Friday, August 29, 2025

The Role of Manipulation in our Lives

 Manipulation: What It Is, Why It's Bad, What To Do About It by Cass R. Sunstein

Manipulation book cover

Author and scholar Cass R. Sunstein


Many thanks to Cambridge University Press and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of esteemed Harvard scholar and writer Cass R. Sunstein’s new and timely book Manipulation: What It Is, Why It’s Bad, What To Do About It. Sunstein, who has worked examined legal and behavioral issues in other books, examines all of the ways that we encounter manipulation in our daily lives. I found the book to be fascinating since manipulative means often attract our emotions, or our system 1 level of responding, which don’t allow much time for reflection or consideration about the implications or ramifications of any responses. According to Sunstein, this is the primary goal of manipulators and why manipulation is problematic in most cases. According to Sunstein, manipulation does not consider our agency or reflective ability. It merely assumes that we are likely to emotionally respond without any thought or consideration to consequences. Furthermore, many manipulators use deceitful or bad faith tactics that also trigger our System 1 responses, and don’t allow for much research or further learning about the topic. As a result, manipulators tend to have a dim view of those they seek to manipulate, assuming they will not seek out additional information or challenge their claims. Sunstein uses many examples in various fields including work, advertising, technology, and politics, among others. I found these examples to be revealing and compelling.

I appreciated Sunstein’s approach to this topic. It’s one that he’s spent time before working on, specifically with nudging and behavior, a topic he co-authored a book with Nobel winning economist Richard Thaler, and decision making and judgement, another topic he co-authored a book with another Nobel laureate, Daniel Kahneman. Sunstein brings a wealth of knowledge and experience with this topic, and aptly defines manipulation not only with examples and subtypes, but also by differentiating the topic from other forms of deceptive practice including lying and coercion. With coercion specifically, Sunstein argues that coercion is often thought of as more forceful than manipulation, but actually people have a choice with coercion. There is often a consequence to follow, and the severity of the consequence often informs people’s decisions to comply with the coercion. This is not the same case with manipulation, which seeks to appeal more to our emotions, or system 1 responses, rendering us unlikely to question or challenge the information. Thus, with manipulation, the approach is to remove choice and thinking, taking away our agency and dignity, and subjecting us to the desires of the manipulator. Nevertheless, Sunstein presents the challenges to regulating manipulation since it is a form of speech and outlawing it would, in turn, become not only difficult, but would also take away other freedoms of expression.

One of the points I found most fascinating was how often we encounter manipulation, but with a more positive, or as Sunstein mentions, a welfarist approach. Although Sunstein spends time exploring the ways that various approaches to manipulation occur and drain time and money from us, he also notes that frequently governments and public health campaigns apply manipulative methods to promote positive health or at least deter behaviors that are unhealthy. While advertising companies in the past have used manipulation to promote cigarettes and alcohol, often showing happy, healthy, and young people enjoying themselves, more recent attempts to deter smoking and excessive drinking have aimed to use manipulative practices to deter smoking. The examples of anti-smoking campaigns are particularly graphic but use manipulation for a good. Sunstein explains why these examples would make outlawing manipulation problematic.  The other interesting aspect of manipulation is the different types of manipulation, and how technology is factoring into making manipulation much easier today. One form of manipulation that Sunstein discusses is sludge, which is basically like onerous bureaucratic impediments that are a means to slow people down to limit them from accessing any resources. While reading this, I thought about the show Nathan For You, and one episode where Nathan develops a rebate plan to boost a gas station’s business. He makes the process of obtaining the rebate so difficult and time consuming that most of the applicants drop out. Nathan applies an approach that Sunstein explores as manipulative that many other businesses, organizations, and governments employ to deter access to resources and goods.  


 

Sunstein notes that FAFSA, the federal student aid program’s application was often viewed as a type of sludge, making it difficult for students to access aid, assuming that many would give up. Sunstein documents other examples of sludge in the world, and how it impacts our lives. Other examples are about ending free trials, and how challenging it can be to sometimes escape any kind of free trial without taking an incredible amount of time and effort. He cites examples of Serious XM radio, and how cancelling a subscription often involves talking to a live human, which can involve waiting for a lengthy time on the phone. I didn’t realize that the Biden administration actually enacted legislation to counter these kinds of practices, recognizing that sludge costs people time and money, and as a result, people need easier methods to cancel subscriptions and not be the targets of deceptive manipulation.

The most compelling cases, on the other hand, dealt with technology and how technology enables manipulators to employ new and more dangerous forms of manipulation. He cites examples of egregious  manipulation like the Trump campaign’s reelection scheme to opt donors into recurring payments, assuming that they would not read the fine print or check their accounts to see the money they lost. Maybe it’s not surprising, but it demonstrates how Sunstein’s idea that manipulators devalue their targets and don’t consider their agency and dignity. Sunstein also touches on deep fakes and how these forms of manipulated video (and audio) can be so compelling that they don’t allow us to access our System 2 processing, where we consider and reflect on the information we are taking in. This is especially important as younger children are encountering more and more video media, and are not always taught to question or consider what they encounter online. Furthermore, with the current administration employing these kinds of manipulative practices, it’s more important that people are made aware of them and develop tools and practices to counter and question the information that’s being spewed on a regular basis. Sunstein ends the book by examining AI, and noting how AI can be used for both manipulative practices, but also as a tool to learn more about options and choice engines. I’m glad to see that he doesn’t completely dismiss AI as manipulative, but recognizes that any kind of algorithm may have the potential to produce biased results that might target our system 1 responses. Nevertheless, he also notes that AI has the potential to quickly scan through information that would take most humans hours and hours, enabling them to save more time and focus to make better informed decisions, ultimately to prevent manipulation.

Although the book is important and fascinating, it is a little challenging to read, and I know that I will need to revisit the topics. Manipulation has ideas and examples that affect our lives in different respects from advertising and large purchases, to retirement planning and government policies. Although the book may not be for everyone, Sunstein present clear and relevant examples that highlight the various ways that manipulation is used to impact behavior. While not always bad, manipulation does entail practices that seek to bypass rational decision-making and have us react. Although this is sometimes necessary in promoting public health, we can also see how it is used for other ends. Thus, this is an important read with significant implications. This book has made me more conscious of the information and media I encounter, and how I can carefully consider it before responding or reacting. 




Monday, August 25, 2025

Such Great Heights: The Complete Cultural History of the Indie Rock Explosion by Chris DeVille

 Such Great Heights: The Complete Cultural History of the Indie Rock Explosion 

by Chris DeVille

Such Great Heights book cover
Author Chris DeVille

Big thanks to St. Martin’s Press and NetGalley for sending me Chris DeVille’s new, comprehensive history detailing indie rock’s influence and evolution over the past 25 years, Such Great Heights: The Complete Cultural History of the Indie Rock Explosion. While I enjoyed reading this book, I didn’t always agree with DeVille’s takes about indie rock, especially regarding how and what to include in the indie rock bins. Nevertheless, DeVille makes some good arguments about how indie rock was propelled forward by the evolving nature of the internet and social media, among other events, which continued to expand the types of music that was made, as well as how people listened to and interacted with music. If anything, I found that this book continued in the tradition of some other great books about musical genres that traced their evolution and development by examining the historical context as well as the audience growth and appeal. Such Great Heights reminded me of books like Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life, which examined the rise of college music or what others might classify as “alternative” music, and Stephen Blush’s American Hardcore, which traces the punk and specifically hardcore music that resulted through the networking of van touring, DIY shows, zines and tape trading. Similarly, Such Great Heights posits the role of technology, and specifically the development of web 2.0 and its interactivity with promoting more independent music, that is, music that wasn’t necessarily reliant on major label production and promotion. In addition, DeVille notes how mp3s, free and eventually those available for .99 cents, shifted the nature of the music business, since record labels no longer had to put up money for packaging and distribution. This enabled smaller, independent record labels like Merge Records to save money on costs and develop better revenue sharing with their bands. This also made independent labels more appealing to artists looking to maintain their artistic vision and integrity. Thus, like other shifts in musical genres, the indie movement benefited from this changes to the industry and technology. I appreciated that DeVille works to define indie music not necessarily by the style, but rather as “a vast network of bands, labels, concert venues, record stores, radio stations, and homemade zines, which largely existed apart from the major-label system…. It was less a genre than a culture: a loose coalition of outsiders, idealists, elitists, critics, creatives, college students, and so forth.” It’s sometimes hard to define a type of music that encompasses so many different styles, and is really more reflective of the other elements related to the music. As a result, DeVille’s book chronicles many of the bands and artists, but also spends a lot of time examining the blogs, magazines, journalists, and platforms that helped to propel indie music to such great heights.

Such Great Heights was a fun read for me because, to quote the frequently referenced James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem, I was there when many of the bands in the early chapters started. It was completely fun to remember about the hype that The Strokes received in that summer before September 11th. Especially as a recent college graduate who struggled to find work and then struggled with working full-time, music from new bands like The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Rapture and established bands like Radiohead and The Dismemberment Plan really brought a lot of joy to my life at a particularly joyless time in America. I actually remember going to Spaceboy records in Philly right before Labor Day 2001 and picking up an EP by The Rapture (Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks) because I heard it on WPRB, and thought it was so fun and different sounding that a lot of the music available. I don’t think I had regular internet access at the time, so a lot of new music came from listening to college stations. I also remember seeing The Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the Unitarian Church in February of 2002, after they released debut EP, but before they signed to a major label, and just being blown away by the sounds the three band members could make. In particular, Karen O was just so much fun to watch perform. Strangely enough, my son has gotten into the song “Maps”, and sometimes we watch older performances from the band. Regardless, it was fun to reminisce with DeVille in these sections of the book, since I remember how exciting this time was in discovering these bands, even though some of them, like Interpol and Radiohead, were signed to major labels, and weren’t necessarily “indie”. However, for DeVille, the genre was more about the style and not necessarily their status and affiliation. Also, I loved revisiting Dismemberment Plan and reading more about them. I only discovered this band through friends and a roommate in college, and they became a favorite of mine, especially for running. I still love when any of the songs from The Dismemberment Plan is Scared comes on during a run. As DeVille notes, the band has a kind of danceable, kinetic quality that wasn’t always a part of rock music in the 90s. Plus, they referenced Young MC and Rob Bass in their music, which was both funny and fun.

The next few chapters were also pretty fun and relevant, taking me back to a time when I had more disposable income and time to spare, when I could easily spend a few hours at the record store or splurge to go see a show on a weeknight. Although I had been a fan of Modest Mouse since my cousin made a mix with some songs in 2000, it was fun to recall how ubiquitous “Float On” was in the spring of 2004, remembering too how that song was a part of so many car trips in the early aughts; or how much the Franz Ferdinand debut was played on my walks to work or taking the subway home from night classes around that time; or how I somehow stumbled on the DFA sampler on iTunes after hearing LCD Soundsystem on WPRB. DeVille not only provides a detailed history of these bands and how they came about, but he also channels it through his own experience as a college student, musician, and music lover, sharing the joy and excitement in discovering “an alluring secret world”. Again, I loved this, since the music from this time has that kind of personal connection. There was so much in the early chapters that took me back to hanging out with friends, listening to music, and spending nights trying to find these songs on different file sharing sites or in later times, blogs.

I found the middle and later chapters enlightening, but also not as relatable since I was kind of losing my edge around the early 2010s, settling down and starting a family, my time for musical exploration was becoming contracting and in some ways fossilizing. It was actually funny to read about Odd Future and Tyler the Creator in Chapter 10 “Late Registration” since I was teaching an intro college course that year, and was seeing so many donut OF shirts. I was shocked, but also intrigued by this band and in particular by Tyler. I remember, too, getting into debates with a friend about the band. After reflecting a little more on my initial, visceral response to the band and wondering why so many white college students were interested in the band, it reminded me a lot of NWA, and how their kind of street knowledge scared so much of white, middle class America. Tyler’s Goblin album was both challenging and exciting, and I could tell that he was not only a creative force, but also seemed to be going through a lot of the kinds of struggles with identity that most adolescents experience. As DeVille notes, the themes and topics from OF were relevant to many kids, and was possibly one of the elements that made them so appealing to a larger demographic. This chapter also touched on how hip-hop and indie music formed a kind of creative bridge, expanding genres and opportunities to create new and unique sounds that wouldn’t have really happened in a pre-Judgement Night world. I also enjoyed Chapter 9’s focus on Chillwave and other kinds of psych-indie music that was evolving from the economic malaise of the early 2010s. I’m not sure if I completely agree that this music evolved from a desire to revert back to happier, analog nostalgia, but it was interesting to learn more about this style of music and see how it has led to the development of a kind of new ambient lo-fi genre. In fact, I was actually surprised to read about how much the worlds of hip-hop and indie rock cross pollinated around this time. Again, being on the outer edges of this book’s time period, I wasn’t as invested in some of these scenes and genres, so I learned a lot and was surprised about a lot.

DeVille’s writing is exciting and easy to follow; as he relates his own experiences to the music and shares his own accounts of shows and discovering the music for the first time, readers can also share in this joy and excitement. It’s one of the pleasures of this fun book. I didn’t realize how much music blogs and myspace helped to propel the popularity of indie music (along with films like Garden State and shows like The O.C.). Although the book focuses on music that was independent of major labels’ influence, DeVille explores how major labels, corporations, and tech companies all recognized the consumer potential for indie rock, and eventually sought to take advantage of its popularity, and how other artists that are on major labels were able to leverage indie artists to expand their popularity and audiences. That was the only disappointment in the book—that there was a lot of focus on major label artists, and how the attention from Pitchfork, Vice and other publications and platforms eventually moved the needle from indie to major labels. I guess that this kind of shift is also part of the story of indie music, and it was interesting to see how progressive major label artists were, sometimes, using their fame and influence to leverage more independent artists and possibly challenge their own audiences with new sounds and voices. Nevertheless, it does also seem like there’s another cynical and economic aspect to it. One thing that I also wondered about with this book was the continued explosion of different genres that have been subsumed by indie rock. In particular, the section on Chillwave was kind of funny to read about all the different variants. This also seems more like a way that algorithms and dedicated niche groups are involved, and that platforms can find a way to market to smaller, dedicated groups that allow them to feel a stronger connection to these genres. That is, I wonder whether some of the explosion of different genres is not necessarily the work of artistic vision, but rather savvy and targeted marketing by social media and streaming platforms. Maybe I’m getting too cynical as I’m losing my edge. Nevertheless, that’s what is so much fun about DeVille’s book—revisiting some of the most exciting and inventive times in recent music history.  It’s a detailed trip down memory lane with some newer avenues to explore and learn about other bands and artists, at least for me. Highly recommended!

P.S. Glad to see Pavement and Sebadoh mentioned in the book, but sad that Archers of Loaf’s “Plumb Line” was not mentioned—one of the earlier and best mentions of Indie Rock.





Friday, August 22, 2025

Considering a Classic: Ready for My Close-Up: The Making of Sunset Boulevard and the Dark Side of the Hollywood Dream by David Lubin

 Ready for My Close-Up: The Making of Sunset Boulevard and the Dark Side of the Hollywood Dream by David Lubin


Author David M. Lubin

Major thanks to Grand Central Publishing and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of David Lubin’s excellent and engaging Ready for My Close-Up: The Making of Sunset Boulevard and the Dark Side of the Hollywood Dream. This was a great book that focuses primarily on the making and impact of Sunset Boulevard, a movie that just recently celebrated its 75th anniversary, but continues to influence movies and popular culture in fascinating ways. I not only enjoyed reading about this book because of the cultural significance of this film, but I also only recently watched Sunset Boulevard for the first time and was amazed at how brisk and relevant the film is. I remember reading somewhere that David Lynch was influenced by Sunset Boulevard, and that attracted my attention. After watching, I can see how this film that challenges traditional narrative techniques and presents a view of the underside of what Lubin sometimes refers to as America’s Dream Factory influenced some of Lynch’s most iconic films. In particular, I was struck by the similarities between Sunset Boulevard and Mulholland Drive, Lynch’s 2001 film about the dark side of Hollywood (also named after a street in Los Angeles). David Lubin, who is a film scholar and professor, not only presents the germination of the film and contextualizes its creation within the history of Hollywood but also presents biographies and career histories for all of those involved Sunset Boulevard. His detailed research into the lives and backgrounds of the writers and stars of this film provided an important context for understanding how Sunset Boulevard performs not just as a noir film classic, but also as a kind of commentary on the Hollywood system and its fickle, ever-changing demands for stars that it sometimes views as disposable and interchangeable. I found the book to be particularly interesting in today’s media landscape with a continued focus on sequels and nostalgia-tinged remakes or updates. Also, there’s been more and more hagsploitation in films, presenting audiences with terror and fear of aging, specifically in older women, which Lubin explores as one of the themes and criticisms of Sunset Boulevard.

Lubin’s book is a page-turner, especially for someone interested in film history and criticism. He presents biographies of the actors involved in the film, and how the two screenwriters, Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett, developed a working relationship in Hollywood, despite coming from very different backgrounds. The ideas of stories and messages in films is also integral to Wilder and Brackett’s working relationship as this was something that they questioned was important to films. Nevertheless, Lubin highlights the work that these two collaborated on prior to Sunset Boulevard, which would be there last collaborative effort. Lubin also examines how these two arrived in Hollywood, with Wilder’s journey from Europe and jumping in a pool for money at a Hollywood party shedding some light on potential biographical influences on Sunset Boulevard. Lubin also shares the biography and career of Gloria Swanson, the silent star who was coaxed into inhabiting the role of Norma Desmond, and Erich von Stroheim, whose life and career I also found incredibly interesting. Von Stroheim played Max von Mayerling in the film, who is Norma Desmond’s driver and butler, but was previously an acclaimed director from the silent era, just like von Stroheim’s real-life background. According to Lubin’s research and writing, von Stroheim seemed like a real arrogant but intriguing character, known initially as “the man you love to hate”. I found the character of Max von Mayerling to be equally intriguing, someone who is both dedicated to Desmond, but also feeding her delusions by writing her fictitious fan mail. His character, along with many of the others in the film, have this kind of dual nature where the ambiguity of their motivations and behaviors can lead to vastly different interpretations of the film and its greater meanings.

Although Lubin’s research into the biographies and careers of those involved in the making of Sunset Boulevard are engaging and illuminating, I found his analysis of the film’s most important scenes to be the strength and heart of this book. After providing background about the film’s creation and the lead up to its production, Lubin then goes in to document and analyze the integral scenes, breaking them down by noting the significant details, staging, acting choices, and even the lines of dialogue from the film. This was exciting to see not only how nuanced the staging and direction of the film is, but also how timeless and relevant the film remains today. Furthermore, I loved how Lubin notes that the film’s ability to transcend genres, a fact that the studio considered as a hindrance to audiences, is actually one of the elements of the film that makes it timeless and so impactful. When I watched Sunset Boulevard, I considered it something like a film noire, which at the time was a relatively newer genre. However, Lubin notes that the film has elements of romance, tragedy, comedy, and even horror. While I found Norma Desmond’s life somewhat deranged and delusional, I didn’t necessarily consider it comedic. However, Lubin identifies some key scenes and how they contrast one another—for example, when Norma’s friends come over to play bridge, and how that party contrasts with Joe’s friend’s new years party. These contrasts not only highlight the youth and aging differences, but also emphasize the living and the dead, or the future and the past. I didn’t realize that the Norma’s friends included key actors from the silent screen, including Buster Keaton. Furthermore, I hadn’t considered the absurdity of Norma burying her chimpanzee to begin the film, and how Joe becomes something like a chimp- a replacement child-companion for a lonely, isolated woman. Some of the best analysis comes from Norma’s visit to the Paramount studios during Cecil B. DeMille’s filming. I was surprised to see that this was the real DeMille, but Lubin provides key details about Swanson and DeMille’s prior working relationship, and how DeMille’s lines and acting in the film present the audience with some ways to sympathize with Norma. This was my favorite part of the book since it provides readers/viewers with new ways to consider the meaning of the film and elements of individual scenes to consider. I also kept thinking about how these scenes influenced other films, as Lubin provides notes and interviews from Hitchcock and Goddard suggesting the lasting influence of Sunset Boulevard on later films. In particular, the tonal shifts and the ways that the story and shots affect the audience’s emotions were innovative for a film from the 1950s. We probably take this for granted today since we recognize that films can often transcend genres, but Sunset Boulevard challenged viewers at the time. Again, I kept thinking about David Lynch films, and how sometimes the ambiguity and tonal shifts allow for varied interpretations. While some people may seek an easy resolution where everything is explained, I love the ambiguity and openness to interpretation. Lubin’s book points out how innovative and challenging this was at the time, but also how this ambiguity in the film leads to the film’s staying power and frequent inclusion in the top 10 films of all time.

The later chapters detail the critical reactions to the film, as well as what happened to all of those involved in the film, mostly focusing on the actors, but also including Wilder and Brackett. Again, it was interesting to learn more about these individuals, especially Gloria Swanson and William Holden. After watching Sunset Boulevard, I read a little about Holden’s life and work. However, reading about Gloria Swanson was also fascinating, as it seemed like Sunset Boulevard provided her with new opportunities, but also seemed to kind of trap her in this ideal of Norma Desmond. Regardless, it seemed like she was careful in her later career decisions, sometimes appearing on talk shows and television, but not often in the movies. Lubin also discusses the directing careers of Wilder and DeMille, who were at opposite ends of their careers, and who also appeared at opposite ends of the political spectrum especially when the House un-American Committee was seeking out names for their political blacklists. Lubin also includes an Epilogue that explores some of the legacy of Sunset Boulevard, particularly focusing on the idea of fading glory and how no one can escape time, as well as how the film remains a great film about filmmaking. Again, this is one of the reasons why the film remains to powerful and relevant today. While reading, I couldn’t help but think about the current state of politics and the kind of delusions that people feed to others to get ahead. It was surprising, then, to learn the Sunset Boulevard is a favorite film of another politician that seems to live in a fantasy world fueled by their delusions. Although it’s a brief epilogue, it’s still amazing to consider the similarities between Norma, a woman who continues to pine for a past that no longer exists while others placate and feed her delusions, and current leadership who also wish for faded glory over living in the present. This was a great book about a great film. Not only does Lubin’s research provide important details about the creation of this film, but his analysis also provides important insights into understanding and interpreting Sunset Boulevard and other films that followed. Lubin’s book has made me want to re-watch Sunset Boulevard, and think about other films that follow in its legacy. Highly recommended! 





Saturday, August 16, 2025

Examining Racism, Stereotypes, and the Damage of Sexual Objectification in Fetishized: A Reckoning With Yellow Fever, Feminism, and Beauty by Kaila Yu

 Fetishized: A Reckoning With Yellow Fever, Feminism, and Beauty by Kaila Yu

Fetishized book cover
Author Kaila Yu

Many thanks to Crown Publishing and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Kaila Yu’s bold and compelling memoir/essay collection that confronts racism, objectification, and representation titled Fetishized: A Reckoning With Yellow Fever, Feminism, and Beauty. I didn’t know who Kaila Yu was before reading this book, but it was interesting to read about her career transformation from an import and pin-up model to musician and lead singer for the band Nylon Pink to eventually a writer who is able to reflect and distil how social stereotypes like the model minority myth and the dragon lady shaped her own motivations and career choices with a critical eye. Although reading about the social issues Yu critically examines in this book is challenging, she presents them in a kind of autobiographical manner, connecting her own experiences to the larger issues and supporting her observations and conclusions with research and statistics to further bolster her points. This approach that bridges both memoir and critical essays makes the entry into discussing serious social problems and issues easier to approach as a reader. Furthermore, Yu’s style and descriptions are rooted in a kind of humor and relevance that also lessens the tension, but still makes readers appreciate and sympathize with the gravity and weight of these issues. I’ve read a few of these kinds of these books that could be both memoir and essay based, and I really appreciate them for teaching since they can make great texts to help students not only develop critical insights into social situations, but also to help them see how as a writer their own experiences can be an entry point for interrogation of issues and events in society. Yu’s book reminded me of Alice Bolin’s recent essay collection Culture Creep in that both writers begin with their own experiences as a framework for examining how women are represented and portrayed in popular culture, and what kind of influence women in popular culture like singers, actresses, reality television personalities and social media influencers have on shaping young women’s own ideas about themselves, their careers, and expectations for relationships. Furthermore, Yu’s examination of Asian stereotypes, representation, and treatment in society also reminded me Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings, Jane Wong’s Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City, and Viet Thanh Nguyen’s A Man of Two Faces, books by Asian American writers and scholars who explore their experiences growing up, as well as the kind of art, literature, and film/television representations that shaped their own ideas and approaches to art and writing. Chapters in Yu’s book would pair well with other chapters from any of these memoirs to provide students with a multifaceted perspective of race and identity, and in particular how popular media and literature can shape ideas about racism and stereotypes.

