Race, Robots, and Popular Culture: We Radiant Things by Franny Choi

 We Radiant Things: Notes on Being Alien and Becoming Cyborg by Franny Choi

We Radiant Things book cover

Author and Poet Franny Choi

I recently read David Treuer’s The Savage Mind, which is a fascinating book that asks us to reconsider the ideas of savagery and civilization throughout American history. Treuer referred to literary critic Northrop Frye in a part of the book that resonated with me. Treuer emphasized the differences between a historian and a poet by noting that “history (and historians) tackle what has happened. But poets (and poetry) look at ‘a kind of thing that might happen’…The poet’s job is not to tell you what happened, but what happens: not what did take place, but the kind of thing that always does take place. [She} gives you the typical, recurring, or what Aristotle calls the universal event.” I really liked this distinction, as it is a reminder of not only the importance of artists to complement the historical record, but also how important their perspectives and deep, personal understanding is for interpreting and making meaning to events, whether they are well-known or experienced by individuals. Franny Choi’s excellent new collection of essays We Radiant Things: Notes on Being Alien and Becoming Cyborg made me think again about Treuer’s points about the role of poets in providing more context and a more nuanced look at events, especially as we are continually inundated with various perspectives of different events, media and entertainment. Choi, who is also a poet, provides interesting perspectives on a wide range of topics, frequently critiquing how robots, aliens, cyborgs and other popular figures in sci-fi and horror are often coded as representations of Asian, and particularly Asian females. She examines popular films, shows, and even music to explore these representations, how they have impacted her own identity and how others perceive her, as well as how these representations are not necessarily new, but rather an evolution in the racialized portrayals of Asians that have led to exploitative practices and treatment in labor, employment, education, relationships, and sex. Choi begins the essay with an analysis of Kyoko from 2014’s Ex Machina, examining how Kyoko’s silence and subservient portrayals rely on her racial ambiguity and Japanese name. In an interesting twist, Kyoko ultimately kills the man responsible for her creation, yet Choi explores how Kyoko’s portrayal of a mute, obedient “other” has been shaped by stereotypes and myths about Asian women that have persisted for many years. I’ve only seen Ex Machina once, and I was blown away by the story, but I was more focused on Ava’s role in the story. Choi’s observations and analysis (and apparently a recut of the film with only the scenes of Kyoko) provided a new understanding and perspective, like the kind that Treuer argues poets bring to events. For what it’s worth, Alex Garland, the writer and director of Ex Machina, has worked with Sonoya Mizuno, the actress who plays Kyoko, in a few other projects, notably Devs, where she plays the lead role of Lily Chan, a software engineer trying to uncover the mysterious death of her boyfriend. Regardless, Choi identifies other portrayals of these kinds of racialized portrayals where a future in society is often portrayed as a dystopian Chinatown, like Blade Runner. It’s definitely something I’ve noticed, and with the recent reveal that the coding for The Matrix was taken from a Japanese cookbook, we can see how sci-fi filmmakers have often portrayed the future as an exotic other, like Edward Said’s argument about the West’s portrayal of other cultures, particularly in the Middle East and Asia as distorted and inferior, a portrayal that continues to play out not just in popular culture, but in policies and programs, unfortunately.

I found Choi’s analysis of cyborg films to be particularly interesting, as she brings her own personal interest to films like Ghost in the Machine and Terminator 2: Judgement Day. I loved her writing about T2, which I remember seeing in the theater. Choi recounts how this film became a favorite of her father’s and a family staple, but also notes it’s particular connection to Korean immigrant culture with the film’s themes of “good machines” and “bad machines.” Again, I appreciated the perspective she brings to analyzing this film, exploring scenes where Edward Furlong as an adolescent John Connor is trying to teach Arnold Schwartzenegger’s T800 to speak with some slang and idioms, almost like an immigrant learning to use American phrases and idioms. However, as Choi notes, the appearance of Robert Patrick’s T1000, who can mimic other’s appearances and takes the form of a police officer, provides some insight into the struggles of immigrants and other minorities with cultural assimilation. This was definitely not a reading I took when I saw the film as a teen, but I loved reading about how Choi’s viewings of the film have evolved over the years, and how this idea about good machines and bad machines resonated with her own experiences as a child of immigrants. Nevertheless, Choi grounds her understanding of these machines in the historical accounts of immigrant Chinese workers who helped to build the transcontinental railroad and were largely characterized by their machinelike work ethic and lack of complaining or pushback. Choi also explores how this view was often pushed by those who exploited the precarious nature of these immigrants’ work and later ended up implementing the Chinese exclusion act, also based on the portrayal of Asian countries as “the other”, a dangerous kind of image of the West. This was also resonant as we are currently witnessing a calculated and systemic backlash against immigrants, often relying on tired and reckless stereotypes that not only cast immigrant groups as backwards or uncivilized, but also as threatening to American’s jobs and culture. As Treuer noted in The Savage Mind, it’s the ability of these stereotypes that induce fear of the loss of status and culture among other things that leads to violence, whether it is institutional violence through policies or physical violence that Choi also documents against Asian Americans through the brutal murder of Vincent Chin in 1982 in Detroit.

Where Choi’s writing especially stood out to me was in her chapter “Love, Death, and Pink Robots” that explores how the Flaming Lips came to write one of their most iconic albums Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Like Choi, this album also has significant memories for me from the summer of 2002 and beyond. I was struck by the beautiful descriptions of the music for both the song “Fight Test” that opens the album and “Do You Realize”, which still nearly brings me to tears every time I hear it. Choi’s music writing includes some of the most aural elements, fitting for a poet: “The track begins with a simple four-chord progression on acoustic guitar, which warps at the end of each phrase. In the back ground, what sounds like a slide guitar (actually a pitch-bending whammy pedal) evokes cowgirls pining in space.” There are some other amazingly-apt descriptions of the sounds that Coyne and Company evoke throughout their iconic album, like “The key changes, and the strange chorus of Wayne Coyne’s sixteen cloned voices rises to fill the space around my heart again.” While Choi contrasts Yoshimi’s role in the song as a Japanese woman who fights the automation, possibly challenging the stereotypes of the female Asian automaton, she also notes how Yoshimi is relegated to parts of the other songs, without having much to do with any theme of this kind of resistance and challenging stereotypes throughout the entirety of the album. Similarly, she notes the smaller image of Yoshimi on the cover of the album, nearly dwarfed by the pink robots. Choi does share her heartbreaking connection with the song “Do You Realize”, one of the saddest and most beautiful songs about the eventuality of death. I won’t give the details here, I loved the way that Choi explores how the meaning of the song and its heartbreak take her back to different eras of her life from 2003 to 2009 to 2025. While she connects the album to her main themes, it’s also one of the enjoyable connections she makes with these forms of popular media that have influenced her interests in robots and Asian American culture.

Another chapter and observation that stood out to me was “Ghost in the Shell (Intensive Care)” where Choi recounts the last days she spent with her mother, who was hospitalized in Italy after an aneurysm burst, kept alive by a respirator and hooked up to machines. As someone who experienced a dying parent in the hospital, attached to machines, I can relate, and Choi explores how these machines that seem so inhuman and artificial can actually keep us alive and help us perform integral functions. Like her reflection on the Flaming Lips’ song, this is another beautifully written but heart wrenching experience that Choi manages to capture all the confusing and intense emotions that she experienced. Yet, she also envisions her mother as Kusanagi from Ghost in the Machine, and how her cybernetic connection enables her to have a new view of consciousness. In another chapter, she explores how she has a similar conflicted relationship with technology, and how she’s harnessed the power of spreadsheets to be “the bionic arms I use to keep up with the work, to run alongside the assembly line, or maybe, to outpace my alienation and disgust.” Choi explores this complicated relationship and how technology has become like a cybernetic extension of ourselves which we rely on to survive (or maybe it’s feeding off of us, harvesting something from us).

I wasn’t sure what to expect from We Radiant Things. I am fascinated by this idea of cyborgs and robots and their portrayal in popular culture, and Franny Choi’s observations and analysis helped to challenge some of those perceptions, especially in how they are often tied to portrayals of Asians, Asian Americans, and especially Asian women. However, she also draws from her own personal experiences, which create a more intimate, funny, sad, and heartfelt rendering of these portrayals and instances. I really enjoyed learning more about how these portrayals have affected her identity, and how she challenges many of these roles by analyzing them. I would also love to take her class “Race, Robots, and Asian American Literature” or “Poetry and Technology”, since some of the work from these essays probably informs her teaching. This is a wonderful collection that will hopefully provide new insights into looking at the implications of how robots, cyborgs and technology are represented on the screen and in popular culture. Many thanks to Ecco Publishers and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this wonderful book. Highly recommended!  

A Screaming Life: by Kim Thayil

  A Screaming Life: Into the Superunknown with Soundgarden and Beyond by Kim Thayil with Adem Tepedelen

 A Screaming Life book cover

Founding Soundgarden guitarist and author Kim Thayil 

Big thanks to William Morrow and NetGalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of A Screaming Life: Into the Superunknown with Soundgarden and Beyond by Kim Thayil with Adem Tepedelen. Thayil was a founding member of Soundgarden, one of the bands of the late 80s and 1990s that helped to reshape punk, psychedelic, and hard rock. Although Soundgarden is often lumped into grunge music since they were formed in Seattle along with bands like Alice in Chains, Mudhoney, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam, Soundgarden had been making music for several years prior to the year punk broke (1991) and had their own distinct sound that drew from 1970s hard rock, punk, and psychedelic influences. As the lead guitarist, Kim Thayil was one of the primary architects of Soundgarden’s sound. However, as someone who enjoyed the 1990’s output of the band, I didn’t know a lot about Thayil. While Chris Cornell is often seen as the face and voice of the band, Thayil’s distinct use of wah-wah peddles for solos in songs like “Black Hole Sun”, the chugging, rumbling riffs for songs like “Outshined” , and the screaming, feedback drenched guitars of songs like “Rusty Cage” and “Jesus Christ Pose” helped to establish Soundgarden as not just a unique voice in the Seattle scene, but a really heavy band that crafted great songs. Thayil’s memoir of his time in Soundgarden is a fun read, especially for someone who likes music memoirs, but also as someone who followed the band in the 1990s. Just as Thayil’s distinct guitar sound contributed to Soundgarden’s unique sound, his recollections and reflections on his time building the band, creating music collaboratively with his band members, and touring are also distinct. Like his music, Thayil doesn’t delve into the specifics for each song, discussing the meanings or technical aspects. Rather, his memoir is more about tone and feel, examining not just the events that led to work on Soundgarden’s albums and eventually chart success, but also his own experiences navigating the evolving dynamics of the band and his ambivalent feelings about success, recognition, and fame. While the book isn’t overly descriptive or literary, it does provide an amazing look into one of the prominent bands of the Seattle sound of the 1990s, often going behind the scenes to learn more about the challenges Thayil and his bandmates experienced as Soundgarden became more well known.

Thayil recounts his childhood, growing up as the son of Indian immigrants, and how forming a band was an unlikely path for someone like him. In fact, it’s interesting to learn that Soundgarden was started by two Asian Americans, and was probably one of the only bands in the 1980s to feature two Asian Americans. I really enjoyed learning about his early musical influences and how he had to beg his parents for a record player to begin listening to music. It’s an important reminder of how much radio and major record companies influenced what kids and others listened to. Thayil also talks about his adolescence and how growing up in the Chicago area of Forest Park enabled him to form bands and learn more about punk and hard rock. After graduating high school, Thayil was eventually kicked out of his house and kind of adrift for a bit. He stayed with friends, one of whom was the Pavitts whose son, Bruce, eventually formed Sub-Pop records. After trying a few colleges, Thayil and his band member Hiro Yamamoto eventually moved out to Washington State, visiting Evergreen State College in Olympia, where Pavitt attended and was a DJ. Evergreen was also the school where Kathleen Hanna and Carrie Brownstein attended later and formed bands Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney. From reading their memoirs, Calvin Weston and Beat Happenings were also influential around Olympia, encouraging a DIY approach to making and releasing music. Nevertheless, Thayil and Yamamoto eventually ended up in Seattle, meeting Chris Cornell, their eventual band member. Reading about Thayil and Soundgarden’s formation and early days was exciting and interesting. Furthermore, I enjoyed seeing how diverse and different the musical influences were for the different band members.

In addition to reflecting on the band’s formation, Thayil examines the creative process of the band, discussing how songs often came about as a result of extended jamming and practice sessions. It was cool to learn more about this creative process and how it functioned more as a collective than an one individual taking creative control. Throughout the book, Thayil remains democratic in his approach to the band whether it involves finding new members, song writing, or even developing things like logos and fonts for the band. Although the band practiced a shared decision making, everyone in the band wasn’t always accepting or appreciative of the outcome. Thayil explores some of the challenges they experienced with founding member Yamamoto, who eventually left the band during their first European tour, as the band became more popular and were signed to a major label. Throughout period leading up to Yamamoto’s departure, Thayil notes that Hiro was becoming increasingly more difficult during tours and seemed disconnected from the creative process. Another interesting element of the band that Thayil noticed was how challenging Soundgarden’s sound was for record companies. While independent labels like SST had no issues incorporating a progressive and unique band like Soundgarden into their roster, major labels look for comparisons or genres, and Soundgarden didn’t easily fit into any of the categories, especially the popular hair and glam metal categories that dominated MTV and radios in the late 80s and early 90s. Thayil repeatedly returns to this point about how Soundgarden’s sound was so confounding for record companies. Nevertheless, record companies often tried to pair them with metal producers who may have also contributed to reshaping their sound.

Regardless, Soundgarden would eventually become one of the biggest grunge/alternative bands of the 1990s with their mid-90s releases Superunknown (1994) and Down on the Upside (1996). It’s weird to think of these albums as “classic rock” now, but they are more than 30 years old now, and as Thayil notes, many classic rock radio stations continue to play these songs. Although the band experienced both critical and commercial success, making these albums was a challenge since the band had to adapt to more imposed control from the record labels and their producers, as well as the challenges of frequent touring and other requirements for band promotion. I appreciated how Thayil took us into the control room to learn more about the process of working with a producer, and how that can impact a band’s sound, for better or worse. Thayil and his bandmates seemed to be committed to their founding ethos and were strongly rooted in punk, so even though the producer challenged their creative approach to making music, they had enough integrity and awareness to fight for their own sound to come through the albums. As Thayil notes, this didn’t always come naturally and it was a repeated challenge to battle with producers and record labels about their sound. However, Thayil details how his more philosophical approach allowed him to be more critical and thoughtful rather than being reactive like other band members. That was something else that came across in this memoir- how Thayil, who has a degree in philosophy, is always willing to learn more about a situation or consider the various sides before drawing a conclusion about events or situations. His thoughtful and considerate approach to music and his career is somewhat different from more traditional rockers’ lives and careers. One of the more relatable aspects of this book is how Thayil experiences common issues like struggling to communicate his feelings after a break-up of a 10-year relationship or eventually buying a house and learning more about caretaking (like with HVAC filters). While I loved learning about the experiences of recording and touring with his band, these other revealing moments from his life had me empathizing with him.

The later chapters focus on Soundgarden’s eventual break-up due to Chris Cornell’s interest in pursuing a solo career (and eventually joining corporate-created supergroup Audioslave) and their eventual reunion 15 years later. Thayil details his attempts to continue to make music and work with other artists, but he also appears adrift at these points. Nevertheless, he has some interesting stories about working with Krist Novoselic and even Jello Biafria for a project that was meant to challenge the WTO meeting in Seattle that eventually led to riots in 1999. Thayil also explores the challenges of maintaining Soundgarden’s legacy at a time when digital media wasn’t really existent and there was no real support from the record label. As he documents, it became like an uphill battle as the record label was focused on Chris Cornell’s solo career, so Soundgarden gradually drifted from record shelves and merch stores. After Audioslave broke up, Soundgarden got back together, recorded a new album and toured for a few years. As Thayil describes it, Chris Cornell was changed. Thayil implies that it could have been various factors, but ultimately it seemed like not having his Soundgarden family to take care of Cornell led others to be a negative influence on him. It is interesting that some other Seattle bands had drug issues and lost members due to addiction, but Soundgarden wasn’t known for drug use or excessive partying. They were really into the music. These later chapters lead up to Cornell’s tragic death in 2017 while the band was on tour. While the reunion was bittersweet, it allowed Thayil to continue to work on compilations and rarities releases since there was renewed interest and support for Soundgarden. Thayil ends the book detailing the band’s battle with Cornell’s estate for vocal tracks, which the band eventually won and used to finalize their last album.

Screaming Life is a fun read, especially for 90s music fans. I loved hearing from one of the distinct bands from my youth, and especially from one of the quieter band members. Thayil not only takes fans behind the scenes to learn more about the creative process that helped to birth some of the greatest rock albums from the 90s, but also his shares some of his formative experiences and philosophies, which make him out to be even cooler than I imagined. The one thing I missed about this book, though, was that Thayil didn’t discuss his involvement with one of my favorite albums from the 2000s- Boris and Sunn O)))’s Altar, which I was really surprised to see that Thayil was involved with and also wrote the liner notes for. While there are some other Pacific Northwesterners who contribute to the album, Thayil remains probably the most well-established musician on the record. At the time when the album was released, I was perplexed and captivated by this drone and doom-soaked dark album that rumbles and quakes with Sunn O)))’s low frequencies. After reading Thayil’s book, I can see how he would be drawn to bands like Sunn O))) and Boris who are willing to experiment not just with sounds but use sounds to shape the tones and emotions of their albums. That was one aspect of Thayil’s approach to music that comes across throughout the book. However, he doesn’t talk about this collaboration at all. Maybe it’s because the liner notes share details about the project, but I was really hoping to learn more about their collaboration, how it came about and whether he keeps in touch with anyone from the album. Regardless, this was a fun and engaging book to read. Highly recommended! 

Son of the City: A Memoir by Dante Ross

Son of the City book cover

Author, A&R, but no scrub Dante Ross

I’ve been reading a bunch of music memoirs, especially about the downtown NY music scene. In the past few months, I read Thurston Moore’s Sonic Life and Chris Stein’s Under a Rock. Both books were good and explored how their respective bands benefitted from the diverse musical scenes that helped birth punk, noise, and alternative rock in the 1970s and 80s. Interestingly, both books had connections to the emerging Hip-Hop scene; Thurston Moore shared one episode where he either attended or almost attended Kurtis Blow’s Christmas Rappin’ recording; similarly, Blondie were a part of the downtown scence that included Basquiat, Keith Herring, Ramalzee, and Fab 5 Freddy, featuring Fab 5 in the song and video for Rapture. Dante Ross may have slightly overlapped with these memoirists too, but his experience growing up in NYC in the late 70s and early 80s was a little more outside of this downtown scene. I absolutely loved this book, and this was by far the most entertaining of the 3 music memoirs dealing with NYC’s downtown scene (as a side note, one other memoir, Kathleen Hanna’s Rebel Girl, was also fabulous and has a connection with the Beastie Boys, much like Dante Ross does). There were so many great elements to Dante Ross’s memoir. I found his voice to be so real and also entertaining. I loved that he used hip-hop vernacular that I haven’t heard for a minute. It added to a fun and relaxed style of narrative, even when some of his early life was not always a crystal staircase. Growing up with an absent drug addict father and an alcoholic mother who struggled with keeping a job and maintaining her mental well-being, Ross candidly and fearlessly shares how challenging this was with a wise and introspective perspective that seems to indicate how much he gained from these experiences trying to find shelter, friends, and food, or surviving, in NYC. While his mother had her own challenges, Dante also paints her as a committed activist who kept to her ideals. One story he shares about the NYC blackouts was really interesting and made me think about my own parenting and whether I maintain my principles in the face of challenging situations. Ross also shares how he helped his friend learn to read, diagnosing him as dyslexic when the schools had more or less given up on him. These experiences also help Ross explore his own privilege, despite not having much money and living a precarious situation at home. Although I knew about Dante Ross from De La Soul, I didn’t realize how deep and wide his musical roots are in NYC and beyond. Ross hung out with in the NYC hardcore scene that birthed the Cro-Mags, and shared his amazement at seeing Bad Brains in the early 80s. He also details the birth and evolution of the Beastie Boys, and these were some of the funniest and most joyous scenes in the book. I read Dan LeRoy’s great book about Paul’s Boutique, and this is another insider perspective about that time and the challenges that the Beasties faced in transitioning from Def Jam to Columbia. Furthermore, I think that Ross’s friendship with the Beasties and his participation in a wide array of musical styles early on helped shape his perspectives on hip-hop. Ross eventually falls in with Tommy Boy, helping to bring De La Soul to a larger audience. Looking at De La Soul, Queen Latifah, and A Tribe Called Quest, all acts that Dante Ross had a hand in getting record deals, you can see how his omnivorous musical tastes helped him work with these artists who were different from the more mainstream B-Boy brand of hip-hop. These acts, and Dante Ross’s role in promoting these acts, really helped to challenge the boundaries of hip-hop, extending them for the better and re-shaping the rules for what was acceptable in hip-hop circles. I think that the diversity in the downtown NYC musical scene had a lot to do with this. These acts, not quite alternative or backpack rap yet, brought in different , jazzier samples, conscious lyrics, and an Afrocentric sensibility towards fashion. It was really interesting to see this theme running through the artists that Dante Ross worked with throughout his career. I loved reading the later chapters as well. It’s not just Dante Ross’s voice that is so enthralling, but also the fact that he was working with so many of the rappers and groups that I loved in my early adolescence. Reading through this book was like reminiscing—but also learning since Ross shares some incredible stories of working with artists like Leaders of the New School, Pete Rock and CL Smooth, Grand Puba and Brand Nubian, MF DOOM (Cev Luv X of KMD), 3^rd Bass, Guru, I could just go on, but this was like the wall of cassettes and crates of records in my high school bedroom. Reading about working with ODB, KMD and later DOOM provided me with an insider’s perspective of these artists, and I really liked that his detailing of his close work with ODB and DOOM helped to provide another viewpoint, showing how thoughtful and creative these artists were. I think that many people recognize DOOM’s creative genius, but Ross explains that he has been upset about how people view ODB, and his stories helped to show how intentional and creative ODB was in creating his persona and the arti and design for his album. Although I’m not a big fan of Everlast’s solo work, Dante Ross produced and really had a hand in helping Everlast get this album going. This was also a great section of the book. His descriptions about the challenges and health risks they faced in creating this album were captivating. I loved learning more about the creative process of making music, and especially the technical aspects of it. I’m amazed to see how Dante Ross didn’t really have a music background beyond being a huge fan, and worked his way up from working in the mail room at a nascent Def Jam to become a creative force in not only artist and repertoire, but also in production and beat making. It was really cool to see his own growth in the field—working with artists and record labels—and eventually moving into musical production. I really appreciated Ross’s candidness about his life, whether sharing about his family, his loves and losses, or his substance abuse and eventual sobriety. I felt like beyond the entertainment of the stories he shares, he also drops knowledge about career management, relationships, both romantic and platonic, and mental health. Maybe it’s all that conscious hip-hop he’s been a part of, but he’s skilled at subtly kicking science to the masses. Finally, I loved that I finished this book on father’s day. I didn’t know anything about Dante Ross’s dad, but he starts the book out talking about how his dad was the kind of motivating force in starting the book; his later chapters go over being with his dad during his final year or so. It was really beautiful, and I can tell that the sobriety has given him some perspective on his relationship with his father and his eventual passing. As someone who also had a complicated relationship with his father, it helped me remember the better times and how I was able to be there for my dad during his final month. I really resonated with Ross’s experience of being there and wanting to be there despite the specter and impending fear of death. I realized that this experience had something to teach me. It was kind of like a nice connection I felt to Dante Ross’s experiences. One other final note, I loved that Dante Ross described another A&R who he disagreed with as “a mountain climber who plays an electric guitar”. Loved that Protect Ya Neck reference. Always thought that was hilarious 90s stereotyping. If you are a music fan or a fan of memoirs, this is a great one to read, even if you are not familiar with Dante Ross or the artists he’s repped over time. Chances are, you’ve encountered some of the music he’s had a hand in bringing to a larger audience, whether your from the 80s, 90s, or later. Really great memoir, and I hope that Dante Ross has more books coming out. 

Unlocking the Power of Plant Therapy: Trippy by Ernesto Londoño

 Trippy: The Peril and Promise of Medicinal Psychedelics by Ernesto Londono

Trippy book cover

Author Ernesto Londoño

Thank you to Netgalley and Macmillan Publishers for sharing this book with me. I was a little surprised to find an email with the opportunity to read this book, but I am glad that I was able to read it. Initially, I thought this might be in the same vein as Michael Pollan’s How to Change Your Mind. And in some ways it was- Londoño explores some medicinal and traditional or ceremonial uses of psychedelics, specifically ayahuasca. However, Londoño also takes a more personal and humanizing approach by exploring his own past and experiences with dealing with trauma, shame and depression, and how psychedelics helped him confront these powerful emotions in his life. He also explores the experiences of others—soldiers experiencing PTSD, queer participants in an LGBTQ only psychedelic ceremony, as well as addicts and others looking to regain a sense of self in the grip of past traumas. I also appreciated that this book looked at the history and current state of Ayahuasca, the sacred vine of the Amazon that has been growing as both a psychedelic therapy and a recreational trip that adventurous psychonauts seek out. It was fascinating to learn more about its use in Brazil and other Amazon areas. I remember reading William S. Burroughs’s The Yage Letters about his quest for Ayahuasca in the 1960s, not realizing that it was the same plant. I think that Burroughs came away somewhat disappointed, but Londoño shares both the benefits and harms in this increasingly popular plant therapy. While it was heartening to learn more about the increasing awareness of this plant’s powers, it was also sad to see the darker side of this plant therapy, where Londoño identifies some so-called shaman and spiritual guides who seemed more intent to take advantage of people’s desire to feel better and find a quick fix to negative emotional states like depression or past trauma. I was really surprised to learn how expensive some of the retreats were, considering that they are in the middle of the jungle and are a means to connect with nature. It was also shocking to learn more about how some of the curanderos, or healers, have also taken advantage of women. Londoño had some uncomfortable experiences with a healer in one retreat and shares the experiences of other women who experienced assault and harassment from another curandero. It seemed like a theme that these curanderos are treated with empathy and seen as fallible yet are still able to engage in the same kinds of behaviors. Londoño’s journalistic background helped to uncover this unsavory side of the Ayahuasca scene. Londoño also shared his own experience as a war correspondent, as well as his own family trauma. While I loved the investigative reporting of the Ayahuasca retreats, I also was enthralled by his fearless recounting of his family’s history of mental illness and his own experiences with past trauma and family of origin issues. Sharing his stories also allowed us to see how Ayahuasca allowed him to confront some of these feelings and come to grips with the unresolved issues that have plagued him. His experiences as a war correspondent were also part of the need to escape and not have strong ties, yet also left him with some incredibly traumatic experiences of violence and death that it seems like were impossible to process in a war zone as a reporter. This was also a common theme of the soldiers, who frequently felt like they undeserving of a PTSD diagnosis or were concerned about the baggage that label might bring. Londoño’s own experiences, as well as those of the soldiers were gripping, yet somewhat graphic. Be warned that while the book often recounts stories of those who overcame mental health and illness struggles, it also depicts some of the past traumas and issues they confronted. The book ends with the exploration of two other psychedelic therapies—ketamine infusion and MDMA. I liked how this part of the book ended on a high note, sharing the positive development of these alternative therapies and the soldiers that the MDMA treatments are helping. It leaves us with a slightly more hopeful look at the potential for psychedelic therapies, and I also think that with sharing some of the bad actors and grifters looking to capitalize on others seeking relief from traumatic emotional issues, the future regulation and clinical use of psychedelics seems necessary as a means to bring about change in both people and society. I really enjoyed Londoño’s book, especially his reporting and use of individuals and his own experiences to present this new and amazing field. This book is such a wonderful combination of many different genres—part investigative journalism, part history, part memoir, and social commentary. Highly recommended read that will hopefully change a lot of minds. 

Exploration and Exploitation: A Short, Strange Trip by John O'Connor

 A Short, Strange Trip: An Untold Story of Magic Mushrooms, Madness, and a Search for the Meaning of Life in the Amazon by John O'Connor

Short Strange Trip book cover

Author John O'Connor

Many thanks to Sourcebooks and NetGalley for the advanced copy of John O’Connor’s fascinating exploratory book about the life of psychonaut Terrence McKenna, A Short Strange Trip: An Untold Story of Magic Mushrooms, Madness, and a Search for the Meaning of Life in the Amazon. This was a fascinating book that is hard to categorize as it covers travel and adventure writing, which are O’Connor’s specialty, but it also includes elements of biography, memoir, and critical analysis of areas like mental health care, pharmacology, history, indigenous rights, and equity. In fact, I was surprised at the scope of the book’s various topics, but it does somewhat mirror the life and wandering (or maybe wondering) focus of Terrence McKenna, a man who was neither a scientist nor a philosopher, but seemed to have an impact on mycology, psychedelics, and even rave culture in the 90s before his untimely death at age 53 in 2000. I first learned about McKenna from Michael Pollan’s book How to Change Your Mind, where the esteemed food writer explores the history and influence of psychedelics, especially mushrooms. I remember the surprise that I hadn’t heard of McKenna before since he was an advocate for magic mushrooms who proselytized their use for finding deeper spiritual and philosophical meaning in life. McKenna had a fascinating life which included a trip to the Amazon in the early 70s chasing psychedelic plant medicine indigenous people have used for some time, but without much understanding of the history, reasons or cultural aspects of the uses. O’Connor’s book paints a detailed portrait of McKenna’s complications, raising questions of cultural appropriation, questioning whether McKenna’s intentions were genuine or whether he was just looking to continue exploring psychedelics. Interspersed within McKenna’s story and pursuit of higher consciousness is O’Connor’s own exploration of psychedelic therapy for his father, a retired, ivy-league educated lawyer whose struggle with alcoholism has distanced him from his family. As a kind of last resort to help his father, O’Connor convinces his father to try some forms of psychedelic therapy, highlighting the ways in which psychedelics like LSD, magic mushrooms, and ketamine have been used to treat addictions and other mental health issues like PTSD. It’s one of the more heart-felt and humorous parts of the book, with a strangely funny anecdote about his father’s heroic, McKenna-sized dose of mushrooms that has explosive results. Nevertheless, what O’Connor’s research into McKenna’s life reveals is that McKenna’s advocacy for mushrooms may have been empty, despite maintaining a public façade of support. After a bad trip sometime in the late 80s, he did not use mushrooms for about 10 years, according to interviews with McKenna’s ex-wife and brother, Dennis. These interviews, along with others who knew McKenna like anthropologist Wade Davis present a picture of a talented and enthusiastic psychonaut who lived much of his life underground, prior to the larger-scale interest and emerging industries in psychedelics, yet was never accepted by the intellectual or academic communities where psychedelic studies were building a foundation in collaboration with areas like medicine, pharmacology, psychology, philosophy, and religion. McKenna was kind of a like a man out of time, preceding many popular trends yet maintaining a small, but dedicated following in a field that has been growing in prominence and popularity.

There’s a lot to like about this book, especially if you enjoy books about travelling and exploring the jungle, history, and psychedelics. I remember seeking out Burroughs’ The Yage Letters for some time to learn more about his quest to locate ayahuasca, and similarly enjoying the more recent book about exploring the psychedelic tourist scene in Ernesto Londoño’s book Trippy. O’Connor’s book focuses primarily on McKenna’s journey to locate a rare plant oo-koo-he, mentioned by another ethnobotanist, in La Chorrera, an area in the Colombian Amazon. Instead, McKenna, his brother, and some friends ended up discovering psilocybe cubensis, a mushroom that led them to conduct a psychedelic experiment. I give credit to O’Connor for trying to make some sense of McKenna’s experiment since it’s not really an experiment, but actually a trip that led to some strange insights. It’s unclear what initiated Terrence’s belief that they might be able to transcend his consciousness into another dimension, seeing the mushroom as a kind of vehicle capable of this transportation. I found it somewhat humorous. Although Dennis seemed to suffer a bout of psychosis as a result of the heroic dose of mushrooms, this experience launched Terrence’s career as a psychedelic explorer and cultivator of mushrooms. Interestingly, Dennis went on to earn a PhD in botanical sciences, and with Terrence, authored a book on their experiences cultivating psychedelic mushrooms at home, bringing this species into the US counterculture. I found this part of the book fascinating as O’Connor recreates the journey through his own experiences traveling the same areas around the Colombian Amazon. O’Connor not only creates a compelling travelogue and story of exploration for a region rarely traveled by many Americans. However, he also raises a critical perspective, noting the region’s infamy as a site of exploitation by rubber companies in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. Frequently referencing the Belgian exploitation of the Congo and Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, O’Connor details some of the worst violence and butchery that the indigenous people of these areas faced from company bosses. O’Connor tells the story of John Brown, an American who ended up in this region working for a rubber company, who Terrence encounters. O’Connor’s research raises critiques about Terrence’s dismissal of indigenous ways while also ignoring or discounting the kinds of atrocities these companies perpetrated. It’s what leads to the more complicated portrait of Terrence, who despite being a countercultural liberal, nevertheless remained blinded by some of his own biases and ethnocentrism.

I really enjoyed reading O’Connor’s details of both his and McKenna’s journeys, separated by nearly 50 years. He paints a detailed picture of the jungle terrain, as well as many of the difficult obstacles and challenges that Westerners might experience trying to traverse this terrain for the first time. However, I also found myself struck by the kinds of observations and arguments about ethnocentrism and exploitation that O’Connor raises. Much like Londoño’s book, O’Connor also notes how the idea of psychedelic tourism has reshaped the region and created a new economy that most likely neglects or redefines the kind of plant medicinal work that may have been a staple for the region for at least a century. I also found it interesting that O’Connor posits that ayahuasca use may have been the result of some of the terror and trauma that indigenous people experienced, seeing it as a medicine to deal with the generational trauma that was inflicted by the exploitation of the land. It’s something that Terrence didn’t seem to consider, imposing his own ideas about shamanism and medicinal plants on the Amazon region, which eventually led to his “stoned ape” theory about the development of consciousness. Although it’s widely dismissed, O’Connor manages to speak to some anthropologists and researchers who acknowledge there might be some truth to the use of psychedelic plants and medicines by our ancient ancestors.

The last section of the book features a kind of psychedelic conference where Rick Perry, of all people, ends up speaking. It’s a completely surreal scene that O’Connor manages to detail with both humor and horror, raising questions about the inclusion of minorities in plant medicine and sharing their own perspectives about skepticism regarding institutionalized medicine. He seems to be saying that the rise of these kinds of alternative medical spaces, where psychedelics have been spilling over into institutionalized medicine, have failed to be inclusive and continue to exploit those who not only originated the practices (appropriation), but also are moving to a kind of commodification of these spiritual and cultural practices as a means to address our current malaises. It’s something that I need to consider more, but I found this section of the book to raise some of the most pointed and important questions that I’ve never considered about psychedelics. Furthermore, with the recent focus on Ibogaine as a drug of importance for therapeutic purposes, it is clear that psychedelics and plant medicine are moving more into the mainstream as both a vehicle for personal exploration and a means of healing past trauma. O’Connor’s book explores not only the complicated nature of psychedelics in America since McKenna’s experiment in 1971, but also the fraught history of exploitation and cultural appropriate of plant medicine for recreational and personal use, as opposed to more communal, spiritual activities. This book is hard to classify, but it appeals to many different genres, including memoir, biography, history, and social criticism. I enjoyed many parts of the book, and found myself amused by O’Connor’s frequent allusions, which seem to sometimes manifest out of nowhere. Nevertheless, he makes these trips both entertaining and emotional. I really want to check out his book on bigfoot (The Secret History of Bigfoot), which also sounds like it has its own unique journey and exploration. However, I recommend this book, especially if you are a fan of reading about plant medicine, psychedelics, and learning more about the fascinating life of psychonaut Terrence McKenna.  

New Perspectives on Stephen King: Monsters in the Archive: My Year of Fear with Stephen King by Caroline Bicks

 Monsters in the Archive: My Year of Fear with Stephen King by Caroline Bicks

Monsters in the Archives book cover

Author, Shakespearean Scholar, and 

Stephen King Chair holder Caroline Bicks

Big thanks to Random House and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Monsters in the Archives: My Year of Fear with Stephen King by the inaugural Stephen E. King Chair in Literature at the University of Maine Caroline Bicks. I was so excited to find this book, and Bick’s close analysis of the early works of Stephen King does not disappoint. Like a lot of more recent literary case studies, the book blends memoir, biography, and close readings of King’s early works to further make the case that King deserves a place in the American literary cannon, if not his own unique shelf where he has reinvented the horror genre for several generations of readers (and movie viewers). While there are some books that address King’s importance in horror and make the case for his importance in literature, Bicks has the unique position of the endowed Stephen E. King Chair in Literature at King’s alma mater, the University of Maine, which also grants her access to King’s archives. For me, this was one of the best aspects of this book- Bick’s analysis of multiple drafts of King’s early works, and especially close readings of the diction and word choice that helps to further ratchet up the fear factor in King’s writing. While many people focus on either the terrifying plots and the iconically evil villains, Bicks takes a different approach and examines how authorial choices through revised drafts help King create an atmosphere of terror and horror that has struck and stuck with many readers for years.

Like Bicks, I also first encountered King in my adolescence, thanks to one of my all-time favorite teachers in 6^th grade, Mrs. Kane. I think that we read “The Boogeyman,” which Bicks spends some time reminiscing in fear about; and yet, she also has a great analysis of the story, examining not only the choice to make the boogeyman at the end more of a scarecrow-like figure who emerges from the closet of a psychiatrist’s office, but also connecting this use of the scarecrow imagery with her own experiences of The Wizard of Oz as a calming book that deals with the terrors of transitions and uncertainty, as well as identifying some other works from King’s oeuvre that apply this same imagery (most notably Pet Semetary). I’ve always noticed some similar thematic elements among King’s works, especially with kids experiencing uncertainty and danger. It’s probably one of the things that attracted me to his stories and books in early adolescence. However, Bicks’ analysis and close reads allow us to interrogate some of these authorial choices to gain new insights into King’s influences and ideas for impacting readers. Bicks is also a Shakespeare scholar by training, so much of her analyses tie in Shakespeare’s influence on King’s early works. Again, this was a fascinating element of the book, especially considering Bicks’ previous work on female adolescence and Shakespearean characters, including Juliet and Ophelia. She provides a brief summary of her work, which focused on the change of cognition that girls experience during adolescence, and how these adolescent characters demonstrate those new powers in reasoning. For this book, Bicks then connects Carrie White’s development of her psychic powers with the onset of her adolescence. What was most fascinating was the changes that occurred in drafts as King had Carrie undergoing a kind of physical transformation into more of a brain with horns housed in a membrane-like sack. There are some other surprising changes that emerged from the first draft that impact not only the story, but also the significance of Carrie’s impact on our collective consciousness. Bicks leaves readers to wonder how these changes might have affected the cultural resonance that Carrie elicited if they were not changed due to the suggestions of King’s editor. Although it’s the last book she focuses on, the chapter on Carrie has stuck with me because, as Bicks notes, its such a relevant story that all of us have experienced in one way or another—being dissatisfied with our bodies during adolescence, and yet also being intrigued by the changes; facing bullies and other cruel peers, and trying to navigate the confusing social dynamics of high school. Interestingly, Bicks notes where changes in drafts shifted from the kind of alien-like physical transformation that Carrie experiences to one that is more princess and storybook-like, which it seems had a greater resonance with the public.

Other chapters focused on other early King works and made additional, thoughtful analyses and connections with other Shakespearean works like how The Shining shares themes and imagery similar to Hamlet and Macbeth. I found these angles so interesting to consider since Shakespeare does include some supernatural and horror, especially murder (murder most foul). While The Shining can be considered a haunted house-type story, it’s also a story about murdered and murderous fathers, like Hamlet, and the struggles of the sons to cope with the sins or absences of the fathers. Similarly, it’s the woman in 217, whose witchy like appearance to both Danny and Jack Torrance pushed the action towards the climax in the novel. I also enjoyed learning that King developed The Shining as a kind of play in 5 acts, plotting out the scenes in the form of a 5 act Shakespearean tragedy. Additionally, I was surprised to see how Carrie White’s last thoughts resembled those of Macbeth’s famous last lines about the futility of life. This was another fascinating element of the book- to learn more about King’s writing and drafting process, and gain insight into how his work becomes even more frightening, but also even more resonant with the public and in some ways the cultural consciousness, and how he borrows from other great writers, but still finds a way to make the language and ideas his own. Throughout the book, Bicks notes these connections with Shakespeare’s timeless themes and characters and how King’s characters face similar challenges and themes, although often in a more supernatural and horrifying tableau.

Beyond the historical and literary, Bicks also connects these stories to King’s own life and experiences, often taking readers back to his early days as a recent college graduate, teaching at a high school while caring for 2 young children with his wife Tabitha, while writing and selling stories at night. Bicks also references the well-known backstory to Carrie where Tabitha King rescued an early draft from the trash and encouraged King to return to it. Similarly, we learn that some of the influence on Pet Semetary came from King’s experience with a rented house near a major highway where his young children would often play near. The chapter on Salem’s Lot, a vampire story where a writer returns to his home town to confront some of his earliest fears, has a connection to King’s own hometown. This chapter was also interesting to think about how Salem’s Lot is an novel about a small American town. Bicks presents a similar idea about Carrie, when she noted that the earlier drafts had Carrie happening around Boston. It was King’s editor who encouraged him to set the book in Maine.  

This was an awesome book! I loved that Bicks not only makes some really interesting literary hypotheses about some of these important, early King works, but that she also makes the case that King’s use of some of the deepest, darkest human emotions (“These violent delights have violent ends”) to connect with readers in much the same way that Shakespeare appealed to audiences through these plays that evoked such emotion. However, what really stands out in Bicks’ analysis is not just the focus on plot, but on the language that King uses (“Words, words, words.”), and how “he [Shakespeare] could capture an idea or an emotion by mobilizing he sounds, rhythms, and meaning of words, creating clusters and patterns that work their way into my mind.” Although she is referring to Shakespeare in the quote, she applies the same analysis to King’s work, especially in Pet Semetary, where she analyzes the draft changes to examine how King’s use onomatopoetic language helps to evoke more than sound imagery, but also gives us a tactile and kinetic feel for the scene, as if we are there with Louis Creed in the graveyard. This is truly a wonderful book, especially for Stephen King fans, but also for writers and artists. It’s a close look at an important American writer, and probably the most important horror author of the last 150 years. In her analysis, Bicks helps to elevate King into the literary cannon, something he’s not always included in. This is not only a great read, but it’s also educational—it’s like taking a course on King and revisiting some of these great novels and stories, but also reassessing and gaining new perspectives on these works. Bicks’ ideas, observations, and hypotheses have definitely opened my eyes up to looking at King (and Shakespeare) in new ways. Highly recommended!

Paradigm Shifts in Education: Diane Ravitch- An Education: How I Changed My Mind About Schools and Almost Everything Else

 An Education: How I Changed My Mind About Schools and Almost Everything Else 

by Diane Ravitch

An Education book cover

Author, Scholar, Activist Diane Ravitch

Many thanks to Columbia University Press and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Diane Ravitch’s fascinating new book An Education: How I Changed My Mind About Schools and Almost Everything Else. I’ve been following Ravitch’s blog for nearly 13 years, and I’ve come to appreciate the articles she shares as well as her insights. Her posts have become a welcome part of the start to my mornings, but more importantly, the articles she shares, the researchers and journalists she references, and the issues she highlights have expanded my awareness about issues in education, both nationally and around the world. I’ve previously read The Death and Life of the Great American School System and Reign of Error, but I didn’t know too much about Ravitch’s background beyond what she’d share on her blog. I was aware of how seismic her shift in beliefs were when she came out against standardized testing, school choice, and other reformist movements in education, but at that point, I knew she held some positions within the Bush I administration. Ravitch’s new book provides much more insight into her personal life, her experiences with education, and how she eventually became a proponent of school reform in the 80s and 90s but gradually shifted to a different mindset after realizing the failures of educational reform. As she frames this shift in her introduction, she “went from being a staunch conservative to being ‘woke’”, and I loved learning more about how this shift occurred, and why, based on her life experiences, it really wasn’t surprising that someone like Diane Ravitch would continue to question her own beliefs and ideals and move towards beliefs and ideals that supported student learning, teachers, and schools. What was most fascinating, and also somewhat sad, was how Ravitch’s views, whether conservative or progressive, seemed to repel one group or the other. She shared an anecdote about leaving Columbia to work in the Bush I administration, and when she returned to Teacher’s College, she wasn’t welcomed back. Similarly, during her time in the US Department of ED, democrats controlled Congress and informed her that they would not allow any of Bush’s policies to pass. These experiences helped to highlight that many eras of American life were (and continue to be) polarized, but Ravitch’s experiences throughout this book help to remind us of  “the importance of admitting error, of keeping an open mind and regularly looking at evidence, of listening to people with whom I disagreed.” I really appreciated this mindset, especially today when it seems that nearly everything we read or encounter is either meant to make us enraged or is manipulated to induce a kind of emotional response rather than to calmly think the information through and consider its meaning. Furthermore, Ravitch’s experiences remind us that we do have the right to change our opinions, and that as we continue to grow, learn, and live, this is a natural outcome. Our values, our preferences, and even our priorities will change over time, and we should be able to admit either when we were wrong or why these aspects of our selves have changed.

Ravitch’s book straddles the line between a kind of memoir and a philosophical reflection, examining how one’s ideas and beliefs shift over time. She begins the book discussing her family and her experiences growing up in Texas among a large Jewish family. I really enjoyed learning more about Ravitch’s family, and the kinds of experiences and encounters she had with racism and classism in Houston. Furthermore, it was interesting to learn about the expectations for women at the time, and how despite pushing young female students into home economics, Ravitch always wanted to write. I found it really interesting, though, that someone who is primarily known for education didn’t study education or really think about becoming a teacher. The chapters that focus on her experiences at Wellesley were also fascinating to read. Not only do they portray a picture of what college life was like in the early 60s, but Ravitch also had some famous classmates, and it was cool to read about the shows she put on with them. More importantly though, I enjoyed reading about her love for learning and writing, and I could see how this desire to continuously learn, to be intellectually curious, led her to continue to ask questions about schools and systems of learning.

I won’t go too much into her personal biography, but Ravitch’s chapters focusing on her marriage and her emerging scholarship of the New York school system are both fascinating and sad. As she begins to grow and develop as a writer and focuses more and more on education in NYC, events in her marriage challenge her beliefs and ideas. As Ravitch reminds readers, this was a much different time when women had fewer options, and her marriage to a more traditional man from a wealthy family probably led her to continue to accept her husband’s wishes for her. Yet, it was amazing to learn about how gained a foothold in a small publication, which led to new opportunities to learn and study with scholars of the history of education and school systems at Columbia, which eventually led to Ravitch writing a book and earning her PhD.

