In her article “From ‘Their Eyes’ to ‘Your Eyes’: Suffering Victims and Cultivated Aesthetics in Born into Brothels” (2007), Frann Michel, professor of English and participating faculty in Women’s and Gender Studies at Willamette Univeristy, argues that Zana Briski’s depiction of Sonagachi and its children does not represent the cinematic realism it seems to claim. Incorporating film theory with reviews of the documentary and reports on the conditions of Sonagachi, Michel documents how Briski overstates her own importance while minimizing or ignoring the efforts of other activists in the area. The article criticizes Briski’s work and the documentary’s heavy-handed portrayal of it in order to argue that Born Into Brothels is not representative of the potential of film to serve as an advocate for reform; it is instead an example of the exploitation of human subjects to promote Western ideologies. Writing for Post Script: Essays in Film and the Humanities, Michel’s academic language and refereed arguments appeal to the humanities student and scholar interested in applying literary analysis to film.

Michel, Frann. “From ‘Their Eyes’ to ‘Your Eyes’: Suffering Victims and Cultivated Aesthetics in Born Into Brothels.” Post Script: Essays in Film and the Humanities. 26.3 (Summer 2007): 53-61.

David Davidson’s scholarly assessment of the non-fiction films of Werner Herzog (“Borne Out Of Darkness: The Documentaries of Werner Herzog,” 1986) argues that the filmmaker’s imagination and unique observational style have created an oeuvre of documentaries that deserve greater attention. Beginning with the experimental film Fata Morgana and continuing with more mainstream productions like Land of Silence and Darkness and The Great Ecstasy of the Sculptor Steiner, Davidson focuses on Herzog’s imitation of and attacks upon the cinéma vérité form while possessing the cinematic innocence of Robert Flaherty’s early works. By elevating the importance of Herzog’s documentaries, Davidson brings attention to the poetic and observational strengths that allow Herzog to create mixtures of image, music, and narration that illuminate the boundaries of the actual and the metaphysical. Davidson approaches Herzog from the prospective of both a film critic and a cinematic scholar, promoting Herzog and his documentaries to the casual viewer and the serious academic, alike.

Davidson, David. “Borne Out Of Darkness: The Documentaries of Werner Herzog.” Film Criticism 11.1/2 (Fall/Winter86/87 1986): 15-30.

Barry Sarchett, Professor of English at Colorado College, in his article “Rockumentary as Metadocumentary: Martin Scorsese’s The Last Waltz,” (1994) argues that the acclaimed director elevates the sub-genre of rock documentary from primitive concert videos to highly aesthetic cinematic texts. Analyzing Scorsese’s cinematography, his narrative sequencing, and his use of personal interviews, Sarchett separates The Last Waltz from traditional concert films – films that employed basic cinéma vérité techniques. Rather than a nostalgic recollection of an event, Sarchett contends that Scorsese deconstructed The Band and their farewell concert in such a way that the film’s audience would be required to reconstruct, revisit, and revise the music and the era it represents. Appearing in Literature Film Quarterly – a journal devoted to the study of adaptation – Sarchett’s references to continental philosophy and modern literary theory make this an article for the academic interested in film studies.

Sarchett, Barry W. “‘Rockumentary’ as Metadocumentary: Martin Scorsese’s The Last Waltz.” Literature Film Quarterly. 1994; 22 (1): 28-35.

Simulating Antarctic ‘white-out’ conditions, new residents of McMurdo Station place buckets over their heads and leave the safety of their ice station to find a missing team member. McMurdo, an American research facility on the polar continent, is the temporary home for over a thousand scientists, artists, and writers and is the setting of Werner Herzog’s Encounters at the End of the World. Like Herzog, most of the continent’s inhabitants have received grants from the National Science Foundation to conduct research, but before new recruits are allowed to venture away from the base they must attend a two-day survival-training course. Tethered to the station, they march single file into the unknown only to become hopelessly entangled and way off course.

Kevin Emery, the instructor who is supposed to be the one rescued in this scenario, offers his own commentary as the group becomes increasingly enmeshed by their own blindness. “Part of what we want to do here is an educational opportunity,” he says, “to see if they realize what they’ve done, come back to the hut, and come up with a new game plan. Or if they just keep going down that cascading error phenomenon where one mistake leads into another mistake which leads into a third, and it just gets really bad.”

Emery’s philosophical observation is the thesis of Encounters. Antarctica is a natural setting for Herzog because it provides the filmmaker the opportunity to show a world that is different from our expectations and foreign to our understanding. The inhabitants of McMurdo are classic Herzogian characters – the PhD who is a cook, the linguist on a continent without language, the investment banker who drives a bus, and the welder descended from Aztec kings. As philosopher/forklift driver Stefan Pashov says, they are all people who wanted to jump off the map. This strange city with its uncommon citizens is only a passing interest, however, because Herzog intends to explore deeper questions.

The title is double-entendre. Literally, the film is about the people Herzog meets at the bottom of the planet, but metaphorically, Herzog is concerned that Antarctica is the dismissed prophet of our inevitable doom. For one scientist, Antarctica represents our best chance to understand neutrinos – curious, rule-breaking particles that may have caused the Big Bang. For the biologist who discovered single-celled organisms capable of cognition, the continent holds the secrets to evolution. As the glaciologist explains, Antarctica’s dancing ice flows mirror the effects of our species upon the planet.

For Herzog, beginning, middle, and end are somehow synonymous. What appears to be vast wasteland of ice is in fact an intricate and delicate ecosystem, as volatile as the volcano on Mt. Erebus and as beautiful as the fumaroles it creates. Similarly, Antarctica warns us that this planet has the ability to course-correct and rid itself of unwanted parasites like our species. From Herzog’s perspective, this point on the map where all the lines meet is a crossroads where we must either decide to regroup or to keep going until “it just gets really bad.”

Encounters at the End of the World is Herzog’s first film to earn an Academy Award nomination. The film also garnered an Independent Spirit Award nomination for Best Documentary. Herzog dedicated the film to Roger Ebert, and fans of Herzog will be interested in Ebert’s open letter to the director (available on Ebert’s website) in response to the unexpected honor. Encounters proves, as Ebert extols, that Herzog’s inquiries and imagination are again worthy of our interest.

Works Cited

Herzog, Werner and Henry Kaiser. Encounters at the End of the World. Chatsworth, CA: Image Entertainment, 2008.

In theory, Werner Herzog’s documentary The White Diamond (2005) is about a scientist and his efforts to explore the rainforests of South America in a helium balloon. As with most of the entries in the writer/direrctor’s filmography, theory and practice operate independently of each other. Aware of this distinction, the film opens in classic, expository form as Herzog (the narrator) explains the history of modern aviation through reels of stock footage and panned shots of black-and-white photographs. Segueing from the Hindenburg tragedy to the contemporary uses of the airship, Herzog introduces Graham Dorrington, a professor and aviation expert at a university in England.

Dorrington vigorously reveals his laboratory and his experiments, but Herzog stops Dorrington’s excited explanations to ask about the fingers missing on his left hand. At this point, shifting to a participatory mode, we realize that Dorrington is not just a resident expert; he is the subject of the film. Dorrington is plagued by a flight that went wrong a decade prior. His passion and his interest in aeronautics exist in part to fulfill a childhood dream and in part to prove the death of cinematographer Dieter Plage was not in vain. Plage, working for Dorrington in Sumatra, was killed in an accident, the details of which are withheld for much of the film. Herzog and his crew travel with Dorrington to Guyana, where Dorrington intends to capture on film the mysteries of the rainforest’s canopy near the mythic Kaieteur Falls.

To say the expedition had problems is an understatement, but this is not a setback for Herzog. Transferring his attention from Dorrington and his airship, Herzog and his team explore the natural and human landscapes of Guyana. At this point, Herzog shifts from one documentary mode to another, varying from poetic abstraction, participatory interview, and reflexive self-awareness. His images of the rainforest and Kaieteur Falls combined with Ernst Reijseger’s score subvert these tangential drifts, and Herzog regains his focus as Dorrington rights his ship and dances through the mists.

A Herzog film is always a unique experience. His subjects (Dorrington and his crew of Guyanan Rastafarians are prime examples) are people that are possessed, and Herzog successfully captures their idiosyncrasies. If that were his only accomplishment, The White Diamond would be considered a success. But, Herzog does more than represent the strangeness of his characters or the absurdity of their undertakings. He makes us cheer for them, appreciate them, and wish there were more people like them. For that, Herzog should be considered an alchemist.

The White Diamond received a modest award – The New York Film Critics Circle Award for Best Non-Fiction Film of 2005 – sharing it with Grizzly Man, another Herzog release. Roger Ebert calls Herzog “one of the most inquisitive filmmakers alive” and notes that The White Diamond earns a place among the other curiosities in Herzog’s oeuvre. In the end, The White Diamond shows that imagination is life’s greatest commodity. From the dreams of Dorrington to the observations of the miner who gives the film its title, from the swifts who live under the waterfall to the curious inhabitants of the canopy, Herzog reveals again and again the rewards of living life a little off-center.

Very few events in life could be as devastating as the death of a child. In modern times we anticipate the young will long outlive the old. In fact, low infant mortality rates are synonymous with a society’s modernity. Collectively, we look in fascination and horror when a child is missing or dead, and we fearfully dread that a mother or father is to blame. Images of starving and sick children and their stories solicit benefit and humanitarian aid. Similarly, the weekly lists of those lost in battle are presented with a parenthetical age beside the name of the fallen, and we empathize with the unknown parents and hold our children a little longer in embrace. Children are meant to outlive their parents.