Yu’s book is also interesting in that her experiences take the narrative further to show how these stereotypes and representation shaped her own behavior and choices. She frequently mentioned that her decision to become a pinup and import car model was an attempt to challenge the model minority myth, the belief that “Asians are quiet, intelligent, high achieving, and hardworking… to it Asians against other minorities”, which was interesting to consider. Yu further examines that Asian women are often left to fit into 2 categories—the model minority or the hypersexualized Asian woman, like a dragon lady, whose stereotype she traces to colonialism, imperialism, and war. The second essay, “Geisha”, examines the myth of the hypersexualized Asian woman with the book and film Memoirs of a Geisha, which was published in the late 90s, and turned into a film in the early 2000s. Yu examines how Arthur Golden, the American male writer, perpetuated stereotypes about Asian women and sexuality with this book, and how audiences failed to note many of the disturbing elements of the story, but rather recognized the kind of abuse and violence in the book as a love story. Yu examines how her own experiences with older men, and in particular in how a specific girlfriend would pressure Yu into pursuing hooking up with older men. She also notes that “The book affirmed that pursuing glamor was not just worthwhile, it was required…”, which is also a recurring theme throughout Yu’s book. The idea that Asian women needed to fit into these stereotypes and act and look certain ways to make them worthy to the male gaze nudged Yu into pursuing a career in modeling and altering her look to fit into these stereotypes. I appreciated her candidness in examining these ideas and seeing how her own desire for attention from men was shaped by these earlier representations. Yu also critiqued The Joy Luck Club, noting that it was one of the first novels about Asian American experience to be taught in schools, but also that was made into a popular film. Unlike Memoirs of a Geisha, The Joy Luck Club was written by an Asian American woman (Amy Tan), yet Yu also noted some of the inconsistencies and problems with the way the mothers in the film are portrayed, and how their lives as immigrants are greatly simplified, probably to appeal more to white audiences. The film and the representation of Asian immigrant women allowed Yu to examine her own mother’s experiences to challenge the ways that these women were represented in the film.

One of the most important, but also upsetting chapters in the book (“Bad Asian”) detail Yu’s sexual assault during a modeling audition, and help to highlight the ways that pornography often appeals to racial stereotypes and exploits power inequalities. Yu was just starting her modeling career, and applied to various auditions, not really thinking about the potential for assault and exploitation. This essay, and some of the others in the book, examine the ways that pornography particularly fetishizes Asian women and feeds into stereotypes while also dehumanizing them, reducing their individuality. Yu also explores how the history of colonialism, imperialism, and war have furthered these representations of Asian women. What was even more disturbing was the comments from male fans that were often sexually violent, but also tied into the kinds of violent pornography that often exploit Asian women.

The later part of the book explores Yu’s pivot from modeling into music, first as a solo act, then as part of the group Nylon Pink. I enjoyed reading these chapters, even though I was not familiar with Nylon Pink, which was one of the first all Asian female bands. It was cool to learn about how she connected with bassist Katt Lee to make music, and how the band eventually came together to include other Asian female musicians. One thing that resonated with me about the band was how Yu explains the issues of representation for Asian females in music. Although hopefully that kind of representation might be changing with women like Karen O, Michelle Zauner, Mitski, the music scene was different in the early and mid-2000s. Yu explained that to gain traction and be taken more seriously, the band needed to lean into more of the Asian female stereotypes, while noting that other white artists simply could be themselves. Yu also noted that Black female singers often didn’t have this kind of issue either, where singers like Eryka Badu could develop their own unique personas and not have to play into stereotypes. I found it interesting too that Yu critiqued Gwen Stefani’s appropriation of Japanese culture with the Harajuku Girls, a kind of backup dancer troupe that remained silent and were kind of like props, furthering stereotypes about Asian women. Despite developing the band and gaining some traction, Yu explores how the members often were fetishized, and how Yu herself pushed some bandmembers into these fetishized stereotypes to further the band’s popularity. This was also one of the most revealing elements of the book, how Yu acknowledges her own pursuit of these kinds of stereotypes and fetishization as a means to benefit and further her career, but also how it eventually brought her anxiety and anguish. It also seemed to have brought about the end of the band, noting how she was no longer into performing with the group. There’s a lot more to the story of the band, and I recommend this for anyone who’s interesting in books about the music industry and bands, as Yu and her bandmates experiences with fetishization and racism add a sad but important twist to these kinds of behind the music stories.

One of the last chapters of the book, “A Reckoning”, also stood out as a kind of turning point for Yu, where she discusses the Georgia spa shooting that occurred in 2021, where eight people, six of whom where Asian women, were murdered by a white man who appeared to have a fetish for Asian women and seemed to blame them for his own personal problems. Yu situates this event in the pandemic, where violence against Asian Americans, especially Asian women, became more commonplace, but also notes other instances of violence by white men against Asian women that predated the pandemic, emphasizing that this violence is more common than the media would report. It also relates to the idea of fetishization and how it dehumanizes Asian women, reducing them to parts and objects rather than recognizing their individuality and their humanity. It also seemed to be a turning point for Yu’s writing, as she began to write more about fetishization and the violence that was often paired with it.  It is a powerful ending to a compelling book that interrogates representation for Asian women, as well as examining how history, colonialism, war, and imperialism have all contributed to the fetishization of Asian women. As Yu notes, it’s challenging to determine the differences between fetishes and preferences that men may have, but she rightly acknowledges the complications and violence that often results from fetishization, not only how it has impacted her own life and career, and how it has impacted others close to her, but also how it impacts other Asian American women. There is so much to review with this book, I feel like I’m not completely covering everything that Yu addresses. However, Fetishized is the kind of book that is necessary to revisit and think about the different topics and issues she explores. Yu’s book is an important and compelling read, and I could see any of these chapters working well in a first-year writing class to explore important issues of race, identity, culture, identity, and sexuality, as well as how important representation is for students. Many of the chapters would pair well with other recent books that are both memoirs and examine social issues. Highly recommended!

 

 







Thursday, August 14, 2025

Navigating Grief, Racism, and Identity in Catherine Dang's What Hunger

What Hunger by Catherine Dang 

What Hunger's book cover

Author Catherine Dang

Many thanks to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Catherine Dang’s new coming of age novel What Hunger. I was initially attracted to the cover of the novel, featuring a close-up of a bleeding raspberry being squeezed by fingers. While there isn’t much fruit in the book, the image does reflect Ronny Nguyen’s (the protagonists) sudden craving for meat after experiencing an assault and other trauma. I was also interested in the description of the book that deals with an adolescent girl’s challenges navigating her identity as a first-generation Vietnamese high school student. What Hunger is both shocking and entertaining, showing how Ronny tries to overcome not only her own personal trauma and the racism she experiences, but also the generational trauma and distrust that her immigrant parents have in midwestern America after they fled Vietnam following the fall of Saigon. Ronny’s observations and interactions with her parents demonstrate that while they are protective and considerate of their children, they also may be somewhat distrustful and sheltered, limiting Ronny and her brother Tommy from finding their own identities and assimilating into American culture.

