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Conduct a scientific Qualitative or Quantitative Research Study of a “Peer Review” article by writing an article critique (short and concise 1-2 pages report) in your own words.  The article must be a “peer review” article not an “article review”.  The article critique should be formatted as a scientific study using the underline headings. Example:

Summary (10 points)

· Write a short summary of the article include the purpose of the study, research question, and hypothesis)

Method (15) points

· Include the methods.

· Participants (gender, age, quantity) study design (Qualitative or Quantitative Research).

Results (15 points)

· What did they find out?

Discussion (15 points)

· What is relevance of the information/results?

· What were the strengths and weakness of the study?

· How can you apply the findings to improve health and fitness?

· Describe how the results of this article would impact the way you would work within a papulation (if at all) and explain why.

Reference page (on separate page) (10 points)

· Provide full reference for the article in proper APA citation.

Formatting (10 points)

· APA format


A Perfect Day for Bananafish

J. D. Salinger

The New Yorker, January 31, 1948, pages 21-25

THERE WERE ninety-seven New York advertising men in the hotel, and, the way they were monopolizing the long-distance lines, the girl in 507 had to wait from noon till almost two-thirty to get her call through. She used the time, though. She read an article in a women’s pocket-size magazine, called “Sex Is Fun-or Hell.” She washed her comb and brush. She took the spot out of the skirt of her beige suit. She moved the button on her Saks blouse. She tweezed out two freshly surfaced hairs in her mole. When the operator finally rang her room, she was sitting on the window seat and had almost finished putting lacquer on the nails of her left hand.

She was a girl who for a ringing phone dropped exactly nothing. She looked as if her phone had been ringing continually ever since she had reached puberty.

With her little lacquer brush, while the phone was ringing, she went over the nail of her little finger, accentuating the line of the moon. She then replaced the cap on the bottle of lacquer and, standing up, passed her left–the wet–hand back and forth through the air. With her dry hand, she picked up a congested ashtray from the window seat and carried it with her over to the night table, on which the phone stood. She sat down on one of the made-up twin beds and–it was the fifth or sixth ring–picked up the phone.

“Hello,” she said, keeping the fingers of her left hand outstretched and away from her white silk dressing gown, which was all that she was wearing, except mules–her rings were in the bathroom.

“I have your call to New York now, Mrs. Glass,” the operator said.

“Thank you,” said the girl, and made room on the night table for the ashtray.

A woman’s voice came through. “Muriel? Is that you?”

The girl turned the receiver slightly away from her ear. “Yes, Mother. How are you?” she said.

“I’ve been worried to death about you. Why haven’t you phoned? Are you all right?”

“I tried to get you last night and the night before. The phone here’s been–”

“Are you all right, Muriel?”

The girl increased the angle between the receiver and her ear. “I’m fine. I’m hot. This is the hottest day they’ve had in Florida in–”

“Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been worried to–”

“Mother, darling, don’t yell at me. I can hear you beautifully,” said the girl. “I called you twice last night. Once just after–”

“I told your father you’d probably call last night. But, no, he had to-Are you all right, Muriel? Tell me the truth.”

“I’m fine. Stop asking me that, please.”

“When did you get there?”

“I don’t know. Wednesday morning, early.”

“Who drove?”

“He did,” said the girl. “And don’t get excited. He drove very nicely. I was amazed.”

“He drove? Muriel, you gave me your word of–”

“Mother,” the girl interrupted, “I just told you. He drove very nicely. Under fifty the whole way, as a matter of fact.”

“Did he try any of that funny business with the trees?”

“I said he drove very nicely, Mother. Now, please. I asked him to stay close to the white line, and all, and he knew what I meant, and he did. He was even trying not to look at the trees-you could tell. Did Daddy get the car fixed, incidentally?”

“Not yet. They want four hundred dollars, just to–”

“Mother, Seymour told Daddy that he’d pay for it. There’s no reason for–”

“Well, we’ll see. How did he behave–in the car and all?”

“All right,” said the girl.

“Did he keep calling you that awful–”

“No. He has something new now.”


“Oh, what’s the difference, Mother?”

“Muriel, I want to know. Your father–”

“All right, all right. He calls me Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948,” the girl said, and giggled.

“It isn’t funny, Muriel. It isn’t funny at all. It’s horrible. It’s sad, actually. When I think how–”

“Mother,” the girl interrupted, “listen to me. You remember that book he sent me from Germany? You know–those German poems. What’d I do with it? I’ve been racking my–”

“You have it.”

“Are you sure?” said the girl.

“Certainly. That is, I have it. It’s in Freddy’s room. You left it here and I didn’t have room for it in the–Why? Does he want it?”

“No. Only, he asked me about it, when we were driving down. He wanted to know if I’d read it.”

“It was in German!”

“Yes, dear. That doesn’t make any difference,” said the girl, crossing her legs. “He said that the poems happen to be written by the only great poet of the century. He said I should’ve bought a translation or something. Or learned the language, if you please.”

“Awful. Awful. It’s sad, actually, is what it is. Your father said last night–”

“Just a second, Mother,” the girl said. She went over to the window seat for her cigarettes, lit one, and returned to her seat on the bed. “Mother?” she said, exhaling smoke.

“Muriel. Now, listen to me.”

   “I’m listening.”

“Your father talked to Dr. Sivetski.”

“Oh?” said the girl.

“He told him everything. At least, he said he did–you know your father. The trees. That business with the window. Those horrible things he said to Granny about her plans for passing away. What he did with all those lovely pictures from Bermuda–everything.”

“Well?” said the girl.

“Well. In the first place, he said it was a perfect crime the Army released him from the hospital–my word of honor. He very definitely told your father there’s a chance–a very great chance, he said–that Seymour may completely lose control of himself. My word of honor.”

“There’s a psychiatrist here at the hotel,” said the girl.

“Who? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. Rieser or something. He’s supposed to be very good.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Well, he’s supposed to be very good, anyway.”

“Muriel, don’t be fresh, please. We’re very worried about you. Your father wanted to wire you last night to come home, as a matter of f–”

“I’m not coming home right now, Mother. So relax.”

“Muriel. My word of honor. Dr. Sivetski said Seymour may completely lose contr–”

“I just got here, Mother. This is the first vacation I’ve had in years, and I’m not going to just pack everything and come home,” said the girl. “I couldn’t travel now anyway. I’m so sunburned I can hardly move.”

“You’re badly sunburned? Didn’t you use that jar of Bronze I put in your bag? I put it right–”

“I used it. I’m burned anyway.”

“That’s terrible. Where are you burned?”

“All over, dear, all over.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I’ll live.”

“Tell me, did you talk to this psychiatrist?”

“Well, sort of,” said the girl.

“What’d he say? Where was Seymour when you talked to him?”

“In the Ocean Room, playing the piano. He’s played the piano both nights we’ve been here.”

“Well, what’d he say?”

“Oh, nothing much. He spoke to me first. I was sitting next to him at Bingo last night, and he asked me if that wasn’t my husband playing the piano in the other room. I said yes, it was, and he asked me if Seymour’s been sick or something. So I said–”

“Why’d he ask that?”

“I don’t know, Mother. I guess because he’s so pale and all,” said the girl. “Anyway, after Bingo he and his wife asked me if I wouldn’t like to join them for a drink. So I did. His wife was horrible. You remember that awful dinner dress we saw in Bonwit’s window? The one you said you’d have to have a tiny, tiny–”

“The green?”

“She had it on. And all hips. She kept asking me if Seymour’s related to that Suzanne Glass that has that place on Madison Avenue–the millinery.”

“What’d he say, though? The doctor.”

“Oh. Well, nothing much, really. I mean we were in the bar and all. It was terribly noisy.”

“Yes, but did–did you tell him what he tried to do with Granny’s chair?”

“No, Mother. I didn’t go into details very much,” said the girl. “I’ll probably get a chance to talk to him again. He’s in the bar all day long.”

“Did he say he thought there was a chance he might get–you know–funny or anything? Do something to you!”

“Not exactly,” said the girl. “He had to have more facts, Mother. They have to know about your childhood–all that stuff. I told you, we could hardly talk, it was so noisy in there.”

“Well. How’s your blue coat?”

“All right. I had some of the padding taken out.”

“How are the clothes this year?”

“Terrible. But out of this world. You see sequins–everything,” said the girl.

“How’s your room?”

“All right. Just all right, though. We couldn’t get the room we had before the war,” said the girl. “The people are awful this year. You should see what sits next to us in the dining room. At the next table. They look as if they drove down in a truck.”

“Well, it’s that way all over. How’s your ballerina?”

“It’s too long. I told you it was too long.”

“Muriel, I’m only going to ask you once more–are you really all right?”

“Yes, Mother,” said the girl. “For the ninetieth time.”

“And you don’t want to come home?”

“No, Mother.”

“Your father said last night that he’d be more than willing to pay for it if you’d go away someplace by yourself and think things over. You could take a lovely cruise. We both thought–”

“No, thanks,” said the girl, and uncrossed her legs. “Mother, this call is costing a for–”

“When I think of how you waited for that boy all through the war-I mean when you think of all those crazy little wives who–”

“Mother,” said the girl, “we’d better hang up. Seymour may come in any minute.”

“Where is he?”

“On the beach.”

“On the beach? By himself? Does he behave himself on the beach?”

“Mother,” said the girl, “you talk about him as though he were a raving maniac–”

“I said nothing of the kind, Muriel.”

“Well, you sound that way. I mean all he does is lie there. He won’t take his bathrobe off.”

“He won’t take his bathrobe off? Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess because he’s so pale.”

“My goodness, he needs the sun. Can’t you make him?

“You know Seymour,” said the girl, and crossed her legs again. “He says he doesn’t want a lot of fools looking at his tattoo.”

“He doesn’t have any tattoo! Did he get one in the Army?”

“No, Mother. No, dear,” said the girl, and stood up. “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, maybe.”

“Muriel. Now, listen to me.”

“Yes, Mother,” said the girl, putting her weight on her right leg.

“Call me the instant he does, or says, anything at all funny–you know what I mean. Do you hear me?”

“Mother, I’m not afraid of Seymour.”

“Muriel, I want you to promise me.”

“All right, I promise. Goodbye, Mother,” said the girl. “My love to Daddy.” She hung up.

“See more glass,” said Sybil Carpenter, who was staying at the hotel with her mother. “Did you see more glass?”

“Pussycat, stop saying that. It’s driving Mommy absolutely crazy. Hold still, please.”

Mrs. Carpenter was putting sun-tan oil on Sybil’s shoulders, spreading it down over the delicate, winglike blades of her back. Sybil was sitting insecurely on a huge, inflated beach ball, facing the ocean. She was wearing a canary-yellow two-piece bathing suit, one piece of which she would not actually be needing for another nine or ten years.

“It was really just an ordinary silk handkerchief–you could see when you got up close,” said the woman in the beach chair beside Mrs. Carpenter’s. “I wish I knew how she tied it. It was really darling.”

“It sounds darling,” Mrs. Carpenter agreed. “Sybil, hold still, pussy.”

“Did you see more glass?” said Sybil.

Mrs. Carpenter sighed. “All right,” she said. She replaced the cap on the sun-tan oil bottle. “Now run and play, pussy. Mommy’s going up to the hotel and have a Martini with Mrs. Hubbel. I’ll bring you the olive.”

Set loose, Sybil immediately ran down to the flat part of the beach and began to walk in the direction of Fisherman’s Pavilion. Stopping only to sink a foot in a soggy, collapsed castle, she was soon out of the area reserved for guests of the hotel.

She walked for about a quarter of a mile and then suddenly broke into an oblique run up the soft part of the beach. She stopped short when she reached the place where a young man was lying on his back.

“Are you going in the water, see more glass?” she said.

The young man started, his right hand going to the lapels of his terry-cloth robe. He turned over on his stomach, letting a sausaged towel fall away from his eyes, and squinted up at Sybil.

“Hey. Hello, Sybil.”

“Are you going in the water?”

“I was waiting for you,” said the young man. “What’s new?”

“What?” said Sybil.

“What’s new? What’s on the program?”

“My daddy’s coming tomorrow on a nairiplane,” Sybil said, kicking sand.

“Not in my face, baby,” the young man said, putting his hand on Sybil’s ankle. “Well, it’s about time he got here, your daddy. I’ve been expecting him hourly. Hourly.”

“Where’s the lady?” Sybil said.

“The lady?” the young man brushed some sand out of his thin hair. “That’s hard to say, Sybil. She may be in any one of a thousand places. At the hairdresser’s. Having her hair dyed mink. Or making dolls for poor children, in her room.” Lying prone now, he made two fists, set one on top of the other, and rested his chin on the top one. “Ask me something else, Sybil,” he said. “That’s a fine bathing suit you have on. If there’s one thing I like, it’s a blue bathing suit.”

Sybil stared at him, then looked down at her protruding stomach. “This is a yellow,” she said. “This is a yellow.”

“It is? Come a little closer.” Sybil took a step forward. “You’re absolutely right. What a fool I am.”

“Are you going in the water?” Sybil said.

“I’m seriously considering it. I’m giving it plenty of thought, Sybil, you’ll be glad to know.”

Sybil prodded the rubber float that the young man sometimes used as a head-rest. “It needs air,” she said.

“You’re right. It needs more air than I’m willing to admit.” He took away his fists and let his chin rest on the sand. “Sybil,” he said, “you’re looking fine. It’s good to see you. Tell me about yourself.” He reached in front of him and took both of Sybil’s ankles in his hands. “I’m Capricorn,” he said. “What are you?”

“Sharon Lipschutz said you let her sit on the piano seat with you,” Sybil said.

“Sharon Lipschutz said that?”

Sybil nodded vigorously.

He let go of her ankles, drew in his hands, and laid the side of his face on his right forearm. “Well,” he said, “you know how those things happen, Sybil. I was sitting there, playing. And you were nowhere in sight. And Sharon Lipschutz came over and sat down next to me. I couldn’t push her off, could I?”


“Oh, no. No. I couldn’t do that,” said the young man. “I’ll tell you what I did do, though.”


“I pretended she was you.”

Sybil immediately stooped and began to dig in the sand. “Let’s go in the water,” she said.

“All right,” said the young man. “I think I can work it in.”

“Next time, push her off,” Sybil said. “Push who off?”

“Sharon Lipschutz.”

“Ah, Sharon Lipschutz,” said the young man. “How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire.” He suddenly got to his feet. He looked at the ocean. “Sybil,” he said, “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll see if we can catch a bananafish.”

“A what?”

“A bananafish,” he said, and undid the belt of his robe. He took off the robe. His shoulders were white and narrow, and his trunks were royal blue. He folded the robe, first lengthwise, then in thirds. He unrolled the towel he had used over his eyes, spread it out on the sand, and then laid the folded robe on top of it. He bent over, picked up the float, and secured it under his right arm. Then, with his left hand, he took Sybil’s hand.

The two started to walk down to the ocean.

“I imagine you’ve seen quite a few bananafish in your day,” the young man said.

Sybil shook her head.

“You haven’t? Where do you live, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Sybil.

“Sure you know. You must know. Sharon Lipschutz knows where she lives and she’s only three and a half.”

Sybil stopped walking and yanked her hand away from him. She picked up an ordinary beach shell and looked at it with elaborate interest. She threw it down. “Whirly Wood, Connecticut,” she said, and resumed walking, stomach foremost.

“Whirly Wood, Connecticut,” said the young man. “Is that anywhere near Whirly Wood, Connecticut, by any chance?”

Sybil looked at him. “That’s where I live,” she said impatiently. “I live in Whirly Wood, Connecticut.” She ran a few steps ahead of him, caught up her left foot in her left hand, and hopped two or three times.

“You have no idea how clear that makes everything,” the young man said.

Sybil released her foot. “Did you read `Little Black Sambo’?” she said.

“It’s very funny you ask me that,” he said. “It so happens I just finished reading it last night.” He reached down and took back Sybil’s hand. “What did you think of it?” he asked her.

“Did the tigers run all around that tree?”

“I thought they’d never stop. I never saw so many tigers.”

“There were only six,” Sybil said.

“Only six!” said the young man. “Do you call that only?”

“Do you like wax?” Sybil asked.

“Do I like what?” asked the young man. “Wax.”

“Very much. Don’t you?”

Sybil nodded. “Do you like olives?” she asked.

“Olives–yes. Olives and wax. I never go anyplace without ’em.”

“Do you like Sharon Lipschutz?” Sybil asked.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” said the young man. “What I like particularly about her is that she never does anything mean to little dogs in the lobby of the hotel. That little toy bull that belongs to that lady from Canada, for instance. You probably won’t believe this, but some little girls like to poke that little dog with balloon sticks. Sharon doesn’t. She’s never mean or unkind. That’s why I like her so much.”

Sybil was silent.

“I like to chew candles,” she said finally.

“Who doesn’t?” said the young man, getting his feet wet. “Wow! It’s cold.” He dropped the rubber float on its back. “No, wait just a second, Sybil. Wait’ll we get out a little bit.”

They waded out till the water was up to Sybil’s waist. Then the young man picked her up and laid her down on her stomach on the float.

“Don’t you ever wear a bathing cap or anything?” he asked.

“Don’t let go,” Sybil ordered. “You hold me, now.”

“Miss Carpenter. Please. I know my business,” the young man said. “You just keep your eyes open for any bananafish. This is a perfect day for bananafish.”

“I don’t see any,” Sybil said.

“That’s understandable. Their habits are very peculiar.” He kept pushing the float. The water was not quite up to his chest. “They lead a very tragic life,” he said. “You know what they do, Sybil?”

She shook her head.

“Well, they swim into a hole where there’s a lot of bananas. They’re very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I’ve known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas.” He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon. “Naturally, after that they’re so fat they can’t get out of the hole again. Can’t fit through the door.”

“Not too far out,” Sybil said. “What happens to them?”

“What happens to who?”

“The bananafish.”

“Oh, you mean after they eat so many bananas they can’t get out of the banana hole?”

“Yes,” said Sybil.

“Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil. They die.”

“Why?” asked Sybil.

“Well, they get banana fever. It’s a terrible disease.”

“Here comes a wave,” Sybil said nervously.

“We’ll ignore it. We’ll snub it,” said the young man. “Two snobs.” He took Sybil’s ankles in his hands and pressed down and forward. The float nosed over the top of the wave. The water soaked Sybil’s blond hair, but her scream was full of pleasure.

With her hand, when the float was level again, she wiped away a flat, wet band of hair from her eyes, and reported, “I just saw one.”

“Saw what, my love?”

“A bananafish.”

“My God, no!” said the young man. “Did he have any bananas in his mouth?”

“Yes,” said Sybil. “Six.”

The young man suddenly picked up one of Sybil’s wet feet, which were drooping over the end of the float, and kissed the arch.

“Hey!” said the owner of the foot, turning around.

“Hey, yourself We’re going in now. You had enough?”


“Sorry,” he said, and pushed the float toward shore until Sybil got off it. He carried it the rest of the way.

“Goodbye,” said Sybil, and ran without regret in the direction of the hotel.

The young man put on his robe, closed the lapels tight, and jammed his towel into his pocket. He picked up the slimy wet, cumbersome float and put it under his arm. He plodded alone through the soft, hot sand toward the hotel.

On the sub-main floor of the hotel, which the management directed bathers to use, a woman with zinc salve on her nose got into the elevator with the young man.

“I see you’re looking at my feet,” he said to her when the car was in motion.

“I beg your pardon?” said the woman.

“I said I see you’re looking at my feet.”

“I beg your pardon. I happened to be looking at the floor,” said the woman, and faced the doors of the car.

“If you want to look at my feet, say so,” said the young man. “But don’t be a God-damned sneak about it.”

“Let me out here, please,” the woman said quickly to the girl operating the car.

The car doors opened and the woman got out without looking back.

“I have two normal feet and I can’t see the slightest God-damned reason why anybody should stare at them,” said the young man. “Five, please.” He took his room key out of his robe pocket.

He got off at the fifth floor, walked down the hall, and let himself into 507. The room smelled of new calfskin luggage and nail-lacquer remover.

He glanced at the girl lying asleep on one of the twin beds. Then he went over to one of the pieces of luggage, opened it, and from under a pile of shorts and undershirts he took out an Ortgies calibre 7.65 automatic. He released the magazine, looked at it, then reinserted it. He cocked the piece. Then he went over and sat down on the unoccupied twin bed, looked at the girl, aimed the pistol, and fired a bullet through his right temple.


Research question instructions

1. Find a topic related to genetics

2. Search articles for that topic.

3. state a question about that article, the question should be testable, the question should have two variables, description of the question clearly explains the main findings of the article chosen.

4. Hypothesis directly addresses the question.



Ray Bradbury

Gothic Digital Series @ UFSC


The Veldt

(The Saturday Evening Post, 1950)

“George, I wish you’d look at the nursery.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then.”
“I just want you to look at it, is all, or call a psychologist in to look at it.”
“What would a psychologist want with a nursery?”
“You know very well what he’d want.” His wife paused in the middle of the kitchen

and watched the stove busy humming to itself, making supper for four.
“It’s just that the nursery is different now than it was.”
“All right, let’s have a look.”
They walked down the hall of their soundproofed Happylife Home, which had cost

them thirty thousand dollars installed, this house which clothed and fed and rocked
them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them. Their approach sensitized a
switch somewhere and the nursery light flicked on when they came within ten feet of
it. Similarly, behind them, in the halls, lights went on and off as they left them behind,
with a soft automaticity.

“Well,” said George Hadley.


They stood on the thatched floor of the nursery. It was forty feet across by forty

feet long and thirty feet high; it had cost half again as much as the rest of the house.
“But nothing’s too good for our children,” George had said.

The nursery was silent. It was empty as a jungle glade at hot high noon. The walls
were blank and two dimensional. Now, as George and Lydia Hadley stood in the
center of the room, the walls began to purr and recede into crystalline distance, it
seemed, and presently an African veldt appeared, in three dimensions, on all sides, in
color reproduced to the final pebble and bit of straw. The ceiling above them became
a deep sky with a hot yellow sun.

George Hadley felt the perspiration start on his brow.
“Let’s get out of this sun,” he said. “This is a little too real. But I don’t see anything

“Wait a moment, you’ll see,” said his wife.
Now the hidden odorophonics were beginning to blow a wind of odor at the two

people in the middle of the baked veldtland. The hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool

green smell of the hidden water hole, the great rusty smell of animals, the smell of
dust like a red paprika in the hot air. And now the sounds: the thump of distant
antelope feet on grassy sod, the papery rustling of vultures. A shadow passed through
the sky. The shadow flickered on George Hadley’s upturned, sweating face.

“Filthy creatures,” he heard his wife say.
“The vultures.”
“You see, there are the lions, far over, that way. Now they’re on their way to the

water hole. They’ve just been eating,” said Lydia. “I don’t know what.”
“Some animal.” George Hadley put his hand up to shield off the burning light from

his squinted eyes. “A zebra or a baby giraffe, maybe.”
“Are you sure?” His wife sounded peculiarly tense.
“No, it’s a little late to be sure,” he said, amused. “Nothing over there I can see but

cleaned bone, and the vultures dropping for what’s left.”
“Did you bear that scream?” she asked.
“About a minute ago?”
“Sorry, no.”
The lions were coming. And again George Hadley was filled with admiration for

the mechanical genius who had conceived this room. A miracle of efficiency selling
for an absurdly low price. Every home should have one. Oh, occasionally they
frightened you with their clinical accuracy, they startled you, gave you a twinge, but
most of the time what fun for everyone, not only your own son and daughter, but for
yourself when you felt like a quick jaunt to a foreign land, a quick change of scenery.
Well, here it was!

And here were the lions now, fifteen feet away, so real, so feverishly and
startlingly real that you could feel the prickling fur on your hand, and your mouth was
stuffed with the dusty upholstery smell of their heated pelts, and the yellow of them
was in your eyes like the yellow of an exquisite French tapestry, the yellows of lions
and summer grass, and the sound of the matted lion lungs exhaling on the silent
noontide, and the smell of meat from the panting, dripping mouths.

The lions stood looking at George and Lydia Hadley with terrible green-yellow

“Watch out!” screamed Lydia.
The lions came running at them.
Lydia bolted and ran. Instinctively, George sprang after her. Outside, in the hall,

with the door slammed he was laughing and she was crying, and they both stood
appalled at the other’s reaction.

“Lydia! Oh, my dear poor sweet Lydia!”
“They almost got us!”
“Walls, Lydia, remember; crystal walls, that’s all they are. Oh, they look real, I must

admit — Africa in your parlor — but it’s all dimensional, superreactionary,

supersensitive color film and mental tape film behind glass screens. It’s all
odorophonics and sonics, Lydia. Here’s my handkerchief.”

“I’m afraid.” She came to him and put her body against him and cried steadily. “Did
you see? Did you feel? It’s too real.”

“Now, Lydia…”
“You’ve got to tell Wendy and Peter not to read any more on Africa.”
“Of course — of course.” He patted her.
“And lock the nursery for a few days until I get my nerves settled.”
“You know how difficult Peter is about that. When I punished him a month ago by

locking the nursery for even a few hours — the tantrum be threw! And Wendy too.
They live for the nursery.”

“It’s got to be locked, that’s all there is to it.”
“All right.” Reluctantly he locked the huge door. “You’ve been working too hard.

You need a rest.”
“I don’t know — I don’t know,” she said, blowing her nose, sitting down in a chair

that immediately began to rock and comfort her. “Maybe I don’t have enough to do.
Maybe I have time to think too much. Why don’t we shut the whole house off for a
few days and take a vacation?”

“You mean you want to fry my eggs for me?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“And dam my socks?”
“Yes.” A frantic, watery-eyed nodding.
“And sweep the house?”
“Yes, yes — oh, yes!”
“But I thought that’s why we bought this house, so we wouldn’t have to do

“That’s just it. I feel like I don’t belong here. The house is wife and mother now,

and nursemaid. Can I compete with an African veldt? Can I give a bath and scrub the
children as efficiently or quickly as the automatic scrub bath can? I cannot. And it
isn’t just me. It’s you. You’ve been awfully nervous lately.”

“I suppose I have been smoking too much.”
“You look as if you didn’t know what to do with yourself in this house, either. You

smoke a little more every morning and drink a little more every afternoon and need a
little more sedative every night. You’re beginning to feel unnecessary too.”

“Am I?” He paused and tried to feel into himself to see what was really there.
“Oh, George!” She looked beyond him, at the nursery door. “Those lions can’t get

out of there, can they?”
He looked at the door and saw it tremble as if something had jumped against it

from the other side.
“Of course not,” he said.


At dinner they ate alone, for Wendy and Peter were at a special plastic carnival

across town and bad televised home to say they’d be late, to go ahead eating. So
George Hadley, bemused, sat watching the dining-room table produce warm dishes
of food from its mechanical interior.

“We forgot the ketchup,” he said.
“Sorry,” said a small voice within the table, and ketchup appeared.
As for the nursery, thought George Hadley, it won’t hurt for the children to be

locked out of it awhile. Too much of anything isn’t good for anyone. And it was clearly
indicated that the children had been spending a little too much time on Africa. That
sun. He could feel it on his neck, still, like a hot paw. And the lions. And the smell of
blood. Remarkable how the nursery caught the telepathic emanations of the
children’s minds and created life to fill their every desire. The children thought lions,
and there were lions. The children thought zebras, and there were zebras. Sun — sun.
Giraffes — giraffes. Death and death.

That last. He chewed tastelessly on the meat that the table bad cut for him. Death
thoughts. They were awfully young, Wendy and Peter, for death thoughts. Or, no, you
were never too young, really. Long before you knew what death was you were wishing
it on someone else. When you were two years old you were shooting people with cap

But this — the long, hot African veldt — the awful death in the jaws of a lion. And
repeated again and again.

“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer Lydia. Preoccupied, be let the lights glow softly on ahead of him,

extinguish behind him as he padded to the nursery door. He listened against it. Far
away, a lion roared.

He unlocked the door and opened it. Just before he stepped inside, he heard a
faraway scream. And then another roar from the lions, which subsided quickly.

He stepped into Africa. How many times in the last year had he opened this door
and found Wonderland, Alice, the Mock Turtle, or Aladdin and his Magical Lamp, or
Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz, or Dr. Doolittle, or the cow jumping over a very real-
appearing moon-all the delightful contraptions of a make-believe world. How often
had he seen Pegasus flying in the sky ceiling, or seen fountains of red fireworks, or
heard angel voices singing. But now, is yellow hot Africa, this bake oven with murder
in the heat. Perhaps Lydia was right. Perhaps they needed a little vacation from the
fantasy which was growing a bit too real for ten-year-old children. It was all right to
exercise one’s mind with gymnastic fantasies, but when the lively child mind settled
on one pattern…? It seemed that, at a distance, for the past month, he had heard lions
roaring, and smelled their strong odor seeping as far away as his study door. But,
being busy, he had paid it no attention.

George Hadley stood on the African grassland alone. The lions looked up from
their feeding, watching him. The only flaw to the illusion was the open door through
which he could see his wife, far down the dark hall, like a framed picture, eating her
dinner abstractedly.

“Go away,” he said to the lions.
They did not go.
He knew the principle of the room exactly. You sent out your thoughts. Whatever

you thought would appear. “Let’s have Aladdin and his lamp,” he snapped. The
veldtland remained; the lions remained.

“Come on, room! I demand Aladin!” he said.
Nothing happened. The lions mumbled in their baked pelts.
He went back to dinner. “The fool room’s out of order,” he said. “It won’t respond.”
“Or —”
“Or what?”
“Or it can’t respond,” said Lydia, “because the children have thought about Africa

and lions and killing so many days that the room’s in a rut.”
“Could be.”
“Or Peter’s set it to remain that way.”
“Set it?”
“He may have got into the machinery and fixed something.”
“Peter doesn’t know machinery.”
“He’s a wise one for ten. That I.Q. of his —”
“Nevertheless —”
“Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad.”
The Hadleys turned. Wendy and Peter were coming in the front door, cheeks like

peppermint candy, eyes like bright blue agate marbles, a smell of ozone on their
jumpers from their trip in the helicopter. “You’re just in time for supper,” said both

“We’re full of strawberry ice cream and hot dogs,” said the children, holding
hands. “But we’ll sit and watch.”

“Yes, come tell us about the nursery,” said George Hadley.
The brother and sister blinked at him and then at each other.
“All about Africa and everything,” said the father with false joviality.
“I don’t understand,” said Peter.
“Your mother and I were just traveling through Africa with rod and reel; Tom

Swift and his Electric Lion,” said George Hadley.
“There’s no Africa in the nursery,” said Peter simply.
“Oh, come now, Peter. We know better.”
“I don’t remember any Africa,” said Peter to Wendy. “Do you?”

“Run see and come tell.”
She obeyed.
“Wendy, come back here!” said George Hadley, but she was gone. The house lights

followed her like a flock of fireflies. Too late, he realized he had forgotten to lock the
nursery door after his last inspection.

“Wendy’ll look and come tell us,” said Peter.
“She doesn’t have to tell me. I’ve seen it.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken, Father.”
“I’m not, Peter. Come along now.”
But Wendy was back. “It’s not Africa,” she said breathlessly.
“We’ll see about this,” said George Hadley, and they all walked down the hall

together and opened the nursery door.
There was a green, lovely forest, a lovely river, a purple mountain, high voices

singing, and Rima, lovely and mysterious, lurking in the trees with colorful flights of
butterflies, like animated bouquets, lingering in her long hair. The African veldtland
was gone. The lions were gone. Only Rima was here now, singing a song so beautiful
that it brought tears to your eyes.

George Hadley looked in at the changed scene. “Go to bed,” he said to the

They opened their mouths.
“You heard me,” he said.
They went off to the air closet, where a wind sucked them like brown leaves up

the flue to their slumber rooms.
George Hadley walked through the singing glade and picked up something that

lay in the comer near where the lions had been. He walked slowly back to his wife.
“What is that?” she asked.
“An old wallet of mine,” he said.
He showed it to her. The smell of hot grass was on it and the smell of a lion. There

were drops of saliva on it, it bad been chewed, and there were blood smears on both

He closed the nursery door and locked it, tight.


In the middle of the night he was still awake and he knew his wife was awake. “Do

you think Wendy changed it?” she said at last, in the dark room.
“Of course.”
“Made it from a veldt into a forest and put Rima there instead of lions?”
“I don’t know. But it’s staying locked until I find out.”
“How did your wallet get there?”

“I don’t know anything,” he said, “except that I’m beginning to be sorry we bought
that room for the children. If children are neurotic at all, a room like that —”

“It’s supposed to help them work off their neuroses in a healthful way.”
“I’m starting to wonder.” He stared at the ceiling.
“We’ve given the children everything they ever wanted. Is this our reward-

secrecy, disobedience?”
“Who was it said, ‘Children are carpets, they should be stepped on occasionally’?

We’ve never lifted a hand. They’re insufferable — let’s admit it. They come and go
when they like; they treat us as if we were offspring. They’re spoiled and we’re

“They’ve been acting funny ever since you forbade them to take the rocket to New
York a few months ago.”

“They’re not old enough to do that alone, I explained.”
“Nevertheless, I’ve noticed they’ve been decidedly cool toward us since.”
“I think I’ll have David McClean come tomorrow morning to have a look at Africa.”
“But it’s not Africa now, it’s Green Mansions country and Rima.”
“I have a feeling it’ll be Africa again before then.”
A moment later they heard the screams.
Two screams. Two people screaming from downstairs. And then a roar of lions.
“Wendy and Peter aren’t in their rooms,” said his wife.
He lay in his bed with his beating heart. “No,” he said. “They’ve broken into the

“Those screams — they sound familiar.”
“Do they?”
“Yes, awfully.”
And although their beds tried very bard, the two adults couldn’t be rocked to

sleep for another hour. A smell of cats was in the night air.


“Father?” said Peter.
Peter looked at his shoes. He never looked at his father any more, nor at his

mother. “You aren’t going to lock up the nursery for good, are you?”
“That all depends.”
“On what?” snapped Peter.
“On you and your sister. If you intersperse this Africa with a little variety — oh,

Sweden perhaps, or Denmark or China —”
“I thought we were free to play as we wished.”
“You are, within reasonable bounds.”
“What’s wrong with Africa, Father?”
“Oh, so now you admit you have been conjuring up Africa, do you?”

“I wouldn’t want the nursery locked up,” said Peter coldly. “Ever.”
“Matter of fact, we’re thinking of turning the whole house off for about a month.

Live sort of a carefree one-for-all existence.”
“That sounds dreadful! Would I have to tie my own shoes instead of letting the

shoe tier do it? And brush my own teeth and comb my hair and give myself a bath?”
“It would be fun for a change, don’t you think?”
“No, it would be horrid. I didn’t like it when you took out the picture painter last

“That’s because I wanted you to learn to paint all by yourself, son.”
“I don’t want to do anything but look and listen and smell; what else is there to

“All right, go play in Africa.”
“Will you shut off the house sometime soon?”
“We’re considering it.”
“I don’t think you’d better consider it any more, Father.”
“I won’t have any threats from my son!”
“Very well.” And Peter strolled off to the nursery.


“Am I on time?” said David McClean.
“Breakfast?” asked George Hadley.
“Thanks, had some. What’s the trouble?”
“David, you’re a psychologist.”
“I should hope so.”
“Well, then, have a look at our nursery. You saw it a year ago when you dropped

by; did you notice anything peculiar about it then?”
“Can’t say I did; the usual violences, a tendency toward a slight paranoia here or

there, usual in children because they feel persecuted by parents constantly, but, oh,
really nothing.”

They walked down the ball. “I locked the nursery up,” explained the father, “and
the children broke back into it during the night. I let them stay so they could form the
patterns for you to see.”

There was a terrible screaming from the nursery.
“There it is,” said George Hadley. “See what you make of it.”
They walked in on the children without rapping.
The screams had faded. The lions were feeding.
“Run outside a moment, children,” said George Hadley. “No, don’t change the

mental combination. Leave the walls as they are. Get!”
With the children gone, the two men stood studying the lions clustered at a

distance, eating with great relish whatever it was they had caught.

“I wish I knew what it was,” said George Hadley. “Sometimes I can almost see. Do
you think if I brought high-powered binoculars here and —”

David McClean laughed dryly. “Hardly.” He turned to study all four walls. “How
long has this been going on?”

“A little over a month.”
“It certainly doesn’t feel good.”
“I want facts, not feelings.”
“My dear George, a psychologist never saw a fact in his life. He only hears about

feelings; vague things. This doesn’t feel good, I tell you. Trust my hunches and my
instincts. I have a nose for something bad. This is very bad. My advice to you is to
have the whole damn room torn down and your children brought to me every day
during the next year for treatment.”

“Is it that bad?”
“I’m afraid so. One of the original uses of these nurseries was so that we could

study the patterns left on the walls by the child’s mind, study at our leisure, and help
the child. In this case, however, the room has become a channel toward-destructive
thoughts, instead of a release away from them.”

“Didn’t you sense this before?”
“I sensed only that you bad spoiled your children more than most. And now you’re

letting them down in some way. What way?”
“I wouldn’t let them go to New York.”
“What else?”
“I’ve taken a few machines from the house and threatened them, a month ago,

with closing up the nursery unless they did their homework. I did close it for a few
days to show I meant business.”

“Ah, ha!”
“Does that mean anything?”
“Everything. Where before they had a Santa Claus now they have a Scrooge.

Children prefer Santas. You’ve let this room and this house replace you and your wife
in your children’s affections. This room is their mother and father, far more important
in their lives than their real parents. And now you come along and want to shut it off.
No wonder there’s hatred here. You can feel it coming out of the sky. Feel that sun.
George, you’ll have to change your life. Like too many others, you’ve built it around
creature comforts. Why, you’d starve tomorrow if something went wrong in your
kitchen. You wouldn’t know bow to tap an egg. Nevertheless, turn everything off.
Start new. It’ll take time. But we’ll make good children out of bad in a year, wait and

“But won’t the shock be too much for the children, shutting the room up abruptly,
for good?”

“I don’t want them going any deeper into this, that’s all.”
The lions were finished with their red feast.
The lions were standing on the edge of the clearing watching the two men.

“Now I’m feeling persecuted,” said McClean. “Let’s get out of here. I never have
cared for these damned rooms. Make me nervous.”

“The lions look real, don’t they?” said George Hadley. I don’t suppose there’s any
way —”

“— That they could become real?”
“Not that I know.”
“Some flaw in the machinery, a tampering or something?”
They went to the door.
“I don’t imagine the room will like being turned off,” said the father.
“Nothing ever likes to die — even a room.”
“I wonder if it hates me for wanting to switch it off?”
“Paranoia is thick around here today,” said David McClean. “You can follow it like

a spoor. Hello.” He bent and picked up a bloody scarf. “This yours?”
“No.” George Hadley’s face was rigid. “It belongs to Lydia.”
They went to the fuse box together and threw the switch that killed the nursery.


The two children were in hysterics. They screamed and pranced and threw

things. They yelled and sobbed and swore and jumped at the furniture.
“You can’t do that to the nursery, you can’t!”
“Now, children.”
The children flung themselves onto a couch, weeping.
“George,” said Lydia Hadley, “turn on the nursery, just for a few moments. You

can’t be so abrupt.”
“You can’t be so cruel…”
“Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now.

The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been
contemplating our mechanical, electronic navels for too long. My God, how we need a
breath of honest air!”

And he marched about the house turning off the voice clocks, the stoves, the
heaters, the shoe shiners, the shoe lacers, the body scrubbers and swabbers and
massagers, and every other machine be could put his hand to.

The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed. It felt like a mechanical cemetery.
So silent. None of the humming hidden energy of machines waiting to function at the
tap of a button.

“Don’t let them do it!” wailed Peter at the ceiling, as if he was talking to the house,
the nursery. “Don’t let Father kill everything.” He turned to his father. “Oh, I hate you!”

“Insults won’t get you anywhere.”

“I wish you were dead!”
“We were, for a long while. Now we’re going to really start living. Instead of being

handled and massaged, we’re going to live.”
Wendy was still crying and Peter joined her again. “Just a moment, just one

moment, just another moment of nursery,” they wailed.
“Oh, George,” said the wife, “it can’t hurt.”
“All right — all right, if they’ll just shut up. One minute, mind you, and then off

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” sang the children, smiling with wet faces.
“And then we’re going on a vacation. David McClean is coming back in half an

hour to help us move out and get to the airport. I’m going to dress. You turn the
nursery on for a minute, Lydia, just a minute, mind you.”

And the three of them went babbling off while he let himself be vacuumed
upstairs through the air flue and set about dressing himself. A minute later Lydia

“I’ll be glad when we get away,” she sighed.
“Did you leave them in the nursery?”
“I wanted to dress too. Oh, that horrid Africa. What can they see in it?”
“Well, in five minutes we’ll be on our way to Iowa. Lord, how did we ever get in

this house? What prompted us to buy a nightmare?”
“Pride, money, foolishness.”
“I think we’d better get downstairs before those kids get engrossed with those

damned beasts again.”
Just then they heard the children calling, “Daddy, Mommy, come quick — quick!”
They went downstairs in the air flue and ran down the hall. The children were

nowhere in sight. “Wendy? Peter!”
They ran into the nursery. The veldtland was empty save for the lions waiting,

looking at them. “Peter, Wendy?”
The door slammed.
“Wendy, Peter!”
George Hadley and his wife whirled and ran back to the door.
“Open the door!” cried George Hadley, trying the knob. “Why, they’ve locked it

from the outside! Peter!” He beat at the door. “Open up!”
He heard Peter’s voice outside, against the door.
“Don’t let them switch off the nursery and the house,” he was saying.
Mr. and Mrs. George Hadley beat at the door. “Now, don’t be ridiculous, children.

It’s time to go. Mr. McClean’ll be here in a minute and…”
And then they heard the sounds.
The lions on three sides of them, in the yellow veldt grass, padding through the

dry straw, rumbling and roaring in their throats.
The lions.

Mr. Hadley looked at his wife and they turned and looked back at the beasts
edging slowly forward crouching, tails stiff.

Mr. and Mrs. Hadley screamed.
And suddenly they realized why those other screams bad sounded familiar.


“Well, here I am,” said David McClean in the nursery doorway, “Oh, hello.” He

stared at the two children seated in the center of the open glade eating a little picnic
lunch. Beyond them was the water hole and the yellow veldtland; above was the hot
sun. He began to perspire. “Where are your father and mother?”

The children looked up and smiled. “Oh, they’ll be here directly.”
“Good, we must get going.” At a distance Mr. McClean saw the lions fighting and

clawing and then quieting down to feed in silence under the shady trees.
He squinted at the lions with his hand tip to his eyes.
Now the lions were done feeding. They moved to the water hole to drink.
A shadow flickered over Mr. McClean’s hot face. Many shadows flickered. The

vultures were dropping down the blazing sky.
“A cup of tea?” asked Wendy in the silence.


– 1 –

The Waltz, by Dorothy Parker
from Dorothy Parker (The Viking Portable Library, 1944)

WHY, thank you so much. I’d adore to.

I don’t want to dance with him. I don’t want to dance with anybody. And even if I
did, it wouldn’t be him. He’d be well down among the last ten. I’ve seen the way he
dances; it looks like something you do on Saint Walpurgis Night. Just think, not a
quarter of an hour ago, here I was sitting, feeling so sorry for the poor girl he was
dancing with. And now I’m going to be the poor girl. Well, well. Isn’t it a small

And a peach of a world, too. A true little corker. Its events are so fascinatingly
unpredictable, are not they? Here I was, minding my own business, not doing a
stitch of harm to any living soul. And then he comes into my life, all smiles and
city manners, to sue me for the favor of one memorable mazurka. Why, he scarcely
knows my name, let alone what it stands for. It stands for Despair, Bewilderment,
Futility, Degradation, and Premeditated Murder, but little does he wot. I don’t wot
his name, either; I haven’t any idea what it is. Jukes, would be my guess from the
look in his eyes. How do you do, Mr. Jukes? And how is that dear little brother of
yours, with the two heads?

Ah, now why did he have to come around me, with his low requests? Why can’t he
let me lead my own life? I ask so little — just to be left alone in my quiet corner of
the table, to do my evening brooding over all my sorrows. And he must come, with
his bows and his scrapes and his may-l-have-this-ones. And I had to go and tell
him that I’d adore to dance with him. I cannot understand why I wasn’t struck right
down dead. Yes, and being struck dead would look like a day in the country,
compared to struggling out a dance with this boy. But what could I do? Everyone
else at the table had got up to dance, except him and me. There was 1, trapped.
Trapped like a trap in a trap.

What can you say, when a man asks you to dance with him? I most certainly will
not dance with you, I’ll see you in hell first. Why, thank you, I’d like to awfully, but
I’m having labor pains. Oh, yes, do let’s dance together — it’s so nice to meet a man
who isn’t a scaredy-cat about catching my beri-beri. No. There was nothing for me
to do, but say I’d adore to. Well, we might as well get it over with. All right,
Cannonball, let’s run out on the field. You won the toss; you can lead.

– 2 –

Why, I think it’s more of a waltz, really. Isn’t it? We might just listen to the music a
second. Shall we? Oh, yes, it’s a waltz. Mind? Why, I’m simply thrilled. I’d love to
waltz with you.

I’d love to waltz with you. I’d love to waltz with you. I’d love to have my tonsils
out, I’d love to be in a midnight fire at sea. Well, it’s too late now. We’re getting
under way. Oh. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear. Oh, this is even worse than I
thought it would be. I suppose that’s the one dependable law of life — everything is
always worse than you thought it was going to be. Oh, if I had any real grasp of
what this dance would be like, I’d have held out for sitting it out. Well, it will
probably amount to the same thing in the end. We’ll be sitting it out on the floor in
a minute, if he keeps this up.

I’m so glad I brought it to his attention that this is a waltz they’re playing. Heaven
knows what might have happened, if he had thought it was something fast; we’d
have blown the sides right out of the building, Why does he always want to be
somewhere that he isn’t? Why can’t we stay in one place just long enough to get
acclimated? It’s this constant rush, rush, rush, that’s the curse of American life.
That’s the reason that we’re all of us so — Ow! For God’s sake, don’t kick, you idiot;
this is only second down. Oh, my shin. My poor, poor shin, that I’ve had ever since
I was a little girl!

Oh, no, no, no. Goodness, no. It didn’t hurt the least little bit. And anyway it was
my fault. Really it was. Truly. Well, you’re just being sweet, to say that. It really
was all my fault.

I wonder what I’d better do — kill him this instant, with my naked hands, or wait
and let him drop in his traces. Maybe it’s best not to make a scene. I guess I’ll just
lie low, and watch the pace get him. He can’t keep this up indefinitely — he’s only
flesh and blood. Die he must, and die he shall, for what he did to me. I don’t want
to be of the over-sensitive type, but you can’t tell me that kick was unpremeditated.
Freud says there are no accidents. I’ve led no cloistered life, I’ve known dancing
partners who have spoiled my slippers and torn my dress; but when it comes to
kicking, I am Outraged Womanhood. When you kick me in the shin, smile.

Maybe he didn’t do it maliciously. Maybe it’s just his way of showing his high
spirits. I suppose I ought to be glad that one of us is having such a good time. I
suppose I ought to think myself lucky if he brings me back alive. Maybe it’s
captious to demand of a practically strange man that he leave your shins as he
found them. After all, the poor boy’s doing the best he can. Probably he grew up in

– 3 –

the hill country, and never had no larnin’. I bet they had to throw him on his back
to get shoes on him.

Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it? It’s simply lovely. It’s the loveliest waltz. Isn’t it? Oh, I think
it’s lovely, too.

Why, I’m getting positively drawn to the Triple Threat here. He’s my hero. He has
the heart of a lion, and the sinews of a buffalo. Look at him — never a thought of
the consequences, never afraid of his face, hurling himself into every scrimmage,
eyes shining, cheeks ablaze. And shall it be said that I hung back? No, a thousand
times no. What’s it to me if I have to spend the next couple of years in a plaster
cast? Come on, Butch, right through them! Who wants to live forever?

Oh. Oh, dear. Oh, he’s all right, thank goodness. For a while I thought they’d have
to carry him off the field. Ah, I couldn’t bear to have anything happen to him. I
love him. I love him better than anybody in the world. Look at the spirit he gets
into a dreary, commonplace waltz; how effete the other dancers seem, beside him.
He is youth and vigor and courage, he is strength and gaiety and — Ow! Get off my
instep, you hulking peasant! What do you think I am, anyway — a gangplank? Ow!

No, of course it didn’t hurt. Why, it didn’t a bit. Honestly. And it was all my fault.
You see, that little step of yours — well, it’s perfectly lovely, but it’s just a tiny bit
tricky to follow at first. Oh, did you work it up yourself? You really did? Well,
aren’t you amazing! Oh, now I think I’ve got it. Oh, I think it’s lovely. I was
watching you do it when you were dancing before. It’s awfully effective when you
look at it.

It’s awfully effective when you look at it. I bet I’m awfully effective when you look
at me. My hair is hanging along my cheeks, my skirt is swaddling about me, I can
feel the cold damp of my brow. I must look like something out of the “Fall of the
House of Usher.” This sort of thing takes a fearful toll of a woman my age. And he
worked up his little step himself, he with his degenerate cunning. And it was just a
tiny bit tricky at first, but now I think I’ve got it. Two stumbles, slip, and a twenty-
yard dash; yes. I’ve got it. I’ve got several other things, too, including a split shin
and a bitter heart. I hate this creature I’m chained to. I hated him the moment I saw
his leering, bestial face. And here I’ve been locked in his noxious embrace for the
thirty-five years this waltz has lasted. Is that orchestra never going to stop playing?
Or must this obscene travesty of a dance go on until hell burns out?

– 4 –

Oh, they’re going to play another encore. Oh, goody. Oh, that’s lovely. Tired? I
should say I’m not tired. I’d like to go on like this forever.

I should say I’m not tired. I’m dead, that’s all I am. Dead, and in what a cause! And
the music is never going to stop playing, and we’re going on like this, Double-Time
Charlie and I, throughout eternity. I suppose I won’t care any more, after the first
hundred thousand years. I suppose nothing will matter then, not heat nor pain nor
broken heart nor cruel, aching weariness. Well. It can’t come too soon for me.

I wonder why I didn’t tell him I was tired. I wonder why I didn’t suggest going
back to the table. I could have said let’s just listen to the music. Yes, and if he
would, that would be the first bit of attention he has given it all evening. George
Jean Nathan said that the lovely rhythms of the waltz should be listened to in
stillness and not be accompanied by strange gyrations of the human body. I think
that’s what he said. I think it was George Jean Nathan. Anyhow, whatever he said
and whoever he was and whatever he’s doing now, he’s better off than I am. That’s
safe. Anybody who isn’t waltzing with this Mrs. O’Leary’s cow I’ve got here is
having a good time.

Still if we were back at the table, I’d probably have to talk to him. Look at him —
what could you say to a thing like that! Did you go to the circus this year, what’s
your favorite kind of ice cream, how do you spell cat? I guess I’m as well off here.
As well off as if I were in a cement mixer in full action.

I’m past all feeling now. The only way I can tell when he steps on me is that I can
hear the splintering of bones. And all the events of my life are passing before my
eyes. There was the time I was in a hurricane in the West Indies, there was the day
I got my head cut open in the taxi smash, there was the night the drunken lady
threw a bronze ashtray at her own true love and got me instead, there was that
summer that the sailboat kept capsizing. Ah, what an easy, peaceful time was mine,
until I fell in with Swifty, here. I didn’t know what trouble was, before I got drawn
into this danse macabre. I think my mind is beginning to wander. It almost seems
to me as if the orchestra were stopping. It couldn’t be, of course; it could never,
never be. And yet in my ears there is a silence like the sound of angel voices. . . .

Oh they’ve stopped, the mean things. They’re not going to play any more. Oh, darn.
Oh, do you think they would? Do you really think so, if you gave them twenty
dollars? Oh, that would be lovely. And look, do tell them to play this same thing.
I’d simply adore to go on waltzing.


The Swimmer

by John Cheever

It was one of those midsummer Sundays when everyone sits around saying, “I drank too much last night.” You might have heard it whispered by the parishioners leaving church, heard it from the lips of the priest himself, struggling with his cassock in the vestiarium, heard it from the golf links and the tennis courts, heard it from the wildlife preserve where the leader of the Audubon group was suffering from a terrible hangover. “I drank too much,” said Donald Westerhazy. “We all drank too much,” said Lucinda Merrill. “It must have been the wine,” said Helen Westerhazy. “I drank too much of that claret.”

This was at the edge of the Westerhazys’ pool. The pool, fed by an artesian well with a high iron content, was a pale shade of green. It was a fine day. In the west there was a massive stand of cumulus cloud so like a city seen from a distance—from the bow of an approaching ship—that it might have had a name. Lisbon. Hackensack. The sun was hot. Neddy Merrill sat by the green water, one hand in it, one around a glass of gin. He was a slender man—he seemed to have the especial slenderness of youth—and while he was far from young he had slid down his banister that morning and given the bronze backside of Aphrodite on the hall table a smack, as he jogged toward the smell of coffee in his dining room. He might have been compared to a summer’s day, particularly the last hours of one, and while he lacked a tennis racket or a sail bag the impression was definitely one of youth, sport, and clement weather. He had been swimming and now he was breathing deeply, stertorously as if he could gulp into his lungs the components of that moment, the heat of the sun, the intenseness of his pleasure. It all seemed to flow into his chest. His own house stood in Bullet Park, eight miles to the south, where his four beautiful daughters would have had their lunch and might be playing tennis. Then it occurred to him that by taking a dogleg to the southwest he could reach his home by water.

His life was not confining and the delight he took in this observation could not be explained by its suggestion of escape. He seemed to see, with a cartographer’s eye, that string of swimming pools, that quasi-subterranean stream that curved across the county. He had made a discovery, a contribution to modern geography; he would name the stream Lucinda after his wife. He was not a practical joker nor was he a fool but he was determinedly original and had a vague and modest idea of himself as a legendary figure. The day was beautiful and it seemed to him that a long swim might enlarge and celebrate its beauty.

He took off a sweater that was hung over his shoulders and dove in. He had an inexplicable contempt for men who did not hurl themselves into pools. He swam a choppy crawl, breathing either with every stroke or every fourth stroke and counting somewhere well in the back of his mind the one-two one-two of a flutter kick. It was not a serviceable stroke for long distances but the domestication of swimming had saddled the sport with some customs and in his part of the world a crawl was customary. To be embraced and sustained by the light green water was less a pleasure, it seemed, than the resumption of a natural condition, and he would have liked to swim without trunks, but this was not possible, considering his project. He hoisted himself up on the far curb—he never used the ladder—and started across the lawn. When Lucinda asked where he was going he said he was going to swim home.

