I’m back with 5 more things I am doing to keep myself going during the pandemic. (If you haven’t watched “What’s Your COVID-19 Routine?” before, may I recommend starting with Part 1?)
How are you keeping yourself going? Anything working really well for you? How has your routine changed? Let me know in the comments below!
Remember: we can be emotionally close even though we must be physically distant. Reach out to friends and family. Check in on each other.
Find a routine that works for you, and — of course — modify as necessary.
This week’s #PlagueSong is dedicated to my mother, Gloria Hardman. This is her favorite song, her motto, and very good advice.
The song is funnier when sung as Eric Idle’s “Mr. Cheeky” character (as it is in The Life of Brian). I suspect the song’s mixture of irony and sincerity is one reason it resonates with my mother, with me, and with so many others. Dark humor leavens its “Ac-cent-tchu-ate the Positive” optimism and makes that optimism somehow more plausible.
That said, in my performance (such as it is), I lean more into the song’s sincerity. When my mother sings it these days, she too draws more on its hopefulness than its irony. Indeed, she really only recalls the chorus.
Edward Lear, “The Owl and the Pussycat” (from Nonsense Songs, Stories, Botany, and Alphabets, 1871)
Poetry she heard as a child (Lear’s “The Owl and the Pussycat,” Carroll’s “Jabberwocky”) and some songs — from her childhood, my childhood, and the life she lived in between — are most likely to elicit a spark of recognition. So, when I visited her earlier this month (during the week of Spring Break), I signed her up for Spotify, and made her a playlist of songs she still “knows” — evident via a reference either to just the chorus, or to some other lyric.
For example, when I’m about to take her for a walk, I’ll say, “Let’s grab your coat, and get your hat.” She replies, “Leave your worries on the doorstep.” Then we sing a bit of “On the Sunny Side of the Street.” But Mom knows the lyrics to “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” the best: during my last visit, after we had sung it a few times together, she managed a rendition unaccompanied.
I chose “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” because it’s her favorite, because I don’t know when I will see her again, and because I wanted her to have a recording of me singing this song to her. At any time, one of the good healthcare workers at the “Memory Care” facility where she lives can pull up this YouTube video and press play. Though Mom once programmed computers and taught students and faculty how to use theirs, she cannot now operate the computer in her room. For that matter, she cannot find it.
Mom and me. Concord, Mass., USA. 9 March 2020.
Shortly after my visit began earlier this month, The Commons — the Massachusetts retirement community where she lives — went into lockdown. I could continue visiting only because I was staying in a guest room on site. As of March 10, everything was cancelled: all family visits, all trips off campus, all events, all tours (for prospective residents and prospective employees). Since I left on March 13, no other family member has been allowed in to The Commons. Mom and I still chat via Skype at least once a week — I have set up my computer to mirror hers so that I can answer the Skype on her end. But, like many people with elderly relatives, I do not know when I will be able to visit again.
That is one reason I say “I don’t know when I will see her again.” Another reason is that she is receding further into the fog of Alzheimer’s. During this visit, she recognized me about 80% of the time. Will she know me when next I see her? Possibly. Possibly not.
Although I could write other, darker paragraphs on the subject of “I don’t know when I will see her again,” context already implies these paragraphs and so they can remain, for now, implicit.
More important is that she is and has been The World’s Greatest Mother. Truly, when it comes to mothers, my sister Linda and I won the lottery. (Yes, exactly — who knew there was a Mother Lottery? We don’t even remember buying a ticket! And yet, here we are. Remarkable.) Most important of all, Mom knows we love her, we know she loves us, and her love is with us even when she is not.
And so. We look on the bright side of life. We also look on the bright side of death — as per the song’s third verse…. And we sing songs via Skype.
Will you sing this one with us?
If you’re interested in performing a #PlagueSong, but lack ideas for which one, I invite you to check out this ever-expanding playlist!
Each Tuesday, I will post a video of me performing a “plague-themed” song, very broadly defined. It is my way of standing on my balcony and singing to you…. I am also inviting you to sing and post yourself singing whatever songs are keeping you going these days. I’ve deliberately defined “plague-themed” very broadly — this can truly be any song that is sustaining you.
In this week’s, I perform an international pop hit from 5 years ago that offers some excellent advice for life in the age of corona. Apologies in advance for my falsetto because no, you will not be able to unhear it.
