His and Her Ántonia

For my paper I explored the relationship between Cather and Jim's  Ántonia, and how Cather's goal was to recreate the classic woman (i.e. Helen of Troy) except American in style.

My Ántonia by Willa Cather portrays the beauties of farm life in rural Nebraska through the eyes of the narrator, Jim Burden, who must carry his love for a woman named Ántonia from his young years through the different paths their lives take. Throughout the novel, the two physically drift slowly apart; Jim’s education pulls him out of Ántonia’s rural life. She, on the other hand, left her education early on to support her family. She is condemned to the life of a serving girl. Though we see them separate, the novel ends with their reunion. Here we see that Jim’s love lasted the ages; to him, Ántonia can do no wrong. His image of her is perfect in every respect; this novel really does portray his Ántonia, the Ántonia he adores despite all faults.

            Ántonia’s picturesque portrayal reflects themes carried in classic literature. She is raised on a similar pedestal to Helen of Troy. Of course, this classical allusion is no mistake by the author. Willa Cather’s intention is to create the great American novel. This love within the devotion to the land she writes about reflects her earthly connection growing up. In these respects, Ántonia belongs to Cather. Her Ántonia is the woman of the ages, fit within the American love of the land. The voice of Cather in Jim musing over Ántonia, ignoring all wrongs reflects Cather’s desire to create a novella ripe with classical themes but unique to America and the American rural experience.

            Cather lived rurally. Her affluent beginnings on the frontier polished her unique lens on American life. To her, the classic American experience came from the plough and its relation to the ground. Her nostalgia for the golden age of farming, where a man tilling the land was valued above all else runs through most of her novels.  Specifically, My Ántonia takes place in and around tiny Black Hawk, Nebraska. We see the characters picking potatoes, fighting snakes and marveling in the glory of the larger towns. This all, no doubt, stems from Cather’s personal history.

            However, Cather does not make her career as a farmer. She becomes a writer. Still, her connection to the earth lives on in her literature. She longs to iconicize this nostalgic, classic, American experience. Her yearning becomes readily apparent in Jim’s studies. To work he “… propped open [his] book and stared listlessly at the page of the Georgics…” (126). Here, Cather- using Jim’s voice narrating Virgil- announces “… I will be the first, if I live, to bring the muses to my country.” (126). “My country” no longer meaning Virgil’s Rome, but Jim and Cather’s America. Virgil’s words are ultimately severed from their context through discussion of the plough- the powerful tool which is part and parcel to working the land. This tool of man represents the work of Americans; for the Romans, “… the pen was fitted to the matter as the plough is to the furrow.” for Americans (126). Together, Jim and Cather have subtly introduced us to the novel’s motive. Cather has taken Virgil’s timeless themes and tethered them to the plow, as apposed to solely the pen. Together, plow and literature till the fertile land. The fruit of her labor is a novel ripe with classicism.

            Cather’s intentions are personified in Jim as narrator. He is the voice through which her nuances are introduced. Cather’s classical allusions are personified in Jim’s love of Ántonia. He reminisces fondly of her.  Ántonia’s family immigrated to Black Hawk around the same time as Jim’s family. Both being newcomers, the children grew close. Jim enjoyed her company, boasted of killing a snake in front of her, and dedicated his high school commencement oration to her memory of her father. Their young years together create an inseparable bond that ends up lasting the ages.

However, circumstances growing old physically separated the two of them. Jim’s education drew him away from Black Hawk, and Ántonia had to accept a job as a serving girl. When they are reunited later in life, it is obvious that his love has never faulted. On touring Ántonia and her husband’s farm, he admires her children and how well she has done for herself. As he falls asleep in her barn, he muses over her once more:

She lent herself to immemorial human attitudes which we recognize by instinct as universal and true. I had not been mistaken. She was a battered woman now, not a lovely girl; but she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one’s breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things (167).

It has been years. He is older, as is she. He is married, as is she. Yet still, he is hopelessly in love with her. To him, she represents universal, imaginative pulchritude that is boundless and timeless- no marriage or age can fence it in.

            This is not to say that Ántonia is without faults. In her younger years while working for the Harlings she takes up the pastime of dancing. Jim and the other working girls become preoccupied with this risqué activity. Ántonia becomes so swept up in it that when the Harlings give her an ultimatum of a job or dancing, she chooses dance. She ends up working for Wick Cutter, an unctuous moneylender disliked throughout the town. She also starts dancing with Larry Donovan, known to be “…a kind of professional ladies man…” (108). Despite her newly found bad habits, her image is unmarred- at least, according to Jim. Directly after introducing her questionable choice in partner, Jim says Ántonia “… was lovely to see, with her eyes shining, and her lips always a little parted when she danced. That constant, dark color in her cheeks never changed.” (108). She has left a lovely family, chosen a questionable new boss, with risqué activities with a promiscuous man as a date. Any normal man would begin to find faults in their image; Yet, Jim remains infatuated.  

            Jim and Ántonia’s relationship exists within the greater context of a farming community. He idealizes her, but on American terms. There are no wars fought over her name; instead, Jim kills a snake and takes pride in her admiration. They do not rest in the Grecian cities but instead on hay bales on the American prairie. Cather’s reference to classic infatuation, epitomized by Helen of Troy is meant create the American image of love.  Men swoon over Helen in Greece; In America, men swoon over Ántonia. Cather’s Ántonia draws Jim in, and he never quite lets go. The rural life has drawn the two of them together, and thus Cather and Jim paint an untouchable portrait of Ántonia. His and her Ántonia will last the ages.

Sheepish

In my relaxed state at home I pulled out a book my friend lent me, called Sheepish, by Catherine Friend. It's about a woman and her partner, trying to make their sheep farm (as well as their relationship) work. Throughout the novel we learn of the wisdom in shepherding, the struggles of menopause and the beauty of relationships.
Now, this is a perfect opportunity to mention my love of sheep. Like Steph has a love of bears, I have a love of these wooly animals. I had to stop myself multiple times from dropping the book, leaving Minneapolis-St. Paul's airport, and running into the fields to start my own sheep farm, despite the struggles they kept mentioning. The funniest part is that her farm is only 45 minutes away from St. Olaf! Don't worry, a field trip is already in the works. I'm more excited than any normal person should be.

Now, relevance! Friend made some references to the modern farm. I couldn't help but think about our discussions of My Antonia, and even my thoughts on Ethan Frome. Friend never was a huge fan of farming- she mentions how she was more of a backup farmer than an actual participant on the land. That's more of her partner's job, Melissa. Friend writes, and eventually starts spinning the wool her sheep produce. While Friend frequently dreams of abandoning her farm during times of trouble, she realizes towards the end of the novel that she can't leave it. There's too much power in the oxytocin loop (oxytocin is a pleasurable hormone released in animals and humans when they interact- it facilitated the original domestication process), and too much value in owning land. She references the 5 eras of farming; it has evolved from sustenance farming to mass producing animals, but now there's a fifth movement, back towards small farms (yeoman farmers, hm?) and caring for our land and animals. It's as if we've made a loop, rotating away from My Antonia, where land is valued for the wealth it can bring, to now, where we value the land for its inherent worth.

Ethan Frome and My Ántonia

As I was working through My Ántonia, I couldn't help but think of Ethan Frome, the depressing novel we read in American Literature my sophomore year of high school. That word really exaggerates the differences between the novel; Antonia's story is not nearly as laden with sadness as Frome's is. While they do have similar styles of narratives (flashback from the perspective of an uninvolved third character), their plot lines take stunningly different directions. Wow, fancy that, two novels with different plot lines? Who'd a thunk it. What I'm getting at is that maybe the location of the agricultural  community might have a drastic effect on the perspectives of the characters. The East coast, where Ethan Frome takes place, has been a developing community for a long time. Having a large plot of land to call your own becomes increasingly difficult. Perhaps this contributes to the isolation and lack of funds that Frome feels. In the great state of Nebraska, large land prospects and a hopeful attitude created a much more merry environment. The community there just seems brighter and more hopeful than the town of Starkfield, whose name in and of itself suggests desolation.

I suppose a real English person could go into this a lot further than I just did....

From Vaudeville to Camping: The Evolution of the Cell Block Tango

I talked a lot about how general Vaudeville ideals influence the smaller, more specific choices we made as artists for our skit. It's an interesting evolution as we get more specific:

            Vaudeville packs a punch. The multitude of mediums and plethora of performers provided early 20^th century audiences with a new form of entertainment that appealed to the masses. We, as Amconners, can only mimic the variety and talent of these performers. Our group’s tribute to this golden age of theater was the Cell Block Tango from the musical Chicago. Ultimately there are three major layers of this skit: historical vaudeville, Chicago’s pastiche, as well as our groups’ personal creative choices. These three aspects combine to create a specific act, personal to our section that still exists within the greater context of Variety Theater.

            If we work inwards from the very outer layer, we start with the context of Vaudeville. Gary’s lecture introduced us to the cultural standard and its place in American history.  All people appreciated this cheap, inviting, and entertaining grab bag of acts. Singing, dancing, animals and slapstick had no cultural boundaries- no matter what gender, ethnicity, social class or native tongue, a hoot and holler came out of a trip to the theater. This illimitability was quintessential to vaudeville’s success! It reflected the boundlessness of the American dream, accessible to any who would jump on the bandwagon (Gisselman np). The theater welcomed everyone, and together they could experience the same entertainment.

            Chicago’s setting, in particular, comes at a newer age in Vaudeville. Jazz and liquor rouged-up our friendly medium and excited it into a burlesque frenzy. It is still equally entertaining, but now on a guiltier, adult level. Now, instead of innocent puppies leaping through hoops, risqué dancers take the forefront in a jaw-dropping, eye-popping display of skin and high-kicks hardly befit for family audiences. But no one’s complaining; they couldn’t in the whir of trumpet and the din of new American success that begins in the roarin’ twenties. The American attitude during prohibition is carefree; riding off the financial and moral victories of World War I, Americans celebrated for a decade before the Great Depression significantly dampened the mood.

            Our musical is plucked right out of this whirlwind. Its original title, “Chicago: A Musical Vaudeville” says it all. The dances could have been taken from right out of a performance in the city, and the announcer for each piece easily could have been a Bronzeville native. Its original setting was a simple arrangement of songs and dances, with little set or transitions between. This reflects the broader vaudevillian style within the specific context of Chicago in the 1920’s. The wheeler-dealer mentality of all the characters playing their lives as a constant act draws us even further into the era by demonstrating the values these people held (Chicago np). Because it is actually a play-as apposed to independent numbers- we can see behind the acts into these performers’ lives. It provides another layer life in the 1920’s.

This choice in medium leads to a dynamic hybridization of classic vaudeville and social commentary. The exaggeration of these characters suggests a grandiose, bourgeoisie mentality. The alcoholic frenzy has caused these representative Americans to stumble away from wholesome entertainment towards a new identity of unnecessary luxury with plenty of skin. The shocking is fashionable and the raunchy has replaced the witty. All together America has become showier than ever before.

Now of course, for our rendition we had to change some aspects of the original Cell Block Tango. In its whole form, the Tango is six murderesses explaining (in song) why they aren’t to blame for the murder of their husbands. “They had it coming,” the woman shout, “They had it coming all along. Cause if they used us, and they abused us, how can you tell us that we were wrong!”. One’s interests are conflicted as the wives express their grievances; at least, I feel bad because these women are stuck with deadbeat husbands; but we can’t forget that these women overreacted and murdered their spouses. In the musical climax, the women argue for their case for freedom, dancing in not much more than their underwear. Whether this use of sexual promiscuity is empowering or degrading is arguable, but these women are trying to use it as a tool for self-expression.

Now, I think it goes without saying that we couldn’t tackle this vignette in its whole. From the very beginning, there were five people in our group, four of which weren’t tone deaf. So, we cut two of the solo acts and focused on four of our own. In coming up with our own scenes for the murder of our husbands we created a vaudeville act within our vaudeville act: the varying combinations of dancing, singing and acting between punctuated by group numbers lent themselves to four very different vignettes. Hopefully, in the real world the audience would have loved us. Our goal was to entertain, and we pulled out all the stops.

Now, I’ve referenced the use of the female sexual promiscuity as a persuasive tool, but there was a slight problem with that for our rendition … I’m  a male. While our decision to have me play Velma stemmed from a logistical issue, our group used it in the creative process later on. During one rehearsal I jokingly asked (in my pretentious actor voice) “Am I a male playing a female, or a male playing the archetypal role of a person trapped in a situation of guilt?”. Of course, some sassy banter followed. Unwittingly it veered towards our conversation of Gay New York.  In an executive decision Mike and I became an effeminate males instead of either the options I mentioned before.

Now, if this were a professional performance setting, my display would have hardly been considered campy or satirical in any way. But subtly, for our audience, I was able to portray an effeminate gay male. Suddenly our burlesque wouldn’t be for heterosexuals anymore. Our pastiche truly crossed all the lines of audience. My performance wasn’t too embellished and would have fit in fine for a typical Broadway setting; it would just be another example of entertainment. However, Gary subtly hinted at the Gay vaudeville in his lecture. This means that somewhere there could have been an all male production of the same skit, which would drastically shift the style of the entire piece as well as provide insight to a completely different subculture of the Prohibition era. But because our act was primarily heterosexual our camping would be more of a display of mockery as apposed to a move of solidarity amongst men of the same sexual orientation.

Hopefully, one can see how the original context of Vaudeville has lead to Chicago’s interpretation, and then how our group’s interpretation draws from and comments on the greater theater tradition as a whole. It is important to remember and reflect on how artistic and historical traditions influence even the most minute of decisions in modern art and expression. This exercise reminds us of that.

Social Class, Value Systems and Space

I was thinking a lot since Friday about value systems and what input they have on mobility in various societies. We mentioned how in an agricultural society it is very easy to judge someone's social class. Of course, there's the fact that you can see how much land a person owns. There is this physical manifestation of wealth. Beyond that, there are farmers asking to borrow equipment they don't own, and of course certain degrees of performance of social class roles. This got me thinking...

In my Gender in Cross Cultural Perspective class we talked a little about various societal "set ups" and their influence on gender roles. One thing I pulled from that was the influence of a pastoral nomadic societies. In these groups wealth is even more fundamentally visible, and easily quantifiable in the number of heads there are in your herd. More goats means more wealth, and more respect within your small community.

Then I jumped far forward to our modern era. Now, wealth can be measured in anything from amount of collectible cars, number of bonds owned or size of your business. Without truly investigating a person in your community they could exist within any large range of economic stratae. Here's where I think we can pull in another correlation be mentioned earlier, and that is the separation of the public and private sphere. Private space has become increasingly valuable in society. The nomadic herder has little space to "own", so it's hard to consider anything private really. They live an exclusively public life. Agrarians have space to call their own, but it's a wide open space, easily visible and quantifiable with a glance. In the most modern of ages, a large house can hide an overdrawn mortgage, and a small apartment could be home to a quiet entrepreneur. Of course this is a sweeping generalization; home locations can speak a lot to the inhabitant's wealth, and those with greater salaries will find more reason to spend their money. But it is still a flexible system, and the rod is bending more and more as we continue on through time.

Praise!

Martin Espada's Alabanza really struck a chord with me. I don't know if it's my lack of sleep, but something about this poem made me really emotional. It probably has to do with the oral interpretation of the poem coupled with the public response, but the emotions flowing his performance really struck at some of the fundamental issues of people, and in particular, immigrants.

Petra's last blog talked about service, and how the help that we're doing may not seem like it makes a difference. I am guilty of inflating my own ego in a position of service. There was a project aptly titled "The Compassion Project" which sought to actively develop the compassionate response to the needs and pains of others. Similarly to Brooks' poem that Petra mentioned, this poem humanizes the "aliens" we frequently push off to the side. "Alabanza" means praise in Spanish, and this poem is praising the 43 employees of the Workers of the World restaurant who were killed on 9/11. They are amongst the casualties, and are a foundation through which our society is built (though delving into that is for another day...). I'm interested in the evolution that occurred in this poem though, like I was interested in a song in the front yard. It starts with the plight of the Latino, always as a worker and a fighter. Its this proud spirit that is being praised, from the beginning to the end.

"a song in the front yard'

I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.

I want a peek at the back

Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.   

A girl gets sick of a rose.

I want to go in the back yard now   

And maybe down the alley,

To where the charity children play.   

I want a good time today.

They do some wonderful things.

They have some wonderful fun.

My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine

How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.   

My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae   

Will grow up to be a bad woman.

That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late

(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).

But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.

And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,

And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace   

And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

 

There are a few things that interest me about this poem. Like first off, why a "song" in the front yard. I'm especially intrigued because of the innocence that I connote with "song", while she says that it's the backyard where the children play. This is connected to the evolution of imagery in the poem as well. At first we just get the feeling of a child playing, literally. This girl wants to go explore the backyard, where it's a little more exciting and unkempt. Typically our neighbors won't see the backyard, so that's were we may let it slip a little bit. But suddenly there's this change where the backyard no longer represents an area  a child would play in, but instead represents a shift in attitude as one grows older. It becomes the gossip, the hush-hush and raunchiness of our time. She goes from wanting to play amongst the weeds to putting on the makeup and going out for the night to do... who knows what. She comments on the development of play throughout our lives; it's always there, but apparently just changes in its purity.