The only maps and charts he had to go by were remembered or imaginary but these were clear enough. First there were the Grahams, the Hammers, the Lears, the Howlands, and the Crosscups. He would cross Ditmar Street to the Bunkers and come, after a short portage, to the Levys, the Welchers, and the public pool in Lancaster. Then there were the Hallorans, the Sachses, the Biswangers, Shirley Adams, the Gilmartins, and the Clydes. The day was lovely, and that he lived in a world so generously supplied with water seemed like a clemency, a beneficence. His heart was high and he ran across the grass. Making his way home by an uncommon route gave him the feeling that he was a pilgrim, an explorer, a man with a destiny, and he knew that he would find friends all along the way; friends would line the banks of the Lucinda River.

He went through a hedge that separated the Westerhazys’ land from the Grahams’, walked under some flowering apple trees, passed the shed that housed their pump and filter, and came out at the Grahams’ pool. “Why, Neddy,” Mrs. Graham said, “what a marvelous surprise. I’ve been trying to get you on the phone all morning. Here, let me get you a drink.” He saw then, like any explorer, that the hospitable customs and traditions of the natives would have to be handled with diplomacy if he was ever going to reach his destination. He did not want to mystify or seem rude to the Grahams nor did he have the time to linger there. He swam the length of their pool and joined them in the sun and was rescued, a few minutes later, by the arrival of two carloads of friends from Connecticut. During the uproarious reunions he was able to slip away. He went down by the front of the Grahams’ house, stepped over a thorny hedge, and crossed a vacant lot to the Hammers’. Mrs. Hammer, looking up from her roses, saw him swim by although she wasn’t quite sure who it was. The Lears heard him splashing past the open windows of their living room. The Howlands and the Crosscups were away. After leaving the Howlands’ he crossed Ditmar Street and started for the Bunkers’, where he could hear, even at that distance, the noise of a party.

The water refracted the sound of voices and laughter and seemed to suspend it in midair. The Bunkers’ pool was on a rise and he climbed some stairs to a terrace where twenty-five or thirty men and women were drinking. The only person in the water was Rusty Towers, who floated there on a rubber raft. Oh, how bonny and lush were the banks of the Lucinda River! Prosperous men and women gathered by the sapphire-colored waters while caterer’s men in white coats passed them cold gin. Overhead a red de Haviland trainer was circling around and around and around in the sky with something like the glee of a child in a swing. Ned felt a passing affection for the scene, a tenderness for the gathering, as if it was something he might touch. In the distance he heard thunder. As soon as Enid Bunker saw him she began to scream: “Oh, look who’s here! What a marvelous surprise! When Lucinda said that you couldn’t come I thought I’d die.” She made her way to him through the crowd, and when they had finished kissing she led him to the bar, a progress that was slowed by the fact that he stopped to kiss eight or ten other women and shake the hands of as many men. A smiling bartender he had seen at a hundred parties gave him a gin and tonic and he stood by the bar for a moment, anxious not to get stuck in any conversation that would delay his voyage. When he seemed about to be surrounded he dove in and swam close to the side to avoid colliding with Rusty’s raft. At the far end of the pool he bypassed the Tomlinsons with a broad smile and jogged up the garden path. The gravel cut his feet but this was the only unpleasantness. The party was confined to the pool, and as he went toward the house he heard the brilliant, watery sound of voices fade, heard the noise of a radio from the Bunkers’ kitchen, where someone was listening to a ball game. Sunday afternoon. He made his way through the parked cars and down the grassy border of their driveway to Alewives Lane. He did not want to be seen on the road in his bathing trunks but there was no traffic and he made the short distance to the Levys’ driveway, marked with a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign and a green tube for The New York Times. All the doors and windows of the big house were open but there were no signs of life; not even a dog barked. He went around the side of the house to the pool and saw that the Levys had only recently left. Glasses and bottles and dishes of nuts were on a table at the deep end, where there was a bathhouse or gazebo, hung with Japanese lanterns. After swimming the pool he got himself a glass and poured a drink. It was his fourth or fifth drink and he had swum nearly half the length of the Lucinda River. He felt tired, clean, and pleased at that moment to be alone; pleased with everything.

It would storm. The stand of cumulus cloud—that city—had risen and darkened, and while he sat there he heard the percussiveness of thunder again. The de Haviland trainer was still circling overhead and it seemed to Ned that he could almost hear the pilot laugh with pleasure in the afternoon; but when there was another peal of thunder he took off for home. A train whistle blew and he wondered what time it had gotten to be. Four? Five? He thought of the provincial station at that hour, where a waiter, his tuxedo concealed by a raincoat, a dwarf with some flowers wrapped in newspaper, and a woman who had been crying would be waiting for the local. It was suddenly growing dark; it was that moment when the pin-headed birds seem to organize their song into some acute and knowledgeable recognition of the storm’s approach. Then there was a fine noise of rushing water from the crown of an oak at his back, as if a spigot there had been turned. Then the noise of fountains came from the crowns of all the tall trees. Why did he love storms, what was the meaning of his excitement when the door sprang open and the rain wind fled rudely up the stairs, why had the simple task, of shutting the windows of an old house seemed fitting and urgent, why did the first watery notes of a storm wind have for him the unmistakable sound of good news, cheer, glad tidings? Then there was an explosion, a smell of cordite, and rain lashed the Japanese lanterns that Mrs. Levy had bought in Kyoto the year before last, or was it the year before that?

He stayed in the Levys’ gazebo until the storm had passed. The rain had cooled the air and he shivered. The force of the wind had stripped a maple of its red and yellow leaves and scattered them over the grass and the water. Since it was midsummer the tree must be blighted, and yet he felt a peculiar sadness at this sign of autumn. He braced his shoulders, emptied his glass, and started for the Welchers’ pool. This meant crossing the Lindleys’ riding ring and he was surprised to find it overgrown with grass and all the jumps dismantled. He wondered if the Lindleys had sold their horses or gone away for the summer and put them out to board. He seemed to remember having heard something about the Lindleys and their horses but the memory was unclear. On he went, barefoot through the wet grass, to the Welchers’, where he found their pool was dry.

This breach in his chain of water disappointed him absurdly, and he felt like some explorer who seeks a torrential headwater and finds a dead stream. He was disappointed and mystified. It was common enough to go away for the summer but no one ever drained his pool. The Welchers had definitely gone away. The pool furniture was folded, stacked, and covered with a tarpaulin. The bathhouse was locked. All the windows of the house were shut, and when he went around to the driveway in front he saw a FOR SALE sign nailed to a tree. When had he last heard from the Welchers—when, that is, had he and Lucinda last regretted an invitation to dine with them? It seemed only a week or so ago. Was his memory failing or had he so disciplined it in the repression of unpleasant facts that he had damaged his sense of the truth? Then in the distance he heard the sound of a tennis game. This cheered him, cleared away all his apprehensions and let him regard the overcast sky and the cold air with indifference. This was the day that Neddy Merrill swam across the county. That was the day! He started off then for his most difficult portage.

Had you gone for a Sunday afternoon ride that day you might have seen him, close to naked, standing on the shoulders of Route 424, waiting for a chance to cross. You might have wondered if he was the victim of foul play, had his car broken down, or was he merely a fool. Standing barefoot in the deposits of the highway—beer cans, rags, and blowout patches—exposed to all kinds of ridicule, he seemed pitiful. He had known when he started that this was a part of his journey—it had been on his maps—but confronted with the lines of traffic, worming through the summery light, he found himself unprepared. He was laughed at, jeered at, a beer can was thrown at him, and he had no dignity or humor to bring to the situation. He could have gone back, back to the Westerhazys’, where Lucinda would still be sitting in the sun. He had signed nothing, vowed nothing, pledged nothing, not even to himself. Why, believing as he did, that all human obduracy was susceptible to common sense, was he unable to turn back? Why was he determined to complete his journey even if it meant putting his life in danger? At what point had this prank, this joke, this piece of horseplay become serious? He could not go back, he could not even recall with any clearness the green water at the Westerhazys’, the sense of inhaling the day’s components, the friendly and relaxed voices saying that they had drunk too much. In the space of an hour, more or less, be had covered a distance that made his return impossible.

An old man, tooling down the highway at fifteen miles an hour, let him get to the middle of the road, where there was a grass divider. Here he was exposed to the ridicule of the northbound traffic, but after ten or fifteen minutes he was able to cross. From here he had only a short walk to the Recreation Center at the edge of the village of Lancaster, where there were some handball courts and a public pool.

The effect of the water on voices, the illusion of brilliance and suspense, was the same here as it had been at the Bunkers’ but the sounds here were louder, harsher, and more shrill, and as soon as he entered the crowded enclosure he was confronted with regimentation. “ALL SWIMMERS MUST TAKE A SHOWER BEFORE USING THE POOL. ALL SWIMMERS MUST USE THE FOOTBATH, ALL SWIMMERS MUST WEAR THEIR IDENTIFICATION DISKS.” He took a shower, washed his feet in a cloudy and bitter solution, and made his way to the edge of the water. It stank of chlorine and looked to him like a sink. A pair of lifeguards in a pair of towers blew police whistles at what seemed to be regular intervals and abused the swimmers through a public address system. Neddy remembered the sapphire water at the Bunkers’ with longing and thought that he might contaminate himself—damage his own prosperousness and charm—by swimming in this murk, but he reminded himself that be was an explorer, a pilgrim, and that this was merely a stagnant bend in the Lucinda River. He dove, scowling with distaste, into the chlorine and had to swim with his head above water to avoid collisions, but even so he was bumped into, splashed, and jostled. When he got to the shallow end both lifeguards were shouting at him: “Hey, you, you without the identification disk, get outa the water.” He did, but they had no way of pursuing him and he went through the reek of suntan oil, and chlorine out through the hurricane fence and passed the handball courts. By crossing the road he entered the wooded part of the Halloran estate. The woods were not cleared and the footing was treacherous and difficult until he reached the lawn and the clipped beech hedge that encircled their pool.

The Hallorans were friends, an elderly couple of enormous wealth who seemed to bask in the suspicion that they might be Communists. They were zealous reformers but they were not Communists, and yet when they were accused, as they sometimes were, of subversion, it seemed to gratify and excite them. Their beech hedge was yellow and he guessed this had been blighted like the Levys’ maple. He called hullo, hullo, to warn the Hallorans of his approach, to palliate his invasion of their privacy. The Hallorans, for reasons that had never been explained to him, did not wear bathing suits. No explanations were in order, really. Their nakedness was a detail in their uncompromising zeal for reform and he stepped politely out of his trunks before he went through the opening in the hedge.

Mrs. Halloran, a stout woman with white hair and a serene face, was reading the Times. Mr. Halloran was taking beech leaves out of the water with a scoop. They seemed not surprised or displeased to see him. Their pool was perhaps the oldest in the country, a fieldstone rectangle, fed by a brook. It had no filter or pump and its waters were the opaque gold of the stream.

“I’m swimming across the county,” Ned said.

“Why, I didn’t know one could,” exclaimed Mrs. Halloran.

“Well, I’ve made it from the Westerhazys’,” Ned said. “That must be about four miles.”

He left his trunks at the deep end, walked to the shallow end, and swam this stretch. As he was pulling himself out of the water he heard Mrs. Halloran say, “We’ve been terribly sorry to bear about all your misfortunes, Neddy.”

“My misfortunes?” Ned asked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why, we heard that you’d sold the house and that your poor children . . . “

“I don’t recall having sold the house,” Ned said, “and the girls are at home.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Halloran sighed. “Yes . . . ” Her voice filled the air with an unseasonable melancholy and Ned spoke briskly. “Thank you for the swim.”

“Well, have a nice trip,” said Mrs. Halloran.

Beyond the hedge he pulled on his trunks and fastened them. They were loose and he wondered if, during the space of an afternoon, he could have lost some weight. He was cold and he was tired and the naked Hallorans and their dark water had depressed him. The swim was too much for his strength but how could he have guessed this, sliding down the banister that morning and sitting in the Westerhazys’ sun? His arms were lame. His legs felt rubbery and ached at the joints. The worst of it was the cold in his bones and the feeling that he might never be warm again. Leaves were falling down around him and he smelled wood smoke on the wind. Who would be burning wood at this time of year?

He needed a drink. Whiskey would warm him, pick him up, carry him through the last of his journey, refresh his feeling that it was original and valorous to swim across the county. Channel swimmers took brandy. He needed a stimulant. He crossed the lawn in front of the Hallorans’ house and went down a little path to where they had built a house, for their only daughter, Helen, and her husband, Eric Sachs. The Sachses’ pool was small and he found Helen and her husband there.

“Oh, Neddy, ” Helen said. “Did you lunch at Mother’s?”

“Not really, ” Ned said. “I did stop to see your parents.” This seemed to be explanation enough. “I’m terribly sorry to break in on you like this but I’ve taken a chill and I wonder if you’d give me a drink.”

“Why, I’d love to,” Helen said, “but there hasn’t been anything in this house to drink since Eric’s operation. That was three years ago.”

Was he losing his memory, had his gift for concealing painful facts let him forget that he had sold his house, that his children were in trouble, and that his friend had been ill? His eyes slipped from Eric’s face to his abdomen, where be saw three pale, sutured scars, two of them at least a foot long. Gone was his navel, and what, Neddy thought, would the roving hand, bed-checking one’s gifts at 3 a.m., make of a belly with no navel, no link to birth, this breach in the succession?

“I’m sure you can get a drink at the Biswangers’,” Helen said. “They’re having an enormous do. You can hear it from here. Listen!”

She raised her head and from across the road, the lawns, the gardens, the woods, the fields, he heard again the brilliant noise of voices over water. “Well, I’ll get wet,” he said, still feeling that he had no freedom of choice about his means of travel. He dove into the Sachses’ cold water and, gasping, close to drowning, made his way from one end of the pool to the other. “Lucinda and I want terribly to see you,” he said over his shoulder, his face set toward the Biswangers’. “We’re sorry it’s been so long and we’ll call you very soon.”

He crossed some fields to the Biswangers’ and the sounds of revelry there. They would be honored to give him a drink, they would be happy to give him a drink. The Biswangers invited him and Lucinda for dinner four times a year, six weeks in advance. They were always rebuffed and yet they continued to send out their invitations, unwilling to comprehend the rigid and undemocratic realities of their society. They were the sort of people who discussed the price of things at cocktails, exchanged market tips during dinner, and after dinner told dirty stories to mixed company. They did not belong to Neddy’s set—they were not even on Lucinda’s Christmas-card list. He went toward their pool with feelings of indifference, charity, and some unease, since it seemed to be getting dark and these were the longest days of the year. The party when he joined it was noisy and large. Grace Biswanger was the kind of hostess who asked the optometrist, the veterinarian, the real-estate dealer, and the dentist. No one was swimming and the twilight, reflected on the water of the pool, had a wintry gleam. There was a bar and he started for this. When Grace Biswanger saw him she came toward him, not affectionately as he had every right to expect, but bellicosely.

“Why, this party has everything,” she said loudly, “including a gate crasher.”

She could not deal him a social blow—there was no question about this and he did not flinch. “As a gate crasher,” he asked politely, “do I rate a drink?”

“Suit yourself,” she said. “You don’t seem to pay much attention to invitations.”

She turned her back on him and joined some guests, and he went to the bar and ordered a whiskey. The bartender served him but be served him rudely. His was a world in which the caterer’s men kept the social score, and to be rebuffed by a part-time barkeep meant that be had suffered some loss of social esteem. Or perhaps the man was new and uninformed. Then he heard Grace at his back say: “They went for broke overnight—nothing but income—and he showed up drunk one Sunday and asked us to loan him five thousand dollars. . . .” She was always talking about money. It was worse than eating your peas off a knife. He dove into the pool, swam its length and went away.

The next pool on his list, the last but two, belonged to his old mistress, Shirley Adams. If he had suffered any injuries at the Biswangers’ they would be cured here. Love—sexual roughhouse in fact—was the supreme elixir, the pain killer, the brightly colored pill that would put the spring back into his step, the joy of life in his heart. They had had an affair last week, last month, last year. He couldn’t remember, It was he who had broken it off, his was the upper hand, and he stepped through the gate of the wall that surrounded her pool with nothing so considered as self-confidence. It seemed in a way to be his pool, as the lover, particularly the illicit lover, enjoys the possessions of his mistress with an authority unknown to holy matrimony. She was there, her hair the color of brass, but her figure, at the edge of the lighted, cerulean water, excited in him no profound memories. It had been, he thought, a lighthearted affair, although she had wept when he broke it off. She seemed confused to see him and he wondered if she was still wounded. Would she, God forbid, weep again?

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m swimming across the county.”

“Good Christ. Will you ever grow up?”

“What’s the matter?”

“If you’ve come here for money,” she said, “I won’t give you another cent.”

“You could give me a drink.”

“I could but I won’t. I’m not alone.”

“Well, I’m on my way.”

He dove in and swam the pool, but when be tried to haul himself up onto the curb he found that the strength in his arms and shoulders had gone, and he paddled to the ladder and climbed out. Looking over his shoulder be saw, in the lighted bathhouse, a young man. Going out onto the dark lawn he smelled chrysanthemums or marigolds—some stub- born autumnal fragrance—on the night air, strong as gas. Looking overhead he saw that the stars had come out, but why should he seem to see Andromeda, Cepheus, and Cassiopeia? What had become of the constellations of midsummer? He began to cry.

It was probably the first time in his adult life that he had ever cried, certainly the first time in his life that he had ever felt so miserable, cold, tired, and bewildered. He could not understand the rudeness of the caterer’s barkeep or the rudeness of a mistress who had come to him on her knees and showered his trousers with tears. He had swum too long, he had been immersed too long, and his nose and his throat were sore from the water. What he needed then was a drink, some company, and some clean, dry clothes, and while he could have cut directly across the road to his home he went on to the Gilmartins’ pool. Here, for the first time in his life, he did not dive but went down the steps into the icy water and swam a bobbled sidestroke that he might have learned as a youth. He staggered with fatigue on his way to the Clydes’ and paddled the length of their pool, stopping again and again with his hand on the curb to rest. He climbed up the ladder and wondered if he had the strength to get home. He had done what he wanted, he had swum the county, but he was so stupefied with exhaustion that his triumph seemed vague. Stooped, holding on to the gateposts for support, he turned up the driveway of his own house.

The place was dark. Was it so late that they had all gone to bed? Had Lucinda stayed at the Westerhazys’ for supper? Had the girls joined her there or gone someplace else? Hadn’t they agreed, as they usually did on Sunday, to regret all their invitations and stay at home? He tried the garage doors to see what cars were in but the doors were locked and rust came off the handles onto his hands. Going toward the house, he saw that the force of the thunderstorm had knocked one of the rain gutters loose. It hung down over the front door like an umbrella rib, but it could be fixed in the morning. The house was locked, and he thought that the stupid cook or the stupid maid must have locked the place up until he remembered that it had been some time since they had employed a maid or a cook. He shouted, pounded on the door, tried to force it with his shoulder, and then, looking in at the windows, saw that the place was empty.


The Wall (1939)

By Jean-Paul Sarte

They pushed us into a big white room and I began to blink because the light hurt my eyes. Then I saw a table and four men behind the table, civilians, looking over the papers. They had bunched another group of prisoners in the back and we had to cross the whole room to join them. There were several I knew and some others who must have been foreigners. The two in front of me were blond with round skulls: they looked alike. I supposed they were French. The smaller one kept hitching up his pants: nerves.

It lasted about three hours: I was dizzy and my head was empty; but the room was well heated and I found that pleasant enough: for the past 24 hours we hadn’t stopped shivering. The guards brought the prisoners up to the table, one after the other. The four men asked each one his name and occupation. Most of the time they didn’t go any further–or they would simply ask a question here and there: “Did you have anything to do with the sabotage of munitions?” Or “Where were you the morning of the 9th and what were you doing?” They didn’t listen to the answers or at least didn’t seem to. They were quiet for a moment and then looking straight in front of them began to write. They asked Tom if it were true he was in the International Brigade: Tom couldn’t tell them otherwise because of the papers they found in his coat. They didn’t ask Juan anything but they wrote for a long time after he told them his name.

“My brother Jose is the anarchist,” Juan said “You know he isn’t here any more. I don’t belong to any party. I never had anything to do with politics.”

They didn’t answer. Juan went on, “I haven’t done anything. I don’t want to pay for somebody else.”

His lips trembled. A guard shut him up and took him away. It was my turn.

“Your name is Pablo Ibbieta?”


The man looked at the papers and asked me “Where’s Ramon Gris?”

“I don’t know.”

“You hid him in your house from the 6th to the 19th.”


They wrote for a minute and then the guards took me out. In the corridor Tom and Juan were waiting between two guards. We started walking. Tom asked one of the guards, “So?”

“So what?” the guard said.

“Was that the cross-examination or the sentence?”

“Sentence” the guard said.

“What are they going to do with us?”

The guard answered dryly, “Sentence will be read in your cell.”

As a matter of fact, our cell was one of the hospital cellars. It was terrifically cold there because of the drafts. We shivered all night and it wasn’t much better during the day. I had spent the previous five days in a cell in a monastery, a sort of hole in the wall that must have dated from the middle ages: since there were a lot of prisoners and not much room, they locked us up anywhere. I didn’t miss my cell; I hadn’t suffered too much from the cold but I was alone; after a long time it gets irritating. In the cellar I had company. Juan hardly ever spoke: he was afraid and he was too young to have anything to say. But Tom was a good talker and he knew Spanish well.

There was a bench in the cellar and four mats. When they took us back we sat and waited in silence. After a long moment, Tom said, “We’re screwed.”

“l think so too,” I said, “but I don’t think they’ll do any thing to the kid.”.

“They don’t have a thing against him,” said Tom. “He’s the brother of a militiaman and that’s all.”

I looked at Juan: he didn’t seem to hear. Tom went on, “You know what they do in Saragossa? They lay the men down on the road and run over them with trucks. A Moroccan deserter told us that. They said it was to save ammunition.”

“It doesn’t save gas.” I said.

I was annoyed at Tom: he shouldn’t have said that.

“Then there’s officers walking along the road,” he went on, “supervising it all. They stick their hands in their pockets and smoke cigarettes. You think they finish off the guys? Hell no. They let them scream. Sometimes for an hour. The Moroccan said he damned near puked the first time.”

“I don’t believe they’ll do that here,” I said. “Unless they’re really short on ammunition.”

Day was coming in through four air holes and a round opening they had made in the ceiling on the left, and you could see the sky through it. Through this hole, usually closed by a trap, they unloaded coal into the cellar. Just below the hole there was a big pile of coal dust: it had been used to heat the hospital, but since the beginning of the war the patients were evacuated and the coal stayed there, unused; sometimes it even got rained on because they had forgotten to close the trap.

Tom began to shiver. “Good Jesus Christ, I’m cold,” he said. “Here it goes again.”

He got up and began to do exercises. At each movement his shirt opened on his chest, white and hairy. He lay on his back, raised his legs in the air and bicycled. I saw his great rump trembling. Tom was husky but he had too much fat. I thought how riffle bullets or the sharp points of bayonets would soon be sunk into this mass of tender flesh as in a lump of butter. It wouldn’t have made me feel like that if he’d been thin.

I wasn’t exactly cold, but I couldn’t feel my arms and shoulders any more. Sometimes I had the impression I was missing something and began to look around for my coat and then suddenly remembered they hadn’t given me a coat. It was rather uncomfortable. They took our clothes and gave them to their soldiers leaving us only our shirts–and those canvas pants that hospital patients wear in the middle of summer. After a while Tom got up and sat next to me, breathing heavily.


“Good Christ, no. But I’m out of wind.”

Around eight o’clock in the evening a major came in with two falangistas. He had a sheet of paper in his hand. He asked the guard, “What are the names of those three?”

“Steinbock, Ibbieta and Mirbal,” the guard said.

The major put on his eyeglasses and scanned the list: “Steinbock…Steinbock…Oh yes…You are sentenced to death. You will be shot tomorrow morning.” He went on looking. “The other two as well.”

“That’s not possible,” Juan said. “Not me.” The major looked at him amazed. “What’s your name?”

“Juan Mirbal” he said.

“Well your name is there,” said the major. “You’re sentenced.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Juan said.

The major shrugged his shoulders and turned to Tom and me.

“You’re Basque?”

“Nobody is Basque.”

He looked annoyed. “They told me there were three Basques. I’m not going to waste my time running after them. Then naturally you don’t want a priest?”

We didn’t even answer.

He said, “A Belgian doctor is coming shortly. He is authorized to spend the night with you.” He made a military salute and left.

“What did I tell you,” Tom said. “We get it.”

“Yes, I said, “it’s a rotten deal for the kid.”

I said that to be decent but I didn’t like the kid. His face was too thin and fear and suffering had disfigured it, twisting all his features. Three days before he was a smart sort of kid, not too bad; but now he looked like an old fairy and I thought how he’d never be young again, even if they were to let him go. It wouldn’t have been too hard to have a little pity for him but pity disgusts me, or rather it horrifies me. He hadn’t said anything more but he had turned grey; his face and hands were both grey. He sat down again and looked at the ground with round eyes. Tom was good hearted, he wanted to take his arm, but the kid tore himself away violently and made a face.

“Let him alone,” I said in a low voice, “you can see he’s going to blubber.”

Tom obeyed regretfully: he would have liked to comfort the kid, it would have passed his time and he wouldn’t have been tempted to think about himself. But it annoyed me: I’d never thought about death because I never had any reason to, but now the reason was here and there was nothing to do but think about it.

Tom began to talk. “So you think you’ve knocked guys off, do you?” he asked me. I didn’t answer. He began explaining to me that he had knocked off six since the beginning of August; he didn’t realize the situation and I could tell he didn’t want to realize it. I hadn’t quite realized it myself, I wondered if it hurt much, I thought of bullets, I imagined their burning hail through my body. All that was beside the real question; but I was calm: we had all night to understand. After a while Tom stopped talking and I watched him out of the corner of my eye; I saw he too had turned grey and he looked rotten; I told myself “Now it starts.” It was almost dark, a dim glow filtered through the air holes and the pile of coal and made a big stain beneath the spot of sky; I could already see a star through the hole in the ceiling: the night would be pure and icy.

The door opened and two guards came in, followed by a blonde man in a tan uniform. He saluted us. “I am the doctor,” he said. “I have authorization to help you in these trying hours.”

He had an agreeable and distinguished voice. I said, “What do you want here?”

“I am at your disposal. I shall do all I can to make your last moments less difficult.”

“What did you come here for? There are others, the hospital’s full of them.”

“I was sent here,” he answered with a vague look. “Ah! Would you like to smoke?” he added hurriedly, “I have cigarettes and even cigars.”

He offered us English cigarettes and puros, but we refused. I looked him in the eyes and he seemed irritated. I said to him, “You aren’t here on an errand of mercy. Besides, I know you. I saw you with the fascists in the barracks yard the day I was arrested.”

I was going to continue, but something surprising suddenly happened to me; the presence of this doctor no longer interested me. Generally when I’m on somebody I don’t let go. But the desire to talk left me completely; I shrugged and turned my eyes away. A little later I raised my head; he was watching me curiously. The guards were sitting on a mat. Pedro, the tall thin one, was twiddling his thumbs, the other shook his head from time to time to keep from falling asleep.

“Do you want a light?” Pedro suddenly asked the doctor. The other nodded “Yes”: I think he was about as smart as a log, but he surely wasn’t bad. Looking in his cold blue eyes it seemed to me that his only sin was lack of imagination. Pedro went out and came back with an oil lamp which he set on the corner of the bench. It gave a bad light but it was better than nothing: they had left us in the dark the night before. For a long time I watched the circle of light the lamp made on the ceiling. I was fascinated. Then suddenly I woke up, the circle of light disappeared and I felt myself crushed under an enormous weight. It was not the thought of death, or fear; it was nameless. My cheeks burned and my head ached.

I shook myself and looked at my two friends. Tom had hidden his face in his hands. I could only see the fat white nape of his neck. Little Juan was the worst, his mouth was open and his nostrils trembled. The doctor went to him and put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him: but his eyes stayed cold. Then I saw the Belgian’s hand drop stealthily along Juan’s arm, down to the wrist. Juan paid no attention. The Belgian took his wrist between three fingers, distractedly, the same time drawing back a little and turning his back to me. But I leaned backward and saw him take a watch from his pocket and look at it for a moment, never letting go of the wrist. After a minute he let the hand fall inert and went and leaned his back against the wall, then, as if he suddenly remembered something very important which had to be jotted down on the spot, he took a notebook from his pocket and wrote a few lines. “Bastard,” I thought angrily, “let him come and take my pulse. I’ll shove my fist in his rotten face.”

He didn’t come but I felt him watching me. I raised my head and returned his look. Impersonally, he said to me “Doesn’t it seem cold to you here?” He looked cold, he was blue.

I’m not cold,” I told him.

He never took his hard eyes off me. Suddenly I understood and my hands went to my face: I was drenched in sweat. In this cellar, in the midst of winter, in the midst of drafts, I was sweating. I ran my hands through my hair, gummed together with perspiration: at the same time I saw my shirt was damp and sticking to my skin: I had been dripping for an hour and hadn’t felt it. But that swine of a Belgian hadn’t missed a thing; he had seen the drops rolling down my cheeks and thought: this is the manifestation of an almost pathological state of terror; and he had felt normal and proud of being alive because he was cold. I wanted to stand up and smash his face but no sooner had I made the slightest gesture than my rage and shame were wiped out; I fell back on the bench with indifference.

I satisfied myself by rubbing my neck with my handkerchief because now I felt the sweat dropping from my hair onto my neck and it was unpleasant. I soon gave up rubbing, it was useless; my handkerchief was already soaked and I was still sweating. My buttocks were sweating too and my damp trousers were glued to the bench.

Suddenly Juan spoke. “You’re a doctor?”

“Yes,” the Belgian said.

“Does it hurt… very long?”

“Huh? When… ? Oh, no” the Belgian said paternally “Not at all. It’s over quickly.” He acted as though he were calming a cash customer.

“But I… they told me… sometimes they have to fire twice.”

“Sometimes,” the Belgian said, nodding. “It may happen that the first volley reaches no vital organs.”

“Then they have to reload their rifles and aim all over again?” He thought for a moment and then added hoarsely, “That takes time!”

He had a terrible fear of suffering, it was all he thought about: it was his age. I never thought much about it and it wasn’t fear of suffering that made me sweat.

I got up and walked to the pile of coal dust. Tom jumped up and threw me a hateful look: I had annoyed him because my shoes squeaked. I wondered if my face looked as frightened as his: I saw he was sweating too. The sky was superb, no light filtered into the dark corner and I had only to raise my head to see the Big Dipper. But it wasn’t like it had been: the night before I could see a great piece of sky from my monastery cell and each hour of the day brought me a different memory. Morning, when the sky was a hard, light blue, I thought of beaches on the Atlantic: at noon I saw the sun and I remembered a bar in Seville where I drank manzanilla and ate olives and anchovies: afternoons I was in the shade and I thought of the deep shadow which spreads over half a bull-ring leaving the other half shimmering in sunlight: it was really hard to see the whole world reflected in the sky like that. But now I could watch the sky as much as I pleased, it no longer evoked anything tn me. I liked that better. I came back and sat near Tom. A long moment passed.

Tom began speaking in a low voice. He had to talk, without that he wouldn’t have been able no recognize himself in his own mind. I thought he was talking to me but he wasn’t looking at me. He was undoubtedly afraid to see me as I was, grey and sweating: we were alike and worse than mirrors of each other. He watched the Belgian, the living.

“Do you understand?” he said. “I don’t understand.”

I began to speak in a low voice too. I watched the Belgian. “Why? What’s the matter?”

“Something is going to happen to us than I can’t understand.”

There was a strange smell about Tom. It seemed to me I was more sensitive than usual to odors. I grinned. “You’ll understand in a while.”

“It isn’t clear,” he said obstinately. “I want to be brave but first I have to know. . . .Listen, they’re going to take us into the courtyard. Good. They’re going to stand up in front of us. How many?”

“l don’t know. Five or eight. Not more.”

“All right. There’ll be eight. Someone’ll holler ‘aim!’ and I’ll see eight rifles looking at me. I’ll think how I’d like to get inside the wall, I’ll push against it with my back. . . . with every ounce of strength I have, but the wall will stay, like in a nightmare. I can imagine all that. If you only knew how well I can imagine it.”

“All right, all right!” I said. “I can imagine it too.”

“lt must hurt like hell. You know they aim at the eyes and the mouth to disfigure you,” he added mechanically. “I can feel the wounds already. I’ve had pains in my head and in my neck for the past hour. Not real pains. Worse. This is what I’m going to feel tomorrow morning. And then what?”

I well understood what he meant but I didn’t want to act as if I did. I had pains too, pains in my body like a crowd of tiny scars. I couldn’t get used to it. But I was like him. I attached no importance to it. “After,” I said. “you’ll be pushing up daisies.”

He began to talk to himself: he never stopped watching the Belgian. The Belgian didn’t seem to be listening. I knew what he had come to do; he wasn’t interested in what we thought; he came to watch our bodies, bodies dying in agony while yet alive.

“It’s like a nightmare,” Tom was saying. “You want to think something, you always have the impression that it’s all right, that you’re going to understand and then it slips, it escapes you and fades away. I tell myself there will be nothing afterwards. But I don’t understand what it means. Sometimes I almost can…. and then it fades away and I start thinking about the pains again, bullets, explosions. I’m a materialist, I swear it to you; I’m not going crazy. But something’s the matter. I see my corpse; that’s not hard but I’m the one who sees it, with my eyes. I’ve got to think… think that I won’t see anything anymore and the world will go on for the others. We aren’t made to think that, Pablo. Believe me: I’ve already stayed up a whole night waiting for something. But this isn’t the same: this will creep up behind us, Pablo, and we won’t be able to prepare for it.”

“Shut up,” I said, “Do you want me to call a priest?”

He didn’t answer. I had already noticed he had the tendency to act like a prophet and call me Pablo, speaking in a toneless voice. I didn’t like that: but it seems all the Irish are that way. I had the vague impression he smelled of urine. Fundamentally, I hadn’t much sympathy for Tom and I didn’t see why, under the pretext of dying together, I should have any more. It would have been different with some others. With Ramon Gris, for example. But I felt alone between Tom and Juan. I liked that better, anyhow: with Ramon I might have been more deeply moved. But I was terribly hard just then and I wanted to stay hard.

He kept on chewing his words, with something like distraction. He certainly talked to keep himself from thinking. He smelled of urine like an old prostate case. Naturally, I agreed with him. I could have said everything he said: it isn’t natural to die. And since I was going to die, nothing seemed natural to me, not this pile of coal dust, or the bench, or Pedro’s ugly face. Only it didn’t please me to think the same things as Tom. And I knew that, all through the night, every five minutes, we would keep on thinking things at the same time. I looked at him sideways and for the first time he seemed strange to me: he wore death on his face. My pride was wounded: for the past 24 hours I had lived next to Tom, I had listened to him. I had spoken to him and I knew we had nothing in common. And now we looked as much alike as twin brothers, simply because we were going to die together. Tom took my hand without looking at me.

“Pablo. I wonder… I wonder if it’s really true that everything ends.”

I took my hand away and said, “Look between your feet, you pig.”

There was a big puddle between his feet and drops fell from his pants-leg.

“What is it,” he asked, frightened.

“You’re pissing in your pants,” I told him.

“lt isn’t true,” he said furiously. “I’m not pissing. I

don’t feel anything.”

The Belgian approached us. He asked with false solicitude. “Do you feel ill?”

Tom did not answer. The Belgian looked at the puddle and said nothing.

“I don’t know what it is,” Tom said ferociously. “But I’m not afraid. I swear I’m not afraid.”

The Belgian did not answer. Tom got up and went to piss in a corner. He came back buttoning his fly, and sat down without a word. The Belgian was taking notes.

All three of us watched him because he was alive. He had the motions of a living human being, the cares of a living human being; he shivered in the cellar the way the living are supposed to shiver; he had an obedient, well-fed body. The rest of us hardly felt ours–not in the same way anyhow. I wanted to feel my pants between my legs but I didn’t dare; I watched the Belgian, balancing on his legs, master of his muscles, someone who could think about tomorrow. There we were, three bloodless shadows; we watched him and we sucked his life like vampires.

Finally he went over to little Juan. Did he want to feel his neck for some professional motive or was he obeying an impulse of charity? If he was acting by charity it was the only time during the whole night.

He caressed Juan’s head and neck. The kid let himself be handled, his eyes never leaving him, then suddenly he seized the hand and looked at it strangely. He held the Belgian’s hand between his own two hands and there was nothing pleasant about them, two grey pincers gripping this fat and reddish hand. I suspected what was going to happen and Tom must have suspected it too: but the Belgian didn’t see a thing, he smiled paternally. After a moment the kid brought the fat red hand to his mouth and tried to bite it. The Belgian pulled away quickly and stumbled back against the wall. For a second he looked at us with horror, he must have suddenly understood that we were not men like him. I began to laugh and one of the guards jumped up. The other was asleep, his wide open eyes were blank.

I felt relaxed and over-excited at the same time. I didn’t want to think any more about what would happen at dawn, at death. It made no sense. I only found words or emptiness. But as soon as I tried to think of anything else I saw rifle barrels pointing at me. Perhaps I lived through my execution twenty times; once I even thought it was for good: I must have slept a minute. They were dragging me to the wall and I was struggling; I was asking for mercy. I woke up with a start and looked at the Belgian: I was afraid I might have cried out in my sleep. But he was stroking his moustache, he hadn’t noticed anything. If I had wanted to, I think I could have slept a while; I had been awake for 48 hours. I was at the end of my rope. But I didn’t want to lose two hours of life; they would come to wake me up at dawn. I would follow them, stupefied with sleep and I would have croaked without so much as an “Oof!”; I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to die like an animal, I wanted to understand. Then I was afraid of having nightmares. I got up, walked back and forth, and, to change my ideas, I began to think about my past life. A crowd of memories came back to me pell-mell. There were good and bad ones–or at least I called them that before. There were faces and incidents. I saw the face of a little novillero who was gored tn Valencia during the Feria, the face of one of my uncles, the face of Ramon Gris. I remembered my whole life: how I was out of work for three months in 1926, how I almost starved to death. I remembered a night I spent on a bench in Granada: I hadn’t eaten for three days. I was angry, I didn’t want to die. That made me smile. How madly I ran after happiness, after women, after liberty. Why? I wanted to free Spain, I admired Pi y Margall, I joined the anarchist movement, I spoke in public meetings: I took everything as seriously as if I were immortal.

At that moment I felt that I had my whole life in front of me and I thought, “It’s a damned lie.” It was worth nothing because it was finished. I wondered how I’d been able to walk, to laugh with the girls: I wouldn’t have moved so much as my little finger if I had only imagined I would die like this. My life was in front of me, shut, closed, like a bag and yet everything inside of it was unfinished. For an instant I tried to judge it. I wanted to tell myself, this is a beautiful life. But I couldn’t pass judgment on it; it was only a sketch; I had spent my time counterfeiting eternity, I had understood nothing. I missed nothing: there were so many things I could have missed, the taste of manzanilla or the baths I took in summer in a little creek near Cadiz; but death had disenchanted everything.

The Belgian suddenly had a bright idea. “My friends,” he told us, “I will undertake–if the military administration will allow it–to send a message for you, a souvenir to those who love you. . . .”

Tom mumbled, “I don’t have anybody.”

I said nothing. Tom waited an instant then looked at me with curiosity. “You don’t have anything to say to Concha?”


I hated this tender complicity: it was my own fault, I had talked about Concha the night before. I should have controlled myself. I was with her for a year. Last night I would have given an arm to see her again for five minutes. That was why I talked about her, it was stronger than I was. Now I had no more desire to see her, I had nothing more to say to her. I would not even have wanted to hold her in my arms: my body filled me with horror because it was grey and sweating–and I wasn’t sure that her body didn’t fill me with horror. Concha would cry when she found out I was dead, she would have no taste for life for months afterward. But I was still the one who was going to die. I thought of her soft, beautiful eyes. When she looked at me something passed from her to me. But I knew it was over: if she looked at me now the look would stay in her eyes, it wouldn’t reach me. I was alone.

Tom was alone too but not in the same way. Sitting cross-legged, he had begun to stare at the bench with a sort of smile, he looked amazed. He put out his hand and touched the wood cautiously as if he were afraid of breaking something, then drew back his hand quickly and shuddered. If I had been Tom I wouldn’t have amused myself by touching the bench; this was some more Irish nonsense, but I too found that objects had a funny look: they were more obliterated, less dense than usual. It was enough for me to look at the bench, the lamp, the pile of coal dust, to feel that I was going to die. Naturally I couldn’t think clearly about my death but I saw it everywhere, on things, in the way things fell back and kept their distance, discreetly, as people who speak quietly at the bedside of a dying man. It was his death which Tom had just touched on the bench.

In the state I was in, if someone had come and told me I could go home quietly, that they would leave me my life whole, it would have left me cold: several hours or several years of waiting is all the same when you have lost the illusion of being eternal. I clung to nothing, in a way I was calm. But it was a horrible calm–because of my body; my body, I saw with its eyes, I heard with its ears, but it was no longer me; it sweated and trembled by itself and I didn’t recognize it any more. I had to touch it and look at it to find out what was happening, as if it were the body of someone else. At times I could still feel it, I felt sinkings, and fallings, as when you’re in a plane taking a nose dive, or I felt my heart beating. But that didn’t reassure me. Everything that came from my body was all cockeyed. Most of the time it was quiet and I felt no more than a sort of weight, a filthy presence against me; I had the impression of being tied to an enormous vermin. Once I felt my pants and I felt they were damp; I didn’t know whether it was sweat or urine, but I went to piss on the coal pile as a precaution.

The Belgian took out his watch, looked at it. He said, “It is three-thirty.”

Bastard! He must have done it on purpose. Tom jumped; we hadn’t noticed time was running out; night surrounded us like a shapeless, somber mass. I couldn’t even remember that it had begun.

Little Juan began to cry. He wrung his hands, pleaded, “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

He ran across the whole cellar waving his arms in the air then fell sobbing on one of the mats. Tom watched him with mournful eyes, without the slightest desire to console him. Because it wasn’t worth the trouble: the kid made more noise than we did, but he was less touched: he was like a sick man who defends himself against his illness by fever. It’s much more serious when there isn’t any fever.

He wept: I could clearly see he was pitying himself; he wasn’t thinking about death. For one second, one single second, I wanted to weep myself, to weep with pity for myself. But the opposite happened: I glanced at the kid, I saw his thin sobbing shoulders and I felt inhuman: I could pity neither the others nor myself. I said to myself, “I want to die cleanly.”

Tom had gotten up, he placed himself just under the round opening and began to watch for daylight. I was determined to die cleanly and I only thought of that. But ever since the doctor told us the time, I felt time flying, flowing away drop by drop.

It was still dark when I heard Tom’s voice: “Do you hear them?”

Men were marching in the courtyard.


“What the hell are they doing? They can’t shoot in the dark.”

After a while we heard no more. I said to Tom, “It’s day.”

Pedro got up, yawning, and came to blow out the lamp. He said to his buddy, “Cold as hell.”

The cellar was all grey. We heard shots in the distance.

“It’s starting,” I told Tom. “They must do it in the court in the rear.”

Tom asked the doctor for a cigarette. I didn’t want one; I didn’t want cigarettes or alcohol. From that moment on they didn’t stop firing.

“Do you realize what’s happening,” Tom said.

He wanted to add something but kept quiet, watching the door. The door opened and a lieutenant came in with four soldiers. Tom dropped his cigarette.


Tom didn’t answer. Pedro pointed him out.

“Juan Mirbal?”

“On the mat.”

“Get up,” the lieutenant said.

Juan did not move. Two soldiers took him under the arms and set him on his feet. But he fell as soon as they released him.

The soldiers hesitated.

“He’s not the first sick one,” said the lieutenant. “You two carry him: they’ll fix it up down there.”

He turned to Tom. “Let’s go.”

Tom went out between two soldiers. Two others followed, carrying the kid by the armpits. He hadn’t fainted; his eyes were wide open and tears ran down his cheeks. When I wanted to go out the lieutenant stopped me.

“You Ibbieta?”


“You wait here: they’ll come for you later.”

They left. The Belgian and the two jailers left too, I was alone. I did not understand what was happening to me but I would have liked it better if they had gotten it over with right away. I heard shots at almost regular intervals; I shook with each one of them. I wanted to scream and tear out my hair. But I gritted my teeth and pushed my hands in my pockets because I wanted to stay clean.

After an hour they came to get me and led me to the first floor, to a small room that smelt of cigars and where the heat was stifling. There were two officers sitting smoking in the armchairs, papers on their knees.

“You’re Ibbieta?”


“Where is Ramon Gris?”

“l don’t know.”

The one questioning me was short and fat. His eyes were hard behind his glasses. He said to me, “Come here.”

I went to him. He got up and took my arms, staring at me with a look that should have pushed me into the earth. At the same time he pinched my biceps with all his might. It wasn’t to hurt me, it was only a game: he want


4/21/22, 7:28 PM J. D. Salinger: For Esmé – with Love and Squalor

https://dcccd.blackboard.com/bbcswebdav/pid-27570685-dt-content-rid-204569384_1/courses/2022SP-ENGL-1302-82710/2018SP-ENGL-1302-834… 1/12

J. D. Salinger
For Esmé – with Love and Squalor
The New Yorker, April 8, 1950, pages 28-36

JUST RECENTLY, by air mail, I received an invitation to a wedding that will take place in England
on April 18th. It happens to be a wedding I’d give a lot to be able to get to, and when the
invitation first arrived, I thought it might just be possible for me to make the trip abroad, by
plane, expenses be hanged. However, I’ve since discussed the matter rather extensively with my
wife, a breathtakingly levelheaded girl, and we’ve decided against it–for one thing, I’d completely
forgotten that my mother-in-law is looking forward to spending the last two weeks in April with
us. I really don’t get to see Mother Grencher terribly often, and she’s not getting any younger.
She’s fifty-eight. (As she’d be the first to admit.)

All the same, though, wherever I happen to be I don’t think I’m the type that doesn’t even lift a
finger to prevent a wedding from flatting. Accordingly, I’ve gone ahead and jotted down a few
revealing notes on the bride as I knew her almost six years ago. If my notes should cause the
groom, whom I haven’t met, an uneasy moment or two, so much the better. Nobody’s aiming to
please, here. More, really, to edify, to instruct.

In April of 1944, I was among some sixty American enlisted men who took a rather specialized
pre-Invasion training course, directed by British Intelligence, in Devon, England. And as I look
back, it seems to me that we were fairly unique, the sixty of us, in that there wasn’t one good
mixer in the bunch. We were all essentially letter-writing types, and when we spoke to each other
out of the line of duty, it was usually to ask somebody if he had any ink he wasn’t using. When we
weren’t writing letters or attending classes, each of us went pretty much his own way. Mine
usually led me, on clear days, in scenic circles around the countryside. Rainy days, I generally sat
in a dry place and read a book, often just an axe length away from a ping-pong table.

The training course lasted three weeks, ending on a Saturday, a very rainy one. At seven that last
night, our whole group was scheduled to entrain for London, where, as rumor had it, we were to
be assigned to infantry and airborne divisions mustered for the D Day landings. By three in the
afternoon, I’d packed all my belongings into my barrack bag, including a canvas gas-mask
container full of books I’d brought over from the Other Side. (The gas mask itself I’d slipped
through a porthole of the Mauretania some weeks earlier, fully aware that if the enemy ever did
use gas I’d never get the damn thing on in time.) I remember standing at an end window of our
Quonset but for a very long time, looking out at the slanting, dreary rain, my trigger finger itching
imperceptibly, if at all. I could hear behind my back the uncomradely scratching of many fountain
pens on many sheets of V-mail paper. Abruptly, with nothing special in mind, I came away from
the window and put on my raincoat, cashmere muffler, galoshes, woollen gloves, and overseas
cap (the last of which, I’m still told, I wore at an angle all my own–slightly down over both ears).
Then, after synchronizing my wristwatch with the clock in the latrine, I walked down the long, wet
cobblestone hill into town. I ignored the flashes of lightning all around me. They either had your
number on them or they didn’t.

In the center of town, which was probably the wettest part of town, I stopped in front of a church
to read the bulletin board, mostly because the featured numerals, white on black, had caught my
attention but partly because, after three years in the Army, I’d become addicted to reading
bulletin boards. At three-fifteen, the board stated, there would be children’s-choir practice. I
looked at my wristwatch, then back at the board. A sheet of paper was tacked up, listing the
names of the children expected to attend practice. I stood in the rain and read all the names, then
entered the church.

A dozen or so adults were among the pews, several of them bearing pairs of small-size rubbers,
soles up, in their laps. I passed along and sat down in the front row. On the rostrum, seated in
three compact rows of auditorium chairs, were about twenty children, mostly girls, ranging in age
from about seven to thirteen. At the moment, their choir coach, an enormous woman in tweeds,
was advising them to open their mouths wider when they sang. Had anyone, she asked, ever
heard of a little dickeybird that dared to sing his charming song without first opening his little
beak wide, wide, wide? Apparently nobody ever had. She was given a steady, opaque look. She
went on to say that she wanted all her children to absorb the meaning of the words they sang, not

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just mouth them, like silly-billy parrots. She then blew a note on her pitch-pipe, and the children,
like so many underage weightlifters, raised their hymnbooks.

They sang without instrumental accompaniment–or, more accurately in their case, without any
interference. Their voices were melodious and unsentimental, almost to the point where a
somewhat more denominational man than myself might, without straining, have experienced
levitation. A couple of the very youngest children dragged the tempo a trifle, but in a way that
only the composer’s mother could have found fault with. I had never heard the hymn, but I kept
hoping it was one with a dozen or more verses. Listening, I scanned all the children’s faces but
watched one in particular, that of the child nearest me, on the end seat in the first row. She was
about thirteen, with straight ash-blond hair of ear-lobe length, an exquisite forehead, and blase
eyes that, I thought, might very possibly have counted the house. Her voice was distinctly
separate from the other children’s voices, and not just because she was seated nearest me. It had
the best upper register, the sweetest-sounding, the surest, and it automatically led the way. The
young lady, however, seemed slightly bored with her own singing ability, or perhaps just with the
time and place; twice, between verses, I saw her yawn. It was a ladylike yawn, a closed-mouth
yawn, but you couldn’t miss it; her nostril wings gave her away.

The instant the hymn ended, the choir coach began to give her lengthy opinion of people who
can’t keep their feet still and their lips sealed tight during the minister’s sermon. I gathered that
the singing part of the rehearsal was over, and before the coach’s dissonant speaking voice could
entirely break the spell the children’s singing had cast, I got up and left the church.

It was raining even harder. I walked down the street and looked through the window of the Red
Cross recreation room, but soldiers were standing two and three deep at the coffee counter, and,
even through the glass, I could hear ping-pong balls bouncing in another room. I crossed the
street and entered a civilian tearoom, which was empty except for a middle-aged waitress, who
looked as if she would have preferred a customer with a dry raincoat. I used a coat tree as
delicately as possible, and then sat down at a table and ordered tea and cinnamon toast. It was
the first time all day that I’d spoken to anyone. I then looked through all my pockets, including my
raincoat, and finally found a couple of stale letters to reread, one from my wife, telling me how the
service at Schrafft’s Eighty-eighth Street had fallen off, and one from my mother-in-law, asking
me to please send her some cashmere yarn first chance I got away from “camp.”

While I was still on my first cup of tea, the young lady I had been watching and listening to in the
choir came into the tearoom. Her hair was soaking wet, and the rims of both ears were showing.
She was with a very small boy, unmistakably her brother, whose cap she removed by lifting it off
his head with two fingers, as if it were a laboratory specimen. Bringing up the rear was an
efficient-looking woman in a limp felt hat–presumably their governess. The choir member, taking
off her coat as she walked across the floor, made the table selection–a good one, from my point of
view, as it was just eight or ten feet directly in front of me. She and the governess sat down. The
small boy, who was about five, wasn’t ready to sit down yet. He slid out of and discarded his
reefer; then, with the deadpan expression of a born heller, he methodically went about annoying
his governess by pushing in and pulling out his chair several times, watching her face. The
governess, keeping her voice down, gave him two or three orders to sit down and, in effect, stop
the monkey business, but it was only when his sister spoke to him that he came around and
applied the small of his back to his chair seat. He immediately picked up his napkin and put it on
his head. His sister removed it, opened it, and spread it out on his lap.

About the time their tea was brought, the choir member caught me staring over at her party. She
stared back at me, with those house-counting eyes of hers, then, abruptly, gave me a small,
qualified smile. It was oddly radiant, as certain small, qualified smiles sometimes are. I smiled
back, much less radiantly, keeping my upper lip down over a coal-black G.I. temporary filling
showing between two of my front teeth. The next thing I knew, the young lady was standing, with
enviable poise, beside my table. She was wearing a tartan dress–a Campbell tartan, I believe. It
seemed to me to be a wonderful dress for a very young girl to be wearing on a rainy, rainy day. “I
thought Americans despised tea,” she said.

It wasn’t the observation of a smart aleck but that of a truth-lover or a statistics-lover. I replied
that some of us never drank anything but tea. I asked her if she’d care to join me.

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“Thank you,” she said. “Perhaps for just a fraction of a moment.”

I got up and drew a chair for her, the one opposite me, and she sat down on the forward quarter
of it, keeping her spine easily and beautifully straight. I went back–almost hurried back–to my
own chair, more than willing to hold up my end of a conversation. When I was seated, I couldn’t
think of anything to say, though. I smiled again, still keeping my coal-black filling under
concealment. I remarked that it was certainly a terrible day out.

“Yes; quite,” said my guest, in the clear, unmistakable voice of a small-talk detester. She placed
her fingers flat on the table edge, like someone at a seance, then, almost instantly, closed her
hands–her nails were bitten down to the quick. She was wearing a wristwatch, a military-looking
one that looked rather like a navigator’s chronograph. Its face was much too large for her slender
wrist. “You were at choir practice,” she said matter-of-factly. “I saw you.”

I said I certainly had been, and that I had heard her voice singing separately from the others. I
said I thought she had a very fine voice.

She nodded. “I know. I’m going to be a professional singer.”

“Really? Opera?”

“Heavens, no. I’m going to sing jazz on the radio and make heaps of money. Then, when I’m
thirty, I shall retire and live on a ranch in Ohio.” She touched the top of her soaking-wet head with
the flat of her hand. “Do you know Ohio?” she asked.

I said I’d been through it on the train a few times but that I didn’t really know it. I offered her a
piece of cinnamon toast.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I eat like a bird, actually.”

I bit into a piece of toast myself, and commented that there’s some mighty rough country around
Ohio. “I know. An American I met told me. You’re the eleventh American I’ve met.”

Her governess was now urgently signalling her to return to her own table–in effect, to stop
bothering the man. My guest, however, calmly moved her chair an inch or two so that her back
broke all possible further communication with the home table. “You go to that secret Intelligence
school on the hill, don’t you?” she inquired coolly.

As security-minded as the next one, I replied that I was visiting Devonshire for my health.

“Really,” she said, “I wasn’t quite bom yesterday, you know.”

I said I’d bet she hadn’t been, at that. I drank my tea for a moment. I was getting a trifle posture-
conscious and I sat up somewhat straighter in my seat.

