Exploring the Immersive Criticism of The Shining

 The Shining (Cultographies) by K. J. Donnelly

The Shining Cultographies book cover

Author K. J. Donnelly

Danny Torrance playing with trains at The Overlook

Danny meets the Grady Twins "Play with us forever and ever"

I’ve been able to read a few of the Cultographies selections, but I was particularly excited to read this one. The Shining is such a strange movie, and like the author K. J. Donnelly, my first encounter with the film was in childhood. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I think it was the reaction of my parents and aunt that made me realize it was probably a movie that I shouldn’t have seen. I also recall that The Shining was on TV a lot, so I probably saw the edited version more often than the original cut, missing out on some important points from the film. However, as I got older, and re-watched this film, I’ve understood a lot more, not only about the authorial choices that both Stephen King and Stanley Kubrick have emphasized in their own visions of Jack and Wendy Torrance’s marriage, but also how this film fits in with other Kubrick films. I developed a strong appreciation for Kubrick’s films in high school, and by college, had seen most of them. Thus, I really enjoyed Donnelly’s analysis of the film from that perspective, in trying to pull apart the shots, use of music, color schemes, and other possible messages that Kubrick may have embedded within The Shining to convey his own unique message.

What was probably most interesting about Donnelly’s book on The Shining was that much of it focused on what exactly made The Shining a cult film. In some of the other Cultographies books, they try to define cult films—Donnelly particularly looks at the earnings, noting that The Shining did not fare particularly poorly, but that it was also a step towards a genre that many auteurs do not necessarily pursue. As Donnelly explains, Kubrick was coming off of the supposed failure of Barry Lyndon, and that the studio may have been looking for something more appealing to a wider audience. Although early in his film adaptations, Donnelly notes that the previous success of Carrie and Salem’s Lot (as a TV movie from Toby Hooper) showed that Stephen King’s work was popular and, probably, bankable at the box office. Interestingly, Donnelly notes that King’s initial screen treatment was completely changed by Kubrick and a writing partner, and even that partner was surprised at the edits that were made for the final cut of the film. Thus, Donnelly’s research into the process of making The Shining adds to the mystery and mystique of the film (and its filmmaker). Donnelly also suggests that the performances of Shelly Duval, Jack Nicholson, and Danny Lloyd (Danny Torrance) all add to the cult status. Furthermore, Kubrick’s use of long shots throughout the film create a kind of mesmerizing perspective that slowly embeds these images of the Grady twins, of the Elevator of Blood, and even the Dog man into our collective consciousness, so much so that later shows like The Simpsons celebrated the film in its own subversive way.

Another element of the film that has created a kind of unique cult status that not many other films have achieved are the varied interpretations that have arisen from this film. I loved how Donnelly situated this not only from the oeuvre of Kubrick, but also from advancements in technology, including access to home media (VCRs, DVD) and the internet, which helped to move criticism and analysis from academic publications to a wider audience. Donnelly notes that while some of the interpretations veer on what some might call the conspiratorial side, he refers to it in Chuck Klosterman’s more benign term- immersion criticism, to suggest the kind of fandom that devoted viewers immerse themselves in to bring their own unique interpretations of the film and its many possible coded messages. Donnelly also brings up the really interesting film Room 237, which I got the sense he didn’t like. I can appreciate that, but I found the film fascinating, just for the varied interpretations it brought to me. I remember seeing in the theater and not having seen The Shining for some time, it made me rethink how I viewed the film—even if I didn’t really buy into the interpretations. Nevertheless, I liked that Donnelly mentioned this, but also shared other interpretations of the film as a haunted house, as a family psychological problem—i.e. a Freudian struggle between Father and Son, and as instances of genocide, both Native American and the more recent Holocaust. Donnelly shares his own interpretation about the film and its use of music, which I found really fascinating as well. I remember hearing some familiar artists in the soundtrack, including Wendy Carlos and Ligeti, who were both featured in Clockwork Orange and 2001, respectively. Both artists have produced haunting and unique music, so it was surprising to learn that Carlos created music for the entire soundtrack, but only 1 song was used. Furthermore, Donnelly notes that the diagetic music, like that heard from the Overlook’s part goers, was more popular and common, yet was British, not American popular music from the 1930s. I never even noticed or considered these differences, but remembered that the ending song was like a kind of old timey song that didn’t really fit in with the discordant strings that I often associated with The Shining. I really enjoyed reading about Donnelly’s interpretation of this issue, and again, like Room 237, this analysis made me reconsider my interpretation of the film. It was a thoughtful and insightful close reading of the film that focused on a particularly integral element of Kubrick’s filmmaking, the music and sound, contributed to possible meanings.

This was a great book to read. It was short, yet incredibly insightful, providing an overview of the various interpretations of such a confounding, mysterious, and memorable movie. I loved how Donnelly provided additional context to further frame The Shining as both a cult movie and one that kind of stands alone in its own unique coltishness. Donnelly does a great job framing the film in this respect, and providing both esoteric and essential information in helping to better understand the many different theories and approaches to analysis. While he doesn’t solve any mysteries of the film, he does provide many different keys and pathways to interpretation, which is really at the heart of our desire to understand. 

Historical Horror of The Reformatory

 The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

The Reformatory book cover

Author Tananarive Due speaks at the 2023 National Book Festival

Major thanks to Saga Press and NetGalley for making Tananarive Due’s incredible novel The Reformatory available for preview, even though the novel has already been published. I’ve had this on my to-read list since last year, but I was a little unsure about whether to read it since the story sounded similar to Colson Whitehead’s Nickel Boys, which I loved, but absolutely destroyed me. I wasn’t sure that I could read another novel about the unjust incarceration of young Black boys in segregated Florida. However, Due’s novel is definitely different in that it incorporates supernatural elements, especially ‘haints’, or ghosts who have been “done dirty” and are kind of stuck in this world in between. Robbie Stephens Jr., one of the main characters in the novel, has the gift of seeing ‘haints, although he’s not really aware of it until he is unjustly sent to the Gracetown School for Boys for defending his sister, Gloria, from the advances of an older, bigger white boy, whose father also happens to be one of the most prominent landowners in the area. Robbie’s ability can be both a comfort and a curse, a skill which will bring him both knowledge and privilege, but also the kind of unwanted attention he is advised to avoid upon entering Gracetown.