Dang’s novel reminded me of some other novels about first-generation adolescents battling against racism and parental expectations as they struggle to develop their own unique identities in America. It’s interesting, too, that many of these novels, like Monika Kim’s The Eyes are the Best Part, Suzy Yang’s White Ivy, and Kylie Lee Baker’s Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng present racism as horror, yet also allow their protagonists to become empowered and reclaim their identities with force in standing up to racism and cultural stereotypes. Dang’s novel follows these themes as Ronny’s summer takes a sudden, traumatic turn before it ends and she begins her first year of high school. I won’t reveal the exact details, but this event coupled with her parents’ laconic responses put her in an uncertain position of how to navigate the grief while also beginning a new chapter in her life, education, and search for an identity in high school. Ronny’s aunt, her father’s sister, comes to visit the family from California, and enables Ronny to not only learn more about both her mother and father and what their lives were like in Vietnam before they immigrated, but also to provide Ronny with advice and life lessons that her parents never seem to impart to Ronny. In fact, Cô Mỹ, Ronny’s aunt, is an interesting counterpoint to her parents, who seem to have been beaten down both by their experiences as Vietnamese refugees and by the racism in America. Having limited visits with Cô Mỹ, Ronny’s not sure exactly how to take her aunt, but as Cô Mỹ eventually brings out a different personality from her father, Ronny begins to realize how multifaceted and dynamic her parents actually are. It’s something that all readers can relate to, especially those in adolescence who begin to notice and understand the kinds of sacrifices and changes that their parents experience. However, with Ronny Nguyen, her parents’ experiences as immigrants and refugees heighten the kinds of sacrifices and changes they’ve experienced as they attempt to assimilate into American society.

In addition to tackling themes of identity development and racism, the book also draws heavily on Vietnamese culture, especially food. I loved that Dang incorporates Vietnamese language in the book, and how the characters bond over traditional Vietnamese dishes. In particular, it was interesting to see how Ronny doesn’t really like many of the dishes that other relatives and friends share. It isn’t until Ronny experiences a traumatic assault that her tastes begin to change. I found this to be an interesting aspect of the book. Although the assault is horrible, and I want to warn readers about it, Ronny is able to fight back and develop her identity as a result of this event. Furthermore, her tastes for meat develop and readers can see how food and culture can have healing, nourishing, and restorative properties. Although Ronny seeks out meat to satiate her lust for blood and vengeance, it also speaks to her Americanization and her initial distaste for some Vietnamese dishes.

After her assault in the first few days of school, Ronny tries to assimilate into the cliques and groups of 9th grade. I found these sections describing her attempts to join in and make friends to be the most relatable in the book. Ronny not only wants to belong, but also has to deal with rumors and gossip, and in some ways, she leans into the rumors being spread about her, which I found to be empowering for a character like Ronny. Although the 1st person narrative allows us to hear some of Ronny’s conflicted emotions and thoughts, readers can also see a determined character who is not going to be bullied or allow others to define her. This was really interesting to see how her identity was shaped by these experiences. In addition to the high school scenes, Ronny also has strange neighbors who keep to themselves but also set squirrel traps on their property. Ronny and Tommy stumble across a trapped squirrel that has bloodied its mouth attempting to bite through the trap’s wires. As Tommy explains, these animals don’t want to be trapped and will become aggressive after they are trapped, doing almost anything to break free. Although it’s a little strange, the squirrels provide a clear symbol about attempts to trap perceptions of others and how fighting back against those with power can come with a cost. While Gigi, Ronny and Tommy’s neighbor, seems indifferent to the squirrels’ suffering and pain for being themselves, Ronny and Tommy both recognize how unfair and unnecessary it is to trap these animals.

What Hunger has some plot twists and turns, and although some parts may seem a little unbelievable, the message and themes of identity and navigating grief and trauma are important for readers to read and understand. Although the novel is challenging and upsetting at times, readers do experience a resilient main character who overcomes obstacles while also coming to understand both of her parents and their experiences as immigrants and refugees who remain guarded and reserved about their pasts and protective of their children’s futures. I recommend this book, although be warned about the incidents of loss, grief, and assaults. 





Monday, August 11, 2025

A New Take on a Classic: The Illustrated Meditations: Life Lessons from Marcus Aurelius

 The Illustrated Meditations: Life Lessons from Marcus Aurelius 

Introduced by James Romm

Illustrated by Joanna Lisowiec

Marcus Aurelius
Meditation on Compassion
Meditation on Death

Many thanks to Clarkson Potter/Ten Speed Press and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced digital copy of these selections from Marcus Aureilus’s Meditations. I’ve read Meditations in other formats, but this version, titled The Illustrated Meditations: Life Lessons from Marcus Aurelius stands out among others for the excellent introductions and contextualization from scholar James Romm and the wonderful woodcut illustrations from Joanna Lisowiec. Rather than presenting all of Meditations, this edition serves as a curated highlight of the key themes and ideas from the different sections. Romm’s commentary enables readers to better understand Marcus Aurelius’s times and the incredible position he had as an emperor of Rome. Furthermore, it’s also important to consider that Marcus Aurelius most likely never considered Meditations for public readers but rather looked at this collection of thoughts and ideas as a kind of inner dialogue or journal of important precepts and theories about life and the challenges it presented to him. Within each section, Romm provides some context about understanding Marcus Aurelius’s position, and then identifies some key quotes and passages from the original text that relate to these ideas. The introductions for each section are brief, typically one to two pages, and then there are quotes and sections pulled from various parts of Meditations. There are usually about 5-6 quotes with illustrations and then anywhere between 5-10 longer passages that relate to the themes. Although I had a digital copy, I would imagine that this edition would make an excellent gift for someone. I can see myself revisiting this book throughout a year or when I face challenges, as it provides some great insights into keeping an even disposition and not becoming too upset or angry.

This is a great edition and a good entryway into understanding ideas about Stoicism and why they are still relevant to today. The wonderful illustrations also help to understand the Stoic relationship with nature and cycles. These illustrations are colorful and detailed, and fit well with the excerpts from Meditations.

 









Revolution: Prince, the Band, the Era by James Campion

 Revolution: Prince, the Band, the Era 

by James Campion

The Revolution book cover

Author James Campion




Major thanks to Bloomsbury Academic and NetGalley for the advanced copy of James Campion’s incredible new book detailing Prince’s most creative period Revolution: Prince, the Band, the Era. I’ve had the opportunity to read a few great books about music this year including Carlin’s Tonight in Jungleland, Beinstock and Beaujour’s Lollapalooza, and Ratliff’s Run the Song, and Campion’s Revolution is among those top music books from this year. I am a Prince fan, but not to the extent of Campion, and reading this book allows those of us who appreciate and loved Prince’s music to go to another level in their fandom, learning more about Prince’s background and formative years, and how he assembled, managed, and eventually cut loose The Revolution, his band of incredible musicians who helped him realize the music from his most creative period in the 1980s. Campion’s book is incredibly detailed and researched, pulling from other books, podcasts, and articles that were published after Prince’s death and the few articles in which Prince participated in during his lifetime. Furthermore, he relies on band members and friends for firsthand accounts of the music’s development and production. This account allows readers to witness Prince’s majesty and creativity in helping to reshape and reconsider popular music as he continually reinvented and explored different genres, sounds, and styles in the 1980s. However, what really shines like diamonds and pearls in this book is Campion’s descriptions of the music, whether it is in the studio or more often on tour for Purple Rain. He has a great way of analyzing the sounds from the different instruments, using onomatopoeia in a stylistic manner that emphasizes the funky and rhythmic sounds of Prince’s best songs. His writing lends itself to the grove, allowing readers to imagine the aural soundscapes Prince was envisioning. I loved reading these descriptions.