The keen observers among you will notice that I do adjust my glasses near the end there — a near-miss that is common for the bespectacled. But I do not touch my face. And you should try to avoid touching yours.
It’s hard! I know. But perhaps the plaintive screech of my falsetto will help this stay in your mind. Or, better, check out The Weeknd’s version.
And… have any of you recorded Plague Songs of your own? Emily Wishneusky Petermann has recorded one, which she has posted to Facebook. Enjoy!
Looking for suggestions of what to sing or play? Perhaps you’ll find ideas on my COVID-19: A Coronavirus Pandemic Playlist 🎵💃🦠🕺🎶
Hi there, fellow quarantiner / social-distancer! I made a video for you. These are 5 things I am doing to keep myself going during the pandemic. (There are other things I’m doing, obviously. But I’ve limited myself to 5 here.)
What are you doing? How are you keeping yourself going? Anything working really well for you?
Sending each other video-messages is one way we can keep in touch without actually touching. Contact-less contact. Separate togetherness. That’s how we’ll help each other get through it.
Let me also thank the video’s three special guests, all of whom are isolating in the same town that I am. (Who are they? Watch the video to find out!)
Inspired by videos of Italians singing to or playing music for each other, I am starting a new feature on this blog: #PlagueSongs
Each Tuesday, I will post a video of me performing a “plague-themed” song, very broadly defined. It is my way of standing on my balcony and singing to you. Since I do not have a balcony and you may be anywhere in the world, I am doing this via YouTube, and will be sharing via this blog, Twitter (@philnel) and Instagram (@thephilnel). I will be tagging them all #PlagueSongs.
I am also inviting you to sing and post yourself singing whatever songs are keeping you going these days. I’ve deliberately defined “plague-themed” very broadly — this can truly be any song that is sustaining you. Sing with those you’re quarantining with. (Do NOT go and find people to sing with.) Sing a cappella. Or sing with instrumentation. But do sing.
When we sing to each other, we offer hope. We have fun. We come together, even though we cannot be with one another. We affirm our bond to each other. Because we will need each other to get through these many months of quarantine, overwhelmed health care systems (such as in Italy and the U.S.), a collapsing global economy, and whatever other challenges we face.
So. Here I am, singing to you. Will you sing to me?
As the above makes evident, I am not a professional musician. Indeed, I chose Gloria Gaynor’s disco classic in part because it must be sung with enthusiasm, and in part because it was definitely not written to be performed on acoustic guitar. I knew I would look a little ridiculous.
Indeed, I hope I look a little ridiculous. I figure that you could probably use a laugh right now.
So, pull out your trombone, sidle up to the piano, pick up the banjo, dust off your flute, or just open your mouth in song.
Looking for suggestions of what to sing or play? Perhaps I can help. I’ve been assembling COVID-19: A Coronavirus Pandemic Playlist 🎵💃🦠🕺🎶
Because, yes, we are in a plague year — an older term for what we might now call a time of pandemic (or, to borrow a hashtag from Twitter yesterday, #coronapocalypse). And, in a plague year, daily life is different. But remember that humankind has faced plague years before. As people have done in the past, we too will persist. We will carry on. We will do the best we can. Because that is what we do.
And, to sustain our spirits during this plague year, let us make music together — even if we must be physically apart. We will survive! (Sing it! We will survive!)
Last June, on rather short notice, the Artistic Director for the Adventure Theatre Company asked if I would write a program note for their upcoming production of The Cat in the Hat (June 18-August 21, 2019). They had read my work on Seuss and racism, shared these concerns, and asked if I could provide something, ideally including “‘questions for the ride home’ (a series of questions that parents and kids can talk about, after they leave the theatre).” I’m posting the result today, on Dr. Seuss’s birthday, in case this condensed version of these ideas might be of use to others.
Was
the Cat in the Hat Black? After all, he’s a cat, isn’t
he?
Seuss’s Cat is racially complicated. Like a lot of 20th century
popular culture (i.e. Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse), the Cat is partially
inspired by blackface minstrelsy, a popular theatrical entertainment in the 19th century
and first half of the 20th century, in which performers
blackened their faces to impersonate and mock Blackness. The Cat in the Hat’s
outrageous fashion sense (white gloves, brightly colored hat and bow tie),
exaggerated styles of movement, breaking rules that he pretends to follow, and
his confidence-man behavior all derive from a common minstrel character.
