaw in Friedan’s reasoning is her inability to see events in historical context, despite her chapter on women in history.  In 1939, with the Great Depression still rearing its ugly head, it seems obvious that a woman would be prized for her resourcefulness.  In a post-war, affluent society, women’s image will necessarily be different.  The world itself had changed completely in these ten years, from a depressed economy where people struggled to feed themselves, to a wartime economy trying to support the troops, to an affluent consumer society.  Women of the Depression, struggling to help their family survive, do not have the same wants or needs as the prosperous American housewife of the 1950s.  Also, women’s role in society has changed just as quickly in ages prior:  women of 1899, living the first Cult of Domesticity, were not the Progressive Era women of 1909. 

In addition to these facts, we can also see that the 1939 stories do not exactly portray an image of unfettered femininity, as Friedan claims.  The women in these stories are still all seeking matrimony, and women who “do the right thing” are often rewarded by gaining the handsome or rich hero as their husband.  As Friedan says of one story, published in the Lady’s Home Journal in 1939, “How can the boss expect her to give up her date!  But she stays on the job… She finds the man, too – The boss!” (Friedan 87).  Friedan’s last claim that she “Went through issue after issue of the three major women’s magazines… without finding a single heroine who had a career, a commitment to any work, art, profession, or mission in the world, other than “Occupation: housewife”.” (Friedan 93) is also false.  Other scholars have been through these magazines as well, and do not find her claim to be at all valid.  Although it is undeniable that these magazines are skewed toward women making their lives as housewives, articles about successful career women appear frequently.   Friedan herself admits to having written articles about a successful artist.  Friedan had to focus the story on the artist’s role as a housewife, but the idea that women could take care of their children and also be something else belies the overarching claim Friedan makes of the Mystique.

Another area in which Friedan has not been careful is in her use of unreliable statistics.   For many of her statistics citing birth rates, Friedan consulted the United Nation’s Demographic Yearbook, which dealt with so many countries that it could not make a careful study of any one of them.  From this source, data pertaining to individual countries cannot be comprehensive, giving us a skewed view of the birthrate.  Studies published by the US government were available to her as well, citing newer and more comprehensive information.  Government data also cited statistics going back through the 1940’s, as opposed to the United Nation data that started in 1950.  With ten more years of information to compare and contrast, and better information available, why would Friedan not have used the US Government statistics? Perhaps because they did not match the point she was trying to make.  The choice of sources is not the only flaw in Friedan’s statistics.  At almost every turn, she irresponsibly manipulates data to fit her claims.

“The women who “adjust” as housewives, who grow up wanting to be “just a housewife” are in as much danger as the millions who walked to their own death in the concentration camps…” (Friedan 423).  By comparing the comfortable yet bland lives of women in the fifties to victims of Nazi concentration camps, Friedan enters territory that is outright offensive.  An actual concentration camp was horrific and demeaning.  People were imprisoned in unsanitary, bug-ridden conditions where they were forced to work at backbreaking tasks for little to no food.  Others were stripped naked, gassed, burned.  Skeletal bodies stacked like cordwood often decorated the landscape.  There was no choice and no optimism in these camps.  As they struggled to survive, these people barely remembered that they were human.  Doubtless, any one of the people imprisoned in these camps would trade places with an affluent American housewife of the sixties in a heartbeat.  They would certainly make this decision even if they had to accept the listlessness and boredom that went with it.  Women in the fifties and sixties embraced these roles willingly, though they did not always understand the full implications of what they were agreeing to.  By comparing their situation to the situation of concentration camp victims, Friedan minimizes the horrific experiences of people in the camps and trivializes the women’s rights movement.  Friedan’s argument is at best in poor taste, and at worst outright enraging, especially when she suggests that concentration camps were terrible “not because [they] were physically killing” (Friedan 424).  Anyone who has even casually studied the Nazi systematic genocide of Jews will tell you that the daily threat of death was one of the most traumatizing parts.

