Recent Posts (page 24 / 34)

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 11/29/20-12/5/20

This Week:

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  • Students in Collectors and Collecting shared their Collection Analysis presentations. We had analyses of baseball cards, comic books, dolls, nativity figurines, designer handbags, and more. It’s one of my favorite parts of the class and I’m always delightfully surprised at what the students find.
  • I finished reading the third Dactyl Hill Squad book (“Freedom Run”) with my son. We’ve really enjoyed this early Young Adult series by Daniel Jose Older, and particularly the way in which it blends irreverance (dinosaurs in the Civil War?) with serious topics, such as race, slavery, colonialism, and collective action.
  • I finally watched “The Rise of the Skywalker”. Meh. The lightsabre battle on the sunken Death Star was pretty cool.
  • I worked on getting some spring programs together, and on some collections research. No spoilers, but some exciting stuff coming up at the Yager Museum.
  • Weirdly, I had never got around to reading the prequel to Jeff Smith’s “Bone” Series, entitled “Rose”. I love Bone, and it’s been a great delight to read it with my son. He had grabbed “Rose” from the library, and read it, and recommended it to me, returning the gift. It was a lot of fun; exciting in its own right, and with great callbacks to and enrichment of the original series. Plus, Charles Vess’s art is astonishing and lively.
  • I watched the documentary “Tickled”, an amazing story about a cultural journalist from New Zealand who decides to write a light-hearted piece about a series of internet videos purportedly showing young men competitively tickling each other. What follows is a dark and astonishing film that feels almost like a spy thriller, but ends up being a harsh commentary on class and privilege.
by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 11/15/20-11/21/20

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by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 11/8/20-11/14/20

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by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 10/25/20-10/31/20

This Week:

by Quentin Lewis

Booknotes: Horror needs no Passport by Jess Nevins

Finished 10/30/20

It is what it says on the can–a wide-ranging bibliographic essay on Horror fiction outside of its more commonly known “haunts” of the UK and the US.

It’s hard to synthesize a book like this, which is essentially a compendium of regional essays–more of a reference guide than a standard piece of non-fiction (and Nevins is both a fantastic fiction scholar and a librarian, so this makes some sense). What follows are some general notes that I made along the way, things that struck my interest, etc…

The book is organized chronologically, with three main periods: 1900-1939, 1940-1970, and 1970-2000, and then regionally within those time periods. In some regions, discussions stretch backward into the 19th century or earlier–there is an interesting discussion about Chinese and Japanese Horror literature going back hundreds or thousands of years. And some of the sections straddle the periods. But generally speaking, Nevins finds a way to bring coherence to the chronology and geography around which he has organized the book, highlighting broader cultural or political trends that impacted horror fiction or fiction more generally, and locating the authors he documents within the regional/chronological literary milieau he sketches. Within these sections, Nevins provides critical biographical sketches of significant authors.

It was fascinating to me to see what an impact the translation of Edgar Allen Poe outside of English or Romance languages had on global horror writing. Poe’s work pops up again and again as influential when it was translated into local or regional languages, whether this was for early 20th century authors in South Africa, Argentina, Iran, Japan, or much later authors influenced by Poe’s eventual translation into Indian languages in 1985(!) Other interesting inspirations came from the spread of Stoker’s Dracula, which inspired early vampire novels in Honduras (Turcios El Vampiro, 1910), Turkey (Gecesi’s Night of Terror, 1958), or India (the anonymously-authored Pischacho ki Mallika, 1997). In each case, local authors took these western sources as an ingredient in their own work, mixed with local folklore, political events, or cultural formations.

Nevins takes a wide view of what constitutes horror, relying on John Clute’s term “fantastika” to encompass a range of fiction with the promotion of fear or dread as a primary or secondary authorial goal. He ends up including everything from dark magical realism to modernist ghost stories to folklore tales rooted in indigenous traditions. This makes for a wide-ranging survey, and eradicates standard distinctions between “High” and “low” literature.