I absolutely loved this book, although the themes and racial violence and discrimination are difficult to take. However, Due expertly integrates the novel’s chapters, focusing on both Robbie’s experiences in the juvenile justice system and at Gracetown, and Gloria’s experiences trying to navigate the same system that unjustly punished her brother to find a way to justly have him exonerated or have his sentence reduced. I couldn’t put this book down, and I found myself continuing on despite late hours and fatigue. However, Due would move from a horrific event or revelation at Gracetown to Gloria’s struggles to find a way to secure Robbie’s freedom, challenging the white establishment in the town that initially imprisoned him. It made me wonder what was scarier, the Reformatory and its haunted souls condemned to drift between worlds without justice or peace, or the town’s blatant racism and violence that challenged the efforts of family and friends to find justice for Robbie. Due’s pacing, narrative, and character development all contribute to make this not just a supernatural horror story, but a horror story of racism and Jim Crow violence and injustice.

Robbie and Gloria are both realistic characters who I could root for. They lost their mother, and their father had to flee town due to his attempts to organize a union for the local mill. In addition, he’s been accused of raping a white woman. While Due’s book shares similarities with both To Kill a Mockingbird and Whitehead’s Nickel Boys, The Reformatory hits so much harder, and the characters, especially the Black characters, are so much more developed than those from To Kill a Mockingbird. I think that is what makes this book so powerful and important. I could see this book replacing TKAM as required reading or a novel to teach for high school students. The Reformatory is exciting, compelling, and deals with real events and people from history. Furthermore, I think that the action and events in the book would engage reluctant readers, and I could see teachers creating engaging research and projects from this book’s themes and historical context.

Both Robbie and Gloria are relevant and realistic characters, but Warden Haddock is truly an evil character—as another character says, he is truly the worst of the worst. Due adds some details that point to his truly psychopathic nature as a killer and sadist who delights in torturing the boys assigned to his care at Gracetown. Sadly, his story is probably a compilation of many of the other sadistic and racist men who ran similar schools in the segregated south, where bodies were discovered later. Haddock is a reminder that some of these horrors were real and not supernatural. Other characters, like Boone and Crutcher, are more ambiguous in understanding their motivations and influences. While they want to please Warden Haddock, it’s also unclear if they are trying to avoid punishment and further violence. As Due explains, Gracetown is not just a reformatory, but the center of the town, where many people have jobs that provide food for their families, and other materials and goods produced by the boys’ labor. Yet, some characters, like Baymon, eventually make the decision to leave Gracetown, noting how it changes everyone there—like they become meaner than they ever were before. Something about the Reformatory brings out the worst in people. There are many other instances in the book where the children and even adults also experience the kind of ambiguity of answering questions—unsure of which response will provoke more scorn, derision, or even violence from the white interlocutor. This experience was most prominent with Robbie, especially when dealing with the juvenile system and his interactions with Boone and Haddock. These parts also reminded me of other literature, especially Richard Wright’s Black Boy and Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, where, as Trueblood notes, Black people have to learn how to “move without movin’”. Robbie eventually uses his gifts to his advantage, although he’s never quite sure if he is doing the right thing—working for Haddock or betraying the haints. Regardless, Due uses this kind of supernatural story to further the plot, and it works so well. This book has such an exciting and compelling ending, which I won’t reveal here, but I would definitely encourage anyone who likes stories about racial injustice, history, or ghost stories to read this book. It has so many elements to appeal to different genres, and it uses other instances of American literature in such an imaginative way that it makes the story and characters both familiar and unique.

I’m so glad that I was able to read this book, and I hope that more teachers, schools, and others who enjoy reading will consider implementing it in their curriculum and book clubs. It is a difficult read—there is plenty of violence and racism, and Due doesn’t just make implications. However, like another story about haints and ghosts, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, we learn that it is important not to cover things up or just forget the past; rather, we sometimes need to open up the wounds and scars to let them heal correctly. We need to confront the wrongs of history or in order to bring about true healing. Teaching books like The Reformatory will enable students to learn about the wrongs done to young Black boys (and poor white boys as well), to ensure these kinds of injustices do not happen again. 

1990s Metal- Body Count's in the House

 Body Count (33 1/3) by Ben Apatoff

Body Count book cover

Author Ben Apatoff

Body Count's in the house

Body Count album cover (Dave Halili art work)

Ben Apatoff’s Body Count is a great addition to the 33 1/3 library. First, there aren’t many of these books about great metal albums. I read the Slayer Reign in Blood, but I don’t think there are many others (It is a great and fun read). Plus, I think many people may not be aware of how controversial Body Count was in the early 90s, nor how revolutionary and kind of unclassifiable they were at the time. Apatoff’s book helps to contextualize Ice-T’s role in popular music, providing a brief biography, and showing how he eventually got involved in music after a brief life of crime. I’ve always loved Ice-T’s music and remember just how hard “Colors” was in 1988. “High Roller” and “6 in the Mornin’” were some other favorites because, as Apatoff notes, Ice was a storyteller, not just a rapper. He was like a poet and writer able to create these characters and stories, often with a kind of dark irony, that were just as appealing as someone I’d read in school like Poe or Shirley Jackson. His were just shorter and set to really great music. I still don’t know what some of the sounds were from “Colors”, but they were really haunting.