“You seem quite intelligent for an American,” my guest mused.

I told her that was a pretty snobbish thing to say, if you thought about it at all, and that I hoped it
was unworthy of her.

She blushed-automatically conferring on me the social poise I’d been missing. “Well. Most of the
Americans I’ve seen act like animals. They’re forever punching one another about, and insulting
everyone, and–You know what one of them did?”

I shook my haad.

“One of them threw an empty whiskey bottle through my aunt’s window. Fortunately, the window
was open. But does that sound very intelligent to you?”

It didn’t especially, but I didn’t say so. I said that many soldiers, all over the world, were a long
way from home, and that few of them had had many real advantages in life. I said I’d thought that

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most people could figure that out for themselves.

“Possibly,” said my guest, without conviction. She raised her hand to her wet head again, picked
at a few limp filaments of blond hair, trying to cover her exposed ear rims. “My hair is soaking
wet,” she said. “I look a fright.” She looked over at me. “I have quite wavy hair when it’s dry.”

“I can see that, I can see you have.”

“Not actually curly, but quite wavy,” she said. “Are you married?”

I said I was.

She nodded. “Are you very deeply in love with your wife? Or am I being too personal?”

I said that when she was, I’d speak up.

She put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember wanting to do
something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was wearing–perhaps suggest that she try
wearing it around her waist.

“Usually, I’m not terribly gregarious,” she said, and looked over at me to see if I knew the
meaning of the word. I didn’t give her a sign, though, one way or the other. “I purely came over
because I thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely sensitive face.”

I said she was right, that I had been feeling lonely, and that I was very glad she’d come over.

“I’m training myself to be more compassionate. My aunt says I’m a terribly cold person,” she said
and felt the top of her head again. “I live with my aunt. She’s an extremely kind person. Since the
death of my mother, she’s done everything within her power to make Charles and me feel

“I’m glad.”

“Mother was an extremely intelligent person. Quite sensuous, in many ways.” She looked at me
with a kind of fresh acuteness. “Do you find me terribly cold?”

I told her absolutely not–very much to the contrary, in fact. I told her my name and asked for
hers. She hesitated. “My first name is Esme. I don’t think I shall tell you my full name, for the
moment. I have a title and you may just be impressed by titles. Americans are, you know.”

I said I didn’t think I would be, but that it might be a good idea, at that, to hold on to the title for
a while.

Just then, I felt someone’s warm breath on the back of my neck. I turned around and just missed
brushing noses with Esme’s small brother. Ignoring me, he addressed his sister in a piercing
treble: “Miss Megley said you must come and finish your tea!” His message delivered, he retired to
the chair between his sister and me, on my right. I regarded him with high interest. He was
looking very splendid in brown Shetland shorts, a navy-blue jersey, white shirt, and striped
necktie. He gazed back at me with immense green eyes. “Why do people in films kiss sideways?”
he demanded.

“Sideways?” I said. It was a problem that had baffled me in my childhood. I said I guessed it was
because actors’ noses are too big for kissing anyone head on.

“His name is Charles,” Esme said. “He’s extremely brilliant for his age.”

“He certainly has green eyes. Haven’t you, Charles?” Charles gave me the fishy look my question
deserved, then wriggled downward and forward in his chair till all of his body was under the table
except his head, which he left, wrestler’s-bridge style, on the chair seat. “They’re orange,” he said
in a strained voice, addressing the ceiling. He picked up a comer of the tablecloth and put it over
his handsome, deadpan little face.

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“Sometimes he’s brilliant and sometimes he’s not,” Esme said. “Charles, do sit up!”

Charles stayed right where he was. He seemed to be holding his breath.

“He misses our father very much. He was s-l-a-i-n in North Africa.”

I expressed regret to hear it.

Esme nodded. “Father adored him.” She bit reflectively at the cuticle of her thumb. “He looks very
much like my mother–Charles, I mean. I look exactly like my father.” She went on biting at her
cuticle. “My mother was quite a passionate woman. She was an extrovert. Father was an introvert.
They were quite well mated, though, in a superficial way. To be quite candid, Father really needed
more of an intellectual companion than Mother was. He was an extremely gifted genius.”

I waited, receptively, for further information, but none came. I looked down at Charles, who was
now resting the side of his face on his chair seat. When he saw that I was looking at him, he
closed his eyes, sleepily, angelically, then stuck out his tongue–an appendage of startling length–
and gave out what in my country would have been a glorious tribute to a myopic baseball umpire.
It fairly shook the tearoom.

“Stop that,” Esme said, clearly unshaken. “He saw an American do it in a fish-and-chips queue,
and now he does it whenever he’s bored. Just stop it, now, or I shall send you directly to Miss

Charles opened his enormous eyes, as sign that he’d heard his sister’s threat, but otherwise didn’t
look especially alerted. He closed his eyes again, and continued to rest the side of his face on the
chair seat.

I mentioned that maybe he ought to save it–meaning the Bronx cheer–till he started using his
title regularly. That is, if he had a title, too.

Esme gave me a long, faintly clinical look. “You have a dry sense of humor, haven’t you?” she
said–wistfully. “Father said I have no sense of humor at all. He said I was unequipped to meet life
because I have no sense of humor.”

Watching her, I lit a cigarette and said I didn’t think a sense of humor was of any use in a real

“Father said it was.”

This was a statement of faith, not a contradiction, and I quickly switched horses. I nodded and
said her father had probably taken the long view, while I was taking the short (whatever that

“Charles misses him exceedingly,” Esme said, after a moment. “He was an exceedingly lovable
man. He was extremely handsome, too. Not that one’s appearance matters greatly, but he was. He
had terribly penetrating eyes, for a man who was intransically kind.”

I nodded. I said I imagined her father had had quite an extraordinary vocabulary.

“Oh, yes; quite,” said Esme. “He was an archivist–amateur, of course.”

At that point, I felt an importunate tap, almost a punch, on my upper arm, from Charles’ direction.
I turned to him. He was sitting in a fairly normal position in his chair now, except that he had one
knee tucked under him. “What did one wall say to the other wall?” he asked shrilly. “It’s a riddle!”

I rolled my eyes reflectively ceilingward and repeated the question aloud. Then I looked at Charles
with a stumped expression and said I gave up.

“Meet you at the corner!” came the punch line, at top volume.

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It went over biggest with Charles himself. It struck him as unbearably funny. In fact, Esme had to
come around and pound him on the back, as if treating him for a coughing spell. “Now, stop that,”
she said. She went back to her own seat. “He tells that same riddle to everyone he meets and has
a fit every single time. Usually he drools when he laughs. Now, just stop, please.”

“It’s one of the best riddles I’ve heard, though,” I said, watching Charles, who was very gradually
coming out of it. In response to this compliment, he sank considerably lower in his chair and again
masked his face up to the eyes with a corner of the tablecloth. He then looked at me with his
exposed eyes, which were full of slowly subsiding mirth and the pride of someone who knows a
really good riddle or two.

“May I inquire how you were employed before entering the Army?” Esme asked me.

I said I hadn’t been employed at all, that I’d only been out of college a year but that I like to think
of myself as a professional short-story writer.

She nodded politely. “Published?” she asked.

It was a familiar but always touchy question, and one that I didn’t answer just one, two, three. I
started to explain how most editors in America were a bunch–

“My father wrote beautifully,” Esme interrupted. “I’m saving a number of his letters for posterity.”

I said that sounded like a very good idea. I happened to be looking at her enormous-faced,
chronographic-looking wristwatch again. I asked if it had belonged to her father.

She looked down at her wrist solemnly. “Yes, it did,” she said. “He gave it to me just before
Charles and I were evacuated.” Self-consciously, she took her hands off the table, saying, “Purely
as a momento, of course.” She guided the conversation in a different direction. “I’d be extremely
flattered if you’d write a story exclusively for me sometime. I’m an avid reader.”

I told her I certainly would, if I could. I said that I wasn’t terribly prolific.

“It doesn’t have to be terribly prolific! Just so that it isn’t childish and silly.” She reflected. “I
prefer stories about squalor.”

“About what?” I said, leaning forward. “Squalor. I’m extremely interested in squalor.”

I was about to press her for more details, but I felt Charles pinching me, hard, on my arm. I
turned to him, wincing slightly. He was standing right next to me. “What did one wall say to the
other wall?” he asked, not unfamiliarly.

“You asked him that,” Esme said. “Now, stop it.”

Ignoring his sister, and stepping up on one of my feet, Charles repeated the key question. I
noticed that his necktie knot wasn’t adjusted properly. I slid it up into place, then, looking him
straight in the eye, suggested, “Meetcha at the corner?”

The instant I’d said it, I wished I hadn’t. Charles’ mouth fell open. I felt as if I’d struck it open. He
stepped down off my foot and, with white-hot dignity, walked over to his own table, without
looking back.

“He’s furious,” Esme said. “He has a violent temper. My mother had a propensity to spoil him. My
father was the only one who didn’t spoil him.”

I kept looking over at Charles, who had sat down and started to drink his tea, using both hands on
the cup. I hoped he’d turn around, but he didn’t.

Esme stood up. `Il faut que je parte aussi,” she said, with a sigh. “Do you know French?”

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I got up from my own chair, with mixed feelings of regret and confusion. Esme and I shook hands;
her hand, as I’d suspected, was a nervous hand, damp at the palm. I told her, in English, how very
much I’d enjoyed her company.

She nodded. “I thought you might,” she said. “I’m quite communicative for my age.” She gave her
hair another experimental touch. “I’m dreadfully sorry about my hair,” she said. “I’ve probably
been hideous to look at.”

“Not at all! As a matter of fact, I think a lot of the wave is coming back already.”

She quickly touched her hair again. “Do you think you’ll be coming here again in the immediate
future?” she asked. “We come here every Saturday, after choir practice.”

I answered that I’d like nothing better but that, unfortunately, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be
able to make it again.

“In other words, you can’t discuss troop movements,” said Esme. She made no move to leave the
vicinity of the table. In fact, she crossed one foot over the other and, looking down, aligned the
toes of her shoes. It was a pretty little execution, for she was wearing white socks and her ankles
and feet were lovely. She looked up at me abruptly. “Would you like me to write to you?” she
asked, with a certain amount of color in her face. “I write extremely articulate letters for a person

“I’d love it.” I took out pencil and paper and wrote down my name, rank, serial number, and
A.P.O. number.

“I shall write to you first,” she said, accepting it, “so that you don’t feel compromised in any way.”
She put the address into a pocket of her dress. “Goodbye,” she said, and walked back to her table.

I ordered another pot of tea and sat watching the two of them till they, and the harassed Miss
Megley, got up to leave. Charles led the way out, limping tragically, like a man with one leg
several, inches shorter than the other. He didn’t look over at me. Miss Megley went next, then
Esme, who waved to me. I waved back, half getting up from my chair. It was a strangely
emotional moment for me.

Less than a minute later, Esme came back into the tearoom, dragging Charles behind her by the
sleeve of his reefer. “Charles would like to kiss you goodbye,” she said.

I immediately put down my cup, and said that was very nice, but was she sure?

“Yes,” she said, a trifle grimly. She let go Charles’ sleeve and gave him a rather vigorous push in
my direction. He came forward, his face livid, and gave me a loud, wet smacker just below the
right ear. Following this ordeal, he started to make a beeline for the door and a less sentimental
way of life, but 1 caught the half belt at the back of his reefer, held on to it, and asked him, “What
did one wall say to the other wall?”

His face lit up. “Meet you at the corner!” he shrieked, and raced out of the room, possibly in

Esme was standing with crossed ankles again. “You’re quite sure you won’t forget to write that
story for me?” she asked. “It doesn’t have to be exclusively for me. It can–”

I said there was absolutely no chance that I’d forget. I told her that I’d never written a story for
anybody, but that it seemed like exactly the right time to get down to it.

She nodded. “Make it extremely squalid and moving,” she suggested. “Are you at all acquainted
with squalor?”

I said not exactly but that I was getting better acquainted with it, in one form or another, all the
time, and that I’d do my best to come up to her specifications. We shook hands.

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“Isn’t it a pity that we didn’t meet under less extenuating circumstances?”

I said it was, I said it certainly was.

“Goodbye,” Esme said. “I hope you return from the war with all your faculties intact.”

I thanked her, and said a few other words, and then watched her leave the tearoom. She left it
slowly, reflectively, testing the ends of her hair for dryness.

This is the squalid, or moving, part of the story, and the scene changes. The people change, too.
I’m still around, but from here on in, for reasons I’m not at liberty to disclose, I’ve disguised
myself so cunningly that even the cleverest reader will fail to recognize me.

It was about ten-thirty at night in Gaufurt, Bavaria, several weeks after V-E Day. Staff Sergeant X
was in his room on the second floor of the civilian home in which he and nine other American
soldiers had been quartered, even before the armistice. He was seated on a folding wooden chair
at a small, messy-looking writing table, with a paperback overseas novel open before him, which
he was having great trouble reading. The trouble lay with him, not the novel. Although the men
who lived on the first floor usually had first grab at the books sent each month by Special
Services, X usually seemed to be left with the book he might have selected himself. But he was a
young man who had not come through the war with all his faculties intact, and for more than an
hour he had been triple-reading paragraphs, and now he was doing it to the sentences. He
suddenly closed the book, without marking his place. With his hand, he shielded his eyes for a
moment against the harsh, watty glare from the naked bulb over the table.

He took a cigarette from a pack on the table and lit it with fingers that bumped gently and
incessantly against one another. He sat back a trifle in his chair and smoked without any sense of
taste. He had been chain-smoking for weeks. His gums bled at the slightest pressure of the tip of
his tongue, and he seldom stopped experimenting; it was a little game he played, sometimes by
the hour. He sat for a moment smoking and experimenting. Then, abruptly, familiarly, and, as
usual, with no warning, he thought he felt his mind dislodge itself and teeter, like insecure
luggage on an overhead rack. He quickly did what he had been doing for weeks to set things right:
he pressed his hands hard against his temples. He held on tight for a moment. His hair needed
cutting, and it was dirty. He had washed it three or four times during his two weeks’ stay at the
hospital in Frankfort on the Main, but it had got dirty again on the long, dusty jeep ride back to
Gaufurt. Corporal Z, who had called for him at the hospital, still drove a jeep combat-style, with
the windshield down on the hood, armistice or no armistice. There were thousands of new troops
in Germany. By driving with his windshield down, combat-style, Corporal Z hoped to show that he
was not one of them, that not by a long shot was he some new son of a bitch in the E.T.O.

When he let go of his head, X began to stare at the surface of the writing table, which was a
catchall for at least two dozen unopened letters and at least five or six unopened packages, all
addressed to him. He reached behind the debris and picked out a book that stood against the wall.
It was a book by Goebbels, entitled “Die Zeit Ohne Beispiel.” It belonged to the thirty-eight-year-
old, unmarried daughter of the family that, up to a few weeks earlier, had been living in the house.
She had been a low official in the Nazi Party, but high enough, by Army Regulations standards, to
fall into an automatic-arrest category. X himself had arrested her. N


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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Yellow
Wallpaper, by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Yellow Wallpaper

Author: Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Release Date: November, 1999 [eBook #1952]
[Most recently updated: January 4, 2021]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger


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T h e Ye l l o w
Wa l l p a p e r

By Charlotte Perkins Gilman

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself
secure ancestral halls for the summer.

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted
house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be
asking too much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long

John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an

intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of
things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.

John is a physician, and perhaps—(I would not say it to a living
soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)
—perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.

You see, he does not believe I am sick!
And what can one do?
If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures

friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one
but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—
what is one to do?

My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he
says the same thing.

So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics,
and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to
“work” until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and

change, would do me good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a

good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy

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I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and
more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can
do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me
feel bad.

So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back

from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think
of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls
and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the
gardeners and people.

There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden—large and
shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered
arbors with seats under them.

There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs

and co-heirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I don’t care—there is

something strange about the house—I can feel it.
I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I

felt was a draught, and shut the window.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never

used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
But John says if I feel so I shall neglect proper self-control; so I

take pains to control myself,—before him, at least,—and that makes
me very tired.

I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened
on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-
fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.

He said there was only one window and not room for two beds,
and no near room for him if he took another.

He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without
special direction.

I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all
care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.

He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have
perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on
your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your
appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the nursery,
at the top of the house.

It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that
look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and
then playground and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows
are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the

The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is
stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my
bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side
of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.

One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every
artistic sin.

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It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced
enough to constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you
follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly
commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy
themselves in unheard-of contradictions.

The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering, unclean
yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.

It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in

No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to
live in this room long.

There comes John, and I must put this away,—he hates to have me
write a word.

We have been here two weeks, and I haven’t felt like writing
before, since that first day.

I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and
there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack
of strength.

John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are

I am glad my case is not serious!
But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.
John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is

no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him.
Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do

my duty in any way!
I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and

here I am a comparative burden already!
Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am

able—to dress and entertain, and order things.
It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby!
And yet I cannot be with him, it makes me so nervous.
I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so

about this wallpaper!
At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he said that I

was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a
nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.

He said that after the wallpaper was changed it would be the
heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at
the head of the stairs, and so on.

“You know the place is doing you good,” he said, “and really,
dear, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’

“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are such pretty
rooms there.”

Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed little goose,
and said he would go down cellar if I wished, and have it
whitewashed into the bargain.

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But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things.
It is as airy and comfortable a room as any one need wish, and, of

course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for
a whim.

I’m really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid

Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deep-
shaded arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and
gnarly trees.

Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a little private
wharf belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane that
runs down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking
in these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to
give way to fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative
power and habit of story-making a nervous weakness like mine is
sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, and that I ought to use
my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I try.

I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it
would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.

But I find I get pretty tired when I try.
It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship

about my work. When I get really well John says we will ask Cousin
Henry and Julia down for a long visit; but he says he would as soon
put fire-works in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating
people about now.

I wish I could get well faster.
But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it

knew what a vicious influence it had!
There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck

and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside-down.
I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the

everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those
absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where
two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line,
one a little higher than the other.

I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and
we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as
a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and
plain furniture than most children could find in a toy-store.

I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big old bureau
used to have, and there was one chair that always seemed like a
strong friend.

I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I
could always hop into that chair and be safe.

The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious,
however, for we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose when
this was used as a playroom they had to take the nursery things out,
and no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the children have made

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The wallpaper, as I said before, is torn off in spots, and it sticketh
closer than a brother—they must have had perseverance as well as

Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster
itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy bed, which is all
we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the wars.

But I don’t mind it a bit—only the paper.
There comes John’s sister. Such a dear girl as she is, and so careful

of me! I must not let her find me writing.
She is a perfect, and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for no

better profession. I verily believe she thinks it is the writing which
made me sick!

But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from
these windows.

There is one that commands the road, a lovely, shaded, winding
road, and one that just looks off over the country. A lovely country,
too, full of great elms and velvet meadows.

This wallpaper has a kind of sub-pattern in a different shade, a
particularly irritating one, for you can only see it in certain lights,
and not clearly then.

But in the places where it isn’t faded, and where the sun is just so,
I can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to
sulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.

There’s sister on the stairs!

Well, the Fourth of July is over! The people are gone and I am
tired out. John thought it might do me good to see a little company,
so we just had mother and Nellie and the children down for a week.

Of course I didn’t do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now.
But it tired me all the same.
John says if I don’t pick up faster he shall send me to Weir

Mitchell in the fall.
But I don’t want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his

hands once, and she says he is just like John and my brother, only
more so!

Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.
I don’t feel as if it was worth while to turn my hand over for

anything, and I’m getting dreadfully fretful and querulous.
I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.
Of course I don’t when John is here, or anybody else, but when I

am alone.
And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept in town very

often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone when I
want her to.

So I walk a little in the garden or down that lovely lane, sit on the
porch under the roses, and lie down up here a good deal.

I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper.
Perhaps because of the wallpaper.

It dwells in my mind so!

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I lie here on this great immovable bed—it is nailed down, I
believe—and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as
gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we’ll say, at the bottom, down in the
corner over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for
the thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to some
sort of a conclusion.

I know a little of the principle of design, and I know this thing was
not arranged on any laws of radiation, or alternation, or repetition, or
symmetry, or anything else that I ever heard of.

It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise.
Looked at in one way each breadth stands alone, the bloated

curves and flourishes—a kind of “debased Romanesque” with
delirium tremens—go waddling up and down in isolated columns of

But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawling
outlines run off in great slanting waves of optic horror, like a lot of
wallowing seaweeds in full chase.

The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems so, and I
exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order of its going in that

They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze, and that adds
wonderfully to the confusion.

There is one end of the room where it is almost intact, and there,
when the cross-lights fade and the low sun shines directly upon it, I
can almost fancy radiation after all,—the interminable grotesques
seem to form around a common centre and rush off in headlong
plunges of equal distraction.

It makes me tired to follow it. I will take a nap, I guess.

I don’t know why I should write this.
I don’t want to.
I don’t feel able.
And I know John would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel

and think in some way—it is such a relief!
But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.
Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much.
John says I musn’t lose my strength, and has me take cod-liver oil

and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare

Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick. I
tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day,
and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to
Cousin Henry and Julia.

But he said I wasn’t able to go, nor able to stand it after I got
there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was
crying before I had finished.

It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this
nervous weakness, I suppose.

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And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me
upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it
tired my head.

He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I
must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.

He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use
my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with

There’s one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not
have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wallpaper.

If we had not used it that blessed child would have! What a
fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn’t have a child of mine, an
impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.

I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here
after all. I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see.

Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am too wise,—
but I keep watch of it all the same.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever

Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.
It is always the same shape, only very numerous.
And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind

that pattern. I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish
John would take me away from here!

It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so
wise, and because he loves me so.

But I tried it last night.
It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around, just as the sun

I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes

in by one window or another.
John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and

watched the moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt creepy.
The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she

wanted to get out.
I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and

when I came back John was awake.
“What is it, little girl?” he said. “Don’t go walking about like that

—you’ll get cold.”
I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was

not gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away.
“Why darling!” said he, “our lease will be up in three weeks, and I

can’t see how to leave before.
“The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot possibly leave

town just now. Of course if you were in any danger I could and
would, but you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I
am a doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your
appetite is better. I feel really much easier about you.”

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“I don’t weigh a bit more,” said I, “nor as much; and my appetite
may be better in the evening, when you are here, but it is worse in
the morning when you are away.”

“Bless her little heart!” said he with a big hug; “she shall be as
sick as she pleases! But now let’s improve the shining hours by
going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!”

“And you won’t go away?” I asked gloomily.
“Why, how can I, dear? It is only three weeks more and then we

will take a nice little trip of a few days while Jennie is getting the
house ready. Really, dear, you are better!”

“Better in body perhaps”—I began, and stopped short, for he sat
up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that
I could not say another word.

“My darling,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake and for our
child’s sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one
instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous,
so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish
fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?”

So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep
before long. He thought I was asleep first, but I wasn’t,—I lay there
for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back
pattern really did move together or separately.

On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a
defiance of law, that is a constant irritant to a normal mind.

The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and
infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.

You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well under way
in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It slaps
you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a
bad dream.

The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a
fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints, an interminable
string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions,
—why, that is something like it.

That is, sometimes!
There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody

seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light

When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch
for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can
quite believe it.

That is why I watch it always.
By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon

—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper.
At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight,

and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I
mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be.

I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was that showed
behind,—that dim sub-pattern,—but now I am quite sure it is a

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By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that
keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.

I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me, and to
sleep all I can.

Indeed, he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour
after each meal.

It is a very bad habit, I am convinced, for, you see, I don’t sleep.
And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them I’m awake,—oh,

The fact is, I am getting a little afraid of John.
He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has an

inexplicable look.
It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis, that

perhaps it is the paper!
I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and

come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve
caught him several times looking at the paper! And Jennie too. I
caught Jennie with her hand on it once.

She didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a
quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible,
what she was doing with the paper she turned around as if she had
been caught stealing, and looked quite angry—asked me why I
should frighten her so!

Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she
had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John’s, and she
wished we would be more careful!

Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was studying that
pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself!

Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I
have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really
do eat better, and am more quiet than I was.

John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other
day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wallpaper.

I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was
because of the wallpaper—he would make fun of me. He might even
want to take me away.

I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a
week more, and I think that will be enough.

I’m feeling ever so much better! I don’t sleep much at night, for it
is so interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in
the daytime.

In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.
There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of

yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried

It is the strangest yellow, that wallpaper! It makes me think of all
the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful ones like buttercups, but

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old foul, bad yellow things.
But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed

it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun
it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and
whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here.

It creeps all over the house.
I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding

in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs.
It gets into my hair.
Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it

—there is that smell!
Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze

it, to find what it smelled like.
It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most

enduring odor I ever met.
In this damp weather it is awful. I wake up in the night and find it

hanging over me.
It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the

house—to reach the smell.
But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like

is the color of the paper! A yellow smell.
There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the

mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every
piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch, as if
it had been rubbed over and over.

I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for.
Round and round and round—round and round and round—it makes
me dizzy!

I really have discovered something at last.
Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have

finally found out.
The front pattern does move—and no wonder! The woman behind

shakes it!
Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and

sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling
shakes it all over.

Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady
spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.

And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could
climb through that pattern—it strangles so; I think that is why it has
so many heads.

They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns
them upside-down, and makes their eyes white!

If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so

I think that woman gets out in the daytime!

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And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her!
I can see her out of every one of my windows!
It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and

most women do not creep by daylight.
I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. I see her

in those dark grape arbors, creeping all around the garden.
I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and

when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.
I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught

creeping by daylight!
I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can’t do it at

night, for I know John would suspect something at once.
And John is so queer now, that I don’t want to irritate him. I wish

he would take another room! Besides, I don’t want anybody to get
that woman out at night but myself.

I often wonder if I could see her out of all the windows at once.
But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time.
And though I always see her she may be able to creep faster than I

can turn!
I have watched her sometimes away off in the open country,

creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind.

If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I
mean to try it, little by little.

I have found out another funny thing, but I shan’t tell it this time!
It does not do to trust people too much.

There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe
John is beginning to notice. I don’t like the look in his eyes.

And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about
me. She had a very good report to give.

She said I slept a good deal in the daytime.
John knows I don’t sleep very well at night, for all I’m so quiet!
He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very

loving and kind.
As if I couldn’t see through him!
Still, I don’t wonder he acts so, sleeping under this paper for three

It only interests me, but I feel sure John and Jennie are secretly

affected by it.

Hurrah! This is the last day, but it is enough. John is to stay in
town over night, and won’t be out until this evening.

Jennie wanted to sleep with me—the sly thing! but I told her I
should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.

That was clever, for really I wasn’t alone a bit! As soon as it was
moonlight, and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern,
I got up and ran to help her.

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I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before
morning we had peeled off yards of that paper.

A strip about as high as my head and half around the room.
And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh

at me I declared I would finish it to-day!
We go away to-morrow, an


(Social Movements Proposal)

1. __________Introduction of proposal topic and statement of the issue (2 points)

2. __________Literature review (10 sources) Integration into content of paper (30 points)

3. __________Historical origins of issue and connection to chosen community at risk (5 points)

4. __________Current impact and its importance on chosen community-at-risk (5 points)

5. __________Discuss two cultural frames that would motivate people to engage in a collective action on this issue. (5 points)

6. __________Discuss how important you think emotions are in motivating people to participate in [this] social movement activity. What steps can be taken to facilitate this by the social movement organizer/organizing group? (5 points)

7. __________ What “Elite Allies” could be recruited as influential forces to aid the social movement’s success? Explain. (5 points)

8. __________ What opposing forces may your social movement organization encounter? Explain and document by way of in-text cited content.(5 points)

9. __________ Interview a named agency by phone , email, Skype, etc. and who was spoken with that is involved in the delivery of services representing your social issue.(4 points)

a.________ What is their perspective?

b. ________How are they funded?

c. ________ Who is responsible for their practices?

d._________What possible activities/plan do they have, if any, to resolve

the issue of your chosen social justice issue

10.________Review Exhibit 14.2 regarding “Key Ideas of the Mobilizing Structures Perspective.” In light of the literature review, social media and newspaper sources (4 points)

a._________Discuss the most user-friendly mobilizing structure to create

a social movement.

b. _________Recruitment strategies: participants and roles, funding, and

publication of the issue?

c.__________Activities to make the public/powers be aware to bring about


d.__________What slogans relate seriousness of the known issue &

its negatives effects

11.________From chapter 14 and your findings, what is the most effective strategy to

facilitate a successful outcome. Discuss and give supporting rationale. (5 points)

12.________ Conclusions: the chances of your social movement being successful? (10 points)

a.________Advantages: The psychological, social & spiritual implications supported by

cited content.

b.________Challenges: The psychological, social & spiritual implications supported by

cited content

13.________ Your learning from assignment as a future social worker advocating for social justice issues impacting developmental behavioral consequences on clients’ living conditions. (5points)

14. ________**Use headings for each section. The paper is to be written in a Microsoft Word document, double-spaced, size 12 type. Review and correct before submission all spelling, sentence structure, grammar and APA in-text cited content. A cover page and bibliography is to be included. Students are advised to check the Originality Report of their submissions to be sure that they have cited properly. If not, correct and resubmit again. (10 points)


4/21/22, 7:29 PM Bambara’s “The Lesson”

https://dcccd.blackboard.com/bbcswebdav/pid-27570691-dt-content-rid-204569383_1/courses/2022SP-ENGL-1302-82710/2018SP-ENGL-1302-8344… 1/5

The Lesson
Toni Cade Bambara (1939-1995)

Back in the days when everyone was old and stupid or young and foolish and me and Sugar were the only ones
just right, this lady moved on our block with nappy hair and proper speech and no makeup. And quite naturally
we laughed at her, laughed the way we did at the junk man who went about his business like he was some big-
time president and his sorry-ass horse his secretary. And we kinda hated her too, hated the way we did the winos
who cluttered up our parks and pissed on our handball walls and stank up our hallways and stairs so you couldn’t
halfway play hide-and-seek without a goddamn gas mask. Miss Moore was her name. The only woman on the
block with no first name. And she was black as hell, cept for her feet, which were fish-white and spooky. And
she was always planning these boring-ass things for us to do, us being my cousin, mostly, who lived on the block
cause we all moved North the same time and to the same apartment then spread out gradual to breathe. And our
parents would yank our heads into some kinda shape and crisp up our clothes so we’d be presentable for travel
with Miss Moore, who always looked like she was going to church though she never did. Which is just one of
the things the grownups talked about when they talked behind her back like a dog. But when she came calling
with some sachet she’d sewed up or some gingerbread she’d made or some book, why then they’d all be too
embarrassed to turn her down and we’d get handed over all spruced up. She’d been to college and said it was
only right that she should take responsibility for the young ones’ education, and she not even related by marriage
or blood. So they’d go for it. Specially Aunt Gretchen. She was the main gofer in the family. You got some ole
dumb shit foolishness you want somebody to go for, you send for Aunt Gretchen. She been screwed into the go-
along for so long, it’s a blood-deep natural thing with her. Which is how she got saddled with me and Sugar and
Junior in the first place while our mothers were in a la-de-da apartment up the block having a good ole time.

So this one day Miss Moore rounds us all up at the mailbox and it’s puredee hot and she’s knockin herself out
about arithmetic. And school suppose to let up in summer I heard, but she don’t never let up. And the starch in
my pinafore scratching the shit outta me and I’m really hating this nappy-head bitch and her goddamn college
degree. I’d much rather go to the pool or to the show where it’s cool. So me and Sugar leaning on the mailbox
being surly, which is a Miss Moore word. And Flyboy checking out what everybody brought for lunch. And Fat
Butt already wasting his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich like the pig he is. And Junebug punchin on Q.T.’s arm
for potato chips. And Rosie Giraffe shifting from one hip to the other waiting for somebody to step on her foot
or ask her if she from Georgia so she can kick ass, preferably Mercedes’. And Miss Moore asking us do we know
what money is like we a bunch of retards. I mean real money, she say, like it’s only poker chips or monopoly
papers we lay on the grocer. So right away I’m tired of this and say so. And would much rather snatch Sugar and
go to the Sunset and terrorize the West Indian kids and take their hair ribbons and their money too. And Miss
Moore files that remark away for next week’s lesson on brotherhood, I can tell. And finally I say we oughta get
to the subway cause it’s cooler an’ besides we might meet some cute boys. Sugar done swiped her mama’s
lipstick, so we ready.

So we heading down the street and she’s boring us silly about what things cost and what our parents make and
how much goes for rent and how money ain’t divided up right in this country. And then she gets to the part about
we all poor and live in the slums which I don’t feature. And I’m ready to speak on that, but she steps out in the
street and hails two cabs just like that. Then she hustles half the crew in with her and hands me a five-dollar bill
and tells me to calculate 10 percent tip for the driver. And we’re off. Me and Sugar and Junebug and Flyboy
hangin out the window and hollering to everybody, putting lipstick on each other cause Flyboy a faggot anyway,
and making farts with our sweaty armpits. But I’m mostly trying to figure how to spend this money. But they are
fascinated with the meter ticking and Junebug starts laying bets as to how much it’ll read when Flyboy can’t hold
his breath no more. Then Sugar lays bets as to how much it’ll be when we get there. So I’m stuck. Don’t nobody
want to go for my plan, which is to jump out at the next light and run off to the first bar-b-que we can find. Then
the driver tells us to get the hell out cause we there already. And the meter reads eighty-five cents. And I’m
stalling to figure out the tip and Sugar say give him a dime. And I decide he don’t need it bad as I do, so later for
him. But then he tries to take off with Junebug foot still in the door so we talk about his mama something

4/21/22, 7:29 PM Bambara’s “The Lesson”

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ferocious. Then we check out that we on Fifth Avenue and everybody dressed up in stockings. One lady in a fur
coat, hot as it is. White folks crazy.

“This is the place, ” Miss Moore say, presenting it to us in the voice she uses at the museum. “Let’s look in the
windows before we go in.”

“Can we steal?” Sugar asks very serious like she’s getting the ground rules squared away before she plays. “I beg
your pardon,” say Miss Moore, and we fall out. So she leads us around the windows of the toy store and me and
Sugar screamin, “This is mine, that’s mine, I gotta have that, that was made for me, I was born for that,” till Big
Butt drowns us out.

“Hey, I’m goin to buy that there.”

“That there? You don’t even know what it is, stupid.”

“I do so,” he say punchin on Rosie Giraffe. “It’s a microscope.”

“Whatcha gonna do with a microscope, fool?”

“Look at things.”

“Like what, Ronald?” ask Miss Moore. And Big Butt ain’t got the first notion. So here go Miss Moore gabbing
about the thousands of bacteria in a drop of water and the somethinorother in a speck of blood and the million
and one living things in the air around us is invisible to the naked eye. And what she say that for? Junebug go to
town on that “naked” and we rolling. Then Miss Moore ask what it cost. So we all jam into the window smudgin
it up and the price tag say $300. So then she ask how long’d take for Big Butt and Junebug to save up their
allowances. “Too long,” I say. “Yeh,” adds Sugar, “outgrown it by that time.” And Miss Moore say no, you never
outgrow learning instruments. “Why, even medical students and interns and,” blah, blah, blah. And we ready to
choke Big Butt for bringing it up in the first damn place.

“This here costs four hundred eighty dollars,” say Rosie Giraffe. So we pile up all over her to see what she
pointin out. My eyes tell me it’s a chunk of glass cracked with something heavy, and different-color inks dripped
into the splits, then the whole thing put into a oven or something. But for $480 it don’t make sense.

“That’s a paperweight made of semi-precious stones fused together under tremendous pressure,” she explains
slowly, with her hands doing the mining and all the factory work.

“So what’s a paperweight?” asks Rosie Giraffe.

“To weigh paper with, dumbbell,” say Flyboy, the wise man from the East.

“Not exactly,” say Miss Moore, which is what she say when you warm or way off too. “It’s to weigh paper down
so it won’t scatter and make your desk untidy. ” So right away me and Sugar curtsy to each other and then to
Mercedes who is more the tidy type.

“We don’t keep paper on top of the desk in my class,” say Junebug, figuring Miss Moore crazy or lyin one.

“At home, then,” she say. “Don’t you have a calendar and a pencil case and a blotter and a letter-opener on your
desk at home where you do your homework?” And she know damn well what our homes look like cause she
nosys around in them every chance she gets.

“I don’t even have a desk,” say Junebug. “Do we?”

“No. And I don’t get no homework neither,” says Big Butt.

4/21/22, 7:29 PM Bambara’s “The Lesson”

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“And I don’t even have a home,” say Flyboy like he do at school to keep the white folks off his back and sorry
for him. Send this poor kid to camp posters, is his specialty.

“I do,” says Mercedes. “I have a box of stationery on my desk and a picture of my cat. My godmother bought the
stationery and the desk. There’s a big rose on each sheet and the envelopes smell like roses.”

“Who wants to know about your smelly-ass stationery,” say Rosie Giraffe fore I can get my two cents in.

“It’s important to have a work area all your own so that . . .”

“Will you look at this sailboat, please,” say Flyboy, cuttin her off and pointin to the thing like it was his. So once
again we tumble all over each other to gaze at this magnificent thing in the toy store which is just big enough to
maybe sail two kittens across the pond if you strap them to the posts tight. We all start reciting the price tag like
we in assembly. “Hand-crafted sailboat of fiberglass at one thousand one hundred ninety-five dollars.”

“Unbelievable,” I hear myself say and am really stunned. I read it again for myself just in case the group
recitation put me in a trance. Same thing. For some reason this pisses me off. We look at Miss Moore and she
lookin at us, waiting for I dunno what.

“Who’d pay all that when you can buy a sailboat set for a quarter at Pop’s, a tube of glue for a dime, and a ball of
string for eight cents? It must have a motor and a whole lot else besides,” I say. “My sailboat cost me about fifty

“But will it take water?” say Mercedes with her smart ass.

“Took mine to Alley Pond Park once,” say Flyboy. “String broke. Lost it. Pity.”

“Sailed mine in Gentral Park and it keeled over and sank. Had to ask my father for another dollar.”

“And you got the strap,” laugh Big Butt. “The jerk didn’t even have a string on it. My old man wailed on his

Little Q.T. was staring hard at the sailboat and you could see he wanted it bad. But he too little and somebody’d
just take it from him. So what the hell. “This boat for kids, Miss Moore?”

“Parents silly to buy something like that just to get all broke up,” say Rosie Giraffe.

“That much money it should last forever,” I figure.

“My father’d buy it for me if I wanted it.”

“Your father, my ass,” say Rosie Giraffe getting a chance to finally push Mercedes.

“Must be rich people shop here,” say Q.T.

“You are a very bright boy,” say Flyboy. “What was your first clue?” And he rap him on the head with the back
of his knuckles, since Q.T. the only one he could get away with. Though Q.T. liable to come up behind you years
later and get his licks in when you half expect it.

“What I want to know is,” I says to Miss Moore though I never talk to her, I wouldn’t give the bitch that
satisfaction, “is how much a real boat costs? I figure a thousand’d get you a yacht any day.”

“Why don’t you check that out,” she says, “and report back to the group?” Which really pains my ass. If you
gonna mess up a perfectly good swim day least you could do is have some answers. “Let’s go in,” she say like
she got something up her sleeve. Only she don’t lead the way. So me and Sugar turn the corner to where the
entrance is, but when we get there I kinda hang back. Not that I’m scared, what’s there to be afraid of, just a toy

4/21/22, 7:29 PM Bambara’s “The Lesson”

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store. But I feel funny, shame. But what I got to be shamed about? Got as much right to go in as anybody. But
somehow I can’t seem to get hold of the door, so I step away from Sugar to lead. But she hangs back too. And I
look at her and she looks at me and this is ridiculous. I mean, damn, I have never ever been shy about doing
nothing or going nowhere. But then Mercedes steps up and then Rosie Giraffe and Big Butt crowd in behind and
shove, and next thing we all stuffed into the doorway with only Mercedes squeezing past us, smoothing out her
jumper and walking right down the aisle. Then the rest of us tumble in like a glued-together jigsaw done all
wrong. And people lookin at us. And it’s like the time me and Sugar crashed into the Catholic church on a dare.
But once we got in there and everything so hushed and holy and the candles and the bowin and the
handkerchiefs on all the drooping heads, I just couldn’t go through with the plan. Which was for me to run up to
the altar and do a tap dance while Sugar played the nose flute and messed around in the holy water. And Sugar
kept givin me the elbow. Then later teased me so bad I tied her up in the shower and turned it on and locked her
in. And she’d be there till this day if Aunt Gretchen hadn’t finally figured I was lyin about the boarder takin a

Same thing in the store. We all walkin on tiptoe and hardly touchin the games and puzzles and things. And I
watched Miss Moore who is steady watchin us like she waitin for a sign. Like Mama Drewery watches the sky
and sniffs the air and takes note of just how much slant is in the bird formation. Then me and Sugar bump smack
into each other, so busy gazing at the toys, ‘specially the sailboat. But we don’t laugh and go into our fat-lady
bump-stomach routine. We just stare at that price tag. Then Sugar run a finger over the whole boat. And I’m
jealous and want to hit her. Maybe not her, but I sure want to punch somebody in the mouth.

“Watcha bring us here for, Miss Moore?”

“You sound angry, Sylvia. Are you mad about something?” Givin me one of them grins like she tellin a grown-
up joke that never turns out to be funny. And she’s lookin very closely at me like maybe she plannin to do my
portrait from memory. I’m mad, but I won’t give her that satisfaction. So I slouch around the store bein very
bored and say, “Let’s go.”

Me and Sugar at the back of the train watchin the tracks whizzin by large then small then gettin gobbled up in
the dark. I’m thinkin about this tricky toy I saw in the store. A clown that somersaults on a bar then does chin-
ups just cause you yank lightly at his leg. Cost $35. I could see me askin my mother for a $35 birthday clown.
“You wanna who that costs what?” she’d say, cocking her head to the side to get a better view of the hole in my
head. Thirty-five dollars could buy new bunk beds for Junior and Gretchen’s boy. Thirty-five dollars and the
whole household could go visit Grand-daddy Nelson in the country. Thirty-five dollars would pay for the rent
and the piano bill too. Who are these people that spend that much for performing clowns and $1000 for toy
sailboats? What kinda work they do and how they live and how come we ain’t in on it? Where we are is who we
are, Miss Moore always pointin out. But it don’t necessarily have to be that way, she always adds then waits for
somebody to say that poor people have to wake up and demand their share of the pie and don’t none of us know
what kind of pie she talking about in the first damn place. But she ain’t so smart cause I still got her four dollars
from the taxi and she sure ain’t gettin it Messin up my day with this shit. Sugar nudges me in my pocket and

Miss Moore lines us up in front of the mailbox where we started from, seem like years ago, and I got a headache
for thinkin so hard. And we lean all over each other so we can hold up under the draggy ass lecture she always
finishes us off with at the end before we thank her for borin us to tears. But she just looks at us like she readin
tea leaves. Finally she say, “Well, what did you think of F.A.0. Schwarz?”

Rosie Giraffe mumbles, “White folks crazy.”

“I’d like to go there again when I get my birthday money,” says Mercedes, and we shove her out the pack so she
has to lean on the mailbox by herself.

“I’d like a shower. Tiring day,” say Flyboy.

4/21/22, 7:29 PM Bambara’s “The Lesson”

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Then Sugar surprises me by sayin, “You know, Miss Moore, I don’t think all of us here put together eat in a year
what that sailboat costs.” And Miss Moore lights up like somebody goosed her. “And?” she say, urging Sugar on.
Only I’m standin on her foot so she don’t continue.

“Imagine for a minute what kind of society it is in which some people can spend on a toy what it would cost to
feed a family of six or seven. What do you think?”

“I think,” say Sugar pushing me off her feet like she never done before cause I whip her ass in a minute, “that
this is not much of a democracy if you ask me. Equal chance to pursue happiness means an equal crack at the
dough, don’t it?” Miss Moore is besides herself and I am disgusted with Sugar’s treachery. So I stand on her foot
one more time to see if she’ll shove me. She shuts up, and Miss Moore looks at me, sorrowfully I’m thinkin. And
somethin weird is goin on, I can feel it in my chest. “Anybody else learn anything today?” lookin dead at me. I
walk away and Sugar has to run to catch up and don’t even seem to notice when I shrug her arm off my shoulder.

“Well, we got four dollars anyway,” she says. “Uh hun.”

“We could go to Hascombs and get half a chocolate layer and then go to the Sunset and still have plenty money
for potato chips and ice cream sodas.”

“Uh hun.”

“Race you to Hascombs,” she say.

We start down the block and she gets ahead which is O.K. by me cause I’m going to the West End and then over
to the Drive to think this day through. She can run if she want to and even run faster. But ain’t nobody gonna
beat me at nuthin.


Stan Douglas: Revealing Narratives

@ The Phi Foundation for Contemporary Art

Exhibition/Artwork Critique Assignment

Due April 22nd – in class/print

Worth: 25%*15% + a short artwork response assignment worth 10% based on the next outing*


Please write an exhibition critique of 750 words; max. 1000 words (roughly 3 pages doubled-spaced).

I want you to address the theme(s) and stylistic influences seen in the photographic works of Stan Douglas, Please refer to, and provide a formal analysis & interpretation (meaning), for two specific photographs of your choice (featured in the exhibition). Your critique should also address the online presentation, and how this format affected (or not) your appreciation of the artworks.

Your review should include:

• Description

• Analysis

• Evaluation

Description: tell the reader about the exhibition (theme, subject), about the exhibition/curatorial context (setting and choices related to the virtual/online presentation of artworks/exhibition experience), and about the workshop activity.

Analysis: Provide formal analysis for two photographs of your choice + your interpretation of the works supported by evidence (sources). * Make sure to identify/refer to the two series of works featured in the exhibition.

Evaluation: tell the reader whether the exhibition was interesting/compelling despite not seeing it in person, did the online presentation help you to understand or appreciate the artworks, and did the workshop activity help you understand the conceptual element behind both series of photographs/Stan Douglas’s work?

Style Guidelines – Checklist:

3 pages (750 words; max. 1000), typed & double-spaced (plus works cited page)

Times New Roman, 12 pt. font

Correct MLA formatting for college essays

Correct MLA citations for sources consulted – you must use/cite 2 sources

Works Cited Page in correct MLA formatting
Image of your chosen artworks (including correct image citations)

A full formal image citation looks like this


Artist (where available), Title, Date. Medium, Dimensions. Collection, Location (where possible)

Using Sources

You will need to consult two sources of information, such as the audioguide, artists statements, the exhibition brochure, information given during the online presentation, or interviews with the artist(s) or curators. How does this additional information change or deepen your understanding of the exhibition?

Some tips

Think about the meaning and purpose of the exhibition and the artworks, for example:

• Why are the art works ordered or arranged this way?

• Does a particular artwork stand out from the rest?

• Is there a theme or a subtext to the exhibition?

• You might also consider what’s missing?

• How is this exhibition different from others you’ve seen?

• What effect does the layout of the exhibition, and presentation/organization of the artworks have on the viewer’s (your) experience?

Suggestions for structuring content of your response:

• A title that engages the reader

• An opening paragraph that informs the reader of the subject (name of artist(s), exhibition title, time period and subject matter/theme(s) covered)

• A paragraph that goes into further detail about the theme, purpose, idea or scope of the exhibition + installation/online presentation & layout of artworks

• A paragraph or two dedicated to the specific examples you choose to analyze

• A concluding paragraph

https://phi.ca/en/events/stan-douglas-exhibition/ (scroll down to the installation shots, you can the click on each one individually – you get a very good sense of the space/gallery layout + you can also listen to the audio clips/audioguide via the website)

Grading rubric:

*this assignment is graded out of 50 and is worth 25% of your final grade

Content (25)

• Introduction to exhibition; subject and theme(s) are clearly identified/addressed (Description) /5

• Online presentation (curatorial concept and actual presentation in class) + workshop activity

adequately described (Description) /5

• Formal and meaning-based analysis of two artwork, thematic and contextual connections (Analysis) /10

• Personal input and innovative ideas [personal opinions/ideas] (Evaluation) /5

Structure & Communication (10)

• ideas/arguments are clearly stated and coherent (throughout essay) /5

• relevant and efficient use of image(s) /5

Academic performance (15)

• major points, validity & accuracy: evidence supports analysis/interpretation (proper use and sufficient amount of appropriate sources) /5

• Structure of essay, proper utilization of grammar, including punctuation, spelling, subject and verb usage /5

• Adherence to MLA style: proper citation & sources cited; presentation and organization : page numbers, images, font, total pages, etc. /5



The Bound Man
by Ilse Aichinger (Translated from the German by Eric Mosbacher)

Sunlight on his face woke him, but made him shut his eyes again; it streamed unhindered down the slope, collected itself into rivulets, attracted swarms of flies, which flew low over his forehead, circled, sought to land, and were overtaken by fresh swarms. When he tried to whisk them away he discovered that he was bound. A thin rope cut into his arms. He dropped them, opened his eyes again, and looked down at himself. His legs were tied all the way up to his thighs; a single length of rope was tied round his ankles, cris-crossed all the way up his legs, and encircled his hips, his chest and his arms. He could not see where it was knotted. He showed no sign of fear or hurry, though he thought he was unable to move, until he discovered that the rope allowed his legs some free play, and that round his body it was almost loose. His arms were tied to each other but not to his body, and had some free play too. This made him smile, and it occurred to him that perhaps children had been playing a practical joke on him.

He tried to feel for his knife, but again the rope cut softly into his flesh. He tried again, more cautiously this time, but his pocket was empty. Not only his knife, but the little money that he had on him, as well as his coat, were missing. His shoes had been pulled from his feet and taken too. When he moistened his lips he tasted blood, which had flowed from his temples down his cheeks, his chin, his neck, and under his shirt. His eyes were painful; if he kept them open for long he saw reddish stripes in the sky.

He decided to stand up. He drew his knees up as far as he could, rested his hands on the fresh grass and jerked himself to his feet. An elder-branch stroked his cheek, the sun dazzled him, and the rope cut into his flesh. He collapsed to the ground again, half out of his mind with pain, and then tried again. He went on trying until the blood started flowing from his hidden wounds. Then he lay still again for a long while, and let the sun and the flies do what they liked.

When he awoke for the second time the elder-bush had cast its shadow over him, and the coolness stored in it was pouring from between its branches. He must have been hit on the head. Then they must have laid him down carefully, just as a mother lays her baby behind a bush when she goes to work in the fields.

His chances all lay in the amount of free play allowed him by the rope. He dug his elbows into the ground and tested it. As soon as the rope tautened he stopped, and tried again more cautiously. If he had been able to reach the branch over his head he could have used it to drag himself to his feet, but he could not reach it. He laid his head back on the grass, rolled over, and struggled to his knees. He tested the ground with his toes, and then managed to stand up almost without effort.

A few paces away lay the path across the plateau, and among the grass were wild pinks and thistles in bloom. He tried to lift his foot to avoid trampling on them, but the rope round his ankles prevented him. He looked down at himself.

The rope was knotted at his ankles, and ran round his legs in a kind of playful pattern. He carefully bent and tried to loosen it, but loose though it seemed to be, he could not make it any looser. To avoid treading on the thistles with his bare feet, he hopped over them like a bird.
The cracking of a twig made him stop. People in this district were very prone to laughter. He was alarmed by the thought that he was in no position to defend himself. He hopped on until he reached the path. Bright fields stretched far below. He could see no sign of the nearest village, and, if he could move no faster than this, night would fall before he reached it.

He tried walking, and discovered that he could put one foot before another if he lifted each foot a definite distance from the ground and then put it down again before the rope tautened. In the same way he could actually swing his arms a little.

After the first step he fell. He fell right across the path, and made the dust fly. He expected this to be a sign for the long-suppressed laughter to break out, but all remained quiet. He was alone. As soon as the dust had settled he got up and went on. He looked down and watched the rope slacken, grow taut, and then slacken again.

When the first glow-worms appeared he managed to look up. He felt in control of himself again, and his impatience to reach the nearest village faded.

Hunger made him light-headed, and he seemed to be going so fast that not even a motor-cycle could have overtaken him; alternatively he felt as if he were standing still and that the earth was rushing past him, like a river flowing past a man swimming against the stream. The stream carried branches which had been bent southwards by the north wind, stunted young trees, and patches of grass with bright, long-stalked flowers. It ended by submerging the bushes and the young trees, leaving only the sky and the man above water-level. The moon had risen, and illuminated the bare, curved summit of the plateau, the path, which was overgrown with young grass, the bound man making his way along it with quick, measured steps, and two hares, which ran across the hill just in front of him and vanished down the slope. Though the nights were still cool at this time of the year, before midnight the bound man lay down at the edge of the escarpment and went to sleep.

In the light of the morning the animal-tamer who was camping with his circus in the field outside the village saw the bound man coming down the path, gazing thoughtfully at the ground. The bound man stopped and bent down. He held out one arm to help keep his balance and with the other picked up an empty wine-bottle. Then he straightened himself and stood erect again. He moved slowly, to avoid being cut by the rope, but to the circus proprietor what he did suggested the voluntary limitation of an enormous swiftness of movement. He was enchanted by its extraordinary gracefulness, and while the bound man looked about for a stone on which to break the bottle, so that he could use the splintered neck to cut the rope, the animal-tamer walked across the field and approached him. The first leaps of a young panther had never filled him with such delight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bound man!” His very first movements let loose a storm of applause, which out of sheer excitement caused the blood to rush to the cheeks of the animal-tamer standing at the edge of the arena. The bound man rose to his feet. His surprise whenever he did this was like that of a four-footed animal which has managed to stand on its hind-legs. He knelt, stood up, jumped and turned cart-wheels. The spectators found it as astonishing as if they had seen a bird which voluntarily remained earthbound, and confined itself to hopping. The bound man became an enormous draw. His absurd steps and little jumps, his elementary exercises in movement, made the ropedancer superfluous. His fame grew from village to village, but the motions he went through were few and always the same; they were really quite ordinary motions, which he had continually to practice in the day-time in the half-dark tent in order to retain his shackled freedom. In that he remained entirely within the limits set by his rope he was free of it, it did not confine him, but gave him wings and endowed his leaps and jumps with purpose; just as the flights of birds of passage have purpose when they take wing in the warmth of summer and hesitantly make small circles in the sky.

All the children of the neighborhood started playing the game of “bound man.” They formed rival gangs, and one day the circus people found a little girl lying bound in a ditch, with a cord tied round her neck so that she could hardly breathe. They released her, and at the end of the performance that night the bound man made a speech. He announced briefly that there was no sense in being tied up in such a way that you could not jump. After that he was regarded as a comedian.

Grass and sunlight, tent pegs driven into the ground and then pulled up again, and on to the next village. “Ladies and gentlemen, the bound man!” The summer mounted towards its climax. It bent its face deeper over the fish-ponds in the hollows, taking delight in its dark reflection, skimmed the surface of the rivers, and made the plain into what it was. Everyone who could walk went to see the bound man.

