A Call To Education- The Sacred Art of Teaching: The Delpit/Emdin Conversations

 The Sacred Art of Teaching: The Delpit/Emdin Conversations by Lisa Delpit and Christopher Emdin

The Sacred Art of Teaching book cover

Author and Educational Researcher Lisa Delpit

Author and Educational Researcher Christopher Emdin

Many thanks to The New Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of education theorists and leaders Lisa Delpit and Christopher Emdin’s new book The Sacred Art of Teaching: The Delpit/Emdin Conversations. This book was just what I needed to restore and reinvigorate me and my commitment to education. I’m not sure if the publisher and/or authors decided to have this book come out at the end of the school year, but it seems like a fitting idea as I found myself filled with gratitude and purpose after reading the conversations between two of the most influential and consequential thinkers and activists for critical teaching. I was excited to find this book since Lisa Delpit’s books were influential when I was teaching high school. Her call to recognize and elevate students’ voices in the classroom and to appreciate and leverage their cultures and communities is important for any educator, but especially those who work with students who come from different backgrounds. Delpit’s approach to teaching takes that constructivist framework, but also integrates culture, race, and language as integral elements to recognize in student learning, and those ideas shine through in these in-depth and detailed conversations she shares with fellow educator Christopher Emdin. I was also really excited to learn that Emdin was her co-conversationalist since his book For White Folks Who Teach in the Hood…and the Rest of Y’all Too was recommended to me by a fellow teacher in a human development course I was teaching. Although it’s still on my TBR list, the title grabbed my attention and, like Delpit’s work, made me appreciate that there are educators out there who recognize the importance of leveraging students’ culture, language, and race in teaching, especially when there can be cultural incongruity in the classroom. Emdin also shares similar ideas and approaches to teaching, learning and leading with Delpit that not only provide useful tips and ideas for teachers and school leaders, but also really helped reaffirm my commitment to teaching and learning.

The book is somewhat different from more traditional educational texts in that this is a series of conversations that focus on certain topics related to teaching and learning in today’s classrooms. However, these conversations gradually meander and move around the subjects, tangentially talking about other important issues in education and society, and recognizing the power and influence that teachers can have on their students’ lives. While I was grateful to learn some ideas and strategies from these experts, I didn’t expect to feel such a sense of gratitude and appreciation for teaching and learning. In fact, the authors frame teaching as not only a responsibility, but as something akin to a tradition or rite, in which educators play a part in continuing a legacy of cultural transmission that will influence future generations to come. It’s a powerful and beautiful way of framing education that I hadn’t really considered, but that also provides a stronger sense of purpose and responsibility in our work.

I appreciated hearing from both of these renowned scholar educators, who share their experience, backgrounds, and ideas for the classroom and schools. They present some great ideas about teaching and are especially interested in making learning relevant by engaging students and recognizing the kinds of experiences and interests that students bring to the classroom. I love this approach, and I think that most teachers would agree that it is essential to meet students where they are, but also to use what they are familiar with and interested in to make the learning more relevant. I also found that there were important lessons about how ego and power can impact teaching, especially when teachers are placed in a position of power in their classrooms. Nevertheless, Delpit and Emdin provide reminders about how humbling and necessary teaching can be that help to reorient teachers to the mission and vision for teaching. This was an inspirational and engaging book that teachers can pick up throughout the year or turn to a specific chapter to find some insightful and inventive ideas for the classroom. Whether it’s a struggle with making the content relevant, engaging challenging students, or rethinking assessment, this book has so many great ideas and practices for the classroom. I would imagine that this would be a great book for professional development, PLC, or a kind of inquiry community within a school. Teachers and schools would gain a lot from reading and discussing this book throughout the year. I loved that I was able to read this at the end of the academic year, and I can imagine revisiting some of the chapters during the summer to gain some ideas for the upcoming year. This is a great book for teachers, especially in service teachers, but I think it would benefit preservice teachers to learn more about the challenges of teaching and how to confront and surmount them. Highly recommended! 

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.  

Exploring and Overcoming Past Trauma in Japanese Gothic by Kylie Lee Baker

 Japanese Gothic: A Gothic, Dual-Time Novel of Ghosts, Hauntings, and Redemption by Kylie Lee Baker

Japanese Gothic book cover

Author Kylie Lee Baker

Many thanks to Harlequin Trade Publishing, Hanover Square Press, and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Kylie Lee Baker’s latest book Japanese Gothic. Gothic literature has been around since the 18^th century, and is largely characterized by a dark and dreary mood and environment, and often involves hauntings, tragedies, and horror. Furthermore, architecture and buildings, including the surrounding environments like nature, forests, beaches, and gardens can all play an important, if not sinister role in the plots of gothic literature. Kylie Lee Baker’s latest novel emphasizes the dark and dreary elements of gothic, with the occasional blood-soaked violence and gore that was a part of her last book, Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng. I was really impressed with Bat Eater, finding it surprisingly dark and gory, yet also offering a sense of hope and a way to deal with the anger and frustration of racism and discrimination. I thought that maybe Baker had traded the rambling noise and squalid urban decay of NYC for the quieter, if not more ominous trappings of the ghostly countryside of Japan. Although Japanese Gothic is tonally different from Bat Eater, there are still many similarities, including protagonists haunted and traumatized by their past losses, a connection with spirits, and Baker’s unrelenting pursuit of some of the goriest descriptions of violence (and I say this as a commendation). I was cringing at the blood-soaked ending of the book. Like Bat Eater, this book is also a wild ride, with many unexpected stops along the way; however, there are also more moments of quiet introspection, as the main character, Lee Turner, is kind of an introverted loner, whose dependence on medications keeps him in a perpetual state of haze and fog. Part of this dependency, we learn, is from his mother’s mysterious disappearance on a holiday in Cambodia when Lee was 12.

Lee struggles to make sense of his mother’s disappearance and his father’s muted response to this. Lee retains some strange memories from this trip, recalling a voice from a suitcase, which leads him to conclude that his mother was inside and possibly abducted by human traffickers. The police and Lee’s father come to a different conclusion, assuming that Lee’s mother drowned while out swimming. Neither option offers much solace to Lee, who internalizes the absence and tries to please his father by being an ideal son. Lee eventually ends up at NYU, while his father, a professor of Japanese, ends up living in Japan after dating a series of Japanese women. The story starts when Lee absconds to his father’s house, thinking he has fled the murder of his roommate James, but unsure of what he did with the body. Lee decides that fleeing to Japan to stay with his distant father and his girlfriend Hina will allow him to escape responsibility and try to make sense of his messy life.