Ice-T was also one of the first rappers to really move into movies as well, although I don’t really remember his role in Breakin’. However, I remember when New Jack City came out—both the soundtrack and the movie. Apatoff’s book uses these events to show just how powerful and well-known Ice-T became in the media as someone who not only could popularize a kind of underground form of music (at the time), but also could make movies (and soundtracks—New Jack City, Ricochet, Trespass—some classic 90s films). Needless to say, Ice T was powerful, and people were listening to him. What is surprising, though, is that once Body Count came out, people began to distance themselves from him and his music. Apatoff also helps to contextualize the release of Body Count, providing great details and research about the times and the members of the band. Readers learn that Ice-T was also a fan of rock music, especially Black Sabbath, and he met some other musicians, especially Ernie C, who became the lead guitarist for Body Count, in high school. It was cool to learn that Ice-T, at the height of his power, reconnected with some friends to do some different music that people probably didn’t really expect. It was also brought about by Ernie C’s connection with Perry Farrell, who wanted to record with Sly Stone, but ended up recording his song from Gift with Ice-T, which I always thought was pretty weird. Regardless, this led to a booking on the first Lollapalooza, where Ice T decided to do a show half rap and half metal, with Body Count. It was great to read about this iteration of Lollapalooza, and how the Rollins Band (and probably Jane’s Addiction) influenced Body Count’s music.

The most interesting chapters of the book revisit the book’s first chapter where, in July of 1992, about a year and a half after the Rodney King Beating and about 3 months after the LA Riots, we learn that Ice-T intends to remove the song “Cop Killer” from Body Count’s debut album. It was really interesting to read about the controversy and uproar the album provided in the post-Rodney King video world of music. While some metal groups from the 80s faced scrutiny over their lyrics, it seemed like rap music in particular was in the crosshairs of conservative activists who were certainly not advocating for free speech. Taking the music literally, critics on both sides of the major parties like Dan Quayle and Tipper Gore took umbrage at Ice-T’s song, failing to recognize the criticism it leveled in how African Americans had been and continued to be brutalized by newly militarized police forces. Furthermore, they often failed to connect the lyrics of Body Count to Ice-T’s other music. Nevertheless, reading these criticisms today, where terms like “Black Lives Matter” and “Critical Theory” spark such outrage among supposed free speech advocates is a reminder of the utter hypocrisy that has been a large part of American politics. It’s not about furthering rights of all, but rather putting on a show for constituents, and often using fear-mongering, creating enemies and others to create a common enemy. As Ice-T’s earlier album would claim, Freedom of Speech…Just Watch What you Say!

The other chapters in this book explore the creation of the album There’s a brief chapter at the end that runs through all of the songs on the album and provides quotes from Ice-T and Ernie C about how these songs developed, and it’s worth the read, especially for Ice’s remembrances (or non-remembrances) of some of the songs. I also liked learning about the different punk and thrash metal bands that influenced Body Count, like Suicidal Tendencies, who I always thought sounded a lot like Body Count, not musically, but more like thematically/lyrically, DRI, and even Living Colour, who were part of the Black Rock Coalition, but didn’t really include Body Count in it. There’s another chapter that focuses on how Ice-T and Ernie C resurrected the band after a few failed albums that followed their debut. I remember hearing about some of the albums and learning about the different influences that Body Count had on newer, younger metal bands. Apatoff used a quote from Laina Dawes, whose book I’ve been meaning to read, to explain how Body Count were metal, but also funky. Ernie C’s guitar work has that kind of funk sound to it, where there’s some of the influence of P-Funk’s Eddie Hazel. A lot of times, these 33 1/3 books have a kind of tragic ending or we learn that the band never made more albums, but this one classic album remains influential. This book was different, and I loved seeing how the band came back and were still relevant. Although the social problems like racism, violence, and drugs are still around, it’s great to have a band like Body Count to document and criticize it in their own thrilling way. Part anger, part humor, all metal—Body Count is in the house!

One final note about Apatoff’s writing—I loved how he documented nearly everything from his research. Sometimes these books don’t include citations and documentation of their sources, but Apatoff’s research and extensive bibliography of books, podcasts, videos and articles has provided me with some great follow up reading! Many thanks!

Mindless Consumerism- Analyzing Dawn of the Dead (1978)

 Dawn of the Dead (Devil's Advocates) 

by Jon Towlson

Dawn of the Dead book cover

Author Jon Towlson

Zombies from Dawn of the Dead

Zombies or typical shoppers? 

This was the first Devil’s Advocates book I’ve read. I’ve managed to pick a few up, but I chose Jon Towlson’s Dawn of the Dead because I recently watched this film as well, so I wanted to read about it while it was fresh in my mind. I also love George Romero movies, even if Night of the Living Dead remains one of the scariest films I’ve ever seen. His other Dead movies are not as scary, but remain nearly as important for their use of horror as social critique as well as Tom Savini’s role as the wizard of gore. As a brief recap, Dawn of the Dead is Romero’s second installment of the Dead series, and it follows his other horror films The Crazies and Martin, both excellent and strange horror films that stand apart from much of what other directors were doing. Towlson’s book explores part of the reason why Romero spaced his Dead films apart, and how this film in particular took shape. As Towlson documents in this book, the Dead series was part of a trilogy that explored the collapse of society due to some strange space event that resurrected the dead. The survivors band together in a remote farmhouse, and try to re-create a new society as the old society collapses. While the farmhouse changes, Romero ends up using a mall to highlight the new world order of consumerism and capitalism to show the mindless consumption that has been a part of the post-war order. Furthermore, this kind of distraction or retail therapy can been seen as somewhat escapist, showing how it serves as a kind of bread and circus to keep our minds off of more of the post-Vietnam/Watergate world that was the mid 1970s. Towlson’s book helps to contextualize these events in exploring how Romero’s original screen treatment evolved to explore this aspect of society. As I watched the film, I couldn’t help but notice how many of the zombies seemed like normal shoppers, shuffling along from store to store. Similarly, the band of survivors equally looks to take advantage of the mall to not only gather supplies for survival, but also to treat themselves to luxuries and dinners that they might not have been able to afford prior to the zombie apocalypse. One interesting note was that this mall had a sporting goods store where the survivors could find weapons and ammunition. I’m not sure if this was a part of other malls, but a similar store appears in the 80s mall survival film Chopping Mall. It seems strange that malls would have these kinds of stores, but maybe it was also just a plot point.