Seuss
(born Theodor Seuss Geisel, 1904-1991) did both racist work and anti-racist
work, often at the same time. In the 1940s, he drew political cartoons, some of
which dehumanized people of Japanese descent, and others of which opposed both
anti-Semitism and racism against African Americans. In the 1950s, Seuss
published Horton Hears a Who!, hailed by one reviewer as “a rhymed
lesson in protection of minorities and their rights.” He also wrote his
first version of The Sneetches, an anti-racist fable, and he
published an essay that critiques racist humor. During that same period, he
used racist caricature in his books. In If I Ran the Zoo,
protagonist Gerald McGrew travels to “the mountains of Zomba-ma-Tant / With
helpers who all wear their eyes at a slant,” and to the “African Island of
Yerka” where he meets two stereotypically rendered Black men.
That Seuss is doing both racist and anti-racist work at the same time can be confusing because many of us see racism as an “either/or”: people are either racist or not racist. Indeed, that’s how Seuss himself understood racism. Unfortunately, racism is more of a “both/and.” It’s not unusual. It’s ordinary. It’s embedded in culture — such as the cartoons and books of Dr. Seuss.
It’s
upsetting to learn that a beloved children’s author used racist caricature. So,
many people — especially White people — seek excuses. In response to recent
criticism, his grand-nephew Ted Owens has said of Seuss: “I know one thing for
sure — I never saw one ounce of racism in anything he said, or how he lived his
life, or what his stories were about.” Mr. Owens’ claim relies on perception
and intent. But racism does not require either. People can perpetuate racism
without intending to. I don’t think Seuss intended to. Because he was unaware
of the degree to which his visual imagination was steeped in caricature, he
used racist stereotypes even as he was also writing anti-racist stories. We
might see Dr. Seuss as the “woke” White guy who wasn’t as woke as he thought.
“Now,
wait just a minute,” you might object. “People thought differently then.” But
all people at any given time do not think about race in precisely the same way.
As Robin Bernstein has shown in her work on nineteenth-century
anti-racism, the range of available racial beliefs remains constant over
time, but the distribution of those beliefs change. Both extraordinary and ordinary people have
opposed White supremacy. Both extraordinary and ordinary people have supported
White supremacy. To claim that people 60 years ago were racist but people now
are enlightened both suggests that past racism was inevitable and implies
that social change is a natural, ongoing march. Yet, progress makes gains and
endures setbacks, and always requires people committed to making a
positive difference.
So,
what do we do with the Cat in the Hat? Do we say that the blackface influence
would probably not be noticed, and so is not damaging? Does a gentle caricature
prepare us to accept a more harmful caricature? Should the race of the actor
playing the Cat in this production influence your response? And what do we do
with Dr. Seuss?
These are not easy questions. But these are conversations we need to have.
For a more fully developed version of the above, take a look at the title chapter of my Was the Cat in the Hat Black?: The Hidden Racism of Children’s Literature, and the Need for Diverse Books (Oxford UP, 2017; paperback edition with new afterword, 2019). With luck, it will be available in your local library. If not, it’s available via all the usual venues.
Seuss on Film (2 March 2016). Includes four clips of Seuss: Unusual Occupations (1940), Making SNAFU (c. 1943), To Tell the Truth (1958), and footage from a New Zealand schoolroom (1964).
No Seuss Better Than Faux Seuss (27 July 2015). On bad imitation Seuss verse, contrasted with good imitation — provided via audio of David Rakoff’s excellent “Samsa and Seuss.”
Six Spots of Seuss News (2 Mar. 2015). On What Pet Should I Get?, Elana Kagan’s citation of One fish two fish red fish blue fish (1960) in a 2015 Supreme Court decision written by Justice Elena Kagan, Dr. Seuss advertising art from 1936, and a Dr. Seuss rap quiz!
Oh, the Quotations You’ll Forge! (2 Mar. 2014). Seuss’s pithy verse is very quotable. Unfortunately, people have a habit of attributing things to him that he never said. This post exposes some fake Seuss, and gives you plenty of quotations that he actually did say.