Many wanted a close-up view of how he was bound. So the circus proprietor announced after each performance that anyone who wanted to satisfy himself that the knots were real and that the rope was not made of rubber was at liberty to do so. The bound man generally waited for the crowd in the area outside the tent. He laughed or remained serious, and held out his arms for inspection. Many took the opportunity to look him in the face, others gravely tested the rope, tried the knots on his ankles, and wanted to know exactly how the length compared with the length of his limbs. They asked him how he had come to be tied up like that, and he answered patiently, always saying the same thing. Yes, he had been tied up, he said, and when he awoke he found that he had been robbed as well. Those who had done it must have been pressed for time, because they had tied him up somewhat too loosely for someone who was not supposed to be able to move and somewhat too tightly for someone who was expected to be able to move. But he did move, people pointed out. Yes, he replied, what else could he do?
Before he went to bed he always sat for a time in front of the fire. When the circus proprietor asked him why he didn’t make up a better story, he always answered that he hadn’t made up that one, and blushed. He preferred staying in the shade.

The difference between him and the other performers was that when the show was over he did not take off his rope. The result was that every movement that he made was worth seeing, and the villagers used to hang about the camp for hours, just for the sake of seeing him get up from in front of the fire and roll himself in his blanket. Sometimes the sky was beginning to lighten when he saw their shadows disappear.
The circus proprietor often remarked that there was no reason why he should not be untied after the evening performance and tied up again next day. He pointed out the ropedancers, for instance, did not stay on their rope over night. But no-one took the idea of untying him seriously.

For the bound man’s fame rested on the fact that he was always bound, that whenever he washed himself he had to wash his cloths too and vice versa, and that his only way of doing so was to jump in the river just as he was every morning when the sun came out, and that he had to be careful not to go too far out for fear of being carried away by the stream.

The proprietor was well aware that what in the last resort protected the bound man from the jealousy of the other performers was his helplessness; he deliberately left them the pleasure of watching him groping painfully from stone to stone on the river bank every morning with his wet clothes clinging to him. When his wife pointed out that even the best clothes would not stand up indefinitely to such treatment (and the bound man’s clothes were by no means of the best) he replied curtly that it was not going to last for ever. That was his answer to all objections – it was for the summer season only. But when he said this he was not being serious; he was talking like a gambler who has no intention of giving up his vice. In reality he would have been prepared cheerfully to sacrifice his lions and his rope-dancers for the bound man.

He proved this on the night when the ropedancers jumped over the fire. Afterwards he was convinced that they did it, not because it was a midsummer’s day, but because of the bound man, who as usual was lying and watching them, with that peculiar smile that might have been real or might have been only the effect of the glow on his face. In any case, no-one knew anything about him, because he never talked about anything that had happened to him before he emerged from the wood that day.

But that evening two of the performers suddenly picked him up by the arms and legs, carried him to the edge of the fire and started playfully swinging him to and fro, while two others held out their arms to catch him on the other side. In the end they threw him, but too short. The two men on the other side drew back – they explained afterwards that they did so the better to take the shock. The result was that the bound man landed at the very edge of the flames and would have been burned if the circus proprietor had not seized his arms and quickly dragged him away to save the rope which was starting to get singed. He was certain that the object had been to burn the rope. He sacked the four men on the spot.

A few nights later the proprietor’s wife was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the grass, and went outside just in time to prevent the clown from playing his last practical joke. He was carrying a pair of scissors. When he was asked for an explanation he insisted that he had no intention of taking the bound man’s life, but only wanted to cut his rope, because he felt sorry for him. But he was sacked too.

These antics amused the bound man, because he could have freed himself if he had wanted to whenever he liked, but perhaps he wanted to learn a few new jumps first. The children’s rhyme: “We travel with the circus, we travel with the circus” sometimes occurred to him while he lay awake at night. He could hear the voices of spectators on the opposite bank who had been driven too far downstream on the way home. He could see the river gleaming in the moonlight, and the young shoots growing out of the thick tops of the willow trees, and did not think about autumn yet.

The circus proprietor dreaded the danger involved for the bound man by sleep. Attempts were continually made to release him while he slept. The chief culprits were sacked rope-dancers, or children who were bribed for the purpose. But measures could be taken to safeguard against these. A much bigger danger was that which he represented to himself. In his dreams he forgot his rope, and was surprised by it when he woke in the darkness of morning. He would angrily try to get up, but lose his balance and fall back again. The previous evening’s applause was forgotten, sleep was still too near, his head and neck too free. He was just the opposite of a hanged man – his neck was the only part of him that was free. You had to make sure that at such moments no knife was within his reach. In the early hours of the morning the circus proprietor sometimes sent his wife to see whether the bound man was all right. If he was asleep she would bend over him and feel the rope. It had grown hard from dirt and damp. She would test the amount of free play it allowed him, and touch his tender wrists and ankles.

The most varied rumors circulated about the bound man. Some said he had tied himself up and invented the story of having been robbed, and towards the end of the summer that was the general opinion. Others maintained that he had been tied up at his own request, perhaps in league with the circus proprietor. The hesitant way in which he told his story, his habit of breaking off when the talk got around to the attack on him, contributed greatly to these rumors. Those who still believed in the robbery-with-violence story were laughed at. Nobody knew what difficulties the circus proprietor had in keeping the bound man, and how often he said he had had enough and wanted to clear off, for too much of the summer had passed.

Later however, he stopped talking about clearing off. When the proprietor’s wife brought him his food by the river and asked him how long he proposed to remain with them, he did not answer. She thought he had got used, not to being tied up, but to not forgetting for a moment that he was tied up – the only thing that anyone in his position could get used to. She asked him whether he did not think it ridiculous to be tied up all the time, but he answered that he did not. Such a variety of people – clowns, freaks, and comics, to say nothing of elephants and tigers – traveled with circuses that he did not see why a bound man should not travel with a circus too. He told her about the movements he was practicing, the new ones he had discovered, and about a new trick that had occurred to him while he was whisking flies from the animals’ eyes. He described to her how he always anticipated the effect of the rope and always restrained his movements in such a way as to prevent it from ever tautening; and she knew that there were days when he was hardly aware of the rope when he humped down from the wagon and slapped the flanks of the horses in the morning, as if he were moving in a dream. She watched him vault over the bars almost without touching them, and saw the sun on his face, and he told her that sometimes he felt as if he were not tied up at all. She answered that if he were prepared to be untied there would never be any need for him to feel tied up. He agreed that he could be untied whenever he felt like it.
The woman ended by not knowing whether she were more concerned with the man or with the rope that tied him. She told him that he could go on traveling with the circus without his rope, but she did not believe it. For what would be the point of his antics without his rope, and what would he amount to without it? Without his rope he would leave them, and the happy days would be over. She would no longer be able to sit beside him on the stones by the river without rousing suspicion, and she knew that his confined presence, and her conversations with him, of which the rope was the only subject, depended on it. Whenever she agreed that the rope had its advantages he would start talking about how troublesome it was, and whenever he started talking about its advantages she would urge him to get rid of it. All this seemed as endless as the summer itself.

At other times she was worried at the thought that she was herself hastening the end by her talk. Sometimes she would get up in the middle of the night and run across the grass to where he slept. She wanted to shake him, wake him up and ask him to keep the rope. But then she would see him lying there; he had thrown off his blanket, and there he lay like a corpse, with his legs outstretched and his arms close together, with the rope tied round them. His cloths had suffered from the heat and the water, but the rope had grown no thinner. She felt that he would go on traveling with the circus until the flesh fell from him and exposed the joints. Next morning she would plead with him more ardently than ever to get rid of his rope.

The increasing coolness of the weather gave her hope. Autumn was coming, and he would not be able to go on jumping into the river with his clothes on much longer. But the thought of losing his rope, about which he had felt indifferent earlier in the season, now depressed him.
The songs of the harvesters filled him with foreboding. “Summer has gone, summer has gone.” But he realized that soon he would have to change his clothes, and he was certain that when he had been untied it would be impossible to tie him up again in exactly the same way. About this time the proprietor started talking about traveling south that year.

The heat changed without transition into quiet, dry cold, and the fire was kept in all day long. When the bound man jumped down from the wagon he felt the coldness of the grass under his feet. The stalks were bent with ripeness. The horses dreamed on their feet and the wild animals, crouching to leap even in their sleep, seemed to be collecting gloom under their skins which would break out later.

On one of these days a young wolf escaped. The circus proprietor kept quiet about it, to avoid spreading alarm, but the wolf soon started raiding cattle in the neighborhood. People at first believed that the wolf had been driven to these parts by the prospect of a severe winter, but the circus soon became suspect. The proprietor could not conceal the loss of the animal from his own employees, so the truth was bound to come out before long. The circus people offered their aid in tracking down the beast to the burgomasters of the neighboring villagers, but all their efforts were in vain. Eventually the circus was openly blamed for the damage and the danger, and spectators stayed away.

The bound man went on performing before half-empty seats without losing anything of his amazing freedom of movement. During the day he wandered among the surrounding hills under the thin-beaten silver of the autumn sky, and, whenever he could, lay down where the sun shone longest. Soon he found a place which the twilight reached last of all, and when at last it reached him he got up most unwillingly from the withered grass. In coming down the hill he had to pass through a little wood on its southern slope, and one evening he saw the gleam of two little green lights. He knew that they came from no church window, and was not for a moment under any illusion about what they were.
He stopped. The animal came towards him through the thinning foliage. He could make out its shape, the slant of its neck, its tail which swept the ground, and its receding head. If he had not been bound, perhaps he would have tried to run away, but as it was he did not even feel fear. He stood calmly with dangling arms and looked down at the wolf’s bristling coat, under which the muscles played like his own underneath the rope. He thought the evening wind was still between him and the wolf when the beast sprang. The man took care to obey his rope.
Moving with the deliberate care that he had so often put to the test, he seized the wolf by the throat. Tenderness for a fellow-creature arose in him, tenderness for the upright being concealed in the four-footed. In a movement that resembled the drive of a great bird – he felt a sudden awareness that flying would be possible only if one were tied up in a special way – he flung himself at the animal and brought it to the ground. He felt a slight elation at having lost the fatal advantage of free limbs which causes men to be worsted.

The freedom he enjoyed in this struggle was having to adapt every movement of his limbs to the rope that tied him – the freedom of panthers, wolves, and the wild flowers that sway in the evening breeze. He ended up lying obliquely down the slope, clasping the animal’s hind-legs between his own bare feet and its head between his hands. He felt the gentleness of the faded foliage stroking the back of his hands, and he felt his own grip almost effortlessly reaching its maximum, and he felt too how he was in no way hampered by the rope.

As he left the wood light rain began to fall and obscured the setting sun. He stopped for a while under the trees at the edge of the wood. Beyond the camp and the river he saw the fields where the cattle grazed, and the places where they crossed. Perhaps he would travel south with the circus after all. He laughed softly. It was against all reason. Even if he went on putting up with his joints’ being covered with sores, which opened and bled when he made certain movements, his clothes would not stand up much longer to the friction of the rope.

The circus proprietor’s wife tried to persuade her husband to announce the death of the wolf without mentioning that it had been killed by the bound man. She said that even at the time of his greatest popularity people would have refused to believe him capable of it, and in their present angry mood, with the nights getting cooler, they would be more incredulous than ever. The wolf had attacked a group of children at play that day, and nobody would believe that it had really been killed; for the circus proprietor had many wolves, and it was easy enough for him to hang a skin on the rail and allow free entry. But he was not to be dissuaded. He thought that the announcement of the bound man’s act would revive the triumphs of the summer.

That evening the bound man’s movements were uncertain. He stumbled in one of his jumps, and fell. Before he managed to get up he heard some low whistles and catcalls, rather like birds calling at dawn. He tried to get up to quickly, as he had done once or twice during the summer, with the result that he tautened the rope and fell back again. He lay still to regain his calm, and listened to the boos and catcalls growing into an uproar. “Well, bound man, and how did you kill the wolf?” they shouted, and: “Are you the man who killed the wolf?” If he had been one of them he would not have believed it himself. He thought they had a perfect right to be angry: a circus at this time of year, a bound man, an escaped wolf, and all ending up with this. Some groups of spectators started arguing with the others, but the greater part of the audience thought the whole thing a bad joke. By the time he had got to his feet there was such a hubbub that he was barely able to make out individual words

He saw people surging up all round him, like faded leaves raised by a whirlwind in a circular valley at the centre of which all was yet still. He thought of the golden sunsets of the last few days; and the cemetery light which lay over the blight of all that he had build up during so many nights, the gold frame which the pious hang round dark, old pictures, this sudden collapse of everything, filled him with anger.

The wanted him to repeat his battle with the wolf. He said that such a thing had no place in a circus performance, and the proprietor declared that he did not keep animals to have them slaughtered in front of an audience. But the mob stormed the ring and forced them towards the cages. The proprietor’s wife made her way between the seats to the exit and managed to get round to the cages from the other side. She pushed aside the attendant whom the crowd had forced to open a cage door, but the spectators dragged her back and prevented the door from being shut.

“Aren’t you the woman who used to lie with him by the river in the summer?” they called out. “How does he hold you in his arms?” She shouted back at them that they needn’t believe in the bound man if they didn’t want to, they had never deserved him – painted clowns were good enough for them.

The bound man felt as if the bursts of laughter were what he had been expecting ever since early May. What had smelt so sweet all through the summer no stank. But, if they insisted, he was ready to take on all the animals in the circus. He had never felt so much at one with his rope.

Gently he pushed the woman aside. Perhaps he would travel south with them after all. He stood in the open doorway of the cage, and he saw the wolf, a strong young animal, rise to its feet, and he heard the proprietor grumbling again, about the loss of his exhibits. He clapped his hands to attract the animal’s attention, and when it was near enough he turned to slam the cage door. He looked the woman in the face. Suddenly he remembered the proprietor’s warning to suspect of murderous intentions anyone near him who had a sharp instrument in his hand. At the same moment he felt the blade on his wrists, as cool as the water of the river in autumn, which during the last few weeks he had been barely able to stand. The rope curled up in a tangle beside him while he struggled free. He pushed the woman back, but there was no point in anything he did now. Had he been insufficiently on his guard against those who wanted to release him, against the sympathy in which they wanted to lull him? Had he lain too long on the river bank? If she had cut the cord at any other moment it would have been better than this.

He stood in the middle of the cage, and rid himself of the rope like a snake discarding its skin. It amused him to see the spectators shrinking back. Did they realize that he had no choice now? Or that fighting the wolf now would prove nothing whatever? At the same time he felt all his blood rush to his feet. He felt suddenly weak.

The rope, which fell at its feet like a snare, angered the wolf more than the entry of a stranger into its cage. It crouched to spring. The man reeled, and grabbed the pistol that hung ready at the side of the cage. The, before anyone could stop him, he shot the wolf between the eyes. The animal reared, and touched him in falling.

On the way to the river he heard the footsteps of his pursuers – spectators, the rope-dancers, the circus proprietor, and the proprietor’s wife, who persisted in the chase longer than anyone else. He hid in a clump of bushes and listened to them hurrying past, and later on streaming in the opposite direction back tot he camp. The moon shone on the meadow; in that light its color was that of both growth and death.

When he came to the river his anger died away. At dawn it seemed to him as if lumps of ice were floating in the water, and as if snow had fallen, obliterating memory.


Please write an essay indicating your vision of the role of human rights in our society and your dedication to the furtherance of human rights. 

Word limit 1000.


Reference style: Harvard or Chicago

12pt double or 1.5 spacing

1. What does Kant mean by Enlightenment

2. The final line in the opening chapter of Marx and Engels Manifesto of the Communist Party is “What the bourgeoisie therefore produces, above all, are its own grave-diggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable”. What do they mean

3. According to Durkheim, why is social solidarity threatened by the forced division of labour

4. Define Goffman’s term impression management and how it is connected to the work of George Herbert Mead.

5. Briefly define the culture industry and how individualisation plays into it.

How does Weber’s definition of rationality in Bureaucracy differ from Horkheimer’s definition of Reason



Checklist for your Recommended Cover Letter Resources Guide submission: 

1. List three Cover-letter-advice related sources, 

2. Provide a useful summary for each listed source, (This is where people often sacrifice points because their summary isn’t usefully specific.)

3. Provide the URL (web address) for each, and

4. Be at least 200 words long.

Thinking about Cover Letters

There are genuine debates, in this age of computer-scanned resumes, about how much longer prospective employers will continue to ask for cover letters as part of the standard application package. One thing is sure — many job postings today still require this specialized document. The cover letter provides information to link the applicant’s skills and experiences to the job ad in a more narrative (storytelling) fashion than is possible with a resume.

For this assignment, you’ll write your own Recommended Cover Letter Resources Guide, providing a brief summary of what each resource on your guide offers that you find potentially useful to people who need to write a cover letter template to use in the future.

You’ll need to research cover-letter-writing advice, using resources from the 
class LibGuide (Links to an external site.)
FIU Handshake (Links to an external site.)
, and any other source you personally find helpful, finding the three items that make up your Recommended Cover Letter Resources Guide.

For each source on your list, provide a brief but specific summary of what that resource offers that you find potentially useful to people who need to write a cover letter template to use in the future. 


Resource Examples

General, vague summary 

A specific, useful summary

This resource is good because there are lots of letters and examples that you can see to base yours off of.

The article was published in the Harvard Business Review and starts with examples of how to write a strong opening sentence. It was published recently, so it includes helpful guidance on digital job applications. 

And finally, be sure that for each item on your Recommended Cover Letter Resource Guide that you provide the URL to that source –the URL (web address) that you provide will let your readers instantly connect to any source you list that they are curious to investigate themselves. 



Ancient Civilizations offers a comprehensive and straightforward account of the world’s fi rst
civilizations and how they were discovered, drawing on many avenues of inquiry including
archaeological excavations, surveys, laboratory work, highly specialized scientifi c investigations,
and both historical and ethnohistorical records. This book covers the earliest civilizations and
the great powers in the Near East, moving on to the fi rst Aegean civilizations, the Mediterra-
nean world in the fi rst millennium, Imperial Rome, northeast Africa, the divine kings in south-
east Asia, and empires in East Asia, as well as early states in the Americas and Andean civilization.

Ancient Civilizations includes a number of features to support student learning: a wealth of
images, including several new illustrations; feature boxes which expand on key sites, fi nds and
written sources; and an extensive guide to further reading. With new perceptions of the origin
and collapse of states, including a review of the issue of sustainability, this fourth edition has
been extensively updated in the light of spectacular new discoveries and the latest theoretical

Examining the world’s pre-industrial civilizations from a multidisciplinary perspective and
offering a comparative analysis of the fi eld which explores the connections between all civili-
zations around the world, Scarre and Fagan, both established authorities on world prehistory,
provide a valuable introduction to pre-industrial civilizations in all their brilliant diversity.

Chris Scarre is an archaeologist specializing in the prehistory of Europe and the Mediter-
ranean, with a particular interest in the archaeology of Atlantic façade. He has participated
in fi eldwork projects in Britain, France, Greece, and India, and has directed excavations at
Neolithic sites in France, Portugal and the Channel Islands. Formerly Deputy Director of the
McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, University of Cambridge, he is now Profes-
sor of Archaeology at Durham University, UK, and editor of the leading international journal
of archaeology Antiquity .

Brian Fagan is one of the world’s leading archaeological writers and an internationally
recognized authority on world prehistory. He is Professor Emeritus of Anthropology at the
University of California, Santa Barbara, where he specialized in writing and lecturing about
archaeology to wide audiences. Professor Fagan has written several best-selling textbooks:
Ancient Lives: An Introduction to Archaeology and Prehistory ; Archaeology: A Brief Introduction ; Archae-
ology and You ; In the Beginning: An Introduction to Archaeology ; A Brief History of Archaeology: Clas-
sical Times to the Twenty-First Century ; People of the Earth ; and World Prehistory: A Brief Introduction.

This page intentionally left blank

Fourth Edition

Chris Scarre
Brian M. Fagan

Fourth edition published 2016
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 2016 Chris Scarre and Brian M. Fagan (as the Lindbriar Foundation)

The right of Chris Scarre and Brian M. Fagan (as the Lindbriar Foundation) to be identifi ed
as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and
are used only for identifi cation and explanation without intent to infringe.

First edition, second edition and third edition published by Pearson Education, Inc.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Scarre, Christopher.
Ancient civilizations / Christopher Scarre, Brian M. Fagan. — Fourth edition.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Civilizations, Ancient. I. Fagan, Brian M. II. Title.
CB311.S33 2016

ISBN: 978-1-138-18163-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-64679-4 (ebk)

Typeset in Bembo
by Apex CoVantage, LLC


List of Figures xi
List of Tables xix
Preface xxi


Background 1

1 The Study of Civilization 3

What is a “Civilization”? 5
Comparing Civilizations 8
Civilizations and Their Neighbors 9
“Primary” and “Secondary” Civilizations 10
The Rediscovery of Ancient Civilizations 11

2 Theories of States 23

Historical and Anthropological Perspectives 25
Four Classic Theories for the Emergence of State Societies 29
Coercive versus Voluntaristic Theories 36
Cultural Systems and Civilization 36
Ecological Theories 37
Social Theories 39
Cycling Chiefdoms: Processes and Agents 44
The Collapse of Civilizations 46
Civilization and Sustainability 48
Western and Indigenous Science 52


The First Civilizations 55

3 Mesopotamia: The First Cities (3500–2000 B.C.) 59

The Setting 61
Irrigation and Alluvium: Hassuna, Samarra, Halaf, and Ubaid (6500–4200 B.C. ) 63

vi Contents

The Uruk Revolution 66
The Early Dynastic Period (2900–2350 B.C. ) 78
The Akkadian Empire (2334–2230 B.C. ) 85
Imperial Ur (2112–2004 B.C. ) 88
Wider Horizons (2500–2000 B.C. ) 90

4 Egyptian Civilization 94

Kmt: “The Black Land” 95
Origins (5000–2920 B.C. ) 98
The Archaic Period (2920–2680 B.C. ): Kingship, Writing, and Bureaucracy 107
The Old Kingdom (c. 2680–2134 B.C. ): Territorial and Divine Kingship 111
The First Intermediate Period (2134–2040 B.C. ) 118
The Middle Kingdom (2040–1640 B.C. ): The Organized Oasis 119
The Second Intermediate Period (1640–1550 B.C. ) 120
The New Kingdom (1550–1070 B.C. ): Imperial Kings 121
The Decline of Egypt (after 1100 B.C. ) 129

5 South Asia: Indus and Later Civilizations 134

The Origins of Village Life and the Rise of the Indus
Civilization (before 2500 B.C. ) 136

Mature Harappan Civilization (c. 2500–2050 B.C. ) 141
Rural Interlude (2000–600 B.C. ) 150
Early Historic Cities (600–150 B.C. ) 151

6 The First Chinese Civilizations 153

Setting 155
Millet and Rice (c. 7000–4500 B.C. ) 155
Symbolism in the Middle Neolithic (4500–2700 B.C. ) 157
Elite Traditions in the Longshan Phase (2700–2000 B.C. ) 159
Three Dynasties: Xia, Shang, and Zhou (before 2000 B.C.–1046 B.C. ) 161
The Western Zhou Period (1046–771 B.C. ) 174


Great Powers in the Near East 177

7 Near Eastern Kingdoms (2000–1200 B.C.) 179

Bronze Age Cities in Anatolia (2000–1700 B.C. ) 180
The Struggle for Mesopotamia (2000–1800 B.C. ) 182
The World of the Mari Letters (1810–1750 B.C. ) 184
The Emergence of Babylon and the Old Babylonian Period (2004–1595 B.C. ) 185
The Rise of the Hittites (1650–1400 B.C. ) 188
Egypt and Mitanni: War in the Levant (1550–1400 B.C. ) 190
The Hittites in the Levant (1400–1200 B.C. ) 190

Contents vii

The Hittites in Anatolia (1400–1200 B.C. ) 192
Mesopotamia and Iran (1400–1200 B.C. ) 196

8 The Near East in the First Millennium B.C. 198

A Reordered World (1200–1000 B.C. ) 199
The Mediterranean Coastlands (1000–700 B.C. ) 200
The Archaeology of Empire 206
Assyria Resurgent (911–680 B.C. ) 207
The Mountain Kingdom of Urartu (c. 830–600 B.C. ) 210
The Assyrian Apogee (680–612 B.C. ) 211
The Neo-Babylonian Empire (612–539 B.C. ) 214
Phrygians and Lydians (eighth century–500 B.C. ) 215
The Rise of the Persians (614–490 B.C. ) 218


The Mediterranean World 221

9 The First Aegean Civilizations 223

The Aegean Early Bronze Age (3200–2100 B.C. ) 225
Mainland Greece and the Cycladic Islands 227
Minoan Civilization: The Palace Period (2100–1450 B.C. ) 229
Crete and Its Neighbors 237
Mycenaean Greece (1600–1050 B.C. ) 238
After the Palaces: Postpalatial Greece (1200–1050 B.C. ) 247

10 The Mediterranean World in the First Millennium (1000–30 B.C.) 250

The Recovery of Greece (1000–750 B.C. ) 251
Phoenicians and Carthaginians (1000–750 B.C. ) 253
The Greek Colonies (800–600 B.C. ) 254
Etruscan Italy (900–400 B.C. ) 256
Archaic Greece (750–480 B.C. ) 261
Three Greek Cities: Athens, Corinth, Sparta 263
Classical Greece (480–323 B.C. ) 266
Sequel: The Hellenistic World 274

11 Imperial Rome 278

The Roman Republic (510–31 B.C. ) 279
The Early Roman Empire (31 B.C. – A.D. 235) 282
The Culture of Empire 283
The Military Establishment 285
Arteries of Empire: Roads and Sea-Lanes 288
Cities 290
The End of the Ancient World 301

viii Contents


Northeast Africa and Asia 305

Introduction: The Erythraean Sea 307

12 Northeast Africa: Kush, Meroe, and Aksum 311

Nubia and the Middle Nile 312
Camels and Monsoons 322
Meroe (c. 350 B.C. – A.D. 300) 323
Aksum ( A.D. 100–1100) 325

13 Divine Kings in Southeast Asia 330

The Rise of States in Southeast Asia (c. 2000 B.C. – A.D. 150) 331
The Angkor State ( A.D. 802–1430) 337

14 Kingdoms and Empires in East Asia (770 B.C.–A.D. 700) 349

Society Transformed: The Eastern Zhou Period (770–221 B.C. ) 350
The First Chinese Empire (221–206 B.C. ) 354
The Han Empire (206 B.C. – A.D. 220) 357
Secondary States: Korea and Japan 366


Early States in the Americas 371

15 Lowland Mesoamerica 373

Mesoamerica 374
Village Farmers (c. 7000–2000 B.C. ) 376
Preclassic: The Olmec (1500–500 B.C. ) 378
Preclassic Maya Civilization (before 1000 B.C. – A.D. 200) 382
Classic Maya Civilization ( A.D. 200–900) 390
The Ninth-Century Collapse 401
Postclassic Maya Civilization ( A.D. 900–1517) 404

16 Highland Mesoamerica 408

The Rise of Highland Civilization (2000–500 B.C. ) 410
Monte Albán (900 B.C. – A.D. 750) 411
Teotihuacán (200 B.C. – A.D. 750) 413
The Toltecs (c. A.D. 900–1200) 418
The Rise of Aztec Civilization ( A.D. 1200–1519) 420
The Spanish Conquest ( A.D. 1517–1521) 429

17 The Foundations of Andean Civilization 431

The Andean World: Poles of Civilization 432
The Preceramic Period (3000–1800/1200 B.C. ) 435

Contents ix

The “Maritime Foundations” Hypothesis 439
The Initial Period (1800–800 B.C. ) 440

18 Andean States (200 B.C.–A.D. 1534) 452

The Early Intermediate Period (200 B.C. – A.D. 600) 454
North Coast: Moche Civilization ( A.D. 100–700) 455
Southern Pole: Nazca (A.D. 100 –c. A.D. 700) 464
The Middle Horizon: The First Highland States ( A.D. 600–1000) 466
The Late Intermediate Period ( A.D. 1000–1400) 470
The Late Horizon: The Inka Empire ( A.D. 1476–1534) 473
The Spanish Conquest ( A.D. 1532–1534) 478

19 Epilogue 480

Similar but Different 481
Interconnectedness 483
Volatility 484
The Stream of Time 485

Guide to Further Reading 487
References 507
Index 509

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Chapter 1

1.0 Assyrian King Assurbanipal (668–627 B.C.) hunting lions, a
scene depicted on his palace wall at Nineveh, Iraq. 3

1.1 The distribution of early pre-industrial civilizations. 4
1.2 Victim of falling ash in Pompeii, Italy, A.D . 79. 12
1.3 Giovanni Belzoni (1778–1823) transporting a head of pharaoh

Ramesses II to the Nile. 14
1.4 Austen Henry Layard supervises the removal of a winged bull

from an Assyrian palace at Nimrud, Iraq, in 1847. 15
1.5 Reconstruction of the “Royal Grave” of Puabi at Ur,

excavated by Sir Leonard Woolley in 1922. 16
1.6 The Maya center at Uxmal, Mexico. 19
1.7 The capture of Cuzco, Peru. 20

Chapter 2

2.0 The goddess Ma’at, goddess of rightness, spreads her protective
wings in Queen Nefertari’s tomb, Valley of the Queens, Egypt.
Dynasty XIX, 1198 B.C.E . 23

2.1 Aztec warriors and their prisoners. 25
2.2 Wooden funerary model of estate workers laboring in a carpentry

shop from the tomb of an Egyptian Middle Kingdom offi cial. 33
2.3 Utimuni, nephew of Shaka Zulu, in warrior uniform. 45

Chapter 3

3.0a Carved stone pillar from Göbekli Tepe in southeast Turkey,
tenth millennium B.C. 56

3.0b Statue of the Sumerian scribe Abikhil, superintendent of the
temple at Mari, c. 2600 B.C . 59

3.1 Map of the ancient Near East. 62
3.2 Accounts tablet with cuneiform script, c. 2400 B.C. (terracotta). 65
3.3 Plan of Uruk, showing Kullaba and Eanna precincts. 67
3.4 Settlement patterns of the Akkadian period in southern Mesopotamia . 69
3.5 Cylinder seal and rolled-out seal impression. 70
3.6 Plan of excavation at Tell Abu Salabikh in southern Iraq. 73
3.7a Map showing the extent of Uruk infl uence in the Near East. 76
3.7b Plan of Habuba Kabira. 77
3.8 The Stele of the Vultures. 81

xii Figures

3.9a Gold and lapis bull-head lyre from Pu-abi’s tomb. 83
3.9b Plan of Pu-abi’s tomb and death pit. 83
3.10 Head of an Akkadian ruler, the supposed Sargon of Agade. 86
3.11 Reconstruction of the Ur ziggurat. 89
3.12 Carved vessel in soft stone from Susa, in lowland Elam. 92

Chapter 4

4.0 Khafre, builder of the second pyramid at Giza. 94
4.1 Map of sites and geographical features mentioned in Chapter 4. 96
4.2 Egypt before the state: pottery vessels of the fourth millennium B.C. 102
4.3 Approximate positions of known chiefdoms in predynastic

Egypt, c. 3300 B.C. This is a gross simplifi cation of a very complex
and ever-changing political situation. 105

4.4a and b The Narmer palette, a slab of slate carved on both sides with scenes
that commemorate King Narmer. 106

4.5 Egyptian writing is referred to as hieroglyphic from the hieroglyphs, the
familiar symbols that appear in formal inscriptions and on tomb walls. 110

4.6 Step Pyramid complex of King Djoser at Saqqara. 112
4.7 (a) The Pyramids of Giza. (b) Remains of the original smooth

casing stones that covered the sides. 115
4.8 The Sphinx at Giza. 116
4.9 The noble Meketre inspecting his livestock. 117
4.10 a and b The Temple of Amun at Karnak. 124
4.11 The pharaoh Akhenaten with his wife Nefertiti and three daughters. 125
4.12 Elite housing in the short-lived Egyptian “new town” of Amarna. 127
4.13 a and b Tutankhamun’s tomb . 128
4.14 Abu Simbel temple, built by Ramesses II on the banks of the

Nile in Lower Nubia. 129
4.15 Estate workers working in the fi elds of Menna, scribe of the fi elds and

estate inspector under pharaoh Tuthmosis III of the Eighteenth Dynasty. 130

Chapter 5

5.0 Terracotta fi gurine from Mohenjodaro, Pakistan. Third millennium B.C. 134
5.1 Map of archaeological sites mentioned in Chapter 5. 135
5.2 View across the Citadel at Mohenjodaro. 142
5.3 The Great Bath on the Citadel, Mohenjodaro. 143
5.4 A street in Mohenjodaro. 143
5.5 Indus civilization steatite seal. 144
5.6 Limestone sculpture of a bearded man, Mohenjodaro. 146
5.7 Fragmentary gaming board of terracotta with counters

of stone and terracotta, Mohenjodaro. 148
5.8 Map of the extent of the Mauryan empire. 151

Chapter 6

6.0 Bronze head from a ritual pit at Sanxingdui, China, c. 1200–1000 B.C. 153
6.1 Map of major Shang period sites: Anyang, Panlongcheng, Erlitou,

Zhengzhou, Qishan, Sanxingdui, Zhukaigou, Xingan. 162
6.2 Plan of the urban cluster at Zhengzhou. 164

Figures xiii

6.3 Anyang. (a) Diagram of urban cluster. (b) Plan of Xibeigang
cemetery. (c) Reconstruction of Xiaotun house. (d) Diagram of
shaft grave with single ramp. 166

6.4 Ivory vessel inlaid with turquoise, one of the many fi nds
from the richly furnished tomb of Lady Fuhao at Anyang. 168

6.5 Shang ritual vessels. 170
6.6 Map of Shang period bronze traditions. 171

Chapter 7

7.0 The god Sharruma embraces the Hittite king Tudhaliyas IV in the
rock-cut sanctuary of Yazilikaya near the Hittite capital Boghazköy. 179

7.1 The palace of Zimri-Lim at Mari. 185
7.2 The Law Code of Hammurabi. 187
7.3 Plan of Boghazköy, ancient Hattusas, capital of the Hittite empire. 188
7.4 Map of the Near East in the mid-second millennium. 189
7.5 Amarna letter, clay tablet inscribed in cuneiform. 191
7.6a Relief of the “soldier gods” from the Hittite sanctuary of Yazilikaya. 193
7.6b Plan of the open-air sanctuary of Yazilikaya. 194
7.7 Stamp seal of the Hittite offi cial Tarhunta-piya, found in

excavations at Kilise Tepe. 195
7.8 The reconstructed entrance to the ziggurat at Choga Zanbil. 196

Chapter 8

8.0 King Assurnasirpal receives the surrender of prisoners of war. 198
8.1 The harbor of Byblos, on the coast of modern Lebanon. 202
8.2a Phoenician inscription from the Ahiram sarcophagus at

Byblos, eleventh century B.C. 203
8.2b Table of Phoenician alphabet with Hebrew, Greek, and modern

English equivalents. 203
8.3 Plan of Phoenician city of Tyre with harbor works. 205
8.4 Nimrud ivory found in the remains of Fort Shalmaneser, an Assyrian

storehouse and military arsenal on the edge of ancient Nimrud. 206
8.5 King Assurnasirpal hunts from horseback. 208
8.6 Map showing the expansion of the Assyrian empire: the frontier of

the empire under Tiglath-pileser III, Sargon II, and Assurbanipal. 209
8.7 View of Van kale, ancient Tushpa, the capital of the Urartian kingdom. 210
8.8 Archaeological surveys around Tell Hamoukar in northeast

Syria and in the Jazira area of northwest Iraq. 213
8.9a Detail of glazed brick panel from the famous Ishtar Gate built by

Nebuchadnezzar. 216
8.9b Reconstruction of Babylon, looking across the Ishtar Gate

toward the city center. 216
8.10 The Behistun relief. 218

Chapter 9

9.0 The “Lily prince” fresco from Knossos, Crete. 223
9.1 Map of the Bronze Age Aegean, showing sites on Crete, the

Cyclades, and the Aegean coast of Turkey. 225

xiv Figures

9.2 Cycladic marble fi gurine of the classic “folded arm” type. 229
9.3 Reconstruction of the palace of Knossos, Crete. 231
9.4 Bull-leaping (Toreador) fresco from the palace at Knossos, Crete. 232
9.5 Faience fi gurine of the Serpent Goddess of Knossos. 235
9.6 Houses of the Late Bronze Age town of Akrotiri on Santorini. 236
9.7 Gold mask of Agamemnon from the Shaft Graves at Mycenae. 238
9.8 The Lion Gate at Mycenae, principal entrance into the citadel. 239
9.9a Tiryns: plan of citadel showing its development during the

fourteenth and thirteenth centuries B.C. 241
9.9b Tiryns: photo of archery casemates. 242
9.10 Clay tablets with Linear B script from the palace

of Knossos (Crete). 242
9.11 Modern replica of the Uluburun ship. 245
9.12 Fortifi cations of Troy VI. 248

Chapter 10

10.0 The goddess Athena mourning the Athenian dead. 250
10.1 Graph of burials at Athens, 1100–450 B.C. 252
10.2 Map of Greek colonies around the Mediterranean and

Black Sea coasts. 254
10.3a, b The Etruscan cemetery of Banditaccia, near Cerveteri. (a) Photo
and c of the burial mounds; (b) Plan of the cemetery as a whole;
(c) Plan and elevation of the Tomba della Cornice. 258
10.4 (a) and (b) Greek kouros. 262
10.5 (a) Athenian black-fi gure vessel. (b) Athenian red-fi gure skyphos,

depicting Amazons (legendary female warriors from the
Black Sea region). 265

10.6 Bronze helmet of “Corinthian” type from the Greek sanctuary
at Olympia in the Peloponnese, late 6th century BC. 268

10.7 (a) Photograph of the Parthenon. (b) Detail of the Parthenon
frieze, showing young aristocrats riding in procession. 269

10.8 Greek land division around the city of Chersonesos (Crimea). 271
10.9 Map of Halieis and its surroundings, c. 300 B.C. –30 B.C. 273
10.10 Greek houses at Olynthos. A city block and its residences. 275

Chapter 11

11.0 Marble bust of the Roman emperor Hadrian ( A.D. 117–138). 278
11.1 Map of the Roman Empire in the second century A.D. 281
11.2 Statue of Emperor Augustus in military regalia from Prima

Porta, c. 20 B.C. 283
11.3 Hadrian’s Wall . 287
11.4 (a) Graph and maps of the numbers and locations of

Roman shipwrecks
in the Mediterranean. (b) Ostia mosaic of a ship
and lighthouse. 289

11.5 (a) The Arch of Septimius Severus, dedicated A.D. 203 in the Forum
in Rome in honor of his victories over the Parthians. (b) Plan of
imperial Rome. 291

Figures xv

11.6 Plan of Pompeii. 293
11.7 Wall painting from the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii. 294
11.8a Colosseum, cut-away diagram. 295
11.8b The Hunt: relief depicting gladiators. 296
11.8c Photograph of the interior of the Colosseum today. 296
11.9 (a) Map and stamp of Sestius amphorae. (b) Amphora label from Spain. 298
11.10 Hoard of 126 Roman gold coins (aurei) found at Didcot

in southern England. 300
11.11 The Lepidina letter. (Vindolanda tablet LVII.) 302

Chapter 12

12.0 Nubian soldiers march in the tomb of the Middle Kingdom
Egyptian offi cial, Meshti. 311

12.1 Map of major trade routes across Asia and the Indian Ocean and
sources of traded commodities. 313

12.2 The deffufa at Kerma, Sudan. 318
12.3 Kerma royal burial mound. The people are hastening to complete

the mound after the interment. 319
12.4 The Jebel Barkal temple, Nubia. 321
12.5 General view of Meroe’s royal cemeteries. 324
12.6 A royal stela at Aksum, Ethiopia. 327

Chapter 13

13.0 A tree envelops a temple building at Ta Prohm, Cambodia. 330
13.1 Map of archaeological sites described in Chapter 13. 332
13.2 View of Angkor Wat, a representation of the Hindu universe. 339
13.3 Paved causeway at Angkor Wat. 340
13.4 Bas-relief of dancing girls at Angkor Wat. 341
13.5 The Bayon at Angkor Thom, the temple-mortuary of Jayavarman VII. 345

Chapter 14

14. 0 An offi cer fi gure from the pottery army of the fi rst Chinese
emperor, Shihuangdi, at Mount Lishan, China. 349

14.1 Plan of Eastern Zhou city of Yanxiadu. 351
14.2 Chinese circular coins. 353
14.3 (a) and (b) The tomb of Qin Shihuangdi. 355
14.4 Map of the Qin and Han empires. 357
14.5a Plan of the Mawangdui tomb. 359
14.5b Jade burial suit of Liu Shen, King of Zhonghshan. 360
14.6 Plan of Han Changan. 362
14.7 Tarim mummy from Zaghunluq, Xinjiang, China. 364
14.8 Plan of the Daisen keyhole tomb. 368

Chapter 15

15.0 A battle scene from a reconstructed Bonampak mural. 373
15.1 Map of archaeological sites and states mentioned in Chapter 15. 376

xvi Figures

15.2 Giant Olmec stone head from San Lorenzo. 380
15.3 An Olmec altar at La Venta. 381
15.4 The Maize God appears in a Preclassic mural at San Bartolo,

Guatemala. 383
15.5a and b The diffi culties of Maya archaeology. 385
15.6 The Maya calendar. 387
15.7 The ball court at Copán. 389
15.8 The central precincts of Tikal. 393
15.9 Central precincts of Palenque, with the Temple of the Inscriptions. 396
15.10 A Maya plate depicts Hunaphu, the father of the mythical Hero Twins. 397
15.11 Reconstruction of the central area of Copán. 399
15.12 Reconstruction of the Hieroglyphic Stairway at Copán. 400
15.13(a) Chichen Itzá. 405
and (b)

Chapter 16

16.0 Elderly Aztecs smoking and drinking pulque , a fermented beverage. 408
16.1 Map showing archaeological sites and civilizations mentioned

in Chapter 16. 409
16.2 The central precincts of Monte Albán, Valley of Oaxaca, Mexico. 412
16.3 Teotihuacán showing the Pyramid of the Sun (back left) and the

Street of the Dead, with the Pyramids of the Sun in the foreground. 414
16.4 Temple of Quetzalcoatl, Teotihuacán. 415
16.5 Colossal warriors atop Pyramid B at Tula. 420
16.6 A stylized artist’s impression of the central precincts of Tenochtitlán

and the Valley of Mexico. 422
16.7 The excavated Templo Major in the heart of Mexico City. 423
16.8 A priest offers a human heart to the sun and war god Huitzilopochtli. 425
16.9 An inventory of taxes paid by conquered cities in the Aztec empire. 426
16.10 Aztec warriors in their fi nery. 428

Chapter 17

17.0 Andean textiles. 431
17.1 Map of the Andean region and archaeological sites mentioned

in Chapter 17. 434
17.2 A terraced Caral pyramid in the Supe Valley. 438
17.3 El Paraíso. 442
17.4a and b Cerro Sechín wall (a) and Cerro Sechín monoliths (b). 444
17.5a Chavín de Huantar plan. 446
17.5b Lanzón monolith, Chavín. 446
17.6 A shaman fi gure and other anthropomorphic beings on a

Paracas woolen cloth. 450

Chapter 18

18.0 Moche culture, Peru: stirrup spout head vessel bearing a
human portrait. 452

18.1 Map of archaeological sites and states described in Chapter 18. 454

Figures xvii

18.2 Moche pyramid at Huaca del Sol. 457
18.3 Artist’s reconstruction of Tomb 1 at Sipán. 458
18.4 A Moche lord presides over a parade of prisoners who are

being sacrifi ced. 459
18.5 A golden ear ornament worn by a lord of Sipán, inlaid with turquoise. 460
18.6 The huaca at Dos Cabezas in the Jequetepeque Valley. 461
18.7 Blowing fi ne dust off the funerary bundle of a noble. 462
18.8 Nazca lines (geoglyphs). 465
18.9 The Kalasaya precinct at Tiwanaku. 468
18.10 A Sicán golden funerary mask from Huaca Loro. 470
18.11 The Tschudi Palace, Chan Chan, with its great enclosures

reserved for the elite. 472
18.12 Intensive land use by the Inka: agricultural terraces above Pisac,

near Cuzco. 474
18.13 An Inka offi cial with his quipu. 476
18.14 Inka architecture at the fortress of Sacsahuaman, near Cuzco. 477
18.15 Machu Picchu. 478

Chapter 19

19.0 Borobodur, Indonesia. A Buddhist temple constructed in the
ninth century A.D . 480

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1.1 Chronological table of the world’s earliest civilizations . 5
3.1 Chronological table of Early Mesopotamian civilization . 61
4.1 Egyptian and Nubian Civilization . 97
4.2 Subdivisions of Egyptian history with major cultural and

historical developments . 99
5.1 Chronological table of Indus civilization and later states in

South and Southeast Asia . 137
6.1 Chronological chart of Chinese civilization, Neolithic to Han . 156
7.1 Later Near Eastern kingdoms . 181
9.1 Chronological table of Aegean civilization . 226
11.1 Chronological table of Ancient Rome . 280
15.1 Chronological table of Mesoamerican civilizations . 375
17.1 Chronological table of sites and cultures in Chapters 17 and 18 . 433

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Three thousand, four thousand years maybe, have passed and gone since human feet last trod the fl oor
on which you stand, and yet, as you note the recent signs of life around you—the half-fi lled bowl of
mortar for the door, the darkened lamp, the fi nger mark on the freshly painted surface, the farewell
garland dropped on the threshold. . . . Time is annihilated by little intimate details such as these, and
you feel an intruder.

—Egyptologist Howard Carter, notebook entry on
Tutankhamun’s tomb, November 26, 1922.

Ancient civilizations tempt romantic visions of the past: golden pharaohs, great cities and temple
mounds, lost palaces mantled in swirling mists. The discovery of the Assyrians, Homeric Troy,
and the Maya civilization of Central America was one of the nineteenth century’s great adven-
ture stories. Nineteenth-century archaeologists like Englishman Austen Henry Layard, who dug
biblical Nineveh, and New Yorker John Lloyd Stephens, who revealed the ancient Maya to an
astonished world, became celebrities and best-selling authors. They and other early excavators
are the prototypes of the swashbuckling Indiana Jones of late-twentieth-century movie fame.
The romance continued into the 1920s, culminating in Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon’s
dramatic discovery of the undisturbed tomb of the pharaoh Tutankhamun and Sir Leonard
Woolley’s spectacular excavation of the Royal Tombs at Ur in Iraq. Even today, the occasional
spectacular fi nd, like the terracotta regiment of the fi rst Chinese emperor Qin Shihuangdi or the
Lords of Sipán in coastal Peru, reminds us that archaeology can be a profoundly exciting endeavor.

The nineteenth century was the century of archaeological adventure. The twentieth cen-
tury saw archaeology turn from a casual pursuit into a complex, highly specialized academic
discipline. Ancient Civilizations describes what we know about the world’s early civilizations
today, 175 years after John Lloyd Stephens and artist Frederick Catherwood stumbled through
the ruins of Maya Copán and Paul-Emile Botta and Austen Henry Layard electrifi ed London
and Paris with spectacular bas-reliefs from Assyrian palaces. This book is about science and
multidisciplinary research, not about adventure and romance, an attempt to summarize state-
of-the-art knowledge about preindustrial civilizations in every corner of the world. We draw
on many avenues of inquiry: on archaeological excavations, surveys, and laboratory work; on
highly specialized scientifi c investigations into such topics as the sources of volcanic glass and
metals; and on both historical and ethnohistorical records. In the fi nal analysis, this book is a
synthesis of science and ancient voices, for in many cases the latter add telling detail to a story
reconstructed from purely material remains.

Ancient Civilizations is divided into six parts that lead logically from one to the other. Part I gives
essential background, some key defi nitions, and historical information. It also describes some
of the major theories concerning the development of civilizations, one of the key controversies
of archaeology for more than a century. Part II focuses on the very fi rst civilizations: Sumer,

xxii Preface

Egypt, the Indus Valley, and the earliest Chinese states.


Reading help

  • 2 months ago


After reading the article(s) and watching the video(s), answer questions bellow

Video – 
8 Common Job Interview Question & Answers (Links to an external site.)

Video –  
8 Smart Questions to Ask Hiring Managers (Links to an external site.)

Video – 
2 Common Interview Mistakes (Links to an external site.)

Video – 
How to Answer Behavioral Based Interview Questions (Links to an external site.)

Directions: After reading the assigned article(s) and watching the assigned
video(s), respond to the following questions.

1. Niharika mentions attrition rate in tip number 4, what is attrition rate?

2. JT discuss the 4 C’s when asking hiring managers questions, what do the 4 C’s stand for?

3. Please list which of the questions to ask hiring managers did you NOT have in your repertoire prior to watching the video (there may be more than one –
that is the intention – to add to your repertoire so you are equipped to
handle different scenarios).

4. What are the 2 common interview mistakes that JT discusses?

5. What is JT’s formula for responding to behavioral based questions?


 Literary AnalysisIn this you should combine your practice responding and analyzing short stories with support derived from research. So far, in the discussion boards, we have practiced primarily formal analysis.  Now I want you to practice “joining the conversation.”  In this you will write a literary analysis that incorporates the ideas of others.  The trick is to accurately present ideas and interpretations gathered from your research while adding to the conversation by presenting your own ideas and analysis.    You will be evaluated, in part, on how well you use external sources.  I want to see that you can quote, paraphrase and summarize without plagiarizing.  Remember, any unique idea must be credited, even if you put it in your own words.Choose one of the approaches explained in the “Approaches to Literary Analysis” located at the bottom of this document. Each approach will require research, and that research should provide the context in which you present your own ideas and support your thesis.  Be sure to properly document your research.  Review the links in the “Writing about Literature” tab as these will help guide you.While I am asking you to conduct outside research, do not lose sight of the primary text to which you are responding—the story!  Your research should support your interpretations of the story. Be sure that your thesis is relevant to the story and that you quote generously from the story. Purpose:  critical analysis, writing from sourcesLength: 3-4 pages, approx 900 – 1200 wordsDocumentation:  Minimum of 4 sources required.  One source will be the story you are writing about.  You will then need at least 3 secondary sources.  All of them should be documented in MLA format. (Note: review the material in “finding and evaluating sources” to help you choose relevant and trustworthy sources.)
Choose from the short stories located in the folder accompanying these instructions.
Below are some examples.  I do not require you to choose one of these topics.  They are just here to give you an idea of the type of approaches that will work for this . 1.   Philosophical analysis: How do the stories by Jean Paul Sartre and Albert Camus reflect the philosophy of existentialism?  2.   Socio/cultural analysis:  What opinion about marriage and gender roles does Hemingway advance in “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber”? 3.  Historical analysis: What social dilemmas faced by African Americans in the 1960s might have inspired Toni Cade Bambara to write “The Lesson”?4.  Biographical analysis:  What events in Salman Rushdie’s life might have influenced the events in “At the Auction of the Ruby Slippers”?5. Psychological analysis:  How is John Cheever’s “The Swimmer” a metaphor for the psychology of addiction?     Approaches to Literary analysis Formal analysis – This type of analysis focuses on the formal elements of the work (language, symbolism, plot, character, setting) in an effort to explain how the story functions. It is concerned with the parts of the text and how those parts fit together to create meaning.  Outside information such as the author’s background and historical events are generally not referenced in formalist criticism. A formal analysis conceives of the literary work as a self-contained experience.If you choose this approach you will need to research scholarly interpretations of your selected story and include those as part of the conversation. Historical analysis– This type of analysis uses historical context to understand the work. Many 20 th century stories can be best understood within the framework of major events: Industrialization, The Holocaust, WWII, The Great Depression, The Civil Rights Movement, feminism, etc.  A historical analysis will “base interpretations on the interplay between the text and historical contexts.”” a piece of literature is shaped by the time period in which it was written and thus must be examined and interpreted in the context of that time period. This theory attempts to tie the characters, events and language in a piece of literature to events from the time period in which it was written. “If you choose this approach for your literary analysis, you should be well aware of the major events of the time period.  Biographical analysis – This type of analysis uses the author’s life as a starting point for interpreting the story. The belief is that it is necessary to know about the author and the political, economical, and sociological context of his times in order to truly understand his works.  How do the themes present in the story reflect the concerns and experiences of the author?  In this approach there may be considerable overlap with historical analysis.  That’s ok-they are not mutually exclusive. Sociological analysis (cultural criticism) –  This type of analysis interprets the story in term of social structures:  class, race, gender, culture, nationality or economics. Feminist criticism, postcolonial criticism, Marxist criticism, etc. all fall into this category. It can also overlap with historical analysis.  For example, a Marxist criticism of Catcher in the Rye might claim that Holden’s depression is derived from material wealth and social inequality. Philosophical  analysis:   This approach uses a philosophical framework from which to approach the work.  The belief is that the larger purpose of literature is to teach morality and to probe philosophical issues. Existentialism is a common philosophy that find roots in literature, particularly in that of Sartre and Camus.  Here are some questions to ask if you are interested in this approach.

&νβσπ; What religious or ethical beliefs does the text deal with directly?  Are any  religions or philosophies mentioned specifically in the text?

• &νβσπ; What religious or ethical beliefs or philosophies does the author seem to favor?  How can you tell?• &νβσπ; What religious or ethical beliefs or philosophies does the author seem to disfavor? • &νβσπ; What behaviors do the characters display that the author wants us to think are “right”?  Psychological Analysis:   This approach uses theories of human behavior as a means of analyzing the story. Psychological critics view works through the lens of psychology. They look either at the psychological motivations of the characters or of the authors themselves, although the former is generally considered a more respectable approach. Most frequently, psychological critics apply Freudian psychology to works, but other approaches (such as a Jungian approach) also exist.

&νβσπ; Are there any specific psychologists or psychological theories mentioned in the text?  In what ways?

&νβσπ; What theories of human behavior does the writer seem to believe?  How can you tell?

&νβσπ; What theories of human behavior does the writer seem to reject?  How can you tell?

&νβσπ; How do people’> s minds work in the text?  How do people think?  How are their thoughts shown?

&νβσπ; In what ways do the structure and organization of the text indicate the writer’ s beliefs about the workings of the mind?


Writing in College

by Joseph M. Williams and Lawrence McEnerney

Some crucial differences between high school and college writing

From high school to college

Some students make very smooth transitions from writing in high school to writing in college, and we heartily wish all of you an easy passage. But other students are puzzled and frustrated by their experiences in writing for college classes. Only months earlier your writing was winning praise; now your instructors are dissatisfied, saying that the writing isn’t quite “there” yet, saying that the writing is “lacking something.” You haven’t changed–your writing is still mechanically sound, your descriptions are accurate, you’re saying smart things. But they’re still not happy. Some of the criticism is easy to understand: it’s easy to predict that standards at college are going to be higher than in high school. But it is not just a matter of higher standards: Often, what your instructors are asking of you is not just something better, but something different. If that’s the case, then you won’t succeed merely by being more intelligent or more skillful at doing what you did in high school. Instead, you’ll need to direct your skills and your intelligence to a new task.