Baker alternates chapters with the story of Sen Iwasaki, a daughter of a samurai who lived in the house Lee’s father now occupies, nearly 150 years before. Sen’s father was a prominent samurai for the Shimazu Clan, but by 1877, samurais have basically been eradicated, and Sen’s family struggles to find work and food to survive. We gradually learn about Sen’s struggles to connect with her father, whose battle against the empire led him to return a defeated and somewhat darker individual. Nevertheless, he continues to train Sen since his sons are too young and weak to train. He sees something in Sen, despite belittling her and sowing doubt about her instincts to kill. We also learn about the tragedy of the house, as this once proud family is reduced to eating porridge and hunting small animals while awaiting for reprisals from their enemies. It’s a stark life that both contrasts and mirrors Lee’s life in the present in some ways. Both characters deal with distant or lost parents for whom they grieve, and both Sen and Lee try to accommodate their living parents and connect with them in ways that seem futile. The book is divided into 4 sections, and each section ends with a short excerpt from a fairy tale about a fisherman who helps an injured turtle return to the see. The turtle turns out to be the daughter of the Emperor of the Sea, and as a result of the fisherman’s kindness, the fisherman is rewarded. It’s a little unclear why this story is at the end of each section, but the ending of the book ties these three stories together.

Both Lee and Sen are haunted by those they lost. In addition to her father returning as a shamed warrior, Sen has also lost a sister, and her spirit haunts Sen. Lee is also haunted by the loss of his mother, but his senses are also highly attuned to others. He can hear their heartbeats and know when others are lying due to their posture or movements. These kinds of perceptions make Lee keenly aware of others’ emotions but also seem to provide a kind of fixation that slowly drives him mad (almost like a Poe narrator). One night, Lee hears and feels a heartbeat while lying in bed. He gets up and listens to the room, eventually discovering a doorway in the closet. Likewise, Sen lies awake in her room, communicating with her dead sister, when she eventually is led to the doorway, allowing Lee and Sen to transcend time and meet through this portal.

At first skeptical and defensive against one another, the two must learn to make sense of their newfound connection, and we see how each of them faces challenges in their own worlds, trying to navigate the destruction of each of their own broken families. I was particularly interested in Sen’s challenges as a daughter in a patriarchal society that favors sons, and how she repeatedly receives messages that women cannot be samurais. Nevertheless, she continues to train, fight, and push against these ideas, proving to her father and others that women can be just as fierce warriors. Likewise, Lee must challenge his father’s perceptions about his lack of masculinity, while also challenging his dad’s fetishization of Japanese women. In their work together and trying to understand what brought them together, Lee and Sen form an unlikely bond of shared trauma and doubt. I appreciated how Lee uses technology like the internet to find out about Sen’s history and death, and while Sen thinks Lee might be a demon, he proves his knowledge by predicting a fire that will occur in the town on a specific date. Baker creates an interesting pair whose differences complement one another. However, I really appreciated how the characters and their dialogue all seemed so unique and different. While Lee doesn’t say a whole lot, readers witness his thinking move from the kind of addled-hazy thoughts of someone addicted to allergy medicine to the kind of paranoid and anxious thoughts of someone struggling with withdrawal and trauma. Sen, on the other hand, is much prone to fighting, and readers witness her training springing to action as she is pushed by doubts about Lee’s intentions and the modern world. Baker has created an interesting dynamic that stretches belief, but also keeps readers engaged and makes it work.

There’s a lot to like about this book, especially if you liked Bat Eater. It doesn’t have quite the kinetic energy of that book’s urban setting, yet the rural Japanese setting creates an equally ominous and unsettling mood, especially with the sword ferns in the garden that sway and scratch the house, threatening to poke and stab, as if wielded by some psychotic samurai. Similarly, Baker’s writing is more descriptive and poetic in this book. I kept highlighting these passages that either described Lee’s anxious inner thoughts or reflected them in the environment. For example, from the first chapter “But Lee hadn’t wanted to know the taste of James’s blood, hadn’t wanted to hold this awful feeling inside him, like the collapse of an entire star system inside his rib cage. Lee was full of dead stars and empty universes now.” Or later on in the book “He liked how small the ocean made him feel, like it could devour him and all his problems in a single gulp. Nothing mattered in the face of the endless churning sea. It was important, all-consuming, all-devouring. It might have been beautiful, but Lee had never been good at discerning beauty.” There is darkness in this story, but it’s also brilliantly projected onto the environment and setting, and Baker really captures the characters’ inner turmoil through these descriptions and metaphors.

While I enjoyed the atmospheric and moody nature of the book, and Baker’s ability to distill emotional turmoil either with great analogies or through the surrounding environment, the story is complicated and at times a little hard to follow. There are some loose ends that don’t get completely tied up until the ending, which I won’t reveal. Furthermore, I grew a little frustrated with Lee and his downtrodden nature, but I can see how Baker made him really depressed and traumatized by the loss of his mother, so he also becomes a sympathetic figure. The book also has a lot of incluing and indirect exposition, where we are left to draw conclusions about Lee’s background based on his spotty and naïve memory. And although the premise of this kind of secret portal that allows the characters to meet across time is somewhat unbelievable, I actually enjoyed this element of the story. It reminded me of another Japanese writer who often writes about loss and different dimensions- Haruki Murakami. Although this is like if Murakami was paired up with Stephen King and writing more of a gothic horror novel rather than more of a fantasy sci-fi story about identity. Japanese Gothic’s focus on the gothic elements along with some Japanese mythology and ghost stories creates a compelling atmosphere that engaged me and kept me turning pages, wanting to find out more. I also appreciated the dueling narratives where one chapter focused on Lee and another focused on Sen. It was interesting to see how their stories mirrored and converged. Although it’s not the same as Bat Eater, Japanese Gothic has a lot to offer, especially if you enjoy ghost stories, folk horror, and characters who are prone to hallucinations and fugue states. I’m really excited for Kylie Lee Baker’s next book, as she crafted another complex ghost story about the past that still addresses relevant and current issues in society. Her descriptions, especially the characters’ turbulent emotional states, stand out, but her descriptions of the gore and violence in the book are visceral and left me cringing at the end. Highly recommended!