In any event, Towlson’s book also looks at several other important elements of the film, importantly the extreme gore and violence and its impact on the eventual rating. Other chapters look at the various versions of the film, which I wasn’t aware of how many different edits and cuts there were for various reasons, including censorship and attaining appropriate ratings, as well as for cultural reasons—like the edits for other countries that adjusted the pace and narrative, making this more of a thriller/action film as opposed to a horror film or social critique. Towlson’s research and analysis also presents interesting considerations about the ratings system and distribution at the time, and how revolutionary and risk taking Romero really was to bring his vision of gore and violence to American screens. Initially issued an X rating due to violence, he decided to keep his vision and move to an unrated version. Despite backlash from some audiences and groups, Romero knew that there was an audience that demanded more extreme violence and gore, and furthermore that this kind of film aesthetic was not gratuitous nor exploitative, but rather served a purpose in calling attention to issues in society. In fact, the opening scene in a Philadelphia neighborhood that tries to protect the zombies in its homes, yet is destroyed by a police-military faction that seems racist could almost serve as a predictor of the MOVE bombing that happened about 6-7 years later. I really appreciated learning how much of a challenge Romero faced in bringing his vision of American violence and consumerism to the screen.

There are a few other chapters that focused on the production of the film, which is also really interesting since Romero used a lot of local actors as the extras, which is something that his films are usually known for. Some of the same actors show up in other films, and others have gone on to have roles in other horror films. However, it was interesting to learn about how Romero was able to use the mall to film such iconic action sequences, even when the mall was still used for shopping. Although more of the focus is on the mall scenes, I also really enjoy the opening sequences, especially when the media presents the military and experts discussing what they think should happen. I suppose this is part of the collapse of society, that communication is not clear and there are vying perspectives about how to proceed, some offering misinformation, while others are offering bad information. It is similar to scenes in Romero’s The Crazies, and I think it also highlights another important theme in his work about the role of the media and “experts” or “authorities” in corralling the masses. There was also a great afterword about the use of music, and how the music and sound editing changed with different cuts of the film. I watched the original extended cut, with the odd Muzak at the end and the odd polka type music in the zombie killing scene in the middle of the film. It was interesting to hear this interpretation of the film and its use of music, and I think it fits with some of Romero’s other ideas and concerns regarding the themes of these Dead films. I really liked reading about this film  in particular, and I hope to find more analytical books about zombie films. They are some of the scariest films to me—not the zombies necessarily, but being trapped and witnessing a collapse of society. I’m not sure if the books deal with this, but Towlson’s book does a good job exploring some of the origins of this theme in Romero’s Dead films.

 

The Importance of Sketch Comedy- Bob Odenkirk's Memoir

 Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama 

by Bob Odenkirk

Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama book cover

Bob Odenkirk by Gage Skidmore, CC BY-SA 3.0  via Wikimedia Commons

Mr. Show

“Do something hard, something that you will probably fail at, something that tests you and excites you and take syou places you didn’t know you would ever go to. But the little brown bottle with the label worn off and swallow (metaphorically speaking).”—Bob Odenkirk’s interpretation of advice from Del Close.

Many thanks to Random House Publishing and Netgalley for making the Bob Odenkirk book Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama available to preview. I am a huge Bob Odenkirk fan, going back to his standup days and his time on the Ben Stiller Show in the early 90s. I really enjoyed reading this book because it was not only funny in Odenkirk’s absurdist style, but also made me realize how similar tastes in humor are to Odenkirk’s. I was a little surprised to see that this book wasn’t as highly rated, but I suspect that readers were more familiar with his work on Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, or more of the dramatic parts of the book. Reading about the comedy was fun for me because I love the kind of absurdist and surreal humor he learned from Monty Python. I suppose that more readers are probably fans of Benny Hill and Hee Haw, but to each their own.

Odenkirk takes readers through his early influences, providing a brief overview of his childhood. I found his description of his father both bittersweet and funny—it was kind of sad that it sounded like his dad was not the best father, but it also seems like a lot of great comics, Odenkirk was able to use his family experiences as a source of humor and material for some of his other characters, especially the more manic and angry men from his sketch work in Mr. Show. I also really liked learning about his experiences in college and developing his writing and love for sketch comedy with a radio show. I remember making comedy tapes and audio sketches with friends in high school, so this was like a relevant, rite of passage for me. Some of the best sections were about the improv classes he took with Del Close, someone who I wasn’t familiar with, but apparently was really influential on the initial cast of SNL. I loved the lesson Odenkirk took from Close, who, according to Odenkirk, would buy old bottles of prescription medication and try them, unsure of what they were.

It was also really amazing to learn about Odenkirk’s experience on different sketch comedy shows—which, in my opinion, is always the best kind of comedy. I didn’t know too much about his time on SNL, but I realized that this was about the time I was in middle school and high school, when SNL was like a can’t miss show. I also didn’t know that he was responsible for one of my favorite characters, Matt Foley, Chris Farley’s motivational, scared straight speaker. I also didn’t know that Odenkirk was a writer for Get a Life, one of my all-time favorite Fox shows. In fact, reading this book made me remember how funny Fox used to be—with so many great, cutting edge shows like Get a Life and The Ben Stiller Show, as well as another ground breaking comedy show—In Living Color. In any event, it was exciting to learn that Odenkirk was a part of so many shows that I really enjoyed and made me laugh so much in adolescence.

However, I have to say that I really got to know Odenkirk from his work with David Cross on Mr. Show. I remember having video copies of the show since it was on HBO and I didn’t have cable at the time; we would have viewing parties with the same episodes—like the Mountain Man Olympics and New San Francisco. These were probably my favorite chapters to read in the book since Odenkirk takes readers into the creative process, as well as exploring how the show came about and how other actors on the show became involved. I also loved reading about how he got involved with directing and producing, showing how he took Del Close’s advice on taking risks and not being afraid to fail. One of the other sections I really liked was learning about his involvement with Tim and Eric, another sketch comedy duo who share the kind of absurdity and strange dad humor that Odenkirk has. I remember hearing Cinco ads for the first time and thinking the voice sounded familiar.

The later chapters on Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul are also really enlightening. It was interesting to learn about how Odenkirk became involved in the show, and how popular Jimmy/Saul became. Again, I think it shows that Odenkirk is really a creative artist who is unafraid of risks and trying things that are different. It is kind of surprising that this is what he is known for now. However, I still love his comedy work, going back to the “Lincoln, Lincoln” routine. This was a really fun book, and I loved that he included the asides to readers and the kind of anger directed to his haters throughout the book. The alternate titles at the end are also hilarious. This was such a great, fun read. Can’t wait to read more and see more from a true comic genius.