The obvious flaws in the book give way to personal accounts of women living during this time.  This is where the true heart of Friedan’s novel lies and perhaps the reason it has remained a part of the discourse for so long.  These firsthand accounts of women’s experiences smack of a sincerity lacking in the rest of the book.  Depressing stories such as the suburb of 28 women, where

“Sixteen out of the twenty eight were in analysis or analytical psychotherapy.  Eighteen were taking tranquilizers; several had tried suicide; and some had been hospitalized for varying periods, for depression or vaguely diagnosed psychotic states… Of the women who breast fed their babies, one had continued, desperately, until the child was so undernourished that her doctor intervened by force.  Twelve were engaged in extramarital affairs, in act or fantasy.” (Friedan 335).

This shows the problems women faced as no statistics can.  It is in the hopelessness of the young college graduates, the woman in her 40’s trying to have another baby to give her something to do, and the rampant affairs of suburban housewives, that we understand the need for the women’s rights movement of the 1960’s.  Even Friedan’s personal story, as recounted in the prologue and epilogue, are some of the most compelling parts of the book.  These personal accounts showed women that they weren’t alone in their dissatisfaction with their lives, and ultimately touched a generation of women enough to form the second wave of feminism.  These women’s stories almost completely redeem the rest of the novel, certainly classing it as an important historical document, if nothing else.

The inconsistencies and hyperbole that plague Friedan’s book have unfortunately left her vulnerable to anti-feminist attack.  Friedan was not completely who she portrayed herself to be in The Feminine Mystique.  She grew up Betty Goldstein, attended Temple as a child, and eventually grew up to be a communist activist at Sarah Lawrence, where she attended college.  Although she had two children and a husband at the time the book was published, she was “not a particularly cooperative spouse or attentive mother” (NY Times).   Unlike the housewife she purported to be, Friedan worked for a living for most of her life: at a major magazine, and – after she was fired for having her second child – as a freelance writer.  One scholar even claims that the reason she wrote The Feminine Mystique “had more to do with her Marxist hatred for America than with any of her actual experience as a housewife or mother” (U of Penn).  These attacks do not take into account the fact that Friedan was, indeed, a victim of the Mystique.  Friedan may not have been a housewife per se, but she was trapped in an abusive marriage, and fired from her job for the simple reason that she was pregnant.  Another fact these attacks fail to take into account is the generation of women who identified with Friedan’s account of domestic life and rose up to change it.  Not all the women who rallied around the book were Marxists with a hatred for America.  Many were patriotic housewives, as Friedan claimed to be.  Friedan’s political leanings perhaps color some of her claims, but ultimately they make no difference in the ultimate message of the book.  Unfortunately, those seeking to invalidate the feminist movement have been able to latch on to some of Friedan’s more incendiary beliefs and claims to strengthen their own anti-feminist message.

The Feminine Mystique is certainly a worthwhile read.  Although Friedan often relies on dubious methods to prove her point, the reality remains that her book changed the lives of an entire generation of women.  We look back at these times today as the golden era of American history, but the affluent women of these times were not happy.  Pigeonholed into their roles as wives and mothers and told they could not be anything else; the happy image of a woman in a poufy dress who has everything is not an accurate depiction of the woman of these times.  The Feminine Mystique is invaluable for bringing a greater understanding of this to the women of today.  Overly dramatic, plagued by inaccuracies, and at times outright offensive, this book is still worth the read for the firsthand accounts of the hopelessness of women during these times.  Friedan’s book has remained an important part of the American discourse for four decades, and will undoubtedly be read for many decades more.

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Murderesses

Posted on April 11, 2012 by caseykins

Gender and class relations at the turn of the century were complex, yet simple at the same time. Both men and women were expected to fit into narrow spheres of behavior, and there was no admittance that people could fall outside of those established norms. We can see these ideas clearly in The Strange Case of Lizzie Borden, a documentary about the murder trial of Lizzie Borden, and also in the play A Jury of her Peers. By comparing and contrasting these two works, we can see how nineteenth century ideas about gender roles, strict social codes, and empathy with those in one’s social class allow these women to get away with their crimes.