Happy birthday to Dr. Seuss! A guest post by Charles D. Cohen (2 Mar. 2013). Birthday reflections from Seussologist Charles Cohen (The Seuss, the Whole Seuss, and Nothing But the Seuss). Quotes some original verse by Seuss, including “Pentellic Bilge for Bennett Cerf’s Birthday” (1940).
Co-sponsored by the MLA Forum on Comics and Graphic Narratives and the MLA Forum on Children’s and Young Adult Literature.
This panel for the 2021 MLA Convention in Toronto (Jan 7-10, 2021) explores intersections between children’s literature and comics (including manga and graphic novels). All periods and nations welcome.
Children’s comics and graphic novels have emerged as the dominant
commercial force in the industry, with authors like Raina Telgemeier and Dav
Pilkey selling millions of books. Yet comics studies still pays relatively
little attention to comics for children. As Jared Gardner writes in PMLA,
“Comics studies as a whole remains largely oblivious to the world of comics for
children and young adults, by far the fastest-growing demographic in the field”
(597). While there has been some recent scholarship on children’s comics,
including an edited collection by Michelle Ann Abate & Gwen Athene Tarbox
(2017) and monographs by both Lara Saguisag (2019) and Qiana Whitted
(2019), the
children’s segment of the comics market remains insufficiently theorized — thanks
to the field’s historical focus on comics for adults. This panel seeks to fill
this gap by calling attention to both contemporary and historical connections
between comics, children, and childhood.
Some questions panelists might address include (but are not
limited to):
Do comics scholars pay enough attention to children’s comics? Why
are children’s graphic novels not viewed as being the same medium as adult
comics?
Having conferred legitimacy on a once-maligned
genre (“comics”) via language suggestive of adulthood (“graphic” can mean both
sophistication and pornographic), does the term “graphic novel” sever the
genre’s historical connections to children or encourage the ambitions of (what
we might now call) “children’s comics”? What are the impediments and
possibilities of “graphic novel” for discussing comics read by children?
How should the intersections between histories
of comics and of children’s picture books inform our analyses and/or teaching
of each?
What sort of reactions have children’s comics gotten from parents
and teachers? Is there still suspicion of children’s comics? Why or why
not?
How do child readers engage with comics? How are children’s comics
reading practices different from those of adults? In particular, how has
the digital age affected the ways in which children access and read comics?
What do the changing boundaries of “children’s
comics” reveal about the social constructions of childhoods?
How is childhood represented in comics that are not specifically
intended for children?
What is “childish” about comics? How have accusations of
childishness helped to shape the history of comics?
How do children’s comics fit into the larger debate over diversity
and inclusion in children’s literature?
What do the differences and similarities between
children’s comics across cultures reveal about the medium and its audience(s)?
How might a dialogue between histories of the “big three” comics producers
(U.S., France, Japan) and histories of producers from other cultures (say,
India and Mexico) improve our understanding of the field?
How do the histories of comics in countries that
imposed some version of a “comics code” (say, U.S., U.K., Australia) compare
with the histories of comics in countries that have not (say, Japan)?
How might we draw upon new research — such as
that by Lara Saguisag (2019) and Qiana Whitted (2019) — to rewrite
histories of comics for young readers, more carefully examining the genre’s
racialized visions of childhood, citizenship, and activism?
Publishers and booksellers might — as the We Need Diverse Books organization suggests — champion “new editions of classic books by people of color and marginalized people, particularly if those books have been largely ignored by the canon.” Need recommendations? Instead of consulting the company’s chief diversity officer, ask experts. Marilisa Jiménez García, a scholar of Latinx literature at Lehigh University, recommends the Nuyorican writer Nicholasa Mohr’s Nilda (1973), “the first novel by a Latina.” Professor Sarah Park Dahlen, co-editor of the journal Research on Diversity in Youth Literature, suggests Yoshiko Uchida’s Journey to Topaz (1971) “for the important work it does to inform young readers of the racist incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II.” Katharine Capshaw, a scholar of African American children’s literature at the University of Connecticut, proposes June Jordan’s His Own Where (1971), “a poetic young adult novel about two teenagers in love, which was nominated for a National Book Award.”
And particular thanks to Marilisa Jiménez García, Sarah Park Dahlen, and Kate Capshaw for responding to my query so swiftly!