Much of 20th century American horror is rooted in pulp magazines and other popular periodicals. It was fascinating to read about the equivalents to these in other regions, as they too formed a locus of early horror writing. For instance, the “Indian state railways magazine” was an astonishingly widely read periodical (Nevins suggests in the “millions or tens of millions” in the 20s and 30s alone) that routinely featured stories of horror and the supernatural, though often by anoymous authors who brought together British horror forms with Indian folklore.

There is a critical bibliography of scholarship on various authors, regions, and time-periods, but I do wish that Nevins had included an author bibliography for the authors he documents, and with a particular focus on whether the works have been translated into English or not. As a fan of horror, it’d be nice to know beforehand whether I’ll have to learn a second language to enjoy an author whose work he champions.

The book is ultimately a great reference, but ended up being a bit bewildering to read in one sitting. It’s clear that the non-Anglo world of 20th century horror is astonishingly rich, diverse, and complicated, to the point where I felt like I was losing the thread by the end. Having said that, there are several authors whose works I had never heard of and will investigate, thanks to this volume, and for that, I’m glad I read it.

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 10/18/20 - 10/24/20

This week (and last week, as I was off work, but still, you know, did some stuff):

  • I wished my brother a happy birthday. He continues to be a source of interesting stuff in my life, from video games to lefty politics. Happy Birthday, Conner!
  • I watched Aterrados (Terrified), an Argentinian horror movie that made some waves when it came out in 2017. It was very good, though its quick pacing was a striking contrast from It Comes at Night, the last horror movie I watched, which was so slow as to be almost soporific.
  • I finished reading Michael McDowell’s “The Elementals”, a fantastic southern Gothic ghost story novel.
  • I finished reading “The Broken Hours” by Jacqueline Baker. The basic plot is that it’s about a man in the 1930s who goes to work for an ailing HP Lovecraft in a decaying house in Providence, RI. But really it’s about class, mental illness, and the ways we try and fail to break out of the roles into which we are thrust.
  • I hosted the Yager Museum’s conversation with Luke Swinson, whose artwork is currently featured in the exhibit “dadibaajimo: Two Mississauga Artists Share Stories.” We had a great chat, which you can still watch on the Museum’s facebook page.
  • Along with a Museum studies student, I launched a new video series for the Museum called “The Yager Through your Eyes” featuring Hartwick college faculty, staff, and students talking about their favorite objects. The first installment, featuring Hartwick student Gabriel Valenzuela (‘23) can be viewed on Youtube and facebook.
  • In MUST250 “Collectors and Collecting” we learned about the history of Oneonta from historian Mark Simonson, the students took their mid-term exam, and we worked more on the wikipedia project.
  • I was shocked and saddened to learn of the sudden death of Professor Mary Beaudry. An eminent and prolific scholar in Historical Archaeology (what a CV!), Beaudry was a major figure in the study of the material culture of the modern world, and conducted rich and important research projects in New England, Scotland, and the Caribbean. She wrote about gender, class, race, and the role material objects play in those social forces in really sophisticated and interesting ways. She was a firm advocate for women in a field mostly dominated by men or seen as a masculine pursuit, and she both wrote and spoke eloquently about sexism in the profession. She was also my undergraduate advisor, an important mentor who let me know that my eclectic and often scattered interests could find a home in archaeology.  She inspired, pushed, and helped me to go on to graduate school and that decision has shaped every aspect of my life since, and she remained a supportive and generous colleague years later. My sense, in seeing the responses from others, is that her considerate and deep support for her students was widely shared. Rest in Peace and in Power.
by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 10/4/20-10/10/20

This Week:

by Quentin Lewis

Booknotes: A House of Cards by John Bloom

A House of Cards: Baseball Card Collecting and Popular Culture

Finished 10/4/20

A rich and interesting study that links collecting, popular culture, structural analysis, sports studies, and historical memory.