Nineteenth century ideas about gender and what women were capable of greatly affected public opinion of both accused murderesses Lizzie Borden and Minnie Foster. In the play A Jury of her Peers, Minnie Foster was thought to be incapable of being strong enough to strangle her husband, and because of these ideas, the male investigators did not do a very thorough job in examining her house. Although Minnie Foster undoubtedly benefitted from these ideas, Lizzie Borden was able to manipulate these ideas about gender especially well. Lizzie played up on her femininity completely during the trial. She spent most of the trial knitting, fainted away at the sight of her parents’ skulls, and played the upper class lady in all instances. By buying into the established norms of female behavior, Lizzie showed the world that she was also a woman who could not perform such a violent act as an axe murder. Lizzie played up these ideas more than Minnie Foster, but the results for the women were the same. At most it was admitted that a woman might poison a man, but an actual crime where a woman would have to be face to face with her victim was considered impossible for her to execute.

In both cases, we can also see the prevalent idea of manners helping the women to avoid a guilty verdict. At the turn of the century, it was considered extremely wrong, even perverted, for a man to go through a woman’s personal things. This undoubtedly contributed to the halfhearted search that both sets of detectives made of the murder scenes. We know that the detectives in the Lizzie Borden case never searched her bedroom or any of her personal things, and the detectives in the Minnie Foster case did not search her personal things either. There were strong social norms preventing the search of private items, but Minnie Foster’s sewing box would not necessarily been searched anyway. In addition to the taboo about touching a woman’s private possessions, women’s public possessions were considered completely unimportant by men. It would not have dawned on the two investigators to search Minnie Foster’s sewing box, as they would not have attached any importance to the item. We can clearly see how turn of the century manners helped these women to escape conviction.

Class also played a strong role in the acquittal of both Lizzie Borden and Minnie Foster. At the time, those who were upper class were considered incapable of immoral behavior. Add this belief to the belief in the moral superiority of women, and you end up with an even stronger public opinion that these women are innocent. In the idea of class is where we can see the biggest deviation between the stories of Minnie Foster and Lizzie Borden. Lizzie Borden was an upper class woman. When word that she had been accused of murdering her parents spread to the community, many rallied behind her and supported her, especially those at the church that she had been attending. All claimed that a churchgoing woman could not possibly have performed the murders. According to the narrator of the documentary, it was not only because Lizzie was a woman that evidence would have been suppressed. Neighbors were going in and out of the house all day and it would have been a common practice for them to take anything that would have implicated any of the family members, not just the female ones. Often, bad behavior was seen to be the result of bad company or bad upbringing. Neighbors of the Borden family would not have wanted to share in this stigma, so they had a strong reason to hush up any evidence. In the Minnie Foster case, Minnie is not an upper class woman. Although evidence of her crime is suppressed in much the same way as in the Lizzie Borden case, we understand from the play that it is because the women discovering the evidence empathize with her, and not because of class or status. In fact, it is hinted that Minnie is of a lower status than her neighbors. Still, the end result is the same, as vital evidence is suppressed. We know in the Lizzie Borden case that she was acquitted of the charges that she murdered her parents, but we do not know the outcome of the Minnie Foster case. This is perhaps another indication of class as the wealthy woman naturally goes free, but the poorer woman’s fate is not so certain.

In both of these cases, we can clearly see much of the attitudes and ideas of turn of the century America. As the cartoons in Puck Magazine from Through Women’s Eyes show, public opinion of women is that they are delicate and silly. The women in these cartoons are all upper class white women. Although some are sporty and active, unlike previous ages, there is the general impression that they are not serious about their pursuits. All the women are delicately dressed with perfect hair and all are engaged in traditional womanly pursuits. Through these pictures, we can clearly see the overwhelming impression that women are delicate creatures and incapable of seriousness. It is not too hard to jump from these images to the actual women of the time. If women cannot take boating seriously, it is easy to see how society would assume that women would also be incapable of being serious enough for murder.

