2026 #4 Eleanor of Aquitaine (Weir)

 

Eleanor of Aquitaine: A Life by Alison Weir
My rating: 3.75 stars

My original interest in this book was to fill out some of my historical context surrounding troubadours, and to be sure, there are plenty of references to these poet-composers of southern France in relation to their poetic chronicles of Eleanor of Aquitaine. The quote from the Boston Globe on the covers says, "An alluringly candid portrait of this most public yet elusive of medieval women." To this, I say, "sort of." It isn't Weir's fault -- the records just aren't there (unsurprisingly -- "elusive" is correct). Weir makes do with a wonderful host of historical accounts and primary sources, but the net result is that a good proportion of the book is NOT about Eleanor of Aquitaine, but instead Henry II, and the various Kings (including first husband Louis VII), archbishops, dukes, etc. Once Henry dies in Weir's narrative, however, Eleanor gets more air time (and I think this likely aligns with the historical record as well). So, in a way, I think the book is a meta-reflection of the documentation upon which it rests.

That said, the real mark of a good history book is to get you interested in that which you didn't know you were interested! Weir achieves this in her thorough narrative of the personalities, unions, rivalries, etc that make up 12th-century France and England. There's enough about Eleanor that Weir's main point is illuminated: "[Eleanor of Aquitaine] came into her own at an age when most women were either dead or long in retirement, and ruled as capably as any man. She was no shrinking violet, but a tough, capable, and resourceful woman who travelled widely throughout the known world and was acquainted with most of the great figures of the age." (346). The details of that narrative are worth reading. This is a revision of the heretofore widely accepted tropes of Eleanor as "wicked queen" and "adultress."

It is generally a really great chronicle of the status of women in the medieval period, especially royal women who were seen as barter for various diplomatic transactions. The double standards abound when it comes to marital infidelity, and one has to chuckle at the charges of consanguinity leveled at both of Eleanor's marriages -- the charming handwritten genealogical tables at the back of the book come in handy.

One consistent issue I had is that Weir often describes various figures in a formula that seems to be: extol their prowess and strength, then debunk/contradict it with various accounts of their hubris and in some cases, real lack of humanity. This often takes place in the span of two short paragraphs. For example, in describing King John (as just one example), Weir tells us that he received a lot of bad press, but that recent studies show "he was a gifted administrator who showed a concern for justice...he showed real concern for his kingdom." She goes on to tell us that the "Exchequer, Chancery, and law courts began to function more effectively" and that he "took a more than ordinary interest in the welfare of his common subjects." (318-319). In the very next paragraph, however, we are offered a quote from a chronicler that he was "but a plunderer of his own people, trusting strangers rather than his subjects, wherefore he was eventually deserted by his own men and, in the end, little mourned." (319). This seems to be a regular narrative approach in describing all the main male figures of the historical narrative. I appreciate that these men very likely did have a rather incongruous set of qualities/vices, but the repeated structure in the narrative felt like pop-up instances of whiplash, rather than relating the understandable complexity.

I found myself wondering about some of the other women in the book--particularly Eleanor's daughter in law Berengaria (wife of Richard I), who seemed the most untainted by folly and foibles. This is, as I said, a strength of the book. Weir's research and gifts for writing draw you in to the medieval trials and tribulations of the various bloodlines of French and English royalty.

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Challenges on Storygraph (@rebcamuse):

2026 Reading Goals 4/60

#192030 Challenge: 1999

Tackle your Physical TBR 2026: no. 3

#2025 #38 On Tyranny (Snyder)

 

On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Is this some lofty tome packed with new critical insights and expansive historical knowledge? No. Does it aim to be? No. Did it actually take me five months to read? No. But I had to put it down because I read before bed, and well -- this should keep you up at night. But hopefully with a sense of energy and resolve.