In 17th century colonial America, however, the death of a child probably seemed as inevitable as the cycles of the moon or the seasons of the year. Although modern researchers have recreated statistical pools, attempts to quantify premature death are primarily anecdotal. Diseases like malaria continually suppressed birth rates and infant mortality rates in Virginia and the southern colonies to the rate that the average family survived just over four children to adulthood. In Massachusetts, the prognosis was much better with communities averaging a survival between seven and eight children per family, but the Puritans also gave birth to more children than their counterparts in the South. Some accounts figure that fewer than half of all children born in the Massachusetts Bay Colony lived to see maturity (Smith, 377).

As devastating as that sounds – one in two children dying before their 20th birthday – Puritans found more ruinous the prospect of eternal damnation for their children. Puritan theology taught that, regardless of age or conscience, those whose lives were cut short were not spared everlasting judgment or God’s wrath. Puritan superstitions taught that God’s judgment often took form in temporal hardship, especially in the retributive death of a child. Very few in human history were counted among the eternal elect, and the infant and the stillborn did not merit a pass. They were damned by Original Sin.

This study is a foray into the mind of the Puritan with regards to early death. Beginning with Michael Wigglesworth’s “Day of Doom,” it will explore the biblical basis for infant damnation. This paper will discuss the general Puritan thoughts on mortality and death, and it will explore Anne Hutchinson’s interpretation on the doctrine. Ultimately, this work will argue that the doctrine of infant damnation will forward the decline and fall of Puritan theology and assist the rise of a more liberal Congregationalism.

Reprobate Babies Get Their Day in Court
Michael Wigglesworth’s “Day of Doom” was a right of passage for Puritan school children. Published in 1662, the poem chronicles the events in heaven on God’s final day of judgment. Far from a litany of heavenly hosts singing in infinite concert, the majority of its 224 stanzas detail the last chance for sinners to plead their case before the Judge. One by one groups of degenerates appear before God, representing (at least for Wigglesworth) all of those with a legitimate cause to protest their eternal damnation. From wayward ministers to unlearned heathens from remote nations, they take their turn at the bar. The stern Judge, who holds all accountable for Adam’s sin, refutes their pleas without exception. Through this device Wigglesworth simultaneously rebuts the arguments of the non-Elect and propagates the strict tenets of Puritan doctrine.

The final assembly to appear before God and his judgment, according to Wigglesworth, are the “Reprobate Infants.” This sounds like a comic display. Millions of stillborn babies and those that died in infancy standing before the “Throne of Grace,” pleading with God for salvation – it might strike the modern reader as a scene not too far removed from computer-generated dancing babies or movies like “Look Who’s Talking.” Thankfully, Wigglesworth has already transformed all the living and dead into their spirit bodies at the final trumpet’s blast. So, it is the spirits of these lives ended prematurely that stand before God, sparing the reader from the comic absurdity.

The argument of the reprobate babies is compelling:

“If for our own transgression,
or disobedience,
We here did stand at thy left-hand
just were the Recompense:
But Adam’s guilt our soul hath split,
his fault is charged on us;
And that alone hath overthrown,
and utterly undone us.” (Meserole, 98-99)

The babies are treated as sinners. But, as they argue, they did not even live long enough to sin. What transgression could a stillborn baby have made? If they had sinned they would have accepted their punishment, but instead they bear the sins of another – Adam. Ironically, as they point out, Adam is standing among the Elect. Because of his sin, the unblemished babies are convicted, but the sinner, the man that caused all the world’s strife, receives clemency. How is that just? How could God consider this fair? Why should he provide Grace to the convict and punish those damaged by his crimes?

Wigglesworth’s Divine Judge counters with the doctrine of Original Sin. If Adam had not sinned and humankind dwelled endlessly in Eden, would the reprobate babies plead that they were not worthy of such a reward? The remaining points in the Creator’s rebuttal are less convincing – basically, God chooses he wishes to bestow his gift of Grace, and he chooses to “save none but [his] elect.” He does concede, however, that their punishment should not be as severe as the others, and the Lord agrees to allow the infants “the easiest room in Hell” (Meserole, 102). This arrangement is agreeable to the reprobate babies, and they accept. They are then thrown into a lake of fire where the slightest pain is intolerable (110).

Throughout this dialogue (and in fact the entire poem), Wigglesworth injects numerous scriptural references, which seemingly validate this extreme theological stance. Close inspection of these references, however, reveals a greater alignment with the translators of the Geneva Bible than the translated text. In that sense, then, Wigglesworth’s “Day of Doom” is not the progenitor of Puritan theology, but rather the not-so-concise compilation.

“Doom”-ed References
The Geneva Bible was the bible of the Puritans in England and early America. Translated in 1560, it is significant because it is the first complete translation of both testaments from original Hebrew and Greek texts. The book is also significant for its use of margin notes. These usually occur when the translator intentionally strays from the literal translation of the original for preferred “English sounding” idioms. The notes also show a strong Calvinist interpretation by its translators (Partridge, 76). The book was widely popular, and it is likely the 1599 edition accompanied the Pilgrims on their voyage to the colony. The 1599 edition is notable for its inclusion of the Junius commentary of the book of Revelation. These notes and commentaries form Wigglesworth’s interpretation.

The first proof-text for infant damnation is Revelations 20:12, 15. The 1560 translation reads:

12 And I fawe the dead, bothe great & fmal ftand before God: and the (P)(23) bokes were opened, &*another boke was opend, which is the boke (24) of life, and the dead were iudged of thofe things, which were written in the bokes, according to their workes.
15 And whofoeuer was not founde written in the boke of life, was caft into the lake of fyre.

The (P) refers the reader to a margin note which reads:

Euerie mans confience is as a boke wherein his dedes are written, we fhal appeare whe God openeth the boke

The modern English transcripition of the commentary of Junius adds in the 1599 edition:

(23) As it were, his books of reckoning or accounts, that is, the testimony of our conscience, and of our works, which by no means can be avoided.
(24) The book of the eternal decree of God, in which God the Father has elected in Christ according to the good pleasure of his will, those that shall be heirs of life. This also is spoken according to the manner of men.

Both commentaries stress that each person will be judged by “their workes” – an identifying characteristic of Calvinist philosophy. The word translated as “workes” is εργα in Greek. In other places it is translated as “deeds,” “labour,” and “behaviour.” In all senses of the word, it seems to refer to a judgment based upon the actions of men rather than the grace of God. It is also interesting to note that the translators understand that “bokes” – literally “scrolls” – are a metaphor for the human conscience, but the idea of “workes” is separate from the metaphor (i.e. “workes” does not constitute “conscious deeds” but literal actions). In condemning the reprobate babies Wigglesworth insinuates the literal meaning – “you are sinners.”

The second proof text is found in the book of Romans. In the 1599 text it reads:

5:14 {12} Nevertheless death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over {q} them that had not sinned after the {r} similitude of Adam’s transgression, {13} who is the figure of him that was to come.

(12) But that this law was not the universal law, and that death did not proceed from any actual sin of everyone particularly, it appears by this, that the very infants which neither could ever know nor transgress that natural law, are nonetheless dead as well as Adam.
(q) Our infants.
(r) Nor after the manner of sin of those who are older, following their lusts: but yet the whole posterity was corrupted in Adam when he knowingly and willingly sinned.
(13) Now that first Adam corresponds to the latter, who is Christ, as it is afterward declared.

In this text and its commentaries, the most spurious case for infant damnation is contained. The commentators felt the need to explain who “them that had not sinned” were – in their interpretation “our infants.” By dividing the single phrase into two parts “them that had not sinned after the similitude of Adam’s transgression” the commentators complicate the reading. As a single phrase the passage means “those that did not sin like Adam did,” meaning those whose sin was not from willful disobedience but by ignorance. More importantly, this passage points out that the penalty of Adam’s sin was death, not judgment. Even infants die, just as women experience pain in childbirth, just as all must die – “even Moses.”

The following verse, used later by Wigglesworth, completes Paul’s thought – if one man can make mankind mortal, then one man can make mankind immortal. So, then, even “our infants” or those that sin in ignorance have access to eternal life. That concession, however, would shatter Calvinism and later threaten both the colony in Massachusetts and the Puritan way of life. Taken separately, the two passages speak quite differently. But when taken in concert, they provide the skeletal frame for Puritan theology – the Doctrine of Original Sin and the idea of Faith evidenced by works. Unfortunately, paying the price for these principles were millions of damned babies.

Fear and Loathing in Plymouth
The translators and commentators could not have sensed the shock waves their opinions would send through the Puritan world. Furthermore, Wigglesworth’s “Doom” included among the damned children of all ages and, by proxy, their parents. Any parent who would allow their child to be eternally damned must suffer the same fate. But, if all earnest efforts had been made, the “elected” father could sit at the right hand of God and cheer his son’s fiery, eternal fate. Scholar David E. Stannard depicts a Puritan childhood where the threat of death and damnation hung like the sword of Damocles overhead. As soon as a child was able to pay attention, she was taught that she was a sinner who must repent or face eternal torture. Stannard points out that children “on one hand were deeply loved” but a “child’s spiritual health was extremely worrisome” for the Puritan parent (236-237). Bringing this toxic mixture to a boil was the ever-present threat of untimely death. Death rates tolled about 4/100 in good years, and around 1/10 during epidemics. By another estimate, only 1/2 survived childhood to the age of 17 (Smith, 370-377). Disease, disaster, and starvation were unavoidable for most Puritan families. Salvation was their only solace.