Female Friendship and Voice in Japan

 Sisters in Yellow by Mieko Kawakami

Sisters in Yellow book cover

Author Mieko Kawakami

Many thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage and Anchor and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Mieko Kawakami’s latest book Sisters in Yellow, with skilled translation from Laurel Taylor and Hitomi Yoshio. I’ve previously read Breasts and Eggs, Heaven, and All the Lovers in the Night, and I’ve found her books to be both challenging and rewarding. Kawakami’s books tackle difficult situations, usually faced by women, and in many of these books, the characters are women who are not afforded the kinds of voices or platforms in society where most will listen to them. Sisters in Yellow follows that standard in telling the story of Hana Ito, a young woman whose mother works in a bar as a hostess and who acts as more of a sister than a mother. It’s through Hana’s mother, Ai, that Hana eventually meets Kimiko, a woman Ai’s age who ends up living with Hana while she is in early adolescence for a brief time, but shows some care and consideration for Hana that leaves an indelible imprint on her. It’s this connection that eventually leads Hana to leave home and live with Kimiko, eventually opening their own place, Lemon, whose color holds an auspicious future for the duo. It’s through Lemon that Hana befriends two other young women, Ran and Momoko, who eventually become a part of the Lemon family, and once Lemon experiences a tragedy, the quartet moves into a new home looking for new opportunities to make money through various hustles and underworld connections.

I loved the character of Hana, especially through the first half of the book. As many of the other characters mention, Hana’s strong and focused, and she’s capable and competent, despite having no real practice or training from her mother, whose neglectful indifference led Hana to make sense of the world on her own terms. Nevertheless, this lack of feedback or guidance also ends up harming Hana, leaving her often wracked with self-doubt and a slight sense of paranoia and anxiety. This is some of Kawakami’s strongest and most affecting writing in the book. At times when Hana doesn’t immediately hear back from a colleague or when she receives an unexpected response from a friend, Hana’s anxiety plunges her into the depths of despair, and as a reader, I was on that descent with her, feeling the kind of doubt and desperation I rarely seek out, but nevertheless sometimes experience. These are harrowing passages that take me back to the joys and depths of young adulthood, especially when there’s so much uncertainty and precariousness. Nevertheless, there’s some joy as we see Hana and Kimiko eke out a joyous, if not hard-wrought, existence on their own terms with their bar, Lemon. Through this experience, Hana gets some insight into the world of her mother, a world of bar hostesses, mistresses, and women on the edge of society, looking pretty, but ultimately given few rights and privileges. This is also one of the more powerful aspects of the book, where we gain insight into the world of women who often operate on the peripheries with minimal voice. These are women who live in the night and shadows, and yet Hana seems to be different from the prettier, made-up faces like Ran and Kotomi, motivated to make a life and seek out opportunities, not just scrape out her survival. And yet, while Hana is mostly a well developed and powerful character who we root for, her housemates, Ran and Momoko, become hangers-on who rarely do much beyond find trouble or money problems. Similarly, Hana’s mother also gets herself into a bad debt that Hana has to help out with, in one of the more heartbreaking parts of the book. I not only felt bad for Hana, and wondered why she would give up so much for her mom who never really gave up much for her, but also wondered how Ai (Hana’s mom) got into this situation. Momoko also gets into a similar debt situation, which is also incredibly frustrating, and left me wondering why exactly Hana decided to pay off Momoko’s debt. While these events demonstrated Hana’s willingness to help (or at least avoid further scrutiny), it also showed how easily this society can prey on women who are desperate to make a living with little education and fewer options for well-paying work.

I wasn’t expecting this to be a kind of crime thriller- Hana eventually ends up involved in bank and credit card scams, working for another woman, Viv, who might see some of herself in Hana. Although Hana takes the initiative to find work through Viv, she also demonstrates her naivete in her questions and fears of the police regarding these scams. Kawakami creates strong tension through Hana’s will to find work by any means possible and her fear of getting caught, while she continues to rope in the others in her orbit. Yet, the last 15% of the book was not as enjoyable as the earlier parts. This book is strongest when the women are bonding and supporting one another, whether it is Hana’s financial and strategic support, or the kind of emotional and caring support that ladies like Kimiko or Ran provide. As the story careened towards the end and the women’s relationships begin to fray under the pressure of their schemes, I found their actions and treatment of one another not as compelling as the earlier part of the book. There are also some coincidental events that arise that seemed to demonstrate Hana’s weaknesses. I won’t spoil the endings, but it was a bit of a letdown, especially since the book starts out in the present with Hana discovering that Kimiko, now in her 60s, has been arrested for imprisoning and abusing a younger woman. The majority of the book is then spent recounting how Hana met and came to live with Kimiko and the other women (Ran and Momoko). If anything, it’s led me to question whether Kimiko really cared for Hana, or if there was something else at play, and whether Hana, as an adolescent, was seemingly manipulated by Kimiko. Even though the ending was frustrating and somewhat underwhelming, Kawakami’s portrayal of the relationships between the women of Lemon left me with more questions at the end, wondering about the true nature of their relationships. Sisters in Yellow is a powerful book, that slows towards the end, but makes readers question the nature of memories and personal history, wondering really how wonderful those days of uncertainty and precarity are in young adulthood. I recommend this book especially if you are familiar with Kawakami’s other books where she frequently writes about women on the fringes of society who are facing difficult and challenging situations. 

An Urgent and Important Book: Chain of Ideas by Ibram X. Kendi

 Chain of Ideas: The Origins of Our Authoritarian Age by Ibram X. Kendi

Chain of Ideas book cover

Scholar and Author Ibram X. Kendi

Many thanks to Random House, One World Publishers, and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Ibram X. Kendi’s timely and urgent new book Chain of Ideas: The Origins of Our Authoritarian Age. Dr. Kendi, who currently chairs the Advanced Study Institute at Howard University, is one of the most prominent researchers, teachers, and activists in racism, and his work is not only is well-researched, but also is accessible for general audiences. Although Chain of Ideas is a necessary book for many people today, I’m afraid that those who would most benefit from learning more about the origins and effects of The Great Replacement Theory are not going to pick up this book. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that many will stamp Dr. Kendi’s research and ideas as racist or woke, positioning this book as something it is not. Politicians and cultural warriors have branded Dr. Kendi as a dangerous thinker, but I think his work is some of the most important out there today, not only because of his ability to clearly analyze racism through social and historical lenses, but also to propose thoughtful, considerate, and meaningful change in a way that clearly demonstrates Dr. Kendi’s skills as a teacher and public intellectual.

Chain of Ideas primarily interrogates the Great Replacement Theory, a misguided belief that policies and movements in the United States and around the world are anti-white, and looking for ways to benefit other races at the expense of white people. Dr. Kendi’s research traces how this idea has gained recent traction in the past 15-20 years in Europe and the US but is really a result of distancing and recycling of Nazi ideas, which were ultimately influenced by US segregation and Indian removal policies that largely relied on racial categories to benefit white citizens over others. Dr. Kendi provides 10 links in the chain that demonstrate how the Great Replacement theory operates and its impact on society as well as the violence it has wrought in Europe, America, and areas like Australia and New Zealand. Many of the mass shootings have cited Great Replacement ideas and fears, and when these happen, replacement politicians often offer distancing, but still manage to either redirect blame or fear monger about other issues whether it is immigration, gun rights, or privileges. Regardless, it’s important for the public to not only understand this theory, but also be able to recognize some of the dog whistles and calls to discrimination that politicians evoke to instill fear and stoke violence among their followers.

Each chain in the link is focused on many different examples across history and around the world. While I think many readers will be familiar with the American examples and especially the more recent American examples, it was shocking to learn more about what’s been happening in Europe and how politicians are using the fear of immigrants to manipulate Europeans into a zero-sum way of thinking, that immigrants’ gain comes at a citizens’ loss. In fact, I felt so frustrated and sad while reading this to see how many people are manipulated regularly with misinformation, a lack of clear understanding of history, and a willingness to readily accept false promises because of politicians’ clout or prior success. In a lot of ways, I kept thinking about Ta-Neihisi Coates’ “The First White President,” which argues that Trump used similar manipulative methods to stoke white resentment among social classes that other politicians had used. Rather than finding commonality in the exploitation of the working class or banding together to have more power, politicians will often use zero sum thinking in race and note that progress and opportunities come at a cost for white people, which is clearly not true. Furthermore, Dr. Kendi’s refutation of the kind of reverse racism that has sadly become a spectacle of the latest Trump administration reminded me of Keon West’s excellent book The Science of Racism, that demonstrates the true impact of racism and biases on access to things like jobs and opportunities, while also making a strong argument about the false nature of these ideas of reverse racism. Similarly, Dr. Kendi notes that this is just another method that has been used since the Nazi’s grabbed power in 1930s Germany to present their enemies as threats and disempower them to the point of expulsion and elimination. As Dr. Kendi notes, while WWII ended the Nazis, these ideas have gradually been sanitized and updated for our modern world. He rejects the idea of neo-Nazis since these are the same ideas, just rebranded. I hadn’t really thought about this since we continually mention neo-Nazis, but they really are the same ideas, or as Gil Scott Heron once said, it “ain’t no new thing.”  It’s just scary and disheartening to learn how this cycle continues, and how easily people are manipulated into believing these kinds of falsehoods and misrepresentations.

One of the most frightening elements of the book is how many of these ideas were reanimated by a novelist making observations in France in the late 90s. Rather than being guided by statistics and facts, Renaud Camus’s conspiratorial ideas spread throughout Europe and took hold in America as well, where change and difference were demonized and blamed for everything from inflation, to violence, to housing shortages, and unemployment, allowing others holding more responsibility to skirt blame and evade accountability. It’s also sad to see how powerful and generally intelligent people will misuse and manipulate others’ misfortune to gain advantages and power in society. While American politicians adopted the Southern Strategy of rebranding phrases like school choice and crime to manipulate voters’ fears, recent Trump advisors like the Steves (Bannon and Miller) have used more blatant fear mongering and racism to spread falsehoods and sow division in society. In fact, Miller made sure that others had copies of one of his favorite books, Camp of the Saints, a 1970s dystopian novel, akin to the Eruo-Turner Diaries, which presents immigration as the downfall of European society. We continue to hear these nagging criticisms in Trump and Vance’s admonition of Europe. However, as Dr. Kendi notes, whites are largely the dominant majority in European countries, hardly at risk of losing their status, their population advantage, and more importantly their social capital. It was just surprising to learn how much fiction can masquerade as fact and be so influential on policies and fears. Chain of Ideas is not only eye opening, but it is also a call to awareness and resistance. After reading Dr. Kendi’s dismantling of these bonds which chain people to racist and violent ideas, readers should feel more empowered to identify the falsehoods and propaganda, to require facts and confirmation rather than just accept the biases and falsehoods of conmen looking to stay out of jail. Furthermore, Dr. Kendi’s book is timely and necessary as America continues to slip in its autonomy. We are witnessing continued attempts to make voting more difficult, while an armed militia of untrained loyalists is now policing airports while Steven Bannon notes how ICE would be ideal to patrol polling places. Dr. Kendi’s comparisons with other countries that have slipped into autocracy should also serve as a warning to see how the transition from democracy to autonomy isn’t sudden and jarring, but rather a slow erosion that happens with dismantling the typical bulwarks and checks that balance out power (see Hungary, Turkey, El Salvador, and Russia).