I found these subsequent chapters to be the most interesting, as Ravitch begins to learn more about inequality in schools and to recognize their potential as the great equalizer in American society. Her own personal story about her beliefs and ideals in schools is fascinating and seems to come largely from her own experiences as well as the research on the history of education in America. It was fascinating to read about the many times she attended functions at the White House, how she became a member of think tanks and helped to shape policy and curricula in different states. Although she discussed helping to write the California state History curricula and standards, I was wondering whether she ever worked with Jerome Bruner, who was responsible for many important shifts in American education in the 1960s, and largely helped to shape the idea of a spiral curriculum. His constructivist ideas helped to shift American education away from the behaviorist trends that dominated education and are still in practice in some form in many schools. Nevertheless, Ravitch discusses the many educational and political luminaries with whom she worked during the 80s and 90s, and it was fascinating to learn about this. However, what I found most fascinating was to learn about the policies she worked on during her tenure in the Department of Education during the Bush I presidency. While she had primarily positive things to say about Bush I, the whole policy was based on belief—belief that if they talked about higher standards, then it would someone trickle down to teachers and students, who would believe in themselves and work harder to achieve. They didn’t advocate for any additional funding or programs, but asked teachers and schools to do more with less (sound familiar?). In many ways, it reminded me of how the Regans addressed other issues with pithy sayings like “Just Say No.” It’s a nice sentiment, but really provides no real support or guidance. And now, as the department is eviscerated and its own secretary has deemed its role useless, is it any wonder why the public sentiment towards the Education Department has become so negative?

Ravitch continues her story, noting how the Clinton years brought in some eventual reforms, but I found the chapters that dealt with Bush II and No Child Left Behind (NCLB) to be the most fascinating and relevant to my own experiences. I began teaching in 2000. I was actually student teaching during the 2000 election and remember just how the kind of unsettled nature of the election reflected my own uncertainty about graduation and entering the workforce. Ravitch’s own skepticism of NCLB was exactly what I remember experiencing sitting in a schoolwide PD meeting where our principal informed us that within 9 years, we needed to have all students proficient in Math and Reading. Although none of the teachers were opposed to student achievement, we were all working towards that goal every day, I think that all of us realized the improbability of this lofty goal. There was incredible variability, and I remember that I had students who rarely came to school or who had such severe behavioral problems that they were routinely referred for in-school suspension, where I had to somehow make worksheets for them to learn the materials we worked on in class. NCLB, as Ravitch mentioned about another policy, looked good to the public, but was not realistic in schools. Furthermore, she notes that many of these reformist policies were top-down approaches that punished schools that didn’t meet the standards. Furthermore, by attempting to align student performance to teachers, NCLB and its descendants like Race to the Top, created a system rife for cheating and/or avoidance. Furthermore, with so much weight on standardized tests, teaching became more test-preparation oriented, with fewer lessons focusing on concepts or ideas and more and more of a drilled down focus on skills and rote practice. It’s a section of the book that elicits a little PTSD from my last years in the classroom, but through Ravitch’s skepticism and questions about the nature of standardized testing and the punitive nature of these reforms, she helps to highlight the great cost that this era of American education had on students, teachers, and schools. Prior to the NCLB chapters, Ravitch discuses the shift in NYC’s schools with Bloomberg and Klein, which seems to be one of the loci of the reformist movements that ushered in the kind of corporatization of schools. It was actually shocking to read about some of the events that happened both in schools and personally to Ravitch and her partner, Mary. Throughout this experience, Ravitch continued to question and meet with individuals with whom she disagreed or questioned to learn more about how or what the other side thought. If anything, I think this is one of the key take-aways from Ravitch’s book—that it is important to listen and attempt to understand those with whom you may disagree. It’s a point she continues to reference throughout, and it also helped her to gradually understand the scam of school reform. She was able to begin to see how school choice, charter schools, and vouchers were used for purposes other than what they were initially designed for. Or how the reforms often addressed issues of choice or vouchers as a means to provide opportunities for families in poverty, but when looking at the outcomes, the results often tell a different story. It is Ravitch’s willingness to listen to others, but also her insistence on reviewing the facts and outcomes that informed her decisions to no longer advocate for vouchers, choice, or standardized testing.

With social media and the internet leaving a long digital trail of our lives, our thoughts and ideas, and our writing, there’s a lot for people to sift through and explore our thinking. We often see how people’s old tweets or posts are dredged up to possibly catch them in a lie or challenge their current beliefs. While Ravitch doesn’t have anything to apologize for, she offers a wonderful exploration of how our lives and experiences inform our values, ideals, and our priorities, but also how these can shift over time with further experiences, interactions, and learning. Throughout it all, Ravitch reminds us to keep our minds and ears open, to consider other’s perspectives, but to also evaluate our own positions against the evidence and ideas. I also appreciated her closing thoughts where she acknowledges how the books and articles she read influenced her thinking and ideas, and how it is important to sometimes take a step outside of our comfort zone and connect with a writer, book or ideas that challenge our assumptions and thinking. It may not shift our perspectives, but it may offer us further understanding of another perspective, which is something that we do not often see today. This is a great book to read for anyone who is involved or interested in American education. Since I am a regular reader of Ravitch’s blog and have read some of her books, I found this book to be fascinating. Highly recommended!

PS- I felt like there was so much to write about in this book. However, I forgot to mention how much I loved reading about Ravitch’s interactions with Bayard Rustin. I graduated from West Chester University and lived right next to Rustin Park. I minored in African and African American Literature, a program that was run through the Douglass Institute, and Rustin’s legacy was incredibly important to many of my professors and me. I couldn’t believe that Ravitch had Rustin sing in her home! It was really amazing to read. 

Going Beyond the Keys to Focus on Music and Art

 Beyond the Keys: Music and Stories of Inspiration by Jeeyoon Kim

Beyond the Keys book cover

Pianist, teacher, and author Jeeyoon Kim

Many thanks to Greenleaf Book Group Press and NetGalley for making Beyond the Keys: Music and Stories of Inspiration, classical pianist, teacher, and author Jeeyoon Kim’s collection of 52 pieces of writing and reflection, available for review. I was surprised to find this book because I remember listening to Jeeyoon Kim’s excellent album 10 More Minutes a few years ago. I was really interested in classical French pianists like Debussy and Erik Satie, and this album had several of those songs on it, along with some other great piano pieces. I wasn’t aware that Jeeyoon wrote books, and that Beyond the Keys was not her first book. However, this book is unique in that it consists of collections from her newsletter, so the book can be read at any time, from any one of the chapters. I appreciated this aspect of the book—that it was really a kind of collection that I could refer to or come back to at any time. Furthermore, each chapter contained a QR code linking to a performance of some classical piece that Jeeyoon linked to her writing. Each chapter also contained artwork from different artists that paired in some ways with the memory or idea in the chapter’s writing. There are 52 chapters in the book since there are 52 white keys on a piano. To further emphasize the musical themes and metaphors, the book is divided into 5 movements, reflecting different themes, experiences, ideas, and inspiration from Jeeyoon. She provides this information along with some recommendations for reading the book—I especially liked the idea of taking time to read through and listen to the music after reading. However, I found it interesting that writing, for Jeeyoon, is a way of connecting with others as well as navigating aspects of life. It was interesting to learn about her different experiences beyond being a renowned musician, including her life as an immigrant from South Korea, her passion for music, and her continued desire to push her boundaries and try new activities and challenges.

I initially thought this book would be more focused on music and how Jeeyoon learned piano and became a classical pianist, but there was much more to offer. As a teacher, I especially appreciated her chapters about working with students and about Jeeyoon’s own desire to continually learn, whether it is surfing or Spanish. She reminds readers about the need to continue to challenge oneself and learn on a regular basis. Furthermore, one chapter dealt with “unlearning”,  a concept where we try to build new habits by abandoning those learnings or habits that are no longer beneficial or useful for us. It’s something that I’ve taught before in a writing class for first year students, where we tried to encourage them to think about the need for unlearning in schools, to value lessons and ideas beyond what is taught, and to recognize that everyone has something of value to bring to a community of learners. Despite being a classically trained pianist and earning her doctorate in piano performance, Jeeyoon writes in some chapters about letting go of perfectionism with activities like surfing or speaking Spanish. She acknowledges that it is important to try these new activities, but she doesn’t always have to be the best. Again, there were many great lessons to impart to students and readers alike, and I felt like this was a great book that offered some useful anecdotes about important lessons in life.