What the book IS, however, is a reminder. A reminder of the things you should hold dear. The things that truly COULD make us great, or at least could reinvest in real patriotism. It is an expanded listicle of 20 "lessons" from the twentieth century. The book opens with: "History does not repeat. But it does instruct." Heather Cox Richardson illuminates that in her "Letters from an American" posts. If you feel you lack courage to resist, throw this tiny book in your bag and take it out and reread it as you wait for the bus.

Make eye contact and small talk (#12).
Start somewhere.



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2025 #33 The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story (Hannah-Jones, ed)

 

The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story by Nikole Hannah-Jones
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

No book or project could ever be comprehensive when it comes to exploring and capturing the history and legacy that began in 1619, when enslaved Africans set foot on the shores of North America, a year prior to the arrival of the Mayflower. The book is an enlargement of Hannah-Jones's foundational The 1619 Project, published in the New York Times Magazine. However, as a reclamation of American History, this book is a chronicle, a celebration of poetry, art, and writing, and a call for understanding and moving forward. "A truly great country does not ignore or excuse its sins, it confronts them and then works to make them right," Hannah-Jones says in closing.

The contributors to the book are many and varied, with some of the most profoundly powerful and influential voices of our time: Claudia Rankine, Khalil Gibran Muhammad, Michelle Alexander, Ibram X. Kendi, Henry Louis Gates, Terry McMillan, and so many more.

In the audiobook, some readers are more compelling than others, but the words are potent, well-researched, and a true call for understanding how conventional narratives of American history have been whitewashed. Turning points, such as Abraham Lincoln's assassination, are reframed so that we understand that when Andrew Johnson took over the presidency for a brief two-month period, he tried to rescind wartime Order No. 15 (known as "Forty Acres and a Mule") and that these original reparations never truly materialized in a way that provided widespread and sustained land ownership to Black Americans. The connection of this (and preceding events) to the current wealth gap between Black and white Americans is made clear.

Ibram X. Kendi's truth-telling is particularly powerful, especially as it targets and demolishes narratives of "post-racial" America. The criticisms may be hard to hear for some, but the cycle of attempts to declare any and all "wins" as progress has largely clouded the narrative in its failure to recognize the persistence of neglect and abuse toward Black Americans, and the systemic infrastructure that perpetuates it.

It is not an easy book to read/listen to -- nor should it be. There is deep and painful beauty expressed in the poems. Few facets of modern life are left un-addressed, whether it is healthcare or mass-incarceration. The book can be (and has been) excerpted to great effect, but sitting with it from start to finish has its own benefits. As a white American, it was invaluable to be reminded of the things I have learned, to be invited to de-center white historical narratives, and to critically consider how much we truly owe to the legacy of Black Americans and how we have failed (and continue to fail) to honor it and fight for it. There has been a lot of backlash and vitriol aimed at the project. I recommend engaging with the book instead of allowing the controversies to subsume the content.


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2024 #47 Uncommon Grounds (Prendergast)

 

Uncommon Grounds: The History of Coffee and How It Transformed Our World by Mark Pendergrast
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I bought this book sometime in 2013 and have read it in fits and starts since then, but only in earnest since last year. Thus is the fate of books in my Kindle app, sometimes. But it is to the book's credit that I bought it for a specific reason--some context on the Coffee Cantata by J.S. Bach for a documentary project I was involved in--but I wound up reading the entire book because it was so exhaustive and fascinating. Indeed, from the Ottoman Empire to Starbucks, Pendergrast traces the commodification and history of the beverage itself, the drinkers, the farmers, the roasters, the purveyors, and some folks in between. If you need a fairly deep dive into the intimate relationship between coffee and world politics, this is a good one.

From myths of goatherds, to 18th-c feminist fights for coffee via Abigail Adams, onward to the U.S.'s dangerous dancing with Brazil, as well as domestic coffee wars, there are few stones left unturned here. At times the information felt a bit overwhelming, with some zooming in on economic minutiae that some readers might appreciate, but might disrupt the energy of the narrative for others. It is the kind of book, however, that makes you glad you learned more than you had set out to, and while it lays bare a lot of the unsavory practices and issues surrounding coffee, Prendergrast ultimately reminds us that it is part of a "matrix" and says:

Compared with many other products developed countries demand in cheap quantity, however, coffee is relatively benign. Laboring on banana, sugar, or cotton plantations or sweating in gold and diamond mines and oil refineries is far worse.