We should note here that a college is a big place and that you’ll be asked to use writing to fulfill different tasks. You’ll find occasions where you’ll succeed by summarizing a reading accurately and showing that you understand it. There may be times when you’re invited to use writing to react to a reading, speculate about it. Far more often–like every other week–you will be asked to analyze the reading, to make a worthwhile claim about it that is not obvious(state a thesis means almost the same thing), to support your claim with good reasons, all in four or five pages that are organized to present an argument .(If you did that in high school, write your teachers a letter of gratitude.)

Argument: a key feature of college writing

Now by “argument” we do not mean a dispute over a loud stereo. In college, an argument is something less contentious and more systematic: It is a set of statements coherently arranged to offer three things that experienced readers expect in essays that they judge to be thoughtful:•

· They expect to see a claim that would encourage them to say, “That’s interesting. I’d like to know more.”

· They expect to see evidence, reasons for your claim, evidence that would encourage them to agree with your claim, or at least to think it plausible.

· They expect to see that you’ve thought about limits and objections to your claim. Almost by definition, an interesting claim is one that can be reasonably challenged. Readers look for answers to questions like “But what about . . . ?” and “Have you considered . . . ?”

This kind of argument is less like disagreeable wrangling, more like an amiable and lively conversation with someone whom you respect and who respects you; someone who is interested in what you have to say, but will not agree with your claims just because you state them; someone who wants to hear your reasons for believing your claims and also wants to hear answers to their questions.

At this point, some students ask why they should be required to convince anyone of anything. “After all,” they say, “we are all entitled to our opinions, so all we should have to do is express them clearly. Here’s my opinion. Take it or leave it.” This point of view both misunderstands the nature of argument and ignores its greatest value.

It is true that we are all entitled to our opinions and that we have no duty to defend them. But universities hold as their highest value not just the pursuit of new knowledge and better understanding, but the sharing of that knowledge. We write not only to state what we have think but also to show why others might agree with it and why it matters. We also know that whatever it is we think, it is never the entire truth. Our conclusions are partial, incomplete, and always subject to challenge. So we write in a way that allows others to test our reasoning: we present our best thinking as a series of claims, reasons, and responses to imagined challenges, so that readers can see not only what we think, but whether they ought to agree.

And that’s all an argument is–not wrangling, but a serious and focused conversation among people who are intensely interested in getting to the bottom of things cooperatively.

Those values are also an integral part of your education in college. For four years, you are asked to read, do research, gather data, analyze it, think about it, and then communicate it to readers in a form in which enables them to asses it and use it. You are asked to do this not because we expect you all to become professional scholars, but because in just about any profession you pursue, you will do research, think about what you find, make decisions about complex matters, and then explain those decisions–usually in writing–to others who have a stake in your decisions being sound ones. In an Age of Information, what most professionals do is research, think, and make arguments. (And part of the value of doing your own thinking and writing is that it makes you much better at evaluating the thinking and writing of others.)

In the next few pages, we’re going to walk you through a process of creating an argument in a Humanities or Social Science paper. Note that we’re describing “a” process and not “the” process. We’re not describing the way that everyone does go about writing an argument. We’re certainly not describing the way everyone must go about writing an argument. Further, we can’t cover everything, and some of your teachers will expect something other than what we describe here. There are even some differences between how you write papers in Humanities and in the Social Sciences. But within all these limits, we can lay some groundwork for writing college papers.

We begin with the assignment that gets you started; then we discuss some ways to plan your paper so that you don’t waste too much time on false starts. We conclude with some strategies for drafting and revising, especially revising, because the most productive work on a paper begins after you have gotten your ideas out of the warm and cozy incubator of your own mind and into the cold light of day.

Interpreting assignments: a guide to professors’ expectations

Not all of your instructors will be equally clear about what they expect of your paper. Some will tell you in detail what to read, how to think about it, and how to organize your paper, but others will ask a general question just to see what you can do with it. Some instructors will expect you to stay close to the assignment, penalizing you if you depart from it; others will encourage you to strike out on your own. Some few instructors may want you to demonstrate only that you have read and understood a reading, but most will want you to use your understanding of the reading as a jumping-off point for an analysis and an argument.

So your first step in writing an assigned paper occurs well before you begin writing: You must know what your instructor expects. Start by assuming that, unless you see the words “Summarize or paraphrase what X says about . . . ,” your instructor is unlikely to want just a summary. Beyond this point, however, you have to become a kind of anthropologist, reading the culture of your particular class to understand what is said, what is not, and what is intended.

Start by looking carefully at the words of the assignment. If it is phrased in any of these ways, one crucial part of your task has been done for you:

· “Agree or disagree: ‘Freud misunderstood the feminine mind when he wrote . . . .’”

· “Was Lear justified in castigating Cordelia when she refused to . . . ?”

· “Discuss whether Socrates adequately answered the charge that he corrupted the youth of Athens.”

For questions like these, you start (but it’s only a start) by considering two opposing claims: Freud understood the feminine mind or did not , Lear was or was not justified, Socrates did or did not answer the charges against him. For reasons we will discuss below, you will not want the claim of your paper to be merely yes or no, he did or he didn’t. But an assignment like this can make it easier to get started because you can immediately begin to find and assess data from your readings. You can look at passages from the reading and consider how they would support one of the claims. (Remember: this is only a start. You do not want to end up with a claim that says nothing more than “Freud did (or did not) understand the feminine mind.” “Lear was (or was not) justified in castigating Cordelia “ “Socrates did (or did not) adequately answer the charge.”)

More likely, however, your assignments will be less specific. They won’t suggest opposite claims. Instead, they’ll give you a reasonably specific sense of subject matter and a reasonably specific sense of your task:

· “illustrate,” “explain,” “analyze,” “evaluate,” “compare and contrast,”

· “Discuss the role that the honor plays in The Odyssey.

· “Show how Molière exploits comic patterns in a scene from Tartuffe.”

None of these assignments implies a main point or claim that you can directly import into your paper. You can’t just claim that “honor does play a role in The Odyssey” or that “MoliËre does exploit comic patterns in Tartuffe.” After all, if the instructor has asked you to discuss how MoliËre used comic patterns, she presumably already believes that he did use them. You get no credit for asserting the existence of something we already know exists.

Instead, these assignments ask you to spend four or five pages explaining the results of an analysis. Words such as “show how” and “explain” and “illustrate” do not ask you to summarize a reading. They ask you to show how the reading is put together, how it works. If you asked someone to show you how your computer worked, you wouldn’t be satisfied if they simply summarized: “This is the keyboard, this is the monitor, this is the printer.” You already know the summary–now you want to know how the thing does what it does. These assignments are similar. They ask you to identify parts of things–parts of an argument, parts of a narrative, parts of a poem; then show how those parts fit together (or work against one another) to create some larger effect.

But in the course of so doing, you can’t just grind out four or five pages of discussion, explanation, or analysis. It may seem strange, but even when you’re asked to “show how” or “illustrate,” you’re still being asked to make an argument. You must shape and focus that discussion or analysis so that it supports a
that you discovered and formulated and that all of your discussion and explanation develops and supports. We’ll talk more about claims — also known as points — in later sections.

A third kind of assignment is simultaneously least restrictive and most intimidating. These assignments leave it up to you to decide not only what you will claim but what you will write about and even what kind of analysis you will do: “Analyze the role of a character in The Odyssey.” That is the kind of assignment that causes many students anxiety because they must motivate their research almost entirely on their own. To meet this kind of assignment, the best advice we can give is to read with your mind open to things that puzzle you, that make you wish you understood something better.

Now that advice may seem almost counterproductive; you may even think that being puzzled or not understanding something testifies to your intellectual failure. Yet almost everything we do in a university starts with someone being puzzled about something, someone with a vague–or specific– dissatisfaction caused by not knowing something that seems important or by wanting to understand something better. The best place to begin thinking about any assignment is with what you don’t understand but wish you did.

If after all this analysis of the assignment you are still uncertain about what is expected of you, ask your instructor. If your class has a Writing Intern, ask that person. If for some reason you can’t ask either, locate the Academic Tutor in your residence hall and ask that person. Do this as soon as possible. You’re not likely to succeed on an assignment if you don’t have a clear sense of what will count as success. You don’t want to spend time doing something different than what you’re being asked to do.

Another key feature of college writing: what’s your point?

However different your assignments may seem, most will share one characteristic: in each, you will almost certainly be asked to make a point. Now when we talk about the “point” of your paper, you should understand what we do and do not mean. If asked what the point of their paper is, most students answer with something like, “Well, I wanted to write about the way Falstaff plays the role of Prince Hal’s father.” But that kind of sentence names only your topic and an intention to write about it.

When most of your instructors ask what the point of your paper is, they have in mind something different. By “point” or “claim” (the words are virtually synonymous with thesis), they will more often mean the most important sentence that you wrote in your essay, a sentence that appears on the page, in black in white; words that you can point to, underline, send on a postcard; a sentence that sums up the most important thing you want to say as a result of your reading, thinking, research, and writing. In that sense, you might state the point of your paper as “Well, I want to show/prove/claim/argue/demonstrate (any of those words will serve to introduce the point) that

“Though Falstaff seems to play the role of Hal’s father, he is, in fact,

acting more like a younger brother who . . . .”“

If you include in your paper what appears after I want to prove that, then that’s the point of your paper, its main claim that the rest of your paper supports.

But what’s a good point?

A question just as important as what a point is, though, is what counts as a good one. We will answer that question here, even though it gets us ahead of ourselves in describing the process of writing a paper. Many beginning writers think that writing an essay means thinking up a point or thesis and then finding evidence to support it. But few of us work that way. Most of us begin our research with a question, with a puzzle, something that we don’t understand but want to, and maybe a vague sense of what an answer might look like. We hope that out of our early research to resolve that puzzle there emerges a solution to the puzzle, an idea that seems promising, but one that only more research can test. But even if more research supports that developing idea, we aren’t ready to say that that idea is our claim or point. Instead, we start writing to see whether we can build an argument to support it, suspecting, hoping that in the act of writing we will refine that idea, maybe even change it substantially.

That’s why we say we are getting ahead of ourselves in this account of writing a paper, because as paradoxical as it may sound, you are unlikely to know exactly what point you will make until after you have written the paper in which you made it. So for us to talk about the quality of a point now is to get ahead of ourselves, because we haven’t even touched on how you might think about drafting your paper, much less revising it. But because everything you do at the beginning aims at finding a good point, it is useful to have a clear idea about what it is you are trying to find, what makes for a good point.

A good point or claim typically has several key characteristics: it says something significant about what you have read, something that helps you and your readers understand it better; it says something that is not obvious, something that your reader didn’t already know; it is at least mildly contestable, something that no one would agree with just by reading it; it asserts something that you can plausibly support in five pages, not something that would require a book.

Measured by those criteria, these are not good points or claims:

· “1 Henry IV by William Shakespeare is a play that raises questions about the nature of kingship and responsibility.” Sounds impressive, but who would contest it? Everyone who has read the play already knows that it raises such questions.

· “Native Son is one of the most important stories about race relations ever written.” Again, your readers probably already agree with this, and if so, why would they read an essay that supported it? Further, are you ready to provide an argument that this point is true? What evidence could you provide to make this argument? Are you prepared to compare the effect of Native Son with the effects of other books about race relations?

· “Socrates’ argument in The Apology is very interesting.” Right. So?

· “In this paper I discuss Thucydides’ account of the Corcyrean-Corinthian debate in Book I.” First, what significant thing does this point tell us about the book? Second, who would contest this (who would argue that you are not going to discuss Thucydides’ account?).

None of these is a particularly significant or contestable point, and so none of them qualifies as a good one.

What does qualify as a good claim? These might:

· The three most prominent women in Heart of Darkness play key roles in a complex system of parallels: literally as gatekeepers of Africa, representatively as gatekeepers of darkness, and metaphorically as gatekeepers of brutality.

· While Freud argues that followers obey because each has a part of themselves invested in the leader, Blau claims that followers obey in order to avoid punishment. Both neglect the effects of external power.

You should recognize, however, that you will only rarely be able state good points like these before you write your first draft. Much more often, you discover good points at the end of the process of drafting. Writing is a way of thinking through a problem, of discovering what you want to say. So do not feel that you should begin to write only when you have a fully articulated point in mind. Instead, write to discover and to refine it.

One note on the language of point sentences. If you’re like us, you will want your readers to think that your points are terrifically interesting and significant. What almost never accomplishes this is to say: “My point is terrifically interesting and significant.” Many writers try to generate a sense of importance for what they write by simply adding some synonym of the word “important:” “An important question to consider . . .” “It is essential to examine . . . “ “A crucial concern is whether. . .” This isn’t going to work. What convinces readers that a point is important is not the word “important,” but the words that tell us the substance of the point. If, during your first draft, you find yourself using words like “important,” you should make a note to yourself to come back during your revisions to replace “important” with more substantive language. Then don’t forget to do it. It’s really important.

Now: in order to prove that important point — or to go through a process that will help you develop one — you’ll need a strategy for gathering evidence and writing a first draft. We offer advice on these matters in the next section: “Preparing to write and drafting the paper.”


Te a c h i n g t h e C o n v e n t i o n s o f A c a d e m i c D i s c o u r s e 347

> Teresa Thonney

A study of scholarly research articles from six disciplines provides insights about academic
writing that composition instructors can use to prepare students to write across

the curriculum.

Teaching the Conventions of
Academic Discourse

New Voice

Given the current emphasis on disciplinary discourses, it’s not surprising that so little recent attention has been devoted to identifying conventions that are
universal in academic discourse. In this essay, I argue that there are shared features
that unite academic writing, and that by introducing these features to first-year
students we provide them with knowledge they can apply and refine in each new
discipline they encounter.

Some scholars believe that making generalizations about academic writing
is impossible. Just as there is “no autonomous, generalizable skill called ball using
or ball handling that can be learned and then applied to all ball games,” David
Russell argues, there is no “autonomous, generalizable skill or set of skills called
‘writing’ that can be learned and then applied to all genres or activities” (57, 59).
Because there are no “general” skills that students can learn and transfer to all
writing situations, some suggest that students would benefit more from learning
about the ways writing conventions vary across academic disciplines and discourse
communities (Wardle 784).

Others (such as Berkenkotter and Huckin; Freedman) believe that writing
conventions can’t be taught and that trying to teach them “assumes that one can
learn to write academic genres by adhering to a definite rule-set” (Lynch-Biniek).
But linguistic scholars (including Swales; MacDonald; Bazerman; Biber) have dem-
onstrated that patterns and formulas prevail in academic writing, and many have
described the benefits of teaching writing conventions to students (see, for example,
Williams and Colomb). By teaching conventional ways to introduce topics, iden-
tify sources, and organize arguments, for instance, we provide “a valuable tool for
clarifying academic mysteries to large numbers of students” (Birkenstein and Graff).
In fact, Wilder and Wolfe found that students who were explicitly taught language
conventions in a literature course wrote better essays and reported comparable or
higher levels of enjoyment in the course than those receiving no instruction in
writing conventions (170).

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Text Box
Copyright © 2011 by the National Council of Teachers of English. All rights reserved.

348 T E T Y C M a y 2 0 1 1

As Hassel and Giordano noted in a recent TETYC article, the need for
explicit instruction in writing conventions is particularly acute at open-admission
two-year colleges, where many students, including those testing into college-level
writing courses, are unfamiliar with rhetorical strategies expected in college writing
(25). Even freshmen at universities, when asked to write college papers, can feel like
they are being asked “to build a house without any tools” (Sommers and Saltz 131).

Studies by Carroll, Herrington and Curtis, and McCarthy reveal considerable
variety in the writing undergraduates do and in the disciplinary approaches they
encounter. Disciplines differ in modes of inquiry, in forms of proof, and in meth-
ods of research. These differences manifest themselves in writing, as documented
in corpus-based studies by Swales, MacDonald, Hyland, and others, differences
students will appreciate when they learn to write the genres of their chosen majors.

Despite this variation, some principles appear in all academic writing guides,
no matter the discipline, as Karen Bennett found in her survey of forty-one style
manuals. Some shared features, such as source citation, are, of course, realized differ-
ently across disciplines; but Bennett found “remarkable consensus as regards general
principles, methods of textual construction, and the kinds of grammatical and lexical
features to be used” (43). No first-year student is expected to write like discipline
insiders when writing in entry-level courses that are “predisciplinary in both theory
and practice” (Diller and Oates 54). But research indicates students are rewarded
when they produce prose that resembles that of experienced academic writers.

To determine what rhetorical features appear in the prose of experienced
academic writers, I analyzed twenty-four research articles—four articles from each
of six disciplines: psychology, sports medicine, biology, marketing, literature, and
engineering. The articles were randomly selected from the following peer-reviewed

American Journal of Community Psychology

American Journal of Sports Medicine

Journal of Cell Biology

Journal of Marketing Research

PMLA (Publications of the Modern Language Association of America)

Proceedings of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers

My analysis reveals six standard “moves” in academic writing:

> Writers respond to what others have said about their topic.
> Writers state the value of their work and announce the plan for their papers.
> Writers acknowledge that others might disagree with the position they’ve

> Writers adopt a voice of authority.
> Writers use academic and discipline-specific vocabulary.
> Writers emphasize evidence, often in tables, graphs, and images.

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Te a c h i n g t h e C o n v e n t i o n s o f A c a d e m i c D i s c o u r s e 349

Introducing first-year composition students to these conventions of academic writ-
ing provides them with knowledge they can use now and refine later when writing
in their chosen disciplines.

Let’s start with the standard way academic writers begin—by summarizing
what others have said about their topic.

1. Academic Writers Respond to What Others Have Written about
Their Topic

When academics write, they join a conversation. To show they understand this they
refer to what others have already written about their subject. This feature appears
in every article of the sample. Consider this passage from a report in the sports
medicine sample articles:

In the past decades, major insights have been gained into how intrinsic factors
and extrinsic signals control and guide the development of dendrites and den-
dritic spines and how patterned neural activity shapes this process (Hering and
Sheng, 2001; . . . Van Aelst and Cline, 2004). Nonetheless, large gaps still exist in
our knowledge about how all these pathways integrate and execute their function
at the molecular level. (Huang, Zang, and Reichardt 527)

By referring to what others have said about a topic, writers accomplish two things:
they show that they are addressing an issue that matters, and they establish that
there is more to be said about it.

Sometimes writers enter the conversation by taking issue with the conclu-
sions of previous researchers, as in this passage from the literature articles:

[Christopher] Lane’s thesis, linking ambivalent national-symbolic identifications
on the part of homosexual writers to specifically colonial rhetorical struc tures, is
convincing (3); however, I would position Auden’s case dif ferently, as paradoxical
to this founding paradox of colonial passion. (Christie 1576)

Others have noted that disciplines vary in the way disagreement gets ex-
pressed. Linton, Madigan, and Johnson found that in literary criticism, for example,
attacks can get personal, unlike in other disciplines where disagreements are ignored
or limited to criticizing research methods (73–74). But the writers in my sample,
including those representing literature, show respect for previous research. Under-
graduates, given their junior status, would be wise to follow suit when disagreeing
with published scholars.

Like published scholars, undergraduates write research-based papers, today
more than ever (Lunsford and Lunsford 793). But they struggle in two notable
ways. First, many students fail to contribute to the conversation. Instead of analyz-
ing, synthesizing, or adding to what others have said, they merely show they have
“done the reading.” Second, in student papers, incorrect or missing source citations
abound. Tinberg and Nadeau’s recent study of first-year students at a community
college reminds us that for students the most in-depth discussion and practice of

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350 T E T Y C M a y 2 0 1 1

writing occurs in their required writing course (128). One way we can prepare
students for writing across the curriculum is with assignments that involve sum-
marizing, synthesizing, attributing writers, and commenting on what they have said.

2. Academic Writers State the Value of Their Work and Announce the
Plan for Their Papers

One reason academics refer to what has been written about an issue is to establish
that the issue matters. Another reason is to show that their research addresses an
aspect of the issue still unresolved. All twenty-four writers in our sample explain
that their research is necessary, unique, or otherwise of value, as in this passage from
the marketing articles:

The vast majority of research that has assessed the effect of price promotions on
brand evaluation has studied the effect after product trial, rather than pretrial. . . .
Unlike previous studies . . . , we examine the effects of price promotions pretrial
to isolate their informational impact on brand quality perceptions from the
potentially moderating effect of prior personal experience with the brand.
(Raghubir and Corfman 212)

Scholars must sell their work to editors and reviewers; but students too must “sell”
their work to their professors. By explaining why their topic is important, how
their approach to a topic is unique, or even why they chose to write about a topic,
students set their papers apart from papers that lack purpose.

In addition to stating the value of their work early, academic writers help
readers navigate their texts. All twenty-four titles in our sample announce the spe-
cific topic of the article; a few (particularly in the sciences) also convey the research
results. Here is an example from the psychology articles:

Conceptualizing and Measuring Historical Trauma among American Indian

From the biology articles:

Process Outgrowth in Oligodendrocytes is Mediated by CNP, a Novel Microtu-
bule Assembly Myelin Protein

Twenty-three of twenty-four articles also include subheadings that announce the
topic of sections:

Effects of Multiple Ankle Sprains on Postural Sway
Matters of Conscience in Machiavelli and Macbeth

Another way academic writers prepare readers for what is ahead is with an
explicit statement of purpose. Here is an example from the engineering articles:

This paper describes the development of a second generation of piezoelectric
paint and the characterization of sensors made with it. (Hale et al. 1)

In some articles, writers announce their hypothesis:

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We hypothesized that there would be an increase in ankle repositioning errors
and postural sway in basketball players who had sustained bilateral ankle sprains,
under conditions in which they had to rely more heavily on ankle proprioceptive
input. (Fu and Hui-Chan 1175)

In other articles, the statement of purpose expresses the writer’s opinion:

I . . . precede my discussion of the trope of the castrato with a brief histori cal
overview of the situation and reception of actual castrati singers. I then show how
Jo hann Jakob Wilhelm Heinse (1746–1803) and Friedrich Schiller (1759–1805)
used the figure of the castrato as a privileged metaphor for the negotiation of
class conflicts, gender con cepts, and the nature of art. (Krimmer 1544)

Many students think the main claim in an academic argument must be an assertive,
polemic statement. But corpus-based analyses reveal that most academic writers
state their main claim matter-of-factly (Conrad 119–20). Statements that begin
with “This paper describes,” “We hypothesized,” and “I then show” (from the above
examples) are not argumentative; they hardly seem like opinions.

Most writers in our sample identify the paper’s organization along with the
purpose. Here is an example from the psychology articles:

First, we will provide an overview of previous work conceptualizing historical
psychological distress among American Indians. Second, we will present a sum-
mary of qualitative data from elders on two American Indian reservations in the
upper Midwest that was used to develop a measure of historical trauma. Third, we
will describe measures of historical trauma and provide measurement characteris-
tics and frequencies on the basis of a sample of 143 parents. (Whitbeck et al. 120)

From the marketing articles:

The article is organized into four sections . . . that systematically investigate the
effect of package shape on volume perceptions, preference and choice, consump-
tion (perceived and actual), and postconsumption satisfaction. (Raghubir and
Krishna 314)

Some composition instructors want students to avoid statements of purpose
that begin “In this paper” and to avoid “blueprint” statements that announce topics.
But such statements are commonplace in academic journals, and many professors
reward students who make reading easy. In their analysis of 50 graded essays (from
various disciplines), Tedick and Mathison noticed “the general pattern was that
subjects received higher holistic scores on the essays—regardless of prompt type—
that they framed well enough for readers to be able to make predictions about the
content to come” (206).

In addition to providing subheadings and overviews, many writers in the
sample stop within their articles to announce what is next, as in this example from
the marketing articles:

In the next section, we discuss relevant research on visual mental imagery in the
design, marketing, and psychology literature, present a conceptual model of how

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visual mental imagery influences the customer appeal of the product designed,
and propose a set of hypotheses. (Dahl, Chattopadhyay, and Gorn 19)

Most writers end by summarizing what has been covered and reiterating the value
of their research, as shown in this example from sports medicine:

To our knowledge, this study provides the longest follow-up in the literature
of patients undergoing meniscal repair with the arrow. . . . Indeed, this study
represents the longest follow-up in the literature on any of the available all-inside
meniscal repair devices. (Lee and Diduch 1140–41)

Every article in the sample includes a statement of purpose, preview sen-
tences, review sentences, and sentences that announce the value of the research.
Student research and writing may not be as complicated as that of the scholars in
our sample, but students write for professors who read many papers—quickly. A
wealth of research has shown that when writers signal where they are going and
how they will get there, readers read faster and remember better what they have
read (Meyer 212–16). This is an important principle for students to learn.

3. Academic Writers Acknowledge That Others Might Disagree with the
Position They’ve Taken

Because scholars recognize that others might disagree with their conclusions, they
sprinkle their writing with qualifiers, or hedges, such as “probably,” “possibly,”
“maybe,” and “it seems,” particularly when writing to colleagues. Writers use hedges
to make statements more accurate and to avoid appearing dogmatic. Examples of
hedges are italicized in the following sentences from our sample. First from the
sports medicine articles:

The onset latency to the ADM was not affected, whereas the onset latency to the
FDI was affected, suggesting, the lesion may be located in the palm, distal to the
motor branch to the ADM. (Akuthota et al. 1228)

From the psychology articles:

[Oppressed people] tend to be passive and unable to recognize their own capacity
to transform their social reality; and their existence is often accepted on the basis
of destiny, bad luck or supernatural will. (Balcazar, Garate-Serafini, and Keys 250)

Writers in the sample also anticipate potential critics by recognizing the limitations
of their findings:

More research, varying the factors previously identified, is necessary to establish
the generalizability of our findings to a broader range of product design contexts.
(Dahl, Chattopadhyay, and Gorn 27)

Professors sometimes complain that students fail to back their claims with
sufficient evidence. While this is sometimes true, the problem can be partly due to
students’ failure to qualify assertions. Some students, especially those who are not
native speakers of English, underuse qualifiers (e.g., “apparently,” “likely,” “possibly”)

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and overuse words expressing certainty (e.g., “really,” “of course,” “certainly”) in
their writing (Gilquin and Paquot 47).

By teaching students how to distinguish between statements of “fact” and
opinion, how to differentiate between generalities and specifics, and how and when
to moderate claims with hedges, we help them write better arguments in any dis-
cipline. Students readily see the difference between “Surveys prove Americans are
changing their attitudes about same-sex marriages” and “Surveys suggest Americans
may be changing their attitudes about same-sex marriage,” and with practice they
learn to moderate sweeping generalities.

4. Academic Writers Adopt a Voice of Authority

Although tentative in their claims, academic writers still write with authority.
Conveying authority is understandably challenging for student writers. David
Bartholomae describes their dilemma: Students “have to speak in the voice and
through the codes of those of us with power and wisdom; and they not only have
to do this, they have to do it before they know what they are doing . . . and be-
fore, at least in the terms of our disciplines, they have anything to say” (156). Even
graduate students have difficulty establishing an ethos of authority when writing as
initiates in their field (Blakeslee 133). But students can learn to imitate techniques
of experienced writers.

Using First or Third Person

Writers in a few disciplines, such as engineering, tend to avoid first person in for-
mal writing. A look at two passages from our sample, the first from marketing, the
second from engineering, is revealing:

In this article, we examine the effect of elongation on (1) perceived volume, (2)
perceived consumption, (3) actual consumption, (4) postconsumption satisfaction,
and (5) choice. As described in Figure 1, our model suggests that package shape
directly affects perceived volume and through this, indirectly and inversely affects
perceived consumption. (Raghubir and Krishna 323)

This paper presents a new approach to model the friction layer in brake systems
in the investigation of noise and vibration, especially high-frequency squeal. . . .
The friction layer is modeled as a coupling stiffness between the brake pad and
the rotor as a combination of the elastic stiffness of the friction layer superim-
posed on the coupling modal stiffness of the brake-pad combination. . . . By
incorporating the earlier results in a two degree of freedom model, the predicted
frequencies were shown to be close to the squeal frequencies obtained from field
tests. (Paliwal et al. 520–21)

The engineering paragraph includes no mention of who completed the research
(“predicted frequencies were shown”). In fact, the paragraph is from a journal
that advises authors: “Papers should be written in the third person in an objective,
formal and impersonal style.”

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354 T E T Y C M a y 2 0 1 1

But in the rest of the sample, nineteen of twenty writers use first person.
Writers in medicine, marketing, psychology, biology, and literature all make clear
that they formed hypotheses, collected data, and reached conclusions. From the
sports medicine articles:

We compared the results obtained from the injured ankle with those from the
uninjured ankle. (Santilli et al. 1186)

From the psychology articles:

My colleagues and I interviewed 28 adult Bosnians attending a community
mental health program. (Miller 225)

Compared to the engineers, these writers also use more active voice con-
structions—another way to convey authority. For engineers, the average number of
occurrences of passive voice within 500-word excerpts is nearly twice the average
for any other discipline in the sample (15.8 occurrences in engineering versus 8.8
occurrences in sports medicine, 4.3 in psychology, 6.0 in marketing, 7.0 in cell
biology, and 3.25 in literature).

The challenge for student writers is knowing how and when to use first
person. Many students needlessly preface statements with “It seems to me” or “I
think” (Gilquin and Paquot 48–49, 55–57). Others, attempting to convey authority,
adopt the voice of moralizing parent. With direction, however, students improve.
They can learn to judge when writing “I think” has purpose and when writing
“I think” is pointless. (McKinney Maddalena provides excellent help for students
concerning when to use first person.)

Writing Concisely

Another way writers create an ethos of authority is by using a high percentage of
meaning-carrying words. In the 1970s, Jean Ure developed a method for deter-
mining a text’s lexical density by calculating the percentage of lexical words (445).
Lexical words include nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs—classes of words that
convey meaning and to which we continue to add. Grammatical words include
pronouns, auxiliary verbs, conjunctions, prepositions, articles, and other determin-
ers—classes of words to which we don’t add. Thus, the following sentence includes
seven lexical words (in bold print):

Some scientists believe that stem cells can be used to treat diseases.

While spoken language includes many grammatical words (Ure found the per-
centage of lexical words in spoken language to be below 40 percent), written texts
tend to be more lexically dense. In Ure’s study (in 1971), the lexical density of a
textbook was 50.2 percent, and the lexical density of a scholarly journal was 52.8
percent (cited in Ventola 159). The lexical density in our sample ranges between
52.8 percent (in sports medicine) and 56.5 percent (in cell biology). In other words,
more words than not are meaning-carrying words.

Writers in our sample pack meaning into sentences:

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They don’t describe “meniscal healing that was incomplete” but instead write
“incomplete meniscal healing.”

Not “sociologists and geographers who are feminists” but “feminist sociolo-
gists and geographers.”

Not “an outdoor site that is exposed” but “exposed outdoor site.”

The average lexical density rate of the sample is 54.4 percent, higher than that of
most types of writing. When we teach students how to revise for conciseness, we
teach them a sure-fire way to improve the quality and authority of their academic

5. Academic Writers Use Academic and Discipline-Specific Vocabulary

One obvious marker of academic writing is academic vocabulary. Several studies
of academic writing have focused on familiar sequences of three or more words
referred to as “lexical bundles.” They include phrases such as the following:

in order to
the presence of
the fact that
in the case of
as a result of

Lexical bundles like these account for 20 percent of the words in academic prose
(Biber et al. 995), and using these phrases is one indicator of proficiency in aca-
demic writing. But Viviana Cortes found that students rarely use them in their
writing, and when they do use them it is often not in the way published writers
do. She concludes that students would benefit from explicit instruction in lexical
bundles and their functions (420–21). For example, when an assignment involves
summarizing data from studies, an instructor could show students lexical bundles
commonly used to introduce previous research (such as “studies have shown that”
and “have been shown to”) (Conrad 134). Additional ideas for teaching academic
lexical bundles are found in Graff and Birkenstein’s book They Say / I Say.

Another marker of academic writing is specialized language. Scientists have
long been known for co-opting words and using them in new, specialized ways, as
seen in these phrases from our sports medicine and biology articles:

prolongation of the median motor latency
preactivation of the lower extremity muscles
genomic integrity

But this tendency is not unique to scientists—as additional examples from the
sample illustrate. From the engineering articles:

limits of linearity of piezoelectric paint

From the psychology articles:

estimates of construct loadings

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356 T E T Y C M a y 2 0 1 1

From the marketing articles:

expectancy disconfirmation

From the literature articles:

textual and libidinal potentials of coloniality

Technical words like these precisely and concisely convey specialized meanings to
others in the field and denote one’s membership in any academic community. In
fact, Robyn Woodward-Kron has demonstrated that “adopting the specialist language
of the discipline is intrinsic to learning disciplinary knowledge” (246).

One way to make students aware of specialist language and lexical bundles
is to have them look for recurring terms, stylistic conventions, and other patterns
in a corpus of academic writing. There are many free resources for corpus-based
research, including the Corpus of Contemporary American English (COCA), with
concordancer, available at http://www.americancorpus.org/; and the Michigan Cor-
pus of Upper-Level Student Papers (MICUSP) at http://micusp.elicorpora.info/.
(Information about additional corpus research and analysis resources is provided by
David Lee at http://tiny.cc/corpora.) Students can use text analysis tools to study
the writing of a specific discipline, to learn how the writing styles of disciplines or
genres vary, or to analyze their own writing. Corpus-based research assignments
also provide students with opportunities to conduct primary research. (See Bowker
and Pearson for assignment ideas.)

6. Academic Writers Emphasize Evidence, Often in Tables, Graphs, and

Academic writing is ultimately judged on the basis of its evidence, and academic
writers use various techniques for highlighting data.

Fourteen (58 percent) of the authors in our sample include tables, graphs,
or charts. Given the prominence of data in academic writing, it is important that
students learn how to “read” quantitative data. Yet, as Joanna Wolfe recently argued,
most first-year students do not understand that writers manipulate “statistical ex-
pressions in order to make an interesting story out of their data” (459). She calls on
composition instructors to discuss quantitative arguments in their courses:

Our students should be able to quickly discern that the statements “there is a
one-in-fifty chance that a bad event will happen” and “there is a 98 percent
chance that everything will be okay” differ only in rhetorical choice between
two mathematically equivalent figures. And students should have practice making
their own arguments from quantitative data, not only so they can see the many
ways in which such claims can be manipulated, but also so they can see the role
that invention plays in statistical data, experimental results, and other quantita-
tive arguments that are often popularly perceived as nonrhetorical “facts.” (455,
original emphasis)

To illustrate the rhetorical nature of graphs, Wolfe provides four graphical
representations of raw data, each lending itself to a different interpretation of the

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data (463–64). With examples like those Wolfe offers, we can show students that
quantitative data are as much “language” issues as they are “math” issues (462).

Images (including photos and drawings) are also common in the sample. All
of the writers representing engineering, sports medicine, and biology use images—to
depict experimental subjects, materials, processes, models, and results. Images are
more prominent in the writing of some disciplines than others, but their rhetorical
power is undeniable.

We process both words and images, Gibson and Zillmann explain, but the
“picture-superiority effect of information acquisition” is well documented (357).
Gibson and Zillmann had subjects read news stories accompanied with varying
images or no images at all. The images influenced subjects more than the words,
even when the images weren’t discussed in a text. Particularly powerful are images
that evoke fear. For example, subjects perceived the risk of getting Blowing Rock
disease from ticks to be higher when photos of child victims accompanied the story
than when photos of ticks accompanied the same story (364–65).

Many have already argued the merits of teaching visual rhetoric in compo-
sition courses and have suggested multimodal assignment ideas. (See, for example,
Bickmore and Christiansen’s article in a recent issue of TETYC; see also Welch,
Lee, and Shuman.) Multimodal assignments are yet another way to prepare students
for academic work across the curriculum.

Suggestions and Conclusion

Despite the variety—including among writers within single discourse communi-
ties—we can give first-year students useful general knowledge about academic
writing. All twenty-four writers in the sample summarize what has been written
about their topics, state the purpose of their writing, establish a reasonable yet
authoritative tone, use the specialized language of their discipline, and emphasize
evidence. When we provide opportunities for practice in these areas in our com-
position courses, we help students develop skills they will use when writing in
other disciplines. A few techniques may facilitate students’ understanding of the
conventions of academic writing:

> Have students read authentic academic texts from various disciplines. Most of the
reading undergraduates do is from textbooks, newspapers, magazines, and
other secondary sources; but authentic academic texts (such as journal articles
or laboratory reports) illustrate the conventions of academic writing. Pro-
viding accessible academic writing is possible no matter what the focus or
pedagogy of a composition course.



In one paragraph, please tell me what you have learned about evaluating web pages. How will you determine if a web page is reliable or not? What are the four or five criteria you will use? Please briefly explain each criteria. Be specific. 

Four criteria – The CRAP Test – 

Five criteria – The CRAAP Test – 

Your paragraph should be approximately 200 words.

Resources –




Attached Files:

· File

Goody – The Consequences of Literacy pdf.pdf

Goody – The Consequences of Literacy pdf.pdf – Alternative Formats

(1.418 MB)

Attached is an article in a scholarly journal titled “The Consequences of Literacy,” written by Jack Goody and Ian Watt, two of the leading thinkers in the study of literacy. It’s a long reading, and it may use terms you are unfamiliar with. Your assignment due this week is to outline it. I recommend the following strategy:

1. Preread/preview the essay, using the tips provided under the menu tab “Prereading Course Readings.” Pay attention to the subheadings for each section of their argument.

2. Then read the article all the way through from top to bottom, without marking it.

3. Then read to mark. If you don’t want to print the essay, your pdf reader should allow you to annotate and highlight. Pay attention to topic sentences and subheadings–they should contain the keywords for the sections they lead. You can turn them into questions that you will find the answers to. (E.g. you can turn the article title into a question, as follows: “What are some of the consequences of literacy?”)

4. When you outline, use the following system to indicate how minor points are subordinated under major claims: Roman numerals for the largest categories of information, then capital letters, then regular numbers, then small letters, then small Roman numerals. You will probably not need all of these levels.

As I’ve mentioned when you wrote your previous outline, there is no such thing as a perfect outline. The point is to be able to distinguish major claims from subclaims supporting them, and subclaims from supporting details (examples and evidence).

Remember the formula/template that helps you know if you have identified an author’s point: “[Authorname’s] next point is THAT _________”

The essay is attached. Your outline will go something like this *:

Introduction: In their essay “The Consequences of Literacy, “Jack Goody and Ian Watt argue that ________ (state what you believe is their thesis).

I. Their first point is that _____________________




Conclusion: Explain how Goody and Watt conclude their essay.

Cite Goody and Watt as an article in a scholarly journal. All the information you need is on the pdf provided.

* Note that the thesis, claims, and subclaims are all expressed as sentences, not phrases! The word “that” will help ensure your outline points are more than phrases. Remember to think of an outline as a potential study guide. Ask yourself whether you could rely on the outline you have produced if you had to take a test on the material two months later. You won’t actually be tested on it two months later–but you’ll do better good job if you think of your outline as having that purpose.



Imagine that the Supreme Court has issued a decision that reverses Arizona v. Hicks (1987), and the Supreme Court under a new case (fictional case), entitled New York v. Henderson (2016), now holds that the plain view doctrine does allow police officers to seize on less than probable cause, any item they happen to see that is in “plain view.”

750-1,000 words that addresses the following:

  • Explain the “plain-view” doctrine and the probable cause requirement with respect to this doctrine.
  • Explain how the adoption of the Henderson case would affect public policy.
  • If a policing agency disagrees with the Henderson case, are they required to follow the case or may they be allowed to provide more procedural safe guards as inferred in Arizona v. Hicks? Provide examples.
  • What happens if various interpretations of the “plain view” doctrine create significant differences between jurisdictions?

Be sure to cite three to five relevant scholarly sources in support of your content. Use only sources found at the GCU Library, government websites/legal case sites or those provided in Class Resources.

Prepare this assignment according to the guidelines found in the APA Style Guide, located in the Student Success Center. An abstract is not required.

This assignment uses a rubric. Please review the rubric prior to beginning the assignment to become familiar with the expectations for successful completion.

You are required to submit this assignment to LopesWrite. A link to the LopesWrite technical support articles is located in Class Resources if you need assistance.

    • 10


    What makes a person admirable

    Admiration is described as a human emotion generated by people of talent, skill, or competency that exceeds common standards. A person who deserves admiration is described as admirable. Such a person has unique qualities that make him or her to be admirable. Some people think that people with flashy lifestyles, good cars and big houses are admirable. However, admiration is more of one’s character rather than possessions. The primary objective of the essay is to explain three qualities that an admirable person has including humility, courage and resilience. The paper uses examples of admirable people who possess either of the three traits.

    A humble person is regarded as an admirable person because he or she lives life like it is without faking anything and without looking down upon other people. Humility is not about a low view of one’s importance or poor living standards, but rather is about self-awareness and self-management. Two examples of people that most admire because of their humility are Barack Obama and Mark Zuckerberg. Barack Obama with such great power while serving as the president, he talked with humility. Obama had the unique ability to connect earthly with people from all walks of life. Despite being a person of high status, Zuckerberg lives a simple life, and he is very humble.

    Two people most find admirable because of their courage are Martin Luther King Jr. and Nelson Mandela. Historically, Martin Luther King Jr. is one of the most courageous people in the world to have ever lived. Being a black, he fought for equal rights of people regardless of their race during a time when racism was rampant in the U.S. Martin Luther sacrificed his life to fight for equality and to end discrimination against blacks by whites. Mandela’s story is admirable based on the fact he did not fear what could be done to him but rather focused on his course to save south Africa from the hands of colonizers.

    Resilience is the ability by an individual to overcome hardships and challenges to achieve huge success. Two people most admire for their resilience are Charlize Theron and Michael Jordan. Theron was a South African actress who achieved significant fame around the world. However, the pain of her early childhood did not stop her from achieving her goals. Her story is inspiring that no matter what we go through, we can still become what we want. Michael Jordan is one of the famous NBA legends who achieved huge success. However, Jordan did not wake up one day and became a star, he failed a couple of times, but he never gave up.

    Character and personality are what makes a person admirable. The three-character traits discussed in the essay that are portrayed by admirable people include humility, courage and resilience. The three traits in a person makes them people to be emulated by others. For example, most people would find Barack Obama admirable because he is a humble person regardless of his social status. Admirable people possess a trait that inspires other people to become better. 


    Topic: What makes a person admirable


    I. Introduction

    a. Admiration is described as a human emotion generated by people of talent, skill, or competency that exceeds common standards. A person who deserves admiration is described as admirable. Such a person has unique qualities that make him or her to be admirable. Some people think that people with flashy lifestyles, good cars and big houses are admirable. However, admiration is more of one’s character rather than possessions

    b. The primary objective of the essay is to explain three qualities that an admirable person has including humility, courage and resilience. 

    II.               Body paragraph 1

    a.      An admirable person is humble and does not look over anybody’s shoulder

    1. Example 1: Barack Obama

    A. Humility is the ability to accept and love ourselves the way we are, without pretensions. This makes a person admirable because they do not fake their lifestyles or want to appear what is not their real character. Despite being a person of high social status and the former president of the United States, he is a humble person and down to earth and he is easily accessible by anyone regardless of his class.

    B. Barack Obama with such great power while serving as the president, he talked with humility. There are not many people in politics who are humble as he has been. When people get to power, they tend to have pride. However, Obama had the unique ability to connect earthly with people from all walks of life.

    1. Example 2: Mark Zuckerberg

    A. He is the CEO and founder of Facebook and one of the youngest billionaires in the world. His net worth is $35.7 billion. However, despite the wealthy and status, Zuckerberg does not show off his wealth, but he stays a humble life.

    B. He drives a cheap car Acura TSX and wears the same gray t-shirt and hoodie to work every day. Despite being a person of high status, he lives a simple life and he is very humble.


    III.              Body paragraph 2

    a.      Courageous people embark on missions that seem impossible to other people and do what it takes to achieve their goals in life despite the obstacles of challenges they find on their way.

    1. Example 1 – Martin Luther King Jr.

    A. Historically, Martin Luther King Jr. is one of the most courageous people in the world to have ever lived. Being a black, he fought for equal rights of people regardless of their race during a time when racism was rampant in the U.S.

    B. Martin Luther sacrificed his life to fight for equality and to end discrimination against blacks by whites.

    2. Example 2 – Nelson Mandela

    A. Nelson Mandela, born in South Africa stood to fight for the rights of South Africans. He was jailed for 27 years by the British government and later become the president of South Africa after fight for the independence of the country.

    B Mandela’s story is admirable based on the fact he did not fear what could be done to him but rather focused on his course to save south Africa from the hands of colonizers.

                                                     IV.     Body paragraph 3

    a.   Resilient people overcome and all challenges to achieve their goals and huge success. Resilient people are admirable based on the fact that they had to overcome hardship and tragedy to achieve amazing success.                 

    1. Example 1 – Charlize Theron

    A. Theron was a South African actress who achieved significant fame around the world. However, she grew up in a very violent family. Her father was a drunkard and he could always threaten to kill both Theron and her mom. At the age of 15, her mom killed her father. Her childhood was not easy and she had mental problems because of the environment she grew up in.

    B. However, the pain of her early childhood did not stop her from achieving her goals. Her story is inspiring that no matter what we go through, we can still become what we want.

    2. Example 2 – Michael Jordan.

    A. Michael Jordan is one of the famous NBA legends who achieved huge success. However, Jordan did not wake up one day and became a star, he failed a couple of times but he never gave up.

    B Jordan did not let failure get into his head, but instead he built on the failures to become one of the best NBA players in the world. The story of Jordan makes him admirable person who never gave up despite the number of times he failed.

    V. Conclusion

    a.      Character and personality are what makes a person admirable. The three-character traits discussed in the essay that are portrayed by admirable people include humility, courage and resilience. The three traits in a person makes them people to be emulated by others. For example, most people would find Barack Obama admirable because he is a humble person regardless of his social status. Admirable people possess a trait that inspires other people to become better.

    b.       The people discussed above each portrays either one of the three qualities that make a person admirable which include humility, courage and resilient.                                            


    Summary of Ong essay :directions

    Length: 3 pages, not counting Works Cited

    Assignment: Summarize Walter Ong’s essay “Writing is a Technology That Restructures Thought”

    To summarize Ong’s essay, you will need to take his points in order, and relate them to an imaginary audience who has not read the essay but needs to know what Ong is saying and how he puts her points across. One way to do this is by summarizing the essay one paragraph at a time. But keep in mind that in some cases a point may be extended over several paragraphs. In these cases, you could summarize a whole section in one paragraph.

    1. Begin your paper with a statement about what Ong’s thesis is (the main point you believe he is using his examples and stories to make). The best way to identify or infer the essay’s thesis is by looking for sentences or paragraphs where all the key concepts converge. In Ong’s essay, he actually states it in his title. You’ll need to put it in your own terms.

    2. Generally the amount of space a writer gives to a particular point in his/her writing should determine how much space you give it in your summary. So plan ahead. Divide your time so that you don’t end up giving too much time and space to the beginning parts of the essay and run out of time and space to cover the rest of it adequately. Preview the essay first to see how it is divided.

    3. Quote directly (and briefly!) from Ong on occasion: particularly when you want to show the reader that your assessment of his points is accurate. Use the Quotation Sandwich principle of framing a quote with your own words. Quote him directly, and put the page number in parentheses at the end of the sentence in which the quotation appears. Avoid quotes within quotes (what you are describing is what Ong argues, not what others whom he cites argue). And do not place quotes back to back.
    Your paper should be Ong’s ideas in your own words.

    4. Use transitions, like “Ong’s next point is” and “After demonstrating X, Ong discusses Y.” These will let the reader see the moves Ong makes as he takes the reader through his argument.

    Your summary needs to be at least three double-spaced pages, double-spaced, Times New Roman, 12-point font, and as developed as it can be without your reader losing sight of the key points. Do not go over four pages.

    At the end of your paper, cite the essay as an article in a scholarly journal, using APA or MLA format. The info you need is on the essay itself. Look for it.

    Your grade will be divided equally across the following three categories:

    Accuracy (how well you understood the points Ong makes)

    Clarity (how well you describe the way he makes his points)

    Correctness (how well you edit your writing and document your sources)



    M4 Question and Answer

    Explain the concept of Opportunity Cost arising from the central economic problem of scarce resources and unlimited wants.

    What is the opportunity cost of seeing a movie?

    What is the marginal benefit of seeing a movie (assuming that you are seeing it with a friend)?

    How would the marginal benefit change if you were seeing a second movie with a different friend?

    Length/Formatting Instructions

    Length4 pagesFont12 point, Calibri Font, no more than 1″ margins Program/File Type Submit in Word Attachments Should be pasted into the Word document if possible. Referencing system APA referencing system is necessary in assignments, especially material copied from the Internet.

    For examples of correct citations, visit the following links:


      • 8



      Journal of Black Studies
      2017, Vol. 48(8) 715 –731

      © The Author(s) 2017
      Reprints and permissions:

      DOI: 10.1177/0021934717729504



      Pop Culture Without
      Culture: Examining
      the Public Backlash to
      Beyoncé’s Super Bowl
      50 Performance

      Marquita Gammage1

      On February 7, 2016, Beyoncé took the stage of Super Bowl 50 as a featured
      artist during the halftime show. Immediately after, her performance was
      classified as an anti-American act of terrorism. The public took to social
      media, not in the usual fan craze, but to condemn and damn Beyoncé for her
      celebration of Black culture. This condemning is a reflection of the marginalized
      treatment of Black popular artists which prohibits them from speaking out on
      Black issues. Consequently, Black popular artists are forced to shed off their
      cultural identities in order to achieve and maintain mainstream/pop culture
      success. This article provides a detailed examination of Beyoncé’s celebration
      of Black culture and its aftermath, along with other contemporary Black
      popular artists and celebrities, and will highlight the contemporary damnation
      of Black entertainers. These analyses will create a foundation for challenging
      the race-neutral categorization of Black popular artists.

      popular culture, cultural identity, Beyoncé, racism

      1California State University, Northridge, CA, USA

      Corresponding Author:
      Marquita Gammage, Associate Professor, Department of Africana Studies, California State
      University, Santa Susana Hall, Room 212, 18111 Nordhoff Street, Northridge, CA 91330-
      8315, USA.
      Email: marquita.gammage@csun.edu

      729504 JBSXXX10.1177/0021934717729504Journal of Black StudiesGammage

      716 Journal of Black Studies 48(8)

      When we lose the dignity and respect of freedom of expression, we lose the
      beauty of its power.

      —Eartha Kitt

      On February 7, 2016, Beyoncé took to the stage of Super Bowl 50 as a fea-
      tured artist during the halftime show performance. Immediately after,
      Beyoncé’s featured performance was classified as an anti-American act of ter-
      rorism because her performance was perceived as social justice oriented. The
      American public took to social media, not in the usual fan craze, but instead
      condemned and damned Beyoncé for her one-time celebration of Black
      American culture during Black History Month. During Beyoncé’s featured
      halftime performance, she reportedly honored the 50th year anniversary of the
      Black Panther Party with her and her dancers dressed in berets. While singing
      her new song “Formation,” Beyoncé and her dancers created a dance forma-
      tion of the letter X and sported afro-styled hair. The majority of the perfor-
      mance displayed contemporary hip-hop dances, and the women were dressed
      in contemporary black leotards, close fitting one-piece bodysuits that expose
      the thighs and legs, which are not reflective of Black Panther Party attire.
      Whether intentional or not, in less than 5 minutes, Beyoncé’s performance
      forced a very uncomfortable conversation to erupt in the homes of Americans
      across the nation. The discussion around Black power, rights, and strength is
      erased out of American history books and the larger American psyche (Harris
      & Graham, 2014; King, 1991; Watkins, 2005; Woodson, 2003), yet Beyoncé’s
      national performance called attention to the continued social injustices faced
      by African Americans. Ironically, Beyoncé’s 2013 Super Bowl performance
      labeled her as a feminist and women’s rights supporter, which did not result in
      her being criticized or damned. Although subtle changes were made to her
      normal performance style during Super Bowl 50, they were enough to classify
      Beyoncé’s performance as social justice oriented and this resulted in major
      backlash. Hence, the American public considered Beyoncé’s celebration of
      girl power and women’s rights as more socially accepted than her celebration
      of Black history. However, it is important to state that if Beyoncé did in fact
      use her art form to engage social justice issues, she would for the first time be
      upholding the African cultural responsibility of artists. According to Du Bois
      (1926), art for the African is never simply art for art or entertainment sake; art
      must be communal and address the issues of the society. Therefore, Black art-
      ists are culturally responsible for producing art that enriches their society (Du
      Bois, 1926), yet Beyoncé has not been able to operate as a Black artist with
      social consciousness because American popular culture prohibits this form of
      art (Gayle, 1971). Moreover, confining Black popular artists into foreign cul-
      tural productions constitutes what Kobi Kambon (2004) calls substantial

      Gammage 717

      deviations away from African peoples’ normal and natural ways of being. That
      is to say, it is natural for Black artists to celebrate Black culture and advocate
      for social justice.

      In 2016, the number one rated pop artist used the power of the media to
      celebrate Black history, which was previously not up for discussion. Now,
      Americans were forced to answer the uncomfortable questions of who are the
      Black panthers, and who is Malcom X? The backlash to Beyoncé’s perfor-
      mance is in large a backlash to American history. It is a rejection of the hid-
      den and unspoken truths that exist in America’s past and present (Loewen,
      2007; Woodson, 2013). Many White Americans were able to escape all dis-
      cussion of Black power because this part of America’s history is excluded
      from the literature used in American public schools (Harris & Graham, 2014;
      King, 1991; Watkins, 2005; Woodson, 2003). In fact, in American public
      school books, even the enslavement of African people is erased or falsely
      written. Recently, McGraw-Hill received criticism for its falsification of the
      forced enslavement of Africans by writing the experience as a willful work
      migration. The McGraw-Hill World Geography textbook reported human
      patterns of immigration into the United States. Within this chapter, McGraw-
      Hill classified Africans’ forced enslavement on American plantations as
      Africans immigrating to become “workers” on plantations. This falsification
      of American history makes it easier to reject overt acknowledgments of
      African Americans’ horrid and unjust history in this country. The American
      public has promoted and accepted White American culture as the official cul-
      ture of the country (Gordon, 1964) and therefore has simultaneously elimi-
      nated and ostracized other cultures from inclusion in what is considered
      popular culture (Kambon, 2003). According to Jenkins (2011), Black artists
      remain invisible and as a result are not included in what goes for the larger
      American culture. Jenkins (2011) states,

      In contemporary society, there is only an illusion of inclusion. The real identity
      of many Black people (as strong, culturally grounded, and intelligent) still
      remains invisible. This is a society in which even our president is criticized for
      being too smart (professional) and walks a thin line of being seen as too ethnic
      (Poor, 2009; Rappaport, 2009). If the man holding one of the most critical
      positions in our society must succumb to a manufactured and socially palpable
      identity, what role could artists possibly occupy as strong and vocal intellectuals?
      (p. 1235)

      Consequently, Black pop artists must perform “popular culture,” that is,
      White culture, without full acknowledgment of their own culture and cultural
      values. Instead, Black popular artists are ridiculed, judged, and ultimately
      damned when they attempt to transform the media by partaking in their own
      cultural celebrations or when promoting social justice. This article examines

      718 Journal of Black Studies 48(8)

      the damnation of Black popular artists and their attempt to challenge the sta-
      tus quo of “Popular Culture.” Here, “Damnation is defined as the purposeful
      condemning of [Blackness] as inferior, inhumane, and ungodly” (Gammage,
      2015, p. 4). Therefore, Black popular artists are restricted to performing
      White culture, and when they practice, support, or celebrate Black culture,
      they are damned. This is because America has labeled Black culture as infe-
      rior and not an acceptable culture (Moynihan, n.d.). This is cultural racism,
      and when practiced in American institutions such as the media or the music
      industry, it is institutional racism. In this article, I examine the historical prac-
      tice of excluding Black culture and in particular, Black rights from popular
      culture. An examination of Beyoncé’s celebration of Black culture and its
      aftermath, along with other contemporary Black popular artists and celebri-
      ties, will highlight the contemporary damnation of Black entertainers. These
      analyses will create a foundation for challenging the race-neutral categoriza-
      tion of Black popular artists.