 PS - For the past 12 years, around the time that Saul Goodman appeared on Breaking Bad, I have been stopped by random people who ask me if I am Bob Odenkirk. It's become something kind of humorous between me and my wife. When someone says-- "Has anyone ever told you..." I'm able to predict what they will say. In fact, on a recent trip to Hawaii, a tour guide said "You look familiar"-- so I said-- "People always say I look like Bob Odenkirk-- Saul Goodman" and he was like "Yeah! That's it..." It ended up that the tour guide was from the same state and general area that we were from Really weird. But like 4 people asked me about Bob Odenkirk on the trip, so I was also excited to read this book since I share a resemblance to him. What do you think? 

Me in Chicago, home of Bob Odenkirk

Examining Race, Climate, and History-- Tao Leigh Goffe's Dark Laboratory

 Dark Laboratory: On Columbus, the Caribbean, and the Origins of the Climate Crisis by Tao Leigh Goffe

Dark Laboratory book cover

Author and Scholar Tao Leigh Goffe (photo credit Elena Siebert)

Coral reef at Palmyra Atoll National Wildlife Refuge by Jim Maragos CC BY NY 2.0

Soufriere Hills Volcanic Aftermath (Montserrat, 2007) by Andrew Shiva CC BY-SA 4.0

“Freedom for everyone requires a confrontation with the capitalist greed upon which Western society was founded.”

“May we live to unlearn the American kind of love, which is a dangerous kind of love. It is a possessive love. It is a colonizing love, greedy love.”

Many thanks to Doubleday Publishers and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Tau Leigh Goffe’s important and timely book Dark Laboratory: On Columbus, the Caribbean, and the Origins of the Climate Crisis. This was a monumental work, building on Dr. Goffe’s work of her Dark Laboratory. I wasn’t familiar with the lab, but it is an important research lab, using an interdisciplinary approach to interrogate history and literature while examining the role colonialism, discrimination, and inequality have had on the environment and climate. This is a book I am going to need to revisit over time because there were so many ideas and important points throughout the book. As Dr. Goffe explains in the introduction “My lab is a space for research on climate, race, and technology, and more importantly, it is a philosophy. We at the lab understand that climate crisis cannot be solved without solving racial crisis. The two are inseparable.” I loved this approach to examining climate and race, and showing how the two are inseparable. This kind of approach to environmental justice is what Dr. King was advocating prior to his death, but Dr. Goffe’s analysis and critical inquiry (as well as her advocacy and fight) extends beyond America’s continental shores and looks at the colonialization of the Caribbean, as well as other islands (Hawaii in particular) to show how economic exploitation and forced implementation of American/European methods and naming conventions have threatened the natural order as well as the lives of many. Goffe’s questioning of colonialism’s impact reminded me of some other books I’ve recently read, including The Seven Circles by Chelsea Luger and Thosh Collins, that advocates for returning to indigenous ways of eating, health, and care to bring about more balance, and Reclaiming the Black Body by Alishia McCullough, who also advocates for a return to balance by nourishing more traditional and culturally relevant ways of diet and exercise. While Dr. Goffe’s examination of history, literature, and the climate crisis is vaster and more expansive, there’s a shared focus on the recognition that certain ideas, approaches and cultures have been forced upon us, limiting our perspectives and our voices. Dr.  Goffe’s approach seeks to resurrect many of these voices, in a manner that reminded me of Toni Morrison’s “re-memory”—using stories and generational knowledge, shared experiences, to keep culture and the self alive. It was not a surprise, then, to learn that Dr. Goffe was one of Morrison’s last students at Princeton and has adapted Morrison’s pedagogy and methods of inquiry for her lab. I recognize many similarities between the themes and concerns of both thinkers.

Beyond being an important book that challenges our assumptions about the nature of the climate crisis, Dr. Goffe incorporates her own experiences and family into the narrative, since she was born in England, descended from Chinese Jamaicans. Tracing her family history and sharing her experiences of visiting family across the globe, from Hong Kong to Surinam and Jamaica, Dr. Goffe’s own story helps to explore how colonization has both created new cultures and also eliminated others, forcing a kind of assimilation towards the dominant culture. I knew a little about the Chinese in Jamaica (and other islands like Hawaii), but I didn’t realize there was also a move to return Jamaicans of Chinese descent to Hong Kong and other areas in China, despite not being initially from China. Dr. Goffe explained how her family members probably were not easily assimilated into either Jamaica or China, being somewhat outcasts in both societies. Her analysis helps to show how this colonial mentality ends up being more exclusionary and problematic, causing confusion and identity issues. I really appreciated how Dr. Goffe challenges many assumptions about the current climate crisis by re-evaluating its origins at Columbus’s landing in the Caribbean. It makes sense since his initial landing in the Caribbean completely shifted the culture and landscape from one of living in harmony with nature to one that exploited the people, environment and resources for profit making. While Dr. Goffe does note how many people from other lands (African, Chinese, Indian), brought their own culture, ways, and knowledge with them, it is also sad to think about how much was lost along the way.