Whether that dose of relativism brings one solace or not is an individual experience, but regardless, Uncommon Grounds is an informative and multifaceted report that may make you take that morning cup of joe a bit less for granted.

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2024 #25: Looking for Spinoza (Damasio)

 

Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain by António Damásio
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I love genre-less books...or at least ones that don't fit neatly into one category. This book is chockfull of accessible neuroscience with helpful diagrams, but it is also a memoir of searching, of curiosity, of embracing the past to understand the present. Damasio makes a strong case that Spinoza was ahead of the game in terms of understanding feeling and emotion in terms of a body-mind connection, but this is no dry scientific work of Spinozan-apologetics. Damasio embraces humanistic inquiry, contextualizing Spinoza's work in a well-researched (and sometimes suprisingly enjoyably sentimental) study of his life. Anathematized from the Sephardic community in Amsterdam, Spinoza's identity during his life was well-known, but his ideas were sub rosa. The inverse was to be his legacy (257). With this study, Damasio contends that Spinoza was a "forerunner of modern biological thinking" (259) in a very important and specific way. He does not resort to hero-worship--Damasio is clear regarding where he think Spinoza misses the mark. But in this book, the result of his "quiet simmering of hints and reflections" (263-4)--one of the best descriptions of the historian's craft I've encountered--Damasio concludes the big takeaway from Spinoza is that "Science can be combined with the best of a humanist tradition to permit a new approach to human affairs and lead to human flourishing." (283). But he is more expansive yet, making the case that our brain, with all its mappings and homeostatic processes and endeavor for self-preservation, is crucial in carrying out Spinoza's "virtuous life in civitas" (274), and that ultimately, even in the face of all we see in the news, "there simply is no alternative to believing we can make a difference." (288)

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2024 #22 Eight Flavors: The Untold Story of American Cuisine (Lohman)

 

Cross-posted at Lady of Shallots 

Eight Flavors: The Untold Story of American Cuisine by Sarah Lohman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The best food histories are just histories. Sarah Lohman captures a whole lot of history in narratives about eight flavors that she feels best define American cuisine: black pepper, vanilla, chili powder, curry powder, soy sauce, garlic, monosodium glutamate (MSG), and sriracha. I could feel my resistance when I read MSG, but it is worth quoting the book here:

Today there’s a double standard when it comes to the perception of MSG. If it’s in Chinese takeout, it’s called MSG, and it’s like poison. But when MSG is utilized by high-end American chefs and brands, it referred to as “Umami" and it’s celebrated as revolutionary. Although [Kikunae] Ikeda named this taste umami in 1907, the designation wasn’t accepted officially by the scientific community until 2000, when taste receptors on the tongue were specifically identified for glutamate. Umami became the fifth official taste, alongside sweet, salty, bitter, and sour.(193)

That was a bit of a mic drop moment for me because I had honestly never really made the connection. Although I've not lived in fear of MSG, I certainly grew up hearing about its various pros and cons (mostly cons). But I'm beginning to appreciate more and more how we fear "chemicals" by virtue of that nomenclature alone, never really considering that nature and chemistry are bedfellows a good portion of the time.

But the book is also a story of people--like the Chili Queens of San Antonio and William Gebhardt who used their chili con carne as the inspiration for his chili powder. Or the mysterious Ranji Smile and his role in popularizing curries in the U.S. Or how anti-Italian sentiments in the late 1930s made garlic vile in spaghetti, but a charm in Provençal/French cuisine. The story of David Tran, inventor of sriracha (inspired by a Thai sauce called Sriraja Panich, invented in 1949 by a woman named Ms. Thanom Chakkapak), was one of the most riveting, as Lohman narrates Tran's journey from Vietnam aboard a Panamanian freighter to Hong Kong, then to Boston (briefly), finally to California, birthplace and home of that blend of chili mash, garlic, sugar, and xantham gum that has become beloved sriracha.