      Historical Background

      The development of film and television media created a unique opportunity
      to broadcast representations of people and cultures throughout the world.
      Early American film and later television productions primarily created media
      that reinforced elite White American culture, values, and perspectives
      (Entman & Rojecki, 2000; Gammage, 2015; Gandy, 1998; Staples & Jones,
      1985). This particular approach to media was designed to socialize the public
      around the values deemed most appropriate for American citizens and to
      highlight the “superiority” of White American culture (Gandy, 1998; Gray,
      1995). This meant that other cultural groups’ representations were only
      depicted through the lens of the White American and therefore lacked an
      intimate portrait of other racial groups. In fact, this new medium gave way to
      the wide-scale promotion of anti-African propaganda (Gray, 1995; Parenti,
      1992). Consequently, film media was used to socialize public opinions about
      Blacks, promote racist ideologies, and socialize society to be anti-African. As
      a result, Blacks were portrayed as savage, ignorant, lustful, and criminal. In
      the 19th century, Black entertainers were primarily excluded from main-
      stream entertainment arenas. Instead, their White counterparts would per-
      form their perception of Black reality in mistral scenes called Blackface, in
      which White male actors would paint their faces black and perform stereo-
      typed portrayals of Blacks (Gammage, 2015). “Birth of a Nation” was one of
      the first motion pictures designed as anti-African media charged with the task
      of socializing the White American public away from accepting Blackness
      and Black culture as an adequate cultural model that could exist alongside

      Gammage 719

      whiteness in America (Riggs, 1986). Created in 1915, this film represented
      Blackness as a direct threat to the White American public and the chastity of
      White womanhood. This film and similar media productions carried the dual
      task of prioritizing White American culture as the only and most appropriate
      cultural model suitable for existence in America and American television and
      film (Riggs, 1986).

      Once Black entertainers were able to enter into the public domain, they
      were regulated to stereotyped characters that classified Black men as bucks,
      toms, and coons, and labeled Black women as mammies, sapphires, and jeze-
      bels (Gammage, 2015; Riggs, 1986). Despite their eminence amount of tal-
      ent, many Black actors, singers, and dancers were excluded from performing
      in “white” theaters and films. Once, a few extraordinary Black entertainers
      were able to break the color divide; they were once again marginalized to a
      confined fame (Gammage, 2015; Riggs, 1986). Many quickly learned that
      their talent and skills were limited to entertainment that did not threaten the
      White power structure that exists in American society and that they could not
      use their stardom to address cultural or political issues, given that this medium
      was not created to counteract the stereotyped perceptions of Blackness
      (Williams-Witherspoon, 2006). Instead, Black entertainers were forced to
      uphold anti-African media by performing as simple-minded, savage, and in
      need of social control. Once Black artists’ star power grew and they crossed
      over into white entertainment arenas, their existence as popular artists become
      even more marginalized and race-neutral (Gray, 1995; Smith-Shomade,
      2002). These artists could only perform popular White cultural norms and not
      represent their Black culture or heritage if they were to maintain their fame
      (Staples & Jones, 1985). Few Black entertainers attempted to battle this con-
      fined reality and use their star power to address social concerns affecting the
      Black community. Yet, whenever Black popular artists and entertainers
      attempted to transform the media away from anti-African entertainment, they
      were harshly ridiculed and damned out of stardom.

      20th Century Damnation of Black Popular Artists

      Entertainer and activist Paul Robeson was highly educated and talented and
      used his gifts to entertain and address social issues (Robeson, 1988). Robeson
      was one of the first Black male entertainers to perform roles that were not
      subject to the stereotyped buffoonery previously occupied by Black actors
      (Robeson, 1988). His vocal talents were equally rewarding. He became one
      of the highest esteemed singers of the 20th century and often landed roles in
      films primarily casted by Whites. Once Robeson began to use his star power
      to highlight racial injustices, he was ousted out of fame. Given his popularity,

      720 Journal of Black Studies 48(8)

      Robeson became a target of political attack for his stance on civil rights and
      American racism. Robeson was singled out as a threat to American sover-
      eignty and governance and as a result underwent major ridicule (Duberman,
      2014; Robeson, 1988). National attempts to delegitimize Robeson’s political
      views resulted in his passport being revoked, which inhibited him from trav-
      eling abroad (Duberman, 2014). Although his passport was later restored 8
      years later, Robeson did not have the popularity and connections he previ-
      ously bolstered. He later became ill and confined to his home. His legacy and
      voice has largely been written out of America’s history. His intellect nor tal-
      ents excused him from a marginalized entertainment career. Instead, his
      blackness regulated him to a damned stardom, which prohibited him from
      exercising the dual privileges of stardom and activism.

      As Black women entered into the public domain, entertainment in particu-
      lar, they were confined to the same stereotypes of the 19th century (Gammage,
      2015). Lena Horne was a pop and jazz artist of 20th century. She was a televi-
      sion and film star who was highly noted for her multitalented entertainment.
      According to Lena Horne Website, Horne became one of the highest paid
      actresses when she signed a 7-year contract with MGM Studios in 1942. By
      the next year, she had three movies released and appeared on several maga-
      zine covers. Horne’s career began to afford her privileges not yet experienced
      by other Black entertainers (Gavin, 2009). In October of 1944, Lena Horne
      was featured on the cover of Motion Picture Magazine, which no other Black
      person had previously appeared (Lena Horne, n.d.). However, by the end of
      the 1940s, Lena Horne’s civil rights activism almost completely ended her
      career. Listed as possibly having ties to communist persons and organiza-
      tions, Horne landed on the Blacklist in Hollywood and she struggled to secure
      work as an entertainer. Horne found herself attacked for her friendships with
      blacklisted entertainers such as Paul Robeson and organizations supporting
      communist political agendas. Although largely denying ties to the communist
      party, Horne openly embraced the fight for civil rights and the fight to end
      racism. With the help of a friend, she had her name removed from the black-
      list at the age of 40 and once again returned to television and film. By the
      1960s, Horne reignited her support for the Civil Rights Movement and was
      awarded for her tenacity in serving as both a rights advocate and entertainer
      (Gavin, 2009). Such awards and national support came at a time when the
      Civil Rights Movement had reached its height and could no longer be hidden
      from the American public.

      Vocalist Billie Holiday also suffered from a similar reality given her harsh
      experiences in America, although she was not classified as pro-Black or anti-
      American. In 1939, Billie Holiday was burdened with the task of singing

      Gammage 721

      Black Americans’ sorrows and blues without threatening or offending the
      White American public (Davis, 1999). Her song “Strange Fruit” was riddled
      with a hidden meaning as to not alarm record companies, radio stations, or
      the public. “Strange Fruit” spoke of the inhumanity of America and its savage
      treatment of Black lives (Davis, 1999). More specifically, the song detailed
      the horrifying experience of traveling down the dark streets of the Jim Crow
      South and witnessing the lifeless body of a Black man hanging from a tree.
      Strange indeed is such an experience and yet such an accomplished American
      vocalist could not and would not dare speak openly or freely about these
      kinds of injustices. Yet this coded song protested the injustice of lynching and
      the larger issues of racism in American society. Codifying one’s reality laced
      with fear can lead to increased psychological trauma for anyone, but in par-
      ticular, Black popular artists face a multidimensional reality that limits them
      based on their race, gender, and class. These crippled and confined realities
      may push Black popular artists to the limits and test their strength. Although
      Holiday’s experience departs from the previous examples of Black popular
      artists, who have openly spoke out on issues of racism and social justice, her
      life provides an illustration of the crippling effect placed on Black popular
      artists even when they do not publicly address issues of racism. Black popu-
      lar artists in general are confined to a marginalized stardom, which prohibits
      them from expressing their Blackness. This, in turn, is in and of itself damn-
      ing and if internalized can be destructive.

      Another noted Black woman entertainer who underwent public ridicule
      was Eartha Kitt. Kitt was a multitalented entertainer in film, theater, televi-
      sion, dance, and music. She received both Emmy and Grammy nominations.
      Just 1 year after Eartha Kitt was famed for her role as Catwoman in the televi-
      sion series “Batman,” she was ostracized for voicing her views on the racial-
      ized impact of the war in Vietnam (earthakitt.com). In January 1968 after
      Eartha Kitt attended a luncheon at the White House with First Lady Johnson,
      the media condemned and attacked Kitt for speaking out about her view on
      the impact of the Vietnam War on the inner city and American youth
      (Mezzack, 1990). Previously silent on political issues, Kitt’s first public
      address on politics in America landed her on the radar of the Central
      Intelligence Agency (CIA). Kitt states,

      For years I went along with the idea that entertainers should not get involved with
      politics. Today, I realize that because of our contact with the public, we have to
      speak out, to make those who are responsible more aware of what is happening
      where they perhaps cannot see. Particularly someone like myself, who has lived
      the life of poverty. (“Tuesday’s Child Speaks Out,” 1975)

      722 Journal of Black Studies 48(8)

      The CIA began a formal investigation into Eartha Kitt’s political and social
      affairs to assess whether or not she was a threat to American sovereignty.
      Recognizing that this criminal targeting was a direct result of her race, Kitt
      responded by stating,

      Scores of Hollywood, television, and music personalities, both American and
      foreign-born, have been far more critical of America’s foreign and domestic
      policies than I have. The difference, of course, is that I am not Barbara Howard
      or Jane Fonda or Candice Bergen. I am a black woman.

      I have always known that racism was widespread in America; after all, I spent
      most of my childhood in South Carolina on a cotton plantation and in the streets
      of Harlem. But it took the aftermath of the 1968 incident to prove to me just
      how deeply racial prejudice is rooted in the American national character.

      Because I am black, I had to be taught a lesson, and put back into my place as
      a singing, dancing, mindless automaton who saw no evil, did no evil, and most
      important, publicly spoke no evil. (Miller, 2008)

      Countless numbers of nightclubs and entertainment venues canceled Kitt’s
      scheduled performances, and she left to perform in Europe. Kitt’s attempt to
      challenge American media into recognizing its racially biased treatment of
      popular artists landed her on the damned list of Black entertainers who were
      ostracized and forcibly removed from the public domain. Although Kitt
      rejected this treatment and garnered some support, the massive public ridi-
      cule she underwent ultimately derailed her career.

      Historically, we have witnessed media used to generate public opinions
      about Blacks and promote racist ideologies that socialize society into adopt-
      ing anti-African ideologies. According to Herman Gray (1995),

      In order for television to produce cultural effects and meet its economic
      imperatives (that is, to produce identification and pleasures necessary to
      maintain profitability), it has to operate on the basis of a popular awareness and
      general common sense about the currents adrift in the society. (p. 58)

      Thus, when Black artists use media, a medium designed to socialize the public
      away from Africanness, for social justice advocacy, they experience heavy
      ridicule and subjugation. Consequently, when Black popular artists try to
      transform the media into a venue capable of highlighting social justice issues
      and celebrating Black culture, they are isolated because they are attempting to
      use a medium previously beholden to anti-African entertainment. Such prac-
      tices are still highly accepted and promoted across media entities.

      Gammage 723

      Contemporary Treatment of Black Popular Artists

      The marginalized existence of Black popular artists is long standing and has
      not wavered in the 21st century. Beyoncé, the number one ranked popular
      artist in America and awarded over 50 million dollars in one endorsement
      deal alone, was reminded on Super Bowl Sunday 2016 that she was still a
      Black woman in America. In addition, the release of Beyoncé’s single
      “Formation” in February 2016 resulted in much controversy as she attempted
      to celebrate her unique African American heritage. The song details her
      African and creole lineage and spotlights her New Orleans family history, in
      which she seeks to embrace. Over 10 years after hurricane Katina flooded
      New Orleans, Beyoncé’s “Formation” video displays scenes with a semisub-
      merged police car that fully submerges with her on top. Several scenes high-
      light traditional New Orleans style homes. Toward the end of the video, a
      young Black boy is dressed in a Black hoodie facing police with his hands up
      in the air. Seconds later, the walls of a building highlight the phrase “Stop
      Shooting Us” which appears in the wake of the Black Lives Matter Movement.
      This video displays Beyoncé’s acknowledgment of her cultural heritage and
      yet she has been highly ridiculed and labeled as a politically controversial
      artist. During Super Bowl 2016 halftime show, Beyoncé performed
      “Formation” and with typical Beyoncé dances and leotard attire. Yet, the pub-
      lic deemed her performance as anti-police and anti-American. Protest ensued
      by both police unions and the general American public. In fact, widespread
      protest erupted on social media in an anti-Beyoncé campaign entitled
      #BoycottBeyoncé. Post encouraged the American public to stop supporting
      Beyoncé and boycott her performances. Yet, if we look more in-depth at
      Beyoncé’s performance, we note similar attributes to other performances and
      videos that were not labeled social justice oriented or pro-Black. For exam-
      ple, she wore a similar black leotard during her “Single Ladies” video and
      performances; the only difference was the shape of an X across her Super
      Bowl performance leotard. In addition, it is not unusual to find Beyoncé’s
      dancers with afro-styled hair; the only difference was this time they wore
      black berets. Third, Beyoncé and her dancers perform contemporary hip-hop
      dances that are typical for Beyoncé videos and stage performances.
      Meanwhile, during the same halftime show, Bruno Mars and his crew wore
      Black leather jackets and pants, and this was not considered pro-Black. This
      illustrates the narrow margin in which Black popular artists can operate.
      Thus, Beyoncé can wear a Black leotard, but not during Black history month,
      and not with the shape of an X across the front. During an Elle Magazine
      interview, Beyoncé response by stating,

      724 Journal of Black Studies 48(8)

      But anyone who perceives my message as anti-police is completely mistaken.
      I have so much admiration and respect for officers and the families of the
      officers who sacrifice themselves to keep us safe. But let’s be clear: I am
      against police brutality and injustice. Those are two separate things. (Gottesman,

      Beyoncé goes on to state,

      If celebrating my roots and culture during Black History Month made anyone
      uncomfortable, those feelings were there long before a video and long before
      me. I’m proud of what we created and I’m proud to be part of a conversation
      that is pushing things forward in a positive way. (Gottesman, 2016)

      Despite her stature in popular culture, the industry confines Beyoncé to a
      unidimensional existence, such that any appearance of Black advocacy ren-
      ders public backlash.

      In the same way that previous Black popular artists were marginalized in
      the 19th and 20th centuries, Beyoncé can only exist as a pop artist and not a
      member of the African race or the Black community. All celebrations,
      acknowledgments, and recognition of her blackness must cease to exist if she
      is to maintain her throne. Consequently, Beyoncé and all Black popular art-
      ists can only be “pop” but cannot display their culture. For Beyoncé, even
      though she has displayed some cultural orientation, she has not made the
      same choice to operate as a social justice advocate as her predecessors Lena
      Horne, Eartha Kitt, and Paul Robeson. Beyoncé herself recognize that she
      has been placed into a confined reality, stating, “I’m just exhausted by labels
      and tired of being boxed in” (Gottesman, 2016). Ironically, however, although
      labeled a feminist, Beyoncé has never been publicly ridiculed and condemned
      for her pro-girl power songs and videos. This has resulted in her being the
      most nominated woman in Grammy history. She has almost exclusively
      remained silent on issues of racism and Black culture throughout her career.
      Now that she has openly embraced her heritage and displayed some level of
      support for the Black Lives Matter Movement, the media and public classi-
      fied Beyoncé as a racially subjugated pop artist. The previous fan support for
      Beyoncé may have fooled the public into believing that Beyoncé somehow
      escaped the racialized treatment of Black popular artists, but the rendering of
      Beyoncé as anti-American once again shows the ugly face of American
      media and entertainment. That is to say, the original purpose of media has not
      altered in the 21st century and media is still largely used to promote an anti-
      African agenda, which regulates Black popular artists and celebrities to a
      confined stardom. Therefore, Black pop artists must remain race-neutral in

      Gammage 725

      order to gain and maintain stardom. Beyoncé and all other Black popular art-
      ists must still fit into the normative cultural assumptions of who can be suc-
      cessful popular artists. Thus, the closer you look like and perform the White
      American cultural norms, the greater success you can gain. According to
      Entman and Rojecki (2000), racial images on television imitate and may
      directly impact White Americans’ attitudes about racial issues. They argue,

      Along with other media, it is both a barometer of race relations and a potential
      accelerator either to racial cohesion or to cultural separation and political
      conflict. Because Whites control mass media organizations, and because
      Whites’ majority status makes their taste the most influential in audience-
      maximizing calculations, media productions offer a revealing indicator of the
      new forms of racial differentiation. Beyond providing a diagnostic tool, a
      measuring device for the state of race relations, the media also act as a causal
      agent: they help to shape and reshape the culture. (Entman & Rojecki, 2000,
      p. 2-3)

      Therefore, Black popular artists and entertainers are forced to shed off their
      cultural identities in order to achieve and maintain mainstream/pop culture
      success. Essentially, this means that Black popular artists, including
      Beyoncé, image must be race-neutral, that is, non-Black and nonthreatening
      to the White American culture, if they are to achieve and maintain pop sta-
      tus. This is precisely what Langston Hughes described in 1926 in his essay
      “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain.” Here, Hughes explains the
      racial dilemma faced by Black artists as the choice between assimilating into
      White American entertainment and being one’s true self. This dilemma is
      still present in the 21st century and Black artists seeking to become popular
      culture artists are forced to operate within a standardized artistry, which pro-
      hibits them from being their Black selves (Du Bois, 1926; Gayle, 1971;
      Hughes, 1926).

      Ironically, other non-Blacks frequently adopt aspects of Black culture,
      without respect or recognition for Black cultural values, and are applauded
      (Hess, 2005; Rodriquez, 2006). The presence of Black cultural appropriation
      in popular culture is not anything new. Black culture tunes, vocal styling,
      clothing, and hairstyles are frequently adopted by non-Blacks and are trans-
      formed into “Pop” culture style, clothing, and hairstyles without any acknowl-
      edgment of Black culture (Harrison, 2008; Rodriquez, 2006). When Kim
      Kardashian or Iggy Iglesias wear braids, they are called “boxer braids” and
      become the new pop culture hair trend. Interestingly enough, their braids are
      the same African braid hairstyle called “cornrolls” by African Americans that
      have been in existence for centuries. Yet, Black popular artists are forced to

      726 Journal of Black Studies 48(8)

      tone down their blackness and modify their appearance and artistry to fit into
      the mainstream American music industry (Gandy, 1998; Gayle, 1971; Gray,
      1995). Beyoncé is a perfect example; at the beginning of her career, Beyoncé
      wore African-styled braids and Hip-Hop attire. As her popularity increased,
      Beyoncé’s clothing began to reflect more European attire and she began to
      wear long blonde straight extensions in her hair. Beyoncé now, almost exclu-
      sively, only wears White


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      Address all three scenarios below in an essay. There is no definitive right or wrong answer as each individual might approach each scenario differently. The key is to make sure you are integrating and responding to each scenario using Biblical and ethical principles. Explain how you might respond to each scenario:

      1. Your superior requests that you misrepresent information on a forthcoming report.

      2. You witness a colleague making disparaging comments to another colleague.

      3. As you start a new career and endeavor into graduate school, explain certain practices you will implement to gain a reputation of being a diligent, honest, and respectable employee or student.

      The length of each response should be at least two paragraphs per scenario. 

      You should have at least 6 paragraphs and the total length should be no more than three pages, double spaced, 12 point font, with 1-inch margins. 


      Who Slays? Queer Resonances in Beyoncé’s Lemonade
      Lauron Kehrer

      Department of Music, College of William & Mary, Williamsburg, VA, USA

      This article examines ways in which Beyoncé’s Lemonade incorpo-
      rates, exploits, and otherwise engages queer artists and their
      communities. In addition to the inclusion of Big Freedia on
      “Formation,” a close reading of Lemonade reveals lyrical and sty-
      listic references to queer cultures. Lines such as “Slay trick, or you
      get eliminated” draw on the language of Ballroom culture. In the
      “Formation” video queer performers were featured prominently
      but went largely uncredited and uncompensated. An examination
      of the singer’s selective support for LGBTQ rights illuminates the
      complexities of the singer’s relationship to her queer fans and her
      indebtedness to queer cultures.

      On Saturday, 6 February 2016, a day before appearing during the Super Bowl halftime
      show, Beyoncé released a surprise music video for a new song, “Formation.” The first
      single from Lemonade, her visual album that would be released a few months later in
      April, “Formation” was the track that launched a thousand think pieces. In a New York
      Times-published conversation with Wesley Morris and Jenna Wortham, for example,
      pop music critic Jon Caramanica described the significance of some of the political
      imagery that characterizes the video, especially those scenes where Beyoncé is posi-
      tioned on top of a sinking New Orleans police car and a young black boy in a hoodie
      dances in front of a line of police officers. He writes:

      In “Formation,” [Beyoncé] returns to [New Orleans]; this time, she’s in scenes that suggest
      a fantastical post-Katrina hellscape, but radically rewritten. . . .

      This is high-level, visuallystriking [sic], Black Lives Matter-era allegory. The [Super Bowl]
      halftime show is usually a locus of entertainment, but Beyoncé has just rewritten it –
      overridden it, to be honest – as a moment of political ascent. (Caramanica et al.)

      The three commentators raise the question of whether “Formation” marks Beyoncé’s
      turn from celebrity pop star to activist, and whether it is possible to be both. In a piece
      penned for The Daily Beast on the day of the song’s release, Kevin Fallon similarly
      acknowledges that “Formation” is both a “black power anthem for the masses” and
      “another entry in Beyoncé’s canon of dance floor calls-to-arms.” “Formation” unapo-
      logetically focuses on black American experiences and comments on contemporary
      issues of racial justice, an emphasis so unusual for the singer that, a week after the

      CONTACT Lauron Kehrer lauron.kehrer@gmail.com

      2019, VOL. 42, NO. 1, 82–98

      © 2018 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group

      single’s release, the popular comedy show Saturday Night Live aired a sketch in which
      white Americans listening to the track discover, seemingly for the first time, that the
      singer is herself black (“The Day Beyoncé Turned Black”).

      Although many journalists, scholars, and fans agreed that “Formation” represented
      Beyoncé’s most political work to date, others, such as Shantrelle Lewis, took issue with
      the singer’s use of New Orleans as a backdrop for her foray into Black Lives Matter
      politics. Reflecting in a piece for Slate on the ways in which the “Formation” video
      exploits New Orleans’ post-Katrina trauma and racial politics, Lewis pointed out that,
      while Beyoncé features the voices of two black queer New Orleans artists in the song,
      she fails to contextualize them or their work in a meaningful way:

      “What happened at the New Wildins? . . . Bitch I’m back, by popular demand.” The words
      of the late bounce rapper and comedian Messy Mya braggadociously introduce Beyoncé’s
      anthem. A marginalized queer black man, Messy Mya in all of his wildest imagination,
      ribbing, and capping would not have believed that the world’s biggest pop star would use
      his voice in a video – without, however, acknowledging his humanity in life and in death.
      Messy Mya, a household NOLA name, was shot and killed at age 22. . . . In focusing on
      black New Orleanian lives, it would have been easy for Beyoncé to dedicate “Formation” to
      Messy Mya and other victims of gun violence. She provided no context for his life or
      death. Those not in the know could mistake his sassiness with that of the Queen of
      Bounce, Big Freedia, whose voice is heard a little later in the song. This is not gumbo.
      These are black lives. (Lewis)

      Lewis focuses on the appropriation of New Orleanians’ trauma for the sake of a pop
      music video (regardless of the importance of its political message), but she also draws
      our attention to one of the song’s many paradoxes: in featuring New Orleans artists
      Messy Mya and Big Freedia, the song incorporates queer artists but renders their
      queerness invisible and inaudible through a lack of context and appropriate

      There is something decidedly queer about much of the lyrical and visual language of
      Lemonade, but, aside from Big Freedia, the album’s queer contributors and inspiration
      have been rendered largely invisible. Indeed, while “Formation” and the rest of the
      Lemonade visual album include a number of queer influences and resonances, few of
      the queer artists who contributed to the work are explicitly credited. Beyoncé’s refram-
      ing of queer artistic expressions in the context of her own work can be read as an
      example of cultural appropriation that undermines the queer performers’ subjective
      agency.1 This article examines ways in which Beyoncé’s most recent work incorporates,
      exploits, and otherwise engages queer artists and their communities. While several
      aspects of Lemonade demonstrate this problematic engagement, I focus primarily on
      the album’s now iconic single, “Formation,” which, as the above commenters show, can
      be understood both as part of the larger conceptual album and as a stand-alone work
      with its own reception history prior to the album’s release. By contextualizing the visual
      album within Beyoncé’s public stances (and silences) on issues pertaining to LGBTQ
      rights, I situate the work as part of the ongoing politicization of the performer and her
      music. Drawing on fieldwork I conducted in New Orleans a few months after the
      single’s release, I then consider the contested inclusion of queer art and artists in
      “Formation.” The artists with whom I spoke expressed conflicted feelings in response
      to Beyoncé’s engagement with black queer New Orleans – excitement at seeing bounce,


      a music culture specific to New Orleans in which openly queer participants are highly
      visible, represented on screen and sonically on the track, and dismay that many of those
      queer artists whose work was used did not receive any kind of credit or compensation.
      Ultimately, I suggest that Beyoncé’s engagement with aspects of black LGBTQ cultures
      in Lemonade is problematic but underscores her radical reframing of alternative kinship
      networks among black women.

      Many scholars and critics have written about Beyoncé’s emerging feminism, espe-
      cially as it relates to legacies of black feminism, and most would agree that, while the
      artist’s public engagement with gender politics has evolved over the course of her
      career, her feminism remains complicated (Hall; Gibson). For example, Kai Arne
      Hansen notes a discrepancy between “Beyoncé’s self-presentation as a feminist and
      her employment of audiovisual aesthetics that objectify the female pop artist according
      to normative expectations of gender and sexuality” (165).2 Similarly, her support for
      and relationship to LGBTQ communities has evolved, largely in step with wider social
      acceptance of LGBTQ people and recent legal victories that have made it safer for
      celebrities to speak openly about their support with less risk to their professional
      careers. And yet, while Beyoncé has become increasingly vocal in favor of LGBTQ
      rights, this support, like her feminism, remains complicated by her actions and, at
      times, inaction. In fact, her engagement with LGBTQ culture and artists reflects the
      complications of her emerging feminist politics that center neoliberal, capitalistic, and
      heteronormative values.

      Beyoncé and LGBTQ Politics

      Beyoncé has an inconsistent track record when it comes to speaking openly about her
      support for LGBTQ people. At the same time, however, she is widely touted as a gay
      icon in the spirit of Cher or Barbara Streisand: a straight woman whose fan base
      includes a large number of LGBTQ fans who identify strongly with the star and her
      music. A brief timeline outlining her most recent public statements regarding issues
      affecting LGBTQ Americans illustrates that such statements largely support her own
      economic interests and follow a liberal approach to LGBTQ rights, often in a coded
      rather than explicit way.

      One of the earliest examples of Beyoncé’s public support for LGBTQ equality
      appears in an interview with gay magazine Instinct in 2006 (Wood). The singer notes
      that, growing up, she was very close to a gay uncle who had died from AIDS-related
      illness and that she saw no conflict between supporting LGBTQ people and practicing
      her Christian faith. Five years later, she gave another interview with the gay press, this
      time with PrideSource, in which she acknowledges her connection to her gay fans:

      Most of my audience is actually women and my gay fans, and I’ve seen a lot of the
      younger boys kind of grow up to my music. It’s great when I’m able to do the meet
      and greets, because I’m able to really connect and have conversations. People look at
      some of the artists that I admire – like Diana Ross and Cher – and they identity [sic]
      that glamour with Sasha Fierce [the performer’s alter ego], and I’ve been really inspired
      by the language. I have my (gay) stylists and my makeup artist, and all of their stories
      and the slang words I always put it in my music. We inspire each other. Like I said,
      we’re one. (qtd. in Azzopardi)

      84 L. KEHRER

      Beyoncé places herself in a lineage of women singers who have served as gay icons,
      while also acknowledging the impact of her gay fans’ and team members’ experiences
      and culture on her own creative output. Furthermore, as the documentary Waiting For
      B. demonstrates, many of Beyoncé’s LGBTQ fans, especially those who are queer and
      trans people of color, relate very strongly to her music and public persona. According to
      The Fader, the film, which examines a group of the singer’s Brazilian LGBTQ fans who
      camp out in anticipation of her performances in their country during the 2013
      Mrs. Carter Show World Tour, “reveals what queer fans around the world get from
      Beyoncé – the space and permission to be bolder and freer than white heteronormative
      society allows” (Lee).

      Beyoncé’s acknowledgment of her LGBTQ fans and members of her team certainly helps
      increase the overall visibility of queer and trans people in a positive way, particularly
      regarding the often behind-the-scenes work they produce. Furthermore, the ways in
      which fans, such as those featured in Waiting For B., identify with the singer highlight
      the intersectional needs of queer and trans fans of color. They see, reflected in the star,
      aspects of themselves that are not always recognized in mainstream culture. In her recep-
      tion history of the Latina superstar Selena following her death, Deborah Paredez notes
      a similar experience among Latinx drag performers who impersonate the singer and their
      queer audiences. Selena drag “provides an affirming practice for making queer Latina/o
      identifications visible to both larger queer communities and to Latina/o communities of
      origin . . . [it] facilitates the consolidation of a specifically Latina/o camp sensibility that
      disidentifies with conventional drag’s racialized and classed standards of glamour” (174).
      While Beyoncé’s narrative does not hold the same potential for queer readings as Selena’s,
      the presence of a successful diva-figure whose racial identity reflects that of her queer
      listeners and impersonators provides a focal point around which an affirmational commu-
      nity identity can be built and counters the often tragic often narratives that, as Paredez
      points out, are all too frequently ascribed to Latinx and black LGBTQ individuals (182).

      Beyoncé’s open acknowledgement of her gay fans, particularly through LGBTQ-
      targeted media such as PrideSource, aligns with other aspects of the singer’s performa-
      tive personal narrative. As Hansen (drawing on Hawkins and Richardson) has argued,
      artists such as Beyoncé use personal narrative through their music, interviews, and
      other media (including the biographical documentaries Beyoncé has released) to curate
      their personae and construct their identities as performers. Hansen suggests that “by
      presenting certain aspects of personal biographies as significant while bypassing others,
      pop artists guide audiences in making sense of past events, while also providing points
      of reference that will inform interpretations of future actions” (165). He continues: “In
      the case of Beyoncé, notions of her private self operate as integral to a representational
      strategy that crafts her persona through a continuous (re-) negotiation of the supposed
      synchronization of the artist’s private and public lives. Beyoncé’s self-presentation
      revolves around the notion of her being in control of her artistic output” (166).
      Hansen focuses on ways in which Beyoncé fashions herself as a feminist pop star in
      relation to her musical and video output, but the concept of personal narrative also
      helps situate her comments on LGBTQ fans and communities. Beyoncé voices her
      support for LGBTQ equality, making a pro-LGBTQ stance part of her carefully crafted
      personal narrative and thus guiding fans to interpret her creative output and future
      actions as part of that ongoing support.


      Having established that queer people make up a significant portion of her fan base and
      of the creative team around her, Beyoncé later began voicing support for one of the
      mainstream LGBTQ rights movement’s most visible campaigns: the push for marriage
      equality. In March 2013, when the United States Supreme Court began to hear two
      marriage equality cases, Beyoncé posted a photo of a handwritten note that read “If you
      like it you should be able to put a ring on it #wewillunite4marriageequality” on Instagram
      (2013). She signed the note simply “B.” The note referenced one of Beyoncé’s biggest hits,
      “Single Ladies” (2008), whose chorus states: “If you liked it, then you should have put
      a ring on it.” Beyoncé further expressed her support for marriage equality by releasing
      a shortened version of her video for “7/11” on Instagram in July 2015 following the
      Supreme Court’s decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, where the court ruled that LGBTQ
      Americans have a constitutional right to marry and that the federal government must
      recognize same-sex marriages. In this video, the singer appears dancing as she does in the
      original, but this time dressed in various rainbow-patterned outfits, in some frames
      waving a tiny rainbow flag, and in others even flashing a rainbow cape. The entire
      video is only 17 seconds long and ends with “#LOVEWINS” in white centered against
      a black background. It was released five days after the Supreme Court’s ruling, leaving
      some LGBTQ people wondering if the superstar was merely jumping on the marriage
      equality bandwagon after it became the law of the land (Deino).

      Beyoncé’s LGBTQ fans did have good reasons to respond critically, if not cynically, to
      the gesture. The singer’s support for LGBTQ causes has been inconsistent at best, and
      exploitative at worst, and often seem timed to support capitalistic interests rather than
      political or personal values. For example, in February 2014 the singer released
      Valentine’s Day underwear gift sets that included “male–female, male–male and
      female–female varieties for all couples in love,” according to an article on huffington-
      post.com (Sieczkowski). The underwear sets featured the words “Yours” and “Mine” in
      pink lettering, a reference to the track “Mine” from the 2013 visual album, BEYONCÉ.
      While the underwear could be viewed as an inclusive approach to merchandising, it was
      merchandising nonetheless, with the sets of two pairs selling at $40 each. And while
      Beyoncé’s online store seemed to be inclusive of her gay fans, the singer herself has
      sometimes been silent on political issues deeply impacting the LGBTQ community. In
      November 2015, LGBTQ fans from the singer’s hometown of Houston, Texas, criticized
      her for her silence over the repeal of the Houston Equal Rights Ordinance (HERO), an
      ordinance approved by the city council in 2014 that prohibited discrimination in housing,
      employment, and other areas on the basis of gender identity and sexual orientation in
      addition to those categories already protected under federal law. After mounting a social
      media campaign to get the singer to encourage voters to oppose the repeal using the
      hashtag #BeyBeAHERO, a campaign that received national media coverage, LGBTQ
      Houstonians and activists were disappointed that the singer remained silent around the
      ordinance, even as other celebrities and politicians, including Hillary Clinton, expressed
      their support for HERO (Maza). In this instance, it was Beyoncé’s inaction and silence
      that seemed to suggest her complacency in revoking equal rights protections for several
      groups, but especially Houston’s LGBTQ community.

      It was that same level of inaction that drew criticism when, in early May 2016, the
      singer declined to cancel her Formation World Tour performance in Raleigh, North
      Carolina, in response to the House Bill 2 (HB 2), the so-called “bathroom bill” passed in

      86 L. KEHRER

      March 2016 that targeted transgender people and made it illegal for them to use the
      restroom that matched their gender identity if it was different from the gender they
      were assigned at birth (Domonoske and Doubek).3 Additionally, as Noisey writer
      Allison Hussey recalls, the artist did not mention anything about the bill or its
      repercussions during her performance. Hussey notes that during the show, Beyoncé’s
      team posted a statement on her website endorsing the anti-HB 2 organization Equality
      NC, with links to where fans could purchase T-shirts to support their cause, but the
      writer, like many fans, felt that this action was not enough:

      Beyoncé’s statement barely even qualifies as Beyoncé’s statement – It’s passive and luke-
      warm PR fluff that feels like an afterthought, delivered at exactly a time where almost no
      one was paying attention. Granted, the move is in line with Beyoncé’s tendency not to
      hammer directly on thorny social issues . . . [but] this is not the time to be wishy-washy or
      delicate. We know that it is no longer enough to just not be transphobic, or homophobic,
      or racist, or misogynistic. We must raise our voices and put our bodies to work against
      these aggressive evils. (Hussey)

      Like many HERO proponents, Hussey expresses disappointment that the star did not do
      enough to explicitly confront anti-LGBTQ politics head-on, and that she opted instead to
      make a “lukewarm” statement that was just enough to indicate that she did not support
      HB 2, rather than using her platform to take substantive action to resist the legislation.

      It is important to note that many of Beyoncé’s fans and critics, including the author of
      a scathing commentary on the singer’s lack of support for HERO, Carlos Maza, agree that
      celebrities are not obligated to be outspoken advocates for social justice issues (Maza).
      Indeed, most agree that Beyoncé’s constructed personal narrative necessitates a subtle
      approach to politics rather than sweeping statements. However, given the singer’s superstar
      status, as well as her indications that she supports her LGBTQ fans, it seems disingenuous to
      market merchandise to that community and yet remain silent on political battles that are
      poised to cause that community great harm. Additionally, the issues in which she does
      engage are most often aligned with a mainstream that emphasizes a homonormalizing
      approach to LGBTQ rights that largely benefits white, cisgender people seeking access to
      state-sanctioned markers of equality – marriage and active membership in the capitalist
      marketplace, for example.4 Nevertheless, as seen in Lemonade, Beyoncé incorporates aspects
      of specifically black and Latinx queer culture and queer labor in her work, sometimes
      without contextualization or compensation, placing herself in an exploitative relationship
      with those very communities she claims to support. In the following section, I examine some
      of the queer influences and resonances in Lemonade that further complicate this dynamic.

      Queer Resonances in Lemonade

      Lemonade has few explicitly queer moments, but allusions to queer cultures, especially
      those of queer and trans people of color, are embedded throughout the work. Turns of
      phrase, such as “boy, bye” (“Sorry”) and “I slay” (“Formation”), appear at various
      moments throughout the visual album, for the most part with their queer origins and
      contexts largely removed.5 One moment in which queer people are most obviously
      referenced comes near the end of the film when we see queer couples. As the penulti-
      mate track of the album, “All Night,” plays we see a montage of videos of couples,


      including Beyoncé and husband Jay-Z, as well as two same-sex couples. The couples,
      which include two women and two men, are shown being affectionate with one another
      in public spaces, sometimes kissing, while lyrics such as “True love never has to hide”
      underscore the visuals. In the context of the video, these couples highlight the diversity
      of monogamous romantic partnerships, but they are also shown as having successes and
      troubles as any other couple. Rarely, if ever, are gay couples featured in mainstream
      videos by heterosexual artists.6 This is a moment of explicit queer visibility, but the way
      in which the same-sex couples are presented reflects more similarities to than differ-
      ences from their heterosexual counterparts, thus reinforcing a homonormalizing

      Most of the queer resonances in the visual album come from the music and
      accompanying video for its first single, “Formation.” As noted above, critics, scho-
      lars, and fans (including those working from the intersections of these groups) have
      focused on the racial and gender geopolitics of the track, noting in particular the
      pro-Black Lives Matter imagery and lyrics (Caramanica et al.; Fallon). However, the
      New Orleans that Beyoncé evokes in “Formation” implicitly and explicitly includes
      the city’s black queer and trans community. Some of these resonances, particularly
      those surrounding the use of language, have become so commonplace that they have
      taken on new, non-queer meanings in the mainstream imagination. Others, includ-
      ing some of the visual images used in Beyoncé’s work, are more blatant and, at
      times, exploitative.

      For example, some lines from “Formation” that have come to be associated with
      black female empowerment, particularly “I slay” and “slay trick, or you get eliminated”
      originated within the predominantly black and Latinx LGBTQ Ballroom culture and, as
      such, have particularly queer meanings (2016). Marquis Bey suggests that Beyoncé’s
      insistent and repetitive utterances of the phrase “I slay” not only articulate a black
      feminist position, but they also serve to queer the track:

      Slaying is a modality of troubling the narrative. To slay, especially for Queen Bey, is to
      incite an insurgency from within whatever confines one finds oneself, to shatter the neat
      lines of boundaried normality, to queer. Her slay-tastic insurgency is the deathblow to the
      fire-breathing dragon of the violence of the normal and normative, which manifests in far
      too often fatal forms of white and male supremacy. (176)

      Marquis Bey draws important connections between “Formation” and black death,
      arguing that “the juxtaposition of the (Black) queerness of the very term ‘slay’ and
      the slain Black bodies [represented in part by the presence of Messy Mya’s voice] marks
      this ‘pro-Black” anthem as always, and already queer” (175). Such queer utterances,
      then, allow queer listeners, especially black queer listeners, to hear themselves in
      Beyoncé’s work and create space for a queer reading (or rather, listening) of the song.
      However, these utterances are also presented out of context, taking control over the
      language away from its queer originators and allowing additional meanings attached to
      this language to go unheard. A brief examination of the use of “slay” in its originating
      Ballroom culture illustrates this point.

      Ballroom culture first emerged in New York City in the 1980s, but its roots go even
      farther back to the pre-Stonewall riot era of the 1960s, when black drag queens who had
      been excluded from white drag balls formed their own events. At the heart of Ballroom

      88 L. KEHRER

      culture are competitions, in which participants (some in drag, some not) from houses
      (frequently named after fashion houses, such as House of Dupree) vie for recognition
      through their appearance and their dance moves, including voguing. The goal is to “slay
      and snatch trophies,” as 2016 argues in his study of the culture (116).

      “Slaying” is directly connected to notions of kinship within Ballroom culture.
      Ballroom participants compete on behalf of their houses, so for one to “slay” in
      a competition is to participate in kinship building. 2016 writes:

      Within the Ballroom social sphere, where its members do not enjoy a wide range of
      intimacy with their biological families, Ballroom houses offer a space for care, service,
      competition, and critique among people who share similar life experiences. It is important
      to understand that not only is this bond drawn on characteristics of kin, but it is also based
      on a common competitive drive to “slay and snatch” trophies for a house as its individual
      members seek to gain legendary acclaim throughout the Ballroom scene. In other words,
      the work involved in parenting, bonding, “slaying and snatching,” and building a kin unit
      is central to creating an overall minoritarian sphere. (117)

      The very language and concept of “slaying” is thus directly derived from Ballroom
      culture, and Beyoncé’s use of this language outside of its Ballroom context evokes both
      the competitive nature of balls and, as I will demonstrate, the kinship networks that
      “slaying” constructs and sustains.

      The issue of language is significant here because it represents the repurposing of
      what Mark McBeth identifies as a strategy that gay men use to “self-identify and resist;
      they select to differentiate themselves from the dominant linguistic culture as a means
      of responding to what may oppress them” (106). The rhetorical practices of black
      LGBTQ people within Ballroom culture is especially pertinent because these practices
      exist and are shaped at the intersections of black expressive forms and queer world
      making. As E. Patrick Johnson notes, “Although cultural performances are reflective
      and reflexive as they maintain, critique, subvert, or even transgress indigenous cultural
      traditions, they are also appropriated by other cultures” (122). He argues that culturally
      specific expressions are recognizable and valuable only to a group with a shared context
      and understanding of those expressions – when they are removed from their origins,
      these expressions cease to carry their initial meanings and can be appropriated in ways
      that are detrimental to the community of origin. This is not to say that marginalized
      communities, such as the African American gay men on whom he focuses in his study,
      are unable to influence and contribute to a larger mainstream culture. Johnson writes:
      “I realize that no text is sacred because culture itself is not. We live in a world in which
      once an utterance, expression, or gesture leaves us, its meaning becomes contested, fair
      game for many interpretations” (139). It is these contested meanings, especially when
      they stem from a lack of attribution, that create the greatest point of contention in
      queer responses to Beyoncé’s latest work.

      “Formation” was not the first instance of Beyoncé seemingly drawing inspira-
      tion from Ballroom culture. In the 2008 music video for “Video Phone” from her
      third studio album, I Am . . . Sasha Fierce (2008), the singer appears to have
      incorporated a dance move attributed to Latina Ballroom participant Leiomy
      Maldonado. Maldonado, sometimes referred to as the “Wonder Woman of
      Vogue,” was the first trans woman to appear on the television show America’s
      Best Dance Crew as part of the openly queer and trans group Vogue Evolution in


      2009. Maldonado’s signature move, known as “The Leiomy Lolly,” involves
      a repeated hair flip from a standing or squatting position. In the “Video Phone”
      video, Beyoncé, with her hair pulled back into a single ponytail, emulates this
      move at around the one-minute mark.

      When asked in an interview in 2017 about how her signature move had been
      adopted by artists such as Beyoncé, Maldonado responded:

      I can tell you that maybe five or six years ago, I thought it was amazing. I was so excited
      about it, that people were seeing and using what I started and created. However, as the
      years went by, I realized I was cheated. Although many knew where the moves came from,
      the people who were doing it weren’t giving me credit. It wasn’t even that I wanted them
      to cut me a check; I just wanted credit. (qtd. in Reichard)

      For Maldonado, the experience of seeing major artists such as Beyoncé incorpor-
      ating her moves into their choreography was initially confirmation that vogue and
      other Ballroom-originating dance moves were legitimate. However, the lack of
      recognition for her own original contributions, even more than a lack of financial
      compensation, eventually changed her position. Yet Beyoncé continues to draw
      inspiration from the largely underground black and Latinx LGBTQ culture.

      True to its geopolitics, the “Formation” video also incorporates the work of
      members of New Orleans’ LGBTQ community, including the aforementioned
      vocal samples of local bounce artists. The song opens with the lines: “What
      happened at the New Wildin’s? Bitch, I’m back by popular demand,” as spoken
      by the bounce rapper and comedian Messy Mya, the stage name of Anthony Barré,
      who was murdered in 2010. Messy Mya was a queer black man best known for his
      YouTube videos in which he sometimes addressed LGBTQ themes (such as in his
      video “Studs Pregnant for Punks” and a twerking competition between two male
      friends that he posted as “Messy Steddy v. Blazerboy Money [who won?]”); threw
      around catchphrases such as “Now who gonna pop me?” and “Follow me, camera!”;
      often insulted people; and generally documented and commented on life in his
      native New Orleans.

      The lines featured in “Formation” come primarily from a YouTube video called
      “Booking the Hoes from New Wildin’.” Later in the song, in an interlude that appears
      about one minute into the video but not on the album version, another sample is taken
      from a different video, “A 27-Piece Huh?,” where Mya says, “Oh yeah, baby, oh yeah, I,
      ohhhh, oh, yes, I like that.” In “Formation,” these samples of Mya’s voice, anonymous
      to all but those familiar with the late artist’s work, are taken out of their original context
      and remixed to give a flavor of New Orleans to the track.

      Big Freedia, the stage name of Freddie Ross, is another openly queer black New
      Orleans artist who appears on the track. Big Freedia is a gay man whose gender
      presentation leans towards the feminine (she nearl


      Zeffie Gaines 97

      A Black Girl’s Song
      Misogynoir, Love, and Beyoncé’s Lemonade


      This article examines Beyoncé’s 2016 album Lemonade in the context of black
      feminist theory, misogynoir, and issues of black self-love. After a brief overview of
      the initial response to Beyoncé’s album, this essay explores the deeper, metaphorical
      implication of Lemonade. This essay demonstrates that while Lemonade is ostensibly
      about marital infidelity, the trope of unfaithfulness is used to make a more profound
      commentary on the ontological crisis around blackness and black womanhood in
      American culture. Through close readings of several important scenes and tracks
      in Lemonade, this essay demonstrates that this album constitutes a masterwork by
      Beyoncé and should be understood as an important intervention against racist and
      patriarchal representations of black womanhood. Ultimately, Lemonade articulates
      a black feminist aesthetic that embraces the tenacity and cultural originality of the
      black woman.

      Keywords: black feminist theory, self-love, racism, patriarchy

      I can’t hear anything
      but maddening screams
      & the soft strains of death
      & you promised me
      you promised me…

      Zeffie Gaines

      Taboo, Fall 2017

      Zeffie Gaines is an associate professor in the Department of English at Miami
      University of Ohio, Oxford, Ohio. Her e-mial address is zeffiegaines@gmail.com

      A Black Girl’s Song98

      sing a black girl’s song
      bring her out
      to know herself
      to know you
      but sing her rhythms
      carin/struggle/hard times
      sing her song of life
      she’s been dead so long
      closed in silence so long
      she doesn’t know the sound
      of her own voice
      her infinite beauty
      she’s half-notes scattered
      without rhythm/no tune
      sing her sighs
      sing the song of her possibilities
      sing a righteous gospel
      let her be born
      let her be born
      & handled warmly.
      —For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow was Enuf,
      Ntozake Shange (Shange, 1975, p. 4)

      The internet erupted into a fury when the rapper known as “Trick Daddy”
      uploaded a video excoriating black women to “tighten up” or else be passed over
      by black men for white and Latina women. For a day or two, black women all over
      the “twitterverse” and on various blogs and Facebook pages dissected, analyzed, and
      rejected Trick Daddy’s comments which suggested that black women’s woes in the
      dating world were all their own fault. Trick Daddy’s comments were nothing new;
      one need only to peruse Youtube to find endless videos of black men explaining
      why they do not date black women. As of this writing, if one searches on Youtube
      for the phrase “Why I don’t date black women,” Youtube returns 2.1 million hits.
      Most of these videos were created not by white men, but by black men. One of the
      most famous of these Youtube video posters is a black man named Tommy Soto-
      mayor, who attacks black women for wearing weaves, for acting “ghetto,” and for
      alienating black men. In one of his videos titled “Black Women Lack Discipline,”
      he viciously represents black women as unprincipled hellions. That video alone (and
      that is just one of his many videos about black women) has almost 300,000 views.
      What Trick Daddy’s video and the popularity of this underground genre of “why I
      hate black women” videos reveals is that there is a crisis around black women and
      love in American society.
      I use the word “love” here purposely, for it seems that no one, in the mainstream
      media, has love for the black woman. American society, as a whole, generally re-
      gards black women as unattractive and black women are consistently portrayed as
      uncouth, “ghetto,” angry, and manly. Within the context of the black community,

      Zeffie Gaines 99

      as we can see by the abundance of Youtube videos I cite above, even black men
      are rejecting black women on the basis of the stereotypes perpetuated by the larger
      culture. This rejection by black men of black women is painfully evident in the
      double standard of intra-racial concern and love in the black community that is
      perhaps most on display when an unarmed black woman is killed. This disparity
      was nowhere more evident than in the response to Korryn Gaines’ murder. Some
      black men accepted the police narrative that Gaines was mentally unstable and that
      this, not her race, was what caused her death. Black feminists, such as the blogger
      from Ashleigh, not Ashley, were quick to point out the double standard:

      Last Monday, Korryn Gaines was murdered by the Baltimore Country Police on
      Monday and the public’s response to her death validated my feelings. Castille’s
      and Sterling’s deaths prompted over a week of continuous outcry and protesting.
      Marches were planned for these men before their bodies touched dirt. In contrast,
      the only people I see consistently speaking up for Gaines is other Black women
      and Black LGBTQ folks. Black men, even the “woke” ones, have been silent or
      blaming Gaines for her demise. (Ashleigh, Not Ashley, 2016, p. 1)

      Elaborating on this point, Brittany Cooper argues that,

      The murders of all these women on their own are appalling and incensing
      enough…But somehow, we have a paltry analysis of patriarchy in this moment,
      and the ways in which both cis and trans Black women continue to be murdered
      on the daily by both cishetero men in intimate relationships and by police of-
      ficers who are utterly unmoved by any claims to Black women’s femininity. Our
      womanhood does not protect us from state-based racism and misogynoir. (Crunk
      Feminist Collective, 2016, p. 1)

      This crisis around loving black women shows itself in all of these critical life
      spaces—in the establishment of intimate relationships and in the very protection
      of black women’s lives. Ntozake Shange puts an emotional finger on the way rac-
      ist, patriarchal society, both black and white, throws black women away, refusing
      to hear our songs. Since Shange published those words in 1975, we have not been
      handled warmly. It is this rough handling, on both an intimate and a political
      level, with which Beyoncé’s groundbreaking 2016 album Lemonade is concerned.
      The tradition of black feminist and womanist critique of the mainstream view of
      black womanhood is well established, as even Ntozake Shange worked within an
      established tradition of black women “calling out” American culture for its nega-
      tive representations and treatment of black women. This essay analyzes Beyoncé’s
      2016 album Lemonade against the backdrop of a primarily literary black feminist
      tradition that has historically rebutted a range of stereotypical depictions of black
      women while also articulating black women’s personal and political struggles. In
      this sense, Lemonade participates in a long-standing black feminist tradition of
      “singing a black girl’s song.”