Although the book primarily focuses on The Revolution’s time with Prince, Campion makes it clear that this story can only be told by going back to the beginning, letting readers know about Prince’s formative years and how his relationship with his parents helped to shape not only his musical skills, but also some of his most personal and memorable songs (“When Doves Cry”). In fact, Campion reminds readers throughout the book that for Prince, the band is family/family is the band, and this approach to making music collectively with those who are closest to you brings about a new kind of intimacy and bold experimentation and risk taking with the music. However, as Campion details, the tumult of Prince’s relationship with both his parents and his fear of abandonment also repeatedly manifest in some problematic behaviors and interactions with his band members, and it eventually brings about the end of the Revolution. Nevertheless, I loved reading about Prince’s early musical experiences, and how he overcame challenges, whether it was from his record company’s attempts to install a producer for him to work with, his own shyness and fear of rejection, or even hostility and backlash to his music. The first half of this book details the work Prince did to establish himself as an artist who challenged classification and genres to eventually dominate MTV with catchy hits like “1999”, “Controversy”, and “Little Red Corvette” which drew not only from rhythm and blues, but also emerging popular genres like new wave. I didn’t realize how experimental Prince was since some of my first musical awareness of popular music was during Purple Rain’s popularity. I always remembered Prince being a presence on MTV and the radio, but I hadn’t realized how he was frequently trying out drum machines, pairing them with live drums, and incorporating different, new synthesizers to add to his sound. What was also fascinating to learn more about is how he was also constantly working on different groups and other musical projects beyond his own music for The Revolution. I didn’t realize how much he was involved in writing the music and planning out the direction of other acts like Vanity 6, The Family, Mazarati, and The Time. I always knew that he was involved in some ways, but it was fascinating to learn how he was constantly shifting from one band to the other, sometimes performing with them or writing new songs for them.

One of the more fascinating details from the book was how the beloved song “Kiss” came about—and was initially promised to another act Prince was working with. From the interviews in Campion’s book, it sounded like “Kiss” was more of an acoustic, country type song, but after passing the foundations for the song onto a funk act, it was reshaped with a drum machine rhythm and a funky bassline. As the band continued to work on it, Prince ended up taking the song back, and reclaiming it as his own, bringing in his closest collaborators Wendy and Lisa to reshape the song into what most people know as one of his most famous songs. The story highlights part of Prince’s music genius, his ability to simply stop in the middle of another musical project, shift gears to generate a clever song idea. However, it also shows his ability to collaborate, and also his unwillingness to credit others in the process, which also seemed to both lead to his increased success and dominance of the music industry in the 80s and 90s, but also his downfall, as The Revolution seemed to grow tired of continued slights and oversights of recognizing their contributions to the music. Campion’s writing doesn’t force judgement, but like a great journalist, presents the facts and stories from participants to let readers draw their own conclusions about Prince’s creativity and treatment of those around him.

The second half of the book details Prince’s ideas about creating a movie to capture the music of Purple Rain, and how he got Warner Brothers to come along for this wild ride. It’s a fascinating story that shows how, as Campion reminders readers, Prince was always six steps ahead of everyone else, thinking about future projects and planning a way to convey not just the songs, but an entire vision and message. I was amazed at how much involvement he had in all of these projects and the level of detail that he worked on with not just the music, but the stage shows, the scriptwriting, and the shots and direction of these films. Campion also details the tours that followed. I also found the second half beyond Purple Rain to be incredibly interesting. While Prince could have probably replicated the popularity of Purple Rain, he chose to go in another direction, releasing albums that incorporated different sounds, constantly seeking out new sounds, instruments, and ideas. It was really amazing to read about his creative process and how he sought out new collaborators, but also how he really didn’t want to look back and try to recapture past formulas for success. He was constantly pushing forward, exploring and innovating. One of the other aspects of Campion’s close analysis and documentation of this critical time in Prince’s life was exploring all of the unreleased projects that went into the vault and were gradually released after his death. It was amazing to read about how much Prince documented and planned out other albums that were never released in the 80s. It’s pushed my “to listen to” list even further to seek out a lot of these recordings from Prince.

Reaching the end of the book was kind of bittersweet. For one, it was really sad to see the way that Prince pushed The Revolution to record and continually develop new and exciting music and then cut them loose right when he was about to release the seminal Sign o’ the Times. In fact, I was surprised to learn that he cut out recorded contributions from members of The Revolution (although it was fascinating to learn that he removed the bass line from “When Doves Cry”). The last chapter details April 21st, 2016, a day that shocked many music lovers, and how Prince’s untimely death affected members of The Revolution. Although many of them were shocked and dejected, Prince’s death brought The Revolution together to play music again for the first time in like 30 years. I absolutely loved this book. Campion’s writing and researched deepened my love for Prince and made me want to listen to the stuff from the vault that I never knew existed. This book also further reinforced my belief in Prince’s musical and entertainment genius. He was visionary and always looking to challenge people’s notions about music, art, creativity, and popular media. Highly recommended, especially if you are a music fan!

 


Friday, August 8, 2025

BFI Film Classics Night of the Living Dead

 BFI Film Classics: Night of the Living Dead by Ben Hervey



I’ve been enjoying the BFI Film Classics series, and this entry on Night of the Living Dead by Ben Hervey presents a critical perspective on the film’s production, which films and media influenced Romero and co-writer John Russo, and the film’s legacy and impact on later horror films. Night of the Living Dead was always the scariest movie I saw when I was younger. Strangely enough, I saw it on TV, and the film captivated me. It was like nothing I had seen before, and I think that was what made it so scary for me when I was younger. This is something that Hervey discusses in the book. It’s not only the barebones production values, but also the film stock and black and white footage that lends an air of newsreel reality to the film. As Hervey notes in his analysis, Night of the Living Dead was filmed around the time of the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, and was released in 1968, the year that Nixon was re-elected, but also when MLK and RFK were assassinated. The times were ripe with revolution and violence, and in particular, the news was beginning to air more and more graphic footage from the war, letting Americans know about the brutality and violence, the death and destruction that was being wrought in Vietnam. Much of the news and social violence that was all around the late 60s factored into the film’s production. I still remember how realistic the news reports on the television seemed, and without a kind of soundtrack or anything else that tends to create a kind of pretense of film, Night of the Living Dead always seemed so realistic, even if the premise about the dead returning to life to feast on the living is absurd.

However, in addition to the production of the film, I think it was the claustrophobia and the tension between the survivors holed up in the farmhouse that always frightened me the most. I also think that this is something about the kind of dystopian and survival films that always were scary to me—how horrible people could be when there resources or options are limited. Rather than seeing people come together and find ways to solve their problems, they often become selfish and self-interested, frightened more by the zero-sum possibilities than the external threats. This definitely the case in the arguments between Harry and Ben, the two males leads who disagree about whether to stay upstairs or in the basement. Although Romero usually disregards the question of race, Hervey’s analysis leans into the fact that Ben, as a Black male lead in the film, takes charge and beats down Harry, relegating him to the basement where he eventually meets his end. Furthermore, Hervey also focuses on the end of the film and how it speaks to the racial tension in America in the late 60s, even as Romero repeatedly denied that the film had a racial message. This was also one of the more upsetting and frightening elements of the film for me…. That the hero survives the ghouls, but is eventually done in by what seems like a posse of klansmen, or at least a group of extrajudicial lawmen, who seem to be indifferent to their targets. It was upsetting to me to see Ben die, and I always felt like this was one of the main takeaways from the film, that its not always the supernatural evil that wins out, but maybe it’s the banality of evil that still exists in society.

I really enjoyed learning more about the influences of film and comic books on Romero and Russo’s story and treatment for the film. Hervey identifies some interesting cinematic precursors, including non-science fiction films that may have influenced Romero. It was interesting to read about The Tales of Hoffman and the story of Olympia, a mechanical doll who eventually is torn apart by two men. Hervey describes the scene as waving body parts similar to what the ghouls do in the field. Hervey also mentions the influence of EC Comics and stories from Tales from the Crypt that feature a kind of dark, poetic justice that often results from these stories where the end is often violent and bloody.