Lohman writes conversationally and weaves together anecdotes and research in the best of ways. This is a great read for anyone who likes to cook or likes to eat (or at least care about what they eat). Lohman illuminates the narratives in our food, and carefully extracts specific flavors that deserve recognition instead of being smothered with the falsehood of the American "melting pot."



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2022 #2: The Cooking Gene (Twitty)

 CW: enslavement/trauma

Cross-posted

The Cooking Gene: A Journey Through African American Culinary History in the Old South by Michael W. Twitty
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A "journey" is an apropos description for this book. I won't even attempt to quantify the percentages of history, memoir, documentary, and food writing. Twitty manages to intertwine his personal story with a history of foodways and people that inextricably connects ancestry, personhood, and food in ways that left me contemplating my own complicated feelings about food and culture. As an adoptee, with two parents who have died, I've not cared to search too much into my own genealogy--I suspect in fear that somehow the cultures and stories into which I was adopted will become "less than." If fear is in the mix, I am even more humbled because this book is at times gritty reckoning with both Twitty's own ancestral history, and this country's foundational story of exploitation and abuse. There are many passages in the book that make it obvious that our narratives about food, crops, and foodways are never isolated. Culinary history is American history. Or African history. Or European history. You get the idea.

Instead, cotton ensured the growing and complete racialization of what it meant to be of African descent. African ethnic groups became the early Afro-Creole culture that began African America. If King Cotton had never reigned, we African Americans might be like an other ethnic group --stories might be passed down; names remembered; song, words, religions, prayers, perhaps, even on might say, a sense of pride. Instead, names were changed again and again and again, as people were sold, further commoditized, dehumanized, and abused. (357-8)

Twitty tells us: "My food is my flag" and his quest to to "regain...a heritage denied" is filled with pain, joy, curiosity, and tremendous beauty. There are multitudes of lessons here, and at some point I will give it a re-read, because I'm certain I'd find even more layers. One of my biggest takeaways, however--and this is coming from my historian's soul--comes from this passage on the last page:

I mistook the past for a landscape to be managed by the learned mind but I was wrong. The past is not to be conquered or conveniently cinched in neat lessons and sound bites. It is a territory that will absorb you almost against your will. (425)

If you aren't interested in culinary history or genealogy...READ THIS BOOK. You owe it to yourself. Michael Twitty allows us to glimpse this "journey" and understand the true meaning and depth of that Carl Sagan quote that is too often blithely offered as inspiration instead of an invitation for reflection and exploration: "We are, each of us, a multitude."


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2021 #4: Enlightenment Orpheus (Vanessa Agnew)

 

Enlightenment Orpheus: The Power of Music in Other Worlds by Vanessa Agnew
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is basically *almost* five stars for me. It is a feat when a book you are reading purely for information/learning, ropes you into a topic you didn't know you cared about. The book is quite the undertaking as it takes the topic of eighteenth-century Orphic discourse and applies it to historiography and reception. The first chapter, "Argonaut Orpheus" focuses on Charles Burney's travels through Europe -- particularly Germany-- but also brilliantly weaves in Cook's voyages to Polynesia to make a larger point about how ideas regarding music's agency were greatly impacted by these travels. The second chapter, "Music's Empire" highlights the political implications, but also how the political and economic thoughts of the Enlightenment shaped theories of monogenesis (among others), as well as establishing hierarchies of instrumentation and texture in Western musical discourse. I found the third chapter, "Anti-Orpheus" slightly less compelling, but I think this was more because I was reading with an end-goal in mind, and this chapter was less relevant to that goal. I will go back and re-read this at some point for leisure, because I'm sure I will get even more out of it. Although it was published in 2008, I think the book resonates even more now, as we encounter some of the same patterns and myth-making while we reckon with the deficiencies of the canon and the hegemonic narratives that surround it.