Never is this more evident than in the Puritan practices of christening. By custom, without regard to season, Puritan families were obligated to baptize their children the first Sunday after the child’s birth. Although christening did not ensure the child’s salvation, it did show God (and the Puritan community) that a family was dedicated to raising a Christian child. Therefore, regardless of the child’s eternal fate, the parents were protected. Unfortunately, this dedication had tragic consequences. At times, newborns were actually baptized to death.

Samuel Sewall lost more than one child to christening. His sons Stephen and Joseph both died within a few days of a near freezing baptism. Sewall remarked that poor Stephen was baptized without uttering a word, dying a few days later without making another noise. The child probably suffered from shock and never recovered. In other cases, the christening was delayed a few hours so that the water in the bowl could be heated enough to unfreeze. The church was literally so cold that the water turned to ice during the service. The child died, and may have very well welcomed the fires of Hell on that day (Earle, 2-7).

If a child was lucky enough to survive the chilly ceremony, she was likely to inherit a Puritan childhood that was equally as cold. Children were taught that death was certain, but the timing was not. By the end of the 17th century, the practice of the funeral sermon began, but an infant or a child did not receive a sermon. Those were saved for Sundays. Cotton Mather preached directly to the youngest members of his congregation, warning them that an unrepentant life would separate them from their parents for all eternity. The threat of being orphaned for your sinfulness was shared in many pulpits (Stannard, 241-242). If a child failed to be frightened, her courage was taken as a boastful sign of her decrepit spiritual state (245).

The “Lawless” Woman
Against this dreary backdrop, the life and teaching of Anne Hutchinson is set. Women in Puritan society were expected to do three things – to marry, to have children, and to die. A virtuous woman, like the one touted in Proverbs 31, sought God at a young age. She prayed and fasted. She attended church regularly. She read the scriptures. She shared her faith with other women, and she took notes of the minister’s sermon (Ulrich, 216-218).

These spiritual requirements, however simple, were quite demanding. A Puritan mother was likely to have a child every two to three years. When one child was successfully weaned, another child was planned for. With the average mother giving birth to 8 children, she was likely to have a newborn, a toddler, several small children, and a few pre-teens or adolescents. She was likely recovering from the birth of a child or nursing a sick-child. Often, her spiritual life – the only social activity for a Puritan woman – suffered in support of her children (Treckel 38-39).

Hutchinson sought to remedy this need. As a midwife she had access to these suffering saints, and naturally, following the advice of the Apostle Paul, she began a women’s ministry in the colony. The club grew rapidly and soon her following included influential men. Her lay-congregation soon surpassed that of many politically powerful ministers. Because of this, many recent scholars have argued Hutchinson’s real crime was being an outspoken woman who was able to match her accusers to wit. This feminist criticism, however, overlooks a key ecclesiastical difference between her teachings and the ministries of her contemporaries – specifically, the issue of Faith and Works. Governor Winthrop summarizes it thus:

“One Mrs. Huchinson […] brought with her two dangerous errors. 1. That the person of the Holy Ghost dwells in a justified person. 2. That no sanctification can help to evidence to us our justification. – From these two grew many branches;” (Miller, 129)

Hutchinson’s dangerous interpretations meant that God’s Grace dwelt within all people. A person did not earn grace through her “workes.” Grace was given freely to all who were willing to accept it. Upon the realization of God’s love, no further actions were necessary. Furthermore, no act of sanctification, no good “workes,” could guarantee one’s salvation. This had to be a welcome relief for Puritan women. Hutchinson’s theology greatly increased the number of the Elect, pardoning many who would be condemned by Wigglesworth’s Judge.

This put Hutchinson in the center of a 1600 year-old debate. The Covenant of Grace developed through John and Paul taught liberation from the Law. All men (and women) were subject to divine revelation, and salvation came solely from a private relationship with Christ. The Covenant of Works, represented by Calvinism, dated back to Mosaic law – laws that Christ provided freedom from. Although ministers like Wigglesworth used Pauline teachings, their interpretations – as with infant damnation – were eisegetical, manipulating the text to serve their doctrine. Hutchinson ministry threatened the authority of the colony’s ministers and presented the problem of a society living without the threat of indentured-servitude to God and his church (Augur, 85-87).

For a society under such stern religious pressure and unfathomable amounts of premature death, the Covenant of Grace must have been received as a blessing. “Our infants” are no longer damned for Adam’s sin. In fact, the passage Wigglesworth uses as a proof-text, Romans 5, provides freedom from Original Sin through Jesus. An exegetical reading reveals “that by faith we are justified, and not by the law,” according to the Geneva commentators.

Furthermore, Wigglesworth and Hutchinson’s judges manipulate the story of David and his first son with Bath-Sheba. After the child is born, the baby becomes very ill. David fasts and prays, realizing that the baby’s illness is punishment for adultery and murder. The child dies, and David surrenders his mourning, stating, “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.” Either David plans on meeting his dead son in Hell, or David concedes that in his innocence the child is transmuted to Heaven (2 Samuel 12:14,15).

From this passage, the Puritan ministers interpret the death of a child or infant is an act of God’s vengeance for an ungodly life. In fact, when Winthrop learns that Hutchinson, working as a midwife for a young woman, delivers a disfigured stillborn baby, he takes it as a sign. Shortly thereafter, Hutchinson is excommunicated, taking with her the Covenant of Grace. Years later, when Hutchinson has a hideous miscarriage, they interpreted it as further justification of their actions (Reid, 531-532).

Winthrop had several children, many of which died before reaching adulthood. One newborn daughter died at sea while traveling to the colony. Thomas Shepard, one of Hutchinson’s judges, had seven sons, three dying in infancy. Cotton Mather, the grandson of two of Hutchinson’s judges, had 14 children, but only one child, Samuel, outlived his father. It is unknown how Hutchinson’s accusers reconciled these deaths.

Michael Wigglesworth married three times and fathered eight children. All five children from his first wife, his cousin, died in early childhood. Three daughters from his second marriage survived him.

Conclusion
In 1757, more than a century after Hutchinson’s death, Samuel Webster anonymously published a pamphlet titled A Winter Evening’s Conversation upon the Doctrine of Original Sin. It was a direct retaliation to a piece by Jonathan Edwards published that same year which defended the Calvinist tenet. Emulating the rhetorical style of Edwards, Webster argues that a just God could never send an infant to Hell. Peter Clark followed with the tract A Summer-Morning Conversation, proclaiming in support of Edwards “the great Christian doctrine of Original Sin is most disagreeable to the proud heart of a man.” The pamphlet conceded, however, that “few or none” infants face the fires of Hell. The reaction against Puritanism was taking root within the logical consciences of the public. By the time of William E. Channing, Puritan doctrine was a subsidiary to Unitarian philosophies and the age of Transcendentalism was fast approaching (Schneider, 224 – 250).

The doctrine of infant damnation is not extinct. Indeed, the ideological foundations for American society have deep Calvinist and Puritan roots. Over time the oppressive hand of God was been lifted from the damned, the church has been separated from the state, and women in the spirit of Anne Hutchinson have demanded fresh perspectives. Unfortunately, many good and virtuous people, like Michael Wigglesworth, lived in continuous doubt of their worthiness and their eternal fate.

Without a record of the teachings of Anne Hutchinson it is impossible to firmly state her views on infant and child damnation. Connecting her Covenant of Grace to the morbidly high death rates in the first century of English settlements in the New World would undoubtedly provide a measure of relief for the Puritan mother. Perhaps, the lightness of this teaching encouraged so many to follow her. Perhaps, she was the damned and confused monster her critics made her out to be.

Whatever the case, Puritan leaders moved quickly to marginalize and ultimately defeat her. They preserved their power and provided enough unity to ensure the colonies survival. They could not, however, permanently establish a theocratic state or fully eradicate a gradually growing desire for personal autonomy that demanded spiritual and political agency.

The Doctrine of Infant Damnation may have played only a minor role in the dissolution of Puritan preeminence. Clearly, it exposed an unsettling and hypocritical principle that may have called other areas of Calvinist doctrine into question. Hutchinson and Wigglesworth represent two opposing interpretations of a virtuous life. Unfortunately, the battle between religious fundamentalism and religious freedom remains active, and one continues to threaten the existence of the other.

Works Cited
Auger, Helen. An American Jezebel: The Life of Anne Hutchinson. New York: Brentano’s, 1930.

Ulrich, Laura Thatcher. “Vertuous Women Found: New England Ministerial Literature, 1668-1735.” Puritan New England: Essay on Religion, Society, and Culture. Eds. Alden T. Vaughan and Francis J. Bremer. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1977.

There is no democracy in being born. Every detail is predetermined. Where we live, the color of skin, our gender, and our first language is established for us without our consent. We do not even get to choose our own names. These physical and social characteristics influence our interactions with the world, and the world’s interactions with us. Some of us eagerly accept these labels and these factors as the unique ingredients of our individuality, while others are doomed by the negative consequences of these brands.

What if individuality is a myth? If these predestined factors define and influence us, where does it end? With eye color? With socioeconomic status? With religious affiliation? With sexual orientation? With access to education? These are the question Louis Althusser poses. In his essay “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes Toward an Investigation),” the Marxist philosopher examines self-determination and free-will and the battle against known physical, social, and psychological forces (17).