However, some of the other influences and themes from the film were also interesting to read an analysis of and helped me better understand what was so terrifying about the film. In particular, Hervey analyzes the introductory scene of Johnny and Barbara, brother and sister visiting their father’s grave. While Barabara is the vigilant child seeking to honor her father, Johnny seems to be dismissive of tradition, mocking the idea of the visit and playing in the cemetery. Eventually Johnny is attacked by a ghoul and becomes one, but Barbara, shocked at the loss of her brother, escapes to the farmhouse, where she encounters the other survivors. Hervey suggests that part of the film was about the death of traditions and generational differences. It definitely seems like Night of the Living Dead could herald these generational shifts since it was such a transgressive film for the time, implying that the ghouls were eating human flesh and that really the dead were meaningless and harmful, pursuing us until we violently seek their destruction. This idea also seems apparent in one of the most shocking scenes when Karen, Harry and Helen’s daughter who was bitten by a ghoul, eventually kills and eats them. I remember being shocked at watching a child violently stab and eat her parents. Although Karen is a ghoul, her actions towards her parents suggest the kind of violence needed to destroy the previous generations and traditions. While Johnny seems to mock the idea of honoring the past, he eventually succumbs to the ghouls, encountering his sister and seeking to make her one of them. With all of the issues in society at the time, with all of the violence and turbulence, it seems like an idea that each generation tries to consume its own. Hervey mentioned that idea from mythology and artwork like Goya’s famous painting of Saturn devouring his children. It’s driven by fear and a lack of understanding, but also a kind of wish to maintain things as they are—to seek out a placid state where nothing really happens and the status quo is maintained. This lack of development, a kind of stasis, will eventually lead to another kind of death as well through a lack of progress and growth. Hervey’s book definitely had me consider other subtexts of the film that I hadn’t thought of previously, while also helping me to identify some of the moments that terrified me as a child when I first encountered this film. Furthermore, I’ve read a few other books about some of Romero’s other films, especially Dawn of the Dead, his masterpiece. I’ve also recently revisited some of these films, along with The Crazies, which was another film I watched when I was younger and found it to be completely terrifying. Throughout these films, Romero also emphasizes the idea of control and the media, and how we seek out the news and media to inform us, but maybe they don’t always give us the true story or maybe they end up inducing more hysteria and fear. This happens throughout Night, Dawn, and The Crazies, where the government seems to be hiding or not revealing all of the details about these events that are turning people abnormal. This notion of distrust and a lack of transparency in information is relevant today, and maybe that is another reason why Romero’s films remain so powerful and shocking even after nearly 60 years. I really enjoyed Hervey’s detailed research and analysis of Night of the Living Dead, reminding me of how important and terrifying this film is.


Sunday, August 3, 2025

Challenging our Assumptions about Teaching and Schooling in Ranita Ray's Slow Violence

 Slow Violence: Confronting Dark Truths in the American Classroom by Ranita Ray

Slow Violence book cover

Author and Scholar Ranita Ray

Thank you to St. Martin’s Press and NetGalley for sharing this powerful and discomforting book about education, Slow Violence: Confronting Dark Truths in the American Classroom. Ranita Ray, a sociologist, spends several years following students in Las Vegas schools as they interact with their teachers and gradually experience the kind of institutional violence and power differentials that their teachers apply seemingly to harm rather than help them. I typically enjoy reading books about education, even ones that often challenge our assumptions and understanding of the purpose of schools, such as Eve Ewing’s excellent Original Sins, Aaron Kupchik’s insightful Suspended Education, and Betina Love’s powerful Punished for Dreaming, to name a few recent books. Ray’s book would fall into a similar category of a critical examination of policies and practices that inhibit student success, while also highlighting the kinds of power differentials teachers often wield and their seeming indifference to make change and begin to advocate for their students. Ray writes in her conclusion that “it is difficult for many of us to challenge the perception of universal altruism among teachers,” and I felt this kind of dissonance while reading the book. Not only did her observations and conclusions make me upset, but they also caused me to reflect on my own teaching experiences and those I’ve observed, thinking back to when either I witnessed or engaged in these types of behaviors that contributed to the slow violence that students experience. Although I cannot say that this kind of behavior has never happened, I will admit that after some experience teaching and working with student populations much different from my own background, I became more flexible and understanding in my teaching and approach to accommodations in the classroom. Furthermore, I’ve also been lucky to work with other like-minded colleagues who shared similar educational philosophies and approaches that attempted to be student-centered and supportive of student learning. Nevertheless, I’ve witnessed instances of the kind of slow violence that Ray explains from both teachers and administrators, and not just towards students, but towards teachers and staff who were deemed as not team players or not on board to help students. Although I question some of the generalizability of Ray’s conclusions based on her work in 2 schools in Las Vegas, I can agree that often power, policies, and pedagogy work against students whose backgrounds may be culturally incongruent with teachers and administrators. Nevertheless, there are steps and strategies that schools and teacher education programs can take to help strengthen the teaching corps and better prepare them for the diverse student bodies they will work with in American schools. I know from my teacher education, I was underprepared to work with the kinds of diverse populations in many American schools, and often fell into the apprenticeship of observation, relying on teaching the way I was taught, which is not appropriate for students from different generations and cultures. It wasn’t until I worked with other teachers, observed their classes, and reached out for help about either student issues or teaching practices that I was able to develop some more engaging practices that focused more on student learning and helping to make students feel like they had a say in their learning in our classes.

However, I’m digressing, and Ray’s book offers much to critique and question in her ethnography of these students’ experiences. Ray begins explaining her methods for her research, which took place between 2017 and 2020, right before the pandemic, and her definition of slow violence, which reflects the kind of psychological and emotional violence over physical violence. She also includes an important caveat that the conclusions she drew were based on her observations, conversations, and scholarly knowledge. In the prologue, Ray provides some background about her own experience as a multilingual learner who was threatened and punished for speaking her mother tongue in school. It’s this memory that enables Ray to feel more empathy and understanding for the students she observes than her own teacher, having experienced that kind of power differential and disregard for her identity, interests, and culture that the students at Ribbon Elementary and Doreena Middle School experienced with their teachers and administrators. Although the teachers are presented as seemingly progressive and advocates for diversity and student success, as the school year progresses, we learn, through Ray’s observations, that their motives and actions are inconsistent with what we would think about teachers. Ray offers some further insight into understanding these teachers, noting that for some of them, teaching was a second or third career option, and not something that always took precedence in their future plans. This point about the teaching profession is also an important consideration since there is always a need for qualified teachers, and Ray frequently stresses about the lack of diversity in the teaching corps, which is primarily comprised of white women and men who frequently teach students whose ethnicities, cultures, languages, and backgrounds are different from their own. These differences may allow for biases and assumptions to influence instructional decisions, grades, and even future opportunities for learning. Ray’s observations of the teachers show how they frequently let their assumptions about the students and their families influence the type of work they received and how they interpreted the students’ achievement or motivation in class. Although Ray frequently notes how the school is under-resourced, with as many as 40 students in a classroom and limited access to paraprofessionals and other in class aides, it also seems like the nature of teaching has changed along with the expectations about the roles that teachers are expected to play in students’ lives. While I was shocked to read about some of the assumptions that teachers made about the lives of their students, it also seemed like some of the teachers were unprepared or had no background to possibly support the kinds of challenges that some of their students experienced. For example, one student who is featured as a star student in the class, lost her 2 month old brother, and her disengagement and withdrawal from class and socialization seemed swift and in need of some kind of intervention. Although her teachers reached out, I was surprised that the school didn’t do too much more for her after this devastating loss. Furthermore, I’m not sure how many teachers are able to navigate and support students through this kind of grief. As a teacher who has experienced loss, I think that I can be empathetic to students who also experience loss. However, it would seem like the school or even counselors within the district might offer some support for teachers to then support students. I worked in a school where we experienced the loss of students in close succession, and we basically stopped everything to reach out to students (and other colleagues) and make sure that everyone’s emotions were considered. It just made me think about how teachers do more than just teach—they are often expected to emotionally support students, interpret their feelings, and consider their changes, socially, emotionally, academically, and identity-wise. Although some may view teachers as “instructors”, the work of a teacher is much more complex and demanding, and often requires some skills and attributes that are not always the focus of teacher education and professional development. Beyond this kind of emotional support, teachers are also expected to be something like a technician, where they need to assess students, examine their results, and then devise strategies and supports for their students, especially those who are at opposite ends of the learning curve. I’m not sure how that is possible with 40 students who require varying levels of support and enrichment, but this is part of the new reality for teachers and their work. Regardless, Ray’s observations also made me wonder what happened in the teacher meetings for the 4th and 5th grade teams that she followed. Ray seems privy to some of the teacher conversations in the lounge, where the teachers engaged in disparaging the parents and families of their students, but I wondered whether there was any kind of shared strategies and data analysis that was happening across the teams.

Ray’s observations also made me question the administrators at these schools. In Ribbon, Dr. Geertz seemed almost oblivious to the issues occurring within the classrooms. One of the only male and Black teachers in the school left his 5th grade class after being scrutinized for his harsh treatment of female students. Although I was wincing at the ways in which he responded to and disciplined some of the female students, I also saw this as maybe an opportunity for some professional goals and either the principal or another teacher coach to come in and support this teacher with some strategies and measurable goals for improving his interactions with his students. Although I know that teacher observations do not always happen in schools, I was surprised by how independent and unsupported these teachers were. It seemed like the schools were confirming that assumption that teaching is a isolating job, where teachers shut their doors and just work with their students. Ray also explained that she felt conflicted about not intervening when she witnessed the slow violence in the classes she observed, and as a researcher, she’s correct not to step in. Not only would it influence her research conclusions and potentially damage her relationship with these teachers, but as an outside observer who was in the school to observe the students, I’m not sure that the teachers would have accepted her observations or suggestions. If anything, it seemed like the entire culture of the school was deviating from the messages and slogans posted around the campus. I wondered whether the school leadership was aware of this, and whether they participated this kind of slow violence through their own assumptions as well.

Ray’s observations are descriptive and detailed, and she provides some useful connection to research when necessary, which helps to situate and understand the behaviors and consequences we read about in the book. I really appreciated this aspect of her scholarship and analysis, since it allowed readers to see that much of what we are reading about in this school is not necessarily an isolated incident, but is potentially happening in other schools and to other students in the US. Still, I was shocked to see how some of the teachers didn’t really understand basic elements of teaching or connecting with their students. For example, in 5th grade, the teacher planned a unit around Civil Rights in the 1960s, reading a recent book that takes place in Alabama in the 1960s. The students made their own connections with the Colin Kaepernick and other events in 2017, but the teacher seemed to disparage these astute connections the students were making. Rather than listening and questioning them to explain their connections further, she dismissed their connections. It was really unclear what the focus of the lesson was, and whether the students were working on reading skills, history, or what the objectives for the lessons were. I can only imagine how confused the students must have felt. I wondered whether this teacher knew about learning objectives and how to structure a lesson. Furthermore, I was shocked to read about how many teachers used candy to motivate students. This 5th grade teacher apparently kept a candy stash and used candy as a reward, which I’ve always viewed as something teachers should not do. Not only are extrinsic rewards like this something that will eventually demotivate students (or make performance contingent on these kinds of rewards), but also giving sugar to students seems unhealthy. The schools I’ve worked in along with my kids’ schools never allowed candy for students, but it seemed like a regular practice for these schools. Some 5th grade students organized a distraction to snatch some of the candy from the teacher, and when she found out she basically held it against these students for the rest of the year, assuming that they were criminals. Another teacher in the middle school seemingly gave candy to students no matter what they did, even when they disobeyed him or gave incorrect or off-task responses. I just wondered about what message he was offering for his students. It was incredibly shocking to read about this kind of reward for academic work. Why not offer some praise or positive feedback? Why not try to acknowledge their students’ efforts by noting what they did well?

Also of concern was the kind of deficit approach that many of the teachers took about their students that seemed to be informed by their biases and assumptions and was further fed by their interactions and gossiping in the teachers’ lounge. I learned pretty early in my teaching career that the lounge was not a fun place to be, and that it was often a site of complaints and commiserating rather than any kind of productive work. I think this could be true of much work, not just education. However, it’s more personal and emotional since teaching is such an emotional and time investment. However, I think I’ve always learned that it’s important to identify what students bring to the classroom and not what they are lacking. Identify their strengths and interests, utilize their experiences and skills, rather than harping on what they are missing. It’s a simple lesson that any teacher education program should emphasize for their pre-service teachers—do not take the deficit approach. Nevertheless, it seemed like these teachers all assumed that the students lived in poverty, had nothing, and the parents were often standing in the way of progress (although they never offered any examples or evidence). Parents who were interested in their students’ learning were chastised for being too involved, while other parents who maybe worked multiple jobs or had other responsibilities like child or elder care were deemed indifferent to their children. There were assumptions running wild, and while it is natural to want to draw conclusions and make attributions about reasons for involvement or lack thereof, again, this seemed like a place where the administration should step in and offer suggestions and methods for involving more parents in a proactive way, whether it is through hosting parent/child activities, or finding ways for parents to be involved in the class (which there were). Regardless, I was shocked to read about how much the teachers assumed the students were in trauma, and that this trauma was the main reason why students were not succeeding or achieving. Mr. B, the 6th grade teacher, seemed to be a self-appointed trauma expert (he wrote his thesis on student trauma), and based on Ray’s observations, appeared to lower expectations for students due to their collective trauma. Furthermore, the principal also acknowledged students’ trauma and how it influenced their learning. This led to both a humorous and terrifying assembly in 6th grade where I didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the message and assumptions that kids are bad whose friends will eventually lead them to destruction. Yet all of the teachers seemed amazed at the message.

As Ray notes, this is not an easy book to read mainly because it challenges our own assumptions and cherished beliefs about teachers and the work they do. While I’ve known some teachers who engage in this kind of slow violence, thankfully, I’ve known and worked in schools that tend to be more supportive of both their students and teachers. That’s not to say that this kind of slow violence doesn’t happen. I agree with Ray’s conclusions about the need to diversify the teaching corps and prevent the kind of slow violence she witnessed. No student should experience that kind of bias and incongruity in their learning. However, I couldn’t help but question some of the conclusions about the teachers’ own motivations in this book, especially since Ray drew these conclusions based on observations and overheard conversations and not necessarily based on interviews with the teachers or asking about their methods or instruction. Furthermore, it didn’t seem like she interviewed students to ask about their own experiences with learning or school either. I wonder if she may have reached some different conclusions about her observations if these data were included in the analysis. In her “Afterword”, Ray notes that there is a difference between schooling and education. This distinction reminded me of Ewing’s book in particular in that schools in the 20th century were often sites of assimilation and control, a means to shape, condition, and train future workers for the kind of manual labor that was needed in the early 20th century. As society and the economy began to change, other’s views and philosophies about school also shifted, with some viewing education as the potential for a social equalizer. Although we are still a long way off from making this aspiration a reality, it’s still possible to support this idea and reinforce it with pre- and in-service teachers. While reform has taken education down some wrong paths, I agree with Ray’s idea that we need to “insist on a more honest conversation about the stark power differential between teachers and students”, and especially those “power relations that oppress Black, brown immigrant and trans people coincide with this fact that teachers have absolute authority inside the classroom and students…have close to none.” While it may not completely address the entirety of this situation, providing more student-centered approaches to learning that also engage students in positions of leadership and responsibility within the classroom are a way to start. Ensuring that teacher education programs, whether they are for undergraduates or alternate route candidates, stress these kinds of democratic approaches to education and acknowledge these power differentials is a good place to start. Furthermore, ensuring that teachers are supported and have regular observations and quality professional development that focuses on culturally congruent teaching strategies and methods is another way to support teachers in supporting their students. While this is challenging and at times disturbing book, it is a necessary and important read, especially for educators, but also for the general public. As Ray explains in both her introduction and afterword, there are attacks against teachers from both the right and the left today. We frequently hear stories about teachers who engage in inappropriate lessons about slavery or immigration, often bringing harm to students. When I was in college studying to be a teacher, I remember watching the “Blue Eye/Brown Eye” experiment as a method to teach about discrimination, but also questioning what kind of harm this brought to students, some of whom attacked and harassed their classmates. Although there were good intentions to teach about discrimination from an experiential perspective, it brought harm to the students. Teachers should also be more aware of their methods and think more about what their students will learn from these activities and assignments, to fully consider the implications and consequences of their lessons. Being a reflective practitioner should be a prerequisite for teaching, and schools need to do more to reinforce this essential aspect of teaching. Nevertheless, Ray’s book challenged my assumptions and made me think and reflect about my own experiences as both a learner and a teacher. I recommend this book even though it is a challenging, difficult, and at times upsetting read.