2020 #12 A Spy Among Friends: Kim Philby and the Great Betrayal (Macintyre)

 

A Spy Among Friends: Kim Philby and the Great Betrayal by Ben Macintyre
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

If you aren't a lover of tales of espionage (fictional or not), or if you don't have a vested interest in the historical figure of Kim Philby, this might be a slow read. I wound up with a copy of this book as a duplicate Christmas gift for someone else, and I decided to give it a go. It definitely picks up speed, but the first half of the book takes a (very) deep look at the intricate "good-ol-boy" networks of Great Britain's intelligence agencies and introduces us to the suave and sneaky Kim Philby and the very intelligent, but eventually-duped Nicholas Elliott. The book toggles between a story about relationships and a run-down of espionage systems and tactics.

If it weren't for the extensive notes at the end of the book it would be hard to believe that it is all true. Ben Macintyre's narrative is detailed, well-researched, and compelling. It becomes increasingly hard to believe that Philby was allowed to betray his country for so long, but more to the point--he had so many people charmed by his je ne sais quoi that they conveniently overlooked not just his espionage, but his abhorrent behavior as a human being.

It is a cautionary tale now -- networks such as these are not a thing of the past. Politics and intelligence agencies still run on nepotism. It is all to easy to characterize these as "Cold War" stories and fail to see the resonance in our present time. The suspense aspect grows exponentially as the book comes to a close, and it is an artful exploration of psychological manipulation and human frailty.

2019 #5: The Shaw Memorial: A Celebration of an American Masterpiece

The Shaw Memorial: A Celebration of an American Masterpiece by Gregory C. Schwarz
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I purchased this book in the gift shop of the Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site in New Hampshire, admiring it for aesthetic production and the inclusion of rare photos. Then I read it.

Wow. Each essay provides so much in terms of historical context, and understanding the process that Saint-Gaudens undertook to create his masterpiece(s)--plural, one might argue, because the different versions all seem to express the artist's commitment to perfection (even if he felt he never achieved it). Likewise, one gets a fairly good understanding of conservation efforts as well.

Particularly compelling is Ludwig Lauerhass's essay, "A Commemoration: The Shaw Memorial as American Culture." In reading the first few pages, I rolled my eyes initially at the seemingly hagiographic language, but quickly changed my mind as Lauerhass's well-researched and cited essay delved into an intertextual exploration of poetry and film. Charles Ives "The Saint-Gaudens in Boston Common" is briefly mentioned, as is the score for the movie Glory, by James Horner.

The eternal question of reception and understanding still hangs in the air--and this is perhaps the most valuable aspect of the book. Discussion of Robert Lowell and Paul Laurence Dunbar's less-than-celebratory poems (commentaries on society's failure to act on the lessons of history) helps us understand why we might revisit the monument, and what the role of the viewer is. We can observe the sinewy muscles of the horse, the rich detail in the faces of the soldiers, the posture of Col. Robert Gould Shaw. But what is more important is that we understand the fatigue of that march...that it is ongoing, in our own backyards.

2015 #1 and #2: The Circle (Eggers) and Salt (Kurlansky)

50 books has proven to be too much, so I'm setting a smaller goal this year: 25. So far, on January 1st, I have two checked off. I'm being generous and counting books that I started in 2014, obviously.

#1
TITLE: The Circle
AUTHOR: Dave Eggers
PUBLISHER: Vintage Books, 2013 (paperback)
PAGES: 497

Unfortunately, the "protagonist" (if one can even call her that) in Eggers' novel is so unbelievably ridiculous that it detracts from the value of the dystopic message. In contrast to a book like Fahrenheit 451, The Circle lacks subtlety. No one with enough brain cells to pick this book up in the first place needs to be hit over the head with the message. Mae is such an unlikeable character that I didn't want to spend time reading about her. And I think that was Eggers' true misstep here. He could have achieved the same transformation, but she could have had more questions and could have been more dimensional. The last 25 pages of the book were rather chilling and redeemed some of the more dry narrative. I like Eggers as a writer very much, and there are descriptive passages, particularly of San Francisco Bay, which are exquisite to read. Part of me believes that the contrast between the nature scenes and the scenes inside the Circle is part of Eggers' plan, but there's not enough balance. And it is when The Circle robs Mae of her time on the bay that I found the character the most unbelievable.