      A Black Girl’s Song100

      “Okay Ladies Now Let’s Get in Formation:”
      Black Feminism on Fleek

      Giving a complete overview of the long and varied history of black feminism
      is beyond the scope of this essay, but I want to highlight a few moments in black
      feminist history to help frame my argument about the particularly black and feminist
      overtones of Beyonce’s album Lemonade. A central theme is Lemonade is the idea
      that as a black woman, Beyonce’s partner cannot “see her.” In one interlude she
      asks, in a whisper, “Why can’t you see? Why can’t you see me?” The emphasis on
      the erasure of the black women resonates with one of the earliest black feminist
      articulations on American soil. It came from Sojourner Truth, who asked in 1851
      at the Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio, “Ain’t I A Woman?” Truth’s
      question has become a kind of rallying cry for black feminists who have been tra-
      ditionally ignored and erased by white feminism. Likewise, Truth identifies in her
      speech the consideration white women receive but that black women are denied:
      “That man over there says women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over
      ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into car-
      riages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And arn’t I a woman?”
      (Truth, 1851, p. 1) The uneven treatment, of black and white women, was prevalent
      in Truth’s day and the resonances of that unequal treatment remain in American
      society today, both outside of and within the black community. Writing about the
      roots of black feminism in abolitionist movements, Ula Taylor writes, “Thus, Truth’s
      biblically based feminism empowered black women because she called attention to
      the intersection of race and gender. Her personal testimony can be interpreted as
      the impetus for the slogan ‘All the men are not black, All the women are not white,
      black women exist as black women.” (Taylor, 1998, p. 236)
      On the one hand, early black feminism was concerned with racism and abolition,
      while on the other hand, black feminists also had to contend for themselves as women
      against white feminists. In fact, Truth’s famous statement at the convention was a
      rebuke to white feminists who refused to understand and grapple with black women’s
      concerns or to include black women in their platform. Therefore, to understand black
      feminist genealogy, it is important to note that black feminists fight battles on multiple
      fronts. Not only must black feminism contend with intraracial and interracial sexism,
      but it must also take on white feminists whose seemingly progressive agenda has
      historically erased black women’s voices from the broader feminist movement.
      Sojourner Truth’s importance to the black feminist tradition cannot be over-
      stated. bell hooks, perhaps one of the most visible contemporary black feminists,
      titled one of her books after Truth’s groundbreaking speech. The prescience of
      Truth’s reading of the black woman’s position in American society as doubly erased,
      begins a tradition of black feminist insight taken up some 40 years later by Anna
      Julie Cooper. Writing in 1892, Cooper articulated the broad political implications
      of black women’s freedom in relation to the whole black community: “Only the

      Zeffie Gaines 101

      black woman can say ‘when and where I enter, in the quiet, undisputed dignity of
      my womanhood, without violence and without suing or special patronage, then and
      there the whole Negro race enters with me.”(Cooper, 1892, p. 31) What Cooper’s
      statement suggests is that it is only by securing the welfare of the black woman
      that the entire race is cared for and, in this way, Cooper transcends the potential
      binaries that are often implied in dialectical Western ideologies. In essence, when
      Beyoncé sings “When you hurt me, you hurt yourself,” she is echoing Cooper’s
      logic—she suggests that when black women are hurt, so is the whole race. Cooper
      suggests that when black women thrive, the whole race thrives. In this way, black
      feminism has always positioned black women as equally and indelibly connected
      to the whole of the black community.
      There is a coherent ideological tradition in the work of black feminists, and the
      same complicated negotiation of gender and race that the earliest black feminists
      grappled with is evident in the work of later 20th century black feminist artists like
      Ntozake Shange, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, and Julie Dash. In her groundbreak-
      ing work For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Was
      Enuf, Ntozake Shange represents a range of intimate issues the woman of color
      faces. Her text is powerfully unflinching in its depiction of a longing to be loved
      and the circumstances within the black community that arise from war, racism, and
      poverty. In the epigraph to this essay, I highlight an early poem in Shange’s mas-
      terwork. It calls out for “anyone” to sing a black girl’s song. This plaintive request
      suggests that black women’s stories have too long been suppressed and silenced.
      I argue here that Beyoncé sings that song, giving voice to a range of complicated
      experiences and an interior landscape that is all too often elided in a culture that
      is mostly interested in demonizing and dismissing black femininity. Likewise, at
      the heart of Alice Walker’s most famous work The Color Purple, is a character
      who is abused and unloved, and who believes herself to be unlovable. Walker’s
      text, like Shange’s, emphasizes the need for black women to reject narratives that
      construct them as inferior and unlovable. Shange powerfully claims love for black
      women in her text—not only through the text itself—but by marking the place of
      the divine black and female. Shange ends her choreopoem this way: “i found god
      in myself/& i loved her/ i loved her fiercely.” Beyoncé pics up on this implication
      of the divine female on the song “Don’t Hurt Yourself ” when she sings, “Love God
      Herself.” Both Shange and Beyoncé radically suggest that the divine is both black
      and female, opening a space of self-love for black women to reject and rebut the
      toxic assumptions of mass culture.
      This avowal of black female self-love is at the heart of the black feminist archive.
      Again, we see this same emphasis on self-love in The Color Purple. In order to heal,
      Celie must embrace and love herself. Like Shange’s characters, Walker’s characters
      articulate radical self-love: “I am an expression of the divine, just like a peach is,
      just like a fish is. I have a right to be this way…I can’t apologize for that, nor can I
      change it, nor do I want to… We will never have to be other than who we are in order

      A Black Girl’s Song102

      to be successful…We realize that we are as ourselves unlimited and our experiences
      valid. It is for the rest of the world to recognize this, if they choose.” (Walker, 2006)
      At stake, then, for black women in discourses of self-love is not only the personal,
      but a political rejection of a society that devastatingly devalues black womanhood.
      My citation above of black women writers and thinkers here is by no means
      exhaustive, as the tradition of black feminist work is long and varied. Throughout this
      essay I will connect Lemonade to this tradition of black feminist art and activism in
      order to demonstrate that Beyoncé’s text is about much more than marital infidelity.
      To elucidate the black feminist methodology of Lemonade, I turn to Patricia Hill
      Collins who offers a helpful four-part method for understanding how black feminist
      activism and art contend with the intersection of race and gender. She argues that
      the first issue black feminists address and rebut is stereotypical depictions of black
      women; secondly, black women engage and take on structural systems of oppres-
      sion; thirdly, black feminists merge activism and “intellectualism,” though I would
      argue that we can understand art to fall under this category as well; and fourthly,
      Hill Collins argues that black women assert the beauty of black women’s cultural
      heritage as a way to reject and revise exclusionary Eurocentric and patriarchal no-
      tions of black womanhood. (Hill-Collins, 2004) If we apply Collins’ methodology
      for understanding black feminist texts and activism to Beyoncé’s Lemonade, it is
      clear that Lemonade signifies on the black feminist tradition in ways that reclaim
      black women’s culture, critiques stereotypical depictions of black women, and
      emphasizes community-wide activism against police brutality, against both me
      and women, as an important black feminist platform.
      Lemonade’s citation of the black feminist tradition was not lost on its listeners.
      Reviews of Lemonade were overwhelmingly positive, though some reviewers were
      quick to call Beyoncé out for exploiting feminism for financial gain. Among her
      most vocal critics is bell hooks, whose first reaction to the album was, “WOW—this
      is the business of capitalist money-making at its best” (Hooks, 2016). Tiffanie
      Drayton, in an article for the online magazine The Frisky argued that Lemonade was
      guilty of colorism (Drayton, 2016). And Ashleigh Shackleford (2016), in a piece
      for Wear Your Voice Mag: Intersectional Feminist Media, argued that Lemonade
      erased fat black women and femmes (Shackleford, 2016). However, there were very
      few reviews of the album that dismissed it wholesale. hooks, despite her reserva-
      tions about the piece, did admit that Lemonade offered “daringly multidimensional
      images of black female life” (hooks, 2016). And Shackleford opens her review of
      Lemonade in strikingly glowing terms:

      I watched the beautiful and amazing Lemonade visual album on Saturday, centered
      and very open to the generosity of Bey’s art. I was floored and enamored. It was
      lit as fuck, y’all! I was so proud to experience such a well-designed, politically
      important, empowering and intentional creative piece by a Black woman who is,
      hands down, one of the greatest artists of all time. Literally: what a time to be
      alive for Black women and femmes. (Shakleford, 2016)

      Zeffie Gaines 103

      For many black feminists, Lemonade was a shot heard around the world. Though
      we may not have seen ourselves directly reflected in all of its images, its hail to us
      could not be ignored. Within a month of its release, Candice Benbow of Rutgers
      Univeristy, in collaboration with other black women academics, put together a
      Lemonade syllabus. The texts on this syllabus are all foundational black feminist
      texts—Their Eyes Were Watching God, In Search of Our Mother’s Garden, A Raisin
      in the Sun—that demonstrate that Beyoncé’s album represents the culmination of four
      generations of black women’s writing and artistic production. Lemonade, though it
      is its own unique contribution to the oeuvre of black women’s work, is a praisesong
      to an often unacknowledged canon of black female artists. There are shades of
      Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Julie Dash, Erykah Badu, Salt n’ Peppa—and many
      others—in Lemonade which is at once spiritual, historical, poignantly beautiful,
      reminiscent of the Africanity of black culture, and bodaciously irreverent. Lem-
      onade, then, is not just Beyoncé’s creation, but is a communal piece that reflects
      bits of much the intellectual and artistic labor of black women. And though much
      of initial public attention focused on the question of infidelity in Beyoncé’s high
      profile marriage to Jay Z, black women were quick to see that this album was about
      much more than a cheating husband. Aside from vocalizing what could be some
      very real angst about marital strife, I intend to show that Lemonade is a broader
      commentary on love and race.

      “I’m Just Too Much For You:” Reading Lemonade

      At first glance connecting love and race may seem counter-intuitive—one is
      emotional and one is political; but, Beyoncé demonstrates on Lemonade that the
      personal is political. If we approach the album as less about the inter-personal
      dynamics between Beyoncé and Jay-Z and see it instead as a metaphor for the way
      society doesn’t love black women then Lemonade’s deeper meaning, and broader
      political critique, becomes clear. Lemonade is the black girl’s song that Shange
      called out for three decades ago and it articulates the pain of feeling unloved and
      exposes the back story on multiple aspects of black woman “beingness,” from issues
      around “good hair” to fears of being seen as “crazy,” to the irreverent rudeness of
      the unremorseful rejection of a trifling partner.
      Significantly, Lemonade begins with two alternating scenes, one of Beyoncé
      on stage, in a black hoodie, against a red curtain and the other of her in the same
      hoodie in a field of tall grass blowing gently in the wind. The first sounds of the
      album are tentative and afraid, like the sound of barely suppressed panic. Beyoncé
      is alone, on the stage, and in the field, and this aloneness captures the ontological
      crisis of black womanhood in American society—separated from black men by
      gender, separated from white women by race—the black woman stands alone. The
      two sites of the opening song on Lemonade are significant. Walking, seemingly
      lost, in the fields, Beyoncé reminds us of our American origins—of the cotton

      A Black Girl’s Song104

      fields, the killing fields, the fields for clearing—that our first “place” here was
      on the land, in the fields, as field hands. The field, then, is the original location of
      black rupture. It is the place where this country and its inhumane system began to
      tear us apart, brother from sister, mother from children, woman from woman, man
      from woman. Beyoncé returns to this place; she seems to walk aimlessly looking
      for something lost there. For surely this is the place, this was the moment, when we
      began to lose ourselves. This—the fields—must be the location where the hatred
      of the black woman and her body was born. If this is the beginning of our pain,
      Beyoncé’s gaze seems to suggest, is this where we can—once again—find what
      was taken, what was forgotten, what was lost? Hortense Spillers argues that every
      generation is “compelled to reinvent” slavery and that slavery remains, “one of the
      most textualized and discursive fields of practice we could posit as a structure for
      attention.” (Spillers, 2003, p. 179) By invoking the pastoral imagery of slavery,
      Beyoncé structures our attention towards trauma and crisis. The importance of these
      opening scenes in the field, which will occur repeatedly throughout Lemonade, is
      evident by the multi-layered meanings invoked by this pastoral imagery.

      As I argue above, Beyoncé’s presence in the field is a visual reference to slavery, and
      to the origins of all black pain in the so-called “New World.” But this pastoral imagery
      is also a reference to being “put out,” literally and symbolically. Being “put out” is
      a reference to being exasperated, taken advantage of, or kicked out of the house, as
      evident in this elaboration on that idea in Toni Morrison’ The Bluest Eye:

      There is a difference between being put out and being put outdoors. If you are
      put out, you go somewhere else; if you are outdoors, there is no place to go. The
      distinction was subtle but final. Outdoors was the end of something, an irrevo-
      cable, physical fact, defining and complementing our metaphysical condition.
      Being a minority in both caste and class, we moved about anyway on the hem
      of life, struggling to consolidate our weaknesses and hang on, or to creep singly
      up into the major folds of the garment. Our peripheral existence, however, was
      something we had learned to deal with—probably because it was abstract. But the
      concreteness of being outdoors was another matter—like the difference between
      the concept of death and being, in fact, dead. Dead doesn’t change and outdoors
      is here to stay. (Morrison, 1990, p. 17-18)

      The play between being outdoors/put out in the opening scenes of Lemonade connect

      Zeffie Gaines 105

      to a sense of death, of annihilation. Those cottons fields, those killing cotton fields,
      are soaked with the blood of black people. We died, literally and symbolically, in
      these American fields. Likewise, Beyoncé transitions from the desolate isolation
      of the field into a death scene, which I discuss further below. A sequence of her
      jumping off a building, contemplating her own death, telling her partner that he has
      killed her—all connect the out of doors, being put out, and death in the irrevocable
      way Morrison describes in the quote above from The Bluest Eye.
      Lemonade continually returns us to the scene of the American crime, the
      situation that produced hatred for the black woman: slavery. In another scene, we
      see black women, dressed in white and eggshell-colored clothes that remind us of
      the 19th century, sitting on the steps of shacks. The clothes speak of a time after
      slavery, but the shacks endure. Spanish moss hangs from trees, there is a shot of a
      chain hanging from the top of a tall building.

      The pain that Beyoncé references, then, is historical and coded as related to the
      bondage of slavery. We transition from these pastoral scenes, which I argue allude
      to slavery, to a scene of Beyoncé jumping off a building in a cityscape. We watch
      her fall, but instead of seeing her hit the ground, she falls into a pool. Against the
      poetry of Warsan Shire, the London-based Somali poet, Beyoncé evokes a symbolic
      rebirth as she emerges from a building, with water breaking behind her. Multiple
      artists, Yoruba practitioners, and journalists have pointed out that Beyoncé’s yellow
      dress in this scene, and the water rushing out from behind her, are indicative of
      the goddess Oshun. Writing about this scene for PBS.org, Kamaria Roberts and
      Kenya Downs argue that,

      In “Hold Up,” the album’s second single, Beyoncé appears as Oshun, a Yoruba
      water goddess of female sensuality, love and fertility. Oshun is often shown in
      yellow and surrounded by fresh water. Donning a flowing yellow Roberto Ca-
      valli dress, gold jewelry and bare feet, Beyoncé channels the orisha, or goddess,
      by appearing in an underwater dreamlike state before emerging from two large
      golden doors with water rushing past her and down the stairs. (Kamaria Roberts
      & Kenya Downs, 2016)

      A Black Girl’s Song106

      In this sense, Lemonade takes us back in time—to West Africa, to the Yoruba culture
      from which Oshun derives. In doing so, Beyoncé references a pre-slavery epistemol-
      ogy, grounding what is dismissively understood in American culture as the “angry
      black woman,” as the spiritual power of a beautiful and courageous Goddess. By
      grounding her cultural references in Africa, Beyoncé articulates a feminist tradition
      that diverges from Western feminism in much the same way that Paule Marshall in
      Praisesong for the Widow did. Like that novel, Lemonade looks for mythological
      inspiration not in a pantheon of Greek or Roman gods, but draws instead upon an
      intimately and uniquely African diasporic tradition. The African/Diasporic references
      throughout Lemonade are significant cultural departures from a Western-dictated
      standard that has historically maligned and excluded black women. By evoking
      “African retentions,” Beyonce reveals an aspect of black experience in America that
      is rarely commented upon, which is the degree to which African culture inflects
      and informs black representation.
      At stake in the representation of African retentions is not just a bit of filmic
      local color, but rather Beyonce is taking on one of the most flawed premises of
      American thinking about formerly enslaved Africans—namely that upon being en-
      slaved, Africans completely “lost” all trace of their former culture. Writing against
      this notion in American history, Jason Young notes,

      In direct opposition to these claims, another historiographical tradition asserted
      the primacy of African culture and religion in the development of black culture in
      America and elsewhere. The clarion call for this approach can be found in Melville
      Herskovits’s 1941 publication, The Myth of the Negro Past. In it, Herskovits argued
      for the substantial, significant, and continued influence of Africa in the histories,
      lives and cultures of blacks throughout the Americas. Herskovits’ early arguments
      were strengthened in the work of subsequent scholars. For example, Sterling Stuckey
      argued not only that African cultural and religious elements persisted in the United
      States, but also that the realm of ritual and belief constituted the cultural center
      around which African Americans formed themselves into a people. In this sense,
      African religion was the source of African American identity. (Young, 2012)

      By paying attention to the Africanity of the black culture, Beyoncé grounds her album
      in an African ethos separate from the Eurocentric hegemony of broader American
      culture. In this way, Lemonade represents the beautiful and unique culture of the
      African-inflected black American female subject, which is in contradistinction to
      the stereotypical representations of black women in the broader culture.
      One of the most damaging stereotypes about black women is that of the “an-
      gry” black woman. Throughout Lemonade, Beyoncé confronts the stereotype of
      the angry black woman, sometimes referred to in pop culture as “the black bitch,”
      by reclaiming and recoding this anger as divine, righteous, and revolutionary. The
      crisis around black women and representation is articulated well by Patricia Hill
      Collins (2004) when she writes, “The controlling image of the ‘bitch’ constitutes a
      reworking of the image of the mule of chattel slavery. Whereas the mule was simply

      Zeffie Gaines 107

      stubborn (passive aggressive) and needed prodding and supervision, the bitch is
      confrontational and actively aggressive. The term bitch is designed to put women in
      their place” (Hill-Collins, 2004, p. 123). Collins later goes on to note that the term
      “bitch,” like the word “nigger,” has been reclaimed by black women as a term of
      empowerment. (Hill-Collins, 2004, p. 123) Though Beyoncé has, in other places,
      reclaimed the term “bitch,” that terminology is less visible in Lemonade. Yet the
      idea of an aggressive and powerful woman, which is what patriarchal society defines
      as a bitch, as important and necessary is everywhere throughout Lemonade.
      This is most evident on the track “Sorry.” “Middle fingers up, put ‘em hands
      high. Put it in his face, tell him boy bye. Tell him boy bye. Sorry, I ain’t sorry,”
      Beyoncé sings. Beyoncé demonstrates that she will not wilt into self-hatred or
      powerlessness, celebrating the black woman’s unwillingness to surrender to the
      politics of racism and sexist exploitation. Significantly, Serena Williams appears
      in the film for this song. Excoriated for her athletic physique, Beyoncé rejects the
      notion that black women must all be thin, waif-like weaklings by featuring Serena
      twerking in “Sorry.” Serena Williams has been excoriated for her athletic body.
      Beyoncé’s decision to include Williams is a “middle finger up” to all the people
      who believe that the only appropriate female body is a tiny, white one. Beyoncé is
      no doubt well aware that

      Williams is simultaneously sexualized and caricaturized, othered and exoticized.
      Her body is a representation of her athletic skill. But rather than being celebrated,
      it’s been scrutinized mercilessly, turned into a kind of spectacle for white amuse-
      ment, with painful parallels to Saartjie “Sarah” Baartman.” (Blay, 2017)

      This critique of the policing of black women’s bodies by mainstream society is
      tied to the revelation on this track that the woman who cheated with Beyoncé’s
      husband, Jay-Z, may not be black. Hence, on the track “Sorry,” the same one that
      features Serena Williams provocatively twerking, Beyoncé unites all of the imagery
      of Lemonade around race, slavery, black female vulnerability, and anger in one
      brilliant line: “You better call Becky with the good hair.”
      The term “Becky” in African American lingua franca indicates whiteness; and
      “good hair” suggests someone who is mixed race. In this way, Jay Z’s betrayal is not
      just a betrayal of the heart, it’s a betrayal of Beyoncé as a black woman. It’s made
      very clear on Lemonade that the “character” of Jay Z is cheating largely because
      he is interested in a lighter woman with straighter hair, a less “black” woman than
      Beyoncé. In multiple scenes, Beyoncé appears “whited out,” and in one voiceover
      she suggests that in order to win his love, she can wear the skin of his “perfect girl”
      over her own.

      A Black Girl’s Song108

      It’s important to the narrative unfolding of Lemonade that the “other woman” is some-
      how less black than Beyoncé, or not black at all. This is a vital part of understanding
      the symbolic logic of Beyoncé’s masterwork. Beyoncé makes a point about the way


      . \ 7 Oxford Univenity P m , Waiton s t m , Oxford 0 x 2 6DP Oxford New York Toronto
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      Britbh Librory Cotoioguing in Pubiication Doto
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      WALTER 1. ONG, SJ

      1 :


      LITERACY is imperious. It tends to arrogate to itself supreme power
      by taking itself as normative for human expression and thought.
      This is particularly true in high-technology cultures, which are built
      on literacy of necessity and which encourage the impression that
      literacy is an always to be expected and even natural state of affairs.
      The term ‘illiterate’ itself suggests that persons belonging to the
      class it designates are deviants, defined by something they lack,
      namely literacy. Moreover, in high-technology cultures-which,
      more and more, are setting the style for cultures across the world-
      since literacy is regarded as so unquestionably normative and nor-
      mal, the deviancy of illiterates tends to be thought of as lack of a
      simple mechanical skill. Illiterates should learn writing as they
      learned to tie their shoe-laces or to drive a car. Such views of writing
      as simply a mechanical skill obligatory for all human beings distort
      our understanding of what is human if only because they block
      understanding of what natural human mental processes are before
      writing takes possession of consciousness. These views also by the
      same token block understanding of what writing itself really is. For
      without a deep understanding of the normal oral or oral-aural con-
      sciousness and noetic economy of humankind before writing came
      along, it is impossible to grasp what writing accomplished.

      Recent research work, however, in the field and in the library, is I offering the opportunity to overcome our chirographic (and typo- / graphic) bias: This work has deepened our understanding of what
      I have styled primary orality, the orality of cultures with no knowl-
      edge at all of writing, as contrasted with what I have styled second-
      ary orality, the electronic orality of radio and ‘television, which

      ‘Some material in the first part of this article has been adapted from the author’s
      ‘Writing and the Evolution of Consciousness’, in: Mosoic (University of Manitoba),
      xviii (1985), 1-10, with the permission of the editor.


      Johanna Schmertz

      24 Walter J. Ong, SJ
      grows out of high-literacy cultures, depending for its invention and
      operation on the widespread cultivation of writing and reading.
      Classical scholars, from Milman Parry-the prime mover in the
      orality-literacy universe-through Albert Lord, Eric Havelock,
      and others, sociologists and linguists such as Jack Goody, Wallace
      Chafe, and Deborah Tannen, cultural anthropologists such as Jeff
      Opland, historians such as M. T. Clanchy, and many others from
      even more diversified fields, including the late Marshall McLuhan,
      the greatest diversifier of all, have opened vistas into primary oral-
      ity which enable us better t o understand differences between the
      oral and the literate mind. My own work in opening such vistas, for
      whatever it is worth, began deep in Renaissance and earlier intel-
      lectual history, and has moved into the present, without, I hope,
      losing live contact with the past. We can now view in better per-
      spective the world of writing in which we live, see better what this
      world really is, and what functionally literate human beings really
      are-that is, beings whose thought processes do not grow out of
      simply natural powers but out of these powers as structured, directly
      or indirectly, by the technology of writing. Without writing, the
      literate mind would not and could not think as it does, not only
      when engaged in writing but even when it is composing its thoughts
      in oral form.

      Functionally literate persons, those who regularly assimilate dis-
      course such as this, are not simply thinking and speaking human
      beings but chirographically thinking and speaking human beings
      (latterly conditioned also by print and by electronics). The fact that
      we do not commonly feel the influence of writing on our thoughts
      shows that we have interiorized the technology of writing so deeply
      that without tremendous effort we cannot separate it from our-
      selves or even recognize its presence and influence. If functionally
      literate persons are asked to think of the word ‘nevertheless’, they
      will all have present in imagination the letters of the word-vaguely
      perhaps, but unavoidably-in handwriting or typescript or print. If
      they are asked to think of the word ‘nevertheless’ for two minutes,
      120 seconds, without ever allowing any letters at all to enter their
      imaginations, they cannot comply. A person from a completely oral
      background of course has n o such problem. H e o r she will think
      only of the real word, a sequence of sounds, ‘ne-ver-the-less’. For
      the real word ‘nevertheless’, the sounded word, cannot ever be
      present all at once, as written words deceptively seem to be. Sound

      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz

      Writing Restructures Thought 25

      exists only whenit is going out of existence. By the time I get tothe ‘the-
      less’, the ‘ne-ver’ is gone. To the extent that it makes all of a word
      appear present a t once, writing falsifies. Recalling sounded words
      is like recalling a bar of music, a melody, a sequence in time. A ,
      word is an event, a happening, not a thing, as letters make it appear
      to he. So is thought: ‘This is paper’ is an occurrence, an event in
      time. We grasp truth articulately only in events. Articulated truth
      has n o permanence. Full truth is deeper than articulation. We find
      it hard to recognize this obvious truth, so deeply has the fixity of
      the written word taken possession of our consciousness.

      The oral world as such distresses literates because sound is evan-
      escent. Typically, literates want words and thoughts pinned down-
      though it is impossible to ‘pin down’ an event. The mind trained in
      an oral culture does not feel the literate’s distress: it can operate
      with exquisite skill in the world of sounds, events, evanescences.
      How does it manage? Basically, in its noetic operations it uses for-
      mulaic structures and procedures that stick in the mind to comple-
      ment and counteract the evanescent: proverbs and other fixed
      sayings, epithets, that is, standard, expected qualifiers (the sturdy
      oak, the brave warrior, wise Nestor, clever Odysseus), numerical
      sets (the three Graces, the seven deadly sins, the five senses, and so
      on), balance, rhythms of all sorts (‘Blessed are the poor in spirit,
      for theirs is the kingdom of heaven’)-anything to make it easy to
      call back what Homer recognized were ‘winged words’. Primary
      oral culture also keeps its thinking close to the human life world,
      personalizing things and issues, and storing knowledge in stories.
      Categories are unstable mnemonically. Stories you can remember.
      In its typical mindset, the oral sensibility is out t o hold things to-
      gether, t o make and retain agglomerates, not to analyse (which
      means to take things apart)-although, since all thought is t o some
      degree analytic, it does analyse to a degree. Pressed by the need to
      manage an always fugitive noetic universe, the oral world is hasic-
      ally conservative. Exploratory thinking is not unknown, but it is
      relatively rare, a luxury orality can little afford,-for energies must
      be husbanded to keep on constant call the evanescent knowledge
      that the ages have so laboriously accumulated. Everybody, or
      almost everybody, must repeat and repeat and repeat the truths
      that have come down from the ancestors. Otherwise these truths
      will escape, and culture will he hack on square one, where it started
      before the ancestors got the truths from their-ancestors.~

      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz

      26 Walter J. Ong, SJ
      I have discussed these formulaic and narrative strategies in Oral-

      ity and Literacy (1982). In 1985, John Miles Foley’s new Oral-
      Formulaic Theory and Research shows, as nothing has ever done
      before, how universal such strategies are across the globe and
      across the centuries. Foley provides summaries of over 1,800 books
      and articles covering 90 different language areas.

      Our literate world of visually processed sounds has been totally
      unfamiliar to most human beings, who always belonged, and often
      still belong to this oral world. Homo sapiens has been around for
      some 30,000 years, to take a conservative figure. The oldest script,
      Mesopotamian cuneiform, is less than 6,000 years old (the alphabet
      less than 4,000). Of all the tens of thousands of languages spoken in
      the course of human history only a tiny fraction-Edmonson
      (1971: 323) calculates about 106-have ever been committed to
      writing t o a degree sufficient to have produced a literature, and
      most have neverbeen written at all. Of the 4,000 or so languages
      spoken today, only around 78 have a literature (Edmonson 1971:
      332). For some of the others linguists have devised more or less
      adequate ways of writing them, with results that appear in linguistics
      publications and convention papers that have no noteworthy effect
      at all on the actual users of the language. Dr C. Andrew Hofling
      has recently completed a linguistic study of discourse in the Itza
      Mayan language which transcribes the language in the Roman
      alphabet. This transcription is essential for linguistic studies, but it
      is useless, inconseguential, for the Itza Maya themselves. With only
      some 500 speakers, the language has no effective way of developing
      a literate culture. Most languages in the world today exist in com-
      parable conditions. Those who think of the text as the paradigm of
      all discourse need to face the fact that only the tiniest fraction of
      languages have ever been written or ever will be. Most have dis-
      appeared or are fast disappearing, untouched by textuality. Hard-
      core textualism is snobbery, often hardly disguised.

      Only in recent centuries have human beings generally had the
      idea that a language could be written, and even today many peoples
      do not believe their language can be written. In Dayton, Ohio, on
      25 February 1983, I saw a videotape of a Methodist missionary and
      linguist who had worked out an alphabetization of a previously
      unwritten language in the South Pacific and witnessed her dif-
      ficulty in convincing the speakers of the language that she could
      write down their utterances. They believed that only the languages

      Johanna Schmertz

      Writing Restructures Thought 27

      they knew as written, such as English or French, could be

      All this is not to deny that spoken languages are all amenable to
      conversion into writing (always with only partial success or accu-
      racy) or that, given the human condition and the advantages con-
      ferred by writing, the invention of writing, and even of alphabetic
      writing, was sure to occur somewhere in the evolution of culture
      and consciousness: But to say that language is writing is, at best,
      uninformed. It provides egregious evidence of the unreflective
      chirographic and/or typographic squint that haunts us all.


      Writing was an inttusion, though an invaluable intrusion, into the
      early human lifeworld, much as computers are today. It has lately
      become fashionable in some linguistic circles to refer to Plato’s
      condemnation of writing in the Phaedrus and the Seventh Letter.
      What is seldom if ever noticed, however, is that Plato’s ohjections
      against writing are essentially the very same ohjections commonly
      urged today against computers by those who object to them (Ong
      1982: 79-81). Writing, Plato has Socrates say in the Phaedrus, is
      inhuman, pretending to establish outside the mind what in reality
      can only be in the mind. Writing is simply a thing, something to be
      manipulated, something inhuman, artificial, a manufactured prod-
      uct. We recognize here the same complaint that is made against
      computers: they are artificial contrivances, foreign to human life.

      Secondly, Plato’s Socrates complains, a written text is basically
      unresponsive. If you ask a person to explain his or her statement,
      you can get at least an attempt at explanation: if you ask a text, you
      get nothing except the same, often stupid words which called for
      your question in the first place. In the modern critique of the com-
      puter, the same objection is put, ‘Garbage in, garbage out’. So
      deeply are we into literacy that we fail commonly to recognize that
      this objection applies every hit as much to books as to computers.
      If a book states an untruth, ten thousand printed refutations will
      do nothing to the printed text: the untruth is there for ever. This is
      why books have been burnt. Texts are essentially contumacious.

      Thirdly, Plato’s Socrates urges, writing destroys memory. Those
      who use writing will become forgetful, relying on an external source
      for what they lack in internal resources. Writing weakens the mind.

      Johanna Schmertz

      28 Walter J. Ong, SJ
      Today, some parents and others fear that pocket calculators pro-
      vide an external resource for what ought to be the internal resource
      of memorized multiplication tables. Presumably, constant repeti-
      tion of multiplication tables might produce more and more Albert
      Einsteins. Calculators weaken the mind, relieve it of the setting-up
      exercises that keep it strong and make it grow. (Significantly, the
      fact that the computer manages multiplication and other compu-
      tation so much more effectively than human beings do, shows how
      little the multiplication tables have to do with real thinking.)

      Fourthly, in keeping with the agonistic mentality of oral cultures,
      their tendency to view everything in terms of interpersonal struggle,
      Plato’s Socrates also holds it against writing that the written word
      cannot defend itself as the natural spoken word can: real speech
      and thought always exist essentially in the context of struggle.
      Writing is passive, out of it, in an unreal, unnatural world. So, it
      seems, are computers: if you punch the keys they will not fight back
      on their own, but only in the way they have been programmed to

      Those who are disturbed about Plato’s misgivings about writing
      will be even more disturbed to find that print created similar mis-
      givings when it was first introduced. Hieronimo Squarciafico, who
      in fact promoted the printing of the Latin classics, also argued in
      1477 that already ‘abundance of books makes men less studious’
      (Ong 1982: 80). Even more than writing does, print destroys
      memory and enfeebles the mind by relieving it of too much work
      (the pocket calculator complaint once more), downgrading the wise
      man and wise woman in favour of the pocket compendium.

      One weakness in Plato’s position is that he put these misgivings
      about writing into writing, just as one weakness in antiprint posi-
      tions is that their proponents put their objections into print, and
      one weakness in anti-computer positions is that they are articulated
      in articles or books printed from tapes composed on computer
      terminals. The law at work here is: once the word is techno-
      logized, there is no really effective way t o criticize its condition
      without the aid of the technology you are criticizing. The
      complaints about these three inventions are all the same because
      writing and print and the computer are all ways of technologizing
      the word.

      The new technology of writing, it is now clear, was operating in
      Plato’s lifeworld in ways far too convoluted for even Plato to

      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz
      for reals?
      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz

      Writing Restructures Thought – 29
      understand. The technology of writing was not merely useful to
      Plato for broadcasting his critique of writing, but it also had been
      responsible for bringing the critique into existence. Although there
      was no way for Plato to be explicitly aware of the fact, his philo-
      sophically analytic thought, including his analysis of the effects of
      writing, was possible only because of the effects that writing was
      having on mental processes. We know that totally oral peoples,
      intelligent and wise though they often are, are incapable of the
      protracted, intensive linear analysis that we have from Plato’s
      Socrates. Even when he talks, Plato’s Socrates is using thought
      forms brought into being by writing. In fact, as Eric Havelock
      has beautifully shown in his Preface to Plato (1963), Plato’s
      entire epistemology was unwittingly a programmed rejection of the
      archaic preliterate world of thought and discourse. This world was
      oral, mobile, warm, personally interactive (you needed live people
      to produce spoken words). It was the world represented by the
      poets, whom Plato would not allow in his Republic, because,
      although Plato could not formulate it this way, their thought pro-
      cesses and modes of expression were disruptive of the cool, analytic
      processes generated by writing.

      The Platonic ideas are not oral, not sounded, not mobile, not
      warm, not personally interactive. They are silent, immobile, in
      themselves devoid of all warmth, impersonal and isolated, not part
      of the human lifeworld at all but utterly above and beyond it, para-
      digmatic abstractions. Plato’s term idea, form, is in fact visually
      based, coming from the same root as the Latin videre, meaning to
      see, and such English derivatives as vision, visible, or video. In the
      older Greek form, a digamma had preceded the iota: videa or
      widea. Platonic form was form conceived of by analogy precisely
      with visible form. Despite his touting of logos and speech, the
      Platonic ideas in effect modelled intelligence not so much on hear-
      ing as on seeing. The visual model favoured clarity, but also shal-
      lowness. ‘I see what you say’ lacks the depth of ‘I hear what you
      say.’ Plato of course was not at all fully aware of the unconscious
      forces at work in his psyche to produce his literate reaction, or
      overreaction, to a lingering, and by his time retardant, orality. But
      he unconsciously adjusted to the threat of shallowness in his ‘idea’
      philosophy by giving his thought what is often called a poetic cast
      and by avowing that the depths of truth not only escape writing but
      also even oral articulation. ‘

      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz

      30 Walter J. Ong, SJ


      In downgrading writing, Plato was thinking of writing as an exter-
      nal, alien technoldgy, as many people today think of the computer.
      Because we have by today so deeply interiorized writing, made it so
      much a part of oursBves, as Plato’s age had not yet made it fully a
      part of itself, we find it difficult to consider writing to be a tech-
      nology as we commonly assume printing and the computer to be.
      Yet writing (and especially alphabetic writing) is a technology, call-
      ing for the useof tools and other equipment, styli or brushes or
      pens, carefully prepared surfaces such as paper, animal skins, strips
      of wood, as well as inks or paints, and much more. Writing tech-
      nologies have differed in different parts of the world. In their own
      indigenous technologies of writing, East Asia-China, Korea, and
      Japan-typically used not pens but brushes, not liquid ink in ink-
      horns or inkwells, but ink blocks, on which the wet brush was
      rubbed as in making water-colour paintings, in this sense ‘painting’
      rather than ‘writing’ (etymologically, ‘scratching’) their texts.

      In From Memory to Written Record: England 1066-1307, M. T.
      Clanchy (1979) has an entire chapter entitled ‘The Technology of
      Writing’; He explains how in the West through the Middle Ages and
      earlier almost all those devoted to writing regularly used the services
      of a scribe because the physical labour writing involved-scrap-
      ing and polishing the animal skin or parchment, whitening it with
      chalk, resharpening goose-quill pens with what we still call a pen-
      knife, mixing ink, and all the rest-interfered with thought and
      composition. Chaucer’s ‘Wordes unto Adam, His Owne Scriveyn’
      humorously expressed tlle author’s resentment at having to ‘rubbe
      and scrape’ to correct his scribe Adam’s own carelessness in plying
      his craft. Todays ballpoint pens, not to mention our typewriters
      and word processors or the paper we use, are high-technology
      products, but we seldom advert to the fact because the technology
      is concentrated in the factories that produce such things, rather’
      than at the point of production of the text itself, where the tech-
      nology is concentrated in a manuscript culture.

      Although we take writing so much for granted as to forget that it
      is a technology, writing is in a way the most drastic of the three
      technologies of the word:It initiated what printing and electronics
      only continued, the physical reduction of dynamic sound to quiesc-
      ent space, the separation of the word from the living present, where
      alone real, spoken words exist.

      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz

      Writing ~estructures Thought 3 1

      Once reduced to space, words are frozen and in a sense dead. Yet
      there is a paradox in the fact that the deadness of the written or
      printed text, its removal from the living human lifeworld, its rigid
      visual fixity, assures its endurance and its potential for being resur-
      rected into limitless living contexts by a limitless number of living
      readers. The dead, thing-like text has potentials far outdistancing
      those of the simply spoken word. The complementary paradox,
      however, is that the written text, for all its permanence, means
      nothing, is not even a text, except in relationship to the spoken
      word. For a text to be intelligible, to deliver its message, it must be
      reconverted into sound, directly or indirectly, either really in the
      external world or in the auditory imagination. All verbal expres-
      sion, whether put into writing, print, or the computer, is ineluctably
      bound to sound forever.

      Nevertheless, by contrast with natural, oral speech, writing is
      completely artificial. There is no way to write ‘naturally’. Oral
      speech is fully natural to human beings in the sense that every
      human being in every culture who is not physiologically or psycho-
      logically impaired learns to talk. Moreover, while talk implements
      conscious life, its use wells up naturally into consciousness out of
      unconscious or subconscious depths, though of course with the
      conscious as well as unconscious co-operation of society. Despite
      the fact that they govern articulation and thought processes them-
      selves, grammar rules or structures normally originate, live, and
      function far below the level at which articulation functions. You
      can know how to use the grammatical rules or structures and even
      how to set up new rules or structures that function clearly and
      effectively without being able to state what they are. Of all the
      hundreds of thousands of grammar rules or structures that have
      been at work in all the tens of thousands of languages and dialects
      of humankind, only the tiniest fraction have ever been articulated
      at all.

      Writing or script differs as such from speech in that it is not
      inevitably learned by all psychologically or physiologically unim-
      paired persons, even those living in highly literate cultures. More-
      over, the use of writing or script does not inevitably well up out of
      the unconscious without the aid of stated rules. The process of put-
      ting spoken language into writing is governed by consciously con-
      trived, articulated procedures: for example, a certain pictogram

      Johanna Schmertz
      Johanna Schmertz

      32 Walter J. Ong, SJ
      will be consciously determined to stand for a celtain specified word
      or concept, or a will be consciously ruled to represent a certain
      phoneme, b another, and so on. (This is not at all to deny that the
      writer-reader situation created by writing is deeply involved with
      unconscious processes which are at work in composing written texts
      once one has learned the explicit, consciously controlled rules for
      transposing sound into a visual code.)

      To say writing is artificial is not to condemn it but to praise it.
      Like other artificial creations and indeed more than any other,
      writing is utterly invaluable and indeed essential for the realization
      of fuller, interior, human potentials. Technologies are not mere
      exterior aids but also interior transformations of consciousness,
      and never more than when they affect the word. Such transform-
      ations of consciousness can be uplifting, at the same time that they
      are in a sense alienating. By distancing thought, alienating it from
      its original habitat in sounded words, writing raises consciousness.
      Alienation from a natural milieu can be good for us and indeed is in
      many ways essential for fuller human life. To live and to understand
      fully, we need not only proximity but also distance. This writing
      provides for, thereby accelerating the evolution of consciousness as
      nothing else before it does.

      Technologies are artificial, but-paradox again-artificiality is
      natural to human beings. Technology, properly interiorized, does
      not degrade human life but on the contrary enhances it. The mod-
      ern orchestra, for example, is a result of high technology. A clarinet
      is an instrument, which is to say a tool. A piano is an intricate,
      hand-powered machine. An organ is a huge machine, with sources
      of power-pumps, bellows, electric generators, motors-in motion
      before the organ is touched by its operator. Antiquity had no
      orchestras such as ours because it was unable to make any kind of
      instrument, musical or other, with the precision tooling even of a
      clarinet. Its maximum experience of precision was at the level of
      a good pair of scissors. Modern precision tooling has its roots in
      the late Middle Ages and its first major achievement was printing
      from movable alphabetic type.

      A modern orchestra is the product of precision-tooled tech-
      nology. Beethoven’s scores consist of almost innumerable, precise
      directions to highly-trained technicians, specifying exactly how
      they are to use their individual tools. Legato: do not take your
      finger off one piano key until you have hit the next. Staccato: hit

      Johanna Schmertz

      Writing Restructures Thought 33
      the key and take your finger off immediately. And so on for thou-
      sands of actions which musicians must practise until mechanically
      perfect. To be a first-rate musician, a sine qua non is to be a superb
      technician. There is no substitute for mechanical mastery of the

      As musicologists well know, it is pointless to object to electronic
      compositions, as non-musicologists sometimes do, on the grounds
      that the sounds come out of a mechanical contrivance. What do
      you think the sounds of a piano come out of, not to mention an
      organ? Or the sounds of a clarinet or bassoon or even a whistle?
      These things are all mechanical contrivances. The fact is that by
      using the mechanical contrivance a clarinettist or pianist or an
      organist can express something poignantly human that cannot be
      expressed without the mechanical contrivance. To achieve such
      expression effectively, of course, the musician has to have interior-
      ized the technology, made the tool or machine a second nature, a
      psychological part of himself or herself. Art imitates nature. Art
      follows nature, and joins itself to nature. Art is second nature. But
      it is not nature. Natura in Latin, likephysisin Greek, means birth.
      We are not born with art but add it to ourselves. Mastering a musi-
      cal tool, making it one’s own, calls for years of mechanical ‘prac-
      tice’, learning how we can make the tool do mechanically all that it
      can do. Little boys and girls know how boring it can be. Yet such
      shaping of the tool to one’s self, learning a technological skill, is
      hardly dehumanizing. The use of a technology can enrich the
      human psyche, enlarge human spirit, set 5 free, intensify its interior

      I instance the modern orchestra here to make the point that writ-
      ing is an even more deeply interiorized technology than the per-
      formance of instrumental music is. To understand what writing is,
      which means to understand it in relation to its past, to orality, one
      must honestly face the fact that it is a technology.

      Writing, in the strict sense of the word, as has already been seen,
      was a very late development in human history. The first script, or
      true writing, that we know was developed among the Sumerians in
      Mesopotamia only around the year 3500 BC, less than 6,000 years
      ago. The alphabet, which was invented only once, so that every

      34 Walter J. Ong, SJ
      alphabet in the world derives directly or indirectly from the original
      Semitic alphabet, came into existence only around 1500 BC.

      Speech is ancient, archaic. Writing is brand-new. Can one make
      out a case for some sort of archaic writing earlier than 6,000 years
      ago? It is of course possible to count as ‘writing’ any semiotic
      mark, that is, any visible or sensible mark which an individual
      makes and assigns a meaning to-a simple scratch on a rock or a
      notch on a stick, for example. If this is what is meant by writing,
      the antiquity of writing is perhaps comparable to the antiquity of
      speech. However, investigations of writing which take ‘writing’ to
      mean any visible or sensible mark with an assigned meaning merge
      writing with purely biological behaviour. When does a footprint or
      a deposit of faeces or urine (used by many species of animals for
      communication) become ‘writing’? Using the term ‘writing’ in this
      extended sense to include any semiotic marking trivializes its mean-
      ing. The critical and unique breakthrough into new kinds of noetic
      operations and new worlds of knowledge was achieved within
      human consciousness not when simple semiotic marking was de-
      vised but when what we ordinarily mean by writing was developed,
      that is, when a coded system of visible marks was invented whereby
      a writer could determine, in effect without limit, the exact words


      I Ain’t Sorry: Beyoncé, Serena, and Hegemonic Hierarchies in
      Sarah Olutola

      English and Cultural Studies, McMaster University, Hamilton, Canada

      This article examines the politics of Beyoncé’s Lemonade-era brand-
      ing, which, in subsuming a message of black female resistance
      within a Eurocentric framework of neoliberal competition, elevates
      Beyoncé’s exceptional body above the bodies of other black
      women in her orbit. By closely reading not only Beyoncé’s live
      performances, but also her “Sorry” video, this article exposes
      a political tug-of-war between black female empowerment and
      black female hierarchy to be found throughout Beyoncé’s
      Lemonade era. These ideological tensions necessitate a closer exam-
      ination of Beyoncé, whose strategies of success in a white patriar-
      chal music industry complicate her status as a radical figure.


      One could say that the famous phrase “bow down bitches,” uttered by Beyoncé Knowles
      in her 2013 song “Bow Down,” has come to represent the singer as a cultural icon. She
      is, after all, “Queen Bey,” an American pop music monarch credited by Time magazine
      as “the heir-apparent diva of the USA – the reigning national voice” (“The 2013 Time
      100”). Her celebrity capital, which has given her a platform to spur frenzied national
      debate,1 and her quasi-deification in contemporary popular culture as “Queen” have
      taken on particular significance in the post-Obama era that has seen a “spillover of
      racialization” into mass political and popular culture (Tesler 6). By the time Beyoncé
      released her sixth studio album and second visual album, Lemonade, in 2016, highly
      publicized stories of police brutality against black bodies and consequent black protest
      movements had permeated an intense, racially polarized public sphere. In an era that
      has seen an increase in debates concerning racism and racial privilege, Beyoncé has
      become a symbol for many of unapologetic black resistance – and icon of black power.

      The phrase “bow down,” on the other hand, also represents the central conundrum
      this article seeks to address: Can Beyoncé’s explicit overtures towards communal black
      feminism and black female equality coexist harmoniously with the subtle hierarchal
      coding inherent in the cultural fantasy she embodies, particularly for her black female

      I mention her black female consumers specifically because Beyoncé’s recent work
      holds particular importance for this consumer base. Her persistent success in the face of

      CONTACT Sarah Olutola olutolsr@mcmaster.ca

      2019, VOL. 42, NO. 1, 99–117

      © 2018 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group

      racist backlash can be thought of as a kind of white bourgeois nightmare for those
      Americans who would rather the singer be stripped of her political power. Particularly
      in Lemonade, Beyoncé’s exposure of the violent workings of white supremacy, her
      display of pride in her African heritage, and her subversion of patriarchal power
      (“when he fuck me good,” she says, “I take his ass to Red Lobsters”) has allowed her
      to occupy a unique space within the pop cultural milieu as a transgressive, powerful
      figure. With her strengthened appeals to explicit black feminist activism, she re-
      emphasizes her status as an aspirational ideal for especially her black female fans,
      who are invited to feel empowered by the unrelenting celebrations of blackness,
      Afrocentricity, and black womanhood that have come to define her Lemonade era.
      Lemonade outwardly assures her fans that the cultural space created by Beyoncé’s
      musical and visual offering is for them to enjoy. As Inna Arzumanova argues,

      Beyoncé not only centralises black fans and the diversity of black lives, she also makes
      herself unavailable to white fans, white pleasure, and whiteness as an ideology of domina-
      tion and exploitation, prodding at its assumptions of access, of universality, and of active
      subjecthood. “This isn’t for you”, Beyoncé seems to say. (423)

      There is a danger, however, in mythologizing Beyoncé as a radical black political figure
      whose work is “unavailable” to oppressive frameworks. While it is certainly true that
      “Lemonade creates a space in which Black women’s experiences can finally be acknowl-
      edged and affirmed, rather than ignored” (Washington 6), Beyoncé, as a pop star
      working for blockbuster fame, wealth, and success in the competitive American
      music industry, cannot be extricated from – and should not be decontextualized
      from – the larger white patriarchal heteronormative capitalist context within which
      she, her work, and her success exists. We must then consider her image and actions as
      they operate in an American entertainment industry whose aims of producing “idols of
      consumption” (Lowenthal 115) have certainly, since the industry’s inception, been
      oriented around white leisure and pleasure.2

      It is this tension that this article seeks to explore. Beyoncé is not simply an artistic
      figure of black resistance; she is also a celebrity who must work tirelessly to remain
      relevant in a pop music industry with increasingly limited space for black female
      superstars. For all pop stars of Beyoncé’s caliber, part of the work of remaining relevant
      involves consistently delivering “pitch-perfect brand narratives . . . that resonate far and
      wide,” narratives meticulously constructed to stay abreast of changes to the cultural
      climate in which both celebrity and consumer exist (Lieb 35). The unresolved tensions
      within Beyoncé’s status as not only a “Queen” to whom others must “bow down,” but
      also a political, “dynamic and aspirational black everywoman” (Lieb 36) become clear if
      we dare to contextualize Beyoncé and her transformation into a black resistance figure
      within the complex and oppressive realm of mainstream celebrity stardom, consumer
      consumption, and the modern music industry. Such a reading reveals Beyoncé’s radical
      black feminism as contra, yet still inextricable from “whiteness as an ideology of
      domination and exploitation” (Arzumanova 423). Lemonade may not be for white
      consumers, at least not explicitly. But is it truly for all black consumers?

      This is what makes tennis star Serena Williams’ appearance in Lemonade analytically
      significant. Serena, who has long fought against reductive stereotypes of black savagery
      while displaying athletic supremacy in the predominantly white sport of tennis, appears

      100 S. OLUTOLA

      in the “Sorry” video to dance provocatively in front of – and at times at the feet of –
      Beyoncé who sits before her in a throne-like seat. In this video, we see uncomfortable
      tensions arising from Beyoncé’s productive alignment with African identity and black
      feminism appearing sub-textually throughout Lemonade. While Beyoncé surrounds
      herself with dancing dark-skinned African women, we see amidst the celebration of
      Africanness a retold Western fantasy of the dark African female body. This article, thus,
      considers both axes of analysis from recent critical work on Beyoncé’s Lemonade era
      focused primarily on Beyoncé’s recentralizing of the radical black perspective (Hobson;
      Arzumanova; Workneh), and her commodification of blackness for capitalist ends
      (Baraka; hooks, “Moving”). In putting these analytical points of entry in dialogue
      with each other, I interrogate the ways in which Beyoncé’s transgressive celebrity is
      produced through the differential framing of black female bodies that, while giving
      voice to black resistance, also produces Beyoncé as a figure skirting the edge of white
      capitalist palatability. By including an analysis of “Sorry’s” representational politics
      along with a broader interrogation of Beyoncé’s socioeconomic and cultural positioning
      in relation to the black women (fans, dancers, and stars) in her celebrity orbit, I argue
      specifically that Beyoncé and her Lemonade-era’s displays of black feminism, existing
      simultaneously within the spheres of activism and commercialism, often subtly under-
      mine what could otherwise be powerful examples of black female solidarity. As
      Eurocentric logics of race, capitalism, patriarchy, and biopolitical control mix uncom-
      fortably with the pervasive message of black power, the film exposes the inconsistencies
      that have ultimately arisen in Beyoncé’s public persona as she has attempted to absorb
      social justice movements into a radical, but consumable brand – a brand that both
      challenges and placates the demands of a neoliberal and white supremacist music

      “Bow Down Bitches”: Neoliberal Aspirations in Beyoncé’s Brand

      Feminist blogger Brittney Cooper’s repudiation of the very act of critiquing Beyoncé’s
      politics contains intriguing slippages that invariably emphasizes the need for any
      examination of Beyoncé to re-situate both the singer and her work within the consumer
      capitalist context in which both operate. In her article, “5 Reasons I’m Here for
      Beyoncé, the Feminist,” Cooper frames such scrutiny as a form of misogynoir, unpro-
      ductive anti-black woman displays of respectability policing that must be replaced with
      celebration and acceptance of Beyoncé’s self-definition as feminist. “[M]arginalized
      groups have the right to self-define,” she writes in one instance, further noting:
      “Time’s out for the WOC feminist meangirls shit. Sometimes folks just be hating.
      Real talk. Cuz if you ain’t critiquing Katy Perry and Pink an alla dem for being pro-
      capitalist . . . then back up off Bey” (Cooper). Cooper is correct in that analyses of
      Beyoncé should not completely divorce her from the context of other (white) pop stars
      and indeed, this article’s examination of Lemonade ultimately re-situates Beyoncé, her
      image, and her work alongside that of other female popular music celebrities. However,
      if we take Beyoncé as part of the industry that produces successful stars like Katy Perry
      and Pink, then we also have to understand her work, and its political undertones, as
      emerging from the same system. In other words, this re-situation of Beyoncé requires
      a de-mystification of the singer troubling her reading as a black feminist auteur. Indeed,


      by labeling the critical interrogation of Beyoncé as “mean” and constructing the singer’s
      cultural image as “self-defined,” Cooper ironically speaks to the existence and success of
      Beyoncé’s brand – a brand that, like every pop star brand – is deemed a success upon its
      ability to manage perceptions of its message to particular, intended readings and to
      encourage affective investment in this message from fans, while simultaneously hiding
      its constructed-ness.

      This article posits that it is integral to consider the tensions in Beyoncé’s black
      feminism as relating to her branding specifically because contemporary music stars
      exist as part of a communication complex consisting of executives, marketers, and
      consumers, which involves the sending and receiving, coding and de-coding of
      messages. The relationship between music stars and music consumers is managed
      and mediated within modern social space, which, since the Industrial Revolution, has
      been organized by capital accumulation (Harvey; Lefebvre). Therefore, to read
      Beyoncé as solely a radical auteur seeking to deconstruct patriarchy and white
      supremacy misses glaring elements in the production of her work. Seminal celebrity
      theorists (Gamson; Dyer, Heavenly Bodies) have discussed stardom, spectacle, and
      branding, emphasizing that “the celebrity” can never exist outside of the processes of
      production. This includes media industries and mass technologies, which must
      continually respond to social contexts to produce legible stars. According to
      Nicholas Carah, “In a rapidly changing music industry, bands and musicians find
      that they no longer just commodify their musical recordings. They also earn an
      income by connecting their image, meanings, values and performances to corporate
      brand-building activities” (xv). This brings into view the work of pop stars as
      a “contested terrain” (xvi) of art and commodification, necessitating that interroga-
      tions of Beyoncé and other female pop stars take seriously branding as part of their
      ongoing challenges and strategies of achieving longevity in a brutal, competitive
      industry. According to Kristin J. Lieb, a cultural theorist who formerly worked in
      the music industry, “a star’s signature narratives, personas, and looks may operate,
      strategically, within the context of her overarching brand theme to keep her brand
      stable at a meta level, while also allowing her the operational flexibility and fluidity to
      change with the times throughout her lifecycle” (35). Thus, although as Nathalie
      Weidhase points out, Beyoncé often articulates her “control over and ownership of
      her own work” (128),3 Beyoncé, as a top-tier female pop singer, cannot be considered
      as singularly creating and defining herself outside of capitalist and industry man-
      dates. Indeed, as Lieb argues, many variables play a part in the navigation of the
      careers of Beyoncé and her similarly blockbuster peers, including agents, publicists,
      and executives; music, lifestyle, trade, and fashion publications; fragrance and cloth-
      ing opportunities; production studios, video game designers, and marketers; music
      supervisors, venue owners, retailers, tour promoters, and so on (97). Though their
      brands may grow organically as part of their personal politics and present concerns,4

      they are crafted at least in part through beauty, management, and marketing teams.
      Ellis Cashmore further reinforces this viewpoint of Beyoncé’s work by pointing out
      the “businesslike purpose even in [Beyoncé’s] first venture” of Girl’s Tyme and its
      follow-up Destiny’s Child, which “was an operation – a systemic activity in which
      business organization is involved. Beyoncé later reflected that her father had studied
      the factory-like operations used by Motown” (139). It becomes clear upon these

      102 S. OLUTOLA

      considerations that Beyoncé’s work is beholden to more than just herself and her
      personal politics. Like other top-tier contemporary female music artists, she must
      produce commercially viable work that engages consumers on a massive scale for the
      benefit of not only herself, but also the conglomerate of individuals, organizations,
      and so on profiting from her success.

      This is important insofar as studying the tensions in Beyoncé’s present brand reveals
      the ways in which the contradictions evident in her overtures to black power and black
      feminism are indebted to the nature of the industry within which she works. A female
      music star’s success depends on her remaining relevant, and a celebrity remains
      relevant “only so long as he or she is living out an interesting narrative . . . when an
      individual loses his or her narrative or the narrative becomes attenuated, the celebrity
      vanishes – the equivalent of a movie or novel that bores you” (Gabler, qtd. in Cashmore
      138). Ellis Cashmore argues that a decade ago, Beyoncé avoided heavy politicization to
      maintain a safely consumable brand5 and thus could be seen as part of a bevy of black
      mainstream stars who symbolized for black consumers the achievement of an American
      Dream, the actualization of which culminated in the mainstream through the 2008
      election of Barack Obama to the presidency. These black celebrities reinforced the
      narrative that racism could be overcome through relentless consumerism, developing
      themselves as individuals and bettering their qualities of life through economic success
      in a way that would make racism unimportant (137). Such is the narrative of neoliber-
      alism that, in its emphasis on individual responsibility and economic competition,
      operates ideologically as a formative culture (Harvey; Foucault, The Birth of
      Biopolitics; Giroux). As Cashmore writes, Beyoncé once symbolized a world

      in which blacks not only shared facilities with whites, but had actually risen to promi-
      nence in all areas of society including, as Obama evidenced, the political arena. . . .
      Beyoncé was glamorous, ostentatiously rich, enjoyed a sybaritic lifestyle and had
      a partner who could lay claim to be the world’s most successful rap artists. In almost
      every way, she was the actualization of the American Dream so long denied black people.
      The ideal of equality, of opportunity and of material success that had for long been
      abstract and unattainable was given human shape. (136)

      Beyoncé’s shift in brand towards more radical black feminist politics coincides with the
      increasingly mainstream politicization of social life in the 2010s and particularly, as
      stated earlier, the post-Obama era. However, the vestiges of the American Dream
      persist in her text; even as she uses African writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s speech
      in the song “***Flawless” to foreground her “coming out as feminist” (Weidhase 129),
      Beyoncé injects into her anthem of female equality references to her own astronomical
      wealth, including her “diamond[s]” and rock[s],” further alluding to her combined
      worth with Jay-Z in the remix in which she claims: “Of course sometimes shit goes
      down when it’s a billion dollars on an elevator.” Daphne A. Brook’s analysis of her 2006
      B-Day album points towards the neoliberal subtext of her work, claiming that while the
      album speaks to black women’s hardships, “it imagines a language of socioeconomic
      autonomy that is, in every way, troubling in its fixation on materialism” (201). Likewise,
      as Beyoncé subverts patriarchy 10 years later in Lemonade’s “Formation,” her claims
      that “[i]f he hit it right, I might take him on a flight on my chopper, ’cause I slay” sells
      a kind of black female power fantasy couched in the kind of materialism that most of


      her black female fans will never achieve even as they are taught by a continuing
      formative neoliberal culture to emotionally invest in the fantasy.

      Beyoncé’s more radically political and visually powerful work coincides not only with
      the mainstream visibility of black politics, but also with the changing needs of the
      industry. Today, the process of producing stars often involves the strategic creation of
      pop spectacle, regardless of its content. We can relate the production of Beyoncé’s
      visual aesthetics to Victor P. Corona’s discussion of Lady Gaga, another of Beyoncé’s
      top-tier industry peers. Taking from Cornelius Castoriadis’ discussion of social ima-
      ginary, Corona argues that the unprecedented level of cultural exchange and connec-
      tivity due to social media in this present era of “hypermodernity” or accelerated
      capitalism has forced entertainment industries to respond by “generat[ing] expectations
      of ever grander spectacles” (726). These spectacles are linked to the anxieties of
      historical and social contexts of the consumers – social imaginaries that are “known
      to be fictional and yet, like fiction in literature, theatre, or movies, we [as consumers]
      lend ourselves as willing accomplices to the worlds they offer hoping they can somehow
      transform the real through a utopic vision” (Mandoki, qtd. in Corona 726–27). As her
      shocking lyrics and powerful visuals are retweeted and blogged about, the Beyoncé of
      the present decade has emerged as a more powerful icon of black female power,
      a powerful black queen, and her black female fans in particular are invited to partake
      in her regal display of powerful black feminism through consumption.6

      I extend Brooks’s and Cashmore’s arguments further to note that as Beyoncé’s brand
      comes to incorporate more explicitly radical black feminist politics, the neoliberal wish-
      fulfillment left over from her earlier eras becomes radicalized and re-emphasized;
      Beyoncé’s materialism becomes part of her radical black feminist resistance. But the
      economic success obtained through neoliberal competition, which is articulated in
      Beyoncé’s work as a means through which black women can resist white patriarchal
      supremacy, is closed off to many. Beyoncé’s brand, in addressing present social con-
      cerns and anxieties, helps her to stay culturally relevant, but her overtures towards her
      own status, wealth, and power only re-inscribe the exclusiveness of her celebrity
      category and her separation from – and socioeconomic elevation above – other black
      women. These hierarchal undertones are present within the very nature of her fandom’s
      name, “the Beyhive,” a play on the word “beehive,” which ultimately invokes the image
      of her consumers as belonging to a caste below that of the protected “queen bee.”
      Beyoncé’s brand must continuously communicate sociopolitical meanings to a receptive
      target audience to stay competitive; these meanings have come to carry major contra-
      dictions as the brand juggles empowering black feminist politics, and the politics of
      white patriarchal Western capitalism, the latter of which forms part of the legible and
      enjoyable fantasy of her work and successfully sells her to a market of consumers. The
      tenets of this fantasy, however, certainly go beyond wealth in ways that will be
      elaborated upon in the next section.

      Less Like Macy Gray: Hierarchy and Competition in Beyoncé’s Black

      The tension between Beyoncé as a symbol of black feminist equality and Beyoncé as an
      exclusionary symbol of power to be singularly worshipped and celebrated by fans

      104 S. OLUTOLA

      carries over into the politics of Beyoncé’s framing in relation to other black female
      bodies and celebrities. Furthermore, this framing is invariably tied to the ways in which
      Beyoncé’s powerful Lemonade aesthetics aids in her industry competitiveness while
      exposing the contradictions in her message. Lieb points to the competitiveness of the
      industry even for top stars like Beyoncé when she notes that “[t]here are precious few
      top-tier female recording artists at any given point in time” (105). Both African-
      American pop singer Tinashe, in her 2017 interview with Rolling Stone, and Gabrielle
      Union, in her speech at the 2013 Essence Black Women in Hollywood event,7 speak to
      the crushing competitive reality for black entertainers particularly when they mention
      the many ways in which black women fight for limited space.8 To maintain top-tier
      success, Beyoncé’s black feminist brand must remain legible to a current cultural
      climate politicized but nonetheless unmistakably inflected by the white, heteronorma-
      tive patriarchal capitalist ideologies that not only affect consumer’s social spaces in
      insidious ways, but also continues to structure the limited, competitive space of the
      mainstream music industry. These tensions, evident in Beyoncé’s framing within her
      own staging as radical black feminist, may be what accounts for the interruptions in the
      communication process of her brand narrative: that is to say that, as Beyoncé sells
      herself as a black feminist figure, the contradictions inherent within her text produces
      instabilities through which even black feminist audiences can decode a meaning differ-
      ent than the one intended (Lieb 28–29). As I argue here, the management of Beyoncé’s
      narrative as a black female activist involves the careful management of the coding of her

      For conservative white audiences, Beyoncé’s blackness is – especially in this
      current cultural moment – too visible, its visibility emphasized and exploited for
      the racist ends of many cultural critics.9 In 2016, during her Super Bowl halftime
      show performance, Beyoncé seemed to embrace this interpretation by powerfully
      challenging white society with her performance of “Formation.” As she sang the
      aforementioned lyrics surrounded by dark-skinned black female dancers dressed in
      Black Panther-style black berets and black leather jackets, she deftly invoked fears of
      black civil unrest, arousing anger from police groups who, in response to her critical
      references to police brutality, threatened to boycott various concert dates on the
      Formation Tour (see Rogers).

      Beyoncé’s present claims of blackness in an entertainment industry with limited
      space for black women and even less space for politically transgressive black women are
      daring and powerful. However, the threats of boycott made by police departments,
      which were essentially threats upon the safety of Beyoncé, her staff, and her largely
      black female concert-going audience, make clear the stakes of this daring re-centering
      of blackness. The attempts by American police to re-subject Beyoncé and her fans to the
      country’s violent disciplinary apparatus make clear the dangers that visible blackness
      still poses to black entertainers. This blackness, as Fanon has argued, acts as a uniform
      that enables the continued subjugation of the black body under the sociopolitical
      legacies of colonial knowledge-production and biopolitical management (95).
      Beyoncé, despite being Queen, is still visibly a brown-skinned woman, and indeed,
      her status as “Queen” is only dependent upon her continued survival in the entertain-
      ment industry. Closer inspection of her Super Bowl performance gestures towards
      strategies of negotiation around her blackness, troubling Beyoncé’s construction as


      a symbol of black resistance by revealing the ways in which the burden of blackness on
      her body is eased by its association with other black female bodies.

      Beyoncé and her team chose, after all, specifically dark-skinned black women as
      her back-up dancers for her Super Bowl performance. While her dark-skinned
      dancers wore black berets upon their large Afros hairdos, which, as Angela Davis
      has stated, forms part of “a symbolic visual representation of Black militancy” (41),
      Beyoncé stood apart as visibly the lightest of the group, her light skin accentuated by
      the long blonde weave that has now become her trademark. It is important to
      interrogate the representational politics at work in this performance beyond simple
      celebrations of black resistance. As bell hooks argues in Black Looks, contemporary
      representations of blackness are always rendered by a white supremacist lens that
      rewards the mimicry of white ideals. She writes of the dark-skinned daughter of

      Her skin is dark. Her hair is chemically straightened. Not only is she fundamentally
      convinced that straightened hair is more beautiful than . . . natural hair, she believes that
      lighter skin makes one more worthy . . . she has internalized white supremacist values and
      aesthetics, a way of looking and seeing the word that negates her value. (3)

      Matthew Knowles himself admitted in a 2018 interview with Ebony magazine that
      internalized colorism led him to reject “nappy-head Black girl[s]” as per his mother’s
      request. Instead, he courted Tina Knowles because at the time he thought she was
      a white woman perhaps owing to her mixed French, European, Black, and Indigenous
      ancestry: “In the deep South . . . the shade of your Blackness was considered impor-
      tant. . . . I used to date mainly White women or very high-complexion Black women
      that looked white” (Knowles, qtd. in Bennett).

      Though Beyoncé has no control over her heritage, the casting of back-up dancers
      was a specific choice on the part of Beyoncé and her team, as is the insistence on
      making long blonde hair part of her brand even in a performance carefully designed
      as a homage to black militancy. Of course, as Noel Siqi Duan has argued, criticizing
      Beyoncé’s blonde weave as an “affirmation of whiteness” (hooks, Black Looks, qtd. in
      Duan 56) falls dangerously into the colonial logics of possession with respect to the
      black female body, a body already over-burdened with negative symbolic meaning
      and heavily policed within the biopolitical institutions of domination (56). At the
      same time, one cannot ignore the fact that the dark-skinned black body is affected
      differentially by legacies of these institutions. In their study of colorism in the United
      States, Ekeoma Uzogara and James Jackson have argued that the socioeconomic and
      cultural hierarchy of light-skinned African-Americans over their dark-skinned coun-
      terparts during the period of slavery (in which dark-skinned slaves were expected to
      do hard labor in the fields as opposed to light-skinned house slaves) has persisted into
      the contemporary era (156). As actress Viola Davis divulged in her 2015 interview
      with The Wrap, the privilege of light skin intensifies the competitive conditions black
      women face in the entertainment industry:

      That being said, when you do see a woman of color onscreen, the paper-bag test is still
      very much alive and kicking. That’s the whole racial aspect of colorism . . . in the history of
      television and even in film, I’ve never seen a character like Annalise Keating played by
      someone who looks like me. My age, my hue, my sex. (qtd. in Kapsch)

      106 S. OLUTOLA

      To ignore the ways in which white supremacy continues to mark black bodies differ-
      entially and to uncritically support Beyoncé’s image and bodily agency (“it’s her body”)
      is to reinforce neoliberal discourses of personal choice that efface the sociopolitical
      dimensions of such choices. Indeed, her Super Bowl performance of “Formation” is not
      the only instance in which dark-skinned black bodies strategically surround and high-
      light Beyoncé’s body. During her early days as the lead singer of Destiny’s Child,
      Beyoncé stood out as the lightest among the members, which as former member
      Farrah Franklin alleged was not by coincidence. As she told Vibe magazine in 2001,
      she was instructed to darken her skin in tanning salons before she could be a member
      of the group as she was replacing LaTavia, who “was darker than her,” an allegation
      confirmed by Beyoncé’s mother, Tina Knowles (Knowles, qtd. in Ogunnaike 80).
      Returning to Cashmore’s assertions, Girl’s Tyme and Destiny’s Child were business
      operations managed by a team well aware of Motown structure and politics.10 In these
      cases, Beyoncé’s inclusion into black female groups was specifically designed to facilitate
      her elevation above other black female bodies as the breakout star.11

      The effect of Beyoncé’s framing as she is surrounded by darker bodies is akin to what
      Tom Engelhardt calls the encirclement trope. The encirclement trope is a cinematic
      technique used in Western films such as Stagecoach (1939) designed to force an
      empathetic, subjective connection between the audience and the white protagonists.
      This identification is typically encouraged by placing the white body at the center of
      a larger group of racialized bodies whose numbers strip them of subjectivity. In
      Western films, this visual placement of the white body enables the construction of
      the racialized bodies surrounding them as threatening (Shohat and Stam 119–20). The
      logics of this filmic visual trope can be applied to Beyoncé’s “Formation” performance.
      Her lighter body and blonde weave stand in tension with the dark-skinned bodies and
      Afrocentric hairstyles of her back-up dancers; and in fact, while Beyoncé’s dancers wore
      clothes iconic of the Black Panther’s militant resistance against white supremacy,
      Beyoncé’s own clothes, as she told Extra, were an homage to Michael Jackson’s 1993
      Super Bowl halftime show outfit (“Beyonce Says”). Underlying Beyoncé’s employment
      and display of dark-skinned beauty in the form of her dancers is the reification of her
      body as exceptional through the eyes of a culturally constituted white gaze.
      A contentious exchange between music producer Elijah “Young Hollywood” Sarraga
      and Dominican-American singer Amara La Negra on the show Love & Hip Hop: Miami
      astutely exemplifies the tension between Beyoncé’s adherence to white beauty standards
      and her radical Afrocentric politics. As an Afro-Latina, dark-skinned Amara La Negra
      chooses to don an Afro as part of her brand image. On the show, this image is
      repudiated by the music producer who, in one scene, tells her that to become more
      successful in today’s market, she sh


      The Consequences of Literacy
      Author(s): Jack Goody and Ian Watt
      Source: Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 5, No. 3 (Apr., 1963), pp. 304-345
      Published by: Cambridge University Press
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      The accepted tripartite divisions of the formal study both of mankind’s past
      and present are to a considerable extent based on man’s development first of

      language and later of writing. Looked at in the perspective of time, man’s

      biological evolution shades into prehistory when he becomes a language-using
      animal; add writing, and history proper begins. Looked at in a temporal
      perspective, man as animal is studied primarily by the zoologist, man as

      talking animal primarily by the anthropologist, and man as talking and writing
      animal primarily by the sociologist.

      That the differentiation between these categories should be founded on
      different modes of communication is clearly appropriate; it was language that
      enabled man to achieve a form of social organisation whose range and com-

      plexity was different in kind from that of animals: whereas the social organi-
      sation of animals was mainly instinctive and genetically transmitted, that of
      man was largely learned and transmitted verbally through the cultural heritage.
      The basis for the last two distinctions, those based on the development of

      writing, is equally clear: to the extent that a significant quantity of written
      records are available the pre-historian yields to the historian; and to the extent
      that alphabetical writing and popular literacy imply new modes of social

      organisation and transmission, the anthropologist tends to yield to the soci-

      But why? And how? There is no agreement about this question, nor even

      about what the actual boundary lines between non-literate and literate cultures
      are. At what point in the formalisation of pictographs or other graphic signs
      can we talk of “letters”, of literacy? And what proportion of the society has
      to write and read before the culture as a whole can be described as literate?

      These are some of the many reasons why the extent to which there is any
      distinction between the areas and methods peculiar to anthropology and

      sociology must be regarded as problematic; and the difficulty affects not only
      the boundaries of the two disciplines but also the nature of the intrinsic differ-
      ences in their subject matter.1 The recent trend has been for anthropologists

      1 Some writers distinguish the field of Social Anthropology from that of Sociology on
      the basis of its subject matter (i.e. the study of non-literate or non-European peoples),
      others on the basis of its techniques (e.g. that of participant observation). For a dis-


      to spread their net more widely and engage in the study of industrial societies
      side by side with their sociological colleagues. We can no longer accept the
      view that anthropologists have as their objective the study of primitive man,
      who is characterised by a “primitive mind”, while sociologists, on the other
      hand, concern themselves with civilised man, whose activities are guided by
      “rational thought” and tested by “logico-empirical procedures”. The reaction
      against such ethnocentric views, however, has now gone to the point of
      denying that the distinction between non-literate and literate society has any
      significant validity. This position seems contrary to our personal observaton;
      and so it has seemed worthwhile to enquire whether there may not be, even
      from the most empirical and relativist standpoint, genuine illumination to be
      derived from a further consideration of some of the historical and analytic
      problems connected with the traditional dichotomy between non-literate and
      literate societies.



      For reasons which will become clear it seems best to begin with a generalised
      description of the ways in which the cultural heritage is transmitted in non-
      literate societies, and then to see how these ways are changed by the wide-
      spread adoption of an easy and effective means of written communication.

      When one generation hands on its cultural heritage to the next, three fairly
      separate items are involved. First, the society passes on its material plant,
      including the natural resources available to its members. Secondly, it transmits
      standardised ways of acting. These customary ways of behaving are only
      partly communicated by verbal means; ways of cooking food, of growing
      crops, of handling children may be transmitted by direct imitation. But the
      most significant elements of any human culture are undoubtedly channelled
      through words, and reside in the particular range of meanings and attitudes
      which members of any society attach to their verbal symbols. These elements
      include not only what we habitually think of as customary behavior but also
      such items as ideas of space and time, generalised goals and aspirations, in
      short the weltanschauung of every social group. In Durkheim’s words, these
      categories of the understanding are “priceless instruments of thought which
      the human groups have laboriously forged through the centuries and where
      they have accumulated the best of their intellectual capital”.2 The relative
      continuity of these categories of understanding from one generation to another

      cussion of these points, see Siegfried F. Nadel, The Foundations of Social Anthropology
      (London, 1951), p. 2.
      2 fmile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, trans. Joseph W.
      Swain (London, 1915), p. 19.



      is primarily ensured by language, which is the most direct and comprehensive
      expression of the social experience of the group.

      The transmission of the verbal elements of culture by oral means can be
      visualised as a long chain of interlocking conversations between members of
      the group. Thus all beliefs and values, all forms of knowledge, are commu-
      nicated between individuals in face-to-face contact; and, as distinct from the
      material content of the cultural tradition, whether it be cave-paintings or
      hand-axes, they are stored only in human memory.

      The intrinsic nature of oral communication has a considerable effect upon
      both the content and the transmission of the cultural repertoire. In the first
      place it makes for a directness of relationship between symbol and referent.
      There can be no reference to “dictionary definitions”, nor can words accu-
      mulate the successive layers of historically validated meanings which they
      acquire in a literate culture. Instead the meaning of each word is ratified in a
      succession of concrete situations, accompanied by vocal inflexions and phys-
      ical gestures, all of which combine to particularize both its specific denotation
      and its accepted connotative usages. This process of direct semantic ratifi-
      cation, of course, operates cumulatively; and as a result the totality of symbol-
      referent relationships is more immediately experienced by the individual in an
      exclusively oral culture, and is thus more deeply socialised.

      One way of illustrating this is to consider how the range of vocabulary in
      a non-literate society reflects this mode of semantic ratification. It has often
      been observed how the elaboration of the vocabulary of such a society re-
      flects the particular interests of the people concerned. The inhabitants of
      the Pacific island of Lesu have not one, but a dozen or so, words for pigs,3
      according to sex, color, and where they come from – a prolixity which mir-
      rors the importance of pigs in a domestic economy that otherwise includes
      few sources of protein. The corollary of this prolixity is that where common
      emphases and interests, whether material or otherwise, are not specifically
      involved, there is little verbal development. Malinowski reported that in the
      Trobriands the outer world was only named insofar as it yielded useful things,
      useful, that is, in the very broadest sense;4 and there is much other testimony
      to support the view that there is an intimate functional adaptation of language
      in non-literate societies, which obtains not only for the relatively simple and
      concrete symbol-referents involved above, but also for the more generalized
      “categories of understanding” and for the cultural tradition as a whole.

      In an essay he wrote in collaboration with Mauss, “De quelques formes

      3 Hortense Powdermaker, Life in Lesu (New York, 1933), p. 292. See also Language,
      Thought, and Culture, ed. Paul Henle (Ann Arbor, 1958), pp. 5-18.
      4 Bronislaw Malinowski, “The Problem of Meaning in Primitive Languages”, in C. K.
      Ogden and I. A. Richards, The Meaning of Meaning (London, 1936), pp. 296-336, esp.
      p. 331. But see also the critical comments by Claude Levi-Strauss, La Pensee Sauvage
      (Paris, 1962), pp. 6, 15-16.



      primitives de classification”,5 Durkheim traces the interconnections between
      the ideas of space and the territorial distribution of the Australian aborigines,
      the Zuni of the Pueblo area and the Sioux of the Great Plains. This inter-

      meshing of what he called the collective representations with the social mor-

      phology of a particular society is clearly another aspect of the same directness
      of relationship between symbol and referent. Just as the more concrete part
      of a vocabulary reflects the dominant interests of the society, so the more
      abstract categories are often closely linked to the accepted terminology for

      pragmatic pursuits. Among the LoDagaa of Northern Ghana, days are
      reckoned according to the incidence of neighboring markets; the very word
      for day and market is the same, and the “weekly” cycle is a six-day revolution
      of the most important markets in the vicinity, a cycle which also defines the

      spatial range of everyday activities.6
      The way in which these various intitutions in an oral culture are kept in

      relatively close accommodation one to another surely bears directly on the

      question of the central difference between literate and non-literate societies.
      As we have remarked, the whole content of the social tradition, apart from
      the material inheritances, is held in memory. The social aspects of remem-

      bering have been emphasised by sociologists and psychologists, in particular
      Maurice Halbwachs.7 What the individual remembers tends to be what is of
      critical importance in his experience of the main social relationships. In each

      generation, therefore, the individual memory will mediate the cultural heritage
      in such a way that its new constituents will adjust to the old by the process of

      interpretation that Bartlett calls “rationalizing” or the “effort after meaning”;
      and whatever parts of it have ceased to be of contemporary relevance are

      likely to be eliminated by the process of forgetting.
      The social function of memory – and of forgetting – can thus be seen as

      the final stage of what may be called the homeostatic organisation of the
      cultural tradition in non-literate society. The language is developed in inti-
      mate association with the experience of the community, and it is learned by
      the individual in face-to-face contact with the other members. What con-
      tinues to be social relevance is stored in the memory while the rest is usually

      5 L’Annee sociologique, 7 (1902-3), pp. 1-72. See also S. Czarnowski, “Le morcellement
      de l’etendue et sa limitation dans la religion et la magie”, Actes du congres international
      d’histoire des religions (Paris, 1925), I, pp. 339-359.
      6 Jack Goody, unpublished field notes, 1950-52. See also E. E. Evans-Pritchard,
      The Nuer (Oxford, 1940), chapter 3, “Time and Space”, and David Tait, The Konkomba
      of Northern Ghana (London, 1961), pp. 17 ff. For a general treatment of the subject,
      see A. Irving Hallowell, “Temporal Orientations in Western Civilisation and in a
      Preliterate Society”, American Anthropologist, 39 (1937), pp. 647-670.
      7 Les Cadres sociaux de la memoire (Paris, 1925); “Memoire et societe”, L’Annee
      sociologique, 3e serie, 1 (1940-8), pp. 11-177; La Memoire collective, Paris, 1950. See
      also Frederic C. Bartlett on the tendency of oral discourse to become an expression of
      ideas and attitudes of the group rather than the individual speaker, in Remembering
      (Cambridge, 1932), pp. 265-7, and Psychology and Primitive Culture (Cambridge, 1923),
      pp. 42-3, 62-3, 256.



      forgotten: and language – primarily vocabulary – is the effective medium
      of this crucial process of social digestion and elimination which may be re-
      garded as analogous to the homeostatic organisation of the human body by
      means of which it attempts to maintain its present condition of life.

      In drawing attention to the importance of these assimilating mechanisms in
      non-literate societies, we are denying neither the occurrence of social change,
      nor yet the “survivals” which it leaves in its wake. Nor do we overlook the
      existence of mnemonic devices in oral cultures which offer some resistance to
      the interpretative process. Formalised patterns of speech, recital under ritual
      conditions, the use of drums and other musical instruments, the employment
      of professional remembrancers – all such factors may shield at least part of
      the content of memory from the transmuting influence of the immediate pres-
      ures of the present. The Homeric epics, for instance, seem to have been
      written down during the first century of Greek literature between 750 and
      650 B.C., but “they look to a departed era, and their substance is unmistak-
      ably old”.8

      With these qualifications, however, it seems correct to characterize the
      transmission of the cultural tradition in oral societies as homeostatic in view
      of the way in which its emphasis differs from that in literate societies. The
      description offered has, of course, been extremely abstract; but a few illustra-
      tive examples in one important area – that of how the tribal past is digested
      into the communal orientation of the present – may serve to make it clearer.

      Like the Bedouin Arabs and the Hebrews of the Old Testament, the Tiv
      people of Nigeria give long genealogies of their forebears which in this case
      stretch some twelve generations in depth back to an eponymous founding
      ancestor.9 Neither these genealogies, nor the Biblical lists of the descendants
      of Adam, were remembered purely as feats of memory. They served as
      mnemonics for systems of social relations. When on his deathbed Jacob de-
      livered prophecies about the future of his twelve sons, he spoke of them as
      the twelve tribes or nations of Israel. It would seem from the account in
      Genesis that the genealogical tables here refer to contemporary groups rather
      than to dead individuals;10 the tables presumably serve to regulate social re-
      lations among the twelve tribes of Israel in a manner similar to that which

      8 M. I. Finley, The World of Odysseus (New York, 1954), p. 26.
      9 Laura Bohannan, “A Genealogical Charter”, Africa, 22 (1952), pp. 301-15; Emrys
      Peters, “The Proliferation of Segments in the Lineage of the Bedouin of Cyrenaica”,
      Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 90 (1960), pp. 29-53. See also Godfrey
      and Monica Wilson, The Analysis of Social Change (Cambridge, 1945), p. 27.
      10 Ch. 49; further evidence supporting this assumption is found in the etymology of
      the Hebrew term Toledot, which originally denoted “genealogies”, and assumed also
      the meaning of “stories and accounts” about the origin of a nation. “In this sense the
      term was also applied to the account of the creation of heaven and earth” [Solomon
      Gandz, “Oral Tradition in the Bible” in Jewish Studies in Memory of George A. Kohut,
      ed. Salo W. Baron and Alexander Marx (New York, 1935), p. 269].



      has been well analysed in Evans-Pritchard’s work on the Nuer of the South-
      ern Sudan and in Fortes’ account of the Tallensi of Northern Ghana.11

      Early British administrators among the Tiv of Nigeria were aware of the
      great importance attached to these genealogies, which were continually dis-
      cussed in court cases where the rights and duties of one man towards another
      were in dispute. Consequently they took the trouble to write down the long
      lists of names and preserve them for posterity, so that future administrators
      might refer to them in giving judgement. Forty years later, when the Bohan-
      nans carried out anthropological field work in the area, their successors were
      still using the same genealogies.l2 However, these written pedigrees now gave
      rise to many disagreements; the Tiv maintained that they were incorrect,
      while the officials regarded them as statements of fact, as records of what had
      actually happened, and could not agree that the unlettered indigenes could be
      better informed about the past than their own literate predecessors. What
      neither party realised was that in any society of this kind changes take place
      which require a constant readjustment in the genealogies if they are to con-
      tinue to carry out their function as mnemonics of social relationships.

      These changes are of several kinds: those arising from the turnover in per-
      sonnel, from the process of “birth and copulation and death”; those connected
      with the rearrangement of the constituent units of the society, with the
      migration of one group and the fission of another; and lastly those resulting
      from the effects of changes in the social system itself, whether generated from
      within or initiated from without. Each of these three processes (which we
      may refer to for convenience as the processes of generational, organisational
      and structural change) could lead to alterations of the kind to which the
      administration objected.

      It is obvious that the process of generation leads in itself to a constant
      lengthening of the genealogy; on the other hand, the population to which it is
      linked may in fact be growing at quite a different rate, perhaps simply re-
      placing itself. So despite its increasing length the genealogy may have to
      refer to just as many people at the present time as it did fifty, a hundred, or
      perhaps two hundred years ago. Consequently the added depth of lineages
      caused by new births needs to be accompanied by a process of genealogical
      shrinkage; the occurrence of this telescoping process, a common example of
      the general social phenomenon which J. A. Barnes has felicitously termed
      “structural amnesia”, has been attested in many societies, including all those
      mentioned above.13

      11 The Nuer (Oxford, 1940); “The Nuer of the Southern Sudan” in African Political
      Systems, ed. Meyer Fortes and Edward Evan Evans-Pritchard (London, 1940); Meyer
      Fortes, The Dynamics of Clanship among the Tallensi (London, 1945).
      12 “A Genealogical Charter”, p. 314.
      13 John A. Barnes, “The Collection of Genealogies”, Rhodes-Livingstone Journal:
      Human Problems in British Central Africa, 5 (1947), pp. 48-56, esp. p. 52; Meyer
      Fortes, “The Significance of Descent in Tale Social Structure”, Africa, 14 (1944), p. 370;



      Organisational changes lead to similar adjustments. The state of Gonja in
      Northern Ghana is divided into a number of divisional chiefdoms, certain of
      which are recognised as providing in turn the ruler of the whole nation, When
      asked to explain their system the Gonja recount how the founder of the state,
      Ndewura Jakpa, came down from the Niger Bend in search of gold, con-
      quered the indigenous inhabitants of the area and enthroned himself as chief
      of the state and his sons as rulers of its territorial divisions. At his death the
      divisional chiefs succeeded to the paramountcy in turn. When the details of
      this story were first recorded at the turn of the present century, at the time
      the British were extending their control over the area, Jakpa was said to have
      begotten seven sons, this corresponding to the number of divisions whose
      heads were eligible for the supreme office by virtue of their descent from the
      founder of the particular chiefdom. But at the same time as the British had
      arrived, two of the seven divisions disappeared, one being deliberately in-
      corporated in a neighboring division because its rulers had supported a Man-
      dingo invader, Samori, and another because of some boundary changes in-
      troduced by the British administration. Sixty years later, when the myths of
      state were again recorded, Jakpa was credited with only five sons and no
      mention was made of the founders of the two divisions which had since dis-
      appeared from the political map.14

      These two instances from the Tiv and the Gonja emphasise that genealogies
      often serve the same function that Malinowski claimed for myth; they act as
      ‘charters’ of present social institutions rather than as faithful historical records
      of times past.15 They can do this more consistently because they operate
      within an oral rather than a written tradition and thus tend to be automatic-
      ally adjusted to existing social relations as they are passed by word of mouth
      from one member of the society to another. The social element in remember-
      ing results in the genealogies being transmuted in the course of being trans-
      mitted; and a similar process takes place with regard to other cultural ele-
      ments as well, to myths, for example, and to sacred lore in general. Deities
      and other supernatural agencies which have served their purpose can be
      quietly dropped from the contemporary pantheon; and as the society changes,
      myths too are forgotten, attributed to other personages, or transformed in
      their meaning.

      One of the most important results of this homeostatic tendency is that the
      individual has little perception of the past except in terms of the present;

      Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer, pp. 199-200; Peters, “The Proliferation of Segments”, p. 32.
      See also I. G. Cunnison, The Luapula Peoples of Northern Rhodesia (Manchester,
      1959), pp. 108-14.
      14 Jack Goody, unpublished field notes, 1956-7; the heads of the divisions who could
      not succeed to the paramountcy also claimed descent from sons of the founding an-
      cestor, Jakpa, but this was not an intrinsic part of the myth as usually told, and in
      any case their number remained constant during the period in question.
      15 Myth in Primitive Psychology (London, 1926), pp. 23, 43.



      whereas the annals of a literate society cannot but enforce a more objective
      recognition of the distinction between what was and what is. Franz Boas
      wrote that for the Eskimo the world has always been as it is now:16 it seems
      probable, at least, that the form in which nonliterate societies conceive the
      world of the past is itself influenced by the process of transmission described.
      The Tiv have their genealogies, others their sacred tales about the origin of
      the world and the way in which man acquired his culture. But all their con-
      ceptualisations of the past cannot help being governed by the concerns of the
      present, merely because there is no body of chronologically ordered statements
      to which reference can be made. The Tiv do not recognise any contradiction
      between what they say now and what they said fifty years ago, since no en-
      during records exist for them to set beside their present views. Myth and
      history merge into one: the elements in the cultural heritage which cease to
      have a contemporary relevance tend to be soon forgotten or transformed; and
      as the individuals of each generation acquire their vocabulary, their geneal-
      ogies, and their myths, they are unaware that various words, proper-names
      and stories have dropped out, or that others have changed their meanings or
      been replaced.



      The pastness of the past, then, depends upon a historical sensibility which can
      hardly begin to operate without permanent written records; and writing in-
      troduces similar changes in the transmission of other items of the cultural
      repertoire. But the extent of these changes varies with the nature and social
      distribution of the writing system; varies, that is, according to the system’s
      intrinsic efficacy as a means of communication, and according to the social
      constraints placed upon it, that is, the degree to which use of the system is
      diffused through the society.

      Early in prehistory, man began to express himself in graphic form; and his
      cave paintings, rock engravings and wood carvings are morphologically, and
      presumably sequentially, the forerunners of writing. By some process of
      simplification and stylisation they appear to have led to the various kinds of
      pictographs found in simple societies.7 While pictographs themselves are
      almost universal, their development into a self-sufficient system capable of
      extended discourse occurs only among the Plains Indians.18

      10 Franz Boas, “The Folklore of the Eskimo”, Journal of American Folklore, 64
      (1904), p. 2. Levi-Strauss treats the absence of historical knowledge as one of the
      distinctive features of la pensee sauvage in contrast to la pensee domestiquee (La
      Pensee sauvage, p. 349).
      17 Ignace J. Gelb, A Study of Writing (Chicago, 1952), pp. 24ff.
      18 C. F. and F. M. Voegelin, “Typological Classification of Systems with Included,



      Pictographs have obvious disadvantages as means of communication. For
      one thing a vast number of signs is needed to represent all the important
      objects in the culture. For another, since the signs are concrete, the simplest
      sentence requires an extremely elaborate series of signs: many stylised re-
      presentations of wigwams, footprints, totemic animals and so on are required
      just to convey the information that a particular man left there a few days ago.
      Finally, however elaborately the sytem is developed, only a limited number
      of things can be said.

      The end of the fourth millennium saw the early stages of the development
      of more complex forms of writing, which seem to be an essential factor in the
      rise of the urban cultures of the Orient. The majority of signs in these systems
      were simply pictures of the outside world, standardised representations of the
      object signified by a particular word; to these were added other devices for
      creating word signs or logograms, which permitted the expression of wider
      ranges of meaning. Thus in Egyptian hieroglyphics, the picture of a beetle
      was a code sign not only for that insect but also for a discontinuous and more
      abstract referent “became”.19

      The basic invention used to supplement the logograms was the phonetic
      principle, which for the first time permitted the written expression of all the
      words of a language. For example, by the device of phonetic transfer the
      Sumerians could use the sign for ti, an arrow, to stand for ti, life, a concept
      not easy to express in pictographic form. In particular, the need to record
      personal names and foreign words encouraged the development of phonetic
      elements in writing.

      But while these true writing systems all used phonetic devices for the con-
      struction of logograms (and have consequently been spoken of as word-syl-
      labic systems of writing), they failed to carry through the application of the
      phonetic principle exclusively and systematically.20 The achievement of a
      system completely based upon the representation of phonemes (the basic
      units of meaningful sound) was left to the Near Eastern syllabaries, which
      developed between 1500-1000 B.C., and finally to the introduction of the
      alphabet proper in Greece. Meanwhile these incompletely phonetic systems
      were too clumsy and complicated to foster widespread literacy, if only be-
      cause the number of signs was very large; at least six hundred would have to

      Excluded and Self-sufficient Alphabets”, Anthropological Linguistics, 3 (1961), pp.
      84, 91.
      19 Voegelin, “Typological Classification”, pp. 75-76.
      20 C. F. and F. M. Voegelin classify all these systems (Chinese, Egyptian, Hittite,
      Mayan and Sumerian-Akkadian) as “alphabet included logographic systems”: because
      they make use of phonetic devices, they include, under the heading “self-sufficient
      alphabets”, systems which have signs for consonant-vowel sequences (i.e. syllabaries),
      for independent consonants (IC), e.g. Phoenician, or for independent consonants plus in-
      dependent vowels (IC + IV), e.g. Greek. In this paper we employ “alphabet” in the nar-
      rower, more usual, sense of a phonemic system with independent signs for consonants
      and vowels (IC + IV).



      be learned even for the simplified cuneiform developed in Assyria, and about
      the same for Egyptian hieroglyphs.21 All these ancient civilisations, the
      Sumerian, Egyptian, Hittite and Chinese, were literate in one sense and their
      great advances in administration and technology were undoubtedly connected
      with the invention of a writing system; but when we think of the limitations
      of their systems of communication as compared with ours, the term “protolite-
      rate”, or even “oligoliterate”, might be more descriptive in suggesting the
      restriction of literacy to a relatively small proportion of the total population.22

      Any system of writing which makes the sign stand directly for the object
      must be extremely complex. It can extend its vocabulary by generalisation or
      association of ideas, that is, by making the sign stand either for a more
      general class of objects, or for other referents connected with the original
      picture by an association of meanings which may be related to one another
      either in a continuous or in a discontinuous manner. Either process of se-
      mantic extension is to some extent arbitrary or esoteric; and as a result the
      interpretation of these signs is neither easy nor explicit. One might perhaps
      guess that the Ch



      Think about what you have learned about thesis statements for a college essay.  In our class, we have focused on the three prong thesis at the end of the introduction.  However, many rules for thesis statements actually exist.

      This discussion is about exploring what a thesis can do or be for any essay. Your mission is to explore and learn about the thesis statement and write a paragraph about your findings.  

      List your each URL from any web sites that you have used in your paragraph.



      Write  750-1,000 words that includes the following:

      • Discuss the potential postconviction relief options for a convicted criminal. For example, an appeal, a request for a new trial, or a judgment notwithstanding the verdict.
      • How does a lawyer make the determination of which postconviction relief options to pursue?
      • Why are these posttrial procedures important to a criminal defendant?

      Be sure to cite three to five relevant scholarly sources in support of your content. Use only sources found at the GCU Library, government websites/legal case sites or those provided in Class Resources.

      Prepare this assignment according to the guidelines found in the APA Style Guide, located in the Student Success Center. An abstract is not required.


      Running head: SHORT TITLE OF PAPER (<= 50 CHARACTERS) 2

      Topic: Institutional Racism and its Effect on the Society (Interculturalism of Black and white in United State of America) The term paper needs to be a critical cross-cultural study with a focus on intercultural communication. Choose two cultures, preferably one of which you haven’t covered in your podcast or webinar, and compare them through any aspect covered in this course within intercultural communication. For example, you could compare indulgence and intercultural communication in the French and Russian cultures. Your paper needs to be approximately 2500 words in length, following APA formatting, with at least 7 credible sources. The maximum number of sources is 10. You do not need to do any primary research or collect data for this paper.  


      Author (s)

      Author’s (s’) Department of Study



      Your abstract should be one paragraph and should not exceed 100 words. It is a summary of the most important elements of your paper. All numbers in the abstract, except those beginning a sentence, should be typed as digits rather than words. To count the number of words in this paragraph, select the paragraph, and on the Tools menu click Word Count. Do not write the abstract before you finish the whole paper. Remember that the abstract is a summary of your paper. Notice that an abstract should appear on a separate page.

      Keywords: give a list of 5 key words (or short phrases) that help identify the paper.


      Begin your paper with an introduction to talk about your topic, why you think it’s important, what made you interested in it, and end with your thesis statement which is you main argument or claim about the topic (the aspect you are trying to prove or disprove through you data). In other words, you will need to provide a brief account of your study (or case study) and a few in-text citations to support your reasoning. Avoid giving too many details from the works you are citing; details such as these (if necessary) go into the literature review section. Avoid turning this section into a literature review as introductions are ‘backgrounds’ to your paper, not an in-depth discussion of what other researchers have said or found to support or refute the idea. Make sure that your introduction includes your purpose or problem and that you outline in general terms what you’re aiming for.

      This section is approximately 1 page minimum to 2 pages maximum. Make sure your use the active and passive voice in the appropriate places; the active voice should be used more often than the passive. This template is formatted according to APA Style guidelines, with one inch top, bottom, left, and right margins; it is double-spaced, aligned, flushed left, and the paragraphs are indented 5-7 spaces. Arial or Calibri font in 12 point are my preferred font format, so please consider using them to make reading easier for me. Have a look at the papers on eLearn for examples of how the paragraphs are formatted and structured.

      Literature Review

      This is where you put most of your in-text citations, your secondary research. You will need a minimum of seven sources in your reference list. Whether you use these sources in the introduction and repeat the same sources here is not an issue; an issue would be repeating the exact same argument from these sources. Make sure your arguments are sound and that you are choosing sources that support your rationale. This section is approximately 2 pages minimum to 3 pages maximum. You can use sub-sections in this section. See Appendix A for how to format headings for sections and sub-sections.


      Sources must be documented by citing the authors and dates of publication, which are available for most sources. When the name of the author of a source is part of the sentence structure, i.e. the subject of the sentence, the year of the publication appears in parenthesis following the author’s surname (family name), for example, Al-Musalli (2014) argues that …etc. On the other hand, when the author of a source is not part of the formal structure of the sentence, both the author and year of publication appear in parentheses; sources are separated by a semicolons, for example, plagiarism is idea theft (Smith & Jones, 2001, p. 8; Al-Musalli, 2021, pp. 3-6). Use the Purdue APA Style Guide on eLearn. APA style “will result in a favorable impression on your readers” (Smith, 2001).

      When a source that has two authors is cited, both authors are cited every time. If there are six or more authors to be cited, use the first author’s surname followed by “et al.” the first and each subsequent time it is cited. When a direct quotation is used, always include the author, year, and page number as part of the citation. Al-Musalli (2014) states, “A quotation of fewer than 40 words should be enclosed in double quotation marks and incorporated into the formal structure of the sentence within the paragraph” (p. 23). However, she stresses that,

      A longer quote of 40 or more words (which is a bit like this one) should appear (without quotation marks) in block format, indented five spaces from the margins. Bla bla la bla la bla la la bla bla la la (p.23).

      After you report what a source says, especially when you are giving a quotation, you must give a page number (or numbers, pp. 3-8) before the end of the sentence in which you are citing; nonetheless, if the argument you are giving talks about the general conclusion or general idea of what the source is saying (the general claim or conclusion that is everywhere in the source rather than on a specific page), you don’t need a page number. Please see the Purdue APA Style Guide on eLearn for more on this and how to cite sources without page numbers, such as (some) online sources.

      Al-Musalli (2014) maintains that if the idea you are giving is presented in an entire book rather than on a certain page of that book, you do not need page numbers (pp. 100-101). This sentence means that Al-Musalli discussed this idea on pages 100-101 of her (2014) publication. We use (pp. because it is more than one page). The same applies to the citations of authors that are not part of the formal structure of the sentence, stated above, for example, (Smith & Jones, 2001, p. 3; Anderson, Charles, & Johnson, 2003, pp. 4-5).


      This is where you talk about how you conducted your primary research: how you collected the data (the survey type you used – interviews/questionnaires or the text(s)/video(s) you studied), who your participants are, or what text(s)/video(s) you studied, why you choose these participants or text(s)/video(s), and your scope or limitations (what you didn’t cover and why). For example, you talk about why you chose a video, how you analyzed it into disinformation/misinformation claims (or disruptive information), opinions that are purely points of view, and facts that can be supported by data and evidence. Another example could be surveying or interviewing participants on the effects of disinformation relating to a particular topic. The number of participants will depend on whether you are conducting interviews or surveys. More on this will be discussed in class.


      Use an appropriate way to arrange your findings, i.e. logically, chronologically, in order of importance, by region, or by topic. See examples in the papers on eLearn.


      Tell the reader what you have taken away from this research, what the findings mean, and what you are suggesting and recommending based on these findings. Notice that papers include their recommendations and sometimes more on limitations and scope under the conclusion. Every statement you make must be justifiable by a point already discussed.


      Entries are organized alphabetically by surnames of first authors and are formatted with a hanging indent. Use the Purdue APA Style Guide on eLearn to write your references. Your references must appear on a separate page (the last page) of your paper. You will need a minimum of seven sources in your reference list of your term paper. You could use up to ten if you feel that they will add to your argument. No bonus marks will be given for extra sources; however, if they do work well to showcase a sound literature review, this could boost your mark.

      Appendix A: Formatting Headings


      Use headings and subheadings to organize the sections of your paper. The first heading level is formatted with initial caps and is bolded and centered on the page. Do not start a new page for each heading.


      Subheadings are formatted with italics and are aligned flush left. They are bolded.


      Researched Argument 1

      Researched Argument Essay
      Spring 2022

      For this assignment, you will write a researched argument essay about an issue, its effects, your stance,
      and how it compares/contrasts with other viewpoints.

      To begin, refer back to our textbook: Chapter 7 (Structuring Arguments), Chapter 10 (Evaluation),
      Chapter 13 (Arguing a Position), Chapter 17 (Academic Arguments), Chapter 18 (Finding Sources),
      Chapter 19 (Evaluating Sources), and Chapter 20 (Using Sources).

      Your work on the visual and rhetorical analyses should set up the skills necessary to analyze sources,
      synthesize research, and make your own rhetorical choices for your subject, context, and intended

      Your response should have a clear introduction with an argumentative thesis, well-structured body
      paragraphs that contain credible sources, and a conclusion. Be sure to use transitions at the beginnings
      of new body paragraphs to make connections for your reader and clarify your logic.

      The Assignment
      In addition to academic conventions used for each essay you have written for this class when the revised
      paper will:

      • Be focused, narrowed, and audience-based
      • Use ethos, logos, and pathos appeals, when appropriate, to effectively convey the argument
      • Demonstrate attention to rhetorical choices appropriate for the subject, context, and intended

      • Signify the meaning and importance of the argument throughout the essay
      • Attribute, integrate, and cite source material (from at least five sources) using MLA guidelines
      • Be formatted using MLA guidelines

      Planning and Drafting Your Researched Argument Paper
      Feel free to use these steps to help plan and write your paper:

      1. Select a topic that interests you, one that you will benefit from learning. Keep an open mind
      when researching. Reading sources on multiple perspectives may challenge and/or alter your

      2. Review the resources posted in Blackboard on library databases, evaluating sources,
      incorporating source material, rhetorical elements such as organization, style, appeals
      (pathos/ethos/logos), delivery, etc.

      3. Re-read and, if necessary, source material and identify each author’s purpose, audience, and

      a. Context: Where and when did the text initially appear? What historical background is
      essential in defining this context? What does the background tell us about reader
      expectations and reading conventions?

      Researched Argument 2

      b. Purpose: What does the writer want the readers to do, think, feel, or decide after
      reading the text? What does the text enable readers to do while reading—compare
      facts, apply information, implement an action, etc.?

      c. Audience: Who are the intended readers? What does the text imply about readers’
      knowledge or feelings about the subject? What sort of relationship does the writer
      establish with the readers?

      4. Note important questions, claims, and supporting evidence used in each source. Consider how
      the information compares to notes on other sources. Do the sources agree, disagree, question
      or challenge one another? How do your opinions and understanding of the topic fit into the
      conversation? Your prewriting notes will form the bulk of your body paragraphs.

      5. Begin drafting by writing a working thesis that avoids merely reporting on the topic. Instead,
      include a clear and specific argumentative thesis statement. The thesis, after all, should
      demonstrate the complexity of the issue and the value of your argument. As you work on a
      rough draft, you may need to revise your thesis, but developing it early in the process will give
      you a solid base upon which to build your rough draft.

      6. Now that you have prewriting notes, you are ready to write a rough draft. (Need an example?
      See the sample argument essay on page 667.)

      Due dates, etc.

      COMPLETE ROUGH DRAFT DUE (at least 1200 words, written in complete sentences and paragraphs,
      with complete MLA or APA format and documentation): by no later than 11:59 p.m., Saturday, April 9,
      2022. Upload your rough draft as an attached file in the Evaluating Sources rough draft + peer
      evaluation discussion thread in the Blackboard week 7 folder. No late drafts allowed for rough draft
      submission—please see the course syllabus for details on late work.

      PEER AND SELF FEEDBACK DUE: Saturday, April 16, 2022, 11:59 p.m. or before. This assignment
      requires you to submit feedback on the essay drafts of two classmates + a self-review of your draft (3
      reviews total) as part of the Evaluating Sources rough draft + peer evaluation discussion thread in

      FINAL DRAFT DUE: Saturday, April 30, 2022, 11:59 p.m. or before. Upload your revised, edited, and
      proofread final draft in the Blackboard Week 9 folder. You are welcome to ask Beth questions at any
      point throughout the process and schedule a conference if desired. If you do wish to conference, please
      make an appointment in advance. You should seek feedback from DMACC Online Tutoring (DOT) and
      Smarthinking.com, even if you also arrange a conference.

      You will submit your paper to the final draft link in Blackboard.


      1. Part Three Directions- Reflect on scholarly paper discussing Beyonce or Formation

      Please read ONE of the attached scholarly articles about Beyoncé’s video for “Formation”. Then write three paragraphs, in MLA format, where you:

      1) Give the title, author, and describe the main argument of that scholarly article (one paragraph or more). You are not expected to be an expert in everything covered in the article; what you are trying to do is use the expertise of someone who does know a lot about the subject, to add to your understanding of the thing you are researching.

      2) Present at least one quote from the scholarly article and describe whether you think it provides strong or weak support for their argument. Use a quote sandwich, with MLA citations for the scholarly paper and for the video; see attached file below for help with citations. .

      3) Then describe your own response to that point.  Based on your evaluation of the video, do you agree or disagree with this point from the scholarly article?  You can also describe whether you agree/disagree/partially agree with the overall argument in the scholarly article, if you choose to.  Remember to refer to specific images from the video to support your analysis.  You can refer to the lyrics if you choose to, but primarily you are trying to analyze the visual elements of Beyonce’s video.

      4) For extra credit, you can respond to two scholarly articles in the research paper due Week 6, so I recommend picking out a second article now, if you plan to go for the extra credit points.


       Scholarly articles -PDF of full article, and link to find citation for article in MDC Library system

      a) on backlash from the Super Bowl performance of “Formation”  
      backlash from superbowl.pdf

      or link: 


      b)  contrasting reactions to a performance by Beyonce vs a performance by Kendrick Lamar in 2016 
      Beyonce vs Kendrick awards performance reception.pdf

      or link: 


      c) how Beyonce’s “Formation” video challenges colorism ; includes comparison to film Daughters of the Dust 

      or link: 


      d) how Beyonce’s Lemonade album challenges racism and patriarchy 
      Bey lemonade misogynoir.pdf

      or link: 

      e) Black Girl Magic throughout Beyonce’s Lemonade album as a way to heal: 
      BGM and Lemonade.pdf

       or link: 

      f) does Beyonce highlight or exploit queer culture on her Lemonade album? : 
      Who Slays Queer Resonances in Beyonces Lemonade.pdf

      or link: 

      g) where does Beyonce’s Lemonade album resist vs fit into a white patriarchal music industry: 
      I Aint Sorry.pdf

        or link: 

      Other Resources

      I) Video of “Formation” by Beyoncé   

      II) Lyrics for “Formation” : 

      III) “That B.E.A.T” documentary on New Orleans “bounce” music (approx. 10 minutes) ; several clips are used uncredited in Beyonce’s video :      

      IV) Help with citations for “Formation” materials: 

      Beyonce response paper citations 2021.docx


      V) Help with quote sandwiches: They Say/ I Say Chapter Three in your text or here:

      They Say Chaps 2 and 3(1).pdf



      Jeanine Staples 29

      How #BlackGirlMagic Cultivates
      Supreme Love to Heal and Save Souls

      That Can Heal and Save the World
      An Introduction to Endarkened Feminist

      Epistemlogical and Ontological Evolutions of Self
      Through a Critique of Beyoncé’s Lemonade

      The Lemons in Lemonade

      Beyoncé’s 2016 visual album, Lemonade, is an artistic and conceptual triumph.
      It is filled with cultural references from powerhouse literature like Hurston’s Their
      Eyes Were Watching God, Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Sula, Butler’s Kindred,
      and the poetry of newcomer Warsan Shire.1 It presents a tapestry of journey method
      through iterations of consciousness and experiences that are tied to a feminine and
      Black feminist tradition/s. Each of the album’s eleven chapters, from “Intuition” to
      “Redemption,” contains critical expressions and creative embodiments of a human
      predicament assigned to women, to Black women in particular: t/Terror in love.
      This t/Terror consists of the intimate partner-based relational microaggressions
      many of us endure and ineffectually discuss with our affinity groups (e.g., mothers
      and daughters, nieces and aunties, sisterfriends, and colleagues). These aggres-
      sions, fielded from very e