Two centuries before Althusser and a century before Marx, a young girl was abducted from her home in Africa, transported across the sea to Boston, and sold into the home of John Wheatley. She was Black, female, and enslaved, and even in Boston those were not good things to be in 1760. Named after the ship that brought her to America, Phillis Wheatley quickly became one of her new country’s finest poets. Her ability to transcend ideological barriers, often by using the biases of her detractors, makes her unique regardless of her age, race, or status. These labels come into focus, however, when attempting to understand a tradition and legacy of ideological transcendence by later generations. In short, Phillis Wheatley is worthy of scholarship regardless of her ethnicity, her gender, or her position as a slave, but as an African-American and as a woman she is equally interesting.

The psychological-sociological map of class struggle provided by Althusser gives insight to both our past and present. Althusser explains nine institutions that control how we see ourselves and how we must act. Churches tell us who God is, how he behaves, and how we must behave. Educational systems teach us what to think; our family shows us how to behave in society, and the Law punishes those who do not conform to accepted behaviors. Similarly, our political affiliations or union involvement persuade us to believe one way about civil rights and another way about welfare programs. Literature, movies, and the press persuade us to do “this” or buy “that” (17).

For Althusser, we are “subject” to the apparatuses that support, compete against, and overlap each other. Therefore, the thoughts, feelings, and actions of a single person are the summed influence of all these apparatuses. Why we think, feel, or act in the way we do is “over-determined.” The paper will argue that Wheatley, as one of the most intelligent Americans of her generation, manipulated these systems for her benefit. But more than that, Wheatley’s poetry disguised her anger, resentment, and protest behind a form that pacified the empowered. This tradition of passive resistance through art by means of multiple meaning is consistently found in African-American spirituals, Jazz, and Blues.

Early Misinterpretations
James Levernier, professor of English at University of Arkansas – Little Rock, points out the liminality Wheatley experienced. On one hand she was forced to take oral examinations before 18 of Boston’s elite in order to prove the authenticity of poetry. On the other hand, her critics accuse her of being out of touch and unsympathetic to the state of slavery in the Americas. In 1931, Vernon Loggins argued that Wheatley “neglected” the issue of slavery (24), and four decades later Addison Gayle would say that she was “oblivious of the lot of her fellow blacks” and is therefore a moral and social embarrassment to subsequent generations of African-American writers and readers (qtd. in Levernier). Angelene Jamison points out that “despite her position as a slave and despite the growing interest in the slave issue in Bostonian circles,” Wheatley failed to “address herself to any significant degree to the plight of her people” choosing instead “the events, ideologies, and even the hypocrisies of the white world” (qtd. in Levernier).

Levernier’s counter arguments are compelling, warranting mention in the Norton Anthology’s biographical portrait of Wheatley. He documents Wheatley’s intelligence and the subtlety of her suggestion. Levernier observes that Wheatley adeptly exploits the stylistic potential of poetry to subvert dominant ideologies, comparing her naïve persona to that of Twain’s vassal of social protest, Huckleberry Finn. One does not need to leap forward, however, to find a companion for Wheatley. Anne Bradstreet’s false modesty from the previous generation of Massachusetts-based poets is another example of a subjugated individual who passively challenged the power-elite for a seat at the table.

While Bradstreet and Wheatley share womanhood, however, they do not share a major marginalizing factor – race-based slavery. The dominant national ideology (even in modern America) is both white and male, almost without question. Non-whites and woman are considered inferior, although recent political events suggest an ideological shift is now occurring. Wheatley did not benefit from such movements, however, and her race and her origin where overwhelming obstacles to overcome. In contrast to Levernier, I argue that it was not Wheatley’s intelligence that allowed her to subvert her captors and earn her manumission. This is not to diminish her intellect which was considerable; it is only to say that the subtleness she uses to expose hypocrisy is consistent with African traditions and is evident in 20th century African-American works by those without the educational opportunities afforded to Wheatley.

Rethinking the Blues
Similar to Wheatley, early critics of the music known as the Blues routinely diminished its value. In their 1926 book Negro Workday Songs, Howard Odum and Guy B. Johnson trivialize the Blues and the Blues tradition, which has origins in slavery. Characterized by melancholy and plaintiveness, Odum and Johnson argue that the songs are ostensibly about failed relationships – the loss of love or the loss of place. The primary rhetorical technique is self-pity or martyrdom with the intent of soliciting sympathy. They document the fluidity and mutability of a text that was community property derived from a Negro Spiritual, which in turn is a derivation of the hymns taught to slaves by their masters. The tradition invites variation, and the creation of new stanzas is expected as each version is considered a revision toward higher quality (17-23). Although some of these theories are intriguing, especially the rhetorical aspects, Odum and Johnson consider the Blues an inferior art from by an inferior class of people.

From the perspective of Negro Workday Songs, Wheatley could not be further removed. As with Wheatley, modern critics have reshaped perceptions. John Lovell points out that like Odum and Johnson early interpreters marginalized the Blues with their own ideological biases. For example, traditionally critics made no effort to understand the ideology of the slave or the existence of slave culture. Likewise, they made little effort to understand the influence of African cultures on African-Americans, nor did they attempt to understand cultural signifiers. From the perspective of a national ideology that supported White Male Supremacy, academics underestimated the insights, abilities, and intelligence of African-Americans of a lower socio-economic class – all aspects to which Wheatley could certainly sympathize (510). Particularly intriguing is Lovell’s assessment of “double-meaning.” Blinded by ethnocentric biases, white slave owner’s continually failed to notice the subversive language used passively through the Negro Spiritual (109-110).

For example, the field song “Wonder where is good ole Daniel” says:

Wonder where is good ole Daniel (way over in de Promise Land)
He was cas’ in de lions’ den (way over in de Promise Land)
By an’ by we’ll go an’ meet him (way over in de Promise Land)

Wonder where the Hebrew children (way over in de Promise Land)
Dey come thro’ de fiery furnace (way over in de Promise Land)
By an’ by go and meet dem (way over in de Promise Land)

Far from a simple recounting of Old Testament stories from the Book of Daniel, readers like Lovell would argue the multiple possibilities of such a simple text. While masters and foremen believed their servants were evoking Christian ideology, they failed to see the significant anti-slavery element. The connections are too obvious to merit exhaustive explication, but simply put Daniel and the “Hebrew Children” were both enslaved and tortured in a foreign land and eventually delivered by God to their native land – Israel. The “Promised Land,” interpreted most obviously as ‘Heaven,’ could have also meant the North or Africa. Similarly, “Daniel” might also stand-in for a runaway slave seeking freedom in the North, a symbol to other hopeful runaways who will “go and meet him.”

Griot Tradition
David Evans, professor of Ethnomusicology at the University of Memphis, argues that the Negro Spiritual and the Blues are not happy accidents, but well-established cultural holdovers from the griot tradition of West African countries like Senegal and Gambia. Coincidentally, Wheatley’s African heritage is linked to both countries.

As Evans explains the griot, or djeli in French-speaking nations, is a member of a professional caste of cultural historians still in existence in Western Africa. The griot acts as a cultural historian, but has been historically dismissed by European imperialists. The griot has a primarily itinerant existence, usually perceived by Westerners as having low social status. Their songs are usually declamatory, offering frank social commentary. The frankness, however, is often softened, usually by the melodic influence of the music.

For example, Robert Johnson – “King of the Delta Blues” – quietly relates the strenuous living conditions for an African-American living in the South in his most famous song “Cross Road Blues.” Recorded in 1936, Johnson writes:

Mmmmm, standin’ at the crossroad I tried to flag a ride
Standin’ at the crossroad I tried to flag a ride
Didn’t nobody seem to know me
Everybody pass me by

The sun goin’ down, boy, dark gon’ catch me here
Boy, dark gon’ catch me here
I haven’t got no lovin’ sweet woman
That love and feel my care(UVa)

Although legendary accounts attribute the song as confirmation of Johnson’s “deal with the Devil,” modern critics point out a no-less sinister (although less metaphysical) explanation. After ending a relationship with a woman, the singer finds himself far from town as sunset is approaching. If he cannot find a ride or a place to hide before dark, he will be in danger of being lynched by White passers-by. Johnson does not explicitly, overtly decry the threat of lynching for African-American men in the South or bemoan the harsh punishment delivered for the “crime” of walking alone at night. He creates the situation, and his listeners understand the implications. This is the heart (and soul) of the griot tradition.

The Phillis Wheatley Blues
Captured and sold at the age of seven, Wheatley claims to have little or no memory of her life in Africa. This critic will argue there is considerable evidence in the subversive language of the slave to suggest otherwise. Remembering Africa, her family, and their traditions offer no profit for Wheatley whose existence is dependent upon and supported by a master, no matter how kind. In fact, in order to find agency within a dominant ideology that supports British/American White Male Supremacy she would want to show complete acceptance and assimilation to the ruling authority. As Althusser points out, this does not have to be a conscience decision; it is an implicit demand from the empowered. Regardless, Wheatley was not the only slave in her household and certainly not the oldest. She would have had access to West African traditions through her fellow slaves in the Wheatley household, and despite the access to education offered by the Wheatley (which was practically unprecedented) there is enough evidence to conclude that she was considered a second-class citizen for some time. Perhaps, recognizing the potential and access afforded to Wheatley, her fellow slaves schooled her in the traditions of the griot, but that is only speculation. Wheatley consistently distances herself from her heritage, but as already suggested, this should not be considered a survival tactic rather than revulsion.

Without the nullifying qualities of music, “The Phillis Wheatley Blues” require more subtleness than her guitared and banjoed brethren like Johnson. A good example is “On Being Brought from Africa to America”:

‘Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
“Their colour is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,
May be refin’d and join th’angelic train. (Norton 825)

Wheatley deftly shows appreciation for her enlightened state in America, which is both spiritual and intellectual. The submission and gratitude in the poems first four lines is cemented with the words “mercy,” “Saviour,” and “redemption.” She suggests that enslavement bought her spiritual freedom, and for that she is grateful – both excellent examples of paradox, both easily interpreted by the dominant culture as affirmations.

With the same dexterity, Wheatley hammers out her message in the poems final four lines. Although justified by God, Wheatley points out that – despite her faith – some Christians still considered not worthy of grace. She is a descendant of Cain in their estimation, and therefore perpetually cursed by God. Again, Wheatley poses an interesting paradox; how can someone cursed by God achieve salvation from God?

The final line defines a heaven where Blacks and Whites live together without persecution. This is a final justification. Although direct, it is not confrontational. It merely states the facts. But, the social frankness also elicits ideas that go beyond the text. For one thing, Wheatley’s study of the Bible surely would have led her to the words of Jesus and the final line of the Lord’s prayer – “on Earth as it is in Heaven” (Matthew 6:10). If Wheatley is equal in the eyes of God in Heaven, then she is just as equal in her present state on Earth. Passively, Wheatley condemns Christians for their judgments based on race and tradition and their ignorance of the true state of grace God’s salvation implies. Scripture also informs the reader “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first” (Matthew 20:16). Perhaps, Wheatley is suggesting that her place in Heaven will be greater than her masters. If so, following the logic of the Lord’s Prayer, her place in modern society is also greater. What justice is there then in enslaving your equal or enslaving someone spiritually superior?

Levernier further explicates Wheatley’s intentions through three critical words – Cain, die, refined (15). He argues Wheatley purposely evokes images of slave labor in the American Colonies to point out the hypocrisy of “Christian” nation that behaves un-Christlike. Sugar cane enters the process of refinement when it is black; its resulting state is white. Indigo, conversely, enters white and emerges black. Wheatley’s imagery would indicate a reversal of fortune in the afterlife, a statement unable to be expressed explicitly. Additionally, it pays homage to the countless slaves tortured with the task of turning cane into sugar.

This style of protest is eerily reminiscent of the rhetorical techniques used in both the spiritual and the Blues.

Conclusion
Space does not permit a more exhaustive study of the similarities of Wheatley’s poetry and more pedestrian examples of African-American verse. Levernier’s study, however, exhibits several examples of Wheatley’s anti-slavery rhetoric. Although Wheatley poetry does not mirror the meter of cadence of traditional African-American field songs, spirituals or blues, she does employ techniques consistent with the accepted poetic verse of the dominant ideology of her time. Her craft at using an established form to indict the purveyors of the form is compelling.

Continued research my modern scholars creates new audiences for Wheatley, and the invitation of this work is for further study among my colleagues toward such an end. Stronger connections between Wheatley and West African tradition could further illuminate the influence of Wheatley’s heritage upon her work. If so, she would then be the prototype for studies of African-American subversive language. Perhaps, Wheatley was so accomplished with her skill that her genius (and her secrets) remains dormant.

At the very least, it is safe to say that Wheatley was a victim of ideologic apparatuses that devalued her abilities, underestimated her intelligence, and overlooked the intricacies of her culture. Wheatley overcame these obstacles through her genius, and apparently used these biases to ridicule the hypocrisy of the society her art participated in.

The questions that haunt American Literature remain. What if she had been born free? A different race? Educated in a different place? How would her genius have altered or evolved? How many millions of Phillis Wheatley never realized their potential because of dominant national ideology based upon White Male Supremacy? When will they have manumission?

Works Cited
Evans, David. “The Formation of the Blues” in African American Music: An Introduction. Mellonee V. Burnim and Portia Maultsby, eds. New York: Routledge, 2006.

University of Virgina. “The Cross Roas Blues.” Crossroads Project.

In 2001, Erik Weihenmayer became the first blind person to summit Mt. Everest. The feat earned him international attention and acclaim. Lucy Walker’s documentary Blindsight features Wiehenmayer prominently, but what makes this film notable is not his celebrity or his achievements. In fact, Weihenmayer is only a supporting character. Blindsight pairs the accomplished adventurer with another pioneer, Sabriye Tenberken. Tenberken, like Weihenmayer, lost her ability to see as a teenager, and like Weihenmayer, Tenberken has dedicated her life to shattering barriers.

As the film details, Tenberken is the founder of an organization called Braille Without Borders. After being rejected by the German equivalent of the Peace Corps because of her disability, Tenberken began a mission on her own. Traveling to Tibet, Tenberken discovered that blindness is considered a curse. The dharmic religions of the region believe that to be blind in this life meant one did unspeakable things in a past life. The blind are abused, ridiculed, and forced to live an intolerable existence.

Tenberken resolved to aid blind Tibetans and change cultural perceptions by starting a school. Blindsight follows six of her students, all chosen for a special project called Climbing Blind. Enlisting the aid of Weihenmayer and his team of experienced guides, Tenberken and her students attempt to climb Everest with the intention of summitting a neighboring peak.

The stories of the six children are slowly revealed as the team of blind students and accomplished adventures journey up the mountain. The stories are touching, and Walker uses them to show the hopelessness the disabled face in Tibet and China. Mothers are critical, fathers are doubtful, and communities are hostile. As one woman passes a child on the street, for example, she tells him that he “deserve(s) to eat (his) father’s corpse.”

Tension between Tenberken and the guides builds as the climbers press on toward the summit. Altitude sickness and edema can compromise even the most experienced climbers, and a few of Tenberken’s children have physical challenges beyond blindness. One student, Tashi, is barely able to go on. His story is perhaps the most touching, and the viewer becomes aware that children like Tashi do not have to climb a mountain to prove their courage. His life is a series of summits greater than Everest.

Walker, who also directed Devil’s Playground, makes striking choices in her shots. Against the unbelievable backdrop of the Himalayas, many of her scenes focus instead on navigating scree fields one step at a time. A lot of attention is paid to the growing conflict between guides as they try to decide between achieving their goals or the health and safety of the children. This battle targets the cultural differences between East and West, abled and disabled, and leads to a touching and unforgettable conclusion.

In 2006, the British Independent Film Awards nominated Blindsight for Best Documentary Film. The film has also garnered many awards including the American Film Institute’s Audience Award for Best Documentary Film and audience awards at several other film festivals.

As Bill Nichols suggests, documentary film is often a metaphor for life (74). In Lucy Walker’s Blindsight, life is reaching for something you cannot see. While Eric Weihenmayer and his team of mountaineers experience “the reach” through their adventures, Tenberken and her students practice it with their lives.

Works Cited
Nichols, Bill. Introduction to Documentary. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001.

Walker, Lucy, Sabriye Tenberken, and Erik Weihenmayer. Blindsight. Chatsworth, CA: Image Entertainment, 2008.

The opening chapter of Erik Larson’s Thunderstruck introduces the great English scientist Oliver Lodge. Lodge, adding to the work of Heinrich Hertz, unknowingly demonstrates the potential of wireless communication during a lecture at the Royal Institute. Had it not been for Lodge’s eclectic and varied interests – tangential trails he would randomly follow on a whim – Lodge, not Guglielmo Marconi, would perhaps be known today as the inventor of wireless communication. Larson titled the chapter “Distraction.”

Distraction may be the best way to describe this study of modern innovation and old-fashioned crime of passion smashed into a single narrative. Although ostensibly focused on the unlikely convergence of the lives of Hawley Crippen and Guglielmo Marconi, the work is really about nearly everything happening in Europe and America at the beginning of the 20th century. Crippen is the mild-mannered dentist/patent-medicine doctor who murdered his wife and ran off with his secretary. Marconi plays the role of obsessed genius who will risk family, health, and wealth to convince the world his invention of the wireless telegraph works and works well. Together, Larson argues, their lives and the other lives they knowingly and unknowingly touch comprise not only high drama but also a cross-section of events for that time in history.

Larson’s prologue sets the reader out on a low-speed chase across the Atlantic. Crippen and his paramour evade Scotland Yard and embark on a trans-Atlantic voyage to Canada. This turns out to be a critical mistake. Crippen, an American citizen living in London, would have been free from extradition if he had booked passage to America. Instead, Henry Kendall, the ship’s captain is able to communicate with British authorities through wireless telegraph, and investigators steam hastily across the sea to catch Crippen in Canada.

Unlike the modern helicopter chases that invade local newscasts, the drama was played out slowly in the papers thanks to the captain’s continuous communication about Crippen through the Marconi wireless. Though the Crippen-Marconi connection seems as simple as that, Larson draws out the resolution with all the deliberation of an ocean cruise liner. Methodically, wave upon wave, Larson reveals detail after detail – each of which creates concentric circles expanding infinitely to all facets of early 20th century experience. Larson, like Lodge, seems just as interested in every dead-end as he is in the road ahead. As a result, the much anticipated resolution is stretched over nearly 400 pages, supplemented with an additional 50+ pages of notes and citations, creating a reading experience that is simultaneously page-turning and exacting.

Larson’s titular characters are emblems of their times. Crippen forges a career in the patent-medicine industry (think of infomercials that promise miracle cures). Using his wealth, Crippen gains access to the finer side of life, but when the bottom falls out of the industry, Crippen’s status slowly dissolves into a vitriolic tincture. Through Crippen, Larson unveils the dichotomy of modern life at the time – elegance and excess paralleled with scarcity and squalor.