Through The Strange Case of Lizzie Borden and A Jury of Her Peers, we can see how pigeon-holed people were during the turn of the century. Gender roles were so strict that it was impossible for detectives to take Lizzie Borden or Minnie Foster seriously enough that they would be convicted of murder. The codes of class, established gender roles, and empathy for those in one’s social situation allowed both women to get away with their crimes. Although these codes worked to the women’s advantage in one way, we can also see that it was the social code in the first place that made these women want to get out of the situations they were in. The greater gender equality women of the first wave of feminism fought for was undoubtedly worth it.

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Emer’s Diary

Posted on February 9, 2010 by caseykins

May 26, 1033

I went to the magic shop today, and the owner, Drand Oakenshield offered to rent me four hats of disguise if I put down a considerable deposit and had them back within 48 hours unharmed. I’ve been in there a couple of times since my first trip, mostly to drool at the items in the case, and we chat about the local happenings. It was good of him to do me this favor. I think with the hats and my spell of silence, we should get out of the university quite easily and completely pass for men once were at the races. It will be much less dangerous that way. The girls say that Madam Glerda is sound asleep by 10:30 every night, so we shall take our chances tomorrow evening!

 May 28, 1033

We had an epic time out last night. Truly, it was an evening for the poets and the song makers. Ananalie, Randa, and Smailey were the three that braved the city with me, and it was wonderful. We each adopted a teacher’s look to get out of the school, and then changed to four unknown youths, looking slightly like ourselves so we would recognize each other, but completely different at the same time.

We went to the Dog Racing first, at the arena two blocks from the university. The only women in the crowd were what Madam Samanda used to call “Working Girls”, suggestively attired, and hanging themselves across their man’s arm. The air was thick with cigar smoke, and the acrid smell of cheap beer and dog dung clung to everything. Smailey insisted on buying us all a beer, so we would look authentic and we settled down in the stands to watch. It was quite exciting, really. I could see how much more exiting it would be if you had money on the race, which of course none of us did. We cheered and yelled and slapped each other on the backs to our hearts content, like the crowd around us. The greyhounds were beautiful and lithe, racing around the track, and it could have been something I would have really enjoyed had the atmosphere been different. As it was, I had an exciting time.

When it came time to go to a tavern, they insisted on going to the Thirsty Zombie, the roughest one in town. We had dinner there at the bar, trying to keep our noses down, but looking around every once in a while to see what we could see. There was a man all in black who kept whispering things into his bag as he ate in the corner, and two small quick men who seemed to be everywhere at once, practically dimension dooring from this side of the room to the other. We decided to leave when a fight broke out near the door and the burly half-orc behind the counter had to break it up rather roughly, to the cheers and hollers of the other customers.

We were nearly caught sneaking back into the dorms. We had forgotten to switch ourselves back to teachers with the hats of disguise, and we just managed to duck into an empty classroom as Portho, the old door warden, did a midnight sweep of the halls. Other than that, our trip was quite successful. I hope the girls have the roaming spirit out of their hearts now. I don’t know if I have the desire to go again, though the first trip was all kinds of dangerous fun!

June 8, 1033

Today is the feast day of Corellian Lariethan, and it’s nice to be in a place that celebrates it again. At my home in the valley, where I lived with my parents, they always made much of this day. I almost feel like I’m back there and a child again, though it’s different. They have the marketplace festival, and the flags flying from many of the houses here, but you get the impression that it’s more about the excuse for a holiday than Corellian Lariethan himself. Still, it’s been a nice day. Annandale suspended classes (though he spent it in his office with the research books and not out in the city), and Lillias and I are planning to go dance in the square this evening. Any excuse to put on that burgundy dress is a good one!