Another aspect of the book that I enjoyed was that Jeeyoon provides chapters that reflect on books she’s read. She takes the lessons from certain books and shares her own experiences with them, providing examples from her life of applying or challenging these principles and ideas. While I haven’t read many of the books, I was familiar with some of them, so it was interesting to see these ideas put into practice. I was also surprised to read about how candid Jeeyoon gets in some of the chapters, writing about her experiences with her father and her marriage and eventual divorce. These were both challenging situations, and she shared not only about her willingness to take a stand for herself, but also about the emotional impact it had on her later. However, I enjoyed her reflections on music and performance the most. As I try to work with my kids on their piano, I appreciated Jeeyoon’s ideas about bringing joy to practice and appreciating the kind of emotional connection we can have with music and playing an instrument. I’m not sure if my children will ever feel the kind of joy and appreciation Jeeyoon has for music; however, I think she helped to reframe my mindset on practice for my kids, as I try to work on learning songs and connecting with the emotion of the music. As I was reading this book, I just kept thinking about my kids’ piano teacher and how much she might appreciate this book as well. In one of the chapters that focuses on teaching, Jeeyoon talks about a young student who was probably forced to learn piano at an early age and was very difficult. As Jeeyoon explained, she couldn’t understand how someone would not enjoy learning piano since piano was so important to her. However, as any teacher can attest, it can be a challenge to get some students motivated to learn. It is a hard lesson, especially when teachers are skilled, knowledgeable and really passionate about their subjects. Nevertheless, Jeeyoon reflected on earning a teaching degree and teaching music to elementary students, and how this changed her outlook on teaching and music. This was one of those great lessons and success stories that Jeeyoon provides throughout the book.

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. It’s not necessarily a book to read from cover to cover like a novel. Rather, this is a wonderful collection of thoughts, reflections, and experiences, that highlight someone who is passionate about music and art, but who also loves to challenge herself and continue to learn. I felt really inspired after reading this book since Jeeyoon offers suggestions and ideas and poses questions about meeting challenges, questioning fear and hesitation about tackling tasks, and pursuing passions and interests. She frequently talks about thinking beyond being a concert pianist and finding ways to reach out and expand her audience through other media like podcasts, newsletters, a piano school, and recorded music. It’s really amazing to see how she is able to identify and create new opportunities. Although I received a digital copy of this book, I can only imagine that the physical book is even better to read, especially for the QR codes and the artwork. I will probably pick up a copy since I’d love to share some of these reflections with my kids. I was already pointing out some of Jeeyoon’s tips about practicing piano in the morning, rather than after school or at night when my kids practice. Beyond the Keys is a great book, filled with interesting and entertaining anecdotes, but also with many thoughtful and important lessons and ideas about learning and challenging oneself. I loved the idea of connecting musical pieces to the chapters and including artwork as well. Beyond the Keys is a great multimodal text that emphasizes how art, whether it is visual, musical, or literary, can be a healing force. Highly recommended!

 

Exploring Mistakes Without Regret in Rax King's Sloppy

 

Sloppy book cover

Author Rax King

Big thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Rax King’s new collection of essays titled Sloppy Or: Doing It All Wrong. I haven’t read Tacky yet, King’s first collection of essays, but it’s on my to read list with its focus on pop culture as art. Sloppy also features some elements of pop culture, but is also incredibly personal and intimate. I was not only surprised by the candor and risks that some of these essays take but also moved and touched by King’s reflection on her past experiences, both good and bad, that brought her to sobriety and a reckoning of sorts with her father’s declining health and eventual death. Not all of the essays are deeply personal, but I found that those essays that focused on King’s own struggles with addiction, mental health, and her relationship with her parents were my favorites in this collection. For me, part of this was her ability to fearlessly reflect on her own mistakes, but also to look back on them with humor and acceptance, and not with regret or shame. This kind of perspective is important to keep in mind, and it leads to some important insights for King. I also think that having experienced similar situations with addiction, recovery, and caring for ailing parents, I felt like there was a lot I could relate to in her experiences, and reading about her perspective was relatable, but also fresh in many ways. King doesn’t seek out pity but rather looks to find meaning and strength in these experiences, often through humor and self-deprecation.

What stood out most to me was King’s own unique voice, of which humor definitely plays a part. Her essay “Proud Alcoholic Stock” relates to her experiences growing up with parents in recovery, and her struggles to understand her own relationship with alcohol and other substances. She discusses her parents’ relationship and their inability to relax in social situations where alcohol was present. As she notes, “Alcoholism is often genetic, which they knew, but as it turns out, so is obsessing about one’s alcoholism.” As someone who grew up in an alcoholic home, I agree that when these realizations occur, that obsession about alcoholism takes on strange perspectives and meanings. King goes on to discuss her observations of other parents who can drink normally and her own experiences with trying alcohol for the first time. I actually wondered if this essay was possibly part of her recovery, as she notes how her relationship with alcohol began and changed over time, eventually leading to her early experiences with sobriety, and how it also changed her relationships with others. She also discusses her father’s other addictions, particularly to tobacco, and how this led to his death. In the essay “Cough-Cough”, King discusses her father’s gradually worsening health and death in the hospital, and how cigarettes brought about this condition. Other essays like “Pants on Fire” and “Anger Management” deal with King’s father’s lying and his explosive temper, remnants of his addict life that never seemed to resolve themselves. “Anger Management” in particular struck a chord with me, as King details sharing burgers and shakes with her father when she was younger, yet the diners were never really able to get her father’s shake exactly right. She relates her own temper to her father’s, and how her ex-husband often liked to provoke her into anger, with one particular disturbing anecdote involving a pellet gun. Yet, it seems like sobriety and the divorce from her ex-husband has enabled King to take a new perspective and work towards avoiding “the life of a lonely volcano, punking magma on myself while the villagers flee” where her “rage is still there—less explosive, still corrosive.” I appreciated this since we don’t always see how these horrible experiences provide us with these useful insights and awareness. She finishes this essay about an instance caring for her father as he’s dying in the hospital, an experience that will cause all kinds of chaos and unanticipated emotional swings in anyone. Her father wants a cheeseburger and milkshake for one last time, despite not really being able or even allowed to eat this meal. One of the nurses caring for her father chastises King, reminding her that he couldn’t have this food in the hospital—it was against the rules and bad for his vitals. Yet, as the kid of a dying parent, she’s in a new role, caring for her father and wanting to comfort him in these final days. I remember when my dad was dying in the hospital, and we snuck in his dog for one last time. Even though it was brief and probably freaked out the dog, it was one of the last times I saw him smile. King’s essay was just a reminder about this complicated situation that no one can ever prepare for, and how it’s important to manage the intense emotions that are bubbling below.

Other essays were personal, but not always emotionally impactful. I appreciated “Ms. Girl Power” which explored King’s discovery and early understanding of feminism, as well as “The Temple of Feminine Perfection”, which details her experiences as a dancer in a club. Her reflections on the customers and other dancers were funny and descriptive. “Front of the House” was another great essay for anyone who has worked in a restaurant. It brought me back to the days of waiting tables, and why I don’t really miss that time at all. Other essays like “Some Notes Towards a Theory of an Old Dad” and “Hey Big Spender” discuss King’s own personality and its relationship or influence from her father and his idiosyncrasies. Overall, this is a solid collection from the unique voice of an important writer and cultural critic. While many of the essays look within and are reflective, there are important cultural and social insights to glean from King’s writing. Her essays in this collection are a wild ride through drinking and drugging, mental health challenges and treatment, recovery, and caring for sick and dying parents. This is a collection that offers both laughter and humor but also delves into deeper emotions like the sadness of depression and the struggles with anger management to the grief and guilt of losing a parent. I’ll definitely revisit some of these essays, and I could even imagine using some of them in a writing class to help students understand how to reflect on and make meaning from challenging experiences and situations. I’m looking forward to eventually reading Tacky and reading more of King’s future work.