Affected most by this devolution of status is Belle Elmore, Crippen’s wife. Representing the desire of so many women of humble beginnings at that time, Belle hoped to cash in on the instant fame and success that would later make legends Mary Fuller and Pearl White (Enstad). When success did not immediately follow, Elmore followed the path of the dime novel heroine and married a wealthy benefactor – Crippen. As Crippen’s finances tumbled and Elmore’s continued efforts at stardom fizzled, the couple moved further and further away from her dreams and closer to the reality of slaughterhouses and prison bells signaling execution. Rising from the ashes, Belle reached the heights of upper middle-class womanhood, only to be murdered living in London’s version of Sinclair’s Jungle.

Crippen, however, was able to reprise his role as dime-novel savior through his secretary Ethel Le Neve. Young and naïve, Ethel is wooed by the diminutive doctor. Like Crane’s Maggie, Ethel soon begins to feel mistreated and abused. Larson leads us to believe that several pregnancy scares and the realization that she is little more than a trollop pressure Crippen to dispose of his wife, quite literally.

But Crippen, Elmore, and Le Neve are only one aspect of this work. Guglielmo Marconi’s invention serves a greater role than merely a device that helped apprehend the North London Cellar Murderers. Marconi’s struggles are documented in equally dramatic fashion. Confounding his success is Oliver Lodge, the distracted scientist who teetered on the brink of discovery. Lodge believes Marconi is given too much credit and himself too little. Through Larson’s portrayal the scientific community is as forthright as the patent-medicine business. The main arguments against Marconi are both racist and elitist. On one hand, Lodge and his colleagues reason that Marconi’s discoveries are suspect because of his Italian heritage. Certainly, no Italian could surpass all the genius and ingenuity of the noble British. Likewise, Marconi lacked any formal training. Lodge could easily dismiss him as a charlatan and a hack because Marconi lacked proper university credentials.

Marconi, like Edison before him, was something other than the learned professor. Larson shows him as an obsessed man who puts his ideas before everything else – even missing the funerals of his parents because of his work. Like Edison, Marconi’s constant tinkering led to his eventual success, but not without years of tedious trial and error.

But, Marconi still found difficulty convincing the British Empire of the efficacy of his signature invention. British law operated under a “corrupt bargain” that granted agencies like the Post Office monopolies over communications (Flanagan 77). Marconi was forced to compromise his work in order to “play the game,” but even with the financial backing of his family and the addition of credible scientists to his team, Marconi was forced to find loopholes in British law to bypass the communications trust.

Against this background, Larson pulls in the looming threat of war. German spies steal Marconi’s technology and forge their own wireless initiative. The rivalry intensifies to the point that the German Navy invades Nova Scotia with hopes of destroying Marconi’s sub-station there. Later Marconi and the Germans form an entangled alliance, and together they create a European communications consortium. The agreement, lasting only a few months, symbolized the fickle and explosive nature of European politics as Britain and Germany soon engaged in war.

These are but the broad strokes painted by Larson. Included in this work are innumerable minor flicks that extend this fascinating story to epic lengths. Human sexuality is touched on through Elmore’s extramarital affairs, Crippen’s effeminacy, speculation about Ethel and abortion, and, of course, Ethel’s transformation from a young woman to a teenage boy, which Crippen finds arousing. Forensic science produces the key evidence to indict Crippen, while pseudoscience diverts the world’s best minds toward the paranormal. Eventually, however, Larson will leave behind his interest in minutiae (like the 14,000 umbrellas left behind at Scotland Yard) and push the narrative an inch closer to its conclusion.

What finally comes into focus is Larson’s caricature of early 20th century life. The world he creates is a world of contrasts. Rich and powerful players hold the advantage over the millions of drones that create their wealth. Luxury is balanced with poverty; breakthrough is paired with failure. As people abandoned the pastoral for the city at the turn of the century, men like Marconi were transforming the pastoral into giant transmission stations. Like John Opie suggests, the endless pursuit of a better life continuously overlooks the better aspects of life that are ever present – “sleepwalking through paradise” (xiv).

Marconi and Crippen surface as men confined to liminal spaces. Walking the fictional boundaries created by society, both struggle to find autonomy. Their lives, despite their best efforts, are controlled by external forces. Neither the passion that drives one to murder nor the passion that drives one to succeed could ever free the man from his society. For that, Crippen and Marconi are rightly twinned.

Works Referenced
Crane, Stephen. Maggie, a Girl of the Streets: (a Story of New York). New York: Norton, 1979.

Enstad, Nan. Ladies of Labor, Girls of Adventure: Working Women, Popular Culture, and Labor Politics at the Turn of the Twentieth Century. Popular Cultures, Everyday Lives. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999.

Flanagan, Maureen A. America Reformed: Progressives and Progressivisms, 1890s-1920s. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.

Larson, Erik. Thunderstruck. New York: Crown Publishers, 2006.

Opie, John. Virtual America: Sleepwalking Through Paradise. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2008.

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” (33)
William Faulkner,
Requiem for a Nun

“What sort of future is coming up from behind I don’t really know. But the past, spread out ahead, dominates everything we see.” (375)
Robert Pirsig
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

The Great Gatsby, the signature work of F. Scott Fitzgerald, continues to headwater a seemingly endless stream of scholarship through a range of disclipines. The text – intricate and timeless – remains the source for a confluence of investigations, gathering pools of symbolism and style, narratology and nuance, structure and social issues, and countless others. Gatsby is the primer for Humanities studies – a serendipitous solution of art, idealism, philosophy, psychology, literature, and (for this journey) history.

Matthew Brucolli, the leading authority on Fitzgerald notes “Fitzgerald had a keen awareness of history – and of himself as the product of history.” A historical study of Gatsby branches into many tributaries of research. Scholars like Ronald Berman offer investigations of “The Jazz Age,” offering insights into the nature of the world created by Fitzgerald. Viewing the work as Modernist fiction allows comparisons to Fitzgerald’s contemporaries. Gatsby is also often cited for its autobiographical aspects or its depictions of post-war disillusionment. Still, other scholars have approached the work through the historicism of the novel, most often viewing The Great Gatsby as Fitzgerald’s criticism of America.

According to Marius Bewley, the novel details the “withering of the American Dream,” and Jay Gatsby is “an embodiment […] of that conflict between illusion and reality that is at the heart of American life.” Edwin Fussel argues that “Fitzgerald’s basic plot is the history of the New World,” and Kermit Moyer and Emily Miller Budick juxtapose Emersonian Romantic Idealism and Fitzgerald’s post-war disillusionment . This study, however, is not a general explication of the New World promise or its demise as rendered by Fitzgerald through the novel. Rather, this attempt is more specific and localized. Borrowing the metaphor employed by Nick Carraway in the book’s final sentence, this study looks closely at the historical currents closest to the vessel – the period of American history that precedes the writing and setting of the work.

Acknowledging that no history exists in a vacuum, this study attempts to reflect on the ideological and historical significance of the Progressive Era as visited in the novel. Additionally (and perhaps more importantly), this study reflects on the failures of the Progressives and the representations of those failures through the tragedy of Gatsby. The narrative reflects the “corrupt bargain” between the aristocratic and the middle class, which upheld a national ideology of White Male Supremacy, ultimately limiting the efficacy of change (Flanagan 77).

A Brief Overview of the Progressive Era

The years prior to the turn of the 20th century witnessed a great democratic wave of change that filtered into virtually every aspect of American life. This wave was initiated by groups of middle class reformers locally, regionally, and nationally. Most reformers were urban intellectuals – a notable exception, William Jennings Bryan – inspired to remake America into its democratic potential. These intellectuals, working at all levels – from grassroots to the Executive Branch of the government – collectively identified at least seven areas of concern:
1. The unequal distribution of wealth
2. The exploitation of the environment
3. The exploitation of labor
4. The problems of government corruption
5. The lack of a stable economy
6. The lack of personal responsibility by all citizens
7. The lack of political honesty

These reform groups worked individually and collectively to mitigate these concerns by regulation through legislation. As a result, several laws initiated in the first two decades of the new century stand witness as the lasting legacy of the movement. Examples include –
• The creation of the United States Forest Service (1905)
• Pure Food and Drug Act (1906)
• Workman’s Compensation Act (1906)
• Federal Income Tax – 16th Amendment (1913)
• Direct Election of Senators – 17th Amendment (1913)
• Clayton Anti-Trust Act (1914)
• Keating-Owen Child Labor Act (1916)
• Prohibition of Alcohol – 18th Amendment (1919)
• Woman’s Suffrage – 19th Amendment (1920)

That government regulation would uphold their idealistic visions and transform America into a more fair and just society was the belief commonly shared by Jane Addams, W.E.B. DuBois, Upton Sinclair, Eugene V. Debs, Jacob Riis, Theodore Roosevelt, Lillian Wald, Booker T. Washington, and countless numbers of grassroots volunteers like Clara Lemlich .

As Fitzgerald will suggest, their optimism showed a shortsighted, under-determined naïveté. Ideology cannot be legislated.

The Ideology of a Nation

There is no democracy in being born. Every detail is predetermined. Where we live, the color of skin, our gender, and our first language is established for us without our consent. We do not even get to choose our own names. These physical and social characteristics influence our interactions with the world, but we eagerly accept these labels and these factors as the unique ingredients of our individuality.

What if individuality is a myth? If these predestined factors define and influence us, where does it end? With eye color? With socioeconomic status? With religious affiliation? With sexual orientation? With access to education? These are the question Louis Althusser poses. In his essay “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes Toward an Investigation),” the Marxist philosopher examines self-determination and free-will and the battle with known physical, social, and psychological forces.