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Emer’s Diary

Posted on February 2, 2010 by caseykins

May 9, 1033

The salary has been burning a hole in my pocket, so I went down town today by myself to spend it. I snuck out after office hours had ended, and had a lovely time. There’s a magic shop down by the water that has everything a girl could ever dream of. The weapons and things were quite wonderful, of course, but I really couldn’t take my eyes off the Robe of Inferno hanging behind the counter in a polished glass case. It allows you to launch spheres of fire as you wear it, and it’s the most beautiful shade of shiny black with flames, even nicer than the ones I did on my spell component pouch, rimming the hem. It makes me giddy just thinking about it, but it’s too expensive, and the man behind the counter said it’s quite rare. If I saved up for a whole year, I wouldn’t even touch the purchase price, so it’s quite out of the question. I did buy some spell components that I had been needing and felt like it was a consolation prize.

I roamed the seashore for a little bit, after I came out of the magic shop. It was such a beautiful day, and the waves made that wonderful crush hash sound as I stuck my feet in the soft sand and tried not to get my dress wet. There were some others walking on the beach as well, and I got some curious smiles, standing there at the edge of the sea with my flowing robes whipping about my legs.

I was a little hungry, after all my travels, but I didn’t dare go into a tavern by myself, the lone little elf woman among all the ruffians. I didn’t want to even think about trouble, so I turned my feet for home thinking I would raid the kitchens for dinner leftovers. On my way, I passed the prettiest little dress shop, and succumbed to temptation. It’s a pretty dark burgundy silk, plainly made, but wonderful. It fits me so well, and I am now completely set if I decide to go to the theater again, or anywhere I can’t wear my robes. The lady tried to sell me some jewels as well, but I decided that gaudiness didn’t befit an Elf of my stature and left without them. After all, I am a humble teacher’s assistant, not a debutant.

May 11, 1033

I got invited to the theater tonight!! I’m so excited to have a chance to wear my new gown so soon. It’s supposed to be a Human Soprano with a little band behind her, and I think it should be a sweet evening.

May 12, 1033

The theater was wonderful as usual, and the Soprano had a lovely voice. It made me wish I could sing. I’ve had some trouble with this latest spell I’m trying to learn and have been pouring over theory books all day, in hopes that it will help. Lillias and I meet tomorrow in the library to have another go.

May 20, 1033

Ananalie and I had a heart to heart talk tonight. Some of the girls from the finishing school have wanted to sneak out all term, but didn’t dare for fear of waking Madam Glerda and upsetting the administration. None of them have ever been to a tavern before, and they figure it’s their last chance before they get married off to some rich man and have a name to uphold. She seemed rather sad at this prospect, rather than relieved as I would be. Have some rich man take care of you for the rest of your days, and never have to worry about working so hard for a living again? It sounds like a dream come true to me, but to each his own, I guess. She thought I could maybe think of some way to magic them out of the dormitory. They have some boys clothes squirreled away, and want to visit the Dog races and maybe the local tavern afterward. It sounds dangerous to me, but also like a lot of fun. Ananalie asked me to come with them, and I think I will. I must do some research on what would be the best tactics. Silence will certainly come in handy.

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Crows

Posted on January 25, 2010 by caseykins

Jack didn’t think about it much when the first crow appeared. He was about to bite into a soggy tuna sandwich, sitting down in the middle of the tree-lined quad at the college where he worked. It was a cold day, the wind tossing the tree tops gently back and forth. Students scuttled to their classes, hands stashed in their armpits, scarves trailing behind them. His usual lunch location had been overrun by a group of noisy law students, and the sun was shining, so Jack decided to brave the cold and eat his lunch peacefully in the quad. His cheeks and hands were pleasantly numb as he raised his sandwich to take a bite.

The crow hopped up to him and stared with its beady little eyes, cocking its head this way and that. It looked like it wanted something, Jack thought, perhaps a piece of sandwich? Then it opened its black beak and let out a loud caw. Jack turned his attention back to his tuna, but it continued to look at him for a few minutes, head still moving this way and that. Jack felt uncomfortable as he stared back at it, facing off absurdly with something so much smaller than he was. Suddenly, the crow took a step forward and exploded in a barrage of caws, filling up the empty quad with echoing noise. It flapped its wings at him and generally made a scene. Jack looked around, embarrassed, to see if anyone had noticed. No one was around.

“Will you quit it!?!” Jack said to the bird. It didn’t stop. Great, he thought, now I’m talking out loud to birds. He threw his sandwich back into his brown paper bag and stalked back to his office, his peaceful lunch ruined.

The crow squawked after him as he walked away. “That’s right!” It seemed to say. “I’m talking to you, mister, and you’d better listen.”

It was waiting for him as he left the office that night, and it had brought a friend. They were sitting smugly in the tree outside the white concrete building where he worked, gurgling back and forth to one another and discussing their day, little black blobs among the green leaves. As the automatic glass doors slid open and Jack stepped out, the birds started again, both screaming at the top of their lungs.

Jack gave them a dirty look. Wonderful, they’re following me now, he thought sarcastically. Another crow flew over to join the two in the tree. Worse, they followed him to his car, hopping and flying as he walked along. Jack couldn’t believe that three such little animals could make so much noise, and it annoyed him. He sat down in his car, slammed the door shut, and peeled out of the parking lot.

Jack pulled into the white, modern garage that stood in front of his white, modern condo. He opened the white door, threw his keys on the marble kitchen countertop, and pulled a TV dinner out of the freezer. The answering machine gave a loud beep, and Jack pressed the play button as he waited for his dinner to warm up. A shrill dial tone pierced through the air until he pressed the delete button.

When the microwave beeped, Jack removed his dinner, sat down on a vast, black leather couch and flipped on the football game. Besides the giant plasma-screened TV and the couch, there was no other furniture in the laminate floored, white walled living room.

Finished with dinner, Jack wandered upstairs to his white walled office where the sound of the TV still chattered in the background. A glass-top desk and leather desk chair stood in the middle of the room, a state-of-the-art computer perched on top. Piles of papers covered the laminate floor like carpet. Jack picked his way to the computer and typed “Crows” into the internet search engine.

The usual popped onto his screen: information about types of crows, what they eat and their life cycle. There was nothing that would explain why crows had suddenly started stalking him. He did learn that the big black crows interrupting his lunch were the kind that ate the flesh of decaying things. Suddenly, the crows no longer seemed funny or annoying, they seemed like something more. He went back downstairs to the football game and fell asleep on the couch.

There were four crows waiting in the tree for Jack when he walked into work the next morning, one more than the day before. They screamed at him as he walked past them through the sliding glass doors. At lunch, walking to his favorite café, they followed him, attracting two more cawing black birds as they all walked along. People stared as he passed by, and he tried to look nonchalant, like the crows weren’t following him specifically, like they just happened to be on the street near him. It was hard as they hopped along beside him, flying from small, manicured tree to lamppost as he walked along the sidewalk of downtown. I wonder how many crows constitute a murder, Jack thought to himself grimly.

“I’ll take a table inside today.” Jack told the host as the crows fluffed their wings and roosted on the roof, waiting for Jack to emerge again.

By Friday night, the birds had not stopped following Jack. In fact, several more had joined the group each day. There were now a grand total of twelve birds following him and screaming no matter where he went. As he shut himself inside his black sports car, he breathed a sigh of relief. A weekend at home, sans birds, awaited him. He looked forward to it.

Jack was surprised, and extremely pissed, when he opened the front door for the newspaper the next morning. There on the little maple by his door was a crow. Not black like the other crows at work, this one had a creamy body, its black head, wings, and legs peaking out, like it was wearing a white feather sweater. It didn’t make a sound, but it studied him carefully as he picked up the paper. A sort of despair settled over Jack as he stared back at it. Was he unable to escape them? He tucked the newspaper under his arm and went inside.