This book is the result of Bloom’s PhD research, in which he attempts to locate Baseball card collecting as a site of meaningful, if contradictory social processes. As he notes in the opening chapter, he is interested how " the popularization of baseball nostalgia throughout the past one hundred years illustrates not only conflicting ways of appreciating sports but also the conflicting positions men often feel themselves assuming within modern structures." In other words, he explores baseball card collecting as a mechanism through which men grapple with what it meant to be men once, and what it might mean to be a man today.This is a unique approach to the study of collecting, which often side-steps the structural nodes of meaning that hover over collections in favor of a focus on economic value, or on the idiosyncratic (and individualistic) meanings that collectors place upon their own collections. Indeed, Bloom writes cogently about the ways in which value itself was a site of tension within baseball card collectors as a group, and how the increasing commoditization of a youthful and emotaionally affective hobby brought about contradictions in the ways in which collectors understood themselves and their collections.

Chapter 1 surveys the history of baseball cards from an industry and production standpoint, as well as setting some of the terrain for discussing the organized baseball card collecting world. As he notes, baseball cards (spear-headed for most of the 20th century by the Topps candy company) are a multi-million dollar industry even before the issue of secondary collecting, trading, and valuation markets. This has some important consequences for the subsequent analysis. For one thing, there is no pure period preceding collecting in which baseball cards are not commodities. Whether they were ancilliary to candy marketing, caught up in anti-competitive monopolizing by Topps, or refocused on adults due to demographic and marketing research changes, baseball cards have never been purely emotional or personal objects.

Chapter 1 also sketches some of the primary means through which baseball card collectors form an organized hobby. He discusses collecting journals and newsletters, such as Sports Collectors Digest. He notes that the proliferation of collecting as an economic activity, with major media news stories about the high prices fetched by rare cards, were a source of consternation for many collectors, who saw themselves as engaged in a pre-economic hobby that should not have been commodified. Likewise, the growth of newsletters and journals into mass-media organs required a level of control and professionalism that often rankled collectors as impersonal and alienated.

Chapter 2 foregrounds Bloom’s ethnographic research at baseball card shows in the upper midwest in the late 1980s. Such shows, in which dealers, hobbyists, sports stars and others mingled, sold and traded memorabilia, and socialized were useful points for examining the meaning of baseball cards because though fans attended such shows “out of a sense of belonging, …this also meant creating distinctions of who belonged and who did not, particularly as adult collecting grew increasingly pluralistic, its boundaries ever harder to define.” Such tensions were particularly visible around the dismissive treatment of children at shows, despite most adult male dealers nostalgia for their own childhood collecting, and the treatment of women, who were largely in supporting roles to male dealers or collectors. Bloom also discusses how the growth of the Midwest Collector’s club embodied issues of inclusion and exclusion, as the growth of the hobby built around monetary exchange exascerbated tensions around race and class and expanded competitive sentiments between supposedly amiable collectors.

Chapter 3 builds on this ethnographic account with a focus on collecting sets of cards, either creating complete sets of older cards or purchasing brand new sets whole in the hopes of finding valuable cards therein. Set collecting provides a vantage point for exploring how collectors who began the hobby as children understood its growth and transformation as they continued into adulthood. Particularly for completist set collectors who were attempting to construct sets they had as children, meticulous set collecting provided a way of nostalgically continuing a childhood hobby, but with a rationalized focus that prevented accusations of it being childlike. Bloom argues that the distinctions between the affective and emotional bonds of childhood baseball card collecting stand in contrast to the more rigid, competitive world of adult collecting, and that the masculine tension inherent in “becoming a man” required a reconfiguration of the nature of this childish hobby that in some ways, drained it of the qualities that made it emotionally rich for them as children.