While Chain of Ideas is not always an easy read, learning and change are not always easy. There’s a certain level of discomfort and challenge that comes with incorporating new and uncomfortable ideas into our existing schema, yet Dr. Kendi uses familiar references and examples to make his point, making the history and current threats all the more accessible. The only suggestions I have are to have more transitions between paragraphs to better develop the links and connections between different examples and countries. The book shifts from different examples, both historically and country-wise. I found that sometimes I needed to go back to better understand the connection, and I wondered if having more transitions to better emphasize the connections between ideas would have helped with the ideas. Additionally, I wish the book was more focused on solutions. The “Epilogue” does present some steps to take, and it notes how America is different from the other examples. Furthermore, Dr. Kendi also encourages readers to take action at the end of the book; however, the book at times does feel like it’s a downer, and I felt myself getting discouraged at times, which is also an important sign of its power. Maybe there will be some new editions or future works that focus on advocacy and action. However, Dr. Kendi does important work in teaching us about the history of this dangerous idea, and how it has been recycled and repositioned for modern audiences. Highly recommended!

On Morrison: A Brilliant Look at America's Most Important Writer By Namwali Serpell

 On Morrison by Namwali Serpell

On Morrison book cover

Scholar and author Namwali Serpell

Big thanks to Random House and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Namwali Serpell’s brilliant new in-depth analysis of the works of American Nobel Laureate Toni Morrison titled On Morrison. If I could give this book 10 stars, one for each insightful chapter focused on Morrison’s novels, a play, a book of critical essays, and a short story, I would. This book was absolutely a joy to read, especially if you love literature and reading or were an English major. I had the pleasure of reading Song of Solomon and Beloved in two different lit courses in my undergrad studies, and I still remember how much Morrison’s writing both challenged and delighted me. It’s not just her characters and storytelling, but it’s her language- her imagery, the chiasmus, the metaphors, all of these literary and rhetorical devices that English majors become acquainted with- used to mastery to create worlds and beings so realistic and imbued with such emotion, passion, love, pain, loss, and sorrow. Reading Morrison in class, pairing the readings with research and criticism, discussing the findings and developing a thesis to argue for a research paper all helped me better understand some of the ideas and conceptions that Morrison grappled with in her writing, and Dr. Serpell’s book brought back all of that dialogue and debate, creating a Bakhtinian reading experience that also references the talking book and the kind of reading that Morrison reminded Orpah was necessary in literature. On Morrison is a book that I wish I had access to in undergrad or even when I was teaching Beloved to high school students. Not only does Dr. Serpell look at the kinds of dialogues and influences that Morrison’s books engage in, but she also gets into textual analysis, examining specific lines and sections from Morrison’s novels and other works to show these influences, the traditions, and signifying, demonstrating how Morrison not only engaged with classical and “canonical” literature, but also incorporated African American literature, history, themes, and language. On Morrison is such an important book not only because it assesses and addresses the first female Black Nobel Laureate in American history, but it also serves as a great model for students to learn textual analysis and close reading. It takes that kind of literary scholarship, which can seem foreign and intimidating to students, and makes it more accessible for students and others who may be interested in Morrison’s work but not necessarily studying her for a course. Furthermore, Dr. Serpell’s work helps readers appreciate Morrison, but also understand her place in American and world literature. While I wasn’t sure if this book would be more of a contextualized biography of Morrison’s life and works, it was so much more, and I felt as if this book was a course itself. I learned so much from this book, not only about Morrison’s life, but more about her work and how to consider her work and works of other writers like Hurston, Jean Toomer, William Faulkner, and Ralph Ellison. I also added to my “To Read” list with other writers who may have influenced Morrison’s writing. More importantly, though, Dr. Serpell’s book evoked memories, or the kind of re-memory from Beloved, where I kept thinking about friends, colleagues, and students, and how Morrison factored into so many of our conversations throughout my career as a student and teacher. Maybe my experience is unique, but I hope that others who have read and experienced Morrison’s novels may have a similar experience.

I haven’t read all of Morrison’s books; in fact, I’ve only read 5 of the books in this book. 2 of them I read for classes; I’ve taught Beloved, which was its own emotionally fraught experience, and I’ve read 3 others on my own (The Bluest Eye, A Mercy, and Home), and my experience reading for class and teaching Beloved was much different than reading on my own. Dr. Serpell’s book was helpful in reconsidering these books, their themes, and how they relate to some of Morrison’s other works, as well as the works of other writers. In particular I appreciated the chapter dedicated to Morrison’s 3 later novels. Rather than addressing these novels with their own individual chapters, Dr. Serpell notes how there’s a difference with these novels than with Morrison’s earlier works. Furthermore, the last chapter indicates Morrison’s ambivalence to monuments, even though she has a hall in Princeton named after her. As Dr. Serpell notes too, citing Edward Said, later works can sometimes not only challenge or push against the previous work, raising complexities and contradictions with the artists (see notes Beethoven’s later works as a reference point), but that they can also provide insight into how the artists view their own works. It’s a fascinating chapter that lovingly critiques Morrison’s work, both in its differences and similarities to other works, and seeks not to monumentalize or memorialize her, but rather to further rearrange the puzzle pieces of her works to evoke a new or reimagined image. She used a bingo card to present some of the recurring themes, motifs, characters, and images that help readers better understand possible meanings in Morrison’s work. It’s both brilliant and funny. In addition, this chapter also focuses on Morrison’s experiments, and the many failures or the abandoned projects that were never midwifed into publication. This was also fascinating to read, and it was also a reminder of how even Nobel Laureates and the greats of American Literature even sometimes struggle with the writing process. I really enjoyed Dr. Serpell’s critiques of Morrison’s poetry, which I didn’t even know existed. However, it was the analysis of A Mercy, a book I read 17 years ago, shortly after it was first published, and really struggled to make meaning of it. Dr. Serpell’s analysis was clear, thoughtful, and provided much to consider. I loved seeing how A Mercy was in dialogue with other books from Morrison’s worlds. Reading this analysis definitely made me want to revisit the book to see many of the characters, stories, symbols, and language that I missed on my initial, isolated read.

Other chapters focus on specific texts- mostly novels, but one chapter focuses Morrison’s short story “Recitatif”, which was another experiment in removing racial identifiers from the main characters. I looked forward to reading each chapter, savoring them, going back to re-read longer passages of analysis and finding agreement with the connections and conclusions Dr. Serpell delivers. I think that Beloved was probably my favorite chapter, just because it’s a novel I’ve read and taught so many times, yet I learned so much more from this. While I recognize Beloved is a haunted house, ghost, and even a possession story, I never thought about the book in relation to the popular horror of the 80s, like Stephen King and Anne Rice. However, a few years ago, I read Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and James Welch’s Fools Crow, which were both published around the same time as Beloved. I couldn’t help but wonder if these books influenced Morrison at all. Similarly, when reading the chapter focused on The Bluest Eye, about the isolation and deprivation of Pecola, I wondered whether Morrison may have been influenced by McCarthy’s dark tale of isolation and alienation Child of God, or Welch’s earlier novel Winter in the Blood, which is another tale of fragmentation and identity. Although this book was published later than The Bluest Eye, maybe Welch read Morrison’s book and was influenced. I also kept thinking about Ayi Kwei Armah’s Fragments, another book I read for an African Literature course that has haunted me for nearly 30 years. This is another book about the power of colonization and corporations to created a fragmented sense of identity, where the main character truly loses a sense of his self due to the westernization of Ghana. It was published around the same time as The Bluest Eye, so I’m not sure if Morrison had any advanced notice of it, or maybe it was just something in the chronotope of the time period. It’s been more than 20 years since I read The Bluest Eye, and it’s not necessarily a book I want to revisit immediately, but reading Dr. Serpell’s analysis and connections made me want to revisit these texts to see how Morrison may have been in dialogue with some other writers of her time.

In addition, I couldn’t help but think of Sarah Chihaya’s memoir Blbliophobia, where she recounts her close emotional connection to reading and texts. Chihaya mentioned that The Bluest Eye was the text that she referred to as a “life ruiner,” since it opened her eyes to racism and self-hatred. Although I didn’t have the same experience, I do agree that reading Toni Morrison is an emotional and evocative experience. It’s transcendent and moving, a rare, but important experience that some of us may have when reading or engaging with great art that maybe doesn’t make us feel great, but that makes us feel a range of emotions, helping us to be more empathetic and understanding. Reading Namwali Serpell’s On Morrison was a thick love experience, like Sethe tells Paul D. “Thin love ain’t no love at all.” Dr. Serpell’s book, like most of Morrison’s books, is a loving experience, and one that is particularly thick in love. I could go on and on about this book, but I highly recommend it. Again, thanks to Random House and NetGalley, but more importantly thanks to Dr. Serpell for her brilliant writing and analysis about Toni Morrison.  I will be revisiting this book, and it is one that I would share excerpts with students as well. Just an incredible read!

Urgent Questions in the History of Rock n Roll: This Ain't Rock 'n' Roll by Daniel Rachel

 This Ain't Rock 'n' Roll: Pop Music, the Swastika, and the Third Reich by Daniel Rachel

This Ain't Rock 'n' Roll cover

Author Daniel Rachel

“What do you do when your mom is a skinhead? You write a song about her,” Thurston Moore’s introduction to Sonic Youth’s “The Bedroom”

 

Big thanks to Akashic Books and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Daniel Rachel’s urgent and critical new book This Ain’t Rock ‘n’ Roll: Pop Music, the Swastika, and the Third Reich.  Towards the end of the book, I thought about Thurston Moore’s intro to “The Bedroom,” a song from the early 90s that probably preceded “Youth Against Fascism,” but still emphasized the bands commitment to upholding their values yet also being provocative in their lyrics. I don’t think anyone would accuse SY of holding Nazi sympathies, yet Thurston’s ambivalent delivery leads listeners to wonder whether he’s angry, sad, or maybe even questioning the mother’s skinhead membership. If anything, it’s a kind of absurd premise, but still emphasizes the shock value that permeates the punk ethos from the early days of SY. This song intro nor any of SY’s music made it into this book, but it would have been interesting to read Rachel’s thoughts and questions about SY’s skinhead reference or another reference to Jews in their song “My Arena.” It would have been interesting to see how bands in the 80s, grappling with Reagan, racism, and other inequalities in the US have responded to issues like the resurgence of white supremacy (I’m looking at you Ice-T and Body Count).

If anything, I wonder how much context matters in these kinds of references and whether bands or musicians that referred to Nazi imagery from the UK had a different impact or intent than bands or musicians from the US. I think most people understand that the band Blondie, referenced in the book for some potential Nazi references, are not sympathizers with Nazis, but should we also question other bands from the 1970s like Joy Division or The Fall? Nevertheless, British music is more of the focus of Rachel’s book, and I learned so much from reading this book, both from the bands and the music, as well as the history and details that were relevant to many of the songs, albums, and artwork referenced throughout the book. While I knew about plenty of the bands and the Nazi references that these bands made, I never really considered the deeper implications, especially in how it may have impacted survivors and families who were impacted by the Holocaust. The book covers a lot of obvious candidates from the heyday of British punk like the Sex Pistols (especially Sid Vicious) and Siouxie Sioux, to Factory Records bands like Joy Division and New Order, whose names derive from Nazi references, to some American bands like The Stooges, whose lead guitarist Ron Asheton frequently dressed in SS uniforms and was deeply interested in German war history, and The Ramones, whose logo may have borrowed from the Nazi era eagle. Although The Ramones’ song “Today your love, Tomorrow the world,” referenced Ava Braun’s and Hitler’s love, The Ramones also referred to themselves as “Nazis” in the song, even though Joey Ramone was Jewish. Rachel notes in the end of the book that he is just presenting the facts as they are and making historical references to WWII and Holocaust history to identify possible references and allusions that the bands make. However, I’m not sure that anyone listening to this song took The Ramones to be Nazis, since they never really seemed serious about the subjects in any of their songs. They also sang about sniffing glue, wanting to get shock treatment, and claiming to be victims of a teenage lobotomy. In fact, Rachel later references The Ramones’ song “Bonzo goes to Bitburg” released shortly after Reagan’s shameful visit to an SS cemetery where he advocated for forgetting the past atrocities. If anything, this example shows how The Ramones used this imagery and references not lightly, but rather in a critical if not sarcastic manner to lessen the power and allure of the Nazis. It was interesting to consider other case studies and musicians like Sid Vicious (if you could even call him a musician or artist) who used Nazi imagery to shock and incite the older generation. I don’t agree with that approach, and I think Rachel makes a good case in noting that art should be provocative, but the “atrocities of the Third Reich are not to be used lightly as creative inspiration.” I think that the latter sections really helped me understand this argument much more, especially when we think about more modern examples of shock rock and how some artists demonstrate their ignorance in the use of Nazi imagery. He cites examples of Marilyn Manson and Ye to show how current attempts by musicians to shock are problematic and in many ways lazy. For Manson, the analogy between current politics and Nazis didn’t add up, especially in a country that allowed his music to thrive and be accessible, if not criticized, by many. I don’t really understand why Ye expressed his love for Hitler, but he clearly seems like someone who needs a lot of attention, but he has recently attempted to apologize for his Nazi era. In fact, it makes less sense when you read about Hitler’s thoughts about Black athletes like Jesse Owens who competed in the 1936 Olympics. I’m sure that Hitler would not have been a fan of Ye’s at all.

It’s interesting to see Rachel’s theory that the increasing education and introduction of Holocaust studies into curricula in Europe and America in the 1980s and 1990s as well as popular representations of Holocaust stories ranging from The Diary of Anne Frank to Art Spiegelman’s Maus to Elie Wiesel’s Night to films like Schindler’s List all helped to raise consciousness about the Holocaust and the evils of the Third Reich, which is a possible reason why the use of Nazi imagery and themes today has taken on a different tone, and where we are quick to either question or condemn its use. If anything, it’s important to remember the consequences of this kind of damaged nationalism and dangerous pull of the crowd since in the US we have seen an uptick in using Nazi-type propaganda in government social media messages where the Department of Homeland Security has posted “We’ll have our home again” and the Department of Labor posted “One Homeland. One People. One Heritage,” slogans that have a nearly literal German translation from Nazi slogans.  As Rachel seems to argue, raising awareness is the first step, but it is also important to question and challenge, and not merely accept the repurposing of these phrases, images, and slogans.

In addition to these examples, I was really surprised to learn about some of the earlier Nazi examples Rachel cites from classic rock. In particular, there are stories about John Lennon’s fascination with Nazis, and how members of bands ranging from the Rolling Stones, the Who and Led Zeppelin would dress up in Nazi uniforms, sometimes for performances. I was aware of Bowie’s flirtations with fascism, as well as the explicit racism of Eric Clapton, who made continued racist comments in concert in the 1970s, even after scoring a hit from a Bob Marley cover song (once again appropriating Black art). This book was filled with various examples of artists who used fascism and especially Nazi imagery and ideas in their music. The book traces these examples from classic rock through punk and post-punk up until more modern examples and provides instances of other representations of Nazism in popular culture. Some of the most unbelievable examples are in the nazisploitation films like Isla, She Wolf of the SS, where Rachel provides the chilling real life Ilse Koch as the basis for this story. Other films like Salon Kitty and The Night Porter, which was especially celebrated and copied by artists ranging from Siouxsie Sioux to Madonna, were referenced, but also questioned as to the purpose of these films. Was it to shock? To excite? Or were there questions about the nature of power and violence? Rachel raises important questions as to the nature of these films and their impact on punk rock, popular music, and fashion, questioning whether they introduced a kind of Nazi-chic that remains relevant today as people rightly scrutinize the fashy fashion choices of ICE thug Gregory Bovino.

I was drawn to this book since it is a book about music, and the striking cover, featuring what looks like a Hitler youth banging a drum, really grabbed my attention as well. It’s a familiar picture, looking like something from either Joy Division album artwork or a recent Turning Point for Elementary School recruitment poster. While the book sometimes goes down a historical Hitler hole, deeply researching connections between history and the music Rachel discusses, it’s still a deeply important and timely book. Rachel’s research and connections made me question the music I consumed, and while I will still listen to the Ramones, Joy Division, The Stooges, Slayer, and Motorhead, I think it’s important to consider how the images they use are possibly pushing aside the horrors and atrocities of the Third Reich. I’m glad that in the last section of the book, Rachel references the infamous Dead Kennedy’s song about Nazi punks, and how they used that song to promote anti-racism, selling arm bands with crossed-out swastikas. For me, in a lot of ways, punk and metal was more about questioning this kind of overbearing authority and finding ways to assert your own voice, be your own person, amidst a society that will sometimes brutally push individuals towards conformity. Furthermore, the actions of education, awareness, and remembrance are even more important as US government officials like Elon Musk are given passes and grace for Nazi salutes, only to make Nazi-themed jokes on his social media account. I just kept thinking about the absurdity of this situation, where some of the most powerful people in the world were seemingly endorsing these policies, and remembered to the events in VA in 2017, where Trump celebrated, in his words, some “very fine people, on both sides,” and his continued refusal to disavow racism and bigotry from followers like the Proud Boys and David Duke. Rachel’s book is an important read, not only for music fans, but for anyone who consumes media today. It’s important to be aware of the kinds of messages that are swirling around, and how powerful groups can use images, propaganda, and catchy slogans to win over hearts and minds, attempting to sway our beliefs. Furthermore, Rachel’s research in this book is an important reminder about how powerful and successful the Nazis were in manipulation- in using images, slogans, and misinformation to sway so many people or to cover up their atrocities in the guise of nationalism, patriotism, duty, and honor. This book is important to remember those lessons from history because as Jello Biafra sang in the Dead Kennedy’s famous song “You’ll be the first to go, unless you think.” Highly recommended!

 

PS-

As I was reading this, I was thinking about how contextual a lot of these references to swastikas can be. I visited Hong Kong about 10 years ago, and I had the opportunity to go to the Lantau Buddha, which is a giant statue of Buddha, over 34 meters tall. It's an amazing monument that was initiated by monks from a nearby temple. 

The Buddha sits high atop mountains, holding up a hand in a display of peace and equanimity. All around the monument are various reminders of the tenets of Buddhism, about suffering and compassion, and with thousands of visitors there to pay respect and homage, it's also a reminder of our interconnectedness. Nevertheless, it was jarring for me to see swastikas along the fence of this monument. 

However, as Rachel noted in the book, the swastika is an ancient symbol used by many cultures before it was hijacked by the Nazis. In the later section of the book, Rachel calls out a k-pop artist who wore a shirt with Sid Vicious wearing the swastika shirt. I was thinking about how in other cultures, particularly Asian cultures, the idea of a swastika has a much different meaning. Furthermore, schools in these cultures present history and learning in much different ways. What they emphasize might be different, and I would imagine that Korea, a nation that was occupied by Japan for many years, where people experienced the cruelty and violence of Japan's imperialism, might emphasize other lessons from WWII than Nazism. I'm not making any excuses, but I do think that in these other contexts, especially in different cultures, the swastika takes on a different meaning, and the emphasis on the atrocities from WWII might lean more on the Japanese than the Germans. I would imagine that you probably wouldn't find her wearing a Japan (the band) shirt or any images of the rising sun. It just reminded me of the contextual differences of the use of the swastika throughout the book, and how so many different factors from historical context, cultural influences and norms, among other influences all impact our reception to these symbols. 

Creeping Cults: The Culting of America by Daniella Mestyanek Young and Amy Reed

 The Culting of America: What Makes a Cult and Why We Love Them by Daniella Mestyanek Young and Amy Reed

The Culting of America book cover

Author Daniella Mestyanek Young

Author Amy Reed

Many thanks to Otterpine and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of The Culting of America: What Makes a Cult and Why We Love Them by Daniella Mestyanek Young and Amy Reed. I’ve noticed more and more books focusing on cults, examining them from different perspectives. Not just the lurid, true crime or primarily academic type books that seemed to analyze some of the more notorious cults from the past 50 years or so (The Manson Family, The People’s Temple); rather books like Amanda Montel’s Cultish (which Mestyanek Young and Reed frequently reference) and Jane Borden’s Cults Like Us take a more nuanced approach to examining the issues of cults and how many groups and institutions in our lives closely mimic cults. Borden’s book argues that America’s founding was itself based on the cult of the Protestant Ethic, among other religious beliefs that have gradually become part of many American’s identities. Mestyanek and Reed make similar claims while developing their own aspects of group dynamics, drawn from research and scholarship, to investigate and examine the practices of various groups and institutions. As the authors acknowledge, its sometimes hard to determine what a cult is, and with Mestayanek’s own personal experiences growing up in a destructive religious cult and serving in the US Army, she identifies elements of these group dynamics in both. Furthermore, I appreciated their advice to readers to move beyond binaries, looking at whether a group is a cult or not, or thinking about good or bad outcomes, with a call to think about the complexities of belonging and more importantly leaving these groups. What costs might members entail with exiting the group, whether they are social, financial, or professional. Also like Borden’s book, Mestyanek and Reed also reference the more recent political and social events in America to examine how instability, lack of connections and relationships, and mistrust and resentment can fuel the rise of cults as a means of filling a void for these connections and beliefs.

Both Mestyanek and Reed use real world examples from well-known cults, institutions and groups, as well as lesser-known examples, to highlight and identify the ways these groups align with their group dynamics. Furthermore, both authors include their own personal examples of participation with cults, institutions and groups to provide further evidence of the seeming benefits and potential drawbacks of membership within these groups. I also appreciated how the authors make use of both scholarly sources and more popular literature like Montell’s book, as well as other first-hand accounts from cult survivors and escapees. It lends a sense of authority and expertise, while also making the content relevant and accessible to a general audience. Furthermore, despite a rather dark and tragic topic, the authors use humor and sarcasm at appropriate times to lighten the mood. The book is filled with many relevant examples that help to highlight the specific practices of these groups and institutions to attract and sustain members. I think it is interesting to see how fine a line the nature of members is for some of these groups like the military and Alcoholics Anonymous, groups which typically are held in high esteem, but also display elements of cult-type membership and potential high-costs for members leaving. I can also understand the pushback that the authors received, but I think they are raising important points about the nature of the groups and their attempts to sustain members, not necessarily arguing that they are inherently bad. However, in reading these examples, we can see how others may misuse or misconstrue some of the elements of these groups to make false promises or to build on more familiar institutions to attract followers and those who are in need of some kind of change or future goal. In particular, Chapter 6, “Distinguishable Vernacular,” was one of the more fascinating sections since it deals with the language of cults and groups. While this was the focus of Montel’s book, Mestyanek and Reed examine some different examples and show how shared language can alter our sense of identity and belief, creating a unique bond among members. I think this is true of almost any group, whether it is a friend group who shares specific slang or a work group that may use specific acronyms and terms to define and solve problems in the field. I know that whenever I’ve started a new job, acclimating to new language, specifically to acronyms, takes almost as much work as learning software or systems.

Mestyanek and Reed examine how often the beliefs that groups adhere to can often spiral into extremism, and how technology like social media and the internet can accelerate belief to action through disinformation and isolation. Mestyanek provides an example from her ex-husband’s radicalization, along with reminders of Q-Anon and the January 6^th Insurrection to further show how seemingly regular people, our neighbors, community members, and friends can all be susceptible to the tricks and deceptive practices of cult leaders. However, this book provides an awareness of these practices, along with some useful checklists and references to “culty things.” I think, though, that one of the most important takeaways in the book is reframing our thinking around cults, shifting from binary, either/or thinking, to examining ideas of membership and belonging in a more complex and holistic manner. In one of the final sections written by guest author Rebecca Slue, also known as The White Woman Whisperer, “The distinction between ‘group’ and ‘community’ is a matter of foundational values and relational truth. Groups are built to be functional, often around a cause, a mission, or a leader.” This last section was also incredibly important in not only reaffirming our sense of belonging to communities and not just groups but also affirming our sense of agency in seeking out these communities and ensuring that they remain communal and democratic. While sharing decision making and responsibilities (and accountability) can be time consuming and tiring, it is essential for the health of the community to involve all. Although frequent references to more notorious groups and cults are found in this book, the authors also frequently reference how more and more work situations can become cult-like, blurring the boundaries between work and belonging. Furthermore, they note how some careers are considered a calling and offer members a strong sense of identity and belonging. While I feel grateful to have a career where I don’t necessarily experience that level of creeping cultiness, I have had jobs where there has been that kind of pressure to work outside of proscribed hours, and I feel like this book offers an important message to many people, not just those interested in cults, psychology, or current events. Rather this book has important insights and ideas about belonging, community, and working, and shares these ideas with research and anecdotes, making the ideas and insights more accessible and understandable. Highly recommended.