When he left the house for groceries a few hours later, twelve black crows had joined the white one. Jack couldn’t be sure, but he thought they might be the same that had been following him around at work. They cawed at him as he ducked into his garage and peeled away. “Listen to us,” they yelled incessantly as Jack walked back and forth from garage to condo, unloading brown bags of groceries as he seethed.

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The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Posted on January 19, 2010 by caseykins
Once upon a time, a hearing king named Joe had twelve deaf daughters, each one more beautiful than the last. They all slept together in one large, splendid room. Their beds stood side by side and every nightwhen they went to bed, the king locked the door and bolted it so he knew his children were safe. Every morning when he unlocked the door, he saw that their shoes were worn out, with holes in the toes and laces broken. The king ordered an investigation, but after, many weeks of trying, no one could find out how the princesses were able to leave the locked and bolted room.
King Joe was very upset that he had to spend so much royal money on new shoes for his daughters, for princesses could not wear shabby shoes. He proclaimed that whoever could discover where his daughters went at night could choose one of them for his wife and be king after his death. If, however, they could not discover where his daughters went after three days and nights, they should be banished from his kingdom forever.
It was not long before a king’s son from the next kingdom came and offered to discover where the princesses danced at night. He was welcomed warmly into the palace with a large feast, and in the evening, was led into a bedroom next the princesses bedroom. He was to watch and discover where the twelve went, so the princess’s bedroom door was left open. Nevertheless, the Prince’s eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning all twelve pairs of shoes had holes in them, and he had no idea how. The same thing happened on the second and third nights so he was banished forevermore from King Joe’s kingdom. Many others came after this and undertook the mystery, but none discovered how the shoes got holes in them and all were forever banished from the kingdom.

One day a poor, wounded soldier named Michael found himself on the road to the town where King Joe lived. He met a funny old woman on the road who asked him where he was going

“I really don’t know,” he answered jokingly. “I thought I might discover where the princesses danced holes in their shoes and become king.

“That is not so difficult,” said the old woman mysteriously. “The secret is that you must pretend to be sound asleep.”With that, she gave him a little cloak and said, “If you put this on you will be invisible and then you can follow the princesses at night.”

When Michael received this good advice, he decided to try his luck. He went to King Joe and announced that he also wanted to take the challenge. King Joe welcomed the old soldier, and had his servants dress him in royal garments. At the feast that night, the oldest princess stood up and performed an ABC story in sign language for everyone in the hall. Her signing was beautiful and it made Michael want to learn more. It also made him want to succeed more than ever before.
“What is that girl’s name?” Michael whispered to a nobleman sitting next to him.

“Oh, that’s Princess Leah.” The nobleman replied snootily.

Later that evening, Michael was led into a bedroom next to the twelve princesses. He lay down immediately, and after a while began to snore as if in the deepest sleep.

The twelve princesses felt the vibrations of his snoring on his bed and so they got up. They then opened the wardrobes, and brought out pretty dresses and dressed themselves in front of the long mirrors, sprang about and rejoiced at the thought of going to the dance. Because the girls were deaf, they didn’t realize how noisy they were being while getting dressed and dancing about laughing. But the youngest wasn’t feeling joyful and signed to them that she had a bad feeling.

“You’re just being silly, Jessie.” They signed back, and teased her.

When they were all ready to go, they looked carefully at Michael but he had closed his eyes and did not move or stir so they felt themselves quite secure and prepared to leave.

Princess Leah went to her bed and tapped it. It immediately sank into the ground, revealing a secret pathway. The sisters went down through the opening, Leah going first. Michael, who had watched everything, did not wait any longer. He sprang out of bed, put on his invisibility cloak and went down last behind the youngest, Princess Jessie. Halfway down the steps he stepped a little on her dress. She was terrified, and she began waving her arms to get her sisters’ attention.