Chapter 4 cotinues this focus on the tensions between collecting as a youthful hobby to an adult masculine one by examining sports collecting newsletters in the 1970s and 1980s. Perhaps most provocatively, Bloom argues that the growth of professionalized sports card collecting during this time functioned to culturally shield men from the challenges to their authority wrought by the protest movements of the 1960s. The nostalgia inherent in card collecting for childhood was also a nostalgia for a pre-political past in which white patriarchal authority was unquestioned. But he also is quick to point out that such nostalgia belies the ways in which race, class, and gender were themselves in flux in the 1950s. As an example, the growth of baseball cards as the medium through which boys experienced baseball was a function of white flight, which took families away from urban ballparks and into distant suburbs; baseball cards became a commodity that stood in for park attendance, and cards themselves frequently deployed television as a design language that suburban TV watching viewers would have appreciated. And baseball’s centrality as a “national pastime” that unified rather than divided, was a conceit that was actively promoted by team owners and players, but belied by a racially segregated game.

In the conclusion, Bloom restates his thesis that card collecting allowed middle-class white men to make meaning of their relationships to their own masculinity and class position, even as both were in states of flux. Such practices allowed for creativity and self-expression in the often soul-destroying work environments that such men inhabited, functioning as a kind of adult play, even as it reified ideas of patriarchal authority, men’s social and cultural distance from women, and an ethic of individualist competition that inhibited or complicated male-to-male friendship and solidarity. Bloom draws parallels to this kind of conservative nostalgia and the growing (at least in the 1990s) affection for Conservative (capital C) talk-radio and the growth of the middle-class right. But Bloom is also sympathetic to the ways in which fan culture, even one rut with nostalgia, can be a source of genuine pleasure and affective bonding between men, noting “sports remain a powerful component of popular pleasures that many men have a hard time abandoning.”

The book is rich in insights about the relationship between sports, fandom, and masculinity, and locates such relationships both within the political-economic and cultural milieu of the late 20th century, as well as within specific contexts of midwestern sports card collectors. It’s a really fascinating study both for its insights into material culture and collecting, as well as into patriarchal and class structures as they manifest in popular culture.

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 9/27/20-10/3/20

This Week:

  • I watched “It Comes at Night”, another in a line of of moody, character-driven horror movies from A24. I like movies where it’s unclear what the horror actually is, and the best thing I can say about “It comes at night” is that it’s a zombie movie without any zombies. Recommended!
  • I taught wikipedia to our students this week, using the amazing wiki-edu infrastructure.
  • I started planning for the Museum’s Halloween storytelling event “The Horror in the Museum” as well as for an artist conversation with Luke Swinson, whose work is currently on display at the Museum.
  • I read this old essay by M. John Harrison entitled “Very Afraid” in which he shoots across the bow of most speculative fiction’s insistence on something called “world building,” which he describes as “an attempt to exhaustively survey a place that isn’t there,” and later as “an attempt… to rationalise the fiction by exhaustive grounding, or by making it ‘logical in its own terms’, so that it becomes less an act of imagination than the literalisation of one.” It’s a long-ish essay, and there’s a lot in it for writers, but Harrison provides a rigorous intellectual scaffold for my essentially unformed aesthetic opinion that most exposition in science fiction, fantasy, and especially horror is pretty boring and patronising. But Harrison goes further, and links the world-building impulse to our currently decaying post-modern/neoliberal order of intellectual (and political-economic) libertarianism and the unbridled superiority of humans over nature that it implies.

The originally vertiginous and politically exciting notion of relativism that underlies the idea of “worlds” is now only one of the day-to-day huckstering mechanisms of neoliberalism. My argument isn’t really with writers, readers or gamers, (or even with franchisers in either the new or old media); it is a political argument, made even more urgent as a heavily-mediatised world moves from the prosthetic to the virtual, allowing the massively managed and flattered contemporary self to ignore the steady destruction of the actual world on which it depends.

It shook me to read this piece, especially given the news that the world-building which organizes so much of American politics right is at this moment collapsing like a dying star.

by Quentin Lewis

Quentin's Weeknotes 9/20/20-9/26/20

This Week: