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Chasing Dirt: The American Pursuit of Cleanliness, Suellen Hoy
The title tells the tale. Hoy's approach is chronologial. Her analysis is colored by her unconcealed approval of American approaches to cleanliness -- she relates being shocked when, as a teenager, she first saw a woman with unshaved pits and legs. As her analysis is also informed by feminist concerns about the "second shift", awareness of the class-implications of middle-class ideals of cleanliness and environmental concerns about the impact of some of the means used to achieve cleanliness, her concern about recent regression from a peak of cleanliness she identifies in the fifties is modulated.
Hoy's description of American squalor in the eighteenth century rests heavily on upper-class English travelers who wrote about what they saw and encountered in the colonies, or the newly formed United States. This is at times unfortunate. These travelers were appalled at the total lack of accomodation for people like themselves -- accomodations which were readily available nearly anywhere they travelled in the British Isles, or on the continent, between the better inns, and the large country houses of the upper-class. Outside Philadelphia, New York and Boston, there was no local class equivalent to theirs, and, hence, no provision made for them. Hoy mistakenly interprets this as meaning that Americans were dirtier and more sqalid than their English and European equivalents. This is not shown. I've encountered similar flaws of analysis in histories of American cuisine, where a supposedly unique American sweet tooth is vilified, ignoring its European antecedents, so one can't really blame Hoy much for making a parallel mistake.
Hoy's discussion of Addams' work at Hull-House and other settlement work provides a basis for explaining common fallacies held by the upper and middle classes about immigrants, the laboring classes, and cleanliness. She contrasts the hit-and-miss efforts of upper-class charity workers with the more reality-based work of many settlement houses. She ties this work into the use of "home protection" as a justification for engaging in political activities outside the home. She notes the gradual move from emphasis on cleaning up the urban environment (removal of garbage, street cleaning, installation of sewage systems), to personal cleanliness. She also briefly considers parallels drawn between physical cleanliness, of the person and the urban environment, and moral cleanliness, and the use made by people working in temperance and anti-vice of the wide-spread interest in cleanliness.
The motivations for cleanliness are manifold: civic pride, assimilation of immigrants as Americans, avoidance of disease and epidemic. Hoy is dismissive of concerns about sewer gas, focussing on the germ theory of disease. This actually is a little odd, in view of modern concerns about chemical intolerances which can be nearly indistinguishable from disease in symptoms and often weaken an immune system rendering a person more susceptible to disease. And then it's not like there are no airborne microbes. Ultimately, the reader is forced to conclude that Hoy's unabashed liking of American cleanliness patterns has little to do with concern about disease -- she doesn't spend a lot of time talking about the the results of using antibiotics in raising livestock or milk-producing cows, the use of pesticides and herbicides (make the fruit or lawn look neater, while it may actually be significantly more of a health risk), except to note that cleanliness took a turn from pure whiteness to a glimmer of green sometime around the seventies. Had she thought it the rest of the way through, she might have concluded we are at are cleanest now -- the step "back" was in fact an improved tradeoff between whiteness and larger environmental concerns (or health implications).
All in all, an interesting read, and one to put next to Virginia Scott Jenkins' The Lawn and Levenstein's books on the history of American cuisine. If she's a little more forgiving of health and cleanliness experts who sold out to industry-funded institutes, or a little more blindly accepting of food and grooming ideals of the previous generation, well, I guess we can just cope.
The Book of the Book, Idries Shah
This is a 200+ page book, of which only 16 or so pages have text on them. It is not a literary joke, altho it might be construed as a spiritual joke, if that could include Zen stuff intended to trigger enlightenment. Of course, this isn't Zen -- Shah's Sufi.
A nicely self-referential tale of a tale, the moral of which is presented at the beginning and the punchline of which is explained at the end. The book is a tome which in the beginning contains a single sentence, "When you realise the difference between the container and the content, you will have knowledge." The wise man who owns it conceals it from all but says he gets his wisdom from it. Upon his death, his students grab it and are, sadly, confused. They take it to scholars who are initially elated, and then hostile, on account of believing they've been hoaxed. The students tell all to a dervish, saying they still don't get it, and all but get their ears boxed for being so dim-witted. The dervish-king who hears the tale records it and stores it. The barbarian king who conquers the land steals it and, still not getting it, destroys it. The interpreter who read it aloud then copies it from memory and sells it. One of the purchasers causes it to be propagated down to our day. In addition to the surface (and terminally obvious) surface moral, this functions as a really wonderful exploration of Cameron Laird's meta-principle about valuation as communication. All in all, a worthwhile tale -- I'm contemplating massive infringement of copyright and typing it in here, since I hand-copied it from the one in the library, anyway.
The Bible: An Owners Manual; What You Need to Know Before You Buy and Read Your Own Bible, Robert R. Hann
This teacher of Biblical Studies at Temple University noted the need for an introduction to the introductions and produced it. I originally picked this off the shelf at the library simply because the title is so obnoxious, altho, as it turns out, it is appropriate to the book -- and the book is surprisingly useful for its purpose, and it is of the proper length for an introduction (fewer than 150 pages).
After describing his purpose in writing the book, Hann dives into a description of what the Bible is: a collection of books. He runs through chapter and verse divisions, how they came to be, the purpose they serve (and how to find references), and variations between Bibles. After this extremely useful survey of structural apparatus, he discusses translations, including why suppression of vernacular Bibles occurred and how rare it was. His overview of the history of translating the Bible notes the impact of doctrine on translation and provides a plausible set of reasons for why the need for new translations continues. His explanation of dynamic-equivalence vs. formal-equivalence translations is very clear. He then reviews several translations (because this book was written prior to the availability of the NRSV, it's difficult to know what he would think of it. The RSV was his preferred, with the New English as his preferred dynamic-equivalence Bible.).
A helpful chapter covers types of notes, references and other editorial apparatus. Notes describing alternate readings are the jumping-off point for an explanation of manuscript variation, how texts are collected, compared and evaluated. The discussion is relevant only to NT mss., which the author notes. This supports a series of guidelines for understanding textual notes and ends with some good advice about not closely basing one's beliefs on disputed verses.
Hann manages to wend his way through an extremely abbreviated history of interpretation and hermeneutics. Beginning with targums, he very briefly discusses Jewish types, continues through the detailed exegesis of the Midrash (providing examples), and the introduction of Hellenistic methods, including allegorical and metaphorical interpretation which dominated the middle ages. The return of an emphasis on literal reading, modulated by historical perspective is handled well, as is the conservative reaction to archeological information. The last portion of this chapter is intended specifically for devotional readers, describing the need to participate in larger communities when interpreting the Bible.
The last section lists several useful reference works, one volume histories of Israel and the first century Christians, and books about theology and interpretation.
Hann is inclusive in addressing his audience: the discussion of the canon includes variations between Protestants, Catholics and Eastern Orthodox churches. Most of the book is directed at an audience of devotional and historical or literary readers; the few sections specifically aimed at devotional readers are so labelled. Hann does not (directly) slam any group, altho he does speak out to some extent against sectarian thinking ("if you don't believe x, I won't hang out with you"), and he indirectly describes organizations which use Bible studies classes as an opportunity for conversion as irresponsible (pretty mild, considering most people's reaction). While he clearly believes that some presses, organizations, translations and authors err on the side of conservatism when the evidence is non-committal or inclined the other direction, he carefully avoids slamming fundamentalists. The only target for his criticism is The Living Bible, and that is for not being a translation (a paraphrase), and for importing into the work what was not there before.
It's a good book independent of other considerations, and considering the pitfalls available to anyone writing such a book, it is really surprisingly good. His book recommendations are less than completely useful, so many being out of print (altho some OOP when the book was written are back in newer editions). While this volume is not currently in print, if you're interested in a really good, really basic overview of the Bible and many of its uses, getting this from your local library is a great idea.
Understanding the Dead Sea Scrolls: A reader from the Biblical Archaeology Review, Hershel Shanks, ed.
In The World of Biblical Literature, Robert Alter talks about Biblical Archaeology Review, a slick, full-color magazine devoted to recent work in Biblical archaeology. Alter's amazed at its readership and wonders what purpose it might serve and whether an approach less based on material culture might work better at helping interested Christians and Jews to connect with ancient, holy scripture. Be that as it may, Shanks is every bit as enterprising as Alter claims, and this reader from that magazine suggests that perhaps there is a worthwhile purpose being served. The focus, as the title makes clear, is on the Dead Sea scrolls, including those found in the caves near Qumram, as well as those found at Masada, and in nearby torrent valleys (wadi, nahal, whatever). Historical overviews, speculation regarding the nature and believes of the sect at Qumram, its possible relationship to John the Baptist and early Christianity, the scandal surrounding the anti-Semitic views expressed by Strugnell (head of the project during the late eighties -- all are handled in a manner readily accessible to non-scholars, and even those who haven't read much of the Bible, whether Hebrew or Christian.
A Short History of the Interpretation of the Bible, Robert M. Grant with David Tracy
Recommended by Hann for further reading after the Owner's Manual, this history is by an Anglican and a Roman Catholic who teach at an interdenominational divinity school. Grant begins with the treatment of the OT by Jesus and Paul in the NT, continuing with others, such as the author of Hebrews. The transition to early church fathers through Augustine, touching briefly upon Phil and other Jews along the way, is handled well. The rise of allegorical interpretation is reasonably clear, but the differentiation between it and its source in Jewish typology is not. Grant spends shockingly little time on the Middle Ages, asserting that little novel interpretation occurred. Luther gets extensive treatment during the Reformation, Calvin less and few others are mentioned. The rise of the Germans through the 19th century and the culmination of this line in Renan is clear, although some of the excesses are conveniently ignored.
Grant's handling of 20th century interpretation is weak, altho the final three chapters by Tracy address these issues admirably. Tracy's language is inclusive but not awkward.
Both authors believe interpretation is the province of the church -- that is, the body of, if not believers, those willing to engage with the religious etc. issues of the Bible. They consider the church to predate the NT and to have determined it through the canonization process. Both are hostile to individual and Gnostic approaches.
Interestingly, their (or at any rate, Tracy's) definition of a Christian is one who believes in Jesus Christ with the Apostles. The Bible is not a revelation; rather it is the written witness to a revelatory event. While he takes some pains to divorce this approach from this century's historical and philological discoveries, it is clear that this definition makes no laughable claims to uniqueness of ethical thought, eschatology or prophetic accuracy which the work at Qumram might endanger.
All in all, a worthwhile read, especially for the treatment of the 1400-1900 period, and for Tracy's assessment of current textual and literary criticism and hermeneutics in the 20th century. It is a short (less than 200 pages) text, readily accessible to the reader with minimal knowledge of the Bible. It is not, however, a quick read -- treatment of particular ideas and their advocates and opponents is so abbreviated that skimming renders the discussion largely incomprehensible.
I expect to reread this at least once more sometime soon, to better absorb the arguments concerning the Antioch and Alexandrine schools of interpretation.
Real Magic, Isaac Bonewits
Bonewits got a degree in magic from Berkeley, for whatever that might be worth. This text is basically an effort to find commonalities among magical systems from various cultures and religious systems. It is also an effort to describe these commonalities in ways that make them usable here-and-now, and also more readily subjected to experimentation. Bonewits presents some hand-wavy explanations of various types of magic in terms of long-wave electromagnetic theories of telepathy.
He's somewhat arrogant, but charmingly aware of that fact and he makes a point of offering suitable qualifications. His definition of certain terms requires the reader to be very cautious about attempting to understand any statements without reading the entire book. I did not get the impression that Bonewits is up to any particular shenanigans by doing this; it seemed to be a sincere attempt to clarify some basic issues.
Bonewits summaries definitely suffer from holes in his research and experience. Apparently the earlier version of this book slammed witches in general due to his encounters with witches in specific -- this is largely corrected in this edition. However, he's still repeating that nonsense about how rarely Buddhism has been the basis for religious wars, despite his exposure to one of the violent forms of contemporary Buddhism. He's still slamming Christianity for being one of the worst forms of religion the world has seen -- he knows only about selected evils commited by other religions, and so does not seem to understand how shockingly mundane religious violence has been historically.
It's hard to find a reasonable overall framework for thinking about magical systems -- it's easy to just wind up with unrelated lists of stuff that remains only partially correlated. While I can find things to argue with here, most of what Bonewits has to say is useful. I don't know how useful it would be as a starting point for one completely ignorant of magical, paraphysical, mystical or psychic phenomena. What he has to say does rely on passing familiarity with a fair amount of stuff.
Memory, Lois McMaster Bujold
Book n in a long and enjoyable series. This most recent publication is also the latest chronologically. Miles is back from the dead and still suffering from epileptic fits. Like a lot of people who have similar problems, he's in denial. Unfortunately, driving an armored suit is much, much more dangerous than driving a car, to both the driver and anyone else unfortunate enough to be in the area -- Miles shoots the legs off a Barrayaran courier he's in the process of rescuing. True to form, Elli saves the day, but Miles just doesn't want to come out of his fog and admit that it's really over for Admiral Naismith. Illyan catches the faked report (duh), and is remarkably kind about the whole thing, considering some earlier disagreements between Illyan and Miles.
We might have had an angst ridden novel about Miles trying to figure out how to cope. Instead, we got a detective novel in which Miles has to figure out how to cope while also rescuing Illyan, whose biochip has gone bad. ImpSec in the hands of the eminently competent if somewhat dull Haroche is dragging its heels, so, after being apointed Auditor (!!!) by Gregor, Miles wades into the action. As always, things aren't really what they seem.
Some of the best scenes involve Miles coming the Vor Lord really hard, including a really beautiful one in which he actually puts on all those medals he's been accumulating in a shoebox over a half-dozen or so books. And we actually get to watch Miles calm down, which is practically a mystical experience for him (and everyone around him).
This may well be the best yet -- structurally elegant (revisiting the Raina Csurik cemetary and the way that town turned out over the years makes for a nice and very believable turning point in Miles' depression); emotionally deep and rarely if ever overwrought. It's really a joy to watch Miles and Ivan growing up only to discover the most shocking things about the older generation.
The Price of Blood and Honor, Elizabeth Willey
I put in an order for this book shortly after starting to work at Amazon.com, as it was listed in our catalog months ago as not yet published. Furthermore, this really is the second half of A Sorceror and a Gentleman, which of course I bought in hardback and read as soon as it came out. You can imagine my feelings.
If you were awaiting the depiction of the romance between Gaston and Freia which is the stuff of legend by the time The Well-Favored Man rolls along, you're still going to be waiting. The good news is, we get to see a whole lot of Freia, and quite a bit of Gaston. The bad news is, Freia's pretty much a wreck for most of this lengthy novel. I mean, we're talking wreck on the scale of a Robin McKinley heroine. Dad won't listen to her tale of woe; she gets hauled off to Landuc where (of course) she once again encounters Golias and Ottaviano -- and the only person who understands why she's reacting the way she is is Dewar, and he's too wrapped up in flirting with Josqin to really care. A variety of people get what was coming to them, which is always comforting. And Freia finally finds a worthwhile protector in Gaston, who, big dumb lug that he is, at least isn't trying to get something from her.
I basically do not approve of novels which take a character and beat the crap out of him or her in some detail and with loving attention to all the cutting cruelties. If people condemn gods for putting humans in hell, I can darn well take issue with an author doing the same thing in her own small world.
That said, Willey gets an incredible amount of mileage out of beating up on Freia. As with McKinley, one of the issues illustrated by the depiction of extensive cruelty to a female character is (drum roll please) the evil of stifling gender roles. Also like McKinley, social cruelty (mocking, questioning, insulting, offending) is consistently depicted as having some parallel to more physical, brutal forms of torment (cf the connection drawn between Ofweide and Neyphile). I do not, however, remember McKinley ever fiddling around with elemental identification or feudal connection to the land. Can one really avoid seeing a thread of eco-feminism in the connection made between damage done to Argylle and damage done to Freia? The land is raped; she is raped. She dies; it dies. She returns to live; it comes back to life. Hmmm. What then to make of Dewar? Interesting that after the water-identified Dewar psychologically destroys her, she chooses to die in water. When Dewar finally decides to become a better human, he explicitly thinks of her earth channeling his water -- she will shape and guide him morally (my what a Victorian idea for a vaguely Renaissance fantasy). And while we're on the subject of feudal connection to the land, what is with Lunete? Does she really feel that connected to the land or is she just being annoyingly self-centered? Maybe those aren't incompatible states.
All right; I'm almost done being snippy. I have a few loose questions which may or may not be addressed in future novels (and there'd better be future novels! Noble Rot is apparently behind sched and not sold yet anyway. Oh well.): when will Dewar realize that the balance was rectified by the stone with the death of Cambria? Does Lunete know whose child Cambria was? Otto certainly doesn't seem to. When will he clue in? Does Otto's behavior to Freia in A Sorceror and a Gentleman really explain Argylle hatred of him or does he do some further dastardly deed between this pair of novels and A Well-Favored Man?
Genesis: Translation and Commentary, Robert Alter (incomplete)
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This file recreated from The Internet Wayback Machine in January 2002. Copyright Rebecca Allen, 2002.
Created September 4, 1996 Modified: January 10, 2002