The psychological-sociological map of class struggle provided by Althusser gives insight to both our past and present. He explains nine institutions that control how we see ourselves and how we must act. Churches tell us who God is, how he behaves, and how we must behave. Educational systems teach us what to think; our family shows us how to behave in society, and the Law punishes those who do not conform to accepted behaviors.
Similarly, our political affiliations or union involvement persuade us to believe one way about civil rights and another way about welfare programs. Literature, movies, and the press persuade us to do “this” or buy “that” (17).

For Althusser, we are “subject” to the apparatuses that support, compete against, and overlap each other. Therefore, the thoughts, feelings, and actions of a single person are the summed influence of all these apparatuses. Why we think, feel, or act in the way we do is “over-determined.”

It is against this background of ideological over-determination that both the Progressive Era and Gatsby are cast. America represents both opportunity and oppression. For White Americans the myth of the American Dream enticed industrious young men to lives of hard work and determination. The profits of the “rags-to-riches” philosophy disseminated through Horatio Alger novels and the McGuffey Readers were made real by legendary figures like Andrew Carnegie, Henry Ford and Thomas Edison . Jay Gatsby follows in that mold. However, the opportunities of non-whites and women were limited. Nan Enstad argues that unlike male readers, dime novels and film serials that typically concluded with marriage to a millionaire or discovery of fortune influenced women (7). Besides race and gender, factors like origin, religious belief, class, and educational background segregated and suppressed “others,” who were often viewed as outsiders.

Finding evidence of a national ideology that supported White Male Supremacy is a simple task. Scholars like W.J. McGee used the theories of Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer to exhibit at the Louisiana Purchase Exhibition (1904) a theory of evolution that proceeded from “savages” (Native Americans) to civilization (Euro-American society) . Progressives like Roosevelt and Riis maintained a patriarchal worldview that supported Kipling’s “The White Man’s Burden.” Upper-middle class union organizers in New York City ignored the requests of immigrant shirtwaist workers, who wanted an environment free of sexual harassment, and fought instead of shorter hours and stronger unions (Enstad, 141-5). In Congress, the Dyer Anti-Lynching Bill faced continuous opposition and was never passed into law. In addition, Dolores Greenberg documents many of the well-known atrocities of urban living equated to non-whites and the poor – lack of adequate sewage, lack of garbage disposal, poor air quality, and infant mortality rates as high as 40%. Coinciding with these physical conditions, Greenberg reveals, was the considerable effort by Whites to scapegoat African-Americans for the ills of society.

While the One-Drop Rule defined “whiteness”, maleness was defined by masculinity. Men like Roosevelt needed to prove their virility through demonstrations of strength and sexual conquest. As James Morone points out, four out of five men in New York City in 1901 had contracted gonorrhea, and the U.S. Army reported in 1910 that 20% of new recruits “suffered from venereal diseases.” Some scientist believed that Jewish and Italian immigrants polluted the “upbuilding of the United States” by introducing effeminate genes (Flanagan 108).). There seemed no better way to prove the superiority of White Manhood than imperialism and war, and the Spanish-American War offered the opportunity to pursue both (210).

Fitzgerald depicts these sentiments early in the novel through Tom Buchanan. “Have you read ‘The Rise of the Coloured Empires’ by this man Goddard?” he asks. Later, he adds:

“Well, it’s a fine book and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be – will be utterly submerged. It’s all scientific stuff. It’s been proved. […] It is up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things.” (17)

Many Progressives, while seeking a fairer and more just society, were subject to a national ideology, reinforced by state apparatuses, that projected a collective agreement that White Male supremacy was not a theory but a proven fact. These competing agendas – democracy vs. racism and sexism – limited the effectiveness of progressive change.

Gatsby finds himself flirting with the boundaries of this national subtext. As James Gatz, he is likely the son of one of the many Jewish immigrant farmers from Russia that settled in the Dakotas in the 1880’s. But as Jay Gatsby, he is the millionaire war-hero. As his 1906 copy of Hopalong Cassidy indicates, he resolved to use thrift, hard work, and strong character to improve himself. Like a Horatio Alger boot black, he is discovered by a wealthy benefactor in Meyer Wolfsheim and works his way to fortune. At the same time, he represents “The Coloured Empires” waiting to dethrone the aristocratic class Tom and Nick represent. Fitzgerald brings this hypocrisy to light and Gatsby’s liminality drives the narrative.

Closing of the Frontier

Instigating the over-determined ideological clash of the Progressive Era and the Jazz Age was the end of western expansion and the closing of the American frontier, proclaimed by Frederick Jackson Turner in 1893 . Turner theorized that the taming of the West had created a new kind of man distinct to America. The American was a man able to subdue savage elements and at the same time gather considerable personal strength from the wilderness. The closing of the frontier, however, left Americans with a new opposition – leisure. Industrialization and expansion created “free time,” and the turn of the century attempted to alleviate the burden of idleness.

As already mentioned, imperialism was one alternative – an extension of Manifest Destiny and “The White Man’s Burden,” but developing very quickly were new industries created simply for pleasure. The inventions of the nickelodeon and moving pictures sent droves of Americans out of their homes and to the theatre, and these, like their dime novel predecessors, continued the ideological themes that defined identity. Also supplying significant impact, however, were four pastimes explored by Fitzgerald – sports, sex, shopping, and music.

Baseball sent droves of spectators to the park – men, women and children of all classes. With sport came wagering, and with betting came the Black Sox Scandal alluded to in Gatsby. Although segregated, African-American entrepreneurs like Rube Foster created the Negro National League. City officials carved out neighborhoods for “red light” districts, and finally free of Victorian morality, men and women on both continents embraced taboos and explored new kinds of sexual pleasure. Advertisements constantly pushed the latest fashions and promised elixirs that cured every ailment. Cabarets provided dinner, dancing, and drinking, and African-American patrons, barred from White clubs, built their own. Rising from New Orleans through the Mississippi Delta into Chicago and onto New York was a new American sound – jazz and blues, and patrons of all colors flocked to clubs to hear it, predating Fitzgerald’s “Jazz Age” by at least twenty years.

The middle class benefited greatly, opening new revenue streams for merchants and dealers and new employment opportunities for support staff. Perhaps the greatest impact and greatest conflict occurred in the expansion of the upper class. Entrepreneurs like Sara Breedlove overcame humble beginnings and became (by modern standards) millionaires. Transforming herself into Madam CJ Walker, she trained over 20,000 African-American women how to start their own businesses as beauty consultants. Despite her wealth, the endorsements of respected African-American icons like Booker T. Washington eluded her. In their eyes, she was an uneducated woman making millions as a charlatan and not worthy of respect.

In some respects, Jay Gatsby shares her plight. The one thing that he cannot buy is respect. Fitzgerald creates Gatsby with a reverence for luxury, and his extravagant parties invite contemporaries and voyeurs, but Gatsby’s life is empty. Missing are the accoutrements of happiness – love, honor, and respect. His service in the war earns him rank, and rank entitles Gatsby to a status and a class that leaves him at war’s end. Gatsby is never able to recapture it.

The frontier has closed in Gatsby, and as Nick points out in the final chapter, the Westerners moved East. They discover, contrary to Turner’s “Thesis,” that civilization does not welcome the New American.

Failures of the Progressive Era

As already stated, the goal of the Progressive movement was to reform the nation as a more equitable and just society. As I have argued, these goals were compromised by a patriarchal and patronizing ideology that still considered one race, one class, and one gender superior to all others. Science and faith, of course, confirmed these beliefs. Berman’s suggests the time and place of Gatsby can be set as Long Island in the early 1920’s and that many of the constructions from Fitzgerald’s creative mind are reconstructions of actual people and places (41-3). If so, then Gatsby can be viewed as an ambassador of that time, a time that reflects the outcomes of the great surge of reform in the previous decades. Gatsby is a product of its time, and that time is the product of the times before.

What evidence of reform can be found in the text?

One concern was the unequal distribution of wealth. Although Gatsby has amassed millions and risen from immigrant farm boy to capitalism’s ideal, Fitzgerald does not fail to include the poorer class. In fact, the journey from the mansions of Long Island to the excitement of the City requires his characters to pass through the Valley of Ashes. There “ash-gray men” “who live dimly” eek out a meager existence (27). Fitzgerald’s caricature evokes images captured in the photography of Jacob Riis and mirrors the dichotomy of poverty and wealth witnessed during the World’s Fair in Chicago . Opulence and affluence are balanced by poverty and despair. Thirty years after the World’s Fair, a great number of Americans still lived sub-standard lives.

The Valley also exposes the issue of environmental exploitation – “a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat.” The Valley is “bounded on one side by a small foul river,” a environmental atrocity reminiscent of Chicago’s Bubbly Creek as depicted in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle . Even the gardens are “grotesque.” It is in this hazardous place that Tom finds his mistress, the wife of a non-descript mechanic named Wilson. Buchanan exploits the man, uses Myrtle for his own pleasure, and then employs the cuckold Wilson for Buchanan’s revenge on Gatsby. So, it seems, this is Fitzgerald’s comment on the exploitation of people.

The lack of personal responsibility imagined by Progressives centered on men and women failing to stand up or being denied their rights. Unions, demonstrations, the creation of a new womanhood (which included suffrage) were thought to spell those previous deficiencies in citizenships. Fitzgerald, however, represents a world where responsibility is liquid. Daisy’s baby is a footnote to the narrative as Daisy surrenders the rights of motherhood to servants. Similarly, her lack of accountability for the accident with Myrtle ends with a pair of tragic deaths – the murder of Gatsby and the suicide of Wilson. Somehow, the Buchanan’s resume their lives seemingly unaffected.

And still, corruption and greed dominate through figures like Meyer Wolfsheim. Ironically, at Gatsby’s funeral Henry Gatz remarks that his son could have helped the country like James J. Hill. Hill, the railroad tycoon, repeatedly cut wages during the Panic of 1893, leading to a workman strike led by Eugene Debs. Notoriously, he paid passage for many European immigrants, employing them as indentured servants toward the expansion of his empire. Hill is the personification of the political corruption, environmental waste (called conservationism), and labor exploitation that Progressives tried to correct. The idealization of Hill, then, represents the persistence of the tycoon hero and downplays the robber-baron qualities of both Hill and Gatsby.

Also mocked liberally, is the legislation seen as the achievement of the Progressive Era. Prohibition is routinely violated in nearly every scene. In fact, it is argued by Tom (cocktail in hand) that Prohibition is the source of Gatsby’s wealth. The law, held as a high watermark for the movement, actually contributes to the continued corruption of wealth and power and greed Progressives attempted to reform. Not only has American civilization failed to advance, the hallmarks of its progress contraindicate its evolution.

Gatsby is the embodiment of Progressive failure.

Conclusion – Sleepwalking Through Paradise

John Opie, founding editor of the journal Environmental History, explicates a legacy of national disquiet in his recent book Virtual America: Sleepwalking Through Paradise. What is called today “virtual reality” – a sense of identity created digitally in a placeless environment – is not a new phenomenon. In fact, he argues “virtual reality” predates the digital age, and the concepts used to invent avatars and online aliases are derived from a collective identity that continues to transform the New World (x). Quoting Gatsby, Opie remarks, in the New World “for the first time man came face to face with something commensurate with his capacity to wonder” (42).

In 1607, English pioneers sailed their ships into a river on the eastern coast of this continent and declared an untamed, open expanse of land as James Towne. The river, of course, was the James River. The land and the river were transformed in their naming and became not what they were – natural and preserved – but what they could be – the foothold of an imperial complex. James Towne was not a real place, but a virtual one. From acre to acre, Americans “settled” the New World, claiming, naming, and creating civilization.

A realization emerged from this evolving image of the natural world, and families came (voluntarily and against their will) and were transformed likewise. An Englishman could leave Britain as a criminal and land in Georgia as a colonist. A woman leaves the Gold Coast free, but in the Carolinas she discovers she is a slave. For the most part, the promise of America – new life and boundless opportunity – pulled (and continues to pull) immigrants from all over the world. This is most assuredly the case with Mr. Gatz, which is fully realized in his son, James.
Gatsby creates this ideal self. A decorated war hero. Studied at Oxford – the English equivalent of Princeton or Yale. Fabulously wealthy with the latest and best technology has to offer. The ultimate modern man. An American Saviour. The American Dream in the flesh.

But, as Opie suggests, and Fitzgerald confirms, happiness does not derive from possessions or potential but from “place.” The missing piece that Jay cannot find in Nick or Daisy is a sense of belonging, a sense that he is where he is meant to be. He can create riches, he can overplay his accomplishments in the war, and he can create a caricature of himself that is the pinnacle of American possibility. Regardless of the number of shirts he owns or the frequency and celebrity of his parties, Jay Gatsby is out of place. Nick admits as much in his own assessment:

“I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all – Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. (184)

To which Opie adds, “Without […] a dynamic, lived place in which to settle, things become free-floating, flying off in all directions” (206).

The same can be said for the Progressive Era. The virtual America imagined by upper and middle-class intellectuals was a place that was ideally constructed by the American Dream, but the patriarchal, patronizing, limited views of the movements key players prohibited progress as much as the systems they fought against. Tragically, the push for Progressive reform ends with a realization that idea of prosperity should not shift the status quo. As Fitzgerald exposes, progress for all means progress for those who are willing to leave a national ideological state of White Male Supremacy unaltered. The Progressive era was not about creating a better life; it was about who got to decide what kind of life could be created and for whom.

Tom, the White aristocrat, refuses his personal responsibility and fails to see the irony of his wife killing his mistress. Daisy, too, shirks her responsibility – first with her child, then with her husband, and finally with her own culpability. Who suffers? Who must pay for the sins of the upper class. The working class husband? His wife? The self-made man who transformed himself from immigrant farm boy to the pinnacle of New World success?

The period of reform ends as it began – with corruption, exploitation, and inequity. As Nick suggests:
“It eluded us then, but that’s no matter – tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…. And one fine morning —-
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” (189)
With this, both Gatsby and the Progressive Era are finished.

Works Cited
Althusser, Louis. On Ideology. Radical Thinkers, 26. London: Verso, 2008.

Berman, Ronald. The Great Gatsby and Modern Times. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1994.

Enstad, Nan. Ladies of Labor, Girls of Adventure: Working Women, Popular Culture, and Labor Politics at the Turn of the Twentieth Century. Popular Cultures, Everyday Lives. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott and Matthew Bruccoli. The Great Gatsby: The Authorized Text. Scribner: New York, 1992.

Flanagan, Maureen A. America Reformed: Progressives and Progressivisms, 1890s-1920s. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.

Opie, John. Virtual America: Sleepwalking Through Paradise. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2008.

Notes

1. From the introduction of The Notebooks of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich: New York, 1978): vii.

2. Bewley’s article is often anthologized. Versions of it can be found in Class Conflict in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby edited by Claudia Johnson and Harold Bloom’s series of Modern Critical Intepretations. The quotes here come from her essay “Scott Fitzgerald’s Criticism of America” in the aforementioned Bloom collection F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.

3. Edwin S. Fussell, “Fitzgerald’s Brave New World,” in F. Scott Fitzgerald: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Arthur Mizener (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1963): 48.
Kermit W. Moyer, “The Great Gatsby: Fitzgerald’s Meditation on American History” in Critical Essays of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, ed. Scott Donaldson (Boston: Hall and Co., 1984): 215.
Emily Miller Budick, “Gatsby and Emerson,” in Gatsby, ed. Harold Bloom (New York: Chelsea House, 1991): 161.

4. From lecture notes provided by Paul D. Travis, professor of History at Texas Woman’s University in Denton, TX.

5. Lemlich is chosen to represent the spirit of reform in grassroots organizations, but a more detailed account of the enormous amount of effort from common citizens can be found in Pure Food, Drink, and Drug Crusaders by Lorine Goodwin (McFarland: Jefferson, 2006).

6. Horatio Alger is referenced numerous times in Berman. The McGuffey Readers sold 120 millions copies, spouting ethnocentric success stories, and Henry Ford claims the textbook as his inspiration. Ford, like Gatsby, transformed from farm boy to industrial giant. Carnegie, like Gatsby, was an immigrant, and Edison, like Gatsby, displayed a relentless pursuit of success despite obstacles. It could be argued that Gatsby is an amalgamation of the three.

7. Vincent Crapanzano. “Geronimo’ s buttons.” TLS (08 Aug 2008): 8.

8. The relationship of Roosevelt and Riis is referenced in Flanagan (101). Also see, Matthew Power, “The Other Half.” New York Times Book Review (25 May 2008): 19.

9. Flanagan (246). Also see, Larry McMurtry, “Hometown America’s Black Book.” New York Review of Books, Vol 47, no. 20 (20 Dec 2000): 28.

10. For more detailed information on 350 years of eco-racism in New York City see: Dolores Greenberg. “Race and Protest: Environmental Justice in New York City.” Environmental History, Vol. 5, No. 2, Environmental Justice in the City: A Theme for Urban Environmental History (Apr., 2000): 223.

11. For an excellent article on biracial codes and multi-racial citizens see: Victoria E. Bynum, “‘White Negroes’ in Segregated Mississippi: Miscegenation, Racial Identity, and the Law.” The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 64, No. 2 (May 1998) and Martyn Bone, “New Southern Studies and the Race-Sex-Gender Spiral.” Southern Literary Journal 39.1 (Sep. 2006): 119.

12. From Hellfire Nation: The Policics of Sin in American History (YUP: New Haven): 259.

13. Lewis Turlish identifies Goddard as the author Theodore Stoddard. The fictional title of the book is very similar to Stoddard’s The Rising Tide of Color. See: “The Rising Tide of Color: A Note on the Historicism of The Great Gatsby,” American Literature, Vol. 43, no. 3 (Nov 1971).

14. Qtd in Flanagan (4). Another important Turner statement might also be appropriate for both the Progressive Era and Gatsby. In the 1896 article “A Man For All Reasons,” Turner writes, “This, then, is the real situation: a people composed of heterogeneous materials, with diverse and conflicting ideals and social interests, having passed from the task of filling up the vacant spaces of the continent, is now thrown back upon itself, and is seeking an equilibrium. The diverse elements are being fused into national unity.”

15. Erik Larsen in Thunderstruck references the beginning of the sexual revolution as documented by Virginia Woolf (Three Rivers: New York, 2006): 72.

16. Larsen (47-9) and Goodwin (289-91).

17. Flanagan (189).

18. Jill Nelson, “Good Hair Day,” New York Review of Books (5 Dec 2002): 57.

19. Berman points out, as well, the use of clocks and timepieces. Gatsby, himself, apologizes for the broken clock on his mantle. It seems, in the novel, time has stopped.

20. Erik Larsen’s Devil in the White City visits this topic, as well. See also Flanagan’s introduction to America Reformed.

21. For a description of Bubbly Creek see: Flanagan (169) and David Thomson, “The Mighty ‘Jungle,’” New York Review of Books (2 Jul 2006