She signed, “My dress is stuck. Someone is pulling my dress!”

Leah signed back, “Don’t be silly, you caught it on a nail.” They then continued down the stairs.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were standing in a wonderful avenue of trees, all the leaves of which were silver shone and glistened. Michael thought, “I must carry a token away with me” and broke off a twig from one of the trees. Jessie thought she saw something but since her sisters made fun of her before, she decided

not to say anything.

As they traveled deeper into the forest, the leaves of the trees turned to gold, and then to diamonds. Again, Michael broke branches from each of the trees, and each time Jessie thought she saw something move but he was too quick for her to be sure.

They went on and came to a great lake where twelve little boats stood, and in each boat sat a handsome deaf prince. Each took one princess with him and the soldier seated himself next to the youngest.

The youngest prince signed to Jessie, “I don’t know why the boat is so much heavier today, and I will have to row with all my strength if I am to get across the lake.”

“What could be the cause,” she signed, “but warm weather? I feel very warm too.”

On the opposite side of the lake stood a splendid, brightly lit castle, perfect light for signing and dancing. The princes rowed over and entered a silver and gold ballroom. Fancy lights hung above their heads, seeming tofloat in the air, and the walls and floor vibrated around them. Each prince danced with the girl he loved most all night long. The dancers could feel the pulsating music and moved with so much joy, but Michael danced with them unseen. They danced until 3o’clock in the morning, and when they were finished all their shoes had holes.

Leah felt the hole in her toe and gasped. She was enjoying being with other deaf people so much that she had not realized how fast the time was passing. Unwillingly, she flashed the lights to signal to her sister that it was time to go home.

The princes rowed them back across the lake and this time the soldier seated himself by Leah, the eldest, so he could get back to bed without suspicion.

On the shore, the girls took leave of their princes and promised to return the following night. As the girls were saying their long goodbyes, Michael ran out in front, and lay down quickly on his bed. When the twelve had come up slowly and wearily from their midnight dance, Michael was already snoring so strong they could feel the vibrations. They felt confident that he had slept the whole time they were away. They took off their beautiful dresses, laid them away, put the worn out shoes under the beds and went to sleep.

The next morning Michael did not tell King Joe what he saw. Instead, he went with the twelve princesses again to their wonderful dance, and again the next night. Everything happened as it had before, and each night the princesses danced until their shoes were worn to pieces.

When it came time for Michael to give his answer to the king, he took the three twigs with him as proof. The sisters stood outside, peeking through the window, trying to read his lips as he spoke to the king. They noticed the three twigs, and wondered, worried, how he got them. Jessie concluded “He must have followed us.” They knew they had been caught.

When the king asked the soldier “Where have my twelve daughters danced their shoes into pieces at night?” Michael answered “in an underground castle with twelve princes,” and explained how he had found out.

The king then had his court guard get his twelve daughters and bring them in. The king yelled at the girls as he always did thinking that if he shouted loud enough, they could hear him. Of course, it was not until the interpreter signed that they understood what their father was saying. He asked if Michael told the truth. When the princesses saw that they were betrayed many of them closed their eyes so they could not see the interpreter signing However, Leah felt obliged to confess all. Hearing this, the king asked Michael which one of his daughters he would have for his wife.

Michael answered, “I am no longer young, so give me the eldest, Princess Leah.” But he was also thinking of how beautifully she had signed the ABC story on his first night in the palace.

The engagement was announced by the Royal Herald and the whole kingdom was invited to the wedding the following month.  The sisters were saddened and upset that their older sister was marying a hearing man, but eventually he won them over.  During that month, Michael gestured and used pen and paper to communicate with Leah, but he was secretly taking Sign Language lessons.  On his wedding day, Michael surprised everyone by signing his vows to Leah  He immersed himself in their culture and accompanied his wife and her sisters to all their social activities.  As Michael’s sign language skills grew, so did the love between him and his princess, and they lived happily ever after.  The End.

 
 

 

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