One of the most amazing aspects of Dr. Goffe’s book is the different subjects she examines throughout the chapters. The beginning of the book looks at islands as colonial laboratories, but also examining the resistance to colonialism, specifically by looking at the Maroons of Jamaica, as well as the origins of the climate crisis with Europeans arrival in the Caribbean, bringing her argument about the exploitation of these lands for profit to the forefront. Her other chapters look at some of the results of colonialism—I’m not sure what else to call them—but many of them touch our lives, and I didn’t always think about the colonial implications of these. One of the most powerful and relevant chapters was on museums and how they often remove the life from the native lands to preserve a kind of death of animals, plants, and sometimes people for study and entertainment. Dr. Goffe explored the University of Pennsylvania’s acquisition of the remains of the children of MOVE, who died from a police bombing of their home in 1985. I’ve been to that museum many times, and I was shocked to learn about this. However, in the larger context of the collection, it makes sense. This museum and others like it routinely house the remains and sacred artifacts from other cultures in the name of science and entertainment. Understanding the process of acquisition and the purpose of exhibiting artifacts like these is really important, and something I will think more about when visiting museums. Dr. Goffe also explores coral and sea life, connecting it to her own experiences of learning to swim (and nearly drowning) as a young Black girl. I loved learning more about coral, and how it is an animal of the sea, and not a plant. I also didn’t know that coral makes noise and am more interested in the kinds of sounds that coral produces. Another chapter delves into the shit—literally looking at the exploitation of guano, bat waste, to examine how colonialism has impacted the well-being of bats, as well as examining how Chinese and African workers and lands around Haiti and other areas of the Caribbean were exploited and appropriated for the power of guano. Other chapters look at animals—including birding and the mongoose, exploring how naming conventions moved away from indigenous practices of naming based on the sound or color to name them after people, oftentimes with questionable backgrounds. The introduction of the mongoose to Jamaica was another interesting chapter that shows how imposing European thinking in Caribbean culture often leads to destructive and exploitative outcomes. Dr. Goffe also explores how the introduction of marijuana to Jamaica from India serves as a model for other methods of botany, and often altered the landscape and environments of other countries and cultures, oftentimes causing an imbalance from invasive species. While ganja helped to create more cultures of resistance in Jamaica and recognize the medicinal qualities of plants, it also led to more carceral practices in relation to plants, frequently causing arrests and imprisonment for the use of plants.

The end of the book examines plate tectonics, looking at volcanic activity in Montserrat to further analyze the kind of inequality that colonialism produces. I was actually reading this book while visiting Hawaii for the first time. Although we didn’t get to the Big Island of Hawaii, there was a volcanic eruption there. People were able to visit, but Dr. Goffe’s examination of the cases of Montserrat showed how oftentimes indigenous people are at the mercy of the volcano, while others like tourists or those who have more prestige or power are often able to escape. It was an important reminder for me about my own privilege and an important history lesson that showed how some people are not as lucky to escape the destructive forces of nature, further highlighting the kind of climate justice and environmental inequality that often occurs, but that we don’t always hear about. I’m so glad that this book will be available. Although it is not an easy read, I can see this as being an important book to use in the classroom. Any of the chapters would work well to challenge students’ assumptions about the nature of culture, the environment, language, music, or literature. Furthermore, it can also help to highlight or provide context and validation for the experiences of other students whose voices are not always celebrated or elevated in the classroom or curriculum. I’m also really excited for the work of Dr. Goffe and the Dark Laboratory. I’m sure there will be more to learn from them, and I look forward to further publications, studies, and advocacy from this great organization. 

Mysterious Images that Drive Haunting Mysteries

 Strange Pictures by Uketsu

Strange Pictures book cover

Mysterious author Uketsu

Little A's Picture from Dr. Hagio's Collection

The Smudged Room (Chapter 2's story)

Picture from The Old Woman's Prayer (Chapter 1)

The Old Woman's Prayer (Chapter 1)

Thank you to Harpervia Publishers and NetGalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of Strange Pictures by Uketsu. Artists, visual artists in particular, require not only vision and skill, also a kind of compositional and stylistic know-how—the ability to not just represent what they see, but also to tie the lines, colors, and shapes together into some kind of meaningful whole—to build on parts for a synthesis, often creating something new or unique. Uketsu, the pseudonym of a writer and visual artist in Japan, has uniquely done this through both images and stories based on the images. Strange Pictures is Uketsu’s first published work translated into English. According to the author bio at the end of this book, Uketsu only appears online and masked, where he has published other sketch mysteries. I haven’t checked these out, but after reading Strange Pictures I am more intrigued about what these sketch mysteries might be like and whether they are other stories that are different narratives, but stylistically related to the four stories in this book.

 

I definitely enjoyed this book. There are four stories that all feature drawings. The story is framed by a child psychologist sharing an picture created by a client. Dr. Hagio walks us (and the class) through an analysis of the image, examining finer details of the drawing and suggesting aspects of the artists/client’s character and psychology. In many ways, readers (and characters) will also apply these analytical skills to the other stories and the drawings they feature. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but the stories are all somewhat different. We do learn about the common underlying thread that links them all by the end of the story—and I think this is mentioned in other reviews. I won’t give it away, but from my reading, I enjoyed knowing this and trying to figure out how the stories were connected.

 

I liked the first two stories the most. Both had some kind of supernatural and ghostly quality to them. I especially liked how strange and mysterious the first story was. Yet it was also somewhat relatable and kind of like a creepy pasta story. Two college students, members of their paranormal club, gather together to discuss a mysterious blog that starts of seemingly normal, but eventually devolves into a sad story of the death of a wife in childbirth. The posts between the beginning and the end document the couple’s pregnancy and feature “Strange Pictures” that are somehow linked. The final post also presents another twist to the mystery, and sets the two members off on a quest to see how the images are related. I’m not quite sure how they figured it out, but it is a really inventive story and use of images to further the plot. Plus, I found the whole aspect of examining an older blog and speculating about the author’s life to be fascinating (and something I’ve done as well). It was cool to see how the author used this medium and some of the personal clues to kind of create and try to solve a mystery of this person’s life. The other stories don’t use drawings in the same way, although the third story “The Art Teacher’s Final Drawing”, does make more use of the image than stories from Chapter 2 or 4. Chapter 3’s story about an art teacher’s murder is the longest, and is more like a mystery. There were definitely parts that were compelling, but also some parts that were somewhat unbelievable. The mystery really centers on some highly technical information that isn’t probably common knowledge, and I’m not sure how someone would find out. However, I kind of found the murdered art teacher, Miura, a little humorous. He was described as not a very likeable person, someone who was quick to anger, and people close to him didn’t seem that upset by his death. This was mentioned repeatedly and seemed much different from other characters who are murdered in mysteries. Regardless, it is a compelling mystery and kept me guessing and reading. Similarly, Chapter 2’s story “The Smudged Room” relies on knowledge of kanji to interpret what happens in the drawing. It is an interesting story, and there are some kind of mysterious and creepy elements to it as well. The final chapter also ties things together, and it was a quick read.

 

Overall, I enjoyed this book, and I loved the use of images and pictures to further the stories. I can’t wait to check out Uketsu’s other online work to read more of these kinds of sketch mysteries. This book was a quick and enjoyable read. Very unique and interesting, and I hope that there are more Uketsu books to come. 

Reclaiming the Black Body: Nourishing the Home Within

Reclaiming the Black Body: Nourishing the Home Within by Alishia McCullough

Reclaiming the Black Body book cover

Author Alishia McCullough

I want to give a big thank you to Random House Publishing, Dial Press, and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Alishia McCullough’s important and provocative call for healing the relationship that Black women and femmes have with their bodies in her book Reclaiming the Black Body: Nourishing the Home Within. I was a little surprised that I received a personal invitation to review this book. As a Cisgender white male, it seemed like this book’s audience was a different demographic. However, after reading the book, I am so grateful that Dial Press and Random House sent the book my way. Even though the book was mostly focused on the health, mental wellbeing, and self-care practices of Black women and femmes, there was much I could relate to, and I can see how McCullough’s purpose in reclaiming the Black body has a direct connection to other authors and texts in the African American literary cannon.

 

McCullough starts her book with an important argument by noting that in her work as a therapist primarily focused on food imbalances (or what is clinically often referred to as eating disorders), most of the research and therapies were designed with white, female populations, probably from socio-economic status where they had access to treatments, facilities, and therapists. She also notes the continued trauma that Black people, especially Black women (and femmes) have undergone throughout history. As I was reading the introduction and first chapter, I couldn’t help but think of the scene in Toni Morrison’s Beloved where Baby Suggs, the main character’s mother-in-law, encourages a congregation of formerly enslaved people to love themselves, to love every part of their body. Baby Suggs goes on to identify each body part, encouraging the congregation to engage in this loving act of self-care and nourishment, not only as individuals, but also as a community who has been fragmented and separated. Nearly 30 years after Morrison’s book, Ta-Neihisi Coates also wrote about his fears of losing his body, and his son’s body, to the violence of systemic and racial discrimination. I remember reading that section shortly after my son turned one and both empathizing with Coates but also being aware of my privilege that I would never experience that kind of threat of loss. McCullough’s book also helped me better understand the kinds of threats, violence, and trauma that Black women experience, especially in a society that is increasingly “health conscious”, but also dominated by images, ads, and products mostly marketed towards a white idea of health. In fact, McCullough’s arguments and calls to reclaim Black bodies reminded me both of Baby Suggs’ loving call for a community to piece itself together after the trauma of slavery, and of Coates’ anger, fear, and frustration at witnessing the deaths of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Renisha McBride, and John Crawford. McCullough also shares other people of color who have been murdered by individuals and police to strengthen her argument about both the need for increased health and the threat to health that Black Americans routinely face.

 

Beyond this kind of violence, McCullough presents other ways that Black health has been limited or attacked, whether it is bias in the medical profession or by bias against foods. Reading more about these biases was an eye opening experience, supported not only with clinical examples from McCullough’s practice, but also from her own experiences. I really appreciated her bravery and candor in exploring her own experiences—the comments and assumptions from friends and family, the questions and boundary pushing from colleagues and co-workers—the one incident that McCullough experienced after removing braids was so shocking. However, she aptly uses these experiences to provide real world examples of the kinds of barriers, biases, and aggressions that Black women face on a daily basis. Furthermore, I feel like this book challenges many assumptions about Black Americans, especially Black women. I remember learning more about relational aggression in grad school, and how there was like no research on relational aggression with Black adolescent girls. The research claimed that Black girls didn’t engage in this kind of relational aggression, and that they tended to have higher self-esteem due to positive body images. And while McCullough discusses some of the body positivity movements that have largely been supported by Black women, her research and work shows that Black women are also impacted by eating imbalances, concerns about their bodies, and other threats that are complicated by their intersectionality as both Black and women, and possibly members of other identities.

 

In addition to presenting the issues related to the lack of research and eating imbalances that Black women face, McCullough has also developed guided practices and reflective questions at the ends of each chapters, so the book focuses more like a workbook that supports continued growth and development to learn habits that will help restore individuals. I can see myself coming back to many of these guided practices, which seemed both soothing and confrontational—in a good way—challenging readers to look closely at the roots of some of their imbalances. The reflective questions were also really useful to dig deeper and exploring our relationships to our eating, the foods we choose, and our bodies, among other things. As a white reader of this book, it was also important for me to learn more about the kinds of racism, biases, and implicit assumptions that Black Americans face. Furthermore, as a father of a daughter who is in a big body and someone who has struggled with his own weight issues when I was younger, I can appreciate McCullough’s focus on the kinds of experiences early on that often shape our ideas about our bodies in adolescence and beyond. It was surprising to hear some women express a desire to grow bigger to avoid attention, while other women wished to become invisible for the same reasons. I’ve always tried to be sensitive to my daughter’s weight, but it is really hard to shield her from the onslaught of images and ideals that are presented in society on a daily basis. In fact, a recent experience at a dance class, where she had to have a dance outfit specially ordered because she is larger than the other girls in the class, made me think more about this book and how so much of society and culture is made for a norm that is not really dominant in society. People are just expected to conform and not really challenge the ways things are; however, McCullough’s book reminded me that we need to fight continually for fair and equal treatment and access to better foods, therapies, and materials for all. I also wanted to mention that McCullough’s book reminded me of another book I read recently about restoring practices to restore health The Seven Circles: Indigenous Teachings for Living Well by Chelsey Luger and Thosh Collins. In this book, Luger and Collins advocate for a return to more traditional ways for better health and a connection to the earth. McCullough also makes her case about returning to more traditional ways which allows us to integrate more with the earth and nature. That was just another beautiful element about this powerful book that makes it compelling and necessary to read. I hope that McCullough continues to work with others, but also creates more books, workshops, and resources to support people to regain balance and restore their wholeness once again. 