I will say that the book is unsettling enough that it made me question how much time I spend online and how much I share. While Eggers' vision is one that I think is ultimately hyperbolic and probably not very likely, it does ask us to consider how much we are willing to concede for transparency, and whether "transparency" is the cost of social interaction in the digital age. In short, the book probably could lose at least 100 pages, and still retain its message. Ultimately, the "story of one woman's ambition and idealism" (back cover) never materialized--instead it begins (and ends) as a story of one woman's naïveté and low self-esteem.

#2
TITLE: Salt: A World History
AUTHOR: Mark Kurlansky
PUBLISHER: Penguin Books, 2002 (paperback)
PAGES: 497

"A Turks and Caicos designer drew a crest [for the flag] that included Salt Cay saltworks with salt rakers in the foreground and piles of salt.  Back in England, it was the era of Arctic exporation, and, not knowing where the Turks and Caicos was, the English designer assumed the little white domes were igloos. And so he drew doors on each one. And this scene of salt piles with doors  remained the official crest of the colony for almost 100 years, until replaced in 1968 by a crest featuring a flamingo." (Salt, 432)

This book is peppered (hah) with little anecdotal gems like this. The history of salt is indeed the history of so much more, as Kurlansky aptly demonstrates. Chapter 21, which details the significance of salt in Gandhi's resistance in India, was particularly interesting, as were the early chapters of the book. The book's biggest weakness is its organization, or lack thereof. In fairness, Kurlansky really didn't have that many options, given the topic. A straightforward chronological approach would not work, but the book does not negotiate the back and forth of the narrative as well as it might. I found myself losing track of the different methods, although I will admit this may be due in part to the large gaps of time in between my readings, which is obviously no fault of the book. It is certainly eye-opening in that we take for granted those little grains and what they mean for economics, for social justice, for history. A worthwhile read for anyone interested in world history and/or food.

50BC2011 #9: Schuman, Persichetti and Mennin

The Music of William Schuman, Vincent Persichetti, and Peter Mennin by Walter Simmons

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


professional review forthcoming

50BC11 #2: Dark Tide:The Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919

Dark Tide: The Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919 by Stephen Puleo

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


If you aren't aware of the Molasses Flood of 1919, you are likely, as I was, to chuckle just thinking about the Boston waterfront coated in the sticky stuff. But Stephen Puleo's narrative of this event is terrifying, heartbreaking, dramatic, yet never seems sensationalist. He opens the door to reveal a history not just of an isolated terrible tragedy, but the ongoing struggle between corporate power, politics, and ethnic/class stratification. This book isn't just about the fifteen foot high wave that killed over 20 people (according the legal ruling) and injured multitudes of others, but is about what justice really means when an unexpected tragedy takes center stage against the backdrop of society's everyday tragedies. Beautifully written and extensively researched, this is one of the most riveting historical accounts I've ever read.

50BC08 #25: The Joy of Drinking

The Joy of Drinking by Barbara Holland


rating: 4 of 5 stars


This witty coffee table book in miniature is a fun, yet brief, ride through the historic and inexorable connection between alcohol and the human social spirit. Barbara Holland eschews the politically correct, exposing ironies of the sacred bottled water movement but admitting also the futility of dozens of hangover cures. Both the stumbling drunkard in the back alley and the elite wine connoisseur are given their due, taking their deserved places in Holland's pantheon of alcoholic engagers.

While the tone is anecdotal and tongue-in-cheek, Holland's sources are informed and intellectually intriguing. And, for those inspired by the history of moonshine and early American fermentation, the book includes two helpful how-to appendices--one with instructions for making various fruit wines, and the other on "Starting your own Still."

This would make a great gift for the most discerning of drinkers, as long as they have no fear of an author who calls it as she sees it.

50BC08 #24: America's Musical Life

America's Musical Life: A History by Richard Crawford

rating: 4.5 of 5 stars

I took a chance and used this book as a course text for an American music course for non-majors. Crawford's writing is engaging and geared toward a more general audience, but informed by top-notch scholarship. His three-sphere model of American music (cultivated, vernacular and traditional spheres) made a useful and multi-dimensional lens through which to trace the development of musical styles and genres. I appreciated the performer-based approach rather than the standard "a history of dead white men" approach so prevalent in the literature. He substantiates this model for American music history in his introduction.
Some of my students, accustomed to "textbooks" may have found the book too verbose for test preparation purposes, I hope that the prose engaged them enough to look beyond the grades and into the rich and diverse musical landscape cultivated in this country.

50BC06 #2: Highbrow, Lowbrow

Review of Highbrow/Lowbrow: The Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in America by Lawrence W. Levine. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988.)

Academia often will mark anything dated ten to fifteen years prior to the present as “dated” simply by the mere fact that its conception took place more than a decade ago. Levine’s 1988 tome testifies that this attitude is shortsighted and moreover, erroneous. Levine has written a book that serves both as a history lesson as well as a hopeful plea to reconsider our cultural biases as constructs of our own doing. Levine does not simplify the situation by presenting a black and white portrait of the American development of high vs. low culture. Instead he offers a well-researched argument supporting a flux in cultural ideas wherein we travel through various redefinitions of culture, both high and low.

Investigating the societal milieu surrounding Shakespeare, opera and orchestral music in nineteenth-century America, Levine aptly demonstrates how we arrived at our current struggle to accommodate contrasting ideas about culture. Bravely decrying the rhetoric of extremists on both sides of the debate, Levine warns:
“In defining and redefining the contours of culture, we are not merely dealing with intellectual abstractions; we are dealing with lives and minds, we are dealing with people, and we owe them more than the hubris of narrow self-defense; we owe them no less than the adoption of an open search for and a careful understanding of what culture has been in our past and can become in our future.”

One need not be an expert in the arts to appreciate the severity of Levine’s message. The comprehension of “cultural hierarchy” is absolutely fundamental to understanding our societal existence. One can moreover applaud Levine for tackling the subject in a way that is accessible and easily comprehended by those not ensconced in academic dialogue. His writing is bold and charismatic, making this book a refreshing change from many academic missives which aim to keep the discourse within the walls of the ivory tower. Levine invites us outside those walls by presenting us with an uncracked mirror by which we can clearly see our own responsibilities and reactions to culture in America.

Actually posted here 9/8/08, original post 1/15/06.

50BC06 #1: When the Emperor Was Divine

Book #1:
WHEN THE EMPEROR WAS DIVINE
Julie Otsuka

To take shame and mold it into an artful looking glass takes a talent not shared by many writers. Julie Otsuka’s novel is a heartbreaking account of the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, related without the heavy-handedness that usually accompanies tales of such dire circumstance.
Otsuka assumes intelligence and social conscience in her readers, so much so that she feels at liberty to be subtly irreverent, never once beating one over the head with angst. If disgust could be elegant, that is how I would best describe Otsuka’s approach.
But her elegance in her writing does not take away from the grit—the reality of suffering. This suffering is summed up in a final “Confession” of the book’s hidden protagonist—albeit too quickly. The end almost seems a bit trite given the journey through which the reader has traversed with the other characters.
Aside from the abrupt final cadence, Emperor tells a story that is as much a tale of Everyman as it is a fitting remembrance of one of the most shocking embarrassments of American history.
(Actually posted 9/8/08, transfered from original post 1/8/06)