UPDATE, 12 Feb 2020, 2:10 pm:
The lists in the Oxford UP blog post are suggestive, not exhaustive. There are many more complete recommended lists out there. I gestured to one of those in the post: Christina Orlando and Leah Schnelbach’s “23 Retellings of Classic Stories from Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors.” But there are many other titles that could be included! If you send them to me, I’m glad to include other titles here, on this blog!
I’ll start with a recommendation I received this morning from Debbie Reese: Cynthia Leitich Smith’s Hearts Unbroken, which (in Dr. Reese’s words) “does critical work on Baum by making his desire to exterminate Native peoples part of the story.”
Cynthia Leitich Smith's HEARTS UNBROKEN does critical work on Baum by making his desire to exterminate Native peoples part of the story. Highly recommend it! Can you add it to your article, Phil?
— Dr. Debbie Reese (tribally enrolled, Nambé Pueblo) (@debreese) February 12, 2020
Other suggestions? Make ’em below, and I’ll add the titles here. Thanks!
Related writing (by me) on this blog and elsewhere
The Archive of Childhood, Part 2: The Golliwog (13 Jan. 2015). A revised version of this blog post appears as part of the introduction (“Race, Racism, and the Cultures of Childhood”) to Was the Cat in the Hat Black?: The Hidden Racism of Children’s Literature and the Need for Diverse Books (Oxford UP, 2017).
Regarding the Pain of Racism (4 Apr. 2015). Reflections on an observation by Naomi Murakawa, and on my challenges as a White male scholar writing about oppressions I have not experienced. A few slivers of this appear in “A Manifesto for Anti-Racist Children’s Literature,” which is the Conclusion to Was the Cat in the Hat Black?: The Hidden Racism of Children’s Literature and the Need for Diverse Books (Oxford UP, 2017).
I thought I would begin 2020 with something joyous — the 30th anniversary of They Might Be Giants‘ Flood, the band’s first album with a major label (Elektra), and the one that launched them into mainstream Anglo-American culture. (“Birdhouse in Your Soul” reached #6 on the UK charts and #3 on the US Modern Rock charts.) I had been an ardent fan since I purchased the pink-jacketed cassette tape of They Might Be Giants (their debut, on Bar None, 1986). I subsequently taught myself to play “Ana Ng” (from their second album, Lincoln, also Bar None, 1988), and saw them on that tour.
But my favorite song from their 1990 record, “Birdhouse in Your Soul,” was too complicated for me to play then. I would later learn, from S. Alexander Reed and Philip Sandifer’s Flood (in Continuum’s 33 1/3rd series, 2014), that the song changes key eighteen times. And has a heck of a lot of chord changes. Now, however, I can play it — not at professional proficiency, but well enough to be recognizable. Anyway. In celebration of the album’s 30th anniversary, here it is — preceded by the a cappella “Theme from Flood” (as it is on the album)!
To shake my amateurish clanging from your ears, why not listen to They Might Be Giants’ version of “Birdhouse in Your Soul”? Here’s the video.
The whole album is excellent. Beyond its famous song narrated by a nightlight, the album covers a diverse array of subject matter, including (as Reed and Sandifer note) “pet rocks, the Young Fresh Fellows, racism, quantum physics, and the 15th-century renaming of Constantinople.”
They Might Be Giants’ Flood (1990)
As I’ve noted elsewhere on this blog, They Might Be Giants are my favorite band. They’re musically and lyrically inventive, and are still writing great songs. Here’s a 90-minute playlist that will offer you an appropriately idiosyncratic introduction to the band’s work.
They Might Be Giants: Filibuster Vigilantly (a 90-minute introduction to their work)
Here’s a more conventional, 3-hour compilation, presented in chronological order.
The Best of They Might Be Giants
And here’s nearly everything by They Might Be Giants available on Spotify. (At the time of this writing, this playlist runs 18 and a half hours.)
Like you, I have no idea what 2020 will bring. But I’ll continue trying to use this blog to shine some light amidst (what feels like) growing darkness in the world. Sometimes, posts will directly address some of the evils we face. Other times, they won’t. After all, celebrating joy is one way to oppose the rising tide of despair. And that’s what this post is about.
Mp3s are for sampling purposes. If you like what you hear, please go and buy it. Go to the artists' concerts. Tell your friends about them. If you represent an artist or a label and would prefer that I remove a link to an mp3, please email me: philnel at gmail dot com.