Dat Inner Sound Y'all: A Deep Dive into the DAISY Age with High and Rising: A Book About De La Soul

 High and Rising: A Book about De La Soul 

by Marcus J. Moore

High and Rising book cover

De La Soul Mika-photography, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Author Marcus J. Moore

Much gratitude to Dey Street Books and Netgalley for making Marcus J. Moore’s book about De La Soul, High and Rising: A Book about De La Soul available for preview. I was so excited to learn about this book since 3 Feet High and Rising  was one of the first cassettes I bought with my own earned money (I also got It Takes a Nation of Millions and The Great Adventures of Slick Rick—De La was the only non-Def Jam album I had). So like Marcus Moore, the author, I also have a kind of personal connection to the band that spanned much of my life, so I really enjoyed this book on several different levels. One of the best aspects about Moore’s book is that it accomplishes many of the best elements of music writing and specifically books about a band’s discography and history. Moore’s writing provides a history of De La Soul, how they came together in Amityville, NY in the 80s. Furthermore, as a hip-hop band who pursued their own path of artistry and really developed their own kind of style and lingo that eventually became the Native Tongues, I really appreciated the kind of contextual analysis that Moore provides, situating De La’s music as both a descendent of the NY rhymes, but also just some guys in high school “buggin out” and having fun with music. Moore provides a nice, concise history lesson in NY hip hop to help readers understand the scene and how De La emerged in such a unique and different way. In recently reading S F Fernando Jr’s TheChronicles of DOOM, I felt like De La’s origin story is somewhat similar, and less tragic, to DOOM’s story in developing his skills and honing his musical talents in Long Island, right outside of NYC. Regardless, it was fun to learn about De La’s development, especially since 3 Feet High and Rising has such a special place in my musical development. To me, the album was always so joyful and fun. Their rhymes were funny, their music on this album was upbeat, and the fact that there were so many recognizable samples made them album so unique—that they were able to repurpose so many great songs and imagine music in such a different way, I always appreciated that about their work. Moore spends most of the book on De La’s first 4 albums, and I would say that the first 2—3 Feet and De La Soul is Dead are where the most detailed reporting and analysis are spent. Since these are probably the best known albums from De La, it makes sense. Moore’s detailed reporting, without the input of any of the members, also helped me learn a lot about their process, but more importantly, about the struggles and challenges they faced as hip hop artists who kind of challenged a lot of the more popular stereotypes and trends in hip hop. As Moore makes it clear, the band weren’t really into “blunts…Versace glasses,…slang…half-ass awards shows” (from “Stakes is High”). They really wanted to keep it real and keep their artistic vision true to themselves. Moore details what touring was like for them, and how that was part of the way they made revenue. In the 1990s, hip-hop artists didn’t really get brand deals, except maybe if they wanted to sell Malt Liquor, and with the exception of rappers like Will Smith or LL Cool J, there weren’t many roles for rappers on television or in movies. In some ways, I can understand how touring and making records was one of the only ways to keep revenue coming in, but as Moore also details, the terms of their Tommy Boy contract were not always artist friendly, and with 3 Feet’s extensive sampling, it caused some problems with compensating artists they sampled. 

Moore’s book is comprehensive in that he covers De La’s entire discography, and he does spend some time on two other favorites of mine 1993’s Buhloone Mindstate and Stakes is High, from 1996. Like Moore, I also have personal connections with these albums—thinking about how Buhloone Mindstate came out when I had my first car, and it was another cassette that I often played while driving around with like nothing to do. I loved the sample from “Ego Trippin’” and “Break of Dawn”—both songs were kind of like at opposite ends of the spectrum—one the kind of bitter diss track that De La mastered in dismantling fake MCs, the other a kind of chill track. Stakes is High came out when I started college, and I remember listening to it a lot during my first year. I also got to see and meet De La on their tour. Somehow, my friend booked them at his university, and I ended up on their bus, totally geeking out about meeting them. It was exciting for me, but I can see from Moore’s writing how my references to 3 Feet High might have not been exactly what they wanted to hear at the time. I honestly was so excited to meet them, my mind went blank. But it was definitely a high point.

Moore’s later chapters detailing some of De La’s later work are not as detailed as the earlier ones. However, I loved how each chapter has both historical and technical details in the album’s creations, as well as Moore’s own personal reflections on the albums. I’m a little older than him, but I can appreciate how I kind of grew up with De La as well, and listened to them a lot through my early adolescence, through high school, and continue to listen to them. However, I loved reading about how De La taught Moore about just being himself, and that it was ok to be a young black man who just wanted to listen to music or do his own thing. That he didn’t need to flex hard or pose tough. De La meant much more to him, and served as a kind of role model. In fact, when Stakes came out, I didn’t have cable, so I missed the videos from that album. I was glad that Moore dissected them because I went back and watched those videos, and I loved it. Dave is just doing laundry, and Moore has this great analysis that he revisits later in showing how De La were just normal guys with exquisite rap skills, but still could just rap about everyday events and find such joy and artistry in these kinds of everyday activities. It was something that I never really considered before about their music, and how revolutionary and different it was. Moore’s writing made me appreciate them that much more. I also didn’t know about their names and that Trugoy, or Dave’s name, is really Yogurt backwards and that Posdnous is sound sop backwards as well. That was a fact that was really interesting to me. What I most loved about this book though was how Moore framed the book with De La’s first concert after Dave’s death, and then ended with a letter to Dave (and his recently deceased Mom), sharing how De La has made him who he is. I was really surprised and sad about Dave’s death, but Moore also talks about that kind of mortality that Black men, especially Black rappers, actors, and others in the entertainment field, often face, dying earlier from diseases and other factors that don’t seem to affect white people in the same way. It’s definitely something I’ve thought about after Guru died, and something I’ve noticed as with other rappers who have recently transitioned as well. Nevertheless, Moore’s book about De La was so much more than just a book about a band. It’s also a personal reflection about how music, especially music we grow up with, stays with us and shapes us throughout some of our formative years. This aspect makes his book stand out among other books about music. I hope he continues to write more books about artists, preferably about those he’s been influenced by. I will look forward to reading them.