Healing after 9/11

I don't think I brought this up in this forum already, but I apologize if I did:

I stumbled upon this video this summer when I was lazily watching TED talks (How I wish I had that leisure time now...). But anyway, I decided to put it aside and save it for a rainy [blog] day, keeping in mind the conversations we had last year about 9/11, and the impact it had on us as a country and as a people. We mentioned that it's hard to imagine a world before 9/11, simply because of our age and the way it changed our perspective on our world. In the midst of all the chaos and hatred that ensued, it's important to see, understand, and perpetuate this fundamental healing.

Authenticity and the Immersive Experience

This is "The Artist Looks at Nature", by Charles Sheeler. As soon as I saw that he took the picture on page 395 I knew I needed to incorporate this image somehow. It is my favorite painting. It's displayed in Chicago's Art Institute, in the early-20th century-American-painters section, amongst paintings like "American Gothic" and "Nighthawks." Scheeler was an artist at the forefront of the modernist movement, categorized by its precision in form- specifically, depicting the rigid lines of the newly forming industrialized landscape. There are other paintings that showcase this better. What I find truly interesting in this picture is Scheeler's interpretation of interpretation. Look closely at the picture the artist is drawing; it doesn't resemble the landscape it comes from. The contrast in color and shape suggest that either the man in question is not even considering the space he is in, or is simply moved by it in a way that is independent of its actual form. Perhaps the lines of the man-made plateaus he is perched on suggest the sturdiness of a brick house. Regardless of this particular character's drawing, Scheeler is suggesting that an artist interpreting his or her surroundings can ever actually duplicate the space. Whether that be intentional or unintentional, it has an effect on what the audience views. Suddenly that work only becomes truly and utterly authentic to the artist himself.
Now, when we look at The Ford Museum we see this interesting play between authenticity and a desire to educate. The museum's mission describes their goal, it

‘provides unique educational experiences based on authentic objects, stories and lives from America’s traditions of ingenuity, resourcefulness and innovation. Our purpose is to inspire people to learn from these traditions to help shape a better future’

And it's true, the reenactments sought to be authentic. They wore the dress, and accurately the roles that are prescribed to them. But it's hard to ignore these modern people wandering about between you. The actor must make a choice, a very conscious choice to ignore the modern era. They interpret their current situation to not be a village plopped in modern Michigan, but a thriving community of the late 19th century. Is this truly authentic though? Right now, I wouldn't say "My facebook addiction is fueled by a 20th century adherence to technology and intercommunication." to anyone standing near by. So authentic may not be the right word. I've been quite the nitpicker this semester on words on their definitions, and I realize authentic doesn't necessarily mean adhering to every detail. Though Pullman might not have been an authentically ideal town because of its constructed values, one can't deny its role as a pseudo-utopian community. I just think it's important to recognize that any reenactments, whether they be in historical villages or on stage come with ideals and experiences true to the age in which it is being interpreted. This is where the actor plays the role of Sheeler's artist; this actor can choose to be as true to the original image as they choose. In the case of a museum like The Ford Museum though, the actor must strive to ignore all other biases.

The utopia

Pullman's vaguely utopian city brings to question the feasibility of all social projects aimed at improving and equalizing social standards. His city was an experiment in social organization; his perfectly crafted town reflected his ideals, as well as the dream of all Americans to achieve the middle class. His financially crafty idea of a type of rail car gave him the opportunity to arbitrate his own town. Because it was his town eh was free to organize it as he pleased. If you think about it, that concept is scary in and of itself. He had enough money, therefore he could build his own society, where workers were essentially required to adhere to the values he instilled in his community. So much power in one man... And of course, there is a degree of participation on the part of the citizens. They chose to be a part of this community, much like we choose the be a part of the communities we are involved in. But there's something creepy about utopian communities to me. Pieces of life can just be cut out at the overseer's will, like bars and casino's in Pullman's case. While extreme stratification is unfortunate, it in and of itself isn't bad. What's unfortunate is when the system in which there is great socioeconomic diversity isn't set up to support those with the greatest need. So this lack of diversity in Pullman's solely middle class community provides a unification that makes me slightly uncomfortable. I don't know where that comes from; perhaps it's remnants of the red scare, and the fear that purely socialistic tendencies trend towards community's downfall. Again, here we can see Pullman as an example. His own egoism and lack of introspection prevented him from assessing the need of his community as it began to slow down economically. Eventually, this lead to the breaking of the company, and the town as well.